Author Note: Hello, everyone! This story is VASTLY different from the last few. Though it has considerable Brienne/Jaime content, it is primarily a Dany/Jon story (with a strong Brienne/Jaime secondary pairing), AND set in the Regency era, with archaic language and customs used. However, I think if you give it a chance, you might find it enjoyable.
The aim of this story was to create something super-schmoopy and dramatic and angsty, in a Jane Austen/Pride & Prejudice type of setting. I went more by Persuasion that P&P, however. It is a gift for Bloomsbury, a very talented artist. Her tumblr can be found at bloomsbury. tumblr . I encourage you to visit it, she posts lots of wonderful art of Jon/Dany and others!
Some things to know as we set out:
1. Dany and Viserys are dispossessed nobles in the way of the French aristocracy after the Revolution banished the monarchy and became a republic; however, in Regency Westeros, the monarchy still exists. It is just the Targaryen dynasty that has been eliminated because reasons.
And much like many of those newly-homeless French nobles, Dany and Viserys have been slumming from one family to the next, tolerated more as pets and points of gossip than out of any real loyalty to the Targaryens. They usually stay two or three years at a given place before moving on, Viserys having become adept by this point at knowing when their welcome is outworn and he risks alienation of a House.
2. The kingdoms of Westeros are here rendered as duchies, ruled by dukes, with the exception of Dorne, which as always is a principality.
3. The war referenced is modeled after the Napoleonic campaign between France and England during the first two decades of the 19th century. Like that war, it takes place on a peninsula in a climate far removed from what those back home are used to. Officers buy commissions from the king for military service, and sell these commissions back when their term, or the war, is over (which is the origin of the term "to sell out"- an officer could sell back his commission early but it was considered a shameful thing to do).
4. R + L do not = J. In this story E + ? = J because I'm just not up to the challenging of handling the incest thing.
If you have questions about any terms used, please ask them in a review and I will answer it in the next chapter's author note.
Thank you very much for giving this story a try! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
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A discreet cough caught Dany's attention, directing it away from the garment she was sewing.
"They're awaiting you on the lawn, Your Highness," said the footman who stood in her doorway.
Dany was seated by the single window her room boasted; she looked out and saw the congregation of humanity starting to fill the vast lawn at the rear of the Highgarden estate. Ancestral seat of the dukes of the Reach, the place was quite grand, House Tyrell's prosperity able to keep it in flawless condition.
Its manicured grounds were to be the site of most of this week's house party, ostensibly to commemorate the entry of Westeros into the armed conflict in Essos. Dany personally felt its purpose was to bring together as many eligible bachelors in one place as possible, so the Tyrell daughter, Margaery, could have her pick of them.
And, just perhaps, so Dany might acquire one of Margaery's leavings and thus vacate Highgarden permanently. It was the kingdom's worst-kept secret that the presence of Dany and her brother, Viserys, was wearing on the magnanimity of the great houses of Westeros. Dispossessed of their lands and wealth, owning nothing more than their illustrious and worthless titles, the Targaryen siblings had spent the entirety of their lives taking advantage of the largesse and, frankly, guilt of those great houses.
It was an ugly life, but a necessary one, or so Viserys insisted. Dany thought that, while they had still been children, that might have been valid, but now that Viserys was four-and-twenty, and Dany herself eighteen, they should find ways of supporting themselves instead of living off of various titled families. She was not a bad seamstress, and rather good at trimming hats, as well. Her embroidery was quite fine, too. They could go to Oldtown or Lannisport or even Gulltown and she could find work at a shop.
Viserys, however, would have none of it. Dany privately thought it was because he had no particular talents or skills as she had. He declared it beneath them. She had begun trying to devise methods of earning some coins, thinking to hoard them until she had enough to leave Viserys behind and find her own way. Every new day spent as the pauper princess, as she knew herself to be mocked, was another fresh hell for her, and she was eager to leave it all behind to start again.
"Thank you," she told the footman, and stood.
Dany removed her apron and looked down at what she wore: a white frock in the typical Empire style, high-waisted and flowing, of white calico printed with bunches of blue roses arrayed in stripes from top to toe. The scoop neck was modest. She wore a bandeau in the Myrish fashion around her head, to keep her hair from her eyes as she bent over her sewing. She decided to leave it and just fluffed up the silvery curls that tumbled around her face and down her neck, making their cascade seem artful instead of messy.
She folded her sewing— another shirt for Brienne— and left her room. She just touched foot to the last step when hard fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her into the little alcove beneath the stairs.
"I've just heard that Lord Edmure Tully will be arriving tomorrow," Viserys whispered in her ear. "Heir to the Duke of Riverlands. You must try to gain his attention. And Robb Stark, the earl of Winterfell, is arriving today. You couldn't manage to pull Willas Tyrell—" (here, he glowered at her, as if the Tyrells' reluctance to align themselves with the diminished Targaryens were somehow her fault) "—and you refused Jaime Lannister—" (that actually had been her fault) "so there are few other eligible heirs to be found."
"But—"
He hissed at her like a cat. "If you can't hook one of them, the only one left is Robin Arryn."
Dany sighed. "I will not marry a child."
"You will marry whom I tell you to marry. If you do not have a proposal from either Stark or Tully by the end of the week, I will tell Jaime Lannister you have reconsidered and will accept him, or else I will offer you to Arryn."
Dany stared up at him, her mind in turmoil. She loved her brother, she owed him everything for keeping her alive throughout her infancy and childhood, but sometimes she hated him.
"I'm expected outside," she said dully, tugging away from him.
Viserys released her, and she fled, rubbing her arm and blinking away her sudden tears, hoping that if anyone saw her, they would mistake it for a reaction to the bright summer sun.
The Tyrell ladies spotted her and waved to indicate she should join them.
"Your Highness, so good of you to join us," murmured the dowager duchess, Lady Olenna Tyrell.
Dany took a deep breath to bolster her patience. "My brother wished a word with me as I was coming to you," she said carefully. "I apologize for my tardiness."
The old woman waved away her words. "You're here now."
Yes, she was. Dany forced a smile and aimed it at the others: current duchess Alerie Tyrell, and her daughter and the starring attraction of the house party, Margaery. They were all striking women, with hair the color of buckwheat honey and hazel eyes and sculpted cheekbones. Dany felt very out-of-place with them, with her pale hair and unusual eyes that stamped her a Targaryen at first glimpse.
If she were ever able to strike out on her own, her first task would be to dye her hair another color. What would look best, she wondered? She discounted the Lannister gold as too similar to her own platinum. Brunette, like the Tyrells? Redheaded, like the Tullys and various Stark children? Raven-dark like a Baratheon or a Martell? The idea of being another person entirely was very exciting to her.
"Shameless, that he should appear here!" hissed Lady Alerie. "I cannot approve of the Duke of the North's actions. It is beyond endurance, having to be in the company of a…" She paused, clearly gathering her courage to continue on such a thorny topic. "…natural child."
Her mother-in-law rolled her eyes. "You carry on as if you'd never met a bastard, you ridiculous woman," she said, "when my brother's sons spend more time with us than with their father. Ah, there's one of them now, in fact."
She gave a regal nod to her nephew, who had just stepped onto the expansive terraced lawn where the event was taking place. Garrett Flowers looked a little alarmed to have caught the notice of his formidable aunt, and hesitantly began to approach. She waved him away, and with an expression of relief, he sidled away toward where some of the younger gentlemen were availing themselves of the alcoholic beverages on offer.
"Those of us with delicate natures should not be forced to share company with symbols of wanton lechery," Alerie pronounced with a sniff.
Dany turned so she could better study this grievous affront to Lady Tyrell's demure sensibilities. Descending the marble stairs leading from the terrace to the lawn were two men, one tall with ruddy hair and the other a bit shorter and quite dark, his red military jacket proclaiming him to be an officer in His Majesty's armed forces.
Lord Robb Stark, whom Dany had met before, was a handsome young man. He had none of the typical Stark coloring, nor did most of his siblings; only his younger sister had that black hair and gray eyes, it was said.
And, apparently, the bastard. His surname would be 'Snow', of course, but Dany wondered what his given name was. She did not think he looked like a symbol of wanton lechery. He was not a terribly tall man, but well-formed, and showed his military uniform to best advantage. He had a handsome face with serious eyes that missed nothing as he swept them over the assemblage. When they passed over her, she could almost feel his gaze as a physical touch, the whisper of silk over her skin, and she was sorry when his regard moved on to the next person.
But then he looked startled, his well-shaped lips parting in surprise, and he redirected his gaze back to her. For a long moment, their eyes caught and held. Dany wondered what he saw; was it a too-pale, too-short, too-bosomy girl in a second-hand frock a year out of style? Or did he see the worthless princess who, with her brother, had flung herself upon the charity of yet another of Westeros' great houses?
Ashamed, she turned back to face the other ladies, dragging her gaze from his to stare down at where she clasped her hands before her. They were not the smooth white hands of Margaery Tyrell, who used her own to great advantage while speaking, moving them with grace and drama to illustrate her words. Nor were they the strong capable hands of Dany's closest friend, Brienne of Tarth, who wore her calluses with pride. And so she should, after having led the defense of her island home against the pirates who thought the Sapphire Isle would be a swift and easy victory.
No, Dany's hands were rough from sewing clothing: her own, her brother's, and Brienne's. A roof and victuals she and Viserys might have been granted here in Highgarden, but that was the extent of the philanthropy shown them by House Tyrell. She had no maid to massage lotion into her sore palms and fingers, and the roughness brought on by needle-pricks and the rubbing of the crochet hook sometimes became so bad that she would snag the fragile silk of the much-darned stockings Margaery gave her after she was done with them.
"You shall have to get used to him, Mother, if I marry his brother as you wish," said Margaery. Her sharp hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the thought of her potential fiancé.
Dany felt irritated by the way they were discussing both the bastard and his brother, as if they were objects to be handled, placed decoratively and discarded once the Tyrells found no more worth in them, rather than people with hearts and minds. She herself had been a symbol of bygone times of an extinct empire, and a pawn played by the great Houses of Westeros, her entire life. She loathed it.
"It's not as if he had any choice in the matter," she thus found herself saying. "One can hardly blame a child for the sins of his parents. Should he not be judged for the quality of his character instead of the mistake of his blood? House Stark is known for its scrupulous honor. And was he not reared alongside the other children, all of whom have been praised for their excellence? I find it difficult to believe he would be so different from the rest of them simply because his parents were not wed."
It was something she felt very strongly about, having borne the brunt of Westeros' displeasure at the actions of her father. She was no more to blame for Aerys' madness and cruelty than this Stark bastard was for his father's inability to keep to his wedding vows.
Then Dany bit her tongue in punishment; stupid, stupid, she chastised herself. They resided at Highgarden at the forbearance of Lord and Lady Tyrell, and she ought not contradict the duchess. What would she and Viserys do if they were informed they were no longer welcome? The memory of traveling over the countryside, carried on Viserys' back until they were able to buy passage to Tarth, remained one of her worst, and she clasped her hands harder together to belay their trembling. She opened her mouth to apologize, to abase herself before Lady Alerie for her impertinence.
"I could not agree more, Your Highness," said a pleasant male voice from behind Dany, and she spun to find Lord Robb Stark there with the much-discussed bastard brother himself. "It does you credit to express such an opinion."
Dany felt her heart pounding in her chest. Eyes wide, she looked from one man to the other and back again. Both men watched her closely, Robb with gentle amusement and his brother with somber intensity.
"It does, doesn't it?" asked Margaery with her customary light sarcasm. "We should not have been discussing such a thing, anyway. Please forgive us, Lieutenant Snow."
"Of course, my lady," the lieutenant said, taking the hand she held out and giving a crisp bow over it.
"Ah, my manners," Margaery said. "I must introduce you." She turned first to her grandmother, but then paused, her trademark smirk making an appearance. "But I must not forget my rules of precedence. Your Highness, this is Lord Robb Stark, Earl of Winterfell, and his brother, Lieutenant Jon Snow. Gentlemen, Princess Daenerys of the former House Targaryen."
Dany took a deep breath to contain her temper. She hated when people made a fuss over her lineage and titles. Not because she disliked them— she was quite proud of being of the ancient Targaryen line, and loved the lore proclaiming her family having descended from dragons— but because it was always done with such derision, an open joke among all the remaining houses. It was rather like a servant finding the bean in their slice of twelfth-night cake; made king or queen for the duration of the feast, everyone played mocking deference to them, but come the morning, it was back to their usual drudgery.
"I've had the honor of meeting His Excellency before. A pleasure to see you once again, my lord," she said to Lord Robb, offering him a curtsy while he bowed over her hand. "And to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant."
Then she turned to Lieutenant Snow— Jon, his name is Jon— and held out her hand to him. When he took it, she had to bite her lip to keep back the little gasp that almost escaped her lips, because she felt the same little zing to touch him that she did after walking over a carpet in her stocking-feet.
Her curtsy was less graceful than its predecessor, because she did not lower her head as she ought to have, instead keeping her eyes fixed on Jon Snow's. His bow was less graceful, as well, because nor did he lower his own head as he bowed over her hand. When he stood upright again, he withdrew the warm pressure of his hand, and Dany retracted her own, twining her fingers together in front of her once more.
"We have had the honor of meeting everyone else already, have we not?" Robb was asking the others, but Dany's attention was caught by the way Lieutenant Snow had lowered his hand to his side, flexing it open and closed, as if he, too had received a shock. Dany stared down once more, fighting to keep her breath steady.
"Have you brought your wolf as well, Lieutenant?" asked Margaery. "Lord Robb had sent word he would be bringing Greywind with him while he visits. They are brothers, are they not?"
"Yes, my lady," replied Jon Snow. "They shall be sad to part when I leave."
His voice is lovely, Dany thought, with the intriguing broadness about his vowels she had noticed in those from the north.
"Where are you going?" she asked him.
"To fight in Essos, of course," said Lady Alerie, looking pinched about the lips.
"Yes, Your Grace," said Dany with exquisite politeness, "but I was asking to which location in particular Lieutenant Snow will be deployed."
A glint of amusement appeared in the lieutenant's eyes, but his face was blank as he replied, "I am not sure just yet, Your Highness, but it seems likely I will be stationed in either Yunkai or Astapor."
"Such a long journey," she murmured. "I hope you are a good sailor."
"I get by," he replied with a faint smile. "We sailed from Barrowton to Lannisport to get to Highgarden and I did not suffer too badly. Ghost, though…"
"Ghost?" Dany inquired.
"My wolf. Ghost did not enjoy his voyage."
"I would like to meet him," she said impulsively. "I've always wanted a pet."
The lieutenant blinked in surprise, and the glint in his eyes warmed. "I'd be happy to introduce you, Your Highness." He paused, and the glint grew mischievous. "But I beg you, do not call him a pet in his presence. He prefers to think of himself as my companion. If anything, I am his pet."
Dany smiled to see he was capable of silliness in spite of his earnest appearance. He seemed taken aback by it, and she realized with chagrin that it was too big a smile, too toothy, not ladylike enough. She minimized it to something far more demure, with no teeth whatsoever, and was relieved when she saw Brienne striding their way.
Well over six feet in height, Brienne wore a very smart tailed jacket, identical to what the men were wearing, over a split skirt and gleaming black Hessians. Her hair was cropped short in the popular style, but not for her were the ringlets and curls most women coaxed forth; she simply raked her blond locks, almost as pale as Dany's own, back over her head with impatience. In her hand, she carried a croquet mallet, rather more like a sword than sporting equipment.
"Hullo," said Brienne when she reached them. She offered them all a bow, instead of a curtsy, which made the Tyrells look even more pinched than the arrival of the bastard had.
"How fares the croquet, Lady Brienne?" asked Margaery.
"We've just lost a few players to the sulks."
She pointed her mallet toward where one of Margaery's brothers, Loras, was striding away from the others. There were red patches of irritation on his cheeks, and his friend Renly Baratheon followed close in his wake. Renly appeared to be teasing Loras, if the narrow glances the latter was shooting the former were any indication.
"Loras is such a sore loser," Margaery sighed.
"Anyone interested in a game?" Brienne asked. She pointed her mallet again at the remaining players clustered around the starting peg.
"I do not know how to play," said Dany, eager to find an excuse to distance herself from the Tyrell ladies. She knew the moment the men left their little group, Lady Alerie would give voice to all the insults she was holding back, and probably add a few poorly-veiled ones about Dany, as well. "But I would enjoy it, I think."
"Excellent! Anyone else?" asked Brienne. "Lady Margaery, Lord Robb?"
Margaery dragged her attention from where she had been flirting at the heir to the North.
"Indeed, no," said she. "I was hoping to catch up with Lord Robb; it has been a year at least since I have seen him."
"Though it has felt like two," said Robb with admirable gallantry. Beside him, Margaery simpered in reaction. Dany lowered her gaze to keep from rolling her eyes.
"I haven't played in years," said Lieutenant Snow. "May I?"
"Of course!" said Brienne. She was the nicest person Dany had ever met, and would never turn away a person for his lack of birth. Dany smiled at her, the toothy smile, and Brienne gave her a confused look before returning it with one of her own.
"Very good!" Brienne said. "My lord, my ladies," she said to the others, giving another short bow, and strode away, leaving Dany and John to follow at their leisure.
They shared an amused glance before speaking their farewells to the group and heading after her.
"Your Highness?" said Lieutenant Snow, holding out his elbow, intent on escorting her across the lawn to where the hoops had been set up and the others awaited.
Dany licked her lips nervously before sliding her hand under and around his elbow, resting it on his scarlet-clad forearm. That little thrill ran up her arm once more.
"I have never played croquet before," she confided in him, "so I shall have to depend on you to teach me."
"A duty I shall take seriously," he replied, but when she glanced up to see if he were mocking her, there was only a tiny curve of his lips to indicate he was teasing. She did not enjoy being teased, but it was clear he meant it so gently that she could not take offense.
As they made their stroll toward the croquet pitch, he briefed her on the rules, which she felt were simple enough that even she should not make too bad of a muddle of them. Before they reached the others, however, Dany felt compelled to apologize to him for discussing his bastardy.
"I am sorry we spoke of your… unfortunate circumstance," she said carefully, halting in the middle of the lawn so they could speak with some little privacy. She detached herself so she could face him. "It was poorly done, to gossip about you, especially within your hearing, though I did not know you were within earshot at the time."
He looked at her without speaking for a few seconds, his dark gaze piercing, making her heart beat faster in her chest. She could feel her pulse flutter in her neck, and hoped he could not tell the effect he had on her.
"As far as I can tell, it was them doing the gossiping," Lieutenant Snow said at last, "and you being very decent in defending me."
Dany drew in a breath. "No, I—"
"Brave you were, as well, to speak up against your hostess," he continued, and there was knowledge of her own unfortunate circumstance in his eyes. "I'm not sure I deserve such a risk on your part, but I do appreciate it. Most people either pretend I'm not a bastard, or that I'm not there at all. And none defend me." He quirked a little smile at her. "None until you, that is."
"I'm not most people," was all she could think to reply.
"No," agreed the lieutenant with an inscrutable look. "You're not."
"You do deserve such a risk," Dany blurted then. "People should not feel free to be so unkind."
He studied her again. "And yet they do, all the time."
She was coming to see that he was a man who considered his words before he spoke them. She liked that, but the anticipation she felt to hear what he would say was difficult to endure.
"If you find yourself unwelcome in the Reach, after today, apply yourself to my father at Winterfell," he said at last. "He will welcome you without question."
She blinked up at him, shocked. No one ever mentioned the Targaryens' dire straits, though of course she and Viserys' situation had been grist for the gossip mill from the moment of her birth. But it had not been done with any intent to humiliate her. He was just a scrupulously honest man, and did not believe in skirting around an obvious topic. After a lifetime of having to pick her way through the verbal minefields that were any and all conversations within Westeros' aristocracy, to be able to just directly speak about things was… wonderful.
"Why have you never come to the North?" Lieutenant Snow asked then, and Dany realized with a flush of embarrassment that she had been lost in thought for some awkward moments of silence, staring witlessly up at his handsome face.
"My brother…" she began, and flushed. "Viserys has a horror of prolonged cold and has always refused to even consider the North."
Left unmentioned were her brother's disdainful comments about how boring and staid the Starks were said to be, all inaccurate Dany was realizing, if her interaction with Lieutenant Snow and her brief minutes with the pleasant Lord Robb were any hint.
The lieutenant nodded. "My offer stands, however. I will write to my father today, in fact, and let him know of the debt I owe you."
"Ah." Dany's heart sank. She glanced down at where her fingers had knotted themselves together and said stiffly, "I did not do it to obligate you, Lieutenant."
His eyes widened in surprise and then realization at what she had understood. "I did not mean it that way. Forgive me. I can be clumsy with my words, at times. I only meant… if you became distressed because your decency compelled you to defend me against Lady Tyrell…"
It was his turn to blush, it seemed. He looked away from Dany as he continued.
"Such decency should be rewarded and protected. I would offer even if you had done it for someone else, and not myself."
"Thank you," she said softly, unable to keep from touching her fingertips to his wrist for the scantest moment.
His gaze flew back to her and locked with her own. Dany felt her breath coming almost in pants from her parted lips.
"Dany!" called Brienne from the pitch, waving her long arms in an unladylike way that would make a Tyrell blanch. "We're ready!"
Lieutenant Snow offered his arm once more. This time, as they walked, he placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his forearm, and Dany forced a swallow past the tightening in her throat.
