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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 115: The Dragon's Council
The Great Pyramid of Astapor had been reduced to a skeleton of blackened stone, and its once-majestic form was now a hollow shell that echoed with the memories of the cruelty committed between these walls.
Daenerys walked through its crumbling halls, her footsteps echoing against the scorched walls, her violet eyes taking in the destruction that she had wrought.
She had done this. She had brought fire and blood to the city of the Masters, had torn down their symbols of power and freed their slaves.
It had been necessary, she told herself. It had been justice. But as she looked at the ruins, she could not help but wonder what she was building in its place.
The freed slaves were already at work, clearing debris and rebuilding homes destroyed in the chaos. They sang as they worked, their voices rising in songs of gratitude and hope.
They called her the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, the liberator of the oppressed. They looked at her as if she were a goddess.
But Daenerys did not feel like a goddess. She felt like a woman carrying the weight of the masses on her shoulders.
'If there is a god among us… it is not me.'
She suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and turned around.
"Your Grace."
The smooth voice came from behind her.
Daenerys found Lord Varys approaching, but he was not the owner of the footsteps she had heard. The spider was always silent when walking.
But he was not alone. A young girl walked at his side. She had dark skin, as polished ebony, and wide black eyes focused completely on her.
"Lord Varys," Daenerys said, her voice carrying a note of curiosity. "Who is this?"
Varys smiled while pointing to the young girl at his side. "This is Missandei, Your Grace. She was one of the slaves who served the Chief Master. She often acted as an interpreter, as she speaks several languages fluently." He paused, his eyes gleaming with calculation. "I thought she might make a good servant for you. She knows much about Astapor and the other cities of Slaver's Bay. She could be quite useful."
"Is that so?" Daenerys studied the girl, her eyes taking in her small frame, her intelligent gaze, the way she held herself with a quiet dignity that belied her years. She was young…no more than eleven or twelve, but there was something in her eyes that spoke of wisdom beyond her age.
"Missandei," Daenerys said, her voice soft. "Do you know who I am?"
The girl nodded, her voice steady despite her obvious nervousness. "You are Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains. You freed us from the Masters. You are our queen." She knelt.
"No need for that." Daenerys made a gesture for her to stand. "I am your queen, yes. But I am not your master. You are no longer a slave, Missandei. This means that you are free to go wherever you wish, to do whatever you desire."
Missandei's eyes widened, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Free? I... I do not understand. I have always been a slave. I do not know how to be anything else."
Daenerys stepped closer and spoke in a gentle manner. "You will learn. And I will help you. If you wish to stay with me, you may. I will compensate you for your work, and you will be treated with dignity and respect. And if you ever wish to leave, you may do so. You will not be held against your will."
Missandei stared at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You would... compensate me?"
Daenerys nodded. "Of course… It's only fair. You are no longer property, Missandei. You are a person, and you have value beyond what the Masters saw in you."
The girl was silent for a long moment, her emotions warring across her young face. Then she bowed her head, her voice barely a whisper. "I would like to stay, Your Grace. If you will have me."
Daenerys smiled, reaching out to touch the girl's shoulder. "I will have you, Missandei. Welcome to my service. So…how many languages can you speak?"
"Nineteen, um…" She glanced at Lord Varys.
"You may refer to her as Your Grace or Queen Daenerys." The eunuch told her.
"Nineteen, Your Grace," Missandei said. "Including High Valyrian, Low Valyrian, Dothraki, the Common Tongue of Westeros, and I have also been studying the dead language of the old Ghiscari Empire."
"That…impressive." Daenerys appeared genuinely shocked. "Very well, you will be my interpreter when I need one. Otherwise, you can act as a normal handmaid and help me with my daily routine."
Missandei looked up at her, a flicker of hope in her eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace. I will serve you well."
<><>
Daenerys's small council had gathered in the captain's cabin of the Shadow's Kiss, the ship's dark wood and black sails a fitting backdrop for the weighty decisions that lay before them.
Daenerys sat at the head of the table, her eyes fixed on the map that lay spread before her.
Jorah stood at her side, his weathered face etched with concern.
Tyrion sat across from her, his eyes gleaming with calculation.
Lyssara stood in the corner, even though she rarely spoke during these meetings.
And finally, Varys was seated at the Queen's left side.
There was a seat reserved for Joffrey, but it was currently empty because the sorcerer had little interest in these meetings.
"We have the gold from the Masters' coffers," Jorah said with a firm tone. "Enough to buy ships, supplies, and more from the nearby cities. Combined with the fifteen ships we took from Euron, we could have a fleet capable of transporting the Unsullied in a matter of months. We could sail to Westeros before the year is out."
Daenerys's eyes narrowed. "I will not buy ships from slavers, Ser Jorah. I will not enrich the very people I am trying to destroy."
Jorah's jaw tightened. "Your Grace, I understand your feelings on the matter. But we must be practical. The longer we stay in Slaver's Bay, the more time our enemies in Westeros have to consolidate their power. Stannis may be dead, but the Lannisters are still on the throne. The Tyrells are scheming. The Martells are restless. We need to strike while the iron is hot."
"Or we could build something worth ruling," Tyrion said, his voice carrying a note of dry amusement. "The Queen has a vision, Ser Jorah. She wants to create a new world, not just conquer an old one. That takes time."
Jorah turned to him, his voice sharp. "Time we do not have. The Ironborn will not forget what we did to their fleet. The Masters of Slaver's Bay will not forget what we did to Astapor. We have enemies on all sides, and we are sitting here debating philosophy."
Daenerys raised her hand, silencing the argument. "Enough. I have made my decision. We will liberate Yunkai and Meereen before we sail to Westeros. I will not leave the slaves of Slaver's Bay to suffer under new masters. They have earned their freedom, and I will not abandon them."
Jorah opened his mouth to protest, but Daenerys cut him off. "I will not be swayed on this, Ser Jorah. The slaves of Slaver's Bay deserve better. And I will give them just that."
Jorah fell silent, his face a mask of frustration. He knew better than to argue with her when she spoke with such finality.
Tyrion leaned forward, his voice thoughtful. "Yunkai is going to be a different challenge than Astapor, Your Grace. The Wise Masters are not as divided as the Good Masters. They will see what happened here, and they will be prepared. They will not make the same mistakes. We are going to be received with blades and arrows."
Daenerys nodded slowly. "I have considered that. Which is why we will not use the same strategy."
Tyrion smiled, a hint of approval in his eyes. "I am glad to hear you say that, Your Grace. Adaptability is the key to survival."
Daenerys's eyes moved across the table until they landed on Tyrion. "What does Joffrey think of this?. I have not seen him since we took the Iron Fleet."
Tyrion flinched. "Joffrey has been... occupied, Your Grace. He has been studying the horn, trying to understand its secrets. He believes it may be useful in the wars to come. He also seems to be working on another experiment that he won't tell me about…the Hound is always guarding the door to his cabin."
Daenerys felt a flicker of irritation, perhaps, or something deeper. "He has not sought my counsel on the matter. He has not sought me at all."
Tyrion made a troubled expression, unsure of what to say. "Well…ehm…I'm sure he will seek you out soon, Your Grace. An artifact such as that Valyrian horn will take some time to understand."
Daenerys forced herself to nod, to keep her expression neutral. But inside, she felt a twinge of something she did not want to name.
<><>
The gardens of Astapor were a rare oasis in the barren city, a place filled with vegetation that had been cultivated by the Masters for their own pleasure.
Daenerys could hear the steps of her personal guards a few feet behind as she walked while trying to pretend she was alone.
She needed to think and didn't want the other members of her council to see her like this.
Daenerys had told herself that she was doing all of this for the slaves, that she was building a better world. And she believed it, truly she did.
But there was something else gnawing at her, something that had nothing to do with politics or conquest.
She had not seen Joffrey in days. He had been consumed by his studies, by whatever secrets he was trying to unlock now. And when she had seen him, he had been with Saera, the woman who served him so faithfully.
And sometimes, she had been told that Tyrion's assistant, that Northern redhead woman called Ros, would also visit Joffrey's chambers at night.
Daenerys had tried to convince herself that she was not jealous. She was a queen, a mother of dragons, a liberator of slaves. She had no time for petty emotions. But the feeling refused to go away.
She watched them together, her and his maid. She watched the easy intimacy between them, the way Saera touched Joffrey's arm, the way he smiled at her, the way they seemed to understand each other without words.
Daenerys had never had that. At some point, she thought she did, but that was only a delusion in the end.
She had never had anyone who understood her so completely, who saw her as something other than a queen or a conqueror.
She had Jorah, who loved her with an almost painful devotion.
She had Tyrion, who respected her mind.
She had Varys, who served her faithfully.
But she was still lacking something.
She thought back to the moment on the Storm Dancer, when she had looked at Joffrey, and he had understood what she was saying without words. She thought back to the night she had waited for him, when she had felt a bitterness in her heart that she could not explain.
She understood now what that bitterness was.
She was in love with Joffrey Baratheon.
And he did not love her back.
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