[96] Stubbornness Brings Suffering

Chapter 96: Stubbornness Brings Suffering

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The window stood empty, a cruel rectangle of blue sky where Viserys had disappeared moments before. Daenerys stared at it, her broken arm throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

The wind stirred the curtains, bringing with it the distant sounds of the city below—a city that had no idea their queen had just lost one of her most powerful weapons. "Your Grace?" Ser Jorah's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Shall I send riders to track—"

"Leave me," she whispered, not turning around. When no one moved, she whirled to face them, her voice cracking like a whip. "LEAVE ME!"

Barristan shifted uncomfortably in his bed. Tyrion's mismatched eyes studied her with uncomfortable perception. Jorah looked as if he might argue, but something in her face must have stopped him. One by one, they filed out of the chamber. Only Missandei remained, standing quietly near the door.

"You too," Daenerys said, softer now.

The translator shook her head. "I'll stay, Your Grace."

Daenerys didn't have the strength to argue. As soon as the door closed behind the others, she stumbled to her own chamber, Missandei following like a shadow. Her legs gave way once inside, and she sank to the edge of her bed.

"Have the doors guarded," Daenerys commanded. "No one enters without my express permission."

Missandei nodded and slipped out, returning moments later to find Daenerys staring at her hand—her good hand, the one not mangled by her brother.

"He was right," Daenerys whispered. "I've lost two dragons. Two out of three in the world. While my brother, he… he..."

"Drogon will return, Your Grace. And Rhaegal—"

"Rhaegal is gone!" The words tore from her throat, raw and painful. "Gone with a man I believed was my blood. A man I welcomed, trusted!" She drove her fist into the silk bedcover. "And Viserys knew. He knew all along, and I wouldn't listen."

Missandei sat beside her cautiously. "Your brother is... different now. Changed. You couldn't have known what he'd become. It’s understandable you didn’t trust him."

"No. He's exactly what he always wanted to be—powerful. Strong." A bitter laugh escaped her. "And I'm exactly what he always said I was. Weak. Stupid. Useless."

The tears came then, hot and sudden.

Daenerys tried to hold them back, but they spilled down her cheeks in streams, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. Missandei reached for her, and Daenerys collapsed against her shoulder, weeping like she hadn't since she was a child.

"I've lost everything," she gasped between sobs. "My husband. My son. Two dragons. The Iron Throne is farther away than ever."

"You have not lost everything," Missandei insisted, her voice gentle but firm. "You have Drogon. He flies by every now and then, and you know it. You have your Unsullied. You have your freedmen who love you."

"For how long? My brother was right about that too. How long before they turn on me? How long before the other cities' Masters come? I can't even control my own dragons anymore."

"Perhaps," Missandei ventured cautiously, "you should consider what your brother said. About working together—"

"No." Daenerys pulled away, wiping her tears. "He'd never allow it. Not as equals. He'd want me to submit, to kneel. I am a Dragon… as much as he is. Dragons don't kneel."

A soft knock interrupted them. Daenerys quickly dried her face with the edge of her sleeve. "Who is it?"

"The Imp," came Tyrion's voice. "A moment of your time, Your Grace?"

Dany felt annoyed at the prospect of talking with someone else, but when she looked at Missandei, she nodded encouragingly. "Enter," she called.

Tyrion stepped in, closing the door behind him. His eyes took in her reddened face, but he made no comment on it. Instead, he poured himself a cup of wine from the carafe on her table and took a long drink.

"Your brother has quite the temper," he observed. "Must run in the family."

"If you've come to mock me—"

"I've come to offer counsel," Tyrion corrected. "The kind you may not wish to hear, but need to all the same."

She regarded him warily. "Speak, then."

"You lost a dragon, and your other one is in his rebellious phase," he said plainly and without accusation. “The only way to recover from this is to make a move before the world realizes how vulnerable you are. And perhaps..." he hesitated, "make amends with your brother."

"Never," she spat. "Even if you’re unaware of what he did in the past, you saw how he broke my arm. He insulted me in front of my advisors."

"Yes, and he saved your Lord Commander and captain from certain death," Tyrion countered. "People are complicated, Your Grace. I should know—my family wrote the book on complicated."

Daenerys stood up, pacing the chamber. Her mind raced with possibilities, with fears, with plans. "What else do you suggest other than crawling back to Viserys?"

Tyrion sighed. "Well, if you don’t want to reconcile with him, then… Strength. Show it immediately. Make decisions that prove you're still in control. News that Rhaegal is gone will spread throughout the city soon since the Golden Company will slowly leave."

The Golden Company would leave.

And they’d be able to do nothing to stop them.

Something hardened inside her at his words. A resolve, cold and sharp as Valyrian steel.

"Missandei," she said, turning to face them both. "Send word to Hizdahr zo Loraq. Our marriage will take place as soon as possible. Three days from now."

Missandei's eyes widened slightly. "So soon, Your Grace?"

"Yes. And with it, we will reopen the fighting pits. Let him have his bloody games." Her voice dropped, becoming steelier with each word. "And summon the other captains of the Unsullied, the commanders of the freedmen. Meereen must prepare for war."

"War?" Tyrion asked carefully. "Against whom?"

Daenerys looked back at the empty window, where the sky seemed to mock her now. "Against anyone who threatens what is mine. If I cannot trust my own blood, then I will build an empire without them."

"And Aegon? Young Griff?" Tyrion asked. "What of him?"

"He is my enemy now," she said, her voice flat and cold. "Just like Viserys. Anyone who steals from me, who betrays me, is my enemy. And I will take back what is mine with fire and blood."

She turned away from the window, her tears now dried by the heat of her rekindled purpose. "The dragon has three heads, they say. But this dragon stands alone."

****

I lay sprawled across silken sheets, enjoying the warmth of two naked bodies pressed against mine.

Lady Nahreen zo Ghazeen's curves had already become familiar to me over the past few days, her olive skin a pleasant contrast to the paler complexion of her cousin Soreah. The younger woman had joined us last night at Nahreen's suggestion—though I suspected it was more to keep me interested than any genuine desire to share.

"More wine, my king?" Nahreen purred, reaching for the crystal decanter. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, tickling my chest as she leaned across me.

"Not yet," I replied, watching Soreah pluck another grape from the silver bowl. She placed it between my lips with delicate fingers, her eyes never leaving mine.

I'd met Nahreen during my initial exploration of Meereen, when I'd heard her cursing my sister's name in that heated exchange with a merchant. Her hatred for the self-styled queen had drawn me to her, and after I'd dispatched those Sons of the Harpy in her bedroom, she'd taken to treating me like some conquering hero. Soreah was different.

It had been Nahreen’s idea to introduce me to her cousin—"younger, more flexible," she'd whispered in my ear, and yet not bothering to hide the competitive edge in her voice. When I probed her for more, the truth surfaced. It turned out that she owed Soreah a favor, and when she was bragging about the ‘Westerosi Knight’ in her bedroom, Soreah begged to see him. Only later did she tell her my identity, having received my permission.

"You should have seen her face when I told her who you were," Nahreen said now, trailing her fingers down my chest. "She didn't believe me at first."

"And now?" I asked, turning to Soreah.

The younger woman blushed. "Now I believe everything," she said, her accent thicker than her cousin's. "The wings, the strength..."

"Is that all you believe?" I teased, pulling her closer.

Nahreen's face tightened just enough to notice. The jealousy was amusing—as if either of them meant anything more to me than momentary entertainment. Still, I enjoyed the rivalry. Two noble ladies of Meereen competing for my attention while their city slowly crumbled around them.

"Oh, I believe everything about you, Your Grace…” she brushed her lips against mine.

Right then, Nahreen blinked and blurted suddenly, “Oh, by the way, did you hear? Your sister announced her marriage to Hizdahr zo Loraq. Three days from now! Looks like there’s going to be a feast."

I raised an eyebrow, noticing a frown from Soreah, who seemed annoyed at her cousin's interruption.

"She's also reopening the fighting pits," Soreah added, clearly not wanting to be outdone in providing information. "The wedding will begin after the fighting matches. Everyone's talking about it. It confuses me why she’s marrying a Meereeneze man, though."

Why? It’s obvious. I couldn't help it—laughter burst from my chest, loud and unrestrained. Both women jumped slightly at the sound.

"My sweet, stupid little sister," I said, wiping away a tear of mirth. "So predictable."

"You don't seem worried," Nahreen observed, her head tilted in curiosity. “I thought you Targaryens cared about keeping the bloodline pure or whatever.”

I sat up, leaning against the ornate headboard. "Why would I be worried? She's flailing like a drowning rat. No dragon, no real allies, just a city that hates her and a marriage to a man who probably dreams of slitting her throat. And if you think I’d let her husband, whoever it might be, touch her, you couldn’t be more wrong."

My laughter subsided as I thought about it more.

Dany had always been stubborn, even as a child. I remembered how she'd refuse to eat certain foods, no matter how hungry she was. How she'd insist on carrying her own small pack when we traveled, even when it made her shoulders ache.

And now? Now that stubborn streak would be her undoing.

She could have just asked, I sighed in my head. One simple 'help me, brother' and I would have dealt with the Sons of the Harpy. I would have helped her keep her dragons in check. I would have taught her what it means to rule.

Instead, she clung to her pride, her illusions of independence. Even with one arm broken and one dragon gone, she wouldn't bend. Wouldn't acknowledge my superiority.

"Well," I continued, accepting a goblet of wine from Nahreen, "she made her choice. She chose that Meereenese puppet over my protection. She wants to play at being queen over this tiny City rather than ruling Westeros beside me."

I drained the wine, feeling its warmth spread through me. The thought of Daenerys struggling to maintain control of Meereen while married to a man who represented everything she claimed to stand against... it filled me with a perverse satisfaction.

"Let her see how far her dragons and slaves take her," I muttered.

Nahreen stroked my cheek, bringing me back to the present. "You seem angry, my king."

"Not angry," I corrected, setting down the empty goblet. "Just... disappointed. She's the last of my blood, and she's too stupid to save herself."

"Perhaps after the wedding, when she sees her mistake—" Soreah began.

"Stop talking about that, ladies," I said firmly, cutting her off. Both women immediately fell silent, their eyes lowering. "Get dressed. I'll take you two to eat today."

"To eat?" Nahreen repeated, her voice confused. “But we have food here..."

"I want to see the city," I explained, already rising from the bed. "I want to see how it prepares for my sister's grand gesture of surrender. Feel the mood in the streets."

The women exchanged glances before hurrying to comply.

They pulled silken robes around their naked forms and disappeared to their respective dressing rooms. I stood by the window, looking out over Meereen's sprawling landscape, the Great Pyramid dominating the skyline.

Somewhere in that pyramid, Daenerys was planning her wedding, thinking she'd found a solution to her problems. She had no idea how deeply the rot had set in, how many enemies surrounded her. And I would watch it all unfold, savoring each moment of her downfall until she had no choice but to crawl to me for help.

The fighting pits would reopen in three days. Then the wedding would take place. And I would be there to witness it all, to watch my sister's face as she realized too late that she had made the wrong choice.

Until then, I would enjoy Meereen's pleasures.

Its food, its women, its luxuries. I would drink in the city's beauty and decay in equal measure, knowing that soon enough, chaos would consume it all. And my sister with it.

“Ah, and by the way,” I turned to Soreah who was almost done getting dressed. “Don’t do anything stupid that’ll get you killed.”

Soreah, the spy, flinched in response.

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