Chapter 6

Essos

Rhayana stared at her precious egg as it sat perched over a makeshift nest she'd crafted with some twigs and leaves she's scrounged together. She doubted it would hatch, it looked almost aged to stone. But she couldn't shake the sort of...motherly instinct she seemed to feel toward the beautiful thing. She kept gazing at it, mesmerized by its beauty.

She reached out a hand to touch it. It was cold to the touch, and felt absolutely devoid of any life inside of it. Yet Rhayana continued to feel an undeniable pull toward it. She couldn't describe it.

The sound of footsteps outside her door made her snap out of her trance. She couldn't let anyone see! She quickly grabbed the egg and stashed it under her bed, just as she heard the knock.

"Princess?" Missandei's sweet, foreign voice sounded from the other side of the door. "It's me."

Rhayana felt relief at the sound of her friend's voice. "Come in, Missandei."

The door opened and Missandei walked in, her head of curls bouncing around her face as she moved. She had lovely skin the shade of almonds, and warm friendly brown eyes. Missandei was her dearest friend. And she trusted her more than anyone. Surely she could trust her with her discovery? She wants to tell her, but the words hang on her lips.

"You've hardly come out of your room in days," Missandei says, taking a seat on Rhayana's bed. "I was beginning to worry."

"No need to worry," Rhayana quickly looks for an excuse, but can't find one. She finds it hard to lie to Missandei. "I've...just had my mind occupied is all…"

"Is something wrong?" Missandei frowns with worry.

Rhayana shakes her head, her silver hair framing her face. Missandei watches her for a moment, not quite believing her but seems to accept her response. She looks so much like Daenerys, it sometimes hurts to look at her.

Rhayana searches for something to break the tense silence and as an afterthought reaches for hair brush. "Will you do my hair?"

Missandei seems pleased to be asked. She nods with a smile. "Of course, if it pleases, princess."

Rhayana sits down and looks at her reflection in the mirror as Missandei starts brushing her hair. It feels soothing, and she lets her eyes close for a moment, enjoying it.

"I never told you this," Missandei says quietly as she sets the brush down and starts to intricately braid Rhayana's hair like she'd done for Daenerys many times. "But I once served a beautiful queen. Not Hestia, a different queen. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. And she had the kindest heart. She saved me from my master and set me free."

Rhayana listens intently. "You had a life outside the island?"

Missandei chuckles softly. "Oh yes. I was taken from my home when I was a young girl. I was sold as a slave. And this queen, she came as if in a dream. And she freed me from my chains."

"What did you do then?" Rhayana asked.

"I followed her on her quest to conquer distant lands," Missandei continues, and her voice takes on a reminiscent tone. She sounds like she's lost in a memory. "I was happy to serve her. She saved a great many people."

"She sounds like quite a woman," Rhayana says. "You loved her."

Missandei looks at Rhayana's reflection for the briefest of moments, and Rhayana could swear she saw a flash of sadness in the her friend's eyes. But she averted her gaze before Rhayana could be sure.

"Yes," Missandei almost whispers. "So did everyone willing to serve her."

"What happened to this queen of yours?"

"Well I expect she continues to rule, as she was meant to," Missandei finishes braiding Rhayana's hair and Rhayana catches a glimpse of what looks like regret and...something else. What is Missandei not saying?

A ghost of a smile plays at Missandei's lips as she looks at the beautiful princess before her. "I expect you're going to ask how I ended up back here?"

Rhayana nodded and waited for her to continue.

Missandei was quiet for a moment, and she seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Rhayana could sense this was a sensitive topic for her. She almost considered changing the subject when it seemed Missandei wasn't going to answer when finally, she was speaking.

"It seems that destiny called me back home, little princess," she says quietly. "And so I am here, with you."

Rhayana looked at her, not quite sure what to make of her answer. But she could tell that Missandei was finished discussing it because she turned away.

"I'll let you get your rest," she said, starting toward the door.

That was it. A moment shattered and slipping away through Missandei's fingers. She had come so close to telling Rhayana the truth, that it scared her. She had made a promise to Daenerys and she intended to keep it.

"Missandei, wait."

Missandei stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to Rhayana. "Yes?"

Rhayana almost told her about the egg, but didn't. For some reason, whatever it may be, she wasn't ready to tell anyone just yet. She felt oddly protective of it.

So instead she opted to present something else to Missandei instead. She turned and reached into her jewelry box to withdraw the seashell necklace she had made for her. When she turned Missandei was watching her curiously.

"I made something for you."

Missandei's chocolate brown eyes widened. "For me? You didn't have to-" her voice faded into a small gasp as she saw the lovely necklace dangling from Rhayana's fingers. The many colors of the shells seemed to dazzle her. It was beautiful!

"You made this?" Missandei breathed, reaching out to touch one of the shells.

Rhayana nodded, smiling shyly. "Do you like it?"

"I..I love it. Thank you." Missandei takes the necklace and reaches up to clasp it around her neck. She fingers the shells lovingly, feeling touched that Rhayana had done something so thoughtful for her. She was so kind, just like her mother.

Tears threatened to well up in Missandei's eyes, and she fought against them but they betrayed her. Rhayana frowned, confused at the reaction. "Is something wrong?"

Missandei vigorously shakes her head and turns away from the princess. "No...it really is lovely. Thank you. I have to go." Missandei makes a hasty escape, leaving Rhayana staring at a closed door, her mind in shambles.

…

Winterfell

"Our stores of grain?" Sansa asked the farmer, drawing her cloak around her.

"Flourishing, my Lady," Alvan was pleased to report. "The Gods are kind. Our cows are full of milk, and pigs fat and plentiful. The next time Winter comes, our people will not starve."

"Pleased to hear it."

The winter that the white walkers came had been a long and bitter one indeed. It continued for what seemed like years after the fall of the undead army. Many either froze to death in their beds, or starved. Now that spring was making its grand entrance, the lands grew rich again.

Sansa nodded to Alvan and continued on her walk under the overhang. The sound of steel being forged at the smith reminded her of Gendry, and she felt a pang in her chest. She still waited to receive word of his and Mira's safe arrival to King's Landing.

Her eyes found Asher's red hair among a group of soldiers, training as usual. Sansa watched them for a while, feeling her heart swell with pride. He had Sansa's looks, but he moved like his father, with quick agility and strength. Gendry chose to wield a heavy war hammer as his weapon however, while Asher stuck to short swords. He was growing into a strong and capable warrior. And it scared her.

Asher saw her watching him and he quickly disarmed a fellow soldier as he attempted to take advantage of his momentary distraction. The soldier looked down at his fallen sword and back up at Asher's grinning face, his own showing his frustration. Sansa couldn't help but chuckle.

Asher sheathed his sword and walked toward her. As he came closer she could see the beads of sweat on his face from training hard.

"I don't think Michael appreciates you making him look like a fool before the Lady of Winterfell," Sansa says with a teasing lilt to her tone.

"He'll get over it," Asher says dismissively. His eyes focus on Sansa's face more and a wave of concern passes over him. She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes, and the dark bags beneath them betray her exhaustion and sleepless nights. Sansa shifts uncomfortably and looks away, toward the direction of the Wall where she'd watched Rodrick set off a few days ago.

"Are you sleeping?" he asks her in quiet tones, not wanting anyone to hear them.

"Enough to function," she answers. She casts a sidelong glance at his worried face and straightens her spine, lifting her chin high with all her Northern poise. "Don't you fret over me, Asher. I am fine. It takes much energy to govern a kingdom, you know."

"Yet you do it so well. Our people thrive under you, Mother," Asher praises her.

Sansa appreciated his words of praise, but there were times when she still doubted herself. She could only hope to live up to the legacy of those before her. The face of her father swims into her mind and she feels almost overcome with sadness. All this time, and her dreams were still haunted with the memory of his execution in King's Landing right before her eyes. It was the reason she still could not bring herself to set foot into the cursed city again, not even to see her brother. Too many dark memories. She had been a prisoner behind its golden gates. She only hoped that Mira would be able to make it a better home than she had.

"Those hill clans are a filthy stain on this land," Asher's voice breaks into her thoughts. "It's a wonder they are still allowed to roam about in open rebellion to the crown."

"Like Dorne, they are an independent people," Sansa says in a measured tone.

"Unlike Dorne, they are savages," Asher growls, his eyes glinting dangerously. Sansa wonders what is going on inside his head. She doesn't like it. "They cannot get away with blatantly attacking our people."

Sansa looks at him, feeling the dull thud of her heart knocking against her chest wall. Asher had a murderous look on his face, and the way he clutched his sword hilt made Sansa swallow with unease.

"Please tell me you're not thinking of going out and doing something stupid," she murmurs.

"We have enough men," Asher reasons. "I could lead a retaliation."

"Asher-"

"I will personally slay any man who dared to harm my blood!" Asher raises his voice. "Their savagery cannot continue!"

And there it was. That recklessness that both made Asher a great fighter, but could also get him killed. She would not have it.

"The king will handle it," Sansa says firmly, reaching out to touch his arm. "I will not have you go risk your life-"

"If a soldier didn't risk his life for the good of his people, then what is the purpose of a soldier?" Asher argues, his blue eyes chips of ice.

"To live to fight another day. A soldier knows which battles to fight, and this is not yours. Our king will handle it." Sansa says with certainty, and she hopes her words reach Asher.

With his red hair like fire, Sansa can almost see smoke coming from Asher's ears as he fumes.

"You will lead no such attack," she tells him with quiet authority. "And trust me, my son. If it is battle you wish so desperately for, then you will have it one day. But today is not that day."

Asher looks like he wants to argue some more, but Sansa's face makes any remaining words die on his tongue. He lets out an exasperated sigh and runs a hand through his fiery hair.

"Very well," he relents. "I suppose one can only hope that Queen Daenerys grants them a fiery death they deserve."

And with that, he turns and walks back to his men. Sansa watches him go, weariness making her heart feel heavy. No one was angrier than her at what the ruthless savages had done, killing her men. Gendry and Mira barely escaped with their lives. They should burn for such actions. So why then, did she suddenly feel lightheaded and weak kneed at the thought?

She knew exactly why.

Images of a field of grass surrounded by thick oak trees swam before her mind's eye. Snow had only just started falling with the approach of Winter, lightly dusting the earth. That image faded and another memory came to her. She was holding someone's hand for dear life, feeling her fingernails sink into the flesh of his palm. His salt and pepper hair came into view. That face she had almost completely forgotten after she watched Arya's blade open his throat.

She remembered the agonizing pain that ravaged her body, the blood. So much blood…even now she could smell it. Little Finger had hovered over her, smoothing back her red hair as he whispered comforting words into her ear. And she had clung to him desperately, staring into his eyes as if to plead with him to make the pain go away. When finally it did. The sound of a baby crying. The sweet, shrill sound of a small human's lungs which should bring joy to her ears. But all it brought was pain. Shame. A reminder of the foul man that had brought this upon her. A man whom had left a permanent mark on her soul, owning her even in death.

Sansa forced the memories away, fighting the tears that stung her eyes. She couldn't let anyone see her this way. She cast a somber look in the distance, toward where the large gloomy mountain could be seen with a cloud of fog around it, below which she knew the Hill tribes resided. Then she steeled herself and let ice settle around her once more before turning into the shadows of the castle.

…..

King's Landing

Gendry looked through the small window of the wagon at the towering city of King's Landing. It had been years since he'd seen the grand city. The last time he laid eyes on it, it was nearly in shambles from the devastation of the war. Now it looked almost as magnificent as it once did with all the reconstruction. He could even see that the Sept of Baelor had been risen from the ashes of Cersei's destruction with wildfire.

The streets were crowded with smallfolk, and the wagon slowed to a steady trot as they rode through the square. Mira was in awe as she took in the sights. King's Landing was beautiful! Just as grand and full of life as she had imagined. People danced, laughed and the air was filled with the sound of music and singing.

"Why is everyone so happy?" Mira wondered aloud, watching as a man played a lute and two women danced around him, their dresses dragging in the dirt.

"This is the way it's supposed to be," Gendry tells her. "People are happy when they are safe and secure. Queen Daenerys and your uncle have done well to restore the city to its greatness." He remembered when he was a young lad, a bastard unbeknownst to him, working in the smiths of Fleabottom. Things had been so grim back then. People lived in fear of the lunatic king Joffrey after he had risen to power following the death of King Robert Baratheon. No one danced in the streets then. Many even feared to go outside their homes. People starved. Children and babies were butchered all to secure a false claim to the throne. It was a dark time.

Daenerys Targaryen's rise to the Iron Throne was the best thing that happened to Westeros and its people. And with Jon Snow at her side, known to most now as Aegon Targaryen, they had managed to build a positive future for the world they knew. A better one. Gendry couldn't be prouder to serve.

Their wagon ran over a shallow indentation in the road causing it to rattle. Gendry winced at the movement and clutched his chest where his wound from the arrow was. Mira glanced at her father worriedly. She had done her best to dress it up with a piece of fabric from her gown, and had cleaned it with some alcohol they got from a local tavern but it needed proper medical attention. The ride to King's Landing had been long and rough on her father, and though he fought hard to hide it, she could tell he was in pain and growing weaker. She just thanked the Gods that it had not festered.

"Halt!" they heard a man's voice command from outside the wagon, which jolted to a stop.

Mira saw a soldier clad in black and gold, his helmet designed to look like a wolf's head. His armor was made to look like scales. The golden crest on his breastplate had what looked like a dragon and wolf intertwined around a sword. Mira had never seen royalty before, and suddenly she felt nervous.

"What business do you have in King's Landing?" the guard demands of their rider.

"A shipment," the old man responds, with apprehensiveness in his voice.

The guard circles to the back of the wagon and peers inside to see what is obviously empty.

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"It's alright," Gendry speaks up through the window, his voice sounding tired but strong and clear. "Bring us to our Highness. We have much to explain."

"My apologies, Lord Gendry," the soldier says with respect when he looks in at him. "One can never be too sure. We've had problems with imposters trying to smuggle their way into the city, hoping for a glimpse of the Dragon Queen. Or perhaps, just her dragon."

Gendry raises his brows. "Is there trouble?"

"No, your Lordship. Nothing our men can't handle anyway. But our Highness is expecting you. I will escort you to the castle."

The walk to the castle feels like a long one, and Gendry is really feeling the pain from his wounds so he can't move as quickly as he'd like. Mira stays close to his side, her shoulder pressed into his for support, though he can stand on his own two feet unsteady as they are. She takes in the sights as they follow the guard to the castle. The smell of sweet rolls wafts to her nostrils from a local bakery. Children's laughter brings a smile to her lips. She really thinks she's going to love it here.

….

By the time they reach the castle Gendry is out of breath and leaning on Mira.

"You'd best make this quick," the guard, whose name they learned is Isaac says, eyeing Gendry. "You should see the Maester sooner rather than later. A tale you must have!"

"Aye." Gendry says breathlessly, forcing himself to stand up straight after catching his breath. How on earth had he survived? The Gods must really have favored him. "I expect they already know if my wife's raven has reached the city before I did."

"We shall see." They stop outside two large doors plated in gold, and Mira can herself quivering with excitement. She is about to meet the Queen! She had heard many stories about the Mother of Dragons.

The doors open to reveal an expansive hall which seems to be dappled in golden light. Mira squints her eyes to look up at the glass ceiling where the sunlight pours into the room. Large columns stand on either side, wrapped in rose vines. But what draws her attention is to the front of the room, where the legendary throne made from swords sits in all its glory. She had heard that her grandfather Eddard Stark's greatsword, 'Ice' had been melted down and added to the throne after his death. She wondered if it were true.

But it wasn't the throne made of iron that was the most impressive thing in this room. It was what, or rather who was sitting upon it.

Long silver hair that framed a face that seemed to be made of porcelain, like one of Mira's dolls from her childhood. Violet eyes that were both warm and commanding, and a fire seemed to burn beneath the depths. The Dragon Queen's beauty far surpassed that of legends. It was almost painful to look at her. She sat with her back straight as an arrow, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a gown of the purest white silk Mira had ever seen, and she looked more like a Snow Queen rather than a Dragon Queen. Her uncle Jon stood next to where she sat on the throne, dressed in his usual black with a long golden shawl draped over his shoulder. She could see the white wolf pummel of his sword poking out beneath it and she was reminded of home. Her uncle was handsome even now, and his broad shoulders still represented the strength of seven kingdoms and the faded scars on his face told of years of battle.

Seeing them together was quite a sight, and she could feel the power radiating from them both. She instinctively falls to her knees, her head bowed. Gendry glanced at her with amusement and instead of bowing dipped his head with deep respect. He couldn't bow if he wanted too, his entire body ached.

Daenerys and Jon look at each other with soft smiles and Jon lets out a warm chuckle.

"There's no need for that," he speaks in his deep, Northern accent. He raises an arm. "You are family. Rise."

Mira gets to her feet, and she can't help but smile as well. She had missed her uncle Jon. He steps toward her and lets his eyes sweep over her. "Mira, you've grown since I've last seen you. You're getting taller than me."

Soft laughter sweeps around the room, and Mira becomes aware that there are others present. She spots a man with golden hair and hints of grey and recognizes him as the Imp. Lord Tyrion. Sansa speaks most highly of him and had apparently once been married to him. Next to Tyrion is another man, taller and rounder with a smooth, bald head. Lord Varys? The Master of Whispers. Standing behind Jon and a bit standoffish is an elderly man with a kind face and grey beard. Mira can't quite remember his name, but she knows that people call him the Onion Knight.

She lets herself focus back on her uncle as he pulls her into a tight hug. He feels warm, and smells like home. It seems that even far away South, the smell of Northern air still clings to him. Jon withdraws and looks to Gendry, his grin growing wider for his old friend. Mira knows they fought beside each other in the Great War, and that their fathers had before them. Those closest to Jon knew that Eddard Stark wasn't his father, but he had continued to view him that way long after he learned the truth about his bloodline.

"We can save the brotherly hugs, I'm afraid," Gendry says, his hand going gingerly to his wound. "But it is good to see you."

"Likewise." A shadow passes over Jon's face and his grin falters when he takes in the state of Gendry, and their joyful reunion is shattered by the dark reality of the situation. Sansa's raven had reached him a few days before their arrival, and he had been waiting to see the safe arrival of Gendry and Mira before taking further action. But before launching into the serious discussion, he remembers Mira standing next him and he turns to make introductions.

"Mira, may I present to you Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen and all her titles," Jon says with a playful tone as he gestures toward his wife.

Daenerys seems amused at his introduction and she smiles warmly at Mira, her violet eyes twinkling. "In the time it would take to announce my many titles we'd all turn grey with age." She stands and walks gracefully toward Mira. "So we save such dreadful pleasantries for formal affairs. But I am pleased to meet you, young Stark. You're as beautiful as your mother."

Mira blushes and almost doesn't know how to respond to such high praise from the mother of dragons. "T-thank you, your Grace."

"Call me Daenerys," the silver haired queen says, taking Mira's hands in her own. "We're family."

Mira smiles at her and the queen gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Daenerys turns slightly to one of her guards. "Lord Talbert, please escort Lady Mira to her chambers. Assign Luna to attend to her and make her feel at home. I imagine she is tired from her journey."

"Yes, your Grace." Lord Talbert dips his head and steps forward, offering his arm to Mira.

Mira takes it and casts a smile at her father as the soldier leads her from the throne room.

Daenerys waits until they are gone before turning to Gendry. "It is nice to see you as well, Gendry. Sansa will be pleased to hear of your safe arrival."

"I will write to her with haste," Gendry says, knowing his wife is probably pacing the rookery back in Winterfell. He takes the Queen's hand and kisses it. "Radiant as ever, Dany."

Daenerys nods to him and a look of concern settles on her face. "You're hurt."

"Aye, a flesh wound," Gendry says dismissively. "I'll live."

"Maester Tarly will be the judge of that," says Jon, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "There will be plenty of time to catch up later. Go straight to Sam and let him tend to you."

"Couldn't refuse a direct order from the king, now could I?" Gendry jokes, still managing to remain good natured despite his obvious pain and exhaustion.

"No you couldn't." The corner of Jon's eyes crinkle.

…

"He's going to be alright?" Ser Davos asks of Sam as the larger man rubs some sort of salve into Gendry's wounds.

"With time and rest, yes," says Sam as he works. "His wounds aren't fatal, and you should thank the Gods for that," he adds with emphasis to Gendry, who rests comfortably on the cot. "The arrow just barely missed your heart. You're lucky to be alive."

"I'm not arguing that," Gendry says, wincing as Sam rubs more of the ointment into the wound over his chest. "That stuff smells like dung."

"Maybe, but you'll thank me later," says Sam, setting the mortar and pestle aside and reaching for some gauze.

Ser Davos is relieved that the young lad will recover. He views him as the closest thing to a son he has.

"I still can't believe the gall of the hill tribes," Davos crosses his arms. "Bunch of savages, the lot of them. How many of your men survived?"

"Three," says Gendry solemnly. Anger licks his insides at the memory of his men butchered like pigs. What they had tried to do to his daughter pricks at his mind, and he doesn't think he'll ever forget the horrible image.

"It's a wonder you survived," says Davos. "They're not known for showing mercy."

"It was their leader's decision to let us go free," Gendry recalls the strange young man who barely looked fit to lead such a band of savages. Had it been because of Mira that he had shown them such mercy? He remembered the way he had looked at her, like he knew her, though that was impossible.

"Though without our weapons," Gendry adds. "Maybe he was trying to send a message."

"Perhaps," Davos says thoughtfully. "Well, I can tell you, Lord Gendry, that our Queen may not show them the same mercy they showed you. She's been in a right nasty mood lately."

"The guard we met outside the gates spoke of imposters trying to get to the Queen," Gendry mentions, his brows knit together in interest.

"Aye. But I don't think that's what's got her in a tissy."

Sam remains silent as he finishes tending to Gendry's wounds. He knows perfectly well what ails the Queen. Far larger concerns than anyone can fathom, and she feels she must bear it alone. A feeling of foreboding grips him, and he fears for the future.

…..

"The Kingsroad is no longer safe," Daenerys says as she paces around her council, wringing her hands. They had been discussing the trouble with mountain clans, and the Queen seemed to be growing more and more agitated. Jon watched her wearily. "We must ban access to travelers until the threat to the edge of the Vale is dealt with."

"And how may I ask, do we deal with them?" Lord Tyrion muses, watching his queen pace from the brim of his goblet.

"The Hill tribes have lived in seclusion for years," Jon says. "They mostly keep to themselves, but if anyone is unfortunate enough to stumble upon them…"

"Like I was years ago on my way back to King's Landing in Ser Bronn's company," Tyrion recalls, almost grinning at the memory. He had smoothly talked his way out of that dangerous situation, and they had even fought beside his father against the Starks. How long ago that seemed.

"They're foul and cruel," Tyrion continues. "But they seem to respond well to shiny things."

"That's apparent, since they now have Dragonsteel meant for our armies to terrorize people with," Lord Varys says sarcastically.

"And you see that they let Gendry and Mira go in exchange," Tyrion points out. "Perhaps if we offer them gold-"

"Gold?" Daenerys lets out a cruel laugh. "What would savages want with gold? They live off the land, not in castles. And not by any rule. They are unhinged and dangerous, and there is only one thing people like that understand. Killing."

"You're not wrong," says Tyrion. "But I seem to remember a time when I was completely at their mercy, a mere half man with no hope to defend myself. And I dangled the riches of my father before them like a piece of meat to a lion, and not even they could refuse such an offer. And behold, I do believe I am alive."

"Lord Tyrion is talking sense, my Queen," Jon says as Daenerys remains quiet, seeming to ponder over the Imp's words. "Perhaps we can convince them to-"

"There is no convincing people like that," Daenerys interrupts, her violet eyes gleaming with fire. "In my days in Essos, I came to know men that lived like beasts. That took what was not theirs and exploited. Raped, murdered, and plundered. And I will not have the people I am sworn to protect live in fear of monsters like these."

She pauses for a moment, and all eyes are on her. Everyone seems to be dreading her next words before they leave her mouth.

"I will fly to the Edge of the Vale."

Voices spoke up at once. "Your Grace-" "You can't!"

"Silence!" Daenerys says sharply, fire blazing in her voice. "I will hear no more. It is not clever words and promises that secure kingdoms, it is power. As terrible as Cersei was, she was right about that fact. I cannot allow them to continue to live in rebellion to the Realm, threatening the lives of my people. I will bring them fire and blood and force them to bend the knee. Any man who refuses shall burn."

Tyrion stares helplessly at his fearless Queen, his clever mind searching for something-anything to change her mind. But it didn't seem likely for that to happen. Jon stood up to face his wife. His tone was soft as he spoke to her.

"Is there nothing I can say?" he asks her, looking into her furious gaze. He saw something unfamiliar in the violet depths, and it scared him.

Daenerys looks back at him, her anger diffusing but her voice still adamant. "No. There is not."

Jon nods in defeat, and turns away from her, his feet carrying him from the room.

He cannot look at his wife for fear he won't recognize her. He knew she had violent impulses, had witnessed them first hand. But this was different. Something had changed in her.

Daenerys watches him go and feels her anger melt to emptiness. She knows Jon is upset with her, and it hurts her terribly to make him upset. Tyrion and Varys are left with her and exchange silent glances. They both had seen what had passed between their king and queen. The two rarely argued, or hardly raised their voices at one another, but the tension that hung in the air in Jon's wake was heavy in the air. The Queen's posture was uncertain, and her face was sad. But she quickly remembered herself and cleared her throat.

"If that is all…"

Tyrion and Varys take that to be their dismissal and nod respectfully to the Queen before taking their leave. Daenerys waits until they are gone to allow her shoulders to slump, a shaky sigh escaping her. She sinks down into a chair and reaches for her goblet of wine.

The way Jon had looked at her...like she was a stranger. It stung. The way her closest comrades had regarded her with fear made her feel a pang of regret. She realized that her decisions could be brutal and no one felt the weight of that more than she did. Didn't any of them see that sometimes it was necessary to show dominance? Couldn't they see she had the people's interests at heart?

…

The sky is dark and glittering with many stars as Daenerys makes her way to the Dragon Pit where her child sleeps, his spiky tail wrapped around his large body. Drogon seems to sense her approach and his orange eyes slowly open and fixate on her. Daenerys feels warmth radiating from him as she gazes with great affection at her only living Dragon child.

She reaches out to caress his thick skin, and she can hear a deep purr reverberating from his throat.

"We fly, my child," she speaks in High Valyrian, and Drogon blinks once to show he understands.

The great dragon lifts his head.

"Perhaps this is not wise, my Queen."

Daenerys turns to see Melisandre standing behind her, draped in gowns of red, her matching red hair cascading around her shoulders. The expression on her face is forever unreadable.

"I am not interested in hearing what you think is wise, Priestess," Daenerys says coldly. "My mind is made up."

"I can see that," says Melisandre, her eyes going to the great beast behind Daenerys, puffing smoke. "And I am not hear to attempt to talk you out of it. I only ask that you tread with caution. If you do this, you may not return quite the same. And your people may not see you in the same light."

"They will see me however they please." Daenerys turns to climb on top of Drogon's back. She looks down at Melisandre. "But I am only a Queen that swore a vow to protect her people. And I shall."

"There are far greater evils around us that require your attention, my Queen," Melisandre reminds her quietly.

"You mean witch's tales and legends?" Daenerys says disdainfully. "I am no closer to making sense of this...prophecy you have given me. And I cannot afford to waste time contemplating the stars while I have kingdoms to rule. If your God of Light wishes to speak to me, he may do so. But until then, I must deal with what I can see." She pats Drogon gently on his neck. "Soves!" she commands her dragon to take flight, and he spreads his wings with a great gust of wind and dust.

Melisandre watches her queen take flight and on a balcony from the city overlooking the dragon pit from a distance, another one watches as well.

Jon keeps his eyes trained to the sky as his wife and Drogon grow smaller and become tiny specs against the black, starry canvas.

"Don't lose your faith in her," Tyrion's wise voice speaks softly behind him. Jon does not look away from the sky as Tyrion moves to stand next to him on the balcony. "She may not always make the best decisions, but we chose her as Queen for a reason."

Jon wasn't doubting her stability or capability of ruling from the Iron Throne. He had allowed her to take it because she deserved it, far more than he did. He never had a desire to rule, but she did. She had a hunger for it, a passion. Jon loved Daenerys with all of his being, and he would until the end of his days but he would be a fool to deny that there is a darkness in her. A darkness that seems to grow with each tick of the hands of time. But her heart remains pure, and he knows she would lay her life down for her people, much the way she did to save him beyond the Wall so many years ago.

"I will never lose faith in her," he sighs heavily. "I know she has good intentions. She can just be so...reckless at times. It scares me."

"It scares us all," says Tyrion darkly. "But unfortunately great power often reigns in fear. It wouldn't be called power otherwise."

"Perhaps if Jorah Mormont were alive…" Jon ponders, and Tyrion looks at him with raised brows.

"He was close to Daenerys, yes, but he would have no better luck getting through to her than any of us," Tyrion tells him. He recalls the time at Dragonstone when Tyrion had been on the firing end of the Queen's rage, and of people it was Jon's advice she had sought, and his advice she had listened to. "I have to say that you are the one person she truly listens to, above all."

"And not even I could change her mind."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Tyrion says, and Jon looks at him then. "Daenerys is the most stubborn woman I've ever met in my long life, and she doesn't always see the error of her ways. But I am willing to bet that she is not as ferocious as she would like people to think."

It takes a moment for Jon to understand what Tyrion means, and then he remembers. When he had advised Daenerys against flying her dragons to the Red Keep and wreaking havoc on innocent lives and castles she had gone anyway. But she didn't fly to the Red Keep, she had met the Lannister Army head on instead, minimizing what could've been entirely catastrophic. She had listened to him after all.

"Let's hope that you're right," says Jon, turning to look back at the sky. Perhaps the long flight to the edge of the Vale will clear her mind.

Tyrion chuckles softly. "I can only think of a few times that I haven't been, Jon Snow."

A/N Do you guys think Daenerys is headed down a dark road or is she still the same old Dany we know and love? We shall see! Thanks for reading:)