Chapter Text
Arya
She remembers her last day in King’s Landing, the day her father was beheaded in front of the masses for all to behold. The day that marked the decimation of her House.
Arya didn’t actually see it, her father’s head rolling off his shoulders after Joffrey gave the execution order, but she did see everyone else. The shouting, the cheers, the utter joy on everyone’s face to see her father, her good, honorable father, die for nothing. In that moment, she wanted all of them dead. Joffrey. Cersei. The guards. The common folk. Every last one of them. She wanted all of King’s Landing to suffer for what it had done to her family. If they had never been there, she would still have a father, a brother, a mother… Those vile, ignorant people, cheering on her father’s demise, she wanted them all to die, preferably by her hand with Needle through each of their eyes. But of course, she didn’t, and she was whisked away from the chaos before she even had the chance to mourn.
And now, so long after it all, and her childish wish had been granted by the Dragon Queen.
In truth, she didn’t really know her at all. In Essos she had heard only vague details of the Mother of Dragon, taking the cities in Slaver’s Bay one by one with her fearsome dragons and freeing their people. But at that time she was consumed by devotion to a Faceless God, no room for any more Targaryen fairy tales. Most of what she knew she had gotten from Jon and Sansa. The way Jon talked about her made him seem like a lovesick teenager, like the broody but earnest big brother she had loved from long ago. Sansa was more distrustful, not opening herself up to the beautiful queen like she had with to many other queens before. It had cost her her family before. She would not do it again.
Jon had been gone for so many years, and so had she. They used to be so similar, but many things had changed since then, for both of them. And though she didn’t love him any less, that idolization she held for him as a young girl had faded away. She and her sister had faced unspeakable horrors while apart, and that made their bond stronger when reunited. And after Jon’s revelation, things had changed irrevocably forever. Jon wasn’t her brother anymore, but her cousin, a Targaryen and the one true heir. Of course, he didn’t want it. Jon never wanted a crown or a kingdom. He wanted the Night’s Watch, and then he didn’t. Then he was King in the North, and then he wasn’t. Now Jon was just Jon, but at the same time he wasn’t, not anymore. He was blindsided, by love, by family, by honor, all of it. She loved Jon, she would do anything for him, but he had a weakness now, a weakness that could lead what remained of their family to ruin. A weakness for silver hair and violet eyes. And that weakness just turned King’s Landing and all its inhabitants to fire and ash.
She walked through the city streets amongst the rubble, the scorched land and the blackened bodies scattered among it. What exactly she was walking towards, she didn’t really know. Or maybe, she was walking away. If she could, she would walk all the way to Winterfell and never come South again. Back into her sister’s arms. Gendry’s arms. Suddenly his proposal seemed like the best thing in the world. Vengeance had consumed her childhood, the majority of her life. She knew Death, she fought Death, for a while she felt like she was Death. But now, with all the names on her list crossed, she felt like she had had about enough Death for one lifetime.
Before she even realizes it, she comes upon the Unsullied army and the Dothraki horde, at least what was left, all standing in formation in front the crumbling remains of the Red Keep. They await their orders from their Queen, their savior. Some savior she turned out to be. All those stories she heard across the Narrow Sea of the Breaker of Chains, the so-called “Mhysa” of former slaves, they all seemed as unlikely as Old Nan’s fairy tales. How could that same person, that same beloved queen, cause so much death and destruction? She knew exactly what Sansa would say to Jon if she were here. It’s what she used to say to Arya when they were still petulant and naïve children in that nagging, condescending tone. “I told you so.”
The Unsullied all began stomping their spears in unison, and the Dothraki began to whoop and cheer, waving their curved blades furiously in the air. She looked toward the Red Keep to see Daenerys Targaryen herself emerge from the ruins. Her black dragon flew above them, sending a dark shadow above the crowd, and bellowed a mighty roar that shook the ground. It landed on the fallen roof of the Red Keep, leering over the crowd, like it was threatening to yet again burn anyone who dared go against its mother. The Mother of Dragons walked to the edge of the steps, standing tall and impassive in front of the cheers of her armies, like their reverence was as useless as the ash below their feet.
Arya walked beside the crowd, drawing closer to the steps, with dark intent. This queen had proven just as mad as her father, the Mad King whose legacy stood right before her. She thought she deserved the Iron Throne, but just like any other mad dog, the only she deserved was to be put down for her crimes. Perhaps there was one last name to cross off her list…
Suddenly, all stomps and cheers ceased as Daenerys Targaryen raised her hand to silence them. Arya stopped, just about twenty yards from the bottom of the steps. She wanted to end this insanity, end the reign of the Mad Queen before it could begin, but first she wanted to hear what she had to say. What reason she could give for her merciless behavior. What justification she could have for the horror she rained down upon the innocent citizens of King’s Landing. What excuse she could provide for not heeding the sound of the bells.
And so, she began to speak.
“I am Daenerys Stormborn,” she proclaimed, “of House Targaryen.
“Before I was born, the Usurper Robert Baratheon killed my father and brother. Ever since then I had never forgotten the desire that burned within me, to take vengeance upon those who destroyed my family and take back the throne that had always belonged to the Targaryens. In that time, I was beaten, sold, raped, threatened, and betrayed by my enemies and my allies. But I never lost sight of my purpose. As I grew older, I had gained a new desire, a new purpose. To free the people of the world of their tyrants, from Essos to Westeros. To break the wheel of power that trampled them into the ground, spun by the all great houses playing the same game. And when I came to shores of my homeland, I had gained yet another purpose. I learned of the threat from the North, the monsters that sought to snuff out all life in this world. I aided the Northerners in their fight for survival, and I lost many whom I cared for because of it.
“This war has cost me my resources, my armies, my friends…my children. I thought, in the end, I would at least have the Iron Throne and the gratitude of the people for saving their lives. But even that was denied to me. I see now that all that I've lost is not enough to gain the respect of the people and the throne I've fought to take for so long. And so I came here, with the vestiges of my army and my last child, to destroy the last of my enemies and claim what is rightfully mine, no matter the cost…”
Arya drunk in the words of the Dragon Queen. Her story was sympathetic, but in the midst of the destruction at her feet it all rang hollow. Whatever her past, whatever her loss, however many, it didn’t give her any right to commit genocide.
“And now, I stand before you victorious. I have defeated my enemy to the North. I have defeated my enemy in the South. Cersei Lannister and her followers are dead. I have taken the Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood, as Aegon the Conqueror did centuries ago.”
‘Fire and blood, huh?’ Well, she did fulfill her promise. The streets and houses are covered with the words of House Targaryen. Now she can rule over the dirt. For whatever time she had left.
“I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons…”
Arya almost rolled her eyes at her listing off her names and titles one by one, as if it would give right and authority to her atrocities. She expected more hypocrisy and self-righteousness to come out of the Dragon Queen’s mouth. But what truly came next, no one could have expected.
“…renounce my claim to the Iron Throne.”