The Last Stag • Game of Thrones

33.

Chapter Thirty-Three.
The Rightful Heirs

Renfri awoke to bile rising in her throat. 

She turned, immediately spilling her guts onto the hay that she sat upon. Once she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

The last thing she remembered was taking an arrow to the shoulder at the Goldenroad, surrounded by burning flame and dead bodies. Now, Renfri was somewhere much...darker. A relatively clean cell somewhere unfamiliar to her, the floor rocking beneath her body.

A ship, then. The floor only rocked ever so slightly, not smoothly, so they were not in motion. She raised her head, sniffing the air, the smell of freshwater and crab hitting her nose. She had been here before. 

Dragonstone. A ship moored by Dragonstone.

She shakily pulled herself to her feet, her shoulder aching in protest as she did so. Someone had taken the time to bandage her up, clean her wound. 

Why would Daenerys Targaryen go through the effort? Why not just leave her to die?

Regardless, Renfri had spent far too many years as somebodies prisoner. Robb's, then Cersei's, now Daenerys's. She was growing rather sick of it.

Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she peered out the tiny porthole that served as a window. She caught glimpses of the castle ahead of her, telling her that they were moored on the northwest point of the island, where she had landed some years ago. 

Her ears twitched. Footsteps approaching. 

Renfri dropped, turning to face the bars of her cell.

She was dressed in a black armored gown, her white hair braided out of her face, brushing against her back. She stood regally, her hands clasped in front of her, regarding Renfri with curious eyes.

The two women said nothing, each examining the other.

"Do you know who I am?" The Dragon Queen finally asked, raising an eyebrow. Her voice rang clear like a bell, regal, Queen-like. But there was no Westerosi accent there. 

Renfri met her gaze.

"Of course I do." She mulled. "There's only one foreign invader who rides on the backs of dragons, commanding Dothraki hordes."

"Mm." Daenerys nodded. "And do you know why you're here?"

Renfri pondered this. There was a menagerie of reasons why the Dragon Queen would want her. Her name alone could summon armies to her aid. She was the sitting Queen's only heir. She was the lover of the King in the North.

"Enlighten me." She finally answered. 

"You are here," Daenerys hummed. "Because your uncle cares about you. He thinks you might have something to offer."

Her uncle? Not Jaime, no way. Stannis was dead, Renly was dead. That left only one.

"I have nothing for you."

"He says otherwise." Daenerys leaned against the wall opposite Renfri's cell. "Lord Tyrion speaks quite highly of you. That you're smarter than you look, more observant. He makes a valid point. You have the backing of the great Houses of Westeros. The Stormlands, the Westerlands, the Reach. I could use an ally like that."

"An ally." Renfri snorted. "You slaughtered hundreds of Lannister men. You brought your beast down from the sky, ambushing them on the road, and burnt them into ash, no bodies left for families to bury properly. Those were good men. Commoners. You burnt the wagons of crop and livestock that we were bringing to the people. Children will go hungry now. I have the backing of my people because I understand that."