The Lost Stark

Secrets we want to forget.

~Daenerys~

Standing on the balcony at the top of The Great Pyramid gives me the chance to see almost all of Meereen. I smile, reminiscing about Ryker and our first night in this room. We spent hours making love on this balcony, and waking up in each other's embrace as the sun rose—it was the happiest I had been in a long time. That was the moment I knew we had to claim this room as our own. It may not be the grandest or most extravagant chamber in The Great Pyramid, but it brings me joy, and Ryker said she doesn't care where we sleep as long as we're together.
After capturing Meereen four months ago, the tension between us dissipated once the Masters met their fate on the posts. I never realized how deeply the plight of those children affected Ryker. Learning about Harper's situation intensified her anger. She told me that when the Andals arrived in Westeros with the Faith of the Seven, they swiftly abolished slavery. Although she had only discussed it with other highborn individuals, she now confronts the issue firsthand.
My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of my counsel in our chamber. I offer Missandei a gentle smile as she, Greyworm, Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, and Daario Naharis enter.
"We should wait for Ryker. She won't be long," I inform the men as they take their seats at the table.
Ser Jorah glances around and asks with a faint grin, "Isn't she here already?" He knows how much I despise tardiness.
"Her Majesty is training with Princess Harper and Prince Rickon. She requested a moment with them," Missandei vocalizes what I already know, casting a disapproving look at the back of Ser Jorah's head.
"We've given them titles now?" he nearly spits the question.
I place my cup down with force, capturing his attention. "Yes, we have. Ryker and I are married, and she was a Lord. Now she is my King. Harper is my heir, and Rickon is like a son to me, so I bestowed upon them the titles of Princess and Prince, respectively. If you have an issue with that, Ser Jorah, you are free to leave at any time." My tone grows colder with each word, making it evident that I am tired of his blatant disrespect towards my wife and the children.
"I apologize, Khaleesi," he says, looking down at the table, his face reddening. "You hadn't informed us about gifting them titles."
"Now you know," I stand up straight not things it was important to correct him on who knew. "Thank you, Missandei, for reminding me of King Ryker's whereabouts. Who wants to start?"
"King Joffrey Baratheon is dead," Ser Jorah begins the meeting, and I take a deep breath. "He was murdered at his own wedding"
"And we've taken control of the Meereenese navy, Your Grace," Ser Barristan adds.
"The Second Sons took the Meereenese navy," Daario corrects him.
I let out a sigh of frustration. "Who instructed you to take the navy?"
Daario reaches forward and grabs a handful of dates. "Her Majesty. She told me you have a fondness for ships," he answers with a grin.
"How many ships?" I inquire.
"Ninety-three, Your Grace," Ser Barristan answers for him.
"And how many men can they carry?"
"Ninety-three hundred, not including sailors."
My eyes shift to Ser Jorah. "Would that be enough to take King's Landing?"
"The Lannisters have more," he replies.
"They have been engaged in Joffrey's wars for years," Ser Barristan argues. "They must be tired and dispersed. Now their King is dead. Eight thousand Unsullied, two thousand Second Sons, sailing into Blackwater Bay, storming the gates without warning."
I look back at Ser Jorah, who gives a half-hearted shrug. "It's hard to say. It could be enough. But we're not fighting to make you the Queen of King's Landing. Ten thousand men cannot conquer Westeros."
"The old houses will rally behind our Queen when she crosses the Narrow Sea," Ser Barristan argues, dismissing Ser Jorah's comment.
"The old houses will flock to whichever side they believe will win, as they always have," Ser Jorah retorts, putting down his cup and rising to his feet. "There's other news from Yunkai. Without the Unsullied to enforce your rule, the Wise Masters have regained control of the city. They've enslaved the freedmen who remained and sworn revenge against you. In Astapor, the council you established to govern the city has been overthrown by a butcher named Cleon, who has declared himself 'His Imperial Majesty.'"
"Please leave me," I say, and as they begin to exit, I call for Ser Jorah to stay.
"It seems my liberation of Slaver's Bay isn't going as planned," I say solemnly once everyone has left us.
"You could sail for Westeros and leave it all behind," he suggests with a shrug. I notice something seems off about him. "A boy sits on the Iron Throne. Many believe him to be a bastard with no right to it. They've never been more vulnerable."
I nod slowly. "You counseled me against rashness once in Qarth, and I didn't listen. That turned out well." I take a moment to contemplate my position on this side of the Narrow Sea. "How can I rule the Seven Kingdoms if I can't control Slaver's Bay? Why should anyone trust me? Why should anyone follow me?" I ask, seeking an answer.
"You're a Targaryen. You're the mother of dragons," he assures me.
"I need to be more than that," I assert firmly. "I will not let those I have freed be enslaved again. I will not sail for Westeros just yet."
"What, then?" he whispers.
"I will do what Queens do," I say, more to myself than to him. "I will rule."
"As you should," he says with a smile, turning on his heel.
"Has there been any word from the King of the North?" I ask before he departs, knowing Ryker would want to know about her family. Ser Jorah shifts uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. "Tell me what you're hiding."
Ser Jorah glances around the room, then clears his throat. "The King in the North has been slain. Alongside his mother."
My heart shatters, and my breathing becomes labored. "When?"
"From what I understand, it happened months before King Joffrey's death. Tywin Lannister had them both killed at King Robb's uncle's wedding to Walder Frey's daughter," he steps closer. "Roose Bolton and his bastard now rule over the North."
"Why weren't we informed?" I seethe, struggling to hold back tears.
"By the time we received the news, you and Ryker were already married," Ser Jorah whispers. "I convinced Ser Barristan not to reveal it until we set sail on the Narrow Sea."
I glare at him. "What gave you the right to hide this information from us?"
"If Ryker found out, she would have left," he argues. "She would have abandoned you and risked her life to reclaim her family's home in Winterfell. I did this for you, Khaleesi."
"Don't you dare," I say, taking a deep breath and turning around. "I am no longer your Khaleesi."
"If you want her to choose you and remain by your side, you must keep this a secret."
I manage to maintain composure until he left, but as soon as the door closed behind him, my knees buckle, and I become a sobbing mess. I long for Ryker to be here, to hold me, but I can't burden her with this. Despite Ser Jorah's wrongdoings in keeping vital information from us, a part of me fears that he might be right. When Ryker discovers the truth, she may leave me. She may sail to Winterfell and risk everything to reclaim her family's home.