Chapter Text
Sansa had an uneasy feeling that she’d blundered. There was a catch, she was sure, but what was it? Not the obvious one, as it had turned out. She'd been waiting back at Winterfell, desparate for news from the capital. She had learned of the ambush at Dragonstone, and the capture and execution of Missandei. Well, she might not have wished for her death, but she felt little sorrow at it, either. The woman had had ideas well above her station in life, and had the cheek to butt into her conversation with Tyrion Lannister, as they took refuge in the crypts. She was a Stark, and Starks should be treated with a little respect by freed slaves! Still, the Dragon Queen had loved the Naathi like a younger sister, and she had a pretty good idea what her murder would mean for the capital, too, when it fell. If it fell. She'd taken a risk when she told Tyrion of Jon's parentage, she knew. She didn't want anything to happen to Daenerys before the city was taken, but afterwards? Well, she hoped her advisors and Jon would strike against her, at that point. The Iron Throne belonged to Jon by rights. There might be some doubt about the legality of his parents' marriage, but the Seven Kingdoms would always favour a man over a woman. Jaehaerys' Great Council had established that point for all time. Of course, there was always the danger that the wretched woman would prevail, but even dead, Jon could be useful as a martyr. Besides, she was lucky. Her schemes usually worked out.
Then word came, by raven. The capital had been taken by storm, with great slaughter, and Daenerys had ascended the throne of her forefathers. There was no word of Jon, or Tyrion, which was ominous. She had been summoned to Dragonstone, "to take part in discussions for the future governance of the Seven Kingdoms". Anticipating her concerns, the Queen had formally promised safe conduct to her, and the promise had been guaranteed by the new High Septon. Sansa had made little attempt to disguise her enmity towards Daenerys at Winterfell, but did the Queen know she had broken an oath before a Heart Tree, and revealed Jon's parentage? The missive gave nothing away. It was all most worrying. She might well be journeying South to her execution. More than once, she'd amused herself, by imagining putting the Dragon Queen to death in the Godswood, in various imaginative ways, and she suspected the feeling was mutual. If only she could reach Arya!
She had sailed South from White Harbour, with Brienne, Maester Wolkan, her lady in waiting, Jeyne Poole, and the few Northern Lords she could trust, Cerwyn, Manderly, and Hornwood. The voyage had been uneventful, until she arrived at Dragonstone, to find the anchorage filled with ships bearing the banners of the Targaryens and the Grejjoys' Kraken. An honour guard awaited her, commanded by lord Yohn Royce, which at least was reassuring. As they walked towards the castle, she first exchanged small talk, before seeking information.
"What of my brother, and Lord Tyrion.?"
The man's blunt reply dismayed her. "Both condemned for treason". Her heart lurched. If they had been condemned, surely she must be in danger. "Your brother tried to murder the Queen's Grace, at the Imp's instigation." Oh Gods, had either of them spoken of her own role in the betrayal? Jon was an honourable fool. He would take the blame on himself, leaving her out of it, but Tyrion, well she knew him of old. If he could save his own life at the expense of hers, he would surely do so! "Have they been put do death?" she asked.
"No, your brother remains in custody. As for the Imp, well, he would probably rather have been put to death. He survives in a cage above the Lion Gate, without his eyes, lips, tongue, and cock". She felt sick. Tales of the Dragon Queen's cruelty abounded. In the East, she had executed members of the nobility most brutally. Yes, they had owned and traded slaves, and that was a sin, but still, they were members of their own class! Nobles might execute each other for crimes committed against their own kind, but never for the manner in which they treated their own smallfolk. That was unforgivable! They continued talking about the state of the Seven Kingdoms, until they reached the Great Keep. A chamberlain approached her, with servants, and led them to their chambers.
Jeyne bathed her, and then she and her party descended to the Great Hall, where a banquet was to be held in their honour. Daenerys greeted her with a formal kiss of peace, and led her to the high table. Seated between her and the Queen were Yara Greyjoy and Sam Tarly’s paramour, Gilly. She suspected this was an insult on Daenerys’ part, but to her very great surprise, it turned out that she was a lady in waiting, addressed by the waiting servants as “Lady Gillyflower.” She had to stifle her mirth at someone so low-born being addressed in such terms. Still, she could hardly complain of the banquet. Quails, partridge, lamb , pork, venison, and finally, rare fruits and sweetmeats, were served in succession, each accompanied by their own wine. At Winterfell, they were still living off the stores she’d requisitioned, nourishing enough, but very plain fare.
Normally, she would never have spoken to the likes of Gilly, save to give an order, but she could hardly refrain at a banquet.
“How is Master Samwell?,” she enquired.
”E’s recovering well, from ‘is operation.”
”Oh, what was the matter?” Gilly grinned, before replying, “
“The Queen’s Grace ‘ad ‘im gelded.” She choked on her wine. "'E broke 'is vows to the Nights Watch. The Queen could 'ave 'ad 'im executed, but she chose to be kind to 'im. But, she didn't want 'im tempted to do it again. So she gelded 'im, root and stem." Gilly chuckled, fondly.
"But... you loved him."
"Oh, Gods no! I hates him, He's a real dirty mind, an' 'e stinks, an' e's a filthy coward too. I'd rather fuck a walrus than 'im, not that I'd see the difference." The vehemence of Gilly's loathing took Sansa aback, even as Yara burst out laughing, having overheard the exchange. "Gilly's doing a lot better for herself these days. Gods I envy her!" remarked the ironborn leader. The two of them resumed talking, this time about her work as lady in waiting to Daenerys. Gilly spoke of the Queen with real affection, describing a person that Sansa had never encountered. Then the horrid, shocking truth suddenly dawned on her. The relationship between Gilly and Daenerys Targaryen was far closer than that of a Queen and her lady ought to be. Gilly was the Queen's paramour! She actually felt sick. For all her loathing of the Dragon Queen, not for one moment would she have thought the woman could sink that low! But, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She had corrupted her own nephew; of course, she'd want to play the part of a man towards another woman. It ran in her family, come to think of it. Not only did their brothers and sisters fuck each other, but they were a race of degenerates as well! Queen Rhaena had kept a harem of beauties at this very castle, and Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Laena Velaryon had treated each other virtually as wives. She shuddered as the thought of the lewdnesses that Daenerys and Gilly practised together. No doubt she had done the same with Missandei. She knew of Dorne of course, and what had taken place between Lord Renly and Ser Loras Tyrell had been no secret in the Red Keep. Thank the Gods that the North remained free of this vice! Men and women of that kind were drowned in bogs, their shameful deeds punished out of sight of the Old Gods.
Daenerys rose to give a brief speech of welcome to Sansa. She manged to say the appropriate words in response, her mind in turmoil, before leaving for her bedchamber.
When she met Daenerys the following day, in The Painted Chamber, she had recovered. Remember, this woman is a degenerate. Your instincts about her were right, she told herself repeatedly. A degenerate she might be, but still capable of surprises. She offered to recognise the North as an independent kingdom, under Sansa's Queenship.
"And, what of Jon?" she ventured.
"I bear his child", she responded, bluntly. "We will marry, and he will be Prince Consort". Was that true? If she were with child, was it not more likely that one of her savages was the father? And, he'd tried to murder her.
"So, you've forgiven him, then?"
"No, he detests me, and I him, but our child needs to be seen as legitimate." Well, there were worse fates for Jon, and at least it kept him out of the North.
"There are, of course, conditions" continued Daenerys. "You will continue to use the Southron currency. You will formally renounce all rights to inherit either the Riverlands or the Vale. You will pledge never to marry a lord who dwells South of the Neck. You may purchase food from the Reach, in times of famine, but you will pay such price as my subjects wish to charge you. Are these accepted?" Well, she couldn't say she was happy at any of this, but at least she had her crown. Her heart soared at the prospect of her coronation at Winterfell.
There were several days of detailed negotiations between the two of them, but never once had Daenerys raised the matter that nagged at Sansa constantly. Until the day before she was due to leave. Daenerys invited her for a walk by the beach. Guards followed them. They stopped at a place where, strangely, the sand had been transformed into glass. Daenerys smiled, unpleasantly. "I burned Varys alive, here. They say his screams carried for a mile. " Sansa's blood ran cold. "Do you know, years ago, he tried to poison me, with my unborn child. I forgave him, stupidly, when I took him into my service. So, he betrayed me again. I suppose I deserved it. Mercy is just another word for cowardice after all. I'd advise you to tear up the weeds in your own garden, when you ascend the Northern throne." She turned to face her. "He knew of Jon's parentage. How do you think he came by that information?" Sansa blushed deeply. "I know what you did, and why you did it. Jon may have wielded the knife, but yours was the hand that guided it". Sansa was lost for words, even as she frantically thought of something to say.
"Nothing in the world would make me want to govern your treacherous, ungrateful, people. You and they deserve each other, and I wish you joy of them. Tell your sister that the Faceless Men think ill of her. She owed them a lifetime of service and she used their teaching for selfish ends. They guard me well, now. And know this. If I die, the Unsullied will flay your brother alive! Now, leave me." So, she went.
As she sailed away from the island, she reflected once again. She had her crown, but why did it feel like a defeat?