What I think will/what I want to happen on episode 7.07 and beyond. Makes sure you're caught up to ep 6 and the preview to ep 7.
DANY
My position on the bench beside my cabin window lost it's comfort long ago, but I can't bring myself to move. Night has fallen and a bone deep chill has settled, the latter my own fault seeing as I'm practically stretched outside my open window and haven't bothered to rekindle my dwindled fire.
I can't remember the last time I didn't crave the flames.
I watch the dark, empty sky, imagining Viserion soaring and diving playfully — Rhaegal antagonizing him like any sibling would. They were never far from one another, unlike Drogon, my independent baby, they needed each other. Always.
And now he's gone. If I listen closely I can hear Rhaegal and Drogon crying from where they fly far away from the ship. If I listen even harder I can hear my sweet Viserion as well.
But that's only my worthless wishing again.
My children must be closer than I thought, or bounding back to me because I hear Drogon loud and clear — making me flinch.
He's pain echoes my own, his roar one I wish I could make as well.
When the spear took Viserions life, when I heard his last agonized roar, a piece of me died with him. I wanted to scream and cry and kill but all I could do was look on — Stunned — as my child fell from the sky, blood gushing from him, fire erupting from his wound. I couldn't cry or kill, I had to save the men climbing upon Drogon, including my bear, Jorah, my oldest friend, I had just gotten back.
Jon Snow hadn't been among those men, though, and as I sit here, I struggle with why that hurt me almost as badly as my child's demise.
I can't have feelings for him, I've only know him a few months, most of that time with him in open, albeit respectful, rebellion.
Dammit.
Here I mourn my child but also crave a man.
I can't help that either, though. Even when he refused to bend the knee I couldn't help but notice his honorable heart and brave soul and strong mind.
Doesn't hurt he's also very handsome and virile.
I've never been with a good man. I wonder what it's like.
I didn't save Jon Snow, wights had tackled and almost drowned him, but he had lived. I don't know how, but he did and now he's proclaimed me his Queen, even if it was in private, not that I don't trust his word.
His faith in me feels like a great gift, one of the greatest I've ever been given but I feel guilty.
I earned my titles; every one, and there are many — That's why I demanded The King in the North, a man I had seen as yet another pretender, relinquish his title and swear fealty to me.
But Jon Snow is not a pretender. He has no birth right but he earned his office just as I had mine. And even though I had abandoned trying to make him submit, instead swearing my help to his, our, war — without motive, he made me his — The Norths — Queen.
He gave me what he had earned because I had proven myself to him.
But I think also because he had fallen for me as I have him.
JON
It's been a week since I last saw Daenarys. A week at sea and a week of healing.
I'm not sure which has been the most painful. The constant nausea inducing motion of the boat, the aches and pain of my recovering body, or not being near the woman that has captured my heart.
Ever since I'd been resurrected by the red woman, I've felt like I've been stuck in between two realms.
One where I wish to live and the other where I welcome death.
When I fought against the Boltons I'd almost been trampled to death. It was only the thought of what was at stake that kept me living. I didn't give up because I knew I couldn't, not because I didn't want to. I did wish to live but not for myself. I think if I had died I'd have been fine with it.
Before I met Daenarys, that is.
I no longer feel torn. I want to live. I want . . . so many things.
I find myself pacing the length of my cabin, my body still feeling sore but also considerably healed, and think about the white haired beauty.
When I first saw her, sitting upon her ancestral throne forged from stone, I'd been surprised by how young and beautiful she was. I'd never heard of her prior so I'd been expecting an elder woman, stern and hunched.
Well, I'd gotten the stern part right a little bit. But A Queen has to be a show of strength, of course.
But instead of an old woman I saw a woman my own age, beautiful and powerful.
It shames me to think this, but even more beautiful than Ygritte.
I felt guilty for my feelings for the dragon queen when my heart is supposed to belong to another. But Ygritte is dead. A part of me will aways belong to her but I can't deny what I feel.
That another brave, beautiful woman is making me feel things I've never felt before. Not even with Ygritte.
But not only is Dany gorgeous, she's a warrior at heart.
When I'd been standing back to back with my men on that rock, surrounded by the dead, I'd once again prepared myself to die. And when I'd felt the heat of dragon fire blasting from behind me I'd almost wept.
I wasn't sure she'd come but she did, with all three of her dragons.
And when I saw her, perched upon Drogon, dressed in white, and reaching out to me, I lost myself. More precisely my heart. I accepted then what my mind had been trying to tell me for a while, that I would live and die if need be for this fierce woman.
I need to see her. It's late, everyone will probably be asleep, probably including Daenarys, but I have to try. I have to know why she hasn't visited me again. I have to know if she's okay.
DANY
I'm shaken from my thoughts by voices from outside my cabin. I wrap my dressing gown tighter around my body and slowly make my way through the dark room until I reach my door.
The sight they greets me is as surprising as it is thrilling.
"Jon?"
Jon looks between the two Dothraki guards at me, looking like his breath had been stolen from him.
"Your Grace, I'm sorry if I've disturbed your sleep —"
"Not at all, please come in."
I order the fierce men to stand aside and usher Jon in.
"Do you not have enough kindling, Your Grace?"
I'm monetarily distracted by his unusual, but sexy accent and don't comprehend his meaning immediately.
"Your Grace?" He repeats.
"Oh, no, no, I have plenty I just neglected my fire, is all."
I move to rectify that but Jon insists I let him, so I do.
"You look much better."
He smiles softly at me once the fire is roaring.
"I feel better, almost as good as new."
I believe him. It's only been a week but he's moving quite well, better than expected, considering his injuries, the worst being a cut to the back of his calf.
"I'm happy to hear that."
My voice sounds more airy than I'd intended but I'm not blind to how he's looking at me.
"What brings you here," I ask, hoping he doesn't notice how tight I'm wound.
We haven't moved from where we stand facing each other by the hearth, the heat too seductive considering the cold cabin.
He doesn't answer right away, his eyes taking in all of me in my more relaxed state; not properly clothed and my hair free from all braids and restraints.
"It's been a week, uh, I just wanted to know how your feeling."
I smile sadly up at him, touched by his caring nature.
"I thought it would feel real by now, but I find myself still expecting to hear Viserion at any moment. When I lost my —" I cut myself off, surprised I'd been about to talk about my human child with this man.
"You can talk to me Dany— um, I'm sorry, Daenarys, Your Gra—"
I step closer to Jon.
"I think I've changed my mind," I whisper, "Dany doesn't sound bad at all coming from you. It'd be nice if that name invoked happiness again."
Jon smiles again.
"You can talk to me, Dany."
I look into his dark, smoldering eyes, and I believe him once again.
"I had a son once. A human son, that is." Jon's eyes grow wide but he doesn't say anything.
"I named him Rago and he'd been prophesied as the Stallion that would mount the world. That's why he been taken from me before he had the chance to be born. I had stupidly trusted a witch and she betrayed and cursed me. When he was murdered in my womb, I knew immediately he was lost to me as long as my heart beats. But with Viserion I feel like it's not the end and it's driving me mad, I don't know why my heart won't catch up with my mind."
Tears brim in my eyes and fall and I curse my weakness.
I feel Jon stroke my cheek, capturing my fallen tear, his small touch feels so right.
"I'm so sorry, Dany. I wish I could take your pain away."
"And I yours."
A silence settles over us and the tension between us grows.
He's looking at me like a starving man and I'm sure I look much the same, especially with how tight my body is wound. My breath is coming fast, my womb has butterflies and my womanhood feels painfully empty.
"Do you feel it, Dany," Jon whispers and I gasp.
Of all the things I thought he was going to say or do — that was not one of them.
I imagined him just kissing me, it would have been so much simpler if he had.
Men and women are over come with lust all the time, to take a lover is one thing but to admit, not just lust but love is another.
Of course he could have just meant plain lust but I know better and to answer as if he had is an insult I will not speak.
"I feel it. I've felt it for some time." I look down, unsure if it's wise to be doing this.
"The moment I saw you, Dany, something in me changed irrevocably. I —"
I look back up at his eyes, so expressive in his need.
"What do you want, Jon? Why are you here?"
His eyes harden, but not unkindly.
He slowly drops to one knee, takes my hands in his and looks up at me like a man about to pour his heart out. Because he is.
"Above all, My Queen, I want you to always trust that I will serve you. You are my queen from this day until my last day. No matter what happens here. But I must take this chance.
"When I made the decision as Lord Commander of the Nights Watch to break tradition and guide the Wildlings past the wall and join our forces, my men turned on me. They labeled me a traitor and stuck their daggers into me. I laid dead until the red woman asked her god to give me my life back.
"I don't know why he listened but he did and here I am. Here I am, kneeling in front of the woman . . . that has captured my heart. A heart that has spent too much time torn between knowing I have to live and wanting to die. But it's not torn anymore. I want to live. To live for you. For us.
"If I'm mistaken and you do not feel for me what I do for you, nothing changes. But If I'm right, I can't spend what little time I might have left wondering what could have been."
I pry my hands from his and stroke his face, taking care to discover as much as I can; every line, hair and scar.
He's hands clench and unclench in the air between us, needing to touch me but waiting until I give my permission.
I step closer to him our bodies touching where they can.
"Have you thought this through, Jon," I whisper, tears welling up again. "I can't give you —"
"There's is nothing you can't give me, if you give me you. You are all I need." He says it so fiercely I can't help but trust his conviction.
I choke on a sob but calm myself down. Crying is not what I want to do right now.
I grip his jaw more firmly and kiss him.
The first contact of our lips feels like a rush of heat. His pillowy lips take no time moving with my own and his strong arms circle my waist, crushing me to him.
His tongue asks for permission from my lips and I give it adoringly. We both moan when our tongues touch, and as they dance and play, learning one another, our hands roam, craving to finally know one another as well.
I excitedly gasp when Jon unexpectedly grabs me by the underside of my thighs and lifts me up until I'm cradled in his arms. God, he's so strong.
"May I take you to bed, My Queen?" He asks gruffly, his need clear as day.
"Yes, please," I gasp out, kissing him again, even more fiercely.
He gently lays me on the bed, following along until he's lying on top of me, although I can only feel a little of his weight, much to my disappointment.
He leans up on his knees and removes his loose tunic, revealing his chiseled and scarred body.
My legs have become bare with our new position and Jon notices this and trails his calloused hands from the arch of my foot to the bend of my knees.
"Your skin feels like . . . I don't have anything to compare it to, actually, I've never felt anything so soft and beautiful."
My insides quiver with his praise. I need to feel him touch more — everything.
I slowly pull on the tie of my robe and watch Jons hungry gaze as more and more of my body is revealed to him until I'm completely bare, my robe spread like wings under me when I remove my arms.
Jon's breath comes out in a gust of wind at the sight of me and his hands start to roam higher, but I stop them.
"Have you told anyone that you've sworn fealty to me?"
Jon looks down at me, no less hungry, but cautious, I think.
"Yes, Ser Davos knows I've bent the knee."
"You haven't sent word to Winterfell?"
By the look on his face he is misinterpreting my point.
"No, Your Grace, but —"
"Good."
His head jerks surprised and his eyes have trouble straying from my heaving breasts.
"Good?" He asks.
I smile up at him, my hands crawling up his strong forearms.
"When you bent the knee to me I felt like I'd been given a great gift, one that I cherished immediately, but I also felt guilty."
Jon slowly smooths his hands down my thighs, inching his way to my aching womanhood.
"Guilty?"
I nod.
"I earned my titles, just as you earned yours."
He looks down at me hopeful.
"I didn't know what to do with this guilt, though, until you bared your heart to me just now."
I prop myself up on my elbows and tighten my legs around Jons hips.
"When we do send word to Winterfell, I don't want it to be that the Norths former King has bent the knee, but that the King in the North has taken a wife."
Jon's eyes blaze and his grip on my thighs becomes harder, thrilling me.
"You don't have to do that, Dany, I told you no matter your choice I'd —"
I reach up and wrap a hand behind his neck and pull him to me.
"I know," I whisper against his lips, "This is not out of anything other than my own selfish desires. The safety of your people and . . .Your affection for me meant more to you than a title. But it's a title you've earned, Jon Snow. I want you to be my King."
I want to pull his lips back to mine but I wait for him to react first. To know where he stands.
My heart clenches as he settles his hard body on top of my soft one and kisses me roughly.
He's hands roam my body freely now and I moan loudly at how good his touch feels. It's never been this good before.
"Gods, I love you, Dany." Jon groans out in between kisses to my neck.
I open my mouth to tell him the same when instead I feel him softly stroke in between my legs and then all I could do was moan loudly.
He kisses down my body, paying special tribute to my breasts.
He cups and holds them together, rubbing his face softly between them, his beard tickling and seducing me. When he's properly scented them he takes turns suckling my nipples.
We're both moaning and groaning and on fire, a spark has never felt this hot.
His lips abandon my breasts, the cool air hitting the wet peaks making me whine out his name.
"Don't worry, Dany, I'll take care of you."
His face meets my wet sex and he breathes in my scent at my most intimate region.
"May I, My Queen?"
I look into his hungry eyes and nod, more excited than I've ever been before.
Not breaking eye contact from me, his large tongue meets my weeping opening and licks me from bottom to top, making my spine bend and a moan erupt from me.
My hands find purchase in his log curly black hair and he stops teasing me and shows me how truly talented he is with his tongue.
And god he is good. He knows to be firm with my opening and soft with the bundle of nerves that make a woman shatter.
And shatter I do; quickly and completely and loudly.
I don't even realize until my orgasm was drifting off that I'd been grinding against his mouth, using his hair as a sort of reins.
"Oh, god, Jon," I cry, as I'm left swimming in aftershocks.
My Northman crawls back up my body, kissing and nipping, leaving a trail of my own wetness up my body.
"Was that alright?" Jon asks with a wicked glint to his whiskey eyes.
I giggle and rub myself against his still clothed nether region.
"God, yes, Jon. But as euphoric as that was, I've never felt more empty, my channel is quivering and grasping, needing to be filled."
In a flash he's off the bed and undoing his trousers. When he's completely nude I eye what I have in store for me without abandon and bite my lip.
Not too little after all.
He crawls over me once more and I wrap my arms around his back.
"You are the most beautiful, precious thing I have ever seen. I will spend the rest of my life, however long it may be, bringing you as much happiness as I can. This I swear to you."
"And I you," I whisper against his wet, swollen lips.
He takes ahold of his hard member and strokes himself a couple times, still looking deep in my eyes.
"Please, Jon, I'm aching. I need ahhh —"
I'm cut off as he rubs the head of his engorged cock firmly between my wet lower lips, coating himself with my wetness, until he settles at my opening and pushes in. I'm so aroused he fills me easily, even as my inner muscles clench around his hard thickness.
There's no time for words, just the sounds of moans and groans and slapping flesh.
He finds a quick, hard rhythm, his hips rolling between my legs so erotically.
I cry out over and over again, his pistoning cock taking me higher and higher, encouraging me to a peak that always seems just out of my reach.
"Fuck, you are so sexy, Dany."
He's gruff words are for me but his eyes are on my breasts, bouncing in sync with his every move.
I cry out, over stimulated by his touch, his voice, his smell.
He's getting louder and his hips start loosing their motion, telling me he's close.
I take his hand from where he's fondling my breast and guide it to my bundle of nerves, needing his touch to set me off.
He's catches onto what I need and gives it to me, bringing me to another orgasm. This one more powerful than any I've ever had.
I can't help the screams that are ripped from my throat and let them fill the cabin, not caring who hears, only caring about the man inside of me, bringing me insurmountable pleasure.
Even through my own sounds of pleasure I hear Jon finding his completion as well and even better — I feel it. Another smaller orgasm hits me as I feel Jon emptying his seed deep inside me.
We lay in bed, cuddled around one another for hours, talking about our lives. The things we've seen, the places we've been — the good, the bad, anything that popped into our heads. We found we have a lot in common besides the tragic history of our families killing one another, but our words always turn seductive and lead to more love making.
We kiss and laugh and ride each other until were nothing but boneless puddles of flesh and the sun makes it's entrance to welcome the day.
"We probably should have gotten some sleep." Jon groans into my breasts where his head rests.
I smile at the crown of he's curly head.
"Perhaps but I've no regrets."
He laughs, his whole body shaking and shifts to his back bringing me with him until I rest on his chest.
His scarred chest.
Crescent shaped gouges mar his chiseled abs and pecks and my eyes tear up at the sight.
I gently trace the gouge directly on his heart.
If the men that had done this weren't already dead, I'd kill them myself.
Jon kisses my forehead and stills my hand and holds it against his chest and I drift off, feeling treasured in his strong grip.
Please review. I'll try to get as much of what I think could be in 7.07 before the episode actually comes out but even I don't I'll still add my own touches.