Authors Note:

Trigger Warning.

The following chapter will have some upsetting moments within this as well as some heart-warming moments to heal the apparent upset.

A character having a severe anxiety attack caused by an external force triggering strongly distressing memories.

Reference/implication of another character suffering the same condition.

Please be discreet with who you share this with, especially if you know those who suffer from PTSD or any form of anxiety disorder.

Chapter 6

Another crash of thunder. The merciless onslaught of lightning struck foreign, electric white light into the sanctity of the candlelit room. This was either a sudden storm, or they had sailed into the midst of a beast without knowing it.

It must have blown in, faster than the wheelman and the ship's sails could out-pace it.

The thunderstorm was upon them, and Jon hoped that they had not inadvertently wandered into a tempest.

Jon's eyes had been directed to the window, and the rumbling beast in the clouds above them.

But then they found Daenerys.

Her hands reached up to clasp her own arms. Her eyebrows creased in a heart-rending image of distress. Her lips parted to show gritted teeth as she shakily and with trembling breathed uneasily, in and out…

"Must you stay?" She bitterly wept at him, seeking to push him away despite her plight. "You who seem so adamant on leaving..." Her voice broke on 'leaving' and she looked away, to the windows and the storm outside, barely concealing a distraught, heart-broken, wretched sob.

And Jon knew without a doubt that something was deeply wrong with Daenerys.

Her fearful expression, her eyes reddening and gleaming with wetness, her irises flickering from bright violet to sombre green at an unsteady and faster rate than anytime he had seen them before.

Ancient power, the still oceans, unsettled now by this storm within and without Daenerys.

And the signs, the fearful expression on her face, the terror clear in her eyes, the upset and the distraught clear in her eyes and her body language as her shoulders began to wobble.

She was having an attack.

Daenerys was having an anxiety attack.

And I know of this. It's the same kind that…that Maester Wolkan spoke of when…

And with that realisation, Jon realised what he had to do.

Taking a brief assessment of the risks, if he was caught, and satisfied somewhat of his conclusions, he strode forth and closed the distance between the pair, standing with her by her bed.

And facing Daenerys head on, he clasped her arms with his gloved hands.

This was risky. He had to be as gentle as possible or risk making things worse.

He assumed that perhaps, if the interaction between Missandei and Daenerys was anything to go by, that they had devised strategies, or ways in which the aide would calm the Dragon Queen in moments like this.

It was more prudent of course that Missandei should be the one to immediately approach for this.

But Jon could not just leave Daenerys to seek out Missandei. Not when he was closer to her.

And, as he had snapped out of his brief fugue state at the rather unbelievable sight of the dragon queen just…breaking before his eyes, he had remembered the signs of an attack, and the right steps.

He just hoped that Daenerys trusted him to allow him to come this close.

"Look at me. Look at me."

Daenerys was already doing that, staring fearfully into his eyes. His own were still, focussed and steady. He had to emanate as much calm and security from his presence as possible.

"I'm right here. Focus on me. You aren't there. You are here. You are right here. Do you hear me?" He assured and asked her, with no forcefulness or urgency in his voice. Calm and gentle. Calm and gentle.

"I'm right here. Focus on my voice. Focus on me. It's over. Whatever hurt you is gone now. It's not here right now. All that is here is me. Just you, and me. Do you understand?"

Daenerys still shook from the rigors of her attack, and her breaths were shallow and shivery. Her eyes still flickered like some kind of warning signal flame in her irises. Jon felt as though his own heartstrings were being scraped by a rusty blade like a deranged cellist on his strings.

But then, almost feebly, her hands left her arms, and latched onto his. Her fingers fluttered as they sought purchase, and then they pressed desperately and tightly through his thick sleeves, but Jon did not mind. And she was looking at him. That was a start.

He had to begin the slow, tentative process of guiding her back to the world.

He couldn't just blithely tell her to calm down. He had to walk her through it.

Maester Wolkan had told him that the methods were not always effective, but their chances of success were heightened if the person using the treatment was a trusted loved one.

Jon was more than happy to settle for trusted with Daenerys in this case.

"Breath. In and out. Slowly. Focus on that. Focus on your breathing. Focus on my voice, and look at my eyes. I am here. I am not going away. I am not going away. I am right here. You are right here with me." He repeated his lines, that had…worked, before.

His voice, he was told, was gruff and raspy at times, and his accent is inflected with Northerner pronunciations and the consistent rough rhythmic song of his Winterfell dialect. Not exactly pleasant on the ears with his rough Northern burr, unlike the romantics like Rhaegar the Noble, and the Golden Lion Jaime Lannister, or the gravelly soft tones of Jorah the Bear.

But he had to trust that his own soothing tones, and the familiarity of his presence were enough.

"You are not there. Look at me. You are right here. Not there. Or anywhere else. You are right here. And you have to choose. You can go back there and make yourself hurt. Or you can stay here with me, and be well. Be alive and in this moment. You are in this moment and no other. You are here, in this room, and not there. You are here and holding my arms, and not there. There is in the past. It cannot hurt you if you don't let it. It's real. It happened. It won't go away…but you can take away its power by being right here. Breathe…in and out. Breathe. That's it…breathe…" He slowly nodded, repeating the word like a soft mantra.

The words and his own voice, made as calming as he could make it, filled Daenerys's room.

"Breathe…slowly…in…and out…breathe…"

And Jon's heart began to subside as the flickering lightning within Daenerys's began to calm, at least at a gradual, slow pace, for the violet flickered erratically still within her green irises.

Hopefully, the storm was passing now. Jon could hear shouting from above deck. The rowers and the seamen were in a flurry of activity, some handymen roused from below deck to batten down the hatches and open the sails, pushing oars through hard choppy waves.

But then Jon had not heard another crash, another peal of thunder, another roar of the storm gods.

He could make the steps needed to begin the end of the 'ritual' now as Wolkan called it, without hopefully further interruptions. He needed as much time to bring her out of her distressed state as possible, and somehow intuit what he could do physically to comfort her, lower her heartrate, settle her nerves…

CRASH!

The roar of thunder, albeit slightly fainter than before, rumbled through out the entirety of the ship.

So loud, so explosively powerful and bellowing in sky-cracking fury was it.

That Daenerys's eyes broke from his and with a startled yelp, she looked out to the sea beyond the windows.

Her eyes flickered and flashed with danger and fear, and her face was creased into a horrible whimpering state. A sob tore through her. Words seemed to play in her now expressive eyes, her emotions freed from the confines of her mask, yet all she managed to speak was.

"Get…away…"

No!

Jon knew that while he could do nothing about the storm, he could at least protect her eyes from seeing her demons, unleashed by the violent tempest.

He stepped closer, wrapped his right arm around Daenerys's neck, wound his left around her lower body in a shielding grip, and turned her to his left, stepping away from the bed.

Holding her as close to him as he could, she faced the opposite side of her room, where no windows lay.

"Sshhh…its alright….its alright…sshhh…its alright…I'm here. I'm here."

Her warm breath against the hollow of his neck as she sobbed and wept. Her wet eyes soaking his apple beneath his bearded chin.

Her white undone hair, smelling of fruit and perfume and her own scent, wafting up his nose, as he breathed her in, and calmed her as best as he could with his nonsense words…

Her hands pressed against his chest, that he could feel even through the sturdy layer of leather and steel of his dark gambeson.

"It's alright…I'm here."

"…Jon…" She whimpered, partially muffled with her lips pressed to the dip between his collarbone.

"I'm here…" Jon spoke. "I'm here…and you have nothing to be afraid of…"

There was another crash, and the shout of muffled voices.

But these voices were much closer, and it was not the sound of thunder that crashed right next to them, although another rumble of thunder did bellow after, thankfully further away.

It was the sound of a boot kicking down the door.

"Mhysa!" Grey Worm's voice roared as he barged into the room, still dressed in his form-fitting steel armoured vest and leggings. In his hand was what looked to be a yellowy, ornate double edged dagger, smaller than a dirk but just as lethal looking, even sharper looking.

Grey Worm stepped to his right.

In stormed Missandei with a face set on that of a friend set to castrate a man assaulting her best friend.

"Lord Snow!" She roared with the imminent promise of pain in her voice. "You will unhand Her Grace this…"

She stopped.

Her eyes widened with sudden realisation and what appeared to be the rays of relief passing through her features.

Grey Worm ceased in his advances as well, with his dagger bared. His eyes too bore the signs of realisation, as well as a flash of uncertainty. And he looked to Missandei, unable to determine the next path ahead.

Missandei only returned the commander's surprised look, and then, as one, both aide and commander turned to look back at him and Jon.

Jon had not pried himself off Daenerys's for fear of his own life.

He was comforting a woman having a panic attack for fuck's sake. Damned be any sword or dagger that sought to part them.

Missandei began to relax. Her balled fists slowly uncurled, though her eyes still spoke of weariness and a sense of mistrust.

Grey Worm did not sheath his dagger, but he lowered his arms, his left brought up to shield or intercept any weapons Jon may have had, and his right fist holding the dagger following suit.

Both stood and bared witness at the sight before them.

Missandei opened her mouth, looking upon her queen, and was about to speak-

-before being interrupted by a series of quick footfalls echoed down the deck outside of Daenery's room.

Missandei turned in time to step aside as in to the room bounded Tyrion, still dressed in his dark grey doublet, and holding a ghiscari boarding axe, which bore a curved blade like an artists impression of a waning moon, embroidered with gold patterns upon its haft. It gleamed in the candlelight as Tyrion raised it and brought it to bear, sobered now despite the wine he had been quaffing earlier in his night time read.

"I'm here! Daenerys! Jon Snow, you will remove yourself from Daenerys right this…" And on seeing Jon, or his expression, or possibly the queen buried in his arms, Tyrion almost skidded as he came to an immediate halt.

His mouth froze open, and his bloody courage at being ready to attack Jon seemed to leave him, as his eyes and bearded face made the familiar dance of realisation.

And with Grey Worm and Missandei, the three guardians, as one, stood still at what they saw before them.

And it was Tyrion, first to speak, who asked first.

"What…what happened...?"

Missandei looked down at him as his eyes looked up and searched hers for an answer. Her mouth opened, but no words, despite the dance of her lips were able to fall from them.

Another distant crash of thunder, further away but still powerful enough to rumble through the galley, reverberated in the distance.

Daenerys whimpered slightly and bowed her face, burying her head further under Jon's chin.

Jon took it upon himself to answer.

"She had an attack. A….an upset of the nerves, caused by…a terrible event in the past…" He slowly clarified, before whispering as quietly as he could. "The storm…"

Tyrion's arms, still holding his axe, lowered to his side. He held the axe in his small hands as his face took on a tortured expression of sudden sadness, understanding dawning on his features, and now evoking deep sympathy towards the queen.

"Your Grace…" was all he could muster, before looking aside. "I…I am so sorry…"

Missandei stepped forth.

"Mhysa…Missandei is here…" She cooed at Daenerys, her own voice wobbly with sorrow and pain for her loved one in such pain.

She reached her right hand, and Jon lowered his shoulder slightly to allow it access to Daenerys's, clasped flatly to his chest.

"Missandei is here…" She comforted, and from the corner of Jon's eye, partially obstructed by Daenerys's river of silvery hair, he saw and felt her pale brown hand curl with Daenerys's.

Jon, relieved now that Missandei was here, made to begin to part. He began to relax his grip-

"No." Daenerys spoke, forceful and strong, though still ragged with emotion, and her left hand clung at his armour where the armpit met the vest, holding him fast.

"Your Grace…" Jon tried to speak.

"No." She spoke again, her single word a firm, harsh command to stay holding her. "No." She repeated, like a prayer for him to never leave.

And with that thought, an ember that licked against his heart began to rise and blaze within his chest.

He was doing what he was doing, comforting her, because he had seen the same before and used this way of comfort before. It was duty that made him reach forth and touch her, to protect her on impulse.

But now, he realised, he didn't want to let go of her either.

He wanted to stay with her too.

"It's alright…"

"No…" She whimpered, flush against his neck, sending goosebumps and a spike of adrenaline tinged with passionate, heady desire flooding into his mind.

"I'm not going anywhere…" He assured her, remaining as noble as he could.

And with that he looked at Missandei, hoping to at least project an apologetic look in his eyes.

Missandei's eyes blinked as she processed what was occurring to her, and there was a expression of on her face similar to that of Daenerys's face at losing Viserion, sending a pang of guilt rushing through his heart.

I'm not stealing her from you. I promise. I'm not stealing her. She just wants to be with me for now. You'll get her back, I promise. I'm not stealing her. Please understand.

And for a moment, Jon thought that Missandei possessed such powers to read the mind, as her face appeared to relax, and there was a softening light of relief across her face.

Looking up at Jon, with one solid inhalation, and a steady exhale, she appeared to assess him with her eyes, and her expression seemed both assured and hopeful.

She trusted him.

Trusted him not to harm her.

And Jon's heart warmed at the thought, the idea that he could be considered one of Daenerys's closest friends. Because her friend, her sister in all but blood, had deemed him worthy with just that one look. That one moment in which she chose to trust Jon.

He felt overwhelmed at the implicit sign of trust in her eyes.

He looked to Grey Worm.

Grey Worm was now relaxed, and stood up straighter. With one fluid movement, he turned and sheathed his dagger in a practiced, elegant movement.

His dark eyes met his, and a stoic, respectful nod was Grey Worm's answer to the question that yes, his queen was safe in Jon's hands.

Jon felt pride, at being recognised as capable of protecting her as he was.

Jon looked to Tyrion.

At the axe in his hands, Jon could not help but softly joke.

"You were set to kill me with an axe, Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion's chin bobbed as he struggled at first for an answer, but then his sardonic expression returned, and his eyes took on the confident, bold look of the legendary Lannister of wit and that he was.

"Well, obviously, you've never seen what I can do with an axe, Lord Snow…and had your intentions with Daenerys been less than honourable…"

Jon nodded. "I do not doubt that."

Tyrion's left hand fell away from the bottom of the axe's long handle, and his right hand held the weapon below the blade.

His eyes looked to Missandei, who looked back at him. Missandei nodded softly, a non-verbal assurance that Daenerys was safe.

Tyrion looked up to Grey Worm, who met his gaze evenly, and gave a slower nod.

Tyrion looked back at Snow, and then at Daenerys under his chin, hoping to meet her eye, as he then spoke.

"It sounds like…the storm is passing, Your Grace…or perhaps, it seems, that we have outrun it. Either way, it seems that there is no danger now."

Daenerys said nothing, but then a muffled mmhm gave him her reply.

Satisfied, Tyrion looked to Jon and nodded. There was a look of elderly approval in his eyes, and relief as well. Relief it seemed that Jon had been…different. Different from many other men, it seemed, that Daenerys had met, that he had met.

And then, he looked away and flexed his free hand awkwardly.

"Well, I need another drink, and a good night's sleep. A good run to save the Queen from a would-be-assassin tends to tire one out, don't you think?" He made an attempt at jesting.

"Hmm." Grey Worm's own warrior mask cracked at the lips as he snorted. He looked back down at Tyrion. "I outrun you. I protect Daenerys better." He asserted in his guttural, broken Westerosi voice.

"Only because I awoke you, Turgo Nodhu." Missandei turned and cheekily countered, and Jon was surprised to see Grey Worm flush slightly, before regaining his composure.

"A half-asleep Unsullied versus a dwarf and his four glasses of red wine. Sounds like a close competition, indeed." Tyrion jested.

There was a snort of hot air from Daenerys's nose that startled Jon, but he calmed when he realised that it was another snort of amusement from the queen.

His chest may as well have been home to butterflies fluttering and brushing their soft wings against his heart, as Daenerys's eyelashes brushed against his neck.

Tyrion smiled at knowing that he had been able to help relax Daenerys, and with that he turned and walked away, out of Daenery's room, and down the corridor, back to the War-room.

"Well, if all is settled and well, good night then to all, and sleep well."

"Good night, Lord Tyrion, and thank you!" Missandei gently called after him and his retreating footsteps.

She turned back and gave a look of the sweetest of affections in her eyes towards Daenerys. Her hand gave a rub of her thumb across the top of Daenerys's hand.

She then leaned forward and kissed the side of her hair.

"You will always be safe with us, Mhysa…" She whispered, and Daenerys's eyes were wet against his neck as fresh hot tears ran and soaked into his neck.

Against his thoughts telling him not to, Jon's thumb dragged across her hair.

Missandei caught this, and her eyes stayed on his moving thumb.

And then she did something unexpected.

Moving to the back of Daenerys, she reached up, and took his left hand, and guided it to the back of her elbow.

"Rub here, with your thumb. There, above her elbow. Slowly and softly. That's it." Missandei assured the briefly confused Jon, who quickly intuited and picked up on her instruction.

Missandei, satisfied, then looked back up at Jon's eyes.

"Her hair too. Gently."

Jon nodded, keeping his movement small as not to nudge Daenery's forehead with his chin.

"Aye." He spoke. He did as she spoke. His left thumb rubbed softly in a gentle wave, gliding over the sleeve of her war-robe, while his right thumb swept up and down, across the back of her head and her unbound soft, silky hair.

Missandei took one last look of love at Daenerys, and gave one last rub of her thumb, and a squeeze of her hand.

And then, slowly, she extricated her hand from Daenerys, and stepped back.

Jon looked on at Missandei as she began to step back, carefully withdrawing herself, clearly fighting every instinct to jump in and hold herself close to Daenerys.

But she decided against it.

Instead, she looked towards Grey Worm, and gave a nod.

Grey Worm looked at Missandei, and gave a solemn nod as well.

With one last look at Jon, a serious gaze of deep trust with an implicit threat of death should he break this new sacred bond, Grey Worm then turned and walked out of the room.

Missandei's eyes followed Grey Worm, and then looked back at Jon.

She gave a nod, with a knowing, trusting and accepting look in her eyes.

And with that she turned to the door, slid the dislodged lever back into place with some effort, and then, placing herself behind the door, stepped gracefully back and closed the door shut.

At the sound of muffled retreating footsteps on the wooden deck outside, Jon and Daenerys were finally alone again.

Another rumble of thunder was heard. So distant and far away was it though, that Daenerys shook only once, and snivelled only once, before breathing out as well, her warm breath against his neck sending shivers down his spine.

Daenerys…you are safe…

Safe with me… Jon could only think, and pray with and hope that Daenerys undestood this, with every fibre of his being.

And then, with the little tell-tale tiny drum of water on glass, and the relaxing sound of droplets slowly trickling from the night time skies onto the wooden deck above them. Jon felt relief flow warmly into his heart.

They were out of the storm. They must have passed through the periphery of the stormy clouds, rather than through the centre.

And it was starting to rain.

They were safe.

Authors Note:

Ok so I did semi-rush this one out super late at night hoping to get to the end. May be susceptible to extensions and of course corrections in the near future.

Will come back to it in the future and flesh out certain parts.

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Jon and Dany bang in the next chapter ok peace!

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(Hurriedly runs back to laptop.)

AND HE'S NOT TAKING ADVANTAGE IT WILL BE PURELY CONSENSUAL!

Love to my fans.

Please do let me know if my portrayal of a character suffering an anxiety attack caused by a traumatic flashback was done sensibly and realistically, as well as how one may try and relax and comfort a character in the process of such a breakdown. This is not done with the intention of being exploitative, but to reveal a surprisingly vulnerable side to a character that is seen as unyielding and considered by some to be a terrifying force of nature. I have had limited research due to time constraints and so welcome all feedback in terms of how realistic or unrealistic Jon's way of comforting Daenerys was.

Jon will have his reasons for knowing what to do, which will be fleshed out in the next chapter.

Thank you and love to all of you.

Zach