[140] A Royal Reunion

Chapter 140: A Royal Reunion

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The wind carried the scent of a million lives as Daenerys soared above King's Landing on Drogon's back, her violet eyes drinking in the sprawling metropolis that had birthed her into exile.

Below, the city stretched like a great wound across the landscape, representing three centuries of Targaryen rule that had ended in madness and fire.

So this is where it all began, she thought, her draconic features catching the afternoon light. The obsidian horns curving from her temples seemed to pulse with inner fire as she surveyed the realm that was her birthright. Where my father's screams echoed through these very halls.

The Red Keep rose before them like a crimson scar against the sky, its twisted spires and ancient battlements speaking of power consolidated and lost. From this height, she could see the Sept of Baelor where her brother Rhaegar had once sung, the Dragonpit where their ancestors' greatest beasts had roosted, and the Iron Throne that waited within those blood-red walls.

"It's... vaster than I imagined," she murmured, her voice carrying new harmonics that made even Drogon's rumbling seem subdued. "So many lives... all beneath the shadow of our name."

Beside her on Viserion, her brother's gaze followed hers across the sprawling city. "It was built with dragonfire and ambition, sister. And it will be held by the same."

Fire and blood. Her family’s motto. It’s always fire and blood with us.

As they descended toward the main courtyard, Daenerys felt the weight of countless eyes upon them. The sight of two adult Targaryens astride living dragons sent ripples of terror and reverence through the assembled crowd. Guards dropped to one knee, their armor clanking against stone. Servants pressed themselves against walls, some gasping, others whispering prayers.

Fear is a tool. But so is love. She and her brother ruled entirely differently, she once again realized. Which will serve us better here?

As they came down the dragons’ backs, they saw a gathering waiting for them. Dany’s eyes found Margaery Tyrell who stood at the fore of the reception, resplendent in rose-gold silk that emphasized every curve of her political ambitions. Her smile was perfectly crafted, warm enough to seem genuine, calculated enough to maintain distance. When her eyes found Daenerys, something flickered behind that practiced expression.

"Your Grace," Margaery said, curtsying with fluid grace to Viserys before offering a more measured acknowledgment to Daenerys. "And Your Grace. King's Landing welcomes the return of dragons to their ancestral seat."

She measures me like a rival, Dany had noticed it by now, having spent days in the Rock around her. It wasn’t a great feeling. At least she's honest about it.

Arianne Martell stood nearby, her Dornish silk clinging to her bronzed skin like liquid fire. Unlike Margaery's careful composure, the Princess of Dorne made no attempt to hide her fascination. Her silver eyes lingered on Daenerys's transformed features with open curiosity, despite having spent more time around her than Margeary.

"Princess Daenerys," Arianne said, her voice carrying the musical accent of Dorne. "The tales of your evolution pale before the reality. No matter how many times I see it, it’s a sight to behold."

Daenerys inclined her head slightly. "Tales often do, Princess. Reality has sharper teeth."

And sharper claws, when necessary.

Sansa Stark approached with measured steps, Brienne of Tarth's imposing form casting a protective shadow beside her. The tall woman captured her attention briefly, making her wonder what it’d take to bring her to Essos, but such thoughts remained a dream. Her brother would never allow her that level of luxury.

Her eyes moved to the smaller woman, and yet the tallest among her brother’s lovers. The auburn-haired Sansa Stark curtsied deeply, her Northern propriety evident in every movement.

"Your Grace and sister-in-law, welcome back to King's Landing," Sansa said, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. Her eyes were on Dany. “I hope the sight is to your liking?”

Daenerys met Sansa's gaze, her slitted pupils dilating slightly as she studied the woman who had captured her brother's attention. There was strength there, beneath the courtly manners—a steel forged in suffering that reminded Daenerys of her own trials in Essos.

"It’s a complicated feeling, Lady Stark." Daenerys's voice carried an otherworldly quality that made several courtiers step back. "This city smells like home, and yet... it holds many echoes."

Echoes of screams. Of my father's madness. Of brother Rhaegar's death. Of everything we lost.

Many eyes wandered to pass silent conversations. She could feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air like smoke. What was her relationship with Viserys, besides the blood connection? What did her presence mean for the delicate balance of power he'd established? How would the Dragon Queen fit into a court already crowded with ambitious roses and winter wolves?

“I-”

"The pleasantries can wait," Viserys announced when a nobleman she didn’t recognize tried to greet them as well, his voice cutting through the tension like Valyrian steel. "There are matters of the realm to attend to. We will convene in the throne room."

As they moved toward the great doors of the Red Keep, Daenerys watched with an odd feeling bubbling in her, her transformed gaze traveling up the ancient walls. She couldn’t believe where her steps were taking her. To the Iron Throne—that jagged seat of swords that had cut her ancestors and driven them to madness.

"The last time a Targaryen queen walked these halls with such purpose," she said softly, her words carrying just far enough for her brother to hear, "it did not end well for our enemies."

Fire always finds a way to spread.

Viserys offered a grim smile, his violet eyes reflecting her own dangerous gleam. "This time, sister, there will be a different ending. The Targaryen Queen you speak of rules Essos, not King’s Landing, after all."

“....”

For a while, I dreamt of giving my son the throne, she pondered. Now, that seemed like a distant dream. Since her transformation, her emotions and memories regarding Drogo and her unborn child had grown colorless, with no depth behind them.

Her ambitions, her vision, now saw a different world ahead.

Behind them, she could hear the whispered conversations beginning. Margaery's careful questions, Arianne's bold observations, and Sansa's thoughtful silence. They were all calculating, measuring, and planning their moves in the great game that never truly ended.

They've always wondered how they'd look if they become his Dragon Queen, Dany thought. They're about to learn the difference between hopes and reality.

As they approached the throne room doors, Daenerys felt Drogon's presence overhead, his shadow falling across the courtyard like a promise. The great black dragon circled once before landing atop the Red Keep's highest tower, his roar echoing across King's Landing like a declaration.

In this realm, who else could brag with dragons besides her brother and herself?

We are home, Dragon, she smiled to herself as sunlight spilled from the windows. How I wish we could stay. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be yet.

****

The Iron Throne was cold beneath me as the afternoon light streaming through the high windows caught the rubies embedded in the ancient Valyrian steel, casting reflections across the throne room that seemed to pulse with life.

"Lords and ladies of the realm," I began, my voice carrying easily across the vast chamber. "Before we proceed with matters of state, allow me to present my dear sister—Queen Daenerys of Slavers Bay, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons."

A collective breath rippled through the assembled court.

Daenerys stood to my right, positioned on the dais but a step below the throne itself, close enough to share my authority, distant enough to maintain hierarchy. Her features caught the light magnificently, her violet eyes burning with otherworldly fire.

"I’m sure you’ve heard stories of her from decades ago. Stories of when she was a child, stories of how I fled the city with her in my arms. Things have changed greatly since then, for we Targaryens don’t remain trampled for long. Now Dany rules the great cities of Slaver's Bay." I continued, watching faces sparkle in awe as the implications sank in. "She commands armies, fleets, and dragons in her own right. Her presence here honors us all."

Not just the King’s sister, but a Queen of her own right. A foreign queen with her own power base changes everything.

The murmurs began immediately—whispered calculations, hasty reassessments of court dynamics. I caught Margaery's carefully neutral expression, though her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her skirts. She stood to my left, maintaining perfect queenly composure despite the sudden shift in her perceived position.

Sansa remained near Brienne at a respectful distance, her auburn hair catching the light as she processed this revelation. I could see the wheels turning behind those blue eyes. How did this affect the North's position? Her own?

There was a reason she was standing afar today; she was representing the North today for an incoming report. Regardless, it clearly bothered her that my sister and Margaery took either side of my arm, while she stood afar.

Wolves must adapt when dragons multiply.

Arianne lounged against a pillar with characteristic Dornish confidence, her silver eyes dancing with amusement as she observed the court's reaction. The silk of her gown seemed to flow like liquid metal with each subtle movement of her hips.

"Now then," I said, settling back against the throne's unforgiving embrace. "Let us begin. I hear there are some important matters to discuss today. Lady Sansa?"

Sansa stepped forward with measured grace, her voice steady despite the tension. "Your Grace, a rider from Winterfell arrived this morning with reports from my brother, King in the North. He awaits your leave to speak."

I nodded. "Let him enter."

The great doors were wide as a weathered Northman whose gray-streaked beard and battle-scarred hands spoke of decades defending the realm's edge. His Stark livery was travel-stained but proud as he dropped to one knee before the throne.

"Your Grace," he said, his Northern accent thick as winter honey. "King Robb Stark sends his greetings and his report."

"Speak freely."

"The dragonglass shipments arrive as promised, Your Grace. Our King has shipped them to the Night’s Watch right afterwards, so morale remains steady both in the North and at the Wall. The men speak of little else but dragons returning to the realm." His weathered face creased into something approaching a smile. "But there are... troubling signs as well."

Here it comes. The real reason for this urgent message.

"Wildling movements have grown more organized, Your Grace. Not the usual raiding parties—something coordinated. And our patrols have found corpses, strangely frozen, far south of where they ought to be. Not typical wildling kills. According to Jon Snow, brother of your wife and King Robb, sightings of White Walkers have been… confirmed."

That was already the case from a few weeks ago, but now, by announcing it before the throne where dozens of people attended, it just became public news.

Whispers filled the halls. People talked, and Dany turned to look him in the eye. She tilted her head at him, and he nodded. Her head snapped back to the envoy, worry painting her face. "White Walkers…? Frozen corpses? Describe them."

The Northman's eyes widened when facing her transformed features, but he answered steadily. "Pale as winter, Your Grace. Blue-eyed. And cold as the grave, and yet... The rangers who found them swear the bodies moved when they weren't looking directly at them. We didn’t believe them until we saw a corpse attack a man after nightfall."

The Others are stirring. Earlier than in the show, I noted with worry. But then again, everything's accelerated since I arrived.

Daenerys's voice carried new harmonics that seemed to resonate in the very stones. "So you weren’t lying before about there being more than just dragons, brother. These are not children's tales, brother. The ancient enemy stirs beyond the Wall."

I leaned forward, the throne's metal groaning softly. "The dragonglass is but the first stone in our shield wall. Tell King Robb his vigilance is commendable. Any further sightings, any sudden changes—I am to be alerted immediately." The throne's cruel edges pressed against my back as I straightened. "The dragons will answer."

The Northman's eyes trembled with something approaching religious awe. "Aye, Your Grace. Our King in the North will be pleased to hear it."

As he withdrew, the great doors echoed with footsteps again—unbidden this time. Every head turned as a figure in flowing red entered with predatory grace.

I recognized her immediately.

Kinvara. Perfect timing, as always.

The High Priestess moved like liquid fire across the throne room floor, her red silk robes clinging to curves that defied both gravity and propriety. The fabric seemed to shift and flow with each step, emphasizing the sway of her hips, the proud set of her shoulders. Her dark eyes found mine with an intensity that made the air itself seem to smolder.

"Kinvara," I said, allowing pleasure to color my voice. "An unexpected pleasure. I trust your time in King's Landing in my absence has been illuminating?"

She approached with deliberate sensuality, her movements calculated to draw the eye. When she smiled, it was like watching flames dance across silk. "I am surprised, and delighted, that the Dragon King remembers the name of a humble priestess."

I laughed, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Humble? You? I should have visited sooner. My apologies for the neglect."

Daenerys studied Kinvara with interest, her features sharpening. "You serve the Red God, priestess? My brother has spoken of your insights."

Kinvara inclined her head, the movement causing her robes to shift enticingly across her body. "Queen Daenerys. R'hllor's light shines upon all true children of fire. He sees the destiny that burns within you both. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’m glad you’re taking the rumors about the White Walkers seriously. Your decision will bear fruit.”

The Lord of Light certainly has excellent taste in servants.

"You didn't come merely to exchange pleasantries," I observed, watching how she arched her back when she spoke. "What brings the High Priestess before the Iron Throne?"

"Your Grace sees clearly, as always." Kinvara's voice carried the smoky quality that had always set my blood racing. "I seek permission to establish a proper Red Temple in King's Landing—not the modest shrine we currently maintain, but something worthy of the dragons' return."

Smart. Consolidate religious power while I consolidate political power.

She took another step closer, close enough that I could see the way the light played across her skin. "The common folk hunger for hope, Your Grace. For signs that the realm has entered a new age. The Faith of the Seven already has a Great Sept. A grand Temple of Red would provide both spiritual comfort and visible proof of your divine favor."

"Divine favor?" Margaery's voice carried just a hint of steel beneath its honey. "How presumptuous of your gods to claim credit for His Grace's achievements."

Kinvara's smile never wavered as she turned to acknowledge Margaery. "The wise recognize that mortal will and divine purpose often align, Lady Tyrell. The Lord of Light does not diminish the Dragon King's glory—He amplifies it."

"Your devotion is noted, Kinvara," I said, enjoying the subtle interplay between my women. "And your Lord of Light has proven useful. I’ve been wondering when you’ll ask, and am surprised it took you so long.”

She smiled, “More than a temple, I wanted to help the poor souls of this city claim some peace. Now that I think it has been done enough, I’m here with my humble request.”

“Plus you must have heard I got gold to spare after the recent Lannister harvest,” I said, watching her smile. I smiled back. “Your request is granted. See that your temple brings solace, not strife."

I must keep an eye out for her. I needed religious authority without political threat.

Kinvara bowed deeply, the movement causing her robes to strain across her chest in ways that drew every male eye in the room. "You are wise, my King. R'hllor's blessings upon you and your reign."

As she began to turn, I added, my voice dropping to a more intimate register, "Stay a moment, Kinvara. After these formalities conclude, I have something important to discuss with you. Something requiring your unique perspective."

She paused mid-turn, her body creating a perfect silhouette against the throne room's shadows. A knowing smile touched her lips—the expression of a woman who understood exactly what kind of "perspective" I might require.

Although no, it wasn’t what she thought it was. It was about my promise to Ari.

"Of course, Your Grace," she purred, her voice carrying promises that had nothing to do with religious counsel. "For you, I am always available."

All the men in the room swallowed, while Dany scowled at me.

“Brother, she’s a priestess…” she whispered which I ignored. The tension in the throne room shifted, charged with new possibilities.

Daenerys was sharp with interest, while Margaery's mask of perfect composure showed the faintest crack. Sansa studied the floor with sudden intensity, and Arianne's smile grew positively wicked.

I settled back against the Iron Throne's embrace, anticipating the evening's private discussions. The realm had many needs, after all, and some required more personal attention than others.

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