Daenerys
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Daenerys slowly stirred, squinting against the unwelcome brightness. A dull throb echoed in her temples, and the weight of the previous night's revelry settled heavily on her shoulders. She winced as she tried to sit up, realizing the consequences of the indulgence in too much wine, and groaned as a wave of nausea rolled over her, forcing her to lie back down.
Last night wasn't that bad, was it?
She dropped an arm to the other side of the bed and found no one.
Wasn't Jacen here?
To her left, on a small table, as if there as a reminder, she spotted a glass of water, and a neatly placed bucket sat on the floor in front of it. The mere sight brought a mix of gratitude and dread. Jacen, who had escorted her back to her room the night before and promptly departed, had left these provisions, anticipating the aftermath of the celebration.
Gingerly, she rose on an elbow and reached for the glass and took a sip, the cool water providing a momentary respite for her parched throat. Daenerys winced, contemplating the night's events through the haze of her revelry. She set the glass down and laid back down and rubbed her eyes.
How long did I even sleep?
Not long enough.
A knock on the door preceded Lenna's entrance, as was her morning routine. "Good morning, Your Grace. How are you feeling?"
Daenerys managed a weak smile. "I've had better days."
"You certainly look like it," Lenna nudged the door shut behind her. "Can I get you anything?"
"Nothing, thanks. I'll be fine," she closed her eyes against the still unwelcome brightness, "but could you close the curtains?"
"Of course," she nodded and did as requested, then began to move about the room with a quiet grace, cleaning and preparing her clothes for the day, though Daenerys had no intention of getting out of bed unless absolutely forced to do so. She was already feeling noticeably better in the darker room. However, the stillness was shattered when Lenna accidentally slammed her closet door. The sudden noise cut through the fragile calm like a sword.
Daenerys groaned, her head pounding in protest at the unexpected disturbance. She winced, covering her face with a pillow in a feeble attempt to shield herself from the assault on her senses. The world seemed to spin as she clung to the edge of the bed, trying to regain her composure.
"Lenna, please," she murmured, the plea muffled by the pillow. "Quiet."
Lenna gasped in realization, and she hurriedly moved toward the bed. "I'm so sorry, Your Grace. I didn't mean to startle you." Her voice held a tone of worry.
She managed a weak smile beneath the pillow. "It's alright, Lenna. Accidents happen."
As if in response to her words, a wave of nausea washed over her, and she desperately reached for the bucket that Jacen had left by her bedside. With a muffled groan, she pressed the pillow tighter against her face, attempting to stave off the inevitable.
Lenna, ever resourceful, spoke quickly. "Your Grace, I will get a cold cloth for you. It might help soothe you." Daenerys couldn't bring herself to lower the pillow and look at her or utter a word of thanks.
Just as Lenna retreated, the relentless queasiness took hold, and Daenerys had little time to react. She lowered the pillow, turned towards the bucket, and retched, the sounds echoing in the quiet room. The ordeal seemed to last an eternity, but when it finally subsided, Daenerys felt an odd mixture of relief and embarrassment amid the foul stench that threatened to burn her nostrils.
Lenna appeared above her and gently pushed her back down onto the bed and laid the damp cloth over her eyes. "I'm here, Your Grace. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you." She rose from the bed, and Daenerys heard the bucket being taken from the floor beside her and footsteps disappearing into the washroom."
Daenerys managed a faint smile, the presence of the cool cloth indeed helping soothe her. "Thank you, Lenna," she called after her. "I'll be alright. I just need to sleep it off. You can leave now, I'll just be going back to sleep for a while."
"As you wish," she could hear the ever-present smile in her voice as she returned the bucket and washcloth to the floor beside her bed. "I'll check back in with you later, Your Grace."
She heard the door open and close, signaling Lenna's departure. She slowly lowered the damp cloth from her eyes and set it on her bedside table.
Never again. She thought as she pulled the sheets up to her neck, slowly turned onto her side, and drifted off to sleep again.
She woke up some time later, feeling little better than she had when Lenna left. She looked to her side and saw that the glass of water on her table had been refilled and a small tray of bread sat beside it, signifying that she had been back to check in on her at least once. Daenerys took the glass and greedily gulped down over half of it, but just looking at the plate of bread made her nauseous. She then gently laid back down and stared up at the ceiling.
The room isn't spinning anymore, which is certainly an improvement.
She draped an arm over her eyes and took deep, measured breaths to stave off the nausea that was slowly beginning to make its presence known once again.
She was roused from her meditations by a gentle knock at her door.
Gods, just leave me alone for one day.
"Yes?" She called groggily.
"Can I come in?" She heard Jacen's voice from the other side of the door.
"Yes," she found herself saying, though she felt quite the opposite. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her in such a state. She hurriedly pulled up the sheets level with her neck with her free hand, though Jacen was hardly a stranger to her body.
Touching under clothes is different from seeing, she told herself.
The door slowly opened and he stepped inside. "Good morning, Daenerys. How're you feeling?" He gently closed the door behind him and she heard him walk deeper into the dimly lit room.
"Better days," she replied as she lowered her arm and eased herself up onto her elbows, thoroughly embarrassed.
"I can see that," he didn't seem to mind or give it so much as a second thought. The way he looked at her now was no different from how he normally did. "Is there anything I can do for you?" He walked away from her couch and took a seat in a nearby armchair. He was wearing the clothes he would wear to his shop, but he didn't look like he had been to his forges yet.
"No, just trying to sleep it off," she sighed and leaned back on her headboard. "What're you doing here?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "You weren't in the best shape when I left last night, so I thought I'd come back today to check up on you."
She felt herself blushing. "And you're perfectly fine?"
"More or less," he shrugged again. "Of course, I didn't have nearly as much to drink as you did."
She groaned and let herself slide back down onto the bed. "How bad was it?"
"Not bad," he smiled, "but quite a departure from how you would expect a queen to behave. Do you remember anything?"
"Everything up until my goblet was refilled a second time."
Jacen laughed. "Yeah, we warned him but Harry insisted that you could handle it. He said he's striking out for the Wall this morning before you send Ser Barristan for him."
"I've half a mind to do just that," she mumbled. "How much did I have?"
"A few more than two."
"You let me have that much?"
"Daenerys, did you actually think I'd let you endanger yourself? You were having the time of your life. I've never seen you so happy and carefree. I've seen more than my fair share of people who can't handle their wine, and if I thought that you were in any danger then you know I would've put a stop to it."
"Whatever that was wasn't wine."
Jacen laughed again. "It's a far cry from what they serve here in the Red Keep, I'm sure. If it's any consolation, you started to sober up towards the end of the night after we made you eat something."
Daenerys grabbed the glass of water off of her bedside table and took a sip, and memories of the previous night began to slowly trickle back. The laughter, the dancing, the unfamiliar food, and of course, the copious amounts of wine. She vaguely recalled Jacen leading her in a dance, and the teasing cheers of his friends echoing through the night. He had played his guitar as they sat around a fire — a moment she would never forget, no matter how much wine she drank.
And the night had come to a close with Daenerys grabbing Jacen's hand as they sat around that same fire.
"Did I make a fool of myself?"
"A bit, yes," Jacen grinned at her.
Daenerys groaned, even more embarrassed than before. "How did I come across, at least?"
"They loved you," the pride was evident on his face. "Harry, most of all. He loves anyone who will play along with his drunken jokes."
"Well, he has no shortage of those," Daenerys couldn't help but chuckle.
"You're learning already," Jacen smiled.
Before she could respond, a wave of nausea began to wash over her again. Jacen jumped to his feet and rushed over, grabbed the bucket, held it up, and pulled her hair out of her face; and she leaned over the bed and retched violently. When it passed, Jacen had her wash her mouth out with a sip from the glass of water, then she collapsed back onto the bed on her side and heaved a deep sigh, the taste of bile still lingering in her mouth.
Jacen grabbed the damp cloth that Lenna had left behind and wiped a string of saliva from her cheek.
Gods, kill me now.
He set the bucket on the floor and hung the damp cloth over the side of it. He then sat on the bed and ran a hand up and down her back. "It'll pass," he said gently. "Come tomorrow you'll feel as good as new."
"Unlikely," she groaned.
"You will," Jacen smiled, continuing to rub her back. "Trust me, you're not close to the worst I've seen."
"Well, I'm sorry you have to see me like this at all," she rolled over onto her back and dragged her hands down her face.
"Oh, stop," he shook his head and rose from the bed. "Next time you see him, why don't you ask Louis what it was like the first time he drank that much. You'll feel better, I promise you." He grabbed the bucket off of the floor and carried it into the washroom, and Daenerys's heart dropped.
He's dumping out my vomit. She dragged her hands down her face again and stifled a defeated sigh. My foul, thick vomit. This amount of vulnerability was an unfamiliar sensation for a queen who prided herself on resilience, but she had to admit that the night had taken its toll.
He made the conscious decision to come here, knowing I'd be like this. It's not like he expected me to be presentable.
But did he really expect to clean up my bodily fluids?
Maybe not, but he's doing it anyway without me even asking him to.
He returned and set the newly cleaned bucket on the floor next to her.
"Looks like your handmaiden drew a bath for you while you were asleep. Want me to warm it for you?"
"No, thanks," she rasped as she reached for the glass of water on her nightstand. "Not unless you're planning to carry me to it." She managed a weary smile and took a small sip.
He grinned, the sparkle in his green eyes briefly making her forget about the misery of her current condition. "Apologies, Your Grace, but I'll have to refuse until you've stopped vomiting."
"Be gone, then," she waved him away. He laughed and gave her a small bow before disappearing again into the washroom.
He returned with a small bowl of water with the damp cloth from earlier sitting in it and another dry cloth over his forearm. He set them both on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed again, grabbed one of the loaves of bread, and tore off a piece.
"Eat this," he held it out to her. "It'll feel like you can't hold it down, but you will. Takes out the bile taste as well."
She gingerly took it from him and took a small bite. As soon as she swallowed it she felt much better, but she knew from earlier experience that it wouldn't last.
After a long silence, she gave a small chuckle as she took another piece from him. "When you were younger, did you ever think that one day you'd be cleaning up the vomit of a queen and feeding her pieces of bread like a duck?"
"Can't say I did," Jacen smiled and took a small piece for himself. "It certainly didn't come up when my uncle was teaching me to be a blacksmith."
"You seem to handle yourself quite well in spite of that, though."
"Years of practice. That's the danger of being a friend who lives in close proximity to several of the city's most disgusting taverns."
"What's your worst been?"
"I'll tell you sometime when you aren't in danger of vomiting on my shoes, but what I will say is that Jacque used to have long hair," he smiled.
"Much appreciated, in that case," she dropped another piece of bread into her mouth. Before she could think about it or stop herself, she slowly reached out a hand and took his. "And I appreciate this. More than I can say."
He squeezed her hand, giving her a warm look that made her forget the nausea and her pounding headache. "Of course, I'm glad to."
She wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him, but she thought that a bile-flavored kiss may be too far, even for his generosity.
Almost as if on cue, another wave of nausea hit and she released his hand and leaned over the side of the bed once again. Jacen did exactly as he had before and held her hair back as she retched into the bucket. When it had passed, Jacen ran a hand up and down her back as she coughed into the bucket and lay back down on the bed.
"I'm sorry," she groaned again, wiping her mouth and cheeks with her forearm and immediately regretting it.
"Stop apologizing," Jacen chided her as he reached out and grabbed her arm. He ran the damp cloth over it a few times and returned it to the small bowl. "Even the Mother of Dragons has to be human sometimes."
Again, he disappeared into the washroom with the filled bucket and the small bowl of cool water. He returned a couple of minutes later and set the clean bucket on the floor.
"Your arm," he reached out and took her wrist when she held it out. He then began to clean it with the damp cloth that was now covered with soap. When he was satisfied, he grabbed another damp cloth and wiped the soap away. "You'll thank me for that later."
Why am I letting him do all of this for me? He's even cleaning my arm. I'm Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of Westeros.
Because it's nice to be cared for by someone who isn't a servant.
"Here," he grabbed the glass of water and held it out to her. She immediately drained the glass, and he went to a pitcher Lenna had left behind and refilled it. "One thing to remember is that you really can't drink too much water. Dehydration is often one of the most prevalent symptoms, and arguably the easiest and least uncomfortable to treat."
"Are you planning to leave anytime soon?" She set the water down and laid back on the bed as her head began to pound again.
"I can if you'd like," he looked over at her.
"I wouldn't," she said, trying not to sound as sheepish as she felt. She patted the bed next to her.
"Okay," he smiled and walked around the bed to the other side. He kicked off his shoes and started to get into bed, but stopped.
"Are those my night clothes?" He pointed at a shirt neatly folded next to her pillow.
She felt her face grow hot as he grinned at her.
She nodded, not wanting to admit that she had already become accustomed to having him next to her when she slept. She knew that Jacen would be flattered by the notion, but she still felt embarrassed to admit it so early in their relationship. Lenna had suggested that she put his shirt around a pillow as well, but Daenerys had refused, primarily because she didn't know if her handmaiden was serious.
Jacen smiled and shrugged his shoulders before lying down on the bed next to her.
"Under the sheets," she motioned for him to move.
"In my work clothes?" He raised an eyebrow as he stood and watched her move the sheets aside to accommodate him.
She nodded, and he shrugged his shoulders again and complied. She pulled the sheets up over them.
When he had done as she asked, she gingerly sat up and turned to face him, letting the sheets fall into her lap.
"I think I love you," the words spilled out before she could think about it.
Daenerys felt her face growing warm. She had never planned when she would allow herself to say those words, but it certainly hadn't been now.
Jacen stared at her for a few seconds and smiled. "I think I love you, too."
Hardly how I envisioned it happening — him in his blacksmith clothes and me in my nightclothes with the smell of bile on my breath.
They both smiled at each other, and Daenerys lay back down without another word and curled up against Jacen and laid her head on his chest.
"Your Grace?" A voice from beyond her door roused her, accompanied by a knock. She felt the pressure of Jacen's cheek on the top of her head and his arm still around her.
Gods, what now? She reluctantly lifted her head from Jacen's chest.
"Yes?" She called groggily, her head still pounding, though she was feeling much better than she had only hours ago.
"I had hoped to discuss something with you, if you are able," the voice of Tyrion Lannister responded. "Lenna told me that you were ill."
Daenerys's heart dropped, and she completely forgot about her pounding head.
Any time but now…
"Of course, just give me a moment."
You could have just told him to come back later…
"Take your time, my lady."
She slowly sat up and looked over at Jacen, who had clearly been dozing. They traded bewildered and uneasy looks, hers born of shame and his born of hurt. She maneuvered to face him and crossed her legs under her.
"You haven't told him?" Jacen asked before she could explain herself. "You said you would…" His voice trailed off, and she felt her heart breaking.
"I know I did, and I will," she reached out and grabbed his hand. "I just need more time."
Jacen just smiled and squeezed her hand and gave her an understanding nod, but she could see in his eyes that she had devastated him. She had told him that she would do this, something that was so immensely important to him, after a night of such vulnerability and building of trust, and she hadn't. He had every reason to be angry at her, and she wouldn't even be able to explain to him exactly why this was so difficult.
Do I even know?
"Jacen—" she started.
"Stop," Jacen said gently and squeezed her hand. "It's okay. I understand that you have a complicated position and this has to be handled with care. Just promise me you will soon."
"I know when you're lying to me by now," she responded with an equally gentle voice. "I told you I would do something that was important to you, and I didn't. I betrayed your trust, and I'm sorry. You have every right to be hurt, even angry."
It sounds even worse saying it out loud…
"But I'm not," Jacen assured her.
You fucking liar! Why are you doing this to me? Just lash out and scream at me, already!
"Do you mean it?"
"I do," he smiled and squeezed her hands. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead and stood up. "I'll be seeing you soon."
I never meant to hurt you, she wanted to say, but she knew the damage was done, even if he refused to show it.
She decided to let it go, watching helplessly as he slipped on his shoes. She knew just from looking at him that she hadn't heard the last of this, and that getting Jacen to open up again may be a task far beyond any that the Iron Throne had presented in the past two years.
"See you later, then," she smiled.
Really? That's all you have to say?
"And thank you," she added. "Again. For everything. Sincerely."
That's hardly better. Gods, you're a real piece of work. This is the first thing this man has asked you for since the day you met, and you spit in his face.
"Of course," Jacen smiled and gave her a nod, though she felt that it lacked a degree of that warmth that he reserved just for her, "and the same to you."
She watched helplessly as he walked over to the door and opened it.
"Lord Tyrion!" He exclaimed.
"The Royal Blacksmith!" Tyrion responded, not surprised in the slightest. "Good day to you, ser."
"You as well, my lord," Jacen gave him a small bow and slipped past him into the hallway. Tyrion then came into view and gave her a look that was a mixture of both disapproval and disappointment as he closed the door behind him.
"Trouble in paradise?" he asked as he took a seat in the same armchair recently occupied by Jacen. If he noticed that she was wearing only her nightclothes, he gave no indication.
Daenerys didn't realize that she had started crying until she reached up and absentmindedly wiped the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. She threw him an angry glare, her mood magnified by the headache that was beginning to make its presence known again.
"You don't talk nearly as quietly as you think you do, you know."
"What is it, Tyrion?" She asked as she maneuvered to face him, exhausted and desperate for some amount of uninterrupted sleep.
"You should have known better than to try to hide something like this with Varys on your council."
"Is that why you're here?"
"Yes," he said. "I was going to save it for our next council meeting, but I thought I would talk to you about it myself to save you any judgemental glares. Especially after I heard that he brought you back to your room drunk last night."
Daenerys sighed heavily and pushed a hand through her hair. "And you're here to tell me how much you disapprove?"
"Not entirely. While you know I generally have no problems with the overindulgence of wine, there is a certain air of expectation for the behavior that accompanies being a queen. The commoners are amused and the nobles don't like it, but they never like anything that isn't putting money in their pockets. That being said, I didn't come to talk about last night. It clearly seems that you've learned your lesson," he gave her a small smile, which she met with a glare of annoyance. "I've come to speak with you about your relationship with Jacen."
"Speak, then," she replied shortly.
A long pause passed between them as Tyrion gathered his thoughts. It rarely boded well for her when the quick-witted Tyrion Lannister took the time to gather his thoughts before speaking to her about matters of her personal life.
"I feel that you haven't considered the optics of this."
"I have," she snapped. "At length. They called my father the Mad King, Tyrion. Do you think I don't consider every choice I make?" Her voice began to rise in spite of her pounding headache. "Do you think I don't sit on that ugly, vile throne every day and wonder how long it will take until it starts cutting me like it did my father?"
"Yes, I know it weighs heavily on you." He responded, not put off by her sudden outburst.
"And he's not a mistress, Tyrion. We haven't even had sex yet. He doesn't like the Queen, he likes Daenerys Stormborn, which is more than can be said for any other 'suitable husband' of noble birth."
"But surely you see how this looks…"
"I do," Daenerys conceded, "but we didn't have sex."
"Oh, I believe you, but surely you can understand the skepticism that may accompany someone finding you in bed in your nightclothes and a man leaving your room in the middle of the day after a night of such revelry."
"I know," she said flatly, "As I said, I've been vomiting all morning. He came to check on me after last night."
"Most admirable," Tyrion said in that tone he adopted when he was only getting started, "but his true intentions—"
"Don't go there," Daenerys cut him off severely. "Scold me all you like, but don't suggest that he only likes me for what he can get from me. He just spent his morning holding my hair while I vomited and wiping saliva from the corner of my mouth. He doesn't want anything from me. If anything, based on last night and this morning, he has more to offer me than I do him."
Tyrion held up his hands. "Merely proposing an idea that could very well gain traction, my lady. Ser Barristan has spoken at length of the man, and I can see no reason why he would do such a thing."
"He has?"
"He's hardly talked about anything else," Tyrion gave a small chuckle.
Daenerys allowed herself a small smile, thankful for his support in her own absence.
"And what do you think?"
"We have spoken at length with Ser Barristan—"
"We?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow.
"A meeting of the small small council," Tyrion gave a small smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing you need concern yourself with."
"Who?"
Tyrion sighed, accepting that Daenerys wouldn't be sated by such a dismissive answer. "Myself, Lord Varys, Ser Davos, and Ser Barristan."
"And the other small council members?"
"Were recommended by the Martells or families loyal to them, and henceforth cannot be trusted at this time."
"Doran Martell has supported me since the day I took the throne."
"And Doran Martell alone," Tyrion agreed. "It's hard to say how the other members of his family feel, but I feel that it's safe to say that what happened to Elia Martell still weighs heavily on them."
"Then I'll tell them what I told Doran Martell the day he swore his loyalty to me: I will not be held responsible for the sins of men who died before I was born."
"And I would never suggest otherwise," Tyrion nodded. "We just fear for you, is all."
"Fear for me?" She raised an eyebrow.
"We do," he nodded. "As a Targaryen and a foreign queen, your rule is inherently unstable. While the common people have come to love you, your father's legacy casts a long shadow across Westeros, and your detractors will always use that to either discredit you or stoke the fires of rebellion."
"Tell me something I don't know," she sighed.
Tyrion nodded. "The other members of your small council are a liability until we can be sure of their loyalties."
"They've been on my council for two years now…"
"Indeed they have," Tyrion nodded, "and to great success; but, as I always say—"
"The great game is always afoot," Daenerys finished, the pounding in her head increasing in severity. "Can we get back to what you came for?"
"Of course, my lady," Tyrion conceded, too easily for her liking. "How are you two faring, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Not well, as of this morning," she sighed, unwilling to pursue the topic further.
"And why is that?"
"I told him that I would tell you about us, and I… didn't…" She let her voice trail off.
Tyrion nodded for her to continue.
"And I may have thrown away a man who truly loves me due to my own fear."
"Fear of what?"
"You telling me that it wouldn't work out."
Tyrion laughed. "You know me too well, but I also know you, Daenerys. You would have fought me to the death over it, and still gone against my advice regardless of the outcome."
Daenerys shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, knowing that her Hand was all too correct.
Tyrion fixed her with his brilliant and perceptive eyes for a long while. Daenerys knew that he was deep in thought, and she prepared herself for a blow that would surpass any her handmaiden could ever give her.
"Do you want to be told that this won't work?" He asked, a tone of casual curiosity in his voice that was anything but casual and curious.
"What do you mean? Why would I want to be told that?" Daenerys felt her heart pounding in her ears. She had always known that Tyrion Lannister would be the death of her, and he was about to give voice to a concern that she had never let enter her mind, but was always there.
Tyrion grinned. "I know you too well for that, Your Grace."
You're enjoying this, aren't you?
"Tell me, then."
"You've never been one to concede to me that easily…"
"Well, my patience is abnormally thin today."
"I suppose," Tyrion smiled, not believing her.
He really does know me too well.
"Shall I clue you in, then?"
"Please do."
"You want to be convinced that this won't work so you have a way out. You want this relationship to be ended by someone other than you, so you don't have to hurt his feelings…"
Daenerys felt tears welling up in her eyes.
"Because you love him…"
"I love him," Daenerys managed, leaning her head back against the headboard again in a desperate attempt to hide her tears.
"And that terrifies you."
"More than anything I've ever felt."
"And, even worse, he loves you as well."
She nodded.
"A man who loves you, is of humble birth from an honorable family, enjoys being around you as a person, brings you around his friends, and comes to check on you when you're ill. You've gotten yourself into quite the predicament, Your Grace."
Daenerys allowed herself a brief glare at him, which was met with an amused smile. If they were in his office, he would have swirled his goblet and taken a sip of wine in satisfaction at the jest.
"I am sympathetic to your plight, Your Grace, but I will not hurt this man for you." He slid off of the chair and brought a handkerchief to place it on the bed next to her before returning to his chair.
"I wouldn't ask you to," she picked it up from the bed and wiped her eyes.
"What do you plan to do, then?"
"Well, as of yesterday, we're officially a couple, and his friends love me."
"My deepest sympathies."
"Thank you," Daenerys responded flatly, "and what's worse is that I love his friends almost as much as they love me, if not more."
"A difficult situation, indeed," Tyrion nodded.
Daenerys heaved a sigh and nodded.
"Your Grace, if I may speak freely?"
"Have you not been up to this point?"
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "You need to decide on this now. If you plan to pursue this then the three of us will need to have a lengthy discussion of what this entails as soon as possible. It won't be easy, and you need to be conscious of his position and feelings as well as your own. A queen mingling among commoners is very different from a commoner mingling among nobles. It is not an easy transition, and it won't be painless for either of you. People will manipulate him and people will try to use him against you. People will take advantage of his kind and caring nature. He may lose friends, and he likely won't gain any among the nobility. It's isolating, and you have to be prepared to be a queen and a supportive partner."
A long silence passed between them. Tyrion's words cut like a dagger, but she knew that every word he spoke was true. In fact, he was likely underestimating just how difficult it could be.
"Is it possible, though?" She asked, clutching the handkerchief as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the world. She felt less like a queen and more like a child, desperate for assurance that everything would be okay. "To be together and be happy?"
"Of course it is. Difficult, but far from impossible. It just requires support, communication, and patience. It will never be as easy as if you were to marry a member of the nobility, but the burden will become more manageable with time. Your relationship and your love for each other will be tested on more than one occasion. Both of you will be tempted to give in, and one of you very well may. As with so many things in life, it is a risk, but sometimes the greatest rewards come from the most daring choices."
"What would you do?"
Tyrion laughed. "A valiant effort, Your Grace; but, for once, I will advise you to follow your heart. I will support you either way."
"How long did you argue with Ser Barristan about that?" She allowed herself a small smile.
"At length," he chuckled. "On multiple occasions."
"I—"
Tyrion held up a hand. "I don't want your answer now. Sleep on it, and come to me with your answer after the two of you have worked it out together. Whatever the outcome, we can handle it."
Daenerys nodded. "Do you think he'll still want to be with me after I put off telling you for so long?"
"Based on what I've heard of the man, he would likely be willing to let it go, but I would advise you not to test his trust in this manner again. If we had had this conversation like you told him we would, he may not have had to leave your room like a common mistress."
Daenerys once again felt the sting of his words, but she knew that he was right.
"Give him today to cool off and gather your thoughts, then go talk to him about this tomorrow. Put some space between you and the problem, and make sure you're feeling well again when you talk to him. You're both adults, and you can handle this like adults."
Daenerys nodded, dread gripping her at the thought of living a full day in anticipation of what Jacen would have to say about her actions.
"With that being said," Tyrion slipped off of the chair. "You have a great deal to think about, so I suppose I'll leave you to your recovery."
"Thank you, Tyrion," she smiled. "For everything."
"Of course, Your Grace," he gave a small bow and walked over to the door. They exchanged a final smile as he exited and closed it behind him, leaving Daenerys alone in the dimly lit room once more.
She adjusted herself to lie flat on the bed and fluffed the pillow underneath her. She closed her eyes, but she quickly realized that sleep would elude her, no matter how hard she tried. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling.
I wish I had a mother, she heaved a sigh. Aren't mothers supposed to tell you what to do in situations like this?
There had been several times in the past few weeks that she had considered reaching out to Lady Olenna Tyrell, who had always been kind to her since they had met on Dragonstone. Sharp-witted and politically savvy, Lady Olenna was the closest she had come to having a mother in her life. While Lenna was experienced and had never led her astray in their years together, she lacked the wisdom that so often came with age.
If I take Drogon, I can make it to Highgarden by tomorrow afternoon…
That's too close to Dorne — Tyrion would have my head.
She briefly considered even going to find Viserion to talk to him about her predicament. He had obviously never responded to her, but Daenerys had always gotten the feeling that he knew what she was saying and would give her advice if he could. For reasons she had never understood, she could always find the answers she sought in his curious and playful eyes, more so than Rhaegal or even Drogon. But, alas, even he was a world away. Her dragons tended to stay on the outskirts of the city where there was more space to lounge and move freely. It wasn't a long journey, but it was longer than any journey she dared make at the moment.
She groaned loudly and dragged her hands down her face. She rolled over onto the other side of the bed and buried her face in the pillow, but was met only with the smell of Jacen's clothing and shampoo, bringing back memories of the intimate night they had shared. She groaned again and threw the pillow across the room. She jumped out of bed and threw her comforter back on the bed in a heap, and instantly collapsed as her head exploded and her stomach lurched.
Next she knew, after some amount of time that was impossible to know, she opened her eyes and found herself on the floor of her chambers. Her right elbow was throbbing, and she looked at it to find it bruised. Her heart sank as an acrid smell assaulted her senses, accompanying a wetness on her other arm.
Please, no…
She looked down to find a puddle of vomit around her, with several locks of her hair lying plastered to the floor in the center of it next to her other elbow. She stifled a sob of frustration and swore loudly as she rose to her knees and leaned back against the side of her bed, breathing heavily as the taste of bile lingered in her mouth.
"Never… again…" She breathed.
I guess I should've asked him to warm that bath…
She stared at the stationary puddle for some time, unsure of what to do with it. She knew that she could easily call on Lenna for assistance, but Lenna was the last person she wanted to face in her emotionally and physically exhausted state.
Summoning all of her strength, she managed to stand, swaying dangerously. She stumbled into the washroom and leaned on the counter, waiting for another wave of nausea to overtake her. When nothing came, she allowed herself a quick glance in the mirror and found herself horrified and embarrassed, her current predicament completely forgotten.
Gods, he saw me like this? She ran a hand through her tousled hair and traced the dark circles under her tired, bloodshot eyes, now puffy from her earlier conversation with Tyrion. Her face was more pale than she had ever seen it.
He saw me like this… and he stayed, held my hair while I vomited, and held me while I slept on his chest.
She rinsed her mouth in the wash basin, the cool water providing a momentary respite as she tried to wash away the acrid taste of bile. Satisfied, she leaned on the wash basin and stared at herself in the mirror for a long while. The once-luscious locks of silver-blonde hair that hung over her right shoulder clung together in grimy strands, emitting an acrid smell.
With a sigh of resignation and a shiver of disgust, Daenerys scooped handfuls of water from the wash basin and attempted to run her fingers through her tangled hair. The cold liquid mingled with the unpleasant residue, creating a sludgy mess that clung stubbornly to her locks. She winced at the feeling, a mixture of revulsion and regret settling in the pit of her stomach.
Realizing that this was an exercise in futility, she reached for a bar of soap, hoping its cleansing properties would help her reclaim some semblance of composure. The scent of the soap mingled with the lingering odor of vomit, creating an oddly unpleasant fragrance that permeated the air.
As she worked the soap into her hair, Daenerys winced at the tangles that resisted her efforts. The silver strands began to untangle under her unsteady but determined fingers at a frustratingly slow pace, revealing once again the true color that lay beneath the mess. It was a tedious and humbling process that made her sorely miss Jacen's comforting presence, but she pressed on, determined to rid herself of the physical manifestation of a night that she may have enjoyed too thoroughly.
Glancing down into the wash basin at the murky water within, Daenerys took a deep breath, her resolve unwavering despite the queasiness that lingered in the background. She continued to wash and rinse, each pass becoming easier and less painful as the acrid smell was slowly replaced by the sweet smell of the soap she was using.
When she was finally finished, she looked back up into the mirror to find herself looking no better than she had earlier, though her hair was no longer stained with vomit.
Jacen would come back if I sent for him…
The thought was tempting. Not to ask him to clean up the puddle of vomit that still awaited her, but to hold her again in that tight grip that she had come to find so comforting as his heart beat a steady rhythm against her cheek. Even still, she refused. She didn't want him to feel used, even though she knew he would be all too happy to help, but a small part of her also didn't want to hear what he may have to say to her now that they would be alone with no risk of interruption.
She took a deep breath and tore her gaze away from the mirror. She looked over to the bath and considered warming it and slipping into it, but it would have to wait. The puddle of vomit would only be waiting for her. She looked away from it and walked out of the washroom, noticeably more steady on her feet, grabbed the recently cleaned washcloth and bucket from beside her bed, filled the bucket with water from the washroom, and steeled herself for the unpleasant task that awaited her on the other side of the bed.
Daenerys knelt next to the slick puddle and reached for the cloth, her fingers fumbling with the soft fabric. As she wiped the floor, her movements were slow and deliberate, each swipe causing the scent of vomit to rise and assault her senses anew. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she fought the urge to succumb to another round of nausea, the task proving more challenging than any battle she had faced.
Even still, the floor slowly came clean as she worked, assuring her that her efforts were not in vain. When it was finally clean, she heaved a sigh of relief, tossed the dirty washcloth into the bucket of cloudy water, and carried them into the washroom.
Stop being a fucking idiot, She told herself as she walked over to the wash basin. This man cleaned up your vomit not once, but twice, and did it without you even asking. If you don't come to your senses and let yourself love him, someone else will. She began to clean the bucket and washcloth.
The minutes passed in silence, save only for the sound of the washcloth against the rough sides of the wooden bucket. After what felt like hours to her weary body, though was likely no more than ten minutes, the bucket was passably clean. She set it on the floor next to the wash basin and draped the washcloth over the rim before exiting the washroom for what she hoped would be the last time.
She heaved a weary sigh and pushed a hand through her tousled hair as she started toward her bed, but as she was walking, she noticed a small plate sitting on the table next to the couch situated near the empty hearth that she hadn't noticed earlier. She walked over to it and lifted the cover, and her heart skipped a beat. Piled high on the plate were several pre-cut pieces of dragon fruit alongside three of the small green cakes she had loved so much the previous night.
She smiled and picked up a piece of dragon fruit and popped it into her mouth. It tasted better on her parched tongue than it had at the party last night, but she couldn't tell if it actually tasted better or if the feeling was magnified by the fact that Jacen brought it specifically for her. If nothing else, the sweet flavor completely drove away the taste of bile.
A small smile crept across her face in spite of her pitiful condition and warring thoughts, and she grabbed the plate off of the table and returned to the washroom to warm her bath.
A/N: Shortly after posting the chapter, I removed a section towards the end where Daenerys reflects on her relationships with Khal Drogo and Daario. After sleeping on it, I decided that it drifted a bit too close to character bashing for my liking, and it was too much of a mood shift.
BEHIND THE CHAPTER
You can't have a party chapter without a good aftermath chapter, can you?
This is another chapter I had the idea for pretty early on, but it was much different. It ended after the discussion with Tyrion, which I drastically changed for the final version to better fit where I saw the story going. One thing I really wanted to expand on was Daenerys's fear of being in love, which I had alluded to several times, but I hadn't yet delved into. What I felt was particularly important is to go into why she was so scared to tell Tyrion, especially when we know (and she knows) that he already knows about them. I wanted to view her current relationship in the context of her past relationships and/or partners, to get across that her fear largely comes from her first real exposure to relationships occurring under such cruel circumstances and the possibility that what she had felt wasn't true love in the sense that she feels with Jacen. It was a section that I put a lot of thought into, wanting to strike a balance between not disrespecting the characters while also showing that they had a lasting effect on her that wasn't completely positive.
Also, in the earliest drafts of this story, up to this point there hadn't been any sexual contact between Jacen and Daenerys, so their interactions were more awkward in the original draft of this chapter. I used to be very rigid in storyboarding chapters and having everything outlined to the letter, but this fic has really taught me the value of just letting the characters dictate where the conversation goes and how a scene takes place instead of trying to force it to go in a certain direction myself. This chapter was probably the first one where I really had to take that to heart since I'd changed the original context, and I found myself enjoying it much more than just following a rigid storyboard/outline. That was also the reason that this chapter was probably the most difficult one to date for me to consider complete and ready to publish.
As for the rest of the chapter: in case you haven't noticed by now, I love writing fluff.