My apologies if the wait was too long - I must admit that while I had the ideas for this chapter, I found it difficult to sit down and write it, since I wanted to be more than good.
Also, many of you have pointed out about the weakness you see in Dany but I don't see it as weakness. It is fear of the unknown. This is the first time she has a family that is caring and it's not her own; all of this can be overwhelming for her. It's building a new kind of strength for her, so this is only serving her to grow. You'll see.
To Dillon Baker, I felt you were kicking my behind for not updating but it reminded me that a lot of people was waiting for this.
Now, this chapter is a bit different from the previous ones (and a little longer). I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 26 : Little Birds
The lively baby was all Dany could focus on since Robb had left. Somehow she felt it was what kept her in touch with her husband and her family. But Iagan was more than just their son; he would become king one day and, if Robb was right, a great warrior. It was her duty to raise him to be the best ruler Westeros would ever know.
Dany enjoyed spending time with Iagan, singing to him nursery rhymes about dragons and wolves and speaking to him in Valyrian. In return, he surprised her constantly. She had stopped counting the times she had found Viserion or Rhaegal contemplating him, or Shaggy and Summer curled around the babe.
Iagan's nature was wild. It reminded her of what Catelyn had told him about the blood of the Wolf and the stories about Brandon and Lyanna. It certainly made the idea of mixing hers and Robb's bloods sound quite dangerous.
She smiled at the sounds her son made. He squealed in return, wiggling his arms and legs as he lay naked in bed that morning. Daenerys was changing him like she usually did. In the beginning she always worried about him getting cold, but soon after Maester Luwin had pointed out that Iagan always felt warmer than he should have been. At first she was afraid he was sick but he never showed any signs of an ailment. Iagan was like her dragons, warmer to touch.
When he smiled, she chuckled.
"Oh, behave, my sweet boy," she cooed as she secured his diaper.
Dany refused adamantly about letting his care on the hands of a stranger, no matter how much anyone insisted. She saw danger in every corner and, after losing one child, she was not willing to leave this one out of her sight.
When her eyes looked into those unnaturally blue ones of her son, she felt the pull. It was hypnotizing. The air left her lungs and she quickly saw an image in her head. It was a small bird being released of some kind of cage, flying away across the blue sky to end up perched on Grey Wind's back, a few other direwolves behind him.
Dany blinked and soon the image disappeared.
Until then she hadn't related her dreams to Iagan, but since he had been born, the prophetic images at night had stopped. But now, without words, Iagan was speaking to her.
The sea of blue seemed to swirl turning into the shade of storm clouds before he blinked and they returned to their normal color.
Smiling again at the babe, Dany knew this was only a sign to ease her heart.
Her plan would work and Jorah would rescue Sansa and Arya. She didn't want to question why only one bird had been freed but she hoped that didn't mean much.
King's Landing looked worse than the last time he had set foot there. It seemed that King Joffrey was neglecting the people in a worse fashion than his father had done. Jorah saw kids fighting over a half bitten and dirty piece of bread and two women yelling at each other for some unknown reason.
It was known that the Game of Thrones was only important for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. People in the streets could not care any less about who the ruler was; they only wanted food and safety, something it was clearly not provided to them by the current king.
"Do you wish a warm bed?" A lascivious woman told him as he walked through the crowded streets. A whore, he noticed immediately by the clothes she wore that left little to imagination. But if once she had been a beautiful woman selling her body to rich men, now she wore a dress tore at one shoulder and at the skirts, her cheek showed faint signs of a bruise and her eyes seemed vacant.
"Let go of me, woman," he muttered gruffly. He had never liked bedding whores, even if he loved women. It was not appealing to only receive their attention over money when he could offer them everything.
She insisted but luckily for him, and not so much for her, one man got in their way and offered her the money she was after. Jorah couldn't stop to feel guilt as the woman was dragged towards a building behind him while the man laughed manically, making disgusting threats of what he would make her do for the few coins he had paid.
He really hated King's Landing. And he couldn't imagine Robb Stark living in a place like this. The Young Wolf did not seem the kind of king who would leave his people to starve to death, to fight for food or allow criminals to do as they wished.
Looking down at his dirty boots, Jorah smirked. It would cost a lot of beheading to the King of the North to clean this city; he just hoped he would not grow tired of swinging his sword before getting rid of the scum in this kingdom.
As expected, one couldn't contact anyone in the Red Keep unless they wanted to. So Jorah wandered around the streets, keeping his eyes open for any sign, until a small boy approached him with a bright red apple in his hands. "The Spider sends his regards," the boy said handing him the apple.
Without fear, Jorah took a large bite off the apple, watching as a grin grew on the child's face. It was a test of trust and he had to go through it if he wanted to get closer to the Spider.
"He knew you'd return," the boy said and motioned for him to follow him.
Jorah had a hard time making a map in his head as the little bird led him through narrow alleys, turning right and left quickly; it was like walking through a maze. He guessed it was necessary, considering he too did not wish this conversation to be witnessed by anyone.
"Not quite welcomed as you expected, I assume," the fat man, in his expensive clothes and smelling like sweet flowers and sweat, told him. Varys was definitely not someone who Jorah liked. It was hard to trust him; even harder than it was to trust in Robb Stark, because at least the wolf had honor.
Straightening his back, Jorah just replied simply, "She's married to the Young Wolf. As long as he keeps winning battles, she will be happy. He promised her a throne."
Lies were easy on his tongue, especially because the little birds tended not to survive in the North, so Varys had not heard many rumors of what was happening there, and hopefully he had no idea about Jaime Lannister's punishment.
"Yes, yes," Varys muttered, clicking his tongue. It was difficult to tell if he disapproved or not of such thing. "A very stubborn girl she is. But all kings and queens are." The sleeves of the Spider's tunic covered his hands and Jorah felt immediately distrustful. What could he hide under his sleeve? "You've decided to keep doing some favors for me?" Jorah only held his gaze as the fat eunuch smiled at him in that unpleasant way that made him feel disgusted. "But what can you offer me, Jorah Mormont?"
"A sword, if you wish. Or go back north to inform you about what's happening there."
"Interesting," Varys mumbled but he seemed to be far from interested in his proposition. Instead he made another question. "What do you wish in exchange for your services this time?"
A wrong answer could cost him more than he was willing to pay, so Jorah had to choose his words carefully. Mistakes would not only displease Robb Stark but also Daenerys who had been the one writing to him; a secret message in Valyrian.
"I have little to live for. And I wish nothing but to see the Wolf dig his own grave." The venom in his voice was real but he could not say if there was truth in it. He had found respect for the young man's actions, and honor that couldn't be found in King Joffrey. The King in the North was probably naïve but did not look for glory; Robb Stark put family first, before him, and that could make him a different king. If Dany joined him in that adventure, they would make quite a powerful pair.
"You know very well that I do not serve a particular King."
"You serve the Seven Kingdoms. And yourself."
The eunuch chuckled as he wiped his sweat with a silk kerchief. "You might be of some use after all. We never know during these times of war when we could suffer… an attack. You may become my personal guard but I'll ask you to not use your name and to be stealthy. I do not need more eyes on me."
Jorah only bowed his head, schooling his features to show no emotion, even if he knew this was a small victory for the time being.
It was a cold morning. The field was covered by mist that barely let him see his boots but he was thankful for the cool air filling his lungs. Days had become tedious since they hadn't fought Lannister's armies in a while.
By the stories he had heard as a child, once he believed wars were all about combat and nonstop bloodshed. Now that he was the one doing the fighting, rebelling against an unfair king, Robb realized that sometimes war was about the waiting, about playing with those moments of silence. And now those moments of silence and apparent peace only served to make him think about Dany and Iagan, about all those things he wanted and did not have.
Maybe this was why Tywin Lannister had been a successful warlord. Perhaps he only needed his mind at ease.
"Your Grace?" One of his men called with hesitance, as if he were afraid. In times like that he missed Theon and his friendship, the easy word that gave comfort to his heart, and the joke that made those tense moments light and reminded him of better times. "A raven has arrived from Winterfell. Queen Daenerys sent you a note."
Queen Daenerys, Robb mused. It made him want to smile because it felt as if that had been her name since birth.
Taking the small piece of paper in his hands, Robb decided to go back into his tent and read it in private. For him it was necessary to be strong, and he doubted that whatever Dany could tell him would leave him unaffected, so he hid and let Grey Wind to lay on the floor at his feet while Rhaegal perched his heavy head on his shoulder.
Iagan is bigger each day. He reminds me of you more and more, especially now that his hair has grown to be in curls like yours.
She had taken the time to write about their son, about his mother and brothers and mention a few things about Winterfell but she had avoided to say anything about herself or what she felt. Indifference towards them was what hurt the most. Seeing how she openly decided not to make reference to their fight forced him to realize it had made a bigger dent on their relationship than he had thought.
A void formed inside him when he noticed the lack of the words my Wolf that meant more to him than promises of love, because he was hers; he was the wolf that bared his teeth to protect his pack. She was the dragon, up in the sky as a marvelous creature but with her eyes on the ground to keep the enemies away. His Dragon.
He only hoped that, out of all of this, at least his sisters would return home safe. Hopefully, the fight had been for something.
Days went by too slowly for Jorah's taste.
Inside the Red Keep things were very different than outside. The amount of soldiers taking care of Joffrey and the Queen was more than necessary, as if the expected someone to betray them and kill the boy to finally end the misery of the people in the Seven Kingdoms. Thankfully, he was able to walk around the castle freely as long as he stood out of the way of the Queen, the Imp and Littlefinger.
But the time he had spent learning every corner and turn in the Red Keep, also listening to the routes the Spider told him about to go unnoticed through the castle, had not been a waste of time.
Since Stannis's attack and the use of wildfire, people in the castle were a little rattled and speaking more than they should have. With that in mind, Jorah had ventured into the darker places of the castle, those in which he'd never find a lord. That was how he found the immense quantity of little jars filled with wildfire.
Other days he eavesdropped about the new engagement between Margaery Tyrell and Joffrey Baratheon. He imagined that Sansa Stark had felt relieved that she was no longer meant to be married to the little shit that was the king.
Taking his time to make plans would have been ideal, even if meanwhile he had to carry messages from whores to children and to Varys, but what hurried his plans was hearing the rumor that Joffrey would force Sansa to marry Tyrion, his uncle.
Jorah felt his blood boil with rage. A defenseless girl, one that had been mistreated and kept prisoner did not deserve that fate. A fate that held a few similarities with the one of another girl he knew, a girl that was now a mother and queen. So he decided to help once again and take her and her sister out that night, using a bit of wildfire as distraction.
-o-
Moving quickly and silently through the poorly lit corridors, Jorah kept in mind his goals. He had seen the oldest of the girls a few times from safe distance, but he had failed to see the younger one, which was strange, unless something had happened to her. He had also noticed that no harm had been done and the pretty young girl had all her dainty fingers as princess like her should.
What had not gone unnoticed had been the lack of spark in her gaze, the hurt of a lively and beautiful girl being tamed and caged by a tyrant.
There was only one guard outside her door, as if they believed she wouldn't even dare to set a foot outside her chambers while the others tried to put out the fire at the kennels. Painfully, Jorah thought the same, but not because he believed Sansa Stark was a fragile girl. She had been strong enough to survive in a place filled with enemies.
Before the soldier saw it coming, he fell to the ground unconscious. There were some perks about working for the Spider, like the access to poison and others that did not grant the pride of a battle but achieved the same results.
When he opened the door, he heard the shuffling sound of bare feet against the floor and soon saw the light of the hearth casting shadows on a wide-eyed girl that looked quite a bit like Catelyn Stark, only much younger.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she hissed in a voice that mixed fear and anger.
He released a breath and then replied as calmly as possible, "Jorah Mormont, of House Mormont, sworn to House Stark." Those particular words had not made it to his lips in many years and when he spoke them, they felt like remembering a tale from childhood. "I've been sent here by your brother, to take you back home."
She just stared, looking distrustful. Did she think he was lying? After all she had been through, he did not blame her.
"We must leave now. We need to find your sister and-"
"She's not here." Sansa took a small step forward, her reddish-brown hair forming a curtain around her face when she bowed her head to conceal her expression, but Jorah heard what he believed was a small sob. "I haven't seen her since Father-" She swallowed her words and shook her head. "I don't know where Arya is, but she's not in the Red Keep."
Cursing under his breath, Jorah frowned and then nodded firmly. "Then get ready because we will leave. Now."
"How do I know you're speaking the truth?"
"Do you wish to stay here and marry the Imp? Do you like being around King Joffrey and the Queen?" he spat with disgust, as if had just tasted sourleaf for the first time.
The girl just shook her head. "I need to change into my dress and-"
Taking something from the bag Jorah had been carrying, the older man threw her a few of what looked to be boy's clothes, including what appeared to be breeches. She looked at them with disgust but did not put up a fight. He said nothing more than, "You better hurry, but I'm not leaving." He turned around and kept his eyes glued to the door, hoping for the best and waiting for the worst.
Not much time later, Sansa spoke again. "I'm ready."
"Is there something you want to take with you?"
The sadness in her eyes as she looked around at the expensive dresses, at her vanity and what little belonged to her, soon turned into coldness. She took one doll and neatly placed it in the spot she had occupied while she slept. "There are no memories I want to keep. I want to go home."
Maybe it was bravery or naivety, but the Starks proved him time and time again that they would not just accept the circumstances; they would fight back against injustice. Even if it seemed the dishonorable always won, they would stand against them.
He quickly led her through the less busy corridors, secret passages that he knew only thanks to his work for the Spider but as fast and quiet as they were, one turn around a corner made them face one man they hoped not to cross.
Half a man, some might have said.
Jorah and the man accompanying the Imp withdrew their swords as soon as their eyes met, not noticing the way Tyrion Lannister looked at Sansa or how the girl's back straightened, ready to accept the end of her existence if she had to.
"I imagined once that someone could try to rescue you," Tyrion muttered with some amusement but also with a hint of sadness and relief. "I never thought they would be stupid enough but when family cares, they usually do something. Not that I know any of that."
"You want to talk or can I end this now?" Tyrion's guard said with annoyance.
Jorah said nothing, just weighed his options and a quick way to leave the castle before every guard in the city would chase after them.
"We've seen nothing," the Imp replied and his companion narrowed his eyes with hatred before sheathing his sword.
"You grant her the opportunity to be free of you?" Jorah spit, not putting his own weapon away.
Tyrion snorted a laugh. "A gift. Such a young and pretty girl shouldn't have me as a burden." He sighed and turned around, pretending he had seen nothing. "Take her away. Keep her safe. Nothing has happened tonight but chaos will be here by morning."
The sound of the two pairs of boots clicking against the floors were the only thing the broke the silence, followed by the soft murmur of Sansa's voice.
"Thank you."
And as they rode away from the filthy city that was King's Landing, away from the a future that others who held no love for the girl had written for her, Sansa held tightly to Jorah, pressing the side of her face to his chest and having a deep sigh before he felt her shaking as she cried quietly.
"Thank you, Ser Jorah," she whispered. And when the city was as small as a coin, when the sun peeked up into the sky, a bubbly laughter abandoned her lips, despite the tears running down her cheeks.