Daenerys
They bent the knee without a fight, sweat pouring from their frightened faces—faces that still haunt her as she sleeps, for their fear is not what she wanted when she became ruler… yet it's their fear that keeps me in power. Ser Hobber Redwyne is a freckle-faced, broad-shouldered, orange-haired dimwit and bully, yet when he laid eyes on Rhaegal and Viserion climbing up the mountainside, a dark stain spread down his thigh. He, like his fellow knights, all bent the knee and bowed their heads, pleading for mercy. No sword or shield or armor could protect them if Daenerys so much as whispered "Dracarys."
In the end, she spared their lives if they served her faithfully and give her all the information they can on Dragonstone and the locals. According to Hobber, he was sent here months ago by Cersei Lannister; ordered to guard the castle in case Stannis was still alive. Tyrion was suspicious of this answer on account of the Redwyne family being not only loyal, but related to House Tyrell. After Cersei blew up Margaery Tyrell, Tyrion said it was unusual for a Redwyne to obey The Mad Queen. Hobber argued that he does what he's told, Cersei was his Queen, after-all, even if he hated her. "She'd have had my head if I refused. I like my head where it is."
Ser Hobber "Slobber" Redwyne, related to Lady Olenna Tyrell. Tyrion thinks he can be useful in repairing our alliance with the Tyrells… I don't see how this fat, drunk, lazy knight could help us, but Tyrion insists he has his ways, and so does Varys. I'll trust the matter to them and try to get some rest…
Daenerys is spread-eagled on a new, wide bed with a translucent, white sheet covering her legs. The stars stream light through her window, but it's not enough to illuminate the shadows around the chamber. Her room is larger than even the council chambers aboard the Red Wind; and filled with things she'd never find in Essos. The previous ruler of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon, slept in this very room not long ago. I wonder what Stannis would think if he knew a Targaryen had returned to their rightful home? Would he try to fight me for it? I never knew the man, so I shouldn't worry about it. If he's truly dead, then it doesn't matter.
So why can't I sleep? Rolling her head, Dany stares up into the banisters high above, lost in her thoughts. A tingle crawls along her neck, and she remembers how Jorah loved to trace his magical, cracked finger along her skin while they made love. Oh Jorah, my love… I wish you could be here with me. I need you now more than ever…
That night, Dany has a dream. Drogon's black, smooth scales are just as warm as ever and his ear-splitting roar is unmistakable—yet as they soar over clouds, whenever Dany tries to see her baby's face, Drogon turns his head away… and roars with fury. "Drogon, it's me. It's your mother!" Dany cries, crawling along the spines of his back, fighting back the wind whipping her in the face. That's when she notices the clouds disappearing and the sky turning black and empty. The air grows cold and snow patters along her bare shoulders, making her nipples hard and her hairs stand on end. She screams, "Drogon!"
Her own scream wakes her, sitting straight up from damp pillows, her chest glistening with sweat. All she hears is her heart pounding in her skull. The darkness in her room is startlingly bright compared to that dark sky in her dream. It felt so real… Like Drogon was alive…
As her heart reconciles, and the quiet night settles back in, so too does the bitter, harsh pain of reality. She curls up against her pillow, wishing she could feel Drogon's scales again and the comforting heat beneath them. Rhaegal hardly ever lets me touch him anymore. He resents me for what happened to Drogon, I know it in my heart when I look him in the eye. He's been getting in fights with Viserion almost every day since it happened. I need to calm him down before he does something… in his nature.
Next morning, Dany goes to the War Room where Tyrion and Varys are waiting for her. In the center of the massive, stone cavernous room is The Painted War Table—a massive stone carved in the likeness of Westeros. Tyrion stands level with the table's surface, and grins when she enters. "Good Morning, Your Grace."
"I wouldn't call it a good morning," Dany sighs, "and am I your Grace, yet?"
Varys smiles as well, saying, "There will be a formal ceremony today before all of Dragonstone's citizens. Septon Barre, or Tyrion, will crown you as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and all the rest of the titles you've earned."
Dany blinks, amazed by how little she finds she cares about this. "Then… today I will be Queen?"
Varys turns his eyes down at Tyrion as he says, "At the moment, Westeros has no ruler, and by rule of law; as Usurper to the Throne, which you most certainly are, you have the option of taking power. With the Seven Kingdoms being in disarray under Cersei's rule; it's hard to say if the other Noble Families in Power will bend the knee to you, or contest your claim to the throne with their own claims as it's happened in recent years."
Tyrion frowns and says, "We can already expect it to happen when Jon Snow arrives. I have a feeling he isn't coming here to drink and be friends."
"What makes you say that?" Varys asks with feign surprise.
"He's gathering an army, an army getting larger every day. Even the people of Dragonstone have heard of this fabled Bastard King of the North."
"The stories my Little Birds sing agree with you, my friend." says Varys coyly, "I've even heard this Jon Snow doesn't melt in fire. Blood of the Dragon… Sounds familiar."
"If that's true then maybe we should put it to the test?" Dany seethes, leaning over the war table and glaring down at the little island of Dragonstone. When compared to the entire continent of Westeros, it looks so small and insignificant. Can we really make this place the Seven Kingdom's new capital? "Who are the other families with significant power that I should worry about? Name them all for me, please, Varys."
"Well Jon Snow represents the North even if he's not truly their King, odd as it may seem. He also represents the Riverlands, having collected Lord Edmure Tully and his army. Last word has it they've left Seagard and are heading south. They'll eventually know we've taken hold of Dragonstone, especially after today, so if they don't know we're not in King's Landing—it's like inviting him to come here."
"I'm aware of that, go on."
"The true ruler of the North right now is Sansa Stark in Winterfell." Varys leans over the table and points a short, stubby finger at the far end of the table where, amidst forest and hills, is a great castle Dany has never seen before, carved into the stone. "We might expect Jon to argue for Winterfell to be the new capital. We could use that for bargaining in case we need it."
"I'm not giving up anything to this man. Dragonstone is our home now, and it's where I will sit on my new throne." Dany says, glaring at Varys. Her Master of Spies doesn't cow beneath her stare, but he does cast her a withering look of disbelief.
"Of course not, Your Grace."
"We can't predict what this Jon Snow will want, so leave the predictions to the philosophers and let's move on. Who else is a threat?"
"I prefer to think of them as potential allies rather than threats." Varys replies.
"Until they bend the knee to me and swear fealty, they're all threats."
Tyrion's frown catches her eye, and gives her pause. Am I right? Or am I just upset because of last night? Her Hand says, "If we treat them like threats then they will think we are threats to them. You have to try and see things from their perspective before you judge them. Jon can be our ally, as can all the others, right Varys?"
"I can't say. The Reach is currently under Tyrell control and with Lady Olenna abandoning us after the battle… it will take some time for that wound to heal, if it's not already too late. As for Dorne, I'm afraid they might be a lost cause. They threatened war if we crossed onto their territory again. Lucky for us they're all the way in the farthest southern corner of the world; out of the way, in other words. The Crownlands have no ruler aside from you, Daenerys, so today they will belong to you. The Westerlands have no Lannister in power, but that could all change soon." Varys eyes Tyrion with a slowly growing smile as the Dwarf realizes what he's getting at and gawks.
"You can't be serious?"
"With Casterly Rock without a Lord to rule over its people, the Westerlands will fall or be taken by somebody else. Perhaps the Ironborn? I hear they've gathered in the North under a new leader, someone called Beor… or Bear. My Little Bird had a hard time telling the difference apart. My point is, Tyrion, you are the Son of Tywin Lannister and rightful heir to the Rock."
Tyrion and Dany share glances and she notices his cheeks light up red. If he leaves my side, I truly am lost. No Jorah, no Tyrion… I couldn't possibly—
"I would've given anything to be Lord of Casterly Rock." Tyrion says, his brow furrowed as he glares down at the painted table where the Rock rises over the Western Ocean. "But my place is here now, as Hand of the Queen. Varys, you forget, there's still one other son of Tywin—one with better looks and longer legs, mind you. He might hate it, but I believe Jaime could rule there if we give him the chance."
Varys tilts his head and asks, "Where is Jaime? Have you heard word from him? Because I haven't, and that's saying something."
"He was on a mission for Cersei… Which means he could literally be anywhere on this map." Tyrion scans the table, biting the inside of his cheek. "I can't say for certain where he is…"
"Then we can't exactly give him The Rock, now can we?"
"Do you trust Jaime with this?" Daenerys asks Tyrion calmly.
"I trust Jaime with my life." Tyrion replies honestly, "He saved me from certain death at my father's hands. I wouldn't be here if not for him. If he knew I was still alive, he'd come here, without question."
"For what cause, I wonder?" Varys ponders, "After-all… you did murder his father in the privy."
"Our father." Tyrion growls. "I'm sure once I saw him I could explain… He wouldn't kill me, if that's what you're suggesting? Not Jaime. He might be a lot of things, but there's no man I'd trust my life in more than him."
"Then if he shows up, bring him before me." Daenerys says, turns to Varys and asks with a dry tone, "Are there any others?"
"There is one more, Your Grace… One that brings me the most unease. The Vale is currently under Lord Robyn Arryn's control, but it's the young lord's father, Petyr Baelish, that truly has the reins of power. They call him Littlefinger, he was the Master of Coin for the Late King, Robert Baratheon before Tywin gave him power for helping him taking back King's Landing for the Lannisters. His rise to power has been giving me grief for many years, and now I fear he's gained more than enough power to represent a significant threat—not an ally—for all of us."
Dany can't believe this is the first she's hearing of this man and turns to Tyrion. "Is this true?"
Tyrion grimaces, "He's not a pleasant man, to be sure, but a threat?"
"I know him better than most men yet I hardly know him at all—but what I do know is that Petyr Baelish is the greatest threat to Westeros we have. He'd see every single House fall, watch thousands of innocents burn alive, just to be King. It's the only thing I'm confident he wants. He'll never stop, no matter what, he'll always be our enemy."
"Where is this Lord Baelish now? I want him brought before me." Daenerys says.
"In Winterfell." Varys says, appearing uncertain. "At the moment, he's serving at Sansa's side on her council."
"I can handle Sansa." Tyrion adds, "She used to be my wife. She may have no love for me, but she'll know I'm not going to hurt her. I can get her on our side… though having Jon on our side might complicate matters after what happened between them."
Varys sighs, sweeping around the table to look down at the eastern side of the map. "As for Littlefinger, it's too difficult to predict his next move. I have my Little Birds waiting in The Vale in case he returns there but that's as far North as I'm willing to risk their lives. Winter is on its way here and that may prove to be the most challenging enemy we have."
"We will be prepared." Dany promises.
It isn't long after their meeting before Dany is standing in her new throne room surrounded by hundreds of people. Tyrion is at her side as the Septon brings her a crown made of Dragonglass. There was only one man on Dragonstone capable for forging her this crown, as well as the massive, obsidian throne behind her. She sees him in the sea of on-lookers, smiling at his own work. Tyrion had found him. He was one of four in the world who could work with obsidian. A useful skill, Dany thinks as the crown of black glass is placed upon her head. It has six, sharp points rising around a smooth, curved base. Three dragons designed into the crown curl their necks around each-other, their eyes filled with tiny, red rubies. The Septon lifts his hands up and shouts, "I now proclaim Daenerys Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms!"
There's cheering and clapping from the crowd. People are happy for me… Or is it all an act? Daenerys faces her dragonglass throne, wishing she could smile but her face is expressionless. The throne is beautiful. A thousand swords of black, glistening glass rise up from the stone. The black stairs leading up to it rise twenty feet high. When Dany finally reaches her throne, she takes her seat and faces her people while Viserion and Rhaegal roar outside the throne room's windows. Dany leans back, feeling the groove of her throne against her shoulders, and realizes she has everything she's ever wanted… and nothing.
