Rustling through the tall weeds, the wind blew across the endless fields of yellow. Back here again. Clutching the straps of her horse, Dany tried to focus on the road, ignoring the soreness of her inner thighs. By now, her guess was, the dark purple had consumed and replaced the last hint of yellowish, nearly faded bruises. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadows. Kinvara’s voice dominated her thoughts. For the past few days, Dany was distracted by the last thing the red priestess had told her. How could Kinvara possibly know those words? The words of the strange woman by the name of Quaithe, who appeared in her dreams. To go north, you must go south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back, and to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadows. Dany never shared those words with anyone. What could they even mean? She wished, everyone would just stop talking in riddles.
She felt his eyes over the shoulder, her dress left revealed. Riding beside her, Daario never failed stealing glances of his Queen. It sure was flattering, but not nearly enough to stop her from wishing they came from those Stark grey eyes instead. Daario and the Unsullied followed her and who did Jon follow, she did not know, nor wished to know. As he was riding behind them, it was easier to pretend he wasn’t there at all. That lustful gaze of Daario, however, woke something in her, something that required satisfying, something that painted an image of Jon laying on top of her, gazing upon her with hunger in his eyes, a ravenous desire… something she had no time for now.
One dry morning, a wooden box arrived to Meereen as a gift for the Dragon Queen. A head. She recognized the face at once. A younger version of it was still awaiting her approval to go home, to return to Yunkai. Seems yet again, the slavers had gotten used to the comfort their slaves provided. Seeing how there was no trace of a dragon in the skies above them, the masters saw Dany’s message as nothing but a petty attempt to evoke fear in Meereen’s enemies. The breaker of chains was now forced to make a tough decision. Either take her armies south, proving her title true once more, or head North… to her child. A lifetime ago, she would have made this decision lightly, putting the people before herself, before Drogon, as any good ruler should. She was no longer a Queen though. She was, however, a mother.
Before leaving the city, Dany ordered the Second Sons to stay and keep it safe in case the slavers grew bold again, whilst Daario insisted on joining her. If Jon was going, so was he. Furthermore, she freed the young man whose father was slaughtered by their slaver-friends and informed him of his father’s death. Despite Dany’s warning, the young man requested proof and after the head was cleaned and made as well as it could look, it was presented to him in the box it came with. He was given an offer he could not refuse. Dany knew exactly how he felt - eager for fire and blood and therefore, was sent to get the revenge he sought. All of this aligned with her interests as well. As long as the slavers waged war amongst themselves, Meereen would be left alone. Her offer also required him to break Yunkai’s slave tradition in her name, after he avenged his father. Of course, experience has taught her better than to put her trust in a slaver, so her hopes of putting an end to slavery this way, remained low. When a choice is presented and you make a tough decision, there was always a consequence. One of the first lessons she learnt as a young Queen. To gain the young master’s trust though, and persuade him to act in her name rather than his father’s butchers, she also sent all his soldiers, who survived the Unsullied and the Second Sons back with him, before she headed to the Dothraki Sea.
As if the news of Drogon daily being hunted by the King’s armies and the Dothraki weren’t painful enough, Dany was also informed of the new scorpions designed by her former Hand. As if convincing the man she loved to put a knife in her heart wasn’t enough, now Tyrion went onto wishing Drogon dead as well. She left the thought of him screaming in agony amid the flames entertain her for a while, before pushing it away. One thing was certain, she could not wait to see his face when she stands right in front of him again. And stand in front of him again… she will.
The riding went even slower, her on-foot soldiers slept for only half of what she, Daario and Jon did and yet when they would catch up with the tireless warriors, their horses would amble more than gallop. The overwhelming sun was leaving its trace over her bare shoulder, turning her skin red. On the other side, the situation wasn’t much better either. The silver three headed dragon that held the light burgundy dress over her shoulder, carried a heat of a sun alone. Anyone else would have removed it, but she was the Unburnt.
After the sun dove into the sea of yellow, indicating the halt of the riding, the three horse riders withdrew from the path to take their rest while the Unsullied marched on. Away from the city lights, the darkness of the sky filled with stars offered a breathtaking view. The moon was taking its own rest tonight, letting the stars shine even brighter. Laying on her back she couldn’t take her eyes off them. So beautiful, I could stay a thousand years… with not a soul to know where I am, away from wars and thrones and priestesses, she thought.
“Who is he? Did you love him?” Daario gestured towards Jon who was fast asleep… well as far as she could tell, his back was turned to them. Right… these two would know where I am.
“Daario… It’s late, we should rest.” Jon was never a part of any conversation she wished to have.
“Would you marry him had he asked you?” Sensing the jealousy in his voice, she knew, all she had to do to calm him down, was tell the truth.
“What? Of course not.”
“How can you have him by your side? How can you even trust someone like that?”
“I could never trust someone like that… And as you know, I told him to leave, but…” she lifted her hand towards Jon “Besides, it doesn’t matter, he can do what he wishes. If he were to kill us, he would have done so already.” She smiled to comfort the worried expression on Daario’s face. When that failed she walked to him and took his face in her hands, kneeling next to him. “Thank you for keeping Meereen safe while I was gone, thank you for never betraying me.” Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his quickly, as a sign of honest thank you.
Daario was asleep the moment she eased his doubts, her mind on the other hand, was left wondering off through the starry night. Jon rolled over, facing her, his eyes shut and his belly following the rhythm of his deep, sleepy breaths. The nights were the only time she could steal glances of him, without being caught. If she was honest with herself, she would like nothing more right now, than lay next to him, take his arm, wrap it around her and get lost in him… like she used to. How could you betray me like that? Why did it have to be you? Her mind full of questions with no answers. Now and again her eyes would drift off to Daario. How did they look so alike, yet were so different? A man who would kill a realm for her, and a man who killed her for the realm. A man she trusted but could not love, and a man she loved but could not trust. Luckily, Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t that girl anymore. Love and trust were words that interested her no more. She didn’t need them, believe in them nor had room for them.
The morning came and brought the Dothraki Sea’s heat along. The sun was already higher than Dany would have wished. As they rode, faint distant screams snuck through the grass, inducing her to hasten the pace. Near the stream, near Drogon’s old lair, her child was nowhere to be found. Instead, an army of screaming horse-lords welcomed them. Between the weeds, her Unsullied were facing their former allies. Judging by the lifeless bodies on the ground, they have been at it since the break of dawn. She was always curious to know, had the Unsullied met the Dothraki on an open field, who would be the one left standing. This wasn’t the time to find out though. As Dany was trying to locate her Master of War, Daario went on to join the fight while Jon stood still, examining the crowd of bloodthirsty screamers. Finally, he said “Stay here, I will find Grey Worm.”
He must have seen the distrust in her eyes as his horse got in her way. “Dany, you cannot head in there, you are going to get yourself killed.”
When she nodded, his horse galloped forward, diving into danger as if Jon had acquired his target. Longclaw was working its way through weeds and people alike, until he got off his horse and disappeared into the grass. He must have found Grey Worm. She hated sitting at the back like this, watching her Unsullied being torn apart by these savages and feeling useless. Whoever their khal was, he was everything Dany once feared Drogo was. A bloodthirsty savage, with rape, violence and death as his main entertainment. Just when she was about to head into the deadly crowd, a loud scream lifted every arakh up in the air. The fight stopped and the Dothraki seemed to be withdrawing into a wide circle. What is it now? She dug her heels into the horse and followed the crowd when she spotted Grey Worm, elbow-deep covered in his enemies blood. Jon was nowhere near him though.
When the center of the circle opened between the braided heads, Jon was standing in the middle, clutching Longclaw, his eyes fixed on the man who once held a tight rope around his throat. Grey Worm was never his target, their khal was and challenging him meant stopping the battle. The crowd around them was full of screaming savages, decorated in red pigment to inspire blood out of their enemies, intensifying the angst in the air.
For the first time ever, Jon was not wearing his armor in a fight and that woke a slight discomfort in Dany, for she might be witnessing his death. To make matters worse, his leg still bore a wound from Daario’s dagger. The khal towered over his opponent, at least a head taller. Sneaking under his huge arm to the left, Jon avoided his first heavy blow, but when he tried to strike back, the arakh caught Longclaw while a heavy arm pushed him on the chest, nearly stumbling back. The khal was not just huge, but fast too. Everytime Jon struck, the arakh parried, clashing through the perfect silence. Jon was clearly faster, though he seemed to be holding back. What is he waiting for? His next retaliation attempt, however, did not go as planned. His opponent anticipated Jon’s dodge, throwing him on the ground as if he were a child. Swinging for the kill, the khal was greeted by Longclaw’s sharp edge in his gut, the red paint inspiring his own blood out. Now, Jon’s strategy became clear, the huge man lost his speed to exhaustion, just like he had hoped. As the massive body of his opponent hit the ground, Jon Snow rose to his feet as the new khal.
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