Chapter 7
Book One: The War of Queens
Chapter 7: A New Alliance
Sansa
The palace walls had always felt like a prison. Whether it was Winterfell, King’s Landing, or this ancient Egyptian kingdom where she had been reborn, stone and gold could never disguise the reality of a cage.
But tonight, as she stood beside Daenerys Targaryen on the high balcony overlooking the city, it felt… different.
The bargain had been struck. The lines of power had been redrawn, and Sansa had stepped onto a path from which she could not turn back. A partnership, Daenerys had called it. But Sansa knew better than to take the word at face value.
“Your army will not trust me,” Sansa said, breaking the silence.
Daenerys did not look at her. She kept her gaze on the city below, where fires burned in the distance—whether for warmth, celebration, or destruction, Sansa could not tell.
“They trust what I tell them to trust,” Daenerys replied.
Sansa tilted her head slightly, studying the other woman. “And what will you tell them?”
Daenerys finally turned, her expression unreadable in the moonlight. “That you are my advisor. That you are my partner.” A pause. “That you are someone they will learn to fear.”
Sansa let out a quiet breath. Fear. It was always the foundation of power. She had learned that lesson in the halls of King’s Landing, in the cold chambers of the Eyrie, and in the ruins of every dream she had ever dared to hold.
“And what of your dragons?” Sansa asked. “They don’t take kindly to strangers, do they?”
Daenerys studied her, and for a fleeting moment, there was something soft in her gaze. “Drogon has already accepted you.”
The words sent a ripple down Sansa’s spine. She had felt it too—that strange moment when she had touched the massive beast’s scaled hide, when he had not burned her, had not recoiled, but had simply watched.
She had never feared dragons. But now, she wondered if she should.
“Why do you think that is?” Sansa asked.
Daenerys hesitated. Then, in a voice quieter than before, she said, “Perhaps he sees what I see.”
“And what is that?”
A slow, knowing smile spread across Daenerys’ lips. “A woman who has been tempered in fire but refuses to burn.”
Sansa did not smile in return. “I have burned, Daenerys. More than you know.”
Daenerys’ gaze flickered—understanding, recognition, something deeper than sympathy. “Then perhaps that is why he did not fear you.”
A silence stretched between them. Dangerous. Charged.
Sansa had never been one to trust easily. But she could not deny the truth settling in her chest. This was different.
She was no longer a girl playing at survival. She was no longer just a queen deposed. She was standing beside a conqueror—and she was being given a choice.
To take power.
To wield it.
And perhaps, to reshape a world that had never belonged to her.
“Tomorrow,” Daenerys said, shifting back into the role of ruler, “we move forward. Together.”
Sansa held her gaze, then gave a small, sharp nod. “Together.”
But in her mind, she was already preparing for what was to come.
Because alliances were fragile.
And queens did not always share their thrones.
Sansa
It was strange, standing in this grand palace, surrounded by so much power, and yet feeling like an outsider.
Sansa Stark had never been a ruler. She had never claimed a throne for herself. She was not like Daenerys, whose bloodline screamed for the title of queen. Sansa had never been groomed for this kind of life. She had spent her days as an archaeologist, studying forgotten civilizations, uncovering the lost histories of the world.
Now, her feet were firmly planted in a world of living history, where the gods of Egypt walked through the halls and dragons soared above the city.
She wasn’t sure she belonged here, standing next to a woman like Daenerys—a conqueror. But then again, nothing had ever made sense since her arrival in this world.
Daenerys was right about one thing: she was not a queen in the traditional sense. Sansa had never wanted to rule. She had only wanted to understand the world around her, to uncover its secrets. And yet, now she was being asked to navigate a world where alliances meant survival, where power was the key to everything.
“I never asked for this,” Sansa said, breaking the silence between them.
Daenerys did not respond right away. Her gaze drifted out toward the horizon, her dragons circling above in the dark sky. There was a certain weight to her words that Sansa could feel even before she spoke.
“I know,” Daenerys replied softly. “You didn’t ask for this, Sansa. But you’ve been thrust into it, whether you like it or not. The world doesn’t wait for us to be ready.”
Sansa turned to her, her brow furrowing. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m not a ruler, Daenerys. I’ve never been one. I’m an archaeologist, a scholar. I study the past, not the present.”
Daenerys turned to face her, her eyes narrowing as if measuring her words carefully. “And that makes you weaker? Because you’ve spent your life unearthing the bones of the past?”
Sansa sighed, feeling the weight of her uncertainty pressing down on her. “No, I—” She paused, trying to find the right words. “I’m not afraid of the past, Daenerys. I’m afraid of the future. Of what’s to come. I’m not prepared to lead armies or make decisions that will affect lives. I’m not like you.”
Daenerys took a step closer, her presence steady and commanding. “You may not want to rule, Sansa, but you’ve already done it. You’ve survived. And that’s all that matters now. The world will not wait for you to catch up, but you’ve already learned how to fight, how to survive. I think that’s more than enough.”
Sansa swallowed, her chest tightening at the truth in Daenerys’ words. She had spent her life fighting—not just for her family, but for herself. And she had done it alone, relying on her wits and her strength. But this—this was different.
Sansa wasn’t sure she was ready for what Daenerys was asking of her. And yet, she knew she had no choice. She had already committed herself to this journey.
“You’ve had dragons since you were a child,” Sansa said, trying to shift the conversation to something else, something more tangible. “You’ve known power from the beginning. I’ve never known power. I’ve only ever known history.”
Daenerys’ gaze softened, and for a moment, Sansa saw something vulnerable in her—something beyond the fire and the dragons. She saw a woman who had been shaped by her own battles, her own journey.
“You think I’ve always had power?” Daenerys asked, her voice quieter now. “You think it was always so simple?”
Sansa nodded, unsure of how else to respond.
Daenerys let out a soft laugh, but it was devoid of humor. “You may not rule now, Sansa, but you have something far more powerful than my dragons. You have knowledge. You have the ability to see what others cannot. History has shaped you just as much as it has shaped me.”
Sansa stood still, feeling the weight of her words sink into her chest. She had always relied on knowledge, on facts, on the stories of the past. But she had never thought that knowledge could be a weapon in the present.
“How do you do it?” Sansa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “How do you keep going, when everything seems to be falling apart?”
Daenerys took a deep breath, looking out at the city once more. “Because I have to. Because I choose to. We all have our pasts, Sansa. But we can’t let them define us. We can’t let them keep us from moving forward. If we do, we lose. And I refuse to lose.”
Sansa watched her in silence, feeling something stir within her. She didn’t want to be like Daenerys. She didn’t want to be a conqueror, a queen who ruled with fire and blood. But she also didn’t want to lose.
“What do you need from me, Daenerys?”
Daenerys turned to her, her gaze intense. “I need you to stay with me. To be my partner. I need your wisdom, your experience. I need you to help me understand this world, to help me win. And I need you to do it without hesitation. No doubts. No second-guessing.”
Sansa stared at her, the weight of the world pressing down on her. “I’m not a ruler,” she repeated, her voice small. “I don’t know how to lead.”
“You don’t need to lead, Sansa. You need to support. To advise. You need to help me make the right decisions.” Daenerys reached out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “And in doing so, you will help yourself.”
Sansa stared at Daenerys for a long moment, her thoughts swirling. The world around her felt as unfamiliar as the tombs she had once unearthed—ancient, full of secrets. And yet, now she was part of it. The same world that had swallowed her whole was now her responsibility.
“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “I’ll help you.”
Daenerys’ lips curved into a small, approving smile. “Thank you, Sansa.”
It was a smile that spoke volumes. A smile that promised power, but also danger.
And Sansa knew, deep down, that this alliance—this fragile partnership—was just the beginning of something far more complex.