Arren sat by the fire, his blindfolded eyes turned toward the flames, though his thoughts were far from the camp. For the past few days, a tension had been building within him, a tension he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't the usual weariness that came from guarding Daenerys, nor the lingering aches from his battles. No, this was something deeper, something more personal—and it had a name: Doreah.
He had tried to push it down, to ignore the way his mind wandered whenever she was near. At first, it had been easy. She was just another person in the camp, one of the many who served Daenerys. But over time, as their conversations grew more frequent, more personal, he found himself drawn to her in ways he hadn't expected. It wasn't just her beauty—though he couldn't deny the allure of her curves, which often caught his attention, much to his own frustration. No, it was more than that. It was the way she understood him, the way they shared a bond born from their shared past as slaves.
Yet, despite that connection, Arren found himself struggling to accept his feelings. He didn't want to get too close. His life had always been one of survival, of keeping distance. Attachment only made things more difficult, and he couldn't afford to let his guard down. Not now. Not when there were so many dangers surrounding Daenerys and her growing power.
He sighed, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to rid himself of the thoughts that plagued him. But no matter how hard he tried, Doreah lingered in his mind.
Later that day, Arren was summoned by Daenerys. He found her in her tent, her posture rigid, her expression cool and composed. There was a formality in the air that hadn't been there in their earlier conversations. Something had changed, though he couldn't quite place what it was.
"Arren," Daenerys began, her voice devoid of the warmth it once held, "I need your counsel."
Arren nodded, standing still as he listened. "What do you need of me, Khaleesi?"
Daenerys moved to the center of the tent, her eyes scanning a map laid out before her. "I'm considering purchasing the Unsullied," she said bluntly. "An army that will not break, that will not question my commands. Once I liberate them, I hope some will choose to stay and serve me willingly."
Arren frowned slightly. "The Unsullied are valuable... and costly. How will we pay for them?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, and Arren could feel the sudden shift in Daenerys's demeanor. Her tone grew colder, more distant. "That is not your concern," she said sharply. "I didn't ask for your opinion on how to manage finances. Your place is to guard me, to fight when needed. The rest is for me to handle."
Her words stung more than Arren would admit. There had been a time when Daenerys valued his advice, when she had spoken to him as a confidant. But now, standing before her, he felt like nothing more than a tool, a weapon to be wielded when necessary and discarded when not.
He straightened his posture, hiding the flicker of disappointment that passed through him. "Of course, Khaleesi," he replied, his voice even. "It is your right."
Daenerys gave a curt nod, her attention already returning to the map. "You are dismissed," she said, her tone final.
Arren left the tent, his mind clouded with thoughts of the conversation. For the rest of the day, he stood vigil as he always did, watching over her from a distance. Yet, her treatment of him lingered in his thoughts. Had something changed between them? Or had Daenerys simply remembered her place, her status as queen, and the vast divide that lay between them?
He didn't know. But it gnawed at him nonetheless.
That evening, Arren sat by the fire once more, this time joined by Doreah. She had a way of finding him during these quiet moments, always bringing with her a lightness that eased the burden of his thoughts. Tonight, however, he felt the weight of the day's events pressing down on him, and it was clear in his demeanor.
Doreah noticed immediately, her brow furrowing slightly as she studied him. "You seem troubled," she remarked softly. "Something on your mind?"
Arren chuckled, though the sound was hollow, self-deprecating. "It seems the burdens of being a queen have made Daenerys remember her status," he said, his tone laced with irony. "In just a single day, I've gone from being a confidant to a sycophant in her eyes."
Doreah shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she tried to reassure him. "You're wrong, Arren. Daenerys values you more than you think. She's under a great deal of pressure, trying to keep everything together. You can't blame her for being... distant."
Arren sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know she has responsibilities. But everyone has a place in this world, Doreah. And she knows that everyone is beneath her."
Doreah's smile faded slightly, her eyes searching his face. "If you believe that, why do you still follow her? Why serve a queen you think is like every other king or ruler?"
Arren's gaze shifted, his mind drifting back to the life he had once known—the world before this one, where power and politics were no less treacherous. It had always been about choosing sides, picking the lesser of two evils. The thought settled in his mind, solidifying into words.
"I follow her," he began slowly, "because in this world, you have to choose who you'll stand behind. I've seen what the other kings and queens are like—the wolves, the lions. Daenerys may be a ruler, but of all of them, she is the lesser evil. I chose her because I can observe her, watch her, and hope that she'll be better than the rest."
Doreah listened intently, her expression softening as she took in his words. There was something about the way he spoke that made her realize just how much thought he put into every decision, every action. He wasn't following Daenerys blindly—he was watching, waiting, and hoping for something greater.
"And do you think she can be better?" Doreah asked, her voice quiet.
Arren shrugged slightly, his tone resigned. "I don't know. But of all the people I've seen, she's the one with the most potential. I've chosen to follow her, to guard her, because I want to see if she can live up to that potential."
They sat in silence for a while, the crackling of the fire the only sound between them. Doreah's hand rested gently on Arren's arm, a small gesture of comfort that he found himself grateful for.
As the night deepened, Arren's thoughts wandered once more, but this time they weren't filled with doubt or frustration. He thought of Doreah, of the quiet understanding they shared, and the weight of the day began to lift just a little.
Perhaps, in this world of power and uncertainty, it wasn't just about choosing the lesser evil. Perhaps it was about finding something—or someone—worth standing beside.
And for now, he had chosen Daenerys. But as he glanced at Doreah, he wondered if there was room for something more, something beyond duty.
Time, as always, would tell.