The Nameless Girl

She always loved watching the flames. For others they looked all the same, but not to her. There were a thousand different colors to be found in the flames. There was also something strangely comforting about them. It felt as if an old memory was trying to wedge its way into her mind these days. Now more than ever she dreamed of her past, but sometimes she was unable to say if it was a memory or a dream.

She recalled not much from her past. All she recalled was a house with red doors and a lemon tree in the garden. She also had a brother who told her stories about dragons and knights, but even here true name was lost to her. Her Mistress calls her Naerys, but she knew by now that this is not her real name.

It was the name she muttered when her first Maester found her half-frozen on the streets of Braavos. Even Braavos was nothing more than a blurry memory to her and always filled her with an aching pain that she was unable to describe. She knew that her brother died, but who and why this deed was committed she didn't know. Her memory of that night was nothing more than a dark chasm. Not that she tried to remember. Whatever happened to that night, she didn't want to recall these painful memories.

And her current life wasn't all that bad. She was lucky that her first Master sold her to Mistress Meema, a rich woman who owned one of the most prestigious brothels of Volantis. The Mistress was once a courtesan herself and sold to the Triarch of Volantis. Not that she cared much about the past of her mistress. Having a past is painful and those who lose themselves to such memories go mad..

You have no mother and father, Mistress Meema told the new girls only recently. I am now your new mother, child.

For her that was never hard to accept. She didn't even know her father's and mother's name, only that both of them died a long time ago. As young girl she often pretended that Mistress Meema is her mother, though they showed little resemblance to each other. Mistress Meema was graced with inky black hair and eyes of jade. Naerys' hair was pale like the moonlight and her eyes of a dark purple colour like the silk dresses the highborn ladies of the city like to wear.

"Naerys," Mistress Meema's soft voice called her back to the present. Like every morning she was lounging on her silken canopy, a fan and her correspondence in her. Her age was showing these days, her once black hair streaked by more grey strands than she was able to count. "Come here. I have need of your help, child."

"At once, Mistress," she replied obediently and left her comfortable place before the hearth. Then she knelt down next to her and kissed the Mistress' hand.

The Mistress smiled warmly and brushed her hand through Naerys' silver hair.

"Now little bird...bring me ink and paper. I have need of your translation abilities."

"Of course," she answered and made her way to the carved box made of dark cherry wood. Carefully, she opened the box and found the ink and paper.

Unlike the other girls she was fluent in High Vayrian and thus her Mistress often used her for translation work. Her correspondence was often meant for the high nobility of Volantis. Naturally, she was not allowed to speak about it, but the idea of making use of her knowledge never occurred until one of the other girls remarked upon it

"Child!" her Mistress called out to her again and she hurried to join her side. Carefully, she spread the paper on the table and dipped the feather in the pot of ink. Then she shifted her attention back to her Mistress. "May I begin?"

Her Mistress smiled and started to dictate her letter to one of the many rich merchants residing in the city. Naerys knew many of them by name and also their dirty secrets. Many come here to find escape from their life, but some even used her Mistress' place to cover secret business deals. Even bribes and elections were often decided in these halls.

It was no long letter and soon paced the ink and paper back in the box, before returning to her Mistress's side.

"I thank you," her Mistress replied and poured herself a cup of sweetened wine. Naerys also received a cup but hers was sweetened with more honey than usual. Her Mistress knew her taste.

"How old are you now, child?" her Mistress asked.

"One and three…I flowered recently," she answered, which earned her a sad smile. Naerys didn't quite understand why her answer saddened her, but her Mistress always kept her true feelings hidden.

"Do you know what that means, child?" her Mistress asked.

"I will have to serve," she replied. She wanted nothing more than to make her Mistress proud, but deep down she feared the uncertain future…

"You are so young," her Mistress remarked and leaned back. "But it would stir the jealousy of the other girls if I show you more consideration than others. Some of them are already grumbling about your favourable position."

She was stunned by this piece of information, but then she spent most of her time caring for her Mistress.

"I don't want to upset the other girls," she gasped and earned herself a soft smile.

"No one can live without enemies, sweet child," Her Mistress remarked and brushed over her cheek. That is a lesson you need to learn if you want to be my successor."

"Your successor?"

"Of course," her Mistress confirmed. "Why else would I take you under my wing?"

"But...!" she wanted to protest, but her Mistress' fingers sealed her lips.

"I have no children nor will I ever have one. You are smart and you have the right mind for this kind of business. When I die I want you to have all my jewels."

Fearfully, she grasped her Mistress' arm and kissed it.

"You won't die!" she insisted and earned herself another chuckle.

"Nobody can say what tomorrow brings, sweet child."

...

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to moons and nothing changed. She continued to care for her Mistress and wondered when she will finally lay eyes on the man she will serve. Most of the girls served for a few moons, but some girls served for years.

Mistress Meema was such a person. When he was a young man the Old Tiger made her his official mistress and after seven years of loyal service he gifted her a box of jewels. These jewels she used to buy this place and turned it into one of the most prestigious brothels in Volantis.

Yet Mistress Meema's brothel was no place for cheap music, but beauty and music. All the girls here were educated, knew how to play an instrument and how to read. Some even knew history and others were fluent in more than one language.

"Your harp play needs more work," Nala, a girl hailing from Lys remarked. She was chosen to train them in music and dance. Nobody was able to bring forth softer tunes than her and nobody was more critical.

Not that the girl's criticism bothered her. She wanted to improve her play and a gifted teacher like Nala could only be to her advantage. At least that is what she tried to tell herself when she was scolded by the girl.

"I have been practicing diligently, but it is not getting better," she replied and lowered her head in apology.

Nala smiled and picked the harp from her hands.

"You look tired, sweet child," Nala added and brushed her hand over her cheek. "The Mistress should take on another servant to ease your burdens."

"The Mistress wants no one else," she countered stubbornly.

"Our Mistress is very sick," Nala replied in a serious voice. "She is trying to hide it, but her coughing is getting worse. Soon we will be sold."

"Sold?" she asked, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.

"Of course," Nala said and moved closer to whisper into her ear. "Unless she names a successor we will be sold."

But she named one, she wanted to tell the girl, but then she recalled that her Mistress asked it to keep it a secret.

"I see," she said and nodded her head in understanding.

The weeks passed and her Mistress' condition worsened steadily. She was barely able to leave her Mistress' side and was often unable to sleep through the night.

Tonight was such a night and as always she went to brew a hot tea for her Mistress. First she heated the water over the hearth and put the herbs into the steaming water. The healer prescribed it to her mistress to ease her pains.

Quickly, she returned to her Mistress' side and brought the cup to her mouth.

"I thank you," she said, her face pale as ash. Sweat was rolling down her cheeks as she continued to drink.

"Is there more...," her Mistress began, but then she heard it. It sounded like breaking glass and when she turned around she found a piece of stone lying on the ground. It broke the painted windows and the bits and pieces were littering the ground.

"What happened?" she asked and turned back to her Mistress. She gasped when she noticed her empty eyes staring off in the distance.

Fearfully, she touched her Mistress' brow. She was cold and she was no longer breathing.

She is dead, she knew and felt as if an arrow pierced her heart. She knew that her real mother perished in the birthing bed and now it felt as if her second mother was taken from her.

Yet she had no time to grieve for her mistress, when she heard loud noises coming from the solar. Gathering her courage she grabbed the dagger hidden under her Mistress' wine stash and made her way down to the solar.

When she entered the solar she felt as if stepping into a furnace. The solar once decorated with fine silk cushions and exotic flowers was burning.

Girls lay sprawled on the ground, dead and bloody. She spotted Nala among them, her head split open and part of her brain matter spread over the floor.

She froze and nearly dropped her dagger.

"Look!" a stranger exclaimed. He was a giant of a man and pointed at her. Wasting no further thought she rushed off, down the next corridor, leading the larder. There was a window leading out to the street. It was her only change of escape.

Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest as she rushed down another corridor, the voices of the stranger's distant echoes.

Breathing heavily she stumbled in the larder, where she found two of the kitchen maids and several other girls hidden under the tables.

One of them shrieked after they noticed her entrance.

"We need to get out of here!" she shouted at the girls hidden under the table. Those were the young ones, the maids, like her.

Yet it was too late. A moment later the door was opened and someone grabbed her roughly around the neck.

She found herself struggling against the man's weight, her dagger far from her grasp.

"Do you have her?" another man asked.

"I have her," he confirmed her captor and pulled on her hair. The pain made her whimper, but her gaze was fixed on the dagger on the floor.

"What have we here?" her captor's companion asked and grinned when he spotted the younger girls cowering under the tables.

"A stash of maidens ready to be sold. We will be rich men."

"Are you a maid?" the man pulling on her hair asked. She knew what he was really asking. Are you worth any gold?

"I am one and three...freshly flowered," she replied, her head pressed on the hard stone floor.

"Good," the other man said and pulled her back to her feet. "It would be a shame to kill you."

The same night they were brought to the harbour. Whoever these men were they intended to sell them for a good price.

What hurt the most was that she had to leave behind her books. Over the years she had assembled a large collection. Now they were lost to her. Like the other girls and her poor Mistress.

...

She didn't know how long their travel lasted. For weeks she only knew the rocking of the waves and the smell of salt filling her nostrils. Sometimes her captor allowed her to go on deck to catch fresh air, but most of the time she spent in her carbine.

We are going North, the man who bought her told her not long ago. He was a grim man and sported a shaggy beard. His accent sounded strange and she wondered if all people in the North speak like him.

Finally, moons later they arrived at a place called White Harbour. She found the town passable, but it was nothing compared to the splendours of Volantis.

Yet the worst was the cold.

Not that it was much of a surprise. Underneath her flimsy cloak she wore one of her summer dresses.

Their stay at White Harbour was short and only two days later they continued to travel along a muddy road called the Kingsroad, leading towards a castle named Winterfell. Finally, their captor thought of providing them with pelt, but one of the girls grew sick and died from a fever.

The rest of the travel consisted of blistered feet and the icy wind biting into her skin. She desperately tried to hide her face from the cold, but her efforts proved useless. The cold got everywhere and no pelt in the world was able to protect her. It made her long for a warm hearth, for her Mistress, for her house with the red door…

The thought was enough to conjure tears to her eyes, but she continued on towards Winterfell.

It proved to be a massive castle made of grey walls and towers alike. Yet they didn't enter the castle, but were brought to a town named Wintertown, where they were meant to serve in a shabby tavern.

"What do you have for me, Brease?" the owner asked eyed each of the girls.

"Maids...lots of maids," their captor replied and patted her head. "This one is a true beauty...you ought to sell her maidenhead to one of those high lords."

"Purple eyes and silver hair," the owner muttered and regarded her closely. "From Lys?"

"Don't know...she doesn't speak much."

"That is good. I will take her and the other girl...the one with the red hair. The Lord's son has a nameday coming up and the Greyjoy heir likes coming here. They will serve."

...

The Bastard of Winterfell

Jon flushed as they entered the shabby tavern. He came here to celebrate his nameday. It was Robb's suggestion, but he was sure that Theon sparked the idea.

The heir to the Iron Islands always pondered ways to humiliate him.

"Is something wrong, brother?" Robb asked, a smile curling on his lips. "You are shivering like a young tree."

Jon gritted his teeth and tried to keep his composure. Theon's snickering made him boil with rage, but he couldn't run off. Robb was trying to be gracious and to refuse his gift would be an outright insult. He had no other choice but to play along.

"I am fine," he assured Robb. The solar was dark and the girls were lounging against the walls, their smiles following after him. "Truly, I am fine."

"Of course you are," Robb added and patted his shoulder. "Today is your nameday. Believe me...you will like it."

"As you say, brother," he muttered as the owner of this shabby place came to greet them. He was an ugly man and bared his yellow teeth.

He knows Robb.

"M'Lord," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, the girl is not for me," Robb replied and jerked his head at Jon."Today is my brother's nameday and I intend to be generous."

The man's face lightened instantly and he rubbed his hands together.

"Ah, of course," he said and led the way. „You are lucky too. We have two maids."

"Maids?" Theon asked and wrinkled his brows in surprise. "Sadly, I can't afford maids."

Jon wanted to kick the boy, but he didn't want to embarrass Robb.

"Please…show them to us," Robb stuttered and the owner followed suit.

Two girls appeared, one graced with red hair and the other…silver-blond. It was an uncommon hair colour. Most people in the North sported dark hair and her eye colour was even stranger. Purple like dark silk.

"The one with the silver hair is called Naerys...like the Dragon Queen. The red head is called Maara...she is a bit wild."

Jon swallowed hard, all eyes resting on him. He didn't know what to say. He was speechless.

Then the silver-haired girl lifted her head and met his gaze.

"Well chosen," the owner said and patted his shoulder, though Jon hadn't even said a single word.

Not that he cared. He wouldn't have been able to choose on his own.

"Very well," Robb said and handed the owner the promised gold coins.

It only helped to deepen his grudge against Theon Greyjoy.

"What are you waiting for, Snow?" Theon taunted and grinned."Or did you forget where to put it?"

"I know where to put it," he replied through gritted teeth and followed after the girl. Quietly, the girl led him up a staircase towards the guestrooms. Jon's heart nearly jumping of his jest after the girl had closed the door behind them.

What disturbed him even more was that the girl's silence.

Was she afraid or just unable to speak?

Instead she started to pull of her clothing.

"Please stop!" Jon gasped anxiously.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she stopped.

"Why?" she asked, in a strange accent Jon was unable to place. "Isn't that the reason you came here?"

"I am here, because my brother thinks he is doing me a favour. He thinks I am in need a woman before I go to the Wall."

"What has this Wall to do with having a woman?" she asked and sat down on the bed, her hands smoothing over the surface. Her lack of knowledge only confirmed what he already knew. She was a stranger to these lands, but her silver hair and purple eyes could have told him that.

"Going to the Wall means joining the Night's Watch. The men of the Night's Watch are not allowed to marry or to father children. Thus having a woman will be out of the question."

"There is only one thing I don't understand," she said after a while of silence had passed between them."You said that they are not allowed to marry or to father children. Why does that mean you can't have a woman?"

Jon was stunned.

"Well, it doesn't matter...because I can't do that...I could father a bastard."

"Bastard," she repeated the word as if it was foreign to lips. "What does that mean?"

He sighted heavily.

"It means my father and mother were not married. I am also a bastard...the life of a bastard is full of hardships."

"Why?"

"Because people shun you. Bastards are cursed by the Seven."

She laughed and rose to her feet to pour herself a cup of wine. Then she took a hesitant sip and shifted her attention back on him.

"Where I come from very few people believe in the Seven. The courtesans often went to the Temple of Light to pray or to receive blessings. The God of Light makes no difference between rich and poor, old our young, slave or free man. This concept of bastards being cursed makes no sense to me."

Jon didn't know what to say that. He had the urge to laugh and wished Lady Stark would hear the girl's words.

"Temple of Light?" he asked. "Where can I find this Temple of Light?"

"In Volantis," she replied and sat back down on the bed. "It is a beautiful city. You should visit if you have the time."

"I told you...I will go to the Night's Watch. The Wall is the only place for a bastard like me. The rumours say the King is coming to make my father Hand of the King. His wife wants me to leave."

"Then leave…I don't understand why this Wall is the only place you can go," she replied and met his gaze. Her words angered him, but he tried to keep his composure.

"Didn't you listen?" he grumbled. „I am a stranger in my father's home...," he continued but stopped himself after he noticed her sad expression.

A moment of heavy silence followed, before she spoke again.

"You are a free man...you can go wherever you want and leave your mark on the world. I don't understand why you want to go to the Wall when the whole world stands open to you. Go to Essos...nobody there will care if you are a bastard."

"I can't just go," he countered and sat down on the bed next to her. "I have a duty."

"Duty to whom?"

"My father...to remove his shame. By serving in the Night's Watch I can achieve that."

"If your father is ashamed for fathering you then doesn't deserve to be called your father."

"How can you say that?" he asked and fisted the bedding. "Do you even know your father?"

"No," she replied a sad expression taking hold of her beautiful face. „I only know that he is dead...like my mother and brother."

He felt like slapped.

"I...," he stuttered and lowered his head apologetically. "I am truly sorry."

"You are a strange boy," she said and pursed her lips. "I forgot to ask...What is your name?"

"Jon Snow," he replied and felt her hand on his cheek. Her touch was warm and he couldn't help but to return the gesture.

She smiled at that.

"Well, then Jon Snow...I can assure you that you won't have to worry about bastards. We all know how to make moon tea."

He frowned and brushed her hand away.

"Why would you want to do it with me?"

"I rather do it with you than some other fool. You are at least pretty to look at."

Her words made his cheeks burn.

"You mean it?"

"Of course," she replied and brushed her hand through his dark curls. "I mean it."

"I am not lying," she assured him and leaned down to kiss him. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, touching his lips to hers. The kiss warmed him from head to toe and left him delirious for more.

Then she let go of him and pulled off her cloak, followed by her dress. She was precious to behold and made his breeches uncomfortable tight.

Gods, he thought and was torn between running away and kissing her again.

Again she bridged the distance and kissed him, her hands pulling on his hair.

Her mouth felt so soft and he was soon losing himself to her touch. Carefully, she helped him discard the rest of his clothes. Only when she started to work the bindings of his breeches did he stop her.

"I may be a maid, but I know what I am doing," she assured him and touched him.

A moan escaped him and he felt both shame and lust washing over him. Then he balled his fists in the bedding and closed his eyes.

It felt like a massive wave, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Don't fret," she told him and helped him pull down the breeches. „It won't hurt...boys are luckier than girls in that regard."

A trembling laugh escaped him.

"So I heard," he replied and touched her shoulder. She smiled as settled herself on him, though he saw a hint of discomfort washing over her, before a gasp left her mouth.

"Are you well?" he asked her then and brushed his hand over cheek. She smiled at that. It was a smile that tugged at his heart.

"Aye," she replied balanced herself against his chest. Jon bit back a groan and then another. It was too tight and too warm.

It took not much more than that, before the world started to blur before his eyes. When he came back from his haze he felt only shame.

The way she was calmly washing herself bothered him even more.

"Do you want to wash yourself?" she asked, but he needed to leave, to forget about his shame, to hit Theon and to thank Robb, to do something.

"I am fine," he replied and put on his clothes, before slipping out of the room.

Yet even at night, when he was rolling from one side to the other, was he unable to forget her sad smile.

...

The Namless Girl

She was occupied with the calculations when a strange customer entered the solar.

It was a dwarf, a very well-dressed dwarf.

Yet his ghastly look didn't bother the other girls.

"What brings you here, M'Lord?" Ross, one of the prettier girls asked and smoothed her hands through her red locks.

"Did you come in company of the King?" Kyra added. She was one of the youngest girls, only one and tree.

"Business," the dwarf lord answered. "I am here to find company for the King...there will be a feast in Winterfell."

"We heard of it," Ross replied and grinned down at the dwarf, her breast nearly completely visible through her pale dress. Even from here she was able to see her frozen nipples. "How can we be of service to you, M'Lord?"

The dwarf chuckled.

"I am searching for pretty girls who know how to entertain a King," he explained and looked around. "This shouldn't be hard to accomplish. I never thought a dreary place like the North could be filled with so much beauty.

The girls giggled. Only Ross, the oldest among them, continued to sport her feigned smile.

She knew what it would mean to serve the King.

She the King riding through Wintertown and wasn't very surprised. She heard that he was once a mighty warrior, but now he was only a fat man, dressed in fancy clothing and carrying crown on his head.

"Then tell us…What does the King like?" Kyra asked and twirled her brown air between her two fingers.

The dwarf opened his mouth, but then their Master joined them, his eyes blinking as he noticed this richly-dressed customer.

"M'Lord! M'Lord! Welcome!" their Master greeted and rubbed his hands together. „I am sure we have a girl that will suit your tastes."

"Not today," the dwarf lord answered. "I am here to find ladies for the King."

"The King...!" their Master stuttered and nearly collapsed. „Truly...such an honour," he continued and rang with his composure, his gaze hurriedly wandering over the girls, before coming to rest on her.

"Then you should take a look at our new girl," he boasted proudly as if she was some sort of well-bred horse.

"Barely touched and very beautiful. Look at this exotic hair and those purple eyes."

The dwarf inclined his head and to look at her while she tried to hide herself behind the bottle placed on the table.

He eyed her from head to toe, before giving his answer.

"I fear she wouldn't be to the King's taste," the dwarf explained in an apologetic look. "Her silver hair and her purple eyes would only remind him of a man he once killed for stealing away his betrothed."

Realization showed on her Master's face.

"Of course...we have plenty of other girls. I am sure one of them will suit the King's taste."

The dwarf nodded his head in understanding.

"That would be of great help to me."

Her Master smiled and rushed up the stairs to call for the other girls occupied with customers.

"I need to put on a proper dress," Ross told her, a smug smile curling on her crimson lips. "I think M'Lord is thirsting for a cup of wine."

"I apologize," the dwarf said and smiled at her. "But your lack of beauty wasn't the reason."

The dwarf's forwardness amused him.

"I am not sad," she whispered and filled a cup to the brim. "I saw the King. He is far too big for most girls here. I fear not all of them will make it out alive."

The dwarf lord laughed and sipped from his wine.

"You are a witty one, aren't you?"

"If you think so," she said and continued with her calculations. Since she gave her maidenhead to Robb Stark's brother her Master was hoping that either Robb Stark or the Greyjoy heir will return to demand her company.

Thus he had to find other obligations for her. At first this included cleaning the floors or serving ale to the customers, but when her Master realized that she was good with numbers he allowed her to do the weekly calculations.

"No, I mean it," the dwarf insisted and moved closer get a look at her work. "I never met an honest whore."

She gritted her teeth and bit back a sharp comment.

"Where I come from we call ourselves courtesans."

The dwarf lord cocked an eyebrow and placed his cup back on the table.

"And where is this wondrous place you are coming from?"

"Volantis," she answered hesitatingly, because Ross told her to keep him occupied. "My mistress died and I was sold."

"Volantis," the dwarf repeated and jerked his head at the accounts littering the table. "I am surprised they teach courtesans how to calculate."

"And to read," she corrected him. „We are thought a great many things, M'Lord."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, though I am curious...please tell me more."

She sighed, but answered nonetheless.

"Poetry, music...I was even allowed to study High Vayrian. I miss that the most. No other language can compare."

"I can read a little bit of High Valyrian," the dwarf remarked and emptied his cup. "It is a very beautiful language, though nobody at court appreciates it…the King holds not much love for the Targaryen dynasty."

The name Targaryen sparked something in her blurry memory.

"Naerys...that is my name," she added. "A Targaryen Queen carried this name."

"Aye," the dwarf confirmed. „I saw a painting of her. She liked to dress like a Septa."

"Septa?" she asked, like so often.

"A woman dedicated to the Faith of the Seven. Queen Naerys was known to be very pious," the dwarf explained quickly after he noticed her obvious confusion.

"Interesting...," she began, but her Master's re-appearance interrupted their conversation.

"Girl!" her Master grumbled at her. "Do your work upstairs. You are bothering us."

She frowned, but lowered her head in understanding."Of course."

Arriving at the top of the wooden stairs she stopped and continued listening. She always did that, because it helped her to gauge the situation.

"You should ignore her, M'Lord!" she heard Kyra say. „She thinks she is something special because our Master keeps her fresh for the Stark heir, though I doubt he will come back after his bastard brother plucked her."

Kyra's comment earned her a scolding

„Shut your bloody mouth, girl!"

...

The Bastard of Winterfell

The sound of the feasting guests made his head squirm. He was so happy to see his Uncle again, but when he asked him about joining the Night's Watch he made fun of him. Like the girl with the silver hair.

His Uncle's words wounded his pride.

Jon was ten and five, almost a man grown, but his Uncle dared to call him a child.

And yet his Uncle's words made him doubt his past convictions.

What if his Uncle was right? What if the girl was right?

All he knew was that he had no future in Winterfell if his father agrees to serve as the King's Hand.

Go to Essos. Nobody there would care if you are a bastard, the girl told him and deep down he wanted to believe her. Sometimes he imagined becoming a sellsword, but then he wasn't even able to speak the language spoken across the Narrow Sea. Coin he had too, but his fear held him back.

I have to make a decision, he knew and brushed those troublesome thoughts away. Tomorrow I will decide.

Slowly, he continued to stumble along the wall, fresh snowflakes littering the path before him.

I had a cup too much, he knew and felt the sudden urge to vomit. Ghost seemed to sense his distress and joined his side, licking his hand while he leaned against the stone wall.

"I am well," he assured the wolf.

"You look pale," a stranger's voice disturbed their peace. Jon turned around was surprised to find the Queen's brother, Tyrion Lannister, observing him from the distance. "And very drunk."

"I had only three cups," Jon defended himself, but the dwarf grinned, his ugly face alight with amusement.

"You are the bastard, aren't you?" the dwarf continued his questioning. Jon winced, but tried to keep his composure. This one was a high lord and a Lannister.

A Lannister always pays his debt, he recalled their motto from one of Maester Luwin's dusty books.

"Eddard Stark is my father," he replied, lacking a better answer.

"And Lady Stark is not your mother…which makes you the bastard," the dwarf quipped amusedly.

"Aye, Lady Stark is not my mother," he answered through gritted teeth. Ghost seemed to sense his discomfort and growled at the dwarf.

"Ah, one of the famous direwolves!" the dwarf exclaimed happily and rubbed his hands together.

"May I touch him?"

"You may," Jon confirmed politely. "But be careful. The teeth of a wolf are sharp."

"As are the teeth of a lion," the dwarf countered quickly. "Though I am only a very small lion."

"You are small…nobody can deny that, my Lord," Jon agreed sarcastically.

The dwarf smiled wryly.

"And you are the bastard…nobody can deny that, my boy," the dwarf added gingerly. "I heard about your generous brother. He bought you the most beautiful flower to pluck."

Jon was momentarily confused, but then he understood. He froze in embarrassment, his cheeks burning like a hot brazier against the cold winter air.

"Who…," he stuttered and looked around to make sure that nobody was around to listen to their conversation. "Who told you?"

"The owner of the brothel was bragging about it to me and wanted to offer the girl to the King. Luckily, the King holds not much love for silver-haired beauties."

Jon felt a hint of relief washing over him, though he tried to hide it from the dwarf.

"A witty girl," the dwarf added knowingly. "I have never met a whore who could read and write High Valyrian poetry. What a waste."

"My Lord," Jon interrupted stiffly. "I think it is best I leave you now. I am tired and a bucket awaits me to empty my stomach."

The dwarf grinned.

"I will see you soon, my boy."

I hope not, he muttered and led Ghost away.

As expected, he spent half the night emptying his stomach. Afterwards he rinsed his mouth and tried to sleep, but the uncertainty of his future kept him awake.

Jon was woken by the cry of a woman. Slowly, he rubbed his eyes and pulled on his tunic. Then he made his way to the basin and splashed fresh water into his face to banish away his weariness.

For a brief moment he believed that the woman's cry was merely his imagination, but only a moment later Robb stormed into his chamber, his face as pale as candlewax.

"Bran fell!" he shouted, his voice laced with fear."He fell from the Broken Tower!"

"What?" he asked Robb and followed him down the whirling steps. "How?"

"I don't know," Robb answered and opened the door, Greywind and Ghost close at their heels. "I don't know."

The Broken Tower was not far, just across the courtyard and pass the stables, yet they were not able to see anything. A large group of onlookers was assembling and Robb had to push them aside to get through.

"Out of the way!" Robb shouted as he continued to push the people aside. "Out of the fucking way!"

Finally, the crowd parted and they were allowed to pass.

"Bran!" he heard Lady Stark's whimpering cries. „Wake up! Wake up!"

"Mother!" Robb shouted, his voice growing softer than a feather as he approached his mother, grouching over Bran's body. "I sent a rider to inform father, but we need to move Bran away from here…we can't have him lying her in the dirt. Jon is going to help me."

Jon swallowed hard when he met Lady Stark's piercing blue eyes.

Yet she simply brushed her tears away and ignored him.

"Carefully," she told Robb as he knelt down to lift Bran's body from the ground. Jon did same and moments later they were able to place their brother in a bed, Maester Luwin ready to attend to him.

Then they were sent away and he door was close behind them.

.The waiting proved the worst. The whole day Maester Luwin spent inside Bran's chamber. Only Lord Stark, Lady Stark and Robb were allowed to see him.

Jon longed to see him, but he doubted Lady Stark would appreciate it. Luckily, Robb was kind enough to keep him and Arya informed.

"What did Maester Luwin say?" she asked Robb, her voice brimming with impatience. "When will he wake up? When can we speak to him?"

"I doubt you will be here," Robb replied, his face stern. „The King wants to depart soon."

Arya grimaced.

"I won't go!" she insisted and left, Nymeria trailing after her. "Father can't force me!"

Robb exhaled deeply and shifted his attention back to Jon.

"Father told me he wants to speak to you," Robb added quietly.

Jon shrugged his shoulders and rose to his feet, Ghost following after him. The way Robb said it meant it was important.

"I will speak to him," he assured Robb and whistled at Ghost. "Come along, boy."

The castle was eerily quiet. It felt as if his brother's accident had cast a heavy shadow over their family.

Carefully, he climbed up the stairs and tried to forget his fear. He wondered what Lord Stark could want from him. Jon was hardly ever called to his study. That was usually Theon or Arya.

He exhaled deeply before he open the next door and made his way along a dusty corridor, lined with old pictures and fine tapestries woven out of colourful seam. One carpet showed black wolves running across a white field. There were many more, but an angry shout diverted his attention elsewhere.

"The boy is barely ten and five. I won't take a green recruit to the Wall. A few more years and the boy will be old enough to decide…," Uncle Benjen's muffled voice rattled across the corridor.

Jon froze. This was most definitely his Uncle Benjen's voice and he knew who they were talking about.

"But my wife!" he heard his father's protest."I tried my best to convince his…," his father added, his voice laced with frustration, but his Uncle interrupted him.

"No!" Uncle Benjen replied firmly while Jon moved closer to the study. He didn't dare press his ear against the door, but he heard enough to understand what they were talking about. "Our sister's ghost would hunt me from her grave…speak to your wife and tell her the truth. Fourteen years are long enough to hide behind a lie."

His Uncle's words confused him. Why would Lord Stark's sister care about him? She died before his birth…

"I cannot tell her…I made her believe that he boy is my son and you know how much she dislikes him…," his father continued, but his Uncle showed little patience and interrupted him again.

"Of course she dislikes him!" his Uncle shouted. Who wants to have a bastard growing up among his trueborn children? What did you think? That she would come to love the boy like her own? I never had a wife and I will never have one, but I think both your wife and the boy deserve to know the truth."

Silence followed and he heard the sound footsteps moving against the stone floor.

Truth, he wondered. What truth? And what does his Aunt have to do with it?

"They can never know…Catelyn…she wouldn't understand…I fear what she could do," His father stuttered and fell silent.

"Ned," Uncle Benjen said, his voice heavy and sad. "Lady Stark would endanger her whole family if she told he King about Jon's true parentage. She wouldn't risk her families' safety."

"You don't understand!" his father countered angrily."Lyanna asked me to protect him. For all those years I kept him safe from the King, but Robert's hatred for Prince Rhaegar remains unchanged. Sending him to the Wall would keep him safe…not even the King would be able to touch him there."

"Aye," Uncle Benjen agreed, his voice laced with disapproval. "What about the boy's wishes? How can we decide his future when he doesn't even know his past? Isn't that cruel?"

"Maybe," his father replied, but Jon didn't want to hear the rest. He heard enough and felt only confusion.

Lyanna asked me to protect him. Robert's hatred for Prince Rhaegar remains unchanged. Sending him to the Wall will keep him safe.

Lords Stark's words kept whirling through his mind as he rushed out of the castle. His heart was pounding furiously and sweat was rolling down his brow.

It can't be true! It had to be a lie! A dirty lie…

Anger and sadness washed over him as he opened the door to the crypt. Along the way he had fetched and lit a torch, before slipping down stone steps.

"Come boy!" he told his wolf and together they continued their march through the darkness. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs he turned left and found a familiar statue staring back at him through the darkness.

Deeper and deeper he descended into the crypts until he found the tomb he was searching for.

It was the grave of Lady Lyanna Stark, flanked by the tombs of her Lord Father Rickard Stark and her brother Brandon Stark.

Her statue showed a young girl, her youth captured in stone. There was something very sad about her expression and now Jon knew why.

Lyanna asked me to protect him, he recalled Lord Stark's words. Robert's hatred for Prince Rhaegar remains unchanged. Sending him to the Wall will keep him safe.

The words cut deeper than steel.

"So you were hiding down here?" he asked the statue, anger and sadness whirling up inside him. "All this time you were hiding down her…Mother," he continued and was barely able to force the words over his lips.

Then the tears came, rolling down his cheeks like raindrops.

"Why did you die?" he asked the statue, but received no answer. He couldn't help but to be angry with her, when it wasn't even her fault.

Hatred unlike anything he had ever known pulsed through him. It was Prince Rhaegar who did this to her.

He raped her and the result was…Jon Snow. And yet his mother loved him and asked Lord Stark to protect him when she should have cursed his existence.

He never told me, he thought and stumbled towards the grave. He touched it carefully and rested his head on the cool surface. Lord Stark never told me how much you loved me.

This was the greatest betrayal.

He didn't know how long he remained like this, but Ghost's wet tongue on his skin called him back to the present.

"I know," he muttered to the wolf. "She is dead and yet…," he continued and rose to his feet.

Then he gathered all his courage and lifted the surface of the tomb. The stone statue was nothing, but a false image. Only once he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

Sweat and fresh tears were rolling down his cheeks as he managed to shove the stone lid to the side.

Exhaling deeply he lightened the tomb with his torch, but found no bones. He found only ash and a dusty cloak. Quietly, he crawled into the tomb and touched the garment. It nearly fell apart as he tried to unfurl it, but what was hidden beneath it proved far more interesting.

It was a wooden box, carved out of dark wood and embellished with beautiful gilded carvings of dragons.

Carefully, he opened the box and gasped. Inside he found three colourful stones. With utmost care he picked one from the box and was surprised how warm they felt. Yet the stack of dusty letters placed beneath the stone surprised him even more.

He put the egg aside and opened one of the letters. The paper was old and written in a foreign language. Jon knew it was High Valyrian, because he saw such letters in Maester Luwin's books.

The writing looked elegant, but these stone eggs were even more precious to behold.

Not stone eggs, he corrected himself inwardly and smoothed his hand over the surface. Dragon eggs.

…

The Nameless Girl

She didn't expect him to return, but then he was a rather strange boy. The way he spoke of having to remove his father's shame confused her greatly, but then she didn't really understand how it felt to have a father.

"Do you even have enough coin to pay for her, boy?" her Maester asked Jon Snow, his dark eyes shining with subdued anger.

"I have," the boy confirmed stiffly and put a bag of coins on the table. Her Maester's eyes started to glitter like the stars and a grin revealed his unruly teeth.

"Aye, Aye, that will do!" her Maester said happily and rubbed his hands together. Then he turned around to search for her.

She sighed and didn't even attempt to hide away. It could be worse. The strange boy was pleasant enough.

"Come here girl!" she heard her Master's shout. She straightened herself and feigned a smile. "How may I serve?"

"Get the boy upstairs and do whatever he likes," her Master told her. She smiled and dipped her head again.

"Come along, my M'Lord," she said and jerked her head towards the stairs. "I think you know the way."

"I know," the boy confirmed stiffly and followed after her. He didn't look very enthusiastic, but maybe be that was just part of his personality.

Once she had closed the door behind her she filled two cups. Then she started to remove her dress, but the boy stopped her.

"Please…that is not why I came here," the tried to explain and ruffled his unruly dark hair out of his face.

"There is something else I want…," he added and pulled something out of the vest of his cloak. She stopped and watched as he put a stack of papers on the table. The paper looked very old, yet it didn't explain why he brought the letters here.

"I don't understand," she said and met his grey eyes. "Can't you read?"

"Of course I can read," the boy replied and appeared insulted by her words. "But not that…it is High Valyrian…I heard you can read it. Can you translate it for me?"

She was speechless and a moment later she broke out in laughter.

"Gods…," she said and tried to stifle her laughter. "You paid all this money for me to get your letters translated?"

He frowned.

"These are very important and personal letters...," he explained, his voice laced with anger. "Can you read High Valyrian or not?"

"Aye," she confirmed and was beginning to realize how important this was for him. "I can read High Valyrian."

Carefully, she picked the first letter from the stack and unfolded it.

The writing was marvellous and spoke of good penmanship, but the use of the language was even better. It were only a few sentences, but the author was without question fluent in High Valyrian.

"Greetings to you Grand-Uncle Aemon….I hope that you are in good health and that I will soon find time to visit you at the Wall. I enjoy our correspondence, but to have the possibility to speak face to face with you would be an even greater pleasure. Life is difficult in the capital and my father's madness taking a toll on us. Yet among this darkness we were blessed with good news. Elia is expecting again, though the Maester never fails to remind me of the dangers. Please return this letter to me as always and write me a lengthy reply. As always, I hope you will be watching the skies as diligently as myself. Sincerely yours, Prince RhaegarTargaryen."

"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen," she repeated the name to herself. There was something very familiar about this name, but she forgot where she heard it.

Jon Snow seemed equally disturbed.

"Are you well?" she dared to ask, but received no immediate answer.

Instead he exhaled deeply and pulled his cloak from his shoulder.

"Aye," he said and moved over to the table, before drowning the cup in one go. "Please continue."

"Very well," she replied and picked up the next letter.

"Greetings to you Grand-Uncle…I hope this letter receives you in good health. The tourney of Harrenhall proved as wasteful as I expected and my father's presence there only helped to stir the cries for a rebellion. Tywin offered his support, but I can't bring myself to trust the old Lion. Elia is as well as can be expected given the difficult birth of my son Aegon. He is a precious boy and healthy as one can be, but something is not right. On the day he was conceived I saw a bleeding star, but his birth went about like any other. Maybe I was wrong to think him the promised prince…Could I have been wrong? And I made an interesting acquaintance…Lady Lyanna Stark…the daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. But why am I telling you this? You probably heard that I crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. The girl from the North proved brave and beautiful…I only wanted to honour her for her valiant deeds (of which I intend to tell you about in my next letter), but my wife misunderstood my intentions. Why I am writing this to you is beyond me, but it feels like you are the only friendly spirit I can converse with in these dark times. As always, stay in good health, Grand-Uncle. Sincerely yours, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

"This Prince Rhaegar sounds unhappy," she remarked and shifted her attention to Jon Snow. He was still deadly silent, his gaze lost and sad.

"Aye," he replied, but didn't speak further.

"Lady Lyanna Stark," she repeated. "I think I have heard people talk about her. Is she a relative of yours?"

"Aye, she was my aunt," he replied through gritted teeth. "But that was another lie. In truth she was my mother."

She gasped and finally understood why he was so distraught. Lady Lyanna was supposedly raped, but she forgot the name of the man who did this vile deed.

"I am sorry," she apologized and picked up the next later. This letter was dated a year later.

„Greetings to you Grand-Uncle…I hope my letter reaches you in good health. These lines were written in hurry, for the realm is breaking apart before my very eyes. You might have heard about my father's vile deed…he murdered Rickard and Brandon Stark in cold blood, though I have yet to discover why Brandon Stark thought I abducted my beloved Lyanna, though she assured me that she left a massage for him in the hands of Lady Lysa Tully, supposedly a trustworthy friend of hers. Not that it matters now. My beloved Lyanna is heavy with child and I need to keep her safe or the promised prince might never be born. Until then take care of yourself and keep watching the skies. Sincerely yours, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

"My beloved Lyanna….my beloved Lyanna," Jon Snow muttered to himself and grabbed the table. "How dare he call her that!"

Then she finally understood. The man who abducted her was this Prince Rhaegar. All her knowledge about the Targaryen line ended with King Jaehaerys the Second death and thus she lacked in knowledge about the succeeding Targaryen Kings.

And yet this Prince Rhaegar called her "my beloved Lyanna". Why would he call her that if he raped her?

"It seems he cared about your mother," she said at last and offered her own conclusions on the matter. "I don't think he harmed your mother."

"I know that now," he replied angrily and rose to his feet, before binding the letters back together. "But he left his wife and children. He should have known better…my Grandfather and Uncle died for their folly."

"I see," she remarked, taken back by his aggressive tone. "I didn't mean to insult you…," she wanted to continue, but then she noticed the tremor in his shoulder and heard his soft whimpers.

He was crying and she felt utterly helpless.

"He was my father…I wish he was just a rapist…that would have make it so much easier to hate him…," he stuttered, tears rolling down his cheeks.

She didn't know what to say, but she felt the urge to comfort him. He came here freely, baring his secrets to her, a stranger. He trusts me to keep his secrets, she understood and rose to her feet.

Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Yet he didn't stop. Instead he leaned over the table and continued to weep.

She felt completely helpless and put her arm around his shoulder, steading him as the both of them sank to the ground.

Lacking words of comfort she pulled him in a hesitant embrace. She expected him to pull away, but he buried his head in her neck and continued to weep.

She didn't know how long they sat there, but then he stopped and brushed his tears away.

"I apologize," he said at last, his voice strained and laced with embarrassment. "I shouldn't have acted like this and I shouldn't have burdened you with this knowledge."

"I understand that…but I won't tell anyone…I promise," she added helplessly.

He looked stunned.

"I thank you…," he said almost gently. Slowly, he moved towards the door, but stopped at the last moment. Then he turned around to look at her.

He looked torn, his face a mixture of sadness and determination.

"Naerys…that is your name, isn't it?"

She nodded and liked the way her name sounded on his lips, though it wasn't even her real name.

"Well, then…Naerys…Would you like to go home?"

"Home," she repeated. She never had a real home. All she had was a dream; the red door and the lemon tree. "Braavos…my brother and I used to live there. Of course, I would like to go home."

"Braavos…," the boy repeated, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. "Then that is where we will go."

…

The Bastard Prince

It was nearly dusk when Jon slipped out of the castle. Jon said goodbyes, but it was still hard for him to leave his home.

I can't stay, he knew. My presence here puts them in mortal danger.

And yet it pained him to leave his siblings; Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and even Sansa.

No, this is the best solution for everyone involved.

It was night when he finally arrived at Wintertown. There not far from the market place he waited for his travelling companion.

The wait felt like an eternity as he watched the coming and going of the smallfolk. Most of them he knew, but he doubted they paid him much attention.

"There you are," a quiet voice snapped him out of his reverie and a gentle touch on his shoulder made him turn around. He hardly recognized her with her covered hair.

"We need to hurry...," she told him anxiously. "My Master is a drunk, but the other girls will notice my absence."

"Of course," he replied and led her back to his horse.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?"

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"No, but I would love to try," she added and tightened her grip on his arm. Her touch warmed his cheeks, but he quickly brushed those thoughts away.

There is no time for this.

"Well, then let me show you," he answered and climbed in the saddle while her curious purple eyes continued to observe him from the ground.

"Now it's your turn," he prodded. "Just put the feet in the stirrup and climb up. Don't be afraid. I will catch you if you fall."

"I am not afraid," she assured him determinedly and put her feet in the stirrup. With quick movement on her side she was seated where she belonged.

They didn't speak as they rode through the woods and avoided the main roads. The weather was kind, an occasional snow storm slowing down their travel.

They rode through the night and at times Jon felt like slipping out of his saddle. Then he welcomed the icy wind, keeping him from falling asleep.

After a day of riding they decided to rest. He led the horse deeper into the woods and tied it to a nearby tree. Wrapped up in their cloaks they tried to sleep, but the sun falling through the treetops made it almost impossible.

Jon was also afraid of being discovered

He stole a girl, even though he promised to accompany his Uncle Benjen to the Night's Watch.

He did it to buy himself time, but his lie weighed heavily on his mind.

Lord Stark lied to you for fourteen years, he thought, fresh anger stirring inside him. What do you care about a flimsy promise?

"Jon," the soft voice of his travelling companion snapped him out of his thoughts. "Where are we going?"

"White Harbour," he returned and met her gaze. "There will find a ship."

Realization showed on her face.

"I recall this place," she answered and pulled down her cloak. "And really you think we will find a ship that leaves for Braavos?"

"I hope so," he said and tried to sound confident. "Any ship travelling to Essos would do…we have to leave as soon as possible."

Fear showed on her face.

"As long as we don't go to Volantis or one of the Slaver's Cities we should be fine."

Her words confused him.

"I thought Volantis is a beautiful city."

"It is," she confirmed and pulled down her shawl to reveal some sort of tattoo resembling tear drops. "Every slave has such a tattoo. Everyone in Volantis would know that I am escaped slave. This means death for me. Slavery is forbidden in Braavos. It is one of the few safe places for someone like me."

Jon swallowed hard, disgust filing him to the brim.

The girls in the brothel were practically slaves of their Master living right under his Lord Father's nose.

Once he exiled a high lord for the crime of slavery, but the poor girls were of little interest.

"Jon," his travelling companion's soft voice called him back to the present. "Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"Aye," he confirmed. "I understand."

The smell of salt and sea filled his nostrils as they made their way through White Harbour.

It was the first city he visited and he was impressed by what he saw. The houses were made out of white stones glimmering in the pale morning light like the polished surface of a sword.

All looked so orderly and even the streets were made of smooth stones like the rest of the buildings.

Along the harbour he spotted several docks filled with countless ships in all forms and sizes. The people working on the ships were even stranger to behold. Some were dark as ink, some pale-haired like the girl in his arms and some had even pink haired.

Weary from the long travel they settled in a nearby tavern. A few coins and they even got a proper meal consisting of grilled fish and sea grass. The ale was bitter and the fish was good, though his travelling companion touched any of it.

"Don't fret," he assured her and started to rummage through his belongings. He stole clothing from the servants, but he feared they might be too big for her small form.

"Here," he said and dropped the clothing in her lap. "Put this on…it will disguise you well enough to ward off suspicious looks."

"I thank you," she replied and started to remove her cloak. Jon didn't waste another moment and turned around, facing the wall.

She chuckled, obviously amused by his behaviour.

"I apologize," she said as she continued to dress. "But you have seen me before and yet you act like this…"

"I only did it to please my brother," he explained plainly. "He spent a lot of coin for my sake. In truth I feel ashamed of my behaviour."

"Oh," he heard her answer, soft and sad. This was not what intended to achieve. "I didn't think it was such a bother for you."

"It was no bother," he corrected himself. "I enjoyed it, but I thought myself above such things…and I swore that I would never father a bastard. I used you for my personal pleasure and that was wrong."

"You don't need to feel ashamed," she assured him after a moment of silence had passed between them. "And you helped me to get away."

Another moment of silence passed between them as he listened to the rustling of her clothing. Finally, his travelling companion freed him from this strange situation.

She looked strange in the wide clothing meant for a young man, but it was necessary.

"Good," he replied and couldn't help but to smile. "Now rest. I will get food for Ghost. He hasn't eaten since yesterday and he grows upset if he has to go hungry."

As if his wolf understood him he lifted his head and yawned.

"I will do that," she replied, before settling down on the bed made of wool and hay. Ghost didn't seem to mind her presence and rolled to the others side, before dozing off.

In truth he didn't just get food for Ghost, but spent half the evening asking around for a ship leaving to Braavos. Finally, after a dozen of conversations he found a galley named the Lady of the Sea.

The Captain was massive man and dressed in rich robes, but he offered him a fair price. Jon feared his wolf would scare the Captain away, but it seems the promise of transporting an exotic animal intrigued the man.

He tried to be as silent as possible, but his travelling companion already awake, Ghost's head resting in her lap.

The sight surprised him, but he kept it to himself.

"It seems Ghost and you are getting acquainted," he remarked.

"You were gone long," she replied and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I thought you got lost."

"I found a ship," he explained and rinsed his face in the bowl of water placed on a nearby table. "The ship is called the Lady of the Sea. The Captain wants to leave today…we should hurry."

She smiled in relief and quickly fastened her cloak.

"What about your horse?"

"I sold it…coin is more important," he explained.

.Men in all sizes and colours were loading goods on the ship while the Captain was puffing his pipe.

"Ah, there you are!" the Captain exclaimed in a thick-Bravoosi accent, his small grey eyes darting to his wolf. "And the promised beast. You weren't lying when you said that his fur is as white as snow.

"I thank you," he replied and feigned a smile. Then he shifted his attention back to his travelling companion. "This is my friend…he will travel with us. Sadly, he can't speak properly."

"A waste…such a pretty boy," the Captain remarked. "The Gods are cruel."

Jon didn't comment and pulled her along towards the ship. It was nearly midday when they left White Harbour behind them.

Jon felt both relief and sadness, but it was better this way.

One day I will return, he promised to himself. One day.

"Jon," his travelling companion addressed him. Jon wanted to chide her for it, but the door to the cabin was closed. "I know it is a silly question…But why did you ask me to come with you?"

Because I couldn't forget your sad smile, he wanted to say, but found another reason.

"I know nothing of the Free Cities…I can't even speak the language," he explained and ruffled his hand through his hair. "Once we arrive in Braavos you can leave…you are free to go wherever you want."

She shook her head.

"I was only four when I lived there. My brother and I lived in a small house with a red door and an elderly man took care of us. One day men came and killed my brother and the old man. I don't know how I made it out, but they found me roaming in the streets. Naerys…that is not even my real name. My brother used to call me Dany. I tried to explain it to my Mistress, but she found the name too plain."

"Dany," he repeated the name. He was a simple name, but suited her.

"Then I will call you Dany," he declared and pulled his cloak around his shoulders. "You are free…you don't have to carry the name these slavers gave you."

She smiled.

"Jon is a rather plain name for the son of a Prince, but it suits you."

He laughed.

"I suppose you are right."

…