Daenerys

Daenerys Stormborn, the last of the Targaryen bloodline and rightful heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros, sat on her throne and stared out across the now-empty throne room. Banners bearing the sigil of her house lined the walls, and the early morning sun bathed the room in a gentle light. She leaned on her left elbow, perched on the left arm of the chair, and ran her right hand across the razor-sharp blades that made up the opposite arm and tapped the tips of her fingers to the tips of the swords that adorned it.

It's a wonder more of my family didn't die to this throne.

It was an ugly beast. Asymmetric and hulking, it was situated at the top of a tall set of crudely formed steel stairs that left her looking down on all in her throne room. The swords that composed it were jutting out at odd angles, some twisted and some straight, but all as sharp as the day Aegon the Conqueror had ordered them forged into a throne with fire from his own dragon. It was truly a chair where an unworthy ruler would know no comfort.

Daenerys herself had not been harmed by the throne in the two years since she had taken it for her own. She had lounged in the chair for hours at a time, leaning against the spikes and swords set in the back of the chair, though just as the fires that had burned Khal Drogo's body, she would rise from the throne completely unharmed. It was far from a comfortable seat, and she only sat it when absolutely necessary, but she didn't endure the scars that her father had. Many believed this to be a sign that she was the true heir to Westeros who would bring about a new age of peace and prosperity, but she placed little stock in prophecy these days.

Of course, many in King's Landing and beyond were still skeptical. After all, her father had hardly left them with optimism about the next Targaryen who would take his place. Rhaegar had been adored by all who knew him, and could have redeemed their reputation, but that responsibility now fell to her.

The last Targaryen.

The daughter of Aerys II Targaryen.

No, the daughter of the Mad King.

Will I turn out like him? She spent her nights wondering. Driven mad by the very power that I've fought so hard to take back?

She had heard talk among the citizens about this very notion. Some had even taken to calling her "the Mad Queen". Her father or Viserys would have had them burned alive for this, but Daenerys had refused to act. Their fear and suspicion were warranted, especially after spending so many years under the merciless rule of her father and then of the Lannisters. She had known from the day she set foot on the first steps of the Iron Throne that much of the early months of her rule would be spent earning the trust of the citizens of King's Landing and the lands beyond, and she had stepped boldly to the task, as befitted the Mother of Dragons. One of the first things Varys had told her the first time she had sat on her family's throne was that trust must be earned, especially as the daughter of the Mad King who possessed three dragons that were well-suited for burning disobedient cities to the ground.

Fear had reigned in King's Landing for that first year, from the second she had landed on Drogon's back at the gate of King's Landing after devastating the Iron Fleet. Drogon had unleashed his mightiest roar, and the Lannister army had thrown down their weapons and bent the knee to her with no loss of life. They had all heard stories of the Dragon Queen who had sailed across the Narrow Sea with an army of savages and eunuchs to take back what she considered her birthright, but they had never believed her a true threat until they saw three dragons descend from the clouds and destroy the entirety of the Iron Fleet, led by the fearless Euron Greyjoy. That same queen had then dismounted her dragon at the city gates, calmly offered the soldiers guarding the gates a choice between joining the Night's Watch or joining her personal army, and walked unarmed among the commoners through the streets of King's Landing to the Red Keep to sit upon the Iron Throne. No blood had been shed within the walls of King's Landing during her takeover, save for that of Cersei Lannister when she refused to bend the knee to her new queen.

Even still, the people of King's Landing had refused to speak her name in fear, and some had formed lynch mobs to find and kill the pyromancers, as many had heard it correctly that the Mad King had intended his final act to be to destroy the entire city with wildfire. Once the citizens had decided that their new queen had no intention of burning criminals alive to satisfy her boredom, they had warmed to her and left the pyromancers be.

One of her first acts of good faith was to send fifty knights to the Wall to support Jon Snow and the Night's Watch for a minimum of five years to give them time to replenish their numbers and repair or improve their fortifications. They were led by Ser Jorah Mormont, who sought to atone for his sins and become the man his father had always wanted him to be. His resolve was only strengthened when word reached him that his father's dying wish was for his son to join the Night's Watch. Though Daenerys had initially refused his offer to lead her knights to the Wall, preferring to keep one of her oldest and most trusted friends close to her, she had come to realize after a significant amount of reflection that this was something Jorah felt that he needed to do, and this task must be immensely important to him if he had offered to leave her side to carry it out. She had been devastated saying goodbye to him and watching him leave her again after all they had been through together, but a small part of her was happy to see him leave to confront the demons that she knew weighed so heavily on him. After his victory leading her forces in the North against the White Walkers, her knights had gladly followed him and the North had accepted him, in spite of all he had done to bring shame upon his family.

As a further show of goodwill, she had publicly pardoned Jaime Lannister for what could be considered treason in fighting for his sister in the early days of her conquest, and she had made it known to all of Westeros that he had done a service to the realm and the citizens of King's Landing in breaking his oath and slaying her father. She had then named him the Lord of Casterly Rock and sent him on his way. It had been one of her more controversial decisions, pardoning the man known as the Kingslayer who had fathered three children with his own sister, and it was a decision that she had feared making, but she knew that it needed to be done.

Every choice she made, every judgment she passed, and every word she spoke was guided by both the fear of becoming her father and a determination to redeem the Targaryen name in the eyes of the citizens of Westeros. As she sat on the Iron Throne, she often looked out over an empty throne room and wondered if she had truly done as well as Tyrion said she had.

In addition to these self-imposed insecurities, lately she had started to crave the love of a man whom she could someday take as her king. The Iron Throne had come to be the loneliest place she had ever laid eyes on, a great cage as opposed to the prize she had coveted for so many years and had sacrificed so much to take for her own. Friends and enemies seemed to change sides as easily as the wind changed direction, and she often was unable to tell who chose which side. It reminded her so much of her time in Meereen, and she often found herself grateful for the time she had spent ruling the city.

For her entire life, all she had wanted was to reclaim the Iron Throne and restore her family's dynasty, but now that she had done that, something was still missing. Something she had never anticipated truly wanting as badly as she had come to want it, something more than the Iron Throne alone could offer her: a companion, someone to share the burden of the crown that weighed so heavily upon her.

She sighed heavily as she considered the years of solitude that had led her to this moment. She had conquered cities and liberated nations, yet the Iron Throne demanded more than armies and dragons. More than fire and blood. It demanded a sacrifice of personal connections, leaving her feeling more alone than she had ever imagined. It was during these pensive sessions of sitting in silence in her throne room that she allowed herself to acknowledge the longing that had taken root inside of her, just another casualty of the very throne on which she now sat.

It's times like this that I wish I could talk to Jorah. He always knew what to say. There were many days where she would have valued his council more so than even Tyrion, but she would never ask him to return to her earlier than he was due, because she knew he would obey without question.

She looked down at her right hand and ran a finger along the blade of one of the swords.

If my father or Rhaegar or even Viserys were alive, they would have found a suitable husband for me. A husband to suit their own ends over my own personal preferences, but suitable nonetheless. The closest I've ever come to that is Viserys trading me to the Dothraki like livestock. The thought still brought a disgusting taste to her mouth, though she had come to love Khal Drogo and the Dothraki. Now I have no one. No father, no brother, not even an uncle. How does a queen meet a potential husband? Even more, how does a Targaryen queen meet a potential husband who doesn't just want her for her dragons or her name?

She heaved a sigh and stood up and descended the treacherous steel steps of the Iron Throne, the ugly chair providing as little enlightenment as it always did when she needed to think, and walked out of the throne room.

She walked past the knights standing sentry, nodded to them both, and continued up the spiral staircase to the Tower of the Hand. She stopped at the door, took a deep breath, and knocked gently as she had done so many times.

"Enter," a familiar voice called from within.

She opened the door and walked into the room and closed it behind her. It smelled strongly of his favorite Dornish wine, as it often did. Tyrion Lannister looked up from the pieces of parchment scattered across his desk.

"Your Grace," he said, "an unexpected surprise. Please sit," he gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the table and pulled an empty goblet towards him. She would have refused his unspoken offer, but she had learned long ago that the best way to talk to Tyrion Lannister was with a goblet of wine in hand. Tyrion pushed the goblet over to the indicated seat and pushed open a window sitting adjacent to his desk to allow some amount of fresh air into the room.

"Thank you," she nodded and took the offered seat. Tyrion always seemed to know when she had a simple request or when she needed a listening ear.

"Are you well?" He asked as Daenerys took a sip of the newly poured wine. She had disciplined herself to not wince when drinking anything Tyrion gave her, as it was always strong enough to melt a wart off of a cow's neck.

"As well as a queen can be," she gave him a weary smile and swirled the goblet absentmindedly. "Yourself?"

He gestured to the parchment and maps spread out before him. "As well as the Hand of the Queen can be," he chuckled and held out his goblet. "We're a sad duo, aren't we?"

"We are indeed," she smiled and tapped the rim of her goblet against his and took a sip, "but we still have our heads, so we must be doing something right."

Tyrion laughed and raised his goblet to her and took a deep sip. "Now," he set his ever-perceptive eyes upon her. "What is it that troubles you? You look especially weary today."

She didn't respond immediately, staring into her goblet as she swirled the deep red liquid.

How do I even bring this up?

"I've sat on the Iron Throne for over two years now," she began, suddenly and uncharacteristically at a loss for words. She took a deep sip from her goblet, very unaccustomed to being this vulnerable.

You've never been at a loss for words once in your entire life! Why now? Why about this?

"To great success," Tyrion raised his goblet to her again and took a small sip, not acknowledging her pause.

She gave a small smile of thanks. Another long silence passed between them as she ran her thumb over the ornate markings adorning the side of the goblet. She waited as if her life depended on it for one of Tyrion's famous quips or turns of phrase to lighten the mood and put her more at ease, but nothing came. The room was silent save for the pounding of blood in her ears as her hands began to grow slick with sweat. She had been nervous and felt fear in the past, but never like this.

"I'm lonely, Tyrion," the words spilled out of her mouth unbidden. She barely resisted clamping her hands over her mouth as her face began to grow almost unbearably warm.

Tyrion gazed at her over the rim of his goblet. "Now, those are words I would have never expected to hear come out of your mouth. In all the time I've known you, you've never seemed the type."

"All I've ever wanted was the Iron Throne," she shrugged her shoulders, slightly more at ease now that the topic was in the open, "and now that I have it, it feels like there's something else missing. Something I never thought that I needed."

"The Iron Throne does indeed seem like a miserably lonely place, and you have done a poor job of hiding it, if you'll excuse my candor."

"That it is," she agreed before taking another sip.

"That is but one of the many joys of monarchy," he smiled. "A slippery business, indeed, Your Grace."

"So how do I find someone?" She asked. "I'm the Queen, I can't just go down to a tavern and pick any random person."

"And why not?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

"I don't just need a partner, I need a future king."

Tyrion snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "And there lies the problem, my lady. You need a king, and more importantly, an heir."

When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.

Daenerys nodded. "I suppose so, yes."

Tyrion ran a hand over his beard and sat back in his chair. "A Targaryen queen in need of a king and an heir, with no living brothers or cousins…"

"Are you going to make me ask?" Daenerys asked flatly.

"Always," he grinned and took a sip from his goblet.

"Will you help me, my Lord Hand?" She indulged him melodramatically. "Help me find a suitable companion to act as both King of Westeros and father to the heir to the Targaryen Dynasty?"

"It would be my honor, Your Grace," he smiled, "but only since you asked so nicely."

"Always," she smiled and ran a finger again along the intricate designs on the goblet and stared at the colors scattered onto the wooden table as the sunlight passed through the clear stem of the glass goblet. "I've never been this nervous about anything, Tyrion. Not battles, not even ruling Westeros, but this... this feels different. I don't know why."

"Because matters of the heart are far more deadly and daunting than mere battles and the Iron Throne, my lady," he responded in a conspiratorial whisper, "and I assure you that you've come to the right place," he brandished grandiosely about the room with his goblet. "I am gifted in the art of diplomacy. As long as you are comfortable with the man not being Dornish," he added with a sheepish smile.

"So I've heard," she smiled, ignoring his jest at his tragic attempt to wed his niece into the Dornish royal family, "but in this branch of diplomacy?"

"Of course, of course," he waved it away. "I'm sure you will find me more than capable."

She sighed, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty in her expression. "Thank you, Tyrion. I just... I never thought I'd be so nervous about something like this."

Tyrion chuckled again, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. The same glint that had made him her only choice for her Hand. "Well, Your Grace, even the Mother of Dragons gets butterflies in her stomach. It's only natural. Now, run along and distract yourself. Leave the castle, take a walk in the city, feed your dragons, anything. Clear your mind. Think no more of the subject, and rest assured that you will not be disappointed when next we speak of this."

BEHIND THE CHAPTER

I thought a sort of "Behind the Chapter" section would be cool to have at the end of each chapter because, when I read a fic, I often find myself wondering why an author would make certain choices or just in general what their thought process was as they crafted the story and the characters. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them!

To start, this story is primarily based on the show canon since the books haven't advanced this far, though I do pull things here and there from the books that I particularly liked or wish they had included in the show.

I started deviating from canon basically from the season 6 finale since I didn't care too much for seasons 7 and 8. I love writing AU fiction, so I thought it would be a fun idea to pick up after one of my favorite season finales of all time. Also, I may or may not have started outlining this fic early in season 5 before Ser Barristan died when I was sure of how the show would end…

Daenerys has always been my favorite character, even when reading the books. I always liked her "underdog" story and how she rose up from basically nothing to become a queen, all while she tried to step out of the shadow of her father. Plus, I've been obsessed with dragons in general since I was a kid, and I loved watching them grow up. I also love her and Jorah's wolf/cub story (in the show), since the wolf/cub genre is one of my favorite methods of storytelling (especially God of War 2018 and The Last of Us Pt. 1).

I wanted to get in a scene with Tyrion ASAP because their relationship is one of my favorites in the show, and Tyrion is also just fun to write. I've loved their dynamic from their first scene together in season 5, and I really liked the way that he came to learn to temper her impulsive and sometimes cruel style of leadership/justice (well, for the most part). Not to mention that Tyrion is one of the few people that she trusts almost unconditionally.

Having Jorah instead of Tyrion as Hand was tempting, but I decided to go with Tyrion in the end because, like I said above, the scenes where he advised or supported her were some of my favorites in the entire show. In the book, Lord Commander Mormont's dying wish is for Sam to tell Jorah to join the Night's Watch (A Storm of Swords, Chapter 33), so that's something I wanted to carry over into this story.

Also, to get this out of the way early, I chose to use the Iron Throne from the book concept art instead of the one from the show. I've always thought the concept art version looked incredibly cool, and I love the ugly and asymmetric look of it. Plus, George RR Martin said that it's the closest to how he envisions it himself. I included a link to a nice writeup and a high-quality picture of it for those who haven't seen it or want to envision it better.

Link: features/meet-the-artist-who-designed-the-iron-throne