Chapter 345: The Bones

Daenerys descended the wide marble staircase, the hem of her long train trailing behind her.

She had to step carefully, lest she lose her balance.

The Unsullied stood at attention, shields and spears at the ready, their backs against the pillars. The spikes on their helmets gleamed with a cold, menacing light.

In the audience hall stood a tall man with smooth, amber-toned skin.

Daenerys knew who he was—Hizdahr zo Loraq, the nobleman Green Grace had recommended as her potential husband.

Yes, she had decided to meet with him.

Yunkai had fallen back into the hands of the masters after her departure and was now raising an army to march on Meereen. At such a critical moment, Daenerys needed the support of Meereen's noble families.

No matter how much she despised them, she had to learn how to feign civility with these people.

Ser Jorah Mormont had once urged her to kill all the Meereenese nobles, just as she had done in Yunkai.

But Daenerys had refused.

The events in Yunkai had already shown her that killing the masters did not solve the problem. When the old masters fell, new ones rose to take their place.

Moreover, excessive killing would tarnish her reputation.

Rumors were already spreading throughout Slaver's Bay that the Dragon Queen bathed in the blood of her enemies. Others whispered that she had inherited the madness of her father, King Aerys, and solved problems only through slaughter.

Daenerys was determined not to be seen as the second coming of the Mad King. In Meereen, she had opted for a gentler approach to ruling.

"You know why you've been summoned," Daenerys said with a strained smile. "The Green Grace seems to think that if I marry you, all my troubles will disappear."

"I wouldn't make such reckless promises," Hizdahr replied politely. "But I believe I can help you. I have wealth, influence, and connections, all backed by the noble blood of ancient Ghis. Though I've never married, I do have two bastards, which proves I can give you heirs. An heir with Ghiscari blood will make this city more loyal to your rule, and the murders in the shadows will stop."

No, you cannot give me heirs, Daenerys thought sadly. Unless the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Unless the seas dry up and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves.

"Can you truly stop the killings?" she asked, fixing her gaze on his eyes. "Will the Sons of the Harpy lay down their blades for you? Or are you one of them?"

"I am not." Hizdahr denied it immediately.

"And if you were, would you admit it?"

"I wouldn't." He smiled, unabashed.

Daenerys's tone grew cold. "Perhaps my knights could extract the truth from you."

"They could indeed," Hizdahr admitted calmly. "If you have me interrogated, on the first day, I'd confess to being one of the Sons of the Harpy. By the second day, I'd claim to be the Harpy herself. On the third day, I'd admit to orchestrating the murder of your father across the Narrow Sea. You'd nail me to a post, but the killings would continue, and the people of Meereen would grow to hate you even more."

Fury churned within Daenerys, but she held her tongue.

Hizdahr, sensing her anger, softened his tone. "If you marry me, all of this will end. The people of Meereen will accept your rule, fight for you, and defend this city against the Yunkai'i."

Daenerys took a deep breath. "Words are wind. I prefer actions. In the Seven Kingdoms, knights prove their love by embarking on adventures. They seek magic swords, golden treasures, or crowns from dragon lairs to present to their beloved."

Hizdahr raised an eyebrow. "You already have dragons. Magic swords, I've never seen. As for gold, if you desire it, I'd happily offer it to you."

"I want peace," Daenerys said. "Stop the Sons of the Harpy's murders. Can you give me that gift?"

"If I can," Hizdahr asked, "will you marry me?"

"Perhaps," Daenerys replied with a faint smile. "But I'm a fickle girl. Who knows? One day, I might suddenly decide I want a magic sword."

Hizdahr shook his head in disappointment. "Your Grace, can you at least give me some hope? Or perhaps allow the reopening of the fighting pits?"

"No," Daenerys said firmly. "I won't allow such barbaric bloodshed to return to this city."

"But the fighting pits are part of Meereen's culture. They're not just about killing—they're a showcase of courage, skill, and strength, pleasing even the gods. Westeros has its own tournaments, does it not? You should respect Meereenese traditions."

"Tourney knights wear armor and wield blunted lances," Daenerys countered.

"And yet, knights still die," Hizdahr replied.

Daenerys had no rebuttal to that.

Hizdahr pressed on. "This isn't just my request; it's the will of the people. Even as queen, you shouldn't deny them their right to watch the games."

"And what about the fighters? Do they want the pits reopened?"

"They want it more than anyone," Hizdahr said. "In the pits, they earn glory, wealth, and the adoration of the crowd. I can assure you, from now on, all fighters will participate voluntarily. No one will be forced."

Daenerys found herself swayed.

Perhaps a compromise was necessary.

The Yunkai'i army was marching toward Meereen, and she needed the support of the noble families.

"Fine," she said at last. "But the Sons of the Harpy's attacks must stop."

"They will," Hizdahr promised, a satisfied smile on his face.

Daenerys gritted her teeth. She was more convinced than ever that the Sons of the Harpy were orchestrated by Meereen's nobles.

Once Hizdahr left, other petitioners were brought before her.

After the conquest of Meereen, Daenerys had demanded the nobles free their slaves. Though they complied under the threat of Unsullied spears and dragonfire, they now sought compensation.

Daenerys rejected all such demands.

But some cases troubled her deeply.

A boy, no older than ten, wept as he told her how, on the night Meereen fell, two of his family's slaves had murdered his father and brother and violated his mother.

"Where are these slaves now?" Daenerys asked.

"They've joined your army," the boy replied.

Daenerys fell silent.

If she punished these slaves, it might open the door to further retribution against all the rebellious slaves. Such actions could destabilize the fragile support she had from them.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "But I pardoned all who rose in rebellion that night."

The boy screamed in rage and lunged at her, but Ser Jorah knocked him down with a single punch.

"Enough. Let him go," Daenerys ordered.

Yet as the boy turned to leave, the look he cast back at her was filled with hatred.

Another Son of the Harpy had been born.

The petitions continued.

Daenerys had never imagined ruling a city could be so exhausting. No matter what decision she made, someone always left dissatisfied.

The chair beneath her grew increasingly hard as time dragged on.

She thought of the Iron Throne her brother had described. That seat must be even more uncomfortable.

"How many more?" Daenerys asked, shifting in her seat.

"Twenty-one, Your Grace," Ser Jorah said. "All here to seek compensation. Your dragons have been feeding well lately."

Daenerys sighed. Ever since she'd allowed her dragons to roam free, as Caesar had once suggested, shepherds had been bringing charred sheep bones to her court to demand compensation.

"Some of them might be lying," Jorah pointed out.

"We can't know for sure," Daenerys replied. "Pay them the market price for their livestock."

"Yes, Your Grace. You're too kind."

The petitioners took their compensation and departed.

Daenerys thought she could finally take a moment's rest, but one man remained in the hall, lingering hesitantly.

"Do you have something to say? Step forward."

The man approached slowly, dragging his feet. In his hands, he held a burlap sack.

"What's in the bag?" Jorah asked, stepping protectively in front of Daenerys.

"Bones..."

"Charred bones?" Jorah said impatiently. "The queen has already agreed to compensate you for your livestock."

"No... no..." The man shook his head and emptied the sack's contents onto the floor. "The black dragon... burned... my child..."

Daenerys's face turned ashen. Her entire body felt like it had plunged into an icy abyss.

The bones on the floor were not those of sheep or cattle.

They were the charred remains of a child.

The hall fell deathly silent, broken only by the man's muffled sobs.

The man cried very carefully.

But it sounded like thunder in Daenerys' ears.

In a trance, she seemed to hear the roaring accusations of countless Meereenese, surrounding her and swallowing her.

(End of Chapter)