A/N: First of all, I am so very sorry for such a long wait. I've been busy with all sorts of life related things and in the moments when I finally had time to sit down and write, my muse seemed to be on vacation. Excuses aside, I sincerely apologize and I hope that the next (and last) nineteen chapters will be posted in a more timely fashion. Chapter 32 is already complete, so be expecting that within the week. Now...as for this chapter. Umm...some of you might want to know that Tiber Septim was a general who then became Emperor of Cyrodiil and eventually ascended to become one of the Divines, under the name Talos (so he's the fellow that the Civil War is being fought over). I think that's the only historical note and everything else should be fine on its own, so all that's left now is to enjoy reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin except for Dar'Jazha. He is mine.

Rating: T for language and brief sexual references

Despite the harsh winter slowly spreading itself across Northern Skyrim, the skies above Whiterun were a brilliant cloudless blue, transferring the cheer of its hue to the caravan traveling beneath it. Moving at a comfortable pace, Khal Drogo's caravan spilled from the city's gates and meandered along the weathered road toward Markarth.

At the pace they were traveling, Drogo expected to reach Markarth within two days, and if their mood was any indication, his followers were aware of this fact as well. Daenerys, on the other hand, was not under the same effect, instead spending her time brooding silently atop her horse as the people around her talked and laughed.

They passed Bjorlan atop his cart outside of the Whiterun stables and he straightened up with a wide smile, dropping his horse's reins to wave in their direction. "Good day to you, m'lord, m'lady!"

Drogo smiled and waved in return, but Daenerys seemed not to hear him; or, at the very least, chose not to hear him.

"Something is troubling you, Khaleesi, yes?"

Dar'Jazha had ridden up to join them at the front of the caravan and was now attempting to break the silence that Drogo had given up on drawing his wife out of.

Dany looked up, frowning slightly, but when her eyes focused on the Khajiit to her left, her lips curved into a smile and she shook her head.

"No. I was just thinking about something that Farengar told me."

Drogo scowled and had to put forth a concerted effort not to roll his eyes in disbelief. One meeting with that gods damned Nord and his wife was spending more time thinking about him and his crazy theories than she was enjoying her husband's company.

Dar'Jazha must have guessed at his friend's feelings on the matter, because his ears went back slightly at the comment and his large yellow eyes flicked over in Drogo's direction.

"Something interesting?"

Dany shrugged and seemed reluctant to speak her mind before she sighed and with a furrowed brow, began to haltingly answer the question.

"He seemed so sure that the return of the dragons would never come in our lives or those of any generations beyond ours, but...Somehow, for some reason, I feel that he's wrong. You know," She turned to Dar'Jazha and her pale lavender eyes lit up as she grew passionate about her opinion. "Farengar says that one sure mark of a fool..."

Drogo snorted in disgust and shook his head, nudging his horse forward and out of earshot of his wife. Even though he couldn't hear her, he knew what was coming. More than ever, he couldn't stand Farengar Secret-Fire.

Despite his best attempts, their conversation was still loud enough to be heard, and Drogo's interest was piqued at the mention of his name.

"...Drogo still doesn't believe that it's possible, although he's certainly no expert on the matter, and he said that—"

"It will never happen," he finished, his irritation making itself known despite his half-hearted attempt to hide it. "And I'll say it again. Some people don't even believe that dragons ever existed, so to believe in their return is as implausible a belief as saying that legends such as those about werewolves and vampires were true."

"And who's to say they aren't?" Dany retorted stubbornly.

"Anyone in Tamriel with half a brain," Drogo replied, ignoring the brief look of hurt that passed over his wife's face.

"Perhaps you are both right, no?" Dar'Jazha suggested hesitantly, offering a way to repair the current state of his partner's relationship with his wife. Both Drogo and Daenerys shot him looks of disbelief and his ears flicked back as he muttered under his breath. "It was merely a suggestion."

A few moments of tense silence passed as the Khajiit departed before Dany sighed and offered her husband a small smile.

"I'm sorry. Let's not fight. We're almost to our destination, and then, perhaps we can spend some time arguing about our differing opinions and then making up after we disagree again."

Drogo tried to scowl, but ended up laughing and shaking his head in amusement at the likelihood of her prediction. "Whatever you say, my lady."

Their disagreement momentarily forgotten, he fell back to her side again and they increased the pace slightly, eager for the end of their journey.

After an hour or so on the road, the caravan was stopped by a captain of the Whiterun guard regiment stationed at the nearby Western watchtower. Commanding the rest of the wagons to stop, Drogo dismounted and walked beside Dar'Jazha to meet the captain and his lieutenant.

"Good day, sirs," the captain said with curt but professional politeness. Drogo returned the sentiment as Dar'Jazha gave a low though not overly obsequious bow as was the occaisonal custom for races 'beneath' the Nords of Skyrim. When dealing with soldiers, it was better to be overly cautious than to end up dead. "What is your business in the Whiterun Hold?"

"Just passing through," Drogo replied, extending his hand to offer the purchase agreement he had been given by the owner of the Riften Fishery upon his departure from the capital of the Rift. The captain glanced down at the paper and raised an eyebrow before taking it and examining the wax seal.

"And this is?"

"A purchase agreement from Bolli of Riften to Kleppr at the Silver Blood Inn in Markarth regarding a business arrangement to be agreed upon between the inn and the Riften Fishery."

Perhaps believing him because of the ridiculous chances that someone would lie about an arrangement to sell fish across the country, the captain nodded and handed it back before stiffly offering a hand to shake.

As Drogo took it, Dar'Jazha returned to the caravan and the captain spoke again when the Khajiit began leading the caravan along past the guard tower.

"I would be wary on the roads, my lord," he said gravely. Drogo absently noted the change of address and assumed the man had realized who he was speaking with. In the more affluent holds, his name held more power than some of the lesser lords who held lands there. "Both sides of the war are getting impatient and I've heard tales of merchants being antagonized at the very least by the Stormcloak soldiers in these parts."

Drogo nodded his thanks. "The warning is appreciated. I'll make sure to stay on my guard and I trust you'll do the same."

The captain nodded in return and Drogo gave a slight bow out of respect before rejoining the caravan and trotting forward to join Daenerys at the head.

"What did he want?" she asked curiously as he slowed down to a walk beside her.

"Only to make sure that our business was both official and legal. The city guards have learned to be wary during times of war."

As if on cue, they passed a fort on their right, its battlements adorned with the blue and gold banners of the Stormcloak army. Grim faced soldiers stood atop its walls, hands resting against the hilts of their swords as the caravan made its way past. The entrance was blocked with spiked barricades and a skeleton still dressed in the tattered remains of an Imperial uniform sat in a high cage beside the road as a warning to any who might dare oppose the forces of the Jarl of Windhelm.

A heavy silence fell over the procession as they passed and it remained as the blue sky clouded over and the clouds released a cold and steady rain. After hours of plodding through the roads, now sticky with mud, a weathered road sign could be seen sticking up from the sludge of the well-worn path.

Muttering a grudging word of thanks to the gods under his breath, Drogo trotted ahead to read it and was relieved to see that their destination had been crudely scratched into one of the wooden arrows. According to the direction and length of the corresponding arrow, it would be an hour's ride longer to the left of the fork before they reached Old Hroldan Inn, one of the few places that far into the Reach that was willing to accommodate the Khal's immense caravan for a night.

He signaled the time to Dar'Jazha when he cocked his head slightly to the side and with a nod, the Khajiit weaved his way through the caravan to deliver the estimate of time remaining on the road for the day.

When the caravan caught up to him again, Drogo cast a worried glance over in his wife's direction. She was slumped slightly in her saddle, the thick cloak he had given her drawn tightly around her thin shoulders and shrouding her face to protect her from the still falling rain. He could see her shivering despite the heavy fabric and the movements of her gently swaying horse.

"Daenerys..."

She looked over when he said her name and she gave him a weak smile, reaching out her hand to offer his a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm fine, love," she murmured quietly, her eyes dull and rimmed in red. It looked as though she'd been crying.

Drogo hesitated. Although it had somehow seemed like ages already, they had only been married for just over a week and he was still unsure of what his young wife's boundaries were and how he was supposed to act around her when she was anything other than hale and as hardy as the frail Breton could ever be.

"No you aren't," he ended up saying firmly before cursing himself for its harshness.

Dany gave a tired laugh. "You already know me so well." She sighed and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I'm just tired. And a bit sore. I'm not used to this much riding."

Of course. He should've known. During his first few weeks in the caravan he'd hardly been able to stand let alone sit thanks to the rather embarrassing rash across his nether regions that he had attempted, and failed, to hide from his father. To make matters worse, Khal Bharbo had merely laughed about it. For longer than would ever have been necessary.

Drogo swore under his breath. "I'm sorry, Dany. I should have known." He offered a slightly chagrined smirk. "Believe it or not, I was once a stranger to the saddle too."

Dany raised her eyebrows and her face lit up as she broke into a grin. "You? I thought for sure the mighty Khal Drogo had been born on the back of a horse."

He chuckled. "Gods bless my mother had that been true."

Daenerys nodded in agreement then frowned ever so slightly. "Where were you born?"

"In Hammerfell," Drogo replied. "In the capital city, Sentinel, where my father worked as the captain of a merchant ship on the Illiac Bay."

"The Illiac Bay?" Her eyes lit up at the mention of it. "Viserys and I were born just on the other side, in Wayrest. Our grandmother, Queen Elysana was still the ruler of Wayrest then, but she was killed along with our parents when the corsairs invaded and we were forced to flee..."

Drogo was slightly surprised to find that he could very well remember hearing news of the capture of Wayrest and the murder of Queen Elysana. He had been fourteen at the time.

To change the conversation from its morose topic, he smiled slightly and gave her a playful look and a sly smirk. "You know, there was one time when my father let me go out on his ship with him and I could've sworn that I saw someone on the High Rock side of the Illiac. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. At the time, I thought Dibella herself must've come down to tug at the lonely heart of a poor merchant's teenage son. Now I know it was you and not some mere goddess."

Daenerys raised a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter at his assumed bravado and Drogo was pleased to see that her pale complexion flushed red from his shameless flattery.

"It couldn't have been me," She replied, her lavender eyes shining with mirth. "I was only three when you were a poor merchant's teenage son with a lonely heart. And hardly a goddess at that." After a brief moment of hesitation, a burst of laughter escaped from behind her hand and he could see the beginning of tears forming in her eyes from her amusement. "I suppose you could've seen my brother!"

Drogo laughed along, the kind of laugh that's rather hard to contain once it's been released, and a few merchants in the caravan exchanged looks of confusion. The Khal was very rarely taken with fits of mirth, and the sudden change did little to support the intimidating reputation his followers had all heard of on their travels.

"He does look a bit like a woman, doesn't he?" Drogo asked when his laughter had faded down to the occasional chuckle.

Dany giggled, hiccuped, and then laughed even harder, nodding emphatically in response. Viserys, with his fine Breton features, delicate complexion and the pale wavy hair that he so often wore loose about his shoulders had in fact been mistaken for a woman more often than not in his young life, once, to his chagrin and the amusement of his staff at Mistveil, in a brothel.

When Daenerys had managed to catch her breath again, she inhaled shakily and smiled over at her husband.

"I don't know how long it's been since I've laughed that hard."

Drogo smiled back and shrugged slightly. "Well, it looks good on you." When she raised an eyebrow, he clarified. "Laughter, I mean."

The expression in her eyes shifted quickly at that and she stared at him for a long moment before turning away and catching sight of the thatched roof of the Old Hroldan Inn.

"Is that it?" she asked, briefly glancing back in his direction.

Drogo nodded, confused at her sudden change in mood, and silently turned his horse onto the path that led up to the inn.

It took the better portion of an hour for the horses, carts, and people to be unloaded from the caravan and by the time the barroom of the Old Hroldan was filled with the laughter and buzz of conversation of some four dozen merchants and mercenaries, the sun had set over the Reach and the swamps below were cast in the deep blues and purples of dusk.

"We should be in Markarth by tomorrow," Drogo commented as he tugged off the first of his boots. "If we make good time and leave when the sun is up."

Daenerys nodded absently from where she lay curled up on the bed of the room they had rented, her hands tucked between the pillow and her pale cheek as she stared across the room at nothing in particular.

"You know, this room was the very room that Tiber Septim, still called Hjalti at the time, stayed in during his campaign to rid the Reach of the Witchmen of High Rock..." He trailed off at the look on his wife's face and left his chair in the corner to kneel down beside her, one of his large hands moving to fit inside the curve of her hip. "What's wrong, Daenerys?"

She sighed and her gaze focused on his when he said her name, but it took a moment for her to speak, her eyes filled with doubt and insecurity. "Do you love me?"

Drogo was taken aback by the question. Did he love her? Was it possible to love someone you had met only eight days before?

"Yes."

She seemed to relax slightly, but her expression remained troubled and she continued, more to herself than to him. "I always knew I would never be able to choose my husband. My name was too important for me to be anything more than a bargaining piece for my brother when I came of age to be wed. I just...I never thought that I would be chosen, and not my position or my brother's gold."

Her eyes rose to meet his again. "We had never met before. I had been forced to dine and share my presence with countless suitors that Viserys had thought suitable, but you were the one who won my hand." She hesitated for a moment. "Why me?"

Drogo sighed. This was a little outside the realm of his expertise, but he would try his best to soothe her fears, if only to see her smile again.

"You're right," he began. "We had never met. And I had met numerous women on my travels, merchant's daughters and the like, who would have proved an asset to my caravan had I accepted their fathers' proposals, but..." He paused and then shrugged. "Perhaps it was my curiosity that led me to you. I had heard tell of a beautiful Breton maiden locked high in a tower by her treacherous brother. True, the stories I heard were more of storybook tales than anything, but when I saw you that day at the market in Riften, I felt something, I suppose."

He leveled a serious gaze in her direction. "I won't lie to you, Daenerys. There were things other than your grace and beauty that made me ask for your hand. But, even though we're still hardly more than strangers, I do love you. Or, I'm beginning to."

Dany was silent for a moment, her hand tracing absent patterns across her thin waist. When she did speak, it was without looking up. "I'm carrying your child."

Drogo's eyes went wide and he sat back heavily. "How..." He shook his head. "Isn't it too soon to tell?"

Daenerys shrugged. "Not for a truly skilled alchemist or court wizard, I would guess. I just know. I can feel it."

Bretons were known for their skills in various forms of magick. Drogo, ignorant in such matters, supposed that things of...that nature, could fall under those mystical realms of knowledge.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and it was with noticeable hesitation that her eyes found his again. "Are you angry?"

"Angry? No." He raised himself up to sit on the bed beside her and sighed heavily as he ran his fingers through the thin silver strands of her hair. "Shocked? Scared? Completely ignorant of how to be a father? Yes. All of those things." He bent down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "But not angry."

Apparently, that was the answer she had wanted to hear because as soon as it had left his lips, he found himself wrapped in a tight embrace, her thin arms circling his neck as she buried her head against his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent tears.

"I'm scared too," she admitted, her voice raw and choked with emotion.

Of course she was. Just over a week ago she had been a maiden, and ignorant of all things that occurred in the marriage bed. Now, she was already on her way to delivering her first child, with a man she could hardly say she knew.

"We can make it through," Drogo promised, delivering a comforting kiss to the top of her head. "I promise."

Dany nodded against his chest and they lay there in silence, wrapped in each other's arms as her tears faded to the occasional sniffle and wipe of her nose against the handkerchief that her husband had wordlessly offered.

The silence had almost stretched long enough for discomfort when a sudden ethereal scream echoed seemingly from the walls and Daenerys tensed, her eyes wide with fear.

Drogo, trying his best not to look amused, ran a soothing hand along her spine and then smiled when she met his gaze. "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you." He paused for a moment as her trepidation grew and then said, slightly ashamed of the theatricality of the revelation, "This inn is haunted."