The Reign of the Wolves Chapter 6 - Daenerys I, an a song of ice and fire fanfic

NOTE: This is Daenerys' first chapter, showing how she had grown up apart from her brother, as a ward at Riverrun, ever since she was little. I have had problems deciding what to name some of the characters at Riverrun, including for example Septa M and M Piper, who is the sister or cousin of Marla Piper in King's Landing. I am thinking either Melandra or Mathilda Piper. What do you guys think would be best? And Septa Meridia, Meryana, Merielle or something similar perhaps. Also, this chapter is unusually long. BUT: Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy the chapter! :)

[ALSO: The next chapter will most likely either be Arya again, or otherwise Viserys. Which one would you rather read first, or immediately following Dany's chapter?]

DAENERYS

"The room was dark and forlorn still, as she got up from her bed and looked towards the window on the ghostly grey-white world outside. It was so still, almost as if the entire world was dead, and yet it was only the night. It was still so late that it was early, and she could not sleep.

Half the castle had been awakened by the thrashing of steel against steel and wood somewhere closeby outside, ringing loudly from up on the ramparts of the castle and further away, sounds of men screaming, shouting and slamming into one another, battering rams shoving into the thick walls of the castle to no avail, the red terrible light of some torches lighting up the dark night and the orders from Ser Robin Ryger to the guardsmen of the castle to "Hold fast, and drive them back! Drive back the bastards!". She was awake now again, some three or four days had passed, but she still could not sleep.

The worst part was not the clamour itself, however; it was how they had all rushed in with terror in their eyes, like huge black pools of darkness that only slowly and gradually decreased in their horror once they got a sight of her being safe and sound in her room. That was what really worried her; the way they all looked at her then, as if she was some rare treasure or strange bird from far away which had to be protected from everything outside at all costs. She supposed that she was, from what she knew about her heritage, but nonetheless, the sensation was strange, and not the less so by Ser Robin coming up to her, screaming like a madman and questioning her with a "Are you safe, princess? Are you safe? Has someone hurt you? Is there someone here inside?" That had terrified her. Why would there be someone inside here? The terrible men outside were only ever at the roof of the castle as a few four or five of them made their way up there and walked around, clamping demurely for a few moments – the better part of two minutes perhaps – with their boots, before they were apparently shot down by some arrows and rolled off into the moat and river below.

She had not been scared of that, though perhaps she should be. In truth, if she were to tell her innermost feelings about it, she had almost hoped that they would make it. She knew in her heart that they would not hurt her; not at all. That could surely not be why they had come? Why would they search so long for something or someone only to destroy it? No, the reason for their great troubles must surely be something greater than that? Dany mused as she saw her vague reflection in the mirror and once again became aware of how lonesome she was here. She missed her brother, at Dragonstone, and she knew that he sorely missed her. They had not met in more than six moons' turn now, since the last time he came over with Lady Maldaena, and gave her a visit, staying for only five days and nights until Lord Hoster was done with his rare show of hospitality. He had told her to be strong, though that did not make sense to her either, as little as the reason for why they could not be together. She did not feel that she had to be particularly strong to survive here; only that she was lonesome and tired of the dreariness of it all.

She had some friends, of course, Melandra Piper, Rohanne, Mathylda, Lady Joyce and Saera Paege, but none of them were the same as her. They did not understand her, not truly. And neither did her foster brother Edmure, who was old enough to almost be her father, nor old Lord Hoster, who was and always had been like a grandfather to her, but sour and prickly for the most part. Only her brother could truly understand. But Viserys was not here; had seldom ever been here with her for as long as she could remember. He was in a different world somewhere, at Dragonstone, a place that she had only ever heard about and seen pictures of but had no special memory of, other than the echoes of a stormy sea and the hurrying into a boat as the rain lashed down from dark storm clouds overhead.

"Septa Merielle", Dany said quietly, but no reply came. She slept heavily more often than not, sitting in her knitting chair by the side of Dany's bed. It was too dark to see if her eyes were open. The shadows leaned high up along her body and face like a black mask.

Dany went past her and on towards the bookshelf. There were dozens of books in different colors, books about the Riverlands and The Seven, books with songs about knights and monsters, books about castles and old stories from before the Conquest, and books about her own family, House Targaryen, though she was seldom allowed to look in them. "Those books are a terrible thing to read, dear", Septa Merielle would say, "full of war and blood and crimes against the gods. You do not wish to anger the gods by reading it, do you?". And Daenerys would have to always reply with a demure no, and lower her face from the possibility of knowing anything more about her past.

Her brother had told her about their father and mother, of course, and their brother Rhaegar, the greatest warrior that the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, and many great histories about the Targaryens of old, and their great kings and fierce dragons. There was Aegon the Conqueror himself, Aegon the Dragon, who had taken over all the Seven Kingdoms apart from Dorne, with the help of his sister-wives Rhaenyra and Visenya, and their dragons, Meraxes, Vhagar and Aegon's own dragon, Balerion the Black Dread. Viserys would always read Balerion's name extra slowly, and Daenerys would shiver with excitement at the thought. Balerion's skull, which Viserys had seen with his own eyes in the throne room of the Red Keep when he was little, was enormous, large enough to swallow a mammoth whole. His teeth were greater than longswords, his fire hot enough to melt them and his wings large enough to cover whole villages in their shade.

Aegon's firstborn son Aenys had barely ruled for more than a few years before he was supplanted by his stronger brother Maegor the Cruel, who rode Balerion like his father and brought fire and blood to the Faith Militant uprising and fought a war with the Faith of the Seven. Viserys seemed fascinated with King Maegor, and told great gruesome stories about how he had killed all those who opposed him, but at the same time it was clear that he had not been a very good king. He had even died from sitting in the Iron Throne itself, as if it could sense that he was not fit to rule from it. After him came Jaehaerys the Conciliator, or Jaehaerys the Good. He had been a great king who had ruled for fifty years and ridden on the dragon Vermithor along with his wife Queen Alysanne, who flew upon Silverwing. They had had thirteen children together, though most of them had died very young. After them came some other king, Baelor or Baelon or Viserys, the king her brother was named after, she was not sure which. He had only ruled for half as long as his predecessor before the terrible Dance of the Dragons, though, after which most all of the dragons died out. Viserys always became somewhat sad in his eyes when he came to that part, but then he would continue, and tell about the reign of Daeron the Young Dragon, who had conquered Dorne two times at the age of fourteen, and all the daring adventures he had been up to there, and how many dornish soldiers he had slain. Daenerys soon grew tired of hearing about the war and death, however. She was more interested in the family stories, and who had married who, and how they were related. She would always ask about their own grandmother and grandfather, and Viserys would tell her, but in truth he knew little. The most well-known stories were those written down long ago, he said. Maesters were old men, and they wrote slowly. He was not sure how they would chronicle the reign of their father, if they had indeed started on it yet.

Daenerys wondered how all the other kings and queens would have felt about her reading about them in Lord Hoster's books. She supposed that they would be sad that she could not read about them from her own father and mother's library, though she had never met them; did not recall them. Her father had been mad at the end, and killed by Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. She still had strange nightmares of the Kingslayer, opening her father's back with his golden sword and laughing as her father's red blood ran down from his blade. It made her terrified to know that he was still up there somewhere, high up north, at the frozen Wall of ice. But nonetheless, her father had been mad, and had killed many innocent people himself, and she barely even knew what he had looked like apart from what Septa Merielle and Maester Vyman had told her. Her mother had died birthing her on Dragonstone. She could not seem to recall her face either, apart from a vague glowing figure which she did not know whether it was a memory or her imagining. She only knew Viserys, and his new wife Lady Maldaena. They were her closest kin, though they lived a world apart from her.

The room was slowly, ever so slowly beginning to fade into a lighter shade, she imagined. Perhaps she was just inbilling herself. She looked out over the grassmat outside the window and saw the linden trees, the willows and the alders... There was a grey mist over the entire castle, covering it in a deep melancholy dusk.

She was happy enough here, she supposed. She had friends, after all. She got along well with all of them. With Melandra Piper, Rohanne Ryger, Joyce Frey, Selna Paege,

all of them, singing, drawing, sewing and making mudcakes, though that had been long ago now of course, when they had still been small children. She missed it deeply at times, even though it was such a simple memory. Joyce Frey always liked drawing horses, as she was fond of riding, and Melandra Piper was the best at sewing. But they all loved the mudcake game, and made different ones with leaves and berries in them, decorating them in the shapes of sigils and other shapes, those of kings and queens, dragons and griffins and horses and stars and hearts and flowers of different kinds. Sometimes they even fed them to eachother, but more often than not Rohanne would lure some poor servant their own age, some messenger boy or other, to eat of them, and they never spoke against it, no matter how sure they were of how sick it would make them.

One day, however, Rohanne had simply stood up suddenly and declared that making mudcakes was for small children. Daenerys had remarked, ever so carefully, that they were in fact children. Few of the others had gotten into the argument, but one after one, they had all gradually started to move away from the game, and after a finite time of anywhere between a fortnight and half a year they had innocuously slid themselves away from the mudcake making and into the next game, playing come-into-my-castle with the stable boys, Jake and Simbas.

After that, once she had turned a tall eleven, their play had turned into those few exhilarating summer days of lunatic fun, as they threw their shoes off to run with levitating steps on the muralgreen wall in the forest. Rohanne ran fastest of them all, like a horse in human shape in her red short dress, though Dany had had it in her as well, in her usual white one, feeling almost as if she were flying at times. Ser Desmond had laughed at the sight of them and called her a white fairy of legend, she remembered.

Then one day had come the singer to court, Marillion, who had captured all of their hearts so achingly for a moon or two, but then after he had sung to Rohanne on a night, she had not seemed as usual the day after, and Marillion was soon dismissed from court by a scowling Lord Hoster, screaming about "minstrels and middlemen" all trying to sneak their way into the skirts of his house's ladies. Daenerys had only guessed what had happened to Rohanne, but the guess had been enough, and they did not wish to see the presumptious and marauding Marillion within the castle ever again.

After that had come the long time after Rohanne had been angry with Daenerys, though she did not know why, and she had felt so terribly alone, as alone as never before. Those had been the days when she had begun staring at herself in the mirror all day long, combing her hair and thinking of her brother, who was off across the enormous vast sea of Blackwater Bay. It was also known as the Narrow Sea, and on the other side of Dragonstone lay the Free Cities: Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr, Lys and the shadowed ruins of Valyria somewhere far away. Viserys and Maldaena had both visited her at the moon of the rabbit, the crayfish and the oxen.

Recently she had become more friendly with Rohanne again, if only because Rohanne had understood more than before the importance of being good friends with her. She was under Lord Hoster and Edmure's care, after all, and Daenerys' family were conquerors, as she thought quietly to herself. In her dreams, she hoped that it was not true, and that she would not be so betrayed by someone she trusted, but she supposed that a false friend was better than an enemy, as long as she knew the friend's falsehood, and not kidded herself. And Melandra and Joyce and Saera Paege were all much more of her good friends, even though Saera still clung herself after Rohanne. All these friends she had, then, and her life in Riverrun was better than it might have been at Dragonstone. At least so she would tell herself of late. She still had Lord Hoster, and Edmure, and all her friends.

But right now the only one in her room was Septa Merielle, and she seemed to still be sleeping. Daenerys walked up to her again and tried carefully to rouse her, but the septa was sound in her tired shape. Dany walked up and away to the door, finally took the courage to herself to go outside and went all the way across the main corridor to the other side of the castle.

She tread lightly with her dainty feet, walking in her pink lilac slippers over the cold stone of the floor. The guards were standing where they usually did, by their torches, but it was like ever so strange to see them at this empty, hollow hour. She believed that it was Lydd and Demken Grell, Ser Desmond's nephew, but she could not be entirely sure by the looks of them standing so far away and in the dark shadows beneath their halfhelms, only Demken's broad white wry smile over broad jaws lighted up the dark like a spooky story's protagonist beneath his torch. They nodded vaguely at her where they stood in the dark, or at least so she thought, mumbling "My lady", as she slipped by them.

They did not know what else to say to her, she was sure. She was certain that they would tell Lord Hoster about her wandering from her room later in the day, but he was most like still asleep, and if not, as he was a light sleeper, he was nonetheless – or rather moreso, in fact – still high up in his solar, at least a good four stories up amongst the castle's towers and crenellations. She would not get a scolding until a long long time later, perhaps during supper later that day after two or three changings of guard, when Lord Hoster came down from his rooms – an eternity away, at least.

She walked like a ghost, but proud, with her head held up in the darkness, where noone but the castle walls could see her, and saw her shape in the tall six-fenstered mirrors hanging on the walls, like a silver white princess in some ancient fairytale or song. I am almost a fairytale myself, she thought to herself. Those who have not come here and seen me with their own eyes at times doubt that I am here at all, alive and well. Or so Viserys had told her. There were even rumours going around, most of them in Dorne, that King Eddard, who had always been good to her, had slaughtered her along with her cousins Aegon and Rhaenys, but that was mostly just talk from merchants coming from Sunspear. She hoped that they did not truly believe her dead. If they did believe her to be dead already, then how would they ever come looking for her and take her to her destiny?

She found herself wishing those secret forbidden thoughts again, and remembered her dream from several moons ago now, her terrible red hot dream on that particularly warm summer night when she had dreamed that an enormous red dragon would shoot up from the cold stone of the ground, or else throw itself down from the sky, or come up in a flaming, burning hot inferno, its long jaws and teeth grinning like hellfire, and burning with the red eyes of desire, and snatch her up onto its back with its giant lashing tail, and fly her away from Riverrun and off to her brother and good-sister to liver out her days with them and crown her the Princess of Dragonstone as Viserys held up a flaming crown of silver and gold high above his head and aimed for King's Landing with his gaze, and standing aboard a fastly sweeping ship.

But no, those thoughts were not good to think about now, and so she left them there in the hallway, sending them up towards some strange vague possible future into the cold hard stone of the roof, and continuing on her path through the keep towards the other side.

She arrived there shortly, and immediately saw that the light was shining brighter on the other side. Either that, or she had somehow lost herself for far longer than she remembered while standing and looking through the mirrors at herself for those few short moments and thinking about the red dragon dream again, but she guessed that it was because of the way the castle was located. This end of the three-sided keep was facing snee to the south to southwest, and so therefore had more sunlight coming immediately towards it than the northeastern side which was covered by the shadows of the keep itself, and the trees. It was just beginning to be the hour of the nightingale.

The river ran and trickled its way in a comforting sound as she sat down by the cushions in the window. Riverrun, she thought, what a good name for such a place as this. Had I grown up anywhere else, I would not have wished it to have a worse name than this. There were some keeps which were strangely named, she mused. Casterly Rock was named for the Casterlys, but they were all gone since several thousand years back. Winterfell was surely named after some long and terrible winter falling somehow, but she could not understand why winter would have fallen precisely where that castle stood. Harrenhal had been built by Harren the Black, as certainly as black night, but had only lasted a single day under his command until Aegon the Conqueror had landed on the shore at the Blackwater Rush and began his taking over of the Riverlands. Harren's sons and grandsons had all burned, and later half a dozen new houses had tried occupying the place, but failed to do so. They had all died out, seemingly because of a curse, Maester Vyman had said, but whether that curse was from King Harren the Black or from the flames of Balerion the Black Dread, Dany could not say. She had her guesses, though, as she thought to herself...

She sat thusly, her mind lost to far wonderings, watching the sun rise with a golden glow as Riverrun slowly turned a golden yellow and red with the rays of sunlight sparkling in the wellings of the water and the red mud of the riverbanks. A few mosquitoes and dragonflies were beginning to surr and fly about around the edges of the tree trunks on the other side of the river, and she could see some small few fish, gussings or murts most likely, but possibly trout as well, the sigil of House Tully, hopping and throwing themselves in the river with fear or gladness; she did not know which.

A couple of the fish seemed to hop almost in pairs, though their game of courtship would not start until they were well out on the other side of the castle. As morning slowly came with a golden dawn above the green leaves of the willow trees, Daenerys started to think about her own future. Who would she be married to, if they would even allow her to marry at all? Did one allow the rare bird in its cage to meet another one of its kind, even if they were so dangerous to all the realm? She knew about many potential suitors, of course, the young men which her friends all talked about; Lord Edmure's friend and Melandra's cousin, Ser Marq Piper, Patrek Mallister, Hoster Blackwood, Hendry Bracken, Jason Smallwood, a whole host of Freys, including one called Rhaegar named after her and Viserys's brother, and the Vances...

She lost herself in daydreaming as the sun rose and the river grew brighter for each passing moment. At last the trouts were hopping clearly as day and she was almost certain that Septa Merielle would soon have awakened in her chamber.

She stood up from the window, walked over through the hall and by the mirrors, saw Demken and Lydd, confirming her earlier thoughts, and continued on all the way back to her bedchamber again.

The septa was still asleep, as she found her, but she roused her once more, and this time she awakened with a rush.

"Goodness me, Lady Daenerys, forgive me!" she exclaimed.

Daenerys mumbled something of a reply which she did not even know herself what it was, and sat down on her bedside for a brief moment as the septa arose from her chair and began preparing for the morning rituals to be done. Her chambermaids, Trea and Servetta, came in, making her bed and preparing a hot bath for her.

She liked to bathe in hot water, as her handmaidens were used to, and so they lifted in the steaming wooden tub with calloused hands as the steam was rising from the water surface. Daenerys stood up, one leg first and then the other, and slowly lowered herself down into the bath, her eyes facing the now bright courtyard outside. The heat pulsed through her, the heat which would burn most others, but she loved the sensation. She felt as though she was shedding skin from night to morning to day.

Trea and Servetta helped her up from the bath, cleaning her off with the frottéed towels and combing her hair until it shone like silver, and her skin was pale as milk. They dressed her in her white dress, the one with the flowers, and then put her pink laces and rosettes around her in a beautiful yet strange pattern which she had seldom seen before. The laces crossed over each other and then down again, streaming somehow too far down and then up again, in a diagonal pattern over each other. She wondered where they had the time to practice for that, but most like they were the ones to awaken far before the septa. Most likely they practiced on each other, she guessed.

She broke her fast on softbread, butter, white cheese and grapes, as well as figs in a sweet and tart jam, and then went down and into the drawing room for her lessons. The day was already beginning to warm, as a comforting breeze swept in over the castle from the south and made its way into the halls.

Septa Merielle looked at all the girls as they were sewing, telling them off in a scolding tone when they had made a mistake, and praising their work when it was better than the time before. Melandra, Rohanne, Joyce and Saera Piper were all sitting like the petals of a flower in a ring, strangely close to one another, as Daenerys always found herself thinking, and she could easily have picked which ones of her friends to retain and which ones to throw out. However, she did not wish to ever become like her father, the Mad King, and so she hindered those evil thougths from forming into something more inside her head.

After their sewing, they took their weekly lesson with Maester Vyman, who told them once again about some of the many wars of the river lords Blackwood and Bracken. Daenerys had heard the stories a hundred times before, and it was a tragedy each time, but apparently it was important to know for the future of conflicts. Although Daenerys wondered whether she would ever benefit from it, as she would most likely have her husband to do so. The lessons were interesting sometimes, but tiresome in their tragedy. The rivermen were a notoriously quarrelsome people, after all. If Lord Hoster had been forced to have learned all of this back in his youth, and for four years more, at that, it was no wonder why he was always so sour and prickly, Daenerys thought quietly to herself.

The day became hot and somewhat dryer, and the sky outside was clear blue, with fluffy white clouds forming all manner of shapes on the sky. She and Melandra were standing on the steps of the eastern courtyard, watching them float around high above their heads. She thought for a moment that she could see several dragons, but she was not sure whether she was imagining it or not. She asked Melandra what particular shape it reminded her of, but when she pointed, Melandra seemed to not see the same thing as her, and she had to reach out her arm in front of her in as close an angle as she could. Melandra said after a while that she thought she saw a beautiful pale horse, but by that time the cloud was almost gone, and Daenerys' other dragon clouds were revelling and crashing into one another in a motley pile above. To the right of them stood a tall prince on the deck of a boat, but he was younger than Viserys, and with shorter hair. Perhaps it was one of the royal Stark children. She had never met them, but she had heard and knew about Prince Robb and Bran well enough. Soon the clouds disappeared again, flocking into more ships before parting for the sun, and then an elephant, then dragons again, and then she was too tired in her head from the heat to keep watching.

The afternoon came to Riverrun at last, as the heat died down marginally, and it was time for supper. Lord Hoster had made his way down from his solar, it seemed, being carried by two servants to his seat and sitting up straight in his chair in a rare moment of strength from his enduring illness. Daenerys entered the hall with quiet, reserved steps. Lord Hoster, Edmure and Ser Marq were sitting in the Great Dining Hall already and waiting for her. The others would eat in the lesser [ ] but she had been summoned today, a servant telling her that Lord Hoster and Edmure had requested her presence. She wondered what for. She would only eat with Lord Hoster himself once every moon usually, on account of his troubles, but she supposed that it was both on account of the attack those nights back and her early awakening. The hours had finally caught up to her now, it seemed.

"Good afternoon, Daenerys", Edmure smiled at her. "A warm day today, is it not?" He was always good and kind to her, as good and kind as her true brother Viserys, she thought. His blue eyes shone with kindness and he was dressed in a red tunic which matched his Tully auburn hair and close-cropped beard.

"Good afternoon my lord", Daenerys said, putting her spoon into her right hand. There was soup being served today, as often there was, thick with carrots and leaks, and hardbread and butter with cheese and honeyed parsnips to the sides, with honeyed duck and mallard being brought in slowly as they spoke.

"I heard you were up this morning", Lord Hoster grumbled, and she looked up at him, seeing his long grey hair and blood-sprained eyes goggling like yellowish carrot rounds above his baggy eye bags and craggy face. His voice seemed strong and his mind clear, though.

"I could not sleep", Daenerys said.

"Well, who can sleep in this blasted heat?" Lord Hoster said. "Not I. And there's the piss leaking to it as well. One would think a maester could sort those things, but it seems not. Or else the gods are trying their almighty best to punish me for my sins while I'm still here. The lessons of a man is hard pressed on him later in life, you will find, when it is far too late to drink less wine, and move about from his castle more often than not."

"I think it would still help you to drink more water, father", Edmure said, inclining his head towards Lord Hoster.

"Water and water. I drink it all night, and it does not help me better than this. Come winter, I might freeze and crack in two, and then you can have the keep to yourself at last", Lord Hoster said with a dry, hoarse chuckle. Edmure did not reply, but kept drinking his soup in silence. He knew best not to trouble his father with a reply when he was at this manner of mind.

"Ah but that is not suiting talk for a lady's presence", he reminded himself. "How are you faring the heat, little Dany?" he said. "If you wish you could have your bedchamber moved to the other side of the castle. It seems to be your favorite place lately, at any rate."

Dany did not know what to say. Her Tully grandfather was always kind to her, in his own strange and troublesome way, but it always came so quickly and suddenly, between his iresome bouts of anger, that it was barely possible to hop on the bait and get it from him. Instead, she supposed, he liked to plant the generous offers and then redraw them as quickly as possible. He seemed very wise at times, but also at times mostly like a troublesome old man who enjoyed best to quarrel with everyone around him. His growing sickness had not made him calmer either, to say the least. It was a restlessness inside him, that was gnawing on his patience, and he took it out on everone around him. And now he had asked her and confronted her about it, just like she knew he would. She would have to be wise in replying to him, and so she prepared herself, and put down her spoon to the table slowly.

"I like watching the river from the west side as the sun is rising", she said, simply, as an excuse to why she had been moving about so early in the wee hours of the night.

She would not wish to complain about Septa Merielle, or else Lord Hoster would no doubt have her replaced, just like he had with Septa Gunnel, all for having the nerve to strike Lady Joyce on her fingers one time while he was watching. Lord Hoster tolerated few things, and violence in his own keep seemed to be far down on the lists. He would not even let Edmure and Ser Marq do their practicing in the courtyard while he could see them, usually saying that if they hadn't mastered the sword at this age there was no point trying further, and claiming that he had fought enough battles to not have to hear the sound of iron clanking against each other until next spring. A spring which was ever so conveniently far away from the present, Dany thought, and grew more so for each year the Long Summer stretched on.

And most of all, of course, as she had to remind herself for the first time, he had been restless since the attack on the castle, fulfilling all of his nightmares of the iron clanking of war; yes, that most of all had held him in a frenzy of troubles and grumbling ever since. He had barely spoken of it, or at least not in front of her, but she could tell that it flamed on his temper.

"Yes, it's a beautiful sight", he agreed. "But it is not the same as it used to be. When Edmure and Lysa and my little Cat was young, one could see the waters going all the way up to the roots of the old linden tree over there", he said, poiting out to one of the trees in a tired and disappointed motion. "This summer has been good in many ways, and I cannot say that I long for winter in truth, but perhaps a couple of years of autumn at least would help the rivers run high again. The builders over at Stone Mill have gone down to their waist for search of bricks of late, I'm told. And there's the devilish stinging mosquitoes everywhere as well, spawning like devils to bite a man to the pulp of his bone. It's a sickness in the river, just as in my blood, I'm sure of it..."

"You certainly think highly of yourself, Father", Lord Edmure finally said in jest. Ser Marq laughed only with his eyes, though Dany could tell it was all he could do not to insult his liege lord.

"Aye, and one day you will be sat here as well, stuck with it all", Lord Hoster replied, repeating his sentiment from before, "and then you can make your own claims about which was the better time. Summer or autumn... It is not natural. Maester Vyman is in agreement."

Edmure said nothing more at that. Lord Hoster, for all his grumbling, trusted Maester Vyman with his life, and so, supposed Dany, that she must do too, though he was more of a distant figure to her, mostly residing at Lord Hoster's solar these days and seldom leaving his side. He had once cured her of an infection when she was very young, and his voice was a soothing one, the best type to calm down young children. But now his voice was councelling Lord Hoster, as ever, and listening to his qualms and giving advice, and speaking to Septon Chayle about prayers and seeking atonement for old crimes long gone by, and the destillations of his sickness and much more. At least so Edmure had told her, whispering to her mostly in jest, but she could see that his father's illness troubled him the most. He was merely trying to put up a wall of distance between himself and the sadnesss of it. He had a good heart, and he had always been a good foster brother to her. She only hoped Lord Hoster would see it some day, and treat him accordingly.

"The millers at Stone Mill have always been complaining about this and that", Ser Marq said with a nonchalant tone. "They are richer than any of the other peasants on the land, and yet they demand more payment for their work each time, and claim to be up to their waist in mud, when any young child could fish up enough clay to build a new keep with a few coppers for their trouble."

"The builders, I said. Not the millers themselves. Have you wax in your ears, same as my son, Piper?" Lord Hoster said.

Ser Marq had to laugh at that, and apologised to his lord as quickly as he had spoken the words.

"Well... At any rate... Don't speak to me of Stone Mill. It's a burden on my coffers, for certain, but without it not much would ever get done around here."

Lord Edmure harkled himself, and veered his eyes towards a female servant carrying the last of the honeyed duck forward and putting it on the table between him and Dany. Lord Hoster seemed to suddenly remember something, but Dany did not understand.

"Ah, yes... Daenerys", Lord Hoster said, "I was told something of importance by Maester Vyman not too long ago. I take it you are to be thirteen and ten moons now, are you not?"

"Yes, my lord", she confirmed.

"And you have...-?" He struggled with his words. "Septa M[ ] tells me that you have flowered some time ago. Is that true, as she tells me? I would not feel the need to ask you directly if I did not have a similar problem with mine own daughters many years ago. You have flowered, have you not, my child?"

Daenerys looked down at the table and nodded with a silent agreement.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good", he said, with a finality to his voice. "And have you thought anything about your future beneath my roof here? I will always be glad to have you here, as you well know, but if you should wish to be married I would not be against it. You know of course that Lady Rohanne has received an offering of marriage from Ser Emeryck, and she is to move out when the time comes, in a couple of years perhaps. And there are of course a great many lords across the realm who would want it none higher than to marry you, and put you under the protection of their house instead of mine. The King says that he would want to find a good match for you, and he has gotten many offerings for your hand already. "

"I had heard so from Septa Merielle", Dany confirmed hesitantly.

"Good", Lord Hoster nodded. "She is right, of course, to tell you these things."

Lord Hoster harkled himself, seeming to think on something, whether he should elaborate further, but then decided that enough had been explained.

"Then it is settled", he said. "I was beginning to think it would never come to this day, in truth, but... well, here we are. You are almost fourteen soon, you are close to being a woman grown, same as my daughters were in their time. The time has come that the King and I have begun discussing who you are best served to marry."

Daenerys said nothing, but did her best not to let her eyes glance towards Ser Marq. It seemed obvious to her that that was the reason why he was there. True, Edmure and Ser Marq often spent time together, and he had been fostered here, but there was something about his composure just as of the moment that whispered the truth in her ears to her. She said nothing of the sort, however, only approving Lord Hoster's words with short replies again.

"Yes, my lord."

"Now... Tell me, my child. Have you thought about this yourself? Well, you don't need to tell me if you have, that is not for an old man to ask of his young lady ward, but...- Would you have any preferred choices?"

Daenerys was surprised, once more, but decided that she would not go amistance of this option, and so spoke up as quickly as she could.

"I would hope to be married to someone close to my brother", she said.

The serving woman bringing in the duck stopped at the sound of it, seemingly shocked, and Daenerys stared back at her, confronting her with her words.

There was silence at the table for a while. Lord Hoster grumbled slightly, his face turning the shade of disappointment, as often it did.

"I said this would happen, did I not? Said it time and time again."

"Forgive her, Father, it's in her blood after all", Edmure was saying.

"Your brother is married, to Lady Maldaena, is he not?" Lord Hoster inclined, pointing with his neck towards some invisible portent in the door. "Do you not recall meeting her?"

"Yes", Daenerys said quietly, feeling strongly ashamed and angry at the same time all of a sudden. "I...- I know her... I know they are married. And they are both far older than me..."

"Yes. So they are. That is settled then. The Targaryens have always wed brother to sister, as all men know, but you should know from my own word that it is an affront to the gods, and one which I had hoped you might slip yourself out of if you were not raised alongside him. But it seems my work has been for naught."

Something grew dark, or at least threatened to do so, in Lord Hoster's face, and she could feel him trembling from across the table. Maester Vyman would be only a call away, and then he would take his medications again, and then she might never find out what he might have told her before growing angry with her ungodly nature, with her forbidden longing... A longing which was not even necessarily what he believed it to be. She must act quickly and explain herself, before he got a fit, or something worse. Edmure seemed to have much the same notion, and reached out his hand towards her.

"Father, I am most sure that Dany did not mean it like that. Did you, my lady?"

"No", she said, gratefully, meeting Edmure's politely inquisitive blue eyes with her own demure violet. "That is not at all what I meant. I only meant that...- Well, it is the home of my family, after all. Dragonstone, I mean."

"The home of your house", Lord Hoster corrected her. "Not your family. Your brother has a new family on his way now. You can't trust your brother to keep you safe forever. He's got other things on his mind, others to care for, you see?"

His words were terrible for her to hear, a fire of contempt launched towards her young and innocent heart. She felt as if she would almost be about to cry. But she should have known this, coming in to have supper with him, and especially after what had happened recently of course. He had always had something against Viserys, for seemingly no reason other than the history of their parents, who were long gone; even when he had let him stay and visit, he had wanted him out of the keep as soon as could be. And now he said this terrible thing about him.

She once more felt like she had to close her heart towards him, for a hundredth time, or else risk losing more of herself than she had already been stolen of. No. I will not let him get to me. He is only an old and mean-spirited trout. He may be my protector and my grandfather, as close as I have one, but he is not a good man to follow for me, she decided. She was a dragon, no trout. He was water, trickling in sickness and in health. She was fire, burning with desire and her secret red dreams. She would not let him dictate or decide what was best for her; not now; not ever.

He is right. He does have a sickness in him. He believes that it is my blood that is posioned by the crimes against the gods, when in reality, his own crimes torment him far worse than loving my brother ever could torment me.

She almost felt angry, though that was a rare feeling for her. And then all the heat around her... Her dress was sticking to her skin like the spew of vomit suddenly. The very air was feeling sweaty around her. And something more as well. Something swept around and swooshed itself like the ear-deafening roar of the river at high tide inside her ears, and she felt dizzy, a red dragon threatening to leap out of her chest and set the entire hall aflame, Lord Hoster's wicked goggly yellow eyes and the sickly veins on his wrinkly neck, the shining glazing of the honeyed duck, the bright pink and dark blue splendour of Ser Marq's doublet, all of it...

She felt close to fainting, but then Edmure rose from his chair beside her and came up to her, taking her hand and wafting it with his own, blowing with all the power from his chest to keep her cool, talking to her in relaxing words.

"Take it easy. That's all right, Dany. You've had a warm day in here, and you are still recovering from the ordeal. That's all right. Just breathe, and try and take it easy. We will not marry you off to someone you do not choose. I promise."

"How can you promise her that? I'm not dead yet, if you hadn't noticed!" Lord Hoster was screaming at the top of his lungs. But he should not have said so loudly. He began to shake from his chest suddenly, and then he started to cough wildly, blood gushing in drops from his wrustly grey beard, red on grey, and then he called out screaming for Maester Vyman.

"Vyman! Vyman! Get me a bloody spoon of it again, and water the hundredth time for good mirth!"

Daenerys felt the world turn dark, and then blank, as her head fell down into the depth of some dark hole underground. And then she was asleep.

...

She was awakened a dark eternity later, as Lord Edmure was steadying his grips on her head, looking into her weary eyes.

"What am I doing? Where am I?" she managed in a faint voice, feeling as though the entire world was resting on top of her with all its crushing weight and speed. Roaring, red fire coarsed through her mind, her forehead, her arms, her tongue still.

"It's all right, Dany. You just had a heat stroke, that's all", he said, his comforting tone of voice ever like a big brother to her. She felt like falling forward into his arms for a moment,. The clucking sound of Lord Hoster's throat from across the table got her to better thoughts, however. Maester Vyman had come in, but instead of tending to her, he was holding up the large spoon for Lord Hoster to drink his medicine from at table. He had spilled some down his sleeve, already, she could tell, and the old man was suckling from his sick tender like an overgrown child.

"You know how he gets", Lord Edmure continued. "It is not easy for him. And he does not wish to have to leave you over to someone else at all, no matter who it is. Not until..." He could not finish the sentence.

Ser Marq interrupted their thoughts for them, for which Daenerys felt strangely glad.

"So... The Crownlands, you mean. That is where you would like to find yourself a husband. A Velaryon, I take it?" he teased her with his smile.

Ser Marq had always been around the castle, for as long as she could remember he had been Edmure's best friend. He was... charming, in his own way, she supposed, and many other women would certainly say so. Though he was also more than ten years her elder, as she reminded herself. And his question was intrusive, in truth, yet she forced herself to answer as quickly as possible.

"Yes. I would wish to live close to the sea... I do love the river as well, but the sea... It would be pleasant. Dragonstone or Rosby, it would not matter", she lied.

"Rosby..." Ser Marq smiled. "I have indeed spent many good days there." He laughed a little, and nudged Edmure on his shoulder with a knowing smile, and Edmure chimed in reluctantly.

This was the same as a hundred times before, the way that they laughed with each other. They were unmarried men of a certain age, after all. But this was different to Edmure, it seemed. He seemed almost embarrassed, as if he was indeed glad of the moment, but did not wish to speak of it in front of her. At least not now, as they were discussing her future. He changed back the subject.

"Come now, Daenerys, tell them instead. What do you know of Dragonstone? If that is where you would wish to live, then why? Please tell it to my father so he can understand, and not think that it is because of some curse to be close to the fire and blood, or whatever he thinks."

"I don't know...", Dany said, feeling light-headed all over again. "It is simply... Well... Viserys always said that it was our home."

She was speaking of her brother in the former way already, becoming aware once more of how the infamously ill temper of Lord Hoster Tully was shaping her every word, still now at thirteen ancient years and ten tardy tiresome moons of age. She almost felt like a prisoner for truth in this keep at times, a prisoner to the mean old man who was just now swallowing the last of his medication and washing it down with water from Maester Vyman's old and trusted glass caraff. Grandfather and protector or no, he was keeping her here until she would relent in her heart and marry a riverman, she was sure of it now more than ever, the way he had reacted to her talking of Viserys. But she would not, at least not for his sake, nor even for Edmure's sake. She would have to feel it in her heart first, if she could ever love someone. Ser Marq, or [ ], or... someone else.

"Forgive me, child", Lord Hoster said suddenly, coughing and trying to steady himself at the table. "I do not mean to speak ill of your line. Truly... The Tullys have always supported House Targaryen, ever since your forefather Aegon asked us for our help in defeating Harren the Black, and we were named lords paramount in gratitude for the truce between us. I did not bear any ill will even towards your father King Aerys, until... Well... At any rate..." He harkled himself again, trying his best to avoid the subject, and then resumed his gradually growing apology.

"Trust me, even if I am an old and quick to angry fool but... It is only that I do not think you know the best for you. You must surely remember that what I told you once before, when you were young. Each house has its particular strengths, and its weaknesses. Every time a Targaryen is born, they say, the gods flip a coin for the child. One the one side is the greatness, and on the other is the madness. For that, I would like to make sure that I can find you a good husband when the time comes, to take you away from it all. From all the... fire and blood of war..." He was coughing fitfully. "I would... not wish for you to... end up like... Your father..." he said at last.

Her father. The Mad King. And so he had said it, at last. The dragon in the room was out of its bag.

She was beginning to feel heated all over again, as Lord Hoster reached for a second round of words streaming out from his spittle-beard of a mouth and the milk of the poppy still dripping slightly from his lips and tongue. No, she thought, this is it. I will hear no more of this if I can help it myself.

For her own survival as a ward under his roof, for the survival of the dragon which sleeps in the calm of the river, or for the spangling of familiar swaggering charm which her brother's friend had always had to her, or for only the fact that he was just now facing her side and held the best excuse for her not to have to look her foster father in his terrible yellow eyes of decay again, she made her choice.

She mumbled a silent agreement to Lord Hoster, thanked her brother Edmure for explaining, arose from her chair and walked swiftly over to Ser Marq, kneeling in a curtsy before him and placing her small hand in his large gloved one. She looked up to him with violet eyes of deep trust, and spoke at last to him. If I look back now I am lost.

"I kindly accept your offer for marriage, my lord. You need not ask any more. And I am certain that I shall enjoy the protection under your roof when I am old enough to be wed in truth", she said, with a smile and wink looking up at him, who was [twelve?] years her senior and near two feet her altor.

Ser Marq Piper of Pinkmaiden looked back at her in surprise, his flaxen hair [yrvaket [ ]] and his blue eyes staring at her in confundation as though he had not at all expected her to say anything of the sort, but then he shot an eye at Edmure to his side and suddenly found his footing.

He understood what she was saying, he rustled his head and harkled himself for a short moment, and then he smiled back at her warmly, with grateful eyes that looked as if they were beholding the greatest wonder in this world.

"Thankyou, my dearest, sweetest lady", Ser Marq Piper told her. "I have never in my life felt such an honour, nor been more glad at the words coming from a lady's mouth. I pledge to always do good by you, to take care of you, to protect you with my sword and shield, and to love and to cherish you, whether it be under these walls or mine."

He spoke as if he had practiced the speeh a dozen times before, but she could tell by the look of severity on his face that whether that was true or not, he nonetheless meant every word of it.

Daenerys Targaryen closed her eyes towards her newfound suitor in gratitude, as she heard her old trout grandfather captor start a new bout of coughing from the table behind, and opened her eyes again to see the servants pouring a thick sauce of red wine on top of the honeyed duck to Ser Marq Piper's right side. The red wine sauce was trickling as slowly like the mud of the Red Fork along the glistening back of the duck beside her, draping the duck in red. She felt her heart flutter for the briefest moment, as her young dainty hands rested in his, grown and strong, and then she realized with a strange sensation what she had forgotten during all the time at dinner. I feel so dry in my mouth, she reflected. I hope that he will wait to later before he tries to kiss me."

...

THANKYOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE FAVOURITES, FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS! :D It means a super great deal to me to see that people like the story, and want to read more of it!

[ALSO: The next chapter will most likely either be Arya again, or otherwise Viserys. Which one would you rather read first, or immediately following Dany's chapter?]