Daenerys spent the remainder of her afternoon willingly slipping into daydreams while at the mercy of others. Undoubtedly, she was happy to have the help with the necessary preparations, yet longed for the hours to pass so she could finally become Jon's wife. Would anything change? she wondered, having trouble even envisioning the ceremony beyond Jon's face. Before this moment, she hadn't even seen her dress.

Like Arya, Dany was not too gifted at needlework. It was one of the things the pair of girls bonded over, secretly rolling their eyes as Sansa stitched away, intently listening to the Septa's instructions. Daenerys preferred giggling away with Arya at their oft misshapen creations, poking fun at each other's poor attempts, rather than actually acquiring the skill.

Sansa, on the other hand, had been thrilled when Dany spilled the news of Jon's proposal. Though she and Jon weren't close, Sansa was nevertheless ecstatic to get to help plan the wedding. After Daenerys had bemoaned the chore of preparing her own dress, her red-haired friend had nearly shrieked at the opportunity to take on such a task. When she informed Daenerys that she and Septa Mordane would complete it as something of a wedding gift to her, she'd felt a deep relief. Who cares what my dress looks like, she thought. I just want to be his.

Daenerys wanted a marriage, rather than a wedding. Whenever she pictured it in her head, she only saw the effects of a gentle breeze sweeping dark curls against his plump, flushed cheeks as he smiled. Perhaps there were crimson weirwood leaves hanging behind his head, perhaps not. All she saw was him. There'd been nothing in the world so beautiful as a blushing Jon Snow. Her dress restricted the full capacity of the sigh she'd heaved as she envisioned him.

"Are you alright, Dany?" Sansa inquired, looking up from the hem of her skirt. "Can you breathe? Is it too tight?"

"It's perfect, Sansa. You and the Septa have done an incredible job, just as I knew you would."

Sansa beamed up to her friend before resuming her task of making sure the dress fell evenly, and not too long in the front. Made of cream-colored wool, the dress was modestly cut, with something of a raised square neckline that transitioned into a fur-lined collar. Dany was thankful to have at least a little skin peeking out, even if it were just a modest amount of collarbone. She particularly liked the flowy trumpet-style sleeves that protruded from her elbow. With the slightest of motions, the fabric would swish around her arm, much less stiff than the rest of the woolen contraption. The dress had a small train behind it, which she already anticipated staining as it dragged along fallen leaves in the godswood. I don't care, I just want to be his, her mind chanted once more.

Margaery had joined them to discuss her many ideas for hairstyles, even marching in a few examples she'd prepared on her handmaidens. Daenerys felt a bit more strongly about this topic, batting away the many suggestions for exaggerated Southron updos. Coiffures so large, so hefty, that it looked as though the handmaiden's necks might split in two simply from the weight of their hair.

"Well Daenerys, you're being awfully choosy about this," Margaery cheerfully reminded her friend as her suggestions had been nearly tapped dry.

"I'd like braids of some sort. They suit me," Dany confidently said. "I'd like my hair down halfway, similar to yours. Maybe something like that?"

"Of course," Margaery relented, painting her face with a smile. "A simple style for a natural beauty. I will get to work."

After Margaery left them, the Septa explained in excruciating detail what was to take place in front of the heart tree the next day. She tried to picture Jon's voice saying all the required lines, and she felt a bit guilty that he'd had so much more to say than she.

"May I remove this dress?" Dany whined, feeling a bit too warm all of a sudden. The more she thought about the wedding, the harder it had been to will the air into her lungs.

"Not until Margaery comes back with the new braided hairstyles to choose from," Sansa reminded her.

"Is the dress necessary for that?" she whined further, sounding a bit like Sansa in doing so, herself.

"Yes, we have to make sure everything is perfect!"

Sighing, Dany slumped into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, tugging at her fur-trimmed collar, hoping to urge the cool air to find her neck. In an effort to soothe herself, her mind replayed three simple words—one more day.

. . .

The absence of both Jon and Ned had been glaring as Dany entered the dining hall that evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. In fact, there had been a glaring absence of many of the familiar faces she'd been hoping to see. Catelyn and Bran were missing, as expected. But so were Sansa and Jeyne, and even Sam. Daenerys did spot Robb and Margaery, who had been back to their old ways, doe-eyed with arms interlocked. She thought it best not to intrude.

She scanned the hall once more hoping to spot a friendly face. That's when her gaze landed on Ser Barristan Selmy, sitting alone. It might be worth getting to know him, Ned's voice replayed in her mind. He knew your parents well.

Sighing, she reluctantly made her way over to the man.

"Arstan," she announced herself as he looked up from his plate, "Mind if I take a seat?"

"It would be my pleasure," his face immediately broke out into a smile. Because it was still relatively early in the evening, the tables hadn't been properly filled in. So long as they kept their voices low, she could easily glean details about his time with the Targaryens.

"I know very little about my parents," she started right in, wasting no time. "Lord Stark tries his best to hush anyone who would mention my father, though I am very familiar with the Stark take on the Mad King. And yet, growing up, Viserys assured me they were nothing but tall tales. I can't say I know the Starks to be liars, however."

"Understandably. I'm afraid Viserys was well shielded from your father's... madness."

"So my father was mad?"

Barristan nodded his head solemnly as he took a swig of wine. "Your grandfather used to say that greatness and madness were either side of the same coin. That the gods would gamble on each Targaryen, tossing the coin into the air as the kingdom held its breath to see which side the fates had chosen," he explained.

Dany's gaze dropped to the wooden table, unsure how to feel about her grandfather's observation. Briefly, she wondered which way the coin had fallen for her, or for Jon. She didn't feel mad, but she didn't feel any particular measure of greatness, either.

"I believed him, too, that is until your father had been held captive."

"Captive?" she asked, resting her elbows on the table and placing her head in her palms.

"Perhaps there had always been some indication of Aerys' madness, but it had only become fully realized after the months he'd endured as a prisoner in Duskendale."

"Was he tortured?"

"He was, Your Gr-" he caught himself, stealing a few glances to make sure it'd gone unnoticed, "My lady. I believe his time there was responsible for his reaching that breaking point."

Daenerys cringed at the cruelness of the world in which she lived, "So it's true what he did to Lord Stark's father and brother? With the... wildfire?"

"By the time that Aerys punished the Starks, he'd almost completely lost himself. He'd seen nearly everyone as his enemy, even his own son."

"Rhaegar?"

He nodded.

"What about Viserys?"

"As I said, we shielded the portly little boy from his father's wrath and wickedness as best we could. An easy task, as we were sworn to watch over him day and night."

"Portly?" she asked, in disbelief, her voice trailing off as she thought of her late brother, "Viserys was skin and bones..."

Barristan's eyes fell closed. Though he had been aware of the boy's fate, perhaps the imagery of a once-robust boy simply wasting away had been a bit much to bear.

This was her wedding gift from Ned? To learn that her father had, in fact, been a monster? Daenerys was left feeling a bit discouraged. Steering the subject a bit, she asked, "You knew my mother?"

Barristan's expression, somehow, became more grave, "I was there the day she and your father wed."

"I've been doing some thinking about that. They were siblings. I grew up more or less believing Viserys would become my husband, that it was a family tradition. After growing up here, in the north, I realize how taboo it is for family members to marry. I've read that Targaryens preserved bloodlines for the sake of dragons, but there are no more dragons," as she tried sorting out her thoughts aloud, she saw that the knight had looked just as confused by the tradition as she.

"Your parents wed for the sake of duty. I'm afraid there was no affection between them. Your grandfather was under the impression that the 'Prince that was Promised' would be born of their line. And so he forced them to wed against their will."

Dany's face scrunched up the way it had when she first tried Dornish wine. Similarly, the news left a sour taste in her mouth.

"What gave him that impression? Or was he mad, too?"

"A woods witch, I'm afraid."

"He forced his children to marry against their will because of some witch in the woods?"

"Not exactly," he let slip a soft chuckle. "It's another name for women who practice healing, mostly harmless. If only every Targaryen had had your healthy skepticism, my lady..." his voice trailed off, as if his mind were re-writing some version of history.

"You can call me Daenerys," she said, still holding her head up in her palms.

"Daenerys," he smiled, "Your brother also took the prophecies quite seriously."

"He did?"

"Rhaegar was something of an enigma. Nothing like your father. In fact, quite the opposite. If the coin landed madness side up for Aerys, it had undoubtedly bestowed greatness on his eldest son."

"Arstan," she interrupted, "Do you mind if we wait to discuss Rhaegar? I'd prefer Jon to be present."

The man raised an eyebrow curiously but did not press the matter further. Rather, he nodded in agreement.

"Rhaella. Tell me more of my mother," she breathed.

Barristan heaved a pained sigh, and Daenerys instantly regretted broaching the topic, assuming the tale wouldn't be an easy one to hear.

"Rhaella," he similarly breathed the woman's name. "She had the same long silver-blonde hair as you. Though, her face was sadder. Perhaps it was only her life's reflection peering out from behind her eyes."

A moment of silence passed between them before the man continued, "Rhaella was in love with a knight from the Stormlands. Your grandfather brushed off her infatuation, not even bothering to consider the match as he was too low of birth for the King's daughter."

A sharp pain pierced Dany's heart in that moment. In less than a day's time, she would marry for love, a bastard, no less. The thought of being Jon's wife had brought her so much more joy than the thought of being a princess. Being a princess meant being exchanged like a pawn in someone else's game of politics and royalty, high and low births. This imaginary scale against which everyone was weighed had infuriated her—the freedom of one's own choice exceeded any measure of wealth or royalty.

"Did my parents grow to love each other?"

The knight looked deeply into her violet eyes, "It is to my everlasting shame that I had not done more to protect her from your father's wrath. Rhaella was a kind, dutiful woman. She deserved better."

"He hurt her?" Daenerys couldn't help the tears that crept to her waterline. Every moment she spent with her soon-to-be-husband, she felt loved and cared for. She could hardly imagine marrying someone who would abuse her.

"Aerys was the one thing we, who guarded Rhaella, could not protect her from."

The pain was clear on Ser Barristan's face. Now she'd understood. Lord Stark didn't bring him here just for her, it was also for the knight's sake. Though their connection had been one of shared tragedy, there were few who could understand the pain she'd endured as the last of her kind. Daenerys suddenly felt a little less alone. She reached out to squeeze the man's hand, feeling a bit foolish and naive in doing so. Something in his weathered face, the crows feet etched into the corners of his eyes and the way he seemed to recognize something deeper behind her eyes, it made her trust him.

The pair shared a smile for a brief instant before more horns sounded in the distance. Ser Barristan immediately rose, pulling his hood over his head. Slipping easily back into his role as a Targaryen protector, he escorted Daenerys out of the hall and toward the east gate.

Ned stood just beyond the gate greeting another round of visitors. What in seven hells? she wondered. Barristan reached out for Dany's shoulder to stop her, "They mustn't see me, my lady," he quickly explained, "But don't trust them. That man has been sneaking around King's Landing, colluding with the same man who helped fester your father's paranoia—the Spider. If he's here, that means the Spider has spies at Winterfell. Be careful."

With that, he had gone, disappearing out of sight. Daenerys likewise drew her hood up over her silver hair as she approached the gate. She fell in line beside Jon, who already had a look of fury clear on his face as he eavesdropped. Lord Stark had been in the midst of turning the man away. On closer inspection, he'd been the most peculiar man she'd seen since leaving Braavos. Adorned in a bright, lavish robe, he had a head of thick shaggy hair and a full beard split into two braids.

The bearded man smiled at Ned, "We're simply here to drop off a wedding gift for the Targaryen girl, and we'll be on our way."

Ned folded his arms, though his expression gave nothing away, "What should the wedding of a disgraced highborn mean to a merchant from Essos?"

"The little birds sing songs from all over the kingdom, even the north," he sweetly said as he bowed his head. As Ned moved in closer to speak with him, their voices fell too silent to overhear.

"I don't like this at all," Jon whispered to Daenerys, his eyes flashing with anger, "I can smell his perfume from here. It reeks."

"Arstan suspects his presence here must mean there are spies at Winterfell, that he's not to be trusted," she whispered back.

That was enough for Jon to let out something of a low growl as he watched. Impatience, or perhaps anger, had gotten the best of him. He marched right over to get in the middle of it, as well. Jon, unlike Ned, gave much away with his emotions.

Scampering over to better hear their argument, Dany began to smell it, herself. Had someone dumped a barrel of perfume upon his head? she wondered. She began to breathe from her mouth rather than her nose to spare herself the sickening floral fumes.

"If this indeed concerns me, I'd like to be made aware of... whatever is going on here," she interrupted, or, at least tried to.

Jon had already been in the midst of loudly arguing with the man, "Why in seven hells would you just give these away to a woman you don't even know? They must be worth a fortune."

"My lord, I already have a fortune," the bearded man let loose a jolly laugh as he assured him, "Who better to receive dragon eggs than the Last Dragon, herself?"

"I'm no lord," Jon spat from a full-on snarl. "You know damned well I'm a bastard."

"Jon," Dany said his name in a tone she hoped sounded pleading. Dragon eggs? She wanted them. Badly.

He ignored her, seething at the man as Ned contently watched it unfold.

"Leave her with your gift if you must. But do so with the knowledge that you're not gettin' anything out of her. She owes you nothin'. Not money, not favors, not even any of her time," he growled at the man, a firm grip on his sword's pommel.

"Jon," Dany hissed.

"What?" he hissed back at her before turning to the bearded man once more, "And if she does choose to grant you her time, trust that I will be by her side, there to hear every word you say to her. I won't stand for you plantin' any ideas in her head for your own agenda, whatever it is."

"Forgive our manners, my lord," Dany piped up.

"There's nothin' to forgive," Jon spat, turning to face her. He'd had the same feral look about him that she'd only ever seen come out during their more carnal encounters. She'd never seen him this worked up before.

Dany dragged Jon aside by the arm, whispering, "I understand your hesitation, but these are dragon eggs, Jon. Let it go. I won't let anyone take advantage of me."

"I don't trust any man who smells more womanly than even my bride-to-be."

Dany shoved him with both palms, her face contorted with frustration, "Keep saying things like that and maybe I'll reconsider being your bride!"

"You know what I mean," he softened his tone immediately, realizing his misstep in taking his frustration out on her. Unfortunately, his voice had carried to the fragrant man despite Dany's efforts to keep him hushed. He gave Jon a knowing glare.

"You're right to be concerned, of course," he began, "But I mean no harm, only a kind gesture. The hour grows late, and I must head back to White Harbor, in any case. Thank you for your time, Lord Stark," he nodded to Ned before turning to Daenerys, "My lady," he bowed. His guards carried forth a small, dark wooden chest and left it in the mud.

Without another word, the bearded man boarded a small wooden carriage as his guards mounted their horses and lead the way down the King's Road. And just like that, they were gone.

Daenerys and Jon exchanged irritated looks with one another. She wasn't actually upset with him, but she would be if he threatened to take her eggs away. Though he had likely been right to assume it was some sort of trick, if it were real? It would be worth the risk.

Ned motioned a pair of guards over to open the chest. As he waved everyone in the vicinity backward, Daenerys finally noticed just how many people had wandered over toward the gate to watch the spectacle. Most notably, Lady Olenna, who had been stroking her chin with narrowed eyes as she watched the guards open the chest.

It hadn't been a trick, after all, or at least, it didn't appear to be. Three large eggs poked out from inside the chest's interior. Hesitantly, she inched closer. Jon beat her to it, kneeling to better inspect them before she finished her approach. After he waved her in closer, she knelt beside him.

Targaryen black, she thought, immediately drawn to the dark egg on the left. Once lifting it, she was discouraged upon feeling the sheer weight of it. As the light caught the egg's scales, Dany saw flecks of red that disappeared as quickly as they had surfaced. It must be my imagination, she thought.

Jon waited until Daenerys had handled the eggs first before moving in to inspect the green egg to the right. He studied its bottom, where the texture had been rough and gritty. He then ran his fingers across the scales, back up toward the egg's apex, similarly transfixed by its beauty. The scales glinted in the fading sunlight as if they were made of emeralds.

A small note had peeked out from underneath the cream-colored egg in the center. Dany tugged the note from under its weight.

From the Shadowlands beyond Asshai to the Last Dragon, herself. Though the centuries have turned the eggs to stone, may they still bring you awe and wonder.

Dany's heart sank. They wouldn't be hatching after all. She examined Jon's face in that moment, and he looked similarly awestruck. As he set the green egg gently back inside the chest, she passed the note to him. His face had clearly shown that he'd run the same gamut of emotions. Disappointment washed over him, too, upon the realization these were just historical relics, of no real use.

Jon rose and began discussing the strange objects with his father. Daenerys tuned them out, still convinced the eggs had dynamic colors that responded to either touch or perhaps sunlight. Lord Stark assured them the chest would be delivered to Dany's room after a more thorough inspection for safety. She simply nodded, wandering back toward the dining hall as if in a daze.

Once inside, she found Ser Barristan looking rather uncomfortable as he leaned against a wall, arms folded. He'd been waiting for her. Cautiously, she approached him once more, hoping to get some clarification about his warning and why she shouldn't trust the bearded man.

"Who is this Spider you warned me of?"

"King Robert's Master of Whispers," he fittingly kept his voice hushed, glancing around to make sure his words wouldn't carry. "His name is Varys, and he's something of a spymaster."

"And you believe that bearded man to be working for him?" she asked, as Jon finally made his way into the hall and found his spot beside her.

"I'd heard reports of a man fitting his description lingering around King's Landing," he said, without so much as a second's hesitation upon the sudden inclusion of Jon. Dany couldn't help but smirk. If only Ser Barristan knew Rhaegar's son stood before him in this moment.

"And you're sure his presence here means there are spies at Winterfell?"

"News of your wedding a bastard should not have spread so quickly. Varys must have his little birds listening. If not here, then perhaps just outside of town."

"Little birds?" Jon asked, another snarl playing at the edge of his mouth.

"That's what he calls those who do his spying for him."

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Lord Varys," Daenerys replied. "The Master of Whispers to the Usurper."

Jon growled again, stomping off toward the exit with intent.

"Jon?" she called after him.

"I will find them," he turned his head to assure her before leaving.

"You said this man had something to do with my father's paranoia?"

"The admittance of that foreign spymaster was like adding a piece of rotten fruit to the basket. It spread all throughout the small council, infecting your father the most."

She considered a moment, "And now this man advises a new King?"

Barristan simply nodded as Lord Stark fastly approached them. Ned requested a private audience with the knight. The pair of men left the hall together. With Jon gone, as well, Daenerys scanned the hall for another friendly face, coming up short. Her nerves had gotten the best of her, so she simply retired to her room, alone, without even eating supper.

She lie on her bed, flipping through the black leather book. Rather than read ahead without Jon, she scanned the crude illustrations of dragons mounted by dragonlords, all the while stealing glances at the chest full of eggs that had since been delivered to her room. Closing her eyes, she remembered her vivid vision of Dragonstone, and the three enormous winged beasts. Could it be? Daenerys willing slipped back into her dragon dream, this time trying to discern the colors of the beasts, but it was all a blur.

As she came to, she flipped back to the front of the book. Daenys the Dreamer. Her relative had correctly foreseen the destruction of Valyria. Her mind wandered to the Prince that was Promised, and the curious woods witch Ser Barristan had mentioned. Her eldest brother Rhaegar had been something of a hero to Viserys. Even Ned had assured Jon he was a good man. And now Ser Barristan had gone so far as to say that Rhaegar was the opposite of Aerys, even applying the term 'greatness' to the Prince with his coin-flipping metaphor. Prince, she thought. Rhaegar seemed of sound mind. And he took these prophecies to heart. Why?

Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed with the desire to know more. She wished the gods, or whoever, would grant her visions, as well. Daenerys the Dreamer, she smirked at the thought. The Prince would be born of the line of Aerys and Rhaella. Rhaegar's demise has surely ruled him out, Viserys, too. She had been the last of the children born of Aerys and Rhaella. Or perhaps not, she considered, remembering Jon had been Rhaegar's son. Perhaps this Promised Prince even stirred in her womb...

"It's probably just a bunch of rubbish," she reminded herself, aloud. Sighing, she closed the book and briefly held it to her heart. Though she tried her best, she couldn't stop thinking about her three gifts. She wandered over to the chest, lifting the lid to peek inside. She considered building a fire and letting the flames lick the scaly egg-shaped stones. What harm could it do, she wondered, if they had truly petrified?

Before she could carry out the plan, a small slip of paper slid underneath her door. Raising an eyebrow, she carefully grasped it with her fingers. A series of thudding footfalls sounded in the hallway, away from the door.

"Hmm," she hummed, squinting to read the messily-scrawled note.

Daenerys' face was overtaken with a wide smile upon recognizing Jon's handwriting.

Come to the courtyard in your blue dress. Play along.

The last two words had been underlined. Twice.

What was he up to? Suddenly, she didn't feel tired at all, rather, she felt a pulsing sensation forming deep within her chest. It emanated outward and throughout each of her limbs, extending even to her fingertips. As she dressed, a sheen of sweat had freshly coated her forehead as well as her palms.

Why am I nervous? she chided herself, realizing her hands had even begun to shake as she laced herself up. Something about the peculiar invitation, no, insistence, had set her on edge. After drawing her cloak around her shoulders, she set out into the darkness, curious as to what her intended had in store for her on the eve of their wedding. Play along, she reminded herself.

Cautiously approaching the courtyard, Daenerys spotted Jon pacing, half-hidden by a shadow. She spied him a moment, noticing two distinct changes in his appearance. First, his hair was cut a bit shorter than usual, and second, his scruff had been closely trimmed, as well. Something about these small changes made her feel even more nervous to approach him, like he was suddenly different, somehow.

He was clad mostly in leather, save for his black fur-trimmed cloak. Black suits him, she thought, as he dipped in and out of the shadow, ruffling his hair nervously. Jon stopped pacing, likely aware of her soft footsteps the closer her feet had carried her to where he stood. Dany's heart skipped a beat as he slowly turned to face her.