A/N:

Season 8 has driven me back to this. Also, this story started during season 2 and is now 3 seasons behind? I don't even think I can apologize...

It was weeks before the city would be anything close to what Cass deemed stable, and even then, Meereen was a far cry from any memory she had of King's Landing. Though the faith of the red god was easily manipulated to denounce slavery, the Meerenese were still in shambles. Their customs were brutalized, mutilated, and Cass watched the dragon queen try to merge her values on to them. But new problems still arose like weeds—murders, fighting pits, masters, hunger, rebellion. Cassana did not understand these things. She knew of backstabbing and lies, the threat of winter in a life of always summer. She felt isolated, out of place, though she was surrounded by Westerosi men and Unsullied in every direction she looked.

Daenerys didn't trust her. She knew this. Cass was a tool to be used but never sharpened, a book to be memorized and then left behind when all usefulness was taken from it. Her time here was limited and fragile, and it became Cassana's duty to always be useful.

She drew genealogies with a Septa's memory and precision, wrote down words, crests, locations, everything she could possible recall from the time she was three. And then there were things she was never taught. There was the opinion she crafted, the secrets she gained. Favorite colors, food, pet names. Dislikes, likes, rumors. She poured everything from her memory, every whisper from the Red Keep into permanent, perfect ink. She spent nights memorizing the layers of parchment, making sure each fact or disputed fact was firm in her mind before reciting each detail back to herself verbatim.

And when she was sure that her knowledge was recommitted to both memory and ink, she burned the parchment to ash. She would be an advisor to this queen, if only to make sure she was alive when she returned to King's Landing.

It was something that would keep her up at night, the thought of going back to Westeros, the thought of being captured again, of being held in the dark, of seeing the people she loved die.

And how many more of those are left?

Stannis, maybe. She had not heard anything to dispute that fact. He was north somewhere, doing that red god's work, fulfilling whatever destiny Melisandre had planned for him. Though Cassana knew he was no true king.

She ached for Robert and his frivolity, his gluttony, and yes, sometimes, even his violence. Cass was finally free of the machinations of the western shores, finally free of the web of death and deceit, but for some terrible reason, she wanted to go back. I wonder if Tyrion agrees with me. She bit her lip, twirling the glass of wine as she watched the blood red sun fall on her balcony. He must miss him too.

But that was not why. She would tell herself he was not why she woke up at night, not why she watched the roads endlessly, looking for that same grey wood carriage that brought her to this place. She missed him. The Seven did she miss him, but she could not afford to think about it less she become even more foolish.

There was a soft knock to the door of her room, and Cassana had half the mind to swallow whatever left of her wine before opening it. It was most likely Robb Stark. They had made quite the habit to visit each other, discuss Meereen, the dragon queen, what they were to do next. And wait was always the answer. They would wait and see. Wait and watch the world set itself on fire. She swallowed the rest of the wine, hoping it would give her patience.

The knock continued, harder, faster, and she was already warm when she made her way across the room to open it. White hair and robe caught her even more off balanced. "My queen." She was used to the words now, and Cassana curtsied easily before letting Daenerys into her room. She was alone, which was strange. Cass stood from her curtsy and walked back into the room, empty goblet loose in her hand. "Can I get you any? Tiring day, I'm sure."

"No, thank you."

"Then please don't mind me." She poured herself another glass from the golden pitcher. Her lips were dry, chapped. They must have already looked bloody from the wine. Cass paid it no mind. "What brings you here so late, my queen? Surely others more commonly occupy this hour?"

Her smile was sharp though small. "You are getting brash."

"I've always been brash. Now I'm simply vocalizing it." Cass bowed her head, second guessing herself. The wine had easily let her lips loose. "Do tell me if I am out of line."

"You're toeing it." Daenerys finally chose a seat and Cass followed. She remained silent again, waiting, attempting to read the Targaryen in front of her though she was struggling with that more and more.

Cass knew little about her queen. She knew Jaime killed her father. She knew her brother had killed her own. She knew Daenerys had been rushed away from King's Landing when she was incredibly young and sent to Essos with her brother to avoid war. The similarity of that had Cass' head spinning. She almost swallowed her tongue as she spoke, "We are…incredibly alike."

The candidness more so than the words seemed to strike the queen. Daenerys eased back in her chair. "How so?"

"While you were being shipped off to Essos, avoiding a war you had no true part in, I was being shipped North." Cass craved the biting dryness of Dornish wine. The piss she was drinking was nothing in comparison. "While we were both navigating a new world order, both our brothers claimed to be kings. Both of them are dead now."

"That is true." Daenerys held out a hand. It took Cass a moment to see it was the goblet she wanted. Cassana smiled before handing it over, graciously. "Yet you have one alive and here you are."

"Neither of my brothers deserved to be king. Perhaps none of them did. I don't know. My present has been so dark it's hard to not look at the past in a brighter light."
"I cannot say the same as that."

The words were cold. They hit her harshly, and the wall that was Daenerys Stormborn cracked in front of her. Cassana watched the queen tiptoe up and refill the empty goblet. She watched her slowly drink the red liquid, and the aching sadness almost drowned her. Cassana chewed out the words, "I wouldn't be jealous of me."

Purple eyes were dark, wide when turned back around, and Cass knew she had flung herself over that line. She had hurled headfirst, while her body remained seated, patient for the first time in weeks. "There is something else we need to discuss."

"I had to watch my family be taken from me. I was there when everything went to complete shit. At least you have no memory of it."

"And you think that's better?" The fire was lit in the queen. She remained standing while Cass sat, smiling, happy for once that there were no clouded words or shrouded phrases. "You think I prefer hearing about the land I am meant to rule without ever seeing it? About my throne and birthright? Do you think I enjoy only remembering this world and a brother who sold me as meat?!"

"I do not mean to upset you, my queen." That was true. She had not. Cass folded her hands, disposing of her smile. "And I cannot say I know all that you have gone through, but I can say that I would…I have acted difficulty. I am simply curious why you want that land so much. I am…" She bit her lip, the words hard. "…desperate for it. But not for some throne, I can assure you I want nothing like that. But I do not care for this place. I know nothing of this world or its people and it feels wrong to be here." I don't care about being here. The truth rang in her. I could care less about Meereen or the Meereenese or fucking Essos. This is where her and Robb Stark differed immensely. The man wanted to wait until this place was in perfect order, a utopia, while Cass just wanted out. She tried to bite down her tongue, hoping her cool behavior would calm some of Daenerys' anger. Is she stable? It was not the first time Cassana had had the thought, and even as she sat there, expectantly waiting for her queen's response, a part of her already knew the answer.

She wanted it because it was hers, her right. Cassana had heard that shit reason time and time again, from this woman too, and she waited for the words to parrot back her thoughts. Daenerys only stood and approached her. The thin fingers of her right hand went through her hair, placing a curl behind her ear. The queen was draped in jewelry. Neck and wrists and ears dripped in silver and chimed at her arm movements. "I see myself in you too. You had the life I thought I was meant to have, yet you are here, bowing to me."

The words made Cass want to do anything but. "I never wanted a crown."

"A convenient difference. But why do you want me to have it? Tell me."

Do I? She attempted to lay her options in her mind, though she knew in truth she had none. She pictured the graves in the snow, the Stranger, how all of this seemed so incredibly moot and she had no actual reason why that was. We are still playing a game. Just a game. "Because of our other differences. I am begging to go to Westeros while you are here wanting to make this land right. I admire you for it." Her patience was snapping. "Why are you here?"
Her hands moved away from her face and moved to Cass' own hands. "I'm naming Tyrion my Hand."

Cass swallowed her shock. "A Westerosi tradition indeed."

"I am Westerosi. You do not dispute it?"

The fact that you are Westerosi or… "Tyrion has experience in the position, and he may be the cleverest man I have ever met."

Daenerys nodded. "Those two things I need. I also need naysayers."

"Pardon?"

"I'm here to ask you to be on my small council."

"I thought I already was."

The queen sniffed at her response and broke all physical contact, backing away. "Most men drop to their knees when I honor them."

"And that is why you are asking me? Yes? I am honored. Thank you, my queen. I will try to hold back my wit if it bothers you so."

"No, please don't."

Good. Perhaps this could work out just fine. "What will you have me do for you?"

Daenerys turned back to face her, voice firm. "Exactly what you want. Get me to Westeros."

"Master of ships then." Cass practically laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure we can come up with something grander."

The pits were a nightmare. Crowds of screaming, dirty people, raging at the fences for more and more and more blood. Cassana had regretted sandals as soon as she stepped away from the caravan that carried her there. Tyrion stood close to her side, as did Robb, though she had wanted everything but. Being in the cacophonous arena made her crave space, somewhere she could run. She was led just the opposite way by Grey Worm and another man from Daenerys' court. She had yet to remember how to pronounce his name.

"Thank you, my lord." It was also a bad day to wear white, she noted. The wooden benches that they sat upon were not cushioned or cleaned in quite some time. Cassana kept her chin high, doing her best not to gag as a man was disemboweled in the pits in front of her.

"It's brave of you to look." Robb's accented voice was like cool air. The Stark sat on her right; his furs long gone from his shoulders. His beard, once wild, rough, was trimmed neatly to his face, and the redness of his skin finally cooled to a light tan. She hated it on him.

Cass fought back the strange urge to grab his hand. "You forget I have been in a war camp or two."

"Aye. That feels like ages ago." He stood swiftly and Cass scrambled to follow. Their queen had entered the arena, walking gracefully, sternly, with no train or any other decoration besides a large dragon broach on her chest. Cass saw that the queen's own shoes were boots, and an unexpected tinge of jealousy sprang through her.

She leaned into the tall man next to her, ignoring his warmth. "And did my queen ask you to also be a member of her small council?"

A jolt swarmed through his body, and his face, once again, looked incredibly pale. "No, my lady. …Did she ask you?"

That is strange. Cass could only nod in reply, and this time her hand did grab his. He gripped it immediately, and Cassana felt her shoulders relax into her chest. Her mind was moving terribly fast, tearing at every bit of stability she thought she had captured. You are safe. You are both safe.

Daenerys was shouting in High Valyrian, addressing the crowd. Cassana could not understand, and by the puzzled look on Tyrion's face, neither could the dwarf. The absolute foreignness of it all came pounding on top of her. She was here, promising herself to serve this person who meant well in action but made her hairs stand on end. Essos was humid and dirty and terrible. Her role on the small council, if it had been anything like her role thus far, would be sitting at the table, offering ideas that were drowned out by older, more experienced men. I have no love for the Targaryens. That was true. That had always been true. She had been fascinated by them and the mythos, of Rhaegar who was both white knight and rapist. The duality of it all confused her to no end, and in the back of her mind, she remembered Jaime, voice firm, and brutish.

"Knights are not wooers and bards, my lady. We are all killers and murderers."

She continued to watch her queen in the bottom of the pits, shouting, her face bright and energetic. There were shouts of Mhysa! every which way, and Daenerys was absorbing it all, looking more little girl than queen as her speech waned. Cassana's lack of understanding had her incredibly focused on Daenerys' movements, her face. The way she gleamed as the crowd applauded her, purple eyes big and beautiful, and Cass saw why men fought for her, why they died for her. Could I die for her too?

No. That answer was simple enough. She would die for Robb Stark, who was every bit the person she wanted to be. She would die for Myrcella and Tommen, and, at one time, all three of her brothers. She would sacrifice everything, had sacrificed most things, to make sure Jaime Lannister was still breathing and safe. The gnawing bite in her chest intensified. It was scratching at her, cinching her throat and lungs so that the simple action of breathing became a laborious toll. Robb's grip on her hand tightened. "I'm sure she is not saying anything bad. The people love her."

Her thoughts ricocheted between the queen and Jaime. They would linger on the receding image of his face, of the drowning, suffocating love he carried for her and how it was that love that had him abandon her, bring her here for protection. And Cassana knew she would—has— done the same. Daenerys' face worried her. The emotion was unrecognizable, almost…shallower. She was floating upon this wave of devotion of her people, but what if that loyalty waned? What if they made it harder for her to love them?

We are not so alike.

Cassana, who also had birthright, and vengeance, and armies who would follow her, gave up any want for the throne for those she loved. Would she do the same? The shouting around her became deafening, and she moved her hand away from Robb Stark to cover her ears. His own hand fell to her waist, gripping her firmly, and the edge came back into her body.

To Cassana, that answer was also simple.

She felt her body rock on the bench, Robb's hand on her waist and then back, doing nothing to steady her. Daenerys' speech was now over, but former slaves were still attempting to bound towards her. Cries for mother stared to bleed through Cassana's ears even more, and she turned to Robb then Tyrion. "I…I need fresh air." Her face was unmasked, she knew that. Her anxiety was apparent, so much so that both lords decided to follow her up and out of the pit, a courteous Tyrion shouting his apologies to Missandei over the crowd.

Robb was practically dragging her out. Her toes were scraped, almost bloody from the rocky staircase to the exit, and when Cassana escaped the putrid air to the hot, eastern sun, she nearly collapsed into him. "I'm sorry. There was no need to accompany me."

"You look half-dead. Can you even stand? Don't be ridiculous." Tyrion moved to grab her wrist. "Your pulse is racing."

"I'm unamused by the pits."

Robb stiffened against her. "Let's set you down. I have a waterskin on me." He did just that, maneuvering her body so that she sat on a small bench next to a street vendor. He sat down next to her, cross-legged, and handed her the small leather pouch.

Cassana took it, grateful. "Thank you."

"I don't have to tell you how bad this looks, do I?" Tyrion's eyes were on the entrance gate. There were people still trying to push their way through, and Cassana thanked the Seven they so easily made it out. The dwarf bit his lip. "At least she was done speaking."

"Tyrion…" Her voice was weak. Cass closed her eyes to settle her head. All it did was make her eyes wet. "I miss home."

"You'll be dead at home," he said easily. His hand found her shoulder, squeezing it.

I know that. She would survive all this, get through this. And for what? Her chest started seizing, and Robb dragged her closer. "Shh, Cass. What is it? What's the matter?"

She felt like a coddled child. Hells, she wanted to be a coddled child. Her mouth remained shut, fear that any movement would cause the tears to flow. Why am I here? Why am I here? Because Jaime brought her, yes, but also because some part of her must have thought that she could somehow be safe in Westeros again. That Daenerys Targaryen could offer her the rest and peace she had longed for. But how?

That was when the dragon pierced the sky.

He came viciously, a shroud of blackness blocking the hot sun. The screech shivered her bones, made her shake off all shock in her body and stand in defense and fear. Cassana had not seen this dragon before. He was a giant compared to his brothers, a demon if she ever saw one. The dragon free-falled towards them, and the crowds started running. Robb reacted immediately, pushing her and Tyrion behind the food vendor's stall to avoid the absolute chaos of the mob. They were rushing, stampeding away, and Cass peered around the corner to witness the blast of fire ignite the pit.

The shouts became blood-soaked, fear-stricken gasps for help. And though Cassana could not understand the words, she knew the emotion, the unbridled feeling of helplessness. Smoke started covering the air, as did the smell of burning ash and flesh, and Cass knew they needed to run. Neither of the lords next to her seemed to want to follow her actions. The dragon had only attacked once and now seemed to be hovering, waiting. They watched it, memorized at the rhythmic strokes of his wings, every so often their eyes falling to the mass of people fleeing. It was easy to spot the Unsullied in the crowd, and Varys even easier. Jorah Mormont and Barristan were nowhere to be seen and neither was their queen. And then the dragon was landing, if only for an instant before shooting off again.

Robb's mouth was agape, beads of sweat crowning his hairline. "How…" She watched his blue eyes look at the people, ash covering their faces, the shouts similar to bleating lambs. "How does she intend to rule?"

The dragon was gone, forgotten in the skyscape, and left in its wake were flames and dirt and ruin. She leaned against this man, who had watched tragedy after tragedy, and found her voice sinking deep into her gut. "With fire and blood."