Dragonstone was a haven. The castellans of the castle and those who served it claimed it was so as well; Queen Elia, then only a princess, breathed life into it in the early years of her marriage, opening the shutters and clearing the rooms which had not been entered in years. The king, an apprehensive bridegroom like any other, had taken pains as well to make their new home as hospitable as possible, bringing the finest cooks, artisans, and musicians from the realm for his bride. And with the arrival of the royals the island sprang to life again.
Its gates had been open ever since. Though Elia had not returned since the birth of Aegon, within a few moons of her departure and at the height of the Rebellion the Queen Rhaella had fled to the island with Viserys and Daenerys still in her womb. It was not a joyous place then, not when the queen died in childbirth, but the birth of a new Targaryen was heralded as a sign of the rebirth of the dynasty, arriving at the same time as news of Prince Rhaegar's victory swept through the realm. If Viserys had been heralded "as beautiful a child as King's Landing had ever seen" then there were no words worthy to describe Daenerys. The kingdom had been plunged into a storm, but her birth would be the dawn of a new age, of peace and splendor.
The birth of another prince was not so celebrated. Jon, his mother had named him, because to call him Eddard or Brandon would have been an unwelcome reminder to the realm of all that had passed, and why the prince had not granted him one more worthy of his Targaryen blood no one knew. His birth would tear the realm apart again, they feared, and yet when it was revealed King Aerys had been found dead in the capitol, when Rhaegar rose as king and cloistered himself with the High Septon for days, the Stark girl was brought to King's Landing and crowned a queen.
News from King's Landing ceased after that. The monotony of peace reigned once more, whispers of highborn schemes and plots falling away once faced with concerns of harvest and crops. Whatever the arrangement between the two queens, whatever easy or uneasy accord had been reached between them, was no matter so long as no more blood was shed. And in that, King Rhaegar succeeded.
Dragonstone was bleak. Daenerys had once loved her home, when Jon had come with his mother and they had stayed for a few years, when Dany had someone to chase after and take her lessons with. Dany was only a child of five then, had thought little of Lyanna, knew her only as one of her brother's wives, was more concerned with her new playmate. She was a beautiful woman, Dany could see that, and not quite so old as what Dany thought the words "wife" and "queen" meant, with black hair that Jon was always pulled on and grey eyes that always seemed sad, even when they were looking at her son. Her sorrow left Dany wary, a child unused to anything but smiles and caresses, with an army of maids to coddle her in place of her mother, and whether it was Lyanna who kept herself apart or Dany's caution she did not know.
Something shifted the day a raven came from Viserys, announcing his marriage and describing his wedding and his bride. Dany was only eight then, so much a child, and her brother had taken care to describe only that which would interest her, the dresses and the foods and the customs of the Dornish. Giddy with excitement, Dany shared it with Lyanna and Jon, prattling and pleased that she had received a letter all of her own that the maester had let her read, barely having to correct any jumbled words.
"When me and Rhaegar marry," She'd announced, "I'll wear a gown of cream and a tiara full of gold and orange jewels, just like Arianne."
Jon had laughed, said that gold and orange were Martell colors, that Dany's tiara would be red and black, but Lyanna only sat silently, smiling her sad smile. From that day on though, the queen had been kinder to Dany, bringing her and Jon to her bed whenever storms raged outside and the thunder frightened them, and sometimes even press kisses to her forehead when the septa said she'd been particularly well behaved.
They were happy, Dany thought, but soon after Lyanna and Jon had to leave, returning to King's Landing and though Viserys promised to visit often, Sunspear was far off and he was to have his own family soon anyway. Dragonstone felt more like a prison then and when Dany flowered four years later, was told by the septa she was now a woman and grew bold at that, she wrote to Rhaegar and asked whether she might be allowed to go to King's Landing then.
Instead of a reply to her request, the king sends word that he is to come himself, the first time he had been to the island since Dany was in the cradle. Her maids had fussed over her then, made her bath in rosewater and rubbed her in oil and sugar scrubs. The braids she had been allowed to wear since she was a young girl were pulled apart, her hair left to fall around her shoulders, her body wrapped in gowns of silk that left her arms and chest bare. Her maids warned her about being on her best behavior, made her recite the remarks she was to make about the books the king had sent her and the maester forced her to read.
She waited for him in Aegon's Garden, a strange place she though to meet, and when her brother came to her, flanked by two Kingsguard knights, dressed as finely as her, Dany wondered if he had a maester and maids fussing over him too. Her brother was in his thirty fifth year and though she had imagined an old man with grey hair and wrinkles, she saw instead he looked almost as young as Viserys and just as handsome, broader than their brother and with longer hair pulled back from his face.
He bowed to her, though Dany knew from her lessons it was she who should have curtsied, and pressed a warm kiss to her hand.
"Sister, you have grown beautiful in my absence," He stated, not letting go of her hand.
"I am pleased Your Grace finds me so," She replied, repeating the words she had been taught, finally curtseying and it makes her brother smile.
He asked for a tour of the gardens ("I fear I do not know this castle as I once did") and Dany understands then why he chose to meet her here. The gardens were her favorite place, a fact that she guessed he had been informed of, and she could more easily speak of it than any other place in the castle. And when they finally reached the boggy spot at the southeastern corner, Dany had reached down to pick cranberries and was pleased when her brother took some from her hand and ate them, seeming to relish the taste as she did.
They passed their days taking turns around the keep, speaking of songs and stories, and every time he would walk Dany to her rooms and bid her good night, she would remember that he had not answered her request, in fact did not even mention King's Landing at all. She would promise herself to ask again in the morning but would forget, distracted by his tales and the small trinkets he gifted her, necklaces and brooches finer than any she had seen, even the ones that were kept in Dragonstone and she knew had been her mother's.
He stayed for half a moon's turn and as his departure grew nearer, as did Dany's sense of urgency. When they sat in his solar, her embroidery in her lap as he sat writing letters, she broached the subject again.
"Brother," she began, because he told her she did not have to call him king, "I wonder if I may return to the capital with you. I have been preparing for months; I know the names of all the houses and their sigils, and all the steps to the dances."
It was carefully phrased, she thought, wording which she had spent the night perfecting.
Her brother turned to her, and it made something gnaw at her stomach to see his frowning. He did not speak at first, instead walked over to the bench where she sat and took the embroidery out of her hands, setting it down on a table.
"You are a girl still, Daenerys," He explained, his voice sounding sad, "You will have your fill of King's Landing, I promise you."
She frowned too at that, wanted to ask him what a difference a few years might make. She would not be married until she was sixteen, she knew, but did not understand why she had to wait in Dragonstone, not when she could be getting to know her nephews and niece, growing closer to Lyanna and meeting Elia. They were her family, she wanted to say, why must she be kept apart?
He touched her face before she could say anything, bringing it closer so she was looking at his eyes and something about it made her blush, made her want to pull away.
"Dany, have you been kissed?" He asked, smiling softly, "It is no matter if you have, we all have our childish dalliances. You may tell me."
The only boy her age she had ever been around was Jon, and when it was explained to her that he was her nephew she had been as dictatorial as could be, wanting to feed him herself, wrap him in a blanket and hold him like a babe, until he protested and told her to stop. She had never thought about kissing him.
Dany shook her head, but thought she would have done the same even if it wasn't the truth.
Ever so slowly, her brother pressed his lips against hers. She thought of the knights standing by the door and wanted to push away, then thought to endure it to be polite, but within moments felt herself melting against him. It wasn't like in the songs, she thought, but all together more confusing, that made her yearn for something she did not know, made her feel ill and warm all at once. It lasted for only a moment before he pulled away, though he kept his face close, pressing another kiss to her forehead.
When she met her brother the next day, the knights were gone. Her embroidery and his letters were at their usual places but he met her with a kiss instead, one that began much like their first but grew into something altogether different. It felt like sleeping, like getting into bed after a long day and sinking into the featherbed, came as easily as breathing, some skill her body knew and could put into practice automatically. She could hear the sound of their lips quietly smacking, feel the softness of his face, felt languid, like she could sleep in the feeling, and then he softly put his tongue in her month and she responded in kind and it changed again, became something hot and wet, left her struggling to breathe.
It had lasted longer this time, though an hour or a year she did not know. When he pulled away, smoothing her hair, she only knew she wanted more.
He obliged her on the next day, his last day, kissing her more slowly than before but in a way that only left her somehow more anxious, her stomach twisting more painfully, until she felt his hands falling from her hair to her neck to her chest, cupping her through her gown before slipping inside, his thumbs at her nipples. It was not proper, she thought for a moment, but he was her king and her betrothed, surely he knew best. And then she did not think for much longer after that, not when he started palming her breasts, not when one hand slipped to her smallclothes and sent a shot through her, until she felt herself bucking, grinding and biting at his lips, until he moved his fingers further up and she heard herself moan, her hips shaking and her legs closing and opening involuntarily.
He held her after, putting her head into his shoulder, perhaps aware she would be too embarrassed to look into his eyes. When her breathing slowed, she finally spoke.
"Will it be like that when we lie together?" She asked, her voice so small.
He brought her face to his then, "It will be better. But you must be patient. Stay in Dragonstone and listen to your septa, and when you are ready I will send for you."
Rhaegar left later that day, and Dany prayed that her wedding day would come soon.