Chapter Text
“She has got to be the most infuriating woman in the Seven Kingdoms!” he exclaimed as he entered the chambers that he and his entourage had been granted for the duration of the negotiations on Dragonstone. Davos was a few steps behind him, the doors closing shut as the man who had become a father figure to him allowed him to rant. “Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that I grew up with Sansa, I would say the Dragon Queen is as hard-headed as my sister!” That was a stretch, and he knew it. But he was quickly learning that Daenerys Targaryen had become the very bane of his existence. He wrenched the buckles off his cloak, tossing the heavy fabric aside before working on his gambeson. He wasn’t used to the Southern heat, which had not helped his tight grip on his temper whenever he tried to move his negotiations with the Dragon Queen forward. If it weren’t for the fact that they needed the Queen’s aid, he’d be on the next boat back to the North. If only then there would be enough distance between them to rid himself of the insistently impure thoughts he’d begun to have about her. Maybe then he’d be purged of his guilt. But, unfortunately, not the darkness inside him would give him such a reprieve.
'Of course a foul bastard like you would dare to have such thoughts about a lady, let alone a Queen ,’ the voice hissed in the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like Catelyn Stark.' Thinking of defiling her. Ruining her. You’ll stain her. Destroy her. Like everything else you touch. You’ll never touch her. You’d never deserve her.’ The darkness threatened to drown him. Reminding him of every nasty thing his father’s wife had hissed at him whenever his father was out of earshot. Every insecurity he had hidden under layers of metaphorical armour. And yet his mind continued to plague him with thoughts of her. And he didn’t know how to stop them.
Shaking his head, he forced the voice back into its cage and turned to face Davos, the older man watching him with an amused glint in his age-wise eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, frustration bleeding though in his tone. The older man outright laughed then, shaking his head as he removed his coat. Davos was interrupted as a knock sounded at the door before it opened.
Ghost and Shaggydog entered, followed by a flushed and breathless Rickon, his trimmed curls wild despite being pulled back in the same manner as his older brother’s. The sight of his youngest brother brought a soft smile to Jon’s face. He’d come far too close to losing him. So when Robb had suggested Davos and Jon travel South to meet the Dragon Queen on his behalf, Jon jumped at the chance to bring Rickon with him. Especially after the stunt Sansa had pulled with Lord Baelish and the Knights of the Vale, Jon had thought it best to put distance between them and their sister for the time being. Give Robb time to investigate whatever agreement she had made with Littlefinger.
He focused his attention back on his little brother. “Did you enjoy your tour, Rick?” he inquired, folding his arms over the blue fabric of his tunic while leaning against the edge of the table, watching Rickon tear off his cloak.
“It was brilliant! Rakharo may not be the best with the Common Tongue, but he sure was real nice. His wife, Irri, even brought us these fluffy cake things!” Rickon couldn’t stop grinning, finally looking more like his age. After the horrors he had witnessed and suffered, it was nice to see him so carefree again. But then Rickon was glancing between the two older men. “So… how much did you fuck up with the Dragon Queen today?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice as his innocent smile turned to a knowing smirk while Jon groaned aloud. “Come on! Do you even have something nice to say about her? You know… when you’re not too busy ranting about how irritating she is?”
Davos was laughing, not bothering to hide it. Rickon looked far too smug. Ghost and Shaggydog had plonked themselves down by the hearth. And he just stood there, wrecking his brain for something to say about the Dragon Queen. Anything that didn’t drive him to ale. And then the memory of seeing her with the Dothraki children, teaching them how to braid hair while patiently listening to their stories; it was a side to the woman that was Daenerys Targaryen he hadn’t seen before. And yet… “She has a good heart,” he settled on, the picture a focus in his mind.
“I’ve noticed you staring at her good heart ,” Davos murmured, not at all under his breath, making Jon whip his neck violently to glare at him. “You’re attracted to her, lad. But not just for her beauty, else she wouldn’t vex you the way she does. Nor would you vex her the way you do.” He chuckled as Jon blanched at his words as if everything he was saying was coming as a shock. “Face it, lad. Over the past four moons, you’ve fallen in love with the Dragon Queen. And from what I can tell, the lass loves you too.”
Jon shook his head vehemently, Rickon’s laughter dying as the darkness crept back. It didn’t matter if Robb had legitimised him. ‘Once a bastard, always a bastard,’ it hissed at him. “She doesn’t love me,” he got out. “She’s not that stupid.” Stubborn. Vexing. Smart. Courageous. Beautiful. Kind. Caring. Those were the words he associated with Daenerys Targaryen. But not stupid. Never stupid. As frustrating as he found her, she was also, very possibly, the smartest woman he’d ever met. He could not bring himself to believe the words his brother’s Lord Hand had the gall to utter to him after yet another fractious meeting with the Dragon Queen. His father had raised him to act with honour. But that honour hung on a worn-down threat that grew more precarious with every second he spent in her presence. He was plagued with consuming, forbidden, impure desires that led directly to her. He was unable to quell the irksome pacing of his heart whenever he stood too close to her. There was no way in the Seven Hells that Davos was right. “Daenerys Targaryen is not in love with me.” She could not truly love him. She could not be that stupid… Could she?
“He has got to be the most irritating man in all of the Seven Kingdoms!” she exclaimed as she paced in front of the open fire while Missandei sat in one chair, Irri in the other. The goblet of Arbor Gold did nothing to cool her ire, instead adding fuel to her fire. The infuriating Commander from the North was a thoroughly stubborn man, so hardheaded that he gave Tyrion a run for his money. Why Lady Olenna had suggested inviting such an exasperating man to treat with her was still a mystery. Surely there had to be some other reason to make an alliance with the boisterous North and not just give her a comely face to argue with every waking moment.
“You look flustered, Your Grace,” Irri pointed out as she sipped lightly on her goblet, one hand resting on her round bump. Her handmaiden and friend was positively glowing as she entered the latter stages of her pregnancy. And she still had her wits to call out her Khalessi whenever she felt it was needed. Such as right now. “Are you sure you don’t go looking to argue with him to stop yourself from jumping Commander Snow?”
Daenerys whipped around to glare at her pregnant friend while Missandei giggled, nodding her head in agreement. “I do not go looking to fight with him!” she tried to argue, but neither of her friends seemed to believe her. “He’s too short!” Of course, anyone would be when she’d spent the past nearly seven years in the presence of the much taller Dothraki men. “He has absolutely no manners!” He’d obviously spent far too long on the frontlines to remember any lessons his father must have taught him in regards to speaking to ladies. “And he’s downright rude!” There was no way in the Seven Hells that she wanted to jump Jon Snow.
“Oh, pray tell, do you have anything nice to say about the man?” Missandei asked, hiding her snort behind her goblet. Daenerys pretended to ignore it.
And yet, she hesitated. Was there anything nice to say about him that did not give away her attraction to him? Then she remembered the sight of him training and playing with his younger brother. How kind he’d been, never berating Rickon when he made a mistake, instead showing the boy how to learn from his mistakes. Such a relationship between siblings she had been denied. “He’s a good man,” she settled on instead, perking the interest of the two other women. “He shows a kindness I was sure did not exist.” It was better than admitting his effect on her, the pulse he sent between her legs when his gravelly voice washed over her in his deceptively rustic accent. The way his stormy grey eyes turned a smoky black when they focused on her, trapping her in his gaze. His fine, compact body composed and agile when he trained with his brother out in the yard or when he kept a watchful eye on everything around him, looking more like his faithful companion than other men. The White Wolf indeed. “A pity he prefers to spend our meetings vexing me than working on a solution to the problems at hand.”
“A pity, Your Grace, that you don’t seem to realise that Jon Snow is in love with you,” Missandei pointed out, Daenerys’ wide eyes rising to stare at her in disbelief.
“Jon Snow is not in love with me,” she denied, eyes flickering between the two seated women. Irri scoffed, a smile on her lips as she took another sip of her watered-down wine.
“Oh, my mistake,” Missandei drawled. “I suppose he stares at you longingly because he’s hopeful for a successful military alliance.” Her friend stood and approached her, setting her own goblet on the mantle and setting her hands on Daenerys’ elbows soothingly. “You’re so close to him that you can’t see him clearly past the fog of lust and frustration you have for him.”
Daenerys sighed, glancing between her two friends before she finally confessed, “He is frustrating. Frustratingly handsome. Distractingly so. I had to halt the meeting today lest I act and find out if he’s as good with his sword in bed as he is out in the yard.”
“Your Grace!” her friends exclaimed before exploding in giggles at the filth that escaped their Queen’s lips.
“That stays between us,” she added, her own giggles joining in, feeling like a young woman behind closed doors where she was allowed the freedom to pine over a man without any strings attached. “I fear I’ll never hear the end of this.” She basked in the moment of giddy normality with her two closest friends, pushing the thoughts of conquest and war from her mind. Acting like three sisters discussing matters of the heart in her chambers. At least, for the time being. For who was she to know how many more of these moments they had left. But, in the back of her mind, thoughts - impure, shameless, sensuous thoughts - of Jon Snow plagued her. And she was certain it wasn’t the wine that was causing them.
All she had to do now was figure out how to make them real.
Retiring for the night, Daenerys found herself in a thin silk robe as she climbed into the massive bed in her chambers as the storm outside crashed against the rocky cliffs of the ancient keep. Pushing thoughts of Jon Snow and his frustrations with her to the back of her mind, the furs swallowed up her tiny figure, comforting her in the heat they captured from the fire Missandei had stoked for her before their retirement. Sleep was quick to come tonight, pulling her into its dark abyss. Where she was greeted by a familiar figure. One she had thought had abandoned her in Meereen.
Her shadow lover joined her amongst the furs, sure rough palms running over her body. Her tense muscles loosened under his touch, a sob almost escaping her at the feeling of him; she had missed his nightly visitations that had become a salve to the ache of loneliness in her heart. One arm encircled her waist before he was rolling her onto her back, blanketing her body with his own as he pressed her into the furs, his greedy mouth claiming her own. She whimpered into his mouth as he pulled back, his strong hands grasping her calves and pushing her legs up towards her chest as he made his way down her body; lips and teeth working together to worship and mark her skin. “Hold them in place,” he ordered, his voice low and husky. And very familiar. His mouth descended on her cunt, but his voice was familiar in a way that made her not question his request but rather had her comply in anticipation while her brain shut down as his greedy tongue lapped at her lower lips. In her dreams, she could hand over control willingly to her shadow lover. To let go of all the burdens that weighed heavily on her shoulders, letting her body succumb to the pleasures he gave her. At least here, in her dreams, she was safe. At least here, no one could hurt her. At least here, she could be loved.
Her lover was greedy as he feasted on her cunt, his tongue tracing every inch of her lower lips before he sealed his mouth around her clit, sucking hard on the bundle of nerves. Her fingers grasped her calves tightly, head bent to watch his shadow covered face press against her sopping cunt. She was beyond turned on, his sloppy feasting only making her wetter for him. Like he was making out with her cunt as he would her mouth, his tongue fucking her as greedily as his fingers had on many an occasion. His hands snuck up her body, thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples before pinching them, earning a whimpered string of curses as he knelt before her. Like a wolf would eat its prey.
“Oh gods. Oh kessa. Kostilus.” Her eyes rolled back as he pushed three thick fingers into her, curling just right against that spot he’d found the first night he had come to her. “Fuck. Fuck, there. Kessa. Kessa!” A hard suck on her clit and then she was falling, her lover continuing to suck and lap noisily at her as he pumped his thick fingers into her. Her body shook even as he finally lifted his head from her orgasming cunt, his mouth dropping down to suck on one of her nipples as she recovered from the first orgasm he had inflicted upon her. She couldn’t help put whimper, too spent to utter even one word, her hands falling to his soft hair, tugging him upwards even as his hands grasped her calves once more.
She mewled as he left her bent in half, a growl rumbling deep in his chest like a wolf, before kissing her quickly as he was notching his cock at her entrance. A strangled gasp escaped her before he was bending down to capture her mouth greedily while he sunk his thick cock into her wet cunt, stretching her in the way only he could. His beard rubbed against her as their lips and tongues met in a desperate kiss. He was pushing in slowly, her pussy spreading to take every thick inch, wet enough for him to slide in but still tight enough for her to feel every inch of him spreading her open. Teasing her with just the tip before a tug on his hair had him sinking the rest of his cock inside her, giving her time to feel each inch press deep inside her. Her mouth fell open in a gasping moan as her eyes rolled back, feeling full even though he had yet to bottom out inside her. Ruining her in ways she had never thought she’d have wanted. Have needed.
She snuck one hand under his arm, fingers digging into his shoulder in an effort to hold on as he bottomed out inside her, filling her completely. Her other cupped his jaw, fingers trailing along his bearded jawline, her body arching into him. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, giving her time to adjust to having him inside her. They were both breathing heavily.
At her nod, he pulled out, taking his time before slamming back in. Gasps and groans escaping them both as he set a punishing pace that had her cumming for the second time that night, her walls clenching and fluttering around him. He continued to fuck her, pressing her into the furs of her bed and all she wanted was ever more of him. Fucking her through her orgasm, not giving her mind - or body - the chance to recover yet.
She whimpered when he pulled back until only the very tip of him remained inside her, breaking the kiss. She tried to follow him, trying to chase him for more kisses but, instead, he slid all the way back inside before stilling. A strangled moan escaped her even as her eyes fluttered open to gaze up at her lover. But instead of the shadows, it was…
“Jon…”
Her eyes shot open, the name tearing from her lips in a strangled moan as the ache between her legs pulsed like she had been thoroughly fucked. She swallowed air like a man dying of thirst in the dessert, rolling onto her side only to find the bed empty save for herself. But the image her dream had revealed; the identity of her shadow lover. Could it be? Could the man who had vexed her for the several moons he’d been on the island be the shadow lover who had chased away her loneliness? Could Jon Snow be the one who could love a dragon?
If looks could kill, Tyrion Lannister would be dead in the middle of the Chamber of the Painted Table. The dwarf had the audacity to look unperturbed by what he had just suggested. Lady Olenna and Ser Davos were glaring at her Master of Coin while Ser Barristan, Rakharo and Grey Worm were shaking their heads in disbelief. And then there was Jon Snow.
The Commander of the Northern Armies had his hands planted on the table, eyes glued to the recreation of the known North and the wall that separated them from the Army of the Dead that he proclaimed was coming to kill them all. The white and black furs beneath his black plated armour, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows while still wearing his black leather gauntlets and fingerless gloves. She had tried hard to not let the sight of him distract her too much during the meeting, especially when memories of her dream from the night before came back to plague her with ideas of what the honourable Commander was hiding beneath his armour and furs. At least, that was before her Master of Coin made his wild suggestion that had her wanting to strangle the dwarf with her bare hands.
And then Jon Snow was lifting his head, staring right at Tyrion. “I suppose that would eliminate one of your Queen’s problems for her without it looking like she would lower herself to such standards,” Jon drawled, eyes never moving from her advisor.
The words caused the intended reaction from the others present, protesting that Daenerys would even dare allow such a thing while Tyrion finally looked sheepish for his suggestions. But none of that mattered; the pang within her heart had struck fast and deep. Quickly replaced by panic at the thoughts of him venturing North to do exactly what her Master of Coin had suggested. “Heroes do stupid, reckless things and they get themselves killed.” The words left her lips before she had a chance to think them through, her mind still plagued by the feeling of her shadow lover pressing her into the furs of her bed in her dream. No, she would not allow the Commander of the North put himself at risk just so he could prove a point. Not until she knew for certain. Jon’s gaze left Tyrion, and fixed on her instead; not for the first time, she felt entrapped by the stormy grey she found there, almost black as they gazed at her. “It is a foolish plot and not a viable one.” She sent Tyrion a quick glare when he opened his mouth to protest. “I am open to suggestions that don’t get any of us killed. I will not be sending anyone, least of all Commander Snow, on a suicide mission. You place far too much faith in your sister, my Lord.”
It was not Tyrion who spoke next but Jon Snow. “Your Grace, I do not know what else I can possibly do to show you that you can trust me on this matter. What else would work if not for showing you proof that the Army of the Dead and their Night King is real?” Frustration seeped through his words, hands clenched in fists either side of him as he stood to full height. Like a wolf ready to pounce, or run.
“You want to show her proof?” Missandei spoke up, playing with a dragon figure as she peered at the map of Westeros before looking up at everyone in the room as she stole their attention. “Why doesn’t the Queen and Commander Snow fly up to the Wall and he can show her this Army of the Dead?” she suggested, eyes landing on Daenerys. “Drogon wouldn’t dare let anything happen to his mother. Nor would Commander Snow.”
She could have kissed her dearest friend. As the others argued about the suggestion, Daenerys focused her attention back on Jon who seemed to take on Missandei’s suggestion as something he may be in agreement to partake in. “I shall take the Commander on Drogon and he shall show me this army.” Her voice left no room for argument as she kept her eyes on Jon’s darkening stormy eyes. “Missandei, will you find my warmest coat for me?” Her advisor smiled and nodded her head, Grey Worm already moving to join her.
“This is madness! You are in the middle of a-” Tyrion started to protest before being interrupted by a tutting Lady Olenna.
“A trip to see for herself whether or not Commander Snow and his brother are lying will not have a lasting impact on this war, you dolt.” The older woman’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she glanced over the two. “Besides, maybe it’ll give us all a break from their arguing for a few hours. And allow them to sort whatever disagreement that keeps them at each other’s throats every second of the day.”
Daenerys sighed, rolling her eyes at the obvious teasing for what it was before she stood. “Then it is settled. Commander Snow and I shall fly North to see this army he speaks of.” Her eyes settled on the Commander who had remained quiet since Missandei’s suggestion. But his eyes were ever watchful, taking in everything and everyone in the meeting. “You are all dismissed. We shall meet tomorrow before we set off.” The others filed out one by one until she was left alone with Jon Snow hovering near the door, Davos heading out just in front of him. “Yes, Commander?”
He paused, eyes flicking over her before he finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. “There’s something I would like you to see. If you’re willing to trust me enough to go down to the caves.” His hands were clenching at his hips, a trait she had come to realise he did whenever he was nervous or second-guessing himself. And yet, she hesitated. What if it was a trap? No matter what she had said to Irri and Missandei the night before, she did not know him. A comely man could still hold a dagger. No matter how much she wanted to jump at the opportunity to find out whether her dreams were true or just a foolish dream of a lonely girl’s heart. And yet, there was this small voice, one that sounded like her voice in the dreams, urging her to take this olive branch. But a small part of her held back, afraid to have her hopes dashed. Had she not suffered enough? Did she not deserve the chance to love and be loved without fear of being hurt?
She was hesitating. It was as clear as the clouds grew dark before the heavens opened. And he couldn’t blame her for it. She probably thought it was a trap. A way he could force himself on her, like the stories of all the black-hearted bastards. “There’s something there I’d like to show you. Something that might convince you more that I’m not lying to you.” He swallowed, the rambling forcing a lump into his throat as he watched her take in everything he was saying. “I was raised to be a gentleman, Your Grace. I would not ask this of you if it were to put you in harm’s way.” He paused again, desperately seeking for the right words. “Take as many of your guards as you wish. They can search me for any weapons if you don’t believe me.”
In the flickering light of the candles, he saw her eyes search his, seeking something he could not name, her full lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his offer. She was going to decline, he knew it with every passing second. She considered him a fool. He couldn’t blame her. But there remained that traitorous bit of hope that made him linger by the door and await her answer. He saw her hand flex, half-hidden by the folds of her skirts. It was as if he saw her warring within herself. He couldn’t blame her. He was a bastard, reaching far past his post. Why did he even think she’d be comfortable in his presence without guards within reach? ‘Because you’re a greedy bastard ,’ the voice in the dark whispered from its cage. ‘Greedy for things that are not yours. Greedy for things that will never be yours.’
“Very well. Meet me at the steps leading to the beach in half an hour, Commander,” she finally said before briskly walking past him and through the door.
Jon stood, sucking in a breath as if waking from a dream, only once Daenerys was out of sight. She had been so close to him, her hand only inches from his own. A simple movement and he could have been touching her. He groaned, leaning back and hitting his head off the door, cursing soundly. He was truly, deeply fucked. How something so simple could drive him to the brink of his sanity. He felt like his brain no longer functioned.
Shaking his head, he finally managed to move, taking the quickest route to his designated chambers. He didn’t know what he should expect now from her, probably two of her Dothraki guards, maybe the scruffy commander of her Queen’s guard who he couldn’t even look at without having to suppress shivers. He briefly considered dragging Davos along, just to make it seem like he trusted her just as little as she must trust him. But, as he reached the doors, he decided against it. He wanted her to trust him. So he was going to strip himself of anything that could be considered a weapon and show her he meant what he told her. One step at a time and before you know it, you’re running. His earlier teenage arrogance hadn’t listened to that piece of advice but his older self now appreciated it more than ever. Especially when there was this new desire to impress Daenerys Targaryen. Lost in thought as he pulled his sword belt from his hips, he didn’t realise there was someone already in the antechambers when he arrived.
“You’re back already?” Rickon quipped from his spot by the hearth, lying next to a curled up, dozing Ghost while Shaggydog lay at his feet. “Did you fuck up things with the Queen even more?”
Jon scoffed. “Thank you kindly for your confidence, little brother.” I might have , he thought to himself. Rickon hummed, turning his attention back to his book. However he came across an intact book on his drafty, damp island was beyond Jon. Leave it to the little tyke to sneak into the Queen’s library to steal a book just because he was ‘bored’. “Where did you get that?” he questioned, pulling a knife from his boot and placing it safely on the table.
Rickon paused before bringing a hand up, rubbing the back of his neck in that sheepish way Jon was sure he had learned from him. “Eh… ImayhaveinterruptedtheQueenwhenshewasinherlibraryandIaskedherifIcouldborrowabook ?” he rambled, adding a shy, sheepish grin at the end. And Jon couldn’t help but laugh.
Of course his little brother would have the audacity to ask the woman vying to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms if he could borrow a book from her personal library. “And she said yes?” He was astonished, yes. But also, feeling himself fall even more in love with the Queen when Rickon grinned, showing him the leather-bound book triumphantly, emblazoned with two worn golden dragons.
“Evidently. Helped me pick out something interesting, too. Rakharo was cursing the entire way back.” He had a smug smirk on his face as he tore his attention away from the contents of the book. “Unlike you, I seem to know how to speak to ladies without pissing them off.”
“You cheeky little…” He cut himself off, rolling up his spare gloves and throwing them at his baby brother who brought an arm up to defend his head from the attack. “I know how to speak to ladies.” Rickon was too busy laughing to listen to him, curled in on himself. Shaking his head, Jon made a grumbling noise before he took one look at himself in the mirror before leaving his brother and Shaggydog to Rickon’s laughter.
He had a Queen to entertain. And he best not be late.
He managed to arrive at the base of the stairs before Daenerys, giving himself a few moments to settle his nerves before the familiar sound of footsteps sounded from the stone stairs. He took a deep breath before focusing his attention upwards, finding the Queen talking to her closest advisor with a smug smirk on her lips. He fought down the urge of wanting to kiss that smirk from her lips, to drink from her lips like a man thirsting in the deserts of Dorne, to worship her from his knees. Memories of his dreams from the previous night came rushing back to him and he was glad that the sun was beaming down on him. The sudden flush crawling up his neck could easily be blamed on his Northern pallor rather than the dreams of feasting from between her thighs as she sat upon her throne of dragonglass. And then her eyes met his and he, a grown-ass man - a man who had seen brothers-in-arms fall, who had died and rose from the dead, watched fallen people rise up and become brainless killers - forgot how to breathe. Her purple eyes focused on his own as she and Missandei came to a halt on the stairs.
Ghost appeared then, trotting down the stairs past the four guards, Daenerys and Missandei. He couldn’t help but notice the Queen’s hand glide through his companion’s white fur - that Ghost allowed her to touch him - before the direwolf made his way to Jon’s side. Only then did he manage to find the words to speak. “Your Grace, thank you.” He glanced at the guards before returning his attention to the small yet fierce woman in front of him. “I have two torches ready for use when you are ready.”
Daenerys glanced at her friend, the other woman sending a knowing look back at her Queen before Daenerys turned to her guards, speaking rapidly in a tongue Jon was beginning to understand was Dothraki. They nodded in acknowledgement before Daenerys stepped down to join him. “I’m going to take your word that I’ll have you as my protector in these caves, Commander Snow.” She was so close that he could reach out and touch her. Run his fingertips over the bare skin of her hands. Brush a knuckle over the apple of her cheek. Press his lips against hers and find out if they were as soft as they looked. But now was not the time as he felt the eyes of her burly Dothraki guards in his back and quickly reined his thoughts in again. He nodded solemnly and motioned for her to come along.
They made their way silently side by side down to the packed, wet sand of the beach lining the shores of Dragonstone, the feeling of it shifting beneath his boots still required some getting used to; whereas Daenerys moved with her usual grace, dainty leather boots peeking steadily from the sandy hem of her skirts. She was born here, home on this vast, rough, black rock surrounded by a stormy grey sea. Her ethereal beauty was in stark contrast to this place, yet she seemed to belong here. Her hand brushed against his, for only a moment, by accident, and he realised much too late how far they had walked without speaking a single word and he felt like a green boy when he sucked in a breath to say something yet no words seemed to come. But he had a mission; show her what he had found, try and prove to her that he was not making up some type of garish fairy tale to trick her. He was about to be alone with her in the caves. He glanced in her direction, at last tearing his eyes away from the ground, but instead of possibly finding her glowering, dismayed at his utter lack of manners as he expected, something else caught his eye: three dragons flying in loops and circles around each other, diving towards the surface of the sea only to come right up again, grasping what he assumed was prey in their massive claws. They weren’t too far out, just close enough to be a hovering presence, close enough to intimidate by their sheer size.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Daenerys tore him from his dumbfounded stare, the faintest smile on her lips as she followed his gaze. A mother’s smile.
“B– Beautiful, aye.” He cursed himself for letting his fear show. Not the same kind of fear he had for the undead soldiers waiting beyond the Wall. Intimidation, perhaps. He was glad her three beasts were as far away as they were at the moment nonetheless. “Like their mother.”
At once her head snapped around to look at him, her steps coming to a halt; as did his heart. If he could somehow pull his words back, he would. But Daenerys didn’t seem angry, or about to burn him into a crisp for being so bold. Instead he thought he saw the apples of her cheeks pinkening, her eyes lowering to the ground for a second before she cleared her throat. She was still smiling. That gave him some hope he hadn't just ruined the building trust between them.
She motioned to something behind him. “Lead the way, Commander Snow.”
As if struck by lightning, he turned around, finding them standing at the mouth of the cave, two torches waiting in the wet sand, well hidden from the fierce wind. “I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you for allowing us to mine the dragonglass, Your Grace.” She’d allowed it during the initial stages of their negotiations, a sign of good faith between them. And he couldn’t help another flash of affection striking his heart for her good heart. Davos may have meant an innuendo about it but Jon had meant what he said; Queen Daenerys had a good heart and he didn’t know how to repay it.
“I hear you have found plentiful veins of it,” she commented, accepting one of the torches and following him into the maw of the cave. The sunlight quickly dimmed and the cold wind blowing off the sea was replaced by a damp cold that quickly cut through to your bones.
“Aye, we have. It will be of great use.”
“So what is it that you want to show me?” she asked curiously. He could not detect a trace of mistrust in her voice.
He cleared his throat, briefly looking back at her. “While my men were mining the dragon glass here, they found something rather unexpected. I had them stop immediately, as to not damage it. But I thought, perhaps, you would like to see it, Your Grace.” They rounded a bend in the rocky path, sharp jagged glittering edges framing a narrow passageway. Jon squeezed through first, his leathers and cloak catching on the rock and dragon glass, before he extended a hand to help Daenerys through into the small cavernous chamber, their torches now illuminating it, making the dragon glass glitter eerily all over the walls. He bit back the shiver that threatened to run through him as he felt her palm fit so perfectly in his own. “Nobody has dared come near the cave anymore since we discovered this,” he explained, trying hard not to focus on the feeling of her small hand in his, the heat radiating off of her. Unfortunately, he had to let go of her hand as she stepped forward, one dainty hand lifted to trace over the crude drawings on the wall while he placed his own torch into a latch the men had put into the wall to hold the blaziers.
“What are these?” she breathed, her voice full of hesitancy and confusion and yet she never turned her head from the cave’s wall, entranced by the ancient murals. Taking all of it in, taking in their meaning: a recording, a warning. Proof.
“We believe they were left by the Children of the Forest,” he explained, watching her eyes flicker over each figment of the drawings, following each stroke of pigment. The icy blue eyes of what was to depict a White Walker seemed to stare right back at them. Jon suppressed a shudder and averted his eyes. He wondered if she felt the same terror. Stepping forward, he placed his hand on hers and guided her own torch upwards to the circle symbol left by the long-gone Children. He focused solely on his words, knowing if he focused on how he was touching her, he’d do something incredibly stupid, even by his standards. “All the information that we have suggests that they were the ones who defeated him before. It’s why the dragon glass is so important. Only Valyarian steel seems to have the same impact dragon glass has had against them.” He swallowed, watching her carefully as she turned her head to look at him, reluctantly letting go of her hand. He couldn’t read the look in her eyes, only that something had changed, hardened. She had made up her mind.
“Do you believe they have come this far south before? That the Children of the Forest defeated him.”
He nodded.
“Do you think he will try again?”
“I have seen them lining up, annihilating whole Wildling villages in a matter of hours, rising from the snow after being struck down over and over again. They are not going stop at the Wall.”
Daenerys was quiet for a long while, her gaze drawn to the mural once more. “I trust you, Jon Snow.”
“Your Grace–”
“I trust you,” she repeated, turning around to him, pinning him with a fierce gaze. “I don’t want to believe you and what you say about this Army of the Dead, but this… Do not make me regret choosing to trust you, Commander.” She seemed to hesitate, searching for the right words, her purple eyes flickering over his face. "I told you in the Throne Room that the only person I could trust was myself. That trusting others had only led to disappointment and betrayal. I do not want to add you to that list, Jon Snow."
He swallowed, not sure he was dreaming. To have her say those words. This powerful, fierce woman was putting her trust in him. “I will not make the same mistakes as those before me,” he promised. For all his complaints about her, they were not truly correct. But as Davos and Rickon had pointed out, his frustrations only masked what he truly felt for her. “I do not know how I could possibly repay you.” There was nothing that he, a bastard, could possibly give this woman. This Queen.
“Stop arguing with me every second we’re in each other’s company?” she offered, a small smirk gracing her lips as she focused her attention on him. Her eyes flickered downwards, paying a second’s attention to his lips before they were back on his eyes. “That would be a good place to start, Commander.”
Jon couldn’t help but smirk back at her, not knowing where this sudden courage came from. Maybe it was Davos’ words finally registering in his brain. Maybe it was Rickon’s constant ribbing. Maybe it was, finally, being alone with Daenerys and not having to keep his armour on. No guards watching. No advisors there to interrupt. No mask to keep in place. “Why ever would I stop, Your Grace, when it seems to be the very thing you enjoy in my company?” he teased, watching the apples of her cheeks tinting pink in the orange glow of their torches. But what she did next, surprised even him.
“I’m certain you can be far more entertaining, Commander, if you weren’t arguing with me all the time.” Her words were a purr, inviting him to give into his desires once and for all. And yet… There was a part of him that was hesitant. That wanted to give her the opportunity to turn around and leave him behind. Even if his heart was screaming at him to grasp his chance with both hands.
“Your Grace… All I find myself thinking about, all I find myself being able to breathe for... is you. Do you think that I want to be in this position? Contending with these thoughts of wanting to be nowhere except with you. Wanting to run away with you. Of acting on the most impure, forbidden desires, no matter... how much I must remind myself that although I am a bastard I am a gentleman too, and you are a Queen.”
"I don't care," she breathed, the words washing over his lips. She was braver than him. That he knew for certain. He didn’t know which of them moved closer. He wasn’t sure it was the smartest move he’d ever made. All he knew, was that when he pressed his lips to hers not one of his dreams about her had ever done her justice.
He grasped her around the waist, or perhaps her dainty hands pulled him down to her; he didn’t know what came first. All he knew was that, finally, she was in his arms, bodies pressed close despite all too many layers of clothing, and for this small moment, he allowed himself to hope. Hope that this wasn’t a one-time event. Hope she didn’t have him brought before her dragons to be roasted alive. Hope that, in her eyes, that he was worth it.
His lips were wet as they pressed against hers, his body pressing against her own. Her hands didn’t know where to go after dropping the torch to the floor, finding purchase on his chest, fingers tangling with his black armour as she pulled him closer. It was him. The way his body blanketed hers, the way his lips moved against hers, the way he even smelled. Jon Snow was her shadow lover. One of his hands cupped her jaw, angling her face upwards to receive his kiss while his other arm banded around her waist to pull her flush against him. She’d never felt like this before him, this stir of emotions and lust that had been swirling inside her since they met. And yet, this man who she had imagined to be a Northern brute had instead turned out to be a comely warrior who stirred her in ways she’d never known before him. In the ways her dreams had come to stir her with each hurried dreamly visit of her shadow lover, the way he made her feel grounded and safe, yet at the same time left her burning inside for more.
Lips and tongues met in a wet dance, teeth almost clashing as he pressed her up against the wall of the cave. Her hands slid from his chest to the back of his head, fingers deftly undoing the band that kept his the curls on the top of his head tied back until she could finally lose her hands in the raven mass that she had far too many dreams about before this moment. The dreams of Jon Snow, her shadow lover, did no justice to finally feeling of his lips on hers. The quiet, sullen Commander was certainly proving that he was excellent at driving her up the wall in more ways than one. She forgot about the icy blue eyes staring back at them from the cave wall, about what they had to face, what had to be done now. At that moment, they weren’t the Lord Commander of the North and a vying Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; they were only Jon and Daenerys. There was no armour, no guards, no weapons. She didn’t want this moment to end, clinging to it for as long as she could. For as long as her lungs allowed her to.
All too soon, their kiss came to an end. But he didn’t pull back like she assumed he would. Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, nose brushing hers as they breathed the same air. Somehow, during their little escapade, one of her legs had come around his calf, too restricted by the fabric of her dress to go any farther. Blinking her eyes open, she found him watching her carefully. As if waiting for her to decide whether or not she would punish him for daring to kiss her. So she put him at ease.
“Took you long enough, Commander. I was beginning to think I was imagining all those longing looks you’ve been giving me.” She had tried to deny it. Tried to believe she had not fallen for another dark-haired skilled warrior. But he wasn’t like her lovers before. This felt different. He felt different. ‘One to bed. One to dread. One to love ,’ an old voice whispered in the back of her mind. Was this Jon Snow this one to love… Or one to dread?
He smiled then, slight but it was there. And she couldn’t help but feel a dash of pride of being the one to put it there. Even if he did appear hesitant to hope for anything more. “You’d probably have me roasted if you knew how many times I’ve dreamt of doing that, Your Grace,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to brush a stray lock from her face. “You still could if you knew exactly what those dreams involved after I kissed you.” His words were husky, his gravelly voice sending a shiver down her spine. Then his head slid forward, his mouth finding her ear to whisper. “I, for one, would rather have a bed to show you, Your Grace. Or somewhere where we would not be disturbed.”
Oh, he was going to be the death of her. To realise that this modest, quiet man held a far dirtier side to him under his layers of armour… She wasn’t sure she would survive it when he finally got the chance to show her exactly what dreams he’d had of her. Or would they match her own of him? Twisting her head, her lips brushed over his own ear as she whispered, “When we get to that bed, Jon Snow, I’d rather you call me Daenerys.” She lifted her own hand then, brushing the stray locks from his face that had escaped when she had tugged the band that kept them tied at the back of his head. He looked younger with his hair left loose. She decided there and then that seeing his hair down was something she wanted to see every day.
He lifted his head, eyes searching her face for something. She did not know what but before he could act, a voice rang out through the cavern walls, disrupting this moment of solitude for them. She groaned, burying her face in the crook of his neck while he chuckled lightly, finally pulling her away from the wall. “I guess we’ll have to save that discussion for a later date… Daenerys.” She couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine hearing her name on his lips. He pressed a simple, chaste kiss to her lips before pulling away completely. The way her name rolled off his tongue in that Northern burr lit a fire deep inside her; she immediately willed the flame back down to embers even as a shiver ran down her spine. She couldn’t help but bemoan the loss of his body pressed against hers as she watched him grab the remaining torch from its latch. Her own had gone out after she’d dropped it. Missandei’s voice sounded again, a note of urgency this time. “Guess we’ve been gone longer than they anticipated?” he questioned as he held his hand out to her, helping her through some of the more slippery sections until their feet met the sand that had been swept into the mouth of the cave. Her eyes adjusted to the bright daylight as they returned to the mouth of the cave, the dark silhouette becoming her most trusted advisor. But the look of concern on Missandei’s face didn’t bode well.
“Jorah has returned, Your Grace,” Missandei said, in Valyrian, sparing only a short glance for Jon who was following closely behind Daenerys. “We’ve received news that Lannister forces are taking Highgarden as we speak.”
The warm feeling that had spread in her chest now froze solid. “Has Lady Olenna been informed?” she asked, in the common tongue, speeding up her steps across the sand. She could hear Jon following them, leaving enough space to not give away what had taken place in the cave not moments before. Her mind raked through her conversations with the Queen of Thorns, trying to plan the next conversation with the older woman.
“Irri went to inform her. She is awaiting you in the Chamber of the Painted Table.” Missandei’s eyes flickered backwards to look at Jon and back to Daenerys, the question clear.
But Daenerys shook her head; she would tell her friend later what had transpired between her and the Commander of the North. “Call for the rest of the Council. I’ll speak with Lady Olenna first and then we can discuss our next plan of action.” She needed to think strategically, no matter how much she wanted to climb onto Drogon and go burn the Lannister army to ash, it was a risk she wasn’t sure she needed to make just yet.
“Yes, my Queen.” Missandei seemed to smile a little in realisation in the words Daenerys wasn’t speaking. “I sent Ser Jorah to bathe before he comes to see you. I will alert the rest of your Council to the situation. How much time do you need?”
“Give me an hour. I shall see the course of action Lady Olenna wishes to take with her home before we move further.” Daenerys paused then, turning to Jon who stopped, eyes watching her carefully. “What would you suggest, Commander? I know what I would like to do but I want all possible options and points of view before I make my decision.”
Jon seemed taken aback that she had asked him before he regained his composure. “If you go burning down cities, you won’t be any different than those who came before you, Your Grace,” he started, his tone calm but not condescending - it was refreshing to hear. Even if burning cities was exactly what she felt like doing at that moment in time. “I’ve seen you with the Dothraki children and the elders. You’re not like everyone else. You care about your people. If you’re going to attack Cersei where it hurts, you need to go as long as you can without harming an innocent person because the people know she doesn’t care about them. You need to show them you’re different. Don’t be like her. You’re better than her.”
“You suggest I take on military targets?” Was there ever going to be a moment where this man did not surprise her? “Ports? Army? Strongholds?”
“Sabotage the ports and barracks. Make her divide up her army, scatter them in different directions and then target them in smaller groups. Make her play the game of war on your terms, not hers. It’s far easier to defend a fortress than it is to attack it head-on.” He stepped closer to her, his hands clenching either side of his hips as if stopping himself from reaching for her. It wasn’t something she could focus on no matter how it warmed her heart. “Force her into mistakes she’s not been willing to make.”
It was sound advice. It truly was. But she needed to speak with Olenna and the rest of her advisors first before she could make a decision. “Thank you, Commander Snow. Can I be so bold and ask you to escort me to the Chamber of the Painted Table? I would like your presence at my meeting.”
He raised an eyebrow but nonetheless offered his arm to her. Missandei fully smirked then, sending Daenerys a knowing look before Daenerys and Jon ascended the steps of the swirling stone stairs. At any other time - when there weren’t two wars threatening to destroy them all - she would have liked to imagine they were taking a stroll around the island as they learned about the other. But such was not the time. Not for now.
They parted shortly before the heavy wooden door leading to the Chamber of the Painted Table, Jon excusing himself, saying he would like to make sure his brother was taken care of. And to send a raven to Robb Stark, she assumed; the ever-present scowl on his face only having deepened since the news of the Lannister attack on Highgarden. A part of her was relieved, preferring to talk to Olenna in private first. Another part wanted him by her side. Now that she knew their frustrations with each other had merely been a shared act to hide their true feelings. Now that she had confirmed he was the shadow lover that visited her in her dreams on many a lonely night… it was hard to part from him when they had yet to work out what exactly was building between them. To sit down and talk, without any masks or armours. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to be so vulnerable with him. To want to give him the power to break her heart. And yet, a part of her - that little girl who had yearned for a family of her own, to have someone love her as she loved them - was calling out for exactly that. And perhaps, knowing what she knew about his upbringing, found a heart that understood hers. The memories of her shadow lover, the dreams of being loved so thoroughly certainly had to have something to do with the desire to get to know Jon Snow more intimately.
Shaking those thoughts from her mind, she entered the Chamber, finding Olenna awaiting her as promised. Her posture was straight, she seemed calm, her boney fingers steadily drumming on the armrest of her chair. Daenerys wasn’t sure if she could have remained so outwardly calm after having heard of Dragonstone being under attack. But she wasn’t the Queen of Thornes, and there was a reason Daenerys had wanted her as an ally. “Lady Olenna.”
“Your Grace,” the older woman answered, bowing her head in respect, but not rising from her chair. Dany took a seat next to her as her Dothraki guards closed the doors.
“I have heard of the attack,” she started, somewhat unsettled by the way Olenna betrayed no emotion. “This calls for immediate action, Highgarden is an important ally. I will not let Cersei get her hands on your home without a fight.”
The old woman’s lips quirked into a mirthful smile. “Your Grace, while I appreciate your eagerness to defend my people and honour our agreement, I am afraid there is already nothing left for you to defend.”
Daenerys baulked, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “Excuse me, I don’t– I don’t think I understand.”
“I’d rather blow up Highgarden than hand it to the Lannisters, Your Grace,” Olenna replied, resting an age-worn hand on top of Daenerys’. “They once tried to take everything from me and they failed. I was not going to give them another chance to try.”
Realisation dawned on her and her other hand balled into a fist. “What of your family? Crops can be resown. Homes rebuilt. But your people? Your family?” Cersei was going to pay. But at the least, she would give Olenna a front row seat to her demise.
She was interrupted by a shake of Olenna’s head. “The remaining members of my family are in Winterfell following my granddaughter’s marriage to Robb Stark.” She sighed, shaking her head a second time. “I’d already made my alliance with you when I was alerted to her survival. Marred by scars of the wildfyre but that did not seem to deter the King in the North from falling in love with her.” A wry smile graced the lips of the older woman. “It is one of the reasons I had insisted on you negotiating with the North. Especially when news circulated of the King in the North’s comely half-brother returning home. Sons raised by Eddard Stark are far more appealing than many of the Lords raised in the South.”
Dany’s mind was reeling with all the new information the older woman had just revealed. She didn’t know if she should be angry; did Olenna betray her? But she couldn’t fault the Queen of Thorns for taking precautions. She didn’t obtain the reputation she had by sitting in pretty gardens, waiting for other people to fight her wars. “Appealing, yes,” she repeated absent-mindedly, her gaze fixed on the horizon through the large windows of the chamber, a plan forming in her mind. Then she realised what she said, her eyes growing wide, “I mean– Excuse me. I am happy your granddaughter is alive and congratulations on her match.” Daenerys cleared her throat, noting Olenna’s pleased smile with chagrin. “I must ask… Were you ever planning on telling me that small, yet important piece of information?”
“Not in front of your Master of Whisperers or Coin. It has been a while since you and I spoke alone.” For once, the older woman looked her age. “I did not know of Margarey’s survival until after her marriage to Robb Stark, let me assure you. Knowing she is alive, that she managed to survive the Mad Bitch’s attempts to kill her is enough for me. She has made her own path now. Hers led her to the North. Mine led me to you.” The sacrifices she had to make to get as far as she had, to see the ones she loved protected and provided for, rather than suffering under the rule of a tyrant. And now the aftermath of these decisions lay in her hands, this is the Westeros Daenerys would have to rule over. Once any smidge of power the Lannisters still held was eradicated. A familiar thought came to mind, one she had pondered over many times before: she was not fighting on her own. She could never win this war on her own, dragons or not, she needed those who stood behind her, her allies, her people who believed in a world not ruled by fear or death. Homes can be rebuilt. Dany would take to the skies, right after a meeting with her council, to see which soil she would rebuild those homes on. “Thank you, Olenna. I promise you, your sacrifice will not be in vain.”
Olenna patted Dany’s hand again, diffusing the storm of thoughts and plans on her mind. “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Your Grace.” As she looked back at Olenna with a confused frown, Olenna wore an almost smug, scheming sort of look that Dany has learned was nothing short of unpredictable. “There will come a time when you will sit on that throne in King’s Landing, all sorts of Lords and Ladies will offer up their unsightly offspring to be sitting at your side. But once all is said and done, you will want someone you can trust.”
Olenna had just finished speaking when the doors to the Chamber of the Painted Table opened and the rest of her Council joined them, breaking up the quiet moment she had with Olenna with their excited, if not distressed, bustle and chatter as the news Jorah had brought needed to be thoroughly discussed. But all through the meeting, her eyes sought out one particular slate grey pair across the table, whose owner she had allowed to take her into a dragon glass cave without protection, looked to for advice in this impossible war, and found herself wanting to learn if he could be that person that she trusts, sitting next to her in the Throne Room. Wanting to learn if Jon Snow was the one who could love a dragon, both the good and bad sides. Would she be given the chance to learn? Or were the Gods she’d long since given up on going to rob her of the opportunity?
Rickon was laid out with Shaggydog when Jon arrived, his younger brother slouched in the window bay overlooking the entrance to Blackwater Bay. Shaggydog had quietened since his reunion with Ghost, much like Rickon’s reunion with Jon. As if their wildness had been a way to protect themselves from those who wished to hurt them. And now that they were safe once more, there was no need to have their heckles up all the time. Jon found comfort in that thought. Not that his nightmares gave him that luxury; what could have happened if he hadn’t arrived in time, how he may have had to bury his baby brother. When Rickon barely stirred, it was then Jon realised that his baby brother was sleeping. He chuckled lightly to himself, pulling his gloves from his hands. He was glad to see his brother looking so peacefully, even if it was only in his dreams. Jon would let him swim in the deepest ocean or glide over the highest cloud for as long as he could. It was the least he owed his baby brother after years of nightmares.
He tugged at the strings at the collar of his fur coat, loosening them as he rounded the small desk that had been placed in the antechamber for him to work on. He needed to write a letter and inform Robb of what had transpired since their last communication. And yet, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to what had happened in the cave moments before. The taste of her lips on his. The feel of her body against his. The smell of her bath oils gracing his nose. The sound of her little moans and whimpers of pleasure. The look in her eyes as she gazed up at him. Her whispered words before they were interrupted. He was a pining fool, feeling like a green boy after his first kiss. And yet… He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but dwell on how it felt to have her in his arms. To have her return the burning feelings that had been building inside of him for the past few weeks and months.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, more out of habit rather than trying to relieve a headache, he tried to settle - to focus - his thoughts. There was no point acting like a green boy pining after his first love when he didn’t even know what their kiss in the cave had meant. It might have just been the tension between them finally reaching its peak, needing an outlet, exploding like a tightly packed barrel of wildfyre. There was an enormous weight on both their shoulders, it was only natural that at some point… He quieted those thoughts. What good was an explanation for what happened between them when there would never be any consequences. If this wasn’t Dragonstone, and he had so boldly made a move on a Queen who was going to be his liege, his head would’ve been on a spike within the hour. Or burnt to a crisp by dragon flame. It would be a fitting way to go for someone like him. Catelyn Stark would have finally had her wish. He would be gone with no mark left on the world like he had ever even been there at all.
The voice, the darkness that had come back with him after the betrayal of his brothers was wrapping its shadowy grip around his throat and chest, tightening its hold on him. Since he had come back, he had felt like he would never feel warm again. Any emotion that had once made him smile or feel a sliver of warmth had been replaced by the menacing darkness in his heart. Only the sight of Rickon had given him any semblance of hope and yet… It hadn’t been enough. The darkness had made sure of that. Convincing him that he had one duty; to serve his brothers, help bring the Dawn and destroy the Night King. There was no room for happiness or love. Not for someone like him. But that was until he met Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen. When he was around her, that darkness didn’t seem so loud.
He had argued to travel to Dragonstone in Robb’s stead to treat with the Dragon Queen despite his brother’s hesitancy. The rumours that the Lannisters and Baratheons had spread about her had been a lie. The protests from the Northern Lords had been a lie. Despite his frustrations with her over the past four months, she was the only woman - the only person - to treat him as an equal rather than the Bastard of Winterfell. Even when he had been a rude fool, meeting her own stubbornness head-on. It was refreshing, to speak with someone the way he did with her and she never once made him feel like he was worth less than those around him. And he had dared to kiss her? ‘You don’t deserve her. You’ve stained her. Poisoned her. Like everything else you touch. You should never have touched her. You’ll never deserve her. She’ll die like Ygritte.' The grip tightened, pulling him further and further into its dark abyss. ‘You dare to think she’d want you? That she’d want a bastard in her bed? A stupid fool. Your brother would’ve been a better match for her. A true son. Not a mistake. Not Eddard Stark’s black stain. ’
Something wet brushed against his hand, making him jump before he found the familiar blood-red eyes boring into his own. “Thank you, Ghost,” he whispered, bringing his hand to brush his palm and fingers over the head of his long time companion. “I do have a few things to get done before we rejoin Daenerys, don’t I?” The direwolf lapped at his hand before laying down at his feet while Jon dragged some parchment towards him, uncapping a bottle of ink as he dipped a quill in the black liquid. He had much to tell his brother but, for now, he’d leave out the personal progress he had made with Daenerys and the kiss they had shared. Something he wanted to keep for himself. Something that was his and hers.
There had been protests, as she had suspected. But there had also been support for her suggestion. “This is my war, Lord Tyrion. If I am going to lead my armies, I should damn well know what I am facing and see it with my own eyes.” The dwarf had little else to say on that, especially when Olenna had spoken up, suggesting that someone travel with her, least she run into any trouble. Her eyes had automatically found the familiar stormy grey eyes across the room. “Then I guess a trial flight with Commander Snow shall be in order.” She had meant for it to sound like a suggestion but her frustrations with certain members of her Council made it sound far terser than she had intended.
“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied, body tensing in response to the almost callous tone that had escaped her. She resisted sighing in frustration; for all the steps they made forward, she seemed to drag them backwards. And she wouldn’t do with that. Not anymore.
“Please leave myself and Commander Snow to discuss the plans for our trip.” Her tone left no room for argument, her Council rising to leave. But not without a knowing look from Missandei and a pat on the hand from Lady Olenna. Ser Jorah seemed put out but she would speak with her Old Bear later. First, she had a cagey wolf to soothe. His hands clenched either side of his lean hips, his eyes scanning every inch of the room. Not once looking at her, lastly finding interest in the Painted Table. And after the kiss they had shared in the Cave, she couldn’t help but feel like it was her fault. “I’m sorry,” she started as she rose, slowly making her way to him. “I had not meant to take out my frustrations with Lord Tyrion on you. You were - are - not the one I was angry with, my Lord.”
That seemed to catch his attention, his head snapping up to look at her as she stopped in front of him. Just enough distance between them to not gather any questions if they happened to be walked in on. But just close enough that if he wanted to, he could pull her flush against him. She couldn’t help but watch the apple of his throat bob between the furs he wore as he swallowed before he closed the distance between them half a foot. “I’m glad to hear that our time apart hasn’t seemed to make you regret what happened in the caves.” His voice was low and gravelly, forcing her to resist a shiver. “Although I’m not sure if it would be considered proper or honourable if I offered to thump him for you.”
A laugh escaped her lips. “Thank you for the offer, my Lord, but I assure you that won’t be needed any time soon.” She paused, fingers brushing over the detailed map of the North. “I do not wish to assume that you would so willingly fly with me to Highgarden. I only felt that it would be a good opportunity to prepare you for the much longer flight to the North.” She didn’t know why she suddenly felt so nervous. But then he lay ease to the bubbling of nerves in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m an honourable man, Your Grace. There was not a chance I would allow you to take the flight alone to Highgarden after you’d honoured me with the chance to share a flight with you on one of your frightening yet fascinating children.”
He’d said the right words. For a man who claimed on many occasions that he was not a poet, he certainly had a way with words that lit a fire inside her. When he wasn’t doing his best to vex her. “And what if I didn’t want you to be honourable?” she asked, her words a whisper as she slowly stepped closer and closer until there was only a hair’s breadth between them. She could hear him swallow, as if her very presence made him act in ways that went completely against his character.
“I am a gentleman, Your Grace,” he started, eyes flickering to her lips. “My father raised me to act with honour, but that honour is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence.” His breathing deepened with each word that left his lips, each word bringing him closer to her. “You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. Vexing me in my waking moments, only to haunt me in my dreams, having me chase you and bend the knee before you grant me your lips.” He was hovering over her, hands just inches from her elbows. So close yet so far. As if waiting for her to grant him permission.
"Cut the thread then, Jon Snow. And show me a glimpse of those dreams of yours."
"Cut the thread then, Jon Snow. And show me a glimpse of those dreams of yours." Her words were barely a whisper, brushing over his lips. Unlike in the cave, he knew the moment he moved, leaning down to capture her lips in a desperate kiss. In their time apart since the cave, his mind had been plagued with how beautiful she looked. How this fierce, powerful dragon rider Queen let him, a lowly bastard - one of the last of his kin - touch her. Kiss her. Hold her against him. His black stained heart didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her and yet… Not once had she treated him as someone below her. Not once had she looked down upon him. Not once had she made him feel like he should’ve stayed dead. It was that reason why he felt confident enough to take her face between his roughened, scarred hands and claim her lips with his. And just like their kiss in the caves, he felt every darkness that he had hidden under the armour he had created for himself disappear.
It felt different from their kiss in the cave, as he took his time this time, making sure to explore every inch of her mouth in ways he felt he hadn’t done enough of earlier. Slow, careful strokes until her tongue tangled with his own, tasting him in the same way he was tasting her. His hands slid down her arms until he gently gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. A shiver ran down his back as her fingers trailed along his jawline until she cupped his face and pressed against him. All too soon, her arms moved to wrap around his neck, her fingers instead playing with the loose curls not tied up in the bun he had modelled after his late father. Carefully, he slid his hands down past her hips until he found purchase on her thighs and lifted her up onto the table. He swallowed the moan that escaped her as her arse was seated on the edge of the table. Her thighs wrapped around his lean waist and pulled him flush against her.
Only then did he break the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. Both of them were gasping in air, trying to catch their breath while his nose brushed hers. His eyes had slid closed, fluttering open now to find her purple ones blown black save for a single ring of amethyst purple peering back at him. “I hope this is what you meant when you said you didn’t want me to be honourable, Your Grace?” he whispered, rubbing his nose against her own once more. While he held some confidence in how she had pulled him flush against her - her calves still rested on the back of his thighs - there was always that chance that she could reject him. Not that he could blame her. What did he, bastard born second son, have to offer the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? “You would tell me if I shouldn’t have done that?”
Daenerys shook her head, her hands coming back to cup his jaw, fingers tracing his jawline as she did while her eyes traced over the scars that marred his comely face; or rather, they should have marred his face. To her, they gave him a rugged handsomeness. What was it with her and warrior lovers? “I thoroughly enjoyed your mouth on mine, Jon Snow. And that is exactly how dishonourable I wanted you to be.” Her lips were drawn up in a soft smile as her eyes flickered down to his lips before she focused back on his eyes. Her legs pulled him even closer, his hands resting on the small of her back as he pressed firmly against her front. “Although I doubt that is as far as your mentioned dreams went. I’m assuming we should wait until a later time to act on them. And include that bed you mentioned earlier.” As much as she assumed she would enjoy learning just exactly what he had dreamed about, there was no need to rush this too far too fast.
A breathless chuckle escaped him, already feeling the flush that was rising up his neck at her words. “You would most definitely have your dragons make short work of me if you knew just how far my dreams of you and I went.” He would not mention his nightmares, certain they would ruin the mood. He’d revealed far too much as it was. He didn’t know what exactly it was about this fearsome Queen, only that she rendered him a bumbling, babbling green boy. "All I find myself thinking about, all I find myself being able to breathe for... is you , Your Grace,” he breathed, the words tumbling from his lips without his permission. “I will not lie, I have spent the past four moons….” He stopped, swallowing the dryness that had formed in his throat. “Do you have any idea what it is like to be in this position? Contending with these thoughts of wanting to be nowhere except with you. Wanting to run away with you. Of acting on the most impure, forbidden desires, no matter... how much I must remind myself I am a bastard, and you are a Queen."
It was her turn to shake her head, her nails gently dragging through his beard, the sensation causing him to shiver involuntarily. “You are not alone in those dreams, Commander,” she confessed, a glint in her eyes. “And do not use that word about yourself. Not to me.” Her words made him pause in surprise; that was not what he was expecting to hear. He expected hesitancy. Denial. Rejection. Not… He trailed off those thoughts as she continued, “Although I suggest that we may delay enacting those dreams until after we return from our trip to Highgarden? You will need your energy, Jon Snow." Her fingers came to one of the scars that marred his face, pausing before she focused her eyes on his, seemingly finding what she was searching for.. “It seems we have riled each other to the edge of our restraint, my lord. All of those things you have listed, I have felt too. Wanting to throttle you and yet pull you close. But until our return, I must insist we hold on just a little longer.”
He felt himself smile, truly smile, for the first time that he could remember since his return. Not even time spent with Rickon and Ghost had made him smile this way, the chains that trapped him to the dark finally lifting in the presence of the Breaker of Chains. “That sounds agreeable, Your Grace,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to brush a stray lock from her face, unable to put its softness from his fascination. “I look forward to you showing me the life of a dragon rider.”
“Daenerys,” she whispered as she leaned forward, this time initiating the kiss with a small nip to his bottom lip. Her actions earned her a low growl before his hands gripped her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, her thick thighs strong beneath his palms. As if sealing their agreement with a kiss. He certainly wouldn’t mind if they sealed all their agreements in such a way. Especially when she seemed to enjoy kissing him as much as he enjoyed kissing her.
Like he had initiated the previous kiss and had been the one to break it, this time it was Daenerys’ turn to pull away first, the two of them breathing heavily from the intense feelings that were driving them both mad. The desire to carry her to her chambers and strip her down and feast from between her thighs. To make her lose control over and over until she was a shivering, quivering mess of want. He was holding on with all his strength not to embarrass them both. “When we are alone, Jon Snow, I want you to call me by my name. No more titles.” A nip followed before she groaned, pressing her forehead against his as she breathed, “If we do not stop, I’m afraid I will rush this further than we are ready for… And I would like to take my time getting to know you, Jon Snow.”
His heart stuttered at her words, wanting to find the right way - the right words - to return the trust she was putting in him. To express how much her words meant to him and his broken soul. His broken heart, cynical from what he bad seen and suffered and done. And yet…. Here she was. Building hope inside him once more. Like the dawn to his night. The fire to his ice. A new beginning to the end of the old men. “I find that agreeable… Daenerys,” he whispered, neither of them daring to pull away just yet. Neither knew what was coming, what side of either war would strike first. But for now, he could bask in holding her close to him. For as long as they could.
