Daenerys
The flickering light of candles cast a warm glow across Daenerys's chambers in the Red Keep, where she reclined in a bath filled with fragrant oils that took her back to the shores of Dragonstone and that day when she had set foot on Westeros for the first time. The smell of salt water and the accompanying memories of the walk up those great stone stairs with her friends by her side still sent chills up her spine, even in the scaldingly hot bathwater.
The previous day's efforts at the forge had left her terribly sore, but a contented smile played on her lips in spite of this. As steam rose around her from the hot water, she gazed out of the window at the setting sun, its golden hues painting the sky in a canvas of fire. She had spent almost the entire day inside, taking every piece of advice that Grand Maester Loren had given her about relieving the soreness that Jacen had promised would plague her, but a warm bath had been the best remedy, as Jacen had recommended.
I suppose a blacksmith should know better than the Grand Maester. Especially that useless fool. She thought back to a day in the first year of her rule when she had gone to Loren for a draught to soothe the effects of a particularly painful cycle, and she had spent over a week in bed, violently ill to the point that Tyrion had considered launching an investigation into a potential assassination attempt. She had reached out to the Citadel to lodge a complaint about the Grand Maester they had appointed, but the Archmaester had assured her that this can happen to what he called 'problematic women' and that Loren should not be blamed. She had relented so as to not make enemies so early in her reign, but he and the Citadel had been on thin ice with her ever since.
Lenna Tyrell, her handmaiden since the day she had first sat upon the Iron Throne, moved quietly about the room, tending to the various tasks that accompanied Daenerys's evening routine. She had arrived only minutes ago, when Daenerys was already reclining in her bath with a partially-drained glass of wine.
"Would you like some more wine, Your Grace?" Lenna asked, holding a silver decanter in her hands.
"Yes, please," Daenerys nodded, her voice sounding weary to her own ears in spite of the smile that had been on her face for most of the evening. She held up her wine glass and Lenna replenished it.
"You seem in unusually high spirits," Lenna observed with a playful smile.
"I am," she nodded, her smile not wavering as she took a sip from the newly filled goblet. "Do you remember Jacen, the blacksmith?"
"How could I forget?"
Daenerys leaned back, the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub. "We forged a sword together when I visited his shop yesterday."
Lenna raised an eyebrow. "Forging a sword? Hardly a typical pastime for a queen."
Daenerys chuckled. "It was his idea. He had it all planned before I even arrived. And you know what? It was exhilarating. The heat of the forge, the deafening sound of metal on metal, my arms shaking with each strike of the hammer, the melding of iron, the hiss of steam as we quenched the completed sword — it was like nothing I had ever felt before. I took a piece of iron, heated it up, and pounded it into a weapon that can be used to kill things. Not only that, but he planned it all just for me."
"That sounds very special, indeed," Lenna smiled warmly. "And Jacen? How did he fare with the Dragon Queen at the forge?"
"He was exceptional," Daenerys felt a gentle warmth spreading in her chest. "We spent hours together, working side by side. There was definitely a connection, Lenna."
"As I have been telling you since the day you first met him," the young woman smiled smugly. "Is that why you have that gleam in your eye?"
"Perhaps," she took a deep sip from her goblet, "but yesterday, something even more surprising happened."
"Wait!" Lenna abandoned her duties and rushed over to the small table nearby to pour another goblet of wine, always the first to forgo duty in favor of gossip. She filled it and rushed over to sit on a small stool beside the bathtub. "Now, what happened?"
With a mischievous smile, Daenerys leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, "I kissed him."
Lenna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "You kissed him? Oh, that's wonderful news! And how did he react?"
"He seemed to like it," Daenerys replied coyly. "In fact, he invited me to his home for dinner tomorrow night."
Lenna nearly dropped her goblet, excitement bubbling within her. "This is extraordinary! A private dinner — you must go, of course! And you, you initiated it! I'm so proud of you!"
Daenerys could only laugh at her handmaiden's enthusiasm as she adjusted herself in the bath and leaned her head on the rim to stare at the ornately patterned ceiling of her chambers.
"So, Your Grace," Lenna started after a brief silence, sipping at her wine, "tell me more about Jacen. What is he like? What is it that draws you to him?"
Daenerys sighed contentedly, sinking further into the hot water. "He's genuine, Lenna. There's a sincerity in his smile that's captivating. He's passionate about his craft, and he speaks of it with such reverence that you can't help but love it yourself. And his eyes, Lenna," she rolled her eyes, thinking back to those deep green eyes that had captivated her so many times over the past weeks.
Lenna's eyes sparkled with curiosity and she motioned with her hand for Daenerys to continue.
"He's humble, despite his talent. I've seen him interact with others at the forge, offering guidance and encouragement without getting angry or impatient. There's a kindness about him that goes beyond the surface. I just feel at ease when I'm with him, but most of all, he doesn't treat me like a queen."
"He sounds like quite the man, Your Grace," Lenna smiled over the rim of her goblet, clearly enjoying Daenerys's upbeat and talkative mood, "but what about tomorrow night? Are you nervous?"
Daenerys hesitated, the fingers on her free hand idly tracing patterns in the water. "Yes, I am. I've been a queen for so long, but this is different from ruling a kingdom. It's personal. What if I say or do something that makes him uncomfortable? What if I can't live up to his expectations?"
Lenna's gaze softened. "Your Grace, you've faced armies, conquered cities, and ruled a realm; but dinner with a blacksmith paralyzes you with fear. Just be yourself. He invited you to his home, of all places. Whatever expectations you tell yourself that he has, you have clearly met or exceeded them already."
Daenerys nodded, appreciating Lenna's comforting words. "You're right. This is just... different," she repeated, unsure of how to articulate her fears.
"Matters of the heart always are, Your Grace," Lenna set her goblet down on the floor next to the bathtub and rose from the stool, offering a reassuring smile, "but different is good. It means you are experiencing something beyond the crown and the throne. Something worth experiencing."
As Lenna resumed her bustling about Daenerys's chambers, the queen found herself lost in contemplation as she idly sipped at her wine. The extreme warmth of the bath seemed to intensify the heat of her thoughts.
"Lenna," Daenerys began hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of her closet, "what do you think I should do tomorrow night? Should I... try to kiss him again, or perhaps go farther beyond that?"
"Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons, asking for advice about a very different type of conquest. I never thought I would see the day."
Daenerys rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, stop. This is different. I want him to know how I feel, but I don't want to be too forward or make him uncomfortable."
Lenna stopped organizing Daenerys's closet and came over to resume her spot on the stool next to the bathtub, grabbing her goblet as she did so. She resumed sipping at it as she considered the question. "Well, Your Grace, just follow the rhythm of the evening. If the moment feels right and the connection is strong, a kiss could be a wonderful way to express your feelings. As for going farther beyond, let the night unfold naturally. There is no need to rush; both of you should set the pace."
"I know, and I don't want to force anything, but I also want him to know how much he means to me."
Lenna smiled warmly again, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Your Grace, I've never seen you like this," she took a deep sip of her wine and leaned forward. "Just be yourself, and by the end of the night, you may find yourselves exploring those uncharted territories together."
Daenerys chuckled, feeling a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but her laughter quickly died as she felt a sudden growing sense of vulnerability. The sudden and very real prospect of having dinner with Jacen alone and potentially exploring a physical relationship brought forth thoughts that she had kept guarded for many years, not even telling Lenna in all of the conversations they had shared in these very chambers holding these same two goblets.
"Lenna," she began as she sat up in the bathtub, her voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment, "there's something else."
Lenna nodded encouragingly for her to continue, knowing all too well how difficult Daenerys found it to open up to even her most trusted friends.
"It's been years since... since I've been with a man in a... well, in a sexual way."
Lenna crossed her legs and pulled them onto the stool, her expression shifting to one of understanding. "Your Grace," she began gently, "it is perfectly normal to feel that way. You've been focused on reclaiming the Iron Throne and ruling Westeros for a long time now. Intimacy has likely not been a priority. Nervousness is expected."
Daenerys nodded, her gaze fixed on the ripples in the bathwater. "I know, but I'm still scared, Lenna. What if I mess something up? What if I've forgotten how to navigate those waters altogether? It's been so long, and I want our first time to be special for both of us."
"Well," Lenna smiled. "You speak of making this special. Did you ever think that the first kiss you shared would be in a blacksmith's shop, sore and covered in soot?"
Daenerys chuckled, "I suppose not."
"And how special did it feel?"
"More than I can say," she admitted.
Lenna reached out and placed a gentle hand on Daenerys's shoulder. "Then ease your mind about it, Your Grace. Intimacy is about connection and understanding. Time and place do not matter. If the night takes that direction, let it happen in its own time at its own pace. Communicate with him, and don't be afraid to express your feelings. Vulnerability and trust are the most precious gifts you can give to the one you love, but only when you are both ready."
"Love?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow.
"Out of all that I've said, that is what you take from it," Lenna laughed and squeezed her shoulder, the smug smile playing on her lips that Daenerys so dreaded seeing. "Yes, Daenerys. Love."
"Lenna, forging a sword together is the first time we've truly done anything alone together beyond idly talking while he's working. How can I say that I love him?" Daenerys asked defensively, setting her goblet down on the rim of the bathtub.
"You don't have to," Lenna withdrew her hand and drained her own goblet. "I've known you since the day you first ascended the steps of the Iron Throne, Daenerys, and if I've come to know one thing about you, it's this: you are terrible at hiding your emotions."
Daenerys rolled her eyes, not wanting to admit that Lenna was right — she was indeed terrible at hiding her emotions.
"It is nothing to be ashamed of, Your Grace. Terrifying, yes, but shameful? Far from it."
Daenerys just sighed heavily and closed her eyes and dragged her wet hands down her face.
Realizing that she would get no response, Lenna laughed again and reached out to give her shoulder a final squeeze before rising from the stool and returning to her duties.
Daenerys grabbed her goblet and took a long sip, staring out of the window into the darkness. Jacen would be long gone from his shop by now, going about his evening routine in preparation for the coming day. Even as Lenna's words of comfort and assurance echoed inside of her head, she couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling as nervous as she was.
He's not the first to love you, Tyrion had told her in Meereen, regarding the sellsword Daario Naharis, and he won't be the last.
Her eyes drifted up to the rising moon and she smiled to herself, gathered her damp hair over her shoulder, and allowed herself to sink into the scalding water.
Tyrion
Tyrion stared out of the nearby window at the setting sun as it cast shades of orange and red across the clear sky. It had been a long day of meetings and bookkeeping, and he wanted nothing more than to drain his goblet of wine and retire for the evening. These weekly meetings were often a drain on his sanity, but they were a necessary evil to ensure the stability of Daenerys's reign.
"Is Ser Davos not joining us this evening?" Tyrion grabbed his goblet sitting in front of him and took a small sip as he looked around the table to Varys and Ser Barristan Selmy.
"Apologies, my lord," Ser Davos, Master of Ships, entered Tyrion's chambers as if on cue and closed the door behind him. "I've been approving plans for a new series of ships. The shipmasters are a talkative bunch." He sat down next to Ser Barristan.
"Not a problem, my friend," Tyrion nodded. "How is it coming along?"
"Very well, indeed," Davos responded. "The Ironborn have yet to disappoint."
One of the biggest surprises under Daenerys's rule, to be sure.
"And let us hope they never do," Tyrion raised his goblet and took a small sip. "Now, to get down to the matter at hand so we can all retire for the evening—"
"My lord, if I may before we begin."
"Of course, Ser Davos."
"I'm still not entirely comfortable with meeting in private like this outside of a proper small council meeting."
"We are doing nothing of great immediate consequence, Ser Davos," Tyrion assured him, "and I would never suggest that we do without bringing it before the entire small council. We are the ones who saw Daenerys to the Iron Throne, and we are the only ones we can trust to want to keep her there. The great game is always afoot, my friend, and we have little choice but to play it."
Davos nodded in acknowledgement, though Tyrion knew he was anything but satisfied.
Two years we've been together and you still have so much left to learn, Ser Davos. Serving Stannis and Jon Snow has made you too just, and the game of thrones is seldom just.
"You have updates for us, Selmy?" He looked at the aging knight, electing not to pursue the matter further.
Ser Barristan nodded. "They forged a sword together yesterday, and Jacen gave it to her as a gift. She talked about it from the streets of King's Landing until we reached her chamber doors." Tyrion detected a hint of warmth in his voice. Or could it be pride?
"It or him?" Davos asked.
"Some of both, I suppose," Ser Barristan gave a small smile.
"No longer trying to hide it, I see," Varys remarked.
"Why bother?" Tyrion took a sip from his goblet. "She's not a fool. She has to know that we know what she's doing by now."
"And she knows how strongly we would disapprove, as would certain members of the nobility who seek to undermine her."
"None of you have seen this as I have," Ser Barristan cut in, "The way her face lights up when she talks about him, how excited she always is to visit his shop, her love for this ordinary sword that they forged together… This man makes her happier than we have ever seen her. Would it be the worst thing to happen in the history of Westeros if we allowed this relationship to flourish and develop in its own time? Even if just for a while?"
"I have considered this as well," Varys agreed. "Jacen is loved by all who know him, and his family has a stellar reputation in King's Landing. There are certainly worse men for her to fall in love with."
"I know firsthand that that is the case," Tyrion nodded, thinking back to all of the 'suitable partners' he had worked so tirelessly to procure for her. "My concern is not for Daenerys. She has proven time and again that she can handle herself, and she has proven even more that she is not easily swayed. I worry for the boy, and that she hasn't considered the effects that this could have on him."
"A commoner becoming a royal is indeed a tall ask," Varys nodded in agreement, "and I think we can say with certainty that many will not accept him."
"'Many' is generous," Davos remarked, fairly new to the inner workings of a true royal court himself.
"This is more than a commoner becoming a royal," Ser Barristan said. "This is a commoner becoming a king."
"You expect this relationship to go that far?" Davos raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," Ser Barristan responded immediately. "If I may, I believe that we would be better suited preparing for that eventuality instead of wasting our time plotting ways to convince her to abandon it altogether."
"I agree," Varys nodded. "Has she spoken of any long-term plans, Lord Commander?"
"Not to me," he shook his head, "but I've been around long enough to know what this looks like. It is only a matter of time, gentlemen."
"Unless he refuses her," Davos offered, not sounding entirely convinced himself.
"He won't," Ser Barristan responded. "I can assure you. He cares for her a great deal."
Tyrion took a deep sip from his goblet. "If she does indeed love him, perhaps it would be best to approach this from the standpoint of his wellbeing."
"You say that as if you mean to undermine her," Varys remarked.
"Not intentionally," Tyrion shook his head, "but as we alluded to previously, the transition will be neither easy nor painless for either of them, but more so for him." He looked at Ser Barristan. "What do you know of this man? I understand that you have known his family for some time?"
He nodded. "I've known his family since the day I joined the Kingsguard. He comes from a family of humble and honorable men, and I have seen nothing that would suggest that he is any different."
"Ned Stark was an honorable man," Varys gave voice to what had all jumped into their minds at once.
"Yes," Ser Barristan looked over at him, "but he joined Robert's court too late to exact meaningful change. The battle was as good as lost when Jon Arryn died. He never could have won without losing himself in the process, and we all know that Ned Stark would be the last person to dishonor himself or his family in the name of a political office. Daenerys's reign is different."
"I don't doubt his personal safety," Tyrion said. "I doubt his competence and his mental fortitude. The best choice is not always the most honorable, and such drastic changes in station, lifestyle, and values could have devastating effects on him. I accept that he is a good man, Ser Barristan, but that does not necessarily mean that he will be a good king."
"True enough," Davos nodded.
"I won't pretend to be an expert on such things in the presence of you three," Ser Barristan gestured around the table, "and I won't speak for him as to what he can handle. All I can say is that, based on my observations, we could do much worse, my friends."
"I agree," Varys nodded. "Much worse, indeed."
A silence passed between them as each sipped at their goblets.
"If I may make a suggestion, gentlemen," Davos looked around the table.
They all turned to look at him.
"Perhaps we should adjourn, let this situation develop further, and reconvene at a later date and invite Daenerys to join us. There is little sense in talking this over amongst ourselves only to have to repeat it to her and argue about it all over again."
"A fine suggestion," Tyrion nodded in agreement, grateful that someone besides himself had suggested that they adjourn early.
"A final note of business, if I may," Varys said.
Tyrion stifled a sigh and gestured for him to continue.
"My little birds tell me that he has invited her to his home to share a meal tomorrow evening, and she has accepted."
No one spoke, unsure of how to handle this unexpected development.
Varys looked at Ser Barristan. "Has she spoken of this, Lord Commander?"
"She hasn't," the Lord Commander shook his head. "This is the first I've heard of it."
Tyrion sat back and dragged his hand down his face. "She's really not making this easy for us." He drained the rest of his goblet and refilled it to the brim from a nearby decanter.
"Did you expect her to?" Davos grumbled.
"I suppose not," Tyrion sighed. "A queen going to the home of a commoner alone at night…"
"If you are at all concerned for her safety, you need not be," Ser Barristan assured him.
You know very well that her safety is not what concerns me, Lord Commander.
"No," Tyrion shook his head, "I accept your judgment of his character. As with everything else in this situation, the optics concern me. More specifically, the nobility."
"Tyrion," Ser Barristan fixed him with eyes that were both old and wise. "We all know that the nobility will never be fully satisfied. Not with the daughter of the Mad King sitting on the Iron Throne. No matter what she does, she will come under scrutiny. She is in love. Cersei and Robert hated each other, and look what their marriage did to Westeros. As I said, maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea if we let this develop. He may very well surprise us."
Tyrion heaved another sigh and took a deep sip of his wine.
"I will talk to her myself about this," he said. "If this is going to continue, she needs to understand and fully consider the potential ramifications. In any case, I agree with Ser Barristan: we would be better suited preparing for this instead of trying to stop it altogether. Once I have her answer as to what she plans to do and am satisfied that she has come to terms with the gravity of the situation, we will bring this before the entire small council and discuss it as a group as opposed to us alone."
If nothing else, that should put Ser Davos at ease.
Everybody nodded their satisfaction with the proposal.
"Very well, then let us adjourn for the evening," Tyrion clapped his hands. "I thank you all for your time and dedication, as always."
Varys and Davos nodded to Tyrion as they left his chambers, but Ser Barristan stayed behind.
"She respects your opinion more than you realize, Tyrion," Ser Barristan said solemnly when they were alone. "Whatever you advise, she'll do. You know better than all of us that she's a servant to the realm first, and she would not make a decision of this magnitude lightly."
"Let us both hope that you're right, Ser Barristan," Tyrion raised his goblet and took another sip.
"Good evening, my lord," he nodded and walked to the door.
"Good evening, Lord Commander," Tyrion responded, "and I thank you for your wise words."
The Lord Commander smiled and gave Tyrion a small bow before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
Barristan is a good man, but he cares for her too much.
Perhaps that is precisely what makes him such a valuable asset. His ability to see politically pragmatic decisions from her perspective as a person instead of as a politician. He is a man of honor, and he would never forgo his duty to the realm in favor of blind allegiance to a name, regardless of how much he had grown to care for her. Not after what the men of the Kingsguard stood by and watched Aerys Targaryen do. If he truly believed that this was a bad idea, he would call it such.
Tyrion turned and stared out of the window. The sun had set, and his own reflection stared back at him as the moon rose in the distance.
He's not the first to love you, and he won't be the last, Tyrion had said to her before they left Meereen, after she had said a decidedly apathetic goodbye to a sellsword who claimed to have loved her. He had assured her that forgoing such connections was the mark of a great ruler, and he had always maintained that stance. She had then gone on to exceed Tyrion's expectations in bringing about a new age of peace in Westeros. Who was he to deny her this now?
Tyrion heaved a deep sigh, drained his goblet, and slipped out of his chair to prepare for bed.