II
"I don't understand." Tyrion Lannister sounds almost as plaintive as a child.
For the past two days, since Quaithe first shared the vision of the future with her, Daenerys has remained in her private apartments at the top of the pyramid, with Quaithe, Missandei, Daario and Grey Worm, the only people on this side of the Narrow Sea that she could rely on to offer her counsel. The only time she left her apartments was to visit Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion, to reassure herself that all three of her children are alive, healthy and whole. Aside from that, her time has been spent discussing the details of the vision with those she trusts, determined to learn all she can from the terrible experience, and laying out plans for a better future.
If Yara and Theon Greyjoy were offended to be shut out of these meetings, they gave no indication of it. Yara took it upon herself to inspect the ships taken from the Masters after their defeat sent the few survivors scurrying away, as well as seeing to her own fleet by day, with Theon shadowing her and helping her however he could. No questions were asked about how they occupied their nights, though neither had availed of the option of taking their meals in the pyramid, either in the great dining chamber intended to feast the noble families of Meereen and their exalted guests, or in the privacy of the lavish quarters that had been prepared for them. It would not surprise Daenerys to learn that Yara refused to sleep in her quarters at all, preferring to stay onboard her ship and to eat in the company of her men. Both seemed content to wait for her to summon them.
Tyrion, on the other hand, was at a loss to understand why he should not be included in any meetings to discuss her strategy, and he sent multiple messages to her through servants, offering his services as her advisor.
Daenerys could imagine that he was dying of curiousity about what Quaithe had shown her.
That, or he was trying to decide if she was going mad.
She believed in him once, thinking him a clever man, one who understood Westeros and its people more than she could ever hope to, and trusting that he was sincere in his belief that she would bring about a better world. She believed in him enough to follow his advice, even when her own instincts warred with his suggestions.
No more.
She is willing to give him a second chance, to allow him to earn a place among her advisors, but knows that she will never trust him as she did before.
The room in which they sit is not one of the largest or the most lavishly decorated in the pyramid. In truth, Daenerys has not yet explored half of the enormous structure that has been her home for the past two years. This room was simply the first they came across that was furnished with a suitable table and chairs when, just after the Masters of Meereen were ousted from power, Daenerys needed a place where she, Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Daario, Missandei and Grey Worm could meet to discuss what their next move would be. It suited their purposes well enough that none of them saw the need to look elsewhere for a meeting place.
"It's not like it's difficult to understand," Daario drawls. "Your Queen is staying here."
Tyrion opens his mouth to retort but Yara is the first to speak.
"I thought that you were planning to set sail for Westeros immediately. You already have more men than you'll need to conquer the Seven Kingdoms, and enough ships to carry them across the Narrow Sea. The longer you stay, the more time Cersei and our uncle have to tighten their grip on the Seven Kingdoms. Why wait?"
"Cersei Lannister and your uncle are nothing," Daenerys says dismissively, remembering how quickly King's Landing fell to her and to Drogon when they attacked. Though she knows that it has not yet happened, and that it will never happen now, she feels like a fool for allowing Tyrion, Varys and Jon Snow to convince her that it would be a mistake for her to attack King's Landing when she was at full strength. They had her believing that if she attacked, she would never be seen as anything but a tyrant and a monster, but if any of them knew of a way to win the war against Cersei without shedding a drop of blood, they had not put words to it. She thinks that she would have done better to listen to Olenna Tyrell, the only one among her advisors with the sense to know that dragons can achieve things that sheep can never aspire to. "Westeros faces a far greater threat, from North of the Wall."
Theon, raised in Winterfell on stories of the monsters that dwell beyond the Wall, cannot help but shudder, then he flushes in embarrassment when the movement attracts attention from his sister and the others at the table.
"Old Nan used to tell us stories about the White Walkers that would make your blood run cold," he says in defence of his reaction. "If you heard them, none of you would sleep soundly for a month!"
"You're right to fear them," Daenerys tells him. "Whatever she told you was likely true, though not close to the full horror they will inflict. They are coming for the living. They will breach the Wall within a year, and wage war on every man, woman and child in Westeros. The Night King can raise the dead, so every life they take adds a soldier to their army. Cersei Lannister and Euron Greyjoy will not be able to stand against them. Nobody will. By the time they are finished, Westeros will be a land of ice and death."
"Is that what she showed you?" Tyrion demands, pointing at Quaithe.
"That and more."
"And you trust her? You're sure that this isn't some kind of trick to keep you here?"
"I trust her. This is no trick."
"Varys is in Westeros as we speak, seeking out allies for your cause. My sister has made an enemy of the Tyrells, so there is a chance that they will be prepared to come over to your side, especially if you can sweeten the pot for them. Dorne has hated the Lannisters since the Mountain murdered your brother's wife and children. They may support your claim to the Iron Throne if you promise them vengeance."
That gives Daenerys pause, but only for a moment. "I trust that you have a way to send word to Varys, my lord?" Tyrion nods in response, though he does not elaborate on whatever method he has at his disposal to allow him to send word across the Narrow Sea. Varys' 'little birds' are all but legendary, however, and it is hardly surprising to her that he would have a network of spies and messengers in place to carry word to him, wherever he may be. "Then send him a message telling him that any allies he finds for me should come here. Will your people be prepared to bring them safely across the Narrow Sea?"
The last is addressed to Yara, who nods slowly. "If that is your command," she says, sounding uncertain, yet willing to go along with Daenerys' wishes, at least for now.
"It is. If Lady Olenna, and the ladies of Dorne are willing to travel to Meereen, tell them that they need to bring as many of their people as can fit in the ships. Any of the people of the Iron Islands that you can bring should come too. We may not be able to save everybody, but we can at least try to save some of the people."
She does not yet know what she wishes to do with Varys.
He may not have betrayed her yet, and he may never do so now that she is changing her course of action, but now that she knows that he is capable of turning on her the instant he finds a potential ruler he prefers, she will never be able to trust him. Daario has offered to take his head if he ever sets foot in Meereen, even angrier than she is over the attempt Varys would have made to poison her, but she is loath to take him up on it. It would be unfair to kill him for a crime he has not yet committed, especially when she saw herself do worse.
She decides that she will not summon him back to Meereen, nor forbid his return.
Tyrion will see to it that Varys knows why she is not going to invade Westeros as they had planned, and why she is sending ships to bring those who stood her allies across the Narrow Sea. If he has faith in her, he will choose to join her allies on their journey, and she will receive him and allow him to live out his days in her city. If he chooses to remain in Westeros, his fate will be of his own making.
"You'll be asking them to trust in a dream!" Tyrion exclaims, frustrated. "What if this is a lie? What if she is wrong about what will happen?"
Daenerys fixes him with a cool gaze. "If it is a lie, if I am wrong, and the White Walkers do not come, I will have lost a year, no more. I will still have the Unsullied and the Dothraki to fight for me, and I will still have three dragons, dragons who will grow even larger and stronger in the year to come, until they rival Balerion the Dread. Your sister has the Lannister army, and she may hire sellswords, if the Iron Bank is willing to fund her, and if she thinks it necessary when I am here and she has only the North to fight. Euron Greyjoy will add more ships to his fleet. It will not be enough to save them if I bring my forces to bear against King's Landing."
"But you can't attack…"
She cuts him off. "If it is not a lie, if I am not wrong, then those who travel to Meereen will be all that is left of Westeros."
It is a new experience for Tyrion Lannister to have nothing more to say.
A white raven has arrived from the Citadel, intended for the Maester of Winterfell, that he may spread the news that winter has come to the Lord of his castle and the people living in the surrounding area.
Jon Snow can scarcely remember the last winter, but what few memories he has are not pleasant ones.
When the deep snows blanketed the land around Winterfell, as far as the eye could see, Lord Eddard Stark gave the order that any of his people who sought shelter in his great keep, where the worst of the bitter cold was kept at bay by hot springs that sent scalding water rushing through its walls, must be accommodated. In order to make space for the many who sought shelter under his roof, the Lord of Winterfell offered up most of the rooms usually occupied by his family, unwilling to demand that his retainers and servants endure more cramped quarters for the duration of winter when their Lord was not prepared to do the same. The nurseries where the children slept, ate and played were given over to other families. The Stark children shared the Lord and Lady's chambers, the warmest rooms in the castle, and to Lady Catelyn's ill-concealed dismay, this included Jon.
Before, Lady Catelyn ignored him for the most part, leaving him to the care of his nurse, and having Robb and baby Sansa brought to her in her solar rather than visiting the nurseries they shared with another woman's son.
During that winter, when she had no choice but to endure his presence, her face was stony, her voice harsh and her hands rough.
During that winter, Jon came to understand that though Robb and Sansa were his brother and sister, though he shared the same rooms, ate the same food and was tended to by the same servants, he was not like them, not truly.
During that winter, he learned what it meant to be a bastard.
Now winter is here again, and Jon Snow is a man grown. If the Maesters are right, this winter will be even longer than the summer that preceded it, a prospect dreaded by smallfolk and great lords alike. He knows, however, that the threat they face is deadlier than a decade of deep snows, icy winds and scarce food. It is deadlier than Cersei Lannister, who cannot be expected to stand idly by while the Starks reclaim Winterfell, defying Lannister rule.
If he cannot make the lords assembled before him in the great dining hall of Winterfell understand the magnitude of the threat they face, they are all lost.
One lord, a man whose name Jon cannot recall, stands. All eyes turn to him as he speaks.
"The Boltons are defeated. The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."
"The war is not over. And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm."
They do not believe him, do not want to believe him.
They have just fought a hard battle to reclaim Winterfell, and want nothing more than to retreat behind the stone walls of their keeps, secure in the knowledge that the Lannisters will know better than to send their forces North during winter. No Southern army would dare to try to conquer the North in winter. They hope for a quiet winter, and are unwilling to allow Jon to take that hope from them.
Then, a miracle.
Lady Lyanna Mormont, who has not yet seen her eleventh name day, rises to address the assembled lords, her young voice stern.
"Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly. But you refused the call. You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still you refuse the call. But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day."
Lord Manderly is abashed, but to his credit, he acknowledges the truth of her words with a nod, and stands. "Lady Mormont speaks harshly and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause 'cause I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf. The King in the North." He draws his sword, rests its point on the ground and holds its hilt as he kneels.
Lord Glover is the next to rise. "I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness."
"There's nothing to forgive, my lord."
"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow… the King in the North!" Following Lord Manderly's example, he draws his sword and kneels to swear fealty. "The King in the North!"
To a man, the other lords in the hall rise, draw their swords and kneel to swear fealty, their voices rising in chorus.
"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"
Jon never wanted to be King, never dreamed that a day might come when he would hold the title that his ancestors did until three centuries ago, when Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, trading his crown to save the lives of his people, and accepting the title of Lord of Winterfell.
For the first time in his life, he knows what it is to be accepted by all as a true son of Lord Eddard Stark, and it is the happiest and proudest moment of his life.
More than that, it gives him hope.
The Bastard of Winterfell could not hope to rally the North behind him to fight the Night King and his Army of the Dead.
Even the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch would not be able to get them to follow him into battle.
As King in the North, he has a chance to save them all.
It is a good year for Meereen.
True to her word, Yara ferries Lady Olenna, and several of her granddaughters, from Highgarden, accompanied by over eight hundred of the farmers of the Reach and their families, before returning to make her next crossing.
The soil in the Ghiscari Hills and the lands that surround Meereen is not as rich as the soil of the Reach, but the farmers are accustomed to adapting to harsh winters and to years of hot, dry weather in the summer. They learn from the Meereenese farmers, and soon clear wide fields of dry grasses so that they may plant wheat and olive trees. They carry seedlings of fruits and vegetables from Westeros, something Daenerys did not think to ask of them, and build great glasshouses to cultivate them, with canals to bring water from the rivers to nourish them. They teach the Meereenese farmers in their turn, sharing with them their seedlings and their knowledge.
The first harvest is small, but the next promises to be bountiful.
It is as well that this should be so; with slavery abolished in Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, the future prosperity of the cities that hail Daenerys as their Queen will lie in agriculture, craft and commerce.
Tyrion rejoices when he learns that Lady Olenna sent word to the Arbor, ruled by her Redwyne kin, that they too might send their people to Essos, for some of the refugees have brought cuttings of their vines in the hope that they may cultivate the grapes that are so much sweeter than those grown in Meereen, and that made their wine famous in the Seven Kingdoms and in Essos alike. He remains adamant that none of the wines or brandies of Essos can compare to Arbor Gold, and declares that he wants a vineyard of his own one day.
Daenerys expects him to ask leave for his brother to be brought to Meereen but he never does. Whether this is because he does not truly believe in the vision about the Night King's invasion of Westeros, because he knows that not even his plea or the threat of death will induce Jaime to abandon Cersei, or because, without having come face to face with his family once more, his loyalty remains with his new Queen, she does not know.
Not many of the Iron Islanders were willing to abandon their rocky, wind-swept home in favour of a new life in Essos, even at Yara's command, but those who braved the journey have adapted well enough.
Most turn to fishing, their catch sold fresh in the markets of Meereen, or salted or smoked to be sold in other cities.
For those Iron Islanders who cannot bear the thought of a life devoid of combat, there is service on one of a dozen vessels under the command of Theon Greyjoy, who accepts the task of patrolling the seas that surround the island of Naath, charged with ensuring that no slavers reach its shores.
Missandei refuses to listen to any suggestions that she might return to the island of her birth, adamant that her place is with Daenerys, and content to know that no more of the peaceful people who dwell in Naath will be sold into slavery as long as it lies in her Queen's power to prevent it.
From Dorne come Ellaria Sand, all but one of Prince Oberyn's eight daughters. The fourth is studying in Oldtown, and a message is sent to her to travel to Highgarden, so that she might sail with the next crossing. The Sands are accompanied on their journey to Meereen by as many of the Dornish people as could be fit into the two dozen ships sent to their kingdom. The three elder daughters are as fierce as any Dothraki warrior, and the younger four look set to follow in their footsteps. Even the youngest, Loreza Sand, a little girl of no more than eight years, is learning to wield a spear that is taller than she is.
Daenerys suspects that, were the fighting pits still in operation, at least one of the Sand Snakes would seek to show her prowess against the pit fighters, and would have a better than fair chance of emerging victorious, but no man or woman will fight to the death for the entertainment of others in her city, not ever again.
Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion decide to claim the abandoned fighting pit for their nest, the huge space and sun-warmed sand suiting them well. There is no roof above them, and no chains to bind them, and they are content.
She feels more closely attuned to her children now than she did before, when Drogon was flying wild, and Rhaegal and Viserion were imprisoned in the catacombs for fear that they too would begin to hunt human prey. They are gentle around her, as eager to vie for her attention and her petting as they were when they were small enough to be cradled in her arms, and they seem to have come to understand that the people are their mother's, and therefore theirs to protect. On occasion, a goatherd or farmer comes before her to report the theft of their animals but, for the most part, her dragons do their hunting further afield. Sometimes, they are away for days at a time but they are never so far from her that she cannot feel them, as she once felt Rhaego growing inside her. She hears no reports that they have taken human life, and so she leaves them to come and go as they will. With the freedom to fly as they choose, and food aplenty from their hunts, they grow even larger than they did in the vision.
The vision does not leave her.
Too many nights, her sleep is haunted by the memory of the losses she endured, and the death and destruction she rained down on the people of King's Landing, people who had already suffered under the reigns of the Usurper, the cuckoos in his nest, and finally Cersei. She cannot understand why she did it, when she had already won.
Was she angry with herself for allowing others to dissuade her from taking the fight to Cersei from the beginning, once she saw how quickly and easily she could have conquered the city, had she been guided by her own instincts?
Was she punishing the people for her own mistakes, for her folly in believing that, if she fought to save their lives, they would come to see her as a Queen they could trust to care for them?
Or was it the madness of her father coming out in her?
Was she doomed to burn King's Landing sooner or later, even if its people threw open the city gates to welcome her?
Too many nights, she wakes up sobbing or screaming, her thrashing body tangled in her bedding.
When she does, Daario is there to hold her, to remind her that she is in Meereen, far from Westeros and its problems, and that she will never be the person she fears she is doomed to be.
She cannot do as he suggests, and go on as if she never saw what she is capable of.
Even if Quaithe had the power or the inclination to wipe her mind of the worst of the memories, she would not allow it.
It is only by facing the worst that she is capable of that she can strive to be better.
She knows that she will never again order that a man be fed to her dragons, no matter the crime committed.
The first time after the vision that she is called upon to stand in judgement over one of the citizens, a young man accused of murdering another, her palms are damp with cold sweat as she listens to the complaint presented, her stomach churning uneasily at the thought of ordering his execution. To her relief, the evidence presented is not strong enough to justify a decision that the man is guilty, and she is able to set him at liberty.
After that, she closets herself in her apartments with Missandei, Grey Worm, Daario, the Greyjoys and Tyrion Lannister, working with them to draft the laws under which the citizens of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor will live, with punishments set out for those who break them. Henceforth, those accused of a crime will be judged first by a panel of their fellow citizens, chosen by lot, who will hear the evidence and vote on guilt or innocence, though they retain the right to appeal to their Queen for her justice if the outcome of the trial is against them, and she continues to hold the power of pardon. In the new courts, it is guilt, not innocence, that must be proved.
It does not stop her nightmares, but she feels that she is taking a step away from the woman in the vision.
Cersei reads the latest missive from the self-styled King in the North, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. When she is finished, she slides the letter across the table to her brother and lover.
Jaime takes longer to read it than she did. He has always had trouble with his letters, since they were young children and the Maester charged with their education rapped his knuckles for his inability to read and write as well as a mere girl-child. When he is finished, he snorts with laughter.
"Do you think it was the Wall or the wars that turned the poor boy's wits?"
"Perhaps both."
"You don't think there's any truth to it, do you? The part about the White Walkers, I mean."
Cersei raises an eyebrow, surprised that he would ask such a foolish question. "I offered to send the Lannister army North to fight against the White Walkers, and whatever other monsters he thinks are coming for them, if he would bend the knee," she reminds him. "He refused. If there truly is a threat, do you really think that any son of Ned Stark's would choose to let his people die for the sake of his pride?"
"Fair point. Of course, according to this, he's not Ned Stark's son at all."
They share a laugh before setting the letter aside.
Cersei imagines that it was Sansa Stark's idea that her half-brother should try to rally support for their family against the Lannisters by claiming to be the long-lost son of Rhaegar Targaryen. By all accounts, Jon Snow is Ned Stark's son in every way, and would never think to try to dupe people into supporting him.
If truth be told, she is a little disappointed in Sansa.
She thinks that, if nothing else, the little dove should have learned enough from her to be able to come up with a lie that is at least somewhat believable.
The day Jorah returns to her is Daenerys' happiest since Quaithe shared the vision.
He sends her no word of his coming, and does not take advantage of the fact that he is well known to the Unsullied who guard the pyramid to gain access to her private apartments, that he may greet her there. Instead, he chooses to join the long line of petitioners awaiting an audience with their Queen, waiting patiently while others bring their requests before her, until it is his turn to be conducted into the audience chamber.
When she sees him, she springs from her bench and runs down the stairs to him, all but throwing herself into his arms. He steadies her with gentle hands before she can send them both sprawling to the floor, cradling her to his chest. He is visibly exhausted from his long journey, his clothes worn and travel-stained, but the sight of him is a welcome one, and she does not want to let go.
She hears Missandei's soft voice command the sentries to instruct the waiting petitioners that the day's audience is at an end, and to tell them to return tomorrow. She knows that she should overrule this instruction, that the people have been waiting for her for hours, and that she has a duty to her subjects to hear their words and do all in her power to assist them in their troubles, but for once, she allows her duty to wait another day.
Even the sentries leave, trusting that their Queen is as safe in the care of her faithful knight as she would be under their protection.
Without letting one another go, she and Jorah sit at the foot of the stairs, his arm around her shoulders, her fingers twined in his free hand. They sit in silence for several minutes before he finally breaks it.
"I had thought to find you in Westeros, Khaleesi. Why did you not come? What has happened?" he prods gently.
"I can't go to Westeros."
"Of course you can. You command over a hundred thousand warriors, and you have your dragons. Even if the Lannisters and the Starks put aside their differences to stand against you, which they will never do, they would not win. You can sweep the Seven Kingdoms and take back your family's crown."
"I can't. If I go to Westeros, I will lose far too many of my people, I will lose my children, and I will do terrible things to the people of Westeros. I will be worse than my father ever was." He opens his mouth to object but she does not give him the chance to give voice to his certainty that she could never follow in her father into madness. She can't bring herself to meet his eyes as she relates the events of her vision, cannot bear to see the disappointment in the eyes of the man who believed in the Queen she would be before she truly believed in herself, but she doesn't allow herself to shrink from telling him everything.
"Khaleesi, you can't ask me to believe that you would ever…"
"You went to the Citadel in Oldtown in search of a cure. A man named Samwell Tarly treated you, even though he wasn't supposed to. He was a man of the Night's Watch, and had served your father before he was killed."
She fears that this proof that the vision was a true one will lead him to recoil from her in disgust, but he doesn't.
He doesn't let go of her hand, but he moves his arm from around her shoulder, catching her chin in a warm, calloused palm and gently tilting her face up to meet his gaze.
"This will not happen. We will not allow it to happen. Now that we know, we will all make sure that you have our support. You will not be left alone, at the mercy of those who think you their enemy. We will see to it that we are by your side every step of your journey. I know you, Khaleesi… Daenerys. You have a gentle heart, and you want to do right by your people. Give yourself another chance to be the Queen you are meant to be. You can still have the Iron Throne, if you want it. With everything you have learned, we can claim it for you."
"I want it," she confesses, angry with herself because, despite all she saw, there is still a part of her that wants to reclaim the throne her ancestor forged, to walk through the walls of the Red Keep, the home stolen from her family by the Usurper, and to know that it belongs to House Targaryen once more. "I want to take the Seven Kingdoms, and to prove that I can rule them well. But I won't allow my people to pay for it. The price is too high."
"What will you do?"
"I will do what I set out to do. I will strike the chains off slaves, protect the innocent and leave the world a better place than I found it. But I will do it here in Essos. Will you stay with me, and help me do it?"
He raises their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of her hand. "I am with you, Khaleesi. Now and always."
TBC.