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Chapter 204
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:50:42 +0000 UTCBeyond her breathtaking beauty, Daenerys Targaryen exuded a chilling aura that made the hair on one’s neck stand on end, compelling an almost instinctive urge to kneel and submit. Only those who stood near her could truly understand: the “presence of a king” was not just a myth—it existed.
Watching her from a distance, Petyr Baelish finally realized that this young Targaryen woman, who had crossed half of Essos in a single year, rising from a barbarian’s consort to a queen commanding armies, dragons, and countless titles, owed her success to far more than mere chance or luck.
Even though this wasn’t his first time meeting her, Petyr still felt a shiver of unease when approaching the queen. It wasn’t his imagination—he could sense, even without looking at her, that the woman seated on her silver mare, basking in the crowd’s cheers, was unmistakably a queen and no one else.
...
After selling off the last of his possessions in Braavos, the former Master of Coin had disguised himself and traveled south, passing through Andalos to Pentos. There, he purchased supplies and planned to travel further east, far from the merchants of Westeros who might recognize him, intending to disappear into Norvos or Qohor and live out a dull, anonymous life.
However, just two days after leaving the city, Petyr was captured in his sleep by mysterious individuals and dragged back to Pentos, where he was placed on a ship.
At first, he thought bounty hunters working for King Robert had caught him to drag him back for trial. He sank into despair, even considering suicide. But his keen observation quickly revealed that the ship was not crossing the Narrow Sea. Instead, it was sailing south along Essos’s western coast before turning eastward.
It wasn’t long before his captors explained their intentions: the ship was headed for Slaver’s Bay, where he was to seek out Daenerys Targaryen, pledge himself to her cause, and aid her in reclaiming Westeros at the right moment to restore the Targaryen dynasty.
Being at the mercy of others was a terrible feeling, but as a small man stranded in unfamiliar lands with no money or influence, Petyr knew he wouldn’t survive a week without his captors. Resigned, he decided to play along—for now.
The ship docked at Yunkai, but Daenerys and her forces had already moved on to Meereen. Under the watchful “protection” of a hulking man named Bevos, Petyr spent half a month trekking through the desert before finally arriving at Meereen’s gates. There, he presented himself and offered his services to the queen.
Their first meeting was far from pleasant. As a show of loyalty—and for his own safety—Petyr immediately exposed Jorah Mormont as a spy. Daenerys was furious. The knight she had trusted most was instantly stripped of his status and reassigned to Meereen’s sewers to aid in the city’s capture from within.
Unfortunately for Petyr, this revelation only won him a place to sleep and eat within the camp, not Daenerys’s trust. As she put it herself, “The one who exposes a liar may be an even greater liar.”
Then, a miracle happened. Before Petyr’s eyes, the Dragon Queen performed yet another impossible feat: with a group of sewer infiltrators and a single wooden stake, she captured Meereen overnight, a city many had deemed unconquerable. At sunrise, she began her triumphant entry into the city.
On the plaza before the Great Pyramid, slave masters dragged from their beds were huddled together in despair. In the morning light, the so-called "Great Masters" looked anything but great. Stripped of their jewelry and robes, they seemed pitiful and grotesque, like shaved monkeys clinging together in fear.
“I want your leaders,” Daenerys declared, halting her horse at the plaza’s edge. “Turn them over, and the rest of you will be spared.”
“How many?” an old woman sobbed. “How many must we give?”
“One hundred and sixty-three,” Daenerys replied coldly. “Nail them to the stakes circling the plaza, each pointing to the next, just as the children lined the road to Meereen!”
The captives erupted into screams and shoves, but the Unsullied, emotionless as ever, pushed through the crowd. They dragged out the central figures among the slave masters, counting one hundred and sixty-three before casting them aside. Some cursed loudly, others begged for mercy, and a few collapsed into trembling heaps, wetting themselves in fear.
Petyr frowned.
What was this?
Two days ago, witnessing the dragons—now as large as men—and thousands of disciplined Unsullied had softened Petyr’s resistance. For a moment, he had even entertained the idea that serving the last Targaryen might bring him back to Westeros, perhaps even to the Iron Throne itself.
But just as he began to see Daenerys as a viable queen, she seemed intent on self-destruction with a public display of rash cruelty.
“Your Grace,” Petyr called out from the crowd, unable to stay silent. “I understand the horrors you witnessed on the road to Meereen and the fiery rage of a true dragon that burns within you. But I must tell you the truth—each master you nail to a stake brings you one step closer to being nailed there yourself!”
The Unsullied, mercenaries, and freed slaves parted to allow Daenerys a clear view of the speaker. The queen’s frosty gaze settled on the former Master of Coin, her expression unyielding. “This is justice,” she said. “A life for a life. Did you come all this way from Westeros to plead for these slavers?”
“No, Your Grace. I have no sympathy for these strangers,” Petyr replied. “In fact, I believe none of these slave masters deserve mercy. Every one of them should die—not just a hundred and sixty-three!”
The captives broke into chaos, and even some of Daenerys’s followers murmured objections. The young queen, expecting to face a voice of restraint, was momentarily at a loss when confronted with an even more radical call for vengeance.
“No,” Daenerys said, regaining her composure. “There are innocents among them. I seek justice, not slaughter.”
“If we disagree, Your Grace, will you at least imprison them for now and hear my reasoning before deciding their fate?”
“Hmph.” A strikingly handsome mercenary at Daenerys’s side stepped forward. “What gives a schemer like you the right to address the queen?”
“True, Westeros is rife with slander about me,” Petyr said calmly. “But even if all the rumors were true, does it matter? The man I allegedly poisoned—Jon Arryn—helped Robert Baratheon overthrow your family. He was your enemy, Your Grace. Will the last Targaryen deny an ally who has crossed the sea to support her, without even granting him a chance to speak?”
...
Daenerys despised such manipulative tactics. She had no desire to humor a man accused of seduction, betrayal, and murder, even if his victims were her enemies. “The enemy of my enemy” was not always a friend. She was a Targaryen, but she was a person first, and her instincts warned her against this man.
Yet as she looked at the soldiers and freedmen around her, all eyes fixed expectantly on her, Daenerys decided to grant him the opportunity. No matter what he said, the fate of those one hundred and sixty-three masters was already sealed.
“Imprison them,” she ordered, her voice cold. “Separate the hundred and sixty-three from the others.” She gestured toward the Great Pyramid. “Petyr Baelish, come. Let’s hear this wisdom of yours.”
...
Later, in the grand hall of Meereen’s Great Pyramid, Daenerys reclined disdainfully on the plush chair that had once belonged to the city’s most powerful master. “Well, former Master of Coin,” she said icily. “What do you suggest I do with these slavers?”
Petyr glanced around for a seat but found none. Under the watchful eyes of Daenerys’s guards, he stood and replied, “Your Grace, during my brief stay in your camp—”
“They are not slaves; they are free men,” Daenerys interjected.
“Very well. During my brief stay among your free men,” Petyr corrected smoothly, “I’ve come to admire your actions in Astapor and Yunkai. For one so young to wield virtue and mercy as tools to inspire the oppressed—it is truly remarkable.”
Daenerys’s expression tightened. Somehow, her efforts to free slaves sounded like calculated manipulation when framed this way. She said nothing, staring silently at Petyr.
“However,” he continued, “your victories in Astapor and Yunkai came at a cost. You left those cities without armies or means to sustain themselves and hurried to Meereen.”
“I established councils to govern them,” Daenerys said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
“Councils, yes. But no protection or livelihoods,” Petyr replied. His tone grew less deferential as he pressed on. Over the past two days, he had prepared a speech to win Daenerys’s favor. Yet her rash order of “one hundred and sixty-three” had unnerved him. He needed to know: was Daenerys a queen worth following, or was she merely a vain, beautiful girl relying on dragons and arrogance—a female version of the Mad King?
