Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

As the Ford Mustang cut through the mountainous landscape, the lush green plains clashing with the shiny red car, Daenerys wondered if three weeks at Casterly Resort would rejuvenate her or drive her insane.

Rhaegar believed the former; describing their getaway as a family vacation, her brother had managed to convince himself that they were about to experience the pinnacle of holidays. In truth, Daenerys knew the next few days would be less focused on relaxing and more about perservering Viserys’ tedious character.

Daenerys somehow sensed that Rhaegar understood this to be the case, albeit he was unwilling to admit it. As they set off from home, he sent her a knowing smile - the same kind you may offer your best friend when swearing to keep a secret - and said: “Sometimes we find joy in the most peculiar places.” Whether he was trying to persuade her or himself, Daenerys wasn’t quite sure, but she gave him a peck on the cheek and promised to be good.

But now, as the grand brick building appeared in the distance, its structure nestled against the glimmering lake, she found it hard to cling on to her vow as a feeling of nausea pressed its way up her throat. Stubbornly, she pushed the heels of her shoes tight against the floor, flattened herself back into the leather seat, and took in a deep breath as she told herself not to run.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rhaegar asked. He reached out to turn off the radio. The Four Seasons had been playing, and its lyrics of ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’ lingered in the air, threatening Daenerys to plaster on a smile.

“I’m okay,” she lied.

Rhaegar watched her the same way he did his patients, his violet eyes calm and confident. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Dany,” he said.

“I know,” Daenerys nodded and averted her eyes. She tugged at a crinkle in her dress. The red fabric was worn and washed almost pink, but it was her favourite outfit and not one she was willing to part with. Back in Dorne, no one paid her shabby clothes any heed. But I sense people here to be less kind, she thought and glanced outside.

As they rolled up the driveway, she saw women in fresh orange silk dresses and perfect beehive hair, and at once she felt like a silly little girl who did not know how to style herself. She almost regretted turning down Rhaegar’s offer of a new evening gown, but before panic could set in, her brother’s hand closed around hers, and she turned to face his gentle smile.

“You are perfect the way you are,” he said. “They will see.”

“Even Viserys?” Daenerys jested, and she laughed as Rhaegar wrinkled his nose.

He withdrew his hand and focused on the road ahead as he searched for an available parking spot. “He can be difficult,” Rhaegar admitted, his choice of words intentionally diplomatic, “but his heart is in the right place.”

If they ever conduct an autopsy, I am sure they will find his chest empty, Daenerys thought dully, but she dutifully replied: “Of course.”

“He will need our support,” he continued.

“Always,” Daenerys sighed and clucked her tongue.

“Dany.” His voice was sharp. When Daenerys met Rhaegar’s eyes, they were no longer calm, but urging. “I mean it,” he said, and his tone was so grave it made her swallow. “You are lucky to have life figured out. It makes living easy. Our brother has been less fortunate, but he’s finding his way with this job. He just needs a push in the right direction.”

The feeling of nausea intensified. As he held her gaze, Daenerys parted her lips to speak, yet before a word could leave her mouth, someone knocked on the driver side window. When they turned to look, they were greeted by Tywin’s stern eyes.

The man’s face was as if carved from stone, even when he smiled. As Rhaegar turned off the car, Tywin raised his hand in an awkward wave, and her brother let go of a laugh.

“Mr Lannister himself!” His voice was thick with faked joy, and he exited the vehicle with such acted enthusiasm that Daenerys could only look on in awe.

As the men shook hands, she slowly opened the door and thought: Welcome to three weeks of Hell.

It was in the middle of summer. The moment she stepped outside, the sweltering heat embraced her, and even the fresh breeze from across the lake could not cool her sweaty palms. She wiped them off in her skirt before she realised that she was being watched.

From the back of the car, a lad emerged. He had auburn, curly hair and friendly eyes, and the moment their gazes met, he sent her a brilliant smile. “Good day, Miss,” he greeted as he popped open the trunk. “My name is Robb.”

“Robb as in robber?” Daenerys asked as she watched him withdraw her suitcase. When she approached, hands resting on her lower back, she noted that his cheeks had reddened.

“No, just Robb,” the guy assured her. He nodded down his black tracksuit, the fabric imprinted with the golden words ‘Casterly Resort’. “I work here.”

“I sure hope you do, because that’s my stuff.”

“What, just the one?” Robb looked at her small case with disbelief, and Daenerys swiftly snatched it from his hands.

“What about it?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

Robb merely shrugged. “Most of the ladies here bring their whole wardrobe,” he explained, “never known a woman to survive with less than ten frocks.”

“Well, Dany better get used to living small,” Rhaegar said. He approached from the front of the car and put his arm around Daenerys’ shoulders, giving them a small squeeze. “She intends to join the Peace Corps.”

“Peace is a fickle thing,” Tywin spoke. He followed behind Rhaegar, his walk calculated as if he measured the world by his own steps. His eyes on Daenerys were so intense that she felt herself cool under his stare. “But if not for this man, I would’ve found it in an early grave,” he said. When he finally looked away, Daenerys breathed out in relief.

“You’re a doctor, Sir?” Robb asked Rhaegar with admiration.

“One of the best,” Tywin replied before his head snapped to Robb. “Now don’t dawdle, boy, and show Dany the way.”

“Right.” Robb hurried to grab the two remaining suitcases before gesturing for Daenerys to follow. “This way to the cottage, Miss!”

“Just Dany is fine,” Daenerys assured him. She followed a step behind, her eyes roaming the landscape around them.

The grass had been cut meticulously, and it stretched all the way to the edge of the lake. In the still water, the blue sky was reflected as well as the shape of the mountains, their slate grey peaks hovering in the distance. The air was heavy with the smell of peonies from the flowerbeds huddled up against the main building. She passed them by with a small smile on her lips. “It sure is beautiful around here.”

“It is a place of rest,” Robb spoke, and his words sounded carefully rehearsed, “as well as a resort where you are sure to find entertainment.”

“Is that so,” Daenerys said, her voice bored. She could already see it: cabaret in the evening, performed by mediocre local stars and volunteers. The thought alone made her grimace.

Robb, seemingly unbothered by his unenthusiastic guest, continued his spiel: “We have game nights and all sorts of classes, including dance lessons. We even have one taught by a former Rockette!”

“People really attend these things?”

“Oh yeah. Just the other night-”

As he rambled, Daenerys’ eyes sought the building. The old stone walls were rugged, but the windows newly painted cream. All of them had been opened wide, allowing the breeze to tug at the thin curtains, and she felt her steps slow as she peeked into the grand dining room on the other side.

The tables were nestled close, all of them covered in thick cloths and set with white plates wearing golden edges, shining silver cutlery, and glasses so recently washed that water was still clinging onto their stems. It was a weary sight, akin a grandmother’s idea of perfection, and she was about to catch up to Robb when something stopped her right in her steps. It was the sight of something unmistakably familiar - fluttering strands of silver hair.

“Listen up, guys,” a voice rang from inside the room, the tone of it pitched. “There are two kinds of help here. You waiters are college boys. My grandfather has carefully selected you, and I shouldn’t have to remind you why.”

The silver hair moved from one sill to the next. Daenerys put down her suitcase, and she quickly walked the small strip of grass to the window and glanced in.

There, against the back wall, a group of young men were gathered. They were all dressed in black slacks and white jackets, their collar yellow. In their midst stood a golden haired boy, his own suit dark red. He was shorter than the men around him, and appeared younger too, but when he spoke, they all listened and watched him with care. Daenerys realised it was his voice that had carried outside.

“I expect you all to play your part in this family business,” he said, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he walked about, looking into the eyes of every person present, “and show the goddamn daughters a good time.”

“Even the dogs?” someone chortled.

Daenerys felt a shiver run down her spine. She recognised the voice at once, and before the guy turned in the window, she knew him to be her brother.

Viserys, she thought, eyeing her sibling. He was a thin man, pale and frail, but nonetheless handsome in his own way. In this, he was alike Rhaegar - attractive in looks, although less so in personality. He was smiling proudly at his own comment, and the blond haired lad did not seem to mind.

Instead, he turned to Viserys with a grin on his lips as he chuckled: “Especially the dogs.” He licked his thin lips, waiting for the lads to stop grinning before he stated: “Romance them - but no more. Keep your,” he gestured at his crotch, “zipped.”

“Got that, boys?” a guy called, flinging the kitchen door open as he strutted into the dining hall. Daenerys’ eyes widened as her gaze fell on this newcomer: Black, curly locks. Pale, grey eyes. Round, soft lips. Broad, sturdy shoulders and thick arms which stretched out his worn tee. As she watched him, she felt her mouth go dry, and she lowered herself even further, suddenly frightened of being caught staring.

The golden haired boy snapped his fingers and waved at the newcomer. “Hey, you - entertainment staff,” he said, his voice thick with dislike, “don’t forget you have your own rules.” He paused, clearly waiting for a level of attention that he never got, and as the black-haired guy kept walking, his voice rose to keep up with him: “You teach the women any dance they want - but that’s where it ends. No funny business!”

“Think you can keep track of that, Jon?” Viserys smirked. It was only then that the guy - Jon, supposedly - turned on his heels and slowly walked back toward the group. As he approached, Viserys straightened up, just enough to look him in the eyes. “What you can and can’t do?”

Daenerys could sense the intensity in the room. It was thick, like the way thunder fills the air with electricity before the bolts show on the sky. She felt the small hairs on her arms stand up as the two men stared each other down.

“Keep playing with your pickle, college boy,” Jon said, his voice gruff, “and leave the hard stuff to me.”

“Dany!”

Daenerys stirred as her name was called, and before the two guys could turn to see her, she ducked low and scurried back to her suitcase. By the time she’d picked it up, Robb had returned, his face looking red.

“Miss!” he said out of breath. “Where did you go? I was almost by the cottage when I noticed you were gone!”

“Sorry, I got distracted,” Daenerys said and bit her lower lip. When Robb paused, clearly expecting a more in-depth explanation, she weakly gestured toward a rose bush and said: “I like flowers.” She knew she sounded dumb, but Robb nodded as if understanding.

“Luck has it - we have flower arranging classes, too,” he spoke, easily falling back into his staff role, and this time she followed closely by his side as he led her toward the buildings by the lakeside.

Still as they walked, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder back toward the windows, and she could’ve sworn she saw a grey pair of eyes watching her all the way down the path.

As darkness fell, the dining hall was starkly lit up, and during dinner Daenerys found herself glancing at every waiter, trying to determine if she recognised their faces from earlier that day. They are all here, she decided whilst mindlessly picking at the napkin in her lap, her plate of food barely touched, all but one.

It was strange to her, but the image of the black-haired Jon still lingered in her mind. There was something in the way he had watched her walk that unsettled her and made her stomach flutter. She couldn’t quite decide whether she liked the feeling or not.

“You have ogled every man in here tonight,” someone said from behind her, “Has anyone caught your fancy?”

Before Daenerys could move to see who spoke, Rhaegar rose from his seat at the table. “Viserys!” he cried with joy, and she turned just in time to see the two of them embrace.

As earlier, Viserys was dressed like a waiter - black trousers, white jacket, his dark bow tie sitting neatly at his ironed collar. It is odd to see him like this, Daenerys thought. Back home, her sibling refused to wear anything but the finest garbs, always insisting that only the newest fashion would do. Yet he was smiling, and he looked almost proud as he straightened his jacket for Rhaegar to admire.

“I was starting to think we wouldn’t get to see you at all today,” Rhaegar said, “where have you been hiding?”

“Hiding!” Viserys laughed. In his shrillness, Daenerys could hear how he forced himself to sound upbeat, but their brother looked undeterred. “I have been working. Mr Lannister has been a most generous host for these past few weeks.”

“I shall give him my thanks,” Rhaegar said.

As if on cue, Tywin approached on Daenerys’ left, hovering over her shoulder as he spoke: “Nonsense, Rhaegar.” When Daenerys glanced up at him, he met her eyes coolly. “It seems to me Viserys is a bit of a protege when it comes to business administration. It has been a pleasure showing him the ropes around here. I am sorry to have him on waiting duties. Only it would not be fair to the others-” He paused, his eyes finally ripping away from her to look at her brothers, and she glanced over in time to see Viserys swiftly shaking his head. His silver locks bounced around his sharp face.

“Not at all, Sir,” he said, his voice strained, “it’s an honour.”

Of course, Daenerys realised as she eyed her brother. Though almost invisible, she could see a faint glow of pink starting to form on his cheeks, and his violet eyes appeared just slightly darker than usual. She knew him to be getting upset. You don’t get something for nothing from the Lannisters. You want their influence, you pay your dues - and thank them for it.

“Yes, Viserys’ future no doubt lies in management,” Rhaegar said, his voice certain, and he looked kindly from their sibling to her as he continued: “And Dany here will change the world.”

“Peace Corps, was it?” Tywin said, his voice so neutral that Daenerys couldn’t tell if he meant to admire or mock her. “And what do you plan to do there?”

“Dany plans to decorate it,” Viserys scoffed, his voice leaving no doubt about the fact that he intended to insult her.

Daenerys felt her cheeks flush, and she finally rose from her chair, the napkin slipping to the floor, and she turned to bid them all a good night. Only someone spoke sooner than she:

“Decorate it? I think she already does.”

Daenerys almost flinched when she saw who had spoken. It’s the golden haired boy, she realised, recognising the arrogant lad from earlier. He had changed into a dark blue suit, one that matched Tywin’s, and now, as he stood at his side, she could see a clear resemblance between them. Mostly in the way their eyes lingered on her, making her shuffle uncomfortably on the spot.

Tywin clapped his hands together. “Ah, Rhaegar, this is my grandson Joffrey. He goes to the Highgarden School of Hotel Management.”

“Is that so?” Rhaegar spoke. “Dany will be starting at Dorne’s this year.”

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a lady who possesses not only beauty but a clever mind,” Joffrey spoke with a sleazy smile, and he took hold of Daenerys’ hand as he bowed down to kiss it.

Like slimy worms , Daenerys thought as his lips sloppily moved across her knuckles. When he glanced into her eyes, she forced a smile to her lips, as always appearing perfectly polite. “A pleasure,” she muttered. Once he let go of her hand, she discreetly wiped it off in her skirt.

“The band’s playing next door,” Joffrey said, looking between Tywin and Rhaegar. “I would be most delighted if Miss Targaryen would honour me with a dance.”

Daenerys sent Rhaegar a panicked look, and her brother stuttered: “Well, it is rather late,” as he awkwardly checked the time on his wrist watch. Even from where she was standing, Daenerys could see the hands showing just 7pm.

“Let the young ones live,” Tywin urged, and he smiled as Joffrey claimed Daenerys’ hand once more, this time leading her with him out of the dining hall.

“He is right,” Daenerys said, glancing back over her shoulder toward Rhaegar. The last thing she caught before she slippered out of the room was Viserys’ grinning face. “It is late.”

“You don’t have to play a mouse with me,” Joffrey said, his fingers digging in between hers. As they walked down the empty hallway, the only sound being their footsteps echoing between the wooden walls, he looked at her with a smirk on his lips. “Your father is no longer here to watch you.”

Daenerys resisted the urge to gag, and she gritted her teeth together as she merely stated: “He is not my father. Rhaegar is my brother.”

“No way,” Joffrey chuckled in honest surprise, “he looks so much older than you!”

“He did raise us like a father,” she admitted. She was glancing around, trying to come up with something she could use as an excuse to leave, but her mind was completely blank. All she could do was listen to the distant rumbling of music, the sound growing louder as they approached the door at the end. “Our parents died when I was young.”

“I wish my mother was dead,” Joffrey said casually, and Daenerys’ lips snapped shut in shock. She stared at him speechless until he awkwardly laughed: “I don’t mean that, of course!” Still something told her he did.

Before she could question him further, though, the door was pushed open, and the music embraced them at once. The live band was playing light ballroom music, nothing that would get the crowd of over 50s too heated up, but Joffrey seemed excited all the same. He took both her hands in his as he dragged her out onto the dancefloor, right into the midst of the crowd, and started leading her by the waist.

As they clumsily jiggled, Daenerys glanced around. The room was drab, the only noticeable attempt at creating an atmosphere being the overhead machine continuously blowing bubbles across the space. She wafted a blob of soap out of her face before realising that Joffrey was speaking to her. “What?”

“I asked - are you studying English?” His voice was polite, but the question stung all the same.

Daenerys forced herself not to huff. “No, economics of underdeveloped countries,” she replied. If she expected a reaction, she was disappointed - Joffrey’s face remained blank as a slate. “I intend to do good in this world,” she specified.

“After the final show, my grandfather is flying me out to Volantis,” Joffrey said. “Sunbathing, swimming - I can’t wait.”

“Sounds like we have the same goal in life,” Daenerys smiled.

Joffrey returned the smile cluelessly. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll get him to buy an extra ticket,” he said and winked, and Daenerys suppressed a grimace.

“What a proposition.”

As the music ended, Daenerys was grateful to let go of Joffrey’s needy grab, and she clapped for few seconds longer than necessary as the band bowed to the audience, allowing a breeze to run over her warm palms. What am I doing here? she thought, feeling her lips shiver as she turned back to Joffrey, retaining her polite smile.

There was nothing Daenerys wanted more than to skip into the cool evening air, perhaps stroll down by the lakeside in the quiet, just allowing her thoughts to wander. Ever since Rhaegar announced that they were visiting Viserys at Casterly Resort, she had tried to prepare herself for what was to come: dull dinners, cringeworthy entertainment, and long conversations with entitled folks who would pay gold for dust if they believed it to be the newest fad.

I am not doing it for Viserys, she reminded herself, even more so as the band started playing again, and Joffrey joyfully announced that they had to do the mambo. I am doing it for Rhaegar.

So she allowed his grabby hands to reach her one more time, closing around her fingers and waist, and they trudged back and forth as her mind started closing down, her body moving at its own accord. She could’ve gotten lost in the bumping shoulders, stench of body odour, and taste of the soapy bubbles falling from above, had it not been for them.

From the first beat of the music, they stood out from the crowd. Her - tall and skinny, brown locks partially tied up whilst the rest danced around a heart-shaped face, eyes squinted like a kitten’s, lips pursed as if ready for kissing. Him - black curls bouncing around his square face, his jaw covered in a thick beard, his lips pulled into a confident smile, his grey eyes sparkling in the light.

That’s Jon, Daenerys realised at once, and her steps slowed long enough for Joffrey to notice that she was distracted. Once he caught sight of what she was staring at, his face scrounged into a scoff.

“Oh God, what a palaver,” he groaned.

“Who are they?” Daenerys asked, her voice breathless. It wasn’t merely the way they looked that made her heart throb - it was the way they danced.

Jon swung the woman around, her back bending as if her spine was made of rubber - so far back did she go when urged by his steady hand, and just as easily did she swing back up, her body moving perfectly to the beat of the music. It was as if she was a blade of grass and he was the breeze. Wherever he led her, she went, assured that he would not go astray; around they danced, their steps smooth, their bodies demanding space on the floor, and whoever saw them move eagerly stepped aside, their faces bright with amazement at what was playing out before their eyes.

“Them?” Joffrey scoffed, “they’re the dance people. They’re just here to keep the guests happy.” His tone of voice suggested she should pay them no heed, yet Daenerys could not drag her eyes away from them.

Jon was assertive, she noted. His hand on the woman’s waist was strong, it was leading. He moved her body about with ease, causing her pink dress skirt to ride around her hips when they swayed, and when he swung her around, the smirk on his lips was incredibly indulging. Daenerys caught herself wondering what it would feel like to have him look at her in that way, his grey eyes ravaging her body, his hand urging her waist, pulling her close.

Joffrey, on the other hand, seemed less impressed by the whole display. He crossed his arms and sighed: “They shouldn’t be showing off like that together. That won’t sell lessons.”

“I suppose,” Daenerys muttered, still she noted every person in the room was eyeing the two of them. Her eyes sought from the woman’s silver heels up her legs, further past her back until she glanced over her shoulder at Jon, and that’s when she met his pale, grey eyes.

He’s seen me, she thought and froze in place. For a second, she felt sweat prickle at her skin, and she tried to convince herself that she was imagining it. Nonetheless, his gaze was locked with hers, and she swore he winked at her when his dance partner swung her leg up onto his shoulder, and his rough fingertips closed at her heel, holding her in place as he shuffled backwards.

The whole room gasped in shock. Joffrey’s face was going red as a beet. “This is disgusting. I’m getting my grandfather.” He stomped off, and Daenerys shyly stepped to the side, ducking into the crowd that had gathered around the dancers. By the time she could peek in over someone’s shoulder, she saw Jon, hands readied for the woman as she jumped toward him, landing perfectly in his arms for one final swing.

Amazing, Daenerys thought, her eyes glimmering, and she tip-toed, eager to see more, when Jon’s sparkling eyes suddenly seemed to dull. She followed his gaze through the crowd to Tywin, his face stern as he slowly shook his head, and by the time she looked back, Jon had disappeared, and the space he had created on the dancefloor was once again filled with couples doing the mambo.

“That ought to teach them,” Joffrey said as he popped up behind her, causing Daenerys to squirm in surprise. He misunderstood her reaction and eyed her with sadness. “Dany, I apologise for that indecent display.”

“Not at all,” Daenerys replied, perhaps a bit too quickly, and she swiftly clarified: “I think I need some air after that.”

“Of course! Let me escort you-” Joffrey started, but Daenerys shook her head and put a bit of force into her voice as she stated:

“Alone, please,” and, realising how harsh she sounded, added: “Thank you for tonight, Joffrey. It was most, uh, interesting.”

“You are indeed,” Joffrey smiled, and he placed another wet kiss on her hand, “ most interesting.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure for how long she’d been walking, she only knew that by the time she reached the ‘STAFF ONLY’ sign, she was too sore and tired to care. With a slouched back, she scurried past it, hugging her cold frame as she made her way up the hilly path.

When she first fled Joffrey in the ballroom, her mind had been racing. Though she tried to force herself to look ahead, focusing on the end of summer and her upcoming study, her thoughts kept returning to the sight of Jon. She wasn’t certain what about the man that made her heart skip a beat, only that his face lingered in her mind, and whenever she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, she saw him dance across her lids, his body strong, his smirk urging her closer.

She imagined herself dancing the way his brown-haired partner had, completely carefree and confident, her body swaying sensually, her eyes daring the world to judge her. Rhaegar would disown me, she scolded herself, and the realisation made her scared and giddy all at once. He would lock me up in a nunnery until the end of my days.

Around her, the dark path through the sparse woods grew lighter as the sideroad lamps were outshined by the large lit building ahead. On the top floor, she could see movement, and the distant sound of music playing loitered in the air like a quiet rain. She couldn’t quite make out the tones, but it jolted about, teasing her ears and making them perk, and it encouraged her to carry on until she reached a tall set of steps.

At the bottom, she recognised the man struggling to hold three watermelons close to his chest.

“Hi Robb!” she greeted, and she approached him with quick steps.

Robb turned to look at her, his gaze confused and surprised all at once. “Dany,” he realised, “how’d you get here?”

“I just went for a walk,” she said with a shrug. As swiftly as she’d claimed her suitcase from him that morning did she wrestle a watermelon free of his grasp. “Let me help you.”

“No, sorry,” Robb said, his voice thick with concern. “No guests are allowed.”

“Why? What’s up there?” Daenerys asked and glanced toward the lit building. The longer she looked at it, the louder the music seemed. She recognised the instruments: guitars, bass, drums, saxophone, piano. “Is it a party?”

“No guests allowed,” Robb repeated. “You should probably head back to your loverboy.”

“Loverboy?” Daenerys scoffed, and Robb smirked, clearly entertained by the frustrated look on her face.

“I saw you dancing with the little boss man,” he said and pursed his lips into a kiss as he mockingly hummed: “Mh-hm!”

Daenerys felt her chest clench with anger, and she pushed the melon back into his trembling arms. “I thought you were nice,” she chided and watched him stumble, but before she could turn and walk away, Robb sighed and shook his head.

“You’re right - I’m sorry,” he said, and though she wasn’t sure whether he was just saying so to get her help or not, what he said next piqued her interest all the same: “Can you keep a secret?”

“You’re not leading me to my death, are you?” she jested as she grabbed the watermelon once more. As they made their way up the stairs, Robb laughed.

“Perhaps,” he said. His voice was light from strain, and she noted a drip of sweat slipping down his forehead. “I know your father would kill you if he knew.”

“Not my father,” she said for the second time that day and sighed. “Rhaegar is my brother.”

“All the same - Tywin would kill me too!”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. Men are so dramatic, she thought, though when Robb led her all the way to the top floor of the mansion, she suddenly understood his hesitation.

As the doors swung open, what was revealed astonished her: if Joffrey had shown her to the ballroom of death, Robb had led her to the room where life was created. At least, it seemed that the men and women on the dance floor before her were persistently trying to make something happen with the way they grinded and rubbed against one another, their bodies scarcely clothed and their movements suggestive. James Brown’s rhythmic ‘Mashed Potatoes’ was playing, and every man and woman in the room seemed to understand the music, breathe the music, live it. The longer she looked, the more Daenerys came to realise that some of their movements had been mirrored by Jon and his dance partner earlier that evening, although in a more conservative setting. These couples, however, had no restraints, and she heard herself ask:

“Where did they learn to do that?”

“Where?” Robb asked, his eyes busy taking in the scene before them. He looked as impressed as she, she noticed, though she was sure he’d known what to expect. He shrugged: “I don’t know. Kids are doing it at home. Want to try?”

Daenerys quickly shook her head, earning herself a laugh from Robb as he called: “Come on, Dany!” and made his way through the dancing crowd.

Daenerys squeezed the watermelon tight to her chest as she followed, inching her way around the couples. Some of them seemed lost in each others bodies, their frames not moving to make space for her, whilst others sent her disapproving glares, their eyes slowly judging her from top to bottom. She curled her toes in her flats and wondered why she had decided to wear her boring a-line dress that evening, but it was too late for regrets.

By the time she reached the other side, Robb had already placed the watermelons on a makeshift bar. He grabbed hers and added it to the pile before turning toward the dancing crowd. “Something else, isn’t it?” he asked with a sigh, and Daenerys leaned onto the counter next to him as she nodded, her own gaze darting across the dancers. “Imagine this taking place in the ballroom? Tywin would shut the whole place down before allowing it.”

There was a sudden cheer from the crowd. As Daenerys glanced back toward the door, she caught a couple of known faces entering, causing everyone on the floor to clap their hands.

Jon , she recognised, his black hair now pulled back into a neat bun. He looked different. He looked-”

“Nice, isn’t she?” Robb sighed. Daenerys shortly glanced from him to Jon’s brown-haired dance partner. She too had loosened her hairdo, her locks jumping freely around her shoulders. “Her name’s Margaery. She’s the former Rockette I was telling you about.”

“Margaery,” Daenerys repeated in a whisper, and she looked at her pink skirt as it flounced about, Jon steadily leading her into the music with ease. They didn’t stumble as if they’d just arrived mid-song, she realised. No, they’re professionals, she thought, noticing how their moves were more accurate than everyone else’s, more sensual, more in tune.

“And that’s my brother Jon,” Robb said, pointing to the black-haired guy.

Daenerys took in a sharp breath as she watched him dance, his shoulders rocking, his feet slipping across the floor. “Brother?” she asked.

“Well, kind of,” Robb said. His lips were curved into a small smile as his eyes lingered on Margaery. “We grew up together. He got me the job here last summer.”

Daenerys nodded mindlessly, her eyes too busy taking up every move. “They sure look good together,” she muttered after a while, admiring how Margaery flailed her skirt as she danced around Jon, and he urged her on, his smile teasing.

“Yeah, you’d think they were a couple,” Robb admitted.

“Well, aren’t they?” Daenerys asked, causing him to chuckle.

“Not since we were kids!” He licked his lips and sighed, and Daenerys did the same, both of them longingly watching as Jon and Margaery finished off their set with her jumping to his shoulders, her knees locked at his head, her skirt swinging high as she sent Robb a naughty smile.

The whole room clapped and cheered, closing in around them as Jon lowered Margaery back onto the floor, but the joy soon spread into another dance, the song changing swiftly. Daenerys sank back against the counter as her eyes met Jon’s.

Even from across the dance floor, she felt how intense his stare was. But in comparison to that of the Lannisters, Jon’s gaze was welcomed, and it made her whole body tingle. As he moved closer, pushing his way through the dancing bodies to reach her, she felt her cheeks go pink, and she averted her eyes as he stopped before her.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked, his voice as gruff as this morning, and Daenerys wondered if he really was so broody or just putting it on.

Robb fiddled with his shirt. “She’s alright. She came with me,” he explained.

Feeling a need to justify her presence, Daenerys glanced back up into Jon’s eyes and said: “I carried a watermelon.” She awkwardly gestured towards the melons on the table, and Jon quirked his brows.

“Right,” he just said and paused, and Daenerys looked back down, scolding herself:

I carried a watermelon? What kind of thing is that to say?

Still, as her eyes lingered on the tips of Jon’s shoes, she didn’t see them move away. Instead, he remained, and after a second or two, she looked up to meet his gaze and found him smirking at her dirtily.

“Come,” he said, his eyes beckoning her to follow, and she met his stare full on, feeling butterflies rumbling in her stomach. As he backed onto the floor, she could only follow, feeling the music beat through her body, making her heartbeat quicken.

Daenerys was no dancer, and truly she wasn’t sure why he didn’t just leave her the moment she stiffly jerked her hips and bumped into his chest. But he just laughed, his voice silenced by the loud saxophone, and she shyly pulled herself back, her hand warm from where it had touched his body. She had felt his strong frame on her palm, the ripples of his abs obvious through his thin, unbuttoned shirt, but she tried not to linger on the thought lest she should blush.

Jon easily fell in line with the music, his hips moving to the beat, and Daenerys stood in front of him, clumsily copying his jerking movements, the hemline of her dress riding up her legs. It didn’t take long for him to shake his head and reach out to correct her.

“No,” he spoke, but she didn’t hear it, just read his plump lips as they moved. “Like this.” He pushed firmly down on her shoulders, making her bend in the knees, and his rough hands slipped down her small frame, closing at her hips as he moved them in tune.

Daenerys felt herself flustered, worried if he was judging the flesh he was certain to feel jiggle on her untrained body, but once their gazes locked, her buzzing mind quieted immediately. Because in his grey eyes, she found no judgement, just amusement mixed with a tingle of desire, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“Good,” he said as she swayed her hips, and she felt a smile take over her lips. She could no longer hold it back, especially not when he drew her closer, the scent of his sweat and aftershave tingling her sensed. “Very good.”

Joffrey tried to compliment me at length, but it didn’t make me feel this breathless, Daenerys thought, realising that she had been holding her breath. She gasped in, causing Jon to chuckle, and once more she tried to avert her eyes. Only this time she couldn’t. She could only get lost in his stare, his smirk, his moving body, and press herself close to him, their scents mixing into one.

She could smell him. She could taste him - this close, his breath slipped across her lips, and she could sense cigarette smoke and beer and berries in his air, the scents raw and sweet all at once. Her fingertips tingled. She felt a sudden need to reach out and take a hold of him, and before she could stop herself, she had her arms wrapped around his neck, allowing him to draw her even closer.

His crotch grinded to her dress. Her hips moved with a need to have him closer. She felt herself soaked in heat. Sweat dripped from between her shoulder blades to her lower back. Her knickers felt wet. I should not allow myself to be carried away this easily, she chided herself, yet she did not hesitate to give in, especially not when Jon’s lips curved into a dirty smile and his front teeth tucked at his lower lip, his eyes eating her up.

She felt wanted, she felt needed. She didn’t want their dance to end.

Then, he slipped from beneath her arms, twirling her around and causing her to squeal with glee, but when she rolled back on her heels to face him, he was slipping back into the dance crowd, disappearing out of sight. All she could do was join the others in cheering for the end of the song and clap along for the next, though she felt the joy for dancing had left her heart at once.

The lakeside was crammed. Where the lush forest ended, a small strip of white sand allowed easy access to the blue water, and Casterly Resort seemed determined to make the most of their little beach. As far as Daenerys could see, white plastic recliners had been lined up, and women with their skin scorched red from the morning sun slowly flipped over as if on cue, all of them baring their pale backs to the intense midday heat.

When Robb told me he had a surprise, Daenerys thought, ripping her eyes away from the glistening lake to the table in front of her, I didn’t think this would be it.

“Now, listen up ladies,” a man bellowed, trudging his way back and forth in front of the table, “flower arranging is a delicate matter, but you know what they say - a woman who can handle her flowers, can handle her man!”

Who has ever said that? Daenerys wondered and glanced across the flowers on display; daisies, lilies, and roses, and yellow carnations aplenty. All freshly cut from the resort’s many flowerbeds and brought to the lakeside in large wooden boxes. More were being poured out by the bellowing man, his black tracksuit soaked with sweat as he fumbled with the next batch.

As the women around her started selecting their bunches, Daenerys picked up a rose and watched its red petals with a sigh. There’s so much I’d rather be doing, she thought and closed her eyes as she smelled the flower’s sweet aroma, the scent sending her back to the morning she arrived. How she stood near the bushes, glancing through the window into the dining hall. How she saw Jon for the first time.

Daenerys didn’t consider herself a daydreamer, yet whenever she closed her eyes, she was back in the ballroom. But no longer was she a spectator - no, she was in Margaery’s pink dress, and the Rockette’s trained routine became her own. She held onto her skirt, the soft fabric tickling her heated skin, and when she twirled, a breeze surrounded her, cooling down her clammy body. Though she did not know the name of a single dance step, in her mind she knew them all, and she did them to perfection - just to end up in Jon’s strong arms at the end.

Daenerys shivered, feeling how his rough hands closed around her small shoulders. He dragged her close. His lips pressed to her ear. He whispered:

“I hear you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Daenerys’ eyes fluttered open, and she glared at Viserys in surprise. He cackled next to her ear and let go of her shoulders as he straightened up. “What do you mean?” she asked, and she shuffled a bit to the side as he claimed the seat next to her.

Her brother lazily dug through the piles of flowers. “I saw you dance,” he said, and Daenerys felt her cheeks go pink.

“You did?” she mumbled, her mind immediately buzzing with the images of her and Jon on the dancefloor in the staff room. Of course, he’s staff too, she reminded herself, but before she could stutter a defence, Viserys smirked:

“Are you and Mr Lannister an item now?”

Daenerys felt all air seep out of her lungs. He doesn’t mean Jon - he means Joffrey! she realised. The relief must have shown on her face, because Viserys perked and his smile deepened.

“Look at that grin,” he said, pointing to her dimples, and Daenerys sucked in her lower lip as she forced her face back to a neutral state. “You are an item!”

“Nonsense.” Daenerys shook her head, feeling her locks dance around her shoulders in the same. “I have no interest in that self-absorbed boy. He’s-” she paused, looking for the right word before settling on, “odd.”

“The whole family is weird,” Viserys agreed, his voice hushed. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the area for anyone who might be listening in. “But they’re also loaded. If I can play my cards right, I’ll be in the boardroom by next year.”

“Doing what, serving coffee?” Daenerys scoffed.

Viserys’ eyes snapped back to hers. They were glowing with malice. “I’m only being a waiter for show,” he assured her. “Tywin has been teaching me about management for weeks.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Don’t fool yourself,” she snorted. “He does it because he owes Rhaegar his life.”

“He sees potential in me.”

“He sees an easy payback,” Daenerys retorted.

Viserys’ hands were clenched into fists. For a moment, she almost thought he was going to punch her, but he grabbed at her dress instead. Beneath the table, where no one could see his actions, his fingertips dipped so deep into the fabric that she could feel his nails scrape across her skin.

“You listen to me, Dany,” he hissed, his voice a whisper across her face. He leaned in close, the stench of wine obvious on his breath. Daenerys wondered if he was drunk. “You are not going to ruin my chances again. If Joffrey says dance, you dance. If he says smile, you smile. And God be good, if he says bend over, you bend.”

His stare was so intense Daenerys felt her lips dry. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, the threat hanging heavily in the air. Still, she would not nod, and though Viserys waited for her agreement, she kept her mouth shut and her eyes defiant, glaring back at him with as much hostility as she could muster.

It was a husky voice that finally broke the tension: “Good job, ladies.”

Daenerys glanced away from her brother to see Jon. He was walking alongside the table, presumably admiring the women’s work. With his dark shades on, she could not tell for sure, but she sensed his eyes met hers, if only for a second.

“Get lost,” Viserys hissed under his breath, and he got up so quickly that his chair was knocked over. As he stalked around the table, he brushed past Margaery who had arrived in the same, and Daenerys noticed how her brown eyes followed her brother all the way uphill to the main building. Something in them looked bothered, but before she could linger, Margaery turned to smile at Jon as he approached.

“Today’s schedule,” she said, handing him a clipboard. “Your lessons have been requested a lot.”

“Won’t have any time for myself,” Jon mumbled as he flipped through the pages.

“Not like you do much when you’re off.”

“Not much,” Jon agreed. He glanced out of the corners of his eyes, and Daenerys felt her spine tingle when their eyes met. She quickly glanced down, taking in a deep breath to prepare herself to say something.

Yet, by the time she stood up, Jon had already taken his leave, trudging back down the beach, and she meekly flipped Viserys’ chair back up standing before stepping over to Margaery.

“Hi,” she smiled, earning herself a peculiar glance from the woman. Daenerys straightened her blue dress and stammered: “Is it really true that you were a Rockette?” As she didn’t get an answer immediately, she started feeling her palms go sweaty and, in an attempt to redeem herself, admitted: “I think you’re a wonderful dancer.”

Margaery scoffed, her lips pursing into an overbearing smile, and Daenerys wanted to dig deep into the sand and just hide. She wasn’t sure what about the woman made her feel like such a girl , but her huffed tone of voice did nothing to calm her nerves. “Well, my mother married me off when I was sixteen,” she snapped, flipping through her own clipboard of papers. Daenerys noticed that her name appeared less than Jon’s. “I fled to live with my grandmother. I have been dancing ever since. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“I envy you,” Daenerys spoke shyly. She meant it as a compliment, but Margaery just smiled wryly.

“Got to make ends meet, right?” she said and glanced Daenerys up and down before chortling: “Not that you would know, Miss.” She turned on her heels with ease and stomped the same way she came, leaving Daenerys flustered on the beach, her red cheeks glowing brightly against the white sand.

As evening fell across Casterly Resort, paper lanterns in bright colours were strung alongside the wooden pavilion, their soft glow mingling with the dim lines of fairy lights wrapped around the main beams. A gentle tune teased the air as couples in their finest garbs joined to do the foxtrot, and Rhaegar happily watched the scene before him as his fingertips tapped to his glass of wine.

“Are you not participating?” Daenerys jested. She stood next to him, her loosely knitted cardigan keeping her warm as her thin, white outfit did little to keep out the evening breeze. At his request, she had attempted to dress up, her brother insisting that the Lannisters would consider it a show of respect.

“It is only polite - Tywin has been a good host,” Rhaegar had said as they got ready in the cottage.

“A good host would not expect anything of his guests,” Daenerys had replied, but nonetheless she chose her best dress, the fabric almost as pale as her silver hair. When Rhaegar saw her in it, he had smiled proudly and said:

“Joffrey was right, Dany. You do decorate the world,” and though the mention of Tywin’s disturbed grandson made her cringe, she accepted her brother’s warm hug all the same.

Now, as she glanced up at him, his silver hair slicked back, the ends of his locks brushing against his stark black suit, she saw a faint line of pink spread across his cheeks. Whether from her question or the wine, she was not certain, but he waved her off with a: “I am just waiting for a waltz.”

“Liar. You can’t do a waltz.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me do it, doesn’t mean I am incapable.”

“Then show me,” Daenerys urged and held out her hand. To her surprise, her sibling claimed it in his, but instead of leading her into dance, he dragged her close and pecked her forehead. It made her giggle. “I knew it!”

“If you want to do the waltz, I can get them to change the music, my dear,” a slick voice offered.

Daenerys’ giggling turned to a choke as she laid eyes on Joffrey. He walked up the steps to the pavilion, a haughty smile dominating his thin lips. When he reached out for her, Daenerys swiftly shook her head. “Oh no, it’s okay,” she said, imitating a weary voice, “I am feeling rather tired.”

“If you need to lie down, I know a place,” Joffrey said smoothly, and his voice was so polite that not even Rhaegar seemed to catch on.

But as Daenerys stared into his glimmering eyes, she knew exactly what he had in mind. “I am good, thanks,” she muttered, and Joffrey shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” He joined her side as the three of them stood watching the dancefloor, and it wasn’t until Joffrey laughed: “Would you look at that!” that Daenerys realised she recognised one of the dancers.

There, in the back, so far behind the crowd of elderly couples that she’d scarcely cared to look, Jon was dancing. He was dressed like the waiters, his white suit jacket contrasting his black hair nicely. When he moved, his curls danced around his square face, teasing his eyelashes and plump lips. The sight alone made Daenerys’ knees feel weak.

But it was not just Jon that caused Joffrey to scoff, but his partner too. He was not leading Margaery, but a red-haired woman. Her bright locks hung straight down her pale face, and her lips, red like blood, were pursed in a naughty smile as her eyes ate up Jon’s body. Her short, black dress left little to the imagination, her breasts barely kept in place when she twirled, and the scene caused Joffrey to grimace.

Still, as the woman caught his eyes, he sent her a bright smile.

“Joffrey!” she said and smacked her lips in a kiss, “aren’t my dancing lessons starting to pay off?”

“Melisandre!” he returned the greeting, “you look great. Terrific.” His voice was as fake as the woman’s long nails, yet she lolled her head about with a charming smile as she proceeded to dance with Jon. Joffrey lowered his voice as he turned to Daenerys to speak: “That’s Melisandre, one of the bungalow bunnies. That’s what we call the women who stay here all week, always without their husbands. Now that one,” he nodded at the red-haired woman, “she spends every paycheck on dancing with the bastard.”

“The bastard?” Daenerys said confused, causing Joffrey to cluck his tongue with a sad headshake.

His hand snuck onto her shoulder. It was clammy, but she could not shove him away, not if she wanted to hear what he knew. “It’s not a story fit for a lady’s ears, I’m afraid. Born out of wedlock, not a penny to his name. Not even a family to call his own.”

“I thought Robb was his brother?” she mused.

Joffrey snorted. “Why, did he say that?” he asked and laughed. “No, Dany, Jon’s on his own. With his kind of attitude, I think we’re all better off that way. Rumour has it most of his lessons are taught horizontally, if you know what I mean.” At this, he gave her shoulder a squeeze, and Daenerys tucked her arms around her body as her eyes slipped from Joffrey to Jon.

So he is just a player? Daenerys thought. Still, when his grey eyes moved from Melisandre’s face to meet hers, their gazes locking across the dance floor, she felt herself tremble with want all the same.

“Hey, entertainment staff,” Joffrey called and snapped his fingers. He left Daenerys’ side as he pushed between the couples to reach Jon, and with a tug at his arm he dragged him out of the dance. “Where’s Margaery? I’ve had loads of men asking for her. Someone needs to do the cha cha around here.”

“What do you mean, where’s Margaery?” Jon asked. His whole attitude seemed to change - his hands slipped into the pockets of his slacks, and he leaned forward to stare into Joffrey’s eyes. “She’s taking a break. She needs a break.”

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed. He glanced from Daenerys to Jon and then huffed: “As long as it’s not an all-night break.” He then gave him a nod, waving for him to continue his dance, before trudging back to Daenerys. “Come on, doll, let’s go for a walk.”

Daenerys felt her stomach clench. “Sorry, Joffrey, as said - I am rather tired.” She glanced up at Rhaegar, hoping that her brother would come to her rescue. But he seemed too engaged with his glass of wine, his body rocking to the music, so when Joffrey pressed:

“A little air will wake you up,” she had no more excuses to give.

Together they walked the path alongside the lake, leaving behind the pavilion. A cool breeze blew in from across the water, causing Daenerys to wrap her cardigan tight around her small frame, and she glanced toward the trees on the other side, wondering how far the forest stretched.

At her side, Joffrey was quiet, but as they reached a wooden bridge built over a stream, he leaned in to trap her against its railing, his stare intense. “Dany,” he said, and Daenerys pressed her back tight to the wood, trying to create as much distance between them as possible. He smiled: “I love to watch your hair blow in the breeze.”

I should’ve tied it up, Daenerys scolded herself, seeing a grey lock flutter over her shoulder in the same.

Joffrey swirled it around his fingertips as he licked his lips. “It’s silver,” he stated, before glancing around for inspiration, clumsily adding: “Just like the moon.”

“Thanks?” she muttered.

Joffrey chuckled and leaned in close. His breath was wet, and when he smacked his lips, specks of spit flew through the air, making her blink. “You,” he breathed slowly, “are the prettiest girl here tonight, doll.”

When he leaned in, Daenerys leaned back. She felt her fingertips grip so harshly around the wood that she was certain to get splinters on her palms. The railing creaked from the weight of the two of them, and she found herself wishing that it would just give in and let them both tumble into the cold water. Anything but this, she thought, watching his wriggling lips coming closer.

“I should go,” she stuttered, making him pause. She swallowed. “My brothers might be looking for me.” She knew for certain Viserys wasn’t, but something inside of her sensed that perhaps Rhaegar would be.

Joffrey, however, didn’t seem to agree. He shook his head with a smirk. “Dany, they know you’re with me. Seeing the two of us together will make them the happiest people at this resort.” He clucked his tongue and added: “And that’s saying a lot, seeing the way Melisandre danced tonight.”

Daenerys looked at him stumped, unable to come up with any words to speak, but Joffrey seemed to take her silence for admiration.

At least he straightened up, finally freeing her from the railing as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t mean to brag, but,” Joffrey faked a pause, rubbing his cheeks as if trying to encourage a blush to them, “I’m known as quite the catch around here.”

“I’m sure you are,” Daenerys said, almost amused by his arrogance.

Joffrey smiled and nodded. “Just last week, I took away a girl from Robb - he’s that lanky lad Jon calls his brother. Anyway, he asked her: what has he got that I don’t? And you know what she said?” He hesitated, waiting for Daenerys to shake her head before chuckling: “She replied: two hotels!”

As Joffrey descended into a laughing fit, Daenerys watched him blankly, her own lips pursed into a tight pout. She felt like a wildlife observator, thinking to herself that he surely could not be convinced that his story was charming. All the same, he wiped tears from his eyes, his lips tucked far back into a grin as he wheezed:

“I am just that big a deal!”

It was then she heard it. It was a sob, so soft it almost drowned in the sound of Joffrey trying to compose himself. Daenerys stirred, her ears perked as she tried to listen for the noise again, and she turned toward the railing, glancing across the water with curious eyes. Then again - another noise, this time a hearty whimper, and it caused her to glance down, following the stream under the bridge until she saw -

Oh my God! Daenerys gawked as she made eye-contact with Margaery. There she sat in the dark shadow on the bridge, her slender framed huddled against the cold stone, and though she was elegantly dressed in shimmering jewelry and silks, there was nothing glamorous about her. Her brown hair was sticking in every direction, her cheeks were dirtied with running make-up, and her whole body shivered as she tried to hold her breath. This was a far cry from the snooty woman she’d been on the beach, even more from the confident dancer she’d seen in the ballroom. She looks broken, Daenerys realised, her heart hurting at the thought.

Joffrey was finally calming down, his laughter subsiding, and he joined Daenerys at her side, giving her a breathless smile. “What are you looking at, Dany?” he asked and leaned over the side of the bridge. Before he could look down, though, Daenerys swiftly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him away. Her own strength surprised her, and it seemed to shock Joffrey too, because he blinked at her with round eyes. “Dany?”

“Oh, Joffrey, I think-” Daenerys started but stopped, her mind buzzing as it tried to search for an explanation for her actions. Her fingertips at his shirt shivered. She realised that she must be looking scared, so she said: “I think I saw a rat!”

“A rat!” Joffrey clucked his tongue and shook his head. “No such thing around here,” he said amused, but Daenerys insisted:

“I saw it. It was large. Perhaps not a rat. Maybe a bobcat?”

“You can’t mistake a bobcat for a rat,” Joffrey said, but even he sounded a bit concerned now. He glanced toward the railing, and for a moment Daenerys worried if he would attempt to have a peek, but then his arm slipped around her waist, and he dragged her in the direction of the pavilion. “You seem awake now,” he said, sending her a frail smile, “I think we should head back.”

“I agree,” Daenerys said and returned his smile. Still as they walked, she couldn’t help but glance back toward the bridge, wondering if Margaery was hurt.

It seemed the idea of a wild animal had put a fright in Joffrey. At least they barely reached the glow from the lanterns before he excused himself, insisting that his grandfather needed him. He was in such a hurry to get back to the main building that he didn’t even notice that he passed by Tywin on the way.

It was all the same to Daenerys - the moment he was out of sight, she rushed between the chattering guests, trying to spot anyone who might be able to assist. It was Robb who caught her eyes. He was walking up the steps to the pavilion, a bunch of vinyl records in his hands, and he almost dropped them in surprise when she ran up and grabbed him by the arm.

“I need your help,” she urged, and Robb sent her a puzzled look.

“Dany, I’m working,” he said, and he held up the record sleeves for her to see. “I need to find a waltz.” He turned to keep walking, but what she said next stopped him in his steps:

“It’s Margaery. I think she might be injured. I found her crying alone.”

He spun back around and sent her a worried look. “Where is she?”

“By the bridge,” Daenerys said and gestured in the general direction. Her heartbeat was in her throat. She had managed to remain calm on her stroll back with Joffrey, but now she could feel the panic setting in. She took in a sharp breath to clear her mind as she stated: “The white one by the stream. She’s sat under it.”

“Hold on.” Robb skipped the steps and disappeared into the dancing crowd. For a hot second, Daenerys held her breath as she wondered if he would be back, but then he returned, Jon right at his heels. The black-haired man didn’t even offer her a second glance, he just stormed right past her as he headed across the lawn, and it was Robb who pulled her by the shoulder as he said: “Come with.”

As the three of them dashed alongside the lake, Jon called: “Why’s she here?”

“I brought her in case Joffrey comes back,” Robb explained. He glanced from Daenerys to Jon as he added: “She’s the one who found her.”

“Margaery just doesn’t think,” Jon hissed through gritted teeth.

“She wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she?” Robb asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Daenerys tried to follow the conversation while not falling behind. Her shoes gnawed at her feet as she skipped across the stony path, the bridge finally coming into view. “What’s the matter?” she asked, watching Jon’s nape as she spoke. Her voice was slightly out of breath. “What’s wrong with her?” When she first spotted Margaery, she’d thought she could be hurt, but from the way the guys spoke, she gathered something else was going on. When Robb sent her a pained look, she desperately repeated: “What?”

“She’s knocked up, Dany,” he said.

“Robb!” Jon sighed. “She doesn’t have to know.”

Daenerys felt her heart drop. “She’s pregnant?” she whispered, and she gawked at Robb as she gestured toward Jon and said: “What’s he going to do about it?”

Before Robb could reply, Jon turned on his heels and sent Daenerys a glare. “What’s he going to do about it?” he repeated her words, making her go bright red. She’d thought herself quiet. Now all she wanted to do was to disappear into the water never to be seen again - but Jon’s harsh stare kept her in place. “Oh, so it’s mine, right? You think it’s mine.”

“I just thought-” she stuttered, but Jon didn’t let her finish. With a sneer he stomped ahead, making his way beneath the bridge, and all Daenerys could do was to follow, her stomach suddenly tight with pain.

By the time she caught up with him, he was already hugging Margaery tight. In the dark shadows from the bridge, she could just make out the shape of his white jacket as he wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms warm through the fabric. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” his voice soothed her, “I’m never going to let anything happen to you.”

He’s so gentle, Daenerys thought, and she bit her lower lip as she watched himss wipe away Margaery’s tears. How can a man be so angry in one moment, but so kind in the next? She thought back on her brother Viserys whose kindness was always a disguise for darker emotions, yet nothing about Jon seemed harmful when he picked up Margaery and carried her out from beneath the bridge.

“We can’t stay here,” he said to no one in particular, and Robb nodded.

“We’ll go to the staff quarters,” he suggested.

Jon shook his head. “It’s too far - what if we run into Joffrey?”

“He’s gone to the main building,” Daenerys said, and the brothers quieted as they looked at her. Whilst Robb’s eyes were neutral, Jon’s grey ones seemed hesitant. She felt herself blush under his stare, but her voice remained confident as she continued: “I promise. I saw him off myself.”

Jon took in a deep breath, and Daenerys could tell that he was battling with the idea of trusting her. Then, after a pause, he nodded. “Lead on,” he said in a gruff voice, “in case he shows up.”

Daenerys breathed out in relief and nodded. “Follow me.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Jon’s voice echoed loudly in the open space. As Daenerys tiptoed inside, she almost felt like she was intruding, and when Jon met her gaze, she quickly held up the bottle she’d been carrying and offered: “Merlot?”

Without the music and dancers, the top floor room appeared empty. Wherever she looked, Daenerys saw old furniture and crates of empty bottles, and she realised that the space was probably meant for storage. The parties really are a secret, she thought as she walked over to the corner sofa to hand Robb the wine.

“I was thinking whiskey,” he said as he grabbed the bottle.

Daenerys shrugged. “It was all I could find,” she replied, her voice meek. She tucked her cardigan around her body as she glanced across the three of them: Jon, seated askew the armrest, one foot resting on the low coffee table. Robb, sat on the other end, his hands wrestling to unscrew the bottle. Margaery, still huddled up in Jon’s jacket, her body squeezed in between the brothers.

With nowhere to sit, Daenerys awkwardly stood and listened as Jon continued his rant.

“You’re in trouble, you talk to me. I’ll take care of it,” he said, his eyes resting on Margaery. “You should’ve come to me in the first place.”

“Forget it, Jon, I’m not taking what’s left of your salary,” she sighed. She rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing the black mascara across her pink skin. With a sigh, she eyed her darkened knuckles as she continued: “Besides, it wouldn’t be enough.” After a pause, her tired face screwed into an agonising grimace. As she started sobbing, Robb managed to uncork the bottle, and he swiftly shoved it into her hands.

“You’ll feel better,” he promised, and Margaery took a big gulp straight from the neck.

“Oh God,” she choked, slamming the bottle down onto the table as she buried her face in her hands, wine dripping from her lips. “It’s hopeless!”

“Don’t say that,” Daenerys begged. She wasn’t sure from where she got the courage to speak, but once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She stepped closer to the sofa, her hands pushed to her chest as she tried to calm her aching heart. Just days earlier, she’d seen Margaery dance, her face exuding confidence, and she’d never imagined that a woman with such strength could be beaten down. Yet, there she sat, wailing in an empty room, and all she could do was offer a weak: “There’s got to be a way to work it out.”

Margaery sniffed in and lifted her head from her hands. Her brown eyes seemed dark as she stared at Daenerys. “Dany? Is that your name?” she sobbed, and Daenerys mindlessly felt herself bob her head. “Well, you know what, Dany? You don’t know shit about my problems.”

Daenerys parted her lips to speak, but before she could say a word, Robb rocked his head back and stared at the ceiling as he admitted:

“I told her.”

“Jesus!” Margaery stared at him in disbelief, and Daenerys noted how red Robb’s cheeks went. He averted his eyes, but the blush remained as she scolded him: “Now she’ll tell her little management boyfriend and we’ll all get fired. Good job, Robb - you’re a true saint!” She grabbed the bottle of wine, downing another few gulps. As Jon reached for it, she shoved it into his hands with a gasp for air. “Why not skywrite it?” she continued in a slur, “Margaery got knocked up by Viserys!”

“Viserys?” Daenerys gawked. At once she felt faint as she sensed the walls closing in on her. A buzzing started in her head. She wasn’t sure how to tune it out. “Did you say Viserys?” she repeated breathlessly.

“Yes, that fucking creep,” Margaery spat. “Silver hair, violet eyes - you know him?”

“Know him?” Daenerys muttered. It was then she sensed all eyes on her, and in the same moment that she realised her brother’s actions, it seemed the three of them understood her connection. “He’s-”

“It’s her freaking brother,” Margaery gasped.

Jon shook his head, his eyes big. “Should’ve known she’s a Targaryen,” he said, and his voice was thick with anger.

Daenerys swallowed, and though everything in her screamed not to speak, she still asked: “What’s that meant to mean?” Her voice came out like a whimper. She felt herself cling onto her cardigan as if she’d fall if she let go, and when Jon’s grey eyes captured hers, she truly felt all air was knocked out of her. The kindness he’d shown, the naughty way he’d eyed her when they danced - it was all gone and replaced with pure hatred.

“You’re just like the rest of these rich folks,” he said, “you come, you claim - and then you fly off to Volantis, leaving all your rubbish behind.”

Not knowing what to say, Daenerys just stuttered: “I’ve never been abroad,” making Jon roll his eyes. He looked like he was about to say something else, but before he could get any further, Robb jumped to his feet.

“Dany,” he said, grabbing around her shoulders as he held her in place. She was almost grateful for the touch - she felt like she was about to collapse. When he spoke, she had to concentrate hard to hear his voice over the chaos that was erupting inside her head. Viserys got Margaery pregnant, a voice called to her again and again. Your brother knocked her up, Dany. “Listen to me,” Robb said and looked her in the eyes. “One of the counsellors knows a doctor, a real M.D., travelling through Lannisport next week. We can get an appointment, but it costs.”

“How much?” Daenerys asked.

Robb paused. “250 dollars.”

Daenerys nodded mindlessly. She knew it to be a lot of money, however she was also well aware of the cash Viserys would spend at home on nonsensical stuff like a fine case of cigars, a new silk shirt, or just a meal to impress his friends. Though she could barely think straight, she was still able to say: “If it’s Viserys,” and she hesitated, knowing how it might come across, so she started over, her voice as neutral and sensible as possible: “Viserys has got the money, I know this. If you just tell him-”

“He knows.” Margaery cut her off with a sad smile. As Daenerys looked into her brown eyes, she woman just shook her head and scoffed: “Go back to your playpen, Dany. Let the grown-ups talk.”

Daenerys breathed in sharply, and her eyes darted from her to Jon. He only met her gaze shortly before turning the bottle of wine between his hands, closing his eyes, and leaning his head back as he had a few gulps. When she looked to Robb, he too was averting his eyes, the blue in them shimmering with sadness.

They all think I’m just some silly girl, she thought, and she couldn’t even blame them. When she backed toward the door, no one tried to stop her, and with one last glance at Jon, she turned, hurried out of the room, and ran downstairs.

As she darted across the lawn towards the cottages, her cardigan blowing in the breeze, she thought to herself: I have to talk to Viserys. I must make him understand. I must. Yet her heart quivered with the knowledge of her brother’s indifference, and as Margaery’s shivering, sobbing face entered her mind once more, she bit her teeth tightly together and picked up her pace. She thought there must be a light rain in the air. At least when she touched her cheeks, her fingers pulled away wet.

Viserys had a drag of his cigarette whilst he watched Daenerys. His eyes were bored, she could tell, and they only seemed to lighten up once he blew the smoke back out at her, causing her to cough. “Since when is it your business to tell me what’s right?” he asked.

Daenerys waved her hand in front of her nose with a grimace. “Well, you can’t just leave her,” she insisted.

Her brother scoffed. “You want me to bail out some chick who probably balled every guy on the resort?” He shook his head with a smirk. “You’re gullible, Dany. Sweet, but gullible.”

The pale morning light shone coldly on the blue sky, its heat not reaching them in the shadows of the terrace. Viserys was slouched against the wall, cigarette in one hand and a ceramic ashtray in the other. Whenever a guest walked past, he swiftly hid both behind his back and sent them a bright smile. Daenerys, however, he only cared to grimace at.

“She says it’s yours,” Daenerys persisted. When Viserys rolled his eyes, she stepped closer to him, trying to catch his gaze. “Are you listening?”

“She says it’s mine because I’ve got cash,” he replied dully. His breath rolled across her face, and the ashes in the air made her eyes sting. “Tomorrow, she’ll probably claim Joffrey bedded her.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “Did you, though?” she asked, making Viserys quirk his brows.

“Did I what?”

“Sleep with her.”

A smile played on his face. He slowly pushed the cigarette back between his lips as he had another drag. His movements were lazy - it was as if he had all the time in the world, and his careless attitude made Daenerys’ blood boil. As she stood waiting for his reply, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she took in a sharp breath.

Growing tired of waiting, she finally asked: “Why not just pay her?” She crossed her arms and raised her brows at his vexed face. “You’ve got the money. Surely the Lannisters are not having you work for free?”

“Dany,” Viserys finally said, and he snubbed out his smoke in the ashtray, “if I had to pay every woman I fuck, I’d be bankrupt in a week.”

You’d be so lucky, Daenerys thought spitefully, but she knew better than to say it aloud. “It’s not every woman though, is it? You got her pregnant .” She paused, the word like a knot in her throat, and she had to swallow to force down the taste of bile that was building in her body. She couldn’t believe that she was having to argue such a simple point with her brother, and yet it was exactly what she’d expected of him. With a notion of desperation to her voice, she asked: “Do you not care at all?”

“Some people count, some people don’t,” Viserys said and smacked his lips. He reached into his suit jacket, and from an inner pocket he withdrew a worn paperback. As he handed it to her, Daenerys stared at the front in disbelief. No Happy Endings, the title read. “You should read it - Ramsay Bolton,” Viserys said, tapping his fingertips to the cover. “Now, that man knows women.”

Daenerys dropped the book to the ground with a headshake. “You make me sick.”

“Must be hard being so perfect,” Viserys mocked her and scrounged his nose.

“All you had to do was keep your trousers zipped,” Daenerys retorted. When she glared into his eyes, she felt her cheeks burning with anger. “Rhaegar worked so hard to get you this job, and all you do is create a mess.”

Viserys let go of a loud laugh. “I made a mess?” he repeated and looked at her amused. “I’m not the one who got pregnant, Dany.” He leaned down to pick up his paperback, stuffed it into his suit jacket, and then shoved the full ashtray into her hands. “Now,” he said, leaning in close to her as he smirked. The air between them was heavy with smoke, and when she breathed in, she could almost taste bitterness as he said: “Be a good girl and go wash that out for me.”

For a second, Daenerys stood staring at him in shock. Then, before she could stop herself, she tipped the tray over, spilling ashes and cigarette butts down Viserys’ white jacket. The moment the black dust settled over his front, he yelped and started brushing at it in panic, causing the ashes to rub deeper into the fabric.

“What the hell, Dany!” he cried. “Look at what you did!”

“I didn’t do that,” she said innocently, “after all - I don’t smoke. ” With a triumphant air about her, she turned on her heels and marched away from him, crossing the lawn on her way toward the cottages. Behind her, she could hear her brother swearing, but his words were drowned out by the worries in her mind. As soon as Margaery’s face popped into her thoughts, the feeling of smugness left her at once, and she hugged herself as she slowed her steps, thinking: What am I going to do?

Daenerys didn’t have any money. If she were to pick out every coin from her purse and sacrifice her emergency collection, perhaps she could total five dollars. She was still a year away from having access to the inheritance her late father had left her, and Margaery simply didn’t have the time to wait. She needed the cash immediately.

As Daenerys searched her mind for answers, she realised that she knew only three people in the world who could afford the procedure. The first was Viserys who received his part of the inheritance upon turning eighteen. But he’s likely to have spent most of it, she mused, and whatever he’s got left, he’s proven unwilling to part with. The second person was Joffrey, but even just thinking about asking the sleazy man for money made her shiver - especially when she wondered what he would ask for in return. Then there was Rhaegar.

Daenerys paused as she laid eyes on him. He was stood outside their cottage, carefully inspecting a golf club. His white trousers sat high on his waist, the yellow polo neatly tucked into them, and she thought she saw his face flush with embarrassment as she approached.

“Dany,” he said surprised and swiftly popped the club into his bag. He hoisted it over his shoulder. “I thought you’d headed for breakfast.”

“I thought you were still in bed,” she said and looked him over.

Rhaegar pulled at the collar of his shirt, and his voice was almost shy when he asked: “Do I look ridiculous?”

“You look like Arnold Palmer,” Daenerys said.

“Is that good or bad?” Rhaegar asked, but before she could reply, he continued in haste: “It’s Tywin. He invited me to his golf course. Apparently it’s what the Lannisters do when vacationing.”

“I didn’t know you could play,” she said and cocked her head.

Rhaegar shrugged. “Perhaps it’ll be fun.”

You go to parties you don’t want to attend, and you play games you don’t care for, Daenerys thought, her eyes narrowing a little, All to ensure Viserys’ success. She felt her chest burn. She pressed a hand to her bosom to calm her heart. “I think someone’s in trouble.”

“I know I am,” Rhaegar sighed and shook his head. “It’s just a friendly match. It’s better to let the host win anyway, keeps them sweet.”

“No, not you,” Daenerys said and bit her lower lip. She felt herself jittery from what she was about to ask, and the nervousness must’ve shown in her eyes, because once Rhaegar met her gaze, his face changed. Instead of seeming shy, his lips twisted into a grave line on his face, his eyes darkening with concern. “You always told me that if someone’s in trouble, I should try to help.”

“I have,” Rhaegar agreed, though his voice sounded uncertain. He slowly dropped the bag of clubs as he crossed his arms expectantly.

“Well,” Daenerys said, and she took in a deep breath before simply asking: “Can I borrow 250 dollars?”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Rhaegar questioned with furrowed brows. He didn’t look angry, just worried, and Daenerys found it made asking all the harder.

“No,” she assured him and quickly shook her head, “it’s not for me. Can you loan it to me?”

“It’s a lot of money. What’s it for?”

Daenerys’ teeth sunk deeper into her lower lip as she mumbled: “I can’t say.”

Rhaegar’s stare was intense. She felt like he was trying to see into her head, carefully dissect her thoughts and discover the truth. “Remember what I told you? You can tell me anything,” he said. “Anything.”

As she looked into his eyes, Daenerys thought: I want to tell you. How easy it would be - pinpoint Viserys as the culprit. Lead Rhaegar to Margaery. Have him assist her through the next few difficult months. She knew her brother would not hesitate to take her into the family and force Viserys to do right by her. But she also knew that it was not her decision to make, more so at what he said next:

“It’s nothing illegal, is it?”

She wanted to laugh, not because she was amused, but because of how hopeless she felt. For she realised that outing Viserys would also mean closing off Margaery’s chance of getting an abortion. Her brother was kind, but he was also a stickler for rules, and she could not imagine Rhaegar willingly handing over any cash if he knew what it would buy.

So she put on her best smile. “No,” she lied and shook her head, her eyes wide and honest, “of course not.”

Rhaegar’s attitude seemed to melt. He let go of a deep sigh. “Of course not,” he agreed, “that was stupid of me to ask. Forgive me.” He reached out and pulled Daenerys into a hug, and she pressed her nose to his neck, smelling his aftershave.

She was shivering, she realised, and he held her close, likely thinking that he’d upset her. But it was guilt that was making her quiver like a leaf in the wind, and she fought hard to mask it when he pulled away to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll have it for you before dinner,” he promised.

“Thank you,” she said and averted her eyes, unable to meet his kind smile.

From the record player, Maurice Williams & the Zodiac’s ‘Stay’ was playing. Daenerys carefully pushed through the moving crowd, her eyes scanning the room for known faces. She could smell sweat and beer, and in the dimmed lighting everyone seemed to melt into one, the dancing bodies rubbing tight.

It was only when she tip-toed that she caught sight of Robb by the bar and, once he waved at her, Jon and Margaery. They turned on the floor to see who he was gesturing at, and Jon’s face turned to a scowl the moment he laid eyes on her. It made her stomach clench, but she braved on, nodding for Margaery to follow her as paused next to Robb, her back nestled against the counter.

“What does she want?” Jon asked and grabbed a bottle off the counter. He opened it with a tug between his teeth and threw the cap aside.

Daenerys bit her teeth together and dragged her eyes from him to Margaery. She was watching her with confusion, but her brown eyes soon widened as Daenerys pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to her. “Here’s the money,” she simply said.

Margaery’s fingers gently closed around the notes. Daenerys almost expected her to count it, but instead she whispered in excitement: “Did Viserys give you this?”

Daenerys felt her heart ache as she shook her head. “No, you were right about my brother,” she said with regret.

“Then where’d you get it?”

“You said you needed it,” Daenerys shrugged, feeling her cheeks go light pink at Margaery’s insistent enquiring. She sensed that the woman was about to let it go when Robb said:

“That’s really good of you,” making Jon scoff.

“Is it?” the black-haired man sneered and had a gulp of the beer. His plump lips smacked as he tasted the bitterness on his tongue. “Real good job asking Daddy for cash.”

Daenerys’ cheeks went even darker, and she tried to remain upbeat though Jon’s words made her toes curl in annoyance. “Rhaegar is not-” she started, but she found she couldn’t even be bothered to explain it anymore. She gestured at the cash in Margaery’s hand and said: “It’s yours.”

Margaery was clutching onto the wad of money so tightly that her fingertips were going white. Still, after a beat, she pushed it back into Daenerys’ hands. “Thanks, Dany,” she said, and this time her voice had no hint of malice to it when she spoke her name. She almost sounded sorry. “I can’t use it.”

“I really don’t mind,” Daenerys stuttered, but Margaery just shook her head and looked away. “Look, I don’t expect you to pay it back. It’s the least I can do - it’s yours.” Still, the woman backed away, and even Jon eyed her, his face vexed.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Like she says - it’s the least she can do. Take the money.”

As Margaery didn’t speak, Robb turned to Daenerys and sighed: “I can only get her an appointment for Thursday.” He glanced from the money to Daenerys’ eyes, the glance in them sad. “They do their act at the Golden Tooth on Thursdays.”

“Can’t they just cancel?” Daenerys asked, her voice quiet as the look in Robb’s eyes already told her otherwise.

He shook his head. “If they cancel, they lose this season’s salary and next year’s gig.”

“What’s the Golden Tooth?”

“It’s another hotel where they do their mambo act.”

Daenerys glanced toward Jon in confusion. “Can’t someone else fill in?” she asked.

Jon let go of a mocking laugh, and he turned to Daenerys with an exasperated sigh. “No, Miss Know-it-all, someone else can’t fill in. I don’t know how it works for you rich folk, but we-” at this he gestured across the dancing crowd of staff members, “-we have to work for our wages. Everyone has to work for their money. No one can fill in.” He slammed the bottle down onto the counter, making Daenerys jump. With a haughty glimpse to his eyes, he stared her down as he jested: “Do you want to do it?”

There was a tense pause. Margaery huddled up in her dress. Daenerys pushed back against the counter, Jon’s eyes keeping her in place. Robb looked between them and then shrugged:

“It’s not a bad idea.”

Jon’s lips curved into a wry smile. As he answered, he still didn’t look away from Daenerys: “It was a joke, Robb.”

“She can move,” Robb muttered.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her walk,” Jon rolled his eyes.

“Jon is right,” Daenerys mumbled and eyed her shoes. “I can’t even merengue.”

“You’re a strong teacher,” Margaery interjected. She placed her hand on Jon’s arm, forcing him to look away from Daenerys. “You can show her.”

“She can’t even merengue!” Jon threw his arms up with hopelessness.

“You can at least try,” Robb insisted.

“She’s a Targaryen ,” Jon finally sneered, and he spun on his heels to face Robb and Daenerys. In his bright eyes, Daenerys found only anger, and she felt herself crumble together against the counter. It was by sheer force that she made herself straighten up and say:

“So what!” Her voice was weaker than she’d like.

Jon looked like a wolf who’d smelled blood. “So what?” he repeated with another of his false laughs. “So everything! Don’t you think your brother has done enough harm?”

“She’s not her brother,” Robb spoke.

“She’s still one of them.”

Robb grabbed Jon by the arm as he was about to turn away. “One of what?” he asked, but before Jon could say else, he hissed: “Listen to yourself, Jon. You of all people should know what it’s like to be judged.” At his words, Jon wrestled his arm free, but he gave his brother a meek look as he continued: “We don’t choose our family. But we choose our actions.” He glanced at Daenerys and pointed to the money in her hands.

Jon looked over at her, and Daenerys puffed up her chest as she met his gaze straight on. She could feel her mouth go dry. Her knees shivered. Her skin crawled with a need to run and never return. But she also knew that she could not let the man’s arrogance win, so when approached, his steps slow and his grey eyes narrowed, she didn’t falter but spoke:

“So, what will it be?”

Jon looked her up and down. She almost felt naked the way he inspected her, his stare thorough. By the time he met her gaze again, he scoffed.

“What indeed,” he muttered.

The moment the music started, Daenerys stepped ahead - and felt her sneakers dig right into Jon’s shoe.

“No!” he yelped with a grimace, making her scurry back.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry.”

“You don’t step on the one,” he sighed and stomped back toward the record player to start the music over. Daenerys watched him go with shy eyes as she muttered:

“Right, sorry.”

The staff room seemed eerily empty. With no one but the two of them, the music echoed loudly between the walls, and Daenerys felt strangely exposed now that she couldn’t hide her awkward movements behind anyone. It was very different from the first time she’d danced with Jon, she realised. Then, he’d been naughty, flirty, and kind. Now he was pushy, frustrated, and tough. She felt it in the way he carelessly dragged the needle back to the start of the song before he grabbed her by the arm and waist, his hold strong.

“Start on the two,” he said, “Find the two.”

“You know, I’ve never danced like this before,” Daenerys said, careful not to admit that she’d never really danced at all .

Jon’s eyes narrowed, and he dragged her by the hand until she was forced to straighten up. “One, two, three four,” he said, noting the rhythm of the music. “Do you hear it?”

“One, two, three four,” Daenerys repeated, but she wasn’t sure she really sensed the beat.

“When the song starts, you start on the two,” he reminded her, and she bobbed her head so swiftly her hair jumped about.

“Got it,” she said. She felt herself tense as she perked her ears, intensely listening to the music, and he must have felt how her whole frame stiffened, for he dragged his fingers down her arms until he could take a hold of her hands. Then he gave them a good shake.

“Relax,” he urged, and he cocked his head to meet her gaze. Once they locked eyes, he raised his brows. “Okay? Relax.” He shook her arms some more until she felt her muscles melt a little, and she nodded, a small smile on her lips.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Jon lifted her arms, requesting: “Frame,” and he held her ready in position, his black lashes almost fluttering closed as he allowed himself to get lost in the music.

One. Two. Three. Four. One - Daenerys stepped ahead, making him yelp again:

“I said two!”

“And I said sorry!” Daenerys raised her arms as Jon rolled his eyes and once more stomped his way back to the record player. As he pushed the needle, she saw his head shake, his black curls jumping about. “What?”

“It’s hopeless,” he said through gritted teeth. “I told Robb it wouldn’t work.”

“It’s only been an hour,” Daenerys reminded him. She tried to keep her voice calm, but she could hear her own tone rise. “It will take more than an hour.”

“I shouldn’t even have to do this,” he said.

Daenerys took in a shivering breath as she yelled: “Well, neither should I!”

She hadn’t realised how loud her words sounded, but they lashed against the walls. When Jon turned to look at her, his eyes were big and perplexed. She watched his face; his red cheeks, the sheen of sweat across his forehead, the Adam’s apple jumping in his neck as he swallowed. She wondered if she looked as messy, and she instinctively wiped her cheeks off in her hands and sensed how they got clammy with sweat. Great .

“I’m not doing it for me,” she reminded him. “I’m doing it for Margaery.”

“I thought you were doing it for your brother,” Jon said as he approached her.

Daenerys frowned. “I would do anything for Rhaegar, but Viserys?” She shook her head and glanced down at her shoes. They were as bright white as her jeans, the denim uncomfortable against her sticky legs. She shuffled in them as she sighed: “I suppose I feel guilty.”

The music picked up again. Neither of them moved for a second. Then, Jon grabbed her hands and led her into the right position as he noted: “One, two, three, four. Got it?”

Daenerys glanced up into his eyes and gave him a weak nod. On two, she moved, and he led her back and forth in a series of simple steps before urging:

“Good - again.”

Daenerys almost smiled. Then she stepped on one-

“On two!” Jon barked.

Daenerys grimaced: “Sorry!”

Jon sighed and let go of her hands. He walked in a circle, scratching the back of his head as he seemed to wreck his mind, and Daenerys mindlessly watched him as she hugged her small frame. She felt stupid, like she was a silly girl being schooled by her teacher, and she wasn’t really sure where to look when he turned and walked toward her. There was a stride in his steps. It was as if his body commanded the room, and it made her feel shy.

I want to change the world, she thought and eyed the floor, the boards creaking as he approached, but I can’t even change myself.

Once his shoes came into view, she let her gaze slowly wander up. Past his black slacks, the fabric of them sitting nicely on his strong legs, and the tucked in shirt, the blue loose around his sturdy body. He had undone the first few buttons, allowing the air to caress his reddened skin, and she could see the outline of his pecs. She caught herself wondering what he looked like shirtless.

“Don’t think of the mambo,” he said, and he licked his lips as his eyes darted around the room. She could tell he was struggling with his words, so she stood at attention, her eyes resting on his face as he spoke. “It’s a feeling,” he spoke with a grimace, clearly not satisfied with the analogy. “It’s a…” He pressed his hands to his chest as he searched for the right word, and Daenerys watched how his steady blood flow made a vein in his throat jump.

It made her suggest: “Heartbeat?”

Jon snapped his fingers. “Exactly.” He spread his fingers on his chest, above his heart, and empathized: “Ga-gung, ga-gung,” mimicking its beat.

Daenerys poked her tongue to her inner cheek as she tried not to smile, and she placed her own hand on her bosom as she tapped along with him. “Ga-gung,” she repeated, and Jon shook his head.

“Don’t try so hard,” he said. “Here.” He reached out, and she placed her hand in his, perplexed at what he was about to do. Then, he dragged her close, pressing her palm flat to his chest. As she flushed, Jon spoke: “Ga-gung,” once more breathing in rhythm with his heart, and Daenerys felt her stomach flutter as her fingertips pushed into the softness of the shirt. She could feel him - his heartbeat took over her body in a shiver, and it felt like its rhythm was mixing with her own.

“I feel it,” she whispered, and she sensed that she truly did.

“Close your eyes,” Jon instructed, and Daenerys let her lids sink down. In the darkness, she felt his heartbeat, his fingertips tapping to her hand, the music, the floor. “Two, three, four,” Jon counted, tapping her hand to his chest in the same, and she nodded. “Two, three, four-”

They started moving. It was the simplest of steps, Daenerys knew, but when she felt her body rock in the right direction, a thrill went down her spine all the same. Soon, her hand slipped from Jon’s chest into his as he led her arms up once more, guiding her into the right stance as they danced.

As her eyes fluttered open once more, she stared into Jon’s greys, and she thought: Perhaps I can do it. Soon, his grey were replaced by brown, the image of Margaery lingering in her mind, and she bit her teeth together with determination. No, not perhaps. I have to do it.