Three characters react to what happened at the Dragonpit. This is the first chapter with more than one POV, and it should be the norm from now on. That should help me wrap this up faster.
42. Sense and Responsibility
Davos
Davos Seaworth tried to keep his head down as he walked along the crooked streets of Flea Bottom. He had grown up here, scraping by on his wits and the occasional Bowl of Brown, so his feet didn't need his eyes to know the way. Many had seen him with the dragon queen, and anyone associated with the Targaryens wasn't welcome in the city. Not after what happened at the Dragonpit.
Tragedy, that was.
And he had been right there, watching it all first hand as the green dragon blasted most of the scorpions on the upper stands of the pit, taking many lives in the process… Hundreds dead and thousands injured, not to mention the damage done to some shacks in Flea Bottom.
Everywhere he dared to look, evidence of the tragedy stared back at him. A family huddled together under the remains of their home, children crying in their mother's arms… Broken homes and broken people already made for a poor combination in any situation, but during a war, when tensions were high…
This place is a powder keg. In more ways than one.
According to his source, beneath the city lay a massive cache of the most dangerous substance he had ever seen. Responsible for the death of his son during the battle of the Blackwater, and also involved in the destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor, wildfire could not be allowed to remain as a hidden threat hanging over their heads.
Or under our feet.
An old friend from his smuggler days had warned him that there was someone selling it for extremely low prices, which could only mean one thing: Free supply. There was no other way to make a profit at those rates, and Davos was determined to find the source.
It didn't take long to find his target. The smell alone gave it away before he even caught a glimpse, that acrid foulness stinging up his nostrils burned in his mind as vivid as the brilliant flash of green he saw when his son died. There were many other unpleasant smells in the neighbourhood, but his senses had grown used to the rest.
The benefits of a Flea Bottom childhood.
Sure enough, after following his nose beyond a ruined winesink, he spotted a large cart filled with sand at the corner of a cheap whorehouse, almost hidden in a small alcove. Some faded specks of green could be seen on the wheels, worn and splintered from overuse.
That's how they move the thing, he had learned. Wildfire could ignite easily, so the best way to safely transport such a dangerous substance was with a generous amount of sand.
A hooded man was nearby, at a safe enough distance to pretend he was more interested in the whorehouse, yet stealing glances of the cart all the same. Short of stature and heavy of build, the fine silk clothes under his black cloak betrayed him.
Too fine for someone from Flea Bottom.
Davos made his way toward the cart without hesitation in his steps. The man noticed and cleared his throat, "Lukin' for sumthin', oldie?" He asked, moving to block the path. "Nuthin' but sand 'ere."
"I know what's in there." Davos replied, nodding at the cart. "And I'm looking to buy some of it. A lot of it, in fact."
The man hesitated, crossing his muscled arms to try and look more imposing. "How much?"
"The whole cart. More, if you have it." He reached into his pocket and brought a heavy coin pouch into view, filled with golden dragons. "I'll take it all."
A hand shot out to grab the pouch, but he was quicker. "Not so fast." He warned, taking the pouch back into his pocket. "I'll need to see it first. For all I know, there's really nothing but sand over there."
For a brief moment, the man seemed tempted. But it didn't last long. "Fuck off." He spat, reaching for a heavy cudgel that was hanging on his right side.
"Woah, woah… there's no need for that…" Davos tried to diffuse the situation, taking a few steps back with his hands in the air. "We're just doing a business transaction here. If you don't want to get rich, that's fine."
Then he started walking away, occasionally glancing back to see the man's reaction. Unfortunately, there was no change in the angry expression, so Davos kept going until he turned left and was well out of sight.
He leaned against the ruined winesink and sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his weary bones. I'm getting too old for this. Back in the day, he would have spun a simpleton like that around his missing pinky, and by the end of their exchange the man would be thanking him.
I've spent too much time among nobles. Even his speech had changed. No more m'lords from me. It was no wonder he couldn't fool anyone any more.
"If I may," A soft voice brought him back to reality, and his eyes focused on the stranger. Of average height and wide at the waist, wearing simple brown leather clothes, his face hidden by a hooded cloak that covered most of his frame, he looked just like any other resident of Flea Bottom. "Perhaps a lighter touch is needed."
The voice sounded familiar, but Davos couldn't quite place it. "Excuse me?"
"I was watching your exchange with the purveyor of green." The stranger explained in a patient tone. His hands were hidden beneath the folds of his sleeves, almost as if he didn't want to give anything of himself away. "And I believe we share the same goal."
Be careful when the fish start jumping into your ship, his dear mother used to say. There's probably a bigger fish coming up right behind them.
"And what goal is that?"
"To save the city, of course." The stranger replied evenly. "What happened at the Great Sept of Baelor cannot be allowed to happen anywhere else."
Or what happened at the Blackwater, he thought bitterly. Most people chose to forget that, but he never would. "Pretty words, but my mother taught me better than to trust strangers just because they say things I want to hear. Who are you anyway?"
"A friend." The stranger replied without a hint of shame in his voice. Angry, Davos made to leave, but the man barrelled on, "Forgive my subterfuge, but showing my face or saying my name in this part of the city would raise far too many questions. Questions I'd rather avoid answering."
All the more reason not to trust him. Taking a deep breath, Davos tried to ignore the feeling in his gut. "Fine, then. How can we save the city?"
"While your instincts were right, your method is flawed." The stranger intoned, as if teaching a lecture. "That man is nothing but a pawn to a far greater menace. His stock doesn't even come from the caches underneath the city."
"And how do you know this?"
"A little bird told me." The stranger seemed to find this amusing, his tone rising a pitch.
Nothing funny about any of this. "So, let me get this straight…" Davos took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "You won't tell me your name or how you got the information, and I'm supposed to accept your word based on… What, exactly? Faith?"
"Are you a religious man, my lord?" Instead of answering, the stranger countered with his own question.
"Not particularly." Davos replied, unwilling to reveal more. "Not a lord, either. So you're wrong on at least one count."
"Forgive me, but you speak like a lord." He's not wrong there. "Well, I am not religious myself, so faith has little influence on my actions." The stranger drew himself up to his full height. "There are some blind followers, however, who would doom the world if their god promised salvation… Who would surrender all they hold dear for visions in flames… Who would sacrifice countless innocents if it served their purpose…"
That sounds familiar, Davos thought, remembering his terrible experience with the red woman.
The stranger continued, "Now, what if one of those followers managed to convince a pyromancer to work for them? What if that pyromancer needed practice? What would happen to the excess jars?"
Davos knew first-hand the danger of those fanatics, and when you combined that with the power of wildfire… Seven save us!
"A-Are you sure about this?" He croaked, his voice faltering.
The stranger nodded. "Hopefully, now you understand the true extent of the danger we face. If we cannot stop this new threat or their new supply, the city might burn."
"In more ways than one..." Davos whispered, echoing his earlier sentiment. How many ways can a city find to destroy itself?
Then he stared at the man. "Wait, if you know all this, then why haven't you taken it up to the dragon queen?" He asked, more than a little angry. "Or the prince, even. They ought to do something if you tell them."
"Sadly, both of them are deeply indebted to the red priests. In a currency far more precious than gold, I'm afraid." The stranger replied in a dejected tone. "I doubt they would even listen to what I have to say." After a few heartbeats, his voice gained strength. "You could try, however. I know you have a rapport with the prince. Perhaps he'll listen to you."
He knows about me, but I know nothing about him. Doesn't seem fair.
Davos was certain Jon would listen, though he was less sure about what the prince could actually do. "I'll try. And what will you do?"
"One threat does not nullify another." The stranger said, gathering himself to leave. "While you deal with the danger above, I shall deal with the danger below. We'll meet again."
Watching the man leave, Davos was reminded once again of his mother.
Four hands can gut a fish twice as fast, but take care you don't cut yourself.
Daenerys
King's Landing reeks.
Dany had visited many cities during her exile with her brother and, despite their worsening conditions, none of them had left such a terrible smell in her nose. It was a combination of wet dog, rotten food, animal dung, and other foul things her senses could not quite distinguish.
When asked about it, most residents had claimed to ignore the smell. It fades into the background like a good servant, Tyrion had said, giving her even more reason to replace him as her Hand. She vowed to never become like that, ignoring a problem just because it would be too difficult to do something about it.
When people in power choose to ignore the problem, it will never be fixed.
While big sweeping changes may have to wait until Cersei Lannister was gone, Dany was determined to help her people in their time of need. After what happened at the Dragonpit, several concerns needed her attention, so she had called for a council meeting to address them. Tyrion would gather the other members, but she took it upon herself to find her prince. And she knew just where to look.
The godswood of the Red Keep was a very quiet place, located above the serpentine steps surrounding the castle. Elm, alder and black cottonwood trees were peppered throughout the acre, though none of them were as magnificent as the great oak that served as the Heart Tree. Massive limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines cast a large shadow over the centre, with a small pond off to the side. Though most of it was now covered by snow, there were still some fallen leaves dotting the scenery.
Three of her Unsullied were standing by the entrance, Blue Bee, Red Ant and Yellow Wasp, the same ones she had assigned as Aegon's guard.
Jon's guard, she corrected herself. He prefers to be called Jon.
She greeted them in High Valyrian, asking about their day. Blue Bee and Yellow Wasp both gave her non-committal responses, barely engaging at all, but Red Ant seemed eager for conversation, even trying a few words in the Common Tongue.
"He good warrior. I watch." The tall man said, sounding proud of knowing the words. "But he sad."
She nodded. "With good reason. Hiding away won't help, though. Let me see what I can do." Leaving them with her own guards, she made her way deeper into the godswood.
Dany found her prince sitting on the leaf-riddled floor, leaning on the great oak with his eyes shut. Despite the weather, he was dressed only in a grey undershirt and brown breeches, his customary white cloak nowhere to be seen, with only the red glove adding some colour to his drab clothes. The two swords propped up against the tree had clear signs of recent use.
That's all he does now. Hide and train.
After his breakdown in her arms, he had grown even more distant than before. Two days of half-hearted nods and hurried excuses, just to get away from everyone. She understood that he was grieving, and the loss of Yara Greyjoy was something even she still had trouble accepting, but they had responsibilities to the realm.
There will be time to mourn later. Now we must rule.
"Jon?" She called softly. Dany suspected he wasn't truly sleeping, but she could never be sure. When there was no response, she tried again a bit louder, "JON?"
Nothing.
He must be with his direwolf.
Giving up the attempt, she cast her eyes around for something to pass the time until he returned. Dark Sister came into view, the glittering rubies making the slender blade stand out against the muted background. With some hesitation, she picked it up, marvelling at the beautiful sword.
Viserys had told her many stories about Aegon's conquest, and Visenya had always been one of his favourites. She remembered her brother going on and on about the great warrior queen, wielding her ruby blade and drawing the blood of anyone foolish enough to stand against her king.
Perhaps in part to spite her brother, Dany had always felt more of a kinship with Rhaenys. The graceful queen, beloved by all, who enjoyed music and poetry and riding on her dragon. Who inspired such passionate devotion from both the powerful and the meek.
I wanted to be her, not some warrior queen.
Her thoughts betraying her, the slender blade felt too heavy in her hands. The few practice swings she tried were wild and almost impossible to control. Still, simply holding on to it made her feel stronger. More confident. And the exercise was enjoyable as well, her weak arm muscles straining against the exertion as she slashed awkwardly through the air.
"I could teach you." Jon's quiet voice made her jump, the sword nearly falling from her grasp.
How does he always do that to me? She asked herself, immediately knowing the answer.
"Actually, I…" She was about to deny his help, when she thought better about it. A distraction could help take his mind off recent events, and I did feel good with a sword in my hands. "...would welcome the lesson, thank you. I don't expect to be on the front lines, but it'd be nice to know how to better defend myself."
He nodded and picked up the other sword. "Good. You shouldn't rely on others to keep you safe." Holding his wolf blade up, he stared at it with a glum expression. "Sometimes, this is all that stands between life and death." His eyes seemed to be staring at something only he could see, off in the distance.
Dany felt the sorrow dripping from his voice, and a sudden urge to comfort him made her take a step forward. The sound of dry leaves cracking underfoot was loud enough to startle him.
Clearing his throat, he turned to face her. "The first thing you need to learn is how to stand properly. Here, watch me."
Moving to demonstrate the stance, he took a few steps back to give her a better view. "You want to keep your centre low, to make it harder for your enemies to knock you down." His feet stood about half a step apart, knees slightly bent, holding the sword in front of him. "See?"
She tried to do the same, but it didn't take long for him to shake his head. "Nah, your back is too straight. A simple push would knock you over."
Proving his point, he gave her a light shove to send her down to the snowy ground, Dark Sister dropping from her grasp, and a cold wetness hitting her bottom, soaking her fine red silk dress.
I'll need proper training clothes for these lessons.
"A warning would be nice." She said between gritted teeth, feeling both ashamed and angry for being put in such a position. Glancing at the entrance to see if any of the Unsullied guards were watching, she caught Red Ant snapping his head away, his expression still as a statue.
We'll need a better place to train too, with fewer witnesses to my shame.
Shaking his head, he replied, "Your foes won't give out warnings before they teach you a lesson." He held out a hand, helping her up. "At least you'll survive mine." When she was back on her feet, he went to fetch the fallen blade.
"Let's try again. I'll help you this time." He said, returning her sword. Dany took a deep calming breath, trying to ignore the wet fabric clinging to her backside, and moved to stand in position.
"Better." He nodded, walking slowly around her.
She lost sight of him, as her focus remained on keeping the stance. Then one of his hands was on her upper back, pushing her forward, while another remained on the flat of her stomach, making sure she stayed put.
"You want to lean over, just far enough to offer some resistance, but not too far to lose balance… There." He said, walking back to stand in front of her. "Now it should work."
When he tried the same shove from before, she managed to stand her ground. "Huh…" She breathed out, trying to memorise the position.
"Don't feel too proud, it's only the first lesson." He said, spoiling her moment. "It gets harder after this."
Dany suppressed a smile. She did feel a bit proud of her progress, but chose to let it go. "Perhaps we should continue this another time." Feeling the coldness of her dress, she added, "And in another place."
He nodded. "Aye. We'll need proper training swords too, as live steel can be dangerous." Then he took a deep breath, glancing around. "But I don't know… I like it here. Some peace and quiet."
She followed his eyes to take in the view of the godswood. It was wide enough, since the large trees had been spaced out to allow for their growth, but the garden floor did not seem an appropriate landing place. Judging by this first lesson, her prince wouldn't hesitate to send her down and keep her there until he was satisfied.
Dany turned back to look at him. "A rare pleasure these days… I didn't mean to bother you. I was just—"
"Worried?" He finished for her, moving to sit back down near the tree where she found him. "I'm fine, Dany. You don't need to worry about me."
She frowned, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to hear. I need to be careful. To buy some time, she made a show of returning both blades to their place, propping them on the great oak. Then she sat down by his side, ignoring the condition of her dress.
"Jon…" She started by using his preferred name, "You don't have to be fine. It's alright to feel the way you're feeling."
His head spun to face her, his eyes intense. "Really?" He challenged, "And how am I feeling right now, since you know me so well?" His tone made her wince a bit, stung by the implication, but she tried to ignore it.
"I know of loss." Dany began, drawing from that well she had drunk so deeply. "You feel as if an important piece of you is missing, an empty hole where once there was everything. An empty shell." Pausing to take a deep breath, she finally got to her point, "And you fear you'll remain like that forever."
After her sun-and-stars died, she had feared the same. And the fear had only increased when she couldn't feel for anyone anything close to what she had once felt for Drogo.
Until I found my prince.
In her mind, there was no comparison. Her feelings for her first husband had been born out of necessity, a need to make the best out of a bad situation. A chain around her neck that she had transformed into a necklace. We learn to love our chains, she had said once, and it was true. She had loved her sun-and-stars, as much as she could.
The way she felt about Jon was like nothing she had ever felt before. She needed him in a way she couldn't describe, because even she didn't understand it very well.
He just stared at her for a long time, the greys becoming misty until he finally broke the silence, "You're half right. I am afraid, but my fear is that I'm cursed."
"What do you mean?"
He leaned his head back on the tree. "Maester Aemon taught me many lessons, but the one I remember most often is the one about love."
"Love?" She perked up her ears to listen closely. Before they left Dragonstone, he had promised to tell her about her long lost relative. My great, grand uncle. I think. Her knowledge of her own family history was rather limited to what Viserys wanted her to know.
Jon nodded. "Aye. Love is the death of duty, he said once, when I was tempted to leave the Night's Watch to help Robb against the Lannisters." He raised two hands, palms up. "There comes a day when we must all choose, he warned me. Duty on one hand, and our loved ones on the other." He moved both hands in tandem, one rising as the other fell.
Dany was still confused. "And you're afraid of your choice?"
"I'm afraid because I know my choice." He said, removing his glove and picking up a handful of snow with the blackened hand. "The gods saw fit to test me twice so far, and in both times I chose duty." As he balled his hand into a fist, steam started forming from the heat, making the air around them grow warmer too. "I've had to watch two women die in my arms because of those choices." When he spread his fingers wide, there was no trace of snow or melted water, the hand as dry as it ever was.
"Whatever… Whoever comes next, nothing will change. I'll be doomed to make the same choice again." He briefly glanced at his blackened hand, before putting the red glove back on. "Maester Aemon was wrong. In my experience, love is death."
Dany had no idea how to respond to that. He fears for the life of the next woman to love him. She felt her throat going dry, knowing his place in her heart.
Is that my fate? Am I doomed to die because I love him?
Searching for answers within herself, she shook her head. They were both dragons, and whatever had happened before they met was of little consequence. He needed her in the same way she needed him, and their only duty was to each other.
We are different.
But she didn't say that. "Tell me more about Aemon." Was what she said instead.
He coughed, looking startled. "What?"
She didn't think she could change his mind. Not yet. He seemed resigned to his fate, especially because his past experiences had only confirmed his depressing suspicions. Her approach would have to be subtle.
I'll have to show him just how different we are.
"Aemon. Or Maester Aemon, as you called him." She repeated. "He seems like a wise man, and we could all use more wisdom in these trying times."
Jon held her gaze for a while, before shrugging and leaning back. "I suppose I did promise you…"
Tyrion
"Did I hear something about Maester Aemon?" Tyrion asked, as he approached the two Targaryens.
They were both sitting on the ground, leaning on the great oak tree in the middle of the godswood. When they heard his voice, two sets of eyes stared back, grey and violet. Having a good look at them so close to each other, he could almost see some similarities. While their colouring was completely different, certain features were indeed similar, hidden to all but the most observant.
Ned Stark was lucky the boy favoured his mother.
"I was just telling stories." Jon said, his expression a bit less sombre than it had been for the past two days. "I did spend some time with the man, though not as much as I'd like."
"More than most." Tyrion offered, glancing at his queen and wondering at the strange twist of fate in which a hidden Targaryen had managed to find his oldest living relative by chance alone.
The gods certainly have a sense of humour.
"He sounds delightful, I wish I could've met him," Queen Daenerys said with a sigh, "but I'm glad he passed some of his wisdom to Aegon here." She coughed, then looked at the prince. "Jon, I mean. Sorry."
"Oh? Have we agreed on calling the prince Jon now?" Tyrion interjected, curious of this new development.
The man shrugged. "I don't mind either way, call me whatever you want."
"Yet you didn't respond when I called you Aegon at the Dragonpit." The queen frowned, her tone careful. "Only when I called you Jon. I assumed it was a matter of preference."
The prince seemed to be considering her words, his eyes became unfocused. "I guess I've grown used to being Jon Snow…" He said slowly, probably figuring it out as he spoke. "It's the name I've had since childhood, so it's hard to think of myself as anything else."
"I can understand the challenge. Once you've been called something your entire life, that's all you'll see of yourself." Tyrion nodded, feeling the need to share his thoughts on the matter. "However, if you want my advice, you'd better start growing used to the name Aegon Targaryen."
"Why?"
"The trappings of power are important, my prince." Tyrion knew just how well they had served him. Being a dwarf, without his family name and wealth, his life would have been far less pleasant. With fewer brothel visits. "Titles, clothes, names… Especially names. People follow names, and it's far easier for them to accept a Targaryen leading them than a Snow."
The queen added her voice, "I'll admit I'd prefer calling you Aegon, but the decision is ultimately yours. However you wish to be called, that's what we'll call you."
The prince looked at both of them with a serious expression. "I'm not ready to give up being Jon Snow yet, and I know my sisters will never call me anything else. But I understand what you're saying. Maybe it's time I made a decision." He rose to his feet and took a deep breath, as if the exhaled air were the last vestiges of his bastard name. "My name is Aegon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone."
Queen Daenerys had the biggest smile on her face, her eyes shining like amethysts, looking up at the prince with so much pride and joy, it was clear to anyone what feelings she hid beneath that face.
A face he had seen many times, though never directed at him. Having one of the most handsome men in all of Westeros for a brother, he grew used to seeing many women with stars in their eyes. Not that the fool had ever bothered to look at anyone other than their sister, that unhealthy obsession showing its face early on.
And now that Tyrion was to be in the constant company of yet another comely man, part of him wondered which gods had he insulted in a past life. To be born a dwarf, ugly and scarred, was already a challenge, but to always be around men of peerless beauty seemed more like torture.
Tyrion coughed, trying to clear his mind. "My queen, the council is ready for you."
"Oh, I completely forgot!" I wonder why. She blinked, standing up and patting her dress. "I'll need a quick change of clothes, but it shouldn't take long." Turning to Aegon, she said, "You'll need to change clothes too, this meeting is far too important."
"What's wrong with my clothes?" The prince asked, seemingly oblivious to the drabness of his attire.
"They may be fine for Jon Snow," she said patiently, "but now that you're committed to being Aegon, I need my prince to display House Targaryen colours. Don't worry, I've been planning for this. Before we left Dragonstone, I had a few outfits commissioned for you. Let's go see if you approve." She held out a hand.
The prince hesitated for a few moments before grabbing her hand, and the two dragons left the godswood together, their Unsullied guard following close behind.
They behave like an old married couple, Tyrion thought, feeling a bit stung by being ignored. He should be getting used to that, considering those two only had eyes for each other when they were in the same room. One of his late father's favourite sayings came to mind.
Lions don't concern themselves with the opinions of the sheep.
As he walked to the meeting, those words echoed in his head. His father had taught all of his children that simply being born a Lannister made them better than everyone else. Sadly, it was one of the few reasons Tyrion had to be proud of anything. Especially considering the constant reminders that he only brought shame to the family. It took him a long time to understand his mistake.
Feeling pride or shame at something you can't control is foolish.
It's what we do that matters, not what we are.
His feet eventually led him to the Small Council, while his mind still busied itself with memories of his terrible childhood. Upon arrival, he was greeted by a familiar voice from that period of his life.
"Your queen loves to keep us waiting."
Seated at the head of the long table, Cersei was still wearing the crown on her head, in a desperate display of power. It was a compromise. Eager to see the alliance work, he had agreed to most of Qyburn's terms. Until the royal wedding, his sister would remain as queen. After the wedding, she would take a seat on the Small Council and still be involved in the affairs of the realm. Considering he had orders to kill the woman, most of those concessions should become meaningless very soon.
Tyrion plastered a fake smile on his face. "Our Queen will be here shortly, along with your future husband."
In a stark contrast to his days as Joffrey's Hand, the room was filled with people. Cersei had brought Qyburn and the Mountain with her as usual, along with their cousin Joy. On the other side of the table, Missandei sat next to three empty chairs to her left and Lord Paxter Redwyne to her right, Grey Worm standing close by. Theon Greyjoy was on the other side of the three empty chairs, a vacant expression on his face. Varys had sent word explaining his absence, while Ser Davos had not.
"They do seem awfully close, don't they?" Cersei offered, as innocently as she could, which was not much at all.
He couldn't prevent the chuckle from leaving his lips as he walked to take his place at the table, next to Theon. "They're family, sweet sister. Just because we Lannisters have… complicated relationships, you can't expect everyone to be like us."
At least she wasn't foolish enough to bring Jaime.
Tyrion hoped to avoid putting his brother and his queen in the same room. Despite knowing exactly how and why Jaime became the Kingslayer, he doubted Daenerys would be too forgiving with the man who had killed her father.
A cough was heard, and they turned to face Lord Paxter. "Sorry, I was just thinking of my own family. I suppose we all have issues."
"And how is dear old Lady Tyrell?" Cersei asked, a wicked smile escaping from her lips. "I haven't seen much of her since the tragedy at the Great Sept of Baelor. I couldn't even get a chance to offer my condolences on her many, many losses." Her eyes betrayed her mouth, twinkling with unspoken malice.
Lord Paxter narrowed his eyes. "Aunt Olenna has sent word from Highgarden. She will take care of any remaining concerns there and head here immediately. From her tone, she seemed eager for the chance to face you again." After a very long pause, he added a belated, "Your Grace."
Yet another who wants to kill my sister. Perhaps I should simply let them, and take credit later.
Cersei was about to reply, but Tyrion forestalled her, "Speaking of tragedies, how are we dealing with the most recent one?"
"Shouldn't we wait for the ones responsible?" She replied, waving her hand. "Those dragons are a menace, and the sooner we get rid of them the better."
"You'll find that difficult." A commanding voice from the doorway announced the new arrivals.
Queen Daenerys was making her way inside, flanked by prince Aegon, both of them wearing much finer clothes than their last encounter at the godswood, matching red and black with a few details of silver and white. Arm in arm, they presented an imposing figure. Ser Jorah Mormont followed slightly behind the Targaryens, his pristine white cloak a clear indication of his future role.
"Many have tried it before, but we always come back. Stronger than ever."
Even without a crown on her head, there was no doubt who was really in charge of the room, as everyone except his sister stood up and waited until she sat down at the opposite side of the long table. Ser Jorah remained standing, while the prince took the seat to her right, a faraway look in his eyes. He should at least greet his future wife, Tyrion thought, but didn't bother saying anything.
After the commotion died down, Cersei cleared her throat. "I meant those fire-breathing beasts. What happened at the Dragonpit was just a small taste of what's to come for everyone if you can't control them."
"My children are not beasts." His queen raised her chin. "They are a symbol. So long as I have them, I'll need no banners. One look at Drogon, Rhaegal or Viserion should be enough to remind everyone of the power of House Targaryen."
Tyrion knew his sister would counter with ill-chosen words, so he joined the conversation before it derailed. "Be that as it may, Your Grace, we do need to find a way to keep them from burning down the city."
"There's no such danger." Daenerys replied, rounding on him. "My children are perfectly obedient."
"Are you blind?" Cersei spoke before he got a chance to stop her. "Everyone saw what happened at the Dragonpit."
His queen bristled at the tone, but remained with her chin held high. "What happened there was an example of Rhaegal obeying his rider."
A light cough brought their attention to Qyburn. "Excuse me, Your Grace." He was referring to Daenerys, which brought a scowl to Cersei's face. "I thought the dragon's rider was Euron Greyjoy. How did he manage to command a dragon after his death?" His tone was showing more curiosity than anything else.
"That pirate was no longer Rhaegal's rider after the horn was blown."
The robed man's features brightened, his eyes growing somewhat larger than they were before. "So the horn really can tame dragons…" He said in a low voice, more to himself. Turning back to face the queen, he asked, "Would you allow me to examine it, Your Grace?"
The man looks hungry. Tyrion caught his queen's eye and raised his eyebrows. They had discussed this very eventuality. A horn that can command dragons was the most dangerous thing in the world for the Mother of Dragons, and they needed to keep it safely hidden away from their enemies.
And their allies. On the back of a dragon, anyone becomes a threat.
"I plan to destroy that… thing at the first opportunity." Daenerys replied, her jaw set. "Until then, nobody will be allowed anywhere near it."
Tyrion glanced at his sister. As queen, she could make a demand, ordering them to surrender the horn regardless of the consequences. But she had a different focus than her Hand. "If the dragon was just obeying its rider, then who commanded it to burn everybody?"
His queen hesitated for a moment, finally losing her composure as her eyes flickered towards her nephew. "That was–"
"Me." Aegon supplied, his eyes still somewhat dull and lifeless. "I wanted to burn them all."
"Why?" Cersei asked, in what was probably the first word exchanged between them. Looking at his sister, Tyrion could tell she seemed to be measuring her future husband, her eyes focused on him.
The prince stared back at her, holding her gaze for a moment until he eventually replied, "I was angry."
Everyone remained silent, waiting for the prince to further explain himself, but when it seemed clear he wasn't going to, Tyrion filled the void, "Remind us not to make you angry again." His wit went unappreciated, however, as nobody even smiled at his words.
"Lord Tyrion makes a good point." Queen Daenerys said, turning to face Cersei. "Angering a dragonrider could prove dangerous. We should all be careful."
His sister didn't miss a beat. "Indeed. It's especially dangerous to the innocents who were simply curious enough to go to the Dragonpit, or the poor folk down at Flea Bottom." Her voice took on a practised tone, which Tyrion had heard many times when she pretended to care about something. "Lives and homes were lost, all because someone was angry…"
All eyes went to the prince, who had the decency to look ashamed of his actions, craning his head down. He really did look way better than his previous appearances, wearing a red doublet streaked with white and black patterns in the shape of dragons, dancing along the sleeves. His left hand was still covered by that strange glove with a flaming heart, making a seamless transition of red on red, darker and lighter in turn.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Theon Greyjoy asked, drawing their attention. Unabashed, he continued, "I know we can't bring the dead back to life, but surely we can repair the damage. Houses can always be rebuilt."
Tyrion took a moment to look at the man. From his own observations, Yara had been the leader and Theon the follower. In fact, sometimes he had doubts about the younger Greyjoy's ability to follow simple instructions. But he seemed different now. Older and more focused.
He has just lost his sister. Now the future of his family rests on his shoulders.
Queen Daenerys nodded. "True. We must focus on the future." Turning to him, she said, "Lord Tyrion, we've discussed the peculiar smells of Flea Bottom before. Perhaps now would be a good time to institute some changes down there. A working sewer system, for one."
"I suppose we could do that while we rebuild their homes. Public works are always a good way to curry favour with the populace and provide much needed jobs." He scratched his bearded chin, thinking back to his childhood at Casterly Rock, when his lord father had assigned him stewardship of the sewers, in a clear attempt to shame him. I performed my duties admirably. Shit never flowed better. "I do have some experience in that, if I recall."
Cersei had a wicked smile on her face. "That's wonderful for you, little brother. Managing shit has always been your calling. But how do you expect to pay for it? The crown's coffers are empty, and we still owe a large sum to the Iron Bank of Braavos."
"We'll cover all expenses." His queen spoke for him. "After each of my conquests in Essos, I made sure to liberate the slavers' gold along with their servants. I left some of their fortune in the hands of former slaves, but what we have should be enough."
"And I'm sure aunt Olenna would help, if we ask nicely." Lord Paxter added. "I know for a fact that House Tyrell has quite a lot of gold stashed away at Highgarden."
Fool. Tyrion doubted the Queen of Thorns would appreciate being put on the spot like that. Never make promises you can't keep, his father used to say, and never offer guarantees in someone else's name.
"It seems everything is in order, then." His sister said, and everyone else in the room must have thought she was admitting defeat. But he knew better. "Except for the small matter of punishment."
Silence followed those words. His queen reacted first. "What punishment?"
Cersei put both elbows on the table, steepling her hands under her chin. "The one responsible for what happened at the Dragonpit must be punished, of course. The people demand it, and a wise queen must listen to her people."
"Like the one responsible for the explosion at the Great Sept of Baelor was punished, you mean?" Tyrion had to ask, trying to cut through her hypocrisy.
Her green eyes twinkled, staring right back at him. "Yes, little brother. Ellaria Sand and her daughter have suffered greatly for that Dornish plot. As far as anyone knows, that matter is resolved. This one, however, is not." Turning her head to ignore him, she focused on Daenerys. "The people need to feel that justice has been served. In other words, they need someone to blame. And you've just admitted the dragons wouldn't have done anything without guidance, so…"
His queen flared her nostrils. "That's the most ridicu—"
"I accept." The prince said, interrupting his aunt.
Silence followed those words.
After a moment of confusion, Daenerys rounded on him. "You don't have to do this. They deserved it by shooting Rhaegal. All you did was defend him. That's all."
"That's not how I remember it." He said, slowly shaking his head. "Rhaegal was angry and I could've stopped him. But I didn't. I let our anger combine and, if not for you, I might have burned the whole city down."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he raised a hand. "You asked me to represent our House, and this is my way of doing that. Having dragons doesn't give us the right to do whatever we want without consequence. That's what your father did and everyone hated him by the end. We need to show them that House Targaryen has changed, and the days of the Mad King are gone. We have to do better, Dany."
They stared at each other for a long time, neither of them blinking, until she reached out to hold his hand. "You're right. Of course you're right… My father left us a legacy of pain and terror, and it won't be easy to change people's minds. But we have to try. We'll do better. Together."
Tyrion, who was already used to them ignoring everyone else, cleared his throat to draw attention. "Very well, the prince accepts responsibility. But who will determine the appropriate punishment?" He asked, looking at Cersei. "You?"
"No, that won't do." She shook her head. "Everyone knows we're to wed soon, so my judgement will be called to question. We'll need an impartial third party to make sure it's fair. Or at least to give off that impression."
"Why don't we let them decide for themselves?" Aegon suggested. "The people, I mean. Let them decide my punishment."
Tyrion scoffed. "With respect, my prince, that would be folly. In my experience, the people of King's Landing haven't made a good decision since…" He paused to think, and no good example came to mind, despite the many bad ones. "Ever, really." I still haven't forgiven them for my trial. "A public spectacle might well end with them demanding your head."
"No." Queen Daenerys said firmly, fear etched on her face. "That will not be allowed to happen."
"Perhaps a compromise, then?" Qyburn's frail voice broke the silence. "I believe the prince is right about giving the people some say in the matter. However, Lord Tyrion is also correct about their… mercurial nature."
How wise of him to agree with everyone. Tyrion couldn't remember much from the old man, who had arrived at the capital with his brother shortly before Joffrey's wedding, which was ages ago. Somehow, between then and now, he had managed to become one of the most influential men in the realm. When asked, Jaime had vouched for the man's abilities, though he had little to say about his character.
A mysterious man is always dangerous. I'll need to be careful with him.
The man continued, "I believe an adequate compromise would be to include at least one representative of each group." He motioned to Cersei and Daenerys. "Your Graces would each pick one judge, and the third one will be a commoner. Preferably from Flea Bottom, in order to assuage their anger."
Cersei nodded. "Sounds good to me."
"So long as we don't make it a spectacle, I see no problem with it." His queen stated, again in a firm tone.
"Speaking of spectacles," Tyrion said, changing the subject. "We should discuss the wedding." Glancing at Aegon, he noticed his eyes shift over to Cersei, who held his gaze for a moment, before turning away.
Daenerys bristled at that, her expression one of annoyance. "Surely that can wait? Even before this new trial, we had more pressing concerns. We must focus on healing the injured and mourning the dead. A grand celebration in the wake of such tragedy would be rather insensitive, to say the least."
"It doesn't have to be grand." Aegon supplied, with a careless shrug. "We just need to get it over with so we can finally go North."
Cersei gave a mirthless chuckle. "As eager as my future husband seems to be, I fail to understand the urgency." She turned to face her betrothed. "Why do we need to go North?"
The prince stared back with a tired expression on his face. "There's a threat beyond the Wall, becoming stronger and stronger as it grows colder. It's why I came south in the first place, to find allies to help us fight the real enemy."
"Who?" Cersei asked, and this time Tyrion did notice some mirth in her voice. "Wildlings? Are they so dangerous?"
"No, they're—" Aegon began, but seeing his future wife's expression made him stop explaining himself. "You know what? Let it be a surprise." Something seemed to snap inside him, for his usually cool expression changed completely.
"I'm so fucking tired." His voice became harsh, his eyes staring unblinkingly at something beyond Cersei, with enough intensity to burn. "Tired of doing everything I can to save idiots who don't even know their lives are in danger. Tired of having to convince fools and being mocked for that. Tired of wasting my fucking time." He blinked, then sighed deeply, turning his attention back to his aunt. "I don't care anymore, just let me know what you decide." In a flash of red and black, he left the room.
There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone watched the prince make his exit, so Tyrion attempted to fill the void once again. "Well, if we wait long enough, we won't need words to convince anyone of the real threat."
"What do you mean?" His queen asked, turning her head back from the door. She still had a worried frown on her face, probably concerned for her beloved nephew.
He fished a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to her. "Sansa Stark has sent word from the North. It seems they've managed to capture one of those deadmen." What did she name them, again? "A wight. And she plans to send it over here as soon as possible."
"That would certainly help…" Her eyes scanned the letter as she spoke, her expression growing brighter.
Cersei was looking from one to the other, "Wait a minute, deadmen? Is that the real enemy?"
"Yes." Tyrion replied with a nod. "Prince Aegon has informed us about an Army of the Dead marching south from beyond the Wall, killing the living and raising the fallen to fight for them."
Everyone in the room reacted to the news, since most of them were hearing it for the first time. In order to prevent chaos, his queen had kept the knowledge hidden even from their allies. Tyrion had agreed with the decision because there was little they could actually do to help. However, now it was time to share what little they knew, to impress upon them how important this alliance was.
Queen Daenerys raised a hand to silence them. "I know it sounds absurd. I hardly believed it myself when I first heard it. But Aegon has fought them, and—"
"And you believe him?" Cersei asked, her face betraying her thoughts on the matter. "Honestly, I don't know how—"
"Yes," his queen interrupted back, her voice rising, "I do believe him. And no, you don't know how close you were to being burned alive." She let the words ring out for a moment, her eyes burning with a familiar intensity. "It was my prince who convinced me to make peace with you. If not for him, I would have come here on Drogon's back and rained fire down on you and anyone dumb enough to stand by your side. Instead of doubting his word, you should be on your knees thanking him for every breath you take."
The tension was palpable, with each woman staring daggers at the other. His sister couldn't match his queen's intensity, but her cold and arrogant stare would have frozen most people in place.
"I suppose you're right." Cersei said, her smile open wide enough to show her tongue between her teeth. "I'll have to think of a way to thank him on our wedding night." Her words were meant to hurt, which meant she must have figured out their relationship.
It was hardly a well-guarded secret, considering how Daenerys acted around her nephew. Anyone with eyes and a working brain would figure out her feelings were considerably more intense than those of a normal aunt. Tyrion imagined his aunt Gemma doing the same for him, and it almost made his stomach lurch.
Before his queen could reply, he hurried to say, "Now that we're back to discussing the wedding, I'd like to propose we wait until the… package from the North arrives." The notion came to him the minute he read Sansa's letter. "We can use the extra time to allow for people to heal from our latest tragedy, and to allow the lords and ladies to arrive in time. Hopefully, by then the repairs will be underway and a celebration won't feel unsympathetic, but more…" He couldn't find the right word.
"Conciliatory" Missandei supplied, a kind expression on her face. The woman didn't speak often, but when she did her words were wise.
Tyrion gave her a smile and a nod. "Precisely. Thank you, Missandei. That's exactly the feeling we wish to convey, that the wars of the past don't matter anymore, and we need to face this new enemy together." He paused to glance at Daenerys and Cersei in turn. "All of us."
"A lovely sentiment." His sister said, her tone betraying her words. "Naive, but lovely." Then she glanced at Qyburn, who gave her a nod. "However, I am willing to do what's best for the realm." Turning to Daenerys, she plastered a fake smile on her lips. "As queen until the wedding, it's my responsibility to keep my people safe. Since we are to join Houses soon, that makes us family." Her left hand shot up, palm forward. "I give you my word as queen that I'll protect you and your people. No harm shall befall you until the wedding."
His queen also had a fake smile on her face, her eyebrows rising. "How gracious." She turned to give Tyrion a pointed look before facing Cersei again. "Since I'll be queen after the wedding, allow me to offer you the same promise." Raising her left hand in the same way, she continued, "I give you my word as queen that no harm shall befall you after the wedding."
Tyrion could barely hold his laughter, looking from one side of the long table to the other. Two queens, promising not to kill each other in such a roundabout way that it was obvious what they really meant. However, upon further reflection he noticed that Cersei had the upper hand.
From now until the wedding is a far shorter window of opportunity.
I admit the Davos chapter feels off. I was actually planning to write something else, but the story flowed in a different direction. I still stand by it, though I'm unsure how much I'll explore this wildfire sideplot. It's not something they can afford to ignore, however.
For the few of you who are still reading this nearly two years later... Sorry about the long wait.
01/05/2021