So, here's two chapters in a single update. I debated it for a while, but it kept feeling like chapter nine just wasn't the same without reading chapter ten right after. Maybe that's because I re-read them so many times in editing, or that nine is on more of the shorter end. Also, I know this story is currently very much parallel to canon in terms of Dany's story, but it won't stay this way. I just need to get done what needs to be done before a major divergence, simple as that.

I read every review. But if you want to discuss something, message me on here or over on Tumblr [Same URL.]

DAENERYS

"Your brother is dead, Daenerys."

At those words, the dark mud walls closed in around her. In the corners of her eyes, they shone red like blood. She could smell foul earth in the air, the stench of dung and sweat and horse that overpowered the jars of scented oil… she could smell the molten gold that Drogo had poured on her brother's head. It had smelt like blood.

Dany shoved the thought away. No blood had been spilled the night that her sun-and-stars crowned her brother, no blade drawn against him. Even in rage, Drogo did not anger the gods.

She stood with her back to Duncan and the rest, her tired eyes resting on her three dragon's eggs. She could feel their eyes digging into her. What did they want her to say? Viserys was dead and that was it. Even Duncan couldn't have denied the monster her brother had become, could he? He had been there beside her the night before, and in the final few moments Dany had seen him rush to stop her husband from crowning Viserys, only for Ser Jorah and the tall sellsword to restrain him.

Viserys had been cruel and evil to Dany, it was no secret. She had ever lived in fear of waking the dragon, and whenever she tried to offer him a kindness – his horse, the clothes she had made for him – he had always spat it back in her face. Why had she suffered it for so long? Duncan was not so blind to have missed it. He knew, and yet had still tried to save him, even if it had meant his own life. He has known Viserys longer than I, she knew, since he was a boy. Loyalty was built in his nature.

Does he blame me? Dany wondered. Viserys had been the one to draw a sword, not her, however Duncan was yet to offer her a word of comfort. Perhaps it was because she had not cried. Not once. Even with her brother's corpse before her, Daenerys had found no tears or sadness or guilt. She felt nothing but the familiar warmth in her heart for the child growing inside her, for the future conquests of her son. Fire cannot kill a dragon, her brother had said, but he was no true dragon at all.

"It's all a waste…" Duncan's words slowly came forward, she felt him turning on Jorah and Jon Snow. There was no one else in the hut with them, "this has been a folly from the start. From the moment you were betrothed, Daenerys. We should go, in the night, and ri-"

Dany turned on him. "Did you not see? Did you not hear their words?" She put a hand on her swelling stomach, they watched her with close eyes. "My son will be the stallion that mounts the world. It was never for nothing."

Her brother was dead, but the shores of Westeros never strayed far from her mind's eye. Places like Dragonstone and King's Landing, imagined from the stories that Duncan and her brother had told her since she was no more than a child. It was her home after all. She knew deep in her heart it was where she belonged. If I were not blood of the dragon, this could be my home. She was khaleesi to the greatest khal, had handmaids to serve and strong men to protect her, and that would've been enough for any woman… but not the last dragon.

Her son Rhaego was seed of kings and conquerors too, she could not forget. She needed to only convince Drogo to cross the narrow sea and win his son the Iron Throne, his birthright. Whatever the cost. Like Aegon the Conqueror and like no khal had ever done before. No Dothraki had ever dared to board a boat and cross the poison water, but Drogo must, he must, he must.

She was yet to speak of it to him, though.

"You followed Viserys into this," Dany said, looking across each of them one at a time. Her eyes lingered on Duncan. "Can you not follow me now? Now I am khaleesi? I am blood of the dragon too."

Duncan shook his head. "Daenerys…"

When Jon Snow rose from his seat and met her eyes, she was reminded that she was not the last of the dragon's seed. Rhaegar's blood runs through his veins as well as mine… the thought warmed her heart as much as it did send a chill down her spine. Her brother had spoken long and often about the Blackfyre's and their cursed rebellions against her family… would Jon ever challenge her own son's claim? He couldn't. As far as Dany could tell, nobody in the realm knew about his blood but Illyrio and those around her in that very room, and Lord Eddard Stark would not betray the Usurper… nobody would support him.

The innocent expression on his face put an end to those thoughts. Perhaps he would make a useful ally to her. He had grown up in Winterfell, knew its defenses…

Her nephew stared at her for a while before he finally spoke. "Pentos is the last place I would return to. Illyrio… I never trusted him." Duncan turned to face him, seeming almost betrayed, or shocked at his words. "I say we stay here, with you. At your side, Daenerys."

He sat back down upon his stool, resolute with his words. Dany found herself smiling like a little girl. A great rush of relief flooded over her, and there she knew she could not afford to have him turn against her. He was right about the magister, and he was too valuable to Illyrio and any schemes he might conjure.

"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah Mormont was next. The tall knight bounded to his feet and looked her deep in the eyes. "In Pentos, I swore my sword to Viserys. But my loyalty has always been yours. I would never leave you."

"Good." Dany replied with a smile. "Thank you, Ser Jorah."

All at once, their eyes seemed to fall on Duncan. Silence lingered. He looked down at each one of them, without a word, his jaw tense and deep violet eyes giving nothing away. "I would remind you all," he began in a bold tone, his eyes meeting hers, "that I raised you from a child. And I would never abandon you, Daenerys. Never."

In that moment, she had never loved him more.

Until with a sharp breath, he suddenly turned and left.

Stunned silence filled the room, as the leather door straps fell rigidly back to their place. He blames me, she thought, he must. A part of her wanted to run after him, or cry. Yet she was khaleesi. She swallowed the lump in her throat and lifted her chin high and said. "When will word of what happened here reach the Usurper?"

She had never previously thought of that, she realized. She had been so consumed with her own future…

The morning wind whistled into her tent. Dany felt it stinging against her eyes. Slowly, Jorah got to his feet.

"My brother's death has reached every ear in Vaes Dothrak," Dany said. She did not doubt it. There were no secrets in the khalasar. "The merchants, they must know as well."

Something about her tone unsettled her. It was chilling to know that the Usurper would hear of her brother's demise, and Tywin Lannister and Eddard Stark... they would think her broken, and useless without Viserys to guide her. Instead, Dany wanted them to fear her. Nobody had ever feared her before.

"Even so," Jorah began, "it will be months before word reaches Robert's ears. But be sure, it will." He scratched at the gruff beard on his chin.

"What about the magister?" Jon said, looking at them both for answers. "The narrow sea lies between us and Robert. But not Illyrio."

Dany wanted to give them answers, but there were none. It had gone beyond her control. They mustn't lose faith in me. She stepped forward and said. "Please, have trust in me, I beg of you. My brothers promised we would go home… and though he is dead, I have not forgotten that."

"Yes, khaleesi." Jorah Mormont replied solemnly. With that, they turned and made their way out through the door straps. Afterwards Dany summoned her handmaids. The hour was still early, she knew, and she was yet to dress for the day. She had felt fat and clumsy in the time they had spent at Vaes Dothrak, as her son grew by the day and she found it harder to move. Simple tasks like mounting her horse or dressing had become hardships; when once she would've hated having them flutter about her, she welcomed the strong and practiced hands of Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah.

They washed her clean and dressed her in loose sandsilk. Dany wanted to feel the breeze on her skin. Jhiqui styled her hair in a long intricate braid brushing down her back. Then, to break her fast Dany supped on an oak platter carrying fruits that the servants had gathered. A dozen berries of red and green and deep blue, and a cup of cool water to wash it all down.

Outside, she found Drogo. Her sun-and-stars was surrounded by a dozen men already ahorse. Amongst them, Dany spotted his bloodriders, Cohollo, Qotho and Haggo. Cohollo offered her a smile. He was always kind to Dany. Further onwards, waiting patiently was Khal Ogo, flanked by his son and bloodriders, each one of them readying for the hunt.

Her husband's ink-black hair cascaded over his shoulders and well past his waist. Dany loved his hair. It had never been cut. He had never known defeat. The long curls brushed against the silver, gold and bronze plates of his medallion belt.

"Moon of my life." She treasured his raspy voice. He came upon her in two swift steps and pressed his lips upon her brow, hands cupping her cheeks. Dany smiled and touched at his wrists. "This day I will go to the grass and hunt hrakkar."

The hrakkar, Dany knew, was the great white lion of the plains. Every day, the others taught her more and more. "There are many lions to hunt over the horizon of the black salt sea, my sun-and-stars. Golden lions with precious jewels in their manes and great castles for their lairs."

The Lannisters. She watched his face closely for an answer, desperate, hoping, but Drogo only seemed to dismiss her words. Ahead, Qotho gave a large grunt of impatience. His narrow eyes were fixed on Dany. "I have no need of jewels from lands beyond the black salt sea." Drogo said.

"It is prophesized that the stallion who mounts the world will ride to all ends of the earth."

He smiled and shook his head, as if he was putting down a child. "I will hear no more of this, Dan Ares."

With that he turned, mounted his red with all the grace of a king and galloped away. The others all fell in behind them. Daenerys watched him through the haze of dust he left behind, a pit of disappointment bubbling her in her stomach. But she still had time to convince him, she knew. If he caught the hrakkar, his joy would be fierce, maybe he would hear her out.

In the meantime, Dany decided to gather a litter and visit the Western Market. A great caravan train had arrived overnight, four hundred horses, from Pentos, under the command of a man called Byan Votyris. She liked the smells there and the people. A hundred different scents that reminded her of home, and the house with the red door. On her way, she might think of a way to sway her husband, too. If only I could get him on a ship…

Had Drogo had been beside her she would have ridden her silver to the aisles. For even a woman bearing a child was expected to show strength when with the khal. But as he was away hunting, her servants carried her over the Godsway and towards the stalls in a small litter adorned with cushions and covers. The day was bright and the sky a deep blue, and a steady breeze brushing through the red curtains kept her cool.

As they approached, Dany could already smell the sharp odors of garlic and pepper, mingled with others she recognized from roaming the Free Cities when she was a child. As well as what seemed to be a thousand voices different voices crying over one another. It made her feel warm. Did such a place like this exist in Westeros? Were the smells so rich and the people so plenty?

She did not think so. There were no Usurpers or Kingslayer's in the Western Market. Her brother had always said the north in particular was a cold and bland place, and those inhabited it had no blood but for the ice running through their veins. They had bent the knee under Aegon the Conqueror, ending their line of kings, but even now they were enemies. Viserys is dead, but his words are not.

"Doreah," Dany called aloud.

After a moment, her handmaiden's pale face appeared at the curtains. "Yes, khaleesi?

"Is Jon amongst the litter?" Dany asked.

Doreah did not have to take a second glance, it seemed. "He is, khaleesi."

"Please, bring him here. And inform the others I would like to walk." She offered a smile and Doreah's face disappeared back behind the curtains. No sooner did they stop moving, the servants carrying her grunting to a stop. Irri and Jhiqui arrived to help her down from the litter, each of them gripping a hand. As Dany dropped from the shade, a sigh escaping her lips, she treasured the feeling of sunlight burning against her skin. Targaryen's were born with heat in their blood.

All around them, the people of the market writhed like a swarm. If she did not have the men of her khas keeping a clear wide berth around her, Dany wondered if she could've managed a breath. She saw the caravan guards wandering around the aisles in copper helmets and knee-length tunics of quilted yellow cotton; merchants crossing sand-and-dirt paths in dresses of Myrish silk, in one hand a jewel and the other a bag of rattling coins; small children with tanned skin and black almond-shaped eyes ran underfoot. Dany smiled.

Doreah soon returned with Jon Snow in hand. Their faces shadowed by the grass awnings that stretched above from stall to stall.

"Khaleesi," she said, bowing her head slightly.

"That will be all." Dany said. She turned back to join the others. Jon Snow remained.

He sported the same clothes she had often seen him in, of late. In place of his old city wools he had donned a painted leather vest with the sleeves cut to the shoulder. Tight leather straps banded his arms and a belt hugged his waist. Dothraki riding breeches clung tightly to his legs. He has changed as I have, she thought, her brother had never done the same.

"I used to love playing in the bazars when I was a girl," Dany began, when the others were far back enough to not hear their words. "It was so alive there, all the people shouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at... though we seldom had enough coin to buy anything... well, except for a sausage now and again, or honeyfingers... do they have honeyfingers in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I don't know." Jon replied with some trepidation. He eyed her with curiosity, though he tried to make it subtle. Dany could understand he was confused as to why he had been summoned. She had never dared to speak with him in the past, not properly. That had been when her brother was alive.

"Are there markets like these in the Seven Kingdoms?" She asked, offering a smile.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I think so. Markets are everywhere you go, aren't they? But I would think none of them are as same as the other. I… you're better asking Jorah, or Duncan. I only ever knew the north, my queen."

"The north… merchants came to the north to sell their wares?"

"None like this," Jon laughed slightly, gesturing at those around them. "Outside of Winterfell, though, there's a place called Winter Town. It was near empty the last I saw, it always was in the summer…"

He paused for a moment, eyes forward. She had sensed a sudden warmth in his voice, and a slight smile dancing along his lips. The kind that came to you when recalling a fond memory. "My brothe- well, Robb and I, we would sneak down there sometimes in the night. To the alehouse's or taverns, and we would return in the early hours of the morning before we could be discovered. I couldn't tell you why, but being surrounded by castle walls bored you sometimes."

Dany tried to imagine it, growing up in a castle, with a brother who loved you and walls to protect you. It didn't sound like the desolate place Viserys had described. It was all she had ever wanted as a child, and a large part of her still yearned for it even now. She found she was laughing too. "Illyrio's manse was the closest thing to a castle I ever knew… though I was born on Dragonstone, I don't have any memory of it. Willem Darry smuggled me and Viserys away before the king's men could reach us."

"I know," he replied solemnly. "After Robert had sent Stannis to seize you."

"He would've killed us, no doubt. As he did Aegon and Rhaenys. And as he would've had you killed too, had he known you were my brother's son."

Jon seemed to take a moment to contemplate her words. "A good man should not punish a child for the sins of their father… Daenerys, may I ask you, how was Viserys killed? Why?"

Dany felt a sudden hardness come about her. He hadn't heard already? She kept her eyes forward, following the endless train of men and women running back and forth. She could see her brothers face again, the way he had smiled that night when she told him that he would be crowned. That had torn at her most, after it was done. "You weren't there, were you?"

She could not remember ever seeing his face amongst the crowds of the feasting hall. "No." Jon replied slowly.

Perhaps it had been for the best, she knew. A bitter hatred for Jon had festered deep within her brother, and seeing him might have only made things worse. Yet what was worse than death? "He was drunk on the wine from the merchant's stalls…" Dany began, "and he carried a sword, the one Illyrio had borrowed him. He came into the hall, hardly standing, and demanded that Drogo repaid him for what he had bought. For me. We all tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen. He sealed his fate. Drogo poured molten gold over his head."

Silence filled the space between them as they walked side by side of one another. Will he go against me too? Jon let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Daenerys. I saw him earlier that day, when you sent me to get the medallions. And he was trying to take your dragon's eggs."

Daenerys was not surprised by his words, Ser Jorah had already informed her of that matter the night before… Jon did not seem to know that.

He continued. "We fought-"

Dany interrupted him. "Whatever happened, nobody forced my brother's behavior that night. He brought it upon himself."

We are not to blame.

JON

As Jon tucked his thumbs under the nook of his belt, watching Daenerys greet a merchant further ahead, he couldn't deny that her words had brought him some relief. Since Duncan had returned to his tent and informed him of his uncle's fate, Jon had felt an odd sense of guilt nagging at his mind.

I was defending the eggs, he reasoned to himself. Even if Ser Jorah had not appeared, he could've never allowed him to walk away with them. Yet now the man was dead, it seemed useless to mull over their past feuds. Dead men hold no grudges, he had heard Theon jokingly say once.

But it was clear with anyone with the eye for it, that Viserys would not so easily be forgotten. His death weighed most on Duncan, he saw. The subtle sadness in his eyes and hollowness of his tone. Even though Viserys was not a good man by half, he supposed that Duncan had known him as child. And loved him, to stay by his side for so long.

Jon had no love for the man, but Duncan at least deserved his sympathy. Without him, Jon wondered, where would I be? Viserys would've thrown him aside the moment he came to Illyrio's doorstep. Or perhaps I would have died on the streets of Pentos.

"I half expected him to banish me," Marys had said to Jon earlier that morn, as they broke their fast over spiced horsemeat and soup. "Or kill me. I suppose it took some bravery for us to hold him back, and I don't doubt the Dothraki saw what he did… don't give me that look. Viserys was an evil bastard and got what he deserved. I wasn't going to let Duncan die for him."

Jon had chewed over those words. As bad as they seemed, there was more truth to them than he dared to admit.

A sudden slam against his shoulder brought Jon out of his thoughts. Turning, Jon saw it was one of the eunuch guards that prowled the bazar like some silent beast. He was bald of head and narrow of eye, with tanned skin peeling in a dozen different spots. He looked back at Jon with angry eyes and was met with the bared fangs of Ghost.

The direwolf crept forward at Jon's feet, eyes narrow, an eerie silence about him that could unnerve any man. However, the eunuch kept walking and soon vanished into the crowds, lost amongst a hundred faces. Jon was starting to hate the markets. They were crowded and narrow and stank worse than Winterfell's stables. They left him sweating and clammy and underwhelmed. I've seen everything they have to offer, he knew, yet still he would find himself tracing their aisles one day after the other.

He wanted to leave Vaes Dothrak, to cross once again under the two rearing stallions that marked the Horse Gate and go anywhere else in the world. Since he had woken that morning, every moment he was here left a foul taste in his mouth. As if the smell of death lingered in the air. Even he knew none of the unbearable merchants could weather the Dothraki for so long, it was the news of a Targaryen that had brought them here in their hundreds.

"Are there any winesellers that arrived?" Daenerys was asking of Ser Jorah as the two of them approached.

"Yes, khaleesi. Further ahead." Jorah replied, taking a step aside. "If you would pardon me for a time, I will seek out the captain and see if he has letters for us."

"Very well. I'll help you find him."

"There is no need for you to trouble yourself." Ser Jorah glanced away impatiently. "Enjoy the market. I will rejoin you when my business is concluded."

With that the knight almost ran away from them, ducking under awnings and crossing three paces at a time. Jon watched him with close eyes. Was Jorah hiding something? He had hardly ever seen the man so uneasy before, or desperate. And what letters may have arrived? It had been months since he had last heard any news from Westeros, or Illyrio for that matter.

"Come." He heard Daenerys say. The litter began to stroll onwards once again, and Jon legs followed unbidden. He watched Jorah's back for as long as he could before the man disappeared behind a corner.

The smell of grease and sausages and onions filled his nose, as the stalls went from jewels and goods and armour to food and spices of any kind. Jon had never been one to fuss over what he put in his mouth. In the north, the food had been simpler. Here, it was some great treasure.

They stopped before a wizened little woman stood over a hot firestone. Her hands were dancing quickly over the steaming pans, practiced and sure.

"These are the kind of sausages I meant." Dany was telling her handmaidens as the woman passed them over to her on a platter. Jon looked away, back at where Jorah had gone, then back at Dany. They were eating the sausages now, laughing and burping, grease smudging the corners of their mouths. Jon looked back down the aisle once more. Something was telling him to go.

"Jon?"

He didn't know how long he had been staring, but when he turned back he found Daenerys holding one of the peppered sausages to his face. The stench of it was so strong it made his eyes water. "Another time." He said with a small smile, waving it away, "give me a moment."

With that he turned and started running. His feet clattered on the sand and stone, kicking up small pebbles with each step. Ghost came at his heels, a shadow of white fur and fangs. He felt surer with the direwolf by his side. He followed Jorah tracks, ducking under arms and crates, earning curses in many a tongue. Jon did not look back, and took the same corner Jorah had taken. To his surprise, and his dismay, it opened into a vast merchant square. Where stalls far grander than Jon had seen before were placed in rows around a center plinth, and a dozen more people were prowling between them had been before.

Jon sighed and saw the great tall structure hunched in the distance. It seemed more a castle than it did a caravan. It must take a dozen axels to hoist that thing, Jon thought, and three times as many horses to pull it. Its rose high like the back of some great beast burying its head into the dirt. The entire thing was laden with orange, swirling silks and tall pointed flags of rainbow cloth that snapped proudly in the wind. That was where the captain would be, with the letters and Ser Jorah Mormont.

He walked slowly this time, as to avoid any odd glances. He already got enough of those. A small man in naught but breeches was singing from his place upon the plinth. His voice high and sweet like that a girl's. That was until his eyes came on Ghost. His words slowly stuttered to a nervous stop. Jon couldn't help but hold back a laugh. Though there was much and more of the queer sort to be seen in the bazars at Vaes Dothrak, none of them had ever seen the like of a direwolf before. That much Jon knew for a certain.

At the base of the caravan was an ascending flight of wooden stairs. Old, worn and creaking with the weight of those who were scattered out upon them. Dothraki children ran around wildly chasing one another, running over the steps with wide grins on their faces. A dozen merchants were walking up and down them, some stopping to speak to another and others rushing away in a sullen silence. Jon ran up them three steps a time.

He was met by the long stares of the guards in their copper helmets who stood lining the entrance, bearing their empty scabbards. That was the odd thing about Vaes Dothrak, no one could carry a weapon. Here, a guard was no different to any other man but for their garb. Jon scanned the entrance.

Jorah was not amongst the crowds, he was sure after he checked each of them twice. Jon was not surprised. He knew little and less of where the captain would keep the letters, and yet he knew he would be somewhere further inside, perhaps at the very back.

A hand wrapped itself around his arm, hard and firm. Jon spun on his heel.

"What are you doing here?" The dour face of Jorah Mormont rose before him, coming inches from his own. Jon could smell his breath in the air. A stench of horsemeat that lingered between them. The Others take him. Jon flinched out of his grip.

He straightened up his vest. "I came to see what word Illyrio had brought."

Jorah gave him a tired look, eyes suddenly downcast. He sniffed loudly, rubbed his beard, looked over his shoulders and took a step closer. "Dark wings, dark words. I must say. Robert offers lands and a lordship for any man that may kill Daenerys and the child."

How? Jon thought. A reward for murdering a girl and her child? But Eddard was Hand… he would never allow it to pass. He ripped the parchment from Jorah's grip and read the words for himself. It was a letter meant for Viserys.

After he was done, Jorah took the letter from his fingers and slipped it back into his pocket.

"We need to get back to her."

As much as he despised the knight for what he had done, Jon knew neither of them wanted to see Daenerys and her unborn child come to harm. How had Ned allowed the king to issue the order? It couldn't be his doing… not when he had risked all for him as a mere babe. It brought a certain uneasiness to Jon's thoughts to know that any of those around him, the hundreds of them, could be eyes for Robert Baratheon, reporting back to him and watching their every move.

The letter made no mention of me.

They found Daenerys beside the stall of a wineseller, as they had expected. Jon felt his own wariness brewing. She stood at the front of her khas, with her handmaidens shadowing her sides and the riders of her ko circling her closely.

"You honour me, ser." Daenerys was telling the merchant.

Jon doubted the man even knew what a knight was. He was a small and meagre looking man, skinny with a stub nose and hair the colour of rotten straw. Was that malice in his eyes? Or was Jon simply seeing what he wanted to see, what he expected… as if he sensed Jon's thoughts, Ghost let out a growl at his feet.

"The honor is mine." The merchant replied as he rummaged about in the back of his stall. Jon looked for the tremble in his hands, the dagger in his belt. There was none. He lifted a small oaken cask from his stock, burned onto the wood was a cluster of grapes. "The Redwyne sigil," he said, pointing, "from the Arbor. There is no finer drink."

The letter. "Be ever on your guard," Illyrio had said. A bastard could see things in the faces of others, their true intentions… whilst his mind told him this merchant was an assassin in truth, his eyes showed nothing more than a simple wineseller.

"Khal Drogo and I will share it together. Aggo, take this back to my litter, if you'd be so kind." The wineseller beamed as the Dothraki hefted the cask.

Poison.

He stepped forward, fists clenched, when Jorah Mormont's voice suddenly rose. "No." At once, Jon knew what he was doing. He looked between the merchant and Daenerys. "Aggo, put down that cask."

They exchanged a small glance as the rider brought back the wine. Jon walked slowly to the side of the stall, where should the merchant try to flee, he would catch him in his tracks.

Jorah went on. "I have a thirst. Open it, wineseller."

The merchant did not respond kindly. Jon found the tremble in his voice he had been looking for… an honest man did not falter. "The wine is for the khaleesi, and not for the likes of you, ser."

"Do it." Jon demanded with venom in his voice, taking a step closer to the stall. Ghost let out a snarl. The merchant's eyes widened in fear. He hesitated a moment, but no sooner did he rush for his hammer and knock the plug from the cask.

"Pour," Jorah commanded. The young warriors of her khas had begun to move, circling them. Waiting as they were, frowning with dark, almond-shaped eyes.

"Do as he says," Dany said in a harsh tone when the wineseller had not moved. The hammer was still raised idly in his hand, his eyes trembling back and forth between it and the khaleesi and the cask.

"As the princess commands." He said in a slur. He lowered the hammer, lifted the cask with both hands and carefully filled two tasting cups. Jon found his whole body tensing as he watched the wine fall from the cask, rocking unsteadily.

Ser Jorah lifted a cup to his face and held it firmly. He was careful to not spill a drop as he sniffed at the wine. What good would smelling it do? Jon thought, but he could hardly expect the man to taste it. Jorah frowned. The wineseller smiled. "Sweet, isn't it?" he said, looking Jorah deep in the eyes. "Can you smell the fruit, ser? The perfume of the Arbor. Taste it, my lord, and tell me it isn't the finest, richest wine that's ever touched your tongue."

A blunt effort. They would not be tricked. Jon was not surprised when the knight offered it back. "You taste it first."

"Me?" The wineseller laughed. "I am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it's a poor wine merchant who drinks up his own wares."

His smile was amiable, yet Jon could see the sheen of sweat on his brow. Any moment, the man would break. He would be ready.

"You will drink," Dany demanded, cold as ice. "Empty the cup, or I will tell them to hold you down while Ser Jorah pours the whole cask down your throat." The wineseller shrugged, reached for the cup... and grabbed the cask instead.

Before Jon could move, the wooden barrel was hurled through the air towards Daenerys. His breath caught in his throat, he watched as Jorah flung her aside and the cask exploded against his shoulder in a thousand wet splinters. Terror erupted as gasps rose up all around them. Jon turned his gaze back to wineseller, who had leapt his stall and was barreling towards him.

Without hesitation, and without a sword, Jon tackled him to the ground. They smacked against the dirt with enough force to take the air out of any man's lungs, and the world seemed to freeze for a moment. Jon grabbed him by the collar, watched him struggle for his breaths as Jon's weight clamped heavily against his stomach.

"You would murder a girl an unborn babe…" Jon spat.

People were suddenly moving again. Jon felt a hand Jorah's hand pull against his shoulder, easing him away. All around them men and women and children were watching with wide eyes. By then a dozen caravan guards had appeared, led by an odd-looking man with a bristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears.

He seemed to know what had happened without a word being spoken. Jon nudged Ghost away from them. "Take this one away to await the pleasure of the khal," he commanded, gesturing at the whimpering form of the wineseller. Two guards hauled the man roughly to his feet. "His goods I gift to you as well, Princess," the merchant captain went on. "Small token of regret, that one of mine would do this thing."

They watched them carry him away, his feet dragging against the mud, weak and lifeless. When he turned, he saw they were already loading Daenerys back into the confines of her litter. The servants took their places at either side, heaved her into the air and started on their way. Jorah Mormont was her shadow, eyeing all those who were still looking upon them. Duncan would need to hear about this. What did it mean now that common merchants would try to kill her?

They waited in all but an unsettling silence until the khal returned. Jon had found Duncan as the sun fell, and they debated over what choices they had left to them. To return to Illyrio would mean safety within the walls of his manse, yet they would be back where they had started… their own choices seemed to make no matter, though, for later that night, when Khal Drogo was told of the attempt on his bride's life, he declared in fire and fury that he would strike down the man who had given the order, and seat his son on the Iron Throne his grandfather had once sat.

Two days later they departed from Vaes Dothrak. Heading west.