Chapter Text
"Are you a sheep?"
Lady Olenna's eyes narrowed as she tilted her head in provocation. Daenerys kept still, unwilling to give anything to the old lady, who returned her a faint smile, unbothered by the lack of reaction. "No. You're a dragon." And the smile was gone.
"Be a dragon."
x
Daenerys sat alone by the painted table, one hand resting over it, nail idling tapping over the wooden surface. Her eyes at half mast traveled over the continent her ancestors had claimed as their own, musing over their hardships and victories.
She resented them.
It was foolish, and unfair, but she did all the same. Had they not united Westeros, she doubted her family would have fallen quite so horribly. Doubted she would have ended up being the last of them, with no hope to birth another human child and continue their line.
It would all end with her.
Yet, what choice did she have but to spend every effort to restore their legacy? She couldn't let her father be the last Targaryen to sit on that throne, couldn't leave their family name sullied for eternity. Since she was the last, it was her duty to make it right before the eyes of Westeros.
It was just as well, though. Since she was the last, she would uproot all the filth and take it to the grave with her. By the time she was done with this life, Westeros would welcome a new age without kings and queens to oppress them with their whims.
But it couldn't be done without violence. Although she loathed it, she wasn't naive to believe change could be achieved peacefully. Lhazar had seen to that. Blood would be spilled either by her hand or by the hand of her enemies. Meereen had proven it.
Her mercy couldn't be used against her.
She thought back to the siege in Dragon Bay, the result of her Hand's actions. The rage she felt when hearing about his plans of keeping slavery lawfully for another five years.
Clever plans by clever men.
Daenerys looked at the wooden lion piece fallen at Casterly Rock. It would demoralize Cersei, her Hand had said, to have her ancestor's castle taken away from her, and she could see the sense in it. It was smart enough to have her allies stop squabbling and swear their services. It had also been the beginning of the previous King in the North's end, or so she had been told. She had trusted his judgement on account of them standing on westerosi soil, where her Hand was supposed to excel, yet something kept nagging at her, the fallen lion mocking her cluelessness.
Her eyes narrowed.
Daenerys hadn't known Slaver's Bay when she conquered it, but she had trusted her instincts. And her commanders.
Lord Tyrion was no commander. And he was fighting against his sister.
As awful as Viserys had been to her, she would never have it in her to kill her brother. She believed his fate had been tragically sealed the moment they left the house with the red door, but it didn't stop her from mourning what could have been. She wouldn't trust herself to be objective when fighting against her brother, and maybe she shouldn't blindly trust her Hand either.
Tyrion clearly resented Lady Ellaria for the death of his niece, and while she couldn't blame him for that, she also couldn't be sure he had set his feelings aside when planning their placement in her war. Her heart sank in her chest, and her eyes darted to the sun and spear near King's Landing.
Yara also wanted to get rid of her murderous uncle, yet he hadn't even been discussed in their war council. Who could guarantee her his fleet wouldn't ruin their plans? Or that he wouldn't ally with Cersei now that she wasn't an option to him?
A ball of fire formed in her belly as her hands clenched in tight fists above the painted wood. She tried to keep her breathing even, but it grew labored all the same. This was her war. Her allies. Her people. She couldn't afford to lose. If she lost due to a man's clever plans it would be the most humiliating end to her family's legacy.
No. She would never allow it. If she was doomed to fail, it would be by her own doing. By her own mistakes. It would be because for once in her life, her instincts had failed her. She owed it to all who followed her.
Daenerys rose from her seat, keeping both hands sprayed on the table. Eyes closed, a deep breath filled her lungs, expanding them to the maximum, before being slowly exhaled through her mouth. Opening them again halfway, they surveyed the whole map once more, her rage transformed into determination as her children cried in fury not far from her. She smiled despite herself and straightened up, walking towards the balcony in a sedate pace. The dragons were close, brimming with energy and begging for her to fly with them.
No one would leave the island today, and she would make sure they wouldn't leave tomorrow either. A break now would clear her mind, and she could survey the area around her.
At least this was a plan she could support with all her being.