AN: Welcome back everyone! This chapter will reveal one of the secrets I promised and give you a deeper insight into why my Daenerys does what she does. Hope you'll enjoy it!
A Lion's Hide
"Ser Jorah has returned, my queen," Grey Worm informed her in his flawless, stoic High Valyrian.
Daenerys smiled at him, grateful for the news, and beckoned him to prepare everything for the reception of her visitors. Knowing full well that he and Missandei shared a great love for propriety and protocol, she expected the preparations to last at least another hour, granting her time to stay behind on the balcony she had come to love so much. It was accessible directly from her quarters in the great pyramid, and it overlooked the whole of Meereen. Shining and golden, the city lay sprawled at her feet, and she could not help but be infatuated with the sight. After Astapor and Yunkai, she had truly hesitated to come here, for it was not where her true struggle lay, but after seeing the exceptional and exotic beauty of Meereen, Daenerys had understood that this place was part of her way. It was her destiny.
She had broken the chains of all the slaves in the city as rightfully she should, and she had decided to make the pyramid hers and hold court here for a while. Just as she had done with Astapor and Yunkai, she wished to change the way life worked in the city state, and she would do so with as little violence as possible. For that reason, she had decided against crucifying the masters, even though the street lined with crucified slaves had made her blood boil. People who committed such atrocities deserved no mercy, but she had to be lenient nonetheless. Not for them, but to avoid further bloodshed. Her dealings with the Astapori rich had worked out well so far, and Yunkai also seemed to fall into the fold, so it was only natural Daenerys would attempt the same approach again. Anything to prevent the Sons of the Harpy from ever rising up.
A growl pulled her from her musings. She looked up the pyramid towards the top, where Rhaegon had just landed. Screaming into the golden afternoon sun, he unfolded his wings as if he was a living statue atop the pyramid. Daenerys smiled at him.
"I know, my love. What happens here is of no matter compared to what awaits us. Yet, is it so wrong that I should try to make these cities a better place? To break the chains off Slavers' Bay and turn it into a Bay of Dragons?" she asked in High Valyrian.
As if to answer, Rhaegon made a grumbling noise that forced her to smile. He had grown so much, her beautiful black-and-red son. Soon he would be large enough to carry her into real battles, as would his sisters, whom she had never chained or bound. Yes, they occasionally stirred up the population with sudden attacks on livestock, and yes, they had also claimed the life of one or two men. It was painful to think about, but only to some extent, for Daenerys understood the dragons needed meat and freedom. They had to grow. If they didn't, the world was lost, and the animals and people they killed would then die together with everyone else.
Some things were not pleasant, but necessary.
"I am nervous," she admitted to her dragon. "Do you think it will work out?"
The huffing noise he made was not helpful, not at all. He was a smart beast, and certainly he sensed her unease, but he would be of no assistance now. The confrontation she would soon face was hers alone, and she had both longed for it and dreaded it equally.
She heard steps behind her, and above her, Rhaegon set out to fly towards the sunset. For a moment, she dreamed she was as free as him.
"Khaleesi, the men are here. I will bring you to the throne room," her bloodrider Aggo said.
Once she had followed him to the pyramid's great reception hall, her gown as splendidly silver as her braided hair, she took a seat on the throne and nodded towards Missandei. She and her friend had discussed this day at length, for everything had to be perfect. Many good suggestions had not been Daenerys's own doing, in fact, but rather her friend's, and she was very grateful for any idea that helped her keep her calm now. This was, after all, the biggest moment in her new life so far.
"The dragon must have three heads," she whispered to herself before the doors of the reception hall were opened wide.
Grey Worm's firm steps resounded from the walls as he led her visitors into the room. One she readily recognized, although her cherished guardian looked somewhat rugged and even more tanned than usual. With him came a rather pale bald man in fine clothes, who hid his hands in his sleeves, and a man of short stature with tousled blonde hair that had almost gone white from the intense sun of Essos. His mismatched eyes, one emerald green, one light blue, looked at her uneasily.
"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of Dragon's Bay, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of all Khals, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains," Missandei announced, her voice carrying far and wide in the great hall.
"Your Grace," Ser Jorah said, his eyes glittering with the joy of a man who reaches a well after days of thirst. "I have returned to you, khaleesi, and I have brought the men you wished to meet, safe and sound as promised."
She looked at the two other men and found that Jorah spoke true, even if the smaller one seemed a little shaken and deranged from his trip. For a moment, she wanted to step up and hug her bear knight as reward for a job well done, but then she restrained herself. This moment was crucial, after all, and she needed to appear absolutely perfect. So instead of praising him or even smiling, she simply made a small gesture towards Missandei.
"The queen is very grateful to you, Ser Jorah. She has never just for a heartbeat doubted your success, and would be pleased to reward you in a fitting manner," Missandei proclaimed. "However, your journey was long and arduous. The queen insists you find refreshment and a moment of rest. A bath has already been prepared for you."
"Thank you, my queen," Jorah replied hastily and bowed before her. Then he shot the two men he had brought before her a glance before turning around and following two handmaidens out of the reception hall.
Everyone waited until his steps could no longer be heard, and everyone except the short man made very calm, serious faces while doing so. Then, Grey Worm stepped forward.
"My queen, these men are Lord Varys the Spider and Lord Tyrion Lannister."
"Or so they claim," Missandei interrupted him in the way they had decided she would. "How do we know they are who they say they are?"
Before either Grey Worm or the bald man could answer, the short one sighed deeply.
"Oh, if only it were otherwise."
"But if you are Tyrion Lannister, why should my queen not kill you? To pay your family back for what it did to my queen's." Missandei asked quietly.
His face turned a little angry at that. "You want revenge against the Lannisters? I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart. I am the greatest Lannister killer of our time."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow, and Missandei understood.
"So my queen should welcome you into her service because you murdered members of your own family?"
"Into her service?" he asked back, sounding rather incredulous. He now looked directly at the queen. "Your Grace, we have only just met. It's too soon to know if you deserve my service."
At that, the bald man stared at him with just a second of confusion before entering the conversation himself.
"Your Grace, we have come here with the declared intention to serve you, for none other is worthy. And we were under the impression that our plans agreed with yours. Why else would you send us an envoy to greet us in Pentos and bring us here?"
"Yes, our queen needs service," Grey Worm agreed in his broken Common Tongue. "But good men."
"What the commander means is that, as Lord Tyrion rightly has put, it is too soon to know whether you are deserving of my queen's trust," Missandei explained further. "If you believed her desperate for any kind of help, you were sadly mistaken."
The bald man seemed to gather his wits to form a charming, placating answer, but the short man was faster.
"When I was young, I heard a story about a baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no wealth, no lands, no army, only a name and a handful of supporters, most of whom probably thought they could use that name to benefit themselves. They kept her alive, moving her from place to place, often only hours ahead of the men who had been sent to kill her. She was eventually sold off to some warlord on the edge of the world and that appeared to be that. Then, a few years later, the most well-informed person I knew told me that this girl without wealth, lands or armies had somehow acquired all three in a very short span of time along with three dragons. He thought she was our best, last chance to build a better world," he narrated in a low but strong voice. Then he shrugged lightly. "I thought you were worth meeting, at the very least."
There was a moment of silence, and then Daenerys said: "Good. Let us meet, then."
All eyes went to her immediately, but she ignored everyone else and turned to Missandei.
"See our guests settled into the palace properly. I will receive them privately in due time, but I wish for them not to reek of sea travel," she told her friend, yet it was loud enough to hear for anyone else in the room.
Missandei, in turn, stepped forward. "The queen accepts you as guests in her pyramid. You will receive bread and salt, and a bed and water and fresh clothes. She will meet with you as soon as time permits, and she hopes you will enjoy Meereen's hospitality until then."
At that, Grey Worm gave the other Unsullied a sign, and they formed a pathway for the two visitors to walk through. The men would be given no option to speak to the queen any further, at least not for now. They seemed unsure about the whole situation, but Grey Worm relentlessly walked behind them, all but driving them out the room in front of him. Daenerys had told him and Missandei about the impression she wanted to make on these two men, after all. And who was he to disappoint his queen?
So the visitors left, and Daenerys breathed freely again.
"All went well, my queen," Missandei remarked.
"Yes, thank you. But this was only a battle. The true war has yet to be won, and I still shudder to think of it. What if he does not take it kindly?"
To her surprise, her friend reacted by putting a hand on her shoulder and smiling gently.
"He will understand. You will make him understand. You have a way with words, my queen."
Daenerys nodded. "And yet, I find myself quite liking the moments when you speak for me. Your voice is like soothing balm to my aching heart, my friend."
"But not this time," Missandei insisted. "We have prepared everything for such a long time, my queen, but to him, you must go alone. It cannot be otherwise."
"I know," the queen sighed and rose from her throne. "Let us hope that I have prepared enough."
Well, mostly she had made sure there would be luxurious food and even better wine. Aided by such pleasures of the senses, Daenerys hoped, her conversation might run as smoothly as was possible. The topics were more than capable of turning it awkward, anyway. So when they brought him to her the next day, she had to force herself not to walk up and down her chambers, revealing her nervousness. But once she saw his mismatched eyes and the fierce, unwavering intelligence that shone from them, all trembling left her. She put on a gracious smile and pointed towards the richly endowed table.
"Sit, please. My cooks were not certain as to where your tastes lay, so I have ordered them to bring the richest wine Meereen had to offer, just in case the food does not meet your standards."
He looked up to her with a frown. "How very thoughtful."
Daenerys tried to smile even more as she sat down and waited for him to do the same. A servant came and offered them a choice of wines. She decided to go for the same one he had chosen, a heavily scented red one. He almost downed his cup in one go, causing the servants to hurry back and refill it. Daenerys wondered if he was truly a drunkard or if this was his way to cope with unease. Was he nervous, too?
"So, have you decided yet?" she asked, opening the conversation. "Whether I am worthy of your service?"
"Have you decided yet whether or not you'd like to see me a head shorter?" he asked back. "I'd be very short then."
"Many of my councillors would say it was my safest option."
He looked into his cup. "I can see why they would think so. It's what your father would have done."
"And what would Tywin Lannister have done?"
"My father," Tyrion replied darkly, "who publicly sentenced me to death? I believe his thoughts on killing me were abundantly clear."
"Is that why you killed him?"
He all but stared into his cup by now. "Someday, if you decide not to execute me, I'll tell you all about why I killed my father. And on that day, should it ever come, we'll need more wine."
A short moment of silence followed, one that was soon broken by the quiet, melodic laughter of Daenerys.
"I had not aimed at being funny," Tyrion commented on her reaction dryly.
"Forgive me, it is a dark subject, but I was just wondering where in the world I would get even more wine from. Tell me, is your cup empty again?"
He nodded. "As dry as the deserts of Dorne."
"You. Bring us the jug," she ordered one of her servants immediately. "Put it here. Thank you. Lord Tyrion and I are well capable of refilling our own cups, are we not?"
"Just barely," he agreed with half a smile before doing just as she had said.
She watched him empty another cup with pleasure while allowing herself a few sips. Then she continued.
"Good. For I believe we will also need enough wine to speak about what I have in mind."
"Politics and wine don't often go well together. Believe me, I have tried it more often than not," he warned her.
Daenerys shook her head. "I do not wish to speak about politics. What we must discuss is far grander. We must speak about destiny, about legacy, about family."
"Now you sound like my father."
"No, I don't," she insisted, causing him to turn his gaze away from his wine and towards her. "Please allow me to explain, and to speak until I have said what I have in mind to say. It may sound strange to you, incredible at times even, but I must say it nonetheless. And perhaps, let me begin with a question. What have you heard about the prophecy of Azor Ahai?"
Tyrion frowned. He looked from her to his cup and back to her again as if he wanted to assure himself he had not yet drunk too much. "Thoros of Myr once mentioned the name, if I remember correctly. He was a red priest at court, so I assume it's an old fairy tale from Essos?"
Daenerys put down her cup. "Far more than that. You see, I had never much believed in anything that was foretold. As you yourself so neatly summed up, my life – for the greater part of it – has been neither pleasant nor easy. I would not have wanted to believe any such thing could have been preordained. And Viserys always told me about our brother, Rhaegar, and his obsession with prophecies. 'The Prince that was Promised', he was often heard to have whispered, and 'the dragon must have three heads'. I believe it was this that drove him to the extremes, and to seek out another woman after Princess Elia could not give him more children."
"It was madness that drove him."
"Perhaps," Daenerys accepted, tilting her head slightly. "But just because you are mad does not mean you are wrong. This is what I understood on the day of my husband's funeral."
Tyrion did not seem to know whether it would cause her discomfort if he asked her about her deceased husband, so instead he emptied and refilled his cup with shaking hands.
"They had built a great pyre, and I had the witch who caused my sun-and-stars' death to it. She said she would not scream, but she did… and then I stepped into the fire. I cannot tell you why I did it, it seemed like pure madness to everyone else. Just ask Ser Jorah. But I went into the fire, and I came out unburnt, mother of three new-born dragons, the first ones in centuries."
"It makes for a fascinating story," Tyrion admitted.
"Yet you see, that was not all. When I emerged from the fire, I understood. There was so much more to the world than my little life or my little sorrows. Whatever sadness I felt at Drogo's death, whatever hardships I had suffered in my youth, they all paled in comparison to the darkness that threatens the world. No, wait," she stopped him from frowning once more. "Wait until I am done… please. For this is not just a fairy tale story. It is real. My dragons are real. The prophecies are real. They have just been misunderstood, for no one saw the whole picture."
He did not frown, yet both his eyebrows danced in confusion on his forehead. "But you do?"
Daenerys nodded. "They were all right and wrong at the same time. There was never a prince that was promised. Three times Azor Ahai had to forge his sword before it could destroy the darkness, and three heads must there be of the dragon. Born amidst smoke and salt, born from the blood of Azor Ahai's beloved wife, Nissa Nissa. None of it made sense to me until I saw my dragons. Then it all dawned upon me with a force that drove the air from my lungs. It was never about a prince that was promised. It was about princes."
Tyrion remained silent for far longer than she would have liked, staring at the jug of wine without moving either his hands or his face.
"It all had to be this way. Three dragons, three riders. Three children born in the salt of their mother's tears, three children born from death, three children with dragon's blood," she continued in a daze. "I may be one, but I cannot succeed alone. Tyrion… I am not the only one who killed their mother to come into this world."
That woke him up. His eyes wandered from jug and wine to hers directly, lilac, green and blue dancing on the waves of unspoken words. She could see the workings of his thoughts on his face, and she desperately wished she could do anything to soften this blow. Missandei, however, had suggested she did not, for some truths better came out fast.
"Tell me, when have you last dreamed of dragons?" she asked him.
He shook his head slowly. "No…"
"Think about it. Why was your mother sent away from court to give birth despite being the queen's favourite lady in waiting?"
"No. It can't be."
"But it is true. Look at me and tell me I am lying," Daenerys insisted, trying to smile in an encouraging way.
Tyrion still shook his head. "No," he repeated, putting his cup to his mouth without even drinking. "I can't believe it."
"You must."
"I can't." He looked at the dark red colour of his wine and suddenly laughed just as darkly. "Do you know what I said to him before I shot him? Do you know what he said? 'You're no son of mine', he said, and I told him I had always been his son, and I shot a bolt into his heart. And now you…" He laughed once more. "Now you tell me he was right, and I was the liar?"
She gave him an apologetic look, unsure of what to say to this revelation. Tyrion laughed for another few moments before grabbing his cup even more tightly and hastily downing it in one go.
"Great. And here I had already believed to be an awful son to an awful father, when in truth he was, what, just a distant cousin, and my real father not just awful, but the worst father in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mad King… You understand what that makes me, right? Not just a liar, a murderer and a kinslayer, but also a bastard born of rape. Lovely! No wonder he never wanted me to have Casterly Rock, and now it turns out he was right to reject me, I have never had a claim to it in the first place!"
"For what it is worth, I do not believe Tywin Lannister knew the truth. I think no one did. And you should not judge yourself too harshly."
"Why not? Everyone else will for sure."
"No, they will not," she interrupted his self-pity in a stern voice. "No matter the circumstances of your birth, no matter the deeds you have committed, whether it makes you a liar or not… it makes you one thing above all: blood of my blood. I understand that this may be hard to accept, painful even or confusing, but it is the truth, and I shall prove it to you."
Tyrion stared at her, not knowing whether to fall to his knees or run away. "How? Everyone who could attest to the truth of your claims is long dead."
"Not everyone." She rose from her chair in a swift, graceful movement and waved at him. "Follow me."
He probably did not want to, but his curiosity got the better of him. It was just what she and Missandei had anticipated. If anything else failed, this is what they would do, this is what they would show him – or rather who. Together, the two of them went down some stairs, down and down and down until they reached the pyramid's outer courtyard. Loyal Unsullied warriors lined their way over the sandy ground, while above them Rhaegon circled the great pyramid with his black and red wings open wide. Tyrion, although trying to keep up with her, sometimes stumbled because he found it impossible to turn his gaze away from the sight. A true dragon, after so many years of dreaming…
"This is Rhaegon, my first-born. He is also bonded to me, and when the day comes, I will ride him into battle," Daenerys explained with a smile. "Once I saw him, I just knew that this had to be his name. He and his siblings would be just like Aegon and his sister-wives, set out to conquer all of Westeros, but they would be more. In him, I felt the warmth of my mother long lost, so I named him for Rhaella, too."
Above them, Rhaegon shrieked loudly and shot down towards the city. Tyrion's gaze followed him until he disappeared behind the pyramid. Then, he suddenly found himself looking at a smiling queen, whose hand gestured towards the end of the courtyard. From there, other strange noises came to his ears.
With a solemn voice, she introduced the baffled small man to the magnificent dragon sprawled out lazily in the sun. "And this is Jorhaenys."
The green-and-gold dragon puffed up her nostrils once she heard her name and slowly raised her head.
"For Queen Rhaenys…" Tyrion muttered.
"And your mother, Joanna," Daenerys added. "You see now why there can be no mistake? Just as my dragon is the colour of my mother's house, this one sings a song of Lannister green eyes and golden hair. A hint easy to miss for most, but Jorhaenys is my child. I know her. And through her, you."
"Impossible…"
They were still walking towards the dragon, slowly, although it seemed as if Tyrion didn't even truly notice. But Daenerys did, and she came to a halt once they were but a few metres away.
"You must have a thousand questions. Perhaps you do not want to hear the answers, perhaps you do… but that is a matter reserved for another day. Now go. Go to her. She has been waiting for you for such a long time."
Tyrion stared at the queen with incredulous eyes, as if he did not trust what his ears had heard. But then the dragon made a quiet, wailing sound, and everything else in the world seemingly ceased to exist for him. He did as he was told, ventured forward, and in her child's eyes Daenerys could see that Jorhaenys was finally happy.
Days later, after many a tedious business had been resolved, after she had met with Varys and supped with Jorah, after she had introduced her closest friends to Tyrion and after she had informed Barristan of the tremendous news that there was another Targaryen left in the world, she finally found a moment to be alone with him again. He was standing on the small balcony of his guest apartment, mesmerized just by watching Joraenyx and her siblings fly through the heavens above Meereen.
"It is a beautiful sight, isn't it?" Daenerys asked to make her presence known.
He didn't even turn his head, but nodded in agreement. "Unlike any other."
"Tyrion… I just wanted to say, I know what our father was. What he did. I know the Mad King earned his name."
"So, here we stand, two terrible children of one terrible father."
"No. He may have been terrible, but we are not," she firmly disagreed. "We are the makers of our own fate. And I have plans for it, great plans that I sincerely hope you will help me see come to fruition… brother."
Tyrion shivered hearing her say the word, for as much as he had tried to come to terms with it, it still seemed utterly alien to him. To look at this woman, this vision of Valyrian beauty, and to think that she was his sister…
"Do you truly believe the kingdoms yearn for yet another Targaryen bastard to try and rule over them?" he wondered out loud.
"You need not be," Daenerys insisted, putting a hand to his shoulder and forcing him to look at her. "Brother, if you accept my offer and help me, I would not only appoint you my Hand of the Queen, but also name you Tyrion Targaryen, a Prince of the Blood, with lands of your own and a firm place in the succession, all of which would be bestowed on any future offspring of yours as well."
He gasped quietly. "Your Grace…"
"My name is Daenerys. I may be the queen, but you are blood of my blood. If you do not believe in me, who else would? Say you'll accept."
"Daenerys…" Tyrion whispered her name as if it was a magic spell. "I… I have been a cynic for as long as I can remember. Everyone has always asked me to believe in things – family, gods, kings, prophecies, myself… it was often tempting, until I saw where belief got people. So I said 'no, thank you' to belief. And yet, here I am… and I believe in you. It's embarrassing, really."
She chuckled at that. "We are family. There is no need to be embarrassed."
"That is because you have not seen me drunk yet. Not truly, that is."
"Is that a yes?" Daenerys asked, still grinning. "Because I had something made for you. I am not sure if it is right though."
With that, she pulled out the chain of office that quite closely resembled the actual one of the Hand of the King. Wide-eyed, Tyrion could not help but bow his head and allow her to put it around his shoulders.
"Tyrion Targaryen, I name you Hand of the Queen."
His eyes filled with tears, and to hide them, he tried to kneel in front of her. She did not grant him that favour, however. Instead, Daenerys herself dropped to her knees, her white dress falling around her shoulders like wings, and pulled him up to look at her.
"No, you will never kneel to me or anyone, never again. You are a prince now, always remember it, and above all, you are my blood."
His mismatched eyes searched her perfect ones for insincerity, but found not even the slightest trace of it. Then he nodded.
"Sister."
Daenerys's heart leapt.
"Brother."
AN: So, I noticed that while the canon names of the dragons were based on Daenerys's brothers and her husband, the names also bore similarities to the Conqueror and his sisters: Drogon and Aegon, Rhaegal and Rhaenys, and Viserion and Visenya. That's how I got the idea of naming the dragons in my stories differently, but I did not simply want to give them Aegon's name, for example. Thus, the idea of mixing it with the mothers' names was born. And has anyone else ever noticed that Daenerys, Tyrion and Jon killed their mothers to get into the world, and that all three of them did not have very happy childhoods? I felt a lot of things fit together perfectly, that's why I am going down this route with my story. Let me know what you think of it! Next chapter will be up by the end of the week, and we will finally make it to Castle Black. Stay tuned!