Chapter Text
Their marriage started off fine enough, a politically motivated, well-intentioned union between Daenerys and her Warden of the North. Her former lover and secret nephew, and the only threat to her claim. It was meant to be easy and simple, no matter the complexity of their past.
He insisted on telling his family and she agreed to so long as he allowed her to tell Tyrion. His newly discovered parentage forced a meeting between the two parties, where Sansa Stark spoke the loudest in a matter that didn’t concern her, and Tyrion countered her arguments with the reality of the circumstances of the North. They danced around the obvious solution for days, everyone piecing together his sudden turn to cold aloofness towards her with their shared blood. It was apparent that he was uncomfortable with the idea. Ser Davos was the brave man who brought the idea of marriage forward after all other options were exhausted and the room had fallen silent, all eyes moving between the pair of them to see how they would react. She couldn’t help the hopeful, girlish joy she felt at the idea, but it was tempered quickly by his own blank stare. Neither vocally opposed the idea, and so it soon became the main topic of discussion.
Outside the influence of their advisors, they came to reach their own private terms, some spoken and others not, but terms that would make their marriage a pleasant friendship at best. It was the first time they were truly alone since he’d told her. As they sat feet apart, both unsure of how to act around the other, they allowed themselves to be honest about the prospect of marriage. It pained her to pack away the precious memories of their blissful time together, but she did it anyway because she didn’t want to lose him completely. She couldn’t look back. He was her family, after all, and although she couldn’t love him how she wanted, she would cherish what they now had. He wasn’t cruel like Viserys or a distant dream like Rhaegar. He was here, and his reservations made it impossible to hope for anything more. He understood her need for it as well, and echoed the sentiment, reiterating his admiration and loyalty to her. I care deeply for you, Daenerys. You’re my family. She accepted it, but the rejection still hurt. The relief that fell over his face when she didn’t object only stung a little and was soothed by the sweet smile that followed. They promised one another companionship and council, a relationship built on respect that would allow them to be as close as family and nothing more. She couldn’t kiss him as she wanted, but she could hug him close and feel content in his arms. She couldn’t share his bed, but she would share his table and laugh and trade stories and enjoy his company. That would be enough for her. Unspoken was what their marriage would be, a sham. False. For appearance’s sake. It left her with an unwanted, bitter taste in her mouth, but the agreement was necessary for an easy, pleasant union.
In the end, they’d drawn up their own marriage contract suited to their complex terms, much to Tyrion and Sansa’s dismay. She would take on the bulk of the responsibilities of the crown, and he would fall into the background as an advisor to her. The throne is yours alone, Dany. You’ve earned it. She was glad for it, he wouldn’t truly be her King, her partner. It was one less thing to lie to herself about. Tyrion was more pleased than Sansa was, but neither she nor Jon were open to changes.
They were married underneath the Weirwood tree before they departed Winterfell. On the short walk to his side, she tried her best to ignore the buzzing rightness of it and remind herself that this marriage wasn’t one born out of romantic love. He didn’t ask her with hope and love in his eyes, and she didn’t have tears of happiness fill her own when she said yes. It was carefully orchestrated and born out of necessity. It was only meant to promise peace to the Kingdoms, to remove his threat, and she and Jon were only the pawns needed to make it happen. Still, the intimate connotations of the affair weighed on her mind as they stood together. She compared their joined hands, limp and tentative, to the way they used to hold each other tightly, to white knuckles and exploring fingers. She compared their stiff kiss to the impassioned ones they had shared before. She wondered if his mind wandered as hers did.
Only after the modest wedding feast were they confronted again with their now uncomfortable past. They both knew nothing would happen that night, but they needed to fool their people and play the part. They made their way to his chambers, both looking anywhere but at each other. Once inside, she finally broke the silence by reminding his that his dramatically averted eyes and stammering words weren’t necessary, and they would only serve to halt their steady climb to a comfortable friendship. He sighed out an apology but still insisted on sleeping in his attached solar. She couldn’t sway him on that decision.
After that first night, she hastily returned to her own chambers, not liking how alone she felt in his bed without him. Tyrion didn’t approve, but he couldn’t force them to carry out the façade. It’s not as if it was an unusual arrangement, lords and ladies kept to separate chambers all the time, and not many people would think their decision to do the same was strange. If anything, it worked in their favor. Watching them, their polite distance and appropriate interactions, none of the Northmen could say that their Warden was tricked into her bed or seduced into marriage.
She only had a small underlying fear about the inevitable suspicion their choices would produce. Even in as soon as a few moons, people would begin to question their lack of an heir. Not even an oncoming war for the throne would stop people from criticizing her role as Queen and her ‘duties’ as a wife.
She didn’t share that fear with Jon, though. They were getting better at playing their roles, so much so that it soon it didn’t feel like an act. He was her husband only in name, and although their affair was abruptly and harshly reduced to a forced and awkward acquaintanceship, they were steadily building up to a safe friendship.
It didn’t matter, in the end, her fears were soon discovered to be unfounded. But what they now had gave her a small semblance of happiness, and it was an easy decision to keep her condition from him when they left Winterfell for the long journey south. She had to tell him soon, but a few more days of friendship could make all the difference in his response.
Even in the middle of her own joy, she couldn’t help but feel nervous about his reaction when she couldn’t let it go unaddressed any longer. Their agreement was meant to erase the past and make is easier to move forward, but now they would never be able to forget it. Her packed away memories would now be pulled to the front of her mind and exposed to her every day in the form of their child. She couldn’t trick herself into thinking that their child was a result of political arrangement as their marriage was. Their child was conceived out of love, and it hurt her to think it.
She decided she didn’t care about his reaction; it wouldn’t do anything to dampen her own. Even outside the prospect of finally being able to hold a child of her own in her arms, she couldn’t ignore how well it worked out for everything else. They would have an heir and the problems of the future disappeared. Boy or girl, they would be the next Targaryen to wear the crown.
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Their arrangement suffered a slight bump when she finally had to sit him down and tell him. He was angry at her for waiting so long, and his immediate thought was to hold her back from their war with Cersei. I’ll take out the ballistas with Rhaegal, and you can enter the city once the threat is gone. It could be done, she supposed, but it would ruin weeks of planning and the surety of her victory. She was the Mother of Dragons, and Jon was only a novice. He could be struck easily by an unseen spear and he and Rhaegal could be lost to her. It was too much of a risk.
If he was happy about the news, she couldn’t tell. She expected reddened cheeks and embarrassment. She expected worry that people would discover that they were once intimate, despite the fact that it was expected of them. She expected him to go on about what people would say despite the fact that no one outside of their circle of close friends and council new his true identity. Instead he fell quickly into the role of a concerned husband, which only confused her. He worried for her safety and questioned her ability to command her armies, which only served to make her see red and shut him out completely.
“Don’t, Jon. You didn’t think me any less capable before and this changes nothing.” She said through gritted teeth.
He was breathing heavily, out of nerves or anger she couldn’t tell. “It changes everything, Daenerys. You need to be safe and think of—”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she snapped. “If I thought for a second that I would be putting my child in danger, I would back down without hesitation. But I won’t. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Our child. Not just yours,” he said quietly. “I know you would never knowingly put our child in danger, but as your husband I’m allowed to worry.”
“No, you’re not,” she had a little sympathy for him, but not enough to change her mind. “That isn’t part of our agreement. You can council me, you can suggest it as my advisor, but you don’t get to worry, and I don’t have to listen.”
She left, worried that her voice would waver and reveal her confused emotions to him. She couldn’t show him that part of herself anymore.
After their argument, he pretended like he didn’t know, like he didn’t care. It was a good thing, she told herself, but it still hurt. She marveled at the changes of her body alone, she thought back to the short time when they were so happy and resented him for not being there, for not wanting to be. She had to remind herself all over again, she had to pack away all her memories once more because she couldn’t handle them as well as she thought she could when they replayed over and over in her head. It was over, it was the past, and she couldn’t look back.
Save for those bursts of resentment when she was alone, things went on as they had been, but they had lost a bit of their comfortableness. He always left her side looking like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t, and she pretended like she didn’t notice. They were fooling everyone else, it seemed, as no one stared anymore, or watched their movements as if they could ruin everything with a single word.
It saddened her to realize that this would be a common occurrence in their marriage, pretending, never say more than they should to each other. How would it be easy when so many things were left unsaid?
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Eventually, they built back up to a friendship. Almost as it was before he came to her door all those weeks ago, or as close to it as it could be. They took suppers together most nights, recounted their days in the moving camps, discussed her plans for bettering the city once it was hers, and what he could do to help. They sometimes spoke of things they could do better, if they should appear more affectionate in court, if they should let a bit of their private friendship seep into their politically built union. They eventually decided against it. The world didn’t need to think a certain way about them so long as they appeared to respect one another. The people didn’t care with previous monarchs, and she knew what they had was marginally better than what came before. She was relieved. If they had decided to put more effort into shaping the public opinion, she knew her affection wouldn’t be completely faked, and it would hurt to know that whatever he returned would be.
Once, he asked about their child. Her heart melted at his tender gaze, the way his eyes moved to her belly. He looked almost happy at the prospect of being a father, and so she freely recounted her morning sickness, the small fluttering she sometimes experienced. It felt normal to tell him. It’s how it should be, really, to be able to share her pregnancy with the father of her child. The longer she spoke, the softer his eyes had gotten, and soon it didn’t feel like they were only friends anymore. It wasn’t long before they both realized the misstep they had taken. He pulled back. His eyes became distant and kind, a superficial, practiced affection, and she followed. He didn’t ask again.
The day they took the city, he couldn’t hide his crippling worry, and she didn’t ask him to, because she worried for him just the same. She couldn’t lose her only family, she couldn’t be left to raise they child alone, to never hear his council or feel the soft warmth of his presence again. They promised each other. He promised.
When they parted ways, she saw something flash in his eyes that looked so familiar, and despite the pressing urge she felt to walk back and force him to address it, she didn’t. It didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter. They were comfortable again, and it was too fragile to challenge.
It wasn’t a battle; it wasn’t even a sacking. Cersei kept her city underfed and weak, and the people flocked to a Queen who promised more. The soldiers had seen the power of her sons as they took out Euron’s ships, and they surrendered the moment the city walls fell.
That night, she fell asleep in her castle, finally able to call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and by some miracle able to call herself a mother. The only blot on her fulfilled dreams was her carefully orchestrated marriage. Everything was real except for everything to do with Jon Snow.
She didn’t know why. She didn’t feel longing when she looked at him anymore, she didn’t find herself wishing for more whenever he was near, but she couldn’t quite fool herself into believing that things were as easy as they should have been. Whatever she once felt, she was good at suppressing, but she knew that’s what it was. Suppressing. She wondered how long she could keep it up.
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She wasn’t sure of the exact moment things began to sour again. Maybe it wasn’t a moment, but a series of them, each designed to chip away at the veneer they had carefully placed over themselves.
They were good for months; they shared genuine smiles and fell into a rare happiness when they realized that they could finally just live. There were no more enemies and no more wars to fight. Lords came, swore fealty to House Targaryen, were charmed by their lavish feasts and promises of prosperity, and left.
As promised, they sent aide to the North, ensuring that the people would survive winter, along with a formal proclamation of Sansa’s new position. The Wardeness responded with a letter addressed to her alone, thanking her for keeping her word, and inquiring if she could come to King’s Landing after the babe was born. It was her way of making amends, of accepting her and Jon’s decision, and Daenerys was more than happy to move past their terse interactions.
It was all going smoothly, their mutual respect was admired and commented on by all, but court was still court, and the tales about them twisted into stories that inched closer than the truth than was comfortable.
You see the way he looks at her. The man’s obsessed and she won’t give him a second glance.
I heard they haven’t shared a bed since they took the castle. If it weren’t for the babe, you would think they never even consummated the marriage.
Look at how she stares at him, a girl in love, she is. It’s a shame it isn’t returned.
He’ll be looking for a mistress soon. A man can’t go long without having a woman.
They both pretended not to hear the gossip, but it affected them anyway, and slowly bled into what they had until they could no longer ignore the stain. He stood just a little farther, and she was careful not to smile at him as much. Their nightly dinners dwindled to just a few times a week, before they stopped eating alone altogether. It was counterproductive, it only fed the flames, but they both knew that the only way to make them go away was to break their agreement. She wanted to, sometimes, just to shut them all up, but his hesitancy to want the same obstructed them from it. As much as she tried to understand, she couldn’t. Instead, she felt herself becoming annoyed by his rigidness. She blamed him for the rumors, she blamed him for her inability to settle into the happiness that was so very tangible now.
Deep down, she knew why. No matter how locked away their past was, no matter how well-practiced she was in masking her feelings, she still loved him. Not as her nephew, not as her family, but as Jon, the man that came to her on the boat and stole her breath away. She missed him, even if he was here, tied to her forever. It wasn’t the same.
As her stomach grew, their child became the only thing that kept speaking at all. The only tether that not even he would ever dare to break. He sometimes asked to touch her rounded belly, to feel their babe under his hand. Whenever she felt movements against her palm, she always reached for his, no matter where they were, happy to at least have these moments between them be real and true.
The intimacy of it quelled some of the nastier rumors, as it was obvious both of them were looking forward to becoming parents, but not all of them. The fact that they never shared a bed was still common knowledge, causing more outlandish rumors to spread. It was said that perhaps Jon enjoyed to company of men. It was said that her rigid and cold way she sometimes carried herself followed her to the bedchambers, making her an unpleasant lover.
She waited in vain for him to speak up, to say something to the guests who would sometimes let their words carry when they’d indulged too much at feasts, but he never did. He only smiled uncomfortably at her as they disrespected their marriage. She could do it; she could shut them up with a single, fiery glance, but she had hoped he cared enough about her to do it himself.
She started to resent him, this new Jon, this pretender. Even their friendship felt false, a façade they put up even when it was just the two of them. She hated it. She was ready for it to end.
“Walk me to my rooms?” She asked one night after a council meeting. Her feet ached, her back was sore, but she was ready to speak to him. “Please,” she added, when it looked like he was about to protest.
He put a hand at her waist, letting her lean into him as they walked. His touch was so light she could hardly feel it, but it was the closest they’d been in months. They didn’t speak. It was almost like he knew an unpleasant conversation was coming.
When they finally made it to her rooms, she dismissed her handmaidens quietly, choosing to ignore their shock at Jon’s presence. He’d never seen her chambers before.
She pulled away from him, moving to sit in the large, comfortable chair by the fire. He followed, sitting across from her, as quiet as his wolf.
“How did you do it?” She asks quietly, staring into the flames.
A beat of silence followed before he answers her. “Do what?”
“How did you stop loving me so easily?” It hurt to say out loud. She was desperate to hear the answer.
“Dany…”
“Because I want to stop,” she says, cutting off whatever apology he was going to throw at her. She finally looked at him, his eyes dancing with fear and worry. “I want to stop loving you.”
His jaw flexed, he struggled to process he words, but he stayed quiet.
“Please, tell me,” she asks, surprised by the lack of emotion in her own voice. She just sounded tired. “Things can be better if you just tell me.”
He leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs, cradling his head as he contemplated her request. She knew he would give her answer whenever he could form the words.
“I didn’t.”
His answer didn’t bring her the hope it would have only a few months before, it frustrated her. She stayed quiet, tears burning her eyes as she realized that he couldn’t help her like she wanted. It was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.
She shook her head, letting her resentment of him take over. “You don’t get to say things like that.”
“It’s true.” His voice was gruff and conflicted. He didn’t want her to know.
“I don’t care. What do you do then? Do you just pretend?”
“Yes.”
His short answers test her patience, chip at her resolve. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we just stop?”
It’s a tiny flicker of hope, enough to spark a fire if they let it, and enough for her to snuff out with ease if they didn’t.
“It would be.”
“But you don’t want to?” She pushed. What are you thinking? Why won’t you talk to me?
“We can’t.”
She nodded, disappointed in his answer, but not expecting anything less. She smothered it without a second thought.
“You should leave.”
“Dany—”
“Leave, Jon. There’s nothing more to say. We’ll go on pretending.”
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The rift between them wasn’t easy to hide. More often than not, their words were forced, and their weak smiles few and far in between. He stopped asking to feel their child, and she stopped reaching for his hand. Outside their formal engagements, she never saw him. He took to spending his time with the Queensguard, training alongside them, taking out his frustration with his sword.
He was growing restless, she could tell. She thought of sending him away. She could, after all, because she relinquished only a bit of her power to him when they married. She had the last word in all matters. Maybe it would be better for them, if he went away. She could send him North on a diplomatic assignment to see if Sansa was using their aide wisely. She knew she was, Sansa wrote her a few more times since her initial letter, each one a bit more friendly than the last. She knew he wouldn’t leave though, not when she was so close to birth. Just two and a half more moons at most.
More than once, Tyrion expressed his exasperation at their behavior and more than once commented on his own lack of input in their marriage contract. I could have him touring the country, spreading your vision, if you had given be five minutes with your draft. He was right, of course, but she never told him so. Besides, the chasm that lay between them was filled with deep, personal conflicts and hurts, and she didn’t want her hand dragging them up to the light. She would try to repair the damage, or at least build a bridge, herself.
She had a new resolve after her and Jon’s conversation, and she was determined to stick to it. She wouldn’t wait for him anymore. She realized that’s what she was doing, waiting. Unknowingly, she was waiting for him to change his mind, to be the first to act against the terms they had so carefully laid out because he was the only reason they had them at all. Waiting let her find happiness in their friendship until the wait became too long, and he failed her deep, well-hidden hopes.
She had a new hope, probably just as naïve as the first, that they could find a better happiness now that she’d given up on waiting. He wasn’t the same Jon, and she couldn’t spend the rest of her life being that same Daenerys.
Her new resolve, coupled with her new hope, gave her the motivation to summon him to a private dinner, their first in weeks, so they could end this awkward tension between them.
“This needs to stop, Jon. Our child deserved more than parents who hate each other.”
He narrowed his eyes at her accusation. “I don’t hate you.”
“Well, I hate you,” she admitted. “Sometimes. This was supposed to be easy and you’ve made it anything but. We need to try harder. We need to be better.”
“We need to be better at pretending, you mean?” At this point she wouldn’t be surprised if he hated the word too.
“Yes. If we try harder maybe one day it won’t be an act anymore. And we’ll be comfortable like we were in the beginning.” She missed that time, even if only blanketed the myriad of problems they would come to encounter. The war served as a distraction then, gave them something to talk about, and a purpose for their marriage. What was the point now?
He agreed. “Aye. I suppose I’ve done a poor job of it lately.”
“I have to,” she said. “But I miss you. I miss your company and your terrible stories.”
“They aren’t that bad.” He replied with a smile. She felt nothing dangerous when she saw it.
This is good. We can be better.
“I suppose not,” she agreed, smiling back tentatively. ”But perhaps you could find some happier ones.”
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The loneliness was inevitable. It wasn’t him she missed though, much to her relief. But she missed the intimacy. She missed having someone to share her bed with, someone to kiss her and make her feel wanted.
In the far back of her mind she began to look at the men in her court differently. Who could please her? Who would be worth the trouble? Who could keep up in conversation and make her feel beautiful? Who would keep their affair private and who would run to tell the masses as soon as she fell asleep? Maybe a lord that’s only come to swear fealty, one that could be gone in a fortnight. Maybe someone she saw frequently, so she didn’t have to look for more than one partner. Or maybe someone in her Queensguard, honor bound to keep her secrets. Still, how honorable could they be if they were willing to break their vows to bed her? She tried to ignore the fact that she spent more time considering the men with dark hair and dark eyes.
Her mind drifted to Essos. Daario satisfied her needs well enough, and she knew he would come if she asked. Though, he pined for her complete attention, which he would no longer have. She didn’t think he would respect Jon enough not to flaunt it, nor would he care to be constantly dismissed in favor of a babe at her breast. Perhaps not Daario, then. Maybe she should feel guilty for having these thoughts, but she didn’t, and she believed Jon had no right or reason to protest the idea.
She could ask him. They were getting better, no longer avoiding one another, though there was a sterility that came with their newer friendship. It was clean, it was safe, and it was underwhelming. It was better that it was, she supposed.
She wouldn’t bring it up anytime soon. Not until their union was stronger. In any case, she wouldn’t be taking anyone into her bed in the near future. The idea made her uncomfortable. She didn’t mind the idea of breaking her vows, they were as false as everything else in their marriage, but she couldn’t do it while she carried his child. It felt too close to betrayal.
He felt the loneliness too, she guessed, as he seemed to grow more comfortable with the lords and ladies they entertained. He kept up with conversation, shared his tales of the North with people other than her, and his accent did the charming for him. She saw the way he grew comfortable with the attentions of other women, way he no longer blushed when they spoke to him or dared to touch his arm.
It wasn’t jealousy she felt, she insisted to herself, but what else could the twitch of anger be? Respect, she decided. They promised to always respect each other and here he was doing it out in the open. She didn’t care what he did on his own, they were both human, after all. The last thing they needed between them was pent up sexual tension. They both needed relief, she only wished he would seek it out privately.
At first it was just a slight hiccup, nothing she couldn’t recover from the next day. Though each time it happened the attentions grew bolder as ladies discovered he wasn’t discouraging it. She was jealous, she eventually decided. But only because he could have anyone he wanted now, and she couldn’t. She was sat at the high table, heavy with his child, and he was exploring the many options laid out before him.
She finally decided she had enough when she spotted him escorting a woman out of the great hall. The small supper was dwindling down, to her relief, but anyone could have seen him.
She turned to her Hand, her fists squeezed together as she tried to control her anger. “Can you tell him that he should handle his affairs with a bit more discretion? The last thing I need are more looks of pity.”
He looked almost amused at her anger, as if it was a game they were playing. “I’ll speak to him in the morning, Your Grace—”
“Now.” She probably shouldn’t, but she wanted to ruin his evening because he ruined hers. She wanted guilt to ruin his pleasure. She wanted him to dismiss that woman from his rooms and never invite her again.
After he left to do her bidding, she relaxed, her rapidly beating heart settling from whatever brought on it’s fit. She decided to retire to her rooms after Tyrion left, wanting nothing more than to succumb to sleep.
Missandei walked with her, her lips skewed in a suppressed smile that fed into Daenerys’ irritation.
“Is something funny?” She asks flatly, turning to look at her friend.
Missandei smoothed out her amusement, though her eyes kept their kindness. “Your stubbornness does not always work to your advantage, Your Grace.”
She knew immediately what Missandei was alluding to. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Her friend shakes her head and they walk the rest of the way in silence, parting ways as they pass Missandei’s quarters.
As she readied for bed, she was startled by her doors bursting open, and her husband standing there, having the nerve to look anger at her.
“Are you going to have Tyrion give me commands now?”
“It wasn’t a command,” she replied calmly, going back to brushing her hair. “It was a request. You’re free to bed whoever you want, just as I am. I only ask that you be a bit more discreet. Even this sham of a marriage deserves a semblance of respect.” Her words grew sharper with every word.
She thought it was a fair request, though he only seemed to grow more offended. “I have no intention of disrespecting our marriage in any way. I expect you to do the same.”
It was her turn to be offended. She set down her brush and stood from her seat, turning to face him. She didn’t miss the way his eyes drifted from her face. She tightened the ties of her robe. “Do you expect me to believe that? I saw you, Jon. Leading that woman from the great hall with her arm tucked into yours. Don’t take me for an idiot.”
“She was drunk. I had the guards outside the doors see her safely to her rooms. The last thing we need is for a woman to be taken advantage of in our keep, and I saw the way some of the men were watching her.”
It made sense, but she wasn’t done. She found herself wanting to fight with him, to infect the clean and boring thing they had found themselves in, even if she risked killing it. “I doubt she was the first one,” she snapped, effectively dismissing his story. “Do whatever you want, our marriage will survive it, I assure you. But please have the decency to respect me, I deserve at least that.”
“And you’ll do the same?” He asked in a mocking tone. “Maybe you already have, and I’ve just been too oblivious to see it.”
She hated what he was implying, even though it was very near the truth. She hadn’t done it yet, but she’d done plenty of thinking about it. “What I do isn’t any of your business.” She said, aware of the blatant hypocrisy. “I would never have a man escort from a hall filled with our people, where anyone could see. Where my husband could see.”
“You respect me enough to keep me ignorant of it, then?” He asked lowly, stalking closer to her. Her heart began to pound in her chest. In anger, she told herself.
She stood her ground, even when she knew she should back up. She was excited for him to feel something real, to be true in what he felt, even if he just wanted to yell and say he hated her. She was excited for the same, to stop pretending for once. “Yes. So long as you turn the other way, so will I. But it’s difficult to ignore when you do it right in front of me.”
He took another step closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body. “As I said, I have no intention of disrespecting you or our marriage. I had hoped you cared enough about me to do the same.”
She hated him for saying that, for saying that she was the one who didn’t care. She tried for so long, she cared longer than she should have. “Are you jealous?” She whispered, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
“Yes.”
She reached up, intent on pushing him away, to force him to respect the boundaries they’d set. He has no right to be jealous. Instead she grabbed his collar and pulled him roughly to her, meeting his lips in a harsh, bruising kiss.
He reacted immediately, pulling her closer, grabbing at her with urgency.
Blindly, and without thought, they tore at each other’s clothes, backing up until her knees hit the side of her bed.
“We need to stop,” she whispered, kissing down his jaw, nipping at his neck.
He lifted her onto the bed, climbing over her. “I know.”
They almost did. Her growing belly, obstructing them from getting as close as they used to get, brought them out of the haze, but she didn’t want to stop. She was so wound up, and so close to relieving the tension.
She pushed his shoulders, and he knew her intentions immediately. He moved to his back, and, pulled her with him. Straddling his waist, they both worked to remove her robe. Faintly, she heard the tear of fabric as his impatience got to him and became worried when he stilled beneath her.
She refocused, looking down at him, only to find him looking at her stomach in wonder. Right. He hasn’t been around; he hasn’t seen the changes.
“Dany…” He whispered, too sweetly, too much in adoration.
She shook her head, her eyes begging him to stop talking. He understood, his eyes masking whatever was close to spilling out.
She pushed everything from her mind expect for the feel of his body, trying her hardest not to think of the past. She focused all her attention on the physical sensations she felt, just his body and what it was doing to hers. She closed her eyes, thinking if she didn’t look at him, she could pretend it was a stranger that she didn’t feel anything for. Just a stranger she needed to make her feel good. It was impossible, she knew the feel of his hands too well, she remembered just how perfect he felt inside her. It was him; she couldn’t think anything else.
Just this once. She told herself.
When she woke the next morning, she was relieved to find him gone.
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By some miracle, falling into bed together didn’t set them back at all. Instead, it broke all the bitterness between them, reminded them that they did care. He wasn’t a disrespectful husband and she wasn’t a resentful wife. It relieved the building animosity they had for one other, bringing it to a peak in the gentlest, sweetest way.
For her, it was also closure. What they had ended so abruptly, it was still raw and open, and everything they had done since they married only achieved the sting of salt. That night served the purpose of healing the wound it left behind. It was a farewell to what they once were. It was the final spark of passion, dying out. It wouldn’t happen again.
He started inviting her to dine with him, shy and nervous, but determined to try. She accepted easily every time. So close to the end of her pregnancy, she didn’t want to resent him for anything more than her swollen feet and aching back.
They didn’t speak of it. Though, by the way his cheeks sometimes went pink, and the wave of desire she sometimes felt when let her eyes linger, they both thought of it frequently. She just needed a man, she told herself, and he needed a woman. Anyone would have done.
“I didn’t do it.” She said abruptly, munching on an apple slice as they sat together in her solar. It had been bothering her since that night, that he believed she took another man into her bed.
“Do what?” He asked innocently, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“I didn’t…no man wants to bed another man’s pregnant wife. Even if she is the Queen.”
She saw it, relief, so quick she could have blinked and missed it. He clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You were right, it’s not my place to be angry. Or jealous. I know what I’ve asked of you isn’t…fair. You should have been able to marry someone you loved.”
I did. She wanted to say. She didn’t think he would recoil at it. But it wouldn’t help. They were here now, married, and they should make the best of it. “Still, I had planned on waiting until after,” she sighed. “Jon, what we have isn’t a real marriage. You don’t need to honor anything. You left your home for me. You’re the King, even when it’s the last thing you wanted, just to keep me safe. Find whatever pleasure you can, with whoever you want. I could never hate you for it.” The words are harder to get out than she expected. Mine. her heart argued. No one else’s.
He looked away from her, and she did him, giving him the privacy to digest her words. “And you’ll do the same?” He asked, a hint of defeat in his question.
“I’ll do the same.”
He nodded, thought it didn’t please her. It sounded like a vow, a promise to be unfaithful to whatever it was they had. Why did she suddenly hate the idea?
She didn’t linger on it. In the final weeks of her pregnancy, she didn’t want to worry about things that weren’t important. It was yet another unspoken understanding between them that whatever parties would come in to disrupt their marriage wouldn’t make an appearance for months. They didn’t have room to worry about it now.
---------------
She gave birth to their child just a few nights later. Jon was the first person she asked for, and long after everyone else was dismissed, he made no move to leave her side. He looked at her like she’d given him the world, and just for the moment she allowed herself to think she did.
With every passing contraction, his close presence had become more important and more crucial than she’d ever thought possible. The soft kisses he pressed to her sweat-covered brow soothed her cries of pain. The words of encouragement he whispered in her ear were laced in love and she prayed she would hear them long after the pain stopped. Despite the agony, he made it peaceful and perfect.
This peace was only temporary, though. In a few days he would step back again and the emotions she felt as she gripped his hands tightly in hers whenever she pushed would all culminate into the little life he helped her make.
Their son was perfect. His dark hair was already unruly, waving gently across his head, the tiny wisps that fell forward making her heart hurt with love. He was asleep now, but she had already memorized the exact color of his eyes. They were a deep blue, with a hint of gold around his irises, just enough to let her know he would take after her. She teared up, not quite able to believe that she could create someone so beautiful.
Jon sat beside her bed, quiet, though attentive to every change in her breath. His red-rimmed eyes watched their son closely, he probably felt the same disbelief she did, but she felt them on her sometimes. She was too frightened to look up and see what she would find staring back at her.
“What are we going to name him?” He asked, the love still evident in his gentle words. She found herself dreading the moment it would fade again.
---------------
Watching him with Aemon was her favorite thing to do. He seemed so impossibly small in his father’s arms, but Jon never looked more at ease. When Aemon was asleep, the softest smile would pull at his lips, and Daenerys always saw the tears he would wipe away. When he was awake, Jon would whisper to him, and she tried her best to stay away, to let him have his private moments with his son. But she heard sometimes. You’re perfect, aren’t you? Only your mama could make someone so perfect. They were just words, she told herself, but she craved them, even if they weren’t hers to hear.
He rarely left her rooms, he would fall asleep in an uncomfortable chair, and she could see that his neck bothered him the next morning though he never complained. She told him he could lay in her bed and he always refused, but his eyes gave away his desire to do so. Still, even as tired and sore as he was, he woke with her ever time Aemon cried, and he brought him to her, so she didn’t have to leave her bed.
She was exhausted, but she never entertained the idea of a wet nurse. Aemon would be her only babe, and she wanted to experience every part of being a mother, no matter how painful or tiring it all was. She couldn’t miss a moment of it.
After nearly two weeks of blissful solitude, they agreed that they’d neglected their duties for too long, but she couldn’t find it in herself to leave her son with women who would do her job as a mother. Her quiet, solemn, perfect boy only ever cried when he was hungry, and she didn’t see a reason for him to leave her arms when he didn’t disrupt council meetings or petitioners.
Ser Davos and Missandei adored their son, and while Tyrion would feign irritation whenever their meetings would stray at the slightest noise her son made, all of them turning to watch Aemon’s every movement with endearment, she could see that he was happy for her.
When she didn’t have him, he was cradled in Jon’s arms, sleeping peacefully. Jon, being just as enamored with their son as she was, was oblivious to the looks of hopeless infatuation thrown his way by onlooking ladies. She never missed them, and she didn’t bother calling the emotion it stirred anything other than irritation.
---------------
It was easy to fall in love with him the second time. Did she ever really stop? Watching him dote on their son, melting at the sight of them together, she knew she wanted it again, and only with him. She wanted a lifetime of this with him.
It was hard not to think he felt the same. The love in his words hadn’t faded in the slightest, even when he said the plainest, simplest things to her, she could hear it with perfect clarity. Perhaps it wasn’t just his son that made him so happy.
They fell into a routine that was almost perfect. He elected to make himself comfortable in the solar of her chambers, to be closer to their son. Alone or in public, their interactions felt as pure as fresh snow and as easy as breathing. She was happier than she had been in nearly a year. She knew what was missing.
Aemon was only a month old when they eased back into the more lavish parts of court life with some trepidation, and she found herself always standing closer to him, always leaning into his arm as he held their son. I just miss Aemon the moment he’s out of my arms. I need to be near him, she told Missandei after her endless teasing. Even she rolled her eyes at her own terrible excuse. She did it for numerous reasons. To watch her son, to be closer to her husband, to make it impossible for any woman to try and move closer.
It became a different sort of act, just for him, trying to pretend she didn’t love him as hopelessly as she did. Judging by everyone else’s looks, she was failing miserably. Grey Worm looked confused at it, Missandei only shook her head with a smile, and Tyrion looked at her with such blatant expectancy she had to throw him a look of warning more than once before Jon saw. She wouldn’t be surprised if he and Ser Davos were taking bets on her turmoil.
It made her laugh to think of how she used to dread her husband’s company. Maybe she never did, maybe she just twisted her own love too much, warped it something ugly so it couldn’t hurt her. Either way, she didn’t want to pretend anymore. But she didn’t know how to tell him.
---------------
Her role as a mother became so natural to her that it wasn’t a duty at all, and she was able to carry out all of her duties as Queen without wearing herself thin. When her little love was two months old, she finally began to feel like her body was her own again. She was almost wholly content in her life, but she felt that familiar loneliness creep up on her. This time, it was him. She didn’t spare a glance at anyone else, she only wanted him.
One night, she reluctantly pulled herself away from the high table to make her way around the room. They still had to charm their people, after all. They traded off, and while he always volunteered to go for her, just this once, she always said no. She spoke with Sansa Stark, who gushed endlessly over her nephew, her cold demeanor gone after their honest conversation upon her arrival. She spoke with Gendry Baratheon, finding the man’s determination to excel in his new duties endearing. They were easy to talk to, but not the others. She had to listen to women admire her husband as if she wasn’t there. She accepted their backhanded compliments with a smile, telling herself that Jon wouldn’t pick any of them to share his bed. He would pick someone eventually though…if she never worked up the nerve to tell him. In response she might have lingered longer than necessary as she spoke to their husbands, feeling a petty joy when she felt their narrowed eyes at her back.
She felt other eyes on her as well. She looked around to see that her Hand was laughing into his cup, Sansa was watching her in curious amusement, and her husband looked far more serious than she liked.
She finished her rounds quickly, already missing her little family. When she returned to the table, she saw that Aemon was sleeping heavily in Jon’s arms, and most likely wouldn’t wake again until morning.
“Should we retire?” She asked him quietly.
“I’ll take him, you can stay if you wish.” He replied, so despondent she was immediately worried.
“I want to retire,” she said, standing up. “Come with me.”
He stood, and they said their goodbyes to the people that mattered, careful not to wake their son. At this point, the people that frequented their weekly feasts were used to it, and even quieted their conversation whenever they saw that the prince was asleep.
Walking down the corridors to her rooms, he threw her a weak smile, a false one that made her blood run cold. No. No more pretending. She knew immediately what had caused it, she was too serious in her little game of getting back at those women, and they were too fragile to not let it affect them.
As he laid Aemon down in the bassinet by her bed, she leaned into him, circling her arms around his waist. He threw his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. They were both quiet, staring down at the tiny person they would burn the world for. “He really is perfect.” She whispered.
He nodded in agreement, his arm tightening just the slightest. “Did you ever learn out how to stop?” He asked, his voice thick with fear.
She pulls her eyes from their son, looking up at him. She knows exactly what he’s asking. “No.”
He released a shuddering breath. “Do you still want to?”
“You know I don’t.” She answered firmly. It was impossible for him not to see. “And you? Are you going to stop pretending?” Was he still? All his actions pointed to love, but he had yet to say it.
“I already have,” he answered. “But I think you know that.”
She smiled, surprisingly relieved to hear that nothing between them in the weeks since Aemon was born had been part of that pointless and painful charade. “I do.”
He turned to face her, taking her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. He looked at her with hope and love in his eyes, and her own blurred with tears of happiness at the sight of it. He loosened his grip just a little, moving one hand up to twist into her hair and pulled her lips to his. They were married, and it would be simple, and easy, and real, just as it always should have been.