Chapter 8: On the Fair Sea Maiden
Summary:
Westeros stirs and reacts to the Dragon King. On the Fair Sea Maiden, Jon and Daenerys learn a secret that may change everything.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Eight: On the Fair Sea Maiden
Ned sat in his office at the Tower of the Hand, and pondered.
The Crown was not in the most ideal of positions at the moment. They were not in debt—yet—but they had money to pay off, harvests to reap before the colder seasons came in, and now, of all things, a possible war to plan for.
That would depend on if Viserys Targaryen killed Jon.
Ned knew beyond any doubt that Jon would never ride to war against Westeros unless something terrible happened. His nephew had never been a warmonger—even hearing about how he razed down a Dothraki army did not convince Ned that Jon was full of bloodlust. The boy had flown halfway across the world to save Daenerys from the savages, and he'd done just that.
It wasn't like he could have negotiated with the Dothraki screamers, anyways. They settled things with blood.
But if Viserys killed Jon, all bets were off. If that happened—the worst possible situation—and Viserys claimed Frostfyre, Ned would do everything in his power to put the Mad King's son down. Which meant he'd also have to commit to putting the dragon down, as well; a task that could cost them thousands of lives.
He prayed to any gods that existed for such a thing to never occur.
Robert was already on the warpath as it was. Even if Tywin had convinced him in the end to lay off the assassination attempts on Jon for the time being—better to not make the job easier for Viserys—Ned's former best friend had found a new purpose in life. Preparing for this war he was sure was coming had brought back the warlord.
A day after the Small Council meeting that changed the Game of Thrones, Robert Baratheon had rather loudly concluded that he was a fat fuck.
Now he was burning that excess weight, gained from years of drinking and eating excessively. The Fat King was not going to go to war in such a state. He'd set himself on a brutal, punishing journey of self-betterment, spending each and every day exercising more than Ned ever remembered, even in their youth.
The Fat King wanted to bring back the Demon of the Trident. Ned feared he was determined enough to get it. The promise of war, the possibility of hunting down and slaughtering the last of Rhaegar's bloodline had sloughed off many of Robert's flaws seemingly overnight.
Not all of them, of course. He was still obstinate and stubborn, and Ned knew his friend would always be a whoremonger. But he was itching for a fight, and he'd be in as good of shape as he could manage by the time it found them.
If it found them.
Ned privately hoped that Jon would stay far away in Essos until Robert grew bored waiting and descended back into his prior, slovenly state. As bad as it was to hope for such a thing to befall his friend, (again) he didn't want Jon anywhere near the King if Robert got back into shape.
Robert would kill him as surely as he'd killed Jon's father. Rhaegar had been a skilled warrior, but even he hadn't been a match for the Demon.
But even if he never returned to Westeros—something that tore at Ned's heart; the desire to see his family whole, but also the desire to keep them safe—the Stark Patriarch knew that sooner or later, Westeros would come to Jon.
It was only a matter of time before Prince Oberyn, the infamous Red Viper of Dorne, began to track Jon down personally. Ned only hoped he wouldn't bring his Sand Snake daughters along for the hunt. Oberyn on his own was dangerous enough without his assassin offspring joining in.
A small whine broke Ned's train of thought, and he glanced downwards at the small, white dire wolf. He cracked a smile and bent over in his chair to stroke the soft fur. "Need to go outside, Ghost?"
Ghost made a small yip, tongue lolling out, and Ned decided he needed a break, anyways.
Ghost was but one of six dire wolf pups Ned had found not long after Jon fled from Winterfell. He'd found the massive, dead mother with her little still clinging to her belly, and decided they'd be suitable companions for his House. The Stark sigil was a dire wolf, after all.
All of his children had received a pup. The sixth, the runt of the litter, the odd one out, Ned would have given to Jon. But with Jon and his dragon on the eastern continent, Ned took Ghost for himself.
The white wolf, as well as his two sisters here in King's Landing—Arya's Nymeria and Sansa's Lady—were not fans of the climate, but they were adjusting as well as any of the Starks themselves.
Ned led his furry companion down the tower steps and to one of the castle yards, which he found occupied by Robert and his King's Guard. Most of the Knights were standing on the sidelines, but two of them were speaking to the King—likely guiding him on his chosen exercises.
At the moment, he was carrying a thick log on his shoulder and walking around the yard with it. The Fat King was sweating like mad, red in the face, but grim and set.
He finished one of his circuits and set the log down with a low growl of exertion, gesturing with one of his hands for a page boy to bring him a drink. The boy—obviously a Lannister from the gold head—hurried to obey.
Robert took a gulp and immediately spat the drink out. "Fuck the wine! Bring me water!"
Ned blinked. He was as surprised as the Lannister boy was, but he fortunately didn't have to scramble off to find the King the drink he wanted. He never thought he'd live to see the day when Robert of all people would turn away alcohol in favor of water.
Would wonders never cease?
"Father!"
Ned turned at the familiar voice and could help but smile at the sight of Arya rushing towards him with Nymeria and Lady hot on her heels. Behind her, he saw Sansa as well as Robert's daughter, Myrcella.
Nymeria and Lady quickly rushed to meet Ghost, tails wagging and yipping. Ned let the dire wolves have their fun while he waited for his daughters and their friends to reach him.
"Father!" Arya exclaimed again, eyes gleaming. "Is it true?!"
"You'll have to specify, little one," Ned ruffled her hair teasingly, causing her to jerk away with a playful scowl. "Is what true?"
Sansa and Myrcella reached them, slightly more out of breath than his youngest daughter. Arya looked around, as if she were about to deliver some great secret before she spoke. "A dragon? Is it true?"
Ned pursed his lips, but Sansa scoffed. "That's not the good part of the story! Who cares about the dragon?"
"I care about the dragon!" Arya retorted.
"Girls," Ned stopped their bickering before it got out of hand.
"Sorry, father," Sansa apologized. "But is the story true?"
He sighed and glanced back at Robert, who was back at another circuit. News of Jon's actions was getting around as quickly as had been expected—it had been a week since the Small Council received word of it. A dragon in the world again was momentous news, after all. "What exactly have you heard?"
"The Dragon King flew against an army of a hundred-thousand Dothraki and destroyed them all?" Arya demanded.
"Shut up! That's not what's important!" Sansa snapped.
"It was ten-thousand Dothraki, but yes, he defeated them," Ned answered Arya quickly, causing her to grin massively before he looked at Sansa. "What did you want to ask about?"
Myrcella spoke now, eyes gleaming. She was going to be as beautiful as Cersei one day, but she had absolutely none of her mother's snide, cruel nature. The child was pure and good, and Ned desperately hoped she remained so.
"Is it true the Dragon King flew to Pentos to save the Targaryen Princess from a barbarian?"
Ah, Ned smirked. Now he knew what had Sansa so worked up. His daughter was a hopeless romantic. It seemed she and Myrcella had found common ground in that sense. He really wouldn't have preferred this particular topic to be the one they bonded over, but it was what it was.
"I cannot say if he flew to Pentos specifically to save the Princess," he admitted, altering the truth of Jon's flight to Essos. "But it is true that he fought the Dothraki to keep the Princess from their Khal—their leader, to whom she was being sold."
Sansa looked ready to swoon, much to his amusement. Myrcella looked just as fascinated, but Arya rolled her eyes at the sight of her sister's latest romantic obsession.
"He must love her desperately to have endangered himself so, mustn't he?" Sansa sighed, smiling dreamily. "And she must love him. I'm sure they've already wed…"
"Seven hells, Sansa," Arya made a gagging sound.
Ned had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing. If Sansa knew it was Jon who flew to the aid of the Targaryen Princess, she would have a stroke.
If only the secret wasn't one that would get him and probably his whole family killed as a result.
"Listen girls," Ned looked at them seriously. "It's all fine and good to ask questions about this, but be careful when you're talking about the Targaryens. As exciting a story as it makes, the dragon and its Rider are very real and dangerous. The King would not like to hear the tale being romanticized, understand?"
The children nodded, though Arya frowned. Ned went on. "Keep the fun parts of the tale to yourselves, alright? Perhaps when things calm down you can discuss it more openly, but for now—for now things are going to be tense in Westeros."
"Yes, sir," they chorused. Ned smiled at them kindly.
"Off with you, now," he told them gently. "I must return to work. Arya—would you mind keeping Ghost with you for the rest of the day? I believe he was getting restless sitting in the tower with me."
"Sure. He and Nymeria can get into trouble with me," Arya grinned.
She ran off with Sansa and Myrcella in-tow before Ned could object, and he sighed. He only hoped the trouble they found was minimal.
"It's wonderful to see the children getting along so well, isn't it?"
Ned stood up ramrod-straight, turning his head to the side of the yard as Varys approached him on silent feet. The Spider was looking after the girls, a slight smile on his face.
"Aye, it's good for them to play together," Ned agreed slowly.
"Quite. Children are the future of the realm, and if they get along, there's hope that the great houses might be more firmly unified in the future," Varys murmured. He looked back to Ned. "Forgive me; I overheard your talk with them on the way to meet one of my birds. The Dragon King has become quite the subject around King's Landing."
"I never thought it would take long for word to get out. A dragon in the world again is…"
"Either a beacon of hope or a symbol of death. It depends on the person to whom it answers, and whom you ask of it."
Ned nodded. The Spider made him uncomfortable, but he got the feeling Varys didn't mind. The man knew what he was in a way few did, and he accepted that role openly.
Varys glanced at him briefly. "I admire you, Lord Stark, but I hope you understand that you are living in a nest of vipers. This place is terribly dangerous for honest men. I urge you to be careful."
Ned wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just nodded silently and returned to the Tower of the Hand as Varys slipped off in the opposite direction.
"Must you go?"
Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, had most of his things packed for what was undoubtedly going to be a lengthy trip. Well, hunt in this case. Not his first, certainly not his last, but probably the most interesting by far.
"I cannot ignore this, Ellaria," he answered his lover. Ellaria Sand, his beloved paramour and the mother of four of his eight daughters, watched him from the door of their chambers anxiously. She was his wife in all but name, for they were too free and fluid to be bound by anything save the love they shared.
"It will be dangerous, my love," she tried to reason with him. "The boy has a dragon."
"Perhaps so, but it will not be at his side forever. Dragons need to eat just as humans do. That is when I will strike."
Ellaria pursed her lips. "What if it really is him?"
Oberyn stopped packing for a second and looked over at her. His viper's eyes were a mix of sorrow and anger. "It cannot be, Ellaria."
"He has a dragon, Oberyn! That speaks for his blood on its own!"
The Prince turned away. He had seen the gruesome remains of his beloved sister. Had seen the crushed face of his baby nephew and the skewered body of his sweet niece.
"It cannot be him," Oberyn murmured. "I saw them all. It simply cannot be. I do not know how he got the dragon, but Aegon is dead. This…pretender is using his name and parentage for some reason, and I mean to know why."
He heard soft footsteps, and then Ellaria's arms were wrapped around his torso from behind. "My love, you might be sailing to your death. If the dragon finds you…"
"It is a risk I must take."
"You will go alone?"
"There is no time to summon my daughters around Dorne. The Dragon King was last seen in Pentos, and he will not stay long after such an incident. Essos is large—to make my hunt as short as possible, I must start tracking him now."
Oberyn turned in her arms and leaned down to kiss his lover fiercely. When they parted, he spoke against her lips. "I shall reach out to you when I can."
"Return to your daughters, my Prince," Ellaria commanded. "And to me."
He nodded, promising, and kissed her again.
This was foolishness.
Jaime Lannister stood at the door to Barristan Selmy's quarters. The day was over and his shift as Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard was done for now. Others would guard the King's sleep.
He could have been fucking his sister right then, but Jaime had made an excuse to her tonight. He was not feeling well. Cersei had been disappointed, but accepted his decision regardless.
It was not a lie. He'd not been feeling well for over a week now, although it was not illness that ailed him. He had long pondered the most recent events of the world, and now he was here, at the door to his Lord Commander's chambers.
But if he was being truthful with himself, the reason he turned Cersei away was because he just…couldn't bring himself to sneak into her chambers and have her. Not now. A week ago, he would have accepted, would have let her lust consume him as it so often had before.
That was before stories of dragons reached them. Before a child fought a Dothraki horde for the daughter of a woman Jaime had failed so many times before in his younger days.
The door still remained closed before him.
What was he even doing here?
What was the context of that first question?
Jaime shook his head and lifted his hand, knocking on the door. He heard Barristan call to his guest, and entered the room.
The senior Knight was sitting at a small table, enjoying a modest dinner. He seemed surprised to see the younger man entering his room. "Ser Jaime."
"Ser Barristan," he returned, walking over to the table. "May I join you?"
"You may," the Lord Commander nodded. Jaime took the chair and for some moments, there was an awkward silence between them.
"The King has been pushing himself," Jaime said at last. "I wasn't sure if he would, but if he keeps this up, he might just get back into shape."
"Robert Baratheon is the most bullheaded man in Westeros once he sets his eyes on something he wants," Barristan remarked. "It would seem the warlord in him has returned with the appearance of the Dragon King across the sea."
Jaime nodded silently, looking down at the table. Barristan's brow furrowed. "What is wrong, boy? You haven't said a single sarcastic word since you entered my quarters."
The younger Knight didn't answer for a while.
Barristan waited patiently. He'd known the Kingslayer from the time he was just a squire. Now in his early thirties, anyone who knew him would understand that this strange quiet of Jaime's was unusual. Where was the mocking sneer and sarcasm?
"I still dream of those nights, when the Mad King ruled," Jaime finally said, his voice soft and pained. His eyes, Barristan thought, were very far away. "So often I can't stand it. I can hear her screaming. I always say 'we are sworn to protect her.' And always I get the same answer. 'Not from him.'"
The Lord Commander seemed to age a decade. "Jaime…"
The way Aerys Targaryen had treated his wife, Rhaella, had scarred Jaime forever. Seven hells, he was barely a man in those days. No more than seventeen summers.
He'd stood outside the Queen's chambers and listened to the Mad King rape his wife, powerless to act.
"There are times in my dreams when I force my way into that room and I kill him," Jaime confessed. "But it never stops her screams. Her cries. It is always too late."
Barristan was quiet for some time. "I never dream of it so vividly. But I hear her voice on some nights. It pains me."
The Kingslayer drummed his fingers absently. "I heard tell you are thinking about retiring."
"I have seen many years of service. I think I am due a reprieve, before another war starts."
"I don't believe you."
Barristan raised an eyebrow. Jaime still didn't look at him.
"The Dragon King—he's still only a boy. He can't be more than…what, ten and four? Ten and five?"
"…Something like that."
"I was still a squire at that age. A child. A child flew across the Narrow Sea to meet someone he'd never met. He rode to war for someone he didn't know…and he won. What does that say about us? We knew Rhaella for years…and we did nothing."
"We swore an oath," Barristan reminded him.
"What sort of oath forces a Knight to listen to his Queen be raped while we guard the King who rapes her?"
"…I don't know."
"I've been rotting away in this place," Jaime murmured. "I do not know what I'm doing here anymore. The codes and morals I upheld when I first took my vows feel worthless these days."
Guard for a King who drank and whored and hunted children.
Monster who watched little boys be pushed out of tower windows.
Lover to his own sister, allowed her lust to control him.
Father of false heirs, whom he could never be a father to.
"You're going to seek out the Targaryen children," Jaime said after some time.
Barristan grew still. "I have considered it. I wish to meet them, at least."
"I'm going with you."
"What?"
"I couldn't protect Rhaella," the Kingslayer uttered. "I could not help her children after they fled Dragonstone. I told myself day after day I could do nothing. That it was beyond my power to do anything about them. How can I keep saying such things when a mere boy took those words and spat on them?"
"He spat on them with dragonfire."
"Even so."
Barristan frowned deeply. "How can I trust you? How do I know you intend to help them? How do I know you won't stab them in the back, like you did the Mad King?"
"Because I won't," Jaime said simply. When the older man opened his mouth to object to such weak reasoning, the Kingslayer shook his head. "Whether you wish me to join you or not, I am going to seek them out myself. If I do not leave now, I do not know if I will have the strength to try again later."
"You father will be furious. Your sister. Your King will be furious."
"No more so than they will be with you. They will be in no position to stop me. By the time they discover where I have gone, it will be too late."
"You don't make any sense. Have you gone mad?"
Jaime finally looked up at the Lord Commander. "With respect, Ser, I don't know if I've been fully sane since the night I first heard Rhaella's screams."
Barristan stared at him for several minutes.
"Well? Am I sailing with you, or am I going alone?"
"…Two days. You will meet me by the Iron Gate at dusk. A friend of mine—a merchant—is sailing home to Pentos. We will sail with him."
"Two days. The Iron Gate at dusk."
Barristan shook his head. "I don't fully trust you with this, Ser Jaime. You understand why. But I know you cared about the Queen. That is the only reason I am giving you this one chance to prove yourself capable of honor again."
Jaime nodded silently. He stood to claim a goblet from the nearby cupboard, filling it with water. Barristan didn't like to drink a lot of wine these days.
He returned to the table and offered the goblet in a toast. "To Rhaella."
Barristan quietly tapped his own cup against the younger Knight's. "To Rhaella."
The past week, Daenerys reflected, had been perhaps the happiest she'd experienced in years.
The weather had been pleasant. The sun was shining, the breeze was good, and her company on the Fair Sea Maiden was pleasant.
Very pleasant, it must be said.
Dany grinned against Jon's lips, grasping the hem of his tunic and pulling it up. They parted just long enough for him to help her remove the clothing, and then he was cupping her cheek with one hand to pull her in for another kiss. She hummed happily into him.
Once they'd gotten a taste of each other, they just couldn't stay away. It was sweet and thrilling, and it set their blood alight. Of course, they spent much of the day on-deck, interacting with the crew and their allies, but they were sharing a cabin. All that time alone together—well, what were a pair of enamored teenagers to do?
They hadn't gone too far in their romance, new that it was. That had been a decision made on the first night Dany made her affections really known to Jon, and his to her. But they were eager and curious to explore all of this. To learn each other, as Doreah had put it.
And if nothing else, they were certainly eager to learn.
Curled up in his lap, Dany let her fingers trail down his shoulders and chest to his belly, causing Jon to shiver. She loved the touch of his bare skin. He was warm and solid beneath her hands, rising and falling with his every breath. There wasn't much light in their cabin—the sun had already set, and they only had the lantern going—but it was enough for her to see him clearly enough.
She tensed her nails, dragging them against his flesh, and Jon made a little noise in his throat that had her giggling.
"That's not fair," he gasped against her mouth.
"What isn't?" Dany asked, feigning innocence. They both knew she was fully aware of how he reacted to her scratching at him. As if it were possible not to know—she could feel how hard he was against her thigh.
He didn't answer. She pulled away from his lips and nipped at his neck, causing him to whine. "Dany."
"Answer me," she smiled against his neck, lifting her hands to grasp his hair and scratch at his scalp.
Jon swallowed hard as she pressed her lips to his throat again. "I'm the only one half-dressed."
"You can't take a nightgown off halfway."
"I think you could."
"Do you?" Dany blushed, but her grin was mischievous. Her blood was aflame with her affection and desire for him. For every little bit of Jon Snow. "Prove it."
Jon's eyes flew to hers, widening. "…Really?"
She pursed her lips and nodded shyly. His hands rose to her shoulders, teasing the straps of her gown and slowly pulling them aside…
A knock on the door had them both freezing in place. From outside, they heard a muffled voice call quietly. "Your Grace? Princess?"
Jon pulled his hands from her shoulders and let his head fall against her neck. "Oh, come on…"
"One moment!" Dany called to their guest. She laughed quietly at her lover's disappointment and kissed his forehead. "Another night."
They pulled apart and Jon reluctantly donned his tunic again to hide the scratches Dany had left on him, while she tried to smooth over her appearance as much as she could. Once they were somewhat put back together, Jon opened the door to their cabin.
Doreah stood in the entryway, eyes darting from one to the other. "Forgive my intrusion. I hope I didn't disturb you."
"It is forgiven, Doreah," Dany smiled at her handmaiden, but blinked at the uneasy expression on her face. "Is something amiss?"
"I…I need to speak to both of you in confidence," she said quietly. Her eyes were a little frantic—a little desperate.
Jon frowned and nodded, stepping away to let her inside. He closed the door behind Doreah, then turned to face her. "Are you unwell?"
Doreah's eyes flashed towards the door, as if she feared someone might be listening in. When she spoke it was so quiet he scarcely heard her. "It—it might be nothing. But I thought you should both know."
Dany reach for her friend's hand and squeezed it firmly. "We are here to listen, Doreah. You can tell us, whatever it is."
The older girl swallowed tightly. "My moon's blood is late. Very late."
She had to digest that statement for a few moments before the implications actually struck Daenerys. The color drained out of her face. "You mean—"
"I don't know," Doreah was quivering. Dany flashed a glance at Jon and saw how pale he'd become as he realized what she was saying. "I—most of my…clients in the past were careful, and if they weren't, I kept moon tea to ensure I never conceived. But Viserys wasn't careful and—and everything since has been so much…"
Her eyes were watering and Dany brought the young woman into a tight embrace as the damn broke and she cried. "I just forgot, and we don't have the ingredients for moon tea on the ship."
"Shh," Jon hushed her. He moved to the door and cracked it open, eyes darting around the dark hallway before he shut it tight again. Dany could see his mind already wracking furiously.
He stepped close to them, his voice barely a breath. "Doreah, are you sure Viserys is the father?"
"I am," she whispered. "He was the only man I've been with since I arrived in Pentos from Lys. I haven't had another man between then and now."
"Have you told anyone else about this?"
She shook her head and Jon pursed his lips, glancing at Dany. She had no idea what to say.
"How certain are you?"
"I—I've never…" Doreah sobbed quietly into Dany's arms. "I've never carried a child, but I've known other girls from Lys who have. I was sick the first few weeks we were on the ship, but I wasn't the only one. I've had a few more…episodes of sudden illness in the mornings. I thought it was just seasickness, but I haven't bled weeks after I should have."
"Alright," he took one of her arms and with Dany, guided her to the bed. "Lay down and rest. I need to speak to Daenerys in private for a moment."
"I'm sorry," Doreah cried.
"Hush," Dany soothed her, helping the young woman lie back. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Calm yourself, Doreah. We will keep you safe."
They helped her settle into the bed, with Jon tucking the blankets over the young woman and Dany speaking softly to her until her tears were gone. She was exhausted and curled up in the bed, trying to release her stress.
Once she was calm, Jon gently pulled Dany out of the cabin and to the deck of the ship. There was a small detail of sailors still awake to keep watch for pirates, but no one else. They walked to the stern of the ship, ensuring they were alone, and took a few minutes to process what they'd learned.
Even then, Dany hadn't quite come to terms with it.
Jon watched her, his expression unfathomable. "Dany."
"She might be with child," Dany whispered. "My brother's…"
He bit his lower lip. His voice was breath on the wind, barely audible."Dany, if she is carrying a child, no one can find out the father is Viserys. If Westeros hears of this, Robert will kill her just to make sure he gets the babe, too."
She nodded, swallowing tightly. Something of her brother might have survived his death. Maybe…maybe the best of him.
"If his seed took root in her womb," she started. "If—if this is true…we must hide the truth of the babe. At least until it is born."
He frowned and she smiled at him wryly. "You were fortunate, taking after your mother so strongly. You could have kept the truth a secret forever, if you wished. This babe might take after its father. Both of the parents are fair of skin and light of hair."
"We won't know until it is born," he argued. "But you are right. At least until she's given birth, Doreah cannot tell anyone the babe was sired by Viserys. She must tell those who ask that the father was a client in Pentos. A guard she took a fancy to, or something along those lines…"
Dany suddenly stiffened. "How many people on this ship know Viserys bedded her?"
Jon stilled and did a mental tally. "You and I…Irri and Jhiqui. Ser Jorah."
"We should swear them to secrecy."
"No," he shook his head immediately. "We give them the same story Doreah will give everyone else."
"You don't trust them?"
Jon looked out into the black sea. "I don't know. Irri and Jhiqui are…probably trustworthy. They'd have little reason to betray us after we freed them."
Dany studied his face. "But you do not trust Ser Jorah."
He shook his head slowly and turned to look at her eyes. "I trust my uncle's judgement and I remember Jorah Mormont's story keenly, Daenerys. Whatever his reasons, he sold men into slavery. I do not know what he is doing here or why."
"He is employed to us. He has been a good friend and ally."
"For what purpose? A northman serving a Targaryen? With the history between them? Jorah would have been a young man when my father ran off with my mother. He would have been called to war against Aerys Targaryen."
Dany searched his face. There was no anger or dislike towards Jorah in his voice, just the truth of what he knew of their ally. "How can we be certain?"
"Unless we catch him in the act of betrayal," Jon murmured, never leaving her eyes. "The only thing I can think of is testing him somehow. I don't know how we would do that, though."
"We must be careful," she agreed.
"You know I'm not out to get him, right?" Jon's gaze was earnest, hoping she would understand. "I don't want to be correct about this. I know his father, and I'm even fond of the man Jorah Mormont is now, but you and I…that baby growing in Doreah's womb—we're the last of House Targaryen. I cannot risk our lives to chance. I must know where his loyalties lie."
"I know," Dany leaned up on her toes to kiss his lips softly. "I hope you are wrong, as well. I want the old bear to be a true friend to us. But I could not stand it if something happened to the child. If Viserys really is the father…this babe would be the last thing I have left of my brother."
He gathered her in his arms and squeezed her firmly against him. "We must always trust each other. No lies, no secrets. Everyone else must earn it, as much as I hate it must be so."
Dany nodded and nestled in his embrace. "You left one dragon out."
Jon kissed her brow and she felt his lips curve to smile. "True. Mustn't forget Aemon."
They were quiet for some time, and then Jon sighed. "If Doreah is with child, I will legitimize the babe when they are born."
Dany frowned and looked up at him, confused. "Legitimize them?"
He blinked, then laughed a little. "That's right—Essos doesn't have such customs. Viserys and Doreah were not married. In Westeros, the babe would be a bastard child."
"Like what you thought you were," she said quietly, understanding. He nodded.
"As a King, I can legitimize the child as far as Westeros is concerned," he told her. "Our House is hardly in a position to turn away such a child."
"Not that we would even if we were."
"No, we certainly never would. I never want to see another child suffer for what their parents did. You and Viserys had too much of that."
Dany lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and taking a long breath. This evening had become more…complicated than she'd expected. Gods, not an hour ago, she'd been goading Jon into removing most of her nightgown.
That seemed as if it were days ago already.
"We should tell Doreah our plan," she said at last. "But Jon…if we find out beyond any doubt that she's carrying, we have to find a place to hide her until she gives birth."
"We can't stay in one place for too long," he argued.
"I know, but it might be too dangerous to move her a lot," Dany whispered. "The women in our family—especially in these latest generations…childbirth has been such a heavy toll on them. Even the women who weren't Targaryens. Both of our mothers were…"
Jon sucked in a sharp breath. "I didn't think of that. Even…well, Princess Elia was mostly fine, but giving birth to my half-brother was difficult. I remember learning she was warned that carrying a third child might kill her."
"My mother had miscarriages and stillbirths more than any other woman I've heard of," Dany swallowed. "And Lyanna…"
They both said nothing for some time.
"We'll have to think of something," he said at last. "I do not think it should be Braavos, but anywhere save large cities risks a Dothraki attack. Frostfyre cannot remain in an area for too long to guard us from them—she will attract too much attention. She must be allowed to roam."
"We will consider that part of our plan in the morning, I think," Daenerys suggested. "For now…we are tired and weary, and we must reassure Doreah that we are prepared if she is carrying."
He nodded again, planted another kiss on her forehead. They remained in that embrace for some time longer before retreating back to their cabin.
Notes:
Shorter chapter, but I've been busy lately. Next one should be larger.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!