章 1397: 30
Davos
"You need to rest."
Davos Seaworth couldn't count on his hands and feet how many times his wife had told him that since he took the job as Hand. Granted, he couldn't think of a time he'd been happier than now his wife and sons were back in his life, but he came to realize that time with his family came with a tendency to bring his work to his chambers at the hour of the wolf at night, not sacrificing one for the other.
"How can I rest when our King declares his own guard can take his head if they decide they should?" The outrage from the Small Council was incredible. Lady Sansa being the most furious out of everyone. What in Seven Hells was Jon even thinking by giving such authority? His reasons were… noble in a sense and recent history with vicious and mad kings, but there was so much vagueness with that new oath of his that all it would take was a new set of men more loyal to gold than honor to turn everything wrong. Or had he forgotten what happened at the Wall with the other Officers?
Marya Seaworth stared at him with her hands on her hips, but annoyance at his work schedule didn't keep her from leaving a cup of hearty stew for him to eat while working.
He'd long said that he was not deserving of such a wonderful wife, and after meeting Marya, both King Aegon and Lady Sansa agreed wholeheartedly.
The only silver lining of sorts proceeding the arguments about the oath was that even the Kingsguard themselves had objections to it. Thank the Old Gods and the New that honor was strong in each of them. Jon's final word on the matter was that measures had to be taken to make sure another evil King would not be on the throne.
Just another yoke of duties everyone had on their shoulders now.
Rubbing his temples as he journeyed through the halls of the Red Keep, subject of great attention given his title as Hand of the King, Davos agreed with his wife. He did need a rest, a long rest once the immediate and long-building crisis of the 'Targaryen Schism' as some were calling it had ended and a permanent monarch was crowned. These matters of politics were horrendous.
Qyburn's latest report of whispers were hinting that things might be that he could, however.
Davos entered his office and sat back in his chair, wishing the back could somehow fall flat so he could take a well deserved nap. The past few days were nothing but tiresome. From the exhaustion of his duties as Hand, to the restless nights filled with dreams that troubled him, Davos was wondering just how in Seven Hells men like Tywin Lannister and Eddard Stark were able to handle the job.
Then again, they weren't ever negotiating peace with a Queen with an army and three dragons at her back while at the same time trying to rebuild the navy, the latter proving the easiest since it was Stannis who lost his ships, not the False Baratheons. Davos had hoped the Velaryons would have declared their support for Jon, adding their ships and a proper candidate for the Master of Ships. As it was, he had to look elsewhere and was considering Lord Sebastian Farman of Fair Isle to help strengthen the new ties with the Westerlands.
His dreams though… they were strange, unlike all of the usual nonsense he could barely remember when he woke up. He could recall every detail about these ones, and they felt different than usual. They felt like memories. He was Hand of the King to Jon as the King of The North instead of the Seven Kingdoms, Cersei Lannister sat on the Iron Throne as Queen, and everything was far more hopeless for them. His last dream had him and many others seated in the Dragonpit in a failed negotiation for a truce with Cersei.
What fool would think Cersei Lannister could be negotiated with unless at the point of a blade? More evidence that the dreams were simply ridiculous.
Regardless of the merit these dreams were to anyone besides himself, he wasn't allowed any time to dwindle on their meaning. He had to give his report to the King as soon as he could, and could seek prophetic divination later.
Sighing, Davos was severely tempted to break his leg so he had a good enough reason not to climb those damned stairs again. He appreciated the accommodations, but not the journey he had to make to them in the Tower of the Hand.
Whoever the architect was who designed this place must've desired to make the Hand simply miserable back in the day. It made Davos wonder what the chances were of convincing Jon of building lifts in the towers like there was at Castle Black.
He wasn't keen on heading to King Aegon with his knees the way they were, but for once the gods had mercy upon him. An abrupt knock on the door led him to rise, only for the figure of King Aegon to enter into his chambers with Ser Jaime at his back but taking vigil at the door. "Your Grace," he bowed his head. "An honor…"
"None of that, Davos," Jon remarked with a tiny smirk. Davos nodded back. It looked like Jon was fitting into his new attire better than he first did. And to say the least, black and red suited him just as much as the furs and leathers of the North. "I understand that Qyburn was tasked with confirming the opinion of the court to Queen Daenerys." The King pulled a seat out for himself sitting across from Davos.
"Qyburn's little birds were… active to say the least." Davos sat back down and rummaged through the pile of parchment until he found the report. "Needless to say those of the North and the Riverlands are still behind you, your Grace. The other kingdoms are still loyal for the most part." He locked eyes with Jon.
Jon pursed his lips. "For the most but not completely," he confirmed.
Davos shifted. "Several Houses are looking for favor in Daenerys, mostly ones that were loyal to the Targaryens during the rebellion. Since she is a pureblood and has the dragons, they believe her chances of victory in a war are higher. The most notable are the Velaryons. Aurane Waters is at Dragonstone as we speak, sworn to Daenerys and receiving his family name. And about the North-"
"Send a message to the Glovers," Jon interrupted and set down the report, "tell Robbet that he is tasked with joining Randyll Tarly on the Wall with his men. If he refuses, then he will be considered a traitor and coward."
"Jon," Davos said softly, "I know the nobility of the south angers you, but you need to talk to us before you make such rash decisions. I mean threatening to attain names and strip lands. This iron fist you have isn't helping your image, especially the arrests and sending off the knights as you did. Many Houses took offense and it's the kind of thing that's pushing people to look favorably at Daenerys. Aurane Waters has practically secured the Velaryon's support for her."
"I don't care. Not now. What about the rest of the North?"
Sighing, Davos continued with the report. "The Northmen would follow you to the ends of the earth, the little birds indicating that they still see you as more of a Stark with dragonblood than a Targaryen." Apart from the three-headed dragon emblazoned on his armor and tunics, the King still preferred the Northern attire whenever he could. "Daenerys' small council is dominated by Dornish and Tyrion Lannister which keeps many away from strongly considering her. The Vale sees it that way as well. The Stormlands is near completely aligned, and the Westerlands is quiet but so far loyal. Tommen isn't making a fuss and no one has been commanded to take drastic measures."
"Is Tommen doing well?" Jon asked.
Davos noticed Ser Jaime's eyes peak over with more intent on listening.
"He's training hard with Ser Daven Lannister, and the people say he's starting to act like Lord Tywin at times. Determined, proud, and persistent. And he's taken to his new blade eagerly. He calls it King's Grace. He's becoming a capable young man and isn't trying anything. But he does long for Margaery. The Tyrells have their eyes and ears open in Casterly Rock. We'll be alright."
Nodding, Jon leaned back. "And the other Kingdoms?"
To this, Davos pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Reach and most of the Crownlands… support for House Targaryen was always stronger there than in the rest, given that the Mad King's final acts of violence weren't committed upon them. Brandon Stark, Elbert Arryn, Rickard Stark, the death warrants on Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon… Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly fought for the crown in that war, as did most of the Crownlands." He tapped his knuckle on the table.
"Have any other Houses made the decision to swear to Daenerys?" Jon seemed almost eager about it.
"Not yet…" His face fell. "But the whispers seem to indicate they no longer see her as a potentially mad foreign invader and more akin to what those of Slaver's Bay think of her. A charming, devoted Queen. Many have come to the city to see her in the past days since her arrival with no shortage of sons in tow to make an alliance with her."
Jon sighed, closing his eyes. "Shows how much can change when there's time to look at things for a moment." His hand clenched into a fist but relaxed soon after.
Though his brow raised at the… seemingly illogical anger in his King, Davos nodded. "The court's starting to look elsewhere as well. To those who personally know not of your exploits, they see you as… akin to Stannis."
"Stannis?" Jon asked with an arched brow.
"Too stern, too uncompromising." Davos winced. "Aside from your orders sent out for soldiers, you're not that sociable. You went for a drink in the city and did something uplifting for the people, but when it comes to political friends, you're like Walder Frey. Nobody wants to know you personally, but they still want something."
He waved them off. "I could care less of what the court thinks of me."
"Clearly," Ser Jaime added in, earning both men's attention, "but since you're the King, it should matter to you. You may wear the crown, but your control over them is little. They are starting to fear you but they don't love you. Why shouldn't they look elsewhere for another to supplant you? You're a strong man, but that's all they'll see. A man. The moment Daenerys Tagaryen birthed her dragons, she became a Queen."
"She is a Queen," Jon replied. "Of course she's the Queen. She birthed dragons, she restored our house and did what all called impossible. She's the rightful Queen, I'm just a northern bastard wearing the skin of someone with royal blood."
"Your Grace…" Ser Jaime actually appeared as though he was about to be sympathetic and supporting the truth.
Jon raised a finger, leveling it at the knight. "Unlike her, I have not earned the right. Not with the mistakes I've made."
Mistakes? Aside from trusting the wrong people at Castle Black before he was stabbed… aye, that was a rather bad mistake, but it served as a single blemish in an otherwise fantastic career. One that could see Aegon VI Targaryen be placed right up there with the Conqueror. Aegon wasn't stupid, so he had to see it… This couldn't just be about his bastard heritage.
While Davos thought, Jaime cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter who has earned what. You are still the King. You must shape up to be one."
"Stannis was a capable commander," Davos continued, "and his men gladly followed him into battle when he wasn't consumed with his own zealousness." A quick shot of venom slipped from his breath, Shireen's death still raw on him.
Jon tapped his finger on the armrest of his chair. "My goal is to save the living and defeat the dead. Being a Stannis rather than a Baelor or Jaehaerys is sufficient for that, so I see no need to change."
Jaime sighed. "You've restored your House after over two decades. The Seven Kingdoms are used to the idea of a non-Targaryen King. If you as King are too aloof to solidify yourself…" It was a good line of thought, Davos admitted.
The King had other ideas. "No, it doesn't matter. I am not going to be King for much longer, and if it wasn't for everyone south of the Wall being a damn idiot then I would've been back at Castle Black preparing for the battle to come the moment I threw Cersei in the Black Cells."
While he sounded much like the bastard that Davos had met long ago at Castle Black… there was something… more there. Ever since he woke from the dead, there seemed to be a weight on Aegon Targaryen's shoulders. Something haunting that would test even the strongest soul with unimaginable pain. The loss of his son reminded Davos of that, but what did the King suffer?
Perhaps that led him to dismiss himself. "Your Grace, if I may?" Jon was silent, letting him speak. "I believe Daenerys is keen on sharing power, and for the future of the Realm after the dead are defeated such an arrangement would be in the best interests of everyone for you to remain in her council."
Jon sighed. "If it were up to me and I have every guarantee in her ability to march through all the shit that will be thrown at her, I'd give up the throne this very hour. But it's not about the people's perspective, Davos…" he was pausing too long, trying to speak but held back. "I won't step down until I know that she's strong enough to handle it."
"With all respect, she's been a Queen far longer than you. She can handle it."
Jon's gaze with him was the hardest with had ever been. "Can she? She styles herself as a good queen and I believe that's exactly what she strives to be. But if we look closer at her rule in Meereen there are some dark spots in her rule, spots that many here would shame her to the highest for if repeated. Do you know what she did when she lost Ser Barristan Selmy?"
Davos shook his head. "I don't."
"She gathered several masters and fed one of them at random to her dragons, innocent or not, she didn't know. If she allows herself to delve into that kind of power and without seeing the wrong in a reckless gamble like that, then I cannot entrust the throne to her. What punishment awaits if someone kills one of her dragons? Or her best friend?"
This was somehow getting oddly specific, especially for Jon. Davos had to remind himself of what death granted the man… "How much of the world did you see in your visions, Jon?" Jon's body tensed for a split second. "How much can you trust them? What happened with Daenerys Targaryen in them?"
The King waved him off. "That's mine to know."
Fine then. "If you truly believe in everything you say, then we should approach a compromise with her, one that has you in the only position available to keep the best watch over her. Tyrion won't like it, but his say isn't the final one."
Jon rubbed a hand over his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Davos… we don't need to."
"Then negotiate a good life for yourself if anything. You damn well deserve it. Have a castle, a wife, children, lands. No one can say it's a selfish thing to demand.
Jon shook his head and sighed. "When the dead come, and the battles are fought… I'm not coming back if we win. I'm going north, beyond the Wall."
Davos suddenly snapped. "You will stop this nonsense at once!" Jon turned with narrowed eyes. "So this is it? You're giving up?!"
Jon stood from his seat, calm and composed. "That was the plan from the beginning. Setting the path right for someone to take my place is what I've been doing since I first walked these halls."
Davos felt as if someone punched him in the gut. "You've been deceiving everyone. This person you are, it's all just a bloody lie?"
"It's not a lie." A flash of grief crossed Jon's face. "In order to be the sort of man that would condemn himself to solitude to allow his family to survive and thrive, he must do what it takes to not become the man that destroys his family."
"That's the largest load of horseshit I've heard that wasn't from someone in red robes."
But Jon shook his head. "You know not what I know, neither of you do. Nothing of what I truly am. I've seen what doing what's right does for us and it's folly. The moral high ground is the only thing you gain from it while the world tears itself apart."
"Whatever turmoil is swirling in your heart, get rid of it for I know exactly who you are, Aegon Targaryen." Davos grabbed him by the shoulder. "You are an honorable man, a truly honorable King who's suffered the hardest blows in life but never let it destroy him." Jon shook him off but did nothing else. "The people finally have a King who is willing to give a damn about them. You can do so much more for them than anyone since Aegon the Conqueror was willing!"
"And what has the world ever done for me?" Jon shouted back. "When has the world ever shown me mercy? Every time I find a place where I can be more than a damned bastard, I'm rejected. Every time I try to do what is right, I suffer. I don't care any more, Davos. Once the dead are gone, then so am I, as far away from the throne and everything with it as I can be. They can call me whatever they want. Aegon the Coward, Aegon the Bastard, I won't be near to hear them. It doesn't matter if there's a Septon's diary, or if Rhaegar and Lyanna arose from their fucking graves and told the truth. I'm still just a bastard to all them."
Davos instead fumed with anger. "You can't betray us with this facade! It would crash things down harder than if you stepped down from the throne this very hour. That's the price of lies…When enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies."
Jon went deathly silent and his mouth was barely agape. "How do you know those words?" he whispered.
Davos breathed, not completely sure if he should say for he was starting to think he was going mad for it. "You said them in a dream I had, and you were right then. But here, you're a fool." He wouldn't have any more of this. He walked for the door with hands curled into tight fists, but stopped just short of leaving. "I followed you because I knew you were a good man, because I knew that you could change the world for the better. But with these plots you make, you're not different anymore. You're just another liar on the throne… more of the same."
Regardless of the King's calls urging him to return, Davos stepped out of the door, earning the last word in the matter and leaving with more than half a mind to return to his room to pack his things and leave his Hand's pin on his desk. But his plans were stopped when he almost walked into Daenerys Targaryen standing just outside the door. They didn't say anything to each other, but it was clear that she had heard enough if not everything that was said.
Sansa
A pungent stench of mildew emanated from the wet dungeon walls of the Black Cells, growing more odorous the deeper one descended. Sansa did not have to go to the bottom where he suspected rat skeletons and other foul things were, only in the middle section where there were no windows to the outside. She was not afraid of the dark though. Her torch broke through it with ease, although it was odd being the torch bearer instead of her guard. But she thought it would be a kind gesture to the Hound to not ask him to do it.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" The Hound mumbled.
"More than anything," Sansa replied, keeping her eyes forward. She had gotten close enough. "You may wait here for me."
"Don't stray too deep. You won't like disturbing the monster at the bottom." The Hound said, standing vigil on the stairs. Sandor Clegane was a trustworthy guard, and his actions while she was a young captive proved that she was safe around him, but he wasn't Brienne. She didn't feel comfortable having him stand by her conversations she'd rather keep private.
Setting the torch in a sconce, Sansa crept forward to Cersei's cell and peered through the bars to the poor woman inside. Her shouting match earlier with Jon still plagued her. Perhaps facing the other demons in her mind was the only way she could shrug it off.
"I was wondering when you would come, little dove." The voice that was once smooth but cold was now harsh and strained. Sansa knew that Cersei was being treated as she should be, but she didn't think it would turn her into what she saw. Cersei was thinner throughout her body, but not skeletal. Her feet were painted black from the dust and dirt of the floor, her hair filthy and a mess, and that once beautiful face was now ghostly pale and shaped into an ugly sneer.
The woman called Cersei Lannister finally looked like what she really was.
"What made you so sure that I would?" Sansa asked.
Cersei smirked, almost spitting a laugh. "We've been through too much together for you to simply ignore the chance to get a last word in, to show me how much you've changed. You're certainly no little girl anymore…but you are still aiming to be a perfect little, doe-eyed Queen."
Sansa didn't gasp, but she may as well have because it was already obvious that the remark struck a chord. How right she was.
"These halls are not silent of whispers, Sansa." Cersei looked away to the wall across from her. "I had heard that the Bolton Bastard took you for his little bride, and how gently he treated you." Cersei's eyes returned to Sansa. "I'm disappointed, little dove. I told you our greatest weapon was the one between our legs and yours was as blunt as an oar. Do you think you can use it now to bewitch your bastard brother like your whore of an aunt did to Rhaegar?"
A smirk found Sansa's face, her spirit regrouping. "That's right, my aunt had the power to bewitch the Silver Prince. But you with all of your gold and your beauty didn't gain so much as a second look from him. Was that day when your father realized you were the disappointing child, rather than Tyrion?"
Sansa expected Cersei to lash out in some way, either subtly or with great fury, but instead she found that Cersei's smile did not waver. "You are quite the bitch now, aren't you, little dove? I'm glad to know my impression hasn't completely left you yet."
Taking a step forward, Sansa now stood within arm's reach of Cersei at the bars. "I didn't come down here to trade insult after insult with you, Cersei. The Black Cells would rot into dust by the time we were finished with each other. I merely want you to see that everything you tried to make me is gone. I am not that little girl anymore, nor am I you. I shall never be you, but rather the woman you spend every day knowing you will never be."
Sansa stepped away from the cells, and when she reached up for the torch, Cersei spoke softly. "Your hubris killed your father the moment you wrote that letter to your brother, all so you could keep the chance of being Joffrey's Queen. I wonder what blunder you'll do next to keep your power here?"
Sansa looked back. "Power is a beautiful attraction when it is ours until it turns against you. You say that power is the end. That it is the goal?" She laughed. "You are sad, petty little schemers. Torpid and narrowly ambitious. To be truly great, it's what you do with the power you were given." She withdrew away the torch. "Let the darkness be your testament."
Daenerys
"And what has the world ever done for me?"
"Every time I find a place where I can be more than a damned bastard, I'm rejected."
"Once the dead are gone, then so am I…"
"They can call me whatever they want. Aegon the Coward, Aegon the Bastard, I won't be near to hear them."
"I'm still just a damn bastard to them."
All words from Aegon's lips, Daenerys heard them all.
She didn't mean to eavesdrop, arriving at Aegon's solar to speak to him about her findings in the library. And yet the shouting echoed through the door. Aegon was angry, enraged. An almost desperate sort of anger, reminding Daenerys of when her dragons had been taken in Qarth.
Anger mixed with agony.
And it confused her greatly.
Here she was, in the middle of her council. Relaying what she had heard, knowing that this would affect her and the realm.
There was silence even as she stopped, Tyrion looking to Varys, Varys looking to her, and Missandei simply silent. "Well?" Daenerys broke the silence. "Did any of you know what my nephew is planning?"
Tyrion shook his head. "This is news to me. All whom I have spoken to among the highborns," he shrugged, "well, all the ones willing to talk to me at least, they regard Aegon as nothing short of a worker of miracles. To have brought stability to the Realm with hardly any fighting in the Southern Kingdoms, only bringing justice to House Frey and liberating Riverrun, and even then with less casualties than I would've expected."
"Then this is not something that is being asked of him," Daenerys replied. "He seems to wish to abdicate himself."
Tyrion looked at her. "If I may speak bluntly, but isn't that what you desire, your Grace? To have the Iron Throne handed to you without bloodshed?"
She turned and looked out the window. A window that faced not the sea as most preferred, but the city itself. The city she would one day rule, and was trying to connect with as she had with Meereen. Hopefully one day the people would love her as those in Meereen did, but without her family beside her after Daenerys finally found herself no longer alone…
"Aegon is my family. I fought to restore House Targaryen, not merely myself. He's the only hope our House has to live. He just doesn't want to be here in the game."
"There is no need for him to no longer be involved in public life. He could be one of your most trusted advisors…"
"But it didn't sound like he was speaking of a mere abdication," Daenerys interrupted. "He speaks more on the lines of abandonment! He wants to run away where no one wants to follow!" It came off angrier than she intended, but she hadn't finally found someone of her family only to lose him. She cared for him. "Why is he doing this?"
Silent till now, Missandei cleared her throat. "Could he have known you were coming at that moment?"
Daenerys looked at her. "I did not announce myself. It was spontaneous on my part."
"That doesn't mean he didn't know. His Master of Whispers is almost as resourceful as Lord Varys is." If Varys took insult, he didn't show it. "This could easily be staged in order to unsettle you. To make you desire the throne and then bait you into a trap, your Grace."
She shook her head. "Aegon wouldn't do that."
"You don't know him." Daenerys crossed her arms, frowning. Missandei sighed. "I am simply asking that you consider the possibility. He is an enigma and his advisors are crafty, especially Lady Stark."
Looking over to Varys, Daenerys would settle this. "Lord Varys, have your little birds sung any songs that could shed some light upon this matter?"
Varys sucked in a breath, hands weaved together. "Before today, I would have said only somber tidings."
"And now?" Daenerys pressed.
Varys turned his eyes away, looking fearful of what he had to say. "Nothing good. They sing of a King disenchanted with everything. One who sleeps alone on the stone floor, who trains himself until he cannot hold his sword any longer, a king that rarely smiles. Out of nearly a hundred women to present themselves to him, not a single one has caught his eye as you have." Something twinged in her heart, be it sorrow that he was almost choosing to be alone. And tonight, I have learned of the vow the Kingsguard have sworn by his command. From this day, should a monarch upon the Iron Throne be deemed a danger to the realm, they have the authority within themselves alone to justly strike down him they are sworn to protect."
"What!?" Tyrion exclaimed before Daenerys. The revelation hit so hard that no one had the words to respond immediately after. "Why would he do that? Such a rule implemented would be easily susceptible to corruption by schemers like Baelish or my sister."
"That's what his Small Council said as well, my lord," replied Varys, "they've all concluded that such a rule must be precise and imaliable to outside forces. Such is their current task, but with recent events of the King's decision to abandon the throne, I can't see why he would make such a rule. He speaks with few, opens up to fewer others, and keeps secrets deep to himself."
Daenerys' raised up in reaction. "What sorts of secrets?"
"Nightmares he has and yet he pretends nothing is wrong." He met her gaze. "I cannot tell you about his plans working in his mind for I simply do not know, but from how he acts I could see him wishing to simply get away from it all for whatever reason."
"And you don't know those reasons."
"No, your Grace."
Nodding finally, Daenerys gazed at the floor. "All of you may leave us… except Missandei."
While the others filed out obediently, granting Daenerys her desired privacy in order to think and again try and come to terms with the cauldron of emotions in her mind, a light breathing drew her attention to one that stubbornly remained. Her arms crossed, she glanced at Daenerys with hard, brown eyes. The Queen of Meereen knew what she would say.
"I've already said my piece, Missandei, as have you. You do not need to continue as I won't reiterate or repeat myself."
There was a firm seriousness about Missandei that was… quite odd. Daenerys had only rarely met someone as strong as the former slave, but she was normally quiet and graceful in ways that put most highborn women to shame. Her attitude was… more like Daenerys herself than was normal for the translator. "This is something that I cannot allow to go unsaid. How can I claim to serve you with all my strength if I don't?"
Daenerys sighed. How could she say no to such devotion? There were mummers that faked allegiance, but she had known Missandei for so long that the real article was before her. "Speak your mind."
"I don't trust Jon Snow."
Her eyes narrowed. "Aegon Targaryen. That is his name."
"Dragonrider or not, I still am not sure of that." She began to circle around where Daenerys leaned against the table, arms still crossed. "He was raised by Lord Eddard Stark without even a whisper… I have looked at the genealogies of the great houses of Westeros. There are plenty of Houses with Targaryen ancestry that Lord Stark could have found a daughter to couple with."
"Or he's the son of my brother and Lord Stark's sister. Don't you think that's a far more logical explanation?"
Missandei sighed. "I still don't trust him."
Daenerys leaned back, glaring at her closest advisor. "He has been nothing but fair to me, and my last living family, don't you understand that?" The last came out louder than intended.
Relaxing slightly, Missandei shook her head. "I chose to serve you, your Grace. Was inspired by you. I don't trust his supposed desire to lay down the throne for you. No one would give up that power without taking something back he shouldn't."
Before Daenerys could respond, Ser Jorah knocked on the door. "Khaleesi… Lady Sansa is here."
Daenerys looked to Missandei. "We will resume this later." Her handmaiden curtsied and departed, worried upon her expression. An expression that grew emotionless as she passed Lady Sansa. "My Lady."
Sansa seemed surprised at the flat tone. "Lady Missandei." But the latter was gone, leaving the two of them alone. "Did I come at an improper time?"
"No," Daenerys shook her head. "She is simply worried because of something I discovered earlier."
"What?"
Wait, did Sansa know? From what Varys said, there were secrets Aegon kept even from those close to him. "Are you aware that Aegon was planning on leaving after the war?"
Sansa's eyes widened like saucers. "No…" She looked away, taking a deep breath. "He doesn't really talk about what we do after. He treats it like a luxury we get to have if we live through it."
Daenerys sighed. "I meant to speak with him not an hour ago, and when I found his chambers, I overheard him with his Hand. He said that he's planning on leaving everything behind if he wins."
"What?" Sansa nearly exclaimed, clearly not aware of this. It would appear that Ser Davos and Ser Jaime were in fact the only ones Aegon told of this.
"Is this some ploy to manipulate me? To convince him to stay on the Iron Throne and give up my claim?"
"That kind of a scheme is what Cersei would do, not either of us." Sansa stood her ground. "I do not know what convinced you of these ideas, but they are not the case."
"Except it is what I overheard Aegon speak." Daenerys watched Sansa quiet down. "He was adamant about leaving. I didn't hear everything in the beginning, but I think I heard enough."
Silent for a moment, Sansa finally sat upon one of the couches, motioning for Daenerys to join her. "Jon is not one to make such ploys. His focus and commitment to claim the Iron Throne was absolute, but his heart wasn't in it. He's a very straightforward person… I think trying to trick someone he cares about would tear him up inside."
"Then why is he doing this?" Daenerys would not reveal what Varys said.
"I don't know." Sansa sighed, looking sad. "He has his demons, things he won't share with me. It's why he often goes on walks with Ghost. To be alone with himself."
Daenerys nodded. This was not something she was going to unearth in a day. "So why are you here?"
Sansa blinked. "I don't know anymore I guess. What was the point of all this if he's just going to leave-"
"No no," Daenerys stopped her, almost smiling were it not for the distressing revelations. "I mean why did you come to see me now?"
Sansa blushed slightly. "Oh. I thought I could take you up on your offer… to see the dragons, I mean." For the first time in hours a smile returned to Daenerys' face.
Despite the pressing matters to address, this was a time when a clearer mind would be needed. And there was nothing better for Daenerys than seeing her children.
It turned out that Rhaegal was gone, ridden off by the King to the south. Drogon was quiet in a corner for once, but immediately Viserion approached his mother when she appeared, looking for affection. "Have I not given you enough?" Daenerys stroked his scales, scratching under his jaw and getting the dragon version of a coo, though it sounded more like a rumble. "That's it, sweetling."
"You talk to them as if they're pups," Sansa said, quite surprised, but standing a cautious distance away.
Daenerys had an idea. "Would you like to touch him?"
Sansa was flabbergasted at the idea. "I… don't think he'd want me to."
"Viserion is the most gentle of my children." She went to Sansa, nudging her closer to Viserion before Sansa could react. "Go on," Daenerys murmured, keeping her tone bright and calming so as not to further terrify Sansa than she already must've been. "Relax, he won't harm you as long as I'm here."
Teeth chattering, Sansa's hand trembled as she raised it. "My people say that direwolves smell fear… do dragons?"
"They do," Daenerys joked and Sansa's trembling grew. Perhaps Sansa couldn't notice, but there was mirth glowing in those amber eyes. Daenerys could easily tell from her special bond with her children. "Go on, I'm right here."
"Maybe I shouldn't…"
Daenerys rolled her eyes. "Don't be stubborn. He's all but presented himself to you." Sansa was still hesitant so she took pity on her. "Here, I'll help." Reaching out, Daenerys placed her hand on Sansa's bare wrist and gently guided her palm towards Viserion's scales. Unable to pick up how Sansa's tension seemed to calm with their skin touching…
Worry changed to awe as Sansa finally made contact with the warm, cream scales. Eyes widening and jaw dropping, gazing in wonder. "I'm touching him…" she murmured.
A smile spread on Daenerys' face. "You are."
"Touching a dragon…" Her voice seemed far away. "He's so warm."
"They tend to be," she giggled, mildly surprised when Viserion seemed to inch his head forward. Sansa's touch had turned into soft caresses along the scales.
"He's… he's beautiful," Sansa murmured, seemingly entranced by Viserion. "Nothing as I once thought." She took a step closer, away from Daenerys' grasp, now both hands pressed against his snout. Viserion let out a snort, which made Sansa flinch, but nothing came out of it.
Daenerys was surprised a bit. Gentle as he was, even Viserion didn't let anyone come this close to him… Missandei perhaps, but their interactions barely lasted. Daenerys wished she could ask her child what he felt. "They're not monsters or beasts to me, but children. Gorgeous, however fierce they are."
"I can see that now." Suddenly, Viserion snorted again and reared his head back… any momentary fear calmed as soon as he yawned. Ground rumbling as he ambled away towards the opposite end of the Dragonpit. Both women stared at Viserion, curling up to sleep. "He reminds me of Lady."
Daenerys chuckled and touched Sansa's upper arm. "So, how was that?"
A sigh, smile spreading across Sansa's face. "Amazing… I was apprehensive at first…"
"You looked like you would faint," Daenerys giggled, surprising herself at the informality. But it felt right. "Admit it."
Sansa grinned sheepishly. "Alright, I admit it. But it was worth the chance, truly."
Nodding, Daenerys looked over at Drogon. Usually temperamental, he merely looked at the two of them with some interest. An unusual but not surprising calm moment in her eldest son and bonded dragon. Daenerys snorted as the black dragon lowered his wing. Pleading for a ride. "Impatient as always."
"What?" Sansa looked at Drogon, and understood. "Oh, does he want you to ride him?" Daenerys nodded and Sansa stepped back. "Well, this was quite the experience, Daenerys. I can wait for you, unless you'd wish for me to return to the Red Keep."
Daenerys never called herself impulsive, but truly the circumstances of her life made that an impossibility. The recklessness of youth seemed to finally rear up inside the young Queen. A tiny smirk formed on her face, angling towards Sansa. "Well…" She bit her lip, excitement dancing in her eyes.
Sansa furrowed her brows in confusion… until they widened. "No."
"Come on."
"No, absolutely not." She shook her head. "Arya may have dreamed of riding a dragon, but not I."
"You were afraid to touch a dragon, but you did."
"Touching one and flying a mile above the world are completely different." She frowned, biting her lip. "Would I even be safe? What if he throws me off?"
Daenerys frowned in return. "If he throws you off, he throws me off." She finished that with a glare at Drogon, who to his credit seemed to flinch at the glare.
Seeing the largest of them ever to grace the earth since the death of Vhagar and Caraxes at the God's Eye seemed to mollify Sansa a bit. "How… how would I hold on?"
"By gripping him around my waist, and not making any sudden movements." Daenerys reached out and took Sansa's hand, leading her towards where the dragon waited. Sansa was urged to climb the spines first, which she did with some difficulty. Slowly, which made Daenerys snicker at the sight. Soon enough, she had settled behind Daenerys, arms round her waist just under her chest and holding on tight. "You ready?" Daenerys asked.
"No," her companion replied honestly. "But no going back."
Clicking her teeth, Daenerys gripped the spine. "Sovegon." And with a lurch, Drogon was airborne and Sansa screaming both terror and excitement.
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