She arrived in King's Landing a moon's turn following her sixteenth nameday, nothing left in her of the girl she had been when Rhaegar's visit to Dragonstone.

He had not come again though the letters had not ceased since his departure, in the beginning only missives about her beauty and her kindness that left her heart racing and sent her to bed early, hands beneath her smallclothes trying to recreate the pleasure he had given her, struggling to remember his face and form as time went on. It was thrilling to have something all of her own, a secret she could keep, bury deep in her heart.

It was after nearly a year that the content of the letters changed. They spoke of love still but of duty too, a word which had a less sweeter taste. I may ask things of you, he wrote, which might be difficult for you to understand but as your husband and your brother you must know that in all of the world I am the only person you may trust. That struck her as romantic, a girl of fourteen. She replied as best she could and something she said must have pleased him for his letters came more frequently, spoke of other things, things that – like he said – she did not feel she could ever understand.

Elia and Lyanna are able queens and kind mothers and will be kind to you as well, he explained, but do not seek them out for counsel, we will be each other's comfort, you and I and children we will have.

Children. That was what it came down to. Even in Dragonstone they heard of it, knew of his queens' ruined wombs and the heirs the king still desired. When Daenerys flowered at eleven, asked her septa if her wedding would be soon, she explained to her that birthing a babe too early could be as dangerous as a babe which came too late in a woman's life. That was what happened to Queen Lyanna, the septa had said. Her brother had two healthy sons and Viserys would likely have many children; why her brother fretted after heirs, Dany did not know.

Her world had been transformed merely through words. It sustained her, the knowledge that she would leave the island soon, have someone to speak of the way Viserys spoke of his wife, enter a different world entirely. It was a world she did not understand, a world of men and motherhood, the prospect both exhilarating and frightening.

She was half a child when Rhaegar saw her before, still cooed and fussed over by her maids. She had changed, however. Her breasts, while still small, had grown larger, her hips wider and her thighs fuller, features more refined. The Lord of Driftmark, too familiar by far, had named her the most beautiful woman in the world when he first saw her on a trip to Dragonstone and she could see those words unspoken in the eyes of the men in the castle, from the stable boys to the castellan himself.

It was no different at King's Landing.

Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had met her at the port, distant but polite, and brought her directly to the throne room. She had seen nothing of the city that was to be hers, nothing of the keep that was to be her home beyond a series of passages and hallways, empty except for the guards. There was no fear within her, not when she had been groomed for this moment since birth, been taught that she was the blood of the dragon, that she was claiming her rightful place. She would be brave, as brave as Rhaegar told her she must be, let the knights lead her through the doors, kept her eyes focused on the throne as even as she felt the eyes of the lords and ladies following her, appraising her.

The throne was a monstrosity in truth. Rhaegar had described it to her in his letters and she read about it in books but it was different to see it with her own eyes, the blades jutting in and out of each other as though reaching out to swallow everyone in the room. Her brother gave no indication that it may have pained him to sit on it but looked every inch the king heralded in story books and poems, beautiful and commanding all at once. Crowned and garbed in clothes as black as night, Dany wondered whether King's Landing had ever seen a finer king.

When the knights at her side stopped so did she, curtseying deeply and looking up only when she heard her brother's voice.

"Welcome to court, sister," He announced, "We have long awaited your arrival."

"I thank you for your invitation, your grace."

To his right sat Elia and to his left Lyanna, and Dany could not decide which of them was more beautiful. They spoke of Elia across the realm as sickly, prone to fits of illnesses and bedridden on most days, but Dany saw none of that in the queen, saw instead a striking woman with brown hair that framed a lovely face, features small and delicate. Lyanna's was a different sort of beauty, something wilder altogether, and with that same melancholy look in her grey eyes as she had when she lived in Dragonstone.

Each queen sat with her children. Aegon had his mother's features but the Targaryen coloring, while Rhaenys her father's features and Martell coloring, both beautiful, their expressions unreadable. Jon had continued to take more and more after his mother, and smiled warmly at Dany, who was tempted to smile back.

"Your journey has been long, princess," Elia stated, her voice soft yet somehow carrying across to hall, "Ser Oswell will take you to your chambers."

And with that, Dany was led out of court.

Part of Elia thought to turn her husband away when he sought her chambers the night before he was to marry another woman. She might have, had they been in Sunspear, had the attentions of court not been fixed on her, watching for any sign of weakness, any chink in her armor. She felt it in the throne room, eyes like daggers moving from the young princess to her, doubtlessly hoping she would sneer at the girl, grow hysterical and fall apart. They would all know of it by the morning should she send him away, just as they had whispered about her in the days following Lyanna's arrival, when she was foolish enough to fight with Rhaegar about her presence, said that the Dornish princess was a jealous thing, embittered by her empty womb and the young rival that had arrived at court.

She would not make that mistake again. Her position at court was secure, became even more so as Aegon grew into his position, proved himself to be twice the man his father was, as able as Rhaegar had been as a young man but with none of his melancholy, none of the weight on his shoulders. It allowed him to thrive, to excel. She could not risk that now, could not bear the humiliation of the court once more.

Elia had ceased being angry with her husband years ago but if there remained anything within her that hoped for more of him, she might have asked him why he did not think of the difficulty of her position, why he did not keep himself from seeking her company on tonight of all nights.

She allowed him to enter then, was grateful at first when it seemed he only wished to speak, lying in her bed beside her with a goblet of wine at hand. They talked of the children, as they always did, of their families and of matters of court, lulled into their normal routine, as though it were merely a night like any other.

He raised the topic deep into their conversation, when they had both grown lethargic. Always strategic, she thought, this husband of mine.

"She will be an able queen I think," He murmured, and seemed to believe it, "She has been well-trained by the maester and her septa, she knows what is required of her and understands her place. It is up to the gods now."

"She is as comely as they say," Elia replied, simply.

In truth, that was the only thing she knew of the girl besides Jon's half-remembered stories of their childhood together. She was young, that was what mattered, had been kept away from court and not permitted to develop any allegiances or friendships. He did it for his family and for the realm, Rhaegar claimed, so no other houses become involved in their affairs, no ambitious families clawing at each other to place their daughter on the throne, using her to tear apart at his children. Rhaegar did it for himself too, she suspected, so that Daenerys would submit herself to him and his will

He turned to look at her then and there was frustration writ plain on his face.

"It is out of duty I marry her, for the sake of the realm," He retorted.

She had heard those same words years ago, on a night not unlike this when he had come to her shortly after Lyanna's coronation. It was clear even then that she was not happy, would never be happy. Whatever excitement had appeared in Lyanna's eyes the day Rhaegar dropped the crown of roses in her lap had been snuffed out by anguish, and Elia could see only grief and anger in its place. There was no love in them either, Lyanna barely controlling herself enough not to flinch when he touched her, paling every time she entered the throne room where her father and brother had met their fates. It had taken Rhaegar longer than Elia to recognize that, withstood even the birth of a son in place of a daughter he desired, broke only finally when it became clear no other babe would come.

He had seen Elia's inability to carry another child to term as a failure, no different than Lyanna's. Elia had come to know her husband, however, understood that indifference chafed him. His second marriage was not a betrayal, he insisted, but a necessity, and to believe that was to believe in him. Lyanna closed herself off from him, from the world, and he had reacted in kind, treating her with coolness. Elia had made a show of loyalty, forced herself to stay near him even when she felt she could hardly look at him, ran his household and cared for his needs. Their relationship merely shifted then; she could not carry his Visenya but she would be a vessel for his hopes and his plans, the dreams he thought no one else could understand.

She thought of the girl, as beautiful as her husband was, so clearly eager to please him, not unlike Elia had been when she was first married. Her husband may have been a king, may have been a Targaryen, but he was a man like any other, with a man's desires. And what man in all of the Seven Kingdoms did not want a girl as beautiful and keen as Daenerys warming his bed?

He continued, "You know this better than anyone, Elia. I take no pleasure in this."

She would have scoffed at that had she been a younger, more reckless woman. Whether Rhaegar wished to convince her or convince himself, she did not know.

"I understand, my love," was her practiced reply and as though he thought it might please or console her, he reached for her body.

He spent that night with Elia.

It was strange, left her unsettled, knowing that from this day on she would be privy to that kind of information, know when Rhaegar was abed with another of his wives. There was a schedule, it was explained to her, each wife granted two weeks at a turn when the king would visit their chambers, although they were never permitted to go to his. The Hand of the King, Jon Connington, had told it all to her very solemnly. The queens, however, had kindly allowed some adjustments, he explained; the king would come to her and only her until she got with child, and then each queen would be granted a week at a time. It seemed so ludicrous Dany wanted to laugh but the grim look on Lord Connington's face warned her otherwise.

Tonight would be her last night sleeping in a bed alone, she told herself as she lay in her featherbed, in rooms grander than any in the whole of Dragonstone, she must see it like that, a last night as a maiden before her life was changed forever.

Nonetheless, her sleep was fitful.

She was woken at dawn, made to bathe and soak in oils, not unlike her preparations the day Rhaegar had come to Dragonstone. This time, however, there seemed to be twice the number of maids fretting over her, three pairs of hands massaging her hair alone while six others worked on her body. They were in a happy mood, doubtless like the rest of the capital excited at the prospect of a royal wedding and the feasts that would follow for highborn and commoners alike. Their excitement was contagious, left Dany giddy, more tolerant of their talking than she might have been another time.

Elia's presence put a stop to it, a hush falling over the room as soon as she entered. By then Dany was in her gown, a veil attached to her braids and pooling at her feet instead of a maiden's cloak (because what was the use of replacing a red and black dragon with another?). It was not fear but respect that silenced the maids, Dany could see, and it left her feeling foolish at the liberties she allowed them.

"You make a beautiful bride," She stated, gently fingering the veil, and Dany was happy to see she was smiling, "The day will pass too quickly for you, I fear, soon you will find yourself back in these chambers."

"Thank you, your grace," Dany replied dumbly, wary of choosing the wrong words.

With a flick of Elia's hand, the maids were hurrying out of the room, leaving them alone. Her smile seemed to waver then, if only for a moment.

"You are aware of your duties tonight, are you not?" Elia asked, still holding the veil, her brown eyes never leaving it.

Dany could not help but blush. Her septa had explained it to her when she was a young girl and Rhaegar had shown her some of what it would be like. She did not think the queen would wish to hear that answer.

"Yes, your grace," She chose instead.

It was only then that Elia looked up at her.

"Pray for a girl," was all she said, "For all our sakes."

Elia was right.

For all the years of preparation and planning, Dany hardly felt her wedding at all. It was as though she was in a dream, as though some force outside her was pulling her from place to place, moving her limbs and her mouth for her. One moment she was standing in the Sept of Baelor reciting her vows, feeling the press of cool lips against hers, and the next hands were pulling at her gown until Lord Connington himself pulled her from the rabble and deposited her on her bed, as naked as she was on her nameday, and left.

The rest of the night passed in much the same way, with only a few moments of true clarity. In her fantasies on Dragonstone, they were both clothed, as they had been that day in the solar, their hands reaching beneath smallclothes. It seemed foolish to her now but she had not thought of the mechanics of it, nor of a man's naked form, only the same soft pleasure he had given her before. She could not help it then but bring her arms up to her chest when Rhaegar joined her on the bed, as naked as she was and yet seemingly with none of her apprehension. The feel of his arm brushing against her own was enough to leave her flushed, wrapping her arms more securely around herself.

"I missed you, sister," He offered with a smile, and this close Dany could see he had aged since she last saw him, looking tired and she guessed not just from today's events, "I hope King's Landing pleases you."

"It pleases me to be near you," She replied shyly, and meant it.

There would be no more need for letters and parcels. He would be a mere walk away from her now, she could see him whenever she liked. The thought of someone there, of a keep filled with people to speak with and love, a husband in her bed, of never having to return to Dragonstone alone left her feeling warm.

He did not touch her body, instead moving his hands to hair, slowly undoing the heavy braids her maids had weaved, patiently pulling out pin after pin until her hair fell around her like a cloak. Only then did he reach out, moving her hands from her chest, holding them at her sides while he kissed her. It was sweeter than before, perhaps because she knew he was hers now, their lips merely pecking at first then nipping and biting until her chest was pressed against his, the sensation of skin and skin stirring her to wrap her arms even more tightly against him.

When he moved her onto her back, his hand reaching down between her thighs, she felt as though she were somehow under water. Not drowning but floating, letting the water drag her, knowing she would not sink.

He brought her hand to his manhood and she had been in too much of a haze, of a bliss, to feel ashamed. "Do not be frightened," she thought he said, "I will teach you," and had her grip him harder, move her hand up and down his length, and his eyes seemed darker somehow, his teeth biting on his bottom lip. He stopped her when his breathing grew erratic, had her spread her legs across the featherbed, entering her with fingers at first and then his tongue, tracing lines in her skin with mouth and hand, all the while she moaned and bucked and cried. She heard herself beg for something and only then did he move over her, settle between her thighs and reach down to guide himself into her. He held himself inside her for a moment, waited until she adjusted, bringing her legs up to wrap around him before he started moving within her, hands reaching up to her breasts as he rested his weight on his elbows alone, squeezing and pinching. The physical pleasure was not great and yet there was a different sort of intimacy to this, the joy of wrapping her arms around him, kissing his neck and shoulder, smelling his smell. She let him do as he wished and soon it felt as though he were on the verge of something when he suddenly pulled back, looking her in the eyes once more, his hair falling like a veil shielding them from anything which existed outside the world of their bed.

It was only then that he touched her where she desired most, rubbing his fingers against the spot he had discovered when they kissed in Dragonstone, the one she had touched countless times in the quiet of her room, left her reeling, crying out in a voice that did not seem like her own, all the while with him watching her with hungry eyes until his speed increased too too, their bodies slamming against each other until she came apart with his name on her lips and he spilled his seed inside her.

Dany did not remember which desire was stronger after, the exhaustion of her body calling her to sleep or the need to have him within her again. He pulled the furs up around them before she could make up her mind, bringing her into his arms and falling asleep almost immediately.

They made love two more times, however, once when he woke her in the middle of the night and again in the morning, when the keep around them bustled with sound and he pulled her into her lap, hands on her waist, watching as she moved above him.

When it was time for them to part, he kissed her firmly on the mouth and asked her to go to the sept, to pray to the Mother for his seed to bloom in her womb. It was the second time someone had made that request of her. Dany promised she would.