Jon watches her move across the deck of the ship, sword in hand. She swings at Jorah, aiming for his shoulder, and the knight easily parries her blow, but instead of counterattacking, he remains on defense. The parry drives the sword to her side, and she leaves her arm hanging there. "Keep your sword up, Daenerys. A true enemy would fight back and have hit you three times before you were able to get it back up to defend yourself," he calls out to her.
Instead of following his instruction, she plants the dulled point of the sword against the wooden deck of the ship, both hands resting on the grip. "Ser Jorah, how am I to learn proper sword fighting if you do not at least try to attack me?"
"Forgive me, Khaleesi, but I am sworn to defend you. I cannot attack you," the old knight replies. When Jon had approached him with the idea to train the queen in basic combat should she need to be able to defend herself, Jorah had agreed to help, though he hoped with all of his heart that she would never actually have to use these skills. His queen gives a sorrowful but understanding look.
They had all woken with the sunrise, coming up to the nearly empty deck of the ship carrying them north to White Harbor. Jon had found some dulled swords aboard the ship, and the two men had shown how to properly hold a sword as well as fighting stance and some basic maneuvers for both attacking and defending. And then they had come to the practical component.
The former King in the North steps forward, holding his hand out for the sword from Ser Jorah. At her longest advisor's hesitation, he says, "I will not harm her. But she will not be able to defend herself if we do not give her the opportunity to learn to do so."
He had presented his idea to her before supper the previous evening as they stood side by side looking out at the dragons flying over the ship. Her gaze had remained on her dragons after he had finished speaking, recalling how there had been three of them flying over not long ago when she had made the trip from Slaver's Bay to Dragonstone, and it is the mortality of her children - something she had not previously thought possible - that led her to accept.
Jorah hands over the blade and steps aside.
As Jon holds the sword in front of him and waits for her attack, he takes her in. She is wearing her usual Dothraki riding pants and a black doublet with a small Targaryen sigil embroidered on one shoulder, and he briefly wonders where she had gotten such a garment. Her silver hair is entirely pulled back into one long braid, and though she looks less feminine than he is accustomed to seeing her, she is just as elegant and beautiful as ever.
These thoughts distract him, and he barely dodges her attack before he counters with a strike of his own, the flat of his blade striking her upper left arm.
Daenerys stills before him, looking down at where she had been struck, and for a moment, he is worried that he has made a grave mistake. But when her violet eyes rise to his face, he can see they are filled with surprise at the fact that he had actually dared to hit her rather than pain. And then the anger flashes in them, foretelling the swing of her sword.
Feeling guilty, he goes a bit easier on her, not allowing her sword to make contact with him but easing up his attack now that he had made his point. She manages to parry a few of his attacks and dodges a couple more, and those that she doesn't he stops the blade short of striking her.
Jorah finds it difficult to watch, wanting nothing more than to do his duty and step in to protect her. Eventually he returns below deck, believing that Jon Snow is better equipped for the task of training her and no longer able to watch her being attacked, even if the threat is not real.
Jon swings his sword in from her left, aiming for her thigh, and she blocks it with her sword pointed downward. Her tired arm lifts the sword back up, the blade over her left shoulder as she prepares for a diagonal slash across his torso. He pivots around, briefly turning his back on her to swing his sword in from the right. When she had blocked his previous blow, however, the force of their clashing swords had caused her to take a couple steps to the right.
The queen lets out a strangled cry, her fingers unfurling from the hilt of the sword she had been holding, and both of her hands move to clutch her right side.
He lets his own blade fall from his hand, moving forward to grab her shoulders and steady her. "Your Grace, I am so sorry," he apologizes, though he doesn't know how he expects her to forgive him when he knows he will be unable to forgive himself for hurting her.
"I am alright," she grits out, her eyes tightly shut against the pain.
He keeps his hands on her upper arms, studying her face. She is usually so composed, her expression hard to read, and the fact that the pain is so clearly evident on her face right now reveals to him just how much of it she is truly experiencing. A few moments pass before he brushes his fingers over her hands as he asks, "May I?"
She nods and slowly lowers her hands to her side, though she doesn't open her eyes.
He is relieved when he sees that her hands are clean, no trace of blood on her palms, and he finds that the material of her doublet is still intact, the dull blade not cutting through the material. As gently as he can, he allows his fingers to explore the lower ribs where his blow had landed.
Dany lets out a gasp when he applies more pressure to a particularly tender spot in order to asses the damage.
"I fear I may have cracked a couple of your ribs," he reluctantly admits, taking a couple steps back from her. "I apologize, Your Grace. I should not have suggested this, and I certainly should not have been so aggressive. It seems that Ser Jorah had the better strategy after all."
Her eyes open, revealing a different kind of pain to him. "No, it isn't your fault, Jon. I knew the risk of injury when I agreed to this. And I suppose this is the best form of motivation for me to improve."
His own pain-filled gray eyes fixed on her, he says, "You did quite well for your first time, Your Grace. I will have armor made for you when we reach Winterfell."
Not letting her disappointment show at his return to formalities even though they are alone, she gives him a small smile of appreciation, "Armor may certainly help."
The chilly morning winds of the sea blow around them, and now that they are still, she is unable to suppress the shiver that courses through her.
"We should go back below deck. It would be best for you to rest for a while," he suggests, picking their abandoned swords up from the deck as he prepares to descend.
Drogon and Rhaegal fly over the ship at that moment, and she lifts her head to watch them, making her way over to the railing. "You go on. I would like to watch my children for a bit."
Jon sets the blunted swords down on the wooden crate where he has left his own sword and his heavy cloak, and then he walks back to her. When he drapes his cloak over her shoulders, she looks at him in surprise for a moment before she gives him a grateful smile and pulls it tighter around her body. He then fastens Longclaw onto his hip, his hands stilling on the buckle as a thought hits him. "We will have to find you a Valyrian steel sword. As the last Targaryen and one of the last descendants of Valyria, you deserve one more than any of us."
Daenerys turns her head towards him, "I appreciate your sentiment, Jon Snow, but I disagree. With any luck, I will be in the air on Drogon's back for the duration of the battle with the army of the dead, and the blade would be wasted on me. As one of the few means of killing the White Walkers, the Valyrian steel blades belong in the hands of those far better at wielding them than I could ever be."
He nods in acceptance of her words, knowing she is right. "I gave my sister, Arya, a sword before we both left Winterfell years ago. Perhaps you would do well with a similar blade. It was thinner and light."
"You may speak freely in front of me. What you really are saying is that I lack the strength for a real sword," she smirks, her eyes shining playfully.
"That is not what I meant," he tries to defend himself, but at her raised eyebrow, he concedes. "I could tell that you were tired by the end, and I am sure that your arms will be sore tomorrow."
"Well… I suppose I can't get any worse," she muses, turning her attention back to the dragons.
"You were not terrible at all, Dany. You managed to block or dodge almost half of my attacks."
She is glad to hear the nickname come from his lips again after he had been so formal with her earlier. "But I didn't manage to land any hits on you at all."
"I could have let you hit me, aye. But I thought you would appreciate it more if you actually earned it," he responds.
Amused at his response, her eyes dance mischievously as she fully turns toward him, "Is that a challenge, Jon Snow?"
Before he can respond, he notices that they are no longer alone on the deck of the ship, Tyrion and Ser Davos watching them from across the way. "It's cold out here, My Queen. And we have drawn an audience."
Without looking to find out who it is that is spying on them, she follows him to the stairs to go below deck, "I suppose it is better that they appear now rather than when we first came up here."
"You think they would not approve?"
Dany removes his cloak from her shoulders and hands it back to him as they stop before parting ways to go to their respective quarters. "Tyrion seems to disagree with every decision I've made lately; I'm sure that this would be no different."
He isn't sure what to say to this, instead deciding that he owes her another apology. "I am sorry that I hurt you."
"Don't be… for I am certain that I will not be sorry when I finally manage to hit you," she answers before turning away from him to go to her room.
- Ice and Fire -
Jon nervously knocks on the door to her quarters on their last night aboard the ship. She allows him into her bed and into her heart.
After three days of swordplay, her body is riddled with bruises in various stages of healing. He reverentially presses his lips to each one of them, but he pays particular attention to the deep purple one on her right side below her breast.
- Ice and Fire -
They stay in White Harbor for two days, the longest two days of his life as they had agreed not only to put their training on hold while in the Northern town but also to spend their nights apart for fear of being caught. Both are unaware that everyone on the ship with them already knows of the change in their relationship.
The march to Winterfell begins when they get word that the Dothraki and Unsullied marching up from King's Landing had reached Moat Cailin.
- Ice and Fire -
Daenerys feigns an attack from above, and as his sword rises over his head to block her, she redirects her blade to strike lower from the opposite side. The sword connects with his torso just above the hip.
Her blow had had enough force behind it that his skin stings , though he knows it is nothing compared to what she has experienced. In fact, he may not even get a bruise.
Jon looks up from where he had been hit to her face, and he raises his sword once more in order to strike back.
She takes a hurried step back and drops her sword into the grass that is covered with a dusting of snow, holding her gloved hands out before her. "I yield."
"That doesn't seem like the queenly thing to do," he chuckles, stopping his advance and lowering his sword to his side.
"I thought it best that we end this session with my victory," she returns, her hands coming to her hips.
"Or you were just afraid of defeat," he comes to a stop before her, forcing her to look up at him. When her gaze lowers, he fears his reaction to her hitting him was too much. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I wouldn't have hurt you, and I wasn't angry that you hit me."
"I know. I trust you. Besides, I am the one with the fiery temper," she answers, hand coming up to rest on his chest.
He presses his lips to hers in a gentle kiss before resting his forehead against hers. They stay like that for several moments before he puts a respectable distance between them, having noticed movement in the camp behind her. "We should head back. The others are waking."
- Ice and Fire -
"Will you join me for a walk, Jon Snow?" she asks as the small group starts to disband after supper has finished. The Unsullied and Dothraki are expected to reach their camp tomorrow, and from there the journey to Winterfell will continue.
"Yes, Your Grace."
They walk side by side, their arms brushing lightly, as they leave the camp behind them. Their destination is revealed to him when he sees her children in the distance on the nest that they had made.
"You have given me a new set a skills with which I may defend myself during the wars to come. I would like to return the favor," she informs him, the dragons lifting their heads up from the ground at their approach. "I have been thinking about this for some time. You have said that you encountered wight horses, a wight polar bear. It is therefore likely that they will have raised Viserion from the dead. And even if they were unable to do so, having two dragon riders on our side would still be better than one."
It takes him a long moment to comprehend her words, and when her intention becomes clear to him, he turns to her in disbelief. "Dany…?"
"You being the hero when we were beyond the wall is now working to our advantage - you didn't escape on Drogon with the rest of us," she takes his hands in hers and squeezes them. "You can be Rhaegal's rider."
"I… I can't… You are his mother; he doesn't need a rider." Jon looks suspiciously over at the two dragons, who are watching them closely, and then suddenly pulls away from her as he figures out what she is plotting. "Is this a joke? Punishment for laughing at your ability with the sword, for causing you harm? You want me to try to ride him so that you can laugh as I am burnt or devoured? I won't do it."
"I am not oblivious to the tales of my father, of how he burnt people alive for his own enjoyment. I will not deny that I have taken lives with the dragons' fire. But if I wanted you dead, Your Grace, I would command it, not attempted to lure you into some kind of trap," Dany tells him, the hurt his words had caused evident in her voice as well as her eyes.
Ashamed of his accusation, he walks away from her, moving closer to her ferocious children in an effort to show that he believes her words. The dragons both give low growls as they eye him warily, but these noises fade off when she approaches behind him. "I'm no Targaryen; I'm a bastard from the North. Why me?" he looks over at her curiously.
Her answer is immediate, as if she has no doubts about this. "You are the only one I trust to do this, Jon Snow. You're the only one who has been brave enough to lay a hand on them, and I know you will not use their power for your own gain. Should I fall in battle, there has to be someone who can control them. If you bond with Rhaegal, Drogon will follow you too in my absence."
"And if he doesn't accept me?" he asks nervously.
"If we're lucky, he either won't let you mount him or will knock you off if you do climb up onto his back. If we're not…"
Together they approach the green dragon, and Jon cautiously reaches his hand out to touch Rhaegal's snout. The dragon gives a low growl but allows him to make contact. She holds her breath as she watches. Moments later, Rhaegal adjusts his wing, positioning it as a step much as he had seen his brother do for their mother.
He glances over at her, and she gives him an encouraging smile, both of them taking a few steps closer to the dragon's wing. "You always make it look so effortless. I don't want to hurt him."
"You won't," she assures, pointing out a path for him to climb up.
Jon follows her instructions and with a sigh of relief, he straddles the dragon where the shoulders and neck meet, just as he had seen her do. "Now what?"
Drogon gives a threatening roar when she starts to climb up Rhaegal's wing, and she stops halfway up to glare at him. "I am not abandoning you, Drogon. Just be patient."
She resumes her climb and crouches down, balancing on the bone of his wing where it joins with the rest of his body and steadying herself with one hand on Jon's thigh and the other on her green son's neck.
"Which one of the spikes steer him?"
"None of them."
"Then how do I tell him where to go?" he looks at her in confusion.
Her hand moves from his leg up to cover his heart, "You have to connect with him in here. Then he will listen to you, obey you."
"And to get him up into the air? You've said something to them before, and they took off."
"If you have that connection, words are unnecessary. But the word is soves; it means fly in Valyrian."
"Soves," he repeats timidly and is surprised when the dragon readjusts his feet and wings beneath him, but they do not leave the ground. "I suppose I will need to be more commanding."
"He won't fly while I am still up here," Daenerys responds.
"Even if I command him to?" She shakes her head. "But you are his mother."
"Nobody has ever ridden more than one dragon."
He takes this news in, his nerves returning, "You mean I am going to be alone up here? What if I can't connect to him?"
"You've gotten this far; you will do just fine, Jon. And if anything goes wrong, Drogon and I will be just behind you," she reassures him before maneuvering back down Rhaegal's wing.
"And the fire? How do I make him do that?" he calls down to her, certain that he had heard her shouting something to the dragons before the fire had come during her rescue mission north of the wall.
"I think it would be best for me to give you that information when we are not within the vicinity of the dragons in order to prevent any accidents," she replies with a smirk as she looks up at him on the dragon's back, then she climbs up onto her own dragon and patiently waits.
Jon takes a deep breath, finding his heart racing, and tightly grips a horn from the dragon's neck in each hand. Before he can even open his mouth to give the order, Rhaegal is leaping off the ground, his wings stretching out to propel them upwards.
Dany watches them, a pleased smile gracing her face, and then she and Drogon too rise from the snow-covered ground.
- Ice and Fire -
The sun has long since sunk below the horizon when they finally are on the ground again. His legs are a little wobbly after spending so much time in the air, but he quickly makes his way over to her, his hands clutching her elbows and pulling her in for a kiss. "That was amazing," he exclaims when they part, unable to stop the grin from taking over his usually sullen face.
"I see that you fared much better than I did the first time I rode Drogon. He flew, as I had commanded, but I couldn't get him to go where I wanted. And when he finally did land, he refused to let me on his back again much less fly me back to my people."
As he tells her about his experience, how he had connected with her dragon, a sadness suddenly comes over him. "Dany… what happens to your connection to Rhaegal?"
"What's done is done, Jon. You are his rider now," she tells him gently.
"Dany?" he prompts again, wanting her to explain.
She bites her lips for a moment before answering, "The connection is still there, it's just weaker. I can feel him, could tell how happy he was to finally have his own rider. But I won't ever have control of him again."
"Will it… will it go away completely the longer he is bound to me?"
"I don't know." Seeing the apology on his lips, she quickly shakes her head to cut him off, "Don't apologize, Jon. This is a good thing."
"And Viserion? Can you still feel him?" he hesitantly questions.
"I couldn't feel him after he disappeared below the surface of the water. But the night before we boarded the ship to start our journey North, he returned. It's weaker… weaker than what I feel with Rhaegal even now. And I can tell that he's not the same."
"They brought him back and now the Night King rides him?"
"I fear that is so," Daenerys closes her eyes in sadness at what had happened to her poor child.
Jon wraps his arms around her, knowing how hard it was for her to accept the death of one of her children. But to have to now see him being used as a weapon - to have him attack them and to have to see him killed again - will be even more difficult.
The cold has only continued to worsen the farther north they travel, and he feels her tremble in his arms. Walking arm-in-arm, they quickly make the short walk back to camp. Everyone has retired for the evening save for a few of her guards, and she gives him a questioning glance as they approach her tent.
Together they enter, only to come to a halt just inside when they see it is not vacant.
"I will not judge who you choose to share your bed with, Your Grace, but -" Tyrion starts.
She cuts him off, fire in her eyes and her words, "And yet it seems that is exactly what you are doing, My Lord."
The relationship between the Dragon Queen and the King in the North was no secret to their traveling companions, though the two in question were oblivious to that fact, but now the entire company had witnessed the two dragons in the air, both with riders.
The dwarf stares back for a long time before he speaks again. "I hope that this decision does not cost you the Iron Throne."
Looking to Jon, her violet eyes glistening with sincerity and love in the low light of her tent, she declares, "If it brings us victory against the army of the dead, then I am willing to sacrifice the throne."