Archive of Our Own

“This is the third year in a row that the seasons that have shown a pattern. The Citadel believes that the regular seasons could be here to last, but it’s too soon to tell,” Sam explained to the small council.

“The harvest was steady again this year,” Lord Willas added. “I believe we can lift rations now.”

“We should throw a tourney in celebration,” Arianne suggested. “The people need something to celebrate.”

“Not yet,” Jon cut in. “We’ll wait another year. The highborn want a tourney. The small folk want to eat. Let’s focus on them first.”

“Is there enough food in the north and the Riverlands?” Daenerys asked. The king and queen were sitting on opposite ends of the small council table, their counselors sitting between them.

“The north continues to benefit from the temperate weather and the increase of land beyond the Wall,” Lord Willas said. “I don’t think they will need more food.”

“The Riverlands, are still struggling,” the Blackfish said. “We will need more supplies to get through this winter.”

It was the beginning of spring, three years after the end of the Great War. The Kingdoms were beginning to awaken from the darkness. Food had been scarce during the harsh winter, and the fields in both the north and the Riverlands continued to struggle to recover from the years of battle that had churned their soil. Still, plants were growing. The seasons had stabilized. Winter was thawing.

“Can the Reach provide?” Daenerys asked.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Willas nodded.

“Good,” Jon said. “Thank you. That’s all for today.”

The small council packed their papers and their scrolls, chattering amongst themselves. Their group worked together well. They had proven to be a good buffer agains the constant scheming and sniping of the rest of the high born, who were all jostling to get a bigger piece of the pie in the new world that Jon and Dany were building.

Daenerys rose too, not bothering to wait for Jon as she headed back to their chambers. Jon rushed after her before calming his steps, not wanting word to spread that the king had to chase after his wife to get her to spend time with him. Still, Dany was considerably shorter than he was, so he caught her easily.

“Dany.” He gently brushed her arm to get her attention. She turned to look at him. Her face wasn’t drawn and pinched as it often was these days. “May I escort you back to our chambers?” He offered his arm, gallantly.

“Of course.” She took his arm, but wouldn’t hold his gaze.

“I was wondering if you would like to have dinner tonight, just the three of us,” Jon asked.

“That sounds nice,” Daenerys nodded agreeably, but without true joy on her face.

“Good,” Jon said. “Would you like to go for a ride? I was thinking of visiting the orphanage in the city.”

“No, thank you,” Daenerys said with a sigh. “I was planning to visit Drogon in the Godswood. Alone.”

Jon nodded, grateful at the very least that he would have her for dinner.

“Tonight then,” Jon said, eagerly, leaving her at her chamber door.

“Yes, see you tonight,” Daenerys agreed distractedly. She was always distracted these days.

The Great War had been hard on everyone. The had lost tens of thousands of soldiers in battle once the Others breached the Wall and tens of thousands more to starvation during that difficult winter. And Daenerys’s losses had been personal. Rhaegal and Viserion had both been lost in the fight. Drogon survived, but his right wing was damaged to the extent that he was no longer comfortable taking a rider. Daenerys pushed through her pain, not taking a break from the work that needed to be done to give herself time to grieve her children and her ability to fly. As always, she refused to look back.

After the War, they had gone to Dragonstone to spend time with their daughter, Arya, just the three of them as a family. Jon looked back at that time fondly now, but it had been difficult at first. At three years old, little Arya didn’t know them. She had remained safely guarded on Dragonstone under the warm care of Jeyne Poole. Jon and Dany had only met her a handful of times during short visits they risked during the war. Arya’s parents were mere characters in a story to her.

Still, they made great progress with her after the war. Jon got to know his little girl and was delighted by everything he saw. Like her namesake, she loved to be outside, and would run on her little legs, racing the wind, her dark curls bouncing behind her. She had bright violet eyes just like her mother and was curious about everything on the little island that had sheltered her since she was a baby.

Jon loved being a father. He loved carrying little Arya around the island on his shoulders. He loved holding her perched on his horse. He was a busy man with Seven Kingdoms to run, but he could spend hours with his daughter on the beach, searching for sea glass and be content. Arya was beloved by the people of Dragonstone. The small folk of the island would cheer when Jon and Daenerys brought their daughter down to the town.

Perhaps his favorite part of being a father was watching Daenerys be a mother. She still grieved deeply for her children, but she put it from her mind as best she could and poured all of her love and attention into their daughter. Watching Daenerys read stories about their ancestors when she tucked their daughter in at night or run with her on the beach made Jon feel whole in a way he never had before in his life.

They had been happy for a time. They returned to the Red Keep with their daughter, feeling prepared to put the country back to rights. And then Daenerys had gotten pregnant again. The news had filled them both with immense joy. Brining Arya into the world had been difficult. Daenerys had been alone on Dragonstone to give brith while Jon stayed at the Wall. And they had missed so much of her early years. This time they would be together for all of it, and Jon didn’t care if the Others themselves came back, he wasn’t going to miss a second of his this child’s life.

But then, almost three moons into her pregnancy, Daenerys had miscarried. Again. And something broke inside of her. No longer was she the bright force always leading into the future. Daenerys became despondent. She retreated into herself. She was still present in small council meetings and when she held court. Her mind was as sharp as ever, and she wouldn’t let her people suffer just because she was. But as soon as she stepped behind closed doors and let go of her public persona, she was a mere shadow of herself.

Perhaps most painfully for Jon, she had stopped sharing his bed, asking him to sleep in his own chambers. It had been two months since he held her in his arms. Jon was wise enough now not to take it personally. Daenerys grieved. He didn’t worry that she had taken another lover or had tired of him. Her exhaustion had caught up with her, and she didn’t know how to move forward. Jon had felt that himself before. But he didn’t know how to help her. She rebuffed his efforts to talk to her, shrugged off most of his requests to spend time with her. Here Jon was, the King of the Seven Kingdoms and yet powerless to comfort his wife.

And he missed her terribly. He hated sleeping alone. It felt like a rebuke of everything he thought they were to one another. He missed holding her at night as they fell asleep. He missed waking up in each other’s arms—the conversations they would have when they were falling asleep. The closeness of that bond that he had thought nothing could shatter. Nothing but grief, and Daenerys’s overwhelming sense of failure at losing two of her children and yet another pregnancy.

“What did you learn today, love?” Daenerys asked that night after Jane had brought Arya to them and then left the royal family alone. At the age of five, Arya was beginning to read.

“Dragon names,” Arya said. “Silverwing, Syrax, Baelerion, Vhagar. The Valyrian names are hard to read.”

“I struggled with them myself when I was your age,” Jon said.

“I’ll start reading to you in Valyrian, Arya,” Daenerys said. “It will be easier for you if you hear it more.”

“Who speaks Valyrian?” Arya asked.

“Your father and I do, sometimes,” Daenerys said. “It will be fun to learn. Then we can pass each other secret messages.”

Daenerys always came to life around Arya, dong her best to be present for her daughter. Arya had been quiet during dinner. She was often quiet since they had taken her to King’s Landing with them. On Dragonstone, she was bright, energetic and a little wild, preferring to spend most of her time outdoors, particularly by the ocean. But the Red Keep overwhelmed her. She was an intuitive girl and had quickly understood that the Red Keep was more dangerous than Dragonstone. That everyone here wasn’t her friend.

“Jaime Redwwyne says I’lll never fly a dragon, is that true?” Arya asked.

“We don’t know, love,” Daenerys said. “Drogon might still be able to lay an egg. Maester Pylos is working with him on it. But you might never fly.”

"You fly when we play dragons,” Jon argued. It was a game he had played with his sister Arya when they were children. He was even better at it with his own daughter, able to fling her up into the air and catch her. His favorite sound in the world were her shrieks of laughter for the second that she flew.

“I’m getting too big to play dragons,” Arya pouted.

“Are not!” Jon interjected. “Are you calling your father weak? I can still fling you.”

“But I want to fly for real.”

Daenerys flinched at her daughter’s words.

“You might someday,” Jon said. “We can’t know the future. Everyone thought dragons were gone for good until your mother brought them back. Do you like Jaime Redwyne?”

“He’s alright,” Arya shrugged. Jon worried about his daughter having companions. His siblings had been the best part of his childhood. Arya often played with Willas and Wynafryd’s children, Margery and Mace. Margery was only a year older than Arya, while Mace was two years younger. Jaime Redwyne was a new addition to the little group. “He says I’ll need a husband to be my king. He said that queen’s can’t rule without husbands. Is that true?”

“No, it’s not.” Daenerys’s face was red. It was good to see some anger back in her. Jon preferred that to her listlessness. “You will be a ruling queen Arya. No one is going to take that away from you.”

“Does that mean I have to sit in council meetings?” Arya’s violet eyes were wide. “You and papa are always complaining about them.”

“You will,” Daenerys smiled. “But they’re not always bad. All adults have to do things that are hard sometimes.”

“What if I don't want to be queen? What if I want to be a bard like Alan from the Antlers? Or race horses like Grandma Lyanna did? Or what if I want to explore the new north?” The New North was the name for the lands beyond the Wall that were now incorporated into the Northern Kingdom.

“I—you’re, you’re going to be queen, Arya.” Daenerys was looking at her daughter as if she were a stranger. “It’s your duty. But it’s also a great honor.”

“I don’t want to sit in stuffy rooms all day.” Arya pushed her plate away from her and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked so little, sitting at this big table. Her violet eyes were stormy. The look on her face was so obstinate that for a moment she looked just like her aunt.

“Arya come here.” Jon opened his arms to her. She hesitated, but then moved around the table towards him. Jon picked her up and put her in his lap. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Your mother and I aren’t going anywhere. You will be queen someday, but not for a longtime. Until then, you can play music, ride horses. Maybe someday you’ll even foster in the north with your cousins, and explore the new lands.”

“You promise I won’t always be stuck here?” Arya looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“You won’t always be in the Red Keep,” Jon reassured her. “And next summer, we’ll return to Dragonstone. We can find you a music teacher. You can’t be a bard unless you play the lute.”

“Can I?” Arya asked.

“You’ll be like your grandfather.” Daenerys’s voice was hoarse. Jon hadn’t inherited any of his father’s musical abilities, but perhaps these things skipped a generation.

“Time for your bath.” Jon kissed Arya on her cheek. She hopped off his lap

“I’ll tuck you in, and read to you in Valyrian tonight,” Daenerys said ruffling her daughter’s hair and kissing her on the forehead. Arya squirmed out of her mother’s arms and skipped out of the room to where Jeyne was waiting for her.

“You spoil her too much.”  Daenerys sipped from her cup of wine.

“Spoil her?” Jon asked, surprised. “Everything that I said was true. She’ll have time to go on adventures before she’s queen.”

“She’ll need to learn her duty.” Daenerys’s voice was steely. “She can’t think her life is her own.”

“She’s five,” Jon countered. “No need to take her childhood from her.”

“You think I want to take her childhood from her?” Daenerys asked.

“Of course, not,” Jon countered. He felt the heat of her gaze and was tempted to provoke her. It had been so long since they had had a proper fight. It would be a perverse relief to get some sort of reaction from his wife.

“Of course not? Well, that’s exactly what you said—“ Daenerys said breathlessly, sitting up in her chair. “Oh forget it.” She sat back, looking very much like a sail with no wind.

“What were you going to say?” Jon asked.

“I don't want to fight you Jon,” Daenerys sighed and looked down at her plate. “I’ll go join Arya for her bath.”

“Wait, don’t go—“ Jon said, desperately. “I have something for you.”

Jon stood and walked to the cabinet where he had stashed the gift he had imported from Old Town. He placed it on the table in front of Daenerys.

“What is that?” Daenerys was incredulous.

“It’s a wig.” Made by a famous wig maker in Old Town. It was a full head of dark brown, straight female hair.

“Jon, if you want to fuck a dark haired women, there are dozens of courtiers you could summon to your bed.”

“What?” How was his gift going wrong so quickly? Did Daenerys actually think so lowly of him? Would she ever let him back in? “That’s not what this is for! It’s so we can sneak out of the Red Keep.”

“And go where?” Daenerys asked.

“Down into King’s Landing,” Jon said. “I thought we could visit the tavern district. Leave the politics behind for a night. Take a break from being the king and queen.”

“Oh, Jon,” Daenerys rolled her eyes and pursed her lips in annoyance. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I think a change of scenery could help your mood,” Jon said.

“My mood doesn’t need any help,” Dany snapped.

Jon took a few deep breaths, willing himself to stay calm and not say anything he would regret. “Well mine does.” He tried a different tactic. “Our courtiers are driving me insane. I’ll go mad if my only sources of amusement are balls and tourneys, surrounded by leeches. A night on the town would be good for both of us.”

Dany stroked the wig, examining the fine strands of hair. Jon walked over to her and lightly brushed her cheek. She flinched away from his touch. “Please, Dany,” he whispered.

“Jon—“ she looked panicked for a moment, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. Jon dropped his hands from her face and interlaced his fingers in hers. “I’m, I’m not ready. I can’t—“

“All I’m asking is for you to take a break from this viper’s nest with me,”Jon said gently. “I don’t expect anything else from you. If you’re truly miserable, we’ll come back.” And sleep in separate beds. He would hate it. But he would never pressure his grieving wife to let him back into her bed.

“When?” Daenerys asked.

“Tonight. I’ve already enlisted an undercover Kingsguard.”

Daenerys looked at him for a moment, her face a question. “Oh, alright.” She rose from the table. “Let me put Arya to sleep. I’ll come to your solar in an hour?”

“Thank you,” Jon squeezed her hand before releasing her.

***

“Almost done, Your Grace,” Irri stuck a final pin into Daenerys’s scalp. “This wig is something. Thoughtful of His Grace to get you out of the Red Keep. Would you like to see it?”

Irri straightened Daenerys’s looking glass, giving her the view. Daenerys stared into it. She was looking at a stranger. The straightness of her dark hair kept her from looking like an older version of her daughter. It brought out the hollowness of her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. She slept terribly without Jon.

“I do look different, don’t I?” Daenerys shook her head back and forth feeling the long hair swishing down her back.

“Who do you want to be, Your Grace, when you’re not a queen?”

“That’s a big question, Irri,” Daenerys laughed. She wanted to be a doting wife and loving mother, but she felt like she was failing on both those fronts. “Perhaps an actress from Braavos?”

“You would be a star!” Irri giggled. “But you would have admirers fighting over you. You’re a great beauty.”

“Am I?” Daenerys asked. She’d been told she was beautiful many times. She had felt it in her early years with Jon. On their wedding night he had looked at her like she shined. She felt so removed from the woman she was before the Great War. “Well, the point tonight is not to draw attention.”

She looked down at her simple blue shift that completed her disguise. What would her life be like if she wasn’t queen? If she had grown up inside the walls of the Red Keep, she might have thought her life would have been easier without the constraints of politics and duty. But she wasn’t naive. Without the trappings of her wealth and her power, she would have different challenges. Everything was harder when you had to worry about starvation.

“Tonight I’ll be Moira from Braavos.” She rose from her seat and spun herself around, feeling lighter at the thought of her disguise. Perhaps Jon had been right.

Daenerys pulled back the tapestry of Aegon and his sisters that covered the secret passageway to Jon’s chambers. Her heart sank thinking of her husband. She had treated him terribly lately, pushing him away, keeping him from her bed. It wasn’t who they had always been to one another, and he had done nothing to deserve it. He had been unfailingly patient and kind with her. She missed the feeling of his arms around her at night, but inviting him back into her bed would only lead to more heartache, more blood on their sheets, more failure.

She wondered how long it would be before he took a mistress. The Red Keep hosted many beauties, all itching at the opportunity for an invitation into the king’s bed. She had almost dismissed Alara Swann from her service. The woman’s dresses had been cut lower and lower since Dany and Jon stopped sharing a bed, and her eyes raking Jon more and more boldly. But would be the point of dismissing her? Jon was a good man and a loving father. He spoke of honor, but he was also a man with needs and a king besides that. Her father had kept many mistresses. Could she expect Jon to be better when she wouldn’t even let him near her?

Dany stepped into Jon’s solar, where he was waiting for her, dressed in simple trousers and a white shirt. His hair was died, giving it a reddish tinge. He looked younger outside of his velvet finery and crown. She stared at him, overcome with memories of Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, exiled in Essos, her illicit lover. Had things been simpler between them then, without a continent to govern and a dynasty to continue? No, their reality had been even more complicated and fraught. So why couldn’t she shake this gloom?

“You look.” Jon whistled, at a loss for words and taking a step closer to her. “Different.”

“Do you prefer me this way, husband?” Her voice was teasing, but she could hear her panic as well.

“Never.” Jon tugged at the wig. “But it will be easier to walk around the city with you, without anyone noticing.”

“I like the red in your hair.” Dany brushed a strand out of his eyes. “But it will wash out, won’t it?”

“Sam said the dye would only last a couple of days. We’ll get some questions in court, but it will fade soon. Shall we?”

“How are we escaping?” Daenerys asked.

“Through the secret passageways of course,” Jon said. “We just need—“

There was a knock on the door.

“Ah, there he is.” Jon moved to the door letting Jon Flint into the room. Jon Flint had been made Kingsguard during the war, and was always Jon’s most trusted guard. He was dressed plainly, only his Valyrian sword giving away that there might be more to him than he appeared.

“And Ghost is in the Godswood.” Jon said. “But he’ll come if we need him.”

“Won’t he be a give away?” Daenerys asked.

“If we need Ghost, I fear our identity will already be revealed,” Jon said.

The trio moved to the secret passageway that would lead them into the tunnels beneath the city. Jon grabbed a torch from a sconce in the wall and took her hand in his free one. She looked down at their intertwined fingers. It was such a simple thing, but it anchored her somehow. She remembered their early courtship when she had longed for Jon to show her affection in public. Now she couldn't remember when was the last time she had sought out his attentions.

“Did you speak Valyrian to Arya tonight?” Jon asked.

“I did,” Dany said proudly, he heart warming at the mention of her daughter’s name. The girl was nothing short of a miracle to her. “She has an ear for it. I should have been speaking it to her earlier, but she’s still young. She’ll catch on quickly.”

“So who are you tonight?” Jon asked as they made their way carefully through the dark.

“Moira from Braavos,” Daenerys said in her best Braavosi accent. “And you?”

“Grenn from Maidenpoole,” Jon said. “Moved here after the war to help King’s Landing rebuild.”

“Are Moira and Grenn married?” Dany asked.

“Perhaps Grenn’s courting this new arrival to King’s Landing.”

“We’re a bit old to be courting, don’t you think?” Daenerys asked.

“Couldn’t hurt to try.” There was a bitter edge to Jon’s voice, and she couldn’t blame him for it. Hadn’t she rebuffed all of his attempts to bridge the gap between them?

“Alright.” Daenerys expelled a shaky breath. “Let’s try.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

“Really,” Daenerys said, more firmly. Jon lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it. “Where are we headed?”

“Rhaegar’s Lute,” Jon said. “Jon Flint here found it for me.”

“Apparently your brother used to play there, Your Grace,” Jon Flint said.

Daenerys’s heart warmed at the thought. “So it’s a haunt of Targaryen loyalists then?” Her mind instantly reached for the cold-hard politics.

“Aye,” Jon nodded. “I thought it would be safe. I also thought you might like to see it.”

“Are you finally going to debut that song you promised to write for me years ago?”

“I didn't know Your Grace was a bard!” Jon Flint exclaimed, always ready to find another reason to worship his king.

“Er, I’m not.” Even in the dim torchlight, Daenerys could see that he was blushing. “And I never did manage to write one.”

Suddenly, Daenerys felt guilty. Here Jon was trying to make her feel better, coming up with a creative way to take her mind off her grief and worries, and she was berating him for what he hadn’t done for her. “That’s alright,” Daenerys reassured him, her tone softer. “I’m looking forward to seeing this place.”

“Well, I hope the music’s good. And that they have decent ale.”

The disguised monarchs exited the tunnels and stepped out into the cool night air. The short winter that they were all getting accustomed to was melting away into a crisp spring. Jon Flint led the way to the tavern, all the while giving Jon and Dany a wide berth. When they slipped out of the gates of the Red Keep and onto the city streets, no one gave them a second look. Daenerys felt lighter, freer.

“Moira agrees with you?” Jon gave her hand a squeeze.

“She does.” Daenerys examined the fresh cobblestones and new buildings. She never could get a good look at the city, always surrounded by guards and crowds whenever she ventured outside the gates of the Red Keep. “The city looks good.”

“Aye,” Jon nodded. “The building projects are popular.”

“Have we earned the approval of the small folk of King’s Landing?” Dany asked incredulously.

“I didn’t say that,” Jon grunted. “But come, enough of politics for tonight. A beautiful woman accepted my offer to take her out on the town. I plan to enjoy it.” Jon wrapped his arm around her. Yesterday, Daenerys would have shrugged off his embrace. But tonight his warmth felt good around her. She leaned into him, and he kissed her on the forehead.

Rhaegar’s Lute sat on a lively street, crowded with taverns. Revelers roamed the street dipping in and out of the establishments. King’s Landing had experience difficult times over the past decade. There were times when the city had felt dead—leached of its vibrancy. But tonight, disguised as a small folk, Daenerys could witness firsthand that the city was returning. Spring had arrived and there was a future yet for the people of King’s Landing.

A sign hung over the door of the tavern: “Rhaegar’s Lute” spelled out in red letters over a painting of a silver-haired man playing the lute. His eyes were closed, as if he were in the middle of a heartbreaking love song. Daenerys had found some etchings of her brother in the archives of Dragonstone and the Red Keep. Those likenesses always depicted him as a masculine warrior-type. This version was much softer with long eyelashes and pretty wisps of hair falling into his eyes.

“Do you think that’s what he looked like?” Daenerys asked Jon. He gave her a pointed look, and she felt foolish. Of course this wasn’t what he looked like. It was simply an advertisement to lure people into the tavern.

The inside of the tavern had a rosy glow, bathed in candlelight. There was a stage at the far side of the room where a small band played—a lute, a small drum, and a wooden flute. The music was soothing, meant to fit into the hustle and bustle of the tavern. The place was busy, but Jon was able to secure a booth for them, as Jon Flint grabbed a stool close enough to keep an eye out for them, but far enough away to give them some privacy.

“What’ll you have, loves?” A broad woman sidled up to their table. “Kidney pie tonight. And there might be some rabbit stew from earlier.”

“Just ale for me, thanks,” Jon said.

“Do you have honeyed mead?” Dany asked, summoning a Braavosi accent from her childhood.

“We do,” the woman grunted. “Trust a foreigner to want something fancy. Be back in a moment.”

“I think our disguise is working,” Dany whispered once the woman was safely away.

“You can’t even tell your eyes are violet in this light.” Jon peered at her closely.

“Well, Grenn.” Dany looked around. It seemed like a cheery place, full of both men and women. A blond woman had hiked up her voluminous skirts and was dancing in front of the musicians, her hair glowing by the light of the fire. A couple of men from across the room were engaged in a lively discussion over ale. She hoped they weren’t talking politics. “What kind of place have you taken me to?”

“One of good reputation,” Jon assured her. The tavern maid was back. She laid their drinks in front of them and then twirled away, onto the next customer.

“It’s not a brothel is it?” Dany asked, taking a second look at the beautiful woman dancing by the fire.

“Course not!” Jon scoffed. “Do you think I would take my wi—my sweetheart to a brothel?”

“So I’m your sweetheart am I?” Daenerys took a sip of her honeyed mead. The sweet drink warmed her.

“Always,” Jon sipped his own ale, looking at her over his horn. His grey eyes brimmed with a combination of love and concern. Fuck that. She didn’t want to see his concern for her tonight. She didn’t think she could bear it.

“So, Grenn, why did you want me?” Daenerys took another sip—perhaps it was closer to a gulp this time. The sweetness went down too easily. “You’re a handsome man in your prime. A veteran of the Great War. Surely you could have had any girl you wanted. I’ve lived a life you know. Been married before. I have a daughter. I’m no blushing virgin.”

“I’ve never been interested in fainting maids,” Jon took her hand and stroked it softly. “Besides why would I want anyone besides the most beautiful woman in the world?”

“Surely some other woman has claimed that title by now,” Dany laughed, flippantly.

“Never.” Jon brought her hand to his lips, and then turned it over, placing a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist. The kiss sent a chill down Dany’s spine, while heat flared in her stomach. “Moira will always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Tell me. What was it like growing up in Braaavos, Moira?”

Dany closed her eyes, picturing a red door and a lemon tree. “Oh, like most childhoods I suppose.” She grabbed her cup of mead and gulped down the remains of the sweet drink. “You don’t realize how wonderful it is to feel safe until that shelter’s taken from you. How about you Grenn? What was it like growing up in Maidenpool?”

“Er,” Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “It was fine. My father owned a shop. I had a lot of siblings.”

“Did you dream of coming to the big city?” Dany asked.

Jon wrinkled his nose. His distaste of King’s Landing was legendary at this point. “I suppose I did. Green boy that I was, I didn’t realize that a city could smell of shit even more strongly than Maidenpool does.”

Dany laughed at that, and signaled the tavern maid to bring her another drink.

“Enjoying that are you?” He had barely made a dent in his ale.

“I am,” Dany nodded. “You best keep up.”

“Is Moira a big drinker then?” The tavern maid placed another cup of mead at their table.

Dany considered her cup. The queen rarely drank. She had no time for such frivolities. She also understood that while her husband could drink as much as he wanted and be labelled “one of the boys” and a “good lad,” she would be labeled a lush or a drunk if she was ever caught unsteady on her feet.

But Moira? “Thought you knew that about me, Grenn?” Dany lifted her cup. “I live a simple life without a care in the world. I sew in a shop during the day and drink and dance in the finest taverns at night.”

“Sounds shocking.” Jon grinned at her and took a deeper swig from his horn. “How can a simple lad from Maidenpool ever keep up?”

The music picked up speed and grew louder. There were scrapes and thumps as furniture was pushed to the edges of the tavern, creating a dance floor in the middle of the room. Men and women lined up on either side of the floor clapping the rhythm of some sort of line dance.

“Shall we join them?” Daenerys asked her husband.

“We don’t know the steps.”

“So we’ll make fools of ourselves,” Daenerys laughed, the honey mead making her feel lightheaded and carefree. “And no one will care if Moira and Grenn are fools.” She jumped on her feet and held out her hand to him. “Wasn’t that the point of taking me here?”

Jon finished his horn and then took her hand, letting her guide him out onto the dance floor. They took up opposite sides of the floor, as the music kicked up into a reel. Dany lifted her skirts, and began to move with the line. Jon was right. They didn’t know the steps. She stepped on the foot of her first partner. Her second she knocked into with her shoulder, when she was supposed to take his hand. Her partners’ annoyance only made her laugh. It felt lovely to be the object of mild annoyance and derision. There were no honeyed smiles hiding daggers here. To everyone else in the tavern, she was simply a tipsy woman, probably too old to be dancing in a tavern and certainly too old not to know her steps.

Then she was in Jon’s arms—his steady embrace compensating for the uncertainty of his steps. One hand was wrapped around her waist. Immersing herself in the mead, the music, and the movement of her feet, driving out the fears and heartaches. Time only seemed to make her husband more handsome, his face settling into itself, just as he had settled into himself in the years since he had become king and saved the world.

She spun away from him, the dance requiring she take another partner. This one was a youthful lad who spun her rather too enthusiastically. Dany reveled in the dizziness. When she straightened, she looked behind her to find Jon tracking her every movements— a wolf stalking his prey. Perhaps her husband would get his wish tonight. Perhaps his nights of exile were over. Would it be too dangerous to rent a room in this tavern? Surely Moira could enjoy bedding Grenn without worries of miscarriages, dynasties, and female succession paralyzing her?

The band launched into several more reels, and Dany and Jon stayed on the dance floor—not the most popular or graceful of dance partners, but they enjoyed themselves none the less. After a rousing rendition of the “Bear and the Maiden Fair” that ended in an amusing dance competition with a very hairy man on his hands and knees in a pathetic imitation of a bear, the music settled into a slower ballad, meant to give the dancers a break.

“Up on the Wall, where the cold winds moan,

The lord commander faced the dead all alone.”

The iconic opening words of the “White Wolf and the Dragon Queen” filled the tavern. Jon rolled his eyes and gestured for Dany to come with him to the bar.

“Glad to see I’m not the only one sick of this song,” grunted an older man with a bushy beard who was leaning against the bar.

“Don’t see why it has to be played every night,” Jon agreed.

“Cause they want it to be.” The man spat. “Keep the people plied with romantic stories of our beautiful king and queen and make them forget about all the shite of the past.”

“Mmm, seems to be working,” Dany said as she took a new cup of mead that the tavern maid offered. She surveyed the dance floor as she sipped her drink. The audience was wrapt with attention listening to the song. Some joined in on the most popular lines. Others requested versus that had all been generated by the bards Dany herself had handpicked to help create her propaganda. But listening to it now, the hero-worship just made her tired.

“Course it’s working,” the man grunted. “People are fools.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” Jon asked the man. Dany rolled her eyes at that. Soon enough, Jon was chatting the man’s ear off, hearing his complaints about the Targaryen’s new building projects, the new trade tariffs, and the fact that King’s Landing had no representation in the event of a great council. Jon mostly listened, offering his own grunts of encouragement to get the man to talk more. Dany had not snuck out of the palace for this. Moira didn’t want to hear an old man’d ramblings. And Dany so desperately wanted to be Moira tonight.

She made her way back towards the musicians, pulling out a stool and drinking her mead while they finished singing the now infamous ballad, “The White Wolf and the Dragon Queen.” The night settled into more somber songs. Dany didn’t mind. She closed her eyes and let the music take her, her head spinning slightly from the alcohol, but otherwise blessedly blank.

“Sorry about that,” Jon whispered in her ear, pulling up a stool and moving close to her.

“I thought we were leaving politics up there,” Dany said, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I know, I just thought he had some good points—“ Dany opened her eyes to fix him with a steely look. “And I will share them with you tomorrow.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Are you enjoying the music?”

Dany nodded. “I wonder if Rhaegar really played here.”

“It’s probably just a way to drum up business,” Jon shrugged.

Dany nodded, but felt slightly defeated.

“Still, it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“There was a time even hearing his name would make you uncomfortable,” Daenerys said.

“A man can get used to most things,” Jon said. “Besides, the stories of princes and kings hardly effects the likes of me.”

“Sure, Grenn,” Dany snorted.

She felt a warm arm sneak around her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Jon’s voice was low and soft, and it was melting that bit ice cold steel in her stomach that had helped her through the past few months.

“I am,” she leaned into him, enjoying his touch.

“It’s good to see you smile.” She froze a bit at that. Had she been such dull company these past few months? Did he perhaps want a more amusing wife?

After a rather sluggish rendition of Jenny of Oldstones, a woman took to the stage. There were cheers and shouts—clearly she was a regular. She was older than Dany, with hips that suggested years of bearing children and greying hair. But her eyes were a piercing blue and she had a gravitas about her that drew the eye.

The band began to play a tune that Dany didn’t recognize. The tempo was slow and the melody haunting. When the woman joined in, Dany almost gasped at the depth and richness of the sound. Her voice was no pretty ornament, but rather carried years of wisdom and pain in its the subtle tones.

The song was about a mother who sent her boys off to fight in the first Blackfyre Rebellion, only to have them never to return. But looking around the room, to the tear-stained faces, it was obvious that the woman was truly singing about the recent wars—the Civil War and the Great War, which probably everyone in this room had lost someone to. The woman’s voice touched the ache inside Dany that she had tried to ignore tonight.

“But they never did return. They never did return.” The woman sang the refrain with such conviction that Dany knew she had lost someone, probably a child. Dany didn’t want to feel this pain anymore. But it surrounded her. It was in the woman’s voice, in the tear-stained faces of her fellow tavern dwellers. Her pain was so small compared to the overwhelming grief of an entire continent ravaged by death. Who was she to mope over another miscarriage, when so many people had lost so much? In the wars she had gained a crown, a continent, and a family. She hadn’t starved. She hadn’t frozen to death. And all she had lost were a couple unborn children and two beautiful, magical dragons. But they had been her children too, hadn’t they? She had suckled Rhaegal and Viserion to her breast. She had fed them, protected, them and watched them grow. And she had taken them to the north, convinced that it was their destiny to defeat death, not realizing death would take them in the process.

The tavern was too warm and crowded; the music too true. Dany bolted to her feet, dropping her cup which clattered to the ground. Her eyes burned. Even in disguise, she couldn’t bare to ever let the public see her cry. So she ran. Ran out the door of the tavern and into the cool spring night. She was being reckless, but she couldn’t stop moving. Being Moira hadn’t been enough to keep her emotions at bay. So she ran through the streets of King’s Landing, wiping the tears down her face as she went. Buildings blurred past her in the dark. She rushed past dark faces peering curiously at the woman running through King’s Landing at night. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Jon keeping pace with her, running at her heels. Her lanky, quick husband could easily over take her, but he kept his distance.

She faced forward again, her feet pounding on the cobblestones with renewed intent. She ran and ran, feeling like Arya on Dragonstone, running on the beach and daring her parents to catch her. But Arya always laughed when she ran. Dany wasn’t laughing. The street ended, blocked by the banks of the Blackwater. True to its name, the river looked inky black in the moonlight. Dany looked up the banks to her right where the Red Keep loomed—her house that often felt like a prison. When she had first seen it, she had been flying on Drogo’s back, when he could still take a rider. Rhaegal and Jon had flown at their side.

“Fuck!” Dany shouted into the night. “Fuck!”

She felt something solid and warm behind her. She smelled the familiar scent of home. Jon wrapped his arms around her. His whole body tensed as if bracing for a storm.

“It’s alright,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

But it wasn’t alright. She turned to face him, and pounded her fists into his chest her tears still flowing, her anger and grief unbearable. She was the storm. But Jon held strong.

“I’ve got you,” he chanted in her ear. “Let it out. I’m here.”

Eventually her wracking sobs turned into hiccups. Her throat burned. Her nose was running. She was sure she looked a fright.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into Jon’s chest. “I’m sorry!”

Jon cradled her head to his muscular chest, his warrior frame uninjured by her pathetic assault. “Don’t apologize,” Jon murmured. “I’m glad you let it out. I’m glad you let yourself feel something.”

“I miss them. I miss my children.” Dany cried into his chest. “And I wanted that babe. I wanted to give Arya a sibling so badly. I thought that maybe because Rhaegal and Viserion were taken from me, it would make it easier somehow for me to conceive a babe.”

“That would be more fair, wouldn’t it?” Jon stroked her wig lightly.

“Why should I expect life to be fair?” Dany shuddered. “And I have so much. Everyone’s lost something. It’s not right for me to grieve so.”

“Everyone needs to grieve, Dany. Why should you be any different?”

“If I look back I am lost,” she groaned into his chest. The mantra had gotten her through so many hardships.

“That only works for so long,” Jon said. “You’re not running from anything or towards anything anymore. Sometimes you need to stop to breathe.”

“But I can’t—“ Dany gulped down some air, trying to steady her breaths. “I can’t stop. One child isn’t enough to secure our succession. I can feel the court circling like vultures ready to swoop in on Arya. And Arya—“ she shuddered thinking of her daughter’s words earlier that evening.

“What about Arya? She’s perfect,” Jon said, ever the doting father.

“I know she is, but—“ Dany pulled back from him needing to move. “Can we walk?”

“Of course,” Jon took her hand,  and they walked up the bank, towards the Red Keep. Glancing back, Dany saw Jon Flint trailing behind them. The river could be dangerous, perhaps they should walk somewhere else, but then Dany saw a flash of white in the dark. Ghost. They would be fine.

“I’ve been thinking about what Arya was saying today, about not wanting to be queen.”

“Dany—she’d five—“

“But what if she’s right?” Dany asked incredulously. “Back when we were taking the throne, female succession was key. I needed it for my legitimacy, but I also wanted it for my daughter. I didn’t want her to be treated second best, because she was a woman.”

Dany blew out a shaky breath. “But it’s going to be hard, Jon. It already is. I’ve seen the change in her since we left Dragonstone. She’s so watchful here, like she knows that people are already doubting her. What if being the first sole ruling queen of Westeros isn’t what she wants? What if I’m putting my my own ambitions on her—making her fight my battles? Everything’s been so difficult for us, why am I making life more difficult for her?’

Jon was silent for a moment, listening in that particular, Jon way where she knew he was truly considering her words. “Earlier this morning you accused me of spoiling her.”

“Well she won’t have all those choices you listed!” Dany insisted.

“She’ll still have more choice than just about everyone else on this continent,” Jon argued. She knew he was right. Despite her fun tonight, she didn’t truly believe that Moira would have more freedom than Daenerys did. “And she will have an easier time than you or I did. She’ll have more wealth than she’ll know what to do with. More than that she has a mother and father who love her.”

“I hope she’ll still love me,” Dany sighed. “When she realizes what a burden I’ve put on her shoulders. What if she wants a simple life with a kind husband and babies running around a garden?”

“Sounds easy,” Jon shrugged. “But it’s not our job to make our daughter’s life easy. The work we’re doing—female succession, but also the great council, and the education and rights we’re pushing for the small folk—this isn’t work that will be done in our lifetime. And our children need to be part of that. We’re not doing Arya or our people any favors if we’re not raising her to fight for a better world than this shit one we have. She’s your daughter. I have no doubt that she’ll grow to see that.”

“She looks like you, when she has that scowl on her face,” Dany sighed. “Like she’s calculating all the obstacles that might be in her way.”

“Aye, I’ve seen she’s growing moodier,” Jon shrugged looking sheepish. “I didn’t want to pass that particular trait on.”

“I’m glad she’s thoughtful,” Dany sighed. “Like you. And who’s been the moody one lately?” Dany looked up into the night sky feeling helpless. It had been so much easier to keep him at arm’s length, but he wouldn’t let her do that would he? He knew her too well.

“Aye,” Jon touched her hand gently. “I’m sorry if I’ve rubbed off on you too.”

“I’m sorry,” Dany said. “I know it’s not right to push you away. I know we need to have more children.”

“More children?” Jon stopped in his tracks and spun her around, cupping her face. “Is that really what you think I’m worried about right now?”

“I know how the court whispers. We need at least an heir and a spare to put their gossiping at ease.”

“Others take you Dany, when have I ever cared about what the courtiers think?”

She pulled away from him then. “No. I suppose you care about more than that. I know you have needs too. And you’re a king. If you want to take a mistress—I—I suppose it’s something we could talk about.” She couldn’t look him in eye as she said it. She felt his whole body clench next to her.

“Take a mistress?” His voice cracked as he said it. He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. Sometimes she forgot how conservative he could be. “Dany, what in Seven Hells gave you the impression that I would want that?”

“You’re a king, Jon.” Dany sighed. “One with a wife who has been very cold to you lately. It would be natural for you to consider other women.”

“Consider other women—Dany, you’re my wife!” Jon looked terribly offended. “And you’re more than that. You’re my partner too. Gods, I’ve been in love with you since long before we were married. You think I could just find a replacement for my bed?”

“That’s very sweet of you to say.” Dany fidgeted nervously with her skirt. “But I don’t know how long, I’ll feel like this, and—“

“Dany,” Jon took her hand, interlacing their fingers together and kissed it. “I had planned to be celibate for my entire life. I can go a few months with out sex.”

“My father always took mistresses—“ Dany argued.

“That is the first time that you have ever compared me to your father.” Jon’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I hope that it will also be the last.” He looked so deeply upset that Dany couldn’t help but reach for him. She curled her hand behind his neck and reached up to peck him softly on the lips. It was a gentle, questioning kiss. She pulled back to look at him, unsure of how she wanted to proceed.

“The gods know I’ve had hard times when I haven’t been the most pleasant to be around,” Jon said huskily. “But you were right there with me. I’m not going to turn to some other woman during your time of need.”

“Your moods never effected your lust,” Dany said, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I suppose that’s true,” Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “But I’m not twenty anymore either. My lust is less, er, overwhelming than it used to be.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Jon,” Dany said. “I do think about being with you, but then I think about the miscarriage, and I freeze up.”

“Dany, we can share a bed without fucking.” Jon gently tucked a piece of the wig behind her ear. “How many times did we fall asleep next to each other fully dressed during the war?” He wasn’t wrong there. Their bedding during the war had been erratic. Frantic and passionate when they needed to blow off steam, but they were as likely as not to be too tired to share so much as a sweet kiss before sleep. “It’s your choice, but I would like to hold you again. Hear what’s on your mind as you fall asleep. Wake up with you in my arms.”

Jon’s voice was gentle and soothing. He rubbed circles on her lower back, but didn’t pull her closer. He would let her bridge the gap between them.

She stepped towards him, planting herself firmly in the circle of his arms and kissed him, soft and sweet: a comforting kiss, not a lustful one. Jon kissed her back gently, as if afraid to frighten her off.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.” Jon stroked her cheek.

“Let’s go home.”

They made their way back to the tunnels beneath the Red Keep, not talking much. Jon clasped her hand, drawing circles over the back of it. He slept in their bed that night. After removing the wig, Daenerys felt almost shy around her husband, embarrassed that she had pushed him away. But she shook off her own bashfulness at the look of her husband’s face, when she shimmied out of her simple shift. He drank in the sight that had been kept from him these past few months. He shucked off his shift, but kept his trousers on.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. “But let’s not rush anything tonight.”

The crawled into bed, their bodies melding together, that perfect fit that always made Dany feeling safe and whole. She snuggled into her husband. Sleep, which had eluded her in recent months, came easily to her that night. Her home had been waiting for her all along. 

***

A year later Daenerys gave birth to a healthy, plump baby boy with silver curls and grey eyes. They named him Aemon. He was an exceptionally sweet and happy baby, who maintained his easy temperament for the rest of his life. The court noted that while the spirited and sometimes moody Arya was a similar to both of her parents, Aemon almost seemed to be from a different family entirely. The courtiers called Arya the royals’ “War Child” and Aemon their “Peace Child.” Secretly, Jon and Dany agreed with the nicknames. For while their daughter Arya proved to be a deft politician and a staunch fighter for what was right, Aemon brought a level of lightness and joy to the little family that until his birth had rarely enjoyed peace.