Daenerys stirred from restless sleep, her body still humming with the memory of Viserys' rage. Her ribs throbbed, though the bruises were long gone, erased by the strange ointments she had applied the night before. The sensation was almost unsettling—pain vanishing as though it had never existed, leaving behind only the lingering fear.
The luxury of her suite in Londonium felt surreal, like a dream she was sure would dissolve the moment Viserys returned. She knew her brother too well; his good moods never lasted. For a fleeting day, he had been pleased—awed by the perfect streets and architecture, enchanted by the beautiful people of this city that gleamed like a jewel. But it had taken only the insult at the gala—being shunted aside, kept far from Mark Lantrun—for his anger to reignite. And as always, she had been the one to suffer for it.
The sound of the door closing behind her brother and Illyrio was a relief, though her heart pounded in anticipation of what might come next. They were meeting with someone from Eden's new money faction, likely hoping to salvage a business deal. If they couldn't gain an army, at least Viserys could clutch at the illusion of power through wealth.
It was a rare chance to slip away unnoticed. Drawing the hood of her pale-blue cloak over her silver hair, Daenerys tucked the letter she had received into her sleeve and left the suite, her heart racing as she made her escape.
---
The streets of Londonium were more beautiful than anything Daenerys had imagined. The sharp, angular architecture seemed impossibly clean, the lines of every building perfectly straight, the stones polished to gleaming. Even the air smelled fresh, tinged with hints of lavender and pine. The people who passed her looked flawless—healthy, vibrant, and dressed in elegant simplicity. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine living here, far from Westeros, far from Viserys and his endless demands.
But soon she reached her destination, and it stole her breath.
The building was grand yet different from the glass towers surrounding it. It was shorter, more grounded, and carved with delicate filigree. It reminded her of a sept—though far more elaborate, as if a god had built it for their own use. The golden sunlight filtering through stained-glass windows gave it an almost sacred glow.
She hesitated only a moment before stepping through the open doors, her heart fluttering with both curiosity and fear.
---
Inside, silence enveloped her. White-cloaked women moved like shadows, their faces hidden, their movements soundless. One of them gestured for Daenerys to follow, and she obeyed without question, feeling as though she were being led through a dream.
The corridor opened into a room unlike any she had seen. Flowers and vines cascaded from the walls, their sweet perfume filling the air. A tranquil water feature bubbled softly in the center, and sunlight streamed through tall windows, painting the space in shades of gold and green.
In the middle of the room was a white, circular table set with porcelain teacups and delicate cakes. Everything about the setting seemed deliberate—too perfect to be real. Daenerys approached the table hesitantly and took a seat, feeling as though she were about to meet a goddess.
And then Clara Lantrun appeared.
One moment the chair across from her was empty, and the next, Clara sat there, as if she had materialized from thin air. Her presence was both soothing and disorienting, like the warmth of wine on an empty stomach.
Clara smiled—a warm, slightly crooked smile that gave the impression she might be just a little tipsy, though entirely in control. She wore a simple dress in muted colors, her silver hair falling loosely around her shoulders. There was something maternal about her presence, but not in the cold, stern way of Daenerys' own mother. Clara felt… loving. Relaxed. Like a woman who had seen the world and decided to laugh at its absurdities.
"You must be Daenerys," Clara said, her voice smooth and inviting as she poured tea with a practiced hand. "I've been looking forward to this."
Daenerys nodded cautiously, unsure how to respond. "Thank you… for inviting me."
"Oh, of course, dear," Clara said with a wave of her hand, as if they were old friends catching up over drinks. "Now, do try the tea—it's a blend from Yi Ti. My son loves it, though he can never get the balance quite right." She chuckled, a sound like soft bells. "It's one of those little things that drives him mad."
Daenerys took a sip of the tea, the rich, fragrant blend warming her from the inside. It was delicious—more complex than anything she had tasted before.
Clara leaned back in her chair, swirling her own cup idly. "Now, let's not dance around, shall we? I like to get straight to the point. Unlike Mark, I'm not much for subtlety." She gave Daenerys a mischievous smile. "I know why you're here, my dear. You came to seduce my son."
Daenerys froze, her teacup trembling slightly in her hand. "I—"
Clara held up a hand, cutting her off with a playful, knowing look. "Oh, don't worry, sweetling. It's a good plan, really. But it won't work." She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Mark isn't interested in such things. You'd have better luck trying to seduce a statue."
Daenerys felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, but Clara's tone was kind, almost teasing.
"You're welcome to try, of course," Clara added with a wink. "Consider it a friendly challenge. But I'll tell you now—Mark has no desire for queens, nor anyone else for that matter."
Clara took another sip of her tea, her expression softening. "But even if you did manage to win his attention, it wouldn't matter. Eden has no intention of restoring the monarchy in Westeros."
Daenerys frowned, her heart sinking. "But… why?"
Clara smiled gently, as though explaining a simple truth to a child. "Because Westeros is already falling apart. Even if Mark intervened, it would never become a monarchy again. It's destined to become a republic—whether you like it or not. And to be honest, we've helped it along."
Daenerys blinked, stunned. "You… you started the rebellion?"
Clara gave a little shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We sent preachers, money, supplies. Once the old regime falls, the people will welcome Eden with open arms."
Daenerys felt her world shifting beneath her feet, her dreams unraveling like thread. "Then… why tell me this?"
Clara reached across the table, her hand warm as it closed over Daenerys'. "Because, my dear, I want to give you something better."
She pulled a simple document from her sleeve and placed it on the table between them. "All you have to do is sign this. Give up your titles, your burdens… your brother. Become a citizen of Eden. You'll have peace, safety, freedom. A new life."
Daenerys stared at the paper, her heart pounding. Could it really be that simple?
Clara's gaze was steady, kind. "You deserve to be free, sweetling. You've carried too much for too long."
For a moment, Daenerys hesitated. Then, with a trembling hand, she picked up the pen and signed her name.
Clara smiled warmly, the love in her eyes like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Welcome home, Daenerys."
And in that moment, Daenerys felt something she had not known in years: hope.