Work Text:
Why Us?
Every time they made this walk, his heart would speed up as a habit, senses would automatically maximize. With each step, an indigo and black blend of eyes would scan the barely illuminated streets, darting from side to side, only to settle on the smaller, equally-shrouded figure walking in front of him.
Step.
Glance. That brothel owner just sent two men with daggers to look for a welcher.
Glance. A quick reflection of the torchlight revealed a thief, no more than two and ten, darting through the crowd.
Check. Still a single pace in front of him, in rhythm, heavy dark cloak hiding everything except full lips, leading him.
Step. Glance. Glance. Check.
Step. Glance. Glance. Check.
Their destination was within sight, a compact yet proud brick and cobblestone structure, when a prodigiously large man, whose tunic and shoes seemed to have gone missing, drunkenly burst out of the ramshackle inn. Immediately, the silently produced dagger in the young man's right hand caught the moonlight, whilst his left made for his companion's waist on instinct, ensuring that they were flush against each other. Coiled and ready to spring, the dagger-brandishing shadow felt his muscles relax when the hulking drunkard continued his blind stumble across Pisswater Bend, twirling the dagger once in relief before sheathing it under his tunic. Still holding the other traveler against his chest, he heard a mirthful whisper, a smirk and cocked brow so vivid in his mind he didn't have to see it.
"I stopped needing you to protect me after my sixth name day," she breathed out.
With a sigh, the young woman extracted herself from his grasp and took the remaining two steps to the heavily weathered wooden door, a torch high on each side of the passage. Pausing with her hand on the door, the girl glanced back at him, lopsided smile assuring him that her complaint lacked malice. He caught up with her, two characters invisible in their black garb and cloaked faces, and together they pushed open the door, eagerly greeting the dim lights, voices merry and loud, and the scent of overflowing mugs of ale.
Once inside the tavern, it was clear that she was leading him, and the duo made a beeline for the back left corner of the watering hole, known to the inhabitants of King's Landing as the Thin Man. It was larger than most of the taverns in its shadow within Flea Bottom, but was still dwarfed by the more accessible taverns that lined the Street of Silk. The barkeep, a man of thirty namedays named Patt, stood behind a closed, wooden table and distributed his ales and spirits from behind it, bald head glistening in the low light of his establishment. Within the cobblestone walls, the Thin Man was relatively unassuming, a scattering of seats near Patt, wooden tables and benches snugly arranged in the heart of the tavern, and two genuinely well-made round oak tables standing in the corners, each with eight polished chairs around them, partially concealed by the jutting doors of the kitchen. However, the two mysterious figures who had glided in had not been patronizing the Thin Man for five moons now because of the cleanliness or the flavor of the ale, but for the company. And judging from the look of the four laughing figures at their usual table, already deep in their cups, their company had beaten them there.
Approaching the table, the young man observed the four companions silence their conversation as their attention to the new entrances of the party. He allowed his shorter friend to sit on his right before him, joining her whilst motioning for the barkeep to bring six mugs of Patt's famous red ale to the corner table. In unison with his partner, he allowed his previously obstructing hood to retreat above his hairline, instantly bringing smiles to their four friends.
"Have to say, we were waitin' for the night that the Dragon Prince and Princess decided they were too good for us, boys."
Gasping in mock outrage, the violet-eyed girl next to him beat him to the retort, face now freed from the confines of her outfit.
"Why us?" she glanced at Jon, then back to the young man across the table. "By the gods, I would not dare dream disrespect you, my lord! Who would ever refuse a night drinking with Lord Palo of His Sole Trading Dock, First of his Name, Legacy of Yi-Ti, and Disapointer of, how many is it now, Three Women?"
The words found their mark like one of Greyjoy's arrows, and wide brown eyes met violet in outrage, with his girl defiantly holding Palo's gaze. Within a heartbeat, the faux tension gave way to true humor, as both teenagers broke into rib-shaking laughter, standing to embrace over the table.
"Dany!" Palo greeted, "and you dragged this one away from that bloody harp!" Turning to look at Jon, Palo continued his ribbing, "or away from the sword? One week this one wants to be Bael the Bard, the next he wants to be Duncan!"
Immediately laughing along with his friend, Jaehaerys Targaryen grasped Palo's forearm in greeting just as Patt brought over a mug of ale for each of the young adults. Years ago, when they had eight namedays as Dany remembers, although Jon himself swore they were at least ten, his mother began to bring him and Dany with her on her charity missions within Flea Bottom. Some weeks, Grandmother would join them, or Egg would come, racing him and Dany down Visenya's Hill beforehand. But Dany and Jon always went with Lyanna. After a few visits to a soup kitchen, the Queen took her two little dragons to an orphanage to read stories from the North to the children. Rather than sit up in chairs with his mother, Jon and Dany sat on the splintered floor boards with the orphans, and right next to Daenerys sat the abandoned son of a Gulltown merchant and a Yi-Tish whore. He remembers that it was Daenerys that became Palo's friend first, the two of them laughing together when the Queen told the lonely children about defeating her brothers at arms, or sharing in awe as Lyanna recounted the tale of Bran the Builder's construction of the Wall. The next week, the prince and princess returned, not to help Lyanna with her charity, but to see Dany's "new friend Palo." This time Jon was included in the laughs and the gasps, and the trio's friendship only grew throughout their late childhood.
For the last decade, that friendship was interrupted by the various fosterings, travels, and duties of Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Daenerys, but for the last year, since the reuniting of every Targaryen to the capital, the duo would sneak out after the castle had closed its eyes to the bowels of Flea Bottom, where they could just be Jon and Dany again. Now ten and nine like himself, Palo may not have had his father's teachings in his life, but he inherited both his love for the sea and entrepreneurial spirit, managing to carve out a niche importing olives to Westeros's capital from Braavos. Short yet strong, with an instant smile and joke for any stranger, and a self-described "miner of the seas, half-arsed explorer, and champion of the Bottom," Jon would wait all week to drink and talk in dramatic tones with Palo and his companions.
Across the table, on Palo's right, nearly finished with his third ale of the evening, sat Christos, an orphan that grew up with Palo. Quickly introduced to Jon when they were children, Christos now found work in his adult years as a sculptor, a beneficiary of Jon's father's commitment to the artistic development of the Landing. On the trader's left sat, more or less in the same chair, the couple of Trevin and Jule, the former a merchant with Palo's operation and the latter a potter. Close friends of Palo, the duo had made their drinking parties of four into a group of six for about three moons, and were consistent sources of humor and a genuine charm that seemed to wither within the Red Keep's gates.
For the next two hours, Patt brought over round after round to the corner table, joining in Palo's boisterous toast on the sixth round. Jon, smile lingering from his old friend's enthusiasm, leaned back in his seat, mind transitioning from buzzed to lubricated while determined to take his time with this cup. As the first sip of the amber liquid poured down his throat, he felt a familiar presence on the back of the leg. Through his silken cloak he felt Daenerys hook her foot around his ankle, urging him to pull his chair closer to her. The decision to move closer was an instinct, the very idea of her satin skin curling around him enough of a motive, eyes darting to the floor to glimpse light-blue nails and then back up to meet smoldering violet eyes, the conversation of their four companions fading into the background.
The touch on his ankle ascended to his calf, dragon blood smoking and wolf blood howling, and Jon knew that an exit would soon be necessary. Forcing himself to calm for one more conversation, Jon reached down to his right to pull Dany's legs over his lap, took a sip of his ale, and turned his attention back to a now serious Palo, as he tended to be deep in cups, yet that never devalued his opinions, in Jon's eyes. The prince plugged himself back into the conversation, and when his friend realized he had the table's undivided attention, Palo's point reached a crescendo.
"My point is, men, and Dany, is that it's all a cycle down here. Orphans beget orphans, when a kid doesn't have a mama or a papa, chances are they're not gonna want to be mamas and papas someday, yeah? These bastards enter and die in the same world, on the same street," Palo urged passionately, "and there's an entire WORLD outside of this bloody city. The normal here is hell, but you adjust to the hell, even though you shouldn't have to, and I'm not gonna fix it all bu-"
As Palo's soliloquy turned into a drunken ramble, his friend was there to finish the though, just a bit more coherently.
"But what you do works to fight that. You're right Pal, six people won't solve each problem here, gods know how many there are, but you started this, and we're all here to help."
Reaching into his cloak, Jon produced three pouches - for half of a pouch, Patt would've given him the lock to the tavern and moved to a cottage on the sea. He covered them with his sleeve and slid them discreetly across the table, his friend's brow instantly creasing with realization.
"I know, I know, we always fight about this, but right now this is how we can help," Jon softly tried to predict his friend's rebuttal, a self-concious drip subconsciously influencing his tone.
Luckily, his aunt was able to further cajole Palo, adding "One is for the orphanage, I know that Sandra is trying to add a new hall of rooms next door, make sure the money gets to her. We really think you should use one for lessons too - Jule, what you said about reading and writing makes complete sense, think of all the scribes and pages needed, especially in the city."
Pausing for a second, the same sheepishness that was in Jon's eyes overtook Dany's. "Please take the last one for yourselves," she said softly, "I know things are good for you lot right now, but it's better here than with us, you know it."
Slowly nodding, Palo's hand cupped the two pouches, while pushing the third back to Jon, pride refusing the third. Eyes full of conviction, their friend's brown eyes met two sets of purple.
"This might not be much to you but to us, it's the world, and you know that. Every single stupid little gold piece helps, more than you know my friends. Someday, it'll be bigger, beyond just buying parchment and quills, and I know you'll help then."
Soft smiles graced the faces of Jon and Dany, and with embraces for Palo and waves to the remaining three, the couple once again pulled their cloaks over their faces, dropped a small pouch onto the bar table for Patt, and once again entered the fray of Flea Bottom.
Their jaunt to Jon's quarters was interrupted by the beauty of the night sky, a beauty that his etheral companion thought demanded a visit to the Hill of Rhaenys. Now, Jon sat in the shadow of the dragonpit with Dany sitting between his legs, back pressed against his chest. The two watched the constellations wink and sway for a comfortable silence, the blend of drunkeness, pleasent air, and feeling of Daenerys against him rendering words useless. As Jon stroked his hand through the curtain of silver blonde over his aunt's left shoulder, the pleasent feelings disapated, the wheels in the prince's head churning to a start.
Gold. That was all they had, all they could show for three hundred years of rule. Three centuries, dragons presided over these problems, pretending to care and imagining change, playing pretend. Even as the moon reached its peak, Jon knew that he would be permitted to wake whenever he pleased the coming morning, and had the knowledge that he could break his fast with any meal he so chose. In just a few hours, Palo would be loading and unloading ships himself, delivering food to the orphanage with Christos, using his travels to find opportunties for the broken parts of Flea Bottom.
"Why us?" Jon suddenly asked, startling the dozing girl in his arms.
"The hells do you mean, love?" was the reply.
Passion suddenly surging through his body, Jon propelled himself from the damp grass with his palms, taking three long strides towards his home before turning back to his aunt, finding those centering amethyst eyes.
"Why us Dany? Aegon came over with three dragons a few hundred years ago, scared every lord into saying he was king, and that was that. What's changed since?" Jon fumed, ideas racing through his head like wyrms. "Flea Bottom is this bad because of us! Every single king on that throne has ignored that, just mummers treating war and gold like their games."
Daenerys had moved to her side now, observing Jon with gentle eyes framed by a glowing mane of Old Valyria, her hand propping up her now awake head. Her understanding urged Jon to continue, his chest now heaving.
"When we first got to the tavern tonight, what was the first thing Palo said to me, Dany? 'Can't decide if he wants to be Bael the Bard or Ser Duncan!' I know, right now, I'd much rather sing songs or be a hedge knight than be the Conqueror. I'd rather that than the Concilitator born again, or the Unlikely, even he got it wrong. Hells love, I don't want to be Father. And what's going to come after Father? More of the same, just the same."
The young prince could almost feel steam emanating from him, and the last lines were spoken as a harsh whisper, almost despondent. With blurred eyes, Jon found clarity from the beautiful girl gazing at him, taking the time to understand every word he'd sent into the world.
Softly patting the grass next to her, Daenerys looked at him with the same understanding face he's known since he came into the world, a connection written in the stars, far before their time.
"Come here broody boy" she called, the notes of her voice calming the chaos that Jon had just ushered into the world.
Jon trudged his path to Dany, stopping and stubbornly gazing down at her reclined figure. Her small hand found the cuff of his trousers, hinting at her nephew to retake his seat next her. Once seated, his best friend rolled from her side to straddle him, her hands linking around his neck as his found her hips.
One deep, shuddered breath turned into one deep, calmer breath, and now Jon could feel his heart begin to slow when Dany's nails traced the back of his neck, and leaned into her touch when her right hand caressed a high cheekbone.
When the prince opened his eyes, he furiously sought Danerys'. Leaning in, full lips impossibly close to his own, his aunt's hands grabbed the lapels of his cloak, pressing herself to him with burning eyes.
"You say 'us' like we're them, my love, but you know that we aren't," came the harsh whisper, "the two of us are different. Mummers, all of them, just like you said. The Conqueror, Aenys, Maegor, Rhaegar, Egg, and all the bastards in between. We, you and me, Jaehaerys Targaryen-"
Daenerys interrupted her own passion to pull Jon into a searing kiss, a disregard for gentleness, desperately searching tongue and teeth clashing with Jon's own full lips.
"-our destiny is ours alone, and we are going to claim that destiny. We are going to break Palo's cycle, to change the realm, you and me."
A full inferno raged in her eyes when Jon's own rumbling charcoal and indigo volcanoes met hers, his heart swirling with lust and pride, with love and fear. His idle hands came to life, taking Daenerys fully into his arms, blood roaring in approval.
Frantically searching for words, the only response Jaehaerys Targaryen could settle on was to stare in awe at Daenerys, lidded eyes and already bruised lips, before feeling his heart race again, urging her lips to his.