Chapter 10: Unrest
Summary:
The Small Council receives shocking news. Arya Stark's bond with her dire wolf, Nymeria, grows deeper. Tyrion Lannister finds himself at the mercy of House Stark in Winterfell.
In Braavos, Daenerys and Jon speak of their future, whilst in the shadows, a plot is brewing that threatens all of Braavos...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Ten: Unrest
Varys, more infamously known as "the Spider" as he was known in court, was at his heart a man who served the realm. He held loyalty only to those whom he believed would best serve Westeros, and perhaps even the people beyond it. He played the Game of Thrones well. One of the puppeteers in the shadows, spinning his webs and listening to the songs his birds sang to him.
It was certainly not a Game for the faint of heart. He had done many distasteful things to get from the slums of Lys to the Small Council Chamber. He held no illusions as to what he truly was. People were disgusted by him, and Varys thought quite rightly that they should be.
He was not a good man. But he tried his best to do what good he could manage, even if it meant no one knew of his efforts. Even if he was always looked upon with disdain and suspicion, he would try to make the world better however he could.
It was a sordidly difficult task these days. No matter how much rot he removed, yet more took its place.
He took his seat at the Small Council for their latest meeting. Nobody looked particularly happy to be there, he thought. Even the young dire wolf sitting on the floor between Ned Stark and the King looked less than thrilled to be present, but it was a loyal beast who rarely left the Hand's side.
Eddard, he knew, was on the trail of Jon Arryn's death. He'd realized the man's untimely demise was a murder and had begun to investigate it quietly. Well, as quietly as he could. Stark wasn't that subtle amidst the vipers of King's Landing.
Already, he was treading dangerous ground. He suspected the King's children weren't what they seemed, Varys was certain. After all, one of his birds had told him just yesterday that Eddard met one of Robert's bastard sons, and the Stark Patriarch was sharp enough to recognize young Gendry Waters for what he really was.
He needed to speak to Ned soon, in private. The Hand of the King was a good man whom Varys would really rather not lose to a knife in the back.
King Robert looked…well, better was perhaps a stretch. He had been losing significant amounts of weight, but his body was still larger than most men. Not as fat as before, but loose skin from his prior, slovenly lifestyle would never really go away.
Losing so much weight in such short amounts of time hadn't done the King any favors, either. He'd been ill twice in recent months from his frenzy to get back into shape, and his eyes had grey circles beneath them. Though the Grand Maester had urged him to slow down and lose the weight in a healthier way, Robert refused to listen with the bullheadedness he was known for.
But this particular meeting, Varys knew, would make Robert's condition perhaps even worse.
"What news?" The King rasped. He was still recovering from his latest bout of illness.
"Some good news, Your Grace," Varys dipped his head to the man. "My birds tell me Viserys Targaryen is dead."
There was a near-visible weight lifted from the shoulders of all those present. Their greatest worry in these past months was that Viserys would murder Aegon Targaryen and claim the dragon, Frostfyre, for his own. The guard had been doubled, always scanning the skies for the Mad King's son to fly in and assault King's Landing.
"Thank the Seven," Robert sighed. "How did it happen?"
"Viserys tried to assassinate Aegon Targaryen," Varys explained. "The boy fought off both his uncle and the assassin—a guard whom Viserys bribed. The guard was killed by his master. Aegon gave Viserys a trial and sentenced him to death. He was subsequently executed."
He did not mention that Aegon had executed Viserys personally. If the boy turned out to be a good ruler one day, the mark of a kinslayer was not one he needed. If he turned out to be a bad one…well, it was useful blackmail to turn the realm against a tyrant.
Nor did he mention that Aegon had executed Viserys by reasoning of an old northern moniker; "he who passes the sentence should swing the sword" Illyrio had quoted to him. The description of the boy's appearance from reports some months earlier was now painting a more definite picture of the child's true nature.
Perhaps Eddard Stark wasn't as hopeless a liar as Varys had feared. If his suspicions were correct, there might be hope to keep the Stark Patriarch alive in King's Landing.
Robert seemed satisfied with the death of Aerys' last son. "Where are the Targaryens now?"
"They left Pentos not long after Viserys was executed. I'm told their leave was done quickly and quietly. Apparently, even the captain did not know for certain where they were going."
Renly Baratheon drummed his fingers on the table. "The boy's smarter than his uncle, I'll give him that. He knew they were being spied upon."
"Indeed," Varys nodded in agreement. "We believe they went north, but until Jorah Mormont sends his own songs, I cannot be certain."
"Weren't Viserys and his sister living in Braavos for some time?" Pycelle queried. "They could go there. It would be risky. They cannot hide the dragon there, but Daenerys would be familiar with the city."
That's exactly where they are by now, Varys thought privately. But he would not say it.
No, Aegon Targaryen was growing more and more interesting with every song Varys heard about him. The child was young, but already firm, honest, and from all accounts he'd heard, good. It was early days yet, and Varys was not so foolish that he would invest all his resources into the boy, but Illyrio had expressed much greater intrigue in the child than he ever had Viserys.
His songs whispered to Varys the possibility of hope. The possibility of a good, just ruler.
But not yet, Varys knew. The boy was still a boy, and he would be most cautious. For now, the most he could give the child was a little time to keep ahead of Robert's assassins. He would listen and see if Aegon's integrity held up.
He would not put another Mad King on the Iron Throne, if that was what Aegon Targaryen turned out to be. He hoped beyond hope that the boy would take after Rhaegar, who for all his faults, would have made a great King.
So instead of reporting their current location, Varys pursed his lips. "It is possible they could go to Braavos, but from what I've heard of the boy, it is hard to say. Aegon is cautious and wary. He might see Braavos as too risky. He certainly knows his aunt and uncle stayed there for some years. I intend to have my birds travel south as well as north, just to cover more ground. It will take time."
"He can travel quickly with that dragon of his," Robert grumbled. He was displeased, but understanding. "Where is the beast?"
"Somewhere in Essos, Your Grace. It flies vast distances, or so I am told. It is not always with its Rider."
"That makes it easier to kill him."
"It also makes it easier for him to hide, Your Grace," Baelish pointed out.
The Not-So-Fat King nodded, conceding the point. "Keep searching for him. I want to know where he is as soon as possible."
"Of course, Your Grace," Varys dipped his head.
"Now, is there any word of my wayward Kingsguard?" Robert demanded.
Ah, yes. That wonderful conundrum. Varys saw the way Cersei colored furiously, undoubtedly still befuddled and enraged by the disappearance of her twin—her lover. Well, Ser Jaime had clearly decided his time in her bed was at an end, so former lover might be a more accurate term.
A not insignificant part of him was relieved Tywin wasn't here for him to deal with in-person. The Lannister patriarch had returned to Casterly Rock not long ago.
He would have been lying if news that Barristan Selmy had disappeared surprised him. The man had adored Rhaegar as if the Prince were his own son. To hear Aegon Targaryen was alive and well—of course he was going to at least meet the boy.
But Jaime Lannister? Varys could only assume, and none of his assumptions possessed a shred of proof. Only whispers.
"Nothing yet," Varys admitted.
"No one knows anything?" Robert looked around the table. He scowled when no one answered him. "Where are they and why?"
"That old man has betrayed you," Cersei spat. "I never liked him."
"Then explain why your brother has disappeared with him!" Robert retorted.
"It is possible Ser Jaime has gone with Ser Barristan to kill the traitor and the Targaryens in one fell swoop," Baelish suggested. "I find it difficult to believe the Kingslayer of all people would turn on us."
"I gave him no such command," the King snapped. "He was sworn to serve the King. Leaving in the dead of night with his Commander, going off someplace only gods-know-where against my orders…that is treason."
"I cannot believe they would sail to Essos together," Ned shook his head.
"And why not?" Baelish, ever the shit-stirrer, asked pointedly. "Where else would they go, so secret and so soon after hearing of the Dragon King?"
"If it were just one of them, I could believe it," Ned reasoned. "The Kingslayer sailing off to kill off the rest of the Targaryens, I could believe. He's reckless enough to do it, and he's already shown himself capable of going against his vows. Ser Barristan, as well. Everyone at this table knows the man adored Rhaegar Targaryen. I could believe it if it was one or the other. But both?"
"Why not both?"
"You mean to tell me the Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard was foolish enough to trust a man who slew his own King when he set sail to meet the grandson of that same King?" Ned stared at Baelish, then at Robert. "Did you appoint an idiot at the head of your Kingsguard, Your Grace?"
"At this point, I am not sure who I appointed," Robert scowled.
"Then the Kingslayer himself. You think that man would let Ser Barristan—one of the most experienced and seasoned Knights in the Seven Kingdoms—go to his King's greatest rival? He would have killed Barristan on the spot or turned him in the moment he learned of such treachery. No, I cannot believe they conspired together to sail to Essos. It must be something else."
"All of this is just speculation. It means nothing," Cersei scowled before snapping her gaze onto Varys. "I expect you to alert us as soon as word of my brother reaches your birds."
"Of course, my Queen."
"What else?" Robert asked of his spymaster.
And now the truly bad news.
"Balon Greyjoy is dead."
The Spider's announcement sent the room into silence. "In his place, the once-exiled Euron Greyjoy has taken the Iron Islands and openly rebelled. He has proclaimed himself King of the Isles and the North, and is amassing the Iron Fleet."
A pin could have dropped and resounded loudly through the chamber.
"What?!" Cersei shrieked in rage and disbelief. Even Baelish seemed stunned, despite his usual glee for such chaos.
Robert Baratheon's face was sickly pale. Ned Stark's normally grim expression had become gaunt with horror.
"What is his target?" Renly demanded.
"The Dragon King."
"Why?"
"In his travels throughout the world, Euron has acquired a Dragon Horn from Quarth, originally retrieved from Old Valyria. The Horn is inscribed with magical Valyrian runes and supposedly, the master of the Horn can use it to control dragons. I suspect that as soon as word reached him of the Dragon King in Essos, he started plotting to seize the dragon for his own purposes—mostly likely claiming the Iron Throne. He also has in his possession a dragon egg, which I suspect he intends to try and hatch."
"The fucker works fast, I'll give him that," Renly breathed. "Did he kill Balon?"
"Not directly. Balon supposedly fell off a bridge to his death a day before Euron's ship, the Silence, came into port."
"So an assassin," Baelish stated flatly.
"Most likely. Victarion was displeased with his brother's arrival, to say the least, but it appears Euron has more or less cemented his position. His fondness for the Old Ways of the Ironborn are well known, and popular amongst a large sect of them. I am certain we will hear of raids along the coast before long."
"All ports must be heavily guarded immediately," Ned regained his composure. "Lannisport first and foremost. We must reach out to Lord Tywin. Euron is the most dangerous Greyjoy of his time and the Iron Fleet is one of the strongest in Westeros. We must be—"
Robert slowly reached up to the center of his chest, looking even more pale and sickly than before. His nostrils flared to breathe in short and fast.
Everyone froze. Ned spun towards Pycelle. "Grand Maester, attend to your King."
Pycelle shot out of his chair as Robert tried to take a drink of water and choked on it, curling in on himself as he coughed violently. Ned and Renly made their way over to him quickly, trying to help Robert breathe while the Maester tended to the man, coaxing him to relax.
Then Robert all but fell out of his chair and Varys knew things were only going to get worse.
Tyrion Lannister was not having a good time.
Since arriving at Winterfell, things hadn't been too bad, he supposed. He avoided most of his family and partook in the pleasantries of local brothels. Much was as normal, though it was certainly colder. When his family returned to the south, he rode to the Wall to see that great wonder of the world for himself.
The men of the Night's Watch were grim and mostly boring men. Aemon Targaryen, the Maester of the Citadel, was perhaps the only person of interest to Tyrion for his great knowledge. The one man who could hold a good conversation.
He had enjoyed the old dragon's company. So much so, he almost regretted leaving.
But it was cold as fuck and he longed for the warmth of the south.
Then he returned to Winterfell with the intention of delivering plans to help the now-crippled Stark boy ride on a horse before he headed back south. That, he believed, was where his life had gone to shit.
Because Lady Catelyn Stark believed he was responsible for an assassination attempt on Bran that took place after her husband left for King's Landing, despite the fact that Tyrion had delivered his gift to Bran before her and Robb Stark, the young Lord of Winterfell in Eddard Stark's absence. The dagger of Valyrian steel, supposedly his, was shown to him and he really couldn't believe that nonsense.
"Why on earth would I draw up plans to help your son ride a horse—something he will never do on his own, I might add—if I intended to kill him?" Tyrion asked Catelyn incredulously. "And beyond that, what sort of imbecile arms an assassin with his own blade?"
"You should watch your tongue, Imp," one of the Lords spat.
"Why? Am I starting to make sense? Gods forbid!"
The Lord stepped forth with a hand on his sword, but Robb waved him off quickly, frowning at the dwarf. He was silent for some time. "Why would you help my brother?"
"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things," Tyrion answered. "How did you even come to the conclusion that the dagger belongs to me in the first place?"
Robb looked to Lady Stark, who answered him stiffly. "An old friend of mine, Petyr Baelish, claims the dagger was once his, and that he lost it to you in a wager. He said he bet on the Kingslayer while you bet on Loras Tyrell in a tourney on Prince Joffrey's name day, and that Tyrell won."
Tyrion stared at her. "You mean to tell me Lord Baelish convinced you that I bet against my own brother, known far and wide as one of the greatest Knights in the Seven Kingdoms? Do you understand how absurd that sounds?"
"If you insult the Lady one more time, Imp—" That Lord was really getting on his last nerve now.
"I am not insulting Lady Stark, My Lord," Tyrion interrupted. "I am asking if she can see the evidence through unbiased eyes. I understand that someone has tried to murder your boy. I understand that you are looking for someone to blame. If someone did such a thing to my brother, I would feel the same way."
"Your brother who murdered his King?" Robb's eyes narrowed.
"Meaning no offense, My Lord, but I would have thought your family would be in full support of that particular murder," Tyrion replied. "But my brother is perhaps the only person in the world who actually cares about me. I implore you to think. I brought your brother the means to ride on a horse again. Why on earth would I do such a thing if I was returning from the Wall and expected to find him dead?"
"What reason would Petyr have to lie to me?" Catelyn countered.
The dwarf heaved a sigh. "I do not know, My Lady. I do not know Lord Baelish well."
The argument might have gone on, but a messenger suddenly ran into the room and after bowing, handed a sealed letter to Lady Stark, which she passed to Robb. The young Lord opened the letter and scanned it, his eyebrows rising higher and higher as time passed, his face becoming bloodless.
When he finally looked up, the boy looked as if he'd aged a few years.
"News from King's Landing."
"Of what nature?" Tyrion queried.
"King Robert Baratheon is dead," Robb declared. "A heart attack. Joffrey Baratheon has claimed the Iron Throne in his stead. Viserys Targaryen is dead across the sea in Essos. Euron Greyjoy has rebelled and proclaimed himself King of the Isles and the North. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister have disappeared, and are believed to have defected to join the Dragon King."
Tyrion could not have been more stunned. There was too much to process. The rest of the hall seemed just as shocked.
His rational mind filtered through the first few pieces of news. Robert had died from a heart attack. Unsurprising, he was not a particularly healthy man. Viserys Targaryen was dead. Also not that surprising—perhaps an assassin had gotten to him. Euron Greyjoy was a wild card and this was bold enough to be a believable course of action from him.
But Jaime had abandoned King's Landing, their sister, and his children, to sail across the sea and join the family of the King whom he'd slain?
What?
He heard someone speak and jerked out of his thoughts. Tyrion stared at Robb, who was watching him with sharp eyes reminiscent of Ned Stark's, although the boy himself looked more Tully than anything.
"Forgive me, I was…I do believe I was too lost in thought to hear you, My Lord," Tyrion apologized. "Could you repeat what you said?"
"Why would your brother join the Dragon King, Lord Tyrion?" Robb asked again.
Tyrion's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shook his head slowly. "I do not know, My Lord. I do not know."
The boy's finger tapped on the table surface for several moments. "I do not think you tried to kill my brother."
"Robb," Catelyn started, but her son held his hand up. She pursed her lips, clearly displeased.
"But I also cannot let you leave until I am certain you had nothing to do with the attempt on his life," Robb finished.
"Am I to be a prisoner then?"
"No. You will be treated as a guest," the boy decided. A prisoner in all but name, Tyrion thought. "You did my brother a kindness, giving him the means to ride again. I find it difficult to believe you would gift such a thing for him if you meant to see him dead. But you understand how suspicious this all seems to me, do you not?"
Tyrion nodded. "I do, My Lord."
"Then you will remain here as my guest until we can be certain you had nothing to do with it. You will be treated fairly whilst in our walls, but you will always have a guard."
The Imp knew it was likely he would not get a better deal than that. He certainly didn't want to be freezing in a Winterfell prison cell. "Thank you, My Lord. If I can be of any assistance, all you need is to ask."
Robb nodded, satisfied, and ordered one of the guards to escort Tyrion to his new quarters.
Arya was bored.
She'd been learning swordplay since she arrived in King's Landing with the Braavosi water dancer, Syrio Forel, and that had been one of greatest experiences of her life. She'd had free reign to explore the Red Keep to her satisfaction, and she'd been training Nymeria whenever she wasn't busy with her other commitments.
Then the King had died.
Just the other day, the Red Keep had flown into a frenzy of activity, and now that blonde cunt Joffrey was sitting on the Iron Throne. Her father was tense, but Sansa was only too pleased to see the Baratheon boy rise to the throne. She was still living in her delusions of grandeur, hoping to marry the young King and become Queen as she'd always dreamed.
But their father had confined them to their rooms in the Red Keep, wary and uncertain about who their allies were following Robert's death.
Arya looked at Nymeria, who was curled up close to her master on the bed. The dire wolf was growing quickly. She was longer than Arya was tall by now, as big as a fully-grown normal wolf. But she would grow to be almost as large as a horse one day, the girl knew.
She stroked the wolf's ears, and Nymeria whined happily. She knew the wolf missed her littermates. Ghost was with Ned all the time now and Lady was, of course, with Sansa.
Ugh. Any thoughts of her sister ruined Arya's mood.
"Why is Sansa such an idiot?" Arya asked Nymeria. "Anyone with eyes could see Joffrey is an arse."
The wolf only flicked her ears in response. Arya felt their connection keenly—a bond that had grown more and more pronounced as time went on. Lazily, she reached for it in her mind and then…
She was tugged out of her thoughts and suddenly, she was in a different body. Covered in fur, with four long, thin legs, and a tail wagging lazily behind her. Her wet nose prodded at a girl—herself, she realized—and she saw the child's eyes were a foggy white, unresponsive despite the touch.
Arya jerked back into her body quickly, gasping from the strange sensation, and stared at Nymeria. The young wolf barked and licked her master's face.
She had dreamed of becoming Nymeria before, but she'd never done it while she was awake.
"Whoa," Arya breathed, grinning hugely. "Can we try that again?"
The wolf's tail wagged eagerly. Arya reached for Nymeria in her mind once more.
Perhaps it wouldn't be so boring in her room, after all.
Jaime leaned against a thick tree as he sat down, sweating and panting as they took a break.
He and Barristan had purchased a couple of horses in Pentos and were now riding north through the Flatlands to reach Braavos. They'd find a ferry to take them there when they reached the northern coast, or so they'd been told.
Essos was hot. The journey would be long—probably a few months, so he'd best get used to it.
They'd stopped by a small creek, which was little more than runoff from the larger rivers leading out of Dagger Lake to the east. They'd hug the water system as much as they could to keep their thirst quenched—it would be needed if they wished to reach Braavos in good time.
Everything they'd heard suggested Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen had sailed to Braavos. If nothing else, it would be an information hub they could use to try and track the Targaryen children down.
Barristan sat down close by, leaning against a tree across from Jaime as the horses drank. "Warmer than the Kingsroad to Winterfell, isn't it?"
"You could say that," Jaime agreed. "You've been to Essos before?"
"Once, in my youth," Barristan admitted. "But it wasn't a long trip. Still, I went out of my way to learn Valyrian after that. And what dialects I could manage."
"Good. Because I do not speak a lick of it."
"I have noticed," the older man chuckled. He took a drink from his water skin and looked over the horizon of the plains to the west. "How were you intending to find them without knowing Valyrian?"
"Make friends with someone who knows it and the common tongue, like your trader friend."
"And after that?"
"Follow what rumors I could. I may not enjoy hunting as Robert does, but I understand how to track down a quarry when I must."
"For the life of me, I still cannot quite believe you are willing to go against your father's wishes like this."
"I've been going against my father's wishes the moment I decided to keep my white cloak after Robert's Rebellion," Jaime admitted. "He wanted me to be his heir."
"Why didn't you?"
He was silent for a time. "Did you know that Rhaegar asked me to protect his family when he left to fight Robert?"
"I did. I was there."
"When I slew the Mad King, I took a moment to sit," Jaime confessed. "I had to…well, process what I had done. The days, hours, and minutes up to that moment had been…chaotic and terrible. I was not of my right mind. I sat down on the Iron Throne to breathe. To try and decide what I was supposed to do next. Before I could get up out of it, Eddard Stark ran into the throne room."
His face hardened. "I was seized for my betrayal of Aerys. Before I could even think to go to Rhaegar's family, I was tossed into a cell. I found out from my father when he came to release me what had happened to Princess Elia and the children. When he told me the Mountain and Amory Lorch had killed them, I was enraged. The last command of my Prince—failed. I rejected my father's command to absolve myself of my white cloak after Robert pardoned me. I could not bring myself to serve him."
"So you kept your cloak out of spite?"
"Not exactly…I hoped perhaps I would be able to still protect Rhaella and her children when they returned from Dragonstone," Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. "Fool boy that I was. I should have known they had no intention of bringing a Targaryen back to the Iron Throne. It took me too long to realize that. When I learned Rhaella had died giving birth and the children had been whisked away, I…"
The blonde Knight looked down at his hands. "It felt like all of the good things I'd been fighting for were dead and gone. What was the point? So I remained in King's Landing, yes. I served to keep my sister and her children safe, but…I believe I have only been making excuses."
"Excuses for what?"
Jaime smiled bitterly. "Perhaps I will tell you the reason why one day, Ser Barristan."
"Can I guess?"
"You can."
Barristan pursed his lips. "Rhaella. You were assigned as her personal guard for quite some time when you were appointed as a Kingsguard. I remember you even discovered a plot against her."
"The Faith of the Seven had agents in the Red Keep who had been poisoning her over the years," Jaime responded. An old rage burned hot in his belly as he remembered those days. "Trying to ensure she couldn't birth another living child after Rhaegar. It's why Viserys was born so weak. Why she miscarried and bore stillborns for so long. I caught one of them in the act of spilling something into her drink one day."
"I remember that. The King and his guard heard the commotion you caused and we rushed to see what was the matter. You were quite the picture of fury, Ser."
"I was younger and much quicker to anger, I admit. Pycelle identified the drug as a poison meant to reduce one's fertility. Aerys was enraged."
Barristan shuddered and Jaime grimaced. The Mad King had tortured the man responsible for poisoning Rhaella for days, getting names and information out of him before finally burning him alive. Not because he cared for Rhaella, but because those agents had been preventing his children from being born. His legacies.
His wrath had been terrible. When it was discovered from the tortured screams of those agents in the Red Keep that the Faith was behind the poisoning of the Targaryen Queen—well, he'd nearly purged the Sept of Baelor trying to kill every traitor responsible for the conspiracy, and many more he suspected of treason.
"Anyways," Jaime sighed. "Aerys was…I suppose pleased with my discovery of the Faith's treason. He ordered me to remain as Rhaella's personal guard for a long time after that. For nearly a year, I protected the Queen from anyone who sought to do her harm."
"Anyone but Aerys."
The Lannister man scowled darkly. "Yes. Anyone but him."
"She was a good woman. Better than Aerys deserved."
"Any woman would have been more than Aerys deserved," Jaime growled. "But Rhaella was more than any man deserved."
Barristan's eyes gleamed with something like realization, and then great sadness. "You loved her."
Jamie said nothing. He'd said too much, he knew—his rash, headstrong nature had not faded entirely from his younger days.
The old Knight seemed satisfied with whatever he saw on the younger man's face. "I won't torment you further with my questions for today. I want to believe you wish to protect what is left of Rhaella's family—but understand that if I catch a whiff of betrayal from you, I will ensure you never see them. Understand?"
"Perfectly well."
"Good. Just so long as we have an understanding."
Jaime turned away from Barristan and let his thoughts drift away from him. He'd wondered for a while what the Targaryen girl would look like—Daenerys. All he'd heard so far was that she was incredibly beautiful, that she would become a stunning woman one day.
He wondered how much of Rhaella he'd see in her. If the girl was anything like her mother, he would serve her until his dying days.
Daenerys stood at Doreah's bedside while the Braavosi midwife did her work, holding her friend's hand to comfort her.
Irri and Jhiqui were elsewhere at the moment cleaning the house, while Jon and Ser Jorah were retrieving clean water from the Sweetwater River. They would be back soon, she knew.
When the midwife was done, she smiled at Doreah and Dany. "You are doing well. Almost four moons along, yes?"
"Yes," Doreah nodded, looking nervous. Her hands fell to her belly, which was now starting to round with the child growing within her womb.
The midwife's face became gentle. "Your first?"
"Yes."
"The fear is common," she said reassuringly. "You need not fret, dear. You are healthy as can be and the babe is doing well."
Dany spoke then. "Can we count on you to continue helping us? And to keep Doreah's condition discreet?"
"Of course. I will stop by twice a moon to check on you, and you know where to find me should something happen. I will never be far."
"We appreciate your assistance," Dany smiled at her gratefully.
The midwife dipped her head, gave them some advice to keep Doreah and the babe healthy for the coming moons, and then took her leave. When Dany closed the door behind her, Doreah sighed. Her hands still rested on the little bump beneath her dress.
Dany lifted one of her own hands between them, glancing up at her friend. "May I?"
Doreah smiled a little and nodded. Her hand rose to guide Dany's to the swell of her belly, and the Targaryen Princess felt a joyful thrill rush through her. That was her brother's child growing, coming closer and closer to the world outside…
"How do you feel?"
Doreah shook her head. "It is…well, I confess it feels more real now, but it has only made my worries grow."
"We will keep you safe. You and the babe."
"I know. I believe you, it's just…it is frightening. I never thought I would become a mother, much less…"
She trailed off before she said too much. The identity of the child's father was still a secret known only to Daenerys, Jon, and Doreah herself. And so it would remain secret, at least until the babe was born.
If the child displayed Targaryen traits, well…
Daenerys banished those thoughts. They would cross that bridge when they got there. For now, Doreah needed her support.
"Come," she guided the young woman away from the door. "You can rest a little more. The King should be back soon with fresh water for all of us."
Doreah nodded. "The fireplace?"
Dany beamed and led the way, sitting her friend in a comfortable chair close to the flames.
Dany herself knelt by the fireplace and ran her fingers over the three dragon eggs nestled in the flames. She and Jon had both decided from their Dragon Dreams of the Tower of Joy that the siblings needed to be kept in flames.
It was something of a tricky order. Firewood had to be brought in by a barge, as chopping lumber from the islands that served as windbreakers for Braavos was illegal. It meant the wood was expensive to buy—more expensive than they were entirely happy about, given how much was needed to keep the fireplace burning. Even though they had plenty of money from the gifts they'd received in Pentos, there was no need to spend their coin carelessly.
They had purchased a small ship for personal uses, and though it took up a whole day, Jon and Ser Jorah had gone out to harvest some firewood from the mainland to the south. The task exhausted them, but it was necessary.
The eggs were now being warmed all day every day—convenient since the days were turning colder. Though it would never be as cold as Jon's home in Westeros, Braavos was starting to see some chilly days.
Dany adjusted the cream-colored egg slightly in the nest. She and Jon both had discovered that their strange immunity to fire was not something confined to their Dragon Dreams. Flames did not burn them, and could only lick warmly at their flesh.
It meant the house was always warm, but it didn't bother the residents too much. Doreah, in fact, found it to be most comfortable. If she wasn't in bed, most often she was found nestled in her chair by the fire. It comforted her, and Dany had caught her more than once absently stroking her growing belly whilst staring into the flames in a trance of sorts.
Dany looked over her shoulder and sure enough, Doreah's eyes were already locked onto the flames and eggs. She glanced around the room, ensuring they were still alone, and then spoke softly.
"Do any of them call to you?"
Doreah's gaze jerked from the flames to Daenerys, frowning slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"The eggs," she explained. "Do…I am not sure how else to put this, but do any of them tug your attention more than the others? For me, it is the black."
Dany set her hand on the black and red dragon egg, feeling the pulse of heat beneath her palm more intensely than any of the other siblings. "It always feels the most alive to me. As if it is calling for me to set it free."
Doreah was silent for some time before she answered. "I do not feel anything like that. But…I confess, I am most at ease when I am looking at the cream. It puts me at ease for some reason."
Daenerys nodded. "I wonder if your babe is responsible for that."
The young woman seemed startled. "You…you think so?"
"It's possible," she shrugged. "Your child has dragon blood in their veins. The magic of Old Valyria. Perhaps they are meant to be a Dragon Rider one day."
Doreah shivered. "One day, perhaps. But for now…"
"I know," Dany replied softly. "Forgive me; I was speaking my thoughts aloud."
"There is nothing to forgive, Princess."
The front door opened then, and Daenerys looked past Doreah. Her smile grew at the sight of Jon and Ser Jorah entering the house, carrying small barrels of fresh water. She rushed to help them.
"Here," Jorah passed her one on the way to the kitchen. "We still have two more on the ship. I'll fetch them."
"Thank you, Ser Jorah," Dany said gratefully. They settled the barrels down and the Knight quickly turned to go and retrieve the last of their new supply from the boat.
Jon wiped his brow of sweat. "Whew."
"Still not cool enough for you outside?"
He chuckled. "This is a hot summer day in the north."
"Mm," Dany grinned at him.
"Is the midwife already gone?"
"Yes. Not long before you both came back."
"And?"
"Doreah and the babe are doing well."
"Good," Jon sighed, relieved. He laughed again. "Is it odd that I'm rather heavily invested in the child?"
"Not at all; I am, as well."
She approached him, eyes gleaming with mischief. "It makes me wonder what you'll be like when we have a child of our own to dote on."
Jon's cooling face flushed bright red again. Dany laughed, delighting in his stunned features. But he quickly regained himself and smirked, lunging for her.
His arms wrapped around Daenerys and then his hands were tickling her, causing the girl to squeal with laughter. She wriggled to escape, but he was merciless with his revenge for her teasing. Eventually, they both fell to the ground, still laughing wildly.
Breathless and giggling, she turned her head to look at him. His face was split in a wide grin, and his hands had—for now—ceased their torment of her skin.
"You are a menace," he told her, still laughing.
"You make it too easy," she returned.
"Perhaps so," he admitted. His humor faded somewhat as his teeth worried his lower lip. Jon's voice fell to a quite murmur. "I…I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it."
Dany's eyes widened as he looked back at her nervously. "Really?"
He nodded, clearly still worried about how she'd take that. Daenerys lifted a hand to his cheek and he clasped it in his own, turning his head to kiss her palm. "I know such things should not be in my mind. Now especially, since we're waiting on Doreah to give birth. We haven't even…"
"Been married?" She finished softly.
Jon pursed his lips. "Do you want that? Want me?"
Dany twisted in his grip and held his face in her hands so she could kiss him, soft and slow. "Yes. Gods, Jon—who else could I possibly want for my husband?"
"Any man would want you."
"But they are not you," she whispered against his mouth. "Not one of them is equal to my Dragon Rider."
Jon swallowed hard, but he looked relieved. She smiled somewhat. "You doubted yourself?"
"Well, I hoped, but I didn't want to assume…"
"Silly boy."
They giggled together, still nestled close on the floor of the kitchen. "When?"
"After Doreah's babe is born."
Dany blinked in surprise. "That's five moons away. Why so long?"
"It's…it's foolish of me," Jon confessed, shaking his head and laughing quietly. "I want to…well—I want to court you properly."
It brought a wide smile to her lips. "Is that a northern tradition?"
"Sometimes. Unless someone is in a rush to marry, there's usually some time before the wedding itself when the man and his would-be bride get to know each other. To ensure they match well, you see."
"I see. Do you believe we will not match well, Your Grace?"
Her tone was teasing, ensuring him it was a jest. Jon's dark eyes were lively as he looked at her. "I merely wish to prove that I am worthy of you."
"You rode to war against a horde of ten-thousand Dothraki for my sake."
He didn't back down, still smiling at her as he inclined his head. Dany laughed. "Well, then I will humor your needless attempts to charm your way yet further into my life, Your Grace."
Jon leaned up to kiss her again, only to blink when a finger was lain upon his lips to stop him. Vivid amethysts sparkled with amusement. "You can start after you have bathed. You are a mess."
"And yet here you are."
"I am in need of a bath as well, I confess," she admitted. When he smirked, she swatted his shoulder. "No, you may not join me."
"Rejected by the most beautiful maiden in Essos and Westeros," he teased. "However will my broken heart recover?"
"Well, the sooner we both clean up, the sooner you will get a chance to try and charm her again," Daenerys grinned. She stood and he rose to his feet a moment later, slipping his hand into hers.
In a Braavosi Inn near the heart of Ragman's Harbor, a man wrote a short letter to be sent to Westeros. Some of his men would take it to their King today, who had undoubtedly already made his move in the Iron Islands. He would stay in the city to keep watch on their quarry. Would sent letters to more of their crews operating in Essosi waters under unmarked sails.
Euron Greyjoy would learn soon that the Dragon King was hiding in Braavos—a long sought-after conquest the Crow's Eye had wanted for years. With any luck, the Iron Fleet was already gathering, and this information would give him a target to pursue.
The plan would be months in the making—perhaps more. Who knew if the Dragon King would even remain in Braavos?
But even if he did leave, Euron would want Braavos for his own. The Bastard Daughter of Valyria would be his.
He finished writing and sent the letter on its way.
Notes:
We'll be jumping around with time a little bit in these upcoming chapters. I'll try my best to make sure it's easy to follow. I know it can be a bit confusing to keep up with it all.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!