Game of Thrones: The blind warrior

**"What are you doing here, Mary?"**

Arren's voice cut through the tense air of the great hall like a blade, his eyes locked on his younger sister. He stood between her and the guards, who had moved to restrain her and the boy beside her. His tone was calm, but beneath it lay a storm of emotions he barely contained. He had never expected to see Mary here, in Astapor, let alone like this—caught in some reckless adventure.

Mary's face was a mixture of relief and defiance. "I came to find you," she answered, her voice a little shaky. "You left without a word, and it's been over a year! I needed to know what happened to you. So, I came."

Arren clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his anger in check. "You could have been killed on the way here. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for you to travel alone?"

Mary met his gaze with a stubborn tilt to her chin. "But I wasn't alone." She motioned toward Zhal, who stood awkwardly beside her, clearly uncomfortable with the unfolding situation. "Zhal came with me."

Arren's eyes shifted to Zhal, and recognition hit him like a wave. He remembered the boy—Zhal had been part of Khal Drogo's khalasar, a Dothraki youth who had once begged Arren to teach him how to fight. Arren had taken pity on the boy, training him as best he could. But when Drogo's khalasar splintered after his death, Zhal had followed where he expectedthe most fortune.

"I remember you," Arren said, his tone unreadable. "You left. Why are you back?"

Zhal flinched under Arren's gaze, guilt evident on his face. "I... I was," he admitted, glancing at Mary nervously.

Arren's eyes narrowed. "So, you lied to my sister."

Mary's face contorted with confusion, and then dawning realization. "Lied? What do you mean?" She turned to Zhal, her voice trembling. "What did you lie about?"

Zhal winced, his shame written across his face. "I didn't know how else to explain myself. I thought... I thought if you knew I was Dothraki, you wouldn't trust me. So I told you I was a runaway slave."

Mary took a step back, her expression wounded. "You lied to me. This whole time..."

Arren watched the exchange in silence, his emotions swirling as he processed the situation. He understood Zhal's reasoning—survival in Essos often required deception—but the betrayal Mary felt was undeniable. His little sister had come all this way, trusting Zhal, and now that trust had been shattered.

Turning his gaze back to Zhal, Arren's voice was stern but not unkind. "If you are here to join us back you are not welcome. You have left us when we needed you most. I would have let you join us now too if my sister asked for it but Lying to her was a big mistake on your part. You would have been at a higher position if you stayed back then but now if you want to stay? Earn your place. climb up right from the ground and you still would not get any important position in your life. or yu can leave"

Zhal's head dropped in defeat, but he nodded. "I understand. I'll prove myself."

Arren looked at Mary, his expression softening slightly. "I'll deal with him later. For now, both of you will stay in one of the chambers until I decide what to do." He gestured to the guards, who backed off at his command, and motioned for Mary and Zhal to follow him.

**Arren's Perspective: The Queen's Justice**

As Arren made his way through the corridors of the pyramid, his mind returned to Daenerys and her decree. The punishment she had handed down to the dragons still didn't sit well with him. Beasts should not be punished as if they were men. They didn't understand justice in the same way, yet Daenerys believed it was necessary to show her people that no one—dragon or man—was above the law.

*Justice,* he thought, *is a fickle thing.*

He found Daenerys in her chambers, standing by the window, looking out over the city as the sun began to set. The light bathed her in a warm, golden glow, and for a moment, Arren hesitated. He didn't know when he had started calling her HIS khaleesi in his mind, but the word had taken root, unbidden. 

"Khaleesi," he greeted her, his voice soft.

She turned to face him, her silver hair catching the last rays of sunlight. "Arren," she acknowledged, her expression calm but guarded. "You don't agree with my decision."

Arren didn't bother with pleasantries. "I don't think beasts should be punished like men. The dragons don't understand justice the way we do. Imprisoning them doesn't teach them anything. It only restrains them."

Daenerys's eyes flickered with the faintest hint of frustration. "The people need to see that even I hold my dragons accountable. The shepherd deserved justice for the death of his son."

"Justice?" Arren repeated, stepping closer. "Slavery was once considered justice, too. The masters believed they were justified in owning people, in punishing them for disobedience. Just because the people demand justice doesn't mean they understand it."

Daenerys's expression hardened. "I know what I am doing, Arren. The people need to trust me. They need to know I am willing to make sacrifices, even when it's difficult."

Arren sighed, feeling the weight of their conversation pressing down on him. "And what happens when the people demand more? When they ask for justice that goes against your own sense of right and wrong?"

Daenerys was silent for a moment, her gaze drifting back to the window. "Then I will face that when the time comes," she said quietly. "But for now, the dragons will be imprisoned. It is a symbolic gesture, more for the people than for the dragons."

Arren understood her reasoning, but it didn't sit right with him. He wasn't sure it ever would. But this was her rule, her reign. He had sworn himself to her cause, and questioning her decisions too often would undermine her authority.

Still, he couldn't help but feel the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind.

As he turned to leave, Daenerys's voice stopped him.

"Arren," she said softly. "I know this isn't easy for you. But I need you by my side. Now more than ever."

Arren paused, then nodded. "I'm always by your side, Khaleesi."

And with that, he left the chamber, the weight of his loyalty and the burden of justice hanging heavily on his shoulders.