In which Daenerys Stormborn regrets her choices.
If I look back I am lost.
What does it matter now? Just another name to add to her list. All this blood on her hands...
It wasn't always meant to be like this, she would have made a gentle queen, a just queen. A queen to show them all what Targaryens were capable of. Oh, she did show them alright. She showed them what she was capable of- destruction. Her children had burned down half the countryside, her Dothraki had trampled cities to dust.
Like father, like daughter.
Daenerys had once desired a throne, the throne. She had marched on for months, tricked assassins and overpowered oppressors, all for the ugly iron chair. Today, she stands all alone in the cold and dark throne room of the Red Keep. Today, she had her bloody chair and her red castle, but no one to share them with.
She misses Viserys, who once used to sneak up in her bed and comfort her when the ghost came in her dreams. Who sold their dead mother's crown to keep her warm and safe, all the while muttering, "It's alright, it is just a crown. I'll one day have many more."
What did she do when her sun and stars decided to really crown him? Did she think of Rhaella's crown, all crystal and rubies? No, she had stood in the corner with cold detachment, observing that fire did not kill dragons. Only, she was wrong, fire had killed her and all she held dead. It had proved her undoing.
She misses Tyrion, whom she gave to her Rhaegal after he refused to follow her commands to lay waste to the Westerlands. Tyrion, with his scarred face and stunted legs, with his witty remarks and cunning mind. She had mistaken his dissent for defiance, and accused him of being a traitor.
It had seemed so right back then, his was the third betrayal. Dany had believed Tyrion to be one of the three betrayers, like the Undead told her in the House of the Undying. She refused to listen to his pleas, his proclamations of loyalty, clouded by her madness.
Like father like daughter.
Cersei Lannister rots in the black cells, probably the only good thing Daenerys has ever done. Her brother the Kingslayer marches for King's Landing, to avenge the Imp and free his lover. There is talk of Aegon VI rising from the Eyrie, where he has gained support of the Lords Declarant and married a Stark girl. Aegon remembers just how badly she rebuffed him, and usurped his rightful throne.
She hears footsteps approaching, slight klink of the armour as Ser Barristan comes into view. His sword is unsheathed, its metal crimson with blood. Ser Barristan's hold a strange melancholy, and his eyes are dark with tiredness. His face is stained with tears as he looks up into the face of his queen.
Dany's eyes widen at the blood, "Did you kill him? The Kingslayer, Have you brought his traitor head?"
No, the word is spoken softly by her white knight. His eyes shine with tears as he purses his lips and stares at his blood. Moments pass before he holds himself together, taking a deep breath and determination flickers in his face.
"Tis not Lannister blood, Your Grace."
"Then whose is it?"
"Your bloodriders, Jhogo and Rakharo."
Daenerys flinches away from the knight, trying to look for a path to run away to. Her bloodriders, blood of her blood, gone now. Aggo had drawn his last breath back in Meereen, where she cradled his head in her arms and he succumbed to his wounds.
"What are you doing?" she all but shrieks, rising from her throne. Dany shrinks away, away from the crimson blade.
"What I should have done a long time ago," is all he says before thrusting the metal into her heart. The voices, for once in her life, recede, no longer telling her what to do.
Like father like daughter.
Daenerys Stormborn does not live long, collapsing on the cold floor of the throne room. Her throne room. The last thing she sees is the doors opening with a crash, and Jaime Lannister looking up from his horse at her lifeless figure.
Traitors, traitors all of them.