Daenerys didn't trust either of them.

She had Ser Jorah and Tyrion brought up from their cells at dawn, and forced them to wait in the hall for hours until she was ready. Grey Worm was still recovering, which meant only Missandei and Saera were with her.

It was an awkward gathering.

"There was a bee."

Tyrion looked up at Saera as entered his room. "You're not supposed to be in here," he said, quickly hiding his toy soldiers.

"There was a bee in Cersei's hair," repeated Saera, shivering. "I could not tolerate being out there any longer."

"You... are afraid of a bee?"

"Bees sting. It hurts."

"Cersei pinches. That hurts, too."

She smiled. "She complains about everything. But it fills the silence. The more she talks, the less I have to."

He stared at her, wondering if she was approaching a point. "Princess Saera, why are you here?"

"Cersei says she might marry Rhaegar," said Saera. "And that I might marry Jamie. That's why we are visiting Casterly Rock. I might live here one day."

Tyrion snorted. "Do you want to marry Jamie?"

She shrugged. "Don't know yet. He's very handsome. But he cares more about swords than me. He won't talk to me. Rhaegar says it's because I am a little girl to him. Jamie and Cersei are five-and-ten, Rhaegar eight-and-ten. I am only ten. And you, one-and-ten. And my baby brother," she smiled, "He's not even a year old."

He tilted his head as she sat down by his window. "Why are you still here?"

"I want to play," she said. "Inside where there are no insects. May I?"

He slowly reached out to offer her one of the toy soldiers. She sat with him, causing him to smile. "I think I'll weave a saddle for their little horses," she mused. "And perhaps tents and blankets. Then you will have homes for them, and not only soldiers on their own."

Jamie had been sent to look for her when they hadn't been able to locate her, and had let a smile grow on his face when he peeked into his brother's room and saw she had made him a tiny dragon.

"Your Grace," started Ser Jorah, the silence too much to bear. "I want to say–"

"You will not speak," she said flatly. She addressed Tyrion, "How can I be sure you are who you say you are?"

"If only I were otherwise," Tyrion admitted.

"If you are Tyrion Lannister, why shouldn't I kill you to pay your family back for what it did to mine?" She held up a hand preventatively, knowing Saera was about to burst out a comment.

Tyrion reasoned, "You want revenge against the Lannisters? I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart. I am the greatest Lannister killer of our time."

"So I should welcome you into my service because you murdered members of your own family?"

"Into your service?" said Tyrion. "Your Grace, we have only just met. It's too soon to know if you deserve my service."

Daenerys almost seemed to want to laugh. "If you'd rather return to the fighting pits, just say the word."

"When I was a young man, I heard a story about a baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no wealth, no lands, no army, only a name and a handful of supporters, most of whom probably thought they could use that name to benefit themselves. They kept her alive, moving her from place to place, often hours ahead of the men who'd been sent to kill her. She was eventually sold off to some warlord on the edge of the world and that appeared to be that. Then, a few years later, the most well-informed person I knew told me that this girl without wealths, lands, or armies had somehow acquired all three in a very short span of time, along with three dragons. He thought she was our best, last chance to build a better world. I thought you were worth meeting, at the very least."

"And why are you worth meeting?" asked Daenerys tightly. "Why should I spend my time listening to you?'

"Because you cannot build a better world on your own. You have no one at your side who understands the land you want to rule, the strengths and weaknesses of the houses that will either join or oppose you. Ser Jorah and your sister's information– forgive me for saying– is outdated."

"I will have a very large army. And very large dragons."

"Killing and politics aren't always the same thing. When I served as Hand of the King, I did quite well with the latter, considering the king in question preferred torturing animals to leading his people. I could do an even better job advising a ruler worth the name. If that is indeed what you are."

"You're the reason they won the Battle of Blackwater Bay," Saera recalled. "Prince Oberyn... he told me that before I came to Essos."

Daenerys motioned for her to be quiet. "Yes, we've heard of that. And now, he wishes to advise me. Very well. What would you have me do with him? I swore I would kill him if he ever returned."

Tyrion turned his head toward Jorah. "I know."

"Why should the people trust a queen who can't keep her promises?"

"Whomever Ser Jorah was when he started informing on you, he is no longer that man. I can't remember ever seeing a sane man as devoted to anything as he is to serving you and your sister. He claims he would kill for you both and die for you and nothing I have witnessed gives me reason to doubt him." He paused. "And yet he did betray you."

He began to ascend the staircase. The Unsullied held their spears out, but Daenerys made them let him pass. "Did he have an opportunity to confess his betrayal?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes," said Daenerys. "Many opportunities."

"And did he?"

"No. Not until forced to do so."

Tyrion looked back at Ser Jorah. "He worships you both. He's in love with your sister, I think." Saera tensed as Ser Jorah failed to meet her gaze, "But he did not trust you with the truth. An unpleasant truth to be sure, but one of great significance to you. He did not trust that you would be wise enough to forgive him."

"So I should kill him?" asked Daenerys darkly.

"A ruler who kills those devoted to her is not a ruler who inspires devotion. And you're going to need to inspire devotion, a lot of it, if you're ever going to rule across the Narrow Sea. But you cannot have him by your side when you do."

Daenerys decided. "Remove Ser Jorah from the city." She looked at her sister, "And if you seek him out as you did before... you might as well go with him. I will not have either of you by my side when I rule across the Narrow Sea if you choose to disobey this order."

Tyrion noticed how Saera's jaw clenched, watching Ser Jorah be escorted out.

"Your Grace," said Saera, "I request a private audience with Lord Tyrion before any further questioning. There is much I would like to discuss regarding our childhood and Prince Oberyn's final moments."

She opted to allow it solely because of how Saera worded it. "You have an hour," she said. "Then, I expect you both in the Small Council chambers."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Saera.

She had Tyrion escorted to her chambers, where she offered all the food that had been brought to her for breakfast, along with all the wine he could possibly drink.

"Prince Oberyn was winning," said Tyrion as they ate. "He was... a magnificent fighter. I can only imagine what you've become since I learned you were alive and here, only so because he trained you to survive. When Lord Varys told the Small Council you were with Daenerys... it was a true shock. My father was not as concerned as King Robert might have been. He remembered what sort of girl you'd been and assumed you'd not changed. Even Cersei could not take your existence as a threat. Apparently, they were both wrong." He drank, "I expect Jamie would have liked to marry you if he wasn't... well..."

"In love with Cersei?" said Saera. "Yes, that certainly explained to me why he never paid attention."

Tyrion laughed awkwardly. "You would have been quite the pair."

"Instead it is more than likely one of us will kill the other if my sister chooses to conquer Westeros," said Saera. "And more than likely the one to die will be him. Not because I hate him for killing my father but because he's not much of a Kingslayer anymore, is he? I heard he lost a hand."

"He's lost quite a bit," said Tyrion quietly. "But he always loved me. He is a wonderful brother, despite it all."

She was silent for a moment, "I will ask you this once– did you kill King Joffrey? I assumed Prince Oberyn might defend you whether you were or weren't guilty. His death at the hands of The Mountain was... caused by arrogance."

"I did not do it," promised Tyrion. "But Cersei was convinced that it was me. So was my father. Prince Oberyn knew I was innocent. He used it as an opportunity. The Mountain was not left without damage... the Prince's spear was poisoned."

"Ah, yes," said Saera softly. "The Viper's poison. He said one day he'd share it with me so I might anoint my spear, too. I miss him. I miss... everyone I used to know. I remember when we were children, how we would visit all the Great Houses. Lysa Arryn liked me, I remember playing with Lyanna Stark once or twice, Stannis Baratheon used to hate how afraid of everything I was... things might have been very different."

"Indeed, they could have been," said Tyrion. "Instead, we are here..." he gestured around them, "And I would almost be inclined to say your sister hates you as much as mine does. Perhaps a smidge less."

"That's quite the comparison," said Saera. "And yet I'm not entirely sure you're wrong." She got to her feet. "I think we've heard enough from each other for now. We ought not keep her waiting."

"That was what you wanted, isn't it?" he said. "To hear that I see what everyone else clearly does– your sister is jealousof you, is threatened by you. And yet, you didn't call me here to ask me to back your claim to anything."

"Because I don't want anything other than to be free. When I give her what she wants, my responsibility over her is done. I can be whatever I wish. Wherever, with whomever."

"Ser Jorah is in love with you," said Tyrion. "All he spoke about was fulfilling his promise. Coming back to you. He'll go anywhere in the world as long as you're there."

"It's difficult to believe he is in love with me," said Saera quietly. "We have a connection, yes, but..."

"I take it Ser Jorah is not used to being appreciated the way you appreciate him. And when he was made to leave, he realized how much your absence weighed on him. For your sake... I hope your sister will bring him back."

A thought invaded Saera's mind: if she were queen, she wouldn't have to rely on Daenerys to do that.

It was a horrible thought.

Saera stood guard once again, instructed that she wasn't there to counsel. It was as humiliating as it was disrespectful; even Tyrion could see that.

Daenerys offered him more wine and food. "So, have you decided yet? Whether I'm worthy of your service?"

"Have you decided yet whether you're going to have me killed?" said Tyrion. "Your sister's presence with every weapon she can possibly hold is certainly comforting."

"It's probably my safest option," said Daenerys.

Tyrion sighed, "I could see why you would think so. It's what your father would have done."

"And what would your father have done?"

"My father, who publicly sentenced me to death? I'd say his thoughts on having me killed were abundantly clear."

"Is that why you killed him?"

She didn't trust him. She thought him a traitor, too.

"Someday," said Tyrion, "if you decide not to execute me, I'll tell you all about why I killed my father. And on that day, should it ever come, we'll need more wine than this."

Daenerys raised her own cup. "I know what my father was. What he did. I know the Mad King earned his name."

Tyrion shrugged. "So, here we sit. Two terrible children of two terrible fathers."

"I'm terrible?" said Daenerys, offended.

"I've heard stories."

She narrowed her eyes and drank. "Why did you travel to the far side of the world to meet someone terrible?"

"To see if you were the right kind of terrible."

This only seemed to further the offense. "Which kind is that?"

"The kind that prevents your people from being even more so."

Daenerys grimaced. "Well, I did reopen the fighting pits. Under my rule, murder will once again become entertainment."

"Yes, that was wise," said Tyrion. "And you had the idea to marry your sister to someone you loathe for the greater good. Very impressive. My own sister married someone she loathed as well, also not by choice, and certainly not for the greater good, gods forbid. She ended up having him killed."

Saera's grip tightened as Daenerys said, "Perhaps this won't come to that."

"It's not impossible that Varys was right about you after all," said Tyrion, drinking again.

"Varys?" said Daenerys. "King Robert's spymaster?"

"Yes, he's the one who convinced me to come find you. He was my traveling companion before Ser Jorah seized that role for himself."

"Jorah sent my secrets to Varys. For twenty years, the spider oversaw the campaign to find and kill me."

"He did what he had to do to survive," reasoned Tyrion. "He did a lot of other things as well, things he didn't have to do. I suspect he's the main reason you weren't slaughtered in your crib and why your sister's presence was never discovered in Dorne."

"But you trust him?" asked Daenerys.

"Yes, oddly. He may be the only person in the world I trust. Except my brother."

Daenerys side-eyed Saera. "The brother who killed my father?"

"That's the one."

"Perhaps I will have you killed after all."

Tyrion poured himself another cup. "Your queenly prerogative. I had given up on life until Varys convinced me you might be worth living for. You chop off my head, well, my final days were interesting." He downed his drink in one gulp.

"I'm not going to kill you," Daenerys decided.

He was surprised. "No? Banish me?"

"No."

"So if I'm not going to be murdered and I'm not going to be banished–?"

She leaned forward to take his cup away. "You're going to advise me. While you can still speak in complete sentences."

"Advise you on what?"

"How to get what I want."

He let out a soft 'ah' then tapped his fingers together. "The Iron Throne. Perhaps you should try wanting something else."

Daenerys rolled her eyes. "If I want jokes, I'll get myself a proper fool."

"I'm not entirely joking. There's more to the world than Westeros, after all. How many hundreds of thousands of lives have you changed for the better here? Perhaps this is where you belong, where you can do the most good."

"I fought so that no child born into Slaver's Bay would ever know what it meant to be bought or sold. I will continue that fight here and beyond. But this is not my home."

"When you get back to your home, who supports you?"

She shrugged. "The common people."

So quickly she forgot everything Saera ever recommended.

He didn't seem to think Daenerys was on the right train of thought at all. "Let's be generous and assume that's going to happen. Here in Slaver's Bay, you had the support of the common people and only the common people. What was that like? Ruling without the rich? The last of House Targaryen sits in front of me. The Starks are gone as well; our two terrible fathers saw to that. The remaining members of House Lannister will never back you, not ever. Stannis Baratheon won't back you, either. His entire claim to the throne rests on the illegitimacy of yours. That leaves the Tyrells. Not impossible. Not enough."

"Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell. They're all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top, and on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground."

"It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel. You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it."

"I'm not going to stop the wheel. I'm going to break the wheel."

Saera wondered how that would look. Because to her it seemed that breaking the wheel meant splitting the Kingdoms back into Seven so there wasn't competition anymore. That, or getting rid of the Great Houses all together and leaving just one.

Just her, Daenerys. Her and her perfect world where only she had power and all the slaves were free, but listened to her anyway. Where they didn't have fighting pits; the only traditions respected were the ones Daenerys liked.

She was starting to sound less like a queen and more like a dictator.

-

They awoke early a week later, when the fight at the Great Pit of Daznak was set to occur.

Saera had sent Kavarro and Black Fist to try and find Jorah, but they weren't able to locate him. He'd most definitely left the city, and there was no telling where he'd gone.

She visited Viserion another night that Black Fist was on duty, examining his quickly-growing form and realizing he was probably big enough to mount. The old Targaryens had saddles; she wasn't sure how to make one or who would be able to design a saddle that'd grow with Viserion, but she was sure she could find a way.

She could fly and find Jorah, she could take the both of them out of there and they never needed to worry about Daenerys again.

Black Fist was suddenly not allowed to be on dragon duty anymore. His new post was as Saera's personal guard— she didn't need nor want one. But Daenerys knew what had happened; no doubt someone saw her.

She wanted to keep her away from the dragons.

Tyrion and Hizdahr accompanied them on the day of the Great Games, both of them dressed in tradition Meereenese clothing alongside Daenerys. Saera had opted to wear her armor, in the spirit of a good fight. She wasn't sure if Daenerys would or wouldn't approve of her being in the first fight. Might as well be prepared.

Either way, Saera was more comfortable this way. Her sister kept treating her like a bodyguard instead of the Heir to the Iron Throne. Better to dress like a warrior than a Princess.

The pit was filled with spectators, every single seat occupied by an enthusiastic Meereenese or Yunkish freedmen. The masters sat behind Daenerys, who was guarded closely by Daario.

The crowd cheered as horses paraded around, leading in the announcer of the tournament. He spoke when the horses had gone, "Daeri pastyssy ez Mirin! Po mandaves dos espo Tebillazmi, si zya eghlive ji Dare, jerásk va po Krazi Ghavaji! Nya Dare, ilvo ile vettílaskir. Sparo maneris: ji kotova ja j'adhirve?" (T: Free citizens of Meereen! By the blessings of the Graces, and her majesty the Queen, welcome to the Great Games! My Queen, our first contest. Who will triumph: the strong, or the quick?)

The quick and wiry lad spoke up first, "Aohor jaqiarzir ivilibin imorghulin, jaqiarzus Darys." (T: I fight and die for your glory, O glorious Queen.)

Then, the strong behemoth, "Aohor jaqiarzir ivilibin imorghulin, jaqiarzus Darys." (T: I fight and die for your glory, O glorious Queen.)

Everyone was quiet, waiting for Daenerys to give the signal to start. "They're waiting for you," said Hizdahr. "Clap your hands."

She did, causing a cheer to erupt once more, the two men beginning their fight. Saera could see people beginning to trade bets. Daario spoke up once the wiry lad had cut into the behemoth's back, "That one– the smaller man– no question, that's where you should put your money."

"The smaller man it is," said Tyrion.

"I'm not putting my money anywhere," said Daenerys coldly.

"People used to bet against me when I fought in the pits," said Daario. "A common novice mistake. Whenever I got into the pit against a beast like that one, the crowd saw me, all skin and bone back then, then they saw a pile of angry muscles ready to murder me. They couldn't get their money–" he whipped out his knife, twirling it in the air, "out fast enough. But the pile of angry muscles never had any muscles here–" he tucked it under his own chin, "or here–" he twirled it again so it was where his ear and jaw met. "And the big men were always too slow to stop my dagger from going where their muscles weren't. Yes, whenever I saw a beast like that one standing across from me, making his beastly faces, I knew I could rest easy."

He smirked, thinking he was right. There was a loud snap as the behemoth sliced off the head of the wiry man. "You were saying?" said Saera, smirking and pressing her cup to a nervous Tyrion's before taking a drink. "I look forward to learning from you, Daario Naharis."

He couldn't leave fast enough, now embarrassed. Hizdahr smiled, asking Tyrion, "You don't approve?"

"There's always been more than enough death in the world for my taste," said Tyrion. "I can do without it for my leisure time."

"Fair enough. Yet it's an unpleasant question– but what great thing has ever been accomplished without killing or cruelty?"

"Within reason," argued Saera. "In the boundaries of a battlefield. Never to extend to innocents."

"Agreed," said Tyrion. "It is easy to confuse what is with what ought to be, especially when what is has worked out in your favor."

"I'm not talking about myself," said Hizdahr. "I'm talking about the necessary conditions for greatness."

"That is greatness?" said Daenerys with disgust as the body and its head were dragged away.

"That is a vital part of the great city of Meereen, which existed long before you or I and will remain standing long after we have returned to the dirt."

"My father would have liked you," murmured Tyrion.

Saera didn't think that was a good thing.

The announcer returned, "Pindi tuli: Sparo maneris?" (T: We ask again: Who will triumph?)

"One day your great city will return to the dirt as well," murmured Daenerys under her breath.

"–Me Mirinía Kote?" (T: A Meereenese Champion?)

"At your command?" asked Hizdahr.

"If need be."

" –Me Dothraki ladjak?" (T: A Dothraki warrior?)

"Stop it, both of you," said Saera, unable to pay attention now that they were bickering. More men were being led out, one by one.

"And how many people will die to make this happen?"

" –Me Bravozía Bravo?" (T: A Braavosi Bravo?)

"If it comes to that, they will die for a good reason."

Saera made a face. "Daenerys, that sounds–"

Hizdahr agreed that it was a questionable statement, "Those men think they are dying for a good reason."

"–Me Jedhríy?" (T: A Summer Islander?)

"Someone else's reasons."

"So your reasons are true and theirs are false? They don't know their own minds, but you do?"

"–Me Jelmoni dyni vala?" (T: A Northern wilding?)

"Well said," replied Tyrion. "You are an eloquent man. Doesn't mean you're wrong. In my experience, eloquent men are right every bit as often as imbeciles.

"–Ja me Vesterozía azanty?" (T: Or a Westerosi knight?)

Both sisters whipped their heads toward the pit as Ser Jorah stepped up, reciting, "Aohor jaqiarzir ivilibin imorghulin, jaquiarzus Darys." (T: I fight and die for your glory, O glorious Queen.)

Saera sat up immediately. "Get him out of there!" she told Daenerys. "He may die!"

Daenerys's jaw clenched, hands shaking as she lifted them and prepared to clap. "Then let him."

The Princess jumped into the pit, spear raised, just as the Queen's hands met in the middle.