Got a new chapter out faster then expected. How lovely, right?
We finally return to Essos but as I said before last time, chapters will basically be splitting between Essos and Westeros. No updates on Jon... yet. Enjoy!
Eddard
The gates of Winterfell opened and a pleasant feeling grew in Ned's spirit when the Karstarks rode in.
"Ned!" Rickard greeted heartily, dismounted his horse and strided to meet the Lord of Winterfell.
Ned offered open arms to his kin, glad that they arrived without trouble. "Rickard, it's good to see you. Thank you for taking this responsibility for me."
"Aye, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell and being he is no greater honor I could ever hope for." There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, words and action that passed from Father to Son since the founding of House Stark. Rickard was the blood of House Stark and a trusted ally.
Ned looked to Rickard's sons and his daughter. They all changed so much last he saw them. Alys was a blossoming woman like Myrcella and all of Rickard's sons were stern, gruff men like their father, each sporting a beard with braids.
"We'll be glad to have your children join us. Maybe your boys will find them some southern brides to bring home."
"If they do, they can stay in the south. I want strong women of the North to marry my sons. Now I don't mean anything against sweet Myrcella. I just don't have any good hopes that they're more like her. No, someone like your Sansa would do good for Torrhen or Eddard."
"Hmm…" Rickard was certainly trying for a union between their Houses, his hope once resting in Alys to be Robb's bride before the betrothal to Myrcella was announced. Sansa was too young for any of Rickard's sons. "That would be something better to speak about when we return. For now, let me treat you to the courtesies of Winterfell."
The Karstarks were one of the last families to meet in Winterfell before the departure to King's Landing for the wedding. Unfortunately not all who have been invited would be able to attend. Others, however, flat out refused to attend. Houses like the Rysewells, Glovers, and Dustins held certain grudges over the South.
There was to be a small feast tonight once the Hornwoods and Roose Bolton arrived in the evening. Then tomorrow, they would set off for King's Landing for a royal wedding.
Ned was so busy that he hadn't had much time to pack in the past few days. But given that the day of departure was coming swiftly, he contently passed on some of his duties to Rickard and Vayon. It would also give him a chance to observe if Rickard would handle everything well.
With the Karstarks being taken care of, Ned set off for his room to finish his packing. He stopped outside his door when he heard Cat's voice.
"And two and three and four and one and two and three and four. That was perfect, Robb. You are most ready."
Ned waited patiently and soon enough Robb walked out looking pleasant with himself.
"Good studying today?" Ned asked.
"Very well done." Robb smiled and went his way as Ned walked into his room.
At her dresser, Cat was washing her hands in a basin and appeared happy. "Myrcella will fall in love with him all over again, Ned."
"He dances that well?"
"Well enough. It will be magical."
"Lord Stark," Maester Luwin peeked inside, "A raven came in but I do not recognize the seal." He walked in and handed it over.
The wax seal bore three crossed swords. Dillion.
"That will be all, Luwin."
The Maester nodded and took his leave while Cat walked over. "Who's it from?"
"Ser Dillion Silversight," Ned broke the wax and unraveled it.
"The knight who knows." While she knew of him, Ned brought her to agree that the less she know of him the better. The more a secret spreads the greater chance it has to slip away, no matter the person.
-Lord Stark
I met a man who pains me every time I look at him. He shares a semblance of he you hated most and she you once loved most. And on his chest are the scars of your failed promise. I need to know if you lied. Does the white wolf live? I shall await a response at the Manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis.
-Dillion Silversight
There were only three scrolls Dillion ever sent since the end of the war, including this one. The only one that was not in a coded riddle of sorts came a few days after Jon had died, the one filled with the most hate a few words could give. But the one before was a simple correspondence that Dillion would be out of sight and out of mind of Westeros.
Semblance to he that Ned hated most… that had to be Rhaegar. Despite the truth of things that Rhaegar didn't kidnap and rape his sister, he still did something that swayed her to go with him. That bastard's recklessness killed his father, his brother, and his sister. She that he once loved most was Lyanna. His failed promise… that meant Jon's death without a doubt. Dillion met a man looking just like him with scars on his chest?
Was this scroll really Dillion asking something like this? He thinks he found Jon reborn? What manner of devilry was Dillion playing? How dare he even think to ask such an idea? Ned's frustration led him to toss the note into the embers of the hearth and it quickly caught flame.
"What was it?" Cat asked.
"A cruel request. I don't know what Dillion is doing, but he thinks-" Ned was taken back, finding it hard to find his words. "Something gives him reason to think a man he met means that Jon is alive. Was the news not clear enough for him? Did Jon not bleed enough? Did he not die publically enough? Was the boy I held in my arms not mine!?"
"Ned," Catelyn quickly came and wrapped her warm arms around his head, pulling him into her neck. "The world is vast, there are many who can give flickers of false hope to others, myself included. Simply tell him the truth. No."
He subtly nodded. Rather than put it off, he would get this damn response out as soon as possible. He slipped from his wife's embrace and knelt down to the floor, over the stone that covered his hidden secrets. He had to use his dagger to pry the small slab up first but once his fingers found a side to grip it took no real effort to uncover the floor. There, in a hollow space he made years ago in his first days as Lord of Winterfell, lay several objects where no one would ever find them. In fact this would be Cat's first time seeing where, but not a few of what he kept.
Wrapped in a black wool rag was the Valyrian Steel dagger that took his son's life. Ever since he showed it to Tyrion, simply looking at the damn thing filled him with rage. Keeping it at the bottom of a trunk didn't sit well with him anymore. Next to the dagger were two more objects of secrecy, a small brown leather pouch with a wax seal with the three swords and a box made of weirwood with the sigil of House Stark carved into the lid.
Ned retrieved the wax seal and kept the space uncovered. He quickly found his quill and a small piece of fresh parchment to write his response.
"What's in the box, Ned?" Cat asked.
He hadn't even written a single letter yet when the question made him freeze. "A letter from Lyanna," he told her, "I've never read it as it's not for me. It was meant for Jon, surely to reveal the truth that was never mine to tell him." He quickly finished his writing and rolled the parchment up. "Suppose I should burn it too, now that it's not needed anymore."
"You will do no such thing," Cat protested, "you should place it with him in the crypts. You should have done this the day he was buried."
"I should have done a lot of things, Cat." He should have sent Jon with Dillion or with Howland in the Greywater Watch. He should not have gone on that stupid hunt and left his son to die. "But you are right, I should. But not now when there are too many here. When we return."
He looked back to the last remnants of the scroll turning to ash and embers before writing three words on a piece of scroll parchment.
He is dead
Domeric
Training Robb these past couple of weeks was going well, but none of it was easy. Both Domeric and Robb were so focused on the leg they forgot about the new horse from Twyin Lannister, Darkmane. It was indeed a rich breed, but establishing a trust between horse and rider in this situation would not be fair. Darkmane was strong and he knew it. Obedience came, but not trust. If Robb was going to beat the Mountain, both rider and horse would need to be at their best.
It took a great deal of convincing but Lord Stark finally agreed to let Robb, Theon and him go separately to King's Landing. Because of this, they would be leaving earlier which gave them more time to train. Everything was in place. Theon was in on it and together they snuck a collection of practise lances and a cart out a few miles to pick up when they left.
Right now, Robb had to make his appearance for his family and the arriving guests so Domeric had the day to himself. He wished he could spend it with Sansa but she was needed too. Despite being a Bolton, Domeric had no shortage of company.
From the rooftops of Winterfell, one could see everything in the North. That's what it felt like at least. To the south and east the hills and fields continued on. In the west, the Wolfswood and the tips of the mountains were barely visible. And to the north, sometimes the horizon played tricks and it was like the top of the Wall was peaking over.
Dom loved it up here and it was courtesy of Bran's climbing he was shown the way up. Up here with Lyze, everything that troubled him was left down below. If he could have he would have brought his harp up with him. This would have been a wonderful place to play and sing.
He layed back on the tiles, lost in his thoughts about Sansa. Ever since that kiss in Lord Harroway's town, they'd been sneaking off more than they had been before. They never did any past kissing, but for them it was enough. Things evolved from chaste pecks between them. They started to do things more intimately but never crossing the line of laying together or anything else like that.
His mind was made up. He was going to ask for her hand after Robb's wedding tourney. He'd need Lord Stark's approval of course and that would not be an easy thing to get. Domeric knew he was liked, but his House, the Dreadfort, the legacy he belonged to was what would keep Sansa out of his life once his time in Winterfell was done. Hardly there were a man who would see his daughter on the bloodstained walls of the Dreadfort.
He looked up at Lyze, nothing but a slightly discernable spec in the clouds. How wonderful was it up there? To leave the world behind in flight where nothing could reach you…
His thoughts became a blur and without realizing the reality of things he was flying in the sky.
Below him was Winterfell and everything around was unrecognizable from the tops of the sky. He could see the world differently, so much of it he never realized could be captured through the eyes.
His wings collapsed and he fell into a powerful and fast dive that outmatched the fastest he'd ever gone on a horse. The cold wind against the fluttering feathers, the tears in his easy against the sting, it all felt like true power in his heart when he opened his wings and shot straight across the plains in a silent flight only a few feet off the grass.
He glided over the road to the castle, spotting a pack of riders on their way. They carried a banner with them bearing a flayed man…
Domeric inhaled sharply and snapped out of his little daydream. Though part of him cursed that he woke up. The dream was unlike any he ever had in his life. It felt so real and he could remember every moment of it.
He sat up and looked out to the road, spotting a group of riders just like he did in his dream. But how was that possible? He narrowed his eyes and made out the banner of House Bolton. His father was here. How long had it been since he last saw him. Two or three years? He couldn't remember.
Domeric carefully slid to the edge of the roof and began his descent. Down the cracked stone in the wall, hang from the wolf head, and down above the covered bridge to the barracks. His father and he never had much familial bonding when he was a boy but he still wanted to see him as soon as he could.
He made it to the ground safely and before heading off to the south gate sent for Ser Robar to meet him there too.
By the time he arrived, so had his father and his men Steelshanks, Alrec the Pearl carrying the Bolton banner, and Cregan Warrick.
"Father," Dom greeted pleasantly, "Welcome!"
His Lord father stared at him, looking his body up and down from head to toe. He silently approached and placed a hand tenderly on Dom's shoulder. "You look strong, my son."
"I've been doing well here. I'm glad you made it in time."
"I wouldn't miss the wedding of my liege's heir to the princess. And I hope to find a suitable wife for myself while south."
Dom felt a certain pang of disappointment, or rather he was unsure how to feel about that. He missed his mother often and always cherished the memories he had with her. Now she was going to be replaced? "I hope you chose well, father. I have someone I want you to meet." Domeric stepped back and whistled sharp and loud. Seconds later, Lyze swooped from above and perched on his arm. "This is Lyze."
"Lyze, after Lyze Bolton the Bane of Thenn?"
Dom nodded eagerly. His favorite ancestor was the only Bolton known to have joined the Night's Watch and held back an entire horde of man-eating Thenns by himself in the Frostfangs. "I've trained him well. He's a perfect hunter and a good companion."
His father had a small but proud smirk before his attention turned to someone else. "Ser Robar Royce."
"Lord Bolton," Ser Robar introduced as he finally arrived. Their guesses weren't lucky as both of them wore attire sporting their families' sigils, Lord Bolton's cloak pin of a flayed man and Ser Robar's cloak decorated with many runes. "It's a pleasure to finally meet my squire's father."
"The feeling is mutual. Does my son show great promise to exceed expectations?"
"Absolutely, my lord. When he competes in the wedding tourney, there's not a single doubt his skill will have maids flocking for his hand and lords begging for his service. I'd even go as far to say he would make a fine Kingsguard."
"An honor like that would be dear to have. But I like my heir without a white or black cloak."
"Of course. I would like to continue this further at dinner, my lord."
"Likewise."
Ser Robar left after giving small greetings to the Bolton bannermen.
"Lyze," Dom said and his owl looked straight at him, "fly on." He lifted his arm and sent Lyze back into the sky. His owl would return to him by the time the moon appeared but until then his companion was free.
The feast wasn't a large one, more or less it was just a formal supper for those traveling to King's Landing for the wedding. A real feast would be held on the return, one that would most definitely house the whole of the Northern nobility.
Domeric had left his father's company to join Robb and Theon with the Umbers and Karstarks in a friendly circle, drinking ale and being merry with each other.
"I'll tell you right, lad," Eddard Karstark spouted after a hearty chug of his personal blend, "we'll have you in a proper Northern wedding when you get back as you should have in the first place. If your wife is to be Lady Stark then she should honor our ways under the weirwood."
Little did he know how much Myrcella already did. Robb, Domeric, and Theon all shared a look with each other that lasted half a second but sent the same amused feeling in all of them. Dom was curious if that night's events would ever become public or stay their secret for a long time. Personally he felt they should announce it when they get back. The Lords of the North would be especially proud to have Myrcella as their Lady Stark.
"Hahahaha!" the Greatjon laughed as he shared a cup of Karstark's brew. "You ought to think about havin' a weddin' like we Umbers have since marriage began in the North, the real way, the OLD WAY!" He laughed as he drank more.
"I thought our way was the Old Way?" Robb asked.
The Greatjon wrapped a huge arm over Robb's neck and pulled him close. Seven Hells, this man's armpits reeked even from where Domeric was sitting. "Nah, lad! All these formalities and arse kissin' is the new way. But we Umbers remember how a weddin's done right like our ancestors. Yeh see, the ceremony starts out the same, the bride and groom gather with friend and family under the heart tree. And then after vow and prayer, you know what happens after?"
Robb looked stumped and shook his head.
"The guests get the fook out and then the Old Gods witness consummation." Lord Umber started laughing when Robb's eyes widened when he and the other boys realized exactly what the Greatjon meant.
Theon only looked confused. "Why the fuck would you fuck under a tree? The cold would freeze your balls off."
The Greatjon leaned in, finally releasing robb. "There's an old sayin', lad. In a blizzard there're only three ways to keep warm. Fire, fightin', and fookin'." He bellowed laughter with the Karstarks while Theon just about had it with the company of Northmen. Theon chugged the last of his ale and took his leave for other company, in the direction of his favorite serving wench.
The talk about weddings got to Dom's nerves though. His father was looking to remarry and Ser Robar's comment about flocking maiden's peaked something in him too. Many Houses would be gathering so it would be ideal for many to meet and discuss the future of their children. With Lord stark's coffers growing from his mining ventures with Lord Tywin, many southern eyes have been looking to the North.
Dom got up and left to return to his father. He had to tell him.
Lord Bolton was having a cool-headed conversation with Lord Ironsmith.
"Father," Dom interrupted, "might I have a word in private?"
"Domeric," his father replied, "it's rude to interrupt."
"That's alright,' Lord Matthew replied, "it looks like I need to knock my sons' heads together soon if they get any more drunk. Seven hells, Brendan!" Lord Ironsmith got up and charged toward his son, the ginger of the litter, as he attempted to drunkenly pressure another man into a friendly brawl. Domeric never realized how large of a man Lord Ironsmith was until standing next to him. He wasn't as big as the Greatjon, but there would be good reason to believe they were warriors of each other's equal. And not to mention, his nickname, the Anvil, was well deserved.
"I'm sorry about that, father." Domeric said, still standing.
"I would have thought a place like Winterfell to keep your manners at the finest. But we are of the North." He got up and followed Dom to the hearth in the hall, free of any nearby ears.
"I'll get right to the point. Do you expect me to bring home a wife as well?"
The question didn't even faze his father. "No, but I expect to look for possible betrothals. I've already received a missive from the Bronze Yohn about his daughter, Ysilla. She's without a husband and quite beautiful from what I have heard. An allegiance with them would be beneficial to our House, Domeric."
"I figured. But I…" damn, why did his words have to fumble when facing his father. He hoped the ale would loosen him but he was wound tighter than a noose. And the fact that his father never drank didn't help. "There's someone I want to marry, father." He blurted out and almost wanted to gasp for air afterwards.
His father's brow peaked in interest. "And who would that be?"
Dom looked over to the girls gathered, all of them smiling and laughing together. But his eyes and heart fixed on the red hair and smile of the only one he longed for. "Sansa Stark."
His father's expression went flush. Was he truly not expecting that?
"I love her, father and she loves me. After Robb's wedding I'm going to ask for her hand. But I don't know if Lord Stark will say yes and it's tearing me up inside."
Roose Bolton did the last thing Domeric, or anyone, would have expected and pulled him into a fatherly hug. "This is wonderful news, my son. I'm proud your eyes found the true prize of the North." he looked at him with a smile that put Domeric off for some reason. "I want you to be brave when you do and I will support you how I can."
His father's support brought Domeric's spirits up immensely. This was the first time he openly showed interest in his pursuits. "Thank you, father. You have no idea how much your approval makes me happy."
"Me as well. Now go and play us a song."
Domeric didn't hesitate to rush off and retrieve his harp from his room. He had to slide and push aside a few people to make it over to where the minstrel was. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.
"Not at all," the lute player scooted aside for Domeric to share the space. "Lord Bolton's son, aye? Your fingers fare to play of the Bear and the Maiden Fair?"
"The best," Domeric nodded, "and your name?"
"Abel."
Daenerys
There hasn't been a day that has gone by that was easy since the wedding. Every day was a stiff ride from dawn to dusk without a decent stop and every night Khal Drogo would expect her to lay with him, only recently he brought her outside to do it. She later learned that the Dothraki believed everything should be done under the sky in the eyes of their gods. It didn't settle well. Sometimes someone would walk by and stare. Being new to sex, her body wasn't yet accustomed to so much. Her rear and legs were sore every morning and riding didn't help. Every day hurt.
If she were alone, she wouldn't know what to do. These people were strangers to her, even her handmaidens. Irri and Jiqqi were both Dothraki but Doreah was from the pleasure houses of Lys. They were kind to her and took care of her better than anyone else ever had in her life. Irri and Jiqqi were teaching her the Dothraki language and she was finally starting to pick up bits and pieces of conversation she heard around her, but more importantly she was beginning to discern names from the other words.
Drogo's Bloodriders, or Ko as they are called in their native tongue, were Cohollo, Haggo, and Qotho. At the wedding they all bore gifts to Daenerys that she was told must turn over to Drogo. Cohollo gifted a fine Dothraki blade, or arakh, one decorated with chased gold in the hilt and black steel. Haggo gifted a fine leather whip with a silver handle that has not been used once since. Qotho's gift was the one that Daenerys almost wished she did not have to turn over to her new husband, a bow made of black dragonbone. It was the first time Daenerys ever saw anything of material about a dragon before. All three of these gifts Drogo wore proudly. The arakh and whip both fastened at his waist and the bow on his saddle, unstringed as to not ruin its spring.
Jon's gifting of Blackfyre was something that gave her spirit the lifting she needed to face the consummation that night. First he was willing to give his life for her, then her family's ring, and now her family's sword. More than that she cherished the love and kindness they shared. Some nights she regretted telling him it was better to leave than to stay. She missed him, his touch, the feeling of him inside her.
As much as she appreciated Blackfyre's return to House Targaryen, the Magister's gift was one she would not deny gave her the most joy of having. Three petrified dragon eggs, one black with shades of red, one green with hints of bronze, and one cream with fadings of gold. The ages have turned them to stone but their beauty would never fade. Every night after Drogo finished with her she would hold and feel them. It was just like holding her magic in her hands.
Currently, the eggs sat comfortably in the chest they were gifted in on a cart riding close behind as they always did during the ride. She liked to have them close. It worried her if they were to be all the way in the back with risk of theft.
Knowing the eggs were close gave her ease through the pain of her ride. Her thighs were becoming chaffed and the saddle sores didn't help either. The reins gave her hands blisters and the muscles of her back were so wracked she could scarcely sit.
What also helped was the companionship of not just Dillion, Smokeball, and Cinders, but also Ser Jorah and Lord Gregor. Both of the Northmen had done far more traveling throughout Essos in their exile than she did in her life. They both spoke the dothraki language fluently as well as High Valyrian. Lord Gregor kept in touch with his family and would hear of the recent news in Westeros. Ned Stark's heir was set to marry the Usurper's daughter soon, the Lord Hand Jon Arryn passed away and made room for Tywin Lannister to take his place, and much more.
As it was right now, Daenerys found more interest as to why they were in exile to begin with. Ser Jorah didn't make much mention of his reason. But based on what she saw with Vedros and Lord Forrester at the wedding, it was clear why the Lord of Ironwrath was here.
Lord Gregor explained to her how the Whitehills and Forresters have had a fierce rivalry for centuries just as bad as the Brackens and Blackwoods of the Riverlands. Vedros, or Asher as his real name is, fell for a daughter of House Whitehill and fooled around a bit too much with her.
"And then not an hour later I get a message from Ludd demanding Asher's head for his theft of Gwyn's virtue." Gregor explained. "Asher never did go further than kissing her, at least as Gwyn explained it and I believe her more than that little brother of hers."
"She sounds like the most decent woman. I wouldn't think the idea of a union of her and Vedros to be so repulsive. Such could help aid the end of a hatred."
"My son's name is Asher, khaleesi." Gregor insisted before continuing. "If you can imagine, you have a daughter of your own, a sweet gentle soul who becomes entranced and in love with a son of Robert Baratheon and the same goes for him with your daughter. They love each other and are decent people so why wouldn't you say yes?"
With that kind of example, Daenerys understood things better for the most part now. Her skin crawled at the thought. She would never trust nor allow any child of hers to even be caught with a Baratheon. That wicked family… but then Jon's words replayed in her mind when they had their quarrel. A child should not have to bear the sins of the father.
"I don't like the thought, my lord. It disgusts me." Her mind couldn't change so immediately. "But perhaps if enough time was given and Robert Baratheon were dead, there might be a chance."
"That is… quite peculiar if you don't mind me saying so. Why that?"
Her grip on the reins softened. "I came around to understand that a son should not have to bear the sins of the father."
"I find it strange to hear that from one as yourself. The first man I heard that from was Lord Eddard Stark when we were two days' march from King's Landing. There were some calling for Rhaenys and Aegon to die, but Ned declared that he would not allow any such action and would behead any of his company that tried."
"He is a good man then," Daenerys admitted before looking behind her to the complaints of her brother to Dillion. Viserys was far away enough that he wouldn't be able to hear.
"If the day comes you find yourself in Lord Stark's company again, please tell him I'm sorry for my family's part in his sufferings. I bear no hate for him any longer."
Both Ser Jorah and Lord Gregor looked at each other in total awe of her humility for the war. Was it so unexpected for an enemy House to offer apologies?
The head of the Khalasaar reached the peak of a hill when the Ko and Khal all took off into a full gallop and screamed in manly excitement and fun.
"We must finally be here," Jorah announced.
"Vaes Dothrak? Already?" Daenerys asked the bear knight.
"No, that won't be for quite some time." Daenerys and those around her reached the peak of the hill and saw the lands that stretched further to the horizon than the ocean. "Welcome to the Dothraki Sea." Ser Jorah introduced with an arm outstretched to the vast, endless plains of grass.
"It truly does look like a sea of green." The soft winds brushing the blades and stems of grass and the light reflecting gave such a beautiful illusion of green waves rising steadily with each other.
"You'll love it better in the blooming season. Dark red flowers sprout from every stem from here to the horizon like a sea of blood. Then, come the dry season, the world as you see it turns the color of old bronze."
She wanted to look on more. Even though it would be all she ever saw for the next few months, she wanted her first sight of it to last and the feeling to imprint in her. Her hopes for what her life to be were not high at all, but so far the day was off to a good start.
Viserys had caught up and came close to Daenerys. "For a moment I felt like we were home. There is a place in Westeros just like this Daenerys. I can't remember where but I just do, probably in the Reach. It was the only spot you would see nothing but grass. Go over one hill in any direction and there would be a farm, a mill, or a castle somewhere." He smiled calmly at her, one of the rare times he ever truly showed a brotherly affection for her.
Still, she wished her brother had stayed in Pentos with Illyrio, their knights advised it as well, but Viserys would remain with Drogo until he had the crown he had been promised. But she did not want to listen to her brother's complaints when he had them and there wasn't a day that had gone by that he didn't.
Daenerys had grown accustomed to her riding pains that she could tolerate a little more and whipped the reins of her Silver. Her mare took off into the sea of grass and she was reinvigorated with an ecstasy of freedom she felt when she danced with Jon and rode over the bonfire at her wedding. The stalks of grass brushed her legs smoothly like water and she all but forgot the pains of riding. For one brief shining moment she felt a place of belonging here.
Drogo rode next to her, watching her ride free and smirked before he galloped onward with his Bloodriders. The way he looked at her though, she felt something of accomplishment when he did. He looked proud of her.
Unfortunately, the pains were taking their toll and she could not ride as hard any longer. She slowed the pace and waved for Ser Jorah and Lord Gregor to catch up to her. They did so swiftly and both looked pleasant at her.
"That was splendid of you, Khaleesi." Ser Jorah complimented. "I'm sure the Khal is impressed."
Hearing that put a smile on her face. She had no love for her husband but if she could catch his eye in more ways than just being a pretty face then it gave her accomplishment. The rest of the khalasaar was just coming over the hills as well.
"Ser Jorah, Lord Gregor, tell me what you thought of the rebellion, truly. My brother is far away without the ears of a humble man."
Both of the Northmen looked at one another in confusion. Daenerys felt the need to clarify.
"I know the truth of it, my brother's kidnap of Lyanna Stark, my father's horrific madness and the murder of Rickard and Brandon Stark."
Lord Gregor's hands fidgeted with the reins of his horse and he even looked around for listening ears despite the fact that they were truly alone where they were. "How is it that you speak of our side of things when your brother preaches differently?"
"I would have said the same things as my brother. But then a man took an arrow for me and he listened to me. And then I listened to him. His father fought with the North and it hurt to hear those words. It hurt even more when the men sworn to protect me finally told me the truth too." She looked at Ser Jorah. "You've never served my father, Ser, have you."
Ser Jorah shook his head. "No. I fought with Eddard Stark and the rest of the North. When I received the call to arms, I was more than ready and willing to fight against the Mad King and help put an end to it all."
"And you, Gregor?"
"Mine was the same as Ser Jorah. I knew Brandon very well. I hunted tame deer to fierce wolf with him, sparred some of my best fights with him, and no feast was as fun unless with him. He was my friend. I was busy with matters at the Wall when word reached me of his death. I wanted nothing more than to help avenge him."
Daenerys' face had twisted into an amused grimace. The Starks were far better people worthy of being Kings than her father and her brother. "If Viserys were taken and burned at the stake, no one would come for him. What is a man without friends except alone?"
"Wise child," Jorah remarked.
"I am no child." Daenerys made sure that both Ser Jorah and Gregor heard each word before riding off ahead with a new sense of strength.
When the day neared its end and camp was set up, Daenerys was given time to bathe for the first night in many. Her handmaidens joined her, Irri brushed her hair clean, Jiqqi added oils smelling of cinnamon and lavender to the water and washed her body, and Doreah was preparing a nightgown for her.
"Noah tih rek dothralat allayafi chaf," Irri pronounced.
"Noah tih rak dothralet alliafi chef," Daenerys repeated as best as she could. She knew her words in the language still fumbled and it gave giggles to the girls.
"Almost, Khaleesi. Noah tih rek dothralat allayafi chaf."
"Noah tih rek… dothralet… allayafi chef." Irri smiled and nodded at her success. Memorizing the words was not the hard bit. The enunciations were deep and rough. It was a language that suited warriors perfectly.
Doreah, having finished with her duties, retrieved a clay jar and brought it over to the furs. "Come, Khaleesi."
Irri and Jiqqi gently lifted Daenerys from the water and scrubbed her dry with towels before bringing her to the fur padding of her bed. "What is that?" Daenerys asked as she sat down.
Doreah removed the lid and scooped two fingers in, pulling out a thick orange cream. "It will help the bruising." Irri and Jiqqi rolled Daenerys over on her stomach and they all rubbed where the pains were worst. The cream was cold but soothing too. The tingling pains almost immediately vanished.
Their touches were soft and gentle, something she hadn't had since the night before her wedding. It made her long for the warmth of Jon's hands running down her body and the magic he did with his tongue. Thinking back on that little move of his made her stifle laughter.
She wanted her nights to be filled with love, not the constant struggle to be bred.
"Is it expected to be taken hard every night?" She looked over her shoulders and saw Doreah containing a little fit of laughter.
Irri answered first. "Once the Khaleesi grow heavy with a babe, the Khal will be soft. Even men know when to be gentle with their rides."
Doreah leaned down to Daenerys. "If you wish him to touch you softly, you need to make it known to him. Take charge."
"I did the first time."
Doreah appeared genuinely impressed. "Then you are very brave. Most women would quiver to a man like Drogo for their first. The first time always hurts. But there are ways to make it easier, Khaleesi."
Daenerys sighed and looked to Irri and Jiqqhi. "That is enough. Leave us." Irri and Jiqqhi promptly left as Doreah continued to rub the cream and sooth the pains. "I hate it, Doreah. I hate laying with Drogo every night. How can I make it easier on my heart?"
Doreah looked at her with a studying gaze. "Easing the heart in an unwanted marriage is no simple feat, Khaleesi. But it does beg the question, do you long for a lover left behind?"
"No," Daenerys lied with as firm a tone as she could to let her handmaiden know not to prod any further. "I long for home when I am trapped here, I wish for comfort when I feel pain in my rides." Doreah finished and draped the nightgown over Daenerys, a snug fit of soft linen.
"Until you become pregnant with the Khal's heir, he will keep on as he has. But after you are, even Khals know to treat women delicately. And then there is another way to give you nights to rest free of his touch."
Anything she could do would help. "What?"
"It is common for a Khal to have additional wives and concubines. If you would wish it, I could sate the Khal's lust when the time comes."
Daenerys did not give her answer as Khal Drogo had entered into her tent at that moment. He muttered for Doreah to leave as he began removing his leather vest and other garments.
That night, after Drogo had taken her again like he always did and fell asleep, Daenerys clutched one of her eggs to her breast as she fell asleep.
She dreamed of a mighty dragon in her presence, cascading her with bright red flames she let embrace every inch of her body. The warmth tempered her pained body and cleaned her of all wounds. She felt strong and fierce before the dragon.
After that night, each day was better than the one before.
Daenerys is off to a rough start, but things are going to get better next chapter, I promise. Have a good rest of the week, everyone!