When faced with creatures so unknown—and so difficult to counter—Daenerys couldn't help but feel a stir of fear in her heart.
[Dragonglass and Valyrian steel can kill the Others. They're not that terrifying.]
Seeing the fear on Daenerys's face at the ntion of the Others, Drogon spoke up of his own accord.
Daenerys froze for a mont when she heard Drogon's words.
She hadn't expected him to know about the Others beyond the Wall—much less their weaknesses. Learning that there were ways to kill them eased her heart considerably.
Tyrion, noticing that his words had startled Daenerys, was about to offer a few words of comfort when he saw her expression quickly return to calm. He couldn't help but admire her composure.
Even he—a grown man—had been shaken when he first heard of the Others. Yet Daenerys had recovered almost instantly.
Taking another sip of red wine, Tyrion continued,
"The Night's Watch has appealed for aid from the great houses and major powers. At the sa ti, Mance Rayder, King-Beyond-the-Wall, is leading a host of a hundred thousand wildlings toward the Wall."
"Their attack isn't for conquest. They're fleeing south to escape the advancing army of the Others."
"And yet," Tyrion added grimly, "none of the great houses have taken the Watch's pleas seriously. They're too consud by their own wars to spare n for the Wall."
The number alone—one hundred thousand—made Daenerys inhale sharply.
She had only just gathered forty thousand soldiers, even counting the new recruits. And behind the wildlings stood sothing even more terrifying—the Others themselves.
How was she supposed to fight forces like that?
True, the wildlings and the Others were not her imdiate concern. But Tyrion's words made one thing clear: the great houses had no intention of acting.
If the wildlings and the Others were to break through the Wall and bleed the nobles dry in mutual destruction, that would be ideal. She could reap the benefits afterward.
But the nobles were not fools. They would find ways to avoid such an outco—and Westeros would only grow more unstable.
Daenerys had once believed that once Slaver's Bay was stabilized and her new army trained, she could cross the Narrow Sea and march on Westeros.
Now, after listening to Tyrion, she realized how naive that thought had been.
Her forces were insignificant compared to the storms gathering across the sea. Conquering Westeros was far more complex than she had imagined.
Though Tyrion had shattered her hopes of claiming the Iron Throne in the near future, he had also forced her to face reality—and in doing so, cleared her vision.
Understanding the true state of Westeros, and ard with Tyrion's counsel, she could now focus on resolving Slaver's Bay's imdiate crises step by step.
Daenerys turned her head slightly and looked at the small, exquisitely ford Drogon perched on her shoulder. She gently cupped his little head and brushed her cheek against him, a silent gesture of gratitude.
For bringing Tyrion Lannister—this brilliant mind—into her service.
Although she had always called herself the Mother of Dragons, ever since Drogon's birth he had, often without her even realizing it, guided and aided her ti and again. Long ago, she had stopped thinking of him rely as her child—he had beco her closest companion, and her greatest support.
Feeling the softness of her cheek against his scales, Drogon gently nuzzled her in return, rubbing his small head against her face.
Rising from her chair, Daenerys walked up to Tyrion and drew from her robes a silver pin that glead faintly in the light—the badge of the Hand of the Queen.
"Tyrion Lannister," she said solemnly, "I hereby na you Hand of the Queen. Will you serve ?"
Gazing at the silver badge in her hand, Tyrion felt a surge of emotion. Though he had anticipated this mont, seeing the pin with his own eyes filled him with both awe and excitent.
Ever since his brief tenure as Hand in King's Landing, he had grown addicted to the feeling of power—only to be swiftly cast aside by his father, Tywin. Later, after pleading repeatedly for a proper reward for defending the city, he had been saddled with the unwanted post of Master of Coin, tasked with raising funds for Joffrey's wedding.
He had run himself ragged to secure the necessary gold from the Queen of Thorns—only for that very wedding to nearly beco his grave.
He never imagined that the position he had long coveted would elude him in King's Landing, only to be granted in a foreign land like Slaver's Bay.
Yet compared to serving as Hand in King's Landing, he far preferred being the Queen's Hand here. He had no desire to return to that cold, rotten city. He would rather dedicate himself to helping a new queen rule this land, however small it might be.
Looking up at Daenerys, Tyrion dropped to one knee and said solemnly, "Your Grace, I swear my life to your service."
When he rose again, Daenerys personally fastened the Hand's badge to him.
Perched on Daenerys's shoulder, Drogon bared his teeth in what could only be described as a grin, congratulating Tyrion on becoming the realm's chief minister.
Tyrion knew that smile was ant for him. He returned it with a nod of gratitude.
Without the mysterious force behind Drogon, he would likely have died during the trial by combat—never given the chance to put his knowledge and talents to use.
After appointing Tyrion as Hand of the Queen, Daenerys went on to na the mbers of her Small Council:
Barristan Selmy as Lord Commander of the Queen's Guard;
Hizdahr as Master of Coin;
Grey Worm as Master of Laws;
Jorah Mormont as Master of Whisperers;
Missandei as royal advisor;
and Daario Naharis as Master of Ships.
Hizdahr never imagined he would earn a seat on the Queen's council, and he was visibly overwheld by the honor.
The next morning, at sunrise, Tyrion presided over the first eting of the Small Council. Daario was absent, stationed in Yunkai, but all others were present—Grey Worm included, attending despite his injuries.
The council focused primarily on Tyrion's proposals for governing Slaver's Bay, while also hearing suggestions from the other mbers.
When Tyrion raised the idea of reclaiming and cultivating the unused land beyond the cities, the room lit up with interest.
Outside the three cities lay vast stretches of rich black soil, incredibly fertile. Yet the Great Masters had only cultivated enough wheat and olives for their own needs, leaving most of the land abandoned.
Why toil in the fields when training slaves was far more profitable? Slave rations had always been shipped in by sea.
Tyrion carefully questioned Hizdahr about ereen's production of minerals, wine, and refined salt, then inquired into the trade conditions of Yunkai and Astapor. After all, this council served all three cities, not ereen alone.
Responsibility for promoting and enforcing the law was assigned to the Unsullied under Grey Worm, with Missandei assisting.
With the academy set to begin classes the following day, Missandei also reported on the preparations for each discipline.
The first Small Council eting—brief yet remarkably efficient—concluded in just over thirty minutes.
Afterward, Tyrion visited Daenerys in a private chamber where she was reading. He reported the council's decisions and discussed matters with her for a while before departing.
Daenerys then returned to the book in her hands—a history of House Targaryen donated by one of the Great Masters, dating back to the era of the Valyrian Freehold.
So of its contents were things even she, a Targaryen, had never known.
"Drogon," she said with a smile, noticing him craning his neck to look at the pages, "can you read this too?"
Ever since Barristan's ambush, Daenerys had suspected that Drogon understood Valyrian script.
After all, when Varys's ssage had arrived, she had barely opened it before Drogon flew off—how could he have known of Barristan's danger, or found the ambush site so precisely, if he couldn't read the words?
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