"There I was, mindin' my own business and catchin' fish by the Antler Fork. Sun on my back, great clear day, when suddenly - A SHADOW!" the old storyteller jumped forward dramatically at this, startling some of the young children straight off their perches of stumps and rocks. The older kids snickered and pointed and soon the little ones were giggling as well.
Dryn the Elder waited for the children to calm down before continuing. Hacking his throat clear, he started his story up again. "A shadow," he said ominously, "bigger than any bull mammoth, blocked out the sun. The whole of the river went silent, like the ripples themselves were scared, and the shadow got even bigger, making the world night even though it was the middle of the day!"
"What was it?" a blond girl asked, her brown eyes round like medallions.
"Well that's exactly what I thought! Grippin' my fishing pole, waitin' for it to come take me away, scared to look up. I heard its wings beat closer and closer and then -" Dryn paused dramatically at that moment and there was a collective intake of breath among the kids. The old man used the pause to look up at Dany and Willa sitting close by and wink, "The beast flew right over my head, so close its claws could've scraped off what little hair I have left."
He bent down to point at his mostly bald head, much to the children's laughter. "Then he flew away. Never even set down. I looked up as the shadow left and saw the tip of a black tail fly behind some of the tall trees. Then it was gone, and the river started to make sounds again. So if you're ever out fishing in the woods and you hear the river go quiet, think about looking up. You may just see something...incredible."
The children clapped for Dryn, who dipped his head in thanks. As he fended off their begging for "just one more story!" Dany heard Willa tutting beside her.
"You didn't like the story?" Dany teased.
"The last thing I need is a bunch of children running around with bruised heads from looking up in the forest instead of forward," she said brusquely, beginning to mash some of her plants into a pulp, "I already have enough to do with their parents getting splinters every other day and not telling me for a week."
Dany laughed and watched the children, who had gotten up to follow a hobbling Dryn through the village, passing by the house Jon was working on, still begging for a story. Contentedly, she rested a hand across her stomach, feeling the little kicks from inside. He'll be watching our child one day, she thought fondly as he paused what he was doing to turn and watch the children chasing past.
"Come on," Willa said, breaking her reverie, "Tell your man you're leaving. We should get back to your home now so I can be here again before everyone sneaks off to nurse their splinters alone."
They meandered along the snow-covered footpath together. Walking to and from the village nearly every day had cleared away the brush all the way up to Jon and Dany's little house near the banks of the river. Inside the house, Dany sat on her bed (now with a frame courtesy of her and Jon's combined handiwork) as Willa felt along her belly, which she did once every few days. Ghost sat directly behind the healer, his head cocked as if he was trying to learn what to do for Dany as well.
"You like listening to Old Dryn," Willa said, more an observation than a question.
Dany looked at Ghost thoughtfully before replying, "His stories remind me of the Dothraki. When they gathered and and told legends about their horse god. They make me feel hopeful."
"Stories about horse gods and monster shadows make you feel hopeful?"
"Stories in general make me feel hopeful," Dany said, "When I was little, I liked to listen to the sailors in the Free Cities singing ballads about the sea and always asked my ward to tell me about Westeros and Old Valyria. Jon and I still tell each other stories at night if one of us wakes up with bad dreams. No matter what happens, there's always stories."
Willa grunted in response, moving to press her ear to Dany's protruding stomach and listen to the baby inside her.
"Strong," she said once she had finished. Dany smiled, hands caressing over where her baby was. Willa rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, happy baby," she said, passing Dany her shirt before settling on the edge of Dany's bed, suddenly serious. "I've been meaning to ask you, and this talk of stories reminded me…"
"Of what?"
"When you were sick - yeah, I know, I've been wanting to ask for a while - but, when you were sick, you cried out a lot while you were unconscious. It made Jon really upset, I didn't understand why. You kept saying a name. Miss-ann-dee? "
Dany stiffened. Jon didn't mention that . Sudden memories flashed by of a sweet voice and brown skin that glowed in the light she could no longer visualize from that dreamlike experience she'd had. There had been more , Dany realized. Though it felt like she was groping through a fog, she could remember someone telling her that it wasn't time yet. That she would be okay. The yearning to stay next to her forever, to remember her whole and healthy, and the fear she would disappear into the light where Dany couldn't follow. But she belongs there now. She's at peace.
"Sorry, I didn't mean - "
"Missandei," Dany said quietly, "Her name was Missandei."
"Was she a friend of yours?"
"Yes," she paused before continuing, straining to remember more in vain, "She - she didn't want me to be alone."
They sat together for a moment, not speaking, before Willa stood up to leave.
"I'm glad she sent you back," she said knowingly.
"I am too," Dany replied.
Willa regarded her with familiar golden eyes before leaving. Pausing on her way out, she nodded to Ghost. "Look out for her, dog," she told the direwolf.
She slipped out through the door, and Dany lay back on the bed, feeling strangely buoyant, as if she had been carrying her mattress through the Vale and was finally able to set it down. For a moment, Dany thought the light in the house seemed to shimmer and she heard the sound of butterfly wings.
Softly, she whispered to the wings, "Thank you."
Dany dreamed that she was sitting amongst her khalasar , listening to Rakharo telling the legend of the moon goddess's marriage to the sun. It was day, and the sun seemed to beam with pride at the telling of his story. Then, the sun began to be eclipsed by a shadow, and when Dany looked up to see where he had gone, she saw gray sky and soft flurries of snow falling from the heavens.
She had left her khalasar behind and was skimming across the tops of snow-covered fir and weirwood trees, flying and searching.
For what? Dany thought. The sights melted into nothing and she felt two hands softly rubbing against her stomach underneath her shirt. One hand pressed a little harder and was kicked in response. The hand recoiled slightly and Dany heard a soft chuckle from behind her.
"You're going to be as strong as your mother is," Jon was murmuring, resuming rubbing her belly, "And she's the strongest person in the world. She's walked across more land than anyone I know - a lot of it carrying you. All over Westeros and Essos, straight across the Great Grass Sea. Up and down all the mountains in the Vale. And she carried you through the whole North all the way past the Wall - that's where we live now. Completely free. You'll really like it, even if it's cold, you've got it in your blood already.
"Your mother's adjusted pretty well for a Southerner. I think she actually really likes it here even though she misses the warmth. She has the kindest heart. You'll love her as much as I do. And we'll love you so much, little one. We already do. Your mama, your papa, and everyone."
"They'll love you too," Dany whispered, turning in Jon's arms to face him.
Jon smiled, flushing. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said.
"It wasn't you, I woke up on my own," she told him, "I was dreaming about the legends the Dothraki told."
"Did listening to Dryn remind you of that?" Jon asked.
"He reminded me of how much I love hearing tales like that. Stories that make pictures for you to see and make it feel like you're a part of everything, like the ballads that sailors sing. I think I was even dreaming about Dryn's story as well, like I was there even though it happened so long ago."
Jon raised eyebrows. "Not so long ago," he corrected, "Dryn thinks it happened two weeks ago. Came running into the village, swearing it happened: a huge shadow monster flying right over him. But he always tells tall tales...I expect it was just a bird flying too close to his head."
"Really?"
"Nothing to worry about, Dany. It's just a story."
She nodded, but pondered the revelation. Dryn had seemed so sincere that it was hard to believe it he was that mistaken. That's what makes it a good story, though , she thought reasonably, That you believe it even if it's embellished .
"Jon...we'll tell our baby stories, right? About...everything?" Dany thought about what she had shared with Willa. I want them to know the people that came before. To know real stories as much as legends and embellished tales.
"Definitely," he replied easily, "She'll love listening to you as much as I do about Essos. And hearing from us about where her family came from and where she is now. It's a part of her. And then she can have dreams about stories too."
"She?"
"Or he," Jon said sheepishly, "I've just been picturing a girl a lot. Wanting to meet her - or him. How am I supposed to wait three more months?"
Dany laughed, kissing him before responding with a teasingly parental tone as she turned over and pressed her back up against him, "Patiently! Like every other father has before you. In the meantime, I'm sure your daughter or son would like to hear another bedtime story from their papa." The kicking started up again, as if agreeing with her.
"As you wish," Jon said, and he began to rub Dany's stomach again while spinning a tale about two travelers who climbed through mountains on their journey home.
Until next time.
