Walls Within Walls
Asha rapped her knuckles against the massive, oaken door. Detailed carvings were etched into the polished wood, decorative in nature. Blooming flowers, prancing deer, a flowing stream – lavish designs that served no purpose besides their beauty. The door matched the intricacy of the pyramid itself, with its expertly carved marble, artistic tapestries, and fineries beyond imagining. The former masters of Meereen had clearly spared no expense when it came to their glorious architecture. Of course, it only took one glimpse out into the city to know that those same masters did afford as much care when it came to their people.
While Asha had not left the pyramid herself, the Ironborn brought back reports of the city. Its many taverns and brothels, the underground gambling arenas, and, of course, the whispers of former masters and slaves alike. Mostly, her people described the intrigue of the food, the otherworldly fire priests that accented the street corners, and the Unsullied patrols in their tight-knit formations. It had not taken Asha long to realize that the talk she heard was more musings of excited men than useful.
Usually when Asha pulled her ship, The Black Wind, into port, she was eager to engage. She always found herself wanting to meet the people of the new land, to try their food and drink. And, of course, she enjoyed exploring the women that the area had to offer. But when she had arrived in Meereen, she had wanted none of those things. She had simply wanted an audience with the Dragon Queen, a hot bath, and a long, calm, night’s rest. Now, more than a week after her audience, she had enjoyed all of those things more than once. And, yet, she still had no desire to leave the walls of the pyramid.
A click sound emanated from the other side of the door, and Asha was pulled from her thoughts. She swiftly straightened her posture and instinctively brushed a hand over her leathers, as though that would rid them of the wear and dirt they had gathered. Just as she clasped her hands behind her back, the door swung open.
Daenerys Targaryen was as fine as ever. White-gold locks flowed past her shoulders, with curls bordering each side of her face. A simple blue dress, light as a clear day’s sky, covered her frame, while two golden ringlets dangled from one wrist. Violet eyes, soft and gentle, met with Asha’s darker gaze, “How can I help you, Lady Greyjoy?”
Asha bowed loosely, dipping her head more than her body. She then stood up straight once more, “I was hoping we might speak privately, Your Grace. If you have the time.”
Daenerys looked to her right and then to her left, a small smile pulling at the edge of her lip, “It does not appear that I am otherwise occupied. Please, come in.” She stepped aside, holding the door open graciously for her guest.
Asha moved one hand instinctively to her belt as she entered the room, casting a glance to her host as she did so. She found herself poignantly aware of exactly how small the queen was in comparison to her – several inches shorter, with a narrow build, and a slender frame. Her skin was light and unblemished, and she imagined it was as soft as it looked. Asha was a hand taller with toned musculature and a fiercer posture. Callouses had formed on both of her hands from her time spent with weaponry, and her skin often looked as rough as the leather she wore. Her long-sleeved doublet covered the more atrocious markings that laced their way up her arms, and she was glad to keep it that way.
As Daenerys closed the door behind her, the Greyjoy came to a stop. Her attention moved from the queen and wandered across the rest of the royal apartment. It was elegant, to be sure. The chambers matched the extravagance of everything else she had seen within the pyramid, with an extra flare that set this place apart. Yet, it seemed that Daenerys had only made use of a small amount of the chambers. The table, that say by a large window that overlooked the city and port beyond, donned a fresh pitcher of wine. A nearby seating area, complete with a wide-lipped couch and pillows of varying colors, appeared to be recently clean. Even so, the rest of the apartment, that she could see, seemed mostly untouched. She took this place, Asha reminded herself, but she has no intention to stay here.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Daenerys invited as she moved over to the table by the window. She ran her hands gently beneath her thighs, smoothing out her dress before taking a seat in one of the padded chairs. Asha followed, sitting down across from her as the queen poured herself a cup of what Asha knew was the Dornish red that she had gifted the Targaryen. She felt nausea in her throat as the recalled the sweet taste of the beverage, but pushed it down swiftly as she instinctively propped her right ankle onto the opposing knee.
Daenerys watched as her guest found her place, masking her interest in Asha’s ease at taking such a masculine posture. Asha was quite similar to herself, she noted. Yet, their mannerisms seemed to be a world apart. As she finished pouring her wine, she delicately crossed her ankles and leaned back in her chair. After taking a sip from her glass, she waved at the pitcher in invitation.
“No thank you, Your Grace,” Asha said, keeping her voice polite even as the nausea rose again. She couldn’t stand even the smell of the wine anymore, let alone the taste. She shook her head at the pitcher, willing the feeling to pass, “It is far too sweet for me.”
“Yes, you mentioned that before.” The queen replied, a bit of amusement playing in her voice. She did not understand why the Ironborn would prefer drinks with a more bitter flavor, but was thankful that it resulted in such a pleasing drink at her table. “What brings you here today, Lady Greyjoy?”
Asha’s smile faded and she glanced away, not wanting to meet the eyes of the beauty before her. Their prior conversation, only a couple of nights back, had been quite lax in nature. Even so, she had quickly regretted how comfortable she had felt that night. While their discussion had started well, she had seen the queen tense toward the end, and knew she had overstepped. She did not wish for that to happen again, especially when she relied so much on this alliance. She was blunt, with a sharp tongue and a harshness that often got her into trouble. But this was not a place for that – there was far too much at risk for her and her people. She licked the dryness from her lips, “I feel I may have offended you, You Grace.”
“Offended me?” Daenerys feigned confusion in her voice, maintaining her polite demeanor, “When do you believe that you offended me?”
“When we were speaking the other night…” Asha trailed off, beginning to doubt if she was right to come here. She ran her eyes over the queen, wondering for a moment if she had actually forgotten. Of course, Asha knew she had not. This queen was far smarter than that. She wanted to see what the leader of the Ironborn would say. She wanted to know what Asha thought had caused offense. It was a clever tactic, of course, but not one that Asha enjoyed being on the receiving end of. The ploy was enough for her to know that she had spoken far too frankly in the past. If only I’d shut my mouth sooner, she thought to herself. Though the sick feeling had left her now, a knot seemed to form in her stomach, though she did not let the unease show. “I made a comment that you didn’t seem happy about.”
“What comment was that?” Daenerys spoke absently, her brow furrowing slightly to emphasize her uncertainty. She knew full well what Asha was referring to, and found herself oddly glad that she had come to see her. Yet, she had no intention of admitting that anything the Greyjoy had said had left a sour taste in her mouth, no matter how true it may be. It was clear that her guest was trying to conduct herself carefully. Tyrion was correct on one thing, she thought, Asha does not want to do anything to jeopardize our allyship.
“The world was built on the backs of slaves,” Asha replied. The words felt heavy on her tongue, but she did not shy away from the statement.
Daenerys only nodded, taking another sip of the Dornish vintage. The wine washed easily across her tongue, and she relished the taste. The silence extended between them, but the queen had no desire to speak. She would let the Ironborn fill the gap with whatever she deemed fit.
Asha bit her lip slightly, trying not to shift in the uncomfortable silence. She had hoped that the queen would offer her a bit more than she had, but there was no such luck. She wanted a conversation, a discussion – but the silence showed that Daenerys sought otherwise. Of course, Asha understood what was happening. She knew Daenerys was waiting on her. The knot tightened within her, as she knew that there was nothing she could do. She had to speak, and she had to find the right words. She searched her mind, trying to determine the right play to make, trying not to just spit out whatever she wanted to say. Her future rested on this alliance. Her life rested on this alliance.
“Slaves have existed throughout all of history. They did build the world, in many ways.” Asha tried, hoping she had picked the correct words to please the queen, “The Ironborn —"
“The Ironborn miss their old ways, where slaves worked their mines, tilled their fields, and warmed their beds.” Daenerys said smoothly, anticipating what the other woman was going to say. “I am well aware of this, Lady Greyjoy.”
“The Ironborn miss the time when we had enough people to work our mines and enough food to fill out bellies,” Asha countered, defensiveness slipping quickly into her tone as she locked her blazing eyes with the queen’s, “The Ironborn miss when our lands were strong, and our people powerful and feared.”
The pleasantness faded from Daenerys’s face as she tensed her jaw, not enjoying the hostile tone that the Greyjoy had taken. She straightened herself in her seat, studying Asha through a scrutinizing gaze, “If you mean to return slavery to the Iron Islands once you rule them —”
“That’s not —” Asha snapped, catching herself too late. Her mouth felt instantly dry, and she looked away from Daenerys’s harsh violet stare. She had entered with the intention of mending any friction she had created, and now she had taken an unruly tone and interrupted the queen in a matter of seconds. She turned her sights back to the table, not raising them above the pitcher, “Apologies, Your Grace. I should not have interrupted you.”
“No, please continue.”
Daenerys said the words too calmly. Too easily. The way that she watched Asha made the knot wedge itself tighter into her ribs. Had the queen been waiting for her to mess up? It was clear that she was judging her. Vetting her. She was evaluating the interaction. And what if she doesn’t like what she sees? What she hears? Asha swallowed hard, forcing confidence to replace her doubt as she looked back up at the Targaryen, “Many of the Ironborn long for a return to the old ways, that is true. I know that many are very displeased with the agreement that you and I made.”
“But,” Asha continued, leaning forward as she spoke, “It isn’t the old ways themselves that they crave. It’d not the reaving or the raping, or the slavery. They just want to have the stability and respect that our islands once had. Our time with the Seven Kingdoms has left us without the numbers to work out mines. We don’t have adequate amounts of farmland to supply our populace with food. We’ve become weaker. If we didn’t have our ships, we would be nothing.”
Daenerys did not move her gaze from the dark stare before her. She had assumed the direction that Asha was going to go, and she had been incorrect. A bit of shame welled in her chest, but she did not entertain it. Instead, she let her demeanor shift from tension to curiosity as she leaned forward as well. She spoke calmly, “How do you propose to accomplish this, without the reaving, raping, and slaves?”
“I don’t know yet, Your Grace.” Asha admitted, leaning back. She didn’t even have the islands within her grasp yet, let alone a plan on how to fix their centuries-old struggles. “I have been asking myself that same question.”
“It isn’t an easy question to answer,” Dany replied. She watched as Asha’s fingers played across her lifted knee, her dark eyes averted toward the window. She’s stressed, Daenerys thought, a bit of guilt pulling at her chest. “Perhaps this is an issue we can address together.”
Asha could not hide her surprise as she looked into the Dragon Queen’s lavender eyes. Together? The issue that Asha mentioned was isolated to the Iron Islands, which were an area of no concern to Daenerys after her throne had been won. Why would she bother to help solve it? For a moment she wondered if the queen was trying to trick her or mislead her, but something within her told her that was not the case. She glanced at the pitcher of wine, wishing it was anything but that sweet Dornish red, and then turned her attention back to the queen, “Perhaps.”
Daenerys turned her attention out the window and across Meereen, as she took another slow sip from her cup. Her eyes moved from the streets to the walls, and then out into the port. Kraken sails danced loosely in the light breeze, gleaming brightly in the sun. Asha followed her gaze, a flash of pride washing over her as they admired the massive armada. Those ships, and the many men aboard them, sailed for me.
“You said something else the other night. Something I’ve been wondering about,” Daenerys said, turning away from the window to look at the leather-clad leader before her.
Asha turned her attention back to Daenerys as well, intertwining her fingers absently upon her lifted knee. She knew what the queen was talking about, of course. Yet, she hoped that it would not come up. She had managed to untangle herself from one problematic comment, and did not want to have to address another. The knot began to tighten once again. After a short moment of silence, the queen continued, “You asked me what I would do if the Meereenese people chose a master to lead them.”
“I did,” Asha confirmed.
“I want to know what you meant by that,” Daenerys finished her cup and replaced it on the table, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
“It was just a question, Your Grace.”
“But it wasn’t,” Daenerys pressed, knowing that there had been more to what the Ironborn had said. She had mulled it over in her mind several times since then, and could not fathom why it was that Asha would ask such a thing. She wanted her answer. “Why do you think the Meereenese people would choose a master?”
Asha opened her mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly. She did not want to offend the Dragon Queen again. But before she could come up with a better response, Daenerys snapped at her, “Say what you mean, Lady Greyjoy.”
“Asha,” she said, though she was not sure why.
Daenerys paused, a story playing out in her eyes. For a moment she seemed startled, then confused. But within moments, a certain amused appreciation blossomed in the purple of her iris. She nodded her acceptance, “I would like to hear what you have to say, Lady Asha.”
Something about the way she spoke her name took Asha by surprise, and for a moment she felt unsure of herself once more. Pushing the feeling away, she studied the queen – was this a game? A trap? It didn’t feel like it. Finally, she spoke frankly, “Former slaves have no idea how to lead themselves. They only know how to follow.”
“Why do you assume that they don’t know how to lead?”
“They have been led their whole lives, Your Grace,” Asha replied, rubbing her thumb across her knuckles. “They are resilient, and they are strong – but do they know how to handle gold? How to facilitate trade? How to ensure the people of the city don’t starve? When they are faced with the choice of who will lead them, they are likely to return to the leaders they know.”
“The masters.”
“Yes, the masters.”
Daenerys grew quiet, letting her eyes fall on Asha’s hands. She had not thought of it that way, and none of her advisors had mentioned it. Did they not see it, or did they not want to tell me the truth? The thought made her uneasy. The Meereenese people wanted to be free, but if they became afraid of their future, of the food on their tables and shelter over their heads, they may return to the grip of the brutal masters of the past. It was better than starvation, after all. Suddenly, the queen stood, “Thank you, Lady Asha.”
Asha stood as well, following the queen’s lead. Curiosity played in her eyes as she watched the white-gold curls move across the room, with Asha close behind. Daenerys stopped when her hand touched the doorknob.
“One more thing,” Asha replied as she reached into the deep pocket of her trousers. As Daenerys watched her, the Greyjoy pulled out a small wooden dragon, now fully formed. She reached to pass it to Daenerys, the queen’s surprise evident. “If you want it, it’s yours. It’s —”
“It’s Rhaegal.” Dany said, a wide smile spread across her face. She took the wooden beast and turned it over in her hands. The likeness was spectacular. Asha couldn’t help but smile too. After a moment of studying the sculpture, the queen looked back up, “It’s wonderful.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“It was nice speaking with you today, Lady Asha.” Daenerys opened the door now to see her guest out. “I hope we can do it again soon.”
Asha slipped out with a polite bow, casting Daenerys one more glance, her interest not well masked, as she took her leave.