Chapter Text
“If you want the Iron Throne, take it,” Yara counseled. “We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King’s Landing now, hard, with everything we have. The city will fall in a day.”
Looking out the carved window, Daenerys could see said armies on the beach, the fleet in the harbor. She felt rather than saw her dragons; Drogon and Rhaegal were hunting, judging by their emotions—predatory excitement and hungry focus—while Viserion was warm and broody, likely finding a cave of his choosing between the many on Dragonstone.
Tyrion once again complained about the burning of innocents. “We turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms.”
Daenerys resented that. She did not turn her children loose, especially not upon innocents. Her children were intelligent, loyal creatures. She may only ride Drogon, but all were bonded to her. It was that very bond that allowed her to feel them from miles away.
“It’s called war,” Ellaria challenged, starting a bickering match with Tyrion.
War, indeed, Daenerys pondered.
Finally, she turned to face her advisors. “I am not here to be Queen of the Ashes.”
Olenna waxed on about her granddaughter, a once loved Queen, now nothing but ashes. “Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children, really. They won’t obey you, unless they fear you.”
“Who said I need to burn a single scrap of thatch to take the Kingdoms?”
Tyrion hesitated. “I agree, Your Grace. Which is why, my ladies, we have discussed utilizing the armies of the Reach and Dorne to launch a siege of the capital…”
Daenerys ignored Tyrion as he explained their plan to Yara, Olenna, and Ellaria to focus on their reactions. Daenerys saw the distaste in her advisors’ faces. Not just at the usage of their armies rather than Daenerys's own, but at the idea of a siege. The taking of Casterly Rock received easy agreement, as did the ferrying of the Dornish army from Sunspear to King’s Landing with Yara’s fleet.
But once Tyrion began speaking, stalking around the table, moving the map markers around and knocking down the Lannister lions as appropriate, Daenerys realized a number of holes in the plan. Seeing it all laid out on the map, she saw their flanks. And hearing Tyrion boast his explanation, she saw the blinding bravado guiding his decisions. And neglecting some details he likely thought below him.
The Reach, Dorne, and hopefully the Riverlands and the Westerlands. Four armies to feed. She’d brought enough stores from Meereen to feed her Unsullied and Dothraki, but four additional armies?
And sending all of their armies out to sea, where Euron’s Lannister loyal fleet lurked?
“Are we all in agreement?” Tyrion asked.
“No.”
Her advisors stopped nodding, gazes snapping to hers.
“Your Grace?” Tyrion began. “We discussed this plan, designed it together. You believed it to be the best course of action.”
“And now I do not.” She stepped towards the table. It was her turn to play with models. “Where is Euron’s fleet? Varys?”
The spider studied Daenerys. “Latest reports have them leaving Blackwater Bay, Your Grace.”
“Are we to send Yara on a ferrying mission directly into her uncle’s fleet? While I have no doubt you and your ships could handle your uncle, I promised you to aid you in your fight with him. I also have no desire to expend ships in such an avoidable battle.”
Tyrion cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we need to retrieve the Dornish armies—”
“We will.” Daenerys reached for the Kraken. “Yara’s fleet will sail for Sunspear. My children and I shall escort you personally. Assuming we run into your uncle on the way south, I will burn the entire fleet to cinders and return to Dragonstone. If not, I’m sure we will meet him on the return trip.”
“Your Grace, if I may—”
“Allow me to continue, Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys plucked up the helm of the Unsullied. “Half of the Unsullied and Dothraki will sail for the Westerlands to take the Lannister gold. Greyworm will lead this battalion. The other half will sail for Highgarden to retrieve the grain remaining in the Reach. My children and I will join both forces should they encounter resistance once we have dealt with Euron’s fleet.
“The stores we ferried from Meereen could be stretched to feed all our soldiers, but it is an unnecessary strain. When Lord Tully is escorted back by the Second Sons, along with the lords of the Westerlands and Stormlands who wish to treat with us, we will only gain more mouths to feed should they bend the knee.
“But we will not rely on alliances we do not possess, nor armies we do not have. Once the Dornish arrive with the Iron Islanders, and the Unsullied and Dothraki return from their campaigns, we will take King’s Landing.”
“Your Grace, I must remind you of the innocents within the city walls—”
“I have not forgotten the smallfolk, Lord Tyrion.” She fixed her hand with a glare, tired of his interruptions. “Forgive me my ladies, but I never received a formal education. However, my brother Viserys once told me the story of Harrenhall. I believe the basics entailed that Balerion the Black Dread’s fire burned so hot, it melted the stone walls?”
“Sounds like a perfect retelling to me, Your Grace,” Lady Olenna offered.
Daenerys hummed. “While my children are not yet as large as Balerion was hailed to be during the Conquest, I do believe my three children should find no trouble felling the gates of King’s Landing and the Red Keep. Only Lannister soldiers will find themselves drowning in dragonfire, then.”
Tyrion sighed. “And how do you mean to take the Keep, if not with your dragons, Your Grace?”
“With our numerous armies, of course. I believe we will find no resistance from the unarmed smallfolk. Once the gates have fallen, our men can march through the streets to the Keep and meet Cersei in the throne room.”
Daenerys glanced at her Hand. They had never explicitly mentioned what to do with Cersei once they took the throne from her. She could be convinced to allow the Lannister queen to leave in exile, but after the Masters of Meereen and the Sons of the Harpy, she found herself growing tired of mercy for nobles who had made their beds.
Perhaps she would allow Cersei the mercy of choosing between steel and flame for her death.
“Do any of you see any holes in this proposal? Any exposed flanks?”
Daenerys half expected Tyrion to launch into a list of issues, but instead, she found the room in a thoughtful silence.
“The lords of the Stormlands and Westerlands, are they bringing their armies with them to treat with you, Your Grace?” Lady Ellaria asked.
“Houses Lonmouth, Tarth, and Selmy of the Stormlands replied to my invite saying they would bring their men to join my cause. Any other houses who appear have not indicated one way or another.” Daenerys was surprised the spider had waited for her to answer instead of supplying the information he was supposedly well-versed in. “Lord Varys?”
“Your Grace has reported on the latest whispers I have heard.” Daenerys pressed her lips together, but nodded. “What of the Vale, my Queen?” the spider asked.
“According to your little birds, the knights of the Vale are all but extinguished after the Battle of the Bastards. Should the Vale continue to be aligned with the North, we shall simply wait for winter to come and force their hand, just as we will with the Starks.”
“My Queen?”
“Yes, Greyworm?”
The Unsullied took a single step forward from his place at Daenerys's flank. “Perhaps it would be better for Unsullied and Dothraki to march. Horses do not fit easily on ships, and this map says we are not far from our destinations. Dothraki will ride and Unsullied will march. We do not tire like weaker men.”
Daenerys considered this. It would strengthen the fleet headed to Dorne. Strength they may need if things with Euron got out of hand. “You are correct, Greyworm. When we are finished here, you and I shall meet with my bloodriders to discuss the routes you shall take. Thank you for your counsel.”
The Commander bowed his head and stepped back.
“My ladies?”
“I’m with you,” Lady Yara said without hesitation.
Lady Olenna smiled from across the table. “As am I, my Queen.”
Lady Ellaria lifted her chin. “The Dornish stand with you.”
Daenerys nodded her thanks. “Lady Missandei?”
Her faithful advisor betrayed no surprise at being called upon. “I see no faults, Your Grace, but should one appear to me, I will let you know.”
“Thank you. That is all I ask of all of you. As we just saw, no one person can see the best course of action.” Tyrion stiffened beside her, but did not speak. “Very well, we are done here. Lady Olenna, could I speak with you for a moment? I would like your insight on where Greyworm and my bloodriders should head for in the Reach.”
The other nobles began to file out.
“Should you wish to consider a betrothal to Prince Trystane, I would be amenable to that discussion after I return from Sunspear, Your Grace.”
Daenerys kept her face impassive at Ellaria’s reminder of her rather fragile alliance with Dorne. Olenna and the Reach wanted revenge against Cersei for Margaery Tyrell. Yara wanted to protect her claim to the Salt Throne from her uncle. But Dorne, as they historically had been, were relatively untied to the last Targaryen.
“I will remember to seek you out upon your return, Lady Ellaria.”
The lady departed, leaving Daenerys and Olenna alone. With Greyworm and Missandei, of course.
“Even the most powerful woman in Westeros is not free of pushes for marriage. Not even from her bastard advisor,” Olenna groused.
Daenerys took a seat beside the Queen of Thorns. “Perhaps not. Though I am aware that the hand of a queen is a bargaining chip I have at my disposal, should I need it.”
Olenna rolled her eyes. “While you are not wrong, my dear, you are not just some Westerosi lady, or a Westerosi queen.” She studied Daenerys, as she often did. “Will you take a bit of advice from an old woman?”
Daenerys waved an inviting hand. “Please.”
Olenna knit her fingers together in her lap. “He’s a clever lord, your Hand. I’ve known a great many clever men. I’ve outlived them all. You know why? I ignored them.” Olenna leaned forward, looking into Daenerys's soul with her knowing stare. “The lords of Westeros are sheep. Are you a sheep, as your Hand wishes you to be? No. You’re a dragon. Be a dragon.”
And damn propriety, damn her stoney, court mask—
Daenerys smiled.
“Forgive me, my Queen,” Greyworm began, “but there is a Red Priestess from Asshai here to speak with you.”
---
The Red Priestess curtseyed upon Daenerys's arrival. “Issa dāria.” My Queen .
“The followers of the Lord of Light helped bring peace to Meereen. You are welcome here. What is your name?”
“Melisandre, issa dāria.” She bowed her head. “The Long Night is coming, Your Grace. Even if you do not follow the Lord of Light, I believe you to be his champion in the fight to come.”
“You speak of prophecy, then? Or what you have seen in the flames?”
The priestess gave a small smile. “Both, issa dāria. My Lord has given me visions of the future, but has also given me the ability to see what is right in front of me.”
Daenerys raised a brow.
“Kīviō dārilaros. Ao kessa maghagon se ñāqes.”
The Prince Who Was Promised. You will bring the Dawn.
“I’m afraid I’m not a prince.”
Missandei spoke. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but that noun has no gender in High Valyrian. It would be properly translated as prince or princess.”
Dragons have no gender, they are as changeable as flame. Of course the language of dragons would be just as capricious.
“Be that as it may,” Daenerys intoned, “I have little use for prophecy. Let alone children's tales of the Long Night. You believe this prophecy refers to me?”
The Red Priestess lifted her chin. “I believe you have a role to play. As does another. The King in the North, Jon Snow.”
“You know him to be the king, then?” asked Daenerys. “We have not yet confirmed if it is Ned Stark’s bastard or his daughter who has claimed control of the North.” Yet another piece of news Varys had failed to beat.
“I know nothing of the petty details of Northern politics. What I do know is Jon Snow has seen the threat beyond the Wall and lived to tell the tale. Summon Jon Snow. Hear what he has witnessed, what he has survived.”
Tyrion stepped forward. “I cannot speak to prophecy, but Jon Snow is an honorable man. It would do us good to ally with the North.” He rambled about how the Starks have every reason to hate the Lannisters for Ned and Robb Stark’s deaths, but Daenerys found his counsel lacking.
The North was a barren, wintery wasteland at the moment. They could not possibly forgive House Targaryen for her father’s role in the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, nor more than they could forgive the Lannisters as Tyrion described. Even if the Red Priestess was insistent upon this Jon Snow’s role in the upcoming Long Night, not even she could confirm if Snow or the Stark girl held power in the North.
Daenerys's focus was on King’s Landing, on the Six Kingdoms not riddled with winter storms. She was focused on securing the Riverlands by reducing the Tully lord, the Stormlands through fluttering her lashes at some bannermen, and the Westerlands through fire and blood—and theft.
The North would have to fall in line. Winter was here, and Daenerys would soon me in possession of all the crops in the other six Kingdoms. Starvation or bending the knee—a relatively easy choice to make.
“You may write to the Starks, Lord Tyrion, and invite them to Dragonstone as I have with the lords of the Stormlands, Westerlands, and Riverlands. However, if they desire anything from me, they should arrive on bent knees.”