"It's going to be a boy."

"I'm telling you you're wron-ouch!"

Jon sucked his finger into his mouth, eyes watering while Dany snorted. He had been abysmally trying to darn his own shirt, intent on giving her as much time as possible to rest. Her swollen feet were propped up on his knees as he sat with her at the edge of their bed. The baby was more active now, visibly kicking inside her. Only about a month out from when she was due to give birth, according to Willa, Dany was quite ready to not be pregnant anymore.

Her ankles hurt. Her back hurt. She missed being able to walk normally. Or sleep on her stomach. Or bend down, or go for longer than a couple hours without needing to relieve herself, or just sleep through the night just once. She wanted to be able to sit on the ground and play with Rose and Ghost then stand up again easily. More than anything, she also just wanted to meet their child. In the crawling meantime, however, she was being treated to Jon's continued efforts to make her as comfortable as possible. And the entertainment that came with their banter and his awful attempts at darning.

"And how do you really know?" she teased, resuming their argument about the baby.

"Dany," Jon replied good-naturedly, albeit strained, a twisted smile over his features as he again tried to properly stitch the way she'd showed him, "this is something I'm - fuck, Seven Hells!" That earned him a scolding stare - Rose had only recently settled down in her room.

Dany had never seen someone have as much issue with a needle and thread before, though Willa had assured her that Tormund was just as bad. "Woe to men for being cursed with overly large fingers with which to handle tiny needles," the healer had lamented mystically, giggling.

At least he was trying. "Damn this stitch," Jon muttered, ignoring his wife's glare, before continuing his thought on the certainty of a daughter. "I don't know how to explain that I know it, love. But when I close my eyes at night, it's all I see anymore. It's just become so constant in my thoughts, you know?"

She hesitated to answer, glancing at Ghost, who was occupying Jon's side of the bed, fascinated by the strange movements inside Dany as if he was seeing it anew again. His red eyes widened every time her belly moved, so much like before Rose was born. The baby kicked again, much stronger than before, and he jerked his massive head up, looking at Dany as if to check that she was aware something was inside her. Believe me, she thought, I definitely am. Reaching over to him, she smoothed the white fur on the top of his head as she answered Jon. "I know," she said quietly, pressing her hand into Ghost's deep fur, "but it's bad luck to plan ahead like this, isn't it?"

Jon frowned. Setting the shirt off to the side with a dark glare at it, he instead began rubbing the sole of Dany's right foot. They sat in silence for a few moments, her comment lingering in the air. "You're nervous again," he observed without pretense, pressing his thumb into her arch and sliding it up towards her toes.

She shrugged noncommittally, moaning involuntarily as the muscles in her foot relaxed under his capable hands. In another time, this would have been an enjoyable way to spend the evening, but the light atmosphere of banter had evaporated with her words, replaced with a precarious weight balanced over their heads. Everyone knew what kind of world they were bringing children into. Cold and harsh, with one threat defeated and quickly replaced with another. Life went on - Rose's arrival had proved that before - and yet Dany could not shake the lingering voice in the back of her mind that she would never be allowed to be this blessed. The gods, whoever they were, had never seen fit to smile upon her for long.

"Does it ever get easier?"

"No," said Dany honestly, "has it gotten easier for you?" What was it like to watch your wife bear this and know that you could do nothing but wait, watch, and massage her feet?

"Not really," Jon replied. "But Rose is here. She isn't...I haven't…"

"Lost a child," Dany finished immediately. The words surprised her - she had not realized that was what he meant. Actually, she had not even realized that was where her thoughts were stemming from. And yet she suddenly knew what this weight was, this continual fear of bad luck the free folk must be right about for it had happened before; it was as certain as Jon's thoughts about three daughters.

Her husband nodded, abashedly dropping his gaze down to her feet again, now giving the left one similar attention. The comment was hanging in the air again, suffocating her, forcing her to heave an enormous effort just to keep it at bay.

"Sometimes..." she croaked under the strain. Once more, Jon looked up, his hands halting their work. Dany bit her lip. She did not speak of Rhaego often; or at all. Her first child had been walled off in her memories with the rest of her past life's suffering. With the rest of Daenerys. She could feel it breaking through sometimes: in Willa's eyes, on the beach, when she sent out parties to destroy the pathways from the cliffs...but she quickly added more mortar each time they did.

And yet when their baby kicked again, light as it did that time, she felt her layers of mortar and stone crack. When she locked eyes with Jon, those gray eyes that she had looked to for escape in her darkest hour, she couldn't stop the stones from tumbling down. "Sometimes I don't even think about it," the words scrambled out of her mouth, "Any of it. It's like...when you forget you have a scar, even though when you got injured you were sure it would always be the first thing on your mind."

Acting as if out of habit, Jon lifted one hand and rubbed his chest. His eyes were unfocused, staring behind Dany like he was watching a memory unfold. One that she never wanted to witness. Instinctively, she brought a hand over her belly, soothing both herself and the baby. "But then the baby stays too quiet," she continued, watching him look at her again, "Or I wake up at night and can't feel anyone nearby...and I'm back in that tent. Or over that lake. In front of that gate. Just alone, lost. That...that will never get easier. And it terrifies me."

At her words, Jon had jerked his hand to take the one she had on her stomach, nearly gripping it too tightly, his gaze branding her. He didn't say anything, nor did she want him to, but she understood. He understood. The tiny foot kicked again.


Rose's illness had all but cleared up. Aside from the occasional cough (which sounded as if she were politely trying to ask for attention), she was completely back to normal and, in turn, had become rather rambunctious. It was with a pang of wist one night, while watching Rose teasing a good-natured but very resigned looking Ghost, tickling his big paws, that Dany realized her baby was now rapidly approaching her second nameday. Soon she would have a new name and be recognized as a full member of the free folk. She would grow up, so differently from her mother and father, surrounded by a family and a people who loved her. She could become anything she wanted: spearwife, healer, mother, hunter, wanderer… everything at once. Dany vowed silently to never let her know the suffering and pain that had defined her parents. Rose would know nothing but freedom.

None of them will, Dany thought, absently placing her hands upon her swollen belly as she waddled through the dry woods.

The air was parched for liquid.

Willa attributed Rose's slow recovery from her illness to the rapid changes in weather over the past month. First it was cold and snowy, then the snow gave way to an icy rain that left the entire wood looking like it was encased in glass. A sudden turn of warmth then melted the ice to water; it drew channels in the snowy ground as it snaked downhill and filled the Antler to the point that waves slopped lazily over the rocks on its banks. Now that, too, was gone. The world was brittle, like a warmer version of the dry freeze from a couple months prior. Stinging winds ripped through the trees and shards of snow lay upon the ground in place of the normal thick blanket of powder.

Jon said that spring was snapping at the heels of winter now. Willa said that this was just winter making a last ditch effort to keep its hold on the North. Tormund and Kolla spoke of good hunting returning, while Ulf grunted about "some more foliage to look at for a change." Old Dryn complained about his bones aching and Shadowedge's children quivered with excitement at the thought of their first change of season.

Dany regarded all these comments with quiet disbelief.

Raw-faced and frozen, she was grudgingly following Willa north of her home on an expedition to find any new growths of herbs and edibles in the so-called "thawing" woods. Admittedly, they had been successful so far. Ghost trotted at her heels. While the shadowcat seemed to have disappeared from this part of the woods, Jon still insisted Ghost come with them today instead of going hunting. He had left with Tormund and Kolla early, while Enda had stayed behind to keep an eye on Rose. Ulf was with Nerell. At least, he was looking for Nerell. Since being banned from "scouting" after Njal's attack, the young boy was making a habit of daily disappearances. The other boys led astray had been easy to quell and redirect after news of Njal spread around. Five jagged pink, puckered scars across Njal's torso from where the shadowcat had curled its claws around him - playful or malicious - was enough to make anyone easily malleable. Except Nerell, apparently.

Still thoroughly (albeit privately given the amount of rolled eyes she had endured) suspicious of Inniq, Dany was intently worried about the lies that Nerell had been told. She knew the basic idea now; the latest outburst that Dany had heard of that morning concerned Nerell shouting at Enda, who was excitedly talking about spending time with Rose.

"All you care about is your new family!" Nerell had spat at her suddenly.

Affronted, Enda had stammered out "what?" but Nerell erupted from the table. "We would still have Pa if people just stayed where they belonged!" he shouted, not letting anyone else get a word in edgewise before he had slammed the door and run. Ulf, shaking his head hopelessly, had watched Nerell disappear into the Haunted Woods.

"It ain't Dorand an' Astrid who taught him that, 'cause Enda here knows better," Ulf said gruffly when he arrived with the rest at Dany and Jon's home that morning. "Not the free folk way. Not their way. If we just stayed where we belonged," he nodded to Dany and Jon, "we would've been extinct a long time ago." Then, refusing help to look for his adopted son so as not to waste anyone's time (Nerell had turned up every night of a disappearance so far), Ulf nodded his goodbyes, kissed his wife, and left towards the south.

"Bearberries, Dany!" Willa suddenly shouted, breaking Dany's reverie and causing a hare to erupt squeaking from a snow-covered bush. Seizing the opportunity, Ghost dispatched the skinny creature with deft ease.

He looked proudly at Dany, prize dangling from his jaws, and whined gently.

"Good boy," she murmured before turning on Willa, who was greedily pulling the red berries off a plentiful bush. The weather had definitely been good to the forest's plants, whether or not Dany actually found it milder. "You know," said Dany coolly, "if you yell louder, your herbs may pick themselves."

"Ha ha," Willa replied, making sure to set her golden stare on Dany before rolling her eyes. "Well don't come to me to have your bread sweetened, then. Here, pass me the basket again."

Dany trundled up to Willa and slid the already laden basket she was carrying off her arm to set it in front of her friend. Straightening up, she folded her arms over her chest and watched as Willa put the fruits of her labor into a pouch she had taken from the basket. Another gust of wind tore through the trees, shaking weaker needles from the firs and carrying a few stray weirwood leaves to lands beyond. This time, however, the wind beat down upon the land below, rather than across. Dany glanced up just as the large, black shadow flew overhead. Drogon.

"Why's he going out to sea?" Willa asked, having stood up to watch the massive dragon fly towards the east.

"He misses it," Dany answered with certainty, "and it's a good change in landscape."

"You sound very sure of that," her friend remarked as they began walking again, opposite the direction in which Drogon had flown off. Both women continually raked their eyes over the landscape for any sign of color. Ghost, emboldened by his kill, had trotted off sniffing for more prey.

"I could use a change right now too, given that I have to wait to use that spring again," said Dany, words tinged with mild acerbity. Healer's orders, Dany couldn't use the hot spring Jon had found until after the baby was born.

Ignoring her, Willa stooped to look under a particularly broad bush, but grunted with disappointment. "And yet you don't seem to like this change of scenery," she said, gesturing haphazardly.

"What gave it away?"

"You may think Jon's face never lies, my friend, but your eyes give up more than deer tracks on an open plain."

Dany shrugged. "My feet hurt," she replied baldly.

Willa squinted at a few mushrooms growing on the side of a larch. "Hmm, not quite yet," she muttered. "And?"

"And it's...cold," Dany replied, feeling both lame and extremely petulant as the words left her. They were, however, completely truthful. It was, she grudgingly admitted, for the most part warmer than it had been in months - maybe even years - and yet Dany could not shake the heavy chill that had settled inside her. Restless as she was, memory strong of what it felt like to be cooped up before Rose was born, all Dany wanted to do was cocoon herself in every fur she and Jon possessed and sit as close to their hearth as possible.

It seemed as though Willa was reading her thoughts. "You weren't like this with Rose," she said, frowning. "Or even a few months ago. And it was colder then."

"I know," said Dany, frustratedly looking skyward. "It's like…" She trailed off, knowing what she wanted to say. What a stupid thought, she scolded herself.

"Like what?" Willa prompted. They had stopped walking now. Dany knew that if they kept going, they would come upon the clearing where Saphira was most likely nesting with Nutmeg and Lavender. They were bigger the last time she saw them, comparable, she considered with a wrench of nostalgia in her gut that she was quick to force back, to Drogon and his brothers during their time in Astapor.

"No, it's stupid," she said, trying to walk off again, "You'll laugh. I'll laugh. I'm just frustrated, that's all it is."

Willa gripped Dany's elbow, her eyes now serious. "No, tell me, Dany. As your healer, tell me."

Heaving an enormous sigh, Dany's face pinched into a wince as she explained. "I just wonder...Rose loves the cold. She's so Northern, like Jon is. She even looks it. So, maybe, well, maybe I'm feeling this way because this baby is a little more like...me."

"Eh?"

"Tar-warm-blooded," she amended. Silver-haired and pink-faced. "Maybe this baby likes the heat more. Like a different sort of craving than food. So I'm feeling the cold more than last time."

It seemed as though Willa was still unconvinced, for she pursed her lips, her golden eyes uncomfortably scrutinizing Dany. "Hmm," she finally said, "unusual. Though, not something that I-" She cut off, leaning to look into the trees past Dany, who watched as her friend's hand slipped down to the knife on her belt.

The familiar feeling of pricked hairs on her neck was back. They weren't alone. Come on, Ghost,come back, she thought desperately, mind going to a place of tearing claws and silent paws stalking the woods. It was supposed to be gone. There hadn't been a sighting of the shadowcat in weeks, though the clan still insisted that everyone travel and hunt in pairs. And yet here she and Willa were with a basket of bearberries, a dead hare, and two small knives. Pairs would not do them much good.

"You know we can see you!" Willa called to the woods in a clipped tone, "Quit skulking!"

The healer's eyes were blazing and Dany whipped around to see not a shadowcat, but the scarred and scowling Inniq slowly emerging from the woods. Clearly, he had not listened to the rule about pairs. A quick once-over told Dany that he was barely even equipped for hunting - in fact, she could not even tell if he was armed. Though he probably is, Dany thought, feeling the weight of her own knife in her boot.

"Is Nerell with you?" Willa asked harshly when Inniq had reached them.

"No."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Why should I? 'E was told not to see me, eh?" The mild smirk that crossed his brown, disfigured face contradicted him.

If Willa noticed, she didn't show it, instead sizing Inniq up before asking, "What are you doing out here anyway? Hunting's poor out here."

"See you caught a hare," Inniq replied. His dark eyes looked appraisingly upon the lean, white body Dany had tied to her waist.

"Ghost caught it," Dany told him. "Other than that, we haven't seen anything to hunt."

"Except for that dragon."

"He's not for hunting," she said bracingly. So that was how long he had been close by.

A sneer broached Inniq's face, contorted even more by the four scars Dany counted across it. It was the first time she had ever been close enough to really see every detail of him. She held his black gaze unflinchingly, her own face the picture of stoic resolve. I know you're hiding something, she meant to communicate. His mouth flattened, the curved pink lines twisted strangely with his face and made him look more deranged than menacing. At least Njal's face was spared.

Dany's eyes suddenly widened and she broke her stare as she took quick stock of Inniq's face again. He turned to Willa. "Guess I'll be off to the better hunting, then," he said smoothly.

Watching as he turned away, hiding any mar to his appearance, though her mind was somewhere very far from the woods, Dany waited until Inniq was out of earshot before looking to Willa.

"That useless boar's ass has got a lot of fucking nerve following us," Willa stated loudly, grandly gesturing at Inniq's trail. "Did you catch how long he's been there?"

"Willa, listen-"

"And you best believe he's done this before! You said you've felt like something's watching you. How much you wanna bet it was him?"

"Willa, I-"

"And what in the fucking hells does he even think watching you's gonna get him except for a load of queer looks when folks hear about it?"

"Willa!"

"What, Dany?" Willa snapped, swinging her head around.

"He's only got four scars on his face."

"He's gonna have a hell of a lot more when Tormund, Jon, and the rest of them hear about this!"

"No. I mean he's only got four. Njal has five. It's like I've been telling you and Jon, he's lying about being attacked by a shadowcat!" Dany said almost manically.

Tinkling echoed through the quiet woods when Willa shook her head confusedly. "What? What are you talking about, Dany?"

"I'm telling you that there's more to him than just being an asshole. There's something else, I know it! I mean, why else would he not have been at Winterfell during the battle with the Dead? Every last one of us were there."

Willa snorted dismissively, taking the basket from Dany and turning back on the path. "Dany, look, I think you're right and he's lying, all right? But people lie. Inniq probably tried to steal an egg from the wrong bird or something else idiotic and wanted to try to sound impressive so he changed his story."

"But-"

"And as for Winterfell," Willa said over her shoulder, "I'm guessing he's so useless that the Night King figured killing him wasn't worth his time. Come on, there are other things to concentrate on, okay? Inniq's not worth it. Go and call Ghost, let's head back."

Annoyed at being cut off yet again, Dany hesitated for a minute. It was so obvious to her that this was more than just a lie to impress. Her look at his face only proved it; and suddenly she couldn't shake the suspicion that Inniq looked more familiar than she had thought before. If he hadn't been at Winterfell, she had never met him before Shadowedge. Assumedly, he just looked familiar because, like everyone said, the free folk had become so mingled that the surviving bloodlines were all over the place. Plenty of people in Shadowedge had former clanmates now elsewhere in the North. Yet, there was something more nagging in her mind that she couldn't name.

She felt the baby start up kicking, as if to redirect her attention as well. Somehow, it was more convincing than Willa or Jon. Smoothing a hand over her belly, feeling each kick from her active child, she sighed. The baby was right, and Willa was right. There were definitely other things to concentrate on right now.

Whistling to Ghost and seeing the large, furry mass bound over to her, she began to plod her way down the path to home.


There is a soft continuity error concerning Dany's observation of Inniq's face from an earlier chapter which I will be looking to fix during revision.