December 31, 303 AC—March 304 AC
"All kneel for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Empress of Dragon's Bay, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons!"
The herald's voice rang through the open air; as one the guests turned toward Dany and bent their knees. Even without the Seven Kingdoms, my titles weigh almost as heavily as my crown, Dany thought as she strode through the crowd. Perhaps it was time to remove the title of Khaleesi too. She had not seen the great grass sea in years, not since the death of her sun and stars...
But that time was done, she reminded herself, looking up at the husband who walked with her arm in arm. Prince Consort Aegor smiled down at her, the onyx dragon on his crown glimmering in the torchlight. She could not have found a man less like Drogo if she had tried. His hair was as fine and silvery as her own, his eyes deep indigo pools, his face cleanshaven, his form lean and lithe as he led the queen to her dais.
Once atop the dais it was time for her to receive the worthies of Meereen deemed important enough to celebrate the ending of the old year with the queen. Whilst the sun set to begin the longest night of the year, Daenerys greeted her counselors one by one.
There was Ossalen, her chief scribe, whose golden eyes made her think of Naath and sorrow. There was Mollono Yos Dob, commander of the Stalwart Shields, eager as ever to talk of Volantis and of war. There was Skahaz mo Kandaq of the Brazen Beasts, gruff and obsequious by turns. The glares he gave the Unsullied about the terrace were less friendly; when he saw Grey Worm approach, the Shavepate took his leave with surly silence.
The queen ignored him, pleased to welcome the general of her Unsullied and captain of her personal guard. Grey Worm's son Essalor trailed at his heels; Dany presented the boy with a set of toy soldiers wrought to look like Unsullied. Essalor accepted them with a look of delight that made her heart clench, even after father and son strode away.
Admiral Groleo fairly beamed as he introduced his wife and children, finally arrived from Pentos, along with letters from Magister Illyrio Mopatis. Aegor stiffened at that, his grip on her arm tightening. While Dany pitied his discomfort, she could not help the warmth in her belly at the hint of anger simmering beneath his smile.
The appearance of her nephew Olyvar and his Dornishmen quickly quelled her husband's bad mood. Aegor gave them a fulsome welcome; Daenerys greeted them more coolly, lest Olyvar think she had forgotten their quarrel.
It was hard to remember her anger, on such a fine night. The garden upon the apex of her pyramid was lush with winter flowers blooming from the shrubs that lined its narrow paths. Tiny green olives dotted the branches of the tree at the center of the garden; in the fading light of dusk its leaves cast shadows over the fountain and terrace pool, where candle lights floated atop the water.
Once the greetings were done, the guests settled themselves at the feasting tables arrayed atop the terrace. Lavish couches surrounded each table; guests reclined, eating in the fashion favored by the highborn of both Old Valyria and Old Ghis.
Though Daenerys had been in the habit of dining at a table set with chairs in the style of the Seven Kingdoms, of late she favored it less and less. Couches with plush cushions were much more comfortable. And it was expected that guests share couches, providing ample opportunity for Dany's hands to wander over Aegor as she waited for the Unsullied and their rats to finish tasting all the food set before her.
Ser Tumco Lho and Ser Barristan Selmy loomed over her as she ate, resplendent in white scaled armor. The lines of Ser Barristan's face were deeper than usual; he frowned as he stared at the table furthest from the queen, where a golden-haired man reclined alone, ignored by his companions.
Ser Barristan had been most displeased when she decided to permit the Kingslayer to attend the feast. Even the worst of knights deserved one evening away from his cell. Save for his wagging tongue, Ser Jaime Lannister had behaved himself throughout his long imprisonment. Not once had he tried to escape, and he had told Aegor much of use, before Olyvar came. He deserved some reward, small though it might be. Whatever happened when she handed the Kingslayer over to her nephew, somehow she knew he would not live out the coming year, not with the fell hunger that glimmered in the green of his wildfire eyes.
Dany soon forgot the Kingslayer, swept away by the pleasure of bidding the old year farewell. The past week had passed in a blur of revelry as the queen presided over her people's many festivals. Ossalen had helped her judge the tourney of songs put on by Naathi freedmen in bright robes and butterfly wings; Ser Larraq the Lash of her Queensguard explained to her the meanings of the ritual dances put on by freedmen from the Summer Isles.
This afternoon Daenerys had gone out to one of the fields beyond the city to honor the Dothraki rites. Ko Jhogo and his wife Morriqui led her through the ceremony, chanting prayers as she offered milk tea to the earth mother, surrounded by her khalasar garbed all in white. Tomorrow she would honor the Lord of Light at the Red Temple; Moqorro had not come to the banquet, too busy leading the sacred prayers which must be said on the last night of the year to drive away the darkness.
What darkness? Dany wondered to herself. The night was cool and fragrant; from atop her pyramid she could see the nightfires blazing across the city, surrounded by happy worshippers.
While they danced and sang, their queen ate delicacies with her fingers. Her husband pressed the choicest morsels upon her, feeding them to her by hand. She wanted to kiss his fingers and lick them clean, but resisted, letting him wash them in a bowl of clear water. When they drank it was from the same cup of sour red strongwine, though Dany let him have most of the flagon. Half a cup was enough to make her head swim, and she wished to remember this night.
She could not remember most of the unhappy solstices spent with Viserys. His name day was early in the new year, and he always spent the week before it in a bitter sulk, refusing to let her join the celebrations in the streets of whatever city they were in. Unless their host demanded their presence, of course. Those years were worse. Viserys would go, unable to offend their patron, but he would spend half the night hissing complaints in her ear, pinching her hard whenever a guest disrespected him, as if it was her fault.
It was your fault, she could almost hear Viserys snarl. You were born too late for Rhaegar; he would never have fallen for some northern slattern if he had you. We would still have our throne, our gold, everything, if you had only been born more timely. Eyes filling with angry tears, Dany had told her brother it was his fault, for not being born a girl. That had woken the dragon; the bruises those words won her had taken weeks to fade. Now her skin was pale, unmarred; her brother was gone, and Dany was here.
When the last of the sweets were taken away and the feast ended, Dany fled for the olive tree, leaving Aegor behind to fend for himself. Unsullied carried away the feast tables and couches, so the guests might stroll the open terrace. Her foundlings had not dined upon couches. They dined beneath the olive tree, either kneeling or sitting cross legged. Wet nurses washed their sticky hands and faces before letting them approach the queen; once clean they immediately bolted for Dany, taking turns wrapping their arms around her legs and pressing their noses into the soft amethyst silk of her stozar.
"They love Your Grace very much," a shy voice said from above her head.
Dany looked up to see Brienne of Tarth, her broad shoulders slightly slumped. None of the children had approached the hulking Westerosi, whether put off by her six and half feet of muscle or by her coarse, homely face. Whatever the reason, even the queen lost their attention when they saw an Unsullied approach with a platter of Tyroshi honeyfingers.
"They owe you and Ser Edric their lives," the queen told the warrior maid as the children ran off. "Have you thought upon what boon you would have of me?"
Brienne made no answer, her sky-blue eyes gazing into the distance. Dany turned to look, unable to tell who had drawn the lady's eye. Olyvar and a few of his Dornishmen stood clustered together by the fountain; far behind them she could see the Kingslayer prowling at the edge of the terrace.
"Coz!"
Aegor's shout of delight echoed across the garden; Dany muffled a snort as her drunken husband descended upon Olyvar. Shortly thereafter the musicians began to play, and Aegor abandoned the Dornishmen to watch the dancers whirling around the largest bonfire. For a few minutes he swayed in time to the music, leaning with one arm around Ko Jhogo. When that grew dull, Aegor sought her out, practically beaming when he spotted her beneath the olive tree.
"Dany," he sighed in her ear. He pulled her to him, her back pressing against his chest. "You look sweet as summerwine, my lady, my queen, my all." He pressed a kiss to her hair, his hands drifting to her hips.
"There's still the fireflowers," she reminded him, breathless, feeling her heartbeat flutter between her legs. Still, Dany could not help herself from slipping a hand behind her back, nor from smiling when her husband gasped at the feel of her hand upon his length.
They remained in the same spot throughout the entirety of the fireflower display, the popping and whistling of the fireflowers covering their soft groans and drawing away any eyes that might have noticed something untoward. The children noticed nothing; half of them were up in the branches of the olive tree, the rest clustered by the fountain.
It was easy enough to slip away as the last fireflowers faded, their laughter mingling as they raced down the steps to their chambers. They were so desperate for each other that they did not bother undressing; Aegor shoved up the skirts of her stozar and took Dany against a wall, holding her up as though she weighed nothing, his words gentle as he panted her name, his thrusts so rough she almost screamed.
After, she lay awake, deliciously sore, her husband spooned around her, one hand cupping her breast, the other lying against her belly. Ever since Aegor was released from bedrest, their lovemaking was as frantic as that of animals in rut, a change as welcome as it was unexpected. What sort of man took his wife so eagerly, knowing no seed of his would ever take root?
Of that Moqorro was certain. Both the red priest and Haldon Halfmaester swore that bearing a child was sure to kill her. The children Moqorro had seen the queen hold in his flames were the foundlings, not children of her body. Dany had not wanted to believe them, but they were both so sure... it was Aegor who had convinced her to take the monthly potion Moqorro brewed to keep her belly flat.
"Mothers made too young oft turn barren," Haldon Halfmaester had said gently. Fool. It was the fault of the maegi Mirri Maz Duur that Dany would hold no child in her arms, not that of Drogo, who loved her so, who named her the moon of his life. But what was a queen without an heir? Who would take her throne when she was gone; who would claim Drogon, her first child and her last? Dany was still wondering as she drifted to sleep, and dreamt of all the new year might bring.
For Aegor, the new year brought a pounding head, the price of indulging in strongwine. Dany kissed her husband's brow and sent for a draught from Haldon Halfmaester. When it arrived, he drank the entire thing in two swallows without uttering a word of complaint, though he did beg leave to visit Olyvar and apologize for some untoward remark.
"Very well," Dany allowed, "but you must return quickly, lest we keep Moqorro waiting."
Whilst she waited for her husband, Dany visited the nursery. The foundlings slept in apartments close to her own, guarded at all times by one of her Queensguard and by Unsullied. All of them were fast asleep when she crept into their chambers, their little faces content, their little hands wrapped around the new toys she had gifted them. Some slept together, curled up like a litter of puppies, a sight that made Dany turn away, though she gave them one last wistful look before returning to her chambers to dress.
Thousands of her people lined the streets to watch as her Queensguard and Unsullied escorted Daenerys to the Red Temple, all of them cheering and waving as she passed them by. Dany smiled and waved back, trying to ignore the weight of the crown upon her brow. Aegor bore his more easily, but then, his crown boasted only one dragon, not three, one for each child she hatched upon the Dothraki Sea.
Once, when she was only a girl, Dany had cleansed herself in the cool waters of the Womb of the World, the vast holy lake that lay beneath the Mother of Mountains. She had washed away the blood of the stallion's heart, washed her sore jaws, her swollen breasts, her distended belly. She wished she could have washed again, after her sun and stars took her before the cold eyes of his bloodriders and the disapproving whispers of the dosh khaleen. That night Dany had found her thighs sticky with his dried seed and her dried blood, the gifts of the khal's frantic need to mount his khaleesi, who carried his son, the stallion who mounts the world.
Today there would be no such displays. Both the queen and prince consort remained fully dressed in their silks as Moqorro gave his sermon, beseeching the Lord of Light to burn away the dark follies of the old year and bless the new with the light of wisdom.
When the sermon ended, it was time for the cleansing. Deep ditches lined the plaza beneath the Red Temple, each filled with fire. Hand in hand, the queen and her consort leapt over the dancing flames, a great cheer going up from the many worshippers gathered to await their turn.
Dany waited for them on the other side of the ditch. The heat brought a blush to her cheeks; her skin grew slick with sweat until she could no longer clasp Aegor's fingers. The firestorm bathed her, its shimmering waves washing away all doubt. The flames washed away her fear of the assassins who had plagued her, the terror she felt when her husband collapsed, the bitter tears she had wept for Missandei and Lyanna and the men she loved who had misused them.
Late that afternoon, when they returned to the Great Pyramid, she led Aegor to the kennels, rather than the steps to their chambers. It was there that her gift awaited him, a hound with a long nose and silky ears, the kennelmaster's pride and joy. Aegor thanked her with another round of passionate lovemaking, the hound Nosewise banished to the terrace until they were through. A dog was a poor replacement for a dragon, but an easier companion to bring with him as he went about his labors.
They had many labors, when the second day of the year dawned much too early. Cleansing away the troubles of the old year might please the gods, but jumping over a flaming ditch did nothing to diminish the burdens of ruling. As the queen had not held court on the first day of first moon, she must hold court on the second.
Dany had a headache by the end. Her crown felt as if it was made of lead rather than gold and silver by the time she and Aegor returned to their chambers, him to take a swim in the terrace pool, her to sink onto her couch.
Things had seemed to be going so smoothly back in ninth moon. Irri and Jhiqui's assistants had taken over Aegor's work with the Dothraki and the freedmen's council, and Missandei's scribes had handled the rest of his duties. Daenerys had almost been able to relax as she waited for her husband to recover his strength, when she was not busy holding court or meeting with her council.
Then came the first day of tenth moon, and with it, the thunderbolt of betrayal. She could still recall the look on Daario's face as he burned, his hard blue eyes melting to run down his cheeks, the oil in his beard and curls bursting into shimmering flames.
Missandei had not shared that sight, poor girl. The queen had put her heartbroken herald on a ship bound for Naath, guarded by archers and Unsullied. Other Naathi had joined her, freedmen who longed to return to the shores from whence they came. Dany hoped Missandei found the grandmother whom she sought, and tried not to lose herself in anguish over the loss of a friend so dear she was almost a sister.
With Missandei gone, Dany had spent the last weeks of tenth moon keeping up her spirits by thinking of Volantis, of Olyvar and Irri returning in triumph. Olyvar had proved his mettle when he slew the assassin Azzar without suffering so much as a single scratch. Her nephew would surely handle Greyjoy just as easily. After all, the gods loved Olyvar well; they arranged the world about him as though he was a hero from the songs. The king who was a bastard, the squire who slew the Mountain, the gallant knight who stole a northern bride from one queen and a dragon from another.
Confident in her nephew's victory, she did not spend eleventh moon fretting like his wife. While Princess Sansa hid in her rooms, struck down by a sick headache, Dany rode through groves of olive trees with Aegor and Ser Deziel Dalt. She barely listened as the Knight of Lemonwood bent her ear with all the wondrous properties of olives. Dany was too busy drinking in the smell of damp earth and growing things, marveling at the life which had sprung from a field once covered in naught but ash and charred trunks.
Still, she felt badly for her anxious goodniece. When a merchant from Great Moraq presented her with the first pick of his wares, the queen bought not only scarlet muslin for herself, but teal, azure, and copper for her Dothraki ladies, and gold for Missandei, before she remembered she would never see her again. Last of all, she chose a pure ice-white for Sansa.
Dany had hoped when her nephew returned to find his bride garbed in starlight, Ser Dullard would finally make love to her as he ought to have done long ago. Dany would have suspected her nephew a lover of men, if not for how openly besotted he was, and for the way he avoided looking at his lady wife whenever Sansa's gowns showed even a hint of her full bosom.
Instead, the day her nephew returned was full of strife, not lovemaking. Not for him, anyway; she was entwined with Aegor when Ser Tumco Lho, Lord Commander of her Queensguard, interrupted their passion by knocking on the door. She would have told him to go away, had he not announced that the ships from Volantis had returned late the previous evening. Ser Olyvar Sand waited without, come to make his reports to the queen, along with Lady Nymeria Sand, Lady Irri, Ko Aggo, and Kheshig Baido.
Deeply annoyed at being interrupted, Dany was already in a foul humor when the visitors entered. Her mood did not improve as Olyvar explained all that had happened in the skies over Volantis, how they had lured Greyjoy into a trap, how Rhaegal had bitten off Viserion's tail, how the archers had wounded both rider and dragon with poisoned arrows. That was when he faltered, and turned to Irri, whose shoulder was inexplicably bandaged.
Irri's report proceeded much more slowly than Olyvar's. She could barely get two sentences out before Nymeria began interrupting. To Dany's surprise, Olyvar was the one who lost his patience first and removed his sister, one hand gripping her upper arm as he dragged her from the room.
While he was gone, Irri finally explained why her shoulder was bandaged. Her voice was low, almost seething with rage as she spoke of how dangerous it was for any man to ride a dragon, how she would pay any price to protect her khaleesi from harm at their hands. How at the last moment, Irri chose to spare the white dragon and his rider, for they had brought the green dragon to her waiting archers, despite knowing they placed their lives in her hands.
"It was not your choice to make," Dany snapped as Olyvar entered the room.
She barely heard his apologies and talk of House Vhassar and dead mothers, too afraid of what was coming next. Any moment he would ask for Irri's head, and she would have to give it to him. Drogo would not even have asked. Her khal would have raped Irri the moment he realized her betrayal, then slaughtered her and all her archers and made a pile of their heads.
To Dany's utter astonishment, the request never came. All Olyvar wanted was for Lady Irri to be guarded at all times until he left, and that she and her archers be barred from coming within arrow range of Viserion, or of himself. He also promised to keep Lady Nymeria confined to the Dornishmen's level of the pyramid, only to be let out if accompanied by knights and men-at-arms who would keep her away from Lady Irri. Last of all, no one was to know of what had happened; he had forced Lady Nymeria to swear an oath of secrecy, and bade Daenerys do the same with her people, lest his Dornishmen learn of what transpired and grow wroth.
To this Daenerys readily agreed. Even so, she was so shaken by the near calamity that she took sweetsleep for the next few days to calm her ragged nerves. Thankfully, she could not taste it over the sour, bitter tang of fermented goat's milk with which she took it.
Thirsty and hungry from ruminating over her troubles, Dany sent an Unsullied to fetch her a plate from the kitchens. Gods help her if any new calamity should arise in the first months of the new year. Haldon Halfmaester had warned her she could take no more sweetsleep for at least six moons.
A few grains of sweetsleep were potent medicine to slow a pounding heart, but taken in excess it turned to poison in the blood and stopped the heart forever. The Unsullied had gathered up all the sweetsleep to be found in Meereen, soon after one of the first attempts on her life. They had found several pounds of the stuff; Haldon Halfmaester kept it in a locked casket in his chamber.
Instead of sweetsleep, Dany sipped a cup of persimmon wine, the taste both tart and sweet. It went well with the goat cheese and flatbread, but the best part of the meal were the olives, the first fruits from the groves outside Meereen. When Aegor came in from his swim, she shared them with him, nibbling away happily.
To her annoyance, Aegor would not stop talking of Olyvar as he petted Nosewise, tossing the hound bits of flatbread. He was determined that she forgive her nephew, but the longer Dany dwelt upon his failure, the more it angered her. Olyvar was supposed to slay Euron Greyjoy, free Rhaegal from his sorcerous chains, and bring her wayward child home for Aegor, who had no dragon of his own. In her more childish daydreams Rhaegal then proved a she-dragon, and laid eggs upon her return.
Olyvar was not supposed to shy from battle, leaving Irri and her archers to take care of Greyjoy, and to put an arrow through poor Rhaegal's eye. At least Moqorro was sure that Rhaegal yet lived, though sadly, so did Greyjoy. Neither would fly east again, a thought that made her feel both safe and sad.
Dany felt even sadder when she wended her way to the terrace and looked down at the dragonyard. Though Olyvar spent his days shut up in his solar, he spent each dusk with Viserion. The cream and gold dragon coiled about his rider like a lover, a sight that made her heart burn with envy. It should be Drogon down there, it should be Dany who vaulted into the saddle to ride dragonback.
Instead, she left the terrace, and made her way to Irri's chambers. She found Irri bent over a vest, a paint brush in her hand. Her maids Alagai and Ujin sat beside her, one embroidering a dēl, the other a babe's swaddling clothes.
"Khaleesi," Iri said, lowering her eyes as she rose to bow. "I am honored to receive you."
"Stop that," Dany said, irritated by the formality.
Dany was in no mood to suffer Irri sulking about suffering the consequences of her behavior. Irri thought the wound in her shoulder should have been enough to satisfy everyone. She was most vexed at being excluded from every feast Olyvar graced with his presence, including the solstice banquet atop the pyramid. Nor did she have Jhiqui to keep her company; her sister was still with her new husband Khal Rhogoro.
"Is there any word from Yunkai?" Dany asked, settling herself on a couch. She missed Jhiqui's easy smiles and playful gossip, along with her deft touch with the freedmen's council.
"From Vaes Vishaferat?" Irri corrected, taking back up her paint brush. "No, khaleesi, not since the last letter. Sarnai suspects Jhiqui is with child, but the khaleesi cannot be certain for another moon's turn."
Dany made a face. "Very well. What of the letters? Have you read them all?"
Irri's assistants had handled the minor affairs of the Dothraki in Meereen whilst she was away, but the friendships she sought to build with the khals of the Dothraki Sea were too delicate for anyone else's handling. Irri knew the many khalasars far better than anyone else, save perhaps Jhiqui. She recalled all she had heard as a daughter of Khal Dhako, all she had heard whilst a handmaid in Khal Drogo's tent, and all she had gathered from writing letters to Khal Rhogoro and his wife Sarnai, who led the first khalasar to make alliance with Meereen.
"All, khaleesi," Irri said, inclining her head. "Khal Jommo..." she swallowed. "Khal Jommo is ready to offer more than just friendship. His khalasar will follow the Mother of Dragons, if we meet his terms." She listed them; most were reasonable. "And last, he offers to seal the alliance with blood. His fourth wife is dead, and he would have me take her place by his side."
Dany pondered for a moment, wishing Irri would not stare at her so. "No," she decided, choosing not to shame Irri by noticing her gasp of relief. "Rhogoro holds Jhiqui in honor as his second wife, but a fourth wife is another matter. You deserve better."
Besides, unlike Vaes Vishaferat, the foothills of the Painted Mountains where Jommo grazed his herds were far from Meereen. Rhogoro might be content to let Jhiqui remain a part of her court, but Jommo would hardly wish to keep a wife he never saw. Irri was blood of her blood, her place was here, not in some stranger's khalasar.
"That reminds me," Dany said, glad that Irri had remained seated, not prostrated herself to give thanks. "You have my permission to wed Rakharo—" Irri's face broke into a radiant smile "—once the Westerosi leave."
Irri huffed, but did not protest. Ser Olyvar might trust his sister to hold her tongue, but Dany was less confident. Best not to provoke an unseemly outburst that might lead to bloodshed; Aegor said Nymeria was positively livid about her brother's betrayal in the wake of her mother's death.
Dany could not understand such pointless fury. From what Olyvar said, Nymeria had barely known the noblewoman of Volantis who gave her birth. What did she have to rage over, she who had a brother by her side and half a dozen sisters back in Dorne, along with a father and not one but two foster mothers?
Dany had not had three parents who loved her. She had one brother who hated her. Why couldn't Ser Willem Darry have taken them to Dorne? They could have dyed their hair and hidden among the happy children of the Water Gardens, like Olyvar and his sister. Instead they had Braavos, and a house with a red door.
Once Viserys had told her that Dorne had abandoned them, that when Ser Willem was dying, he sought to meet with Prince Oberyn Martell in Braavos, only to be refused entrance to his manse. Soon after Ser Willem had died, and they had been put out into the street. Thereafter they were wanderers. Many common children in the Free Cities shared their silver hair and purple eyes; sometimes Dany had wanted to be one of them. She wanted to fade away, to choose a city and make a humble life there.
But it was not to be. The Usurper's hired knives would find them if they remained in one place too long. No, she must always be a stranger, condemned to leave a city as soon as she began to know it, condemned to follow Viserys, who grew crueller and colder with every passing year as his longing for home consumed whatever was left of his heart.
Her own heart was not so small nor mean. Dany could feel its gentle beat whenever Aegor took his leave by taking her hand and brushing his lips across her wrist. That was how they always parted ways, whether he was leaving their chambers or yet another council meeting the day after her talk with Irri. His departure left the room empty save for herself and Moqorro, who sought a private word.
"Magnificence," Moqorro said, his deep voice like thunder, the flames tattooed on his dark cheeks gleaming yellow, orange, and red. "Do you know what day it is?"
"The twenty-third," Dany answered, after a moment's thought. "Why?"
"Deep in the mountains, hidden behind a high blue waterfall, there is a secret grotto. Within its humble walls dwells the eternal flame, the blessed fire which the Lord of Light bestowed upon men at the dawn of days. For thousands of years my brethren have kept watch over the sacred fire. Spring or summer, autumn or winter, it endures, burning steadily without oil nor wood, as unchanging as the course of the sun and moon."
Moqorro turned his dark eyes upon her, as though he peered into her soul. "Save thrice. It blazed at the moment Azor Ahai thrust Lightbringer into Nissa Nissa's heart. It roared on the day the Doom fell upon Valyria, over four hundred years ago. And upon this day, not five years past—"
"My dragons hatched," Dany breathed, overwhelmed by memory.
How could it be five years? Sometimes it seemed an eon, when the burdens of rule made her feel like some ancient crone. When Dany recalled she was not yet twenty, it felt as though mere moments had passed since she kissed Drogo farewell and set her torch to the pyre.
"You were reborn in the same flames from which you drew Lightbringer," Moqorro rumbled. "The black dragon is the flaming sword, and you are Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Azor Ahai come again to deliver the world from darkness."
For a moment Dany saw herself astride Drogon's back, looking down upon the world. Dark fire gouted from the dragon's maw, consuming pyramids and palaces while men small as ants screamed and burned, until there was nothing left but ash that fell like snow. Only then did the dragon carry her away to the next city, on and on and on, until she knew nothing but the stench of burnt hair and charred flesh—
"Delivering Meereen from darkness is enough," she told the red priest, her stomach churning. "At least until Drogon returns."
Drogon's absence occupied her thoughts more and more as first moon waned, along with her anger at Irri. Foolish though she had been, Dany could not question her loyalty. Greyjoy had corrupted Rhaegal beyond saving; Irri had been right to act, to save a third city from being devoured by green flames like those which swept over Qarth, then Volantis.
Much though she loathed the thought of losing Viserion forever, her anger at Olyvar also began to dim, after Aegor explained the suicidal peril of engaging another dragon at close quarters. Her nephew had not dumped his quest in Irri's lap, he had sought to fulfill it without sacrificing himself. It was only right that Dany grant him safe passage, along with her blessing and perhaps some gold and ships to aid him in conquering the ancestral home she would never see.
Dany's faith was immediately rewarded when, without any prompting, Olyvar offered to search for Drogon and bring him back to Meereen. She accepted gladly, promising gold and ships upon his return.
When the day came for his departure, Dany and Aegor watched from the dragonyard as her nephew prepared to take flight. Viserion waited patiently, his nostrils steaming, his creamy scales shining in the sun, while Olyvar helped his wife into the pillion seat and began securing her saddle chains.
It was queer to see Princess Sansa in tunic and breeches rather than a gown. Dany had never realized how long of leg she was, nor the breadth of her hips. Birthing hips. If the gods were good, perhaps the girl would be with child when they returned. Gods only knew why Olyvar was so set on bringing his wife with him, if not for the chance to finally consummate their marriage away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.
"That will be us someday," Dany whispered, squeezing Aegor's fingers. Her heart ached as she imagined Drogon swooping down from the skies, bowing his head before presenting his back for her to mount.
Oh, it would be so sweet, to see Drogon once more. Her last glimpse of her dragon had been from a distance, his shape a dark blot against the sky. Dany and Aegor had been called away to speak with Grey Worm, and while they were within the pyramid, the black dragon had flown straight at the garden atop the apex, before screeching and flying away.
The foundlings had been wild with excitement, all save one, a Lyseni girl of five with the pale golden hair and bright blue eyes of old Valyria. Dany had found Neida hiding in the branches of the olive tree, trembling like a leaf whilst the other children laughed at her cowardice. The dragon was too big, too hungry, the girl had whispered when she was safe in Dany's arms.
"There is no shame in fear," Dany had told the little girl as she stroked her hair, thinking of Viserys, of Drogo. "But you cannot let a dragon see you tremble. If you show him you are brave, then all will be well."
Yes, all will soon be well, Dany thought as Viserion took to the sky like a flash of lightning. Aegor gasped at the sight, drawing her gaze to his handsome face, his shining eyes. In the meantime, lacking Drogon, she did have another dragon eager to carry out her will.
Blackfyre or no, she could not ask for a more faithful consort than Aegor. Whilst she sat upon her throne to dispense justice, he stood by her side, whispering in her ear, providing useful advice and suggesting questions that had not occurred to her.
There was always some new dilemma to be handled. As soon as the queen began solving one problem, her people brought her another. The masons repairing the wells and drains were having difficulties; apprentices from the Weaver's Guild had complaints over their treatment by the journeymen; the freedmen's council wished for her to establish a bank in Meereen.
Dany could not fulfill all of their requests, not if she had an entire lifetime to do it. Building a city took time, let alone rebuilding one half drowned in the dust of ages. Her grand notion of taking down the pyramids had stalled as the Great Masters began to perish, having only dissembled a scant few levels of their pyramids.
Unable to justify the expense of hiring laborers to continue their work, Dany left the slightly shorter pyramids as they were, each entrusted to the keeping of one of her counselors or retainers. The queen did give orders that gardeners continue moving most of the Great Masters' trees and shrubs to the public gardens being built upon the squares formerly used for slave auctions.
Alone, Dany might have crumbled beneath so many burdens. Thankfully, she had Irri, and her counselors, and Ossalen and his scribes. Soon she would have Jhiqui, now with child, and expected to return from Vaes Vishaferat within a moon's turn.
Best of all, she had Aegor. Since his illness her husband had grown bolder; though he did not speak against her in public, they often fought in private, until one of them grew bored and yielded the point, or until their arguing turned into lovemaking.
Sated though she was by her husband's ardor, Dany could not help growing restless during the long days when she held court. Council meetings might be short or long depending upon her mood, but her people deserved to be heard by their queen, and that meant keeping consistent hours during which she heard petitions. Her buttocks grew stiff, her crown heavy, yet still she kept her seat.
As she waited for the next petitioner, Dany found herself daydreaming of flaming the slavers plotting to retake Volantis. It was a dream that could never be; the Volantenes wanted every sort of aid except that of a dragon.
What would she do, when Drogon returned, if not ride forth to protect those who could not protect themselves? She supposed she might wander the world on dragonback, seeing the wonders of Yi Ti and Leng and the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, but then who would rule Meereen? Besides, she would not be able to bring any of her people with her, save Aegor. Much as she loved him, she could not imagine leaving behind Irri or Jhiqui, or her foundlings; the loss of Missandei already stung enough.
The next petitioner who stepped forward was a copper-skinned youth of Dany's age, with close-cropped black hair and a broad flat nose. For a moment she thought he was Dothraki, until he began to speak in the sing song tongue of Lhazar. Thankfully, Ser Tumco Lho and Ser Avram the Red Lamb were guarding her today, and Ser Avram still fluently spoke his mother tongue.
"His name is Yoram," her Queensguard translated. "He comes to petition for redress from the heirs of his former master."
Dany frowned. One of the first laws passed after Aegor began serving as her hand, the law of redress ordered that former slaves receive recompense for their years of suffering.
Those enslaved by the Great Masters had been paid soon after she turned against the Harpy, but the thousands enslaved by lesser masters had more difficulty enforcing their rights. The cunning freeborn had tried to escape their obligations by claiming the former slaves had belonged not to them, but to a recently deceased relative. Dany had responded by issuing an edict requiring heirs to pay a slave from their inheritance.
"This is a matter for the common courts," Dany said gently, watching Yoram's face as Ser Avram translated. Yoram held himself stiffly as he replied, shrinking away from her like a dog who feared a blow.
"The court turned him away, and would not hear him."
Dany shifted in her seat, displeased with whatever officer or justiciar had turned away one of her people. "Why?"
"Because his master was Drogo."
Dany could not hear herself think. Her court was filled with Meereenese, all of them shouting and jeering. Someone threw a clay jar; it shattered at Yoram's feet, a shard cutting his bare leg. He barely twitched, but his eyes pierced her, their gaze so soft and sad.
"Stop!"
It was Aegor who called the command, but it was the nod from Dany that set her Unsullied to pounding the butts of their spears against the floor, until at long last the crowd fell quiet. She gripped the arms of her throne as she thought in silence, ignoring the shocked faces of her counselors, ignoring the way Irri clenched her hands into fists.
Dany was able to speak calmly by the time she had questions ready for Ser Avram to translate. Yoram answered them, his voice trembling.
It was Khal Pono who had driven Yoram and his kin from their village in Lhazar to the slave markets of Astapor. From there Yoram had been sold and sold again, first to New Ghos, then Elyria, then to Tolos, where he had finally managed to escape his last master and begin the long walk to Meereen. For though Khal Pono had sold him, it was Khal Drogo who had taken him, and the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, was Drogo's widow too.
And suddenly Dany was fourteen again, her swollen belly jutting against her saddle as she sat her silver, watching little Eroeh sob and wail as riders mounted her atop a pile of corpses, trying not to sob and wail herself. The faint echo of Ser Jorah's voice thudded in her ears, speaking of the best prices for young girls and boys, of the profit to be made in flesh if the khal made for Meereen. Enough profit to buy ships to take them across the sea, enough profit to win her son an Iron Throne.
A gentle hand rested upon her shoulder, shaking her from her reverie.
"The law of redress is for a slave's last owner, not his first," Aegor said doubtfully, quiet so only she could hear. "And what will happen if you pay him? Khal Drogo took thousands of slaves before he wed you; are we to pay them all? And he might be lying, preying upon your kind heart. Has he any proof?"
That was a fair question, and she bade Ser Avram ask it of Yoram. He replied in the tongue of Lhazar, slowly, tears rolling down his cheeks, his chest shaking.
"He saw a silver-haired girl astride a silver horse, her belly fat with child," Ser Avram finally said.
Dany frowned; any man might guess that much.
"He saw the khaleesi take many girls as her slaves, and the riders growled and spat at being made to give them up."
Dany shifted in her seat; she supposed men might have talked of such strange behavior.
"One of them was his sister, Eroeh."
Irri choked on air, her cough a harsh and ragged thing. Dany stared at Yoram, looking in his face for a glimpse of a timid girl she once knew.
"Pay him," she commanded, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth, her lips dry as bone. "And dismiss the court. We are done for today; the rest may be heard a week hence."
That night she dreamt of the Dothraki Sea, of cruel-faced men riding through long grass turned brown and brittle by winter's chill. Mago was there, the rider who had protested so angrily when Dany stole his prize. But only for a little while. Eroeh's limp body was slung over his saddle, her throat cut, his face splattered with her life's blood. Around him riders laughed and pointed at the dead girl. She saw Khal Jhaqo, who had made Mago his bloodrider and raped Eroeh after him; she saw Khal Pono, who had abandoned Drogo as he lay dying.
Last she saw Drogo, alive once more, yet different than she remembered. He did not look at Eroeh, nor weep as Dany did. Her sun and stars loomed over her, a hulking giant, his face hard, his eyes cold, his hands rough as he seized her, her cry of fear when blood gushed from between her thighs only enraging him further—
"Dany?" The dim light before dawn limned Aegor in silver. "Are you well? You cried out."
"A nightmare," she shivered. Nosewise nuzzled at her hand. Dany petted the dog's silky ears, stroked the long soft snout, felt the cold wet nose. "Nothing more."
When they awoke again, hours later, Aegor resumed fretting over her. At his behest she permitted Haldon Halfmaester to examine her, though he found nothing amiss. Septa Lemore was less easily convinced; the priestess recited several prayers over her before she took her leave, after pressing a kiss to Aegor's brow.
"Are you sure you feel up to the council meeting?" Aegor asked as Irri helped her dress while Nosewise gnawed on a bone. "I can have Ser Rolly—"
"It's fine," Dany soothed.
She should have met with her council two days ago, had Aegor's morning swim not been so distracting. There would be twice as much work to be done today. Irri had just placed Dany's crown atop her head when a rap came at the door, and Ko Jhogo stuck his head in to announce Jhiqui had returned.
In the end, the council meeting had to wait for a few more days. Dany had not realized how deeply she missed Jhiqui; even her happy glow as she rested a hand over the curve of her belly and cooed over Morriqui's fat babe could not sour Dany's joy at their reunion. Jhiqui told her all about Vaes Vishaferat, about her husband Rhogoro and fellow wife Sarnai, about the sweet children to whom she was now a second mother.
In exchange, Dany told her of the foundlings, of little Neida and her fear of dragons, of Xanda and Nevio, always whispering to each other, of Collio, always begging for sweets, of the little Lyseni boy who refused to answer to any name until he was given one by whoever adopted him. He would be waiting a while; even the bravest Unsullied shied from adopting a child whose Valyrian looks made him a target for those still eager to strike against the queen by harming her children.
Jhiqui almost vomited when Dany and Irri told her of the butchery which Ser Barristan Selmy had hidden from her for so long. The murders had begun in fifth moon, but she had not learned of them until eleventh moon, when Grey Worm informed her after Brienne of Tarth and Ser Edric Dayne happened upon a pair of dead women in Mazdhan's Maze, not a stone's throw away from the queen's nursery. Both were wet nurses, both shared the queen's silver hair and light eyes, and both had been raped and killed for it.
Dany would still know nothing, had Ser Barristan had his way. The old knight kept interrupting Grey Worm's report, urging her to leave this business with the Brazen Beasts to him, until she finally ordered him out of her sight so she might have a moment's peace.
Nearly a hundred women dead, all told. That was the price of her ignorance. Ser Barristan had set the Shavepate and his Brazen Beasts the task of finding the murderers and stopping them, never guessing that the murderers might have friends among the city watch, or be Brazen Beasts themselves. For that she had removed him as her Lord Commander, and placed her safety in Grey Worm's capable hands.
Unsullied he might be, and no knight, but Grey Worm had never lied to her. It was he whom Dany charged with seeking out the truth of what had happened, and rooting out the traitors from amongst the Brazen Beasts. All of them were confined to their barracks, save the Shavepate, who protested his innocence most violently.
It was the beginning of third moon by the time Grey Worm was ready to report what he, his Unsullied, and their scribes had found. The blood bride murders were the work of a dozen Brazen Beasts, eager to collect one of the many exorbitant bounties placed upon Dany's head by the terrified slavers of the Free Cities.
At first they had hoped to get near the queen using their place in the city watch, only to find that her Unsullied guarded her too closely for them to survive such an attempt. Thus stymied, one of them had gotten the idea to use the weakness of women to their advantage. They need only push the queen until she broke and slew herself, then find a slaver willing to pay them for their cleverness. After months passed without the queen obliging them with her suicide, they had turned upon the nursery which she was known to frequent, and at last been caught.
"They would have been caught earlier, my queen," Grey Worm told her. "But when the families of the slain women sought the aid of the courts, saying that their sisters and daughters were taken by Brazen Beasts, the courts would not hear any word against Your Grace's men."
Some of the Brazen Beasts had noticed something was amiss, but coin and beatings soon silenced their qualms. It seemed the Brazen Beasts were quite free in using their cudgels, not only against each other, but against her people, extorting bribes from small merchants and poor shopkeepers, safely anonymous behind their brass masks.
Well, her people would suffer such mistreatment no longer. In the course of a single afternoon Dany stripped the Shavepate of his command, arrested him to stand trial for his crimes, barred the use of masks by the city watch, and set a new commander over them, an officer who had served directly under the Shavepate but did not share his brutal face or many accusations of corruption.
Her council meetings grew even more busy when the winds shifted, bringing ship after ship from the west and the Free Cities. Drogon had been seen in Volantis in first moon and driven off by archers; Viserion had been sighted flying north above the Rhoyne in the middle of second moon.
Whilst Dany awaited their no doubt imminent return, she spent her days treating with envoys from Volantis. The Volantene freedmen were holding elections for new triarchs, elections in which all freedmen could vote, though not the freeborn, nor women.
Meanwhile, Triarch Alios was in the Disputed Lands, raising a horde of sellswords to retake the city. Meereen was forgotten; all eyes were on Volantis, the first daughter of Valyria, lest her revolts spread across the Free Cities. Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys had put down their own slave revolts, and were supporting Alios with all their might. Mantarys was already marching for Volantis by way of the demon road; New Ghis's iron legions would soon join them, once they hired enough sellsails.
"Leave that to me," Moqorro rumbled. "The Lord of Light will burn their ships before they leave port, I promise you."
That was not the only aid the Volantenes wanted. More than anything, they wanted steel, and plenty of Unsullied to train their levies in using it. The steel was no trouble; the tribute she took from Tolos alone would cover the cost.
Dany was less certain about parting with any of her Unsullied, upon whom she depended so heavily. Meereen would be the slavers' next target if Volantis should fall; above all else, a queen must protect her own people. And she needed the rich trade which was to be had with Volantis; though all the ports around the Jade Sea were open to her, half the Free Cities had closed their ports to her ships. Braavos, Ib, and Lorath were willing to trade, but they were far away, across long leagues of sea churned by winter storms.
Then there was Pentos. When word came that Pentos would open its ports to her, Aegor had smiled at the envoy, and then smashed a gaudy, expensive vase once they were alone. Dany had enjoyed watching it shatter; it had been a wedding gift from Illyrio Mopatis, and though she dared not move against him, she could only wish him ill.
That her sweet husband should come from such a man defied all she knew of reason; that Illyrio should abandon his child to another man's keeping defied all she knew of love. It was Ser Jon Connington who Aegor mourned, not the father who hung a false name about his neck. At least he had given him Haldon Halfmaester, Septa Lemore, and Ser Rolly Duckfield, who still remained with him, as loyal as Nosewise, though much better smelling than the adoring hound who trotted at her husband's heels.
Even so, her nephew remained her husband's favorite. The two of them had grown thick as thieves; each day that passed as they awaited Olyvar's return, Aegor seemed to droop just a little more. Why was Olyvar so dead set on risking a winter war? Aegor would be heartbroken if his truest friend drowned whilst crossing the tumultuous waters of the narrow sea, and Dany did not want to lose the little kin she had, nor his odd wife and proud Dornishmen.
The Dornish were even more disconsolate than Aegor, on the rare occasions that they left their rooms. Lady Brienne was the sole exception; she rode through the city every day, accompanied by Ser Deziel Dalt, the Kingslayer, and a heavy guard to ensure he did not attempt escape. Dany would have refused the boon, if not for the solemn pity in Brienne's eyes as she spoke of the cruelty of keeping a lion in a cage for years without even a moment outside the walls of the Great Pyramid.
Ser Edric Dayne's boon had been much easier to grant. In a fit of chivalry that might have come from a song, the young knight begged a single chaste kiss and a lock of her hair, so in his old age he might prove he once met the Mother of Dragons. This she granted, with an amused Aegor and most of the Dornish looking on as witness.
Third moon crept on, the westerly winds still blowing strong. Dany thought little of it when she heard of ships arrived from Naath; the Peaceful People kept up a brisk trade with Meereen. That is, until she returned from a council meeting to find Missandei standing in her chambers.
Dany dropped her husband's arm, and ran for her little scribe with a heart so full she thought it must burst. Missandei's laughter was sweet as bells as she returned Dany's embrace, chattering so fast the queen could barely keep up. She had laid Mossador's bones to rest beside those of the grandmother who died a few short months earlier, but her cousins were yet living, and she knew them, and they knew her, and all of them had followed her back to Meereen.
"To stay," Missandei finished, almost gasping from lack of air, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. "And there was a girl from our village, who liked Marselen when we were small, and she came too. She doesn't care that he's Unsullied, when I told her he still thought of her, she came! And when he's back from Volantis—"
"He's already here, little one," Dany smiled. "The Mother's Men are patrolling the hinterlands; he should be back on the morrow. But why are you here? Why would you leave Naath behind?"
The girl looked at her, golden eyes gleaming. "This is my home, Your Grace."
Her giddiness over Missandei's unexpected return lasted almost a week, the time it took to prepare a suitable celebration. But as Dany presided over the feast, picking at a Naathi sourdough flatcake filled with spiced vegetable stew, her happiness ebbed. Whilst Aegor briefly saw to some minor matter with her scribes, she was left to recline on her couch alone, nibbling at her meal and watching her guests.
Missandei reclined closest to the queen, a place of honor, but she spoke to Dany little. She had three cousins crammed beside her, all of them whispering to Missandei in Naathi whilst casting adoring looks at the queen. Ko Jhogo and Morriqui shared a couch, their plump babe dozing between them. The sisters Irri and Jhiqui lay together, heads bent as they giggled over some secret, Ko Rakharo glancing wistfully at Irri from across the table before turning to talk of his new foals with Ko Aggo.
Her spirits did not lift until the arrival of Ser Tumco Lho. Viserion had been glimpsed wheeling above the city; did the queen wish to greet Ser Olyvar and Princess Sansa in the dragonyard?
"What of Drogon?" She asked as they strode down the steps, leaving the feast behind. "Has he been seen?"
His answer did not please her. Nor did the long descent from her banquet hall near the top of the Great Pyramid, nor the absence of Aegor, still busy with Ossalen. By the time she reached the dragonyard she was out of breath, her bad ankle twinging from a missed step. She would have tumbled, had Ser Avram not caught her by the arm.
Dany expected to find the yard quiet and deserted, save for a tired Viserion, his weary riders, and the Unsullied who guarded the dragonyard.
Instead she found a scene of chaos. Still saddled, the cream dragon hunched beneath the scorched wooden canopy built to shield him from wind and rain, hissing and screeching as he clawed a hole in the ground. Ser Olyvar was shouting and waving his arms to no avail; his wife stood well away from the dragon, hugging herself and biting her lip.
Princess Sansa straightened when she saw the queen and her Queensguard. "Your Grace," she curtsied, forgetting she wore tunic and breeches. "I—"
"Where is Drogon?"
The girl shifted uneasily. "Following, we hope. Perhaps a few days behind? He sleeps, he hunts, he gorges, he sleeps again—"
Viserion let out another screech, his claws sending dirt and mud flying. Olyvar had given up shouting; he watched in silence as the dragon squatted over the hole he had made—
The nest she had made.
The eggs slid from Viserion, one after another, their jeweled scales shining for only an instant before they disappeared into the dragon's nest. The last three did not fit, but sat atop the others, green and purple and a deep true red she had seen but once before.
As if in a trance, Dany approached the she-dragon. Slowly, her hands outstretched, her violet eyes fixed upon the dragon's eyes of molten gold. Viserion blew smoke from her nostrils, but there was not even a whisper of flame. She was almost close enough to stroke the dragon's flank when Olyvar's voice rang out.
"What are you doing?" Gone was his awkward, murderous stare; Olyvar held himself like a king, implacable, inexorable. He did not say your grace, she thought with a pang of rage.
"Taking what is mine," Dany said. "You would not have Viserion if not for me, and she would have no eggs if not for Drogon." The knowledge had come to her as she spoke, but she knew it was true.
"What is yours?" Olyvar snapped. "No Targaryen ever ridden a second dragon; what use have you for eggs you cannot claim? You have no heirs; will they grow as wild as Drogon?"
"Drogon is not wild, he is unclaimed," Dany flared. "And what of Aegor? Will you deny our kinsman, my husband, the same chance that I gave you?"
"One egg," he gritted.
"Three," she answered, astounded by his greed. Was it not enough that he had a dragon, a wife, a family, and the Iron Throne? How much more could he take from her? "One for each quest you failed."
"He did not, Your Grace." Sansa draped a hand over her husband's arm; almost unconsciously he rested his hand on hers. "You bade him tame Viserion to prove his worth; you bade him defend the Red Temple from Greyjoy; you bade him search for Drogon and bring him back. All this he did; you cannot ask for more."
"What?" Dany was almost speechless with fury. "It was his idea to look for Drogon!"
"Beg pardon?" Sansa let go of Olyvar's arm, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "You said—" she glanced at the queen. "We shall speak of this later."
In the end, it was Aegor's arrival that finally stopped the arguing. None of them were happy when they parted ways, least of all Viserion, who required much coaxing before she let them examine her eggs, count them, and decide where they would go.
Ten she had laid, every one a different color. Seven they left in the dragon's nest, those which would sail for Westeros with her nephew. The largest was gold, speckled with every color of the rainbow; the others were amber and emerald, deep sapphire and pale aquamarine, dark grey with veins of gold and bone white with dapples of crimson.
Beautiful as they were, they could not compare to those she carried away to her chambers. Aegor had chosen an indigo egg flecked with black, whilst Dany chose the other two, one a rich olive green with a streak of wine, the other the red egg which had drawn her eye. She cradled it against her breasts as they walked up the steps, trying not to imagine the dragon which would someday emerge from the shell. It was Drogon who was hers, Balerion come again, the largest and most terrible dragon to walk the earth for centuries, not some fragile hatchling not yet born.
"It's warm," Neida exclaimed a few days later, her hands trembling from the weight of the olive egg. The foundlings had been playing atop the pyramid, splashing in the pool and playing with their toys, until they saw the queen approach, an Unsullied carrying the pillow which bore her greatest treasures.
"Let me feel!" Collio begged. He laid a hand upon the shell, then wrinkled his nose. "No, it isn't."
One after another, all the children touched first the olive egg, then the indigo, then the red, their small hands gentle. Dany could feel no warmth in the olive egg, nor could Aegor, nor could any of the foundlings, save the nameless Lyseni boy, the one with the silver hair. He touched it last, still sucking his thumb, a look of wonder on his face. When he asked to hold it, she could not deny him, not with the pleading look in his sweet lilac eyes. The child held it carefully, when he laid down upon a patch of soft grass to take a nap, he wrapped his entire body around the egg.
The red egg did feel rather warm, but that was just the noonday sun. Dany sat beneath the olive tree, its leaves keeping her as cool as the indigo egg in Aegor's lap. He soon handed it to Irri, who took it away to be locked in their chambers. His hands freed, her husband took up his harp, his sweet tenor voice echoing across the rooftop garden as children climbed in the tree above their heads, picking the ripe olives and popping them in their mouths.
Whilst her husband sang, Dany watched the skies, looking for the dark speck. It rose above the clouds, then vanished from her sight. Yesterday Drogon had finally been seen, circling the far edges of the city, but drawing no closer. That would not do. Lacking any better idea, Dany had bade Olyvar and Sansa fly to Vae Vishaferat this morning as soon as the sun was up. Surely it was Viserion's presence in his territory that made Drogon shy away; with the she-dragon gone, her mate would wish to inspect her nest and the eggs which she had laid.
Olyvar had gone without protest, though he had asked to speak with Irri first. Dany had not liked that. Drogon was not Rhaegal, a rabid monster to be put down by archers and their arrows. Irri did not agree. She freely admitted she would have had the dragon shot on sight, were it not for her khaleesi. Though she promised not to act without Dany's leave, she still kept Aggo and Baido about her at all times, their bows slung over their backs.
"The black dragon is not ensorceled," Irri had told her before she took the egg away, a quiver in her voice. "Drogon is worse. He has the spirit of his namesake, khaleesi, and does nothing but what he wills."
Dany was still pondering what that meant when the clouds broke, and the shadow descended. Almost as one the children gasped, scattering to make room for the dragon to land beside the olive tree.
The delight in their eyes faded as the dragon drew near. He was immense, nearly twice the size of Viserion, a hulking shadow streaked with red. He landed with a thud that seemed to shake the pyramid to its foundations; his roar bared teeth long and sharp as knives as he stretched his long scaled neck toward the closest child. Xanda fell backwards, trying to scramble away on shaking legs.
Then somehow Dany was between them, her hands outstretched, her eyes holding the dragon's burning gaze. All would be well, so long as she did not look away. In the distance she could hear children screaming and crying as Aegor and the wet nurses shepherded them below, until only the nameless Lyseni boy was left, frozen on his patch of grass, thumb in his mouth and the olive egg in his arms. Aegor scooped him up with one arm, the other holding the red egg. Her husband was calling her name, begging her to follow, but he did not know, he did not understand, and then he was gone, the door to the apex slamming shut behind him.
Everyone was gone; why could she still hear screaming? It was a shrill, ululating voice, almost a song; she could hear the roaring of a pyre's flames, followed by a crack that split the world.
"You know me," she told the dragon as he looked down upon her. Dany could feel his heat, his power, his hunger; they were hers, they had always been hers. Her fingers reached for the dragon's snout, but she could not reach, not unless he bowed his head. "I woke you from stone," she pleaded in the silence. "I nursed you at my breast, I kept you safe in my arms and fed you from my hand."
A branch snapped, and the dragon whirled, his eyes fixed on Neida as she clung to a broken branch. She made no noise, but her eyes were wide and white as she dropped from the olive tree to the ground, staring at the dragon. His nostrils twitched; he sniffed the girl who looked so like his mother, he opened his maw as if to lick her face—
And breathed out a tongue of black flame.
Once, twice, the cavernous jaws snapped, and it was over. With a contented rumble Drogon curled his length about the smoldering trunk of the olive tree, ash smearing his crest and spines as burnt leaves crumbled in the breeze.
Only when the dragon shut his eyes did Dany finally turn away, unable to hold back her bile any longer. Tears burned down her cheeks as she retched and retched until she could retch no more. On numb legs she staggered for the door, her fist trembling as she knocked a feeble knock.
Ser Tumco and Ser Larraq admitted her, their faces masks of shame. It was not their fault she kept them posted within, just as it was not Ser Barristan's fault that it was his turn to sleep before standing guard through the night.
But the bruised pride of her knights must wait for later, when there were not weeping children clinging to her vomit-splattered skirts. Even Aegor leaned against her, his whole body shaking. He still held the nameless boy and the red egg; she did not know where the olive had gone. The Lyseni boy buried his face in her chest, sobs wracking his little body as she stroked his back.
"Khaleesi!" Irri's face was streaked with sweat, her archers at her heels. "Are you— may we—" she gestured helplessly at the children, then at the door.
Dany's heart clenched. "No," she said.
A heartbeat passed; Irri nodded, her neck tight, her eyes hard. One by one, Dany loosened the little hands fisted in her skirts, shushing and soothing as the wet nurses took their charges in hand. Last she gave the Lyseni boy back to Aegor; her husband would keep him safe, she knew. She must take her eldest child in hand; it was the only way.
Alone, Dany returned to the rooftop garden. She could not have been gone for half an hour, but the world was changed. The lush green foliage was trampled and torn, the clear pools had been drunk dry. Drogon lay beneath the olive tree, sated and content, his maw still smeared with Neida's blood.
Her feet would not move. I must claim him, Dany told herself. There could be no more Hazzeas, no more Jezhenes, no more Neidas. The dragon must be tamed, just as she had tamed Drogo.
Drogo was never tame, a voice inside her whispered. He was the rider, never the mount, he was the arakh, never the plow.
If she claimed Drogon, would she become the same?
Memories blurred in the shimmering heat of the dragon's breath. Men fought and died in the dust of Astapor, in the fields beneath the walls of Yunkai, in the burned olive groves of Meereen, the legacy of Azor Ahai. Was that who Dany must always be, nothing but fire and blood?
No, the voice whispered. This was not her child; her children were her people. And then she knew what she must do.
When Irri crept atop the apex, she quailed at the sight of the sleeping dragon. But her dark eyes were clear, her hands steady as she listened to the khaleesi's orders, her mouth a widening O of surprise.
"Khaleesi," she whispered. "Daenerys... are you sure?"
Dany could not speak the words, only nod.
It took several Unsullied to haul up enough fermented goat's milk to fill the bottom of the empty pool. It took only one to carry the locked casket. Grey Worm placed it in her hands, unflinching, before handing her a small brass key. Even once empty, the casket seemed to weigh more than the whole wide world. Dany gave it back to one of the Unsullied, then sent them all away. All save Irri, who would not leave her side.
"Drogon," Dany called.
It took several more calls to rouse the dragon from his slumber. He blew smoke at her, unhappy at being disturbed, a whisper of flame dancing at his jaws. Until he saw the goat's milk. He drank it greedily, gulping it down almost as quickly as he had devoured poor Neida. Dany watched, her skin rippling with goose pimples, waiting for any sign of his displeasure.
It never came. Another gout of smoke stung at her eyes and made her choke, but that was all. He curled up beneath the olive tree once more, and she retreated, Irri's hand clasped tight in hers.
Moments passed like years as they waited. The burning eyes had just begun to flutter shut when the dragon realized what she had done.
The dragon jerked his head, his throat contracting like a bellows. Pale bile spewed from his jaws, followed by wisps of dark flame, but it was too late. He thrashed, he roared, and then at last he lay still.
Dany looked upon the corpse of her dragon, upon the ruin of her garden. Somehow, her heart still beat the same, stronger, even. The olive tree would grow back, just like the groves below. Some of the plants might yet be saved, the rest replaced; the pools could be scoured and filled with fresh clean water. It would take time, she knew, but someday the garden would bloom again, would ring with children's laughter. Arm in arm with Irri, she left the garden.
The children and their nurses were gone, save for Aegor. He awaited her on the other side of the door, his face wan, the Lyseni boy clasped in his arms, asleep, still holding her red egg. Dany drew her husband into an embrace, both boy and egg pressed between them. Their son would need a good name, a proud name, one which he could bear with honor.
"Aegor," she whispered, softly, resting her fingertips upon the dragon's egg. "Do you think someone might make paint of this shade?"
Her husband startled, confused. "What?" He looked down at the egg. "I suppose so, why?"
Dany smiled. "We're going to need a lot of it."
And as she drew her little family close, she could swear she felt both her children's hearts begin to beat in time with her own.
Well, uh. Holy shit. Can't wait to hear what y'all think in the comments.
Thus ends Dany's tale in this fic, aside from an epilogue via Olyvar's POV. A girl who wanted nothing more than a home and a family, and finally realized she could make one.
Also, at over 12k words, this is the longest chapter in the fic by about a 1k margin. I'm sorry but also not sorry; I ran it by four separate people trying to figure out what to cut, only to be told they were "load-bearing scenes" (accurate) and to accept that Dany's final chapter would be a chonky boy. Yeah, as chonky as Drogon after visiting a kids eat free buffet.
Only 9 chapters left in Part IV! Next up: Edythe III, Cersei V, Olyvar VI.
Viserion's eggs, by ohnoitsmyra
NOTES
1) As I've consistently said, Dany is a fascinating, complex, flawed character, far more than the White Savior Girlboss Barbie of her stans or the Crazy Dragon Hitler of her haters. In this story, she builds the bonds of friendship she never formed in canon, and those relationships help her grow and learn and become a better version of herself. Is everything in Meereen gonna go perfectly? Nah, but she's going to stay, and she's going to try, and she's going to have support doing it.
2) The banquet with people reclining on couches is based on how ancient Romans preferred to dine. However, they would have dined in a room specially built for hosting feasts, not al fresco in a garden.
3) I got Nosewise from this incredible list of medieval dog names.
4) The eternal flame cave of R'hllor is based on a real cave in Orchard Park, New York. The flame is the result of natural gas leaking from a fissure beneath the cave. Nature is so fucking cool?!?!
5) Look, I really like Septon Barth's theory that "dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame."
Viserion laying eggs was also inspired by this Dany line: "The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not."
Viserys did not heal from his trauma before his death; Viserion got the second chance her namesake didn't. Then there's this quote:
"'Viserys said once that it was my fault [Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna, for being born too late.' She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl."
Meanwhile, Viserion, like some lizards, could and did change sex. Though she did it as a young adult, not as an embryo, because magic *jazz hands*
