A Light Sleep

Daenaerys was dreaming. She found herself in a great, green garden. She noticed a flash of colour out of the corner of her eye and looked down, marvelling at the soft pink colour of the silk Summer dress she was wearing; she wasn't wearing any shoes either. The feeling of the grass and the soft, springy soil beneath on her bare feet was nice. Looking back up at the garden around her, she saw a series of trees dotted about here and there. One of them bore a bounty of apples, ripe and red in the summer Sun. Another boasted a pear tree, all of them equally ripe. The third was a cherry tree, and the fourth...

She walked over to it, reaching out and grasping a vivid yellow fruit that hung from one of the lower branches. A lemon. Dany smiled, plucking it from the branch and inspecting it. It looked lovely, all round and soft. When she applied the slightest bit of pressure, juice started to run in little rivulets down her palm. She looked around, then, satisfied she was alone, she brought it up to her mouth and took a long, slow bite from it. The instant she started to feel the lemon's bitter taste on her tongue, a voice like the crack of a whip rang through the garden. "DAENAERYS!" It thundered, and Dany turned, wide-eyed and suddenly feeling very frightened, to see someone she hadn't seen in years.

"Princess Daenaerys!" The voice continued, and she saw now it was none other than old Willem Darry, the kindly knight who had acted as Dany and her brother Viserys' guardian, those first few years in exile. Darry looked just how she remembered him, if not better. Though he leant heavily on a cane as he walked, he was haler and heartier than he had been since before the sickness had begun to eat away at him; the most striking difference was his demeanour; for Willem Darry looked angry, very angry indeed, in a way she had never really seen him be in her past life in Braavos.

"What are you doing, Princess?!" He yelled. Dany was confused. She opened her mouth to respond, but the subtle stirring of a breeze killed the words before they left her throat. She felt suddenly uneasy, a bead of sweat started rolling down her forehead. Slowly, she was able to bring herself to finally look down again, and what she saw — where previously there had been the soft, flowing pink silk of her summer dress — was nothing at all. Every inch of her was bare, and she saw that already the afternoon heat was making her sweat all over, so that her breasts were slick with sweat, beads of it running down her chest, some of them momentarily collecting and quivering on the tips of her light pink nipples before dropping onto the grass below.

She looked up, unable to respond to old Willem Darry as he chastised her. "What are you thinking, girl? Is this how I raised you?" He said, shaking his head in disgust. "To think...the very last Targaryen, prancing about unclothed, like...like..." He trailed off, staring deep into her eyes.

Dany blinked furiously, fighting back tears. Willem Darry, the closest thing to a Father she'd ever known, seeing her like this...it was almost too much to bear. The worst part was that his gaze never left her face, he knew of her nakedness, but had no interest in it, not in that way. He was simply disappointed, and the disappointment made Dany quake in shame.

"Ser Willem..." She began, but no other words came to her; nor could she bring herself to move. It was as if she were rooted to the spot, **** to endure the terrible, all-encompassing shame of being seen like this by the oldest, kindest figure from her long-gone childhood, and unable to even justify herself. The moment seemed to last forever, and then, so gradually she scarcely even noticed what was happening, the dream began to blur and melt away. Before long the only evidence it had ever happened at all was her own memory, where the disapproving face of Willem Darry stayed, and would continue to for some time to come.