Jaime. The name was a knife, twisting in her belly.
“… I… you do not understand, Jaime…he saved me from being raped when the Bloody Mummers took us, and later he came back for me, he leapt into the bear pit empty-handed…I swear to you, he is not the man he was.”
Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. “Maela,” some called her while others cried “Aelalla” or “Qathei” or “Tato,” but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother.