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DRAGONSTONE, 304 AC
Jon Snow had been party to many a wonder, but never had he seen the sky on fire.
What once was blue as the ocean was now a strange concoction of brown and orange. It had wafted in during the early hours when Jon could hardly sleep. He felt a shift in the air and mistook the scent of smoke for the fire parallel to his large, comfortable bed. It was after the sun had already risen when he ventured outside, and like the other early risers, he saw the fiery blanket slowly sweep in from the west.
It was now about midday, and the sky was completely taken by that magic. He wasn’t sure who or what had brought it on, but he had an idea. Tyrion was just as flummoxed but kept his spirits up when Jon inquired, but now the latter man waited on the grassy cliffs for her arrival. And in isolation, he took a moment to look upon how everything was shaded with that orange haze. Whatever it was or the cause, it seemed like an omen of some sorts, and yet, Jon felt no dread at its sight. Curiosity, perhaps. Intrigue. But no fear, and he was still a man capable of fear.
He was a man who had fought and died only to fight again. Although he learnt long ago that life was rarely fair or even kind, he tried his best to see the good in all things. Some souls, however, lived to test his patience. The Dragon Queen was one such test. Their meeting hadn’t gone as well as he’d liked it to have gone. She was a woman of conviction and strength, all admirable traits until the time came to deal with said woman. To be fair, though, Jon was fairly certain he had been such as, if not more, stubborn than she. He’d asked for help in the wars to come without offering much in return.
And now, she had flown off to Highgarden to avenge Lady Tyrell and, or, deal a blow to the Kingslayer and his army. She departed two days ago and had yet to return. She had left on that big, black dragon of hers; the other two stayed, and Jon had glimpsed them flying around the island and hunting in the sea. But when the smoke haze descended, the dragons had sought shelter inside the smoking mountain. Perhaps not out of fear, Jon thought, although he knew naught about dragons. And even less about the Dragon Queen. She had been gone three days, now.
What a mess.
Jon had ceased the mining in the caves while the haze eclipsed all; better the men not suffocate or think him a slave driver. His Northmen, however, were going a little stir-crazy being couped up indoors. It was probably only a matter of time before they challenged the Dothraki and, or, Unsullied to wrestling. Or worse, drinking.
Jon had indulged in a cup or two in the evenings, for there wasn’t much else to do. Tyrion had been a poor influence and Jon knew better than to partake, but the dwarf was also persuasive. They had drunk and talked—or rather, Jon listened and Tyrion had yarned his ears off—until the call of rest could not be ignored any longer. Jon would shed his layers and crawl upon the softest bedding he’d ever felt and let his dreams take him away.
Two nights ago, Jon had caught himself in between the arms of a woman he’d never bedded before, for Jon Snow had only lied with one woman. This woman, however, was quite unlike the scraggly, wintry Ygritte. This was a woman full in body and spirit, who had taken him and done things he hadn’t imagined before. And that was where the trouble lied: his imagination had conjured the images.
Jon was no longer a green boy who awoke at full mast, so when he did, he was a little embarrassed when Ser Davos knocked on his chamber door to rise. The next morning found him in a sticky predicament; Jon hadn’t had one of those mornings since after his aborted visit to Ros in Winter town. He threw the underclothes in the fire instead of leaving them to be cleaned—he wouldn’t survive if rumours about Lord Snow’s morning accident circulated the castle.
Robb would be rolling on the floor if he knew.
There was a swirl upon the wind and then a rhythmic pulse beat again and again. It was like the sky had been coaxed awake after a long night of rest. Perhaps it had, for there were many mysteries that man had yet to discover or rediscover. Jon was not that sort of fellow, the type to ponder the world and her secrets; Jon was more interested in learning more about one woman in particular.
But his efforts had been rather disastrous. Jon thought he had felt something mutual in the caves; in the torchlight, even the harshest lines looked soft and perhaps that was all it was. Perhaps he was too ignorant in such matters, for his own experience was lacking. Apart from Ygritte, there had been… no other, and it was Ygritte who had initiated many, if not all, of their encounters. It had been Ygritte who had led Jon into the cave with hot pools like the ones in Winterfell. It had been Ygritte who had taken the green boy and made him into a man. At least Jon could claim that it was his own curiosity that made him kiss Ygritte down there—the only lips of a woman that ought to have hair.
Still, it was all for naught.
What did he have that she would want? Besides an unquenchable source of brooding.
Perhaps Davos was right and there was time for sex. Perhaps his commitment to celibacy was having an adverse effect on his mind, for he seemed to think about it regularly. All the time. It felt so good it must be a crime. In a bed. On the stairs. Anywhere. He could be guilty for his honesty. But he had developed a serious problem: fucking was on his mind.
And his stones were beginning to give him annoyance, too. Being so far from view, Jon took the chance to readjust his trousers to relieve the pressure—his bone was painfully poking outwards against the fabric and he needed to manoeuvre it down onto his thigh, either one would suffice although he much preferred the left. He couldn’t explain it other than it felt right.
If someone were to catch a glimpse of him, he’d have quite the hard time explaining what he was doing.
Especially with his hands in his trousers.
It made Jon blush so much that he quickened the pace and smoothed out his layers. He gave a quick glance around and was relieved when all he saw was the orange crush of the haze. It made him think he was in the middle of the sun, only not as hot. Smoky, indeed, but not scorching.
Thankfully.
But that was when the beating began again in earnest. The orange blackened and the heavens opened for hell to fall through the sky. He was afraid at first but only at first. The figure of pitch quickened his heart, but he stood his ground as the flying shadow made for the cliff he occupied.
Jon stood upon the break as the tiny figure descended her mount of might. He waited as she came to him, as if he was someone special. He saw how blunt victory was for her, but it held no place beyond pride. There was no pleasure taken.
She asked, “Were you waiting for me?”
“No.” He sounded like a petulant boy caught spying on a girl through the privy wall.
Jon and Robb and Theon had once done it to Jeyne Poole. She was only a year or two younger than himself, but small and still child-like. Jon had actually found no excitement in spying on the girl, for that was what she was at the time. He had been caught when Theon accidentally sneezed, and Jon had nearly been flogged by Jeyne’s father. Lord Stark had made him shovel shit for a week while Theon scarpered off without punishment, namely because Jon hadn’t tattled on his accomplices. He often wondered if such loyalty, or quiet stoicism, had hindered him more than helped.
Such was a bastard’s life: there was only submission or selfishness, but then again, Jon thought plenty of trueborns were faced with the same choice only without such a stain.
It hadn’t been fair for a boy, but he had long since grown past that insecurity. “This your work?” He gestured to the very air that now glowed a peculiar orange.
She, too, looked around them but with a scowl that didn’t mar her otherwise flawless skin. “I suppose it is. There was a fire.”
Jon was of two minds about that. Dead Lannisters meant fewer enemies and fewer allies for the Others. It also meant that she would use her dragons like they were hunting hounds, and that did worry him. How could he defeat dragons? He couldn’t because, “Everything burns.”
There was a barely contained grin tugging at her lips. “Did you enjoy the island in my absence?”
To his eyes, she looked all the more salacious with that face. He bitterly thought it was a face that had enchanted many a man and woman, for all seemed utterly devoted to her. He’d seen the love they gave her unconditionally. “Not much to do,” he said as he tried to inspect the sea where his ship was a siren song, “while I’m stuck here. Only Tyrion and his drink provided distraction.” He wasn’t stupid enough to admit his late-night fantasies.
“I hope you’ve not picked up any of his bad habits.”
“No, Your Grace,” he replied steady and levelled at those mocking violets of hers. He, too, felt their spell work until he blinked. “I haven’t.”
Dany wondered if he intended to jest. Surely not. Surely a man of the North would not know such things. But perhaps Dany was too quick to judge. She had been cautious of the so-called King in the North. He had been dismissive of her claim to the Iron Throne. He dared to challenge her, although she wasn’t entirely furious at that. It was strangely draining when all did her bidding without question—Dany was odd like that. She found something needing to be discovered underneath loyalty, and grew bored with monotony.
Nevertheless, Jon Snow brought a much-needed spark to her otherwise formulaic life. Dragonstone had grown too stale, and thus, Dany’s own life seemed to lack fire. Or she had grown too used to sleeping alone, not that she needed or even wanted a man between her sheets. Her desires could be sated by her own fingers, although she would admit that Jon Snow was a comely man. He seemed a little too serious, in her opinion, to be a passionate lover.
Pity.
All that youthful energy and he most likely never had a chance to release it apart from the battlefield. And he was meant to be a King. Well, what king wears a crown without ensuring another will wear it after him? Not like Dany could say the same, seeing as House Targaryen’s rule would soon end with her own death. Perhaps she ought to find a successor.
She peered over at the taller man and asked, “Have you eaten?” The striking sky and its warm but smoky scent must be damaging her mind, for she felt stripped down. She felt a pull to the man who intrigued her, and courted flames with his rebellion.
“I could eat, Your Grace.”
Dany found herself thinking something outrageous, for it sounded like it was an offer. What first had been a sly challenge had quickly evolved, or devolved, into something far more carnal. And for a stupid second, she thought it was an invitation to lick her clean. Fourteen Flames! She needed to find a dark corner to release her pent-up frustration.
T’was only lunch.
* * *
They were seated on the balcony, only Jon hadn’t known it was to be the balcony of her private chambers. His hands sweated a bit when they sat down and the servants set three or four platters down on the table between them.
It was only them.
There was spiced lamb and crusty bread and Arbor Gold that Jon wasn’t completely convinced by. There were fresh fruits such as peaches and apples, and strange looking ovals of red and green. He eyed those anomalies the most, for they made him think of far-off lands where the sun never set and there was citrus in the air—fantasy lands he knew nothing about.
“Do you think this is safe to breathe in?”
Jon focussed on her again as she peered up at the brown-orange sky and how it coloured everything unnaturally. He washed those thoughts down with some wine, which he regretted. “Feel like I’m in a hole.” His innocuous comment seemed to put him directly in her path.
She lazily held a silver cup close to her lips and asked, “What kind of hole?”
“One that’s tight,” Jon replied without thinking. He almost slammed his head on the table once his mind caught up with his mouth. He wanted to disappear in a deep, dark abyss.
“Well,” she caught his attention with, “we ought to ensure you breathe comfortably… Jon Snow.”
He swallowed his growing nerves. “That’s mighty good of you, Daenerys Targaryen.” He felt uneasy when she didn’t reply, and cursed Robb for not teaching him how to better talk to women. He exercised his mind to think of something, anything, to say. “May I ask how the battle went?”
“Quickly,” she said before taking a bite of the lamb. The spices scented the fiery air. “It was… decisive.”
“Jamie Lannister?” Jon tried not to sound too hopeful, but the idea of the one-handed but still dangerous man roasting in a field was too good to be true.
And perhaps it was.
She shrugged, “I’m not sure. Red and gold—the soldiers all looked alike.”
From atop her dragon, Jon thought there mustn’t be much to distinguish men. “It’ll still be a blow to Cersei, then.”
“Hopefully,” but she didn’t sound so convinced. She then began playing with her food in a rather absent way. The air was but a whisper before she spoke. “I think about it sometimes: flying to King’s Landing. Ending this war. No more conflict.”
He, too, would be tempted if he had a dragon except it would be to fly beyond the Wall. “That’s your choice, much like it is to not fly there.”
Her intense, and almost blazing, violets found him in a split-second. She seemed to be searching for something, echoed in her question, “Which would you choose if you had a dragon?”
“It’s hard to say.” Jon tried to distract himself with eating a golden potato roasted in duck fat. Seven Hells, everything was delicious, or perhaps it was the simmering haze that enveloped them in privacy. It was almost like the Gods themselves were egging him on to do something wrong. “I don’t want the Iron Throne.”
She leant forward, her bust pressed into the table’s edge. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, “Make a choice.”
Jon grew stiff, no doubt due to the altitude. “I would… take the throne to better prepare Westeros for the Night King.”
His words must’ve awakened something in her, for she flashed fire. “You see Cersei as the lesser evil?”
“Evil, nonetheless.” Blowing up the Sept of Baelor was proof enough, even if he could respect the decisive but despicable tactic. He would’ve done something stupid and ran in there with naught but his sword. “But it’s not my place to judge.”
“No, you’re right. No doubt it’ll be those codgers in Old Town who’ll decide the heroes and villains in the years to come.” She laughed but it was a bitter affair.
“Hmm…” Jon didn’t want to think that far into the future, for he felt that his own would be bleak at best or non-existent. Instead, he focussed onto one of the platters. “What is this?”
Dany watched the wintry Northman pluck a particular fruit from a platter between them. It was as orange as the air around them, but there were verdant brush strokes that shifted to yellow and red. He held the fruit with equal measures of boyish interest and scepticism. She couldn’t help but smile at him. “That is a mango.”
“‘Mango.’ It’s a fruit, I take it.” His interest was genuinely infectious. “Is it sweet? Looks it.”
“Very,” she replied with a hint of attraction. Their lunch was meant to be polite, if not cordial, but she found herself being drawn. “Would you like me to prepare it?”
“Don’t you just peel the skin back?”
Dany was almost shaken by his question, for it made her think of something else. She quickly diverted her attentions back onto the fruit and held out her hand. “Here. I’ll show you.”
He handed it over, and Dany felt his rough fingertips skate across hers, which were not soft nor fragile. She took a sharp knife, and with deft hands, Dany systematically unveiled the golden flesh from its solid core. In her hands, she held the juicy nectar of paradise. In her hands was sweet release… in terms of food. “Do you want a taste? You’ll like it,” she hoped.
“Maybe,” he replied coy. There was a hint of mischief but also uncertainty in his near-black orbs. “What does it taste like?”
Dany grinned. “Only one way to find out.”
Jon held his breath as she used the knife to score the flesh before pushing the tropical skin in to expose a mountain of wet, golden cubes. It was unlike any fruit he’d ever seen or eaten, but he desperately wanted a taste. With two fingers, she easily plucked a cube of flesh away and slowly slid it past her parted lips. Some of the juice left a trail as the flesh was consumed. Jon squeezed his hands under the table to keep them from seizing her.
“Every pleasant thought possible pales in comparison.”
He was utterly spellbound, and that was before she slid another piece of mango away and held it to his thin lips.
“Open up.” Dany was as surprised by his compliance as she was by her own words and actions. She’d never even thought to do anything remotely similar with… What was his name? Daryn… Norvos? The one before inspired only headaches and not the ache deep within her. She still tasted the sweet aftertaste and wanted it to last. And then, he opened up to her, and Dany pushed the mango onto his tongue. Her fingertips glided across the deft muscle on her slow retreat. She watched as his eyes and mouth closed and the bob of his apple let her know he had swallowed. A deep delight rumbled from his chest, and she was ignited to hear it. Perhaps he’d want another, she thought. “Good?”
Those dark eyes were on her once more, and they shone with something both boyish and manly. The excitement and anticipation was palpable but akin to an itch she couldn’t scratch. “Aye…”
Dany was almost distracted enough to miss the juice running down his chin. “You have a little…” Oh, fuck it. She quickly leant over the table and with a slow paw of her thumb, she wiped the juice off of his prickly chin. It wouldn’t go to waste, though, as Dany licked her thumb clean. “Mmm… Who knew you tasted nice.”
He seemed stuck in place with those full lips of his hanging open a little. It lasted only a few moments. “That’s rather unfair, Daenerys.”
“And why is that, Jon?” She watched him take a deep breath and wrestle with something she, too, wrestled with. But she waited. She would wait for him.
“Because had I done that,” he began with, “you’d have my hands or my tongue… or any other part of me.”
Hmm, Dany pondered. What was he playing with? She wanted to find out. “You think so?”
Jon did the stupidest thing he’s ever done. He squished some of the orange fruit with his fingers, leant over and brushed it upon her plump lips. It wasn’t quite what he envisioned, for his finger slipped through the crack. Or she parted the lips herself—he was still a little hazy on that front. But he did end up sliding across her warm, wet tongue.
There was a moan—his or hers, it was hard to tell.
He pulled out because he had to at some point, but he licked his finger clean and tasted her mixed with the fruit. Sweet and smoky, like roasted over the flame. Two could play that game. And she seemed very willing to participate. “You taste better,” he admitted.
Dany was on fire from his actions—outrageous as they were. “I could have your tongue,” she warned. Or perhaps it was to goad.
“Where?”
She thought about it for a moment, but her eyes never left him. “Any-fucking-where I want it.”
Jon was being tested by some force unseen by them, for they were the only souls on that balcony. Perhaps it was the Gods. Perhaps it was the haze. Perhaps he didn’t care. He found his feet taking him from his chair and around the table. “That’s too bad.”
She, too, met him at the table’s end. “Why?”
“Because a man comes with that tongue,” he explained. “And a woman can come with this tongue.” He might be walking to his death for saying that, but Jon’s not entirely concerned. That smoke haze or magic of fire had him feeling…
A little free.
Like he was reading under a blanket when he ought to be asleep. And she was the candlelight. Burning. A hole in him.
When Jon would reflect back on that lunch, he would never quite remember who lunged at who first. He s’posed it didn’t matter because they ended tongue-tied and damn near rolling on the ground like rabbits.
She had pried him out of his restrictive trousers and taken him in hand. Her firm but confusingly gentle strokes mesmerised him and subsequently made it difficult to focus on uncaging her. But he did. With a few tugs and rips, Jon got her out of her dress and edged her back.
The stone beneath her was hard against her back, but Dany found the pleasure between her legs to more than compensate for any discomfort. Her hands travelled south in stilted measures as breathing became difficult. She found his nest of dark brown curls as his sinful lips began nipping at the inside of her thighs. Dany was moaning and struggling for breath, but she didn’t care.
Jon slipped her underclothes off and saw a damp spot. He was going to die when her head cleared, but he didn’t expend too much thought on that. His tongue slowly tested the outside of her folds, lapping up a dribble of excitement. The action—smooth and slippery—coaxed moan after moan out of her, but he wanted more. He wanted to hear her.
Dany clenched her teeth to keep in the scream that tried to claw its way out. He was trying to make her die a little, and she wanted to. She wanted to come undone when his tongue found her pearl under its little hood. Daryn, despite his claims of proficiency, had never been good with his tongue. But Jon seemed too good at it. And then, Dany felt a pressure within her lips. Something slid in but it was surely too skinny to be his cock, which she had seen and held. A quick look had Dany gasping as she witnessed him slowly pump a finger in and out of her.
She was almost there, he realised. Her hands clenched as did her warm and slippery walls. Jon doubled down on his attentions and pushed her to the edge, and then past it. Her eruption was sweeter than her taste, and he ravished in it.
Dany died.
She utterly collapsed upon the ground in a heap of goo. She was going to kill him. She was going to make him pay. While he busied himself with licking her off his fingers, she planted a foot upon his chest and shoved. And then, she scrambled and pinned him down.
Jon didn’t resist. He simply let her do to him as he had done to her, and she took him all in her mouth. He shivered as he met wet warmth. He grew inside her, feeling his length meet resistance as she bobbed back and forth. His breaths became a stream of short puffs. “Why are you so good at that?”
Dany should’ve been affronted by the implication, but she merely pulled him out of her mouth and replied in a panted haste, “I don’t know. I haven’t had sex in four months.” It should’ve been an embarrassment for her, but it made him groan low and deep. She felt him pulse in the back of her throat. Boy, was he going to get it.
Jon almost came then and there at her words. It did something to him to know that about her. How long had it been for him? Two years. That was a frightening thought. But he didn’t want her or him thinking about the past. “How…? I’d fuck you every day.” He yanked her up and onto his lap.
It didn’t take long for her wetness to welcome him.
Jon hadn’t meant to sound so crass, but the weather had made him want to be honest. Or perhaps it was her and how hypnotic he felt under her hold. And she only clamped down upon hearing his admission.
“Oh! You-You’re… just say-ing that.”
“You’re such a good… girl.”
“I am a good girl,” Dany agreed. “And you’re so bad.”
“Do good girls cause this?” Jon meant the blaze that engulfed the sky, but there was room for interpretation.
Dany slowly sank down and needed a moment to adjust. “If not, then I finish it.” She brushed against his cheek and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. “You’ve never known a woman like me.”
His hands sank low onto her hips as he replied with a husk, “And I’m not just a sword ready to bend to you.”
“No, you’re a disobedient boy. I think I’ll punish you.” She moved back and forth, using her thighs to control the rhythm. It was sort of like when one stayed afloat in the water, only not so buoyant. That tended to happen when it was a cock she floated on. Dany couldn’t help but grip his shoulders and use them as a grounding. “Do you like that?” It sort of slipped out of her mouth, unintended.
But his answer made her rest her head upon his and sigh. “Fuckin’ hells. You’re so…”
“I know.” She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant to say. Tight? Good? Insatiable? All or none of the aforementioned? Something resounding displeasure?
Jon was getting dangerously close. “I’m gonna—”
“Not yet,” Dany hissed. She didn’t want it to end, neither for her or him. And so, she rolled onto her back, and felt his cock leave her. It was an absence she wanted no part of and took joy knowing it wouldn’t be for long.
He was on her in a flash. Hoisted her legs up onto his shoulder. A strong hand on one calf as the other guided him back inside. Jon stilled as he got reacquainted to her. The warm and soft slickness of her was like a silk glove wrapped around him. He also had to will his body to not burst and break the spell that hung over them.
“Where’d you learn this,” she panted, “at the Night’s Watch?”
Jon almost keeled over at the question and snapped her half. His laugh bounced off the pillows and into her mouth. Followed swiftly by his tongue as he pulsed inside her, and she began to grip him tighter. “There are no women at the Wall. Try again.”
“Som—Some sweetheart that’s awaiting your return?”
Jon thought he detected a vulnerability in her. Was it also jealousy? “I have no one,” he promised with a thrust. “A-Again.”
“A whore?”
He grunted a short, “Never.”
She turned her head away. “I don’t believe you.”
He gripped her jaw and drew her back. “I’m a man of my word.”
“And what word is that, Jon?”
The Gods had sent her to test him. But was it a test of temptation or honesty? He stilled himself—despite how hard that was to do, and despite how her hands pushed his arse to keep going—so that he could see her. Clearly. Even through the fog of lust and orange haze. “No one makes me feel like this, Dany.”
Dany gasped as he pushed deeper into her. She looked into his eyes and saw… She looked away. Needed to. It was only an itch they needed scratched. She scratched his back. He gripped her thighs. Harder. Tighter. She came. He stilled. Still inside her. He let her legs down, and she clamped them around his back. And pulled his mouth to hers. Needed another taste. Mango and snow. “And afterwards?”
“It won’t change.”
But Dany could see the future, both near and far. They would break and part for separate ways. It was inevitable. “You say that now.”
“I’ll say it then,” he fired back. “Why do you persist on pushing me away?”
“I’m not.” Oh, but she was. The ecstasy had already begun to dissipate and they were arguing. It always ended like that. “You’re still inside me.”
But he made no attempt to leave; her shoulder must’ve seemed a comfortable place to rest his head. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
Dany found her arms wrap around and keep him there. Her body and mind were in agreement but she, herself, was withdrawing. It was only an itch. But still… “That’s a mighty long time.”
“Enough talk,” he mumbled. “I only want to hear how good you feel.” Her sudden gasp as he parted her walls made Jon chuckle. He couldn’t help it despite how his delight snapped into a hiss when she proved still too tight. “Like that.”
“Don’t stop,” she made him promise.
It was only supposed to be an itch.
* * *
He had carried her to the bed before they had truly restarted.
Dany had realised that the uneven stone beneath her was a death trap, for her back was more like a sack of loose pebbles. The duck feathers enveloped her body as her sweaty and sex-stink body remained entwined with his. They had gone… she’d lost count. A lazy glance around them revealed the poor state of her chamber. Covers were splayed across the floor along with the last drabs of their clothes. One table had been knocked over and some silver cups were chipped and dented.
What a mess.
She let her hand absently stroke the scarred flesh of his strong chest. There was a story in each and every one of those scars and probably ten times that floated beneath the surface. He had yet to tell her one, but she had been just as silent. In fact, there seemed to be a distinct lack of words exchanged since their heated rounds began.
But she didn’t mind. There was something calming about him. In time, perhaps they could… But no, “This was reckless.”
“I should’ve pulled out.”
Dany laughed bitterly, “No, not that.” That was one such story yet to be revealed. Instead, she took his hand in hers. “This.”
His dark eyes shone as they looked in hers. “Is there a difference?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
Jon thought it over. It had been hours since their lunch, and yet, the servants hadn’t come to clear the table. In fact, no one had bothered them. He didn’t wonder why. “Aye,” was all he said.
But something hardened within her as she declared, “It can’t affect our positions.”
“But it has,” he tried and that was all he could do. “You know it has.”
Dany tried to remain disciplined and that was all she could do. But it was futile, and she had to admit, “I know.”
Jon used his free hand to wipe the sleep from his tired eyes. “What a mess.”
Dany felt a sharp twist within her. Did he really regret what they’d done? “There’s a way to fix this.”
“I meant your bedchamber,” he clarified without a hitch.
Oh.
There was a lightness in his voice that put her at ease. Why did he, of all people, cause her such nerves? She barely knew him, but it made her take a chance and rest her head upon his heart. The scraggily scar scraped across her cheek, but she felt the steady thump beneath it. His arm tightened around her back, and she felt content to cease control for once. “We ought to destroy yours next.”
“How many bedchambers are there in this castle?” She laughed and it made Jon’s chest rise. And her along with it. Her eyes were hidden from him but he felt her cheeks pull back.
She was smiling. “Too many for you to ruin!”
“That sounds like a test,” he chirped. “I think I proved myself capable. So did you.”
“What will they say?” Dany was certain word had already spread amongst the castle. “The Northern rebel seduced the fair maiden into submission.”
Jon disliked that word: submission. It made their affair a purely physical altercation, as if the heart hadn’t been involved. Perhaps it hadn’t for her, but he could not say the same. “I don’t think you can be submitted, not from what I’ve seen.”
“And you’re not a rebel,” she amended. “You are…”
“Are…?”
“Mine, Jon Snow.” Dany followed it up with a kiss to his battered heart. “You are mine.”
Jon felt himself waking up at the admission, but he still had enough sense to ask a question. “Does that go both ways?” And he got his answer.
“I won’t be owned.”
“I won’t share,” he retaliated.
But she didn’t take it as offence. Instead, she began to pepper his body with her lips. “We shall have to come to a compromise.”
“My hand for yours.”
“What…?” Dany felt herself go numb and tense. She had surely heard him wrong. It was a mistake. Surely.
But no, it wasn’t.
“I’ll probably die in this war or the next,” he elaborated in his singularly blunt way. “I need to know that the North will be protected when that happens. I need to know that you want this. The throne, the crown—Westeros needs someone who wants to lead her, and I know it’s you.”
“Jon—”
He kissed her ever so gently but deeper than their previous passions had allowed. “You don’t need to say anything. We don’t need to make a decision right now.”
But Dany could not let it slide a moment longer. She was faced with a choice and there was not a single advisor to sway her decision. If he found her worthy, then she found him guilty of the same. “Yes,” she answered. “I will. I accept.”
What had Jon done? His natural inclination was to take the brunt of the blame and apologise for his bastardy nature. He’d fallen for his own desires and taken from her, but he’d not do it. They had met in the middle, and perhaps his acceptance of that was her influence upon him. She truly was quite the woman. “I may not be much of a husband, but my sword is yours.”
“I have enough swords,” she bit. “I require a hand and the man that comes with it.”
“My hands are yours.”
She took his in hers and promised, “You have mine.”
* * *
A knock shattered their world.
Jon was a light sleeper and startled easy in bed. He furiously whispered, “Who’s that?”
But Dany was still exhausted and merely answered groggy, “It’s probably Missandei,” before turning back over and seeking his warmth.
“Fuck.” He began to wriggle away, which caused her to chase him with shut eyes.
“Stop it! I was drifting off.”
The door opened and Jon froze. His trousers were stuck as he tried forcing his legs through.
Daenerys’ friend and advisor, the woman from an island of butterflies, entered briskly and with urgency. “Your Grace, it’s time to rise.” That was until she saw who else occupied the chamber. She froze, but only for a moment.
But it was enough time to witness Jon’s state of undress both above and below the belt. He saw her eyes widen at his scars but not before she schooled herself and sauntered to Daenerys’ stubborn form.
“Your Grace, there is someone here to—”
But the knackered Queen simply waved her hand before it fell onto Jon’s cooling pillow. “Tell them to… piss off.”
Her friend didn’t look all that impressed. “Even an old friend?”
“It can wait,” Dany replied. She cracked an eye open and saw the orange haze that had followed her from the Reach had begun to dissipate. It would still take the day to fully clear, but some of the brown sky was now grey and blue in some pockets. “Missandei, I need the day to rest.”
“Of course,” her closest friend agreed. “After the night you had. I’ll tell… your guest you’re indisposed of today. Perhaps tonight when you’ve regained your strength?”
Jon found himself under the advisor’s gaze. He felt himself burnt to a crisp before she sauntered back out with a shit-eating grin. But he could forget her right quick, for the real attraction was hidden under the heap of covers. A splay of silver covered a pillow as her hand draped across his.
“Jon, come back to me.”
He found himself unable to exercise discipline, and peeled out of his clothes. Under the covers was warm and inviting, made doubly so with her bare body. He sidled up close and retook his position of holding her. “Are you sure?” Jon thought that the cold light of day would make them rethink their actions, but it hadn’t. If anything, it had only made them more so. “That sounded important.”
But she just smiled and brushed a petite finger over his full lips, or they were swollen from her biting. “If it is, then it will be there… in the evening.” She lied back on her back. Like a stretching cat, her wee body reached out and she released a little moan before easing. Her mess of silver trestles cascaded upon the pillow as a pale moonlight.
Aye, she was the moon, and Jon was caught in her otherworldly gaze.
She asked him with the slight daze of fatigue, “What say you, ñuha zokla?”
He knew not what that meant, but he thought it sounded affectionate. Had she bestowed upon him a pet name? Perhaps it was fair considering he had given her one. Dany. Well, he lowered himself atop her, his arms kept the full of his weight off of her as he affectionately replied, “We have the rest of the day to ourselves.”
Dany curled her finger and enticed him closer.
He was, as he for ever remained, drawn to her like flame to an unlit pyre. There was a Northern saying he felt was apt: where there was smoke, there was fire.
And they burned brightest when burning together.
He was met with the brightest smile and then the loveliest words imaginable.
“We have all the time in the world.”
