Warnings for this chapter: sex scene [flashback]; semi-implied masturbation;
II: Absence of an Heir
Phaedra was called to the Queen's chambers at the unusually early hour of dawn the next day. Bleary-eyed and with matted hair, she hurried quickly to the Queen's sleeping quarters and knocked in quick succession against the polished wood of the double doors.
"Come in." The Queen's voice was thin and low again, as though this were an afterthought.
"My Lady." Phaedra curtsied lowly, allowing the dark frizz of her hair to fall forward like a curtain. In deep contrast to her own greasy, miserable appearance, the Queen shone in a pale lilac silk night gown with her hair draped like a precious curtain against the rich material. Phaedra swallowed the pang of envy that pierced her.
"I rise early today. You may take my sheets and bed clothes."
Nodding curtly, Phaedra hurried to scoop up the discarded sleeping clothes and sheets. She frowned curiously. It was the twentieth of the month. That meant—
"My Lady has not bled," she stated bluntly. The fair Queen tensed visibly.
"But this is good!" Phaedra hurried to say. "Perhaps her Highness is with child. I could check—"
Her efforts earned her a sharp slap which snapped her head clean to the side of her neck. It smarted, causing tears to well in her eyes. Daenerys gasped horribly.
"I—I am so sorry. I apologise, Phaedra, I—"
"No," Phaedra bit through the sting. "I spoke out of turn. The burden of apology is on me, my Qu-Queen. I'll… I shall go now."
Gathering the sheets and unsoiled bed clothes, she departed swiftly from the room. She had no real right to feel hurt, she told herself. She had been completely out of line just then. Whether the Queen bled or not was not a maid's business. She repeated this to herself as she went about her daily chores that morning.
Dawn broke with a hue of red on the horizon to the rhythm of feeble chirping by birds that had migrated north for the Long Summer and were only now stirring. The castle barely stirred. The only ones awake at this hour were those who ran the castle, who ran the kingdom. The Queen and her entourage of maids probably lay asleep, likely until the warmth of noon. Robb dressed quickly and splashed cold water on his face, slapping his cheeks a few times to really wake himself up.
Unsurprisingly, Arya was already awake and louds shouts of "Ha!" and "Eurgh!" from the courtyard let him know she was practicing her sword fighting. Stifling a laugh, Robb kept walking until his Advisor stepped in front of him, looking grave as he did.
"Leon, what—"
"My Lord." The old man bent at the torso slightly, out of respect. "The Council awaits you. I should warn you, your Highness, they wish to discuss a rather delicate matter."
Robb cocked a brow questioningly at the frail man. "This is unexpected, Leon. Whatever they wish to discuss must be important if it is sprung on me so suddenly."
Leon bowed, not knowing what else to add. Robb walked briskly to the Council meeting room, purpose colouring his stride. He gave the heavy double doors a great heave and strode in.
"Gentlemen." The men in the room averted their eyes and Robb ignored the dread sinking in his stomach. "All of you, speechless? Well, this mustbe serious."
His attempt at casual banter fell on deaf ears because he was met with dry coughing. Robb looked to his brother in all but name, Jon Snow, and raised his brows questioningly. He looked like really did not want to be there. It had taken a great deal of coercion to make Jon accept his Council position until Robb had ultimately convinced him it was important for the Nightwatch to be represented on the Council. In a few short seconds, the heavy-set man sitting in the centre of the crescent moon-shaped table leaned forward.
"We are here, my Lord, to discuss a regrettable situation… That is to say, the absence of an heir to the throne. While his Highness is young and, Gods willing, fertile, it is important to address this as soon as possible."
Robb's jaw tensed and his eyes scanned the Council once more. A 'delicate matter' was putting it lightly, he thought. This wasn't any of the Council's business. He served the seven kingdoms well as a King; he possessed both kindness and strength in equal measure, he upheld the kingly virtues of honour and nobility, and he had proven his military genius beyond a shadow of doubt. It was not the Council's place to challenge him on this.
"I can't imagine what you—"
"It is imperative," an elderly man spoke up the far-right of the table. "—that the throne is secured. A line of succession is a must for any stable monarchy, your Honour."
"I know that," Robb said through gritted teeth. His voice sounded hard, even to him. "This is not the business of the Council. Daenerys and I—"
"They say you do not even lay with the Queen anymore," Jon interjected. More coughing and uncomfortable squirming followed as Robb focused his heated glare on his brother. Only Jon would get away with such a blatantly disrespectful remark, being that the two shared blood and the closeness their upbringing afforded them.
"Again, this is not your business!" Robb shouted. The room stilled and the tension in the air was thick enough to slice through with a broad sword.
"No," Jon continued, narrowing his eyes. He was voicing what the other Council members would not say– could not say, for they were bound by hierarchy and respect. "It is the business of the seven kingdoms and all who call them home. You may have defeated the Lannisters, but you cannot be so naïve as to think there aren't those who don't wish to see your severed head on a pike. For as long as the Iron Throne exists, there also exist those who wish to contest it. If you really were a good King, one who cared to preserve the peace in his land, you would heed this warning. You must provide an heir."
Though he could see the sense in Jon's words, Robb's blood boiled. It wasn't just anger clouding his better judgement, it was embarrassment. He was a proud man and this whole situation was thoroughly humiliating. He wasn't naïve, despite Jon's claims. He had agonised over the lack of an heir for countless nights now. It hadn't been a serious problem at first, but after the first miscarriage… A dull pain began pulsing in Robb's temples and as he rubbed it absently, he was vaguely aware of the Council members' eyes on him.
After the first miscarriage, Daenerys had grown distant. She flinched at his touch, hovered a few inches apart whenever they walked together or sat by each other. His hand around her un-swollen stomach would cause her to tense. He grew distant too. That one night when the deep arch of her back and clenching of her muscles signalled to him that she was close. With fistfuls of his hair clenched in her small fists and her pillowy lips parted in ecstasy, she had murmured one word: "Drogo."
He shook his head like a wet direwolf as if to scatter the memories, and his eyes snapped up to the Council.
"What do you suggest?" His voice was cold and aloof. It had taken a great concession of his pride to ask this. Jon gave him a small nod of approval.
"Well, some solutions are preferable to others, of course," the elderly man said. "There is an old belief that a woman must be, er, properly satisfied to inspire pregnancy."
"A woman's pleasure pleases the Goddess," the priest, newly instated to represent the New Religion, intoned in a lofty voice. "A Queen's pleasure is worth a thousand women."
Robb's lips twitched at the exaggerated eye roll Jon gave in response to this comment.
"Well, that's all well and good but the Queen does not wish to try at all. She pines for her lost love." Robb's expression was smug at this. He had tried everything under the sun; there was nothing the Council could suggest which hadn't at least crossed his mind.
"Drogo fought valiantly in the war," another man, a Knight, said matter-of-factly.
"And he will be rewarded by—" the Priest began again but Jon leaned forward suddenly with a deep clearing of his throat.
"Have you asked one of her maids to help her, perhaps?" he asked. "If she could only learn that sex can be enjoyable again, you could keep trying. Many of the maids have been rescued from pleasure houses—"
"You would have a whore teach the Queen to consummate?" the elderly man screeched in his failing voice. "Never in all my years—"
Jon's expression darkened. "I'll have you remember, Sir, that many of these girls were taken against their will. That hardly degrades them to whores."
Some of the Knights snickered, shooting condescending looks at Jon while murmuring lowly.
"We wouldn't want them to relive such a horrific experience," Robb said diplomatically.
He shot a questioning look at one of the Knights who was laughing heartily. Relative silence descended fairly quickly. Looking somewhat mollified, Jon sat back and let his dark locks hide much of his face. Robb sighed. You couldn't please everyone.
"Well, what about a maid?" one of the Knights asked with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Why couldn't you fuck one of the maids and pass the child off as the Queen's? It's not like she leaves her chambers anymore. I doubt anyone would notice."
Disgust flooded through Robb and something similar must have happened with his brother, for Jon leapt up a second later.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he bellowed, eyes darkening rapidly. "That is—that's despicable! Have you absolutely no respect for your Queen? Have you no respect for your King that you would suggest he disrespect his wife like that?"
"Sit yourself down, pansy," the same Knight spat. Dark humour danced in his black eyes. "We've already confirmed this situation is pretty desperate. Not that you would know, Snow. Have you ever even been with a girl before? I don't know whose decision it was to let a child onto the Council."
"Mine," Robb said in an icy, flat tone before Jon could rage more. "It was my decision and I would thank you not to be so callous and disrespectful of your Queen. They've executed people on charges of treason for much less."
The Knight's lips thinned as he bowed his head. "Apologies, my Lord."
Jon still looked furious as he sat down carefully. His fists were clenched, turning a faint red at the knuckles and complementing the blood colouring his face.
"If nobody has any more brilliant suggestions to add, I'll be calling this meeting to a close."
Robb was met with no objections so with that, he turned and swept from the room, his thick fur cape dusting the floor behind him. He had reached an arch leading outside into a green expanse of garden when a pair of heavy leather boots fell into step with him.
"Jon," Robb acknowledged without turning.
"I told them this meeting was a bad idea."
"You had a good point though," Robb conceded. They reached an old, gnarled oak tree when he stopped and turned to look at his brother through the glare of sunlight. "I can't keep running from this problem forever."
"You can't take another bride," Jon said with an indecipherable look on his face. "Daenerys as your Queen is a show of good faith to the Dothraki."
"I know that," Robb said with more anger in his voice than he had intended. "But we need an heir and therein lies the problem, doesn't it?"
Both men paused, not knowing what to say.
"I visited Daenerys last night, you know," Robb said quietly, vulnerability creeping into his voice. "We talked about it for a little while. I said I'd visit her another night. She— She was crying."
Jon cleared his throat uncomfortably. In the distance, two maids laughing and screeching interrupted the silence.
Robb sighed. "I'm sorry. You don't need to be hearing this."
"No, it's fine," Jon said quickly. "I mean, who else could you tell?"
Robb smiled. "You keep me sane, you know."
"Jon Snow keeps you sane?" Jon laughed. "That's not a good sign, is it?"
Both brothers chuckled before another round of laughter from the maids sobered them.
"I do believe someone's having a better time than we are," Jon observed with a quiet smile.
Robb grinned before realization hit him with a sharp sinking feeling. "Seven hells, Jon. I have to meet with some noblemen from Essos soon. It was good talking to you, brother."
"And you…brother," Jon said with a nod and a small laugh as Robb ran away in a hurry.
With nothing else to do, Jon approached the two maids and clapped his hands together.
"Ladies!"
They jumped as though they'd just seen a live dragon and both dissolved into apologies.
"Apologies, my Lord. Were we being loud?" one fawned, bending at the hip.
"We'll be quieter in the future, sir. We were just going back in. We're finished outside for the day."
"Then you can keep me company?" Jon asked. "I'm terribly bored. There is surprisingly little to do when you don't leave for duty for several days."
"Are you a soldier, sir?" one of the girls asked curiously, cocking her head to the side.
Jon didn't flinch at the severe burns marring the left side of her face. The war had left many disfigured, dismembered and traumatized; those who came out with their lives, that is. He had seen all the atrocities first-hand from his place by the King's side.
"I was," he began. "During the war, that is. I command the Nightwatch now."
"What an honour, sir!" gasped the smaller girl.
She was pretty, he reflected absently. Not beautiful, but attractive enough not to completely disappear from a man's notice. Someone had restrained her thick dark ropes of hair and fashioned them into two long braids. Her whiskey-coloured eyes widened at him now, evidently impressed.
"Please, call me Jon. I'm not here for an arse-kissing, regardless. You two sounded like you were having a good time and I could certainly use that right now."
"Ileana, daughter of Isaac. It's an honour to meet you, sir."
"Phaedra," the smaller girl said with a smile. "Erm… My father's name is Gawain. He's a cook in—"
A sharp look from her older companion quieted her. "Never mind."
Jon laughed. "Which part of the castle do you ladies work in?"
"Not ladies, sir. Maids."
Jon's good humour faltered. "A lady is a lady, it matters not her breeding. Do you two work for the Queen, then?"
"Her personal maids, sir," Phaedra said. "I see to the Queen every morning when she wakes and every evening before she sleeps. Ileana's job is—"
It was entrancing to watch her talk, if only for the motion of her lips. They were a deep red, like dried blood. Her upper lip was V-shaped and characterized by a deep Cupid's bow. Her lower lip was much fuller and had a tendency to press her upper lip outward as she spoke. They rarely closed for, when she stopped talking, they remained parted and revealed rows of small square teeth. Her countenance was childlike and thoroughly innocent, inspiring in Jon an urge to adopt her as his younger sister. In retrospect, it was an odd yet comical first impression.
"So, if you've taken the black, why are you here in King's Landing?" Ileana enquired.
Beneath the scarring and brazen countenance, Jon theorized the maid was rather beautiful. Her features were not as distinctive as her companion's but they were refined and in the right place, marred only by the unfortunate scarring. Her eyes were her greatest asset – large, round and coloured a deep green bleeding into blue. Her nose was thin and straight, much like her lips, countering Phaedra's rounded full features. He noticed her hair was parted so it fell heavily across the scarred half of her face.
"I'm on the Council," he admitted, awaiting the inevitable gasps and fawning.
"You really should not be seen with us," Phaedra said uneasily. "A Lord, such as yourself—"
"So you won't entertain me? Is that what you're saying?" Jon crossed his arms, giving a lopsided smile.
"We're very busy, my Lord," Ileana said suddenly, grabbing Phaedra by the arm and pulling her away. "There are many in the Castle of suitable rank who will happily service you, sir. There is a place many men, er, such as yourself enjoy visiting. It is not far from here, my Lord."
She meant a pleasure house, Jon realised with a vaguely ill feeling in his stomach. For the umpteenth time, he regretted accepting his place on the Council. But someone had to represent the Nightwatch's interests in the capital and it got lonely up there with no human contact. A man needed that from time to time.
Disappointment was heavy in his heart as he watched the two maids tear away with several glances back at him and much discreet giggling.
He sunk against a broad tree, hidden from the morning sunlight and from view of anyone in the Castle or the garden. He thought of her, his violet-eyed love, and his heart sped faster, beads of perspiration forming along his hairline. Reaching into his grey trousers through the part in his maroon tunic, his quickly hardening member throbbed to the beat of his heart as he clasped it firmly. He remembered her wide eyed gaze, her silken hair and the night they'd spent together before the war was won. His breath quickened, chest heaving as he pumped furiously. It was the night when her would-be husband and the people she ruled had fought in the final siege, beheading Jaime Lannister and his incestuous Queen.
"Drogo is dead."
His voice sounded alien to him, distant as though it were someone else delivering the horrific news. From the sparkling tears clinging onto her spiky white lashes and the wet tracks lining her face, he deduced that she did in fact know. She was seated on the river bank, barefoot and clad in a thin silk dress that brushed her ankles. Her lip trembled as she stared out along the expanse of murky blue-green water, the moonlight casting shadows against her cheek, lowlighting her white hair.
"I—I don't know what's going to happen," he confessed. "He was our best warrior and if he's fallen then—I don't know what will happen to Robb."
Daenerys bit her lip hard, drawing a tiny tear-shaped drop of crimson blood. Jon's arm shot out to wipe the drop with more gentleness than he'd known himself to possess. He made to draw his arm back when Daenerys ' much smaller hand clasped it. He was sure she was exerting all her strength but he barely felt the small white hand clutching his broad muscular forearm. Her petal-soft thumb rubbed small circles into the faintly scarred skin speckled with black hairs.
"What—" he began before she pursed her lips and shushed him.
"I don't know what I'll do either," she admitted. "They say if we win, I'll be made Queen – Robb's wife. I—I don't know if I can do that, Jon. I can't."
"I'm sure Robb wouldn't force you into a marriage you don't want," Jon reassured her.
Daenerys made a strangled noise. "We both know that's not how things work. The Dothraki want compensation for their Khal's death. Their Khaleesa must be Khaleesa of the world they fought to liberate. It's politics, Jon."
Jon sighed. The thought of his brother's survival, of the horrific war ending filled him with premature relief. It wouldn't erase the battle scars, the traumatizing memories, and the hollowness of peacetime would empty them all, but a clean victory was the best outcome now.
"This might be my last night as a free woman," Daenerys said sadly, a bitter smile twisting her exquisite face.
Jon tilted her chin up. "You will be fine. We will all be fine." He ducked his head to press his lips to hers, savouring the salt of her tears and drinking in the sweetness of her scent.
Her hands gripped his neck, pulling him closer to her in a desperate hurry. Little whimpering noises escaped her, like a wounded animal pleading to be healed.
Jon discarded her flimsy cloth quickly and she hurried to undo his fur cape, his tunic, his trousers...
"You Northerners wear far too much clothing," she gasped absently. Jon laughed, pausing for the first time during their interlude.
He discarded the tunic and revealed a bare chiselled chest underneath. Daenerys ' eyes fluttered closed as he pushed her smaller body down onto the damp bank. He lowered himself onto her body, his warm tongue licking the chilled peaks of her nipples. Her back arched underneath him and the soft folds of her stomach melted back into a flat expanse.
Hurriedly removing his trousers, Daenerys hooked a leg around the back of his knees and rolled him to the hard wet floor. His shock and the impact of the ridged surface underneath him momentarily knocked him breathless. Daenerys appeared not to have noticed because she had lowered herself precariously onto his erect cock, biting her lip hard again.
"Yes, like that…" she gasped lowly, gyrating her hips into him while he grasped her rounded hips. "Oh, yes. Ungh…"
Jon felt her tense around him and he rolled her backward without breaking contact, thrusting more furiously into her. His breath quickened and their non-sensical exclamations of pleasure blurred into each other, like a breathy language of ecstasy.
"Uh, Dro—Gu-uh!"
A breathy gasp saw her finish around him and a minute later, he spilled onto the patchy grass at her insistence.
They washed in the cold river, hands and tongues bringing each other to forget the horrors of the war, the uncertainty of tomorrow, of either of their futures. Wrapping his large fur cape around the both of them, their shivering naked bodies slept under the promise-filled waxing moon..
Jon absently wiped a sticky hand against the rough bark of the tree he leaned against, smiling bitterly at their situation. The war was over largely thanks to his brother yet he begrudged him his wife. Daenerys didn't love Robb. She didn't love Jon either, and neither man could give her back the one she longed for.
"Sir Jon is handsome, isn't he?" Ileana remarked as the two girls washed the second batch of the Queen's finery in the basins.
"I suppose," Phaedra said, shrugging gently. "He looks a lot like his brother, doesn't he? The eyes and the hair—"
"Who is his brother?" Ileana interrupted sharply. "He said he's from the Nightwatch, how can you possibly know who he's related to?"
Phaedra cocked a dark brow. "Isn't it obvious? That's the King's bastard brother, Jon Snow. How did you not realise? He's on the Council, he fought beside his brother during the war and he was originally on the Nightwatch. Haven't you read the history books?"
"We weren't all raised in a noble household," Ileana reminded her curtly. "Not all of us were afforded the luxury of learning to read and write."
Phaedra pouted guiltily. "Well, he was perfectly lovely. I don't know why you dragged us away so quickly. This washing doesn't have to be done until Gods know when! The Queen barely leaves her room nowadays. The next time she dons her finery will probably be the Rose Ball and that's not for several weeks."
"He shouldn't have been talking to maids, anyhow," Ileana said shortly. "He was probably mocking us. It's what they all do – the Lords, and those we call 'sir' with ridiculous simpers. What was all that tosh about 'a lady is a lady, regardless of her breeding'? It's easy to say that when everyone and their mother sees you as noble, as superior. They probably have a game – see how many maids they can fuck before settling down with a nice respectable lass."
"Oh, don't be so cynical," Phaedra complained. "Honestly, he was just being nice. Anyway, you admitted you find him handsome. What was the harm in talking to him?"
"I won't compromise my dignity like that," Ileana sniffed.
"Dignity? You're a maid," Phaedra snarked nastily. She hadn't meant to sound so venomous but Ileana's sour attitudes always managed to put a damper on the loveliest days.
Ileana dropped the yellow lace she was washing so suddenly, the soapy water splashed onto their knees and thighs.
"And so are you," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Just a maid and don't you forget it. I see the way you look at the King in court. Girls like us were meant to polish their boots and no more, do you understand me?"
Phaedra had meant to say, 'Lots of girls - maid and nobility alike - admire the King. He's handsome, kind and powerful. Just the husband so many girls dream of. You can hardly torture me for that.'
But there was a tone of finality in Ileana's voice that killed the words on her tongue. Both girls went back to the washing, working in relative silence until they were given leave.
A/N: Ahh, nobody told me I was spelling Daenerys' name wrong? :O Okay, so this chapter is longer than the first. :) Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I have lifted the rating to M because there will be more graphic violence/sex but I'll try to use it sparingly (meaning only when necessary and not gratuitously). I'll always have warnings at the beginning of the chapter, though.
Don't forget to leave a review! xo.