They're not mine, I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox, so please don't sue. Lyrics in the title belong to Natalie Merchant's song "My skin".
I wanted to post this before tonight's final episode, since I'm pretty sure I'll be crushed by it. Slight Jon/Sansa if you squint.
"Send a raven." Daenerys' voice rings across the stone walls with finality. "Let them know if she chooses not to comply with my request, the next thing flying North will be a dragon."
Jon keeps his eyes staring straight ahead and tries to control any expression from showing on his face. He looks as though he's made of stone, impassively standing beside his queen as if her orders mean nothing to him, as if his mind and his heart aren't both screaming in protest at what is being done. He can't help but think that if Sansa could see him now she'd be so proud.
The queen moves on to other matters then, her attention pulled towards ruling now that the conquering part is done. She speaks of rebuilding the city – the one she just burned to ashes – and she speaks of taking care of the people – the ones whose lives she just destroyed. She doesn't speak of punishment to those who refuse to bend the knee but she doesn't have to. Jon feels the now familiar dread rise up in his chest as he lets his mind wander.
How could he have been so blind?
Looking back, the signs were all there. The ease with which she spoke of fire and blood, the fierce determination about reclaiming what she believed was hers, the unremorseful way in which she killed all those who dared to oppose her. He had felt it too, the fear mixed with the awe, the exhilaration at what she could do blending in with the apprehension at what she would do. But he had tried to believe those were the traits necessary to being a queen, to rule, and had forced himself to ignore the growing uneasiness within him.
After King's Landing though, it was impossible to pretend anymore.
Still, he had gone to her. He had tried talking to Daenerys – to his queen, to Dany – wanting to find a reason, any reason, to justify what he had just seen, what had been done. To forgive her or to forgive himself, he didn't know. What he did know was that he wasn't even surprised when the answers were a mere confirmation of his worst fears. Forgiveness, as it seems, was not what the gods had in store for him.
Her plans for the immediate future were simple enough. Every high Lord in the Seven Kingdoms was to be invited to Dragonstone to see her crowned and bend the knee. After the destruction of the capital, there was fairly little doubt about their compliance and preparations were already being made to accommodate most of them.
The biggest wild card was Sansa.
Sansa, who had made it very clear she didn't trust this foreign queen from the very beginning. Sansa, who wanted to keep the North free and independent, never again at the mercy of some southern ruler. Sansa, who had sworn never to go south again.
Sansa, whom he knows for sure will suffer the same fate as the Tarlys as soon as she sets foot in this wretched place.
If I don't watch over you, father's ghost will come back from the grave and murder me.
No one can protect me.
He blinks slowly to clear his head before allowing his eyes to sweep over the people in the room. Tyrion looks uncomfortable, his eyes resting everywhere but the queen he proclaims to believe in, even as he still tries to persuade her towards diplomacy instead of force. Grey Worm looks as impassive as always, although his eyes shine as though they're made of steel. He has the look of a haunted man who yearns for nothing but revenge.
Jon's gaze hardens imperceptibly. He may be a dragon by birth and blood, but in his heart he's always been a wolf. Sansa will come, he has no doubt of that. She won't risk the North in exchange for her life, not after everything they went through. And when she does he will be here. He may not have a plan yet but he knows this. A wolf protects his pack.