Chapter 147: The Queen’s Burdens

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

-Author notes-

Chapter 147: The Queen's Burdens

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Daenerys's chambers.

She sat before her mirror, her silver hair cascading down her back, while Missandei worked a brush through the tangles with gentle, practiced strokes.

"You seem troubled, Your Grace," Missandei said, her voice soft.

Daenerys did not answer immediately. She stared at her reflection, at the violet eyes looking back at her, at the lines of worry forming at the corners of her mouth.

"I am worried about him," she admitted. "Joffrey."

Missandei's brush paused for a moment, then resumed its steady rhythm. "He has been in his laboratory for days. The servants say he does not eat. He does not sleep…who knows what he is doing in there?"

"Yes, and that is part of what worries me." Daenerys closed her eyes. "Yesterday, we received news about what happened in Braavos. The House of Black and White is gone. Burned to the ground. Everyone inside is dead."

Missandei flinched. "So…the Faceless Men are gone??

"At least the ones were inside." Daenerys opened her eyes, her expression troubled. "I should be glad. They were assassins. They killed innocent people. They killed Saera and almost killed Jorah."

"But you are not glad. Why is that?" Missandei asked.

Daenerys turned to face the girl. " I can't help but be worried. Joffrey went there in a fit of rage. He was grieving and angry."

Missandei set the brush aside. "He destroyed the House of Black and White. Is that not justice?. Is that not a good thing?"

"Perhaps." Daenerys stood, her robes rustling around her. "But I fear what else he might have done. What he might do still. The power that wield is capable of causing terrible things to happen…if he is not thinking clearly."

She walked to the window, looking out over the city of Meereen. The sun was rising over the pyramids, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The streets were already filling with people…merchants, farmers, freedmen going about their daily lives.

"When I heard about Braavos, I was afraid," Daenerys said. "I was afraid that he had done something he would regret. That he had used his power to destroy more than just the temple."

"But he did not," Missandei said. "The city still stands. The people still live. This means he never lost control."

"Yes, but…" Daenerys paused when she heard a knock at the door that interrupted her troubled thoughts.

A servant ventured inside, bowing low.

"Your Grace, Lord Varys requests your presence. The court is assembled. They await your judgment."

"My judgment…right, "Daenerys sighed. "Tell him I will be there shortly."

The servant bowed and left.

"I should go see him," Daenerys said, more to herself than to Missandei. "Joffrey, I mean. I should make sure he is all right."

"Perhaps after court, Your Grace," Missandei suggested. " Right now, the people need their queen."

Daenerys nodded slowly. "The people need their queen." She had agreed to this. To become a proper Queen for these people, now she had to follow through on that promise.

She turned away from the window and began to prepare for the day.

<><>

The throne room of the Great Pyramid was filled with people by the time she got there, accompanied by her usual guards.

Daenerys sat upon the throne. It was a magnificent seat of carved ebony and gold, with its back shaped like the wings of a dragon. They had made that specifically for her.

Her advisors stood around her: Lord Varys, Grey Worm, Lady Lyssara, and Jalabhar Xho. 

Tyrion was absent, but Daenerys didn't mind as he was currently occupied with something important.

The court had been assembled for her. Petitioners lined up before the throne, waiting their turn to speak. 

Some were freedmen, seeking justice or aid from their new ruler. 

Others were from groups created by former Masters, who tried to keep their faces carefully neutral, but their eyes betrayed their resentment.

Daenerys had learned to read them well. The freedmen came with humility, with gratitude and hope. The Masters came with demands and complaints.

Today, it was the Masters who approached first.

A group of them, five men in fine robes, their fingers heavy with rings, stepped forward. At their head was a man named Hizdahr zo Loraq, one of the wealthiest of the former slave owners. He had bent the knee to Joffrey, had accepted the new order, but Daenerys knew he was not content with this situation.

"Your magnificent Grace, you look radiant today," Hizdahr said, bowing low. "We come before you with a request."

"Speak," Daenerys said, her voice cool.

"It concerns the fighting pits," Hizdahr said. "They have been closed since the city fell. The people miss the entertainment. The fighters miss the glory. We humbly request that they be reopened."

Daenerys's eyes narrowed. " I thought we already talked about this. The fighting pits were where slaves were forced to kill each other for the amusement of their masters. They were a symbol of everything we have fought against."

"With respect, Your Grace," Hizdahr said smoothly, "the pits were also a tradition. A part of our culture. The fighters were honored. They were heroes. And now... now they have nothing. They wander the streets, lost and purposeless."

"Because they were slaves," Daenerys said. "They fought because they had no choice."

"Some did," Hizdahr admitted. "But others fought for glory. For honor. For the love of combat. Those men still live. They still wish to fight. Why should they be denied?"

Daenerys was silent for a moment. She looked at Varys, who gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Lord Varys," she said. "Do you have counsel on this matter?"

Varys stepped forward, his voice smooth as silk. "Your Grace, the fighting pits are a... complicated issue. They were indeed a symbol of oppression. But they were also a source of entertainment and income for the city. If we wish to keep the peace, we must give the people something to replace what they have lost."

"And what do you suggest?"

"I suggest we open the pits," Varys said, "but not as they were. No slaves. No forced combat. Instead, let any man who wishes to fight enter freely. Offer prizes for the victors. Make it a tournament, like the ones they hold in Westeros. A contest of skill and courage, not of bondage."

Daenerys considered this. It was a reasonable compromise. It would give the people their entertainment, would give the fighters their purpose, and would not violate the principles she had fought for.

"Very well," she said. "Lord Varys, you will work with the representatives of the former Masters to iron out the details. The pits will reopen, but under new rules. No slaves. No forced combat. Anyone who wishes to fight may do so freely, and the victors will be rewarded."

Hizdahr bowed, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace. You are most wise."

Daenerys did not respond. She simply gestured for the next petitioner to approach.

<><>

The morning wore on, and the petitions continued.

A freedman came forward, his face weathered by years of labor. He knelt before the throne, his hands clasped.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice rough. "I am a farmer. I tend sheep in the hills beyond the city."

"Rise," Daenerys said. "What is your petition?"

The farmer rose, his eyes troubled. "It is the dragons, Your Grace. The black one. Drogon. He has been hunting my flocks. Three sheep last week. Five the week before. I cannot afford to lose any more."

Daenerys felt a pang of guilt. She had tried to keep the dragons fed, had ordered cattle and game brought to them daily by ship. But Drogon was wild. He hunted when he wished, where he wished.

"I am sorry for your loss," Daenerys said. "I will see that you are compensated. Three times the value of the sheep you have lost."

The farmer's face brightened. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you."

"But I must also ask you to be patient," Daenerys continued. "Drogon is... difficult. He does not always obey. I am doing what I can to control him."

"I understand, Your Grace. Dragons will be dragons." The farmer bowed and retreated.

Daenerys watched him go, her thoughts troubled. Drogon had always been the wildest of her dragons, the most independent, the most dangerous. He had bonded with Joffrey during the ritual, had become more obedient to him than to her. But Joffrey was locked in his laboratory, lost in his grief and his work.

'I need him,' Daenerys thought. 'I need him to help me control Drogon.'

But she could not ask that of him. Not now. Not when he was still grieving.

The small saving grace was that, at the very least, the other two dragons still listened to her…somewhat.

She could feel her control slipping away as the dragons grew older. 

'I could really use his advice on this as well…' Daenerys had come to realize how much she had been relying on Joffrey.

It had happened without her notice, but with every decision and with every problem she faced…she always wished Joffrey was at her side to give her counsel.

"Your Grace?" Lord Varys called for her, noticing her distracted state. "Shall we continue?"

Daenerys got her thoughts in order, and her expression returned to her 'regal face'. "Yes, call the next one."

The court session ended at midday.

Daenerys rose from the throne, her legs stiff from sitting for so long. She had heard dozens of petitions, had settled disputes and had made judgments. She was exhausted.

"Your Grace," Varys said, approaching her. "You handled the court with grace and wisdom. The people are pleased."

"Some of the people," Daenerys said. "The Masters are never pleased."

"The Masters will never be pleased until the old order returns," Varys agreed. "But they are not the ones who matter. The freedmen are the future of this city. They are the ones you must win."

Daenerys nodded slowly. "I know. I am trying."

She was about to retire to her chambers when a familiar voice called out behind her.

"Your Grace!"

She turned. Tyrion Lannister was hurrying toward her, his short legs carrying him as fast as they could. His face was flushed, his eyes bright with excitement.

"Tyrion?" Daenerys said, surprised. "I thought you were in your laboratory. What about…"

"I was," Tyrion said, breathless. "But I have news. News I thought you would want to hear immediately."

"What news?"

Tyrion smiled, a genuine smile that transformed his face. "Ser Jorah has woken up."

Daenerys's heart stopped.

"He is awake?" she breathed. "Truly?"

"Truly," Tyrion said. "He woke an hour ago. He is still weak, but he is conscious. He is asking for you."

Daenerys did not wait. She gathered her skirts and hurried toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest.

Jorah was awake. Her faithful knight, her oldest friend, was awake.

And she needed to see him.

A.N: - Remember to comment, vote, and/or leave a review if you have the time. Those things help me a lot and I would really appreciate it.

You can support me on P@treon if you like and get 10 advanced chapters. You can also find character images to view for free in Collections/Got: Sorcerer Prince Images

-.com/Kriogenix

For donations and commissions, go to .com/kriogenix