Preparations had been made and ships were to sail on the morrow, but Daenerys Targaryen had lost her will for war. Privacy was a gift when all she wished was to lose herself in her mind, lamenting the loss of Daario, of Ser Barristan, Drogo, her child, Jorah, whom there was no word from, and now Tyrion Lannister. She had ordered him kept in a jeweled casket, unsure if his body would ever be brought to Casterly Rock.
She had forgotten her brother Viserys. He was a cruel man, she thought immediately, but felt regret after. Viserys was vain and weak-willed, yet they were siblings bound by blood. When he had melted in front of me, I felt nothing, a cruel voice reminded her. She remembered that feeling when she left Daario in Dragon’s Bay as well. Varys the Spider’s hints came haunting.
Maybe he had the right of it.
Maybe it was because of her moon blood, but Daenerys thought the voyage into her past more a trapping, less a liberation. She called Missandei for company, one person she knew would not be preparing for war. The Naathi scribe entered her chambers with caution on her face, and Daenerys instantly felt for her pity. Missandei had been affected by Tyrion’s death, but also by Dany’s harsh manner when she commanded her to send the ravens. She could not help it. The dragon had awakened.
Daenerys tried to keep such thoughts away from her. It would not do to be short of temper. She began the conversation gently, a means of apology. “Missandei, I am curious to know what you are thinking.”
“I promise to offer my queen full and free counsel,” came Missandei’s dutiful words.
The pangs of guilt felt stronger, but she decided against the urge to apologize. A queen must not be too soft of heart. Instead, she asked what she wanted to. “My Hand has been killed by a Stark, but the people I command to surrender may not be at fault. There must be consequences for Tyrion’s murder, but are they just? I cannot expect to lead Westeros if I do not fight my supposed enemies. What would you have me do?”
Missandei’s eyes were shining; Dany suspected she was holding back tears at the mention of the deceased Tyrion. When she spoke, her voice was solid and steady. “I have the honor of serving the Breaker of Chains,” she said. “I have been rescued from a life of slavery and sorrow. I have seen you abolish servitude from Slaver’s Bay when I did not think it possible in a hundred lifetimes. My queen must know best. Whatever she commands, I will follow.”
As Missandei left closing the red door behind her, Daenerys was reminded of one of the houses she sheltered in, hiding from Robert Baratheon’s men. Memories with Viserys resurfaced, as she recalled fleeing from city to city with him, escaping the Usurper’s assassins by half a day. She sighed. They were times simpler.
*
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