Daenerys stared at him with those piercing lavender eyes that never failed to make Jon think of the birth father he had never known and all he had done, good and bad, and Jon could not help but cringe. "You would host a tourney?" she asked. "You, who do not even believe in tourneys, who would rather suffer bed lice than participate in one?"
Jon shrugged, and he did feel more than a little uncomfortable. He was grateful the women in his life were willing to stand up to him. Margaery's political understanding far exceeded his own, and Daenerys knew more about the Targaryens than Jon ever would. And Lady Olenna, well, she was Lady Olenna. Still, sometimes he had to cater to someone other than them. "I did not want to," he said. "But when the King offers to sponsor a small tourney for your son's first nameday, you do not turn him down."
"Besides," Margaery added, her hand resting on her still flat stomach, where Jon alone, aside from Maester Cressen, knew their second child grew. "It is as good an opportunity to assess our assets as any. Any lord out there who has an inkling about who Jon is and who wishes to support his claim will be here, and we will have a chance to meet with each of them personally."
Daenerys rolled her eyes. "You just want your brother to win the tilt and crown you the queen of love and beauty," she said.
Margaery smiled that crooked smile of hers that Jon would always claim was responsible for this second babe of theirs, conceived moons before Maester Cressen felt it was safe. Jon did feel guilty about that. Would have felt worse if Margaery had seemed to share even a bit of his apprehension. Then again, her mother had not died in childbirth, but had birthed four healthy babes and lived to see them to adulthood. Jon supposed he had no choice but to trust in those numbers. "That I do," Margaery confirmed. "My Lord Husband is never going to lift a lance outside of battle, and he would have favoured the melee even if he had appreciated tourneys. If I must count on my brother, I will." She flashed Jon a cheeky smile. "Of course, there is still the risk Loras crowns Jon ahead of me."
Jon rolled his eyes, but could not help the flush stealing over his face. As flattering as Loras' regard and loyalty was, they were also friends and goodbrothers. That was all that would be shared between them, and while Jon and Loras had worked that out between them years ago, Margaery still thought it entertaining enough to bring up repeatedly. Jon thought it cruel, but he did not point that out either, since he knew Margaery did truly love Loras more than life itself. She just had an odd way to go about it. "I would look ridiculous wearing a crown of roses," he said with a small huff.
Margaery grinned. "You would look a vision," she said. "Just as I am certain your Lady Mother did. However, I am not so sure the realm is ready for a shock like that again. So let us hope Loras keeps his senses."
Dany's disapproving frown cut through any levity Jon and Margaery had established between themselves throughout the course of the conversation. "It is dangerous," she said. "I can be hidden away with the dragonseed here," she continued. "Duncan cannot; it is his nameday,
after all. And we have four dragons on the island. All of them larger than horses. Can we truly keep them out of sight for a full fortnight or more?"
Jon breathed in deep, suddenly quite a bit more anxious than he cared to be. "We must," he said. "And you have to do it. I cannot. People will be watching me at all times. No one knows you are here, Aunt, but the dragons listen to you. You must keep them confined to the catacombs, or take them even deeper than that, or it will all be over. We are not ready for war, especially if Robert Baratheon and all his loyalists decide to show up here all at once." He stopped, swallowed, and suddenly this tourney that was being pushed upon him seemed something far more than he could manage. "They heed my commands, if I think of them hard enough. All you have to do is reinforce them. Can you do that?"
Daenerys looked at him for several long moments. Then she inclined her head. "Even if I have to sit them down and attempt to explain to them in High Valyrian what will happen if we reveal ourselves, I will do it," she said. For all that her words painted a humorous picture, Jon knew to take her seriously, so he gave her a deep nod, gave her his trust. Then he took Margaery's elbow and led her out of the room.
"How are you?" he asked, forcing his own voice to remain steady, free of all the worries that gripped him whenever he was careless enough to allow them to get a hold.
"I am tired," she said. "My feet and breasts ache, and everything I try to eat makes me want to be sick. It is no worse than it was with Duncan, and I am nearly two name days older than I was when we made him. There is nothing to worry about."