-Chapter 105-
-3 moons later-
-POV Daenerys Targaryen-
"The bay is finally safe," I murmured as I watched the crowd cheer for me.
Most of the people gathered were former slaves who had done everything to help me achieve our shared dream.
'A free world,' I thought, before shifting my gaze from the crowd to the Unsullied, who, even reduced to fewer than 3,000 soldiers including young recruits, were all in formation, ready to defend me against any assassination attempt.
'Because of those damned Lannisters,' I thought, still seething at the effort they had put into painting a picture of me that was nothing like the reality.
Because of them, assassins from all over the world, as well as the Dothraki, had tried to attack us before my dragons could reach their full growth.
All because they were afraid.
'Afraid of my dragons,' I thought, remembering how pirate fleets, along with the fleets sent by the cities of Qarth and New Ghis, were all armed with scorpions.
'I almost lost Drogon back then,' I told myself, recalling the time when a scorpion bolt had grazed his neck.
For a time after that event, my dragons were so aggressive that even I began to fear them.
I'm ashamed, but back then, I was terrified of my own children.
I had even made the decision to lock them up in the underground chambers of the pyramid.
Until I learned of the death of all the Baratheons, the death of Joffrey Waters, then his brother, the other Lannister bastard sitting on my throne, and finally, his own death.
I was on the verge of giving up, on the verge of abandoning my dream of bringing dragons back to Westeros.
But when I learned that not only had House Baratheon gone extinct, but that it was neither a Stark, nor a Lannister, nor an Arryn, nor a Martell, nor a Greyjoy, nor even a fucking Frey who had taken the throne, but a Connington – a man who had once been loyal to my House in the past – and that he called himself king while I was still here, alive…
I felt a dagger stab me almost physically.
It reignited all the anger, all the resentment, all the rage that was supposed to have faded after the death of nearly all those responsible for my exile.
And with that rage, a desire to survive.
No, a desire to live.
A desire to crush all those who dared doubt the power of the fire of House Targaryen.
A desire for vengeance against those lords greedy for what did not belong to them.
A desire for justice.
It was this flame, burning so intensely within me, that pushed me to overcome my fear and to drive out, at any cost, all those who thought they had a say in the Bay of Dragons.
Just as I would drive out all those who thought they had a say in Westeros.
In my homeland… In my kingdom… On my throne.
"How are you, my queen?" Quentyn said at my side.
"Very well, and you?" I asked my 'fiancé.'
Even though I did not love him, I could not deprive myself of a possible alliance with Dorne, especially since I had been forced to eliminate the family of my former fiancé – and him as well – once I found evidence of collusion between them and certain Ghiscari nobles from New Ghis.
'Hizdahr may have been a good man, but he had no control over the members of his family, of his faction, and he tried to control me. But… one cannot control a dragon,' I thought as I watched my children soar through the sky, free of all constraints, more in sync with me since we had crushed all foreign forces that had come to subjugate the Bay of Dragons.
"Perfectly well, since we have reclaimed all our lands," he said, taking his ease as he also waved to the crowd, as if he were the ruler of these lands.
We have reclaimed.
Our lands.
'He is starting,' I thought, watching in silence his attempts to slowly assert dominance over me.
'But the dragon is not an animal enslaved to a master,' I told myself, for I was free and unbound, and it certainly would not be a little man from elsewhere, without an army, armed only with sweet words, who would succeed where all others had failed.
'It is my destiny to be queen.'
"Have you received any news from your family?" I asked Quentyn Martell, who tensed slightly for a moment before answering, hiding behind his hypocritical smile:
"My father sends his greetings and hopes to see you soon in Sunspear."
"I am still waiting for him to send me a letter personally," I said, far from fooled by his lies, for I knew full well that the Usurper Connington had fathered a child with the true princess heir of Dorne, Arianne Martell.
"He will, and he will bend the knee before you, Your Grace," he said, bowing at last, using the proper tone and form.
'Let's hope so, for your sake, if you don't want to end up being torn apart in the bellies of my sons,' I thought as I turned my eyes away from this liar to greet the crowd.
I did not miss the mocking look Daario threw at him, nor the knowing glance he sent my way.
'This night is going to be long… or short, depending on one's perspective,' I thought, eager for the festivities to end so I could find my beautiful stallion.
---
-POV Jon Snow-
"Raise your sword higher," I said, observing the clumsy way the former Prince of Dorne swung his sword.
'He was used to fighting with his little Eastern swords,' I thought, also recalling the sword I had given to Arya.
"Raise your sword higher, I said," I repeated, watching.
'Fortunately, she wasn't in the North,' I thought, frowning as I recalled, by extension, what had happened at Winterfell.
'Why can't he swing this damn sword properly?'
I quickly descended the steps that allowed me to overlook the training ground, then strode directly toward Trystane Martell, parting the crowd of new recruits who had arrived thanks to the royal fleet.
Once I reached him, I violently straightened his arm and said:
"When I tell you to raise your arm, you raise your fucking arm."
He looked me straight in the eyes without saying a word, and I saw a struggle of defiance in his gaze.
"Jon!!" the commander shouted, breaking our silent confrontation.
Forced to divert my attention, I silently moved to stand beside Commander Jeor Mormont, who said:
"Do not settle your personal grievances with this boy; he will soon be one of your sworn brothers."
"He is a traitor," I said through gritted teeth, despising more than anything this kind of man.
"I know exactly how you feel, but he is neither a Bolton nor a Karstark, so stop taking your anger out on the boy. It is beneath you and the education you have received," said Lord Commander Mormont.
I clenched my teeth, recalling my father's teachings, then lowered my head and apologized:
"Forgive me, Lord Commander."