JON
The way to the council chamber was dark as Lord Manderly led them further down the torch lined passage. And cold. They came upon two great wooden doors, emblazoned with the sigil of House Manderly, and two household guards opened them wordlessly. The room was brighter, and great windows overlooked the city that sprawled out below and the tempestuous gray sky above. Flurries of snow still descended to which Jon looked upon wearily. Lord Manderly took his place at the head of a great white marble table littered with scrolls and parchment and jars of ink and quills. Manderly's rookery has been busy. Daenerys took her seat and the rest of the company followed. Jon, however, chose to stand, keeping close to the crackling fire. Clearing his throat, Lord Manderly spoke first.
"Your Graces, my lords, I needs apologize for the barbs exchanged naught but a moment ago. There are some in my court who still look South to Queen Cersei, despite our pledge to you, Your Grace," Lord Manderly nodded at Jon. "Many of my grandchildren have married Freys. After the slaughter of their house they are dubious of our allegiance with The King in the North. The lone survivor, Old Walder's young young, bearing the message to all, 'The North Remembers.' More still have been bought to pass along messages southron. I dare not show too much warmth in front of them. Euron Greyjoy's fleet has been seen off our shores and a blockade this close to winter would mean dire peril for all of us. Trading vessels from Essos still make port in our city."
"There is no need to apologize, my Lord," Jon said. "Winter is here and you must protect your household and bannermen, but I am no longer King in the North, my Lord. I have bent the knee to Queen Daenerys and sworn fealty."
"You must forgive this old Northman, but the return of the Stark Kings in the North…" he took a moment to find the words. "After what they did to your brother and household at The Twins. Well, it was a triumphant day for all Northmen the day you were crowned. The lords Stark back home where winter fell those ages ago." he smiled, raised his goblet in a small toast and took a drink.
"Lady Stark now rules Winterfell, my Lord. She is cunning and capable."
"I would expect nothing less from from a Stark woman. Lady Lyanna's spark burned bright as well," Lord Manderly chuckled softly. Jon smiled sadly, and something stirred inside him he could not place. His father always said Arya was most like Lyanna in appearance, wit and demeanor. Arya who he had not seen in many a year. "Come now, let us talk of the present," Lord Manderly said as he gulped another sip of red. "You Grace, your host is welcome to encamp outside my city. You will find no foe in us. Of course, your party is welcome to my quarters and food here in New Castle for as long as needs be. Our banners have been called and we will march North on the morrow toward Winterfell. Ha!" He let out a booming guffaw. "Mermen, Dothraki and Unsullied on the march together. Would that my late father could see it all."
The feast Lord Manderly hosted that night was as much a welcome as it was a send off. Nonetheless the distraction was well met, as it meant Jon could slip away quietly and unnoticed. He retreated to the back of the hall, watching the revelry from afar. Watching Daenerys from afar as she effortlessly politicked. Growing up he was never allowed to partake in official feasts, and the habit stuck with him. Nursing a cup of ale that had long gone piss warm, he could not bring himself to think of much else: the child and the war. Surveying the room he saw Tyrion and Varys supping with Lord Manderly who was still eating, but he had lost track of Daenerys. Panic started to grow in him slightly and he remembered the words Lord Manderly had said in the council chamber, More still have been bought to pass along messages southron. It was Missandei's voice that pulled him from the black voices in his mind.
"Follow me, if it please my lord," He forced himself to down what was left in his ale cup, grit and all, and fell in behind the Summer Islander. Torch in hand, she led Jon up a flight of stone stairs and down a carpeted passage. Wooden carvings filled the space, worm eaten and no doubt former figureheads from fleets past. Further down, Jon could see three Unsullied guarding a iron-laden door. Daenerys. Missandei led Jon to the door, and spoke something in High Valyrian to which the Unsullied responded by opening the door and ushering Jon inside. The solar was handsomely furnished. A thick fur rug sat in front of a great marble mantle, inside which a fire was blazing. Bookshelves and tapestries covered the walls. A table had been set with a vase of wine.
"Jon," a faint voice called from the bedchamber. Though Jon had been with Daenerys for the past few months, and he had had her more times than he could count, his heart beat still quickened. Still a green-boy. He walked to the ajar bedchamber door, his boots thud thudding on the wooden floor, and pushed it open. Sitting up against the wooden headboard of a large four-poster was Dany. She was naked, with a book open in her lap. Candles in the sconces on the walls flickered and a small brazier in the corner crackled.
"Found something interesting?" he nodded at the book.
"A gift from Maester Pylos." Jon rounded the bed and sat on the side, facing Dany. She closed the book and moved closer to him.
"That's kind of him," he took her head in his hands and kissed her softly. Though they parted, he eyes remained closed, savoring the closeness. The togetherness. Jon broke the silence. "Dany, the way I acted before. This morning. I should have said something."
"It wasn't you, Jon." Jon heaved a sigh, his chest shuddering. "I was thinking of my son." Jon eyed her intently. This was not a story he had heard before and Dany had always maintained she could bear no children.
"Your…" Jon trailed off, the word escaped him, fading off into the flickering candlelight. He could not bring himself to say it.
"My son. Rhaego. The blood that traded death for life."
"Your dragons." Dany nodded. Her body had grown rigid. Jon could see she was mustering strength to fight back tears. "Viserion." The name had pulled whatever strength was left in her, and she crumpled into Jon's chest. He brought his arms around her, and felt her body shake through silent sobs. He did not know how long he sat there holding her. Finally she brought her head up to his, and kissed him. Kissed him hard through wet, salted lips. Her hands began to unclasp his breastplate, and then his leather gambeson. Jon got up to finish undressing, and Daenerys retreated back up the bed, bringing herself to rest on the feather pillows. Jon slid underneath the furs, and took a breast in his mouth, he sucked on one and then another for a few moments, the pink nubs growing hard against his tongue as he did. They were already larger and firmer than they had been two weeks past. He placed himself between her legs, spread one open with his knee and entered her. Dany let out a breathless gasp and ground her hips into his. Jon met her mouth with his. Her lips on his while they made love always quickened his release, but he could not bring himself to stop. They were such beautiful lips. Dany groaned as he thrust into her, their bodies hardly parting. She is almost there. Jon could tell when his Queen was about to surrender her body to his and together they collapsed into the oblivion.
Trembling, the two laid in silence, drinking in the warmth of the candle glow and each other.
"I saw you once," Dany said suddenly, bringing her chin to rest on his chest. Her amethyst eyes flickering.
"Oh?" Jon grinned and brought his arms around the bare back of his Queen.
"In Qarth. In the House of the Undying."
"That was years ago. You must've seen a shivering green boy getting his arse kicked at the Wall."
"Well, it wasn't your face. But it was you. I saw many things and more, but I know it was you. A blue flower growing in a chink in a wall of ice."
"A blue flower. That's a winter rose. My Aunt Lyanna's favorite, father always said. They grow all around Winterfell. Father always made sure fresh ones were laid at her feet in the crypts."
"Lyanna. It's a beautiful name," Dany said. "She must have been as beautiful as her winter rose. Rhaegar must have thought so, at least." It was the first time the two had mentioned their relatives. The ones who loved and lost. Lost each other, and lost a kingdom. Dany shifted, and rolled onto her back and Jon to his side. Propping his head on one hand, he brought the other to Dany's still taut stomach. Are you really in there? You are so small. So helpless. With calloused hands, he rubbed her pale stomach softly and laid a single, gentle kiss upon it. "Lyanna," Dany said once more. "If its a girl, her name will be Lyanna."
Jon brought his eyes to meet Danys'. "Aye. Lyanna."
