To describe Ser Jorah Mormont's exile as hard would be engaging in a massive understatement. Once the heir to Bear Island, one of the oldest and most noble Northern houses, the dashing warrior had his life ripped away from him over one mistake - a mistake that cost him everything. Unable to go home, his family branding him a disgrace, his father, condemned to live out the rest of his years at Castle Black with Jorah's shame. All to please a woman that never loved him.
Drowning his sorrows at a tavern in Pentos, reduced to a common sellsword, the rumors had floated in regarding the upcoming marriage between the Dothraki Khal and Princess Daenerys Targaryen. This had piqued his interest. King Robert will pay handsomely for information… perhaps even a pardon?
Such was what brought him to the home of Illyrio Mopatis, to call on Prince Viserys to offer his services. He knew the Dothraki, and they would be well served by him.
"Ser Jorah Mormont," the merchant announced, feet gliding across the glazed floor tiles to greet his guest. "I did not expect the Andal himself to arrive at my home."
Jorah smiled wanly, not bothering to correct Illyrio - being from the north, he was a First Man, not an Andal. But the name stuck among the sellswords of Essos, and he was fine with it. "I come to offer my services to the Prince and Princess."
The oily merchant's eyes gave away nothing. "I will pass this along to them, Ser Jorah. Prince Viserys would likely be thrilled to have such a great warrior giving him counsel."
"Aye, they would be lucky to have his counsel."
As soon as he heard that statement, Jorah's blood turned to ice, blood leaving his tanned, weathered skin. Turning, he was completely and utterly shocked to find his former Warden striding toward them. "Lord Stark," he said evenly, fighting hard not to croak. There were few that intimidated Jorah Mormont, but Eddard Stark was one of them. If he had his way then Jorah would have died at his hand.
"Ser Jorah Mormont, in the flesh." Ned was angry at seeing this disgrace once again, but suppressed it. He had every right to be here, for it wasn't Westeros, and it would have been dishonorable to pass the man's sentence outside the North. "I know that Prince Viserys wouldn't value my word, but I can vouch that Ser Jorah is an able warrior and advisor."
Blinking, Jorah only just managed not to gape. Illyrio clapped Lord Stark on the back. "Well put." He turned back to Jorah. "I will inform the Prince of your arrival, though it is not the right time for you to formally offer your services. Perhaps at a later time, Ser Jorah."
"Whatever you feel is proper." The Bear Islander bowed. "Lord Illyrio, Lord Stark. May the grace of the old Gods be with you." He turned and walked to his horse, pondering what had just occurred.
Stroking the stubble on his chin, the gears were turning inside Ned's head. Jorah was too much a proud northerner to wish to serve a Targaryen. What does he desire? Whatever it was, he was going to find out.
Darting to the right, Daenerys nimbly shifted along the grounds when a thump on her shoulder left her pursing her lips. A Valyrian curse tumbled from her lips. Yet again she was bested.
"Dead, for the tenth time," came the husky, slightly amused northern accent of her instructor. "Good think you have warriors like me to protect you, Princess."
Daenerys glowered at Jon, violet eyes stormy with annoyance. "You do not fight fair, Jon Snow." Tucking the heavy, wooden practice weapon under her arm, she rubbed the blossoming bruises on her shoulders and sides. Had it not been Jon, her kind and devilishly handsome northern companion, she probably would have lost patience with this after the third thumping. She glanced over at Ghost, the growing puppy sprawled comfortably in the shade of an acacia tree. 'Lucky wolf.'
Jon grinned, the silver-haired princess disarming his guarded nature as Robb or Arya did. "Battle is not fair, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. There are no rules, except to win of course." For the last two weeks the two of them had been practicing, Jon running through all of the drills and exercises taught to him. It hadn't been the easiest going, but Dany was coming along well enough to graduate to basic sparring.
At the glimpse of a blue-black welt marring Dany's porcelain skin, Jon's face fell. Perhaps he was being too hard on her. He would never forgive himself if he hurt her. "Would you like to stop, Dany?"
The nickname never ceased to make her stomach flutter. Raised to be a proud woman of the last noble house of Old Valyria, Daenerys nevertheless loved the sound of 'Dany' in the husky northern dialect of her companion. "No, I'm fine. I want to master this, it's just frustrating." She huffed, kicking at a few pebbles on the courtyard floor.
"Maybe we should change direction then." Jon reached into his mind, remembering the lessons with Ser Rodrick. There were fundamental principles to good swordsmanship that all warriors were obligated to master, but otherwise the skills were malleable. The styles of Braavos were different than the styles of Dorne which were then different from the styles of the North. What worked for Jon and Robb's strong muscles and large swords wouldn't work for the dainty and slender Daenerys.
What she needed was a different technique, not to master for now but to allow her to defend herself. "Hand me your sword." Dany complied, watching with puzzled eyes at what Jon was doing. Opening the chest holding all the wooden practice blades, he set it down and grabbed a curved Dornish scimitar, the wood slender and light. "This should help. We'll try some exercises to take advantage of your speed and agility." He couldn't help eying her figure for a moment. Clad in a slightly tight female tunic and trousers that Arya favored - his little sister hated dresses - Danys full slender curves were on full display. It was a magnificent sight, one where he willed himself to discount most of the time. He'd never get any work done otherwise. "As a woman your body is nicely built for it."
Dany blushed slightly. 'Is he really complimenting my body?' She realized that she would enjoy it if he did, as well as his grey eyes on her. Taking the faux scimitar in her hand, she was immediately appreciative of how much lighter it was. How much easier it was to maneuver it with her hand. "So I should try to mimic the agility exercises?"
He readied his stance. "Yes, but please try to be unexpected, Dany. You are the blood of the Dragon. You have it in you." With that, Jon began with a light jab at her abdomen.
'Blood of the Dragon.' Managing to dart out of the way, just, Daenerys let her scimitar slash at Jon. While missing, she felt pretty good - the lighter blade was easier for her to handle, requiring less strength and more agility. This time, she managed to last over thirty seconds before a cross from Jon caused her to stumble and lose her footing.
A small hand reached out and grabbed Jon's shirt to try and stay upright, but the motion ended up propelling both to the ground. Jon on top of Dany. Both were breathing heavily from the exertion. "Looks like." Jon sucked in a breath. "We found your particular style."
"Yes." Dany breathed. "We did." He chuckled, and so did she. Their faces barely apart. Eyes gazing into the other. Dany's shifted down to his lips, and she swore his did to hers.
The moment was ruined at Ghost letting out a bark, both hurriedly separating and standing as a servant girl approached. Flustered, Dany couldn't help the small smirk on her face at Jon's bright red blush, the northerner rubbing the back of his neck. It was oddly adorable. "Yes?" She asked the servant.
"My Lady, your brother the Prince would like your presence in the baths."
A pit formed in her gut. Oh Gods. That's today. Biting her lip, Dany looked back at Jon. "I have to go. Today is when I'm presented to the Dothraki Khal."
Sensing her fear, Jon soothingly placed a hand on her arm. It felt electric to the touch. "Would you like me to attend?" He knew that Viserys would likely try something, and if the stories he heard about the Dothraki were true then an additional sword wouldn't hurt.
Dany could feel her heart melt. No one had ever been as kind to her as Jon. "I would like that very much, Jon Snow."
"Seven hells, sister, what are you doing in those ghastly rags?" Whatever levity and confidence that Jon Snow made bubble to the surface disappeared upon sight of her brother. Dany couldn't control it, Viserys being a far larger presence in her life. "You look like some flea bottom wench." A disgusted grimace on his lips, he slapped at the garment, as if not wanting to sully his fingers with it. "No, no, this won't due at all.
The bath was already steaming, various servant girls filling it further with searing water. They scurried out to avoid Viserys - he was a noted groper when he was drunk, and had his fun with the female domestic staff. 'He would have done so with me had I not been so valuable to him as a maiden," Daenerys thought sadly.
Viserys returned with a flowing grey-white dress, cutting a rather dashing figure in his cotton tunic and leather, high-laced boots. He paled in comparison to a certain raven-haired northerner in Dany's eyes, though. "Here, look at this fabric." She reached up, gently feeling the gossamer fabric between her fingers. It was thin and airy in the traditional style of Essos noblewomen. Much better in the heat of the equatorial sun than what Jon and Lord Stark wore. "Much better for you than those mannish rags. A gift from Illyrio. Isn't he a gracious host?"
Dany looked away, thankful for the thicker layers hiding her from Viserys' wandering eyes. "He's never given us anything while we've stayed here."
"Oh Daenerys," her brother chuckled. "He knows that I will repay his friends once the throne is mine. They drink secret toasts to my health in the Seven Kingdoms, you know."
How little you know, brother? If Jon was any indication, they thought nothing of Viserys. "What do you want me to do?"
"You shall take a bath and get ready for the Dothraki king to arrive." He hummed in approval, eyeing her over - unike Jon's looks, she only shuddered inconspicuously. "One thing the northern bastard did right, he improved your posture. But forget everything else. A proper bride is submissive before her husband." A look she knew very well flashed in his eyes, causing her to want to flinch. "You will be perfect today, sister. Don't think of waking the Dragon."
Shaking her head, Dany endured how he stripped her of the tunic and trousers, running a hand along her naked body. "A woman's body. Perfect." Walking out, he glanced back at her. "Soon, I shall be on the Iron Throne. Our family will be back where it belongs. Where I belong, with you by my side, my sweet."
Turning towards the bath, Daenerys reflected on the family legacy. How she was likely birthed solely to provide her dead brother Rhaegar with a daughter-in-law. How she was still only a broodmare for Viserys, to keep the bloodlines pure. Dany hated feeling alone, hated thinking that she could be the last Targaryen - in this way she loved Viserys, but seeing how Jon talked about his siblings and how he loved them all so dearly, Viserys was not her true brother. He did not love her, only wanted her as his pawn.
And she was too weak to be anything but.
"You are the blood of the dragon." Jon's words still echoed in her.
I am the blood of the dragon. Slowly, she lowered herself into the bath, ignoring the pleas of the servants. It felt hot, scorching even. But she could handle it.
Blood of the dragon.
"What do you know about the Dothraki, father?" It felt good to be able to call Ned father. Used to the strict rules at home, Jon was only free to not use "Lord Stark" when alone or among his siblings.
Ned pondered the question, the two of them walking to the balcony overlooking the front courtyard. "Not much. Only by reputation. They live on horseback, raiding and looting to keep wealth. That makes them powerful warriors." He remembered a little tidbit he learned from a sellsword at the docks. "A Dothraki warrior only cuts the long braid of hair if he loses a fight. Their current leader, Khal Drogo, has never once cut his hair."
"And he's the one Daenerys is marrying?" Jon couldn't help the gloomy look that crossed over his face.
It did not go unnoticed by the Warden of the North. "Yes. I believe so." He looked to the sky, once again wishing she had not left this world. Ned had been doing that quite a lot since landing at Pentos.
Gazing down from the balcony, he spotted Dany waiting next to her brother and Illyrio. Jon's breath hitched. She looked like perfection embodied in the light, flowing dress - he couldn't deny it. As if noticing his arrival, Dany glanced backward and the numb expression quickly morphed into a wide smile. Jon smiled back, hoping that he could calm her by just being there. The Princess was his friend, someone that he had grown quickly to care for.
Almost as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, Dany turned back as the drum of hoofbeats grew closer and closer. Mask back on, she steeled herself. This is it. She did not want this to happen, wanted to scream to the heavens for her brother to end it, but at least with Jon Snow close by she didn't have to go through the ordeal alone.
Soon, the Khal had arrived, surrounded by his equally fearsome bloodriders. "Khal Drogo of the Great Grass Sea," Illyrio called out in a grand tone, opening his hands wide. "Please, let me present to you Viserys of House Targaryen, third in his name, rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, Protector of the Realm." He then motioned to her. "And Daenerys, Princess of House Targaryen. Your prospective betrothed."
Closing her eyes, Dany heard the steady clop-clop of hooves on stone. They got closer and closer, her future… husband approaching.
Blood of the dragon.
She opened them, looking up into his face. Drogo was handsome, in a way. No one could call him beautiful, but he had a muscular build that screamed strength. Nothing that could compare to the perfect beauty. To Jon.
Blood of the Dragon.
The horse circled her, Drogo inspecting Dany as if she were at a Meereen slave auction - which in effect she was.
Blood of the Dragon.
Before she could even make sense of it, the Khal rode off, his bloodriders following. "Hey!" Viserys cried, running down the carpet. "He didn't say anything! Did he even like her?"
"Calm down your Grace," Illyrio replied, clasping a hand over Viserys' back. "If he had any objection, we'd know. The Khal liked his prize." He grinned, the smile spreading to Viserys as they walked back inside.
Hearing them had been too much for Dany. Trying to stay strong was brutal, and she had heard her brother view her as akin to a slave before, but this time something inside her broke. She rushed out, heading for the garden. Heading for someplace she could be safe.
Sad grey eyes watched her the whole time.
Quiet, nothing but the rustle of the wind and the low hum of the great free city of Pentos long away. It seemed surreal for Jon, and for a moment he feared that he may have been alone. That something could have happened. That there was no sign of…
It was then that he heard it. A soft sobbing, one that brought relief to his system and ice to his heart simultaneously. There, nestled in a grove of trees, was Daenerys. She laid herself out on the lone stone bench, head laying on her crossed arms and body shaking from tears. Jon's heart ached for her. She was such a strong, noble woman with blood that rivaled any high-born noble in the Seven Kingdoms. He knew she carried herself with such quiet dignity despite being used as a pawn by her brother, but if anyone understood being overwhelmed it was him.
Stepping forward, Jon gently placed his hand on a bare upper back. The pale skin felt so soft, but her whole figure tensed up immediately. "It's me, Dany." The tension disappeared.
Fearing that someone had intruded on her shameful ignoble moment, Daenerys was so relieved to hear Jon's voice. In a short time he had become the only person she trusted so fully. A kindred spirit that knew her pain. There was a deeper connection, one she hadn't yet found out nor could even comprehend, but was supremely glad was here in this trying time. "Jon." She rose, wiping her eyes and steeling herself. "Please forgive me."
He sat next to her, making her shiver at the closeness. "There's nothing to forgive, Dany." A calloused hand placed itself over hers. "I couldn't imagine what it would be like for you. Only someone with the strength of a dragon could endure it so well." She watched him purse her lips, as if wrestling with some bad memory. One that ached at his soul.
Staring into his grey eyes, heart beating rapidly, Dany softly rested her hand on his cheek. It was prickly with the unshaven black stubble, but it just made him all the more manly to her. Rugged. Strong. He closed them for a moment, opening to reveal a storm of emotion. So comforting. So beautiful.
Without warning she closed the distance between them, her lips coming into contact with his. The sudden move caught Jon by surprise, but it lasted a mere moment before his icy posture melted by Daenerys' fire. He relaxed into her, arms pulling the silver-haired princess to him as he instinctively returned the kiss. Dany felt as if she was flying, surrounded by his strong arms and clutching his waist tightly. She never wanted this to end. Wanted more, so much more.
Brain fogged, all Jon could think about was Daenerys. For the first time in his life he had someone to relate to, someone who could share his pain. The kindest heart and most loving soul. He groaned as Dany's tongue swiped slowly over his lips. Seeking entrance. Unable to resist, he granted it.
Warmth bellowed into flaming dragonfire as her tongue met his. Dany knew this had to be unique. She had never been kissed before. No ordinary kiss could be like this. Two hands snaked up his chest as their tongues battled. Gods, this man is so beautiful.
The princess' touch threw Jon back into reality. It felt so amazing, but he couldn't do this. Wrenching himself away, Jon sucked in a wheezing breath. Dany stared at him with confused eyes, looking so beautiful in the low light. Jon wanted her. He felt ashamed. "What have I done?"
His words were like an icepick to Daenerys' heart. "Jon." She placed her hand on his shoulder, only to be shrugged off. "Please. What's wrong?" Tears welled in her eyes.
"I can't do this." He tore his eyes away, noticing her suppressing a sob. Nothing hurt him more than watching her in pain because of him - but it was his fault. "You deserve someone perfect. You deserve more than a bastard." And with that he walked away, two pairs of eyes wet with tears.
Hanging his head, Lord Eddard Stark turned and ambled through the lush garden overlooking the Narrow Sea. For him the riddle had an easy answer. It was the fourth morning where Jon trained alone, without the companionship of Daenerys Targaryen. Ned had his theories as to why this occurred, not knowing for sure but surmising.
It should have been for the best. Every voice inside his head was shouting loudly that they had all averted the the catastrophe hanging over their heads the minute the Bastard of Winterfell laid eyes on the silver-haired Targaryen princess. Everything that he had been for the last decade and a half called him to wash his hands of this, to let the status quo return. Jon would be safe, his family would be safe. His honor would be intact, protecting Jon and keeping his oath to his friend Robert. Everything as it had been...
That didn't stop the proud Warden of the North from feeling like shit. A heavy sigh, a guilty sigh escaped his lips as he watched his flesh and blood train in the courtyard - hacks and parrys were as skilled as ever, but there was an enraged intensity to them. An unnecessary brutality attempting to free demons trapped within the young lad.
Don't let this happen. She is his destiny, brother. the nagging voice would keep saying whenever he thought about it. Part of Ned didn't want to believe it - for his entire stay in Pentos he willed to both the old gods and the new that Jon and Daenerys wouldn't share that connection. But, even he knew it was for naught.
The lies and wishful thinking of the past swirled through his head. Hammering into him like a steady assault of a warhammer. That the fall of the Targaryens was good. That Robert would be a good king, that Jon Arryn would keep the realm together. That it was truly better for Jon to remain in the North and for the Targaryens to stay here…
But all were lies. Robert was a whoring drunk, the Lannisters' lust for power was threatening to consume all after Lord Arryn's death, and a miserable life at the wall or as some horselord's captive was a fate worse than death.
"Promise me, Ned. Promise me."
Perhaps it was destiny? A song of Ice and Fire, as it had been for…
He stopped, eyes catching a flash of silver in the grove of trees ahead. There was only one of two people in the entire known world it could be, and the gods wouldn't be cruel enough to Ned for it to be anyone else but her. And they weren't. If Ned had any doubt as to the reciprocity of Jon's feelings, the look of faraway heartbreak in Princess Daenerys' violet eyes shattered it. A song of Ice and Fire. Destiny? He made his way into the grove.
It is their destiny, Ned.
"Princess." The Lord of Winterfell gave her a small bow.
Staring out at the sea, almost like how she had first found Jon on his first night in Pentos - while barely three weeks before, it seemed like ages since he arrived into her life - Dany nearly jumped out of her skin at the dour northern accent. "Lord Stark," she breathed after catching her bearings. With the poise of her highborn birth, she rose and curtsied for the Warden of the North. "I did not see you arrive."
"Tis' alright," Ned chuckled softly, motioning for both of them to sit on the stone bench. "A wolf instinctively knows how to quietly approach something." It heartened him to see the girl's lip quiver upward at his lame attempt at humor.
Don't let this go on, Ned.
"Jon, he's never had the easiest time of it." He could tell she had shifted her gaze, looking intently at him, but he remained fixed on the sparkling waves of the Narrow Sea. It had to be done, or else he'd lose his nerve - words never once thought to apply to Eddard Stark. It wasn't comfortable for him, but his honor mandated it. For his family. "Most bastards in the north, they are but loyal pawns for the family. Useful, but never truly loved."
"But not Jon." Ned smiled. The girl caught on quickly.
"No, not Jon. I always treated him as my own, strived to make sure he knew he was part of the family. My other children… apart from Sansa they all did as well. Her… I know she loves him, but she wishes to emulate Catelyn. Lady Stark."
Dany closed her eyes, welling back the anger she felt for the Lady of Winterfell. It wasn't hard to know why. "Jon told me about her, of how he respects her." That got Ned to meet her eyes, if for only a moment. "But I can tell, the animosity she has for him from his words. She never truly forgave you for straying, and takes that out on him, yes?"
Guilt bubbled within the Warden of the North. "Aye." If only she had known the truth… but the truth could never be told. Could it? To her? If to Benjen, could Ned trust her with this? Such was a question for another time. "With his siblings, Jon can open up from his shell. However, I have never seen him as close to anyone as he has been to you. Like…" Like his mother. "Himself."
Eyes watering, Dany's lip quivered. It went both ways. With Jon she, almost instantaneously, had that elusive home. Where she could simply be… Dany, without the stress and worry of her house and her blood, if only for a little while.
Glancing back at her, Ned felt the facade of anger simmering away. Of course he hated the Mad King, but the weight of history that he wore as armor to fulfill his promise, it melted in the face of this innocent girl. She was blameless for her father's madness. Blameless for the mistakes of her eldest brother. For Jon she is… That may be much too far, but there was no denying to himself that the two's destinies were intertwined somehow. Even if miniscule.
Daenerys broke his thoughts, standing. "You are an honorable man Lord Stark, and have raised an honorable son." She possessed the regal poise of a queen, but her violet eyes burned with determination and… love? "Thank you for this talk." A small smile crossed her features. "I will take it to heart."
Watching her graceful form leave, feet rushing along the stone path in a brisk walk, Ned let a massive breath he had been keeping in exhale. "Seven hells, what did I just do?" This had gone far beyond what he had hoped to contain. His promise long before continued to pop in his head, her words seared in his mind...
"You have to protect him. Promise me Ned. Promise…"
That memory never ceased to bring the great Eddard Stark to tears, glad only the wind rustling through the olive and acacia trees bore witness to it. The greatest loss of his life, the loss of one of those most near and dear to him - it still gripped his heart like a vice. There was no greater honor than keeping the promise made that day, regardless of the consequences. Jon was safe. No matter what, he was safe.
And now Daenerys is in his life. The loving, carefree female voice was strong and clear in his mind - as if she were next to him. You knew this day would come, Ned. She is now as much a part of him as he himself is. He closed his eyes. He now had both their lives in his hands.
Robert was his friend.
But Robert was committed to killing his family.
You know what you must do.
"Promise me Ned."