Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
A/N: Because we all wanted something different to happen here.
And The Dragon Loved The Wolf
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"They'll come to see you for what you are."
"I hope I deserve it."
"You do."
It was at this moment that Daenerys Targeryan knew Tyrion Lannister was right yet again. Jon Snow was in love with her.
His pale cold face came alive with the heat of his gaze, unblinking and steady. The hand that squeezed hers tighter when she started to pull away was trembling ever so slightly, and she knew now that it wasn't just from the cold. When she dared to look up at him, his brown eyes were shining with pain; physical and emotional, recent and past. But something else was there too, the thing she tried to deny to her Hand, and it gave the brown of his irises a deeper color somehow.
She wondered if he could see her pain too, through her red-rimmed violet eyes, now that she was no longer wearing the mask of the formidable Dragon Queen. She wondered if he could spot the fear, the uncertainty, the shock and the hope that curdled in her stomach as she stared back at him.
One long blink and a tiny smile of understanding told her that he had.
The exit she'd planned, "You should get some rest," died in her throat at the sight of his smile. Small and barely perceptible, it was the first time she had seen the brooding King look anything other than worried and grave.
King. She gave a start. She'd called him King. Her heart pounded heavily against her rib cage.
And it didn't feel wrong.
"Your Grace?"
She had been so entranced by his gaze, she'd failed to notice how she'd leaned forward closer to his face, clutching his hand in hers with a vice like grip. She blinked rapidly, felt more tears cascading down her cheeks, and felt ashamed.
"I'm-sorry," she muttered thickly, shaking her head. "I-don't know what-"
And a cold, calloused hand was palming her cheek, swiping away her tears with a thumb.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Your Grace," he said in a low hoarse voice, determination set in his features. "You are a mother who has lost her child. Do not apologize for grieving."
The last of her resolve crumbled as she leaned into his touch, setting the weight of her head against his hand and letting more tears fall. She'd stopped looking at him, too vulnerable now to keep eye contact, and instead was eyeing his chest, where the deepest scar over his heart taunted her; he could have not been here right now. She could have never met him. She could have lost him before she even found him.
Overcome with an urge to cover the mark herself, as if to protect him from any more harm, she put her hand over his heart, feeling it quicken beneath her palm, feeling the ridges of the scars pulse under her fingers.
"Jon," she breathed. "You don't have to tell me what happened. But do not lie to me again."
Smart man as he was, Jon understood at once what she meant. He covered her hand with his own, the callouses rubbing against her skin comfortingly.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I didn't know you then."
She nodded slowly, sensing he had more to say. After what seemed like a struggle with himself, Jon spoke.
"A brother of the night's watch is so until his last breath. Had it not been for this, my watch would not have ended. I was Lord Commander, tasked with protecting all of the brothers and the realm from threats beyond the Wall. When I saw the Night King, I knew what the true threat was. But I was the only one. My brothers...did not."
Danny's breath caught in her throat. See Davos's voice rang in her ear, passionate and strong: "You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros? He is the first to make allies of Wildlings and Northmen."
"...Wildlings?" She choked out.
He swallowed hard, caught between painful reminiscence and feeling impressed at her memory.
"Freefolk. That's their true name. We saw them as savages. They saw us as tyrants. Feuding for centuries until I was captured by one and led to their homes. They were never worse than us. They were just like us. They just wore more furs." Jon smiled slightly at the memory of red hair and sharp eyes.
Dany caught it. She knew at once. She had always known what love looked like.
"You fell for one," she said softly, squeezing the hand she still held this whole time.
He nodded quickly. "But she and I were on different sides. Different codes to live by. I was meant to capture them, she was meant to capture me. But when given the chance, I couldn't kill her. And when she had the chance, she couldn't kill me. She was killed instead. Died in my arms."
I understand, Dany wanted to scream, at the sight of his heartbroken face, I know this loss, I lived it! But she stayed silent.
"After I saw the Night King murder countless Freefolk at the village of Hardhome, then raise each one from the dead as part of his army-"-he shuddered-"-I knew. The petty squabbles and battles for the throne were nothing compared to this. We needed to band together as one to defeat them. Cast aside our prejudices and grudges and unite, if just for a moment, to defeat the real enemy. The rivalry between the Night's Watch and the Freefolk could no longer continue if we were to have a chance at living at all."
Dany was catching in quickly to the point of the story, her mouth going dry. "So you brought them to the Wall."
Jon's eyes flickered down in what looked like shame. He still hurts himself over it, she thought sadly. He still doesn't know if he made the right call.
He nodded. "Yes. But the Watch did not understand. In hindsight I should have properly explained to them what our lot was truly facing beyond the Wall. I should have tried to get both sides to sit down with each other, try to understand one another. Instead I was lured into a trap by my own brothers..." he sucked in a sharp breath. "And they took turns stabbing me. 'For the Watch,' they said. Every time."
She felt his heart pound against her hand, felt the tremble in his body as he strove to finish.
"One of them was a boy, Olly. His entire family had been killed by one of the Freefolk. He had avenged their deaths with the actual killer, but never saw past his hatred for the rest of them. His knife was last, and out of all the Watch, it was hardest for him to go through with. But he did."
Jon then lightly tapped the scar over his heart, their fingers sliding between each other with the action.
"I'm only here now because a Red Priestess resurrected me. The Freefolk took over the Watch to protect my body from the traitors. One of them is in charge now. The traitors were hanged, and my Watch was ended. I had died. My vow was fulfilled."
That was yet another link between them, Dany realized- the sting of betrayal from those they trusted most. Her brother had betrayed her, by destroying the loving brother she should have had. Jorah betrayed her, although in the end his true betrayal was of the men who'd sent him to spy on her. Doreah betrayed her, with a greedy nameless suitor. Of all who had turned against her, she'd only forgiven one of them, her Bear, who had been loyal longer than disloyal.
She could see the pain on Jon's face even as he described hanging the traitors, as if he hated the punishment as much as the crime. How many other traitors had Jon forgiven? How many grudges had he thrown away, how many truces had he called, for the sake of this war, for the greater good?
"And now you're alive," she murmured, pressing her fingers lightly over the patch of skin where she could feel his heartbeat the most.
"Aye," he whispered. "Now I'm alive."
And perhaps it was the full force of that revelation that pushed her, or the fact that she was so close to losing him before she'd even met him, or the fact that they were riding into certain death at this moment, a death that no priestess could save him from...or maybe it was a combination of all three. But Dany was compelled from the pit of her stomach to lean even closer, her nose brushing against his own, and hiss, "and you will stay that way."
He blinked rapidly in surprise.
Her voice sounded more fierce and yet more emotional than even she was used to. "You will STAY alive, Jon Snow. For we need you. In the war and after."
She watched his throat bob with his hard swallowing. Even his neck was beautiful. Everything about this scarred warrior, this reluctant hero, was beautiful.
When he found his voice, it wavered with uncertainty, "Why would anybody need me afterward, Your Grace?"
"Dany," she cut across him, ignoring the flash of shock in his eyes(yes she had just sort of encouraged him to find another nickname, yes, she had changed her mind, no, she did not care.) "And don't you have family? Don't you have friends? People who chose you to lead them, to protect them? They all need you, now and later."
He frowned, taking her chin in his hand and keeping her at eye level.
"You said, 'We.' 'We need you.'"
The natural light from outside illuminated his face. In his eyes were all the mistakes he'd ever made, all the memories of happier times in his life, all the doubt and self-loathing, determination and passion, and the hope. Hope that this moment would make it all worth living for.
Dany reached for his own face, and pulled him close so his forehead was against hers. The grief over her child, over what she thought was a lost chance, and the vow to never let him go again, propelled her to speak as clearly as she could.
"Yes. I need you."
Without giving herself a second to change her mind, she leaned forward and kissed him, softly and chastely. Instantly the Queen's Voice rang in her head, What are you doing This is inappropriate You are not a child A queen needs no one A queen is not a lovestruck romantic—and the flush in her cheeks grew, partly from the embarrassment and partly from the disapproval in her head. It did not help that Jon was frozen with shock and didn't kiss her back.
Just as she pulled away from him, just as she started to chide herself for her foolishness, Jon took her face in his hands, guided her back forward and kissed her with the hunger of a starving man, shutting up the voices in her head at once. In a way, she pondered, he was starved. Starved of peace. Starved of hope. Starved of love.
The thought, far from making her somber, was in fact a comfort. Again, in this way, he was just like her. Peace and Hope were their goals, Love their wistful wish.
But by the way he was kissing her now, Dany knew the days of wishing were long gone. The callouses of his hands tickled her cheeks, his woodsy scent invading her senses, and she liked it. She heard the heavy breathing through his nose, like he was fasting for the first time in years and had no time to pause, and she liked it. She gave a start when his teeth gripped her bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth where he worshipped the flesh like a god. The whimper that escaped her mouth was a foreign sound to her. One of need, one of pleading, begging for more. And she liked it.
He clearly heard her plea, for he took her into his arms and slowly lay back down, with her upper half lying across his chest.
"The wounds," she mumbled, "Your ribs—"
"I don't care," he retorted, in a low ragged voice that sent tingles to all the right places. "I only feel you." One of his hands slid down from her face and pressed at the small of her back. Dany growled in aroused frustration; Even in the haze of desire, Jon Snow was still unwilling to go any further without her express permission.
But he wouldn't be him if he did anything else, would he?
And those wounds, his ribs, he would feel them again later if they went too far now.
"Jon," she whispered into his ear, feeling him shudder in her arms. "You need to rest. You need to heal." She pulled away from him very slowly, hating herself for it. "You deserve it."
Jon's groan sounded like a whine as he grabbed her hand.
"Stay."
Dany smiled at the longing in his eyes, like a child who'd had their first sweet and could only think of more. "We have a few days before we get to Dragonstone. We have plenty of time."
"Stay anyway."
"You need to sleep."
"Stay anyway."
"See Davos and the others will want to speak with you."
"Stay anyway."
"Jon—"
"Please."
And it was that plea, that genuine, vulnerable plea, that shattered the last of her fragile resolve. With a quick glance to the closed door, Dany stood up and shyly removed her shoes. With a split second of hesitation, she pulled her own dress over her had and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in a simple white cotton slip tucked into dark blue pants. Jon's eyes flickered to her body, for just a few moments, scanning the length of her figure from top to bottom, and she couldn't help the flush across her cheeks when he met her eyes again with an unmistakable shade of desire in his own.
Carefully, he scooted further into the middle of the bed, giving her room to climb in, which she did rather hastily, as the chill of the air had already rise goosebumps on her skin. In the back of her mind, Dany wondered if she was brave or stupid for her boldness here, lying entwined with Jon Snow, King In The North, where anyone could find them. Should she at least leave him alone today and come later at night?
But then she turned on her side to face him, and he snaked an arm under her body to pull her closer, until she was lying on his right side of his chest, on the one patch of skin where there were no scars. She felt his still-cool skin against her cheek, felt his fingers gently stroke her arm where they rested. She looked up and saw his face, staring down at her as if she was real, not a fantasy, but still surreal to him. His eyes were smoldering, his eyebrows a little furrowed, his lips caught between a smile and a frown.
He, too, realized how close they were to losing each other. He, too, is afraid to be left alone again.
Fuck everything, Dany thought fiercely, resting her hand against his cheek. A Dragon is not a slave. I care not what they say.
"Swear this to me, Jon," she told him, gently but firmly. He blinked.
"When you fight on the front lines for your people, risking your life for the greater good of the Realm, make sure you fight to come back to me as well."
A melancholy tinge entered his face, and she pushed forward. "You've already given your own life once—almost twice—" her voice trembled—"—A third time is unacceptable. You will look out for yourself on the field. You will not be reckless with your life. You will fight to come back to me. Swear this to me."
He had closed his eyes at her words and not opened them until she was finished. There was a red sheen over his eyes now, and his lips, so smooth and full, were pressed tightly together. Dany was once again, struck by this one in a million man; was he selfless or selfish to throw his life away so often for the rest of them, knowing they needed him just as much?
With a small sigh, Jon nuzzled his forehead against hers and said, "Aye, my Queen. I Swear."
But of course he didn't know. That was the crux of the problem. But she would make him know.
"And I swear to you," she replied, lifting herself up so she was hovered over his lips, "that I will make it worth your while, every time you come back. I will make you so happy that you will want nothing else but to return to me."
His red cheeks took her breath away; how young he looked in this moment, how open hearted and hopeful!
Beaming, he pulled her down for another kiss, pushing past her teeth with his tongue, cradling the side of her face with one hand and keeping her tight against him with the other. It took full minute for them to break apart, with Dany reminding him that he did in fact need to rest.
As he closed his eyes, Dany watched his lips curve upward in the tiniest, dreamiest of smiles, and resolved to follow through on her Vow, no matter what it took, no matter what happened in the future.
She rested her cheek against his chest and stroked the skin slowly and gently, listening to his breathing, willing it to even out in slumber, willing Jon Snow to dream of a bright warm place, devoid of pain and loss, where she would be waiting for him, and no one could touch them, ever.
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