AN: And Chapter 4! Rhaenys I and II are up next!

CallMeAuthor-san: It's woman and thank you :o)

TianYi: Thank you!

Danaerys II

It was not the house with the red door, but it was a place for them to hide. None of them could tell what may or may not have befallen Magister Illyrio after the Dothraki Khal had found out that there was no bride for him to be had and surely he had found out by now.

Two days had passed since they had arrived in Braavos. Their house was small and she and Rhaenys had to share a room as well as Jon, Ser Jorah and Prince Oberyn. She was used to such situations however and a lack of comfort was not something that could bother her any longer.

"Brōzio ñuha iksis Ionos."

"Browsiyo nchuha iksis Jonos."

She did her best not to wince in agony. Jon's Valyrian sounded terrible with his Common Tongue's northern accent.

"And what does that mean?" she asked him.

"My name is Jon."

"Correct."

He smiled, looking quite proud of himself.

"Skorkydoso glaesā?"

"Skokydoso gleisure...uh, that meant – that meant 'how are you', no?"

"Very good, Jon. You are paying attention." She smiled at him. "Iksi targaryens hen uēpa Valyria."

"Iksi Targaryens hen wepa Valyria." He raised a brow at her. "That's the first sentence you had me learn. We are Targaryens of Old Valyria."

"And never you forget it, Jon." She got up from the bed they had been sitting on and stretched. "You are doing well with remembering sentences and words, but your pronunciation needs a lot of work."

He cocked his head. "Why is that?"

"Because the northerner in you shines through in every word." She grimaced a bit. "High Valyrian with the Common Tongue's dialect is bearable. Add the northern accent and it sounds terrible, Jon."

He grinned at her. "I like to think my northern accent adds character to the language."

She gave him a blank look. "No. No, it really does not. Come now, the others should be here soon."

Leaving the bedroom, she went to the sitting room to prepare plates for their coming dinner. Jon helped her with the cutlery.

For the briefest of moments, this almost felt domestic.

Sitting down on the flattened and worn out pillows by the table, she turned to look at her nephew joining next to her. She could feel that Jon and she had a strong connection with each other already. He was as good and honourable a man as she had ever met in her lifetime. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that the Usurper's lapdog had raised him to be a formidable man.

"What?"

Startled out of her thoughts, she realized that Jon looked straight back at her. She smiled shyly at how queer a sight it must have been for him to see her staring at him the way she did.

Gathering herself, she sat up straighter. Slouching did not do for a princess. "I was just thinking that...Lord Stark raised you to be a good man, Jon, even if he raised you to be a bastard. You should be proud of yourself and the person you have grown up to be."

He gave her a surprised look. "I – thank you, Aunt Daenerys."

"I sometimes find myself wondering what my life would have been like without the rebellion," she admitted without really knowing why. "What would Viserys have been like without his anger and bitterness poisoning him? Would I have been given to him as his sister-wife? What kind of marriage would I have had? How many children would I have given him? What kind of mother would I have been? Would our family life have been a joyful one?" She sighed. "Look at me, asking pointless questions I will never have answers for."

"May I ask...why does House Targaryen wed family to each other? It is wrong."

She gave him a curious look. If Rhaenys or she were to offer themselves to him, she doubted that he would be able to resist. Now, he would say that it would be wrong, but if she were to grab his manhood right now and began to please him – would he be stubborn enough to say that it was wrong? To push her away? Unlikely. He was a young man, virile and eager to be touched by a woman, to bed a woman.

"I can only tell you what Ser Willem told Viserys and me," she finally said. "We Targaryens are from Old Valyria and Old Valyria was a place of magic and dragon riders. It is in our blood. Do you think it would be wise to share our blood and our magic with, say, the Lannisters? And if we kept marrying other families, our blood would be so thinned that the risk of losing our inheritance would be too great. We rather take the risk of stillborns and deformed babies, as agonizing as it must be, than giving our power to the likes of the Lannisters or others."

"I suppose…" He scratched his chin, making almost a show of showing off the small tuft of hair growing there. She had to bite her cheeks to keep herself from laughing.

"Marriage is an issue for another day." Still, she found herself wondering: once the throne was theirs, who should be wed to Jon? Rhaenys or she?

The dragon has three heads.

Gathering her thoughts, she focused on her nephew again. "I have a question, Jon. Is Jon your name given by my brother or by your uncle? Because I have been wondering...I doubt a Targaryen would give his boy such a common name, even if it was to honour a friend or loved one."

Jon's eyes widened at the question and he opened and closed his mouth a few times without making a sound. He looked at her, then at the tabletop, then at the wall across from them.

Oh, Rhaegar.

"Jon?" She reached a hand over to him and covered his with hers. "What is the name my brother gave you?"

"You cannot tell Rhaenys." He looked at her, his eyes imploring, begging. "She will hate me even more than she already does."

Her breath left her. "Aegon." He didn't need to say it. He didn't need to say the name out loud for her to understand. All she could do was shake her head. "Oh, brother. I wish you were alive. I wish I could ask you what was going on in your head."

"I did not ask for this. For any of this." He glared at her angrily.

Daenerys looked at him sadly. "I know. I just wish I could understand Rhaegar's decisions." She moved closer to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him into eye contact with her. "I will never judge you for your parentage and I will never hold your name against you, do you understand? You are my blood, my nephew, my family. Do you understand?" He nodded with a small smile. Retracting her arms, she then took a deep breath before exhaling heavily. "Aegon is a good name. A powerful name. A proper Valyrian name for a proper king and conqueror. I can understand why Rhaegar likes that name, but I cannot understand why he would name you after a son he already had with another woman. Was Elia's Aegon still alive then or already dead? Does it matter? Oh, Rhaegar."

"Just being a bastard was so much easier than this," Jon – no, Aegon sighed.

"And what would you have done then?" Daenerys asked him. "No titles, lands or anything else of worth to your name. I will speak with Rhaenys later."

Jon – Aegon – shook his head vehemently. "No! No, please – she will not – it will just be another reason for her to hate me! Do not make it any more difficult with her than it already is!"

"She does not hate you and I will not accept secrets in our family." She looked him in his eyes. "We are all we have. Lies and secrets sow distrust. Honesty builds trust. If we cannot trust each other, whom can we trust?"

He didn't say anything and just shrugged. After a few moments, he looked at her. "Fine. If it is trust you want, then trust I shall give."

"Good. I –"

Before she could finish her sentence, the door to their little home opened and she heard Rhaenys talk with Oberyn as Ser Jorah carried their food inside.

It surely was not much and they were doing their best to be frugal with their money and food. By no means was it an easy life they were living, but it was necessary. Dates, apples, cheese, eggs – cheap food that was easily affordable.

Her dear nephew had offered to help with his money, but both Ser Jorah and Oberyn had insisted that he should save keep it for now and that it could and would be important later on.

After a bit of quick chatter, everyone was seated and eating quietly until Oberyn broke the silence.

"I've received a letter from Winterfell, Prince."

Jon – Aegon – perked up immediately upon hearing that. "You did? Was it from Lord Eddard? What does it say?"

The Dornish prince reached into his overcoat and pulled out a letter, its wax seal already broken. "Your cousin, Brandon, fell from a tower. He most likely won't walk again. I'm sorry."

Instinctively Daenerys reached for her nephew's shaking hand next to her and even Rhaenys, who wore her disguise – a headscarf – loosely around her neck, looked worried. That pleased Daenerys. Differences or not, they were family. When one of them was hurting, they were all hurting.

There was silence as he was reading the letter. Once he was done, he exhaled heavily and placed the letter on the table. Then he pulled his hand from hers and, suddenly, hit the table with his fist, making her jump in surprise.

"Damn it!" He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. "Bran does not fall. He never falls."

"Luck has a habit of running out when we least expect it, my Prince," Ser Jorah said.

"No, you do not understand! Bran has climbed Winterfell's walls in rain and storm! He never slips and never falls. I will not believe that it was an accident."

"Well, since Lord Stark was offered the position of the King's hand – which he accepted – there were a bunch of Baratheons and Lannisters there," Oberyn said with a nasty grin as her breath hitched at those names.

"What reason would they have to harm that Stark boy?" Rhaenys asked with obvious confusion.

"None, as far as we can tell, Princess," Ser Jorah said as he sat up and looked all of them in the eyes. "But it is better to be wary of enemies of that calibre. Tywin Lannister is as ruthless and cunning as they come and I can guarantee that he has instilled the same mindset onto his children. If the boy saw or heard something he shouldn't have –"

"Nothing but assumptions, right now," Oberyn threw in, receiving a nod from Ser Jorah. "You aren't wrong, Ser, but let's act on the knowledge of this letter: Bran Stark had an unfortunate accident and Lord Stark is the new Lord Hand."

Rhaenys scoffed. "The lapdog works with the Usurper. How unusual."

Before Jon – Aegon – could explode, Daenerys reached over and grabbed his arm, stopping him. His knee still hit the table; a loud crash toppling his drink, the table now drenched with cheap, Braavosi wine.

Everyone was surprised at her nephew's sudden anger, had he been rather quiet so far, but Rhaenys looked most surprised of all, eyes wide and her body leaned away from the table.

"Now, now, Rhaenys. Don't underestimate Lord Stark," Oberyn said, his tone disapproving. "He protected your brother from Robert Baratheon. With Lord Stark as the Hand, we have access to important information. This is a fantastic development."

Daenerys removed her hand slowly from her nephew's arm, then gave Oberyn her attention. "What good does the information do if we cannot move forward? We have nothing but empty words and titles."

"What we first need is a plan, Princess. We have to watch and wait, bide our time and react accordingly," Oberyn said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded hands. "I know you want action now, but it isn't that easy. Believe me, I want nothing more than to gut Clegane like a fish while he is still alive. I want him to suffer now rather than tomorrow. But we need patience."

"You all need to disappear," Ser Jorah added. "The King and the rest of the Stark family, aside from Benjen Stark, believes that the Prince is at the wall. That will be enough for now. But eyes have always been on you, Princess Daenerys. It is no secret in King's Landing that you are alive and in Essos. I do not know Princess Rhaenys's situation, however."

Oberyn shrugged. "Coloured her hair and had her be another of my bastard daughters some years ago when they searched for her in Dorne. Since then no one from King's Landing has asked for her. They probably think she disappeared in Essos as well."

"And we are just supposed to keep this up? For how much longer must we hide?" she asked as her frustration was getting the better of her.

"Until the time is right, Princess," Oberyn said. "Our eyes and ears are open. We just wait for the right time to make our next move."

She heaved a sigh. "Fine."

After hugging her nephew and giving him whispers of encouragement because of his cousin's situation, Daenerys retreated to Rhaenys and her room. In the house with the red door, she had had her own room – the one with the lemon tree outside the window. Here, when she looked out, she'd see another small house, tightly squeezed to theirs with barely any space between them. She'd see walls with their paint peeling off and she'd see a woman inviting paying men regularly into her home. She'd see a small girl playing outside when the woman was playing inside with her guests.

She did not mind sharing this room with her niece, however. The comfort of family helped. Had she been alone, however, it would have been difficult to bear living in this room. It was small and bare, cold and empty with dirty white walls. The bed was barely big enough to fit both of them, but they made do. Neither wanted the other to sleep on the cold floor.

"Must you always provoke your brother so?" Daenerys asked while stripping down to her smallclothes and freeing her breasts. After putting on a nightgown she had loaned from Rhaenys, she sat on the bed and watched her niece as she stripped as well. She would have to ask Ser Jorah or Oberyn to buy her a nightgown. There was regret that she had opted not to take at least one with her from Master Illyrio. She would like to have things of her own again.

"It wasn't meant to provoke him."

"But it did. You know the lapdog is like a father to him. We have to acknowledge that he protected the rightful heir to the throne. We have to acknowledge that he protected our kin – our blood."

Rhaenys, now ready for bed as well, looked at her pointedly. "Because he is his sister's son. He wouldn't have protected me or you or Aegon or Viserys."

Daenerys laid down on her side and made room for Rhaenys, her back now touching the wall behind her. The bed dipped a bit as her niece laid down on her side as well, now facing her.

"We cannot know that. He appears to be on our side. Oberyn trusts him, which is not a given if you look at the circumstances. My brother's mistress was the lapdog's sister after all."

Rhaenys smiled. "So, you agree that she was a –"

"Do not use that word, Rhaenys," Daenerys said, interrupting her with a held-up finger. "She bedded a married man. That makes her his mistress, regardless of their marriage afterwards."

Rhaenys just huffed but didn't say anything else.

Daenerys rested her head on a hand. "I have to tell you something, Rhaenys. You might find it upsetting."

Again, her niece didn't say anything, but she did look curious.

"Jon's name has been given to him by his uncle. Before his death, my brother had named Jon already. He told me today."

"And why should that upset me?"

Daenerys took a deep breath, preparing herself mentally for any and all potential reactions. "He named him Aegon."

She could tell the exact moment when what she had just said registered in Rhaenys's mind. It was the moment her eyes widened and the moment that all the colour drained from the beautiful, bronze skin of her face.

"You can't be serious. You can't be telling me that my father gave that – that woman's son the same name he gave his wife's son!"

Daenerys reached an arm out and pulled her niece closer. "Rhaenys –"

"No!" Rhaenys struggled against her grip, weakly, as if she was only playacting before she succumbed and broke into almost hysterical tears, crying into her bosom.

Daenerys offered no soothing sounds, no words of comfort – it was better to just allow her niece to let out all of that pent-up anger, resentment, hurt and anguish.

What were you thinking, Rhaegar? What was going on in your mind?

The nightgown was drenched with tears and saliva and mucus, but she didn't care. She hoped that Rhaenys would tire herself out enough that she could have a good night's rest.

A night without nightmares.

A night without being haunted by the demons of that day.

Their breakfast earlier in the morning had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Had there been some underlying tension before, the atmosphere between them was now utterly freezing and it had nothing to do with Aegon.

Not Jon. Aegon. A Valyrian name for a proper king and conqueror.

There was nothing to be done for the moment, however. Rhaenys would have to sort through her feelings herself. She would have to understand and accept that Rhaegar's actions were his own and only he would ever know why he had done the things he had done and why he had made the choices he had made. All they could do was to take them as they were. All they could do was to accept and move on.

Moving on was not something she expected Rhaenys to be able to do anytime soon, however. To witness the way her mother and brother had been murdered and at that age, no less. Terrified and hidden under a bed and the smallest sound could have been her doom; no one could just move on from that. But she hoped that Rhaenys would soon find it in her to accept Aegon as who he was.

All of that would be up to her niece. If needed or wanted, Daenerys would gladly offer her counsel, would gladly listen.

But now, sitting on her bed, Daenerys had the chest with the dragon eggs sitting on her legs. Every time she opened it, she couldn't help but marvel at their beauty. There was something ethereal, something mystical and spiritual about them. The black and red one was the one she felt drawn to the most. Every day she would open the chest and every day she would touch and caress them, look after them, make sure that they remained unharmed. She ran her hand over the scaly surface of the black and red one. There was life in them. She knew, deep down with a certainty she had never felt before that there was life in them. On a whim, Daenerys went to the fireplace in the sitting room. Ser Jorah and Oberyn were talking while Aegon was doing his Valyrian studies she had prepared for him.

"Start a fire."

All three men looked at her in confusion.

"May I ask why, Princess?" Ser Jorah asked.

She didn't know. "Just...just do it. Start a fire. I do not care how."

Without waiting for any more questions, Daenerys went back to her room and her eggs. She crouched down next to the bed with the chest on it, gently rubbing the surface of each of them. They were there, in there, waiting to be released.

She took the chest and returned to the sitting room and, indeed, there was a fire burning. Looking into the fireplace, she saw pieces of wood from furniture and other things. Maybe they had gone outside for a moment. If they had, she had not heard them.

Ignoring the shouts of panic, Daenerys reached into the fireplace and readjusted the wood, trying to build a nest of sorts. Only when she was satisfied did she stop, her hands unburnt. Then, one by one, did she place the siblings in the nest. She smiled.

This was right

Three eggs.

Three dragons.

Three heads.