First time ever writing for this fandom so I'm somewhat nervous. Hope you enjoy!
For perhaps the third time since that morning, Jon frowned at his reflection in the mirror.
Next to him his trunk lay open, a haphazard pile of clothes clinging to the edges and an equal number of tunics and doublets discarded on the bed. Jon did not particularly care much for fashion, anything comfortable enough to wear and allowed ease of access to movement would sate his needs. Yet his sister continued to instruct tailors into providing him articles that would fit in any function. He needed to look like a king, she once wrote to him from Winterfell, especially in front of his subjects down in King's Landing.
But this was not just some gathering he was dressing for, as Daenerys mentioned last night as they laid breathless in bed. A layer of sweat covered their tangled bodies after an intense bout of lovemaking. She had whispered next to him, fingers tracing the jagged scar on his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist in a tight embrace. This was a rare opportunity for them and she decided that they shouldn't squander on the chance.
The following morning found his wife prodding him out of their chambers with an audacious smile, reminding him to dress his best before calling for her handmaidens to prepare a bath. "Nothing too extravagant, my King." she teased.
He had rummaged through his trunk in the King's personal apartments, removing dark surcoats, wools and furs he brought from the North, even the garments made for him that fitted the warmer climate of the South. Half an hour later and he was still no closer to choosing an apparel that would best fit him for the arrangement.
A knock on the chamber door interrupted Jon's distracted thoughts. Ser Podrick Payne, one of the Crownsguard assigned to him, peeked his head inside.
"Pardon, Your Grace. Lord Dayne is here to speak with you."
"Send him in," Jon said, eyeing a pair of leather breeches and quickly pulling it on.
"Well, this isn't the sight I was expecting to see when told our king was getting ready," Edric Dayne remarked, taking in the unruly state of the room.
"Lord Edric," he greeted. "It wouldn't be if my lady wife hadn't extricated me from our bedrooms and ask that I wear my best clothes for this undertaking she means to accomplish." Jon sighed and picked up a shirt he tossed on the floor earlier.
"I wouldn't know, Your Grace. So far I've been thankfully relieved of the prospect in dealing with a lady of such aptitude as the Queen," Edric replied amiably, his dark blue eyes glinting with amusement.
Jon returned to kneeling over the trunk, placing his discarded shirt inside while he resumed his search. "I find it hard to believe that the Sword of the Morning is found lacking of potential suitors vying for his hand. He seemed to attract most of the realm's attention during the last tourney we attended."
Edric cleared his throat, suddenly bashful. "My duties as Master of Laws mostly keep me from considering the prospect of marriage, Your Grace. Though according to my Aunt Allyria I have no shortage of proposals waiting for me back in Starfall." He ran a hand through his pale blond hair, as if the idea made him nervous.
"Give it a few more years, you'll be wanting an excuse to leave this city and return home. Perhaps we'll grant you a leave if needed be." Jon stood up and glanced at him curiously. "What brings you here by the way? Does Tyrion have something for us?"
"Actually, it was Her Grace who sent me. I happened to pass her by in the hall on my way to the throne room. She said to make sure you're well-dressed and to meet her in the Queen's Ballroom when you're done."
Jon shook his head at his wife's whims, but the corner of his lips twitched upwards. "Aye, I'll be there. Give me a moment to finish." With a short bow, Edric took his leave and exited the room. Leaving Jon once more to his privacy.
He gave one last glance at the sprawled assortment of clothes before deciding on a grey velvet, short-sleeved doublet over a silk white tunic. Intricate patterns embroidered across his shoulders down to the elbows, with three clasps on the lower left holding the fabric together. He strapped Longclaw to his belt and tied his hair, meeting Edric halfway out the door.
Edric let his gaze wander over him with a critical eye, the star engraved hilt of Dawn riding over one shoulder. He then gave a nod of approval. "I'm sure the Queen will appreciate it."
Ser Podrick followed a step behind them as they made their descent from the King's chambers in Maegor's Holdfast.
"I hear that this particular trend is growing in popularity with the nobles across Essos, more specifically Braavos," Edric commented. "Perhaps that's why Queen Daenerys is interested in shifting it over to Westeros."
Truth be told, it reminded Jon of the stone statues bearing the old Kings in the North and previous Lord Starks erected in the crypts below Winterfell. He can hardly remember his father's face now after so many years, recalling the statue's likeness not doing him justice. He wondered if his mother was the same. "Let's hope this painter has better skill with a brush than the stonemasons their chisel."
As they neared the chamber doors, Edric excused himself to meet with Tyrion. In lieu of the king and queen's absence for the day he and the Lord Hand are left in charge of handling the court proceedings.
The Unsullied Crownsguard– Steel Drum, Jon remembered, stood vigil outside the oak doors of the ballroom, spear and shield held up in a emotionless stance, a long white sash covering his armor. From behind the door, Jon could hear the creak of chairs being moved and faint footsteps. He nodded to Ser Podrick, who settled next to his fellow guard trying to adopt the same disciplined stature, and opened the door.
Laughter immediately greeted his ears, along with the light pattering of tiny feet running through the halls of the ballroom. Jon took several steps before coming across the sight of two children– a boy and girl– chasing each other, nearly tipping chairs over as the taller boy tried to use it as an obstacle to deny his pursuer. Undeterred, the girl went under the long table and nearly tackled the boy had it not been for his sudden swerve to the left and hiding behind a pillar, catching his breath.
Carefully, the boy peeked over his shoulder behind the pillar to look for the girl's whereabouts. Finding none, he almost took a step forward until he was tackled from behind by the smaller girl. Together they shrieked and laughed, lying tangled on the floor as they tried to push the other away.
Jon stood little ways aside, his figure barely visible beneath the shadows cast by the faint sunlight coming from the windows. He watched them fondly for several moments, then said aloud, "I wonder what your mother would say when she finds out you've sweated your clothes before the painting has even started?"
Both froze at the sudden appearance of his voice and raised their heads to look for its source. When Jon stepped out of the shadows, the girl's face brightened and she quickly got to her feet and ran at him. "Father!"
Jon knelt down on one knee to embrace her in a hug. A moment later he felt another pair of short arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hair as dark as his framing his vision. His arms tightened around them for a moment before he pulled back, giving them each a stern glance.
"Rhaella," he addressed his daughter. "What did I tell you about chasing your brother?"
"It wasn't my fault. Ned started it by saying I can't hold a sword because I'm a girl," she huffed.
"Did not!" Ned protested. "I just said you're too skinny to even lift a sword, let alone swing one."
"Aunt Arya carries a sword."
"But she's bigger and less skinny than you."
"Alright, that's enough you two," their father said sternly. "Both of you are still too young to wield any sword, so don't go arguing about that. You can continue this ruckus later outside but for now you must behave. Your mother spent a lot of time preparing this, you know." He pointed out.
"Yes, Father." Rhaella nodded solemnly, unruly silver curls bouncing, before turning to her brother with a roll of her eyes. Ned snickered, barely concealing it with a cough before hastily fixing an expression of utter seriousness to his father. The way his face pinched nearly made Jon snort.
He shook his head instead, smiling ruefully. Oftentimes these days he wondered how his lord father ever got work done when he had to deal with them as children running about the halls of Winterfell. Though he liked to think he and Robb were more reserved in their exploits back then than Arya and Bran ever were.
The door behind them creaked open. "What's this? It appears we're the ones late to arrive in this small gathering you've all decided to have without me."
Daenerys stepped into the room wearing a sleeveless deep blue dress with a low neckline that nearly exposed her curves. The front of the dress parted way to reveal skin tight brown trousers and leather boots underneath. Silver blonde tresses flowed across her shoulders, intricately braided near the crown of her head. Her one hand stroked the white fur of Ghost standing next to her, moving upwards to steady the well-dressed infant boy sitting wide-eyed on top of the direwolf's shoulders.
"You have no one but yourself to blame for your late arrival," Jon said, staring intently at his wife, taking in the line of her neck and the creamy skin exposed by her arms. The curve of her collarbone making way to the delicate slopes of her chest. Despite the variety of dresses she took to wearing in court and council meetings for all of Westeros to see, she never failed to take his breath away.
"Is that so?" Daenerys raised a brow, the corner of her lips hinting at a smile. "It seems to have been time well spent since the King can't seem to take his eyes off of me."
"Perhaps he's afraid that such a vision would fade if he risked glancing away." Jon was not a poet by any means, but sometimes he finds himself sprouting words that even Sansa would be proud of.
Her smile widened at that, turning its focus on her children who came forward to pamper the large direwolf and tug at her skirts. She knelt down to press a kiss on her son's forehead, before glancing down at his clothes to inspect her work.
"Eddard!" The boy winced at the sudden reproach in his mother's words. "What did you do to your shirt? I told you not to dirty it until after the painter does his work," Daenerys chided. She picked his outfit herself, the smooth dark doublet with scarlet threaded weaves resembling the scales of a dragon now looked crumbled and covered in dust.
He snapped a wide-eyed lilac gaze on Rhaella, patting Ghost down to carry Geralt off of the white direwolf's back, grunting at the effort of holding him in her arms. She glanced back at Ned with an innocent look on her face, dark brown eyes glinting with barely concealed mischief.
"But Mother, it was Rhaella's fault! She was chasing after me before you arrived. Even Father can tell you!"
Daenerys spared a glance at Jon, who nodded seriously, before she settled her stare on the princess, who bore the very picture of grace and innocence holding her younger brother by the stomach and patting the tuft of light gold hair on his head as he wobbled on unsteady feet. Out of all their children, he was the most Targaryen looking– silver blond hair and pale skin. His eyes were all Daenerys– a lighter shade of blue lavender, always curious and seeking.
At her mother's inquisitive glance, Rhaella only smiled. "It's true. We were chasing each other for a time before Ned tripped over himself," She admitted, shrugging. "It's a shame, but at least my dress wasn't ruined." Her purple dress, simple and elegant in design remained relatively unruffled despite the scuffle earlier. Only her delicate silver slippers showed traces of smudge, most likely attained from running around.
Daenerys stared intently at her daughter for several moments before slowly nodding to herself, a slight smile on her face.
"Very well. It's nothing that can't be fixed with a little change of wardrobe. Come, Eddard. Let's see if we can find something else for you to wear." She grabbed her son's hand and started pulling the dumbfounded prince with her back towards the door.
She shared a brief but fervent kiss with Jon, who was caught off guard by the gesture but didn't hesitate to press his lips forward in the same manner. He managed to wrap an arm around her waist to pull their bodies closer. When she pulled back, there was a heated look in her eyes that made Jon want to drop all pretenses and push her to nearest wall and ravage her. Six years of marriage has done little to abate their desires for one another.
And yet, beyond the carnal needs that was ever present between them, there was the hint of tenderness and love. Whose spark was kindled through their companionship and longing, only grew to a blazing inferno in the years since that day on the boat when it first caught flame.
Daenerys gave him a sultry smile before she leaned forward to kiss him again.
"Our daughter is a devious little thing," she whispered to his lips.
"I wonder where she got that from."
"Certainly not from me. I wasn't an untamed wolf pup left free to play with my prey before striking at them."
"She's been spending a lot of time with Tyrion," he pointed out.
"That she is," Daenerys sighed, pressing her forehead against his. "Try not do anything unruly while we're gone, will you? It will only be just a moment. I don't want to come back finding out you two have somehow managed to scare the painter away."
"Me? Have you already forgotten what you three get into when I'm not around for a few days?"
"Fair enough," she pressed one last kiss before pulling back. "I'll see you in a bit, Jon."
With that, she left through the door with their son. Ghost came by to nudge his wet snout to his side before trotting out the door to follow them.
Rhaella stood next to him, cooing and playing with Geralt as she waved silly hand gestures in front of his face, delighting him immensely.
"You shouldn't do that to your brother, Rhaella."
She glanced at him innocently. "Do what?"
"You know what I mean," he chuckled, kneeling down to relieve her of holding Geralt. "He's your older brother. You two should get along just fine without fighting too much."
"We were just having fun," she protested. "He's not even mad. He probably doesn't even know what just happened."
"I know." Tucking Geralt carefully on one arm, Jon placed his other hand on top of her head and ruffled it, earning him a yelp. "Just be nice to him. It's not every day your brother will be around to play with you. Or be there to make sure you're alright and take care of you. You should learn to love him while you can like I did mine." His tone was wistful.
Rhaella was silent for moment, as if thinking over his words. "Do you still miss him, Father?"
Memories of a boy of ten with auburn hair and bright blue eyes calling for him excitedly to come wrestle in the snow, flashed through his thoughts. "Aye, I do."
"Then I promise to do the same thing with Ned!" Rhaella declared proudly. "Even if he can be so daft sometimes."
Jon chuckled. "I can hardly blame him. He has you for a spitfire of a sister."
Before she could even retort, there was a knock on the door. Ser Podrick appeared once more, looking apologetic.
"The painter is at the gates, Your Grace. Shall we stall him until the Queen returns?"
Jon thought for moment, then shook his head. "No, let him in. Better for the painter to be ready with his tools when Dany comes back with Ned. Inform him that refreshments will be served once he starts his work," he ordered, fingers brushing the hair behind his son's head, now lying asleep in his arms.
He felt a tug on his shirt and glanced down to meet Rhaella's mischievous grin. "Maybe we can convince him to hide in the back room before Mother arrives. That way she thinks we actually drove him away."
A devious little hellion, indeed, he thought to himself.
"Aye. If we do that she might just carry out her threat and finally feed me to Drogon."
I've always thought to myself that Daenerys and Jon would change things if they ever successfully decided to rule together as co-regents in the future. The Kingsguard would be changed, since a lot of kings in the past had done atrocities while his knights did nothing to stop him (except for Jaime) even when they are also sworn to protect the weak and innocent. Aerys is a fair example. And Joffrey. With the Crownsguard, this way the royal guards, knights, and warriors part of this brotherhood are sworn to answer to both rulers and the crown.
And yes, sue me with the naming conventions of their kids. I couldn't help myself. I wonder if anyone noticed the video game reference. Also, the Dayne-Stark, Dayne-Targaryen connections must continue on in some way. This time, in a professional relationship as a part of the Small Council.