Daenerys rolled over in the bed, sighed contentedly, then smiled at her lover.
“Is this just a dream? It feels like it is. Even if it is, I don’t care. For the first time in months, I feel as if I’m safe, as if I’ve found my house with the red door. Funny, when I’m going in to battle over the city, three days hence.”
Sansa leaned forward and kissed the Queen. Not for the first time, she felt a pang of guilt, as their lips and tongues touched. Daenerys would likely be dead within a moon’s turn, and most probably at Sansa’s hand. She would at least try to ensure that her ending was painless. With sufficient sweetsleep in her wine, administered by someone she trusted, she’d drift off, into oblivion, and never wake again.
Daenerys knows the rules of the Game. She should know not to trust me.
Arya of course, would not be so gentle. Her sister might think herself a gifted assassin, but in reality she was a blunderer who’d got lucky. Competent assassins never hate their victims, nor do they waste their time, playing with their food. Killers who enjoy their work too much are a liability, so Baelish had told her, and for once, he’d been telling the truth.
Sansa gave a little gasp, as she felt the Queen’s fingers slide gently between her thighs, and for a time, she forgot about her guilt.
When they were done, they bathed together, and dressed, before making their way to the Chamber of the Painted Table, both of them holding hands. Surrounded by loyal Dothraki guards and servants as they were, Daenerys saw not the slightest need to disguise her feelings for Sansa. She knew that Lord Tyrion disapproved, but then, he seemed to disapprove of everything just now. No doubt, the loathsome little creature wishes he could watch, while I dip my head between her thighs. Ser Davos and Varys kept their views to themselves. Jon had seemed depressed, but that was his usual condition. She had not shared her plans with him, as yet.
In due course, she intended that Jon would sit the Iron Throne, with Sansa as his Queen. If the North were to remain within the Seven Kingdoms, he needs must wed the Lady of Winterfell. As they knew themselves now to be cousins, he could have no objection to the union.
Westeros however, could not have two monarchs. Two living monarchs. Perhaps Daenerys might be exiled to Bear Island, or Gaston Grey, and kept under close guard, for the rest of her life, but the risk of revolt would be a real danger, so long as she remained alive. Her death would be far the safer option, though it would damn Sansa to the worst of the Seven Hells. The hell, where traitors to lords, lovers, and benefactors spend an eternity, encased in ice.
There's no sin so bad, you won't find a septon who'll grant you absolution - for a price. She remembered Cersei had once told her that, when she was a prisoner in the Red Keep. She was certain that such septons lied for their own gain.
But, she would not act without Jon’s agreement. He must share with her, the weight of sin and guilt, for murder and treason.
”So, now you’ve finally discovered what it is that dragons like to eat”, whispered Daenerys, just before they entered, bringing a blush to her cheeks.
The others were waiting for them, as they entered. Daenerys took her place at the head of the table, immaculate in her dress and cloak in the Targaryen colours, with her hair braided by Sansa. She looked nothing like the gaunt apparition that Sansa had encountered on the island, when she'd arrived a fortnight ago. Seducing a broken woman, abandoned by Jon, had been as easy as falling off a log. She'd been profuse in her apologies for her conduct at Winterfell, and when finally Daenerys had asked her why she'd behaved as she did, she'd responded.
"I was jealous."
"Of me? Well, you're welcome to Jon. He's made plain that he finds the very idea of continuing a relationship with me to be disgusting."
"Not of you. Of Jon." Daenerys' eyes had widened like saucers, once she'd grasped Sansa's meaning. "I've wanted you, ever since I watched you ride through the gate at Winterfell", she'd continued. Had she misjudged the Queen? Would she order her to leave Dragonstone, in disgrace? Instead, she'd taken her into her bed. She knew not whether Daenerys actually preferred the company of women, or simply wished to be comforted. Perhaps it didn't matter. Her own skills as a lover could hardly bear comparison with those of a professional, but Daenerys would not expect that from the Lady of Winterfell. She had seemed satisfied, at any rate. That had been a week ago.
Daenerys outlined her war plans. "The Crownlands have been taken, bar a couple of strongholds. In four days, Jon and I will fly to the capital, and there I shall strike at the Red Keep. Had I done so at the outset, thousands of lives would have been saved, and this war ended within an afternoon." She saw her stare very hard at Tyrion. "Jon will lead the assault on the city walls." She knew that Daenerys now doubted the loyalty of her Hand. His advice had proved disastrous at every turn, and it was hard to dispute that he had been betraying them, in favour of his sister. If he was supplying information to her, well, let Cersei think the assault would be coming a day later than in reality.
"Your Grace", began the Imp, "If the city is assaulted, thousands will die. Would it not be more humane to place the city under close blockade? Once food runs short, then the people will rise up against my sister."
"As they did against your vile nephew, my lord husband, " remarked Sansa. "You may recall, the smallfolk were cut down in their hundreds, when they rebelled. And, they were the lucky ones. Thousands more starved, or murdered each other for a crust of bread. But of course, your sister, and her followers, would not be the ones starving."
"But, a sack is a thing of horror...", continued the Imp.
"Better an end with horror, than horror without end", remarked Lord Varys, in his usual bland way. Tyrion looked shocked. Up until now, he had counted the eunuch an ally. "We have given your sister endless opportunity to come to terms, without success. She executed Lady Missandei on the battlements of the city, " and here he bowed his head, in gesture of respect, "and I consider that, as well as a crime, an important gesture. Cersei Lannister will neither offer, nor seek, quarter."
"Your views, Jon?" asked Daenerys.
"We have no choice. I agree."
"But, at least, stand the soldiers down, once the defenders ring bells, to signify surrender."
Ser Davos spoke up, "Have you taken leave of your senses, Lord Tyrion? I've never known the sound of bells to mean surrender. Far from it, they're a call to arms. I come from Flea Bottom, but let's face it, the city's people have stood by Cersei to the bitter end."
"And, that end has now come", said Sansa coldly. "Must the whole of the Seven Kingdoms be sacrificed in favour of Cersei and her supporters in the capital".
"But, this will be a deed of infamy", said her husband.
"I believe you called it "war", Lord Tyrion, when you served your nephew and your father, most loyally. When you destroyed a fleet on the Blackwater with wildfire", she replied. "If you wish to make a last stand, alongside your sister, I'm sure the Queen's Grace can arrange a fast ship to take you to the city." He went white with shock.
"Then, that is settled", said Daenerys evenly. She rose from the table, to leave, and Sansa accompanied her. It was essential that Daenerys destroy Cersei for good, and if the city's inhabitants must suffer, well such were the norms of war. Regardless whether Jon or Daenerys mounted the Iron Throne, the Imp's execution must be a priority.