Dany did not know whether it was from the continuous drop in temperature as they ventured further into the North or the nightmares that still permeated into her sleep, but she could not remember ever feeling more tired.
Since they left Sisterton, a manic urgency to get past the Wall and out of the Seven Kingdoms (or whatever was left of it) had made its home among the two. They pressed on through the cold terrain, relying on Jon's sense of his homeland to guide them away from main thoroughfares and other people.
Worse for Dany than the tiredness was the nausea, which had not been abated since the news they received in Sisterton. Choosing to not go back, to not seek out more information about what had happened or who was still alive, to go against every instinct she had built up as a former leader, left Dany feeling ill for several days afterwards. She expected that the nausea was residual from that illness.
Nonetheless, she continued to have increasing difficulty keeping down full meals and often had to supplement what she lost with small nibbles at bread as they walked. Meanwhile, she noticed that Jon had stopped eating any bread.
Displeased at his behavior, but not wanting to admit that she felt worse than she let on, Dany had begun repeating a mantra in her head to try and focus on something past her nausea. While it did not do much good, her heart seemed to have taken on the mantra's rhythm: Get past the Wall. Get past the Wall. Get past the Wall and you'll be okay.
With a better knowledge of the land, even by his usual geography standards, Jon shied away from poor weather less. But though they consistently made progress every day, battling the snow drifts and ice rain that plagued the North, their pace had definitely slowed. Neither one of them acknowledged that it was from Dany's fatigue, they just did not speak of the change at all. They were nearly through the northern edge of Wolfswood, a little over a month and a half after their first night beneath the stars on the shores of the North, when a true blizzard hit.
"And how do you say 'north?'" Jon asked as they picked along through the trees looking for firewood before night set in. Having exhausted asking her about places in Essos, Jon had turned to asking Dany about languages after learning she knew five.
"Valshe," Dany replied, peering around a fir tree, "And northerner is valshek." It was good, Dany thought, to be able to speak something other than Common Tongue again. She hadn't realized how much she missed having her tongue wrangle over the words everyone else deemed too harsh. It sounds like the galloping of a horse, Dany preferred to think whenever someone criticized the language.
"Val-shik," Jon repeated.
Dany giggled at his Northern accent on a Dothraki word. "Sh-ehk," she corrected, "Ehk."
"Valshek. What about in Valyrian?"
"Well," Dany said, stooping to grab a branch, "In High Valyrian, jelmor is 'north,' but I don't know if there's - what's wrong?"
Jon had stopped searching for sticks and was staring at the sky, breathing deeply. "Snow's on the air," he told her, "We'd best get to shelter, it smells like a storm."
Galloping across the great warm plains of grass, Dany spread her arms wide as she urged her Silver to run even faster. She had missed the kiss of warm sun on her skin and turned to tell Jon that, only to see his bay shimmer into the great scaly form of Rhaegal.
Beneath her, the Silver had changed to the black form of Drogon, though he still galloped like a horse onwards through the grass until both dragons and riders plunged off the edge of the grass into icy waters.
Unseated from the dive, Dany watched underwater as Drogon took off again, breaking the surface of the sea. She began to swim upwards to follow him, only for the world to spin so that she was swimming down towards the sinking form of Rhaegal. Flipping, she began to swim in what was the proper direction, but the sea pulled her down towards where Rhaegal had vanished. Down into the dark nothing, Dany thought she saw a flash of white before remembering that she could not breathe.
"Stop!" she shouted out loud, her yell reverberating off the cave walls and snapping her out of the dream. She was laying on the furs in front of the fire, panting and feeling as though she had been holding her breath. I'm not in Essos, she told herself as she tried to suck in more air, I'm in the North. I'm not under water.
Dany sat up, shaking her head as if to get the imaginary water out of her ears. She could still taste the icy, brackish water from her dreams and fought not to vomit.
Jon was already awake across the fire, looking up from his work on a small carving from the pouch Dany kept around her waist. "You're up," he said when he noticed her sitting. He set the knife and figurine down on a rock, and came over to sit down next to her.
"Did I oversleep?" Dany asked.
Jon shrugged. "I think it's nearly midday, maybe a bit after, but I can't quite tell - snow's too thick. We'll have to wait it out another night."
Midday? Why didn't he say anything? Dany's eyes widened at learning how long she had been asleep. Answering her unasked question, Jon told her, "I thought you could use the extra rest. You were tossing and turning all night." Absently, he toyed with a lock of Dany's hair that had fallen from the loose braid she had taken to wearing. It was a mix of silver, bronze, and brown from the dye and Dany expected she would have to re-dye it in disguise at least once more.
"I had a dream that I was stuck underwater," Dany told him. I feel like I'm still there, she added silently, throat still stinging and stomach churning.
"Is that why you shot awake?"
She nodded, stretching her arms above her head. Her body felt oddly proportioned, as if it were stretched, itchy, and too small at the same time. She felt strange, like she couldn't think or move properly anymore. The water from her dream seemed to still be around her, forcing her to exert considerable effort to do anything.
Trying to shake off the odd feelings, she got up from the furs, considering pulling out her own carving work to join Jon seeing as they weren't going anywhere. She had progressed from making angry potatoes and now was working on a more placid-looking potato with vaguely wolf-shaped ears and four stubby legs splayed straight out of its sides. Her first attempt at a paw had gone disastrously, leading to one leg being half as long as the others.
Jon rose to follow her and then he was sitting her down on a rock, virtually carrying her.
"Dany, what's wrong? Are you sick?" two Jons asked her, their tone of voice alarmed.
"What? I just stumbled, Jon. It happens," Dany retorted grumpily, mind beginning to make sense of what had just happened when had taken a heavy step, as though on the sea floor, and the whole world spun around her. What is wrong with me?
Her eyes refocused so that only one Jon was staring at her when, as if to prove his point, her body suddenly mutinied with a wave of nausea so powerful that Dany bent over where she sat and vomited bile.
While still leaning over the rock, gasping for air after the sudden expulsion, she reached for the smaller of their two satchels and slowly moved back into sitting position, ignoring Jon's harsh face and crossed arms that demanded the truth from her.
She felt around in the satchel for the second spice pouch, containing lavender, that Soraya had given her, which she had taken to sniffing to ward of the more serious bouts of nausea. Tugging it out roughly, she brought the bottle of brown dye with it. The bottle top fell off and the contents spilled over her shirt and the cave floor.
Dany swore.
"Here, let me -"
"No, Jon! I'm capable," Dany snapped, spitefully ignoring how his voice had softened. Dropping the satchel and spice pouch to join the empty dye bottle on the floor, she yanked off her shirt.
First I think I'm drowning. Then I fall over like a swooning maiden. ThenI vomit. And now I've made an absolute mess, she thought angrily, flipping the shirt upside down to look at how bad the stain was. In the firelight, the brown-red color reminded her of when her bleeding first started each -
Dany's heart dropped, as did the shirt from her hand, and she felt the waves of nausea take over again as she raised a hand over her breast - sore and swollen, though she had thought it was from Jon, whom she had sought out each night despite being fatigued - remembering a moment long past with unfocused eyes. She could hear Irri's voice as if her handmaiden were in the cave.
"When was last time you bleed, khaleesi?" When was the last time she bled? On Crackclaw Point?
"You change, khaleesi." Had she? Unconsciously, she brought her hand down from her breast to brush over her stomach. Her eyes began to sting and she felt the first tear fall without warning. Why was she crying?
Mirri Maz Duur's words echoed over Dany's thoughts: "When the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east. When the seas go dry, and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves."
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and Dany's breathing quickened as she found herself repeating a phrase over and over, "Impossible, impossible."
"Seven hells. Wha - Dany, why are you crying?" Jon asked. His voice was urgent and he sounded bewildered. Dany wildly regarded what she must have looked like from the outside, for inside she was feeling a spectrum of emotions from elation to dread. She had no idea which one the tears were from, only that they wouldn't stop flowing.
Her mouth moved soundlessly as she tried to answer his question, afraid to say it out loud for fear of it being true.
And for fear of it being false.
"Dany," Jon started, taking both of her hands as he stood over her and bringing her up into his embrace. She clung to him, afraid to trust her own legs and desperate to feel him, to feel something possible.
He moved his hands to her face, tilting it upwards so she could look at him with wet eyes. "What is it, my love?" he asked her gently.
"Jon," she whispered, voice cracking, as she backed out of their embrace to take his hands from her face and place them upon her stomach, "I think I'm pregnant."
It was Jon's turn to stumble, though he caught himself enough to walk shakily back to the furs and sit down in a less than dignified manner. His gray eyes were wide and he looked like someone who had just been whacked over the head by a crone brandishing a broom.
"You said that couldn't happen," came his hollow reply.
"Maybe you were right instead," Dany said, kneeling down and watching his face carefully.
When he didn't speak again, but just stared into the fire with unblinking eyes, Dany's stomach forgot its nausea and simply dropped. He's upset, Dany thought, devastation creeping through as she realized that part of her, buried deep below the anxiety, actually was happy.
"I'm sorry," she said, words steeped in dejection, "Jon, I'm so -"
"Don't be," he told her, voice hoarse as he turned to look at her.
His face wasn't regretful or angry. There was light in his eyes. He broke into a smile, first small and then broadening into a wide grin as he rose to kneel facing her, bringing his hands back to her stomach as he moved closer to her.
Dany had to stifle a sob of joy that she had no idea was in her throat, masking it as a breathy one-note laugh as she placed her hands over his.
"You're happy?" Dany asked, smiling as a flood of relief and joy raised her stomach back up and fended off the residual nausea.
Jon nodded, several times with increasing vigor, before pulling her in close for a scorching kiss as if to show evidence for his answer.
"Ah, wait," he said, pausing the kiss before it had even really started, "Can I do that? I mean can we still, you know, because you're - and I don't want to -"
Dany cut him off, kissing him again before pulling back. "Yes," she said simply, going back in for more.
I just wanted to take a second to thank all of you for being such wonderful readers! Reading your comments every day brings a smile to my face and I'm so happy that we are sharing this wonderful adventure together.