Chapter Text
She sneaked a look at her handsome husband, all clad in proper garb and with a slim crown adorning his luscious curls.
Today was a big day and called for elegance. Jon had opted for something simple and practical but still so very much handsome with it.
She donned one of her new dresses directly from Dorne, since today was essential for a flourishing and successful commerce with the southern territory. Dressed in red and amber, she basked in the heated gaze her man, her warrior, shot her. She opened a bit her mantle, designed to cover the excess of skin shown from the dress, revealing a bosom constricted by silks. Jon's eyes followed her movement, enraptured, his tongue darted out...but a sudden crack broke his hidden reverie, followed by loud and fretted steps on the stone floor and screeches all over the adjacent solar room. "Nooo let me go! I am a warrior!" A tiny voice shouted, then their bedroom door creaked open and a pleading handmaid peeked out.
Without hesitation they both entered the solar, finding a sweaty and rumpled and very much fearsome Daeron jumping on one of the big upholstered armchairs opposite to the large oak table at the centre of the room.
He looked at her and Jon, lowered his gaze, then watched directly in his father eyes and stated "Father tell them! I am a warrior!" But then saw that he too wasn't in his usual armor and he stamped his feet all over, frustrated that his point had been tested so easily.
And when the door leading to the main corridor cracked open and Sam's face peaked in, Daeron with enviable timing sneaked himself between Sam and the door crack and flicked outside.
That caused a funny chain reaction. Sam's dog, an old greyhound that took residence in the castle after the events of the great war, chased after him thinking that he wanted to play and wanting to greet him properly. The guards at the door split, and one tailgated the little prince, thinking that this was one of those occasions in which they needed to protect the little child.
His nanny followed shortly after, collecting her bulky skirts in her hands to run faster.
Sam looked astonished at the royal pair, which smiled among themselves and fretted to follow their child.
It ended up that, when Daeron reached the outer court, his escapade stopped abruptly when Arya placed herself in front of him, effectively blocking the passage leading outside. She picked him up and started to lift him and making him spin around and giggling wildly, distracting him temporarily from his rebellion.
"What are you doing here little warrior?"
She tackled him when he tried to go past her again "Don't you have a meeting at court today?" Daeron giggled anew for she started tickling him "and why aren't you in your fancy royal dresses? You'll catch a cold!" More giggles, to which joined with enthusiasm also Old Mud (such was the name of the old dog) who started licking his face, proud to have won his personal chase.
"No Mud! Stay down you big bear!" and then to Arya "I don't want to wear those!" and all of a sudden he became serious and started with lamentous voice "they itch and I have to keep them clean and can't fight with them on!" There it was, that pout so familiar to her entered in action.
"Daeron" and there they were, the other pouty, beloved face of her King and brother appeared, followed swiftly by an improvised court, Daenerys just behind him. Jon held a stern face, though she could see the amused twitch of his lips. "Father" Daeron lowered his gaze, playing with a pebble with the point of his slippers.
"Daeron what it is that we decided some days ago about this? " He stubbornly stood in silence but then, in a muffled voice "...that I should help mom and dad when their guests arrive and have to be a good prince..."
"Good to know that ya remember lil cub" Jon lowered himself to watch him in the eyes and ruffled his moonlight curls "now please, come wear your clothes so that we can start this bloody thing" Arya couldn't stifle the amusement at the slap Jon received from his wife on the back of his head, a reprimanding "Jon!" barely whispered between her lips.
Daeron huffed, his pout back in place and his stand pensive. Then finally he relented and, at the wink Jon gave him, answered with a big smile.
"Come on sweetling" Dany stepped in and took him on her back, hooking her arms under his legs to keep him steady. Arya thought that only her could still appear so queenly doing something so...unqueenly.
All the while though, while bouncing on the back of his mom, Daeron looked pensive at their feet, where Old Mud followed them faithfully like a trained guard.
You could clearly see that he was mumbling something, and then he snapped again "this is truly unjust though" his outraged plump face scowling
"Dogs don't wear clothes"!
The laugh that followed was a cacophony of Jon's gravelly one and Dany's softer one, as long as a loud bark from Old Mud and giggles from the handmaid.
Dany smiled widely at him "Dogs don't have meetings to attend little cub"
...
She found him at the pools. Just where he said he would be. Just where she imagined he would go after a full day like that. He could've had a hot bath in their chambers, but said that the crisp air of the evening helped to clear his thoughts. She understood him at lenght. After all, everything worth happening in the life of a man was done in the open, in the Dothraki culture.
She stood there, half hidden by a large tree, taking in his pensive form, his back to her, his stance relaxed. She just wanted to savor his looks from afar, with no pressions from third parties, something she didn't have the occasion of doing so much as of late. His attention was to the big Heart Tree, he looked intently in those bloody eyes so similar to Ghost's ones.
Then his stance changed, she could distinctly perceive his whole figure relaxing, he made up with something. She would ask about it later. Now she was busy staring at her man. But it was like she shouted, because he somehow felt her stare, slowly turning on his heels, and like a siren's call his eyes found hers. And locked on her.
She was wearing her furs, she could clearly feel the dry cold of the last days of winter on her cheeks, but as she approached her King, she felt warm sensations pooling inside her. His body calling hers a familiar tingle. But she decided to set it aside for later, wanting to ask instead if he was at ease with what had him brooding some moments before.
She searched in his visage some sign of discomfort, but she found instead drowned in those eyes so dark, and he was boring into her soul deep pools of want. She thought he would have kissed her then, she could tell he was pondering it. But then he surprised her again, and started to undress. His heavy furs fell on the mossy ground, then his hands went to his tunic. He unfastened some laces, and slowly lifted the annoying garment over his head, watching her the whole time. Her shiver then wasn't for the cold.
His chest was now bared in front of her, packed with muscle and scars, those familiar plains that she so often felt against her back or stroking her front. Clouds of steam from the hot pools nearby danced around him.
She loved to feel his skin under her fingers, and she did just that, lifting a hand to caress his navel. She felt so happy then, that they could have each other so simply like this, after a though and eventful day, and when she searched his eyes again, she found them amused, and a playful quirk of his mouth followed swift. She had to arch her brow in question then, her own lips stifling a smile.
His answering grin made her knees weak.
"Didn't you know my Queen, dogs don't wear clothes."
She couldn't stifle it then, giggling like a maid she swatted his chest and covered her mouth. And when she recovered she retorted with a mishevious smile "And wolves, my King...what do wolves wear?"
And while he feigned to ponder a suitable answer, he freed himself of breeches and smallclothes in one swift motion and went "Oh, nothing Dany...absolutely nothing"