AN: So this kind of needs some explaining…?

It's basically the (one of the) final chapter (s) of a fairly standard dream!fic, you know the type, where Jon and Dany never meet but have dreams where they meet each other but they think they are just dreams…

So imagine that Jon and Dany have been in this weird sort of dream communication with each other since they were kids but then Jon died (oh no) and so it stopped and they were both sad but then Dany conqured Westeros and summoned this mysterious King in the North to bend the knee (kind of like she did in the show but after she kicked Cersei's ass, not before) and then this happens.

The reason I'm publishing this as a drabble rather than a whole fic is quite simply beacuse I haven't actually written the rest of the fic yet! I might get round to it, I might not, but for now, enjoy...

SXx

Beautiful, thought Jon, she's beautiful.

And she was. In his dreams he'd always seen her with her hair knotted and darkened with dust, her tattered tunic patched with mismatched cloth and her britches stained with mud. When he pictured her, he always imagined her slouching, hunched over and unsure of herself, only straightening up when she wanted to make an impression.

Well she was making an impression now, that was sure.

She was wearing a gown of pure white silk that hung off her shoulders like a waterfall of frozen crystal. It clung to her figure the way that frost clings to stone, and Jon found himself able to see all the curves of her body, every turn of her flesh. Despite the shallow cup of her breasts Jon couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to tear the gown away from her neckline and run his hands over her nakedness. For the first time since he had known her, her shoulders were thrown back and her head was held high. Her slender hands were folded neatly across her lap, adorned with finely woven bracelets of the purest silver, but they were nothing to the silver of her hair, which shone like the fullness of the moon. Only her eyes were the same as he remembered – almond shaped and the colour of summer blooms.

It was almost as though she were a stranger to him.

Her face was passive as he approached, so passive that it made his heart skip a beat. It can't be her, he told himself. It isn't her. It was all a dream. Even if it were her, what's to say that she even knows you exist? You imagined it all. It wasn't real.

Tyrion Lannister was there, standing beside the Dragon Queen. When Jon reached the foot of the throne, he stepped down and greeted him.

"Good to see you again, bastard," he grinned, waddling cheerfully over to shake Jon's hand. "It's been a while. I hear you found what you were looking for."

Ser Davos coughed angrily at the Imp's tone, but was silent at a glance from Jon.

"And what was that? Remind me, it was a long time ago."

Tyrion chuckled.

"Not at all. As I recall you joined the Night's Watch searching to rise above your station and prove yourself a man of honour." His green eye shone mischievously. "I see you were successful."

Jon tried to smile back, but it was very difficult. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the violet eyes, blank and empty as she stared down at him, face as still as carved marble.

"I didn't ask to be made King," Jon stated simply, "A fact that I hope Queen Daenerys will consider before asking me to bend the knee."

There was a stagnant pause in which the only sound was Ghost, breathing heavily behind Jon's shoulder.

"Leave us," the Queen said. Jon's insides shivered. She had the same voice – the same soft, lyrical voice that hid an undertone of quiet steel. He remembered what it felt like to hear that voice breathing his name like a prayer, and his stomach twisted unpleasantly, as though it were about to heave.

The Imp looked mildly confused.

"Your Grace, who – "

"Leave us," she said again, more forcefully, and her pale lilac eyes flashed dangerously. "I wish to speak with Lord Stark alone."

"King Stark, Your Grace," Ser Davos corrected, bowing respectfully but frowning, nonetheless. "Jon Stark was chosen King in the North, and there isn't anybody in Westeros who can un-choose him, regardless of what you might wish."

"Mind your tongue, Seaworth," the Imp warned. "You are speaking to-"

"Out!" the Queen commanded, furious, and if flames had erupted from her clenched fists Jon would hardly have been surprised. "All of you! Guards as well!"

The Unsullied bristled angrily. The man to the left of the throne spoke up, his words heavily slurred by the Gischari accent.

"You Grace, how do you know that you can trust –"

"Lord Tyrion vouches for this man," the Queen interrupted, nostrils flared, "is that not enough?"

"My Queen," the Imp frowned, "with all due respect Lord Snow was only a boy when I last met him. There is no way of knowing what sort of a man he has become."

I am still only a boy, Jon thought hazily, a boy who dreams of a girl that can never be his.

He glanced again at Ser Davos, who swallowed whatever he had been about to say in Jon's defence.

"If you don't trust me," Jon said, his heart racing but his voice thankfully steady, "you can take my wolf. Ser Davos will attest that he is as dear to me as anything in this world. If I prove false, kill him." He paused. "Well… you can try, at any rate."

The Unsullied warrior was still glaring at Jon, but Tyrion looked convinced. He nodded his misshapen head at the Queen, who nodded sharply back.

"It is a fair exchange," she decreed, "if Lord Stark harms me, kill his wolf, and take his head. You can send it back to Winterfell in a box. Are you satisfied?" She turned to meet Jon's gaze, and he found himself staring once again into the depths of those violet eyes. They were Dany's eyes, and yet not, for while the Dany of his dreams had been soft and gentle and wise beyond her years, the eyes of the Dragon Queen were hard as Valyrian steel and as brittle as ice. "I am trusting you with my life, Ser," she said, and her voice was stern and commanding.

Jon bowed, deeply, but did not kneel.

"I am no knight, Your Grace. Only a bastard."

If he had expected a reaction from the Dragon Queen, he was mistaken. She never flinched, she never blinked, but continued to fix him with that icy stare.

"Leave us," she said again, and this time she was met with no opposition. One by one, the Unsullied warriors filed out of the hall behind Jon's small entourage of Lords and knights. Last to leave was Tyrion, who glanced over his shoulder as he tottered awkwardly away. As he reached the giant bronze doors at the end of the hall, he turned again and frowned at Jon.

"The Direwolf?"

Jon nodded. For some reason, he almost didn't want Ghost to leave. He didn't want to be left alone with this Dragon Queen, this woman of ethereal grace who reminded him so starkly of Dany, and yet couldn't be. He wasn't sure that he could take it. But he ran his hands through Ghost's fur and commanded him to leave, nonetheless.

"Go with him, Ghost."

Without needing to be told twice, the direwolf bounded after the Imp and followed him out of the hall, trotting eagerly in his footsteps. If Jon had been in any sort of mood to find humour in a situation, he might have laughed at the sight of the half-sized man being followed by the giant wolf, who towered over him, easily twice his height.

And then they were alone.

Jon took a deep breath and turned to face the Queen.

But the Queen had vanished. In her place was a young girl, wide-eyed and frightened looking, with hunched shoulders and an expression of deep uncertainty etched onto her slim face.

"Jon?" she breathed, and Jon's insides trembled to hear her speak his name.

"Dany?" he whispered back, barely daring to hope. It couldn't be, it wasn't –

It was.

(IK it seems kind of implausible that Jon and Dany haven't figured out who the other is before they meet for this first time. It would make sense if I had written the whole fic, I promise! For now let's just say that Jon doesn't necessarily associate 'Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men etc etc' with his imaginary friend Dany, and vice-versa.)

Dany leapt down off the dais with a strangled sob and launched herself at Jon, who caught her just in time. Despite her size, she was powerful, and Jon had to fight to save himself from being bowled over.

"It's you," she mumbled, her face buried in his neck and her arms digging uncomfortably into his waist, "it's you, it's you…"

"You're real," he gasped back, his head swimming and his eyes blinking back tears. "By the gods, you're real." He didn't ever want her to let go of him, but almost immediately she stepped away.

"What happened?" she demanded, and Jon was dazed to see that there were tears welling in her eyes, too. "I thought you were dead! It's been months Jon, do you have any idea how – "

"I'm sorry," he interrupted, and instinctively reached out to grab her arm. He wasn't sure who he was steadying, himself or her. "I didn't mean, that is… It's a long story. I – "

But before he could explain himself, her arms were around him again.

"I don't care," she insisted, "I don't care what happened. It's you, and you're here, and you're real, and – "

Jon couldn't help himself. Without thinking he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth, biting her bottom lip and bringing her body closer to his. He didn't stop to consider what it meant or how it would seem; he only knew that if he didn't have her now, when his blood was thick with desire and his mind still reeling with shock, he would lose his nerve and drive himself mad with want of her. He hadn't expected her response, or her sharp intake of breath as she opened her mouth for him and he tasted her for the first time. He definitely hadn't expected her to lean in to him and slide her hands up beneath the cloth of his tunic, her fingertips burning like molten gold against his bare skin, but now that she had, it only made him want her all the more.

He took a step back, but didn't let go.

"Daenerys," he whispered, and the name felt alien on his tongue, "Daenerys Targaryen. I knew you were lying about your name."

She laughed, and he felt it reverberate through him like a tremor in the earth.

"No you didn't!"

"I did, too! Your mouth always twitches a little when you're hiding something!"

"It does not!"
"Yes it does!"

"Well, you always tense your shoulders right before – "

He kissed her again, hoisting her up into his arms and spinning her round as he did so. Breathlessly, she folded her arms around his neck and it seemed to Jon as though they were melting together, becoming one, sharing one space and one breath and one life. It was almost as though he had been asleep for all of his life, and was only just now waking up to see the first dawn breaking over the edge of the horizon. Gods, he wanted her, more than he had ever wanted anything in all his life.

Far too soon for Jon's liking, she extracted her tongue from his and leaned back, with their foreheads slightly touching.

"We should talk."

"No, we shouldn't," Jon gasped. His eyes were closed but he could feel himself hardening beneath his britches. He knew that Dany could feel it too, but gods, in that moment he didn't care. As he spoke, her laugher ticked his face and all he could think about was the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her lips and gods if her mouth tasted that good then what about -

"About the kingdom."

"Ah," he opened his eyes and put her down, "I see. The Lords of Westeros will be expecting us to come to some sort of agreement."

Dany grimaced.

"I don't suppose that you'd surrender your title and bend the knee?"

"No."

"I thought not." Gently, she stepped out of his arms and strode over to the window. Jon was pleased to see that her hair was looking distinctly more ruffled and less shiny than it had been when he'd first approached, and a lot more like how he was used to seeing it. His favourable mood failed him, however, when he saw the look on Dany's face. Her brows were lowered dangerously, and Jon wasn't sure if she was angry, frustrated, or simply upset.

"It's not my decision to make," he argued, although in his heart he knew that even if it were, the outcome would be the same. "Too many northerners have died fighting for their freedom, and they fought because they had faith that I would deliver it to them. Reeds, Glovers, Umbers, Karstarks… I cannot let them have died in vain."

"And what about my armies?" she hissed, and for a heartbeat she was the Dragon Queen again, blazing with an all-consuming anger and smoking with a simmering rage. "What about my loyal subjects? The slaves that have bled and died for me, the Dothraki that followed me across the poison water and laid down their lives to see me Queen? Ser Barristan, Aggo and Jhogo and – " she broke off, and Jon knew which name she had missed off the list. He swallowed.

"Daario."

Dany nodded mutely, and turned back towards the window. Jon couldn't think of anything to say to comfort her, and he wasn't all that sure in that moment that he wanted to. Instead, he let her finish.

"Men have fought and bled for me as surely as they have bled for you. They hailed me as heir to the Iron Throne and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. All seven of them." There was no mistaking the edge to her voice.

"They are not mine to give," Jon protested, casting about for a way to make her understand. "You've never been to the North, Your Grace, but its people are loyal to the point of stubbornness. The Starks have held the North for over eight thousand years, and aren't about to stop now. You can go to war with us if you like - we don't have enough men to defend ourselves against three dragons and an army of Unsullied. But if you intend to rule the North, then you will need a Stark as your ally." He shrugged. "The Starks have been loyal to the crown for centuries, regardless of which House held it. We were rewarded for that loyalty with my father's head on a pike. The North will never again slave itself to the whims of Southerners. I may have been crowned King, but the moment that I betray my people, they will find another. I am far from the only Stark with the ability to govern the North. My brother Bran, my sister Sansa…" He fixed her with an icy glare, and held it. "If you want to rule the North, you will have to slaughter us all."

For the first time, Daenerys Targaryen looked at him – really looked. Jon could tell that she was trying to reconcile the memory of the boy that she had known with the truth of the living, breathing man that met her here today. He could tell because he was trying to do the same. On one hand, there was Dany, the girl he had met in a dream and poured his soul out to, as she had to him; on the other was the Dragon Queen, who had stories told of her ruthlessness and ferocity and her devastating beauty. He wasn't sure that he could tell which side was the more real and which was the lie.

"Marriage," she blurted, and Jon blinked.

"What?"

Daenerys blushed, and Jon's lip curled. Dany, he thought, definitely Dany.

"It's the only solution. I can't let you have the North, and you can't give it to me. So we share it." Her blush deepened. "Not all of it, though. The Iron Throne is mine, and mine alone. But if you were King in the North and I was your Queen…" she trailed off. "Well, that way, everyone is happy."
It suddenly dawned on Jon what she was suggesting.

"Wait," his shoulders tensed, "you mean…?"

Dany nodded.

"It's the only way. It's that, or we fight for it. And you can't win."

"So those are my options," Jon found himself grinning, "Marry you or face inevitable defeat at the hands of ten thousand angry Eunuchs? I'm not sure which of those choices sounds the more terrifying."

"Shut up," Dany hit him. Hard. Jon was surprised to find that it actually hurt. He said as much, and she went to hit him again, but he was ready for her and caught her wrist in his hand. Then he was kissing her, long and slow and gloriously tender, and it was like there was nothing else in the world except her, and the tickle of her hair on his neck. When he was done, he held her close to his chest and didn't let her go.

"It's an option," he promised, "but it's not our decision, is it? If either of us fails to win the support of our Lords, then it's all for naught. The North would still cry for war."

"Not for naught," Dany told him, and kissed him again. "Definitely not for naught."

The bronze doors at the end of the hall swung open with an almighty creaking sound, and Tyrion Lannister walked towards them, Ser Davos on his heels.

"Your Grace," he started to say, then stopped as he noticed Jon's arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Jon made to step away, but Daenerys held him close, and he felt stronger.

"A marriage," she said confidently, and Jon was amused to see that all trace of blush had miraculously vanished from her cheeks, "would it work?"

The Imp raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

"It might, if handled correctly. Your Grace, there are more pressing matters – "

Daenerys raised an eyebrow back, as if challenging him to respond.

"Can they wait?"

"Not really, Your Grace," Ser Davos explained, talking quickly. "You see – "
Jon gave him a look at exactly the same time that Dany raised a hand for silence.

"Summon my small council. I will hear it from them."

Tyrion still looked as though he was biting back his own tongue, but managed to maintain a dignified silence as he waddled away. Ser Davos lingered, seemingly unsure of where to look.

"Your Grace," he addressed Jon, "Should we perhaps take our leave? These are matters that concern – "

"I must not have made myself clear," Daenerys interrupted. "My small council, including yourself and King Stark. You are, after all, my greatest allies."

Jon thought that it was a testament to the man's incredible resolve that he did not lose his composure.

"Very good, Your Grace," he bowed, and hurried after Lord Tyrion, looking for all the world as though nothing were amiss.

"He seems a good Hand," Dany mused, watching him leave, "wherever did you find him?"

"Smuggling onions to Stannis Baratheon."

Dany stared at him, then giggled.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," Jon promised, taking her by the arm and following after their two Hands. "For now, the kingdom awaits."