Fic: Debut
Title: Debut
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont, Viserys Targaryen, Illyrio Mopatis
Word Count: 1152
Ratings & Warnings: T for hints of incest
Summary: Lady Daenerys Targaryen makes her entrance into London society and finds a kindred spirit in the most unlikely guest at Mr Mopatis' dinner party. [Edwardian-era AU]
Author's Note: Written to fulfill a request as part of an AU scenario meme on Tumblr: Dany/Jorah, Downton Abbey-style.
Debut
"This is what you were born to, my dear sister," Viserys bent to hiss in Dany's ear as she alit from the staircase in the great hall of Pentos Place, the London mansion of the Right Honourable Illyrio Mopatis, Chancellor of the Exchequer.
It seemed to Dany that her brother's lilac eyes seemed to darkened almost to violet as they swept over the neckline of her gown, her pale skin prickling pink with a flush as her brother raised his hand. She thought for a moment his long slender fingers would caress the hollow between the exposed tops of her breasts--he had touched her that way before--but they only rested for a moment on the heirloom serpentine pendant she wore about her neck, pressing the cold silver against her breastbone.
"You're the Duke of Dragonstone's daughter," he said. "Make it a debut worthy of the title."
If I did that, Dany thought but did not dare say aloud as they made their way to the drawing room, where the other guests had surely all assembled by now, awaiting the guest of honour, it wouldn't help your political aspirations. Their father, now an inmate at Hellingly Hospital, was more commonly referred to by his peers as the Mad Duke of Dragonstone. These lords and politicians Viserys wanted so desperately to impress hardly needed to be reminded of that.
In the drawing room, Dany tried to smile graciously as their host swept her about making introductions. For once in their life of genteel poverty, she looked the part of a noblewoman--thanks to Mr Mopatis. Though widowed, he had employed a lady's maid expressly to assist her during their stay in town, who was adept at the latest coiffures, and he had also presented her with the most generous gift of a suitable wardrobe for a débutante, which the meagre allowance she and Viserys lived on could never afford: a court presentation gown and an assortment of walking suits and tea and ball gowns and dinner dresses, including the pale lavender one she wore now.
Truth be told, she felt at ease in neither the role nor the gown. She clung too tightly to the Mr Mopatis' arm, her stride limited by the narrow hemline, afraid the trailing tulle train would tangle in the dainty heels of her evening shoes. Her cheeks and chest flushed hotly as she felt the eyes of the other guests upon her. The men not did not trouble themselves to their admiration of her silhouette--the neckline, though modest enough for a maidenly deb, was nevertheless the most revealing she had ever worn; the women envied the French designer label it apparently carried--though Dany had no notion of that until she heard their whispers. Finances had not permitted her a great deal of familiarity with haute couture, except in ladies' magazines. And she hardly found those stimulating reading material.
What in heaven's name would she talk to everybody about? Sudden panic gripped her, and she in turn gripped Mr Mopatis' flabby arm so tightly that he glanced down at her in some alarm. She might be a Duke's daughter, but she had nothing else in common with these people.
Much to her relief, even though this dinner was being held in her honour, no one seemed to expect her to say much that could not be answered with a simple yes or no or thank you, you're very kind. In fact they seemed to forget about her altogether--until after dinner, when the men re-joined the ladies in the drawing room from their port and cigars, and a balding, broad-shouldered man approached her. Dany's gloves grew moist with perspiration as she wracked her brain to remember the name by which he had been introduced to her.
"Sir Jorah Mormont," he said as if reading her mind, his voice a low rumble and his accent containing the faintest trace of the North. Before Dany had time to splutter in embarrassment, he added, " You've had to learn a lot of new names in the past few days, I should imagine."
The words were accompanied by a smile which, though his face was decidedly not handsome, comforted Dany. His eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and she saw that they were brown and warm. She felt her own lips curve in the first genuine smile of the evening--perhaps of her entire debut so far.
"It's rather like being back in the schoolroom, reciting the Kings and Queens of England for my disapproving governess."
Sir Jorah chuckled, and Dany's grin widened with the pleasure of having amused one of these important guests. She wondered just what it was that made Mr Mopatis include this one in the party; Sir Jorah's tailcoat, she had noticed, was not the latest cut the other men wore, and she noticed that it had been carefully mended in a few places. He was not a wealthy man, despite his title. Somehow, this made her feel even more comfortable with him.
"Mr Mopatis tells me you spend most of your time in his library," he said.
"Oh yes! Reading is my favourite pastime."
The library of their ancestral home, alas, was sadly depleted, Viserys having sold the most valuable books. She had wept when she discovered the beautiful volume of Shakespeare's sonnets was gone, and Viserys slapped her and called her ungrateful and many other words she was certain the daughters of dukes were not supposed to know.
"Mine, too," said Sir Jorah. "And what do you enjoy reading most, Lady Daenerys? I'm afraid I'm sadly ignorant of what is popular with young people these days."
She crinkled her nose--thinking belatedly that she was perhaps being too unguarded with her feelings, but Sir Jorah seemed not to mind. "I'll read anything, but Romances are the very best."
"Knights and ladies?"
"Real ones, who were brave and had adventures and loved. Not--"
Catching Viserys' watching her from by the fireplace with narrowed eyes, she stopped short, biting her lower lip and averting her gaze to the floor.
Taking a step nearer to her, Sir Jorah inclined his head and drew her gaze back to his. "Not like the games these high lords and ladies play?"
"Indeed."
He straightened up, tugging at his waistcoat. "Well, Lady Daenerys, I believe I have something you may enjoy. Just this afternoon I stumbled upon a beautiful edition of Le Morte d'Arthur in a second-hand shop. Shall I bring it over tomorrow?"
As Dany looked up at him, she found herself suddenly shy again--though not in the agonizing way she experienced with the other guests. It was a rather pleasant sensation, in fact, the way her breath caught and her heart beat a little faster in her breast.
And this time, when she said, "Yes, Sir Jorah…Thank you…you're very kind," she meant it with all her heart.
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont, Viserys Targaryen, Illyrio Mopatis
Word Count: 1152
Ratings & Warnings: T for hints of incest
Summary: Lady Daenerys Targaryen makes her entrance into London society and finds a kindred spirit in the most unlikely guest at Mr Mopatis' dinner party. [Edwardian-era AU]
Author's Note: Written to fulfill a request as part of an AU scenario meme on Tumblr: Dany/Jorah, Downton Abbey-style.
Debut
"This is what you were born to, my dear sister," Viserys bent to hiss in Dany's ear as she alit from the staircase in the great hall of Pentos Place, the London mansion of the Right Honourable Illyrio Mopatis, Chancellor of the Exchequer.
It seemed to Dany that her brother's lilac eyes seemed to darkened almost to violet as they swept over the neckline of her gown, her pale skin prickling pink with a flush as her brother raised his hand. She thought for a moment his long slender fingers would caress the hollow between the exposed tops of her breasts--he had touched her that way before--but they only rested for a moment on the heirloom serpentine pendant she wore about her neck, pressing the cold silver against her breastbone.
"You're the Duke of Dragonstone's daughter," he said. "Make it a debut worthy of the title."
If I did that, Dany thought but did not dare say aloud as they made their way to the drawing room, where the other guests had surely all assembled by now, awaiting the guest of honour, it wouldn't help your political aspirations. Their father, now an inmate at Hellingly Hospital, was more commonly referred to by his peers as the Mad Duke of Dragonstone. These lords and politicians Viserys wanted so desperately to impress hardly needed to be reminded of that.
In the drawing room, Dany tried to smile graciously as their host swept her about making introductions. For once in their life of genteel poverty, she looked the part of a noblewoman--thanks to Mr Mopatis. Though widowed, he had employed a lady's maid expressly to assist her during their stay in town, who was adept at the latest coiffures, and he had also presented her with the most generous gift of a suitable wardrobe for a débutante, which the meagre allowance she and Viserys lived on could never afford: a court presentation gown and an assortment of walking suits and tea and ball gowns and dinner dresses, including the pale lavender one she wore now.
Truth be told, she felt at ease in neither the role nor the gown. She clung too tightly to the Mr Mopatis' arm, her stride limited by the narrow hemline, afraid the trailing tulle train would tangle in the dainty heels of her evening shoes. Her cheeks and chest flushed hotly as she felt the eyes of the other guests upon her. The men not did not trouble themselves to their admiration of her silhouette--the neckline, though modest enough for a maidenly deb, was nevertheless the most revealing she had ever worn; the women envied the French designer label it apparently carried--though Dany had no notion of that until she heard their whispers. Finances had not permitted her a great deal of familiarity with haute couture, except in ladies' magazines. And she hardly found those stimulating reading material.
What in heaven's name would she talk to everybody about? Sudden panic gripped her, and she in turn gripped Mr Mopatis' flabby arm so tightly that he glanced down at her in some alarm. She might be a Duke's daughter, but she had nothing else in common with these people.
Much to her relief, even though this dinner was being held in her honour, no one seemed to expect her to say much that could not be answered with a simple yes or no or thank you, you're very kind. In fact they seemed to forget about her altogether--until after dinner, when the men re-joined the ladies in the drawing room from their port and cigars, and a balding, broad-shouldered man approached her. Dany's gloves grew moist with perspiration as she wracked her brain to remember the name by which he had been introduced to her.
"Sir Jorah Mormont," he said as if reading her mind, his voice a low rumble and his accent containing the faintest trace of the North. Before Dany had time to splutter in embarrassment, he added, " You've had to learn a lot of new names in the past few days, I should imagine."
The words were accompanied by a smile which, though his face was decidedly not handsome, comforted Dany. His eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and she saw that they were brown and warm. She felt her own lips curve in the first genuine smile of the evening--perhaps of her entire debut so far.
"It's rather like being back in the schoolroom, reciting the Kings and Queens of England for my disapproving governess."
Sir Jorah chuckled, and Dany's grin widened with the pleasure of having amused one of these important guests. She wondered just what it was that made Mr Mopatis include this one in the party; Sir Jorah's tailcoat, she had noticed, was not the latest cut the other men wore, and she noticed that it had been carefully mended in a few places. He was not a wealthy man, despite his title. Somehow, this made her feel even more comfortable with him.
"Mr Mopatis tells me you spend most of your time in his library," he said.
"Oh yes! Reading is my favourite pastime."
The library of their ancestral home, alas, was sadly depleted, Viserys having sold the most valuable books. She had wept when she discovered the beautiful volume of Shakespeare's sonnets was gone, and Viserys slapped her and called her ungrateful and many other words she was certain the daughters of dukes were not supposed to know.
"Mine, too," said Sir Jorah. "And what do you enjoy reading most, Lady Daenerys? I'm afraid I'm sadly ignorant of what is popular with young people these days."
She crinkled her nose--thinking belatedly that she was perhaps being too unguarded with her feelings, but Sir Jorah seemed not to mind. "I'll read anything, but Romances are the very best."
"Knights and ladies?"
"Real ones, who were brave and had adventures and loved. Not--"
Catching Viserys' watching her from by the fireplace with narrowed eyes, she stopped short, biting her lower lip and averting her gaze to the floor.
Taking a step nearer to her, Sir Jorah inclined his head and drew her gaze back to his. "Not like the games these high lords and ladies play?"
"Indeed."
He straightened up, tugging at his waistcoat. "Well, Lady Daenerys, I believe I have something you may enjoy. Just this afternoon I stumbled upon a beautiful edition of Le Morte d'Arthur in a second-hand shop. Shall I bring it over tomorrow?"
As Dany looked up at him, she found herself suddenly shy again--though not in the agonizing way she experienced with the other guests. It was a rather pleasant sensation, in fact, the way her breath caught and her heart beat a little faster in her breast.
And this time, when she said, "Yes, Sir Jorah…Thank you…you're very kind," she meant it with all her heart.