King Robert convened an unprecedentedly small council. When the news reached Renly, he was still at breakfast, relishing a succulent ham.
Ser Barristan, who had been invited to join him, immediately rose. "Forgive my departure, Your Highness."
"Wait," Renly called to a servant. "May I accompany you?" If his memory served, this council concerned Daenerys Targaryen. He had resolved other matters, but this one lingered; to him, the innocent Mother of Dragons was not so different from Sansa Stark at present.
The servant returned swiftly with Robert's response. "Yes, you may."
Renly hurried after Ser Barristan. Upon arriving at the council chamber, he could hear Robert's furious voice even through the grand door, a roar that could nearly shatter the ceiling, reminiscent of the warrior on the Trident. "Just a Targaryen girl!"
Renly pushed the door open to find, to his astonishment, Tyrion seated at the king's right hand. He appeared anything but weary from his journey; on the contrary, he seemed excessively animated.
"You have arrived," Tyrion greeted him. "We are deliberating on how to deal with the Targaryen girl."
"Daenerys," Renly mused, observing his brother, who now seemed gripped by an anxiety overshadowing his rage.
At that moment, across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen gazed longingly westward. Magister Illyrio Mopatis smiled as he introduced a new servant. "Your Grace, we have recently acquired a girl from your homeland, Westeros."
"A slave?" Daenerys doubted the girl belonged to such a fate. Though worn by hardship, her bearing suggested a comfortable past, despite her disheveled black hair. Her violet-blue eyes were unmistakable.
"Do you possess Targaryen blood?" Daenerys instinctively asked, employing High Valyrian.
The girl appeared perplexed, responding in the Common Tongue. "I do not comprehend your words, Your Grace. However, he was mistaken. I am not a slave. I desire Lord Illyrio's dragon eggs, and he promised them to me in exchange for my service as your maid."
The girl spoke with considerable fluency, her accent bearing traces of Westeros. Yet, for reasons unknown, Daenerys felt an uncanny familiarity in her gaze. "Do you have a name?"
"My name is… Jeyne," the girl said, her eyes steady. "Hailing from the North."
Nonetheless, the girl—Jon Snow—was well aware that this ruse could not be sustained for long. Illyrio and Varys were of the same ilk; the Spider was adept at speculation, and the merchants of Pentos were hardly any better. Illyrio had first proposed to gift her a sword, and upon rejection, suggested she could earn a dragon egg by sharing his bed.
"Is that so?" Daenerys pondered, perplexed by her desire for a dragon egg.
This time, Jon pursed her lips, and Daenerys could discern the complexity of her emotions. "For in Westeros," Jon said carefully, "a bastard without a great name or fortune is destined to be oppressed. A dragon would change that."
"A bastard?" Daenerys comprehended. She turned to Magister Illyrio, who wore an expression of helpless benevolence.
"I possess dragon eggs from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," Illyrio said. "I shall grant her one, as a tribute to her… determination."
Daenerys understood that further words were futile. The handmaidens adorned her splendidly, with Jon lending a hand. Perhaps sensing Daenerys's deep yearning for her homeland, Jon intentionally conveyed news of Westeros.
"I hail from the North, Your Grace. Presently, Westeros basks in summer, yet the North still experiences summer snows. The southern regions bloom vibrantly. All is… well."
Jon's hand gently brushed against Daenerys's hair; her palms bore calluses, indicative of martial training.
"Do they long for the true dragons?" Daenerys inquired.
"Your brother Rhaegar, though defeated at the Trident, is still honored in Dorne. Some remain loyal to you. The people of the North are not overly concerned with southern politics, yet we support any just ruler." Jon carefully chose her words. "Should you ride a great dragon back to Westeros, you would be welcomed as warmly as the Conqueror Aegon."
"But what if there are no dragons?" Daenerys was eager to know, though her intuition suggested the answer would not be favorable.
Her gaze drifted down Jon's neck, where a necklace adorned her. Even with Daenerys's discerning eye, it was evident the piece was not of great value, yet it shimmered with an unusual luster. In her childhood, Ser Willem had told her that some peculiar necklaces served to protect their wearer. This implied the girl had family support.
"Who bestowed that necklace upon you?" Daenerys asked, a sudden surge of intense jealousy rising within her.
Jon cast a glance downward, seemingly taken aback. "It came from my half-brother, Robb. Our sibling bond has always been strong."
Illyrio's eyes flickered with interest. Daenerys felt a tinge of envy. Yet before she could voice her thoughts, she was seized by the furious Viserys.
"This handmaiden belongs to a Great House! How could you allow her to approach you?" Although Viserys directed his ire towards Daenerys, it was evidently aimed at Illyrio.