The First Day:

The first day after Jon's return, Daenerys sat beside his bed for hours. She felt she owed it to this man, this King in the North that she had previously snubbed her nose at. He was truly a king, earning the name through his actions.

Daenerys hoped she wasn't holding a vigil. She kept her eyes trained on his scarred chest, to ensure his shallow breaths continued. It felt like it took days, but those dark eyes of his finally fluttered open.

And once he was awake, he took her hand and named her his Queen, something that suddenly didn't really matter to her anymore. What mattered was that he was alive, not the words he spoke. Even after his fealty was proclaimed, she lingered.

"We all thought you were dead," Daenerys told Jon, slipping her hand back into his.

Jon nearly froze to death after slipping from Drogon's back and landing in the same icy waters Viseron had. Jon came back with a wild tale—his undead uncle Benjen had given Jon his horse and sacrificed what was left of his life so that the King in the North might live.

"I thought so, too." A rueful smile played at Jon's lips. "When I fell asleep, I thought 'This is it. I've lost. Some king I am, huh?'"

This made Daenerys smile and shake her head.

"I'm sure you're a great king," Daenerys tried to reassure him. "You must be, for the people of the North to choose you."

"That's a backhanded compliment," Jon countered. "You were chosen, too. Besides, I was only 'chosen' because I'm a bastard from House Stark and it is unknown if my brother Bran still lives."

His hand was terribly cold around hers, but she didn't care. Jon's skin was paler than she had ever seen it, and as a Northerner, he was always pale. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, and the scars littering his chest looked like angry red slashes. But he was alive.

Daenerys could tell that speaking was tiring him out. His voice was coming out in a hoarse almost-whisper. Still, Jon seemed to be fighting sleep. His eyes lids drooped and shot back up.

"You need rest," Daenerys said, beginning to pull her hand away. Jon's fingers tightened around hers.

"Stay…please." She had to smile. Just minutes ago, he named her his Queen, and now he was trying to tell her what to do. Daenerys did stay, though. She stayed longer than she meant to, in fact.

Jon fell asleep quickly, but even in his sleep his hand held solidly to hers. Daenerys didn't try to pull away. Instead, she folded herself forward in her chair and rested her head against their joined hands. While she rested her head, she watched Jon sleep.

What Daenerys didn't anticipate was for her own eyelids to grow heavy. Without even meaning to, she fell asleep still holding onto the hand of Jon Snow.

This is how Missandei found her queen several hours later. Hand linked with a bastard king, her lips pressed against their clasped hands even in her slumber. Missandei shook her head and hurried to Daenerys' side.

"My Queen," Missandei whispered, trying to rouse her lady while also not disturbing Jon Snow. "It is not right for you to be here, like this."

Head fuzzy and heavy with sleep, Daenerys let Missandei lead her out of Jon's chambers. She was vaguely aware of how cold her cheek now felt without Jon's body heat.

Daenerys fell into her own bed with thoughts of Jon still running through her mind. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but her heart was light with the relief that Jon was alive and safe—for now at least.

Snuggling her head into her pillows, Daenerys tried not to think of Jon's curls or his dark eyes that burned like coals, or the exposed scars that littered his muscular chest and stomach.

"A queen doesn't need a king," she whispered to herself, even though she knew that Jon was a very strong want even if he wasn't a necessity.