Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, settings or constructs from G.R.R. Martin's books. I'm simply having a little bit of fun with his toys.
Every bit of it was just too outlandish to believe. Daenerys sipped at her glass of wine thoughtfully, eying the back and forth between the pommel of Longclaw, and Ghost, who lazed by the fire in the main hall a few yards away. The resemblance was uncanny. Ghost looked over at her haphazardly, and yawned. He put his head back down.
The Lord Commander was still confined to his bedchambers – albeit unwillingly. He wasn't badly injured, but the stitches beneath his arm could still tear open very easily. Winters in the North were not known for being kind to open wounds. The damn man would have sprinted directly back to The Wall had Bran not ordered the hulk, Hodor, to keep him down. And there was still the issue of his even being in Winterfell. Again, it was too uncanny. Although feasible.
And Lord Commander Jon Snow had a particular way about him. Dany wasn't sure if she liked it. He spoke slowly and precisely. His words hid no agendas or snide undertones, but neither did they boast. Jon Snow was frank, direct, and honest. The Queen sipped her wine once more and stifled a laugh. She had almost laughed also, as Jon described the wights and Others – before the gory details. It had been funny that he looked at her directly, very patiently gathering his thoughts before he fashioned them "strange creatures made of ice and ambiguity".
And that's exactly how Daenerys Targaryen saw Jon Snow.
"Since you already have him in bed, do you plan to polish his sword for him too, your Grace?" Short and stout, a mop of sunshine hair waddled towards her, face fixed into a portrait of mirth, mismatched eyes laughing at the irony.
Dany arched a silver brow, "As you are my Lord Hand, perhaps it is you who should polish Lord Snow's sword. Perhaps you tire of the fairer sex?" In wit and conversation, Dany's true charm glowed like the sun, or perhaps more like the breath of Viserion. Her eyes glinted devilishly, amused that she had caught the Lannister Imp – renowned for his quickness of tongue – horribly off guard.
When they had gathered themselves, Tyrion looked over at the Queen from one of the chairs near the fire, his fingers pressed together like an imaginary tent. "What do you make of Lord Snow's story? I'm sure Lord Stark has said his fair share to you on behalf of his bastard brother... But what exactly, your Grace, are your thoughts on the matter?"
"Truthfully? I had half a mind to allow him a trial by combat. I thought to have Ser Bronn or perhaps Ser Jorah fight the man, and allow the strong to survive." Dany giggled. The wine was starting to get to her, so late in the afternoon. "If there's one thing I have learned, my Lord Hand, it is that impulsiveness is for battle. Patience is for war. I am not so sure exactly what to believe. But I don't think to be hasty in passing a judgment. He is of honest stock, and his words are direct and true. The whole tale is strange, of itself. Jon Snow shall be safe from me, save a few intrigues," Tyrion shot her a provocative look, motioning to the shaft of Jon's sword. Dany stared at the dwarf plainly, "But are we safe behind The Wall?"
They lapsed into silence for a few moments, before Tyrion got up, draining his own goblet. He eyed the wickedly sharp edge of Longclaw and said pensively, "You were wise to not put Lord Snow to trial by combat, my Queen. I have known Jon Snow for some time. As you said, 'Patience is for war', and Lord Jon Snow is vehemently patient. Your Grace." He turned and departed, muttering about whores, wine and spoiled appetites.
Queen Daenerys finished her own wine and tilted her head slightly, silvery hair spilling over slender shoulders of silky skin. Jon Snow was a strange character indeed, if Tyrion Lannister felt need to intercede and depart with a warning.
Dany rubbed at her temples with one hand, as an impending headache rolled in; one fitting the name 'Stormborn'. She felt a wetness at her foot, and looked up to see a flash of white fur loping down the hallway.
(-=-=-=-=-)
Bran and Tyrion conversed quietly in what used to be Ned's solar. The two were a sight, a broken boy and a man half his size spoke volumes about their two guests of honor. "Lord Tyrion, thank you for interceding on behalf of my lord-brother… I had feared for the worst when I saw the rage in Her Grace's eyes. If I and Hodor had not been there…" The young lord trailed off, shaking his head softly.
"Well, young Lord Stark, had you not interfered, likely both our Queen and your bastard-brother would be dead. I've had the occasion to see Lord Snow's beloved pet tear off men's very beloved limbs. It would have been an awfully difficult thing to explain to Westeros, without an heir to the throne."
Tyrion chuckled to himself at the irony, at how royally fucked everything would be in the wake of such an occurrence. Bran however remained silent, peering through the window, into the yard covered in piled snow as the shape of Ghost stalked through the yard. The Imp regarded the young lord, expression simultaneously worried and sour and confused all at once.
Daenerys was ruffling Ghost's head and appeared to be laughing as the white wolf licked her face beneath her countless layers of furs. Her head snapped back around, to look where she had come from.
Both Bran and Tyrion saw the pale man dressed entirely in black say something and bow his head before he wearily knelt in the snow next to Dany too familiarly. The two showered the direwolf with affection, itching behind his ears.
Jon Snow was not supposed to be out of bed. Jon Snow was not supposed to be anywhere near the Mother of Dragons. But he was.
Author's Notes: It took me ages to get this chapter out. I know. Work has been absurd and I've been working 60 hour weeks. I'm sorry, truly. I appreciate all the feedback from every one of you. Trust me, I read them, and I think about 'em. So if you wanna see something, or somebody, just lemme know. I'll see if I can work them in.
I plan on releasing more VERY soon. This chapter was just kind of a cop-out to deal with some plot progression. I intend for things to speed up from here, indefinitely.