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The farther north they traveled, the colder Daenerys got.

She didn’t want to be cold, tried to pretend she wasn’t, but Renly and Loras noticed and piled yet more and more furs on her until she was nearly drowning in them, unable to move her arms or legs.

“How in the hells do these Northmen tolerate it?” she heard Loras mutter to Renly. “I keep having to check that my ears are still attached to my head, and I haven’t been able to feel my toes since we passed the Neck.”
“It must be something in the blood,” Renly said.
“Well, that won’t do poor Daenerys much good—”

“Shh,” Renly cautioned, nodding at Daenerys, who had been hopelessly trying to sleep for the past hour, and so had kept her eyes mostly shut as though she were in fact sleeping. She would have felt guilty over pretending, except that her time in King’s Landing had taught Daenerys she would learn the most when people thought she wasn’t listening.

But as always, the thought of King’s Landing made Daenerys shudder, and she pretended to wake, murmuring with a little yawn, “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long,” Renly promised, with a kind smile. He had been all kindness and courtesy since…since That Day in the Red Keep, despite never having bothered much with Daenerys before, throughout all of Lord Stannis’ guardianship of her at Dragonstone. Daenerys had never so much as seen Storm’s End, Lord Renly’s seat, and doubted very much that an invitation was ever made.

Still though—he was being kind now, and had insisted on accompanying her all the way north to Winterfell, bringing her savior Ser Loras with him. Renly and Ser Loras had made excellent traveling companions, lightening the mood with their easy conversation, always ready with a joke or a song, and always asking after her welfare.

And it was Lord Renly who had given her the nickname ‘Dany’, declaring that Daenerys was too much of a mouthful for such a slip of a girl, and as her cousin, it was his duty to rectify this as best he could.

Daenerys wasn’t sure yet what to make of Lord Renly and his abrupt change of attitude towards her, but Ser Loras was his closest friend, and after what he had done for her, Ser Loras would have her undying respect and devotion, Daenerys swore it.

But thinking of what Loras had done for her meant thinking of that day, of the cuts stinging on her back and how her sobs had echoed in the throne room—Daenerys shivered again, her stomach cramping with unease.

Loras noticed her shivering, and asked, “Dany, are you still cold? I’m sure we have some more furs somewhere—”

“No, no,” Daenerys replied, flushing. “I was…I was only wondering how far we have left to go before reaching the next inn.”

“Not long, if the gods are kind,” Renly grumbled. He was proven right not an hour later, when Lord Stannis rode up to the window of their wheelhouse and announced they’d made better time than expected, and would be arriving at the inn before sundown.

Once they were at the inn, Daenerys was given the warmest seat by the fireplace in their private room, sipping at her hot spiced tea and listening quietly as Lord Stannis and Renly did what they did best—argue.

“Daenerys should ride with me tomorrow,” Lord Stannis said, in his usual abrupt way. “It will help her acclimatize more quickly to the weather, and give her a chance to improve her riding—both of which she’ll need before we reach Winterfell.”

Daenerys was used to Lord Stannis’ blunt speeches, and so took little offense. But Lord Renly, for all that he’d known his brother far longer—and one would think, knew him better—still bristled. “You can’t be serious. She’ll freeze.”

“She will not, we’ve brought all the needed apparel—”

“Yes, and she was still shivering in the wheelhouse! Which, I’ll remind you, we brought for a reason—”

“And it will be there should she need to rest,” Stannis retorted.

“I don’t mind riding,” Daenerys said quickly, hoping to head the argument off. “Truly, I’m sure it will be well.”

Stannis gave his brother a pointed look, while Renly huffed. “Fine, if you’re both insisting on this folly. But if Dany’s riding on a horse, then I insist we slow our pace.”

Stannis frowned. “Lord Stark is expecting us to arrive—”

“Lord Stark is expecting us to arrive with the Targaryen princess in one piece,” Renly said sharply. “Or have you forgotten the entire reason we’re traveling north now, years before Dany was supposed to leave Dragonstone?”

The blunt reminder of why they were on this trip caused everyone to go silent, though from Stannis’ clenched jaw, Daenerys was sure he was biting back several sharp comments.

“I don’t think adjusting to the north will be too difficult,” Daenerys said, both to reassure them and to change the subject. “The castle sits on hot springs, and the hot water is piped through the walls. It should be quite comfortable.”

Loras took the opening, thankfully. He had a knack for diplomacy that was sorely needed on this trip, especially with how Lord Stannis’ temper—never the best to begin with—was worsened by having to tolerate both his brother’s presence and the presence of a Tyrell. “Well, that is good news. Hopefully I’ll be able to feel my toes again by month’s end!”

Between the two of them, they kept the conversation flowing more smoothly, Loras asking Daenerys more questions about the north, all of which Daenerys could have answered in her sleep, fascinated by her answers—or at least, he was doing an excellent job of pretending to be so.

Stannis was unmoved, sitting in silence as he sipped at his lemon water, but Renly was amused, saying at one point, “My word, Dany, I think you might know more about Winterfell than the Starks themselves. You’ll be the most well-prepared future bride they’ve ever seen.”

Daenerys flushed with pleasure at the compliment, but said, “I’ve known my whole life that the North was my destiny. It’s only my duty to prepare as best I can.”

“Daenerys has been taught to mind her duty above all else,” Stannis said, in a tone that Daenerys could only describe as pointed. “I’m glad to see that she, at least, has taken that lesson to heart.”

And Renly, of course, reacted. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

As the Baratheon brothers continued to quarrel, Daenerys sighed to herself as she sat back in her high-backed chair, and then her gaze was caught by Loras, who gave her a look of such exaggerated exasperation that it made her giggle suddenly into her goblet. At least someone could see how ridiculous Renly and Stannis were being.

Daenerys had known her entire life how lucky she was.

It didn’t feel like luck, being the last daughter of an overthrown dynasty, her mother dead in childbirth, father and brother dead as well, and her only living relatives either at the Wall or lost to her in Essos. Betrothed practically from birth to the son of the lord who had helped overthrow her family—how could that feel like luck?

But that was only half the story.

Since she was small, Daenerys had been told by everyone around her—her septa, Lady Selyse, even Maester Cressen—the tale of how Stannis Baratheon arrived at Dragonstone at the end of the war, too late to stop her brother’s desperate flight across the sea with members of the Kingsguard, but just in time to witness Queen Rhaella giving birth to her daughter, before succumbing to childbed fever—leaving him responsible for the last Targaryen princess of Westeros.

“My lord husband is a man of honor,” Lady Selyse had told her, while the septa nodded in the background. “He saw it as his duty to raise you as his ward, in a position suited to your birth.”

It had fallen to Maester Cressen to fill in the rest, not just how her father and brother’s madness had caused them to lose both their lives and the realm, but of the brutal deaths of her goodsister the Princess Elia and her children. That their murderers were never caught or punished, while the man who ordered their deaths, Tywin Lannister, was rewarded with a crown for his daughter.

“But,” Daenerys had asked him that day, “If the king had been glad to see Princess Elia and her children dead, then what about me?”

Maester Cressen had paused, glancing to Lord Stannis (who always made a point of attending her lessons that touched on the Rebellion).

Stannis had explained, watching her closely, “King Robert was…concerned you would be used as a figurehead for resistance to his rule. But he understood that as my ward, you were under my protection. And this is why Lord Stark and I arranged for you to marry his son; the Starks can be trusted not to tolerate rebellion, and there are no Targaryen loyalists in the North to worry about.” Unlike here, was what Lord Stannis hadn’t said, no doubt thinking of the loyalist houses surrounding Dragonstone—Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass.

But Daenerys, even at the age of eight, knew there had to be more to the story, and had pestered kindly Ser Davos Seaworth until he gently confirmed the whispers Daenerys had overheard from the servants for years—how King Robert had called for her death as soon as he’d heard of her birth, how Lord Stannis had quickly brokered the deal with Lord Stark so as not to stain his honor with child murder.

Lord Stannis was not a warm guardian, and Daenerys struggled to recall one word of praise for her that he’d ever uttered. His wife was just as cold, and Daenerys did not believe their marriage to be a happy one. Dragonstone, for all that it was supposedly part of Daenerys’ birthright, was damp and forbidding, the dragon statues and skulls just a bitter reminder of the family and the legacy she’d lost before she was even born.

But Daenerys knew she would not be alive if it were not for Lord Stannis, that he was still protecting her from Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters, and that he was utterly committed to preparing her for the day she became the Lady of Winterfell.

And unlike everyone else in her family, she was not dead or in exile.

Put like that, Daenerys was very lucky indeed.

At least until two months ago, when just after her eleventh nameday, King Robert had abruptly ordered her to join Lord Stannis in King’s Landing, and her luck had run out.

The next day, Daenerys did indeed ride alongside Lord Stannis, but she noted that the pace was slower than yesterday’s. Not that it made riding much easier, Daenerys was a dubious rider. “Will I be riding very much, when I live at Winterfell?” she asked, trying not to sound as though she were complaining.

“Yes,” Stannis said. “While Lord Stark works to repair the roads, they are still not in the condition one would wish, and riding by horse is much more practical than traveling by wheelhouse. And I have it on good authority that few Northern women use a wheelhouse at all.” He paused, then said gruffly, “Your road to acceptance in the north will be harder than most, Daenerys. You will have to prove yourself to them.”

“I understand,” Daenerys said, swallowing her questions, and wiping any hint of discomfort from her face.

“I know you do,” Stannis agreed, and Dany turned to him in surprise. Stannis met her gaze and said, briskly, “You understand your duty. Keep that understanding, and all will be well.”

It was as close to sympathetic as Stannis ever got, and Daenerys took the opportunity to ask, her heart starting to quicken, “Even with the Starks?” As Stannis looked at her, waiting for the rest, Daenerys licked nervously at her mouth as she said, “It’s only—I know the Targaryens have never been well-loved here.”

“To put it mildly,” Stannis muttered. “The North remembers.”

Daenerys swallowed, her nerves rising. “Yes. And Lord Stark…he lost much in the rebellion, at my family’s hands.” She glanced quickly at him, murmuring next, “You taught me that. How his father and brother died at my father’s command, how his sister was kidnapped at my brother’s hands, never to return home.”

She was delaying, and Stannis was not impressed by it. He always hated it when she shied away from asking questions openly. “Ask your question, Daenerys,” Stannis said.

Daenerys took a breath, and asked the question that had plagued her ever since leaving King’s Landing. “Your brother, the king, only lost his betrothed, and he hates me. Eddard Stark lost over half his family because of mine, and yet he will welcome me as his kin?” Her voice rose at the last, as she was no longer able to hide her disbelief, her fear.

“Ned Stark is a man of honor,” Stannis said. “He has no interest in avenging his family by tormenting you.” Unlike the king, neither of them said aloud.

Daenerys dropped her gaze, nodding quickly. “Of course, my lord.”

They rode in silence for a while, then Stannis said abruptly, “I wrote to him. After Joffrey—I wrote to Ned Stark. I knew he would be horrified at what had been done to you, and he was. I knew he would remonstrate with Robert and Jon Arryn, and he did so. And I knew he would call for you to be brought north where you could be kept safe, and he did. I would not deliver you from one snakepit only to throw you into another one, Daenerys, I hope you can trust me in that.”

“I do,” Daenerys said, her voice a rough whisper—if she tried to speak any louder, she feared her voice would crack, or the tears that were threatening to fall would finally slip down her cheeks. “I do trust in you, my lord.”

It’s everyone else I’ve learned not to trust, she didn’t say.

But Daenerys should have been more careful in her conversation with Lord Stannis, because when she went back into the wheelhouse for the afternoon, legs aching, Renly looked at her and said stoutly, “Right, so about Lord Stark—”

“I’m not worried,” Daenerys said quickly. “Lord Stannis has reassured me, and I know all will be well.”

Renly looked at her with open pity, and Loras had a similar expression on his face. “Sweetling,” Renly said, kindly, and Daenerys abruptly turned to look out the window, unable to stand much more.

“It’s not ridiculous to be worried,” Loras said to her. “Given the history between your families, you’d be a fool not to be worried.”

Daenerys finally turned to look at him; Loras was watching her with a patient air. And perhaps it was foolish or perhaps it wasn’t, but at least Ser Loras—he had been there in the throne room, he had already seen her stripped and humiliated and hurt before the whole court, and he’d helped her once. Perhaps he could do it again.

Slowly, Daenerys said, “Everyone—everyone has told me Lord Stark is an honorable man. You, Lord Stannis, even the Master of Whispers—”

“Varys spoke to you?” Renly demanded, voice sharp.

Daenerys shrugged. “Before we left King’s Landing, he found me in the courtyard, told me he was sorry for what I’d endured and that I looked like my mother.”

“Hmm,” Renly said, sharing a glance with Loras. Daenerys caught it and said, impatient, “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just nonsense, the same as when Jon Arryn apologized on behalf of the King and the royal family. It was just something you say to be—to be polite.” She spat the word out as something foul, if King’s Landing had taught her anything (beyond fearing and hating the royal family) it was that Lord Stannis was right to look suspiciously on polite words that were as empty as air.

Renly looked ready to speak, but Loras caught his eye and shook his head. Turning back to Daenerys, he asked, kindly, “So everyone’s told you Ned Stark has honor, but…”

Despite knowing she shouldn’t say it, Daenerys blurted out, the tears finally slipping down her cheeks, “But words are wind.” Scrubbing at her face, she muttered, “Otherwise the king would really be brave and honorable, and the queen would really be wise and kind, and their son would—”

“Be anything but the vicious little horror that he is,” Renly finished, sighing heavily. “I don’t blame you for not trusting in reputations, after…well, everything.”

Loras, though, was frowning in thought, and he said slowly, “My grandmother would say…she’d say not to trust in reputations, but to trust in the other side’s greed when negotiating. Think of what Lord Stark has to gain, and what he has to lose by treating you ill.”

“He would gain revenge for his family,” Daenerys pointed out, frowning.

Loras waved a hand, dismissing it. “If he wanted that, all he’d have had to do was not betroth you to his son when you were infants. Or simply leave you in King’s Landing now. But he didn’t. Instead he wrote to the king, and to Jon Arryn, and to Stannis—”

“To bring me under his control,” Daenerys said, trying to ignore the quiver of hope.

Loras shook his head. “Dany, think. Lord Stark is a man with a peerless reputation for honor, what good would it do him and his house if they were caught mistreating you? Gods know it hasn’t done the royal family any good, not when the entire realm knows that the crown prince broke guest right, had a young maiden stripped and beaten at the hands of one of his Kingsguard—”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Renly interrupted testily, as Daenerys felt herself go pale.

Loras looked apologetic, but continued, “And it hasn’t done the king or queen any good either, far from it. Their reputations have also been stained by this, and badly. So why would Lord Stark be interested in repeating their mistakes, particularly when it would make him an enemy of Stannis and now Renly? It doesn’t serve him to harm you, Dany.”

Daenerys was quiet for a moment, turning this over in her head. “So…if he doesn’t gain from harming me, then you really think I’ll be safe there?”

“I do,” Loras said firmly. “You’re a young, pretty girl with no armies or dragons—there’s no honor or glory in bringing you low, not now. If anything, it’ll be the opposite—Stark’ll be far more interested in proving that the North isn’t nearly as barbaric and wild as the rest of the realm likes to think.”

“He won’t have to do much to prove that, after the example my brother’s court has set,” Renly grumbled.

Daenerys took a deep breath, comforted. “But…if they don’t like me…”

“They’ll adore you,” Renly said, reaching out to lift up her chin with a gentle hand. When she looked into his face, he was smiling at her, blue eyes twinkling. “Like Loras said, you’re a young, pretty girl, who knows more about the North than anyone else born south of the Neck. You’ll have them all charmed within a week, I promise you.”

It was funny, Daenerys thought, how much Renly looked like his brother the king, and yet Daenerys didn’t shudder at all when meeting that deep blue gaze. “All right,” she said at last, nodding. “I believe you.” After a moment, she turned to Loras and said, trying to smile, “And I suppose I could do worse than listening to the wisdom of the Queen of Thorns.”

Loras laughed. “That’s the spirit. Actually…now that I think of it, you might benefit from her direct wisdom as well…”

“Loras,” Renly said, warning.

Loras gave Renly one of his charming smiles. “What? I’m just saying, my sister Margaery is almost the same age as Dany, and I think it would do her and Dany some good to write letters to each other. She’ll be delighted to hear more about the North, and Dany should have a friend her own age.”

Daenerys felt something inside her flutter again, even as she watched Renly and Loras look at each other. “Would…would she really not mind? If I wrote to her?”

“She’d love it,” Loras said, turning away from Renly to smile at her. He then looked back to Renly, eyebrow raised, and Renly sighed and conceded, “It would be good for you to have a friend your own age.” His mouth started to curl up, and he added, “And I should know—no one makes a better friend than a Tyrell.”

Stannis would definitely disagree, Daenerys thought, but when she met Loras’s smiling gaze, and remembered the feeling of his cloak fluttering against her bare back, she had to agree with Renly.

Daenerys didn’t have friends at King’s Landing.

It had started poorly from her presentation to the court, approaching the Iron Throne at Stannis’ side, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at the man who had killed her brother and taken her family’s throne.

If asked, Daenerys wouldn’t have been able to say what she’d expected when seeing Robert Baratheon for the first time, but the heavyset man sweating through his fine silks was not it. He looked uneasy in his seat, and a tiny rebellious part of Daenerys thought, good.

The only thing Daenerys wasn’t surprised by was the dark scowl on his face as they approached.

Standing on either side of the king was the queen and a sulky-looking boy that could only be the crown prince. Joffrey Baratheon was watching her with an open sneer on his face, and Daenerys quickly looked away.

Queen Cersei was easily the most beautiful woman that Daenerys had ever seen, but something about the coldness of her expression, her narrowed green-eyed gaze, all of it told Daenerys that she would not find sympathy there.

The silence stretched out as Daenerys and Stannis stood before the throne, and as Daenerys sank into a deep curtsey, eyes lowered just as her septa had taught her, the hairs on back of her neck prickled.

“So,” King Robert said at last, his voice booming. “This is your dragonspawn ward, Stannis?”

Daenerys tried not to flinch, but was miserably sure from the growing smirk on the queen’s face that she’d failed.

But to her shock, Stannis stepped closer to her and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “This is the Lady Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,” he said, his clipped voice somehow ringing out in the room, just as clearly as the king’s. “My ward, yes, and our cousin, brought to court at your request.”

The rebuke was obvious, and from the angry flush that suddenly appeared on the king’s face, he did not appreciate it.

He abruptly got to his feet, and Daenerys jumped a little as he lumbered down the steps of the dais, glowering at her all the while. Up close, he towered over her—he was even taller than Stannis, who was one of the tallest men Daenerys had met until now.

“She’s got the look of them,” the king growled, staring down at her with open dislike. “Has she got their madness as well?”

Daenerys forgot herself, her mouth falling open as she stared at the king with anger and shock. He dared to—but of course he could dare, Daenerys thought, her face prickling with furious embarrassment. He’d won the throne of her ancestors by conquest, and Daenerys was here in his court, with no weapons or protection beyond what Lord Stannis could give her.

Over the low murmurings and soft titters from the court, Daenerys heard Lord Stannis say, icily, “Daenerys is a healthy, intelligent, dutiful girl. She has never caused a moment’s concern at Dragonstone, and I have every expectation she will handle the role of Lady Stark of Winterfell with grace when the time comes.”

It was the most praise Daenerys had ever heard from her guardian before, and Daenerys turned to stare up at him in shock. Stannis didn’t bother to look down at her beyond a quick glance downwards, but his hand tightened on her shoulder, the weight of it heavy and reassuring.

The king’s expression grew even darker at the praise. “See that doesn’t change,” he said gruffly. “I don’t intend to saddle Ned’s son with a lunatic for a bride.”

Daenerys gasped a little at this, her face burning, and Stannis’s grip grew tighter on her shoulder, and Daenerys bit the inside of her cheek and didn’t speak, heeding the warning.

They were dismissed shortly after that, the king having grown weary of insulting Daenerys for the moment, but that first awful meeting only set the stage for what was to come. And every time she would think of Robert Baratheon in the years to come, Daenerys would always think back to the memory of him looming above her, stinking of sweat and what Daenerys would realize later to be the smell of wine. (She’d never so much as seen a drunken man before, but spending time in King’s Landing meant becoming rapidly familiar with the signs of intoxication.) And she would always remember the hate and anger on his face as he looked at her, insulting her before the entire court because he could, because he hated her family and she was the only Targaryen left that he could injure.

She remembered, too, the soft titters from the courtiers, the sneer on Queen Cersei’s face and the hateful glee in Prince Joffrey’s eyes—and she would remember that on that day, the only person to speak up in her defense was Lord Stannis.

As an omen of her time in Robert Baratheon’s court, it could not have been more ominous…or more accurate.

As the wheelhouse traveled through the gates of Winterfell, Dany genuinely felt faint. Her face felt hot, but the rest of her felt so, so cold.

The entire household was waiting for them in the courtyard, and Daenerys was sure she could feel her heart jump in her chest as the door to the wheelhouse opened. It was Lord Stannis at the door, waiting for her to come out, so that she could meet the Starks for the first time.

Somehow, Daenerys managed to get her legs and feet moving, and then she was gripping Stannis’ arm as she stepped down from the wheelhouse, and there they were in front of her, the Starks.

Dany was dimly aware of the children, Lady Stark and her flame-red hair, but all she could focus on was the solemn man before her, with his dark hair tied back from his face and his broad shoulders cloaked in furs.

So this was Lord Stark, Daenerys thought, and this was his castle, and here she was, a Targaryen walking into the home of the man who had more reason to hate her than anyone else in Westeros.

For one awful moment, Daenerys thought she would faint—her vision was going gray around the edges, and her heartbeat was thundering in her ears—but Stannis was standing next to her, watching her, and Daenerys couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down, of showing that he was mistaken in his faith in her.

Daenerys knew her duty. And so, swallowing hard, she peeled her hand away from Stannis’ arm, forcing her fingers to relax their iron grip, and took a few hesitant steps forward.

Thank the gods, Lord Stannis kept walking beside her, and as Daenerys concentrated on her breathing, her hearing slowly returned to her, as she realized that Renly and Loras were right behind her, and surely it would be all right. Surely they would not lead her astray, not now.

But even so, as she got closer to Lord Stark, Daenerys folded her hands together before her, hoping the ladylike pose would hide how she was having to dig her fingernails into her own skin, the sharp pain keeping her mind clear and alert.

Finally they stood before Lord Stark, and Daenerys took a deep breath, and looked up into his face for the first time.

He didn’t look angry, to Daenerys’ surprise. Instead his forehead was furrowed, as if he was worried. “Lord Stannis, welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” Stannis’s hand rested on Daenerys’ shoulder and he said, “Allow me to introduce Lady Daenerys Targaryen.”

Daenerys immediately sank into a curtsey. Hardly breathing, she somehow managed to choke out, “An honor, Lord Stark.”

For a moment, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart, as she stared down at the ground—and then a large hand was reaching out for hers, and it was only the weight of Stannis’ hand on her shoulder that kept Daenerys from jumping away.

But Lord Stark didn’t do anything except hold her hand gently in his, and if his fingers were rough to the touch, his grip was light. He said, “You are welcome here in Winterfell, my lady.”

Daenerys peeked up at his face. To her astonishment, he actually seemed to mean it, his forehead even more furrowed by now, as if he wanted her to believe him.

Unable to help herself, Daenerys glanced at Stannis, before murmuring, “Thank you.”

“May I introduce you to my family, Lady Daenerys?” Lord Stark asked, as if she could say no. Still, he waited for her to nod before gently leading her forward.

“This is my wife, Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell,” Lord Stark said, and Daenerys peered up into the face of her future goodmother.

Lady Stark was a beautiful woman, and she was smiling down at her—a real smile, not the one that Queen Cersei always gave, where the lips were turned up but the eyes were cold. “I’m so pleased to have you here with us, Lady Daenerys,” Catelyn Stark said, and like her husband, she looked as though she meant it.

Daenerys did her best to smile back, bobbing her head. "I'm glad to be here, Lady Stark."

Then came the third person at Winterfell Daenerys was terrified of. "My eldest son, Robb," Lord Stark said, and Daenerys finally came face to face with the boy she would one day marry.

He wasn't sneering. That was the main thing Daenerys could focus on, even more than his dark hair scraped back from his face but still showing a tendency to curl, or the bright blue eyes he took from his mother, or the expression on his face that showed he didn't know what to make of her either. He wasn't sneering at her, and Daenerys could be glad for that much.

"Pleased to meet you," Robb Stark mumbled, glancing nervously at his father and mother.

"I'm pleased as well," Daenerys found herself murmuring back, with a quick bob of her head. Thankfully, Lord Stark didn't seem inclined to make her linger.

The younger Stark children came next, Sansa and Arya and Brandon, and little Arya Stark immediately blurted out, gawking up at her, "Your eyes really are purple!"

"Arya!" her sister hissed, clearly embarrassed, and something about the contrast of how deathly important this first meeting was, and Arya's comically guilty expression—it suddenly struck Daenerys as hilarious, and she snorted with laughter, clapping a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound.

Both Arya and Sansa were goggling at her now—did they think Tarygaryens weren't supposed to laugh? Daenerys lifted her hand away, and said, her voice trembling with the giggles she could not release, "Yes, they are. It's a family trait."

She heard Renly laugh openly at that, but Arya—who Daenerys was already realizing was the irrepressible sort—looked encouraged at this, and ignoring her sister's furious glare, said next, "They're very pretty. Like jewels."

Daenerys found herself smiling for true this time. "Thank you. Your eyes are very pretty too."

And when Arya gave her a broad smile for this, revealing a gap in her bottom teeth, Daenerys felt warm for the first time since arriving north.

The funny thing of it was, Prince Joffrey wasn't even the person Daenerys was most afraid of in King's Landing.

King Robert continued to be awful—glaring at Daenerys whenever she happened to catch his eye, but glaring was all he did, and Daenerys quickly learned how to avoid him.

No, the person Daenerys feared the most, for a long time, was Queen Cersei.

Joffrey was awful of course, with his pinching fingers and his mouth always in a sneer, always followed by one or two of the Kingsguard, or worse, his sworn sword Clegane with his burned face, but Daenerys could hide from him too. Especially once Tyrion Lannister, the queen's dwarf brother, took pity on her and directed her to the libraries and studies that were the most abandoned in the Red Keep, and therefore places where Daenerys could hide and study in peace.

But ignoring a summons from the queen was impossible.

And so Daenerys had to go, every time. The queen didn’t stop summoning her either, would always greet her with cold eyes and that poisonously soft voice, and she would always begin with that false kindness, asking how Daenerys was, remarking on how pretty she looked that day. (Even if there was always a twist to her lips when she uttered the word ‘pretty’.)

It never lasted, of course.

One of the worst days was the day when Daenerys came in with the ribbons unraveling from her braid—and then Queen Cersei insisted on helping Daenerys with her hair, combing through Daenerys’ tangled hair herself, with her own comb, before her own mirror—and then the gentle strokes turned to rough tugs, and then it wasn’t the comb any longer but the queen’s fingers, pulling at Daenerys’ hair, digging at her scalp until she bled, Daenerys unable to stop from whimpering and crying at the pain.

And there were other ladies there, watching, and none of them said anything.

Joffrey would be there, sometimes, and the way he’d smiled…

They were golden monsters, the pair of them, the queen and the prince, and everyone saw it, but no one did anything—

Not until that last, final day.

“You were right,” Renly said as he escorted Daenerys to Winterfell’s Great Hall for the banquet, “The castle is shockingly warm. I’ve never seen Loras so relieved.”

Daenerys smiled. “So we can hope he won’t lose any of his toes to frostbite then?”

Renly openly laughed at this. “Early days, but there might be hope for his feet yet!”

Daenerys giggled, then glanced up at him sidelong. “Thank you for walking with me,” she said quietly.

Renly paused before moving forward. “I should have done so at King’s Landing,” he admitted lowly. “I…thought that Stannis was overreacting with his concern, and that his attempts to shield you would only egg the Lannisters on. But you’re my cousin, as you are his, and I….I should have had a better care of you. Forgive me?”

“Of course,” Daenerys said, startled. “There’s nothing to forgive. You couldn’t have stopped them.”

“I’d feel easier in my conscience if I’d at least tried,” Renly said, with a grimness that Daenerys had rarely seen from him. Daenerys opened her mouth to reassure him again, but Renly shook the mood off. “But that is all behind us, and better times lie ahead…starting with this dinner,” he said, as the noise from what must be the Great Hall grew louder and louder. “Ready?”

Daenerys wasn’t at all sure that she was ready to face all those eyes on her again, but squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t prove herself a coward now. “Ready,” she said firmly.

There was something of a hush as they entered, but it wasn’t as bad as the courtyard, and Daenerys kept her eyes on the high table, where Stannis was already there, sitting next to Lord Stark, with Lady Stark on her husband’s other side there. Daenerys glanced at where Robb was, quickly noting that he was sitting next to Loras Tyrell. There were no empty seats next to Robb, or to Lord and Lady Stark, and Daenerys glanced up at Renly with confusion.

Renly just gave her a wink as he escorted her to where she would be sitting, between him and little Arya Stark, with her sister Sansa and her brother Bran following.

Arya barely waited for them all to sit down before immediately asking, "What's Dragonstone like?"

"Arya!" Sansa hissed. She turned a blushing face to Daenerys and said, primly, "My apologies, Lady Daenerys, my sister doesn't know when it is appropriate to ask questions."

"It's all right," Daenerys said quickly as Arya frowned. "My cousin Shireen loves to ask questions as well." Daenerys felt a pang thinking of Shireen, far away on Dragonstone, now with only her mother and that awful Patchface for company, but was brought back to the present when Brandon Stark asked, "Is she the one who got greyscale then?"

"Brandon, that's not appropriate!" Sansa said.

"My name is Bran," the little boy said, stubbornly, "and she just said we could ask questions!"

"The maids weren't sure if you had the greyscale sickness or if it was Lady Shireen," Arya explains, while Sansa looked ready to sink under the table. "But our father said it was her and not you."

"Well, he was right," Daenerys said, hoping that the children wouldn't ask about Shireen's scars. "My cousin did have greyscale, but she's since recovered."

"Does she—" Arya began, but Sansa interrupted her by saying loudly, "Tell us about Dragonstone, Lady Daenerys," clearly fearing her sister would openly ask if Shireen was as disfigured as the rumors would have it.

"Of course," Daenerys said quickly. "Well, as I said, it's cold and bleak, and there are dragon statues everywhere..." She kept going, describing the Stone Drum tower, the Chamber of the Painted Table where her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror planned his invasion of Westeros (though she didn't add that last part) and the caves of dragonglass ripe for exploring, and how the air always smelled of smoke and brimstone, even on a clear day.

"All those dragon statues," Arya breathed out, sounding envious.

"Are there any actual dragons there?" Bran asked.

"Dragons don't exist anymore," Sansa lectured him, and Arya scowled at this.

"He knows that, but there are still skeletons and eggs and things," Arya retorted on her brother's behalf, then whirled back around to look at Daenerys as something occurred to her. "Do you have a dragon egg?"

"Well," Daenerys had to admit, "Technically, yes."

All three of the children, even Sansa, looked thrilled by this. "You do?" Bran yelped.

"I have three eggs," Daenerys admitted, smiling at their open joy at hearing this. "I think they're still at Dragonstone, though. Lord Stannis says they aren't toys or decorations, but part of my inheritance, and should be guarded appropriately."

Bran's shoulders slumped upon hearing this, but Arya wasn't discouraged, she leaned over the table until she was halfway out of her seat and asked, "Lord Renly? Are Daenerys' dragon eggs still back on Dragonstone?"

Sansa was already trying to tug her sister back into her seat—and failing—but Renly turned back to them, smiling, and said, "Oh no, we brought them north with us."

"We did?" Daenerys asked, outright shocked at this, while Arya and Bran whooped at the good news.

"Of course, it's part of your dowry," Renly said casually, before adding, "And besides, if they're part of your dowry and up here in Winterfell, the Lannisters can't do anything spiteful like demand they be turned over to the Crown for some made-up reason."

Daenerys felt a wave of heat come to her cheeks—should Renly be speaking of the Lannisters like this, so publicly? But even if Sansa's eyes were a little wide, none of them looked surprised by Renly's words, Arya even saying darkly, "Those stinking lions would try and steal her dragon eggs."

Daenerys found herself snorting with laughter again, helplessly, and she tried to hide it with a fist over her mouth, but the harder she tried to hold it back, the more the giggles escaped, and she was finally left to hold a napkin over her mouth, squeaking out, "Stinking lions!" Gods be good, the look that Cersei Lannister would give if she could hear Arya now!

But the thought of what Cersei Lannister would do if she'd heard anyone speaking of her family disparagingly was a chilling one, and Daenerys' laughter died in her throat. But when she lifted the napkin away, Arya was beaming with pride, and Renly was smiling as well, saying, "It's good to see you with some color in your cheeks, Dany, you've been looking like a little ghost all day."

"Do they call you Dany?" Sansa asked, apparently deciding this was a safer topic. "Like we call my brother Bran?"

"I certainly do," Renly said stoutly. "And if you could make sure that everyone else does, I would heartily appreciate it, Lady Sansa, Daenerys is far too much of a mouthful for—"

"Such a slip of a girl," Daenerys finished in unison with him, unable to resist rolling her eyes. "I do plan on growing, you know."

"Of course you do," Renly said, lifting his goblet in a salute.

"Would it be all right if we called you Dany?" Sansa asked in a murmur, and feeling both surprised and pleased at the request, Daenerys smiled and nodded yes.

She had to pause and take in the odd feeling that was washing over her now. She felt…at ease? Her stomach wasn’t in knots—if anything, she felt hungry for the first time all day, and eager to tuck into her full plate of food. Her shoulders felt loose, and she didn’t have that awful prickly feeling at the back of her neck when she knew that everyone was watching to see if she made a mistake.

Taking a deep breath, Dany leaned in to take a spoonful of her soup, listening with one ear open to Arya wondering out loud if they could convince her parents to let them see the dragon eggs, if they promised to be very good and very careful, and sighed with pleasure as the warm broth warmed her belly.

Interlude: Ned Stark

“What a lovely feast. Thank you again, Lady Catelyn, for rearranging the seating at the last moment,” Lord Renly said as he settled in the chair facing Ned’s desk, a warm and easy smile on his face.

“Not at all, Lord Renly,” Catelyn said smoothly as she sat beside Ned behind the desk.

Stannis was watching his brother with a narrowed gaze. “Do you mean that was deliberate at dinner, putting Daenerys with the other Stark children and not her betrothed?”

“Of course,” Renly said casually. “It won’t do Dany nor Robb any good to shove them together so early, better to let Daenerys have fun with the younger children and remind everyone here that she’s just a charming young girl, which she is. And I don’t know why you’re so shocked, you’re the one who gave me the idea for it.”

Stannis looked even more affronted. “I never did.”

“You were the one who said that Dany was a playmate for your daughter, so it stood to reason she’d get along with the other Stark children as well, especially since they’re normal children and not the vile little monster that Joffrey is,” Renly replied, then turned that charming smile in Ned’s direction. It was the same smile that Robert had used to get out of trouble, time and time again during their fostering at the Eyrie, but on Renly it looked different…more practiced, perhaps.

Ned stifled the urge to ask more about Prince Joffrey, and said instead, “I hope she can feel more at ease now.” He couldn’t help but remember that moment in the courtyard, watching that young girl walk towards him with terror in her eyes, and his stomach cramped with misery at just the thought of it.

“Well, we’ve managed to convince her that you’re unlikely to kill or main her the moment our backs are turned, which is an improvement on where we started at the beginning of our journey,” Renly said.

“Unlikely to?” Ned repeated, eyebrows raised. “Do you mean to tell me she still thinks it?”

Renly’s eyebrow flicked upwards. “Of course she does. Dany knows full well every awful thing her family has done to yours, and she’s more than half-convinced that the minute we leave, you’ll finally enact your revenge.”

As Ned stared at them in disbelief, it was Stannis who asked next, coolly, “So will you?”

The words didn’t penetrate at first, Ned asking blankly, “Will I—“

“Will you have your revenge on Daenerys once we leave?” Stannis asked him.

Ned was already halfway out of his seat. “You dare to think I would—“

“No, I don’t think it, Lord Stark, but I have to ask,” Stannis said, unflinching. If anything he looked annoyed. “My duty is to see that girl safe, and if you’d told me six months ago the insults she would receive at the hands of my brother’s wife and son, I wouldn’t have believed it possible. And yet here we are.”

Ned sat back in his seat, both because of Catelyn’s restraining hand on his shoulder, and because of the bitter knowledge that Stannis was perfectly justified in asking whether Daenerys would be safe here in Winterfell, when she hadn’t been safe in King’s Landing. “She is safe here, Lord Stannis. I give you my word on that, as a Stark and as Warden of the North.”

Stannis nodded curtly. Ned breathed out, and said, “You mentioned Prince Joffrey. Is he…” Ned hardly knew where to begin. “The reports I’ve gathered seemed to imply that this was not merely one…awful incident, but rather a campaign of terror, egged on by the Queen. Is that accurate?”

Renly snorted. “If anything, that understates it.”

“It was Robert who started it, in truth,” Stannis said. “From the moment she arrived, he made it clear what he thought of her, and that she would receive no…courtesy, no consideration.” His jaw clenched. “Joffrey and the Queen are horrors, it’s true, but none of this could have happened had my brother not given them free rein to do as they pleased.”

“But for the Kingsguard to participate,” Catelyn murmured. “How could…”

“The Kingsguard is…not what it used to be,” Stannis said. “I would count no more than two men of honor among them, and that is if I am being generous. The rest are Lannister men through and through, led by the Kingslayer.”

“Though I’ll give the Kingslayer this, even he looked horrified when word spread,” Renly said.

“He wasn’t in the Red Keep that day?” Ned asked, surprised.

“He was assigned to the queen, who was in her quarters.” Renly said. “Robert insisted we join him in the Kingswood, he loves an audience when it comes to these hunts, no matter how unwilling it might be. Joffrey was being guarded by Meryn Trant that day, which…well. We all know now what kind of a man Trant is.”

“Was,” Stannis corrected. “His body was found floating in the river, a week after he was dismissed from the Kingsguard, with his throat cut.”

“Targaryen loyalists?” Catelyn asked.

Renly shook his head. “Doubtful. I imagine it was Cersei who ordered his death, putting the blame for her and Joffrey’s disgrace on his head.”

Catelyn nodded, but after a minute, she couldn’t help but ask the question that Ned had been wondering, ever since he got those first hasty ravens, from Stannis, from Jon Arryn, even from Catelyn’s sister Lysa.

“How, in the name of the Seven, did this happen?”

Neither one of the Baratheon brothers spoke, not at first. Finally Stannis began, breathing in deeply as he did so, “Robert wouldn’t let me set guards on Daenerys. Said it was an insult to even imply that she was in danger. She had her maids, and she tried to…tried to stay in the libraries, the parts of the Red Keep where she was unlikely to see Joffrey, or the Queen. Unfortunately, on that particular day, she ran into Tommen instead.”

Ned leaned back. “I hadn’t heard that Prince Tommen had anything to do with this.”

“That’s the thing, he didn’t,” Renly said, picking up where Stannis left off. “The boy was excited about this cat that was skulking around in the kitchens. It was pregnant with kittens. He’s a gentle boy, likes animals. And Daenerys is, as you’ve seen, kind and gentle with younger children.”

Ned had seen it, and had been encouraged at the sight.

“So when Tommen asked her to come with him to see the cat, she didn’t think anything of agreeing,” Renly continued. “But then they found the cat. Or to be more specific, they found Joffrey with a dagger, mutilating the cat’s dead body. He’d cut it open, you see. To look at the kittens in its belly.”

“Gods be good,” Catelyn murmured, horrified.

“Poor Tommen screamed and ran off, but Dany, she…well. You saw her today in the courtyard. She’s not the type to run when she’s afraid. She stands her ground, she won’t yield. And so, while she should have run that day, she didn’t. Instead she screamed, and shouted at Joffrey, and called him…well, she called him the names you would call any beast of a boy that did that.”

“And he took exception,” Ned said softly.

“He went at her with the knife,” Stannis said, his voice hard. “Daenerys slapped him, knocked it out of his hand, and then he ordered Trant to seize her. Said it was treason for her to raise her hand to the crown prince, and that he would show her how traitors were treated in King’s Landing.” Stannis breathed out heavily through his nose, and then spat out, “I suppose I ought to be grateful that the vile little shit didn’t order her killed then and there. Instead he had Trant drag her, screaming, into the Throne Room.”

Catelyn’s hand was in his, and she squeezed it unthinkingly, her fingers having grown cold to the touch. “And no one intervened?”

“Not a single one of the cowardly men there in the room that day did anything,” Renly said, two angry spots of red high on his cheeks. “One of Loras’s cousins, a Hightower, she ran to the yard where Loras was sparring, and I’m told that Tommen went screaming for his uncle Tyrion in the library, but by the time they got there, Daenerys had been…” His voice trailed off.

“She’d been stripped to the waist, and Trant was beating her back with the flat of his sword.” Stannis finished, each word bitten off as though they tasted foul in his mouth. “Ser Loras intervened and got her away to safety, and I’m told that Tyrion Lannister arrived not a moment later, and stopped Trant from attacking Tyrell when his back was turned.”

“And where was the Queen, when this atrocity was happening?” Catelyn asked, her voice tight, angrier than Ned had heard in a long time. “Where was she, when this was happening in her court, at her son’s order?”

“Supposedly she was ill with a migraine,” Renly said, with a roll of his eyes. “Not that it stopped her from defending Joffrey, when we all got back early from the hunt.”

“Defending—” Catelyn started, incredulous. “Is the woman as mad as her son?”

The question had been rhetorical, but it led to an uneasy silence, as they all looked at each other.

There was no help for it. Ned lifted his head, and looked Stannis in the face. “Is the boy mad, Stannis? He’s a vicious child, that much is clear, but…is he mad?”

“No two people can seem to agree on that,” Stannis said curtly.

“Even though the answer is obviously yes,” Renly interjected. “I don’t care what ridiculous excuses the Grand Maester makes, we all know he’s in Tywin Lannister’s pay anyway—”

“As of yet, there’s nothing to be done,” Stannis said. “Robert beat Joffrey senseless when he returned to the Keep, but that doesn’t change what happened, and I fear will have done nothing to curb Joffrey. By this time, Tywin Lannister will have arrived in the capital to take Joffrey back with him to Casterly Rock, where he’s sworn he will whip the boy into shape, but…” He made a tiny, dismissive gesture with his hand.

“The lord who counts Gregor Clegane as a bannerman is incapable of instilling decency into anyone,” Ned spat out. He breathed in and out, getting his temper under control, and then asked, “And Robert…he’s done nothing to try and address this?”

“Aside from beating his son bloody and screaming at his wife, no,” Renly said grimly. “He didn’t even have the decency to see us off when we left King’s Landing, left that to Jon Arryn, as he has everything else.”

“I’m glad he didn’t see us off,” Stannis said shortly. “Let us not add hypocrisy to all his other failings. Any apology that came from Robert’s lips would be a lie, and we all know it…including Daenerys.”

Struggling for words, Ned finally demanded, “What can Robert be thinking?”

“That there’s no one else left for him to blame for what he lost during the war,” Renly said with a shrug.

Ned jerked at this. “What he lost?” His temper finally boiling over, Ned thundered, “I lost my father, my brother, my sister to the war, and I can promise you, I have never felt the need to blame children for the actions of a madman! If Robert thinks that tormenting a child honors my sister’s memory, he is gravely mistaken.”

Catelyn squeezed his hand. “Ned,” she murmured. “He is the king.”

“Aye, and I helped put him on that throne, Cat!” Ned retorted. “We all did!” And yet Ned remembered all too well the first act of Robert’s reign, when he forgave the murderers of Elia Martell and her children. If he hadn’t struck that bargain with Stannis, hadn’t promised his infant son’s hand in marriage…would Daenerys Targaryen even be alive today?

In placing Robert on that throne…did they really get a better king?

Ned couldn’t think of that now. Now was for handling what was in front of him, which was the last Targaryen princess, and the Baratheon brothers who had decided to guarantee her safety.

“She will be safe here in Winterfell,” Ned said to Stannis and Renly. “I swear it to you on my sister’s memory.”

Renly sighed in open relief. Stannis wasn’t as demonstrative, but some of the tension left his jaw and mouth at least. “Good,” Stannis said crisply, and got to his feet. “I bid you a good night.”

A little bemused at the abrupt end to their discussion, Ned got to his feet as well, with Catelyn rising gracefully in his wake, and Renly scrambling to his feet. “Good night, Stannis,” Ned said, reaching out to shake his hand.

Stannis’ grip was forceful, but the handshake was quick. “Good night, Lady Stark,” he added, with a bow to Catelyn, and then he was gone.

Renly lingered, even after Stannis had gone. “Lord Stark…” he began, but trailed off.

“Yes?” Ned prodded after a moment.

Renly licked his lips, and then blurted out, “Was Robert always like this? I never…we didn’t grow up together. He stayed at the Vale after our parents died, and then there was the war, and after that he was the King, and I don’t…forgive me, but…I don’t understand how a man like you is friends with the man my brother is.”

Taken aback by the question, Ned groped for words. “We grew up together in the Vale, aye. Your brother is…was…my closest friend.” That had always been enough to say, but it didn’t feel like enough now, in the face of Renly’s open bafflement, in the wake of the stories Ned had been told about his ‘closest friend’. “After the war…I was shocked at the change in him. At what he’d allowed to happen, what he’d excused…”

Those little bodies wrapped in red cloaks. Stannis Baratheon’s white, too-thin face as he talked of the promise he’d made to Queen Rhaella, and Ned’s growing horror that he couldn’t expect that Robert would even agree to keep this child safe.

And, perhaps the deepest cut of all, Ashara Dayne, and the bundle in her arms that she’d refused to let him see, and every letter of his she’d ignored in the years since…

Somewhere in Dorne, there was a dark-haired boy with Stark blood in him that Ned had never met, and would likely never know, because in the bitter words of Ashara Dayne, Dornish children were not safe anywhere north of the Red Mountains, not under the rule of the stags and lions.

Ned had learned, bitterly, to count his nephew as just one of the many people he’d lost in the war. But, a voice whispered to him, did he have to lose Jon Sand? If Robert had given justice to the Martells, had executed Clegane and Lorch for their crimes, would Ashara Dayne have relented? Would she have consented to raising the boy in the North, to keeping him with his kin?

Would he have been able to go home with something more than his sister’s bones?

Ned let out a breath. “The foster brother I grew up with in the Vale…I didn’t recognize him by the end of the war. And I don’t recognize him now in the tales you and Stannis have shared.”

Renly nodded. “I see.”

“It is to your credit that you are choosing not to follow your brother’s example,” Catelyn said, kindly, but there was a spark in her eyes as she said it. For all of her cautions earlier, Ned knew Catelyn was as horrified by these events as he was—more even. She’d wept in their chambers, thinking of their daughters being placed in Daenerys Stormborn’s position, alone and friendless, assaulted by the very men who swore to defend women in the name of the Maiden…

Renly grimaced. “I haven’t done much better,” he admitted in a low voice, looking ashamed. “I hadn’t even met Dany before King’s Landing. I never even thought to. She was always Stannis’s burden to deal with, and I was quite content to leave him to it. But then…” Renly looked down at the ground, then shook his head. “If you’d seen Loras’s face when we got back to the Keep….”

“Ser Loras did a noble thing in saving her,” Catelyn said, very gently.

“He might not have had to, if I’d stepped in sooner,” Renly said, pensive. “But…it’s not enough, is it, to always think yourself better than the Lannisters, or better than Robert? Not if you don’t do anything to prove it.”

Jon Arryn had always written of Renly Baratheon with a faintly disapproving air, painting the young Lord of Storm’s End as feckless and vain. Ned didn’t recognize that portrait in the young man before him now, with his worried eyes and earnest words.

Carefully, feeling his way, Ned said, “Honor isn’t…it’s not a thing you prove once. It’s a series of choices you make. All of us, from the nobility to the smallfolk, we choose who we are by the actions we take. If you have chosen to do better by your cousin now, then that is to your credit, Lord Renly.” Renly brightened a little at Ned’s words, his shoulders straightening, and Ned knew he’d said the right thing.

And now for the burden. Ned took a breath, and said next, “And if there’s any honor to be left at Robert’s court…I fear it will be left to you and your brother Stannis to cultivate it.”

Visibly surprised, Renly cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I continue to work with my brother to counter the Lannisters?”

Ned had only a vague idea of what that would entail, but at the words, he nodded firmly. “Why not? You’ve managed to pull together when it comes to Daenerys this past month, and you’re clearly in agreement when it comes to the dangers of the Lannister faction at court. The Seven Kingdoms will be better for your collaboration.”

“Stannis doesn’t know the meaning of the word collaboration,” Renly said, but his expression was thoughtful. “Then again, he survived traveling all the way here with a member of House Tyrell, so I suppose anything is possible.”

He grinned, suddenly looking younger than his twenty-two years. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

“It’s Ned,” Ned corrected, and Renly’s smile deepened.

“Ned,” he agreed happily. “I bid you and your lady wife a good evening.” He dropped a kiss onto Catelyn’s hand, smiled at them both, and slipped out the door.

In the silence after his departure, Catelyn let out a sigh. “That was…heavens above.”

“Indeed,” Ned said, sitting down in his chair. Catelyn perched on the edge of his desk, looking down at him as she took her hand in his.

“How are the children?” Ned asked after a moment.

Catelyn smiled. She’d checked in on them all in the family wing before joining him in the solar. “Just fine. Arya and Bran are wild to see Daenerys’ dragon eggs, and Sansa wants to invite Daenerys to practice sewing with her tomorrow.”

Ned smiled. “And Robb?”

Catelyn lifted her shoulders. “Quiet. He’s so young still, it makes sense that he wouldn’t know how to behave with a fiance.” Her mouth twitched. “If I’m honest, I’d be even more worried about Theon Greyjoy’s influence if Robb was all confidence at the sight of the girl he’ll marry.”

Ned snorted. “I was twenty when I met you, and I also had no idea how to deal with my betrothed. He’ll be fine, just so long as he remembers to be kind.”

“And so I reminded him,” Catelyn assured. A pucker appeared between her eyebrows, as she added, “He said—he’s worried about scaring her. Daenerys.”

Ned sighed heavily. There had been no possible way to hide what had happened from Robb—from any of the children, in truth, although they’d couched the story as carefully as possible for Arya and Bran. Robb especially needed to understand why Daenerys would likely be wary of him for some time. And yet, Ned wished he could have spared them all from hearing such a brutal tale, almost as much as he wished he could have shielded Daenerys from Robert’s rage, or the Lannisters’ venom.

But she should have been shielded, Ned thought, with a fresh wave of anger that was no less potent for how familiar it had become. Daenerys was the ward of Stannis Baratheon, betrothed to the heir of House Stark, it was a monstrous insult to both Houses for this to happen, not to mention it being a horrendous crime in its own right. Ned had a mountain of letters from his bannermen, pledging their support and venting their outrage that the girl who would one day be Lady Stark would be so insulted in the king’s court, the king they’d all fought and shed blood for to put on the throne…

“Ned,” Catelyn was murmuring now. “Ned, come back, you’re a thousand miles away.”

“It’s nothing,” Ned reassured her, but Catelyn knew him better than that, and she just watched him with a patient air.

“The child was scared to death of me, Cat,” he said finally. It had cut Ned deep, seeing the blind terror in Daenerys’ small face, the way it had clearly cost her every bit of courage she had to step forward and take his hand, rather than faint or run away sobbing.

No girl that young should need to find that sort of courage.

Catelyn was quiet, before saying, “She will not be so afraid once she comes to know you better. To know all of us better.” An edge came to her voice as she added, “And the gods only know I could hardly be a worse hostess than Cersei Lannister.”

Ned chuckled and kissed her hand. “Of that I have no doubt.”

Catelyn gave him a wry look. “I would hope my lord husband would hold me to higher standards than that,” she said tartly, then let out a gurgle of laughter as Ned, without warning, pulled her into his lap. “Ned!”

“Shall I show my lady wife the standards I hold her to?” he teased. It had taken them a long time to end up here, where they could tease each other and trust that the other would not take it amiss, but they were here now, and Ned would not give it up for anything.

He hoped Robb and Daenerys would find that with each other too, one day.

By the time that there was a careful knocking at the door to Daenerys’ quarters, Daenerys had been up for nearly an hour, had already dressed herself, and was at the mirror trying to comb out her hair.

Her braid unraveled, Daenerys futilely tried to gather her hair up with a ribbon as she quickly rushed to the door, opening it.

To her surprise, it was not just her own maids that were at the door, but Lady Stark and another female servant. “Oh!” Daenerys quickly sank into a curtsey, murmuring, “Lady Stark.”

Lady Stark still had that kind smile on her face. “No need to curtsey, Daenerys. I hadn’t realized you were such an early riser.”

“I was too excited to sleep,” Daenerys admitted, before putting a hand to her hair, realizing what a fright she must look. “Apologies, I meant to have my hair done by now but—”

“No worries at all,” Lady Stark said warmly, as the maids slipped past them to begin tidying the room. Not that there was much to tidy aside from the bed. “I am sure that neither one of my girls have so much as stirred from their beds. No, I wished to introduce you to your new maid, Fenella—she is a longtime servant of House Stark, and I thought she would be able to help you adjust to your new home.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Daenerys said, nodding at Fenella, who bobbed her head back. Fenella looked to be around Lady Stark’s age, with her brown hair caught up under a cap, and curiosity brightening her gaze as she openly looked Daenerys over.

“I would be more than willing to braid your hair, my lady,” Fenella said.

“Oh,” Daenerys said, her stomach sinking. She glanced between Lady Stark and Fenella, unsure of how to protest—or even if she should protest. She’d been managing her own hair since they’d left King’s Landing, and no one in their party had had to be told why, but now—

“I should have known you’d be up with the sun,” Loras Tyrell’s voice rang out merrily, and he poked his head into the room. “Oh! Apologies, Lady Stark, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to escort Daenerys down for breakfast.”

“Not at all, Ser Loras,” Lady Stark said. “I was just introducing Daenerys to her new maid, and I’m sure once Fenella has dressed Daenerys’ hair…”

Loras glanced towards Daenerys, and Daenerys looked back at him mutely. Understanding in a flash what was going on, Loras put a gentle smile on his face and stepped into the room, saying gently, “Ah. Lady Stark, I ought to mention…Daenerys prefers to manage her own hair. Always.”

Lady Stark blinked. “I assure you, Fenella is more than capable—”

“Oh, I am sure she is,” Loras said, with an acknowledging nod to the maid. “It’s just that after King’s Landing and the queen’s cruelty, Daenerys is…understandably wary of people touching her hair.” His voice grew harder as he said next, nostrils flaring, “Queen Cersei would often summon Dany to her chambers. She would claim that she’d just wanted to braid Dany’s lovely hair, but she used it as an excuse to pull her hair out by the root, or claw at Dany’s scalp until she drew blood.”

Daenerys stared down at the floor, her face hot. The new maid, Fenella, said a word in a language Daenerys didn’t understand, then said quickly, “Apologies for my language, my lady, I just…” Dany lifted her head to find Fenella watching her helplessly, color high on her broad, freckled face, before she blurted out, “A woman like that should be locked in a cell, not swanning about in a palace!”

“Fenella,” Lady Stark murmured in rebuke.

“So sorry, Lady Stark,” Fenella said, bobbing her head.

“Your maid’s not wrong,” Loras said, and Daenerys looked at him warningly. Loras caught her glare, and he laughed, saying, “Dany’s forever telling me to mind my tongue when it comes to the Lannisters, but I doubt that even the Spider has his little birds here,” he said, reaching out to pinch Daenerys’ cheek. “Well, I’ll leave you in these ladies’ excellent hands, and meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, how does that sound?”

“Lovely,” Daenerys said, with a smile for Loras.

Lady Stark looked relieved as well, nodding to Loras as he stepped out, and saying briskly, “Well, I will leave you to get acquainted with Fenella, and I will see you in the Great Hall very soon, I’m sure.”

And with that, Daenerys was alone with the maid.

Fenella folded her hands before her, and said solicitously, “Would you like to finish doing your hair, m’lady? I can work on unpacking your things.”

“Yes, thank you,” Daenerys said, but she didn’t pick her brush back up, instead just watched as Fenella bustled about, nervously chattering away about how pleasant the weather had been and how glad she was for that, it would’ve been such a pity had their party arrived at Winterfell in the midst of a thunderstorm or, horrifying thought, something called thundersnow?

“What is thundersnow?” Daenerys asked, and that was the excuse Fenella needed to explain some horrifying event where there was a thunderstorm, but the air was cold enough that instead of rain coming down, it would be snow, all while lightning and thunder clashed in the clouds.

While Fenella was explaining, Daenerys was trying to work out the tangles in her hair (she should have braided it up for sleep the night before, but she’d been too excited to remember and fell asleep with it loose) and whimpered as her brush caught on one particularly stubborn snarl. In the mirror, she could see Fenella pausing at the noise, visibly holding back from offering to help.

Slowly, Daenerys set her brush back down on the small table, thinking of Lady Stark’s neat braids, and how tidy and smooth she’d looked nust now. Then she stepped over and picked up her brush once more, but only so she could offer it to Fenella.

Fenella pressed her mouth together, and in the morning light, her eyes were shining. “I’m honored, m’lady.”

“Could you give me a Northern-style braid?” Daenerys asked, and Fenella beamed and nodded her head.

Despite her gesture and determination to get through this, Daenerys did feel herself tense as she felt Fenella’s hands unworking her half-finished braid. But she could tell how careful Fenella was being, her fingers very gently and softly unwinding the locks of hair until it spread out over Daenerys’ shoulders.

“You have lovely hair,” Fenella murmured, half to herself. “I thought it would just be like gray hair, but you can see the gold in it.” She caught Daenerys’ gaze in the mirror and flushed red again. “Forgive me, my lady, my tongue is always running away with me.”

That had Daenerys remembering, and before she could think twice about it, she asked, “What was that word you said? About the Queen?”

“Oh, well, I—”

Dany smiled at her in the mirror. “I mean what language was it? I didn’t recognize the words.”

“Oh!” Looking relieved, Fenella told her, “It was the Old Tongue, my lady. The common language of the North, before the Andals came.”

“Was it?” Daenerys asked eagerly. “I tried to learn some before, but Lord Stannis couldn’t find a tutor, and he thought I should focus my studies on learning the houses of the North before focusing on anything else.”

“Well, I can see the logic in that,” Fenella agreed, asking next, “How many of the Northern houses do you know?”

“All of them.”

Fenella looked impressed. “Well then, you’ll find plenty of speakers here. Old Nan would be your best bet for help, I’d warrant, though I suppose the maester would be useful as well, even if he is a southerner.”

Fenella was unlike the other maids that had waited on Daenerys before, she chatted easily about the weather, how she hoped there wouldn’t be a summer snow while the guests were here, how pleased she was that Daenerys was sensible enough not to bring any of those silly thin southern silks up North.

By focusing on their conversation, Daenerys was able to relax, and she watched with interest as Fenella wove her hair into a long neat braid where the strands fit together, almost like a fish’s scales. “I love it,” Daenerys said, tilting her head to better catch sight of it. “Thank you, Fenella.”

Fenella’s cheeks were red again, but this time with pleasure rather than embarrassment. “You’re very welcome, m’lady.”

Daenerys’ wounds had just begun to scab over by the time that Lord Stannis returned to the keep.

She spent most of her time lying on her back, listening to Lady Elinor Hightower read to her—nothing from the Seven-Pointed Star, but from Daenerys’ own books on the North, a tale of Northern legends that had Lady Elinor shuddering but she gamely went on reading anyway, saying that Daenerys was a dutiful girl to be learning about her new home, even if it was such a nasty disgusting book.

Daenerys didn’t think the Northern legends disgusting at all, just pleasantly shivery, but she didn’t contradict Lady Elinor—the lady was being kind, and Daenerys did not want to turn away kindness, not now.

And the stories did help to distract her from…It. In the best moments, Daenerys could feel a kind of gray fog settling over her, where she didn’t feel the stinging itchy wounds on her back, or the cold lump of sadness in her belly. She could just listen to Lady Elinor’s soft voice and drift away.

She didn’t feel the gray fog when Ser Loras was around, but that was all right, because Ser Loras was so kind and so warm that the cold lump seemed to disappear on its own, and Daenerys could find herself answering all of his questions easily, about her favorite things to do and what did she like most about Dragonstone and did she like to go sailing? He had stories about his sister Margaery, in Highgarden, who was Daenerys’ age and loved to ride and go hawking with their older brother Willas.

“I’ve never been hawking,” Daenerys admitted, and Loras gasped.

“Never been hawking? Well, this is clearly something that must be corrected as soon as possible,” he declared, and Daenerys found herself smiling, because he was obviously teasing her, but it was a nice teasing.

(The only time they’d ever spoken of what had happened was in the immediate aftermath, when Daenerys had been sobbing so hard she could barely speak, her back on fire from her injuries, clutching at her ruined dress, and Ser Loras was pacing back and forth and spitting out in response to her broken apologies, “There is nothing you could have possibly done to deserve this insult. I do not care what your brother did, who your father was. You were a guest in the King’s court and a lady, this is not done. This is…unspeakably evil.”)

After that day, Loras and Daenerys talked about pleasant things only, and that was why Daenerys never asked about why Ser Loras always had his sword on his hip, or how he’d taken over the quarters where she and Lord Stannis had been staying with their household, Tyrell guards mixing with Baratheon guards from Dragonstone, stationed at every entrance. She didn’t ask why the maester who’d examined the cuts on her back was not Grand Maester Pycelle, or about the times when there was loud knocking at the main entrance, and shouting, and why no one was allowed to enter unless Ser Loras said it was all right.

She didn’t need to ask, she already knew.

And then, two days after Dany’s humiliation in the throne room, Daenerys heard Lord Stannis’ voice early in the morning, and she gasped and jumped out of bed, whimpering as her hasty movements caused her back to sting and ache anew beneath the bandages, obviously enough that it had Lady Elinor, embroidering in the corner, gasping out, “Oh, Daenerys, please be careful—” as she rushed forward to carefully assist Daenerys into putting on a robe over her shift.

In her bare feet, Daenerys rushed out of her quarters as quickly as she could to find Lord Stannis there, travel dust on his clothes and boots, two angry spots of red on his cheeks, and his brother Lord Renly standing next to him, just as dusty, even if his clothes were far grander.

See Loras was speaking. “I’ve barred the doors against everyone, no one has been allowed in, not even Lord Arryn. We’ve hired a taster for the food, and my cousin’s servants have been buying the food from the market, not letting it up from the kitchens.” Loras paused to take a breath before adding, “I also took the liberty of writing to Lord Stark in Winterfell directly—I did not want rumors to reach the North before the truth of the matter did.” Hands folded behind his back, Loras said, a touch of unease in his face, “I hope that I did right.”

Stannis did not speak for a moment, before nodding his head slightly. “You did. I…thank you.” He’d obviously had to force the words out, but he’d said them. And once they were out, he said, a touch more easily, “You have shielded my ward as best as you could.”

Loras looked mightily relieved, and Renly was blinking at his brother with wide eyes, obviously shocked.

But then Stannis caught sight of Daenerys, and his expression grew even tighter. “Daenerys, come here.”

Both Lord Renly and Ser Loras jumped, and Daenerys carefully made her way over to face her guardian, her stomach sinking as she did. Stannis stared down at her and said, in a low growl, “Tell me what happened.”

Both Loras and Renly began to protest—loudly, in Ser Loras’ case—but Daenerys was not surprised, and so she began to speak, continuing even as the tears started to run down her cheeks, she didn’t stop. She just impatiently scrubbed at her eyes and kept going, because Stannis expected it of her, and so she expected it of herself.

When she finished, Stannis took out a handkerchief and began to wipe her face. “Blow your nose,” he instructed quietly, and as Daenerys did so, he continued, “I will need to speak with the maester that examined you. While I do that, I need you to tell the maids to pack your things. You will not spend another night in this vile snakepit, I promise you that.”

Daenerys sniffed. Feeling calmer, she asked hopefully, “Can we go home?”

Stannis hesitated, and Daenerys’ eyes went wide. Panicked, she said, “I don’t want to go to the Silent Sisters or a motherhouse!”

All three men stared at her, and Stannis asked, “Daenerys, why would you ever think you would go there?”

Daenerys’ throat was so tight, but she managed to get out, “Because that’s where ruined girls go. Am I ruined, then?”

Stannis inhaled, but surprisingly, it was Lord Renly who spoke next. He went down to one knee before her, looking her in the face. Daenerys tried to meet his gaze as best she could—his eyes were the same bright blue as Stannis and King Robert, but his expression was kinder than the king’s. “There is nothing ruined about you.”

Daenerys’ voice started to shake. “The maester said I would have scars—”

“It matters not,” Lord Renly said. “You are not ruined. You have nothing to be ashamed about. You defended the innocent, you acted with honor and courage—the shame in this is not yours, and it never will be. Do you understand me?”

Hesitantly, Daenerys nodded, and Renly gave her a quick smile, then looked up at Stannis. “I have a manse nearby that I use as my true living quarters while I’m in the city. We can retreat there while you plan your next steps.”

Stannis raised an eyebrow. “We?”

Renly looked defensive. “Well, I’m certainly not staying here, with our demonic fiend of a nephew running about the place, ordering members of the Kingsguard to do his bidding. At this rate, Trant will be murdering us all in our beds!”

“He already tried to stab Ser Loras in the back,” Daenerys muttered, glancing up at Ser Loras, who winced.

Renly scrambled to his feet, thundering, “Trant did what?”

“It was while we were leaving the throne room, but the Imp stopped him,” Loras said hastily. “Truthfully, I don’t know if we’d have made it out of that throne room without Lord Tyrion ordering that beast back.”

But Renly was clutching at Loras’ shoulders now, upset, asking, “Are you all right? That filthy pig didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Of course not,” Loras soothed, touching Renly’s arm. Daenerys watched them curiously, and Stannis cleared his throat. Renly and Loras pulled away from each other, and there was a flush high on Loras’ cheeks.

“If you are willing to share your manse with us, I…would appreciate that,” Stannis said, awkwardly. Renly looked a little surprised, probably at how easily Stannis had agreed, but eventually smiled.

“We’ll leave right away,” he declared, clapping his hands together. And while it wasn’t right away—they still had to pack, and make arrangements with the servants, and call for a carriage, they did leave that very same day, and no one dared to stop them.

Despite both of them being younger than Daenerys, it was remarkable how quickly the Stark sisters took charge of the day. Sansa suggested giving Dany a tour of the castle, then Arya quickly said she knew the castle better than her sister did, and Dany, catching Lady Stark’s eye, asked if both girls could show her around, and that is how she found herself making her way through the long corridors of Winterfell, with Sansa Stark matching her steady pace, and Arya Stark rushing ahead on her small legs, then falling back so they could catch up.

Dany tried to commit everything to memory, but she could already tell she would get hopelessly lost without a guide. “This is even bigger than the Red Keep,” she murmured without thinking, then flushed as both Stark girls stared at her.

“Was it always awful in King’s Landing?” Sansa asked, tentatively.

“Yes,” Dany admitted. “It…it’s not very nice, being surrounded by people that hate you.”

On her other side, Arya murmured, “Father was very angry when he heard what happened. Mother too.”

Dany didn’t know what to say to that, but it didn’t seem to matter, as Arya’s tiny hand stole into hers, squeezing, as if to comfort. Dany smiled, and squeezed Arya’s hand back.

Looking for a change of subject, Daenerys glanced out the window and paused—this window overlooked one of the courtyards, and in this she could see that Loras and Renly were sparring together, surrounded by several of the men from Winterfell, Robb Stark among them. Even from this height, it was easy to see how animated Robb was, turning to the companion next to him and laughing as he spoke.

“That’s Theon next to him,” Sansa explained. “Theon Greyjoy, he’s Father’s ward.”

“He wasn’t at our table last night for dinner. Or this morning,” Dany said.

“No, he was sitting with Ser Rodrick and Jory,” Arya agreed, then wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why though.”

Dany had a fairly good idea why, and Sansa said immediately, “It wasn’t proper.”

“That’s what you always say,” Arya said, annoyed. “And it doesn’t even make sense!”

“Theon is not just your father’s ward, but also a hostage,” Daenerys explained to Arya quietly. “I would guess that your mother didn’t want to risk any trouble, not when Lord Stannis fought during the Greyjoy Rebellion and vanquished their fleet.”

“Oh,” Arya said, digesting this. “That doesn’t seem fair to Theon, though.”

“Not everything is fair in life,” Dany told her, and Arya nodded slowly.

“Thank you for explaining,” she said, shooting a look at her sister. “That explanation made sense.”

Sansa let out an aggravated huff, and Dany tried not to smile. “I would love to get some fresh air,” she suggested next. “Would you both be willing to come outside with me?”

Both Arya and Sansa quickly agreed, and Arya suggested gleefully, “We can watch them fight in the courtyard. They say Ser Loras is one of the best fighters in Westeros!”

Daenerys wasn’t sure of how their presence would be welcome, but no one seemed to blink as they stepped outside. The spar between Ser Loras and Renly was well-over by then, but Loras was demonstrating some drills and moves to a rapt audience, including Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy. Little Bran Stark was there too, and when he caught sight of them he hurried over, asking, “Did you come here to see the sparring?”

“Of course!” Arya said, and she and her brother started to chatter away. Meanwhile, Sansa turned to Daenerys and said, “I hope you won’t miss Dragonstone too much.”

“Mostly I think I’ll miss my cousin Shireen,” Daenerys said, wistfully. Shireen was the closest thing that Daenerys had ever had to a playmate, little as she was, and Daenerys had loved to braid her hair and read to her at night, Shireen’s body tucked in against Daenerys’ side.

Bran looked up at this, and asked curiously, “How many cousins do you have?”

"Not many," Daenerys said. "There's Lord Stannis, Lord Renly and my cousin Shireen—oh, and Edric Storm, I suppose."

"Edric Storm?" Arya pressed, curious.

Daenerys coughed, wondering how to explain, and finally settled on, "Edric is Robert Baratheon's natural-born son. He resides at Storm's End, but I have never met him."

"Oh, you mean a bastard," Arya said.

"Arya!" Sansa protested.

"What? That's what natural-born means, Old Nan said so!"

"It is," Daenerys agreed quickly, because she’d already learned from this morning that arguments between Sansa and Arya were to be avoided or stopped whenever possible. (Who knew it was possible to argue over embroidery?) "But that's all the cousins I have." Really, those were all the cousins Daenerys was willing to claim—she refused to think of the king and queen's children as her cousins.

"That's still more than us," Bran said. "All we have is cousin Robin from the Vale."

"That's not true," Daenerys said without thinking. "You have your cousin in Dorne."

All three Stark children stared at her. Daenerys didn't understand why, not until Sansa asked in astonishment, "What cousin in Dorne?"

Oh, dear. As Daenerys fumbled for words, Arya wheeled off and ran straight to the part of the yard where Robb was practicing his footwork with Ser Loras under the watchful eye of Winterfell's master-at-arms. "Robb! Robb! Dany says we have a cousin in Dorne!"

Robb looked startled, then exasperated, while Theon Greyjoy burst out laughing nearby. As Daenerys' cheeks went hot, he said to Arya, "There's no need to shout about it, they can probably hear you all the way to the Wall."

Arya wasn't discouraged, she just grabbed her brother's arm and attempted to haul him over to where the rest of them were standing. To Daenerys' alarm, after rolling his eyes, Robb said over his shoulder to Ser Loras, "Forgive me, ser, my sister's about to tear my arm off if I don't go with her."

"Think nothing of it," Ser Loras said, amused.

"Robb, is Dany right?" Bran asked, and Daenerys just blushed harder under Robb Stark's questioning blue gaze.

"Yes, she's right," Robb confirmed. "Uncle Brandon got a child on a Dornishwoman from House Dayne right before the war started. She had a son, who lives with her at Starfall, their family keep.”

All of his siblings immediately burst out with more questions, and aside from confirming their cousin's name—Jon Sand—Robb couldn't tell them anything else, and was clearly itching to go back to his sword practice. But before he walked off, Arya turned back to Daenerys and said,

"Well, what do you know about it, Dany?"

Confronted with not just Arya's expectant gaze, but Robb's—he'd paused in walking off, turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow, Daenerys found herself twisting her hands together as she said, unhappy, "I don't think I should say anything else—"

"But you know more?" Robb asked, looking surprised as he turned to face her fully.

"Not very much more," Daenerys said, but when Robb continued to look at her, she sighed and said, "I only know about this because I heard Cousin Renly talking to Ser Loras on the way here—apparently the king wanted to have your cousin Jon Sand summoned to court and serve as a page and cupbearer—"

Sansa gasped. "Can a bastard serve in court?"

"You said bastard," Arya gloated.

"Hush, you two," Robb said distractedly. "Daenerys, go on."

"But his mother refused to let him go."

Robb looked shocked. "She refused a summons from the king? Why?"

Oh, no. Licking her lips, Daenerys glanced about to check that no one was listening—so of course plenty of people were obviously listening, or at the least watching them talk. She lowered her voice to a murmur and said, "Cousin Renly said it was because the only person Lady Ashara Dayne hates more than Lord Stark was the king, and that King Robert shouldn't have been such a fool as to think that Dorne had forgiven or forgotten what happened in the war."

Robb looked even more shocked, and then outraged. "My father had nothing to do with—"

"I know," Daenerys said hastily. "That's just what Cousin Renly said."

"But I don't understand," Arya piped up. "Why would Lady Ashara be mad at Father?"

Daenerys looked at Robb with alarm—was it possible that the Stark children didn't know about what happened to Princess Elia? How could they have been kept ignorant of it?

Robb said sternly, "Don't think about it, Arya."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Arya demanded, looking put out.

“Dorne fought for the Targaryens during the war,” Daenerys said quickly. “There’s a lot of bad feeling there still.”

“But—” Arya said, and was cut off by her sister quickly hushing her.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Robb said very formally, “I hope you had a good rest, Lady Daenerys.”

“I did, Lord Robb, thank you,” Dany said quickly.

“Why are you talking weird?” Bran wondered, and now he was the one being shushed by Sansa, while Arya giggled.

Robb’s cheeks went bright red, and he scowled at his siblings. “It’s called having manners, brat.” He reached out to tweak Bran’s ear, but Bran ducked and hid behind Sansa.

“We didn’t mean to distract you from your work with Loras,” Daenerys said. “I hadn’t realized—”

“It’s all right,” Robb said, but tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, where it was now Theon practicing drills with Loras. Even though he obviously wanted to go and rejoin them, Robb looked back to Daenerys and asked, “Is there anything I could, um, help with?”

Daenerys’ face went hot, and she said quickly, “No, no, thank you for asking.” She felt horribly awkward, and watched Robb head back to Loras and the others with more than a little relief.

At least until she heard Lord Stark saying from behind her, “So this is where all my children have run off to.”

As Daenerys turned, Arya happily shrieked, “Father!” and she and Bran immediately ran to their father’s side, hugging his legs as they chattered away. Lord Stark did not look at all upset by this, on the contrary, he kissed the top of Arya’s head and ruffled Bran’s hair.

Sansa looked no less eager than her siblings, even if she was more ladylike in how she walked over to her father’s side, saying proudly, “We’ve been showing Dany around our home.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Lord Stark agreed, smiling down at his oldest daughter. He then looked to Daenerys, and asked politely, “How are you, Daenerys?”

Daenerys dipped into a curtsy. “Quite well, Lord Stark.”

Lord Stark frowned a little—oh no, should she have not curtseyed? But his expression quickly cleared, and he said kindly, “I’m glad to hear it. Have you had a chance to go to the godswood yet?”

“No, my lord,” Dany said, shaking her head.

Lord Stark nodded. “I would like to show it to you, if that would be all right?”

As if she would say no to the Lord of Winterfell—Daenerys took a deep breath, and nodded. “Of course.”

“Can we come with?” Arya asked quickly, and her father smiled and shook his head. “Not this time, Arya.”

Daenerys looked over her shoulder to see that both Loras and Renly were watching her now, and Renly silently nodded his approval. So Daenerys took a breath and turned back to Lord Stark, who was holding out his arm, waiting for her to take it.

Carefully, holding her breath as she did so, Daenerys rested her hand in the crook of Lord Stark’s arm, and they left the courtyard together, Daenerys matching his pace as best as she could.

“But why do I have to meet with Lord Arryn?” Daenerys asked.

“You were the one who was injured, it should be you receiving the apology,” Stannis told her.

“It’ll be all right, Daenerys, we’ll be with you in the room the whole time,” Renly added quickly.

But on the day when the Hand of the King arrived at the manse, it was the Master of Whispers Daenerys ended up meeting first.

She was sitting in the small courtyard at the heart of the manse, practicing her embroidery as she sat by the water fountain, when she heard a soft voice saying, “Good day to you, Lady Daenerys.”

Daenerys jumped to her feet, the embroidery hoop falling from her hand, and the guard assigned to her bristled, putting his hand to the hilt of his sword as Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers stepped out of the shadowed corridor and into the sunlight.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lord Varys promised, holding up his hands, palms facing outwards towards her. Even from this distance, Daenerys could smell his perfume, floral and strong.

“Lord Arryn is inside with your cousins, and I thought it best to leave them to settle things between themselves.” He paused briefly, then asked, “How are you faring, my lady?”

“I’m well,” Daenerys said. “Are you well, Lord Varys?”

A small smile appeared on his face. “Oh, I get by,” he said, amused. He nodded at Daenerys’ embroidery, which she hastily bent down to pick up. “May I?”

Daenerys eyed him, then the guard, but slowly held her hand out to give him the embroidery hoop. Lord Varys didn’t step closer than necessary to take the hoop from her hand, and when Daenerys quickly took a few steps back, he didn’t chase her.

Instead he looked at the hoop and said, “The sigil of House Stark, very appropriate. I understand Lord Stark’s eldest daughter is quite talented with a needle for a girl so young. Something you have in common.” He handed the embroidery back to her. “That will help you, hopefully, when you head North.”

Daenerys had a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue (how did he know about Lord Stark’s daughter, did he know that Stannis and Renly wanted to send her North?) but she didn’t let any of them slip.

He was the King’s Master of Whispers, and a turncoat who had so easily gone from serving her family to serving the man who’d destroyed them. Daenerys didn’t want to ask him a single thing.

Lord Varys waited for her to reply, and when she didn’t, he sighed a little. “You look very much like your mother, you know. She was a kind woman, dignified even in her sadness.”

Daenerys was frozen.

“Lord Stark is an honorable man, you’ll have no cause to fear him. But…” Lord Varys hesitated, then said, more softly, “Should you need assistance, my lady, send me a word and I will do my best to aid you.”

Daenerys found her voice. “I will never call on you,” she said, her voice shaking.

Lord Varys didn’t look surprised, not by her words or by her anger. “I hope you never have to.” He bowed deeply to her, and said, “I’ll leave you to your embroidery.”

Daenerys didn’t move an inch until he was out of sight, and then she sat down hard on the ground, embroidery hoop in her lap.

After that, the meeting with Lord Arryn didn’t seem to have the power to move her. She stood in the solar, Renly and Stannis on either side of her, and silently listened as Lord Jon Arryn spoke.

“I speak for both myself and for the Crown when I say that what occurred is truly regrettable, and you have our deepest apologies.”

He stopped there, as if he expected Daenerys to answer him. Daenerys stayed quiet, but as the silence stretched, she looked first to Stannis, and then to Renly and Loras, before finally asking, “If I say I accept the apology, will I be allowed to leave King’s Landing?”

“My lady,” Lord Arryn began, but Stannis interrupted him, saying, “Yes.” Lord Arryn bristled at this, but Stannis was unmoved, saying, “Once we finish with these formalities, we will leave.”

“Lord Stannis,” Lord Arryn said, with a little sigh, “I assure you that we are sincere—”

“These lies are beneath you, Lord Arryn,” Stannis said, icily.

Renly sighed. “What my brother means to say is—”

“What I mean to say is what I have said,” Stannis corrected Renly, with an irritated glance towards his brother. “The Crown has been an utter disgrace, and my brother, his wife, and my accursed nephew have done their best to drag our House into the depths of dishonor these past moons. To pretend otherwise would make this affair even more farcical than it already is.”

Renly’s mouth fell open, and Daenerys looked from him to Stannis to Lord Arryn, with worry.

“I understand your anger,” Lord Arryn said, visibly trying to stay patient. “However, hasty words such as these—”

“I made a vow,” Stannis said, interrupting the Hand once again. “I made a vow to this girl’s mother that I would see her daughter safe.” Daenerys went still, as Stannis’s hand fell upon her shoulder, heavy and warm. “I promised Rhaella this, in the memory of my parents, and for the last month my brother has done his best to make me an oathbreaker.”

He was actually shaking with rage. Daenerys peered up at him with worry, then glanced to Lord Arryn.

“Your anger is understandable,” the Hand said. “And not just felt by you. When you return to the Red Keep, the King will make his apologies as well, and before the court we will—”

“We will be leaving,” Renly said, calmly. “We will be leaving King’s Landing within the sennight, my Lord Hand.”

Lord Arryn closed his eyes briefly. “To flee back to Dragonstone is not necessary. The last thing we need is for this rupture within the royal family to appear even more evident.”

“We are not fleeing anywhere,” Stannis said, icy. “I am, however, escorting my ward to Winterfell, where she will reside with Lord Stark and her future husband.”

Lord Arryn was quiet for a long moment. “I see.”

“I wonder if you do,” Stannis said.

No one spoke, as Lord Arryn looked from Stannis, to Renly, and then his shoulders slumped briefly before he turned his attention to Daenerys.

“Winterfell is a wonderful place, I’m sure you will be very happy there,” Lord Arryn said, smiling at her.

Daenerys did not smile back.

“Must I really go to Winterfell?” Daenerys asked later that evening, staring down at her soup.

“Yes, you must,” Stannis said. “I’ve gotten the letter from Ned Stark, he agrees that the more space between you and the Lannisters, the better.”

“It really is for the best,” Loras said softly. “And after what happened to Trant—”

Daenerys frowned, asking, “What happened?”

Loras’ mouth fell open, and he looked to Renly, who looked displeased. Stannis’ mouth thinned, and he said, “Meryn Trant was dismissed from the Kingsguard for his crimes against you, and he disappeared from sight—but two days ago, his body was found floating in the river.”

Daenerys’ hand tightened around her spoon and fork, her body cold. “He didn’t drown.”

Renly made a noise of protest, but Stannis said, “No, his throat had been cut. He was murdered, likely on the orders of one of the Lannisters.” At Renly’s loud groan, Stannis turned to his brother and said, “It does no good to keep her in the dark, and I won’t lie to her.”

Renly breathed out deeply through his nose, and then turned to face Daenerys himself. “Under the circumstances, Dragonstone is too close to the capital to ensure your safety, or to stop Robert and Cersei from ordering you back to court again. So is Storm’s End.”

“Or Highgarden,” Loras said with regret. “Plus we border the Westerlands, and everything Cersei Lannister knows about cruelty she learned at her father’s knee.” He shook his head. “To think the most decent member of that family is the Imp!”

“But…” Daenerys said, and didn’t finish.

“You will be safe in Winterfell,” Stannis said. “It’s far enough that the Queen can’t order you to court on a whim, and Lord Stark has assured me he will keep you safe.”

There were a lot of things Daenerys could have said to this, but none of them would have changed anything, so she stayed silent.

“I see that you’ve made fast friends with Sansa and Arya,” Lord Stark began, as they started to walk down the path together.

“I like them,” Daenerys said, relieved that she could be honest. “They’ve been very nice.”

“I’m glad,” Lord Stark said. “My wife says you’ve already proven talented at managing their squabbles, though I hope you don’t feel pressured to always be doing so.”

Daenerys didn’t know what to say to this, and stayed silent. Lord Stark didn’t seem to mind, and for a while the only sounds were their footsteps on the path, and the sounds of birds calling through the trees.

As they continued to walk, Daenerys caught glimpses of a tree with white bark, and she asked, “Is that it up there?”

“Aye, it is,” Lord Stark confirmed.

Eagerly, Daenerys asked, “Is it true that the tree never sheds its leaves, not even in winter?”

“It’s true,” he confirmed. “A weirwood tree is ever-blooming, even in the heart of the darkest winter.”

They stepped into the clearing, and Daenerys caught her breath, enchanted.

It was beautiful. There was a hot spring near the pool, steam coming off the water’s surface in a thick fog. The ancient weirwood tree was enormous, and there was a face carved into the bark, just as all the books described, with red sap bleeding from its eyes and mouth.

It should have been frightening, except that Daenerys had grown up in Dragonstone, and the gloom of that keep had prepared her well for trees that seemed to weep blood. But it was more than that too—there was an odd peacefulness to the clearing, and the air was crisp and clear.

“Is there a heart tree at Dragonstone?” Lord Stark asked her.

“Yes, but it doesn’t have a face like this one,” Daenerys said. “It doesn’t…feel the same.”

“It wouldn’t,” Lord Stark agreed. “The gods need to see for the heart tree to be true.”

Daenerys bit her lip, but she had to know. “How do you pray to the old gods?”

Lord Stark tilted his head, and then smiled at her. It was a small smile, but it changed his face tremendously. “You get down on your knees,” he said, and actually knelt himself in the dirt to demonstrate. “Some like to look at the tree as they pray, others close their eyes.”

Carefully, Daenerys knelt on the ground as well, adjusting her skirts so she didn’t trip over them.

“The prayer isn’t said aloud. It’s between you and the gods. Only they can hear you, and judge what is in your heart.” Lord Stark was looking at the heart tree as he said, “They say you can’t lie before the old gods, and what would be the point? They would know the lie for what it is, and so would you.” He turned to look at her. “That is why I wanted to bring you here. I wanted to have…plain speaking, between us. You…have little reason to trust the word of a Stark, but I hope you can believe that I have no reason to lie before my gods.”

Daenerys stared at him for a long moment, shocked, and Lord Stark kindly prompted her, “If you have any questions to ask of me, Daenerys, you can ask them now.”

Every question Daenerys had ever had crowded into her mind all at once, and for a moment she was left mute, but then the biggest question of all fell from her mouth. “Are you really going to have me marry your son?”

“Yes,” Lord Stark said. “I gave Stannis my word that I would see you wed to my heir, and I give you that same oath now.”

“Even though—” Daenerys’ voice caught, but she pushed on, years of training by Stannis Baratheon making her utter the truth no matter how much it hurt, or scared her to say aloud. “Even though my father killed your father, and your brother, and even though my brother stole your sister?”

The pain in Lord Stark’s face was so clear that Daenerys wanted to jump back, to apologize, but he nodded. “Even so. I went to war to avenge them, but my war was with Aerys and Rhaegar. Not with your mother, or Princess Elia, and certainly not with you.” He fell silent, before adding with an effort, “To…to carry out revenge on a girl who was not even alive when they died…it would be dishonoring their memories, and a stain on our House.”

For a moment, Daenerys could feel nothing but relief—and then she felt shame. Not just for the kindness Lord Stark was showing her now, but for how long she’d doubted him, how long she’d disbelieved that he could be that kind, that honorable, no matter how much Stannis and Renly and Loras had all promised her it was so.

She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said, very quietly. To her shame, her voice started to catch as she said, “I’m so, so sorry—”

“You owe me no apologies,” Lord Stark said firmly. “The enmity between House Stark and House Targaryen has ended—and anyone who thinks otherwise will know better, once you and Robb are wed.”

But that turned Daenerys back to her first question, whether the marriage would ever happen. “But what if I go mad?”

Lord Stark looked startled. “Daenerys, why would you think of that?”

Daenerys looked at her hands again, then dragged her eyes back up, thinking that Lord Stark would prefer her to look him in the eye. “The queen—she said the marriage might never happen. Because you would fear Targaryen madness being brought to your line.”

Lord Stark’s mouth thinned. “She said that to you?” he asked, sharply. At Daenerys’ nod, his mouth became even more pinched-looking, and he breathed out heavily through his nostrils.

He was obviously angry, but Daenerys was fairly sure he wasn’t angry at her, and was proven right when he said, “The queen was wrong. For one thing, you seem quite sane to me, and for another, I agreed to the responsibility for you when I betrothed you to my son, and again when you were called north. We won’t abandon that duty to you. No matter what Cersei Lannister says.”

Daenerys swallowed. “But if I—”

“If that happens, and I don’t think it’s certain, or even likely now that I’ve met you—then you would be cared for and kept in comfort,” Lord Stark said. “I have five children; I’m not worried about the succession.”

As Daenerys took that in, blinking, Lord Stark lifted an eyebrow. “Have I surprised you?”

“No, it’s just…a very practical solution,” she admitted.

Lord Stark smiled. “We Northerners tend to be practical,” he admitted, and the twinkle in his eye had Daenerys giggling before she could stop herself, and Lord Stark’s smile deepened. In this moment, it seemed impossible that Daenerys had ever been frightened of this man at all.

“I will be worthy of it,” she blurted out. “Of…of your mercy, and the Stark name.”

Lord Stark looked at her for a long moment, and then said gently, “I have no doubt of it.”

Daenerys would remember that moment for years afterwards, the moment she made her first oath before the weirwood tree of Winterfell—how the breeze felt against her cheeks, how she didn’t mind the coldness of the ground beneath her knees, or the smell of the wet earth, because what mattered was Lord Stark’s kind eyes upon her face, and how for the first time in what felt like forever…she wasn’t afraid of anything at all.

It was the day that Daenerys was leaving the South, and she was utterly and completely terrified.

She did her best to hide it, staying out of the way as everything was packed and made ready for their departure, but there was an understanding amongst the household that Daenerys was never to be left alone, and so Loras came searching for her soon enough, and found her standing on the balcony in what had been her quarters, now stripped of all her belongings.

“Dany, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Daenerys said, trying to smile, but Loras was not fooled.

He sighed and came to her side. “Are you frightened of the journey?”

“I just…I didn’t think it would be so soon,” Daenerys said, hating the whine in her voice. She stared down at her own hands, mumbling, “I thought I would have more time to prepare…I’m not ready.”

“This from the girl who knows more about Winterfell than the maesters forgot,” Loras said, incredulous. “Daenerys, you are more than ready.”

Daenerys shook her head, her throat tight. “I’m not,” she insisted, eyes stinging. Furious at her own weakness, her head dropped lower as she muttered, “I still can’t ride properly, or hunt—"

“That will come,” Loras promised. “Do you think I came out of the womb knowing how to fight with a sword?” He paused dramatically, as if waiting for her to actually respond, and unwillingly, Daenerys thought of an infant Loras, swaddled in his crib and still waving about a tiny wooden sword, and had to snort a little at the image. “Of course not! Just like you didn’t know from birth how to write your name or embroider with a needle. You learn how, and you practice and you train for it, and one day you realize you have mastered what you struggled for so long to learn.”

He smiled and added, “Besides…you can’t tell me that Lord Stannis’ ward is afraid of hard work.”

Daenerys had to smile. “Lord Stannis would wash his hands of me if it were so,” she admitted.

“Oh, I don’t think there is much you could do to turn him away from you,” Loras said, lightly, and as Daenerys blinked at this, Loras added, “Though if we end up making him late…”

Daenerys laughed and admitted this was something to be avoided, and Loras solemnly agreed and offered to escort her to the wheelhouse to avoid such a dreadful event.

“My lady,” he said with a flourish as he offered his arm, and Daenerys beamed as she gave him her very best curtsy. “Good ser,” she said, and rested her hand within the crook of his elbow as they made their way down the stairs.

Renly’s manse was located high up in the hills, and it offered a view of the Red Keep that was likely envied by many…but as Daenerys stepped into the wheelhouse, she turned her back upon the palace with relief.

At least I’ll never have to come back here, she thought to herself. That was something to be grateful for. And with everything that was still left unknown to her—Lord Stark’s true feelings, what his son and heir would be like, if Robb Stark would even like her…Daenerys knew she was lucky to even have the chance to find out.

Determined, she closed her eyes as the wheelhouse started to move.

I will love him, Daenerys promised herself. Even if Robb Stark is ugly, or a Northern barbarian—I will love him, and I will love the North, and they will love me in turn. I swear it.

It took them an age to leave the city, but Daenerys never looked back behind her. Not once. She kept her eyes forward, fixed on the road before her and on her future, as she always had.