Breaker, Broken | Jorah Mormont

Chapter 9

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."