"Daenerys must die."
Tyrion Lannister lightly advanced a black cyvasse piece on the board, his voice calm. "Lancel, I know you have many qualms, but tell me, if she ascends the Iron Throne, will Daenerys spare you for having pleaded on her behalf?"
Lancel Lannister pulled out a chair, the hard wooden surface chilling against him. He accepted the wine Tyrion offered and took a sip. "No," he admitted quietly.
"Then that settles it," Tyrion remarked with a thin smile. "Honestly, I do not relish this course. But Daenerys harbors a deep-seated enmity against our House."
Stannis Baratheon, his brow furrowed like storm-carved stone, spoke next. "I will not mince words. Murdering a girl across the sea is an utterly dishonorable act."
"Indeed, no one desires it," Varys chimed in, his tone tender with false sympathy. "Such a pure and lovely girl, alas, soon to be wed to that Dothraki horselord. Yet, if it were up to me, I would still support King Robert. Should she return riding a dragon, it is the common folk who will burn."
Ser Barristan Selmy stood rigid, his face a mask of conflict. "Your Grace, I must speak. I believe killing Daenerys now is akin to murdering a child in her cradle. I cannot condone such an act."
Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, adding his weight to the dissent. "And I cannot endorse hiring a Faceless Man. The cost is… astronomical, and the precedent, dreadful."
Renly Baratheon concluded the circle of opinions, his smile somewhat frivolous against the grim topic. "It seems, then, we are at an impasse. Yet we must devise a means to neutralize the Targaryen threat."
King Robert slammed his palm against the table, making the cyvasse pieces jump. "Precisely! And I see no shame in it. A bag of gold, a sharp blade—it's a cleaner end than she gave Rhaegar's children!"
"It will merely cost a substantial sum," Renly smiled, ever the pragmatist.
It was then that Varys turned his gaze, his expression one of feigned innocence. "My dearest Prince Renly, have you not already sent your little bird, Miss Jon Snow, across the Narrow Sea? Is it not a matter of mere moments for her to extinguish the Dragon Queen's life? Surely that was your design."
Renly maintained his composure, though his heart chilled. So Varys knows. "I was unaware Jon was in the company of Daenerys," he said, which was the truth. It appeared the Spider's web was as vast as Jon had speculated, stretching even to Pentos.
Robert, indifferent to the intricacies, brightened. "Is this not fortuitous? Once she eliminates Daenerys, I shall bestow upon her a lordship! A keep in the Gift! Let Illyrio ensure her safety afterward."
"Jon is but one individual, and Daenerys is not yet the Mother of Dragons," Renly countered. "And should Daenerys perish, there remains Viserys." Yet, even as he spoke, he felt the earlier conviction to save the girl wavering. He bore the name Baratheon, and the blood of the Usurper Robert coursed through his veins. The throne his brother won with warhammer and blood could not be lost through his inaction.
"Whoever desires to slay her may do so. The bounty is of little concern," Robert grumbled. "However, let it be noted that I hold no authority over Jon Snow. She may very well have struck her own bargain with Illyrio."
"Then let us summon her back," Lancel suggested.
Robert, evidently disinclined to exert himself further, waved a dismissive hand. "The vast expanse of the ocean lies between us. It is not so simple."
Tyrion offered a wry smile, gently patting his nephew's arm in a gesture of consolation. "Come now, Renly. A king must undertake many tasks he finds distasteful. The sweet and charming Daenerys, Princess Elia, and Prince Aegon… were you to discover that your Jon Snow also bore a drop of Targaryen blood, she might well be among the deceased now."
On the far side of the Narrow Sea, the air was thick with incense and tension.
Jon Snow calmly subdued the inept prince, pinning Viserys helplessly to the marble floor. Daenerys's eyes were wide, a blend of fear and inexplicable exhilaration coursing through her. Subsequently, Jon swiftly released her grip.
"Clearly, Magister Illyrio did not dispatch me here to watch you assault your sister," Jon stated flatly.
Viserys scrambled to his feet, his face a thundercloud of humiliation. "I am the true dragon! You dare—"
"A dragon egg?" Viserys's face suddenly ignited with fervor, his anger redirecting to Illyrio. "Why do you grant her a dragon egg and not me, your rightful king?"
"It has been said it is merely a fossilized stone," Jon interjected, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Are your ears deaf?"
Viserys's countenance darkened, his finger jabbing erratically at Jon. "You dare defy the true dragon!" Yet, recalling the humiliation of being so easily vanquished, he refrained from uttering the phrase that invoked the sleeping dragon's wrath. He stood caught in limbo, neither advancing nor retreating.
"Enough, Viserys," Daenerys said, her voice firmer than Jon had ever heard it. "Reclaim your hand. If we are to return to Westeros, it will not be like this." She turned to Jon. "Do not speak of Prince Renly. My brother cannot even measure up to Prince Joffrey, who at least has the sense to feign politeness in the presence of guests."
Jon said nothing, thinking that Viserys was likely a man driven to the brink of madness by the weight of a lost crown and a life in exile.
Viserys was left speechless, unable to formulate a rebuttal. Daenerys felt certain that Jon was indeed correct. Thus, she pressed further. "Is Prince Renly the heir of the Usurper?"
Jon hesitated momentarily. "Robert has two sons. Joffrey possesses a cruel disposition and is malevolent by nature. Renly, however… bears a resemblance in demeanor to the former Crown Prince Rhaegar."
Viserys erupted in fury. "How dare you use that usurper's dog to insult my brother!"
"I merely speak the truth," Jon replied calmly. "His martial skills are lacking. He is lost in books and engages in theoretical musings. Though betrothed to Highgarden, the alliance does not seem to please them. As for Prince Joffrey… he is indeed a grave threat to any who oppose him." Jon's expression turned deeply worried and fearful, a convincing performance for the paranoid Targaryens.
Viserys held his breath in contemplation. "The blood of the Usurper courses through them… volatile and irritable." A cruel light entered his eyes. "Is there not also a Princess Myrcella?"
"Oh, dear Prince Viserys," Jon said, layering her tone with gentle warning. "Princess Myrcella is already betrothed to the North. She will soon become my good-sister. I would ask you to spare her any dark thoughts."
Viserys scoffed. "Very well. Very well. Do take good care of my sister. I shall take my leave." He departed with a peculiar, limping gait, his pride wounded.
"My brother has suffered greatly over the years," Daenerys murmured softly, her eyes filled with a sorrowful loyalty. "He sold our mother's crown to feed me. It has not been easy for him."
Jon wished to offer some comforting words, but they caught in her throat. After all, Renly was her friend, the one who had shown her kindness and given her a chance. But Daenerys shared a blood bond with her, a connection to the family her own father had died fighting for.
If Daenerys truly returned to Westeros with a Dothraki horde, the kind-hearted prince who loved books and loathed injustice would be among the first to burn.
Contemplating his fate, Jon lowered her gaze, lost in troubled thoughts, the weight of two conflicting loyalties settling heavily upon her.