Chapter 8
Book One: The War of Queens
Chapter 8: The Price of Power
Sansa
It wasn’t just the palace that was heavy with the weight of expectations—it was the air itself. Every step Sansa took within the walls of the grand Egyptian fortress seemed to reverberate, every decision growing more consequential by the day. She had agreed to stand by Daenerys’ side, but with that decision came the knowledge that she was now part of something much larger than herself.
They had barely spoken since their conversation on the balcony, but the silence between them wasn’t cold—it was contemplative. As the days passed, Sansa found herself falling into a strange rhythm: observing, analyzing, and always calculating the next move, just as she had when she uncovered ancient ruins in her previous life. Only this time, the stakes were much higher.
She was no longer just an observer of history; she was living it.
“Are you ready?” Daenerys’ voice startled her from her thoughts. The queen had appeared at her side, as always, her presence immediate, unyielding. She seemed to materialize out of the shadows, almost as if she were a part of the palace itself.
Sansa nodded, forcing herself to focus. “What’s next?”
The Targaryen queen didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “The council will meet. The generals, the high priests, the advisers—they all want to see where you stand. They want to know why I brought you here. Why I trust you.”
Sansa swallowed hard. She had faced her fair share of court politics, but this was different. These were not the nobles of Westeros—these were the ancient rulers of Egypt. They weren’t bound by the same customs or expectations. Power here wasn’t just a title—it was a force.
“I’m not used to dealing with so many at once,” Sansa admitted quietly. “I’ve never been in the middle of such a—”
“—political web?” Daenerys finished, her lips curling into a slight smile. “I know. But you’ve always been good at navigating complicated situations. Now, you’ll have to do it on a larger scale.”
Sansa nodded, her nerves tightening. The thought of facing a room full of rulers, generals, and priests who had never seen her before was both thrilling and terrifying.
“Trust me,” Daenerys said, her voice more earnest now, softer. “You know more about power than you think.”
Sansa turned her eyes to the queen. “I don’t know if I can help you with all of this, Daenerys,” she said, her voice laced with doubt. “I don’t have the experience to advise on matters of war, of conquest.”
“You know about leadership. You know how to navigate people. You’ve survived enough to understand that, Sansa. And that’s all I need right now. I trust you. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t.”
Sansa blinked, surprised by the weight of the queen’s words. She trusts me. It wasn’t just a statement; it was a plea. Daenerys had laid herself bare, placing her faith in Sansa—and that responsibility felt heavier than any crown.
“We’ll face the council together,” Daenerys continued. “And we’ll show them what we’re capable of.”
Sansa swallowed hard. There was no turning back now.
Daenerys
The room was vast, echoing with the voices of the Egyptian high priests, generals, and advisors. The heat from the torches illuminated the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows across the room. Daenerys entered, followed by Sansa, feeling the weight of every eye on them. There was no mistaking the fact that this was a room full of people who had lived and ruled by their own rules for millennia.
The high priests, with their elaborate robes and intricate headdresses, looked down upon her with suspicion. The generals, battle-hardened and proud, watched Sansa with disdain. But it was the murmur of the crowd—the whispers of uncertainty—that Daenerys focused on. They were all wondering the same thing: Why had she brought Sansa here?
She knew they expected an answer. And she would give it to them.
Daenerys stepped forward, her voice cutting through the murmur like a blade. “This is Sansa Stark,” she announced, her eyes sweeping the room. “She is my advisor. She is my equal. And she is here to help us win this war.”
There was a pause. The room held its breath. Sansa could feel the tension, the unease. They didn’t trust her. They didn’t understand her, not yet. They would never understand how someone like Sansa, a scholar from another world, could be the key to their success.
But Daenerys had been right to bring her here. She could see things that others couldn’t. And that was exactly why Sansa was invaluable.
Sansa felt the weight of their gazes, but she stood tall, her face betraying none of the nerves she felt inside. She stepped forward, meeting their eyes with quiet resolve.
“I’ve studied your people,” Sansa said, her voice clear and calm. “I know your history. I know how your society works. And I know how to navigate power, whether it’s within the walls of a temple or the battlefield.”
The generals, who had been skeptical, exchanged wary glances. But Sansa didn’t back down. She would not back down.
“Let me make one thing clear,” Sansa continued, her eyes now locked on the high priests. “I’m not here to rule you. I’m here to help you win this war. And I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure we succeed.”
Her words hung in the air like a challenge. Daenerys watched with admiration as Sansa spoke. She had found her voice—her own power.
It was the first step in gaining their trust. And, more importantly, it was the first step in Sansa Stark finding her place in this world.
Sansa
The meeting continued, but Sansa barely heard the words being spoken. The arguments, the strategies, the promises—it all blended together in a blur of political rhetoric. What she could hear was the ever-present hum of tension.
The priests and generals had reluctantly accepted her presence, but it was clear they still saw her as an outsider. The room was charged with an unspoken animosity toward the foreigner—the woman who had no blood claim to Egypt, the woman who was merely an archaeologist with no experience in leading armies. They wanted her gone.
But Sansa had a different weapon—her mind. She had spent a lifetime understanding the ways in which people could be moved. Not with force, not with threats, but with subtlety and precision. She wasn’t here to dominate. She was here to guide, to give Daenerys the insight she needed to succeed.
And slowly, she realized something: The price of power was never just the cost of war. It was the cost of trust.
She had given Daenerys hers, but the question now was whether the queen would give her the trust she needed in return.
Sansa
The council meeting stretched on, growing more intense with every passing hour. Each of Daenerys’ generals and advisers spoke with authority, outlining their plans for the coming battles. They were preparing for war on a scale Sansa had never witnessed—an army so vast, it could shape the fate of an entire civilization.
Yet, as much as Sansa had studied battle strategies in her past life, as much as she understood the intricacies of history, she realized that war—this kind of war—was not about strategy alone. It was about trust.
Each person in that room was jockeying for their own position. Some wanted power. Others, merely survival. But Sansa had been placed here as Daenerys’ voice. Her advisor. Her equal. And for the first time, she could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing her.
She could sense the eyes on her—calculating, weighing. The high priests, with their inscrutable expressions, seemed the most skeptical. But there were others—generals who kept glancing at her, as though waiting for her to say something. They were waiting for her to reveal herself, to show that she truly understood what they were up against.
Sansa had never wanted to show them weakness. And she would not start now.
As the conversation turned to the next strategic move—whether to strike at the capital or to fortify their position—Sansa found herself speaking, almost instinctively.
“Fortifying would be the better option,” she said, her voice steady, cutting through the murmur of voices. “If we strike now, we risk splitting our forces too thin. Egypt is vast. We need to protect our base before moving forward. Let them come to us.”
For a moment, there was silence. The room paused, as though they were all waiting for someone else to speak—to challenge her. But Daenerys met Sansa’s gaze, her eyes filled with quiet approval.
“I agree,” Daenerys said, her voice strong. “Sansa’s suggestion has merit. We must not rush headlong into a battle without securing our position.”
One of the generals, a tall man with a hawk-like nose, looked at Sansa with barely concealed disdain. “You are not a warrior, Stark. What would you know about military strategy?”
Sansa met his gaze without flinching. “I may not be a warrior, but I know how to read people. I know how to anticipate what they will do next. And I know that splitting our forces now would be a mistake.”
The general scowled, but he said no more. The others, however, began to nod, and Sansa could feel the shift. Daenerys had stood by her, and that had been enough.
For now.
But as the meeting wound to a close, Sansa’s thoughts were filled with something darker. The generals had acquiesced, but only for the moment. They didn’t trust her—not fully. And the high priests were a different matter entirely. They saw her as a threat, something unfamiliar. Sansa knew they would not take kindly to being ruled by a foreigner.
As the room slowly emptied, Daenerys turned to Sansa, her face unreadable. “That went well,” she said, though there was a faint tension in her voice.
Sansa nodded, but her mind was already whirling. “It was a start,” she replied. “But trust is earned. Not given.”
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “You think they will turn on us?”
“I think the real danger comes from within,” Sansa said quietly, her voice heavy with the weight of her experience. “There are too many competing interests. Power here is… fragile.”
Daenerys nodded thoughtfully. “And how do we secure it?”
Sansa didn’t hesitate. “We need to make alliances. Real ones. Not just political marriages or empty promises. We need to find those who will truly stand by us.”
For a moment, Daenerys studied her, her eyes narrowed. “And what would you suggest?”
Sansa looked out over the balcony of the palace, her gaze distant, as though searching for something she couldn’t name. “We need to reach out to the priests. They control much of the land’s spiritual influence. If we win them over, it will strengthen our position tenfold. But they’ll never accept us as their rulers without a price. And we can’t afford to offer them everything.”
Daenerys considered this, her lips pursed as she thought. “We’ll need to be strategic. I’ve already alienated some of them by taking power from the gods.”
Sansa nodded. “But we can offer them something they value more than power. They respect the ancient. The forgotten. If you can show them that you understand their history, their sacred texts, they may begin to see you as something more than just a conqueror.”
Daenerys watched her with growing admiration. “You think this will work?”
“I think it’s our best shot.” Sansa met her eyes, the determination in her own gaze now mirroring that of Daenerys. “But we need to act quickly. Time is not on our side.”
Daenerys
Daenerys stood beside Sansa, looking out over the vast kingdom that lay before them. Egypt, ancient and ever-shifting, stretched beneath a darkening sky. There was something about this land—the heat of it, the weight of its history—that seemed to press in on her from all sides.
Power had always been a fluid thing for her. She had taken it by fire and blood in Essos, across cities and seas. But here, in Egypt, it felt different. There were forces at play that she couldn’t control—forces older than she was. And in the silence of the night, she wondered if she could ever truly rule here.
But then, she turned to Sansa, standing beside her with quiet confidence. It was a strange thing, this alliance. They had both been shaped by different lives, different worlds. And yet, here they were—bound by a common goal.
“You were right today,” Daenerys said, her voice softer than it had been earlier. “They are watching us, waiting for us to slip. But we can’t let them see weakness.”
Sansa turned to her, her expression thoughtful. “No. We can’t.”
Daenerys felt the weight of their shared silence. There was a trust between them now, tentative but real. The price of power wasn’t just about conquering lands or armies—it was about trusting the ones who fought beside you. And as much as she had resisted the idea of needing anyone, she had come to see that Sansa was not just an advisor. She was a partner.
And perhaps, together, they could make the impossible possible.