THE QUEEN OF SINS

Daenerys I

If the wind held, they would reach Dragonstone within the next turn of the moon. Despite the growing chill in the air, Daenerys had not moved from her place at the bow of her personal ship since she'd heard the news. Against all logic, she continued to strain her eyes for even the slightest hint of the home she'd never seen. A glimpse would make it real. Within the moon, it would be tangible and firmly in her grasp. The young queen suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

How long had she dreamt of this? How many years had she longed for a home she'd never known? And here she was, so close to the dream she'd adopted from her brother a lifetime ago. The realization surprised her; she rarely thought of Viserys these days and hadn't for some time. Unbidden, his face swam before her, white-haired and lilac-eyed and the only link to home she'd had for her first sixteen years. She wondered just when within that time his dream had become her own…

A loud cry drew her eyes upward. Her children were restless. When news of their impending arrival at Dragonstone had reached her, she had summoned representatives from each of her allies to join her in firming up a plan for their landing. The dragons had spent the morning circling the ship and diving as close as they dared to watch the pilgrimage of Lord and Ladies arriving from other ships. Not for the first time, Daenerys wished she knew just what they were thinking.

As she watched, Drogon and Viserion squabbled over a mangled carcass that had once been a dolphin while Rhaegal snapped lazily at the sails of a nearby ship. She considered it a testament to the Ironborn sailors aboard the vessel that they seemed wholly unconcerned with the dragon's antics. Another cry signalled Drogon's success at poaching the dolphin off his brother and drew a sigh from their mother.

Her dream could wait a while longer. It was time to be a queen.

Daenerys turned and made her way toward the stern of the ship without another moment's hesitation. It was a relief to finally duck below deck and out of the wind, and she took a moment to straighten her appearance before stepping into the captain's quarters which she had taken for herself. As it was the largest and most spacious cabin aboard the vessel, it was there that Daenerys had chosen to host the meeting. The room was sparsely furnished yet comfortable, and the large table in the centre of the space served the purpose of their gathering well. Someone — Lord Tyrion, no doubt — had ensured that there were drinks aplenty which seemed well received by most of the guests.

A quick glance around the gathered faces was enough to remind Daenerys that while these people had all sworn fealty to her, she had met only a handful of them in person thus far. Yara Greyjoy was one such familiar face, spread out as comfortably as any man in her chair with a drink in hand as she conversed with an olive-skinned woman Daenerys did not recognize but realized must be a representative from Dorne. Two of her Dothraki bloodriders were seated at Yara's elbow and making no effort to disguise their leers while her brother, Theon, sat rigid and uncomfortable at his sister's other side. She tried not to think too much about how familiar that scene felt, albeit with the siblings' roles reversed and markedly less killing than had taken place at her wedding to Drogo.

Searching the room again in an attempt to distract herself from that unnecessary thought, the young queen's eyes found Missandei speaking with — or rather, being spoken too — by an elderly woman who could only be Olenna Tyrell. Daenerys did not have to hear the exchange to know that Lady Olenna felt strongly about it. Although, if what Lord Tyrion had told her about the Lady of Highgarden was true, then she felt strongly about most things. Grey Worm hovered just behind Missandei, obviously trying to free her from the conversation with very little success.

Off to one side of the cabin Lord Tyrion and the Spider, Varys, stood together and were clearly making use of the opportunity to study the group, just as she was. She pointedly ignored the eunuch in favour of catching her Hand's eye as he gave her a grim smile. If asked, Daenerys would blame the slight flutter of nerves which made themselves known in her chest entirely on Tyrion's expression.

Schooling her demeanour into something more appropriate for someone of her station, Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen stepped forward into the fray.

Conversation quieted immediately.

"My Lords and Ladies," Missandei's voice broke the silence, polished and precise as always, "You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons."

"Thank you all for joining me," Daenerys addressed the room at large, moving to stand at the head of the table, "It is an honour to meet all of you in person at last."

Missandei, who had all but materialized at her elbow, translated the sentiment into Dothraki and Valyrian respectively without prompting. It was just one of countless reasons the former slave was invaluable to her.

"Well, that's certainly quite the mouthful." Olenna Tyrell observed almost before Missandei had finished speaking, her tone just shy of condescending, "But I imagine they all mean something to you."

Tyrion cleared his throat as he approached the table, obviously intending to soothe egos before things could go any further. "Your Grace, may I present Lady Olenna Tyrell of Highgarden. It is thanks to her generosity that we have so much of the Reach sworn to you."

Daenerys eyed Olenna, who met her gaze calmly, before addressing her Hand. "I gathered as much. A pity then, that as Lady Paramount, she could not secure the Reach as a whole."

"Dorne, as a whole, is yours, Your Grace." It was one of the younger Dornish women, a pretty little thing with cropped hair who Daenerys had not noticed before, who spoke up from the back of the room, "It is the Sand Snakes' honour to have secured it for y — "

Lady Olenna sighed. "Oh my dear, are you still talking?" She flicked a dismissive hand in the general direction of the Dornish girl, her gaze never leaving the Queen, "If my contributions are not to your liking, Your Grace, I will happily return to Highgarden and live out the rest of my days in comfort."

Daenerys squared her shoulders and made to reply, but it seemed that Lady Tyrell was not yet finished.

"You young, ambitious little things, you must understand one thing; my House is dead. I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain but my own satisfaction. Your politics and petty one-upmanship mean nothing to me."

Daenerys was reminded abruptly of Daario, but she pushed the thought away before it could settle. It was not in her nature to look to the past with such frequency as she had today and she found herself forced to admit, if only in the safety of her own mind, that perhaps she was becoming more on edge the closer she came to the dream she'd taken as her own.

"And you two," Lady Olenna was still going, her gaze now shifted to Theon and Yara Greyjoy who had been watching the posturing with trepidation and amusement respectively, "Nothing to add?"

"What we have to offer, we brought," Yara said blandly, "Any other Ironborn have followed a 'big cock' and will die just as well as anyone else."

Another young Dornish woman, this one much harsher looking than the one standing next to her, snorted as she looked Theon up and down.

Yara smirked as she caught the look. "Not his," she clarified, "Don't get excited."

Theon ducked his head, his cheeks flushed with shame. The Dothraki men laughed, and Daenerys realized that Missandei had kept up her translations for them throughout the conversation. Her bloodriders seemed taken with Lady Greyjoy, if the ever-present leers were anything to go by.

"Perhaps we should return to the matter at hand," the older Dornish woman sitting across from Yara suggested, pointedly.

Her younger kinsmen didn't seem pleased but stood down all the same, melting back into the shadows of the cabin with a level of skill that seemed at odds with their bravado. Daenerys frowned and made a mental note to find out more about these 'Sand Snakes.' Noticing the smirk Yara Greyjoy tossed her bloodriders' way, she made another note to keep the Ironborn and the Dothraki far apart for everyone's well being.

"Not quite yet." Lord Tyrion's voice was soft but Daenerys caught the edge of something sharp and dangerous carefully buried beneath the surface of the tone. "Your Grace, this is Ellaria Sand. Do not let her imply that she is above such pettiness. While I am grateful for her support, along with that of the Sand Snakes, this is the woman who murdered my niece for the crime of being related to a woman who secured a champion who killed her lover in a trial by combat for which her lover volunteered."

The cabin fell silent save for Tyrion's harsh breathing and Missandei's quick, quiet translations.

Ellaria Sand met her accuser's gaze without flinching. "I took vengeance in the name of Prince Oberyn of the House Martell — "

"You killed an innocent child!"

"She was a Lannister."

"She was so much more than that! And you — "

"That's enough." Daenerys didn't raise her voice, but it was an order all the same, "Lord Tyrion, stand down. Ellaria Sand, you confess to killing this child — "

"Myrcella," Tyrion interjected quietly.

It was the sadness in his voice that kept her from reprimanding him for speaking out of turn. "Myrcella," she amended instead, "In retribution for Prince Oberyn's death?"

Ellaria raised her chin. "I will not apologize."

"And nor should you," Lady Olenna agreed, "War is no time for sentiment. The girl was a bastard, she's of more value dead."

Tyrion's hands were balled into shaking fists at his side, but a look from his Queen kept him quiet for the moment.

Daenerys took a deep breath and considered her options. She was fond of Lord Tyrion, as much as she allowed herself to be fond of anyone, and she had come to rely on his counsel. She had named him Hand of the Queen for a reason and she certainly trusted his judgement, however she was nowhere near hypocritical enough to suggest she had never condoned killing as a means of retribution. The fact that this Myrcella was seemingly innocent was unfortunate. The fact that she was someone her Hand cared about was even more so. In the end, the girl would likely have had to die regardless to solidify her claim to the Throne. Bastard or not, she had still carried the Usurper's name. Not that she would ever say as much to Lord Tyrion.

"I do not condone your actions," she said at last, "But nor will I condemn you for them. What is done, is done. We move forward, together, and when I take the Seven Kingdoms, I will create a world where children are no longer bought and traded as commodities in war."

"Akka hash kisha lajat jin vaes, hash mori vo zafra?" [1]

Daenerys looked to her bloodriders coldly at the comment. "Kisha tikh vo vasterat ki jin ajjin," [2] she told them shortly. She couldn't help but notice that Missandei had chosen not to translate any of the Dothraki back to Common Tongue. It was likely the right choice.

Truthfully, it was a conversation she dreaded having. Integrating the Dothraki into the society she wanted to build was one of the many topics she and her advisors had been debating on the voyage thus far. She was beginning to realize that the greatest challenge of her life would not be taking the Throne, as she had always assumed, but rather what came afterward.

"Your Grace, if I might make a suggestion?"

And of course it would be the one person she was trying to ignore who would break the strained silence. Perfect. "Speak your mind, Lord Varys," she sighed.

The eunuch bowed his head and stepped forward a few paces. "We are many people who have fought and lost at each other's hands, and yet we have come together in service of our Queen. I suggest postponing this meeting until we have, all of us, had the opportunity to air our grievances and concerns in private. We gain nothing by fighting among ourselves."

Damn that Spider and his sweet words, Daenerys thought as she watched Tyrion deflate beside her, but she could not deny that he was right. If she had any chance of leading her people forward, the past would have to be addressed. "A wise suggestion," she admitted stiffly, "I thank you all for coming, I dismiss this meeting."

There was some general shuffling and glancing about before the group began to disperse. Ellaria Sand gathered her younger countryman and left without looking back. The Dothraki men managed to cajole Yara — and by extension Missandei and Theon, although neither of them looked like they wanted to be there — into joining them for a drink. Grey Worm hurried after them, barking orders over his shoulder to his fellow Unsullied as he went. Tyrion downed a cup of wine.

"You've got your work cut out for you with this lot," Olenna Tyrell stood up only when most of the crowd had cleared out, "Let's see if you're the dragon you think you are."

The young queen bristled, but Lady Olenna was gone before she could respond. Varys made to follow her out, but Daenerys cleared her throat.

"Not you." She couldn't quite interpret the look the eunuch gave her upon turning around, but she knew it made her skin prickle uncomfortably. Still she plowed ahead, refusing to give the not-man the satisfaction of her discomfort. "You suggested airing our grievances in private, did you not?"

Varys studied her openly. "I did, Your Grace."

"And surely you are aware of my issues with you?"

"I am."

"Very well," the young queen closed the distance between them with as much poise as was expected from a monarch, "How do you suggest we rectify them."

"Your Grace," Lord Tyrion spoke up suddenly, "Lord Varys is not, nor has he ever been, your enemy — "

"For twenty years, my entire life, this man oversaw the campaign to find and kill me." Daenerys reminded him, anger colouring her voice at last.

"And for those same twenty years he was also the one ensuring you stayed ahead of those very assassins," her Hand fired back, "We've discussed this. The world isn't good and bad, it isn't black and white and it's never simple. Lord Varys is many things, Your Grace, and he has done many things, but he does not condemn children for their family's crimes."

Daenerys fumed. How dare he? How many children had she freed from a life in chains? How many nameless, forgotten children had she seen properly buried? And how many Masters had died in retribution for their deaths? But somewhere beneath the righteous anger burning through her, a seed of doubt tried to take root. "Nor do I," she ground out.

Lord Tyrion took a deep breath as he visibly composed himself. "Let's see that we keep it that way."


1. And when we take a city, are they not slaves?

2. We will not speak of this now.