A/N

First of all, thank you to all who came from "A Rare Moment" and "Is It True?" to read this. It means so much to me that people wanted more, and I am here to deliver.

As far as this fic goes, the majority of Season 7 will remain canon (with a few exceptions) as I will simply be adding a few filler scenes that I would've like to have seen. I will likely keep some of the structure of Season 8, but do MAJOR overhaul on the plot and (nonexistent) character development, so it will end up looking dramatically different from the final season.

This chapter takes place between Episodes 7x03 and 7x04, after Daenerys allows Jon to mine the dragon glass, but before he shows her the cave. It doesn't affect the plot, I just wanted to voice a few of the thoughts I imagine going through their minds at this time, and create a bit more of a transition between the episodes. Enjoy!

After his conversation with the Dragon Queen, Jon had spent the following day with Davos, their contingent of Northmen, and a few of Unsullied from the Queen's army scouting the island for dragon glass. He had been informed that the castle itself was built on caches of the obsidian, and so they focused their efforts along the cliffs and shorelines, looking for natural structures that would give way to the precious material. They happened upon a promising series of caves just before dusk, and decided to meet at first light to explore them.

He had been given a modest chamber, which despite the blackened stone that made up the castle of Dragonstone, was surprisingly comfortable. He supposed it was meant to make him feel less like a prisoner, but despite the accommodations offered by his hostess, he hadn't yet been able to relax since setting foot on the island. The past few evenings, he and his kinsman had been left to dine on their own, preferring each other's company to that of the foreigners comprising the queen's army. Their dark skin and complicated languages did little to comfort him, though he was more than willing to accept their assistance. He harbored little prejudice when it came to those willing to fight the army of the dead. However, as he prepared to join his men for supper, a knock sounded at his door. When he opened the door, it took him a moment to look down and see Tyrion Lannister waiting in the hall.

"Lord Tyrion." Jon greeted him politely. The dwarf waved him off.

"I think we can dispense with the formalities." Tyrion chuckled, though he still appeared a bit ceremonial. "Our queen has requested your presence for supper, if you would do her the honor."

"Do I have a choice in the matter?" Jon expected that a request from one such as Daenerys Targaryen was hardly that. She was a woman who got what she wanted. His brief encounters had been enough to show him that. Tyrion spared him an answer by simply offering and indulgent smile, and instructing him to follow. Walking with Tyrion, Jon realized how little of Dragonstone he had really seen so far. The castle was as magnificent as any, but he couldn't help but feel a chill in the air, as if it housed more ghosts than living people. He supposed Winterfell may have felt the same had it been abandoned for years. Stannis Baratheon had occupied the castle during his fight for the throne, but warmth wasn't a word he associated with Stannis. Jon imagined it must be strange for Ser Davos to see the castle in new hands, having served at Stannis' side for so long. He voiced such a thought to Tyrion.

"I didn't think much of the place when we first arrived." The Lannister admitted. "It was cold, dark, and too imposing to be comfortable. However, I admit the island has grown on me. The views are nothing to scoff at." Jon recalled finding Tyrion upon the cliffs, and expected the dwarf spent a great deal of time up there alone with his thoughts. Thinking was certainly what Tyrion did best.

After a seemingly endless stream of hallways, turns and stairwells, they arrived at a pair of massive doors, adorned with wrought iron shaped into flames upon the wood. Two Unsullied soldiers flanked the doors, and immediately Jon was unnerved by their stillness. Recognizing Tyrion, they moved to open the doors, before returning to their vigil. Jon desperately wished for Longclaw, or at the very least some kind of weapon. He knew these men were no immediate threat to him, but he recognized fighters when he saw them. He felt naked without his sword at his side.

Stepping over the threshold, he realized he was in the queen's private dining hall. The walls were the same charred stone as the rest of the castle, but the roaring fire and rich furnishings made it undeniably more welcoming. His own bedchamber could fit comfortably inside, and the heat of the flames drew him forward. Despite the opulence of the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the queen's presence by the fire. Her silver-white hair seemed to reflect it's light, and a different sort of tension arose inside him. When he had first laid eyes on the young Targaryen, she was not at all what he had expected. The image his mind conjured of a person who called herself the "Mother of Dragons" was tall and threatening; sharp and terrifying. Her presence was imposing despite her petite stature, but her appearance was less severe than he had expected. She was undeniably beautiful, her features soft and feminine. He tried not to dwell on those particular qualities.

"Lord Snow." She greeted him, moving toward him from her place by the fire. He didn't bother challenging her addressing him as a lord.

"Your Grace." He bowed his head respectfully, and caught a whiff of a pleasant scent as she got closer. "Thank you for your invitation."

She inclined her head before turning to her hand. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion. That will be all." Tyrion was obviously surprised by her dismissal, but her tone left no room for questioning. With a wary glance between the two, he nodded, and retreated, the doors closing behind him, leaving the two alone in the vast chamber. The queen appeared to be in as good a mood as he had ever seen, but he didn't dare let his guard down.

"You didn't want any of your advisors to join us?" He questioned, as he followed her to the end of the table, where two settings had been laid.

Taking her seat, she gestured for him to follow. "I thought I'd give them something to fret about. It keeps them on their toes." For the first time, he saw the light of humor touch her eyes, and found himself once again intrigued by the woman in front of him. She was guarded, but personable. "Wine?" She gestured to the pitcher in front of them, and he complied, pouring a measure for each of them. The queen lifted her glass and took a sip, and out of deference, he waited until she had before taking a drink himself. It was sweeter than anything he was accustomed to, and his surprise apparently showed on his face.

"You don't care for it?"

Jon shook his head. "The North is better known for ale than wine. I suppose I'm not used to the taste."

"It's Dornish, I believe. My first taste of wine was in Pentos, and was even sweeter than this." She commented, taking another sip.

"I can't imagine such a thing." He replied, trying to comprehend something sweeter than the wine in front of him. He continued drinking politely.

"I understand you may have found dragon glass along the cliffs?"

Jon nodded. "A series of caves that appear to be lined with it. We'll explore them further tomorrow, and hopefully begin mining as soon as possible. Thank you again for your generosity."

The queen regarded the man in front of her. She respected his determination to protect his people, though his obstinance frustrated her. From what she knew of Cersei and the wars that had ravaged Westeros for the past several years, the North had struggled more than most. The Starks had all but been wiped out, and Jon, though a bastard, wore that pain like the cloak across his shoulders. It was a loneliness she was familiar with. He intrigued her, though.

Her mind latched onto words, things she had heard about him. Despite Tyrion's dismissal of the phrase as a flight of fancy, she couldn't forget Ser Davos assertion that Jon had taken a knife in the heart for his people. She supposed it could be a metaphor, but something about the way the King in the North had cut the man off mid thought gave her pause. She also recalled his statement on the steps. He didn't strike her has one who enjoyed fighting or even ruling, though he seemed to find himself in those positions more often than not. His words echoed what Ser Barristan had told her of her brother Rhaegar. She told herself it was Tyrion's advice that she try to ally with Jon Snow that pushed her toward him, but she couldn't deny he was unlike any man she had ever encountered. The North was an important ally, now that she had lost her footholds in Dorne and the Iron Islands. If she wasn't dead yet, Ellaria Sand was Cersei's prisoner, and Dorne had yet to declare for either side in the wake of her capture. With most of the Iron Fleet at the bottom of the ocean, and Yara Greyjoy a captive of her uncle, Daenerys needed every ally she could get.

The pleasantries dispensed with, Jon appeared to be waiting for her to initiate their topic of conversation, studying her just as she was studying him. "You said you couldn't follow me, because you don't know me." She began, her posture stiff, betraying her discomfort. The invitation was a guarded one. "Lord Tyrion said something similar when we first met."

"You're relying on your birthright as a claim to the Iron Throne. In my experience, those who feel entitled to power are usually the least deserving."

Daenerys took in his words. "You want to know what I've done to deserve it?"

His brown eyes held her blue in an intense exchange, charging the room.

"I grew up with no memory of this country; only my brother's stories of an Iron Throne, made with a thousand swords from Aegon's fallen enemies." She took a sip of her wine and soft, distant expression crossed her face. "What do a thousand swords look like in the mind of a little girl who can't count to twenty? I imagined a mountain of swords too high to climb, and couldn't help but wonder why anyone would want to."

Jon was struck with an image of her as a little girl, her wide blue eyes prominent against her fair skin and pale hair. Innocent.

"When I was old enough, Viserys sold me to a Dothraki Khal in exchange for an army." Her plain tone betrayed the horror of her statement, and he could imagine exactly what that exchange implied. She had said as much herself the first time they met. His stomach churned as the image of the innocent young girl he had just conjured was subjected to the torments of bondage. His thoughts turned to Sansa, and his fists clenched under the table. "It wasn't until my dragons were born that I felt any call to lead." She continued, pulling him from the downward spiral his thoughts had taken. "My people were starving and looking to me to protect them." She paused, seeming to search for her words. "I know what it is to be a slave." There was fire in her eyes as she spoke those words. "For the first time, I had means to fight back, and I did. I fought so that no one else would have to know what it feels like to be bought or sold. I learned that I couldn't rely on anyone else to right the wrongs of this world. Those who have the ability to act also have the responsibility to do so."

Her statement struck a chord with him, and Tyrion's words echoed in his mind. She protects people from monsters, just as you do.

"And that gives you a right to the Iron Throne?" He didn't doubt she believed what she said, but in his measure, a person's actions spoke more than words ever could. Her generosity with the dragon glass had been a step, but he still couldn't trust her with the North. Having a birthright didn't automatically make someone a good leader, as he had learned too many times before.

She was interrupted from answering as their supper was served, plates of cooked meat and vegetables enticed his senses, momentarily distracting him. Following her lead, he took to his food. He couldn't help but notice how elegant she looked while she ate. Her manners were impeccable, and once again, he was reminded of Sansa. He took extra care to maintain his decorum. The men of the North didn't care much for table manners, particularly in the Night's Watch, but he felt a strong need to gain this woman's approval. He realized he didn't just want her help...he wanted her to like him. It was a new sensation.

After they had taken a few bites of food, she answered his question.

"I won't argue my birthright." Her resolve was unmistakable. "I am the last Targaryen and by rights should sit on the Iron Throne. I can't abandon my goal." She was steadfast in her claim, and he found himself frustrated by her single mindedness in the wake of the Night King's approach. He tried to contain it, and could tell she sensed his impatience. She took a few more bites, weighing her words before she spoke. Jon had begun to notice her tendency to measure herself, and she appeared to be tempering her impulses. She had acquiesced to the allegations against her father, heard Davos' defense of Jon's claims, and listened to Tyrion when he relayed Jon's request to mine dragon glass. A new piece of her character fell into place in his mind...she valued council.

"From my understanding, the Lannisters have committed grave atrocities against your family." She appealed. "Would you not want to take action against them? To find retribution for your kin?"

"Justice and retribution are two different things."

Daenerys was struck by the conviction of his statement.

"Yes. Though sometimes the line between them isn't as clear as we'd like to think." She met his eyes boldly, and couldn't help but notice he looked weary. Not from his journey to Dragonstone, but as if his soul was tired. And yet, he didn't shy away from her, he never had, and she began to see why people followed him. He was stubborn beyond belief-she was coming to understand that was a Northern trait-but he cared about his people. She still struggled with his claims of White Walkers and dead men, but there was no doubt in her mind that he believed what he spoke of, and was selfless in his actions.

He had his turn to question her, so she took her opportunity to inquire more of him.

"I didn't grow up with the same old wives tales as the children of Westeros. I imagine you heard stories of the White Walkers all your life?"

Jon nodded, recalling Old Nan's accounts of spiders as big as hounds, winters that lasted a lifetime and the fabled hero that drove back the ice monsters thousands of years ago. He relayed these stories to her, and watched as she absorbed them, smiling on occasion, like she was imagining a child's reaction to such tales. He offhandedly wondered what stories played in her mind as a child, the things that took hold of her imagination.

After he finished recounting the fables, he told her of the Night's Watch ranger his father had executed after the man had fled south claiming he had seen White Walkers. Nobody had believed him, and they were now paying the price for their doubt.

They had both finished their suppers by the time he was done talking, though neither seemed inclined to leave. They sat in thoughtful silence for several moments, pondering their conversation, their gazes matching occasionally. Though each found the other infuriatingly stubborn, there was a newfound respect in the way they regarded one another. It wasn't quite trust, but something else.

Daenerys stood from the table and stepped over to stand by the fireplace. Taking his cue from her, he followed, appreciating the heat it radiated. She stared into the flames, and he took the opportunity to study her. "Do you believe in prophecy?" She finally asked.

Jon weighed his answer. "I've seen plenty of things in this world that I can't explain, so I can't say that I don't. But I know that people go mad trying to predict the future, and commit atrocities in the name of destiny."

Daenerys reached her hand closer to the flames, close enough that he thought she might burn herself, but she seemed unconcerned. She uttered a few sentences in a language he didn't recognize before meeting his gaze.

"The long night is coming. Only the prince who was promised shall bring the dawn." She paused. "Or princess if one considers the literal translation. A few months ago, the Red Priestess Melisandre came to Dragonstone. She claimed the Lord of Light had plans for both you and I. She was the one who insisted I summon you, and hear what you had to say."

From the way she spoke, Jon didn't believe the red woman had told her about his brush with death. He saw no point in giving the queen more reason to doubt his sanity.

"I've always done what I could, what I thought was right, and if that happens to align with someone's prophecy, who am I to say otherwise?"

The queen furrowed her brow and looked back into the fire, her thoughts in a desert far away, the words of another witch playing through her mind. After a few moments, her posture stiffened, and she stepped back.

"I apologize for keeping you. You'll want to rest before your work begins tomorrow."

Jon nodded, trying to keep the expression of disappointment off his face. He was surprisingly loathe to leave her presence. It was like she had a flame inside of her that drew him to the warmth. The strength of it unnerved him.

"Thank you for supper, Your Grace." He bowed his head respectfully as she knocked on the door. A moment later, one of the Unsullied soldiers stepped through and shared a few incomprehensible words with the queen.

"Daerion will show you back to your chambers." She told Jon, gesturing to the dark skinned man.

"Thank you."

She nodded, he bowed his head once more, and without another word, followed her soldier through the castle, his mind replaying their encounter over and over again. As he tried to sleep that night, the details he focused on were not her words, but the way they sounded rolling off her tongue. Her voice haunted his dreams as he thought of her in ways he would never dare to admit out loud. Then again, he couldn't imagine a man who wouldn't be attracted to her. And for once, it was a different pair of blue eyes that occupied his thoughts as he fell asleep that night.

Hope you enjoyed. Please rate and review, but be kind! Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon.

A few notes...

1. This is based on the show, and not the books, so there will not be payoff on some of those storylines (Lady Stoneheart, for example).

2. This is simply my interpretation and version of events, and I can't please everyone. Sorry.

3. This is a pro-Jonerys story. I know some people have problems with them as a couple, but because this issue has bothered me since season 7 aired, I would like to point out that this couple is NOT INCESTUOUS. The dictionary definition of incest is "sexual intercourse with a parent, sibling, child, or grandchild." (See Krastor or Jaime/Cersei) While it may seem weird that they are aunt/nephew, this is not an unheard of occurrence in Westeros, and even among royalty in our own history. It may be a little uncommon, but it definitely isn't as bad as some people are making it out to be. For instance, Tywin Lannister married his cousin Joanna, Sansa Stark's namesake married her uncle, Edrick Stark married his niece. While Targaryens are famous for inbreeding and the madness that caused, they're not the only family to have married relatives. If this bothers you, then don't read.

4. I want to do this story justice, so it will take time to finish. It might be a few weeks or a few months, but I'd rather take the time to do it right than give these characters another ending they don't deserve.

I don't have a beta, so I apologize for spelling and/or grammar mistakes. Please share your thoughts, because I love hearing what you guys think. Enjoy the rest of the story!