The brooch was still on his chest, red where it should have been gold. Daenerys Targaryen looked at it with tears in her eyes, but they were not of sorrow. Her men stood behind her, wary of what came after. For a while they stood in the stillness, save sounds of salt waves and the screech of dragons. Daenerys sought tranquil to make choices calm and true. But when Varys came to the chambers to give her the name, her mind became oddly clear.
“Missandei!”
The word came as a whip, startling everyone, although the Naathi scribe was right beside her. The queen’s commands were brief. “Send ravens to our friends in the south. Tell them to send every man they can spare to the Iron Islands. Winterfell wants war. I shall give them worse.”
“Your Grace,” began Varys, but Daenerys cut the Spider off. “Do it right away. The time for talk has passed,” she added pointedly. As Missandei scurried away to the rookery, silently weeping, Daenerys ordered some men to call a maester, the others to vacate. Even the Dothraki scampered in her sights.
“My queen,” Varys attempted again, but the eyes of Daenerys were full of fire as she turned, next, onto the Master of Whisperers. “Maybe my father was mad for a reason, Varys. Maybe ruling Seven Kingdoms takes more force and fear than the commonfolk would like. Maybe if I was not advised to give the Starks license, they would not conspire to murder-”
“They did not,” Varys added hurriedly. “It is true that the killer was Stark by blood, but she acted of her own volition. My little birds sing songs of a girl from Braavos, serving the God of Many Faces-”
“Arya Stark may serve the Drowned God for all that it matters,” retorted Daenerys, angry at the interruption. “It does not change her blood, nor her deed. The Starks must pay. What kind of queen must I hope to be if such treason is left unpunished?”
Her claims were met with silence from Varys. The eunuch turned his back to the queen, in the direction of the fallen dwarf instead. “There is blood, to be sure,” he said finally, with a sadness Daenerys did not expect. “Tyrion Lannister was a just man, a good man. After what his own kin did to him, greater men would have been driven to despair and death. If it were not for my appeals, he would not have come to Meereen for the queen across the water. I will not blame myself for this,” he added, although Daenerys suspected otherwise. “His death is tragic… and it is also an outrage that cannot not be tolerated. But I do not believe one act of injustice can be avenged with another. Someone must be punished, but must it not be those who deserve it?”
Varys had the truth of it. If Arya Stark was not sent by Winterfell, she would be marching her armies on the wrong people. Dany could not wage war on a house for crimes they did not commit, but the death of Tyrion Lannister could not go unpunished either. There was a balance she had to find.
“I shall send a raven to Winterfell telling them what has happened,” she said finally, struggling for tones calmer. “I shall command this bastard king to bend his knee. But I will not make the mistake of waiting at Pyke for his answer. We must sail for Barrowton.”
*
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