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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 157: A Guest of Honor
The morning sun was already feeling hot when Myrcella stepped out of the pyramid.
She had not slept well…she never slept well anymore, but the heat was a welcome change from the cold stone of her chambers. It seeped into her bones, chasing away the chill that had settled there since she escaped King's Landing.
'This is nothing like King's Landing,' she thought. 'Or Winterfell. This is something else entirely.' The only place comparable to Meereen in Westeros was probably Dorne, but she never got the chance to visit it.
Though she heard wonders about their Water Gardens.
A group of Unsullied stood waiting for her at the base of the steps, their bronze masks gleaming in the sunlight, their spears held at perfect angles. They did not speak, did not move, did not show any sign that they were aware of her presence beyond the slight tilt of their heads.
Beside them stood Lord Varys.
He was not what she remembered. The Varys of King's Landing had been a creature of shadows, a spider who lurked in the corners of the Red Keep and whispered secrets into the ears of kings. This Varys was different. He stood in the open, in the sunlight, his plump hands folded over his round belly. He smiled the moment he saw her.
"Princess Myrcella," he said, bowing low. "I am honored to be your guide today."
Myrcella curtsied, a habit she could not seem to break. "Lord Varys. It's…nice to see you again."
"Ah, yes." Varys made a wistful expression. "You were a child then. Sweet and innocent. I remember you used to play in the gardens with your brother Tommen. You would chase butterflies and laugh."
Myrcella felt slightly embarrassed. "That was a long time ago."
"It was," Varys agreed. "But the past is never truly gone. It lives in us, shapes us, makes us who we are." He gestured toward the city below. "Shall we begin?"
"Yes, thank you," Myrcella responded.
This tour had actually been Daenerys's idea. She had even offered to accompany Myrcella personally.
She wanted to show her all that she and Joffrey had accomplished over these past years. Their army, their fleet.
Unfortunately, the Queen of Meereen had forgotten she was supposed to attend court all morning.
So Lord Varys had taken her place.
The tour began at the docks.
Myrcella had seen harbors before, like the great port of King's Landing, the busy docks of Dorne. But Meereen was different. The harbor was vast, its stone piers stretching out into the blue waters of Slaver's Bay like long fingers. Ships of every size and shape filled the docks, their masts a forest of timber against the sky.
"Thirty-eight ships," Varys said, following her gaze. "That is the fleet Queen Daenerys commands. Fifteen of them were once Euron Greyjoy's. He was... persuaded to part with them."
Myrcella remembered the story. Joffrey had stolen Euron's dragon horn, killed his brother, and taken half his fleet. It had been one of the many things she had learned before coming here. It was also the reason for Euron to seek her mother's help.
"They are impressive," she said.
"They are mostly necessary," Varys replied. "The world is not kind to those who cannot protect themselves. Queen Daenerys learned that lesson long ago. As did your brother."
They walked along the pier, the Unsullied forming a protective cordon around them.
The sailors and dockworkers paused in their labors to stare at the princess with her golden hair and green eyes, her delicate gown and her soft hands. She was clearly out of place here, a creature of silk and privilege among the rough men of the sea.
'They are staring at me,' Myrcella thought. 'They are wondering what someone like me is doing here.'
But none of them approached. None of them spoke to her. The Unsullied were enough to discourage any curious glances.
"Who are they?" Myrcella asked, nodding toward a group of men in red robes who were walking along the pier, their faces hidden behind golden masks.
"Red Temple Knights," Varys said. "Warriors sworn to the Lord of Light. They serve the Red Priestess Lyssara, who in turn serves Queen Daenerys. And, I suspect, your brother as well. They came from Asshai."
"They serve Joffrey?"
"Let us say they are... favorably inclined toward him." Varys's eyes glittered with amusement. "He has a way of inspiring loyalty in unexpected places."
The city itself was a wonder.
Myrcella had expected squalor and poverty, the filth and desperation that she had heard so much about during her time in King's Landing.
But it was nothing like that. The streets were clean, the buildings well-maintained. Markets bustled with merchants selling everything from silks to spices to strange fruits she had never seen before.
Children played in the courtyards, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.
It was not what she had imagined.
"The queen has been busy," Varys said, as if reading her thoughts. "When she took the city, it was in chaos. The Masters had been overthrown, the slaves were free but leaderless, and there was no one to maintain order. She established a council, distributed food, rebuilt what had been destroyed. It was not easy, but she succeeded."
"She did all this?" Myrcella asked, surprised.
"She and your brother," Varys said. "Joffrey conquered the city, but Daenerys is the one who has ruled it. He has been... occupied with other matters."
They passed a group of freedmen working on a new building. They waved at Varys as he passed, and he returned the greeting with a warm smile.
"They seem happy," Myrcella observed.
"They are free," Varys said. "For the first time in their lives, they are free. They have purpose and hope for the future. That is more than most people in this world can say."
The gardens were the most beautiful thing Myrcella had ever seen.
They sprawled across the side of a hill, terraced and watered by a complex system of channels that brought life to the desert.
Flowers of every color bloomed in profusion…roses and jasmine, lilies and orchids, plants she had no names for but that filled the air with sweet perfume.
"There are gardens in the Reach that rival these," Varys said, "but not many. The queen has taken great pride in restoring them. She said they remind her of the house where she grew up, in Pentos."
Myrcella walked among the flowers, her fingers brushing against the petals. For a moment, she felt almost peaceful.
<><>
The training grounds were loud and chaotic.
Myrcella heard the thunder of hooves, the clash of steel, the guttural cries of men who had been born to war. She stopped at the edge of the field, her breath catching in her throat.
Dothraki.
Hundreds of them. Thousands, perhaps. They rode across the training grounds in a swirling mass of horseflesh and leather; their curved arakhs were flashing, their long braids streaming behind them. They screamed and laughed and fought, their voices a cacophony of savagery and joy.
Myrcella had never seen anything like it.
'They are savages,' she thought, remembering the stories she had heard in King's Landing. 'They ride, they kill, they take what they want. They are the scourge of Essos.'
But these Dothraki were not raiding. They were training. They moved with a discipline that surprised her, their formations tight, their attacks coordinated. They were not a horde of mindless killers. They were an army.
"Impressive, are they not?" Varys said, coming to stand beside her.
"They are... terrifying," Myrcella admitted.
"They are," Varys agreed. "The Dothraki have been the terror of Essos for centuries. They have destroyed kingdoms, razed cities, enslaved millions. But they are also the finest light cavalry in the world."
"And now they serve Daenerys?. How did she convince them?"
"Some of them," Varys said. "The ones who followed her from the beginning, who crossed the Red Waste with her, who believed in her when no one else did. But most of these men..." He gestured toward the swirling mass of riders. "These men serve your brother exclusively."
Myrcella looked at him, surprised. "Joffrey?"
"Indeed." Varys smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. "Your brother did something remarkable. He united the Dothraki. Not just a single khalasar, but dozens of them. He defeated their khals, took their warriors, and forged them into a single horde. They call him the Khal of Khals now."
"The Khal of Khals," Myrcella repeated, the title strange on her tongue. "How... how did he do that?"
"He communicated with them…in the only way they understood. He killed anyone who opposed him," Varys said simply. "And those who did not oppose him, he convinced. He offered them something no one else ever had…a purpose beyond raiding and slavery. A chance to be something more than savages."
Myrcella watched the riders, her mind racing. She had known Joffrey had changed. She had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. But this... this was something else entirely. He had not just changed himself. He had changed an entire culture.
'What else has he done?' she wondered.
<><>
The dragons were resting near the top of one of the pyramids.
Myrcella had seen them from a distance…it was impossible not to; they were enormous, but she had not truly appreciated their size until now.
The pyramid was one of the smaller ones, perhaps a hundred feet tall, and the two dragons were coiled around its peak like cats around a pillar.
Rhaegal was the green one, his scales shimmering like emeralds.
Viserion was cream and gold, his horns gleaming like polished bronze.
They were smaller than Drogon, according to Varys. He told her that Drogon was the largest and most aggressive, but they were still massive, their bodies longer than ships, their wings wide enough to cast shadows over entire streets.
"They are beautiful," Myrcella whispered.
"Are they?" Varys asked. "I suppose they can be. But they are also very deadly. A single blast of dragonfire can melt stone, turn men to ash, reduce cities to rubble. Queen Daenerys has used them to conquer cities. She could use them to conquer the world."
Myrcella shivered. "Will she?"
"That depends," Varys said. "On what she wants. On what your brother wants. On what kind of rulers they decide to be."
Viserion stirred, his golden eyes opening. He looked at Myrcella, and she felt a chill run down her spine. There was intelligence in those eyes. He was not a mindless beast. He was something more.
Then he closed his eyes again, and the moment passed.
"They are weapons," Varys said. "The most powerful weapons in the world. Queen Daenerys knows this. Your brother knows this. They are careful about how they use them."
"Weapons…" Myrcelladidn'tt like the sound of that.
<><>
The arena was being refurbished at the moment.
Workers swarmed over the structure, repairing walls, clearing rubble, preparing for the fights that would soon be held there. The sands had been raked smooth, the gates repaired, the seating restored.
"The fighting pits?" Myrcella said.
"Slaves used to fight here to entertain the Masters," Varys said. "Your brother and the queen found them... distasteful. But the people demanded their return, so they compromised. The pits will reopen, but under new rules. No slaves. No forced combat. Anyone who fights will do so freely, and the victors will be rewarded."
"That sounds... like the tourneys that father liked so much."
"Indeed, that was also my idea when I suggested it to the Queen", Varys said. "Common people also need some form of entertainment after all."
<><>
The tour ended in the late afternoon.
Myrcella stood on the balcony of her guest chambers, looking out over the city. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The pyramids cast long shadows across the streets, and the calls to prayer echoed from the temples…the Red Temple, the Temple of the Graces, the many small shrines that dotted the city.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she said.
Lord Varys stepped inside, his face as genial as ever.
"I hope the tour was... enlightening, Princess."
"It was," Myrcella said. "Thank you."
Varys bowed. "I am glad. Your brother asked me to take care of you while you are here. He wants you to be happy, and to feel safe."
Myrcella smiled. "Did he say that?"
"Of course," Varys said. "You may not have realized it yet. But you are the most important guest we have. That's why everyone was watching after you today. Not just the few Unusullied standing behind you, but the hundreds watching from the shadows."
Myrcella blinked. She had no idea about that. "Lord Varys," she said. "What happens now? What am I supposed to do?" She was unsure about the future.
Varys looked at her, his eyes kind.
"That depends on you, Princess. You are welcome to stay here, in Meereen, for as long as you wish. You are welcome to return to Westeros, if that is your desire. You are welcome to do whatever you choose." He smiled. "You are free. That is the gift your brother has given you."
Myrcella felt tears prick at her eyes. "I don't know what to do with that."
Varys nodded. "No one ever does. But you will learn. There is time."
He bowed and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Myrcella turned back to the window, to the city below, to the setting sun.
'Free,' she thought. 'I am free.'
For the first time in months, she felt something she had almost forgotten.
Hope.
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