Chapter 1: The Aftermath

What kind of man murders his closest living relative; his Queen; his lover; the woman who has saved his life and loves him unconditionally? No man. No man at all.

Or perhaps, a man who has been cursed by the gods. If they exist at all.

He has his doubts. At any rate, if there are gods, they care nothing for men. He remembers his first death. The pain, the grief, the horror. He remembers nothing on the other side. Not for the first time, he wishes that the Red Priestess had never brought him back into life. That was the cruellest act that anyone could have carried out.

She has to die. Tyrion has convinced him of this. The Imp used every argument. That she would never stop killing. That she was a danger to the world. That Sansa, Bran, and Arya were in danger from her. Arya, no stranger to violence herself, was frankly terrified of the Queen. Arya, who was frightened of no one. She had told him "I know a killer when I see one." And, she should know. But, it is so very hard to kill the one you love. When you are the one person in the world she cares for. If she is a monster, then what does that make him? He hopes, at least, that he will not survive her death. The dragon will take him, or her guards will cut him down. That will be a blessing.

She has to die. In the city, he has seen and heard things, things that he wishes he had never seen or heard. Bodies reduced to charcoal. Men with half their flesh burned off, begging him to kill them. Women, screaming as they are raped. Children, crying out as they are butchered. And he is complicit in all of it. These were his men, who had done these things. Good fathers, good husbands, good sons. Men he had fought with, hunted with, feasted with, but all transformed in a moment into wild beasts by his Queen. The city had surrendered and still she killed it.

He enters the Throne Room. What remains of it anyway. The dragon trusts him, and lets him past. And he sees her. She smiles at him. It strikes her at that moment just how very frail she is. He is so used to seeing her as a force of nature that this has never occurred to him before. He's short (the subject of endless jokes) yet, she is tiny. And so thin. He realises she has lost weight during the war, and she never had much to begin with. Yet, gaunt though she is, she is beautiful. More beautiful than ever, in a way. Like the flame of a candle that has almost exhausted itself

He feels nauseous at this point. " Look at all these swords, melted into a Throne. My brother used to tell me there were thousands, when I just a little girl who could barely count to twenty", she says, wistfully, dreamily." She reaches over to touch the Iron Throne.

He knows what he has to do, but perhaps there is a chance...…"Daenerys, your men were executing prisoners, they say, on your orders"

"I know, it's sad, but necessary", she replies.

"And Tyrion?"

"He is a traitor. He freed his brother. I thought he was the cleverest man I had ever met, in Meereen. I trusted his advice. And, every piece of advice he has given me in Westeros has been bad. I could have finished the war against Cersei in half an hour, had I destroyed the Red Keep at the beginning, as I intended. Thousands of lives would have been saved. He persuaded me not to. I sent my men to attack Casterly Rock, on his advice. It was worthless. I sent you North to capture the wight, on his advice. You were nearly killed, and my dragon was lost. He met with Cersei privately, and assured me that she would join us against the Dead. She betrayed us. Tell me, what conclusion do you think I should draw from all of this? What conclusion would you draw? He is a Lannister. His family will always come first, whatever they have done."

"And so, you cannot forgive him? " She shakes her head sadly, even as, for the first time, he wonders if the Imp was playing them all false. Then he remembers what he has seen, and feels a sudden anger.

"Have you been down in the city? There are children, burned. Little children".

"Do you think that gives me any pleasure?" she responds. "I offered peace to Cersei, and she sought to use my own mercy against me. She destroyed them, not I. When my enemies refuse terms, when they betray me, they have to know that they will lose everything"

"What now?" he asks. "You and I Jon, together, we will build a better world. It's our destiny to rid the world of tyrants."

"So, it never ends?"

"Not until we have won."

She comes close to him, now, speaking softly. "I know what's good, and you know what's good. You've always known what's good, ever since you were just a bastard boy."

"And the rest, what about their idea of "good".

"They don't get to choose", she says, smiling and shaking her head. She fastens her mouth on his, kissing him passionately, hungrily. Gods, this feels good! He knows how wanton and abandoned she can be, in the throes of passion, as he feels his prick stiffen. And then, he remembers she is his aunt, and a murderer, and feels a wave of revulsion. Without hesitation, he drives his dagger into her ribs.

What does Daenerys experience at this point?

Several things. Anger is not one of them, which surprises her. But, this is all depressingly predictable, so perhaps she is not so surprised after all. Sadness, certainly. Her love for Jon is real. Her life has been a hard one, made up of abuse, rape, murder attempts, interspersed with rare moments of happiness. She is 23 now, and it amazes her that she has managed to live that long. To be honest, there are times when she would almost have welcomed death. Jon is one of the very few things that has made her life bearable. Death has few terrors for her. But, she absolutely refuses to lose. So, her chief feeling at this point is satisfaction. She has just proved that she is not stupid. Of course her enemies would make a move against her, and through the man she trusted most. But really, did they think she would leave herself defenceless in a city she had just sacked, Jon or no Jon? Naturally, it hurts like hell, but no dagger will penetrate the lining of thin steel plates within the reinforced fabric of her dress. It's almost an insult, really, that they should think that such an inept attempt could succeed. She can even see the funny side of it.

She steps back and begins giggling, perhaps a little hysterically, as Jon stares at her in horror. He looks so woebegone, with his little dagger in his hand, wondering what has happened. It reminds her of his limp cock, after they have made love, and that makes her giggle again, even as she winces at the pain in her ribs.

"Oh my love, you just tried to kill me. How sweet of you. I think you should put it down, don't you? You might hurt yourself, and Drogon is ….displeased".

Indeed he is. He looms over the pair of them, ready to tear Jon's head from his shoulders, as soon as she gives the order. She won't give the order. At any rate, not yet. "Torgo Nudho" she calls. Her commander enters, flanked by two guards. He sees the knife, still in Jon's hand, and levels his spear to strike, realising at once what was just occurred. .

"Stop, now!", she commands. "Jon, put it down, now, if you want to live! " The knife falls from his grasp. He still seems mesmerised. "Take Lord Snow into custody. Ensure he is made comfortable, and comes to no harm. There is a conspiracy to be unravelled."

"Your Grace, this one would kill him now. You cannot allow him to live."

She freezes the man with a look. "My lord. I respect you greatly but you overstep your rank. That is the last time you will ever tell me what I can or cannot do." Grey Worm bows, turns, and snaps an order to his men. They truss Jon's hands behind his back, and lead him from the room.

Now that the moment is past, she find herself shaking. She sits heavily on the Iron Throne to stop herself from falling to the ground. She flattered herself a few moments ago. She was stupid. Stupid and careless beyond belief. If Jon had been a professional, she would be lying on the ground with her throat cut. Riding a dragon will blind you to the threats that are close to hand. Sensing his mother's dismay, Drogon leans over, nuzzling her neck. She kisses his muzzle, and remains prey to her thoughts.