This is the first bit of fan fiction I've ever written, but I really enjoyed that S7E6 scene between Daenerys and Jon and I have some extraordinarily boring phone calls at work. This is a small scene set on the voyage south to King's Landing after S7E6.
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Jon awoke to the sound of shouting. At first, he thought it the captain bellowing commands, or else an altercation among the crew. It was common enough on most ships and Jon would have expected these sailors to partake in the gambling and shouting bawdy drinking songs that defined their profession, but with the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the King of the North aboard they kept their voices soft and songs sweet. What then was it? While his eyes adjusted to the pale light streaming through the opaque glass windows, his ears focused on the commotion. One voice called for oysters while another for winter crab while another still called for unseen bodies to move out the way. So we've made port, thought Jon, but where? Sating his curiosity, Jon carefully propped himself up and glanced out an open portside window. He glanced a long wooden pier, rows of white stone houses with grey slate roofs, and in the distance a banner boasting a proud merman with a trident in hand. They had arrived in White Harbor.
They had been at sea for days. The going had been tough from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. The northern reaches of the Narrow Sea were treacherous in any season, but the winter brought storms that could ruin a fleet let alone a single ship. The rough waves off Skagos had made Jon thankful he did not have to stand on two feet lest he surrender his morning meal to the Drowned God of the ironmen.
Not that the meals had been worth putting down in the first place. They had replenished their stores at Eastwatch, but the men Night's Watch were hardy folk with hardier food. Jon had feasted on salted beef, salted cod, and bread and salt when awake. After years on The Wall, he was used to such fare. Daenerys may have been more disappointed in the North's offerings. He hoped White Harbor would fix that. The North's only true city and seat of House Manderly, the port would renew their stores and their Queen's faith in Northern cuisine.
Jon sank back into the bed and gazed absentmindedly at the timber beams across the roof of the cabin. He thought of the North – the real North – and what he had seen. He thought of Daenerys and her dragons saving his men. And he thought of her and her amethyst eyes, the first thing he had seen when he awoke. He remembered their conversation of a few days past. He recalled her beautiful eyes rimmed with tears as she refused his apologies and grasped his hand. My queen, I called her he thought to himself. The words had seemed to tumble from his mouth. Yet they seemed right.
He had looked into her eyes before she left. She had looked back for an instant. What was it he saw there? Was it loneliness? Hope? Fear? Desire? All of them? Or something else entirely? He felt something with her that he had not felt with his brothers in Winterfell, nor his brothers on The Wall, nor Ygritte nor any other; but, like a dream lost to the first rays of the morning sun, the word eluded him.
"Ah, Your Grace! I'm glad to see you up and well," he heard Ser Davos say as he walked through the cabin door and into the room. The older man held a tankard in his fully fingered hand. Jon's thoughts on Daenerys scattered as he lifted himself to address his visitor.
"Ser Davos, we've made it to White Harbor I see" he said. The first words out of his mouth that morning, they caught in his throat, fighting through phlegm to be heard.
"That we have, Your Grace. Our aft mast needs repair as do the spirits of our good crew." The old smuggler said. He seemed livelier on a ship's deck than he did anywhere else. "We'll be taking on fresh provisions as well. Good winter crab and eel, fresh fish and oysters, warm baked bread and fresh churned butter. I've sent some men to find more suitable fare for the Queen as well." Queen he had called her. Davos did not know of Jon's pledge to Daenerys nor was this even his ship, but as an old sea hand and Hand of the King he knew exactly what to do. "The Manderlys, those not at Winterfell at any rate, have begged the honor of feasting the King in the North. I extended our sincerest gratitude but told them we must be on our way south."
"Thank you, Davos." Jon replied. He could not have attended a feast in his present state but was nonetheless thankful to avoid such a distraction. They'll need that food now its winter. He had never truly enjoyed feasts to begin with. The food and music had enticed him as much as any other man. Yet every feast held in the Great Hall at Winterfell had seen his half-brothers and sisters seated at the high table alongside his father and Jon seated off to the side with the stable boys, guards and squires. He never minded a good drink, though.
"Of course, Your Grace," Davos continued. He grinned slightly as he looked into the tankard he held. He walked toward Jon's bed as he continued talking. "It proved quite the battle to get a barrel o' this ale from the innkeep, but it's the finest in all White Harbor, maybe the finest in all the North. The locals seldom give up barrel, even for a king!" Jon took the handle of the tankard Davos was offering him and examined the contents therein. The ale was a deep, dark brown with an earthy smell. He put the tankard to his lips and drank. It was bitter but warmed him on the way down. Just as a good ale should.
"That's good" he smiled at Davos as he set the tankard on the stand next to his bed, "Thank you."
"I'm glad ya like it." His Hand did seem delighted that Jon had enjoyed the ale. "I'll send one of the men down with a hearty morning meal for ya." Jon nodded to show his thanks before closing his eyes and sinking back into the bed.
He heard Davos' footsteps as he moved to exit the cabin and heard his voice once again. "Oh, pardon me, Your Grace." Jon looked up, wondering what the man would want to discuss now. He opened his eyes and looked at the doorway, but Davos was gone. Daenerys stood just beyond the threshold. Jon drank in the sight of her. Her pale hair was styled as it had been these past few days at sea. Her dress was the same as that day he had awoken. Her eyes, however, were different. Gone were the tears, replaced instead by an unblemished and smiling face. Like Davos, she seemed livelier at sea.
"You're awake," she said, smiling slightly.
"Aye, though I hope we'll be back at sea soon. I've come to rely on those winter storms to rock me to sleep like a babe in arms." She laughed softly as she stepped over the threshold and resumed her usual seat beside the bed. She had visited him thrice since they had spoken after he awoke. Once had only been for a few moments, but the other two visits they had talked for hours. They had not talked of the wars, or the Walkers, or her dragons. Nor had they talked of the events that led them to this ship. There would be time for that. Instead, their conversations were easy. She had told him of Tyrion's sweet wine and foul jokes and he had responded with stories of his travels alongside the man when he had first traveled north to join the Night's Watch with his uncle Benjen. On occasion, he heard her voice falter or saw her eyes steal a glance at the scar on his chest, but their conversations had been as sweet and light as springtime air.
"This is Ser Davos' ale," she said, reaching for the tankard Jon had placed at his bedside. "He seemed overly pleased with himself, watching the men role that barrel of his up the plank," she laughed again as she took grasped the tankard and drank the ale therein. The soft features of her face wrinkled in revulsion as she quickly put the ale back in its resting place.
"Not to your liking?" Jon teased.
"Hmmm." She regarded the tankard with a furtive glance, "Perhaps another time. The North certainly has sweeter things to offer." Their eyes met as he leaned on his elbow and sat upright in bed. Again, her gaze drifted down to his chest and the scars that his men had left him, but her amethyst eyes met his grey ones as he rested his back against the headboard.
"When we first met," Jon let the words hand in the air for a moment. Their first meeting had not been pleasant, "you called yourself Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and Queen of Meereen."
"I did." She responded, affirming the statement but unsure of Jon's direction.
"The Dothraki Sea, Meereen, Astapor where you won your army. Where haven't you been?" he asked.
"King's Landing" she mused, her lip curling upwards in a smirk.
"Aye. Well we'll be there soon enough." Jon replied as he reached for the tankard and took another swig of dark brown ale. The thought of meeting this Lannister queen still bothered him. They were the people who had murdered his father, his brother, who had tormented Sansa and worse. What would he do when he met them? "Tell me about Meereen," he offered a different topic.
Her smile faltered for but a second, long enough for Jon to know the question had awakened an unpleasant thought, but not long enough to end their conversation. "Meereen was dusty," she said quietly, as if afraid the Meereenese would hear her, "and warm. The city is built of brick, and the eastern sun cooks the buildings all day. When the sun sets, the buildings are still warm. You could sit in the courtyard long into the night and not feel a chill." Her eyes brightened somewhat at the thought of warmth and comfort. "And the Great Pyramid, almost as high as The Wall. There was a terrace and garden courtyard atop the pyramid with a persimmon tree-"
"-persimmon?" Jon interrupted. He did not recognize the word.
"It's a fruit." Daenerys told him, "reddish-orange and sweet. You'd like it," she mused, seemingly somewhat frustrated at the interruption. Jon could not imagine a tree of fruit beyond the few apple trees that grew around Winterfell. The trees at The Wall bore no fruit. "I would lounge beneath it in the afternoons after my council meetings. Sometimes in the morning I would catch Ser Barristan cutting his breakfast from the tree with his longsword." She smiled again, though the mention of the old knight seemed to prevent her smile from reaching her eyes.
"Ser Barristan?" Jon asked, "Barristan the Bold?"
"You knew him?" Daenerys asked.
"Knew of him, I suppose." Jon replied. What boy in the Seven Kingdoms did not know of Barristan the Bold? His feats in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and duels against the Kingswood Brotherhood were the stuff of legend, even in the North. "He was always Robb's favorite."
"Robb… Your brother Robb?" she asked, somewhat hesitantly. His face fell without his knowing. Half-brother by law, Robb had been his best friend growing up at Winterfell. Stalwart, steadfast, and brave, the first King in the North in 300 years had marched south to rescue their father and never returned. Jon still remembered their goodbye in the castle courtyard. The same courtyard where they had pretended to be knights as boys. It all seemed a lifetime ago. "I'm sorry…" Dany laid her hand on his forearm and looked into his eyes. Beautiful violet eyes that had seen as much pain as Jon's greys. He wanted to lose himself in those eyes.
"No- It's fine- It's…. Aye, my brother Robb. Strong and smart and fierce. You two would have gotten along," he smiled half-heartedly. "As boys we'd pretend to be Barristan the Bold and other knights of the Kingsguard. Fighting off imaginary foes with fearsome wooden blades." She kept her hand on his arm.
"He sounds like he was a good man," she said softly.
"He was," Jon replied. "You had a brother too?"
"Two," her voice seemed distant, "I never knew Rhaegar, but Barristan told me of the kind of man he was. Strong and smart and fierce like Robb, but gentle and kind and fond of music. If I could find half of him in myself the Seven Kingdoms would never know better days. Viserys I knew too well. He was troubled, fear turned him cruel and jealous, but fear kept us both alive. I wouldn't be here without him. He took care of me and protected me when others withheld their hands. There was always good in him… They were my brothers, the last Targaryens, and now they're gone…" her voice cracked as she spoke the final words. Jon took her hand and held it firm. His queen kept her composure, but silence overtook them for a moment. This seemed to happen every time. No matter the subject, they always found themselves discussing tragedy when moments before they'd been talking of something as simple as a fruit tree.
They held each other's gaze and did not look away. Finally, Jon spoke, "Dany…" She had refused the name before, and her mentioned just now of her brother convinced Jon he would be met with another rebuke, but none came. Instead, they say in silence, her hand on his arm for a brief and blissful moment, until the creak of timbers and shouts from the deck above brought them to.
"We must be casting off now" she said, looking upwards, as if seeing through the timbers to the deck above. Indeed they were. Even from his bed Jon could feel the ship shift as the tides grabbed her hull and brought her back to the waters of the Narrow Sea. Soon they would be back amongst the storms and waves, heading south toward the capital.
Daenerys slowly stood from her seat and smiled again. "You should rest, Jon" she said softly.
"Aye, but first some food. Davos said he'd send a man down with something but I never saw it." Jon joked, but only partly. He was hungry.
She took the tankard of ale and walked toward the cabin's exit before turning, "I'll see that someone brings you a meal fit for a king." Her eyes met his again as she smiled.
"Thank you. You can finish Davos' ale or throw it into the sea, just don't let him see," he responded playfully, "and perhaps, if you can, scour the stores for a persimmon." He saw her smile again as she looked away and walked toward the stairs and decks above. Jon sank back into the furs of his bed, content to listen to the waves crash against the hull of their ship.