Daenerys

This city reeks of corpses and pig shit. The city of Viserys' dreams, the one he talked of until the archons and princes of the Free Cities could stand him no more, the city her mother had grown up in. After everything she'd done to get here, everything she'd suffered, King's Landing was just another city. One that reeked of corpses and pig shit. Dany slowly kept pace with Ser Bonifer, her hand in his as he led her along with a rag tied around her eyes and the threadbare hood of a silent sister hiding her silver hair. Though she supposed she looked as though she were blind, Dany saw through the rag without much difficulty and what she saw did not fill her with what she thought she'd feel when finally she reached her life's destination. Dimly she wondered at the man who led her through the gates and down this rubbish-choked alley, that nightsoil-clogged gulley. With a shiver of revulsion, she felt a bolt rat run across her bare feet under the smock she wore to complete the ruse. Ser Barristan would not have brought me here. He would have insisted I stay on Dragonstone while others win my war for me. Thinking on the old knight as he'd been during her reign in Meereen made her eyes water. Ser Jorah would have bid me come but by no means pass the city gates until he and the Unsullied and the Dothraki had made it safe beforehand. Thinking on her bear as he'd been during her time as Drogo's khaleesi made her heart ache. Both lived with wounds that never ceased to hurt nor bleed, but neither knew my mother a tenth so well as Bonifer Hasty. And neither is my father. Once ascertaining that there was nothing in Flea Bottom worth looking at half so much as the man before her, her gaze never left him. A man who loved my mother, a man my mother loved. In each the other could forget the world at large, a moment of passion all too brief I owe everything. Had Viserys ever suspected? Despite his ill-use of her without respite, Dany didn't think so. Viserys held the memory of Aerys higher than any god. He would never have suspected Aerys' queen to look elsewhere for what she so wanted, so needed. Had Robert Baratheon known, would he have bothered to send knives after her? She'd never so much as met the man but from what she heard of him from others, she didn't think so. He would not have bestirred himself knowing that as a bastard I had little and less business coming to Westeros, much less King's Landing. But then, why am I here now?

Once out of the squalor of Flea Bottom's back alleys, Dany found Ser Bonifer leading her up a rather wider street if no less wretched. She could smell scent burning in the air as well, a noble but futile attempt to stave off the pervasive stink the city wore like a skin brand. To her disappointment Ser Bonifer did not lead her toward the source, perhaps the only half-tidy building in all the capital but through the doors of a seedy-looking brothel two doors down. How this brothel, why this one Dany had no notion, but she held her tongue as befit a silent sister. She watched the building's minder, a woman just past her prime make a sign that Bonifer returned. Once they were alone in a room upstairs, he took a long breath.

"True servants of the Seven must sometimes speak through symbols and scratches on walls. More fit for smugglers than stout hearts, perhaps…" he sounded almost apologetic. Dany's eyes only widened behind the rag. Whatever had been on the brothel's front, whatever hidden sign of sanctuary, she'd missed it completely.

"Do not feel unworthy, ser. If it pleases the Seven that their faithful should keep safe then secret signs are hardly sinful." A knight of the realm, one famed for his virtue, forced to dive beneath the rubbish to keep me safe and out of the hands of Cersei's hired swords. It made her want to cry. Common brutes wear the cloaks true men once did and make further mockery of the city the dragons began. After a moment though, Dany reconsidered. The dragons lived and died on Aegon's High Hill, descending into the common world only when they desired. The smallfolk they looked down upon from the parapets of the Red Keep built this city and made it thrive, not the Targaryens. It had been the same in Meereen. Slaves had laid the bricks, not the masters. Slaves had tended the orchards and the herds, not the masters. Here though, it seemed the masters had worn the chains and let them wring the lift out of the creatures who'd raised them high to begin with. How a king could forget a dragon for anything else, Dany had no inkling. Perhaps I'll learn when I stand in the throne room for the first time. If I live so long. There was a knock at the doorand a faint voice calling that dinner had been brought. Dany had not a copper to pay for food with but Bonifer dutifully opened the door and one of the brothel's girls carried in a tray of bony fish and cheese. Her face made Dany flinch visibly, the girl's eyes resolutely glued to the floor regardless. Of all the places to find a northern girl Daenerys could hardly guess a less likely place than a brothel in King's Landing. Without thinking she pulled away the rag, blinking to make sure who she saw was truly who stood before her. The girl's jaw dropped with a predictable pop.

"You are northern." Dany said, the poor girl's brown eyes only going wider at her words. Her mouth quivered and in an instant Dany took the sweetling in her arms, a hand on her back. For his part Bonifer made no move to impede her, only quietly closing the door behind the girl while Dany took her in hand. At a touch the girl jarred badly. No doubt she's been ill-used. The world is not kind to orphaned girls.

Thoughts of aught else had gone from Daenerys' mind as she sat the girl down, making a small dish for her off the tray she'd brought. It does no good to starve whores, but I doubt she's had her fill to eat in a long time. Of the few northern houses she was familiar with Dany could think of none missing a daughter. The Blackfish mentioned his sister's daughter when he joined me. If Tully had told me her name, I might ask just now. Anyway, she's supposed to be safe at Winterfell. Purported to be the spitting image of Lady Catelyn, Dany had a brief image of a waterfall of red hair and blue eyes peering out from behind it in her mind's eye before the girl stirred and brought her back to earth.

"What's your name? I know the King in the North well, surely he'd be pleased to take you home."

"Robb was murdered by the Boltons and the Freys." The girl replied sullenly looking in her lap. Dany swallowed. Might bringing up Jon Snow offend her?

"Not Robb Stark. Jon Snow, the White Wolf."

"Sansa should get the north, she's a trueborn daughter of Lord Eddard Stark." The girl replied automatically. Her words surprised Dany. Someone close to the Starks, or at least to Princess Sansa.

"Sansa Stark may not be a queen but as sister to kings living and dead both she is just as much a princess as her sister."

"Arya Horseface? She's no princess, just a filthy troublesome runt. She always tried to ruin Sansa's day when we were little. I daubed the oats off Sansa's face when Arya flung them at her the night Lord Stark feasted King Robert." Dany got the distinct sense it had been the most the girl had talked perhaps in years. Face to face with the Mother of Dragons and the battered sweetling could only think of Sansa Stark. Would Missandei speak in my defense with such fire? Dany was certain she would but thinking on her Naathi friend made her sad anew, so she tried focusing on the girl. After dabbing away a haze of tears, she hiccupped. "When I came to this city, my name was Jeyne Poole. I was the daughter of Lord Eddard's steward, Vayon. After the grand tournament King Robert was killed by a boar and the Lannisters turned on us. Father was killed, Lord Eddard captured, and I was set to working in whichever brothel had the least selection as it were on any given night. Brothels owned by Littlefinger, if the men who took me told it true when they complained about price."

"Men like to talk when they're happy." Daenerys replied, almost without thinking. The girl, Jeyne Poole, looked at her.

"They like to talk when they're annoyed, too." Perhaps, if one has had that much experience. If the men must pay for such, as well. "You should have a bath, Jeyne. You look the way I used to after a day of riding across the Dothraki Sea. Although I reeked of horse, not men."

"Men smell worse." came the reply, Jeyne poking listlessly at the small lump of cheese as Bonifer called for hot water. The woman who ran the brothel brought it up herself, huffing and red in the face.

"Dusk comes, ser. The gold cloaks will begin dropping by in mere moments. You'd do best to remain in here until dawn at the least, you and the girls. That way you won't be disturbed." She speaks as if Bonifer were just another customer for the sake of listening ears. The knight sniffed.

"I've no wish to mix with the scum-called-city guard. There's a silver stag in it for you should they be kept out of my sight." He tried to sound like just another brute, another common sword with a knight's name, but even in farce Bonifer Hasty didn't have it in him to play the villain. Just as the woman said, the floor below soon filled with irate voices and impatient shouts. There was little else for Dany to do except help Jeyne Poole with her bath, pulling a threadbare blanket over herself afterward in an attempt at sleep. If the gods are so kind, she thought. Tomorrow is like to be taxing to say the least.

Daenerys knew she was dreaming when the gusts that cut through the brothel faded into balmy warmth, finding herself a child no older than five or six. She stood on the threshold of a building she'd dreamed of since the day it had been closed to her and Viserys, the red door leaping out from the white stone around it like the eyes and mouth of a heart tree. Her heart fluttered at the sight of the door and her hand yearned to reach for the crimson wood, but she was not the child she appeared to be. I know much of falsehoods and glamours, of prophecies and dreams. No doubt if I open that something horrible will chase me down the street. The lemon tree grew straight and tall to her left, no doubt fertile and healthy but Dany turned her eyes away. I know what the tree looks like. No doubt it's just as lovely as I remember, more so than it could possibly have been in life. Whoever heard of lemon trees in Braavos, anyway? As she grumbled darkly to herself, amused at the voice of the girl she'd been if nothing else, the red door swung inward with slow purpose. At once she froze, ready to run and nevermind a childhood home that had only ever been hers just to be snatched away.

"Hmph!" Dany sulked, turning her back on the threshold with her arms crossed and lip puffed out. No doubt yet another attempt to get me to run heedlessly toward happiness. Whose, I do not know, but I'll not fall for it again. She remembered Pyat Pree, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, the great bloodbath her attempt at civilizing Slaver's Bay had been. The chittering chirp that came next tugged at her very being. I am not a moth to be burned in a nightlamp. The dragons are grown now, not chirping hatchlings- Then her eyes opened. They led me through the House of the Undying. They kept me out of Pree's grasp. Despite every bit of her screaming not to, she wearily turned toward the open door and went inside. To her confusion it seemed the building had no inside, a single step taking her to a garden of sorts. A gate, then. A wall of seamlessly mortared white bricks stood at the garden's far end and a narrow stream to her left separated her from a much-maligned garden patch, one torn and dusty.At first it seemed grass stretched to the opposite wall, but on closer inspection Dany could see the deep divide halfway between her and the far white bricks. Lilypads and cattails burst from the seam, an impenetrable barrier between the warm green grass on which she stood and the snow-dusted stretch beyond. The mire even bled southward a bit, the sodden ground full of wiggling lizards. Daenerys stared uncertainly at the puzzle before her. I've seen such impossible things in the company of the blue-lipped wizards. A trap to lure me in. Another chirp met her ears and she spotted a good deal of movement in the strip of dense marsh, yet another sounding from a cluster of razor rocks that jutted out from the frozen pool sleeping flush to the wall, above the narrow stream.

She was just wondering if it were worth stepping into the muck to try and find the source of the chirping when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Dany jerked awake, her eyes shooting open and at once moaning in dismay as the light of dawn filled filled them. She pulled the blanket over her head, muttering to herself.

"It's morning, sweetling. Best get up…" The voice of Bonifer Hasty made her stop her childishness. Sweetling. She idly shrugged beneath the blanket. He can scarcely call me 'Daenerys' or 'Your Grace' with Cersei's lickspittles downstairs. She sat up wearily, stretching and spotting Jeyne asleep in a chair near the hearth. Her dreamscape lingered in her mind's eye, a sprawling garden that certainly existed nowhere in the waking world. At least nothing attacked me. Then again, if I find myself there again something might. She got to her feet and donned her silent sister's garb, Jeyne likewise taking up the ruse.

"I could be a septa…" she had suggested.

"These are dark days. A septa cannot walk freely in King's Landing with Cersei's feelings on the Seven's faithful abundantly clear. No one will look twice at those who tend the dead, though. Particularly in this city." The sadness in his voice shone through most unhelpfully and Daenerys could only pray it went unheard by anyone downstairs. Bonifer thanked the madame and as simple as that the three of them were back out on the streets, morning doing nothing to improve King's Landing's odor. Dany followed dutifully, even when a glint of red off to the left caught her eye. Her breath hitched in her chest at the sight of the Red Keep in the morning light, even far away. I am close, she thought. So close. Close to where the Targaryens lived, reigned, died, for three centuries. Where I might have been born but for Rhaegar's kidnapping of Lyanna. Where I might have been wedded to Viserys by Mother to save my own life. The thought made her skin crawl. Jon Snow and his wildlings have it right. To be alive, you must be free, not the other way around. Gently, Bonifer Hasty took her hand. Daenerys turned away from the red building in the distance and followed him. As they walked Dany noticed that even in the dying city there were very few people around. She was about to ask where they were going when she remembered that silent sisters spoke not at all. They ascended a hill and abruptly Daenerys found herself staring into a hole that ran a hundred feet down. The mirror of a Meerenese pyramid, only round. Rubble and looters' rubbish littered the great hole and the city grounds around it. Dany had never heard of such a rubbish pit from Viserys but only when she saw through her rag that Bonifer was weeping did she realize that this must have been the Great Sept of Baelor she'd been told of. Or rather, what's left after the wildfire had its way. So, this is what Aerys sought for his city before it could be taken from him. So much the better his twisted fire was put out. She never heard anyone speak good of Aerys Targaryen anyway, Viserys aside. If only Rhaegar had triumphed at the Trident, I might have grown up a knight's cherished natural daughter instead of a miserable trueborn princess.

They were taking the long way back toward the Red Keep at Daenerys' request, Bonifer dutifully guiding them on without a second look at anyone they passed. I hope Jon Snow at least will understand. I waited all my life for this moment, to stand where my ancestors stood… Her Hand's attitude would likely be a deal less forgiving she knew, but somehow Dany felt it hard to imagine the King in the North angry with her. He may well be, now I've put myself in such danger. If he loves me as I pray he does, he's not like to wait for me to emerge, he'll come in after me. Only then did Dany's eyes widen in realization. Who was she fooling? Of course Jon Snow would come in after her, honor and affection both spurring him on and damn the risks. Like the fact that Cersei would like nothing more than to finish House Stark for good, even surer than she would House Targaryen. Dany felt foolish to her bones as she pondered her blunder. If Jaime Lannister spoke true, she may light the wildfire if only to erase the last of her hated enemies from the world. She hadn't meant to risk Jon, risk the North's pride and joy, risk the last man of House Stark. I would have done better to slide under his blanket with him and spend all day sleeping while we waited Cersei out. At the sound of thunder, she looked up to see a true tempest roll in overhead like a khalasar galloping across the Dothraki Sea. A moment later it seemed and she was drenched, the rain pouring down harder than Dany could believe.

"We make for the castle," she said, hardly needing to play the silent sister any longer. "Nobody will object to a knight intent on joining Cersei nor to two more hands meant to dispose of corpses." A walk that should have taken less than an hour took it seemed all day, made worse when the water ran down Aegon's High Hill and turned the street into a slew of mud. All the while the rains fell on. In time Dany could see a greenish tar bubble up from the city's drains, wells, even the seams in the streets themselves. Water enough to flush King's Landing of the wildfire beneath it. Where the rains had come from, she could only guess but they were nothing like the tears shed over the riverlands. They were concise, precise, aimed…soaking the city to the foundation stones and below, glutting the ground until it forced the explosive poison malingering in its bowels to bubble up and flow down into Blackwater Bay. Well, that addresses that at least. Nobody's like to light a torch in such an ungodly squall. Finally, the outline of the castle loomed large even in the rain, as different from Dany's childhood idea of home as day from night.

"The drawbridge is down." Bonifer said, his voice alert and wary.

"Is that unusual?" Dany asked, feeling utterly ignorant.

"Cersei hasn't been very hospitable of late. Apart from guard shifts or what supplies can be found, the Red Keep stays cut off even from the rest of the city. Elsewise Cersei would be dragged out and beheaded over the edge of the hole that was once the Great Sept of Baelor." Jeyne Poole said, peering into the darkness that was the castle's moat.

"Well, we can at least get dry…" Dany made a halfhearted attempt to cross the drawbridge. Even before she slipped on the slick wood Ser Bonifer's arm was out to scoop her from thin air and steal her back to safety. The Red Keep tried to eat me, she thought dizzily.

"Perhaps you ought to follow me, Your Grace." Ser Bonifer said, breathing hard and speaking tersely through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Ser Bonifer." she said meekly, blushing crimson and feeling the freezing rain grow warm on her cheeks. At least it's not steaming, she thought embarrassedly. Once they'd crossed and Dany felt the red bricks beneath her feet her pounding heart would allow her to go no further until she got what was on her mind out. "Ser Bonifer-"

"It was merely my duty, Your Grace." he interrupted, most unlike his normal soft-spoken self. No doubt these halls have only painful memories for him, memories of a happy youth given to abject sorrow. Small wonder he wants this over and done with, as surely as I do.

"Father." She called, the word echoing off the castle's dark halls. The knight froze, Jeyne Poole looking on without a word, brown eyes wide. It seemed as though Bonifer Hasty had become locked in time. "Father." Dany called again, trying not to sound the pleading girl. Trying and failing. When he turned to look at her the years it seemed had fled him, the fading light showing Dany the boy who had loved her mother fiercely enough to share a single night of freedom with her and risk a madman's wrath. I may well die today, if things go ill. I would stem his bleeding as he stemmed Mother's. "I spent my entire youth in the last Targaryen's company and only a few short months in yours." She took a breath. "Your pardon, but I'd rather be your daughter than his heir." Her voice shook but she steeled herself to remain standing, ignoring Jeyne Poole's gaping. Impressed at last. Bonifer only stared at her. What little light the sconces afforded glinted off the rivulets running down his cheeks. Slowly he stepped toward her. I wonder how much of Mother he sees in me. How much of himself he does. When he drew his sword Dany neither blinked nor shied away. Instead, she gracefully got to a knee. Gently he set the blade upon her shoulder.

"What is your name?" he asked, an airy whisper the best he could manage.

"Daenerys Waters." Dany replied without shame or scorn.

"No," came the countermand. "Not Daenerys Waters. From this day, until the day you marry, you are Daenerys Hasty, daughter of Ser Bonifer Hasty." Dany shut her eyes. Only now do I see what Mother meant. Free of Aerys, free of his awful shadow. No more shame, no more House Targaryen.

"You honor me," she began, "I swear, I will uphold your name and your tradition. I will be worthy of you, Father. Worthy of your trust, worthy of your love. I promise."

The great doors were open, though the light was too poor to much see what was going on in the throne room. Nevertheless, Daenerys strode in alive as she had never been, aglow as she could ever be. Even in the dim light she could see it at the other end of the huge room, the black shape a curled fist or perhaps a bentbacked leper wheezing out his last. There was a shadow in the gallery and her father's sword was back in hand, calling out to whoever it was to show themselves. Out of the blackness came a bald older man, his face ashen and exhausted but grinning ear to ear. In one hand he carried a truly massive greatsword. In the other he held a man's head, impossibly huge and dripping some hellish black tar. More of the stuff pooled at the man's feet and only then did Daenerys realize the man was hurt. His mouth opened to laugh but only more blood came out, spilling down his stained jerkin. His mute clacks echoed off the pillars right up until he collapsed forward, his nose crunching flat against the stone. Dany just managed to avoid slipping in the pool when someone bearing a torch brushed past her, accompanied by the reek of open sewer. The bleeding man was flipped with the squirting sound of a deep wound and a barely held scream. Tyrion, she realized wonderingly.

"Where are they, you murderous bald bastard?" he shouted…no, bellowed, louder than Dany thought him possibly able, right into the man's face. The sight of the dwarf made him break out in a new bout of clacks, just as loud. His spasming left hand came up and closed harmlessly around the dwarf's throat, at least until he lost the power to move it, then it just fell into his lap. Realizing what he held, Tyrion stepped backward in disbelief. He's dying, Dany thought despairingly, of a man she'd never known and never would, given his muteness and the scale of his wounds. In the light given by the torch his features were thrown into sharp relief- at least until he spat a glob of phlegm in Dany's face. With an unholy death rattle and a last gleeful clack, he went slack against the ground. It fell to Ser Bonifer to gently dab at Dany's face with a purple kerchief.

"Who was he?" she asked, too stunned to say any more.

"Ser Ilyn Payne. Captain of my father's household guard, until Mad Aerys had his tongue torn out for saying it was truly my father who ruled the realm. He was the King's Justice for nearly twenty years but it seems he's no more fond of the Targaryens than he was then."

"Had he lasted a moment longer I could have told him the Targaryens died when Viserys did." Dany said, Tyrion looking to her in confusion. "I have no wish to live a lie, my Lord Hand. It is Daenerys Hasty who stands before you now, with no more claim to the Iron Throne than you. No less, either." She smiled through watering eyes. Tyrion gaped at her.

"Your Grace, I don't understand. You are all that can hold the realms together, all that keeps the peace-"

"-and that peace will last until the very moment I die, be it in an hour or a hundred years from now. I can have no children, Tyrion. What good is it for me to sit a throne if I can pass it to no one after me? What good is peace now when it can only mean war later?" Her answer did not stop his gaping. "Ah, you took a leaf from Jorah's book, then? Coming through the sewers?"

"I doubt your surly bear has so much as read a page worth of writing in all his life." Tyrion sniffed, promptly gagging on his own stench. "Varys and I were fucking about with the drains, making sure the wildfire the city over would be pushed to the surface by the endless rainwater."

"I suppose I know who to thank for that."

"Just so. They're rather devilishly useful, if moody."

"Can you blame them? They've suffered much."

"So have you, to reach this point." He turned to look at it, evidently troubled by the absence of his siblings.

"I have, and I'm in no rush." Dany said, sitting on the steps up to the throne and patting the space beside her. "We can wait right here for the others to arrive." I waited all my life for what sits behind me. It can bloody well wait for me.

It was dawn before people began milling into the room, looking in turns exhausted or red-faced. Reachmen, rivermen, stormlanders, Dany even spotted the small cadre of worthies from the North and Beyond the Wall. Yet, she saw no sigh of the King in the North. Her heart stopped. Where is he? She craned her neck and stood on her toes, resolutely ignoring the curious murmurs from the gathered lords. If he's gotten lost, it could be ages until he's found. Unless Cersei's gold cloaks got to him…then he may never be found. She tried hard not to call out for him even as the gallery filled, the dead mute and his ghastly prize cleared away for the floor to fill in turn. Even Arya is among them, so where is he? Only when the room grew full to the rafters did Dany relent and address the room at large.

"My lords," she began, the lot of them quieting at once. At least there were no battles, no sieges, no Fields of Fire. Who would have guessed? "I wish I could tell you our troubles are over. I wish with all my heart I could tell you that you are free to return to your lands and settle in for winter. Unfortunately, fate has not been so kind. We have but blunted the dagger at our backs, now we must see to the broadsword swinging at our faces. The King in the North only came this far south to warn me, warn us, of another threat, a greater one, marshalling beyond the Wall. Our first goal was to oust Cersei and free the capital for use as a port. We have. Now it should be our aim to get to Winterfell or the castles around it with all speed, so as to be ready when the enemy comes." An enemy none of you have seen, one you scarcely believe in if at all, and this after years of war that have spoiled your harvests and left not one family tree among the lot of you unbloodied. Those who were unfamiliar with the sight of Lady Catelyn and Talisa Maegyr looked at them uncertainly. Perhaps they lend credence to Jon Snow's words. They and Drogon both. Not Tyrion, though. He has no need to be persuaded. Indeed, her Hand mouthed words at the pair of them, shrugging questioningly. He got only sad looks in reply.

"Be that as it may, Your Grace," Lord Tarly's sharp voice cut through the heavy silence of the room despite the countless people in it. "There's still a matter outstanding that's yet to be attended to." Oh, that again. Daenerys thought hard before she next spoke.

"Before I say anything more, know these orders are for the good of King's Landing and ought not be left undone simply to spite me." More confused murmuring. "Clearly you saw the state of things on your way up here. The city is starving and bankrupt, both."

"Aye, and Jaime Lannister said you'd compensate us for keeping the farce going under his bitch sister." A man she didn't recognize said sharply, prompting a deal of reprimanding. Daenerys was pleased to see what Unsullied and Dothraki were visible made no move to interfere, letting words come and go between the room and their queen like leaves in autumn.

"He spoke truly. Ships laden with currency of any desired denomination as well as salted fish can be set on their way as soon as the raven is sent to Dragonstone. Truly, there is no shortage. You will find no fault with your recompense for your noble efforts to keep King's Landing alive." Dany only smiled as she looked out at them. She made no move toward what sat behind her. Finally, someone got the message and runners were sent to get the ravens out. "Thank you, my lords. Now, allow me to tell you a story."

"Once there was a handsome young knight. He lacked a name you'd know offhand but he proved able in the lists, even winning a tourney or two. On one such occasion he was granted a princess' favor and defeated all who rode against him to name her his queen of love and beauty. This was no courtly affection though, you see. He loved her and she loved him. Sadly, it was not to be. He was a lowly knight, after all, and she a princess. Her marriage to an altogether different sort of man saw him hang up his tourney lance and spurs for good, seeking what solace he could find in the Faith of the Seven. That may well have been the end of the tale but for a knight of the Kingsguard looking the other way. A night was all they were afforded, a night that had to last a lifetime, but they shared it all the same. Not as knight and queen, but man and woman. Her husband could never find out, for he was vicious as he was unpredictable. When her womb quickened, her husband did not question the child's paternity despite his own inability to sire anything but stillborns by then." Dany kept talking, wanting to finish before the room exploded. "Unfortunately for the queen, she died in childbirth bringing a daughter into the world. A daughter that wore her husband's name and her own, that carried their claim with her when she was smuggled east. Recently she has come into her own, finding what solace she can in the arms of a father she never knew she had. In truth, I am no more Targaryen than any of you. I have the blood, else the dragons would not have hatched for me, but blood is all I have, my lords. No name, no claim...until Ser Bonifer had the grace to give me his." She clasped her hands in front of her. "I do not deal in false coin, my lords, and I will not deceive you any further. I am Daenerys Hasty without reservation or remorse, and I cannot say how glad I am the shadow that has followed me all my life has been lifted from my shoulders at last." She expected the shouting to start as soon as she finished. Instead, she could hear sand fall in an hourglass. The first to speak was Edmure Tully, much to his own disbelief it seemed.

"You say you're not the Mad King's daughter."

"His niece, Lord Tully, and not a drop of blood closer." To her confusion they did not seem much moved by her words, only muttering to one another. Lord Edmure only grew more red-faced as more and more gazes found him.

"What are you all looking at me for? It's all I can do to keep my pants dry. Fuck it, let's keep her. Dragons are dragons, their names do not matter." King Robert's own bastard spoke next.

"If Robert's blood is enough to make me Lord of Storm's End, it would seem pretty scummy of me to take that away from one above me. So she's not Aerys' daughter. She's Queen Rhaella's, and that's good enough for me." Silence fell, but only for a minute.

"I thought I was going to be alone on this, but it seems we're much in agreement, my lords. I know well a certain bastard the north was enamored enough with to crown and it's served them fairly well thus far." Samwell Tarly, Jon Snow's well-read and well-round friend.

"You are sworn to the Night's Watch, you have no right to speak for the Reach-" Lord Randyll cut in.

"-and you no mind nor wit nor voice to, Father. Lucky for you I'm here just now." There was a goodly amount of laughter. Meanwhile, Daenerys was mystified. I have no right…gods, is this how Jon Snow felt at his accession?

"I can bear no children, my lords. Once I die you'd be right back at each other's throats-"

"True, a dimmer collection of blockheads you will never find. Luckily some of us need not worry too much about what the future brings." Lady Olenna called from the back waving her stick, spurring still more laughter among those in their grey hairs.

"Have we heard nothing from either Dorne or the ironborn?" someone asked. The Queen of Thorns snorted.

"Like as not they're sunning themselves in the Water Gardens or else locked in the Tower of the Sun. Someone may have to go get them out but I'll dive headfirst down the dragon's gullet before I set foot in Dorne again." she said crossly, prompting another wave of laughter to course through the room.

"Someone will need to reach the westerlands as well. It seems my siblings have disappeared, and I can no more claim Casterly Rock than Winterfell, having killed Lord Tywin." Tyrion interjected. There was more talk but none of it was directed at Dany. Indeed, she was almost forgotten about as the lords began to go about their business.

"But don't you understand?" her voice echoed off the walls, prompting silence again. She pointed behind her. "It isn't mine."

"It is now, Your Grace. If you'd be so kind as to sit it, we'll have the matter neatly settled." Lord Tully said, shrugging. "You're the only one with the blood. You're the only one with a dragon. It seems the way cannot be clearer." They want me, Daenerys realized. As the northmen wanted Jon. Numbly she turned to finally face what had been her heart's deepest wish, in Viserys a desire so fierce it wore away at him until only a grasping skeleton in skin remained. The Iron Throne was indeed made of swords, twisted and bent like tailor's ribbon this way and that, a stair in the blades winding up to the seat. Where the Conqueror sat, when he should scarce have ever left the Black Dread's back. Had Drogo seen the thing, he would never have let Rhaego near it. Dutifully she climbed the stone steps, up to where the throne proper sat. I am not ten feet away. Not five. Not three, she thought as it came closer and closer. Finally, she could move no further without walking into it, yet her arm seemed content at her side. I was more eager in the vision the Undying showed me. My hand came up, and just before I touched it- Drogon's roar shook the throne room and made the assembly such as it was quickly leave the floor, going flush to the back wall. There was a crunch as he landed on the roof, a snuffling as Dany heard his nostrils sniff for her. With a final irate scream, he simply smashed his way in, stones bouncing off the bloodstained floor as he brought his bulk to bear. Until then the others had seen Drogon only in his lazy sleepy mood or else from far away. It was plain to Dany that up close, the lords of Westeros thought the dragon, smoking from the nostrils and red eyes wide and staring in a word completely terrifying. Not the Dothraki, though. Their whooping at Drogon's arrival and the Free Folk's slack-jawed stares could not have been more alight with joy. They may want me, Daenerys thought, but they do not want him. No more than they want the Dothraki or the Unsullied or the freedmen.

She turned back to the throne as she felt a furnace ignite behind her, Drogon's head snaking forward. Can he smell the Dread on it? Or just the blood of every king to open their arms on its blades? Or is it the dead dragons of the Dragonpit he smells? Or is it just the iron he hates? Iron, the stuff of chains. Iron, that Aegon used to chain his descendants to the top of the pyramid of Westeros in an attempt to ensure perpetual peace. Iron, that those descendants, my ancestors, thought worth fighting for, worth killing for, worth dying for. Iron, that I would not choose over Missandei's little finger. The Targaryens were no less chained than the meanest slave. I do not wear chains, I break them. Daenerys did not need to look to see that Drogon's mouth had opened. Again she held her hand out, half expecting Drogon to scream in protest, but instead she felt something sharp shoot up her arm. For a moment she thought she'd cut herself, only then realizing it had come from above. She looked up into the sky just as the feeling exploded against her cheek and again in her hand. Snow, she thought in wonder. The white flakes sprinkled down without end, making her gasp whenever they touched her. Drogon gave a sudden irritable snort and Dany felt a strong arm close snugly around her waist, another coming up to take her hand. She brought it to her cheek, fur glove covered in snow and all. It was warmer than any fire she'd ever felt. She gave the softest sob, one she knew only he could hear.

"I don't want to be the Queen," she whispered. "I want to be your queen." He turned her to face him, his captivating grey stealing ghost's eyes that had stolen her heart when first she saw them staring into hers. You are a wild creature, she thought despairingly. Wild and free, wandering where you will. Wild, too, must be your mate. Free, too, must be your queen. She turned to the great coiled chain that stretched out to manacle her. "Dracarys." she said without a second's delay. Instantly there was a rumble as Drogon pulled the wind into his lungs, the fire in his chest building by the moment. At the last moment Jon Snow snatched her to safety and Drogon let out a torrent of his black fire, the snow-chilled throne making an earsplitting sound as it cracked at once, the flaws growing longer, thicker. Red, orange, yellow, white. Her child showed no mercy, not stopping until the swords that stuck out of the horrid mass began to curl like leaves in a firepit. He filled his broad chest again, giving the other side his second volley. The white flaws that cut across the iron grew broader in turn, the metal slowly turning to wax. All the while Jon Snow carried her away from the inferno, the others having long fled. No, don't take me yet, she thought, curled up in his arms. I want to watch. Drogo had ever said a king needed only a mount, that thrones were foolish things. I once asked what man could rival Drogo, who died with his hair uncut and rode through the Night Lands…in answer, the gods sent me a man who may well have rode with Drogo in the hereafter and returned. Drogon minds no one but him, that may well be why. There was a wet pop, a dry crack and in an instant the throne's form twisted in on itself, running across the floor like spilled grease. The air grew colder as they left the Red Keep and he held her all the closer, rocking her as best as he could through her faint sobs. There was an earsplitting roar and Drogon erupted from within the castle, bursting free of the roof and into the sky. Dany tried to keep track of him through her tears but in moments he was lost in the endless expanse of dark gray sky. I am free of the Iron Throne, and he is free of me.