In her youth, Daenarys Targaryen had pondered visions of what she dreamed Kings Landing to look like. It was her natural birth right as blood of the dragon and heir to the Targaryen dynasty of course. However, it was her brother Viserys, in his few kinder moments of adolescence, who first perked her interest, telling her tales of what he could remember from the corridors of the palace he once called home. He would speak aloft and proud of the throne their empire had set its foundations upon in Westeros and the views that would stretch for miles at its peak, overlooking the aura of beauty that was their pinnacle of their world. To the north lay an open expanse of rolling, fertile fields known as the 'river lands', ever blooming with wildflowers and delivering colourful characters along the Kingsroad every day. The shimmering beauty of the narrow sea glistened in the east, where traders from strange and distant lands brought the finest goods and revealed in the wealth and hospitality of the city.
He spoke of the majesty of the Red Keep and the gleaming corridors of the palace, a bustle of noise and activity, even as the war against the usurper came toward its conclusion. What he described sounded almost as close to perfect as perfect could get. Such was the scene through such youthful eyes, particularly those of a juvenile prince. He spoke of a time when Targaryen rule of those lands was as standard and well thought of as the common tongue. Now she had stepped foot onto those lands however, she felt like the one out of place.
There had been many various tales from those they came across in their early days in Essos. The accounts varied of course, their being in exile to places like Pentos in the first place due to their abandon of the Westerosi lands and culture. Still, it was her brother's stories she kept closest, even as his ambitions got the better of him. It seemed like the only truth he ever spoke in the end as his mind slowly descended into the fabled family madness. Plus it was the only truly Targaryen account of the story she'd ever get. Of course, Pentos and indeed Viserys seemed like a distant memory to her now. They may have started out their journey together, though his false confidence in his just right to rule (and indeed how he set out to accomplish it) drove them further apart than even enemies would drift, not least siblings cut from the same cloth. Inevitably, it led to his ironic demise at the hands of her former husband, Khal Drogo of the Dothraki.
As cruel as it seemed to admit, it was a long time coming. Threatening the Khal's family and their wellbeing had been the final straw. His madness had been his downfall, smudging the family name even further and leaving her as the last surviving Targaryen. Or at least, so she thought. She would never hold it against Drogo of course. No matter how much time rolled on, she would always hold him close to her heart. The man she at one point feared to love; her sun and stars. She had been the 'moon of his life' as he had so poetically put it. For her, she doubted there would ever be another quite like him. She thought of him every time she looked to the heavens, whether it had been in the barren lands of the red waste to the frozen north of Westeros.
That seemed like another lifetime all together. She had once been content to give up her dream of Westeros and settle for being by Drogo's side as Khaleesi of the great grass sea. They could have raised their son together, proud and true as the 'stallion who would mount the world' and live a life away from the turmoils of the Seven Kingdoms. Fate, as it would decree however, had different plans. In one, cruel swoop, both her husband and her child were taken from her by dark magic. She had been abandoned by all but a fraction of her original Khalesar in the blink of an eye.
She remembered how numb she felt as the fires had licked their way across Drogo's pyre. She would have almost felt content to hear the witches screams as she burned that night were it not for the overwhelming grief she had felt in her heart. Of course, what happened next would completely change the course of her destiny. When she emerged from the pyre the next morning, her dragons clinging to their mother as they sought their first breath of life, she remembered the faces of those closest to her as they looked on in disbelief. She had come out reborn. Gone was the timid girl under the rule of mortal men. It was that action that made her truly realize her place in the world; the Queen who would rebuild the Targaryen dynasty.
From there, her company had followed her across Essos, across barren red wasteland, trans versing the cities that lay ahead, from Qarth (the self-proclaimed greatest city that ever was or will be) to the heart of Slavers Bay and the throne room of Meereen itself. She gained and lost allies along the way. Some had perished. Others betrayed her. Yet she held on to her closest for as long as she could. She would never forget those who made that ultimate sacrifice in her name. It didn't quell the fire in her soul but ultimately made her ambitions burn hotter. She wasn't only growing for herself but also in their memory.
Though her compassion meant that the faces of those gone would forever linger in her mind as she closed her eyes. Brave heroes like Ser Barristan Selmy, captain of her Queen's guard. Pioneers in her conquest like Johan Forrester, who had rallied the forces of the north to her cause when she first arrived in their lands. There were even those who loved her. Jorah's demise had been one of the most heart wrenching. He deserved a death honourable as the bravest heroes of old. Instead, all he got was the ravage of greyscale, twisting and contorting the man he was into a savage beast as it took hold. Greyscale he had contracted whilst trying to win back her favour. His legacy would never die, both in her mind and in her heart. She would make sure the people of Bear Island and indeed all of Westeros knew the story of Ser Jorah Mormont.
There were of course, those who had survived to see this day as she did. Close friends like Misandei, her trusted advisor. Brave warriors like Greyworm, leader of her unsullied. And of course, Tyrion Lannister. How by the intentions of the Seven she had ever came to ally with a Lannister she would never know. She was cautious to trust such a man at first, particularly one with a reputation as sullied as his. Ironically, it had only been buffered in the Targaryens absence. Though he had, as it turned out, been one of her most valuable allies in the trying times to follow their encounter. He managed to govern the city she couldn't and had even taught her a few tricks in how to rule in that respect. The man who saved her dragons from the clutches of this 'Lord of Light'. This coming from a Lannister, not at least the fabled 'imp', would have been unheard of in the old Targaryen courts.
Of course, she had learned the value of such actions were not of coincidence. If there was one valuable lesson to take away from everything she had learnt, it was that nothing would be the same again. Tyrion was indeed not what he seemed. In the burning halls of Dragonstone, she discovered the truth. They were not only bound by fate but indeed blood. Tyrion was her half-brother and one of her closest living relatives. It was something he had come to suspect though had never fully grasped. His life had already been spent carving a legacy as a Lannister however. That would never change. Though he was only one of the three heads of the dragon prophesied. There was another.
Daenerys remained lost in her thoughts as she floated through the seemingly endless corridors of the Red Keep, taking little time to admire what she once dreamt of. It seemed insignificant in comparison to what had transpired over the past few months and indeed, what was transpiring now. Little beauty remained around her in any sense. The once beautiful jewel of the city by the sea had been ravaged by the effects of war. This may have been her Kingdom now but it was nothing like she had expected. In fact, it was in a sorry state.
The dead had ravaged the north, the White Walkers of the old Northern folklore decimating the populous and were moving further south. The Seven Kingdoms were more divided than ever, the great families of old either collapsing under the weight of war or barricading their gates to protect from the impending ravages of winter. Wildlings, bandits and opportunists roamed the lands, scavenging off what they could find and decimating anyone or anything that dared denied them it. Holy war now threatened to boil over an already wounded land as those faithful to this supposed 'Lord of Light' sought to overturn the traditional teachings of the Seven and crush the last of the Targaryens. With food and supplies running scarce and nowhere to run, the situation was grim. Indeed, this was as far from the Westeros her brother had told her tales of as could ever be.
Eventually, she backed out of her deep trail of thought. Her pacing had led her to the room Jon Snow was currently recovering in. The door loomed ominously before her, bleak and dark in the low light. Turning her head to face the window, she hoped in one respect that it would be able to cast a shine upon the shadows that now consumed the silent hallways of the palace. All she found of course was another bleak and grey winter's skyline reigning snow down upon the city. Not a very fitting picture to match the one that Viserys had given her. The golden skyline she envisioned had been consumed by a barren winter. Then again, so had most of Westeros. The whispers were that this was the furthest south the snow had ever come. Of course, all of Westeros had borne the brunt of this winter in one way or another. Smoke and steam rose from the city's lower levels in great plumes. She wondered if that was the forgeries at full strength or just simply those confined to the streets trying to keep warm.
Coming to the handle of the door, she swallowed a gulp of fear preparing for the sight before her. She had seen plenty of horrors on her journeys, though seeing Jon in this state was one of the worst. She had checked in on him several times over the past few days yet he had not awoken. Maester Tarly had kept trying to convince both her and young Arya Stark that he would recover, though neither of them could believe it until he awoke. She had felt his presence from miles away when she first landed in Kings Landing and could feel it even more now. Her Dragons had felt it too. Jon wasn't dead yet. He was the one prophesied in the scriptures she had read at Dragonstone. 'Azor Ahai'. The prince who would come. The blood of old Valaryia flowed through his veins like it did hers. The man raised as a Northerner and reborn again Targaryen. Her only living relative left in the world and now he sat in the shadow of the stranger. She did not want to lose him already. There had already been more than enough death recently. Turning the cold handle, she began to set the door ajar.
The room was dimly lit by flickering candles on the bedside table. Maester Tarly was reading over yet another book, seeking guidance in knowledge as he always did. Arya Stark was here again. She had barely left Jon's side since the day she had been reunited with him on the pillars of Harrenhal. Such was her love and dedication for the man she had always considered her brother. In truth, he was now more closely related to Daenerys than he was her. The other remaining Starks had come to visit over the past few days, hoping for good news upon arrival and leaving just as numb as the winter had left their fingers of late. Rickon and Sansa had been of great aid upon their re-emergence in the capital. Though their dedication almost seemed feeble in part to Arya's.
Sam was the first to notice the Silver Queen casting the door open. "Your Grace" he greeted her with respect and authority. Arya cast her gaze upon Daenerys too as she walked into the room. She was devoid of words however. Though this Mother of Dragons had rescued them from certain death, she could still not help but be wary around her. Most of the city felt this way, even the highborns she had spared upon her arrival. She might have broken the wheel of dissent and torment the citizens of Westeros had been enduring lately but it didn't quell the reputation that proceeded her. She was a Targaryen. The last of that line to sit on the throne had burnt his enemies to ash with no just reason in blind madness, including her grandfather and uncle. Though this was far from Daenerys, she knew her father's reputation would always cast a shadow over her.
"Maester Tarly" she answered upon his greeting. "Please, your Grace, call me Sam. Everyone else does. Plus, I've never really been one for formalities" Sam intervened, nervous but certain of his intention upon such a request. Daenerys showed a small smile of appreciation at his words. He had been one of the few people truly accepting of her. That was probably in no small part to her saving his best friend. "Has there been any development in his health?"
"Well he seems to be in less pain than he was. Milk of the poppy has helped that" Sam began. "He hasn't woken up yet though. That I'm afraid I can't give you an answer on". Though he had tried encouraging her, he could only be truthful. It did little to comfort the Queen's concern. She slowly approached Jon's bedside. Part of her pace reflected her nervousness at approaching the wounded dragon. What if he was close to death? The other part was cautious of offending Arya somehow. She could see how she cared for Jon and did not want to seem a threat. Arya inevitably didn't even meet her gaze. She just kept focused on the man she considered her brother as the Dragon Queen pulled up a seat next to her.
Sam went about frittering with his books again, rambling about what he had researched and what he would do to try and help Jon. Daenerys acknowledged him but only fleetingly. Her sight was fixed keenly on what she saw before her. Eventually, Sam realised this hint and left briefly to retrieve another book from the library. A still silence hung in the air after his departure, only the howl of the cold winter winds outside breaking through. It was Daenerys who first spoke. "Your brother has fought valiantly for us all" she began, sifting through words of comfort in her mind before finally arriving at that sentence. Arya didn't acknowledge her for a moment before changing the subject.
"I know he isn't my brother. Not really. He might have always been considered the bastard of Winterfell but I always knew he was something more". Daenerys felt a lump in her throat, chaos theorizing over whether or not Arya knew. "He was raised as a Stark of Winterfell and a protector of the realm. Your father raised him as such and he has always defended the North. That much will never change" Daenerys replied, trying to turn the situation in favour of comfort for the young wolf. Arya tried to force through a smile, though her conflicted thoughts kept it very minimal. She held back her words briefly before turning to face Daenerys as she spoke. She gazed straight into the Targaryens vibrant purple eyes, almost staring straight into her soul.
"Your eyes, what are they? What do they mean?" Arya asked. Daenerys stifled an answer for a second. Her heart skipped a beat as she knew Arya was seeking a certain answer, one she wasn't so willing to digress. The look in the young wolfs eyes pleaded mercy however. Ignorance was killing her more than the truth. "They are a sign of Targaryen heritage, I think. They seem to come to be when a bond is formed with the Dragon. I must admit, I'm not too familiar with them yet myself. They are almost intimidating when I see them in the reflection". Arya held back on her next question briefly. Daenerys had seemed like a higher being when she first gazed upon her, one not of mortal descent. The Targaryens had always been spoken of in a tone of myth or legend whenever she was told of them in her youth. Now a real one sat beside her. Highborn as she was, she seemed just as human as the rest of King's Landing.
Arya looked down at Jon, her grip on his open hand cementing as she herself came to grips with what she was about to say. "When I saw Jon, at Harrenhal, his eyes were glowing the same colour" She began, confirming the Queen's suspicions. She tried to intervene with whatever sentence forced its way forward first. She felt her heart begin to sink into a pool deeper than that of the narrow sea. "Jon was always raised as your brother. That much will never change, I promise" Daenerys spoke. Arya's reaction was mixed. She wasn't sure what the Queen meant with those words. At this point, she only assumed the worst. "Are you going to take him away with you?" Arya asked, dread filling her words. "What makes you think that?" Daenerys replied, confused by her words.
"Well why would you want to stay here? You've gotten your revenge against the houses of Westeros. Aside from that, I see little else to keep you here anymore. You already have a Kingdom across the sea" Arya replied in an almost cynical manner. Daenerys almost wanted to feel offended by such an assumption. She kept her emotions in check though. Arya was young and full of fire. She had seen more than a girl of her age should have ever seen. Though the world was cold and unforgiving of late, it had been particularly harsh on the young Stark. Daenerys exercised caution in her words. "Arya, I have been seeking a way back to King's Landing my whole life. I never wanted to leave and I don't intend on leaving". "I thought you were born on Dragonstone? Daenerys Stormborn they call you?" Arya replied, holding her ground in the battle of wits with the Queen. "That may be true, but this is where my father sat on the throne carved by my ancestors" Daenerys replied, battling with logic.
"Aerys. The mad king" Arya noted bluntly. Daenerys had no answer for this. She could sense the young warriors mistrust for her. She bowed her head towards the floor, pondering whether or not this would be how everyone received her in the capital. 'The spawn of the mad king'. In Essos, the people held the legends of old Valaryia in high stead. Seeing a Dragon to them was almost like seeing the Gods themselves. Westeros was different though. The Dragons still inspired fear amongst the seven kingdoms. The Targaryen name inspired it too. The Northerners in particular would have a hard time trusting her should they ever regain their homeland. The North always remembered.
Arya broke the Queen from her sorrowful thoughts. "Forgive me your grace. That was uncalled for" she apologized. She could see the effect her words had made. She would feel far worse if anyone talked ill of her father. For a time, they did under Lannister deceit. Daenerys looked back at her once more. "I swear to you that I am not and will never be my father" she replied sternly, defending her cause. Arya sought a way to change the topic. "I heard stories of how you liberated slaves". Daenerys calmed slightly at this remark. She could see the girl was trying. "That's true yes. I saw slavery first hand and the terror it would install in men. I did not want to be that kind of leader". "I've never heard of a leader quite like you your grace" Arya replied. "Everyone who has ruled the Seven Kingdoms in my lifetime has been cold and calculating".
"That's another reason I'm here Arya. To break that cycle" Daenerys informed her. She could almost sense a slight sense of admiration building in the girl. She decided to take it further. "Did Jon give you your sword?"
Arya looked down to her hilt. She would always carry needle now wherever she was. She had vowed never to let it go again after almost abandoning it in Bravos. It felt only right now to defend Jon with it. "He did. He taught me to stick people with the pointy end". Daenerys giggled at this revelation. "A wise trick. It will come in handy" she said, approving of her method. "You'll need it in the wars to come". Arya's mood sullied somewhat as she thought of the great peril still looming ominously outside the city walls. "I fear we won't survive this" she spoke, sounding more timid than she had ever done. Daenerys sensed her fear. She felt it too. Their situation was perilous. Still, she sought words to comfort the girl. "When we stand together, anything is possible. This is no longer about the right to rule. It's about the right to survive. Right now, we're winning that war just breathing". Arya smiled at her bravery as Daenerys placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She wasn't willing to give up her Kingdom without a fight.
"There was a saying...in old Valaryia; Kes vys issalīje zobrie, Ñuhor va moriot kēlo onos". Arya was confused at such foreign words, even though she had flirted with the languages of Essos briefly in Bravos. Daenerys smiled as she recalled the words again. "In the darkest night, I will always find light". The young Stark had no words. She just embraced what the Queen told her with a smile. For the first time in what seemed like forever, it seemed like someone was actually making sense. Daenerys felt pride in helping the young girl. Their moment was interrupted by a murmur from Jon however. It was nothing more than a simple grunt, though any sign of life was of high regard to the pair at the minute. Their hopes faded as his face calmed once more back into its state of sleep.
Daenerys looked at the sky outside as she turned her gaze elsewhere. The sky was beginning to darken as it heralded night. She knew she could not stay here forever. If her talk with the young Stark girl had come to any fruitful conclusion, it was that she had much to do. She got up from her chair and prepared to depart. "You have family and friends here Arya. Don't forget about them" she advised Arya. "I won't your grace. Thank you. Valar Morghulis" Arya replied, beaming a smile back as she returned to her lonely vigil. "Valar Dohearis" Daenerys replied. Sam returned as Daenerys stepped through the door. He tried muttering out something to his Queen but decided against it, getting back to tending to Jon and looking after Arya.
Daenerys floated through the corridors of the Red Keep once more. She may as well have been ethereal as barely a sound could be heard but her footsteps. The once bustling and thriving corridors had fallen silent when the snows rolled in. Many sensed the end was near and that not even a trio of fire-breathing dragons would be enough to save them from the impending horrors that this winter held. They preferred to spend their last days with their families, wherever they may have been. She did not blame them. It would be impossible to deny her being frightened at the situation. The stranger had played his trump card and now his armies moved south. More, if not all, would perish before this was over.
Few highborns remained in the keep, aside from those advocates closest to Daenerys. She had allowed Jamie Lannister and his children a safe passage out of the city to their traditional home of Casterly Rock after a hefty amount of convincing from Tyrion. The Kingslayer, as he was known, may have still lived but it came at the cost of submitting the Kingdom he had held with his sister since the usurper took over. That had dented his pride more than any sword could ever dent his armour. Other Lannister and Baratheon conspirators were not so fortunate. They had received trial for their part in their crimes but the majority sentenced them guilty, leading to either exile or death. Many had burned for their part in the uprising that had drove out the Targaryens. It was swift justice, answered in full by the protector of the realm. Some had glanced favourably upon it whilst others had not.
As she began winding through the lower levels of the palace, she began to see scattered faces roaming the hallways along with the occasional Queens-guard. Their reaction to her was mixed. Some would acknowledge her with a passing curtsy or salute. Others would ignore her all together, some even going as far as delivering whispers to their compatriots as she passed. It left Daenerys feeling increasingly uneasy. Even surrounded by her finest and most loyal, this Kingdom would be a harder task to tame than Slavers Bay. Her mind began jumping to conclusions again, her emotions toying with her even if her exterior remained relatively calm. Perhaps Arya was right. What was really here for the Targaryens but a generation's old throne that had been kept warm by traitors in the past few years?
Eventually, she reached the exterior of the throne room. It seemed relatively deserted in comparison to what she expected. She took a moment to glance around and take in the sights she had been given very little time to previously observe. The room, despite its obvious lack of life, still stood as a proud monument to what the crown represented. It's spiralling pillars and elegant tapestry made it a symbol recognised throughout the realm. Then of course was the centre of its power. The fabled Iron Throne, constructed from the fire of Aegon's dragons after he claimed a new home for the Targaryen bloodline over three centuries ago. It remained a staple of elegance and intimidation all at once, its spiky exterior a testament to her family strength and conquest in Westeros. It was hers now, by right. Yet she didn't feel worthy to sit upon it.
After glancing around the room, she found one solitary figure. He could well have been missed had she been of taller stature. Tyrion sat alone on the steps of the throne, lost in deep thought as she had been. It took a moment for him to notice her too. "Your Grace" he greeted her as he raised a mocked glass of wine in her honour. She decided to take a seat next to him. She knew what he would tell her. Yet she didn't consider the Lannister any different to herself at this stage.
"You should be sitting over there" he told her, waving his imaginary goblet in the direction of the Iron Throne. Daenerys took another fleeting glance at it before answering. "I don't feel like I'm worthy to sit on it yet" she replied, a hint of self-loathing in her voice at the predicament. Tyrion took a moment to set aside his apparition before bringing his hands to set in his lap. "You've talked the talk and rode this far. Your enemies have either been cast out or cast to the wind. You have the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms at your back. Some would question that you require little more" he told her, prodding for a response even if he didn't quite word it that way. "What would you have me do? Sit upon the throne with a troubled conscience whilst those who doubt me whisper of my demise?" She replied, stating her feelings to Tyrion.
As much as he wasn't going to directly offend the woman who had spared him from death long ago in Meereen, he couldn't help his wit from coming out. "If only we had enough people with such a mentality. We'd have an ever revolving council that would last for centuries". His words left mixed feelings in the Queen's head. She wanted to laugh and almost agree with him. She knew however what he was hinting at though. She had the determination remaining to prove him wrong. "There won't be a throne room of jesters disguised as highborns whilst I am around" she declared, stating her case.
Tyrion could only slightly nod his head in agreement. "Well there is much to do before you make that a reality. Small matters of course, like an army of the dead savaging the North. Or the religious madmen burning Dorne in the South. And don't even get me started on finding you a husband" he joked in a sarcastic tone. The Queen didn't seem to take it so mild manneredly though. "That is the last thing I'm thinking of" Daenerys replied in disgust. "If I even think about it at all". "We've been through this your Grace" Tyrion begun, for what felt like the fiftieth time. "Taking a husband will help cement your place among those who still hold the old traditions oh so dear". His last words showed he didn't take the matter too seriously but could only council her on what he knew. Daenerys stared away from him, not even acknowledging the thought.
He sighed, knowing he could continue his political banter as much as he felt like, though it would do little to help thaw the mood they both shared. He allowed her to take the lead on the next topic. "What brings you here?" Daenerys asked him. "I was speaking with Varys about certain subjects. He said his birds would keep an eye out for any wine stores before he disappeared into the shadows again" Tyrion replied, tilting his head down to where he had placed the imaginary cup. "You still trust him?" Daenerys asked. Though she could not question Varys' intentions in bringing the Lannister to him after he seemed certain for the cleaver, there was a certain aura about him that should could just not bring herself to trust.
"Trust is a very strong word your Grace" Tyrion began. "He did help to rescue me however when I seemed to be staring at my end. Whether it was for his own satisfaction or that of the realm, I can't take that away from him". Daenerys nodded in agreement before silence crept in once more. "You've been to see Jon again haven't you?" Tyrion asked, assuming this much had led to her drop in mood. He got a simple "Yes" in reply. "And?" He continued. "Still nothing. I was told he is improving but...". Daenerys trailed off into thought, allowing Tyrion to complete her sentence. "But until he is awake and healthy you will question it all" he rounded off. She just timidly nodded.
"I remember when I first met him" Tyrion began, entering a state of recollection. "The outcast bastard of Ned Stark. Another young man brought into the frame of our realm with only a name and stonework life to carve out. I remember telling him to wear his reputation like armour so nobody could hurt him. He seemed to take my advice well. It's just unfortunate it led him to where he ended up". "He was a man of the Night's Watch" Daenerys inputted, filling in the blanks. "Correct. I warrant he was one of the few highborns to ever volunteer. He was raised as a Stark and performed his duty as such" Tyrion continued. "Except for the fact that he isn't fully a Stark" Daenerys answered, raising her concern from behind her exterior facade.
Tyrion intervened at this statement. "He would have either been a Stark or dead I'm afraid. I think I would have picked the former of the two given the choice. Jon didn't even have that choice". Daenerys knew he spoke the truth but the warning in her heart kept prodding and poking away. "He was raised that way yes. He saw Ned Stark as a father and not Rhaegar Targaryen". Her words were tainted with a hint of jealousy and contempt for the man who had taken her brothers child. She knew it was all in the name of good but couldn't help feeling the resentment whilst defending the brother she never knew. "As much as that could have helped him dodge a resurrection, I think he would rather have felt the cold of the northern winds on the wall than the cold embrace of death, don't you?" Tyrion asked rhetorically. She could only agree with him. Logic overshadowed pride. Still, her mind was troubled with another, more pressing question.
"There is something else concerning you, isn't there?" Tyrion asked as he turned to meet her, noting the expanding frown upon her lips. Daenerys took a moment to answer. "There is a saying about when Targaryens are born" She began. "When a new Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin" Tyrion quoted. "An unjust statement" Daenerys snared. "But one that you've seen first-hand" Tyrion concluded. She thought back to Viserys. As his ambition grew, so did his madness. He was willing to gamble with lives unjustly for what he desired. He even gambled with hers. Such was the extent of the damage to his mind. Then there were the stories of her father. They needed no grand explanation in that they spoke for them self. "Do you think they'd use resurrection as a method of deciding?" She asked, wavering somewhat at the idea.
Tyrion rubbed the stubble on his chin as he pondered over the thought. "A very interesting theory" he murmured. "Do you suspect Jon, in realising what he is, to be a threat?"
It was something she didn't want to openly admit but Daenerys had worried about this respect. There could be a possibility, in realising what he was, that Jon might want to overthrow her, with the power of the north behind him, and take the Iron Throne for himself. She felt a chill run down her spine at such a thought, one to even rival the cold outside the castle walls. "You're a very clever man Tyrion Lannister" she spoke, staring off into space as she trembled at acknowledging such a dark conspiracy. "And you'd be a very foolish woman to believe that Daenerys Stormborn" Tyrion replied almost instantly. He turned to her for reason as he continued, knowing he had her attention. "If Jon Snow has maintained any of the man he was before then honour will be his policy. You might not admire Ned Stark. Neither did I at a time, but he was one of the most honourable men you'd have ever met. I'm sure he taught that to Jon as he did all his children" he rounded off.
Daenerys felt some renewed confidence in that respect. Tyrion had been a valued advisor to her and hadn't lied to her yet. She was sure he would repeat the trend. Eventually, he got up from his seat. "I wouldn't lose sleep over it your Grace" he began. She blushed somewhat. That was ironically what had been happening. "Maybe you should think about getting some rest. It's been a hectic few days. Some might even think you're going mad if you keep it up". On the outside, she chuckled at his joke as he walked off. Inside her head however, something had clicked with that statement. A new paranoia welled within her. Perhaps she had been thinking about this all wrong. What if Jon was the one on the right side of the God's coin and she wasn't? The fear it brought pushed her towards the edge as it coupled with that of potential revolt and death at the hands of the white walkers. She began breathing heavily, pacing around before falling upon a seat.
Her perch gave her a direct view over the centre of the room. The cold, hard press of the seat was unlike anything she had ever felt. Looking down to see where she had fallen, she discovered she was on the Iron Throne. She took in the depth of the experience as she battled her paranoia. There was no joy. No comfort. No great revelation of victory. Instead, all she felt was fear. Had madness led her to the throne, only to take her father's place as the mad Targaryen at the head of seven kingdoms? 'No, I won't submit to this. I won't' she thought in her mind, desperately dodging the accusations the darkest part of her minds threw at her. She held her head in her hands as the pain of the stress started to get the better of her. 'No, Tyrion was right. I just need sleep. I just need rest' she kept telling herself. Another voice overcame her thoughts however. One of a deep baritone that she had not heard before. It spoke to her in High Valaryian.
"You'll sleep when you're dead".
She jumped up from the throne at the voice, startled and panicked as she sought for breath. "Who's there?!" She called out in anger. No response. She walked out into the middle of the hall. The walls seemed to be closing in on her as she frantically glanced about for any sign of life. The more she searched, the further she panicked. The voice began again.
"You would betray your own father and let the Kingslayer slip through your hands? Your enemies surround you Daenerys. There is nowhere left to run".
She cracked at those words. She sprinted from the throne room, slamming the door shut behind her and not looking back. Thankfully, nobody had been around to witness her plight. A Queen in distress would have not been a very unifying image for those residing in King's Landing. "Tyrion?" She called out, hoping for some sort of response. Nothing. Only the echoes of her voice as they pieced the still, silent corridors. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. 'It was nothing' she told herself. 'I am Daenerys Targaryen of Old Valaryia. Breaker of chains, mother of dragons. This place is my birth right and I have claimed it with fire and blood'. She kept repeating those words in her mind as she walked out into the courtyard for fresh air.
The cold winter freeze hit her full on as she felt the snow falling upon the open spaces. This was certainly a hard climate to become accustomed to. Even to the Northerners resident in the capital at the minute, this cold was too cold. It was literally the exact opposite of the climate she had basked in as ruler of Meereen. Targaryens had come to Westeros from warmer climates during the long summer. Their kingdom of Old Valyria was even warmer than that. The cold was simply not in their nature. She shivered as it began to break down her inner defences. She tried to fight it of course. If the cold could defeat her so easily then her enemies could tear down King's Landing in days. Daenerys did as she had always done. She stood and embraced this new challenge. It was a new chapter in her life and a new beginning for the Seven Kingdoms. She could only pray that it wasn't the beginning of the end.
A piercing roar broke through the sound of the winter winds above. She looked to the sky, past the blinding snowfall, and saw Drogon in the air, flying proud across the city as he stretched his wings. Her dragons had taken roost just outside the city on the banks of the Blackwater Rush. They liked to stretch their wings every now and again. To the mortal men below however, seeing a dragon of their size could both inspire and terrify in equal measure. She pondered on the metaphor forming in her head. Maybe that is what Tyrion had been hinting to her. If she was truly blood of the dragon, she would rule in that way. She would inspire the people and terrify her enemies. The path to rule was there in front of her. Now was the time to take action. Turning back into the security of the palace, she knew she had much to do.