11.
Ghost made no sound as he padded over to where Jon laid in the tall grass, his arms crossed behind his head. Jon blindly reached out for the direwolf. Ghost bent his head and nudged his nose into Jon's shoulder, flicking his tongue over Jon's cheek. The roughness of his tongue made Jon laugh, and he ruffled Ghost's white fur as the wolf laid down, curling itself in his side.
He watched the huge moon. Its glow drowned out the stars scattering the clear, night sky. On nights like this in Winterfell, when the moon seemed impossibly large, he and Arya would sneak out of their rooms and he'd teach her the basics of swordplay. Jon remembered the pride that swelled in his chest the first time Arya parried his blow after countless nights of practice.
Thinking of Arya brought a surge of bittersweet memories for Jon. He could never think back on his life in Winterfell fondly without remembering Catelyn Stark's cold treatment. Sometimes, Jon wished he lived with his mother in Starfall. Maybe if he stayed then perhaps she would have never jumped. No, he was glad he grew up in Winterfell. It might have been worse with his mother. What if she still jumped? Then Jon would have to live with that pain forever.
It doesn't matter, thought Jon. He hated how his mind wandered to what-ifs. His mother was dead, his father was in Winterfell, and he was here on the other side of the world. Jon rolled over to his side and buried his face in Ghost's fur. He missed his family.
When Jon woke, he wasn't sure when he dozed off or how many hours he slept, but the sky was painted indigo as the sun readied to rise in the horizon. Getting to his feet, he trudged back to his tent. Ghost trotted alongside him. While he walked, he noticed a figure stepping out of a tent. As he neared, he realized it was Doreah.
"Sunset boy." Doreah waved at him. She laughed when she saw him. "You're covered in dirt. Did you sleep under the stars?"
"I have a name," Jon mumbled, blushing. "I didn't mean to sleep outside. I'm going to the lake right now… Why aren't you with Daenerys?"
"Qotho had need of me," Doreah answered quietly, no longer bright. Then she smiled, bouncing towards him. "If you were lonely, you could have requested my company. I would have preferred it to Qotho's."
His face warmed. "Your company would have been... nice."
"You are of similar age to the khaleesi, no?" she suddenly asked.
"Five-and-ten," Jon answered, nodding.
"And you have yet to lay with a woman."
"... I don't see what that has to do with anything."
Doreah took his hand and tugged him in the direction of the lake. "I'll join you. I'll even wash your back."
"Okay," was the only thing Jon could say as he dumbly followed Doreah. He tried to steady his breathing. There was no need to get nervous. She already saw his cock.
They stopped by his tent to get clean clothes before continuing to the lake. Whatever plans they had ended the second Doreah dipped her foot in the water. She shrieked and leapt back.
"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.
"It's too cold," she explained. "How can you bathe in that?"
Jon smiled. "I've felt colder," he replied, amused. After a moment's hesitation, Jon pulled her close and kissed her. "Another time, perhaps?"
"Yes," she quickly said, then with a wink added, "I eagerly await to take your maiden's gift, sunset boy."
He watched her saunter back to her mistress's tent, ignoring the heat rushing to his face and the stiffening of his cock. It was a good thing the lake water was cold.
Daenerys had nearly forgotten what fear tasted like.
For years she had lived in terror of Viserys, afraid of waking the dragon. This was even worse. The wineseller in the Western Market had attempted to poison not only her, but her baby as well. Rhaego must have sensed her fright, for he moved restlessly inside her. Dany stroked the swell of her belly gently, wishing she could reach out to him.
Ser Jorah had showed her a folded parchment, explaining that Magister Illyrio had sent Viserys a letter. Robert Baratheon offered lands and lordships for either Dany or Viserys's deaths. The Usurper would not have her son. He has woken the dragon now, she told herself, but could not ignore the tears blurring her vision.
Her eyes went to the dragon's eggs resting their nest of dark velvet. Something seized her then, and she ordered Ser Jorah to light the brazier.
"Khaleesi?" The knight looked at her strangely. "It is so hot. Are you certain?"
"Yes. I..." Dany's gaze was focused on those beautiful scaled eggs. "I have a chill. Light the brazier."
He bowed. "As you command."
When the coals were lit and flaming, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what she must do.
This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as the heat sunk in. Flames kissed the stone, and Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire.
She watched until the coals turned to ashes. To her disappointment, the dragon's eggs hadn't hatched or even cracked. Dany touched the pendant of the necklace Jon had gifted her. Khal Drogo had taken him, Jon's white beast, and his bloodriders in search of hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains. The direwolf could hunt better than anyone else.
Dany wished he was here.
The brazier was cold again by the time Khal Drogo returned. Cohollo was leading a packhorse behind him, with the carcass of a great white lion slung across its back. Above, the stars were coming out. Blood coated Ghost's snout, with dots of it sprinkling over the rest of his body. The khal laughed as he swung down off his stallion and showed her the scars on his leg where the hrakkar had raked him through his leggings. "I shall make you a cloak of its skin, moon of my life," he swore.
When Dany told him what had happened at the market, all laughter stopped.
"This poisoner was the first," Ser Jorah Mormont warned him, "but he will not be the last. Men will risk much for a lordship."
Drogo was silent for a time. Finally, he gifted Ser Jorah and Jhogo with any horse from his herd. Then he offered their son Rhaego the Iron Throne.
In the midst of everyone's cheering and celebrating, Jon made his way over to Dany. His shoulder was bloody and torn where the hrakkar had scraped him. The lump in his throat bobbed unsteadily.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Jon said, and the guilt in his voice threatened to devastate her.
"He still would have tried to poison me," Dany told him, hating the forlorn look on his face. "Does it hurt?"
Jon frowned, confused. When she motioned to his shoulder, he realized what she meant and shrugged with a wince. "It stings."
"I'll go with you to see a healer," she proposed. He nodded and the two headed to healer's camp. Dany could only think about Drogo's words.
They would be going home.
