The Sea Breeze
She felt unnerved, though she could not say why. The days had been uneventful since the Unsullied had tightened their grip on the city, and the Sons of the Harpy had, aside from periodic outbursts, remained silent. It would be naïve to think them gone or fading, of course. She entertained no such notion – they would certainly return, with their frightening gold masks and propensity for violence. But right now, her mind wasn’t on the Sons of the Harpy, the Unsullied patrolling the streets, or even Meereen. No – she was thinking about the throne across the Narrow Sea, borne from the remnants of a thousand swords.
It wasn’t the throne itself she craved. At one time, she may have thought otherwise. But after her ventures in Qarth and what she saw in the House of the Undying, she knew it wasn’t the Iron Throne that she cared about most. The room where it had rested, empty in the ruins, had been the least of the temptations she had faced. More difficult to endure had been leaving Khal Drogo and her infant child, both of whom she knew were dead. She had left even them after a time, as she could hear her dragons crying out. They all meant more to her than the lonely seat of swords.
She thought of Westeros, the foreign land in which she was born. Her brother had spoken of it often, regaling her with tales of mighty kings, homely knights, and brilliant battles. The land of lords and ladies, where each city operated on its own under the direction of the monarch in King’s Landing. It was rightfully hers, she knew – the usurper had taken the throne from the Targaryens, but it did not mean he would keep it. It only seemed fitting that war had erupted upon his death, after all the blood and carnage he had wrought to take his seat.
But all those who fought – Robb Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, Balon Greyjoy, and even Mance Rayder – had no claim or right to the throne. The Starks were loyal to the Targaryens in times past, the Baratheons had no more justification than their dead brother. Mance Rayder could play king all he wished, as long as it remained outside of her borders. And Balon Greyjoy – an old man who longed for a return of evil to his islands – had somehow been the only one to get his wish. You’ve agreed to independence for the Iron Islands, she mused, though the idea did not sit quite right with her. She shook the unease away; you gave them to Asha – not to her father.
Maybe that was why she found herself so uneasy – the bargain she had made. Ships for independence. Lives for independence, she reminded herself, knowing that Asha had promised her axe alongside the fleet. Tyrion had been uncertain about the allegiance of the Greyjoys, but Daenerys herself saw it as a perfect opportunity. Not only had she made an important ally in Westeros, but she’d secured the ships she needed for passage across the sea.
That was where the anxiety came from, she realized suddenly, stopping for just a moment to mull the idea over in her head. She had been working toward this point for years, but now she was finally here – queen of a city, an army at her back, three full-grown dragons beside her, and a fleet of ships in her port – the reality of what was to come was beginning to take shape. She was finally drawing near to setting sail – to traversing the Narrow Sea and taking back what was hers. Her stomach fluttered at the thought, her feet moving again as she tried to think of a topic less daunting to fill the sleepless night.
Daenerys was lost in thought as the she caught the unmistakable scent of saltwater. She was used to the smell of the sea here in Meereen, as the port was within clear view of her place in the pyramid. Even so, this was different – stronger and more refreshing. It was the scent of the Ironborn, she knew. They carried the smell of the sea on them as one might carry the scent of perfume, as though they sharpened themselves against the rising tide. Thus, when Daenerys rounded the corner, she was not surprised to see Asha Greyjoy in the torch-lit hall.
“I thought that might be you.” Asha looked at her expectantly, her eyes trailing slowly from the Queen’s white-gold hair to the soft white slippers that she wore against the cold ground. Despite the late hour, Asha herself was clad in her typical battle-worn leathers with an axe strapped to her side. Was it the leather that held the smell of the ocean so well?
“How did you know it was me?” Daenerys wondered. While she had predicted that she may come across the Greyjoy, she had not anticipated that she would be expected herself. After all, it was late into the night and, as such, a rarity for her to be away from her chambers. Yet, in her restlessness, she had sought the reprieve of a calm walk through the pyramid. Asha was the first person she had seen, aside from the guards at their posts.
“Lavender and honeysuckle,” Asha replied with a smile and light shrug, twiddling an item within one hand. Dany glanced curiously down to where her fingers played, spotting a semi-shaped block of wood. Whatever instrument she had used to carve it had already been tucked away. Fascination rose within her, but she masked it with a regal nonchalance.
“The sea breeze,” Daenerys said as she leaned on the opposite wall, admiring the strong sailor and fighter that stood before her. The smell of the saltwater still pressed into her senses, and she found it to be welcome. While Tyrion may say what he would like, Daenerys herself found this Asha to be very intriguing and, hopefully, trustworthy.
“And what could have the Mother of Dragons up at such a late hour, I wonder?” The Greyjoy asked, watching Daenerys with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“I could ask the same of you,” Daenerys replied smoothly, not missing a beat as she met Asha’s gaze head-on. For a moment, the two looked at one another in silence. Asha’s dark gaze seemed to hold a certain interest, a question playing across her face.
After a beat of silence, Asha passed the wooden block to Daenerys. The Dragon Queen slowly took the block in her soft hands and turned it over steadily, her eyes drifting away from the Ironborn before her. A small smile danced on her face as she realized that the block was actually a dragon, taking shape slowly under Asha’s skillful hand.
“I’m sure you’ve grown used to them over the years, Your Grace,” Asha explained, a hint of playfulness in her tone, “But the rest of the world believed dragons to have been gone for hundreds of years. I never thought I’d even see one, let alone more.”
“My brother would call himself ‘The Last Dragon,” Daenerys said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she passed the wooden sculpture back to Asha. A certain fire seemed to caress her tone, the vehemence surfacing as she continued, “But he was never a dragon.”
“You aren’t either,” The Greyjoy stated plainly, taking the block back from the queen, “No Targaryens have ever been dragons. They just owned them.”
The Queen laughed lightly at this, shaking her head. “No one owns a dragon. They may be my children, and I love them deeply, but I do not control them. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor,” Daenerys said in High Valyrian, causing Asha to raise an eyebrow curiously.
“A dragon is not a slave,” She translated, and Asha nodded in understanding.
“The world was built on the backs of slaves.” Asha said, her words sharp as the axe at her belt. Daenerys felt a tightness form in her chest as she wondered what Asha meant by those words – was she justifying the use of slavery? The Ironborn were notorious for their use of slaves prior to being brought into the Seven Kingdoms. They would often take captives and force them to work in the mines and perform other menial tasks. From what Tyrion had told her, many of Asha’s people longed for those days to return. Dany had to wonder – did Asha yearn for the same?
The Greyjoy leader stroked the intricate scales of the carved dragon, studying it quietly as the silence extended between them. Daenerys watched her calloused hands play over the small replica as she pondered if Tyrion may have been right. But something within her told her that wasn’t true. It did not match Asha’s demeanor; it did not match her strength.
“Tell me, Your Grace,” Asha finally said, looking up at Daenerys with a question within her gaze, “What will happen to Meereen when you sail to Westeros? What will become of all the former slaves?”
Daenerys was taken aback back the question, and crossed her arms loosely in front of her chest. A tenseness had returned to her shoulders, though it was hardly noticeable to an untrained eye. It was a question she had discussed with her advisors already, and there were no good answers. Yet, she had to make a decision, and that decision didn’t make everyone happy. She couldn’t rule both Meereen and the Seven Kingdoms. After taking a moment to decide how to best respond, she looked at Asha steadily, “I plan to leave some forces behind, as well as one of my trusted advisors. They will oversee Meereen until the people choose their own leader.”
Asha mused, “A brave choice. Letting the people choose their own leader.”
“A fair one. The people deserve to decide who will lead them.”
“They do. But what will you do if they choose a master?”
Daenerys found herself at a loss for words, her lips slightly parted as she took in the question that had been asked. What would she do if the Meereenese people, a people of former slaves, chose a Master to lead them? They never would. It didn’t make sense. Yet, she felt a knot form in her stomach. She shook her head, not trying to hide her surprise from the sea-hardened warrior that stood before her, “The people of Meereen would never choose a Master to lead them.”
Asha began to open her mouth to speak, but then reconsidered what she was going to say. She closed her mouth and nodded. She glanced at the beautiful Targaryen that stood before her, and then back down to the dragon in her hands. At last, she turned and took a step toward a nearby door, “I’m sure you’re right, Your Grace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should get some rest.”
“Of course.” Daenerys replied as Asha began to open the door to her quarters, “I should as well. Goodnight, Lady Greyjoy.”
“Goodnight, Daenerys.”