A/N: First off, I'm sorry for the delay. I know I said that the updates would be quicker, but for some reason, this chapter was giving me a lot of trouble. Regardless, here it is now and the next one should be up either this coming Friday or next Monday, depending on when my sister has time to look over it. Okay, so...this chapter. It was actually sort of an accident. After Dany's last chapter, my sister and I were discussing how the demolition of the Warrens might be accomplished and we realized that it was actually structurally impossible, and as such, this chapter was born. So the correction on that is really just a correction for my own mistake in not thinking that through sooner and more thoroughly. Anyway, that's all in the way of 'notes' so, just 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 the courier, who is actually the same guy that delivered the letter to Robb in chapter 11, in case anyone was wondering.

Rating: T for minor language, mild sexual references, and references to past physical abuse

"I want them destroyed," Dany repeated forcefully, her hands moving to rest on her hips as her lips turned down in a frown.

"I understand that, my lady," the Orc miner replied gruffly, casting an exasperated look over at Drogo who gave a slight shrug. "But it isn't possible."

"And why on Nirn not?" Her voice rose in pitch as her frustration increased and Drogo interceded before the argument got out of hand.

"Daenerys..." Her gaze moved briefly to meet his before flicking back to the Orc that stood before them, her mouth curled into a barely contained snarl. Drogo smiled softly and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Dany, he's telling you the truth." He sighed. "I should have thought of this when you mentioned your plan to me yesterday and prevented this argument in the first place."

"But why not?" The sneer morphed into a spoiled pout and Drogo was reminded that as a high noble in both High Rock and Skyrim, she was unaccustomed to not getting her way.

"It would be...structurally unsound," Drogo replied after giving his explanation a moment of thought. "If we were to blast away the Warrens entirely, the roads above and half of the mountain would come down with it."

Daenerys followed his finger as he pointed to the intricate road system above them and her expression shifted in realization. "Oh..."

Mulush made a gesture of exasperation and grumbled under his breath, earning a disapproving glare from Daenerys that was quelled only by Drogo's hand around her own. "I'm not saying that you can't still help." He turned to face her and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze with his thumb and forefinger. "I can get you a meeting with the Jarl today if you'd like and the two of you can discuss other possible arrangements."

"Yes, I think that would be best," Daenerys replied, her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of obstinacy. "Surely he will comply with my demands." Her gaze moved to give the Orc a pointed look.

"That may very well be so," Drogo replied in an attempt to soothe his young wife, though from his previous dealings with Jarl Igmund, he wasn't entirely certain that she would have any more success discussing the matter with him or his staff. "But I recommend you take the time to calm down a bit before meeting with the Jarl. He'll be more apt to listen to a cultured young lady than a dragon." He gave her a teasing smile and one of her eyebrows rose slightly before she sighed and nodded in agreement.

"I suppose you're right."

Drogo chuckled. "I usually am. Now go back to the inn and see if you can't keep Dar'Jazha company for lunch. He tends to get lonely now that he's been replaced."

Dany laughed quietly and nodded again before smiling tiredly when he squeezed her hand and then retreating down the road to do as he had asked. Once she was out of earshot, Drogo turned to Mulush and ran a hand across the back of his neck. "I...apologize, on my wife's behalf," he began slowly, a bit unsure as to how to assuage the look of annoyance on the Orc's face. "She's not used to being told what she cannot have."

The Orc snorted and turned back to the smelter at which the men under his watch were working. "Aye? Well at least she's pretty."

Drogo scowled at the insinuation, but decided that it wasn't worth a fight and turned away, leaving the Orc to his work. As he ascended the stairs to Understone Keep, his boots crunched over the golden cobblestones beneath them, rough with the dirt tracked in by countless travelers and in desperate need of a good polishing. He couldn't understand what it was that Daenerys saw in Markarth. The night before, when they had retired to their room at the inn, she had regarded their quarters with wide-eyed awe as he cast nothing more than a cursory glance over the thin crack at the top of the mirror and the moth-bitten holes in the curtains.

Perhaps he had been spoiled by his childhood in Sentinel, the glittering capitol of Hammerfell with its golden, sun-baked sands and burnished copper rooftops. Dany had no recollection of the palace of her birth, nestled high in the hills of Wayrest; instead, she had grown up in Mistveil Keep, a place hardly better than the slums of Riften that surrounded it. In comparison, Markarth must have seemed as grand as the Imperial Palace itself.

The guards positioned outside the doors to the keep stepped forward as he approached and the elder called out with a voice accustomed to authority. "Halt. What business do you have with the Jarl?"

Drogo tried and failed to keep the look of surprise from his features. On his last visit to Markarth, no questions had been asked of him and he had been free to move about as he pleased. The added security only went to show how much the civil war had changed things in a few short months. The Thalmor influence on Markarth was making itself known.

"None, as of yet. If it wouldn't trouble you to do so, just let him know that Drogo's caravan has arrived and that he desires to speak with his lordship about a matter of some importance."

The elder of the two guards scowled, more set in his ways as a protector of the city's Jarl, but the younger man's eyes widened as he realized who they were talking to and he cast a quick sideways glance at his companion before stepping back toward the massive golden doors.

"I'll go see the Jarl's steward right away, ser. It will only be a moment."

True to his word, the young man returned only a few minutes later, albeit, minutes spent in a tense silence between Drogo and the remaining guard, and after a brief conference between the two Nords, he was let into the keep without further ado.

The interior was dim, and although he continued moving toward the candle-lit throne room in the distance, it took his eyes a moment to adjust and truly see where he was going. Once he could, he was greeted with the sight of more guards on his way into the main hall and was not at all surprised to see a Thalmor Justiciar seated beside Jarl Igmund along with the Jarl's steward, and uncle, Raerek.

"Khal Drogo. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Drogo bowed as low as was acceptable for a man in Igmund's position, then straightened up and ignored the condescending stare that the Thalmor had fixed in his direction. "My young wife's ambition, it would seem."

The Nord on the throne raised his eyebrows and then glanced over at his steward. "Wife? You really must try to keep me better informed, Raerek."

"The news has not yet spread, my lord," Drogo replied, sparing the steward from an apology. "We were wed in Riften naught but a fortnight ago."

"Riften? Then you have traveled far indeed. And to see me, it would seem?"

Drogo hesitated for a moment. "Not quite, my lord. Here on caravan business, but my wife has a...proposition for you, regarding your great city."

"Speak plainly," Igmund responded, somewhat drily.

"She wants to spend her dowry to improve the condition of the Warrens, my lord."

"Improve? She suggests that there is something wrong with them then? That there is a flaw in the way that I have so kindly given the poorest citizens of my great city a place to live that isn't on the side of the streets?"

"Kindly?" The voice came from the bottom of the steps that led up to the Mournful Throne and Drogo let out a sigh through his barely parted lips as Daenerys ascended the stairs to stand by his side. "They've been discarded like refuse! Cast aside so that you no longer have to worry about them."

Igmund's expression hardened and Raerek squirmed uncomfortably at his side. "And who are you to dare to speak to one of Skyrim's Jarl's in such a way?"

"This is my wife—" Drogo interjected, but he was sharply interrupted by the very woman in mention.

"Daenerys Targaryen."

"Targaryen?" The Thalmor spoke up for the first time, his scorn evident in the way he spat out her family name. "Her very name condemns her as a traitor, my lord."

Igmund was not as quick to anger as his Altmer advisor and he merely cocked an eyebrow at the couple. "You're much more spirited than your brother, Lady Targaryen, I will give you that, though just as quick to anger." Dany narrowed her eyes, seemingly unsure of the comment's intentions, but the Jarl continued before she could say anything in her defense. "But what Ondolemar says is true. Now that Jarl Viserys has sworn himself allegiant to the Stormcloaks, the Targaryens are no longer friends of the Empire."

Dany hesitated for only a brief moment before replying. "I am Targaryen in name and nothing more, my lord. I gave up all else when I was sold to my husband less than a moon ago, by the very same brother that you say I too am allies with. I assure you that I owe no more allegiance to Viserys than you do to Ulfric Stormcloak on the basis of your shared race."

Half proud of his wife for her denouncement of her title as a Targaryen and half terrified that the Jarl would react more violently against her borderline disrespect, Drogo moved closer to her side and put an arm protectively around her waist. After a few seconds of being stared down by Igmund, Dany stepped out of her husband's grasp and moved toward the throne, her pale eyes matching his gaze.

"I am asking you, not as a member of House Targaryen, but as a citizen of Skyrim to do what is right for the people of your city—all of her people. And if you see nothing in this but a donation of ten thousand septims to the throne of Markarth, so be it, but let your people benefit from the greed of your advisors." She cast a pointed look in Ondolemar's direction. "And give them the opportunity to rise above the level that you've forced them down to."

Her final plea was met with a long silence, stern on her part, contemplative on Igmund's, smoldering on Ondolemar's, and wary on Drogo's. Finally, Igmund spoke.

"I will do as you wish, my lady. Not for you, not for my advisors, and not even for myself. I will do it for the people of Markarth, as you have requested. Perhaps you have a point about the way that some of our poor have been treated and I am not one to sit and watch my people suffer any more than is necessary. Someone like you is what I've needed to take my mind off of the growing Forsworn problem in the Reach and take care of what needs fixing within my own walls." Drogo let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding and Dany glanced briefly over her shoulder to give him a triumphant smile as Igmund continued. "Khal Drogo, I trust that you know of your wife's plans and can direct the workers to begin construction as soon as the funds have been transferred to the city treasury."

Though it was phrased as a question, it was delivered as more of a command and Drogo gave a low bow to convey his gratitude and obedience. "Of course, my lord."

Igmund nodded and straightened himself in his throne before waving a hand dismissively in their direction. "Very well then. I'm sure this arrangement has prompted an urgent meeting with my Thalmor advisor," Ondolemar sniffed haughtily and threw an unveiled glare in Dany's direction. "So you are both dismissed, though I'm sure this isn't the last I'll see of you."

After the appropriate gestures of honor to the Jarl, Drogo and Daenerys took their leave, the latter slipping her hand into her husband's as they descended the steps from the Mournful Throne and smiling playfully up at him. "It seemed he had no problem listening to 'a dragon'." She laughed at the half-guilty half-sheepish expression on his face and he shook his head in amazement. There was still so much about his wife that he had yet to learn.

Drogo was lounging across the large featherbed and reviewing the paperwork that Dar'Jazha had given him as Dany soaked in the tub that had been brought up to their room when there came a knock at the door. Her eyes opened and they exchanged a quick glance before Drogo dragged himself off of the bed and opened the door, just enough to see out but not expose his wife's current state of undress.

"Yes?"

A young man stood outside the room with a letter in his hand, and upon Drogo's arrival, cast him a slightly suspicious glance. "I have a letter for Daenerys Targaryen, ser. I was told that this was her room."

Drogo nodded and held out his hand for the message. "I'm her husband."

The courier nodded curtly and offered up the letter as Drogo dug a few septims out of his pocket. He offered the coins to the boy, but grabbed his wrist when he turned to go, earning a look of shock and momentary panic.

"Are you a Lannister, boy?" The chances of meeting a blond-haired and green-eyed Imperial that wasn't a member of the Lannister family were growing increasingly slim.

"Yes, though I have no loyalties to my family, ser. The outcome of the civil war is of no concern to me."

Drogo raised an eyebrow then nodded slowly and released the boy's arm before responding. "In that case, I suggest you find a different occupation."

The courier smiled slightly and gave a nod of acknowledgment before swiftly retreating down the stairs to the main level of the inn. Drogo remained in the doorway for a moment before reentering the room and pushing the door shut behind him.

"Did I hear my name?" Daenerys asked, looking up briefly from the length of one of her pale legs to cast him a quizzical glance.

"Mmhm," Drogo replied absently, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running his thumb over the red wax dragon that kept the letter sealed. "A letter's come for you."

"Oh?" She rinsed off the cloth she was bathing with before sliding it across her other leg. "From who?"

"Your brother."

"Viserys?" She frowned and busied her hands with wringing out the soapy rag. "That's odd. What does it say?" Drogo shrugged and ran his finger beneath the wax seal, gently removing it from the parchment beneath before scanning the flowing script across the page. Dany looked at him curiously and cocked her head. "Read it to me."

Drogo nodded and finished reading to himself before clearing his throat and starting over for his wife's benefit.

"Daenerys,
I assume word has reached both you and the Redguard savage you now call husband of my alliance with Ulfric Stormcloak by now."

Dany tensed at the description of Drogo given by her brother and though Drogo chose to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself, his tone grew terse as he continued.

"It was in the best interest of Riften and our family for me to do so, though the Nord has a hard time believing that I will remain true to his petty cause and has decided to test my loyalty. Perhaps the man has more wit than I give him credit for; he knows the inability to control a Dragon, at least."

Drogo scowled slightly. The Targaryens and their gods damned dragons.

"Stormcloak has asked me to gain Falkreath for the Nords as proof of my intentions, but surely even you can see why I cannot leave my throne in Riften to the incompetent fools who would rule in my stead, least of all Ser Mormont. It is for this reason that I write to you, dear sister. Our name has power in this feeble country, so it is a Dragon that must take my place, and you, Daenerys, are the only other. You must leave as soon as this letter finds you, for Stormcloak is not a patient man, and the fate of our family rests in what becomes of Falkreath, so you must convince the weak-minded Jarl of the town to join the Nords in this civil war of theirs. I hope you understand what my trusting you in this means, Dany and I suggest that you comply with my demands. After all, sweet sister, you should know better than to wake the dragon.

"It's signed, 'Viserys Targaryen, Jarl of Riften, first of his name." Drogo snorted and then added more to himself, "He thinks he can hide behind his damn titles."

Dany had removed herself from the copper tub halfway through her husband's recitation of the letter and she now wrapped herself in a thin lavender robe before sitting delicately beside Drogo on the edge of the bed. "So he wants me to act as an emissary to Falkreath in the name of Ulfric Stormcloak?"

Drogo frowned and handed over the parchment when she reached for it. "Aye. That's how it sounds. Though why he could possibly need you so urgently is beyond me. He no longer has a claim to you. Our marriage is proof enough of that."

Dany shrugged and absently ran her finger along the edge of the letter, hastily withdrawing it when it sliced her fingertip and a small drop of blood smeared across the ink, obscuring the flowing script of her own name. "He said that Lord Stormcloak was impatient."

Drogo sighed in agitation and got up to begin pacing. "But what has any of that got to do with you? You and I are bound together now, in the eyes of both the gods and the law. As such, you too are now neutral in this gods damned war. And I want to keep you out of it." He crossed to the other side of the room and then looked back to where she was sitting calmly on the edge of their bed. "If you're going, then I'm coming with you."

Daenerys smiled gently and shook her head. "You can't. You're the only one I trust to continue the work I've started here. Let Dar'Jazha accompany me if you are truly that worried, although I assure you, my brother will not let me come to any harm."

Drogo stopped pacing and met her gaze at that, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He won't? You don't call what he did to you 'harm'? Gods, Dany, he abused you. I was under the impression when we married that you would never be going back there again! Who knows what he's told his men to do to you!"

Her wide lavender eyes glistened with unshed tears at his sudden outburst and she looked down at the letter clenched tightly in her fists, faint bruises still evident on her pale wrists. Drogo moved to her side and gathered her in his arms as she buried her face against his shoulder. "I don't want you getting hurt," he murmured against her hair. "I love you, Daenerys. And I don't ever want to lose you."

"You won't lose me," she murmured quietly into the warmth of his neck. "I promise." She pulled away and looked into his deep brown eyes. "Dar'Jazha will keep me safe on the way there, and I'm sure my brother's men will keep me from harm. Their loyalty to Viserys does not extend as far as he seems to believe, and your name is not one without power in Skyrim." Drogo opened his mouth to argue, but she placed a slender finger over his lips and shook her head. "Do not worry about me. I'll be asked to stay a fortnight at most and then I will be back here in your arms."

He stayed silent for a moment before dropping his forehead down to hers and meeting her gaze. "Promise?"

Her face lit up with a smile and she nodded, truly looking her age for the first time since the night of their wedding. "I promise. I will be with you, always, Drogo," she swore, her eyes bright with a confidence that he could not muster. "Always and forever."