Daenerys descent into madness

A side story from the ultimate hair story tournament universe. Check out the comic book version here on my patreon

The sea wind whipping across the Blackwater had always been a comfort to Daenerys Targaryen. It used to catch her elaborate, silver-gold braids, lifting them like a banner of conquest. Now, the wind only brought a phantom chill to her bare, pale scalp.

Since her return from the bizarre, humiliating ordeal of the Multiverse Tournament, Dany had tried to remain the benevolent, just ruler she believed herself to be. The High Council of Aesthetics had taken her hair, shaving her down to a mere shadow of silver peach-fuzz, but she was determined not to let them take her dignity.

She began wearing soft silk headscarves in Targaryen red and black, draping them elegantly to frame her face. She smiled gently at her council. She spoke softly. She tried to project the image of a Queen whose power resided in her dragons and her mind, not in the keratin that sprouted from her head.

But Westeros was a kingdom of vanity.

It started subtly. A slight widening of the eyes from a visiting lord when her scarf slipped a fraction of an inch. A stifled cough from a courtier that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Dany, hyper-aware of her new appearance, began to fixate on the sheer volume of hair surrounding her. The women of the court paraded through the Red Keep with towering updos, cascading southern curls, and intricate northern braids. Everywhere she looked, the kingdom was flaunting its heavy, untamed manes. The “Hair Mass Index”—a term she had learned in that cursed tournament—was astronomically high here, and every thick, luxurious lock felt like a personal insult.

Still, she held her tongue. She was the Mother of Dragons. She would not let petty insecurity turn her into her father.

She relied heavily on her inner circle. Missandei was a pillar of quiet strength, though Dany found it increasingly difficult to look at the translator’s perfect, halo-like volume of beautiful natural curls. Then there were her two new personal assistants, girls chosen from the diverse populace of the capital to help her manage the daily, mundane affairs of the keep.

There was Jasmine, a stunning girl from a distant eastern merchant family, whose waist-length, raven-black hair flowed behind her like a silken waterfall. And there was Jess, a famously cheerful, chubby girl from the Crownlands, who wore her bright blonde hair in a bouncy, meticulously styled bob that framed her round cheeks perfectly.

Dany treated them with nothing but kindness. She gifted them fine dresses, allowed them to eat from her own table, and confided in them when the weight of the crown felt too heavy.

“It will grow back, Your Grace,” Jess had chirped one morning, adjusting the golden pins in her own bouncy blonde bob. “A few months, and you’ll have a lovely little pixie style! Very modern.”

“Your beauty outshines any physical trait, Khaleesi,” Jasmine had added, gracefully sweeping her heavy, dark tresses over one shoulder so they wouldn’t dip into the basin of warm water she was holding.

Dany had smiled, genuinely touched by their reassurances, and swallowed the bitter lump of jealousy in her throat. She trusted them. She believed they saw the Queen beneath the sheared scalp.

That belief shattered on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

Dany had retired early from a tedious council meeting regarding grain shipments. The corridors of the Red Keep were drafty, and she shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She dismissed her Kingsguard at the entrance of her royal apartments, craving a moment of absolute silence.

As she approached her bedchamber, she heard muffled voices drifting through the heavy oak door. It was Jess and Jasmine. They were supposed to be preparing her evening bath, but the splashing of water had stopped, replaced by the unmistakable sound of stifled giggling.

Dany paused, her hand hovering over the iron latch.

“I’m just saying,” came Jess’s voice, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a bristle brush pulling through thick hair. “It’s hard to bow with a straight face. When the scarf slipped today during the Tyrell petition? I thought I was going to burst. She looks like a boiled egg.”

A sharp bark of laughter echoed in the room. It was Jasmine. “You shouldn’t say that, Jess! But… Gods, you’re right. Yesterday, she caught me looking at the reflection of her head in the silver platter. It’s so shiny. I don’t understand why she doesn’t just wear a wig. It’s embarrassing.”

“A dragon with no scales,” Jess snorted, the sound of her brushing stopping as she presumably admired her own bouncy bob in the Queen’s vanity mirror. “I spend an hour every morning getting my volume just right, and our ‘glorious queen’ walks around looking like a plucked goose. My little brother has more hair on his chin than she has on her head.”

“Do you think her dragons even recognize her?” Jasmine giggled, the silken rustle of her waist-length black hair audible even through the door. “If I lost my hair, I think I’d just throw myself from the highest tower. A woman is nothing without her crown.”

Outside the door, the air grew perfectly, deathly still.

Daenerys Targaryen did not cry. The initial sting of betrayal, hot and sharp, flared in her chest for only a second before it was entirely consumed by a cold, hollow, and absolute rage. The insecurity that had plagued her for weeks vanished, crystallizing into something hard and terrifying.

A woman is nothing without her crown.

The whisper echoed in Dany’s mind. The blood of the dragon boiled in her veins. They thought her weak. They thought her ugly. They thought their heavy, swinging locks made them superior to the blood of old Valyria. She had tried to be kind. She had tried to endure their vanity and their secret, mocking smiles.

No more.

Dany did not enter the room. She turned on her heel, her footsteps silent on the stone floors, and marched straight to the barracks of the Unsullied.

An hour later, the Great Hall of the Red Keep was hastily assembled. Lords, ladies, and servants were corralled into the cavernous room by ranks of stone-faced Unsullied, their spears gleaming in the torchlight. A murmur of confusion and growing panic rippled through the crowd.

At the front of the hall, the Iron Throne loomed. Daenerys stood at its base. She was not wearing her silk scarf.

Her scalp was bare, pale, and exposed for all to see. Her jaw was set in stone, her violet eyes burning with a manic, unyielding light. Beside her stood Grey Worm, holding a simple wooden stool and a heavy, brutal pair of iron shearing clippers—the kind used for keeping military ranks uniform.

“Bring them forward,” Dany’s voice rang out, magically amplified by the acoustics of the hall. It was devoid of any warmth.

Two Unsullied soldiers dragged Jess and Jasmine into the center of the room. The girls were weeping, their faces pale with terror. Jess’s blonde bob bounced erratically as she struggled, and Jasmine’s long, raven hair trailed along the dusty floor.

“Your Grace!” Jasmine sobbed, falling to her knees. “Please! What is the meaning of this? What have we done?”

Dany descended the steps slowly. She looked down at the two girls who had mocked her behind closed doors. She looked at their hair—so thick, so styled, so arrogant.

“You spoke of crowns, Jasmine,” Dany said, her voice a soft, dangerous hiss that carried across the silent hall. “You spoke of vanity. I have realized that I have been too lenient. I have allowed this kingdom to become soft, weighed down by the heavy, useless burdens of aesthetic pride. Hair is a hiding place for deceit. It is a shroud for treason.”

Jess whimpered, her chubby hands reaching up to clutch her blonde locks protectively. “Khaleesi, please, we meant no treason—”

“Seat her,” Dany commanded.

The Unsullied forced Jess onto the wooden stool. Grey Worm stepped forward, the heavy clippers in his hand.

“A Queen must set the standard for her people,” Dany announced to the terrified court. “From this day forth, I declare the Edict of the Bare Brow. No woman in my service, and soon, no woman in this kingdom, shall bear a crown of hair longer than her Queen’s.”

The court gasped.

Dany nodded at Grey Worm. He did not hesitate. He grabbed a fistful of Jess’s meticulously styled blonde bob and squeezed the iron shears. The loud CRUNCH of metal severing thick keratin echoed off the stone walls. Jess shrieked as a massive clump of bright blonde hair hit the floor.

Snip. Crunch. Snip.

The Unsullied commander worked with brutal, emotionless efficiency. Jess sobbed hysterically, her hands bound to her sides by the guards, as her bouncy, cheerful bob was ruthlessly dismantled. The golden locks fell in a rain of vanity around the base of the stool. Within moments, the shears were swapped for a straight razor. Grey Worm scraped the blade across Jess’s scalp, leaving it a raw, shaving-cream-slicked dome. She looked entirely unrecognizable—stripped, exposed, and broken.

Jasmine was screaming now, thrashing wildly. “No! No, my hair, please! It took years! Please, Your Grace, I beg you!”

“Seat her,” Dany said, her face an unreadable mask.

Jasmine was hauled onto the stool, slipping on Jess’s discarded blonde hair. When Grey Worm took hold of her waist-length, raven-black tresses, a collective shudder went through the noblewomen in the crowd. The shears bit into the thick black curtain at the nape of her neck. Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut, wailing as the heavy weight vanished from her back. The longest, most beautiful hair in the Red Keep was severed in four massive, brutal cuts, dropping to the floor like dead serpents.

Dany watched the razor glide over Jasmine’s dusky scalp, scraping away the dark stubble until it was as bare as a polished stone.

“Now,” Dany said, turning to the crowd. Her eyes scanned the terrified faces, finally landing on a familiar figure standing near the front. “Missandei. Step forward.”

A collective breath caught in the room. Missandei’s eyes widened in horror. She stepped out of the crowd, her hands trembling.

“My Queen?” Missandei whispered, her beautiful, voluminous curls framing her terrified face. “I have… I have been nothing but loyal.”

“I know,” Dany said, her voice softening just a fraction, though the madness in her eyes remained. “And you will show them that this is not a punishment, Missandei. It is a purification. You will lead by example. To prove that the law is absolute.”

Tears spilled down Missandei’s cheeks. She looked at the piles of black and blonde hair on the floor, then at the razor in Grey Worm’s hand. He looked at her, his own eyes showing a flicker of profound sorrow, but he could not disobey a direct order.

Slowly, heartbreakingly, Missandei walked to the stool. She sat down. She did not scream as Jasmine and Jess had. She merely closed her eyes and wept silently as Grey Worm ran the heavy clippers through her tight, beautiful curls. The soft, dark halo fell away, piece by piece, landing softly atop the other hair. When the razor finished its work, Missandei stood, her head completely bald, stripped of her Naathi heritage, looking small and fragile.

Daenerys stepped back up to the base of the Iron Throne, looking out over the sea of horrified lords and ladies. The noblewomen were instinctively clutching their elaborate braids and flowing curls, backing away toward the doors.

“Look upon them,” Dany commanded, gesturing to the three bald, weeping women at the center of the hall. “They are cleansed. They are honest. There is nothing left to hide.”

The Queen raised her chin, the torchlight gleaming off her own smooth scalp.

“You have ten days,” Daenerys decreed, her voice ringing with absolute, tyrannical finality. “Ten days for every woman in King’s Landing, from the highest lady in the Red Keep to the lowest beggar in Flea Bottom, to comply with the Edict. In ten days, the Unsullied will march through the streets with shears and razors. Anyone found harboring hair longer than a finger’s breadth will be shaved to the bone, and their family charged with treason.”

The Great Hall was plunged into a suffocating, terrified silence. The Mad Queen had awakened, and she demanded their crowns.