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Chapter Text

“We shouldn’t be out here alone.” Melara worries.

“Why not?” Cersei questions, as both the young girls walk through the woods, Cersei leading the way confidently, whereas her friend Melara walks behind gingerly.

“If your father hears--,” Melara starts. “He’ll never know we’re gone.” Cersei retorts, interrupting. “But if he finds out--,” Melara begins again, making Cersei stop and turn back to her friend in slight annoyance.

Cersei takes her hands in hers, now with a slight smile. “You don’t need to be afraid of my father.” Cersei asserts, with her slight smirk, raising her eyebrows at Melara for a response. She nods begrudgingly and allows Cersei to lead her the rest of the way to the witch’s hut deep in the woods. When they finally arrive, they find a darkened, wooden hut, made up of branches, looking eerily sinister.

Melara tightens her grip on Cersei’s hand. “Are you sure?” She nervously asks.

“Yes.” Cersei confidently states.

“We shouldn’t go in.” Melara protests.

“Course we should.” Cersai argues, before stepping forward, headed for the Maggy the witches hut, Melara being dragged behind still holding her hand.

Stepping inside the hut, Cersei releases Melara’s hand, who stays behind her in worry. The hut was dark, but dimly lit by a few candles around the circular room. It was filled with dried herbs, plants, small animals in cages and then that’s when Cersei saw the witch. Sat in a chair, sleeping. She thought the witch didn’t look like much, nothing like the stories she heard, not scary at all. That is when Melara must have spotted her in the chair, as she jumps slightly in fear and she bashes into a hanging cage, making the rat inside squeak and herself in response. Cersei looks behind to Melara with annoyance, but her attention is quickly turned back to the witch who now was no longer sleeping.

“Get out. Get out!” The witch wails, leaning up and forward in her chair, staring her cold eyes at both the girls.

“Let’s go.” Melara urges, grabbing onto Cersei’s arm. “No.” Cersei protests, staring back at the witch.

“Listen to your friend.” The witch warns sternly.

Cersei holds her stare back at the witch, confidently defying her. “They said that you were terrifying. With cat’s teeth and three eyes. You’re not terrifying—you’re boring.” Cersei declares.

“You don’t know what I am.” The witch states.

“I know you’re a witch. And you can see the future.” Cersei points out. “Tell me mine.” She firmly demands.

“Everyone wants to know their future, ‘til they know their future.” Maggy the witch points out.

“This is my father’s land. My land. Tell me my future, or I’ll have your two boring eyes gouged out of your head.” Cersei threatens.

Maggy chuckles, but then looks to her side, and grabs a knife from the table next to her. She holds it in her holds, one grasping the handle, the other tracing the sharp edge with her fingertips. “Blood.” She says, before looking back up to Cersei in front of her. “Give me a taste.” She instructs, holding the knife out.

Pausing in thought, staring at the witch and the blade, Cersei eventually takes the knife and almost instantly slices the tip of her thumb with a small whimper from the pain. Before she can hold her hand out for Maggy, she grabs her wrist and yanks her forward, putting Cersei’s thumb in her mouth, sucking and licking her blood from it. Cersei glances back at Melara, seeing the complete fright in her face, before looking back at feeling her thumb and hand being released.

“Three questions you get. You won’t like the answers.” Maggy states as she leans back into her chair.

Cersei holds her head up, already knowing what questions she wants answered and confident she will hear what she wants. “I’ve been promised to the Targaryen prince. When will we marry?” Cersei asks.

“You’ll never wed the prince. You’ll wed a lord.” Maggy answers.

“But I’ve been promised. I was told I’d be queen.” Cersei worryingly processes.

“Oh, you’ll be queen—for a time—then comes another—younger, more beautiful—to cast you down and take all you have left to hold dear.” Maggy informs vaguely, making Cersei slightly confused and increasingly annoyed.

“But if I am to be queen, I must marry a prince—a king. You make no sense. –If I am queen, I must marry a king, it must be so?” Cersei argues.

“No king. –But as I said, you’ll be queen—for a time.” Maggy replies.

“And as I said, you make no sense. –If I am queen, I must sit next to my husband, the king, on the Iron Throne. –So, will the king and I have children?” Cersei asks, her third and final question.

“No. The king will have five children. –None of them yours. –But your lord will have twenty children. And you will have three.” Maggy answers. “Again, you make no sense!” Cersei points out angered, interrupting. “Gold shall be their crowns, --and gold their shrouds.” Maggy finishes.

Cersei did not understand what the witch meant, she made no sense and it just angered her more with every word she spoke.

“Will I marry Jamie?” Melara suddenly chimes, making an angered Cersei staring the witch down, now stare back at Melara for the question she just asked. Melara was her friend, but she had never liked the notion that she would marry her twin brother Jamie.

Maggy stared at Melara, still standing behind Cersei scared, even after mustering enough courage to ask a question. “Not Jaime—nor any other man. –Worms will have your maidenhead. –Your death is here tonight, little one. –Can you smell her breath? She is very close.” Maggy responds, making the both of them look to each other in worry, when the witch suddenly breaks out into a fit of cackles in her chair.

Cersei stares Maggy down once again, but Melara, now petrified, tugs on Cersei’s arm. “Come on, we have to go.” She pleads. “We have to go, Cersei!” Melara continues as she tugs, until Cersei finally turns and they both leave, hearing the laughs of the witch fade as they rush out the hut and back into the forest, headed for home.

As the two stride through the woods, Melara in front of Cersei with sheer determination to get back to the safety of Casterly Rock, Cersei can feel the rise of frustration and confusion within her growing and growing as the witch’s words repeat in her mind.

“I see the well, we’re back, hurry Cersei.” Melara implores, finally snapping Cersei from her thoughts. She notices the treeline ahead of them, seeing the old, unused well that edged a part of her father’s land near Casterly Rock and the woods from which they entered to go see the witch.

Breaking the treeline, Cersei stops to a stand still in it as Melara continues striding ahead, coming next to the well.

“Stop.” Cersei demands, making Melara stop by the well and turn around to see a clearly angered Cersei. “We must go back.” Cersei declares.

“No, Cersei. It is too dangerous. We have to get back home. I want to get back.” Melara protests.

Cersei now takes steps forward to stand in front of Melara. “We must. I need to know more. I want more.” Cersei angrily explains.

“No, you do not. Do not go back there. You heard what she said, that I’ll die tonight. But if we get back inside Casterly Rock, I will be safe. We will be safe. –And we should tell your father about that witch and maybe he can do something about her. Stop her.” Melara babbles.

“What? You cannot tell my father about this, are you mad?” Cersei retorts.

“He can put an end to her and her prophecies.” Melara argues.

“No one can know what she told us, Melara! No one can know we went!” Cersei protests, angered at the thought, embarrassed at the idea of people knowing what Maggy had told her about her future.

“We must do something, Cersei. I do not want to die tonight.” Melara worries.

“No! We will not do anything, because nothing she said will come true. Nothing she said made sense. She is a sham. You will not die tonight.” Cersei frustratingly assures.

Melara stands silent for a moment, processing Cersei’s words. “I was told I would die tonight. I do not wish to risk that by going back out there. If you want to go back then so be it, but I will not be coming with you. I will be telling your father and he will put an end to her and her prophecy.” Melara argues once again, making Cersei’s anger grow even worse by her defiance, and with Melara’s final word she turns around to head back for Casterly Rock. However, as Melara turns Cersei lets out an angered screech just as she reaches her arms out and pushes Melara with force. What Cersei heard next was the echoed scream of Melara falling down the well and then with a thud silence. There was no splash, for the well was old and had been unused for years. So, Cersei knew her friend had hit solid ground. In shock of the few seconds that had just passed, Cersei stepped to the edge of the well and peered down. There was Melara, her friend, splayed at the bottom of the well and she could only just make out the blood around her head.

“Melara?” Cersei softly spoke. Although, she did not expect an answer, she knew her friend was dead. She knew she had just killed her friend. That is when it hit her. What the witch had prophesised had just come true: Melara had died tonight. In turn, this meant that her prophecies were sure to come true as well. For a split second she felt a tinge of happiness. She would be queen, that is what the witch said. King or Lord, no matter, she would be queen, and that is what she dreamed of the most, what she wanted most of all. However, her tinge of happiness passed quickly because she would be queen, but she was told someone younger, someone more beautiful than her would take it from her. She didn’t want this. When she would be queen, she wanted to hold onto it forever, and if someone more beautiful than her was to come along, she wanted to stay young and beautiful, for if she did, than surely no one would be more so than her. Cersei knew what she wanted, so she knew she had to go back.

“What do you want, girl?” Maggy the witch scorns upon hearing someone enter her hut behind.

“I want you to make m--,” Cersei begins, without a moment of hesitation, her confidence just as it was before.

“How’s your friend?” Maggy asks, interrupting her as she turns to face her.

Cersei says nothing in reply, just stares back at her. “How did it feel to see her at the bottom of that well?” Maggy continues, shocking Cersei that she knew what had happened to Melara.

“How do you--,” Cersei begins, but is interrupted once again.

“What do you want?” Maggy questions once again, but turns her attentions back to whatever she was making at her table before Cersei came in.

“You said I’d be queen, but only until someone younger and more beautiful came to take it from me.” Cersei explains, pushing the thoughts of Melara and the witch’s knowledge of it aside. “Aye.” Maggy affirms.

“I want you to make me stay young and beautiful forever.” Cersei announces, making Maggy stop what she was doing at her table and look over.

“What makes you think I can do such things, girl?” Maggy ponders.

“Melana’s prophecy came true. Then you knew what happened to her. –And you’re a witch. You must be able to. And you will do this, or my father will hear about what you did to Melara.” Cersei threatens, using Melara’s death to her advantage.

Maggy scoffs at the proposal and in slight astonishment at Cersei. She knew she was a strong-willed girl, and that is how she knew she would fair well under her magic.

“And why, little one, do you wish to stay young and beautiful?” Maggy questions, wanting to hear the words from her mouth.

“If I am to be queen, I want to stay queen. If I am young and beautiful forever, then no one else will be able to take it from me. You’re a witch, and so you can make it that way.” Cersei answers.

“You are lucky, little one. This kind of spell requires fairest blood, which I can smell you possess.” Maggy informs, but Cersei says nothing in response, not entirely knowing what she meant.

“To do this, it will require payment.” Maggy adds.

“What it is that you want? Besides keeping your life?” Cersei responds, still holding her confidence and threats.

Maggy scoffs again in amusement. “I want your friend.” She declares, taking Cersei by surprise.

“But she’s dead?” Cersei ponders.

“A young girl’s decaying body has—useful properties, little one.” Maggy explains.

“Fine. Take her. You clearly know where she is.” Cersei agrees, without a moment of contemplation for her friend, for she thought not having her body around would be easier to explain to people back home than it being at the bottom of a well.

Maggy smiles, making Cersei slightly uncomfortable but she doesn’t dare show it. “Hand me that bottle of milk there, little one.” Maggy orders as she starts to pick some herbs from hanging plants around her. Cersei does as she’s told and when she turns back, coming to the witch’s side, she takes the milk from her and grabs a bowl from the table. She pours the milk in, sprinkling in the herbs she plucked. “Hand.” She says, holding her own out to her side for Cersei to give hers over, and she does. Maggy grabs it and holds her hand over the bowl as she grabs the same knife from earlier.

“This spell will make your beauty your power and protection, little one. And by fairest blood it is done.” Maggy declares, before slicing Cersei’s palm, making her wince from the pain and three drops of her blood falling into the bowl. “Drink, child.” Maggy orders just as she closes her eyes and starts to speak in what was a language Cersei had never heard or come across before and so she knew she was casting the spell. Without another moment’s hesitation, Cersei grabbed the bowl and began to drink the milky concoction as Maggy continued her magic.

As Cersei took her final sip from the bowl, Maggy stopped her spell casting and as Cersei brings the bowl down, Maggy suddenly grasps her chin, moving Cersei’s gaze to look directly at her.

“Is that it?” Cersei questions as she is made to stare into Maggy’s yellow eyes as she stares into hers.

“It is done. The spell has taken hold.” Maggy announces as she turns to start writing something on a piece of paper.

“What happens now?” Cersei asks, wondering what it was she doing.

“You will continue to grow, grow until you are a woman—a woman with admirable youth and beauty. Then, when the spell deems you of age, you will harness its power. But at this age, you will require the consumption of youth to retain your beauty. –This is how you will stay young and beautiful, little one.” Maggy explains as she writes on the small piece of paper.

“And how am I to consume youth?” Cersei questions.

Maggy then faces back to Cersei, with the piece of paper in hand. “When the spell deems you of age, you will know. Then, and only then, will you go to where this paper tells you. There you will find a golden mirror. This will be the source of your power, little one. –It will tell you all you need to know. All you have to say, is ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest, of them all?’.” Maggy continues, handing the paper over.

Cersei looks down at the paper, and see it is blank, but she had seen the witch write something on it. “It’s blank.” Cersei points out.

“When it is time, it will show itself. –Now, you have everything you require, so leave. I wish to get your friend before nightfall.” Maggy informs.

Cersei, without a nod or any response, stares for a moment before turning to leave, clasping the piece of paper in her hand tightly, not wanting to lose it. Then as she gets to the entrance of the witch’s hut, she is stopped by Maggy.

“Be warned child, you shall be queen, but this spell will not stop the rest of your prophecy from becoming your fate. And by fairest blood this spell was done, but by fairest blood this spell can be undone.” Maggy warns eerily.

Cersei heeds this warning for a second, but again does not let it faze her, her confidence as strong as ever, as strong as the lion of her family Sigil.

“We’ll see.” Cersei asserts before she strides out of the witch’s hut, leaving Maggy with a growing smirk on her face.

Chapter Text

-- 30 years later –-

For centuries there was peace in Westeros. The dynamic had been the same, all the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms holding their Sigil’s in their respective lands. The North is held by House Stark at Winterfell, their family Sigil the Direwolf and house words ‘Winter Is Coming’. Lord Eddard Stark, a great friend to the King, acts as warden of the North in service to the crown and Seven Kingdoms. The Vale is held by House Arryn at The Eyrie, their family Sigil the Falcon and house words ‘As High As Honor’. The Riverlands is held by House Tully at Harrenhal, their family Sigil the Trout and house words ‘Family. Duty. Honor’. The Iron Islands are held by House Greyjoy at Pyke, their family Sigil the Kraken and house words ‘We Do Not Sow’. The Westerlands is held by House Lannister at Casterly Rock, their family Sigil the Lion and house words ‘Hear Me Roar’. The Reach is held by House Tyrell at Highgarden, their family Sigil the Rose and house words ‘Growing Strong’. Dorne is held by House Martell at Sunspear, their family Sigil the Sun and Spear and house words ‘Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.’. The Stormlands is held by House Baratheon at Storm’s End, their family Sigil the Stag and house words ‘Ours Is The Fury’. Robert Baratheon is also a great friend to the King – King Aerys Targaryen. House Targaryen, hold the Crownslands at The Red Keep in the capitol of King’s Landing, their family Sigil the Three-Headed Dragon and house words ‘Noble Fire’.

Westeros had been at each other’s throats for centuries before the Targaryen ancestor Baelor Targaryen united the kingdoms. He rode from a destroyed Valyria in Essos after the volcanic event and destruction now known as the Doom of Valyria, which shattered the Valyrian Peninsula and wiped out almost all the dragons in the world and created the much-feared Smoking Sea. The only survivors of Valyria and with the last dragons, Baelor on his dragon Balerion rode for Westeros with his two dragon riding sisters, Rhaenys Targaryen on Mereaxes and Vicennia Targaryen on Vhargar. They sought a new home and the everlasting battles for territory in Westeros was widely known across even Essos, so they flew the Sunset Sea and over Westeros landing south of the Riverlands, where they eventually built their new home, now known as the Crownslands. The seven kingdoms were united by Baelor and his sister’s conquest of Westeros, bringing the kings of each of the seven kingdoms together to forge one united land. With all seven kingdoms at peace, each bent the knee to Baelor and became Lords of their regions and Torrhen Stark, the former king of the North, was named the Warden of the North by Baelor to defend of any threats beyond the North where the lands had been deemed ‘The Lands of Always Winter’. Baelor was then anointed by The High Septon, in Oldtown at The Citadel, with the seven oils, who placed a crown upon his head and proclaimed him Baelor of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. And thus, the three-headed dragon became House Targaryen’s Sigil, representing the three dragon riders and their dragons, and their house words were deemed ‘Noble Fire’. Subsequently, during the building of King’s Landing, Baelor and his sisters lived at Dragonstone, an offshore castle on its own small island, formerly owned by the Riverlands. When King’s Landing was finally constructed and named capitol of Westeros, using the swords of old time, Baelor forged the Iron Throne with dragon fire, his seat of ruling. A seat worthy of a king as he ruled from his throne in the Red Keep. The Crownslands were then marked, with some South of the Riverlands and some North of the Stormlands forming the new Crownslands. Over the years, the Iron Islands, offshore beside the Riverlands and Westerlands, eventually became its own region, separating itself from the Riverlands of which it had been considered apart of. And so, with the building of the Crownslands and the Iron Islands becoming its own region, the seven kingdoms eventually became nine, although the name stayed the same.

After the dragons passed, the world saw no more dragons, but the dragon blood still flowed through Targaryen veins and even without the dragons, they were still respected and seen as the noble royal power. Centuries on and peace in Westeros was still in-tact. All the regions in the Seven Kingdoms had known peace and prosperity, with a Targaryen on the iron throne and a Stark as Warden of the North. All the houses held each other in respect and many becoming great friends, much like the King and the Starks and Baratheons. Lord Eddard Stark was the current Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell and Robert Baratheon the Lord of Storm’s End. The three were much like brothers, loyal to each other to the end. King Aerys Targaryen, married Elena Stark, Eddard’s sister who subsequently became Elena Targaryen and Queen of Westeros. The King and Queen have always been happily married, and they often tell their children the story of how they became each other’s; how Aerys was promised to another, Cersei Lannister, but he couldn’t help his own heart which was happily stolen by Elena. Married as prince and princess, they had three children and before their first born, Elena had made a wish to all the gods. Walking through the Red Keep’s gardens during the end of the last winter, Elena saw a red rose blooming in defiance of the cold. Seeing this rose, so much in bloom despite the colds of the last bits of snow, she wished for her children, or even just a child if she were ever to be so blessed, to have the Targaryen white hair much like the snow. But most of all to have all of the strength and spirit of that red rose, that seemed so alive against the white snow. And not nine months later, was her first child born: their eldest son Viserys. Then came their next son Rhaegar a year later and then their first daughter Bellaria a couple years after. Their next daughter was born five years later, in which they had taken the throne during those years becoming King and Queen of Westeros. However, the Queen’s health had altered during her pregnancy with her second daughter in the last months, so she was taken to Dragonstone for the fresher and coastal air to birth. The second daughter was named Daenerys but unlike her siblings, Queen Elena bestowed a middle name on the child. The day she was born was during a great storm and through Elena’s and the newborn's strength she was given the name Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen. The King and Queen’s final child was their youngest son Aegon, born three years after Daenerys, and they were the five Targaryen princes and princesses of Westeros. All of which sported the infamous Targaryen white-blonde hair, despite the dark-haired head of their mother. Both parents would tell them it was because of the strong Targaryen and dragon blood that flowed in their veins; even after all these years after the fall of the dragons, because they were now the dragons. Dislike was in short supply for the Targaryen royals, especially that of the children. The people adored the family’s nobility and rule, and the people of King’s Landing held a special place for the little princess Daenerys. She in particular was adored throughout the capitol, as much for her defiant spirit as for her beauty and kindness, for she always had time for those outside the Red Keep. But as much as dislike was in short supply, still a little lingered for the family in the shadows of Westeros.

Peace and prosperity was always known in Westeros for centuries, but soon, unbeknownst to most, this peace would soon crumble and shatter before their very eyes. For Tywin Lannister, had held hatred in secret for House Targaryen ever since his daughter, Cersei, was cast aside. Promised to the King when he was a prince, that promise was broken when Aerys and Elena fell in love and married against the promise. Aery’s father, the former King, stood by his son’s actions and heart and secured Cersei a match with a Martell. All seemed well, but Tywin and Cersei felt disrespected and humiliated and so started the fire of their hatred. For years, Tywin and his young daughter held this hatred, right until Cersei was a grown woman with children of her own. After her third child was born, her Martell husband suddenly died. Many speculated Cersei had killed him and that the children were not from her Martell husband but from her brother Jamie as he resided in Dorne with his sister for many years as a family companion. The three children Cersei birthed all adorned the golden hair of the Lannister’s, but many saw this and the death of the Martell as speculation and rumour and was merely forgotten over time. Except for Dorne. They still remember and still believe he was murdered by Cersei Lannister, who following the death took her children back to Casterly Rock with Jamie where they have resided for several years. The incident was resolved with Cersei remaining in Casterly Rock with her father as Dorne wanted nothing to do with her and Oberyn Martell becoming the new Lord of Dorne. When back with her father, Tywin and Cersei secretly spoke of their hatred for the Targaryen’s and how they had held reign over Westeros for long enough. They secretly plotted behind closed doors, waiting for their moment, the right moment to slyly gain allies and take their chance at seizing the throne for themselves as the two desired power most of all. And the Iron Throne was the seat of all power.

Chapter Text

Three drops of blood. Three drops fell when I cut my finger. Snagging it on a thorn when picking an injured bird off the ground beneath a tree. William and I had been playing in the woods of the Crownslands, outside the capitol, as always. Ever since his father, Robert Baratheon, sent him to live with us and learn the ways of a nobleman as his oldest son, we both enjoyed running around and into the closest woods we could get to. We had been close friends ever since his arrival. I was his closest in age at six, being only a year younger, and we became quick companions over the last few years. Now I was ten and he eleven; still as close as ever. We argued and fought a lot, for he annoyed me just like a brother would, but he was my closest friend, one I was blessed to have and hoped to always keep.

We had been climbing an apple tree around the edge of the woods outside the capitol when we found the bird. I was sat on the first branch admiring the view as William climbed higher. I had told him to be careful, for I knew if he fell it would be both of us getting into some form of trouble. He had assured he’d be fine and was just getting me an apple. When he picked one, he climbed down closer to my branch and held it out for me to take. However, when I did he retracted his arm with a smirk before biting down on the apple. A trick I always fell for and was annoyed by every time. As William jumped from the tree with a laugh, I jumped down after him. It was then we heard the squark of the bird and found him around the other side of the apple tree.

“Ouch.” I whisper as I snag my thumb on a thorn on the ground besides the fallen bird.

“Are you alright, Daenerys?” William queries, seeing the three drops of blood now sat on a fallen leaf on the ground.

“I’m fine, just a little snag of blood, that’s all.” I brush off as I pick up the injured bird. “Come on, we must get him back, he needs help.” I urge, the two of us striding back towards the capitol in aid of the bird.

The walk was long but neither of us cared, we enjoyed the journey, always seeking adventure and time away from the Red Keep. Although, the walk through the village I always enjoyed. The people going about their day in their respective jobs and routines I found I greatly admired and sometimes envied. The people were always kind and generous and every time I ventured out into the capitol or outside it, I would make sure to see the usual people. We went past the bakers, the library, the market stalls, the whole town the same as the day before and I loved it. The librarian, the bakers, the stallholders, everyone we past, all greeted us with care and happiness. Usually I would stop and talk, browse their goods, but today I didn’t have time, for the bird needed aid, so I merely waved and smiled as William and I marched through the village of the capitol.

Coming back into the castle, William right on my tail, I carried the injured bird with care and we made our way into the council chambers where I knew I would find my mother dealing with the final preparations for the upcoming wedding of my eldest brother Viserys, for he was marrying Elia Martell of Dorne. In the council chambers, I found both my mother and father conversing with the Kingsguard, no doubt about the family houses arrival the next day. However, this did not bother me, the bird needed help, I just wasn’t sure what and that is what I needed mother for, I knew she would know what to do.

“Mother.” I call, William standing quiet behind me. Both mother and father and the group of knights all turn to our direction as I come striding into the chamber cradling the bird in my hands. I see slight faces of concern from both my parents, but they quickly turn to ones of smiles at the sight of the bird.

“We found it in the woods. It’s injured mother.” I announce coming up to stand before her as she crouches down to my level to receive me.

She looks down at the bird, lightly stroking it’s back in pity. “Aw. It must have broken it’s wing. Don’t worry, it will heal with time and rest.” Elena informs softly.

“I’ll look after it.” I happily proclaim, making my mother’s smile shine a lighter brighter.

“You possess rare beauty, my love. In here.” She declares as she strokes my cheek and gestures to my heart. “Never lose it.” She adds, making me smile in turn.

“Aren’t you too meant to be in your lessons for the day?” Aerys points out with a knowing smirk, making William and I glance at each other, knowing that’s exactly where we should have been.

My father chuckles a little to himself. “William, go on down to the courtyard, Viserys and Rhaegar will be down there with Aegon practising archery already.” Aerys gently orders and without hesitation William obliges, rushing off to the courtyard for archery lessons. “Yes, your grace.”.

I watched him rush out the room and all I felt was jealousy. I loved archery, ever since Rhaegar had let me try it once in secret, and then Jorah the knight as well. I had even got pretty good. It was better than needlework. Bellaria was always good at it, but I couldn’t seem to enjoy it; I would much rather be out there with my brothers and William.

“Now, Ser Jorah, would you be so kind as to chaperone Daenerys to her needlework lesson. I fear she may need an escort to ensure her arrival.” Aerys lightly jokes and asks, still wearing a slight smirk.

“Yes, your grace.” Ser Jorah complies with a smile.

“Do I have to go? It’s boring. Why can’t I go with William and Aegon?” I question.

“Because you’re a lady and ladies sew. They do not take arms.” Aerys explains gently.

“Well, then I don’t want to be a lady. Can I be something else?” I plead, gaining the chuckles from the men and my parents in the room.

“I’m sorry, my love. But how about, just for now, you pretend to be a lady. For us.” Elena urges lovingly.

I let out a disappointed sigh, hanging my head just a little. “Alright.” I give in.

“Come on, little one.” Ser Jorah says as he begins to lead me out the chambers with a smile at my young spirit.

“That one is going to be trouble, you know that, right?” Aerys whispers to Elena happily as they watch Daenerys leave with Ser Jorah.

“And where does she get it from, I wonder?” Elena jokes, raising her eyebrows slightly at Aerys, earning an amused scoff from him.

Once we had left the chambers and turned the corner of the halls, Jorah tapped me on the shoulder, getting my attention and nodded towards the ceiling and I knew what that meant. My face lit up as I nodded my head in excitement. He immediately picked me up and propped me on his shoulders, holding me firm there as he began to speed around the halls. I would hold my arms out and pretend I was a riding a dragon, laughing as Jorah would make funny noises pretending he was breathing fire when I would say ‘dracarys’, the Valyrian word for dragon fire he had told me.

Jorah was a knight in the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the King who sat upon the Iron Throne, so sworn to protect my father and his family, until my eldest brother would then take the throne, and he would be sworn to protect him and his family also. Nearly all of them seemed like they had the personality of stone, dedicated to duty, having no time for anything else. There was even one knight that frightened me just a little. He had a huge scar down the side of his face, the scarred half the result of a burn Jorah had explained to me and he seemed especially cold and scary. The Hound they called him. But I liked Jorah. He always made an effort with us, especially me, and was kind and joyful. I enjoyed his company and he had always seen me as more than just a little princess, he knew I wanted to do more than just needlework lessons, and I liked him all the more for it.

“Alright, dragon rider, time to get down.” Jorah declares as we stand outside the door with my lesson on the other side of it, bringing me down off his shoulders.

“I believe this one belongs here at this time.” Ser Jorah announces as he urges me into the chambers with the rest of the ladies and my sister already embroidering away.

“Thank you, Ser Jorah. I was wondering where this one had got to.” Mistress Alana replies, ushering me to come forward and start with some needlework. As I close the door behind me, I look to Jorah with a disappointed face for being left here, but before I close the door, he gives me a kind wink before taking his leave. As I watch him stride down the hall, I am hollered to take a stool and begin, so I sit on the closest stool to the door; quickly followed by being handed my hoop and fabric, and needle and thread.

I had barely been in the lesson with all the other ladies for long before I was already bored and wishing to be somewhere else as I gazed out the window. I could hear my brothers and William from the courtyard, the distant sounds of laughing and the swoosh of arrows.

“Fine work as always, well done, Bellaria.” Mistress Alana praises, crouched in front of Bellaria admiring her work, snapping me from my thoughts. “Thank you.” Bellaria beams.

Mistress Alana and Bellaria continued on into a conversation about her needlework, becoming quite engrossed as I continued to hear the distant sounds of the archery lesson through the window. The boredom and desire to be outside finally climaxed and I wondered if this was a moment to slip out. Mistress Alana was deep in conversation, as were the ladies in deep concentration on their embroidery. If I were quiet enough, I could slip out now unnoticed and looking at the door, I had left it ajar so they wouldn’t hear the latch of the door. And so, I took my chance. Laying my embroidery down, and standing slowly from my stool, I backed up to the door, pushing it open a little more for me to get through before slipping out and racing down the hall.

I didn’t stop rushing through the halls until I finally got outside into the courtyard and saw over by the archery corner, my brothers and William still practising. I made my way over, creeping through until I came under the balcony edge, where the other bows and arrows were stored. From there, I started to watch on as William was being taught to shoot. Even now, he had never really got the hang of it and I teased him from time to time about it. As I stand covertly under the balcony ledge, he shoots an arrow and it lands itself into a barrel besides the target, making me smirk and I can see the same expression on Rhaegar and Viserys faces too. He stomps his foot, clearly his anger rising as it looks as if he hasn’t hit the target once yet. Rhaegar, ever the kindest, comes to his shoulder level and urges him on.

“Go on, you can do it. And our father’s watching. And our mother.” He quietly pushes, although I still hear him from behind amongst the equipment. The four of them look up to the balcony ledge and I realise mother and father must now be watching. William nods his head slightly in acknowledgement before they all turn back. He places an arrow and raises his bow again, only to shoot the arrow straight over the target and into the wall. William immediately hangs his head and throws the bow to the ground as all three of my brothers, even little Aegon, chuckle at his failure. Even I had to stifle a little amused scoff.

“And which one of you was a marksman at 11.” I hear father call down from above on the ledge, making them all stop their laughing and look up to the balcony. “Keep practising, William. Go on.” He adds, and although I can’t see my father or mother, I can picture their kind smiles.

William picks up his bow, staring to place another arrow just as an idea forms in my head.

“Don’t think too much, William.” Rhaegar advises as he stretches his arrow back.

“Relax your bow arm.” Viserys adds as William holds his arrow and not a moment sooner an arrow flies forward and straight into the bullseye of the target, passing at William’s side. His head whips around knowing the arrow wasn’t his and my brothers look back in shock and confusion for the same reasons, for them all to see the arrow came from me. Smiling, I hold my bow at my side, pleased at where my arrow landed on the target, the secret lessons from Jorah paying off. As all four of them look at me, I playfully curtsy immediately making William angry and begin chasing after me as me and my brothers start to laugh at the event.

“Run, Dany.” Rhaegar jokingly calls.

“A stag is no match for a dragon.” I cheerily call, glancing back to see my brothers still chuckling and mother and father smiling at the whole thing from the balcony.

“May all the gods help the man she ends up marrying. He’ll need it with that one.” Aerys cheerfully jokes with a chuckle. “A free spirit if ever I saw one.” Aerys lovingly states between him and Elena on the balcony.

“Good.” Elena smiles. “She’s my red rose.” She whispers to herself through her smile.

After the incident in the courtyard, William and I had gone to our rooms. When I plucked his nerve, I knew it best to give him space. So, I read in my room. I enjoyed reading, especially about the histories and songs of the lands. Out of all my lessons, history and singing I had to admit I enjoyed. The books I would get from our castle’s selection, but I also loved to venture into the village’s library to borrow the books. The librarian was kind and he would always listen to my praise of each book upon it’s return and refer another he thought I’d like. I was currently reading a history book when I heard a knock at the door and permitted whoever it was to enter.

“It’s just me.” Rhaegar announces as he creaks the door open and enters, and I noticed he was holding what looked like a small rug in one hand.

“Hello, brother.” I greet from the bed. “You saw my archery, I’ve gotten good haven’t I?” I gleam.

Rhaegar scoffs under his breath amused with a smile. “Yes, you have. And curious, seeing as I only let you have one lesson in secret. Now, I don’t remember you being that good.” He points out, still smiling as if he knew how.

I glance at the floor, not having thought about what people were going to think about my ability. I just loved it too much to think. “Jorah has been teaching me in secret, after you gave me a lesson. I just loved it so much. But please don’t tell, brother. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” I plead.

Rhaegar smiles. “I won’t.” he responds. “Promise?” I ask.

“Promise.” He repeats. “Now—close the door. I have something for you.” He announces.

“A present?” I beam with a smile and Rhaegar smiles back but just nods to the door. I jump down from the bed and rush over to the door as Rhaegar approaches the bed. Upon closing it, I turn around and see as Rhaegar turns that he is holding a sword. It wasn’t a big sword like father’s or what he or Viserys would have, it was small and slim, as if it were made for someone small, like me. My eyes widened at the sight of it and I stepped over to stand in front of Rhaegar holding the sword out in both hands.

“This is no toy.” He states before unsheathing the small sword and handing me the handle. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself.” He warns.

“It’s so skinny.” I point out, holding the sword in front of me, admiring the craftmanship and blade.
“So are you.” Rhaegar smiles. The sword wasn’t big and flat like father’s, it was just right for me, small and skinny.

“I went to the blacksmith last week, had him make it for you special. He finished it today. I figured a girl learning to shoot, will one day want to learn to swing a sword.” Rhaegar announces.

“Wait, if you went to him last week, how did you know I was learning to shoot, brother?” I question.

“Who do you think asked Jorah to teach you, Dany?” Rhaegar smiles, making me smile back.

“Now, that sword won’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re quick enough.” He points out.

“I can be quick.” I respond.

“You’ll have to work at it every day. Jorah and I will help you.” Rhaegar states and I nod in response.

“How’s it feel? Do you like the balance?” he asks.

“I think so.” I reply as I hold the sword.

Rhaegar, smiling, bends down to my eye level, holding my shoulder. “First lesson, stick them with the pointy end.” He jokes.

“I know which end to use.” I retort.

Rhaegar lightly chuckles as he rises back to his height. “May all the gods help anyone who crosses you, ey?” he teases a little.

“Because no one can match a dragon, right?” I gleam.

Rhaegar smiles. “Right.” He replies.

“Thank you, brother.” I sincerely thank as I go to hug him. “Careful.” Rhaegar warns, looking to the sword still in my hand.

I carefully place it down on it’s wrap on the bed, before looking back to my brother and then jumping up to hug him as he catches me against his chest and he holds me as we both hug.

“All the best swords, have name’s you know.” Rhaegar points out as my head rests against his shoulder.

I think for a moment, wondering what I could call my sword. I didn’t want to give it a mighty name, for it wasn’t a mighty sword like father’s Dragon’s Breath Valyrian sword. It was small and skinny, like me. Then, that is when it hit me.

“Bellaria can keep her sewing needles. I have a needle of my own.” I proclaim.

“Sounds fitting.” Rhaegar replies as I hug him tighter. He and I had always been just that little closer than all my siblings, although we all loved each other dearly, Rhaegar was like my confidant and I loved him for all that he did for me. “I love you, brother.” I softly say.

“I love you too, Dany.” Rhaegar replies.

For the rest of the day, I had spent my time in my room, practising with my sword. Mirroring moves I had seen off others, although I knew I had not the knowledge of what to do. I was just too excited to wait for a lesson from Jorah or Rhaegar in the coming days. It was night and candles were lit in my room before anyone knocked on my door. Following the knock, my door opened and my father stood in the entrance, not giving me the time to hide my sword, so seeing him stand there I figured I might as well own it.

“May I come in?” Aerys asks and I nod his admittance. After closing the door behind him, as he turns back around that is when he notices my sword in my hand, held down at my side.

“Daenerys, who’s sword is that?” he shockingly but calmly questions.

“Mine.” I am quick to answer.

“Give it to me.” He gently orders and I hand my sword over, which he was now looking over.

“I know this maker’s mark, this is Mickon’s work. Where did you get this?” Aerys asks.

Not wanting to snitch on my brother, I say nothing, not knowing what else to say and nor did I want to lie to my father.

He scoffs slightly, and I can see the hint of a smile. “And I suppose if I ask how you’ve become quite the marksman at 10, I will hear nothing as well?” he ponders, making me hang my head ever so slightly as I stay quiet again.

He starts to walk over to the bed, probably spotting the sword’s casing. “Well, I think I can guess who has had a hand in all this. I will be talking to your brother after this.” Aerys states as he places it down next to it’s casing.

“He’s not in trouble now is he, father? It was just a gift.” I worry.

“No, little one, he is not in trouble. I won’t scold him for being a loving brother. I just wish I was aware of all this, is all.” Aerys explains as he turns around and sits on the bed.

“That is no toy you have here. A little lady shouldn’t play with swords.” Aerys points out.

“I wasn’t playing. And I don’t want to be a lady.” I proclaim firm.

The hint of a smile edges back onto my father’s face just before he then pats the space next to him on the bed for me to join, to which I comply. He picks up the sword once again, holding it out in front of us. “Now, what do you want with this?” he asks gently.

“It’s called Needle.” I correct.

“Ah. A blade with a name.” He starts. “And who were you hoping to skewer with Needle? Your sister, or William perhaps?” he lightly jokes.

“No.” I simply reply quietly.

“Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?” Aerys questions.

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end.” I state confidently, repeating Rhaegar’s words, making my father laugh and me smile hearing it. “Yes, that’s the essence of it.” He agrees.

“There’s a lot more to it than that, little one. And even after you’ve mastered a sword, there’s a weight that comes with using it.” Aerys explains more seriously. “Not anything that should burden a little lady such as yourself, or the woman you’ll grow up to become.” He continues. “I know you enjoy such things, but as I have said—a lady does not take arms.” Aerys finishes.

“And as I have said—I don’t want to be a lady, father.” I retort.

Aerys sighs lightly. “One day, your brother Viserys will take the Iron Throne. And your other brothers will become Lords of some Holdfasts or Castles, and sit on the King’s council, or they may join the Kingsguard. And—,” Aerys begins.

“Can I be a Lord of a Holdfast?” I interrupt, making my father chuckle with a grin. He smiles as he leans and puts his arm around my shoulders comfortingly and kisses my forehead, making me smile with him.

“And you will marry a high Lord, and no doubt rule his castle.” Aerys continues. “And your sons shall be knights, and Lords.” He finishes, still holding his smile.

“No—that’s not me.” I simply respond.

My father sighs once again, looking down at my sword in his hand, admiring it as I did when Rhaegar gave it to me. “Go on—it’s yours.” Aerys gives in softly and my smile returns.

I hop down off the bed and take Needle from him. “I can keep it?” I question, grinning from ear to ear.

“Try not to stab your sister with it, or anyone for that matter.” He jokingly warns.

I swing the sword from side to side carefully, with one hand behind my back, and then hold it out flat in front in a lunge making my father scoff in amusement.

“If you want to own a sword, you better know how to use it.” He proclaims.

“I will.” I respond, bringing the sword down to my side.

“I know.” He says. “Now—I came to find you for dinner, it’s being served. Your mother will be wondering where we are.” He announces as he walks past towards the door.

I put the sword back down with its casing and rush over to the door where my father was waiting. “Thank you, father.” I say at his side in the door entrance, before hugging his side and he begins stroking my head comfortingly. “Come on now, little one.” He gently urges and I relinquish my hold on him as the two of us head for the dinner hall hand in hand.

Chapter Text

Mistress Alana had woken me early. She had told me that my father and mother wished to see me in the council chambers, and I must be dressed immediately. I found it a little odd, seeing as I would be seeing them at breakfast, and they would no doubt be preparing for the arrival of the houses today for Viserys and Elia’s wedding tomorrow. Nevertheless, I dressed and made my way to the council chambers, passing through the great hall with Iron Throne, of which I had always found a little daunting. When I was a lot younger, before I was permitted into the great hall, my father told me of how our ancestor Baelor Targaryen forged the throne with over a thousand swords from old time. At that young age, a thousand swords seemed like so many and in my head, I pictured the throne as this huge, monstruous thing. Now, although it is still daunting, it does not at all look as big as how I pictured.

Opening the door to the council chambers, I braced myself for whatever it was I would be facing. Perhaps mother did not agree with me having a sword?

“And why will the Lannister’s not be attending? And why are we only hearing of this now.” I hear my father say as I open the door.

“The letter only arrived this morning, and it says that some of the Lannisters have fallen ill. Tywin does not state who, only that the remaining will be staying to take care of them. He sends his apologies, my King.” Maester Aemon states.

“The Lannister’s have always seemed to isolate themselves from the crown. Ever since we were married.” Elena points out.

“It’s Tywin. I don’t think he has ever forgiven my father or I for rejecting Cersei and breaking the promise of our union.” Aerys states.

“Perhaps with more time.” Elena says. “All they’ve had is time.” Aerys retorts.

I had been standing in the door listening to the end of the conversation, not taking much note of the topic before finally announcing myself for whatever it was I was sent for.

“You wanted to see me?” I proclaim at the door, warranting the attention of those in the room.

“Daenerys—come, little one.” Aerys urges.

“Good morning, my love.” Elena greets, crouching down to kiss my cheek.

“Good morning, mother—father.” I greet in return.

“How is Needle? I see you have not brought it with you.” Aerys questions.

“I did not think to bring it, father. It is safe in my room.” I answer.

“Well, that is good at least. A sword should be well kept and looked after. You will come to learn this as you learn the ways of your own.” Aerys states.

His comment makes me gleam. “So, I really am able to keep it? Mother doesn’t mind?” I query, making them both smile.

“I told you last night, it’s yours.” Aerys recalls.

“And I see no problem with it. A strong spirit deserves a strong weapon.” Elena proclaims. “Just promise when you learn you’ll be safe, my love.” She adds.

“I will. I promise.” I beam.

“Good—because your first lesson awaits you.” Aerys announces.

“Is it with Rhaegar or Viserys? Or Jorah?” I question excitedly.

“No. It’s with our swordmaster, Syrio Forel.” Aerys declares and although my excitement still gleams, I was a little disappointed it wasn’t Jorah or one of my brothers that would be teaching me, and I did not know Syrio well at all, only by name.

“Sandor, would you escort Daenerys to her lesson please.” Aerys orders.

“Of course, your Grace.” The Hound, one of the knights in the room, responds and steps over to my side.

I gratefully and tightly hug both my mother and father. “Thank you. Thank you.” I blurt as I cling to their sides.

“Come on, little bird.” The Hound urges, and despite the nice nickname, I still found this man to be a little frightening, so I complied with immediacy and started to walk with him to my lesson, and in silence for the whole way.

When we stood at the archway of one of our terrace rooms, the Hound left, and I entered into the room. It was extremely light, for it was open walled at the terrace edge and the light made the room feel airy. The room had no furniture; it was empty, all but for a man stood with his back to me looking out from the terrace as he was holding two wooden swords behind his back crossed over each other.

“You are late, boy.” The man suddenly exclaims as I step into the middle of the room. “Tomorrow you will be here at seven.” He continues as he turns around and his accent caught me off guard, for I could not place it.

“Now—I am you’re dancing master, Syrio Forel.” He introduces, holding the wooden swords out to his side before throwing one at me suddenly. I try to catch it, but I miss, and it clatters to the ground beside me. I look back up to Syrio who frowns in acceptance.

“Next time, you will catch it. Now, pick it up.” Syrio orders and I comply grasping the wooden sword’s handle with both hands.

“That is not the way, boy. There’s not a great sword that is needing two hands to swing it.” Syrio points out.

“It’s too heavy.” I retort.

“It is as heavy as it needs to be to make you strong.” He states as he tosses it up in the air slightly and catches it resting on the back of his hand, perfectly balanced. “One hand is all that is needed.” He adds as he tosses it back up and catches it with one hand, grasping it with it as he points it my way.

“Now, you are standing all wrong. Turn your body sideface.” He instructs and I turn. “Yes.” He says as he pushes different points of my body into the correct stance with his sword. “So, you are skinny. This is good. The target is small.” he declares, after lifting my chin with his sword, but his comment makes me smile in his direction.

“Now, the grip. Let me see.” He orders, holding his sword between his side and arm as he grabs my hand and sword up in between us as I grasp it. “Yes, the grip must be delicate.” He informs as he adjusts it before letting go and stepping away, making the sword lower to the ground from the sudden weight.

“What if I drop it?” I query.

He suddenly pulls his sword out from between his side and arm. “The steel must be part of your arm. Can you drop part of your arm? No.” Syrio begins as he walks around me. “Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos. He knows these things. You must listen to me, boy.” He finishes, finally solving where he was from and also calling me boy for the third time.

“I’m a girl.” I blurt.

“Boy, girl—you are a sword. That is all.” He corrects.

“That is the grip.” He circles back, holding out his sword and showing his grip as demonstration as I try to mirror. “You are not holding a battle-axe, you are holding—,” he starts to critique. “A needle.” I finish with a grin.

“Ahhh.” Syrio smiles as he begins to chuckle. “Just so.” He agrees. “Now, we will begin the dance. Remember child, this is not the dance of the Westeros we are learning. The knights dance of hacking and hammering. This is the Braavo dance. The water dance. It is swift and sudden.” He starts as he moves his sword in motions. “All men are made of water. Do you know this? If you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die.” He explains as he gestures with his sword. “Now you will try to strike me.” He finishes with a nod and turns to start walking forward. Seeing this I start forward to try and strike him with my wooden sword, exclaiming a ‘ha’ as I step his way, but he dodges to the side and I miss. He walks around to come to face me from where I stood, holding his sword out my way in his stance ready for another strike. I start to swing my sword at Syrio, but he blocks every swing with ease. I then bring my sword down at him over my head, pushing forward into it, but he simply spins out the way as I come forward, the weight taking me down to my knees.

I hear a couple taps of the wooden sword against the ground behind me. “Up.” Is the order that follows the sound. I stand and turn to see Syrio turning his back on me and I immediately grasp my sword to take a swing, but he turns and tuts at my two-handed hold. I lower the sword into one hand as he turns back around. A second time, I go to swing at him, but even with his back turned he blocks me and after a couple swings, he manages to get my sword out of my hand, clattering to the floor. I got to pick it up, but he does instead, then nodding back to the middle of the room where we walk back to our starting positions. He throws the sword my way and this time I catch it. “Ah.” Syrio sounds with a smile, pleased that I caught it, and I smirk for the same reason.

I lunge forward to take a swing at him again, but this time he swings his in another direction and touches my side. “Dead.” He says. I try again, but he repeats this again, his sword now against my stomach. “Oh—dead.” He repeats. We start to swing and he blocks my strikes again and again until I lunge forward with my sword and he twist his body to the side. As he grabs my hand that holds my sword, he brings his over his head and holds the tip in front of my face. “Very dead.” He says, making me smile; I was really starting to like Syrio. We start again, me stepping to take strikes at him, and he blocking them. After a few swings he gets hold of my arm and spins me around until our swords cross. We continue again and again and again, right up until lunch time. The lesson was long in time, but when Syrio called it over, it felt like no time had passed at all. I did not want to stop, I even pleaded to keep going, but Syrio told me otherwise. Although, he did say if I were here the same time tomorrow, we could fit in a quick lesson before the day of the wedding began. I figured I would take what I could, but he did also tell of some lessons I could do in the meantime, which I was adamant to carry out.

After finding a bite to eat, having skipped breakfast, I immediately began some of the lessons Syrio had told me about. I wanted to come to tomorrow’s lesson with something to show for, so I started with standing on one foot on my toes at the top of some stairs, before I would start chasing some cats. I wasn’t sure how long I had been balancing at the edge of the stairs I’d chose within the castle, before my father walked by.

“Daenerys? What are you doing?” Aerys asks, nearly walking past but stopping himself at seeing me at the top of these stairs, trying to keep balance on one foot.

“Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” I inform, making a small smile form on my father’s lips.

“It’s a hard fall down those steps.” He points out.

“Syrio says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.” I respond, before bringing my arms and other foot down. “Soon, I’m going to be chasing cats.” I add.

“Cats?” Aerys repeats in confusion but smiles as he catches on. “Ah, Syrio says—,” he starts for me with a smirk. “He says every swordsman should study cats. They’re as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them.” I explain.

Aerys scoffs in amusement. “He’s right about that.”

“I enjoyed my first lesson, thank you, father.” I announce.

“I can tell. And I saw.” He states.

“You saw me? But I didn’t see you come watch?” I ponder.

“Aye, you didn’t see me, but I came and watched a little.” He informs.

“And? Do you think I’ll be good enough for the Kingsguard? Like Jorah?” I question with a grin as I descend the steps to come stand in front of my father and my comment makes him chuckle.

“Yes, I’m sure one day every foe will tremble at your blade, little one.” He proclaims, turning my grin into a beaming smile.

“Now, run along to your chambers. I’m sure Mistress Alana is pulling her hair out wondering where you are. You’re meant to be getting ready for the houses arrival, they’ll be arriving especially soon.” Aerys declares.

“Yes, father.” I reply as he bends and kisses the top of my head, before running off to my chambers.

After going through the pain of getting ready for all the formal arrivals of the houses, I had to make my way to the great hall to receive everyone, to stand alongside my siblings, mother and father. However, when I got there, the hall was completely empty, but I quickly released that Bellaria had obviously told me the wrong place to be so I’d be late.

“Hey, dragon rider. What are you doing in here? I’ve been looking for you. You’re meant to be at the Red Keep’s entrance courtyard.” Jorah calls from down the hall, turning my attention out the great hall towards him in his approach.

“Bellaria told me we were to greet the houses here.” I explain.

“Well, it appears she has told you wrong.” Jorah smiles.

“Of course, she did.” I scowl, making Jorah smirk. “Come on, little one. The King and Queen are wondering where you’ve got to.” Jorah urges, taking my hand, which I grasped gladly.

“Can I try on your helmet, Jorah?” I ask. He looks down and he doesn’t take much convincing as he takes it off and places it on my head almost instantly.

“I hear you’ve taken up sword fighting. Now with a knight’s armour, you’ll be part of the Kingsguard in no time. A noble knight.” Jorah proclaims playfully.

I have to lift the helmet up to look up at him as it doesn’t fit me quite right over my smaller head. “You really think so?” I gleam.

He smiles in response. “Oh, I know so.” He replies.

When we got into the entrance courtyard, I spot my family all stood, lined up heading the welcoming party and that is when I hear the sounds of hooves and carts coming close to our entrance arches. The sound makes me start to dash across the courtyard, my hand slipping from Jorah’s without a thought, not wanting to be in trouble for not being stood in line in time. I hear Jorah call my name behind me and the sound of his armour as he clearly speeds behind me, but I don’t stop for him. It is only when I reach my mother and father and my father stops me from walking past that I realise I am still wearing Jorah’s helmet. For when I go to look up, I cannot see.

“Hey, hey, hey.” My father says as he stops me from rushing past and then lifts the helmet up to see my face. I half expect his expression to be a little disappointed but all I see is a smile. “What are you doing with that on?” he quietly queries as he takes it off. I glance to see mother is also smiling, as well as my other siblings.

“Go on.” Aerys urges nodding to the other end of the line where I was meant to be standing, along with Aegon and Bellaria as well as William behind us, before he throws the helmet back to Jorah, who then proceeds to take his place behind with the other knights of the Kingsguard.

One after the other, the houses of Westeros entered on their horses and in their carriages and carts. We greeted them all, though many only really acknowledged my mother and father. We welcomed all the great houses and other smaller houses, many came, but not the Lannisters and it was then I remembered what I heard father and mother talking about, that they would not be coming. I had never met the Lannisters, though I had heard many stories, everyone had. One Lannister in particular did not sound particularly nice, and that was of Cersei Lannister. She always sounded mean and cunning in any story she was mentioned in.

Among the arrivals was the Baratheon’s. Robert Baratheon has been a long-time friend of my father and to the family, which is why he had sent his son William to us to learn the ways of a nobleman. With Robert Baratheon and also Eddard Stark alongside my father, the three were like brothers when together. I remembered more of Robert as he visited more often than the Starks. Living in the Stormlands, they were much closer than the North, but even still the visits weren’t frequent. Like the rest of the houses, they arrived with some of their families and an entourage of men. Robert Baratheon arrived with his wife Lyanna and their daughter, William’s younger sister, Lillia, along with their loyal group of Stormlands men. Upon approach, the Baratheon’s knelt before us, like all the others, and waited for my father to release them from their kneel.

“Get up you old fool.” Aerys jokes with a chuckle making Robert laugh as he rises back to a stand.

“’Rys. It’s good to see you, my friend.” Robert greets, informally now the kneeling was over, as the two embrace in a hug. “And you too.” Aerys agrees.

“Elena, still as beautiful as ever, my dear.” Robert compliments Elena, kissing her on the cheek. “You’re too kind, my Lord.” She replies.

Robert then turns to us children as Lyanna and Lillia greet mother and father. “Vis’, what a fine man you’ve become over these last years. A lucky girl that Martell.” Robert states with a slap on the arm. “It is I that is the lucky one, my Lord.” Viserys graciously corrects.

“Now, Rhae’. A fine man you have also become, I see.” Robert repeats. “I try to be, my Lord.” Rhaegar simply replies.

“Bell’, you seem to have grown much since I last saw you. You are almost as tall as your brothers.” Robert declares. “And still growing, my Lord.” Bellaria smiles.

“Ah, here are the little rug rats. Terrorising the kingdom much?” Robert playfully questions. “No, my Lord.” Aegon and I both respond. “Well, what about my son? Daenerys, have you been running that boy around?” He asks and I can’t help myself but smirk which answers his question just as well as words. “Aye, I thought so.” He says.

“Now, where is my son?” Robert queries aloud.

“Father.” William greets as he moves around to the front, and embraces his father, followed by his mother and sister.

“You look good, my son. The capitol agrees with you.” Robert points out. “How has he faired these last years, Aerys? Not much trouble I hope?” he questions.

“William has been a welcome addition to the Keep. No trouble at all.” Elena proclaims.

“No trouble except only the trouble Daenerys gets him in.” Aerys adds teasingly.

“Aye, that I can believe.” Robert chuckles.

With the greetings of the Baratheon’s over and after they had made their way into the castle to their rooms, the next and last house of the day arrived: The Starks. Just like the others, they knelt until told to stand, only my father said no words, he merely motioned with his fingers. Eddard Stark and his son, along with their men, rose and everyone was silent as the two stood before each other.

“You’ve got fat.” Eddard Stark suddenly states. “Your Grace.” He adds and his comment makes my father’s eyebrows raise as he then looks Eddard up and down in question as if he were saying he got it the wrong way around. The two then begin laughing between one another and embrace in a hard hug.

“Elena.” Eddard greets as he kisses her cheek and they two embrace in a hug. “Brother.” Elena greets in turn.

“It is nice to see your face, rather than a name in a letter.” Elena points out. “And yours too, sister.” Eddard agrees.

“Seven years. Why haven’t we seen you? Where the hell have you been?” Aerys queries cheerfully.

“Guarding the North for you, your Grace, as always. Although, I am glad to be here and see your faces once again.” Eddard states.

“And I yours, my friend. But where is the rest of your Northern clan, ‘Ned? I see only Robb at your side.” Aerys asks.

“Aye, Cat and the rest still reside at Winterfell, I send her apologies. The few days before travelling were eventful. I tell you war is easier than daughters.” Eddard declares making the two chuckle.

“Arya has fallen ill, although she still begged to come, ever the resilient that one. So, Cat’ stayed to look after her and Sansa has just began her womanly nature, and so she did not wish to come because of it. And then Cat’ insisted on keeping Bran back with his sisters as punishment as he persists on climbing the high walls of Winterfell against his mother’s continuous pleas to stop. And so, it is only Robb and I, my apologies.” Eddard explains.

“No apologies needed, my friend. –And Robb, a strapping young man you make.” Aerys greets, shaking the hand of Robb Stark. “Thank you, my King.” Robb replies.

“Now, what have we here? My, how you have all grown. A fine brood you have raised, Aerys. Strong. No doubt down to the Northern Stark blood that flows through their veins from their mother, hey sister?” Eddard playfully jokes with a smirk.

“Partly, brother. But I think you’ll find the blood of the dragon is what makes them strong, not the direwolf I’m afraid.” Elena corrects. “Noble fire flows through their veins, my friend.” Aerys adds, smiling as Elena and he hold each other, sharing a quick peck of a kiss.

“Now, Viserys? A man now, indeed. And soon to be a married man, congratulations, my boy.” Eddard congratulates as he shakes the hand of Viserys. “Thank you for coming, my Lord.” He thanks. Although Eddard Stark was technically our uncle, we would still not presume to call him so, he was still my Lord to us.

“Rhaegar? As strapping as your brother, here. You’ll no doubt break the hearts of women.” He proclaims as he shakes his hand next. “I only hope I will be blessed with the great love of one, my Lord.” Rhaegar admits. “Ah, gracious.” Eddard mutters.

“Bellaria? Aye, you’re a pretty one.” Eddard states, making Bellaria smile from ear to ear. “Thank you, my Lord.” She replies as Robb begins to embrace Viserys and Rhaegar, old friends when the Starks would visit in the years prior.

“Ah, Daenerys. Still up to mischief I hear in letters. Are you running your poor mother and father ragged around the capitol?” Eddard queries playfully.

“No, my Lord. They don’t run after me, they just send their knights.” I inform.

Eddard and Robb chuckles. “That’s a yes then. You remind me of my Arya, little one.” Eddard retorts.

“Aegon? My, now you have grown. You were a newborn babe when I last saw you. Now, you’ll be a man before the day is over. Show us your muscles.” Eddard plays, making Aegon smile and comply happily, flexing his little arms. Eddard chuckles. “You’ll be a soldier.” He declares.

“Now, Aerys, Elena. If you don’t mind, may we depart to our chambers? The journey was long and my men and I have grown tired.” Eddard announces.

“Of course, ‘Ned. My men will show you to your quarters.” Aerys orders.

“I will accompany you, brother. I’m sure we have much to catch up on.” Elena adds as she begins to walk arm in arm with her brother towards the castle, followed by Robb and their men.

“Father? What about House Martell? We haven’t greeted them yet.” I point out.

“They arrive tomorrow, little one. They are the bride’s party and so their arrival is on the morning of the wedding day itself.” Aerys explains. “You are free to go about your business now. Just don’t go causing any mischief or intruding on any houses amongst the castle.” He adds.

The rest of the day, I kept myself to the confinement of my room, practising with Needle. William wanted to spend time with his family and so didn’t wish to play, but I was more than happy to practise swords play on my own before another lesson with Syrio the following morning. I was so happy to have these lessons, and so grateful to father and mother for letting me do it. I knew girls weren’t supposed to take arms, but I just loved it so much more than what us girls had to do. Like I said to my father, that’s not me.

The morning of the wedding I had woken up early, earlier than I would have ever before. The lesson with Syrio would start early because of the day, but I got up earlier to chase cats, like Syrio had said. The castle was quiet, albeit except for the people working the preparations, rushing around the halls. This was good, it made it easier for me to catch a cat. With so many people in the halls the last day, it would have been hard, but in the early hours of the morning it was perfect.

I had spent time chasing this one cat around the castle halls, running around after it until after a while we neared the entrance of the great hall. Running after the cat up the hall towards its entrance, I suddenly see Jorah and two other knights of the Kingsguard on either side if him coming out from the great hall. As they exit into the hall, I notice he is not wearing his knights armour.

“Jorah?!” I call out in worry, forgetting the cat and running ahead to see what was going on. “What are they doing? Where are they taking you?” I demand.

“I—,” Jorah begins but is cut off by one of the knights, by the Hound. “You may not speak to the princess now, Jorah.” Sandor interrupts as he and another knight continue to escort him down the hall.

“Let him speak, Sandor.” Aerys suddenly orders, making me turn to the sound of my father’s voice, seeing him stand in the entrance to the great hall. “Let him say his goodbyes.” He adds, making me worry even more.

“Goodbyes?” I repeat, turning back to look at Jorah, who had now been let go. I rush over to him and he lowers to one knee to near my height.

“I must go, little one.” He simply states. “Why?” I question and I can feel the tears begin to form in my eyes. I watch him glance over me towards my father, before he looks back down to me to answer. “I am a man with troubles, and I did bad things to battle such troubles. So now I have to leave.” He explains.

“But I don’t want you to leave. You’re my friend. What am I to do without you?” I cry.

“I know. And you’re mine.” He comforts, touching my shoulder. As a few tears fall down my cheeks, he lifts my chin and cups my cheek. “But you know what? As your friend, that is how I know you’ll be fine. –You’re a dragon, Daenerys. Don’t you ever forget it.” Jorah states and I nod through my sniffles.

“Goodbye, little dragon rider.” He whispers, before he rises back to his feet and heads back over to Sandor and the other knight. Then after several steps down the hall, the three of them turn around a corner and they were gone. Jorah was gone. I didn’t know why, not really. But I knew my father had sent him away, and that is what I could not understand why. Turning around, I look upon my father, wiping my tears from my cheeks and before he can even say a word, I start to sprint for my room.

On my bed in silence, I sat and wiped any tears that poured over onto my cheeks, but I wasn’t alone in silence for long as my father creaked open my chamber’s door.

“Will you allow me to enter?” Aerys gently asks and after a moment I nod. Closing the door behind him, he makes his way over to me on my bed, sitting down next to me. There for a quick moment we sat in silence, until my father finally broke it.

“I’m sorry about Jorah, little one. I know you had an attachment to him.” Aerys apologises.

“He was my friend. And I was his. –And you sent him away. Why?” I demand.

“It’s complicated, Daenerys. You will not understand.” Aerys defends.

“How can you know that, if you don’t tell me.” I retort.

Aerys sighs deeply before mustering up to explain. “Jorah has been striped of his house name and titles and banished from Westeros because he committed a crime. A crime that warranted death, but I could not bring myself to kill a devoted man and friend. A ruler who kills those devoted to him, is not a ruler who inspires devotion. So, instead, my only choice was to exile him.” He explains.

“How can that be your only choice, father? Can you not forgive him?” I plead.

“For his crime, forgiveness is not in my power. The law is the law, Daenerys. I should have killed him according to it, but I did not. I could have sent him to the Night’s Watch, but I respected the man and that is no life up there. His banishment is all the mercy I could offer him.” Aerys declares.

“What did he do, father?” I query.

“He sold poachers into slavery across the Narrow Sea into the Free Cities of Essos. The information was found out and brought to me late last night. It seems his wife and child back at Bear Island, has quite the luxurious taste of a lifestyle that he must pay for. Hence, his dabble in slave trade it would appear.” Aerys states and the answer takes me by surprise. I could not imagine Jorah doing such things, he was a kind man, and yet it would appear he had.

“Can you really not forgive him?” I plead once again.

“Slavery is a crime in Westeros, Daenerys. He sold Westerosi people overseas and poachers are meant to be turned over to the Night’s Watch. I could not kill the man, but I could not leave a crime unpunished. So, he will be banished. He’ll be taken to the docks, given enough coin to ferry his way over to Essos where he will conduct a new life.” Aerys clarifies.

I understood that slavery was a crime, and that a crime could not go unpunished. It was just hard to wrap my head around that it was Jorah committing this horrible crime and was now being exiled. The thought made me hang my head in sorrow. “I understand.” I whimper.

“I do not mean to upset you, little one. This is just the way of men. And you will soon grow to see and understand that even good men can do bad things.” Aerys explains as he puts his arm around my shoulders, but I do not reply, just keep my head hung in sadness.

“Hey, look at me.” Aerys say softly, lifting my chin for me to look up at him. “You are a Targaryen of the Crownslands. You know our words.” He declares.

“Noble Fire.” I relay.

“We are Noble Fire, Daenerys. And so, we must honour those words. –As Targaryen’s we must protect ourselves. Look after one another. For when the winds blow strong, and the skies tower high, the caged dragon dies, but the freed survives.” He proclaims and I nod in understanding and in slight awe at his words.

A short silence passed before my father’s next words. “I have something to show you.” He announces and begins to pull something out of his pocket. What he pulls out is a beautifully crafted brooch.

“It’s pretty.” I admire. The silver brooch was crafted to be slotted into the clothes rather than pinned by the looks of it, and it adorned three dragon heads. “It’s yours.” Aerys clarifies. “Mine?” I query.

“I had one made for you and each of your siblings to wear. As well as your mother and I. Three dragon heads, a kin to our Sigil and ancestor’s dragons. –Here.” Aerys explains before handing it over.

“Thank you, father.” I say as I look over my new brooch.

“I expect you to wear it today for your brother’s wedding, as will we all.” Aerys instructs.

“I will, father.” I reply.

“Now, dear one. You have a kind heart. And this little heart has an early morning lesson I hear. I suspect it is time you got to that lesson, yes?” Aerys softly encourages.

“Yes.” I agree, taking my last sniffle and my father kisses the top of my head. “Go on, now.” He urges and I hop down off the bed. I lay my new brooch on my dresser before heading off to my lesson, although I found I was no longer in much of a mood for it.

When arriving at the terrace room, Syrio was already there, once again looking out at the view of the terrace. When I entered, he had spoke of how I had turned up on time today, that I was improving already, among other things, but I remained quiet. It wasn’t until he threw the wooden sword my way, which I caught again, although I was in no mood to be pleased, that I finally spoke as he took his stance ready.

“I don’t want to practise today.” I sorrowfully announce.

“No? Weren’t you the one who asked for a lesson today, child?” Syrio points out, losing his stance.

“My friend. He—he committed a crime and now he has been banished. –I’m not going to see him again, and I miss him already. –Suddenly wooden swords don’t seem so important.” I explain.

“You are troubled.” Syrio replies. “Good.” he suddenly exclaims, tapping my chest with the tip of his wooden sword. “Trouble is the perfect time for train, when you’re dancing in the meadow with your dolls and kittens. This is not when fighting happens.” Syrio states.

“I don’t like dolls.” I scorn.

Syrio slaps my arm with his sword. “You’re not here. You’re with your trouble. –If you’re with your trouble when fighting happens-,” Syrio begins and slaps my arm again with the sword, which irritates me and go to strike him with my own. He blocks it and then easily disarms me with his next move, which sends me to the ground on my back also. “More trouble for you.” He finishes.

He hands me back my sword and I grasp it in one hand. “How can you be quick as a snake-,” he starts before swinging his sword which I block, and again and again as I rise to my feet, sending my own strikes, doing my own spins. “Or as quiet as a shadow-,” Syrio continues as our swords cross and hold. We both move back, into our stances and take the first strike but he dodges it with ease and grabs my sword, from my hand, spinning on his feet bringing it around with his own until both tips lay against each other resting against my neck. “When you are somewhere else.” He ends.

Syrio drops both swords to the ground and then takes hold of my shoulder. “You are fearing for your friend. –That is right.” He comforts. “Do you pray to the Gods?” he asks.

“The Old and the New.” I answer.

“There is only one God, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to death.” Syrio clarifies before pushing my chin up with his finger. “Not today.” He proclaims with a smile, which finally makes me smile in turn.

Syrio picks both the swords up and walks over to his spot. He throws one sword my way and I catch it. “Let us begin.” He says.

Chapter Text

Viserys and Elia’s wedding day had felt like a lifetime, especially in this uncomfortable dress I was required to wear. After my lesson, Mistress Alana had got me ready. With my hair done and fancy dress on, which I hated to wear, the day’s festivities began. The bride and her house arrived and the ceremony began, which was long. Although, I had to admit, Elia looked beautiful and Viserys looked the happiest I had ever seen him, and Elia seemed to share the same look. After the ceremony, the reception that followed lasted way into the evening. People danced, drank, sang, played games, everything. Rhaegar even danced with me for a time, when he wasn’t dancing with girls his own age. The day was fun, even if for a moment I felt sad for Jorah. I knew if he were here, he would have endured dancing with me for as long as I wanted. I missed him so much already and it was times like these that it hurt the most.

In the evening, the dinner feast was to be eaten and all the houses moved into the great hall where it had been turned into a feast hall to accommodate the numbers. Again, it was just more merriment: drinking, laughing, kissing, singing, well into the evening. My father and mother, alongside Viserys and Elia, were sat at their own table along the Iron Throne, with the rest of my siblings and I sat at a table below in front and amongst the rest of the people with a few of our friends. William and I sat together, for we had not seen much of each other over the last couple days, giggling between ourselves with Aegon, whereas Rhaegar sat with his Robb and their pretty friends and Bellaria sat with her friends. After so long, one house after another eventually began to retire to their chambers. Apparently, it was custom for the host family of a wedding to stay until the end, alongside the bride and groom. For when everyone else finally retired, the newlyweds were permitted to leave once their wedding day was then considered over and they retire themselves.

I had wanted to get Bellaria back for sending me to the wrong place yesterday when the houses were arriving and I figured now was as good as time as any. Quite a few houses had already started to retire towards the days end at this point, so I wondered how much longer we would be in here for. I scooped a bit of my food from my plate and flung the food like a catapult aimed at Bellaria across the table. The food hit her right in the cheek and sat there, making her jaw fall open in embarrassment and anger.

“Daenerys!” she screeches, but all I can do is laugh and so does William and my siblings, as well as the rest of the people at our table, all except Bellaria and her friends who were helping her wipe the food from her face and dress. “It’s not funny! She always does this! And this is my favourite dress!” she exclaims as we laughed.

As I sat there with William and Aegon laughing, I suddenly felt myself be lifted off my seat and onto my feet. “Time for bed, trouble maker.” Rhaegar announces.

“But I’m not tired, and not all the houses have left yet.” I protest.

“No good protesting, Dany. I got the look and a nod from mother. It’s time we retire, leave the rest of the evening to the adult folk. Come on Aegon. William.” He explains. “You two, Bellaria. You can fix your dress in your room with your friends.” He adds and Bellaria groans with annoyance, storming off with her friends.

“Nice shot, Dany.” Rhaegar whispers down to me as we walked back to our rooms, making me smile with him.

Back in my room, I couldn’t sleep at all. Albeit, I didn’t try, but I was too awake to sleep, too energised to lay down and call the day at end. So, I practised with Needle a little, but I soon reasoned why should I do it alone, when I had Syrio. Not seeing him at the feast hall or the staff’s quarters, I asked after his room and went to find him, which I did in his chambers. I pled my case for another lesson, and with a little grovelling he accepted. At the terrace room, I waited for him to ready himself and when he arrived we delved right into the lesson. I wasn’t sure for how long we were training, but the candles I had to light were more than half-way burnt.

“Left high, left low.” Syrio instructs as we sparred and I complied with the instruction, reacting to his sparring high to the left and then low to the left. “Right low, lunge right.” Syrio instructs next and I react like all the times before. “Right.” He says as we spar and I go to the right, but he doesn’t follow the pattern of his instruction and manages to disarm me, discarding my sword to the ground. “Now, you are dead.” He says as he points his sword in front of me.”

“But you said right, and you went left.” I point out, mildly irritated.

“And now you are a dead girl.” Syrio responds.

“Only because you lied.” I retort.

“My tongue lied. My eyes shouted the truth. You were not seeing.” Syrio explains.

“I was so. I was watching--,” I defend but Syrio interrupts. “Watching is not seeing, dead girl.” Syrio states as he brings his sword down and back around his back. “The seeing- the true seeing, that is the heart of swordplay.” He clarifies as he gestures to my eyes and heart with a smirk, making me grin in response.

My grin was suddenly erased when the doors to the terrace room swung open and four knights stormed in standing in the doorway. Syrio’s immediate reaction was to pull me behind him and I did not moan as I noticed the knights were not part of my father’s Kingsguard. The knights worn uniforms that sported a red flayed man and upon seeing the sigil, I realised these were House Bolton knights.

“Ah, Daenerys Targaryen, there you are. Come with us, your father wants to see you.” The knight who seems to command the other three announces. I felt incredibly reluctant to go with these men, I did not know them at all and yet they said my father wished to see me. I took a small step forward besides Syrio, but he stops me by stretching out his arm in front and gently pushes me back.

“And why is it that King Aerys is sending Bolton men in place of his own Kingsguard, I’m wondering?” Syrio toys and makes me realise he was right.

“Mind your place, dancing master. This is no concern of yours.” The lead knight scowls.

“My father wouldn’t send you.” I scorn, before picking up my wooden sword to stand confidently next to Syrio. “And I don’t have to go with you if I don’t want.” I add with confidence.

The lead knight chuckles with amusement. “Take her.” The knight orders one of the others.

“Are you men or snakes that you would threaten a child?” Syrio pokes.

“Get out of my way, little man.” The ordered knight warns as he steps forward towards us.

“I am Syrio Forel.” He retorts.

“Foreign bastard.” The knight insults, just before he begins to draw his sword but Syrio whacks his drawing hand with the wooden sword in his before striking the man across the head, sending him to the floor.

“And you will be speaking to me with more respect.” Syrio declares as he holds his sword in the direction of all the knights as the one on the floor rises back up to stand amongst the others, drawing his sword also.

“Kill the Braavosi. Bring the girl.” The lead knight orders.

“Daenerys, child, we are done with dancing for the day. Run to your father.” Syrio orders, but I feel reluctant to leave him with these men. Just then, one of the knights charges at Syrio and I suddenly prepare myself for the worst, but he then easily blocks the man and knocks him around the head like the other, as the other two start to charge at him. He fights against these men, a wooden sword against steel and yet he seems to be winning, the odds weren’t pointing to him and yet he was winning. He danced around these men, knocking them down, blocking their blows, sending them to the ground. He even used their own swordplay against them, dodging ones blows that ended up striking their fellow man. The sight was shocking and I felt my mouth was wide open in shock and fear the whole time. He manages to knock all three to the ground, somehow unconscious.

The last remaining knight, the one who gave the now unconscious men their orders and stood watch as they failed, now drew his sword. “Bloody oafs.” He insults as he draws his sword.

The two begin to circle each other, sizing the other up as they stepped around the room, and I kept right behind Syrio who had his wooden sword up and ready pointed at the last knight.

“Be gone now, Daenerys.” Syrio orders as we near the door.

“Come with me. Run.” I say behind Syrio, not liking the looks of the last knight one bit and figuring even after the display he had just done, ultimately wood was no match for steel.

“The first sword of Braavos does not run.” Syrio states as the knight begins to step forward towards us now.

The knight lunges at Syrio and they begin to fight. Syrio blocks his blows, but the knight eventually gets hold of his wooden sword and brings his own down hard onto it, breaking the wooden blade. The knight stands before Syrio and throws the piece of wood to the side.

“What do we say to the God of Death?” Syrio proclaims.

“Not today.” I answer, remembering the words from the lesson yesterday.

“Go.” Syrio orders again and this time I comply, dropping the wooden sword without even thinking, and with a heavy heart I run out the room.

As I leave down the hall, I hear the sounds of a fight back in the terrace room, but it is short, and I hear a pained groan that will have surely been Syrio’s end. I can feel a tear creeping out but the fear of what just happened spears me to keep going. I don’t understand why those Bolton men came for me or why they just murdered Syrio, he had done nothing. And what did they want me for? I wasn’t sure what to make of it or think, so I decided to do what Syrio told me to do and look for my father. The last I knew they were in the great hall, so I decided to rush there.

As I ran my way towards the great hall, the sounds of pained men and fighting echoed through the halls of the castle. I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears and I started to worry what might be happening at the great hall if chaos was starting to ensue in the hallways. When I neared the entrance of the great hall, all I could hear was chaos from inside. Not wanting to just walk right in, I decided to climb the staircase that led to the balcony halls overlooking the great hall. When I reached the top, the sounds of groaning men was now not what I heard, it was eery silence.

“Ah—the Targaryen Prince arises.” A voice suddenly says down in the great hall.

When I peered carefully over the balconies edge to see what was befalling the men in the great hall, my eyes were not prepared for the sight. Men laid all around the hall, dead. There was blood all around the floor and tables, as well as the men and women. Scanning the room in terror, I noticed all the men that were stood armed over the dead were mostly Frey, but also Bolton, men, with Lord Walder Frey and Lord Ramsey Bolton stood at the front overlooking it all, along with Frey's sons and Bolton's bastard son. That is when I saw my brother, Viserys, hunched over a body and he looked as if he had a bolt in his shoulder. I then saw the body he was hunched over was his new wife, Elia Martell. And her white dress was now stained blood red across her stomach. I fearfully looked for my father, but could not see him, or my mother. And that was when she suddenly appeared, crawling out from beneath a table, also with a bolt in her shoulder. I watch her as she grabs a knife and what I remember as Lord Walder’s young wife, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her out from under the table with her.

“Lord Walder! Lord Walder enough! Let it end!” Elena calls, as she now holds his young wife in front of her with the knife to her throat. As all eyes and weapons of the armed men look and point her way, I see Lord Bolton move to the side away from Lord Frey, but I do not follow him as I cannot keep my eyes off my mother. “Please! He is my son. My first son. Let him go- you leave my children alone, and I swear we will forget this. I swear it by the old gods and the new. We will take no vengeance.” Elena pleas with her life and Walder Frey just stands there silent, before shaking his head slowly from one side to the other with a smirk on his face I can make out.

“Take me for a hostage, alongside Aerys. Please! Do not harm my children. Let my children go. Let Viserys go.” She continues to plead and I find out that my father is alive but taken hostage, and perhaps my other siblings too. But why? “Vis’, get up. Get up and walk out.” She orders, facing back towards Viserys but he doesn’t move from his position over Elia. “Please! Please!!” she desperately cries, making the tears in my eyes spill over.

“And why would I let him do that?” Lord Frey calmly questions, making my mother face back to him, reclaiming her tight hold on Walder’s wife and the knife against her throat.

“On my honour as a Stark. On my honour as a Targaryen. Let him go- let all my children go, or I will cut your wife’s throat.” Elena fiercely threatens, and it is a side of my mother I had never seen before.

Lord Walder Frey is silent for a moment after my mother’s threat, and I see that my brother Viserys finally stands up from Elia.

“I’ll find another.” He coolly responds.

“Mother.” Viserys brokenly says as he turns to face her and she looks at him with tears in her eyes as I do looking down at the display. Suddenly, Lord Bolton marches over towards Viserys and swiftly stands in front of him, grasping his shoulder.

“The Lannister’s send their regards.” I hear him proclaim, just before he plunges a knife into the chest of my brother and moves aside. My mother bursts into tears and I have to cover my mouth with both my hands to stop myself from doing the same, from gasping in fear, grief and despair. I force my tears to fall silently down my cheeks while my shaking hands cover my mouth as I watch my brother fall to his knees and then fall onto his back, bleeding out on the floor. Dead.

My mother then lets out an almighty wail, and then slices the throat of Lord Walder’s young wife as her wail dies down into silence. She looks completely broken and empty as she stands there, staring at my brother on the floor. The room is completely silent, until Lord Bolton's bastard son strides up behind my mother and the sound of slicing flesh from a blade breaks the eery silence of the room for a moment.

“Mama.” I quietly let out a pained whisper as I watch her throat be cut open. I then watch as my she bleeds from her throat and falls to the ground too, dead. I cannot stop my tears from spilling uncontrollably as I look down at the horror of the great hall that my mother and brother now lay dead in. With my hands still covering my mouth, shaking profusely, my body walks backwards until I bump into the wall. I have no clue what to do after what I’ve just witnessed; all I want to do is run to my room and hide until this whole nightmare is over and my father comes to get me. But I knew that was not going to be the case.

When I finally managed to bring my shaking hands down, I knew I had to get out of the castle, and fast if I were going to survive this attack, I didn’t want to be caught. But if I were going to do that I’d need a weapon, I’d need my Needle for protection. In order to leave the balcony halls, I had to push the sight and thought of what just happened from my thoughts, if I didn’t, I do not think I would have moved. It was painful, the most pain I’ve felt watching their murder, and then leaving felt even painful still because I knew it would be the last time I ever saw my mother and brother now, they were gone.

Rushing through the halls, I could still hear the distant echoes of men fighting, so through my sniffles and tears I tried to keep quiet. I continually stopped myself from bursting into a fit of tears, instead my tears just ran freely down my cheeks. Hearing the fights of men as I made my way to my room, I had to keep telling myself what Syrio told me.

“Not today. Not today. Not today.” I repeatedly muttered to myself quietly running through the halls until I finally got to my chambers. I closed the door behind me, and then rushed over to my dresser, where Needle was wrapped in her case. I peeled back the blanket wrapping with urgency and took hold of my sword in my hand. As I began to unsheathe Needle, I suddenly heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside and without hesitation I scanned my room for a place to hide. In a second of quick thinking, I figured the bed was the easiest and quickest place to hide, so with Needle still in hand, I crawled under the bed.

As I tucked myself under the low bed, still small enough to fit under it, the footsteps stopped outside my door. Then the door opened and I watched two sets of feet enter, stepping into the room.

“See, I told you. Nothing in here. The little bitch was smart enough to run away. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back here and cry in the corner for her dead family.” One of the men states. Dead family? Where my other siblings dead too?

“Why couldn’t the bitch just stay in bed for us to get like her bloody siblings.” Another man’s voice moans. Stay in bed? Did they kill my brothers and sister in their beds? These people were monsters. Snakes. Murderers. But why?

“Come on. We have to keep looking. Lannister orders.” The first man’s voice encourages. “Yeah. Yeah.” The second replies and the two walk back out, leaving the door open. Lannister orders? Lord Bolton had said their name when he murdered my brother. They ordered this? They orchestrated this and all from Casterly Rock, they weren’t even here. They got others to do their bidding for them, namely the Bolton’s and Frey’s. I had to get out the castle if I truly were going to survive, for now I know they will not hesitate to murder me too.

I quietly crept out from under my bed, Needle in hand and I realise my tears are still streaming down my cheeks. In the fear of the men and grief realisation of what has befallen my family, I did not even feel them pour at that moment. Once up and at the door, I carefully peered around my door’s edge and no one was in the hall, nor could I hear anyone through echoes. So, I bolted. I ran down the hall, but just as I turned the corner I bumped straight into a man and as soon as I did, I felt his large hands grasp each of my shoulders. All in a matter of seconds the fear went right through me and as I looked up I began to draw Needle, but then I saw it was the Hound. His scarred face I recognised instantly, but he wasn’t wearing his Kingsguard armour.

“No need for that, little bird. Come with me.” Sandor mutters, stopping me from drawing Needle, pushing it back down into its casing and picks me up with ease. He holds me close to the side of his chest and although this man had frightened me in the past, right now he was the closest thing I felt to safe that I had. And so, I clung to him for dear life.

“Where’s your armour?” I question in a whisper as he begins to march the halls with me in tow.

“Just made me a target. Better to be rid of it for now.” He answers in a mumble.

“What happened, Sandor?” I whimper as I pull away from his shoulder and look at him. He stops for a second and looks at me with pity. “Better not to dwell. Don’t think on it. We have to think about getting you out of here, little bird. Think only of that.” He responds, avoiding the answer, and even I could see he didn’t have the heart to tell me that my family had just been massacred, and that was all I could think about.

When Sandor had brought us outside, I didn’t think it possible, but it looked a more horrific scene than inside. A massacre was out here just as it was inside; a bloody fight had ensued and dead men laid everywhere.

“No ships will be sailing tonight, we will have to find shelter somewhere ‘til morning.” Sandor announces as we look upon the murderous scene of the night.

“Ships?” I query. “You cannot stay here, little bird. Not anymore. I must take you away from all this, so that you may stay alive. I failed your father, but I will not fail him in this.” Sandor declares. The information seemed too much to handle, but it was simple. I had to leave my home.

“The bookseller, Mr. Taylor, he has always liked me, let me borrow books. He’ll take us in for a night.” I suggest.

“You’re sure of this, little bird? We don’t want to be caught out in the streets. They’ll be looking.” Sandor points out.

“I’m quite sure.” I assure and with that he heads off in direction of the village, headed to the little bookshop.

Sandor was right that there would be men looking in the streets for me. I suppose, not finding me in the castle, the streets would be the next place. Only now, I recognised some of the men we eluded were wearing Lannister armour, some of them were Lannister knights. Meaning perhaps the Lannister’s were here, just lurking in the shadows until the right moment. When he had got to the booksellers, Mr. Taylor had been shocked to see us, and a little worried after everything that had happened, the news clearly sweeping the village quickly, but he let us in regardless, putting us both in his cellar with some food for the night and giving me a change of clothes into a more dirty looking top and bottoms.

The next morning, I had got next to nothing of sleep, unlike Sandor who had fallen asleep after a while and still was in these early hours of the morning. I wondered if after the whole night if the Lannister’s and their allies had gone? If they were still looking? I was curious because I had had enough of being kept in this cellar and I had so many questions that would not be answered down here. Like what happened to my father? Did the Baratheon’s get out okay, more specifically William? Was he still alive? I sincerely hoped so. What happened to the other houses? Were they all killed? Or just some? Or did they all manage to get out? So many questions and I was sick of listening to Sandor snore. I had been distraught last night, tears continually streaming, and I still was now. I knew I would be for some time. But now, I was also enraged, and that anger is what made me leave the cellar.

Quietly I left the cellar, not wanting to wake Sandor, and came into the bookshop, which Mr. Taylor had not come down into yet. Sandor had said his armour made him a target, but he was a large man and his scar was very recognisable. I was small and less noticeable, the only thing noticeable about me was my hair. I rummaged around for anything to cover my hair and eventually found a large handkerchief. I tied it around my hair, but with the length of it, not all of it was covered. I had to pin it up. There was nothing I could find that would do the job, nothing until I remembered my brooch I had been wearing and taken off along with my other clothes. Taking it out my pocket, I twirled my hair up into a simple bun and then slotted the stick brooch of the three dragon heads into it to hold, before covering my hair, and brooch, with the handkerchief once more. With my sword attached to my trouser’s side and my hair covered, I felt ready to see what was out there.

Coming out the booksellers and onto the street, there didn’t appear to be any knights around, and there were several people amongst the street, although they all appeared to be rushing in the same direction. I wondered why and knew I’d only know if I asked or followed, but I thought it safer to ask first before walking into something I shouldn’t. Then I noticed a couple of small boys, appearing not much younger than I, coming along the street, rushing in the same direction as everyone else.

“Hey, where’s everyone going? What’s happening?” I question as the two boys rush past.

“They’ve got him at the Sept of Baelor.” One boy answers as they continue to rush in the direction of the Sept with everyone else, which was where all the royals and loyal friends, nobles and knights to the crown were buried beneath, hence the name Sept of Baelor.

“Who?” I ask.

“The King. The Lannister’s have him.” He replies as they both continue to speed past and suddenly all rational thought and care ceases at the mention of my father and I start off running for the Sept along with everyone else.

Coming into the crowd that formed outside the Sept of Baelor, I could not see a thing; I was too small. So, I pushed my way through closer to the front until I came to the statue of Baelor near the front of the Sept. Figuring I was most likely close enough, I climbed onto the statue’s base and crouched down, my hands leaning against the statue’s boots. From here, I was sat above the crowd and could see above them, not far ahead on the stone platform and steps of the Sept, Lannister soldiers. Recognising them for they adorned the armour with the lion Sigil. The people of King’s Landing that had formed this packed crowd outside the Sept were muttering between themselves, no doubt unsure of what was to come and then that was when they came out. A woman in a red dress, with long, golden yellow hair, strode out and onto the stone platform looking down upon the crowd. I knew this had to be Cersei Lannister for she sported the golden hair of a Lannister as well as being surrounded by the soldiers. The men that followed her I suddenly recognised as Tywin Lannister, her father, for I remembered seeing him at the Red Keep once or twice on visits and the other wore the Lannister armour but walked alongside them. He too had the golden hair of a Lannister, and so I figured he must have been Jamie Lannister, Cersei’s twin brother. The three of them now stood there, looking deplorably down at the crowd as the people’s muttering increased and then a few began shouting, asking what was happening and what had happened in the night at the Red Keep, what had befallen my family and their guests. That was when Tywin raised his hand and the whole crowd suddenly silenced at his gesture.

“People of King’s Landing, you will hear what we have to say here today.” Tywin Lannister begins to proclaim. “For centuries, the Targaryen’s, these foreigners, have sat on the Iron Throne. They are not of this realm and yet they rule over us. For too long they hold the power over Westeros. –But I say no longer.” He declares just before he looks over to his side, across the crowd to the end of the Sept’s building. “Bring him out!” he orders, and a couple men disappear into an entryway into the Sept.

My heart was pounding at his order and the anticipation of who was about to appear into the sight of the crowd, into my sight, was making my breathing start to become heavy. It wasn’t long until the two soldiers reappeared out the entryway, and the boy was right, they did have my father. As soon as I spotted him coming out the entryway, firmly grasped and hands bound, my breathing turned rapid and now completely heavy. I watched as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight and he began looking around at what he had been brought out to. The crowd’s murmuring began again, the noise sounding more shocked and worried rather than confused and curious as the soldiers forcibly led my father towards Tywin and his two children on the stone platform, where he was made to kneel to the side of them all, facing the crowd, though he hangs his head a little. Whether it is in grief, shame, fatigue, or something else or all of them, I do not now, but he looks as if he has been beaten. His face is bruised and cut, and his hair appears dark, looking as if it is coated in dried blood and dirt. He looked broken and the sight brought a tear to my eye. What had they done to him?

“This is what’s left of your King.” Cersei begins to call out as she gestures to my father. “A shattered man, too weak to fight for his crown, –too weak to fight for his own family, –too weak to raise his sword.” She scorns, though I didn’t believe a single word this woman spoke, my father would have used his last breath to protect us if he had the means. “The power in this realm shouldn’t belong to such a man. Or family, or name. The Targaryen’s –these usurpers— don’t deserve to sit upon the Iron Throne and call themselves royalty. –But we do. –I do.” Cersei proclaims, with a sinister grin. “You ask what befell this retched family? Well, simply—they deserved to see their end. And so, we gave it to them. –The King’s family are gone. Your queen is dead. She lays cold on the throne room floor, her throat slit open. Your prince lays next to her, with holes in his chest. The rest of the little white-haired rats were shown mercy in their beds. –And now, here kneels the last Targaryen.” Cersei explains, still sporting her sinister smirk as my tears begin to pour once again whilst I stare at my broken father and listen to the words of Cersei Lannister, announcing the massacre of my family.

My attention had been solely directed to my father this whole time; I hadn’t taken my eyes off him since I saw him, though I still listened to Cersei’s proclamations. They only began to drown out as my attention intensified when my father lifted his head up and started to look out amongst the crowd. As his head slowly turned, taking in the pitied and worried looks of the people, I prayed his eyes fell on me, and eventually they did. His eyeline stopped still as he set his eyes on me at the statue and I knew he recognised me instantly, even with the different clothes and handkerchief around my hair. I watched the emotion flood into his eyes as he stared back at me and all I wanted to do was to run into his arms but that was the one thing I was sure I couldn’t do, not yet. ‘Go’ my father suddenly mouths to me but I instantly shake my head. I could not go, not now. Not now that I had him near me, within my grasp. As he momentarily turns his head in the direction of the Lannister’s, my sole attention is broken and Cersei’s voice starts to come back into my ear as I glance back at her also.

“My father schemes for Aerys to join the Night’s Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile at the Wall, living with the reminder that his family are dead and the throne sitting with the rightful Westerosi power upon it.” Cersei’s continues to proclaim but she pauses for a second, looking from my father to her own. “But I disagree. –If he lives out his life at the Wall, he will be a constant reminder to you people—a living martyr of what was before. And what was before must be eradicated in order for the new to thrive. –For your new queen to thrive.” Cersei suddenly states and this announcement clearly wasn’t planned as I can see Tywin and Jamie looking a little confused as to where Cersei was going. “Good Lannister soldiers—bring me his head.” She evilly demands with a menacing smile. The crowd clamours in response with outrage, fear and shock, as even Tywin and Jamie begin to converse with Cersei between them about her sudden order, though it did not appear it was a long conversing. But as soon as the words left her mouth, my father looked my way and I couldn’t help but look back to his in panic. My tears were streaming; I wasn’t sure I could bare seeing my father killed, bare losing the only family I had left.

My father mouthed ‘go’ once again, but through my tears and sniffles I shook my head once again, but this time I moved my hand to the hilt of my sword, gripping it’s handle in it’s case. I had it with me, and so I could do something. I couldn’t stand by and watch my father executed, not like my mother and brother, but clearly seeing this, he immediately and firmly shook his own head.

Suddenly noticing movement, I glance back to Cersei and the rest, to see them standing in watch of my kneeling father, their conversation appearing a short one. A couple soldiers moved forward, the movement being the one that snatched the attention off my father. Moving to stand beside him, one held a large sword and the other began to unsheathe it, the sight setting the shear panic straight through me.

As I stared back into my father’s eyes, which hadn’t moved from mine, spilling uncontrollable tears, he mouthed something else this time. This time he mouthed ‘I love you’, which made my tears worsen, though at this point I didn’t think it possible. My cries were no longer silent but covered by the protests of the crowd it didn’t matter, not that I cared about anything other than my father. Through the cries, I managed to mouth ‘I love you too’ back to him and the smallest, the tiniest hint of a smile creeped onto his face, so small you could barely recognise it, but I could.

I noticed the soldier holding the large sword looked as if he was about to swing, holding the sword up around his shoulder and I panickily stared into my father’s eyes, at his face, memorising everything I could of him, when his face turned to an expression of almost firm determination as he suddenly mouthed ‘Now, fly’. Just as he finished his words, I watched as the blade of the sword was swung across the air, slicing through my father’s neck and cutting it clean off. His head tumbled to the ground of the platform and his body thudded down after it.

Moving from my spot on the statue felt impossible. I felt frozen. Glued and stuck staring at my father’s decapitated body laid on the stone platform, in grief-stricken shock, my mouth ajar, my body shaking, my cries still streaming. I couldn’t contemplate what to do with myself, but the crowd erupted into a clamour of rage and protest. They began to shout obscenities at the Lannister’s, cursing them for their actions, the works; some even began to throw stones. But it was only when the screams of Cersei were heard that I knew stones had been thrown. It appeared a stone had hit her in the head, and she was now shouting out at the crowd, threatening to kill those that oppose them.

When Lannister soldiers began to drag some of the people up onto the platform, presumably some who had been throwing rocks, others began to leave, to run. This was when I knew I had to leave, but still, I couldn’t bring myself to move. It was only when I suddenly felt a pair of hands on me from behind, ones that instantly grabbed me and pulled me down from the statue that I was forced to move. I struggled against it at first, even through my cries, until I saw it was the Hound.

“We must go, now!” he calls over the screams of the people who were rapidly dispersing and before I could even utter a reply, a protest or struggle against his hold, he had picked me up and was holding me firm against his chest before he too began to flee with the crowd.

I almost wanted to stay. To be in a world without my family seemed cruel and unfair and one I wasn’t interested in, but I knew I couldn’t fight it, we had to go. I held onto to Sandor tight, my tears beginning to soak his shoulder as I clung around them. Sandor rushed with the crowd, fleeing with me, as I looked upon the horror scene with my father’s headless body and head still laid on the platform, I watched as the people the soldiers had dragged up were now being killed. It was turning into another massacre, and not wanting to see another part of it, I closed my eyes.

Still held by Sandor, rushing through the streets of the capitol, my eyes didn’t open until the sound of a familiar voice suddenly forced them open.

“Clegane!” the voice shouted and it made him stop in his tracks. When I opened my eyes, I noticed we were headed for the docks, as they were only up ahead. The voice came from in front of Sandor and so I turned myself around against him in his hold and saw the man the voice matched.

“What in seven hell’s are you still doing here?!” Sandor exclaims to the man as he rushes up to us. “Jorah?!” I call in saddened shock, still in a state of emotional grief. He was still in King’s Landing!

“No ships sailed yesterday because of the wedding. Now all of this.” Jorah hurriedly explains as he looks around at the chaos that was happening around us.

“I don’t have time to chat. I have to get this one out of here. We must leave.” Sandor proclaims, stepping to move past in haste but Jorah stops him by grasping his arm. “You cannot go with her, Glegane. They know she is around here somewhere, and they know you have her.” Jorah informs.

“How? We were not seen or followed.” Sandor retorts.

“I overheard some Lannister men. It appears somewhere along the way you were.” Jorah states. “You stick out like a sore thumb for numerous reasons, Glegane. Anywhere you take her, you will be recognised before she is, and that doesn’t help either of you. –Give her to me.” Jorah insists.

Sandor looks around at the continuing surrounding chaos of the people running around the captiol in fear of what the Lannister’s and their allies will do to them after what happened at the Sept. “Where will you take her?” He questions.

“Far from here.” Jorah simply answers, glancing to the docks ahead.

Sandor nods. “Good. Now take her.” He orders, beginning to hand me over to Jorah, which I was more than okay with. I wasn’t sure who had made it through the massacre of my family and the rest in the Red Keep. I didn’t know if William and his family had made it out, or the Starks, or whoever else. I only knew I had Jorah and Sandor, and as much as I loved Jorah as my friend, it still saddened me at the thought. But, these two did appear to be the only two I had left, and Jorah I trusted more than anyone out of who I did have left, and if Sandor was now one of them, why couldn’t he come too?

“Come with us.” I plead.

“I can’t. Jorah is right, and there is no time to argue. I must go, but more importantly so must you. Now go. Be free of all this, little bird.” Sandor implores and with that Jorah carries me off towards the docks and this time I watch Sandor disappear over Jorah’s shoulders.

As Jorah had been holding me close at his side, I clung tight to him as we headed for the docks and he quickly headed for the closest ship. In any other circumstance I would have chewed his ear off about where he had been and what he had been doing but I was in no mood to talk; I was about to leave all I knew behind.

When we got onto the closest ship, Jorah made haste to get on it and without invitation. Coming onto the stern of the ship, one that looked freshly docked he dashed to speak with the captain still standing at the helm of the ship. Putting me down he began to speak with the captain.

“Are you setting sail, Captain? We are in most of a hurry. We can pay our way. I have coin.” Jorah abruptly and hurriedly announces.

“Calm it, man. We have only just docked.” The captain retorts.

“This is a state of urgency. I assume you are not yet aware of what has happened here. I fear we are sitting on the brink of war, and I must get my daughter and I far away from it. If you are smart, you will cast off post haste.” Jorah exclaims and at first hearing him call me his daughter seemed strange, but the feeling soon passed as quick as it appeared. It was the reasonable and safest thing to do.

“War? What of war? Has the King declared it?” The Captain questions and hearing the mention of my father was enough for me to lose complete interest. I wanted nothing to do with the conversation, I didn’t want to hear it. Every thought of my family was painful, and I was trying to forget everything I’d seen, but even without the mention of them it felt impossible.

As Jorah continued to reason and explain to the captain, I walked over to the edge of the helm and saw the small crew working the boat down below on the deck, presumably securing it to be docked. That is when I saw a woman ascending the stairs up to where we were at the helm. She was dressed in a scarlet cloak covering what appeared to be more long red fabric beneath. She was a beautiful vision in red; even her hair matched as the deep copper colour shone in the sun. Nearing the top of the stairs I also noticed she wore a gold choker that fit tightly around her neck, holding a large ruby at the front. I watched her top the stairs as I wondered why she had been on this ship and what had brought her here when she suddenly turned her gaze directly at me. For a moment, she just stared, but then she stepped forward until she was right before me and crouching down to face me. Her eyes stared into mine and I then saw that her eyes were also red as I felt frozen to stare into hers. She brought her hand up and held my chin up, holding me firm in her gaze and I started to feel a tinge unsettled by this mysterious woman in red.

“I feel the fairness in you—flowing through your veins. –But I can also see a darkness in you. –And in that darkness eyes staring back at me. –Brown eyes—green eyes—blue eyes. –Eyes you’ll shut forever. –We will meet again.” She proclaims between the two of us.

“It will serve you well to release your hold on my child.” Jorah suddenly intervenes, making the woman let go of her hold of my chin, and I notice the tip of Jorah’s sword was held at the woman’s neck.

“There is no need for your steel. I do not wish any harm upon the child.” The red woman states as she rises slowly with the sword held still at her neck.

“Ready the ship, lads. We’re sailing back now. Nothing here but trouble!” The captain Jorah had been speaking to shouts down to his crew as Jorah lowers his sword. “We’ll be sailing off soon, my lady. If you’re still wishing to get off here, I’d best be doing it now.” The captain points out before going about his shiply duties, descending the stairs and continuing to shout at his crew down on the deck.

“You watch over her.” The red woman insists, casting her gaze directly on Jorah now.

“Who are you?” Jorah questions, taking in her presence.

“I am but a humble servant of the Lord of Light, a red priestess.” The red woman answers.

Jorah looks at her with slight distrust. “Why are you here?” he asks.

“Azor Ahai was born amidst smoke and salt, and when the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt.” The red woman declares.

“You speak in riddles, woman.” Jorah replies.

“I speak the truth. The Lord has sent me here as it is seen that the prince who was promised will reside here, and they will lead the war for the dawn against the Great Other.” The red woman explains.

“I don’t know about any war for the dawn, but a war is what you’ll get if you stay here. It would be wise to leave while you can.” Jorah points out.

“I am right where I need to be. –And so are you.” The red woman coolly responds, glancing to me as she finishes her words, before gazing back to Jorah. “These little wars are no more than a scuffle of children before what is to come. The one whose name may not be spoken is marshalling his power, a power fell and evil and strong beyond measure. Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends. Unless true men find the courage to fight it. Men whose hearts are fire.” The red woman proclaims, leaving Jorah a little lost for words.

“There is ice and there is fire.” She continues. “Watch over her. For the night is dark and full of terrors –and I can see she has a hand to play in the wars to come.” She finishes, turning to glance at me one last time before she begins to walk away, headed off the boat into the chaos that now ensued in King’s Landing. The words she spoke I did not truly understand but Jorah seemed a little struck by them. However, I soon forgot the woman and her riddles, as she posed only a mere quick distraction from the events of the past day. A day I would not soon forget, perhaps ever. I then wondered if I was now plagued with the memories of it forever.

“We should get below deck, Daenerys. Out the way and out of sight. We’ve been in it and talking long enough out here.” Jorah quietly encourages as we begin to descend the stairs.

“Where did you come from?” I ask, only now really striking up a conversation with Jorah. Everything had moved so fast since last night.

“As I said, ships weren’t sailing yesterday due to the wedding. Then amongst the chaos I found out what had happened last night and that you were alive somewhere. I had been looking for you since the early hours of the morning.” Jorah explains quietly still as we continue down the stairs, and I don’t find any words to reply, instead I only nod in understanding.

“I’m sorry, little one. I truly am. But I swear, by all the gods, I will care for you and protect you.” He promises between us as we get to the bottom of the stairs and looking up at him as he finishes, I then grasp his hand, holding it tight. “Thank you.” I whimper. He looks down at me in what seems like pity but also, and more notably, with kindness and love. I felt immensely grateful to Jorah as he made me feel safe in a time where it felt no where was. “Come on.” He urges, for us both to get below deck for the journey just before the captain starts yelling to his crew that they’d be casting off any minute now.

“Where are we going?” I ask Jorah as he leads me below deck.

“Across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos.” He answers.

“Then what?” I follow up.

“I don’t know.” Jorah replies, and I could sense a hint of unease in his answer.

Headed into the unknown didn’t exactly put me at ease myself, but I had felt a lot more than uneasy in the last day. Seeing my family murdered made me wonder what exactly was left for me now, if I even wanted to be in a world they weren’t in. I loved my siblings. I idolised my mother. And I worshipped my father. Now they were all gone. Dead. Massacred and I had been essentially exiled, gone into hiding on fear of death. I had once thought nothing was a match for a dragon, and now within half a day, I was the last Targaryen. Dragons really had been almost eradicated, or as good as. Everything I knew was now gone. So what was left for me to do? Where was left for me to go? Whatever the answers were, I wasn’t sure I wanted them. I wasn’t sure about anything, not anymore. And who was I supposed to be if I wasn’t Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen? Would I be anyone? And whoever I’d become, would it be all worth it?

Chapter Text

-- 8 years later –-

Valar morghulis. All men must die. And many had at our feet along the years in Essos. It had been eight years since the red wedding, a name we had come to hear across the first year of being in hiding in Pentos. It seemed fitting. It was a bloody massacre, so red felt suited to the carnage it titled. Eight years on and the war was still not at an end. During the first year, we had heard vague news of the state of Westeros over supper and feasts in passing conversations, learning that the Baratheon’s were leading the war against the Lannister’s with the allied houses. That the war was continually dragged on and there were continuous battles over months and subsequently years. The whole time Jorah and I had been going from place to place, the war had been raging across the Narrow Sea back home. If I could even call it that anymore. Essos felt more like a home to me now, Jorah did. When we had arrived in Pentos all those years ago, we struggled for a while, but we found some decent shelter eventually. Then that was the Pentoshi prince and his rich magisters that ruled over Pentos had learned of our presence in the city. A line of whispers going around the city were no doubt started by the captain or men of his crew, perhaps spotting my hair on the ship and bragging to some other men while drinking, as men did. Then the news would have spread until the rich and powerful would have come to hear. When they did, it had been a few weeks of hiding in sheltered spaces in the streets and hidden, ruined houses, just about scraping by. One of the magisters and the prince’s men that protected him found us and of course Jorah stood his ground, killed a few of them that got too close before the rich magister finally reasoned that they only wished us asylum and no harm would come to either of us.

All had been true, they wished us no harm and did grant us asylum, for that we were grateful. But after time, I felt more like a parading monkey than a guest in the castle, at the prince’s Pentoshi Manor. They were great lovers of song the Pentoshi nobles and had wished me to sing. Jorah had told me that they believed me to be a child of a deity, for they were not accustomed to see such a beauty of a child with such silver-blonde hair. I had never been keen in my singing lessons to do so, but as guests I complied with the prince’s wishes and sang. Once I sang, it became a regular occurrence, though I enjoyed it for the first few times, after a while it became tiresome, but I did not feel like I was in a position to refuse. For the gift of song was much loved, the prince and magisters were generous with those who pleased them, so they were generous and kept us quietly hidden within the manor, and we lived there for around a year. Jorah also told me because they believed I was a child of a deity, they believed I would bring them good fortune and prosperity by hosting me generously, and so it would appease the gods and the deity that created me. Jorah and I played on this belief, seeing it wise to lean on it as a form of protection.

After a time, I came to learn that the custom of Pentos had a much darker culture. It was a city where wealth equalled power, much like any other place but it wasn’t really the prince that ruled the people. To many it would seem that way, that the prince did rule over Pentos but he did so with his council of rich magisters, in fact I came to realise that the prince was mostly a ceremonial function while the magisters rule. The prince was chosen from forty families and really only presides chiefly over balls and feasts. Each new year he deflowers two maidens who subsequently become the miad of the sea and the maid of the fields, to ensure prosperity on land and sea. This custom, as a girl, made me feel uneasy because it sounded as if the maidens had no choice in the matter. But then if there was a famine or a war is lost, the magisters sacrifice the prince, slitting his throat to appease the gods, then choose a new prince. I came to quickly realise that the royalty in this world, no matter the culture, was not always as powerful as they believed and easily replaceable. But what I found most deplorable was that even with slavery abolished by Braavos amongst the free cities, many fell back into the practise that were far from Braavos. Pentos however, being close to Braavos, was full of ‘free bond servants’ who are collared and branded like slaves in Lys, Myr and Tyrosh, a few furthest away from Braavos. Although the people are free men and women by law, the cost of their food, clothing, and shelter is higher than the value of their service and they become indebted to their masters, becoming slaves. In Pentos, I found I did not enjoy living a life, similar to one I was accustomed to, one of royalty and riches, while people were working off an unpayable debt as slaves to their masters. It felt wrong to prosper while others essentially perished within a corrupt system, especially since I came to see that the prince resembled a spoilt child, but it was not my place to say or do anything and I hated it.

Over the year we spent in Pentos, I learned more of the histories of Westeros but also Essos, and I began to teach myself High Valyrian. The magisters had an extensive collection of books, being the richest men in Pentos, and allowed me to read as many as I cared to, being that I was a child of a deity. I noticed the common tongue was only spoken amongst the prince and magisters, and their common tongue I also noticed got better the longer we stayed, no doubt again wanting to appease to my style of language rather than making me learn theirs. But I knew Jorah could speak their tongue, as I had heard him speak it with a few magisters on occasion. They spoke Valyrian, though Jorah called it bastard Valyrian when I queried him early on what language they had been speaking. A corrupted dialect of the original language of High Valyrian, which originated from Valyria, the place of my ancient ancestors before Baelor and his sisters flew to Westeros centuries ago. After that, I became interested in High Valyrian tongue and found books of the language in the magisters collections. Strangely, I felt oddly connected to my family by learning our ancestral mother tongue, even though we never knew, spoke or learned it. It was just something to hold onto, and I took whatever I could.

As well as learning High Valyrian, which I kept under wraps from Jorah, not wanting to showcase the language until I was fluent and surprise him, we kept up my training with Needle. Over the year in Pentos, as much as I became to despise the culture and somewhat resent the prince, who did not seem much of a man at all, I did become accustomed to living in the manor with Jorah, now my only family. With him teaching me how to use my sword, I started to become somewhat decent for my size. But as much as I thought I had gotten good with Needle, actually using a blade on a man to end his life, proved difficult at first. For around eight months in, a man had gotten into the manor and had attempted to assassinate me during one evening. I was going back to my chambers after supper and when I entered my room a man was waiting for me in the shadows of my room. Luckily, my dresser was close to my door and so I was able to quickly grab it as the man started to move from the corner of my room out the shadows towards me. However, I quickly lost my nerve as the man got closer, for he got taller and taller, bigger and bigger until he towered me and that is when I screamed and ran from the room into the halls of the manor. I could hear the rushed steps of the towering man in the halls behind me but eventually I stopped myself and turned back to face the man. I told myself I couldn’t run forever from such things, I couldn’t always rely on others to save me. I had to have faith in myself and so I stood my ground, albeit extremely nervously, with Needle in hand waiting for the towering man to catch up to me. I’ll admit as the towering man again came towards me, with a eery grin on his face, I began to shake a little in my stance, but I repeatedly told myself the words of Syrio had told me, ‘not today’. I was ready to face this man, at least that is what I told myself until Jorah suddenly appeared from around the hall’s corner behind me, sword in hand. Pushing me back, telling me to go, he stared down the towering man and the two began to face off. I refused to leave and stayed put, keeping Needle firmly in hand. I didn’t want to leave Jorah alone with this towering man, and he was huge as he even towered Jorah. The two fought in the halls with their swords, until Jorah knocked the sword from the man’s hand but the move ended with the same outcome for Jorah, and so they then fought with their fists. The panic within me started to worsen when it looked as if Jorah was going to lose, and eventually the man had him pinned against him in a headlock. Jorah’s face was turning bright red and he clearly couldn’t breathe. I saw the man trying to reach for his sword beside him and I couldn’t let him get it, so I rushed over and kicked the sword forward at its hilt, sending it across the hall. The man stared at me with rage as he continued to hold Jorah and with his free hand he tried to grab me but I dodged his grasp and moved swiftly behind him. It all happened within a matter of seconds, but as I moved behind the man, I had Needle in my grasp and with care not to harm Jorah I manoeuvred my sword so it went straight through the side of the man’s neck and out the other side. Pulling it out, blood began to pour and spurt from the holes, and his hold on Jorah weakened; it was just enough for Jorah to free himself. The man held his neck and began to rise himself and as he turned to face me, his hands were already soaked in his blood. Then as the man was standing a sword struck through his chest and he fell to his knees, revealing Jorah behind him with his sword. As the sword was pulled out from behind him, the man’s hands fell from his neck and his body slumped to the ground, dead.

After the foiled assassination attempt, Jorah was adamant we were to leave but the magisters and prince were adamant of the opposite. They assured us that the incident would be a one off as the assassin was a mercenary bought for his services by a Pentoshi man, one that will have surely heard of a the deity child, one that will have chosen a dark path and chose to defy the gods. They assured us we would be safe here, that we were to stay and that they would provide the extra protection necessary. Jorah had been so firm in leaving, not trusting that the assassin was just simply bought by a Pentoshi man and that it was a one off, he wanted to leave but the magisters insisted we stayed. And so, with a lot of grovelling by the magisters we did, we just took extra care.

Over the next few days, I had to come to grips with the toll of what it meant to handle a sword, but Jorah was there to comfort me, and eventually made me see that the world we lived in, the life we lived, especially the one Jorah and I had found ourselves in, the toll was necessary. That I would grow used to it, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I knew it was necessary to survive as it was kill or be killed in these instances, but I wasn’t sure I would get used to the feeling of ending a man’s life, I would just have to supress it.

Then two months later, another attempt was made, but this time there was more and it was extremely worse. I had been awoken in the night forcibly and a man pinned me down to my bed, he had positioned himself on top of me and I could not move under his weight. He held my hands together behind my back and pushed my head into my pillow. I struggled but it was no use. I kept thinking when was he going to kill me but he didn’t, he instead ordered his men to leave him alone with me and go kill the others, which I assumed he must have meant Jorah and most likely the prince and magisters. What followed was a painful experience, one I will not ever forget. The feeling was excruciating, and I can still remember everything about it. The smell of the man, the weight of him on top of me, the sound of his grunts and vulgar words, the rough grip of his hands. A girl does not forget being raped, that sort of thing stays with her. Yet another thing to supress. But during it all, he had loosened his grip on my hands when he seemed at his most happy and I was able to grab my sword from beneath my pillow, where I had been keeping it every night as I slept since the first assassin’s attempt. Without a seconds thought, I brought I up over my head, not caring where it landed, as long as it landed someone in this monstrous man on top of me. And it did, for me cried out in pain and fell back onto the bed off of me, and I swiftly turned on my knees to see I had stabbed him in the eye, and I didn’t give him a chance to raise a weapon as I immediately swung my sword at the man’s throat, slicing it open. I watched as his blood poured onto my bed, spraying the sheets and this time, I felt no shame in killing a man. Not with the things he did. Death was deserved for this man.

After that attempt, Jorah and I fled from Pentos, not letting the remaining magisters, as some had been killed by the assassins, convince us to stay. Jorah and I knew it had to be the Lannisters sending these assassins and so we knew we had to move on, so we did. Although, over the following several months after Pentos, we still faced more assassins as we travelled across Essos, but we defeated them all, more at Jorah’s hand than mine. But we moved from one city to the next after each foiled assassin’s attempt, from Pentos to Myr, to Valysar, to Volantis, to Mantarys. It was when we reached Mantarys that the attempts stopped, and we resided there for many years, though we did not stay with the nobles of the city, we found our own small place within the city, under the radar. There we spent many years living a simple life together as Jorah raised me. There I refined my skills with Needle as well as Jorah teaching me how to fight with his own sword in the recent years as I grew bigger and became a woman. I also, still unbeknownst to Jorah, finally learnt High Valyrian as I kept the books from the Pentoshi magisters. It was also in Mantarys that I learnt of Slaver’s Bay, which was not far east, over the mountains that lined the Black Cliffs. The Bay is dominated by three large independent cities, all residing on the eastern side of the bay. From south to north, they are Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, with Meereen being notably the largest of them all. These three cities are famous for being the heart of the slave trade in Essos, selling slaves to the Free Cities, the Dothraki, Qarth, as well as others. I had found the culture in Pentos to be deplorable in relation to their slaves, and in all the cities we had travelled across there had been slaves. The idea disgusted me, and Jorah knew it. He knew how I felt about it and so even after all these years, we both still had never spoke of his previous crimes that had got him exiled in the first place. I didn’t wish to know, and I presumed he never wished to speak of it. I hated living amongst so many cities where slavery was a thriving trade, but what was to be done? I was one girl, with one sword and one man at her side. We had no wealth or power, there was nothing I could do to help these people. Like many other things in my life, I just had to suppress it, for we lived a helpless life. But, my disagreement of the culture aside, life for years was simple but peaceful, and for that I was utterly grateful to Jorah for being with me and protecting me all these years. Although, all that was about to change.

After eight years of life being just Jorah and I, one day we were found, once again, and brought forth a proclamation. One of a new life instead of asylum this time. A single man had found us at our home and announced his purpose, stating he had travelled far and long to find us, that he had sailed along the Narrow and Summer Seas to find us in Mantarys on account of his master, magister Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos. He had scavenged and scanned the city for us, for he had tracked us down as he had followed the whispers of our travels to Mantarys. The fact the man had easily found us made both Jorah and I a little uneasy, even after so many years of peace. It meant if he could, others could, more namely the Lannister’s. We had not had an attempt on our lives for some six to seven years now, but the threat would always be lingering over us as long as they lived and so did I. although, I always wondered why the attempts suddenly stopped after so many, but I just figured after sending so many and each time they wound up dead perhaps they gave up, especially since I was now so far east. I wasn’t a threat to anybody and this far east, perhaps the Lannister’s finally agreed.

What the man, or slave, brought us was a proposal. The magister Illyrio was not one of the Prince’s council, but still a wealthy, Pentoshi magister of the city and had frequent dealings with the Dothraki of whom the proposal concerned. I had heard and learned of the Dothraki through my reading over the years, always collecting books from the city whenever I could afford it, but Jorah knew more of them than I. Although we never spoke of his crime, he did admit that in his years before taking the oath of the Kingsguard that he travelled Essos and took interest in reading about the Dothraki culture; he even ended up learning their language. What I had come to learn was that the Dothraki are a race of horse-mounted warriors that inhabit the vast central plains of Essos, known as the Dothraki sea. It is said that their bond with horses is such that Dothraki are said to be born, fight, and die in their saddles, and they will abandon a sick or injured leader who can no longer ride a horse. Their leader is a khal and he leads his own khalasar, along with his three chosen blood riders. The leader of a khalasar, a khal named Drogo, who had dealings with the magister Illyrio had apparently come to him as he desired the most beautiful and exotic woman in the world as his khaleesi, and so enlisted the help of the magister to help him find such a woman. And so, the magister sent his slave to find me, a said beautiful and exotic woman. Considering I was once considered a deity in Pentos, I did not find it hard to believe that this magister would search so far to find me, but it did not mean I would go. Flattery was not going to make me change my life so drastically and I hardly thought the magisters of Pentos would still believe such things. The magister had insisted in his letter, the one that explained this proposal to Khal Drogo, that Jorah and I sail for Pentos, where we would be kept safe until Drogo’s arrival for the war in Westeros was still waging, even after all these years. Then if Drogo accepted me for his wife, I would be able to start a new life. One of family and protection, not of isolation and hiding.

I was not so convinced. Being essentially sold off by a man I didn’t even know didn’t sit well with me, and what I was being sold off into I was even more unsure of. I may have read books on the Dothraki but that didn’t mean I knew them, and I didn’t, or this Khal Drogo. The man could be cruel, or worse. Jorah on the other hand, saw this as an opportunity, a great one even. While I opposed it, he encouraged it which took me by surprise, but he explained why and I saw where his heart came from, a place of care and love. He had argued that what we had was no life for a girl of eighteen such as myself, and despite the years peace, we did not know what the future brought, what the continued war would bring down upon us. He urged me to take this life, as it would be one I could build a new life with away from the pain of my past, away from the threat of the Lannister’s, one where I could find some love in a new culture, start a family and have constant protection from a horde of followers and friends, not just himself in a small, dreary house and life. While I loved Jorah’s care and love for me, I resented his quick assumption that our life was dreary. He had given me a life and a peaceful one at that, I did not care for the smallness and simplicity of it, I could never dislike such a thing for it was what we had together. He had become a father to me as well as a friend and I cherished each day we had. But that is why I listened to him. I was still unsure of this proposal, but Jorah was right, it was a new life and I supposed it meant adventure, which I had to admit sounded enjoyable after all these years. At least, that is what I told myself.

Upon return of Pentos, the place appeared exactly the same, and even the same prince sat at the Pentoshi Manor I heard. He obviously hadn’t had his throat slit to appease the gods yet, but I guess only time would tell for him. The city hadn’t changed since I was ten and now I was back as a girl of eighteen, or a woman as most would call me now, especially since I would now be married. My father had once told me that I would marry a high Lord and rule over his castle, and I had told him that wasn’t me. I guess some truth had been in what I said. I wouldn’t marry a high Lord and rule over his castle, I was to marry a horse lord and rule over vast grass lands and a khalasar, if a Khalasei could even do such things. In all honesty, I had no care to marry, to find my match in another and within a new people, I had been content with what I had, but starting a new life among a new united people appeared the best bet, and I could only hope it was.

Chapter Text

Standing on the balcony, overlooking the coastal city of Pentos from the bathing chamber in magister Illyrio’s manse, I wondered what Khal Drogo would look like, I wondered what his khalasar would look like, I wondered what my life was about to become, I wondered many things before I was to be presented to Khal Drogo on this day.

“Daenerys. Are you decent?” Jorah called from the hall, snapping me from my thoughts.

“Yes.” I reply, turning to come back inside. As Jorah entered, I walked around the large bath, and I saw he was carrying a dress in his arms as he came towards me.

“A gift from the magister. A dress of silk from Elyria.” Jorah announces as he holds it between us. We had been to Elyria, it was an island city off the coast near Mantarys, we had visited on a couple occasions, although it was more of the same, a place of slavers and masters.

“It’s beautiful. –But do we have to give in return for all this?” I query and Jorah lowers his arms and the dress.

“Nothing, Daenerys. We are guests, not property.” Jorah states.

“And yet, I have no doubt the magister will be paid for his service to the khal, will be paid for me. I certainly feel like property. Tell me, what will I buy the magister?” I ask.

Jorah sighs lightly. He knew I wasn’t a little girl anymore, I was smarter now, more aware, more observant. We had lived in Essos for eight years now; I knew the workings of men, especially these men. Nothing was done, nothing was given unless someone was getting something in return.

“Most likely slaves.” Jorah solemnly admits.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this.” I inform.

“Daenerys, this is the way of life in Essos. You know this, it’s what is done.” Jorah reasons.

“Just because it is done, doesn’t mean it is what should be done.” I retort.

Jorah shows a hint of a smile. “Right you are.” Jorah admits, before lifting the dress back up between us. I stared at the thing, before taking it from him and he made his leave from the chamber. Nothing was to be done from arguing in a bathing chamber and my fate with Dothraki seemed already sealed, but the idea of being involved in a slave transaction I despised.

As Jorah left the chamber, I turned to see the bath was steaming, ready for me to enter and so with a sigh I untied my dress and let it drop to the floor. Taking the steps of the bath, I stepped in descended into it.

“It is too hot, my lady.” My mistress helper magister assigned me, Mara, exclaims behind me.

I turn around to face her, seeing through the steam she has just come back into the room and looks quite shocked. “It is fine, Mara.” I assure making her nod her acceptance and go about her business. I lowered myself, submerging my shoulders into the bath and sat there looking out at the view the balcony provided across the room, once again wondering when I left this manse what was my new life to be.

I found myself continuously wondering until the moment came and we stood on the front steps of magister Illyrio’s manse, Jorah at my side and magister to the other. We had been stood waiting on his steps for some time and I was starting to grow a little impatient.

“Where is he?” I say.

“The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality.” Jorah replies.

“Hush—I hear their horses.” The magister suddenly announces and soon after four riders appeared, galloping up to the front steps. Magister immediately opened his arms, walking down the steps as he began to speak Dothraki, appearing to welcome the Khal and what I assumed his three blood riders.

“May I present my honoured guests. Daenerys of House Targaryen, a rightful princess of Westeros, and the last dragon.” Magister Illyrio introduces me as, which felt odd and strange now after all these years, but what felt most odd was being called the last dragon. The title didn’t make me feel powerful in any way, it just made me feel more alone. “And her loyal companion and protector, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, a rightful knight of Westeros.” Magister Illyrio continues. The two of us shared the slightest of glances, clearly both feeling odd at the formal titles, ones be both no longer held.

The Khal who Illyrio addressed said no words, he simply stared me down upon his horse as his riders also did. Illyrio continued to speak at the large man, in Dothraki, as I took the sight of him. He was large, towering upon his horse, his stare was piercing and quite overwhelming, he wore only clothes over his bottom half, showing off his muscley and tanned physique. His hair was black as a raven and I noticed the hair of all the riders were kept in varying sized braids down their necks and backs. Khal Drogo’s was by far the longest, the braid falling down past his back, the ends just resting on the back of the horse.

“Do you see how long his hair is, Daenerys?” Jorah points out quietly next to me, leaning into my ear and I nod slightly in response, my eyes still fixated on this man. “When Dothraki are defeated in combat they cut off their braid so the whole can see their shame. Khal Drogo has never been defeated.” Jorah explains, and from the looks of the man, he looks as if he could snap me in half with ease with just his finger and thumb, he looked like he could be a ferocious warrior, or killer.

“I thought the whole point was to avoid battles?” I quietly retort.

“The Dothraki don’t fight battles, only fights amongst themselves. They do not look beyond their own lands, and when they do it is for trade.” Jorah clarifies.

“In slaves?” I judge.

“Yes—among other things.” Jorah answers.

“Daenerys.” Illyrio calls up. “Come forward, my dear.” He urges and glancing at Jorah, he gives an encouraging slight nod and with that I descend the steps, coming to Illyrio’s side, the whole way never breaking the stare Khal Drogo had on me. At Illyrio’s side, he then gently pushes me forward, urging me to go closer to Drogo. The closer I got the more overwhelmed I felt by his intensity; the man spoke no words, only stared with the plainest of expressions and by extension left me speechless, but not in the best way. A small part of me feared what would come next. I wasn’t sure how long I was standing before him, gazing up at him on his horse as he gazed down, it had felt like several minutes lingering, but it may have only been several seconds. Our stare was only broken when the Khal suddenly whipped the reins of his horse and he began to gallop off, followed by his three riders. When he left, I felt as if I had been broken from a spell, free to look upon anything else now. The short experience had been odd.

“The ceremony is over.” Magister Illyrio announces from behind me. I turn around in confusion to see him watching them gallop away and Jorah coming down the steps to join us.

“He said nothing. Perhaps he wasn’t impressed with your choice magister, perhaps he didn’t like me.” I point out, mildly relieved.

“Oh no, Daenerys, trust me, if he didn’t like you, we’d know.” Illyrio states, which didn’t exactly fill me with ease.

“So, what does this mean?” I query.

“It means, you will be his queen.” Illyrio clarifies.

“When?” I ask, trying to hide the hint of dread in my voice.

“Soon. The Dothraki never stay still for long.” Illyrio answers.

And soon had come quicker than I thought, for the next day came our wedding ceremony. I was not looking forward to it in the slightest for several reasons, the foremost being the last wedding I attended brought the massacre of my family and it also dawned on me that my brother was eighteen when he married Elia and now at the same age I was married. The similarities and memories felt cursing, and those wounds had never fully healed. But, nonetheless, my wedding was entirely different, it was not a traditional wedding, like that of my brother’s and Elia’s. We did not share vows, we did not repeat godly promises, we merely walked side by side past all of his khalasar, up to our seats that looked upon them all. From then, it turned into a feast and celebration in accordance to their culture, with many people bringing us gifts as Khal Drogo and I sat watching the whole reception, another thing I did not really enjoy. Women looked as though they were dancing but other khals would come up behind them, and what I would call rape them but I could not tell whether the women enjoyed it or not, but they were not fighting it. The khals would also fight over these women, and a few ended up being killed because of it, with the winning khal cutting their braid off the dead man.

When the first man was killed, clearly I did not hide my shock well enough as the magister spoke across to me in explanation. “A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.” Magister explains as he claps. I felt a complete stranger to this culture and I worried I would not see or agree with their ways enough to completely fit in.

Many brought us gifts, though I soon realised it was more for the khal than me. I was not addressed until Jorah arose from our side, from where he sat with the Magister.

“A small gift for the new Khaleesi.” Jorah announces as he comes to stand before the khal and I. “I do not have much to gift you on this day, Daenerys, but I hope these will suffice.” Jorah states as he holds three books strapped together with a small smile.

“You know you have given me much already, Ser Jorah, I need no gift from you. But you know me well. If they are books, I shall take them gladly.” I point out, matching his kind smile.

“Old songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms. They are from my own collection, although I have not read them personally, I saw it fit to pass them on, to you.” Jorah declares kindly.

My smile grows bigger at the gesture. “Then I shall take it with honour. Thank you, Jorah.” I sincerely thank.

He bows his head, still holding his small smile, before taking his seat back to the side of us. As Jorah sits, Illyrio stands and beckons a couple of his slaves, when the two appear in front of us, they come forward and place down a chest at my feet. When opening the chest, I am faced with a sight my eyes had never seen before, merely only read about.

“Dragon’s eggs, Daenerys. From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.” Magister announces as I take in the sight of all four sat in the chest before me, I felt entranced by them and immediately took hold of one in my hands with gentle care. “The ages have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful.” Magister continues.

“Indeed, they are. Thank you, Magister.” I thank, glancing at him with a smile in gratitude for the generous gift before quickly turning my attention back to the eggs. Although, my time admiring them is cut short, for as soon after Magister sits back down, Drogo then stands to attention beside me. I see him look down at me from the corner of my eye, and gently put my egg back into the chest before standing up beside him. He then begins to walk off through the crowd of his khalasar, and as I follow slowly behind, the khalasar forms around me, watching me intently as I catch up to where Drogo now stood. He stood looking proud, staring straight at me as intently as he had the first time, as he held onto a majestic horse, a beautiful white coloured creature. I quickly assumed it was a gift, and one with the intent to match my silver-blonde hair. For the first time, I did not feel overwhelmed by his stare or feel a tinge of fear, I felt admired and started to feel somewhat safe, although still a complete outsider. The horse was a beautiful gift, and I was entirely grateful, but I soon realised I did not know how to say thank you in Dothraki. I did not know any words in Dothraki, something I knew I was going to have to learn quick if I were to live amongst these people as their new Khaleesi.

“She’s beautiful.” I say to Drogo as I stroke the horse, who again says nothing, only stares intently into my eyes. I turn around searching for Jorah or the magister, wanting to know how to translate my words into Dothraki, and find Jorah behind standing amongst the khalasar.

“Jorah, how do I say thank you in Dothraki?” I query.

“There is no word for thank you in Dothraki.” Jorah answers, and at first it surprises me, but then I quickly reason that the culture seems quite savage so why would they have words for things as please and thank you. Then as soon as I look back to Drogo, he steps forward and with complete ease lifts me up from the ground and places me on my horse as if I were merely lighter than a feather.

As I adjust my sit on my horse, Drogo strides around beside and leaps up onto his own in a swift, quick motion. I knew what was now coming next and now dread did fill back into my body. That is when I felt a hand on my arm and looked down to my side to see Jorah.

“It will be alright, Daenerys. Do not be afraid. It will not be as it once was.” Jorah tries to comfort and judging by the pity in his face, I responded with an unconvincing agreeing nod, just as Drogo begins to ride off, and my horse and I following.

The wedding had been just outside Pentos, away from the city, at a cliff’s edge overlooking the Narrow Sea, and as Drogo and I rode off we followed the cliff’s edge until we stopped at a place out of sight and alone. We rode down to a beach below the cliff’s edge, where we resided on some rocks above the sea. Looking out at the sunset that glimmered over the ocean and coloured the sky, I would have thought the evening beautiful if it were not for what was to follow. Jorah’s words repeated in my head, that it would not be as it once was and I was sure he would be right. At least I hoped. If the way the other khals with those women were anything to go by, there wouldn’t be much difference, the only difference being I wouldn’t enjoy it as those women had appeared to. I told myself not to be afraid, like Jorah had told me, I told myself again and again in my head it would not be the same until I heard Drogo approach from behind.

Turning to face him, again he stared with no words, but this time even I could tell he stared with longing. He then began to circle me, stroking my hair as he came to stand behind me, before starting to untie my dress. I had to supress a whimper as I held my eyes closed, but closing my eyes only made a tear fall out onto my cheek. Drogo then circled around to come to my side and opening my eyes I saw he stared upon my face once again. This time he brought his hand up to my cheek, and with the back of a couple of his fingers, he gently caressed my cheek, wiping the tear from my face.

“No.” Drogo suddenly says, and I hear his voice for the first time. It was low and rough, matching his demeanour entirely.

“Do you know the common tongue?” I ask as Drogo comes to stand in front.

“No.” he answers as he continues to slowly circle around me.

“Is ‘no’ the only word that you know?” I question as he comes around to the back of me once more.

“No.” he repeats, just making it clear that it was the only word he did know. From behind, he then brings my hair back slowly, letting it drape down the back of me before reaching over my shoulders and undoing the straps of my dress in front. It falls to my waist, resting on my hips and I immediately bring my hands and arms across my chest, trying to supress my whimpers as I cover myself, not wanting what was next. But Drogo only grasps my hands, albeit with a soft grip, and pulls them down to my sides to expose my top half. With the back of his hand, he caresses my cheek, moving his hand down as it turns into a stroke of my neck, shoulder and down the side of my body. Until it moves back up and rests on my shoulder, from where he pushes me down, bending me forward. Jorah was right that it wasn’t as it had been before, this was different, he was not violently rough with me or vulgar with words, he merely treated me like any Khal would have treated his Khaleesi. It was rough in another sens; he was a large man and I was considerably smaller. It was not the same, it was not how it had been before, but that did not mean that I enjoyed it.

The next morning, I did feel sore and at first light we were riding, which didn’t make me feel any better riding my horse. The whole khalasar rode for Vaes Dothrak, the only city in the Dothraki Sea, which neared the far north-eastern edge of the lands. I had read that it lies in the shadow of a single, vast peak known by the Dothraki as the Mother of Mountains and the cities’ entrance is marked by two large statues: a pair of stallions. As we were leaving the region of the free cities, we had to travel to the Dothraki Sea first and then across mostly the whole of its land before we reached Vaes Dothrak. The journey was far and would take a good amount of time. A journey I would be taking into a new life as a Khaleesi.

The riding was uncomfortable, and at each stop where we camped for the night, brought another night where I would be bent forward at Drogo’s will. The comfortability of riding was never at an end, and I found my motivation and mood getting to its end.

“You need to drink, Daenerys. And eat.” Jorah suddenly points out, coming up beside me on his horse as I sat on my horse off to the side of the Khalasar, wanting to stop the horse for a minute. I glanced at him unenthusiastically, showing I did not have much care but knew he was right. When he handed a piece of dried meat my way, my eyes repulsed at the sight but took it for lack of options.

“Isn’t there anything else?” I query, although I knew the answer already.

“The Dothraki have two things in abundance: grass and horses. People can’t live on grass.” Jorah answers as I nibble on the piece of dried horse meat.

“In the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are fields of ghost grass with stalks as pale as milk that glow in the night—murders all other grass. The Dothraki believe that one day it’ll cover everything, that it’s the way the world will end.” Jorah proclaims, and I can see he is trying to distract my mood and general discomfort with knowledge on the culture, but it doesn’t work. As he talks, I watch Drogo ride by with his riders, and as Jorah finishes, he must have followed my gaze and read my thoughts.

“It’ll get easier.” He comforts, although it does not comfort me at all and I turn to him with a frown and a look of slight embarrassment at the mention of what my comfortability was coming from, and with that I nudge my horse to resume riding.

When we made camp that night, I had felt so uncomfortable from riding after the first couple nights with Drogo that getting off my horse felt like a mission. Jorah, as kind and caring as always, was at my horse’s side in an instant and helping me down off my horse. I had to wrap my arms around him as I moved my leg over and he pulled me down with care. My two handmaid’s that had been given to me by Drogo, Irri and Doreah, then rushed to my aid, taking me from Jorah’s arms in worry as they escorted me to my tent. As we walked, I glanced back at Jorah and again saw pity in his eyes. This man had cared for me for so many years and now he looked utterly helpless standing there, I almost felt bad for him.

Over the next couple days, one night we had not been camped long and it had not got far into the night when Drogo once again had me bent forward, taking me from behind, his grip at my hips, like every other night before. The pain of it had subsided now, I guessed I was growing used to it. I had once thought that this act was something to enjoy, for a man and woman to relish in together, but this was not enjoyable, at least not for me. If this was to be my life, I wanted to be able to enjoy it as Drogo did, I wanted to make the both of us happy, I just didn’t know how. As I was lost in thought, staring forward at the things amongst my tent, my attention snapped as I thought I heard a faint, tiny, high pitched hiss and growl. The noise I was certain came from my eggs ahead of me in their chest, surrounded by lit candles. I was sure I heard something and was suddenly entranced at the idea that the eggs were somehow real, but I knew these things could not be. They were stone. I guess it was something in my mind to distract me from Drogo.

After Drogo had left, Doreah and Irri came back to my tent, where they insisted on treating my hands. I had barely noticed them until they said, but they were red and sore, with faint rash marks in the palm of my hands from the reins of my horse, accumulated over the many days riding we had already done. Clearly, I was not suited to such things yet, but I had found myself starting to want to. If this were to be my life, I would have to become one of them eventually and I would prefer it to be sooner rather than later, for my own sake.

Sat with hands out, Doreah and Irri treating my palms, I stared in wonder at my eggs across my tent, realising even with all the reading I had done over these years, I had not much found any reading on dragons. With the Dothraki living so far east most of their time, I wondered if their culture knew anything of them, more than our Western culture. Dragons were said to have last been seen with Baelor and his sisters as they rode their own, the last dragons known to man all those centuries ago. But what if they were not? I guessed it could be a possibility if the eggs magister gifted me were from the Shadow Lands, even if the ages had turned them to stone, perhaps Balerion, Mereaxes and Vhargar weren’t the only dragons that got away from Valyria after it’s doom.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” I ask Doreah and Irri suddenly, vocalising my thoughts.

“Dragon are gone, Khaleesi.” Irri states.

“Everywhere? Even in the East?” I question.

“No dragon.” Irri answers.

“A trader from Qarth told me that dragons come from the moon.” Doreah declares.

“The moon?” I query in wonder.

“He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi. That once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun, and it cracked from the heat. Out of it poured a thousand dragons, and they drank the sun’s fire.” Doreah explains happily.

Irri chuckles at this. “Moon is no egg. Moon is goddess, wife of sun. It is known.” Irri corrects.

“Why did the trader from Qarth tell you these stories?” I ask Doreah.

“Men like to talk when they’re happy. Before I was traded into the Dothraki, it was my job to make men happy.” Doreah states.

“How old were you?” I question.

“I was nine when my mother sold me to the pleasure house.” She recalls. “Nine?” I repeat in shock; the thought somewhat disgusted me, how could a mother do such a thing. But then again, the things people will do for money, to survive, I shouldn’t have been that surprised.

Doreah chuckles lightly at my shock. “I did not touch a man for three years, Khaleesi. First, you must learn.” She points out, which suddenly sparks an idea in my head, but not one I wished for Irri to be around for.

“Irri, may you leave me with Doreah please?” I ask, and Irri instantly stops what she was doing with my hand and stands. “Yes, Khaleesi.” She replies, before heading out the tent.

I waited for Irri to be out of sight before I relayed my request to Doreah. “Could you teach me how to make the Khal—happy?” I query.

Finishing with my hand, Doreah looks up to me with a complacent smile. “Yes.” She simply replies.

“Will it take three years?” I jokingly say.

“No.” She responds with a smirk. Doreah then rises to a stand and holds out for me to take her hand. “Come, Khaleesi.” She urges and I gently take her hand as she directs me to my bed, gesturing for me to lay down and I do so, laying flat on my back. Doreah then suddenly mounts me on the bed, straddling me like a horse over my lower hips and the sudden contact which felt quite intimate made me look away to the side.

“No, Khaleesi. You must look in his eyes always. Love comes in at the eyes.” Doreah instructs, as she grips my chin with her fingers and turns my head back to face her. “It is said that Irogenia of Lys could finish a man with nothing but her eyes.” Doreah proclaims, as she leans back straight into her straddle over me and then entwines her fingers of one hand with mine.

“Finish a man?” I question in confusion at the vague term, or vague to me. Doreah then shoots me a look, raises her eyebrows and I suddenly understand what she meant. “Oh.” I smirk.

“Kings travelled across the world for a night with Irogenia. Magisters sold their palaces. Khals burned her enemies just to have her for a few hours. –They say a thousand men proposed to her, and she refused them all.” Doreah continues of her tale as she entwines her other hand with mine, gradually leaning in lower to me as she holds our entwined hands at either side of my head.

“Well, she sounds like an interesting woman—,” I begin, getting a little nervous at the closeness Doreah was leaning. “I—I don’t think that Drogo will like it with me on top.” I suddenly realise.

“You will make him like it, Khaleesi. –Men want what they’ve never had. And the Dothraki take slaves like a hound takes a bitch. –Are you a slave, Khaleesi?” Doreah points out and I shake my head under her gaze. She then leans back up straight and brings my hands up with her, placing them on her hips, before she starts to grind over me, bringing her hips forward and back on top of me, moving them around. “Then don’t make love like a slave.” She adds, and as Doreah continues, I understand her perfectly and in an effort to impress, I lean up and grasp her back, swinging her around and down against the bed in place of myself. Now I was straddling her and leaning in.

“Very good, Khaleesi.” Doreah praises, as we both smile. “Out there he is the mighty Khal, but in this tent, he belongs to you.” Doreah states as she caresses my cheek and again the closeness and intimacy making my nervousness getting the better of me and I lean back up. “I—I don’t think that this is the Dothraki way.” I point out.

Doreah pulls herself up, leaning her hands on the bed to keep herself propped up in front of me. “If he wanted the Dothraki way, why did he marry you?” Doreah points out as she pushes strands of my hair behind my ear, making me realise she made a good point, and it was more than worth trying.

“Khaleesi?” Jorah’s voice calls from outside my tent, and Doreah and I scramble off the bed, in a fit of light devious giggles.

“Come in, Jorah.” I allow as I straighten myself out in a stand and Doreah stands at my side, the both of us still holding our smiles as Jorah then pulls the curtained entrance of my tent aside and steps in.

“Are you alright, Jorah?” I ask, reading the plain expression on his face which makes my smile fade slightly.

Jorah glances from me to Doreah, then back to me before he answers. “May I speak with you, alone?” He requests.

“Of course.” I reply and turn to Doreah who bows her head and leaves with haste in her step.

“Are you sure you are alright?” I repeat.

“It is not you that should be asking that of me, but I of you.” Jorah answers as he comes over to stand in front of me.

“You wish to know if I am alright?” I ponder aloud curiously, but quickly take note of how he has been looking at me the last several days in pity. “Jorah, I am fine. I swear it.” I assure.

“You have been in pain these last few days—Daenerys, please forgive me—I am the one that has pushed you to this pain, into this life that brings you such discomfort.” Jorah admits, looking shameful and guilty.

I frown at his comment, not agreeing in the slightest. “You didn’t push me to do anything. I chose to do this, if I truly did not want to, you know I would have refused the magister’s proposal and we would not be standing here now.” I reassure.

“But, the last few days you’ve—,” Jorah begins again. “But, nothing, Jorah. Yes I have been in some discomfort over these last few days, but please think nothing of it. Like you said, it is not how it was before—and it is getting easier. –We will soon be at Vaes Dothrak and I will make a life there, because I must. –Even if the war in Westeros does come to an end in our time, there is nothing there for me to go back to. This will be my new home, and I will try hard to make it that way. –I am trying.” I explain, trying to ease his unnecessary guilt and as I continue, I cup his cheek with a gentle and loving touch to keep his eyes on me and not the floor in shame. “And you will be there with me, like you have always been. Like the faithful and kind man you are—and I would not have it any other way, Ser Jorah Mormont. You honour me with your care and loyalty as always, my friend.” I add with a heartfelt smile, finally making a small one appear on his face too.

“You are my honour, Daenerys. –And I too, would not have it any other way.” Jorah sincerely proclaims, before tenderly grasping my hand from his cheek and kissing the back. “Khaleesi.” He says in leaving, starting to step backward before turning and departing my tent.

The following day, I had spent most of it with Doreah, wanting to know some Dothraki that may be useful when trying to change the way Drogo likes to lay with me, if I could speak some of his tongue, he would know my intent. She taught some lines and words, that took most of the day to pick up properly. But when the time came, it did not fail me. For when we camped that night, I was laying on my bed, alone in my tent, waiting for Drogo as he would inevitably come as always and when he did he stripped himself upon entering. I could feel the nerves in me grow as he approached me on the bed and I leant up on my arms. As he knelt down over me on the bed, he began to move my hips around and back towards him like every time before, pulling me against him, but this time I pulled myself up and turned to face him.

“No.” I say gingerly as I rest my hand on his chest, but Drogo just pushes me back down and starts to lift my dress. For a second I contemplate that it was never going to work, but the confidence that sparked in me said otherwise, so I turned once again.

“No!” I repeat more firmly this time, again going to place my hand against his chest but he slaps it away and when I try to bring it up to his face he just grabs my wrist and holds it firm.

“Ajjalan, anha athtihar she yeri hatif.”
(“Tonight, I would look upon your face.”) I suddenly state in Dothraki and the comment clearly takes Drogo by surprise as his expression, although almost plain, I can see the tinge of shock and surprise, a mixture of both the request and me speaking the language, as he leans back slightly away.

Even though he still gripped my wrist, I felt it loosen and I moved my hand forward slowly, until I reached his cheek, cupping it tenderly. As he did not slap it away, I knew he was allowing this and so I moved my hand down to his broad shoulder, bringing the other up to the other and directed him down onto his back on the bed, where I then straddled him, like Doreah had me. When I started to move as Doreah had, slowly grinding over Drogo, it finally felt good. I felt in control and having initiated this new way, I could enjoy it. As we stared into each other, his expression remained plain, but when he brought his hands up, brushing my thighs, and held my hips, encouraging my movements, I knew he was also enjoying it. He began to move his hands up my body, caressing my chest over my dress softly as my breaths began to deeper in pleasure. Then he was suddenly leant up, holding my back as his face was not even an inch from mine. I could read in his eyes that he was experiencing the same pleasure as I was, so as I continued moving on him, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and he too moved with me. Holding him close, my hands caressing his neck and face, we started to gyrate together and the experience for once felt like pure pleasure.

After the night Drogo and I spent together, finally becoming a pair in my tent, there was still some travelling to go. The ride to Vaes Dothrak was long, and over the next many days, we had been riding and camping as we had before, only now the nights were something I looked forward to rather than facing them with dread. Now, after so many weeks travel, we were here, approaching the pair of stallions that towered the entrance into Vaes Dothrak. I had now conquered the ways of the bedroom with Drogo, and every night was now one of delight. I was beginning to see him in another light, one of care and love, and him in me, but I was yet to conquer the ways of life of the Dothraki. Some things I didn’t agree with, like the keeping of slaves, but Essos was full of them, seemingly everywhere, so why wouldn’t the Dothraki have them too. I didn’t like it, but as always it wasn’t my place to say or do anything. I could only learn, not change.

“Jorah—do the Dothraki buy their slaves?” I query as we rode towards Vaes Dothrak’s entrance, riding next to Jorah.

“The Dothraki don’t believe in money. Most of their slaves were given to them as gifts.” Jorah answers.

“From who? Magisters like Illyrio?” I ponder.

“If you rule a city, and you see the horde approaching, you have two choices: pay tribute or fight. An easy choice for most. –Of course, sometimes its not enough. Sometimes a Khal feels insulted by the number of slaves he’s given. He might think the men too weak or the women too ugly. Sometimes a Khal decides his riders haven’t had a good fight in months, and need the practise.” Jorah explains as I look ahead at the line of slaves that line our travelling horde and carry our belongings and camp. That’s when one of the riders exclaims at a slave down beside him, carrying a heavy load.

“Tih she the os, zafra!”
(“Eye on the road, slave!”) The rider spits before whipping the man around the head, then whipping him repeatedly a few more times as the man cries in pain.

“Tell them all to stop.” I order, angry at what I just saw.

“You want the entire horde to stop? For how long?” Jorah queries.

I look at him with impatient eyes. “Until I command them otherwise.” I reply firmly.

Jorah hints a smirk on his face to my comment. “You’re learning to talk like a queen.” He points out.

“Not a queen—a Khaleesi.” I correct, before dismounting my horse. Unbuckling my water canteen, I approach the slave in front as I hear Jorah command a halt. Not quite fluent in the language yet, I motion for him to drop the load he was holding on his back, and the man did so with encouragement. As I handed him my water canteen to drink, I also had to encourage him to drink from it before he did.

“Yeri let jinak zafra drnk ha yeri eveth, Khaleesi?!”
(“You let this slave drink from your water, Khaleesi?!”) The rider scowls.

I was not quite fluent in the Dothraki language as yet, Irri had been teaching me along our journey after Doreah helped me with some lines. I did not fully translate the rider’s words but I understood enough.

“Ser Jorah, I am not quite fluent yet. Tell this rider, if he whips another man or woman, I will have him whipped back double the amount of strikes he cracked.” I angrily order, and again Jorah translates for me.

The man sipped from my canteen only a few times before he began bowing his head repeatedly, and I knew it was his way of saying thank you, seeing as there was no words for thank you in Dothraki. It saddened me to think he felt as if he had to do such things for a few sips of water but that was the way the world had made him, had made all that were subjected to slavery. The man quickly picked up his load again and stood waiting for the horde to resume its travelling, seeing this I turned and walked back over to get onto my horse. Then as I began to ride, so did the rest.

It was not long after that we reached the stallion statue gates and we were riding through them. in the dusty distance of the road, I saw Drogo and a few of his riders had galloped off on the road into the city. It was a grassland, one they had made a home and it was towered by mountains, the Mother of Mountains as they called it.

“Vaes Dothrak, the city of the horse lords.” Jorah announces as we both glance at each other in smile. We were finally here, and we could properly start the new life we had become a part of. As we rode through the gates along with the khalasar, I looked around but my thoughts seemed to circle back to the slave man I had offered my canteen, and as my thoughts wondered, my attentions turned to Jorah.

“We venture into a new life, Ser Jorah. And as we do, I want to know things you do not wish to share and I have not ever asked of you because of it. You know my aversion to slavery; it is why we have never spoke of it. But I ask you now to share. –You sold people into slavery—why?” I suddenly request, wanting the answer to a question that loomed over us all these years, having never really spoke of the context of his crime that exiled him.

Jorah sighs on his horse beside me as we rode, looking out ahead. “I had no money. And an expensive wife.” Jorah simply states.

“What made her expensive?” I query.

“The Kingsguard paid my family well for the service, but it was not enough. She acquired the finest things in life. For herself, our home and our son. And her tastes never seemed to be quenched.” Jorah explains.

“You have a son?” I say in calm surprise. “Not once have you ever spoken of your family. –Where are they now?” I ask gently.

I can see the emotion in eyes as I ask the question, as he think his answer. “My heart would like to think she is still at home, with our son. And perhaps she might, but I have no doubt if she was it would be with another man, appeasing her appetites. –But something tells me they aren’t at our home, it tells me they are elsewhere.” Jorah answers.

“Why did you indulge her, so much you resorted to—your crime?” I question.

“I loved my son. I loved her. But she didn’t love me, she loved things. –I wanted to keep her, for her to stay, so when the Kingsguard wasn’t enough, I resorted to the slave trade. I knew from my younger years of travel in the free cities that it was an easy market, it was easy money. And it all went to her, and my son.” Jorah explains.

“I’m sorry you have been parted from them all these years. That you’ve been stuck with me in exile.” I remorse.

“I made my choices, Daenerys. And I had to pay for them. –I do not remember much of my son; he was just a babe when we left. –But the years spent with you, I assure you I do not regret. –I did not get to watch my son grow, but I got to watch you become a woman.” Jorah proclaims.

“I’m sorry, Jorah. But I thank you, from the bottom of my heart –which I’m sure cannot fill the void in yours for your son.” I guilt.

“You have nothing to be sorry for to me, Daenerys. Only I to you.” He retorts.

“You do not, Jorah. Please realise this.” I assure, and Jorah says no words in reply, but I can see on his face that he does not believe it. I wondered what it was, what the guilt he was carrying was for him to still believe he had something to be sorry for, but I did not want to pry any more than I had.

A moment of silence passes between us before I think on something to change the subject, although not by much. “Do you think the war will ever be over in Westeros? When we were with Illyrio, we heard it was still waging. Eight years on and they still fight each other again and again for their lands, and the crown.” I point out.

“Wars end, Daenerys. One day, this one will too.” Jorah states.

“But this has lasted for many years, nearly half my life. When will it come to an end?” I ponder.

“Westeros fought for a lot longer for territory before your ancestors arrived centuries ago.” Jorah points out.

“And yet my ancestors brought peace across all of Westeros within several months. Perhaps they need someone to do the same again. –But I suppose, that is what our allies fight for, and they don’t have dragons like my ancestors did.” I reason.

“Ah, yes, dragons would have made things a lot easier.” Jorah retorts and I could detect the hint of ridicule in his voice making me ogle him.

“What? You don’t believe it?” I question surprisingly.

“Forgive me, but have you ever seen a dragon, Khaleesi?” Jorah points out.

“No, but they write of them in the histories. And you’ve seen the eggs magister gifted me.” I retaliate.

“I do not doubt the worth those eggs hold, but any fool could say exotic stones were dragon eggs. I believe what my eyes and ears report. –And I know you are an avid fan of reading, but do not believe everything you read in your books. It was three hundred years ago, who knows what really happened.” Jorah defends.

“So all those years in the Red Keep, pretending to be a dragon in the halls as I sat on your shoulders and you called me a dragon rider, you never mentioned this disbelief then?” I point out.

“Your house is a dragon Sigil. You believed and I indulged your fantasy; you were a child, you play make believe with children.” Jorah jabs.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Ser Jorah. You mean I’m not your little dragon rider anymore?” I joke, lightening the mood and conversation.

He looks my way and sees my smile, making him smile in turn. “You’re not my little dragon rider anymore, no. –You’re their Khaleesi, Daenerys.” Jorah declares as he looks back at the horde and back yonder at the city of Vaes Dothrak that we continued to ride into. My house and name mattered no longer, Westeros was my home no longer, neither had been for a long time, Vaes Dothrak was now and I would be their Khaleesi.

Chapter Text

At Vaes Dothrak we had been living for months now, around three I believed to have kept track, meaning I had been with the Dothraki for around four months now. I had already become quite accustomed to living here. Irri had been continuing to teach me Dothraki and I had become essentially fluent, we were just fine tuning my pronunciation now. Irri and Doreah had become my closest of friends, and who I spent my time with if I were not with Jorah or Drogo. And Drogo and I were happy together. He now referred to me as me as moon of my life, to which I referred to him as my sun and stars. I had not foreseen that I would find such happiness amongst these people or Drogo, but I had and I was delighted, grateful. I felt as if I finally had started my own life, my own path.

“Athjahakar.” Irri pronounces for me to repeat as she unties my hair braids, ready for the nights end.

“Ath jahakal.” I attempt to pronounce.

“Athjahakar.” Irri repeats slower, enunciating.

“Athjahakar.” I repeat correctly.

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Irri smiles, making me smile back, but her attention soon wavers elsewhere as I notice her eyes dart slightly downwards and I suddenly feel her hand cupping and gently squeezing my breast.

I scoff amusingly at the touch. “Irri, what are you doing?” I question, curiously smiling.

“When was last time you bleed, Khaleesi?” Irri asks, and I suddenly realise that I haven’t bled since being in Vaes Dothrak, making my smile turn to an expression of surprise as I bring my hand over my stomach in realisation.

“You change, Khaleesi.” Irri points out as she holds my hand over my stomach with a smile.

“Mae moi a azhasavva hae vezhven vezh.”
(“It is a blessing from the Great Stallion.”) Irri declares, making me smile with her. Before, I had no care for marriage, a husband or family of my own, but in the place I was now and now knowing I had Drogo and I’s child growing inside of me, I was delighted. As I felt my stomach, I wasn’t sure why or how, but an overwhelming surge of knowing came over me, and I was sure that inside of me grew our son.

After Drogo and I had lain together that night, I was excited to tell him the news, for I knew he would be as delighted as I was, perhaps more. As I laid next to Drogo, my leg wrapped over his and my head and arm resting on his large chest, listening to the sound of his strong heart and feeling his breathe rise and fall beneath me, as he held me close to his side with his muscled arm stroking my naked side, I shared with him the good news.

“Tih shekh ma shierak.”
(“My Sun and Stars.”) I say softly, getting his attention, looking up at him as he looks down at me.
“Kishi yalli rows seh ou anna.”
(“Our child grows inside of me.”) I announce gleaming and as soon as I speak my last word, Drogo hoists me up, leaning the both of us up to then hold me over him, straddling his lap as he holds my back and I wrap around his shoulders.

“Jalan ki tih attirar—yeri astoe gosi?”
(“Moon of my life—you speak true?”) Drogo addresses.

“Ai.”
(Yes.”) I gleam and a smirk of pride forms over Drogo’s face.

“Mae moi a rakh.”
“It is a boy.” I happily state, making Drogo’s proud expression only grow larger.

“Kirekosi hash yeri nesat?”
(“How do you know?”) Drogo questions.

“Anha nesat.”
(“I know.) I simply answer with a large smile and Drogo smiles back before we close the small gap between us and kiss in celebration.

The following day, Drogo had announced the news to the whole khalasar and his people of Vaes Dothrak, declaring the ceremony was to happen tonight. The ceremony being that my pregnancy was to be blessed before and by the Mother of Mountains. Irri explained to me that the special ceremony is one all pregnant Khaleesi’s must endure, where they must eat an entire stallion’s heart. A pregnancy ceremony also know to the Dothraki as the heart-eating ceremony. I wasn’t much thrilled at the idea of eating an entire raw horse’s heart, but that was the culture. One of the dosh khaleen priestesses officiate the ceremony, chanting before the Mother of Mountains, reading the will of their omens. The dosh khaleen are composed of the widows of slain khals and serve as seers foretelling the future and interpreting omens for the Dothraki. So, if I can consume the entire stallion's heart, it means the Khal's unborn child, our child, will be strong. But it is seen as a negative omen if I fail to consume the entire raw heart or retch any up.

As I had waited a whole day for the ceremony, just watching the light fade into night, I knew I would be collected and escorted soon by the chosen priestess of the dosh khaleen. In my tent I waited and to consume my time, I read one of the books Jorah had gifted me at Drogo and I’s wedding. The one I was reading, I found detailed old histories and legends of not just Westeros but cultures in Essos, and one in particular: Valyria. It spoke of the legends of dragons and how they came to be, and how those became to ride them. I soon read that a few ancestral houses of Valyria, fought over the right of the dragon and they only determined who would be the dragon riders by that of fire. It stated that the three family houses that made Valyria, all proclaimed themselves the true dragon riders as the dragon’s blood flowed through their veins. Each challenged the other, declaring only one family would be worthy enough and that much was true. They figured only the worthy would survive the will of the dragon’s flame and so the three heads of the families walked into a pyre of dragon’s flames, for fire could not kill a dragon. When the sun of the morning shone and the smoke of the burnt pyre blew away, what was left was a pile of ashes and one man: Jaehaerys Targaryen, the head of his Targaryen family house. He rose naked from the ashes, alive and completely unburnt and also sporting the silver-blonde hair that many said the touch of the ashes coloured. Subsequently, House Targaryen became the dragon riders, and their dragon veined dynasty followed in Valyria. It felt incredibly liberating and insightful to read of how my house came into a dragon’s origin, for no books I had read yet in Westeros or anywhere had spoke of such things. A part of me wondered if it were all true, for the words Jorah said started to linger in my mind, not to believe everything I read in books. But for what reason would these be lies? I quickly supposed the men who wrote such things used the power of noting history to make others believe in a story that would go on for centuries, building a powerful lineage and image of a family house. I debated the reliability of such things, but I ultimately concluded that these books Jorah had gifted me seemed incredibly old and fragile, like nothing I had seen before. They looked wholly unique and oddly valuable, which made me think perhaps they were truthful, and if they did recount true histories, then my family did indeed have the blood of the dragon in their veins as my house had said for centuries, and Baelor and his sisters did ride their dragons to Westeros as I had always believed.

I started to ponder if I really did have the dragon within me and putting my book down, I looked over to my chest of four dragon eggs. If I did have the dragon within me, then surely fire could not harm me, or its heat, as the book had said for fire could not kill a dragon and Jaehaerys had survived a burning pyre. Looking from my eggs to the coal fire pit that heated my tent at night, an idea suddenly arose. Standing up from my seat, I approached my chest of dragon eggs, carefully picking one up and heading over to the coal pit. As I knelt at the pit, the coal was still projecting much heat and so I placed the egg upon the burning coal stones. For several moments I sat in intoxicated curiosity, waiting for the egg’s scaled shell to heat hot enough to test the theory. When I figured it time enough, and when I could not wait any longer, I carefully picked the egg up from the burning coal and held it in my hands. There was no pain. But as I picked up the egg, I swore I could hear another’s voice, but I was too entranced at the fact I had just picked up the egg without pain to acknowledge this voice.

“Khaleesi, dosh khaleen—,” the voice spoke, but they stopped themselves as they entered the tent. “Oh, Khaleesi!” the voice exclaims and suddenly someone pulls the egg from hands, instantly dropping it back into the pit upon its touch. I look up, pulled from my trance, to see a worried Irri knelt in front as she then inspected my hands for burn marks, but there were none. If this was anything to go by, then the book was right, and I did have the dragon within me and then perhaps fire and heat could not harm me. Then snapping myself from my own thoughts as I looked down at my hands, I noticed Irri’s. Turning her hands, unravelling her palms flat to inspect hers as he had mine, I see her palms are now coloured red and have accumulated scaled patterned faint burns from the heated egg.

“Yeri re annithat. Tel anna rhellaya kos yeri.”
(“You are hurt. Let me help heal you.”) I state in sympathy and worry.

“Vos hash ajjin, Khaleesi, anha laz kos moloseife. Dosh khaleen hash meo ot kei yeri ot moneriesi. Mori ayos ha yeri.”
(“Do not worry now, Khaleesi, I can heal myself. Dosh khaleen have come to take you to the ceremony. They wait for you.”) Irri urges hurriedly.

“Kash mori laz ayos. Anha zas ot rhellaya kos yeri, anni okeo.”
(“Then they can wait. I want to help heal you, my friend.”) I defy.

“Vo, yeri eth gwe, Khaleesi. Ma anha sik jadas akka, ha moneriesi.”
(“No, you must go, Khaleesi. And I will come too, for the ceremony.”) Irri insists, and I look at her with eyes that do not wish to leave her alone with the pain of her hands.

“Vo, Irri, yer qorasi. Kisha eth teeatei mora, ajjin.”
(“No, Irri, your hands. We must treat them, now.”) I affirm.

“Ki moi fini laz ayos. Dosh khaleen ma Khal ayoe, kisha eth gwe, Khaleesi.”
(“That is what can wait. Dosh khaleen and the Khal waits, we must go, Khaleesi.”) Irri insists once more, putting on a small smile, an attempt to show she was fine although despite my insistence she did appear to be unaffected now by the pain of her faint burns.

“Ahhaz kisha sik teeatei mora ven qisi ven mae moi oleth, anni okeo.”
(“Then we will treat them as soon as it is over, my friend.”) I finally insist and Irri shakes her head in acceptance, before we rise to a stand together and head out of the tent, arm in arm.

As we exited my tent, I was faced with the chosen dosh khaleen priestess and she merely gestured for me to follow and not waiting for a response she turned and lead the way to the temple of Vaes Dothrak. Still arm in arm with Irri, we followed until we entered the temple which was filled in a circle with as many as of the khalasar as it could handle, with the majority lining the way to the temple outside before we had entered. As we stepped in after the dosh khaleen priestess, Irri let go of my arm and scurried around to stand with Doreah next to Jorah. I watch her go and meet Jorah’s gaze, who gave a small smile to which I arched the corner of my mouth into a small smile in response. Looking around, all eyes in the temple were on me and looking across the small wooden platform that had been formed in the center, with a raw horse’s heart already sat in the centre of it, I then met Drogo’s gaze, who gave a confident nod of encouragement as he sat in his seat while all others stood.

“Konevas, Khaleesi.”
(“Kneel, Khaleesi.”) The priestess instructs, gesturing to the small wooden platform for me to take my place to start the ceremony, and I do so. Kneeling before the heart, I take the large, raw and bloody heart in my hands and as I do the priestess begins her ceremonial speech and at its end, she commands the start.

“Shajin, Khaleesi.”
(“Begin, Khaleesi.”) The priestess commands, and with a deep breath I take my first bite of the heart.

It was tough, chewy and tasted deplorable. My mouth often filled with blood and by halfway through my arms were covered in trickled blood, and I could feel around my mouth, my neck and my chest were the same way. But I didn’t stop, not once, I kept my eyes on Drogo the whole time as the priestess chanted her words loud in the tent around me. Drogo was leant forward in his seat, a hint of a prideful smirk on his face as he watched me devour the heart, which was exactly what kept me going. I was absolutely adamant to finish the whole thing, without failure, to make him proud. As I took my last bite of the heart, the priestess’ chants turned into normal Dothraki speech that I could understand, a proclamation.

“Khalakka moi dothrakosi. Anha hash char temme ki mae bosi, tif ven chaf anna dothrakhoe, mae dozgi sik souwi hatif mae, mori sik slit laqikh ki qoy. Anna sik bi vezh haz saja rhaesheser!”
(“The prince is riding. I have heard the thunder of his hooves, swift as the wind he rides, his enemies will cower before him, they will weep tears of blood. He will be the stallion that mounts the world!”) The priestess decrees, confirming what I already suspected, that I would be having a son, and even as extravagant as her declaration sounds, I do not care. My son will become a great Khal, like his father, but he will be kind and gentle, something his father also has shown to be.

Then as I go to swallow the last bit of the heart, my body rejects it and I retch, stopping the priestess’ decree. The motion sends me forward onto my hands as I kneel and the temple is silent. Hunched over, I keep the parts that had come back up into my mouth there, not letting it spill or spray out. Composing myself, I push off my hands and straighten myself back up right as I chew back down the last mouthful. As my eyeline straightens forward, I look straight back to Drogo as I swallow the last bite down hard, making a proud smirk grow on his face. I did it.

“Jinak vezh moi Khal ki Khals! Anna sik dothrakh mae nakhos ki sorfosor; anna sik nita voji mra a bitsher khalasar. Ei voji ki rhaesheser sik bi mae vallakka!”
(“This stallion is the Khal of Khals! He will ride to the ends of the earth; he will unite the people into a single khalasar. All the people of the world will be his heir!”) The priestess resumes to decree as I rise to a stand on my platform proud, covered in the horse’s heart’s blood, as she finishes her words, she does the final few chants before falling silent before me. Standing there, all eyes on me, and hearing the priestess’ proclamation, sparks words of my own before the eyes of the present khalasar and Drogo, it sparks the naming of my child.

“A khalakka dothrakhoe vidigo anna! Ma mae sik bi hakeo Rhaego!”
(“A prince rides inside me! And he shall be named Rhaego!”) I declare as I turn on the spot, addressing the present khalasar, turning as I speak and my eyes land back on Drogo as I name our child Rhaego. He still holds his prideful stare and I match it when the people and priestess begin to chant Rhaego altogether. The name had just come to me, and it was one I felt suited my child. A combination of honour for my brother Rhaego, my brother who I had felt most closest to, and Drogo, my sun and stars, making Rhaego.

Then Drogo, looking ever the proudest, stands from his seat and strides over to me at the platform. Stepping to him at the edge of the platform, his head met in line with my stomach and as I smiled down at him, he smirked up at me before grabbing me. He held me up in his arms, holding me tight around my thighs so I towered over him, and began walking around the platform with me as the people continued chanting Rhaego. It was a moment of complete pride as I smiled at all around, something I did have many of and I felt entranced by the experience. I finally felt as if I was one of them, one of their people, finally a true Khaleesi.

“You truly are a queen today!” Jorah exclaims as we pass him.

“I told you, not a queen—a Khaleesi!” I proudly correct him, as I had once before, only believing it this time, with a beaming smile as Drogo continued walking me around.

When morning came around, I still felt full from the previous nights feast after the ceremony, although to not much surprise, I had a whole horse’s heart in my stomach. After the ceremony was over and the celebrations had somewhat died down, I had kept my promise and helped Irri with her hands before the feast, along with Doreah. Despite the full feeling still, I felt especially blessed on this morning after the evening’s turn out and I was still immensely proud of myself, and I guess the blessed feeling came from the Mother of Mountains, for she must have been proud too. As I braided Drogo’s braid that morning, my thoughts wondered to the future, of what my son may look like, how he may be and how our lives would be with him.

“Jalan ki tih attirar?”
(“Moon of my life?”) Drogo addresses sat crossed legged in front of me as I sat on the edge of my bed, breaking my train of thought whilst I braided his hair.

“Ai, tih shekh ma shierak?”
(“Yes, my sun and stars?”) I respond happily.

“Kirekhdirgi Rhaego?”
(“Why Rhaego?”) Drogo curiously questions.

“Annakhos tiemorah akat vezhven mahrazhi she tih atthirar. Yeri, tih shekh ma shierak, ma tih gaezo, Rhaegar—movesi Rhaego.”
(“To honour two great men in my life. You, my sun and stars, and my brother, Rhaegar—making Rhaego.”) I answer pridefully.

“Finne moi Rhaegar?”
(“Where is Rhaegar?”) Drogo asks, which takes me by surprise just a little as I wasn’t expecting him to ask such things.

“Anna dothrakhoe cala ramasari.”
(“He rides the Night Lands.”) I inform, using the Dothraki way to say he was dead.

“Gaezo Rhaegar? –Fini ki yeri rhojosor hatif kisha?”
(“Brother Rhaegar? –What of your family before us?”) Drogo ponders, before questioning me further on my family, which really does take me by surprise. The question makes me momentarily stop braiding, but I soon return to the task and answer.

“Mori akka ei dothrakh cala ramasari.”
(“They too all ride the Night Lands.”) I tell again, feeling sorrow for my lost family as I continued with his braid, nearing the end. We had never spoke of my family, there was no need to, at least not in this culture, especially as a Khaleesi. The Dothraki were my family now, anything else had no matter, which was why I was shocked for Drogo to ask, but it also made me feel honoured that he wished to know. I guessed, as a foreign woman to the culture, he must have finally become curious of my past, of from where I came before I was his Khaleesi.

“Kash?”
(“When?”) He queries.

“Ori tirith aego ajjin, kash anha keshian a yalli ki thi.”
(“Eight years ago now, when I was a child of ten.”) I recall.

“Kirekhdirgi?”
(“Why?”) He asks.

“Mel mahrazhi—ma mi mel chiorikem—addriv mora. Mori hash arie annakhos addrivas anna sanekhi vosma tu vo reedas.”
(“Evil men—and an evil woman—killed them. They have tried to kill me many times but did not succeed.”) I announce, though, I wanted to use the word murder, but in Dothraki there is no word for it, killing is just killing, there is not much room for context, it is simple in their eyes.

“Kit moi hajinaan yeri ree haj, jalan ki tih attirar. –Fin tu jin addrivedas?”
(“That is because you are strong, moon of my life. –Who did these killings?”) Drogo praises, which makes a small arch of a smile form on my face, before he questions further.

“Eshna rhojosor toulei ki Westeros, han finne anha dothra she a ido hrazef yomme ize eveth. –Tih toulei moi toulei Targaryen, hezhah Daenerys Targaryen. Toulei fin maefeki addrivedas ki tih rhojosor moi toulei Lannister, vi ma moria rikha kemik toulesi.”
(“Another family house of Westeros, from where I rode on a wooden horse across the poison water. –My house is the House Targaryen, hence Daenerys Targaryen. The house who ordered the killings of my family is the House Lannister, along with their rotten ally Houses.”) I explain with disdain.

“Kirekosi?”
(“How?”) Drogo asks.

I sigh before I answer, the vivid memories etched into my soul. “Mori vinde tih fozak gaezoi zhor—nisa tih maisoi fotha—mori addriv tih eshna gaezos ma inavva she moria wasi—ma nisi tih avezoi nhare hezhah.”
(“They stabbed my elder brother’s heart—slit my mother’s throat—they killed my other brothers and sister in their beds—and cut my father’s head off.”) I clarify.

“Kirekhdirgi tu mori toi jinak?”
(“Why did they do this?”) He questions.

“Ha malagori—ha—an shiqethi ador annakhos onevao sheris. Ato tih rhojosor ave neva sheris ha san tirith.”
(“For power—for—an iron chair to sit upon. One my family sat upon for many years.”) I inform, pausing before I spoke of the Iron Throne, realising the Dothraki also had no word for throne, for it was not a concept they had.

“Anha sikhtes shi jin toulesi ma shiqethi ador yeri astos ki kit mori addriv ha, she yeris hake. Shi mahrazhi vat reek- naqis—yeri toi vo zigeres an shiqethi ador ha malagori. A Khal does vo zigeres a ador annakhos onevao sheris, anna dis zigeresi a hrazef.”
(“I spit on these houses and the iron chair you speak of that they killed for, in your name. These men are weak- small—you do not need an iron chair for power. A king does not need a chair to sit upon, he only needs a horse.”) Drogo scorns.

“Mae moi vo ven dis ven kit. Shiqethi ador moi a assikhqoiyaa, mae moi a evano kit attihasmata malagori a voj qorae fin ray bin firikhnharenos annakhos onevao sheris mae ma rayai a boyko ramasar. Mae moi vo disse an shiqethi ador, mae moi a—throne.”
(“It is not as simple as that. The iron chair is a symbol, it is a seat that represents the power a person holds who has been crowned to sit upon it and rule a whole country. It is not just an iron chair, it is a—throne.”) I explain, using the common tongue word of throne to emphasise my meaning as I finished Drogo’s braid, planting a kiss on his shoulder as I let it go.

“Throne?” He repeats, although with a tiny hint of ridicule, not that it bothered me; that throne ended up bringing despair and ruin to my family, I had no care for it.

“A ador ha a Khal—che Khaleesi—annakhos onevao sheris. Venei ato tih ave neva sheris, viannisideed tih mai, ven Khal ma Khaleesi ki Westeros, radregesa oleth moria voji ma marakanesa.”
(“A chair for a king—or queen—to sit upon. Like the one my father sat upon, alongside my mother, as king and queen of Westeros, ruling over their people with nobility.”) I elaborate.

After a silent pause between us, Drogo then turns to face me, moving from his sit to taking one knee to kneel at my height, holding my hands between us. “Astos moria hakeosi—yeris rhojosor.”
(“Speak their names—your family.”) He insists.

“Aegon, Rhaegar ma Viserys keshios tih gaezos, Bellaria keshian tih inavva, Elena keshian tih mai, ma Aerys keshian tih ave.”
(“Aegon, Rhaegar and Viserys were my brothers, Bellaria was my sister, Elena was my mother, and Aerys was my father.”) I relay.

“Jalan ki tih attirar—kisha sik tiemorah mora ei. Kisha sik hake kishri san yallisi she moria chomokh, viannisideed kishri vezh Khalakka Rhaego.”
(“Moon of my life—we shall honour them all. We shall name our many children in their honour, alongside our stallion prince Rhaego.”) Drogo declares proud, making me smile before him with utter contentment.

“Ma anha sik hlizif mora ei mas athhajar ma athjahakar, tih shekh ma shierak.”
(“And I will bear them all with strength and pride, my sun and stars.”) I proclaim proudly with him, before he holds the back of my neck and head with his hand, pulling me in for a passionate kiss.

Chapter Text

Over the months, being a pregnant Khaleesi, I was made to take rest and not engage in much at all, to allow my child to grow strong undisturbed. I did not take well to it and itched for anything to do. I was not even allowed to train with my sword Needle, for weapons as such were not really allowed in the holy city, Jorah’s was merely an exception that Drogo allowed as he was part of my protection, but he was forbidden to use his sword in the holy city, only carry it. Although, Drogo had told him to use it if a dire circumstance in regard to my safety arose, deeming it necessary. But I was not permitted to even hold my own, especially as a Khaleesi and a pregnant Khaleesi at that. I read my books and quickly grew bored in my tent, and I even begged for Drogo to let me ride around the city and beyond, yearning for some kind of adventure and exploration. Of course, he insisted that I didn’t, that the dosh khaleen would have his head if he let me do such things while carrying our child and I of course insisted that we took no notice for I was his Khaleesi and him the great Khal, but my protests always failed, and he always only simply said he admired my defiant heart nonetheless. The one thing I had been yearning to do was to visit the small markets outside of Vaes Dothrak, along the coast of the Shivering Sea only about half a day’s ride away from the city. There people held stalls for trade, stalls for meat, fish, foreign goods from Westeros, goods from around Essos, plants and herbs, a many matter of things, and of course slaves. After my pregnancy ceremony, Jorah had road out to the market unannounced and when he returned, he gifted me some herbs and flowers that were to aid me through my pregnancy, to help me with anything I may face in the growing months, like blue dusk roses which helped ease fevers when made into a tea. Since then, I had wanted to visit the market with sheer determination, and I was going to get what I wanted, and I was not going to wait several months.

It took me until about the seventh or eighth month of my pregnancy, when my stomach was approaching its growing end and my son would soon be born, to convince Drogo to allow me out of Vaes Dothrak, specifically to the markets. Drogo was hesitant, and Jorah was flat out against me leaving until after my birth saying it was not safe which I said I was overdramatic. But I was adamant to go, and I convinced Drogo to let me do this before I birthed our son for as soon as he was born, he would need constant care, so I reasoned it would be better for me to go now rather than later. At least, that is how I convinced him.

Arriving at the market, it was a thriving coastal trade fair, small but that didn’t deter from the enjoyment of it. Irri, Doreah and I revelled at each stall while Jorah and Rakharo, Irri’s husband and my Dothraki bodyguard alongside Jorah, followed us around, but admiring just the same. Life felt Jorah did bring us to the stalls that traded the herbs and flowers he had brought me, and the kind women who worked the stalls gifted me and also Irri and Doreah some beautiful flowers as a sign of good faith to our Khalasar, Khal Drogo and my unborn son. As we went through the market, we even crossed paths with members of another khalasar that had been nearby and their Khaleesi had wished to come to the market as I had this day. The Khaleesi and I walked and talked for a while, speaking of our journeys, her children and our Khals, although it seemed she did not have much love for her Khal which saddened me and surprised her that I loved mine. But I supposed, not all may have wanted this, or entered willing into being a Khaleesi, as I often forget that the Dothraki are plunderers, a part of their culture I could never agree with.

Strolling through the market, nearing the stalls end, Irri, Doreah and I carried our flowers, continuing to admire the last of the stalls when I was called over by a stall worker, an apparent wineseller.

“A lekhi ha Khaleesi!”
(“A taste for the Khaleesi!”) The wineseller calls, getting our attention, clearly taking note of my handmaids and Dothraki guard to recognise I was a Khaleesi. In our approach, I smiled my greeting.

“Anha hash a gizikhven virzeth han Dorne, tih erinak. Ato lekhi ma yeri sik hake yeris yalli irge anna.”
(“I have a sweet red from Dorne, my lady. One taste and you will name your child after me.”) The wineseller extravagantly announces as he pours a cup of wine from one of his barrels, before handing it to me. As he speaks, hearing the place name Dorne makes me realise this man is a seller of goods from Westeros and so he must usually speak the common tongue.

“My son already has his name, kind sir, thank you, but I will try your Dornish wine if it pleases you. Just a taste.” I smile kindly as I speak the common tongue, figuring it would be nicer for the man, who’s facial expression turns into one of obvious realisation as I speak.

“My lady, you are from Westeros.” He states, now with a smile.

“Once.” I reply plainly, my smile fading a little. “You have the honour of addressing Daenerys of the House Targaryen, Khaleesi of the rider men, and princess of the Seven Kingdoms.” Doreah declares and her words instantly put me on edge, the title of my house and princess of the Seven Kingdoms only invoking unease when spoke in public around strangers and glancing at Jorah next to me I could tell he was feeling the same. Ever since I had told Irri and Doreah of my past, Doreah had been fascinated and most excited at the concept that I was a princess from across the poison water, a princess of Westeros. And now, the face of the wineseller was one of awe, something I was not yet sure to be wary of or, in contrast, at ease about it. But it was quickly answered when the wineseller suddenly took a bow before me; making it seem like something to be at ease about.

“Oh, princess. Please forgive me.” The wineseller says as he bows.

“Kind sir, please rise and stand. There is no need for that. Please forgive me, Doreah likes to exaggerate, I am no princess of the Seven Kingdoms.” I clarify as the wineseller arises at my bequest, before I glance a look behind at Doreah, raising my eyebrows up at her playfully, to which she apologetically bows her head swiftly.

“But I am a Khaleesi, and if it is okay with you, I would still wish to try your Dornish wine?” I kindly request with a smile again as I turn back to the wineseller.

The wineseller still looking in a hint of shock, looks down at his cup of wine still in his hand. “That?” he says, holding the cup up referencing the wine he had offered. “Dornish swill. Not worthy of a princess.” He states, discarding the wine from the cup to the ground and the cup down on his table.

“I am no princess, and I am sure that wine was fine, kind sir.” I assure, but it doesn’t deter him one bit.

“No, no. I have a dry red, from the Arbor—nectar of the gods.” He declares as he grandly gestures, making me smile. “A wine from the Reach.” I add.

“Ah, my lady knows her Westeros geography.” He praises smirking. “Let me give you a cask to take.” He insists before scampering to the back of his stall where the stack of his wine casks sat.

“Do not trouble yourself, I have nothing to trade you for this wine, good sir.” I point out as he picks the cask up, not wanting to take his stock for nothing when someone else could trade for it.

“A gift for the princ—Khaleesi.” He states as he comes back with the cask in hand, finally changing princess to Khaleesi.

“You honour me, kind sir.” I concede gracefully, knowing I would not change the man’s mind, as he stands before with the cask.

“The h—,” he begins but Rakharo steps forward beside me interrupting the wineseller, gesturing to give the cask to him and not presume for me to take it, to which the wineseller hands it over and Rakharo steps back. “The honour is all mine, Khaleesi.” He finishes, before he suddenly takes a step closer to me.

“You know, there are many in your homeland that have prayed for some time and still pray for your return someday, princess.” The wineseller quietly declares, bowing a little as he does going back to the princess title, and at first I was going to thank him for his kindness but his comment then quickly made me ponder before I answered. People would have believed I was killed in the massacre, and as the Lannister’s had sent assassins when I younger nearer the start of our exile hiding, then they clearly didn’t want me alive, or others to know of this. So, why would people in Westeros pray for my return if they presumably did not know I was alive? The comment, all in a matter of seconds, didn’t feel right to me, and before I could care to comment, Jorah beat me to it.

“Rakharo, sot zohhe kit khogari.”
(“Rakharo, put down that cask.”) Jorah orders.

“Something wrong?” I question, my face turning suspicious after the comment, and now after Jorah’s stern gaze and order.

“I have a sudden thirst. Open it.” Jorah commands of the wineseller as Rakharo thrusts it back into his arms.

“The wine is for the Khaleesi, it is not for the likes of you.” The wineseller defies, his expressions and demeanour turning suspiciously worried, although he was trying to hide this.

“Open it.” Jorah sternly repeats, and as the wineseller looked from him to me, my look of stern didn’t waver and he sighed under his breath before placing the cask on his table and pulling the cork out of the top, to then look back to Jorah and I.

“Pour.” Jorah demands.

“It would be a crime to drink a wine this rich without at least giving it time to breath.” The wineseller protests.

“Do as he says.” I order, my suspicions now catching on and meeting what Jorah’s were clearly insinuating.

The wineseller weakly smiles my way. “As the princess commands.” He complies before pouring the wine from the cask into the cup he had placed down a moment ago. Handing it over, Jorah takes it from him.

“Sweet isn’t it?” The wineseller says as Jorah smells the wine while he ever so lightly swirls it in the cup. “Can you smell the fruits, sir?” He asks. “Taste it, my Lord.” He adds, gesturing for him to do so but Jorah lowers the cup and glances at me, and without words I know what is happening. “Tell me that that is not the finest wine that has ever touched your tongue.” The wineseller continues and Jorah lifts it back up but to his lips, until he suddenly holds it out in front of him, between him and the wineseller.

“You first.” Jorah instructs.

“Me? I’m afraid I am not worthy of the vintage. Besides, it is poor for the wine merchant to drink up his own wells.” The wineseller argues cheerfully, border lining a chuckle to make us do the same and lighten the obvious tension, but it does not.

“You will drink.” I command sternly.

The wineseller looks from my gaze to Jorah, who holds the cup an inch closer for him to take. When he does, he holds it and slightly nods a cheers to Jorah before doing the same to me. Then as he holds the cup of wine to his lips, he suddenly drops the wine as he goes to grab one of his casks to the side. In the quick motion, Jorah grabs me, holding me close to him as Irri and Doreah huddle close around us while the wineseller pushes the cask against Rakharo to ease his escape from us.

“Stop him!” Doreah shouts as Irri does the same simultaneously in Dothraki.
“Nakho mae!” Irri shouts as Rakharo runs after the wineseller.
“Are you alright, Khaleesi?” Jorah whispers. “I’m fine. Thank you, Jorah, my life is indebted to you once again, and now my son’s.” I quietly thank between us. “Please, think nothing of it.” He insists.

The four of us, with Jorah still holding tight onto my arms, follow after Rakharo who quickly caught the wineseller as he ran with his whip that wrapped around his ankle, making him slam to the ground. A couple Dothraki men from another khalasar was holding the wineseller down, the one I recognised from before that we crossed as I noticed their Khaleesi now coming towards me, as Rakharo released his whip from the would be assassin’s ankle.

“Tih lasar Khaleesi, ree yeri che yeris yalli athnith? Fini tu jinak mahrazh toi annakhos yeri?”
(“My fellow Khaleesi, are you or your child hurt? What did this man do to you?”) The Khaleesi questions worryingly in her approach.

“Anha am chek, tih okeo. Jinak gezri arie annakhos ize anna.”
(“I am well, my friend. This snake tried to poison me.”) I explain with scorn and despise for the wineseller.

“Sorf leqse, yeri ari annakhos addrivas a mai ma mee zeckaa yalli?! Ravo, Orqo, qorasos jinak sorf leqse tek Khaleesi’s sajak annakhos moria hrazefi.”
(“Dirty rat, you try to kill a mother and her unborn child?! Ravo, Orqo, take this dirty rat with the Khaleesi’s rider to their horses.”) The fellow Khaleesi exclaims in disgust and orders her accompanying riders, who picks the wineseller up, struggling pointlessly in their grip as Rakharo leads them to our horses through the market.

The Khaleesi walks by our side as we follow behind Rakharo and her riders, Jorah still holding onto me intently. For not having any words to say thank you to my fellow Khaleesi, I simply squeeze her hand and nod my hand in gratitude to which she returns, and I know she understands my gesture.

When we had ridden home, Rakharo had the wineseller’s hands bound and tied with a rope leesh tied to his saddle and when we arrived back in Vaes Dothrak, he took him to the Khal’s tent, but Drogo and his riders were not there. So, Rakharo tied the man to one of the tent’s strong, wooden posts and proceeded to punch him a little bloody before the Khal returned.

“What will they do to him?” I query Jorah.

“When the khalasar rides, he’ll be leeshed to a saddle, like Rakharo did on our travel home, and forced to run behind the horses for as long as he can.” Jorah states.

“And when he falls?” I ponder and Jorah merely just looks at me for the answer was plain. “He’ll be dragged.” I conclude quickly.

I let out a sigh, enraged at the incident. “Cersei, Tywin- they still want me dead, that much is obvious. We haven’t met an assassin in several years, then suddenly one attempts to kill me while I’m with child. They knew where I was. That wine merchant could have been there for months waiting; it’s the closest place an assassin would likely get to Vaes Dothrak. Clearly, they never lost sight of us, they must have eyes everywhere. I thought they had left us alone in Mantarys.” I ramble furiously.

“Spymasters are everywhere, Khaleesi. And I fear they will never leave you alone, you are a Targaryen. This assassin will not be the last, if we ride east to darkest Asshai their assassins will follow you there, if you sail far down south all the way to the Basilisk Isles they will follow. They will never abandon the hunt, not now. They sought out your family to eradicate you, and now you are the last Targaryen.” Jorah points out.

“So my name is such a threat to them this far east? What could warrant such determination to see killed after all this time? I am one woman; I am no threat to them.” I reason.

“You are a Khaleesi, married to a Khal of a large khalasar, a large horde. You and Drogo are at the helm of an army, an army of forty thousand riders behind you. And you are also carrying a son in your belly, meaning your blood will flow through his veins, Targaryen blood. To them, you are a large threat.” Jorah clarifies.

“They will not have my son.” I scowl, disgusted and worried at the thought of them attempting to end his life once again.

“They will not have you either, Khaleesi.” Jorah states firm, and as Jorah finishes his words, I spot men approaching the tent’s entrance.

We had just beat the light home, and when Drogo and his riders did return from their ride, it was night. I watched Rakharo enter the tent along with Drogo’s three bloodriders and several other close ko’s he had been riding with, spreading around the tent, until Drogo finally appeared marching into the tent with fiery intent. He stopped next to the wineseller tied to the post, although staring at me as he came, and then he turned to face the man with fury in his eyes, which made the man look down with immediate fear.

After staring at the assassin for a moment, he turned back to me and the fury faded in his eyes, now I read concern as he strode around the fire pit towards me.

“Jalan ki tih attirar.”
(“Moon of my life.”) He addresses as he comes close to me and then tenderly holds both of my cheeks in his hands as he looks me up and down.
“Ree yeri athnith?”
(“Are you hurt?”) He asks with concern as I bring my hand up to his, holding his wrist to engage in his touch. I smile faintly, touched at his deep worry and display of affection before his riders, before lightly shaking my head in his hands, to which he then lowers and plants a kiss on top of my head.

“Keshian jinak vat reek, naqis, Lannister’s yeri asto ki kit tu jinak?”
(“Was this these weak, small, Lannister’s you spoke of that did this?”) Drogo questions with disdain.

“Ai.”
(“Yes.”) I answer, making me receive of grunt of rage in response, but Drogo then turns his attention to Jorah.

“Jorah the Andal.” He addresses with the title the Dothraki gave him, as he lets go of me and steps to stand before Jorah. The Dothraki named Jorah the Andal as he is a man of Westeros, of which holds the ethnic group of Andals this present day but has done for many centuries. Around six thousand years ago, after allegedly receiving visions from their ‘Seven-faced God’, the Andals were spurred on by their new faith to travel to Westeros, where they overran and conquered most of the continent, which was inhabited by the First Men. Subsequently, the Andals brought the concept of faith, chivalry of men and the manufacture of iron-wrought weapons and armor with them from where they originated in the west coast of Essos. But the Andals are just one of the three major ethnic groups from which the men of Westeros descend, the others are the First Men, of which the Andals conquered most of Westeros from, and the Rhoynar. welve thousand years ago, the First Men came from Essos, crossing a land-bridge called the Arm of Dorne. Riding their great horses and wielding weapons of bronze, they cut down the Children's forests and weirwoods, causing a terrible war between the Children of the forest, a non-human race who allegedly inhabited Westeros originally, and the First Men that lasted for centuries. The First Men eventually overran the Children of the Forest, forcing them far North into the lands of always winter that is now beyond the Wall, and conquered Westeros. Then some centuries later, the Andals came and soon after the lesser group of the three came to Westeros, the Rhoynar. They were a culture of river-faring men who resided on the banks of the immense river Rhoyne in Essos. After being forced to flee in ten thousand ships during the Rhoynish Wars with Old Valyria, the surviving Rhoynar eventually settled in Dorne in southern Westeros. The three made the ethnics of men in Westeros. The Rhoynar seemingly died out and the Andals became the domiant group amongst Westeros, but the Andals never conquered the North and so the northmen today are more descendants of the First Men than the Andals. Although, with marriages and other forms of blood lines mixing, the Andals would also flow through their veins also. So, as a northman coming from Bear Island in the north of Westeros, Jorah is actually more of a descendant of the First Men than the Andals. However, as the Dothraki refer to Westeros as Rhaesh Andahli, meaning the land of the Andals, and assume that all people from Westeros are Andals, this is why they came to name Jorah the Andal.

“Jorah the Andal.” Drogo addresses as he lets go of me and steps to stand before him, gripping him by the shoulder.
“Anha char fini yeri tu. Okkas loy hrazef yeri zaszu, mae moi yeris. Anha moez jinak tih azho annakhos yeri.”
(“I heard what you did. Choose any horse you wish, it is yours. I make this my gift to you.”) Drogo states and Jorah nods his head in recognition. Drogo then steps back to stand before me, only he takes one knee in front to level his eyes with mine and rests his hands on my protruding belly.

“Ma annakhos tih rizh, vzeh fin sik saja rhaesheser, anha sik akka alloshas a azho.”
(“And to my son, the stallion who will mount the world, I will also pledge a gift.”) Drogo proclaims before letting go of my belly and taking steps back.

“Anha sik azhas mae shiqethi ador—kit mae maisoi ave- mae maisoi rhojosor neva sheris. Anha sik azhas mae fekh ramasalarosi. Anha, Drogo, sik toi jinak.”
(“I will give him the iron chair—that his mother’s father- his mother’s family sat upon. I will give him the Seven Kingdoms. I, Drogo, will do this.”) Drogo declares as he circles the tent, around the fire pit, speaking out to his men as well as me, finishing back in front of me as he declares he will do this, seeing my look of slight shock.

“Anha sik qorasos tih khalasar jimma annakhos finne rhaesheser nakho ma dothrakh ido hrazefi yomme the ize eveth ven vo Khal ray taini hatif!”
(“I will take my khalasar west to where the world ends and ride wooden horses across the poison water as no Khal has done before!”) Drogo continues with a raised voice, and his many riders within the tent begin to cheer at his daring proclamation as he once again circles around the tent with proud and strong steps. At the opposite side of the fire pit he stops and turns to look at my would be assassin stepping over and standing before him, lowering himself so he was face to face with the scrawny man.

“Anha sik addrivas mahrazosi she shiqethi boiroso, anha sik laqikh zohhe moria negwin toulesi ma savos moria samva vojjor savi annakhos Vaes Dothrak! Jinak anha asqoyi, Drogo, rizh ki Bharbo. Anha goysi hatif mai ki krazaajesi ven shieraki athtihar zohhe she acoyaaian! Ven shieraki athtihar zohhe she acoyaaian!!”
(“I will kill the men in iron suits, I will tear down their stone houses and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak! This I vow, Drogo, son of Bharbo. I swear before the Mother of Mountains as the stars look down in witness! As the stars look down in witness!!”) Drogo decrees, shouting, spitting in the face of the man before contining to circle the pit, earning the loud cheers of his riders, until he stops in front of me once again, then repeating his last remark a second time in emphasis even louder than before.

Turning to me, flexed, enraged and filled with determination, he stares into my eyes from across the tent and smirks with pride. I form a small match of a smirk in response for a part of me felt enthralled to hear such words, that he would make such a decree in my name and honour, in our son’s name and honour, and that is the part that gave him his mirrored smirk back. On the other hand, another part of me wanted to tell him no, that I didn’t want this. I had no interest in returning to Westeros. The place did and would only bring me war and destruction. I didn’t want that for the khalasar, I didn’t want that for Drogo and I or our son. I wanted to remain here in the Dothraki Sea where we could live our lives without prospect of war, massacre and death. But all of me knew there would be no reasoning Drogo out of this after the assassin’s attempt.

Chapter Text

The determination from Drogo was immense and we had ridden out of Vaes Dothrak the following day. I had tried to plea with him in the night that it was not worth it, that it was not worth the lives that would be lost if we went overseas to Westeros. I pleaded for us to stay but he would have none of it, he would not hear a plan against nor go against his decree he had promised before his khalasar, before the Mother of Mountains with the stars as his witness. There was no changing his mind, and so we rode out in the morning, headed for Lhazareen, along with the assassin leashed to one of Drogo’s blood rider’s saddle, although he did not last long on the journey.

When we arrived at the first village, Drogo’s khalasar riders had galloped off ahead to begin their raid. Myself, my people and our slaves continued at a slower pace. I did not want to sail back home with intent of war and I especially didn’t want the means of how we got there to be plundered for. We had rode to Lhazareen so Drogo and his khalasar could exchange slaves for wooden horses we would ride across the poison water, and when we caught up and arrived at the first village of Lhazareen, what I witnessed sickened me. Some things were in flames, some things torn down, some people were laid dead in the roads, riders were still killing people savagely as well as collecting men and some were even herding women. The sight of it all enraged me but being able to do nothing about it enraged me further.

“Vat voji hash toynay vosi annakhos manoy jinak shakmanhan, mori moevs an boran atthirasi ma kisha disse yergswissi vasoi. Mae moi atmahari.”
(“These people have done nothing to bring this violence, they make an honest living and we just plunder them. It is barbaric.”) I scowl as I walk through the village with Jorah, Rakharo, and a couple more riders now at his side, and also Irri and Doreah.

“Rakh mahrazosi moevs davra zafrasi, Khaleesi. Khal Drogo sik meovs a azho ki vasoi ma ei mae anna qorasosi annakhos zafararosi. Zafararosi sik azhas si zizhanmi, ma tasokh ma tawakowi.
(“Lamb men make good slaves, Khaleesi. Khal Drogo will make a gift of them and all he takes to the slavers. The slavers will give us gold, and silk and steel.”) Rakharo points out.

“And all for ships.” I scorn to myself as we continue through the village and we come closer to a few riders that are herding women into a pen. They cry in fear and one of the riders drags a woman towards it, throwing her to the ground as she weakly struggles and wails in pain. These women were to be sold as slaves and would likely be raped by riders before they were; I wanted to have no part in that.

“Jorah, make them stop.” I command in anger.

“Khaleesi?” Jorah says. “You heard me, Ser Jorah.” I quickly urge.

“These men have shed blood for their khal, we must let them claim their reward.” Jorah explains.

“This is no reward, not for these people, these women.” I argue.

“Mori re rakh re chiorikem, Khaleesi. Sajaki toi mor vesiakan. Han jinak chiorikemsi zireyeses Khaleesi, anha sik manoy yeri mae lekh.”
(“They are lamb women, Khaleesi. The riders do them honour. If this women’s wailing offends the Khaleesi, I will bring you her tongue.”) Rakharo proclaims.

“Vo. Yeri sik nakho sajaki.”
(“No. You will stop the riders.”) I demand of Rakharo and the other riders at his side, as well as Jorah, but none move from behind me.

Jorah takes a step closer to me. “Daenerys, you have a gentle heart. This is how it’s always been.” He states between us.

“I do not have a gentle heart, it is strong.” I retort.

“Mor se anha ase, che Khal Drogo sik harasi ki yeris slesimagori.”
(“Do as I command, or Khal Drogo will hear of your defiance.”) I order and my riders, along with Jorah, march toward the riders harassing the women. As my riders aggressively discuss with the others about my commands, Jorah helps the woman who had been wailing as she was violently dragged, aiding her to her feet and to come with him away from the riders. Who were now visibly annoyed at my commands and seeing my riders free the women from the pen.

“What do you want done with them?” Jorah queries.

“Bring her to me. And those women there.” I demand, pointing to the women being released from the pen.

“You cannot claim them all, Khaleesi.” Jorah points out.

“I can, and I will.” I declare. I had had enough of watching and just standing by, if I could do anything, I was going to do this.

The riders that we had stopped were evidently angered and stated they would take the matter to the Khal, seeing what he had to say about it, not that it worried me. As they strode off to find him, we followed at a leisurely pace, along with all the women, to Drogo’s small camp that will have been put up for him already. As we came approached, I could the moaning and disgust from one of riders, one of Drogo’s closest riders, complaining of my actions.

“Jalan ki tih attirar.”
(“Moon of my life.”) Drogo addresses in his seat as I approach and come to stand before him as Mago does a step in front of me.
“Mago says yeri hash garosha ma qorasokh, a ohara ki a rakh mahrazo vat ma annakhos krazaa. Shen anna coli ki jinak.”
(“Mago says you have taken his spoils, a daughter of a lamb man that was his to mount. Tell me the truth of this.”) Drogo requests.

“Mago astosi coli, tih shekh ma shierak. Anha hash mabrougsi san oharami, san chiorikem, jinak day, sekke mori lazvo bi krazasay.”
(“Mago speaks the truth, my sun and stars. I have claimed many daughters, many women, this day, so they cannot be mounted.”) I confess confidently.

“Jinak moi yan ki athvilajerar. Vat chiorikem re zafrasi ajjin annakhos mor sik ven kisha arin.”
(“This is the way of war. These women are slaves now to do with as we please.”) Drogo rules.

“Anha tu vo qafas ha jinak athvilajerar.”
(“I did not ask for this war.”) I point out, holding my confidence but Drogo just stares and says nothing in return.
“Mae arinsa anna annakhos aya vasoi sandi. –Ki yeris sajaki kianna krazaa vasoi, tei vasoi garosh vasoi ha chiorisanfah.”
(“It pleases me to keep them safe. –If your riders would mount them, let them take them for wives.”) I suggest.

“Moresa hrazef tanay sith rakh?”
(“Does the horse mate with the lamb?”) Mago ridicules my suggestion, looking back at me.

“Chek, a zhavorsa adakhie she hrazef ma rakh akkate.”
(“Well, a dragon feeds on horse and lamb alike.”) I scornfully retort towards Mago and I catch the amused smirk Drogo wears in response.

“Yeri re a ifak. Yeri tu vo ase anna.”
(“You are a foreigner. You do not command me.”) Mago scowls.

“Anha am Khaleesi, anha tu ase yeri.”
(“I am Khaleesi, I do command you.”) I growl back, which makes Drogo chuckle with amusement.

“Tihas kirekosi nesvedas anna avvitishera? Vat moi tih rizh veck mae, vzeh vat sik krazaa rhaesheser, canai mae tanay ma vorsa.”
(“See how fierce she grows? That is my son inside her, the stallion that will mount the world, filling her with his fire.”) Drogo points out amused, although I know it is not his fire, it is my own.

“Anha sik charas vo alikh. Mago, vezi heminan mesi annakhos kerikh yeris haylak.”
(“I will hear no more. Mago, find somewhere else to stick your cock.”) Drogo announces, which makes Mago spit to the ground before him as he raises his blade, pointing it at Drogo.

“A Khal fin garoshi shmoa har a ifaki mezhah moi vo Khal.”
(“A Khal who takes orders from a foreign whore is no Khal.”) Mago hisses as Jorah pulls me back from the display and Drogo’s bloodriders step forward drawing their own blades, which subsequently makes Mago lower his.

“Vo. Anha sik dikh tanay jinak myself. Qoy qoy, akkovaras savi.”
(“No. I shall deal with this myself. Blood of my blood, stand back.”) Drogo orders of his blood riders who comply and lower their blades, using the Dothraki saying of ‘blood of my blood’ the common phrase a Khal used between him and his bloodriders as they are considered to be his own blood by oath. As Drogo stares at Mago, I notice the disdain growing in his eyes.

“Anha sik von hash yeris khado svekeesi. Anha sik von azhas yeri vat chomokh.”
(“I will not have your body burned. I will not give you that honour.”) Drogo spits before standing from his seat, dropping his blade as he steps towards Mago. But Mago raises his blade, his arakh, once more and holds it up against Drogo’s chest to stop his next steps. Drogo glances down at where the blade meets his skin before looking back to Mago. He then flexes his chest and shoulders forward, pushing into the blade as he continues to take steps forward to show that it doesn’t deter him in the slightest, but it does make me grimace a little.

“Intes sik leeski she yeris mouved, khewos sik wakandi vison yeris gadim.”
(“The beetles will feed on your eyes, the worms will crawl through your lungs.”) Drogo states as he steps forward and Mago steps back, but still with the blade between them and against Drogo, until Mago retracts it and takes a several swings at Drogo. All of which he dodges with ease, before ducking under him on his last swing as Mago moves forward.

“Eyel sik ponmei she yeris rikhamani ilek, meian vosi moi sindarine ki yeri vosma tolorro!”
(“The rain will fall on your rotting skin, until nothing is left of you but bones!”) Drogo continues as he unsheathes his two knives from either side of his belt, holding them out with his arms stretched, and turns back to Mago, but then drops them and they clatter on the ground. Upon his last word, he lunges towards Mago who reacts to swing his blade at Drogo, but he again misses as Drogo dodges, dodging his every swing and the fight has me in slight worry for I did not want Drogo hurt.

“Atte yeri hash annakhos addrivas anna!”
(“First you have to kill me!”) Mago exclaims as he lunges sending his blade forward, which Drogo catches and holds firm with Mago right before him.

“Anha rayi hash.”
(“I already have.”) Drogo retorts and uses his brute strength to send Mago’s blade back across him, slicing his throat wide open. Gripping the back of his neck, Drogo then brutally reaches into Mago’s throat and after a few seconds rips the inside out, pulling the tongue out attached with it. The display is savage and the women behind us all exclaim sounds of shock and probably fear, but even I found it to be a shock, though I made no noise, and it was soon forgotten as Drogo chucked the piece of throat and tongue on a fire pit and walked back to his seat. Wiping Jorah’s protective grip off my arm, I rush after Drogo and sit before him as he sits upon his stone seat.

“Tih shekh ma shierak moi zisozi.”
(“My sun and stars is wounded.”) I point out with concern in my voice, making Drogo look down at the open flesh wound on his chest Mago made.

“A zisosh, jalan ki tih attirar.”
(“A scratch, moon of my life.”) Drogo dismisses softly to comfort me, but I know if it is not healed properly it could cause Drogo pain.

I turn to his bloodrider behind, Qotho, who was looking down at Mago’s body. “Finne re koalaksi?”
(“Where are the healers?”) I question firmly.

“Jinak moi ast ki a afis.”
(“This is the bite of a fly.”) Drogo dismisses once again, smirking slightly to Qotho who returns the smirk.

“Anha laz rhellaya vezhven sajak tanay mae ziso.”
(“I can help the great rider with his wound.”) One of the women I freed announces, warranting all our attention.

“Khal nefesi vo rhellaya har zafrai fin qosarvenikh sik oqet.”
(“The Khal needs no help from slaves who lie with sheep.”) Qotho rejects.

“Anna moi she tih care. Tel mae astos.”
(“She is in my care. Let her speak.”) I scorn towards Qotho.

“Thank you, silver lady.” The woman thanks in the common tongue as she approaches us, but Qotho stops her from getting closer by pointing her blade as she steps before him.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I am named Mirri Maz Duur. I was the godswife of the temple here.” Mirri Maz answers.

“Maegi.”
(“Witch.”) Qotho scowls before spitting at her feet, meaning she practised bloodmagic, something the Dothraki did not trust.

“My mother was godswife here before me. She taught me how to make healing smokes and ointments. –All men are of one flock, so my people believe. The great shephard sent me to earth to heal his—,” she explains but Borro slaps her hard across the face with the back of his hand, annoying me further.

“Akka san asei. A maegisi asei ize charei.”
(“Too many words. A witch’s words poison the ears.”) Qotho states.

“Lamb or lion, his wound must be washed and sewn or it will fester.” Mirri Maz announces as she looks back to me.

I turn back to face up to Drogo. “Tel mae sheleen yeris ziso, tih shekh ma shierak—mae belaila anna athnitzar annakhos mov yeri siqoya.”
(“Let her clean your wound, my sun and stars—it makes me hurt to see you bleed.”) I insist gently and I watch him look from me up behind to Mirri Maz and soon enough he ever so slightly nods his agreement. I look back and beckon Mirri Maz forward for her to inspect the wound and slightly gingerly she stands before him and his expression does not show one of contentment. The Dothraki truly were agitated by Maegi’s.

“If the great Khal will allow, silver lady, I will gather some materials to make a poultice.” Mirri Maz requests to which I nod for her to do so instantly. I could tell Drogo did not like this, nor did his bloodriders, but I cared more about his health than his pride, seemingly being the only one.

The next morning, as we travelled across Lhazareen headed for the next village, Drogo had soon torn off the poultice Mirri Maz had made off his wound, saying it itched and there was no need for it anyway, he had indulged it long enough. Throughout the first half of the day we faced in saddle, Drogo appeared to worsen as the time passed. It had not even been a day’s ride when he was sat hunched on his horse at the front of the khalasar as I rode behind him with his bloodriders.

“Tih shekh ma shierak.”
(“My sun and stars.”) I address to get his attention, fearing his state upon his horse, but get nothing. “Tih shekh ma shierak.” I repeat, but again nothing.

“Drogo.” I call but then he suddenly falls from his horse. Seeing this immediately struck immense worry through me as I knew this was a great shame in the Dothraki culture as they said a Khal who cannot ride cannot lead. In his aid, I instantly descend from my horse and rush to him as I hear his bloodriders trot on their horses to us, a couple coming to his side along with me.

“Tih hrazef—anha eth dothrakh—,”
(“My horse—I must ride—,”) Drogo mumbles that we can just make out, his eyes barely open. It pained me to see him so gravely ill, for his wound must have festered.

“Anna shemi har mae hrazef. A Khal fin lazvo dothrakh moi vo Khal.”
(“He fell from his horse. A khal who cannot ride is no Khal.”) Qotho points out dishearteningly from his horse above.

“Anna moi haqe, vat moi ei. Anna zigeree annakhos mithri. Kisha hash dothrakhan hezhah lekhaan asshekh; kisha sik vimithreras gwe.
(“He is tired, that is all. He needs to rest. We have ridden far enough today; we will camp here.”) I state in defence looking around the vast plain cliff terrain we had stopped upon.

“Jinak moi vo place annakhos vimithreras. –Ma a chiorikam dosvo azhas kish bosi. Vo akk a Khaleesi.”
(“This is no place to camp. –And a woman does not give us orders. Not even a Khaleesi.”) Qotho argues.

“Kisha sik vimithreras gwe. Leti vasoi Khal Drogo aseisa mae.”
(“We will camp here. Tell them Khal Drogo commanded it.”) I repeat, insisting he do this.

“Yeri tu vo ase anna, Khaleesi.
(“You do not command me, Khaleesi.”) Qotho reiterates, though I ignore it with growing annoyance and impatience.

“Ezas Mirri Maz Duur ma divi mae annakhos anna.”
(“Find Mirri Maz Duur and bring her to me.”) I order.

“Maegi? Anha sik divi yeri mae nhare, Khaleesi.”
(“The witch? I will bring you her head, Khaleesi.”) Qotho defies.

“Divi mae annakhos anna nazzis che Khal Drogo sik hear kirekhdirgi yeri sleiman anna.”
(“Bring her to me unharmed or Khal Drogo will hear why you denied me.”) I scorn, losing my patience, and Qotho finally concedes to my demands and rides to find Mirri Maz amongst the khalasar.

The riders enacted my wishes and we made camp on the amongst the cliff’s edges as Mirri made another poultice for Drogo’s wound. After the tents were pitched, Drogo’s being first, the riders moved him into it as he was still in a gravely ill state to move himself. While the khalasar made camp, I stayed with Drogo in his tent, clasping his hand in mine at his side, but he didn’t seem to recover at all in the time, even with the second poultice Mirri Maz made.

“Khaleesi?” Jorah’s voice calls from outside the tent.

“Come.” I permit, wiping the tears from my cheeks not wanting him to see.

Jorah enters with caution and care, and I can see the look of pity in his eyes, which is exactly what I didn’t want to see.

“He’s very strong. No one understands how strong he is.” I state firmly as Jorah comes to stand by the other side of where Drogo laid. Looking from him to me, he unsheathes his knife and I look at him in question, but he takes a knee and using his knife, carefully removes the poultice to see the wound. As Jorah removes it, revealing the festered wound, I cannot bare to look at it and move my gaze down, before regaining it on his face.

“He will die tonight, Khaleesi.” Jorah sombrely declares.

“No, he can’t. –He can’t, I won’t let him.” I affirm.

“Not even a queen has that power.” Jorah points out before rising back to a stand. “We must go quickly—I’ve heard there is a good enough port in Asshai.” Jorah insists.

“I won’t leave him.” I reject.

“He’s already gone, Khaleesi.” Jorah gently says.

“Ev—even if he dies—why would I run? I am Khaleesi and my son will be Khal after Drogo.” I state with volume.

“This isn’t Westeros where men honour blood, here they only honour strength, you know this. There’ll be fighting after Drogo dies, whoever wins that fight will be the new khal. Your boy will no doubt be plucked from your breast and given to the dogs before they take to dosh khaleen to live out your days with the rest of the widowed Khaleesi’s.” Jorah explains.

Despite his description, I stare back at Jorah with emotional and defiant eyes. “I won’t leave him.” I repeat as I cling to his hand tightly and Mirri Maz Duur suddenly comes back into the tent, followed swiftly by Qotho. She nods her recognition my way before she inspects Drogo’s wound once more.

“The wound has festered.” She states.

“Yeri ti jinak, maegi.”
(“You did this, witch.”) Qotho sneers and starts to handle his blade.

“Nakho mae. Anha toi vo kish mae azzis.”
(“Stop it. I do not want her harmed.”) I declare firmly.

“Vo? Yeri toi vo kish mae azzis? –Shevekki kisha toi vo azzi yeri annakhosi. Yeri tel jinak maegi tam mae qorami she mishi Khal.”
(“No? You do not want her harmed? –Pray we do not harm you too. You let this witch put her hands on our Khal.”) Qotho disdains as he kicks Mirri Maz to her knees.

“Menni she yeris lekh. Mae moi zin yeris Khaleesi.”
(“Rein in your tongue. She is still your Khaleesi.”) Jorah defends.

“Disse kasha qoy qoyi atthirar!”
(“Only while the blood of my blood lives!”) Qotho exclaims, looking between the both of us.
“Kash anna drivoe, anna moi vosi.”
(“When he dies, she is nothing.”) he adds, infuriating me and gritting my teeth I rise to a stand before him over Drogo’s body.

“Anha hash avvos shein vosi. Anha hash qoy ki zhavorsa.”
(“I have never been nothing. I have the blood of the dragon.”) I proclaim with rage.

“Ei zhavorsai re driv, Khaleesi. – Ishish, qisi yeri aik bi annakhosi.”
(“All the dragons are dead, Khaleesi. –Maybe, soon you will be too.”) Qotho points out before he leaves the tent.

Looking back to Drogo, I watched as Mirri Maz began to look over the wound further.

“I think you should wear your armour tonight, Ser Jorah.” I suggest.

“I think you’re right.” He agrees and as I look his way, he nods and leaves the tent to do it at once.

“You’ve saved me once more.” Mirri Maz points out.

“And now you must save him.” I insist.

“He is beyond a healer’s skills. All I can do is ease his path.” Mirri Maz informs.

“Save him and I will free you I swear it.” I declare. “You must know a way. –Some- some magic.” I suggest and I can see Mirri Maz thinking it over.

“There is a spell. Some would say death is cleaner.” Mirri Maz announces.

Looking to Drogo’s sickening state, I lower back to a sit and grasp his hand once more. “Do it. Save him.” I insist.

“There is a price.” Mirri Maz states.

“Gold, whatever you want.” I instantly offer.

“It is not a matter of gold, this is bloodmagic. Only death pays for life.” Mirri Maz informs.

“What? –My death?” I query as I look to her in answer.

Mirri Maz glances me up and down. “No, not your death, Khaleesi.” She confirms. “Bring me his horse.” She demands to which I nod and seek outside the tent, where I find Rakharo and my other riders, of which I ask to bring the horse here into the tent.

Moments later, Rakharo and my other two riders bring Drogo’s agitated horse within the tent, before Drogo, and Irri and Doreah come rushing in also, straight to my side. Rakharo comes to my side too, pushing me away from the agitated horse as I hold my belly.

“Khaleesi, do not do this thing. Let me kill this witch.” Rakharo asks of me.

“Kill her and you kill your Khal.” I firmly inform him as Mirri wipes blood from her palm across her forehead.

“This is bloodmagic, it is forbidden.” Rakharo protests beside me.

“I am your Khaleesi, I will tell you what is and isn’t forbidden.” I retort as Mirri stands and comes close to the horse, beginning to speak in words we can’t understand, which actually calms the horse.

“Go, now.” Mirri Maz orders as she grabs the reins of the horse, holding it firm over Drogo.

“Go, Rakharo. Take Irri and Doreah.” I command but he hesitates. “Go.” I repeat and he finally does so, along with the two other riders.

“You must go also, Khaleesi. Once I begin to sing no one must enter the tent. The dead will dance here tonight.” Mirri Maz announces.

I walk around, over to Drogo and stand by his head, stroking the hair of his head. “No one will enter.” I assure and Mirri Maz nods before she begins to chant her bloodmagic, soon followed by slitting the horse’s neck with her knife. The blood sprays profusely over Drogo and splashes me, spraying my face as the horse weakens and stumbles down as Mirri Maz continues to chant.

“Bring him back to me.” I demand before taking my leave from the tent.

Outside much of the khalasar was gathered, all looking concerned on what was happening with the Khal inside with Mirri Maz as she chants her bloodmagic from within. Standing before everyone, I felt so overhwlemed with everything that was happening and my breaths started to become heavy. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see Jorah in his armour and holstered sword looking just as concerned, if not more.

“What have you done?” he pitifully questions.

“I had to save him.” I answer through my heavy breaths, making Jorah wrap his arm over my shoulders, bringing me over to Irri, Doreah and Rakharo. That is when the sounds from the tent began, sounds that were monstruous and unearthly.

"Jinak eth vo bi. Jinak eth vo bi.”
(“This must not be. This must not be.”) Qotho says as he strides through the crowd coming to stand before us.

“Jinak eth bi.”
(“This must be.”) I breathe, starting to feel weak.

“Maegi.”
(“Maegi.”) Qotho names me in hate, causing Rakharo to grasp his shoulder to calm him.

“Qotho, anna moi Kh—,”
(“Qotho, she is the Kh—,”) Rakharo begins but Qotho sends his elbow back, up into his face hard before stepping forward and drawing his blade.

“Vo, yeri lazvo!”
(“No, you cannot!”) I protest weakly, stepping in his way, but he merely pushes me forward, the force sending me to the ground and landing on my belly. “Khaleesi!” Irri and Doreah exclaim as they try to help me up. I had already felt weak before the push, and after the impact now I was in pain, I was panting and breathing heavy, having to ride through the pain, but it was beginning to feel unbearable. It was coming from my belly, from where my son was to be born. He was coming.

“Vo alle, hrazefmoor.”
(“No further, horselord.”) Jorah rules as Irri and Doreah help me turn over, leaning me up, and so I see Jorah draw his sword in challenge of Qotho, to stop him entering the tent. Qotho stared at Jorah holding his sword, in his stance ready to fight him and with a smirk, like he knew he would win the fight, he lunged at Jorah.

Qotho sent may blows Jorah’s way, but he managed to block them, dodge them but one move sent Jorah to the ground. I worried for him through my pain but he quickly got up, and resumed his stance. Qotho then lunged again and swung his blade at Jorah, which he dodged, before swinging it back at him again, only at his waist. At hitting Jorah’s side, at hitting his armour, Jorah trapped his blade against him with his armoured arm. Moving his sword over his head, he then swung it across Qotho’s face, shredding it and sending him to the floor where he then stabbed his chest.

Looking over to me, in visible pain, Jorah sheathes his sword and rushes over to my side, taking knee. “What is wrong? What hurts, Khaleesi?” he asks worryingly.

“The baby—is coming.” I breathlessly announce.

“Fetch the midwives.” Jorah orders of my riders.

“They will not come. They say she is cursed.” Rakharo informs as he helps Jorah to lift me from the floor.

“They’ll come or I’ll have their heads.” Jorah snaps as he rises with me cradled in his arms, moaning in agony.

“The witch, she can bring baby. I hear her say so.” Rakharo points out and I see above, Jorah look over to the tent sceptically as the monstrous noises and Mirri Maz’s chants continue, but he soon begins to walk in its direction. The pain was unbearable but even through my frailty I was adamant in myself to deliver my son, if not for me, for Drogo.

When my eyes slowly opened, faint light poured in and I wasn’t sure if I had woken on the same day or the next. All I remembered was the pain and as soon as it was over, I remembered nothing. Opening my eyes, I began to see a man’s figure sat beside my bed and for a moment I thought it was Drogo, that Mirri Maz had brought him back to me, to see his son, but as my eyes adjusted and opened further I saw it was not Drogo, but Jorah.

“Jorah?” I whimper as I start to lift my head, making him put away his sword and aid me over the bed in sitting me up. “Khaleesi, gently. Gently.” He softly says as he helps me lean up.

“My son? Where is he, I want him.” I query, but Jorah says nothing, only looks at me with pity, clearly unsure of what to say. “Where is he?” I ask, reading his face.

“The boy did not live.” Jorah tenderly informs and for a moment I am silent. Although I was heartbroken to hear such news, I found myself turning angry.

“Tell me.” I demand.

“What is there to tell?” Jorah responds.

“How did my son die?” I cry, emotional rage pouring out of me.

“He never lived, Daenerys.” Jorah regretfully tells. “The women say—,” Jorah begins but stops himself.

“What do the women say?” I ask of him.

Pity filled his eyes before he drew a small breathe to answer. “They say the child was—,” Jorah starts again. “Monstrous. Twisted. –I pulled him out myself.” Mirri Maz interrupts, finishing Jorah’s sentence, making me look around to see her come forward before me. “He was scaled like a lizard—blind—with leather wings like the wings of a bat. –When I touched him the skin fell from his bones. Inside he was full of graveworms.” Mirri Maz explains, and I don’t know whether to feel sorrow, rage or both, or something else entirely. What she described sounded impossible.

“I warned you that only death can pay for life. You knew the price.” Mirri Maz adds, which then makes the choice of my emotions stick with emotional rage. She had used my son’s life to save Drogo’s, as well as his horse’s. I knew the price when it was his horse, I did not know the full extent of it. That she kept to herself.

“Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me. –Show me what I bought with my son’s life!” I exclaim, infuriated, seeing he was no longer in this tent.

“As you command, silver lady. –Come, I will take you to him.” Mirri Maz beckons, making me move to get out of my bed.

“Time enough for that later.” Jorah gently protests, urging me back into bed.

“I want to see him now.” I snap, and Jorah concedes with a nod, helping me to my feet.

When I exited the tent, the light was there but it was nearing the days end, when the light would soon fade. I was still unsure if it were the same day or the next. But then I quickly noticed that the khalasar was gone. Only a few abandoned tents remained, along with several slaves left behind. Irri and Doreah were outside, along with my Rakharo and my other two riders, Aggo and Kovarro, proving loyal to me staying where I was and not leaving with the khalasar, friends as always. As Jorah and I followed behind Mirri Maz, they came forward and joined.

“The khalasar is gone.” I say.

“They left yesterday, after you birthed. –A khal that cannot ride is no Khal. The Dothraki follow only the strong—I’m sorry, Daenerys.” Jorah points out as we walk, also answering that it had been a whole day.

Mirri Maz took us closer to the cliff’s edge, until we were by a rumble of rocks where I suddenly was faced with the sight of Drogo. As soon as I caught sight of him, I rushed to his side. He was laid with his head propped up by many throws and at his side I held his cheek.

“Tih shekh ma shierak.”
(“My sun and stars.”) I lovingly address, but he looks straight through me. His eyes do not move, he does not move, he was deadly still as if he were laying there dead.

“Why is he out here alone.” I question, not knowing what else to say.

“He seems to like the warmth of the sun, Daenerys.” Jorah informs, but looking at Drogo I was unsure of how they could possibly even tell. He was still and totally unresponsive. Despite this, I still leaned in close and kissed him. But still, nothing.

“He lives.” Mirri Maz announces. “You asked for life, you paid for life.” She points out as I stroke Drogo’s face.

“This is not life.” I snap at Mirri, looking her way. “When will he be as he was?” I ask.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.” Mirri Maz proclaims, bringing back my anger over her elongated way of telling me never and also telling me I would never bear more children. All of this was not the price I knew of, the price I agreed to.

“Leave us.” I demand as I rise to a stand, but Jorah steps forward, coming close in front of me.

“I do not want you alone with this sorceress.” He concerningly admits quietly between us.

“I have nothing more to fear from this woman.” I point out.

“But I do.” Jorah retorts. “I’ll be fine. –Go.” I assure, and reluctantly he does so along with the others. Once they were out of my sights, I turned my attentions to Mirri.

“You knew what I was buying and you knew the price, and yet you did not mention it would take my son’s life or Drogo’s fate.” I scorn.

“It was wrong of them to burn my temple. It angered the great shephard.” Mirri states.

“This is not god’s work. My child was innocent.” I retort.

“Innocent? He would have been the stallion who mounts the world, as Drogo said, as I heard it had been proclaimed. Now he will burn no cities, now his khalasar will trample no nations into dust.” Mirri defends.

“I spoke for you. I saved you from the riders.” I scowl.

“Saved me? Three of those riders had already raped me before you saved me, silver lady.” Mirri announces. “I saw my god’s house burn- there where I had healed men and women beyond counting. –In the streets, I saw piles of heads. The head of a baker, who makes my bread. The head of a boy that I had cured of a fever just six moons past. So, tell me exactly what it was that you saved?” Mirri scorns, and although her description saddened me, for these were exactly the things I renounced about the Dothraki culture, I was far more grieved over my son and Drogo to care anymore.

“Your life.” I state.

Mirri lightly scoffs. “Why don’t you take a look at your Khal. Then you will see exactly what life is worth, when all the rest has gone.” She points out and looking at Drogo’s state her words just made it all the more painful.

“Come.” I order as I turn away and start to walk back to the others.

“I am not yours to command anymore, silver lady.” Mirri argues, making me turn back to face her.

“You either come, or I will have you dragged.” I threaten before continuing to head for Jorah and the others, hearing Mirri follow behind soon after.

I had asked of my riders to hold Mirri captive but also to bring Drogo back to his tent, as I did not want to have him out there alone. With him back in the tent, I sat with his for a time, speaking of our times together, before cleaning his body if the blood and dirt. While I did this, the others, recruiting the help of the remaining slaves, collected wood for a funeral pyre for Drogo, so we could burn his body and let him ride the night lands in peace. The state he was in was not life, not for any man, and certainly not for my Drogo, so I knew I had to end his misery, his suffering, for him but also for me. It pained me to see him this way and when I finished cleaning his body, it was night and the time had come.

“Tih shekh ma shierak, ki yeri re she rekke, ki yeri hash vo osh flaka, attihas anna. –Yeri re a lajaka. Yeri hash ayyey slen a lajaka. Anha zigeres yeri annakhos lajak ajjin.”
(“My sun and stars, if you are in there, if you have not gone away, show me. –You are a fighter. You have always been a fighter. I need you to fight now.”) I speak to Drogo softly, holding his hand at his side, looking, waiting and hoping for any sign that he might in fact come back to me. But nothing.

“Anha nesas yeri re sekke hezhah flaka, vosma smi savi annakhos anna, tih shekh ma shierak.”
(“I know you are very far away, but come back to me, my sun and stars.”) I plead, turning his face to look my way as I lean close, but he just looks straight through me as he has done since I found him this way. I knew he wasn’t coming back to me, but it was my last try before I did what had to be done. As I leant down and laid my head at Drogo’s chest, resting my hand on him also running my fingers up and down slowly, I let my tears spill over.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east—then you shall return to me, my sun and stars.” I proclaim through my tears, before leaning back up and looking upon his face, caressing his cheek before I kissed him one last time. Then as I break the kiss, I stare into his still but still beautiful eyes before grabbing the pillow beside me and resting it over his face. Then I pushed. I pushed down on the pillow, crying as I did, my tears pouring down my face as Drogo’s body began to twitch lightly at the cease of air. My tears and cries became uncontrollable, but I held the pillow firm until the last bit of life Drogo held left his body and was now dead before me, leaving my heart broken.

Now in the dark of night, still black but nearing morning, those that had stayed, stood around the funeral pyre of Khal Drogo. The wooden pyre was large, the platform of wood wide and high that Drogo laid on, with two connected circles of sticks surrounding it wide. A great pyre for a great Khal. I walked through the people, coming forth with a lit wooden torch to set the pyre a light and stood at the front before the pyre with Jorah coming up to my side. I looked on with a sense of grief but also a sense of purpose, for I had made a bold decision this night. With Drogo dead, I did not know what would become of me, where we would end up, but I knew for sure I wasn’t going to go back, ending up in Vaes Dothrak, not as dosh khaleen for the rest of my days. That wasn’t me. I had a sense of purpose because I had something to prove to myself, something to prove to the others that would allow them to see I was strong and worth following. I had every intent to start my own khalasar and try to make a change to some people’s lives, with my own bloodriders of Rakharo, Aggo and Kovarro, and of course with Jorah at my side. I decided that I was finally tired of being a bystander, of just suppressing the wrongs of this world as I had always had to. I decided I wanted to make a difference. I just hoped I was right, and how I would do this I would figure out later as I had to prove myself now, and not after.

“Khaleesi, after this we must ride. I insist upon it. Out here we are vulnerable to khalasars. –We could ride for the free cities, you could sell your eggs and live out your days as a wealthy woman.” Jorah points out.

“Those eggs were not given to me to sell, Ser Jorah.” I retort.

Jorah sighs. “Daenerys, I vowed to serve you, protect you, to die for you if need be. So I beg you, please—let him go, Khaleesi. I know what you intend, I can see it in your eyes. Do not.” Jorah insists with firmness.

“I must.” I reply before Jorah takes the burning torch from my hand.

“No. I have cared for you all these years and still continue to do so; I will not let you die with Drogo.” Jorah affirms.

“Jorah, you don’t understand—,” I begin to explain. “Do not ask me to stand aside as you walk into the flames, as you step up there and lay down on that pyre. I won’t watch you burn.” Jorah pleads, emotions raw in his eyes.

Upon hearing his plea, the corners of my mouth arch into the smallest of pitying smiles. “Is that what you fear?” I say tenderly.

Bringing my hand up to Jorah’s cheek, I softly hold it. “Have faith in me Ser Jorah. For I do. –For fire cannot kill a dragon.” I gently tell him, before lovingly planting a light peck on his other cheek. As I pull away, I see he has a face of love but also worried scepticism at my remark. And with a smile of reassurance from me, he allows me to take back the burning torch and stands back as I turn to face the remaining slaves that had stayed and were gathered around before me.

“All of you here—you will be my khalasar. –I see the faces of slaves, but I free you. Take of your collars, go if you wish, no one will stop you—but if you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, as husbands and wives, as friends.” I declare, and at my words many begin to leave for their freedom, which I take no surprise or offence to. I was happy for those that made their choice, but happier to see a small sum had stayed and to those I would continue my decree. As the people left, I glanced at Mirri Maz Duur on her knees, bound and held by Rakharo at the front of the crowd, and saw she smiled at the large amount that fled.

“Rakharo—qoy qoyi—liwas jinak gezri annakhos larizi.”
(“Rakharo—blood of my blood—tie this snake to the pyre.”) I order, to which he happily complies, pulling Mirri to her feet and taking her towards the pyre behind me.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria—and I am the dragon’s daughter. I am the last dragon.” I proclaim.

Turning around, I watched Rakharo pass back behind me to stand with the rest. Now, looking at the pyre, full with the intent of what I would do and wishing to send my Drogo off into the night lands to be at peace, I dropped the torch on the sticks that circled the pyre, setting them alight. The sticks soon burned around, connecting to the inner circle which eventually connected to Drogo’s pyre, setting it to light in a few moments. As the fire reached the pyre, Mirri had began to chant, but it did not bother me for soon she would be dead, and her chants soon turned into screams as the flames began to engulf her. Now that the pyre was roaring to life with flames, towering us as it burned, it was now my moment. I would prove myself before all these people, I was sure of it. And if by some chance I was wrong about this, then I would join Drogo in the night lands and still be happy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jorah look to me at my side, I turned my head to face him and again saw a face of worried scepticism, but it did not deter me from my path. With a small loving smile, I took my first step towards the pyre.

“Khaleesi—,” Jorah tries to stop but I take another step. “Daenerys!” he calls aloud as I continue to walk across the burning circles, but I don’t stop.

As I come close to the pyre, my dress is completely alight but the heat from it and the flaming pyre ahead does not bother or harm me, much like how the heat from the eggs didn’t and how I came to realise that the steaming hot bath, when in magister Ilyrio’s manse, did not bother me either. This was going to work; I knew it would. I took the couple steps made from the wood up onto Drogo’s pyre where he laid, fully engulfed by the flames now and still not burned or harmed in any way. There, I laid down at his side and simply closed my eyes, letting the flames dance around me.

It was not until the light of morning struck that I again opened my eyes. Smoke rose from the ground and through it I saw the pyre was gone, completely consumed by the flames, along with Drogo and Mirri Maz Duur. But not me. I was laid on the ground, now sitting to see around me. I had survived as I had thought. I had walked into the flames and been almost reborn. The fire has burned away my dress and left my skin dirtied from the ash, but I was unharmed and not marked at all, even my hair remained as it was. I was unburnt. I was of dragon’s blood. I had proved it just like my ancient ancestor Jaehaerys Targaryen had done all those centuries ago when he too walked into a burning pyre and arose unscathed.

Then as the smoke began to clear, two bodies approached from where the people had been, and when it finally cleared, I looked up to see Jorah and Rakharo standing ahead. When our eyes met each other, theirs turned into ones of absolute awe, shock and disbelief at the sight of me alive and unburnt.

“Blood of my blood.” Jorah says practically in worship as he then takes a knee, kneeling before me. As I pick myself up into a stand, and the smoke completely clears, Rakharo lowers himself into a kneel, bowing himself before me, and what follows as I look out amongst those that had stayed, is the same. All that remained began to kneel and bow at the sight of me standing amongst the ashes. Even though we were few, not more than twenty people here, and had practically nothing to our names, it was still a moment that made me feel powerful, invincible. I was of dragon’s blood. I was a dragon, the last Targaryen and dragon. Now I had proved myself strong to those before me, what came after was now in question. I had to provide and protect these people that were now bowing before me. So, what I had to ask of myself was: what was next?

Chapter Text

What was next? At the time I had not known, nor could I have pictured where we had now ended up. Being in the vast, dry lands of Lhazar, and it only being so few of us and having even fewer provisions and horses, we did not have many options. I was of dragon’s blood, that much was true, but it didn’t help us get out of Lhazar. We couldn’t go back into the Dothraki Sea, any khalasar we met would have our heads for a woman leading a khalasar, and if they didn’t kill me I’d be taken back to Vaes Dothrak to be dosh khaleen. We couldn’t go further east or we would die before we even crossed the Red Waste lands to any place beyond or surrounding it. Our only option appeared to be Slaver’s Bay to the west of Lhazar, but that didn’t spark much prospects or hope. Despite this, Jorah insisted upon heading to Astapor. The city had a trading port and so we could figure out how to get a ship and sail somewhere safe or send a raven from the port to someone we trusted for the same outcome. The cities of Yunkai and Meereen were closer, with Astapor being the southern most city of Slaver’s Bay, but they were much more heavily guarded and walled. Astapor’s trading port appeared to be our best bet and so that is where we headed. Jorah and I discussed and realised our only line of call was to magister Illyrio in Pentos. So, Jorah raised the idea to ride to Astapor ahead of us, if he got there quicker he could send a raven to Ilyrio and hopefully by the time the rest of us reached there on foot, we could sail then and there. On horse, it would take only a couple days to reach Astapor, on foot maybe around a week. I agreed and gave Jorah my horse to ride, as by the sounds of it, I didn’t wish us to be in Astapor for long. Jorah told that the city was best known for their training of the Unsullied, men that were stolen, raised and trained to become eunuch slave soldiers, yet another thing that was deplorable within the trade.

When we finally arrived, what I saw was an entire city practically enslaved by masters and I could see why Jorah had not wanted us there any longer than we had to be. We had the potential to be quite vulnerable. But when we got there and reached the trading port, what we had hoped for had come to pass. Illyrio had read and received us, sending us a ship to sail to Pentos along with provisions for the journey. My blood riders, as well as Irri and Doreah, had been sceptical of sailing the poison water, but they did so anyway for we had no other choice but to.

Arriving back in Pentos, after the days at sea, after everything, it had felt most strange and we had been there not even a year past. And yet, it seemed so much had changed in the months that had come to pass, not just for me, but for Westeros. Illyrio had greeted us with open arms and quickly announced that the prince of Pentos and his magister council wished to host us. Ilyrio explained that he had informed to the council that I would be coming, using my house name and they had been most adamant at hosting us. Hearing this, Jorah and I had been peeved that Illyrio had used my name for we knew this close to Westeros, there would be many spies, which is why we left Pentos the first time all those years ago after the first assassination attempts. But Illyrio did not seem bothered at all by our annoyance as we explained why. But what he told us next was exactly why he wasn’t, and why he said we didn’t have to be worried anymore. He had told us the war in Westeros was over.

At first, I thought Illyrio had been joking. Then I didn’t believe him. Then I was just in shock. The war, that had been deemed the long war, after all these years was now over. Apparently, a peace treaty had been made after Cersei Lannister and her father’s army had been defeated outside King’s Landing, although they were still alive residing in their home at Casterly Rock. After their defeat, the peace treaty was made and they were shown mercy in hopes of ending the war once and for all and any future grudges or conflicts. According to the information Illyrio had received, Tywin had agreed to this peace treaty, much to Cersei’s dismay, and they and their allied houses had to relinquish their armies to our allied houses before going back to their homes. Now, the Baratheon’s sat on the Iron throne, Robert Baratheon, after leading the war campaign against the Lannister revolt. But this had occurred months ago. Illyrio said Pentos heard word about a couple months after we had left with the Dothraki. My head had felt as though it was in a spin. The news had been completely unexpected, and Jorah and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

After thanking Illyrio for his kindness, he soon escorted us to the prince’s Pentoshi Manor where we were received with honour. Although, I felt as though I did not wish to stay. I had not liked the prince all those years ago at ten, and now at nineteen, as Illyrio had caught us up on the days making me realise I had turned nineteen not long ago, I wondered if I would dislike him more or less, or the same, but I soon realised it was more. I grew tired of him quickly the day we arrived in his manor. He was older than me and yet still a spoilt child with a sensitive temper. A few of his rich magister councillors remembered me, the ones that weren’t killed when we were last here. Their company I could hold, and we spoke of the times when we were last here and the ludicrous beliefs over who or what I was back then that they had believed.

For two days we stayed at the manor, and for two days I did not enjoy my time amongst the company we held, although I made no such sign of it to our hosts. They had granted us safe and well sheltered housing in a time of need, albeit by Illyrio’s kind grace though were we here and it was to him I owed my gratitude not the prince and his magister’s. The first day we had merely settled in, cleaned up, fed; the people I had brought along with me rejoiced in the rich fortune we were hosted with, but I could not enjoy it as much as them for I spent most of the days thinking of the news Illyrio shared with us. Confiding in Jorah, we spoke of the wars end and what we would do next, for neither of us wished to stay in this manor. We had both found it odd that the war had been over for some months now and yet only around a month ago did an assassination attempt occur on my life, one only a Lannister would attempt. If a peace treaty was made, then they were still being dirty and even with the wars end did they still want me dead. It was a hatred I could not wrap my head around, but I supposed evil people would always do evil things, no matter what. Perhaps they saw it as finishing what they started.

By the second day, after much discussing, Jorah and I felt as though there was nothing left for us in Essos and that perhaps, with the wars end and the peace treaty, there was a chance we could go back to Westeros. If we indeed went, we would still have to be wary, for we would be closer to the Lannister’s, but going back meant I would be going back to King’s Landing, back to the Red Keep and after what had happened and the years war, it would be heavily guarded now more than ever. We saw that this was best option, one where we could live a life worth living and I could give the few that followed me one too. One free of chains or fear of being plundered and put in them. That day, we sent a raven to the Red Keep, to Robert Baratheon, to ask for safe passage into King’s Landing, to return home and for Ser Jorah to receive a royal pardon for his crimes for his service to me. Within a couple days, we received a letter back at the prince’s manor, wishing proof to the truth of my name, which we of course forgot. They would have not known I was alive. I did not have much belongings, only my sword Needle, my eggs and my brooch. They did not know of my sword, or would not probably even remember if they did, the eggs wouldn’t prove anything, so it had to be the brooch. Only my family had them, a rare trinket my father had us all made for Viserys’ wedding day. I hoped he would remember and that it would be enough, but to make sure it was, we cut a lock of my silver-blonde hair to send with it, tying the lock with string. One of the prince’s men was sent with the package to King’s Landing and several days later, we received more scrolls from a raven. One that read of our safe return back to King’s Landing, along with my people, and another that read Jorah’s royal pardon. The letter that granted us back into King’s Landing had expressed the Baratheon’s joy of hearing that I was alive after all this time and that they would host a feast and celebration in my name, for the Targaryen princess as the letter had said. They merely asked after what day they should expect our arrival so they could merrily escort us to the Red Keep for it all.

The thought of a big celebration was somewhat off putting. I felt in no mood for a celebration after the few weeks we’d had. I had gained a whole new life and lost it all within the space of a year. And that life was so different to what we would be going back to in King’s Landing. The whole nine years now had been such a different life, I had grown used to exile with Jorah and now I felt more than a little overwhelmed at the prospect of my return back to court life, as it would seem. Going back to what was my home but without my family there and to see another where my father had sat just seemed odd. I almost felt as though I wasn’t meant to go back, that it wasn’t my home anymore and it hadn’t been since the day we left. I wondered if I would feel like a foreigner all over again, I wondered if King’s Landing would still be the same, if the people I knew would still be the same. Like William, who Illyrio had mentioned as the Baratheon prince who fought alongside his father in the war’s battles. William had been my closest friend as a child and I wondered if when I saw him again, it would be like we never parted or if it would be something entirely different. I had no clue what awaited us back in Westeros. If I would reject court life or fall back into an old custom of life with ease. Whatever the answer, I knew it would take time. There would be so many questions from others about where I had been and what I had experienced, which I already did not feel inclined to talk about with the men and women of the court. Especially not about our time with the Dothraki. Of course, with my bloodriders, it would be one of the first questions, but I had no intention of talking about my love Drogo and the son we had lost. It was still too raw and painful to even think of, and no one needed to know the details, not ones as personal as those.

Despite the worry and overwhelming feelings of returning, I responded with a date, one being as soon as possible to leave this prince’s manor. Although, Jorah and I discussed that it was best to arrive unannounced, inconspicuously, rather than have what we imagined as a whole parade of noblemen and capitol people as a welcome. We reasoned it would be safer to arrive the day before we said to avoid any dangers. If the assassination attempt with the wine merchant had only happened around a month prior, then what was to stop the Lannister’s from trying anything upon my return and with a big celebration, all attentions would be on me.

So, now on a ship, sailing with my people to Westeros, I had never pictured we would be here, that this was what was next for us, for me. But here we were. Jorah and I going back to Westeros, only with also a following of a few Dothraki people, former Lhazareen slaves and the few horses we had, along with my own Drogo had gifted me, the only thing I had of him left. The magisters and the prince had gifted me three lovely dresses for the intent to wear upon my return and although I took them with gratitude, I did not wear one in leaving. I instead opted to wear what I had when we arrived in Pentos: my Dothraki wear. I figured I would blend more with my people, who had not been gifted any such clothes, and not draw more attention to myself being in a noblewoman’s dress, with my already silver-blonde hair. A dress could wait until I was within the Red Keep’s walls. When I was back in my home within the capitol. Nine years and I was finally sailing back to Westeros.

Chapter Text

After a couple days sail across the Narrow Sea, we finally arrived at the dock of King’s Landing, successfully the day before we had said to, although not by much. The day was soon turning into night for at dusk we anchored, displaying a show of colours the sun glistened over the blue ocean. Warily, and walking with our horses, we made our way through the capitol which was quiet as those with business had already been long packed up for the day. It was strange to pass the places I had once visited, where I had once conversed with the people who lived there, like the bakers and the bookseller. I found myself wondering if the same people still did.

Approaching the Red Keep, seeing it again up close for the first time in nine years was daunting and it grew more daunting the larger it got with the closer we got. Wanting the horses safe, we slyly headed for the royal stables, which were not heavily guarded and not to my surprise an asleep guard was at his post. Luckily, our horses were well tempered and kept themselves quiet as we snuck them in, before fleeing. I didn’t want our arrival to be mentioned, I didn’t want people to know I was here until I wanted them to, until we were already inside. So then I led Jorah and my people around to one of the places I knew we could sneak in through undetected, as I had used to as a child, sneaking in and out. Only William and I had used it way back when, it was a small, abandoned tunnel we had found that led into the unused basements of the Red Keep. It had always appeared unused and unknown about then, and walking hunched through it now, it appeared the same, unused and unknown and even more so now.

When in the basements, I finally changed into one of the dresses gifted to me, along with Irri and Doreah into my others. They had long been my friends, and if I were to wear such dresses again, they deserved to too. Irri had rejected it at first, insisting she could not wear something so wealthy, that it was my gift and not hers, but I insisted upon myself and when she finally let herself it was nice to see the smile the dress put on her face. Doreah, on the other hand, had been quite excited to wear one and did not take any convincing. She was the most excited, if the only one excited, to be here. She had always been thrilled by the idea that I was once a princess, and now we were in Westeros I supposed she thought she was living within a fairytale, considering I was once again a princess.

From the basements, I decided the best place to start to get things we needed would be the staff quarters, not far up from the basements, for my people needed food and possibly new clothes if they wished, and I wanted information. Going up into the staff quarters, we bypassed their chambers and headed straight for the kitchens, where it sounded many appeared to be. Asking my people to remain outside, as to not overwhelm the poor people, I asked if they wanted new clothes instead of their Lhazareen wear, but they all wished to remain in their own clothes for now, saying it felt like they had a piece of their home with them. The sentiment they held suddenly made me feel guilty for bringing them all this way, to a foreign land but they assured they were happy to be here. They even expressed interest in the things they saw in the capitol’s village, which brought me joy that they had already been thinking on what a life here entailed, something they could begin here themselves. A new and good life I had wanted for them as they followed me.

When I entered the kitchens with Jorah, we saw faces of stun and heard the gasps of shock at our entrance. Most likely my silver-blonde hair giving away my identity as it always had. Many quickly curtsied where they stood, bobbing on their feet in what looked like awe and I realised I was going to have to get used to this again. After conversing with them, their guards seemed to drop and they relaxed quite a bit to my relief and soon faces of stun turned into smiles. Many asked questions of where we had been, of which I vaguely answered, naming only the places we had been in Essos and nothing more. The details were unimportant now. Eventually, I asked if the food they appeared to be preparing was for the court’s supper, and it was. So, I then asked if they wished for help, and of course they said not but I insisted, and brought in my own people. For I thought, easing them into the life was better than throwing them in the deep end straight away amongst the nobles, for I had seen how uncomfortable the people had been at Pentos in the prince’s manor. But I also found that perhaps I needed a way to ease in before we went further up in the castle; before I sat amongst the nobles and new king and queen.

As we all helped in the kitchen, the people socialised as they aided the kitchen with the tasks, learning from one another, which kept a smile on my beaming on my face. Although, Rakharo, Aggo and Kavarro all stood aside not helping, only happily eating what the kitchen maids fed them, who I think a few seemed quite intrigued and allured by the young men. It felt nice to be here and see all help each other, and I did realise it calmed my nerves I didn’t knew I had about seeing the men and women of the court. Then when the time came for the food to be taken up to the feast hall, my people and blood riders expressed they wished to stay down with the kitchen staff, of which I had no quarrel for they appeared to be perfectly happy amongst their company. A part of me wished, I could stay, but I told myself I had to face everyone some time and I reasoned a relaxed supper would be a good enough time as any, and I intended to greet and announce myself with confidence.

Before I was to leave, Jorah pulled me aside and mentioned that he was not going to join, and when I had asked why, he had explained that as we were back, he wished to look and ask around to learn what became of his wife and son. This was something I had forgotten, for now that he had his royal pardon and was back in Westeros, and no longer beholden to his Kingsguard vows, he was free to see them. Even in his leave did he ask if I would be alright, if he was okay to go, which made me smile. Even now we were home and within the castle’s walls was he caring and protecting me, after everything. And so, with a loving kiss to his cheek, I wished him luck in his search for his answers and assured him all would be fine. It was supper, not a battle.

As we made our way up, Irri, Doreah and I, helping with the staff that carried the food, we came to enter the feast hall behind them and saw that the men and women of the court were already sat at their tables drinking their wine and chatting merrily amongst themselves. They all sat along two long tables that spread across either side of the hall, with one table at the front of the hall that sat so the people who ate at it were faced upon them all. This was where the king’s family would sit. It is where we sat, when my family were alive. The nobles were sat already, waiting for the food, but the king’s family weren’t. I assumed it was still customary for the king and his family to arrive once the food had been served upon the tables. I hadn’t realised I had been standing in the doorway staring in thought until a few of the staff that we had come up with, graciously gestured for us to give them the food we were holding. As because I hadn’t moved into the hall, neither had Irri or Doreah. When we gave it up, I saw that the nobles hadn’t realised I was standing in the entrance of the hall, much engrossed in their conversations and not bothering to look as the staff entered the hall and laid down the supper food.

Looking on at the men and women at the tables, I took a deep breath before putting on a confident face of a woman of Westeros and then approached one of the tables. Standing behind a few men, I finally announced myself with Irri and Doreah behind me.

“Excuse me, my Lords, could you at all make room for us?” I ask with a smile to get their attention. The Lords across the table look and suddenly instantly arise as the Lords in front turn and then precede to do the same.

“Forgive me, my lady, in asking but—your hair it’s—,” he begins, once again my hair preceding me. “Are you the Targaryen princess? We did not expect your arrival until tomorrow.” One of the Lords continues to question in a look of awe, much like the staff had in the kitchens.

“I suppose I am once again, my Lord, though many just call me Daenerys. I would love it if you could do the same.” I reply sincerely, though dodging his statement about our early arrival.

“Of course, my lady, but you are still a princess, we should address you as such.” Another Lord points out.

“True, but my name will be good for now, my Lords.” I retort.

“How about lady Targaryen?” One other Lord queries. “Or how about lady Daenerys, as the princess wishes.” The first Lord puts forward, to which I give a gracious smile.

“Lady Daenerys would suit just fine, my Lord.” I agree.

“Let us make room for lady Daenerys and her ladies.” The Lord instructs as they all take their seats, with those in front moving up and down the seats to make room for the three of us.

“Thank you, my Lords.” I say as they moved along. Before taking my seat, I glanced around the hall seeing that everyone had stopped their conversations and were looking our way.

“And what are your ladies’ names, lady Daenerys?” One of the Lords asks, snapping my attention back.

“This is Irri and Doreah. They’re my friends from across Essos.” I answer as we take our seats.

“Tell me, my ladies, are all the women as beautiful as you across Essos?” One of the Lords flatters, making them both smile. And although Irri smiles, she does not seem to succumb to the Lords ongoing flattery, seeing as she was happily married to Rakharo, but Doreah on the other hand flirtatiously smiled continuously at it.

As the Lords began asking us questions of Essos, we had not long been talking when the King and his family entered the feast hall. All rose at their entry, as I did also, and we watched as they walked up the hall to their table. Robert Baratheon walked with his wife Lyanna as his closest advisers walked behind, who would sit amongst the King at his table, with the queen and their children at his other side. Seeing faces I had known from so many years ago, one that wasn’t Jorah’s, felt stranger than I had anticipated. Then I saw him. It was William. Walking alongside his younger sister Lillia, who both had much grown, and actually seeing William again, being this close to him, suddenly took the small breath I had away. He was an entirely different person, but so was I. He had grown tall and looked strong, his dark hair still remained short, but framed his head and face well; some strands falling down his forehead, grown and brushed to the sides, finishing at the ends of his eyebrows. He looked different; he was a man and had grown into a fine young man at that. The only thing that I could see was the same about him was the small mole that resided near the corner of his mouth, just sitting near it above. I suddenly remembered teasing him about when we were younger, but looking at him now, it suited him well, it was endearing. I wondered if he would remember things like that. I wondered even now as this young man, was he still the same boy I remembered at heart.

The King and queen and everyone that followed, walked straight for their table, not really looking the noble’s way, not even William, and so none took notice that I was there, but I felt somewhat relieved. When they all sat at their table, all regained their seats, and with a smile and gesture from the King, everyone finally began taking their lot from the supper foods along the tables. As we feasted the foods and drank the wine, I found conversing with the Lords got easier the more I got comfortable and relaxed. But I kept my answers strategic, not to overbear or tell them anything they had no business knowing, like of Drogo and Rhaego or the event at Drogo’s funeral pyre. These men wanted stories of intrigue and comedy, and so I devised to talk of matters I thought they would find entertaining. Men liked to think themselves as more than all others, that they were better, and enjoyed disparaging others from elsewhere. So, I had the perfect topic for them: the Pentos Prince. Even I saw that he was not much a man at all, more a child, and I knew that these men would enjoy ridiculing the likes of such a man. I wanted them almost eating out the palm of my hand, making them laugh, and I knew this would be the way. For I did this, then I would be respected among these men for far more than just my title and would warrant actual and somewhat intellectual conversations from them in court, and not just be beholden to receive flattery or expected to speak of just feminine matters, which I felt I had much outgrown by now.

While I spoke of my time in the Pentoshi manor, mentioning the Prince’s and his magister’s ridiculous beliefs of me being a child deity when we had first arrived, among many other things I had experienced and saw while in the manor, the Lords found it most entertaining. Ridiculing and laughing at such things, as I had predicted, realising I could read these men with ease. As the laughs continued, they got louder and soon it drew the attention of others.

“What’s the noise, my Lords?” King Robert Baratheon calls from his table, clearly curious of the growing laughter and chatting amongst our part of the table, which renders us all quiet for a quick moment. Realising I was going to have to announce myself now, I prepared myself to face the Baratheon’s properly for the first time in nine years, and I was not going to let my confidence waver.

“It’s the Targaryen princess, your grace, and her stories of life at the Pentoshi manor.” One of the Lords stands to answer quickly, resorting back to the more formal title when addressing him with the mention of my presence, and how he casually explains the laughter makes me realise they must think that the king and queen know of my arrival in court.

“I’m aware of only one Targaryen princess, my Lord, and she is currently sailing the Narrow Sea.” Robert replies, making the Lord look my way across the table, unsure of what now to say. “Well, Targaryen princess—show your face.” Robert requests and as the Lord sits back down, I stand and step away from the table, coming into full view of the King and his table. As to not show my lingering nerve, I looked only upon the King with confident eyes and expression, ready to exert myself assertively amongst the king and court.
Standing by the table, looking upon the King, I see his eyes fill with surprise at the sight of me as I curtsy slightly, never leaving his gaze. I can tell he is trying not to make a spectacle of his surprise, and so his next question comes with quite a relaxed delivery.

“Well, care to enlighten me as to why you’re a day early. Festivities have been planned for your arrival at the docks tomorrow, many believe they are escorting you to the Red Keep.” King Robert points out, leaning up straight in his seat.

“I can only apologise, your grace. The winds were kind and we arrived earlier than anticipated.” I coolly reply, not wanting to relinquish the real reason, not yet at least, not now.

“The people will be disappointed, there’s been talk they are delighted to greet you at your arrival and see you across the capitol here.” King Robert informs.

“The people here were always kind to me; I have every intent to greet them in time and in my own way.” I retort though that much was true. I would much rather walk through the capitol of my own accord and greet the people properly, than be paraded in a cart or carriage.

King Robert lightly scoffs in what appears light amusement, as we both stare at one another.

“So, Targaryen princess—what’s so amusing?” he then questions, referring back to the noise I caused with my stories.

“I was merely offering my thoughts on the Pentos prince and his magisters.” I answer with casual ease. “With such power—yet such meagre authority as a man.” I add, wanting to begin a conversation that would assert myself in front of the king and court, and the remark causes a smirk to King Robert’s face.

“Please, continue.” He beseeches with his slight smirk as he leans back into his seat.

“His pettiness is astounding. He will bear a mortal grudge over the mildest of slights. A spoilt cub with a spike in its paw. Riven with resentment, unable to forgive or forget.” I describe. “A great ruler—a great man—rises above such things.” I add as I take some slow steps forward, getting closer to the table of the King.

“And what would you know of great men?” King Robert queries.

“I’ve read enough books, heard enough talk, seen enough things—to believe I’d know one—if he were before me.” I state, almost challenging him.

“Then look about you. I’m curious. –Do you see any here?” he questions, playing into my remark.

“Looking, your grace. –Still looking, your grace. –Ah, there—found one.” I toy with a smile, as I take more steps, wandering closer to the table, never breaking the strong gaze the King and I were holding, and in turn make him smile and the people around chuckle between each other.

“So, forgiveness you say, makes a man great? What else?” King Robert ponders as the chuckles fade.

“Generosity—humility—,” I begin, hinting a smile before I did, seeing King Robert was not conceding to the conversation yet. “The ability to recognise his match in others, and not be threatened by it.” I continue.

“His match in other men?” King Robert queries.

“Women too.” I clarify.

“You believe that, that women can be the match of men?” King Robert asks, seemingly amused, as I had expected.

“It’s a question I see women have asked themselves for some time, but we concede that men do have some value—so we accept them as equal.” I answer, almost challenging him again, or more specifically men, for I had been underestimated many times and I had no doubt I would be many times more. And the response renders a light array of chuckles once more, though although it was intended as a challenging joke, there was much truth to it. However, King Robert did not laugh, he merely smiled but with a smile that seemed proud or impressed, or perhaps both.

“I find you much changed, Daenerys. –But then again, you still hold your defiant spirit as I remember.” King Robert points out sincerely, using my name finally for the first time.

“Then my prayers have been answered.” I slightly mock, though don’t portray it as such.

“Welcome back home.” He greets, still holding his smile.

Smiling back, I slightly curtsy once more. “Your grace.” I respond as I keep my eyes on him, as I had done throughout the encounter, holding a confident frame. Then before turning back around, I glance over the table, looking at others for the first time since standing, and my eyes land on William. He had a subtle look of intrigue and awe, though I don’t linger on him long as I turn and head back to the table.

When the supper was over, the King and family, along with his advisers, were the first to stand to leave, in turn making the rest of us stand. Robert leads his party around the table and back down the hall, but he stops when he comes in line with me.

“Daenerys, may I speak with you alone.” King Robert requests as he stands opposite me at our table.

“Of course, your grace.” I respond and he continues his leave out the hall.

“Meet me in the council chambers.” He states in his leave as William passes me, hinting a smile my way as he lightly bobs his head to me in sly greeting. I don’t mirror his small smile, but I bob my head back in response. I wasn’t exactly sure how to act around him; I wouldn’t until I saw how he acted around me.

Once the king and company had vacated, so did everyone else. I told Irri and Doreah they were free to stay in the company of the Lords if they wished, but Irri wanted to go back down to the others in the kitchens and dragged a begrudged Doreah with her. I then made my way through the castle halls toward the council chambers. It was strange, I walked the halls as if I had never left them, it was all coming back naturally. Then when I entered the great hall to get to the council chambers, I felt intensely overwhelmed at the sight of the throne and being in the hall again. It was the most overwhelmed I had felt since coming here and being here. The hall was empty, all but the large pillars and the platform that had the iron throne still majestically sat on. Although, in my mind as I looked at the hall, it was filled with bodies lain over the floor, tables and seats. My brother and mother dead on the floor as Roose Bolton and his bastard son, and the Frey’s stand around looking over the massacre. I had to close my eyes and think away the pained memory before I could walk any further into the hall. Opening my eyes again, the hall was now as it was: empty, and I proceeded to walk through towards the corner, where the council chamber was as I remembered. As I walked through the great hall, I wondered if these hurts would ever fully heal. Some memories fade, but I knew I could never forget those, they were burned into my memory and scars don’t fade.

Coming into the council chambers, Robert had not yet arrived and so for a small while I waited, patiently sitting on the chair closest to the one at the head of the table, where the King sat, until eventually he arrived, and holding something in his hand. He turns and closes the doors behind him, before turning back to me.

“Do what do I owe this pleasure, your grace?” I mock slightly again, though made it more obvious this time.

King Robert scoffs amused before beginning his stride over to my end of the table. “Seven hells, you can drop the act, Daenerys. We’re alone, just call me Robert.” He sniggers, making me smirk in response, there was the exclamatory Robert I remembered.

“That was quite the show you put on back there.” Robert amusingly points out as he starts to head over my way.

“You played into it also.” I retort, still smirking

“Well, in front of the court, you didn’t give me much choice. Which, I presume, was for their benefit and not mine. Am I right?” Robert questions as he takes his seat across from me at the head of the table, and also laying whatever he had in his hand on the table.

“Correct.” I answer, curiously eyeing whatever was wrapped in the cloth now on the table in front of Robert. “I figured asserting myself off right was the best thing to do. I want to be respected if I am to live amongst these people again, not paraded or fussed over, or just seen as any other woman within these walls. I’m not like them, not anymore.” I explain, looking to him now instead of the wrapped object.

“That’s for sure.” He chuckles.

“So why is it that you wished to speak alone?” I ask, wanting to get to the point.

Robert leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, a few things really. But mostly, it was to ask of how you are.” He informs, which was not where I thought this conversation was going.

“How I am?” I almost ridicule with surprise.

“Yes, child. I haven’t seen you in nine long years. You were a small child when I last saw you and now you’re a woman, of what nineteen? Not to mention we only knew you were alive but a week’s past. So, yes—how are you, child?” Robert reiterates, rolling his eyes.

I suddenly felt I had no idea how to answer that, and it was the simplest of questions. “I’ve been better. —But I’ve been a lot worse.” I reply honestly.

“Haven’t we all.” Robert agrees, making me ponder about all that has happened here with the war. Everything that Illyrio told us was vague and small in amount.

“What’s happened here in the last nine years?” I query.

Robert sighs a little deflatingly. “If you haven’t already noticed, I’m old. And I’m tired. –That war went on for far too long. We lost too many good men that didn’t have be to be lost. I don’t much want to waste another breath on it.” Robert replies, looking a little disheartened by the memories of all the battles he had endured and my genuine sympathies were with him.

“I understand. Believe me.” I empathise.

“I am curious—why is it that you have only come back to us now, when the war was over nearly approaching a year’s past now?” Robert ponders.

“We sent the raven to you not long after we heard the news when we arrived in Pentos. It was the first Jorah and I had heard of it, until then we just assumed the war was still waging.” I explain.

“And Ser Jorah has been with you all these years protecting you, you say?” Robert continues.

“Yes. He’s been a loyal friend and companion. And although I’ve been able to protect myself for some years, I couldn’t have survived them all without him.” I admit gladly.

“Daenerys—where have you been- what have you done all these years?” Robert asks sincerely.

I take a moment to gather my answer. “You know—I don’t much want to talk about it either.” I honestly confess, much like Robert had.

“It seems the years have not been kind to either of us.” He concedes.

“Says the man on the Iron Throne.” I lightly joke.

Robert scoffs. “Yes, well, that throne doesn’t exactly make up for all the years losses.” He responds, to which I nod understandably.

“I want you to know Daenerys—sitting on that throne there isn’t a day that goes past that I don’t think of your father and mother. I sit on that throne in their honour, in your family’s honour.” Robert suddenly declares heartfeltly, but I can’t bring myself to answer, the moment my family was finally mentioned hitting harder than I thought it would, so I just look to my lap as I twiddled my fingers, trying not to let any tears form and fall.

“I’m so sorry for what happened, child. I wish something had been done to stop it. Your family were the most loving and kind I knew. The savageries they met; they did not deserve one bit. The years exile you faced you did not deserve. –I can only apologise and hope that I can bring you a life of peace and love now that you are back here. One you so do deserve, Daenerys.” Robert states, bringing my attention back up to him.

“Thank you, Robert.” I sincerely say. Although a life of peace sounded restful and hopeful, something I was happy to have, one of love I was not ready for. My love for Drogo still burned even as he rode the night lands now. I wasn’t sure in this moment if I could ever love another man as I did Drogo.

After a pause of silence between us, Robert clears his throat. “I have a couple things for you.” He announces, directing his attention to the cloth wrapped item on the table he had brought with him.

Unwrapping it, what was revealed was a dagger and my brooch I had sent. “Here’s your brooch.” Robert hands over, then goes back to grab the dagger as I put the brooch down in front of me. He then unsheathed it and held the dagger out between us, both of us admiring it. The handle was shaped as if to resemble a dragon’s tail by the make of it and at the base where the blade met the grip, a dragon’s head with an open mouth adorned with the blade made to look as if it was coming from it. The hilt was gold and black leather, with the small eye of the dragon’s head crafted with a red jewel. It was a beautifully crafted dagger.

“This dagger was your father’s. Like his sword, it was meant to go to Viserys on his death bed. –The blonde hag, Cersei, and her retched father took the dagger and sword from your father, but on the war’s end, we got them back. –I’ve kept the dagger mounted as a momentum to your father.” Robert explains before gesturing for me to take it.

Holding it in my hand, I admire it further, not remembering having noticed it before as a child, I only remembered his sword, Dragon’s Breath. “It’s a stunning blade- a beautiful dagger.” I say.

“It’s valyrian steel. –And it’s yours. Now it can be your momentum to your father.” Robert states and I look to him with gratitude.

“Thank you—and of course it’s valyrian steel. Wasn’t his sword too?” I ponder with a smile.

“Yes. Only the best for a king.” Robert chuckles.

“Is his sword mounted also?” I ask.

“No.” Robert answers as he suddenly pushes up from the table before moving his belt more to the front to show the sword attached to his side. He had my father’s sword and I looked to him mildly curious.

“Your father was like a brother to me. When we got the sword and dagger back, I felt a strong regard to them. They were all we had left of your family. All your family’s possessions had been ransacked and ridden of while Cersei held the throne with Tywin. All but these. –I wanted to keep the sword close, and so I hold it as my own. I hope this does not offend you, Daenerys.” Robert defends, and I take no such offence, for it wasn’t just me who lost things the day of the red wedding.

“I don’t take offence. In fact, it pleases me to see that a part of him still remains on that throne.” I express and Robert takes back his seat with an agreeing nod.

“You know—in all the years I knew your father, he never once mentioned how bloody uncomfortable that throne is.” Robert jokes, making us both chuckle.

“Well, a throne made of swords doesn’t exactly ring the word comfort.” I tease as our chuckles faded and another pause came between us.

“By right, Daenerys, that uncomfortable thing is yours. You’re the last Targaryen, your father’s only living child—it belongs to you. –And you’re more a part of him then his sword.” Robert points out suddenly and the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until the words came out his mouth.

“I have no interest in taking that throne. It took everything I held dear away from me. –Besides, you led the war, the people know why you sit on it, you fought for it, you deserve it. There’s no reason to take that away from you just because I’m home and my name is Targaryen. And anyway—you and Lyanna suit it, better than I.” I reject.

“Not as much as your father and mother. They always made it look so glamourous, and themselves as they ruled. They were true rulers.” Robert admires, though I pay him no reply or comfort; I did not want to speak of my parents or the throne any longer. In this pause of silence, I take this chance to change the subject.

“Robert, there is another matter to discuss—like accommodation.” I announce.

“Ah, yes.” He agrees.

“So—it is not just me that sailed here. I brought my people with me. They are all going to need places to sleep and stay.” I begin to declare.

“Your people? How many?” Robert asks.

“No more than fifteen.” I answer. “They seemed extremely content amongst the staff and so I think they will be most comfortable for the time being staying in their quarters, until I help them find their place in the capitol, whatever and wherever it is. Is this alright by you?” I begin to question.

“Of course, do as you wish for your own people.” Robert allows.

I nod in recognition. “Now, where would you have me sleep?” I query.

“Well, other than Viserys’ and Rhaegar’s rooms, your other siblings and your own old rooms are uninhabited. You may have your old room if you wish.” Robert announces.

“I will, and I shall take the others also. My friends will stay in those. One room for Irri and Doreah and one for my three riders.” I claim.

“Wouldn’t they prefer to have their own rooms?” Robert ponders.

“They will want to be close to me, and I them. They are used to close quarters and prefer them.” I clarify. “Jorah will also require a room, should he want to stay here at the Red Keep.” I add.

“Consider it all done, Daenerys.” Robert assures to which I smile contently. “Thank you.” I say.

“Now, it is getting late.” Robert points out as he rises from his chair. “I think I will be retiring, and you should perhaps think of it too, the day is full of festivities tomorrow. And I have a strong feeling many will want to dance with the Targaryen princess, especially one.” He decrees as he walks along the chambers.

“And who is this one?” I probe as I stand.

“William, of course. That boy hasn’t stopped his smiling since he heard you were alive and coming home. And when he saw you earlier today in the feast hall, well, Lyanna told me what he said and he used such words as ‘beautiful woman’.” Robert relays with a smirk as he leaves the chamber.

Beautiful woman? I would not have expected those words to come from his mouth, more words of tease, but we weren’t children anymore. He had grown into quite the handsome man, and I, apparently a beautiful woman. I figured such things were to come to pass, and William wasn’t probably going to be the only one speaking such flatteries to me tomorrow. Although, I was not totally thrilled at the prospect of the court ball tomorrow night, not caring much for the attentions of the court, I found a part of me a little excited to properly reunite with William. A face at court and old friend I was glad to see, and hopefully have again.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Irri, Doreah and I were readying ourselves in my chambers for the days festivities ahead. It had felt most odd to sleep in my old room but sleep soon consumed me and the odd feeling eventually faded. It didn’t feel as though it was my room anymore, more one I was just staying in for now. Irri was braiding my hair, as Doreah styled her own, when a knock sounded at my door, and upon admitting entry we saw it was Jorah.

“Morning, Ser Jorah.” I gleam.

“Good morning, Khaleesi.” Jorah greets as he closes the door behind him, and I could see he seemed a little down, even though he was making an effort to conceal it. “I heard you made quite the entrance last night at supper.” Jorah relays as he comes to stand beside us.

“Surprised?” I lightly joke.

“Not at all." He gently smiles.

“All done, Khaleesi.” Irri mutters behind me. “Thank you, my friend.” I say back as I stand.

“You look glorious.” Jorah flatters as he gazes upon me in one of the many dresses we had been brought up for the three of us.

“I thank you too, but I would rather know what it is that makes you seem so down, Jorah, than receive your flattery.” I point out, wondering if he didn’t find anything out regarding his wife and son. “Did you find nothing on your family?” I query cautiously.

“No—I did. I heard what became of them.” He replies, which didn’t bode well. “They’re dead.” He announces sombrely, and I instantly take his hand tenderly in comfort. “Jorah I’m—I’m so sorry.” I comfort, not knowing what else to say. “How?” I mutter.

“The Lannister’s killed them.” He announces.

“Why?” I confusingly ask.

“Matters not, now.” He replies, dismissing the subject, though I understood. “Besides, you can’t really grieve those you did not really know.” He says, almost rejecting his own grief.

“Of course you can. They were your family, no matter if you only saw your son as a babe.” I retort comfortingly.

“In a way, it just makes it easier. To mourn a boy I did not know, that I only merely knew existed. I had no bond with him.” Jorah points out, though it saddened me.

“What about your wife?” I question.

“She had no love for me. –After time passed, nor did I for her. I only tolerated her and her ways—the things I have done for them, I did for the sake of the boy.” He explains.

“Exactly, it’s okay to grieve them, Jorah. You should.” I assure.

“I know. And I have.” He says. “If I am to be completely honest, although it saddened me, a bigger part of me was just glad that I could stay by your side.” He declares.

“As much as I humbled for your loyalty and affection, it saddens me that you hold me in such high regard over your family, especially over news like this, Jorah.” I respond.

“Daenerys—you are my family. I have watched you grow from a baby into a woman, I have cared for you for many years. You are the only family I care to grieve, and I pray I never have to. You are my honour and love, Daenerys, my strength.” He proclaims.

His words brought a tear to my eye. “As you are mine.” I say as I squeeze his hand in love and comfort. He had much become like a father to me, and I was so happy to have him by my side, even now back home in Westeros.

Jorah clears his throat. “So, are you ready for the day, princess?” he urges.

I sigh. “Will I ever grow used to that title again?” I ponder as we all begin to leave my chambers.

“Aye, in time.” Jorah replies.

The day’s festivities were long, but I found I did not mind them after all. Most of the day we spent at the front of the castle where I got to greet the people of the capitol. Many brought gifts, the fruits of their labour, which I took each time with honour. I even met a few familiar faces I remembered as a child, like the baker and librarian, who were most kind and pleased at my return. It was nice to be amongst them; all the people were happy and in turn made the day and me feel joy too. Something I had not really felt in over a month and gladly welcomed back.

After greeting the people, and they dispersed back across the village, the nobles and royals went back up for the celebratory luncheon, but I instead chose to show my people around the village, with my riders and Jorah close, and I also had Needle concealed beneath my dress should I had any need to it for any dangers made against us, or specifically me. My people had shown content when in the kitchens, and now they showed it even more so and complete interest when glancing the trades and lives here, which I had hoped for. They had followed me here and so it was my responsibility to give them a life, one they would want. By the time we had got back to the Keep, all had expressed interest in at least one trade they had seen and through encouragement had spoken with the locals about them. I prayed in time they would choose a life and be happy here.

Entering the great hall this evening, I realised we were most likely a tad late. Coming back from the village and heading to our rooms, we noticed ladies of the court were rushing around between rooms, appearing to be getting ready for the court ball. Now we were here, the great hall had been turned into a space fit for a ball. Flowers lined the hall and ribbons draped from the candle chandeliers over us, and people were dancing. Even I had to admit, it was a joyous sight. Perhaps the years in Essos had turned me a little cold and hard, and now back here I was starting to warm up again.

Upon arrival, Rakharo, Aggo and Kavarro had gone straight for the feast table, while Irri and Doreah were asked to dance almost instantly, and that was when Jorah had asked for the honour of leading me through my first dance, to which I had gladly accepted. If I was going to ease my way into dancing with the Lords, there was no better a man to start with than Jorah in my eyes. Everyone was dancing of their own accord to the music, which I was grateful for, I could only just remember one dance if my memory served well. Then after dancing with Jorah happily for a while, we were interrupted soon enough by one of the Lords, asking for my hand in a dance himself. And so it began.

As the evening went on, I was sure nearly all of the Lords of the court had now danced with me. Since coming in, I had not stopped for a bite of food or sip of refreshment. So when I finished dancing with the current Lord and no one had come to claim another dance with me, I quickly fled to the feast table. Picking at some food and sipping some wine, I stood and conversed with my riders and Irri who were also by the feast table. Doreah was still happily dancing with the Lords and ladies, though more the Lords and I was quite sure she was flirting with many of them and it looked as though she had many in the palm of her hand, and I didn’t doubt it for one second. As I looked around, Jorah suddenly caught my eye across the hall, stood leant against a pillar. He was standing alone, and I perhaps wondered if he wanted company. Going around the room, another dance started to begin as the music changed and when I got to the pillar Jorah had been leant at, he was no longer there. Now stood at the same pillar, I scanned for him and quickly found him amongst the dance. He was dancing with one of the ladies of the court, and I knew she must have asked him into the dance, probably seeing him here the same as I did. I watched them in the start of the dance, enjoying seeing Jorah like this, when I suddenly felt someone’s hand slide down my arm to my hand. Looking to the hand, and then up as the owner appeared quickly in front of me, I felt my other hand be held as I saw it was William. As I saw it was him and he grasped my other hand, he swiftly pulled me forward closer to him with his hands that held mine and adjusted his hold on me, keeping one hand of mine in his at our side and placing one at my back. He wanted to dance. The quick movement took me by surprise, and I found myself simply staring at him for a moment as he did me. He wore the smallest of smiles, but I could see in his eyes a mixture of things, excitement, joy, and if my eyes did not deceive me, a hinted sense of longing. I wondered if perhaps the wine had gone to my head, or perhaps his.

“My turn.” He says between us as we stood at the edge of the dance. The sudden encounter and reuniting with William had not been what I expected and took me completely off guard; I could feel my heart beating loud in my chest.

“Do not play with me.” I retort looking into his eyes, and slight smirk forms on his face. William then pulls me into the dance, which was one everyone knew and danced together, the kind of ones I avoided all night.

“I don’t remember this dance.” I mutter as he brings me into it and into position.

“Just follow my lead.” He merrily instructs as he begins to follow along with the dance, helping me do the same.

At first, I felt like a fool following along best I could, but soon enough, when I finally conquered the moves of the dance, albeit, with William still leading me a little, I started to enjoy it. William gleamed a smile as we danced and I managed to let one out, just as we had to switch partners. I suddenly felt a little thrown as another continued the dance with me, as William did with another, and with each dance partner I switched to around the floor, the more overwhelmed I suddenly started to feel. The music, the laughing, the dancing, the air, it all started to feel as though it was crashing down on me, and then it all began to mangle with the memories of my brother’s wedding, and the massacre scene that followed. It all felt too much and then as I closed my eyes, wishing it all away, I was taken by the next dance partner.

“Khaleesi? Are you alright?” Jorah’s familiar face mutters between us, and I open my eyes to see his curious face.

“I—I—” I stutter as I look to his comforting eyes and feel the memories fade. “I just need some air.” I finally reply, dropping from our hold and taking a step to leave.

“I’ll come with you.” Jorah comforts as he steps with me.

“No, no. I’ll be fine.” I assure as I leave the dance and Jorah there, heading to leave the great hall. Perhaps I wasn’t ready for all this just yet.

I didn’t know where my feet were taking me exactly, but I rushed through the halls, just desperate to feel the outside air for a moment. Where I ended up was in the Red Keep’s royal gardens, a place my mother had loved and often spent her time in, a place I remembered much of our time together. Feeling the outside calmed me and being in a place that fondly reminded me of my mother so much also helped. There were no bad memories here, only good.

Walking through the first part of the gardens, I admired an old apple tree that still grew strong, one that had been there as long as I remembered. Walking around it, I stepped back and perched myself down on a stone bench, looking up admiring the old tree and the memories that came to mind.

“You left in a hurry.” A voice suddenly states, and I look away from the tree towards the voice in the evening light to see William approaching from around the apple tree, with a cup of wine still in hand from the ball. “Everything alright?” he asks as he slowly steps closer towards me.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?” I retort firm.

“I watched what happened. –You looked as though you saw a ghost, then practically ran from the hall.” He points out as he comes closer.

I sigh, letting the little guard I had up fall, not seeing the point. I had not seen William in years, we had not even had a conversation yet, and he could still see right through me. “Maybe I did.” I sorrowfully say.

“Your family?” William asks cautiously.

I sigh, looking to my lap. “You know, since being back here, even just over these two days—I’ve wondered a few things and come to realise a few.” I announce, not bringing myself to look back up at William as I spoke of this. “How do you pick up the threads of an old life? ¬¬–How do you go on- when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back? –There are some things that time cannot mend—some hurts, that have taken hold, are cut too deep to fully heal.” I continue sadly, conveying what I had come to realise, that perhaps I would never forget what happened here, no matter where or how long past.

“That’s okay, you know. No one expects you to just fall back into line here.” William comforts. “I can imagine it’s a bit of a culture shock.” He adds as I hear him take steps closer. Culture shock sounded about right, this was vastly different from my life with Jorah across Essos.

“I see them in everything bit of this castle. Most of the time it brings back something bad, painful memories. But sometimes it’s good. –Like this garden. I only see the good memories of my mother here.” I explain as William steps up to the stone bench I was sat on.

“Only your mother?” he questions, before he crouches down in front of me and holds an apple in his hand between us.

The gesture makes me smile, as I knew it was his way of breaking my sorrow and also in turn asking if he remembered our times together. Ones like how we would climb trees together, including the apple trees, and he would often tease me by offering me one only to take it away and bite it himself. I look back up to William, meeting his smiling gaze with my smile he brought me.

Hi.” He gently says.

Hearing his simple greeting, makes my smile grow in turn and scoff in amusement. We hadn’t actually greeted each other properly since I’d arrived, and it felt a little silly now, but it felt good and endearing a whole of a lot more. In one word, William made me feel safe with him.

“Hi.” I gleam as we both begin to chuckle. He drops his hand down, and rises back to a stand, before taking a seat next to me on the bench.

“Funny how the simplest of greetings can feel so odd.” William points out through his smile.

“Nine years will do that.” I point out in turn, making William mumble a sound in agreement.

“So, are you going to take it?” he queries, holding the apple between us again.

“No trick?” I ponder with raised eyebrows and see his cheeky smile etch across his face. “I know you, William Baratheon. Keep your damned apple.” I joke, before looking back out at the tree.

“I didn’t expect it to feel so strange to hear my name from your lips again.” William admits, bringing my gaze back to him. “Daenerys Targaryen.” He adds, leaning over slightly to bump his shoulder gently with mine, making me smile again.

“Yes. Strange indeed.” I agree.

For a moment, there was a pause between us, and I wondered when he was going to ask me questions, like everyone else did and would. “Aren’t you going to ask?” I question.

“Ask what exactly?” William queries.

“Where I’ve been. What I’ve done. What I’ve seen. Everyone else seems to.” I answer.

“Exactly. I figured you will have grown tired of speaking of such things. If you want to tell me, you will, in your own time. And I’m sure you have questions of your own.” William explains, and I appreciate his honest answer.

“What happened after? What happened in the eight years at war? Your father didn’t wish to speak of it.” I ask after.

“Well, to explain an eight year war briefly, my father led the campaign against the Lannister’s and their allies, the Frey’s, Bolton’s and eventually most of the Ironborn. After the Lannister’s took the capitol and throne, the survivors fled the capitol to their homes. In the first battle against them we were rallied but many fell because it was too soon and there wasn’t enough men against them and the hold of the capitol. Eddard and Robb Stark, who had fled with us to Storms End, were two amongst the fallen in the first couple battles. Soon we heard news that Catelyn Stark had died from heartbreak back at Winterfell at the news of both their deaths and that with a bulk of the Northmen having left the north to fight with us on Eddard’s command, Winterfell soon got taken by the Bolton’s. Then with Cersei on the throne, alongside her brothers and children in the Keep, Tywin stayed at Casterly Rock to keep both strongholds. The North isolated themselves from the war after the deaths of Eddard and Robb, along with the Northmen that were said ambushed and killed, and Winterfell being taken over. It was said the Stark children all fled when the Bolton’s took over. Then the rest of the years, was just battle after battle. They were spread out over time, but it was constant fighting over winning back lands and defeating allies and getting the throne back. It went on for so long, and many houses nearly faced extinction and some did, but after eight years we won. Not long after, we heard that Sansa had reappeared, rallied some Northmen behind her and took back Winterfell from the Bolton’s who fled to the Iron Islands. And I suppose you’ve heard of the peace treaty?” William explains.

“Yes. And the relinquishing of their remaining armies—for hope of stopping any future grudges and conflicts, right?” I reply.

“That’s how father saw it.” William says.

“And you?” I ask.

“We have peace again, and we have for a nearly a year now. I suppose its working, and after eight years of bloody war, you would try anything to stop it from happening again. I understood his mercy.” William defends, and I nod in understanding. Although, I didn’t know if I could have done the same, perhaps I could have but I would have wanted to see some justice against the Lannister’s. If I ever came face to face with Cersei or Tywin Lannister, I’d want to run my sword through their necks for what they’ve done, mercy did not cross my mind when it came to them.

“So, what’s happened with the North now?” I query, wanting to shun the thinking from my mind.

“Well, since Sansa’s reappearance, we haven’t heard anything of Bran’s or Arya’s; they’re most likely dead. And since the North isolated themselves from the war, we haven’t had much of a relationship with them since. We more tolerate and know of each other’s existence now.” William clarifies.

“So we have peace, but it’s essentially in a form of tatters.” I conclude.

“Yes, I guess so. But its peace nonetheless, and after eight years, I think we were all glad to have what we were left with.” William defends.

“I’m sorry you had to live through all that.” I sincerely console.

“You have no need to apologise. Besides, it is done, and we’re both still here.” He points out with a half-hearted smile.

I nod with a small comforting smile back. “We’re still here.” I repeat.

“Will you tease me terribly if I tell you, I’ve missed you Daenerys?” William jokingly queries.

I laugh lightly at his remark, for I did often tease him relentlessly as a child, despite being a year younger than him. “I’ve missed you too, William.” I concede as we smile at one another.

“A moment ago, when you smiled at me from seeing the apple I offered, I knew you remembered. In that moment, I knew I had you back—the Daenerys I remembered as a boy. Only now we’re much older and much changed.” He explains, and his comment on being older and changed, suddenly makes me think on what Robert told me in the council chambers as he left, of what William had said when he first saw me back.

“Much changed?” I ponder, hoping to lead him into saying it, so I could tease him.

“Well, like father said, you still hold your defiant spirit as ever, if not more, but yes, you’ve changed just as I have. You’ve grown into a woman.” He clarifies.

“Just a woman? Not a ‘beautiful woman’?” I question, subtly hinting and teasing the words to see if he would pick up on it and how he would react.

“What? Oh, well, yes—um- you are a beau—,” he almost stutters but he soon picks up on my smirking stare and it finally comes to him, so he stops himself.

He sighs as he hangs his head, making me laugh. “Mother told you, didn’t she?” he smirkingly shames as I chuckle. “Not exactly. –Your father.” I correct.

“Well, it’s true, I said it. You caught me. Are you going to tease me now?” William accepts.

“No. Not yet at least.” I smile.

For a moment, we just sit in silence, looking from one another back out to the garden and the apple tree in front of us and I revel in the comfortable breeze we sat in and the comfortable silence we had together for that moment. I was happily content and safe in his company, once again.

“Do you want to go back up yet? We will probably be missed.” William asks, breaking the silence.

“Not just yet.” I answer.

“We could always dance here.” William suggests.

“There’s no music.” I point out.

“So—sing.” He says.

“Sing? I haven’t sung in many years.” I reject.

“All the more reason to do so.” He retorts and I just look at him unconvinced. “Come on, I remember you were quite good as a child, your voice can only have gotten better, I’m sure.” He encourages.

“And when did you hear me sing?” I wonder.

“Well—alright, I never really heard you sing, but you always used to hum the same tune in the woods on long walks.” William recalls, making me lightly scoff, amused that he remembered such little things. “Do you remember?” he asks.

“Yes.” I say.

“Do you remember the song?” He queries.

I sigh, but with a small smile. “Yes.” I simply repeat.

“Sing that one.” William requests.

I debate for a moment whether to do it, or run back to the hall, but it must have been the wine I drank because I felt a rush of confidence come through. “Fine. But I can’t dance and sing.” I concede. “And no teasing, my mother sang me this song.” I inform.

“No teasing.” He promises sincerely.

And with a big deep breath and exhale, I closed my eyes to sing, and went to the place where I remembered the song. Right in this garden, sitting with my mother, my head in her lap as she sang whenever I needed comforting.

Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender's green
When I am king, dilly, dilly
You shall be queen:
Who told you so, dilly, dilly
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly
That told me so.
Call up your men, dilly, dilly
Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly, dilly
Some to the fork
Some to make hay, dilly, dilly
Some to cut corn
While you and I, dilly, dilly
Keep ourselves warm.
Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly
And the lambs play
We shall be safe, dilly, dilly
Out of harm's way
Lavender's green, dilly, dilly
Lavender's blue
If you love me, dilly, dilly
I will love you
I love to dance, dilly, dilly
I love to sing
When I am queen, dilly, dilly
You'll be my king:
Who told me so, dilly, dilly
Who told me so?
I told myself, dilly, dilly
I told me so

As I finished the song, only then did I open my eyes, turning my head to look back at William, who had the largest smile on his face. I had never sung that song to anyone before, especially not the Pentos prince when we stayed in the first year. That song was mine to hold dear, now it was William’s too.

“That was beautiful.” He praises.

“You’re lucky I’ve had some wine.” I retort, bumping his shoulder with mine, getting a light chuckle out of both of us.

“Speaking of, I think after that I need some more.” I inform.

“Would you like a sip of courage from mine before we go back up?” William offers, grabbing his glass goblet of wine from his other side.

“Sounds like a good idea.” I quietly accept, taking the glass from him with a smile and having a sip. “Thank you.” I say as I hand it back.

“Some would say that’s a pledge—to drink wine from the same glass.” William, quietly too, points out between us, and looking into his eyes I see a glimmer of the same thing I saw earlier when he grabbed me for a dance: a hint of longing.

Breaking the stare we were holding, I look away out to the garden and think of a quick response for I realise I had not yet said anything in reply. “I best get back to my own glass then.” I retort before standing, not meaning to sound blunt or rude but the comment had taken by slight surprise. “Coming?” I ask, looking back to him still sat, and yet still with the smallest of smiles.

“Of course.” He replies, before standing to join me in walking back to the hall.

Chapter Text

After returning to the ball, William and I had practically spent the remainder of the evening in each other’s company. We reminisced, we drank, and he even made me dance a little more. We became the friends we had been before and I found that with him around again, having him as my friend once again, my time here would be all the more better and I could slide back into this court life easier. I hoped I could anyway. I just already knew that soon enough I would need a purpose here, one that didn’t entail just living here at court, watching life go by. But as much as groaned, I knew life was better here, and not just for me. Over the few days that followed the ball, I helped my people seek jobs in the trades they were interested in. Some wished to stay to work in the kitchens with the Red Keep’s staff, but most sought out work in the capitol village. Over the days, I eventually found everyone a place amongst King’s Landing. They now had a permanent place to live, a home, and a trade to learn that would earn them a decent living. I had helped give them a life they chose, and for this and seeing their happy faces I was proud and overjoyed that I had kept a promise to provide and protect them.

The day I helped the very last few of my people, Jorah and I had returned back into the courtyard of the Red Keep only nearing midday, where I found William was sparring with the master of arms. I watched for a moment, analysing his movements, and wondering if I went up against him if I’d win or lose. He was good, but I was, perhaps a little arrogantly so, sure I was better. Though I hadn’t sparred in a long while and it made me want to get back to using Needle and also borrowing Jorah’s bigger blade. But ladies were not meant to take arms, as my father always said, that is before he allowed me to. Although now, as a woman in court, I would most likely not be allowed to carry such a weapon let alone use it. When William stopped, he noticed our arrival and conversed with the two of us. He jokes with Jorah about sparring before asking after if I had helped all my people now. It was then he suggested that I finally take a day to myself, that I hadn’t stopped since being back and perhaps a day’s peace was in order. I found that his suggestion rang true, and I was yet to take a ride out of the capitol. Alongside Jorah and my riders, who I figured must have been yearning for a ride, we all took a ride on our horses into the vast forest that lined the border of the Stormlands, not too far a ride from King’s Landing. There we talked and laughed, rode with speed through the forest’s tracks and fields, and Jorah and I got some sparring of our own in, for I had brought Needle with me slyly and Jorah a second sword. It was nice to see I hadn’t lost my touch with Needle, or that of a larger sword, and it was the first time my riders had seen me do such things. Rakharo was much impressed.

When we arrived back at the Red Keep, William was just finishing his day’s sparring and weaponry skills upkeep. He was collecting his arrows from the archer’s target as we came to pass by. I noticed his arrows were all closely hit near the middle, though not quite in the bullseye’s circle, and so I took the moment to tease him just a little.

“I see your aim has gotten better.” I point out, getting William’s attention as he lucked the last few arrows out. “Only took you nine years.” I add smirking.

“Funny.” He retorts as he strides back over.

“And I suppose you can do better?” William challenges cheekily.

“You do remember I could hit a bullseye at ten, right?” I defend.

“Yes—but that was nine years ago. I’d like to see how your aim has faired since then.” William pokes playfully, but he knew I couldn’t resist a challenge, especially from him.

“Give me the damn bow.” I smirk, snatching it from his hands and taking an arrow as he smiled back.

As I took my stance with the bow and arrow, I for a second wondered if I would hit the target at all. I hadn’t shot an arrow since I left here, I could be an awful shot now, but I dismissed my doubts. I had faith I could still hit a good shot at least.

“Anytime now, Daenerys.” William mocks with cheek still, which just spurs me on to get a better shot than him.

As I let the arrow fly a small breath releases too and as the arrow soars through the air in a second, it hits the target and to my relief, it was a bullseye. I guess I still had my aim.

“You asked for it.” I gleam as I hand the bow back, seeing William’s face of accepted defeat in his smile. “An archer never loses their shot.” I taunt, making William bump my shoulder. “Uh-huh. Get out of here.” He pokes, making me chuckle and I take my leave with the others, who also sported smiles from watching.

The few days that followed repeated the same pattern. I would go out riding with the others, I would spar with Jorah as my riders rode the vast forest and we would come back again. Irri would come with us most of the time, wanting some space and time away from the Red Keep and the capitol, to be amongst the freer space of nature like the riders. They were Dothraki after all and preferred the grasslands and outdoor space, they were not used to a castle. Doreah, on the other hand, thrived in the setting and loved to be amongst the court and had no quarrel to be left when we went out for most of the day.

It wasn’t until after these few days that William caught me one morning and asked if I wished to ride out with him, which I of course accepted. The only condition being that we rode through the village and not the hills, as I had a book to return to the bookseller, who was still the same man from before, Mr. Taylor. He had been the man who hid me that night with Sandor, who I had no idea if he was dead or alive somewhere.

As William and I had been saddling our horses, I had found out that since being in the Red Keep when the war ended, he had not yet properly been amongst the people, not like how we had used to or I would often do since being back. I intended to change this and as we left I insisted we got of our horses and walked with them through the village. I wanted him to see what he was missing. When the capitol knew peace, the people were always merry and the atmosphere was always busy but it was wonderful all at the same time. We passed, admired and spoke with the people, and they were happy to speak with us. It was all the same as it was before a decade ago when we were children and would run around the village. The baker made and sold the same breads, the fishermen caught and sold the same fish, the florists cut and sold the same flowers, the people came out and traded and bought every day, the same as the day before. It was a simple life, but one I admired. It was enough for them, they were humble and enjoyed what life they had, they were always happy. And I enjoyed being around their happiness, and as we walked and talked through the village, I could see the enjoyment coming back to William.

At one point, we had started to pass a small group of musicians who were playing instruments. Their music was quite sweet and since being back I heard them playing in the streets regularly, and yet no one had been dancing each time. I decided this time I wanted to change this, and since the court ball, I had warmed up to dancing. Although, I much preferred it on my own accord, dancing in the streets with the people sounded much more joyous than dancing with a Lord in the great hall who breathed the smell of wine into your face.

“Dance with me.” I request to William.

“What? Here?” he questions.

“Yes, here. Come on.” I gesture as I step backwards away from him and the horses.

“I thought you were not keen on dancing?” William points out.

“I’m not—up there.” I answer, nodding up to the Red Keep in the distance, still stepping backwards closer to the musicians at the side of the street. “Down here, it’s much more enjoyable—come on.” I encourage.

“Someone has to hold the horses.” He argues, and I roll my eyes, conceding.

Standing before the musicians, I started to lightly dance and before I knew it, moving along to the music with my eyes closed I felt it more and my dancing grew a lot more enthusiastic. I spun, stepped and moved my arms to the music on my own and opening my eyes I saw that people were either walking by or now watching. I was going to change that.

Spotting a small boy, with a big smile on his face, I decided to step over and pull him into the space to dance. Holding the boy’s hands, his smile and giggles grew as we spun around the space to the music. Eventually, a few more children came to join, appearing to be his friends and began to dance with us. As they started to dance with each other, I decided to pull some of the adults watching in too. Before long, I had dragged many people into the space to dance and all were paired off merrily dancing to the now very happy musicians, including I. Then as the number grew, the people started to engage in one of the choreographed dances, one I did not know but I felt no pressure to get it right, so I cheerfully just danced along best I could but soon caught on. As we danced, linking arms and dancing the steps and clapping our hands, I saw that William was still standing holding the horses. I knew they weren’t going anywhere, so I broke from the dance and rushed up to him. Prying his hands from the horse’s reigns, much to his reluctance and roll of eyes, I pulled him into the dance with a smile which soon William mirrored. Going from partner to partner, moving around dancing with everyone this way felt good, freeing even, and just as I turned coming into the hold of my next partner, William, the music finished. Looking between each other, both of us had big smiles on our faces as we held each other as if the dance was still going and others clapped for the musicians. We soon released each other with a cheerful chuckle and joined in clapping the musicians.

After eventually leaving the village, William and I had ridden out with a merry start to the day and he had expressed that he should have done such things sooner. He forgot how happy the people can be, and how it can be quite infectious. The two of us had not ridden out together yet and the day we spent had been joyous. Full of laughter, tease and healthy but ridiculous competition and as we rode home, we took a leisurely ride across the hills towards the Red Keep.

“When you were returning your book in the bookseller’s this morning, I noticed a map of the world on the wall. –Essos looked so large compared to Westeros.” William starts to announce, making me wonder where he was going with it. “It made me realise that I’ve hardly been anywhere. I haven’t even seen all of Westeros.” He continues.

“Well, I have only been in the Crownslands and the Stormlands’ forests. I haven’t seen much of Westeros either, if that makes you feel any better.” I comfort.

“But you’ve been across Essos.” William points out.

“Not exactly by choice. –And I haven’t been across all of it, only some of it. There’s still many things I haven’t seen.” I retort.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I know. –But- what was it like?” William questions.

For a moment, I sit silent on my horse, he wasn’t asking what happened or what we did, just what it was like. But, I knew he would be curious of all of it, and perhaps it was time to confide in him, he made me feel safe after all and I trusted him.

“Essos can be beautiful, but the realities are harsh and cruel. Many savageries are committed. Villages can be plundered, and people are mercilessly enslaved, which I always abhorred. The people I brought with me were villagers that had been plundered and made slaves. Here, they no longer have to fear such things, and they’re happy with a life they chose.” I describe.

“How did they come to follow you?” William asks, and there was no avoiding mentioning the Dothraki answering this question.

“I became part of a culture, a horde. The Dothraki. They often would plunder villages and take people as slaves. I always hated it but there wasn’t anything I could do, until before we came back here. My riders and Irri are all Dothraki.” I answer vaguely, working myself up to relay the pained memories of what befell my short-lived family.

“What of Doreah? And how did you become part of the Dothraki? Aren’t they horselord savages that roam Essos?” William ponders.

“Doreah was sold into a pleasure house, she was eventually taken by the Dothraki. And although they can be savage, some are not savage at heart. Like my riders, or—,” I defended, though stopped myself before I said his name, but I forced it out. “Or Khal Drogo.” I finish.

“Khal Drogo? Who was that?” William wonders.

I sigh. “He was how I became part of their culture. Part of his khalasar.” I begin. “Jorah and I had been moving from place to place, from Pentos to Mantarys, not far from Slaver’s Bay, over years avoiding assassins. Then, as we later found out, not long before the war ended here, I was basically sold to Khal Drogo by a Pentoshi magister. He got paid in trade and I got a new life, something to start one with that wasn’t in hiding. And it became one, while it lasted.” I explain.

“So this is why you didn’t come back as soon as the war ended?” William assumes.

“Yes.” I confirm.

“So you were sold for what to this Khal Drogo?” William questions.

“I became his Khaleesi.” I state and William’s face was still one of curious confusion. “Khal and Khaleesi essentially translates to king and queen.” I inform.

“You were his queen?” William repeats a little shocked.

“I was the moon of his life. And he was my sun stars.” I recall fondly with a small smile at the memory of Drogo.

“If you were his queen, you were married?” he theorises.

“We were.” I confirm.

“And you loved him?” William gently queries.

“I did. I still do. –And he loved me.” I honestly answer.

“What happened?” he asks tenderly.

“I trusted a witch with his life. And she took everything from me.” I declare.

“She killed him?” William questions.

“He had gained a wound, a cut. The riders had just plundered a village and in this village I stopped some riders from raping some women, one of them was the sorceress. She offered to clean and wrap his wound, but he was too prideful and proud and he did not keep it on. His wound festered and he became gravely ill. He was near death and she said she could bring him back, but she did not inform me of the full price of her bloodmagic. She led me astray, with me thinking one thing as she did another. She brought him back at a heavy price but he was in a vegetative state, which was not a life at all. –I put him out of his misery when I knew he wasn’t coming back to me.” I explain and a silence falls between us for a moment.

“What was the heavy price?” William asks, breaking the silence.

I took a small breath before answering. “Our son.” I announce.

“You-you were pregnant also?” he shockingly ponders, to which I painfully nod.

“And she killed your baby?” William says aloud in horror.

I stop myself from crying, but I sniffle a little. “I went into delivery as she performed her bloodmagic and my son came out dead.” I state sorrowfully.

“Daenerys, I’m—I’m so sorry.” William comforts.

“It’s not your doing.” I retort softly.

“What happened to her? The witch?” William gently queries.

“I had her burned along with Drogo at his funeral pyre.” I announce, and another silence washes over us.

“That is how I came to have the people I brought here with me.” I inform. “After what happened with Drogo and the witch, the khalasar left and only a few loyal friends stayed, along with several slaves that were left behind most likely. Many fled after I said they were free to leave, but some stayed, and they followed me to Pentos and then here.” I explain, purposefully leaving out what happened at the pyre. I did not wish anyone to know such a thing, not yet, not until the time was right. The people I had brought had sworn to keep it to themselves, so I could relay it at my own will, which I was grateful for.

“I’m not really sure what to say. Other than I’m sorry for all you went through over there.” William offers sincerely.

“Well, at least through it, I have managed to give some a better life because of it.” I point out and as William nods.

“How come you never mentioned this to anyone before?” William wonders.

“There was no need to tell anyone. I only tell you because you are my friend and I trust you. You make me feel safe, William.” I clarify.

“And you I.” he agrees, sending a small loving smile my way to which I mirror.

“So, it turns out I am to be married soon also. –Father told me so this morning.” William suddenly announces, which I had not expected.

“What?” I say in surprised response.

“I was meant to tell you this morning but going through the capitol village I forgot to mention it all.” William informs.

“It all? Is there more?” I query.

“They’ve started organising a ball. It’s happening in a couple weeks time. Father sat me down and told me that I’ve been betrothed to the young Neitiri of House Martell, and the ball is so we can meet and she can begin living at court until we are wed.” William recalls and the whole idea I was already dreading. Another ball? Already? And this one would no doubt be bigger.

“How young is young?” I ponder.

“She is only fourteen. I was told I would not start courting her until she is sixteen, of which then she will be able to marry.” He clarifies.

“And how do you feel about it?” I question.

“I do not wish it in the slightest. The girl is so young, even at sixteen she is young. I will be twenty-two. And she is the same age as my sister, which makes it feel worse. I have no interest in such a bride.” William protests the idea, and I agreed with his logic, but that was how Westeros was. Men had taken young brides for centuries no doubt, they certainly had in Essos. “But I have no choice.” William adds.

“You should.” I protest myself.

“And yet it won’t change. Our fates are sealed by others, and after the war there are not many choices.” William concedes.

“Our fates?” I query, finding his choice of word interesting.

“Yours will be too, no doubt. You’re a princess. You’ll be matched with a high lord. In fact, I have a feeling the ball may not just be for me, Daenerys.” William speculates.

“What makes you think that?” I ask.

“It’s not just House Martell that are coming, all the allied great houses, and many others are coming to this ball also.” William declares.

“And so you think it’s going to be a pool of suitors?” I theorise.

“Don’t you?” William questions.

“If I was to be matched, don’t you think your father and mother would have told me, same as they told you? I passed them this morning in the Keep, and they told me nothing of this. This ball seems to be about your betrothal, not me also.” I hypothesise.

“Perhaps. I guess we’ll see.” William ponders. “But what if it is? How would you feel about that?” he asks, clearly thinking on what I had told him of Drogo.

“I have no intent or will to be married. Not at least for a long while, if I must. I still love and grieve for Drogo and my son. Marriage is at the bottom of my concerns.” I affirm.

“Are you going to mention Drogo and your son to my father or mother?” William probes.

“No. And I would grateful if you did not mention it to anyone either.” I request.

“Of course.” He replies. “Thank you.” I say, and another small pause grows between us.

“Well, we’re nearly back.” William announces as we come to see the Red Keep come into view from the top of the hill. “I bet my Black Star here, could beat your—Daenerys, you’ve never actually told me your mare’s name.” William points out.

“She doesn’t really have a name. It’s not Dothraki custom to name their horses. But she was Drogo’s first gift to me and he always referred to her as Vizhadi.” I answer, and I look to see William’s face waiting for a translation, forgetting he would not understand the name. “He referred to her as The Silver. She was a reflection of me he said.” I translate.

“You and Vishardi, do suit each other I’ll admit.” William complements, while attempting the name, which makes me chuckle at the wrong pronunciation.

“Viz-ha-di.” I pronounce slowly.

“Vizhadi.” William corrects, and I smile as I nod at his correct pronunciation.

“Well, I bet Black Star could beat your Vizhadi back to the Keep.” William playfully and finally proclaims.

“You mean, you wish he could.” I poke before squeezing Vizhadi into starting a gallop, with William quickly doing the same in response. The two of us galloping across the hills in race, it was times like this that I was glad to be back and with a friend such as William.

Chapter Text

Since William had told me of the upcoming ball, the Keep and those within it had been busy with the preparations. It had reminded me of the upcoming weeks to Viserys’ and Elia’s wedding, and I had no desire to be amongst it all. The only time I conceded to the preparations was when they actually concerned me, which turned out to be a seamstress that had been asked by the queen to take mine as well as Irri and Doreah’s measurements for gowns that would be made for us. Irri’s reluctance had matched mine, unsurprisingly unlike Doreah who had fit in better than I had funnily, but we sucked it up; everyone would be in them.

Other than the matters of the dress, which I was not to see until it was ready for the day, I tried to stay out as much as possible. Over the course of the couple weeks coming up to the ball, I would often venture out alone. We had been out several times since being back and not once had we seen any sign of danger. So a day when I wished one alone, Jorah and I felt it fine enough to do so now, as long as I took Needle with me. I also would now take a bow and a quiver of arrows, for along one of the tracks in the forests we frequented, Jorah and I had made small, hanging wooden targets that hung from some trees and ones also strapped to some trees to shoot. Every time I took a day out alone, I would ride the track and shoot at the targets, hitting the centre almost every time the more I did it. These were the times I felt most content, when I felt free and able to do what it was I wanted. Although, I only ever rode to the bordered forest and the woods and hills of the Crownslands. As I had suspected, I could feel myself beginning to yearn for more, for a purpose, not just a court life where I had to slyly practise taking arms in the woods and forests. That didn’t feel like me. What felt best was when I was out here, doing what I wanted of my own accord, but I had also not felt better when seeing my people that had followed me here start a life, free of fear and chains. I had given them that, and they were happy for it. I wished I could do that for more people and began to wonder if maybe there was something more I could do. More people I could help, the kind of people in Essos that needed help: slaves. I wondered if there was something I could do, even if it was just for a small amount of people. At least then I would have a purpose. It was just a question of how. The only power I held was my name, and the fact I could not be burnt, but at this point, my name did not hold much power any longer and being unburnt wasn’t a weapon, but it was something that could inspire following as it had my people. Or assassination. I could be killed if I had no other power at my side and if it was in front of the wrong people. Perhaps it was a pipedream.

The day of the ball, I hadn’t stayed to welcome the guests that would all be arriving after the days and weeks of travelling for it; I had no interest, they weren’t here for me. I instead rode out on Vizhadi and did as I had been doing for so many days, riding, shooting and reading. In the last few days upcoming the ball, my thoughts on a purpose, took me back to the books I had got from Jorah, specifically the one that I had got the history of the Targaryen unburnt legend from. I wondered if perhaps re-reading it would inspire any ideas or reveal anything I may have missed the first time around. And it did. The book with the unburnt legend history had said that only a true dragon can be reborn in the flames with fire and blood. Before I walked into Drogo’s pyre, I had assumed that the blood had been mine, being that of dragon’s blood. But what if it wasn’t? And I also started to wonder if this applied to more than just the Targaryen family dynasty that had come to be worthy of the dragon’s name and blood. What if something else could be born from the flames, with fire and blood? Like my eggs. No one had seen dragons for centuries and some even now questioned their existence, but what if my eggs could be reborn from their stone cores? Fire and blood. That is what it took for my ancestors to be worthy, to become the unburnt. Two others burned alive and the third survived, through fire and blood. I had become the unburnt through the fire and Mirri Maz Duur’s blood as she burned. She had said that only death can pay for life. After realising these things this second time, the idea formed quickly and the determination followed. What if I could hatch the eggs? The ages had turned them to stone, but with fire and blood maybe they could be reborn? It was an idea. If it failed then the eggs would be gone, a possession turned to ash but if it worked then there was a chance dragons could roam the world again, and they would be mine. The theory mesmerised me and I felt myself excited to put it to the test. I had faith, for I had faith that I would arise from the fire unharmed and it had been true. I had to have faith in this also. The only thing stopping me was the blood part. Burning someone was a savage way to go, and I had done such a thing to Mirri Maz Duur for her wicked trickery out of rage of revenge and fury. No one from here could warrant such a demise. The people here were kind and not witches, tricksters, or evil men. The only ones I could even think of, namely Cersei and Tywin Lannister, would not come at my invitation to be burned alive. A shame. This was something I was going to have wait for, something to figure out over time. As my thoughts faded, I suddenly noticed that the colours in the sky meant the day was soon turning to night. It was dusk, which meant the ball was soon to be starting and I was in the Stormlands’ forests. I was going to be late, even as fast as Vizhadi was galloping.

Back in the Keep, it seemed people had not yet began making their way to the great hall, but they soon would be and I had still got to wash and dress. Rushing into my chamber, I swung the door open only to be met by Jorah on the other side, seemingly about to leave my chamber. Irri and Doreah were both ready, in their made gowns and hair done. It appeared they had been worried of my lateness and Jorah was about to go searching for me, obviously fearing the worst, though I understood why. Assuring I was fine, I rushed him out and Irri and Doreah helped me rush to get ready. As I washed myself in my tub, Irri simultaneously began brushing and braiding my long hair to battle the time. Doreah had gone to fetch the seamstress who had been and gone due to my lateness and when she returned with me back, with the help of Irri and Doreah, got me into the made gown for myself. The dress was huge, the skirt the biggest I had ever seen, but it was beautiful. I had not much care for such things anymore, but even I had to admit its beauty. The dress had a corseted bodice and I had never worn one before, and after it had been laced I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to again; it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. I had wondered how my mother and even sister Bellaria had stood to wear these but then she probably just got used to them. The colour choice of the dress had been blue. I had thought nothing of it but the seamstress asked if I wished to know her reasonings behind it as she laced me in, of which I of course obliged. She explained that she had chosen the colour blue as the colour is said to represent and symbolise many things but most notably that of transformation as well as strength, power and nobility. She said she chose it for me, in my honour and my return, a colour to symbolise my journey and the strength of going through it and coming back. Her words had honoured me in itself and I felt wrong that there was nothing I could do to give her in thanks in return, but she said dressing me was a thanks and an honour alone. So, I agreed to give it a night to remember and keep it always in her honour.

As the three of us rushed through the halls, I could hear the music and people as we approached the great hall. Then as we came to stand in the open entrance way, I saw the mix of houses amongst the hall, the men in their best wear and the women all in their best gowns. I had thought our court ball had been extravagant, but this was elevated and even more so. Then all eyes were quickly turned to me.

“The princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” The announcer calls out at my presence, and I remembered that all parties of the attending houses were announced upon their entry to grand balls such as this.

All eyes were on me and once again I felt a little overwhelmed, but I didn’t let it show as the people within the hall moved aside, murmuring between each other, making a path through the middle where I saw the King and his family were sitting at the other end. Robert was on the Iron Throne and the rest on their subsequent seats, with one empty next to Lillia which was mine, the one I should have already been sat upon. As I walked up through the hall, I could still hear the murmurs of the people faintly between one another and I wondered if they were whispers of good-hearted nature or the opposite, or perhaps a mixture of both. Coming to stand before Robert and the rest at the Throne, I curtsied before them and as I rose, I glanced at William who was wearing a wholesome smile and so I quickly smiled back before stepping over to take my seat next to Lillia. The announcer had started to call out about the prince picking his partner for his first chosen dance, now all invited were in attendance as Robert began questioning me.

“Where have you been?” he quietly asks across us.

“I was late coming back from the forests. I can only apologise.” I answer.

“What are doing out there all hours of the day?” Robert ponders.

“Enjoying the freeing feeling.” I inform.

“Ah, of course.” Robert murmurs as the announcer finishes his call. “And so now, the prince shall pick his partner for his first dance.” He decrees.

I look across, waiting for William to stand to no doubt walk over to the Martell girl that he was now betrothed to. And so, he stands, but he doesn’t step down from our seats, he instead looks across us and starts to walk along us until he reaches me. Standing in front of me, his smile is bigger than before and he bows as I look at him in surprise, unsure what to make of it or do. Surely his father and mother told him to pick Neitiri Martell and here we was smiling and bowing before me.

“Princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would do me the honour of letting me lead you through this first dance.” He states.

Glancing over at Robert and Lyanna I could tell they hadn’t expected it either, but I couldn’t say no, that would look worse than saying yes. Standing up from my seat, I lightly curtsy to William, still gleaming in front of me which eases me and allows me to now smile back. It was just a dance, after all.

“The honour is mine.” I say out loud in turn as I take his hand he now held out. William led me down and amongst the crowd in the hall, who spread out leaving a large space in the middle for us to dance.

“Shouldn’t you have picked Neitiri?” I whisper slyly between us as we walked.

“Probably, but she’s young and small. You are much better dance partner.” William whispers back.

“You chose me for my near similar height, is that it?” I mutter amused.

“Among other things.” He murmurs with a big smile still as we come to stand facing each other in the middle of the hall, making a realisation suddenly come to me.

“William, I only remember one dance we learned years ago for these balls.” I whisper in slight panic between us.

“I know. That’s the dance I chose.” He quietly relieves, making me smile again. He really did know me. Then, he moved his right hand around me, placing it against my lower back ready for the dance, also ever so slightly pulling me in that much closer. Just before the music started, I saw the hint of longing in his eyes again but this time I wondered if the hint lingered in mine at all too. With the beginning of the music, we swayed forward and back as he held my lower back, before slowly spinning together on our spot. As we do so, William’s eyes remain on me, but I can’t help but look out and see everyone staring at him. Probably wondering why he hadn’t chosen his betrothed Neitiri and me instead.

“They’re all looking at you.” I point out as we finish the spin, looking back at William.

“Believe me—they’re all looking at you.” William retorts with an amused smile as we sway again before fully stepping into the dance.

As we stepped, swayed and spun around the hall, my smile grew with my enjoyment and the hall soon began to feel as if William and I were the only ones in it. A friend who had always made me feel safe and continued to do so.

-

“Did he tell you he was going to do this?” Robert quietly asks Lyanna beside him as they watched William and Daenerys dance happily.

“No—but what does it matter now?” Lyanna eases.

“He should have picked the Martell girl, he knows this. What if they’ve become offended?” Robert points out.

“Offended? Their daughter is marrying the prince. It’s a dance—if they are, let them, it’ll pass.” Lyanna retorts, enjoying the happy scene before them as the two danced while Robert sighs.

“Come on, my love, they’re happy. Let them be and be happy with them.” Lyanna encourages with a smile and Robert nods with a small smile.

“Doesn’t she look marvellous.” Lyanna admires.

“Aye. Very pretty. The Lords are sure to put their sons forward eagerly with her looking like that.” Robert points out.

“What did she say when you told her about becoming betrothed?” Lyanna queries.

“I haven’t told her yet.” Robert states.

“Robert, you haven’t told her?!” Lyanna begrudges quietly.

“Not yet, no. She’s been gallivanting off so frequently I never got to it.” Robert defends.

“Well, we didn’t think she’d like it before, she’s not going to be any happier when she realises tonight.” Lyanna declares.

“What makes you think she’s going to notice? It’s a ball, men and women dance at a ball. She won’t notice the ones who are introduced are her suitors.” Robert speculates.

“That’s not true and you know it. She’ll see right through it. She is her mother’s daughter. A free and defiant spirit with a smart mind of her own.” Lyanna points out.

Robert sighs again. “In all honesty, my love, I know it and that is why I didn’t tell her. I knew she would no doubt oppose, and we needed her here. She needs to build herself a new life now she’s home, and she can’t do that if she is out in those forests or rebelling meetings such as these knowing their agenda. It is for her own good.” Robert explains.

“I know. Just be ready for that defiant spirit when she figures it out, Robert.” Lyanna pokes with a smirk as they both look back out at the two dancing still, smiling away as they glided around the hall to the music.

-

William lifts me by my waist, hoisting me up in the air in a spin as the dance nears it end. Back down, we stand together, hands together as we spin on the spot together before William steps back with my hand in his, stretching our hold out. Then swapping our hands, I step closer into my own spin as William brings his other hand to my back as our joined hands hold above us. As he supports my back and I hold around his, I tilt back before coming back up and we relinquish our hold as we stand close before each other. As the music stops, the people begin to clap in admiration as William bows his head and I curtsy. Looking back at William, as he looked at me, neither of us said a word, only wearing our smiles for a moment until the music began again with the next tune and others started to join us in the space to dance. Seeing the others, William held out his hand a second time and I took it gladly as everyone, including us, began to dance at their own accord.

After William and I had danced for the second time, Lyanna had come to intervene, gently encouraging that we now start dancing with others, which was of course inevitable. William had to dance with Neitiri, no matter her small and young size, and I had ended up being asked to dance with a many number of men from different houses, which again was of course inevitable. I had come back up to my seat and soon enough was asked to dance. Trystane Martell was the first to introduce himself, flattering me with complements of my beauty, saying it had not been exaggerated, a complement I came to hear a lot of through the evening. Then Trystane asked for my hand to dance which I of course obliged, the first of many. I ended up dancing with many of the Lord’s and their sons, Trystane Martell, Edmure from house Tully, young Robin from house Arryn, both of which were nearly extinct thanks to the war, Loras from house Tyrell, and many others from across Westeros. Most except the traitorous houses in the war and the North who had continued to keep themselves isolated. Over time, meeting the houses and mostly dancing with the sons or living Lords of the invited houses, something began to click in my mind. What William had said weeks before, I had started to suspect the same thing and by the time I had danced with nearly all attending houses, I grew annoyed at the hidden agenda William had been right to suspect about the ball. As I finished a dance with a Lord, I excused myself from his company and scanned to find William, finding him I strode over and firmly requested a dance, taking his hand before he could even answer.
With the music starting again, we danced slightly on our spot.

“Still eager to dance? I thought you would have given in by now.” William jokes.

“This is a suitor’s ball, isn’t it?” I question firmly, dismissing his joke entirely.

“I told you I suspected it would be. Has father said anything?” William asks as we continue dancing, quietly conversing between each other.

“No. Not a word. But he’s been more than encouraging at the Lords and their sons asking me for a dance.” I point out.

“Nothing will come from it tonight, perhaps talk with him in the morning.” William suggests.

“And what if he decides on a suitor tonight?” I query, but William just slightly shrugs his shoulders, unsure what to say.

“Well, I don’t intend to let this façade go any further. I don’t want to marry, and he should know this. He didn’t even have the audacity to tell me about this.” I scorn as I drop my hold from William, stopping our slight dance.

“What are you going to do?” William asks.

“I’m going to confront him.” I inform before turning and marching between the people across the hall towards Robert and Lyanna at the throne, William following behind.

“When were you going to tell me?” I question annoyed, not bothering with the formal titles of your grace but also not being loud so that others would hear.

“What did I tell you Robert.” Lyanna says as Robert sighs.

“Its for your own good, Daenerys.” Robert states.

“And what if I don’t want it? Is it still for my own good then?” I retort.

“Yes.” Robert affirms.

“That doesn’t add up. How can something I don’t want be for my own good?” I retaliate.

“Because it will provide you a life. One to start afresh, build your own family in a country that is your home. There is no reason for such annoyance, Daenerys.” Robert explains, annoyance starting to become apparent in his tone in response to my own.

“That is a life I do not seek or want. I will not marry one of these Lords or their sons.” I protest. I was not ready for such things again and I had no desire to be shipped off again to a man of another’s choosing and only to become a lady of a castle. That was a life I had no want for.

“This is the way of life, Daenerys. The way it has always been. You are a princess; this is what is expected of you and you will do this.” Robert declares.

“I may be a princess, but I am not yours, and I will not bend to your will or wishes.” I strike back.

“I am your King and you are in my care, this is what I expect of you, this is what I have decided for you. As long as you are a princess in this castle, under my care, in fact in Westeros, then this is what you will do. And I will do you one kindness in allowing you to choose your own match if that at all makes you happier.” Robert affirms, his annoyance intensifying, only making mine grow.

“I don’t choose any of them.” I reject.

“You will, Daenerys. And you will marry him.” Robert insists.

“I will not.” I uphold.

Robert and I stare at each other for a moment before he then stands from his throne. “Then you give me no choice.” He retorts.

“What will you do?” I question, still annoyed yet curious what I had I just pushed him to.

“You won’t choose your suitor, then we will invoke an old royal tradition.” Robert challenges.

“And what tradition is that?” I ask.

“The old tradition of competing for the hand in a princess’ marriage.” Robert states as he steps forward to stand before the people of the ball. He gestures for the music to stop and all does come to a stop, the music, the dancing and everyone has his attention.

“It appears our Targaryen princess has been so impressed by her potential suitors here tonight, that she and I cannot decide on one in particular. And so I invoke we rely on one of the oldest of traditions, in that her suitors will compete for her hand in marriage.” Robert announces, causing murmurs around the hall and my annoyance flaring as I stood next to him glaring at the side of his head. “The old tradition called for the first born to compete but since the war, this no longer applies to every house. So, I declare that the first born of each of the houses may compete as well as the remaining living born descendant of each of the houses may also compete if they so desire for the hand of our Targaryen princess Daenerys Stormborn.” Robert continues, glancing my way, showing his annoyance at my reluctancy, but even through my own as he made his declare I plucked the start of an idea from it. There was no escaping this, and Robert was asserting himself, so I just decided to assert myself right back. I’d go along with his plan, only to twist it to my own desired ending. “Through this competing will the worthy suitor triumph and win her hand, and in this old tradition it is customary for the princess in question to determine the challenge of arms herself.” Robert finishes as he turns to face me. I choose it myself? Even better, I thought.

“So, what will it be, princess?” Robert asks in almost challenge, and I just stared back as my answer had come to me quickly, before he had asked the question of me.

“Archery.” I say between us with a hard stare, before turning to face the people. “I choose archery.” I announce.

“I give you the morning, my Lords. The challenge will begin before luncheon.” Robert calls and the people raise their glasses in recognition, before the music begins again and Robert takes his seat back on the throne.

“That should give you enough time to acclimate to the idea, shouldn’t it Daenerys?” Robert pokes.

“Oh, I’ll never acclimate to the idea, your grace.” I scorn, only using the formality in a sense of mockery.

“You will be there tomorrow, Daenerys. Give me your word you will do this.” He demands.

“You have my word.” I reply.

“Good.” he says, leaning back in his throne as he takes his goblet of wine in hand.

“But not my respect.” I add as he sips, leaving that as my last words before turning and striding through the hall to leave.

-

“Well done, father. You just lost the respect of the daughter of the man you sit on that throne in honour of.” William points out.

“Don’t start, William. I’ve had enough lip from Daenerys. I’m only trying to path a peaceful life for her in her homeland. All kings secure matches for their princes and princesses; she may not be mine but she’s still a princess by right and I’m doing what her father would have done for her. I’m doing my duty as king and guardian. Don’t make me out to be a villain here.” Robert retaliates.

“Have you even once asked her what path of life she wants for herself? She’s been through a lot over the years, father. She’s no typical princess. Perhaps you should consider that maybe you’ve stood on some of her wounds.” William retorts, before turning to leave also, back into the ball.

“Perhaps I was too much.” Robert concedes to Lyanna sighing.

“Yes, you were. You approached that in anger and now look. She no doubt resents you a little now.” Lyanna points out.

“Well—better she resents me and has a good life, than not.” Robert affirms.

“If what William said is right, and you’ve stood on some wounds, then what good life do you think will come of this?” Lyanna retorts.

“She will learn to love whoever wins tomorrow. She will have a family and live a happy life.” Robert declares.

“I hope for your sake, that you’re right.” Lyanna says.

-

“It is time. Archers to your marks.” Robert announces as he stands from his seat, all of us sat alongside with him as we overlook the challenge that had now begun the day following the ball. “And may the lucky arrow find its target.” Robert finishes as he takes his seat back down.

The competing suitors stood at their marks, with their house sigil banners on wooden stakes planted by them. It had only turned out that four of the several houses to be potential suitors put forth their challenger. I wondered why not all of them did, but I guessed perhaps if you weren’t good at a particular chosen arms then you wouldn’t want to look bad in front of the other houses, you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself or your house. The four that remained, were Trystane of House Martell, Edmure of House Tully, Robin of House Arryn and Loras of House Tyrell. Though that came as no surprise to me, they were part of the great houses of Westeros, they were never going to concede, good or not.

“Thank you for being here, Daenerys.” Robert offers kindly, though I only nod in recognition; I was still angry at his decisions, and I had decisions of my own to carry out.

The first archer took his stance, Robin Arryn, standing ready to let his arrow fly and already I could tell he was not going to do well. His stance was too rigid and angled, but he was still young, a boy, although I had been better at ten and he was a young teen. As he let the arrow go, it flew across and to my surprise hit the target, but still it was right at the edge, no where near good. As he appeared to scold himself accompanied by his mother who comforted him, the second archer, Edmure Tully, took his stance. He was a man of an age that he could be my father no doubt, meaning he had time to become a notable marksman and yet when his arrow flew, it hit the target also but not in the bullseye, only near it. He seemed to be impressed with himself, which only made me think perhaps even that was a lucky shot. Then the third archer, Loras Tyrell, took his stance, who seemed to be in similar age to me. When his arrow flew, it hit within the red mark of the middle of the target, and his family looked much impressed and pleased, though Loras himself looked as though he had no care in the world. I noted we felt the same. Then the last archer, Trystane Martell, looking the closest in my age like Loras, took his stance to take his shot, but I did not watch, for I slipped away behind our seats to enact my own decisions in front of the king and all others.

-

William watched beside Daenerys, utterly concentrated in his viewing of the challengers, leaning forward in his seat as he watched. Daenerys was his friend, he loved her, and if she was to marry someone as his father wished he hoped it would be to someone she could learn to love. So, when Loras Tyrell or Trystane Martell took his stance, he hoped one of them would win. They were the closest in age and many of the women of the court seemed to flutter their eyes at them, so they were desirable to them at least. Then as Trystane let his arrow go, it appeared the lucky arrow had been his as it had landed in the bullseye of the target. He had won her hand, and if it were to be any of the three, he was glad it was him. Though, in his heart, he had wished it was him and no one else that got the pleasure of her hand in marriage. He loved her, and so that is why he wished for the best out of the bunch for her.

“Well, looks like we’re becoming in-laws through our marri—,” William begins to dishearteningly point out as he turns to face Daenerys beside him but when he turns his head, she’s not there.

“Where is she?” Robert questions, looking over now too.

“I don’t k—,” William begins again but is interrupted by Daenerys, standing where Robert Arryn had taken his mark beside a staked banner with her Targaryen house sigil of the three headed dragon.

-

Slipping away from my seat, I had moved around the back of the King’s seated platform to meet Jorah and Rakharo at the edge of the crowd, where they had the old Targaryen banner we had scavenged through the night for in the Keep attached to the stake and my bow and quiver of arrows. I had devised the plan with them after the ball, and Jorah had been more than willingly to help for he knew I opposed this. If I was going to marry again, I would do so in my own time and of my own accord.

Coming forward around the edge of the crowd, I came to stand by Robert Arryn’s mark, with the beginning of faint murmurs starting to go across the crowd, and as I came to this mark, I saw William and Robert looking at my empty seat. Happy my slipping away was successful, going unnoticed, I staked my Targaryen three headed dragon banner and then proclaimed to announce myself, warranting everyone’s attention that wasn’t already on me, specifically for King Robert’s attention.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn, the only living born descendant of House Targaryen. And I’ll be shooting for my own hand.” I shout out to the crowd, landing my last words as I stared at a shocked faced Robert. I glanced at William, seeing he had a slight smirk on his face, before I glanced at my fellow competitors who just seemed as shocked as Robert, all apart from the Martell’s who just looked impressed. Turning to face the target of Robin Arryn, I pull an arrow from my quiver and hold it back with my bow, not pausing much at all to let it fly. It lands in the bullseye. As I walk across to come in line with the next target, Edmure’s, I pull back another arrow which is when I hear Robert’s voice.

“Daenerys, stop this!” Robert calls, though I don’t stop, I don’t even flinch, and as I come in line with Edmure’s target I let my next arrow fly and sure enough it hits the bullseye again.

Walking to be at Loras’ target, I grab another arrow. “Seven hells, Daenerys, I said stop!” Robert calls louder, but I let my arrow fly and it hits the bullseye, again. Then as I come towards Trystane’s target, grabbing my last arrow, I see he got a bullseye while I slipped away from my seat. This meant I had to hit his arrow with my own.

“Don’t you dare lose another arrow! I forbid it, Daenerys!” Robert shouts.

Again, I ignore him, and take my stance at the last target, where I take a deep breath in and as I let it out, I let my last arrow go. And to no surprise to myself, for I knew I could do it, I got another bullseye, with my arrow splitting the one that came before it as it pierced the target. With a proud smirk of defiance, I turn to look back at Robert who was stood with a look of great annoyance. He had asserted himself at the ball, and now I had asserted myself here today.

“My Lords and Ladies, please make your way back for luncheon. We will follow after you shortly.” Queen Lyanna announces suddenly to everyone gathered as Robert and I stared at each other at afar. As everyone began to leave, headed back for the Keep, Robert sat back down in his seat, and I stood with Jorah and Rakharo and the others until everyone had gone. Only then did Robert address me.

“Daenerys, I have shouted enough for a day, please come forward.” Robert urges in his seat ahead, and without a word I begrudgingly walk over with the others behind me.

“You gave me your word.” Robert points out sternly.

“I did—that I would do this. And I did. And I won.” I retort calmly.

“That is not what I meant and you know it. You twisted this to your own advantage, for your own outcome. And you embarrassed them in the process.” Robert argues.

“I told you I didn’t want—,” I begin but Robert interrupts. “It doesn’t matter, your future is with one of those houses, Daenerys.” He asserts.

“But being married is something I am not ready—,” I start again but am stopped again.

“This is not a discussion anymore. You will marry.” Robert affirms.

“Just listen!” I exclaim.

“I am the King! You listen to me!” Robert exclaims louder.

I stare at him with angered and yet tired eyes as I see his anger calm down from his outburst. “You may be the King. But you are not my father. You cannot make me take a life I do not yet want.” I state calmly, which renders him silent for a moment. “This marriage is what you want. Not once have you bothered to ask what I want. I’m not like the other ladies of the court, I’m not like how my sister was. I’m different—especially now. I do not want to be married. I can’t.” I declare.

Robert sighs. “Do you think you’re the first woman who didn’t want to marry? Who wanted something else?” Robert points out.

“No. And I’m sure I won’t be the last. But I’m asking you, don’t do this. I’m not ready for this yet. If I am to commit to this life here, I want to do it on my own accord and in my own time.” I plea, but Robert just looks un-wavered.

“Just explain it to him, Daenerys.” William urges.

“Explain what?” Lyanna questions as she and Robert look his way, before looking back to me. My eyes meet William’s and I concede in my look to him, giving the tiniest of nods for him to say why.

“She’s already been married. –And bore a child.” William states, changing the king and queen’s curious expressions to ones of stun and shock as I look on in grief.

“How have we not heard of this until now?” Robert questions. “You have a child? Where is it?” Lyanna asks sincerely, and I could see she probably already knew the answer.

“My son died, as did my husband.” I state, rendering pitiful looks from them both as I grieved in my expression.

“What were their names?” Lyanna queries comfortingly.

“Drogo was my husband. Khal Drogo. The great Khal of his Dothraki khalasar, and I was his Khaleesi. –My son was Rhaego. Named after Rhaegar and Drogo.” I recount, with a hint of a smile as I recall the happy memories I had with Drogo, but still mainly looking grieved at the thought of his demise and my son’s. “I lost them both the same day.” I add.

“How? When?” Lyanna asks warmly.

“A witch, about a month prior to our arrival. –Her bloodmagic cursed and ultimately killed Drogo and also took my son’s life. He did not live as he was born.” I inform sorrowfully.

“Daenerys, my child, I am so sorry.” Lyanna comforts. “As am I.” Robert adds sincerely, and I nod in recognition at their comforts.

“Why did you not mention this sooner, Daenerys? That you were a Dothraki bride- that you were a newly grieving widow? I would not have pushed such things on you so soon.” Robert concedes.

“Like you said, I was grieving. I did not see the point in sharing such personal traumas.” I explain.

“And so, this is why you do not wish to be married then.” Robert states, now getting his head around my defiance.

“Yes. I still hold love for Drogo, and I cannot think of marrying another. But there are also other things at play.” I clarify.

“Like what?” Robert questions.

“Even if I hadn’t married Drogo, and I did not carry the weight of these traumas with me, I still would not want to marry. That fact remains. I yearn for more than this court life, or the life I would have sat married in a Lord’s castle. I want a purpose in this world. I want to travel and make a difference where I can.” I proclaim. “But also—whoever I married here, it would not be wise for their family.” I add.

“Why not?” Robert asks.

“I can’t have children.” I state.

“But you birthed your Rhaego?” Lyanna ponders confusingly.

“I did. But the witch cursed me too in her bloodmagic. I can no longer bare children.” I clarify, thinking back on Mirri Maz Duur’s cursing words: ‘When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.’

For a moment all is silent, and I feel Jorah’s hand on my shoulder. I glance back at him to see his comforting eyes and silently I hint a nod to tell him that I’m okay.

“I won’t insist you marry, Daenerys. Not yet, at least. –But even in light of this news, you still understand that one day you will have to marry, yes?” Robert cautiously states.

“Yes, I understand that someday I will. And I understand that it won’t perhaps be someone I love or admire, but all I ask for is time.” I simply proclaim.

Robert releases a little sigh. “I can give you that.” He accepts. “I just don’t know what I’m going to tell the Lords.” Robert deflates.

“Tell them Daenerys’ heart grieves from her recent losses in Essos and she needs time to grieve these losses. They all know why she has been in hiding all these years, they’re not going to question or challenge it, my love.” Lyanna suggests.

“Aye. I suppose you’re right.” Robert agrees.

“Thank you both. –And I’m sorry for the scene. Although, truthfully, I’m not all that sorry.” I lightly smirk.

Lyanna smiles as Robert scoffs amused. “Yes, well, I’d expect nothing less from your mother’s daughter. You were always her red rose as I recall.” Robert remembers.

“Red rose?” I query, not remembering her ever calling me that.

“It’s what she always called you when speaking of you in her letters or whenever we visited. That you were her defiant red rose she had made a wish on one day before she bore all your siblings and yourself.” Lyanna explains.

“She never told me this story.” I point out curious.

“She told us that nearing the last winter’s end, she saw a red rose blooming in defiance of the cold, in the snow. And that seeing this rose, so much in bloom despite the colds of the last bits of snow, she wished for her children to have all of the strength and spirit of that red rose, that seemed so alive against the white snow. And she always referred to you as her red rose, that you were the most defiant of them all. A strong and defiant spirit.” Lyanna continued to explain, which brought a smile and rogue tear to my eye. I missed my mother terribly; I wish I could tell that my spirit still remained.

“Aye, Ned always said you were the projection of Elena’s own spirit as a child, and your father would say the same of when he met her. I don’t know why I expected such conformity from you. That was my mistake.” Robert pokes a little playfully with a smirk, getting a light chuckle from me.

“Thank you both again, and for the momentum I never knew I needed.” I sincerely thank, to which they both nod.

“So, Daenerys—what is it that you wish to do with your own path?” Robert ponders.

“Well—like I said, I want to make a difference in this world. Help people that cannot help themselves. It’s just figuring out how to take that first step to do so.” I announce.

“And I have no doubt that you will.” Robert concedes with a slight smile, which I return. I prayed he was right.

Chapter Text

The days following the archery challenge for my hand, Jorah and I had been talking over what it was I would do with my newfound freedom, free from any impending marriages or Westerosi obligations. I had said I wanted to make a difference, help those who couldn’t do it themselves, and that’s what we discussed. Slavery was all across Essos, no more so than the infamous Slaver’s Bay. I had freed those who stayed behind enslaved by Drogo’s khalasar and those who followed me I was able to give a new life, free of chains and ones they chose. I wanted others to have the same feeling. A life free of chains. Every man, woman and child enslaved deserved that at the very least. I wanted to give that to them and who else was going to give it to them.

We both knew that to begin a journey of liberation like this I’d need power and influence, and to get those we’d need gold. Anything that we could use to attain a form of power so that my influence had substance. Jorah had suggested buying the Unsullied from Astapor, an army of slaves that were available for purchase. If we bought them, we’d have an army of 8,000 men behind us if the numbers we’d heard were right. I had remembered when we had been in Astapor ever so briefly when Jorah had told me about the Unsullied. The trained slave soldiers, ripped from their mother’s arms as children if not just taken from the streets, were trained and sold only for more to be then trained and sold all over again. I knew if I were to buy these slave soldiers, I would only want to do so to give them their freedom. Leading a liberation, a rebellion against slavery, with an army of slave soldiers more than defeated the purpose, but if they chose to follow me as others had then the journey will have begun. We just needed enough gold so that we could buy them. We decided that Qarth was our best bet. It was said to be the richest city in Essos, and if we were to obtain wealth, that would be our best bet. Our plan felt right, and it felt mapped out. We’d travel to Qarth, obtain enough wealth to buy the Unsullied at Astapor and begin the anti-slavery conquest, starting with Astapor and the rest of Slaver’s Bay. Now, the only thing stopping us from enacting our plan was our way to Qarth. We needed to be granted an audience, allowed entry into the great city by its council, who Jorah said were hard to please and intrigue. He suspected my name would not be enough and here lied the problem. Or so, for a moment, I thought.

I had taken a day to think what exactly I could do to earn an audience with the Qarthian council, for them to take us in, and it didn’t take me long to realise. I had only read and discovered a potential theory for something very powerful a mere few days past. I was lacking in possessions, land and money. I only had my name for a form of power, for status. But what if I had dragons? Then I would have an almighty power and influence over many. Something that would solidify my power and presence, my influence to begin such a rebellion. And something the Qarthian council would most definitely be intrigued in, enough to grant us into their city. Jorah was sceptical, even after witnessing me emerge from the pyre unburnt back in Essos. He did not believe that dragons would hatch from the aged eggs. They were stone, and he bet no amount of fire would change that. I thought differently, I had to. I wanted this. Not only for the plan, but for myself.

Two days Jorah and I spent mapping out our motives, the journeys and the plan. We clued in my riders and Irri and Doreah, but we kept the details between each other. As far as anyone was going to know, we would be travelling back around Essos, aiding those who needed it, while seeing more parts of the world. The plan didn’t need to be divulged, I figured I would only face opposition and arguments if it came to light. And with the burning of the eggs at some point, that would only raise questions. Although, still, Jorah did not believe the eggs would hatch in a fire, he argued we should sell them and then we wouldn’t need to go to Qarth in search of wealth. They held great value, and all three were sure enough to buy the Unsullied, but they were not given to me to sell to someone else. They were mine and I had faith, just like I had when I walked into the pyre. All that was left to do was to burn my eggs, but for that I needed a human blood sacrifice. It was a savage ritual, for even a cruel man to endure, but to have my dragons it must be done. I had queried about any murderers or rapists, just any criminals being held in the capitol dungeons but they had all recently been taken to be apart of the Night’s Watch at the Wall. We had heard that the numbers at the Wall had grown less and less over the years, but it did not worry anyone as the Wall had stood for a many number of years and not once had anything crossed. But still, they wanted the numbers and all prisoners had been taken. I was back to square one. When I had burned the witch alongside Drogo, I had been grieving and enraged, acting on revenge seeking impulse. This time I had no such feelings, and I already felt guilty at the prospect. I just had to wait for the right sacrifice. I was sure the capitol would accumulate more captured criminals in time, there was never a shortage of bad men doing bad things in the world.

Days passed in the capitol, in the Keep, and with each day I waited. I would ride out, read, spar with Jorah, continue my archery through the forests, and do it all again the next day. Then one day, an eventful day by the nights end, finally set the course for our new journey. I had rode out alone this day into the forest, and I had been sat with Vizhadi reading peacefully in the forest when it was suddenly disturbed. A stroke of surprise radiated through me when a stag leapt over us with speed and purpose, spooking the both of us. Vizhadi startled into a stand and I quickly stood to calm her before looking over at where the stag had gone and up ahead there it stood. The brown stag was huge, the biggest stag I had ever seen, and you could see it stood with pride and strength. It was a very proud and admirable creature, and it was looking straight at me. Then, suddenly, his antlers started to grow. They grew into mighty antlers that resembled branches of trees and as they did his fur began to turn from brown to white, bright as snow. The stag was as big as a horse and I couldn’t believe what my eyes had just witnessed. The huge branch like antlers and the white fur, along with its size, it was a thing of legends. It resembled the white hart. A rare, practically mythical creature, I had read about as a child. It was a symbol of hope, and I gladly welcomed the sight, looking on at the proud white hart with a smile until a horn from nearby sounded and the stag swiftly took off as fast as it had appeared.

I recognised the horn. It was a hunting horn, and I knew William was leading a hunt today, one Jorah and my riders had accompanied. Standing with Vizhadi, it wasn’t a moment sooner that the hunting party arrived after the stag, with me waving to stop them. William, along with my riders and Jorah, were fronting the hunt and seemed more than happy to stop at the sight of me.

“Daenerys, did you see the stag pass we’ve been hunting?” William questions as his horse stops on the spot, making the whole party stop behind him.

“Yes, and you shouldn’t continue your hunt after him—not that you would catch him anyway.” I gloat, smirking.

William chuckles. “Oh, is that right? Do you really not have much faith in me at all?” He playfully jokes, making me smile.

“It’s not you—that was a white hart, he’ll never let you catch him.” I inform.

“White hart?” William repeats, confused. “It can’t be. We saw the stag, it was brown, Daenerys.” Jorah retorts.

“At first it was, then as it looked my way and I his, his fur turned white and his antlers grew like trees in a matter of seconds. It was most definitely a white hart.” I affirm.

“But those are things of legends.” Jorah states, disbelieving a little.

I look at him with slightly raised eyebrows. “We both know that even legends can be very real, Ser Jorah.” I point out vaguely, subtly referencing my emergence out of the pyre, and I could see Jorah’s eyes conceding to the possibility.

“How can a stag’s fur change and antlers grow in seconds? What is this white hart?” Williams asks.

“It’s a legendary stag. A mythical creature if you will, that is supposedly a symbol of hope.” I inform. “I’d expect a Baratheon to know about the legend of their house’s sigil animal.” I poke, with a smirk.

“Well, white or brown, it’s still a stag and this is still a hunt. Now we really should be continuing after it before we lose it.” William urges. “No! You can’t kill it. Not a white hart. No good will come of it.” I protest quickly.

“We’re hunting, it’s what’s done, Daenerys.” William retorts.

“Just because it’s what’s done doesn’t mean its what should be done.” I retaliate.

William smiles. “You have a kind heart, Daenerys.” He says.

“I just don’t wish to see a magnificent creature as that risk being killed.” I state. “You will stop your crusade on him, yes?” I insist.

William sighs, but still with a smile. “Yes.” He concedes, but as he speaks his one word, a sound echoes from the distance ahead. It was a sound I had never heard before, almost like a siren call but it was tranquil and calming. It was intriguing and I suddenly felt drawn to it.

“What was that?” William ponders aloud, slightly alert.

It sounds again, and again I feel a sense of being drawn to it. What if it was the white hart? Curious and intrigued, I begin to walk off in the direction ahead to meet the sound. I heard William and Jorah protest behind me, but I assured them it would be fine and to follow quietly on foot. As I continued ahead through the forest to follow the call, it grew louder as I came closer and when I finally got to the sound, I pushed through some shrubbery and was faced with the white hart once again. Up ahead it was stood beneath a towering tree with branches that matched its antlers. It stood tall and proud and it practically took my breath away for a second time. It was truly a magnificent sight to behold. Upon seeing him, I continued forward to stand before him as his calls came to a stop now I was here. Stopping in front, I looked up at the white hart’s eyes and I felt as if he was looking into mine as I looked into his. I felt the urge to stroke him and I hoped he’d allow it. I didn’t know if William, Jorah and the others had followed, if they were watching, but I had no care. I was in awe this creature was allowing me to come so close, to be standing in its mythical presence.

-

William steps forward to follow after Daenerys, worried the white hart might spook and cause her harm with her being so close, but Jorah holds his arm stopping him from taking another step. “No, William—no one’s ever seen this before.” Jorah informs as all the men looked on in astonishment gathered around the parted shrubbery, much to William’s confusion.

They all watched as Daenerys stood before the white hart and slowly lifted her arm up to his head. She gently began stroking his forehead and he appeared calm, and comforted then, unexpectedly, the white hart bows before her. Bending one of front legs slightly, he bows his head down, slightly encasing Daenerys with his antlers and they can hear a light, happy chuckle from Daenerys ahead as he rises his head back up.

“Did that stag just bow before her?” William says mesmerised and shocked.

“He’s blessing her.” Jorah smiles also shocked but happily so as they watch Daenerys continue to stroke the white hart’s head.

“What are you talking about?” William questions.

“Huh, you really don’t know anything about the white hart legend?” Jorah pokes, glancing at William still wanting answers. “Daenerys was right, the white hart is a symbol of hope, but it was always said it would make itself known to a worthy servant of good when the gods saw the land needed it the most. A worthy servant that would aid peace and prosperity in the land.” Jorah explains.

“So, you’re saying this – white hart – is blessing Daenerys as its so-called servant of good?” William deciphers.

“Exactly. To him, she is life itself- she will heal the land- she is the one.” Jorah proclaims proudly, as if he had believed this all along.

“And you believe this?” William queries.

“Aye, I do. I plan to follow where she leads, always.” Jorah declares as the two continue looking on at Daenerys stroking the white hart in a precious moment.

-

I felt connected to the white hart for a reason I could not explain, and with every stroke both he and I felt more comforted and calmed with each other. It was a special moment; one I would cherish. I did not know why the white hart bowed, but it was special, nonetheless. It was a blissful and innocent moment until it was suddenly ruined by an arrow. A pained screech came from the white hart as it rose onto its hind legs because of an arrow lodged into its shoulder. I looked over from where it came and saw an unknown archer, now knotting his bow to shoot a second arrow. I patted myself for my own weapons as I heard Jorah and the rest calling over in panic and drawing their own weapons. I did have mine; they were with Vizhadi. After the arrow, and the thought for my weapons, only a couple seconds had passed, I looked back up to the white hart, still screeching in pain as it kicked on its hind legs and I couldn’t move, I empathised for its pain, pain that was no doubt intended for me when I was grabbed from behind. “Come on!” Jorah exclaims as he grabs me, pulling me back to hurry. As another arrow flies right between the hart and I, the hart suddenly turns into a kaleidoscope of white butterflies as I turn to flee with Jorah. At least the white hart was no longer in pain. Running back to the horses, the bulk of the men had gone with William after the archer and my riders had followed Jorah in protecting me. When we got back to Vizhadi and the other horses, more men were waiting, coming around from behind some trees. Jorah instinctively pushed me behind him, with my riders standing in front with him. There were six men opposing us. I knew my riders could fight, as could Jorah, I had no doubt they would fight them off with ease, but that didn’t relinquish my want for my sword to fight alongside them.

“Grab my sword, quickly.” I quietly say behind Jorah as all the men stared each other down for a moment, swords and arakhs in hand. “Not now, Khaleesi.” Jorah replies just before one of the men lunges forward, initiating the fight between them all. I watch as Jorah fights the man who stepped first and my riders cut down three of the others quickly. Jorah kills his first, but his second slices his arm as he kills the first. He then fights this second man as Rakharo kills the last, the only one who seemed to see they weren’t the winning side. Regardless, he still died at Rakharo’s hands. When Jorah then killed his second man, all six men laid dead on the ground.

“Are you alright? You’re cut.” I worriedly query coming towards Jorah.

“I’m fine, Khaleesi. It’s just a scratch.” Jorah dismisses.

“You sound like Drogo.” I point out.

Jorah looks at me with a little pity. “If you had grabbed my sword, you wouldn’t have that cut.” I continue.

“If I had let you have your sword, you would fight and there was a risk you’d have more than just a cut. I won’t take those risks.” Jorah retorts.

“Then why train me to use them? –I’ve used my sword on men before Jorah.” I retaliate calmly.

“Yes, but you haven’t fought a man properly yet, sword to sword.” Jorah states.

“I’ve trained and sparred with you long enough for me to even know that I could’ve handled myself. –If you won’t let me fight, I never will.” I declare gently.

“That is exactly my goal. You don’t need to fight, to risk your life, because you have me to do that for you. Your riders. I only trained you for the instances when you had no other choice, Khaleesi.” Jorah explains.

I sigh. One way or another, Jorah would have to concede to the fact that I could fight for myself and that I wanted to, but I proceed to move on from the subject. “Will you at least please let Irri look and attend to your cut back at the Keep?” I encourage and Jorah nods as William and his men return, along with the archer that had shot at the white hart and I. They had caught him, bound him and intended to hold him prisoner. William pointed out that his father would want to question them and their motives himself. Although, even without speaking one word about it to each other, Jorah and I both knew who was behind this, the same people it had been every time before: the Lannister’s. This was nothing knew, but it was a little surprising. It was their most daring assassination attempt. In the middle of the day when I was surrounded by a multitude of men, but then I was alone not long beforehand. They must have followed me, have been watching me. And yet, they still failed but I knew that would not deter Cersei and Tywin sending more, it never stopped them before.

Back at the Keep that evening, the prisoner had been interrogated by Robert himself and when a council meeting was called, Jorah and I were called to attend also. When we arrived in the council chambers, Robert’s small group of advisers sat at the table with him at the head.

“Daenerys, Ser Jorah, please sit.” Robert urges as we enter and bow and curtsy before taking our seats alongside the others. The council used to be large number of people, but now it only consisted of a few. There was Varys, the spymaster, a man I thought could never easily be trusted with the work he aligned himself to, there was a new Maester, Pycelle, there was Robert’s hand, the leader of the Kingsgaurd, William was here and then the queen.

“So, it seems these men that attacked you in the forest were sent by the Lannister’s to kill you.” Robert announces.

“We could have told you that before. Cersei and Tywin have sent assassins over the years numerous times.” I inform. “What are you going to do with the man?” I query.

“He’ll be kept in the dungeons before we make a final decision on his fate.” The hand answers.

“Why not kill him now?” Jorah questions.

“We made a peace treaty, showed mercy to those who opposed us, we kill one of their men we are technically in violation of our own treaty.” Lord Varys explains.

“They violated it first, we responded, and technically we already have as the rest of the men in the forest were killed.” I point out.

“We could send him back, escorted to the Lannister’s with a message. Perhaps we must make them renew their end of the treaty someway.” Renly Baratheon suggests.

“They broke the peace treaty twice already, treaty’s, mercies and promises aren’t going to hold them back from doing what they want.” I declare.

“Twice?” Lyanna repeats.

“They sent an assassin to poison me not long ago while I was pregnant. I was nearly full term. By that point, the war had been over we had come to learn, meaning they broke your treaty most likely.” I explain.

“Seven hells, why can’t they just fall in line like the others. I’ve had enough of war and squabbles. I’m too old for this shit.” Robert moans.

“So, what are we to do about it, your grace?” Maester Pycelle asks.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Robert continues to moan. “But firstly, Daenerys, you will not step foot in that forest from now on, in fact you will stay within the capitol only and will be always accompanied by at least Jorah. Do you understand?” Robert proclaims.

“But—,” I begin to protest. “No. There is no negotiating out of this Daenerys, but this will only be necessary until we deem it otherwise. It will not be forever, we just need to keep you safe and where we can see and protect you.” Robert insists. I understood his order, but it still irked me, I didn’t want to be confined. And if I was, I wanted some change.

“Fine, I understand. But, if I am to stay within the confinements of the Keep and the capitol, then I want to be allowed to practise my arms in the weaponry courtyard.” I counter.

“You want to take up arms?” Robert surprisingly and confusingly repeats.

“Yes. I have my own sword, I’m good with a bow as you are all aware, and I wish to be allowed to spar with the others.” I elaborate.

“Daenerys, a woman does n—,” Robert begins. “Not take arms, I know. But I do.” I finish. “I’m a good swordsman, I’m a good marksman. Just let me have this, or I fear I will go mad in these castle walls.” I plea.

Robert sighs. “Very well, you may take up arms in training, Daenerys.” Robert concedes.

“Thank you, your grace.” I thank with a small smile at the small victory.

“Well, seeing as you were already aware of the Lannister’s continued hate and defiance, you are free to leave. And we will continue this discussion tomorrow, we will decide what to do with the prisoner then and what of the Lannister’s.” Robert declares as he stands, followed by everyone else in response. After following Robert and Lyanna out with Jorah, I quietly converse between us as we began walking the halls.

“We need that prisoner.” I quietly state.

“What for?” Jorah asks.

“When I burn the eggs, we can burn him too. He’ll be the blood sacrifice.” I announce.

“Why are you so sure this’ll work, Khaleesi?” Jorah debates.

“You saw me rise from the ashes of Drogo’s pyre, why are you so sure it won’t?” I retort.

“Because you and some aged stones are very different things.” Jorah counters.

“I guess we’ll see.” I say as we continue down the halls.

The following morning, Jorah and I had decided that as a decision was to be made today on what to do with the prisoner and the Lannister’s, we had to burn the eggs tonight, meaning we would have to break out the prisoner and bind him to a pyre. But for the day, I chose to spend it training, sparring, while my riders made a pyre on the hills as I knew no one would question them if they were even spotted. Coming into the courtyard, William was already sparring with the master of arms, the clang of their swords ringing in the air. I watched for a moment, standing with Jorah as we both had our swords at our belts, and I also had the dagger Robert gave to me, my father’s dagger, on my belt. After watching for a little while, William noticed our arrival.

“Come to learn from the best.” He jokes.

“I think that would be the other way around.” I retort playfully as we come forward.

William looks down at my sword and dagger on my belt as I come closer. “Nice sword—very nice dagger.” He admires.

Hearing his words, I unsheathe the dagger, holding it balanced between us to show it off. “It’s Valyrian steel, dragon bone grip. It was my father’s.” I announce as William looks over it. “Very nice indeed.” He says.

“So, is there anything you want to learn? I could teach you?” William offers but I just smile.

“I’ve learned enough already. How about we just spar now.” I suggest, making William look slightly surprised at the confidence. “Unless you’re worried you’ll lose to a girl.” I mock with a smirk.

“Oh, I’m not worried, you’ve already bested me at archery. I’ve learned not to underestimate you rather quickly.” He retorts smiling.

He steps back a few steps, and Jorah and the master move to the side out the way to watch. As William takes his steps back with his sword, I put my dagger back and unsheathe Needle.

“Oh, Daenerys, you can’t use that its too small.” William points out at seeing me holding my own sword ready.

“I won’t cut you, don’t worry.” I mock.

“I’ll try not to.” William toys back as he raises his sword ready. I smirk ever so slightly because I knew William would take it easy on me to start, but I had no such intention. When I used Needle I had to fight a specific way. The sword was smaller, much smaller than a normal sword and I had to fight with it to my advantage. I had to be quick and stealthy, something I had gotten used to with Needle over the years as well as the normal swords.

Spinning Needle in my hand I spun as I took a step to the side as William took his first step, swinging his sword down at me but it easily missed and I was able to strike his sword a couple times in the movement before having the tip of Needle pointed at his face. I stepped around him still with my smirk as I held Needle at him, and his face mirrored me with a hint of surprise though still. I stood still opposite him and spun Needle in my hand, bringing it back holding it straight up along my back, waiting for his first move. William suddenly strikes his sword down where I stood and I turned my body to the side to dodge it, I then ducked to avoid his swing, all with Needle still behind my back. I block his blow with Needle in my movement and have to bend back to avoid his quick next swing, and as he brings it back across I turn and move low to the side rising back up straight. I attack first this time and we spar for a moment, the clang of our swords ringing. Then I get the upper hand by hitting one of William’s hands on his sword, he moves his arm in response and opens up his front which I then quickly hit, on his stomach. We stop and I smile as I know I won again and William just looks impressed. I step back to start again, putting Needle behind my back again as William takes his step to come back in front. He then suddenly strikes his sword down again but I block it with mine and we spar again. To get some more blows in, in a swift movement I spin as I go down on a knee, bringing Needle around and hitting his leg before rising back up to the side quickly out of the way of William’s strike as he grunts. Our moves get quicker as we continue to spar until a strike from William that I block opens my front up and he suddenly kicks me back with considerable force sending me onto my back.

“Shit, Daenerys, I got carried away, I’m sorry.” William apologises as soon as hit the ground but as he finishes I bring myself up, swinging my legs around with force, pulling my body up onto one knee and spinning Needle in my hand.

“Don’t be.” I reply with a smirk, looking at him in my position on the ground.

Quickly I rise to a stand to block William’s oncoming swing and we continue to spar for a while, the tension of fighting getting quicker, stronger and more determined on victory. It felt nice to have a fresh fighting partner. I had gotten used to Jorah’s movements so much I could predict his attacks, blocks and counters, but that also helped me predict William’s in places. We both sparred on and on until William knocked Needle down out of my hand with a strong blow and I had to dodge to the side his following blow. For a second, we stop and look at each other, both knowing my sword was out of hand, but both knowing that didn’t mean the fight was over. William goes to strike his sword down at me, continuing the fight, and I dodge it to the side again, then dodge his swing by ducking but simultaneously unsheathing my father’s dagger from my belt. I notice William spots this as he goes to grab my wrist but just before he can I throw it between my hands, catching the spun dagger in my other hand. As I catch it, I go to bring it up, pointing it at William’s neck just as his sword points at my head. Panting, we both look at each other before we both start smiling and let go of each other. As William lowers his sword to his side and I sheathe my dagger, a few claps are heard from above. William turns and we both look up to see Robert and Lyanna watching over the courtyard on the courtyard balcony. They look impressed and Robert surprised, and I wondered how long exactly they had been watching for. I nod sightly in recognition to Robert and he nods back. Perhaps now he finally saw that I was not just a court princess.

“Jorah has taught you well.” William praises, looking from me to him.

“I taught her what to do, she mastered it herself.” Jorah admires from the side.

“You learn all the moves from Jorah then?” William queries.

“Not all.” I smirk.

“Want to go again?” William asks with a big smile.

“Yes.” I smile back.

For most of the day, William and I had spent it in the courtyard. We sparred and showed each other moves for hours. I even helped him better the bow and arrow which he always had difficulty with, and I always teased him for. It was a day well spent, one I enjoyed. But I knew being behind these walls would become tedious quickly and that was why I wanted to burn the pyre and eggs tonight. Once I had my way into Qarth, we would leave and I could begin a purposeful journey.

We had to wait until the night and its darkness to encase the capitol. To do this, we had to get the prisoner out unnoticed and the night gave us cover. Jorah and I got the prisoner out of the dungeons, knowing it would take my presence to convince the guard to let us transport him ourselves. Robert had told us that they were planning to transport the prisoner back to the Lannister’s with a warning message. We simply used this to our favour, stating his release was changed to tonight to avoid being spotted by the Lannister’s from a far. It was a little too easy to convince the guard.

Blindfolded and bound, Jorah had the prisoner on his horse as we made our way up the hills beside the capitol on horseback where my riders had been building the pyre. It was just us. Jorah, Rakharo, Aggo, Kavarro, Irri, Doreah and me. It was, until another arrived unexpectedly. Jorah and I had not been at the pyre with the others much a moment until another figure galloped up on a horse to us. I had just placed my four eggs on the small pyre when the figure stopped before us all.

“Daenerys, what’s going on?” William’s voice calls as he leaps down from his horse.

“William, what are you doing here?” I query back as we walk closer to the other.

“I saw you and Jorah take someone from the Keep, headed to the stables. I was curious. Now I am even more so.” He explains glancing around at us all and the small pyre.

“We’re bu—,” I begin but Jorah cuts me off. “Khaleesi—,” he interjects, stopping me from so easily divulging what it was we were doing. “It’s alright, Jorah, we can trust him.” I assure.

“Trust me with what? Daenerys, what are you doing?” William questions.

“My dragon eggs—we’re burning them.” I announce.

“Why? They’re stone—and valuable.” William queries confused.

“Because I believe they will hatch in the fire.” I declare.

“Hatch? You mean you think those stones will breed dragons?” William pokes.

“I do. –Through fire and blood dragons will be reborn—and they’ll be mine. I’ll be their mother.” I proclaim.

William snorts slightly, clearly thinking me crazy as he looked around, although with what happened at Drogo’s pyre, everyone had faith in me. “Don’t tell me you believe this Ser Jorah?” He reaches out, Jorah being the only slightly sceptical one amongst us all.

“I have my doubts, but I follow my Khaleesi’s lead.” Jorah replies, ever the loyal friend.

“I see—you’ve got quite the faithful band of followers, Daenerys.” William points out.

“They’re not just my followers, they’re family.” I admire.

“Well, if I stay, am I apart of this family?” William asks tenderly, making me smile.

“You were always apart of my family.” I announce. “But if you stay, you must watch and do nothing. You must let the fire burn, no matter what, it cannot stop.” I affirm.

“Why would I want to stop it?” William asks.

“You will see.” I vaguely answer.

“Khaleesi, it is dead of night, we should not be interrupted now.” Rakharo points out.

“Good—Jorah, you know what to do.” I order and receive a nod in return.

“What’s happening?” William questions as he sees Jorah pull an unconscious man from his horse. We knew to get him to come willing and quietly he would not have to be conscious, so once we had him in the stables, Jorah knocked him out cold.

“He’s binding that assassin to the pyre.” I announce.

“What?” William bursts. “You broke out the prisoner? Father intended to send him back to the Lannister’s as a warning.” He continues.

“We had other plans.” I retort.

“So you’re going to burn him alive?” William counters.

“The man is an assassin, he tried to kill me. If we hadn’t have stopped them, I would have been dead and they would have been paid or rewarded in some measure, not thinking twice about it. I need a blood sacrifice to hatch these eggs, and I’m eager to do so. The opportunity presented itself, I chose to take it.” I explain.

“Father will not like this.” William points out.

“Believe me, a part of me sees this as savage, but this man is no innocent—and for what comes out of it at the end, it will be worth it. I assure you.” I promise.

“Khaleesi, are you ready?” Jorah calls. I nod in affirmation and with it, Jorah scratches the flint against the torch Rakharo held at the pyre. It lit and as the torch caught aflame, Rakharo lit the corner of the small pyre. Stepping back as the wood caught the flames and began to burn, I prayed silently to myself that this would work.

“Are you sure about this, Daenerys?” William says beside me as we all watched the pyre begin to be engulfed all around.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything.” I reply, before the flames reached the bound, unconscious assassin. I wanted this, and I had to keep telling myself it was worth it.

As the pyre became completely alight, the flames beginning to roar up from it, I knew it was my time. If the eggs were to hatch, I wanted to be there when they did. Jorah had no worry of me walking into the pyre for he knew I would be there when the smoke blew away. He just believed it would me and only me arising from the flames again, not dragons. But not me. As I began to step towards the pyre, I was so sure this would work, my faith was strong, and I believed. By the early hours of the morning, so would others.

“Daenerys?” William calls calmly, confusingly behind me but I continue towards the pyre. “Daenerys, what are you doing?!” William bursts and I can hear a slight struggle, but it doesn’t stop me. I knew the others would stop him, they would make him see, understand, and soon he’d believe too. I could hear William’s incessant calls as I reached the pyre and started to climb onto it, but once I was on the burning pyre, my clothes already burning away, the sound beyond ceased. All I could hear was the roar of the flames and the beginning of the assassin’s screams, but after so long even that began to fade as I laid with my four dragon eggs on the pyre. I could only hear the faint screech of what I could swear was the calls of the dragons within the eggs, beginning to be reborn. I would lay with them amongst the fire and blood, amongst whatever magic would allow them to be reborn and me emerge unburnt, they would arise from the fire at my side, and they would be my children and I their mother.

Much like it had been the first time, when my eyes opened it was the early morning and the smoke was faintly rising from the ground. I had the same euphoric feeling I had after Drogo’s pyre as I rose up into a sit, I was unburnt once again. But this time, I also felt rustling and nuzzling at different points of my body. Looking down, I was suddenly faced with four little bodies looking up at me, also just waking up from a sleep. Four baby dragons. Even though I had believed this to work, I still couldn’t believe me eyes; no one had seen a dragon in centuries, with many not believing they existed at all, and now here were four hatched in front of me by me. They started to scurry around my legs, coming into my lap as I looked in them in awe when my mind suddenly fluttered to the others. I looked to see if they were still here, and as the smoke cleared I could see them waking from their sleep off the ground as the little dragons made faint little screeches. I could see Jorah walking with William towards the now vanished pyre where I sat amongst the ashes. Looking up, Jorah’s was the first face I saw once again, and his eyes and expression remained calm and plain at the sight of me, where as William’s was in one of shock when I saw him come into view. Then as they both got closer, Jorah’s turned at the sight of what I was holding in my lap. His eyes widened slightly and his mouth parted a little in utter shock and disbelief, with William’s expression only growing in more shock and stun at everything he was now seeing before him.

“By all the gods.” William mutters in shock.

Jorah smiles as he looks down at me. “Blood of my blood.” He smirks and says proudly, repeating the words he had said when he saw me unburnt from the first pyre.

One of my dragons crawls around me, going up my back and rests on my shoulder before I slowly rise to a stand. I kept hold of the one dragon I had cradled in my hand, one other clings to the side of my leg as I rise and the fourth stays sat by my foot. Now standing, with my four hatched baby dragons, I now truly felt invincible and holding a true power. I had brought dragons back into this world after centuries, I had made history and this all meant that I could start my journey across Essos. I looked on at those around me, my riders, my friends Irri and Doreah, were all here, but so were others. I suddenly noticed some villagers and Kingsguard knights were here. The fire had no doubt drew people over and perhaps some stayed in curiosity, some on orders. I did not know, but it did not matter. Everyone looked on in awe, wonder, disbelief, as I stood with the dragons clinging to my body, with the one on my shoulder starting to flap it’s wings a little and screech it’s call out, making the others join in too. It was astonishing to think let alone experience the feeling that I now had dragons, and that was all that mattered to me in this moment. I was the last Targaryen and I had dragons. I Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen had just become a mother of dragons.

Chapter Text

Robert had summoned me to the council chambers. We had told the council of our departure for the following day, hoping they would pass the information on to the King and Queen as Jorah and I were spending the day planning out our journeys, motives, plans and attitudes thoroughly, as well as preparing our ship, possessions and horses. It had been nearly two weeks since my dragons had hatched and already they felt as if they were my own children. Over the time, I had come to nurture and train them, helping them understand command and helping them learn to eat their food. It was all a learning curve for both the dragons and I. I had to figure out what they wanted and they had to figure out how to do it, as well as teaching them to recognise my voice and words. I decided Valyrian was the best language seeing as it was my ancestral mother tongue and birth place of both my family and the dragons, plus they seemed to register it the most. They had also grown in size fairly quickly. When born they more the size of a raven, and now they had grown swiftly into the size of a large Essos eagle. Although they were still small for a dragon, they were growing fast. It did make me wonder how long I would have with them before they grew beyond my control, but I tried not to think on it, instead I cherished the time I had with them now as their mother. As well as beginning to grow in size, they were all growing into their coloured scales. The four eggs I had been gifted had clearly determined the colour the dragons would be. There was a black, red, gold and a green egg and the dragons adorned their eggs colour, not brightly but noticeably. I had named them all after some of my family. The green dragon was Rhaegal, after my brother Rhaegar, the golden orange dragon was Eleria, after my mother Elena, the dark red dragon was Aerion, after my father Aerys, and the black dragon was Drogon, after Drogo. If I had hatched a dragon for each of my family members, I would have named them after them all in their memory. I figured, if I was not to have children, these were essentially that and I would name them in my passed family’s honour like I would have done and nearly did.

Everyone in the capitol had heard by the end of the day, the day I hatched my eggs and I rose from the ashes with four baby dragons. I didn’t know if the news would spread across Westeros, and to be honest, I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want it widely known, not just yet. They were small and vulnerable now, but soon enough they wouldn’t be. So, for now, I wanted to be cautious. It’s why we kept our departure close to our chests in Westeros until the previous day. After what happened in the forest and now that I had dragons, we decided to keep being cautious. But we had, however, sent word to Qarth, not long after the eggs had hatched. We expressed our interest in seeing the wonder of Qarth, the wealthiest city in Essos on our travels across the lands, praising the city’s council and stature, that it was one I, a Westerosi princess and Mother of Dragons, wished to visit. We had been praising, and made sure to mention my titles, but left out our true motives of course. They had sent a prompt reply with the essence of it saying they would be delighted to invite us into their great city, should the title of Mother of Dragons be true, if not they had no interest. It was a slightly passive aggressive invite, but an invite, nonetheless. Everything was going to plan, I just hoped it stayed that way.

It wasn’t until the night had come and we were all but ready for our early morning sail that Robert asked me to the council chambers. When I arrived there, he was alone and sat at the head of the table, as he always was, waiting.

“Ah, Daenerys, please, come.” Robert motions, gesturing for me to take a seat opposite him.

“Your Grace.” I greet in return as I began walking over to take my seat.

“So, I hear you are casting off in the morning. Finally sailing to Qarth.” Robert announces.

“We are. Everything is ready, as am I.” I gleam.

“Not quite you’re not.” Robert retorts.

My expression turns a little confused. “How so?” I ask.

“There’s a couple things we must discuss—though it’s not as serious as I just made it sound, I assure you.” Robert answers, with a slight smile. I mirror his small smile and wait for whatever it was he was going to hit me with.

“Firs thing’s first. You’re travelling across Essos, and I feel it will do you good. You’ll be out there causing everyone else grief and not me.” He starts, making us both chuckle a little. “But I want you to take William. I want you to allow him to join you on your journey. It’ll also do him some good to see more parts of the world. Do him good for when he takes the throne one day after me. He’ll be cultured, he’ll know things, have seen things.” Robert pleas, which I did not expect.

“What about Neitiri Martell? He’s betrothed to her; don’t you want him here?” I question. It wasn’t that I didn’t want William on our journey, it was more the fact that I was surprised Robert wanted him to come with us.

“He won’t marry that girl for a good couple years yet, she’s young, the wedding will come but not just yet. It’ll do him good to travel around before he settles back down here with a new bride.” Robert explains.

“I understand.” I reply coolly.

“Do you not wish him to come? I assumed you would like this?” Robert queries.

“No, I am just a little surprised is all. I did not expect you say this. I am delighted if William wishes to come on this journey.” I affirm.

“Good. I shall talk him after we are done here and send him to you before the night is over.” Robert states and I nod in recognition.

“What else did you wish to speak about?” I ask, curious if that was all.

“Ah yes.” He says as he goes to pick something up from beneath the table. Unexpectedly, Robert pulls up my father’s sword, Dragon’s Breath, the sword he had worn on his belt in memory of my father, and lays it on the table, sword and belt together.

“What’s this?” I ask, wondering why he was putting the sword on the table.

“When I saw you sparring with William the first time, it finally opened my eyes that you were different. You can handle yourself in hand to hand combat as it would seem and rather well. I was much impressed, Daenerys, I never told you.” Robert admits.

“Thank you.” I say.

“I gave you your father’s dagger so you had something of his as a momentum. I did not think it would be something you would use. Then I saw you use it. And that little sword you have—what it’s called again?” He continues.

“Needle.” I smile.

“That’s right: Needle.” He chuckles as I smile.

“You’ve grown into a true, fearless warrior. One that can handle herself with weapons, walks into flames unscathed and now has dragons. –You are quite the marvel, Daenerys. –I’m sorry I ever doubted and underestimated you.” Robert apologises.

“There is no need for an apology, Robert.” I assure kindly.

“Your mother and father would be proud to see the woman you’ve become Daenerys. I promise you that.” Robert proclaims tenderly, and I nod my sincere thanks with a small smile.

“And for all that, this is why I hand over the sword to you.” Robert announces as he pushes Dragon’s Breath closer to me on the table.

“You’re giving me the sword?” I question, a little shocked.

“It’s your father’s. If I gave it to William that wouldn’t feel just. And now I know you can handle a sword, it only feels right to hand it to you.” Robert declares. “Anyways, I know you must love that little sword of yours, but you’re a grown woman now and you need a sword for a grown woman, not a little girl. This sword will serve you well.” He adds with a smile.

“I take it from you with pride. I will care for it well.” I assure in thanks with a heartfelt smile as I place my hand on it, looking over the magnificent Valyrian steel sword that adorned a dragon’s head at the pommel.

“I know you will.” Robert replies as we smile at one another. “Now, we will wave you off on your ship in the morning. I suggest you and your people get some rest.” He adds, standing from the table.

“Yes, thank you, your Grace. I shall see you at the docks.” I say as I stand too, grabbing the sword before heading away back to my chambers.

All of us were in my chambers, speaking of the journeys to come, not much time after my return from my talk with Robert when a knock sounded at my door. I knew it was William, and I knew we were going to have to fill him in on the real motives of what we were travelling to do. I wouldn’t lead him blindly into something that we weren’t sure of how it was going to end.

“Enter.” I call and William appears in the doorway, closing the door behind him.

“So I hear I am to accompany you on your travels.” William announces.

“Only if you wish to.” I assure.

“I would love nothing more.” He smiles.

“Good—then please sit. We have something we must discuss with you.” I announce, making William look a little curious as he comes to join us sat around the table in my chambers.

“What is it that we are doing on our travels?” I question.

William looks at me a little confused, like the answer was obvious, and it was for him. “We’re going across Essos, seeing the cities, sailing the seas, aiding those we can and who need it with what we have?” William answers.

“And that is exactly what everyone is to believe for a while.” I state.

William furrows his brow. “Care to enlighten me, Daenerys?” He queries.

“We have other motives for our travels. This is not just a mere sightseeing journey, and when I tell you, you must promise to keep it yourself. Whether you choose to still come or not.” I affirm.

“What is it that you are doing?” William questions.

“There are many in Essos that need help. Many that are bound by unpayable debts, or just tormented by those above them. There are people that live in chains, that are born and die in their chains. I seek to help them—free them.” I declare.

“And by them, you mean—,” William begins. “Slaves.” I finish.

William nods slightly to himself, taking the information in. “And how are you going to do this exactly?” He queries, with a little scepticism in his voice.

“Our journey starts in Qarth; it is said to be the wealthiest city in Essos. We will acquire some wealth there and then make sail for Astapor where we will buy an army. Then we can begin our journey, aiding those who need it most with a powerful army and four dragons at our backs.” I explain.

“So, you’re going to war?” William retorts.

“Not war—liberation.” Jorah counters.

“Forgive me Ser Jorah, but weren’t you exiled because you sold people into slavery in Essos?” William points out.

“And this is his repentance for those crimes. He has sold people into chains, now he will help me free all those in chains.” I retaliate.

“But these people won’t allow this liberation of their slaves. There will be fights. What you’re talking of doing is taking down a city’s regime, you’re talking of war.” William continues.

“We won’t seek war, we won’t seek fights. What we do will be smart and thought out. It will be a game of the mind and strategy. Not swords. The army is a show of power and there only if needed or attacked. We have no mind for war, but will simply be prepared for it. –William, if you have your doubts you do not have to come. All I ask is you do not divulge our plans to anyone.” I state.

William sits for a moment, silent in thought. “I just wanted you to know that no matter what, there will always be some form of fight. You know that, right?” William highlights.

“Yes.” I simply answer. “So—are you coming?” I ask.

William arches his mouth into the smallest of smiles. “Yes.” He answers, making me smile in turn.

The following morning, we said our farewells to the king and queen, William’s sister, the nobles of the court and some of the people who had come to wave us off. All of those who had come with me from Essos where there too, and none wished to come with us, they had all expressed their happiness for staying in King’s Landing continuing with the life they had all began. I was happy for them. I liked to think if I could bring them happiness, then perhaps I could do so for others that we now sailed for to help. I had even asked Doreah if she wished to come, as I knew she was quite taken with the court life and attention of the noblemen, but she insisted she wanted to come. Although, I suspected it was more for her love and curiosity of my dragons than the actual journey we were headed on, but I heeded no offence. They were magnificent creatures, they were my children, and even I was still in awe of them.

After saying our goodbyes and finally casting off, we were finally sailing away. I had been back in Westeros, back in King’s Landing, but a couple months at least and now I was sailing back to Essos. It was strange to think that Essos felt more of a home to me now, but the feeling of home still lingered in Westeros. I do not think that will ever fully go; it was my first home, where my family lived and was raised, where I was. But then I had become my own person and was raised into a woman in Essos. It was two halves of my life split and spent in different homes, each feeling like a home, but I couldn’t help but feel I had somehow outgrown Westeros and the court life I would have there. I knew I would come back one day; I had a feeling as such. I just didn’t know when or really what for. Only time would tell, but for now, we had a goal. I wondered where we would end up, how big we would become. Right now we were a small group of eight, along with what small amount of possessions we had, a few horses and, albeit, my dragons too, but they were still small and vulnerable for their age and size. However, still dragons, nonetheless. We had a long sail ahead to Qarth, who were expecting us, but we were unsure on the reception we would get once arrived. If they suddenly rejected us into their city, the whole plan would have to be rethought, but I had to keep faith. I had all this time and look where I was now. I had four dragons at my side. The plan would work, and if somehow it didn’t, we would make it work. I would. We had begun this journey of liberation, it was finally underway and I wasn’t going to let anything stop us now. I was the Mother of Dragons, and the people across Essos would soon come to learn that I was here for a reason and come to learn my name.

Chapter Text

After the week or so at sea, we finally arrived at Qarth, though there was not much to see, not yet at least. The so-called great and wealthy city was walled all around. Ships only sailed here for trade and those that were allowed to trade, ones with deals made with the Qarthian council. We were not here to trade, we were to be guests, or at least that is what we thought. So, when a collection of armed, soldier guards started to exit the gate that allowed traders entrance from the docks, we were a little surprised and curious as to why. We were a group of eight, and the dragons were in their cages, we were of no threat to them, but I supposed they did not know that for sure. The soldiers marched out, spears and shields in hand, forming a line ahead between us and the group of well-dressed men that started to appear behind them.

“I thought we were welcome?” I quietly converse to Jorah and William at my side.

“You proclaimed to be the Mother of Dragons- to have dragons. If you heard someone with dragons was coming to your city, you might at the very least do the same.” He reasons.

“They’re not exactly of a size to be much of a threat right now.” I retort as we watched the guards split into two for, no doubt, the council to walk through.

“No—but they don’t know that.” William points out. They made a valid point, and their invitation was a little unwelcoming in parts, I shouldn’t really be surprised but being here now and seeing the welcome with the guards just threw me a little.

Only one man of the council came through to stand in front of the guards, the rest staying behind.

“Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. We were surprised to receive your letter, we had heard all the Targaryen’s had been slaughtered many years ago, and yet here you stand with that, even for us, unmistakable silver hair.” The man addresses, and his bluntness hits a nerve just a little.

“I see my family’s reputation precedes me even here, my Lord.” I graciously reply.

“I am no Lord, merely a humble merchant.” The man corrects and after his bluntness and general passive aggressive tone, I feel no need to apologise or reply to his remark, instead waiting for him to continue. “So, you called yourself the Mother of Dragons.” He states, referencing my letter. “And what should I call you?” I reply quickly.

“Oh, my name is quite long, and quite impossible for foreigners to pronounce. I am simply a trader of spices.” The trader introduces, nearly rolling his eyes as he started, again making me not care for his general tone and attitude. “But we are The Thirteen, charged with the governance and protection of Qarth. The greatest city that ever was or will be.” The spice trader continues, gesturing to the rest of the council behind him.

“The beauty and wealth of Qarth is quite legendary. We are quite eager and grateful to see the beauty of your great city.” I praise, trying to keep our welcome a positive one, so we would actually enter the gates.

The spice trader merely mumbles a noise in agreement. “Might we see the dragons?” The spice trader questions, straight to the point. I glanced back at the cages strapped to my Vizhadi and Jorah’s horse that kept my children in, before looking back at the spice trader. If I showed them the dragon’s now, there was a risk of not being let in. I wanted to be inside the city first before I did.

“My—friend, we have travelled quite far, we have used all our provisions on our long journey here. Once I see my fellow travellers- my friends- inside, fed and given some water, I would be honoured to show you my—,” I begin to bargain. “Forgive me—Mother of Dragons, but no man alive has seen a living dragon. Some of my more sceptical friends refuse to believe that your- children- even exist. All we ask is the chance to see for ourselves.” The spice trader interrupts, beginning his own bargain before I could finish my own. This man was really starting to hit my nerve.

“I am not a liar.” I state, trying to hide my own annoyance.

“Oh, I don’t think you are, but as I have never met you before my opinion on the matter is of limited value.” The spice trader pokes.

“Where I come from, guests are treated with respect, not insulted at the gates.” I poke back, my annoyance now starting to come through regardless.

“Then perhaps you should return to where you come from or begin your travels elsewhere. We wish you well.” The spice trader says before turning and starting to walk back to the rest of the councilmen.

“You promised to receive me.” I call, angry that at the very start of this journey we were being denied entry at the very first step, by a man with no respect.

The man turns back to face us. “We have received you. Here we are, and here you are.” The spice trader retorts, gesturing between us all.

“We do not have enough provisions, next to none, to sail anywhere close by. If you send us away, we will not fare well.” I retaliate, still angry but trying to keep my head

“Which we will deeply regret, but Qarth did not become the greatest city that ever was or will be by just letting anyone through its gates, especially a group with Dothraki savages.” The spice trader counters, raising his eyebrows at me before turning back and starting to walk with his councilmen back to the gates. His insults at my friends make my blood boil.

“Khaleesi, we can go back to the ship and figure this out. We can make what we have left last.” Jorah reasons, but my anger and pride wouldn’t let me just turn and leave.

I took some strides towards the soldiers, who all in unison held their spears out in response. “Thirteen.” I call out, making them all stop and look back. “I have been wronged by many in my time so far, and when my dragons are grown I intend to destroy those who have done so. Turn us away, and we will come and destroy you first.” I threaten in anger.

The spice trader steps forward a few steps as he begins to address me again in response. “Ah, yes, perhaps—but as you only said but a moment ago, if we don’t let you into the city, you will all not fare well, and I can only assume what that truly means. And so—,” The spice trader begins, seeing through my empty threat, but is then interrupted by one of his own council members who steps forward.

“Retreating from a girl, is unbecoming of the greatest city that ever was or will be.” The large man interjects as he addresses the spice trader.

“The discussion is over, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, the Thirteen have spoken.” The spice trader asserts.

“But I am one of the Thirteen, and I am still speaking.” Xaro, as the spice trader called him, retorts.

“The girl threatens to destroy us and you would invite her in for a cup of wine?” The spice trader ridicules as he glances from me back to Xaro.

“Need I remind you this girl is a princess of Westeros, but more importantly, she is the Mother of Dragons. Do you expect her to watch her friends probably starve, without breathing some fire? –I believe we can allow her and her group of people, or Dothraki savages as you said, in through our gates without dooming our city. –After all, here I am, a savage from the Summer Isles and Qarth still stands.” Xaro argues calm and coolly.

“Our decision is final.” The spice trader states as he looks at the rest of the Thirteen, with most of them nodding at him as he spoke.

“Very well—I invoke sumai.” Xaro states before unsheathing his dagger from his belt suddenly. I glanced between Jorah and William, all of us a little unsure of what to make of the display before us. “I will vouch for her, her people, and her dragons, in accordance with the law.” Xaro announces as he runs his closed palm down the blade, to then open it and show his bloodied palm from the slice of the blade to the rest of the Thirteen, who then nodded their acknowledgement. Clearly, he had just sworn some Qarthian blood oath, vouching for our stay. I was surprised but pleased my spit of anger just invoked this display.

“Be it on your head.” The spice trader exclaims before striding back to stand with the rest of the Thirteen.

“Welcome to Qarth, my lady.” Xaro welcomes, gesturing to the gates that were now opening as the guards and the Thirteen stood aside.

I looked back at my riders with Irri and Doreah, who nodded slightly, before looking at Jorah and William, who did the same. Looking back, we could now see into the city and even from here, it looked as rich as they boasted. Walking past the guards and the Thirteen, Xaro Xhoan Daxos walked alongside us as we entered the so-called greatest city that ever was or will be that was Qarth. And so, our journey finally and truly began.

“Dracarys.” I gently say to Drogon on the stone balcony edge. The Valyrian word meaning dragonfire. My instruction for them all to use their flames so they would know to cook their food. The little dragon soon spews his little flames and cooks the little bit of meat I had laid before him, just as I had done with the other three just before. I liked to feed them separately to avoid the spats and fights over the food. Doreah and I smiled as Drogon cooked the meat, giggled a little, both of us always pleased that my little dragons could understand and breathe their small flames so well now. After entering the city, Xaro had given us a small tour and speech about Qarth, before taking us and my friends to some accommodation. He spoke of a welcoming festivity, a small gather of wine and chatter, something as a welcome like he said but also an apology on behalf of the spice trader’s first welcome. The man Xaro seemed quite the noble and kind man and Qarth seemed quite the city, much as we had expected from what we had heard. It did look rich, and so did the Thirteen. Now we were in the city, we could assess how to go about our affairs and accumulate some riches ourselves.

“They’ll all be able to feed themselves soon, I’m sure.” I gleam as the two of us watched Drogon chew his meat. I stand and begin to walk over to Irri by my bed, who had been fiddling with my things none stop since we arrived. She always liked something to do, even when I told her she did not have to. She had to keep her hands busy, but that I admired and understood. Doreah was more concerned with the dragons or the attentions of the noblemen than anything else, but still, both of them so different but both of them dear friends.

I watched as Doreah went to reach over to grab another little piece of meat to feed Drogon. “Let him sleep, Doreah.” I softly dismiss and she retracts her arm. “Yes, Khaleesi.” She replies, still calling me Khaleesi, as all of them did. Jorah still too, as he had continued in Westeros between us. It was a title that hadn’t seemed to fade and I wondered, to them at least, if it ever would.

I then watched as Doreah delicately held out her hand for Drogon, and he crawled onto it for her to out him back in his cage. “He loves you.” I smile, giving her the compliment I knew she’d like, but it was true. All of them took a liking to Doreah, and I supposed it was probably because she took a liking in them. As Doreah put Drogon back with the others in their caged across the room, I stood next to Irri, looking over my possessions laid on the bed. I didn’t have much. My swords and dagger, my brooch, my Dothraki clothes, my Westerosi clothes and now instead of my eggs, my children. My life in a small group of things as it seemed.

“Anha rakshi jinak saccheya ki rayan. Ma anha arriss vemish she jinak ato.”
(“I rewove this part of the top. And I fixed the heel on this one.”) Irri states happily, holding up and showing her days work as we settled in Qarth. She had taken it upon herself to breathe some life back into my Dothraki clothes, telling me she thought it best to keep the memories alive, a momentum of a part of my life she believed. And I was pleased at the gesture. It was also why she would continue to speak mostly in Dothraki.

“Thank you, my friend.” I genuinely thank with a smile and soft nudge, gaining a happy smile back from Irri as I looked over her work with gratitude and she continued to finish her work on the heel on my boot.

“Did you see the dress Xaro had made for you?” Doreah calls as she comes over to the bed, picking the blue dress up off it, displaying it in her hands. It was made of a fine silk with gold chains and shoulders. A slightly seductive gift and the gesture stirred a slight memory in me. “They say he is the wealthiest man in Qarth.” Doreah adds.

“It is known.” Irri agrees.

“The last time a rich man in Essos gave me a pretty dress he was selling me to Khal Drogo.” I point out with still slight grief but still hinting the point, suggesting not to trust the gesture outright. I had gained love from that transaction but in no way did Magister Illyrio do it in kindness for me, it was in payment for his own gain.

“Mi anna dothrakh hanesh vi cala ramasari.”
(“May he ride forever through the night lands.”) Irri responds respectively. I smile smally and gratefully once again at my friend, before I turn back to Doreah.

“Xaro has spoke much about Qarth. He is our host, but we know nothing about him—other men like to talk about other men, when they’re happy.” I point out, smirking ever so slightly as Doreah does back, both of knowing I was repeating the words Doreah had once spoke to me back in Vaes Dothrak. Doreah nods her head a little in understanding at my comment, for she knew that I knew she enjoyed the company of the noblemen. If in her pleasures she could find anything out about Xaro, then she benefits more than herself and the man, or men, in her bed.

“You would look as ravishing as you did the night of the ball in that blue gown with this blue dress on. Blue is your colour and all eyes will certainly be on you.” Doreah suggestively smirks.

“I’m not sure I want all eyes on me, but I don’t think I’ll have a choice in the matter. Blue dress or not.” I retort in thinking.

“You should wear it, Khaleesi. You are their guest, it would be rude not to.” Irri points out with a smile.

“Yes, I suppose so.” I agree. “Help yourselves to any of my dresses, if none of your own take a fancy to you tonight.” I add, gaining a large grin from Doreah and respectful nod from Irri before I take the dress from Doreah, admiring the ravishing blue and gold design.

As it had turned out, Xaro had clearly wanted me to stand out amongst the rest at the welcoming festivity. Some women wore a similarly designed dress but in differing colours, mainly a subtle green and orange but I appeared to be the only one in a bright turquoise blue. It was a calm and collected gathering but in a rich and exotic looking Qarthian garden, merely only drinking and chatting occurred as Xaro had said, which I was more than pleased about. I had no mind for dancing, but chit chat and some small talk I could handle and occasionally enjoy.

“And you must visit the night market. The Qarthian night market is like no night market you have ever seen.” A woman glamours as we engrossed in a conversation about Qarthian culture, and as the woman spoke I noticed in the near distance, Doreah showing affections as she engaged in conversation with a Qarthian nobleman. I sent her a sly little smirk, and she did the same as she glanced at me. I wondered for a moment what she might find out, until the woman’s boastful remark finished and I needed to answer.

“It sounds wonderful.” I praise with a smile but then my eyes wonder again across the other shoulder of the woman as she began to talk again. “The Mereenise have a night market too, I shall take you there myself.” She offers and again I smile at her boastful kindness. “Please excuse me for a moment.” I gleam, before walking off towards Jorah and William standing with Aggo and Kavarro around a jewelled, golden statue of some kind of exotic bird. The four looked as if they were up to something and I didn’t like the look of it. Aggo and Kavarro looked conspicuous, Jorah looked amused, and William just looked confused. I made my way over in most haste.

“What is going on?” I question between us.

“Aggo says the statue is too heavy to carry.” Jorah announces, and Aggo nods his agreement. “Kavarro says that Aggo is an idiot. They can pry out the gems, the rest is pure gold. Very soft. He can chop off as much as we can carry.” Jorah continues, Kovarro nodding this time, earning a slight scoff of amusement from William, probably only finally understanding what was happening.

“Che ivvisas anna. Sekke dis.”
(Or melt it. Very simple.”) Kovarro adds.

“Kisha re mae guests. Yeri lazvo vefenaras anna che tavat anna che ivvisas anna.”
(We are his guests. You cannot pry it or chop it or melt it.”) I exclaim, though still quiet enough to keep it between us.

“Ki venriki vo, Khaleesi. Kisha kan ayos kash kisha esemrasas.”
(Of course not, Khaleesi. We will wait until we leave.”) Kovarro affirms.

“Vo akka kash kisha esemrasas.”
(“Not even when we leave.”) I correct.

“Kirekhdirgi vo?”
(“Why not?”) Kovarro asks.

“Kisha jad gwe annakhos mosni zinman ma zizhanmi vo vi makkan ki zifichelasosi. Kasha nik vo zifichelaso ha kishi idrik fin tos venli vijazerosi kishna ha qisi hadaenishi. Anha nik charas vos alikh.”
(“We came here to obtain wealth and gold not through means of stealing. We will not steal from our host who most likely saved us from near starvation. I will hear no more.”) I state, earning a nod from them both before they begin to walk away. As Jorah and William come to stand by me, I watch as Aggo and Kovarro walk away, watching as Kovarro takes a cup of wine from a server as she passes, instantly discarding the wine to the floor and scanning the golden cup. I silently roll my eyes as I turn to Jorah and William.

“You know, I think I remember Magister Illyrio saying to us that one of the few things Dothraki knew how to do was steal things better men have built.” I point out from memory, joining the connection from then to now, with a slight smirk at their blunt but always slightly amusing attitudes.

“That’s not the only thing. They’re quite good at killing better men.” Jorah adds with a slight smirk also.

“Well, let’s hope it never comes to that shall we.” William adds.

“Indeed.” I agree, looking to him. “At least not yet.” I poke, looking back to Jorah, knowing all to well that it was an inevitability. Maybe not here in Qarth but at some point, no doubt when opposition would need to be met with some kind of force.

“Mother of Dragons.” A voice calls from behind before William could even speak again, making all three of us turn to meet it. An older man stood in front, a peculiar looking man, with a bald head, sunken eyes and purple-blue tinted lips. He was quite the ghoul. “On behalf of the warlocks of Qarth, I welcome you.” The man greets and bows, who I did recognise as one of the Thirteen who had stood amongst the others at the gate. The ghoulish look of the man put me at some unease and so I smiled politely at his welcome and nodded my head in thanks.

“A demonstration?” he suddenly coaxes, holding his hand out between us for me to take. Slightly hesitating, I place my hand in his and almost instantly he places something in mine from his other hand. “Take this gem—look at it—into it’s depths.” He begins, pushing my hand, still above his own, up closer to my face for me to look into, although I saw nothing, just a pretty gem. “—So many facets. –Look closely enough and you can see yourself in them.” he continues as I look into the gem and others around watch. “Often more than once.” Another voice, but the same voice, then calls and looking up I see the man looking behind at exactly himself who had just spoken as others glamour in shock and awe. His identical self was stood just up ahead, as if he was practising some illusion. I looked back to the man in front, as he looked back to me, with curiosity and, once again, slight unease.

“Should you grow tired of Xaro baubles and trinkets, it would be an honour to host you at the House of the Undying. You are always welcome, Mother of Dragons.” The man states before walking off, and the second identical man vanishes as he also walks off, and I am left feeling confused and uneasily curious as others around us clap.

“My apologies—,” Xaro suddenly calls from behind, now directing our attentions towards him as he finally announces himself. “Pyat Pree is one of the Thirteen, it was customary for me to extend him an invitation. –Customs die slow deaths in Qarth.” He finishes, glancing between the three of us, but his attentions were clearly staked on me, even I could tell. Xaro’s eyes bore into mine, a little more than I cared for.

“What is the House of the Undying?” I ask.

“It is where the warlocks go to squint at dusty books and drink shade of the evening- it turns their lips blue and their minds soft. So soft, they actually believe their parlour tricks are magic.” Xaro mocks, chuckling to himself at the end as he reaches his hand around to my back, lightly encouraging me to walk with him. I chuckle with him at his mockery, making me feel a little better about the encounter with this Pyat Pree as we walk towards another couple amongst the garden. I glance back at William and Jorah, both watching with intent and protective eyes as we walked away and I give them the slightest of reassuring nods before engaging myself back with Xaro and others.

-

“You both watch over her.” A woman’s voice sounds behind William and Jorah. They both look behind to seek the woman who spoke and are met curiously by a masked woman. The two glance at each other, unsure, as they look back at this mysterious woman.

“Do we know you?” William questions.

“I know both of you. William Baratheon of King’s Landing, formerly of the Stormlands. And Jorah Mormont of Bear Island.” The masked woman identifies, making both the men stand their guard.

“Who are you?” Jorah asks.

“Oh, no one.” The woman answers as she steps forward to them both and looks over to Daenerys as she smiles and converses with Xaro and other guests. “But she is the Mother of Dragons. She needs true protectors, now more than ever.” The woman continues as they all look between Daenerys and each other. “They shall come day and night to see the wonder born into the world again and when they see they shall lust—for dragons are fire made flesh and fire his power.” The woman finishes before stepping back and slipping away through the garden. Jorah and William look between each other, a little unsure of what to make of the mysterious encounter.

“This place just keeps on getting peculiar and peculiar.” William points out as they look back to Daenerys as Jorah thinks on what the woman said, only to see that Daenerys was no longer where she stood, she too had slipped away with Xaro.

-

“So, tell me, how long have your manservant’s been in love with you?” Xaro asks and mocks even without a change of tone in his voice.

I scoff at the ridiculous idea. “They are not my man servant’s and they are not in love with me. They are my advisers, my friends.” I correct. I could maybe understand him thinking so of William, we were similar ages and perhaps he could harbour some sort of feeling, and perhaps I did too, but not enough for such things to be called love. And Jorah was a ridiculous notion, I was sure Xaro was just joking as he changed the conversation whilst we walked through this manse.

“Unlikely—I can almost always tell what a man wants.” Xaro boasts.

“And what about what a woman wants?” I poke.

“Much more complicated. –You, for example—what do you want?” Xaro questions.

I thought about my answer for a second before speaking. “I want to see the things I haven’t seen, learn the things I do not know, help those who cannot help themselves. But my family is gone, and my wealth with it. I cannot do these things without it.” I proclaim, trying to appear to be giving away my game but still being vague.

“Why?” Xaro queries simply.

Again, I found myself thinking quickly for an answer. “Because life is too short. And cruel.” I reply.

“And?” Xaro urges.

I sigh and I decide that Xaro seemed to be trustworthy so far and so I relinquish some of my ambition in trust. “Life is too short and cruel—especially for those in chains. I told you, I want to help those who can’t help themselves.” I answer.

“Hm, so you want to change regime? You want to change the world?” Xaro admires.

“I want to help those who want it. I want to give them their freedom; their choice and lives back.” I proclaim.

“Ah, so—a conqueror.” Xaro states. I saw it as more a liberator, but I suppose to a man of possibly the opposing side, it would look that way.

“And how did you get all of this, did someone give it to you?” I poke, trying to begin a point of view he would understand.

“No, I come from nothing. I hit the docks like a piece of cargo, except someone normally cares what happens to cargo.” Xaro explains.

“So, you wanted more than you had and you took it. That makes you a conqueror too- you’re just—less ambitious.” I smirk a little, making Xaro then chuckle.

“What do you want, Xaro Xhoan Daxos?” I question. “At the gates of the city you bled for me—why?” I ask.

Xaro lifts up his hand for me to take. “I will show you why.” He declares and I take his hand for him to lead me to the answer.

When we reached our destination, we stood in front of a large circular door, looking much like a vault of some kind. I wondered what exactly is in it, and why this was the answer to my question. Xaro then drew his sword and took a couple steps closer to the large door, before he then suddenly strikes the blade at it, causing a loud clang and small sparks of metal meeting metal flare.

“The door and vault is made of Valyrian stone. The hardest steel does not make a mark.” Xaro states as he clangs his sword a couple more times while he speaks before taking a step back as I then take a step forward to admire the door closer. “I offered the greatest locksmiths in Qarth their weight in gold if they could break into it. I made the same offer to the greatest thieves—they all went home empty handed. The only thing that can open this door, is this key.” Xaro explains, and I look back to see him holding the large pendant that he wore around his neck that laid against his large chest.

“And behind the door?” I query.

Xaro smiles, then lightly chuckles, as he lays his pendant key back against his chest, not answering.

“And I suppose some kind of offer is coming, otherwise why bring me here to gloat at your magnificent vault of- riches, I’m assuming.” I state. “I guess, you will say it can all be mine.” I hypothesise.

“Oh, let us say half.” Xaro retorts. “More than enough to buy armies, horses, ships. No doubt the things you will seek to buy with whatever wealth you seek.” He himself hypothesises.

It was an offer that we exactly needed, that I needed. That would send us to Astapor with wealth in hand, but it would not be so easy. “And all I have to do?” I ask, waiting for the clause.

“Is marry me.” Xaro simply and surprisingly declares.

I scoff in amusement and surprise. “That was a romantic proposal.” I poke.

“I’ve already married once for love, but the gods stole her from me.” Xaro begins. “I come from nothing, my mother and father never earned a pair of shoes—but marry me and I will give you everything you desire. Armies, horses, ships, wealth. I will help you change the world. And our children will be princes and princesses.” He continues. The offer took me completely off guard, and I was completely sure I would not take it but the more he spoke the more I came to think we could work with it. “See—I have more ambition than you thought.” Xaro adds as I look at him admirably, silently praising his courage and hoist of ambition as he said. Being married for strategy, the others would not like it, they would tell me instantly not to do it, but it could work in our favour. We could make it work to our favour. And if no other option presented itself, then perhaps I would have to take it, if what they said about Xaro being the wealthiest man in Qarth was true. This was a proposal I would have to think on and consult with Jorah the most about.

“How can you even think of marrying this man, we have been in Qarth but a day, Daenerys. And you fought my father on not doing exactly what you are now proposing.” William argues, after I had told him and Jorah about Xaro’s offer in my chambers alone with just the two of them, following the evening festivities.

“If I had married back in Westeros we wouldn’t even be here, and I wouldn’t even have the place to consider his proposal in regards to obtaining some wealth.” I retort.

“And so, according to your new friend, the only way you will even obtain wealth is through him, through marrying him. Khaleesi, please, see some sense in this.” Jorah pokes.

“Xaro has proven himself trustworthy so far. He vouched for us when he didn’t have to, bled for us, he had sheltered and treated us well.” I counter.

“Xaro, the man who earned your trust by cutting his hand?” Jorah pokes and I glare. “Rich men do not become rich by giving more than they get. They’ll give you ships and soldiers and they’ll own you forever. You’ll be his slave, you don’t want that Khaleesi.” Jorah continues. “You are also a princess, and he no doubt wants claim to your title for his own sake. Do not let him have it.” Jorah finishes.

“Listen to him, Daenerys. This is a foolish idea.” William backs.

I look between the both of them. I knew I would face opposition from them on this, but I did not expect to be spoken to as they had. I felt patronised at the moment I conveyed Xaro’s offer, more so from Jorah which vexed me greatly.

“William, leave us for a moment, would you.” I aks sternly, though it came more as an order. I watch as William looks to Jorah who says nothing, and he then turns to leave my chamber. I wait until William has left the room before resuming to speak but Jorah beats me to it as the door closes.

“I know this opportunity before you seems like the best one you’ll have, but this is because it is the first one you have had—,” Jorah starts, but I cut off his ending.

“Do not speak to me like I am a child.” I burst, showing my annoyance, rendering him quiet as I glare.

“I only want—,” Jorah begins softer. “What do you want? Tell me.” I interrupt, still vexed.

“To see you live out your days, happy. To see you conquer your dreams. But—I have always wanted to see you back home, claiming your birth right. To see you on the Iron Throne.” Jorah states.

“The Iron Throne?” I repeat in surprise. “Why?” I query. He knew I had no wish to sit upon it, not one bit. So why did he wish it so?

“I have got to watch you grow into a magnificent woman. That throne—by right it is yours. You have your title, your birth right. You are the last Targaryen. –But you have something more than that—and you may try to cover it up and deny it whenever it is said, but you have a gentle heart. –You would not only be respected, you would be adored, loved. Someone who can rule and should rule. Centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world. –There are times, even after all these years, that I look at you and I still can’t believe that you are real.” Jorah declares, and his words had me at shock as he spoke but his last remark took my last bit of breathe away in surprise. I looked away from Jorah as we both stared for a moment, both holding onto the heavy gravity of his last remark. I suddenly felt that perhaps what Xaro had said may have some truth to it. Perhaps a part of Jorah did love me, in a way different than I imagined. But this was not the time nor place for this matter.

“Where has this come from? You know I do not seek the throne.” I question.

“Since being back in Westeros, seeing you back in the Keep, but also amongst the Dothraki, you were still true to yourself. The people love you in Westeros. You’re a princess now, but you could be their queen.” Jorah proclaims.

“You said centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world, one to rule that is. –What of my father, my mother? They were respected, loved- they were great rulers. How am I any different?” I point out, a little annoyed still.

“Aye, they were. But you have a power in you, a will- a strong will. You’re a person that will bring about change, and for the better. You’ll make the world a better place. I mean, look at you now—you’re not on any throne and you are still trying. –And even contemplating a marriage to ensure it.” Jorah explains.

I sigh. “So what would you have me do, as my adviser?” I ask, adding the title at the end in a lingering annoyance, but to also calm whatever it was that led Jorah to his surprising remark.

There is small pause before he answers, and I wonder if calling him my adviser in this manner, after his remark, if it has hurt him smally in any way. Either way, making me feel instantly ever so slightly guilty. “Make your own way. Find what you want yourself. It’s what we set out to do when we arrived here. –Perhaps wait out to see if any other opportunities arise, then take whatever course of action you so desire, Khaleesi.” Jorah suggests softly and then bows his head before taking his exit from my chambers. Watching him leave after the conversation, I still felt annoyance lingering but I also felt guilt. I loved Jorah more than anyone, trusted him more than anyone, I hated when we had heated discussions as such. But it would always come from a place of love, protection, advice, so I told myself to listen to him. I would seek any other opportunities to come into some riches, before so quickly plunging into such a big arrangement. Xaro would have to wait a while for his answer.

And so, after his proposal, I had taken a couple days to seek audiences with the other council members of the Thirteen, who each called themselves Kings interestingly, kings of a certain trade or something or other within the city. I figured with what I divulged to Xaro and the proposal I got in return, I could speak of with the rest of the Thirteen to see what they would say, or offer. Over the couple days, I was granted audiences with most of the Thirteen, and met with most of them. It proved difficult as they were quite unenthused to have an audience and it took some time to press the matter, and those who I met with I was just met with weak offers or just disrespectful jests. The couple days only made my annoyance grow and my thoughts on taking up Xaro’s more likely.

“Why does he make me wait so long?” I ask in annoyance as I paced around waiting for the Spice King, accompanied by Xaro. He of them all had been the most difficult to obtain an audience and now he was making me wait even longer.

“The Spice King is the second wealthiest man in Qarth, he makes everyone wait. –Of course, you could have avoided this embarrassment if you married the wealthiest man in Qarth.” Xaro pokes.

I glance at Xaro, deciding to answer in a manner that didn’t give away that I should be becoming more and more likely to take up his offer. “I already have a husband.” I defend.

“This Khal Drogo, your husband, is gone, Daenerys. You are far too young to be a widow forever—and far too beautiful.” Xaro states, which surprises me a little as I had not told him of Drogo, so he too had clearly done some digging of his own.

“And you are far too smart to think that I will succumb to flattery.” I retort.

“I have travelled very far in my life, met many women- none that are immune to flattery.” Xaro counters.

“The Mother of Dragons!” The Spice King suddenly calls down loudly from the top of his large staircase, stopping me from replying to Xaro. “Ah, here he comes.” Xaro says.

“Forgive me, I had terrible dreams last night. Terrible dreams! I could not sleep until the sun was shining and the birds were singing.” The Spice King babbles, not taming my annoyance at all for I knew he spoke with dishonesty and jest. He just wanted to make me wait. “Look what a beauty you are in Qarthian garments. Much better than what you walked through our gates in.” He complements, though backhandedly. “I am sorry about all that unpleasantness.” He adds before he begins descending his stairs to us and looks to Xaro. “Xaro Xhoan Daxos, she is far too lovely for a glorified dockworker like yourself.” He teases as he comes to stand closer to us, though still stands on the stairs, keeping himself higher than us.

“Very true. And yet they say that your grandfather, who sold pepper off the back of a wagon, married a lady far lovelier and higher born than himself.” Xaro counters.

“Every lady alive was lovelier and higher born than my grandfather.” The Spice King jokes, chuckling to himself and making those who stood on his stairs with him chuckle lightly too.

I clear my throat, my patience wearing. “Did my servants not offer you something to eat? To drink? I’ll have them flogged in the square.” The Spice King exclaims.

“Thank you, my Lord, you are a gracious host, but there is no need for such extreme unpleasantries. I do not want your food or drink, what I want your servants cannot bring me.” I sternly state. His remark being yet another reason for why I was on this journey.

“Oh, she has a talent for drama, this one.” The Spice King pokes, looking towards Xaro. “So, my little princess, what is it you want?” He asks, directing his attention back to me.

“I want to build a better world. I want to help those in chains because they can’t help themselves. I want to be that person for them: they’re liberator.” I declare.

“Well, I fear I am no better than those you speak of in that regard. I cannot give you what I do not have or have power over.” The Spice King concedes.

“I’m not asking you for change across the world, I’m asking for material aid in doing so. I cannot bring around change without power, and without wealth I have no power.” I explain.

“Well, Mother of Dragons, you are talking about changing a regime in which I, and all of Qarth, has. We need our servants, we use them; they have great purpose. And I need them to help with my leisure and spice trade. Why would I grant you aid in abolishing a practise we use and do not wish to see abolished?” The Spice King challenges.

“Whatever you grant me now will be repaid, twice over. And I will leave Qarth to it’s ways.” I assure, though it was a lie. Of course, the honour of repayment I would keep to my word, but I could never in good conscience leave one place with slavery still in tact if in the hopes I had freed all others.

“Okay, let me explain my position, little princess- unlike you I do have exalted ancestors, I make my living through trade and I judge every trade on it’s merits. You ask for aid in wealth, you say I shall be repaid double. I do not doubt your honesty or intentions, but before you pay your debts you must first accomplish your seemingly impossible task, one I have no care in aiding I may also add.” The Spice King patronises. “Do you have an army?” he asks.

“Not yet, I—,” I begin. “You do not have an army? Do you at least have any powerful allies that share you same ambition or goal that may help you?” The Spice King interjects and continues.

“If I did, do you think I would be standing before you, my Lord.” I retort, trying to remain cordial but my sternness still seeps out a little.

“Ah, well, it appears your prospects are not too favourable. You speak of changing the world for the better, when most of it would already see it that way. Forgive me, little princess, but I cannot make an investment based on wishes and dreams. Now, if you’ll pardon me.” The Spice King states, turning back on his stairs to ascend them.

“Do you know Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of Pentos?” I quickly question, making the man turn back.

“Yes, we’ve met. A shrewd man.” The Spice King recalls.

“For my wedding gift, he gave me four petrified dragon eggs. He believed, the world believed, that the ages had turned them to stone. How many centuries had it been since dragons roamed the skies? But I dreamt that if I held those eggs in a great fire they would hatch. When I first stepped into fire, my people thought I was mad, but when the fire burnt out, I was unhurt. When I stepped into flames a second time, I again was unburnt, and I was the Mother of Dragons.” I passionately explain, to which the Spice King smirks at me, though I couldn’t figure if he was impressed or relishing in the thought of just rejecting me still. “Do you understand? I’m no ordinary woman—my dreams come true.” I add.

“I admire your passion—but in business I trust in logic, not passion. I’m sorry, little princess.” The Spice King rejects once more, and begins his ascension up his stairs.

“I am not your little princess. I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, of the blood of old Valyria and I will achieve what I have set out to do! I will!” I exclaim annoyed, feeling played and patronised by this man and feeling this way by him since stepping foot in Qarth.

“Yes, my lady, but not with any aid from me.” The Spice King calls down, without even looking my way as he continues ascending his stairs, with his company of people with him. Upon his last word, I turn and stride out with annoyance, Kavarro keeping up at my side, having stayed with me today as Aggo had the day prior. The others were spending their time amongst the city while I made my pleas to the Thirteen and Irri stayed with my dragons in my chambers. Which was just as well, I was in no mood to hear opinions from Jorah or William after the couple days I’d just had.

“So, none of the Thirteen I have met with wish to aid me in any way. I have had rejection after rejection, or just disrespect after disrespect. The Spice King refuses me because I’m a bad investment. The Silk King won’t support me because of his business with the Lannister’s, why offend his best customer? The only one who offered anything was the Copper King, but only a single ship for my travels, of which I already possess, but on the condition that I lie with him for a night. Does he think I will whore myself for a boat?” I scorn, as I walked with Xaro and Kavarro behind us back to my chambers.

“When I came to this city, I had nothing. Truly, nothing. I slept by the docks. And when I could find work loading the ships, I would eat. If not, I dreamed of food. Today, I am the richest man in Qarth. –Do you think the path from poverty to wealth is always pure and honourable? I have done many things, Daenerys, that a righteous man would condemn. And here I am, with no regrets.” Xaro explains. “And the Copper King isn’t the only to make you an offer—you forget my own.” He adds as we stand before my chamber’s courtyard gate, but I say nothing, too much in thought and in still lingering annoyance as Xaro then opens the gate.

But then as I step inside, something to my side catches my eye. Turning to look, I see one of the Qarthian guards dead, his throat slit, on the ground, looking around I see the other exactly the same in the middle of the small courtyard. My panic immediately sets in. Irri and my dragons! I spring into a run quickly headed for my chamber.

“Bar the gates! Ring the bells!” I hear Xaro call out of the courtyard as I run, hearing Kavarro running behind me. “Slowly, Daenerys!” I hear Xaro call after me.

Running up the stairs, I turn at the top and come into full view of my chamber. Irri was laid on the floor, motionless, though there was no blood. “Irri?!” I mutter. She appeared dead and then I noticed my dragon’s cages were all open and they were missing. In that moment, I had never felt such blind panic. “Where are they?” I say before striding over to Irri. Kneeling by her side, I hold her up in my arms and looking her over I see her throat was bruised. She had been strangled. So much had happened in the last thirty seconds I didn’t know how to process anything. I was infuriated, distraught, shocked, panicked, grieving. Qarth had brought me nothing but misery so far and this was its climax. I could feel grieved and angered tears forming in my eyes as Kovarro stood watching, unsure of himself on what to do. Then Xaro came rushing up and stood looking at the scene in shock.

“Where are my dragons!!” I shout.

Chapter Text

After finding my dragons missing, Xaro had insisted they would get to the bottom of this, that we would get an audience with the entirety of the Thirteen to solve the matter. That we would find them. The bodies were removed, though I said we would tend to Irri’s body. Rakharo had come up soon after Xaro. He’d heard the bells and come running. Seeing Irri’s body he had been distraught, much like myself. They were happy together, loved each other, and now she had been brutally taken away by some thieving coward. He had said he had been in here with her most of the day with Doreah and saw nothing, he left to get some food for them and then heard the bells on his way back. What monster would kill a sweet, vulnerable woman as our Irri? And what had happened to Doreah? Had they taken her hostage too with my dragons? I only wished I had been here to do something, to stop them. To stop my dragons being taken, Doreah, and to stop Irri’s death. All we could do now was burn her body, like all the others, so she could ride off into the night lands in peace. Rakharo had insisted on taking care of it himself, that he wanted to. I think a part of him felt guilty for not being there at that time. So, now, I waited. I waited for Xaro to do his inquiries with the Thirteen so we could find my dragons and I waited for Rakharo to tell me when it was time and we could send Irri off to peace.

As I paced for some time in my chambers, I heard rushed footsteps coming up the stairs and was faced with Jorah and William suddenly appearing. “Daenerys?” William’s voice calls as they appear. “Are you alright? We came as soon as we heard.” Jorah states solemnly and I nod smally.

“Do you know anything?” William asks and I shake my head.

“Irri is dead.” I announce regretfully, tears still in my eyes.

“I know. –She was a good w—,” Jorah begins. “She’s dead. –She died alone, she died because of me, and I couldn’t protect her.” I state.

“It is not your fault, Daenerys.” William comforts.

“Then whose?” I sadly snap.

“The cowards who murdered her.” Jorah corrects, and I just look to him before the floor in grief.

“Doreah?” William queries.

I sniffle as I look back up. “She has not been found. She must be dead too. I’ve led you all into a slaughterhouse.” I declare.

Jorah sighs. “We should not have come here. These people cannot be trusted.” He regrets.

“These people?” I repeat.

“Yes, they are not to be trusted, Khaleesi.” Jorah affirms.

“Then who is to be trusted? If the answer is only the people in this room, then how will we ever make allies?” I question.

“You do not need allies for this. This is not a war, Daenerys.” William points out.

“You need only build what you already have. Let us help you. No one can survive in this world without help. No one.” Jorah backs.

“And yet you say we do not need allies.” I retort.

“You only need us, Khaleesi. Trust only us.” Jorah states.

“Just tell us how, Daenerys.” William adds. I could see they both had concern and pity in their eyes, but determination also.

“Find my dragons.” I declare, and at my words Jorah nods and they both turn to leave.

-

“You make your inquiries and searches. I will make my own.” Jorah says to William as they approach the gate.

“Where will you start?” William asks.

“I have an idea.” Jorah vaguely informs before he splits from William.

-

Soon after Jorah and William had left in search, Xaro had returned announcing at my chambers entrance that the Thirteen had been gathered at his demand and were waiting in another part of his manse.

“I have demanded a meeting of the Thirteen. They wait for us, Daenerys. One of them did this or know who did.” Xaro states.

“You are one of the Thirteen.” I suspiciously point out as I stand before him, Kavarro behind me, insisting on never leaving my side as the others search.

“If I wanted your dragons, I would have taken them. They mean nothing to me on their own.” Xaro defends.

“Nothing?! They’re more valuable than anything in the world.” I retort.

“Shall we look inside my vault, and see what selling your dragons would buy me I cannot buy already. –We will get them back.” Xaro assures.

“There is no we. So why would you help me get them back?” I scornfully question. After everything that had happened here, I now wanted nothing to do with any of the people here, even Xaro.

“I took you under my protection in front of the rulers of my city. A man is what others say he is and no more. If they say Xaro Xhoan Daxos is a liar, my word is worth nothing. I cannot let this thing happen to you under my roof.” Xaro decrees.

“But it did happen under your roof.” I counter with disdain.

“Daenerys, many times in my life I have—,” Xaro begins. “I don’t care where you’ve been.” I exclaim as I step forward to move past him, growing tired of his travelled lessons. I did not care for them any longer, all I cared for now was my dragons.

-

Jorah had decided to start his tasked search with the masked woman who had confronted himself and William on the first day at the garden festivity. She seemed mysteriously all knowing, and so he figured she was either a part of it or would know something they didn’t. Jorah was wary of the woman, concerned that she did in fact have something to do with it, and so in his approach to the woman he kept his guard up. Curiously, she did not look around to whoever was approaching, instead continuing painting onto a man’s back with what looked like blood.

“Jorah the Andal.” She greets as he stands behind her, without looking back to him. “This man must sail past old Valyria. All who travel too close to the doom must have protection.” She announces.

“I didn’t come here for lessons.” Jorah states.

“No. You came for the dragons.” The masked woman corrects before Jorah could continue.

“You have them?” Jorah questions, thinking his suspicions had been right, and quickly hoovers his hand over the handle of his sword. “Where are they?” he asks as he holds his sword.

“Draw your sword—,” The woman begins as she puts her brush down, then turns to face him. “—See what your steel is worth.” She finishes, but Jorah remains silent as she looks into his eyes. “You want to please the Mother of Dragons.” She analyses before turning back to resume her task while Jorah remains silent. “You love her.” She adds, but Jorah still keeps quiet for a moment.

“Where are the dragons?” he questions, ignoring her assessments.

The woman turns back to Jorah. “Will you betray her again, Jorah the Andal?” She asks, making Jorah’s expression turn into one of surprise and disbelief. “Will you betray her again?” she repeats.

“Never.” Jorah sternly affirms.

The woman turns back to her task for the last time. “The thief you seek is with her now.” The woman announces, and with that Jorah leaves in a hurry to find Daenerys.

-

“I did not leave the comfort of my home to come to yours to be called a thief.” The Spice King defends at my own and Xaro’s explanatory words. All were sat at a long, curved table that swept a small council chamber.

“No one is calling you a thief.” Xaro assures, sat in his own chair, as I stood, next to me at the front of the chamber before the rest of the Thirteen.

“Who is she to accuse us?” The Spice King scorns.

“Please, they’re my children. I’m begging you.” I plea.

“Begging us? It wasn’t very long ago you were threatening us.” The Silk King points out.

“Without me the dragons will die!” I exclaim in distress.

“It will be for the best. Your dragons will bring the world nothing but death and misery, my dear. If I knew where they were I would not tell you.” The Spice King spites.

“You are cruel, my friend. The Mother of Dragons is in the right. She must be reunited with her babies.” Pyat Pree, the warlock who had demonstrated strange illusions at the garden festivity, defends in my honour, taking me by surprise a little. “I will help you, Daenerys Stormborn.” He announces.

“How?” I wonder.

“I will take you to the House of the Undying. –Where I have put them.” Pyat Pree answers.

I glance around quickly in shock. “You have my dragons?” I question.

“When I learned you were coming to our city, and with your dragons, I made an arrangement with the King of Qarth.” Pyat Pree informs, making the rest of the Thirteen chuckle which I suspected was due to the fact Qarth didn’t have a king, only the council of the Thirteen. I had no idea of who he was speaking of, and they mus have thought him even madder than they already did. “He procured them for me.” Pyat adds.

“But there is no King of Qarth.” I point out confused.

Xaro then stands from his seat, taking a step forward from it. “There is now. I was the other half of the arrangement.” He states, looking my way before, rendering me speechless. He had betrayed me. As I processed his words, his betrayals and actions in a matter of seconds, Xaro stepped forward into the centre before the Thirteen.

“You would keep your gates and your minds closed to everything outside your walls, but Qarth cannot remain the greatest city that ever was if it refuses to change.” Xaro begins, addressing the Thirteen that sat looking just as surprised as I while Pyat stood and walked around to come to his side. As I listened, I took a few steps back to come into line with Kavarro, who had his arakh up ready for anything that came our way. “I will open Qarth to the world, as I have forced it to open itself to me.” Xaro continues.

“Your ambition is an inspiration. But like all upstarts, you overreach. –Four dragons the size of dogs and an alliance with a charlatan do not make you a King.” The Spice King pokes.

“An upstart and a charlatan? Empires have been built with less. –Those on the margins often come to control the center, and those in the center make room for them willingly or otherwise.” Xaro cunningly points out before he takes a step back and Pyat takes a step forward.

“The Mother of Dragons will be with her babies.” Pyat announces, before turning to look at me. “She will give them her love and they will thrive by her side—,” he continues as I look on in shock and confusion still before he looks back at the Thirteen. “—Forever.” He finishes just before dark figures suddenly appear behind all of the seated Thirteen, and all the figures then take a step forward and cut the throats of them all. Seeing the faces in the light, they were all the faces of Pyat Pree. As the Thirteen bled on the table, they all looked to me and Kavarro grabbed my arm. He pulled me in front of him and we fled from the council chamber.

As I ran the halls, Kavarro right behind, I turned a corner and Pyat was stood there, his eery and creepy smile on his face. Kavarro moved in front of me, pushing me back as we both stood before him. But before he could even get a word out, Jorah suddenly appeared and plunged a dagger into his back. Although, the blade made no difference to Pyat, he did not bleed, flinch, cry or moan in pain, he merely looked down and then back to me. “A mother should be with her children.” He says. Jorah then removes his blade and Pyat disappears as he does, his robe falling to the ground as Jorah retracts his blade.

As we are all looking down at the robe on the floor, Pyat’s voice comes from behind in the hall. “Where will you run to, Daenerys Stormborn? Your dragons wait for you in the House of the Undying. Come see them.” Pyat toys as he walks towards us. Jorah grabs my arm this time, and hurries me towards the entrance of which he had quietly come through.

“Where is William? Rakharo and Aggo?” I question as we flee to somewhere reserved, quiet and somewhat safe from prying eyes.

“Aggo is with William, but where exactly I do not know. Rakharo is still at Irri’s pyre I assume.” Jorah answers.

“Find them. I do not want us all separated in this monstrous city any longer. It is not safe.” I demand.

“I’m not leaving your side again, Khaleesi.” Jorah refuses.

“Please, Jorah, or I will look myself. Kavarro will keep me safe.” I beg.

I could see he did not like it. “Very well. Go to the back of Xaro’s garden. There is a small, abandoned part that is closed off. It will be a good hiding spot for now. We will meet you there.” Jorah orders and I nod before we split away again.

Kavarro and I had broken into the abandoned part of the garden, and it was indeed a small and secluded place to hide. We had been inside for a while before Jorah turned up with the rest. Once all of us were there, safe, I paced as I thought on what it was we were going to do. For one moment, I stopped and peered out a small spot between two planks of wood to outside our hiding spot.

“Careful, Khaleesi. Xaro owns this city, and the warlocks have a thousand eyes watching for you.” Jorah warns, making me come away.

“We should make way to our ship, sail away to Astapor now.” William suggests.

“Astapor?” I repeat in surprise.

“We cannot stay here any longer.” William states.

“They have my dragons. A mother does not flee without her children.” I retort.

“Khaleesi, they’re not your children. I know you’ve been called the Mother of Dragons, and I know you love them but you didn’t grow them in your womb, they didn’t suckle at your breast, they are dragons. And if we stay in Qarth we will die.” Jorah counters.

“We cannot sail to Astapor, not without wealth. And most definitely not without my dragons.” I affirm. “If you both want to sail to Astapor I won’t stop you, I’m sure you’ll be safe there.” I spit in annoyance at the mere suggestion, turning away from them both.

A silent moment passes before Jorah speaks up again. “You know I would die for you—I will never abandon you—I’ve sworn to protect you, serve you.” Jorah relays tenderly.

“Then serve me.” I retort, turning back around. “If my dragons are in the House of the Undying then take me there.” I order.

“That’s what the warlock wants. He told you so himself. If you enter that place you will never leave again. His magic is strong.” Jorah warns.

“And what of my magic? You watched me step into the fire of two pyres. You watched the witch, the assassin, Drogo and everything with them burn. What did the flames do to me, do you remember?” I point out, reminding him that even when he doubted, I still made the impossible happen, twice.

“Until my last breath, I will remember. –After I have forgotten my mother’s face, I will remember.” Jorah answers softly.

His soft and genuine reply softens me and my annoyance in turn. I bring my hand up and cup his cheek. “They are my children. They are the only children I will ever have. Please—understand, Ser Jorah—take me to them.” I gently plea and Jorah nods as my hand leaves his cheek. As we look to William and my riders, all of us ready to leave.

Coming up to the House of the Undying, it was a tall, plain looking building, quite mysterious if anything, but I wasn’t expecting anything else other than that from the eery warlocks.

“A toulei ki leisi, Khaleesi. Anna mae nes.”
(“A house of ghosts, Khaleesi. It is known.”) Kavarro points out as we approach the steps to the building.

“Finne re loshaki?”
(“Where are the guards?”) Rakharo questions.

“Vos loshaki. Moveki addrivas ma athmovezan, vo tawakowi.”
(“No guards. Warlocks kill with sorcery, not steel.”) Jorah answers.

“Vesi mora qestath.”
(“Let them try.”) I challenge before ascending the steps, hearing the others follow and William quietly conversing with Jorah on what was said.

When we reach the top, we pass through a small and tight archway that permits us to the top where you would enter the tall building, but instead it first looks as if there is no way in. There is no door on the building anywhere we could see this side of the circular building, all there was to see was bricks.

“Is this a riddle?” I say to myself looking around before starting to walk off, looking for anyway in with haste. I could others following but I kept my quick march, determined to find a way in, then oddly, as I came back around to where we had entered through the arch, no one stood there and an open door now was opposite on the building. Without even a moment’s thought I entered and grabbed the flaming torch on the wall for the inside was dark despite the light pouring in from the open door. But as soon as I was inside and holding the torch, the light suddenly was gone. Turning around, holding the flaming torch to where the open door had been, I didn’t find it closed, I didn’t find it at all. The door was gone, as if it was not there to begin with, it was brick again. The warlocks were playing their tricks. Faintly from outside, I could hear shouts calling my name, but I couldn’t let this stop me. I was inside now, and if I couldn’t get back out, the only way was to go deeper.

“Are you trying to frighten me with magic tricks?! You want me?! Here I am! You afraid of a little girl?!” I shout, trying to antagonise, before I then heard the screeched cries of my dragons. Turning to the distant sound, I quickly began to follow them, following the dark hall and stairs to find them.

As I climbed the stairs, the sounds of my children grew louder thought they still sounded distant. Even when I reached the top of the stairs, faced with a door, they sounded far away. Upon entering, my dragons stopped their cries and the chamber was empty; like the stairs it was not lit, it was dark. Only the light from my torch provided and permitted a small amount of sight. A stone stable sat in the center of the chamber, the only thing in it, but around the room was a series of doors lining the walls. As I walked around, their cries began again and they lured me to one particular door, one that sounded as if they were behind. Standing before it, I nervously but mostly determinedly open it.

Walking through the door my children’s cries had stopped like before, but what was different this time was this room was not empty. What I walked into, what I was faced with, I had not expected. I was walking into the great hall of the Red Keep. Except it was not full of life and colour as I knew it to be. It was cold and dark and empty. Much like how it had felt on the worst night of my life when I watched my mother and brother murdered. But this was a different dark feeling. It was a feeling I could not explain, it didn’t feel good, but I couldn’t help but feel drawn by it all as I walked through it. The Iron Throne stood up ahead, where it had always sat and as I came closer I suddenly stopped myself, noticing something on the floor. It was a blackened circle on the floor of the hall, as if it had been burned somehow and next to it were three drops of something red which I assumed to be blood. Everything was feeling and getting stranger by the second. Looking back up, I continued to walk forward, and coming to the throne, I saw two crowns laid on its seat. As I stood before it, I noticed one was my father’s crown, the one Robert said he had refused to wear because he saw it as my father’s and only his or a Targaryen’s, it was unmistakable. The black crown of the Iron Throne, that was made to look blacker than a raven’s feather against our silver-blonde hair. The other I did not recognise. My mother wore no crown, it was only custom for the King to wear one, so the second crown left me even more confused than I already was. As I reached to touch my father’s black crown I was lost in my confused thought. Why was I here? What did everything mean that I had seen here? But the more important question was suddenly brought back to me when I heard my dragons again. Where were my children? I retracted my hand that had almost touched my father’s crown and turned my head to the side where I could hear them screech from behind the door that led the King’s council chamber.

However, as I walked closer to the door, it appeared to change, turning into more of a gate. Then as I stood before it, it began to open, but it didn’t swing open like door or usual gate would, it creaked up as if it were being pulled open. And what I then walked into was not the King’s council chamber, but just blind white for as far as I could see. My dragon’s cried stopped again, which I had now come to expect, but I knew sometime I would eventually walk through into the right room and reunite with them. I had to.

The white I soon came to realise was snow, as it crunched when I walked, the air turned cold and I felt the light touch of it against my skin. I couldn’t see much as the snow blew in the wind, but faintly I could make out that something was not far ahead. As I began walking closer, and the snow gave way a little now and again, I saw it was a lone tent pitched, and as I got closer still, I came to realise it was a Dothraki tent. I had also guessed that where I was, whether it was in my head or real, was the lands of always winter, beyond the Wall. I had never been there but always heard that beyond the wall was just plain lands of white, of snow. Why I was here I did not know. I’d never even been north, let alone north of the Wall. Nor did I have any intention or reason to go beyond the Wall ever, so why was I seeing all this? And more strangely, why was a Dothraki tent pitched here?

As I stepped into the tent, not sure what to expect, the temperature quickly turned hot, and the interior looked like one I recognised. It was like I had just stepped into Drogo and I’s tent back at Vaes Dothrak. Then to my utmost surprise, I looked around the tent only to spot a sitting Drogo on the bed and cradling a cooing baby in his arms. The sight stopped me still on the spot and I felt my breaths turn quick and short in the shock of it all.

“Jalan ki tih attirar.”
(“Moon of my life.”) Drogo says, looking a little surprised himself in seeing me. At his words, I didn’t care if it was real or not, he was in front of me and talking to me. I would relish in whatever this was and I could have with him in this moment. I pushed myself forward, looking at him and the black-haired baby cooing in his arms. It was our Rhaego. I was in awe of them both. In my dreams I had half expected and imagined Rhaego’s hair to be like mine, like my family’s line had always been. And yet here our little Rhaego laid, with his raven black hair just like his father’s. He was a little beauty. It only pained me more that I couldn’t have them both with me outside of this moment, in the real world.

“Inak mae ao athmovezar, ven athmovezar ki kis yeri ha anna. Kis yeri ha anna hatif anha laz akka—,”
(“This is dark magic, like the magic that took you from me. Took you from me before I could even—,”) I begin, but can’t bring myself to finish. Tears begin to pool in my eyes as I come to stand before them both, so close to them that I could hold them. but I know that this could not be, even for magic. Surely?

“Ishish anha man driv ma anha hash vo nesas annakhos soi. Ishish anha ma mai yeri she cala ramasari.”
(“Maybe I am dead and I do not know it yet. Maybe I am with you in the Night Lands.”) I theorise grievingly but still happy if I were to be with them.

“Che ishish anha graddakhi annakhos gwenshi cala ramasari oma yeri. Ishish anha shan Vezhven Vezh annakhos gwei helem maekoi ma jad savei gwe annakhos ayos ha yeri.”
(“Or maybe I refused to enter the Night Lands without you. Maybe I told the Great Stallion to go fuck himself and came back here to wait for you.”) Drogo theorises himself, making me smile at his remark.

“Ki memi ven ato yeri jafan hash.”
(“That sounds like something you would do.”) I grin before looking down at our little Rhaego. Drogo holds out his free hand and I take it as I sit myself down on the bed next to him, beginning to softly stroke Rhaego’s cheek and head.

“Che ishish anna mae a atthirarido. –Yeris atthirarido. Tih atthirarido. –Anha hash vo nesas. –Jin re qafhi ha ville mahrazhshi ma reddi qoras.”
(“Or maybe it is a dream. –Your dream. My dream. –I do not know. –These are questions for wise men with skinny arms.”) Drogo begins, as our faces turn to each other, close enough to kiss.
“Yeri re jalan ki tih attirar. Ki mae ei anha nesas—ma ei zigeres annakhos nesas. –Ma han jinak mae a atthirarido —anha nik addrivas mahrazh fin teisi annakhos sakerem anna.”
(“You are the moon of my life. That is all I know—and all I need to know. –And if this is a dream—I will kill the man who tries to wake me.”) Drogo continues as his fingertips hold my chin up and our foreheads rest against each other’s. His words reducing my eyes to tears that spill over onto my cheeks silently as I grasp his hand, our fingers entwining. I take another loving look at our baby Rhaego, cooing still in his father’s arms, before turning back to rest my forehead against Drogo’s, holding his hand, feeling as if I never wanted to move ever again. When, suddenly, I could once again hear my dragon’s cries back somewhere in the distance. It pained me in more ways than one. I wanted to be with them, to find and save them, but hearing them only proved this wasn’t real. But that wouldn’t stop me in remembering this was real; it was real enough for me. What pained me most of all though, was now having to push myself to leave. Hearing the cries I pushed myself to say goodbye.

“Until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east—until the rivers run dry—and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves—I will love you.” I confess with sniffles of tears as I hold Drogo’s and Rhaego’s hands, looking into his as I speak. Taking one last look of them both, I then unlace my hands from them and painfully stand and walk away out of the tent.

As I push the curtain of tent to the side to leave, sniffling one last time, I suddenly find myself back in the first chamber. The one with all the doors and the stone table in the center, except this time my dragon’s cries didn’t stop, they increased. On the stone table sat all four of my dragons, chained to it. I quickly glanced around and saw no one in the room but myself. Taking the steps towards them, their cries subsided as I stood in front of them, finally comforted by my presence. I held my hand out for them to feel more comforted and Drogo was quick to rub his head against it.

“They missed their mother.” Pyat Pree’s voice says from behind me suddenly, startling me, making me turn quickly around. “They want to be with you.” He continues.

“Do you want to be with them?” his voice says from behind again, and I turn to see another version of him there.

“You will be.” The first Pyat assures as they both begin to walk around the circular room opposite each other as I stood in the center with my dragons.

“When your dragons were born, our magic was born again.” He begins to explain.

“It is strongest in their presence.” The second Pyat adds.

“And they are strongest in yours.” The first states as a third Pyat appears next to him.

“You will be with them—through winter, summer, and winter again. –Across a thousand, thousand seasons, you will be with them.” The third Pyat announces as I suddenly feel chains around my wrists.

“And we will be with you until time comes to an end.” Another continues as he pulls the chain tight at the wall, mirrored by the other at the opposite wall. Both pulling the chains, so my arms were stretched out to my sides. My dragons cried again, sensing the distress as we were now all chained.

“Welcome home, Daenerys Stormborn.” The Pyat in front smiles as he takes a step forward towards me as the other two vanish.

“This is not my home. My home waits for me.” I retort.

“It shall be waiting a long time.” Pyat declares.

The cries of my dragons die down and curiously I look around to see them. All four of them sat there, looking patiently up at me. Only then, as I looked down at them all, did an idea arise. Turning my head back around, I saw that Pyat had lowered himself down a little to look under my arm at my dragons, clearly curious at their quietening as I had been.

“Dracarys.” I say calmly in my Valyrian order as I look at a now confused Pyat Pree. For a moment nothing happens and he straightens himself back up, but then a line of flame spews from behind me, shooting a breathe of fire at Pyat and catching his arm alight. He immediately tries to put it out with his hand in panic as he steps back, but soon more flames follow and in longer bursts from all four of my children. They spewed their fire onto Pyat and he quickly was engulfed in flames at the combined mix of flames. He wailed in pain at being burnt and he soon crumbled to the floor, dying. When he laid on the floor, still burning but now motionless and silent, dead, the chains around my wrists turned to nothing. Turning around, I watched the chains around my dragons vanish into nothing too. It seemed any of Pyat’s magic vanished with his death. With him gone and my dragons back, what was now left to deal with was Qarth’s now self-proclaimed, so called King.

Walking back down the tower, I had met the others climbing the stairs in a rush. They said a door had suddenly appeared and they all immediately came in after me. Another part of Pyat’s magic vanishing. But I did not need to tell them I was fine; they could see for themselves. I had my dragons in my arms and Drogon on my shoulder. I had my children back, the only thing to say was we were going to pay Xaro and his vault a visit.

Now unexpectedly night-time, meaning I must have been in those state of dreams for some time, it worked in our favour. We moved without fear but in the cover of darkness, and when all of us reached Xaro’s manse, we found him asleep in his bed with a woman. An easy target. However, upon closer look, as the woman turned over in her sleep we all suddenly saw it was Doreah. Rakharo and I quickly looked at each other in shock before both our expressions turned to ones of anger and betrayal. If she had been with Irri and was now more than likely willingly with Xaro, who had conspired against me and stole my dragons, then perhaps she had a hand in it all. Perhaps she was exactly the one who stole my dragons and killed Irri. This betrayal hurt more than any other. She was our friend, part of this little family we had and she betrayed us in more ways than one.

Having told them all we needed the pendant key around his neck to open the vault before we entered his manse, I then nodded to Kavarro and he quietly moved around Xaro’s bed. He gently hooked the key on his arakh and he swiftly snatched it from a sleeping Xaro’s neck. The movement woke him up startled, and his movement Doreah.

“What the—,” Xaro says as he leans up from his sleep, startled from his key being snatched away and then shocked seeing myself with my dragons and Jorah and the rest at the foot of his bed in his chamber. Doreah looked equally shocked as she leant up, covering herself with the sheets, looking guilty also as she looked my way.

“Khaleesi, please, he said you’d never leave Qarth alive, I beg—,” Doreah begins to plea.

“You will not excuse yourself from what you’ve done. You will not beg for mercy when you have betrayed and killed others. Did you show Irri mercy?” I sternly question, wanting to see her reaction and hear her answer, I wanted to know if it was her for sure, Rakharo too. But she looks down guiltily and says nothing. “Did you really think you could murder our friend—Rakharo’s wife—and get away with it? You’re a venomous snake in the grass.” I spit.

“Please, Khaleesi—,” Doreah repeats again.

“It is not me you should beg for mercy from—Rakharo will decide on your fate, your life is now in his hands as you held Irri’s in your own.” I state, making her look worried as we all looked to a vengeful and angered Rakharo.

“Athdrivar.”
(“Death.”) Rakharo decides with disdain towards Doreah.

“Kash athdrivar anna nika ka.”
(“Then death it shall be.) I confirm.

Doreah goes to protest, to beg once more, but I lift my hand to stop her. “No more—come.” I order, before turning around and beginning to walk from the room. I hear Xaro huff and puff his frustrations as he gets out of bed and the ring of a couple swords being unsheathed, which would no doubt be Jorah and William’s pointed at Xaro in threat.

Now standing at the vault, Xaro and Doreah in custody and having Rakharo and Aggo hold my dragons, Kavarro opened the vault with the key as I held a flaming torch in waiting to inspect whatever riches were sealed inside. We would take it all and sail to Astapor with the wealth we needed. Jorah helped Kavarro pull open the heavy vault door and once opened I stepped inside with the torch and looking around inside, the torch lighting thr room faintly as the other had done the House of the Undying, I see that nothing resigns inside. The vault was completely empty.

“Nothing.” I mutter to myself, disappointed, as I look across the baron, dark vault. Of course it was. His story of climbing his way to the top, being the wealthiest man in Qarth was all based off a lie. I turn back to face everyone outside the vault, stepping back out of it also with the torch. My disappointed look turning into a small smirk as I look at a bound Xaro.

“Thank you, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Thank you for teaching me this lesson.” I state. Xaro had shown me that all wealth and power I must seize on my own accord. I must not go through this journey as an ‘honoured guest’ of all the aristocrats across Essos. Anything I wanted or needed from now on I would be taking it, and not bothering with pleasantries or asking for anything. Being in Qarth had shown me that from now on I would need to be brutal in order to achieve my goals, and I would do so with power but also with noble fire, keeping to my House Targaryen words.

After thanking Xaro, I nod to William and Rakharo who were holding him and Doreah. The two of them then forcibly escort them into the vault.

“I am the King of Qarth, I can help you now. Truly help you. I can provide whatever you need for your conquest. What you want is there for you to take, it is within your reach now.” Xaro pleas as Doreah screeches her own cries, begging for mercy as she calls my name, but her actions I could not forgive, and neither could Rakharo. Jorah and Rakharo then close the vault as Xaro and Doreah plead and shout my name to stop, but nothing would stop me from closing that vault door on them now. They got their punishment for their crimes. Jorah then turns the key and locks the both of them inside the impenetrable vault, before handing the pendant key back to me.

We all walk through Xaro’s manse, heading to his main chamber that was decorated with luxury items and décor, gold, jewels, items worth money. Having my dragons back in my arms and on my shoulders, we look around at the loot I decided we would be taking instead. Coming to stand next to Jorah and William, I see Jorah with a sceptical look on his face as they both look over a gold bowl.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s all a lie.” Jorah states, holding the bowl.

“Looks real enough to me.” I retort and both of them look at me assuring it was not.

I sigh. Of course, it was all fake, this whole city and the people in it were all based off lies, deceit and betrayal. I shouldn’t have expected anything else about Xaro’s lies. But perhaps, it could all still work in our favour. “Real enough to buy an army?” I query with a smirk.

William smirks back. “Aye, perhaps a small one.” Jorah replies.

“Kash kisha jif qorasos ven san ven kisha laz. Ishishi alikh.”
(“Then we should take as much as we can. Perhaps more.”) I smile with a nod for him to convey to my riders who were already scouting the gold and jewelled items around the room. Jorah nods his understanding.

“Qorasos ei zizhanmi ma danshi.” Jorah shouts to Rakharo, Kavarro and Aggo in the room and all three cheer as Jorah goes to join them in looting.

“Want to tell me what was said?” William queries with curious smile.

“Take all the gold and jewels.” I translate with a smirk. “Now the real journey begins. Are you ready?” I question, still with my smirk.

“I am.” William smiles back.

“Good—now we sail for Astapor.” I declare, smiling at the bittersweet turnout. William smiles cheekily back amused, before joining the others. I then turn and leave the room with my dragons, heading for my own chamber to collect my belongings, still with a smile on my face as my dragons nuzzle against me. Qarth had been a place of misery and disappointment, I was glad to be rid of it, and whatever Astapor had in store for us we would be ready. I was ready.

Chapter Text

Sailing to Astapor had taken us some few days and in that time my dragons had had another growth spurt. They seemed to grow in quick bursts over a few days. When they hatched they had stayed that size for a good week, then suddenly they grew a little within a couple days. Then sailing to Qarth, they grew a little again and as we left Qarth they had another spurt. They had outgrown their cages and new ones had to be built, but they were now able to fly and eat for themselves. They were growing and becoming more independent as they did. They were near about a size that would soon outgrow my own or any man. Now they flew around our ship as we sailed instead of being in their cages. The cages only there if needed for any reason during travel or otherwise to keep them safe. To feed we would sometimes throw meat in the air on occasion but more often than not, they would dive into the water and catch fish. Tossing it high above them, torching it quickly with their flames and then devouring it. It was a proud sight, to see them independent, but they still loved the comfort and affection from me, their mother, which was comforting to me also.

Our ship was full of looted gold and jewels from Qarth, which we had left in a state I considered better than we found it. I had installed a new council of nobles and traders before leaving that supported my new ideals and swore to rule with honour and nobility, while keeping slavery abolished. We would have to see if they kept their word, but if they didn’t I could soon return to inflict the rules they swore to uphold. Hopefully, after our business in Astapor would be concluded, the same outcome would occur. But Astapor was not Qarth, we were now entering Slaver’s Bay, a much more savage and brutal region. This would be no easy conquest, but I had my ideas and plans.

After the several days sail to Astapor, we neared Slaver’s Bay during the dawn of the morning. I watched as Drogon flew around with his siblings, before suddenly diving for a fish as they had all been doing over the last few days. He resurfaced, flying back out with a fish in his jaw and then tossed it, torched it, and then ate it. As he devoured his fish, he flew down and landed on the side of our ship, in front of me where I had been stood watching.

“They’re growing fast.” William points out as he stands by Jorah who sails the ship and I stroke Drogon’s head as he nuzzles. In a way they were, growing fast, yet in another way they weren’t. I worried about the time I would have with them, when they would at some point no longer need or want my comfort and be their own creatures of the skies. However, another part of me wanted them to be bigger quicker.

“Not fast enough.” I reply. The other part of me knowing the bigger they were, the more fear they would bring to potential opposition in this conquest of liberation. As I took my hand away from Drogon’s head and turned to face the two, he flew back to the skies to join his siblings. “We need an army; we need that kind of power behind us.” I state.

“We’ll be in Astapor by the middle of the day.” Jorah announces. “I’ve heard that some say the Unsullied are the greatest soldiers in the world.” He adds, replying more directly to my previous statement.

“The greatest slave soldiers in the world. The distinction means a good deal to some people.” I retort.

“Not to the people around here it would seem.” William counters. “I have a suspicion they may not be tempted to sell with the loot we have gathered. I do not think it will be enough.” He adds.

Jorah nods in agreement. “These people are proud, entitled. They pride themselves on the training of their Unsullied. I do not think they will take us entirely seriously as buyers with only this loot of gold to offer.” Jorah elaborates.

“But they will accept our audience as a potential buyer?” I query.

“Aye, but they may more than likely reject us.” Jorah warns.

“So long as they grant us an audience that is all that matters. We can assess from there.” I affirm.

By the middle of the day, we had reached the docks of Astapor and had quickly been granted an audience with Good Master Kraznys mo Nakloz, one of the ruling elite masters in the city and a prominent slave trader, one of few that monitored and sold the Unsullied to buyers. We had been met with him with haste, much different to Qarth, but here I wasn’t a guest, I was a customer. Despite wanting to keep us altogether, I didn’t want to parade my dragons around Astapor and Rakharo, Kavarro and Aggo stayed on our ship with them in their cages. Jorah and William accompanied me through Astapor. As we walked the costal city, master Kraznys and his translator escorted us to a place that would showcase a small group of the Unsullied, so we could see what it was we would be buying. Master Kraznys spoke Valyrian, and his timid seeming female translator, a slave also, translated his tongue for us, turning his words to the common tongue, and vice versa, as he boasted of the Unsullied on the way and I told him of what we had to pay. I spoke Valyrian, I had taught myself over the years. So, I understood every word that spat from his mouth, but a part of me thought it best to keep his estimations low of us and so I allowed them to think I did not speak the tongue. And this way, I would really understand his temperament. Besides, nor did Jorah or anyone else know I could speak it either. It was a skill I had kept hidden unintentionally which was now proving more than useful.

“The Unsullied have stood here for a day and a night with no food or water.” The translator continues to announce before Master Kraznys then continues his Valyrian boasts as we walk into the square.

“They will stand until they drop. Such is their obedience.” The translator finishes.

“They may suit my needs.” I announce. “Tell me of their training.” I ask.

“Se Vesterozia ābra iksis kreni lēda zirȳ yn ȳdragoni daor rijagon naejot gaomagon se odre ilagon. Ziry jaelagoni naejot gīmigon skorkydoso issi bodmaghoi.”
(“The Westerosi woman is pleased with them but speaks no praise to keep the price down. She wishes to know how they are trained.”) The woman translates to Kraznys.

“Ivestragon zirȳla skoros ziry kessary gīmigon se sagon adere nūmāzma ziry. Se tubis iksis bāne.”
(“Tell her what she should know and be quick about it. The day is hot.”) Master Kraznys orders as we ascend a platform that overlooks the small group of the showcased Unsullied soldiers.

“They begin their training at five. Everyday they drill from dawn to dusk until they have mastered the short sword, the shield and the three spears. Only one boy in four survives this rigorous training.” The woman explains before Kraznys begins to speak again and the woman translates as he does. “Their discipline and loyalty are absolute. They fear nothing.”

“Even the bravest men fear death.” William retorts, which I agreed with. Some may have lived long enough or hurt too much that they welcome it, but men will always fear it.

“Se azantys vestras sesīr nēdenka vali zūgagon morghon.”
(“The knight says even brave men fear death.”) The woman translates.

“Ivestragon se vala ziry yknagoni hen orgoz.”
(“Tell the man he smells of piss.”) Kraznys spits and the woman hesitates.

“Drējī, āeksio?”
(Truly, master?”) she asks.
“Dar, daor drējī. Issi ao riña iā iā hubre naejot epagon bou iā run?
(“No, not truly. Are you a girl or a goat to ask such a thing?”) Kraznys quickly snaps back, making her look down in shame and I have to hide my annoyance. There is a quick pause before the master tells her a true answer.

“My master says the Unsullied are not men. Death means nothing to them.” She says.

“Ivestragon bisa dovodedha līve hen iā Vesterna naejot alein zirȳla laesi se urnēbagon.”
(“Tell this ignorant whore of a Westerner to open her eyes and watch.”) Kraznys orders, and again I have to hide any reaction, but at least he was seeing me as I wanted him to: ignorant.

“He begs you attend this carefully, your Grace.” The woman translates in a kinder manner as Kraznys walks down from the platform towards one of the soldiers. He tucks the whip of the Unsullied to his belt and standing before this soldier. He beckons for this soldier to stand forward, who instantly complies. Kraznys pushes the soldier’s hold on his shield and spear to either side of him, opening up his body to him. He then takes the soldier’s dagger from his belt and begins to unpick the soldier’s leather that wrapped over his left shoulder, covering the left half of his chest and reveals his nipple, which Kraznys had the dagger pointed at. Whatever he was going to demonstrate did not need to be done, but of course I could only protest in the common tongue, for now.

“Tell the Good Master, there is no need—,” I begin quickly but Kraznys himself interrupts, probably registering my speech as some kind of protest.

“Issa boana nūmāzma pōja naejosana? Gaomas se doru-borto aspo gīmigon īlon nektogon hen pōja orvortanini?”
(“She is worried about their nipples? Does the dumb bitch know we cut off their balls?”) Kraznys mocks as he cuts into the soldier’s nipple and then cuts it clean off, with no reaction or even a flinch from the soldier. I was the one looking away in disgust and discomfort.

“My master points out that men don’t need nipples.” The woman respectively points out.

“Konīr, iksan gaomagon lēda ao.”
(“There, I’m done with you.”) Kraznys says, gesturing for the soldier to step back in line.

“Bisy iksis kreni naejot emagon dohaertan ao.”
(“This one is pleased to have served you.”) The soldier replies cordially before stepping back. They really were blindly and conditionally obedient. It was sad.

Kraznys turns back around, standing in front of his soldiers and conveys more information at us as the woman translates. “To win his shield, an Unsullied must go to the slave marts with a silver mark- find a newborn- and kill it before it’s mother’s eyes. This way, my master says, we make certain there is no weakness left in them.”

As they both speak, I am even more disgusted at the ritual. This was more than barbaric, there wasn’t even a word to describe how monstrous that was. “You take a babe from it’s mother’s arms, kill it as she watches and pay for her pain with a silver coin?” I scorn.

“Issa angoda. Ziry epagoni lo ao addemmagon iā gelebo naejot se muña syt zirȳla morghe rūs.”
(“She is offended. She asks if you pay a silver coin to the mother for her dead baby.”) The woman relays.

“Skoros iā rāpa vaovaori mittys bisy iksis. Se gelebo is naejot se morghe rūsi marizzo, daor se līve muña.”
(“What a soft mewling fool this one is. The silver mark goes to the dead baby’s owner, not the whore mother.”) Kranzys declares with no remorse, and I have to hold my disgust yet again until the woman translates. This only fuelled my want for the army more and to help bring the practise to an end.

“How many do you have to sell?” I question and Kraznys looks to his slave translator.

He then holds up eight of his fingers towards me. “8,000.” The woman clarifies.

“Ivestragon se Vesterozia līve ēza ēva hemtubis.”
(“Tell the Westerosi whore she has until tomorrow.”) Kranzys demands.

“Master Kranzys asks that you please hurry; many other buyers are interested.” The woman conveys before following after her master who had already begun to leave the square.

“8,000 dead babies. It’s barbabric.” I state in disgust as we all walk back along the docks after our meeting with master Kraznys.

“The Unsullied are a means to an end.” Jorah points out.

“Once I own them, these men—,” I begin. “They’re not men—not anymore at least. They’re mutilated puppets at best.” William interrupts.

“Well, once I own an army of slaves, what will we be? I be? I can free them, and they can choose to follow me, that much we have anticipated, but now we’re here and I’ve seen them—what will we be leading this conquest with an army of such infamous mutilated slaves? Who even if they do follow me, will be effectively serving me in the end?” I start again.

“Do you think these slaves will have better lives serving Kraznys and men like him or serving you?” William retorts as we all continue walking the docks when I suddenly notice a small child playing with a little ball, looking our way with a smile before she suddenly begins to run along ahead but always looking back to check we were still walking her way.

“You’ll be fair to them. You won’t mutilate them to make a point. You won’t order them to murder babies. You’ll see they’re properly fed and sheltered.” Jorah lists as I smile at the little girl who was running along. “A great injustice has been done to them, closing your eyes will not undo it.” He adds as we come to a stop because I had seen the girl pop out in front ahead still smiling. She then rolled the ball on the wooden dock towards me and I crotch down to stop it and pick it up. Holding it in my hand, I look back to her and she gestures for me, from the looks of it, to unscrew the small ball. Smiling back at her still, the sweet and precious thing, I touch the ball with my other hand to unscrew it but the ball and me with it are suddenly knocked to the ground. I land on my front, as I hear commotion behind, and as I look across at the ball in front of my head, the lid begins to open. Slowly, a green manticore, a deadly and poisonous insect, crawls out of the ball and stands next to it, poised right in front of me. I was afraid any movements would spook it into attacking but soon after it quickly begins to scatter towards my head but is suddenly stopped by a dagger piercing its body, killing it.

Looking up, I see only a cloaked man holding the dagger with the manticore at its tip before he swiftly begins to chase the little girl who enticed me with the ball, but she runs and jumps into the water off the edge of the dock, yet no splash is heard. Jorah helped me to my feet as it occurred, asking if I was alright to which I nodded and William says they had the man but let him go after seeing he was attempting to save me. The man turns around, puzzled as much as we were, and then looks up into the sun behind us. We follow his gaze and see the little girl on top of a building before she walks and vanishes.

“The warlocks.” I mutter between us, all of us knowing that was their kind of magic. This cloaked man had just saved me from another assassination attempt, although this time it wasn’t a Lannister orchestrated one.

“I owe you my life, sir.” I concede genuinely to the cloaked man as we all looked curiously as to who and why he had done such a thing.

“The honour is mine, my queen.” The man replies humbly as he pulls back the hood of his cloak. My queen? I did not recognise this man and the title only confused me further, I was nobody’s queen. However, looking between Jorah and William they both had a shocked expression upon their faces.

“You two know this man?” I question between us.

“I know him. He is Ser Barristan Selmy.” William answers a little regretfully, although the name rings no bells for me.

“Aye, I too—as one of the greatest fighters the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen—and as my Lord Commander of your father’s Kingsguard.” Jorah informs in his reply with respect and honour in his voice at the sight of the man as the information stuns me.

“Lord Commander?” I repeat, looking to the man in surprise. I didn’t recognise his face, but I was young child back then and a lot of faces at court I clearly could not place or remember. But what was he doing here now?

“Former Lord Commander.” He announces.

I eye him curiously. “It appears so, seeing as we did not see you in King’s Landing the months we were there and now your reappearance so far from it here. Why did you leave your post? I thought the Kingsguard were sworn to protect the King until dead, or at least uniquely otherwise.” I query, glancing at Jorah seeing as he was also exiled, his post stripped from him.

“I did not abandon my post, your Grace. A knight of the Kingsguard is sworn to protect those who sit on the throne, we are loyal to the throne, not each individual who sits upon it. So, regretfully, when Cersei and her father took the throne, many stayed serving and protecting them, myself included.” Ser Barristan admits, looking as though he knew he made a wrong choice.

“Why?” I simply question.

“I was Lord Commander, I had to be true to my vows. I swore an oath, and if I broke that oath as Lord Commander then what example did I set for my fellow knights? At least, that is how I saw it ten years ago.” Ser Barristan explains.

“And yet, some still fled despite you staying loyal to the throne, as you put it?” I grill, a little suspect of any man who served the Lannister’s.

“Yes. More stayed loyal to the legacy and allies of your father rather than the throne, which I didn’t and could never fault them for. He was a good man. I only wish now I made the same decision then.” Ser Barristan genuinely confesses with guilt.

“And so how did you become the former Lord Commander, Ser Barristan?” I ask, wanting the full picture that had clearly led him here.

“When the war was over, I was glad for it. Glad to see Cersei, Tywin and their despicable actions rid of. But my own actions sealed my fate and the few that remained with me when the Baratheon’s took the throne.” Ser Barristan informs, which makes us look to William at the name. I raise my eyebrows at him waiting for the rest of the explanation.

“My father relieved the knights of their positions who stayed to serve the Lannister’s, condemning them to exile from Westeros for their—crime.” William declares, hesitating to say crime, as if that was Robert’s words and not his. All of us looked back to a guilt ridden ser Barristan but he still stood with pride and respect.

“I have been searching for you across Essos after hearing whispers, Daenerys Stormborn, to ask your forgiveness. I was sworn to protect the throne, and ultimately in turn to protect your family—I failed them.” He concedes before taking a knee, kneeling before me. “I am Barristan Selmy, Kingsguard to your father—allow me to join your Queensguard and I will not fail you again.” Ser Barristan pledges with a bow of his head. He clearly showed repentance for his past decision and had now been searching across a continent just to pledge himself to me. His emotional plea was the deciding factor for me to take this man into our conquest.

“Rise, Ser Barristan.” I say to which he complies. “I thank you for your words, and if forgiveness is truly what you seek, then rest knowing you have it.” I gently offer.

“Thank you, your Grace.” He replies with a bow of his head once more.

“And I am no queen, there is no need for such formalities, nor for a Queensguard. But I will happily accept you into our journey we have started. We have already experienced that protection is needed for it.” I announce.

“You are my queen, your Grace. If you allow, I will continue to address you as such.” Ser Barristan respectively states, to which I offer a small smile and nod of acceptance.

“And what does this journey you speak of entail, your Grace?” He questions.

My small smile turns to a small smirk. “Liberation.” I proclaim.

After taking Ser Barristan into our circle, he became quite familiar quite quickly, which I assumed the presence of Jorah helped with a lot and so was brought up to speed by him fairly quickly. I could see William was unsure of what to say around the man, but I knew they would both soon get over it. This was not Westeros, we were not apart of any oaths or royal courts here, we were a circle of friends and advisers. They would assimilate to each other’s company soon enough.

We knew we had come here for the Unsullied; I did not need the whole day, nor until tomorrow to decide whether to purchase them. So, soon we would be in The Plaza of Pride, one of the major locations of the city where the Good Masters took their customers to deliver their purchases. But for now, headed to negotiate with master Kraznys, we walked The Plaza of Punishment. A plaza, a location larger than the Pride Plaza, where new slaves are first taken into Astapor, so they can see slaves who have been punished or executed. Slaves were whipped, chained and left to starve, rot and die on wooden posts in the melting sun all along the Plaza. It was, like much everything this city did, horrific. After walking for so long along it, seeing them all suffering as they did, some of them dead, my heart finally gave way. Perhaps it was gentle as Jorah would say, but it was only gentle to those who deserved it, and these people deserved kindness more than any.

“Give me your water.” I ask of Jorah.

“Khaleesi, this man has been sentenced to death.” Jorah warns as he warily hands his leather canteen over, to which I just stare saying nothing. Taking his water, I walked over, stepping up to the man opposite us that suffered chained to the post, offering him some water, quietly and gently encouraging him to do so, but he mumbles his refusal to take it, to my sorrow.

“Leave this place, your Grace. Leave tonight, I beg you. This is no place for you.” Ser Barristan pleas.

“And what is she to do for soldiers?” Jorah points out as I step down from the man on the post.

“We can find sellswords in Pentos.” Ser Barristan suggests.

“Is it we already, Ser Barristan?” William retorts as I come back alongside them and resume our walk along the Plaza.

“This journey is going to be hard, Khaleesi, we have already faced collateral. –In war, in battles, you will regrettably get some blood on your hands by the time it is done—innocents die. –Butchery endures- babies, children, the old- more women raped than you can count—,” Jorah begins and spin swiftly, stopping everyone in their tracks behind me.

“It will be the blood of my enemies, not the blood of innocents.” I interrupt.

“I know.” Jorah replies. I turn back around and continue our walk as Jorah continues to speak.

“There’s a beast in every man, and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand. –But the Unsullied are not these men, they do not rape, they do not put cities to the sword, unless you order them to do so. If you buy them, the only men they’ll kill is the ones you want dead.” Jorah finishes explaining and I realise I cut him short of his point, of which I agreed.

“Do you disagree, Ser Barristan?” I ask.

“I know I stayed on the opposing side, but when Robert campaigned the war against the Lannister’s and their bannermen, his allies, all those men, rallied behind him, died for him because they believed in him, because they had believed in your father. Not because they’d been bought at a slaver’s auction. They all fought beside the stag because the lion had killed the Last Dragon. I shall live out my days regretting that I did not do the same.” Ser Barristan argues his point, which I also understood, but this was an entirely different fight.

“The Last Dragon?” I query, a name I had not heard in regards to my father before.

“A title the allies gave your father, your Grace. He personified your Targaryen House words of ‘Noble Fire’. He was heroic, smart, chivalrous, noble, and exemplified all that it meant to be a Targaryen, and a true Targaryen King. The finest man I’ve ever met.” Ser Barristan explains.

“He was a noble and great man. A loving father. I wish I had more time with him. –But he was not The Last Dragon.” I declare, finishing the conversation as we all headed to the square in which to meet and negotiate with Good Master Kraznys.

“All? –Did this one’s ears mishear, your Grace?” Kraznys’ slave translator questions in clarification after negotiations had begun, and I had stated that I wished to purchase all the Unsullied. I didn’t want to leave a single one left in Astapor.

“They did not. I want to buy them all.” I confirm as I stood in the square, Jorah and the others all stood behind a few steps.

“Jaelza naejot sindigon pōntoma.”
(“She wants to buy them all.”) The woman translates on the small platform ahead that Kraznys and another few Good Master’s were seated on before us.

“Ziry daor addem pōntoma. Se rene pendagoni kostas urne zirȳla naejos se mazverdagon īlva tepagon zirȳla skoros mirre jaelza.”
(“She cannot afford them all. The slut thinks she can flash her tits and make us give her whatever she wants.”) Kraznys jokes rudely with the other masters, but I remain calmly plain and confident in expression, I wasn’t going to let him rattle me as much as he had before.

“There are 8,000 Unsullied in Astapor. Is this what you mean by all?” The woman asks.

“Yes. 8,000. And the ones still in training as well.” I clarify, and the woman conveys.

“Lo pōnta qringaomagon isse vīlībāzma, kessi masaron Astapor.”
(“If they fail on the battlefield, they will shame Astapor.”) Another master converses between them, and Kraznys then gestures for her to translate this.

“Master Grescen says they cannot sell half trained boys. If they fail on the battlefield they will bring shame on all of Astapor.” The woman explains.

“I will have them all or take none. Any that fall in battle, I’ll need the boys to pick up the swords they drop.” I counter, staging I’d need them for such things, and after being translated, Kraznys groans annoyance.

“Bisa rene daor addemmagon syt mirre bisa.”
(“This slut cannot pay for all this.”) Kraznys begins.

“Master Kraznys says you cannot afford this.”

“Zirȳla lōgor kessa sindigon zirȳla 100 Dovaogēdy, dombo—,”
(“Her ship will buy her 100 Unsullied, no more—,”)

“Your ship will buy you 100 Unsullied—,”

“—se bisa iksis kesrio syt nyke hae se obar hen zirȳla gundja.”
(“—and this is because I like the curve of her ass.”) Kraznys and the masters vulgarly chortle.

“—because master Kraznys is generous.”

“Zirȳla āeksion se geleboran kessa sindigon zirȳla 10—,”
(“Her gold and jewels will buy her 10—,”)

“The gold and jewels you have is worth 10—,”

“—kesan tepagon zirȳla 20 lo ziry keligoni zirȳla dovodedha limagoni.”
(“—I will give her 20 if it stops her ignorant whimpering.”)

“—but Good Master Kraznys will give you 20.”

“Zirȳla Dōthrāki issarosanna yknagon hen qrugh—,”
(“Her Dothraki followers smell of shit—,”)

“Your Dothraki riders that follow you—,” The woman starts but stops herself and waits for Kraznys to finish completely before translating. My riders hadn’t accompanied us through Astapor, so obviously master Kraznys had ordered some digging and spying on us. For a moment I wondered if he had seen my children but then, surely he would have mentioned them.

“—yn kostis sagon gaomagon lēda hae beqes havori. Kesan tepagon zirȳla 1 Dovaogēdy syt zirȳ.”
(“—but they may be useful as pig feed. I will give her 1 Unsullied for them.”)

“—your Dothraki riders would not be worth what they cost to feed, but master Kraznys will give you one Unsullied for them.” The woman continues, translating the master’s insults and disrespects into more decorum remarks, as I look around at the tops of the square’s walls. Lined around the tops, there were several slave children and a few adult slaves, their collars around their necks, dotted around watching our negotiation below. I only wished I could tell them what was to come, for I had something planned for Good Master Kraznys and the rest in Astapor.

“Sīr, epagon bisa mijeginditan Vesterozia līve, skorkydoso kessa addemmagon syt se umbagoni 7,879?”
(“So, ask this beggar Westerosi whore, how she will pay for the remaining 7,879?”) Kraznys finishes.

“Master Kraznys asks how you propose to pay for the remaining—7,879 Unsullied?”

Looking back down to the two masters from the slaves above, I stare confidently for a short moment, saying the words in my head before I said them aloud.

“I have four dragons—I’ll give you one.” I proclaim. The translator hastily relays this offer to Kraznys and his eyes go wide and I finally had his attention as he whispered with the other few masters with him.

“Daenerys, what are you doing?” William bursts as he stands forward to my side with Jorah. “You will win battles with the dragons not slaves, your Grace.” Barristan quickly adds at my other side. “Khaleesi, please.” Jorah says last beside me with William, and glancing between all of them in the encounter, I end up just staring Jorah and William down. With my glare, they both avert their eyes to the ground and to the side in defeat as I take a couple steps forward to step away from them.

“Four- dragon.” Kraznys negotiates in the common tongue as he leans forward in his seat.

“One.” I counter.

“Two.” He barters.

“One.” I firmly repeat and he leans back into his seat, whispering again with the masters.

“Ivestragon zirȳla jaeli se rovaja.” Kraznys insists boldly in his seat.

“They want the biggest one.” The woman relays.

“Done.” I agree.

“Done.” Kraznys repeats and I turn to leave but stop myself for a second and turn back to face them.

“I’ll take you as well—now—you’ll be master Kraznys’ gift to me. Token of a bargain well struck.” I demand and the woman, surprised, turns to Kraznys to translate. Her treatment had been most disrespectful and I was sure she would want to be rid of their enslavement sooner rather than later.

“Ziry epagoni bona ao tepagon nyke naejot zirȳla, hae iā rudhy. Ziry epagoni bona gaomā bisa sir.”
(“She asks that you give me to her, as a present. She asks that you do this now.”)

Kraznys stares, and I cannot figure if he impressed or slightly annoyed, but soon he nods for the woman to go, and with a bow to him herself, she steps down from the platform and comes to follow us out the square.

“Khaleesi, a dragon is worth more than any army.” Jorah bursts as soon as we are out of the square, hurrying behind me with the others. “Baelor Targaryen proved that.” William continued. “This is a mistake, your Grace.” Barristan adds as I stop and turn to them all visibly annoyed.

“You are all here as friends but also advisers, and I value your council, but if any of you or all of you ever question me in front of strangers again, you’ll be going home or advising someone else. Is that understood?” I snap, letting my annoyance flare, rendering all three of them silent again as I spot behind the translator stood with my riders.

“You—,” I call, not knowing yet her name. “Come forward.” I beckon kindly and she complies in the same submissive manner as she would have with Kraznys.

“Do you have a name?” I query as I begin to walk and she walks along with me, the others staying a good few steps behind.

“This one’s name is Missandei, your Grace.” The dark featured and afro haired translator replies. Closer to her now, she appeared around a similar age to myself, and she was quite beautiful.

“Do you have a family? A mother and father you’d return to if you had the choice?” I question.

“No, your Grace. No family living.” Missandei answers, though I wonder if she just says that to protect them from anything she thinks I may do, perhaps like a master might.

“Is that the truth? They will not come to harm by my hand if they are indeed living and you may return to them with freedom if you wish.” I assure.

“Yes, the truth, your Grace. Lying is a great offence. Many of those on the Walk of Punishment were taken there for less.” Missandei informs.

“I offered water to one of the slaves dying on the Walk of Punishment, do you know what he said to me? –Let me die.” I recall.

“There are no masters in the grave, your Grace.” Missandei explains, which just proves exactly why I was doing all this. No one should live a life wishing for death.

“So, you have no living family, but would you wish for your freedom?” I ask.

“This is not my homeland; I would not have freedom here. You have purchased me, your Grace, I am yours. But, even still with your offer, I seek no such freedoms.” Missandei admits.

“Not even if I gave you a ship or horse, and wished you good fortune back to your homeland?” I query, curious.

“I would thank you for your most generous offer but decline. No life waits for me back home or elsewhere alone, I would rather serve a kind and generous master such as yourself.” Missandei honestly admits.

“I am not your master, nor will I ever be, whether you wish to stay or not. But if you stay, you may live as you like among us, just never as a slave.” I inform. “What will it be?” I question.

“It would please me to live among you, and I will serve you in any you wish. Serving is all I know, but it will bring me great pleasure in doing so for you, if you should allow—but not as a slave, as you say, your Grace.” Missandei confesses.

“Very well, if that is what you wish. But your company among us shall be as a friend, Missandei. My friend. –So, please call me Daenerys, instead of your Grace.” I urge.

“Yes, your—yes, Daenerys.” She corrects midway, making a small smile creep into my expression as I glance her way and seeing this, she mirrors it.

“I hearby name you a free woman, Missandei.” I smile bigger, and hers grows too.

I face back forward after the silent pause of smiles between us. “So—is it true what master Kraznys told me about the Unsullied? About their obedience?” I ask, switching the subject.

“All questions have been taken from them. They obey, that is all. Once they are yours, they are yours. They will fall on your swords if you command it.” Missandei confirms.

“Such things won’t be necessary.” I retort. “But what about you? If you are coming with us on our journey, know that I am taking you on a conquest, there may be battles- you fall hungry- you may fall sick—you may be killed.” I inform.

“Valar morghūlis.” Missandei simply replies.

“Yes, all men must die—but we are not men.” I retort, turning a corner as we walked, headed back to our ship, and I see in the corner of my eye a small smirk form on Missandei’s face next to me.

Later on in the day, but still under the hot sun of the light of day, we were making our way to The Plaza of Pride. The front plaza of Astapor that faced inland and where all the Unsullied were waiting along with Kraznys in line with our negotiation. An army for a dragon. Coming into the plaza, I walked in with sheer determination, with Missandei at my side. Who now wore, upon my insistence, one of my dresses instead of her former slave clothing and collar, but she had strangely asked to keep her collar. I wondered if she perhaps wanted to keep it as a symbol or maybe a reminder, but I didn’t pry. Rakharo and William were carrying Drogon’s cage, one behind and one in front, behind us, along with Jorah and Barristan. Kavarro and Aggo were still on the ship, keeping watch over the others while the deal was made. We would be coming back for them soon enough. As all of us walked through the front of the plaza, many masters and their slaves, along with Astaporian soldiers, stood waiting, obviously wanting to watch the deal and to see the dragon for themselves. Coming around to stand before master Kraznys, the Unsullied were all stood in their ahead as far as you could see, and Kraznys then began to inform more about them.

“The master says they are untested—he says you would be wise to blood them early. –There are many small cities between here and there, cities ripe for sacking. –Should you take captives, the masters will buy the healthy ones and for a good price. –And who knows, in ten years, some of the boys you send them may be Unsullied in their turn—as all shall prosper.” Missandei translates. I stare at Kraznys standing before him, eyeing his vulgar eyes as he held the Unsullied whip. I would never send anything, especially not anyone his way, or anyone else, ever.

Without a word, I turn and step over to Drogon’s cage that Rakharo and William had carried and placed behind, stepping past Missandei and the rest. I began to unlatch his cage, as I pulled the hatch open I grabbed the chained handle that was attached to Drogon’s neck. It pained me to put him in a chain, but he trusted me and thought nothing of it. Drogon soon began calling out and took flight, raising himself into the sky as far as the chain permitted. People around looked on with gasps and expressions of bewilderment, but I kept my eyes on Kraznys as I walked over with the black dragon he couldn’t keep his eyes off. I hold the handle up between us and he eagerly takes it before holding the Unsullied whip out for me to then take.

I take the whip from his hands and he moves his to hold the handle with both as Drogon struggled against the chain, making it hard to keep hold of. “Is it done then? They belong to me?” I question looking to Kraznys who speaks without even looking my way, his eyes still peeled on Drogon.

“It is done. You hold the whip.” Missandei translates.

“Bisa aspo ēza zirȳla azantyr.”
(“This bitch has her army.”) Kraznys adds, and I shoot him a look of disdain, not that he notices or pays any attention. Holding the whip, I turn to face the mass of Unsullied before us all up the whole plaza and walk a little further closer as so to stand on my own in front of the thousands of soldiers. I could see that several masters were walking around the front ranks of the Unsullied, holding whips, which didn’t sit well with me. As I walked and came to stand just that bit further away, Drogon’s calls turned into screeching cries, no doubt watching me walk away as a stranger held him on a chain.

-

Jorah watched Daenerys walk forward with the whip as Drogon called out for her. He couldn’t believe she had even thought of trading one of her dragons, let alone just done it, especially after everything she had said in Qarth about them. All of them had cautioned her against it, she still had three more, but giving a dragon to a man such as Kraznys was the totally wrong decision. Her want for an army was clearly greater than him or William had imagined. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Dovaogēdy!”
(“Unsullied!”) Daenerys suddenly shouts in Valyrian, holding the whip up high, making the soldiers stand firm, moving their shields to hold straight in front and stand their feet firmly together. Her clear wording of Valyrian just then catches Jorah, Missandei and all the rest off guard and they turn to watch what exactly she was doing in surprise.

-

“Naejot memēbagon!"
(“Forward march!”) I order shouting, and they all begin in unison.

“Keligon!"
(“Halt!”) I smirk, seeing their obedience was not exaggerated as they then all halt in unison before me. They would take me command, and this was important for what was to follow. Hopefully, obedient as they are, they would still comply.

“Ivestragon se aspo zirȳla dyni kessa daor māzigon.”
(“Tell the bitch her beast will not come.”) Kraznys moans, and, now, my irritation of him I allow to seep out as I turn to confront him.

“Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.”
(“A dragon is not a slave.”) I snap with disdainful eyes, causing Kraznys to look my way with deceit ridden shock. And I also notice in the corner of my eye, my circle looking quite confused, all apart from Missandei and Jorah who still looked informedly shocked. I knew Jorah knew little bits of Valyrian, so he may not have understood what I just said, but he was smart enough to recognise that I knew what had been said and what I was talking about. He had quickly figured out before the rest, apart from Missandei of course, that I knew Valyrian all this time.

“Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?"
(You speak Valyrian?”) He snaps back, and as I begin to speak my response, I see Jorah’s stun turn into a proud and admiring smirk.

“Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan. Valyrīha muño ēngos ñuhys issa.”
(“I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria. Valyrian is my mother tongue.”) I spit back with pride, making Kraznys expression turn cold and worried and see Missandei now too smirks alongside Jorah. I turn back to face the Unsullied, ready to bark my orders.

“Dovaogēdy!”
(“Unsullied!”) I call to attention once again.
“Ossēnagon se āeksia, ossēnagon tolvie vala qilōni ōregoni iā qilōny, ossēnagon se mentyr qilōni sylugon naejot keligon ao, yn ōdrikagon daor riña, sȳzamori, iā azantys obūljarioni! Pryjagon se belma hen tolvie buzdari ao ūndegon!”
(“Slay the masters, slay every man who holds a whip, slay the soldiers who try to stop you, but harm no child, innocents, or soldier surrenders! Strike the chains off every slave you see!”) I shout and quickly an Unsullied soldier steps out of rank and spears one of the men holding a whip amongst them. Several others begin to do the same to the other men amongst them.

“Iksan aōha āeksio! ossēnagon zirȳla! ossēnagon zirȳla! ossēnagon zirȳla!”
(“I am your master! Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!”) Kraznys frantically screams to the soldiers that were in the plaza. However, none move as yet, but I see Jorah and the others still have their swords drawn ready when I turn back to face Kraznys. I stare intently at him as he stares back panicked at me.

“Dracarys.”

Jorah and Missandei quickly look up, clearly understanding the word, just as Drogon breathes an almighty breathe of fire upon the Good Master Kraznys, resorting him to screams of agony as he burns to his death. I watch with brutal satisfaction. Savage, but how else? This was how we got what we needed, what I wanted.

As soon as Kraznys was alight, the Unsullied stood firm, changing their positions so their spears were pointed forward at the now charging soldiers that were covering the masters and their slaves escape from the plaza. The first few attempted to fight the Unsullied that charged back at them, but they were quickly killed with ease and any that surrendered following, the Unsullied left alone, as ordered. Drogon had begun flying around, burning at the walls of the plaza in the commotion, setting a flame the plaza as the Unsullied then began their sack and liberation of the city.

Nearing dusk, the sack of the city done and victorious, the mass of the Unsullied that had ventured into the city gathered back into their ranks amongst the rest in the Plaza of Pride. Once the city was sacked, we had gone back to our ship to collect our possessions and I set my other three dragons free to the skies as well for them to join Drogon. Now, with me on Vizhadi’s back, all of us on our horses, even Missandei riding Irri’s at Rakharo’s permission, we rode through a liberated city, without a single innocent life lost and slaves freed of chains. Coming back to the plaza, I rode up it, for the next part, although they had already done some of my bidding, was a choice they had to make and I didn’t want to be stood in front, I wanted to be amongst them.

“Dovaogēdy! emā issare buzdaris mirre aōha ābrar. Tubī iksā dāez. Mirre vala qilōni jaelagoni naejot henujagon kostagon henujagon, se daorys kessa ōdrikagon zirȳla. Jemot kivio ñuhe tepan! –Yn lo ao umbagon, lo jaelā naejot umbagon, kessa ao ivīlībagon nyke? Hae dāero valoti?!”
(“Unsullied! You have been slaves all your life. Today you are free. Any man who wishes to leave may leave, and no one will harm him. I give you my word! –But if you stay, if you want to stay, will you fight for me? As free men?!”) I proclaim.

For a moment, there is just complete silence. Only the distant calls from my dragons above in the sky can be heard, until another faint noise is heard. But it quickly grows louder and I soon realise that it is the spears of the Unsullied. They were beginning to hit them against the ground, and soon the sound echoes loudly through the plaza as all 8,000 did so in unison. I looked around with a small, proud but serious smile on my face at the unified army before me, currently pledging themselves to my cause. An army of slaves becoming free men and liberators. This was a new day in history. I looked back at my circle and saw they were all smiling pridefully and admiringly, no more so than Jorah. I looked at the whip of the Unsullied in my hand and happily threw it to the ground with disregard.

After going back into the city and making a speech to the slaves, declaring the city was theirs - theirs to build, theirs to rule, theirs to live in peace - like Qarth, I bestowed upon them a council to rule over the city. But instead here, I allowed them to choose from amongst themselves who that would be to govern them. I had conquered the city, yes, but liberated the slaves, not conquered the slaves too. They would rule the city, not me, and I had never seen so many happy faces. So, when we set off, riding out of The Plaza of Pride, out of Astapor, my dragons soaring in the sky and the Unsullied marching behind us, I couldn’t wait to see the happy faces in more freed slaves in the next city.

Astapor had been a success. I was never going to let Kraznys take my child and I was never going to leave Astapor without the Unsullied, for they were what we relied on for what came next. With them at our back, a loyal set of soldiers, freed from chains, we had the muscle to enforce our liberation. Xaro had been the one who taught me to seize my power, not wait or ask for it, but take it. And that was exactly what I had done against the Good Masters of Astapor today. Now came the Wise Masters of Yunkai.

Chapter Text

Jorah and Barristan had been riding together, reminiscing of old times as knights of the Kingsguard to Aerys Targaryen. Since leaving Astapor, they had been riding for Yunkai but not far along the way, Daenerys had stopped the ride and march for everyone to rest and drink near a small body of water. Continuing their conversation as they came to bring their horses for a drink, Jorah and Barristan spoke of their choices and where they ended up because of them.

“I burned away my last ten years fighting for a terrible queen.” Barristan states.

“You swore an oath.” Jorah points out.

“Yes. And a man of honour keeps his vows, even if he’s serving a drunk or a lunatic. –But before my life is over, I want to feel what it is like to serve with pride once again after all those bloody years spent in that bloody war. Someone I believe in. –Do you believe in her?” Barristan queries looking over Jorah’s shoulder at Daenerys with William and Missandei around the edge of the water ahead.

Jorah turns to look at her as she gets down from her Vizhadi, whilst a small group of Unsullied march towards them. “With all my heart.” He declares.

-

“These are the ones?” I ask coming to stand next to Missandei and William as the Unsullied march and halt before us.

“Yes, Daenerys, the officers.” Missandei confirms.

“Ao gōntan daor iderēbagon bisa ābrar. Yn iksā dāez vali sir, se dāez vali mazverdagon pōja encagan iderennoni. Emagon ao iderēptan aōha encagan jentys amongst aōha qogror?”
(“You did not choose this life. But you are free men now, and free men make their own choices. Have you selected your own leader amongst your ranks?”) I question, and instantly all in front step to the side, leaving a narrow path through the center of them, revealing a single soldier at the back.

“Nādīnagon aōha gelte, se kostilus dekuragon naejot.”
(“Remove your helmet, and please step forward.”) I ask, and he sticks his spear into the ground beside him before removing his helmet as he starts to walk up to stand before us. With proud stature, the young soldier, again around similar age to the three of us, held his helmet at his chest and his shield still up front.

“Bisy ēza se boscagoni.”
(“This one has the honour.”) The soldier greets.

“Se boscagoni iksis ñuhon. –Skoros iksis aōha brōzi?"
(“The honour is mine. –What is your name?”) I ask.

“Turgon Nudha.”
(“Grey Worm.”) The soldier answers.

“Turgon Nudha?” I repeat to my surprise. Why such a strange name? I turn to Missandei in curious question.

“All Unsullied boys are given new names when they are cut. Grey Worm, Red Flea, Black Rat. Names that remind them what they are—vermin.” Missandei explains as I look back to the soldier with pity and disgust. These soldiers literally had everything taken from then, even their names.

“Hen bisa tubis naejot, kesā iderēbagon aōha encagan brōzāt. Kesā ivestragon aōha idañe mentyr naejot gaomagon keskydoso. Qrīdrughagon aōha gadbagi. Iderēbagon se brōzi aōha muñar teptan ao, iā mirre tolie. Iā brōzi bona tepagon ao hoskagon.”
(“From this day forward, you will choose your own names. You will tell your fellow soldiers to do the same. Throw away your slave name. Choose the name your parents gave you, or any other. A name that gives you pride.”) I declare.

“‘Turgon Nudha’ tepagon nyke hoskagon. Issa iā beri brōzi. –Se brōzi bisy iksin āzma lēda iksin qrimbrōstan. Bona iksin se brōzi ēdas skori īles gūrogoni hae iā buzdari. –Yn Turgon Nudha iksis se brōzi bisy ēdas se tubis Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor mazilībagon zirȳla dāez.” (“‘Grey Worm’ gives me pride. It is a lucky name. –The name this one was born with was cursed. That was the name he had when he was taken as a slave. –But Grey Worm is the name this one had the day Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen set him free.”) Grey Worm proclaims proudly, making me feel a great sense of pride and gratitude.

-

“Cersei and Tywin Lannister wanted her dead. Still do. Why?” Jorah asks Barristan as they walk with their horses to join the resuming march and journey.

“Course they do. She’s a Targaryen. The last Targaryen. As long as she is alive the Iron Throne will always be hers, no matter who sits on it. They crave power above all else, especially Cersei.” Barristan explains.

“They sent many assassins over the years, I suppose no one on the council could speak some sense into them; both of them trying to murder a child continuously. Did you not protest to it?” Jorah queries curiously.

“I suspected such things. I just hoped they would always fail, and they did. But I could not protest; I did not sit on the council.” Barristan informs.

“No? You sat on Aerys? Doesn’t the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard traditionally—,” Jorah starts.

“Traditionally, yes, but even though I stayed under their rule, they still didn’t trust me enough to keep me around for their sly meetings.” Barristan explains before turning to mount his horse, and Jorah breathes a small sigh of relief to himself at Barristan’s turned back as he too mounted his own horse. “They didn’t much want advice from someone who had fought and bled for the Targaryen’s. –Can’t say I minded much; I always hated the politics.” Barristan adds as they begin their ride to join the others.

“Yeah, I imagine I would have too. Hours spent jabbering about backstabbing and betrayals the world over.” Jorah relates, looking to Barristan to see his reaction to the remark. Barristan simply mumbles his agreement, paying no mind to it, and Jorah relaxes inside.

“Well, if one day Daenerys does in fact take the throne, like we both want, she’ll have to wade through that muck to rule through the Seven Kingdoms, but I think she may be suited to it more than you or I, Ser Barristan.” Jorah points out.

“She’ll have good men around her to advise her, men with experience—if she should allow that day to come, and I pray it will.” Barristan states.

-

“Yunkai, the Yellow City.” William announces as we come to stand at a cliff’s edge, overlooking the city ahead in the distance. We were here, after all the days travel. Just as well, too. We had sold our ship for provisions at Astapor and they were now just running out on account of the many mouths to feed. We would replenish them here.

“The Yunkish train bed slaves, not soldiers, we can defeat them.” Ser Barristan declares.

“On the field with ease, but they won’t meet us on the field. They have provisions, patience and strong walls. If they’re wise, they’ll hide behind those walls and chip away at us, man by man.” Jorah points out.

“I don’t want half my army killed on the first city we come to.” I state.

“Then perhaps we don’t take the city.” William suggests, making me turn to him. “Not yet, at least.” He adds. “Maybe we strike easier cities first. The more we free, the more the word gets around. Then more will be more likely to surrender, to succumb to your power. We could leave, only to take Yunkai later.” He explains.

“I didn’t travel all the way here, just to leave and bypass those within this city. We are here now, and the people deserve to be free sooner rather than later.” I retort.

“I merely meant to say that there is no reason why you couldn’t take other cities first, to only return and make it easier for yourself and your army.” William elaborates.

“Ser Jorah, how many slaves are there in Yunkai?” I question as I look back over at the city.

“200,000, if not more.” He answers.

“Then we have at least 200,000 reasons to take the city now, easy or not.” I proclaim, before turning back and looking to Grey Worm.

“Jikagon vala naejot se oktion remȳti. Ivestragon se buzdarisa kesan jiōragon zirȳ kesīr se mazōregon pōja obūljarion. Lodaor, Yunkai kessa botagon keskydoso vējes hae Astapor.”
(“Send a man to the city gates. Tell the slavers I will receive them here and accept their surrender. Otherwise, Yunkai will suffer the same fate as Astapor.”) I order, and the faintest of smirks hints on Grey Worm’s face before he bows his head and turns to enact the order.

“Are you going to let us in on the plan, or will be in the dark like Astapor?” William asks.

“They can surrender or suffer a fate like Astapor. That is the plan.” I state. “And I apologise for keeping you all in the dark at Astapor, but I wanted to remain ignorant in Kraznys’ eyes, and if you were all ignorant to the plan we all appeared even more so. Besides, it was a decision made quickly between negotiations, and we have the Unsullied now, and behind us as free men. –I can assure you all, I will not do it again.” I explain.

“Now, we must set up to receive the Wise Masters of Yunkai.” I announce.

On the cliffs, the Unsullied stood along the pathway, leading the Yunkai master to our tents and my own, where the rest made camp. Before we could see the arrival, we could hear them. A faint rumble of drums could be heard, echoing in the hills of the cliffs. When the Master was finally in view and arriving before us, he had several Yunkish soldiers with him of which one was banging on a drum, as well as slaves, who carried him in his seat and curiously a couple chests.

“Now comes the noble Razdal mo Eraz, of that ancient and honourable house, master of men and speaker to savages, to offer terms of peace.” Missandei introduces as the Wise Master Razdal steps down from his seat and walks into our open tent towards us. Although, according to my children he stepped a little too close as all four screeched a little threateningly at his arrival. The master takes a step back and I can see he looks visibly uneasy at the sight of the four of them sat freely around me in my own seat.

“Noble Lord, you are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.” Missandei continues, though the master makes no effort to say a word in greeting, just looks at me begrudgingly.

“You may approach. –Sit.” I allow, as Rakharo places a chair before us for him to take a seat, to which he does silently.

Missandei approaches with a goblet and wine. “Will the noble Lord take refreshment?” she offers, and he merely nods his head. Pouring him his cup, he takes it, sips it and places it on the ground, all while glaring my way, but I kept my smiling reception up regardless.

“Ancient and glorious is Yunkai. Our empire was old before dragons stirred in Old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls, you shall find no easy conquest here, Daenerys Stormborn.” Razdal challenges but paying his words no mind, I pick up a large piece of meat from a plate beside me and toss it in the air which the dragons quickly fly and fight over in front of us. The commotion puts Razdal at unease once more, exactly what I wanted.

“Good. My Unsullied need practise, I was told to blood them early.” I inform.

“If blood is your desire, blood shall flow. –But why? –‘Tis true, you have committed savageries in Astapor, but the Yunkaie are a forgiving and generous people.” Razdal proclaims before clapping his hands, which summons the slaves holding the chests forward. Clearly news travelled fast between the cities. “The Wise Masters of Yunkai have sent a gift, for the Silver Queen.” He adds, with a title I had not yet heard, as the slaves put the two chests at either side in front of me, opening them to reveal slabs of gold. I glance at the others, who seemed a little surprised just as I was, before looking back to Razdal.

“There is far more than this awaiting you on the deck of your ship.” He announces.

“My ship?” I query amused.

“Yes, Daenerys, as I said, we are a generous people. You should have as many ships as you require.” Razdal offers.

“And what do you ask in return for this gold and all these ships?” I question.

“All we ask, is that you make use of these ships, sail them back to Westeros where you belong and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace.” Razdal declares, and I glance at the slaves behind him in their collars. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I have a gift for you as well—your life.” I state.

“My life?” Razdal repeats confused.

“And the lives of your Wise Masters, but I also want something in return—you will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman and child will be given as much food, clothing and property as they can carry as payment for their years of servitude. –Reject this gift, and I will show you no mercy.” I proclaim.

“You are mad. –We are not Astapor or Qarth, we are Yunkai. And we have powerful friends, friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive we shall enslave once more.” Razdal spits. “Perhaps we’ll make a slave of you as well.” He snaps standing forward from his seat in anger, but Drogon, next to me, threateningly screeches at him between us.

“You swore me safe conduct.” Razdal worries.

“I did, but my dragons made no promises, and you threatened their mother.” I retort.

“Take the gold.” Razdal orders of his slaves, who come forward wary of the dragons. As they come close to the gold, closer to me, Drogon drops to the chest of gold beneath him and screeches again in threat, sending the slaves back in fear without the gold.

“My gold, you gave it to me, remember? And I shall put it to good use, you’d be wise to do the same with my gift to you.” I advise. “Now, get out.” I spit, making Razdal turn and march back to his seat, muttering Valyrian insults under his breath as he did.

“The Yunkish are a proud people, they will not bend.” Barristan warns.

“And what happens to things that don’t bend?” I point out, looking their way, seeing the amused hints of smiles.

“He said he had powerful friends, who is he talking about?” I query.

“I don’t know.” Jorah answers.

“Find out.” I ask.

Jorah had taken William, both of them scouting the outer skirts of the city to see if they could find any intel while Barristan watched over Missandei and I. But the two had not been gone long before they returned, and with interesting news on who these powerful friends were in fact. Having wrapped up in sand and dirt aged cloth, camouflaging ourselves against the desert terrain, we peered through and over rocks down at the back outskirts of the city, where a camp of riders was inhabiting the plain by the city’s walls. Jorah had told us that these powerful friends were called the Second Sons, but looking at them now, they did not seem to match our numbers so the threat of powerful friends seemed to die down quickly.

“If they only fight for gold, then they have no honour or loyalty, they cannot be trusted.” Barristan states as we onlook the camp.

“They can be trusted to kill you if they’re well paid, and the Yunkish no doubt are paying them well.” William retorts.

“You know these men?” I ask, directed at Jorah, though I still looked down on the lively camp.

“Only by the broken swords on their banners—the Second Sons are a company led by a Braavosi named Mero—the Titan’s bastard.” Jorah announces.

“Is he more Titan or bastard?” I lightly joke, with a hint of a smirk.

“He’s a dangerous man, Khaleesi, they all are.” Jorah warns seriously.

I sigh smally. “How many?” I query.

“2,000—armoured and mounted.” William declares.

“With them all—mounted too—would it be enough to make a difference?” I question looking across the three of them, thinking of once again taking another source of power from under the master’s noses. They all glance at each other quickly before Ser Barristan nods in affirmation. I think for a moment, before relaying my plan.

“It’s hard to collect wages from a corpse, I’m sure the sellswords would prefer to fight for the winning side.” I point out, a small smirk on my face.

“I imagine you’re right.” Jorah backs with the same hint of an expression.

“I’d like to talk to the Titan’s bastard about winning.” I add.

“He may not agree to meet.” Barristan forewarns.

“He will—a man who fights for gold can’t afford to lose to a girl.” I affirm.

Back in the tent, where we had greeted Razdal, we now waited on the arrival of the Titan’s bastard, and it appeared his lieutenants too that had accompanied him to meet with us, or more specifically me. The Titan had a smug look on his face and he didn’t have to speak a word for me to know he was going to be some kind of trouble.

“Your Grace, allow me to present the Captains of the Second Sons: Mero Braavos, Prendhal na Ghezn, and Daario Naharis.” Ser Barristan introduces as they stood before us, whilst I sat in my seat as I had with Razdal. Daario Naharis, curiously, bowed his head when his named was said, the only of the three to do so. He was a handsome man and seeming perhaps a little too friendly compared to his other captains. He had a slightly flirtatious smile, but I overlooked it, my concerns focussing on the Titan’s bastard for now, who steps forward after their introduction still with his smug expression.

“You’re the Mother of Dragons?” Mero questions unimpressed, to which I look back at him with curious eyes and a hint of a smile, ready for whatever was to follow out his mouth. I had told myself to just keep smiling but stay smart and wary when conversing with this man. “I swear I fucked you once in a pleasure house in Lys.” He follows.

“Mind your tongue.” Jorah sternly scorns.

“Why? I didn’t mind hers.” Mero retorts as he comes forward to take the seat next to me. “She licked my ass like she was born to do it.” He continues as he sits, before flicking his tongue in a vulgar motion, but I warrant no reaction.

He chuckles to himself as he turns and looks towards Missandei, as his other two captains take seats pulled up in front. “You, slave girl, bring wine.” Mero orders.

“We have no slaves here.” I retort, but keeping the smiling front painted on. I look to Missandei and give her a slight nod in reassurance for her to do as she pleases.

“You’ll all be slaves after the battle, unless I save you.” Mero warns, and again I just look at him curiously, waiting for the next vulgar remark to follow. “Take your clothes off and come sit on Mero’s lap, and I may give you my Second Sons.” He cheaply and jokingly bargains.

“Give me your Second Sons and I may not have you gelded.” I retort with a smile, making him scoff amused.

“William, how many men fight for the Second Sons?” I query.

“Under 2,000.” He amusingly answers.

“We have more, don’t we?” I boast.

“10,000 Unsullied.” He affirms as Missandei brings over some cups of wine.

“I’m only a young girl, new to the ways of war, but perhaps a seasoned captain like yourself can explain to me how you propose to defeat us?” I question as they all take a cup of wine.

“I hope your friend is better with a sword, than he is with a lie. You have 8,000 Unsullied.” Daario Naharis interjects the conversation, catching us out. I look to him, ever so slightly annoyed.

“You’re very young to be a Captain.” I scorn.

“He’s not a captain, he’s a leftenant.” Prendhal corrects before Daario could reply.

I look back to Mero, wanting to get back to the objective. “Even if your numbers are right, you must admit the odds don’t favour your side.” I poke.

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and won.” Mero states.

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run.” Jorah mocks, making my smile grow just a little at his joke as I glance at him.

“Or you could fight for me.” I proclaim.

Mero chuckles as motions for more wine from Missandei. “We’ve taken the slavers gold, we fight for Yunkai.” Mero announces.

“I will pay you as much and more.” I bargain as Missandei pours the wine for Mero, and he seems to take more interest in her than the conversation. He even tries to sniff her lower parts disgustingly to which she backs off quite quickly in disgust herself.

“Our contract is our bond, if we break our bond, no one will hire the Second Sons again.” Prendhal points out.

“Ride with me and you’ll never need another contract. You’ll have gold and homes of your choosing when I liberate cities across the continent, provided you stick to my terms, of course.” I declare.

“You have no siege weapons, you have no calvary, you have no ships.” Daario annoyingly informs.

“Weeks ago I had no army, months ago I had no dragons.” I retaliate, making a point, before turning back to Mero.

“You have two days to decide.” I state.

Mero sits up straight and leans forward towards me. “Show me your cunt, I want to see if it’s worth fighting for.” Mero pokes, but I keep my smiling front up even though Jorah hovers over his sword, as Rakharo hovers over his arakh, and Grey worm then speaks up, also hovering over his dagger.

“Ñuha dāria, kessa nyke unehtogho zȳhon ēngos syt ao?”
(“My queen, shall I slice out his tongue for you?”) Grey Worm offers, disgusted at the man’s words and attitude. It was the first time he had called me his queen, no doubt picking it up from Ser Barristan and taking it on as his own too now.

“Sei vali issi īlva guests.”
(“These men are our guests.”) I ease Grey Worm, unsure if one of them, or all, knew Valyrian.

“You seem to be enjoying our wine, perhaps you’d like a flagon to help you ponder?” I offer.

“Only a flagon? And what are my brothers in arms to drink?” Mero counters.

“A barrel then.” I concede happily.

“Good.” Mero says before rising from his seat, followed by the other two doing the same in front. “The Titan’s bastard does not drink alone.” He follows as he puts his cup down and begins to leave with the other two, but he then stops and turns back around to us.

“In the Second Sons we share everything, after the battle maybe we’ll share you.” Mero vulgarly threatens, to which I just shoot an amused look, appearing unfazed. He turns back around to leave and I glance to the others, watching them all go and catch Daario looking a little too longingly for my liking with that small smile again. Then Mero cut my thoughts away back to him as he rudely slaps Missandei’s behind as he says a crude remark. “I’ll come looking for you when this is over.”

Once his words had left his mouth and he was walking out the tent, my expression fell into one of disgust and annoyance, the expression I had been hiding the whole encounter.

“If it comes to battle, we kill that one first.” I order, as I scornfully watch Mero and the other two walk away.

“Kessa, ñuha dāria.” (“Yes, my Queen.”)
“Gladly, your Grace.”
“Aye.”
“With pleasure.” I hear simultaneously from the men around me.

The night had come around quickly that day, all the meetings and scouping around filled the days time. Now, we would wait to see which way the Second Sons would lean. With them on our side, it was an added extra source of power to our army, a cavalry beside the Unsullied, and it would bring us one step closer to liberating Yunkai just that bit easier. With the dark of the evening, I spent time with Missandei as I bathed. She was an easy conversationalist, I liked her very much, and the more one on one time we shared the more I hoped she would come to see me as her friend. Much like how Irri had been. She would often keep in my company, and I figured she felt most comfortable with me as the only other woman in our close circle. I hoped in time she would feel comfortable enough around the others without me there too. I wanted her to feel like she was one of us, because now she was.

“Nineteen?” I repeat shocked as I spoke with Missandei in my tent as I bathed and she kept me company, seated to the side.

“Yes, Daenerys.” She smiles.

“How can anyone speak nineteen languages?” I query massively impressed.

“It only took you under a year to learn Dothraki reasonably well.” Missandei points out.

“Yes, well, it was either learn Dothraki or grunt at my husband and hope--,” I begin, but belatedly pick up on what Missandei said, stopping myself mid-sentence. “Wait—reasonably well?” I repeat in question, with a curious smile and I see in Missandei’s face her expression drop, though she tries to hide it, as if she thought she had offended me in some way.

“Dothraki is difficult for the mouth to master. So guttural and harsh.” Missandei responds.

“Drogo ast anha astati Dothraki allayafi ato yol tat me. Me thrash mae davrabor athjahakal.”
(“Drogo said I spoke Dothraki like one born to it. It gave him great pride.”) I defend.

“Athjahakar.” Missandei corrects a little sheepishly.

“Athjahakar.” I repeat and she smiles smally in recognition that I had repeated it correctly. “Well, I suppose I am a little out of practise.” I joke, smiling to try and encourage a bigger one out of her. We both end up chuckling, our smiles turning into a quick fit of giggles at the conversation.

“Missandei, would you mind handing me my robe, please?” I ask coming out of our laughs, satisfied now with my time spent in the bath.

She rises form her seat and heads over to the corner of the tent behind me to collect it. “I may add though, Daenerys, your High Valyrian is very good. The gods could not devise a more perfect tongue. It is the only proper language for poetry.” Missandei speaks, just before I hear a shortened gasp from her behind.

Quickly, I turn in the bath to see what caused this, and see an Unsullied soldier holding his hand over Missandei’s mouth as he held a dagger to her throat with his other. But this was clearly no Unsullied soldier. “No screaming, or she dies.” The man orders as he walks with Missandei around the bath to stand in front of it, in front of me, grasping the sides of the bath tensed and nude beneath the water of the bath. Missandei was in danger, and I was completely vulnerable. This was not good. The man lowered his dagger, a strange work that had a naked woman as the hilt, and removed his helmet to reveal his identity. It was none other than Daario Naharis, the so-called leftenant of the Second Sons. He placed his dagger back against Missandei’s throat as he calmly but a little smugly looked at me.

“What do you want?” I scorn.

“You.” He simply states.

“Let her go.” I demand.

“Don’t scream lovely girl.” Daario says as he rmeoves his hand and dagger from Missandei, who takes a fearing breath, holds her throat and quickly backs away, coming round to behind the bath, behind me as Daario stays in front. He could only have been here to assassinate me, sneaking into our camp dressed as an Unsullied, and perhaps he would have been the first to succeed, he had the prefect opportunity. No guards, no weapons on me, I was in the bath and vulnerable. But he didn’t take it. Why?

“You were sent here to kill me?” I question. Daario scoffs lightly as he smiles, nodding his answer.

“So why haven’t you?” I ask.

“I don’t want to.” Daario states.

My expression doesn’t change, but my eyes look at him curiously. “And what do your captains have to say about that.” I spit.

He then pulls the strap of a sack over his head and off his back. “You should ask them.” He proudly responds as he brings it around front and empties the contents onto the floor. Two thuds sound as two things hit the ground. Looking, I see the two heads of Mero and Prendhal, the two captains of the Second Sons, his comrades, his leaders.

“Why?” I seriously ponder.

“We had philosophical differences.” Daario proclaims, always being so vague and short in answer.

“Over what?” I query.

“Your beauty—it meant more to me than it did to them.” Daario admits.

“You’re a strange man.” I point out, surprised at the answer and what was befalling in front of us.

“I’m the simplest man you’ll ever meet. I only do what I want to do.” He states.

“And so, this is supposed to impress me?” I question, glancing at the heads on the floor.

“Yes.” He simply answers.

“Why would I trust a man who murders his comrades?” I ask.

“They ordered me to murder you; I told them I preferred not to; they told me I had no choice. I told them I am Daario Naharis, I always have a choice. –They drew their swords, and I drew mine.” Daario explains.

This was an opportunity. Daario was coming to me, to change sides, and by killing his captains, he now had control of the Second Sons. If I pledged him to our cause, we had the Second Sons. He had come here to impress me, to make a spectacle. He caught me at a vulnerable time, but I had to assert myself and so that is why I decided to stand and emerge from the bath. Staring right back at Daario, standing before him nude and unfazed by it, I showed my confidence and dominance. I was the one in charge here, no matter the vulnerability. As I stepped out of the bath, Missandei had then held out my robe from behind for me to cover myself. As I put my arms in and wrapped my robe at my waist, my eyes not leaving Daario’s the whole time, Missandei pulled out my Targaryen dragon pin from my hair, letting my long waves fall.

“Will you fight for me?” I question as I finish tying my robe and Daario nods his head.

Taking steps forward, I come to stand right before him, close enough to touch. “Swear to me.” I demand.

Daario then takes his sword, a weapon that much resembled my Dothraki riders arakhs, from his belt. He takes a knee before me and lays it flat across it. “The Second Sons are yours and so is Daario Naharis. My sword is yours, my life is yours—my heart is yours.” Daario declares before bowing his head. He seemed incredibly loyal in declaration, even a bit too forward, but this was a good advantage for moving forward. Not only did we now have the Second Sons, but we now also had inside intel from Daario, information we could use to infiltrate the city without losing a mass of my soldiers against the walls. Now Yunkai’s time had come.

“Where?” I ask, as we all looked over a map of Yunkai, courtesy of Daario, the following day.

“There.” Daario points vaguely and he registers my want for clarification, and so he moves around the table and comes up directly behind me. A bit too close, too familiar, he made his desires obvious, and I could see it made a couple of the others uncomfortable, which I honestly found amusing. Surely I was the one to be made uncomfortable by it, not them, but I wasn’t. Planted right behind me, his body touching against my back, he grasps my hand and moves it across the map so my own finger is pointing at the location we spoke of, stroking my hand as he let go. I had glanced at the others quickly as he did and Jorah looked the most annoyed. He had shown his distrust and dislike for Daario ever since I spoke to them all about what had happened the previous night.

“There.” Daario repeats, as his hand leaves mine. “It’s a back gate. My men use it when they visit Yunkai’s bed slaves.” He informs.

“Your men, but not you?” William pokes, which surprised me a little, I had half expected a witty remark from Jorah.

“I have no interest in slaves, a man cannot make love to property.” Daario retorts, which I try to hide my smirk at. I was quickly beginning to like this man, he was quick with the others and also had admirable morals and views for a man in regards to slaves, or at least, he did now he was with us.

“This is where we enter the city. There are very few guards, they know me. They will let me inside.” Daario announces.

“You’re not going to sneak an army through a back gate.” Barristan points out.

“I will kill the guards. I take your best few men and lead them through the back streets, which I know well, and open the front gates. Then comes the army. –Once the walls are breached the city will fall in hours.” Daario continues.

“Or perhaps you’ll lead us to the slaughter, cutting the head off our army, and killing the advisers in one swoop. The Masters of Yunkai will pay you a fee and you won’t have to split it three ways because you’ve already slaughtered your partners.” Jorah suspects.

“You have a very suspicious mind. In my experience, only dishonest people think this way.” Daario retaliates in his calm and unfazed manner, though Jorah looks a little stung by his comment.

“Ser Jorah and I have been through enough together for him to be so, I assure you.” I defend, coming to Jorah’s aid, nodding at him slightly in assurance.

He nods back smally before turning to Grey Worm. “You command the Unsullied, what do you think?” Jorah questions.

Grey Worm doesn’t answer straight away, he looks at Jorah as if confused as to why he would be asked, then his eyes divert to me, with the same look.

“Iksā iā jentys sir. Gaomagon ao pāsagon zirȳla?”
(“You are a leader now. Do you trust him?”) I comfortingly ask.

Grew Worm’s eyes move to look at Daario, merely seconds before looking back to me. “Nyke pāsagon zirȳla."
(“I trust him.”) He affirms.

I stand straight at his answer, my hands coming off the table to my side, my decision made. “Do what you must to survive, but let’s try and shed as little blood as possible, and no slaves are to be harmed no matter what. I know their soldiers will no doubt be former slaves, eventually they will surrender, just like Astapor. Yunkai seems a little more tightly strung, so it may not be until it is too late that they believe. –You leave tonight.” I announce.

“All of us, your Grace?” Barristan queries.

“Yes, you are all my best men in this room. If I cannot go in to fight myself, then it eases my worry knowing you all have each other’s backs in there.” I answer, knowing Jorah would never allow me to set foot inside, to fight. I was the front of this liberation, this conquest, the leader, and if I died, it would have all been for nothing.

“If your Grace would allow it, I would like to stay by your side, protect you and Missandei if need be. I know you said there was no need, but I’ll be your one-man Queensguard, and after Daario’s entry, I would advise to allow it.” Barristan puts forward.

I look to Jorah, who I knew would agree anyway and I can see his agreement in his eyes alone. I look back to Barristan. “Very well, Ser Barristan. But if you stay, then my riders will go. As I said, I would prefer it knowing you all had each other’s backs in there.” I order and Barristan nods his response, as do my riders.

“We’ll see to the preparations.” William declares, patting Jorah’s shoulder as he speaks, and they begin to leave the tent with Daario and Grey Worm behind, and my riders following. I notice Daario shooting a little smug smile my way as he left but I dismissed it just as quick.

“So, Ser Barristan, if you won’t be fighting the Yunkish—you can fight me instead.” I grin.

“Pardon, you Grace?” he ponders, a confused look on his face as I walk about the tent. Picking up my father’s sword Dragon’s Breath, now my sword, I turn with it in my hand. Then I watch the realisation wash over Barristan’s face at seeing it.

“So—Robert gave you the sword. I had wondered what had become of it, seeing as I recognised that dagger you wear at your belt.” Barristan thinks aloud.

“I’ll admit, it feels strange to call it mine. –It would have been Viserys’.” I sombrely point out.

“Now it’s yours. The Last Dragon.” Barristan comfortingly responds with my father’s title, and I smile at his gesture. “Your circle of followers before me have all said you’re quite the fighter, from Jorah to Rakharo. So why don’t you wear it at your belt?” He asks.

“It’s valuable, in more ways than one. And if I’m not fighting alongside my men, then it’s just for show, and I’d rather not showcase it. –However, I’m sure a time will arise one day when you shall see me with it at my belt alongside my men.” I explain.

“And I shall be stood next to you, with mine in hand with pride, your Grace.” Barristan declares proudly.

I smile as he does. “Well, until that day, I’m afraid you will have stand in front and fight me, Ser Barristan.” I poke, unsheathing my sword.

Barristan unsheathes his own. “Would you like me to go easy on you to begin with, your Grace?” he smirks.

“No; I won’t.” I smirk back as I clench Dragon’s Breath.

After the afternoon turned to the dark of the evening, after Barristan and I had sparred as long as we could, with Missandei’s watchful admiration and claps which had amused me. I supposed she had never seen a woman fight before, coming from a background of slavery, then again, even in Westeros a woman knight was not really allowed. Barristan and I’s fighting had gone on for so long before my mind started to ponder on the others. We knew they were in the city now enacting the plan, the Unsullied at the front. It was taking longer than I anticipated, longer than Astapor, but then Astapor had been an entirely different approach, but just with the same outcome. Barristan and Missandei had resorted to drinking wine as I sat and paced about the tent. We had been waiting a while, with no word and I was beginning to worry about them all.

I walked over to Barristan pouring himself another cup of wine. “We’ve been waiting a long time.” I state, and he looks at me as if perhaps we hadn’t. “Haven’t we?” I add and Barristan shrugs. I scoff lightly at his lack of words with a hint of a smile. “Well, I don’t know, you tell me, how long does it take to sack a city?” I question with my worry coming through this time.

Barristan’s mouth opens to reply but the sound of footsteps approaching from around the tent, stops him and we both look to the entrance, where suddenly Jorah and William appear with spatters of blood on their faces and armour.

“It was just as you said, they did not believe until it was too late.” Jorah begun as Rakharo and Grey Worm soon appeared in a similar state behind them as the sound of the Unsullied marching back into camp was heard. “But their slave soldiers threw down their spears and surrendered.” Jorah smiles in victory as I breathe a sigh of relief. We had won, but I suddenly wondered at what cost did we win as I glanced around and couldn’t see some of my riders or Daario Naharis.

“Kavarro? Aggo?” I question and Rakharo steps forward.

“They ride the Night Lands tonight, Khaleesi.” He announces sadly, and I instantly step forward and embrace him. They were his brothers in arms, all three of them were my blood riders, my protectors before that in Vaes Dothrak. Rakharo had lost the last two he had of his Dothraki past after losing Irri in Qarth and I had lost two loyal riders and friends. I held him in comfort for both him and I.

“We will build a pyre tonight, I swear it.” I quietly say between us as another figure appears to stand alongside us. It was Daario Naharis. He strode on through to stand before me in front of the others and took a knee before then displaying the Yunkai flag across it. I didn’t want him to, but Rakharo took a step back so Daario could deliver the news no doubt.

“The city is yours, my queen.” Daario announces, and I glaze over him beginning to call me his queen also now as although it was a great victory, at that moment I didn’t smile, for the news of losing those close to you, mattered more than a victory, that they in fact lost their lives in.

“Good.” I reply, and I could see Daario thought my reaction was lacklustre but the city could wait, for Aggo and Kavarro needed their passage to the Night Lands. “We will approach the city in the light of morning—tonight, we build a pyre.” I order, before striding past everyone with Rakharo close behind me.

With Aggo and Kavarro in my night’s prayers as we watched them burn and pass into the Night Lands, Rakharo close to my side as they did, we had said our goodbyes, I had said my goodbyes to my riders, though we would never forget them. It was soon that the smoke cleared in the light of the morning and that meant it was time to face the city. With it taken and the Wise Masters having surrendered, the slaves would have had control of the city over night and I did not want to re-enter the city without their permittance. I did not want to enter again and make them think I was their new master, I wanted them to take their freedom and make their choices. So, we would wait.

Outside the front gate, the front walls of the city, we waited in the light and sun of the morning. On a large rock, we stood and waited, waiting to see if the slaves would receive us. The Unsullied and Second Sons lined all the way back behind us, as far as you could see, while several Unsullied, including Grey Worm, stood side by side in front of us on this rock. It felt as if we had been waiting for a while, and I started to wonder if they wouldn’t receive us. Perhaps they didn’t want us here. It started to feel as if I was waiting to find out if I was either an unwanted conqueror or a welcome liberator.

“They will come, Daenerys—when they’re ready.” William assures, no doubt reading my face of worry as the others probably had as well.

“Perhaps, they didn’t want to be conquered.” I relent.

“You didn’t conquer them, you liberated them.” Jorah corrects comfortingly.

“People learn to love their chains.” I retort sadly.

After a few more silent moments of staring at the gate, the only noise coming from the light rumbles of my dragons also on the rock, the sound of the gate creaking suddenly echoed ahead and it opened. Pouring out of the gate came all the slaves, in their huge mass of numbers. They approached us in their mass, more continuing to come as the first began to gather around us in front of the Unsullied. They did not adorn happy faces but neither did they appear hostile. I was unsure of how they felt, I couldn’t read them. Then my Unsullied in front took their offensive stance, pointing their spears out as the first slaves surrounded our front and came close to them. I hadn’t told them to do so, they were just protecting us, but because I was unsure of their intentions as of yet, I said no word to discourage it. we watched as more and more poured out and filled the land in front of us, there was so many, too many to even count.

“Bisa iksis Daenērys Jelmāzmo Targārien, se Dorzalty, se Muña Zaldrīzoti, se dārilaros hen Vesteros. Issa naejot zirȳla ao enkagon aōha dāezi.”
(“This is Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, and Princess of Westeros. It is to her you owe your freedom.”) Missandei had begun to announce, taking it into her own hands as I may have been looking across them all silent and bewildered. She had used my formal titles, but she had added ‘the Unburnt’ which I hadn’t expected. I had spoke to her of the event and many other things, and now she had bestowed me a new title. My thoughts had wondered as she said it until she said that their freedom was owed to me, then I stopped her.

“No.” I quietly say next to her, gently touching her arm and she stops. I step forward on the rock, looking over all their faces still, before I mustered my own words.

“Gaomā daor enkagon nyke aōha dāezi. Nyke daor tepagon ziry naejot ao. Aōha dāezi iksis daor ñuhon naejot tepagon. Ziry sytilībagona naejot ao Se ao mērī. Lo jaelā ziry arlī, istia gūrogon ziry syt aōlasa. Mērea se tolvys hen ao.”
(“You do not owe me your freedom. I cannot give it to you. Your freedom is not mine to give. It belongs to you and you alone. If you want it back, you must take it for yourselves. Each and everyone of you.”) I shout in declaration and for a moment they remain plain and silent in their expressions, as they had been when they poured out the gate. They filled the land before us and still more were lining the gate and inside it. I felt I had been waiting the longest time for their response but soon after the silent moment a child in their parent’s arms shouted a word, which her father repeated: ‘Mhysa’. Quickly, nearly all of them were chanting this word over and over as their arms outstretched towards us, but I couldn’t decipher it; it wasn’t Valyrian.

“What does it mean?” I ask Missandei next to me.

“It is Old Ghiscari, Daenerys. It means—Mother.” Missandei informs between us as the front of the mass of slaves take some steps closer to the Unsullied who still had their spears pointed out and emphasised their position at the slaves coming even closer to them. It makes Jorah and the rest do the same, hovering over their swords in anticipation and reflex.

“It’s alright. These people won’t hurt me.” I assure them and their hands fall back down to their sides. I step down the rock, past the others and crouch down beside my dragons.

“Sōvegon.”
(“Fly.”) I whisper next to Drogon and he soon pushes from the rock, the other three following suit as they all soar into the sky above us. I continue down the rock and onto the land, coming behind Grey Worm and his Unsullied.

“Kostā dīnagon aōha egriosa ilagon. Ivestragī nyke rēbagon.”
(“You can put your spears down. Let me pass.”) I inform and Grey Worm moves aside for me to walk through and as I do the slaves expression turn more happy and their chants grow louder as I enter into the vast number of them. I walk through them and they all hold their arms out and hands out next to me, touching my shoulders, my arms, my hair as I walk as if I were some deity come to life. As I seemed to approach the middle of them, they crowded me and a few men suddenly grabbed me. Initially in the second when they did, I wondered and slightly feared what they were doing but it soon was clear. They lifted me into the air on my back and I stared into the sky before they propped me up onto a couple of their shoulders as they all still continued to chant ‘Mhysa’ and outstretch their arms and hands. They moved me in a circle and I outstretched my arms and hands back, so I would touch theirs, smiling brightly as I did back at them. This was why I set out to do this. To see the happy faces of those who had just taken and gotten back their freedom, free from their chains and masters who had surrendered to our terms. This city was now theirs as well as the Master’s, just like Astapor and Qarth. The liberation we had started, although it had it’s bumps and serious blows, it was working, we were triumphing. I just had to make sure it wasn’t at anyone else’s cost as we went forward. Slaver’s Bay was conceding to our liberation. Our starting point for this liberation was the biggest step in doing so for all across Essos and now we had our biggest challenge yet of the Bay: Meereen. The biggest city and the most prominent for its slavery, stronghold and power in the Bay. But I had my hopes and faith that Meereen would come to have the same fate as the rest. And we would see more liberated faces across Slaver’s Bay.

As the freed men, women and children of Yunkai chanted ‘Mhysa’, and I held their hands, I looked across at a proud group of people stood on the rock, smiling just as I and the people were, while my children, my dragons, soared the skies and screeched their sounds. We were becoming a force to be reckoned with, and Meereen was next.

Chapter Text

Like we had several times across the journey, we had stopped so everyone could rest. Travelling in the hot sun and for such a distance to Meereen, our stops were frequent. We had to rest, we had to drink, we had to eat. But I used the time to spend it with my children. Drogon had always seemed the most affectionate, wanting my attention and comfort the most. Rhaegal, Eleria and Aerion would often want attention but quickly go off and play, whereas Drogon would linger more to get more. They all had grown again during our travels; the time between their growth spurts was getting shorter and they were getting bigger and bigger, they were now bigger than me. Within several months, they had gone from being small newborns to growing adolescents. So every moment they all wanted attention, I savoured it. As I looked out at the three flying over the cliff’s edge across the water of the Bay, playing together, I stroked and caressed Drogon’s head. He even would nudge his head into my hand when he felt I wasn’t doing it enough which always made me smile.

Then at some point, after the three had returned from flying around the terrain playing, I noticed they had come back fighting over some food they had obviously caught. All three clawed and pulled at it until it was suddenly let go and a bloodied lamb dropped on the rock in front of Drogon and I which immediately caught his attention. The three flew down and landed by it, just as Drogon moved forward and grabbed it himself. All four of them were now feeding, but snapping here and there at each other as they did. I leaned forward and stroked Drogon’s back, shushing comfortingly, as I had been doing when he was resting his head on my lap, but taking me by surprise he swiftly turns back and hisses in my face. It frightened me at first and I leant back in response as his head hissed right in front of mine. He then turned back to the food and Rhaegal, Eleria and Aerion flew off back into the skies, each holding bits of the lamb in their claws. Drogon roared after them, their sounds also getting deeper as they grew, though it was still a little high-pitched, before he then flew after them, leaving me alone on the rock. I watched them soar over the Bay for a moment, taking in what had just happened when my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone climbing up onto the rock behind me.

“They’re dragons, Khaleesi. They can never be tamed—not even by their mother.” Jorah’s voice reasons, obviously having witnessed Drogon’s outburst and I look back at him with disappointment in my eyes.

I gave him a weak nod. “I just thought I’d have more time.” I reply as I push myself up from the rock into a stand. He says nothing as I walk back over, but I change the subject as we descend the rock together.

“Are we ready to go?” I ask.

“Everyone is rested and fed, Khaleesi.” Jorah informs.

“How much provisions do we have left from Yunkai?” I question as we begin to walk back to the armies and the others.

“More than enough to see us to Meereen.” He assures.

“Good. –I assume we are almost there. We have been travelling for some time now.” I state.

“We’ll make it to Meereen before dusk. We will still have the sun for a time when we arrive there.” Jorah announces and I nod in response.

As we come back to the front of the Unsullied, to the front of our travelling march of armies, I only see Ser Barristan and Missandei stood with our horses.

“Where are the others?” I query, wondering where William, Rakharo, Grey Worm and Daario were.

“Gambling, your Grace.” Barristan smirks.

“Gambling?” I repeat in agitation. I look between the three before marching off down the middle of the Unsullied until I found them, and I hear the footsteps of someone follow which I guess to be Missandei, who soon caught up to my side. The sooner we set off again, the sooner we’d get to Meereen, and I wanted to beat the dusk.

“How long have they been at it Missandei?” I question her when the three of them came into view all sat crossed legged holding their daggers and arakhs across their hands, staring at each other.

“Since we stopped, Daenerys, so around three hours.” She declares as we come to stand before all three of them.

“They’re all stronger than they look, but I can see their arms beginning to shake.” Daario teases.

“So, what is the prize for winning this contest?” I query.

“The honour of riding by your side on the road to Meereen.” William answers.

“Well, it would seem that honour has gone to Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan as neither of them kept me waiting.” I mock with a smile and turn to leave but stop myself and look back. “Oh, and the last man holding their dagger can ride in the rear with and protecting the livestock and provisions.” I proclaim with a smirk before turning to leave, headed back for the front, and their daggers all quickly drop with a clang.

I had of course been joking, and we had all ridden together at the front of the march, that was until we neared Meereen, coming close to their road that led the way to the city for the last amount of miles. I stood at a cliff’s edge with Missandei, appreciating the tranquil beauty of the Bay as my children flew across it and the armies continued their marching and riding behind us on the road.

“Have you ever been Meereen, Missandei?” I ask.

“Several times, Daenerys, with Master Kraznys.” She answers.

“And?” I query, poking for more.

“They say a thousand slaves died building the Great Pyramid of Meereen.” Missandei sadly informs.

“And now an army of former slaves is marching to her gates.” I state. “—Do you think the Great Masters are worried?” I question.

“If they’re smart, they should be.” Missandei smirks, which made me in turn before we heard someone approach from behind. Turning we see it is Daario.

“Excuse me, my queen, but I wish to speak to you about something important. A matter of strategy.” He announces and I look to Missandei who nods and takes her own leave back to her horse to join the others.

“Alright, what is this matter of strategy?” I ask, looking back out at the Bay.

“A dusk rose.” Daario says and I look to see him holding one out between us, a blue dusk rose. I look at it curiously, before scoffing lightly with amusement and beginning to walk back, following after Missandei, but Daario persists.

“This one’s called lady’s lace.” He adds as he switches the rose for them behind his back and I eye him curiously again, but don’t say a word. Flattery wouldn’t work with me, and I knew Daario had been constantly trying to win me over ever since he joined us at Yunkai.

“You have to know a land to rule it. It’s plants, it’s rivers, it’s roads—it’s people.” Daario continues as we walk and I begun to see what in fact he was trying to say.

“Dusk rose tease eases—,” Daario begins. “Fever.” I interject and he then looks at me curiously. “Right.” He says, not expecting me know.

“Lady’s lace helps with swelling.” I continue before peering around his back. “And that third one you’re holding, harpy’s gold, is poisonous. No tea from that one, only a beauty to the eye.” I inform with a smirk as I see Daario’s surprise.

“I think I understand where you are going with this, Daario, but I didn’t come here to rule Meereen, I came to liberate them. We just intend to use the city as a base to conduct the liberation further. You know this.” I clarify.

“Yes, but by staying, watching over them, you will effectively be ruling them. Embrace it—you’re already our queen, even more so to Grey Worm and his soldiers. Which is why I was telling you this. Everyone in Meereen knows this about the flowers, especially the slaves who have to find and use them. If you want them to follow you, you have to become a part of their world—strategy. But now I see, that perhaps you already know a part of it.” Daario explains as he holds the three flowers out for me to take.

“I knew from the time I spent with the Dothraki. I made some of it myself now and then.” I enlighten looking at the flowers, before then looking back up to Daario’s face.

“You are a gambler, aren’t you?” I lightly smirk but Daario just smiles. I concede and take the flowers from him.

“Thank you.” I smile.

“Your Grace.” Daario nods back, before turning to go back to his horse. I look over the flowers and realise that perhaps I liked that man more than I thought. He was persistent that was for sure. Suddenly, the Unsullied stood their marching and distract me from my thoughts. Wanting to know the reason why, I march after Daario towards Vizhadi and join him in riding to the front of the march where we meet the others stood by a city marker. I come to stand in front of it, disgusted and angered by the sight of it. The others stood behind me as I stared at it, all of us quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say as we looked at the poor dead child that was nailed to a post, positioned to point in the direction to the city. It was sadistic and barbaric.

“There’s one on every mile marker between here and Meereen.” Jorah announces sombrely.

“How many miles are there between here and Meereen?” I question.

“163, Khaleesi.” Jorah replies.

“I’ll tell our men to ride ahead and bury them. You don’t need to see this.” Barristan states.

“You will do no such thing. I will see each and every one of their faces.” I declare. “Remove her collar, before you bury her.” I demand.

After seeing each child at each mile marker, I grew more angry and more impatient to get to Meereen’s gates to begin their liberation. We had taken small catapults from Yunkai as something that could be useful, and an idea had sparked in my mind mid journey as to what we would use them for. So, when we finally arrived, after seeing each of the slave children buried, I would use that and the suffering of other slaves to show the slaves of Meereen they had a choice just like others had done.

The Unsullied had begun to fill out the dry land before the gates of Meereen in their ranks while I looked at the towering walls and statues of the front of the city, the others doing the same behind, while still more of the Unsullied marched down the road. Dismounting from Vizhadi, I recognised that many people were overlooking the walls down at us, no doubt a mix of curious, or perhaps anxious, masters and slaves. It wasn’t then long, that up far ahead, the gates opened just slightly.

“Are they attacking?” I think aloud before I see a small mounted figure emerge and cheers from above the wall begin to sound.

“A single rider, a champion of Meereen. They will want you to send your own champion against him.” Jorah declares as the so called champion begins to ride along the walls and then comes in line with us at the side of the dry land as we all watch him with curiosity before he then dismounts and starts shouting at us.

“What is he doing?” I question, watching him fiddle with his clothing as he shouted.

“Well, I believe he means to—,” William begins to explain but the champion beats him to his explanation and urinates on the ground, while some laughs and cheers come from the Meereenese crowd. I on the other hand roll my eyes at the disrespectful and childish display.

“He says that we are an army of men without – man parts. He claims that you are no woman at all, but a man who—hides his cock in his own arsehole.” Missandei translates, with a little shame in her voice at repeating his vulgarities, but I simply scoff in amusement. It was a reception I wasn’t expecting, I’ll give them that.

“Ignore him, your Grace. These are meaningless words.” Barristan assures.

“Not meaningless if half the city you intend to take is listening to them.” Jorah warns.

I look from the chanting champion to the crowd at the walls. “I have something to say to the people of Meereen. First, I will need this one to be quiet.” I announce, pointing back at the champion before turning to face everyone.

“So, do I have a champion?” I question.
“Turgon Nudha, gaomagon emā mirre nēdenka vali isse aōha qogror naejot dīnagon naejot?”
(“Grey Worm, do you have any brave men in your ranks to put forward?”) I follow up quickly.

“Rual nyke bisa hoskagonna nykēla, Muña Zaldrīzoti. Kesan daor qringaomagon ao.”
(“Allow me this honour myself, Mother of Dragons. I will not fail you.”) Grey Worm requests.

“Iksā se udrāzmio hen dovaogēdy. Nyke daor vasmo ao.”
(“You are the commander of the Unsullied. I cannot risk you.”) I kindly dismiss and Grey Worm nods his understanding.

“Your Grace, I’ve won more single combats than any man here.” Barristan announces. “Which is why you must remain by my side as you wished in the first place.” I quickly follow before he could continue.

“I’ve been by your side longer than any of them, Khaleesi. Let me stand for you today as well.” Jorah declares taking a step forward.

I smile at his declaration and step forward closer to him also in response. “You are my most trusted adviser, my most valued general, and more importantly my dearest friend. I will not gamble with your life.” I retort, and I then see William and Rakharo take a step, to do the same as the rest, but I look their way and beat them to the punch. “The same goes for you too. I will not gamble with my friend’s lives.” I repeat, shutting them down before they could even speak up.

“Daenerys, you have to choose someone.” William points out.

“Well, I was the last to join your army, your liberation. I’m not your general, part of your Queensguard, or the commander of your Unsullied. My mother was a whore. I come from nothing and before long I will return to nothing. –Let me kill this man for you.” Daario proclaims.

“Very well.” I reply before turning around. “You have quite an audience. Make it worth their while.” I add as Missandei comes to stand at my side while Daario prepares to challenge this man. “He is very brave, Daenerys.” Missandei glorifies.

“Yes. Let’s just hope he wins as the whole city is watching.” I reply.

Watching the Mereenese champion for a moment, he mounts back onto his horse and pulls a jousting pole from a holder on his horse he had rode out with. Then Daario stands out in line with this champion, with no horse of his own and held none of his weapons in his hand yet, making me wonder what he was exactly planning on doing.

I walked up to him. “Sure you don’t want your horse?” I query.

“Why would I want my horse?” He questions, as if it was a stupid question.

“Horses are faster than men.” I point out.

“Horses are dumber than men.” Daario retorts and I look at him curiously as he looks assuredly to me, so with a nod I retreat back to the others to watch if this was Daario’s last day or the Mereenese’s.

The champion began his gallop towards Daario across the dry land as the crowds above started up their cheers once more. I was more than curious what exactly Daario had up his sleeve to defeat this man speeding towards him on a horse with a joust, that would most likely hit him before he could even touch the man. Daario turns his head to look back at us, but only looks at me, and catches my slightly worried expression. He smirks just a little before he winks, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. As he looks back to the champion, who was galloping closer and closer, he still wasn’t doing a thing. I glanced at those beside me in confusion and worry as they also looked confused, when finally, Daario took out his dagger, his favourite weapon with the naked woman at the hilt. He held it at his side, grasping the blade edge with his hand before bringing it up beside his head. He kisses it as the champion comes straight for him now in front of us before suddenly throwing the dagger and it lands in the horse’s eye. It makes a painful screech which makes me grimace in sympathy. It thuds and scrapes the ground, sending the rider off and rolling from the horse towards Daario, and before the man could even stand, Daario cuts him down with his arakh with ease. I had to admit, he had me worried, but I was impressed, and of course he knew it as he wore his smug smile looking back my way while the cheers changed into shouts from the Meereenese. Suddenly a range of arrows were sent by the soldiers at the wall, but none hit us. They simply landed just ahead of us in the dirt, unable to reach where we stood. Then I noticed Daario fiddling with his clothes as we all now faced the Meereenese at the wall and I quickly realised what he was mimicking and smiled with amusement as he too urinated on the ground, rendering the Meereenese quiet. Now it was my time to have something to say.

“Iksan Daenērys Jelmāzmo Targārien. –Aōha āeksia kostagon emagon ivestretan ao pirtra nūmāzma nyke, iā kostis emagon ivestretan ao daorun. Ziry gaomas daor nūmāzmaeza. Eman daorun naejot ivestragon zirȳ. Nyke ȳdragon mērī naejot ao. –Ēlī, īlen isse Qarth. Lī qilōni sia buzdarisi isse Qarth, sir glaesagon se iōragon inkot nyke—dāez. –Pār, istan naejot Astapor. Lī qilōni sia buzdarisi isse Astapor, sir glaesagon se iōragon inkot nyke—dāez. –Hembar istan naejot Yunkai. Se lī qilōni sia buzdarisi isse Yunkai, sir tolī glaesagon se iōragon inkot nyke—dāez. –Sir, eman māzigon naejot Mīrīn. –Iksan daor aōha qrinuntys. Aōha qrinuntys iksis paktot ao. Aōha qrinuntys laodigoni se ossēnagoni aōha riñar. Aōha qrinuntys ēza daorun syt ao yn belma se botagonsa, se udrāzmas. –Gaoman daor maghagon ao udrāzmas. Nyke maghagon ao iā iderennon. Se nyke maghagon aōha qrinuntyssy skoros pōnta gūrogon.”
(“I am Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen. –Your Masters may have told you lies about me, or they may have told you nothing. It does not matter. I have nothing to say to them. I speak only to you. –First, I was in Qarth. Those who were slaves in Qarth, now live and stand behind me—free. –Then, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor, now live and stand behind me—free. –Next I went to Yunkai. And those who were slaves in Yunkai, now too live and stand behind me—free. –Now, I have come to Meereen. –I am not your enemy. Your enemy is beside you. Your enemy steals and murders your children. Your enemy has nothing for you but chains and suffering, and commands. –I do not bring you commands. I bring you a choice. And I bring your enemies what they deserve.”) I declare, shouting out to the slaves at the wall whilst the Masters and others listened.

“Naejot!"
(“Forward!”) I shout and the Unsullied begin to bring forward the several catapults we acquired from Yunkai, poised and ready to launch a surprise of encouragement to the slaves of Meereen.

“Perzys!"
(“Fire!”) I finish and the catapults are launched, shooting the barrels we filled, flinging them soaring across the land and shattering against walls within the city, and all shatter and rain down with the same message. A symbol of freedom and encouragement to take their stand and make their choice, for the barrel was filled with the broken collars of the former slaves we had liberated. Now we waited and let the message sink in and stir before we would infiltrate Meereen’s walls.

In our camp outside the city, we waited for nightfall, for the cover of darkness before our infiltration which was to be led by Grey Worm. In Missandei’s tent is where we had found him that night. I knew she had been beginning to teach him the common tongue as most of us did in our circle; he had asked if he could learn so I wouldn’t have to directly speak to him in Valyrian and he could understand the conversation on the whole. So entering her tent, I found them both sat crossed legged opposite each other looking intently at each other.

“How are the lessons coming?” I ask standing by the entrance, holding the curtain to the side and they both immediately stand up.

“Very well, Daenerys.” Missandei smiles.

“Missandei is teacher good, my queen.” Grey Worm speaks, and I hide my amusement in his grammar; he was still learning, and quickly as well, but I couldn’t help a smile, and neither could Missandei.

“You’ll have to continue later. –It’s time.” I declare and Grey Worm nods before following me out of Missandei’s tent.

-

Grey Worm and a small group of other Unsullied, all dressed as if slaves of Meereen, snuck around to the side of the city, to a sewage part that met the water of the Bay but with the tide out, a small shore encased it and they slipped in, carrying bags of weapons. Once inside, they were able to light their torches and find the slums within the walls where the majority of slaves were kept, or mostly the imprisoned slaves which were the majority after Daenerys’ speech. A move taken by many of the masters to avoid a revolt. Through the caves and backdoor halls, Grey Worm and his men snuck and rushed through to get to the slaves so they could deliver one more and final message on before of their liberator queen. When they reached the place they sought, Grey Worm stopped for a moment to overhear their conversation to gage what exactly the atmosphere was that they were about to walk into.

“Ao ryptan zirȳla! Vestas ziry māstan naejot dāez īlva!”
(“You heard her! She said she came to free us!”) A younger slave speaks aloud to the rest in the darkened dungeon.

“Iksā iā mittys! Se āeksia issi tolī kostōba.”
(“You are a fool! The Masters are too strong.”) An older slave retorts.

“Kessa mīsagon īlva. –Ziry erntash se Āeksiai kosh. –Ēza iā rōvēgrie azantyr. –Jaelā naejot glaesagon se chei hen aōha tubissa isse belma?”
(“She will protect us. –She defeated the Master’s champion. –She has a great army. –You want to live the rest of your days in chains?”) The younger slave responds, trying to get others to reason to his side.

“Jaelan naejot glaesagon. Ao ūndan skoros pōnta gōntan naejot lī riñar. Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon kessi gaomagon naejot īlva?”
(“I want to live. You saw what they did to those children. What do you think they will do to us?”) Another slave man contends.

“Eman issare rȳ lanta buzdari bēsīmonāzmasi, valītsos. Pōnta va moriot mōris keskydoso ñuhoso: se Āeksiai isse kustikānna se se buzdarisi morghe.”
(“I have been through two slave revolts, boy. They always end the same way: the Master’s in power and the slaves dead.”) The older slave argues, and Grey Worm decides now was the time to make their entrance. They were up in arms, unsure what to do and now it was their job to sway them into a successful revolt this time.

“Valar morghūlis.”
(“All men must die.”) Grey Worm says coming into the dungeon room with his other men behind him and the mass of slaves all look their way. Grey Worm sees the young slave already standing but upon their entrance, the older slave stands as well.

“Yn nyke kivio ao, iā mēra tubis hen dāezi iksis nūmāzmana tolī pār iā ābrar jēda isse belma.”
(“But I promise you, a single day of freedom is worth more than a lifetime in chains.”) Grey Worm continues as he comes to stand more amongst the slaves, now closer to the two standing.

“Qilōni issi ao?"
(“Who are you?”) The older slave asks.

“Bisy iksis brōztagon Turgon Nudha. Īlen gūrogona hae iā rūs ondoso se āeksia hen Astapor, manaeragona se bodmaghon hae dovaogēdy. Sir nyke ivīlībagon Daenērys, se Muña Zaldrīzoti se pryjatys hen belma.”
(“This one is called Grey Worm. I was taken as a baby by the Masters of Astapor, raised and trained as Unsullied. Now I fight for Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains.”) Grey Worm introduces.

“Iksā dovaogēdy? Pōnta bodmaganna ao skorkydoso naejot vīlībagon gō ao kostagona geron. –Iksi daor mentyr!”
(“You are Unsullied? They taught you how to fight before you could walk. –We are not soldiers!”) The older slave points out, gesturing to the lot of slaves there.

“Emi daor gūrēñare, daor korzotsi.”
(“We have no training, no weapons.”) The other slave man adds, to which Grey Worm responds by taking his sack off and dropping it at their feet. His fellow men do the same and the clang of the weapons inside clatters as the sacks hit the ground. The mass of the slaves crowd around to look over each other at the weapons as the ones in front crouch and touch them, even take them out to look at.

“Konīr issi hāre buzdarisi isse bisa oktion syt tolvie āeksio. Daorys kostagon tepagon ao aōha dāezi, lēkian. Lo jaelā ziry, istia gūrogon ziry.”
(“There are three slaves in this city for every Master. No one can give you your freedom, brothers. If you want it, you must take it.”) Grey Worm declares.

-

By morning, I was walking the inner streets of Meereen, hand in hand with the slave children, the slaves walking with us chanting ‘Mhysa’ once again as they threw down their broken collars or held them high in the air in their hands broken. The slaves had made their choice and taken their freedom, attacking some of the Masters as I was told but the vast majority surrendered and the city fell within the night to the slaves and us. We walked to a ceremonial square, walking up a long path that led to the platform and the slaves all around chanting as far as you could see. The Great Masters of the houses of Meereen were gathered in front ready to receive their judgment and punishment for stealing and murdering all those innocent children and all the other crimes they committed against their slaves. Looking down at them gathered from the platform, my blood boiled thinking of all those nailed children, all those innocent young lives we buried along the road to the city.

“Remind me, Ser Jorah, how many children did the Great Masters nail to mileposts?” I question disdainfully.

“163, Khaleesi.” Jorah answers.

“Yes, that was it.” I mutter to myself angry before looking over to Grey Worm and giving him the nod to begin the plan I had relayed to him. With a nod from him to another, his Unsullied began to wrangle the gathered Masters to begin their punishment.

“Daenerys, may I speak with you?” William quietly asks coming to my side and as I turn, I see Ser Barristan stood with him. I begrudgingly step aside with them both.

“The city is yours, which means all these people are yours now. Those you have liberated in chains have been given a new order, the cities you have liberated have been given a new order. Your order. These cities, all those subjects, are yours. Please think about this.” William vaguely warns and I look to Barristan who seemed to agree with this notion.

“I have. These men have committed heinous crimes, one being against all those innocent children you both saw on the road here. This is for them as well as the subjects you speak of.” I retort between us and they both slightly glance at each other.

“You both certainly seem as thick as thieves now.” I point out, slightly annoyed at the unwanted intervention.

“Your Grace, we are merely trying to say that sometimes it is better to answer injustice with mercy.” Ser Barristan clarifies.

“I will answer injustice with justice.” I state, a little tempered staring them both down before stepping back to stand with the others.

As the day neared its end and the colours of the sky began to glimmer and soon fade, 163 Masters had been nailed to posts throughout the city as punishment, poised exactly as the children had, and although savage, they would be able to keep their lives. I would bring them down within a few days before they could waste away. A lesson learned for them and a mercy they did not grant the children. The city was now under our rule, my rule. Like the others had said, these people were my subjects now, and with a great city as our base we could begin to think on our expansion of the liberation in Essos. Everything was falling into place. We had Meereen and we were in the Great Pyramid, with the Targaryen flag attached to the top for all the slaves and Masters living free together to see. As I stood on the balcony at the top of the Great Pyramid, looking out over the whole city, I stood in thought. Staying in Meereen meant these people were in fact my subjects. I had taken control of the city, enforced a new order as William said. In the previous, I had merely liberated, installed their own council and moved onto the next. Enforced a new order in all, but never stayed. Here I would be faced with the aftermath, coming directly to me as the enforcer and ruler. I figured this would be where the politics of it all would begin to seep through. So, I wondered if it would only get harder from here or if it would be easier. Over the months since leaving Westeros, we had only grown and got stronger and it had got easier, but something about staying in Meereen made me feel as if this journey was far from over, and far from ever being as easy as the previous cities. Only time would tell, but we had no plan of going anywhere. We were here to stay.

Chapter Text

“Ao iōragon gō Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor, se Dorzalty, Muña Zaldrīzoti se pryjatys hen belma.”
(“You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains.”) Missandei introduces to the first citizen of Meereen that had come to converse with me in the main hall of the Great Pyyramid we had taken residence in. She was good at adding on titles to my name. She had named me The Unburnt herself and she had now begun to name me The Breaker of Chains too. I didn’t mind, I supposed the more titles I had, the more powerful I seemed to the right people.

“Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, ñuha raqiros.”
(“Do not be afraid, my friend.”) I gently urge to the shy man, holding a sack as he looked down at his feet at the bottom of the steps before me and the others. We had been in Meereen two days now. It took a couple days to establish some order and work out exactly what it was we were doing and how we would ensure said order. Even now it was still a working progress, but today we thought it wad a good time to start hearing from the people, meaning all citizens of Meereen. This was a chance for any to raise any concerns or anything else. We had come to the city, liberated it, bestowed a new order and were now staying for the foreseeable future. We were going to have to listen to the people if any of this was going to work if we were going to stay and conduct in peace.

“Daenērys vestras kostā nyesha se ȳdragon.”
(“Daenerys says you may approach and speak.”) Missandei says after the man continues to stand with his wrapped sack, staring at the floor, not moving forward a muscle or even looking up. But when urged that second time, he moved forward and came up a few of the steps towards us on the platform, though his head still turned down to the floor. Then he began to speak in a language that I did not understand, and I looked curiously to Missandei, expecting she would instantly know and understand.

“He is a goat herd. He says he prayed for your victory against the slave masters.” Missandei informs.

“Tell him I thank him profusely for his prayers.” I respond, and she translates but he still does not look up. He seemed nervous. Then he bent down onto his knees and laid the sack in front of him before beginning to unwrap it on the stairs before us all. Curiously I waited until I saw a blackened pile of bones that appeared to be what must have been a goat. The man began to speak again.

“It was your dragons he says. They came this morning for his flock.” Missandei relays and the man stands to his feet again, his eyes still remaining on the ground as he continue to speak. “He hopes he has not offended you, but now he has nothing.” Missandei finishes, and I felt the guilt. I had let them roam at will, of course something like this was bound to happen. They made hunt, they’re predators, it’s what they do. I just didn’t think about what exactly they would be eating, or who’s living they would be hurting more specifically.

“Tell this man I am truly sorry for his hardship. I cannot bring back his goats, but I will see that he his paid their value three times over.” I offer as Missandei translates and the man suddenly exclaims the same few words over and over after hearing Missandei’s translation, though still looking to the ground. I hoped I wasn’t intimidating. As he said his words, which I could only presume were a form of thank you, he wrapped the bones back up and hurried backwards out the hall. Missandei looked to me smiling and I smiled watching the man happily backing out the hall. At least his day had gotten a little better after losing some of his earnings.

“Send the next one in.” I call and gesture to the soldiers in the hall for the ones in the entrance to carry out the order. Soon enough the next citizen appeared and it was a master, instantly recognisable with their bright blue, green and yellow robes.

“Se sȳzan hizdahr zo loraq epagonas iā udirisa lēda Daenērys Jelmāzmo Targārien.”
(“The noble Hizdahr zo Loraq begs an audience with Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen.”) The master’s personal slave speaks as they stood ahead of the stairs of the platform. We had abolished slavery, but those who were being paid, technically didn’t fall under slavery and many I presumed feared leaving their masters or feared what would become of them if they did as they knew no better. This angered me as even though I liberated the city and slavery was now banned, it was still occurring under technicalities. The new clothing, the new robes for these ‘workers’ the masters gave them just masked a problem, so it appeared different, but it wasn’t. This was still slavery in my eyes. So, when Hizdahr zo Loraq’s slave, or worker as it were, introduced him, my eyes rolled in annoyance.

“Se sȳzan hizdahr zo loraq kostagon ȳdragon naejot nyke zirȳlafisan.”
(“The noble Hizdahr zo Loraq can speak to me himself.”) I reply and they both glance at each before Hizdahr then approached the stairs alone and stood before us on the staired platform, bowing before he began to speak for himself.

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen—tales of your beauty were not exaggerated.” Hizdahr compliments, to which I begrudgingly smile.

“I thank you.” I respond plainly, not one for flattery.

“Mine is one of the oldest and proudest families in Meereen.” Hizdahr announces, getting straight into his point.

“Then it is my honour to receive you.” I state with not so genuine thoughts behind it, which spoke the opposite in my head. But if we were all to live in this city in peace, I would have to converse and keep the masters somewhat happy as well to ensure and keep order, peace and help form a new and better kind of prosperity.

“My father, one of Meereen’s most respected and beloved citizens, oversaw the restoration and maintenance of its greatest landmarks. This pyramid included.” Hizdahr continues.

“For that he has my gratitude, I should be honoured to meet him.” I offer, a little falsely but mask it, nonetheless. I’m sure he oversaw the slave work restoring the landmarks and this pyramid, I’m sure he laid no brick himself, and for that I did not really mean my words.

“You have, your Grace—you crucified him.” Hizdahr declares and my forced smile falls to a plain expression with the realisation and thoughts to where Hizdahr was going to go with this. “I pray you’ll never live to see a member of your family treated so cruelly.” Hizdahr plainly pokes, angering me.

“I’m afraid your prayers run short. My family were murdered in front of my eyes years ago, so I have already seen them all brutalised and slaughtered. But they were innocent, they deserved no such evil violence. –Your father, on the other hand, crucified innocent children.” I spit with a subdued temper.

“My father spoke out against crucifying those children. He decried it as a criminal act but was overruled. –Is it justice to answer one crime with another?” Hizdahr challenges.

“I am sorry you are hurt to see your father is amongst the many crucified, but my treatment of the masters was no crime. You’d be wise to remember that.” I warn in temper.

“What’s done is done. You are now our ruler, our queen, and I am a servant of Meereen, a servant who does not wish to see its traditions eradicated.” Hizdahr continues and through my annoyance I glaze over the fact he had called me their queen and the realisation that the people, even the nobles such as Hizdahr, did in fact see me as their ruler, their queen. Although I was aware that I was embodying that kind of figure in Meereen, hearing it from them made it seem and feel all the more real. Even if that wasn’t what I had intended in the first, but now here we were.

“And what traditions do you speak of?” I question.

“You are our queen now, as I said, so unless you change your decision, then the tradition of funeral right. A proper burial in the Temple of the Graces when the time comes, which appears to be more than likely. –My father and 162 noble Meereenese are still nailed to those posts, fighting for their lives. Slowly becoming carrion for vultures as they will begin rotting in the sun.” Hizdahr argues but stops himself seeing my annoyance and bends himself down onto his knees. “Your grace, I ask that you order these men taken down so they may be given the chance to live in this new order. –Otherwise, I ask that you allow funeral right when the time comes so they might receive proper burials.” Hizdahr begs.

“And what of the slave children these noble Meereenese crucified? They were actually rotting in the sun, truly dead and carrion for vultures. Would you have begged me for their right to a proper burial?” I retort.

“Your Grace, I cannot defend the actions of the Masters, I can only speak to you as a son who loved his father. Let me take him down. Let me request that the Masters be taken down before all their families have to watch them waste away. Before we all have to plead the right to bury them in the temple with dignity.” Hizdahr emotionally pleas.

Although annoyed at the thought that the slave children were given no such thought or mercy, I had always intended to let them down. It was two days we had been in Meereen now and we had now entered our third. I supposed it was time to let the Masters down. So with a begrudged but an empathetic face in response to Hizdahr’s pleas, I granted his request. For a moment, I thought about my father and how he was executed to make a spectacle and how distraught I had been to witness it. This was why I had no intent to let the masters die, that and a lesson learnt, and mercy shown, but of course Hizdahr had no idea of this.

“Take down your father, Hizdahr zo Loraq. You may tell the other nobles and masters to do the same with the others.” I grant calmly.

“Thank you—my queen.” Hizdahr genuinely thanks, his hand pressed to his chest over his heart before he bows, turns and becomes his descent and exit out the hall. We had only seen two people this morning and I already felt the beginning of my emotions beginning to exhaust. I started to wonder how many would be coming to plea the same or confess a wrong my dragons had caused or something else completely.

“How many have come today?” I question aloud.

“There are now 212 waiting, Daenerys.” Missandei informs.

“212?” I repeat in calm but exasperated shock. I look to my left to meet Jorah and William’s gazes, who merely shrug their expectations. I look back across the hall, ready to continue.

“Send the next one in.” I call out. I supposed this was what it meant to rule but coming to Meereen I had not realised I was going to do so only I would be staying and enforcing a new order. Now where we were, looking back at my previous expectations, I now realised how naïve I was being.

It took a few more days, but I came to peace with the reality of being the ruler of Meereen. Many of its citizens, namely the former slaves, revelled in our presence there and the Masters just seemed to tolerate it, but that I was fine with. We were quickly becoming settled in the great city as we lived and formulated this new anti-slavery order within the large city. It was taking longer to establish it here in Meereen which I guessed was die to us being within the city and the magnitude of its size compared to the previous ones. If we were there, it was harder to rebel, it was harder to disobey the new order when the one passing it was really there to stop any such opposition. This was definitely true, because it was after these first several days in Meereen that a collection of news arrived to us in the city. It wasn’t just one raven that came, it was three and Jorah subsequently called a council meeting to discuss such topics.

“So, what is all this pressing news? Nothing too dire, I hope.” I press as we all stood and sat around the pyramid’s council chambers.

“Well, the good news is we have taken the Meereenese navy, your Grace.” Ser Barristan relays sat at the table.

“The Second Sons took the Meereenese Navy.” Daario corrects as he takes a seat.

“Who told you to take their navy?” I question a little annoyed.
“No one.” Daario confesses simply.

“So why did you do it?” I ask.

“Ships are useful things to have. You have two armies. What would you do if you ever needed to go beyond Essos into the numerous Isles and Islands? You wouldn’t be able to get your armies there without ships.” Daario explains coolly and a little smugly. I smirk a little at his smugness. He had grown quite exponentially on me since being in Meereen, and I was becoming more and more susceptible to his charm.

“This was the good news, as you called it. –So, what’s the bad news?” I query to everyone.

“It’s Yunkai. –Without the Unsullied to enforce your order, the wise masters have retaken control of the city. They’ve re-enslaved the freed men and sworn to take revenge against you. –Then there’s Astapor. The new council installed to rule over the city with your new order has been overthrown by a butcher named Cleon, who has declared himself his Imperial Majesty.” Jorah informs, my anger growing the more he spoke at hearing what had become of the cities I had liberated.

“How have we only just heard about this all now?” I question.

“It seems the word of your liberation and stay in Meereen has reached around. I assume the cities sent word when they heard.” Jorah answers.

“There were three ravens, was there not? –That is two cities—what was the third raven? Qarth?” I ask worriedly.

Jorah looks to William. “It’s not Qarth, Daenerys. No one has heard from Qarth, they may have fallen like the others or not, we do not know.” William announces.

“Then where has the third raven come from?” I ask again.

“Westeros. It’s from my father.” William declares, but he doesn’t look pleased.

“Robert? Does he want you to return already? Or has he expressed worry over what we’re doing? Seeing as he sent a raven to Meereen he must know now.” I ponder.

“He has not asked for my return, but I must go, Daenerys. It’s Cersei Lannister, she has taken the throne from my father, seized it for herself once more. My family have fled to Dorne and it is there they sent the raven from. I must go and see them.” William sadly states.

The statement was a shock to my system. The Lannister’s had seized the throne again, Cersei had done what she did ten years ago again. At least William’s family had escaped with their lives this time around. All this information had sent my mood plummeting, I wasn’t sure whether to be infuriated, distraught, vengeful or all of it.

“Please leave me.” I say turning around to face out towards the balcony and everyone looks around before beginning to leave the chamber. “William. Jorah. You stay.” I add.

After hearing everyone else leave, leaving the three of us alone, I turned to face them all.

“How has this happened? How has Cersei retaken the throne? I thought their surviving armies were sent to the wall.” I ask.

“They were, but it’s said that the capitol was seized by a phantom army.” William informs, sounding a little unsure as he said it.

“Phantom army? What does that exactly mean?” I confusingly question.

“According to my father, the faces of these phantom knights were not seen, they were covered in armour and when soldiers cut some of them down, they crumbled and shattered into black stones. They weren’t men.” William explains.

“That has to be some kind of black magic. Cersei must have paid off a witch from somewhere.” I assume.

“If she has a witch, and one that can conjure a full army that storms a city—what’s to stop her from sending something our way, sending something to kill you like they have always tried?” Jorah worries.

“Witch, or no witch, whatever she sends our way, we will defeat it, like we always have.” I affirm.

“Daenerys—come back with me. –You have four dragons. You have two armies. Come back to Westeros and fight Cersei. You can take back the throne, the allies will flock to your side. You can take it back in your family’s name.” William suggests.

“And how am I going to get my armies there?” I query unconvinced, not entirely liking the sound of taking the throne for myself.

“Daario took the navy as he said. I heard him say 60 ships.” William informs.

I look between the two pondering. “How many men can they carry?” I question.

“Around 100 each, but that would have to include the sailors. Meaning we would only be able to take 6000 men if we got them to sail the ships themselves. That would not even be the full Unsullied army.” Jorah answers.

“If I were going to take King’s Landing, if I was going into the lion’s den, and with this said witch on their side, I wouldn’t want to go with anything less than a full force. I’m not taking that risk.” I respond.

“But you have dragons?” William retorts.

“Yes, but they are constantly flying the skies. They come back, but there is no corralling them. I don’t want them flying across Westeros into enemy territory. We don’t know what could happen, they’re still not fully grown, and besides we haven’t seen Drogon since we came to Meereen. –We are not battle ready. We need time. We need more ships. And we need more information. We don’t know much about anything that has happened, or this so called witch on their side. –If I choose to do this, if I choose to go after Cersei, we have to sound like the winning side. And I will only do so when we do.” I declare.

“Then I’ll sail for Dorne immediately. I will try and rally the allied houses. I’ll gather as much information as I can and sail back for Meereen. Then we’ll have more men on our side, more ships and more intel. Then the Lannister’s won’t know what will have hit them.” William announces.

“I’d ask you to stay, but that would be selfish of me.” I say sincerely stepping forward to stand directly in front of William. The idea of him leaving hit me a little harder than I anticipated, even with the knowledge of his return.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.” He assures, before beginning to turn to leave but I grab his hand to stop him, and he directs his eyeline straight back to my own.

“William—just be careful. Be safe.” I say. “I will.” He replies, squeezing my hand a little before I let go and he turns to leave. Watching him walk out of the chamber saddened me, I quickly already wanted him back knowing where he was going.

“You’re worried for him.” Jorah points out, snapping me from my thoughts.

“Is it that obvious?” I reply.

“No. But I know you.” Jorah responds.

“We don’t know how much of a warzone Westeros is going to be, and he’s headed straight for Dorne. But I couldn’t tell him not to go, not to see his family. No one could tell me not to go if it were mine.” I explain.

“If Robert and the rest have fled to Dorne, they will be safe there no doubt, and we’re not going to know more until his return. –For now, I would worry about other things, Khaleesi. Keep your mind on Slaver’s Bay rather than Westeros, at least until the time is right.” Jorah suggests.

“Yes, you’re right. It’s just things seemed to be going well and now it’s beginning to crumble. It appears my liberation of Slaver’s Bay isn’t going quite as planned. And now Westeros is on the brink of war once again.” I relent.

“Westeros was never going to have true peace as long as the Lannister’s were still breathing in their Westerlands. And as for Slaver’s Bay, we were always going to face opposition.” Jorah points out and pauses. “But you could sail for Westeros. With what men you can take, what dragons you can take, and then the allied houses, you would still be a force to be reckoned with. –Westeros is your home, Essos is not. The Iron Throne is yours by birth right. You could leave this all behind and take back what is rightfully yours for good.” Jorah urges which surprises me a little.

“Weren’t you the one that said the ships wouldn’t even take the full Unsullied army?” I retort.

“Yes, but that means you could leave a small army here in Meereen to hold your order.” Jorah elaborates.

“And I suppose you would have me rule Westeros while also keeping an eye on Slaver’s Bay and whoever else I had liberated?” I query.

“It’s possible, Khaleesi.” Jorah assures.

I ponder for a second, taking in his ideas but I knew already I didn’t agree. I couldn’t take the throne; I didn’t want to. If I were to take it from Cersei along with the allies, I would want Robert to sit back on it, not me. I had started this journey in Essos, and I intended to finish it.

“I know you and Barristan want to see me on the Iron Throne, but you also know I don’t want it.” I begin and I see Jorah go to say something, but I stop him by cutting him short. “Besides—how could I rule the Seven Kingdoms, if I can’t control Slaver’s Bay? Why should anyone trust me to do so, why should anyone follow me?” I continue.

“You’re a Targaryen. You’re the Mother of Dragons.” Jorah praises.

I shake my head a little. “I need to be more than that.” I retort as I look past Jorah in thought but speaking it aloud, until my eyes eventually land back on him.

“I will not let those I have freed slide back into chains. I will not sail for Westeros, at least not yet. Not until I have control over Slaver’s Bay.” I state.

“So, what now?” Jorah asks.

“Some of you already call me your queen, even if it’s not of this continent, and the people see me as such. –So, I will do what queens do—I will rule.” I declare.

-

Cersei paced slowly in her chambers, back in the Red Keep, back on the throne after taking it back with help from the magic that came from the mirror. The witch she had seen as a child had been right. When she came of a certain age, still retaining her adult beauty, the magic showed itself to her. She felt it and was led to the mirror as the witch had told her. The golden round mirror spoke to her, told her everything she must do to retain her youthful beauty. It gave her the magic abilities to conjure up an army, to consume youth, it gave her everything she wanted. She was finally an almighty power in Westeros, and although she was certain she could not be overthrown this time, a lingering doubt still played on her mind. Her son Joffrey had died, and recently Marcella too. She had three children as the witch proclaimed and two of them had already died, as the witch had also proclaimed their deaths. She worried that even for her power, that someone younger, more beautiful would cast her down and take everything else she held dear, for that was also the witch’s prophecy. Cersei had her mind made up that this was perhaps the Targaryen girl and seeing as she continuously eluded assassins it only panicked her more. And that is why she would constantly ask the mirror the same question, as if to reassure herself that she was the only true power and beauty in this world.

Cersei slowly paced in front of the mirror that hung on the wall, feeling more panicked than usual after learning the current state of Daenerys Targaryen. She had acquired a sum of armies and still had her dragons. She reasoned with the news of her takeover once more, the Targaryen girl had the potential to come back with a vengeance and therefore have the potential to make the prophecy come true. But Cersei was adamant on making sure this never happened. So, speaking the beckoning words of the mirror, she waited for her current panic to be somewhat subsided for a time. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall—who’s the fairest of them all?” Cersei asks.

Soon after, the golden mirror morphed and began to pool out from the center, pouring out like gold liquid onto the floor. It continued to pour until it reached before where Cersei stood, then from the pool of gold a figure began to emerge and grow from it. Slowly, the figure stood tall in front of Cersei, as like a phantom, faceless, gold shroud of a figure.

“It is you, my queen. This kingdom has fallen to your glory. Is there no end to your power and beauty?” The gold figure praises in its eery, low voice and a small, smug smirk etches onto Cersei’s face. She was the power and beauty, but that did not mean the Targaryen girl wasn’t to be dealt with, and she and Tywin had some sly plans up their sleeve for now.

-

Walking to my chambers that evening, after the day’s bad news and repercussions because of them, I was more than ready to meet my bed. And after William’s departure, I was a little saddened. So, when I walked into my chamber that evening, I did not expect to see Daario stood in the middle of it. I looked back to the entrance where I knew guards had been stood, before looking back at him in surprise. Although, I was not surprised to see he was holding flowers.

“How did you get in here?” I query.

“Your door is guarded; your window is not.” Daario answers as I walk towards him.

“I swam to an island a mile offshore for these.” He adds as I stand before him, gesturing me to take the bundle of flowers.

I push them back to his chest. “Don’t do that again.” I reply, before walking past him towards the table that had the wine and goblet.

“Never met a woman who didn’t like wildflowers.” Daario muses to himself but purposely out loud.

“These are my private quarters. If I want you here, I will summon you.” I state, looking his way.

Daario turns, the flowers down by his side, before he drops to one knee in a bow. “Forgive me, my queen, I live to serve you.” He retorts, half serious, half mocking, once again getting the smallest hint of a smile out of me. Seeing this he rises back up as I turn and sit on the lounger.

“So—tell me why you’re here.” I ask as I pour myself some wine.

He slightly hesitates before speaking. “I came to ask a favour. –I only have two talents in this world. War and women. –You are staying here in Meereen to rule. That is a wise decision. I respect it. But here in Meereen I cannot pursue my talents.” Daario begins.

“I’ve ordered the Second Sons to patrol the streets to stop the revenge killings.” I interject. “You’ve ordered us to be nightwatchmen.” Daario interrupts but I continue. “And as for women, there are thousands in Meereen you can pursue.” I finish.

“There is only one and she does not want me.” Daario retorts, making it as obvious as ever, like he always did and was doing. He spoke softly as he took a step closer to where I sat in front.

“You swore me your sword.” I remind.

“My sword is yours till the day I die. As is my heart.” He elaborates.

“So, if I command you to stay in Meereen and patrol the streets?” I question, glazing over the latter.

“I’ll stay in Meereen and patrol the streets.” He swears. “Send me to kill your enemies. Any enemy anywhere. Westeros if you wanted. Let me do what I do best.” Daario adds in plea, though a thought crosses my mind, twisting his words.

“Very well. –Do what you do best. –Take off your clothes.” I suggestively smirk and I watch as Daario’s expression now matched my own before he began to comply. I sipped my wine as I watched him drop the flowers, then remove his shirt revealing his strong physique and finally his trousers, revealing all of him to me. I ogled him up and down, taking him in with my eyes before standing myself and heading over to my bed, gesturing him to follow.

I hadn’t anticipated allowing Daario to stay the night in my bed, but I enjoyed it far more than I thought. He was different to Drogo, but any man would be, and I supposed every man was different to each other regardless. Having him there, a presence, was comforting for a time, that was until we repeated ourselves in the morning, then his presence was pleasurable again. Through the evening, and the morning, we had spoken of the current dilemmas we faced, Daario putting forth ideas and his own wisdoms on what I should do, and I managed to come to a conclusion. Which was good, as I had told Jorah the evening before I would think on it and make a decision before the morning so he could hear it then. This got side-tracked by Daario, but I got there eventually, and in time, for not long after Daario had left my chamber Jorah came in. It was good I had dressed before Daario.

“Khaleesi.” Jorah greets, announcing his presence entering my chamber.

“Good morning, Jorah. –You’re here early.” I greet in turn.

“Later than some.” He pokes as he begins to walk across the room to me.

I roll my eyes a little. “You don’t approve?” I question.

“It’s not a question of approval, it’s a question of trust.” Jorah vaguely answers.

“So, you neither approve nor trust?” I reiterate.

“Why would I? The man’s a sellsword and he killed his captains, dumping their heads at your feet when he grew tired of their commands. How could you ever have faith in a man like that?” Jorah asks.

“I could never have faith in a man like Daario. –That’s why I’ve sent him and the Second Sons to retake Yunkai.” I announce, and Jorah reads a wave of surprise at my sudden announcement of my decision.

“You have?” he says. “I have.” I affirm.

“Without you there to rule, Khaleesi, I fear the Masters will simply bide their time, wait for the invaders to leave and reassert control.” Jorah points out.

“That is why I have ordered Daario to execute every Master at the head of each house.” I declare, which Jorah seemed shocked about again. “The Masters tear babies from their mother’s arms, they mutilate little boys by the thousands, they train little girls in the art of pleasuring old men, they treat men like beasts—as you said yourself. Executing the top of each house will be a lesson for them. A cruel lesson, but they have done much crueller.” I explain.

“Herding the chosen Masters into pens and slaughtering them is also treating them like beasts. –For slaves you’ve freed, brutality is all they’ve ever known. If you want them to know something else, you’ll have to show it to them.” Jorah argues.

“And repay the slavers with what? Kindness? A fine? A stern warning?” I retort.

“You cannot retaliate with mass execution. You will only appear as more of the same to the people you have freed.” Jorah states.

“This seems like the only way they will get the message. This was already their second chance. Slavery is real, and I am trying to end it. I can end it, I will end it and I will end those behind it.” I affirm.

“I sold men into slavery, Khaleesi. I was a part of those men once.” Jorah points out guiltily and at hearing his first words I had begun stepping closer to him.

I grab his hand, holding it firm. “And now, you are helping me show them to freedom.” I reassure.

Jorah pauses ever so slightly, looking down at our hands as he grabs my other and holds them both between us, before looking back up and replying. “I wouldn’t be here to help you if your father had done to me what you want to do to the Masters of Yunkai.” He softly states. It hit me a little hard, it was brutal, but he made a point and a good one.

I sigh in slight defeat and think for a short moment. “The man who came to me about taking down the Meereenese Masters—Hizdahr zo Loraq—he will accompany the Second Sons, serving as my ambassador, to Yunkai. He will tell the Yunkish Masters what happened to those 163 Meereenese Masters, he will explain the choice they have before them. They can live in my new world, free of pain or suffering, or they can die in their old one.” I proclaim. Jorah somewhat smiles at my changed decision, and I see that now I had made the right one, that perhaps Daario had led and encouraged me to a rash decision.

“Well, you better go and catch Daario before he leaves, I already told him to go. Tell him I changed my mind. Tell him the new plan.” I urge.

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Jorah says as he squeezes my hands, before letting go as he began stepping back to leave. As I watched him walk across my chamber, I suddenly had a minor plan change again.

“No.” I call, stopping Jorah just before he left, turning him back to me. “Tell him you changed my mind.” I order, with a confident smirk and Jorah nods his head before resuming to leave. This was why I had advisers, and friends, like Jorah, so they kept me on the right track when I lost my head. And that was why I had men like Daario to take orders, and in my bed, so they didn’t get in my head. I’d have to be careful of Daario’s encouragements.

Chapter Text

“You think he was spying on you?” I ask, as I braided a strand of Missandei’s hair, entwined with a small gold ribbon, that would stretch across the top of her forehead, framing her afro.

“No, not spying.” Missandei corrects, talking about how Grey Worm had seen her and was looking at her at the watering hole this morning naked. I enjoyed our chats, especially now, I needed them. It had been a couple days now since Daario left, and several since William left. I needed my mind taken off things and conversing with Missandei always did, I was always in the present with her and only her.

“The Dothraki think outsiders are ridiculous taking shame in the naked body. They make love under the stars for the whole khalasar to see.” I point out, and see the shyness come out of Missandei. “But you are not Dothraki.” I add.

“No.” she says, easing back from her shyness.

“Well, I wouldn’t think into it much, Grey Worm isn’t interested. None of the Unsullied care what’s under our clothes.” I assure.

“He was interested.” Missandei states gently.

“What?” I ask softly.

“I believe he was interested.” Missandei repeats.

I thought for a moment, her comment making me ponder in slight surprise. “When the slavers castrate the boys, do they take all of it?” I question.

“All of it?” Missandei queries.

“The—the pillar and the stones.” I clarify, thinking up of a nicer way to say it.

Missandei pauses before she answers. “I don’t know, Daenerys.” She answers.

“Have you ever wondered?” I ask.

Missandei pauses again. “Yes.”

-

Barristan was walking the streets of Meereen, as he always did of the mornings, and it was always the same. Peaceful and busy. But this morning, something changed his routine.

“Ser Barristan.” A young voice calls as he walked the street alone.

He turns to see a small boy holding a scroll. “Yes.”

The boy comes forward and holds the scroll out for him to take. “Who sent you?” Barristan asks, and the boy turns the scroll in his hand to reveal the wax seal. It had the Westeros symbol of the hand of the king, meaning this was from King’s Landing. A small wave of confusion and worry went through Ser Barristan as this would now mean this came from the Lannister’s. With his hand on the scroll, the boy let it go and ran back off into the streets. Barristan braced himself for whatever he was about to read as he opened the scroll, but what he read he hadn’t expected. The scroll was not even addressed to him, but another. The realisation hit him quick that it appeared Daenerys had been betrayed, and that this was going to crush her. As out of everyone, Jorah was the one that would break her heart the most.

After reading the full scroll, Barristan set out to find Jorah, and found him not long later in the outside terrace below the pyramid that overlooked the bay. He was looking over maps, ones that mapped both Westeros and Essos. He wondered for what reason, but it did not matter now.

“Ser Barristan.” Jorah greets as he sees him approach to the table.

“Ser Jorah.” Barristan greets in turn as he approaches.

“Have I forgotten a council meeting?” Jorah asks as he continues to stand over and look at the map.

“No.” Barristan answers as he steps forward and puts the scroll on the table next to Jorah’s hand. “What’s this?” He asks.

“A royal pardon—signed by Cersei Lannister.” Barristan informs and he sees the beginning of worry in Jorah’s eyes.

Jorah picks it up and begins to read the scroll, realising this was true. It was in fact a royal pardon. He knew it wasn’t the same one he had received before because he had burnt that one, this was a new one sent to disrupt what they had here. This was Cersei and Tywin Lannister wreaking havoc now they had King’s Landing again.

“You spied on her.” Barristan states.

“Who gave you this?” Jorah questions.

“Does it matter?” Barristan retorts, stretching his hand out for the scroll back, which Jorah hesitantly gives back.

“Have you told her?” Jorah asks.

“I wanted to tell you first, man-to-man, rather than go behind your back.” Barristan admits.

“Let me speak with her in private.” Jorah pleas.

“You’ll never be alone with her again.” Barristan affirms, before leaving the terrace to now find Daenerys.

-

Missandei was walking up the stairs of the great hall, waiting for Daenerys’ arrival. She had sent word that everyone was to be there as soon as and wait for her there. Missandei wondered what had happened for her to call everyone around and in the great hall, not the council chamber, so urgently. She was ascending the stairs when she heard her name.

“Missandei.” Grey Worm’s voice calls from behind, and she turns above on the stairs to see him standing at the bottom alone.

“Jaelan naejot vaoreznuni.”
(“I want to apologise.”) Grey Worm announces.

“Gaomā daor jorrāelagon naejot vaoreznuni.”
(“You do not need to apologise.”) Missandei assures.

“I hope I did not frighten you.”
(“I hope I did not frighten you.”) He offers.

“Daor.”
(“No.”) Missandei shakes her head.

“The lessons you give I in Common Tongue, these are precious to I.” Grey Worm states.

Missandei tries to hide her smile. “‘To me’.” she corrects. “To me.” Grey Worm repeats.

“I don’t remember teaching you the word ‘precious’.” Missandei points out, confused.

“Jorah the Andal, he teaches I—he teaches me this word.” Grey Word admits.

“Do you remember the name you were given at birth?” Missandei questions.

“I remember nothing. Only Unsullied.” Grey Worm informs.

“When they cut you, do you remember that?” she asks and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry they did that to you.” Missandei offers.

“Why? Why sorry?” Grey Worm queries.

“It’s a terrible thing to do to a boy.” Missandei offers.

Grey Worm walks up a couple stairs as if to come closer to Missandei. “If the Masters never cut me, I never am Unsullied. I never stand in the Plaza of Pride when Daenerys Stormborn orders us to kill the Masters. I never am chosen to lead the Unsullied. I never meet Missandei from the island of Naath.” He explains.

The two stare at each other, taking in his words. “I am sorry, I—for today, I am sorry.” Grey Worm apologises again, but Missandei says nothing, and he turns to return to his fellow soldiers waiting out front of the hall.

“Turgon Nudha.”
(“Grey Worm.”) Missandei calls, stopping him and he looks back.

“I am happy you saw me.”
(“I am glad you saw me.”) She admits.

“Sīr iksin nyke.”
(“So am I.”) Grey Worm replies before resuming to leave to the front of the hall.

-

After Barristan had requested my presence, what news he had brought me had tipped me over the edge. In the last week, everything seemed to be crumbling. The liberated cities, Westeros and now the people around me. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing and what my ears were hearing. At first, I couldn’t believe it. Jorah Mormont, my most loyal, loving friend, protector and almost father, had betrayed me. It didn’t seem feasible, it didn’t seem real, and yet it was. Here was a scroll signed by Cersei Lannister herself, and Barristan said he did not even try to defend himself. He knew what it was about and what it meant. I now had to distinguish what to make of it, what to do about it and with him. I didn’t know what to do, it was Jorah. He was the one I thought would never do such a thing, and he was the one I now had no idea what to do with now he had. After getting my initial emotions in check around Ser Barristan, I called for an audience with Jorah in the great hall. We would all be there to hear what he had to say. After Barristan had sent word and everyone was ready, I was now calm enough to join and he accompanied me to the great hall. There already waiting was Missandei, Grey Worm and Rakharo standing by my seat at the top of the stairs, which I then took with great reluctance. I didn’t want this to happen, but it must.

“He is waiting outside with Unsullied, my queen.” Grey Worm announces between us, and I nod my recognition.

I take a deep breath. “Send him in.” I call to the Unsullied at the entrance, who relay the order. Barristan and Grey Worm then move to stand down at the platform a few stairs below me while Missandei and Rakharo stay by my side. And soon enough, Jorah walks into the hall and comes to the bottom of the stairs as we all look down to him. He walks up the first few onto the first lower platform, bypassing that as he continues. As he slowly approaches the second where the other two were standing, they both take a small step forward in response to him coming too close for their liking, so Jorah stops and stands on the steps looking up only to me.

“Why did the usurper pardon you?” I question calmly.

Jorah hesitates his first words. “If we could speak alone?” Jorah softly pleas.

“No. Speak to me here. Explain it to me.” I demand, still keeping my cool.

“Who do you think sent this to Meereen, and at this time? Who profits? –This is the work of Tywin and Cersei Lannister. They want to divide us, if we’re fighting each other, we’re not fighting them.” Jorah reasons.

“The pardon was signed at the time we were in Pentos before we left with the Dothraki.” I point out, rendering him quiet. “Why were you pardoned? Unless you’re saying this document was forged?” I ask.

“This was not the original pardon; I burnt that one. But, no, it comes from the same hand. It is not forged.” Jorah admits.

“Why then?” I sternly question.

“When we first arrived in Pentos, it didn’t take long for Tywin to find us and send me threats. That if I didn’t spy on you and report back they would send assassins to murder you and if I did I would get a pardon to return to Westeros. I ignored those threats with no interest. Then we started fighting off many assassination attempts, some more brutal than others. And then when we arrived in Mantarys, I received more threats. They threatened my family would be murdered, their dismembered bodies sent my way, that bits of my son would be cut and sent if I did not spy. –So, I sent letters to Varys, the spymaster of King’s Landing, you may remember him, you may not. Then the assassination attempts stopped once I started.” Jorah explains.

“What were the content of these letters?” I ask.

“Information.” Jorah simply answers.

“What information?” I insist, wanting more answers than that.

“At first, it was only where we were and what we were doing, which wasn’t much. I sent them very rarely and vaguely. We didn’t do really anything to warrant much attention at first and after so many years I stopped and so did anything from them, and it appeared that was the end of that—until we went back to Pentos. –When I didn’t report your marriage to Drogo, I received a finger, which looked like a child’s, along with a threat to continue spying or I would receive more parts of my family. So, when I replied with the details of when the wedding was and where we were going, I then received a royal pardon, but I had to continue spying on threat of death over my family. –I told them when you were married, when we arrived in Vaes Dothrak, when you were—,” Jorah explains in full, but stops himself short at the end, but I quickly pick up the next big event that happened at Vaes Dothrak.

“You told them I was carrying Drogo’s child?” I question, feeling hurt and angered.

“I—,” Jorah stumbles. “Yes or no.” I interject quickly.

“Khaleesi.” Jorah softens. “Don’t call me that. Did you tell them I was carrying Drogo’s child?” I repeat sternly.

Jorah sadly hesitates. “Yes.” He guilts.

I stand from my seat and begin to approach Jorah. “That time you went to the markets after it was announced I was pregnant, you brought me back gifts of flowers and herbs for my health, all the while you had sent word of my pregnancy to the people who murdered my family.” I point out in sudden realisation. “Forgive me, Daenerys, please. They threatened my family also, but they killed them anyw—,” Jorah begins but I don’t hear it, I can’t hear it, all I can think about it is his betrayal. “That wine merchant tried to poison me because of your information.” I continue as I come to stand before him on the stairs.

“I stopped you from drinking his wine.” Jorah retorts.

“Because you knew it was poisoned.” I counter.

He sighs. “I suspected.” He admits.

“You betrayed me—all these years—,” I begin, the emotion raw in my eyes and voice as I said the words before Jorah suddenly goes down to his knees on the step.

“Forgive me—I never meant—please, Khaleesi, forgive me.” Jorah begs emotionally.

“You sold my secrets to the people who executed my father, slaughtered my mother, my brother—,” I begin as Jorah simultaneously speaks. “I have protected you, fought for you—,” Jorah starts.
“—brutalised my family—,”
“—killed for you.” Jorah ends.
“—you want me to forgive you?!” I finish raising my voice and emotion, although I can only look up over him, I can’t look at him with my emotions so raw, I knew I would cry if I did in this very second.

It was silent for a moment. “I have loved you.” Jorah adds.

“Love? –Love? How can you say that to me?” I reject, still looking over him.

“Any other man and I would have you executed, but it is you. And I can’t bring myself to it, even now. But I do not want you in this city dead or alive. So, go back to your masters in King’s Landing and collect your pardon if you can.” I state.

Jorah rises from his knees and steps forward, reaching his hand out to touch my own. “Daenerys, please—,” He tenderly pleas, but I swiftly bring my arm up beside my shoulder out of his way so he couldn’t touch or grab it and it’s only now that I look back to his face. “Don’t ever presume to touch me again or speak my name. You have until dusk to collect your things and leave this city. And if you are found in Meereen past break of day, I can’t say that I won’t have your head thrown into Slaver’s Bay.” I sternly warn and I can see the heartbreak in his eyes as he hears my words, and I wonder if he can see my own in mine. I was infuriated, I was hurt, but I was trying to keep that as my exterior rather than my broken heart, but I was confident he could see that too. He knew me like no other, which was why this betrayal hurt all the more, why it cut deeper than if it were anyone else.

“Go—now.” I quietly demand between us as we stared at each other, and sadly Jorah eventually hints a complying nod. He turns and begins his descent down the stairs and watching him leave, hurt me right to the core. He had betrayed me, and I hated him for it, but a part of me would always harbour some love for him. It’s why it hurt so much, and it’s why he had to go. I could feel my breath quickening as I watched him leave the hall, the emotions finally catching up with me, tears beginning to pool in my eyes. At the entrance, Jorah shoots a glance back my way, perhaps looking at me for the last time before he left, then he looked down and resumed leaving the hall. As soon as I saw the last of him gone, as soon as he was out of sight, I broke down. I didn’t want to, but my body had to. My tears spilled over, they streamed down my face as my cries echoed in the hall. My breath quickened and I couldn’t control my grief over what had just happened. I cupped my face sobbing, sniffing, jaggedly breathing into my hands, standing on the platform crying for the first time in front of everybody until I suddenly felt a light pair of hands around my shoulders.

“Daenerys, come on.” Missandei whispers into my ear and begins to lead me down the stairs. I wipe my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop my cries. I wrap my arm around her waist as she does the same, comforting me as she led me away from the hall. She knew I wouldn’t want to be around everyone like this, but she knew I wouldn’t want to be alone. She was a true friend to me, and it seemed they were coming in short supply now these days.

Missandei had taken me to my chambers, and I had remained there the rest of the day. After my tears and cries had calmed, I took myself to the balcony of the pyramid and overlooked the city, this was when I asked to be left alone and Missandei hesitated to leave me but did so anyway. She did however come back that evening. I had been stood on the balcony the whole time, reflecting, thinking, grieving, in silence as I looked over the city. It was dark now, not much to see, but I wasn’t really looking at anything, now it was just the lights of the city that burned in the distances.

“Daenerys?” Missandei gently says behind me. I don’t respond, just keep looking out over the balcony where she had left me earlier in the day.

There is a pause for a moment before I hear her take a step forward. “May I bring you something? To help you sleep?” Missandei offers, moving around to my side at the balcony, but I continue to look out and say nothing.

There is another pause whilst she waits for an answer that doesn’t come. “Forgive me, for disturbing you.” She says before turning to leave.

“No—you didn’t, I’m sorry. –Stay with me—please.” I sadly plea, looking to my side at her and she softly nods, reaffirming her place at my side as we both looked out over the dark city.

“Missandei—never betray me.” I state sombrely.

“Never, Daenerys.” Missandei replies, before she then grabs my hand, and holds it tenderly. I hold it back as we stand together, the night’s breeze on our faces and I treasure the friend I have with me in this moment.

The following day had to continue on as if it were the same as any other; I couldn’t put my duties for the people as ruler on hold because I was grieving a personal loss. But I really was in no mood for meeting the mass of citizens that would be coming to see me for my help and council on their problems. I felt in no state to put on a happy or at least well-mannered and minded face for the people when inside all I felt was hurt. But that is what I did; that was what rulers did.

“Ao iōragon gō Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor, se Dorzalty, se pryjatys hen belma, se Muña Zaldrīzoti se Mīrīno Dāria.”
(“You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons and Queen of Meereen.”) Missandei introduces, like she did with every citizen that came to visit.

“Kirimvose syt seeing nyke, aōha dārōñe. Brōzio ñuha iksis fennesz.”
(“Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace. My name is Fennesz.”) The man introduces. “I can speak the common tongue, if you wish.” He adds before I could reply.

“You speak it very well. But I do not mind, whatever you’d prefer.” I praise.

He nods. “Before you freed me, I belonged to Master Nicdowl. I was tutor to his children, I taught them languages and history. They know a great deal about your family because of me. Little Calla is only seven, but she admires you very much.” Fennesz relays, making a small but genuine smile come across my face. It was always nice to hear that the children looked up to you, especially the girls for me. It meant they had a role model.

“I hope I can prove worthy of her admiration. –What can I do for you, Fennesz?” I query, wondering what exactly he had come for.

“When you took the city, the children begged me not to leave the house. But Master Nicdowl and I agreed that I must, so I lost my home. Now, I live on the streets.” Fennesz informs.

“I have outfitted mess halls to feed all former slaves and barricks to shelter—,” I begin to point out.

“I do not mean to offend, Your Grace, I went to one of these places. The young prey on the old, take what they want and beat us if we resist.” Fennesz interjects.

“My Unsullied will make them safe again in short order, my friend, this I promise you.” I assure.

“Even if they are safe, who would I be there? What purpose would I serve? With my master, I was a teacher. I had the respect and love of his children.” Fennesz states.

“What is it that you want from me?” I query.

“Your Grace, I ask that you let me sell myself back to Master Nicdowl.” Fennesz requests.

“You want to return to a man who owned you, like a goat or a chair?” I question surprised.

“Please, Your Grace, the young may rejoice in the new world you have built for them, but for those of us too old to change there is only fear and squalor.” Fennesz pleas and I look at him in contemplation. I didn’t want to allow it, but how could I not, it was what he wanted. “I am not alone. There are many outside waiting to beg the same—,” Fennessz adds.

“I did not liberate this city to preside over the injustice I fought to destroy, I liberated it to bring people freedom. –But freedom means making your own choices. So, I will allow you to sign a contract with your former master. It may not cover a period lasting longer than a year.” I declare.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.” Fennesz replies with genuine satisfaction and joy of the outcome. He bows his head and turns to leave, descending the stairs.

Barristan steps forward closer to my side and begins to speak quietly in my ear. “The Masters will take advantage of this situation. The men serving them will be slaves in all but name.” He points out and I couldn’t help but see that he was right, but I wasn’t sure what else to do for the man. If it became a problem, we would have to deal with it like we did any issue. I would have continued the conversation Barristan started between us, but I noticed a man approaching the stairs and my attention went to him. Fennesz had now just left the hall, and this was the next citizen. He looked potentially scared, or shy, or maybe even sad, I couldn’t tell, but he was carrying something wrapped in a large cloth which didn’t exactly fill me with ease.

“Approach, my friend.” I kindly urge, as if to maybe ease him of whatever he was feeling. But he does not and says something in a language I do not understand. Missandei clearly translates as after doing so, he finally comes forward and ascends the stairs, eventually coming to stand before us on the lower platform. He was cradling something wrapped in his arms, then he began to cry. The worry and panic set in me for what exactly was about to unfold. As he stood there, all of us looking, although I was already sure what he may say, waiting for him to explain, he finally began to speak, and I waited to hear Missandei’s translations.

“I have brought you—he came from the sky—the black one—the winged shadow—” Missandei translates through this man’s speech and cries, before he now crouched and laid what he held on the floor, unwrapping it for us all to see and I was sure I didn’t want to, I could already feel my guilt and tears coming for what I expected to see. “He came from the sky—my girl, my little girl—,” Missandei finishes translating as the man sobs over the blackened bones of his little girl.

-

“What was her name?” I ask.

“Sila.” Missandei answers. I had nothing to offer the man that would repay his daughter’s life. I knew only that there had to be consequences, but Drogon had gone rogue. We had not seen him since we came to Meereen. Only my other three dragons seemed in check. They flew over Meereen, stayed in contact with me and fed in the hills but always came back. Drogon was different, but I didn’t know why. He was the one who did this but the one I couldn’t give a consequence to. I had asked Missandei to go with the man and talk to him, comfort and calm him. Offer him anything he wishes and I shall give it to him, and I did. But something had to be done about Drogon. I couldn’t have another dead child laid at my feet again.

“How old was she?” I query, as I stood with Missandei and Grey Worm in the council chambers.

“Three.” Missandei replies.

“Three?” I repeat to myself in guilt.

“Se iēdrosa daor udir hen Drōgon?”
(“And still no word of Drogon?”) I question Grey Worm.

“Loktysi ūndan zirȳla sōvegoni toliot se zōbrie hlēnoni hāre tubissa egō, ñuha dāria. Daorun pār pār.”
(“Sailors saw him flying over the Black Cliffs three days ago, my queen. Nothing since then.”) He informs.

I begin to walk out of the council chambers. “Rhaenagon nyke rȳ se hōvilagona.”
(“Meet me at the catacombs.”) I state.

After meeting Grey Worm there, I had instructed him to find chains, big chains and buy some goats whilst I chased down the ones they were intended for. I asked him to have the chains welded into the walls of the catacombs that were beneath the pyramid and laid ready. And they were when the time came. He had stayed outside the combs until my return to inform me it was all ready. I thanked him and with a heavy heart I asked him and the few soldiers that were now on guard post outside to open the heavy stone door. With it open, Rhaegal, Aerion and Eleria all swarmed in past me to explore the new space, but more encouraged by the smell no doubt they picked up of the goats that would have been laid out for them to eat. All three swiftly made their way down the stairs into the combs, sniffing out the food as I followed them down. They had already found the food by the chains just before I had reached the bottom. Walking over, I watched them all devour the goats between them, a couple each laid in three separate piles. It pained me to pick up the chains with the collars. More than anything. Here I was on a liberation quest now chaining my own children. I hated myself for doing it, but I had to keep telling myself I was doing it for the safety of the people, so no more children or people would be laid at my feet burned. Not that these three did that but I couldn’t take the risk. If one could, they all could. None of them took any notice of the chains and collars I put around their necks, they just continued eating as I cried silent tears, trying not to let them register my hurt. Once all three were chained, I turned and began to walk back to the stairs, the longer I looked the more I hurt, the more I cried. It wasn’t until I started to ascend the stairs that they then noticed I was leaving them. I heard their chains rattle as they all began to scramble after me, but the chains stopped them and that’s when their insistent cries screeched through the catacombs and through my ears, but mostly through my heart. I had to listen to them cry for me not to leave them there as I climbed the stairs all the way up to the entrance. When I stepped out, tears streaming from my eyes, I looked back and I wished I didn’t because hearing them hurt enough but then putting the visual of them clawing and screeching and pulling to get away and leave with me to the sound, broke all of me, not just my heart. Then the stone door was pushed closed, and I was left with that eternal image and sound of hurt. I felt despicable, I felt like the title of mother suited me no longer. After closing that door, I hoped that something good would happen because recently all that was coming forward or coming into play was bad news. I hoped for something better, something good to come along soon; after the cities, Westeros, Jorah, now my children, I needed it.

Chapter Text

After all the hurt, I decided we needed a fresh start. And with Daario and Hizdahr still away dealing with Yunkai, when they came back hopefully with order restored, it felt like a good time. It took a few days, but we finally had the preparations to begin with tearing down the Harpy statue off the top of the Great Pyramid. That Harpy statue was a symbol to the old order, emblematic of the slaving that I was trying to dispose. So, pulling the Harpy off the top of the pyramid felt right, like I was securing the new order by dismantling the symbol, a symbolic changing-of-the-guard gesture even. Watching the statue fall to the ground felt liberating, and that was just for me. I hoped the slaves felt that and more when they saw it. I wasn’t sure how the nobility would take it, but we soon found out.

“So, they left a calling card? The Sons of the Harpy you said? I question as Barristan held the gold mask, designed with the face of the Harpy.

“Yes, Your Grace, they left this on the body.” He confirms as he places it on the table in the council chambers. These people, this group, had killed an Unsullied soldier, and it was the nobility, the masters who were angry with my rule. They were finally retaliating, no doubt the tearing down of the statue was the last straw.

“They’ve never killed before.” I state, worrying about how violent the masters were now getting.

“It was only a matter of time, Your Grace, conquerors always meet with resistance.” Barristan points out.

“I didn’t conqueror them, their own people did.” I correct.

“Gaomis daor ūndegon īlva hae issarosi, aōha dārōñe.”
(“They do not see us as people, Your Grace.”) Mossador clarifies, a loyal former slave who now spoke with us on behalf of the feelings and goings on of all former slaves.

“Pār emilzi naejot gūrēñagon naejot ūndegon ra shēnkan, mossador.”
(“Then they will have to learn to see things differently, Mossador.”) I affirm.

“He did not risk his life fighting for his freedoms so cowards in masks could take it away. And I did not take up residence in this pyramid so I could watch the city below decline into chaos.” I continue. “What was the name of the man you lost?” I ask Grey Worm.

“Red Rat, Your Grace.” He answers.

“I want him buried, with honour, publicly, in the Temple of the Graces.” I declare and Grey Worm nods.

“The Sons of the Harpy will hear that message.” Barristan warns.

“Make them very angry.” Mossador adds, using the common tongue.

“Angry snakes lash out, makes chopping off their heads that much easier. –Find the men who did this and bring them to me.” I order and with a couple of head bows, they all disperse out the chamber, leaving me with just Missandei.

-

Daario and Hizdahr walking through the gates of Meereen with the Second Sons trailing behind, come back from their journey from Yunkai only to see that the Unsullied were now patrolling the streets, much to Hizdahr’s surprise, not so much Daario’s.

“When did the Unsullied start patrolling the streets of Meereen?” Hizdahr questions.

“Looks like your friends haven’t been behaving themselves.” Daario responds as they begin walking the streets, headed for the Pyramid, headed for Daenerys.

-

“Our mission to Yunkai was a resounding success. The Wise Masters of Yunkai have agreed to cede power to a council of elders, made up of both freed men and the former slaveholders. All matters of consequence will be brought to you for review.” Hizdahr informs stood before me in the hall with Daario a step behind.

“Good.” I simply reply. It was slightly annoying that we had to go through all this to come out with a very similar outcome of what I left there, but I suppose they needed to rebel only to be put back in their place to see there was no other choice here.

“They did ask for some concessions.” Hizdahr adds.

“Concessions?” I query, not particularly wanting to bargain. It was this or nothing as far as I was concerned.

“Politics is the art of compromise, Your Grace.” Hizdahr points out.

“I’m not a politician, I’m a ruler.” I retort.

“Forgive me, you’re right, of course. Still, it’s easier to rule happy subjects than angry ones.” Hizdahr counters.

“I don’t expect the Wise Masters to be happy. Slavery made them rich; I ended slavery.” I state.

“They do not ask for the return of slavery, they ask for the reopening of the fighting pits.” Hizdahr relays.

“The fighting pits? Where slaves fought slaves to the death?” I question, hating the idea instantly and wanting to reject it even quicker. I didn’t even want to hear Hizdahr’s arguments, but I had to.

“In the new world that you’ve brought to us, free men would fight free men. The pit fighters you liberated plead for this opportunity. Bring some here and ask them yourself.” Hizdahr almost challenges.

“No fighting pits.” I simply reject.

“Opening them would show the people of Yunkai and Meereen that you respect their traditions.” Hizdahr argues.

“I do not respect the tradition of human cockfighting.” I establish.

“If you could—,” Hizdahr begins again, but my patience was wearing thin. This man annoyed me like no other. “How many times must I say no before you understand.” I sternly interject and I could now see the annoyance in Hizdahr’s face. He bows his head and then abruptly leaves. As I watched him leave the hall, I wondered how long it would be before I would see him walk back in with another proposal.

The rest of the day Hizdahr had me irritated. He made me debate my decision about the fighting pits but I always came to the same conclusion, it was barbaric and I wouldn’t do it. Surely there were other ways for the former slave fighters to make their money. This was exactly the point that made me debate it. What if they didn’t and they truly did want them back open? Just like how Fennesz had wanted to go back to his master. Freedom meant personal choices, but the fighting pits just seemed too far. It wasn’t until I spent that night with Daario that I spoke to another about it.

“Hizdahr seemed quite annoyed by your decision today. I could see his nostrils flaring.” Daario mocks as he stands naked from my bed and begins pouring some wine.

“Whatever he wants from me he’s not going to get it. If he really believes I’m going to reopen the fighting pits—,” I moan but Daario interrupts. “You should reopen the fighting pits.” He states, shocking me slightly. I sit up in bed, covering my front with the sheet, looking at him curiously. “What?” I say perplexed.

“My mother was a whore. I told you that. She likes a drink of pear brandy. The older she got, the less she made selling her body, the more she wanted to drink.” Daario begins, having poured the wine he now came back over to the bed, handing me a glass as he held his own. “Then one day when I was twelve she sold me to a slaver she’d fucked the night before.” He continues, chinking our glasses.

“I’m sorry.” I reply sincerely.

“Why? I was a bad child, I wasn’t big, but I was quick, and I loved a fight. So, they sold me to a man in Tolos who trained fighters for the pits. I had my first match when I was sixteen.” Daario explains.

“You were sold into slavery, forced to fight to the death for the amusement of the Masters and you’re defending the fighting pits?” I confusingly question.

“I’m only here because of those pits. I learned to fight like a Dothraki screamer, a Norvoshi priest, a Westerosi knight, soon I was famous. 10,000 men and women screamed my name when I stepped into the pit. I made so much money for my master, he set me free when he died. I joined the Second Sons and then I met you.” Daario elaborates, making his point and I understood that perhaps there would be fighters that wanted to fight, to have the same kind of opportunities, but I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of letting it all happen. It didn’t sit right with me at all, which is why I didn’t say a word in reply, only sat in front of him in thought.

“You’re the queen, everyone is too afraid of you to speak the truth, everyone but me. –You’ve made thousands of enemies across the world, as soon as they see weakness they’ll attack. Show your strength, here, now.” Daario encourages.

“That’s why I have the Unsullied patrolling the streets.” I inform.

He scoffs a little. “Anyone with a chest full of gold can buy an army of Unsullied. You’re not the Mother of Unsullied—you’re the Mother of Dragons.” Daario points out.

I look down in guilt but look back up assertively. “I don’t want another child’s bones dropped at my feet. –No one has seen Drogon in weeks, for all I know he’s flown halfway across the world. –I can’t control them anymore.” I softly announce.

“A dragon queen with no dragons, is not a queen.” Daario states, and it was brutally honest. So much so that the pondering thought made me ask him to leave so that I could dress and head for the catacombs. As I stood outside the stone door to the catacombs, the guards on post opened it for me and inside it was darker than out, but I still didn’t carry a torch. Another guard stood outside holding a flaming torch that mildly lit the beginning of the stairs which was all I needed to safely begin the descent. I couldn’t hear my children, nor see them, but I knew they wouldn’t hurt me, I was still their mother. At least, after locking and chaining them in here, I hoped they wouldn’t. I came to stand near to where they had been chained and still heard nothing.

“Aerion? –Rhaegal? –Eleria?” I call out, pausing between each name. But after calling for Aerion, I heard chains begin to rattle faintly ahead. For a moment, all I could hear was the faint chain rattles ahead, when all of a sudden one of them lit their flame in the distance providing light and at the right time as another swiftly tried to bite at me and I was able to move out the way having seen it coming a split second before. Stepping back continuously now as they all began to move forward, sporadically igniting their flames around, I tried to calm them with my words, but it didn’t work at all. They kept breathing fire around me and it was getting a little out of hand, so I turned and ran. Coming out of the combs, I came out to the side and leant against the wall panting. They really had grown out of my control.

I tried not to let it consume me that night as I slept, but it did and because of that I couldn’t sleep. When the morning light reached my chamber, I was still awake but that meant I could distract my thoughts with other duties, like discussing the problems within the city because there always were problems. Meereen was supposed to be a base of operations as it were, but ever since we got here, we have had nothing but continuous problems arise and so expanding this liberation hadn’t even been looked at until Meereen was finally in check. Otherwise, we would have another Yunkai situation and Meereen would be ten times harder to recheck. And now with what was happening in Westeros I didn’t know when we would continue the liberation across Essos. But for now, we had murderers on the streets that had to be dealt with. And it was soon brought to my attention later that morning that Grey Worm and Daario had found a Son of the Harpy, who was now in the Pyramid’s dungeons.

“Sons of the Harpy, they want to put a collar back on my neck, on all of our necks, please, Your Grace, you must kill him.” Mossador insists.

“It would send a message.” I state, hearing his side.

“I think you should exercise restraint, Your Grace.” Barristan puts forward.

“Why?” I query.

“For one thing he may have valuable information.” Barristan answers.

“The Son of the Harpy has no more valuable information.” Daario points out.

“How do you know that?” Barristan questions.

“Because I questioned him.” Daario affirms.

“And the information you did get, he is young and poor.” Hizdahr establishes. “He is born free.” Mossador is quick to snap.

“Why should he want to bring back slavery? What did it do for him?” Hizdahr challenges.

“Perhaps the only thing that gave him pride was knowing that there was someone lower than he was.” I retort.

“They pay him, great families afraid to do a thing, they poor men to do it for them.” Mossador announces, which makes me look to Hizdahr suspicously, thinking he could be one of these great families.

“And how do you know this?” Hizdahr asks.

“Everyone know this.” Mossador proclaims.

“I don’t know it and I’m the head of a great family.” Hizdahr argues, which just fuels my silent suspicion of him.

“We do not know what this man did or didn’t do, give him a trial, at least. A fair trial. Show all the citizens of Meereen that you are better than those who would depose you. Teach them a better way.” Barristan suggests.

“I do not know the place from where Lord Sir comes, things maybe are different there I hope, but here in Meereen before Daenerys Stormborn they own us, so we learn much about them. Or we do not live long. They teach me what they are. Mercy, fair trial—these mean nothing to them; all they understand is blood.” Mossador passionately declares, after which the table is silent for a moment and many of the faces look to me for a response.

“Thank you all for your council.” I say and quickly everyone stands from the table and leaves. All but Ser Barristan though, who lingers stood at the table until all has basically left.

“Your Grace, a word, please, I beg you.” Barristan pleas.

“About what?” I query.

“About your father.” Barristan answers, which fills me with a dread. I didn’t want to talk about my family, not right now, but I knew he would anyway. “He was a just King, who made hard decisions even when it broke his heart. But regardless of whom, he was always fair; that is what a good ruler does. Please think about this. Don’t make any emotional, rash decisions. I know you feel great pain for these people, a great injustice has been done to them, but we have to be smart. You do.” Barristan warns.

“I know I can lose my temper. I know I can resort to rash decisions. I know this. But I am trying to be better. Despite Mossador’s plea, I already know that I will not have the Son of the Harpy executed without a fair trial, if that so happens to be the outcome. –It’s the right thing, and fair thing to do. If we are to have a fresh start here, then it will be a fair one.” I proclaim, making the smallest of smiles, no doubt in relief, hint on Barristan’s face before he bows his head. “Your Grace.” he says before taking his leave from the council chambers.

Over the course of the next couple days, we held the prisoner captive in the dungeons until we had deciphered the logistics of a trial here in Meereen. Then the Harpy would get his fair trial in front of the masses and everyone would see that committing a crime would not go unpunished, no matter the person, but a trial would be had nonetheless. This is what we had intended, but after these couple days, during the night, the Pyramid was attacked by the Sons of Harpy. Daario had stormed into my chamber alerting me on the situation but by the time we had even been made aware of it they had slipped away. Again, they had left a calling card at their scene. They had killed the Unsullied on guard and slipped into the dungeons, killing their fellow Harpy, leaving a mask over his face. By this time Unsullied had started to seek and retaliate against them in the Pyramid but they slipped out before they could be captured. Only then had we even been alerted. It was strange to me that they had gone through the trouble of breaking in only to kill him, not help him escape. We figured at the late-night council that very evening they must have not wanted to risk him speaking out against them in a trial. But, regardless, now we were back to square one. Just waiting for the next attack. We had only suspicion and that wasn’t anything to go by, not in any fair standards anyway, and that was what we were trying to be: a leadership, a fair rulership, not a dictatorship.

Daario and Barristan insisted on standing guard outside my chamber the rest of the evening, but I refused. We couldn’t live in fear, and we shouldn’t, so I asked them to leave. Once everyone had gone, I took myself to the balcony and overlooked the dark, dimly lit city in the night. I had barely even begun to think when I heard a faint rubble of stone from above. I looked around and saw nothing, saw no one, but I heard it again and soon enough from the darkness above on the roof, Drogon appeared.

“Drogon.” I happily mutter as I watched him flap his wings and chitter gentle sounds as he stood at the edge of the roof. He looked much bigger. He had obviously had another growth spurt like the others. I instinctively held my hand out to show I wanted to comfort him, but it was more for myself, and sure enough he brought himself lower. He lowered his head so it was just above me, just close enough that I could reach and touch him but far enough away so that if he pulled back I couldn’t. I was slow in my reach and tried to comfort him by tenderly shushing but he seemed wary of my hand, moving his head to the side, sniffing my hand but not letting me touch him. He had an almost feral look in his eyes, but I could also see there was love there too, he hadn’t forgotten me, not completely. But just as I could have stroked him, he pulled back and swiftly pushed himself from the roof taking flight and soaring through the sky over the dimly lit city. I was happy to have seen him, to see that he was okay and healthy, but I was sadder in the moment. He seemed so independent, so feral, like he barely could hold on to who I was. Watching him fly away, I wondered if that was the last time I would see him.

I found myself back out on the balcony the next morning, in pondering thought. A part of me just wondered if Drogon would have come back, but I was now sure last night was almost like a farewell and it was the last time I would see him. It saddened me. Much had recently. We had tried to build a fresh start and things just appeared to be getting worst. I didn’t imagine ruling to be this hard, but most of the things I was saddened about were personal troubles. Not having Jorah around broke my heart, but his betrayal broke it more. Not having heard from William yet only worried me as I was sure he would have arrived in Dorne by now. And now I was adamant I had just lost Drogon for good. And then on top of it all the city below me was descending into chaos, or at least seemed to be headed that way if we didn’t put a stop to the Sons of the Harpy. My thoughts were then disrupted when I heard footsteps approach from behind. I glanced over my shoulder quickly to see who and saw it was Barristan, before looking back over the city.

“Everyone looks happy enough from up here.” I deflatingly state.

Barristan begins to chuckle which makes me turn around to see why. “What?” I ask, curiously smiling at his random, light laughter.

“I was thinking about all the times your father made me go with him down from the Red Keep into the streets of King’s Landing.” He muses.

I smiled. “Why?” I wondered.

“We liked to walk among the people, he liked to sing to them.” Barristan recalls fondly.

My smile only grew at the thought. “He sang to them?” I question shocked and Barristan nodded happily. “I never heard him sing. I never knew him to go out and see the people. This must have been before I was born.” I ponder as we walk back inside my chamber.

“He stopped when he became King, but he would often ask me to go and gage the feeling of the people. Soon, he encouraged Viserys to start coming with me.” Barristan explains. I continued to smile in fond thought of my family. It was rare these days that I remembered the good memories when the bad was so deeply cut into my mind. “What a lovely thought. I suppose you hold those memories close to you?” I query.

“I do, Your Grace.” Barristan replies also smiling. “You know, your father would pick a spot on the hook, or the street of seeds, then he’d sing. Just like all the other minstrels.” He remembers happily.

“And what did you do?” I ask.

“I made sure no one killed him. –And I collected the money.” Barristan answers and I look at him surprisingly. “What? He liked to see how much he could make.” He defends.

“He was good?” I ponder, not even thinking that he may have been good. The people would have known he was the prince, I just assumed the money would be given for his name, to be liked.

“He was very good.” Barristan confirms.

“And what did you do with the money?” I question.

“Well, one time he gave it to the next minstrel down the street. One time he gave it to an orphanage in flea bottom. One time—we got horribly drunk.” Barristan relays with a smirk towards the end, making us both laugh. It made me happy to hear such fond memories of my father.

“Your Grace.” Daario’s voice calls from behind, ceasing the laughs and wholesome moment I was sharing with Barristan. We both looked to him as he approached us. “Hizdahr zo Loraq is here, waiting in the great hall.” He announces.

“How many others are there?” I question.

“50, 100.” Daario speculates.

I lightly sigh at the thought, but Barristan had lifted my spirits. I looked back to him. “Will you be joining us, Ser Barristan?” I ask.

“I think I can protect you from Hizdahr zo Loraq.” Daario points out before he could answer.

“You all forget I can swing a sword myself. But if I couldn’t, I think even then I could protect myself from Hizdahr zo Loraq.” I mock looking between the two, gaining a sly smirk from Barristan, who my eyeline then lands on.

“Go, Ser Barristan—sing a song for me.” I smile, getting a nod and a smile back. “Gladly, Your Grace.” he says before leaving my chamber.

I shortly followed with Daario to the great hall where I found Hizdahr already waiting with the more Unsullied in the room around keeping a sharp eye. I greeted him begrudgingly, but tried my best to hide my slight resentment, and then allowed him to begin his arguments for whatever he now wanted this day for Meereen.

“All men must die, but not all can die in glory.” He begins.

“Glory?” I repeat in annoyance.

“Why else do men fight? Why did your ancestors cross the Narrow Sea and unite the Seven Kingdoms? So their names would live on. –Those who find victory in the fighting pits will never become kings, but their names will live on. It’s the best chance they’ll ever have.” Hizdahr argues.

“Is that what you used to tell men before you set them to butchering each other for sport?” I retort.

“Your Grace, today is the traditional start of the fighting season.” Hizdahr continues.

“I do not recognise this tradition.” I spit.

“Traditions are the only thing that will hold this city, your city, together. Without them, former slaves and former masters have nothing in common. Nothing but centuries of mistrust and resentment. I can’t promise this is the answer to all our problems, but it’s a start.” Hizdahr defends.

Then just as I was about to respond, the distant sound of the city bells began to ring. This meant the city was under attack.

-

Ser Barristan was walking the streets, everything seemed calm and peaceful. People living their day to day lives, when this was all suddenly disrupted by the city bells ringing. What followed was the distant sounds of screams, and a fight. Barristan drew his sword and made his way through a flurry of now worried people that rushed the streets to get to their homes for safety. The city was under attack. He followed the noise of chaos and went against the flow of people until he came to find the attackers. The Sons of the Harpy were in the streets killing the Unsullied soldiers on patrol, and any others that got in their way. Barristan had to fight his way through, and he did with ease, the numbers of them were small in their groups, but that only must have meant they were attacking all over the city. Once he killed the small group, he followed the sound of a fight to the end of alley, where he found a mass of Unsullied and both Harpy men dead on the ground, but it appeared an Unsullied was surrounded by many Sons of the Harpy. Just as Barristan was about to step through the bodies to help, one of the Harpy’s rose from the ground, wounded but clearly wanting to continue to fight. He hadn’t realised Barristan was behind him and so with the greatest ease, Barristan got his sword around him and slit his throat. The Harpy groaned and spluttered loudly, getting the attention of the Harpy men ahead. He held his sword up ready, poised, stepping closer to the group and as they spread around, he saw the last Unsullied man was Grey Worm and he looked battered. It was kill or be killed, and Barristan knew he wasn’t letting a single Harpy leave this alley.

More than half of the Sons of the Harpy began to walk towards him, leaving only a few for Grey Worm to continue fighting. Barristan knew he would need his best fighting this day and so when he began to swing his sword, he swung it with all his might. He cut the men down one by one, using every skill and manoeuvre he had, blood sprayed and poured everywhere. Dead men laid everywhere in the alley. But as it got down to the last few, there were too many and Barristan was getting overwhelmed and tired. He suddenly took a fatal stab to the leg, sending him to his knee, but continued to fight. The last two he tried to fight off and he managed to kill his last one from his knees but just as they both stabbed his body, making a mighty wail escape his lips. The last Harpy he killed fell to the floor but the last Harpy standing moved around the back of Barristan and held his head up, ready to slash his throat but then Barristan was dropped. As he laid amongst the dead, he saw with his fluttering eyes Grey Worm slumped over him, looking to see if he was still alive. They had done what they needed, and not a single Harpy left that alley. But neither had they. His eyes closed and everything went black just before he felt Grey Worm slump down at his side.

-

That evening, I was stood over Ser Barristan’s body in the great hall on a pillar bed. The Sons of the Harpy attack on the city was extensive. Many Unsullied and few civilians had been murdered. Grey Worm had been brought back, thankfully alive, but gravely injured. Missandei had continually stayed with him, healed him, and wouldn’t leave his side. We were confident he would recover, but he would need time. Ser Barristan on the other hand was brought back to us already passed. I stood over his body with great sorrow and guilt. He deserved so much more, so much better than this. He was a genuine man, a brave man, a loyal man, and a friend. I was grieving all over again. Meereen was quickly becoming a nightmare city. As I stood over Barristan’s body, grieving, with only Daario for company, Hizdahr zo Loraq was brought into the great hall at my command.

“I am so sorry, my queen, he was a good man.” Hizdahr remorse’s.

“Barristan the Bold, Jorah told me they called him. –He crossed a continent to serve me. He was a loyal friend. –And he died in an alley, butchered by cowards who hide behind masks.” I scorn.

“We could pull back to the pyramid district, secure it, and use it as a base from which to operate. Then—we clean the city out. Neighbourhood by neighbourhood, street by street, until the rats have no where left to hide.” Daario suggests.

I ponder for a quick moment. “I prefer your earlier suggestion.” I announce, turning to look at Daario at my side before looking back at Hizdahr. “Round up the leaders of each of Meereen’s great families and bring them to me.” I order as I stare at Hizdahr.

A hint of worry washes over him. “But—I’m the leader of my family.” Hizdahr says, but I just sternly continue to stare before the Unsullied behind him grab him and begin to escort him out as he protests, pleading me not to, that he had nothing to do with it. And maybe he didn’t, but I needed to make a point, I needed to get a message across, and this was the easiest way to get through to the nobility of the city that may be entwined with the Harpy.

I stood with Daario at Barristan’s body, continuing to grieve, until we got the message the leaders had all been rounded up. Only then did I finally leave his side. We had the leaders escorted to follow us to the catacombs, where they were made by the Unsullied escorting them to descend the stairs, but they all pooled at the bottom and clearly didn’t dare to go further. Daario and I followed them down, he stayed by my side holding the only flaming torch so when we stood amongst the leaders, there was not much light but enough so that all eyes were on me, as if they were waiting for the worst. And maybe they were.

“Geron naejot.”
(“Walk forward.”) I calmly command, making the Unsullied point their spears to deter anything but complying as faint rattling sounds echoed.

“Ao daor gaomagon bisa.”
(“You cannot do this.”) One leader objects worriedly but the Unsullied begin to walk forward, holding their pointed spears, forcing the leaders forward through the dark catacombs. We followed behind them. when they stopped, I knew they were now in range, but I wanted them just a bit closer in case.

“Mēre tolī dekūra.”
(“Another step.”) I order, making the Unsullied force the leaders forward one last step. Then, I walked through and came to stand in front with them.

“Kessi ipradagon ao, lo nyke ivestragon zirȳ naejot. Kostis ipradagon ao sesīr lo gaoman daor.”
(“They will eat you, if I tell them to. They may eat you even if I do not.”) I begin, as I slowly walk along the leaders. I could see their fear, some more than others. I was glad for it.

“Riñar. –Mirri ivestragon nyke ēdrutan tepagon bē va zirȳ. Yn iā sȳz muña dōrī tepagon bē va zirȳla riñar. Ziry disciplines zirȳ lo ziry ēdruta. Yn ziry gaomas daor tepagon bē va zirȳ.”
(“Children. –Some say I should give up on them. But a good mother never gives up on her children. She disciplines them if she must. But she does not give up on them.”) I continue, before nodding at Daario who then pushes the man next to me forward, hard, so that he falls considerably forward ahead to the ground. For a moment, it is silent. Not even a chain rattle, but as we all look ahead at the man on the ground, quickly a small ball of light shines above him which swiftly changes into an ignited flame of fire from one of my dragons, setting the man alight. He begins to scream as he is lit and starts to burn. The others who try to move back in fear as they watch my dragons begin to pick and bite at the man. Then as he turns silent and lays on the ground dead, all three rip at him and tear him into pieces for them to eat.

“Qilōni iksis innocent? Kostasagon jemome are—kostasagon mirre hen iksā. –Kostasagon nyke ēdrutan ivestragī ñuha zaldrīzoti iderēbagona.”
(“Who is innocent? Maybe all of you are—maybe none of you are. –maybe I should let my dragons decide.”) I threaten as I now stood next to Hizdahr, looking to him suspiciously, hoping he was afraid. He was now the only one of the leaders standing as the rest had fallen to their knees, clasping their hands up together in silent plea towards me.

“Valar morghūlis.”
(“All men must die.”) he responds, and I was glad I could hear a shivering fear in his voice, even if he was the only man standing.

“Well—I don’t want to over feed them. –Tomorrow, perhaps.” I muse, before nodding at Daario again for them to get them all out of here, now I had made my threatening point. I was angry. I was grieving. And now they could be afraid for a little. We needed the upper hand, however long or short it may last, and I had a feeling it would be short, even as I watched my children devour the man in front of me.

A new day brought new revelations. We had a city in utter chaos, and I had just lost another councillor, another friend. I was beginning to feel more and more alone at a time when I needed people, and people I trusted, around me. I was thankful to see Missandei that morning in my chambers, it was the first time I had seen her since Grey worm had been brought back. She said he is quiet, he sleeps, he rests, and she prays he makes a full recovery, which I had every faith he would. He was strong. I told her about what I had done the night before with the leaders, and she seemed quite content about it. But I was worrying about what I had to do next, what would happen without the council of my advisers which I was losing by the days.

“Daenerys, you have given masters what they deserve.” Missandei assures.

“If I give everyone what they deserve, I’ll have no one left to rule.” I point out. “Ser Barristan counselled mercy when we took this city, right up to the morning he died. Daario Naharis thinks I should kill the former masters and let the rest of the city fend for itself. –What do you think?” I question.

Missandei hesitates for a moment. “Daenerys, I think that I am not fit to have an opinion on these matters.” She concedes.

“You are as fit as anyone I know.” I assure as I take a seat. “You know why I’m here, and you know who will suffer the most if this all falls apart. So, what do you think?” I reassure and repeat.

She hesitates again, but then comes and takes a seat in front of me on the other lounger. “I can only tell you what I have seen. –I have seen you listen to your counsellors. I have seen you lean on their experience when your own was lacking and weigh the choices they put before you. –And I have seen you ignore your counsellors—because there was a better choice, one that only you could see.” Missandei points out comfortingly, and her words invoked a lot of thought within me. she ultimately made me realise that to win back this city, I would have to compromise. I would have to sacrifice some pride, some beliefs, but still uphold what I stand for, just in a way that helps the people, however hard it may be. And her words, and my subsequent thoughts, led me to the dungeons where I had put the other leaders after making some hard decisions. Decisions I made without the council of my advisers, but with Missandei’s thought provoking, yet simple revelation.

Now I was stood behind the door of Hizdahr’s cell, listening to it creak open by one of the Unsullied guards. As I stepped inside, Hizdahr saw me and knelt down before me, worry and fear more evident now than before in his eyes.

“My queen, please do not do this.” He begs.

“What about ‘Valar Morghūlis’?” I ask plainly and expressionless.

“I did not want to die a coward. –Apparently I do not want to die at all.” He admits.

“Takes courage to admit fear—and to admit a mistake. –I came here to tell you that I was wrong.” I begin and see the slight confusion and surprise hint on Hizdahr’s face. “I was wrong, and you were right about tradition. About bringing the people of this city together. –I will reopen the fighting pits, to free men only. Slavery will never return to Meereen, not while I live.” I declare.

“Yes, my queen.” Hizdahr gladly nods.

I look down at Hizdahr, reluctant to say what was about to come out my mouth by just the sight of him, but it had to be done. “And—in order to forge a lasting bond with the Meereenese people, I will marry the leader of an ancient family.” I proclaim, much to Hizdahr’s surprise. “Thankfully a suitor is already on his knees.” I add, a little begrudgingly, making Hizdahr look even more shocked at the realisation of my words, continuing to look this way as I left his cell. I wanted Meereen to work, I needed it to. I wanted the city to thrive and under my rule. If this all helped it, then so be it. This was what rulers did, wasn’t it?

Chapter Text

“How long before the King of Meereen comes to claim my pillow?” Daario teases next to me in bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I smile lightly at the joke. “My marriage to Hizdahr is political. I think he’s smart enough to understand that.” I confirm as I play with Daario’s beard as he has his arm wrapped around my waist. He had spent almost every night in my bed since the first, he had become a real comfort. And it was also fun and pleasurable to say the least.

“I think the Sons of the Harpy will stop killing because their leader was made King.” Daario hypothesises.

“Are you jealous?” I mock.

“Do you think I’m petty enough to speak ill of a man just because he represents competition?” Daario queries.

I smirk. “I do.” I answer chuckling a little, making Daario smirk and chuckle with me. “You’re right. My motivations are entirely impure.” He confirms before reaching over to kiss me more, and he was quickly on top of me again but then broke the kiss. “Doesn’t make me wrong.” He adds, before continuing to kiss me but on my neck this time.

“You told me yourself I can’t fight enemies within and without. And with everything going on in Westeros now—so when enemies without come knocking I need the city of Meereen behind me. I have no choice.” I state.

Daario stops kissing my neck and looks over my face. “Everyone has a choice. Even slaves have a choice: death or slavery.” He retorts before resuming to kiss my neck.

“So, what else can I do?” I question, waiting to see what witty remark he might respond with this time.

He rises back up to look at me. “Marry me instead.” He simply suggests, making me amusingly smile.

“Even if I wanted to do such an inadvisable thing, I couldn’t.” I reject playfully.

“Why not? You are a queen; you can do what you like.” Daario asks.

“No—I can’t.” I correct.

“Then you are the only person in Meereen who is not free.” Daario points out and his comment strikes a blow just a little. I look to the side in thought, and this makes Daario move back to my side on the bed. I lean up and can’t help but think that thinking this was selfish, that I wasn’t free. I was. Besides, this journey wasn’t about me, it was about the people. It was about freeing the people who needed liberation. But had I just entrapped myself in a regime while doing so?

Daario starts to rub my bare back comfortingly. “I know I’m here to serve my queen and not give advice, but can I make one more suggestion?” He softly insists, and he brings me back, laid down at his side, looking back into his eyes. “Of course.” I reply, waiting.

“On the day of the great games, gather all the Great Masters and Wise Masters and Worthy Masters you can find, and slaughter them all.” Daario suggests brutally.

“I am a queen here, not a butcher.” I retort.

“All rulers are either butchers or meat.” Daario counters.

I already dreaded the great games. It was barbaric. Which was why Daario’s suggestion always fell short with me. If I did such a thing as that, I was no better, I was worse. Besides, that wasn’t me and I wouldn’t let it be. The great games would go on as planned and we hoped without any incidents. It had been a couple days since the proposal I made to Hizdahr, they had only just got the pits organised to reopen and begin. Then soon came the great games. I resented the idea, but it was a compromise and so was the marriage to Hizdahr. Although, I was quickly coming to regret that decision as he had now been clinging on to my presence ever since. He was dragging me everywhere to show me things. And now he was dragging me to the lower fighting pits to observe the process of the tradition, something I was not pleased about in the slightest.

“Sitting through the great games will be bad enough, Hizdahr. Must I really observe it before?” I protest as he escorts me to our seating platform to view the trials I assumed in one of the lower pits.

“For generations, in the days leading up to the great games, it has been customary for our ruler to make the rounds of the lower pits to pay the fighters there the honour of his or her presence.” Hizdahr explains as we take our seats.

Soon enough the fighters emerge from inside and into the lower pit, although I had no interest, I was adamant to try and keep my eyes lowered as much as possible. The fighting wasn’t what bothered me. I had killed men at my own hands before, it was the principle of allowing something that was used with slaves to reopen, even though it was free men now, I was sure there were men weaselling their way around it somehow. Suddenly a man looking quite stunned appeared in front of our platform in the pit below. He must have been the man responsible for all these fighters.

“Your Grace—your future Grace—you honour us all.” The man greets, bowing to us both. Hizdahr bows his head in response, but I do no such thing. The man then glides around the fighters, who were taking their standing positions around the pit, and whispers in their ears as he straightens them up. But I wouldn’t call it whispering as we could still hear him as he tried to be quiet saying things like ‘stand straight that’s the fucking queen’. Sat there, I couldn’t wait for it to be over, but then that meant that several lives will have been lost all in the spirit of entertainment. I hated it.

The man then suddenly clapped to the side of them all and the fighters all began to call out in unison. “We fight and die for your glory, o glorious queen.”

Then the fighting began. I watched as the men had their throats slit, their bodies stabbed, their faces bashed in. I watched one man die at a time. I could barely look up at it all. Then as one of the last few men tried to run from his opponent, he sliced at his leg, relinquishing his ability to run and then killed him. With only a few men left in the pit, this was when I decided I had had enough. So, I stood up to leave.

“I think I’ve seen enough.” I announce as I try to leave.

“Your Grace, it-it—,” Hizdahr mutters to stop me leaving and I reluctantly turn back to him. “It is a tradition for the ruler to stay until the victor has emerged.” He finishes.

“I’ve sacrificed more than enough for your traditions.” I scorn.

Then just as I was about to leave for good, a man dressed poorly as a knight, a helmet over his head and sword in hand emerges from where the rest had before. The man responsible for all the fighters seemed to try to get him back, but the knight elbows him in the face and throws himself amongst the fighting. It was curiously strange. This clearly wasn’t meant to happen. This knight fought his way through the remaining fighters with ease and he got a considerable response from the small crowd, mostly just applause from the nobility around. But I quickly realised that he wasn’t setting out to kill these men, he was only injuring or knocking them out, not killing them, and this was why I stayed. If someone was going to ruin this, I wanted to see why and who. When the knight knocked out the last man and became the last man standing, he came towards the front of our platform. He got quite close and in response the two Unsullied pointed their spears, but it did not deter him in the slightest. He simply removed his helmet and then looked up, revealing his face, and my dropped when I saw it was Jorah. He looked longingly, he looked pleadingly, he looked battered, tired, pained, but I couldn’t see past the betrayal. So, when I saw all this, pity was not what I felt, it was anger and resentment. It was the same pain I had felt when I last saw him.

“Get him out of my sight.” I order.

His expression then drops further into despair. “Khaleesi, please. I just need a moment of your time.” Jorah begins as two soldiers grab him, starting to escort him forcibly back. “I brought you a gift!” He announces, resisting the forceful escort.

“It’s true! –He has.” Another voice calls out, one I didn’t recognise, and we all look, again, to where the fighters had emerged from to see a very small man, a dwarf even, walking over to the platform with broken chains around his wrists. I had no idea what was happening.

“Who are you?” I question, confused by the whole encounter and display.

“I am the gift.” The man answers as he walks closer to the platform. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” He continues as I look at him curious and confused. “My name is Tyrion Lannister.” He informs, making my face drop for the second time as the realisation of his name hits me and I grasp who I have stood before me.

After a moments silent contemplation, if only to come to terms with what had just happened, I quickly ordered for the two to be brought to the great pyramid immediately. I needed answers, and I didn’t want them here for everyone’s eyes to see and hear. So, when we were back at the pyramid, and I was sat on my own platform, in my own seat in the great hall, only then were they brought to my audience. For a long moment, after they had come to stand before us at the bottom of the stairs, we all looked at each other in silence, that was until Jorah broke it.

“Your Grace, I want to say—,” Jorah begins but I swiftly intervene. “You will not speak.” I interject calmly, asserting that he no longer had the grounds to be familiar, nor the place to speak directly to me any longer.

I looked to the dwarf. “How do I know you are who you say you are?” I question. I was sure it was him. Not that I had met the man; only heard of him. But how many dwarves, or imps, or whatever else under the sun the people had called him, were there? I had never seen one in my life or on my travels. But still, I had not seen all, nor been everywhere. There is always possibility to be fooled.

“If only I were otherwise.” He responds.

“If you are Tyrion Lannister, why shouldn’t I kill you? To pay your family back for what it did to mine.” I scorn.

“You want revenge against the Lannister’s? I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart. I am the greatest Lannister killer of our time.” He proclaims. The news of him killing his father shocked me, but I kept it nipped and null. I didn’t want him to know I didn’t know these things. This had to have been recently, but I couldn’t question him on it on the risk of sounding uninformed. I decided I could inquire William when he finally reached out, which I hoped would be soon.

“So, I should welcome you into my service because you murdered members of your own family?” I retort.

“Into your service?” Tyrion repeats, as if in question. “Your Grace, we have only just met. It’s too soon to know if you deserve my service.” Tyrion boldly responds.

I smirk. “If you’d rather return to the fighting pits just say the word.” I challenge.

He shrugs. “Well, the most informed man I know told me that the girl that survived a massacre, having no wealth, no lands, no armies, only a name and a pretty face, was kept alive moving from place to place. Often hours ahead of the men who had been sent to kill her with the aid of few supporters who probably thought they could use that name to benefit themselves. She was eventually sold off to some horse lord on the edge of the world and that, appeared to be that. And then a few years later, after her return and soon departure once again from home, this girl that had no wealth, lands or armies, had somehow acquired all three, in a very short span of time, along with four dragons. He thought she was our best, last chance to build a better world. –I thought you were worth meeting at the very least.” He counters, changing his tune now.

“And why are you worth meeting? Why should I spend my time listening to you?” I query.

“Because you cannot build a better world on your own. You need people, you need minds, at your side to help you do this. I have seen terrible rulers make terrible decisions; I have seen other people do terrible things because of these decisions. I have survived this long through politics, through talking, through advising, through making decisions I have seen as the best option for myself and others. And I feel that I could do a good job at advising a ruler that doesn’t make terrible decisions, a ruler worth the name. If that is indeed what you are.” Tyrion offers.

“So, you want to advise me? –Very well—what would you have me do with him?” I question, putting him to the test, seeing how he would answer, but also, honestly, because I had no idea what to do with him. I couldn’t kill him, I could never, but I couldn’t have him around. It was too painful. I got too angry. “I swore I would execute him if he ever returned.” I inform.

“I know.” Tyrion replies simply, glancing at Jorah.

“Why should the people trust a queen who can’t keep her promises?” I query.

“Whomever Ser Jorah was when he started informing on you, or at least that part of him that did it, it is no longer there. He is no longer that man. –I can’t remember ever seeing a sane man as devoted to anything as he is to serving you. He claims he would kill for you and die for you and nothing I have witnessed has given me reason to doubt him. –And yet he did betray you.” Tyrion begins as I finally looked at Jorah, seeing the pain and longing in his eyes, evident as ever.

“Did he have an opportunity to confess his betrayal?” Tyrion asks as I continued to stare hurt at Jorah, trying not to let tears form.

“Yes. Many opportunities. Over many years.” I inform as Jorah looks down guiltily.

“And did he?” Tyrion questions.

“No. Not until forced to do so.” I recall with hurt and anger in my voice.

Tyrion looks to Jorah, who still looked to the floor in guilt and sorrow, before looking back to me. “He worships you—he is in love with you I think—but he did not trust you with the truth, and an unpleasant truth to be sure, but one of great significance to you. He did not trust that you would be wise enough to forgive him.” Tyrion continues.

“So, what would you have me do?” I ask again.

“Well, you can’t kill him. A ruler who would kill those devoted to them, would not be a ruler who inspires devotion. And to continue on with what you’re doing, you’re going to need to inspire devotion and lots of it if you are going to rule this new world you want to build—but you cannot have him at your side when you do.” Tyrion declares.

Still staring at Jorah, who now looked up at me, I made my decision. “Remove Ser Jorah from the city.” I order, and I watch his sad eyes get sadder at my words while I have to try and not cry this time as I again watch him leave the hall for the second time. I hated watching him leave, this man was a big person in my life, but I hated what he did more, and I wasn’t sure I could forgive it. Perhaps at least, not yet.

After losing two close advisers, I had now strangely gained one quite unexpectedly and the who being the most unexpected aspect of it all. Tyrion Lannister of all people. After having Jorah removed, I had Tyrion brought up to my chambers. There I had his chains removed and I felt comfortable enough to now ask him of Westeros. It had turned out that Cersei had recently had her third child, her last and youngest child, murdered at his wedding. He was poisoned and Tyrion was blamed. He said the trial he was given was biased, it was rigged, it was false. They were going to execute him regardless. It was all for show and Tywin and Cersei were the ones pulling the strings. I wasn’t surprised and then I wasn’t surprised either when Tyrion mentioned why he then killed his father after his brother, Jamie, secretly released him. Lord Varys, the spymaster, a name I recognised from Jorah’s betrayal, had gotten him out and intended for him to come here to meet me. I tried getting anything about Cersei and anything untoward about dark magic out of Tyrion, but he had no information of value in regards to it. He most certainly was out of the loop it seemed. I had told Tyrion of my journey that led me to Meereen and the problems we’d faced in Meereen, but more importantly Jorah’s betrayal, mainly for the reason of me being curious to how much he already knew. He was insistent that he never had any part in the plans of the assassinations. He was always kept out of the meetings, out of the loop, on account for the hatred his family held for him. All apart from Jamie it seemed. And I had to say, I believed him. He was a Lannister, but a part of me was telling me I could trust him. That he would indeed prove useful.

“So, have you decided yet? Whether I am worthy of your service?” I question as Tyrion pours us another goblet of wine each at the table. For a small man, he could drink a fair bit.

“Have you decided yet whether you’re going to have me killed?” He questions in turn.

“It’s probably my safest option.” I lightly and plainly tease.

“I could see why you would think so—after what happened.” Tyrion pokes back.

“You don’t have to remind me of the atrocity your family committed. That wound festers within me; it never healed. I’m only sorry I wasn’t the one who shot that bolt through Tywin’s chest.” I admit coldly.

“So, here we sit—two terrible outsiders, exiled by those even more terrible.” Tyrion observes.

“I’m terrible?” I blurt a little offended.

“I’ve heard stories.” He informs vaguely.

“I’m sure you have.” I scowl as I sip my wine, annoyed at the thought of what tales had been twisted of me. “So, why did you travel to the far side of the world to meet someone terrible?” I query.

“To see if you were the right kind of terrible.” Tyrion answers.

“And what kind is that?” I ask.

“The kind that prevents your people from being even more so.” He states.

I sigh a little. “Well, I did reopen the fighting pits. Under my rule, murder will once again become entertainment.” I criticise of myself.

“Yes, that was wise—and you agreed to marry someone you loathe for the greater good. Very impressive.” Tyrion praises. “My own sister married someone she loathed as well, though not by choice and certainly not for the greater good, gods forbid. She ended up having him killed.” He adds.

“Perhaps it won’t come to that.” I seriously reply.

Tyrion lets out a little sigh as he looks at me. “It’s not impossible that Varys was right about you after all.” He states.

“Varys? Cersei’s spymaster?” I resent.

“Yes. But he was your father’s spymaster before them, and your grandfathers before him. He doesn’t serve the ruler on the throne, he serves the realm, the people. He stays in court to serve the people, to make sure they are being looked after. He is the one that convinced me to come find you, as you know, he was my travelling companion until Ser Jorah seized that role for himself, as you also now know.” Tyrion defends.

“Jorah sent my secrets to Varys. For years, he oversaw or at least had a hand in the campaign to find and kill me.” I scorn.

“He did what he had to do to survive. He did a lot of other things as well, things he didn’t have to do.” Tyrion continues to defend.

“You trust him?” I ponder.

“Yes, oddly. He may be the only person in the world I trust—except my brother.” Tyrion affirms.

“The brother who stood with your sister and father as my father was beheaded?” I hurtfully poke.

“Yes, that’s the one.” He confirms as he pours himself another goblet of wine.

“Perhaps I will have you killed after all.” I emptily threaten.

“Your queenly provocative.” Tyrion mocks seeing through it, as he leans back into his chair. “I’d given up on life until Varys convinced me that you might be worth living for. –You chop off my head, well, my final days were interesting.” He states.

“I’m not going to kill you.” I declare.

“No? –Banish me?” Tyrion queries.

“No.” I answer.

“So, if I’m not going to be murdered and I’m not going to be banished—,” Tyrion leads.

“You’re going to advise me.” I intervene and he raises his goblet to his lips, but I lean forward in my chair and grab it from him. “While you can still speak in complete sentences.” I add, taking it from him and putting it on the table.

Tyrion scratches his beard, as if in thought. “Advise you on what?” he asks.

“Cersei has been pining over my death for years; she’s not going to stop just because I’m sat here in Meereen. You’re a valuable asset. I have a war looming over me. Sooner or later, I will be dragged into the Westerosi politics of war and with what I have, I will be a big asset to them. All of that aside, I want to be dragged into it. I want to see Cersei deposed. I want to see Cersei dead. I want my revenge. I want the throne out of her hands for good. –So, I want you to advise me on how to get what I want.” I explain.

“Ah, the Iron Throne, perhaps you should try wanting something else.” Tyrion mocks.

“I don’t want the throne for myself. I have a perfectly good one here. I have my own world to build here, it is where I can do the most good, where I have felt I have belonged for a long while now. But Westeros will always be my home, and I don’t like to know that it is in the hands of an evil tyrant. I want the throne out of her hands for good, and Robert can reclaim the throne. Then one day William will take it and I will be at peace knowing Westeros is in safe hands.” I clarify.

“Then why help at all when you have your own agendas to attend to? When you have your own troubles in your own cities? Your own world to build?” Tyrion questions.

“I have fought so that no child born into Slaver’s Bay would ever know what it meant to be bought or sold. I will continue that fight; I intend to continue that fight. But like I said, as much as I feel like I belong here now after all these years, it is not my true home. Westeros always will be wherever I am in the world, and so I will always be an ally to those that were an ally to my family.” I affirm.

“House Targaryen is gone. Not a single person that shares your blood is alive to support you. After the war Westeros is in shambles, even more so now. No one is an ally to anyone anymore, not after the wedding. No one trusts anyone. Besides, the Starks are all but gone, and what is left of the other great houses, Tyrell, Martell, Baratheon, is not much at all. Cersei holds some kind of great power and although it may not be impossible to defeat her, none of it will be enough.” Tyrion informs.

Growing only slightly annoyed at his dismissive nature, I scoff just a little. “Targaryen, Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell, they’re all just spokes on a wheel. –This one’s on top, then that ones on top, and on and on it spins crushing those on the ground.” I begin.

“It’s a beautiful dream—stopping the wheel. You’re not the first person who’s ever dreamt it.” Tyrion dismisses again.

“I’m not going to stop the wheel—I’m going to break the wheel.” I proclaim.

Chapter Text

After actually welcoming Tyrion into my service, as it were, he came gladly. It was strange that someone with a name that I held such disdain and resentment for was now my adviser. And I couldn’t help that think it happened at the right time, when war was looming, and the city was on the verge of utter chaos. Leading up to the Great Games, the Sons of the Harpy made no incidents. The couple days were free of any attacks or murders, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing or not because now with the day of the games, I was a little uneasy to find out if there was a reason for it. Perhaps a big scale event like this was something they were waiting for. Only time would tell.

The Great Pit of Daznak was the grand place for the gladiatorial Great Games, it towered high and the place was filled with the people of Meereen, of all statures. It made me wonder if I ever really could change this world, build a new world. If everyone enjoyed these barbaric games, did they even truly want to be changed? I had freed the slaves, but even the former slaves were amongst the crowd. They cheered for me the most, but it still didn’t seem right all of this and I was a little shocked that they would enjoy this practise as former slaves.
All across the pit the Targaryen flag was strung and we had our own platform at the front of the grand pit, that sported the largest flag. It was quite the show. I was seated along with Missandei to my side and Tyrion to Hizdahr’s side, although he was still not here. It felt entirely suspicious to me. I didn’t like it one bit, or him. Even if he didn’t have anything to do with the Harpy attacks, there was still something off about him I didn’t like. So, when he finally arrived and took his seat beside me, my question came off quite scornful.

“Where have you been?” I question.

“Just making sure everything is in order.” Hizdahr vaguely answers. Not suspicious at all. Soon after, a kind of parade began and mounted men on horses galloped around the pit with flags as a man walked into the center, all the while the crowd had erupted into a cascade of applause. The man stood in the center, facing us, bowed his head and then presided to outstretch his arm, turning on the spot until he faced the opposite way. The crowd turned quiet as he did.

“Dāez nissarosi hen Mīrīn! Ondoso se benissarona hen Dārōñen, se zirȳla kerōñe se dāria, māzigona naejot se rōvēgrie tymptiri!”
(“Free citizens of Meereen! By the blessings of the Graces, and her majesty the queen, welcome to the Great Games!”) The announcer shouts and the crowd erupt into a fit of applause again. Soon, two armed men run into the pit, coming to the center, standing in front of the announcer. The first fight would soon begin, and I already wanted to leave, wanted to stop it even.

“Ñuha dāria, īlva ēlī vīlībagisa. Qilōni kessa ērinagona: se kostōba, –iā se adere?”
(“My queen, our first contest. Who will triumph: the strong, –or the quick?”) The announcer introduces.

“Nyke vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt aōha jaqiarzir, o jaqiarzus dāria.”
(“I fight and die for your glory, o glorious queen.”) Both the fighters call out as they faced us. The announcer then leaves and walks across the pit to exit, leaving the two fighters alone but they continue to stand there looking and they don’t move. I quickly notice that the crowd all were looking our way in silence also.

“They’re waiting for you. Clap your hands.” Hizdahr instructs as I notice.

I look back to the fighters and slowly I raise my hands, and very begrudgingly clap them. As soon as I do, the crowd once again roars into cheers and applause. Then the fight began. The big man, the strong, versus the smaller man, the quick. It all seemed very amusing to everyone else. Every it seemed apart from me and Missandei, and perhaps Tyrion but I couldn’t entirely tell. Soon into the fight, the quick opponent got a slice in at the strong’s shoulder.

Daario comes forward from where he had been stood behind, chuckling as he plants himself between me and Hizdahr, leaning in so our heads were very close. “That one, the smaller man, no question, that’s where you should put your money.” He exclaims.

“The smaller man it is.” Tyrion muses.

“I’m not putting my money anywhere.” I retort.

“Kings and Queens never bet on the games, perhaps you should go find someone who does.” Hizdahr dismisses.

“People used to bet against me when I fought in the pits. He would have bet against me. Common novice mistake.” Daario mocks.

“I’ve spent much of my life in this arena, and in my experience larger men do triumph over smaller men far more often than not.” Hizdahr argues.

“Has your experience ever involved any actual fighting? You- yourself, have you ever tried to kill another man who was trying to kill you?” I point out in question, knowing the answer, rendering him quiet and looking back to the games.

“Whenever I got into the pit with a beast like that one, the crowd saw me, all skin and bone back then, and then they saw a pile of angry muscles ready to murder me, they couldn’t get their money out fast enough.” Daario begins, swiftly unsheathing his blade, beginning to skilfully spin it around Hizdahr’s face and neck as he continued to talk. “The pile of angry muscles never had any muscles here—or here.” He toys, pointing his dagger of where he spoke. “And the big men were always too slow to stop my dagger from going where their muscles weren’t. Yes, whenever I saw a beast like that one standing across from me, making his beast faces, I knew I could rest easy.” Daario tries to impress, smirking at me and I smiled back at him amused just as the fight happened to conclude. The smaller and quicker man didn’t win. It appeared he wasn’t quick enough to dodge the bigger and stronger man’s blade from beheading him in one large swing. Daario stepped back quietly as Hizdahr looked on smugly with a smile. He really was a loathsome man.

“You don’t approve?” Hizdahr asks, and I glance to see him asking Tyrion.

“There’s always been more than enough death in the world for my taste. I can do without it in my leisure time.” Tyrion answers.

“Fair enough. Yet it’s an unpleasant question, but what great thing has ever been accomplished without killing or cruelty?” Hizdahr points out.

“It’s easy to confuse what is with what ought to be. Especially when what is has worked out in your favour.” Tyrion retorts.

“I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about the necessary conditions for greatness.” Hizdahr defends.

“That is greatness?” I scorn as I have to watch men drag the decapitated body from the arena and take his head too.

“That is a vital part of the great city of Meereen, which existed a long before you or I and will remain standing long after we have returned to the dirt.” Hizdahr counters.

“My father would have liked you.” Tyrion mutters. Clearly, he wasn’t a fan of him either, he was fitting in amongst us quite quickly as Hizdahr was reaching my last nerve today already.

The crowds roared again as the announcer came striding back into the pit, followed by a larger group of fighters this time. “Īlon epagon arlī: qilōni kessa ērinagona?!..”
(“We ask again: who will triumph?!..”) The announcer began again, but I continued the conversing with Hizdahr, not really paying attention, not that even wanted to in the first place.

“One day your great city will return to the dirt as well.” I poke.

“At your command?” he spits.

“If need be.” I retort sternly.

“Iā Mīrīno kosh?!...”
(“A Meereenese champion?!...”) The announcer continues, and the fighter starts to say he pledge, but I soon block them out as I become engrossed in the near argument I was having with Hizdahr.

“And how many people will die to make this happen?” Hizdahr challenges.

“If it ever came to that, they will have died for a good reason.” I defend.

“These men think they’re dying for a good reason.” He argues.

“Someone else’s reason.” I retort.

“So, your reasons are true and theirs are false? They don’t know their own minds, but you do?” He counters, and I concede. I didn’t know how to answer; he had a point.

“Well said. You’re an eloquent man. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong. In my experience, eloquent men are right every bit as often as imbeciles.” Tyrion pokes in at the end. I was beginning to like having him around.

“Iā iā Vesterozia azantys?!”
(“Or a Westerosi knight?!”) The announcer finishes as we do.

“Nyke vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt aōha jaqiarzir, o jaqiarzus dāria.”
(“I fight and die for your glory, o glorious queen.”) A familiar voice pledges, the Westerosi knight pledges. I knew who that voice belonged to, and when I turned my head, scanning across the row of fighters before us, the last one stood in the line was Jorah. My heart sunk and all I could do was stare. He kept coming back, he was relentless. But every time I looked at him, I just felt the hurt, the betrayal. But I also couldn’t help but feel the love I felt and harboured for him. It was all too much, all too confusing, too conflicting. He looked as if he wanted me to stop this, to take him back, but I couldn’t let myself.

“Your Grace—,” Hizdahr begins. “Shut your mouth.” Daario shuts down. For another moment, I stare down at Jorah before I then clap my hands. The crowd roars again and the fighters ready themselves for the fights. Jorah looks as if he accepts the fate before him, like the decision was made and he would now have to fight for his place amongst us. A part of me rooted for him, but a part of me still felt betrayed.

The three pairs of fighters all began their fights. But the only one I was watching was Jorah’s. Every blow that hit him, that sent him to the floor I grimaced. I was unintentionally at the edge of my seat; I was feeling extremely tense. I was worried. Now the fight had started, I didn’t care what he had done, I just wanted to see him triumph, to come out alive. Soon, he got the upper hand and killed his opponent as another man killed his. Now they eyed each other up, stepping around, until they too were now fighting. Again, every blow, every strike, every cut, I grimaced and gripped my seat tighter and tighter. It was like watching a nightmare. Another fighter was then killed and now remained three. Jorah and his opponent continued fighting but his opponent dealt another blow to Jorah, sending him to the floor unarmed. He stood over him, pointing his sword at his chest. That’s when Jorah glanced my way, and he would have seen my worry plastered all across my face. I wanted to stop it.

“You can end this.” Tyrion exclaims.

“She cannot.” Hizdahr dismisses.

“Yes I can.” I snap, but before anyone can answer or I can do anything Jorah’s opponent is killed by the third fighter, spearing him through the chest and I let out a large breath I didn’t know I was holding. Now it was just the two of them. The fighter walked around, allowing Jorah to grab his sword and stand. As the two began fighting, I was back to grimacing and gripping the seat with intense worry. They sent unsuccessful blows each other’s way and kept getting tangled up in each other’s weapons. But after Jorah is sent backwards again, he quickly gets to his feet and then forward rolls, dodging the swing of the spear, coming up to his knees and plunging his sword into the fighter’s chest. He had won. I breathed again. I regained my composure and as he stood next to the fighter, we stared once again. The crowd was booing him. Clearly not the man they wanted to win. But then suddenly, his eyes glaze over mine, breaking our stare. For some reason he quickly grabs the spear off his opponent next to him from the ground and poises to hurl it in our direction. I didn’t know what to think or do, my mouth just opened in shock as the spear come speeding towards us all on the platform. Daario’s was immediately around me, protecting me, covering and pushing me out the way, as everyone else quickly ducked. I rose to my feet as Daario stepped over to see the man it had hit; the spear had landed in the chest of a man with a Son of the Harpy mask. Jorah had just saved my life. Our lives. Daario unsheathed his arakh and so did Rakharo beside him. Looking back, around the crowd, people began to rise from the crowds wearing the Harpy masks. It was happening. They had planned another attack, and they were starting it now. The people who weren’t wearing masks in the crowds panicked and started to flee but the Harpy men began their murdering spree. They were killing anyone in their sights, but we had to be the end goal.

“Protect your queen!” Daario shouts. The few Unsullied we had on the platform formed around me just as I grabbed Missandei’s hand to stand with me. Daario and Rakharo fought off any attackers that tried to come onto the platform, but soon enough we were beginning to be surrounded, outnumbered.

“Your Grace, Your Grace, come with me, I know a way out, I know a way o—,” Hizdahr panics and begins to shout, moving away from his protection and subsequently gets stabbed repeatedly by a Harpy that gets to him. Perhaps he wasn’t involved after all. Or maybe he was, and they were tired of him. Who knew anymore? All that mattered was we had to get out of this trap of a pit. Daario and Rakharo kept fighting until suddenly Daario was nearly killed being outnumbered, but Jorah killed the Harpy that almost got him. He had got himself onto the platform. Daario looked at him in thanks, glanced my way, before then resuming to look out with Rakharo and the other Unsullied that flocked our way, waiting for any more attackers. All I could look at was Jorah, and all he could look at was me. He came forward, standing right in front of me and simply held up his hand between us for me to take. Everything felt to melt away, and as soon as I took his hand, he was my protector again, my friend. He swiftly guided me away, Daario following. Jumping down, I followed him with Daario hot on our heels. Jorah directed us down an alley to escape but at the end the gate closed and sounded as if it got locked. They really were trapping us in.

“The other side. Follow me.” Daario instructs. We all head for the opposite side, Unsullied around us, but I didn’t know where Missandei was, or Rakharo. As we came back into the pit, I searched around for them and by my relief quickly found them running our way along with Tyrion and some more Unsullied. I outstretched my arm for Missandei to take my hand as we all ran and joined, and she did. Both of us gripping each other’s hand with intensity. We all rushed and ran, the several Unsullied circling us, but as we got to the center we saw a flow of Harpy men emerge into the pit from the opposite alley. We were quickly surrounded and severely outnumbered. A few at a time around our circle, they tried to fight the Unsullied. Most were being killed with ease but more than two at a time and some were breaking through. Jorah and the others fought and killed the ones that were whilst Missandei clung to my arm for dear life and Tyrion stood at our side clasping a knife for protection, ready to use it by the looks of it. He didn’t appear to be a coward.

“Someone give me a sword.” I exclaim. I was feeling useless when I could be an extra sword at play.

“I don’t think one more sword will make much the difference, Khaleesi.” Jorah retorts.

Missandei squeezed my hand tightly and I looked at her beside me. She was beside herself with fear, but she looked at me, smiled and then closed her eyes. Looking around at our prospects, it didn’t look good. So, I joined her, and closed my eyes at the atrocity before us. I was trying to think of a happy time, to think of something nice before I would taken to the Night Lands so that if that was the last thing I knew, it would be something nice, something I would want it to be instead of what it was. But suddenly, my flew open and I spun around, like everyone else, because I heard the call of one of my children. A large ball of flames appeared at the top of the pit and Drogon suddenly flew up through it, screeching a deeper roar and looking even bigger than before. He looked amazing. And everyone else looked scared. He flew into the pit, circling down around it until he finally landed on the ground. Many of the Harpy’s around us dispersed, disrupting the circle, as he landed near them. the ones that ran too close or not fast enough suddenly were burned. Drogon let loose his flame on the Harpy’s around him, setting the groups of them alight. But not all of them quick enough. A couple spears were thrown and one landed in his neck, but he didn’t seem much fazed, perhaps pained, but it only angered him further. Drogon turned around and burned the ones who threw the spears, but there was still more, and they kept throwing the spears. Some missed but some were hitting him. It was painful to watch.

“Drogon!” I shout and I see him look for me, but his attention is distracted by the attacking Harpy’s around us all. I decided to walk to him, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. he came to help, to our aid. To mine. When I reached him, I took hold of the spear that had landed in his neck and yanked it out for him. This resulted in him turning to roar in my face but when he stopped, he looked at me almost lovingly, like his eyes said thank you. He was now calm. I reached my hand up to comfort him, to stroke his nose but another spear was thrown, and he jolted. He was soon roaring again and setting more of them alight, but I couldn’t see him getting hurt any longer and so I needed him to leave, but I wanted to leave with him. I built up the courage and walked around him, coming to his side before climbing up onto his back. I couldn’t believe I was on him but I couldn’t revel in it because more spears were being thrown.

“Sōvegon.”
(“Fly.”) I say and Drogon quickly begins to scramble forward as he also starts to flap his wings. Everyone in front rushes out the way and just as soon as I had said the word, Drogon pushes from the ground and we were up in the air. It was a complete rush to feel the wind in my hair, on my face, to see everything from up in the air. But the best thing was to feel connected this way to Drogon. He flew around the pit, getting higher and higher, until we out of the pit and in the sky, getting closer and closer to the sky above Meereen. In that very moment, I felt like a true Targaryen. I was a dragon rider. This was what we were meant for, me and Drogon. I was the Mother of Dragons once again.

I may have been his mother, and I may have felt connected to him as we flew, but once we were on the ground it was like he didn’t know me all over again. We had flown for miles, for a long time. He had taken me somewhere north of Meereen, into the grassy mountains and I was sure this was Dothraki Sea territory which didn’t set me at ease much. I wouldn’t have changed our time in the sky for the world, but now I was alone in the mountains with him. No food, no water, no weapons. I needed to get home. If not for food and water, but for the people. We were on the brink of a civil war right about now. It couldn’t get much worse, and now I was however many miles away, in the middle of nowhere. I needed him to take me back.

“Drogon, we have to go home.” I say gently as I stood before him. I felt bad, as I needed him to take me, but he looked in pain. I had taken the remaining spears that had hit him out, but now he seemed he just wanted to rest; wait for the pain to go away. “My sweet thing, does it hurt?” I tenderly ask as he seems to sigh.

“We have to go home.” I repeat. “Drogon, can you take me back to Meereen?” I ask, caressing his head. “How far did you carry me?” I mutter looking around at the vast plains. Then he moaned and moved his head around as if I was beginning to annoy him, now moving his whole body around to lay in the opposite position. He looked fine to move it appeared.

“Drogon, we need to return. My people need me.” I affirm before I climb back onto his back, but he merely moves around and hisses his disagreement so that I fall back off. He regains another position, laid amongst his bones as I scramble out from beneath him and back to my feet.

“Well, there’s no food. At the very least, you could hunt us some dinner.” I muse, but seeing he was not going anywhere anytime soon, I decided to walk around the lands to see what I could forage up for myself. I wasn’t sure how long I had been walking, or how far I had gone, but there was nothing to find where Drogon had taken us. It was just grass for miles in these mountains, that was until I heard a faint neigh somehwre in the distant. But with the winds and the mountain air in these hills, it could have come from any direction. I looked around for it, but I didn’t see it until I heard it again and the patter of hooves. I turned around to find a lone rider ahead, just having come over the approaching hill on his side. He looked like a Dothraki rider. Then quickly, three more riders appeared behind him. It had to be the start of a khalasar. That had to be a khal and his three blood riders. Panic shot straight through me, I wasn’t entirely sure what they would do to me, so out of instinct, I took my ring off, one Jorah had gifted me one year, and let it drop to the ground. The three riders galloped their approach towards me while the khal stayed stood with his horse on the top of the hill, watching. The three riders began to circle me on their horses just as the rest of the khalasar appeared from over the hill and the familiar Dothraki screams then started to echo in the mountains as they too joined in with the bloodriders circling me on the grass plains until the whole mass of the khalasar was trotting in a circle, all originating around me. It was completely daunting, overwhelming, but I wouldn’t show them my fear. I couldn’t. The Dothraki admired strength above all else, and so that was what I strived for as the horde circled me in the mountains. Strength.

Chapter Text

“You love her, don’t you? –How could you not? –Of course, it’s hopeless for the both of you. A sellsword from the fighting pits, a disgraced knight. None of you is fit consort for a queen. But we always want the wrong woman.” Tyrion muses as he sat on the stairs in the great hall with Jorah, Daario and Rakharo, waiting to see if Daenerys would fly back and return anytime soon. Missandei had gone back to check on Grey Worm, to see if he was able to walk at all now so he could come see everyone after what had happened.

“Does he always talk so much?” Daario questions, looking to Jorah, who nods but he then looks to the entrance, as they all do, hearing someone approach with determination in their footsteps.

“Where’s Daenerys?” William exclaims as he suddenly rushes into the hall, taking everyone by surprise.

“William? We did not expect you back, we haven’t heard anything from you all this time.” Daario points out in surprise.

“There wasn’t exactly the time, and I decided it was better to converse everything in person and sooner the better, so I just sailed. –Westeros is in chaos. Where is Daenerys?” William explains and they all look around to each other.

“She’s gone.” Tyrion announces, coming down and now into the sights of William.

“What do you m—,” William begins but then clocks who Tyrion is. “Tyrion Lannister.” William says aloud.

“What? No imp jokes, no scolding resentment, Baratheon?” Tyrion pokes.

“No. We have no time for jokes.” William scorns.

“Are you not even going to curse or ask why I’m here?” Tyrion wonders.

“I know why you’re here. I know what happened, and you’ve scurried off to your only option, to the only people that would have the heart to take you in, although I have to admit my surprise. Daenerys hates your family more than anyone.” William answers.

“Yes, well, it’s going around.” Tyrion scowls at the thought of his family.

“So, what do you mean Daenerys is gone? Gone where?” William questions.

“We don’t know. She flew off on Drogon’s back and we’ve seen or heard nothing since. She hasn’t come back.” Daario announces.

“Wait, she rode Drogon?” William repeats, taking in the thought of Daenerys actually being a dragon rider, like in the histories.

“Yes. –She was magnificent.” Jorah recalls.

“Well, we have to go find her. Westeros needs her.” William declares.

“What did you find out?” Jorah asks.

“Cersei doesn’t have a witch on her side. There has been whispers that she is this said witch, but no one is particularly sure on the truth of it. However, considering the phantom army she had the day she took the throne; I wouldn’t underestimate her. I’m surprised Tyrion hadn’t mentioned it, seeing it’s his sister.” William explains.

“I knew of no such plans, or powers. I’ve never seen her do anything ‘witchy’ before in my life. –But, having said that, I spent many of my years isolated, and when they were on throne the first time, I was at Casterly Rock. Then when she took the throne this time, I was still out of the loop and at Casterly Rock. I only went to King’s Landing when summoned and after she took the throne for the second time, I stayed there. I never saw her practise magic myself, but knowing Cersei, how power driven she is, I wouldn’t put it past her.” Tyrion defends.

“Very well.” William accepts. “She has her old allies again. The Ironborn and there have been whispers of the Bolton’s on her side again. Whispers that many men that had been sent to the wall made a mass desertion and escape, fleeing back to their houses to fight for them again when called upon. We’re not sure how true it is; the whispers about anything North are taken with a pinch of salt. No one hears from any of them anymore, they’ve completely isolated themselves. However, we have the Martell’s and the Tyrell’s on our side, and of course my father. They’re ready to fight, they wait for Daenerys. So, we must find her.” William finishes.

“We will.” Jorah simply assures as Missandei and Grey Worm suddenly, but slowly, enter the great hall. He was still bandaged at his waist and Missandei was assisting him in his walk, but he looked stronger already.

“Ah, look, now we are all back together.” Tyrion muses at their slow entrance.

“All? –Where is Ser Barristan?” William asks.

“He’s dead. The Sons of the Harpy murdered him. And it’s why Grey Worm here is injured.” Daario informs and William digests the news of Barristan’s death as the others continue conversing.

“Jorah the Andal.” Grey Worm greets.

“Turgon Nudha.” Jorah greets back.

“He should not be here.” Grey Worm sternly points out.

“No, but he is.” Daario replies.

“Our queen ordered him exiled from city.” Grey Worm reminds.

“What? Why?” William queries shocked looking to Jorah as he stood with Rakharo.

“I betrayed her.” Jorah simply answers, but it doesn’t change William’s confused and shocked expression.

“Our queen will want him removed from city.” Grey Worm asserts.

“Our queen would be dead if not for him.” Daario informs.

“Issa drēje. Se nyke kassen sagon morghe lo daor syt se—byka vala.”
(“It is true. And I would be dead if not for the—little man.”) Missandei confirms, hesitating on what to call Tyrion.

“Krubo. Pāsan konir sagon se udir. Vaoreznuni. Ñuha Valyrīha iksis mirrī pungilla.”
(“Dwarf. I believe that is the word. Apologies. My Valyrian is a bit nostril.”) Tyrion adds.

Missandei smiles. “Mirrī puñila.”
(“A bit rusty.”) She corrects, and Tyrion repeats it. “Thank you.” He adds.

“I am sorry. Sorry I not there to fight for our queen.” Grey Worm guilts.

“You missed a good scrap.” Daario mocks.

“What has been happening here? Why was Daenerys almost killed?” William questions.

“The city is on the brink of civil war, all because some of it’s citizens want the old order back and have decided to wreak murderous havoc on the rest. We were attacked during the great games by these murderous dogs, but we got out with our lives and Daenerys got out with hers on Drogon’s back who has flown her gods knows where.” Daario catches up.

“Exactly. None of this matters now. The longer we sit here bantering, chatting, waiting, the longer Daenerys is out there in the wilderness. Alone.” Jorah snaps.

“He’s right. The dragon headed north, if we’re going to find her that’s where we’ll have to go.” Tyrion agrees.

“We? You’re a Lannister. The queen intends to remove your family from power.” William points out.

“And I intend to help her do it.” Tyrion defends.

“You’ve been here for how many days now? We’ve known her for years. I’ve fought for her for years, since she was a child.” Jorah affirms.

“And yet you betrayed her. You freely admitted it yourself not a moment ago.” Tyrion exclaims. “Careful now.” Jorah warns. “And she exiled you, twice I believe.” Tyrion continues.

“The second time, thanks to you.” Jorah retorts.

“Don’t blame me for your crimes, Mormont.” Tyrion snaps.

“He’s right.” Daario begins, getting up to stand between them all. “Our queen exiled Jorah, but he saved her life. I watched her take his hand. Perhaps she feels differently about him now. Or perhaps not. The only way we’ll know is if we ask her.” Daario mediates.

“Fine. Fine. I suppose he can join us. Just as long as he promises not to kill me in my sleep.” Tyrion spits.

“If I ever kill you, your eyes will be wide open.” Jorah pokes.

“Forgive me, but why would we bring you?” Daario questions.

“Pardon me?” Tyrion responds, offence in his voice.

“Have you ever tracked animals in the wilderness?” Daario asks.

“Not precisely, but I have other skills that would be very useful.” Tyrion replies.

“Can you fight?” William queries.

“I have fought. I don’t claim to be a great warrior.” Tyrion answers honestly.

“Are you good on a horse?” William questions.

“Middling.” Tyrion simply says.

“So, mainly you talk?” Daario points out.

“And drink. I’ve survived so far.” Tyrion defends.

“Which I respect, but you would not help us on this expedition. –You would help us here in Meereen though. None of us have experienced governing a city, and perhaps you have not either, but you’ll be the closest one to it. You want to prove your value to the queen, prove it right here in Meereen.” Daario suggests.

“He’s a foreign dwarf that barely speaks the language. Why would the Meereenese listen to him?” Jorah rejects.

“They wouldn’t. They will listen to Grey Worm.” Daario answers.

“I come with you. I find our queen.” Grey Worm announces, but Missandei holds his arm.

“You are not strong enough to go anywhere.” She protests.

“I am.” He quietly dismisses.

“He is. He’s the toughest man with no balls I ever met, but you still can’t go. The people believe in you. They know you speak for the queen.” Daario praises.

“It’s true. Only the Unsullied can keep the peace in Meereen. If you leave, half this city will consume the other half.” Missandei backs.

“And Missandei, our queen trusts no one more than Missandei. Certainly not me. –The queen’s closest confidant, the commander of the Unsullied, a Dothraki screamer, and a foreign dwarf with a scarred face—good fortune, my friends, Meereen is ancient and glorious. Try not to ruin her.” Daario proclaims.

“Looks like it’s us, Jorah the Andal, and William, my boy—let’s find some good horses.” Daario declares as he pats them both on the shoulder before leaving, the two of them following after him a little reluctantly.

After having this new position unexpectedly bestowed onto him, Tyrion took himself to the front wall of Meereen. He watched from above the three men riding off across the dry plains outside Meereen’s front gates, wondering how he had actually got here. Then when a familiar voice was heard and that figure appeared beside him, he remembered why.

“Hello, old friend. –I thought we were so happy together until you abandoned me.” Varys mocks as he comes to stand by Tyrion at the wall.

“I suppose there’s no point asking how you found me.” Tyrion concludes.

“The birds sing in the west, the birds sing in the east. –They’ve told me you’ve already found favour with the Mother of Dragons.” Varys brings up.

“Well, she didn’t execute me. So, that’s a promising start. –Now, the heroes are off to find her and I’m stuck here trying to placate a city on the brink of civil war. Any advice for an old comrade?” Tyrion queries.

“Information is the key. You need to learn your enemies strengths and strategies, you need to learn which of your friends are not your friends.” Varys advises.

“If only I knew someone with a vast network of spies.” Tyrion muses.

“If only.” Varys plays along.

“I did miss you.” Tyrion praises.

“Oh, I know.” Varys smiles.

-

The horseback ride north was long, and there was mostly silence between the three of them, but when there wasn’t, it was mainly Daario riling the other two up talking about nonsense. Jorah and Daario had filled William in on with everything he had missed, and William filled Jorah in with everything he knew of Westeros. It was an awkward journey, but it didn’t matter. What only mattered was finding and getting Daenerys back. Eventually, they came across a charred circle of grass that had a scattered pile of bones. Jorah got down from his horse and looked over the burnt bones.

“Goat?” William calls in question.

“Ram.” Jorah corrects.

“Looks like our friend got him.” Daario muses.

“Aye, I don’t know anything else that can melt a ram’s horn.” Jorah confirms.

“We’re on the right path then.” William affirms.

They didn’t talk much after that, or at least Jorah and William were fine not to, concentrating on tracking anything they could spot, any clues to a specific direction or destination. Daario had other ideas as they rode.

“You know, perhaps she’s tired of being queen. I don’t think she likes it very much.” Daario hypothesises.

“She’s too smart to like it.” Jorah admires.

“Maybe she’s flown somewhere else, somewhere far away from men like us.” Daario wonders.

“I’ve been all over the world, there’s no escaping men like us.” Jorah retorts.

“And there’s no escaping her, ay?” Daario says to them both. “William, you could have stayed with your family, where they need you, send word for Daenerys, but instead you come back. And you Jorah, you just keep coming back. –Why?” Daario queries.

Jorah and William glance at each other. “She’s my friend. I’ve known her all my life.” William simply replies.

“Right—friend.” Daario teases. “Jorah?” He pushes.

“You know why.” Jorah answers.

“Isn’t it frustrating? Wanting someone who doesn’t want you back?” Daario questions.

“Of course it is.” Jorah admits.

“You’re a romantic. I admire that. Sometimes I look at you and I think so that’s what I’ll be like when I grow old.” Daario pokes.

“If you grow old.” William retorts in Jorah’s defence.

“If I grow old. –I hope I do. I want to see what the world looks like when she’s done liberating it.” Daario states.

“So do I.” Jorah agrees as all three of them come to the top of another hill, only to see something unexpected. They all looked at the worn grass across the grassy land ahead of them. A large churned and worn, brown circle of grass circled this large bit of the grassy land.

“An army?” Daario questions.

“Not an army—a horde.” Jorah confirms as they looked at the mass circle created by what only could be a dothraki horde, and in the center of it was a small untouched circle of green grass. They were circling something. They all rode down to come closer to the center untouched circle. Jorah dismounted from his horse and began to look for any clues as to what it may have been that they were circling and if it was to any significance to them.

“Dothraki?” William asks as Jorah looks for anything.

“Looks like it.” He replies as he scanned the grass. Soon enough, something caught his eye and he curiously crouched to see what it was. He picked up Daenerys’ ring, one he recognised; it was one he had bought her years ago.

He looked over at the other two still mounted on their horses. “They have her.” He announces.

-

My hands bound, I walked alongside a couple of the bloodriders that had claimed me when I was circled. I heard them discussing how they would bring me to their Khal Moro, how he would be pleased, among other things. I was sure he knew I was with them, that they had captured me, that he had already seen me. Regardless, I knew I was being taken to Vaes Dothrak. That was where we were headed at least and until then or when I met Khal Moro I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to open it at the right time, with this Khal; not waste my breath with his ignorant bloodriders as it seemed. Besides, the sun was hot, my skin was dry and my legs were getting tired from all the walking over the hills and lands. The khalasar that had taken me was extensive, it was a mass of numbers as they always were, but this was much larger than Drogo’s. The Dothraki clearly had been thriving recently, not that it surprised me. With my legs and feet tired, and being lost in thought, I suddenly stumbled just a little over a small rock. I didn’t fall but I nearly did, and one of the bloodrider’s reaction was to instantly whip my behind. I grunted my pain and sent him a stern stare in response but continued to keep my mouth shut. They just smiled and chuckled at me.

“Shish mae tih jin laia. Anna okeo's mai tih jin laia akka mae noreth esinasolatana zasqa.”
(“Maybe she saw a ghost. My friend's mother saw a ghost and her hair turned white.”) One rider ponders.

“Virzethi chomak hash lekia ki shekh. Me ashei kesha ilek. Jin ato meian ale neak kijinosi shekh akka mae noreth elat zasqa.”
(“Pink people are afraid of the sun. It burns their skin. This one stands too long in the sun and her hair goes white.”) The other rider suspects.

“Yer yothnhara mae et got zasqa cascar noreth ale? Yer hash ben ma jin nayat ma zasqa cascar noreth?”
(“You think she has got white pussy hair too? You ever been with a girl with white pussy hair?”) The first continues to wonder.

“Disse hash anha ki clestaskof yeri anmai.”
(“Only when I was fucking your grandma.”) The other jokes.

The rider scoffs in amusement at the other’s joke, then I hear him make kissing sounds to get my attention. I looked only to glare at them.

“Anha tikh qafat khal moro ha jin ajjalani ma yer. Fin tat yer yothnhara?”
(“I’ll ask Khal Moro for a night with you. What do you think?”) The wonderous rider declares.

“Zhemora tihi, vosma mae ajjin at chekma.”
(“Pretty eyes, but she is an idiot.”) The other assesses.

“Mae tat vo zhorre tat tikh yothbar tat get clestak kijinosi ran.”
(“She does not have to be smart to get fucked in the ass.”) The first retorts and I look back front in disgust.

“Anha allayafi tat voin hash anha zin malilat. Eshna ville, kisha ish ven chek tikh janos.
(“I like to talk when I am finished. Otherwise, we might as well be dogs.”) The other counters.

For a while after, the riders were finally quiet for a time. And shortly, as the day was coming close to near it’s end, the khalasar stopped to camp for the night. I was put and left by a small stream, my hands kept bound, whilst I waited for whatever it was they were doing and came back for me. When they did, I resisted their forceful grasps, not that it did anything, but at least they knew I wasn’t a complete push over. When we came to their tent with the khal and his other rider and wives, they pushed me forward to stand before him.

“Ha yer anna khal, jin zasqa noretha nayat arrekoon jin oltan.”
(“For you my khal, the white haired girl from the hills.”) One of the riders announces, before they both move around and join their fellow rider sat at the Khal’s side.

“Tihati finne keni gomman, qoy qoyi.”
(“Look at those lips, blood of my blood.”) The third rider, the one already sat with the Khal, mentions.

“Thelis tih chiori hash maegian.”
(“Blue-eyed women are witches.”) One of the women sat to the Khal’s other side points out.

“Me nem nesa.”
(“It is known.”) The second woman backs.

“Ze hezhah mae nhare, hatif mae bein jin maeni she yeri.”
(“Cut off her head, before she casts a spell on you.”) The first continues.

The Khal stands from his seat and takes a step towards me. “Akka fin anha ki tihatna, anha tikh ren anna wives astat ‘ze hezhah mae nhare’ akka anha tikh tiholat jin chiori zheanalat. Anha zin jan anha zin vo tihatna. Tihatmei jin zheana chiori kewan ha jin ataki kashi, fin ajjin qoun kan rek?”
(“Even if I was blind, I would hear my wives say ‘cut off her head’ and I would know this woman is beautiful. I am glad I am not blind. Seeing a beautiful woman naked for the first time, what is better than that?”) The Khal states as he circled me, coming back around to stand in front of me.

“Adrivaf eshna khal?”
(“Killing another khal?”) A bloodrider suggests to the rhetprical question the khal had proposed.

“Sek, adrivaf eshna khal.”
(“Yes, killing another khal.”) The Khal annoyingly agrees.

“Rekkanha jin mita akka rekki mae chomak ven zafran akka rekki mae nish irge tat Vaes Dothrak.
(“Conquering a city and taking her people as slaves and taking her idols back to Vaes Dothrak.”) Another rider puts forward.

“Larenza jin ivezh hrazef, meis me tat yahk tat yeri tikh.”
(“Breaking a wild horse, forcing it to submit to your will.”) The third rider adds.

“Tihatmei jin zheana chiori kewan ha jin ataki kashi ajjin naj jin mek davra shiva she atthirar.”
(“Seeing a beautiful woman naked for the first time is among the five best things in life.”) The khal rephrases annoyingly. These were such small men. Drogo wasn’t like them.

The Khal then turned his attentions back to me and he harshly grabbed the neck of my now tattered, dirtied dress to rip it off my body but as he did I spat my protest. “Tat vo veshechi anna.”
(“Do not touch me.”) I spit. I could see the surprise in the riders and the wives faces when I spoke Dothraki, as well as the Khal. Good, I had their attention. The Khal minorly took a step back, looking at me with the little surprise he displayed in his eyes.

“Anha zin Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Khalessi ki Meereen, jin vesleki, bosei ki zanha akka mai ki zhavvorsan. Tat vo veshechi anna.”
(“I am Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Queen of Meereen, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. Do not touch me.”) I assert as I stare down the khal sternly and he stared back, but after a short moments silence, he suddenly burst out laughing, making his riders and wives join him. It made me feel small but I wouldn’t show them that, and I wouldn’t back down. Then the Khal grabbed the back of my neck, pulling my face closer to his.

“Yer hash vo khado, Khalessi ki vosi, zafra ki Khal Moro. Tat ajjalani, anha tikh qosarvenikh ma yer akka fin jin Vezhven Vezh ajjin lin, yer tikh fen anna jin rizh. Tat yer tiholat?”
(“You are nobody, Queen of nothing, slave of Khal Moro. Tonight, I will lie with you and if the Great Stallion is kind, you will give me a son. Do you understand?”) Khal Moro dismisses, and it wasn’t a smirk I gave him, but it was a powerful and cunning arch of a smile when I heard his words and what I was about to respond, and how that was exactly what wouldn’t happen.

“Anha tikh vo qosarvenikh ma yer. Akka anha tikh hlizif vo yallian, ha yer, che zhille ato gan. Vo kash jin shekh resha kijinosi jimma akka besa kijinosi titha.”
(“I will not lie with you. And I will bear no children, for you, or anyone else. Not until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.”) I inform, using the words of Mirri Maz Durr.

“Anha shen yer mae ki jin maegi. Ze hezhah mae nhare.”
(“I told you she was a witch. Cut off her head.”) The wife who had suggested it before repeats.

“Anha allayafi mae. Mae et lei.”
(“I like her. She has spirit.”) Khal Moro admires as he still clutched the back of my neck.

“Anha ki liv tat Khal Drogo, rizh ki Khal Bharbo.”
(“I was wife to Khal Drogo, son of Khal Bharbo.”) I announce and Khal Moro immediately releases his hold from my neck and takes a step back from me with the look of surprise in his eyes again.

“Khal Drogo ajjin driv.”
(“Khal Drogo is dead.”) Moro states.

“Anha tiholat. Anha sleki mae khado.”
(“I know. I burnt his body.”) I declare.

“Tiholat anna. Anha tat vo tiholat. Me ajjin hadeisha tat qosarvenikh ma jin Khal’s livan. Vo ato tikh veshechi yer. Yer zhorre anna ase.”
(“Forgive me. I did not know. It is forbidden to lie with a Khal’s widow. No one will touch you. You have my word.”) Moro assures before he unsheathes his dagger and cuts the ropes that bound my hands.

“Fin yer tikh rekyafi anna irge tat Meereen, anha tikh tihat rek yeri khalasar ajjin fena jin ken hrazefi, ven jin sign anni meneimani.”
(“If you will escort me back to Meereen, I will see that your khalasar is given a hundred horses, as a sign of my gratitude.”) I offer.

“Hash jin Khal athdrivaran, hazze ajjin disse ato wos ha mae Khaleesi.”
(“When a Khal dies, there is only one place for his Khaleesi.”) Khal Moro states as he goes back to take his seat, and I notice the wives begin to smirk as they realise when I do. I had forgotten about the tradition.

“Jin Ashaan ki Dosh Khaleen finne Vaes Dothrak.”
(“The Temple of the Dosh Khaleen at Vaes Dothrak.”) One of the wives smugly clarifies.

“Tat thirat mra mae asshekhi ma livani ki driv khals. Me nem nesa.”
(“To live out her days with the widows of dead khals. It is known.”) The second wife continues. For a short moment, I thought I was going to be able to get back to Meereen, but now I wasn’t so sure.

-

Tyrion poured himself another goblet of wine in the council chamber, and Varys immediately tsked, shaking his head, poking at him, like the two always usually did at each other.

“You know, if I lost my cock, I’d drink all the time.” Tyrion mocks but as soon as he said it, both him and Varys looked to Grey Worm. He didn’t realise what he had said until he had said it. “Meaning no offence. –He makes dwarf jokes, I make eunuch jokes.” Tyrion excuses.

“I do not make dwarf jokes.” Varys retorts.

“You think them.” Tyrion counters. Varys just sighs.

“Right, well—it appears to me that bad news has become the recent norm here in Meereen. Surely there’s some good news lurking somewhere we can start with today.” Tyrion starts off.

“Astapor and Yunkai have stopped asking Meereen for aid.” Varys informs.

“Perhaps they can tell us their secret.” Tyrion badly jokes.

“The Master’s have retaken both cities. Outside of Meereen, the whole of Slaver’s Bay has returned to the slavers. It seems the news of Daenerys’ disappearance has reached the cities quite quickly.” Varys clarifies, making Missandei and Grey Worm glance at each other in sorrow at the news.

“What about the dragons? We have three of them beneath the pyramid.” Tyrion asks.

“They are not eating. They haven’t touched any food since Daenerys left.” Missandei tells.

“Daenerys is the dragon queen. Can’t very well let the dragons starve, that’s obvious.” Tyrion theorises.

“If a dragon does not want to eat, how do you force him to eat?” Grey Worm questions.

“Dragons do not do well in captivity.” Tyrion states.

“How do you know this?” Missandei asks.

“That’s what I do. I drink and I know things.” Tyrion answers before sipping the last but of wine from his goblet. He then turns to pour himself another. “The dragons Baelor used to unite Westeros ranged over hundreds of miles, they were awe inspiring creatures because of their grand size. The people and houses of Valyria before them had come to like chaining them up in pens, in captivity they grew smaller over generations, becoming no larger than cats. So, when Baelor had dragons the size of towers, it was a miracle. But after them, they then all died. Or so we thought until Daenerys. If she keeps them chained they will waste away.” Tyrion explains.

“Missandei, how many times were you in the company of these dragons?” Tyrion queries.

“Many times.” She answers.

“And did they ever harm you?” He questions.

Missandei shakes her head. “Never.”

“Dragons are intelligent. More intelligent than men according to some maesters. They have affection for their friends and fury for their enemies. –I am their friend.” Tyrion declares.

“Do they know that?” Varys points out.

“They will. It’s time they had their supper.” Tyrion affirms, before gulping the last of his wine.

Varys accompanied Tyrion to the catacombs, both of them entering with a flaming torch each. Looking extremely worried, Varys stayed at the top of the stairs, near the entrance, as he watched Tyrion begin his descent down, who also now looked worried about this idea and yet he was still going down. When he reached the bottom he continued to walk the dark catacombs until he heard a small rattle of a chain which stopped him dead in his tracks. He still couldn’t see anything, but he pushed himself forward. Tyrion kept taking another step, one after the other, until he felt he was deep enough into the combs. He turned back to look at Varys at the top of the stairs, thinking perhaps this was a terrible idea but he was this far now, so he looked back into the darkness. Soon, three heads appeared in front in the dim light his torch gave. They were right in front of him and suddenly one started to ignite it’s flame in it’s throat and Tyrion jolted back slightly when he thought the dragon would breathe it, but then it stopped itself to his surprise. He looked across all three, fear running straight through him as he saw they were all eyeing him up.

“I’m friends with your mother. –I’m here to help. Don’t eat the help.” Tyrion worriedly says as the three dragons rumbled noises in front of him, sniffing him. He decided it was now or never and took the first step to walk closer in between them to get to their chains.

“When I was a child, an uncle asked what gift I wanted for my nameday. I begged him for one of you. ‘It wouldn’t even have to be a big dragon’ I told him. It could be little, like me.” Tyrion began with his story as he walked in between the dragons and gently put his torch down on the ground to free up both his hands.

“Everyone laughed like it was the funniest thing they ever heard. When my father told me the last dragon had died centuries ago, I cried myself to sleep that night.” Tyrion continues as he reaches up to touch the neck of Rhaegal, who was clearly allowing it comfortably. “But here you all are.” He adds as he then pulls the large bolt out from his chained collar as he steps back and the iron collar falls and clatters on the ground. He feels himself suddenly nudged from behind. Not hugely, not by much, but the dragon on his other side was telling him he wanted the same thing. Tyrion turned and saw Eleria’s neck outstretched like she had watched and knew; he quickly pulled the bolt out of hers and watched her collar drop to the ground. He let out a large breath he didn’t know he was holding. That was two, now Aerion was the only one left. When Tyrion walked around the front of Eleria to get to Aerion on her other side, he was met by him growling in his face, making him instantly tense up again. But once again, Aerion then did what Eleria had just done and outstretched its neck for Tyrion to unchain the collar. For the third time, Tyrion freed the dragon from its chain and once all free, he stood back from them all and watched as they moved around each other and rubbed against each other. They didn’t seem the least bit mothered about him anymore, but that still didn’t mean Tyrion wasn’t wary. He slowly picked up his flaming torch and then preceded to walk with a determined pace to get out of there. Rushing the stairs, when he got to the top and was stood with Varys once again, he let out another large breath.

“Next time I have an idea like that, punch me in the face.” Tyrion states before exiting the catacombs with Varys right behind him.

Chapter Text

“If we could have the room.” Varys asks as two Unsullied bring Vala, a prostitute Varys had heard whispers about from his birds, into the great hall. It was a new day, and new days brought new prospects. Varys was trying to secure these prospects in the queen’s favour through what he did best, getting information. The two Unsullied and the rest that lined the room, complied and left the hall, leaving the two alone. Vala watched them leave and once they were gone, began to step around the front of the hall, gazing at the grand structure of it.

“You look lovely today, my dear. You really do. How you climbed all those steps without breaking a sweat.” Varys admires as he sat on the steps fanning himself.

“If you’re going to torture me, just call them back and get on with it.” Vala challenges.

“I am not a torturer. Though it so often is what people deserve. And it does provide answers, but they’re usually the wrong answers. My job is to find the right answers. Do you know how I do that? I do it by making people happy. I’d like to make you happy, Vala. –That’s your name, isn’t it, Vala?” Varys begins, leaving the fan on the step and walking over to stand before her. Vala doesn’t respond, she just looks away from Varys’ gaze.

“That’s alright. I know who you are and what you’ve done. –You’ve done a lot. You’ve sacrificed your body for a cause, which is more than most people do. –And you’ve helped the Sons of the Harpy murder the Unsullied, the Second Sons and countless others.” Varys continues as he slowly circles Vala, coming to his point as he comes back to stand in front of her.

“The Unsullied and the Second Sons are foreign soldiers brought here by a foreign queen to destroy our city and our history.” Vala argues.

“I understand. Well, that makes perfect sense from your perspective. –I have a different perspective, of course. I think it’s important that you try to see things from my perspective just as I will try to see them from yours. Because that is the only way I can make you and Dom happy.” Varys declares, making Vala’s face drop at the name Dom. “That is how you pronounce it—Dom? I’m afraid I don’t really speak the language. –Such a handsome boy. Those big, brown eyes. Good luck keeping the ladies away.” Varys calmly threatens.

“Yes, you’re a true liberator, aren’t you? You won’t torture me, you’ll just threaten my son.” Vala spits.

“Children are blameless. I have never hurt them. –Your boy is in no immediate danger; this I swear to you. But between us, dear, you did conspire to kill the queen’s soldiers. We both know the penalty worldwide for that crime.” Varys threatens. “How will poor Dom get on without his mother? And with his breathing problem.” Varys adds as he walks over to the edge of the hall.

“If I tell you anything, they’ll kill me. So, either you kill me, or they do.” Vala concedes.

“From your perspective, this is a problem. –There is a third option though.” Varys proclaims and walks to the side of a pillar. “A ship, leaving tomorrow for Pentos. I’ve already booked passage for a woman and her young son. I’ll even through in a bag of silver to help you start again.” Varys continues, kicking the bag that sat at his feet beside the bottom of the pillar. “Although, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask one of our leather clad friends back in to carry it. Far too heavy for me.” He muses as he walks back over to Vala.

“The boat sails at dawn. You need to decide now. –A new life for you and Dom or..” Varys announces, raising his eyebrows at the end in certainty, speaking the other option without using words.

-

Tyrion, Missandei and Grey Worm sat at the table in the council chambers, while Rakharo stood leant against the wall, waiting for Varys so they could begin their meeting, but he was running late. They were sat in silence and Tyrion found he couldn’t stand it any longer, even with the wine.

“What shall we do while we wait? To pass the time, what shall we do? What should we talk about?” Tyrion questions gleefully, but Missandei and Grey Worm just glance at each other unsure, both saying nothing. And Rakharo just kept to himself as he usually did at the edge of the room.

“You speak 19 languages? You must occasionally use some of them to talk about things.” Tyrion points out, but Missandei was still unsure on how to respond as Tyrion continued to sip his wine.

“You two, you spend a great deal of time together. What would you be talking about if I weren’t here?” Tyrion asks.

“Patrol. –When I am going on patrol with the Unsullied. What we see on patrol. Who we captured on patrol.” Grey Worm simply answers.

“That’s good. That’s very good.” Tyrion responds, a little sarcastically, as he stands from the table and steps over to the wine decanter. “But that’s a report. I was thinking more of a conversation. –A wise man once said the true history of the world is the history of great conversations in elegant rooms.” He adds as he pours another goblet of wine.

“Who said this?” Missandei queries.

“Me. Just now.” Tyrion smiles, but Missandei does not return it, instead she just looks mildly confused.

“Alright, no conversations. Let’s play a game.” Tyrion asserts as he comes back to sit at the table, and again Missandei and Grey Worm glance at each other unknowingly.

“You don’t play games, either one of you, ever?” Tyrion surprisingly questions after seeing their silent reaction again.

“Games are for children.” Grey Worm states.

Tyrion looks over to Rakharo but he simply just shakes his head much to Tyrion’s disappointment.

“My master Kraznys would sometimes make us play games.” Missandei recalls. “There that’s a start.” Tyrion replies enthusiastically. “Only the girls.” Missandei adds.

Tyrion gulped his wine as Missandei spoke. “No, no, no. Not that. Of course not that.” He assures. “Innocent games, fun games, drinking games.” Tyrion clarifies.

“We do not drink.” Missandei informs.

“Until you do.” Tyrion smirks, but the two remain stoic. “Alright, no drinking. We can play without drinking.” He mutters as he thought quickly. “It’s a wonderful game. I invented it. Here’s how it works. I make a statement about your past. If I’m wrong, I drink. And if I’m right—,” Tyrion explains but then soon realises it was still a drinking a game for all. “Maybe we can’t play without drinking.” He finishes, then suddenly the chamber door creaks open and they all look to see Varys entering.

“Oh, you took your time.” Tyrion points out, relief in his voice for seeing Varys and getting him out the awkward situation he had put himself in.

“Sorry. I was busy learning who funds the Sons of the Harpy. Some things you can’t rush.” Varys announces as he walks over to the table, of which everyone had now stood up around.

“You found out?” Missandei questions surprised.

“The Good Masters of Astapor and the Wise Masters of Yunkai. With help from their friends in Volantis.” Varys announces.

“You see? You don’t even have to worry about the local rebellion. We only have to worry about the three rich foreign cities paying for it.” Tyrion jokingly deflates.

“We liberated Astapor and Yunkai once. We will do it again and execute the Masters. They have been warned.” Grey Worm asserts.

“If the Unsullied march off to Astapor and Yunkai, who will remain to defend the free people of Meereen?” Tyrion points out.

“If we do not fight them, how can we stop them?” Grey Worm protests.

“We cannot.” Missandei states. “The Masters only speak one language. They spoke it to me for many years, I know it better than my mother tongue. –If we want them to hear us, we must speak it back to them. May it be the last thing they ever hear.” She asserts.

“You may be right.” Tyrion acknowledges.

“So we will fight them?” Grey Worm questions.

“Possibly.” Tyrion answers.

“Possibly?” Missandei repeats.

“It’s a conversation.” Tyrion responds, then turns to Varys. “Tell me, can your little birds get a message to the Good Masters of Astapor, The Wise Master of Yunkai, and the benevolent enslavers of Volantis?” He asks.

“Of course. Men can be fickle, but birds I always trust.” Varys assures.

-

Walking through the entrance to Vaes Dothrak brought back a lot of memories, some good and some painful. Regardless, I wanted to be going the other way, not towards Dosh Khaleen. I wasn’t meant for a temple surrounded by widows with no purpose, only the purpose the khals have made them think they have. I knew there was no escaping Vaes Dothrak, there was no escaping the Dothraki. If I was going to come out of this alive, to get out of it at all, I was going to have smart, cunning, but most of all strong. But, when escorted into the temple, having the beady eyes of all the widows looking at me immediately, I knew this was going to be hard. I was brought to stand amongst them all, but before one that was lighting the standing fire pits.

“Elat.”
(“Go.”) The older woman commands to the two riders who had escorted me in, and they swiftly complied, taking their leave from the temple. Once the doors were closed behind them, the woman nodded at the others and instantly a couple of widows were pulling my clothes from my body whilst a couple others held me still.

“Fin hash yer tatshi?! Rekk yeri qoran fo anna!”
(“What are you doing?! Take your hands off me!”) I exclaim but it did nothing, and by the time I had finished speaking I was stripped naked. Two walked off with my clothes and I snatched out of the grip of the other two whilst I stared at this older widow, who clearly was calling the shots. Then a young-looking widow brought me some fresh clothes, Dothraki wear. I snatched it from her in annoyance and she shied back into the crowd.

I began to put the clothes on my body, and it felt strange to put these kinds of garments back on, it was memories coming back to me, but my annoyance at the situation was prevailing over anything else. “Yer zhorre hunq jin morobi. Ato yer tikh leuish. Anha zin jin liv ki vezhven Khal.”
(“You have made a mistake. One you will regret. I am the wife of the Great Khal.”) I assert as I finish dressing myself and watch the woman light the other fire pits.

“Kisha tiholat fin yer hash. Anha nuanishi yer gommas jin vezhi zhor. –Kifindirgi tat yer vo jadat tat us irge Khal Drogo athdrivara?”
(“We know who you are. I remember you eating the stallion’s heart. –Why did you not come to us after Khal Drogo died?”) The woman questions.

“Hajinaan anha zin Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, bosei ki zanha, Khalessi ki Meereen akka mai ki zhavvorsan. Anna gache ajjin vo gwe ma yer.”
(“Because I am Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Meereen and Mother of Dragons. My place is not here with you.”) I affirm.

“Yer hash jin liv ki Vezh Khal. Yer dirge mae tikh rekkan jin rhaesheser ma yer finne mae ei. Mae tat vo. –Anha ki jin liv ki Vezh Khal. Khal Savo. Anha dirge mae tikh rekkan jin rhaesheser ma anna finne mae ei.”
(“You were the wife of the Great Khal. You thought he would conquer the world with you at his side. He did not. –I was the wife of the Great Khal. Khal Savo. I thought he would conquer the world with me at his side.”) The old woman dismisses.

She steps down from lighting the pits and comes to stand in front of me. “Yer hash imesh. Kisha hash ei imesh atosa. Vosma kisha ei tiholat jin akka shiva hash. Yer tikh sashen ven chek, fin yer hash jaylekka lekhaan tat reri ma ye.”
(“You are young. We were all young once. But we all understand the way things are. You will learn as well, if you are fortunate enough to stay with us.”) The woman continues.

“Finne gan tikh anha elat? Ei Khaleesi talaya Dosh Khaleen.”
(“Where else would I go? Every Khaleesi becomes Dosh Khaleen.”) I query.

“Sek. Slayoiqi finti jin athdrivar ki kin Khal. Vosma yer elat mra shetat jin rhaesheser. Haji hadeisha. –Ei jin khalasars zhorre athsessazar ha jin Khalar Vezhven. Mori tikh decide majin mitan tikh tikh zandei akka majin boisi tikh tikh vezafran. Akka ajjin mori eth cit fin tat ma Khal Drogo’s vizhadi noretha livan. Ma cuk, yeri gache tikh tikh gwe ma si, mai ki zhavvorsan. Me ajjin jin davra yer laz zalat ha, ajjin.”
(“Yes. Immediately after the death of their Khal. But you went out into the world. That is forbidden. –All the khalasars have returned for the Khalar Vezhven. They will decide which cities will be sacked and which tribes will be enslaved. And now they must decide what to do with Khal Drogo’s silver-haired widow. With luck, your place will be here with us, Mother of Dragons. It is the best you can hope for, now.”) The woman declares. And she was wrong. It wasn’t the best I could hope for. I could hope for a many number of things, and with such a big gathering of Dothraki, who knew what could happen, or even better, what I could make happen.

-

“You invite the enemy into our city.” Grey Worm states angrily as he stood with an equally disappointed Missandei overlooking the Bay with Varys and Tyrion as a ship sails past with the Volantis sigil on it’s sails.

“I did. –As a clever man once told me, ‘we make peace with our enemies, not our friends’.” Tyrion defends.

“I don’t make peace with my queen’s enemies. I kill the queen’s enemies.” Grey Worm asserts, wanting his way rather than Tyrion’s as they followed him back towards the pyramid.

“Yes, that’s the military approach. And how has that worked here in Meereen? I represent the diplomatic approach.” Tyrion retorts.

“Our queen tried to make peace with the Masters, and they tried to murder her.” Missandei points out.

“We enter these negotiations with open eyes. Trust me. My own recent experience with slavery has taught me the horrors of that institution.” Tyrion assures, using his travels to Meereen, being captured, bought and sold for the few days he was, as a relation and common ground.

“How many days were you a slave?” Missandei challenges, in her polite manner.

Tyrion lightly sighs. “Long enough to know.” He answers.

“Not long enough to understand.” Missandei counters, and Tyrion had nothing to say in response. So, they all continued to walk to the pyramid.

When the masters finally arrived, they were shown to the council chambers. Everyone sat cordially while Grey Worm and Rakharo stood assertively and the masters sat smugly and pompously.

“Thank you for joining us here today. Can I offer any of you some wine?” Tyrion greets, breaking the awkward silence. None of them take his offer, nor greet him back, at least not straight away.

“I bought this dwarf for a single gold honor, and somehow, you’ve risen to the top of the Great Pyramid of Meereen. It’s most impressive.” Master Yezzan muses.

“And you speak for the Good Masters of Astapor. Here’s to reversals of fortune.” Tyrion plays, raising his goblet of wine in his direction.

“We came here to meet the queen, and instead we are greeted by a dwarf and a eunuch.” Master Razdal, from Yunkai, resents.

“Let’s make this simple, shall we? Tell me what you want.” Tyrion states.

“We want you to leave Slaver’s Bay. Take your dragons and your mercenaries and go.” The Volantis Master declares.

“Queen Daenerys may not stay in Meereen forever. Wherever her journey takes her, she will go, but I am more than confident she intends to return to the great city, at least even from time to time. –When her path takes her back westward, she will not want to return to Slaver’s Bay to find it in more chaos than she left it.”

“When we last met, I offered her ships, so she could return to Westeros where she belongs. She refused them.” Master Razdal intervenes.

“She didn’t need them then.” Tyrion clarifies. “She refused them because hundreds of thousands of men, women and children still lived in chains.” Missandei snaps.

“As they have since the dawn of time.” Razdal retorts.

“Not anymore.” Grey Worm backs.

“Oh, you think you’re a free man now? You still follow orders. Just because your master has silver hair and tits doesn’t mean she’s not a master.” Yezzan proclaims.

“Friends, friends. Friends, please.” Tyrion calms. “There have always been those with wealth and power and those with nothing. That is the way of the world. I am not here to change the way of the world.” He assures, appealing to the masters, which confuses Varys. That was exactly what Daenerys was trying to do here: build a better world. He glanced at Missandei in confusion and saw that she was also glancing at him with the same confused, just slightly more annoyed, expression.

“Slavery is the way of our world.” Yezzan affirms.

“You don’t need slaves to make money. There haven’t been slaves in Westeros for centuries and I grew up richer than any of you. –But, our queen recognises that she erred by abolishing slavery without providing a new system to replace it. –So, here is the queen’s proposal: slavery will never return to Meereen, but she will give the other cities of Slaver’s Bay time to adjust to the new order.” Tyrion announces, and Missandei eyes him, the three of them knew he was making this all up as he went along, and Missandei knew this wouldn’t be what Daenerys would want.

“What does that mean?” Yezzan queries.

“Instead of abolishing slavery overnight, we will give you seven years to end the practise.” Tyrion declares, and the anger and disappointment in Missandei and Grey Worm’s faces couldn’t be missed, they knew this definitely wasn’t what Daenerys would want, it wasn’t what they wanted either.

The Masters all looked at each other, not saying a word, taking in the offer, one for them was a good turn in their favour. “Slaveholders will be compensated for their losses, of course, at fair prices. In exchange, you will cut off your support for the Sons of the Harpy.” Tyrion negotiates.

“We do not support the Sons of the Harpy.” Yezzan assures.

“Fine, fine, but you will cut it off all the same.” Tyrion politely asserts. “I do hope you accept, my friends. You will not receive a better offer.” He says as he rings a small bell. “Let us sail on the tide of freedom instead of being drowned by it. And as a parting gift to our honoured guests..” Tyrion continues as three prostitutes walk into the chamber and clutch themselves to the three masters, much to Missandei’s disgust. “Give freedom a chance. See if it doesn’t taste every bit as good as what came before.” He finishes before standing and leaving the chamber, allowing the masters to stew on the negotiations and enjoy their female company. The others quickly followed leaving after him.

Coming out the meeting, Grey Worm was swiftly informed that a group of former slaves, ones loyal to them and Daenerys, were gathered in the great hall, awaiting an audience. Varys took to conduct his own affairs, no doubt listening to and sending off his little birds. So again, with Daenerys gone, Tyrion had to step up to the temporary position. When they emerged from the top of the hall, they saw the group of slaves huddled together talking at the bottom of the stairs waiting.

“Ñuha raqirossa!"
(“My friends!”) Tyrion greets to get their attention as they come to the edge of the top platform, where Daenerys would have been sat. They all immediately face up to them, breaking their huddle. “Rōva vaoreznuni..ao umbagon sīr oiro jēda."
(“Large sorry..you wait so fat time.”) Tyrion continues.

Missandei steps forward to Tyrion’s side. “Perhaps I should translate for you.” She offers.

“We speak the common tongue.” One of the former slaves calls up.

“Excellent.” Tyrion breathes.

“You met with the slavers today.” Another former slave states.

“I did.” Tyrion confirms.

“Our brothers and sisters died fighting these scum. Now, you invite them to our city and drink wine with them?” The first former slave challenges.

Tyrion lets out a small sigh under his breath. “I imagine this room was built so the rulers could intimidate the ruled. But I am not your ruler.” He points out as he begins to descend the stairs, the other three following behind. “I am not the Breaker of Chains, I am not the Unburnt and I am certainly not the Mother of Dragons.” Tyrion continues until they were stood on the lowest platform, only a couple steps above them on the stairs.

“You are a stranger here. So why do you represent Meereen in these talks with our enemies?” The former slave queries.

“Because our queen chose me as her advisor. Until she returns from her travels—,” Tyrion defends. “When does she return?” Another interjects.

“Soon. You have my word.” Tyrion assures.

“We don’t know you. We don’t trust you. We know Turgon Nudha. We fight with him against the Masters. We trust him.” The first former slave rejects.

“And that is exactly why Grey Worm took part in these negotiations. As commander of the Unsullied, he knows how to defeat the slavers and he knows when it is time to make peace.” Tyrion reassures, much to Grey Worm’s annoyance using him to wriggle himself from the situation, but he stays silent.

“You have made peace with the slavers?” Another spits in disgust.

“We offered terms.” Tyrion clarifies.

“Se ao, Turgon Nudha? Jaelā naejot mōzugon averilla lēda these vali? Se vali qilōni tore īlva hen īlva muñan nesh se liortan īlva rȳ rovnya hae nofel?”
(“And you, Grey Worm? You want to drink wine with these men? The men who tore us from our mother’s arms and sold us at auction like cattle?”) The former slave questions. Tyrion looks back to Grey Worm, curiously awaiting an answer, and he can see him thinking as his eyes glance between the former slaves and himself.

“Iksan iā azantys, daor iā gentrans. Yn lo konīr iksis iā rena syt lyks—iā sepār lyks—īlon kess gūrogon ziry."
(“I am a soldier, not a politician. But if there is a chance for peace—a just peace—we should take it.”) Grey Worm states.

“Missandei, ao gīmigon skoros le vali issi. Skorkydoso kostagon ao pāsagon zirȳ?”
(“Missandei, you know what these men are. How can you trust them?”) Another former slave asks disappointed. Now Tyrion looked to her.

“Gaoman daor pāsagon zirȳ. Kesan dōrī pāsagon zirȳ.”
(“I do not trust them. I will never trust them.”) She is quick to establish, then stops and glances back at Tyrion herself. She lets out a small sigh.
“Yn hae iā ribaz vala istin vestās, ‘īlon mazverdagon lyks lēda īlva qrinuntyssy, daor īlva raqirossa’.”
(“But as a wise man once said, ‘we make peace with our enemies, not our friends’.”) She adds, using Tyrion’s words from before, which hinted a smile onto his face as he turned back to look at the former slaves knowing she had just quoted him.

Outside the Pyramid, once the former slaves had left, Missandei and Grey Worm followed Tyrion, as Rakharo kept by his side as he oddly had done since Daenerys left. Missandei just assumed he did so thinking his Khaleesi would want him to as her adviser and acting ruler. Not that he was doing a great job of it she thought; Missandei and Grey Worm followed them to voice their protests, as even though they went along with Tyrion with the former slaves in the great hall, they were still begrudged about it all, especially the negotiations with the masters.

“Do not use me for your lies.” Grey Worm asserts.

“Those men respect you.” Tyrion responds.

“They respect me because they know who I am. They know I am loyal.” Grey Worm attests.

“So do I.” Tyrion agrees.

“I am loyal to my queen. Not you. If you betray her work, you are my enemy.” Grey Worm states.

“I am not betraying her work; I am trying to save her city.” Tyrion clarifies.

“You promised the slavers they could keep slavery.” Missandei argues.

“For a short time.” Tyrion defends.

“Seven years is not a short time for a slave.” Missandei retorts.

“You’re right. Slavery is a horror that should be ended at once. War is a horror that should be ended at once. I can’t do both today.” Tyrion asserts back.

“You are wrong to trust these men.” Grey Worm exclaims.

“I don’t trust the Masters; I trust their self-interest. They’re trustworthy if they’re convinced that working with me is in their self-interest.” Tyrion upholds.

“You don’t know them. You don’t understand them. We are not human in their eyes. They look at me and see a weapon. They look at her and see a whore.” Grey Worm angers.

“They look at me and see a misshapen little beast. Their contempt is their weakness. They’ll underestimate us every time and we will use that to our advantage.” Tyrion announces.

“You will not use them—they will use you. That is what they do.” Grey Worm points out before he and Missandei leave Tyrion to his affairs. As Tyrion watched them walk off, for once, he began to consider if perhaps his decisions had actually been a mistake this time.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Daario, wait a moment.” William quietly says as he pats his shoulder from behind. The three of them had just climbed up a considerable amount of a rocky mountain, and William noticed Jorah was lagging just a little behind, getting out of breath behind them. Daario looks back curiously as to why William was saying this and spotted Jorah stepping up onto the part the two were looking out on, breathing a little heavy.

“You alright?” Daario asks, drawing unnecessary attention to the man, which was what William tried to avoid by speaking quietly. Of course, Daario didn’t. Jorah said nothing, just stared at Daario. “Why don’t you sit and catch your breath.” Daario adds, turning back around.

“I’m fine.” Jorah says as he comes up behind them, catching his breath now they were stopping.

Daario scoffs lightly. “I don’t think you could ride the dragon. 20 years ago maybe.” He states.

Jorah and William glance at each other a little confused as Jorah comes to his side. “What?” Jorah queries.

“Our queen. She’s wild you know. It’s hard enough for me and I’m a young man. You—I don’t think your heart could take it.” Daario teases.

“Leave him, Jorah, he’s just joking. Trying to get a rise out of you.” William reassures.

“I don’t joke about women. Especially not women like her.” Daario smiles.

“You’ve truly laid with her?” William asks in genuine surprise, and a little heartbreak, also to his surprise.

“That surprises you?” Daario questions.

“Honestly—yes. You don’t seem the type she would—tolerate. For lack of better words.” William pokes.

“Well, I have. Many times.” Daario assures.

“Must we speak of this?” Jorah resents as he continues forward up the incline, the other two quick to follow.

“It must make you angry that our queen chose me.” Daario continues to tease, coming up behind Jorah.

“It makes me sad. You’ll disappoint her before long and she’ll move on.” Jorah points out.

“We’ll all disappoint her before long—,” Daario responds and Jorah then swiftly turns, stopping in his tracks. “We need each other right now, after we’re done needing each other—,” Jorah snaps. “Oh, I don’t want to fight you Jorah the Andal. What do I have to gain? If I win, I’m the shit who killed an old man. If I lose, I’m the shit who was killed by an old man.” Daario establishes rudely, but that was just him. Jorah looks at him with annoyance.

“You didn’t get much discipline as a child, did you?” William points out from behind, trying to hide his amusement.

Daario turns to look back at him. “None.” He simply states and William again has to hide his amusement as Jorah continues on up the incline.

When they all reach the peak, they had set upon to get to, they got low and crawled to the edge, keeping inconspicuous even at this high height. Overlooking the edge, they had an almost bird’s eye view of Vaes Dothrak, the only way to get a good look without being spotted and more than likely killed. It was a sacred city; unwanted visitors were not tolerated. The view was vast, the land the city sat on was large, surrounded by mountains. Jorah noted that the city was brimming with camps and people, considerably more than usual. He figured that all the khalasars would most likely be there explaining the mass numbers, meaning Khalar Vezhven must be happening either now or soon. That in turn then meant it was going to be that much harder to get Daenerys out of the city.

“The road running through the horse gate, they call that the God’s Way. –Eastern market. –Western market.” Jorah points out to the other two, marking the points of the city. “That large hut in the center, that’s the Temple of Dosh Khaleen. When Khal Drogo died she was supposed to come here and join the Dosh Khaleen: the widows of the dead Khals. That’s where they’ll have taken her.” Jorah announces before he shuffles back away from the edge. The other two follow suit and as they regain a stand, they see Jorah start to fiddle with his belt.

“What are you doing?” William asks.

“It’s forbidden to carry weapons in the sacred city.” Jorah tells as he removes his weapons belt.

“Isn’t it forbidden to sneak into their city and steal their Khaleesi?” Daario retorts.

“If they spot us and we’re unarmed, we’ll say we’re traders headed for the Western market. But if they see weapons..” Jorah establishes.

“You’re asking a dog to hand over it’s teeth.” William states as Jorah lays his weapons by a bush.

“There’s a hundred thousand of them down there, we can’t fight our way out. We wait till dark and then we’ll find her.” Jorah lays out.

William removes his own weapons belt and lays it with Jorah’s. Daario does so more reluctantly. Jorah then holds his hand out between him and Daario, he knew he was still holding his dagger. Daario sighs and hands it over.

“Jorah, what’s that on your arm?” William questions having spotted a scale like texture on his skin through a hole in his shirt on his forearm. Jorah clasps the hole in his shirt together, covering it up.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jorah assures.

“Jorah, that looks like—,” Daario begins. “Greyscale. –It is. –It hasn’t touched you, so again, don’t worry.” Jorah states.

“You know what happens?” Daario asks.

“I know what happens.” Jorah confirms before he lays Daario’s dagger down with the rest of the weapons and begins to walk away.

William stops Daario from following. “Daario…greyscale—is that what creates the Stone Men?” William queries.

“Yes.” He clarifies.

“I read there’s no cure.” William relays sadly.

“No. Not that I’ve ever known of.” Daario says with sympathy as they both look on at Jorah ahead in pity.

-

Sat in the temple, I was completely aware that nearly all the widows were chattering away about me, stealing looks when they could. It didn’t bother me. I was used to being the one that stuck out in a crowd. What bothered me is that they had nothing better to do. Not that that was their fault, rather their culture’s. The traditions of it wasn’t for me, but for the ones that were here, if they felt they had purpose here, that they served a purpose, then that was good for them. Some others had it much worse in other cultures.

“Ale ki eyak tat vo yothnhara Dothraki jif chaen ma ifaki. Mori hash toki foz chiorisi. Mori tat vo corvak rek kisha zhorre ei akka wekkan kishi qoy.”
(“Some of them do not think Dothraki should breed with foreigners. They are stupid old women. They do not realise that we have always diluted our blood.”) The widow who had greeted me within the Temple, so to speak, brings up sat next to me as everyone ate.

“Jin ato ajjin Lhazareen. Mae Khal ez mae sayai kijinosi chek ter mae skeka mae pita. –Hash foz hash yer?”
(“This one is Lhazareen. Her Khal found her hiding in a well after he burned her village. –How old were you?”) The widow continues, nodding to another. This one was very young. She was the one who had shyly handed me new clothes.

“Kethei.”
(“Twelve.”) The widow recalls.

“Jin firesof teta, mae bora mae Khal jin ohara. Hash tat mae kos mae ravoshi?”
(“A year later, she bore her Khal a daughter. How did he show his happiness?”) The older widow leads.

“Mae samvas anna khocari.”
(“He broke my ribs.”) The young widow answers. I knew the Dothraki were savage, brutal and rough. And I knew I was lucky with Drogo, more than lucky. So I did feel for this young widow, but the fact that she was in Dosh Khaleen so young also meant her Khal was dead, and for that I was pleased for her.

“Kisha hash vo Khaleesis rer, vosma jin Khals bok she si ha kishi athvillar. Kishi atthirari zhorre atathan.”
(“We are not queens here, but the Khals depend on us for our wisdom. Our lives have meaning.”) The older widow establishes.

“Haji alikh kosh vec zhorre.”
(“That is more than most have.”) I back.

“Hash jin Khals tan rer ha jin Khalar Vezhven tat ajjalani, anha zalat mori tow yer thirat mra yeri asshekhi ma si. Jin eshna acrebarran hash vo ma ishicar.”
(“When the Khals meet here for the Khalar Vezhven tonight, I hope they let you live out your days with us. The other possibilities are not so pleasant.”) She proclaims.

I look around at the other widows. I hoped the opposite. I hoped on my own possibility; I had my own ideas because I wasn’t sure I could take living in this Temple much longer already, and my own ideas meant I could get back to the places that needed me. “Anha zigereo tat taki eveth.”
(“I need to make water.”) I say coming to a stand.

“Yer vos lanat arrekoon Dothraki. Yer tiholat jin.”
(“You cannot run from Dothraki. You know this.”) The older widow states.

“Anha tikh avvos lanat arrekoon Dothraki.”
(“I will never run from Dothraki.”) I affirm.

The widow looks to the younger one we had talked to before. “Elat, hen mae.”
(“Go, show her.”) She commands and the young widow quickly rises to her feet and accompanies me out the Temple.

When the outside air hit my face, I took a deep breath. The fresh air felt so good after being kept in that wooden Temple, it was stuffy and smelly with all those women and around the fire pits too.

“Anha zigere chosh chaf. Jin foz chiorisi tinnii.”
(“I needed fresh air. The old women stink.”) I admit as we walked down the stairs, and I smiled at the young widow to show that it was okay to laugh, or agree, or do nothing. I just wanted her to feel comdortable as she still looked a little shy.

She smirked a little. “Mori tat tinnii.”
(“They do stink.”) She agrees.

“Fin ajjin yeri hake?”
(“What is your name?”) I ask as we walk.

“Ornela.” She answers.

“Yer eth zhorre nea yez imesh hash yeri Khal athdrivara, Ornela.”
(“You must have been very young when your Khal died, Ornela.”) I ponder.

“Keidochi.”
(“Sixteen.”) She confides.

“Ale mel mae tat vo athdrivar ahhazan.”
(“Too bad he did not die sooner.”) I muse, looking to her again with a devious smirk.

Ornela returned it again. “Sek, ale mel.”
(“Yes, too bad.”) She smirks, and after that as we continued walking her shyness seemed to begin to fade away.

“Ajjin me tawak yer zhorre tor zhavvorsan?”
(“Is it true you have four dragons?”) Ornela curiously asks and I nod with a smile as we come down a slope and around a corner lined with bushes.

“Akka mori sashei vorsa?”
(“And they breathe fire?”) She excitedly follows up.

I chuckle lightly. “Mori tat.”
(“They do.”) I answer and her face seemed so dumbstruck with awe. It was nice to see someone excited and thrilled by even the thought of them after what had been happening with Drogon around Meereen before.

“Tikh yer allayafi tat tihat eyak ato asshekh?”
(“Would you like to see them one day?”) I query happily, but Ornela’s thrilled expression drops to a more serious, deflated one.

“Anha zin Dosh Khaleen. Anha laz avvos vesi Vaes Dothrak, kash anha sin ven fih arrekoon jin gwan she asshekh anha athdrivar.”
(“I am Dosh Khaleen. I can never leave Vaes Dothrak, until I rise as smoke from the pyre on the day I die.”) She affirms just before she is suddenly grabbed from behind, her mouth being quickly covered and a dagger poised at her throat. I unexpectedly see that it’s Daario. “No! Don’t hurt her.” I exclaim quickly in shock, but keeping my voice down, and as I do I notice Jorah, but also William next to Daario.

“She’ll give us away.” Daario responds in a rushed whisper.

“We have to go now.” William urges. It was weird just suddenly seeing them all, but William most of all. I had so many questions but now really was not the time nor the place. I glare at them all and grip Daario’s hand, putting pressure on it so he would move it down and subsequently his blade away from Ornela’s throat, who looked terrified. Her eyes were wide with fear, if her muffled quick breathing beneath Daario’s hand didn’t give it away already.

“We will never get out of Vaes Dothrak alive.” I state looking between them all, landing on Jorah, knowing he would know this out of the three of them.

“All we can do is try.” Jorah encourages.

“No—we can do more than that. And you’re all going to help me.” I announce before looking directly at Ornela.

“Akka yer—zhorre athvar she anna, Khaleesi. Tat vo desan anna.”
(“And you—have faith in me, Khaleesi. Do not betray me.”) I gently ask and she instantly nods. I look up to Daario and he finally releases her, cautiously but I knew she wouldn’t make a sound, and she didn’t.

“So, what are we helping with?” William questions.

I smile. “Nice to see you too.” I muse, getting a smile from him too. I didn’t realise how much I had missed him.

“Khaleesi—a plan?” Jorah brings back.

“I don’t have much of a plan, but when the time comes, after the widows leave the Temple and the Khals enter it, when I’m taken inside for them to decide on my fate—I need you to kill the guards outside the Temple, and make sure the doors are locked and secured.” I convey.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” Daario queries.

“Just make sure the guards are gone and no one inside the Temple can get out.” I clarify.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Daario points out. “How do you plan on getting out if we secure the doors with you inside?” Jorah asks, but I only hint the smallest of smirks before I can say anything as William beats me to it.

“This is Astapor all over again, isn’t it?” He pokes. I keep my hint of a smirk as I then glance at William.

“You have your jobs, and I have mine. You’ll know when it’s safe to come out, you’ll know when it’s time. Until then, stay hidden. It won’t be long now.” I assure before taking Ornela’s hand and walking back with her towards the Temple. My own possibility was starting to form before my very eyes.

So, when it came to the time of the Khalar Vezhven, and I was escorted into the Temple, brought before all the Khals, Khal Moro at the center, I wasn’t intimidated, I wasn’t overwhelmed, I was just ready. The older widow and Ornela had escorted me back into the Temple, walking me around the center platform and with a nod from Khal Moro, they left. When I heard the doors creak close, I knew it had started. I had everything laid out in my head; I was more than ready. The word that kept running through my mind: strength.

“Fin arif outay mae? Mae ajjin jin virzethi naqis nayat.”
(“Who cares about her? She is a pink little girl.”) One Khal starts.

“Anha allayafi mae.”
(“I like her.”) Another admires.

“Mae ajjin quan arrek fil.”
(“She is paler than milk.”) The first retorts.

“Anha tikh allayafi tat tiholat fin jin Khaleesi lekhi allayafi.”
(“I would like to know what the Khaleesi tastes like.”) Another states.

“Davra. –Yer laz ken anna cilak.”
(“Good. –You can suck my dick.”) Another jokes, making them all laugh, all apart from Khal Moro.

“Mae shebrak ma Dosh Khaleen.”
(“She belongs with the Dosh Khaleen.”) Moro reminds sternly, ceasing their laughs.

“Jin Ville Anfan ki Yunkai zala mae. Mori hash teswak thi dalen hrazefi she ganfi. Fin ajjin aze alikh, ato virzethi naqis nayat che thi dalen hrazefi.”
(“The Wise Masters of Yunkai want her. They are offering ten thousand horses in exchange. What is worth more, one pink little girl or ten thousand horses?”) The first Khal announces.

“Clestask jin Ville Anfan she kesh enreshai rani. Anha tikh rekk kesh hrazefi ha anhan.”
(“Fuck the Wise Masters in their perfumed asses. I will take their horses for myself.”) Moro asserts.

“Tat yer vo zala tat tiholat fin anha yothn?”
(“Do you not want to know what I think?”) I suddenly question, turning all their heads my way in surprise that I had spoken out.

“Yer tikha reki tikh yaz she tat zafrashi? –Che ishish yer tikh allayafi tat wok Rhalko reh fin yer lekhi allayafi.”
(“You would rather be sold into slavery? –Or maybe you would like to show Rhalko here what you taste like?”) Moro pokes.

“Vo. Anha tat vo zala che ki kinn rekani.”
(“No. I do not want either of those things.”) I answer.

“Kisha tat vo care fin zalat. Jini jin Citin ki Dosh Khaleen. Yer zhorre vo gommas ren, deesa yer hash Dosh Khaleen. Majin yer hash vos, kash kisha hanay yer hash.”
(“We do not care what you want. This is the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen. You have no voice here, unless you are Dosh Khaleen. Which you are not, until we decide you are.”) Moro declares.

“Anha tiholat finne anha zin. Anha zhorre des ren hatif. Jini finne jin Dosh Khaleen reshandalai anna yalli jin Vezh Fin Saja jin Rhaesheser.”
(“I know where I am. I have been here before. This is where the Dosh Khaleen pronounced my child the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”) I recall as I look back at the platform, remembering where I had stood eating the Stallion’s heart and hearing the pronouncement of my child. But Khal Moro brought my head back around as he began his response.

“Akka fin hekeshi? Yer shillati jin maegi, allayafi jin tokik. Yeri yalla ajjin driv haji yer. Kijinosi ajjin Khal Drogo.”
(“And what happened? You trusted a witch, like a fool. Your baby is dead because of you. And so is Khal Drogo.”) Moro brutally points out, angering me slightly.

I start to walk around the platform slowly as I begin speaking again. “Jini finne Drogo noayesa tat rekk mae khalasar jimma tat finne jin rhaesheser nakho. Tat dothralat ido hrazefi yomme jin kazga zhif havazh ven vo Khal et nakhaan hatif. Mae noayesa tat addrivas jin mahrazhi she moira shiqethi boiroso akka laqikh zohhe moira neqwin toulesi. Mae goysa tat anna hatif jin Mai ki Krazaajesi.”
(“This is where Drogo promised to take his khalasar west to where the world ends. To ride wooden horses across the Black Salt Sea as no Khal has done before. He promised to kill the men in their iron suits and tear down their stone houses. He swore to me before the Mother of Mountains.”) I proclaim as I step up onto the platform.

“Akka yer hash toki hosh tat shillolat mae.”
(“And you were dumb enough to believe him.”) Moro retorts.

“Akka ren—ajjin—fin torishi tat jin Vezhven Khals mavha? Majin naqis pitan yer tikh nosh, hash jei nayati yer tikh li tat clestask, hash jei hrazefi yer tikh nadi she esanda. –Yer hash naqis mahrazhi.”
(“And here—now—what matters do the Great Khals discuss? Which little villages you will raid, how many girls you will get to fuck, how many horses you will demand in tribute. –You are small men.”) I mock seriously as I walk slowly across the platform, coming to the edge in front of the Khals. I could see they were beginning to appear riled.
“Von ki yer hash qi tat dun jin Dothraki. –Vosma anha zin. –Ma anha tikh.”
(“None of you are fit to lead the Dothraki. –But I am. –So I will.”) I add assertively.

It took a moment, but Khal Moro then started to chuckle, followed by the rest of the Khals. “Tyki. Vo Dosh Khaleen ha yer. Salay, kisha tikh rekk foni clestaski yer. Majin kisha tikh loian kishi dothrakhqoyi clestask yer. Akka fin hazze ajjin zhille vekhikh elat ki yer, kisha tikh ni kishi hrazefi jin noi.”
(“Alright. No Dosh Khaleen for you. Instead, we will take turns fucking you. And then we will let our bloodriders fuck you. And if there is anything left of you, we will give our horses a turn.”) Moro begins, standing from his seat as he spoke and stepping forward. He tried to provoke me, but I just smirked in his face, unfazed.
“Yer yofi feki! Tat yer sekke yothn kisha tikh sechi yer?!”
(“You crazy cunt! Did you really think we would serve you?!”) Moro exclaims.

I then look to the standing, iron fire pit burning to my left and place my hand on its edge, before looking back to the Khals, before looking back at Khal Moro. I saw that they seemed a little confused as to why I wasn’t in pain from touching it, and they would never know. “Yer hash vo elat tat sechi. –Yer hash elat tat athdrivar.”
(“You are not going to serve. –You are going to die.”) I state before pushing the fire pit over, making the flaming contents spill over around the Khals, making them all jump up and exclaim in fear as the wooden structure of the Temple began to catch alight. I then stepped to my right and pushed the second fire pit over, setting more of the floor and structure alight. They were beginning to get surrounded by flames and the structure of the Temple was quickly burning away as the flames consumed the wooden pillars and began to burn the wooden and thatched roof. I watched the Khals scramble, screaming as some burned and some tried to escape around the Temple. Then some were crushed by falling flaming debris from above. Most got around to the doors, and I was glad to see as they tried to open them, they wouldn’t budge. They were locked and secured inside the burning Temple, with me. As I walked across the now burning platform, my clothes began to burn also, and when I reached the other edge, standing before the Khals banging on the doors, screaming to be let out, I see Khal Moro turn around and look my way. I grab the last fire pit with both hands and look straight into Khal Moro’s eyes with a stern look before pushing it over and watching the flames spill over and consume the last of the screaming Khals.

It wasn’t long before their screams turned into nothing and the only sounds were those of the flames roaring around me, consuming the Temple completely. The whole hut was aflame, pieces of it were collapsing down from the roof, and soon the doors were burnt away. With the debris falling, I walked over to the now burnt entrance of the Temple and the closer I got, the more I could see through the flames. I could see a mass crowd around the burning Temple and as I emerged from the roaring fire, standing at the edge of the Temple, above the people of the whole city, I felt truly empowered. Then, as I stood there, overlooking them all, naked and unburnt before them, the whole city began to lower to their knees, bowing their bodies before me. It was like I had emerged from the fire like the very first time, from Drogo’s pyre and the small group I had with me bowing before me. Except now, I was emerging from a large burning Temple and I had the whole Dothraki city bowing before me. I soon noticed three figures walking through the bowed people, coming to the front and looking at me in awe. It was Jorah, William and Daario. Jorah was quick to take a knee, joing the Dothraki, and kneeling in front of his queen. Daario was wuick to follow and I noticed William looking around the whole scene, the people, the Temple and me, in perhaps astonishment, before he too and lastly took a knee. The Dothraki no longer had their Great Khals to lead them. Now, they only had one and she was a Khaleesi. A Khaleesi with a horde of all hordes of Dothraki. I was now the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.

Chapter Text

“In the last fortnight since our pact with the Masters, how many killings have been carried out by the Sons of the Harpy?” Varys questions in the council meeting.

“None.” Grey Worm answers.

“And how many Masters have been butchered by the free men?” Varys asks.

“Two, but that was the day of the pact. Since then, nothing.” Grey Worm informs.

“So, it’s safe to say that a fragile peace has taken hold.” Varys concludes.

“For now.” Rakharo adds.

“For now is the best we get in our profession.” Varys retorts.

“It’s not enough.” Tyrion states.

“Considering the city was on the brink of civil war, I’d say it’s a good start.” Varys points out.

“It’s not enough for Meereen to have peace. They need to know that Daenerys is responsible for it.” Tyrion begins. “The Sons of the Harpy have a good story. Resist the foreign invaders. Our queen has an even better story. Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, and all that.” He continues.

“The people know who brought them freedom.” Missandei establishes.

“Yes, but do they know who brought them security? Who brought about an end to the violence? We need someone the people trust, someone they know cannot be bought or influenced.” Tyrion declares.

“Sounds like quite the hero. Where would we find him?” Varys queries.

“Who said anything about ‘him’?” Tyrion muses before sipping his wine and they all look to him curiously. “Let’s send word to the red priests and priestesses of Volantis.” He clarifies. He had heard the red priestesses and priests all over on his travels raving about Daenerys, especially in Volantis; he knew they would help. He hoped.

-

In the rocky hills of the mountains, I was now faced with the aftermath and coming back to my reality. I overlooked the city of Vaes Dothrak, seeing the last remnants of the smoke rising from the now burnt down and no longer existing Temple of the Dosh Khaleen. I knew as soon as I turned away from it, I had to face the realities I had left behind but was ready to get back to, and now with an army of Dothraki at my back also.

I turned around, looking only straight to Jorah who stood ahead. “I banished you—twice. –You came back—twice. –And you saved my life.” I begin as I take slow steps forward towards him. “I can’t send you away—and every part of me is screaming for me to take you back, every part but my head.” I continue as I take another couple steps forward closer, but Jorah only takes a couple steps back in response, much to my slight initial confusion.

“You must send me away.” Jorah sombrely announces and I look to him with growing confusion. He begins to roll up one of his shirt’s sleeves and reveals a scaled and cracked growth on his skin, covering his forearm. My expression changed instantly from confusion to saddened worry. I was sure what that was; I had seen it in books I had read. Greyscale.

“Is there a cure?” I question, trying to remain composed.

“I don’t know.” Jorah replies. I could feel the tears forming in my eyes, and I stopped myself from trying to refrain from letting them fall. It wasn’t worth it. I loved this man, despite everything, and I was instantly devastated at the sight of his arm because everyone knew the horror stories of the stone men that grayscale led to. There was no point in hiding it, especially not now.

“How long does it take?” I ask, as I feel my first tear roll down my cheek.

“I don’t know that either. But I’ve seen what happens when it goes far enough—I’ll end things before that.” Jorah informs as he rolls his sleeve back down, and hearing his words sends more tears falling.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I sincerely apologise. All this time lost because I couldn’t forgive him for a mistake. “Don’t be. –All I’ve ever wanted was to serve you. –Tyrion Lannister was right—I love you—I’ll always love you.” Jorah confesses. I had known for a while that Jorah had loved me, more than a friend, but we had never spoken of it. When others pointed it out, or it was hinted between us, it was glazed over. Even so, hearing Jorah say the words out loud and directly to me, it was like hearing it for the first time ever, and yet it still surprised me. But I couldn’t say it back, not like how he meant it and I couldn’t get over the fact that it felt like he was saying goodbye.

Jorah takes a small step back, readying himself to turn away. “Goodbye, Khaleesi.” He deflatingly says. There it was. I wasn’t ready for it; I didn’t want it. I needed him. I wanted to run up and embrace him, wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay, but I couldn’t. He turns around and takes his first step to leave us, to leave me.

“Do not walk away from your queen, Jorah the Andal.” I call, stopping him from walking away the best way I knew how, turning him to look back. If all he ever wanted was to serve me, then he would have to continue doing so, if it meant he ever came back to me. “You have not been dismissed.” I add, before taking a couple steps forward. “You pledged yourself to me, many years ago now, and you continued to do so, you swore you would protect and serve me for the rest of your days. –Well, I command you to find the cure, wherever it is in this world. –I command you to heal yourself, and then return to me. –Because whatever comes next, here or in Westeros—I need you by my side.” I emotionally proclaim, tears in my eyes and I could see the raw emotion in Jorah’s as I spoke, as well as a flame of determination which I was happy to glimpse.

He didn’t respond straight away, he instead felt into a pocket and pulled out a ring, a ring I instantly recognised as the one he had bought me years ago, as the one I had dropped in the grass lands. He threw it in the air towards me and I caught it, before bringing my eyes back to him with a smile. “Always, Khaleesi.” Jorah emotionally responds, and then with a slight bowing nod he turned and left. It broke me to watch him leave; this time I really wasn’t sure if I would see him again. I could only pray for it now.

“Daenerys.” William softly says to get my attention, as I had been staring at the spot where Jorah had vanished out of sight. I wiped my cheeks before I directed my attention to them both at my side, pushing my ring back onto my finger as I turned.

“How did you leave Meereen?” I question Daario.

“About as good as you left it. I’m not entirely sure on how its faired since. We can only hurry back and find out for ourselves.” Daario encourages. I nod and we all begin to walk to get back down to the waiting khalasar.

“William—tell me your father, your family, are they okay?” I ask as we made our descent.

“They are fine. Quite comfortable in Dorne. But father is tired, tired of war, but he knows it must come to defeat Cersei.” William informs.

“And what of Cersei? Of Westeros?” I query.

“It appears she is this witch. She has in fact accumulated some kind of power, and it seems that the lands are wasting away the stronger she grows. The Houses are in tethers, no one has heard from the North at all. Cersei has regained her old allies of the Ironborn and Bolton’s. Westeros is in chaos. We have the allies. We have what is left of the Martell’s and Tyrell’s, and of course my father and his men. But we need you, Daenerys.” William relays.

I stop our descent for a second, grabbing William’s hand. “We will get your father’s throne back. I promise.” I assure.

“Daenerys—it’s your father’s throne. If you fight for it, you should sit on it.” William pushes, and upon hearing his words I let go of his hand.

I hadn’t realised what I had said until William pointed it out. But it still didn’t matter to me. I was fighting for the people, not the throne. I was fighting for Robert and the allies, not the throne. I was fighting Cersei because she was a tyrant and had to be stopped. The throne brought my family nothing but misery in the end, I wanted no part of it. “I will fight, but not for that. Cersei is a plague, and the people don’t deserve that. –Besides, I am already a city’s queen. I will fight to see your father back on the throne and no more.” I clarify, before continuing our descent, following after Daario.

Soon, at the head of the horde, William and Daario riding behind me, we were on our way out of Vaes Dothrak. Heading through on the God’s Way, under the horse statues, to make our way back to Meereen with an army of Dothraki at our backs.

-

“Ao iōragon isse se rudhys hen Kinvara, Eglie Voktys hen Mele Oktiona hen Volantis, se Perzys hen Virtir, se Ōños hen Gīmion, se Ēlī Dohaeran hen Āeksiot Ōño.”
(“You stand in the presence of Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light.”) The red priest announces on the lower platform of the stairs in the great hall.

“Varmer naejot Mīrīn.”
(“Welcome to Meereen.”) Tyrion greets after the priest had stepped down from the lower platform, and now as the High Priestess stepped up onto it.
“That’s about the extent of my Valyrian.” He adds, back in the common tongue, as the priestess just looks up at the two men. Tyrion and Varys stood together at the middle platform and waited for a response from Kinvara but she simply stood there silent, looking, creating a long pause.

“Thank you for travelling all this way. I know from personal experience how uncomfortable the journey can be.” Tyrion thanks, glancing back at Varys. Still, the priestess says nothing, creating another pause.

“The truth is we need your help. We’d hoped we could somehow persuade you to—,” Tyrion begins to admit, but the priestess finally speaks. “You don’t need to persuade me; I came to help.” Kinvara intervenes, starting to ascend the steps slowly as she spoke. “Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen is the one who was promised. From the fire she was reborn to remake the world.” Kinvara proclaims, coming to a stop on a step closer to Tyrion and Varys.

“Yes.” Tyrion simply agrees, unsure how else to answer.

“She has freed the slaves from their chains and punished the Masters for their sins.” Kinvara continues.

“She did indeed.” Tyrion responds.

“Her dragons are fire made flesh, a gift from the Lord of Light. –But you’ve heard all of this before, haven’t you? On the long bridge of Volantis.” Kinvara points out, shocking Tyrion speechless because she was right.

“So, you want your queen to be worhsipped and obeyed. And while she’s gone, you want her advisers to be worshipped and obeyed?” Kinvara states in question.

“I’d settle for obeyed.” Tyrion semi confirms.

“I will summon my most eloquent priests. They will spread the word. –Daenerys has been sent to lead the people against a darkness, in this war, and in the Great War still to come.” Kinvara declares.

“That sounds most excellent, I—,” Tyrion begins to reply but Varys steps forward, interrupting. “A man named Stannis Baratheon was anointed the chosen one by one of your priestesses. He too had a glorious destiny. He believed in it so much, he neglected and resented his own blood for not naming him King when the time came. The last I heard he had attacked Winterfell and was defeated for good.” Varys challenges.

“We’d be most grateful for any support you can provide the queen.” Tyrion steers back. “I suppose it’s hard for a fanatic to admit a mistake. Isn’t that the whole point of being a fanatic? You’re always right. Everything is the Lord’s will.” Varys pokes more.

“Everything is the Lord’s will. –But men and women make mistakes, even honest servants of the Lord.” Kinvara defends.

“And you, and honest servant of the Lord, why should I trust you to know anymore than the priestess who counselled Stannis?” Varys questions. “My friend has a healthy scepticism of religion, but we are all loyal supporters of the queen.” Tyrion tries to ease, eyeing Varys, who nods his head in understanding.

“Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason.” Kinvara begins as she steps up a couple more steps, coming closer to the two, only a single step below them now. “Terrible things happen for a reason. –Take what happened to you Lord Varys when you were a child. If not for your mutilation at the hand of a second-rate sorcerer, you wouldn’t be here, helping the Lord’s chosen bring his light into the world. –Knowledge has made you powerful—but there’s still so much you don’t know.” She continues, making Varys’ face drop a little at her own knowledge of his past. “Do you remember what you heard that night? When the sorcerer tossed your parts in the fire? You heard a voice call out from the flames; do you remember?” She questions, making Varys completely shocked and disturbed. Kinvara steps up on their platform, standing right before them both, staring right at Varys. “Should I tell you what the voice said? Should I tell you the name of the one who spoke?” She finishes, showcasing her power, leaving Varys a little shaken.

She smiles. “We serve the same queen. If you are her true friend, you have nothing to fear from me.” Kinvara adds before stepping back. She looks to Tyrion and gives him a nod of thanks and leave before descending the stairs, leaving both the men in a tense and somewhat violated state.

-

Riding through the plains of the mountains in the Dothraki Sea, I came to realise that the lesson Xaro Xhoan Daxos had taught me I needed to channel again. If I wanted something, I would have to take it. That is what I did with the Dothraki, I seized a source of power for myself. Now, I needed to take the Master’s power away from them and keep it for myself. I needed the whole of Slaver’s Bay to know that the new world was not to be challenged, that what I had enacted was not to be overthrown. Since being in Meereen, being amongst the politics, I had to be the peacemaker. In fact, I wanted to be. I wanted this new world to work, but Slaver’s Bay was not backing down, even after all the punishments and offers. I wasn’t sure if Meereen was in a worse off state or better than what I had left it in when I flew off on Drogon, but if it was worse, or even just the same, I needed to assert my dominance over the Masters and for the last time. Especially if I was going west, they needed to know not to challenge or overrule the new order even in my absence. I was not going to sail west unless I was sure I could return to Slaver’s Bay and it still be how I left it. But, sailing west had to happen sooner rather than later and the Masters only seemed to understand one language. I had tried intimidation and liberation, I had tried punishment, I had tried ruling, I had tried compromise, now I would try force. It was going to be my way, and no other alternative. This they would finally come to understand.

As we rode through the plains, something suddenly caught my eye ahead, disrupting my thoughts. I was so engrossed by it, I stopped my horse. It was something small, something someone else might have missed, but I picked it up. It was an erratic and strange swirl of wind, picking up grains of sand. It looked as if it had travelled and caused by something unusual and big. It made me curious.

“Everything alright?” William asks.

I look across to them both, snapping from my own mind, and quickly nod to his question. I glance back at the now stopped horde and my head moves into another mindset. “How many days ride to Meereen?” I wonder, swiftly moving on, looking back to the others at my side.

“A week at best.” Daario answers.

I ponder for a second. “How many ships will I need to bring my khalasar to Westeros?” I question.

“Well, the Dothraki and all their horses, the Unsullied and the Second Sons—a thousand ships easily.” William informs.

“And who has that many?” I query.

“Nobody.” William replies.

“Nobody yet.” I retort in thought. If we were going to sail for Westeros, we were going to need much more than the Meereenese navy had to offer. We would have to send words to the allies, if need be, but I would rather accumulate my own, however that could take time and time was something we did not have to waste.

“And now, we ride for Meereen and after that we sail for Westeros. –What then?” Daario questions.

“We take back the throne.” I simply announce. “And you should do so for yourself.” William adds.

“It is not mine to take back anymore, William. It never would have been mine; it would have been my brother’s if history was kinder. –My family was part of the old world, let yours take it into the new.” I affirm, rendering him quiet in thought.

“So, instead, you then return to another throne?” Daario points out.

“I will return to my Meereenese throne, yes. That is where my new world resides.” I confirm, sensing Daario’s slight disapproval.

“You weren’t made to sit on a chair in a palace.” Daario retorts.

“What was I made for?” I smirk, toying with him a little.

“You’re a liberator—and I dare say a conqueror now too, Daenerys Stormborn.” Daario declares.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. I had every intent of continuing my tour of liberation, spreading across Essos, leaving Slaver’s Bay eventually whilst using Meereen as a base, like we had always intended. Being the person Daario said I was, but it wasn’t always about that. As Meereen had shown, there were always politics and social issues at play that would always need addressing and dealing with. I couldn’t be a conqueror all of the time. I had to be a ruler. Then, again, as I was in thought, another strange swirl of wind rushed over the plains ahead, picking up the sand making it visible. It made me so curious, and gave me such a strong inkling, that I decided to follow it, to inspect it.

“Wait here.” I order before squeezing my horse into a walk and quickly into a fast canter. Soon, I was disappearing into the plains of the mountains.

-

William didn’t speak Dothraki, nor did he know the people or it’s culture very well, but even he could tell that the horde of riders behind them were getting restless. Daenerys had been gone a little while now, and both he and Daario were sharing concerned glances.

“She’s been gone too long for my liking.” William states.

“She’d been lost for weeks and we found her. –I’m sure she’s fine.” Daario assures, though it was not at all convincing.

“Still.” William replies, pausing in thought for a moment. “I’m going after her.” William announces.

“William, you don’t know the lands. It’d be better if I go. You stay with the horde.” Daario asserts.

“And I don’t know how to speak Dothraki. It’d be better if you stayed with the horde.” William counters, but Daario just rejects this with his eyes before turning to look at the Dothraki.

“Kisha hash elat fentai mae. Tish ha si ren.”
(“We are going after her. Wait for us here.”) Daario announces loudly to the front of the horde. William looks to him curiously, awaiting to know what he had just said. “We’re both going, let’s g—,” Daario states but stops himself short when a loud, deep screech echoes through the lands, cutting him off and making everyone look around in search of its origin. Then, the sound is heard again as Drogon appears coming over the mountains towards them. The dragon towered over them as it circled over the horde, making the Dothraki and horses flustered. Even Daario could see that dragon had grown so much just between the pits of Meereen and now as it landed above them on top of a large rock formation. Daario looked in awe, but no more so than William, as they spotted that Daenerys was once again at the back of Drogon as he flew the sky. While William watched Drogon fly and land before them, seeing Daenerys on his back, he agreed wholeheartedly with what Jorah had said. She did look magnificent.

The sheer size of Drogon was exponential and it put a little bit of fear into William as Drogon landed ahead. He had not anticipated the size they had grown to from when he had last seen them. There was a little fear, but mostly astonishment and admiration as Daenerys came into view from on top of Drogon. She really was a force all on her own.

-

As I flew, and as I landed before the horde, the only thing that kept repeating itself through my mind was that the Dothraki follow strength above all and that I would have a true khalasar when I proved myself strong to them. I did so emerging from the Temple unburnt, but this would seal a bond between us all. A show of complete strength, force and power on the back of my dragon.

“Tiya Khal fin hash thirati soyan sen qoy sajaka tat lajat tikhish mae akka unamon mae akka. Vosma anha zin vo jin Khal. –Anha tikh vo soyina sen qoy sajaka. –Anha soyina yer ei!”
(“Every Khal who ever lived chose three blood riders to fight beside him and guard his way. But I am not a Khal. –I will not choose three blood riders. –I choose you all!”) I begin, shouting down to all of the khalasar riders who immediately chant and shout back in approval upon hearing that I chose them all. They were all important to me, not just three. They all made up my khalasar.
“Anha tikh qafat alikh ki yer arrak zhille Khal et qaf ki mae khalasar! –Tikh yer dothralat jin ido hrazefi yomme jin kazga zhif havazh?! Tikh yer addrivas jin mahrazhi she moira shiqethi boiroso?! Tikh yer rekk jin Fekh Khalmari ma anna, jin azho Khal Drogo noayesa anna hatif jin Mai ki Krazaajesi?!”
(“I will ask more of you than any Khal has asked of his khalasar! –Will you ride the wooden horses across the Black Salt Sea?! Will you kill my enemies in their iron suits?! Will you take back the Seven Kingdoms with me, the gift Khal Drogo promised me before the Mother of Mountains?!”) I proclaim, shouting loud as they chanted between my speech, before all erupted in almost unison into an almighty cry, into echoed Dothraki screams as they raised their arakhs to me.
“Hash yer ma anna?! –Ajjin—akka maeayayan?!”
(“Are you with me?! –Now—and always?!”) I finish, shouting as loud as I could over their chants and cries, which continued after my speech, and the booming sound of them all was then met by Drogon’s thunderous roar. I looked down with immense pride and satisfaction. I now had three armies loyal to my name, to my cause. And I now also had Drogon back within my arms, so to speak. Everything seemed to be falling into place. As soon as I had ships, I would be ready to sail for Westeros. But first, the Masters would soon come to fear crossing me ever again.

Chapter Text

“Hen se perzys īles sigligon naejot verdlitan se vys. Daenērys iksis iā irudy hen se Āeksiot Ōño naejot zirȳla riñar. Lo iksi veladere isse īlva jorrāelagon syt se dāria se zirȳla vokēdresa fisaross, daor vala kessa mirre besmor īlva isse belma aril.”
(“From the fire she was reborn to remake the world. Daenerys is a gift from the Lord of Light to her children. If we are steadfast in our love for the Queen and her faithful advisors, no man will ever lock us in chains again.”) A red priestess proclaims while Tyrion and Varys walk the market streets of Meereen to gage the feeling of the people, as they often did to see them and the city for themselves, dressed as merchants to blend in more. The city had begun to thrive once again in the last week and Tyrion was proud and glad for it.

Tyrion eyed Varys with a grin as they walked through and overheard the priestess. “I’d call that a successful gambit.” Tyrion states happily as the priestess continues.

“Would you?” Varys retorts.

“Look around. The city has come back to life.” Tyrion points out, referencing the buzzing market they were now walking through.

“You made a pact with fanatics.” Varys says.

“I did and it worked.” Tyrion defends.

“If you shaved your beard with a straight razor, you’d say the razor worked. That doesn’t mean it won’t cut your throat.” Varys argues.

“Spoken like a man who has never had to shave.” Tyrion muses as they come to the end of the market.

They both look through the archway, leading to the docks where all trade ships and navy ships resided. “I’m going to miss you.” Tyrion states.

“I know.” Varys replies.

“I hope you get their safely, and once you’re there I hope you stay safe too.” Tyrion wishes.

“I have always been good at staying safe in Westeros. No matter the state it is in. I’ll be able to get around safe enough, my friend.” Varys assures looking to Tyrion who didn’t seem convinced. “We need friends in Westeros, but most of all we need ships. And although William has gathered some allies, I can perhaps do more than he. Maybe I can rally more, maybe not. At the very least, I can inform the ones we do have of the current situation. –And that we may need their ships.” Varys explains.

“Most of all we need our queen.” Tyrion adds.

“She’ll come back. She has to.” Varys affirms in comfort, but Tyrion says nothing. He was proud of what he had achieved in Meereen, but he wanted Daenerys back more than anything. She was the whole reason they were all doing this. This was her fight, her rule, her world.

Varys pats Tyrion’s shoulder. “I’ll walk the rest of the way myself. I can’t go off on a secret mission in the company of the most famous dwarf in the city.” Varys jokes before starting to head for the docks, making Tyrion smile a little.

He watched his friend walk away, but as always wanted to have the last word. “Varys!” Tyrion calls, getting his attention turned back. “The most famous dwarf in the world.” He corrects with a smirk, then making Varys smile before he resumed his leave to the docks.

After seeing the buzzing life of the city, content with his and Varys’ work, Tyrion returned to the Pyramid in high spirits. So, when he sat with the others in the council chambers, beginning to pour and drink the wine, Missandei was quick to pick up on his mood.

“You seem happy.” She points out, hoping it was for the right reasons, ones that matched theirs.

“I am happy. –You should both be happy as well. Not so long ago, this city was ready to devour itself. Now, it’s like a man reborn.” Tyrion confirms as he stands from his seat and walks over to the wine decanter, starting to pour more goblets of wine.

“I will be happy when our queen returns.” Missandei affirms.

“Why don’t you drink? Why don’t any of you ever drink?” Tyrion questions, looking between Missandei, Grey Worm and Rakharo.

“Unsullied never drink.” Grey Worm answers.

“Why not?” Tyrion asks.

“Rules.” Grey Worm simply responds.

“And who made these rules? Your former masters?” He queries in point as he continues to pour a few goblets of wine, seeing that had made Grey Worm think. “Those miserable old shits didn’t want you to be human. Have a drink with me.” Tyrion continues, walking over to them sat around the table with two goblets in hand. He hands one to grey Worm who then takes it, a little hesitantly.

“And you two, what’s your excuses?” Tyrion questions.

“I have tried wine before. It made me feel funny.” Missandei confesses as she takes the goblet Tyrion was holding in front of her, while Grey Worm smelt the wine he held and grimaced a little at the foreign smell.

“That’s how you know it’s working.” Tyrion comforts jokingly.

He turns to Rakharo for an answer. “That Khaleesi’s drink. I never touch.” He states.

Tyrion walks back over to the wine decanter and grabs the other two goblets he had poured. “Well, I drink it all the time. I’m sure she won’t mind if you had some too.” Tyrion assures as he walks back over, holding the wine between them. Rakharo then, a little reluctantly like Grey Worm had, takes the goblet from him.

Tyrion walks back around to his seat and before taking it, he decides to toast, thinking it the best way to get them to try the wine at least. “Here’s to our queen.” He toasts, raising his goblet, but the other’s do not copy. “Anyone not drinking is disrespecting our queen.” He blurts, making the three glance at each other before raising their goblets also.

“To Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, long may she reign.” Tyrion toasts again.

“Long may she reign.” They all repeat, before taking a sip of the wine each whereas Tyrion gulps all of his.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

“Tastes like it has turned.” Grey Worm points out.

“Yes, yes. Fermentation.” Tyrion muses as Grey Worm rests the goblet on the table while Missandei holds it in her hand and Rakharo continues to drink it.

“You know, one day, after our queen has perhaps finished her quest—I’d like to have my own vineyard. Make my own wine. –The Imp’s Delight. Only my close friends could drink it.” Tyrion announces freely as he regains his seat at the table.

No one replies, unsure what to say, and so Tyrion moves the conversation on. “Tell me a joke, Missandei of Naath.” He pushes.

“I do not know any jokes.” Missandei dismisses.

“Grey Worm? Rakharo?” He follows, but both just stare with silence. “Right.” Tyrion mutters, of they didn’t.

He thinks for a moment, before recalling some of his own as Missandei continues to drink her wine. “Three lords walk into a tavern—a Stark, a Martell and a Lannister. They order ale, but when the barkeep brings them over, each of them finds a fly in his cup. The Lannister, outraged, shoves the cup aside and demands another. The Martell plucks the fly out and swallows it whole. The Stark reaches into his cup, pulls put the fly and shouts, ‘spit it out, you wee shit. Spit it out’.” Tyrion relays the jokes, but earns no laughs or smiles, quickly realising the audience was not the right one. “It’s funnier in Westeros.” He deflatingly points out.

“The Martells and Lannisters, I thought they were enemies?” Grey Worm queries a little confused as to why they would be in a tavern together.

“Yes.” Tyrion confirms with a sigh, seeing it went straight over his head.

“A joke is like a story, Turgon Nudha. Not a true story, necessarily.” Missandei clarifies.

“A story that’s supposed to make you laugh ideally.” Tyrion adds as Missandei takes another sip of her wine.

“Missandei, do you like the wine?” He questions.

She nods happily. “I do.”

“Tell a joke.” Tyrion suddenly bursts with a grin.

Missandei looks between the two beside her, thinking, nursing the wine in her hands as she pondered for a moment, getting Tyrion’s hopes entirely up and waiting. “Two translators are on a sinking ship. The first says—‘do you know how to swim?’. The second says, ‘no, but I can shout for help in 19 languages’.” She jokes, finishing with a big smile, proud of herself, though no one laughs instantly. Only Tyrion does after a moment, putting it on so she didn’t feel bad. She continued smiling as she sipped her wine again.

“That is the worst joke I ever heard.” Grey Worm states.

“You don’t even know what a joke is.” Missandei retorts.

“I am soldier all my life. You think I never hear joke?” Grey Worm defends.

“You lied to us.” Tyrion points out amused he had caught him.

“I make joke.” Grey Worm declares, showing the smallest of hints of a smirks, which then made Missandei and Tyrion begin to chuckle as Missandei’s turned more into a laugh. Watching and hearing this, Tyrion saw Grey Worm smile for the first time as he looked at Missandei.

“More jokes.” She insists gleefully.

“I once walked into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. The madam says—,” Tyrion happily begins but suddenly, cutting him off and the mood, the city’s bells begin to ring. Hearing this, Grey Worm and Rakharo instantly stand to their feet and rush out the chambers as Grey Worm shouted commands to his fellow soldiers that stood inside the Pyramid. The city was under attack.

Tyrion and Missandei rush out the chamber soon after, wanting to see what exactly the bells were ringing for, when they got outside the Pyramid and over to the terrace walls, overlooking the Bay, they saw an armada of ships approaching Meereen, with a mix of sails that displayed the sigils of the cities Astapor, Yunkai and Volantis.

“The Masters have come for their property.” Missandei declares.

When the Masters had arrived outside Meereen in the Bay, they had sailed in quickly and soon began to launch their attack. From their ships they were launching flaming baoulders from catapults that crashed into the walls of the city, as well as inside, including against the Pyramid, where Tyrion and the rest were now residing, in Daenerys’ chambers as it had the best view of the city and Bay and was the safest place, for protection and to assemble a plan.

“I was wrong. I admit it.” Tyrion concedes as he enters Daenerys’ chambers with Missandei to see Grey Worm, Rakharo and a handful of Unsullied officers in there waiting.

“That changes nothing.” Missandei points out.

“The Unsullied could mount a defence off the beachhead. If the slaver’s forces—,” Tyrion begins to strategise. “No more talking from you. Your talking gave us this.” Grey Worm interrupts with a stern voice, gesturing to the chaos occurring outside.

“And I have acknowledged that. I’m trying—,” Tyrion begins again, but Grey Worm was not having any of it. “You’re trying to tell me what the army should do. You do not know what the army should do.” He asserts.

“Alright. What should the army do?” Tyrion questions.

“We’ll not go to the beach. If we go to the beach, the Masters will take the Pyramid. The Pyramid is the only place in the city we can defend. We stay here.” Grey Worm declares.

“And then?” Tyrion asks.

“We wait for them to come to us. Then we fight them.” Grey Worm announces just before a loud thudding and rattling sounds from the top of Pyramid above the chamber.

It couldn’t have been a flaming boulder, it couldn’t have reached that high, nor would it have kept rumbling and rattling. Everyone looked around in worried confusion, unsure what exactly it could be. Grey Worm nodded to his fellow soldiers who then formed a perimeter around the balcony doors as Missandei grabbed a dagger from Daenerys’ belongings, her Valyrian dagger she always kept safe in her chamber as it was the first thing she spotted to defend herself and Tyrion. Grey Worm nodded as he stood, his own dagger in hand, and one soldier pushed the door to the balcony open while another cautiously walked forward to inspect the balcony. As the soldier came to stand in the doorway, looking quickly around, he didn’t move any further and suddenly, having locked eyes with something, bent down to his knee. Almost instantly the other Unsullied inside did the same and before Grey Worm could question it, Daenerys marched in through the door from the balcony with a look of both determination and want of answers. Everyone glanced around at each other, no one sure what to say first, the only sounds heard were the rumbles of the city and then the screeching roar of a dragon in the distant sky. She had flown back. She was back. But she had flown back into more chaos than Tyrion had wanted.

-

“There is a lot of sigils sailing down there. –It’s the Masters. How has this happened?” I question, having glanced at everyone’s surprised expressions upon my entrance into my chamber. I had expected to come back to some resistance, like we had always faced, but not a full-blown armada attack on the city and its people. This was madness.

“We, urh—we made a pact with the Master’s in your absence, a pact of peace, and they have just broke that pact.” Tyrion announces, a hint of nervousness in his voice as the rumbles shaking the Pyramid continue.

“You made peace with the Master’s?” I repeat with a little surprise.

“Yes, we invited them here and made a pact. Subsequently, the Harpy killings stopped, and the city began to thrive again. That was until today.” Tyrion continues.

“Leave us.” I order to the rest in the room and they all quickly comply, leaving me and Tyrion in my chamber. As they left, I walked back out to the balcony to overlook the city and Bay, getting a chance to look carefully over it all, watching as the Master’s attacked the city from their ships, sending flaming boulders into the city and at the Pyramid. This only fuelled my idea for a plan of force. I had enough of the Master’s and their relentless resistance. Their old world was going to crumble before them today and they were not going to have a choice, but that didn’t mean that their presence today would be wasted. We could show force, but also utilise them.

I turned and walked back into my chamber. Seeing a flustered Tyrion as more boulders hit the Pyramid in places, shaking and rumbling the structure. “Despite appearances, I think you’ll find the city is on the rise.” Tyrion announces. “Perhaps we should take shelter.” He adds as the Pyramid continues to be hit, worried for their safety.

I on the other hand, stood unfazed, looking sternly at Tyrion. “The city’s on the rise?” I repeat in question, having seen that it looked the opposite.

“Meereen is strong. Commerce has returned to the markets and streets. The people are behind you.” Tyrion assures as more boulders hit and rumble the Pyramid, to which I raise my eyebrows slightly in response. “Well, not all the people, of course. No ruler that ever lived had the support of all the people. But the rebirth of Meereen is the cause of this violence.” He continues.

“The cause of this violence was this supposed pact you made.” I state which confuses Tyrion a little by his expression. “When you invited the Master’s here, they saw that I truly was not here to rule, not here to enforce my rule. They saw the city was being run by my advisers, a foreign man and two former slaves. So, of course they attacked the city. That is the cause of this violence.” I establish.

Tyrion sighs lightly in defeat. “Perhaps you’re right. –But the Masters cannot let Meereen succeed. Because if Meereen succeeds, a city without slavery, a city without masters—it proves that no one needs a Master.” Tyrion finishes.

“Good.” I simply respond. That was exactly the reason I wanted and needed these cities to work, to thrive and succeed. And this was why the Masters needed to be rid of. “Shall we begin?” I say.

“Do we have a plan?” Tyrion asks.

“Round up these Masters you made a pact with; I will make an example of them. They have had many chances; they will be grateful for their last. We will use them, and they will comply to my new world, or they will die in their old one. That is my plan.” I assert.

“Very well. But—may I ask for the details of exactly how you plan to do this?” Tyrion urges.

“Come.” I say as I begin to head to leave my chambers, Tyrion following. “You are not the only one who should hear them.” I state as we leave, going to join the others.

Eventually, and finally, I came face to face with the Masters. The three who had made this supposed peace pact: Master Razdal from Yunkai, Master Yezzan, who I recognised from the fighting pits, now represented Astapor as I was told, and a Master Belicho from Volantis. All three were stood before us as we stared each other down, stood at an abandoned and ruined monument in the hilled outskirts of the city with their own soldiers behind them as I had Unsullied behind us. The spot overlooked most of the city and the Bay, and so even though we had said for them to cease their attack on the city whilst we talked, they did no such thing. As we stood there, we could see the ships still launching flaming boulders at the city, but that would soon come to an end when this talk did. I had no interest in a conversation, and especially not a long one, all they had to do was watch and listen. I kept my stern but plain glare on all three and refused to talk first, I wanted them to think they were holding the reins, that they had the upper hand, just a moment longer. Their arrogance would be their downfall.

“Once before I offered you peace, if you had not been so arrogant, you could have returned to your homeland with a fleet of ships, as you wish to now. –Instead, you will flee Slaver’s Bay on foot—like the beggar queen you are.” Master Razdal declares, beginning this showboat. I do not reply, only continue my unfazed glare.

“We are here to discuss terms of surrender, not to trade insults.” Tyrion establishes.

“The terms are simple. You and your foreign friends will abandon the Great Pyramid and the city of Meereen. The Unsullied you stole from Kraznys mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder. The translator you stole from Kraznys mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder. The dragons beneath the Great Pyramid will be slaughtered.” Master Yezzan announces.

“We obviously didn’t communicate clearly. –We’re here to discuss your surrender, not mine.” I calmly state, still holding my stern stare.

The three masters glance between each other, smirking, smugly thinking that what I had said was ridiculous. They were doing as I suspected; their arrogance would be their downfall. “I imagine it’s difficult adjusting to the new reality—,” Razdal begins as I look past him subtly, spotting that now was the time for them and their attack to be made an example of. “—Your reign is over!” Razdal finishes, exclaiming.

“My reign has just begun.” I state simply as I continue to look past them, just as a distant screech is heard. It makes all three masters turn to inspect where the noise had come from, and I could see the soldiers began to appear nervous, when all of a sudden Drogon flies up from below the rocky hills with a deep screech, soaring just above us, circling around briefly before landing on the ruined monument next to us. In all his glory and size, everyone crouched and moved around in anticipation of what he might do, but only did the masters and their soldiers look up at him in fear as Drogon outstretched his humongous wings and roared. I remained where I stood, staring down the Masters, glad to see their fear, and stood strong on the spot even as Drogon pushed himself from the tall monument, jumping down to land around me, his head next to me, joining me for a moment in staring at the masters. Drogon then curls his head around me, moving his body slightly too, allowing and waiting for me to climb on and finally breaking my glare, I turn and climb on. Drogon roars and all in front rush to get out of the way as he begins to move and push forward before taking flight at the edge of the rocky hill and beginning to soar along the city.

We flew with the objective to make an example of this attack, and I left the others with the objective of making an example out of the Masters. Flying the outline of the city, we soon neared the Pyramid and sown below I quickly noticed that the entrance to the catacombs was rumbling and crumbling from the inside. As we flew over, fire finally broke through the stone, destroying the entrance and out came Rhaegal, Aerion and Eleria. I had planned on freeing them as soon as I returned to Meereen, but this attack subsided many plans I had. I intended to free them once the attack was over, but this was even better. They must have heard Drogon’s roars, and so when they spotted him flying overhead, they quickly all took to the sky to join us. When they flew around us, behind us, when I had all four dragons in the sky as I rode one of them, I truly felt like the person I had said to be. the dragons had grown, and they had come back to me, and now we flew the skies together, like a true Targaryen, like a true dragon, like a true Mother of Dragons.

Flying over the back entrance to Meereen, it looked as though the gates had been opened and people were being attacked that ran from the city. whether it was the Master’s soldiers or perhaps even the Harpy’s I wasn’t sure, but whoever and whatever it was, they too would soon be put to a stop. But not by hand, I was headed to the Bay.

-

William and Daario had been left to head the horde. Daenerys had flown ahead, growing impatient in the anticipation of returning to her city. And when they finally returned, they saw from afar in the hills, the city appearing in chaos. They took it upon themselves to lead the Dothraki to the back gates with haste in case such aid was needed. Then, as they neared the plains before the gates, they saw in the distance Daenerys’ dragons flying the sky together and knew that she was asserting her power once and for all. Coming onto the plains, both noticed the massacre ahead at the gates, which only meant that inside had to be worse. With shouts and cries of their own, heading the horde, they lead the Dothraki to the back gates to put an end to the killings. Quickly, the echoed sounds of the Dothraki screams filled the air and wind as the horde charged towards the gates. Coming closer, Daario saw that it was indeed the Sons of the Harpy killing the people of Meereen and so when the front of the horde met the now running Harpy’s, William and Daario’s swords were the first to cut some heads off before charging into the city.

-

Flying over the Bay, dodging the flaming boulders that continued to be catapulted from the ships, I set my sights on one particular ship, one centred amongst them all. I felt at one, connected, with Drogon as he just seemed to know where I wanted to be as I leant, clinging on his back. Coming to a stop, Drogon using his powerful wings to hold himself in front of this ship in the sky above, the others circled around until they matched Drogon, surrounding this one ship. I looked down at this single ship as they all gathered around it and when they were, it was time.

“Dracarys.” I command and Drogon swiftly ignotes his flame, breathing fire directly onto this one ship, with the others quickly following suit.

They did not stop, they kept breathing fire onto this ship and it was quickly disintegrating into nothing, being consumed by fire quicker than sinking in the sea. Drogon and Aerion both stayed in their poised positions, breathing their fire directly onto the ship, whereas Eleria and Rhaegal had begun to fly and circle around the ship, breathing their flames sporadically on it. After seeing this ship utterly destroyed, I looked around and saw that no flaming boulders were now being catapulted, they had stopped. My example had been made, and the soldiers on the rest of the ships got the message. My tolerance for resistance was no longer, and the Master’s surrender was the only option now.

-

“Ao vali emagon iā iderennon: –vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt āeksia qilōni kess dōrī vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt ao, iā jikagon lenton naejot aōha lentori.”
(“You men have a choice: –fight and die for masters who would never fight and die for you, or go home to your families.”) Grey Worm calls to the soldiers behind the three Masters, all of whom had turned to his attention as he spoke, along with the Masters, their swords up with worry after seeing Daenerys and her dragons. But quickly after Grey Worm had spoke, the choice didn’t need much thought; all of the soldiers dropped their swords and ran, much to the Masters worry as they watched them.

“Thank you for the armada. Our queen is in need of ships.” Tyrion pokes, bringing the Masters attention back around to him stood with Missandei, Grey Worm and Rakharo, all of whom were now the ones looking subtly smug. “Now, last time we spoke we made a pact. You violated that pact. You declared war upon us. Though our queen does have a forgiving nature, this cannot be forgiven.” Tyrion declares.

“Our queen insists that one of you must die, as punishment for your crimes.” Missandei announces.

“It always seems a bit abstract, doesn’t it? Other people dying.” Tyrion prods.

The three masters look between each other, and the Yunkai and Volantis master both appear to be quickly eyeing up Yezzan in the middle of them. “Him, he should die.” Razdal insists, pushing Yezzan forward, as much as he resists. “Yes, him.” Belicho agrees frantically as Tyrion and Grey Worm look to each other, knowing who they just confirmed to be killed. “He’s not one of us. He’s an outsider. Lowborn. He does not speak for us.” Razdal blurts as Grey Worm walks forward, coming to stand in front of Yezzan.

“Please.” Yezzan begs. “Please.” He repeats as he drops to his knees, in front of the two masters behind him and before Grey Worm, who looked down, enjoying too much seeing a master begging before him on his knees. He then swiftly unsheathes his dagger and sweeps it across Razdal and Belicho’s throats in one quick motion, slicing them open deep, they both instantly fell to the floor bleeding out quicker than they could realise it had happened. Daenerys had said when given the choice of who to die, they would pick one to sacrifice and that was the one who should be allowed to live. The ones who would save themselves over the other would be the ones to be the example. And of course, she was right.

Grey Worm sheathes his dagger, continuing to stand before and look down at Yezzan, who now kneeled with intense shock and uncertainty of his fate after what had just occurred. Then as Tyrion began to walk forward, Grey Worm steps back. He comes to stand at Yezzan’s side and lays his hand on his shoulder, bringing Yezzan out of his shocked state of a stare and his attention to Tyrion.

“Tell your people what happened here. Tell all the people what happened here. Tell them you live by the grace of the queen. When they come forward with notions of retribution or ideas about returning the slave cities to their former glory—remind them what happened when Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen and her dragons came to Meereen.” Tyrion states, patting his shoulder before beginning the walk back into the heart of the city, the others and the Unsullied following, leaving Yezzan to think on what had just happened and befallen the city and the rest of Slaver’s Bay as he heard the faint screeching roars of the dragons in the distance behind him.

Chapter Text

After restoring peace back to Meereen, the Masters having been put finally in their place, the new world I had fought for, the new world I had wanted to build for the people was now taking flight without resistance, at least in Slaver’s Bay. Or what it was now known as: Dragon’s Bay. After Westeros, we would extend the liberation further through Essos. I would not stop, as long as I lived, knowing a single person was still in chains. I would continue that fight once the war in Westeros was well and truly over and I could return to it knowing the west was in safe hands and once again prospering. And now was the time to sail to Westeros. With the Masters armada they brought to us, we now had nearly the amount we needed to sail my armies over. With both the Unsullied and Dothraki, and in their mass numbers, we needed many ships, which was why the Masters attack couldn’t have been at a more opportune time. The amount left we needed, Tyrion said we should wait to hear from Varys to see if our allies would be sending some of their own. That way, we would be able to sail an armada with my full armies and we could finally begin to restore Westeros back to its former prosperous peace it had over a decade ago. It may not have been my war for years, but this was certainly eleven years in the making. So, when a small fleet arrived unexpectedly in Dragon’s Bay, not a couple days past the Masters attack, adorning the Ironborn sigil, we had instantly thought the war had been brought to us, however we were wrong.

“Last time we saw each other was at Winterfell, yes? –You were making jokes about my height, I seem to recall. –Everyone who makes a joke about a dwarf’s height thinks he is the only person ever to make a joke about a dwarf’s height. –‘The height of nobility’, ‘a man of your stature’, ‘someone to look up to’. –You’re all making the same five or six jokes.” Tyrion recalls with disdain as he looks at Theon Greyjoy, stood looking very unsure and uneasy before us. Whereas his sister, Yara Greyjoy, looked quite the opposite next to him as they stood on the platform below us in the great hall. I had not expected to be speaking with the Greyjoy’s in this hall when seeing their sails in the Bay, rather fighting them on Drogon’s back. The Ironborn were Cersei’s allies, so when we saw a white flag being waved, I was intrigued to see what would follow.

“It was a long time ago.” Theon defends, sounding mildly guilty.

“It was. –And how have things been going for you since then? –Not so well, I gather. –Can’t imagine you would have murdered Brandon Stark if things were going well.” Tyrion pokes, which makes me look between them with shock in my expression; I didn’t know he had done this. “I didn’t murder Bran.” Theon was quick to dispute. “But I did things just as bad. Or worse.” He adds remorsefully, which seemed genuine, and I even felt inclined to believe him, regardless of never having met him.

“And he paid for them.” Yara backs.

“Doesn’t seem like it; he’s still alive. –It was complicated for you, I’m sure, growing up in Winterfell. Never quite knowing who you were, but then we all live complicated lives, don’t we?” Tyrion continues to poke and start to think I had let him have enough of his prodding. “Tyrion.” I mutter quietly, and seeing my slightly raised eyebrows, he understood it was enough.

I turned back to face the two Greyjoy’s before us. “Correct me if I am wrong—but aren’t the Ironborn allies to the tyrant Cersei Lannister?” I question.

“Yes.” Yara answers, looking as if she wasn’t looking forward to where this line of questioning was going.

“And you both are Greyjoy’s, who have held the salt throne for centuries, and are therefore—Ironborn.” I continue.

“Yes.” She confirms.

“And so, why have you now decided to switch allegiance to the opposing side?” I ask.

Theon and Yara glance at each other quickly before answering. “Because we are fighting our own battle, and we need your help.” Yara announces.

“My help with what exactly?” I repeat in question.

“It’s true, our father fought for Cersei. But she made him promises to sway him to her cause that she never kept. We fought her war because he told us to, that it was the better option for us. –It wasn’t. –When the war ended, we tried making the best out of the situation we had. Then, when Cersei took the throne again, our uncle, Euron, returned after a long absence and stole the salt throne from our father, from us, murdering him. We fled; he would have murdered us if we stayed, and he’ll kill us if he finds us. –So, yes, we need your help. Just like you need ours.” Yara confidently explains and asserts.

I think for a second, taking in all the information. “You’ve brought us over hundred ships from the Iron Fleet, with men to sail them. –So, in return, I expect you want your claim to the salt throne of the Iron Islands to be supported?” I query, looking to Theon in assumption.

“Not my claim. Hers.” Theon clarifies. I glance at Yara, pleasantly surprised. “And what’s wrong with you?” I ask curiously.

“I’m not fit to rule.” Theon admits, which I respected.

“We can agree upon that, at least.” Tyrion pokes, once again.

“Has the Iron Islands ever had a sole queen before?” I question, liking the sound of it.

“No more than Westeros. At least, until Cersei. –Or Meereen, until you.” Yara compares in answer, amusing me slightly. I was beginning to respect and like these two in a single meeting.

I turned to face Tyrion. “Will their ships make it enough?” I ask.

“With the Meereenese navy and the former masters’ fleet—yes, possibly.” Tyrion informs, before turning back to the Greyjoy’s. “There are more than over hundred ships in the Iron Fleet.” Tyrion points out, directing the attention back to them solely.

“There are. And Euron is building more. He is going to offer them to you.” Theon states.

“So why shouldn’t I wait for him?” I query.

“The Iron Fleet isn’t all he’s bringing. –He also wants to give you—,” Theon begins, but hesitates finishing. “His big cock. I think he said.” Yara completes, making Tyrion and I glance at each other in slight amusement.

“Euron’s offer is also an offer of marriage, you see, you won’t get one without the other.” Yara informs.

“And I imagine your offer is free of any marriage demands?” I query jokingly.

“I never demand, but I’m up for anything, really.” Yara retorts, and a little flirtatiously if I was picking up on it right. I wasn’t sure exactly how to respond, but Theon beat me to it and continued the conversation.

“He murdered our father and would have murdered us. He’ll murder you as soon as you have what he wants.” Theon announces.

“The Seven Kingdoms?” Tyrion puts forward.

“All of them.” Theon confirms.

“And you don’t want the Seven Kingdoms? You don’t want Cersei on the throne?” I question.

“All we want is our home back and to see Yara sat on the salt throne. If you help us get it back, we fight for you, we support you.” Theon answers.

“And that’s all?” I ask.

“Well—we’d like you to help us murder an uncle or two who don’t think a woman’s fit to rule.” Yara responds, amusing me once again.

“Reasonable.” I back with a slight smirk, getting one in return from Yara.

I ponder for a second, taking in the fact I now had some Ironborn pledged to our side. If we were fighting Cersei, I was doing so for the people, for the land, to make it safe and prosperous again. But in order to do that, the world had to change, we had to make sure that this didn’t happen again.

“There are evil men in this world, evil men that have left this world worse than they found it. We’re not going to do that—we’re going to leave the world better than we found it.” I state, seeing the slight nod of agreement from Yara. I stand from seat and begin to slowly step down towards Yara. “In order to make the world a better place, things must change, and although I have no Iron Throne to demand such things, I will ask this of you—you will support Robert Baratheon’s claim to retake the Iron Throne; if you fight for me, you fight for him. –And you must respect the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms. No more reeving, groving, raiding, or raping.” I assert as I come to stand in front of Yara. If I was fighting for Westeros, then Westeros was going to have to be a better place to fight for.

“That’s our way of life.” Yara respectfully dismisses.

“No more.” I affirm simply. I wasn’t backing down.

Theon and Yara glance at each other again, a little longer this time, yet still not giving much away. Yara then looks back to me. “No more.” She agrees, following up by holding out her hand and arm to shake on the agreement. It was odd to see, I looked down at the gesture, realising I was in the game now. This wasn’t going to be like Essos, this was war. This was an entirely different game I was now entering and bargaining within. I look up to Tyrion, who lightly smiles his approval and with a slight nod encourages me to shake upon it. I look back to Yara’s arm before looking her back in the eyes. She now had a confident smile, and I matched it as I gripped her forearm and she gripped mine. We solidified our alliance. We now had the new beginning of the Ironborn on our side. It was one step closer to a better Westeros, one step closer to breaking the wheel.

With the sheer amount of ships we now had, it took over a day to have the sails changed to the Targaryen sigil, all those except the Ironborn’s. And the day they were almost ready, I had to tie up a loose end. I had to make sure I was leaving Meereen with a security net which would ensure the peace so I wouldn’t return to chaos again. So, I called for Daario to see me in my chambers.

“Your ships are nearly ready.” Daario announces as he comes striding into my chambers, already headed for the wine. “I’m curious to see how the Dothraki do on the poison water.” He muses as he pours himself a goblet.

“You’re not coming with us.” I state as I sat on the lounger, holding my own goblet of wine.

“New strategy? –You want the Second Sons to attack from the west coast? If we take Casterly Rock, the Lannister’s will have no where to run when you hit King’s Landing.” Daario strategizes, coming over to stand before me.

“You’re not going to Westeros. You’re staying here with the Second Sons.” I clarify and Daario just looks at me dumbfounded, speechless. “There’s finally peace in Meereen. You will keep the peace while the people choose their own leaders.” I elaborate.

“Fuck Meereen.” Daario exclaims as he puts his goblet of wine down on the table. “Fuck the people. –I’m here for you. Not them.” He rejects.

“You promised me—my sword is yours, my life is yours. This is what your queen commands.” I remind as Daario lowers himself into the opposite lounger, again without a word. “Besides, this isn’t forever; I will return to reside my position of queen, but instead it won’t be of Meereen, it will be of the whole Bay while the cities have their own leaders. The fight I began here isn’t over, and it won’t be until every man, woman and child is free of chains. I will return, just when Westeros is once again prospering, just like Meereen is now.” I add.

“Then just bring me with you. I want to fight for you. –I want to be with you. I pledged my heart as well, remember.” Daario retorts.

“I can’t bring a lover to Westeros.” I assert gently.

“Why not? A king wouldn’t think twice about it.” Daario counters.

I sigh before mustering up to answer. “I’m returning to Westeros to fight for my old home, and I intend to do so to make it a better world. All the Kingdoms need to be allied once again. It needs to be a peaceful and prosperous realm again. When we win, houses and families need to be secured together. Alliances and friendships rekindled, and the best way to do that is with marriage.” I announce.

“Who are you marrying this time?” Daario pokes.

“I don’t know. –Maybe no one.” I answer honestly, before taking a sip of wine. I was leaving the option open, in case it was needed, but truly I had no clue if it would even happen. It most likely wouldn’t, but you never knew. Robert did say I would have to eventually, but that was a different time, and a different me. Although, whoever it may be, if anyone, they would have to take me as I am, and what I stood for and needed to do, or they wouldn’t have me at all. If an alliance marriage was something that had to be done, then I would only do it if it suited me. I would need to make sure it was the right kind of person who wouldn’t have a problem with my ideals or responsibilities across Essos, especially that of a queen of a foreign land. If I had to, it would have to be right for me; it was that or nothing.

“Again, a king wouldn’t think twice about it. Married or not—in fact, especially if they were married.” Daario argues again.

“So, that’s what you want? To be my mistress?” I mock slightly.

“I’m not proud, I don’t care what perfumed aristocrat sits beside you in a high castle, or Great Pyramid. I don’t want a crown—I want you.” Daario declares, but I didn’t know how to reply; I didn’t want the same thing. I would be back, that I was certain of, and I would see him again. But this wasn’t what this was about, not really. I needed the Second Sons here and like I had explained, I couldn’t bring a lover to Westeros, but really this was me ending whatever it was we had, what we were doing. Daario was a big comfort for me, and it was pleasurable for the time, but it was a pleasure and comfort I had outgrown, one I felt I no longer needed and his services were needed more in Meereen than beside me in Westeros, staring longingly.

Daario then takes a knee in front of me, coming off his seat, and tenderly holds my hand. “I love you. –And I make you happy. You know I do. –Bring me with you. Let me fight for you.” Daario pleas.

I look back into his sweet eyes, bringing my hand up to caress his stubbled cheek. “I can’t.” I softly state, before removing my hand back down to my lap.

I could see the rejection paining in his eyes as he looked back at me, causing a silent moment between us as we just stared at each other. Then he looked down as he began to rise back up to his feet. “The dwarf told you to do this?” Daario theorises as he picks up his goblet in his rise.

“No one tells me to do anything.” I establish.

“Clever fellow. –Can’t argue with his logic. I’m no use to you over there.” Daario continues, though it slightly annoyed me that he just assumed it was Tyrion’s logic that brought us here. It was mine. Daario was part of chapter in my life that I had now closed. He was commander of the Second Sons to me and that was it now. He would always be my loyal commander and more importantly friend, but he would no longer be my lover.

“Don’t get angry.” I gently say as he gulps his wine.

“I’m not angry. I’m full of self-pity. Who comes after you? Who can ever follow Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons?” Daario points out.

“A great number of women, I imagine.” I lightly smile. He would find someone, and someone who would wholeheartedly be his, and he would be hers. But I wasn’t her. We looked at each other, the light smiles fading away, and I could see his silent pleas in his eyes, on his face, even still, not to end it. I had to move on.

“Specific orders will be left for you regarding the welfare of Meereen and Dragon’s Bay.” I announce, moving the subject on, rising to a stand myself.

“Dragon’s Bay?” Daario queries.

“Well, we can’t call it Slaver’s Bay anymore, can we?” I establish. A queen fighting to abolish slavery couldn’t reside over a bay with such a name, and as the dragon queen, a name Yara had called me amongst our conversations, Dragon’s Bay seemed a fitting change.

Daario nods his agreement, though he only looked hurt in the moments pause. “You’ll get that throne back, I’m sure of it. –I pity Cersei Lannister; she has no idea what’s coming for her.” Daario proclaims deflatingly, before finishing the last of his wine and placing it on the table.

“Farewell, for now, Daario Naharis.” I bittersweetly smile. It wasn’t a true goodbye, we would see each other again, but it was a goodbye for what we had, it was a recognition of the end of our love, just perhaps more for him than I. Still looking hurt, he bowed his head and then I watched him leave my chambers. I thought it would bother me more, watching him leave, but strangely it didn’t.

I thought on that the whole way through the Pyramid to the great hall, where Tyrion waited. He sat to the side of the hall, on the large stone steps that lined the chamber, and in true Tyrion style with a decanter of wine and two glasses beside him, one of course he was already drinking from.

“How did he take it?” Tyrion questions as I descend the stairs.

“No tears.” I answer.

“You made a wise and smart decision, but I know it was hard for you. –You turned away a man who truly loves you.” Tyrion praises as I come to the bottom of the stairs. “That’s the kind of self-sacrifice that makes for a good ruler—if it’s any consolation.” He adds.

“It’s not.” I admit, now standing before him.

“No, I suppose not. I’m terrible at consoling.” Tyrion concedes.

“Yes, you really are.” I agree, smirking just a little at him as I perch myself next to him on the stone steps.

“Alright, how about the fact that this is actually happening. You spoke about breaking the wheel when we first met, and now you can start that—you have started that. –You have your armies, you have your ships, you have your dragons. You may be fighting for Robert to be on the throne, but you’re the main pawn in this war. Everything over there in Westeros is yours for the taking. –Are you afraid?” Tyrion questions.

I look at Tyrion, and I nod. I was afraid. As much as I had fought here in Essos, as much as I had been fighting since the day Jorah and I left Westeros all those years ago, this was a different fight. I was at the head of a war. An inevitable war, but war all the same, and yes, I was afraid. But I was more eager than anything to win it. “Good. You’re in the great game now, and the great game is terrifying.” Tyrion proclaims.

I take a moment before responding, thinking about what I had been the whole way down to here from my chambers. “Do you know what frightens me? –I said farewell to a man who loves me—a man I thought I cared for—and I felt nothing. –Just impatient to get on with it.” I confess, a little ashamedly.

“He certainly wasn’t the first to love you—and he certainly won’t be the last.” Tyrion comforts.

I sigh before rising to a stand. “Well—you have completely failed to console me.” I poke, hinting a smirk as I move to stand in front of him.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve been a cynic for as long as I can remember. Everyone’s always asking me to believe in things: family, gods, kings, myself. It was often tempting, until I saw where belief got people. So, I said no thank you to belief. And yet, here I am.” Tyrion begins, putting his goblet of wine down on the stone step beside him, before rising to a stand on his step. “I believe in you.” He states. “It’s embarrassing, really.” He mocks of himself, making us both smile.

“I’d swear you my sword, but I don’t actually own a sword.” He muses, keeping our smiles up.

“That’s fine, I own my own sword, and I have a feeling I may actually be using it soon enough. –From you, it’s your counsel I need.” I respond.

“It’s yours, now and always.” Tyrion declares.

I continue to smile. “Good.”

As Tyrion smiles back, I remember something. “I, um—I had something made for you.” I announce as I reach into the inside of my dress and pull out a pin. I could see the heartfelt touch he felt from seeing the pin I pulled out, and I was happy to see he was honoured already. “It’s been a while since I truly laid my eyes on one, so I’m not sure if it’s completely right.” I add as I attach the pin to Tyrion’s chest.

“Tyrion Lannister—I name you hand of the Queen of Dragon’s Bay.” I proclaim with a smile as he stood proud in front of me, touched emotions in his eyes as he then bends his knee and bows before me.

I never thought I would see a day where I became a true queen and would name a Lannister as my true adviser, but here I was. How far I had come. And that feeling of how far I had truly come, really set in when we all finally set sail. We were in a sea of blue, but also in a sea of black and red. When I turned back and looked at the armada I headed in our ship, for as far as you could see it was a sea of black and red sails, the Targaryen dragon sigil dominating the sea as we sailed, alongside the few kraken sigil’s of the Ironborn Greyjoy’s ships. I had an armarda, my own fleet, carrying a horde of Dothraki, my army of Unsullied and above us flew my children, my dragons. I watched as Drogon, Rhaegal, Aerion and Eleria soared and roared above us as we sailed the sea. Headed for Westeros with my friends and loyal companions at my side, only then to join allies already in Westeros. Cersei may have become a so-called witch, but like Daario said: she had no idea what was coming for her.

Chapter Text

“What is this?” Jaime asks as he walks into the open roof terrace chamber that Cersei was currently standing in, but it was what she was standing on that he questioned. Across the whole floor, was a map of Westeros being finished painted.

“It’s what we’ve been waiting for our whole lives. It’s what father trained us for, whether you knew it or not.” Cersei states as she stands in the middle of the map looking down at it as the painter finished in the corner.

“I knew it. He made me memorise every damn city, town, lake, forest and mountain.” Jamie establishes.

“It’s ours now. We just have to take it.” Cersei asserts.

“Back, you mean.” Jamie corrects, making Cersei look around to him. “We had it once, and we lost the war. Now Westeros is crumbling—we have to take it back.” He elaborates.

Cersei just glares, before looking around to the painter in the corner. She nods at him to leave and he quickly complies. Once he had left, she turned back to her brother Jamie. “Since you’ve been at Riverrun assisting the Frey’s in taking Riverrun from the Tully’s, we’ve heard a few whispers.” Cersei declares. “Daenerys Targaryen has chosen Tyrion to be her Hand. Right now, they are sailing across the Narrow Sea, hoping to take back her father’s throne. –Our little brother, the one you love so much, the one you set free, the one who murdered our father and our last son—now he stands besides our enemies and gives them counsel. He’s out there somewhere at the head of an armada.” Cersei scorns, but Jamie says nothing in response.

“Where will they land?” Cersei questions, moving the conversation forward.

Jamie looks down at the map, though he didn’t need it to figure out the answer, merely using it to point it out. “Dragonstone.” He answers.

“Not Dorne? That’s where the bastard Baratheon’s fled to.” Cersei puts forward.

Jamie shakes his head. “They may stop there, but they won’t land there. Dragonstone has deep water ports for the ships, it’s been unoccupied since the Greyjoy’s left it during the last war, and it’s where she was born.” Jamie explains.

“Enemies to the east. The silver haired whore with our little traitor brother. –Enemies to the south. Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand and their brood of bitches. –Enemies to the west. Olenna, the old cunt, another traitor. –Enemies to the north. Ned stark’s bastard has declared himself King in the North, although our whispers tell us the north is still in tatters and the houses have not named him so; only the men of Winterfell sees him as such. So, he’s a pretender.” Cersei declares as she walks around the map. “Regardless, there’s enemies everywhere, we’re surrounded by traitors. –You’re in command of the Lannister army, how do we proceed?” Cersei prods.

“We received the white raven. Winter is here. We can’t win a war, if we can’t feed our men and our horses. The Tyrell’s have the grain, they have the livestock.” Jamie points out.

“The Tyrell’s are westeners; Olenna is proud. I can’t see her and her bannermen alongside a Dothraki horde and Unsullied slave soldiers.” Cersei rejects.

“She doesn’t fight alongside us, and Daenerys is the rightful air to the throne, as much as you want to deny it. The people loved her family, and they’ll love her. Anyway, all that aside, if they think she’ll win, I can see it. So, of course she’ll stand alongside Daenerys and her armies. No one wants to fight on the losing side, and right now, we look like the losing side.” Jamie reasons.

“I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms—,” Cersei begins. “Three kingdoms at best.” Jamie interrupts, emphasising his point. “I’m not sure you understand how much danger we’re in.” He adds.

“I understand we’re in a war for survival. I understand that whoever loses this one dies. I understand that whoever wins could launch a dynasty that lasts a thousand years.” Cersei defends.

“What dynasty? For whom? –Our children are dead. We’re the last of us.” Jamie states.

“A dynasty for us, then. We’re the last Lannister’s, the last ones who count.” Cersei retorts.

“Well, even Lannister’s can’t survive without allies. Where are our allies now?” Jamie counters.

“We have the Bolton’s and Frey’s again. The Bolton’s will secure the north and the Frey’s will help us in the south.” Cersei establishes.

“We need more than that. We need stronger, better allies. We can’t win this war alone.” Jamie declares.

“You think I listened to father for forty years and learned nothing.” Cersei scorns as she sees Qyburn come into the chamber, knowing that meant her guest was arriving. “I’ve sent word to various houses, traitors or soon to be, but also to someone who could be of great use to us.” She announces before beginning to leave the room, being vague in her answer so that Jamie would follow.

Following Cersei to the closest balcony terrace, he overlooked Blackwater Bay and saw a fleet of ships coming into port, adorning the kracken sigil of the Greyjoy’s. “The Greyjoy’s? You invited the Greyjoy’s to King’s Landing?” Jamie disapproves.

“Not all of them.” Cersei vaguely clarifies.

“Well, it looks like all of them. They were unpredictable and untrustworthy allies the first time around, what makes you think they’re any different now?” Jamie continues.

“Balon Greyjoy is dead. I invited Euron Greyjoy, the new ruler of the Iron Islands.” Cersei announces.

“How did Balon die?” Jamie asks.

“Euron killed him and took the salt throne from his children. He is the kind of power we need. You said yourself we needed stronger, better allies. There you are.” Cersei states.

“How are they stronger, better allies? How is he going to be trustworthy? Euron murdered his own family as soon as it suited him.” Jamie argues.

“Everyone murders everyone, when it suits them.” Cersei retorts. “Unlike the Frey’s, they have ships and they’re good at killing.” She continues.

“They’re not good at anything. I know the Ironborn. They’re bitter, angry little people. All they know how to do is steal things they can’t build or grow themselves.” Jamie counters.

“Euron Greyjoy didn’t come here for that.” Cersei points out.

“Oh, what did he come here for, then?” Jamie pokes.

“A queen.” Cersei declares before turning and leaving the terrace, leaving Jamie with the vague but direct thought.

-

It was surreal arriving at Dragonstone. In the rowing boat to get us to shore, I stared up at this castle, a place I had been once but couldn’t remember, and yet it was utterly surreal. Watching my children soar past us and head for the castle on the rocky hill above the shore was surreal. I was arriving in Westeros, my father’s sword Dragon’s Breath on my hip, making port at a Targaryen castle that now had four full grown dragons flying, circling above it. Again, all of them had grown during the weeks at sea. Drogon still appeared to be slightly larger than the rest, but the others had been in the catacombs. They had grown quicker since being out, and I was glad for it. Dragons weren’t meant to be caged, so seeing them all fly around Dragonstone together, in their magnificent sizes filled me with immense pride.

It was strange. When I landed on the beach it felt as though it was the first time setting foot in Westeros since the day my family was taken from me, when in fact it had only been well over a year, nearly two since leaving Westeros last. But when I returned to Westeros nearly two years past, I was a different person. I was a girl with ambitions. I realised that where I belonged was no longer the life I had set out for me in Kings Landing, and yet returning now, having succeeded the start of these ambitions, and coming back with an entirely different purpose, it felt like a whole new homecoming. Especially since I had only ever been in Kings Landing or Storms End in my life. I had not stepped foot anywhere else in Westeros and so landing at Dragonstone, having not been there since my birth, kneeling down on the shore and touching the sand with my hand, it was utterly surreal and surprisingly emotional. As I felt the sand in my hand and looked up to the stronghold above us, it only motivated me more to win back this land from Cersei.

Coming off the shore, the others walked behind as we headed up towards the castle. Everyone was quiet. William, Tyrion, Missandei, Rakharo, Grey Worm. I think they all let me take in the moment for myself as we began our ascent up to the castle. When we came to the gates above the shore, a couple Unsullied from the few we had with us walked up in front and opened the towering gates and revealed the view of the stone, staired path up to the stronghold. It was a magnificent and grand view, and it just made me want to get up there all the more.

Although, still grand and magnificent, the inside as we began walking through the stronghold, appeared old and abandoned. It made sense. No one had truly lived in it for years, and it was only used as more a port in the war than a lived in castle, and this became quite evident before we entered the throne room. To the right of the doors, hung a Greyjoy sigil banner of the kraken. It was old, dusty and didn’t belong. We may have Yara and Theon as allies now, but this banner was part of a time when the Ironborn were traitors. Regardless, traitors or allies, this castle was not the Ironborn’s, it was the Targaryen’s. Now it was mine. Standing before the long banner, looking up at it, I reached up and pulled it with force down, letting it gather on the floor in a discarded pile, where it belonged. Opening the doors to the throne room, stepping inside, I was faced with a large structure at the opposite end of the chamber. A large, blackened stone structure, with a unique shape and carved out seat sat at the top of several steps. As I walked across the chamber towards it, I saw the Targaryen sigil carved into the stone of the floor. Again, it looked old and worn, but it was still clear and strong in it’s display. They could take this castle, take away our family, but they could never take away our presence, our legacy, we would always remain, even after I was gone.

Coming to stand before the steps that held the stone throne, I stared at it. This was now my throne, at least for a time. It felt right, but it also felt wrong at the same time. This was a Targaryen stronghold, and I was the last Targaryen stood before this throne of this castle, that’s what made it feel right. But this wasn’t what I came here for, and that’s why it also felt wrong. Moving my gaze on, I looked past the throne and noticed the way further beyond the chamber, so I took myself forward in that direction, past the throne. And what was past it, was the chamber we would spending most our time in, the council chamber. I went in alone and took in the whole of the chamber. At the end, it had an open wall amongst the rock of the structure that made the chamber. It would have been where windows would have resided if it were any other castle, but it was the way this one was built. The openness was the windows. Dragon décor lined the walls in the stone, two carved dragons surrounding the chamber. In the center, a large table shaped as the map of Westeros, with old wooden pieces scattered around it that showcased several house’s sigils. At the back, near where we had entered, was a fireplace and two chairs, only one was knocked over. The chamber was dusty and looked as if it had been left in a hurry.

As I walked slowly through the chamber, alongside the table, I let my fingers trace the edge of it as I noticed Tyrion and William coming in, both walking along the other side, taking in the chamber as well. My fingers left a line of marks from where they picked up the dust from the table. As I looked over it, it was strange to think that we would be soon travelling around this map, ending up who knew where right now, when I had barely even seen any of Westeros for the decade I had lived in it. In the weeks, maybe months, I would be here, I would most likely see more of Westeros than I had ever before. But that was war, I supposed. That was why I was here. So, coming to the end of the table, looking over the mapped shape of it, taking in the room and the fact that we were finally here, William and Tyrion now standing by my side, I never felt more ready.

“Shall we begin?” I say.

-

Samwell had been at the citadel for some time now. Jon had sent him in the hopes that with his wishes of wanting to become a maester at the citadel he may also find any information on how to defeat the Night King and his army, or anything on dragonglass. However, even having been at the citadel for some time now, Samwell was quick to realise even that what he needed, what he wanted, he could not attain, at least not for a long time. He was a steward, a low assistant to other maesters. It would take him years to work up to a maester and they didn’t have years. The Night King and his army of the dead were coming. Jon was counting on him for information and the information he needed he now knew was in the restricted area of the library. An area only for maesters that was under lock and key. He had pled his case to the archmaester he assisted from time to time, but it always went the same way. A no. After so long, growing tired of waiting, Samwell took it upon himself to take matters into his own hands. He mustered the courage to sneak into a measter’s chambers while he slept, though one he knew drank and would be sleeping like the dead. He stole his key for the restricted area of the library and let himself in, taking a few books he thought would be a useful read. He continued this over several nights, reading page after page, book after book, through the various nights that he took the books home to his citadel housing he had with Gilly and their son, little Sam.

“You should really sleep, Sam.” Gilly says as she comes back into their chamber after putting little Sam down for the night. He was hunched over their table, exhausted but still reading.

“The dead don’t.” He retorts, continuing to read, not having looked up to respond anyway. Gilly decided to join him, picking a book up to read, keeping her learning going.

“You know, the Targaryen’s used dragonglass to decorate their weapons without even knowing what the First Men used it for.” Sam assesses aloud, with slight disapproval in his tired tone now he knew what it was supposed to be used for.

Sam continued to read through the book, flicking through and reading the pages, scanning the illustrations, until he came to a part where he began to think he had found something. He woke up a little, his concentration focussing just that little bit more as he continued to read.

“What is it?” Gilly asks, registering his expressions and look of realisation, as if he had found something.

“It’s a map of Dragonstone. The Targaryen’s built their first stronghold there when they came to Westeros.” Sam announces, pointing out what he was looking over as he turned the book to show Gilly.

“That’s dragonglass.” She states, looking where Sam was pointing.

“It says there’s a mountain of it, beneath the ground, in the caves by the shore of the Dragonstone castle.” Sam relays as he looks around, his thoughts pinging around in his head faster than he can process. “This is important. Jon needs to know.” He concludes, swiftly grabbing a quill and paper.

After sending the raven north, Sam continued to read through the many books and scrolls through the various nights, hoping to find some extravagant secret or clue as to how to truly defeat the Night King. Even though he found out about the dragonglass, he continued his relentless search for more. He needed more than that. His work at the citadel had to count for more than just the dragonglass find. Working the tedious, grotesque jobs, everyday had to count for something, and everyday was the same. Rinse and repeat. Until one day, a small and short encounter caught him off guard, disrupting his usual and repeated routine just for a moment.

Walking the hall of the infected, specifically the greyscale, Sam pushed his trolley cart and collected the empty food bowls from the open hatches of the infected’s cells. The hatches were small, only big enough for the bowl to fit through to feed the infected inside. One by one, as he always did, he collected the bowls and closed the hatches. One by one, doing the same, and keeping a slight distance from the doors, outstretching his arm to collect the bowls and close the hatches. Then, as he reached and just touched the bowl of the next cell, a hand suddenly and quickly emerges grabbing the bowl from inside and pushes it aside as the infected inside outretches his own arm out of the hatch. The movement makes Sam jump back in surprise as the bowl clatters to the ground and he then looks at this infected man’s arm, it was a darkened grey, heavily scaled with the illness. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he was sure to keep his distance, to stay out of reach.

“Has she come yet?” A voice belonging to the arm asks from inside the cell.

“Who?” Sam questions.

“The Dragon Queen. Daenerys Targaryen.” The voice clarifies.

Sam shakes his head. “Haven’t heard anything.” He answers, breathing heavy still from the shock. The voice then doesn’t reply, clearly content with the answer as he brings his arm back through the hatch into the cell. Once inside, Sam quickly steps forward and closes the hatch. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. What would a man inside one of these cells know about the Dragon Queen people had been whispering about? Once his panicked surprise subsided, he found it rather curious.

-

The weather at Dragonstone soon took a drastic turn. Within the day of the arrival, a storm hit us the following night. It was a good job that Robert and his family, accompanied by Varys, sailed to Dragonstone before it hit us. They narrowly missed it, but they were here, and that meant we could come to terms on how we were approaching this war before we met with the allies. It was good to see them again, but it was sad to see them in such a defeated state, especially Robert. He did look tired, like William had said. Once the pleasantries had been had and said, once we were caught up on everything from either side, from Cersei to Jorah, from Westeros to Meereen, I was eager to get down to the logistics.

“So, Daenerys—do you want to tell me how you left Westeros with not many more than six people and have now returned with two mass armies and a fleet.” Robert muses as he sits at the table in the council chamber.

“Well, you forgot one part that’s quite important on the how—I have four, and now fully grown, dragons.” I answer.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget.” Robert muses, both of us smiling. “And I see you still have your father’s weapons. Had to use them much?” He adds, pointing to the sword and dagger on my belt.

“Not particularly. I had others for that when we were in Essos.” I inform.

“I would think so—Queen of Dragon’s Bay—seven hells, what a title!” Robert exclaims, laughing to himself, making me smile at his own amusement. “You’ve achieved quite a bit over there. You should be proud—I know your father and mother would be. –I am.” Robert praises sincerely.

“Thank you. I am, and I can only hope they are too. –But I’m not done over there. There’s still work to be done.” I clarify. “But first, there’s work to be done here.” I add, directing the conversation hopefully into the logistics.

Robert mumbles his agreement. “Indeed.” He agrees, though I could sense his resentment at the thought.

“Robert, I know you are tired of war. You fought long and hard, only for it to be taken away. But I am here, with a powerful force and sheer determination to rid this world of that tyrant, that usurper on the throne, and for good this time. –We will win—and we will get you back on that throne. –I promise you that.” I declare.

He looks back at me, as if in pondering thought for a moment, before answering. “You’re right. I am tired of war. –I’ve seen enough of it, done enough it, and watched a lot of good men die because of it. –I don’t want this war. But I know it’s needed. –And that’s why you’re going to lead this war.” Robert announces.

“Lead it how?” I ask, wanting more clarification.

“You may have been in exile for well over a decade, and you may have gone off and began creating your own world—but this is just as much your fight, then it is ours, if not more. –The last war was mine—this one is yours. You have the armies, the fleet, the dragons. You are going to be the driving force in this war, you are going to be the one that defeats Cersei—so, I give you command of this war.” Robert explains.

As I listened to Robert’s words, a part of me expected to be handed the reigns from time to time, like he said I was the driving force in this war, I knew that, and so I assumed I would be given the space to make decisions with my own armies, but what I hadn’t expected was to be given full control. “And what will you do? You’re a king, they’ll expect you to lead, not sit in the side lines.” I query.

“Perhaps. –I may have been the King, but I lost the throne, I fled to Dorne. People aren’t going to see me as a strong leader like I was before. Besides, we’re allies more because of our hate for Cersei than love for each other. –But you—you’re the Dragon Queen, as you’ve been hailed. And you’re a Targaryen, with dragons. –They’re going to expect you to lead more than I.” Robert points out. I suppose I saw his point. But if I was fighting for him to be back on the throne, he needed to be more of a fighter than this. I hoped it would come with time. When we started the fight, perhaps his would come back.

“If you’re giving me command of this war, I need for you to know what I expect from it.” I bargain.

“Go on.” Robert encourages, curious.

“If I am the one making decisions, I need your full trust. –That’s not to say I expect blind trust and agreement with everything I may decide. I need your counsel, just like I need it from my advisers. –But, I am not your ruler; I am not going to command you. I am fighting for you to be back on this throne, not I. So, if you decide you would rather be on the side lines, then that is your decision. But if you decide to fight, to rule, then I will gladly let you take back the reins. –This is not just my war, it’s ours. This land isn’t mine, it’s ours, it’s the people’s. We will fight together, however that may be, and if you give me your full trust, I will gladly lead us to a better world. One rid of tyrants, one of a peaceful and united realm—a prosperous realm.” I proclaim.

Robert stares, saying nothing for a moment, until a slight smirk creeps into his expression. “You’re a true leader, a true ruler, Daenerys Targaryen. I have no doubt you will lead us to victory. –You have my full trust.” He states.

It felt good to hear him say this, but it felt better to know that we could start this fight now all knowing the end goal for us all. I wasn’t their queen; I was already somewhere else’s queen, but even there I was more their ‘mhysa’ than their queen, and here I was more their champion than a ruler. “Good.” I reply just as another crack of thunder sounds from the storm raging outside, it echoed around dragonstone through the night but every so often one rumble sounded as though it would split the castle in two. The crack of thunder made everyone look or turn to the outside, the erupting sound grabbed everyone’s attention but all you could see was a stormy sea for a second as lightning lit up the sky.

“Almost seems fitting.” Tyrion muses.

“What?” I query.

“Well, on a night like this you came into the world.” He elaborates.

“I remember that storm. All the dogs in King’s Landing howled through the night.” Varys recalls.

“Now she brings the storm.” William says, which just makes me slightly smirk in amusement, before I look over the Westeros table.

“Well, not so many lions.” I point out. Seeing that the wooden lion sigil blocks were quite few.

“Cersei controls fewer than half the Seven Kingdoms. The Lords of Westeros despise her. She knows that the people plot to overthrow her, plot her demise, but she also knows that they wouldn’t dare try. –Until now, at least. Now that you’re here.” Varys explains.

“I suppose I could storm King’s Landing myself and it would fall. With four dragons and two armies, it seems easy doesn’t it?” I ponder.

“Taking back Westeros would be easy for you, but you’re not here to become Queen of the ashes.” Tyrion responds.

“Who said anything about ashes?” I retort. “Baelor and his sisters united Westeros without burning the people alive with their dragons. They were tools of intimidation more than anything. I can do the same.” I state.

“Yes. We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughterhouse, and with the allied houses on our side, supporting our claim to take back the throne from Cersei, the game is won.” Tyrion declares.

“If I may be so bold, my queen.” Varys asks, directing all attentions to him. I nod my approval for him to proceed. “The allied houses chose to join our side because they believe in you. They believe in your power and influence. And the people of King’s Landing have always loved you from a young age. –This is your home. Perhaps you should stay to rule it when the game is won.” Varys suggests, rendering the room a little speechless for a moment.

“He has a point, Daenerys.” Robert backs.

“You are the King of the Seven Kingdoms. You are it’s ruler, not me.” I retort.

“I’m not the King anymore. And I only will be again if the war is won and only because there is no one else with a claim. No other option. –None but you.” Robert points out.

“I’m already a queen.” I affirm.

“You said you wanted to change the realm, to make it a better place. How can you do that if you put an old fool like me back on the throne?” Robert argues.

“Not a moment ago, you were fine giving me command of this war, agreeing to see me lead this fight against Cersei to see you back on throne and so I can return to Essos. What’s changed?” I question.

“Varys is right. The allies have joined you. Not me. They believe in you, and will expect you to lead a new Westeros. To be it’s ruler. You should take the throne when the war is won. You should be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Robert proclaims.

“I am the Queen of Dragon’s Bay.” I state. “Oh, Seven Hells, Daenerys.” Robert mutters. “I will not abandon those still in chains. I started a fight over in Essos and I intend to finish it. I cannot do that sitting on the Iron Throne. I will not take it. Family claim or not. I do not want it.” I affirm.

“Who is better than you, Daenerys?” William queries.

“I’m sure a number of people. You to begin with, William. –But, to build a better world, if we cannot agree on a ruler, than perhaps this should be a decision for all leaders of the Westerosi houses.” I suggest.

“Are you suggesting that the Lords and Ladies of Westeros choose their own ruler? Their own King or Queen?” Tyrion asks in clarification.

“I spoke about breaking the wheel, didn’t I? –This can be a step towards that.” I confirm.

“Perhaps this is something we could discuss after the war is won.” Tyrion responds.

“Why?” I question.

“Because mentioning that to the houses may just arise more problems than solving current ones. If everyone is fighting a war with no clear ruler at the end, then games are played within the game, people may become untrustworthy.” He explains.

“He’s right. If the houses know there is clear and strong leader in this war, one they believe in to take the throne, then their support will be absolute.” Robert backs.

“So, what would you have me do?” I question, getting mildly frustrated.

“You should play this war as if you are intending to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Then, when you take the throne from Cersei, you can do as you please, you can enact whatever as you please—” Robert advises. “Like gathering the houses to decide on a new ruler of Westeros.” Tyrion finishes. “Exactly. And then you could fly back off to Essos, just like you wanted.” Robert adds.

“So, you would have me lie to our allies?” I point out.

“It’s not lying if you believe in it yourself. –Fight to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and for the short time you hold it, use that time to break the wheel, just like you wanted. Use the Iron Throne to your advantage. –So, really, you do want to become Queen, you do want the throne.” Tyrion encourages.

I stand in thought for a moment, glancing around at all the faces before me. They all looked as though they agreed, that they all were hoping for me to also agree. And maybe I did. It seemed like the easiest way to enact change, doing it from a seat of power I could just give away when the time was right. That was essentially what I had done in Meereen. It was a clever strategy, and that was why I nodded. “Okay. –I fight to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” I declare, making everyone almost smile. But I didn’t. I did not like the idea of not mentioning my full intent to the allies. If they would be expecting me to take the throne and then hold it, they wouldn’t want men flying off across the world as soon as I won it. But then again, if I was to change the world for the better, I would be leaving measures in place that would benefit everybody, and then perhaps that way, flying back across the world wouldn’t come as such a shock or disappointment.

After this new plan and turn of events, my thoughts take me back to Varys. I turn back to face him. “Well, Varys, it seems your suggestion has prevailed. –Are you pleased?” I question.

“With your rule, I am adamant you will lead the realm back to prosperity. So, yes, I am pleased, my queen.” He admits.

I ponder for a moment as I looked his way. “You served my father, didn’t you, Lord Varys?” I ask.

“I did.” He confirms, looking a little confused at the question.

“And then you served Cersei when she took the throne with Tywin?” I point out in obvious question again.

“I had a choice, Your Grace, serve Cersei Lannister or face the headman’s axe.” He defends.

“Then you served Robert Baratheon when the war was over, favouring him for the throne as I remember being told.” I state, and Varys nods. “And now, seeing as the throne will soon come to have a new ruler again, and after we had agreed to fight this war and see Robert back on the throne, you put your case forward to see me on it instead. –It appears you have continually took it upon yourself to find a better one.” I declare.

“Your Grace, when I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a queen in the east—,” Tyrion begins, in his long story telling way he usually did, which I had not the care for currently. “Who gave the order to kill me at the start of the long war?” I interrupt, sternly questioning him.

“Cersei and Tywin Lannister.” Varys answers.

“And who—hired the assassins? –Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?” I follow up.

“Your Grace, I did what had to be done to—,” Varys begins. “To keep yourself alive.” I finish.

“Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal adviser—,” Tyrion defends. “Proven himself loyal? It looks the opposite to me. –He has served one ruler to the next, and conspires to crown the next one, no matter their morals seeing the mixture he has served. –What kind of subject is that?” I poke, hoping to finally provoke Varys.

“The kind the realm needs. Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I’ll use them. –I wasn’t born to a great house; I came from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. You wish to know where my true loyalties lie, not with any King or Queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under tyrants and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts are with you and always have been. If you let me, I will serve you well, I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne so you can build a better world for the realm, for the people, because I choose you. Because I know the people have no better chance than you.” Varys passionately states.

A hint of a smile creeps onto the corner of my mouth after his decree. “Good. –I was hoping you’d say that. We need more servants of the people, rather than blind allegiance, like you said, to rulers.” I respond, happy he finally came out with his intentions after being provoked, hence why I did it, putting on the slight annoyed façade, and I see his slight relief escape him through a breath.

“Swear this to me Varys—if you ever think I am failing the people through this war, you won’t conspire behind my back and derail my efforts, you’ll look me in the eye as you have done today and tell me how I am failing them.” I proclaim.

“I swear it—Mother of Dragons.” He mildly smiles.

“Forgive me, my queen.” Grey Worm calls to attention and as I turn to face him, I notice an Unsullied soldier leaving the chamber. “A Red Priestess from Asshai has come to see you.” He announces. I look to Tyrion, knowing they helped bring peace in Meereen and was suddenly curious as to why one had come here, of all places. What purpose did she serve at Dragonstone? Perhaps she had a message, and for a moment I worried it would be about Meereen. So, I was most eager to meet her.

“Did she say what about?” I ask.

“She would not say, my queen. Only to you.” Grey Worm informs.

“What business does a Red Priestess have on this lonely island?” Robert questions aloud.

“Daenerys is a favourite of theirs. The ones we came across in Essos believe she has purpose to serve their Lord.” Tyrion establishes.

“Then let’s find out what this Priestess wants—shall we?” I urge, before leaving the chamber and heading for the throne room.

When I entered, I was faced with the red cloaked woman, with her darkened red tinted hair, stood at the end of the room alone. As I stepped down the steps, I comfortably came to stand before her as the others stood behind. She bowed her head and I nodded back in respect. I couldn’t quite grasp what, but looking at her, I had this strange feeling that I knew her. Or, at least, perhaps I did once.

“Dāria Daenerys, īlen iā buzdari istin, sindita se liortan, qilontan se ozbārtan. Issa iā rigle naejot rhaenagon se Pryjatys hen Belma.”
(“Queen Daenerys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honour to meet the Breaker of Chains.”) The Red Priestess greets humbly.

“Se mele voktysi dohaertan maghagon lyks naejot Mīrīn. Iksā olvie sȳrīmāzigon kesīr. –Skoros iksis aōha brōzi?”
(“The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here. –What is your name?”) I ask.

“Iksan brōztagon Mīlīsāndre.”
(“I am called Melisandre.”) She answers.

“She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne. It didn’t end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?” Varys announces.

“You’re the Red Woman who served my traitor, fool brother?” Robert exclaims.

Her expression seemed almost pained, and I felt a little bad for her. “Yes, I served Stannis. And no—it didn’t.” She answers.

“You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone. We’ve decided to pardon those who once served the wrong queen.” I point out, turning to look at Varys, not appreciating his resentful tone towards the priestess. He nods his understanding and I turn back to face Melisandre.

“The Lord of Light doesn’t have many followers in Westeros, does he?” I query.

“Not yet—but even those who don’t worship the Lord, can serve his cause.” She replies.

“And what does your Lord expect from me?” I question.

“Se Bantāzma iksis māzis. Mērī se dārilaros qilōni iksin kivion kessa maghagon se ñāqes.”
(“The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised will bring the dawn.”) Melisandre proclaims.

“The prince who was promised will bring the dawn. –I’m afraid I’m not a prince.” I obviously clarify.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but your translation is not quite accurate. That noun has no gender in High Valyrian. So, the proper translation for that prophecy would be ‘the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn’.” Melisandre corrects.

“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” Tyrion muses.

“No, but I like it better.” I smirk, before looking back to Melisandre.

“So, do you believe this prophecy refers to me? Is that why you’ve come?” I ask.

“Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe you have a roll to play at the very least—as does another—the King in the North, Jon Snow.” Melisandre announces.

“King in the North?” I mutter, looking to Robert with surprise. Since when had the North had their own King? “Jon Snow? Ned Stark’s bastard?” Tyrion queries as I do, which only directs my attention to him.

“Ned Stark has a bastard?” I think aloud. “You know him?” I question.

“I travelled to the Wall, something I had always wanted to see, and met him there after he had joined the Night’s Watch.” Tyrion informs.

“I never knew Ned Stark had a bastard.” I state.

“He always kept quiet about it. He loved Cat, but this woman he laid with, he seemed overly taken by her, but she died giving birth to Jon. Cat always resented the boy because of it, and so he was kept quiet, but Ned loved him like a son at Winterfell.” Robert explains.

“And now this Jon Snow is King in the North? Did you know about this?” I ask.

“We heard whispers but weren’t sure if they were true. But we didn’t really care if they were. The North has been isolated from us for years, they haven’t bothered us and we haven’t bothered them.” He informs. Westeros was in more disarray than I thought. A King in the North only meant they would be that much harder to unite and follow a southern ruler.

“And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow, aside from the visions you’ve seen in the flames, that is?” Varys questions, bringing the conversation back to Melisandre.

“As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he allowed wildlings south of the Wall, to protect them from great danger. And he has united the one’s he has saved with his people so they could face their common enemy. And his people named him King for it.” Melisandre declares.

“He sounds like quite a man.” I admire.

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you the things that have happened to him. The things that he has seen with his own eyes.” Melisandre encourages.

I stand quietly for a moment, taking in all the information. A King in the North? He had a role to play in this prophecy, like I did? Ned Stark’s bastard? If this Jon Snow had Ned Stark’s blood running through him it meant we shared blood, family. Bastard or not, he shared my mother’s blood. She would have been his aunt. It was a strange thought. All the Stark children were my cousins through my mother but hearing about a man now King in the North, that I never knew existed, and realising he is a somewhat distant relative, was a strange revelation. And I was now hoping to come and take his crown, to unite him and his people with the realm, and I had a feeling as King in the North he wasn’t going to want that.

“I can’t speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him. And I am an excellent judge of character.” Tyrion muses, hinting a smile, which I return. “If he does rule the North, he would make a valuable ally. –The Lannister’s killed his father and brother in the war. He’ll hate Cersei just like you do.” Tyrion adds.

I glance at Robert, who gives a slight nod in agreement. “Very well. –If you all want me to be the queen, then that’s how I’ll be. –Send a raven North. Tell Jon Snow that his queen invites him to come to Dragonstone—and bend the knee.” I announce.

Chapter Text

“Do you think it’s really Tyrion? It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap.” Sansa questions as she looks over the scroll Jon had just received from Dragonstone, a place they thought was abandoned, a place they had hoped to travel to, to mine dragonglass unopposed.

“Read the last bit.” Jon says.

“‘All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.’ –What does that mean?” Sansa asks.

“It’s something he said to me the first night we met when he came to the wall, when I had just joined the Night’s Watch. –You know him better than any of us. What do you think?” Jon questions.

“Tyrion’s not like the other Lannister’s. He was always kind to me, but it’s too great a risk.” She reasons, looking back to the scroll. “‘The Seven Kingdoms will deteriorate and fall as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny.’” Sansa repeats from the scroll before Davos reaches his hand up to see it. She hands it over and he quickly skims the contents.

“Sounds like a charmer. Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied and four dragons, a bit less charming.” Davos muses, but as he says it he realises something and Jon registers his change of expression.

“What?” he queries.

“Fire kills wights, you told me. What breathes fire?” Davos points out and Jon sighs realising that perhaps going to Dragonstone to meet the Targaryen queen was fastly becoming an inevitability. They needed the dragonglass and now Davos had just pointed out that they needed her dragonfire.

“You’re not suggesting Jon meet with her?” Sansa questions.

“No. In this current climate, too dangerous.” Davos responds. “But?” Jon adds, knowing there was one.

“What if the army of the dead makes it past the wall. Say we manage to unite the northern houses before then—do we have enough men to fight them?” he indicates, which Jon knew the answer was most definitely no. He sighs lightly again, before outreaching his hand for the scroll from Davos, who hands it over.

“Call the men to council.” Jon orders before walking away towards his chambers for the scroll he received from Sam.

With the northern men of Winterfell called and sat in the main hall of the castle, Jon walked around the head table he and Sansa sat at, coming to stand at the front before all the men gathered, holding one of the scrolls he had received.

“This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly. He was my brother at the Night’s Watch. A man I trust more than most in this world. –He has discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass. I received this a couple days ago. I was preparing to lead an expedition in the hopes to mine the abandoned island.” Jon announces, holding the scroll sam had sent before placing it back on the table and grabbing the other.

“I received this message today from Dragonstone, meaning the island is no longer abandoned. –It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister. He is now hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has two powerful armies at her back and if this message is to be believed—four, full grown dragons.” Jon continues, much to the surprise and worry of the northern men in the chamber, who muttered between each other at the news. “Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys—and I’m going to accept.” He finishes, looking to Sansa, who showed her worry in her expression, and the northern men groaned their disagreement. “We need this dragonglass. We know that it can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies. We don’t even have the North united for this fight yet. –The Night King’s army grows larger by the day. We can’t defeat them on our own even if the North was united once again. We don’t have the numbers. Daenerys has two armies and she has dragon fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us.” Jon declares. “Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbour tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone.” He states.

“I remember when we heard whispers that the Targaryen girl birthed four dragons at King’s Landing and then she fled Westeros again. We didn’t believe it then. Why should we believe it now?” A northern man calls out.

“Why would she lie? She was clear about the power she held and has invited me to come meet. When I arrive, if I find out she lied about the dragons, or even her armies, then what basis for an alliance would that be built on lies. I believe the message to be true.” Jon defends.

“Did you forget what happened to our father? The last Targaryen King invited him south and it turned into the Red Wedding, a massacre that sparked a war and the dismemberment of the North.” Sansa exclaims. “That was caused by our enemies, not the Targaryen’s. I don’t believe Daenerys would invite me to Dragonstone just to murder me.” Jon retorts.

“She is here to take the Iron Throne. We named you King in the North. By declaring yourself that, you are an obstacle in her way to claim the Seven Kingdoms because the North is one of those Kingdoms. This isn’t an invitation, it’s a trap.” Sansa counters.

“It could be. I don’t know Daenerys; I don’t know how the years have treated her or made her to be. But I don’t believe Tyrion would do that. He’s a good man.” Jon reasons.

“Winter is here, Your Grace. We need our King in the North, in the North.” Another northern man calls out to which the rest pound their fists on the table in agreement.

“Every man in this room crowned me your King. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home, and I pledged to unite it back together. I pledged to fight for it. The North is a part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds. –But the odds are against us. –None of you have seen the army of the dead, none of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it’s a risk, but I have to take it.” Jon proclaims.

“Then send an emissary, don’t go yourself.” Sansa strongly suggests.

“Daenerys is a queen. Only a King can convince her to help us. It has to be me.” Jon rejects.

“You’re abandoning your people. You’re abandoning your home.” Sansa argues.

“I’m leaving both in good hands.” Jon states.

“Who’s?” she questions.

“Yours.” Jon answers, rendering Sansa quiet, realising what he had just declared.

“You are my sister. You are the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, Winterfell is yours.” Jon officially proclaims. It takes a minute, but Sansa finally nods her acceptance.

-

After sending a raven North a few days prior, now our pledged allies were arriving at Dragonstone, finally all able to gather and discuss the plan of attack. I stood on the hills of Dragonstone, my children flying above me, as I watched several ships sailing into port ahead on the sea. I hoped that the council meeting would go smoothly and not turn into a clash of houses.

“You know, I realised something earlier.” William’s voice calls from behind, gaining my attention. I turn back to see him approaching me at the edge of the hill, overlooking the sea, and comes to stand next to me.

“And what was that?” I query.

“Today is your name day. Your twenty first, to be exact.” He announces.

I roll my eyes and look back out at the view. “I have to apologise. I’m afraid I haven’t got you a gift.” William jokingly admits.

I scoff in amusement. “Your friendship is a gift in itself.” I assure with a heartfelt smile.

A moment passes as we both look out at the sea, watching the ships far ahead come into port. “What are you thinking?” William asks.

“I was internally hoping that when everyone convenes in the council chamber that they support our plan. If they begin to clash, or don’t agree with my methods then it’s going to make conducting this war very difficult.” I relay.

“We’ve come up with a just plan. And it was mostly you. They should go along with it just fine. You have more reason to hate Cersei than anyone, and if you came to this decision then they should accept it. You’re their queen.” William assures.

“I don’t feel like it. I feel like a false queen. Like I’m just pretending until it’s all over.” I admit.

“Well, are you pretending?” William questions.

I think for a second before answering. “I don’t think I am. I might not feel like their queen, but I feel like their leader and its easy to fit into that role and play on the title of queen when conversing with the allies. But it doesn’t feel right to be leading this war with the allies not having the full picture of the endgame. They’re going to expect me to stay and hold the throne—and I don’t want that. I want to go back to Essos.” I unload as I turn and look to my children flying above us.

“I think you feel torn between two worlds. –But I also think you are over thinking it. –When this is over, you can fly to Essos and no one is going to stop you. And they are not going to hold it against you. You will have rid the realm from the grips of a tyrant, given it the tools to build a better life and all the people will be thankful, grateful even. People know you are doing this for the people, for your home, not for yourself. And when the allies see this, they will wholeheartedly support you. –Just like I do.” William guarantees as he grabs my hand, squeezing it in comfort. “Whether you feel like it or not, you’re a queen here and beyond. And you’ll always be a queen to me. You were born for it.” he adds with a genuine smile which I returned. William always had a way of making me feel better and feel loved. It was why he was one of the most important people in the world to me.

“You know, you’d make a great king, yourself. When this ends, I was going to suggest you.” I inform and clearly much to William’s surprise.

He scoffs lightly in an almost dismissal but with a smile. “And why do you think that?” he queries.

“Because you share the same mind as me. We both want what is best for our home, and you match the ways I want to do it, you agree with my visions. –And you’re also a kind man, but you’re also strong and passionate. You’re humble and honest. You’d be a great king, and I would feel a lot better in Essos knowing you held the throne.” I explain with a sincere smile, squeezing his hand back just as Drogon suddenly lands on the hill ahead of us, shaking and thudding the ground, making us both jump out of the moment we were sharing.

Looking at Drogon, then looking back at each other, we laugh at the fact he scared us both for a moment. “So, you would want me to take over from the legendary Dragon Queen? I am not worthy enough of the title.” He mildly mocks with a smirk, making me lightly chuckle.

I was about to reject his mockery, but I stopped myself and looked over at Drogon as a thought crossed my mind. A big grin etched across my face as I turned back to look at William. “What?” he queries.

“Then we will make you worthy.” I vaguely inform before gripping his hand tight and escorting him towards Drogon.

“Daenerys, what are you thinking?” William asks, beginning to sound a little worried.

“I wasn’t the first Targaryen to ride a dragon. But you’ll be the first stag.” I gleam, keeping a tight grip on his hand.

“What?! Are you mad?! I can’t ride a dragon!” William exclaims as he tries to resist my pull.

“Of course, you can. It’s like riding a galloping horse, only bigger and faster.” I badly compare, trying not to giggle to myself at the comparison.

“That is not reassuring, Daenerys.” William worries as we approach Drogon’s lowered head. “What about the allies, they’re arriving in the port, shouldn’t you be preparing to greet them?” William hastily tries to point out.

“We can have a quick fly by the time they get to the castle.” I dismiss. “Think of this as my gift for my nameday, William.” I gleam.

“This is some gift, Daenerys!” he exclaims, only making me laugh.

“Just relax. Let him come to you.” I calmly instruct as I let go of his hand and move next to Drogon’s head, leaving him to stand right before Drogon. I think he would have had a witty comeback if he wasn’t so frozen in front of Drogon who was stretching his neck closer to William, bringing his head closer and closer to him. I watched as William closed his eyes firmly shut, but then he held out his hand and as I suspected, Drogon merely moved around it before pushing his jaw into the press of his hand. Drogon knew who William was, and my children could somehow sense who I felt love and care towards, they would never hurt them. As William’s hand touched Drogon, he opened his eyes and when he took in the sight his worried expression soon turned into a relieved smile. I let him revel in the moment for a minute before beginning to climb onto Drogon.

“Come on, then.” I urge with a big smile. Looking up at me, he scoffed as he smiled back and then very cautiously climbed up the same as I had onto Drogon’s back. He sat straddled behind me and immediately held onto Drogon intently. Looking over my shoulder at him I chuckled in amusement.

“Ready?” I ask and he nods vigorously, a sense of both fear and excitement in his eyes. As I turned, and took a firm hold onto Drogon, he then swiftly outstretched his body and began to flap his wings as he pushed himself from the ground and with ease began flying up into the sky.

I could hear William’s grunts and shouts behind me as Drogon climbed the sky, clearly holding on for dear life. I just smiled hearing it and knowing he was actually flying on Drogon’s back with me. We flew around the castle before soaring over the hills and across the port of the sea. We even flew past the approaching ships and I wondered if they spotted us or not. The experience of flying on Drogon was always exhiliarting to me, no matter how many times I did it. But knowing I was now sharing this experience with William made it all the better. With each time I looked over my shoulder to him, his poise and hold grew more confident and his smile too. By the end of it, we were both laughing and chanting. This was an experience we both would never forget, and one we now forever had together.

-

“If the Targaryen girl takes the Iron Throne, she’ll destroy the realm as we know it. She has ferried an army of savages to our shores, mindless Unsullied soldiers who will destroy your castles and your holdfasts. Dothraki heathens who will burn your villages to the ground, rape and enslave your women, and butcher your children without a second thought.” Cersei announces to the bannermen before her in the Great Hall, her loyal allies and the few new houses that fled to her side out of fear from her letters sent around Westeros. “You may remember that the Targaryen family were loved and were said to be kind. But they are dead, and the years have not made the Targaryen girl kinder. She is vengeful and savage herself. In Essos, her brutality is already legendary. She crucified hundreds of nobleman in Slaver’s Bay and when she grew bored of that, she fed them to her dragons. –As I said, if she is not stopped she will destroy the realm as we know it, and I need your help, my Lords. We must stand together, all of us, if we hope to stop her.” Cersei finishes, using Daenerys’ own actions out of context twisting them to her advantage.

The bannermen stand around, murmuring with each other for a moment, before Walder Frey steps forward. “She has four, full grown dragons, Your Grace. The same as Baelor when he conquered and united the Seven Kingdoms. How do you propose to stop them?” He almost challenges.

Cersei’s eyes glance to her side towards Qyburn. “We are currently at work on a solution my Lord.” He informs vaguely, but the bannermen before them all appear unconvinced as Walder Frey steps back.

“I’m sure the Queen has more than a few tricks up her sleeve on how to defeat the Dragon whore. When they are ready, she will mobilise them. So, we should mobilise ourselves, ready for the fights to come. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?” Euron backs, charming his way towards the Queen.

“Indeed. –My Lords, we have more power than you know. I do. –When the fighting begins, I assure you, we will be the winning side. Daenerys may have dragons, but I have a profound and unchallenged power, one she will come to fear.” Cersei declares confidently. “I am the power her in Westeros, I am the Queen. All those that defy me, all those that support our enemies, will suffer the fate of traitors. And those of you before me, the ones that support me, that fight for me, will be rewarded handsomely when the war is over. I can promise you that.” She proclaims.

“And what about those who didn’t bother to show up today. Like the Bolton’s? I don’t see Ramsey here supporting you. Is he to be rewarded just as handsomely as us, the people here before you today?” Walder Frey challenges once again.

“The Bolton’s are sent ravens. The North is in a fragile state. It is a long and treacherous journey. It is too risky for them to leave the North; we need their presence there constantly. –Their loyalty is just as absolute as yours my Lords.” Cersei informs sternly, growing tired of Walder Frey, who nods conceding.

“Do I have your support, my Lords?” Cersei questions, and one by one, the bannermen before her bent their knees, bowing their heads to their queen, making her slightly smirk. “Good.” She praises.

“Now—bring in the traitors.” Cersei suddenly calls out to the soldiers by the doors of the hall. Everyone then stands and looks around as the creak of the doors to the hall sound, opening to reveal Lord Tarly of Hornhill and his son Dickon Tarly, bound at the hands and being escorted through the hall. The Lords move aside, moving to each side of the hall, as the two men are brought to kneel where they had stood, at the foot of the steps before Cersei on the Iron Throne.

“Knelt before me are a traitorous house. When I sent the ravens, calling to arms the houses of Westeros, not many replied. My Lords, you were the only loyal houses and allies that did. Every other house that received a raven, simply ignored the call—except for House Tarly. But they didn’t respond with support, they responded with treason, declaring for House Tyrell as their bannermen. But House Tyrell is in open rebellion against the crown and so they are open traitors. Hence why my soldiers travelled to Hornhill, took their castle and defeated their army. Now, knelt before me is the traitor Randall Tarly, Lord to Hornhill.” Cersei announces. “And what is the punishment of treason, Lord Tarly?” she questions.

“We all know what you do to those who defy you. Traitors or not.” Lord Randall scorns knelt before Cersei.

“If you had answered the call to the crown wisely, your home and armies would not have been taken, you and your son wouldn’t be knelt before me as traitors, you would be stood before me as prosperous allies.” Cersei points out.

“I’m a Tarly. That name means something. We’re not oath breakers, were not schemers. We don’t stab our rivals in the back or cut their throats at weddings. –I swore an oath to House Tyrell, our overlord of the Reach, I will stand by that oath until my last breath.” He spits.

“All houses swore an oath to the crown as well, Lord Tarly. You’re breaking an oath either way—and you chose the wrong one to break.” Cersei retorts with disdain.

“I made my choice. I stand by it. Kill me if you must. Show your men what true loyalty means to you.” Lord Randall challenges.

Cersei ponders for a second, annoyed by his stubborn resistance. The hall remains silent as she then stands from the throne and begins to step towards them, down the steps. “I believe this is your son, Dickon Tarly, is it not?” Cersei begins as she starts stepping down the steps, but both men just stare defiantly not saying a word. “Handsome.” She points out as she comes to stand before them both. “Obviously a debt owed to your mother. –I wonder what she would do if I sent your pretty head back to Hornhill.” She adds, standing before Dickon, grasping his chin when he suddenly twists and grabs the dagger from the soldier’s belt beside him. “Dickon, no!” Randall exclaims, seeing he had got himself loose from his bounds as he twists and grabs the dagger but Dickon swiftly plunges the dagger straight into Cersei’s stomach.

As Cersei grunts in pain from the dagger, hunched over, Randall is held back by his escorting soldier and Dickon has the other holding his sword at his neck as they all watch Cersei surprisingly still standing, although still in pain. Then much to their shock and confusion, even her loyal bannermen, she then grunts in pain as she pulls the dagger out from her stomach, but there was no blood on the blade or from the wound. They all now realised the stories were true, she was a witch. She had to be to survive a stab wound like that, to pull a dagger out with no blood.

Breathing heavy from the attack, she drops the dagger to the floor as she stands back up straight and then looks to Dickon with fury in her eyes. “You would kill your Queen?!” She spits before grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him up to his feet while the soldier still holds his sword to his neck. “Such courage. –Such beauty. –But how strong is your heart?” She threatens as she grips her fingertips onto Dickon’s chest, her hand forming a strong claw like grip over his heart. everyone seemed confused at first, no more so than Dickon and Randall, but Randall knew whatever she was doing was not good. As she held her grip over his chest, he could see she was straining slightly over whatever it was she was doing, and for a moment Dickon looked unaffected as they stared into each other’s eyes. Until Dickon began to shake and breathe quick and heavy.

“No. My son. –My son!” Randall protests, struggling against the soldier on his knees; knowing the outcome of this was more than likely his death. Dickon’s state worsens and Cersei begins to tilt her head back, closing her eyes as if she was sucking the life from him and it was channelling into her. Then suddenly, Dickon’s body pulsates enormously and he slumps heavily to the ground. Cersei lets out a large breathe as she opens her eyes and Randall looks to his son, motionless, eyes wide and open, and dead on the ground. He was in grief ridden shock. And the Lords around looked at each other in shock, finally seeing that she did hold an unimaginable power. All looked on in slight fear, even Jamie, who had no clue of her true power, never seeing it before until now, looked on in shock. All except Euron, who smiled and appeared utterly amused and in complete awe.

The soldier holding Randall, took his own dagger out and held it to his throat, ready to kill him if that was what his queen wanted. “Leave him.” She commands and he retracts his dagger, sheathing it back to his belt. “Let him seek out his allies and speak of the generosity and mercy of his queen.” She scorns, before turning and heading out the Great Hall with haste as the soldiers escort Lord Randall out the Great Hall to release him.

Soon after being stabbed, in her chamber, a couple of her soldiers had brought Cersei two young ladies from the lower parts of the city on her order, like usual. Just as the mirror had instructed when she retrieved it and harnessed its magic, she drained the youth from them both, wanting both after being stabbed. She felt replenished and after the display in the Great Hall in front of the Lords, she felt immensely powerful. Despite the fact she knew deep down that if her power was truly at its strongest, she wouldn’t have felt the pain from her daggered attack. Regardless, after the youth from the young women had replenished her own, keeping her own youthfulness ripe and her power strong, she turned to the mirror and uttered the words.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is fairest of them all?” She says confidently, smirking knowing the mirror would tell her she was, as it always had since she got it, and soon the golden figure appeared before her.

“My queen, on this day one has come of age—on their twenty first name day, they have become fairer even than you. –She is the reason your powers wane.” The golden figure answers, much to Cersei’s disappointment, making the notion she had hidden about her powers not being at their strongest real.

“Who is it?” Cersei begrudgingly questions, disdain already in her voice, thinking she knew exactly who the mirror was talking of.

“Daenerys Targaryen.” The mirror announces, confirming her suspicion.

Cersei scoffs. “Of course the silver haired bitch is my undoing. –Those men should have killed her when she was a child.” She spits.

“Be warned—her purity is all that can destroy you—but she is also your salvation queen. –Take her heart in your hand and you shall never again need to consume youth. You shall never again weaken or age.” The mirror announces, turning Cersei’s anger into a feeling of triumph.

“Immortality.” She infers with a mischievous and evil grin.

-

“Immortality—forever.” Jamie hears Cersei continue to mutter. He had come to speak with her after the display in the Great Hall, wanting answers, though he had to admit he slightly feared her himself now, but not so much that he felt he couldn’t approach her. At least, that is what he thought. When he reached outside her chamber, he stood in the doorway, listening and watching her stand before her golden mirror, the one he had time and time again caught her talking to herself in, but as if she was conversing with someone in front of her. He stopped himself this time, realising that perhaps she wasn’t actually talking to herself all this time. After what happened, perhaps she really was talking to someone, or something, something that gave her the power she used on Dickon Tarly. He soon came to wonder, how much and what she exactly was keeping from him.

For a long moment, she stood before this mirror, appearing deep in thought for several minutes, but Jamie still dared not enter. Until that is, she suddenly screamed his name.

“Jamie!” she called. He wondered if she knew he was there, if she sensed his presence, or if she just shouted for me and hoped for anyone to appear to fetch him. Regardless, now he felt he could enter her chamber, but did so a little sheepishly, stepping in through the doorway.

She turned and looked his way, appearing pleased to see it was him straight away. “Brother—bring me a raven. I need to send a message to the Ramsey Bolton.” She instructs with a sly grin.

“What about?” he queries.

“He’s going to set a trap.” She vaguely informs, her sly grin growing. Jamie bows his head in compliance, and wonders what exactly she was up to as he left her chamber.

-

“If you want the Iron Throne, take it. Even without us, you have two armies, a fleet, and four dragons. We should hit King’s Landing now, hard, with everything we have. The city will fall within a day - if that.” Yara declares at the council table, the other heads of the allies houses lightly nodding their heads in agreement. On her arrival with the other houses, the new information that I would secure the throne for myself and not Robert, therefore meant the promise of her claim for the salt throne was set in stone, and she became even more eager for the war to begin and to quickly be over.

“If we turn the dragon’s loose, tens of thousands of people will die in the firestorms.” Tyrion points out.

“It’s called war. You don’t have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.” Oberyn Martell pokes.

“I know how you Martell’s wage war. We don’t poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.” Tyrion retaliates, referencing Myrcella Baratheon, or Lannister as everyone know knew, his niece that Ellaria and her snakes had poisoned we had found out.

“Cersei murdered Doran, with no just cause. Myrcella was simply a just revenge.” Ellaria justifies.

“Just?!” Tyrion spits.

“She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannister’s.” She scorns.

“That’s enough. –Lord Tyrion is hand of the Queen; you will treat him with respect.” I cease, coming to stand directly at the head of the table, next to Tyrion, and both Oberyn and Ellaria bow their heads. “I am not here to be Queen of the Ashes.” I assert, repeating the words Tyrion had used prior in this room days before.

“That’s very nice to hear. –You know, over these years, my granddaughter Margaery soon became the one who was loved. Betrothed to Joffrey, and then to Tommen, she was going to make a fine and loved queen after Cersei. The common people loved her, the nobles loved her. But Cersei did not. And what is left of her now? –Ashes.” Olenna Tyrell states. “Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children, really. They won’t obey you, unless they fear you.” She adds.

“My family ruled Westeros for centuries, and never was it harnessing fear. This sounds to me like the result of the last decade’s war. A culmination of the old world. One I am here to break and build anew. I’m grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your council. I am grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me and the people did not ask for any wars, nor do they deserve to be collateral damage that could be avoided. –I will not attack King’s Landing. –We will not attack King’s Landing.” I assert.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne? By asking nicely?” Olenna pokes.

I glance at Tyrion, and I could tell from his face that he knew Lady Olenna was pushing my nerve. “We will lay siege to the capitol, surrounding the city on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne but no food for her army or the people. Using the collected armies of the Baratheon’s, Martell’s, Tyrell’s and the allied Greyjoy’s, they will accompany my Dothraki and Unsullied to achieve the complete surrounding. Cersei won’t be able to flee to Casterly Rock; she will have no choice but to surrender.” I explain.

“And is that what you want?” Robert queries. “Her surrender? Not her life?” he clarifies.

“I want her dead for her crimes against my family. That’s true enough. –But out of respect for Tyrion, seeing as it is his sister, no matter the grievances—she will stand a fair trial.” I announce.

“She has sent Westeros into a state of ruin, murdered many, taken castles from their families, plots your death, and you want to give her a fair trial?” Yara disdains.

“If I am to build a better world, I can’t begin that with becoming a dictator and executioner of the previous monarch, no matter who or what they’ve done. A new world, a better world, needs to be fair and one of mercy.” I elaborate.

“That sounds delightful. But she’ll die regardless. I can’t imagine after everything she has done you would want her to live. The trial will no doubt end in her death, and it will all have been for show, in your favour. Why don’t you just kill her in the siege and be done with it. Everyone will thank you for it.” Olena challenges again.

“Like I said, the bigger picture is what matters here. A new world needs a ruler of fairness and mercy, just like my father. But I need to be better. Cersei killed to get the throne. If I kill Cersei outright, I am no better than her.” I emphasise.

“Your Grace, you know Cersei needs to die either way if Westeros is to prosper once again. She holds some unworldly power that is ruining this land. If you want this new world, she cannot live in it.” Oberyn puts forward.

“I know that. And most likely, the trial will reach a verdict of a death sentence, but at least I will have shown that I tried. That I gave her mercy, something she never gave my family.” I retort. “If she does happen to survive her trial, she will not get her family home back, she will be stripped of all titles and be a prisoner of the realm for the rest of her days, watching the Seven Kingdoms prosper in a new world built by the very person she sought to destroy for years, supported wholly by the people and houses of Westeros. She will be alone, knowing her children are gone, her house is gone and eventually all memory of her will disappear as she rots. –And that is at the most, the very best she can hope to get.” I declare, and finally having no clap backs, all of them glanced at each other taking in my declaration.

“Do I have your support?” I question.

“You have mine.” Yara confirms first.

I look to the Martell’s. “Dorne is with you, Your Grace.” Oberyn states.

I lastly look to Olenna at the other end of the table, and after a moment she nods her support. “Thank you all. –When the time is right, you will be called upon to mobilise your armies. Dorne and the Ironborn will remain together and the Tyrell’s will pair with the Baratheon’s. It will be my honour to see my armies fighting alongside yours. –I look forward to our victory.” I proclaim and with that, the leaders bow their heads and start to vacate the chamber. “Lady Olenna may I speak with you alone?” I ask, catching her before she stood from her seat. Walking around and along the table, when I reached Olenna, taking a seat next to her, everyone had left leaving just the two of us.

“I realise that you are here in more hatred for Cersei than love for me. And I know that you perhaps don’t agree with some of my decisions for her fate, but I swear to you, whatever the outcome, she will pay for what she has done. And we will bring peace back to Westeros.” I assure.

Olenna smiles. “Peace. –We may have had peace under your family’s rule, but what did we have before that? And what did we have after it? –Peace never lasts, my dear.” Olenna points out. “Would you take some advice from an old woman?” she asks, to which I nod.

“He’s a clever man, your hand. I’ve known a great many clever men. I’ve outlived them all. You know why? I ignored them.” She smirks, and I can’t help but hint a smirk back. “We’ve heard stories about you. You’ve become quite the power, and the people still love you through and after your rise to it which is rare. –You seem a smart girl, a strongminded girl that knows what she wants, and I admire that. –But the Lords of Westeros are sheep. Are you a sheep? –No, you’re a dragon. –Be a dragon.” Olenna encourages with a grin, and I hint a smile back at her. Tyrion was clever, like she said. But I had a feeling that Olenna was just as clever, perhaps more.

Chapter Text

Tyrion stood on the beach shore, accompanied by Missandei and Rakharo, along with a selection of Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers. They stood in waiting as they watched a single rowboat come onto shore, awaiting the arrival of the King in the North, Jon Snow. His men pulled the rowboat up as he, and what must have been his own adviser, walked up to greet Tyrion.

“The Bastard of Winterfell.” Tyrion jokingly greets, although with no smile.

“The Dwarf of Casterly Rock.” Jon greets back in turn.

Tyrion then hints a smile at their jests, easing the tense introductions of their arrival. Jon smiles back as they both step forward to shake each other’s hand. “I believe we last saw each other at the Wall.” Tyrion remembers.

“You were pissin’ off the edge, if I remember right.” Jon recalls, making Tyrion smirk. “You’ve picked up some scars along the road.” Jon points out.

“It’s been a long road. –But we’re both still here.” Tyrion responds, and Jon merely nods with a serious expression.

Tyrion turns to the man stood at Jon’s side. “I’m Tyrion Lannister.” He introduces and the man takes a couple steps forward to shake his hand also. “Ser Davos Seaworth.” He greets.

“Ah, the Onion Knight. –We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.” Tyrion assesses.

“Unluckily for me.” Davos retorts humbly, to which Tyrion only lightly nods in response. He sees their eyes divert to Missandei, stood poised at his side. “This is Missandei, the Queen’s most trusted friend and adviser.” He introduces.

She smiles brightly at them both, bowing her head in respect at the introduction on her behalf. “Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the efforts you have made on her behalf. –If you wouldn’t mind handing over your weapons.” Missandei kindly welcomes.

Jon and Davos look at each other, clearly hesitant to do so, but Jon looks back at his men and all begin to unclasp their weapons belts. “Course.” Jon agrees and the Unsullied around walk towards the northern men, taking their weapons away. As Jon undoes his own, Rakharo steps forward, standing tall and assertively in front of him. After Jon hands his belt over, he turns at the sound of creaking and sees all the Dothraki men lifting and carrying their rowboat away.

“Please, this way.” Missandei urges, bringing their attentions back around and as Davos and Jon begin to walk, so does the rest.

The journey up to the castle felt a little awkward, no one spoke other than Davos and Missandei. He seemed quite interested in her character. Tyrion decided to break the ice with Jon a little more as they ascended the long trail of stairs up to the castle. “So, Sansa—I hear she is alive and well?” He asks.

“She is.” Jon confirms.

“Does she miss me terribly?” Tyrion jokingly queries, though with no reply, he glances back to see that the joke was probably not the most suited to her brother. “A sham marriage, and unconsummated.” He informs, looking back forward as they walked, seriously this time, referencing the forced marriage Cersei and Tywin forced upon them after Sansa had been captured by them years previous during the war.

“I didn’t ask.” Jon dismisses.

“Well, it was—wasn’t—anyway.” Tyrion assures. “She’s much smarter than she lets on.” He adds.

“She’s startin’ to let on.” Jon responds.

Tyrion smiles. “Good.”

“At some point I want to hear how a Night’s Watch recruit became King in the North.” Tyrion muses.

“As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon retorts.

Tyrion scoffs in amusement. “A long a bloody tale.” He replies. “To be honest, I was drunk for most of it.” he adds.

Jon glances back at the party behind them. Davos and Missandei directly behind as they walked, followed by the several Unsullied and Dothraki men. “My men think I’m a fool for comin’ here.” Jon announces, looking back.

“Course they do. If I was your adviser, I would have advised against it. –General rule of thumb, the Stark’s don’t fare well when they travel south.” Tyrion points out.

“True, but I’m not a Stark.” Jon states.

“Well, Ned Stark’s blood runs through your veins. And you’re King in the North now, aren’t you? –I’d say you’re as good a Stark as the rest.” Tyrion reasons.

“Aye, perhaps. But a title doesn’t give me the right to the name. I’m still a bastard.” Jon dismisses just as Drogon suddenly screeches deeply over them, soaring low and right over, making both Jon and Davos dive for the stairs in sudden panic and fear at the monstrous and deafening noise. Looking up from the ground, he sees Drogon flying up towards the castle, beginning to circle above it as three more dragons appear following the first, all sporadically calling and screeching above to each other as they flew. He and Davos then look around at the others, all stood quite calmly and unfazed. Missandei even smiled at them as she looked from the dragons back to them on the ground.

“I’d say you get used to them—but you never really do.” Tyrion muses as he offers his hand to Jon to rise him back to his feet. Tyrion and Missandei begin to walk the stairs again but Davos and Jon’s eyes were fixated on the dragons flying above. They had never seen such large and powerful creatures, things of legends. And they were most certainly real, and rather terrifying.

“Come, their mother is waiting for you.” Tyrion urges.

-

Above in the hills, Melisandre stood looking down at the small party travelling up the stairs to the castle. She knew it was Jon Snow and Ser Davos and so she kept herself hidden and tucked away, not wanting them to know she was around. She knew now they were here her job, for now, had been fulfilled, until the Long Night came.

“I wondered why you weren’t there to meet our guests. –You begged us to summon the King in the North. Don’t you want to see him again?” Varys pokes as he comes to stand beside Melisandre at the edge of the towering cliff edge. His hatred and offence, and somewhat hidden fear, for sorcerers shining through as it had done with Kinvara in Meereen.

“I’ve done my part. I’ve brought ice and fire together.” Melisandre proclaims.

“Strange. You spoke so highly of Jon Snow, but when he arrives you hide on a cliff. –I didn’t take you for a bashful girl.” Varys points out.

“My time whispering in the ears of Kings has come to an end.” She informs.

“Oh, I doubt that. –Give us common folk one taste of power, we’re like the lion who tasted man. Nothing is ever so sweet again.” Varys retorts.

Melisandre lightly smiles. “Neither of us is common folk anymore.” She dismisses and Varys simply nods his head.

“I did not part on good terms with the King in the North or his adviser.” Melisandre finally declares.

“Why?” Varys asks.

“Because of mistakes I made. Terrible mistakes.” She admits, looking guilty and ashamed. “I would only be a distraction if I stayed.” She adds.

“So, where will you go?” Varys queries.

“Volantis.” She answers.

“Good. –If you don’t mind my saying, I don’t think you should return to Westeros. I’m not sure you’d be safe here.” Varys calmy warns.

Melisandre lightly smiles again. “Oh, I will return dear Spider. One last time.” She states.

“My lady, I—,” Varys begins to dispute but is interrupted. “I have to die in this strange country—just like you.” She calmly announces, making Varys’ face turn cold before she turns and begins to leave the cliffs, leaving Varys with the vague and worrying thought.

-

Sat on the stone throne, with William stood next to it and Grey Worm ahead, we waited for the others to arrive. Soon enough, the doors creaked open and in came Tyrion and Missandei, striding through the hall to come and stand ahead of me on the throne like the others. Several of my Dothraki and Unsullied poured in afterwards and as they came to stand at the sides they revealed two men walking through the doors after them all. An older man, aged to an older silver hair and beard, alongside a younger, strong looking man, with hair as black as a raven and adorning the Stark sigiled leather armour. I was now coming to meet the King in the North: Jon Snow, who looked mildly intimidated at first glance. I took this as a good sign.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons, The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.” Missandei assertively and confidently introduces. It was a long list of titles, but it only showed how far I had come and how much I had accomplished.

Jon Snow and his adviser, no doubt, look at each other after Missandei’s announcement and this older man clearly takes the hint. “This is Jon Snow.” He greets. “He King in the North.” He simply adds and I could see in the very corner of my eye William hiding a smirk next to me. I kept my gracious smile intact.

“Thank you for travelling so far, my Lord. I hope the seas weren’t too rough.” I kindly thank, making a point of calling him a Lord to test his reaction.

“The winds were kind, Your Grace.” He lightly smiles. “Apologies, I have a flea bottom accent, I know. But Jon Snow is King in the North, he’s not a Lord.” The older man, the adviser, corrects. I admired his boldness; it was something Jon overlooked.

“Forgive me—,” I begin. “Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth.” Tyrion aids.

“Forgive me, Ser Davos—but from what I have learnt and read from the realm’s histories, the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Baelor Targaryen. In his exchange for his title, uniting the North with the rest of the realm, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. –Or do I have my facts wrong?” I point out.

“I wasn’t there, Your Grace.” Ser Davos replies.

“No, of course not. –But still, on oath is an oath. And perpetuity means—what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?” I knowingly query.

“Forever.” He answers.

“Forever.” I repeat. “So, I assume—my Lord—you’re here to bend the knee?” I state in question.

He seems to sigh before answering, as if to brace himself. “I am not.” He admits.

“Oh—well that is unfortunate. –You’ve travelled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?” I poke.

“Break faith? Your house is gone. My house nearly was too because of the war in your father’s name. The realm is in chaos, more than you know, and you talk of ancient oaths. It hardly seems relevant anymore now, does it?” Jon challenges.

“A war we never asked for—but that war your family chose to fight in, alongside Robert Baratheon who stands behind me today in this war.” I retort. “Our two houses were allies for centuries and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms has ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity, with a Targaryen sitting on Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. Just like your father did, a man my father and Robert held and hold in great regard. They were true friends and allies.” I emphasise.

“Is that what you want for us? To be friends and allies?” Jon questions seriously.

I couldn’t tell from the fraction of time we had been talking so far if this Jon Snow would be our ally, and I certainly wouldn’t know if we could ever be friends. He seemed very cold in his reception now, as if he didn’t really want to be here. It made me wonder why he came at all. “I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow—honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North. –Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it.” I declare.

He stands staring for a moment, contemplating an answer, before glancing around at the people in the chamber swiftly. “You’re right—our houses were allies for centuries, like the rest of the realm was. –But this is not that same realm anymore—and I am not beholden to my ancestor’s vows.” He states simply, annoying me slightly.

“Then why are you here?” I question.

“Because I need your help, and you need mine.” Jon proclaims.

I found that quite hard to believe, and I saw Tyrion wonder the same as he glanced back my way for a second. “Did you see four dragons flying overhead when you arrived?” I ask looking from Tyrion back to Jon.

“I did.” Jon answers.

“And did you see the Dothraki and Unsullied? –All of whom have sworn themselves to me?” I follow up.

“They’re hard to miss.” He jabs cautiously as he looks around the room.

“But still—I need your help?” I query.

“Not to defeat Cersei. You could storm King’s Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it, and we didn’t even have dragons.” Ser Davos clarifies.

“Almost.” Tyrion emphasises.

“But you haven’t stormed King’s Landing. –Why not? –The only reason I can see is you don’t want to kill thousands of innocent people. It’s the fastest way to end the war, but you won’t do it. Which means, at the very least, you’re better than Cersei.” Jon reasons, amusing me. We didn’t know each other, but ‘at the very least’ seemed quite understated.

“Still, that doesn’t explain why I need your help.” I point out.

“Because right now, you and I and Cersei, and everyone else, we’re children playin’ at a game, screamin’ that the rules aren’t fair.” He announces. “You told me you liked this man.” I direct to Tyrion.

“I do.” He affirms.

“He is refusing to bow, to call me his queen and has now called me a child.” I list.

“I believe he is calling all of us children—figure of speech.” Tyrion clarifies.

“Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we don’t defeat the enemy to the North.” Jon states.

“As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the North.” I retort.

“I am not your enemy—the dead are the enemy.” He declares.

“The dead?” I repeat in ridiculous disbelief at what I was hearing, before looking over to Tyrion again. “Is that another figure of speech?” I question in mockery.

“The army of the dead is on the march.” Jon continues. “The army of the dead?” Tyrion now repeats.

Jon sighs. “You don’t know me well, my Lord, but do you think I’m a liar or a madman?” Jon asks.

“No. I don’t think you’re either of those things.” Tyrion backs.

“The army of the dead is real. The white walkers are real. The Night King is real. I’ve seen them. If they get past the wall and we’re squabblin’ amongst ourselves—,” Jon argues and takes a big step forward in the midst of his passionate plea, making Rakharo and Grey Worm step forward in reactive warning, stopping Jon. “—we’re finished.” He adds calmly.

Jon and Davos seem to wait for me to reply, to hear what I had to say. I then saw Tyrion glance back seeing I wasn’t saying anything yet. I wasn’t sure whether to believe Jon and I was more inclined not to; it sounded like nonsense. I had read old legends and histories of why the Wall had been built but everyone always said it was just a myth, a scary story made up from the ancient times. This was not why I was here. Whatever Jon spoke of was not the reason the realm was deteriorating, why it was in chaos, why it was crumbling. That was Cersei.

“I was born at Dragonstone. –Not that I can remember it.” I announce as I stand from the throne. “A baby born during the greatest storm the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen, and later—a child that survived a massacre, having to flee her home.” I continue as I begin to slowly descend the steps towards Jon. “I spent half my life in foreign lands—so many men have tried to kill me, I don’t remember all their names. –I have been sold like a broodmare—I’ve been chained and betrayed—raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? –Faith. –Not in any gods—not in myths and legends—in myself—in Daenerys Targaryen.” I assert as I stood at the bottom of the steps, before starting to walk up to Jon. “The world hadn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Unsullied hadn’t been freed and fought as free men until I gave them that chance. –The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea—any sea—they did for me. –I didn’t go through all of that hardship—I didn’t rally the greatest armies the world has ever seen, to see Cersei sat happily and unopposed on the throne. On my father’s throne—the one she massacred my family for.” I point out as come to stand right before Jon. “I was born to end Cersei—her rule—and I will.” I strongly assert.

For a short moment, we both stared at each other in silence. “You’ll be rulin’ over a graveyard, if we don’t defeat the Night King.” Jon retorts, rendering us both quiet again.

“The war against my sister has already begun. You can’t expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting—whatever you saw beyond the Wall.” Tyrion points out, coming to stand by my side, probably registering my annoyance. Robert and Tyrion had both said the Northerners are known to be stubborn and I had to be ready to battle that, but this was something else. The Night King? It all sounded ludicrous.

Ser Davos takes a step forward, coming back to Jon’s side. “You don’t believe him. I understand that; it sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. –You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros—he is the first to make allies of wildlings and north men. He was named Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he was named King in the North, not because of his birth right, he has no birth right; he’s a damn bastard. All those hard, sons of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him.” Davos backs for his King. “All those things you don’t believe in, he faced those things, he fought those things for the good of his people, he risked his life for his people, he took a knife in the heart for his people, he gave his own—,” Davos passionately continues, but a look from Jon stops him. It was curious: Davos’ choice of words. It made both Tyrion and I glance a confused look at each other. Jon seemed a decent man by Davos’ words; he was chosen a leader because people believed in him, same as I. And yet, we were still at odds. The North really was stubborn, although so was I, but I supposed that was my Stark mother in me, the small northern part of me too, like Jon had my uncle Ned in his blood.

“If we don’t put aside our enmities and band together, we will die. –And then it doesn’t matter who’s skeleton sits on the Iron Throne.” Davos finishes.

“If it doesn’t matter, then you might as well kneel. Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys, help her to defeat her sister, and together our armies will protect the North.” Tyrion negotiates as Jon begins to lightly shake his head, as if growing tired of the conversation. Although so was I; we were going around in circles.

“There’s no time for that. There’s no time for any of this. While we stand here debatin’—,” Jon begins. “It takes no time to bend the knee. Pledge your sword to her cause.” Tyrion encourages, intervening.

“And why would I do that?” Jon bursts glaring at Tyrion before looking back to me. “I mean no offence, Your Grace, but I don’t know you. –We may have been allies before but our families are gone. You’ve spent most of your life in Essos and now you come back stakin’ claim to your father’s throne, the one your family hasn’t sat on for over a decade now, and the one my house nearly got eradicated fightin’ for. That war sent the North into chaos, and I know you are not guilty of any of that, but I have been fightin’ for it for years, and I still am. –The north men placed their trust in me to lead them and I will continue to do so, as well as I can.” Jon states with impatience and assertiveness.

I stare back at him for a second, my expression staying plain after I took in his exclamation. “That’s fair.” I calmly reason. “It’s also fair to point out that I am fighting for the Seven Kingdoms. –By declaring yourself King of the Northern most kingdom—you are in open rebellion.” I declare sternly, asserting my own ground and dominance. We were completely at odds. Two stubborn rulers staring each other down.

Not so long after I had spoke the last word, Varys came rushing into the chamber. His appearance made Jon and Davos look back as my eyeline looked over their shoulders towards him. He hurriedly made his way around and came to stand right next to me. “Lord Randall Tarly of Hornhill, loyal bannermen of House Tyrell, has sailed to Dragonstone and grants an urgent audience with you. I’m afraid I couldn’t keep him wait—,” Varys quietly but quickly whispers in my ear, but Lord Randall strides into the chamber before he finished.

“Your Grace, I insist I must speak with you. It is most urgent and important about Cersei Lannister.” Lord Randall bursts as he comes to stand by Jon and Davos, not even registering them at all and not at all fazed by anyone in the room. For a man who seemed troubled somehow, he was most confident.

“Of course, my Lord. If you would follow Lord Varys to the council chamber, you will find Robert Baratheon and you may sit with him there. I will be with you very soon.” I declare. The man looked utterly distressed but also vengeful at the same time. It worried me as to what exactly had happened that had prompted him to travel all the way here.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He says, quickly bowing his head before leaving with Varys towards the council chambers. For a second I watch them walk, before turning back around to face Jon and Davos, glancing at Tyrion as I turned for a split second, seeing he was most confused as I was.

“You must forgive my manners. You’ll both be tired after your long journey. We’ll have baths drawn for you and suppers sent to your chmabers.” I announce before turning to Rakharo behind by the steps.

“Zhorre mae akka mae mahrazhi rekkrifi tat moira okreena akka hadi. Tat vo ti eyak moira vovi irge ha zhille velzerikh.”
(“Have him and his men escorted to their chambers and fed. Do not give them their weapons back for any reason.”) I order in Dothraki so they wouldn’t understand the instructions.

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Rakharo replies with a nod, beginning to walk forward as I begin to walk across the chamber towards the council chambers.

“Am I your prisoner?” Jon questions, stopping me on the steps.

I turn around with a stern look on my face, but calm, as I looked back at him. “Not yet.” I answer, before resuming to head after Lord Randall, followed by the others as Jon and Davos are escorted out the hall.

“Lord Randall, although we are honoured by your presence, I will assume to skip the pleasantries on account of your insistence for an audience, for you seem troubled. Please, tell us what you know.” I announce as I come into the council chamber and see Lord Randall stood at the fireplace with Robert and Varys.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I have been through an ordeal and how I have come through the end of it alive is why I am here.” He begins. “When Cersei Lannister sent ravens out to the houses, all those that hadn’t declared for either side in the coming war, I sent a raven back declaring my loyalty to House Tyrell. As our overloads we are bound by an oath to support them, and I would not support that tyrant if she threatened me on pain of death.” He proclaims. “She sent her army and bannermen and laid a surprise siege on our castle to her victory. She took my daughter hostage, along with myself and my son Dickon, heir to Hornhill.” He informs.

“Fool, why did you send a raven back at all. You should have ignored it.” Robert gently points out.

“I wanted to stand my ground. I’m not an oath breaker. At least I stayed loyal to my word.” Lord Randall reasons.

“But to who’s expense?” William queries softly, and Lord Randall lowers his head slightly.

“We are grateful for your loyalty, Lord Randall. No one can diminish that—but how did you get away?” I question.

He lifts his head back up. “I don’t know where my daughter was taken, but Dickon and I were brought before the queen, seemingly during some sort of council meeting with her bannermen in the great hall.” He states. “Who was there?” I ask before he could say another word.

“Walder Frey, Euron Greyjoy, a few other smaller houses.” He answers and I look to Tyrion.

“Seems Euron found his queen.” I annoyingly jest.

“Her bannermen are few, but you cannot underestimate her—or her powers. It is why I am here.” Randall declares.

“Her powers? Are you saying the rumours of her being a sorceress are true?” I query.

“Yes. –When brought before her, Dickon had managed to untie himself from his bounds and when she came to stand right before him, he stabbed her in the gut.” Randall states, much to our surprised confusion. Was she dead?

“Are you saying Dickon killed Cersei?” William questions, saying what we were all thinking aloud.

“No. She did not die. –She killed my brave Dickon with just the palm of her hand over his chest. I think she exploded his heart with her dark power. –And before that she drew the dagger, he stabbed her with, from her side with no blood on the blade or from her wound. –She cannot be killed.” He declares. For a moment we were all silent, taking in the information. I wasn’t sure what to think, or even do. Did this change things?

“I am sorry for your loss, Lord Randall. Truly sorry. If your daughter is still alive, we will get her back with the wars end.” I comfort.

“She made a mistake in not killing me too. She told me to speak of this to you, of the generosity and mercy of the queen. I would have come sooner, but I had to ride for Hornhill to break the news to my wife and bring her with me. –But now, I will do anything I can to aid you in this war. You have my full support, Your Grace. Cersei Lannister must pay for her crimes.” Randall resentfully proclaims.

“Thank you, my Lord. –She will.” I assure.

“Will she? –This means that the phantom army that took back the throne was certainly real, and certainly was created by Cersei. Does this not change things?” William queries.

“It can’t.” I respond.

“Perhaps it should.” Tyrion backs.

“It can’t.” I repeat.

“If she can kill a man with her bare hands, if she can create a phantom army, there’s no telling what else she can do. What if she has the power to kill one of your dragons?” Tyrion points out.

“She didn’t have this power all her life, did she, Lord Tyrion?” I ask.

“No. Even I was sure the recent rumours weren’t true, and I had to have been amongst court when she acquired them.” Tyrion answers.

“Then she must be drawing them from a source of power. And all sources have their limits.” I reason. “If she created an army once, why hasn’t she done it again? Why bother calling bannermen to fight when you have a lifeless army to do it for them?” I question aloud, but no one answers. “Something that big, to create a whole army—it must drain her powers. She must weaken. –Which means she has a vulnerability.” I hypothesise.

“You realise this is speculation. And of course, you’re forgetting that she pulled a dagger out with no blood. What if she truly can’t be killed?” William worries.

“Then we kill her source of power, and deal with her after, as planned.” I conclude.

“We’re going to need more allies.” Tyrion points out.

“More than Dorne, the Reach and the Iron Islands?” I retort.

“Not all the Iron Islands, and yes. Say Cersei musters up enough if this power to create another phantom army alongside her bannermen. –We need the North.” Tyrion elaborates.

“The King in the North made it quite clear he didn’t want to be allies within the first meeting we just had. –And remember I have four dragons.” I counter.

“Yes, exactly, within the first meeting. We just need to continue to try a little harder. We need him if we are to be fully prepared for whatever Cersei will throw our way—dragons or not. I’m sure you wouldn’t want them getting too close in case anything potentially happened to them through Cersei’s powers. Besides, if we have the North, we have most of the Seven Kingdoms support.” Tyrion assesses.

“Very well.” I simply agree. “We keep the plan the same. We can’t go back on it because of fear. That is what she wants. Nothing changes. –Now we are sure of this power she has, hopefully nothing will come as a surprise. We can still beat her; we just have to be smart.” I confidently declare, getting a line of bowed heads in response.

“Lord Randall, if you wish, you can be shown to a room with whatever you may need. And you and Lady Tarly may stay as long as you like.” I offer.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” he bows. I bow my head back in respect and then look to Grey Worm so he could show him to a room where he could bring up his wife.

“So, Jon Snow—,” Tyrion begins. “You talk to him first. He knows you. And I have a feeling he may not have warmed to me after our first meeting.” I intervene.

“I’m confident Jon Snow has a good heart, just like you. I’m sure he will warm to you in due time.” Tyrion assures.

“Let’s hope so. If we ever want the North to unite with us, we’re going to need Jon to want that too.” I point out. If Jon and I were ever going to unite, one of us stubborn rulers were going to have to give, and I had to make sure it wasn’t me.

Chapter Text

“These hills make for a good brooding spot. The wind in the cliffs overlooking the sea. It’s why I like it.” Tyrion announces as he comes to stand at Jon’s side at the cliff edge, who glances at his arrival but turns back to overlook the horizon. “You know, you look a lot better brooding than I do.” He adds in a jest.

Jon sighs. “I’m a prisoner on this island.” He states.

“I wouldn’t say you’re a prisoner on this island. You’re free to walk the castle, the beaches, the hills, to go wherever you want.” Tyrion retorts.

“Except to my ship. You took my ship.” Jon counters.

“I wouldn’t say we took your ship; you just can’t get to your—,” Tyrion begins. “I’m not playin’ word games with you. –The dead are comin’ for us all.” Jon interrupts.

“Why don’t you figure out what to do about my sorceress sister of a tyrant queen, and I’ll figure out what to do about your walking dead men.” Tyrion pokes.

“It’s hard for me to fathom, it really is. If someone told me about the white walkers and the Night King—,” Jon starts, his annoyance apparent in his voice, but he stops himself and calms, sighing. “You probably don’t believe me.” He adds in a quieter, defeated voice.

“I do, actually.” Tyrion responds.

“You didn’t before.” Jon points out. “Grumpkins and snarks you called them; do you remember?” Jon queries and Tyrion smirks lightly at the memory, nodding. “You said it was all nonsense.” Jon adds.

“It was nonsense. Everybody knew it. –But then Mormont saw them, and you saw them, and I trust the eyes of an honest man more than I trust what everybody knows.” Tyrion states.

Jon looks to Tyrion with unsure eyes. “How do I convince people who don’t know me, that an enemy they don’t believe in is comin’ to kill them all?” Jon asks.

“Good question.” Tyrion unhelpfully replies.

“I know it’s a good question, I’m lookin’ for an answer.” Jon retorts.

“People’s minds aren’t meant for problems that large. –The white walkers, the Night King, army of the dead—it’s almost a relief to confront a comfortable familiar monster like my sister.” Tyrion points out.

“I need to help prepare my people for what’s comin’. I can’t help them from here. I’d like to leave.” Jon states.

“It seems unlikely that you became King in the North by giving up that easily.” Tyrion assesses.

Jon looks over the horizon, watching the dragons come into view flying from across the hills coming over the port. “Everyone told me to learn from my father’s mistake: don’t go south—don’t answer a summons from the dragon queen, an exile no one really knows—and here I am, a northern fool.” Jon ridicules of himself.

“Some children are not their fathers, luckily for some. And sometimes there’s more to exiles and northern fools than meets the eye.” Tyrion begins as they both watch the dragons fly over them, beginning to circle the castle like they usually did. “You know, Daenerys made it her duty and mission to save many people from horrible fates. Some of whom are with us on this island right now. While you are our guest here you might consider asking them what they think of the exile dragon queen. –She protects people from monsters, just as you do. That’s why she came here. And she’s not about to head North to fight an enemy she’s never seen on the word of a man she doesn’t know after a single meeting. It’s not a reasonable thing to ask.” Tyrion explains, and without a response Jon starts to walk away past Tyrion. “So, do you have anything reasonable to ask?” Tyrion adds, stopping Jon and turning him back.

“What do you mean?” Jon questions.

“Maybe you are a northern fool. –I’m asking if there’s something I can do to help you.” Tyrion clarifies.

Jon thinks for a second before answering, knowing what his answer would be, but pondering whether to mention it. “We need dragonglass. It kills the wights and the white walkers. If we can mine it, we can forge weapons from it. Dragonstone ha—,” Jon answers but is cut off midway as suddenly two of the dragons lands not far in front, startling the both of them as the ground thudded and shook for a second. What soon followed, was the sight of Daenerys climbing down from off the black dragon, and what appeared to be William Baratheon climbing down off the more red dragon. Looking their way, Jon locked eyes with Daenerys and both stared at the other as the dragons pushed from the ground to re-join the other two in the sky.

“You were saying.” Tyrion says, gaining back his attention.

“Dragonglass. It’s volcanic glass that can kill the dead. —Dragonstone has an enormous amount of it which we believe to be in the island’s beach caves. –We need it. All of it.” Jon finally announces.

Tyrion nods and then looks over to see Daenerys and William standing together, Daenerys seemingly still staring but then she turns and begins to head back to the castle. “Let me see what I can do.” He replies, before walking off in Daenerys’ direction.

Jon stays standing at the cliff edge, watching the dragons fly around above as he let his thoughts fly freely with them. it was silent, apart from the elements and the dragons, until another voice interrupted his brooding.

“It’s strange. –On the outside, they look like terrifying creatures, and I suppose they are. But on the inside, they’re actually quite considerate, smart, devoted and loving.” William states coming to Jon’s side as they both watched the dragons at the cliff edge.

“And I suppose that’s easy to say from someone who just got off the back of ridin’ one.” Jon retorts.

Williams lightly scoffs in amusement. “Yeah, I suppose so. –But it’s true.” William agrees.

They both look at each other, and William offers his hand. “William Baratheon.” He introduces and Jon shakes his hand. “I’d say my name, but after the meetin’ yesterday—,” Jon lightly smiles. “Yes—Jon Snow.” William says for him.

“So how did a Baratheon become a dragon rider?” Jon curiously queries.

William smiles. “Daenerys all but dragged me onto Drogon not long ago, and soon she encouraged me to approach and ride another. –She is Drogon’s dragon rider you see.” He simply explains.

“Were you not afraid to approach the things?” Jon questions looking at the dragons.

“I was shit scared.” William laughs, making Jon chuckle with him. “But they’re good judges of character, and if they know you, they won’t hurt you. –Like I said, they’re loving creatures really. Gentle. Aerion came to me, and he’s now the one I gravitate towards and ride. Like Daenerys came to ride Drogon.” William explains.

“What’s it like?” Jon asks.

“Like nothing you’ve ever experienced. –I can’t explain it.” William answers as the dragons screech over them.

“No one believed it when the first word spread of their presence. At least, not in the North. –I wasn’t sure what I was expectin’ when we travelled here. But when I saw them for the first time, it wasn’t what I had imagined; they were bigger, louder, more terrifyin’ than I thought. Yet, they are magnificent.” Jon announces.

“I remember when they hatched. When Daenerys rose from the ashes, they were no bigger than a raven on her shoulder.” William recalls fondly.

“You were there?” Jon queries.

“Yes. It’s something I’ll never forget.” William confirms.

“Rose from the ashes?” Jon questions.

William nods. “She stepped onto a burning pyre in the night with the dragon eggs, ones everyone just thought were stone, or at least had turned to stone over the years. By morning light, the pyre was burnt away, and she was left unburnt amongst the ashes, with her four dragons. –Now that was magnificent.” William remembers.

“I suppose that’s where the title ‘the Unburnt’ comes from?” Jon assesses.

William smiles smally. “Missandei likes to get creative.” He responds, putting a hint of a smile on Jon’s face.

“And how did Missandei come to serve Daenerys?” Jon wonders.

“Perhaps that is something you should ask her yourself. That is her story to tell, not mine. But another one of Daenerys’ magnificent, albeit more brutal and dominant, moments, I can assure you.” William suggests.

“You speak highly of her.” Jon deducts.

“She is my closest friend. We have been friends since we were children, I was brought up around her and her family.” William states happily.

“That doesn’t speak to her character, only your relationship.” Jon points out.

“Her character is one of a kind. She has always had a kind, gentle heart, but it’s also fearless and strong. She knows what she wants, and she’ll never stop to get it.” William praises.

“The Iron Throne?” Jon deduces.

“William smiles smally. “I can see why you’d think that after that initial meeting. She can also be stubborn and a little tempered, a bit how you came off I might add. I suppose that’s the northern part in the both of you.” William jests. “Despite everything she has been through, everything she has seen, and tried to get away from, she has turned out a good person. The years may have hardened her kind and gentle heart a little, but it still remains. And now, with no duty to do so, she came back to fight for her home, alongside people she doesn’t really know.” He highlights.

“And at the end of it, she gets the Seven Kingdoms. She gets the Iron Throne.” Jon concludes.

“If you really knew her, you’d know that is exactly what everyone else wants for her, and what she really wants is different.” William vaguely declares.

“And what is it exactly that she really wants?” Jon asks.

“Again—that’s something you should ask her yourself, one day.” William suggests, before patting his shoulder and beginning to walk off back to the castle, leaving Jon with a lot more thoughts to brood over.

-

“Dragonglass?” I repeat.

“Yes. Volcanic glass. Obsidian. He says we have a tremendous amount of it here.” Tyrion elaborates, as we stood in the council chambers after he followed me into the castle from the hills.

“And what does the King in the North want with this dragonglass?” I question.

“Apparently it can be turned into weapons that kill white walkers and their foot soldiers—or stop them—destroy them—unsure about the nomenclature.” Tyrion informs.

“And what do you think about this army of the dead, and white walkers, and Night Kings? I thought these were all made-up stories from ancient legends.” I ask.

“I’d very much like to believe Jon Snow is wrong, that they are indeed made-up stories, but a wise man once said that you should never believe a thing simply because you want to believe it.” Tyrion reasons, much to my hidden amusement.

“Which wise man said this?” I query, hiding my smile.

“I don’t remember.” He obviously lies.

“Are you trying to present your own statements as ancient wisdom?” I question, raising my eyebrows with a slight smirk.

“I would never do that—to you.” He retorts, making me smile and slightly shake my head as I go to step over to the fireplace.

“The reason I believe Jon Snow is because he’s here. All of his men and advisers would have told him not to come, I would have told him not to come, and he’s here anyway. You don’t have to believe him. Let him mine the dragonglass. If he’s wrong, it’s worthless. You didn’t even know it was here, it’s nothing to you. –Give him something, by giving him nothing. Take a step toward a more productive relationship with a possible ally, one we both know we need on our side.” Tyrion advises.

After hearing his encouragements, my mind wondered to the initial meeting we had, and the words exchanged. Thinking on it, I turned back to face Tyrion. “What was that Ser Davos said—about taking a knife in the heart for his people? Did you notice that?” I query my thoughts aloud after a moment.

“You must allow them their flights of fancy; it’s dreary in the North.” Tyrion dismisses, though I couldn’t help but think it felt more than a figure of speech, or exaggeration, from the pained way Jon looked to Davos to stop. There was more of a story to that, and perhaps to this Jon Snow.

-

“So, what do you think of her?” Davos asks Jon as they descended the stairs from the castle, wanting to talk to Missandei, noticing she was stood overlooking the sea and shores and the sunset from a corner on the long path of the stairs.

“Who?” Jon queries.

Davos sighs. “I believe you know of whom I speak.”

“She puts on a bold face, but I reckon she has a good heart.” Jon answers.

“A good heart? –I’ve noticed you staring at her good heart.” Davos pokes jokingly, smiling to himself.

Jon scoffs. “Her mother was my father’s sister; I can’t think like that. Besides, there’s no time for that. –I saw the Night King, Davos, and his white walkers at the Fist of the First Men. How many men do we have in the whole north to fight him? Ten thousand? Less? And that is only if we can rally the houses together in time, meanwhile here we are playin’ word games.” Jon worries.

Davos mumbles his agreement. “But, speaking of good hearts, Missandei of Naath.” Davos cheerfully announces, gaining her attention as they came closer to the corner she was stood gazing over at, admiring the view.

“Ser Davos—Lord Snow.” She greets, bowing her head as she turns to face them.

“King Snow, isn’t it? –No, that doesn’t sound right. King Jon?” Davos trials.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jon dismisses.

“Forgive me, but may I ask a question?” Missandei asks.

“Of course.” Jon says.

“Your name is Jon Snow, but your father’s name was Ned Stark?” Missandei wonders.

“I’m a bastard.” Jon answers, but Missandei only looks at him confused, not aware of the term. “My mother and father weren’t married.” He clarifies.

“Is the custom different in Naath?” Davos questions.

“We don’t have marriage in Naath. So, the concept of a bastard doesn’t exist.” Missandei informs.

“That sounds liberating.” Davos muses, looking to Jon, with a hint of a joking smile, but Jon just looks back to Missandei.

“Why did you leave your homeland?” He asks.

“I was stolen away by slavers.” Missandei answers.

“I’m sorry.” Jon sincerely says, to which Missandei respectfully hints a smile.

“If I may, how did a slave girl come to befriend and advise Daenerys Targaryen?” Davos queries.

Missandei smiles at the memory. “She bought me from my master and set me free.” She relives.

“That was good of her—of course, you’re serving her now, aren’t you?” Davos points out.

“I serve my queen because I want to serve my queen. Because I believe in her.” Missandei states.

“And if you wanted to sail home to Naath tomorrow?” Jon ponders.

“Then she would give me a ship and wish me good fortune.” Missandei tells.

“You believe that?” Jon skepticises.

“I know it. –She did so the day she set me free.” Missandei affirms. “All of us who came with her from Essos, we believe in her. She’s not our queen because she’s the daughter of some king we never knew—she’s the queen we chose.” Missandei declares.

Davos looks to Jon. “Will you forgive me if I switch sides?” He jests.

-

“Missandei, Ser Davos, supper has been prepared.” I announce, calling down the stairs as I approached the small gathering with the intent to speak with Jon. I wasn’t sure what they were speaking of, but Missandei didn’t look uncomfortable and that really was all I was looking for and cared about when I saw them. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak with Jon alone.” I add as I come to stand with them. They both bow their heads and together begin to head up the stairs towards the castle. I move to the corner where Missandei had been stood and look out at the horizon, at the colourful sunset before us as my children then soared over above us one at a time.

“Amazin’ thing to see.” Jon admires coming to stand next to me, looking out at the dragons flying across the sunset.

“I named them after family. Drogon, the black, after my husband Khal Drogo. Eleria, the gold, after my mother Elena. Aerion, the red, after my father Aerys. And Rhaegal, the green, after my brother Rhaegar. –They’re all gone now.” I sadly convey, though I gain no reply. I look to my side at Jon. “You lost a brother and father too.” I add.

Jon lightly nods. “Half-brother.” He sombrely corrects.

“I’m sure your brother never saw you as such. Family is family; blood is blood. –You may be a bastard, Jon Snow, but you have the Stark blood in your veins. I can only assume the Northmen who named you King saw that.” I deduce, but again, he says no reply and instead looks away back to the sunset, almost in shame.

I sigh a little, as I join in looking back to the sunset. “People thought dragons were gone forever, but here they are. –Perhaps we should be examining what we think we know.” I put forward.

“You’ve been talkin’ to Tyrion.” Jon muses.

“He is my Hand.” I retort.

“He enjoys talkin’.” Jon points out.

“I suppose we all enjoy what we’re good at.” I state.

“I don’t.” Jon admits. I look to him curiously, as he continues looking out, pondering on his honest yet vague answer. I wondered what exactly he was thinking when he responded, but I push it from my mind. I had to assert my ground, but still give him something, as Tyrion suggested.

“You know I’m not going to let Cersei stay on the Iron Throne.” I affirm.

“I never expected that you would.” Jon replies, turning back to face me.

“And I haven’t changed my mind about which kingdoms belong to that throne.” I assert.

“I haven’t either.” Jon contends. I let out a breath and turn back to the horizon, we were both holding our ground as we had before. After a moments silence, after testing the waters once again before it was time for me to give him something.

“I will allow you to mine the dragonglass and forge weapons from it. Any resources or men you need I will provide for you.” I suddenly announce.

For a few seconds, I hear nothing from him and so I glance to my side, seeing a plain expression but I could see he was grateful in his eyes. “Thank you.” He softly says, and I move my eyes back to the sunset as I nod in response.

He lingers for a moment, and I wait for him to speak but don’t turn his way. “So, you believe me then about the Night King and the army of the dead?” he questions. I wasn’t sure if I did, it was hard to. But it did seem a bit ludicrous for him to come all this way, staying true to the things he said, wanting to mine the glass, for it all to not be true. There seemed to be no game or other explanation as to why he would make it up. It was just a hard thing to picture and believe. Something I perhaps didn’t want to believe; it was getting in the way of an easy alliance, of unifying the realm and taking it back from Cersei. Maybe that was why I couldn’t believe it.

“You better get to work Jon Snow.” I respond, avoiding his question, and with that he turns and began his ascent back up the stairs to the castle. I wondered if we were ever going to reach an end to these negotiations. We needed to. Tyrion was adamant now that we shouldn’t launch an attack without the North.

By the next day, Jon had already made his assessment of the cave that supposedly had this enormous accumulation of dragonglass. He had sent word for me to come and see it, and my curiosity took me there more than anything. I travelled down to the shore cave to meet him along with Missandei, wanting the stroll in the fresh air.

“What do you make of the King in the North?” I ask as we come to descending the last flight of stairs to the shore.

“I believe him to be an honest man at heart. His adviser speaks highly of him.” Missandei answers. “Forgive me, but he rather reminds me of you.” She adds.

“How so? I hope it’s not the facial hair.” I joke, gaining a smile from her.

“No. –He seems to care a lot for his people, what is best for them. From what Davos has said, he has fought for them when he didn’t have to, when everything and everyone was against him, he still fought for them, and saved lives others didn’t want to. They chose him as their leader because they believe in him. –Like we believe in you, because you fought for us when you didn’t have to, you saved lives others did not care about. –You are both more alike than you think.” She explains.

“You make a fair point. We are perhaps more alike than I thought—even in stubbornness.” I point out, both of us smiling at my own assessment, as we watch Jon ahead walking across the shore towards us.

“So—I’ve noticed you and Grey Worm have appeared much cosier and closer since arriving in Dragonstone. Is there anything you may have to share? Has anything happened?” I pry with a curious smile.

Missandei’s smile only grew larger. “Many things.” She vaguely answers as we come onto the shore.

I stop and turn to face her, with a smirk. “Many things?” I repeat amused, and she just smiles brightly and happily sighs.

“Your Grace.” Jon greets in his approach, breaking us both from the conversation.

I look back at Missandei. “We will talk of this later.” I grin, bumping her elbow with my own playfully.

As we step to begin walking with Jon towards the cave, the several Dothraki behind us who had been escorting us there, stepped to continue following, but there was no need. I knew we were safe with Jon.

“Kisha hash davra.”
(“We are fine.”) I assure, turning back to Rakharo and the rest, before heading off towards the cave.

Ser Davos was stood waiting with a flaming torch in the entrance as Jon led the way. Taking it from him, he led us all into the dark cave. “I wanted you to see it before we start hackin’ it to bits.” Jon announces as we walked further in, the torch quickly becoming the only source of light the further we ventured in as the light from the shore faded the more corners we turned. We walked through tight tunnels until we reached a large opening, where Jon lit a fire pit with his torch, lighting up the area. It towered high and the walls were lined with this black, unique looking substance everywhere for as far as the eye could see. It was shiny and rather beautiful; it was shame it would be hacked to bits as Jon said.

“Well, this is it. I’m hoping this is all we’ll ever need.” He states, holding the torch as he looks our way, both Missandei and I taking in the magnificence of the naturally decorated walls.

There is something else I want to show you, Your Grace.” Jon announces, bringing my attention back to him, and I nod before stepping forward to walk and follow him.

He leads me towards another tunnelway, showing the way through with his torch until we come into a small, enclosed dead end it appeared. He stood in the tight entranceway before standing aside and handing me the torch as I entered in after him. As I held the torch, I began to take in my surroundings as the light hit the walls. It showcased a series of markings on the cave walls in this small, secluded tunnel. I stepped forward, wanting a closer look at them. They looked so ancient and weathered, but still so clear. It was history carved into the walls, not that I could decipher what any of it meant. It was all strange symbols and markings. It was fascinating.

“The Children of the Forest made these.” Jon informs.

“The Children of the Forest? –Weren’t they the original inhabitants of Westeros?” I recall from some reading of the histories. I couldn’t remember much, but I recognised the name.

“Perhaps. It was a very long time ago.” Jon responds as we both scanned the markings.

“They were right here. Standing where we’re standing. Isn’t that captivating?” I fascinate. “Before there were Targaryens or Starks or Lannisters. –Maybe even before there were men.” I muse, amazed by the raw history before us. I loved to read about all the histories, but things like this that dated so far back, there was such few things on it, and nothing beat seeing things like this with your own eyes.

“No.” Jon says, breaking my attention away as he then turns and walks towards another corner in the small area. I follow him with the torch, coming to his side and light up whatever it was he was looking at and wanted me to see.

“They were here together. The Children and the First Men.” He shows, as we looked at these white markings of small figures, stood with larger figures that resembled people.

“Doing what? Fighting each other?” I ask and Jon looks at me, before holding my arm and directing me over to his side with the torch.

“They fought together. Against their common enemy.” He answers as I light up more detailed white markings of these monstrous looking creatures. I could only assume these were the white walkers Jon had been warning since he arrived here. The reason he was here. “Despite their differences, despite their suspicions—together.” He adds, looking to me as if relating this with us. “We need to do the same if we’re gonna survive. –‘Cause the enemy is real—it’s always been real.” He proclaims as I stare at the markings.

After a moment of thought, I look back to him. “And you say you can’t defeat them without my armies and my dragons?” I state in question.

“No, I don’t think I can.” He admits honestly, almost a little broken.

I step forward to him. “I will fight for you—I will fight for the North—when you bend the knee.” I announce.

Jon sighs. “My people won’t accept a southern ruler, not after everything they’ve suffered.” He rejects.

“They will if their King does. –They chose you to lead them. –They chose you to protect them. –Isn’t their survival more important than your pride?” I point out, but it renders him quiet, and he says nothing. He just stares back at me speechless, like I had poked an emotional nerve, stirred a thought in him. Hopefully I had planted a seed for him to join us.

The walk out the cave was quiet. We spoke no words. I wanted to help; he seemed desperate for it. But I was giving him the dragonglass, and if I took my armies and dragons north to fight for him, I needed something in return. That seemed only be fair. When we re-joined Missandei and Davos, we all worked out the cave again in silence, that was until we were met with Tyrion and Varys stood waiting outside the cave on the shore. As we came to stand before them, neither of them looked pleased.

“What is it?” I question worryingly.

They both glance at each other, clearly hesitant to answer, before Tyrion eventually does. “We received two ravens, almost simultaneously, after you left for the cave.” He announces.

“From who?” I ask.

Tyrion hesitates again. “The first was from Torrhen’s Square but sent by Lady Sansa.” He states, and looking to Jon, I see worry spread across his face.

“Where is it? What’s happened?” he blurts.

“It is up in the council chambers. I think it is best you read it yourself. We will escort you there.” Varys suggests, and Jon and Davos immediately take steps to leave.

“Wait—who was the second raven from?” I, again, question worryingly, stopping them both to hear the answer.

Tyrion looks at me with troubled eyes. “We were going to wait for you all to return to hand the first scroll over, but not long after the second arrived and we knew we had to come to get you. We must have an immediate council meeting; I advise we talk more about it in the chambers.” Tyrion encourages.

“Tyrion, who was the second from?” I repeat.

He hesitates again. “It’s from Winterfell—but sent by Ramsey Bolton.” He declares and both Jon’s and my face went cold.

Chapter Text

“He’s taken our castle, he’s taken our home, I have to go to Sansa, I have to leave.” Jon asserts after reading the scroll sent from Sansa. It appears that Ramsey Bolton and his army had taken Winterfell while Jon was away and forced Lady Sansa and the bulk of their men to flee to Torrhen’s Square in an evacuation to avoid bloodshed and loss of life. But now the Bolton’s had Winterfell, which was the seat of power in the North. Jon’s seat of power.

“May I see it?” I ask, standing in front of Jon in the council chambers, around everyone else. With a nod he hands it over. Once I finished with it, Tyrion stepped over and handed me the scroll from the Bolton’s.

“You must read this.” He sombrely urges.

Taking it from him, I turned the scroll and saw the broken wax seal. It was the infamous Bolton sigil, the upside-down flayed man. I wasn’t sure why Tyrion had handed it to me, Winterfell wasn’t my home, but clearly there was something he wanted me to read, to see. Regardless, seeing the sigil only brought back bad memories and in that very moment I didn’t want to read it. I was reliving the memory of the Bolton’s murdering my brother and mother. So, I handed it to Jon.

“You read it. They took your home; it’ll be meant for you.” I concede, handing it over.

“It addresses both of you.” Tyrion announces as Jon takes the scroll, making us both look from him to each other in worried confusion. “Read it all aloud.” I reluctantly urge.

Jon nods and uncurls the scroll. “To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow, you allowed hundreds of wildlings pass the Wall. You’ve betrayed your own kind; you’ve betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine bastard, come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard and I will not trouble you or your wildlin’ lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride for your people and skin every man, woman and babe livin’ under your protection. You will watch as I skin them livin’, you will watch as my soldiers take turns rapin’ your sister, then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest, come and see.” He begins, then looks back up to me, still clearly distressed from what he had read. “The next is addressed to you.” He informs. “Read it.” I urge again.

He looks back down to the scroll. “To the exile and silver-haired whore Daenerys Targaryen, your brother Aegon is in my dungeon—,” Jon begins but fades and stops as he reads the words aloud, quickly looking at me after saying those fatal words. My brother? My family was dead. Murdered over a decade ago, how could they have my brother in their dungeon? My breathing suddenly grew heavy but quick at the words and the thoughts swirling around in my head. “Keep—reading.” I encourage through my shocked breaths.

“Your brother Aegon is in my dungeon, come and see. You want him back alive you ride for Winterfell. No armies, no dragons, not even your advisers. Alone. If my spies see a single savage or eunuch being ferried to the North, or a single thing bigger than a raven flyin’ from Dragonstone, his silver haired head will quickly meet your father’s fate. You will watch as I cut his head from his body, you will watch as my dogs devour him, then I will rape you repeatedly until you can no longer stand and beg for death, come and see. –Ramsey Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon finishes reading, leaving all of us disgusted and myself in utter shock.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North?” I firstly question after a silent moment in the chambers, no one had said a word since Jon finished. Ramsey was Roose Bolton’s bastard, why wasn’t Roose taking this title?

“His father, Roose Bolton, is dead. Sansa told me Ramsey killed him to take power over the Dreadfort and their armies, not long ago.” Jon informs. It was strange, I was weirdly disappointed. Roose had been the one to kill my brother Viserys all those years ago, I was oddly frustrated I wasn’t the one to do it. But that didn’t matter anymore, not now especially.

“He has Aegon.” I state aloud in shock.

“He can’t, Your Grace. Forgive me, but—your family’s massacre is the most well known in history. Your siblings are famously known to have been—killed in their beds.” Tyrion reminds with caution.

“I remember. –I remember the men coming into my chamber as I hid under my bed. I remember them moaning about how I wasn’t in my bed, easy for them get like my siblings.” I recall emotionally. “But they never said kill.” I add.

“Are you suggesting that your siblings weren’t in fact killed?” William queries.

“What if it’s possible? What if they were taken prisoner that night, just like my father was.” I theorise.

“Your father was killed publicly the following morning.” William gently reasons.

“But they weren’t. –I saw my brother and mother killed by Roose and Ramsey Bolton. I saw, along with a crowd of people, my father beheaded. But no one saw my siblings murdered, everyone has only ever taken the word of it following the gruesome deaths of the rest of my family. –What if they’re alive? Or at the very least, Aegon is the only one they kept alive and a prisoner all these years?” I hypothesise, wanting to believe it was true because it meant there was a chance at seeing my brother again.

“I don’t see how my father and Cersei would have been able to keep that secret all these years.” Tyrion dismisses.

“Your sister became a sorceress and took over the Seven Kingdoms—twice. –Why couldn’t she be capable of this as well?” I retort.

“Let’s say this is true. That Cersei had your brother Aegon prisoner all these years somewhere. That he is now a prisoner of Ramsey Bolton. –You can’t go up North alone to fight for him without your armies or dragons. It’s a trap and it’s suicide.” William warns.

“I can’t just sit here and ignore it. If they have him, they kill him.” I exclaim.

“Daenerys—he’s right, it’s a trap. –Besides, whether you go up there or not, he’ll kill him. He’s the last son of your father, if he is alive, he is technically the rightful air to the throne.” Tyrion points out. “That doesn’t matter. I’m the threat to Cersei’s rule, not Aegon. I’m the one with the dragons and the armies.” I counter, my emotional annoyance shining through.

“True. –But still—they will have kept him alive to die at the suited moment. To lure you into a trap to kill you. To strike off the head of the mother of dragons, the head of two great armies, the head of an armada—the head of the war.” Tyrion reasons.

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. He’s my brother.” I assert.

I turn to Jon. “How many men do you have in the north to fight? He said I couldn’t bring my armies, my dragons, but he expects you, he wants you to fight him.” I point out.

Jon looks to Davos, sharing a concerned look, before he answers. “The North isn’t as big in numbers as it once was, not after the war. –Maybe around ten thousand rallied north men excludin’ the Bolton’s.” Jon informs.

“That has to be more than enough to defeat Ramsey.” I deduce, but Jon and Davos just look at me silent and still, with looks of concern. “Isn’t it?” I question confusedly.

Jon sighs. “Your Grace, may I speak with you alone?” He asks.

I was slightly confused at what exactly was going on with Jon and Davos, but I was more curious than anything. I glance at Tyrion who I could see didn’t like the idea of us speaking alone after the recent developments, probably because he wanted to be in the know when I was, but I didn’t care. I looked back to Jon. “Leave us.” I order.

I could see how reluctant Tyrion and William were to leave the chamber, but they did so along with the rest, until it was just Jon and I left standing together. I turn and walk around the Westeros table, coming to stand in the open windows of the room, looking out at the sea.

“How many men does Ramsey have in his army?” I question.

“Sansa told me she heard him say five thousand before she escaped, but this could be lies. And by takin’ Winterfell, he will have lost lives. A certain number we can’t be sure of.” Jon answers.

“Regardless, that could be matched by the other northern houses.” I point out before turning to face him from across the table. “So, why the look of concern and hesitation when I asked you how many north men could fight?” I query.

“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” He relays.

“Please do.” I urge.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you since I got here.” He admits. I don’t reply or bite, I just listen and wait for him to continue. “I am the King in the North, but not truly. –My men gave me that title, but those men are only from Winterfell. –The other Northern houses did not rally behind me and name me their King as well.” He announces.

I take in his words. It was a surprise. The day was already filling out to be a day of shock and surprise. “So, the north is still broken? It’s not rallied at all?” I ask.

“No. The houses barely talk. They fight for their own survival. –I made it my duty to rally them together, to bring them together so we could fight the Night King together, that’s why the men of Winterfell made me their King, but I needed to show the houses I had what it takes to fight the enemy. That’s why I came here for the dragonglass—and for you.” He admits.

“For my armies and dragons, you mean.” I correct.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry I withheld the truth from you, but I needed you. I still need you. –And now it seems you need me.” Jon somewhat bargains.

The day had not long been started and already I was feeling drained. With a sigh, I take a seat at the table. “How many men do you have to fight the Bolton’s?” I question.

“Not enough. And if many died in the attack on Winterfell, then not nearly enough.” Jon defeatedly assesses.

“Your men named you King in the North—the houses may not have done that, but surely they heard of it? Surely, they would back that? You’re the son of the last true Warden of the North. Northern houses are loyal to your house, to the Stark name, won’t they fight for you if you ask?” I theorise.

“That is what we hope for. But after bringin’ a bulk of the free folk south of the Wall, they may not. And I’m a bastard, I don’t share their name, I’m not a true Stark so they may be dismissive of that. The Northerners are stubborn.” Jon explains.

“The latter I can believe.” I poke. “What about these free folk? How many men do they have?” I query.

Jon thinks for a second. “That could march and fight—maybe two thousand. The rest are children and elderly. But again, the free folk are stubborn, even more than the houses. They may not agree to fight this battle; it’s not the fight I brought them down for.” Jon dismisses.

“Didn’t you save them bringing them south of the Wall?” I point out.

“Yes.” He answers.

“Then won’t they fight for you?” I deduct.

“It’s possible. It’s all possible. But we won’t know until we ask the free folk, until we ask the northern houses.” Jon states.

Now I was the one sighing. “I know it’s a trap. I know it appears like we’re fucked. But we have to try.” I hope.

“What if you flew your dragons, or at least just rode one north? How would they stop you; you’d be on a dragon? Forgive me, but Ramsey will kill your brother either way, if he even has him—so you may as well fly it there.” Jon suggests.

“If I go North for my brother, it’s to save him, not sign his death at my hands. –Besides, if I fly my dragon North, we’d still be fighting to get Winterfell back, and Winterfell is a stronghold. If Ramsey saw he was losing the battle he would retreat inside the castle walls where your men couldn’t get them. –Would you want me to set your home ablaze? To burn the walls down just to get at Ramsey?” I retort.

Jon closes his eyes and looks away before opening them again. We were both in a rotten dilemma. “No.” He sombrely breathes. “Not exactly the way I’d want to rally the North to my side, is it? By burning northmen, even if they are the Bolton’s or allies of them.” I add. “But fighting at your side is.” I declare, making Jon’s eyes widen.

“Fightin’ at my side? If you won’t fly your dragons, how is bringin’ an army easier?” Jon queries.

“I’m not bringing my dragons, and I’m not bringing any armies. Ramsey wants just me, and so that’s what he’ll get. I will stand beside you, and fight beside you. I will help you get your home back, if you help me get my brother back.” I proclaim.

“Aren’t you goin’ to ask me to bend the knee?” Jon prods.

“We can argue the politics after we get my brother and your home back.” I dismiss.

“When you say fight beside me?” Jon questions. “I know how to use a sword Jon Snow. How do you think I survived exile and a number of assassins?” I quickly clarify.

“So, you’ll come North?” Jon asks.

“I will.” I declare. “I suppose I need to put my trust in you now. A stranger. –Like you did with me coming here.” I point out. “Can I trust you—stranger?” I query.

“Aye, I came here knowin’ you could have your men behead me or your dragon’s burn me alive. I put my trust in you because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for all our people. –I’m askin’ you to trust in me - a stranger - because it’s our best chance. You are our best chance for what is to come. –If you come North at my side, I will fight with you and protect you with all my might. That I can swear.” Jon proclaims himself.

“How will the Northern Lords react when they see a Targaryen Queen stood at the King in the North’s side with no armies or dragons?” I question.

“My men weren’t keen on me meetin’ you in the first place and they’re loyal to me, I can’t imagine they’ll be happy to see you up North pledgin’ to fight without bringin’ any of your own men to fight alongside us in the battle. The Northern Lords will probably be less impressed.” Jon predicts.

“So, I’m fighting a losing game. I may lose my brother, and the Northern Lords will probably reject me whether we win or lose.” I theorise.

“I guess we’ll have to see.” Jon badly comforts, making me scoff lightly in defeat.

“You know Tyrion and the rest aren’t goin’ to like this. They’ll tell you not to come. If I were them, I’d tell you not to.” Jon assesses.

“They can tell me whatever they like, and I can make my own informed decisions. –We know this is a trap, so we just have to turn this to our advantage. We have to rally the North, the free folk, enough to take the Bolton’s and then the victory is ours.” I hope.

“Alright. So, we sail for White Harbour and meet Sansa and my men at Torrhen’s Square. From there we can mobilise.” Jon states.

I sit quietly for a moment. “Do you think Ramsey really has him? My brother?” I ask.

“I think it seems odd to use him as bait now after all these years. But odd in the sense that I believe it true. –Why use him as bait now, after a decade, after everyone believed your family dead, if it wasn’t true and he really does have him?” Jon reasons, and I nod my agreement but say no words. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I had just pledged to ride North, to a kingdom I’d never been to, one that doesn’t know me, with no security blanket but my own sword at my own hand. I know it was ludicrous, entirely reckless and risky. But it was for my brother. This whole war was about fighting in my family’s name and restoring the realm to peace. If I didn’t risk fighting for my own flesh and blood, then what was I doing in this war at all?

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Jon suddenly asks, breaking my wondering thoughts.

“Of course.” I grant.

“What happens here—if somethin’ happens to you up North?” He questions.

“I’m not sure. Someone will take my place. I’d want William to, but—I can’t think like that. I have to return; I have fights I have started I need to finish.” I declare.

“Fightin’ Cersei.” Jon clarifies.

“That’s one of them.” I mutter.

“Let me guess—Breaker of Chains?” Jon deduces and I nod.

“You know, when I spoke to William, he said that the throne is exactly what everyone else wants for you, and what you really want is different? –What is it?” He queries.

I sigh. “Well, seeing as you were honest with me.” I muse. “I don’t want the throne. That’s not what I’m fighting for. Yes, I’m the rightful heir, and yes it represents the dynasty of my ancestral family—but it also represents the fall and massacre of my family. I don’t want to sit on that. –I built my own world, my own throne in Essos. I helped thousands of people to freedom because they couldn’t get there themselves. I started that fight and I intend to finish it, so no man, woman or child is in chains. –I came here to put an end to Cersei and her tyranny. To bring peace and prosperity back to the realm, to unite the realm. But it’s no longer my family’s realm. It may be my true home and that’s why I’m doing this, I want to see it and the people prosper, but I don’t want to hold the rule. I’m already somewhere else’s queen.” I explain truthfully.

“I’m beginnin’ to see why they chose you as their queen, Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon praises.

“Well, Jon Snow, when we go North, I’m going to need you to show me why your men named you King in The North. Because that is exactly what is going to rally the Lords and win us this battle.” I respond.

Telling Tyrion and the rest the plan Jon and I had reached, I was faced with quite the debate. Telling me it was too risky, it was a trap, I couldn’t go alone, I couldn’t go North and leave the fight against Cersei. But this was still a fight against Cersei, it was instigated by her no doubt. The Bolton’s are her allies and if we defeat them, she has no hold on the North and she has one less ally. This was just a step we had to take in this war after being thrown the blow. We would win this war, one battle at a time if that is what it took. And when we emerged victorious from this battle, I prayed it meant we came closer to uniting the North to our cause.

Sailing to White Harbour, Jon had fully explained to me what had happened that led us up to this point. His experiences in the Night’s Watch, all the way to how he had led a bulk of the free folk through the wall to save them, although there were still more beyond the wall he wished to save. But after he had heard Sansa had returned to Winterfell, being the only Stark left alone, after escaping from the Bolton’s, he left the Night’s Watch and returned home. Bringing the free folk with him, he rallied his men with them and pledged to unite the North, bringing the houses back together after being broken for so many years whilst he was at the Wall. That way the North was strong again, and then they could face the army of the dead. They subsequently named him King in the North. Then coming to Dragonstone, coming for the dragonglass and my armies and dragons, the Bolton’s seized Winterfell for themselves and lacking the numbers compared, Jon’s men lost their home and fled in favour of their lives, knowing the real fight was not on this day. However, according to Sansa many died in the siege and protecting the evacuation, in both the north men and free folk. Now, here I was, having sailed to White Harbour and now riding to Torrhen’s Square, seat of House Tallhart, to engage in a seemingly losing battle on account of my long dead, younger brother who was now, and apparently always had been, alive. I was in the North for the first time, with people I hadn’t known for long at all, meeting others I’d never met to fight alongside them in battle. This wasn’t smart, I knew that. But I also knew if I didn’t do this, I’d regret it.

Chapter Text

“Sansa.” Littlefinger greets as Sansa steps into the broken, deserted old shed outside a small village near Torrhen’s Sqaure, where he had sent word for them to meet. Sansa had only gone to seek some kind of closure for herself, and only because Jon wasn’t there to know about her going. Littlefinger smiled at seeing her presence, but she didn’t at seeing his, and his quickly faded as Lady Brienne stepped into the shed behind Sansa. “Lady Brienne.” He then greets also. For a moment, it’s quiet as Sansa waits for him to begin explaining why exactly he had sent for her.

“Why I heard you escaped from Ramsey I feared the worst. You have no idea how happy I was to hear you had returned to Winterfell. How happy I am to see you unharmed.” He relays.

“Unharmed?” Sansa spits. “What are you doing here?” she queries.

“When I then heard you had to flee your home on account of the Bolton’s seizing it for themselves, I rode North with the Knights of the Vale to come to your aid. They’re encamped at Moat Cailin as we speak.” Littlefinger announces.

“To come to my aid?” Sansa repeats in disdain. “Did you know about Ramsey? –If you didn’t know you’re an idiot, if you did know you’re my enemy. –Would you like to hear about our wedding night?” Sansa questions, but he stays quiet. “He never hurt my face. –He needed my face, the face of Ned Stark’s daughter. –But the rest of me, he did what he liked with the rest of me as long as I could still give him an heir. –What do you think he did?” she continues with resentment.

“I can’t begin to contemplate what—,” Little finger begins. “What do you think he did to me?” Sansa reiterates, wanting a direct answer, wanting to hear it from his mouth.

He says nothing, clearly not wanting to. “Lady Sansa asked you a question.” Lady Brienne calmly threatens as she grips the hilt of her sword.

He looks back to Sansa. “Beat you.” He answers. “Yes, he enjoyed that. What else do you think he did?” she prods.

“Sansa, I don’t—,” Littlefinger protests. “What else?” She intervenes again.

He sighs. “Did he cut you?”

“Maybe you did know about Ramsey all along.” Sansa theorises.

“I didn’t know.” Littlefinger assures.

“I thought you knew everyone’s secrets.” Sansa pokes.

“I made a mistake. A horrible mistake. I underestimated a stranger.” Littlefinger relents.

“The other things he did, ladies aren’t supposed to talk about those things but I imagine brothel keepers talk about them all the time.” Sansa jabs, rendering him silent.

“I can still feel it. –I don’t mean in my tender heart it still pains me so, I can still feel what he did in my body standing here right now.” She scorns.

“I’m so sorry.” Littlefinger apologises.

“You said you would protect me.” Sansa reminds.

“And I will. You must believe me when I tell you that I will.” He promises.

“I don’t believe you anymore. I don’t need you anymore. You can’t protect me. –You won’t even be able to protect yourself if I tell Brienne to cut you down. –And why shouldn’t I?” She spits.

“You want me to beg for my life? If that’s what you want, I will. –Whatever you ask that is in my power, I will do.” Littlefinger declares.

“What if I want you to die, here and now?” Sansa challenges.

“Then I will die.” He asserts.

“You freed me from the monsters who killed my family, and you gave me to other monsters who have sought to kill my family. –Go back to Moat Cailin. My brother and I will take back the North on our own. I never want to see you again.” Sansa affirms.

“I would do anything to undo what’s been done to you. –I know that I can’t. –Will you allow me to say one more thing before I go?” He asks and Sansa doesn’t respond, only stares. “A time may come when you need an army loyal to you.” He points out.

“I have an army.” She dismisses.

“Your brother’s army.” Littlefinger clarifies, before moving forward to leave the shed, but stops as he comes to stand beside Sansa. “Half-brother.” He corrects before resuming to leave, leaving Sansa with the lasting food for thought.

-

“We can’t defend the North from the walkers. If we want to survive we need Winterfell and to take Winterfell we need more men.” Jon states in annoyance as we all sat around a table with a northern map laid across it, with Jon and Davos being the only familiar faces to me. I was introduced to Lady Sansa, a red-haired beauty, and her seeming protector Lady Brienne. I was quite honoured to meet Brienne seeing as she was a female knight. I immediately admired her without even having spoken a word to her. Then there was Ser Helman Tallhart, the Lord of Torrhen’s Square who had granted the Stark’s and their men shelter in their evacuation. And lastly, a curious man named Tormond Giantsbane, he was a large man who appeared to be a close ally to Jon and a man of the free folk. Jon gave me a formal introduction to all, and respectively everyone bowed their heads but as suspected it was still cold. They were Northmen and women, well for the most part. But they only knew me as the Dragon Queen, or whatever twisted stories they heard spread through Westeros. They welcomed me because Jon had, that seemed about the only reason. I was going to have to work on them.

“Aside from the Stark’s and the Bolton’s, the most powerful houses in the North, there is the Karstark’s, the Umber’s and the Manderly’s. –Yes?” I state, waiting to be confirmed, getting the conversation rolling seeing as Jon’s annoyance now we had arrived in the North had grown.

“The Karstark’s and the Umber’s have already declared for the Bolton’s. They helped Ramsey take Winterfell. The Umber’s captured me the first time I escaped from Ramsey and gave me back. They can hang. –But the Karstark’s declared for Ramsey without knowing they had another choice.” Sansa informs.

I glance at Jon before responding to Sansa, knowing what I had to say shut down her point. But I had to say it anyway. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sansa, but I was informed that a Stark beheaded their father before they were killed in the war on account of treason to your house. I don’t think we can count on them either.” I point out.

I could see immediately Sansa was irritated at the dismissal. “How well do you know the North, Your Grace?” She questions.

“Little, my Lady.” I admit.

“My father always said Northerners are different. More loyal. More suspicious of outsiders.” She asserts and obviously pokes at me. I glance at Jon again and see a hint of an apologetic expression on his face. I didn’t need it. Sansa was a strong minded and bold girl, we needed more of them. I used to be one of them. But that didn’t mean I was going to shrink under her scorn.

“They may well be loyal, but how many rose up against the Bolton’s when they betrayed your family in the war?” I highlight, seeing Sansa’s scorn fade a little. “I may not know the North, but I know men. They’re more or less the same in any corner of the world and even the bravest of them don’t want to see their wives and children skinned for a lost cause. If Jon is going to convince them to fight alongside him, they need to believe it is a fight they can win.” I reason.

“She’s right.” Jon backs. “There are more than three other houses in the North—Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Mazin, Horwood. Two dozen more. Together they equal all the others. We can start small and build.” He states, to which I nod in agreement.

“The North remembers. They remember the Stark name. People will still risk everything for it, from White Harbour to Ramsey’s own door.” Sansa affirms.

“I don’t doubt it.” I agree, giving her support after dismissing her point earlier. You give and you take.

“We can’t travel to each house; it’ll take too long. We’ll have to select the houses we think will take the most convincin’ and travel to those and send ravens with calls to arms to the others. We will just have to hope it’ll be enough.” Jon decides.

“And which will take the most convincing?” I ask.

Sansa and Jon look at each other before looking over the map. “The Glover’s and the Mormont’s.” Sansa answers.

“Before we ride for any, we have to talk to the free folk first. We have to have some kind of force behind us before we ride and plea to the houses to join us.” Jon reasons.

“Then let’s go talk to them now. They’ve set up camp around the other side of the Torrhen’s lake.” Tormund urges, standing from the table.

-

“We said we’d fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes and we meant it. But this isn’t what we agreed to. These aren’t white walkers. This isn’t the army of the dead. This isn’t our fight.” A free folk leader it seemed states, gathering in a circled group of them before Jon and us in their camp they’d set up by the Torrhen Lake. The free folk seemed like simple but unsurprisingly stubborn people, and to my shock they even had a giant. I had never seen or even thought one could exist. Which seemed silly of me to think so; I brought dragons back into the world. Why wouldn’t giants exist too?

“If it weren’t for him, none of us would be here. All of you would be meat in the Night King’s army. And I’d be a pile of charred bones just like Mance.” Tormund points out.

“Remember Mance’s camp. It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what’s left of us. We’re scattered. Some of us here and some still back there. And if we lose this we’re gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We’ll be the last of the Free Folk.” The same man argues.

“That’s what’ll happen to you if we lose.” Jon retorts. “The Bolton’s, the Karstark’s, the Umber’s—they know you’re here. They know that more than half of you are women, children and elderly. After they finish with me, they’ll come for you.” He warns. “You’re right. This isn’t your fight. You shouldn’t have to come and fight at Winterfell with me. I shouldn’t be askin’ you. It’s not the deal we made. –But I need you with me if we’re gonna beat them, and we need to beat them if you’re gonna survive.” He reasons.

Everyone was quiet for a moment. “The crows killed him because he spoke for the Free Folk, when no other Southerners would. He died for us. –If we are not willing to do the same for him—we’re cowards. And if that’s what we are, we deserve to be the last of the Free Folk.” Tormund declares, confusing me. He died for them? But he stood, alive, with us. It couldn’t be another figure of speech, or Northern exaggeration; Tormund said the crows killed him. Meaning perhaps the men of the Night’s Watch killed him for bringing the free folk past the Wall, but he left that out when we relayed our stories. Perhaps this is what Davos was talking about when he said he took a knife in the heart for his people? I would have to ask him about this soon.

In my moment’s thinking, everyone had been quiet again until the giant sat to the side of the gathering, suddenly stood, completely towering us and gaining everyone’s attention as he stared down at us, or more specifically Jon. “Snow.” He suddenly says, in his deep giant’s tone before stomping away from the group. The remaining Free Folk then looked around at each other and appeared to have reached a decision. The man who had been speaking on the community’s behalf then walked forward, coming to stand before Jon. He holds out his hand and arm and the two then gladly grip and shake each other’s forearms, solidifying the deal.

The Free Folk gathered then dispersed back around their camp and I see Jon turn to look our way. When his eyes landed on me, we nodded at each other, knowing we were one step closer to an army. The first step had been taken.

Jon looks back to Tormund. “Are you sure they’ll come?” he questions.

“We’re not clever like you southerners. When we say we’ll do something, we do it.” Tormund assures, before walking off to join the camp with a smile and a nod. He seemed a decent man, a simple and honest man. I liked him.

-

“The answer is no.” Lord Glover asserts. He was a stubborn man, a word I was thinking of a lot recently, especially since coming North. We had ridden to Deepwood Motte, stopping there on our way to Bear Island to see the Mormonts. I wondered if the further we travelled the more stubborn they got.

“Lord Glover, if you could just hear us out.” Jon pleas.

“I’ve heard enough.” He ceases. “When the rogue Ironborn took this castle during the war, the Bolton’s helped us take it back. Now you want me to help fight against them. –I could be skinned for even talkin’ to you.” Lord Glover points out. Although, I can’t help but notice his last remark. Didn’t seem like the kind of leader you followed with respect and pride, more in fear.

“The Bolton’s are traitors. Roose Bolton helped—,” Jon begins but is interrupted. “Have other Northern houses pledged to fight for you?” Lord Glover asks.

“House Tallhart.” Jon answers.

“And?” Lord Glover pushes.

“We are travellin’ to House Mormont next and we’ve sent ravens to Houses Manderly, Cerwyn, M—,” Jon elaborates but Glover once again interrupts. “I don’t care about ravens or your travels. You’re askin’ me to join your army. Who is fightin’ in this army?” he questions.

Jon sighs, glancing to Davos at his side, before bringing his eyeline back to Lord Glover. “The bulk of the force is made up of Wildlings.” Jon answers, giving him the information he knew he wanted to hear.

Lord Glover smirks and lightly chuckles, but not in light-heartedness, in disappointment and disdain it seemed. “Then the rumours are true. I didn’t dare believe them.” He sighs.

“I received you out of respect for your father. Now I would like you to leave. –House Glover will not abandon its ancestral home to fight alongside Wildlings.” He resentfully states, before turning to head back into his castle.

“Lord Glover, I—,” Jon tries. “There’s nothin’ else to say.” He intervenes as he leaves.

“I would remind you that House Glover is pledged to House Stark. Sworn to answer when called upon.” Sansa suddenly asserts, which I see takes Jon by surprise, and he didn’t look too impressed. The remark stops Lord Glover though and makes him turn and head back towards us but looking mildly irritated.

“Yes, my family served House Stark for centuries. When my brother was Lord of this castle, he answered your father’s call. He died fighting in that war. When we wept over his death, we then wept when we heard of your father and brother’s deaths. A war that broke the North. A war over the family I can’t help but notice you brought a daughter of with you.” He spits, then looking to me behind Sansa and Jon, stood with Davos. “Some Queen you claim to be hiding behind there.” He pokes. I wanted so badly to poke back, to challenge him to come behind and see what this queen was made of, but I couldn’t do that. It wasn’t my place, and it wasn’t the way to rally a loyal heart.

“This is my fight, just like it’s yours, but really it is more yours, and yet here I stand. –The Starks and the Targaryen’s were allies for centuries, until the war broke that too. –And yet here I stand, sword in hand ready to fight. –You don’t know me, Lord Glover, but tell me—what sort of Queen do you think does that?” I calmly retort. I could have gone further, but I could have gone easier. The point was made regardless.

He looked away from me and back to Sansa, glancing at Jon as he did. “We answered the call from House Stark and we bled on that call. And when the rogue Ironborn attacked this castle, when they threw my wife and children in prison, and brutalised and killed our subjects, they were in a losing war in the south for a dead man’s name, too busy to come back North and help their loyal bannermen.” Lord Glover scorns, and I could see Sansa’s hands shaking just a little at her sides. He looks between Jon and Sansa again. “I served House Stark once—but House Stark is dead.” He adds with disdain before turning and heading back into his castle for good this time, leaving the four of us silent and beaten. Jon didn’t even look at me as we left the castle, nor did any of us speak until we were on a ship towards Bear Island. That meeting clearly ripped into their hearts. Understandable; it even angered me.

-

When we reached Bear Island, it felt strange. I was in Jorah’s ancestral and family house home and I was here without him. Not that he occupied the place. As a Kingsguard and then an exile, and then adviser to me, he somewhat relinquished the title. And yet, I felt as if he should be at my side when I walked the stairs into his family home. The castle was located on a small, forested hill, surrounded by larger mountains and a lake that circled its way around. It even had beautiful waterfalls pouring into it. The place was quite tranquil and beautiful, despite the cold. It saddened me I couldn’t tell Jorah this, so I enjoyed it all the more for the moment in his honour before we were to be brought before Lyanna Mormont: the young Lady of Bear Island.

“Lady Mormont.” Jon greets as we all come to stand before her sitting at her council table with her adviser and maester. Jon and Sansa stood up front, as they had with the previous, while Davos and I stood to the side of them, listening.

“Welcome to Bear Island.” She coldly greets back and makes no effort to engage or start conversation. Jon looks to Sansa and almost eyes her to try and talk with her first. She was a young girl, I saw his reason in that, but she also appeared just as stubborn as the rest.

“I remember when you were born, my Lady. You were named for my grandmother, Lyanna. It was said she was a great beauty, I’m sure you will be too.” Sansa flatters.

“I doubt it. My mother wasn’t a great beauty or any other kind of beauty. She was a great warrior though. She died fighting for your father and brother.” Lyanna sternly states, rendering Sansa speechless, and glancing to Jon, who then picks up his turn.

“I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna, he was also a great warrior and an honourable man. I was his steward, in fact I—,” Jon begins to praise but is cut short. “I think we’ve had enough small talk. –Why are you here?” She intervenes.

Jon takes a pause before continuing. “Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed. He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men, it said—,” He begins again. “I remember what it said: ‘Bear Island knows no King, but the King in the North who’s name is Stark.’.” She finishes. She was gutsy and blunt, but in the best way. I was beginning to like this girl.

“Our father Eddard and brother Robb are gone, but House Stark is not. And it needs your support now, more than ever. –I’ve come with my sister to ask for House Mormont’s allegiance.” Jon declares. Lyanna looks between Sansa and Jon before eyeing me up and down. Then she leans to her side, towards her maester and they whisper together for a moment.

“As far as I understand, you’re a Snow. And Lady Sansa is a Bolton—or is she a Lannister? –I’ve heard conflicting reports.” She pokes.

“I did what I had to do to survive, my Lady. But I am a Stark, I will always be a Stark.” Sansa defends.

“If you say so. –In any case, you don’t just want my allegiance, you want my fighting men.” Lyanna deduces.

“Ramsey Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell. It is our duty to stop him. What you have to understand, my Lady, is that—,” Jon respectfully argues. “I understand that I am responsible for Bear Island and all who live here. So why should I sacrifice one more Mormont life for someone else’s war?” She counters.

I watch as Jon and Sansa look at each other, clearly lost for words, and seeing how things went with Lord Glover and how it was now going with Lady Lyanna, I decide to step in and test the waters myself. “Forgive me for stepping in, my Lady, I understand how you feel.” I gently say as I step forward, coming to stand at Jon’s side.

“So, finally the Dragon Queen speaks.” She prods, but I take it on the chin; it wasn’t like Lord Glover, and I’d already grown to expect hostility from the Northerners. “Tell me, how is you understand how I feel?” she questions.

“You never thought you’d find yourself in your position: being responsible for so many lives at such a young age. I never thought I’d be in my position: responsible for so many freed lives that I helped them achieve, and responsible for so many lives suffering under a tyrant. –And now I find myself, despite my title, in the company of people I have not known long and strangers, addressing the Lady of a great House in time of war. –And I’m here because this isn’t someone else’s war. It’s our war.” I explain.

She nods lightly. “Go on, Daenerys Targaryen.” She accepts, much to my relief.

“Your uncle Lord Commander Mormont, made this man his steward and chose Jon to be his successor because it seems he knew he had the courage to do what he thought was right—even if it meant giving his life.” I begin, emphasising the giving of his life, but not for Lyanna’s sake, for Jon’s. He glanced my way, and I was glad for it, I wanted him to know I wanted to know more about it, that I had sussed it out somewhat, but I still wanted answers. I was utterly curious. “Because Jeor Mormont and Jon Snow both understood that the real war isn’t between a few squabbling houses—it’s between the living and the dead.” I declare, much to my own surprise and Jon’s it seemed as he looked my way with a slight expression of slight stun. I knew this was the sort of thing she needed to hear. Even though I hadn’t seen the army of the dead myself, the more I heard of Jon’s stories, the more I listened to the Free Folk, the more it became real. Why would it be made up at this point? Why would the Free Folk come south of the Wall if the Northerners hated them so much unless they faced a worse alternative beyond the Wall? I had to believe it was true, without seeing it myself, to make sure other people believed, and so we could gain their alliance because so far, we weren’t doing well. “And make no mistake, my Lady, the dead are comin’.” Jon adds.

“You speak true?” Lyanna queries.

Jon nods. “Your uncle fought them beyond the Fist of the First Men. Sometime later, I then fought them at the Fist of the First Men. –We both lost.” He states sombrely.

“As long as the Bolton’s hold Winterfell, the North is divided. And a divided North won’t stand a chance against—the Night King.” I emphasise. “You want to protect your people, my Lady, I understand, but there’s no hiding from this. We have to fight, and we need to do it together.” I encourage.

Her maester leans in for them to quietly converse again, but she does not lean to do so. She instead stays looking at the four of us and then raises her hand up to dismiss her maester, who complies and reclines back to his seat. “House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years. –We will not break faith today.” Lyanna announces, and an arch of a smile creeps onto my lips as I see a breath of relief come from Jon next to me.

“Thank you, my Lady. –How many fighting men can we expect?” Jon queries.

She leans over to her adviser on her opposite side, quietly conversing with him now before coming back to gaze at us. “Sixty-two.” She answers.

“Sixty-two?” Jon repeats, not expecting such a little amount, and neither was I, but we didn’t have the luxury of being dismissive. Beggars cannot be choosers as the old saying goes and we needed every man we could get our hands on.

“We are not a large house, but we’re a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders.” She defends with bold and confident assertion. I did like her; she was strong and fearless for her age, you could tell.

“If they are half as ferocious as their lady, the Bolton’s are doomed.” I muse with a respectful nod, earning one in return with a small smirk on her face.

-

“Stannis camped here on his way to Winterfell before travelling to the Wall.” Davos points out as we ride into the encampment of our collective army, a few miles south of Winterfell, having gathered the men and readying to fight in the next day or so.

“And that’s a good thing?” Sansa retorts.

“He was an experienced Commander. He chose this place for a reason.” Davos states as I take in the surroundings a bit better. “The mountains are a natural fortification and there’s a stream down there for the horses.” I elaborate before Davos.

“Exactly.” He nods, seeming impressed to which I give him a smile.

“We’re not stayin’ here long. Another storm could hit any day. We have to march on Winterfell now, while we still can.” Jon declares as we dismount our horses.

“2,000 wildlings, 200 Hornwood’s, 178 Tallhart’s, 143 Mazin’s, 102 Stark’s—,” Davos lists. “62 Mormonts.” Sansa finishes with a dismissive and disappointed tone.

“It’s not what we hoped for, but we still have a chance if we’re careful and smart.” I morale.

“It’s not enough, we need more men.” Sansa bursts, stopping us all walking and looking her way.

“There’s no time.” Jon concedes.

“If we went down to Castle Cerwyn, I know that Lord Cerwyn would—,” Sansa begins to argue as Jon steps forward closer to her. “Look, we fight with the army we have.” Jon asserts as we notice a fight break out between several north men and free folk. Jon and Davos both walk off in the direction of the fight, leaving a defeated Sansa with me. I watch as her eyes seem to scan over the ravens ahead for a second, before realising I was stood looking her way.

“You have a strong mind and will, you know.” I praise. “I’ve come to realise that women with those either have had a great responsibility thrust upon them or have been through some kind of distressing ordeal. Sometimes both. –Which are you?” I question, but she doesn’t answer she lowers her head slightly and gaze to the ground. In doing that, she answered all the same, so I stepped forward and ushered her into walking with me towards our tents.

“There’s no shame in using your trauma. Let it fuel you. –Anything I have ever faced, I have turned it into a drive for my own advantage.” I encourage.

“I’m not sure how to fuel what he did to me.” Sansa admits quietly as we walked.

“Ramsey?” I ask in clarification, and she looks at me before nodding. I could only guess at the very least what he did to her. For a moment I was quiet, thinking what next to say.

“I was raped once.” I announce, much to her slight shock. “I was recently exiled and was in Pentos, staying with the then Prince and Magisters in their palace. One night, during a second assassination attempt, I woke to a man pinning me down to my bed. He pushed me on my front, my head into the pillow and held my hands together behind my back. I struggled under him, but it was no use. I kept thinking when was he going to kill me, but instead he raped me.” I recall. “That was a decade or over ago now, but I can still feel and remember his weight on top of me, the smell of this man, the grip of his hands, the sound of him and his vulgar words. I can still feel the feeling of what he did to my body. Those things have stayed with me—but you know what, I used it to fuel my drive, to become the leader I am today. I used that pain and every other I had and got along the way, and used it to become better, stronger. A warrior. –You will too.” I comfort as we come to the entrance of the tent we were sharing; the limitations meaning we women stayed in one together, but I was happy to. “You have your own mind, use it. –If you want to send another raven to Lord Cerwyn, then do it. It can’t hurt. –I won’t tell Jon, but you should.” I encourage, knowing she had glanced at the ravens and the thought had crossed her mind.

“What makes you think I wanted to send a raven to Lord Cerwyn?” she questions, seeming a little confused from the assumption.

“I saw you scanning the ravens, don’t play dumb. I can tell your smarter than that.” I retort before turning to head inside the tent, but Sansa stops me.

“Daenerys—what happened to the man who—,” she queries, trailing off the end of her question.

“Well, he didn’t know I had my little sword under my pillow, and when his grip loosened on my hands, I quickly snatched them away, grabbed my sword and stabbed him in the eye before slicing his throat. –It sounds a little gruesome and perhaps wrong of me, but looking back, I’ve never enjoyed killing a man as much as that, watching his blood pour onto the sheets. It felt like justice for what he had just done.” I answer. “We’ll get you your own justice soon.” I assure, referring to Ramsey, before heading into the tent and she soon follows in and begins writing a letter for a raven. It was good she had her own mind, more girls did, as long as she told Jon.

-

In the misty morning of a following day, we finally came face to face with the Northern tyrant, and I had to brace myself as we waited on our horses in the plains before Winterfell, because the last time I had seen Ramsey’s face, he was cutting my mother’s throat open.

“You don’t have to be here.” Jon says across to Sansa at his side as we watched Ramsey and his men ride towards us. I too was at his side, while Davos, Tormund, Lady Mormont and the other Lords who declared for us were behind.

“Yes, I do.” She replies, never taking her eyes off Ramsey.

When they slowed to a stop ahead of us, Ramsey immediately looked to Sansa, his cold, dark face turning into a wicked smile. “My beloved wife. –I’ve missed you terribly.” He toys, before looking to Jon. He was a bit older than I or Jon, but he still looked like the puny little man I remembered at the red wedding.

“Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely. –Now, dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch. I will pardon these treasonous Lords for betraying my House.” Ramsey offers. “Come, bastard, you don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you don’t have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There’s no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel. I’m a man of mercy.” Ramsey urges. He was toying so obviously with us; everyone knew he was a snake.

“You’re right. There’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t need to die. –Only one of us. Let’s end this the old way: you against me.” Jon suggests.

Ramsey lightly chuckles. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. –Maybe you are that good. –Maybe not.” He responds. “Then fight me.” I dare, coming up quick on his words.

Ramsey smiles, looking between Lord Karstark and Umber who smirked with him. “A Targaryen exile in the North. What a sight. –You won’t be for long.” He threatens in greeting, but I just stare waiting for an answer. “As much as I’d like to see a Targaryen in the North swing a sword—I haven’t heard any talk of the silver whore wielding it in any battles. –Again, maybe you are competent with a sword, but I highly doubt it.” He reasons.

“Then why don’t you take your chances—for what can a silver whore do against you?” I challenge.

He looks back annoyed, but clearly tries to hide it. “Now, I don’t know if I’d beat either of you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have what? –Half that—not even.” He asserts.

“Yes, you have the numbers. –But will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn’t fight for them?” I poke with an almost smirk.

He stares scornfully, before smirking and scoffing in amusement. “You’re both good, very good.” he admits waving his finger at us. “Tell me will you let your little brother die because you and your bastard friend are too proud to surrender?” He warns.

“How do we know you have him?” I question.

Ramsey then digs his hand into a pocket of his and whatever he pulls out, he throws over my way. Catching it, I turn it over in my hand to find its his silver brooch. The three headed dragon brooch that our father had specially made and gifted each of us before Viserys’ wedding. I was wearing mine on my chest as we spoke and we were all wearing them the day our family was killed or taken. He must have him.

“Now, if you want to say—,” Ramsey begins. “You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. –Sleep well.” Sansa states, cutting him off, before turning her horse and galloping off back towards our encampment.

Ramsey watched her with a wicked smile again, and it made me sick. He was going to die tomorrow. I would make sure of it. I would do it for my family, I would do it for the North, I would do it for Sansa. “She’s a fine woman your sister. –I look forward to having her back in my bed.” He pokes, which I could see hit a nerve in Jon. “And you’re all fine-looking men, my dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven’t fed them for seven days; they’re ravenous. –I wonder which parts they’ll try first? –Your eyes? –Your balls? –We’ll find out soon enough.” Ramsey toys again, but no one bites, just stares hatefully.

“In the morning then, bastard.” He finishes before looking to me. “I’ll be happy to get my wife back, but gaining a silver whore on the side will be fun. You’ll like it here at Winterfell—if you make it out my chambers to see it.” He wickedly grins before he too turns his horse and rides off back to Winterfell with his men. Tomorrow I would kill him for many reasons, and I would enjoy it.

-

“If he was smart, he’d stay inside the walls of Winterfell and wait us out.” Jon reasons as we all sat and stood around a table with stones marking out tomorrow’s battle plan.

“That’s not his way, he knows the North is watching. If the other houses sense weakness on his part, they’ll stop fearing him.” Davos points out.

“And that’s all he has—fear.” I back. “Lord Glover said he could be skinned just for talking with us. –That doesn’t sound like a man devoted by love or loyalty—but fear, and he was the most adamant of all of not fighting.” I elaborate. “Ramsey can’t have the houses stop fearing him; fear is his power.” I add.

“Its his weakness too. His men don’t want to fight for him, they’re forced to fight for him. If they feel the tide turnin’—,” Jon hypothesises.

“Its not his men that worry me. It’s his horses. I know what mounted knights can do to us.” Tormund warns before looking to Davos. “You and Stannis cut through us like piss through snow.” He emphasises.

“We’re diggin’ trenches all around our flanks, they won’t be able to hit us the way Stannis hit you, in a double envelopment.” Jon assures and Tormund just stares at him, which Jon reads.

“A pincer move.” He clarifies, but Tormund just keeps staring unknowingly. I had to hide my smile. “They won’t be able to hit us from the sides.” I clarify further.

Tormund looks between me and Jon. “Good.” he simply responds, and again I hid my smile.

“It’s crucial that we let them charge at us. They’ve got the numbers; we need the patience. If we let them buckle our centre, he’ll pursue, and we’ll have him surrounded on three sides.” Jon announces to which I nod in understanding.

“Did you really think that cunt would fight you man to man?” Tormund questions Jon.

“No, but I wanted to make him angry.” Jon answers.

“I picked up on that.” I point out.

“Aye, you did your part too.” Jon commends.

“Because you want him coming at us full tilt?” I assess and Jon nods.

“We should all get some sleep.” Davos encourages.

“Mmm, rest Jon Snow, we need you sharp tomorrow. That goes for you too, Dragon Queen.” Tormund urges as everyone leaves the tent. After he leaves, I look over my brother’s brooch in my hand. I supposed they could have taken it off their corpses and kept it all these years, but a part of me was saying it was still his, he was still alive, and he was in Winterfell now. I wanted him back more than anything.

-

“You think there’s hope?” Davos asks Tormund after they come out the tent.

“I’ve never seen these Bolton fuckers fight. And they’ve never seen the free folk fight, so yes, there’s hope.” Tormund assesses as they walk.

“You want to avenge your king, don’t you?” Tormund deducts.

“It wasn’t the Boltons that defeated Stannis, but Stannis himself. –I loved the man. He lifted me up and made me something, but he had demons in his skull whispering foul things.” Davos explains.

“You saw these demons?” Tormund queries.

“What?” Davos says confused for a second as Tormund looks at him curious. “No, it’s a manner of speaking—not actual demons.” Davos clarifies and Tormund nods his understanding, though Davos wasn’t sure if he totally understood.

“Well, you loved that cunt Stannis and I loved the man he burnt. –Mance didn’t have demons in his skull, he didn’t torture people or listen to some red witch. –I believed in him. I thought he was the man to lead us through the Long Night. But I was wrong just like you.” Tormund states before taking a couple steps to walk off towards the Free Folk

“Maybe that was our mistake—believing in Kings.” Davos theorises, turning Tormund around.

“Jon Snow’s a King.” Tormund points out.

“The North doesn’t see him as such, not really. Not yet at least.” Davos informs.

“I’d follow him to the end. King or not.” Tormund declares.

“Aye, I dare say I will too. –But perhaps we should all try believing in someone else as well.” Davos suggest. “Not a King—but a queen.” He elaborates.

“The Dragon Queen?” Tormund deduces. He hums his agreement. “I like her. She seems smart for a pretty woman.” He concludes.

“Aye, she’s a strong woman, with a smart and sharp mind. With a good heart. –I believe her and Jon together, united, would lead us through the Long Night.” Davos proclaims.

Tormund mumbles his agreement again. “We’ll have to survive tomorrow first.” he responds. “I need a good drink to help me sleep the night before a fight. You want some? I have a jug of sour goat’s milk. Stronger than any of that grape water you southern twats like sucking on.” Tormund offers.

“No thanks. It does sound delicious, but I better keep a clear head; I can never sleep the night before a battle.” Davos turns down.

“So, what do you do all night?” Tormund questions.

“I walk—think and walk. –Think and walk until I’m far enough away from camp that no one can hear me shitting my guts out.” Davos admits playfully, making Tormund chuckle a little.

“Happy shitting.” He smirks before going to join the Free Folk, leaving Davos to roam.

-

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, breaking my train of thought, after everyone had just left the tent.

“Fine.” I simply answer but my head was a whirlwind of thoughts as I looked at the brooch in my hand.

I was sat at one end of the table, and Jon then took a seat at the other end. He looked exhausted, he looked drained, I was about to ask if he was alright but then Sansa spoke up from the corner of the tent, still lurking from the meeting.

“So, you’ve met the enemy and drawn up your battle plans.” She announces as she steps around the table towards Jon.

“Aye, for what they’re worth.” He responds.

“You’ve known him for the space of a single conversation, you and your trusted advisers. And you sit around making your plans on how to defeat a man you don’t know. I lived with him. I know the way his mind works. I know how he likes to hurt people. –Did it ever once occur to you that I might have some insight?” She asserts.

“You’re right.” Jon simply agrees.

“You think he’s going to fall into your trap. He won’t. He’s the one who lays traps.” Sansa warns.

“He’s overconfident.” Jon dismisses.

“He plays with people. He’s far better at it than you. He’s been doing it all his life.” Sansa retorts.

“Aye, and I what have I been doing all my life, playin’ with broomsticks?” Jon counters, annoyed as he stands from his seat. “I fought beyond the Wall against worse than Ramsey Bolton. I’ve defended the Wall from worse than Ramsey Bolton.” He relays.

“You don’t know him.” Sansa repeats sternly.

“Alright, tell me. What should we do? How do we get Winterfell back? How does Daenerys get Aegon back?” Jon questions.

Sansa hesitates to answer for a split second. “He wants you to make a mistake.” She deducts, avoiding the questions.

“Of course, he does. What should I do differently?” Jon questions, pointing to the battle plan on the table, reiterating his previous questions sternly through his annoyance.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about battles, just don’t do what he wants you to do.” Sansa advises a little flustered.

“Aye, it’s good advice.” Jon mocks.

“You think that’s obvious?” She queries, picking up on it.

“Well, it is a bit obvious.” He blurts.

“If you’d have asked for my advice earlier, I would have told you not to attack Winterfell until we have a larger force, or is that obvious too?” Sansa exclaims, and I begin to think I should leave the tent as it was getting a little heated between them, but I stayed put behind them in my seat quietly. I figured sneaking out while they argued was a touch awkward.

“When will we have a larger force? We’ve pleaded with every house that’ll have us. We’re lucky to have this many men.” Jon states.

“It’s not enough.” Sansa pushes.

“No, it’s not enough, but it’s what we have!” Jon exclaims, and now both were quiet staring at each other for a moment. “Battles have been won against greater odds.” He adds more calmed.

“If Ramsey wins, I’m not going back there alive. Do you understand me?” She declares.

“I won’t ever let him touch you again. I’ll protect you, I promise.” Jon gently assures.

“No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.” Sansa rejects before walking past him and around the table out the tent. Jon sighs and steps around to take his seat back at the table. He grabs his mug of ale and gulps it down, putting it back on the table.

“I’m sorry you had to listen to that.” He says.

“You don’t have to apologise.” I reply.

“Have you got any more advice to give for tomorrow’s battle?” He pokes a little at the previous argument.

“Don’t lose.” I grimly joke, making him scoff with amusement. “Funny.” He responds as I hint a smile.

“She’s headstrong, your sister.” I point out.

“Aye, isn’t she just.” He agrees.

“Take some more advice—don’t knock it down. Don’t knock it out of her. –She’s learning to use her own mind, her own will. She’s fuelling her rage, her pain and channelling it into her drive. It’s for the best, it’ll make her stronger.” I explain.

“You sound as if you know first-hand what you’re talking about.” Jon deduces.

“An easy assessment from everything we spoke about sailing to White Harbour.” I retort, getting a nod from Jon.

It’s quiet again for a moment and I use this opportunity to finally bring up what I’ve been itching to ask. “What happened at the Wall?” I suddenly ask, getting a slightly confused look from Jon. “I’ve heard people talk of you giving your life, getting killed, taking a knife to the heart—but you’re still here? –It doesn’t sound like more figures of speech—so what happened? You didn’t mention it on the ship.” I elaborate.

Jon sighs a little before answering. “My fellow watchmen murdered me because they saw me as a traitor; for bringing the free folk south of the wall. A group of them stabbed me—one after the other.” He finally clarifies.

“How are you alive?” I question.

“Melisandre brought me back to life. –She’s a—,” He answers. “Red Priestess, of the Lord of Light.” I finish. “I suppose that makes more sense now. The Red Priests and Priestesses are known to sometimes return people from the dead, if it serves their purpose.” I deduct, now having my curiosities satisfied.

“You know her?” he asks surprised.

“Melisandre came to Dragonstone. She’s the one who told me to summon you.” I inform.

“She was?” Jon responds.

I nod. “She spoke of a prophecy, which thinking back makes more sense now you’ve told me about the things you’ve seen—and said that you and I both have a role to play, I presume in it.” I recall.

“What was the prophecy?” He queries.

“Se Bantāzma iksis māzis. Mērī se dārilaros qilōni iksin kivion kessa maghagon se ñāqes.” I answer and see Jon’s waiting face for the translation. “The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised will bring the dawn.” I convert.

“And she believes that is one of us?” He questions.

“Maybe. She was vague on that point. She merely said she believed us to play a role, clearly in this Long Night.” I clarify.

Jon looks at me silent for a moment. “Do you believe me now?” he asks.

I look back at him, mirroring his silent pause before answering. “I’m not sure.” I simply say.

“It sounded as if you did at Bear Island.” He points out.

“Well, with the way it was going with Lady Mormont and how it had with Lord Glover, I figured I needed to step in.” I poke, with a slight smile. “And it seemed the best way to do it.” I add.

“Aye, thank you for that.” He concedes, matching my small smile. “Still—it sounded like you believed.” He adds.

I sigh. “It’s hard to believe something you’ve never seen before, in something that people believe to be a myth or made up scary story. –But I trust you, Jon Snow. –And if you say this Night King and his dead army are coming, then I believe you.” I state, and I see a relief in his eyes. “Besides, from what I’ve seen of the Free Folk, it seems they wouldn’t come south of the Wall unless whatever they faced beyond was worse.” I deduce.

“So, you’ll fight with me then?” He queries.

“Let’s get through tomorrow first. We can only fight this Night King if we come out of it alive.” I dismiss as I stand from my seat. “We can talk politics after if we do.” I add, beginning to leave the tent.

“Are you sure you want to be at the front with us tomorrow?” he questions, stopping me leaving. “I don't doubt your ability to fight, you know your own skill, I trust you’re smart enough to know if you’ll be an asset in the battle, it’s just—you don’t have to. –Sansa will be here in the encampment.” He follows up.

“I came to help you fight for the North, for your home—but more importantly I came to fight for my brother. –I’m not stopping at the last hurdle to get him back. I’ll be at your side tomorrow because I have to—because I want to.” I declare, to which with a nod he accepts.

I nod back before leaving. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Night, Daenerys.” He replies in my leaving. It was strange walking to my tent, knowing when I woke the next morning I’d be heading into battle. Not behind my men, not on the back of my dragon, but behind a collective group of men who I did not know, who didn’t know me. This was my first battle and it didn’t ease my slight worry. I trusted Jon and his men, his followers, but this was still a new experience and I wasn’t doing it with my own people. the only thing that felt right was holding and having my father’s sword: Dragon’s Breath. I’d be using it fighting for my family, and that’s what I focussed on because that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Our ranks stretched across the battlefield even in visual comparison didn’t look enough when looking ahead at Ramsey’s. We had fewer numbers, but I had a bet we would fight harder and better than any man across the field. Next to Jon, we rode up through the ranks, coming to the front and heading the army. Beside us at the front, stood Tormund and Wun Wun the giant, as I learned he was called, fronting the Free Folk and Ser Davos on his horse. We were all here, all the allied men and the Free Folk, and me. We were ready, at least I thought I was. The whole morning I had felt a little sick to my stomach, especially when I changed from my usual black leather dresses to a black leather tunic and trousers. Changing into that and strapping my sword back to my waist, it all was becoming increasingly real that I was headed into a real battle, and not on the back of a dragon. Now, as I sat on my horse gazing over the field at Ramsey’s ranks, it was all too real, but I kept myself calm; I had to. The eery silence as we waited for Ramsey to show was deafening, but this bothered me more than the sight of the burning flayed men at the sides of his ranks, testament to the Bolton sigil. Clearly a threat and intimidation and yet the dreary silence and anticipation was what was getting to me most.

Soon, up ahead, I could just make out a break in the centre of the ranks and a mounted rider emerged. It was Ramsey. He rode forward, fronting his ranks with his allied Lords, like we had, except I could just make out a figure at the side of his horse. I could just make out a small head of silver hair. He did have Aegon. I knew it wasn’t a play, but whatever he had him out here for certainly was. I suddenly started to imagine he had dragged me all the way up here just to murder my brother right before me. He dismounted his horse and walked further in front with Aegon trailing behind. It appeared he was bound on a long rope perhaps, Ramsey pulling him forward and the sight of him at Ramsey’s mercy made my breathing quicken a little. Then I watched as Ramsey raised his hand high into the air and what looked like a small blade was held in it. With my breaths quickening, seeing the blade in the air, it really did seem like I had for nothing; he was going to kill my little brother right at the last step of me getting him back. It angered me and I dismounted my horse swiftly and strode forward, as if the little farther I walked ahead, the better the view would be. Stood out front, breathing heavy with anger and worry, I looked on sure I was watching his death. I would lose him just as I got him back and as Ramsey brought his blade down, I took a sharp breath in. But Aegon didn’t fall to the ground, he remained stood next to Ramsey and I let my breath out. He hadn’t killed him, perhaps just cut his bounds. But now I had no idea what his game was. I stood waiting for something to happen, worrying in anticipation once again until I noticed Aegon beginning to walk forward away from Ramsey. I was expecting it, Ramsey just letting him go like that which only just made me worry all the more, and it spiked when Aegon suddenly started running. A man had joined Ramsey’s side just before he had and my panic and sense of protection set in completely as I saw him begin to run away towards us from across the field. I wasn’t sure what Ramsey was doing, but whatever it was, whatever had made Aegon run, wasn’t good and I knew I had to get him back as quick as a could no matter what. I turned and ran back for my horse, swiftly jumping up using the stirrup as quick foothold to mount the horse. I could hear a faint mumble from Jon, thought it was faint and a mumble to me because I wasn’t listening; my concentration, my sole thought was with my little brother running for his life across the battlefield. I kicked the horse with haste and was soon galloping off towards him.

As I rode up the field, squeezing the horse nearly every second to go faster, I started to make out that Ramsey was shooting arrows in Aegon’s direction as he ran. He was running in a slightly jagged path which I had noted was strange but the more I rode, the better I saw Ramsey, despite the distance and soon I saw the arrows flying in the air and land scarily close to Aegon in the ground. If he kept missing, I was going to be able to get him back. The closer I got, the more I started to believe it was possible and yet I was still perpetually terrified of losing him by a single flying arrow. His silver hair was becoming more and more prominent against his clothing and terrain as we neared and I could see he had grown so much since, he was almost a man by the looks of it, albeit still a little small but so much bigger from the seven year old I remembered. He was now the age that Viserys was on his wedding day, the day he was murdered. I couldn’t let Aegon meet the same fate, I wasn’t sure my heart could take it. On my horse, I outstretched my hand and arm to the side, leaning down a little so I could grab him as we neared each other. I was beginning to hear his strained and panicked grunts from running in fear over the pant and breath of my horse. He was so close.

“Aegon!” I scream coming up to him, my arm stretched out as much as possible and he stretches out his arm in response. He was closer than ever, nearly close enough to touch. The arrows had missed, I had him.

“Daener—!” Aegon begins to shout back but he is suddenly cut short by a sharp and pained intake of breath as an arrow pierces his heart. It stuns his run and he slumps to the ground, making my face drop, watching his body jolt from the hit and fall onto his side. I stop my horse after he falls, and it slows just next to Aegon. All I could do was stare down at him and I could hear him take his last laboured breaths. I could feel my tears coming as I look down at his body below me, an arrow through his heart. When he had began to say my name, my heart filled with joy but mine too was pierced when I saw that arrow through his chest. When he stopped his slight movements and breaths, his body laid still on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth, I felt my slight tears falls down my cheeks over my shocked breaths. I had lost him at the last step. Ramsey had brought me here, just to murder him front of me. We knew it was a trap, I knew it was. But there was hope in me that I could perhaps get my brother back and that hope had just died with that arrow. Looking up from Aegon, my grief soon turned into fury as my gaze moved to Ramsey and his ranks. He had been the blade to kill my mother and now he had been the arrow that killed my brother. When I looked his way, I saw nothing but red. I saw nothing but fury fuelled revenge and I had to give him the death he deserved, and I wanted it to be by the sword of my hand.

I didn’t have to be stood right before Ramsey to know he had a smirk on his face; he was an evil man who enjoyed inflicting pain and it only made me angrier. When I saw he was walking back amongst his ranks, I noticed the archers step forward. It was beginning. I had to do this, for my brother and my mother. I was driven by nothing but revenge and hatred and it spurred me forward, my horse bursting into a gallop again just before the arrows landed behind us. I had ridden past the centre of the field, coming closer to Ramsey’s ranks, anger spewing out of me in grunts as I rode, when another load of arrows flew and landed right across us. A couple hit my horse, causing it to screech in pain and begin to fall, and I had to quickly remove my feet from the stirrups and push away from the saddle as it fell to the ground on its side, so I wasn’t caught beneath it. The fall was hard, and I pulled myself up to my feet with a grunt and looked down to my side at the horse and saw it was already dead. Then I began to faintly here a rumble, and when I turned front face back to Ramsey’s ranks I was met with the sight of his calvary charging towards me. As I stood there, seeing the long line of the calvary charge headed straight for me, I hung my head in defeat and let out a deflated sigh, and with it left my fury. I had fallen straight into his trap; he was going to pick me off easily at the hands of the charging calvary. I had done exactly what Sansa warned Jon not to do: play into his hand. I had played his game and lost. Twice. First my brother and now me. I was alone on a battlefield, facing down a charging line of mounted soldiers coming to strike down the last Targaryen. This was the day our family would truly meet its end now. Everyone had warned me about coming North and I didn’t listen, now look at me. Coming here may have been a mistake, I may have just lost everything I had created, but at least I had been true to myself. I had come here for the right reasons, for my family. I was meeting my end and if it was because I was fighting for my brother then so be it. William would hopefully take my place in the coming war, but here and now, I would not go down in defeat, I would fight to the end. So, looking back up, I took the hilt of my sword in hand and unsheathed it. I felt oddly calm, like accepting my fate had released all my emotions. Stood poised, gripping my father’s sword, Dragon’s Breath, I stared down the charging calvary, that was now so close, and I was ready. As if in one final moment of release as the cavalry was right in front, I let out an almighty scream and brought my sword back ready to swing when suddenly horses raced past and collided with them right before me.

All within a second it turned from a seemingly calm and peaceful acceptance of my fate into a chaotic collision of men and horses, the cries and shouts of men and horses. The battle had now truly started. Men were already being killed; horses were. It was absolute chaos, and I was stood right in the middle of it but soon caught up in it. Men were charging around everywhere in every direction on horses as well as men on foot. At first, I was dodging swings from mounted soldiers, my shock of the start of the battle high but quickly faded as I had to assimilate to it faster. I was spinning in every direction as so much was happening but eventually I mastered my courage and I swung back at a rider coming towards me. his horse continued galloping forward as I spun on the spot, growing momentum in my swing of my sword that sends him flying back off the horse. As my shock subsided, my fury was coming back and growing. Rushing forward, I strike down the man I had sent to the ground, killing him. I have to dodge an oncoming rider before engaging in a fight with another man. It is not a long fight, a couple clashes of swords and I manage to slice his gut. I go to move on but a patch of arrows suddenly begin to land around me so I crouch to the ground, turning my back to the air and covering my head. Not that it would do much, but in the split seconds it occurred it was just a reflex and thankfully I wasn’t hit. Coming back to a stand another man approaches and swings his sword as I come up straight, but I kill him too with ease, slicing up his body before turning back to face where Ramsey’s ranks had come from. I wanted to get to him, my fury had returned and seeing as I had survived that calvary charge, I was making it my mission to get to him again. Even if I had to kill every man on this field, I would get to him.

As I fought my way in this bloodied battlefield, bodies and horses everywhere, quickly piling up in mounds, I had killed several men. I had struck men with my sword in the back, in the front, at their limbs, at the gut, at the throat, and with each swing of the sword, with each death, my anger and determination only grew. As I fought this current soldier, I was about to swing and kill him, but a horse collided with him and trampled him to the ground, but he was alive. So, I marched over and with all my pent-up anger, I brought my sword down into his chest a few times, shouting out as I did. More and more men appeared around, more and more men I fought and killed. I spun, I swung, I fought, I killed. I just kept going, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Every man in my sights I didn’t let get away and my body count I couldn’t even guess at this point. It was high, but the battles was. We were fighting on the bodies of dead men and around us the growing number of them had accumulated so much to make large mounds. I wasn’t sure how long we had been fighting, it could have been a long time, but it could have only been a few minutes. I had no sense of time or telling, I had only one thing in mind, and it was kill or be killed. I was in a fury filled fight and there was no stopping me. My sword was red with blood all over, as were my hands. I could only imagine that I was covered in blood and probably mud too, in fact I knew I was because I could feel blood dripping into my eyes every so often. After slicing at a man’s throat, I turn to see a man going to attack me from behind, I manage to block his attack in time, but he kicks forward, and I fall onto my back. He swings down at me, and I block him again, and this continues a few times before the man is suddenly killed. A sword comes through his chest with a grunt from the owner and as he falls, I see it was Jon. He immediately pulls me up and grasps the back of my head as I look around anxiously, panting, only now catching my breath having stopped for the first time since I started fighting.

“Hey! Look at me! You’re alright!” He assures, making me look into his eyes and I nod a little frantically. I notice he was equally as bloody and muddy. Then my eyes glaze past him over his shoulder as I see the rest of our men running to join where the battle had commenced. Jon turns to see just as Wun Wun the giant knocks over a charging rider with ease with the force and swing of his arm. As he and our men gather around us Tormund joins us as Wun Wun then points something out. Following his point of direction, I notice that Bolton soldiers begin to rush around us, coming from behind the mound of bodies that currently fronted us. Swiftly, the great number of them swarms our men with their shields before there is much we can do about it. They were surrounding us, and with this mound of bodies now behind us, there wasn’t much of an escape unless we climbed it or fought our way through soldiers. As they slam their shields against the ground in almost unison, we were completely surrounded. As everyone looked around, I saw Davos was near and he looked at us worriedly. Jon had the same face as me as I turned to look at him. We were in a trap and we were all realising it at the same time, everyone looked worried but I could see Jon looked defeated and disappointed. Ramsey was winning, but we couldn’t let that happen.

The Bolton soldiers that surrounded us began to encroach forward with spears pointed to kill the men at the edge of the pen. That was what this was: a pen. One to kill the prey trapped inside, but I wasn’t going to let that defeat me. I would fight and die. I wouldn’t just die. Tormund rushed forward to the edge as the men chanted and moved forward. Perhaps he wanted to see what they were exactly doing, I wasn’t sure, but Jon and I stayed where we were, as well as Davos. They were killing the men at the edge, and the closer they moved forward the more they killed. If we didn’t get out of this pen, we would all be killed. I looked around at the mound and saw that men were already beginning to climb up the mound. Good. That was exactly what we had to do; it was our only choice, and we were getting a little cramped in this trap already. we watched as the men climbed, but as the furthest got to the top, he was quickly cut down by a man coming from the opposite side. More appeared, chanting their battle cries, coming over the top of the mound. The one to kill the first man I recognised from the meeting the previous day; he was one of the Northern Lords at Ramsey’s side. With him and the men coming over the mound, we now were truly surrounded in a complete circle. We would have to fight our way out regardless.

“Break their lines!” I scream as loud as I can.

“You heard her, lads! Break their lines!” Davos shouts following, rallying the men to attack the shielded men as I turn to Jon and nodded my readiness, showing I was good to fight. He nodded back, both of us knowing we had to break these lines surrounding us if we even had a chance of surviving this. Both us, alongside our men, face down the oncoming soldiers from the mound and once again we were fighting. I was back in the fury of fighting, stabbing men with my sword, swinging at them and killing them with skill. The skill I had been taught, the skill I had learned from Jorah and I was thankful for it every second I spent in this battle, for every man I killed, I was thankful to Jorah.

As we fought against the men coming from the mound, the others fought to break the shielded lines. At one glance, I managed to see Wun Wun grab a soldier and rip him in half as he screamed, it was quite a sight but there wants time to dwell. I kept fighting as I had and didn’t stop. Again, I was spinning and swinging, doing everything in my skillset, in my power to kill these men so we could escape, but the more men died the more it added to the mound. And the closer the shield lines came, the more compact we got and the harder it was to fight, but I didn’t let it deter me. As I killed another man, I turned ready for the next, only to look around and my eyes land on the Northern Lord that was at the top of the mound. I could see the evil determination in his eyes as he looked at me. It was evident he wanted to kill me. I was sure it would make Ramsey very happy and earn him some kind of reward but I wouldn’t let that happen. I stared him down back, ready to fight but then men from behind began to run and charge for the mound. I saw the Lord get knocked over and then just as quick as I had seen him go, I was suddenly hit by someone and sent to the muddy ground. I tripped over a dead horse and another man did the same, falling on top of me as our men ran for the mound. The man on top of me managed to get up but only just in time. Quickly, the men began to trample me before I could even attempt to stand and soon, we were all more compact than ever and I was struggling to breathe as men stood on my chest. Eventually, I found a moment long enough and free of trampling for me to pull myself up from the ground, stopping my chest from being stood on. From there, I had to use all my strength to hoist myself up. I had never felt so compact and trapped before, it made breathing hard. Pulling at the bodies of the men around me, gripping onto their arms, clothes, shoulders, anything, I managed to pull myself up through them. It took all the strength I had and didn’t know I had, to do it, but after what felt like a long time, I finally emerged out the top of the men. Holding onto their shoulders, I keep myself up above, taking the biggest breath I ever had before. I could breathe properly again. Amongst the mud, I had thought that this was finally my ending moment, that I would suffocate. But I was alive. At least for now.

After getting my breathe back, I looked around only to see how much we were losing. I was alive now, but not for long. We were all so compact, trapped in this pen. We were losing. Even Wun Wun had several spears lodged in his sides from the shielded soldiers he was attacking. We were sheep herded into a death pen, surrounded by wolves. We were meant to be the wolves. The Stark’s are the wolves, and we were losing. The number of dead men around us and the state we were in, I wanted hope, I wanted to feel as if there was something we could do but this was a losing game. We couldn’t fight like this. We’d lost. And as I looked around, I finally caught sight of Jon and as we looked at each other, I could see he thought the same. Defeat was in both of our eyes.

But then both our eyes scrunched at a faint sound. Both of us clearly not knowing what it was at first hearing, but it was a horn and it continued. I look around to see what or who it was coming from, praying it wasn’t another Bolton attack. But I notice the Northern Lord was fighting Tormund, continually headbutting him, and even he stops to see from where this sound came, which said to me that he also didn’t know what it was, meaning it wasn’t from them. Using this moment, I watch as Tormund takes the opportunity to fight back the distracted Lord and he bites at his ear, tearing it clean off. The Lord shouts in pain before Tormund then stabs him in the face repeatedly. That was the end of the Northern Lord and with that, I turned my attentions back to the horn. It was louder now, and I noticed movement ahead in the hills. It was a sizeable cavalry galloping over the hills towards the battle and then I clocked the flagged sigil they carried: it was the blue and white falcon and moon sigil of House Arryn. They were the Knights of the Vale. I had no idea why they had come or who sent them, but if they were fighting for us then I was grateful.

Soon the mounted knights were charging over the hill and headed straight for the shielded soldiers surrounding us. Like Tormund had said back at the war council, they cut through the Bolton men like piss through snow and because of it we had our hope back. Looking to Jon, I began to push my way through the men, hoping he’d follow my idea from just my look. The knights rode through the whole line of men and they broke the lines allowing us to be able to fight again. Quickly men began to disperse by the seconds as the lines broke and it made pushing through them and beginning to climb the mound all the easy and faster. With Dragon’s Breathe still in hand, despite being covered head to toe in blood and mud, and feeling exhausted, I still had fight left in me. Having clambered to the top of the mound, I stood up straight and saw Ramsey on his horse with a couple of his men mounted beside him, watching as the losing battle turned in our favour. Now we were winning, and we were coming for him. He knew this, and that was exactly why he turned and rode back into Winterfell.

“Coward.” I mutter to myself.

“With Wun Wun we can breach the gates.” Jon announces at my side, breaking my focussed thought and angered stare. I look beside me to see him and Tormund, all of us bloodied and bruised, with Wun Wun towering us. Behind, some of our men were climbing the mound too, following their leader Jon and out of the now broken pen to end this battle, and it would end at Winterfell with Ramsey’s death. I nod in response and with that, we hurriedly descend down the mound and begin to run for the castle. Most of our men were still fighting the Bolton men on the battlefield alongside the Knights of the Vale as we and the men who followed charge towards the gates of Winterfell. Wun Wun in his large strides got out ahead and when he reached the castle, he began to pound on the wooden gates. Giving all his might to break them down, he managed to punch his fists through the gates. But he was accumulating many arrows in the process from archers on the wall, all their men focussed on stopping him than shooting at us running up behind. As we near Wun Wun at the gates, he finally breaks through and charges in through the gates with us soon behind. Some of the archers at the wall begin to shoot arrows at us, but the bulk remain to send them into Wun Wun. Running through the gates, we come into the courtyard and see Wun Wun on his knees shouting in pained fury as arrows continue to fly into his body. There were so many, I wasn’t sure how he was still alive.

We fight those that were at the front of the courtyard shooting more arrows into Wun Wun, killing them and our own archers pick up their bows and arrows, using them to kill more men around and as more came into the courtyard. Jon and I were stood watching, out of breath and exhausted, next to Wun Wun as the archers took out the men skilfully. Wun Wun looked so pained, and my heart ached for him. He had fought to get us in, despite knowing he would no doubt face a strong opposition and that was an avalanche of arrows. He looked tired and in pain, I wanted to help him, but what could I do? Tormund was at his other side and yet he looked to Jon and I. I wasn’t sure why, because what good did it do: nothing, but I outstretched my arm, holding my hand up towards Wun Wun in an attempt to show a comforting hand in a moment of suffering. But my gesture fell short when another arrow suddenly flew into Wun Wun’s eye, killing him and taking me by surprise. He slumps forward dead on the ground, and I notice the courtyard is silent, ceased from fighting as they look on at Ramsey and us. The killing arrow was once again from Ramsey and seeing him stood there with his bow only reminded me of what he did to my brother. My anger spiked again.

“You suggested one on one combat, didn’t you?” Ramsey points out, recalling our talk before the battle. He looks around at our archers all pointing their bows and arrows at him, ready to let them fly at Jon’s command. “I’ve reconsidered. –I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” He announces as he grabs another arrow. Of course, now he wanted to fight, now he had no other option and was faced with defeat. One last game.

I couldn’t take it or him any longer and at the end of his last word, before Jon could react first, I did. In my anger fuelled determination, I dropped my sword with a grunt and grabbed a shield in front of me from the ground, dropped from a dead man. I take a couple steps forward as I do and as I come to a stand, Ramsey sends an arrow, but by bringing the shield up over my head I stop it. The arrowhead breaks through the shield and the tip is near my face, but it worked. I lower the shield and continue to march forward as Ramsey loads another arrow and sends it again, but yet again, I stop it with the shield. He sends a third arrow in my approach which like the others falls short and goes straight into the shield. I was glad to see the slight worry and annoyance in his expression that what he was doing wasn’t working. As he hurriedly loads another arrow, I get to him just before he can shoot it. With an agonised shout I swing the shield across, hitting his face hard and then use it to punch his chest, sending him flying back to the ground. With all my rage and what had happened, I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stop myself from getting on top of him and pounding my fist into his face as hard as I could a few times, swapping and using both hands when one started to ache. His face was bloodied from the blows, but he was smiling, which only made me want to hit him all the more. I wanted to wipe that evil smirk off his face, so I continued to pound and punch his face, not stopping and I was glad no one else was stopping me.

I didn’t need a sword, I didn’t need an arrow, I didn’t need my dragons, I just needed my fists to kill him. My hands hurt like hell but I kept going. I wasn’t going to stop, I was going to kill him then and there, however long it took, because he had to die at my hands. I couldn’t kill Roose Bolton and so I had to hurt Ramsey all the more for it. His death was mine to give. But as I was pounding my fists continually into his face, I suddenly glanced a figure come into the corner of my eye and looking I saw it was Sansa. In my momentum, I nearly punch Ramsey again as I see her, but I finally stop myself. I wasn’t sure how she had got here so fast. Perhaps she had been the one to bring the Knights of the Vale, but it didn’t matter in this moment. She was here and seeing her made me realise his death wasn’t solely mine to give. That was what made me stop. I needed my vengeance, but so did she. We both wanted it, and I couldn’t deprive her of that and do it all myself. She looked a little uneasy, I couldn’t tell why. Perhaps it was my appearance? I was covered in blood and mud, but I wouldn’t have thought that would bother her. Then I realise she isn’t looking at me. I look down to see Ramsey’s head turned and staring, smiling at Sansa even in his bloodied and bruised state. Breathing, panting with exhaustion, still knelt over him, I stare down with rage, but I bring myself up to a stand. With a sigh, I try to let it go, to calm myself, and I do as I look around the courtyard seeing all eyes were on me. All weapons were pointed down, no one was fighting, and the Bolton men were all dead. It was over. Turning from Ramsey, I walk away, wanting to get away from under the gaze of everyone. I didn’t know this castle and I wasn’t going back out to the battlefield, so I just headed to the stairs that I saw lead to the wall. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself now, and I was tired. It was over, and I had walked away from Ramsey, but I couldn’t help but think about what I could do to him. What death would be deserving enough? One I could get Sansa in on and serve it to him together. Coming to the wall, the battlefield ahead was a dreary scene. There was so much dead, and I knew amongst it all was my little brother somewhere. Other than when a couple men came to my side to drop the Bolton banner from the gates wall and replace it with the Stark banner, I was left in peace. I needed and wanted to be alone. The rest could celebrate the victory however they wanted, if they celebrated at all, because we took Winterfell back and we had won. But to me, even in the victory, it felt like I had still lost.

-

With the dead being burned in mass on the battlefield, Jon had Aegon’s body retrieved from the battlefield, two men carrying him in on a stretcher. He knew he couldn’t burn him; it wasn’t his place, and after having seen the sheer determination in her attempt to get him back at the start of the battle, he knew bringing him back to Daenerys was best. She could make whatever decision she wanted with her own brother that way. Seeing her stood up at the wall, just staring out for so long as the wounded began to be brought into the courtyard, Jon sent Sansa to go get her down, to treat any cuts or wounds she might have. She didn’t need to be stood up there alone, and if she did and she wouldn’t budge, then Sansa could be there with her. He felt empathetic; she had watched as her brother was killed just before she could have got him back. It was a cruel torture. He noticed Sansa had stood up there with her for a moment before she managed to bring her down. She began delicately treating her bloodied and cut fists and washing the blood from her face and hands, which was when he sent the men. When they returned, he walked with them over to Daenerys with his head hung a little in respect. As she looked their way, watching them walk over, she stood and stared at her little brother’s body on the stretcher. She was silent. It wasn’t exactly the nicest sight to see, he was already near blue from the cold and decomp, he had several arrows broken off from his body and had blood and mud smeared all across him. His hair was unrecognisable; covered in blood and mud also it was now a muddy, reddened brown. She looked pained, she looked beaten, but she was also calm.

“I’m going to take him back to Dragonstone and have him buried amongst the cliffs. Free, near the sky—like a dragon should be.” She announces sombrely as she looked down at his body.

“We’ll have him cleaned and wrapped.” Jon softly comforts. He nods at the men to move on and begin, and he turns to leave himself, but Daenerys stops him. “Jon.” She says.

He turns. “Where is he?” She questions.

-

I stood at the gate, glaring through at a bloodied and beaten Ramsey. He had been unconscious for a while. Sansa had come with me when Jon had told me and I marched over, Sansa leading and showing me the way. We stood there for a moment together, revelling in the sight of his defeat, but with him unconscious, seemingly because others had beat him who put him there as he was considerably more bloodied than I had left him. Sansa left soon after; we were waiting for him to wake up, but I stayed, I waited right there. And soon, he finally began to wake.

He groaned a little in pain as he woke, coughing and sniffing a little too as he pulled his head up and eventually came to see me stood at the gate ahead from where he was sat tied to a chair. “Oh—Daenerys. –Hello—Daenerys.” He greets coarsely.

His eyes glance around his surroundings. “Is this where I’ll be staying now?” he asks.

I say nothing, only glare. He gently sighs. “No.” he answers for himself, figuring out possibly what was going through my head. “Our short time together has come to an end. –But that’s alright. –You can’t kill me. –I’ll always be a part you. –I have been ever since the day I sliced your mother’s throat.” He pokes as Sansa returns, possibly having noticed or seen in passing he had awoken. Still, I said nothing as his eyes looked to Sansa coming to my side.

“Ah, my dear Sansa. –I was just saying—just like Daenerys here, I’ll always be a part of you, no matter what you do to me.” He toys.

“When you die—so will the part of you in me.” Sansa retorts.

He moved his lips to respond, but I cut him off immediately. “Where are they?” I ask, moving him along.

“Who?” he uninterestedly queries.

“My siblings. –You had Aegon—what about Rhaegal or Bellaria?” I question.

“Those beasts were killed in their beds.” Ramsey wickedly but weakly grins.

“Why wasn’t Aegon?” I ask.

“Cersei knew she had to keep one alive for whatever reason, we didn’t understand why at the time. But when we realised you had fled, she knew then she had to keep him for however long on account of you or use him as a trade for her advantage. –She was right—he did draw you out.” He explains. I thought it might have been a stretch to think that the others were alive too after all this time, but a lingering hope wondered if Aegon had been kept for so long under everyone’s noses, perhaps they could have too. Ramsey could have been lying, but I supposed keeping one hostage was easier to keep a secret and move around than three. Perhaps he was telling the truth.

“And yet, you lost. –Your plan failed. –You failed. –We got our home back and Daenerys is still alive.” Sansa spits.

“Well—like I said—I’m part of you both now.” He toys again with his wicked smile.

I opened the gate, hearing enough of his words and walked in towards the side, to the first cell. As I stood there, I looked back at Sansa and watched her do the same at the opposite side. “Your words will disappear. –Your house will disappear. –Your name will disappear. –All memory of you will disappear.” I state. He was right that he had been a part of me ever since he killed my mother, but he was wrong because this would be the day he would no longer be a part of me. His broken smug grin didn’t fade as I spoke, and as I finished, I nodded at Sansa and we both unlocked and opened the cell doors we stood by. Then swiftly, we existed back out and stood back where we had been with the gate closed. Then a low and quiet growl rumbles from one of the cells and Ramsey looks to his side from where it came; then his grin faded. More growls come from the other side and he turns his head, seeing another hound. We had freed only two, others were locked in the other cells, but we only needed two; two was enough.

He looks back to us as the two hounds begin to creep out their cells. “My hounds will never harm me.” He dismisses.

“You haven’t fed them in seven days, you said it yourself.” I remind.

I was glad to see a slight panic form in his eyes. “They’re loyal beasts.” He asserts, even with the two hounds now slowly circling him.

“They were—now they’re starving.” I point out coolly as one of the hounds then stops in front of him and his eyes dart down to it. The hound comes closer and steps his front feet on his legs, coming to sniff him and his bloodied face.

“Sit. –Down. –Down!” Ramsey orders as the hound begins to lick his face. “Stop. Stop. –Down.” He continues as the hound pulls his face away and stares at him for a second as Ramsey winced his face to the side. Then suddenly, the hound jolts his face forward and begins biting at Ramsey’s face, chomping at his chin first making him scream before biting at more of his face. The other hound then joins in, biting at his arm and shoulder. The other hounds in their cells began to bark as he screamed while getting devoured, and we watched as he did, blood pouring and spraying down. Soon, his screams faded and stopped, when they did, I turned my head to Sansa and we looked at each other with calm expressions. We didn’t exchange any words, but Sansa then changed her plain expression slowly into a small smirk. I looked back to a now seemingly dead Ramsey, before then turning and walking away, leaving Sansa to watch as the hounds devoured and finished him off. As I left, walking away, some men rushing over at the noise to see, my plain expression then eventually turned into a hint of a smirk too. He got his justice with a wolf and dragon hand in hand. He got his justice, and I gave it to him. I got my vengeance.

Chapter Text

I kept myself to myself around Winterfell, for the remainder of the day following Ramsey's death, that is. I grieved in silence. I walked the halls and grounds of Winterfell; I could see why they fought so hard for it. Compared to the South, I could see why people would describe it as dark and dreary, but it had its own unique beauty. When there weren’t bodies being burnt or mud covering the fields, I could image the place was a northern haven, especially now Winter was here. Snow had begun to fall coming into the evening which felt oddly fitting. The battle was won and now came the snow to cover the land in its beauty, as if it hadn’t happened. It was replenishing itself. I found myself in the Godwoods alone with my thoughts, thinking over everything that had brought me here, and grieving what I had lost a second time. The weirwood tree I had only read about in books and they didn’t describe or illustrate their beauty with justice. The reddened leaves despite the cold only made them seem more alive, and I imagined with the snow coming, they would appear even more so against the white. I sat by the tree, thinking to go there as the Godswoods and the weirwood tree were known to be places of worship and meditation, albeit to the Old Gods of the Forest, but it seemed the most calming space to go and to find solitude with my own sombre thoughts. After turning hours into a day, I finally plucked myself up from my seclusion and pushed myself back to the castle, to warm up and eat something because now the grey day sky began to turn to the black evening.

As I walked through the halls once again, I noticed that the north men wandering the halls were acknowledging me, respectively nodding their heads which they hadn’t before. I wasn’t sure whether it was in recognition for my title after fighting amongst them in the battle or purely just for fighting in the battle, but either way it had something to do with the battle. This was a start at getting them and Jon to band behind me in the coming war. I took the first steps, now I needed Jon to take his.

“Your Grace.” A male voice says in approach, breaking me from my thoughts as I wandered. Drawing my attention back to my surroundings, I watched as Sansa and, I guess you would say adviser, Littlefinger came to stand before me. “Are you alright, Daenerys?” Sansa asks after a delay in my response or lack thereof.

“Yes. Fine. Just lost in thought, is all.” I answer.

“You missed supper, but I made sure a plate was kept for you.” Sansa informs.

“Thank you.” I softly respond before glancing at Littlefinger. I hadn’t heard much about him, other than he wasn’t the most trustworthy man in the realm and yet he came to our aid in the battle, but he had been attached to Sansa since his arrival. Despite his aid, I found myself instantly having a distrust in the ominous man, even though I knew nothing really about him.

“This is Lord Petyr Baelish.” Sansa introduces.

“An honour, Your Grace.” he greets as he bows his head and I nod back in respect. “What a sight to see the Last Targaryen and the Mother of Dragons no less. –The last time I saw you was when you were but a child running the halls of the Red Keep.” He flatters. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the man seemed cunningly false, but cleverly so. Anyone wouldn’t be able to tell something was off, but I had been around sly and evil men too many times to not trust my gut when I felt this way about a person.

“I don’t recall your face I’m afraid Lord Baelish.” I admit.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. You were a young and free spirit, not taking notice of your father’s councilmen.” He assures.

“You were on my father’s council?” I question in surprise. He was right, there were many faces I wouldn’t recognise now, but I was still surprised to hear he was a part of my father’s council.

“I was the Master of Coin, Your Grace.” He clarifies and I now recall something Tyrion had told me when he had briefly been mentioned in one conversation.

“Oh—but weren’t you that also for Cersei Lannister?” I point out, with a little disdain.

“I was—but—,” He began. “No need to explain, Lord Baelish. –I’m sure you just did what you had to survive.” I intervene, still with a little spit of resentment, but barely. I was in no mood for small talk, and I didn’t like the feeling I was getting from the man.

I look back to Sansa. “I need to speak with your brother. Where is he?” I ask.

“He is still in the main hall, I believe. I need to speak with him myself, so I may see you in there soon.” She answers, and with a nod of thanks and slightly forced smile, I left, gliding past the two of them towards the hall.

When I walked into the hall, a couple servers were clearing the last remnants of the feast, leaving with their arms and hands stacked with plates with their last sweep of the hall. Now it was empty, all apart now from Jon and I. He was stood by the fire, behind the Lord and Lady’s table of the hall, seemingly staring into it with a drink in hand as he leant against the wall. He didn’t seem to register I had walked in.

“Funny—,” I begin, gaining his attention, breaking it from the fire. “It looks as if you have been doing the same as me all day.” I point out as I come to step in the centre of the hall, walking between the tables.

“And what’s that?” he pushes.

“Brooding.” I answer bluntly, before arching a small smile, seeing a match of one on Jon. He turns his body, coming to step towards the Lord’s table before him. He puts his cup down and grips the chair the Lord of the castle would sit in, the one he no doubt had taken up.

“When we had feasts, my family would sit up here. –And I’d sit down there, sulkin’ in the corner.” He reminisces, pointing to one of the back corners behind me.

I glance back at where he was pointing, before returning my gaze back on him. “Could have been worse. –You had a family. –You had feasts. –We were lucky; that’s a lot more than most.” I point out as I began to walk forward up the hall again.

He lightly smiles. “Aye, you’re right, we were luckier than most.” He agrees as I come to stand before him at the table. “I forgot you’re a champion of the people.” he adds.

“So are you.” I retort and I see he looks at me with slight confusion. “You may have been a bastard, but you were born into a certain privilege, just like me. –But it is what we have done with it that matters. –You helped those beyond the wall and continue to do so south of it despite the resistance from the northerners, and I helped those far east, despite the resistance of the masters. –We didn’t have to do these things, but we did because we wanted to, and because no one else would. –Now you want to unify the northerners with the free folk, and it’s not for your own gain, it’s for theirs. Just how I want to liberate the people from Cersei, and I want to do it for them, not for the rise of myself.” I explain.

“You make us sound the same.” Jon deducts.

“How are we not?” I retort; when you looked at it, we were much alike in attitude and goals.

“I didn’t make the impossible happen, for starters. You have dragons.” Jon counters as if it were an obvious argument.

“Dragons are in the histories as mere myths, and legends in my family history now. People either chose to believe it or not. –Now, I have four dragons, and so, it appears the legends and the histories were true. –People didn’t believe what they heard of the rebirth of the dragons until I flew them around the world. –And now you’re doing the same.” I relate, and again Jon looks confused. “This Night King and his dead army are myths and legends, stories told through history to scare children. People have chosen not to believe it—and now you’re trying to convince people of the impossible, that it’s real.” I elaborate. “Now, do you see how we’re the same?” I add.

Jon is quiet for a moment. “You said it’s hard to believe somethin’ you’ve never seen before, in somethin’ people believe to be a myth, somethin’ made up. –That people still didn’t believe the birth of your dragons until they saw them with their own eyes.” Jon recalls, progressively thinking and I was curious to see where he was leading.

“Are you suggesting we wait until this Night King appears to show the realm he’s real? Or we go to him for the same effect?” I poke, grimly joking.

“No. –Not the realm—you.” Jon clarifies.

“What are you talking about? You want me to meet this Night King?” I question perplexed.

“No.” Jon assures, and I stare waiting for an explanation. “I’ve been planning to go beyond the wall, with Tormund, to get the remaining clan of the free folk. We need numbers and I promised to keep their people safe, so I have to do this. But Tormund says this clan have had run ins with the dead, and they have dragonglass. He’s not sure in what capacity they have it, but we’re bringing them and their dragonglass back past the wall. –I want you to come with us.” Jon announces.

“Beyond the Wall?” I assess, surprised at the turn of the conversation.

“Yes. –You can see them in their home, how they live, and hear their stories from their mouths. It’s the closest and safest way of showing you the dead are real. And if I have you vouching for me, staking claim to their very much real threat, others will be more inclined to believe and join us.” Jon defends.

“You’re forgetting I also said that I trust you, and that if you say they’re real, I believe you.” I point out. “I can’t go, Jon, I have people waiting at Dragonstone. People who are currently mining your dragonglass, I might add. –I can’t go beyond the Wall. Everyone told me not to come here, you think they’d want me going there?” I argue.

“You came here anyway.” Jon retorts.

“Yes, because I came for my brother, and I had to put my trust in you. You have that, and I hope I have yours, but you’re pushing yourself. You’re asking me to do something I don’t need to, at the risk of myself, at the risk of what I’m doing, of what I’m trying to achieve. You don’t need me there.” I state.

“Aye, I don’t need you there. –But I want you there because I do trust you—and you’re damn good with a sword.” Jon concedes.

“There’s the risk I’m talking about—are you saying I’m going to need to use my sword if I go?” I question.

“There’s risk everywhere. There’s always goin’ to be a chance of a fight. You don’t take me for the kind of person to shy away from it.” He responds.

“Choose your battles, Jon Snow. –I chose to come North and fight for my brother, and in doing so fight for your home. We won, but I still lost. –I need some personal victories, and I don’t see finding or achieving them beyond the Wall. –I’ve been North long enough.” I continue to dismiss.

Jon sighs. “I’m askin’ you to please come. I want—I need you to see it—them—hear them in their home. –I’m askin’ you to trust in me again.” Jon pleas.

It was my turn to sigh. “And what do I get in return?” I ask. “I’ve allowed you to mine the dragonglass, I fought by your side here at Winterfell and you have your home back—what have you given me?” I follow.

Jon stares back; I can see he knows what I want, and in his silence I know he still doesn’t want to budge. “I can’t give you what you want. Ask for anything else.” He confirms.

“Jon—the whole of the North might not have chosen you as their King, but what do you think is going to happen now?” I begin calmly, defeat slightly evident in my tone. “The Bolton’s are eradicated, their hold on the North is vanquished and by your name, your lead. Who do you think they’re going to rally behind, to look to lead them, to protect them? –Your men chose you to be their King, and you got them and the free folk to unify. When the Northern houses are one again, you can get them to accept a southern ruler; they’ll take your influence. –I’m no Cersei. I only want to see this land prosper—and that includes the North.” I declare. We stare at each other in silence, hoping the other will give in.

“I can’t defeat the Night King and his army without yours and your dragons. I know that. I need you. –But you’re askin’ me for the one thing I can’t give you. I’m sorry, Daenerys.” Jon admits, but I don’t accept that.

“I told you I’d fight for the North if you bent the knee. –And now, I’ve already fought for the North, with no assurances. My battle was lost when Aegon died and then I risked my own life next to yours, the northmen, in the name of your home. –If they won’t accept a southern ruler who does that, then who will they accept?” I challenge.

“I told you—after everythin’ they’ve suffered, they won’t accept any southern ruler. No matter what. –They barely see the Starks as their wardens anymore, let alone their kings. And I’m tryin’ to rally them together for something bigger than a fight for the throne. I have to do that first before I can even think of imposin’ the idea of a southern ruler to them. If I do it now, they’ll never accept it.” Jon retaliates.

There is a moment of silence between us, the tension lowering back down. “Are you saying there is a chance they would?” I query.

“I don’t know. Maybe. –But they’re stubborn, they don’t know you. They’ll look for any excuse not to follow you because in their eyes anyone not a northerner is a foreigner. Yes, you fought alongside us in the battle, but you didn’t bring your own armies or reinforcements to join us. Now, I know why, but they don’t. You may have come out of it looking like a great soldier, but they need more than that. They’re not your allies from the Reach or Dorne, they won’t accept you so quickly, no matter who your family was. –But if you come with me, if you work with me, if you respect me and what we stand for, they’ll come to respect you. –Like I do.” Jon proclaims.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I kept quiet. I needed him and the North behind us for the war against Cersei, but he was not going to budge until this war against the dead was dealt with. The North was clearly not going to accept me at any means unless I showed my loyalty, I showed my worth. I wasn’t sure how to do that. I had already helped get Winterfell back, but Jon was right. I was one woman, and realistically what did I do. Sansa and Littlefinger were the ones who came to our aid and won the battle, without them it was lost. I felt completely conflicted. I needed the North, I wanted them, but I could only have them if I put the work in it seemed. The North were stubborn, but if being at Jon’s side meant they would be more susceptible to accept my supposed rule, then I could provide him with my armies and he the same when the time came. It was a tit for tat game, I just had to make the jump. The thing that stopped me, that made me argue, was that I thought I already had by coming North but perhaps I had only taken a small step, and not taken that first jump completely. I wished Tyrion was here, William too. I needed advice, but then again, I knew they would tell me this was a bad idea. Then Missandei’s words came into my head: that when I ignored my councillors, when I leaned into an idea that only I saw or they dismissed or argued against, it was usually the better choice. I wasn’t completely sure of my decision, but for what we wanted in the long run, I concluded it was better than going back to Dragonstone empty handed.

In the short moment I had kept silent, I had looked away from Jon, pondering on my thoughts and when I reached my own decision, I turned back to him. “I will come with you.” I announce and his face lifts.

“You will?” he replies.

“I will.” I confirm.

“Ravens were sent to the Northern houses this morning after the victory. Should they accept our invitation, all will arrive within tomorrow’s eve, and should they accept a unified structure again, I will announce the mission to gather the rest of the free folk from beyond the Wall.” He informs.

“We leave as soon as we can. And we return to Dragonstone as soon as we can—together.” I affirm.

A slight smile arches in the corner of his mouth. “Together.” He repeats.

“Good.” I respond, though I don’t smile back, my expression more serious.

He scoffs a little. “What?” I question.

“Funny—your stubborn and demandin’, just like a northerner. I suppose that’s your Stark blood in your veins.” Jon muses.

“Well, I did wonder why you irk me like an annoying brother would sometimes, I suppose that’s the Stark blood we share in our veins.” I poke back, my own arched smile creeping up.

I see his eyes glaze past me. “Speakin’ of squabblin’ siblin’s.” He says and I turn to see Sansa entering into the hall, fortunately without Littlefinger.

“Am I intruding?” Sansa asks.

“No. Course not.” Jon assures as I smile at her approach to us. “My mind was somewhere else at supper, I forgot to tell you that I’ve had the Lord’s chamber prepared for you.” He announces which from Sansa’s expression as she comes to stop in front of us shows it takes her by surprise.

“Mother and father’s chamber? –You should take it.” Sansa dismisses.

Jon lightly shakes his head. “I’m not a Stark, it wouldn’t be right.” He points out.

“You are to me.” Sansa affirms.

Jon sighs. “You’re the Lady of Winterfell. You deserve it. –We’re standin’ here because of you.” He states.

“He’s right. The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in.” I back.

“And they came because of you.” he adds.

She says nothing, she looked as if she felt almost guilty. “You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons.” Jon states.

“What?” I say aloud.

“He did.” Sansa confirms.

“How can you trust him?” I query.

Sansa scoffs, her face looking down. “Only a fool would trust Littlefinger.” She scorns, but as if she was just speaking to herself. As she looks back up, and directly at Jon, I make sure to make a note of what she said. “I should have told you about him. About the Knights of the Vale. I’m sorry.” She concedes.

Jon grabs her hand. “We need to trust each other. We can’t fight a war amongst ourselves, not when there are so many enemies out there.” He insists gently, before stepping forward and planting a comforting peck on her forehead. They smile at each other, and it was endearing to see. I only wished I had that again; they reminded me of myself and my brother Rhaegar. He was always the most loving towards me, spent the most time with me. I loved him. I missed all my siblings, but I did miss his comfort immensely.

“Now, go on. Get settled in the Lord’s chamber.” Jon encourages with a smile, and hers only grows.

“Alright.” She replies before turning on her heels and heading for the doors.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving her with Lord Baelish.” Jon admits after we see her vacate the hall.

“I can see that. But given what she’s been through, and what she already knows about him, I think she’ll be more than fine.” I assure.

“Aye, you’re probably right.” He agrees.

It takes me a second, but I manage to get it out. “Jon—I need to burn Aegon’s body.” I state.

“I thought you wanted to bury him at Dragonstone?” he queries.

“I did, but if I’m not heading for Dragonstone now—I can’t wait that long. And I was thinking, I don’t want him alone in the ground; he should be free to the sky—that’s a true dragon. –I want to scatter his ashes to the wind, in your hills—before we leave.” I put forward.

“I’ll help you tomorrow, if you wish.” Jon offers.

“Thank you.” I tenderly respond.

He kept to his promise, and together we burnt his body, collecting the ashes after the flames died down. When we ventured up the hills, Sansa joined us, showing her respects. I had known these barely a month and yet they felt immensely comforting in the moment. I thought watching Aegon’s ashes scatter to the wind would allow me to let go of my grief, but when we returned to the castle, I wasn’t sure it had. I spent the majority of the day alone, confined to the chambers I’d been given. I cried my grief out instead, until Sansa came to keep me company. We spoke, she filled me in on everything I should know and wanted to know about the Lords, right up until Jon came for us. It was the evening when he did; I knew that meant they were all here, they were all gathered. As the three of us walked to go see the Northern Lords, I hoped this was the beginning of our alliance.

When we had come into the hall from the back, coming to sit at the Lord’s table, there were many stares as I came to sit next to Jon at the table, as Sansa sat at his other side. It was like I was just a part of them, and I supposed from the stares, the northern Lords either thought this was ludicrous or perhaps for the most part, the ones who hadn’t met me before were just judgingly curious. I soon came to realise that it wasn’t just me they were judgmental of, as quickly the conversations stirred into chaos between the Lords and mostly about the Free Folk.

“You can’t expect the Knights of the Vale to side with Wildling invaders.” Lord Royce, commander of the Vale Knights exclaims, a part of the enduring chaos of the argument.

“We didn’t invade—we were invited.” Tormund defends.

“Not by me.” Lord Royce spits, regaining his seat as the other Lords and northern men murmur their agreements.

Jon stands abruptly. “The Free Folk, the Northerners, the Knights of the Vale—and her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen—fought bravely, fought together and won.” He points out, glancing at me as he mentioned my name. “My father used to say we find our true friends on the battlefield.” He adds. Hopefully, they would start to see me as such.

“The Bolton’s are defeated. The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it’ll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms.” Lord Cerwyn suggests, standing, speaking out loud.

“The war is not over. –And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won’t wait out the storm—he brings the storm.” Jon dismisses kindly, causing more murmurs and the Lord to sit back down. Once again, the men muttered between themselves, and we were getting nowhere. I looked up at Jon and he seemed stuck on what to say, so I seized my moment and stood from my seat, standing alongside Jon.

“Lord Manderly, your son was butchered at my brother Viserys’ wedding, or the Red Wedding as it’s now more commonly known. Butchered by Bolton men—but you refused the Stark’s call.” I suddenly announce, catching everyone’s attention and the Lord especially by surprise. For a moment, everyone was quiet, speechless, even Lord Manderly. I looked to Lord Glover, remembering his face from our visit.

“You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need—you refused their call.” I state and I notice Jon sit back down.

“And Lord Cerwyn—,” I say, waiting for a reaction so I knew which Lord he was. I had remembered Glover’s face, but I had to say the other’s names first to get their attention and know who to look to. I had asked Sansa to inform me about these pieces of information when we spoke in my chamber beforehand, and she’d given me basic descriptions of what the Lords looked like, but I still needed their reactions and attention to tell. “—your father was skinned alive by Ramsey Bolton, and still you refused their call.” I continue. I was glad to see that I was invoking shame in their eyes, and not hatred, it was a risk I was taking. I was praying it was paying off.

“I know you all don’t know me. Any stories you’ve heard of me aside, perhaps only that I’m the daughter of a dead king from over a decade ago. A daughter of war. –Now, I know that I came here with no armies of my own to this battle, but I still came. –I can stand here and preach to you who I am, what I’ve done and why I came here alone, but I’m not going to. None of that matters now. –What matters is that I came—that I’m still here. –I put my trust in Jon Snow, a stranger to begin with, and I’m still stood by his side, in his home, on his accord. I’m helping him with the coming war, my people are mining the dragonglass back on Dragonstone as we speak. Everything I have done since I met Jon Snow I have done on no assurances. –I came to Winterfell’s aid, the Stark’s aid, when I didn’t have to. I did not refuse his call. –If you want to survive what comes next, you’ll listen to him—you’ll come together and be a unified North again.” I proclaim and the hall is silent. A few murmur, but its easily missed. For a moment, I worried I took it too far. Nervously, though hiding it, I sat back down in my seat.

Then Lady Mormont stands suddenly. “Her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen, stood at Jon Snow’s side at Bear Island and together they convinced me that what they fought for was worth it. Then she fought alongside northmen when other northmen refused to do so. She stood down a charging calvary, her sword in hand and she didn’t run, she prepared to fight. Her Stark mother’s blood runs through her veins—her heart sounds as strong as any northerner’s.” She backs, in her scornful and strong passion, backing me in front of the Lords and as she finishes, she gives me the slightest of nods in recognition, of which I happily return. “And yet, what she speaks is true. Many of you refused the call despite what the Bolton’s have done to your Houses. –Men were lost on the battlefield—good northern men—and if the many of you hadn’t refused the call, then those men may have still been here today. –And the men that are here, are here because of the Starks.” She continues. “Those of you that refused the call, you all seem to have forgotten. –But House Mormont remembers. –The North remembers. –We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark. –I don’t care if he’s a bastard, Stark blood runs through his veins. He’s my King from this day, until his last day.” She declares and again, murmurs rumble between the men and this time with sound of agreement. She nods at Jon who seems a little taken aback as she regains her seat.

After a moment, Lord Manderly stands. “Her Grace, Daenerys and Lady Mormont speak harshly—and truly.” He states looking between us both, before landing directly on me. “You’re right, Your Grace, we don’t know you. We know only of the gruesome tales spread from the south, but now we know that you fought at Jon’s side when others wouldn’t—when northerners wouldn’t. The men have spoke of what Lady Mormont tells, and your bravery sounds paramount. You may have the fire of a Targaryen, but you have the courage of a Northerner. I see now why Jon Snow has you at his side. A true King knows his match in others, knows who to call his friends on the battlefield. And Jon led an army against the odds and came out victorious—now the Bolton’s are defeated.” He praises, looking at the both of us sat at the table. “My son died at the Red Wedding. And our Northern leader and his son, Ned and Robb, died fighting in that war. –I didn’t think we’d find another leader in my lifetime, not after everything. –I didn’t commit my men to your cause, because I didn’t want more Manderly’s dying for nothing. –But I was wrong.” He admits. “—Jon Snow avenged the atrocities the Bolton’s committed against the North. He is the White Wolf—the King in the North!” Lord Manderly proclaims loudly as he unsheathes his sword and points it to the ground, taking a knee before Jon amongst the men. He’d just bent the knee.

A few muttered cheers followed Lord Manderly’s declaration and then suddenly Lord Glover stands from his seat, stepping forward and coming next to Lord Manderly. “I did not fight beside you on the field, and I will regret that until my dying day. –A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness.” Lord Glover deflatingly concedes and all eyes look to Jon.

“There’s nothin’ to forgive, my Lord.” Jon assures.

Lord Glover turns his head to the side, addressing the room. “There will be more fights to come.” He looks back to Jon. “House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years—and I will stand behind Jon Snow.” He declares before unsheathing his sword and holding it up in the air. “The King in the North!” he exclaims before bending the knee with Lord Manderly.

“The King in the North!” Lord Cerwyn repeats as he stands and takes out his sword, which then causes the whole chamber of men to stand in cheer. Those with swords, take them out and hold them high too as all call out together ‘The King in the North’ repeatedly. It was a triumphant moment, and I could see in Jon’s face that he was taken aback from it. He had got what he wanted: a united North and was named King by them all, not just his house. Jon stood up from the table in recognition of what they were doing, looking out at the chanting men before us. Then, when he looked down at me, I could see almost concern or unease on his face. It was subtle but it was there. Perhaps he thought the declaration of him as their King, in front of me a Queen wanting him to bend the knee, was something of a sore subject still. Considering our previous conversation, I could see why. As I listened to the Northmen chant, I did start to worry if I had made the right decision in conceding. Had I just made it that much harder for myself? Had I just helped Jon receive something I would now never get from the Northmen? My advisers would certainly think so. Despite my worry, I smiled and nodded lightly up to him, like I was saying with my eyes that it was okay, and I saw him ease up. When he looked back at his men, he appeared more accepting and proud. It had to be a prideful moment for him, as a Northern bastard rising to be crowned their King. All I could hope for now, was the more they looked to him, the more they’d be inclined to look to me in the future. They seemed to have warmed to me, but that didn’t mean a thing. They could perhaps respect me, maybe even like me, but that didn’t mean they would want me as their ruler. They had just chosen Jon before me, but this is what I bet on, and I had to believe in it, despite my now worrying doubts. Jon was a good man, and fast becoming a good friend. I just had to hope that everything we did together would butter the Northmen, and that Jon would do this: bend the knee. I was betting a lot on it.

Chapter Text

Jon had spoken more of the Night King and the dead to his people, showing why he had done the things he had done. Namely bringing the Free Folk through the wall and bringing me here, so he could announce the mission and why it had to happen. The men didn’t seem the most pleased, but they accepted it. Winterfell was to be left in Sansa’s care, the Lady of Winterfell, while we went further North. And as promised, Jon, Tormund and I were to leave in the early hours of the following morning. For now, in the council chambers, we spoke of what we would be expecting to face on this mission with Tormund.

“We know the last of the Free Folk are at Hardhome. We don’t have much time left, and your people even less. We need to get there quickly, before the dead do. –So—you say this clan are the most stubborn—will they be convinced like the others? –Who leads them?” Jon questions.

“They followed Mance. They’ll be adamant they won’t follow anyone else. Especially not a former crow, and former Lord Commander at that.” Tormund answers.

“What about you? The Free Folk here seem to listen to you, even the remaining Elders.” I ponder.

Tormund mumbles noise, though I wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or dismissal. “The clan at Hardhome were the last to join Mance—they’re incredibly stubborn. They’re not going to take the arrival of crows lightly, or that the rest of us have come to the side of one.” He states.

“But I’m no longer a crow.” Jon points out.

“No—but you were. And if we’re going beyond the Wall, you’ll have crows with you, yes? –Besides, with what’s happening, and what you want them to do. They’re going to need to hear it from you. The crows at the Wall still look to you—you’re going to have to be the Lord Commander again, so that they know they won’t be murdered coming through the Wall or torched on ships in the sea. They’ll need your word and to hear it from your mouth.” Tormund explains.

“Aye. I know.” Jon affirms.

“There’s no telling what they’ll do or decide. You may have to accept that they’ll tell you to fuck yourselves and go back without them.” Tormund announces.

“We can’t. We need every man we can get. We’ll just have to convince them.” Jon asserts.

“Well, maybe this one will be useful.” Tormund says, looking at me. “You’re not a crow, they’ll never have seen anyone who looks like you, perhaps you’ll confuse them just enough that you’ll be a push factor. –And you’re good with words.” He elaborates.

“I see—,” I begin, looking to Jon. “—Am I to be your negotiator again? It’s not a thing of working with you or respect then? I’m not a crow and so I become a potential, mysterious push factor?” I tease, though with seriousness in my tone.

“No. I’ll be the one talkin’. And everything I said, I said true, but—yes, potentially your presence may aid us somehow. They hate the crows, but we’ll have Tormund there and someone else who isn’t a crow could always help, someone who doesn’t have a history of fighting them.” Jon defends.

“Alright. –So, we leave in the early morning then?” I ask.

“No. We leave now. We ride through the night to the Wall towards Eastwatch where we have the ships. Now the North is unified, we have nothing to fear. I’ve sent word to the men I trust at Castle Black to join us at Eastwatch. We’ll all be sailing together by morning light to Hardhome.” Jon states. The plan had been to leave in the morning but clearly Jon had changed his mind. I suppose the sooner we got there, the sooner we could get back and subsequently, the sooner we could get back to Dragonstone. Him for the dragonglass, and I for everyone and everything else.

Tormund and I glance at each other before I look back to Jon and nod my understanding. “ I must change.” I state as I stand from the table.

“We’ll ready the horses.” He says as he and Tormund stand themselves, before all three of us move off from the table and head to leave. As I walked to my chamber, I couldn’t quite believe I was actually headed for the Wall, let alone going beyond it, to the true North as Tormund continuously called it. I wasn’t sure if I was excited or scared, or perhaps I was a little bit of both.

Before our departure I had sent a raven south to Dragonstone, informing my people of the current plan and my whereabouts. I knew they’d hate the idea. Warn me against it, but there was nothing they could do. Strangely, I wanted to go in the end; I was intrigued. The Wall and the Free Folk, it was all fascinating. I found myself wanting to see the true North as Tormund frequently referred to it as, beyond the Wall. The Wall itself was something to behold. I was unsure how high to even estimate it, it was monstrous in size and stretched as far as the eye could see. A wall made of ice, it really was something and I took every moment of it in, as I wondered if I’d ever see it again in my lifetime. I was in awe of it, but the only one. I even caught a glimpse of a smirk on Jon’s face at my astonishment, but he’d spent years here, as did his fellow Watchers. The watchers lived here, worked here, they saw it all the time, of course they weren’t in awe, same as Tormund, they’d seen it all before. I’d never even met a member of the Night’s Watch, not still under the oath anyway, let alone see the Wall. When we arrived at Eastwatch, I noticed how their eyes wondered around me. I supposed other than the Free Folk women they had fought, they never really saw women and it explained the curious glances and long stares from some of them, but they never made me uncomfortable. Quite the opposite; they seemed good and honest men, especially Eddison, or Edd as Jon called him. After Jon left the Night’s Watch, he gave Edd his cloak and control of Castle Black. He seemed the humblest and nicest of all. But apparently the Free Folk did not think the same as Tormund was adamant on our arrival to this Hardhome, that they do not speak unless spoken to. Jon more or less told me the same and by the cold reception and stares we got from the people of Hardhome, I understood why.

-

“How much do we have?” Sansa asks of her advisers in Jon’s absence, looking out over Winterfell’s courtyard, watching their people prepare for the coming winter.

“4,000 bushels, my Lady.” Maester Wolkan answers.

“What does that mean?” Sansa queries.

“For the current occupants of the castle, it’s enough food for a year, perhaps more.” Lord Royce informs.

“But we’re not just feeding our men, we’re helping the wildlings too, aren’t we?” she mentions, though doesn’t hunt for an answer, immediately continuing to her next question as she turns and begins to descend the stairs to the courtyard. “And what’s the longest winter in the past hundred years?”

“Uh, I’m not entirely certain. I’ll check Maester Luwin’s records. He kept a copy of every raven scroll.” Maester Wolkan elects as they follow her, Littlefinger close at her side as always.

“So, you’re telling me we don’t have enough food, especially not if the northern armies come to defend Winterfell?” Sansa points out as they begin to walk the courtyard.

“No, my Lady, most likely not.” Maester Wolkan confirms.

“And that’s even without Daenerys’ or any other Westerosi armies.” She thinks aloud. “Then we must prepare for that eventuality. –Whatever direction the threat comes from this is the best place to be. –We need to start building up our grain stores with regular shipments from every keep in the North. If we don’t use it by Winter’s end, we’ll give it back to them. But if the entire North has to flee to Winterfell, they won’t have enough time to bring wagonloads of grain with them.” Sansa instructs.

“Very wise, my Lady.” Lord Royce recognises.

“Maester Wolkan, you’ll see to it?” Sansa asks and he obediently bows his head, turning back to head in start of his duty as the others continued walking. They walk past some men labouring over breastplates and the look of the shiny metal stops Sansa in her walk.

“Are they covering those breastplates in leather?” She questions.

“No, my Lady.” Lord Royce answers.

“Well, shouldn’t they be? Once the real cold comes?” She reasons.

“They should, indeed. Pardon me, my Lady.” Lord Royce agrees and immediately begins marching over to the men to inquire and instruct. Sansa now walked with Littlefinger alone and she noticed his slight smirk beside her, and she waited to hear whatever it was he was clearly wanting to say.

“Command suits you.” he praises.

Sansa wasn’t sure how to respond. She glances his way, and he wore his slight smirk still. She wondered if he had said it with intent, or merely just paying her a compliment. But she knew better, there was always a reason for the words that came out his mouth. He was always weaving a web, planting a seed, playing a game, so she stayed quiet as they walked and chose to ignore it.

“Lady Sansa.” A guard soldier calls behind them, sounding urgent and springs Sansa’s attention sharply around. “At the gate. There’s a boy claiming to be your brother.” The soldier announces. Without even a glance back to Littlefinger she was off, rushing after the soldier.

By the gate, a crowd of people had gathered around what looked like a wagon and she tried to see through the cracks but couldn’t catch a glimpse of anything, until the people made way for her. Moving aside, they allowed her to suddenly come face to face with this boy sat on the wagon’s end. His head turned to meet her and she instantly knew. The feeling was happily overwhelming. She was staring at her lost, younger brother Bran. He was so much older, more a man than a boy now, and yet she couldn’t help but see him as still the little annoying brother who used to run havoc around Winterfell. Now, and oddly too, he was so calm and still, even when she broke a smile, he didn’t.

“Hello, Sansa.” He coolly says.

Hearing his voice suddenly brought her to tears and she immediately marched forward and threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. Another odd thing she noticed; he didn’t do the same. She thought, after everything he must have been through, after not seeing her for so many years, he would at least hug her back. Even in that first instance of their reunion she could tell he had much changed.

After she had composed herself, and Bran and his companion had been properly taken care of, the two of them went to the Godswood to finally be alone, to talk after so many years apart. But Sansa found that talking to him was even harder than before. They sat silently amongst the snow and leaves, Bran leant against the Weirwood tree as Sansa sat cradling her knees.

“You just missed Jon. He left a couple days ago for the Wall. I wish he were here.” Sansa informs.

“Yes, I need to speak to him.” Bran vaguely responds.

“You’re father’s last living trueborn son. –You’re Lord of Winterfell now.” Sansa announces, wondering how it would all work with Jon not long being named King in the North.

“I can never be Lord of Winterfell. I can never be lord of anything. –I’m the Three-Eyed Raven.” Bran declares.

Sansa looked at him with confused eyes. “I don’t know what that means.” She admits, and she wondered, whatever it was, if it explained his strange and cold mannered behaviour.

“It’s difficult to explain.” Bran dismisses.

“Try. Please, for me.” She urges.

“It means I can see everything. Everything that’s ever happened to everyone. Everything’s that happening right now. It’s all pieces now, fragments. I need to learn to see better. When the Long Night comes again, I need to be ready.” He explains, glancing to his right at the Weirwood tree’s face.

Sansa still looked at him with confused eyes. She wasn’t exactly sure what all of that meant either. “How do you know all this?” she asks.

“The Three-Eyed Raven taught me.” Bran answers.

“I thought you were the Three-Eyed Raven?” Sansa queries confused again.

“I told you it’s difficult to explain.” Bran repeats.

Sansa sighs. “Bran—” she begins but is cut off. “I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you. I’m sorry it had to happen here in our home. –It was so beautiful that night. Snow falling, just like now. And you were so beautiful, in your white wedding dress.” He suddenly compliments, but it didn’t feel like a compliment. She couldn’t believe that he knew, couldn’t believe that he brought up that night, one of the worst in her whole life. It was disturbing. Perhaps there was truth to the madness he had spoken. But even so, after what he had said, Sansa suddenly found herself not wanting to be in Bran’s company any longer for the moment, so she began to rise to her feet.

“I have to go back inside, Bran.” She announces.

“I’ll stay a little longer.” He says and with that she turns and hurries on her feet to leave the Godswood, tears lingering in her eyes with the memory of the night Bran had mentioned. She was glad for him to be home, but he really wasn’t the boy he was before. He was something else entirely.

-

Although cold, grey and dreary, the Free Folk’s home had some beauty about it. Until snow fell on Winterfell, I had never seen it before. Their home and their mountains in the distance, their cliffs overlooking their camp, was covered in it. The black, grey and white of their home was oddly pretty, although gloomy at the same time. As we dismounted the rowboat, I told myself to keep my ears open and my mouth closed for all the gloomy eyes were a little unsettling. It seemed their whole community was gathered, watching our arrival from our ships to the shore. When we set our feet on dry land, a group of Free Folk in the distance were marching through the crowds towards us. Tormund and Jon headed our group and we walked to meet them. The man at the head of his group wore a mask of bone, a skull, and adorned bones around his clothing, whilst also sporting a spiked staph with yet another skull at the top of it. I could only assume this man was the leader here, or some kind of authority.

“Lord of Bones. –Been a long time.” Tormund greets.

“Last time I saw you, the little crow was your prisoner. The other way round now. What happened?” The Lord of Bones bluntly questions. It was funny hearing him refer to Jon as little crow after being around all the Lords who addressed him as their King, but that wasn’t their culture. Although, I supposed it was more derogatory and Jon was now dressed alongside his fellow watchers, all in black. Which, annoyingly, made me stick out even more like a sore thumb against them all. Together we matched our surroundings. The watchers in black, Tormund in grey and I was in white, matching my silver hair. The only clothing of Sansa’s warm enough and big enough for me to wear this far North.

“War.” Tormund simply answers.

“War? You call that a war? The greatest army the North has ever seen cut to pieces by some southern King.” The Lord disdains. I assumed they spoke of Stannis as I remembered what Jon had told me about the whole fight with the Free Folk and how they eventually came together.

“We should gather the Elders; find somewhere quiet to talk.” Tormund strongly suggests, dismissing the previous remark.

“You don’t give the orders here.” The Lord rejects.

“I’m not giving an order.” Tormund clarifies, although it felt like a slight challenge.

The Lord looks him up and down. “Why aren’t you in chains?” He asks.

“He’s not my prisoner.” Jon speaks up.

“No? What is he?” The Lord questions.

“We’re allies.” Jon states and you can see the word immediately doesn’t sit well with these Free Folk and the air suddenly feels a little hostile.

“You fucking traitor. You fight for the crows now?” The Lord spits.

“I don’t fight for the crows. None of us do.” Tormund declares, a particular emphasis on the ‘for’. It was subtle, but it was there.

“None of us?” The Lord repeats.

“All the remaining Free Folk—we’re south of the wall. And so should you.” He announces, but the Lord doesn’t speak, just stares back at Tormund.

“We’re not here to fight. We came here to talk.” Jon states.

“Is that right? –You and the pretty crow do a lot of talking, Tormund?” The Lord begins, poking Tormund with his staph. “And when you’re done talking, do you get on your knees and suck his cock?” He continues, as well as poking Tormund, but suddenly, hanging off the last word, Tormund grabs the staph and strikes the Lord around the head with its skull and spiked end. The blow sends the man to the ground where Tormund begins to beat him, striking him on the back and on the head until he lay there motionless. I was sure he had just killed him. The people around, especially those hwo had followed the Lord to us, seemed on edge, gripping their weapons a little tighter, but no one did a thing in retaliation.

“Gather the Elders and lets talk.” Tormund asserts before throwing the staph to the ground and beginning to walk up through the crowds. Jon and I shared a glance before cautiously beginning to follow Tormund with the few watchers behind.

“My name’s Jon Snow. I was, until recently, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a title now carried by a man I trust above many: Eddison Tollett.” Jon introduces, directing a glance towards Edd at the mention of him, who nods next to me. We all stood to the side of Jon, inside this wooden hut where we had been brought before all the Elders with Tormund. I had half expected them to be all old, but many of them were of average age. Some young even. “We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. And we won’t become friends today. –But we could be allies. –I don’t expect you to like us, to sit at a table with us and live among us. But this isn’t about friendship. This is about survival. –It’s about puttin’ a 700-foot wall between you and what’s out there.” Jon announces.

“You built that Wall to keep us out.” A woman elder points out. “Since when do the crows give two shits if we live?” Another elder queries.

“In normal times, we wouldn’t have. But these aren’t normal times, and things have changed. –The White Walkers don’t care if a mans Free Folk or crow, we’re all the same to them, meat for their army. –But together we can beat them.” Jon declares.

“Beat the White Walkers? Good luck with that. Run from them, maybe. –And together. You’d probably have more chance of beating the Walkers than seeing this lot side with crows.” The woman pokes. It was odd hearing and being around a collective of people who spoke like Jon did. Like the White Walkers were in fact real, like they’d lived to tell the tale of them. I didn’t doubt it, not anymore, but it was still odd imagining something you’ve never seen and can’t quite believe in yourself while others spoke so freely and accepting of it.

“Well, then we’re halfway there. The rest of the Free Folk are south of the Wall already. Camped out at my ancestral home in the North. They are safe, surrounded by my Northern people. They are campin’ and livin’ amongst us for the time being peacefully together. –Now, like I said, –you don’t have to like us, you just have to fight with us. Together we can beat them.” Jon states.

“Is this true, Tormund?” An elder asks.

He nods. “If it weren’t for him, we’d all be meat in the Night King’s army. He spoke for us when no other southerners would. He’s finally made people see we’re not the enemy beyond the Wall, that the Walkers are the real enemy. We agreed to fight with them because he fought for us, for our survival. Now you need to do the same.” Tormund explains and the elders look around at each other, sharing looks and glances, seemingly communicating with their eyes.

“The Free Folk mentioned you have dragonglass here around your encampment. Have you forged weapons from it?” Jon asks, breaking the silence.

“Why?” Another elder asks, and I see the slight furrow in Jon’s expression. Perhaps they hadn’t figured out what Jon had afterall.

“A man of the Night’s Watch used a dragonglass dagger to kill a walker.” Jon informs.

“You saw this?” An elder asks.

“No, but I trust the man. –We need every last bit we can get our hands on to forge weapons from it.” Jon continues.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much. A lot has eroded away. Most we used for trade until trade was no longer an option, thanks to you crows. I would hazard a guess that not many weapons would be forged from it, not enough to go around anyway. What we have mined are no bigger than stone fragments, left in bags, right here in this hut. There’s nowhere near enough to go around to fight with.” The woman confesses.

“We are currently minin’ a large sum down south, in the caves at Dragonstone. It is more than likely it has all that we need to go around, but every bit counts. It is always better to have more, to be prepared, than not. Especially when it comes to the dead.” Jon establishes.

“There are old stories about dragonglass.” The woman ponders aloud. “There are old stories about ice spiders as big as hounds and dragons as big as clouds.” An elder dismisses, the one I picked up who was being slightly more obnoxious.

“And with the things we’ve seen you don’t believe them?” She retorts.

“You should.” I finally speak, and all eyes turn to me. The silent woman amongst the crows.

“I thought the crows didn’t like women, in their ranks or in their beds? Who are you?” The woman queries.

“This is Queen Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon answers for me and eyes widen a little around us. “She’s a dragon Queen.” Tormund chimes in. “The.” I correct.

“This silver ones a Queen?” the obnoxious elder begins before he scoffs. “I thought you crows had finally given up your vow against women, I thought she was some exotic whore you crows had picked up.” he laughs. I didn’t react really at all, I had been called many things, and things like this I’d heard many times before. I found it only slightly amusing now, men always appeared like they were the saying jokes like this like others never had before. They thought themselves so funny. They aren’t.

“Watch your words.” Jon defends sternly, and the two stare each other out for a moment.

“So—Dragon Queen—dragons are quite an unusual sight, how did you come to see them?” The woman asks, moving the conversation along, diffusing the tension. “If it’s even true.” The elder, now staring at me rather than Jon, mutters.

“I didn’t just see them. –I have four. They’re my children.” I declare.

“Birth them, did you?” The elder pokes.

“I hatched them from fire.” I retort.

“When?” The woman questions.

I take a second to think. “Two years ago now, I believe.” I answer.

I see a small realisation form in the woman’s eyes. “The red commit. That was you?” She thinks aloud. A lot of speculation surrounded red commits; they were a rare occurrence. Many believed them to be many different things, but I’ve always read in old texts that red commits meant dragons and when I saw one after the birth of my dragons, I was inclined to believe it, and so I nodded my head in response to woman.

“And what’s a Dragon Queen doing this far north, aye? Kings and Queens never go beyond the wall, not when they have that silly chair to worry about, let alone bother with the likes of us.” An elder pokes.

“I’m not like the other Kings and Queens.” I retort.

“I bet they all say that.” He returns.

“You just said they never come beyond the wall—I’m here, aren’t I?” I defend.

“Yes, here you are. –Why?” An Elder questions.

“I’m here because I’m trying to rid Westeros of its source of darkness—the darkness that is feeding off and killing the land. –But it turns out there is more than one darkness. –So, I’m here for Jon. –And I’m here for you.” I honestly declare.

No one replies for a second; they all look around at each other. “We’re allies.” Jon states. “A Southern and a Northern ruler, together—because we know that we have no chance against the Night King if we don’t band together. –So, we need to be allies too.” He continues. To them, the casual mention of me a southern ruler and him a northern ruler would most likely slip their attention, or at least the meaning to it. It meant we were still at odds. Yes, we were allies, dare say we were even becoming friends, but we were still at odds. It meant that he was not going to succumb to my rule, or ultimately a southern ruler over the north with the wars end. It was at this moment it finally sunk in that no matter what I did, he couldn’t let himself or the north bend to a southern ruler, and I felt all my efforts wasted. I still liked Jon, I still trusted him; with everything we’d gone through so quickly, I supposed that was why I was still here. But now, I saw the north was lost to us and I suddenly felt the rational parts of myself wanting to get back south to my people.

What then broke my thoughts was that obnoxious Elder stepping over, coming to stand right before me. “Allies, ay? –Have you even seen a white walker?” he queries, staring down at me.

I stared back, matching his boldness. “No.” I simply answer.

“You say you’re here for us, and you talk of a darkness you’ve never seen. –Do you even believe they’re real?” He almost challenges, his eyes boring into mine.

It takes a second, but I respond. “I trust Jon Snow. I believe him.” I retort.

The Elder’s eyes continue to pierce mine, and I suddenly felt slightly unsettled by it for a second before he spoke again. “You don’t believe.” He announces, like he’d figured it out, like he’d heard me say it, like I’d just been found out. Maybe it was true. I wasn’t sure. I may have hatched dragons, and there may be such things as giants and white harts and all manner of creatures, but an army of the dead did sound like a drunken tale, one meant to scare. But, I did trust Jon, and I did believe him, I didn’t think him a liar or a madman, just perhaps a part of me couldn’t fully believe it myself.

“It doesn’t matter whether I believe or not. If you all know yourselves the extent of the threat you face, then it shouldn’t be hard for you to recognise and accept help, or a truce at least. If you know their power, then get your people to safety.” I retort, biting back. We both continue to stare but he eventually takes his steps back away from me.

“Come with us and your people will be safe past the Wall where you will join the rest of the Free Folk. That I can promise. Come with us and we will share our weapons with you so when the time comes, we can all fight together to defeat the Night King.” Jon declares, and I glance at him to see his eyes land on me for a moment. I wondered if he aimed that at me too after the tense moment between the Elder and I.

No one spoke and by the looks of the Elders, you could tell they weren’t sure. “I knew Mance Rayder. –He never wanted a war with the Nights Watch, he wanted a new life for his people, for you. We are prepared to give you that new life. You can farm lands south of the Wall, good lands. They can be yours to have if you want them.” Jon continues.

“If?” The woman pushes.

“If you swear you’ll join us, when the real war begins. When he comes. Fight alongside your fellow Free Folk. –We help you; you help us.” He finishes, and again the Elders look around, but this time some of them look more inclined to sway our way.

“Where is Mance?” The obnoxious Elder asks.

I can see the hesitation in Jon’s face, as hidden as it may be, but he truly was an honest man. “He died.” He simply relays.

“How?” The Elder queries.

Again, the hesitation. I knew why; he’d told me everything that had happened. “I put an arrow through his heart.” Jon answers and a slight uproar begins.

“Hey, hey, hey. Hey!” Tormund tries to calm and it works slightly. “I say we send the former Lord Commander back to Castle Black—with no eyes.” The Elder calmly threatens, unsheathing his dagger from his side. As he takes a couple steps towards him, Tormund rushes in front and holds him back, pushing his hand against his chest. “Hey! None of you saw Mance die. I did. –The southern King who broke our army, Stannis, wanted to burn him alive to send us a message. Jon snow defied that cunts orders. –His arrow was mercy. –What he did took courage and that’s what we need today. The courage to make peace with men we’ve been killing for generations.” Tormund defends and tries to rally.

“I lost my father, my uncle and two brothers fighting the damn crows.” The woman scorns.

“I’m not askin’ you to forget your dead!” Jon exclaims. “I’ll never forget mine. –I lost 50 brothers the night that Mance attacked the Wall. –But I’m askin’ you, to think about your children now. They’ll never have children of their own if we don’t band together. –The Long Night is comin’, and the dead come with it. –No clan can stop them. The Free Folk can’t stop them. The Nights Watch can’t stop them. And all the southern Kings and Queens can’t stop them! –Only together, all of us. And even then, it may not be enough, but at least we’ll give the fuckers a fight.” Jon passionately pleas, and I couldn’t help but notice that I was apart of his plea too. Was he doubting me now he thought I didn’t believe in it?

The Elders, once again, look around in their silence. The woman then eventually rolls her eyes just a little before she speaks. “You vouch for this man, and his silver, southern ally, Tormund?” she asks.

“He’s prettier than both my daughters—,” Tormund begins, and a quite a few lightly chuckle at his remark, including the woman. “–and she, although silver and pretty as can be—both know how to fight. They’re young, but they know how to lead. –Jon didn’t have to come to Hardhome, he came because they need us. –And we need them.” Tormund vouches.

“My ancestors would spit on me if I broke bread with a crow.” The obnoxious Elder disdains, but in a defeated way, like he finally knew that their best chance was to do this, to become allies.

“So would mine, but fuck ‘em, they’re dead.” The woman rejects and steps towards Jon.

“I’ll never trust a man in black. –But I trust you Tormund.” She says, then looking to him. “If you say this is the way, we’re with you.” She declares.

Tormund looks around at all the Elders. “This is the way.” He states.

For a moment, there’s more silence, until one the Free Folk amongst the group gathered around behind the circle of us and the Elders, speaks freely. “I’m with Tormund. We stay here, we’re dead men. At least with King crow and this silver queen, there’s a chance.” The man backs, and it seems everyone was in agreement.

“Keep that new life you want to give us.” The obnoxious Elder begins, grabbing his axe as he stares at Jon. “And keep your glass, King crow, and we’ll keep ours.” He continues, before turning to everyone. “As soon as you get on his ships, they’re gonna slit your throats and dump your bodies to the bottom of the Shivering Sea. –That’s our enemy. It has always been our enemy.” He coolly claims before exiting the hut, and with his exit the people follow, seeing the conclusion of the meeting. The rest of the Elders on the other hand, stay and I figure its because they see reason.

The woman stands beside Tormund as we all watch the people leave the hut. “I fucking hate Thenns.” She breathes, and I see Tormund nod in agreement. I silently agreed also.

The Free Folk did not like to accept what the Elders announced, and there was great debate, disdain and protest to it. The Elder Thenns spoke against it and by the end of it all, only around half I guessed by the looks of it agreed to come with us, the other half either didn’t trust us or didn’t want to come, or both. Regardless, with many distrusting eyes all over watching, we made haste to begin ferrying those who were coming to the ships. At first, I spoke with the female Elder, Karsi, as she had approached me, initially intrigued as to why I was really here and what had brought me here alongside the crows. I briefly spoke of Jon and I’s alliance and how it came to be before she spoke of the dead. From her tales, which were only a few, some of which being generational stories passed down still didn’t help make the threat feel real to me. It was still just a scary story. It was strange, for the most part I knew at this point it couldn’t be denied, the dead had to be real, all of it, but I also couldn’t help but feel a small scepticism. I told myself it was because I wanted it to be false, rather than admit it was all real. The more I heard about it, the further I got from fighting Cersei it was beginning to feel.

After our talk, we both joined in helping and organising those into the longboats and we all continued on for a while until we were near done of ferrying our lot that wanted to come onto the ships. The last of the longboats needed I reckoned were rowing back from the ships when Jon finally spoke to me.

“What was that earlier, in the hut?” Jon asks, stretching back up to a stand after beside me after aiding someone, as I helped a child onto a boat after her mother before it set off.

“What was what?” I ask in return. I figured I knew, but I wanted him to say it outright.

“With Thenns. He said you don’t believe. –Don’t you?” Jon pushes.

“I’m not sure what to believe.” I simply answer.

“How can you say that? After everythin’?” Jon responds, annoyance slightly evident in his tone.

“After everything? You mean after I allowed you to mine the dragonglass at my family castle, after I fought beside you in battle and after I lost my brother, after I watched you named King in the North, and after I came here, with you, regardless of this and with no assurances from you for anything really in return? You mean after all that?” I retort, my own annoyance becoming more obviously evident.

“I already told you, no matter how much the northmen will come to respect you, even like you, they won’t accept a southern ruler.” Jon declares, with a tinge of scorn in his tone.

“And I already told you, it’s hard to believe in something you’ve never seen before, no matter how many stories you hear.” I slightly spit back and for moment we both stared a little defiantly at each other just as Tormund walked down the small, wooden pier and broke it as he came to stand by us.

“How about you two pull each other’s pretty hair out on the ships, ey? We’ve got the last of the Free Folk to ferry.” Tormund dismisses and by the look Jon and I give each other after turning to Tormund, it feels as though our little spat was forgiven, but I wouldn’t forget it.

“So, how many are with us? –Five thousand?” I question, looking back over the encampment were many stretched back into the far distance, past their own walls and gate, carrying on with their day whilst others left.

“I’m not good at counting.” Tormund replies. “Looks that way.” I confirm.

“We’re leavin’ too many behind.” Jon worries.

“I told you, the Free Folk are stubborn, especially this clan. You know how long it took Mance to band them together? Twenty fucking years. –But they’re running out of food, and there’s nothing to hunt. They’ll come around.” Tormund informs before he turns and walks back up the pier to load more onto an approaching boat as Karsi comes back with a couple children attached to her side.

“Johnna is gonna look after you. She’s in charge. You listen to her.” She says as she comes up to the boat about to pull off. I signal for the rowman to stop and she helps, I quickly figured, her children onto the already full boat.

“I want to go with you.” The younger girl says with a sad face.

“I need to get the old folks on the boats. I’m right behind you, I promise.” She comforts, before kissing both their sad faces and holding them both in a hug.

As she steps back, the rowman begins to move again and she watches them staring back at her. “They’ll be alright. You’ll see them in a bit.” I assure her and she nods just as the dogs around their encampment begin to bark, getting louder and louder the more they all joined in. Looking back, all of us, in curiosity, nothing seemed wrong, only a stronger wind forming really, but then we saw it. A sudden and odd fog or cloud, I wasn’t quite sure what, began to form at the mountain cliffs edges, materialising from the distance. It began to travel down the cliffs, towards the people and clearly knowing more than I, panic began to spread amongst the Free Folk that were over in the distance, beyond the wall and gate, the ones electing to stay behind. You could see the panic spread through them from the back, filtering through to the front, hearing their shouts carried through the now howling wind.

“What’s happening?” I say after I watch Karsi march off the pier, but I think I only muttered, as when I turn my head to look at Jon he only looks forward and says nothing. I then notice the slight worry in his face before hearing the creak of the gate. Looking back, I see they were now shutting the gate as some of the Free Folk ran through it, shutting off the chance for the masses behind it to get through.

“What are they doing? Jon, what’s happening?!” I say louder this time as I hear the shouts of the Free Folk behind the now boarded gate and their pounding on the wooden wall to be let through. Everyone was stood watching, doing nothing and I still had no idea what exactly was happening, but from Jon’s face and silence it wasn’t good. The shouts were now accompanied with screams but soon after, the banging and pounding against the wall and gate stopped, the shouts and screams stopped, it all stopped suddenly. I could see Thenns in the distance approaching the closed gate with his axe and after a moment, after he had looked through it, the banging began again, but there were no screams this time. There was an almost growl in the air. I thought at first their people were bursting through the wooden wall and gate, arms punching through, but Thenns was swinging his axe down against them and many Free Folk sending their arrows flying at them too. The screams and shouts then resumed but it wasn’t from them, it was from those in front of the wall. The people were now all running for the longboats, running into the sea, even those who had elected to stay. Fear was running through them all, they would swim to the ships by the looks of it and I was praying the reason why wasn’t what I was beginning to think it was. Jon finally speaking again, was now shouting at those pushing past to get in line, trying to keep everyone in line whilst they panicked, trying to keep the longboats afloat as people tried jumping for the full ones. I could see Tormund doing the same, but it wasn’t doing a thing. I was spinning around on the spot, I didn’t know what to do, but I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on or what we were facing. People were now climbing over the wall and gate, a few at a time, which the archers were handling but soon enough they would be overwhelmed if more climbed over. It was then I realised it wasn’t people climbing over, it looked more like skeletons come alive if anything and I suddenly found myself thinking I was finally realising the nightmare, witnessing the darkness as I had called it. I wasn’t just seeing the scary story, I was in it.

Jon, Tormund, Karsi and the watchers were all again trying to help more into the boats amongst the commotion while I could do was stare back at the gate in shock as people rushed past me on the pier.

“Jon!” I hear a watcher call from further up the pier. “Get them to the ship and come back for us!” Jon shouts back. “But you’ll never make i—!” he begins. “Now!” Jon interrupts.

“Daenerys!” I hear him now shout and I turn to face him, seeing him push towards me against the crowd. “Get on one of the boats now!” he orders.

“You might be the King in the North, but I’m a Queen, I don’t take your orders!” I raise back. “Now is not the tim—!” Jon begins. “You asked me to come, and I came. You said I’m good with a sword—I can use it!” I say in dismissal of getting on a boat and I see his rejection clear in his eyes. “You can use me!” I add, and he finally nods in defeat as Karsi comes close helping an old man into a boat.

“You should be on one of those boats!” Jon shouts to her now.

“So should you. My little girls got on. They’re gonna let them pass the Wall even if you and your Lord Commander aren’t there?” Karsi retorts.

“You have my word. We’ve given orders.” Jon assures.

“You stay, don’t think you’re gonna be there to enforce those orders.” She worries.

“If they get through, everyone dies!” Tormund exclaims as he comes rushing over.

Jon turns to me. “They’re here. I need you.” he says. “I’m here.” I reply.

Jon turns to look around as I glance back at the now rocking gate and the several boney bodies trying to climb over and through. I look back and step to Karsi, knowing she had a bow and quiver of arrows on her back. “Your bow and arrows!” I say, holding my hand out, and she stares at my hand before looking back up at me as Jon begins to shout. “Night’s Watch—!” he begins as he unsheathes his sword. I don’t have time to plead nor does Karsi have time to debate it, and so she hands her bow and quiver over. “—With me! Move!” Jon orders and along with his men, he begins to run against the crowd with Tormund and I at his side.

When we get to the gate, I join other archers, taking a stance and begin sending arrows, and I couldn’t believe I was saying it even in my head let alone seeing it, into the dead. some were skeleton and bone, some still had flesh on them, and some were a mixture, but all had piercing, ice blue eyes. An unnatural glow. It was like nothing I had seen before, they moved unlike the living, sounded unlike the living and yet they were not but ten minutes ago. Now I believed. Now I was sending arrows through the skulls of them, but for the most part it was doing nothing; they were still coming. I’d get a bullseye every time, they’d fall but then they’d get back up. They truly were undead, an army of the dead and by the sounds of it there was many behind this rattling gate. A lot of the Free Folk were now fighting them with their axes, swords, whatever they wielded in favour of dismembering them and given up on the arrows whilst Jon and Tormund began to try and board up the man-sized hole they’d managed to make and had been filling in through. Jon was holding one of the dead against the hole, using all his might to hold him in the way while Tormund and others brought something over to block it. Before I swapped the bow out, I sent a few arrows strategically placed across the dead man, pinning him against the wood of the gate across his flailing arms and head. I saw Jon’s head look back to see who was doing it, registering the well-aimed help was coming from me before Tormund and others came up behind and finally got a sleigh up and in the way as Jon moved aside. With Jon out the way, I wrapped the bow and quiver around me in favour of unsheathing Dragon’s Breath and joining the other fighters against the dead who got through. They were fighting like we would, only more menacing and more mercilessly, they were vicious and without thought, although it wasn’t really fighting, only attacking. It was truly terrifying.

Before long, everyone around was fighting the dead that had broke through. I even noticed Karsi had joined. I dismembered another one of the dead with a few swings of my sword before with a turn of my head, looking for another attacker, I noticed Jon looking up with Tormund. I followed their gaze and saw four figures above us on the nearest cliff edge, mounting what had to be horses. I rushed over to them both.

“What are they?!” I exclaim.

“He’s up there. –The Night King.” Jon states and I feel my stomach flip again, like it had the first time I saw one of the dead. I was so close to the very thing that led this whole dead army, to the thing I had been debating in my head this very day. The four figures, one of which being the Night King, poised at the cliff edge, so far yet so near. In fact, they were near enough for an arrow I suddenly thought.

“Jon! What happens if they die?! Would the army stop, or would they keep coming?!” I shout, pointing up at the four mounted figures.

“I don’t know!” he replies.

“I can send an arrow! Attach a fragment of dragonglass and send it up straight into them! They’re just close enough to reach! Just tell me which!” I exclaim my idea.

“What if it does nothing?! What if you just make them angry?!” Tormund argues.

“They’re already here, they’re already attacking us! It’s worth a shot!” I retort.

“I say do it! The glass is all in the Elder’s Hut!” Thenns suddenly chimes in not far away, holding his mighty axe. I see Jon processing it all in his head for a second before looking directly back at me. “Go!” he says as he has to resume fighting the dead alongside Tormund.

“You and me then, Dragon Queen!” Thenns shouts, nodding towards the hut we had been in previously and we begin to run for it. Rushing with Thenns ahead of me, we still had to fight. I had to swing and slash my sword at the dead, cutting them in half mostly as we ran for the glass. My sword was proving much better at stopping the dead than the bow had, and yet I needed the bow for this wild attempt now. We had no idea if it would do anything, but it really was worth the try. If it did nothing, then what difference would it really make, and we needed to get the glass out of here anyway.

The hut was burning in places from all the commotion and panic. One part was now destroyed by the fire, but the howling wind was making the flames small and it made entering the hut manageable around them and quicker. Only when I caught up to Thenns and we entered into the hut, we found it was more on fire inside than out. There were many flames burning around the hut when ahead I suddenly noticed a figure begin to appear from the actual doorway entrance and we were soon faced by something I wasn’t sure how to even describe. It was part of the dead, that was for sure. This thing had even more piercing, glowing, ice blue eyes than dead army, but it was unlike them. It adorned a kind of black armour and looked nor dead nor alive. It was so stiff and rigid in its movement, its walk, but it looked strong and had a great ice staph strapped at its back. It looked as though it was made of ice itself. I didn’t know what to think and I couldn’t stop staring as he stepped foot into the hut ahead us, only when Thenns spoke did I move.

“Get to the glass!” Thenns urges and I look at him to see him nod towards where it was. He looks back to this superior dead soldier and takes a step forward, holding firm his axe as make haste in running and looking for the glass, now with even more reason to make haste then we already did.

Whilst I pulled away furs that covered bags and moved bags that were not containing dragonglass aside, I could hear Thenns grunts and groans as he swung his great axe at that thing. I was beginning to panic because I couldn’t see or find any dragonglass amongst all the bags and items, it was a mess, and my fear and panic wasn’t helping at all. It only grew when I heard a dying or at least wounded grunt from Thenns following a strange shattering sound, but I had no time to look back and see what had occurred. I especially didn’t if Thenns had truly just been killed, but not a moment later I pulled a large fur aside and uncovered a bag of the glass. As I felt the glass on my fingertip in my reach for it, I was suddenly thrown back by a hand on my shoulder. The force sends me flying back and yet it was only by one hand. Whatever this thing was, it was uncategorical strong. As I flew back, rolling against the floor hard and far, the motion sends my sword flying out my hand and I hear it clatter somewhere outside having flown out another considerable burnt down part of the hut. The strength of the throw and the impact took the air out of me for a moment, and I had to quickly compose myself. Pushing up from my hands, I couldn’t see any weapons laying around and then saw the dead man was coming straight for me. I rose up as quick as I could to stand my ground as he came forward and swung his ice staph across. I was able to dodge it suddenly, bending my body forward in a circular motion coming back up, only to then dodge his spears forward. I moved out the way each time, dodging each blow he sent, dodging another swing and I took the moment to try and make my own attack, sending a left hook towards its face, but it easily dodges it. I then suddenly feel its hand on my shoulder again and it throws me once again across the hut. I land amongst wooden rubble, and still no weapons laying around, but I soon notice it had thrown me beside the wooden ladder to the upper level of the hut. I made haste to climb it, away from the thing and with hope find a weapon. I could feel my body aching and throbbing from the pain already as I climbed the ladder, but it didn’t faze me, it couldn’t, not now I was fighting for my life. Up the ladder, I immediately clocked a couple dead Free Folk and saw one had a sword. I rushed over and took it, gripping it hard and firm in my hand as I turned to face the dead man I knew would already be there. As soon as I turned, I made my move to swing at it, and again swinging back, but like I had, it dodged both attacks. I tried to catch it by surprise and move around as I swung the third time, but it only anticipated my move and moved around as I did and I missed it. I span quickly to get a level stance with it and swiped my sword at him once again, but this time he blocked it with his ice staph and as soon as my sword hit it, it shattered in pieces making the sound I had heard before Thenns had presumably died. I was at a loss for a moment, shocked by the power it had to shatter any weapon simply at a touch of its staph and at a loss of what to now do, but the answer was nothing. Or at least I couldn’t do a thing before the dead man used the other end of his staph to powerfully strike me at the chest, which sent me flying back and fiercely down back to the ground of the hut.

I landed with an almighty thud and all the air and wind had been take out of me and I felt as though I couldn’t breathe for a moment. This wounding strike it blowed, this pain I now felt did faze me now. My vision blurred for a second as I hit the ground, as did my hearing, and squirming on the ground all I could feel was the pain radiating through my whole body. Gasping for air, I saw the dead man above was about to jump down so I rolled onto my front and willed with all my might for my body to keep fighting and get up. And it did. I was up on my feet and I pushed myself to rush out the hut, towards where my sword had flown. As I left the hut through the burnt-out hole, I heard a faint, blurred thud behind me and I knew it had jumped down now after me. I saw my sword laid amongst some wooden rubble and grabbed it as I tried to run from the hut. I was glad to be out of it, inside I was for sure a dead woman. Perhaps I still was out here against this thing, but at least I felt as though I could have a chance out here.

I tried to run from the hut, sword in one hand the other clutching my chest against the pain, but even I could feel it wasn’t much of one. The pain had dazed me a little and with the howling wind still blazing, I fell forward as I tried to look back for the dead man, losing a breath and gasping for air as I hit the muddy snow. I tried to regain my breathing and was pushing myself onto my hands and knees as I did. I wiped my mouth as I felt as though I was dribbling, but when I saw my gloved hand, I saw blood and realised quite how bad the blow had been.

“Daenerys!! Behind you!!” I hear Jon’s voice shout somewhere ahead.

I glance back and see the dead man marching towards me and so I grab Dragon’s Breath from beside me in the snow and silently pray to any and all Gods, old and new, that somehow I survive this. Coming up from my hands and knees, I turn as I come to stand and face with the dead man once again. I watch as I do, seeing he begins swinging his staph, bringing it across from behind and I bring my sword up to quickly block it. Holding it firm, gripping it with all the might I had left with both hands, I blocked his powerful swing and in doing so let out an exasperated yet wilful and determined groan. However, unexpectedly, as my sword blocked his staph in its swing, it did not shatter, it held firm and solid and strong. It took me completely by surprise; I think my will had left me a little after fighting the dead man in the hut, I felt defeat lingering in my body and saw fit to fight to the end. So, when the metal ring sang between us from the sword and staph together, I realised the end was perhaps not near and a more of my fight returned to me in that moment. Especially since, in my surprise, staring at the connected sword and staph, I then saw the same shock in the dead man’s icy blue, glowing eyes too. Both of us, during those few seconds, realising what had just happened, something clicked in both of us. Confusion evident in both of us, but perhaps panic in him and hope now in me as we looked at one another. The dead man then swung his staph at me again, but with my sudden hope and a bit more of fight restored, I dodged his swing once more and before he could attack again, I swung Dragon’s Breath fiercely and quickly in retaliation striking him at his shoulder. Groaning with the strength I had, I pushed my swing hard and fast down across his chest and like our weapons had, the dead man then too shattered into icy pieces. From the momentum, the strength I pushed into the swing and the sheer pain and exhaustion from it all, I fell to my knees as the dead man shattered. I was panting, trying to regain my breath, but I was coughing up blood too. The dead man had really struck me in the chest with an ungodly strength. I could hear the shouts, screams and grunts of people still fighting around the encampment, which meant this wasn’t over yet, but I wasn’t sure if I could fight much more after this.

“Daenerys! –Are you alright, Daenerys?!” Jon’s voice suddenly worries at my side and I look up to see his shock ridden eyes with Edd stood squirming behind him looking around, but I couldn’t form words, still coughing a little and breathing heavily, so I just nod in response. “How did you do that?!” Jon continues, but I can’t answer, not yet and I wasn’t even sure what the answer was anyway, I was completely out of my depth here.

“We’ll have more time for chit chat on the ship! Come on!” Edd shouts before I could even do anything in response to Jon.

He looks back up to Edd. “The dragonglass.” Jon realises.

“Fuck the glass! We’re gonna die here!” Edd reasons, itching to leave.

Jon looks back down to me. “Can you walk?!” He asks hastily. I nod. “Good, then you can run!” he says as he helps me to my feet, an arm around me just as deafening screech sounds, carried by the wind. Now standing, all three of us look up at the closest cliff edge where it had come from above us, where the four mounted figures were, but were now retreating back into the foggy abyss behind them. For a second, I thought it meant it may be over, but then a numerous dead, boned and fleshed bodies came hurtling over the cliff edge, running off it, plummeting down to the ground not far ahead of us. For a second, they all laid on top of each other, just a mound of bodies but soon came to life again, so to speak. I didn’t care how much I was in pain, nothing could stop me from running now.

All three of us turned to run. “Oh, fuck!!” Edd screams as we begin to run. “Tormund!” Jon belts and I look over to see him and few more remaining Free Folk fighting by the gate. Tormund merely glances over to us starting to run before his attention is turned right back to the wall and gate as a part of the wall begins to creak and break, toppling down with a great thud. “Here they come!” Someone shouts and the dead begin to spill into the camp. Now Tormund and a few others were running after us, coming up behind us as the dead followed not far behind from all angles now, all but in front. We ran for the sea, as fast as I could, as they could, all of us. Tormund had caught up beside me, but I didn’t notice anyone else had. Perhaps they were behind us, or perhaps they’d been killed. I couldn’t think about it, all I could think about was keeping my body running despite the agony, towards the now broken pier and into what I could now see was the last remaining longboat.

“Cast off! Cast off!” Jon shouts as the four of us approach the small wooden, now slightly destroyed, pier and the rowman does so.

We don’t stop running, none of us do, and we all run and jump into the longboat as the man readies to begin rowing. First Jon jumps in with Edd. “Go! Go! Row! Row!!” Jon orders. “Go, go, go!!” Edd says simultaneously as Tormund and I jump in too. “Go, come on!” Tormund adds once we were in the boat.

I was panting, clutching my chest with one hand and my sword in the other, leaning against someone in the longboat as Jon and Edd shouted. I had jumped in with Tormund and all but fell to a sunken sit in the boat and I wasn’t sure who I was anchoring against until I managed to lift my head and see it was Tormund I was now leant against as the boat rowed along the sea away from the pier and away from the dead. I saw his eyes show a glimmer of concern, even through the adrenaline and fear and breathless panic that was there too. He then helped me to sit up properly next to him as his eyes regained line back to the shore and camp of Hardhome. I followed his gaze and noticed that all were sat apart from Jon, but we were all now staring back at the camp. The dead filled it completely and were savagely stabbing and killing the remaining living that had been running for the sea or had been fighting them near it. we were witnessing a bloody, merciless, savage massacre. My eyes could never have fathomed such a sight. I had seen death, I had seen gruesome and evil things, I had lived through some myself, but this was something I had never experienced before.

As the dead killed the last of the living, a figure began to emerge from the army. A figure that wasn’t like the rest, one almost calm and assertive amongst the rest, much like how the dead man I fought had been. This figure began to walk onto the pier and up it, with it the dead finally stopped, standing still. As we all looked to them, they now all looked to us. Especially the dead man at the end of the pier, looking as though he too was made of ice with his glowing blue eyes. He stood on the pier, staring back at us, looking stoic and strong. Even on the boat, out of his and the dead’s reach as it seemed, it was still wildly unsettling.

This dead man, if I could even call it a man, suddenly broke his stare and slowly glanced back at his dead army stood filling the camp. Then he looked slowly back at us. After a moment, we watched as he strangely began to twist his hands out to his sides and began to raise his arms up slowly. Outstretched at his sides, he lifted his arms up until they were in line with his shoulders, his hands in line with his head. Then, a moment later, suddenly one by one the dead laid on the ground, the Free Folk that had been killed in this massacre, began to raise. At first it was one by one but soon enough they all began to raise and stand alongside the dead that had murdered them. All stood along the shore, up the camp, and now there were even more blue eyes staring back at us than before. The dead man, I could only assume now was this Night King, brought his arms back down to his sides and continued his piercing stare. I genuinely couldn’t believe what I had just seen, and he had wanted us to see it. He was boasting. It was as if he wanted us to see what he could do, to see his power and threat. It was a warning, but what frightened me more was that it also felt like a challenge, one he was sure we would lose. And as we rowed across the sea, away from the dead and this Night King none of us could keep our eyes off, I started to wonder if perhaps Westeros would be lost to this darkness instead, that perhaps no matter what we did, life would ultimately lose against death.

Chapter Text

“Daenerys?” A calm voice says as I stirred awake. The last thing I remembered was staring into all those icy blue eyes, then nothing. I could feel the gentle motion of a ship around me, sailing the water and as I opened my eyes, I knew I was now on one of the ships sailing back to Eastwatch. “Jon?” I say, coming to bearing with my surroundings and finally registering that it had been his voice that said my name.

“Here.” He says as I finally lay my eyes on him as he looks down at me, sat in a chair beside the bed I was laid in. I squirmed just a little in the bed, trying to gain a comfortable position, trying to sit upright in the bed. I grimaced slightly as I moved my upper body into a sit. “Easy.” Jon soothes as he leans over, aiding me in sliding back against the bed. “A few of the Free Folk women told us you must have taken a considerable blow to the chest, which would explain why I found you coughin’ up blood outside the hut back there. –Apparently you’ve got quite the bruise.” He explains.

“Sounds about right.” I reply as I rested comfortably against the headboard.

“I hope you don’t mind that I asked a few of the women to look over you, it’s just you passed out in the longboat. Tormund carried you onto the ship and in here.” He relays and that explained why I couldn’t remember anything after the longboat.

I could still see the concern in his eyes even now I was awake and engaging with him. A small smile creeped onto my face. “Is that worry I detect, Jon Snow?” I weakly poke.

He scoffs lightly in response. “If I brought you back any less than how you were when you arrived, than yes, worry is what I’d feel—for my own wellbein’. Don’t think your advisers, armies or dragons would be much pleased if I brought you back South in a boat pyre.” He admits.

I scoff this time, amused. “Don’t worry, King crow, it’ll take a lot more than that to kill me. –Besides, I have many things still need doing before I go.” I joke.

He smiles. “Good.”

I smile back, but soon his fades away. “How did you do it?” he asks.

“Do what?” I ask back.

“The walker? I watched you shatter him into pieces. You killed him.” Jon recalls.

“I don’t know. A sword I used inside the hut shattered when it crossed the dead man’s staph, I’m sure Thenns’ axe did the same, but my own sword remained intact when I blocked his attack, then I struck him and he shattered himself. I don’t know why.” I explain.

I watch Jon turn his head to the side of the room and follow his eyeline. He was looking at my weapons belt, where my dagger and sword lay against the wall. “May I?” he says and I nod.

He walks over and grabs my sword, unsheathing it. “Does it have a name?” he questions as he does.

“Dragon’s Breath. It was my fathers.” I answer as he admires the pommel first, then I watch his eyes travel up the sword’s length.

“It’s Valyrian steel.” He detects.

“As is the dagger.” I add and he glances back at the dagger still in the belt.

He looks back to me. “It seems dragonglass isn’t the only way to kill ‘em after all.” He deduces.

“That’s good for the few who still possess Valyrian steel, not so much for everyone else. It’s the rarest steel in the world, there isn’t much we can do with this information.” I retort.

“True, dragonglass is the prize here. But let’s be thankful for it and that you had this, otherwise I fear you wouldn’t be here now.” Jon relents.

I hum in agreement as Jon returns my sword back to its previous place. He stands there for a moment, not turning back, looking down at my sword. “I’m sorry. I should never have brought you up here. –It was a failure.” Jon suddenly deflates, not even able to look back as he said it.

“I’m glad you did. –If I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have seen. You have to see it to know—now I know.” I admit softly and he finally turns back to me. “And it wasn’t a failure.” I add.

“I went to save them. I failed.” He retorts.

“You didn’t fail everyone on these ships. –Those some five thousand people, every one of them are alive because of you. No one else.” I reassure.

He sighs as he steps back over to his seat beside the bed. “How far to Eastwatch?” I question.

“We’ll be there within the hour.” Jon answers.

“What then?” I query.

“We make haste for Dragonstone. The dead are comin’, we need the dragonglass and we need our armies north ready for the battle.” Jon plans.

“Our armies?” I coolly question and I see the slight turn of attitude in his eyes.

“My people, the Free Folk—and your allies, your armies and your dragons.” Jon clarifies.

“Jon—” I begin and I could see he knew where the conversation was going. “Daenerys—please.” He relents.

“I need something in return.” I state.

“I told you I can’t give you what you want.” Jon reiterates. “Besides, how can you continue this debate now you’ve seen them. Now you’ve seen what we all face. Now you’ve seen all our fates if we don’t stop them together.” He adds.

“You said you can’t defeat them without my armies and dragons. I can see that now. –I’ve seen, and now I know. –But if I fight with you, and by some miracle we win. –What then?” I ask.

“You defeat Cersei. You take back Westeros like you wanted.” Jon answers.

“The North is apart of Westeros, Jon.” I remind.

“Why are you so adamant of havin’ the North in the crown’s control if you don’t even want to wear the crown yourself? If you want to fly back to Essos the first chance you get?” Jon questions.

“Because Westeros has and does prosper when it is a whole. When the realm is one, and I want the realm to be prosperous once again, like it was before for centuries. –You said we can only defeat the dead together. The same applies here. –If we want the world to be a better place, for all, then we have to work, live and be together. One unit. One people. One realm.” I rally.

Jon sighs. “I’m sorry, Daenerys, you can hope to save and restore Westeros, but I cannot guarantee you—I cannot give you the North.” Jon declares.

There it was. His final ruling. I could feel it in his voice. Both of us were calm but firm. We weren’t arguing, we weren’t debating, we were peacefully negotiating, and I could feel I just received his final word on the matter of the North.

“I can see why you wouldn’t. I get it. I understand it. –I’m just disappointed.” I yield.

“What would you have me do? –They made me their King. They’ve bled and died for the North. We’ve only just got it back and then you ask me as their King to impose a new rule over them. –They won’t accept a southern ruler. I can’t do that to them after everythin’ they’ve suffered.” Jon defends.

“And I won’t ask you to anymore. –I’ve asked you time and time again, after everything, and your answers always been the same. I see now it won’t change. –So, let me ask something else of you.” I state. “I will fight for you. I will fight for the North. –If you fight for me. –If the North fights for me against Cersei. –We do it together. –Then I’ve fought for you, and you me. –And then we can live side by side together in peace.” I declare.

Jon is quiet for a second, processing my negotiation, but soon a small smile appears. “Aye—that sounds fair.” He simply agrees.

“Then we have an agreement. –Allies.” I conclude.

“Allies.” He repeats. “Thank you, Daenerys.” He adds genuinely, with his small smile. I match it, with a slight nod in response, happy we’d finally come to an agreement. True, not the one I had wanted and come North for, but if this meant that I would have all of Westeros at my side opposing and fighting against Cersei, albeit apart from her own small band of allies, then when the time came, and hopefully it would, it would be a smooth victory.

“I could see you as a Queen, you know.” Jon remarks.

“I already am.” I retort, a little confused.

“I meant of Westeros. –Won’t you stay on the throne?” he queries. “Then we truly would be side by side. And not a world away with you in Essos. –Westeros is your home, is it not?” He adds.

I sigh. “I’m not sure where my home is anymore. –I suppose its both now. I’ve spent each half of my life in both. I have a life in each, but my life in Essos feels more prudent. A suitable ruler can sit on the throne here after I’m gone, but, at least now, there isn’t a suitable ruler that can sit on my throne instead in Essos. I made that throne, I helped the people, and I still need to, so that throne is still mine to sit on, no one else’s.” I explain.

“I understand. –Shame, though. I’ve grown used to you. It’d have been nice to know you were down South.” He lightly smiles, and I couldn’t help myself in smiling back. The truth was, I had grown used to him too. He was easy company to be in, comfortable and enjoyable, and after everything I enjoyed being in his. I supposed he felt the same.

“I imagine I will travel back now and then. –Besides, now I’ve seen the North, I’ll want to see it again, perhaps its beauty not in times of war specifically.” I ponder.

“And I’d like to see you on your Essos throne. Perhaps one day you can show me your new world you’ve built there. Your kingdom.” He suggests, both our smiles still lingering.

“It’s a bit warm over there for a Northern boy.” I joke.

He breathes out a laugh. “Its cold up here for a Southern girl. If you can handle it, I’m sure I could handle that.” He retorts.

For a moment we just smile at each other, eyes locked between us. It was nice. An innocent moment shared together. We didn’t get many of them in times such as these, so I savoured it. Until Jon averted his eyes after so long, looking elsewhere as he stood from his chair. “You should rest a little longer.” He urges as he walks the room towards the door, shooting a quick glance my way as he spoke.

He stopped in the now open doorway and looked back to me. “I’ll wake you at Eastwatch. Rest.” He says and I simply nod in response before he slips out and the door closes behind him. As I slid back down the bed, getting comfortable as I closed my eyes, I thought about how odd that moment between us had been. So comfortable and happy, yet so oddly foreign and almost wrong.

-

After learning of what had happened North. That Jon had returned home, that Sansa had, that they had fought for their home and won, taking it back, she knew there was only one place for her to go now, to be. Home. So, when she came up over the snowy hills on her horse and saw her home, saw Winterfell castle, it was the happiest sight she had laid her eyes on in years and a tear came to her eye.

“‘Ey, up. Where you goin’?” One of the guards at the open gate of Winterfell questions, moving to stand in her way, the other stood next to him.

“In there. I live here.” She answers.

“Fuck off.” The guard snorts.

“I’m Arya Stark. This is my home.” Arya states and both the guards begin to laugh.

“Arya Stark’s dead.” The other guard announces. Initially it was a shock to hear, but then she realised it was a fair assumption. No one had really seen her for near of a decade because of the previous war.

“Send for Maester Luwin. Or Ser Rodrick. They’ll tell you who I am.” She suggests.

“There’s no Rodrick here.” The other guard dismisses. “Maester’s named Wolkan.” The first adds.

“Go ask Jon Snow then, the King in the North. He’s my brother.” Arya scorns, growing impatient.

“He’s not here. Miles away.” The first guard informs.

“Look, it’s cold and we’re busy, so, you know, best fuck off.” The other calmly warns and the first groans his agreement.

“If Jon’s gone, who’s in charge of Winterfell?” Arya questions.

The first guard rolls his eyes. “The Lady of Winterfell. Lady Stark.” The other breathes, annoyance very evident in his tone, like it was obvious. Perhaps it was, but a lot had happened over the years and Arya hadn’t stepped foot even near her home for the whole time.

“Then go get Sansa. Tell her, her sister is home.” Arya demands.

“Lady Sansa is too busy to waste her breath on you, just like us. So, for the last time, fuck off.” The first guard spits and goes to grab her, but Arya easily dodges him.

“I’m getting into this castle one way or another. If I’m not who I say I am, I won’t last long. But if I am, and Sansa finds out you turned me away—” she points out, challenging them through her impatience and she could see the cogs turning inside their heads, looking at one another seeing her point. They soon motioned for her to follow and led her into the courtyard next to a wagon.

“Right. You sit there. Right there. Don’t move.” One of the guards orders and she takes a seat before he turns and moves over to talk with the other guard. As they did, having lost her impatience long ago, Arya took the opportunity of their turned backs to flee into the castle. It had been years, but she knew the place like the back of her hand. It was her home; she’d never forget it. walking through the courtyard and castle grounds, she observed the people and smelled the cold smells, and it did feel like home. She knew the guards would have to tell Sansa they’d lost her and with the names she had mentioned to them, she knew Sansa would figure it out. So, she took herself to the one place Sansa would know to find her. As she stood in front of her father’s crypt statue, she soon heard footsteps and she knew it was hers.

“Do I have to call you Lady Stark now?” Arya pokes.

“I’m afraid so.” Sansa replies and through the dim candlelight she sees her smile, so she does the same as Sansa begins rushing over. They embrace, hugging each other tightly.

“You shouldn’t have run from the guards.” Sansa sniggers.

Arya smirks. “I didn’t run. You need better guards.” She defends, making Sansa scoff in amusement.

“It suits you—Lady Stark. –Jon left you in charge?” Arya admires.

“He did.” Sansa smiles.

“I hope he comes back soon. I remember how happy he was to see me. When he sees you, his heart will probably stop.” Sansa remarks making both of them smile at the thought. As children, they all knew Jon had a soft spot for Arya, his littlest sister.

Sansa then looks to their father’s statue stood to the side of them. Arya looked with her. “It doesn’t look like him.” She deduces. “It should have been carved by someone who knew his face.” She adds.

“Nearly everyone who knew his face is dead.” Sansa points out.

“We’re not.” Arya remarks and they share a moment silence together before Arya turns to face Sansa again.

“They say you killed Joffrey. Did you?” Arya questions.

“I wish I had.” Sansa admits.

“Hmm. Me too. I was angry when I heard someone else had done it. However long my list got he was always first.” Arya announces.

“Your list?” Sansa queries.

“Of people I’m going to kill.” She clarifies, but Sansa soon laughs, clearly thinking it a joke. She decided to play along with it, better for people to think she wasn’t capable, it made things all the more easier.

“How did you get back to Winterfell?” Sansa asks.

“It’s a long story. I imagine yours is too.” Arya responds.

“Yes. Not a very pleasant one.” Sansa admits.

“Mine neither.” Arya relates. “But our stories aren’t over yet.” She adds.

“No, they’re not.” Sansa agrees, both of them smiling before they brought each other in for another embrace.

“Arya—” Sansa begins, breaking the hug. “Bran’s home, too.” She informs with a weak smile.

Arya wondered why Sansa’s smile had been so weak at the mention of Bran when hers had been so big. All she had said was that he was much changed, but so was she, so was Sansa. After everything they’d all been through how could they all not be? but none of that mattered now; their brother was also home, and that meant that all the living Stark children were at Winterfell, as soon as Jon returned. Sansa took her to the Godswood and she couldn’t wait to see her little brother. He was sat in some kind of chair, no doubt made for him, facing the Weirwood tree. As the two of them came around to see him, her smile grew even more at finally seeing his face, although he did not smile much back.

“You came home.” He greets and Arya quickly steps forward to hug him tightly.

“I saw you at the crossroads.” Bran suddenly announces, making her break the embrace and step back, looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

“You saw me?” she queries.

“I see quite a lot now.” He vaguely answers.

“Bran has—visions.” Sansa tries to clarify but it doesn’t help much.

“I thought you might go to King’s Landing.” Bran recalls.

“So did I.” Arya admits, shocked he knew such a thing. Perhaps he was much changed, more so than any other.

“Why would you go back there?” Sansa questions.

“Cersei’s on her list of names.” Bran announces and now she really was in shock. Only she knew of her list and the people on it. How did Bran now have this power? She turned back to look at Sansa and saw in her eyes that she now realised that her mention of her list wasn’t a joke.

“Who else is on your list?” Sansa curiously queries.

“Most of them are dead already.” Arya coolly answers and she watches as Sansa smiles at her.

“What?” she asks.

“There’s no denying Bran has much changed—but I see so have you.” Sansa almost admires. They both smile as they look around at each other.

“All our paths have led us back here to where and who we need to be. A cripple, an assassin and a Lady.” Bran declares.

“What a bunch we make.” Arya lightly jokes, smiling, earning an amused snigger from Sansa. They were much changed, and perhaps for the better.

“So, where is Jon?” Arya suddenly questions after a moment.

Sansa scoffs with a small smirk. “Perhaps we better head inside. The cold comes quick and the story is long.” She urges, and with Arya pushing Bran’s new wheeled chair he sat in, the three of them headed back into the warmer walls of Winterfell together.

-

After our sail and journey back down the North, back to Winterfell, all of those with us were tired, including Jon and I. Despite their fatigue, you could still sense their slight scepticism and worry with every step, on the ships, at the wall, and then travelling south of the wall. It wasn’t until we finally reached Winterfell and brought them to their own people, the other Free Folk, that you saw them finally at ease. Jon wanted to make sure they were free of fear before he even set foot back in the Winterfell castle. When they heard the words from those settled outside the northern stronghold, they came to finally believe and trust in Jon’s words and assurances. With them settled, we exhaustedly made our way over and into Winterfell.

As we came to ride into the courtyard together, I spotted Sansa stood in the courtyard, looking over waiting for us, no doubt having spotted and heard of our arrival. Although, with her sat a boy in a chair at her side, staring out at us also as we rode in. I wasn’t sure who it was, but when I glanced to my side, all I could see on Jon’s face was utter shock, but he seemed glad for it. He dismounted with haste and marched over with great determination. I dismounted and followed behind but at a distance as to give him a moment regarding whoever this was. As I glacially walked up behind Jon he held the boy in the chair, grasping the back of his head and kissing his forehead. He regards him, lowering himself to the boy’s level sat in his chair whilst holding onto his shoulder. It clearly was a happy reunion, though the boy didn’t seem to express much emotion. I could see a glimmer of happiness, but a glimmer was all I could see. It was rather odd, I thought.

“We—we thought you were—dead.” Jon almost stammers in his shock clearly as he looks at the boy.

“I almost was.” The boy coolly replies as I come to stand at Jon’s side, although a step behind as to not encroach entirely.

“Because of Theon?” Jon guesses but he said it with a clear sense of certainty.

“No.” The boy simply and vaguely answers.

There is a small moment of silence before Jon stretches back up to his full height and I wonder if the boy’s reply confused him or perhaps didn’t want to pry against such a blunt answer. “Look at you.” Jon remarks as he continues to look at the boy. “You’re a man.” He finishes.

“Almost.” The boy responds. Again bluntly, plain of much expression, only a hint. He was an odd character. I wondered profusely who it was.

Another short burst of silence settled before Jon then suddenly glanced back to me at his side. “Bran, this is her Grace, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. –Daenerys, this is my brother Brandon Stark. And I suppose the Lord of Winterfell now.” He introduces and I take a step forward, standing in line with Jon in front of his brother, who he had told me was dead. Apparently not, and to Jon’s surprise it seemed.

“My Lord, it is a pleasure. You must be grateful to be back in your home.” I greet.

“Yes. Although, it’s not my home anymore. Not really. Neither am I it’s Lord.” He strangely replies, and to which I notice a strange look furrow on Jon’s face as he looks from Bran to Sansa, stood patiently next to the boy. She seemed unfazed by the oddness, even amused by it I dare say. I supposed I got why he said such a thing. Whatever he had gone through, things change you and the places you once held dear change with it sometimes. But why wouldn’t didn’t he see himself as a Lord? The Lord?

Jon now finally hugs Sansa, having a quick yet loving reunion. Smiles on both their faces in this case. “Jon—” Sansa begins, breaking their embrace. “Arya’s home too.” She announces and at once again, the same shocked expression appears on his face. I remembered from his stories as we had sailed North the mention of that name, if I recalled correctly, it was his sister. It seemed for a second, he couldn’t fathom any words as he looked back at Sansa, who still smiled. “Wh—where is she?” he breathes.

Sansa sighs briefly. “I don’t k—” she begins but is interrupted by a voice behind us. “Here.”

We both turn to see where the voice came from, or who. Stood ahead was a small girl, though she didn’t appear much younger than Sansa, only smaller in height. “You used to be taller. –But I suppose I’ve grown up. You haven’t shrunk down.” She remarks from ahead.

“Aye, you’ve grown up.” Jon smiles and soon one grows on her face before she quickly rushes over to him. Jon all but scoops her up, her feet in the air as he held her too in a loving embrace. He turned back as he dropped her back to her feet and they glanced each other over for a moment, taking one another in after so many years.

Jon eyes then clocked something on her persons. He scoffs in amusement as he sees it. “You still have it.” he points out.

Arya then unsheathes a small sword from her belt, holding it up laid along her hands between them. The sight struck something in me suddenly. The sword was small, thin but still sharp as any other. It was so similar to my own sword, my first sword which my brother Rhaegar had gifted me not long before the dreaded day.

“Ice.” She says and I register it as the name she had given it.

“Have you ever used it?” Jon asks.

Arya’s smile fades a little. “Once or twice.” She answers. Jon seems a little disheartened at her answer, no doubt in pity or even anger, but no more is said of it.

“It’s a beautifully crafted sword.” I complement, earning the looks turned my way. “I have one just like it, in fact.” I add, a small smile at the thought of my own, back at Dragonstone along with my few prized possessions that travelled with me everywhere. Although, coming North was the first time I had left them and it wasn’t for conventional reasons, more an act of war at first. Such things weren’t needed.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Arya deduces, eyeing my sword at my own belt: Dragon’s Breath. I liked her bold and brass attitude. I suddenly recalled her father Ned Stark always saying I reminded him of his young Arya. I always wondered how when he said it, especially since she was so much younger than I. I was older than Sansa even, but now I saw her and heard her, I was beginning to understand why. She must have been worse than I as a young child, which brought me a little joy to think I wasn’t the only girl who ventured for more as she clearly now showed for too.

“Arya—her Grace, Queen Dae—” Jon begins. “Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen. –Sansa told me.” Arya finishes for him.

“I bet you’re quick and agile with your Ice. I was with my Needle.” I inform.

“Needle?” she repeats.

I smirk. “I thought I was being clever. I named it ironically. See, I hated my needlework lessons as a girl. I would have much rather spent my time outside with my brothers. So, my brother Rhaegar got me my own needle, so to speak.” I explain and I see in her face a kind of amusement.

“Jon got me this sword.” Arya states.

I smile as I look at him. “Aye. Before I left for the Night’s Watch.” He recalls.

“My brother got mine not long before the wedding.” I relate, albeit sadly. “What an interesting parallel we share. –You have a good man for a brother, Lady Arya.” I praise looking back at her.

They smile at each other. It was endearing to see, and obvious now that they had been the closest perhaps. They did remind me so much of my brother and I; it was almost becoming so bittersweet as I smiled at them.

“I’d guess the sword on your belt isn’t Needle.” Arya brings about again.

“No, I’m afraid. This was my father’s—Dragon’s Breath.” I announce, unsheathing as she had her own. “I unfortunately outgrew my Needle. –I too had to use mine once or twice as a girl, then came this.” I relate as her curious eyes scanned the sword and its dragon head pommel.

“Valyrian steel.” Arya deducts, and I hum my confirmation, shooting a knowing glance at Jon, both knowing what the other thought of at the mention.

“Shall we see if yours is as impressive, then?” Arya pokes, looking to Jon with a smirk.

He smirks back and unsheathes his own, Longclaw his was named, as I sheathed mine back on my belt. Arya hummed. “Valyrian steel, too.” She assesses.

“Jealous?” he continues smirking and she scoffs her amusement. “Both are too heavy for me.” she smiles before he puts his back.

“But I bet you’re fast on your feet with your Ice. Quick and agile, able to thrust and poke some nasty attacks.” I praise.

She nods lightly. “And I hear you’re quite the swordsman—or woman.” She mentions.

I smile. “I was blessed to have good teachers along the years.” I humble.

“I’d quite like to hear about them. About Essos. I’ve always wanted to go beyond Westeros.” Arya admits.

I was about to answer, my mouth ready with the words, but Sansa beats me to it. “Perhaps we should let her Grace rest a bit first before you chew her ear off with questions.” She suggests as we look back to her, not missing the little glare she must have shot back at Arya. “Besides, two ravens arrived from Dragonstone since you left for beyond the Wall. One not long after you left, then another not more than a day’s past.” Sansa also announces, changing the tone of the moment into a more serious mood.

“What were the contents?” I ask.

“We didn’t think it right to read them. I have them kept in my chambers. I will fetch and hand them over now.” She states.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa.” I say coolly, though I couldn’t help but worry as Sansa turned and left. Why two ravens? Were they merely sending another as a precaution to try and hear something back or had something bad happened? Either they were worried, or I needed to be, and I wasn’t far off.

“You alright?” Jon asks quietly between us after Arya moves over to Bran.

“I’m just hoping two ravens isn’t a bad thing.” I relay as Arya begins to push the chair Bran sat in, wheeling him in the direction Sansa had gone.

“I’m sure they’re just worried about you. You are their Queen, after all.” Jon tries to comfort, but I just hum in agreement, unsure how to correlate an answer.

“Once you’ve read your letters, come join us. Whatever it is, and I’m sure it’s nothin’, you can take your mind off it with us for the evenin’. We won’t be travellin’ until tomorrow anyway.” Jon offers.

“I wouldn’t want to encroach on your family reunion any more than I have already.” I kindly dismiss.

“You haven’t. And you won’t. –I dare say Arya would like you there. And you know Sansa likes you.” Jon encourages warmly.

I smile lightly at the thought. “You are kind, but if my siblings came back from the dead and I got my reunion with them, I would want it to just be us for the evening. –So, go, be with them before we have to go again.” I urge.

“The offer’s there, Daenerys.” He softly says.

“Thank you, Jon. –Now, go.” I reply, smiling as I lightly pushed him and off he went after the rest.

I stood there for a moment, thinking back to my worry as I waited for Sansa to return with my letters, but I wasn’t left alone long. “Your Grace?” a voice chimes behind once again, although this was not a young woman’s voice, this time it was a mans.

I turned and was faced with Littlefinger stood a few steps ahead. I wasn’t sure what corner or shadow he had floated out from, but it seemed he had been patiently waiting and I didn’t like the feeling he was emitting already. Or perhaps I was just tired and still aching, but my gut was telling me it was my first guess.

“Lord Baelish.” I reluctantly greet and he takes a couple steps forward upon my speaking, taking it as acceptance of his presence.

“I’m glad to see you back and in one piece from the Wall.” He says, but I couldn’t place whether he was being genuine or not. I simply hummed my response with a slightly forced smile.

“I suppose you may be feeling you’ve been North long enough now? Perhaps itching to get back South? To get back to your Iron Throne?” He ponders.

“Perhaps. –But the throne isn’t yet mine, is it?” I retort.

“No, not yet. –But ‘yet’ being the notable word in there though.” He points out.

“Indeed.” I simply reply.

“You might not have it yet, your Grace, but I can see you there now. Regal and mighty as you sit on the throne.” He complements.

His demeanour and admiration was curious. “Do you think of me on the Iron Throne often, my Lord?” I begin. “Or perhaps, just the throne itself?” I continue, before he could get a breath in.

He scoffs with a slight smirk creeping onto his mouth. “Your Grace—” he starts, but I cut him off. “Or maybe—you think of yourself on the Iron Throne?” I finish.

He seems initially surprised by my comment, albeit only slightly. If I had blinked, I dare say I would have missed it, but no words come quickly out his mouth. “A throne made from a thousand blades, given from all corners and families of Westeros, forged by the fiery breath of Balerion. –Everyone has heard that story, knows that history. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about yourself sitting on that throne, Lord Baelish.” I poke.

“Your Grace, forgive me, there aren’t a thousand blades. There aren’t even two hundred. –I’ve counted before.” He corrects.

“I’ll take that as a yes, you have.” I regard. “And, of course not, but stories hold power do they not? And a thousand swords sound better than a mere 200 at most.” I add.

“True, stories do hold power.” He agrees.

“When I was told about it as a child, before I was permitted to enter the Great Hall, my brothers would tell me about it, telling the stories, and the forging of the thousand swords into the throne. –In my mind, it was a monstrous thing, and it was still as a small girl—but as I grew, my naivety and its magnificence shrunk. –The stories about that throne give it more power and magnificence than it is worth. In all honesty, it is an ugly, old thing, that corrupts those driven mad for want of power.” I remark.

“Yet it has a certain appeal. –Something about it must appeal to you, your Grace, otherwise, why fight to sit on it yourself?” he points out and I couldn’t help but feel as though I was being tested.

“I’m fighting, I’m doing what I am doing, for the good of the realm.” I declare.

Baelish takes a small step closer to me and as he speaks again, his voice gets quieter, more coarse, deep, yet somehow softer. “The realm. –Do you know what the realm is? It’s Baelor’s thousand blades of Westeros. A story we agreed to tell each other over and over, until we forget that it is a lie.” Baelish claims.

We lock eyes just for a second, each boring into the others. “The realm is better as one. One unit. One people. That is no lie.” I sternly dismiss. “And what would we have left if we abandon this, as you call it, lie? –Chaos. –A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all, and I’m trying to prevent Cersei from dragging us down into it.” I retort.

“Chaos isn’t a pit. –Chaos is a ladder. –Many who try to climb it fail, and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb, but they refuse. They cling to the realm, or the Gods, or love—illusions. –Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.” Baelish boldly states, which has me at a loss for words for a short moment.

“I came here with the idea of breaking the wheel that Westeros finds itself entrapped in. –This wheel that constantly moves, changes those on top and crushes those at the bottom. Your ladder doesn’t sound much different. –I will break that too.” I declare and his small smirk creeps up again. “Cersei has climbed that ladder twice. It’s about time she fell. And the ladder with it.” I add.

“Indeed.” Baelish simply and a little slyly agrees. I didn’t know what to say next as we continued to stare the other down a little, but I knew I had had my fill of the slippery man.

He clears his throat suddenly. “Well, your Grace, the Northerners are all facing north, worried about the threat beyond the Wall.” He begins. “So they should be.” I quickly interject.

“As I hinted earlier, your Grace, you have been here, away from the South, coming close to too long in my opinion. –I know Cersei better than anyone here. If you turn your back on her—” he continues, but I once again interject. “Do you really know Cersei at all? Does anyone?” I question, though it was more of a point.

“I only meant to say—” Baelish starts but I interrupt for the third time, having lost my patience and politeness moments ago, wanting to now leave. “That the woman who murdered my father, mother, brothers and sisters is dangerous? –Thank you for your wise counsel, my Lord.” I scorn before going to take a step to turn around and leave.

“One of two things will happen—” Baelish says, stopping me, drawing my eyes and stance back to him. “Either the dead will defeat the living, in which case, all our troubles come to an end. Or—life will win out. –And what then?” Baelish questions.

“I take back the throne. I defeat Cersei and build the realm anew.” I declare, thinking it obvious now.

He looks at me, the smirk back, as he lightly scoffs at my answer. “Don’t fight in the North. Or the south. –Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind. –Everyone is your enemy. Everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening, all at once. –Live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you’ve seen before.” Baelish eerily warns. Now I really was lost for words as I stared back at him. I couldn’t figure out if he wanted me to succeed or fail. Either way, he was clearly playing a game, and men such as him rarely play a game that doesn’t benefit themselves. He may have been trying to warn me, give me counsel, but I didn’t trust him before, and I now even less so.

“Your Grace.” I hear Sansa’s voice call and I turn my head to see her standing in waiting ahead, but I saw no raven’s scrolls in her hands.

I turn back to Baelish. “Excuse me.” I simply say, without the formality and he bows his head. “Your Grace.”

After turning and beginning to walk towards Sansa, he speaks again. “I wish you well on the ladder, your Grace.” he calls as I walk, though I do not grant him a reply or even a look, I carry on towards Sansa and begin walking with her into the castle.

“What was that?” She asks.

“Nothing. Lord Baelish being Lord Baelish I presume.” I dismiss. “I’m sure you’re more than aware but watch out for him. I don’t much care for how much he clearly enjoys playing games. And he has seemed rather attached to you since you got Winterfell back. I don’t trust him, neither should you, no matter what he’s done for you.” I add.

“Only a fool would trust Littlefinger. You needn’t worry about that.” She assures. “Although, I would be careful around him, if I were you. –He told me once he has a vision of himself, and he’s on the Iron Throne. If you think he was playing games with you, he may have well been.” Sansa also warns.

“Well, I’ll watch your back, if you watch mine.” I remark, with a small smile which I receive back from Sansa. “Deal.” She responds.

“So, where are the scrolls?” I ask, wondering why she didn’t have them with her to hand over.

“Jon has them.” she answers.

“Jon? Why?” I question confused.

“He caught me on my way back to you and insisted I hand them over. Its to ensure you come sit with us for the evening. He doesn’t want you to be alone for the eve, I believe.” Sansa relays.

“I see.” I smile, avoiding an eye roll.

“You’ve grown quite close, the two of you, since you’ve met it seems.” Sansa observes.

“Your brother is kind—but, with then all the things we’ve done, the things we’ve seen, since we’ve met, are you surprised?” I deduct.

“I suppose so.” She agrees, smiling a little still.

We soon arrived at the feast hall where I saw Jon, Arya and Bran all sat next to the fire, smiling as they talked. It was an endearing sight still indeed.

“Ah, you’re here. Good.” Jon greets smiling as he rises from his seat in our approach.

“Well, it appeared I wasn’t given much choice in the matter.” I retort, although smiling back as we walked over.

Sansa pulled up a chair next to Arya as Jon handed me my scrolls. “Thank you.” I mutter and he nods before regaining his seat behind him. I stay standing however, not pulling up a chair, instead immediately opening the first scroll. I wasn’t sure if the Starks were talking amongst themselves or watching me; my mind was focussed on these, even more so as I read. It was written by Tyrion of course.

“What is it?” I eventually hear Jon ask.

“Essentially Tyrion expressing his and everyone’s worry about, and advice against, going beyond the wall. Calling me back south instead where I am needed more.” I relay.

“See nothin’ to worry about. It is only their own worry.” Jon comforts.

“It’s the second scroll I’m worried about.” I point out, uncomforted.

The second scroll was much shorter, much blunter, and as soon as I read Tyrion’s words my worry felt justified, although it was not given reason.

“Is everything alright?” Sansa now asks softly, perhaps noting my change of expression having read the second scroll.

“I must leave tonight.” I suddenly state.

“You cannot wait until mornin’? Sail together?” Jon bursts as he stands from his seat again.

“I cannot. I already knew I had been North perhaps too long. Now I’ve read this I can’t wait another night.” I haste.

“What have they said?” Jon questions.

I sigh. “Not much.” I answer handing the scroll over for him to see. “Only that they beg me back South with such insistence because my presence is now one of dire emergency. Tyrion is not one to exaggerate. If he says I’m needed back this urgently, I can only imagine some catastrophe has occurred, but they won’t tell me what by raven. I need to go back now.” I declare.

“Well, it’ll be hard for you to board a ship by yourself at White Harbour. I’ll ready my men. We’ll leave now but still together.” Jon announces.

“Just give me a few of your men and I’ll sail with them tonight. I can’t take you from your family, leave with the rest in the morn as planned.” I insist.

“No, the smartest thing is to travel together, you know that.” He encourages.

“Jon—” I begin, but he barely lets me start. “Besides, we’ve already caught up a little. And we’ll be back soon enough with the dragonglass.” He continues. “Jon—” I repeat, although to no luck. “It’s decided then. I shall get Davos and gather my men.” he finishes and begins to stride off through the hall, leaving so I couldn’t get another word in.

I sigh before I turn back to the others. “I’m sorry for taking your brother away just as you’ve got him back.” I relent.

“Duty calls, as ever.” Sansa understands.

“What do you think has happened?” Arya asks.

“Well—I pray it is merely something silly. Perhaps Tyrion has drank himself into oblivion and they’ve lost him somewhere on the island. –But I suspect it is something to do with Cersei. I cannot think what else would warrant such a scroll.” I answer.

“You think she has made her first move against you?” Sansa questions.

“She’s already done that. With Ramsey Bolton here. –I dread to think what move she has potentially made down south with me here.” I point out. “I should have left Winterfell before the Wall.” I mutter to myself.

“Then you need to make your first move against her.” Arya states and begins to smirk a little. “I have something that may help you with that.” She adds and I look at her curiously.

Arya had taken me to her chambers. She had not yet said what exactly it was she was going to show me or give to me. I didn’t know either way, I just followed her, more so out of curiosity than anything. When we entered her chambers, she headed straight over to a possession. It was a satchel bag. As I stepped closer into the room, she turned and rushed back to stand before me, the bag in hand. When she opened it and revealed its contents, it was not at all what I had been expecting, nor did I understand how they would help me.

“What are these?” I question, looking down at the numerous skinned faces in the bag.

“My faces.” Arya answers and yet again I look at her curiously, only now with a mix of confusion. “I got them at Bravos while I was training to be a Faceless Man.” She elaborates.

“A Faceless Man?” I repeat.

“You know of it?” Arya queries.

“I’ve heard stories. Read things. Someone I once knew spoke of them. She said she’d seen a man who could change his face, the way that other men change their clothes.” I recall as I skim my fingertips over the faces in the bag.

“It’s true. I can become someone else. I can speak in their voice. Live in their skin. All I have to find out is a face.” Arya explains.

I look back up to her. “Do your family know about this?” I ask.

“Not yet. I’m sure they will soon.” She answers, a little cryptically.

“So why tell me? –How does this help me?” I query.

“I’m going to give you one.” She states.

“Me? –But I’m no servant of the Many-Faced God.” I say in confusion.

“You don’t have to be. Not to serve his purpose.” She declares. “Many have taken the faces for themselves and have met their maker because of the Many-Faced God. But the faces that are given, are always given in service for the Many-Faced God.” Arya expands as she hands me a face from the bag.

“So, you want me to use this to serve your God?” I question as I take the face a little cautiously.

“I am giving this to you so should you see a moment, or opportunity arise where it is needed, you have it. I sense you will know when that opportunity looks at you. And no doubt, the Many-Faced God will be satisfied.” Arya clarifies, although mysteriously.

“And how I am to use it should this moment arise?” I query.

“Simple. Like any mask—you wear it.” Arya answers with a small smirk before moving past me to take her leave, and in doing so, leaving me with more questions than I had before I entered her chambers as I held this face in my hand.

I had not come North with many possessions, but I was now leaving with more than I had come up with. Sansa insisted I take the few warmer dresses she had lent me during my time here, insistent for the times I journeyed back. And of course, I had the face Arya had leant me, along with my own few things. Jon had lightly joked about me taking back some souvenirs, but I was in no joking mood. After reading those scrolls and having to send my own back informing them of my imminent travels back, I really was in no cheery mood. More impatient and worried.

We said our goodbyes to the Starks, more so Jon than I, but I did all the same. I got on well with Sansa and had I stayed longer, I’m sure Arya and I would have too. Bran was a special case, but Jon had mentioned he wasn’t always like that. Apparently, he had become something called the Three-Eyed Raven, which I didn’t recall reading in any texts or hearing about in any stories, but he could look back at anything in the past, present and future sometimes according to them.

“Hold the fort while I’m gone—again. I hear you’ve become quite the Lady of Winterfell in my absence.” Jon praises with a smile in his goodbye as I stand behind him in waiting, having already said my goodbyes.

Sansa smiles her thanks back. “I will, brother.” she says before they embrace.

Jon then moves to Arya, embracing her straight away and a little tighter by the looks of it than Sansa. “Try not to get in too much trouble around ‘er.” He jests in their embrace.

Arya scoffs in amusement. “Just come back soon.” She urges as they let go of each other. They smile, before Jon kneels down in front of Bran.

“I haven’t said yet—I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. especially with you beyond the Wall for so long too.” Jon relents.

“You were exactly where you were supposed to be. Just like you will when you leave here.” Bran responds, more cryptic than blunt this time.

“Bran, do y—” Jon begins, stopping himself only for a breath. “Could you do something for me?” He asks and Bran looks back at him with no words, waiting. “Could you perhaps look back, do whatever it is you do—and look for my mother while I’m gone? –I’d like to know who she was at least. Father always said he’d tell me when I got older—he just never got the chance.” Jon asks and Bran simply nods. Jon then clasps his hand at the back of his head and kisses his forehead in farewell before standing and looking at the three of them stood there, looking back at him. I begin to walk to my horse and Jon eventually does the same. I wonder for a moment if Bran could really find this information out for Jon. I hoped for Jon’s sake he could; he seemed like he just wanted to know who she was, what she was like, perhaps even just a name. The wonderous thing though, if Bran could do that, essentially there was really nothing he couldn’t look back for and find out, he just needed the motive and direction. It was remarkable, although I then started to wonder, as Jon, Davos, a few men and I began galloping out of Winterfell, if his gift came with any heavy tolls. If Jon said Bran hadn’t always been like this, that he was different, than perhaps it did extract a heavy toll. Though, I soon forgot these thoughts as we rode. They quickly came back to my worry of what exactly I was travelling back South to.

Chapter Text

“No, thank you.” Tycho Nestoris, an envoy from the Iron Bank of Braavos, dismisses as Cersei brings over a chalice of wine for each of them to drink at the table.

“My condolences, your Grace, on the death of your children. Forgive me, I know it has been some time, but it has also been some time since I have travelled here.” Nestoris sympathises as she comes to sit at her seat.

“The Iron Bank didn’t send you here to offer condolences.” Cersei retorts, not happy at the reminder of her dead children.

“Condolences and congratulations. –After successfully putting your family on the throne—your children. To then become the first ruling Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, that’s quite an accomplishment.” He praises.

“My Lord let’s get to the point of your visit. The Iron Bank wants its gold back.” Cersei states.

Nestoris smirks. “Your father never minced words either.” He recalls. “But, yes, your debts are considerable. And you’re now engaged in a conflict on several fronts. We both know how expensive war can be and yet your vaults are empty.” He points out.

“You don’t have to remind me.” Cersei almost spits.

“I’m afraid, I do. –Your wealthiest allies, the Tyrells, are now your enemies. You are heavily surrounded by rivals for the throne.” Nestoris continues. “And the Iron Bank wants to bet on a winner.” Cersei deduces.

“We don’t make bets. We invest in endeavours we deem likely to be successful.” Nestoris clarifies.

“A fancy way of saying ‘bet’.” Cersei rejects. “The war has already begun. I’ve drawn first blood. My armarda owns the Narrow Sea.” Cersei declares.

“Euron Greyjoy’s armarda owns the Narrow Sea.” Nestoris corrects.

“Euron Greyjoy is loyal to me.” Cersei asserts.

“For now.” Nestoris remarks. “Daenerys Targaryen has four full-grown dragons. How well do wooden ships fare against fire-breathing dragons?” He practically challenges.

“Her dragons might not be as invulnerable as some think. –But let’s talk about the Targaryen girl. You want to invest in her? –I’m guessing the Iron Bank invested considerable gold in the slave trade. How are your profits—now Daenerys has freed near all the slaves?” Cersei asserts.

“The slave trade has entered a downturn, it’s true.” Nestoris admits.

“From what I gather, she considers herself more of a revolutionary than a monarch. –In your experience, how do bankers usually fare with revolutionaries?” Cersei challenges herself. Nestoris opens his mouth to speak, but she beats him to it. “The Lannister’s owe the Iron Bank quite a lot of money, but Lannister’s always pay their debts. Do former slaves or Dothraki or dragons?” Cersei continues.

Nestoris smirks once again. “Your father’s daughter, indeed.” He remarks.

“Give me a week at the most. Stay in King’s Landing as my honoured guest and when you return to Braavos, I swear to you, my debt will be paid in full.” Cersei proclaims.

-

Walking through the castle grounds of Highgarden, Jamie couldn’t help but feel something twinge in him that it was a waste. All the men that had died, all the men he was seeing being dragged down from the walls. It was a waste, and all because Olenna chose to support Cersei’s enemies. They had the gold, and they needed the gold, Cersei did. So, on her word he took their army to the Reach and took their loot. The gold and grain were now theirs, they could now pay their debts and then some, feed their army and now another of their enemies was gone. But as Jamie walked the halls, he still felt it a waste, something that could have been avoided if only Olenna had chosen right, who he now was marching the halls towards. She was confined to her chambers and now the time came. Walking into her chambers, she sat at her table, still after all this time wearing black for her family. He came to stand ahead of the table and out of respect, bowed his head in greeting.

“It’s done?” Olenna asks.

“It is.” Jamie replies.

“And now the rains weep o’er our halls.” Olenna says aloud, before she lets out a sigh. “Did we fight well?” she queries.

“Uh, as well as to be expected.” Jamie kindly offers as he looks about the room. His eyes finally land on the glasses and decanter of wine on a cabinet.

“It was never our forte. Golden roses, indeed.” Olenna admits as Jamie begins to pour a couple glasses of wine.

“Your brother and his new Queen—they have plenty of fighters. Hard, strong, fierce, I dare say even fearless.” She remarks.

“All men fear something.” Jamie states as he walks over to the table with the wine.

“And what do you fear above all else, I wonder?” Olenna ponders, but Jamie says nothing as he takes a seat at the table, looking at her with silent eyes. “I know what your sister fears above all else—the Dragon Queen.” She adds.

“She has two large armies and four dragons. She’d be stupid not to fear her.” Jamie admits.

“No. –It’s not her armies—it’s not her dragons she fears. –It’s the girl herself.” Olenna declares.

“The girl who went North and left her allies open to be picked off from beneath her?” Jamie dismisses and he sips his wine.

“You lured her away so you could take your army where she wasn’t. Where she couldn’t get you while you got what you wanted.” Olenna deduces.

“As Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark did to me all those years ago at the start of the Long War. There are always lessons in failures.” Jamie points out.

“Yes. –You must be very wise by now.” Olenna pokes.

Jamie takes it on the chin. “My father always said I was a slow learner.” Jamie confesses.

“If he was so clever, why didn’t he take Highgarden the moment your gold mines ran dry?” Olenna questions. She scoffs in bleak amusement. “I suppose I’ll be able to ask himself soon enough. No more learning from my mistakes, eh?” She continues. “What do you think Daenerys is going to learn from her mistake? What do you think her next move will be?” She adds and Jamie’s eyes divert downwards to his wine, silent for a second. He knew she would no doubt want to retaliate with full force, he just didn’t know exactly how she would do it. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know if she would charge and burn King’s Landing or simply make a move elsewhere, something more strategic. He hoped for small battles, small victories and small losses. But she was a force to be reckoned with, so he knew she would no doubt drive a forceable blow when she did. However, he knew his brother and he knew if he had aligned himself to her, that she couldn’t truly be a monster through and through, that the years couldn’t have stripped away all her kindness and mercy. He prayed on that part.

“How will you do it?” Olenna asks, breaking his thoughts. “With that sword? –That was Joffrey’s sword, wasn’t it? Not that he ever used it. –What did he call it?” She continues questioning aloud.

Jamie looks down to the sword at his side. What was once his sons, had now long been his, although he had renamed it. He looks back up to Olenna, with the name it had previously held in his mouth. Even he knew Joffrey was the bad apple amongst the bunch. “Widow’s Wail.” He relays.

Olenna scoffs, shaking her head slightly. “He really was a cunt, wasn’t he?” She says aloud. Jamie says nothing in return.

“I did unspeakable things to protect my family. Or watched them being done on my orders. I never lost a night’s sleep over them. They were necessary. And whatever I imagine necessary for the safety of the House Tyrell, I did. –But your sister has done things I was incapable of imagining. –What she has allowed, what she has willingly become and done with this power she holds, is unnatural. –That was my prize mistake, a failure of imagination. –She’s a monster, you do know that?” Olenna yields.

“To you, I’m sure. To others as well. –But after we’ve won and there’s no one left to oppose us, when people are living peacefully in the world she built, do you really think they’ll wring their hands over the way she built it?” Jamie retorts.

Olenna stares at him as a small smile of realisation creeps into her expression. “You love her. You really do love her. You poor fool. Do you really believe all that? That she even intends to build a world where the people even have the chance to wring their hands over anything? The world is dying around her, and your love blinds you to it. –She’ll be the end of you.” She points out.

“Possibly.” Jamie simply agrees to disagree. “Not much to be gained from discussing it with you though, is there?” He adds.

“What better person to discuss it with? What better guarantee could you have that the things you say will never leave this room?” Olenna counters. “But perhaps you’re right. If she’s driven you this far, it’s gone beyond your control.” She relents for him.

“Yes. It has.” Jamie accepts.

“She’s a disease. I regret my role in spreading it. –You will, too.” Olenna warns and Jamie stands from his seat. “I think we’re done here.”

She looks up to him, acceptance still clear, calm and strong on her face. “How will it happen?” She asks again.

“Cersei had several ideas. Whipping you through the streets and beheading you in front of the Red Keep. Flaying you alive and hanging you from the walls of King’s Landing.” Jamie announces and he watches as Olenna’s eyes look downwards, the gruesome thoughts swirling in her head. “I talked her out of those.” He adds, bringing her eyes back up to his.

He reaches into his armour and pulls a small vile out of a pocket. Popping the cork lid, he then pours the liquid contents into the glass of wine he hadn’t sipped from. Olenna stares at the glass as he slides it over the table closer to her. “Will there be pain?” she questions.

“No. I made sure of that.” Jamie offers sincerely.

Olenna lightly nods in her acceptance. “That’s good.” She says as she reaches for the glass and begins to gulp the whole glass down. When she finished, she lightly wipes the corner of her mouth and then looks back up. “I’d hate to die like your son. Clawing at my neck, foam and bile spilling from my mouth, eyes bloodred, skin purple. Must have been horrible for you, as a Kingsguard, as a father. It was horrible enough for me. A shocking scene.” Olenna recalls and Jamie unnervingly wondered where she was leading with this, though he had begun to feel as though he knew. “Not at all what I intended.” She adds and hearing the words still mildly shocks him, even with the sudden suspicion. “You see, I had never seen the poison work before.” Olena continues, with a hint of a smile on her as she sets the glass back on the table to rest, while Jamie’s eyes filled with anger.

Olenna stares back at Jamie, her smile only growing. “Tell Cersei. –I want her to know it was me.” She finishes and with her final words she struck her lasting blow. It filled Jamie with anguish, that he had granted her mercy in death only to find out her secret. He could have skewered her, but the deed was done, and nothing would become of it. It wouldn’t make him feel better, so he left, baring the answer to a question he was now dreading to tell Cersei.

-

I had to admit, I had not been much of a travelling companion on our journey back to Dragonstone. I kept myself to myself, pacing in my worry on the ship. I had been North long when thinking in times such as the ones we were in - war. And although I had now struck a deal with Jon: my armies for his, I was regretting the length I had spent up there if it meant something terrible had happened down here. When we finally arrived back on southern soil, or sand more accurately, everyone had come to greet us on the beach. Tyrion and Varys urged us to come discuss matters up in the Dragonstone castle after their quick formalities, but I had been twiddling my thumbs for too long. I insisted for the news immediately and with a sigh, Varys began to break the news. I had worried a catastrophe had occurred. And it had.

“To put it simply—our Ironborn and Dornish allies were attacked en route back to Dragonstone. Possibly two or three ships escaped, the rest, sunk or captured. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes, dead or captured. The Greyjoy’s dead or captured.” Varys announces and I feel my defeated anger begin to boil.

“Why were they coming back here, if I gave no order to?” I question.

“We decided that upon your return from the North, having our allied armies here would be the best option so we would be ready to begin when you arrived.” Tyrion informs.

“That was not your order to make. An order that has now lost us the Dornish and Ironborn.” I scorn.

“Half the Dornish.” Tyrion corrects, though I don’t warrant him a reply, only angered eyes waiting for him to continue. “Only half the Dornish army was being ferried at the time as it was the amount that could fit on all the Ironborn and Dornish ships. The other half, along with Oberyn Martell, are still in Dorne.” He elaborates.

“So, we may as well have lost one ally entirely and half of another is as good as stranded for the time being at the most Southern point of the realm.” I deduce, evidently angered, although my fatigue was not aiding the matter.

“That’s not everything, Daenerys.” William almost sheepishly admits.

I stare at him for a second, before turning to look back at Tyrion and Varys for an explanation. “Well.” I urge forcefully.

They glance at each other before Tyrion finally musters up the words. “We have only recently received word, as you travelled back down South as it were, from Olena that the Lannister army was marching on Highgarden.” He declares and I feel my rage building.

“And.” I deeply disdain.

“Highgarden was sacked. Olenna and her men were killed. All their wealth and grain were plundered by Jamie Lannister and his men, who we can only presume is still en route back to King’s Landing as we speak with their triumphs.” Varys continues.

I turn from the others and close my eyes to myself. I was clenching my fists tightly. I could feel my nails digging into my palms, but I kept squeezing because I was seething. I had gone North because I had decided to do so, that I knew, but it was all apart of Cersei’s plan that I go and while I was there, make her moves of ridding me of my ally advantage. I had fallen into her larger trap, even if we had won against Ramsey’s and hers first, she had this as a second act. Against my better judgement, I stayed longer in the North and I was paying the price for it. Nearly all my allies had now gone, taken from me while I was off fighting wars that weren’t my own. I was angry at Tyrion and the others, I was angry at Jon, I was angry at my enemies, but I was mostly angry at myself. I’d been played the fool.

“You’ll want to discuss this amongst yourselves. Perhaps we—” Davos begins in the silence and his words break me from raging thoughts and I turn as I unclench my fists.

“You can stay.” I sternly command.

“So you are telling me that nearly all our allies are gone? How many men have we lost in this disaster?” I fury aloud.

“We still have the largest armies.” Tyrion states.

“Who won’t be able to eat as you have also told me that Cersei has now taken all the food from the Reach.” I angrily point out.

“We can source food from Dorne. Along with the rest of their army.” Tyrion retorts. “Even without our allies’ armies, we can still have enough for the blockade of King’s Landing. We have the ships to ferry the Dothraki and Unsullied to the mainland. If we act fast, we can still commit to the blockade. We have a plan. It is still the right plan.” Tyrion assures.

“The right plan!” I burst. “I may have been up North, but your strategy has lost us half of Dorne, The Iron Islands and The Reach. If we had attacked when we arrived, we would still have our allies and countless men would still have their lives.” I scorn.

“If I have underestimated our enemies, I—” Tyrion begins. “Our enemies?” I interject. “Your family, you mean.” I despise and we stare back at one another for a moment, until I look away too angered to see his face a second longer then. I look out over the sea, watching my dragons fly around. They were still flying above, circling around the sea and cliffs, ever since the ship came into sight of the island. I figured they sensed I was coming back.

“I have done everything people have wanted me to since I got here. I have been what you wanted, I have done as strategized and look at us now. Fallen into traps.” I start. “Enough with the clever plans.” I state before turning back to Tyrion. “I have four large dragons. I’m going to fly them to the Red Keep. When they see them what could they possibly do? I’ll burn their fleet and she’ll soon see that I hold her life in my hands.” I announce.

“We’ve discussed this.” Tyrion cautiously reminds.

“My enemies are in the Red Keep. What kind of a Queen am I if I’m not willing to risk my life to fight them?” I scorn.

“A smart one.” Tyrion retaliates sternly and I once again look away in rage. Having looked back out to the sea, my dragons flying above it, I begin to look back to the group, but this time my eyes catch Jon’s.

“What do you think I should do?” I question, directing his eyes towards me entirely and I can see he immediately doesn’t want to answer. Both him and Davos, their few men trailing behind, looking as though they were uncomfortable being here amongst this scene.

“I would never presume to—” Jon begins. “I’m at war. I’m losing. –What do you think I should do?” I repeat, interrupting, stepping over to him as I speak. We shared a look, mine slightly desperate but infuriated, his out of his depth perhaps or just out of place. But we were familiar now, and I asked him because I had come to value his opinions, his thoughts, his insight, and in turn he soon mustered the voice to answer, despite my evident anger.

Sighing, he turned to my dragons over the sea. “I never thought that dragons would exist again. No one did. As you know, many believed they didn’t even exist to begin with.” Jon starts and looks back to me. “The people who follow you know that you made somethin’ impossible happen. Maybe that helps them believe that you can make other impossible things happen. Build a world that’s different from the shit one they’ve always known. –But if you use them, to melt castles and burn cities, you’re not different—you’re just more of the same.” Jon answers honestly and I somewhat cool down, a little. He was right. They all were. I knew burning things wasn’t the answer. I would never burn the city, but I could have perhaps burnt other things. Things that didn’t affect the people, but they would see it. And then, to them, no matter my intention, I would always be more of the same. In my boiling blood, all I wanted was Cersei’s head and that seemed the quickest way to get it; who would stand a chance against a dragon, let alone four?

I turned away from them all once again, looking out, thinking. What to do now I had lost so much allied support? I needed to show strength. Cersei had shown how cunning and ruthless she was. I needed to show that I was still a contender in this war, not some silly girl out her depth which I could bet she was now thinking of me having lost a bulk of my allies. She had made her first few moves, now it was time for me to do the same.

“Ready the ships.” I order, before looking back. “We’re going inland.” I declare.

-

“I want you to know I understand. –Even though we are enemies, you and I, I understand the fury that drives you.” Cersei begins as she stands in the cell where Ellaria Sand and her daughter Tyene Sand currently resided in. Locked in the dungeons of the Red Keep after Euron brought them to her not long ago. “You Martell’s have never forgotten or forgiven that I killed your beloved Doran Martell, my long departed late husband. Your former lover as I recall. I remember you two quite happily flaunting yourselves around. I remember you bearing his children as he thought I also bore his, but everyone knows now I wasn’t. –You have a taste for Lords of Dorne as Oberyn is now your lover, is he not, and has been for some years? Bearing Doran’s children and now Oberyn’s too, you’ve made quite the brood, forming your group of Sand Snakes, as you call them.” Cersei recalls, as she walks about the cell, Qyburn and Ser Gregor watching beside the doorway. “Well, like I said, I understand the fury that drives you. I killed your first lover. Your first love. The one you couldn’t be with completely because I was with him, and then I killed him. You’ve never forgiven me, have you? –If I close my eyes, I can hear the sound of your scream after you had found your precious prince. I never heard a sound like it. I thought, ‘that’s true love’.” Cersei continues as she looks between Ellaria and Tyene chained and gagged at either side of their cell.

There’s a moment silence as Cersei circles the cell, he cunning smile turns more serious now. She’d been taunting, poking and wounding Ellaria with her words of the past, but now she was thinking of why they were here, now. “When my daughter was taken from me, my only daughter—you can’t imagine how that feels unless you’ve lost a child. –But then, didn’t Euron kill your older two daughters on board those ships? So, you know now too, I suppose.” Cersei begins again, getting another jab in. “I fed Myrcella at my own breast even though they told me to give her to the wet nurse. I couldn’t bear to see her in another woman’s arms. –I never got to have a mother, but she did. She was mine, my only daughter, and you took her from me. You could have done anything to me, anything else, why did you do that?” Cersei spits, emotion evident in her voice as well as her eyes for a moment as she stared at Ellaria. Cersei scoffs, banishing the raw emotion she let slip. “I know why. I already said it. –I took your first love away. So, you took mine.” She answers herself, her anger back in the reigns.

Cersei turns around, looking to Tyene and steps over to stand beside her. “Your daughter’s a beauty, too. –Those brown eyes. Those lips. Perfect Dornish beauty. –I imagine she’s your favourite.” Cersei starts, cruelling teasing her and Ellaria knew it as she rattled slightly in her chains at the other wall, rigid in her worry for her daughter chained next to Cersei. “I know, I know, we’re not supposed to have favourites, but still, we’re only human. We love whom we love. –I suppose your favourites were Doran’s. The eldest three, the other two were the ones who died on the ships weren’t they? Such a pity—for you.” Cersei toys as Ellaria begins to try to speak beneath her tight gag. “I’m sorry I can’t understand you. That gag makes it impossible to understand what you’re saying. –It must be frustrating.” Cersei continues to toy as she looks back to watch Ellaria struggle. She knew what it was she should be saying: do whatever she wanted to her, but spare her daughter most likely, but Ellaria gave no such mercy to Myrcella. “We all make our choices. You chose to murder my daughter. You must have felt powerful after you made that choice.” Cersei says as she takes a step forward towards Ellaria, just as she does in her chains. Her arms stretched back behind as her body pulls forward, her hands and arms anchoring her to the walls. “Do you feel powerful now?” She queries as she bores into Ellaria’s tearful eyes, revelling in the sight, in the worry she was evoking from her.

“I don’t sleep very well. Not at all, really.” Cersei declares, moving on, turning back to Tyene. “I lie in bed and I stare at the canopy and imagine ways of killing my enemies.” She says as she regains her position next to Tyene. “How to destroy Ellaria Sand, the woman who murdered my only daughter? –I thought about having Ser Gregor strike you down for all to see, but fast, too fast. Then I thought about him doing the same to your daughter.” She states as she removed Tyene’s gag. “—But she’s so beautiful. The thought of this lovely face, this beautiful girl being mutilated, no it’s just not right.” She taunts as she stokes and holds Tyene’s worried face. Cersei glances at Ellaria before gripping Tyene’s face and kissing her firmly on the lips, lingering. She didn’t have to see Ellaria’s face to know she would understand and besides, her sudden whimpers she began to hear as she kissed Tyene confirmed it. She knew. She turned immediately to face Ellaria after breaking the kiss, a vengeful and satisfied smirk on her face.

“Mama.” Tyene whimpers herself, knowing too the fate she had just been given. As Ellaria grunts her anguish, her hate, her grief soon enough, Cersei puts Tyene’s gag back on, and Qyburn steps forward, handing her a rag of which she uses to wipe the poison off her lips. She got her revenge, dishing the same as Ellaria had done to her. Killing her daughter with her powers was not good enough, and far too quick as many other options had been. This was right. This was only fair. It was perfect justice.

“Qyburn here is the cleverest man I know. Clever enough to learn what poison you used to murder Mrycella. The Long Goodbye, was that it?” Cersei announces as Ellaria cries beneath her gag, as does Tyene.

“The Long Farewell.” Qyburn corrects as he now hands her a small vile, the antidote for herself. The poison couldn’t truly kill her, but it could affect her in other ways and so she needed it just the same

“That’s the one.” Cersei replies before she drinks the liquid antidote, handing the now empty vile back. “How long does the poison take?” Cersei questions.

“Difficult to say—hours, days. It depends on the subject’s constitution.” Qyburn advises.

“But death is certain?” She asks.

“Oh, yes, your Grace, quite certain.” Qyburn confirms.

Cersei crouches down to Ellaria’s level, who had fallen to her knees as she cried. “Your daughter will die here in this cell, and you will be here watching when she does. You’ll be here the rest of you days. If you refuse to eat, we’ll force food down your throat. You will live to watch your daughter rot. To watch that beautiful face collapse to bone and dust. All the while contemplating the choices you’ve made.” She cruelly declares. “Make sure the guards change the torches every few hours. I don’t want her to miss a thing.” She orders as she continued to stare back at Ellaria’s puffy, wet face as she cried, before rising and marching out the cell. As she, and the others, left she heard the quick rattle of the chains. She heard their cries and whimpers get louder. She knew they were trying to get to each other, but the constraints meant they could not. She made sure of that, and she smiled as she walked the dungeon’s halls.

Chapter Text

After the successful sacking of Highgarden and a long journey home, the gold Jamie and his army had acquired was now being ferried into King’s Landing. Half the men were on the job, while the other half secured the rest of the wheat and grain loot to be ferried next.

“You’ve just won one of the biggest prizes in the world. What could you possibly have to be upset about? You’ve been glum ever since we left Highgarden.” Bronn pokes as they both sat saddled on their horses, overlooking the men and the rest of the loot they had pried from reluctant Reach farmers.

Jamie ignores him. “Come on, you can tell me. Queen of Thorns give you one last prick in the balls before saying goodbye?” Bronn continues to poke.

“I’ll save my confessions for the High Septon.” Jamie replies.

“There is no more High Septon. They’re all long gone, don’t you remember. Your sister saw to that.” Bronn reminds.

Of course Jamie remembered. Cersei had killed the High Septon, his followers and all thought of them when she blew up their capital Cathedral, with them in it. Along with the Tyrell’s, with notably Margaery Tyrell there which led to their son Tommen’s death, or suicide rather. Of course he remembered, he just wanted to forget. “No. There isn’t, is there.” He concedes.

“There is still a question of my prize.” Bronn states.

Jamie turns his head to Bronn. “The gold I gave you when we left Highgarden—that’s a lot of money.” Jamie points out.

“It’s not a castle.” Bronn establishes, reminding Jamie yet again that is what he desires. “How about Highgarden. It’s available.” He quickly adds.

“You don’t want Highgarden.” Jamie relents, looking back out over his men in the vast fields.

“I beg to differ.” Bronn challenges.

“We’re at war. Daenerys Targaryen could come and take it back the day after you move in. Besides, think of the up keep. The more you own, the more it weighs you down.” Jamie reasons.

“Oh, is that why you’re so fuckin glum, ay? All your new riches weighing you down?” Bronn teases.

“It’s not mine. It all belongs to the Iron Bank. See—we pay our debts.” Jamie declares.

“Right. Just not to me.” Bronn retorts just as Jamie notices one of his army commanders riding up towards them.

“Bronn of the Blackwater, formerly of whatever nameless shit heap you’re from, with a saddle bag full of gold, complaining about not getting paid.” Jamie counters. “When we win this war all the castles of the Seven Kingdoms will be yours to choose from. With no one left to take them away from you.” He adds.

“Yes, I’m sure Queen Cersei’s reign will quiet and peaceful, like it always has been.” Bronn pokes again.

Jamie shrugs. “Well, stranger things have happened.” He dismisses as his commander rides to a stop before them.

“My Lord, all the gold is safely through the gates of King’s Landing.” He announces.

“We need to get the last of these grain and wheat wagons over the Blackwater Rush before nightfall. If the head of the lion is ambushed, the tail will never be able to reinforce in time.” The commander continues.

“Yes. We are sitting ducks here. Tell the men to begin to ferry.” Jamie orders.

“My Lord.” The Commander nods, turning and riding back over to the loot carts and wagons.

“You know, he always comes up with things my father used to sa—” Jamie says but Bronn cuts him off last second. “Shut up.”

Jamie turns his head unamused to look at Bronn. He was about to say something scorning, but when he noticed that Bronn was listening for something, to something, with great concentration, he lost his train of thought. “What?” Jamie asks, a little confused.

“Shh. Listen.” Bronn says, his finger lingering in the air. Both of them quiet, Jamie listens for whatever it is Bronn was hearing. At first, he couldn’t hear past his men and the wagons, but then as he listened harder, he heard a gentle thudding was being carried by the wind from over the hills. They both knew what that meant. Jamie had heard that before. They both sped off on their horses towards the men.

“Get in line!” Bronn orders.
“Spears and shields! Spears and shields!” Jamie orders as he rides along his men amongst the loot train carts. “Get in line now!” Bronn adds as the Commander continues orders and the men hurry to grab their weapons and form their defensive line in front of the train carts.

Saddled behind the line, Jamie and Bronn could now start to hear screams being carried loud by the wind now their men had formed their lines. Although, it was so loud from the distance, the wind was only aiding the noise, which meant their attackers were close. The screams were now a clear ululating noise accompanying the louder thud of oncoming horses and their screeched neighing. Jamie was beginning to grapple a clear idea of who was coming, and he was only proven right as they began to appear at the top of the hill, fast and loudly approaching. There was so many of them and they kept on coming. He couldn’t count but he knew the sheer vast size of them and that more and more poured over the hill, they were close to coming to outweigh the whole of the Lannister army ten times over, and they only had half of them here. That didn’t mean they would stand down, so he joined his Commander in relaying more orders, riding along his line of men. He suddenly thought back to something his father had mentioned once, back when everyone thought Daenerys was just a girl with a name, back when everyone thought she was no threat at all, just living with some savage horse lords. Everyone except his father. Clearly, he knew, given the time this girl with only a name would become a threat, and she has. He said only a fool would meet the Dothraki in an open field. Now, here he was, watching the Dothraki stampede their approach in the vast field and grassy lands that breach the Crownslands.

Bronn suddenly rode back up to his side. “Get back to Kings Landing.” He forcibly urges.

“I’m not abandoning my army.” Jamie strongly retorts.

“You’re their Lord Commander, not a damn infantry man. Those fuckers are about to swamp us.” Bronn points out.

Jamie looks to Bronn. “We can hold them off.” He assures, holding faith evenstill, just before an almighty screech beckons from the hills, turning both their attentions back to them. Although, this time, it wasn’t the Dothraki, this was something else, something ungodly and monstrously loud, drowning out even the Dothraki for a moment. Jamie looked out for the noise as soon as he head it, but saw nothing, that was until a mighty roar erupted from the hills and what followed, that made everything in him drop, was a large, black winged monster swooping down from the clouds over the Dothraki at the hills top, flying directly towards them. Looking at the beast flying in the sky, roaring on its approach with the Dothraki, he quickly caught the tiniest glimpse of what he was sure was silver hair. He had no time to process any of it quick enough, because in a minute’s time they would be fighting. And how do you fight a dragon?

-

This had been a long time coming it felt. The Lannisters needed some comeuppance and after everything, after they had taken my allies, this was the strength and power I needed to remind them I had. They would finally see me unleashed in Westeros for the first time and see what I could do. It would remind them what they were facing if they didn’t see reason in this war, and now here I was. Soaring towards them as my riders do too. The more that I heard went wrong, the more fire built up inside me, and now it was time I unleashed some of it, taking matters into my own hands. They didn’t know what had hit them, and they still didn’t, because how do you fight a dragon? You don’t.

“Dracarys!” I shout, saddled on Drogon and he quickly fires his unrelenting breath upon the army and the loot train. Firing straight, it opens up a hole in their line as well as a couple of the carts exploding from the fire. Aside from panicking the men into not knowing how to retaliate, the opening of the line the Dothraki could use to get in, to get around them, behind them, although, not that they even needed our help.

-

Jamie watched as the dragon swooped over the men, burning a hole in their line, burning a portion of his men and a couple carts in the process. She swooped over, on her dragon, flying straight, he looked around for when she had gone but the clouds and now clouds of smoke covered his eyelines. All his eyelines except for his men, who some were burning, some were running and most were still standing strong as the Dothraki now approached. Many used the opening and continued bolting forward, coming within the ranks, jumping and riding through the fire like they were some kind of gods. Others just rammed into the men, or past them. Bronn was right, they were swamping them and now killing them with ease.

Horses were running who had broken free from carts, men were running, now chased by Dothraki. Jamie knew that they didn’t stand a chance now. It seemed with every Dothraki killed, they killed three of his men, but this didn’t mean he would stop or run away. He would fight as best he could, along with his brave men, his brave archers, all of them still standing. He would do this, he was thinking he would do this just as fire erupted once more. The dragon had reappeared, circling back no doubt, and was setting its wrath of fire upon them again. Although, this time, even though flying above the ranks and wagons, she only burned the loot train, not the men, but the Dothraki were doing a stampede of a job of that, and she only risked burning her own men. Smart, Jamie thought. She had the force, the power, to defeat them purely on the back of her dragon, but she chose to be a backup. She was saying she was here, and she was not backing down no matter what we did to her allies. She was saying if she couldn’t have her allies, if she couldn’t have their forces and supplies, then neither could we, and so she burned the loot train. Half of it was gone in one swoop as her screamers fought my men. We had underestimated her completely, and this had to be just a lick of what she would do Jamie pondered worriedly for a moment as he watched the loot burn and the dragon fly up into the clouds again, with the silver girl on its back.

“Archers! –Archers, with me!” Jamie orders shouting and hastily they run to form a rank by him and Bronn. As they form, the dragon flies high, roaring, making its turn in the sky to fly back.

“Knot!”

“Draw!”

Their arrows were pointed straight at the dragon, aiming for her and Jamie hoped one would strike true as the winged monster soared down towards them now, almost directly at them it seemed, screeching its roar. As the smoke cleared more, he caught sight of Daenerys’ silver hair.

“Loose!” he screamed.

The arrows soared just as the dragon did, but at the last second, the dragon turned off course and all the arrows simply hit its hard scaled chest, not making a single dent. She steered off and came up the other end of the loot train and now burned more of it to a crisp. With his men scattered, he now watched as more burned under the fire that targeted the loot and his own fiery rage deepened, when he suddenly remembered their weapon. If arrows did nothing, then Qyburn’s invention was their only hope, and he hated that his fate possibly lied with that thing. He did not much like Qyburn and his ways, and his sly relationship with Cersei, so he hated having his invention with him, hated even more that his hope lied only on that. He never thought he would have to use it, but now, here he was.

“Qyburn’s scorpion is over there.” Jamie instructs Bronn.

“Go get it then.” Bronn retorts.

Jamie lifts his golden hand. “I can’t shoot with one hand.” Jamie counters. Bronn all but rolls his eyes, but he turned and rode for it, knowing it was true.

Jamie looked around and drew his sword, ready to join the fight with his men. He struck down Dothraki as he rode and fought others on their own horses. The fields were a bloody and smoky mess. Gone was the colour of green and blue, replaced with black and reddened fire. Everyone was scattered, those that weren’t fighting were dead or running, nearly everything was burning, and the things that weren’t, Jamie was sure they would be soon. It was a fiery massacre. Their father knew if they let that girl live, something like this would happen. Everything they did would catch up to them and it would be in the form of the Targaryen girl. Now it was happening, and their father wasn’t here. Jamie was. He was getting the brunt of their actions. Their plans, their schemes, everything they did. He was never the mastermind, and sometimes he didn’t agree, but he was loyal to his family, and he would fight for them to the death, no matter what. He was fighting these Dothraki screamers and under the threat of fire as Daenerys and her dragon flew above setting fire to the loot, and he would do this until his last breath. And he knew if that moment was to come, he would make it count.

-

Tyrion walked up to the edge of the hill they had climbed, now stood overlooking the bloody battle raging beneath them, although the battle already looked lost for the Lannister army. Seeing the fiery carnage, the loot burning, horses scrambling, men burning or burned, Dothraki fighting the men or chasing those who ran, Tyrion could feel the sudden sense of conflict within him. On one hand this was a strategic win for his queen, a power move in retaliation, but on the other hand, as much as his family tormented him, this was his family’s army, his family’s men, and someone down there was his brother.

“Yeri chomak vos lajat.” Rakharo comments as he stood at Tyrion’s side, holding the satchel Daenerys had instructed him to take care of instead of fighting.

Tyrion had picked up some Dothraki, like he had High Valyrian, along the time he had spent with Daenerys and her company. He knew what Rakharo said, but being so conflictingly captivated by what was happening before him, he missed entirely what he said.

“What?” Tyrion mutters, not hearing him, though registering he said something.

“Your people cannot fight.” Rakharo repeats, though in the common tongue this time, thinking he didn’t understand him.

Tyrion doesn’t respond, only continues looking at the fact that what Rakharo said was partly true. Rakharo didn’t mean to offend, the Dothraki were blunt in nature, his time with Daenerys away from them didn’t excuse him from this either. He was right in the sense they didn’t stand a chance against the Dothraki even without Daenerys on Drogon. But Tyrion knew under conventional circumstances, the men could fight, he was just seeing for the first time that they were in fact, rightly so, petrified men fighting for their lives in a battle they know is lost to them, when they are so used to fighting battles that they win. Although, he suddenly felt more worry for Daenerys when they both noticed a large bolt fly out of nowhere worryingly close to them.

-

The fields were fast becoming one big cloud of smoke. I had set fire to nearly all the loot I could see, although the smoke was making it hard to see if there was anything else to set fire to. But even the mere presence of Drogon flying above was good enough. The men were already scrambled, fighting or running. I was just the threat in the sky now. There was nothing they could do, there was nothing they could have done from the start, or so I was thinking until suddenly a large and forcible, fast bolt flew eerily close to Drogon and myself after we had circled back another round and were headed to fly back. I looked back just as it flew past, and saw it was something of an incredible size and something I had not seen made before. Whatever it was, it was meant for me, or my dragons at least. Cersei really had been making her sly moves in the shadows. It angered me once more. Whatever it was, I had to destroy it. As Drogon flew around, I caught sight of where it had came from as some smoke cleared. I could see someone handling some large contraption that resembled a crossbow, but one of considerable size. No doubt to harbour the strength of a large bolt, like the one that just flew past us. Drogon was now in line of the thing, soaring down from the clouds with speed, in approach to set alight to it.

“Dracarys!”

I could feel the fiery breath forming in Drogon’s throat as he opened his mouth, but before he could begin breathing his fire, a horrible sound erupted from him. One I had never heard before, but one I knew instantly was one of pain. I panicked, worried he had been killed somehow and he began to fall from the sky as he screeched in pain. A bolt had hit him, and I was holding onto him for dear life as he tumbled in the sky. For a moment, I thought I had lost him as he screamed, that I was now too also a goner, but just before we reached the ground, he corrected himself. Still clearly in pain from the sound of him, he still managed to right himself and flap his strong wings in spite of being hit by the bolt. He hovered above the ground, his screeches turning into roars as they had been before. I was mad, and I could feel he now was too. I didn’t have to tell him dracarys for him to set the contraption alight now. Sat ahead of us, it now burned as Drogon set it ablaze.

Content with himself, he then sat himself down aside to it, next to the water. I watched him as he looked over to the contraption, the one now burning, and he further destroyed it with a whip of his tail, smashing whatever pieces of it left to splinters and ashes. I could see the bolt had hit him around his shoulder, and although enraged, I was glad it had not him somewhere more vital. Now he was immobile on the ground, I climbed down, intent of getting the bolt out for him. After the initial shock and hit of the bolt had now subsided, it didn’t look as though it fazed him much which I was glad to see, he could clearly still fly with it in, but it had to come out.

-

No one was fighting now. The Dothraki were riding around the hills, chasing whatever men had run, rounding them up. What men were left here, were dead, burning or scrambling to the water’s edge to stop themselves from burning. Jamie was not sure of Bronn’s fate, although, with watching the Scorpion utterly burned and destroyed, he wondered if Bronn even made it out alive. By what he could see, he was the only one left to fight, and he was now watching Daenerys climb down from the back of her dragon from across the field at the water’s edge. He sat saddled on his horse, at the water’s edge himself watching as she began to pull on the bolt lodged into the dragon’s shoulder by the looks of it. He started to think, this was his chance. This was their vulnerable moment he had to take, and if it was his last, then he served his family well. The dragon roared its pain as Daenerys tried to dislodge the bolt, meaning they were both preoccupied. She would not hear him coming either over its roar. This was his chance, his last and only chance to take against her. Not far ahead, he could see a spear lodged into a burnt Dothraki rider. He would take this chance.

“Come on, boy, come on. One last ride.” Jamie says before his horse takes off into a gallop at his kick.

-

“Flee, you idiot.” Tyrion mumbles to himself as he notices Jamie staring across at Daenerys with Drogon before he suddenly starts off into a gallop.

He watches him ride, soon grabbing a spear from a dead soldier, spinning it into position in his hand and arm. “You idiot. You fucking idiot.” Tyrion worriedly mutters to himself as he watches his brother charge at Daenerys, with Drogon at her side.

-

I didn’t like that I was causing Drogon more pain by attempting to pull the bolt out, his screeches hurt me in turn, but I had to do it. I only stopped because in the pause of his screeches, I suddenly heard the sound of splashing water, like someone was riding through it. I let go of the bolt and quickly turned to see what the sound was and who it was coming from, only to see a dirtied, golden-haired man charging on his horse, wielding a spear. His horse charged right on the edge of the water, causing the sound of the splashing that I heard, and I realised it was Jamie Lannister charging towards me. for a second, I slightly worried, but only a second, as I then wondered what exactly was going through his mind when he decided to charge on a dragon with only a spear. I could see the clear intent on his face, the intent to kill me, if it was the last thing he did, and in that moment I understood. I stood there watching, doing nothing, staring back with calm eyes at the infamous Lannister knight, because I knew I was protected.

Drogon reared his head around, and looked straight at Jamie, and was quick to ignite his flame. Just before he could reach us, Drogon’s fire lit up the edge of the water towards him, but through the flames I was sure I saw a horse hurtle into him, someone riding with force into him before the flames engulfed the two horses, and I presumed them with them. That was the last of the fighting, from what I could see from looking around. We had won. And now came the politics, after I got this bolt out of Drogon, and I prayed he would still be okay to fly because this was only part one of the current plan; I needed him to take me to part two.

-

Jamie was not exactly sure if he was dead or alive, all he knew was he could feel the water drowning him. So, either he was alive, but dying, or just reliving his death. The water was all around him, it felt like it was within him too. He couldn’t tell how long he had felt like this, but he knew it was too long, longer than he cared for. It was not until he drew breath that he realised he was most definitely alive. He then noticed Bronn was dragging him along the water’s surface to shore.

He coughed up a large sum of water before collapsing down onto his chest, much the same as Bronn did, before turning himself onto his back, panting and collecting his breath. He could see the smoke dissipating above, travelling with the breeze. He lifted his head up to see the smoke was coming from the battleground in the distance. Bronn had taken him up the river, away in escape, away from her hands. He rested his head back down, thinking about the final moment where Bronn knocked him off his horse into the water.

“You could’ve killed me.” Jamie points out as he panted.

Bronn looks to him with disappointed surprise. Turning himself back onto his front, leaning on his arms as he glares at Jamie. “The fuck were you doin’ back there?” Bronn asks.

“Ending the war. Killing her.” Jamie breathes.

“You saw the dragon between you and her?” Bronn reasons, but Jamie says nothing. “And?” Bronn urges, but again Jamie says nothing.

He lifts himself into a sit, which Bronn mirrors, staring straight at him. “Listen to me, cunt. ‘Til I get what I’m owed, a dragon doesn’t get to kill you, you don’t get to kill you, only I get to kill you.” Bronn scorns, before residing to sit back next to him, now both looking out at the smoky land ahead of them in the distance.

“That was only one of them. She has three more. –If she decides to use them, to really use them—” Jamie begins, worried. “You’re fucked.” Bronn finishes, interjecting.

“Don’t you mean we’re fucked?” Jamie corrects.

“No, I do not. –Dragons are where our partnership ends. I’m not gonna be around when those things start spitting fire on Kings Landing.” Bronn reasons.

“I have to tell Cersei.” Jamie relents, thinking now he was going to have to tell of this as well as what Olenna told him now.

“May as well jump back in that river.” Bronn pokes, before he clambers to a stand so they can start their journey back to Kings Landing.

-

As Drogon sat perched on a large formation of rocks above us, I stood beneath on a rock myself, above the rest as Tyrion and Rakharo were below at my side. My riders surrounded us all, as we all looked ahead at the gathered Lannister men that survived the battle. The sum was not large, but it was still considerable considering. I was glad for it, and I am sure the ones stood before me were too. They were dirtied in ash and blood and looked exhausted and defeated, and not all too pleased to be stood before us.

“I know what Cersei has told you. That I’ve come to destroy your cities, burn down your homes, murder you and orphan your children. –That’s Cersei Lannister, not me. I’m not here to murder innocents in their thousands, and all I want to destroy is the wheel that has rolled over rich and poor, to the benefit of no one but the Cersei Lannister’s of the world. –So, no doubt unlike Cersei Lannister would have done for my men if the roles were reversed, I offer you your own choice. A choice you are free to make without fear of any consequence, for your lives are your own and what you choose to do with them now is your own choice to make. –Bend the knee and join me. Together, you can join my ranks, and we will leave the world a better place than we found it. Or, you can scurry back to Cersei, to serve your tyrant queen, if you so wish it. –The choice is yours—fight for the winning side, one which actually cares for the people’s place in this world, or the losing side, one which doesn’t care if you live or die, as long as it benefits themselves.” I declare.

Only a few bends the knee, whilst others look on at them, with no clear expression of disappointment or perhaps envy, whatever they may feel they did not show it. My only thought was whether those men bending their knees were doing it because they believed in what I just said, or because they feared me. I was inclined to believe the latter much to my own disappointment.

“Very well. –Those who do not kneel, you are free to run home. The gates to Kings Landing are not far, you should be home by nightfall.” I urge, only to see the majority of the men look around at each other, clearing not believing in what I say. “Go. My riders will not harm you; they will let you pass.” I calmly, but sternly add, and soon enough they begin to walk away, through my riders who let them pass. Once through, we watch as most rush away, a lot of them running.

“Rise.” I say to the few who stayed, kneeling. As they do, I step down and walk towards them, coming to stand before them all. I look around at them, across them, until I land my eyes on the man directly in front. He was averting my eyes, so I took a couple more steps to stand right in front of him. Only then did he look me in the eyes.

“Do you fear me?” I quietly ask. He says nothing.

“I told you, you need not worry of consequence. The battle is over. Speak freely.” I assure.

Still nothing from him, so I ask again. “Do you fear me?” I ask calmly.

Finally, he simply nods quickly. One sharp nod and he averts his eyes once again. “Well, I cannot have those serving me, fearing me. That is not how I intend to lead. –If you truly fear me—you may leave.” I announce, and his eyes dart back to mine. “You may hurry to join the others who left. I will not rule by fear, that is what Cersei does. And so, if you would rather serve under fear of her, then so be it. That is your choice.” I add. “If you all fear me, you may leave. Go home. You can go home and tell Cersei of what mercy I have shown you. Tell her I lead by example.” I state aloud to them all, and soon enough, after they too look around at each other, they leave. I watch them all scurry across the hill, watching what I predicted would happen.

“Your Grace, I thought we discussed this. They were to bend the knee or face imprisonment.” Tyrion suddenly chimes behind me.

I turn to face him. “I did not come here to put men in chains. I gave them choices, they made them. We don’t need prisoners. No one benefits.” I retort.

“Less men go home to fight in Cersei’s army, I’d say that benefits us.” Tyrion counters.

“There were, what, 100 men gathered here. Hardly enough to make a difference in the grand scheme, and besides, I gave them mercy, I gave them the freedom to choose. They all know Cersei wouldn’t do the same.” I point out.

“And yet they went back to her.” Tyrion continues.

“Yes, but I will have planted a seed in their minds. One that may linger and fester. They know Cersei is a tyrant, everyone does, whether they love her or fear her, they know it. and hopefully, when the time comes when they know it is really over, they will throw down their swords, because they know that we are the better side. That I am the better option than Cersei. They will go back and speak about what happened with the other men, and the seed will begin to fester, just like I want. –I’m playing the long game, do you see?” I explain, a small smirk in my expression.

Tyrion sighs. “Yes, I see. –There’s always the third option with you, isn’t there. When will you start letting me in on these third options?” Tyrion relents.

“When you start coming up with them yourself.” I smirk, and he scoffs back at me.

“I suppose we should begin our journey back before Cersei can mount a retaliation. And with those bolts they had, I do not think we’d want to be here if she did.” Tyrion urges as he turns.

“You will all journey back. I will not.” I announce, turning him back.

“Why? What could you possibly have to do here alone?” Tyrion questions, worry now back in his tone.

“I won’t be alone, I will have Rakharo. –There is something I need to take care of, and I do not need an army for this. This is something I must do that cannot draw attention, like an army draws.” I vaguely relay.

“No. You have gone off gallivanting enough, we need you to come back with us, with your army. We lost our allies the last time you left; I do not want to risk losing you this time.” Tyrion fears.

“I came back the first time, didn’t I? –You must trust me on this. I saw an opportunity, and I must take it. I have everything I need. We will be back at Dragonstone by tomorrow’s nightfall, perhaps even before you. I can assure you we will be back safely.” I comfort. “Besides, I do not need your permission to do this, and I will do this regardless of what you say.” I add.

“Daenerys, I do not like this. An arrow could have killed you today, and now you want to ride off alone doing I don’t know what.” Tyrion concerns, a little exasperated.

I step forward closer to him. “Trust me. This will benefit us also.” I assure quietly, as I squeeze his shoulder.

Standing back up straight, I look to Rakharo and give him a slight nod, showing we would be leaving. He knew the plan. Give his orders to his men, and then we would leave. They would get Tyrion and themselves back safely and we would perhaps even bet them back. As he turned to face his riders, I saw him squeeze the satchel bag I had given him to protect.

“Your Grace—please be careful. Without you—” Tyrion begins, showing genuine concern. “ I know.” I softly reply, before heading over towards Drogon, with Rakharo now hot on my tail.

Soon enough, we were in the air. It took some time, but Rakharo soon got used to being a rider, much like William did. It was always nice sharing this with someone, and I was happy that it was starting to spread amongst my friends, my confidants, my family, despite the goal we headed towards.

-

The day after a night’s feast, meant that all the feast’s scraps were put into a large pie. The pie was always exclusively for the Walder and his sons, as per request, as it was one of their favourites to have at lunch the day after, like a tradition. The three would sit in the hall and eat alone together. Walder waited for his sons to arrive, but like idiots they were late, as when one of the girls came in to deliver the pie, they still weren’t here. The servant girl came around to his table and placed the pie before him as he eyed her up and down.

“You’re not one of mine, are you?” Walder asks as she slides the knife under the already pre cut slice of pie.

“No, my Lord.” She responds before placing the slice on his plate.

“Didn’t think so, too pretty.” He says, before slapping her behind, much to his enjoyment and not hers.

“Where are my damn moron sons? Black Walder and Lothar never miss these pies.” He all but shouts as she stands beside him.

“They’re here, my Lord.” She says.

“Well, what are they doing? Trimming their cunt hairs? Tell ‘em to come here, now.” Walder orders.

“But they’re already here, my Lord.” She says again, making Walder look around the hall again. She had to be a simpleton, they were no where to be seen; it was only the two of them in the hall.

“Here, my Lord.” She repeats, only this time, dragging the plate of his slice of pie closer to him. He looks at her confused, and she only nods at the slice of pie quite happily in assurance. Walder was still confused, but he started to think as he looked at the pie and set his goblet down. He reached for the pie and began to peel the top layer of pastry crust off the top, only to reveal an eye amongst the pie’s filling.

“They weren’t easy to carve. Especially Black Walder.” The girl suddenly states, her demeanour completely changing to cold and menacing as Walder grappled with the thought of his sons being killed and put into a pie. He was still confused, more so now on how this could have happened. They were at the feast with him but last night. He looked up to the girl, a little breathless. She looked down at him and as he looked into her eyes, she then suddenly peeled her face off, like her skin was a mask. It was freakish, it was disturbing, like anything he’d ever seen, and what made matters worse, she revealed to be another woman. Although, this time, she had silver hair, and only one family had silver hair, only one woman in this world now had silver hair, and in that moment he knew exactly who she was.

“My name is Daenerys Targaryen. I want you to know that.” She began, but she didn’t have to say that for him to know, it merely confirmed it as he began to panic, getting more breathless. “The last thing you’re ever going to see is a Targaryen smiling down at you as you die.” She adds before taking the knife from the table.

Panicking, Walder goes to scramble out of his chair, but he is too old and too slow as she quickly grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him down back into his chair. He lifts his arm to grab at her own holding onto him, but she moves her grip onto his head, holding it tight and upright, before quickly slicing his throat. There was nothing he could have done. He was too old, too fragile, too weak. All he was doing now was squirming under her hold, bleeding out from his neck, dying. His day had finally come. He did wonder when it would, and how it would come. But he had never expected his end to be at the hands of Daenerys Targaryen and to have never seen it coming. As he gurgled and drew his final breathes, she let go of him and looked down at his face, as he died. Her face began to blur and the last thing he remembered was the blur of her silver hair before it all went black.

-

Jamie walked straight into Cersei’s chambers, his armour, himself, still covered in the blood, mud and ash from the battle. She already had the basic information, that the attack had happened, he knew it; he could see it in her poise, her eyes, the slight defeat and dreaded news of what they would soon have to face again.

“How many men did we lose?” Cersei questions, turning to look at Jamie.

“We haven’t done a full counting.” Jamie relays.

Cersei sighs just a little. “Its not only armies that win wars. We have the Tyrell gold, we have the Iron Bank behind us, we can buy mercenaries. They are not the same as our men, but they will fight if they are well paid, which they will be.” Cersei plans, much to Jamie’s shock, that she is forgetting a very large factor that no number of armies can stop.

“I just saw the Dothraki fight. They’ll beat any mercenary army, they’ll beat any army I’ve ever seen. Killing men wasn’t war for them, it was sport. Her dragon burnt a thousand wagons. Qyburn’s scorpion fired bolts bigger than you, they couldn’t stop it, and she has four of them. It doesn’t matter what power you have if four dragons are burning you alive within a second. –This isn’t a war we can win.” Jamie declares, stepping closer to her.

“So what do we do? –Sue for peace? –I sit on her father’s throne, the father we betrayed and murdered—” Cersei begins, annoyance evident in her tone. “The father you and father betrayed and murdered.” Jamie corrects, cutting her off.

Cersei glares into his eyes, her annoyance now evident on her face. “You were there, just the same as I was when we beheaded her father. You may not have known the plan, but you went along with it.” Cersei retorts. “So—like I was saying—the family we betrayed and murdered. –And in her mind now, she’s winning. What sort of offer do you think she’d make if we sued for peace now?” she almost spits.

She walks over to the table where the decanter of wine sat, headed for a glass. “Maybe we can count on Tyrion to intercede on our behalf. By way of apology for murdering our father and son.” She pokes as she grabs the decanter and goblet.

“He didn’t.” Jamie informs, remembering the other thing he had to tell Cersei.

“You saw the crossbow; you saw his body.” Cersei reminds as she pours herself a glass.

“I’m not talking about father. Tyrion didn’t kill Joffrey he had nothing to do with it.” Jamie elaborates.

Before she could take a sip, Cersei bangs the goblet back onto the table. “After all this time, it still amazes me that you—” She starts but it quickly cut off. “It was Olenna.” Jamie interrupts, rendering her silent, but she smirked angrily at the table as she heard it. “She confessed before she died.” He adds.

“And this was before or after she drank the poison you so kindly provided her?” Cersei questions, her angry smirk still on her face.

“After.” Jamie answers.

“And you believed her.” Cersei pokes.

“If you were Olenna, would you rather have seen your granddaughter married to Joffrey or Tommen?” Jamie points out, to which Cersei’s expression morphs into one of realisation. “Which one would Margaery have been better able to control? Which one would have made Olenna the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms? She was telling the truth.” He continues.

Cersei takes a seat at the table, her annoyance now turned to fury in her eyes. “I should not have listened to you. She should have died screaming.” Cersei scorns.

“She is dead. Like her son. Like her grandchildren. Her whole house. And if we don’t find a way out of this war, we’ll follow them.” Jamie retorts.

“So we fight and die, or we submit and die. I know my choice. A soldier should know his.” Cersei spits, but Jamie doesn’t retaliate, they only stare at each other, glaring, before Jamie takes himself out of the room.

-

I sat at the table, where he had for so many years. I did exactly as Arya had said and it had worked. I saw my opportunity when we planned the attack on the Lannister’s, and I took it. she said something would arise, it did, and now I was here, wearing his skin. I did exactly as she said and now, I was him. I listened to the murmurs of the men filling the hall. They were all quite happy, they’d had a feast the night before and were now having a second the night after on Walder’s word. I watched them fill into the hall, and now I watched them talk amongst themselves as they sat along all the tables. They went quiet as soon as I banged my goblet against the table a few times. Now they all looked to Walder, for he commanded their attention and now stood from his table.

“You’re all wondering why I brought you all here. After all, we just had a feast. Since when does old Walder give us two feasts in a single fortnight.” I jest, much to their enjoyment, laughing along with me. “Well, its no good being Lord of the Riverlands if you can’t celebrate with your family. That’s what I say.” He adds and his men cheer across the hall, banging the table.

“I’ve gathered every Frey who means a damn thing, so I can tell you my plans for this great House, now that winter has come. But first—a toast.” I announce as the servant girls bring on the wine I had requested special for the feast, pouring it into each man’s goblet as I spoke. “No more of that Dornish horse piss. This is the finest Arbor Gold. Proper wine, for proper heroes.” I inform, and again, the men all cheer.

I grab my own goblet of wine and raise it. “Stand together.” I toast, and the men all repeat my words, before gulping their wine, which I do not. I watched happily as they slurped it down their throats. Then I noticed Walder’s wife in the corner of my eye about to sip the wine that had been poured into ours.

“Not you. I’m not wasting good wine on a damn woman.” I dismiss and she places it back down on the table as a few men snigger, cheer even.

I turn back to them. “Maybe I’m not the most pleasant man, I’ll admit it, but I’m proud of you lot. You’re my family. The men who helped me slaughter the Targaryen’s at the Red Wedding.” I declare, and the men cheer and raise their goblets the loudest for that. “Yes—yes—cheer. –Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman on her wedding day, cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughtered your hosts after they invited you into their home.” I begin to call out, and their cheers turn to confused silence and eventually coughs begin to arise through the hall. “But—you didn’t slaughter every one of the Targaryen’s—no, no. That was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem.” I continue as the men start to choke on their own blood, toppling down one by one as the poison rips through their bodies. “Leave one dragon alive, and the sheep are never safe.” I add as I watch all the men die before me in the hall, the servant girls looking around in fear and confusion at what was happening before looking back to Walder. Only once they all died, did I take his skin off then. The girls all looked at me even more confused than they already were.

I turn to Walder’s young wife. “When people ask you what happened here, tell them the dragon remembers. Tell them noble fire came for House Frey.” I declare, before walking around the table and stepping through the bodies of men down the hall, leaving the chaos I had caused behind me. Cersei had made her first moves, now I had made mine. The Bolton’s were gone, now the Frey’s. She took my allies, I took hers, and showed my power in the process. I had made my moves, I just had to keep making them now. The game was now well and truly in play.

Chapter Text

Considering the weight of the plan, Daenerys was not gone long, and Jon was glad to see her back. Especially when the Dothraki had arrived with Tyrion and no Daenerys. He relayed she had gone off executing another plan, one she failed to share and promised she would be back before nightfall, which didn’t happen. So, the following day when he saw Drogon flying back to Dragonstone out in the distance, he prayed she was with him, and as he flew over the cliffs, he was relieved to see a flash of her silver hair on his back. Her dragons truly were a sight to behold, magnificent in their own terrifying way and he found himself utterly intrigued by them, but who wouldn’t.

As Drogon flew over him, he quickly came round and landed directly ahead, and a little unnervingly was staring straight at him. What was worse, he suddenly started charging towards him, only to stop in front and roar at an ungodly level at him, but he stood his ground. He remained in awe as well as in fear of the thing as it towered over him until its roar turned into stillness. It still stared him down and reached in closer towards him, until its head was right in front. If he reached out his arm, he could touch it, and for some reason, all Jon wanted to do was exactly that. Faced with the light growling directly in front, all teeth on show, Jon cautiously took his glove off and slowly reached out his hand. He stretched it out, until the growls dissipated, and his hand gently touched Drogon’s nose, stroking him ever so carefully. He begins to let out light whimpers almost, like he was enjoying the petting, the touch from Jon, and he couldn’t quite believe it. He was touching a dragon and he had not been eaten or burned alive. There was no denying they were large, monstrous things, easy to invoke fear, but it was like Daenerys said, the had a sweet side, a caring side, they could be soft and gentle with those they wanted to be, with those they trusted. Jon just couldn’t believe he was one of them. He supposed because Daenerys trusted him, then perhaps so did they. As he felt the tough, scaled skin, he looked into Drogon’s beady eye and saw the softness she talked about.

-

No one had ever done what I just witnessed Jon do. Sure, William and Rakharo had ridden Drogon, but neither of them had bonded like that first. I made them get on, they never did this. It was peculiar. I had never seen Drogon act like this around anyone but me. Aerion had grown fond of William, and he had even rode him numerous times now, but this was different. When Drogon charged at Jon I panicked for a moment, until he stopped and roared, then I knew he was just standing his ground. Now I was watching Jon stroke Drogon and he was enjoying it. He must really like him, but it was not hard to fathom. I liked Jon, I trusted him, and my children had a sixth sense about them. They never harm those I love and care for, Jon was clearly now a part of that. It was beautiful to see. I had become immersed in his world almost, now he was becoming immersed in mine.

Rakharo was still behind me on Drogon, so after he climbed down, I followed. After I had spoken to him, thanking him and giving him instruction, Drogon looked around to see I had gotten off. When he noticed I had, he then looked to the sky and pushed off the ground, joining his siblings in the sky above Dragonstone. As Rakharo began headed for the castle, with the satchel in hand to put in my chambers, I walked over to join Jon at the cliff edge.

I smile at him, and he smiles back as he puts his glove back on. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” I admire as I look above.

“Wasn’t the word I was thinkin’ of, but—” Jon begins but cuts himself short as I look to him a little disheartened. “—but yes, they are. Gorgeous beasts.” He finishes.

“They are not beasts to me. No matter how big they get, how terrifying to everyone else. They’re my children.” I continue to admire, watching them fly and screech in the sky above for a moment.

“Despite our worry, you weren’t gone long.” Jon points out.

“No, I wasn’t.” I reply, looking back to him.

“And?” Jon asks.

“And I have fewer enemies today then I did yesterday, and the day before even.” I vaguely relay, and I could see from Jon’s expression, his imagination and thoughts of what happened, it did not sit well with him. “You’re not sure how you feel about that.” I deduce.

“No, I’m not.” He honestly says.

“How many men did we kill taking Winterfell back from Ramsey?” I query.

“Thousands.” Jon answers with a sigh.

“We both want to help people. We can only help them from a position of strength. Sometimes strength is terrible.” I point out.

“Aye, I suppose you’re right.” Jon agrees.

“Yes. –But I’m not sure how I feel about it either.” I say quietly, almost to myself.

“Where did you go? After the battle? Tyrion said you wouldn’t share that information with him, yet I see you took Rakharo with you.” Jon asks.

“Well, Rakharo is a lot better with a weapon than Tyrion, you see.” I remark, keeping a smirk at bay, although I couldn’t help but hint it, which I saw Jon do too.

“So, you needed to wield weapons where you went. –What did you do, Daenerys?” Jon asks again.

I sigh. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about what happened here, to my family, and who had a hand in it. And sometimes my fire gets the better of me and I make fiery decisions, I know that. –But what I did, I can’t determine whether it was something that needed doing, or something my fire wanted done.” I admit.

“Well, dependin’ on what it was, it could also be both.” Jon adds.

“Perhaps.” I agree. “But I need not tell you now, I’m sure Varys will hear word from his little birds about what happened and then you’ll all know soon enough.” I relent.

“You seem conflicted about it.” Jon deduces.

“I am. On one hand, I got my revenge on a family, on men, who murdered my family and friends in our home. In that sense it feels justified, but it’s the how that I now feel conflicted by. It just didn’t feel like me, but when I did it, I have to admit it, it felt—justified—it felt—good.” I confess.

“You killed a family?” Jon picks out.

I sigh, before looking out to the horizon. “I killed the Frey’s—and their men that were at the Red Wedding.” I elaborate.

Jon is silent for a moment. “You know, Theon arrived with a few Ironborn survivors while you were gone.” He announces, much to my surprise, turning my eyes back to him, but he continues before I can question the matter further. “I haven’t seen him in years, since before I joined the Night’s Watch, but I had heard of the grievances he had committed against my family, our home. When I saw him on the shore ahead of me, I wanted to kill him right there and then. The only reason he is standin’ in that castle right now, is because he saved Sansa’s life. That is the only reason I didn’t kill him on the beach in front of everyone.” Jon confesses himself. “If Theon had roped the Ironborn in on murderin’ my entire family, succeeded in it and forced me into exile, I think I would have wanted to do the same thing. Kill those that killed my family. –So, I say it was both. It was something that needed correctin’, fuelled by your fire. Like anyone else would have been. –Sometimes strength is terrible, like you said, and sometimes people use that far too often and to the extreme. I would say those that had a hand in your family’s massacre took their strength way past terrible.” Jon somewhat comforts, easing my conflictions and I wasn’t sure how to respond to him.

We had also both been so engrossed in the conversation, we hadn’t even noticed a few of my riders approaching us from across the cliff. Before I could even think of any kind of response, after a moment, I spotted them and turned to them.

“Jin mahrazh astati mae ajjin yeri okeo, Khaleesi.”
(“This man says he is your friend, Khaleesi.”) One of my closer riders announces, moving to the side to reveal someone I was not expecting to see. Someone who was most definitely my friend. One of my longest and best of all, despite everything. It was Jorah. He was alive.

“Mae ajjin anna okeo.”
(“He is my friend.”) I eventually smile once the shock subsided. The riders then stood around and let Jorah come to me. Without a word, he kneels before me.

“Your Grace.” he greets, looking up at me.

I just smile back at him, trying to control happy tears from forming as he rose back up. I see Jorah look to Jon, clearly wondering who he was, and probably vice versa and it snaps me back to reality.

“Jon Snow, this is Ser Jorah Mormont. –An old friend.” I smile.

“I served with your father. He was a great man.” Jon offers, but Jorah merely nods his head and looks to the ground. I knew why. His family was a sore subject, his past was. He had many regrets, although he would always say they led him to care for me, but they were still regrets, nonetheless. Family was always a different sensitivity for everyone, whether you had it or not.

“You look strong. –You found a cure?” I ponder.

“Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. –I return to your service, my Queen. If you’ll have me?” He asks and I smiled brighter now. Of course, I would.

“It would be my honour.” I accept and step forward to embrace him, holding my arms around him tightly.

-

“Do you think it was her?” Tyrion asks, as he sits with Varys on the steps of the throne hall. Varys had just received word about House Frey, as well as other news, and he spoke with Tyrion whilst Daenerys spoke with Theon Greyjoy in the council chambers.

“I don’t know how—but yes, I do.” Varys answers. “Who else would kill the Frey’s? They are not exactly a great ally; they are not worth much to Cersei, killing them isn’t really worth it in the grand scheme. What happened to them was not a strategic take down really—it was revenge.” Varys continues.

“And who has more reason than Daenerys?” Tyrion concludes with a sigh, before sipping his wine.

“His men were all poisoned and Walder Frey and his sons all found with their throats cut. –That doesn’t sound like our Queen does it?” Varys worries.

“We’re at war. People die, houses die. Look at the Tyrell’s. Gone. –Now it’s the Frey’s.” Tyrion justifies.

“She’s a Queen, not an assassin.” Varys points out.

“Perhaps we don’t know her as well as we thought. –But is the idea of her accomplishing this so surprising? She was in exile for years, we know she fight like any man.” Tyrion rationales, sipping more wine.

“It’s more we’ve never seen her, or heard her, act like this before. What if this war is turning her into something she is not? Turning her into more of the same?” Varys cautions.

“I don’t believe it. Just before she showed the Lannister men mercy and let them go back to fight for Cersei. No games. She let them go. That sounds like our Queen.” Tyrion points out.

“And then afterwards massacred a house.” Varys retorts.

“I am her Hand, not her head. I can’t make her decisions for her.” Tyrion relents.

“That’s what I used to say about Cersei and your father. –I found the traitors, but I wasn’t the one murdering them. I was only a purveyor of information.” Varys starts, taking Tyrion’s wine and taking a gulp. “It’s what I told myself when I watched them beg for mercy—I’m not the one doing it. When the pitch of their screams rose higher, I’m not the one doing it.” Varys continues before taking another gulp of wine, handing it back to Tyrion.

“She may have done this, but I still believe she is the good person we have come to know and serve. Daenerys is not Cersei. She is not my father.” Tyrion assures.

“And she never will be, with the right counsel. –You need to find a way to get her to share her plans, her thoughts. Being in the dark is dangerous. Things like this happen. I just don’t want her going down a dark path. –She is the best we’ve all got.” Varys worries.

“I know.” Tyrion says quietly, gulping his wine shortly after. “Who’s that for?” he asks, looking at the small scroll Varys had in his hand.

“Jon Snow.” Varys answers.

“Did you read it?” Tyrion questions.

“It’s a sealed scroll for the King in the North.” Varys points out, as if to say he wouldn’t.

Tyrion sips his wine. “What’s it say?” he queries, knowing full well Varys had read it.

“Nothing good.” Varys relents.

Just then, they both hear steps and look back to see Theon emerging from the hall. “Her Grace is ready for you all.” He says before walking back towards the council chambers. Tyrion and Varys share a look before they too stand to go join.

-

I had everyone gathered in the chambers. I knew Varys would have probably heard by this point what had happened to the Frey’s and I wondered if they would bring it up, but we needed to start making a game plan most importantly. Cersei had made her moves, and I’d made mine, now the game had really begun we needed a steadfast plan.

“We may have lost allies but now so has Cersei. We’ve finally got our foot in the game and she’s beginning to see what we can do.” I announce.

“What you can do, you mean.” William corrects, with the smallest of smiles.

“We’re all allies. Anything one does, is done for all.” I retort, matching his small grin.

“Only if we all know the plan, your Grace.” Tyrion follows, though I sensed his more serious tone.

I sigh and stand from my seat at the head of the table. “You’re annoyed I didn’t tell you about the Frey’s.” I deduce.

“Forgive us, your Grace, it just doesn’t bode well if a ruler rides off into the night without telling a single adviser of their plans and then news of massacres are heard. It’s not the great makings of a ruler.” Varys cautions.

“Massacre?” Robert repeats.

“After the Lannister loot train attack, me and Rakharo detoured to Riverrun. House Frey is no longer.” I vaguely inform.

“How so?” Theon asks.

“We flew over the mountainous and hilly fields of the Westerlands that fall back onto Riverrun under the cover of night and from there trekked down in the early hours of the morn. We killed Walder Frey’s sons and I killed Walder thereafter. Later that evening, we were able to poison their wine that was served and all his men were killed. It was all swift and easy, we got in and out undetected.” I explain.

“So this was revenge?” Robert points out.

“Yes—yes it was.” I admit.

“Daenerys—you are a queen, not an assassin. Do not let your lust for revenge take over your being.” Robert cautions.

I look around at them all. Hidden worry and concern on their faces. “You’re all worried I’ve turned into a monster.” I deduce.

“No, your Grace, it’s just if you continue this way without even discussing things with your counsel—like Varys said, it doesn’t bode well. We must all be on the same page from now on if we are to carry out a successful offence against the enemy.” Tyrion rationales.

"I apologise for not bringing you all into the loop, but this was something I needed to do, and alone. I did want my revenge and I wanted to serve it myself. What happened was savage and brutal perhaps, but no more so than any other battle we have all faced in the past. –I can promise you now, that I will not do something like that again without discussing with you all first.” I declare. “And with that, we now need to discuss our next move.” I add.

“Excuse me, your Grace, but the King in the North not so long ago received a raven scroll.” Varys announces, before looking over at Jon, sat quietly at the table with Ser Davos behind him. Varys holds out the scroll towards him and Jon takes it a little worryingly. I understood why; we had only been back on Dragonstone a few days and already they had sent a raven.

As he read the scroll, I could see his face drop even more and now I too was worried. “What is it?” I question from across the table as he held the scroll in his hand but began to look out into space.

His face turns to look at mine. “Bran has said he has seen the Night King and his army marchin’ towards Eastwatch. That means it’s happenin’. –If they get past the Wall—.” Jon informs, his angered worry making him throw the scroll down on the table.

“The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years, presumably.” Varys points out, not that Jon cared to hear it.

“We need to get the dragonglass and I need to go home. –We need to go.” Jon asserts as he rises from his seat, staring down the chamber, down the table at me. He knew I knew it too.

“Okay, but what do we leave here? We need something here, a foothold. As soon as I march away, Cersei marches in. I’ll be giving the country to her.” I note.

“Perhaps not.” Tyrion says, earning my attention. “Cersei thinks the army of the dead are nothing but a story, made up by wet nurses to frighten children. What if we prove her wrong?” Tyrion vaguely suggests.

“I don’t think she’ll come see the dead at my invitation.” Jon pokes seriously.

“So bring the dead to her.” Tyrion retorts.

“I thought that was what we were trying to avoid.” I, seemingly obviously, point out.

“Not the whole army, only one soldier.” Tyrion clarifies.

“Is that possible?” Ser Davos asks.

“The first wight I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from beyond the Wall.” Jon recalls.

“Bring one of these things down to King’s Landing and show her the truth.” Tyrion plots.

“Anything you bring back will be useless, unless Cersei grants us an audience and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we step foot in the capital.” Varys bluntly, but importantly, states.

“The only person she listens to is Jamie. –He might listen to me.” Tyrion rationales, before looking over to me. I knew what he was thinking.

I sigh. “And how would you get into King’s Landing?” I question, thinking it a silly idea.

Tyrion, as well as Jon, look to Ser Davos and I begin to recall him mentioning he used to be a smuggler or something of the sorts. He also clearly grasped the idea. “I can smuggle you in, but if the gold cloaks were to recognise ya, I’m warning ya, I’m not a fighter.” Davos cautions.

“Well, it’ll all be for nothing if we don’t have a wight.” I raise.

“Fair point.” Varys backs.

“Aye, how in the seven hells are you meant to get one of these dead men? How are you supposed to find one?” Robert chimes in.

Jon looks as though he trying to think it through, how to answer those questions. So was I. The only thing I knew for sure was that a fight was definitely going to be involved. I don’t know what Jon had seen over the years, but they seemed to always travel in packs if not just as an army. How indeed?

“With the Queen’s permission, I’ll go North and take one.” Jorah says, breaking the silence, and I turn my head in surprise to him, stood strong by my side. He could clearly see the dislike on my face at the idea. “You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you. –Allow me to serve you.” He adds, but it didn’t ease my dislike.

“I’ll go too.” William adds in.

“William, boy, you’ve never been North, what makes you think you can go beyond the Wall?” Robert rejects, clearly not liking the idea as much as I. I didn’t want either of them up there, I’d rather go myself. I knew what to expect, they didn’t.

“I can fight father. I’ve fought with Ser Jorah, I’ve fought in your war, I can fight in this one.” He assures before turning to face me. “You didn’t allow me North the first time—let me go for you this time.” He adds.

The surprise and dislike was subtle at the mere idea of the two going, but enough to render me silent for a moment. I didn’t know how to answer. “The Free Folk will help us. They know the real North better than anyone.” Jon states.

“They won’t follow Ser Jorah, or William.” Davos points out.

“They won’t have to.” Jon dismisses, saying a lot with only a few words. Davos heard them, and so did I. I guess I showed it in my face once again as Jon looked back at me with the sad realisation in his eyes that I had.

“No, you can’t lead another raid beyond the Wall. You’re not in the Night’s Watch anymore, you’re King in the North. It’s bad enough you went before and just scraped by with your lives.” Davos argues.

“Other than Daenerys, I’m the only one here who’s fought them. I’m the only one here who knows them. It has to be me.” Jon declares.

“Then I’m coming too. I’ve fought them, it’ll be good to have a prepared set of hands alongside you.” I proclaim.

“You can’t.” Tyrion almost instantly rejects.

“As much as it would, your Grace, I would not allow you to come even if you tried. I already put you in danger once out there. I won’t be making that mistake again.” Jon dismisses also.

“We need you here, your Grace. This time we really do. A foothold here, as you said, that will keep Cersei at bay.” Tyrion continues.

I didn’t like this plan at all, but it appeared everyone had made up their minds, it seemed this was the next plan, the next step. And after Riverrun, I couldn’t be stubborn. “Very well.” I reluctantly and sadly accept because I was accepting to do nothing.

-

It hadn’t been long at all before the plan had been set in motion. Tyrion had watched a worried Daenerys see him off in the longboat with Ser Davos, and if anything, it reassured him that perhaps she still needed him, or at least and more probable, just wanted him. When they finally reached King’s Landing, coming ashore on a private little beach outside the castle walls, Tyrion was flooded with old memories and feelings.

“Last time I was here, I killed my father with a crossbow.” Tyrion revisits as he stares up at the surrounding Keeps’ walls.

“Last time I was here, you killed my son with wildfire.” Davos quickly retorts, rendering Tyrion quiet as the man came up beside him, though it looked as though he held no grudge, he just looked like a man on a mission.

“There’s a path to the left that hugs the cliff. The guards hardly ever patrol it. Too many steps.” Davos instructs, pointing it out before making a start headed that way.

“You’re not staying here?” Tyrion questions.

“I’ve got my own business.” Davos vaguely answers as he continues walking.

“What if someone takes the boat?” Tyrion worries.

“Then we’re fucked. Best hurry.” Davos coolly cautions and Tyrion quickly follows him.

-

“We don’t have time for this. We should be preparing the city for a siege. The Dothraki are coming.” Jamie dismisses as he followed Bronn through the castle tombs.

“All the more reason for you to train. Unless you plan on fighting Dothraki 12-year-olds.” Bronn teases as he led in front with a flaming torch.

“Well, I seem to recall them giving you a bit of trouble as well.” Jamie retorts.

“And here I am, ready to train.” Bronn responds.

“Why down here?” Jamie finally asks.

“I don’t think you want people to see how you look swinging that thing yet.” Bronn pokes.

“Today might be the day I kill you by accident.” Jamie taunts.

“Oh, you won’t be swinging it at me.” Bronn says as he stops and turns around in a lit part of the tombs, then holds the torch in the direction light footsteps start to sound, and suddenly there was Tyrion. Jamie didn’t know what to say, but he looked at Bronn with betrayal.

“I’ll, erh—leave you to it.” Bronn says before leaving.

There’s a moment of silence as the two just stare at each other, but it’s finally broken by Tyrion. “I needed to see you. And I knew you’d never agree to meet.”

“I once told Bronn, that if I ever saw you again, I’d cut you in half.” Jamie threatens.

Tyrion looks at the weapon in Jamie’s grasp. “It’ll take you a while with a sparing sword.” Tyrion tries to lightly joke, like they used to, but he can see in Jamie’s eyes and face he was in no position to do such a thing yet.

“He was going to execute me. He knew I was innocent. –He didn’t hate because of anything I did, he hated me because of what I am. A little monster sent to punish him.” Tyrion begins, seriously now, emotional. “Did he—did he think—did he think I wanted to be born this way? Did he think I chose it—” He continues, anger evident in his emotions. “What do you want?!” Jamie exclaims, cutting him off.

Tyrion just stares for a moment, calming. “Daenerys will win this war.” He states and he could see by Jamie’s reaction, he knew it too. “You’re a military man. You must know there’s no way around that.” He adds, but Jamie still remains silent. “Daenerys is willing to suspend the hostilities if Cersei agrees to certain terms.” Tyrion announces.

Jamie raises his eyebrows at him. “If you want Cersei to bend the knee, you can ask her yourself.” He dismisses with ease.

“I—I don’t. Daenerys doesn’t. –She has a more important request.” Tyrion declares and this time he saw Jamie’s reluctant intrigue arise.

-

Coming into Cersei’s chambers, Jamie saw Qyburn and Cersei quietly talking amongst themselves, but they stopped once he had walked in. He wondered what matter could need Qyburn in Cersei’s own chambers. He then bowed and began to walk through to leave, greeting Jamie on his way out.

“Why was Qyburn here?” Jamie asks after he had closed the door.

“He’s the hand of the Queen. Why are you here?” Cersei retorts, not answering the question as she came to sit at her desk in front of Jamie.

Jamie takes a moment, taking in a breath before coming out with it. “I met with Tyrion.” He simply admits and was surprised to see not much of a reaction from Cersei at all. For a short moment, all she did was stare with her stern face.

“What did our brother have to say?” She coolly queries.

“Daenerys wants to meet.” Jamie informs.

“To discuss her surrender?” Cersei guesses.

“To discuss an armistice.” He clarifies.

“She’s just won a great victory. Why would she want a truce now?” Cersei ponders.

“Because an army of dead men is marching on the Seven Kingdoms.” Jamie declares and Cersei’s reaction was much the same to his when he heard it: disbelieving. “Tyrion claims he’ll have proof.” He adds.

Cersei hums a small chuckle. “Are you going to punish him?” She suddenly questions.

“Tyrion?” Jamie asks confused.

“Bronn.” She corrects and Jamie looks back at her for reason. “He betrayed you. He set up a meeting without your knowledge or consent.” She continues and Jamie realises she knew all along. “Do you think anything happens in this city without me knowing?” She adds.

“You let it happen? Why?” Jamie wonders aloud.

“I’ve come to believe that—an accommodation with the Dragon Queen could be in our immediate interest. –She has the numbers. If we want to beat her, we have to be clever. We have to fight her like father would have.” Cersei states, almost smiling up at slightly bewildered Jamie. “Dead men, dragons, and Dragon Queens—whatever stands in our way, we will defeat it. For ourselves, for our house—for this.” Cersei declares, holding her stomach as she finishes.

Jamie knew what that meant, and the shock took him all over again. “Who will you say is the father?” he asks.

“You.” Cersei happily answers, smiling.

A mixture of sad and happy, Jamie could just break a smile, just for a second. “People won’t like that.” He relents.

Cersei stands and walks around the desk to stand in front of Jamie. “Do you know what father used to say about people?” Cersei reminds.

“The lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep.” He says aloud, before bringing Cersei into a kiss and tight embrace, both smiling.

“Never betray me again.” Cersei finishes, cold, almost ruining the special moment between them, at least in Jamie’s head.

-

When Tyrion and Ser Davos had returned, much to my relief, it appeared the plan was a go. We’d get our proof, and we’d make an audience with Cersei. It all sounded ludicrous, every step just as much as the next, and I hated every single one. I didn’t like how dangerous it all was and how helpless I was for it all, but this was the plan, and we were moving forward with it with much haste. Jon and the others, taking a few dragonglass weapons with them, which was all almost mined now, made their way to the beach, to the longboat. We followed and as I came onto the beach, up ahead I watched as Tyrion and Jorah had their farewell, even seeing Tyrion give him what appeared to be a coin. A good luck token I presumed and hoped. I would and did pray on anything to see them all come back alive. As Tyrion stepped back, I stepped towards Jorah, but instead of a sombre face, I wore a small smile to comfort him.

“We should be better at saying farewell by now.” I jest.

Jorah smiles back. “Your Grace, I—” he begins, but I cut him off as I grasp both his hands in mine. I looked into his eyes, and I felt him ease. We said everything we needed with that one look.

Jorah eventually broke it, looking to the side, where I caught glimpse Jon was approaching from. When he looked back, he kissed my hands, squeezing them tenderly before letting go and walking over to the longboat.
Then Jon appeared, stopping before me as he adorned his leather gloves. “If I don’t return, at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore.” Jon sadly jokes.

I give a grieved smile. “I’ve grown used to him.” I softly admit.

He lightly smiles back. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, your Grace. It’s been an honour.”

“It most certainly has—King Crow.” I poke, getting a small snort from him.

“Goodbye, Daenerys.” He says, looking deeply at me.

“Goodbye, Jon. –Just make sure not to make it our last one.” I sadly request.

He says nothing, but, surprisingly, he does gently grasp my hand and kisses the back of it. It made me feel warm, but also sad. We had grown to be good friends, and now saying goodbye to him felt wrong. When his touch left my own and he started towards the boat, my other hand was brushed by another touch. I turned to see my dear William. I pulled him immediately into an embrace.

“You watch your backs. Take care of yourselves. And come back to me. Bring them all back, William.” I breathe.

“I will.” He simply says in my ear as we tightly squeeze each other.

Our embrace breaks but he keeps a hold to my sides and we just look at each other. “Try not to get yourself in any trouble while we’re gone.” He jests, smirking only slightly.

I smirk back. “No promises.”

“I’ll see you soon, Daenerys.” He almost promises.

I bring him into another quick embrace. “You better.” I whisper sincerely in his ear, before we break apart and he too joins the others at the longboat.

Watching them all pull and push the longboat pained me, and the further and further they got out, and closer and closer they got to the ship, the more it pained me to see them leave. I hated knowing they were going off to a fight and I was to wait patiently here to hear whatever news would come of this expedition. I really did feel so helpless, doing nothing, and I hated that more than anything.

-

“Isn’t your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?” Tormund points out to Davos after hearing the plan Jon was proposing to him. He was surprised to see him so soon, even more surprised by the plan. He had not long gone South with his pretty silver queen and apparently after a sail’s ride up to Eastwatch was now here wanting to go beyond the Wall.

“I’ve been failing at that job of late.” Davos admits.

“So, you’ve finally got the Queen with the dragons behind you. Now you just need to convince the one who fucks her brother?” Tormund bluntly processes, making them all either smile or chuckle lightly to themselves.

“Yes.” Jon simply confirms.

“How many men did you bring?” Tormund questions. Jon looks around the table in answer. “Not enough.” He relents.

“The big woman?” Tormund hopes, making Jon lightly chuckle again and that answered that.

“We were hoping some of your men could help.” Jorah states. Tormund just hums as a response, making it not entirely clear of what it meant.

“I’ll be staying behind. I’m a liability out there as you well know.” Davos admits.

“You are.” Tormund, again, bluntly agrees. “You really want to go out there? Again?” he queries, turning to Jon, who nods.
“You’re not the only ones.” He adds.

-

“My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here.” Tormund informs as he led us to one of the cells, seemingly occupied by a few men casually laid around it.
One was practically recognisable instantly.

“You’re the Hound.” Jon thinks aloud. “I saw you once at Winterfell.”

He says nothing, only sits up to look.
“They want to go beyond the Wall, too.” Tormund relays.

“We don’t want to go beyond the Wall, we have to. Our Lord told us that the Great War is coming—” Beric begins.
“You’re the Brotherhood?” William interjects. “Aren’t you?”

“Thoros?” Jorah chimes, making one of the men move to look back at him.
“I hardly recognised you.”

“Ser Jorah Mormont. –They won’t give me anything to drink down here. I haven’t been feeling like myself.” Thoros responds.

“You’re a fucking Mormont? Like the last Lord Commander?” Tormund picks up.

Jorah turns to him. “He was my father.”

“He hunted us like animals.”

“You returned the favour, as I recall.” Jorah retorts.

“Here we all are at the edge of the world at the same moment, heading in the same direction for the same reason.” Beric points out.

“Our reasons aren’t your reasons.” Davos rejects.

“It doesn’t matter what we think our reasons are. There’s a greater purpose at work. And we serve it together, whether we know it or not.” Beric declares as he stands and steps over to the cell door. “We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light—”
“For fuck’s sake, will you shut your hole? Are we coming with you or not?” Sandor interjects.

“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” William queries.

“Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell, waiting to die?” Thoros replies.

“He’s right. We’re all on the same side.” Jon asserts.

“How can we be?” William queries.

Jon handles the keys and steps forward to unlock the cell.
“We’re all breathing.”

Chapter Text

“You alright?” Jon asks William, who seemed visibly colder than the rest, even wrapped in the furs like the rest of them, as the party trekked the snowy plains and mountains.
He hummed a response with a nod.

“Ever been north before?” Tormund wonders.

“Never seen snow before.” William answers all the same.

“Beautiful, eh? I can breathe again. Down south the air smells like pig shit.” Tormund remarks.

“You’ve never been down south.” Jon states.

“I’ve been to Winterfell.” He retorts.

“That’s the north.” He clarifies but Tormund blows his lips in disagreement.

“How do you live up here? How do you keep your balls from freezing off?” William questions.

“You got to keep moving. That’s the secret. Walking’s good, fighting’s better, fucking’s best.” Tormund happily conveys.

“There’s not a living woman within a hundred miles of here.” Jon reminds, a small smile on his lips.

“You have to make do with what you got.” Tormund responds, making Jon smile bigger and William smile too as they glanced at each other.

“Speaking of fucking—how’s the Dragon Queen?” Tormund suddenly questions, looking to Jon.

Both him and William snap their gazes to Tormund in shock of his blunt question. “How do you make that connection?” Jon queries.

Tormund looks at him plainly, like it was obvious and a stupid question. “You haven’t fucked yet?” Tormund simply comments surprised.

Jon scoffs. “No, Tormund, we haven’t.” he affirms.

“Why not? She’s pretty, you’re pretty? And you two bickered like a married couple.” Tormund points out.

“More like siblings. She is my cousin after all.” Jon dismisses.

“So, what? You two like each other, yes?” he pushes.

“You like Daenerys?” William chimes.

Jon looks to William, lingering a few seconds as he formed an answer. “She is my ally, aye.” Jon clarifies. He would only admit to himself that a part of him did long for her in a way he probably shouldn’t. He wondered if she felt the same.

“Oh, I see. You’re fucking Daenerys.” Tormund toys, looking to William.

“I—no. She’s my oldest friend.” William responds.

“But you want to.” Tormund continues.

William says nothing, only regains his look forward. He had loved her for years, even when they were apart for years, but he’d never done anything about it.

“Well, if neither of you are fucking her, who is?” Tormund ponders.

“I don’t think it matters, Tormund. She is at war, she has much grander things to think about right now.” Jon deters, seeing William was perhaps a little uncomfortable.

“Aye, for that ugly chair you southerners all talk about. How is she doing?” He asks.

“She’s suffered some losses, but she’s gained some victories. No doubt she’ll win more.” Jon briefly relays.

“And with your help?” Tormund questions, looking to see if he had joined her or not, something he knew they bickered about as he put it.

“We agreed to be allies in the war against Cersei. She fights for me, if I fight for her. But I couldn’t bend the knee to her. I couldn’t do that to the north, not after everything, and not after they just made me their King.” Jon explains.

“You spent too much time with the Free Folk. Now you don’t like kneeling.” Tormund begins. “Mance Rayder was a brave man. A proud man. The King-beyond-the-Wall never bent the knee. –How many of his people died for his pride?” he points out.

Jon ponders on the thought. “You know—she said something very similar once.” He recalls.

Tormund hums. “I’ve said it before – she’s smart, that one.”

Jon found his feet slowing after Tormund’s point, slowing in thought.
After a while, they had continued marching on ahead and he ended up walking alongside Jorah. For a while, there was silence, until Jon’s thoughts cleared and he started to think of Mormont, eventually striking up a conversation with Jorah.

“The first time I went north of the Wall was with your father.” Jon informs as they continued to talk of him.

“He was a good man. He deserved a better son.” Jorah admits.
“Were you with him at the end?” he asks.

“I was a prisoner of the wildlings. But we avenged him. I want you to know that. Every mutineer found justice.” Jon assures.

“Can’t think of a worse way for him to go. The Night’s watch was his life. He would have died to protect every one of those men. And they butchered him.” Jorah grieves.

“I hate that he died that way.” Jon sincerely remarks.

“Daenerys’ father, King Aerys, was the most honourable and noble man I’d ever met. He was good all the way through. And he died, murdered in front of his people and daughter on the executioner’s block. –Good men die unjustly all the time.” Jorah states regrettably.

For a moment, they don’t speak, until Jon steps in front of Jorah, stopping them both. The others carried on past them as Jon unstrapped his belt that holstered his beloved Longclaw.
“Your father gave me this sword. Changed the pommel from a bear to a wolf—” he starts, gathering the belt around the sword before holding it out for Jorah. “—but it’s still Longclaw.” He finishes as he takes it.

“Lord Commander Mormont thought you’d never come back to Westeros. But you are back, and it’s been in your family for centuries. It’s not right for me to have it.” Jon declares as Jorah looked over the adjusted family heirloom.

He looked back up to Jon. “He gave it to you.”

“I’m not his son.” Jon persists.

“As much as I don’t regret the decisions I made; they led me to protect and serve Daenerys—I brought shame onto my house through my crime. I broke my father’s heart. I forfeited the right to claim this sword.” Jorah explains before holding it back out between them. “It’s yours.” Jorah assures as Jon retakes his hold on the sword.
“May it serve you well and your children after you.” he adds with the smallest of smiles of respect before brushing past to join the others ahead. Jon took a minute to feel the honour Jorah had just bestowed onto him.

-

“Do you know what I like about you?” I say breaking the silence between Tyrion and I as we sat in front of the fire, wine in our hands.

“I honestly don’t.” He responds.

“You’re not a hero.” I answer.

“Oh. –Well, I’ve been heroic on occasion. I once charged through the Mud Gate of King’s Landing and—” he defends.
“I don’t want you to be a hero.” I interrupt. “I know you are brave. I wouldn’t have chosen a coward as my Hand. –But heroes do stupid things, and they die. –Drogo, Daario, Jorah, William, even Jon Snow, they all try to outdo each other. Who can do the stupidest, bravest thing.” I analyse, still annoyed at merely being sat here waiting for most of the list I spoke of to return to us. I was practically twiddling my thumbs ever since they left and would continue to do so.

“It’s interesting, these heroes you name. Drogo, Daario, Jorah, William, even Jon Snow—they all fell in love with you.” He points out.

I scoff slightly at his point. “Jon Snow’s not in love with me.” I retort.

“Oh, my mistake. I suppose he stares at you longingly because he’s hopeful for a successful military alliance.” He retaliates, dripping with sarcasm and tiny smirk. Although Jon had recently secured that, of which our allied agreement I had relayed to him and the others once the party had sailed off for the North.

I smirk a little back at his remark. “He is my cousin, Tyrion.”
As much as I knew this, something in me was drawn to him, but equally, that fact would always remain in my head.

“Plenty of matches in history have been arranged with such connections. Besides, look at my siblings.” He states, sipping his wine. He made a point, but a point perhaps becoming a little outdated. No one really married their cousins any longer, it was a dated practise. And intimate family relations weren’t looked upon nicely – Jamie and Cersei were a case in point, judgment and scandal had always surrounded them about their suspected relations and their children. All true of course. Siblings was a line the world, or at least Westeros couldn’t cross or handle, cousins a bit more so I supposed.

“Speaking of your siblings—its funny, after all these years your sister has proven she’d rather murder me, than speak with me. Yet, if all goes well, I’ll finally get to meet Cersei.” I announce.

“Oh, first, she’d torture you in some horrible way, then she’d murder you.” Tyrion corrects.

“Hm. Indeed.”

“Nobody trusts my sister less than I do, believe me. But if we go to the capital, we’ll go with two armies, we’ll go with four dragons. Anyone touches you, they’ll feel our wrath, or more accurately, yours.” Tyrion asserts.

“And right now, she’s thinking of how to set a trap.” I follow.

“Of course she is. And she’s wondering what trap you’re laying for her.” Tyrion states.

“Are we?” I query.
“Laying any traps?” I elaborate seeing Tyrion’s look.

“If we want to create a new and better world, I’m not sure deceit and mass murder is the best way to start, even if they are our enemies.” Tyrion declares.

“Yes, you’re right. –But if I’m going up against Cersei, if I’m going to win the throne, I’m going to need to be ruthless from time to time, no?” I ponder.

“Mmhmm. And you are right. You will need to inspire a degree of fear in this war, for all to see. –But fear is all Cersei has. It’s all my father had, and Joffrey. It makes their power brittle because everyone beneath them longs to see them dead. –You’re different. The people who oppose you will remember that degree of fear.” Tyrion explains.

I nod my head slightly in agreement. “So—we walk into the lion’s den.” I sigh.

“My brother promised me he’d keep a grip on the Lannister forces.” Tyrion assures.

“Forgive me, but I don’t care about any Lannister promises. –Except yours.” I retort.

“And I promised him I’d keep you from doing anything impulsive.” He continues.

“Impulsive?” I push.

He sighs a little. “This will be a difficult negotiation. We’re sitting down with people who want to see us both headless. My sister is likely to say something provocative.” He tip-toes.

“You’re worried I’ll lose my temper.” I deduce.

“You’ve been known to lose it from time to time—as all great leaders do.” he cautiously adds.

Sipping some wine, I look into the fire. I recognised my own. “That’s fair.”

“I don’t wish to offend you. Only advise you.” he gently affirms.

“I know. –You haven’t offended me. And I appreciate your counsel, as always.” I assure.

“I know everything you’ve been through has fuelled this fire you have inside you. It’s only natural. –But I am here to help make sure you use it wisely. I respect sometimes this can’t be helped, and sometimes the time has called and will call for it, but by keeping it in check, you can see things the way your enemy does, you can anticipate their actions, respond effectively, and beat them. Which I want you to do very much. Because I believe in you and in the world you want to build.” He explains. I nod in response.
“–But the world you want to build doesn’t get built all at once. Probably not in a single lifetime. How do we ensure that your vision endures? After we break the wheel, how do we make sure it stays broken?” he continues, seemingly turning the conversation in a new direction.

“You want to know who sits on the Iron Throne after me?” I assess.

“You say you can’t have children, and you have spoken of choosing a replacement. –I think it is a good idea to form a plan of succession for when we take the throne, as we inch closer and closer to our end goal. –The Night’s Watch have one method. The Ironborn, for all their many flaws, have another. There are many ways we can determine a succession.” He illuminates.

“We can discuss the succession after I wear the crown. We have Cersei and dead men to deal with first.” I dismiss. I was in no mood to discuss such matters. It seemed trivial to distinguish any detailed plan of succession at present.

“Your Grace, I saw hundreds of arrows fly towards you when you fought on the Blackwater Rush, and I saw hundreds of arrows miss. But any one of them could have found your heart and ended your life.” he relents.

“I understand your worry, but please don’t. For now, the idea of choosing a replacement will suffice.” I dismiss again.

“Who? You? Or all of us?” he pushes.

I huff, annoyance growing in me. “All of us. If I meet an untimely death, something I intend to avoid, then I believe you all would choose a just replacement.” I vaguely relay.

“Do you see yourself as so replaceable? Who among us, among Westeros, is suited to carry on your mission, here and beyond? These are matters we need to discuss now, matters we must think about before putting it to everyone else.” He persists.

“I do not know, Tyrion. And therefore, I do not wish to discuss it at present.” I burst, my eyes locking onto him.

For a moment, we stared silently. “I am only trying to serve you by planning for the long term.” He defends, his persistence relinquishing.

“Perhaps if you planned for the short term, we wouldn’t have lost Highgarden, nearly all our Ironborn, and half of Dorne.” I scorn, annoyance still so clearly evident in my tone, I practically spat.

He hung his head a little with no response.
I exhaled.
“Forgive me. –That wasn’t fair.” I recognise after calming.

“No. –I made a call, and it was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have known. –I apologise for using it against you.” I offer.

He gives a courteous nod before sipping more wine. I followed, before standing from my chair. I walk around it, stepping over to the Westeros table and set my chalice upon it.

“I’ll be in the skies.” I announce before walking from the chamber.

-

“Your wildling friend told me the red woman brought you back.” Beric strikes up a conversation coming up beside Jon as they all still continued their journey trekking amongst the snowy mountains.

“Aye.”

“Thoros has brought me back six times. –We both serve the same lord.” He continues.

“I serve the north.” Jon retorts.

“The north didn’t raise you from the dead.” Beric retaliates.

“The Lord of Light never spoke to me. I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know what he wants from me.” Jon dismisses.

“He wants you alive.” Beric states.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s all anyone can tell me—I don’t know.” Jon huffs. “So, what’s the point in serving a god if none of us knows what he wants?” he debates.

“I think about that all the time. I don’t think its our purpose to understand. Except one thing—we’re soldiers. We have to know what we’re fighting for. –I’m not fighting so some man or woman I barely know can sit on a throne made of swords.” Beric answers.

“So, what are you fighting for?” Jon questions.

“Life.”
“Death is the enemy. The first enemy and the last.” He adds.

“But we all die.” Jon points out.

Beric almost nods. “The enemy always wins. And we still need to fight him. That’s all I know. –You and I won’t find much joy while we’re here, but we can keep others alive. We can defend those who can’t defend themselves.” Beric states.

Jon nods. “I am the shield that guards the realms of men.” he declares, repeating part of his old Night’s Watch vow.

“Maybe we don’t need to understand any more than that. Maybe that’s enough.” Beric responds.

“Aye. Maybe that’s enough.”

“Here!” Sandor suddenly calls out. “That’s what I saw in the fire.” He starts as they all stopped, gathering around. “A mountain like an arrowhead.” He points in the distance.

“Are you sure?” Thoros asks.

Sandor nods. “We’re getting close.”

The closer the mountain got, the more the weather suddenly turned, and quickly. A strong wind began that blustered snow with it, creating a blizzard that slowed their journey forward. The more they walked, the closer they felt they were, but time meant nothing. They had no idea how close or far they were.
One of the free folk was leading the party up ahead of the group, keeping them in the right direction best they could, but at some point, Tormund pulled on Jon’s and pointed to the distance.

“Look.” Tormund points.
There was a figure in the distance, like a shadow, walking around far ahead. As they all stopped around each other and stared into the blistery distance, the shape began to form into something recognisable.

“A bear. –Big fucker.” Tormund comments.

They all continued to stare quietly until the bear’s head turned a revealed two small dots ever so slightly shining in the distance – blue ones.
“Do bears have blue eyes?” William points out.

The bear started to run and the man ahead began to do the same back to the group. Everyone grabbed their weapons, poising themselves as the man continued to run without looking back. However, the bear was now nowhere to be seen. Only when the man got so close back to the group did it reappear, ambushing him from the side and grabbing him, running off to the side.
Jon and the rest cautiously rushed over to the spot to find only his weapon and some spilled blood on the snow. They looked around at each other before forming a circle and gripping their weapons a little tighter looking into the white darkness of the cold.

The bear attacked again, ambushing yet another wildling. It moved him around in its jaws, biting into him as he screamed in pain. Jon tried attacking the thing but it swiped him with ease to the side, sending him soaring through the air.
Beric and Thoros ignited their flaming swords as they approached the bear. It rose up on its hind legs, roaring, before regaining its attack on the injured wildling, holding him in its jaws. It flung him up and shook him around until a loud crack echoes and the man fell silent and was tossed aside by the bear. It went to eat him, but Beric attacked his side and his sword set him alight. The bear turned in shock and set his sights on Sandor who stood frozen just ahead of him. Roaring in front of him, he was still frozen as he approached him, but just before he could attack him Thoros struck the bear with his sword, coming between them. The bear pushed him back and he fell to his back. Holding his sword across him he gripped it with both hands as the bear tried to eat him also and he was weakly fighting him off as the sword pushed against its jaw from inside its mouth. Tormund attacked the bear from the side but was hit much like Jon had been. The bear returned to attacking Thoros beneath it and managed to finally grasp the sword and throw it away from him, before sinking its teeth into him. Thoros wailed in pain as the bear bit into him, moving him around against the snow.
Sandor sat frozen still as the bear ripped into Thoros and it wasn’t until Jorah ran up to its side and sunk his dagger into its head that it screeched in pain and slumped to the ground.

Beric and William hastily grabbed Thoros and pulled him out and away from the now truly dead bear. Beric began to undo his clothing to reveal his torn and bitten torso, blood running down his sides.
“We have to get him back to Eastwatch.” Jorah states standing over them as the rest join.

Thoros shook his head. “Flask.” His painfully speaks. Beric grabbed it, pulling the top off with his mouth before helping him drink some from it, gulping most of it.
“Go on.” Thoros encourages as he looked back up to his companion.
Beric uses his flaming sword to cauterise his wounds. The sizzle and sight of it makes Sandor turn and step away.

“You alright?” Beric questions as William wrapped Thoros back up.

“I just got bit by a dead bear.” Thoros obviously points out.

“Aye, you did.” Beric all but smirks.

“Funny old life.” Thoros mirrors before Beric helps him up.

“Right, then. We’re off.” William says as he too helps Thoros up.

Thoros, with the help of his flask no doubt, was walking surprisingly better than they all thought. A little pained and at the back, but he wasn’t falling behind. Jorah walked just in front until they all finally neared their destination, the weather finally calmed and still. Now and then he looked behind to make sure Thoros hadn’t keeled over and been left behind. Until, as they trekked up a steep part of mountain, he waited and trekked beside him.

“Something I’ve always wanted to know.” Jorah starts up.

“Alright.” Thoros responds.

“How drunk were you when you charged through the breach on Pyke?” Jorah questions.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t remember charging through the breach. Some of the lads told me about it the next morning. Sounded like a good scrap.” Thoros recalls.

“Aye. It was a proper scrap. The Ironborn thought you were some kind of god, the way you were waving that flaming sword. I thought you were the bravest man I ever saw.” Jorah admires.

Thoros smirks. “Just the drunkest.” He corrects as everyone in front stopped.

Tormund had stopped everyone up ahead. Jon and him cautiously continued up a little and sat peeking over down at whatever Tormund had heard below. When they looked down into the canyon below, a line of wights walked together led by one of the Night King’s commanders of such.
Jon retracts his gaze over the rocks, as does Tormund.

“Where’s the rest of them?” Jon wonders.

“If we wait long enough, we’ll find out.” Tormund warns.

-

After the talk with Tyrion I had needed to clear my head, and amongst the clouds, in the blue skies on Drogon’s back was where it always worked. The only place I could escape and be alone, with nothing to think or worry about, I wasn’t at war up here. I wasn’t a queen up here. I was just me. And whenever we soared back down, everything returned. My responsibilities, my titles, my problems and worries. Everything.
Except this time, unexpectedly, as I soared down from the clouds over Dragonstone, I saw a fleet of ships anchored in the bay next to my own. The boats and sails were Dornish. The golden orange sails adorning the Sunspear sigil. This meant Oberyn Martell had no doubt sailed here, despite the other half of his fleet being attacked by Euron. It was a surprise to understate it.
As I flew on Drogon’s back, the others tailing us, I swept down closely on the long steps up to Dragonstone where I saw a small party of people ascending the climb. They jolted, crouching or laying at the sudden appearance I could see as I peered back, all but one. I could only guess Oberyn was the one stood, unfazed as he looked up at my children now flying and circling the Dragonstone castle.

“Ñuha dāria – Ōbryn Mahtrēl.”
(“My queen – Oberyn Martell.”) Grey worm announces as he escorts him into the council chamber, where I sat with Tyrion by the fire once again patiently waiting, having arrived in the castle before him.

“Kirimvose, Turgon Nudha. Kostā henujagon īlva.”
(“Thank you, Grey Worm. You may leave us.”) I respond and with a sharp nod, he leaves, closing the door.
Oberyn’s eyes had not left me since he entered the room. They seemed to analyse me, but it wasn’t intimidating, it was curious. His eyes were curious, different from before. When we had met during our war council, his eyes were alert and determined, fitting for a war council. But now they were curious and something else I couldn’t place, which told me he clearly wasn’t here for another war council. His demeanour was suave and seductive even as he stood there, silently staring. Until Tyrion broke the silence, I realised I had been doing the same.

“Forgive us, Prince Oberyn. We were not expecting your arrival. We received no word.” Tyrion addresses, standing from his chair.

“I did not send any.” Oberyn admits. “I thought it best after hearing half my fleet was destroyed and my men dead or captured. –Most likely dead.” he bluntly informs. He seemed annoyed, and rightly so I thought.

“I apologise for your losses, I—” Tyrion begins.
“I don’t need your Lannister apologies.” Oberyn interrupts. “I need your sister dead.” he adds.

“Then we all have the same needs.” I chime in calmly, rendering them both quiet as I finally spoke. I stood from my seat and walked over to the Westeros table where the wine and decanter were sat.

“Leave us.”

“Your Grace?” Tyrion replies and I look over to him.
I simply nod, confirming he heard me right. It wasn’t out of annoyance, but simply just reading the room and our guest. Oberyn clearly wasn’t the biggest fan of Tyrion, but I knew it was only because of his name, rather than his character.
He nodded in response and taking his wine with him of course, he left the chamber. Oberyn’s eyes again, not leaving me for a second.

I poured him a glass and walked over, offering it to him. “I’m afraid it’s no Dornish wine.” I remark as he takes it, his fingers brushing mine as he did, purposefully or not I wasn’t sure.

“I’m sure it is better.” He accepts, a small smile appearing before rising it to his lips.

“Don’t speak so soon.” I smile small back before turning to regain my seat by the fire. He followed.

“I truly am sorry about your losses, Prince Oberyn.” I sincerely begin as we sit. “Know that we will get Ellaria back if we can.” I assure.

“She is dead. Along with our daughters.” He announces.

My mouth parts at his bluntness. “You know this?”

“I do.”

“How?”

He sighs, crossing his legs in his seat, getting comfortable. “Cersei knows Ellaria was the one that killed her beloved Myrcella. By her reasoning, Ellaria waged that a woman so cruel would love no one truly but her family, her children. A woman with only a father, two brothers and then two sons and only one daughter, well—when I learned of what she had done, she said that Cersei took her first true love, so she took hers. –Ellaria and our daughters would have been taken to Cersei and killed by her own hand by now, I would wager.” He explains, drinking his wine, surprisingly not as bothered talking about it as I imagined.

“Then I offer my condolences. –And promise they will be avenged.” I gently assure.

He swallows another sip of his wine. “And how do you plan on doing this?” he questions.

I sigh slightly. “The plan still remains the same. A siege, covering all ground. Land, and sky.” I summarise.

“And who replaces the Greyjoy’s and the Tyrell’s?” Oberyn asks.

“Well, Theon Greyjoy survived and intends on saving his sister with a bulk of Ironborn who also survived. But to answer your question—the North.” I inform.

“You rallied the North. –Impressive.” He nods, and he seemed genuinely so by his expression.

“Yes—at a cost it appeared.” I point out, seeing as in going North, the move lost me the Tyrell’s and the Greyjoy’s.

“Moves and countermoves. –I heard you made a powerful play against the Lannister forces.” He comments, a slight smirk in his expression.

I sip my wine. “I did.”

“And then the Frey’s.” he adds.

I look to the fire. “I did.” I repeat.

He hums slowly. It was deep and yet somehow sweet and smooth. “I like ruthless women. Powerful women who know how to fight. –Especially the beautiful ones.” He admits nursing his wine. I could feel his eyes boring into me.

My eyes gaze back to him. “I suppose that’s why you liked Ellaria.”

“She was more political than a fighter. But still ruthless.” He describes.
“And beautiful.” I add.

He smiles. “Yes—rather like you.” he tenderly complements.

“I’m afraid I’m much more of a fighter at heart than a politician. –As much as I try to do both.” I admit.

“I wasn’t referring to that.” He traces back.
I knew he wasn’t, I knew he was calling me beautiful, not political.
“You are a rare beauty, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen.” He seduces. His voice was like honey, thick but sweet and indulgent. I was finding him wildly enticing. “How does it feel to be a vision of beauty no one else possesses?” he asks, suddenly provoking a sadness in me.

“Lonely.” I woefully answer. I was a rare beauty because I was the only Targaryen left in this world. No one looked like me because they were all dead.

For a moment, the fire crackling in front of us was the only noise in the air as we looked at one another.
“You know—I was there the day your father was executed. Hidden amongst the crowds.” Oberyn suddenly announces.

I look away, to the flames. The mention of my father saddening me further. “So was I.” I recall, my eyes closing for a moment as I sighed.

“You were?” he queries pointedly.
I nod as my eyes reopened, regaining sight on the fire.

“I remember when they took his head. The crowd roared in protest and disgust. They threw stones, they shouted. Some even cried. –But there was one thing that stuck with me from that day. –A weeping child—crouched on the Baelor statue as they overlooked where the King had been slain.” He begins, gaining my curiosity and eyes back. He was talking of me.

“You see, I had laid low after soldiers came to my chambers looking to kill me during the wedding feast of our siblings. –When I found my sister Elia dead in the Great Hall, blood staining her beautiful white dress and body next to her beloved Viserys, I wanted to kill every last person who had a hand in it. So, once I learned who ordered the massacre, I waited for the Lannister’s to appear. And sure enough, they did, outside the Sept of Baelor.” He explains.
“The image of that weeping child has stuck with me to this day. But I wouldn’t have seen them if it had not been for the King mouthing ‘go’.” he continues, and I could feel my eyes welling up. “I followed where his eyes slyly gazed, to where he spoke, to see to who he spoke. And when I saw this child, they shook their head. –He told them to go again. But they refused. –I wanted to help this poor child. But what was I to do? –Then he mouthed ‘I love you’ and told them to ‘fly’—just before they separated his head from his neck.” He gently describes, causing a couple tears to spill over onto my cheeks at the dark memory.
“For years that moment stayed with me. For years I wondered who the child was. –Until I heard whispers of a silver-haired girl in the East. A girl who had escaped a massacre and now travelled Essos evading assassins. –I knew this child I had seen must have been the small Targaryen princess who Elia had spoke of. The small princess who had no wish to be a lady, but to be a knight, she had told me.” he continues as the fire crackled and I silently cried before him.
“Then, this lone small princess grew to be something. Your enemies began to fear you because you had somehow acquired four dragons. And then very quickly acquired three armies alongside a new title. –This young girl they knew who had nothing had suddenly become a powerful queen, residing over cities that worshipped her.” He admired.

“I wouldn’t use the word worshipped.” I respond. And I wasn’t being humble; as much as the liberated loved me, I faced much opposition in Essos from the masters. I still did.

“No? –What did the slaves outside Yunkai call you? After you liberated them and they crowded around you, lifting you up onto their shoulders?” Oberyn questions, widening my eyes.

“How do you—”
“Mhysa, wasn’t it?” he interjects. “Remind me of its meaning again?”

“Mother.” I translate.

“When that whisper reached me, I admit, it even moved me.” he relays sipping his wine.

I sigh. “Whisper.” I repeat. That explained how he knew so much. “I suppose you had your own little birds, like Varys.”

He shrugged. “I like to know what is going on in the world around me. Especially people of note.”

“Like small princesses that grow into queens?” I lightly smile.

He smirks a little. “Ever since I heard word of you out there in Essos, ever since I learned that you were that child crouched on the statue that day—I have wanted to be in a room with you. –I have wanted to know you, to hear your stories. –And as time passed, the more I heard of what you were doing—the Dothraki, your return, your dragons, your journey through Essos and Slaver’s Bay—”
“Dragon’s Bay.” I correct.

He smiles. “Forgive me.”
I smiled back.
“The more I wanted meet you, to hear all the stories.” He finishes.
“And now here you are.” He adds.

“And you. –You’re finally in a room with me.” I follow up.

“Well, now I’ve properly met you—not the room I want.” He seductively admits, taking another sip of the wine, his eyes glued to my own even still.

I swallow my breath in reaction. He was a suave man, an intriguing and beautiful man himself. Now I was alone with him, I could feel it more. Tyrion had said he was known for fucking half of Westeros. An exaggeration I had put the comment down to – now I was doubting my scepticism. I could imagine many women fell under his spell, his good looks and charm were enough to make any sane woman swoon.
He even had me a little flushed.

I have to avert his gaze a moment, refreshing myself with some wine as I look to the fire again. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“You don’t.” he softly assures.

“Although, I found you more diplomatic than imagined when we first met.” He informs, gaining my gaze back.

“And that surprised you?” I deduce from his tone.

“I suppose. –I imagined you to have much more fire. All the stories I had heard. So many I wish I had been there to witness. –I would have given anything to have seen you the day you acquired the Unsullied. –And countless other moments.” He almost praises in admiration.

“Well, now we’re allies, I’m sure you’ll get to see my fire. This place has a hold over me much more than Essos. It brings it out in me.” I confess.

“Because you don’t just want liberation here—you also want revenge.” He assesses.

“The Battle of the Bastards, as people are now calling it, you stood down a calvary and killed Ramsey Bolton. Then you charged on Lannister forces flying above your Dothraki screamers because you could. Before poisoning the Frey house and their men.” he details.
“That is fire fuelled revenge.” He adds.

I sigh. “Indeed.” I admit.

“That’s good.” he states.

I eye him curiously. “How so?” I question.
These kinds of actions were exactly what my advisors worried about.

“In Essos you used your fire because you wanted to. But here—Cersei is the biggest monster you will ever face. –You’ll continue to use your fire here because you don’t just want to—you need to.” He encourages.

“I’ll only use it on those that deserve it.” I declare.

“Then I can’t wait to see the last dragon in action.” He smirks.

“The Last Dragon.” I repeat. “They used to call my father that.” I state.

“I guess they were wrong.” He responds.

“Were they?” I challenge. “He was fair, kind, fierce and loving. –He was noble fire.” I praise, using our house words.
“Sometimes I think I’m all fire.” I confess.

Oberyn lightly nodded in response, but no words left his lips.
For a moment, it was silent between us, but not for long.

“Is that your family’s dagger at your hip?” Oberyn suddenly questions.

I finish my sip of wine. “You’re looking at my hips?” I tease with the slightest of smirks, gaining one from him.
I place my goblet on the floor beside my chair, before unsheathing the dagger and holding it up in my lap. Oberyn then follows suit and holds up his own. He looked to admire my Targaryen dagger and I looked to admire his Dornish dagger, adorning the sigil of a sunspear at the pommel. It was beautifully crafted.

“This was my brother’s, Doran’s. –I’ve had it at my hip ever since his death. I vowed to myself I would never part with it or pass it down until the blade met Cersei Lannister’s heart. –Justice for his death.” he announces.

“Fitting.” I remark as I laid my own down in my lap.

He hums his agreement.
Like honey again.

“I’m assuming you know that yours once belonged to Baelor, your great ancestor.” Oberyn states as he sheathes his dagger back to his hip.

“I do. –It has been passed down for generations.” I concur.

“But do you know that he inscribed something on it?” he points out.

I look down at the dagger still sat in my lap before eyeing him curiously, awaiting whatever followed. He stared for a fleeting moment, before stepping forward from his chair, though he kept himself lowered in his step. He neared me in my own chair and gripped the edge of it, swiftly he pulled my chair with me in it back with him, pulling it right in front of his own as he regained his seat. I had grabbed the arms of my chair tightly in response, but they eased and my grip relinquished as his beautifully dark eyes shone from the fire at my own and his lips hinted a smirk, now our legs brushed the others and we were much closer to one another.

“Viserys was handed that dagger from your father and he imparted a secret to him, a secret he shared with Elia. And Elia and I had no secrets.” He informs.

“What secret?” I query, entirely entranced by his words. I wanted to know.

His hand reached forward and grabbed the dagger, holding it between us before throwing the dagger into the fire. My eyes followed his movement and my body jerked ever so slightly in protest, but it was no issue.
We looked back to each other.

“Before his death, Baelor had the last of his Valyrian pyromancers hide his song in the steel. –Only fire can uncover it.” Oberyn states.

I glance into the fire where the blade was heating up from the hot flames.
“What does it read?” I ask.

“I do not know. –Your father knew, and when he passed it over to Viserys, it was his duty to determine the song for himself, as your father did when his father passed it down to him. –Neither Viserys or Elia spoke Valyrian, and they died before they found anyone to translate it or impart the secret to others.” he explains.

“Elia shared this all with you?” I query.

“We were very close. –She asked me one day, when she had returned home before the royal wedding, if in my travels to Essos I ever learned Valyrian. When I asked her why, she told me discreetly. –Like I said, we had no secrets.” He elaborates.

I stared back at the flames, where the blade was beginning to glow. I wondered what the blade read. A song? A family secret? A truth?
“Don’t you think you should at least know what exactly you possess at your hip and what your family has carried for generations?” He points out.

I lifted from my seat and knelt before the fire, not hesitating to reach into it to grab the dagger. Oberyn was now knelt beside me as I pulled it carefully from the flames, holding it up before my eyes. I could see the secret inscription.

“So the Unburnt stories are true?” Oberyn chimes beside me.
I glance up at him, seeing his impressed face at me retrieving the blade unscathed from the fire, holding the hot dagger which was no issue for me. I smirked at him before looking back to the glowing dagger.

“Hen ñuha ānogar—māzigon Kivio Dārilaros—se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.” I read.
The words repeated in my head. Parts of it I recalled someone speaking it to me – Melisandre.

“What does it mean?” Oberyn questions.

“From my blood, come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.” I translate and Oberyn looked between the blade and I in curiosity.
“A red priestess who visited us here a while ago spoke similar words to me. She said: the Long Night is coming. Only the prince or princess who was promised can bring the dawn.” I recall. Looking back, with everything I knew now, in this moment especially, her words were beginning to make more sense, beginning to ring more and more truth.

“You are this princess?” Oberyn queries.

“She wasn’t sure. She simply believed I had a role to play. –But it’s certainly starting to look like it.” I state as we eyed each other curiously.

“Then perhaps you truly are the Last Dragon, hm?” he pushes, leaning closer. “The last of the noble fire?” he softly and quietly speaks between us as he tenderly brushed a curled strand of my hair behind my ear. My eyes stared into his, only once slightly glancing to his lips, before I quickly brought them back up. I had no words as his eyes looked into mine.
“You have grown in times of war and hardship. The years have not been kind to you, but I have no doubt you possess such qualities you, yourself doubt. –Fair, kind, fierce, loving, noble—you must possess these otherwise you would not inspire such loyalty and devotion. Do not doubt your character. –For now, we all need your fire.” He practically comforts.

I exhaled, and in doing so, I smiled small; finally letting go of my doubts and fears all in that moment. I was no monster, nor would I be. I was my father’s daughter and I would now be the Last Dragon – Baelor’s champion, Baelor’s prince.
As I made my declaration triumphantly between us, Oberyn smiled back.
“Then let it be known my song will be the song of ice and fire.”

Chapter Text

“Where did she get it?” Sansa worries as she closes the door to her chambers, Littlefinger inside. That damned letter she had sent as a naïve child had resurfaced in Arya’s possession when she was within the Lannister’s grasp way back at the start of the war.

“I don’t know. She seems very resourceful. –You’re worried.” Littlefinger responds.

“We’re asking twenty thousand men to fight with us in the worst winter any of them have ever seen. The weather will be the least of their problems. Many of them will be happy to find a good reason to go home.” Sansa paces.

“You question their loyalty?”

“Their loyalty is to Jon. Jon is not here. I haven’t heard from him in weeks.” Sansa reminds.

“You’re the Lady of Winterfell. The King chose you to rule in his absence. And rule you have –wisely, ably. They see that, they respect you. Some may even prefer you.” Littlefinger assesses.

“Yes, most of them turned their backs on Jon when it was time to retake Winterfell. Then they named him their King, and now they’re ready to turn their backs on him again. How far would you trust men like that? They’re all bloody wind veins. If they found out that I wrote that letter, a woman that already married not one but two enemies of her house, by the time Jon comes back he’ll have no army left.” Sansa worries still.

“Arya’s not like them. She’s your sister. You may have disagreements, but she would never betray her family.” Littlefinger reassures.

“She would if she thought I was going to betray Jon.” Sansa states.

“Is that what she thinks?”

“I don’t know what she thinks. I don’t know her anymore. She was so mad, yet calculated and calm when she confronted me about that stupid letter.” Sansa relents.

“Perhaps Lady Brienne can help. –She is sworn to protect both of Catelyn Stark’s girls, is she not?” Littlefinger asks.

“She is.”

“And if one of you were planning to harm the other in any way, wouldn’t she be honour bound to intercede?” Littlefinger points out.

Sansa lightly nods. “She would.”

-

In the short time that followed Jon and everyone’s departure and Oberyn’s arrival, he had quickly become a delightful companion, a welcome distraction from my worries that kept me from twiddling my thumbs. Of course, I worried for all that had gone North, the war and the dead were still very much at a forefront in my mind, but Oberyn had truly burrowed his way inside along with it. Since our first proper meeting in the council chamber, we spent nearly every moment together relaying story after story to the other. I talked him through everything from the massacre from the more dire to the more powerful moments I had experienced, and he was invested in every moment, good or bad. And vice versa, he relayed stories himself, although there were twice as many comical or seductive stories than there were powerful ones, and credit to him, there were quite a few powerful ones.
His company was welcome because he had made me feel at ease, which I hadn’t felt completely in a long time. Everyone I knew had a specific tie to me, which was connected to something poignant in my life. Everyone from Essos I met because of my exile and Essos brought its own misery from time to time, everyone here I either knew before the war and subsequently knew my father and family or I knew them through an alliance and battle. William and Jorah were the only companions I had that I could associate with joyous childhood memories, but Jorah hurt me through betrayal and William will forever remind me of a time that now hurts more than it brings joy. And as much as I loved them all, no matter what, despite all this, Oberyn was new and unaffiliated somewhat. He made me smile and laugh, which was becoming rarer and rarer these days, I felt new around him, and the more time we walked the cliffs or the beach, the more I came to understand why he had such a reputation with women.

The wind on the cliffs had subsided today, instead a breeze brushed my hair around my shoulders as I sat with Oberyn overlooking the sea, my legs askew to the side whilst my other slightly leant against Oberyn. Drogon and the others flew above or rested behind – it was a peaceful setting. He didn’t seem afraid of them, enamoured like everyone else but never cautious. He embraced them much as I did.

“Have you ever noticed how they fly together is like a unique dance?” Oberyn comments looking out as Rhaegal and Eleria fly ahead amongst the distant sea and cliffs.

“I often think that. –A dance of dragons.” I concur, smiling.

“Aptly named.”

“They’re beautiful. Only fitting they make beautiful movements.” I praise.

“Just like their mother.” Oberyn flirts. My smile turns to him as I meet his own suave smile.
“And I bet you are still a charming dancer.” He adds.

“Still?” I repeat in question.

He nods smirking. “Trystane had much to say about you when he returned from that betrothal ball a couple years ago.” He begins.

I nearly roll my eyes at the thought. “You mean the ball with a hall filled with suitors I was ambushed with and subsequently embarrassed several Lord’s sons the following morning. –I’m sure they did.” I jest. We both chuckled.

“He only spoke highly of you, I assure you.” Oberyn reassures.

“How surprising.” I smirk.

“Trystane had been quite enamoured by you. He was rather upset he was not marrying you after winning that archer’s tournament.” Oberyn recalls.

“I won that tournament.” I correct smirking.

“Yes. He eventually mentioned that.” He admires through his own smirk. “He expressed what a beautiful woman you had become. How you glided across the dance floor in your blue gown, dancing around merrily like you had never left the court. Only to reveal your defiant and heated spirit when you challenged the King and beat all the sons at their own game. –Again, another moment I wish I had witnessed.” He elaborates.

“I can assure you I was very much out of my depth at that ball. I was much more at ease flying those arrows at the targets.” I reveal.

“Then a great actress you also must be. He told me you danced beautifully, something I wish to believe.” He pokes, but I smile glancing away.
“You do not like dancing?” he questions.

“I do. Or—I did. –I much preferred dancing in the streets with the people than I did at the balls. It was far more enjoyable. –Freeing.” I admit.

“I see—you’ve always been a princess of the people it sounds.” he deduces.

“I suppose you could put it that way.” I respond in thought, thinking back to the times I would be amongst the people in capitol and the surrounding village settlements. Times I would dance and sing and read and laugh. Old times. The fond memories made me smile wider.

“My, what a big smile.” Oberyn gleams. I scoff in slight embarrassment through my smile. “What are you remembering?” he queries.

I was merely remembering the times I would drag the people into dances on the streets where the musicians played. It was always a fond memory, one just for myself, on the days I would venture out for a book or a ride.
“Perhaps I do miss the dancing.” I declare happily, a small chuckle escaping me.

“Then let’s dance.” Oberyn proposes before standing to his feet.
Looking down, he bows comically and holds his hand out. “Your Grace.”

I beamed my smile in response as I took his hand and rose to stand before him. “I’m afraid I only know the formal kinds.” He seductively relinquishes as he tenderly pulls me into a close embrace to dance.
I had no words to respond, only my smile before we began to step to whatever rhythm we matched in our heads together. He stared down into my eyes as I stared up into his, our feet dancing around each other, as his hand encased my own next to us, his other softly placed at the small of my back, keeping me pressed against him as we danced on the spot.
There was no music, only the breeze around us on the cliffs and the occasional screech of Rhaegal and Eleria above, but it was unnecessary. With Oberyn it was easy. As he dipped me back, we laughed together lightly and pulling me back up, our gaze reunited again before I rested my cheek against his shoulder. We moved slower on the spot, in silence, just stepping in this safe and sweet embrace. It was odd to feel so safe with a man I hardly knew, in such a – now – foreign encounter such as this, but he was bringing back a feeling and a part of me I had forgotten existed – the gentle side of me that I realise now Jorah had always said was there. She still lived buried inside, Oberyn was only now just digging her back out. Reminding me of what I once was, and what I once loved.

“In the times Viserys would travel down to Dorne, I would often catch him and Elia dancing like this in the gardens.” Oberyn says, suddenly breaking our silence. “They were so in love. They only had eyes for each other. –Before seeing them together like that, I had never understood why some would want to marry, to spend the rest of their days just the two of you—but even they had me wondering if there would ever be a woman that could capture my heart so.” He divulged.

I wasn’t sure how to respond at first. He sounded so heartbroken. I was too at hearing it. They deserved a lifetime together, but our enemies slaughtered them.
The thought of his sister clearly still cut deep as the thought of my family did mine. In this way, we were much alike. We were bonded in grief and tragedy. Perhaps this was another reason we eased together and now I realised even Oberyn couldn’t escape being affiliated to something in my past—our past.
“I’m sorry for the tragedy that befell your brother and sister.” I sombrely speak between us, my head still rested against him in our slow movements.

“Yes. As am I. –And for your family too.” He responds with his condolence.
It was quiet again for a moment, before Oberyn filled the silence once again.

“You named your dragons after family; I recall you saying.” He brings up.

“I did.”

“I named my fifth daughter Elia, in honour of my sister. –She is difficult.” He announces, causing my head to lift. I knew he had eight daughters, he had told me as much and he loved them all dearly, his sand snakes, but he did not elaborate much more on them, especially since some of them had been killed by our enemies only recently.

“A beautiful name.” I admire.

“Yes. –But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry.” He continues, making me stop our slow dance we had kept up on the spot of the cliff. We stare into each other’s eyes again, anger but also pity in his, as I’m sure mine showed also. We were still clutched and pressed against each other until a short roar ahead of us broke us apart. We jolted from the surprise, looking ahead to see Rhaegal stood not too far eyeing us both. Eleria was behind the rest in the distance, nestling to rest. Unbeknownst to us, they must have landed whilst we had been dancing and Rhaegal was clearly interested in what we were doing, perhaps standing his ground seeing Oberyn so close, they had a tendency to be protective now and then, even if they knew I was safe.

We looked back to each other after glancing Rhaegal’s way, it was but a moment and so unsurprisingly, Oberyn’s pity and anger was still evident in his eyes.
“My dragons are very protective of me. But Drogon and Rhaegal ever more so—funnily enough much like my late husband and brother were when they were alive.” I begin, glancing back at them, before meeting Oberyn’s eyes again.
“You cannot say your daughter’s name without turning sad, and then you grow angry. –Perhaps that’s why she’s difficult.” I comment.
“The Gods love their stupid jokes, don’t they?”

“Which joke is that?” he follows up.

I sigh. “You are the Prince of Dorne, a legendary fighter, a brilliant man feared and loved throughout Westeros—but you could not save your brother and sister.” I explain. “I am a Targaryen. I have become a warrior and a champion, a Khaleesi and a Queen, the Mother of Dragons. I am daughter to the last rightful King and air to the Iron Throne—but I could not save any of my family.” I continue. “Not my parents, not my siblings, not my husband, not my son. –Power only goes so far. Sometimes I wonder what good it is, if you cannot always protect the ones you love.” I finish.

“We can avenge them.” Oberyn decrees.

“Yes. We can avenge them.” I concur.

“It seems you’ve already avenged a fair bit on our behalf already.” he points out.

“Well—you can thank Tyrion and Ramsey too.”

“Yes. Lord Tywin and Lord Roose. Killed by their own sons. –A fitting betrayal and end for such traitors.” Oberyn remarks. “I only wish I could have killed them myself. –But, it pleases me to know, yours was the sword that finally cut Ramsey and the Frey’s down.”

“Indeed.” I simply respond. I was glad of it too, but ever since the Frey’s I was doubting the person I was becoming. “And yet, after my enemies sought to eradicate the Targaryen’s, I have started to believe the real revenge would be to see a thriving and full Targaryen family back in the seat of power over Westeros, as it was. –But sadly, I cannot fulfil this final revenge. –So, Oberyn Martell—it pleases me to know that you have your youngest daughters reigning in Dorne.” I sadly appreciate.

He smiles smally. “They love their home. I do not believe they would ever leave it. They would defend it to their death—just like their half-sisters.” He now sombrely praises, honouring his three eldest, or Doran’s but he took on the role as father to them he mentioned when his brother was killed.
“They may be my youngest, but they’re still fighters. So independent from me.”

“I don’t doubt it. –In this world, girls must become strong fast, or they get hurt.” I point out.

“Not my girls. We didn’t make them strong because we had to. –We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.” He states.

“I think Myrcella would disagree with you.” I poke.

Oberyn hisses a little in reaction. “Ah. –I did not condone Ellaria’s actions when she committed such an atrocity, I can assure you. –But after—I had to stand by her, she was my paramour and mother of my daughters.” He justifies and I didn’t necessarily agree but I understood his argument.

I sigh before looking out over the cliff, finally breaking our gaze. “You see—everywhere in the world they hurt little girls.” I declare deflatingly.

It’s quiet again for a moment. He clearly saw the sadness take over me as I looked away and let me have that moment before he regained my attentions.
“Then you have never been to Dorne, My Grace.” he uplifts slightly.

I eye him pointedly.
“I swear to you, never has such a thing happened to any other in Dorne, nor will it.” he promises.

I nod. “I believe you.” I assure.
“I do wish to see it someday—Dorne, that is.” I admit, moving the sombre topic along also.

Oberyn looked pleased to hear me say such words as he smiled.
“We could go now.” He suggests abruptly.

“Now?”

“Yes. –We could fly.” He suddenly merrily suggests, uplifting the mood even more.

“I have a duty here. I can’t fly to Dorne now.” I reject.

“Why not? You wait here for news from beyond the Wall that could take days. We could be back within the next nightfall.” He puts forward, grabbing my hands excitedly.
I open my mouth to protest but he beats me to it. “You went beyond the Wall which was no duty of yours. You chose that. –So, choose this.” he argues.

I huff with a smirk at his poor excuse of an argument. “I went beyond the Wall to help procure our alliance with the North. I already have your alliance and loyalty, yourself, your ships and your army here, what good would going to Dorne now do me?” I retort.

“How about your happiness?” he counters.
He renders me speechless with his response. I wasn’t sure how to answer him.

“I can see you are not happy here, with any of these people. At least in Dorne you can be away from all this and everyone, even just for a day.” He continues.

“I am at war for my homeland, of course I am not happy. Until Cersei is dealt with, I am afraid I won’t be.” I state.

“But along the way to this, you can be—if you let yourself.” He urges, just before Rhaegal roars again, distracting us from the conversation a second time. He was still there, watching; reminding us he was.

“You could fly them to the Red Keep and end this all very quickly.” Oberyn coolly points out.

“I could.” I simply agree, before turning back to face him as Rhaegal began to creep closer to us. “But I won’t. –I cannot become a version of the very thing I am fighting.” I disdain.

“And what is that?” he pushes.

“A tyrant.”

He sighs. “You are no tyrant, Daenerys Stormborn.”

“Precisely—nor will I become one. I must continue down this road of being torn by merciful duty and—”
“Your fire-fuelled rage.” He finishes, smirking a little playfully at my political stance.

“I was going to say winning a war.” I clarify, sighing, but I can’t help myself but hint a smile back at him.

“Both are fitting.” He wittily comments.

I scowl at him, though not in annoyance. He was trying to rile me, I could tell. He was suddenly in a playful mood; he had been ever since he suggested flying to Dorne. I knew very well it was not wise to do such a thing, not with the men north of the Wall.

“Fine.” I bluntly burst, to his surprise. “We both want Cersei dead, but we won’t get that happiness today.” I begin, starting to march to, now, an even closer Rhaegal. “So—you want to fly, we’ll fly.” I state.

“To Dorne?” he queries confidently, matching my march.

“No.” I reject quickly. “Ever heard of compromise?” I now playfully queried.

“I’m familiar of the concept.” He smirks.

“I would love nothing more than to fly to Dorne with you and forget all that happens here for a time, but I can’t, I’m at war—we’re at war. –Instead, we fly the skies; along the cliffs and sea and that, for now, will have to suffice to fulfil my happiness. –How about yours?” I assert coming closer to Rhaegal, but Oberyn was not cautious in his steps, he was still matching my approach.

He smiled at my assertiveness, masked by my playfulness. “I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort.” He pokes.

I turn and stop our approach, facing him directly. I smiled, meeting his own charming beam. “No, you couldn’t.” I respond. “But that doesn’t answer my question.” I press as Rhaegal lowers his head to hover next to myself.

His eyes gazed over Rhaegal’s presence as he stared the man down. Oberyn was enamoured, I could see the bewilderment in his eyes before redirecting them back to me. “Nothing would make me happier today.” He sweetly responds.

I eye him curiously. Would riding a dragon not suffice longer than a day? “And tomorrow?” I push.

He smirks, inching forward a little. “I could think of a couple things we could do that would make me a very happy and lucky man.” He flirts, his seductive charm in full swing.

I hoped the blush in my cheeks wouldn’t give me away, so I redirected our attentions, not being sure how to respond to his comment.
I hold my hand out for him to take and he steps forward. I immediately pull and place his hand on Rhaegal’s snout. He flinched a little at the touch, causing Oberyn to a little also, but Rhaegal eased almost immediately. It was funny to me how some gravitated towards different people, they were very specific about who they liked in their presence, let alone let touch or ride them.
Oberyn exhaled loudly before he began to chuckle in excitement as he stroked Rhaegal’s snout. I smiled with him.
“Are you ready?” I ask as Rhaegal begins to lower himself for us.

“Always.” He replies before I grasp his hand back and excitedly lead him to Rhaegal’s back.

I encourage him up first and without hesitation Oberyn climbs, but I don’t follow. Smiling watching him, I turn and begin to stride for Drogon.
After a moment, I hear him calling out for me.

“What are you doing?!” he shouts.

“I’m getting on Drogon!” I shout back.

“But I don’t know how to ride a dragon!” he laughs sat unstably on Rhaegal, who now extended and flapped his wings.

“You’ll figure it out! Just hold on!” I call out just before Rhaegal suddenly takes off and Oberyn clambers to cling on.

I stood laughing as I heard his wails and woahs as Rhaegal climbed into the sky, before I hurried onto Drogon to join him up where my worries faded away, to where, as Oberyn put it, my happiness was.
And as he calmed and found his stability and rhythm on Rhaegal, the more we flew around each other, laughing and cheering, the more I saw how being in the skies truly was my happiness, especially with the right person. I could fly the skies with William and Oberyn, and probably Jon too, and feel this peace. Yet something about Oberyn, his newness, his bright and alluring nature, his charm, brought something out in me I couldn’t place. He was unlike William and Jon. Perhaps they all brought something out in me, as most friendships did, but I believed Oberyn brought out a side of me I thought I had lost. He made me feel alive again.

Walking back into the throne room, Oberyn and I smiling and laughing to ourselves after our excursion in the skies, the disposition of everyone inside was wildly opposing. As I saw the faces of Tyrion and Varys and the others, all convened in the throne room, my own dropped as Oberyn and I stopped our entrance upon seeing their expressions. I knew it had to be something about the group north.
My heart dropped.

“What is it?” I cautiously ask.

Tyrion reveals a scroll from behind him as he walks over in silence. It was deafening. I step forward to take it from him, quickly unravelling the scroll to read a rushed, short and blunt message from Davos in Eastwatch.
I look up at everyone, their faces deflated. But mine wasn’t. Mine masked my fear through determination. I knew what I had to do. I span on the spot and took one step to leave the hall faster than I entered but Tyrion stops me.
“Your Grace, you can’t go!” he calls.
I snap my head back, staring him down, awaiting a reason why.
“You can’t help them.” he follows.

“And why not?” I burst.

“You’re too important.” He retorts.

“Too important?” I repeat in scornful surprise. I was no more important than the several lives beyond the Wall on a mission that depicted the next move of the war and everyone’s lives for the war against the dead.

“The most important person in the world can’t fly off to the most dangerous place in the world.” He reasons.

“Who else can?” I counter. “Besides, I’ve been there once and survived.” I add.

“Barely.” Varys chimes.
I give him a pointed glance.
“No one can. –They knew the risks when they left. –You can’t win the throne if you’re dead. You can’t break the wheel if you’re dead.” Tyrion responds.

“So what would you have me do?” I concede sternly.

“Nothing. –Sometimes nothing is the hardest thing to do.” he pleas. “If you die, we’re all lost—everyone, everything.” He sighs.

“You’ve told me to do nothing before and I listened. –I’m not doing nothing again.” I assert coldly before finally turning back on my feet and leaving the throne room.

After hastily changing into one of the winter garments Sansa had gifted me, I opened my chamber door to see Oberyn leant against the door frame. For a second, I paused looking at him, not expecting to see him there, but quickly stepped out my chamber to move past him.
“Wait.” He stops me.
“I won’t be convinced out of this.” I immediately assert, turning to him.

“I would not dare try.” He admits and I look awaiting what he really wanted. “I was going to ask to accompany you North.”

I was surprised to hear he wanted to join, I’m sure there was a specific reason or two, but I did not have the time nor patience to stand to hear them. I turned back into my chamber, grabbed one of the winter cloaks, alike to Jon’s, and threw it at Oberyn in the doorway as I marched back to him. He caught it masterfully.
“You’ll need that.” I decree as I stride out past him, and I swore I caught a glimpse of a smirk as I did.

-

I watched as Beric knelt down alongside his friend as the morning light began to turn sky grey. The light highlighting just how much the cold was truly consuming him as he laid on the boulder.

“Thoros?”

He said nothing. Moved nothing.

“Thoros?” Beric repeated.

He was gone. Looking down, we all now knew it.
Beric covered him with his cloak as Gregor knelt down.

“They say its one of the better ways to go.” He comforts before taking Thoros’ drinking pouch and helping himself to a swig as he rose.

“Lord of Light, show us the way. Come to us in our darkness and lead your servant into the Light.” Beric speaks as Gregor takes another swig and step over, snatching it from him.

“We have to burn his body.” I remind, before emptying Thoros’ drink over his covered body, tossing it aside.

“And we’ll all be close behind him. Unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire.” Tormund remarks, causing Beric to sheathe his sword and run his hand over the blade, causing the flames to appear and burn along it. He glanced at Tormund with a pointed gaze.

“Lord of Light, come to us in our darkness. For the night if dark and full of terrors.” Beric speaks as Gregor faces away and he lights his friend ablaze.

After the fire over Thoros shortly died, and the short burst of heat was gone having done nothing to heat us up, we were all still freezing, I walked to the edge of the boulder looking out at the dead that still stood surrounding us, just staring like statues. They hadn’t moved an inch; they were just waiting.

“We’ll all freeze soon. And so will the water.” Jorah points out as he joins my side.
“Jon, when you killed the white walker, almost all the dead that followed it fell. Why?” he now questioned.

“Maybe he was the one who turned them.” I theorise.

“If we go for the walkers, maybe we’ll stand a chance.” Jorah suggests.

“No.” I dismiss, turning back to look at the tied-up walker across the boulder. “We need to take that thing back with us. A raven is flying for Dragonstone now. Daenerys is our only chance.” I state.

“No.” Beric dismisses, his eyeline not on our faces, but another’s out in the distance. “There’s another. –Kill him. He turned them all.” Beric asserts, pointing his sword straight up at the Night King and his commanders, who sat up in the distance on their dead horses overlooking us and their dead down below them.
I knew there was no way we could get to them. No way we could kill the Night King, not here. I thought back to Daenerys trying to obtain a bit of dragonglass to try and shoot him at Hardhome and she almost died just trying to get the glass.

“You don’t understand.” I reject.

“The Lord brought you back. He brought me back. No one else, just us. Did he do it to watch us freeze to death?” Beric points out.

“Careful Beric, you lost your priest. This is your last life.” Gregor reminds.

“I’ve been waiting for the end for a long time. Maybe the Lord brought me here to find it.” Beric announces.

“Every Lord I’ve ever met been’s a cunt. Don’t see why the Lord of Light should be any different.” Gregor spits.

-

“My Lady, you are the Lady of Winterfell.” Brienne obviously reminds as I stood with the scroll in hand still by the fire.

“I am. And you will represent my interests in this gathering in King’s Landing as you see them.” I instruct.

“They invited you. They want you there.” Brienne argues.

“I will not set foot in King’s Landing while Cersei Lannister is queen. They want another Stark prisoner; they can come and take me. Until then, I’ll remain where I belong. I have work to do here.” I assert before placing the scroll into the fire.

“It’s not safe.” Brienne points out.

I turn to look at her, a little confused at her comment. “Well, Ser Jamie will be there. You said he treated you honourably before.” I mildly comfort.

“I’m not worried about me. It’s not safe leaving you with Littlefinger.” Brienne worries.

I sigh. “I have many guards who would happily imprison him or behead him whether or not you’re here.”

“And you trust them? Their loyalty? You trust he hasn’t been speaking to them all behind your back? –Let me at least leave Podrick behind to watch over you. he has become a competent swordsman.” Brienne continues on.
“I do not need to be watched over or minded or cared for. I am not a child, I am the Lady of Winterfell and I am home. This is the safest place for me.” I raise my voice.

“My Lady, I swore to an oath to protect you and your sister. If I abandon you—”
“The trip to King’s Landing is long, Lady Brienne, and you won’t be travelling on summer roads. The sooner you leave the better your chances of making it on time.” I interject.

Defeated, she nods. “Yes, my Lady.”
Finally, she turned and left. But I knew she was right; Littlefinger was a problem.

-

“Dumb cunt.” Gregor spits after pelting a stone far into the distance and hitting one of the wights at the edge of their hoard in the face, breaking a part of its skull off.
He picks up another, one slightly bigger as we all sat and stood watching, as we all awaited what felt like our looming doom. He threw the second one but it doesn’t make the edge of the wights, it hits the ground, bouncing across the ice a few times before it slides across it coming to the same wights dead feet.
I slowly rose to my feet as I watched the wight glance down at the rock now sat before it. We now knew the lake was frozen for certain, but would they figure that out?

“Oh, fuck.” Gregor remarks, just before that wight takes its first step forward and begins walking across straight for us, dragging its broken sword at its side, scrapping the ice. Now we all stood alert, poised watching it, drawing weapons as several more around the circle joined it one by one, getting closer and closer.

“Fuck it.” Gregor says before marching off the boulder onto the ice and taking out the first wight with his sizeable hammer, reacting the rest of us to begin fighting off the others as they reached the boulder. Beric used his flaming sword, Tormund used his axe, Jorah used some dragonglass knives, Gregor had now switches to blades, the watchmen we had left used their swords just like I did. We all fought off the wights around the boulder as the numbers grew and grew. Luckily they were approaching slowly because of the ice, meaning we weren’t fighting them all off at once, a few at a time, but more were coming as ever second passed, soon we would be.
As one wight grabbed my side after I killed another, I tried to shove it off, but Jorah sunk his glass into the thing, pulling it off me. I didn’t have a second to show my thanks before more took their places to be killed.

We had fought off so many by this point and yet there were still thousands more. I glanced around at everyone, they were fighting tooth and nail to keep them at bay, to keep themselves alive and as I peered around, I noticed a flaming wight get past Beric and approach our tied wight across the boulder. I rush over and pierce my sword through the thing, tossing it aside. As I turn back, another pushes into me. I fall onto our wight and manage to strike this one off, and holding my sword out, a third leaps right onto it. I rose back to my feet and kept the stragglers that got through the men away from our wight, but we were becoming too overwhelmed. I noticed two more of our watchmen had been killed, dragged into a cluster of the dead.

“Fall back! Fall back!” I shout, ordering them all to come back to where I was on the boulder, where it was more elevated.
Everyone did so slowly, continuing to keep the dead off them as they did.

“Help me!” Tormund suddenly shouts and I look to see him being dragged across the boulder towards the dead, by the dead. I took a few hurried steps to aid him, but wights were everywhere, I couldn’t not fight them. I could hear him choking until suddenly he wasn’t. For a few seconds as I fought, I thought he was dead. They’d killed him. That was until I spun around and saw Gregor dragging him back to us and getting him on his feet. A quick sigh of relief escaped me as I continued fighting. All of us in a tighter circle. I took the moment, as less wights wee seeping through, to drag our wight further to the elevated edge of the boulder, out of reach.
Close, I was attacked again from behind. Quickly pushing the wight back with my hand, I all but twirled my sword in my hand and plunged backwards past my side into the wight behind me with a shout. Turning, a few more had broken through. I made quick eyes with our last watchmen a few steps to my side, and I nodded at the wight. As I fought off these stragglers, he took over dragging our wight. But more came from the side, he too had to start fighting them off as he got near the edge, and turning to help the overrun brother, I kill the back one and rush to his aid, striking the wight on him that’s pushed him to the edge, but as it falls to the side, he falls back. His hand reaches out in desperation, and I stretch out my own to catch but he falls, I couldn’t grab his hand in time. I could only watch as the large growing cluster of the dead below the boulder torn him limb from limb.
My sword dropped down against my side as I heard his screams and the dead’s attention quickly turned back up to me atop the boulder. This was where we lost. It was too late. They started to use each other to try and climb onto the boulder below as the others were still fighting behind me. Our wight was wriggling on the ground beside me as something bumped into the back of me. I finally rose my sword up in reaction but quickly saw it was Tormund. They had all been pushed well and truly back now. For a knowing few seconds, we stared before he resumed fighting in front of him. I looked back to the growing and approaching dead below me. We were fighting a lost cause, we had well and truly lost. All had been for nothing, all for a stupid wight to convince the world this threat was real, when the most important person to this fight already knew. I didn’t care about Cersei, I cared about Daenerys. I loved her, and now I wouldn’t be able to tell her. I loved her. In this moment, I knew, because facing death, I only thought of her. Perhaps it was because I knew she was the only one who could save us, but still. I loved her. She is a fighter, but so am I. So staring death in the face, I raised my sword back up and stood strong, because if I was going to die on this day, I would only go down fighting.
As the first few wights arms and skulls appeared over the edge, I pushed my sword back just a little further, ready to swing until suddenly the magnificent and mighty roar sounded just above us as the wights began to glow orange in front of me.
Dragon fire.
I quickly fell to a knee and shieled my face as I felt the hot burn of dragon fire fly over me. Feeling the gust of cold wind from its wings after it flew over us, I rose back up and looked out. The wights below me were obliterated and ahead in the sky a spec of white was atop her mighty black dragon. But it wasn’t just Drogon. As she flew up, another of her dragons swopped down and set a line of wights ablaze around the boulder, and then another, and another. They were all here, burning them all. She was stopping them all, they were. The ones that didn’t burn, fell into the shattered ice where the lines of flame struck. We all stood in awe, no longer fighting but watching as these magnificent creatures saved us.

-

There had to be a hundred thousand at least. The dead had grown. What we saw at Hardhome was becoming nothing compared to this, and Hardhome had been the most monstrous thing I’d ever witnessed. Now this was, and our men were right in the middle of it. Jon was. Jorah was.
Flying around the boulder again, I could see looking down, Jon was looking straight up at us. I thanked the Gods he was alive, and all I wanted now was to pull him up onto Drogon. Setting another blaze of fire upon an approaching hoard of dead, we landed on the boulder beside the men, Drogon continuing his fire on any mass of wights around us. Jon rushed over, standing on Drogon’s foot as others followed behind him. I stretched my hand down as he stretched his up, his panic was evident in his eyes as I’m sure my own was evident in mine, . But as Drogon was casting fire forward, several wights began to run from behind, toward the men. Jon looked away from my eyes to see their approach and didn’t hesitate to move to fight them off, to keep them away from them all. The others came to where he had been and instead I offered my hand down to an old face of the past, the Hound. But there was no time to dwell, as Oberyn and I helped the others up Drogon, with the wight they had clearly successfully caught, Jon continued to fight off the dead and was no onto the ice.

“Jon!” I call out; he wasn’t stopping. Jorah was the last left to climb on and Oberyn was now helping him up. He did not reply, he only kept killing. I looked back to see if all were now safely on. Tormund, now in-between Oberyn and I, looked at me with wide and worried eyes. The rest had the same look in their eyes. Shock they had survived and worried if they still would. I looked back to Jon and I watched him kill three more wights, practically shaking to leave, until the sound of pained screeching snapped my head away to the sky. Staring up, I watched the familiar gold set ablaze and they roared in pain. My child, my Eleria was diving down from the sky, her chest on fire and blood was raining behind her. Drogon and the others roared in reaction as my breathing stopped and my eyes followed Eleria down to the ice. As she hit the ice, I took a shocked intake of breath and now could only breath quick and sharp as I stared at my child, emptied of blood it seemed by the sheer amount that had poured out of her in her descent. Everything was silent, no one was there, everything fell away for a moment, and it was just me and Eleria. My eyes couldn’t move from where she now lay ahead, motionless. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My children were invincible, no one could touch them, no one ever had, not at this size, and yet, now as I watched Eleria slowly sink beneath the broken ice of the lake, I was struck with the fact my children were in fact killable, or at the very at least, by the Night King.

“Go!” a voice suddenly breaks through into my head. I knew that voice – it was Jon’s.

I slowly glanced back over my shoulder, my surroundings coming back to me.
“Go, now! Leave!” Jon shouts again as he was now running for us. I had to calm my breathing as I concentrated on Jon, wishing his legs would get him to Drogon quicker. I couldn’t leave without him. He sliced at a couple wights that ran at his side, one after the other until three suddenly tackled him and they disappeared through a broken piece of the ice, into the freezing water. My worried face returned but as I looked up into the distance and saw the dreaded Night King, anger replaced it. He approached the edge of their ledge with a long staph or presumably spear, like he must have used on Eleria. Upon seeing it, my mind was made. I would not lose another child. I couldn’t. I had to choose my children over Jon. I snapped my head back and told Drogon to fly. He quickly started to flap his wings and push off the boulder. We flew straight up and looking back I saw the Night King about to through, so we made a sharp turn. A few seconds later, a familiar spear flew past our heads. He missed.
With Rhaegal and Aerion in tow, we flew away from the dead. Back in the sky, I could see more dead coming. It was like we hadn’t even made a dent with the fire. And I’d just left Jon to them. I’d left a man behind.

-

Finally back at Eastwatch, and with the wight in the long boat, ready to be taken to the ship, they still weren’t leaving. Not yet. The Dragon Queen wouldn’t leave without waiting to see if Jon would miraculously appear. Everyone didn’t think so, apart from her. She hadn’t budged from a watch post back up on the Wall ever since they had all arrived.
Clegane hadn’t seen the girl since she was a child, since the Red Wedding, and he wasn’t sure what to even say to her. She was a Queen now, she probably didn’t remember his ugly mug, much too important now. A Queen with dragons, of which he had never seen before and then watched as one of them was killed. As he looked up at the sky, watching the few left she had fly around the wall and sea, he wondered how she must have felt, and more pointedly, what exactly she had been doing all these years.

“Funny in’it. Last time I saw her she was a little girl with a silly dream of being a knight. Now look at her.” Clegane comments before Tormund and Beric by the longboat.

“Oh, she’s a fighter alright. I’ve seen that woman swing a sword. Would probably butcher all you Southern folk.” Tormund remarks.

“She’s always been a fighter.” Clegane quietly tells himself, still looking up.

He finally looks back down, and nods at Tormund who returns it.
“We’ll meet again, Clegane.” Beric states as he turns to him.

“Fucking hope not.” He retorts with a hint of a smirk.

-

I wasn’t sure how long I had been standing looking out at this watchpost, but the amount of times Jorah and William had tried to encourage me away, I knew it had been a long while. Oberyn on the other hand, never said a word. He simply stood a few paces behind me, not letting me be alone, but never encouraged me away. I respected them all for their different approaches. Jorah and William only wanted to help and knew we couldn’t stay. Oberyn just didn’t want me to be alone.

“It’s time to go, your grace.” Jorah says, coming up to my side, for what time now I didnt know. I had lost count.

“A bit longer.” I softly dismiss, eyes still on the treeline far down below, and after a moment, Jorah walks away again.

However long after, I honestly couldn’t tell, Oberyn now finally stepped over to my side.
“Your grace—perhaps you should come inside.” He gently tries.

Now I knew I had been here too long. But I still don’t move, in fact this time, I don’t say a word.

“Your grace—I am sorry for your loss.” Oberyn suddenly chimes.
Silence still.

“Despite it all—it was an honour to fly at your side. You were magnificent.” He honours tenderly.

“I did nothing. My children did everything. And I watched my child fall from the sky.” I correct sombrely.
“I did nothing.” I repeat.

“You could do nothing.” He points out.

“Exactly. How do you win against death? –Even with all the realm United, how do we win against that?” I retort.

“I saw your dragons burn thousands of them.” Oberyn optimises.

I finally turn to face him, with a pointed stare. “And they have thousands more.” I respond.

“There is always a way. Always hope. –You still have three dragons.”

“The dragons are my children. They are the only children I’ll ever have. Do you understand?” I assert. Just because I have three more, doesn’t mean the loss of Eleria hurt any less.
I notice he glances up and down me, his eyes glancing for a moment at my stomach, upon hearing my words it seemed.
“What if he kills another? You saw them all, who can go against them? Against the night king?” I worry.

Oberyn grasps my shoulders. “You are the prince that was promised, no? Baelor’s champion. I believe in you. Whether it’s your command or your actions. It’s you, Daenerys. –Fuck the Nights Watch, you are the shield that guards the realms of men.” he asserts, before he relinquishes his grip and he brushes one of his fingers against my chin tenderly.

With a sorrowful glance back out, for Jon, I finally accepted, yet still couldn’t believe, he he was gone. Oberyn was right. Now his fight, our fight, was mine.
“I can only try.” I say looking out.

“And you will succeed.” He assures, before I look back to him and finally give in.
We turn to walk away, allowing him to lead me away. We take a couple steps before suddenly the horn sounds.

“Rider approaching!” A distant voice shouts along the wall. My head glances over my shoulder and I now rush back to the edge. Gripping hold of the watchpost, I peer down to see a small black horse out of the treeline. It was Jon. It had to be.

-

Sansa knocked at the door. Thankfully there was no answer or movement inside. So, creaking the chamber door open, she slid inside, closing the door behind her. As she peered around, she noticed Arya’s dagger was on the table, meaning she didn’t have it on her person. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing but shoved the thought as she strode across the room and tried opening a chest.
No luck, it was locked. She peered around again and decided on the bed.
Knelt down beside it, she felt something underneath and pulled out a satchel. Unbuttoning the hidden thing, she pulls out a face. A human’s skin, perfectly of their face. She was slightly horrified and her breathing began to quicken a little. She really didn’t know her sister anymore. She reached in again to see if there was anything else, but she just found another face. It was full of them.

“Not what you’re looking for?” Arya’s voice suddenly speaks behind. Sansa jolts up in reaction, turning to see Arya perfectly poised at the door.

“I have hundreds of men here at Winterfell all loyal to me.” she panics.

“They’re not here now.” Arya coldly points out.

“What are these?” Sansa questions, pointing down to the open satchel.

“My faces.”

“Where did you get them?”

“In Bravvos, while I was training to be a Faceless Man.” Arya answers.

“What does that mean?” Sansa asks confused.

“Back in Bravvos, before I got my first face, there was a game I used to play. The game of faces.” Arya begins as she slowly walks forward. “It’s simple, I ask you a question about yourself and you try to make lies sound like the truth. If you fool me, you win. If I catch a lie, you lose. Let’s play.” She explains.

“I don’t want to play.”

“How do you feel about Jon being King? Is there someone else you think should rule the North instead of him?” Arya questions anyway as she starts to step around the table.

“Those faces, what are they?” Sansa questions again.

“You want to do the asking? Are you sure? The game of faces didn’t turn out so well for the last person who asked me questions.” Arya calmly warns.

“Tell me what they are.” Sansa sternly demands.

“We both wanted to be other people when we were younger. You wanted to be a queen, to sit next to a handsome young king on the Iron Throne. I wanted to be a knight, to pick up a sword like father and go off to battle. –Neither of us got to be that other person did we? The world doesn’t just let girls decide what they’re going to be. But I can now, with the faces I can choose. I can become someone else. Speak in their voice, live in their skin. I could even become you.” Arya explains, before she grabs her dagger off the table beside her, her eyes not leaving Sansa’s face as she starts to walk forward with it.
“I wonder what it would feel like to wear those pretty dresses, to be the Lady of Winterfell. All I’d need to find out – is your face.”
Sansa flinches at her sudden movement before her, but she doesn’t push the dagger forward, she instead holds it out between them, flipping it around so the handle faces her. She takes it from her and Arya coolly just turns and walks away, leaving Sansa wondering who exactly had her sister become. She hadn’t been like this at first, but as soon as Jon left and she started to change, and it all started with that letter.

-

We were sailing to Dragonstone, in the middle of the journey when Jon finally woke. I had sat at his bedside the whole time, my thoughts running wild about everything that had happened and everything we would do now, until finally his eyes began to open. I could see it took a moment for him to adjust, but quickly his eyes landed and focused on me. For a moment, no words were exchanged, but I could the guilt and sorrow in his eyes now I could look into them, which just brought on my own tears back again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He weakly breathes.

I try to contain my tears, but I just lightly shake my head and peer down into my lap, without breathing a word back. He gently moves his hand across the bed and grabs my own from my lap, pulling it down to the bed to hold. His grip was lovingly squeezing me. I forced my eyes back over to him.

“I wish I could take it back. I wish we’d never gone.” He states.

I shake my head and compose myself, straightening my poise and I let go of his hand as I do, placing it back within my other in my lap. My sorrow turned to a spit of fire and determination for a moment as I think again on what happened.
“We are going to destroy the Night King and his army. We’ll do it together. Whether you help me fight Cersei or not. –You have my word.” I declare. I didn’t care about anything else right now, I didn’t care about promises or what came after. Right now, I just wanted revenge against the Night King.

“Thank you, Dany.” Jon speaks, which immediately calms me. A name I had not been called in a very long time.

I chuckle ever so lightly. “Hmm. Who was the last person to call me that…my brother. Perhaps still a little too painfully close to home.” I share.

“Alright, not dany. –How about my queen.” Jon suddenly states and my expression drops at the realisation of his words.
“I’d erh, bend the knee, but..” he lightly starts to jest.

“What about those who swore allegiance to you?” I remind, in genuine shock and awe at his words. He had always been so hard to crack down, to get those words from him, and now suddenly here they were. What changed?

“They’ll all come to see you for what you’ve done. What you are. –Their queen.” He states.

It was a moving moment, his words were so genuine and gentle, they carried so much weight and so my eyes watered again in response as I went to tenderly grasp his hand back.
“I hope I deserve it.”

He smiles at me smally as I stroke his hand with my thumb.
“You do.” he assures.

I smile back at him gratefully, and I could see the admiration in his eyes, but also his love. He was wearing it all on his sleeve, so just when I think to break the moment, my eyes going down as I try to take my hand back gently, he stops me. His hold tightens over my hand as we held the other, he keeps mine in his own, making my eyes glance back to his. He was staring lovingly still but now, I could see the want in his eyes. I wondered if I had been staring with the same in mine, if he saw the same in me. I felt confused and yet I knew some part of me loved him, but how I wasn’t sure now. Did I love Jon more than I realised, or was it just lust, like I did for Oberyn? But then even that, I wasn’t sure.
“You should get some rest.” I say, realising our stare was breaching too long, and so I finally break my hand from his loving grip and look away, somewhat awkwardly realising the feelings that were floating around and he lets my hand go. As I left the room, I knew I had much to think on.

Chapter Text

“Why isn’t she with them?” Cersei questions her Hand within the walls of the Red Keep. With everyone arriving for this supposed end of the world as we know it meeting, all her enemies were accounted for, spotted, that were known to be coming, all except one.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Your Grace. No one has seen her.” Qyburn informs, Jamie stood behind.

“And the rest of them?”

“They’re on their way to the Dragon pit now.” Qyburn states.

“Including our brother?” Cersei asks.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Cersei strides over to the Mountain. “If anything goes wrong, kill the silver-haired bitch first, then our brother, then the bastard who calls himself King. The rest of them you can kill in any order you see fit. Come Ser Gregor, it’s time for us to meet our guests.” Cersei orders before striding off in front.

-

“Why did they build it?” Missandei questions as the party walked to the Dragon Pit.

“Dragons don’t understand the difference between what theirs is and what isn’t. Land, livestock, children. Letting them roam free around the city was a problem.” Jorah explains.

“I imagine it was a sad joke at the end. An entire arena with a few sickly creatures smaller than dogs. But in the beginning, when it was home to Daenerys’ ancestor’s dragon, Balerion the Dread, it must have been the most dangerous place in the world.” Tyrion adds as they came to a crossroad in the path they walked upon, and coming from another direction came Lannister soldiers, headed by Tyrion’s old friend, Bronn. Lady Brienne and Podrick were also, interestingly among them.

“Maybe it still is.” Davos remarks as they neared.

“Welcome, my Lords. Your friends arrived before you did. I’ve been sent to escort you all to the meeting.” Bronn announces, gesturing for them to follow down the road they had just travelled up as the soldiers parted way.
Tyrion gave the go ahead, nodding to the Dothraki and the rest to head down whilst Tyrion stayed to speak to his other old friend, Podrick.

“Pleasant surprise in an unpleasant situation.” Tyrion greets.

“I’d never thought I’d see you again, my Lord.” Podrick relents.

“Supporting the enemy, no less.” Tyrion jests.

“Hard to blame you?”

“Cersei will anyway.” He retorts.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Podrick warms.

“Come on, you can suck his magic cock later.” Bronn hurries.

-

“What’s in there?” A Lannister soldier questions next to the donkey pulled cargo Sandor was leading onward.

“Fuck off.” Sandor deeply responds as Lady Brienne slows ahead to walk alongside him.

He watches her come to his side and side eyes her as they strode next to each other.
“Thought you were dead.” She announces.

“Not yet.” he simply retorts. “You came pretty close.” He adds.

“I was only trying to protect her.” Brienne defends.

“You and me both.” Sandor states.

“She’s alive, Arya.” Brienne declares.

“Where?”

“Winterfell.”

“Who’s protecting her if you’re here?” Sandor questions.

“The only one who needs protecting is the one that gets in her way.” Brienne informs.

Sandor smiles. “Won’t be me.”

-

“Here we are. The heroes of Blackwater Bay. Strange place for a reunion.” Tyrion remarks as he walked alongside Podrick and Bronn.

“It is, my Lord.” Podrick responds.

“Don’t think I’m anyone’s Lord anymore, Podrick. Save the titles for Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.” Tyrion defelcts.

“I’m sure your new queen will be happy to restore yours, if she ends up on the throne.” Bronn quips.

“Been thinking about your new queen? –Perhaps you’ve been reconsidering your allegiances. Remember my offer, whatever they’re paying you, I’ll pay double.” Tyrion offers.

“And that would be double what now, exactly?” Varys asks behind.

“Don’t you worry about me, I’m doing alright. Looking after myself.” Bronn declares.

“Are you? Helping me to arrange this meeting wasn’t exactly looking after yourself, was it? You put yourself at risk.” Tyrion points out.

“I put yourself at risk. Important difference. It’s your head queen Cersei offered a bag of gold for, not mine. Now thanks to me, she has got two traitors heads coming right through her door. She can lob them both off as soon as she gets tired of the clever words that pour out their pie holes. All thanks to Ser Bronn of the fucking Blackwater. If that’s not looking after myself, I don’t know what is.” Bronn proudly explains.

“It’s good to see you again.” Tyrion admits after a moment, as they come to the entrance of the pit.

“Yeah, you too.” Bronn retorts.

“Anyone touches it, I’ll kill you first.” Sandor declares before following after the others into the pit, leaving the cargo behind.

Inside, in the centre of the pit, the meeting was cordially set up. Three sections of seating, for the difference of houses and their allegiances. Of course, Cersei was not here yet, she needed her own entrance, just like Daenerys did. Bronn gestured for the Northern allies to their seats and the Targaryen allies opposite theirs. The head of the meeting reserved for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Come on, Pod. Let’s you and me go have a drink while the fancy folks talk, hey?” Bronn encourages once everyone was in their place.
He looked over to Lady Brienne. She nodded her approval.
Once they left, they were all left there alone. Everyone looked around at each other, everyone here was an enemy to Cersei, and the pit was a suspiciously good place for disposal of them all.
Sandor strode up to Tyrion. “I left this shit city because I didn’t wanna die in it. Am I gonna die in this shit city?”

“You might.” Tyrion simply answers.

“And this was all your idea? –Seems every bad idea there’s some Lannister cunt behind it.” Sandor pokes.

“And some Glegane cunt to help see it through.” Tyrion retorts as he spots the Mountain leading Cersei into the pit alongside Jamie, her Hand, and a company of Lannister soldiers. People moved to their seats, though stood above them. Everyone was on high alert. Enemies and long unseen friends were all around, so eyes were darting around. Sandor’s on Gregor’s, Cersei’s on Tyrion’s, Jamie’s on Brienne’s, Theon’s on Euron’s, Oberyn’s and Robert’s on Cersei’s. Eyes everywhere, and not a word from anyone, not until Cersei was sat comfortably on her regal chair and Sandor made a straight line for Gregor. As he approached, Gregor stood out from behind Cersei’s seat to meet him and cover her.

“Remember me? Yeah, you do. You’re even fucking uglier than I am now. What did they do to you? –Doesn’t matter. That’s not how it ends for you brother, you know who’s coming for you. you’ve always known.” Sandor lightly threatens before stepping back and heading away for the very reason they were all here.
There was silence again in the pit, as everyone sat, a pit now full of lions and wolves, the only thing missing was the dragon.

“Where is she?” Cersei finally scorns.

“She’ll be here soon.” Tyrion informs.

“Didn’t travel with you?” Cersei pokes.

“No.”

Again, within the silence, there was wondering eyes. Everyone was on alert, even Cersei it seemed. No one trusted anyone here, and they were all waiting for the one person who could tear them all down, should she choose.

A faint roar echoes in the sky, along with the clap and ripple of wings. More follow it. As they quickly begin to grow in volume, everyone stands to their feet once again and walks out from beneath their shaded seats, all eyes now on the skies. although, of course, Cersei remained seated, she couldn’t quite warrant or give such attention and awe to her enemy unlike everyone else, but her eyes still stared into the skies searching for her as the shadows began to circle the pit.
She was here.
Two of her dragons circled above high in the sky as one circled down, screeching its mighty cry as it flapped down and landed on the edge of the pit. It roared ever so loud, extending its wings out as it sat perched, before slowly climbing down into the pit and lowering its shoulder. A small, silver-haired figure climbed down the beast as everyone either looked on in awe or fear. The devotion the creature had as it lowered its shoulder right to the ground as Daenerys held on until she could step off onto land. She truly did control the beasts. As she walked towards the gathering, the dragon pushed off and flapped its wings, soaring up to join the others in the sky. Many watched the dragon, but Cersei watched her. Until soon, as Daenerys drew closer, all eyes were on her. Cersei’s hatred was evident on her face, her apparent worry and intimidation to the realisation of her dragons were in fact real now she saw them with her very eyes, mixed into her already hateful feelings, but surprisingly Daenerys’ did not share such eyes or expression. She simply calmly and cordially took her seat amongst her party, next to Tyrion and Oberyn, and after clasping her hands together in her lap, comfortable, she cast her eyes over to Cersei. For a moment, all they did was stare. The tension was almost unbearable.

-

“We’ve been here for some time.” Cersei all but spits.

“My apologies.” I simply respond. Not an ounce of scorn or fire within it, as discussed with Tyrion. I was not her to fight, to poke, we were here to find common ground, something of which meeting Cersei’s scorn would not achieve, only provoke.
Some surprised eyes darted around the meeting, until I landed my own on Tyrion beside me, silently telling him to begin, or rathe get on with it. I may be acting cordially, but this was the last place in the last persons company I wanted to be in. I had never imagined the first time I properly met the woman who ruined my life, I would first utter the words ‘my apologies’. A knife to the heart I would have believed.

“We are all facing a unique—“ Tyrion begins as he steps from his seat and walks to the centre of us all, until he is rudely interrupted. “Theon—” Euron calls out.
“—I have your sister. If you don’t submit to me here, now. I’ll kill her.” He continues.

Tyrion looks between Theon, who keeps his mouth shut behind, to Jamie who shrugs in response. “I think we ought to begin with larger concerns.” Tyrion dismisses.

“Then why are you talking? You’re the smallest concern here.” Euron continues to poke as he rises from his seat also.

“Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?” Tyrion turns to Theon.

“His wasn’t even good.” Theon spits from behind as Euron came to stand before Tyrion.

“Explained it at the end. Never explain it, always ruins it.” Tyrion toys.

“We don’t even let your kind live in the Iron Islands, you know. We kill you at birth, out of mercy for the parents.” Euron cruelly informs.

“Perhaps you ought to sit down.” Jamie sternly suggests.

“Why?” Euron retorts.

“Sit down or leave.” Cersei commands, followed by the Mountain, I could only assume, stepping forward to enforce it the threat. Euron looks back and finally complies with a chuckle.

Tyrion takes a few more steps closer to the centre, closer to Cersei, before he finally begins. “We are a group of people who do not like one another. As this recent demonstration has shown, we have suffered at each other’s hands, we have lost people we love at each other’s hands. If all we wanted was more of the same there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face to face.”

“So instead, we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?” Cersei jests.

“We all know that will never happen.” Tyrion retorts.

“Then why are we here?” She scorns.

Tyrion looks over to Jon, who now rose to his feet and joined him before the others. “This isn’t about living in harmony. It’s just about living. –The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can’t negotiate with, an army that doesn’t leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They’re about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead.” Jon starts to explain.

“I imagine for most of them it’ll be an improvement.” Cersei smirks, arising my annoyance.

“Only due to your neglection and resentment.” I calmly bite causing her eyes to glare back at me.

“This is serious. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.” Jon asserts, bringing her gaze back.

“I don’t think its serious at all, I think its another bad joke. –If my brother Jamie has informed me correctly, you are asking me for a truce.” Cersei follows on, looking from Jon back to me.

“Yes. –That’s all.” I confirm. As much as it pained me to say it.

“That’s all?” she repeats in a calm mockery manner, copying my own. She leans forward in her chair, a scowl appearing on her face as she stared. “Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt. Or while you solidify and expand your position, hard for me to know which it is, with my armies pulled back. Until you return and march on MY capital with four times the men.” she strategizes, and it angered me to hear her say ‘my’ capital, and she knew it would, she emphasised it too much for it not to be a poke at my expense.

“THE—capital will be safe until the Northern threat is dealt with. You have my word.” I assure.

“The word of a would-be usurper.” Cersei spits.

“Says the woman sat on my father’s throne, who usurped it twice.” I retort sternly back, meeting her annoyed and challenged gaze this time. I couldn’t help but bite back.

“There is no conversation that will erase the last forty years. –We have something to show you.” Tyrion announces, cooling the tension as Sandor emerges from beneath the pit with the very reason we were here locked in a crate on his back. Ahead, he kneels and lands the crate down on the ground as Tyrion moves back to the side. All eyes watched Sandor as he unlocked the thing and slid the top off hastily.
For a long moment, nothing happened, and Cersei looked wildly unimpressed as she glanced to Jamie. Until, Sandor kicks the crate over and spills the wight out onto the ground, provoking the god awful screech they made as it set its sights forward. Cersei jumped in her seat and recoiled back against it, grasping hold of the arms, like Jamie and the others beside her. The Mountain stood poised at Cersei’s side, hand on his hilt as the wight ran straight for Cersei. Sandor grabbed the chains it was locked to and stopped the wight just before her, it reached and swung for her, right in front of her now terrified eyes. Sandor pulled it back with all his might and it went flying back onto the ground, squirming, screeching. Jamie and the mountain stood ready around Cersei and the thing started to rise back up to its feet, but now its sights were jolted back onto Sandor. He pulled out his sword as the wight now sprinted for him and he struck the thing through the middle, cutting it in half. Its legs squirmed lightly on the ground whilst its top half continued to screech and claw and crawl its way still towards him slowly as the onlookers all looked on either with knowing disdain or sheer bewilderment and disgust. Even Cersei looked on with fear at the unknown dead looking thing before her that crawled despite being cut in half. Her hand rose, looking merely in astonishment as he now approached the creature as Sandor stuck its forearm clean off and across the ground as the thing reached for him. Cersei’s Hand pick the forearm up and watched as its fingers continued to move in curiosity.
Jon and Ser Davos walked up to the man and he handed the forearm over to Jon as Davos lit a torch. Jon held both up in his hands as the creature continued to snarl behind.
“We can destroy them by burning them.” He illustrates as he sets the forearm on fire and its movements cease after a moment.
He drops it as it burns and unsheathes a specific dagger from his belt. “And we can destroy them with dragonglass. –If we don’t win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world.” He continues before stepping back and stabbing the wight dead with the dragonglass.
The pit fell silent once again for a short time.

Jon walked forward, closer to the centre, closer to Cersei.
“There is only one war that matters: The Great War. And it is here.” he announces.

“I didn’t believe it until I saw them. –I saw them all. Twice. –And the second time there was infinitely more than the last.” I inform.

“How many?” Jamie questions.

“Hundred thousand, at least.” I answer and his eyes widen, his expression falls into one of worry.

In the silence, again, Euron storms from his seat towards the dead wight, looking over the thing.
“Can they swim?” he asks.

“No.” Jon responds.

“Good. –I’m taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands.” Euron declares, looking back to Cersei.

“What are you talking about?” she asserts.

“I’ve been around the world, I’ve seen everything, things you couldn’t imagine. And this—this is the only thing I’ve ever seen that terrifies me.” he proclaims before stepping aside and coming to stand before me. Everyone tenses around me, Oberyn in his seat, inching forward, I hear others behind grab hold of their weapons and shuffle around behind. I simply sit still and meet his gaze.
“I’m going back to my Island. You should go back to yours. When winters over, we’ll be the only ones left alive. I look forward to it princess.” He winks, before taking his leave.

“He’s right to be afraid, and a coward to run. If those things come for us, they’ll be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered will have been for nothing, everything we lost will have been for nothing.” Cersei begins to declare, and her eyes meet mine again. “The Crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true—enemy.” She states.
I sense some relieve in many expressions around, but it was short lived.
“In return, the King in the North will extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs, he will not take up arms against the Lannisters, he will not choose sides.” She demands and as much as I try to keep my knowledge of what Jon had done on the boat ride down off my face, I can see Jon can’t. So, I try to divert the attention off him a second.

“Just the King in the North? Not me?” I question calmly.

Cersei lightly chuckles to herself. “I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it, and if you did, I would trust you even less than I do now.” She spits.

“You’re right—I wouldn’t.” I concur.

“I ask it only of Ned Stark’s son. I know Ned Stark’s son will be true to his word.” Cersei proclaims.

Jon looks between Ser Davos and then to me. As lightly and unnoticeably as I could, I try to tell him no, shaking my head ever so slightly.

“I am true to my word, or I try to be. –That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens.” He states and Cersei’s face drops. “And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.” He announces.
Now everyone knew. He had given up his crown for mine. And it wasn’t just loving words shared in private, he truly meant them.

“Then there is nothing left to discuss.” Cersei spits as she rises from her seat. “The dead will come North first, enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you.” she declares in hatred before she marches away and her company following.

Everyone stood around, unsure on what to do next, worried of what would come next, and Jon looked around regretfully.
“Wish you hadn’t done that.” Davos quips as I marched myself over to Jon.

“I am grateful for your loyalty, but my dragon died so that we could be here. If its all for nothing, then she died for nothing.” I express.

“I know.” Jon sorrowfully responds.

“I’m pleased you bent the knee to our queen. I would have advised it, had you asked. But have you ever considered learning how to lie every now and then? Just a bit!” Tyrion pokes.

“I’m not gonna swear an oath I can’t uphold. –Talk about my father if you want, tell me that’s the attitude that got him killed. But when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies and lies won’t help us in this fight.” Jon defends.

“That is indeed a problem. The more immediate problem is that we’re fucked.” Tyrion retorts.

“Any ideas as to how we might change that state of affairs?” Oberyn chimes in.

“Only one. Everyone stays here and I go and talk to my sister.” Tyrion states.

“I didn’t come all this way to have my hand murdered.” I reject.

“I don’t want Cersei to murder me either, I could have stayed in my cell and saved a great deal of trouble.” He responds.

“I did this. I should go.” Jon offers.

“She’ll definitely murder you, son. Best you stay here with us.” Robert points out.

“I go see my sister alone. Or we all go home, and we’re right back where we started.” Tyrion asserts.

After a second, I nod my acceptance and he takes his hesitant leave from the pit. As I watched him go, I truly wondered if I would see him again – alive.

-

“You spoke with her?” Tyrion asks as the Mountain escorted him before Cersei’s chamber and Ser Jaime vacating it.

“At her. Until she kicked me out. –She thinks I was an idiot to trust you. A lot of people seem to think that actually.” Jamie pokes.

“I’m going to step into a room with the most murderous woman in the world, who has already tried to kill me twice, that I know of. Who’s an idiot?” Tyrion deflatingly jests.

“I suppose we should say goodbye. One idiot to another.” Jamie responds before stepping aside for Tyrion to enter. For a moment, he hesitated, before following after the Mountain inside and walked on ahead to find Cersei sat at her desk, staring him down in his approach.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose, she is your kind of woman. A foreign whore who doesn’t know her place.” Cersei spits.

“A foreign whore you cannot abduct, beat or intimidate. That must be difficult for you.” Tyrion retorts.

“So, you bring her here with all her pets to enrage me, is that it?” Cersei scorns.

“Pets?” Tyrion queries.

“William Baratheon, Oberyn Martell, Jon Snow. –They all want to get between her legs. No doubt she’s let some of them. I mean, her pet northerner whom you’ve convinced to bow down before her—” Cersei begins.
“I didn’t know about that.” Tyrion informs as she continued. “—and you’ve got them both working towards the same goal. The goal you’ve worked towards your entire life—"
“Cersei, I didn’t know.” Tyrion repeats.
“—the destruction of this family.” She finishes.

“I am the one preventing that from happening. Daenerys didn’t want to debate and negotiate. She didn’t want to bring you words, she wanted to bring you fire and blood. She wanted to fight. Until I advised her otherwise. I don’t want to destroy our family, I never have.” Tyrion states as he watched Cersei’s eyes glaze over with tears from her anger.

“You killed our father.” She reminds.

“After he sentenced me to death for a crime I didn’t commit. Yes, I killed him. hate me for it, if you want, I hate myself for it, in spite of what he was, in spite of what he did to me.” Tyrion defends.

“Oh, poor little man, your papa was mean to you. –Do you have any idea what you did when you fired that crossbow? You left us open. You laid us bear for vultures and the vultures came and torn us apart. You may not have killed Joffrey, but you killed Myrcella, you killed Tommen. No one would have touched them if father was here, no one would have dared.” Cersei passionately scorned as Tyrion strode to the front of her desk.

“I have never been more sorry about anything—” Tyrion begins.
“I will not hear it, not from you.” Cersei interrupts this time.
“I—”
“I will not hear it!” She shouts, rendering the room silent for a moment between them.

“Alright. You love your family, and I have destroyed it. I will always be a threat, so put an end to me.” Tyrion declares, peaking her attention as she stared him down, rage and sorrow in her eyes.
“If it weren’t for me, you’d have a mother. If it weren’t for me, you’d have a father. If it weren’t for me, you’d have two beautiful children. I’ve thought about killing you more times than I can count.” Tyrion goads before turning and stepping over to the Mountain.
“Do it! Say the word.” He challenges as the Mountain sheathes the top of his sword out in anticipation.
Cersei continued to stare him down, poised at her desk leant forward, rigid as she almost shook with anger.
Until, she finally relented with an annoyed sigh and leant back in her seat, glancing away from them both.

Tyrion breathed again as the Mountain’s sword found its place back in its case. With Cersei’s eyes closed, trying to contain her apparent tears, Tyrion strode over to the decanter and goblets of wine beside the desk. For now, he would keep his life, and needed the refreshment.
He poured a goblet for Cersei and left it on the desk, before grabbing the other for himself.
“I am more sorry about the children than you can ever know.” Tyrion continues from before.
“I will not—“ Cersei tries again, more calmed.
“I don’t care. I loved them. You know I did. You know it in your heart, if there’s anything left of it.” he proclaims before pouring his wine finally.

“Doesn’t matter. Your love doesn’t matter, your feelings don’t matter. I don’t care why you did what you did. I only care what it cost us. It cost us our future.” She spits.

He places the decanter back down and steps back to the front of the desk to take a seat. “If there is no future, then why are we here? Why did you allow me to come?” Tyrion questions.

“Not to help my enemies collaborate in my destruction.” Cersei points out.

“Yes, not what you hoped for, but you must have hoped for something?” Tyrion presses.

“What did you hope for? To make Jon Snow submit to your queen?” Cersei scorns.

“Mm, not like this.”

“But eventually you want everyone to bend the knee to her.” Cersei points out the obvious.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I think she will make the world a better place.” Tyrion declares.

“You said she’d destroy King’s Landing.” Cersei contradicts.

“I said she wanted to bring you fire and blood, not King’s Landing.” Tyrion corrects.

“They’re one in the same. She cannot destroy me with fire and blood without destroying the Red Keep at the very least.” Cersei challenges.

“She is not like you. She does not care for thrones, crowns and castles. She actually cares for the people said thrones, crowns and castles overlook.” Tyrion defends.
“And she knows herself. She chose an adviser who would check her worst impulses instead of feeding them. That’s the difference between you.”

“I don’t care about checking my worst impulses, I don’t care about a single soul down in that city, I don’t care about making the world a better place, hang the world.” Cersei declares, as she strokes her belly with one hand subconsciously, something Tyrion does not fail to miss.
“That thing you dragged here, I know what it is, I know what it means. And when it came at me I didn’t think about the world, not at all. As soon as it opened its mouth the world disappeared for me, right down its black throat. All I could think about was keeping those gnashing teeth away from the ones who matter most, away from my family. –Maybe Euron Greyjoy had the right idea, get on a boat, take those who matter—”
“You’re pregnant.” Tyrion interjects, no interested in what words she had to say. He could use this.
She stares him down without a word.

-

I watched him, brooding alone in a corner, feeling sorry for himself no doubt. I felt sorry for him, but I respected him all the more. As I approached him, I saw he was fiddling with a small dragon’s skull when he turned to face me.

“No one’s less happy about this than I am.” Jon deflates, looking back down at the skull, averting my gaze.

“I know. –I respect what you did. Wish you hadn’t done it, but I respect it.” I soften, before stepping forward, closer to him and hold out my hand to inspect the small skull he held, no larger than a dogs.

“It seems this place was the beginning of the end for my family.” I state. The longer we stood waiting in the pit, the more I grew lonely, pitiful, sorrowful. Being in King’s Landing would always feel strange now, especially in the places I used to call home, such as this. William and I used to play here from time to time. I glanced back at him amongst everyone else at the provoked memory, oddly already looking our way. He averted his eyes; I wondered for a second what he may have been thinking. With everything going on and that had happened recently, I felt I hadn’t had much time with him. Nor did I see that changing anytime soon with all the war I could smell on the horizon. Then I turned back to Jon, and I suddenly realised he was the reason. And yet, with Jon gone, Oberyn seemed to appear and take his place. My time spent with William had been substituted by another, and another. Everything evolved so quickly here, but I let those thoughts slide away, before I carried myself away from the point I had begun to discuss with Jon.
“Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. –A dragon is not a slave.” I translate sadly. “They were terrifying, extraordinary, they filled people with wonder and awe, and we locked them in here. –They wasted away; they grew small. And we grew small as well. We weren’t extraordinary without them; we were just like everyone else. Not that it’s a bad thing, but perhaps that’s exactly what led people, like the Lannister’s, to think they could kill us all. They realised we too die just like everyone else.” I point out as I drop the skull.

“You’re not like everyone else.” Jon retorts softly, admirably. It was simple, short, but I felt the love in it all the same. I smiled ever so slightly in response, out of politeness more than anything, because I didn’t agree with him. Standing in this crowd, in this pit again, I started to question our power, my power. I was like everyone else, we all were, and this small group decided the fate of many over a whole kingdom. I was beginning to feel smaller and lonelier than ever.
Then Jon took a step closer to me, stood right before me, quite close for comfort but I didn’t shy away.
“And your family hasn’t seen its end—you’re still here.” He states.

“I can’t have children.” I proclaim.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

“The witch who murdered my husband.” I simply answer. All that felt like such a lifetime ago, and still a prang of hurt and grief snuck through me.

“Has it occurred to you she might not have been a reliable source of information.” He retorts, making me huff a small breath in amusement to his remark. He was a very literal man. A good and simple man.

“You were right from the beginning. If I’d trusted you everything would different.” I admit.

“So, what now?” he questions.

“I can’t forget everything I’ve seen North of the Wall, and I pledged to fight for you.” I begin.
“And I, you.” Jon interjects.
I nod. “But I can’t pretend that Cersei won’t take back half the country, or worse, the moment I march North.” I continue.

“It appears Tyrion’s assessment was correct—we’re fucked.” Jon smiles.
I smile back, before the sound of marching begins to sound in the distance. Looking around to see, Jon turning, we were faced by Tyrion walking on ahead of Cersei and her men. Alongside Jamie, her Hand and the Mountain, she strode back into the centre where we all stood waiting, Tyrion now finally back at my side, safe from the enemy’s grasp, his family’s.

“My armies will not stand down. I will not pull them back to the Capitol. –I will march them North to fight alongside you in the Great War.” She declares, making Jon and I’s gaze dart to Tyrion, he seemed mighty pleased with himself. “The darkness is coming for us all; we’ll face it together. And when the Great War is over, perhaps you’ll remember I chose to help, with no promises or assurances from any of you. –I expect not.” she pokes.
“Call our banners, all of them.” Cersei calls aside to her Hand and men, whilst we all stood looking in shock, to say the least. Tyrion had done it. I couldn’t say I was happy, content or pleased in this moment, to be fighting side by side with the very woman who had orchestrated the downfall of my family, but at least I hadn’t lost Eleria for nothing. I hoped.

-

“It’s not easy for ravens to fly in these storms. Perhaps Jon tried to send word earlier.” Littlefinger reasons as Sansa sat at her desk, irritated at the scroll she now fiddled with in her hand.

“No. This is the way he is, the way he’s always been. Never asked for my opinion, why would he start now.” Sansa deflatingly scorns.

“I can’t believe he’d surrender the Northern crown without consulting you.”

“This is his writing, his signature. He’s pledged to Daenerys; he’s bent the knee. Now, I like Daenerys, we all do, I just didn’t know he liked her that much. He’s given up our freedom when we’ve just taken it back, with her help I might add.” Sansa dismisses.

“I dare say that may have been her goal. To help you get it, win your trust and admiration, and then it becomes hers.” Littlefinger suspects.

“Perhaps. But I suppose you can’t blame her; she’s fighting for the throne. –I just cannot believe Jon would give it up like that.” Sansa moans.

“You know—the Dragon Queen is quite beautiful.” He points out.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Sansa questions.

“They have grown fond of each other, have they not?”

“Yes, as I am fond of Bran or Arya.” Sansa compares.

“Perhaps in a different way?” Littlefinger deduces, making Sansa ponder. “Jon is young and unmarried. Daenerys is young and unmarried.”

“You think he wants to marry her?” Sansa deduces.

“An alliance makes sense. Together they’d be difficult to defeat.” He points out.
“He was named King in the North. –He can be unnamed.” He continues.

“Even if I wanted to, Arya would never go along. She always loved Jon, far more than she ever loved me and she’d kill anyone who betrayed her family.” Sansa states.

“You’re her family too. Would Arya really murder her own sister?” Littlefinger dismisses.

“Do you know what she is now? Do you know what the Faceless Men are?”

“Only by reputation. They worship the God of Death, I believe. –I never trust godly men.” Littlefinger answers.

“They’re killers. And Arya was one of them.” Sansa declares.
“What do you think she’s after?” she questions after a moment of silence between them.

“She’s your sister. You know her far better than I ever could.”
“Sometimes, when I’m trying to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What’s the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say and doing what they do? Then I ask myself, how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do? So, tell me, what’s the worst thing she could want.” Littlefinger urges.

“She could want me dead, because she thinks I wronged my family.” Sansa analyses.

“Why did she come to Winterfell?” He pushes.

“To kill me. For marrying our enemies and betraying our family.”

“Why did she unearth the letter Cersei made you write?”

“To provide proof of my betrayals. To provide justification after she murders me.” Sansa rationalises.

“And, after she murders you, what does she become?”

“Lady of Winterfell.” Sansa states and Littlefinger looks at her pointedly.

-

“If we have the Dothraki ride hard on the King’s Road, they’ll arrive at Winterfell within the fortnight.” Jon plans, as our council of men stands back around the Dragonstone table.

“And the Unsullied?” I question.

“They can sail amongst all our ships with us, your Grace. Yours and mine.” Oberyn chimes in.

“We can sail to White Harbour and meet the Dothraki here on the King’s Road, then ride together to Winterfell.” Jon continues, pointing amongst the map, and I nod in understanding.

“Perhaps you should fly to Winterfell, your Grace. There are always enemies everywhere. All it takes is one man with a crossbow. He’ll see your silver hair on the King’s Road and one well placed bolt will make him a hero to Cersei Lannister. The man who killed the conqueror.” William cautions.

“I think her Grace has proved herself quite capable of looking after herself.” Oberyn chimes once again.

“Even she can’t stop the flight of an arrow. I agree with William.” Jorah backs.

I subtly glance a look to Tyrion at my side. I saw in his sly glance he was thinking the same too. Seeing the lot of them converse about how I might travel to Winterfell finally made me see Tyrion’s point. I could see it in their arguments, their demeanours, their defence. It was subtle, but it was most certainly there. Perhaps they did all love me, in their own ways.

“It’s your decision, your Grace. But if we’re gonna be allies in this war, its important for the Northerners to see us as allies. You already have their respect and admiration for fighting alongside them and me, but that was as free men. Now I’ve bent the knee, well, as I’ve always said, they may not look kindly on you as a Southern ruler.” Jon points out. “If we sail to White Harbour and then ride together, I think it sends a better message.” He adds.

I look around at all the faces at the table. There were many quiet faces, like Robert and Lord Tarly, men who considered themselves too old for the likes of war in these days, yet I would always welcome their council, when they did choose to impart it that is. Then there were the men who I would call more than allies now, seeing as they have weaselled their way into my hearts. In this moment, looking at them all, I wondered how I could have let such a thing happen. And where my heart truly lied.
“I’ve not come to conquer the North, I coming to save the North.” I state, glancing at William and Jorah. “I’ve fought alongside them once before, and I’m returning once again to do the same, only this time with an army. I’m confident they’ll see me as an ally either way.” I now look to Jon.
“We sail together, however.” I add in finality, with a nod from Jon, although my eyes glazed over to Oberyn, who seemed equally as satisfied at the notion.

-

“Our men in King’s Landing will march North in three days time.” Jamie announces to his King’s Guard and commanders, gathered within with the Keep.

“It’ll take us a fortnight just to gather supplies for the train.” One commander points out.

“We don’t have a fortnight. If the North falls, we fall. Three days. The remaining forces in the Wester Lands will take the River route East, we’ll meet at Lord Halway’s town and march together to Winterfell.” He outlines.

“Ser Jamie.” Cersei calls out as she overlooks the gathering of men. They all turn and bow in her presence.
“Your Grace.” he replies.

“My Lords, I need a moment alone with my brother.” she commands before making her way down to Jamie as they left the room.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Preparing for the expedition North.” Jamie answers, his response as if it were obvious.

“The expedition North? I always knew you were the stupidest Lannister.” She spits.
“The Stark’s and Targaryen’s have united against us, along with what’s left of the Martell’s and Baratheon’s, and you want fight alongside them. Are you a traitor or an idiot?” she continues.

“You pledged our forces to fight our common enemy.” Jamie reminds.

“I’ll say whatever I need to say to ensure the survival of our house. You expect me to trust the man who murdered our father? You expect me to command our troops to fight beside foreign scum? To fight for the Dragon Queen?” she scorns, her annoyance so evidently visible.

“You saw it with your own eyes, you saw a dead man try to kill us.” Jamie argues.

“And I saw it burn. If dragons can’t stop them, if Dothraki and Unsullied and Northmen can’t stop them, how will our armies make a difference?” She retorts.

“This isn’t about noble houses; this is about the living and the dead.” Jamie states.

“And I intend to stay amongst the living. Let the Stark boy and his new queen defend the North. We stay here where we’ve always been.” Cersei affirms.

“I made a promise.” Jamie declares.

“Our child will rule Westeros.” Cersei points out.

“Our child will never be born if the dead come South.” Jamie retaliates.

“The monsters are real. The White Walkers, the dragons, the Dothraki screamers, all the frightening stories we heard when we were young, they’re all real, so be it. Let the monsters kill each other, and while they battle in the North, we take back the lands that belong to us.” Cersei declares herself.

“And then what?”

“And then we rule.”

“When the fighting in the North is over, someone wins, you understand that don’t you? If the dead win, they march South and kill us all. If the living win, and we’ve betrayed them, they march South and kill us all. I can’t imagine Daenerys liked that gathering with you anymore than you did with her, you think she’ll be as courteous and cordial the next time we see her?” Jamie exclaims, raising his voice in frustration.

“If we see her. Regardless, the Targaryen’s and the Stark’s already want to kill us all. Most of them will die at—” Cersei begins but Jamie steps forward, closer to her, and cuts her off. “I faced them in the field, we can’t beat them. We can’t beat their dragons.” He reminds.

“How many dragons did you see at the Pit?” Cersei questions.

“Three.”

“What happened to the fourth?”

“For all we know its guarding a fleet.” Jamie exclaims.

“She came here with her dragons, her Dothraki and her Unsullied, she came here to show us all her power. No, something happened. Her dragons are vulnerable.” Cersei deduces. “And you’re forgetting I have my own power.” she adds.

“What because of that ridiculous mirror you talk to? Besides, I’ve heard you say yourself recently that your power is weakening. We can’t rely on that anymore. Its been years since you could conjure up something as powerful as an army. And we can’t beat the Dothraki, we don’t have the numbers, we don’t have the support of the other houses.” Jamie worries.

“We have something better than them; we have the Iron Bank. –You should have listened more father spoke about the importance of gold. I know, it’s boring for you, you just wanted to hunt and ride and fight, but I listened, I learned, and now look at me—at least I have a power, and I sit on the throne. All you have is a sword.” She spits. “The Golden Company is the most powerful army in Essos. 20,000 men, horses, elephants I believe.” Cersei continues.

“The Golden Company is not here, they’re in Essos. How is a mercenary company in Essos going to help us?” Jamie spits.

“Do you really think Euron Greyjoy turned tail and sailed back to the Iron Islands? Do you think he abandoned the chance to marry the queen? No one walks away from me.” Cersei declares sternly, much to Jamie’s surprise and subtle disappointment.
“He’s sailing with his fleet to Essos, he’s going to ferry the company back here to help us win the war for Westeros.” She explains.

“You plotted with Euron Greyjoy without telling me the command of your armies?” Jamie dissects hurt.

“And you conspired with Tyrion, the man who murdered our father, without telling me, your queen.” She retaliates.

“I didn’t conspire—”
“You met with him in secret without my consent. You planned to promote my enemies’ interests, that is the definition of conspiracy.” Cersei interjects with annoyance.

“I pledged to ride North; I intend to honour that pledge.” Jamie states.

“Then that will be treason.”

“Treason?” Jamie exclaims.

“Disobeying your queens command and fighting with her enemies. What would you call it?” Cersei affirms.

Jamie shakes his head in disgust, that his own blood, his lover, his sister would say such a thing against him. “Doesn’t matter what I’d call it.”
He turns to leave but is met by the Mountain, suddenly blocking his exit. He looks back to Cersei.

“I told you no one walks away from me.” She exerts.

“Are you going to order him to kill me? –I’m the only one you have left, our children are gone, our father is gone, it’s just me and you now.” Jamie retaliates.

“There’s one more yet to come.” She responds coolly.

“Give the order then.” Jamie challenges, the pair of them defiantly staring the other down, until she finally gave the nod to the Mountain. He had challenged her, but he didn’t think she could do it, and as the ring of the Mountain’s sword was heard behind him as the monster wielded it in his hand, Jamie’s expression dropped, his eyes welled. Cersei saw his actions, his words as betrayal, but really, what she was doing was the biggest betrayal of them all.
And so, looking into her eyes, he made his choice.

“I don’t believe you.” he declares and turns to leave, walking around the Mountain without a scratch and marching out the room.

Determined to keep his promise, sat full of sorrow and guilt on his horse, now leaving the capitol, his family, for the North, for the living, a small spec of snow landed on Jamie’s leather glove. As he peered up into the grey sky, he realised that Winter had truly and finally arrived.

-

With her knock on the door, Sansa stood herself in the doorway of Bran’s chambers, finding him sat in his chair by the fire, peaceful as ever.
“I’ve just received word. Jon and Daenerys are on their way to Winterfell, they’ll be here within the fortnight. The Lannisters have pledged to fight alongside us.” she announces.

Bran doesn’t even turn his head. “We’ll need every man to fight him.” He simply replies.

“Him? –You mean the Night King?” Sansa clarifies. Bran simply nods.

“Bran—what happened to you beyond the Wall? You don’t talk about it.” Sansa gently presses and finally he turns his head her way.

“I became the Three Eyed Raven.” He answers.

“Yes, but—I don’t know what that means.”

“I can see things that happened in the past, and I can see things happening now, all over the world.” He elaborates.

“Oh—right. That clears it up.” Sansa quips before the silence that fell onto them. She took that as her moment to leave and took a step back from out the doorway.

“Did you know Jon bent the knee to Daenerys?” Bran suddenly asks, pausing her exit.

Sansa was ever so slightly amazed. She realised what he said must be true for she hadn’t told him that part and only she knew as of yet. “I did. He told me in the raven’s scroll.” She confirms.

Bran looks back to the fire. “He needs to know the truth.” He announces.

“The truth about what?” Sansa questions confused.

“About himself. No one knows, no one but me.” Bran declares.

Sansa found herself worrying alongside her confusion now as she stepped herself inside his chambers to find out more. Closing the door behind her, she came further in the room.
“What is it, Bran?” she presses.

“Jon isn’t really our father’s son. He’s the bastard son of Aerys Targaryen, born in a tower in Dorne to a servant girl he fell in love with during the Dornish skirmish. His last name isn’t really Snow, it’s Sand.” Bran casually states much to Sansa’s utmost surprise.

“Bran, your—your certain of this?” she furrows in shock.

“The Dornish weren’t satisfied by the lack of interest in their daughters and sisters for wives and lack of trade they were receiving, so they staged an uprising. Father had to travel down to help rally men of the houses in unity to settle the small uprising.” Bran elaborates.

“Yes, he always said that’s where Jon came from, his weeks away for Dorne. But that he was his own bastard not the King’s. How do you know this to be true?”

“Like I said, I can see things that happened in the past. Jon asked me to find out the truth about his mother before he left. I found it, as well as his father’s.”

“What exactly did you find?” Sansa questions.

“The King fell for a servant girl that accompanied them down as their cup bearer and servant for feasts and the like, one of Robert’s. They grew close, and closer still in the time, until they finally consummated their love.” Bran explains.

“But father would always speak of the King and Queen’s love, his love for Aunt Elena. They were a formidable and strong couple, a love to rival all across the Seven Kingdoms.” Sansa rejects.

“It seems even the strong can succumb to weakness.” Bran rationalises.

Sansa looked around stunned. “I cannot believe this.”
“So, as the story goes, when father travelled back down to receive the child, to retrieve Jon, it was really the King’s son. Why, by all the Gods would he agree to that, to claim him as his own, for all these years.” Sansa began to pace.

“He witnessed the love the King had for this woman. I saw him warn him, that he would kill him if he ever hurt Elena, but they also had their own bond, a brotherly bond. When they discovered she was pregnant, the King travelled back down to Dorne and called father back down for it. They kept her hidden in a tower with a trusted few until she soon gave birth.” Bran informs.

“What became of the mother?” Sansa questions.

“She died in childbirth. The King and our father made a vow not to speak a word of it to Aunt Elena because they knew it would break her heart. The King was adamant he still loved her with all his heart and couldn’t do such a thing to her. Father agreed for Elena’s sake. Better to put a thorn in his own marriage than the King and Queen’s who rules over us all, he said.” Bran relays.

“And so, he brought Jon to us, naming him his own bastard from the Dornish skirmish. All these years, he’s—Bran—this means Jon is the only living son of Aerys Targaryen. He’s—he’s not our brother—he’s Daenerys’ brother.” Sansa realises in slight distress.

“Yes. And his real name is Aerys Sand.” Bran announces.
“He needs to know; we need to tell him.”