Warning; there are mentions of canon typical violence and past rape.
That is a Dragon.
Jon is having trouble thinking beyond this fact. Understandable, given he's looking at a Dragon. A large, living, breathing Dragon. One close enough that it would take but a few steps for him to touch it. Which would result in the loss of his hand, arm really, those are very large teeth. This is assuming the Dragon doesn't simply decide to reduce him to ash instead.
Doesn't stop him from wanting to touch it. Touch those gleaming black scales and feel with his own hand the heat it radiates, strong enough to be noticeable even with the distance between them. The urge is so great that Jon has to clench his hands to prevent himself from getting killed by giving in to the desire to touch this magnificent creature.
A creature that's looking at him with uncanny intelligence. Those slitted eyes are bright and aware in a way Jon has only ever known Ghost's to be.
The Dragon's nostrils flare as it inhales deeply, and Jon swears it's scenting him in particular. More than that, he swears he understands the expression it's wearing, despite the fact that there should be nothing recognizable about its reptilian face.
The Dragon is looking at him with curiosity.
"Who are you?"
The question drags his eyes away from the story made flesh, settling on the woman sitting astride its back instead. He knows who she is of course, the Dragon leaves no doubt as to her identity.
Daenerys Targaryen. The Mad King's Daughter.
In some ways, she looks like what he expected a Targaryen to look like. Hair so fair as to be the color of sunlight, ethereally fine features, an arrogant tilt to her chin. A cool and remote expression as she looks down on him.
In most ways, she looks nothing like he expected. Her eyes are the color of storm clouds, intense in a way that's at odds with the remoteness of her expression. Her hair is woven through with gold and precious jewels, forming complex braids. Her throat and chest are covered in even more gold, a fortune in necklaces draped around her neck. The jewelry ranges from a thick choker covering her throat to a pendant set with an obscenely large ruby reaching her the top of her stomach.
The display of wealth isn't unexpected. The amount of it, yes, but not the display itself.
Her being naked is. She wears no clothing aside from a brightly colored coat. It isn't fastened close. The opposite, it hangs wide open, and aside from the gold, her chest is completely bare.
Her chest is littered with scars. A patchwork of jagged lines cover most of her left side, some of which are fairly recent. Her right side is dominated by a deep gash that crosses over her breast. Jon knows enough of scars to be able to see that these were gained in battle.
He knows enough of scars to understand some of them came from wounds that should have killed her.
"Well?"
The demand, impatient in a way the precious one wasn't, makes him return his gaze to storm grey eyes.
"Jon Snow."
Hearing his own voice snaps him out of his stupor. He clears his throat and amends his answer to something more polite. Being rude to someone in possession of a Dragon is just asking to be burned to a crisp.
"My name is Jon Snow."
"King Jon Snow."
The dazed correction makes him glance at Davos, standing besides him. Davos is staring at the Dragon with equal terror and awe, but then his expression clears. He shakes his head to get rid of the cobwebs clouding his mind and turns his gaze towards Jon.
"King Snow? No, that doesn't sound right. King Jon?"
Davos trails off and his gaze is drawn back to the Dragon, awe and terror taking over once more. Jon can't blame him for that, his own eyes drawn back to the Dragon and its rider as well. The Dragon is still looking at him with what he swears is curiosity.
Daenerys Targaryen has raised a single dark brow that manages to perfectly convey both the faint she amusement she feels at his admittedly awful introduction, as well as a general lack of interest in the proceedings. Which, given that she was the one who brought her Dragon to land among them without warning, is rather insulting.
She turns to look at Dragonstone Castle, her amusement making way for a distant and closed off expression. It appears the little interest she held in them has faded completely.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn. Harm me or mine, rape anyone, enslave anyone, and I will destroy you."
Before Jon can even think of how to react to the threat delivered in a chilling matter of fact voice, the Dragon leaps into the air and flies to the castle, Daenerys Targaryen's hair streaming behind her like a veil of sunlight. They're joined by the two Dragons who'd been circling overhead, black, white and green weaving through the air with stunning grace. The sight scatters his thoughts all over again.
He is seeing Dragons.
"Well. That was interesting."
Davos' gross understatement makes a flicker of humor join Jon's befuddlement.
"That's one way to put it."
The Dragon carrying Daenerys Targaryen briefly touches down in front of the castle, before leaping back into the air with breathtaking grace.
"What do you suppose she's doing here?"
Jon hasn't the faintest idea. Last he heard, Daenerys Targaryen was sailing the coasts of Essos and burning down every slaver ship she could find.
What brought the Pirate Queen and her Dragons to Westeros?
"Doesn't matter what she's here for," he decides, shaking off the last of his shock. He fails to tear his eyes away from the Dragons, though. "We're here for the dragonglass."
Whatever the Pirate Queen is here for, it matters not compared to the threat of the Night King. Even if she does have three Dragons.
"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but if she decides to use those Dragons against us, I'd say the reason she's here becomes a matter of great importance indeed."
"You heard her. She won't harm us if we don't harm her."
At least, Jon hopes not. They hold no chance of victory against three Dragons.
"Not quite what I got out of her words," Davor says, more to himself than anyone else. When Jon looks at him, he sees that Davos is still staring at the Dragons with terror and awe, though the feelings aren't as strong as before. Looking behind him, Jon sees that the rest of the men are staring at the Dragons with the same expression, though some are giving him the occasional glance.
One of them, Tammer, is glancing at the sea. When Jon follows his line of sight, he understands why.
Over two dozen ships of various sizes, all with blood red sails, are fast approaching. Apparently the Pirate Queen didn't come to Westeros with her Dragons alone. Jon is blaming the ridiculous assumption that she did on the shock of seeing Dragons.
"Gather your weapons and armor," he orders, snapping the men out of their stupor. "Be cautious, but don't attack unless attacked first." He'd like to avoid being burned to death after all.
His command inspires a flurry of activity, men scrambling to put on armor. Jon, still armored and with Longclaw at his side, starts making his way to the shore. The men who'd been on watch, and thus, who hadn't taken off their armor or weapons, follow him.
Davos follows as well.
"You're not fool enough to meet a potential enemy unarmed," Jon says when Davos falls in stride with him.
"Given those Dragons, I figure we're all fucked anyway if the Dragon Pirates turn out to be enemies."
Jon can't argue with that. He truly hopes Daenerys Targaryen wasn't lying when she claimed she wouldn't harm them unless they harm her first.
By the time the ships have dropped anchor and rowing boats near the shore, the rest of the men have joined them. Jon is pleased to see none draw their sword, though most do keep a too tight grip on the pommel.
He doesn't know what to expect from the Pirate Queen's people. The stories paint them as bloodthirsty cutthroats, yet they also speak of slaves being liberated and given new life. Which tale is truth? Both? Neither?
Even without knowing what to expect, Jon is completely caught off guard by the party coming ashore. Or rather, by one person among them.
"Tyrion Lannister?" What is Tryion Lannister doing with the Pirate Queen's people?
"Jon Snow," Tyrion greets, equally surprised. "I didn't expect to find the Bastard of Winterfell in Dragonstone."
"I didn't expect the Dwarf of Casterly Rock to be part of the Pirate's Queen's retinue."
A retinue composed of men and women both. The party consists of dozens of people, far more than he and his men can take on without suffering catastrophic loss at best. A fair number of those people are women, all armed as the men are.
Some of Daenerys Targaryen's people have drawn their weapons. They make no move to use them, though.
The weapons are as varied as everything else about these people. Armor, clothes, finery, age , hair and skin tone. There's nothing uniform about them, their appearance ranging from people that wouldn't seem out of place with the Free Folk, to people that wouldn't look out of place among knights. The only thing all share is a distinctive braid, made unique from the others most hold by the gold woven through.
Tyrion wears the same braid. He's also dressed in exotic garbs, has a few braids aside from his golden one, and he's wearing two daggers long enough to work as short swords for him. The sight is more than a little odd.
"Neither did I," Tyrion says with a smile that's equal parts mocking and self-depreciating. It's easily recognized even with the beard adding years to Tyrion's face. That smile is one Jon remembers seeing often when they traveled to The Wall together. The scar marring half of Tyrion's face gives it an edge that had been lacking before, though.
"So what brings the Bastard of Winterfell to Dragonstone?" Tyrion asks.
"Jon Snow is King in the North."
The correction from Davos, polite but unyielding, causes a surge of discomfort as always. He's a Snow. He isn't supposed to be nobility, never mind being a King.
Jon resists the urge to say so out loud. Whether or not he likes it, the fact remains that the North chose him to be their King. He doesn't have time to dispute that and have them argue about who should rule instead.
Not when the Great War is coming.
"You will address him by his proper title."
"It's fine, Davos," he says, unable to help himself. He'll not deny the position thrust upon him, but neither will he demand others pay homage to it. Not from people who aren't from the North.
Some of Daenerys Targaryen's people speak to one another in a language unknown to him. Multiple languages, judging from what he's hearing. He's fairly certain one of the languages is Valyrian.
Both of Tyrion's brows have gone up with surprise, and he looks Jon over with a disbelief Jon wholeheartedly agrees with.
"I see interesting things have been happening while I've been gone."
"You could say that." Terrible is another word for it. One Jon finds far more suitable.
He'd been so close to saving Rickon.
"Forgive me, but am I correct in assuming you're Ned Stark's bastard son?" an older man asks, his hair as white as snow and his armor more fit for a knight than a pirate.
"I am," Jon confirms and gives Davos a warning look when he moves to correct the man's address of him. Being asked if he's a bastard isn't an insult. It's merely asking for the truth.
The man looks him over as Tyrion did, though unlike Tyrion, it's not with disbelief. Instead the man seems to be searching for something.
Whatever he's searching for, he finds it, for he nods with approval.
"You have your father's bearing."
The way he says it makes it clear this is meant to be a compliment. More importantly, it makes clear this man knew his father.
"You say that as though you knew him," Jon says, wanting to know who this man is.
"I did," the man confirms. "My name is Barristan Selmy."
Jon feels his eyes widen with shock and hears his men shift behind him, murmurs rising. Jon can't blame them for losing discipline in face of the revelation of who this man is.
"Your father was the most honorable man I've had the fortune of knowing. His death was a tragedy that shouldn't have happened."
"No, it shouldn't have," Jon returns in a cutting voice, his shock making way for cold anger. His father always spoke highly of Barristan the Bold.
Barristan the Bold stood by and did nothing while his father was executed.
Barristan Selmy bows his head, showing a regret he has no right to. But Jon isn't here to make enemies, and so he swallows the words that wish to break free.
This is made easy to accomplish by a thunderous roar splitting the air, making him reach for Longclaw on instinct while his eyes snap towards the castle. He's just in time to see the black Dragon lift off again, great wings effortlessly carrying it through the sky. The other two join it as it approaches them, and once again, Jon finds he cannot tear his eyes away from the stories made flesh.
Once again, Daenerys Targaryen is seated on the black Dragon, her bright hair becoming visible as it nears.
The Dragon lands down the beach, near enough for the sand disturbed by its beating wings to hit Jon in the face. Daenerys Targaryen nimbly leaps off the Dragon's back and the Dragon launches itself back into the air. Jon swears the Dragon looks at him with curiosity as it passes overhead. So do the other two for that matter.
His gaze is drawn to Daenerys Targaryen as she strides towards them. She moves as though nothing in the world can stand in her way. No longer hidden by her Dragon, Jon can now see the armored boots she wears, coming up to her knees and thick enough to lessen the impact of most blades. They're tipped with golden plates that will ensure any kick she delivers will land with brutal force.
The boots are the only armor she wears. Aside from her hands, perhaps. They're adorned with golden jewelry as well, each finger containing at least one ring. Those rings are thick enough to break a man's nose or jaw should she punch him. As for weapons, she wears two short swords strapped to her side. Jon has no doubt she knows how to use them. Even ignoring her scars or the strength contained within clearly defined muscles, she moves with the distinctive tread of someone experienced in the art of fighting.
Jon files all of these facts away, but he'll admit to being distracted by the sheer amount of skin Daenerys Targaryen has on display. Brightly colored silk is wrapped low around her hips in what Jon supposes is meant to be a skirt, though he's never seen one such as this. It's asymmetrical, one side a semblance of a proper length and the other barely covering her thigh. Not that the side that should be decent is any better. The silk is blown away by the wind, revealing as much skin as shown by her other leg. The wind also blows her coat wide open, leaving her chest completely uncovered. Jon is trying not to stare, he really is, but Daenerys Targaryen is a beautiful woman and most of her body is on full display. Her scars only make it even harder to look away.
Across her stomach, there's a thick and jagged line. One that can only have come from being cut open in the most brutal of ways.
At least Daenerys Targaryen doesn't seem to mind his rudeness, still striding forward with what Jon can't decide is arrogance or confidence. She doesn't seem to be aware of her own state of undress in any way.
"My lady," Barristan Selmy greets as she nears, and when Jon manages to tear his eyes away from Daenerys Targaryen long enough to glance at him, he sees Barristan Selmy look at her with deference and respect. His eyes are firmly locked onto her own, never straying down. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Daenerys Targaryen looks at the castle with a vaguely disappointed expression, seemingly unaware of the fact that her movement has put her chest on even more prominent display. Jon has seen woman display themselves on purpose while pretending it was a coincidence, but that isn't how Daenerys Targaryen holds herself. Her lack of awareness seems genuine.
"Not yet," she replies, before she looks at Jon and raising a remarkably expressive brow. It shows both her surprise at his presence here, as well as a curiosity that had been lacking before. "I see you've not fled in terror, Jon Snow."
"So you've met," Tyrion says in a voice that can't decide between wry amusement and tired resignation. There's a fair amount of exasperation as well, though Jon doesn't know what expression Tyrion is wearing. Now that Daenerys Targaryen is looking at him with those storm grey eyes, Jon is having an even harder time looking away from her. His only saving grace is that he's now capable of focusing on her face instead of anywhere lower. "A warning would've been nice," Tyrion finishes in the same tone.
"I warned them what will happen should they cross me," the Pirate Queen counters without looking away from him, her voice as matter of fact as when she threatened to destroy them.
"Ah, well, that makes everything all right then."
Tyrion's voice is even more resigned, but when Jon manages to tear his eyes away from Daenerys Targaryen, he sees that the look Tyrion is giving her is fond.
"What are your plans, Captain?" an unknown voice asks, drawing his gaze away from Tyrion to look at the woman who'd spoken. She's dressed in a sturdy dress that's as brightly colored as the little Daenerys Targaryen wears, and her hair is a wild mess of curls. Several daggers hang from her belt.
Her expression is serene and her posture is composed. The only thing it reveals is that Daenerys Targaryen holds her full attention. Jon is fairly certain he and his men could burst into flames and this woman wouldn't react in any way.
"Are you slavers or rapists?"
Daenerys Targaryen's question draws his full attention back to her.
"No," Jon replies, insulted at the very notion. What kind of people does she think they are?
"Will you harm me or mine?"
"Not unless you harm us first."
His answer causes some of her people to laugh and talk to one another in a mixture of languages, but Jon is far more focused on the slow smile Daenerys Targaryen gains. There is a wildness to that smile, a hint of something feral. Something that reminds him of her Dragons.
Daenerys Targaryen releases him from the intensity of her gaze and looks at her people.
"In that case, we party!"
Wild cheering makes him reach for Longclaw on instinct, his eyes snapping to the source of the noise. The sight that greets him is the men dressed in furs hollering like the barbarians they appear to be, waving their curved swords through the air with abandon. The remainder of her people are divided between more subdued pleasure or an utter lack of reaction.
Daenerys Targaryen strides forward, her people following her as she makes her way to the rowing boats. Tyrion gives him a wry grin and a shrug that clearly says what can you do, before he follows after her. Barristan Selmy does the same after inclining his head in farewell.
As quickly as they had appeared, the Pirate Queen and her people are gone again.
Jon is unsure of what just happened.
"I think that went well."
Davos' cheerful declaration makes a soft snort escape him, involuntary humor rising at the absurdity of it all.
"I suppose it did," he agrees, his eyes drawn up to the Dragons still gracefully weaving through the air. No blood was spilled, none were burnt to a crisp, and the Pirate Queen seems to hold no interest in changing that state of affairs. A rousing success on all accounts, really.
"So what's next, Your Grace?"
"We return to mining the dragonglass," Jon replies without hesitation. They've wasted enough time as it is.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Davos says in the particular polite tone that means he thinks Jon is being an idiot. His pointed glance at the Dragons makes clear what makes him think so this time. Hypocritical, given that Davos came to the beach unarmed exactly because he didn't think they stood any chance against Dragons. Even ignoring that.
"She seems to hold no interest in us, and she claims she won't initiate hostilities unless provoked. We go back to mining the dragonglass."
With a watch set up of course, but that would be necessary even without the Pirate Queen's presence. They're in enemy territory after all. Which is why they need to hurry. Every moment they remain here is another moment in danger.
The dragonglass is worth it.
With a last look at the Pirate Queen, her hair making her easy to spot even with the distance the boats are rapidly gaining, Jon turns around and goes back to work. He'll not deny to being curious as to why Daenerys Targaryen is here, but as long as she doesn't interfere in his business, he'll not interfere in hers.
Yet despite the fact that being distracted is the last thing he can afford right now, Jon can't stop himself from looking at the Dragons dancing through the sky.
He wonders how Sansa will react when he tells her he saw the Pirate Queen and her Dragons.
AN: I wanted a fic with pirate!Daenerys, and so pirate!Daenerys is what I'm writing. Well, I started rewriting Dany's story from season 1, and then I said screw it because I really wanted her to meet Jon in her all her pirate queen glory. That's going to take far too long if I have to write down how she became a pirate in the first place. This is the result of my impatience.