This is my first attempt at a Game of Thrones fic! I have read the books, so there are some ASOIAF references (such as retaining original eye colors), but I am going by the show's continuity (plot and character's ages).
Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love the series, but I heavily criticize the later seasons of Game of Thrones. One of my many gripes of Season 7 was the unrealistic nature of Jon and Daenerys's relationship. There weren't really many things I felt they bonded over on screen. And I just have problems with show Daenerys in general. Long story short, this is a piece where the two get to know one another before shit goes down. I would say this takes place between 07x03 and 07x04, after Jon begins mining the dragonglass and before Daenerys heads off to fight the Lannisters with Drogon. I will be making this a two parter. First up, the Silver Queen.
Hope you enjoy! Read, review, and flame away if you must.
DAENERYS
She had tossed and turned for hours and hours. The old castle's walls creaked and groaned so often that sleep remained elusive. Her eyes would be an angry red in the morning, she lamented. The winds howled unpleasantly every night, keeping the island's inhabitants far from having restful nights. She wished she had more furs atop her, but with tens of thousands of mouths needing to be fed, clothed, and sheltered, the young queen knew that she was not the only one wishing for more luxury. The Dothraki, who insisted on making camp outside the castle walls, were especially not fond of the climate. If she stepped to the balcony, she would make out hundreds of tents and horses from as close as the castle steps to the far ends of the beach.
Dany grinned slightly in the darkness. They had feared the black salt sea even after their long journey, refusing to set foot on the sands. They lived off the sparse grass and sickly horses. It was only when her dragons' spoils had landed on the shores that a curious few examined. They feasted on the ocean's fish that night. Since then, there were Dothraki children splashing about, catching fish with their hands.
The Unsullied insisted on taking the smallest amounts as they could – only a handful of portions each meal, a single fur on a bed top, and the tightest quarters. The one compromise she made was that they would train whatever hours they wished in the day as long as they slept nights, save any who would guard. She would not have anyone suffer. And not a single one uttered one complaint.
It brought joy to her heart to see these people, her people, still so devoted.
Overcrowded, underfed, but devoted. Dany sighed. Was she still truly a sight of inspiration for them? She had promised the Dothraki the chance to tear down the homes of her enemies and to leave the field littered with Lannisters dead. Yes, she had her dragons, but this 'restraint' was testing her every waking moment. Her restlessness was not unnoticed by her Hand.
Driftmark was not far from Dragonstone. Dany had considered sending troops there to dispel of any remaining usurper loyalists and create another base, but Tyrion had advised her otherwise; she should keep her armies together, no matter how close point A might seem to point B. It frustrated her nonetheless.
She was still frustrated, but by many other plights. The false queen sitting atop her family's throne was still priority. If that alone wasn't enough, she could only think of the capital's citizens. Some slept soundlessly, with servants, guards, and a delicious feast to break their fast today. Others resided in a gutter.
While her people were certainly far from the slums, it was not ideal either. How can I promise prosperity to an entire country, seven kingdoms, if I can barely afford to feed an army? How can I rule if I can't keep promises? Images of Meereen struck her. The sick and diseased. The enslaved. The terrorists. The screams, a black shape among golden masks . . .
Dany closed her eyes. It was in the past, she knew. Slaver's Bay – the Bay of Dragons – had a new set of governing rulers, made up of equal proportions of Astaporians, Yunkish, and Meereeneese with the Second Sons serving as a version of Kingsguards. She had done the best she could. But she knew she could not stay. If I look back, I am lost.
The queen rose, deciding not to spend another moment in bed with her thoughts. Dawn would soon break. She missed the bright, bold colors of the sky in Meereen, the Dothraki Sea, even Pentos. Sunsets were a welcome break from the drear on Dragonstone. Dany selected her attire for the day. She'd always hated to awaken Missandei, but she knew her scribe and dear friend rose at daybreak like clockwork. Dany sat herself by the fire, beside the mirror.
Sure enough, only 20 minutes or so later, a familiar knock and call came. "Your Grace?"
"Come in, Missandei." The woman bowed and swiftly made her way to her queen.
"I am sorry, Your Grace, I did not know you had awoken," she apologized, slender hands reaching for the long silver locks. "Would you like braids today?"
Dany smiled her answer.
The wind continued to blow as the rays of light struggled to appear from behind the thick clouds. The lack of light was frustrating the scribe, she knew, but Missandei rarely, if ever, complained of anything. While she took the extra time to intricately tie her queen's hair, Dany's mind wandered. Years ago, Viserys had once told her that wolves lurked in Illyrio's manse. Each time the wind howled, the wolves drew near. He had been drunk on a fine red, and believing her to be a child again, he continued by saying that if they awoke the dragon, they would roast alive. When she had asked what would happen if he was not there, he scoffed and simply told her she would do best to run and hope she had provided him with an heir before she was eaten. She remembered feeling tears fall hearing her brother consider her nothing more than broodmare, but then her spirits slightly rose when he added that the dragon feasts on wolves and lions alike, but preferred stags best.
She would feast on the lions. There were few stags remaining, but all would burn as well. Dany faltered. Eddard Stark was dead. His eldest son was dead. His house was nearly extinguished if not for his young children. Children who were either of the age she had been as Drogo's bride, if not younger. And Jon Snow, who was of age with her. They held the largest of her kingdoms. No, she could not kill the wolves.
"The climate has changed you, Your Grace," Missandei remarked. Dany's attention was drawn to her own reflection. It was true. In Essos, her hair glowed like gold in the heat of the sun. Now it was paler than ever, appearing almost white. Gone was the bronzed skin of the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. Her pallor was returning to its natural fair shade. Only the violet eyes remained recognizable. They did indeed have heavy bags beneath them. "I am wondering if the same will happen to me."
Dany shook her head. "I hope it does not, my friend."
Once dressed in a brilliant blue dress, a dark gray cloak, black riding leather slacks and boots, the pair began the long descent to the grounds, with two Unsullied several paces ahead and two more several behind. Missandei spoke of Grey Worm at great length, while Dany eagerly listened to the best of her abilities so early in the day. If she were being practical, having her most trusted advisor involved with the head of the Unsullied was unwise, but she would not protest the match in any way. The two deserved happiness after years of such misery. Halfway through the trip, Missandei politely inquired about her thoughts of the captors as of late. She gave the same answer she always did; they were strange and determined people. As if sensing her queen's quiet mood, Missandei allowed the rest of the trip to be in comfortable silence.
Breakfast was an uneventful affair. Dany feasted on gooseberries, plain bread, and fish with seaweed. Tyrion had remnants of last night's wine still in him. Varys appeared unsurprised by the dwarf's bleary eyes and slightly slurred speech. She still shot her Hand a glare, silently reminding him how she did not approve of his late night trips to the wine cellars. The bleak sky was beginning to lighten, and with little conversation taking place, she excused herself the instant her plate was cleared, explaining that she wished to walk the grounds before the council meeting set for noon. When Grey Worm inquired if she would like any guards to follow for her safety, his answer was received by the screech of three dragons high above.
"Gods," she cursed once she stepped into the path of the breeze. She regretted not asking Missandei to keep her hair in an updo, for her vision was being blocked by her own silver strands. She lifted her hood and scanned her surroundings. There were three choices for a path, one back up the stairs to the innards of the castle, another at a steep decline that led to the beaches, and a third that would keep her heading for the cliff sides. Dany chose the third. Perhaps her children might land for a time. Two dozen Unsullied passed by, bowing their heads as the queen greeted them. Climbing the rocks and running along the jagged terrain had become part of their training regime.
Dragonmont was visible from behind the castle. The Unsullied and Dothraki both did not dare to near too close, though the Dothraki likened it to their Mother of Mountains. Only the dragons would land and roost on the volcano. Dany rather enjoyed watching them fly amongst the pale, grey smoke, roaring and soaring through the air. Even now, she could still feel a swell of pride and awe at the sight of them. They were home.
A figure glided to a balcony just a few stories above, catching her attention. Dany made out long copper hair, a slim, shapely figure, and a red garb. Melisandre was watching. The Priestess had yet to make her departure to Volantis, though she had apologized personally before the queen for overstaying. Dany insisted she could send her safely across the sea with a ship, but the red woman informed her that she was waiting for her own ship to return to the harbor, in less than a fortnight. Dany caught her gaze and lost it just as quickly, for the sound of footsteps behind her caused her to turn.
Jon Snow exited the dining hall, and hastened along to the second path. He'd been breaking his fast not among other Lords, just Ser Davos, his Northern companions, and some Unsullied. He was nothing more than a blur when Daenerys called, "Will you be mining today, my Lord?" His pace stumbled ever so slightly, and his hand reflexively reached for his empty sword hilt. Upon seeing her, he straightened. The same solemn look took hold of his features.
"Aye, I thought it best to start early."
Dany sauntered towards to the Northman. "You will be starting alone. It's quite early, and you might find it best to wait for help."
Jon shook his head. "The earlier the better. The army of the dead doesn't sleep."
There he goes again with this army of White Walkers. "But you are not dead, Jon Snow. Men, women, and children alike all tire."
He stiffened. She thought she saw him swallow, but he spoke so quickly she couldn't tell. "Regardless, I'd like to mine as much as I can, when I can."
A pang of annoyance prodded at Dany. He kept trying to get away, always off to be alone. Tyrion had described him as serious, but she did not expect this. The North may all be like this. I have only one man and he will not bow, he will rarely even speak. She was reminded again of her morning thoughts. How can I rule the Northern Kingdom when most of them despise my family name?
No. Jon Snow did not despise her. But he did not exactly warm to her either. And that bothered her. In that moment, he became an embodiment of the entire north. And the idea of him away all day in a cave, remaining a stranger would not do either. A sudden determination overtook her. "Will you walk with me?" she inquired. He hesitated, but took a step forward. "I will see to it that your help arrives before the hour is over," she continued. "I will ask myself."
Jon scratched the back of his neck. "Alright."
"We won't go far," Dany said. She felt herself flush. I am a Queen, and I am practically begging this man to simply walk with me. "Come," she commanded, for good measure. Jon smirked and shook his head, but remained at her side. The pair walked in silence, with eyes on their backs the entire time. The gaze was like an itch between her shoulders; Dany quickly decided to see Melisandre again before nightfall. She awaited a word from Jon, but none came. He did not ask a single question, nor did he even make a comment. She resisted the urge to sigh. "How long did you live in Winterfell?" she asked instead.
Jon lifted his head, surprised. "Most of my life," he answered roughly. He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. "I don't know where I was born, just somewhere south. I was raised in Winterfell alongside my brothers and sisters."
"When did you leave?"
Jon stared straight ahead. "Sometime after my seventeenth nameday, when my Uncle Benjen visited Winterfell. I decided to join the Night's Watch, despite his protests."
Dany felt a fire light in her chest in preparation for her next question. "How did Lord Eddard feel about your decision to march off?"
Jon did not miss her tone. "He respected my choice," he replied hardly.
"Your choice?" The words escaped before she could think.
"He always did. He allowed me the freedom to do as I wished, to train alongside his trueborn sons, to ride horses alongside his trueborn daughters, to be a man of the Night's Watch –"
"Forgive me."
He finally turned his head.
"I asked you not to judge a daughter for the sins of her father," she reminded him. "As I will not judge a son for the sins of his."
Jon stubbornly responded, "My father was the least sinful person I ever met."
"He rode off to war against my family. He supported a usurper. The two of them killed hundreds if not thousands." The northern lord opened his mouth to protest. "But so have many. My father was no different, and I know now his cruelty was legendary," she added in a softer voice. "We all sin. That is not my point. I did not mean to offend you."
Jon slowly nodded his acceptance. "Aye, we all sin, and we all want to be better than those who sinned," he said neutrally.
Dany knew they were arriving at their destination soon. She did not know how much time she would have with him, so she asked another question.
"What is the North like?"
A grin, albeit a small one, formed on the King's full lips. "There's nothing like it. It's beautiful in its own right. It's sparsely populated, aye, but it has a peace to it. Have you seen snow before, Your Grace?"
Dany shook her head. "I have not. I have lived in warmer climates most of my life."
Jon smiled again, just for a second. She thought he looked better like that. "You might like to see the Wolfswood. I imagine you'll follow it to the Sea Dragon Point." Dany returned his smile, somewhat satisfied. Perhaps this would go better than she initially believed.
"I have been educated on the many religions of this country. I'm not sure which I follow, if any, but from what I remember, the north seems to hold faith with the Old Gods. Do you?"
His dark hair blew in the breeze, away from his long, solemn face. He turned to answer when the young queen tripped on a crumbling step. She yelped as her arms involuntarily extended to break her fall. It never came. Jon gripped her hand in his, the other arm snaking around her thin waist. Her heart pounded from the sudden shock. Jon just started at her, not releasing his grip. "Are you alright?"
She nodded wordlessly. In those seconds, she started into his gray gaze. His hands felt surprisingly warm despite the gloves; she wondered how they felt against her own. Would they be rough or soft? Gentle or strong?
"Thank you." Dany managed. "I'm fine." Jon's touch left.
"Be careful," he said, unsure. "To uh, answer your question, yes I kept to the Old Gods. The North still holds Godswoods. It's strange not seeing them."
The remaining steps to the top were in a similar condition. Dany navigated them slowly, and mercifully made it to the land with no more incidents. As much as she enjoyed the jolt from contact with the rather handsome King in the North, she was not sure her pride could take another slip.
And she could not afford to break relations of any kind.
"You will see them again, Jon Snow," she promised. He faced her again, and she silently added: You are not my prisoner. A mother did not imprison her children. A monarch did not imprison her subjects without reasonable cause. A monarch would especially not imprison an ally.
A wife would not imprison her husband. Nor a friend. A lover.
Dany shook her head. Gods, Old, New, whomever, do not let me get so distracted. Thankfully, the two had reached the top, effectively erasing the embarrassment.
The cliffside faced the south, allowing for a gratuitous view of Dragonmont. Without hesitation, Dany strode closer to the edge, basking in the sight. Jon was more wary, but she eventually heard his steps draw near until he stood just behind her. Drogon, Rheagal, and Viserion were gliding high above, dipping through and grazing the tops of jagged peaks, propelling themselves. Drogon remained as large as ever, but the others seemed to be catching on. Perhaps he would always be the biggest, but with his brothers out of captivity from the Great Pyramid, they were free to fly and grow again. A painful lump formed. She remembered their cries, the way they dug desperately at the walls and roared when anyone entered. Never again did she want to see that look of betrayal.
As if reading his mother's mind, Viserion cocked his head and changed course. She did not miss Jon's flash of terror when the cream dragon began to fly in their direction. His screeches faded to rumbling coos as he swept overhead. His wings grazed the grass, sending her braids into further disarray and Jon tumbling to his knees. Rhaegal and Drogon did not glide quite so low, yet they erupted into similar croons before racing their brother to the opposite end of the island.
She didn't even need to look. "Are you alright?"
Jon's stare remained skyward, the shock slowly disappearing from his face. "Do they always fly so low like that?" he managed to blurt out.
Dany smirked. "Lord Tyrion told me you had a similar encounter upon your first landing."
"I did. He said there is no one quite used to them like their mother is," he added. He gazed down, a hint of red on his cheeks when he realized he was still knelt firmly on the ground. Dany hesitated for a moment, contemplating if she should offer a hand. Surely that would embarrass him, she reasoned. No matter how humble Jon Snow appeared, she was quite aware of what pride did to a man. Her arms remained at her sides. "Which one was that?" he inquired, rising.
"Viserion." She watched as Drogon disappeared back behind the mountain. Rheagal was chasing after him, but Viserion remained up high, away from the mock-fight. "He's the sweetest one," she explained warmly. "Gentle, but no less strong. He's eaten out of my hand before." She swallowed away the memory of the heavy chains that came after.
"It's an interesting name, very Targaryen sounding. You said two of them were named after your brothers, right?"
To her surprise, Jon sounded intrigued. She supposed anyone would be; it had been hundreds of years since the days and nights came alive with the sight and sound of dragons. Westeros had only bones and Maesters' documents on old parchment to remember them by. But he was asking about her just as much as about them. Finally, he wanted to know something about her. "Yes, Viserion after Viserys and Rheagal for Rheagar." She lifted her chin, awaiting the blow that would only come from the son of Ned Stark, the man whose sister was kidnapped by her eldest brother in their final years.
It came, but not quite as she was expecting. "I've heard tales of your brothers. That Rheagar was valiant, loved by the people, and skilled in combat. The last dragon." He raised his thick eyebrows. "Or so we thought." She felt her shoulders straighten on their own accord. "After Robert's rebellion, those tales were a whisper in the North compared to the shouts of anger." Dany inched closer to the King in the North with guarded curiosity. "Robert despised him more than anyone in the Known World. He was betrothed to my Aunt Lyanna, and he lost her. My father though . . . He lost his only sister, yet I've never heard him speak ill of your brother once."
A small wave of appreciation coursed through the young queen. Perhaps Lord Stark was not as prejudiced against her family as she was led to believe. "He sang to the people," she said conversationally. "Ser Barristan spoke fondly of him. He walked amongst the common folk, gave his riches to them. Rhaegal is my brother reborn, I like to imagine. He's not as wild as Drogon, nor as submissive as Viserion. He's stubborn and fierce, of course, but I'll see him share his spoils with his brothers. He likes to sleep beside them. He even has the most beautiful sounding call of the three of them." A smile broke out on her delicate features. "It's as if Rheagar is singing from the skies." She cast a glance to her right. Jon did not say anything, but his stoic exterior had faded some. "I wish I knew him." Jon may have lost his brothers, but he grew up alongside them. They learned together, played together, trained together, and loved one another. She had no such memories, but she could not find it in her heart to be jealous.
Perhaps Jon Snow would not judge her for the sins of her first brother.
"What did you hear of Viserys?"
Jon found the cream and gold dragon again, his colors a striking contrast against the onyx mountainside. "Not much, I admit. I was not present at any council meetings as you can imagine. My father only told me that he and his sister -" his gaze never left her "-were exiled across the Narrow Sea." He opened his mouth, and shut it just as quickly.
"What?" she demanded.
Jon's expression was unreadable. "Your Grace?" This time, she faced away from him. Grass gently crunched under his boots; she watched as he circled around to face her again. "I beg your pardon for my forwardness, but how did it come to be that you are the last Targaryen?" His tone was suspicious, not accusatory. Did he know of Viserys' cruelty? How could he? How could he not? Something told her that regardless if he believed her brother was the Mad King come again, he would not take kindly to kinslaying.
Dany brazenly stood before the strange Northern King, and quietly, firmly replied, "My husband killed him when he threatened my life and the life of our child."
"Threatened you?"
"He pointed a blade at my womb." A crude smirk formed. "A relatively uneventful act compared to the years of torment. It was the last time I'd 'awoken the dragon'." She recalled what Ser Jorah said to her once. "But he was no dragon, merely the shadow of a snake. He sold me off to gain an army, and tried to enter my bedchamber before my wedding. He loved to strike me, beat me, and made sure I stayed in his shadow, to remind me of how my mother died after birthing me. It was through the Dothraki that I began to learn how to grow as a Khalessi. He wanted them to give him a crown, and he got one."
Jon stared at her with disbelief. Instinct told her she'd awoken something in him, a dangerous anger, but with whom she was not sure. "Any man who hurts his little sister like that is a coward. There is no honor in someone like that."
Quiet rage shone in those dark eyes. Not at her, for her. Much to her annoyance, her heart skipped a beat. "Viserys is still my family. Despite everything, I learned from him. Viserion is what my brother was not. Impatient at times maybe." She lightened slightly. "But not cruel, at least no more than you'd expect from a dragon."
Jon simply nodded, but not without giving her another calculating inspection. "Aye, no more than I'd expect."
Dany knew she made a mistake. She felt the fire light again, angry at him, angry at herself. She had never meant to reveal so much, and now she was going to be seen as nothing but the ruthless queen once more. She'd meant to bond, understand, relate over their years' experience and all she did was solidify the mistrust that was so apparent since their first encounter in the throne room.
"What became of your baby?"
Ice froze over.
She never spoke of Rheago. There would always be an emptiness that nothing could fill, not even her children. Yet, as time went on, he became nothing more than a memory, much like her sun-and-stars. But Drogo had been flesh and blood, and her son was not even tangible to her. She'd never held him in her arms.
"He passed not long after birth," she quietly replied. Perhaps one day he would know the truth, all of it. One day, not sooner.
Jon did not look ashamed for his forwardness. He did not avert his eyes. He simply said, "I'm sorry," with such genuine care, that she was shocked.
"I thank you, Lord Snow." Her curtness cut through even the chilling wind. "I would stay here awhile. When you finish your descent, ask for Rahkaro. He speaks some of the Common Tongue and can provide you with more than enough men to help you mine."
Dany felt ashamed. She had failed to secure the King in the North as an ally, but more than that: she had failed to make friends. Even with his apology over her baby, her temper got the better of her, and she sent him on his way. And it crushed her far more than she knew it should. In return, all she got was a limited viewpoint on him, while he knew her as a kinslayer and another conquerer. He would not see the shame on her face.
Jon did not protest. He made his way back to the path, leaving the Targaryen Queen by herself on the cliff. She pulled her hood back up.
"Daenerys."
She spun with a sharp reprimand on the ready for his failure to call her Your Grace, when the sight above took her breath away. Her dragons hovered straight above the two, wings extended, and claws out. They appeared to be floating. Without warning, they spun and weaved, all the while singing mournfully. Drogon dove straight down, then flung his body up, with such fluid motions that even made her gape. Viserion followed, and lastly Rheagal touched lower than the rest, before ascending once more. They had never been in such harmony. The sorrow shifted to fiery shrieks.
Tears pricked her eyes. They were dancing.
Jon was at her side again. "They know what you feel."
The young queen choked back tears. "As I know theirs." They sensed her despair. They always had. She was taken back to Meereen. When the spear pierced her son, she felt the agony as if it was her own. Could they sense her despair?
Dany knew the answer. They knew that they were free and alive because of her. She hatched them. She raised them. She loved them.
Jon gently added, "As only a mother could."
The children gave one last cry as they launched below the cliffs to the waters below. In tandem, the dragons dove into the ocean's depths. They rose again in fire and smoke.
In all the excitement, Dany almost missed Jon's expression. Behind the wonder in his eyes at the sight before him, there was something else. She wanted to reach out to him - such a melancholy smile appeared after he spoke those words. But all she could do was stare at the motherless bastard.
Perhaps . . . he did not think she was so vicious. Maybe there was a chance they found common ground after all. He was two and twenty, the same as her. They wore a crown they never imagined they would have. And neither of them had known their mother.
"I will take my leave, Your Grace," he said. "I thank you for the help you've provided."
She wanted to follow him all the way down to the cave and forget her counsel meeting. Forget her invasion, forget everything. Just for one day. To be a girl, not a queen. To be a person. How she longed to just talk to someone, even for an hour. In her entire life, was there anyone who knew her struggle? No, but perhaps the Northerner in front of her had some notion. Could it be that they were more alike than she'd initially thought? Could she relate to the ice when her fire was sure to melt anything in her path?
Yes. Determination took hold once more. She would speak to him again. She would keep up her strength.
"I thank you for your company, Jon Snow."
With that, he bowed his head and sauntered back down the mountainside.
Dany returned to face Dragonmont. The heat from the volcano radiated, beckoning her to join and swim in its depths. She was reborn.
She would learn of the North, and its people. Especially its King. She would rule, and never forget who she was. A dragon. A conquerer. A Queen. A breaker of chains. A woman. A mother.
And they had still only scratched the surface.
Yo. It's been a long time since I wrote anything, much less for this site. Reviews are always welcome, be nice, but say what's on your mind all the same.
I know Rahkaro is dead in the show, but I threw in some book continuity. I don't know how Dany's remaining Dothraki just disappeared midway through season 3, so I kept her original bloodriders with her as they are in the books.
I apologize if this meandered quite a bit. I'm quite disappointed if I'm being truthful, but I think my hopes were too high for myself and what I envisioned. This is an experimental piece. This is different from my usual writing style. I prefer to write in first person, but I took to adopting third person limited to be somewhat reminiscent of GRRM's writing. When I DO write in third person, it's omniscient. It was so tough for me not to just burst out a line about what Jon was thinking. That's for the next part kiddies!
Second chapter should be here soon!