Chapter 205

"I didn’t leave armies or means for them to survive," Daenerys admitted frankly. "But aren’t these issues something the councils and the freedmen themselves should solve?"

“You broke their chains, overturned a production system that has sustained these slave cities for centuries, and then entrusted a few individuals to handle everything? If it were that simple, why do you think thousands of those freedmen didn’t stay in Astapor or Yunkai to live peaceful lives but instead followed you here to Meereen?” Petyr chuckled lightly. “Perhaps you think it’s out of devotion?”

Isn’t it? Daenerys opened her mouth, nearly saying the word.

“I was once a nobody, so I understand the mindset of the common folk. Let me tell you—if people have any chance of surviving in their homes, they would never uproot themselves en masse to follow even the most noble or beautiful person to an unfamiliar place. Those who follow you are not fools. They saw that staying behind was not an option. The moment you left, Astapor would fall into chaos, and Yunkai would revert to slavery. That’s why they risked everything to cross the wilderness and stick with you and your army.”

“That’s just your opinion. As far as I know, Astapor and Yunkai are doing just fine. And besides, what does that have to do with Meereen?”

“How could the fate of these three sister cities not be connected? By ordering the crucifixion of 163 Great Masters, you’ve already pushed this city to the brink of ruin!” Petyr’s tone turned serious as he stared at Daenerys. “May I ask, Your Grace—do you truly believe that the order to nail those 163 slave children along the road to Meereen was something every slave master in the city agreed upon?”

Daenerys turned her gaze toward him, scrutinizing him for a moment. It suddenly dawned on her that she had never even considered the possibility. In her mind, a slave master was a slave master—what differences could there be among them?

“Let me give you an example, and perhaps you’ll understand how reckless your decision was. Tywin Lannister—you’ve heard of him, I assume. After destroying Houses Reyne and Tarbeck, he became the most powerful lord in Westeros, exercising unmatched control over his vassals. At the time, there were many houses in the Westerlands that defied him. Why did he only destroy two and not punish all of them? Because he wanted fear, not hatred,” Petyr explained without hesitation, meeting Daenerys’s gaze unflinchingly.

He considered using Aerys II as an example, pointing out how the Mad King’s inability to distinguish between fear and hatred led to his downfall. But at the last second, Petyr thought better of it, choosing Tywin’s success story instead.

“You want to kill. You want vengeance for those 163 children. That’s fine. But instill fear, not hatred. Imagine if Tywin had executed the heads of every rebellious house in the Westerlands rather than just two. Would he have been remembered in ‘The Rains of Castamere’ and earned the respect of all Westeros? No. He’d have been overthrown by an alliance of his vassals within days, dragged out of Casterly Rock, and hanged.”

“I see your point. The order to crucify those 163 children wasn’t given by all of Meereen’s slave masters—just a few of the most powerful families or individuals.” Daenerys frowned. “But I doubt anyone would admit to it.”

“You don’t need anyone to admit to it. Just investigate which Great Masters own the most slaves or live in the grandest pyramids—the answer will reveal itself.” Petyr shook his head. “It’s simple. What baffles me more is that, even after cooling off and thinking it over, Your Grace is still focused on finding out who gave the order to crucify those children. Are you here for vengeance, or are you here to liberate?”

“Can’t I do both?”

“You can,” Petyr replied. “If I were in your position, there are at least three strategies for maintaining control over Meereen, ranging from least favorable to most favorable. Since you suspect me of being a liar, I’ll skip the embellishments and just lay out the options. Whether they’re feasible or not is for you to decide.”

With a deep breath, Petyr began, wasting no time on theatrics. “The worst option is what I mentioned earlier—kill all the slave masters, seize the city completely, and establish a new regime like you did in Astapor.”

“That would leave us with three issues: first, you don’t have enough capable advisors to manage a city. Your Unsullied and mercenaries can fight for you but cannot govern or produce food. The freedmen may include healers, scholars, and craftsmen, but they are servants, not rulers. Jorah Mormont was your only potential administrator, but he’s a spy for Robert Baratheon. Without the slave masters, the city would descend into chaos immediately.” Petyr paused before continuing, “Second, a city built on the slave trade cannot sustain itself when all its ‘goods’ suddenly become free men. How will these freedmen survive? You could order them to farm, but what will they eat before the first harvest? And what happens if enemies attack before then? Do you have solutions for these problems? Third, the freedmen lack the experience and discipline to govern themselves. Unlike the Great Masters, who understand limits and balance, these freedmen, once given power, would likely behave far worse than the masters they replaced.”

“That’s enough,” Daenerys interrupted, her expression souring. Petyr’s logic might have been sound, but she despised his tone. “I won’t use your worst strategy. Move on to the next two.”

“Very well,” Petyr said, inclining his head. “The second option is to spare the slave masters and rule over them as the Queen of Meereen, becoming the city’s most powerful slave master.”

“That’s impossible. I came here to liberate, not to join them.”

“I agree. Even if you tried, it wouldn’t work. As an outsider, you lack local support. Until your dragons are fully grown, your power lies with the freedmen and the Unsullied. If you became the largest slave master, you’d lose the support of those who follow you, leaving yourself vulnerable to being overthrown. Once you’re deposed, the city would quickly return to its old ways, as if you’d never been here. That’s why we have the final and best option.”

...

“You’ve laid out two impossible strategies just to lead into your third. Stop wasting words and get to the point,” Daenerys said, narrowing her eyes in annoyance.

“As you wish.” Petyr smiled thinly. “Expel the most powerful Great Masters and elevate the lesser nobility to replace them. To put it simply: the old tigers and wolves were one family, but now the lion arrives to side with the wolves and drive out the tigers. The lion—Your Grace—becomes the ruler, while the wolves manage the city and the freedmen.”

“Expel them? What about avenging those children? Where does my fury go?”

“You can still execute some of the leading families—one, two, ten, twenty, however many you like.” Petyr shrugged. “But don’t kill them all. Balance is key. You need the new ruling class—the wolves—to fear the return of the tigers, ensuring their loyalty to you. Meanwhile, your freedmen—the sheep—will cling to your protection to avoid being devoured by the wolves. You remain above it all, mediating between the wolves and the sheep, granting favors as needed. The wolves will maintain order because it’s their home, and they know it best.”

Daenerys fell silent. Petyr’s logic made sense, but his smug tone grated on her. Was this what they meant by “harsh truths”? As she pondered, Daario Naharis snorted from behind her. “Her Grace is a true dragon, not a lion. Her people love their queen and would never betray her!”

“Perhaps. But that’s naïve,” Petyr replied, his voice sharp. “Rulers must never forget one thing: human nature is inherently wicked. Freedmen may call you ‘Mhysa’ or ‘Mother’ now, but if they go hungry or face hardship, they will complain, curse, and betray you. Love is valuable but costly and unreliable. Rule with both love and fear, but always assume the worst of everyone: your people, your nobles, your guards... even me.”

Daario bristled, hand on his blade, but Daenerys raised a hand to stop him. Petyr’s words were bitter, but she realized there was truth in them. After a pause, she said, “Missandei, fetch wine. Daario, get a chair for Lord Petyr. This conversation will continue.”

Petyr exhaled slowly. The Targaryen queen wasn’t mad—she had listened. Yet, as relief washed over him, he felt a pang of bitterness. Here he was, a master schemer forced to play the role of a loyal advisor to a fugitive queen. Even if Daenerys reclaimed the Iron Throne, it would only bring him back to where he started.

A bitter irony indeed.