GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond The Ice

Chapter 622 - 624: The Iron Throne (Part 2)

"Ptooey!"

Aegor lifted his head, spat out a mouthful of saliva mixed with blood, then lowered his head again and pressed his mouth to Daenerys's palm, sucking like a child. Suck, spit. Suck, spit. After repeating this twice, Daenerys finally came back to her senses. He was not being rude or offensive. He suspected the iron spike that had cut her was poisoned.

"Ptooey!" Aegor spat out the last mouthful of bloodstained saliva, released her hand, wiped his tongue with his sleeve, and gave her no chance to speak. "What cut you?"

Daenerys raised her hand to point, only then realizing how foolish she had been. On either side of the Iron Throne's seat were two rows of armrests made of sharp swords. Dragonfire and time had dulled their edges from their original sharpness, but they were still lethal. Resting a forearm or elbow on them through clothing was fine, but pressing bare skin against them as if sitting in an ordinary chair, it would be strange not to be cut.

Aegor did not immediately inspect the armrest that had injured her. Instead, he turned and shouted to Grey Worm, who had followed him up the steps. "Quickly, bring clean water and sterile gauze. Also, summon Melisandre. No, wait. Have your men guard the door. Do not allow anyone into the throne room, no matter who."

Even after their so called liberation, the Unsullied still regarded the Dragon Mother as their master, and Grey Worm accepted orders only from her. Under normal circumstances, he would not carry out anyone else's commands. But faced with the urgency of the situation, he did not dwell on questions of rank or authority. Standing on the second to last step below the Iron Throne, he glanced at Daenerys. Seeing no objection from her, he agreed at once, turned, and quickly descended the steps toward the door.

Though she was now a monarch who commanded half of Westeros, when held in the arms of a tall and strong man, Daenerys still appeared slender and fragile. It had been more than a year since she had such close contact with a man after leaving Meereen. In her daze, she remained in Aegor's arms for several seconds before regaining her senses. Realizing something was improper, she gently pushed him, signaling him to release her.

"It is only a small cut. There is no need to treat it as if we face a great enemy."

"If it were smeared with a potent poison, even a pinprick could be fatal."

Aegor released her without hesitation, as if nothing had happened, then crouched beside the Iron Throne where she had been cut and examined it carefully.

Perhaps because the king sat upon it often, the upper portion of the Iron Throne was not as rusted as the lower base, which would stain one's hands yellow upon contact. The armrests and seat bore clear signs of polishing, and faint metallic gleams could still be seen in places. This routine and almost senseless maintenance was likely the main reason the armrests could still draw blood. The throne had a back, yet one could not lean against it casually. It had armrests, yet one could not rest upon them safely. Calling it an iron stool would be more accurate. Aegon the Conqueror must have had his own intentions when he forged it.

He looked closely, touched it, even leaned in to smell it. Despite all this effort, Aegor found no trace of poison. In truth, the fact that he had just sucked the blood from her palm without any ill effect had already proven his concern unfounded.

Stannis would never think of trading his wife's life for Daenerys's. A man as rigid as he was likely incapable of devising such a scheme as smearing poison on the Iron Throne.

Even so, Aegor was not annoyed at having worried in vain.

He was secretly pleased.

To those obsessed with notions of purity, someone like Daenerys, who had been married and borne a child, might be scorned. Yet no matter how others judged her, she was now the most powerful and renowned woman in the world.

A true Dragonrider queen, blessed with the beauty of Valyrian blood and in the prime of her early twenties. As a normal man, Aegor could not claim he felt nothing.

Opportunities to legitimately touch her were rare. Opportunities to demonstrate loyalty without being accused of flattery were rarer still. But beyond both, what he valued most was that this was a perfect chance to draw closer to her.

In Winterfell, during their recent frank discussion, he had spoken firmly and persuaded her to set aside thoughts of vengeance and focus on greater matters first.

The part of her that was queen had accepted his counsel and cooperated. But the part of her that was a young woman had been displeased, and it showed. Since marching south, aside from marching and fighting together in a strictly formal manner as ruler and subject, they had had no private exchanges. The sense of close camaraderie he had painstakingly built seemed to have vanished, as if a thin, invisible sheet of ice had formed between them. It was an indescribable discomfort that troubled him deeply.

Now, her accidental injury was the perfect opening.

"It appears fine, but we must guard against infection." After finishing his inspection, Aegor stood and spoke in terms she only half understood. His tone was gentle, but his attitude firm. "Your Grace, please take care as you descend. Stand on level ground, and I will clean your wound."

Daenerys pressed her lips together, then nodded and carefully descended the steps with his light support. As soon as she reached the ground, Grey Worm returned with gauze and a water skin.

"The door, is it secured?" Aegor asked.

"It is arranged. No one may enter without my order."

"This water was boiled?"

"Yes. It was prepared as drinking water for Your Grace. It is clean."

Grey Worm answered while watching Aegor take the water skin, hold Daenerys's left hand, and gently pour water over the wound to clean it.

At that moment, Grey Worm felt only awe. Taking orders from someone other than his queen was not unusual for a former slave, but seeing Daenerys allow a man to handle her so freely, granting whatever he requested, was something he had never witnessed. She showed no resistance, no displeasure, and completely allowed him to act. What quality or ability did this man possess to earn her trust in only a few months?

"Gauze." Aegor handed the empty water skin back. At a single word, Grey Worm took it and passed over the gauze. The Unsullied commander, whose political sense was nearly nonexistent, did not even notice that he, who had once stood closest to her in all matters, was now gradually overshadowed by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

"As for Your Grace being cut by the Iron Throne, heaven and earth know, you know, and I know. If possible, it is best not to let Missandei know. The bleeding is slight. It should be easy to conceal, yes?"

Grey Worm examined it and nodded. "It is near the wrist and not deep. After bandaging and tucking it beneath a sleeve, it should not be visible."

"Conceal what?" Though her wrist was held like that of a child receiving treatment, Daenerys's bearing as queen had not diminished in the slightest. "Perhaps the Iron Throne rejecting me is a warning, reminding me that I am not yet a perfect ruler, that I still have room to grow."

"Nonsense." Aegor snorted, his hands steady as he wiped away blood and water. "Does Your Grace truly believe that the Conqueror, the Just, the Young Dragon, or even the Good King were never cut by the Iron Throne? No one speaks of their wounds because their reigns were stable, their fame unshakable. It would be pointless to dwell on such trivialities. But you have not yet unified the Seven Kingdoms, and the Great King's Landing plan has only just begun. Any weakness, no matter how small, must not fall into the hands of your enemies."

He was right. The queen within her agreed. Yet the young woman within her had not fully recovered from the blow of being cut upon her first sitting of the throne. She remained silent as he finished cleaning the wound, then tore a strip of dry gauze and carefully wrapped it around her wrist.

Something was wrong. After tying the bandage, Aegor looked up and immediately noticed her distraction.

Damn it. He had been pleased too soon and nearly forgotten that she was the Mad King's daughter.

At this moment, she was likely not thinking about his care. She was still caught in the thought of being rejected by the Iron Throne. Her coldness toward him was a minor issue. If she failed to free herself from that thought and followed the path her father had once walked, the consequences would be disastrous.

His heart sank. He had to do something immediately to seize her attention and prevent her from spiraling further.

Reasoning with her had just proven useless, like telling a crying child to stop with a stern face. Thinking of children, Aegor suddenly recalled something he had once witnessed.

His nephew had once been crying. The father lay down beside him and cried even louder. The child stopped crying at once.

Not only did he stop, he crawled over in curiosity, trying to comfort his father.

It was not a universal method, but the principle could be applied.

To seize attention was simple.

Within seconds, a bold idea formed in his mind.

If he did not want her to awaken the blood of the Mad King, then he would first display madness himself and frighten hers back into silence.

"Your Grace, I cannot accept that you rule the Seven Kingdoms from a throne that cuts you and makes you bleed." Aegor suddenly tightened his grip around her forearm and looked directly into her eyes. "The industrial park is improving its techniques and preparing to mass produce iron cannons. We lack raw materials. If the Iron Throne refuses you, then who cares? Why not grant it to me? I will have it dismantled piece by piece, carried out of the city, and melted down for recasting."

(To be continued.)