Two Dreams Become Reality
Not long after the Others were destroyed, the first signs of the long awaited spring began emerging in Westeros. The days grew longer and the seemingly endless squall lines regularly blowing in from the bay became less frequent, giving the small garden Sandor planted the opportunity to give its yield.
He watches his beloved wife from the kitchen window, humming softly to herself as she gathers the few wildflowers beginning to blossom among the carefully sown rows of vegetables. She has been confined to bed but the weather was so fine that he helped her out into the bright garden earlier in the morning. Heavy with child, Sansa somehow manages to move with an air of grace that fascinates him.
Though it shames him like nothing to admit it, he desires her all the more as she nears the end of her pregnancy. Knowing that this sweet part of married life will soon be put aside for a while makes their coupling all the more precious to the man who has endured a lifetime devoid of love. Sandor cannot resist her and he takes Sansa as often as she will allow, always careful and slow.
The promise of their children fills him with hope; it is the first time he has known the feeling without fear of rejection, that this new life will not be false. In the past, hope has always come with want and pain. Even after he and Sansa were reunited in White Tree, fear was the unremitting dark companion to hope, and Sandor hardly dared allow it inside his heart.
The fear haunted him in White Tree, though he carefully hid it from Sansa in hopes she would learn to feel safe with him. The former Hound was no fool; he knew enough of game of thrones to understand the risks of staying north of the Wall with the little bird. They were in a desolate, dangerous place with the very real possibility that Stannis would insist on annulling their union. Sandor always felt that Stannis would eventually kill him and Jon and then marry Sansa to another northern lord to secure his claim to the throne with the north.
Once they wed, the glimmer of hope in Sandor's heart began to take root against his will, always tarnished with the knowledge that the tide of fate could shift at any moment. In the darkness with Sansa lying beside him after they made love, the fear whispered to him, chasing any budding dreams of their future from the recesses of his mind.
Watching her body swell with the new lives their love has made imprinted a permanent place for hope in his mind. For the first time in his life, Sandor is learning to luxuriate in the promise of their future unimpeded by doubt.
For all the changes Sandor had made both on the Quiet Isle and with Sansa, he cannot shake the darkness that plagues him entirely. He fears losing Sansa and his children more than any fire, Gregor, or any foe he ever faced. Having seen far too many women die in childbed on the Quiet Isle, the excitement Sandor feels over the impending birth is tinged with dread. When the darkness becomes too heavy, he finds consolation in working at the nearby forge, honing his body and hammering out his fears on the malleable steel.
"Come dearest," Sansa leads him by the hand and points toward the slopes of the Vale. "Just look at that!" The once snow covered rolling hills are now showing a light sprinkling of yellow and purple. "Arctic flowers! I did not think we would ever see the day they would come to the Vale."
Watching his wife tuck a dogwood flower behind her ear, he chuckles low. "Pretty, very pretty," Sandor comments, meaning her.
Blushing, Sansa smiles up at him. "I meant for you to notice the arctic lupine and mountain aven, love."
"I can look you and the flowers together, lass," he rasps into her ear while wrapping his arms around her middle. Resting his large hands on her belly, he feels a powerful spasm roll through her abdomen, buckling Sansa's legs beneath her.
Holding her tight, he caresses her back. "I've got you."
"Sandor!" She gasps. "The babies!"
"You're alright now, little bird, you're alright," he consoles reassuringly, though the man is certain his heart will leap out of his chest from a sudden surge of anxiety. "It seems our children are on the way."
"Oh, my love, it hurts!" Sansa grips his arms with all her might.
"Easy, wife, easy," Sandor says, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the bed. "Take deep slow breaths."
When she relaxes, he lays her down. "How long have you had these pains? I dare say that big one is not the first."
"I-they started last night. I thought nothing of it; it was just as a cramp in my stomach. After all the food I ate, I thought something disagreed with me."
His mouth twitches into a grin. "That's how labor starts. Didn't you ever see you mother go through it?"
"No, no Maester Luwin and Father stayed with her. We were not allowed near her rooms until Bran and Rickon were brought forth."
"Well if you had, you would have heard her screech like a Lhazareen godswife, believe that," Sandor chuckles.
"I most certainly will not believe any such thing!" Sansa stubbornly replies as he undresses her. "My septa taught us that true ladies bear their labor with dignity, and my mother was the finest lady I have ever known."
"Raise your arms up. It's time to get you out of that gown." Moving quickly, Sandor slips a shift over her head and gathers old sheets he set aside. "Lady Catelyn was a fine lady, lass; nevertheless, you're about to find out what a load of horseshit your septa was shoveling."
"Sandor, how many times have you brought a child forth?" Sansa eyes her husband doubtfully, wondering why she never before thought to ask him such a question.
"More times than I can count, though Elder brother was always with me." Sandor grunts, placing gauze and scissors on the table beside the bed.
Sansa nervously nods while her blue eyes closely follow his preparations.
"It's not so different than when I helped my grandfather whelping pups as a boy." He turns away from her, hoping she will not discern his overstatement. Laying his hand on her stomach, he frowns. "Time to move you to the birthing stool, I think."
"Are you certain?" Noticing her worried expression, Sandor stops and sits down beside her.
"You'll be alright, no need to worry. I'll be here to help you and besides, your mother bore five children." Caressing her waist, hips and thighs, he adds, "You have the body for childbirth, too."
Blushing, she shakes her head at him with a laugh. "You are hopeless. I do hope I can be dignified like her."
"Bloody hells, Sansa, shouting through your childbearing is no disgrace. Yell all you want-it isn't called labor for nothing, and I don't give a fuck what that buggering old windbag of a septa taught you."
Doubling forward, she reaches for his hand. "Sandor, it's happening again."
It does not take long for her cries to draw the attention of their neighbors, and soon the couple has a midwife and a maester as well as many of their neighbors in their small parlor. Sandor tolerates the healers and permits them inside the bedroom, though the man refuses to allow anyone to tend to his wife other than himself.
After several hours and much exertion, Sansa gives birth and discovers her dream has come true, for her twins are indeed a boy with black hair and blue eyes quickly followed by a red-haired, gray eyed girl.
With each of his newborn children tucked securely in his arms, Sandor uninhibitedly sheds tears of joy alongside his wife.
"Edric and Catya Clegane," he rasps low, snuggling the babies down in between he and Sansa on the bed. "Gods be good, you are a fine sight to me and your mother."
"Husband, our family has finally come. I believe the gods breathed life into our dreams, my love." Sansa whispers, kissing her husband soundly before falling asleep.
The last holdouts from the Baratheon army surrender and pledge fealty to Daenerys and Jon. It is reported to the queen that upon hearing of Melisandre's death, Selyse Baratheon's mental outlook deteriorated sharply. Daenerys orders three maesters to care for her at Dragonstone and tells Jon she will name Davos Seaworth as Shireen Baratheon's permanent guardian.
The young man recommends Daenerys share her intentions with the Onion knight as soon as possible. Understanding the child may be too afraid to approach her after what transpired with the red priestess, the queen waits a sennight and then decides to hold a private audience for Shireen inside her chambers.
When Jon enters the room, a table spread with a wide variety of food awaits him: cod cakes, black bread, pork pies, hen on the wall, and a large bowl full of something Jon cannot identify.
"It was very generous of you to approach the princess in this manner, Your Grace," Jon says, taking her hand and bowing low.
"Jon, I know it is difficult for you to picture me as anything other than the Mother of Dragons, one who has laid waste to cities as well as the Others, but I hope in time you will come to see me as something more," Daenerys says softly. "I do have a gentle heart, just as Ser Jorah once told me. I stoutly resisted such an inclination for a long time, but I have come to learn a queen can bring change not just through battle but by opening the way to understanding and healing."
"It eases my mind to hear that," Jon replies. "My sister Sansa shares your belief. She once related to me that when held in King's Landing, she believed she would have no other choice than to become Joffrey's queen. After observing Cersei, she was determined to win over the people. Sansa wanted them to love her rather than fear her."
"A very wise young woman, and true to the nature of her brother I dare say," Daenerys smiles, placing her hand on his. "I am most eager to meet her and your goodbrother as well. Their children should be coming soon, is that not so?"
"Yes, I am growing most impatient for them," Jon admits.
The queen leans in close. "If she and Clegane are agreeable, I am of a mind to make Sansa warden of the North, Gendry warden of the Riverlands and Brynden Tully the warden of the Vale. It will serve to unite the kingdom and reinforce my determination for unanimity in the minds of the people. I would very much like you to consider this strategy and share your thoughts later."
"Certainly, Your Grace." Jon bows, secretly please by the idea.
"Your Grace, Ser Davos Seaworth and Princess Shireen Baratheon to see you." Ser Barristan announces.
Jon opens the door to his solar and leads Samwell inside the chamber. "Your Grace, Maester Tarly has something he wishes to say before you receive our guests."
Knitting her brows, she nods. "I see. Samwell, please, feel free to speak openly of your concern."
"As my queen is well aware, the princess was stricken with greyscale as an infant," Samwell Tarly thoughtfully answers. "It is known to have a lasting effect on the appearance of its survivors. She is not contagious but her complexion is somewhat scarred, blackened and scaly. I thought you should be made aware of this beforehand. I did not want you to be startled when you see her."
"That was most kind, Sam, but I will not be taken aback, I assure you. Ser Barristan, see them in, please."
Davos Seaworth cautiously peers around the door before ushering in the young princess.
"Come in, please," Daenerys softly calls. "Ser Davos, Princess Shireen, I am most pleased to meet you at last."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Davos bends the knee and Shireen curtsies in response. "The swords and loyalty of Houses Baratheon and Seaworth are yours."
"Arise. You may approach," she gestures to the table spread before them. "Sit."
When Davos and Shireen are settled, Daenerys folds her hands. "Please be at your ease. I have no intention of taking away Princess Shireen's title; now I shall name you princess of the Iron Throne. You will always have a place in my court. Would you like that?"
"Yes, very much my queen," Shireen blushes. Davos shifts in his seat but smiles at the child.
"Ser Davos, I intend to reward your loyalty and service to Princess Shireen most handsomely. Whatever is needed to restore your family seat is yours."
"That is most generous, my queen," Davos bows, anxiously looking at Jon and Dany. "Would you-will you have the child live at King's Landing?"
"Do not fret; I would not separate the two of you. I have heard of the great affection you share. It would be cruel."
"Thank you, Your Grace. She is like a daughter to us, the wife and I. Lady Shireen taught me to read, too," Davos offers, proudly patting the girl's back. "She was a friend to me when I had no other."
"I have heard much of your kindness and bravery, Princess," Dany smiles. "Ser Davos, she will be entrusted to you until she comes of age, at which time I will allow her to choose her own residence. You may even come to stay in King's Landing with me, if you so desire. How does that sound, Princess Shireen?"
Overwhelmed, she smiles and glances at Davos. "Did you hear the queen, my lady? She will let you stay with us until you're grown. Then, you can choose where you want to live."
"Oh, yes, thank you, Queen Daenerys. That is most kind of you." She clasps her hands together.
Filled with pity, Daenerys gazes upon the young girl's face while quietly regarding the child.
Noticing the queen's expression, Shireeen quietly adds, "Please forgive my appearance, my queen. I know that greyscale can be most distressing to behold."
"I am the Mother of Dragons, Princess Shireen, and as far as I am concerned, scales are beautiful to look upon."
"Truly?" The girl responds. "Oh, forgive me, my queen, I did not mean to speak out of turn."
"There is no need to apologize, child. Yes, truly, you are lovely just as you are, inside and out. If anyone says differently then they will answer to me."
Davos nods at Jon approvingly. The young man returns the gesture, all the while secretly wondering why Daenerys would do such a thing for Stannis Baratheon's daughter.
Gesturing to the table, the queen says, "I thought it would be nice while we get to know each other to sample a few dishes the northerners enjoy. I am eager to try the foods my nephew grew up on. I also arranged for you to try my favorite Dothraki treat, too-honey spiced locusts."
"My queen, do you really eat bugs?" Shireen giggles. Davos frowns at her, shaking his head.
"It is alright, Ser Davos. Yes, I do," she says, popping one into her mouth. "These are my favorite. My husband Drogo was a great khal and had them made for me at our wedding feast. He was not convinced I enjoyed them until I ate at least ten."
Trying not to flinch, Jon gingerly puts one in his mouth. Surprisingly he finds the delicacy quite tasty, sweet with a bit of crunch. "They are very good," he exclaims before reaching for another.
"Princess, with your bravery I think you may have a bit of Targaryen in you. Will you prove me right and try one?" Daenerys' eyes twinkle with fun as she offers Shireen the candy.
Davos smiles knowingly at the queen, confusing Jon. He cannot help but marvel watching his aunt. Her clear joy in speaking to the child reminds him that, for all her experience and bearing, she is still a very young woman.
Over the time they have become acquainted with one another, she has mentioned several times that her dragons are the only children she will ever have. Watching Daenerys interact with Shireen fills Jon with sadness, the man earnestly hoping that will not be her fate.
"Here, Ser Davos," she says, placing a locust in his palm. "Let us both have one."
"Well, what do you think?" Dany asks while slyly observing the pair.
"It's good," Shireen laughs and Davos nods in agreement.
"Princess, I have a bit of news that may well surprise you. Child, you are in fact related to Jon and I-you are at once Baratheon and Targaryen, as Jon is both Targaryen and Stark, and blood of my blood," Daenerys continues seriously, offering her another locust.
"Really?" Shireen's eyes widen as she turns to Davos.
"Yes, your grandfather Steffon Baratheon was the son of King Aerys II's aunt Rhaelle, thus he was my father Aerys' first cousin. Your father Stannis was second cousin to me, and so you, Shireen, are my second cousin once removed. That makes you third cousin to Jon, whose mother was Lord Eddard Stark's sister. You, too, are the blood of the dragon."
Sitting bolt upright, Jon's eyes dart between Ser Barristan and Davos. They are all family? The Baratheons, the Starks and the Targaryens? Did my father know of this?
"As you can see, it is a surprise to Jon as well," Daenerys laughs.
"It is true," Davos quietly turns to Shireen. "My lady, I have known for some time."
"Oh, how wonderful! It is too good to be true. I have always, well, I have never had very many relatives, my queen." The girl replies softly, casting her eyes downward. "I am an only child, you see, and grew up rather lonely."
"Well, I have another surprise for you," Daenerys says, nodding to Ser Barristan. "You have still more family here eager to meet you, and you need never feel lonely again."
Gendry enters the room and smiles when he sees Shireen. "Gendry, meet your cousin Shireen. Shireen, this is your Uncle Robert's son, Gendry."
"How do you do, Princess Shireen," Gendry says, bowing to her before offering his hand.
Blinking, Shireen stares at Davos questioningly. "It's true, child; he is your cousin. Your Uncle Robert's boy."
"How is it that I have never heard of you, ser?" Shireen asks tearfully, visibly as overwhelmed as Jon feels. "I-I always thought I had no other Baratheon family besides the kings Joffrey and Tommen as well as their sister Myrcella."
Davos glances between the queen and Jon. "Your uncle didn't acknowledge him, my lady. He would not, as Gendry was born out of wedlock and surnamed Waters."
"Oh, I see," she pauses, seemingly lost in thought. "That is most unfortunate and I am sorry for it." A familiar knot rises in Jon's stomach as he observes her hesitance.
"Does that matter to you, my lady? Will you allow me in your company?" Gendry kneels before her. Gendry's demeanor is agonizing for Jon to behold, the man recalling the same familiar self-doubt from a lifetime of being known, not as a man, but as a bastard.
It is also a painful reminder of when he was reunited with Sansa. Watching the young girl, he can only hope the outcome between Shireen and Gendry will be as positive and fulfilling as it has been between him and his beloved sister.
To his delight, Shireen takes Gendry by the hand. "No, I do not believe it matters at all, cousin Gendry. Everything is different now. Spring is returning and I do not wish to think about the past. Let us only think about how lucky we are to have found family in each other."
Gendry grins and accepts the hand she offers. "I would like that very much. Have you seen the dragons yet?"
Smiling, she shakes her head. "No, well, not in person. I have seen them in my dreams."
"Have you dreamt about my dragons, child?" Daenerys asks, casting a surprised look at Jon.
"Yes, indeed. In my dreams there is a black one, a green one and a pearl colored on as well." Shrugging, she blushes. "I ought not to have mentioned it, forgive me. My mother said it is just a childish fancy."
"Well, I believe it may be much more than that, Princess Shireen, as you have described my dragons perfectly. You know, having such dreams is a Targaryen family trait."
"How very interesting, my queen," Shireen whispers, her voice full over wonder.
"Would you like to meet them, my lady?" Gendry asks, offering his arm.
"Oh, yes, they would so like to meet another Targaryen. They always sense family," Daenerys says, her voice betraying girlish excitement. "Is that not so, Jon?"
"Oh yes, it is true. They knew I was part Targaryen before the queen or I." Jon grins. "They are most gentle with us."
Beaming, she uncertainly glances at Davos, who stands up, smiles and nods reassuringly. "It is alright, Shireen, they will not hurt you. Let's go meet the great beasts of your family sigil, child."