"Your Grace."
"Your Grace."
This was a dance they danced regularly, keeping up the facade that they were just two monarchs with aligning interests, working to ensure the interests of their realms. And of course, they regularly spoke together in confidence, because who could better understand the struggles of a Queen than a King?
And so, they played this delicate game of keeping up appearances in public, keeping a respectful distance, or touching in only the most chaste and chivalrous of ways. And their advisor's pretended not to notice, as the King's hand slipped to the Queen's back when He helped her dismount her horse after a ride where the definitely didn't give their chaperone's the slip. Not that their chaperones were really paying attention. Or how the Queen's hand lingered on his arm after he escorted her from a hall.
It was delicate balance. In public, they were carefully orchestrated and formal. But behind closed doors they had a wild passion for one another, fuelled by a deep love built on mutual respect.
Before the Battle for the Dawn they hadn't cared about decorum or secrecy. No-one had, they all might die before they saw the light of the sun again. At the feast they had drank out of the same cup, fed each other morsels of food from their ow forks. If anyone noticed they said nothing, perhaps assuming the Dragon Queen and the King in the North just wanted some companionship before they might die. As people had dispersed from the Great Hall in Winterfell at the feast two nights before, Jon had gone to sit with the Wildlings and the Nights Watch, laughing and smiling in a way Daenerys saw so infrequently. When his sister had crept from the hall, a tall blacksmith in tow Daenerys had finally gone to sit with him again, eager to know the people who knew Jon best. Who could extract the wonderful laughter he kept hidden. She had seated herself on Jon's knee, cup of wine in hand and he had wrapped his arm around her waist and buried his head in her hair to smell it, before raising a toast, to those who had stood by him through this and to Daenerys herself for joining them. He had kissed her after that, and the Wildlings and his brothers in the Nights Watch had hollered and banged their cups on the table.
But despite that closeness there was no marriage between the King and the North and Queen of the Six Kingdoms. It had been proposed, suggested. Daenerys had refused it privately because she would bear no children save her dragons, and despite Jon's protests that he didn't care, that the crown of Winter could pass through Sansa's line, or Arya's if Sansa didn't marry, legitimacy of her sons be damned. Some smallfolk even assumed that was why Jon kept his seat at all. Why else would a woman so hells bent on claiming her father's throne allow part of it to slip away? And why else would the rulers meet so frequently in the Neck and the Riverlands when their advisors could have these negotiations themselves? Why after two years had neither accepted a marriage proposal, they would need to produce heirs?
"You look well, King Aegon." Daenerys said as she felt grey eyes slide up her figure. She was wearing a black dress of the finest lambswool and a white cloak with scarlet dragon's embroidered all over rested around her shoulders. The dress was close fitting around the boddice in the style of the northern ladies, but the neckline was decidedly southern, and she pretended not to notice that his eyes has rested on her cleavage. While the Maesters of the Citadel had declared that spring had begun, and snows had since melted in the Riverlands, she still felt the chill in the air.
But looking at Jon you would have thought it was full summer. He had done away with his furs before he had left the Neck. He stood before her in the black leather and iron brigandine armour he favoured with a long-sleeved grey tunic underneath, the white direwolves embroidered around the cuffs - no doubt Sansa's doing - the only concession to vanity. Every part of him, everything he did was practical, from the leather tie that kept his raven hair from his eyes to the heavy boots he wore.
"As do you." Jon wrenched his eyes to her face as he held his arm out to his queen. "I'm sure your Grace tired from the ride and would like to rest before we begin negotiations. Allow me to escort you to your quarters."
Neither of them saw the way Ser Davos and Missandei rolled their eyes at 'negotiations', too engrossed in the sight of each other after three moons to notice anything else.
"It would be my greatest pleasure Your Grace." Daenerys said, violet eyes staring into steel grey as she slipped her hand around his arm. "I heard you had some trouble recently, the Karstarks was it?"
"Nothing major your Grace, just some long lost cousins trying to take over the keep," He grimaced. "Nasty business, but easily enough dealt with. I hear your new Lord of Storms End has been a boon to the Stormlands."
"I don't know how he does it, but he keeps those Storm lords in check in a way I cannot comprehend," She shook her head, thinking of the stories that had reached her of Gendry Baratheon meeting with his more troublesome lords in the Forge, a not-so-subtle reminder he could destroy and rebuild any of them. "Madmen the lot of them, entirely too quick to anger."
"Well, I'm sure knowing that his Lady Wife is a deadly assassin is a great deterrent to dissent." Jon smiled thinking or Arya. She and Gendry had never said the vows of marriage, neither seemed to think it important, both having abandoned religions that recognised the institution, or religion entirely. But for the safety of themselves and their children they were 'married'.
The walk to Daenerys' quarters was long, through winding corridors. Long enough for them to lose their guards, though the truth was they knew their monarchs would want to spend some time alone, and that they were more than capable of protecting themselves. The King was a strong swordsman, and the Queen was formidable in her own right.
"I missed you." Jon whispered when they reached the entrance to her quarters. It was the truth, being apart from her made his heart ache and thought wander to what she was doing, and where she was.
"I missed you too." Daenerys whispered back as she wrapped her arms around his torso, bringing her face up to place a light kiss in his lips. "I want to hear everything about what you have been doing in the North."
Jon leaned down and deepened the kiss before drawing back and looking at her in his arms. "I can't wait to tell you everything. And to hear about Kings Landing. How is Rhaegal? I know he pines when I can't be with him."
She smiled up at him. "All of my sons are well, Jon Snow. But Rhaegal does miss you. He was very upset with me for not bringing him with me, more so than Viserion or Drogon were." She kissed him again. "But I really should rest. I will see you at dinner." She leaned up on tiptoes so her lips were brushing his ear. "And after."
A shiver ran down Jon's spine as Daenerys disentangled herself from him and slipped into her rooms.
When he did return, in the dead of night after the whole castle was asleep, he slipped in and wrapped his arms around the Queen who sat at her dressing table, lazily pulling pins from her intricate braids. Jon moved her hair to the side exposing her bare neck and placed a gentle kiss on her pulse before helping undo her hair. He loved doing it, running his fingers though the silken strands as he combed them out and letting them fall in soft waves around her face. Daenerys moaned and relaxed against him as he gently massaged his fingers into her scalp. Her braids had been heavy and pulled at her scalp in a way that was incredibly uncomfortable.
"Thank you." Daenerys said as she stood and turned to face Jon, wrapping her arms lazily around his neck and softly kissing him, feeling the tickle of his beard.
"The pleasure was all mine." He whispered back as she pushed him back towards the bed, stripping of his shirt before they even made it.
No-one would disturb them Ghost made sure of that, leaning against the outside of the door to Daenerys' chambers. Not that anyone dared. She was a Queen and he a King, and none could dare to tell them what was right and what was wrong.
"What is it that scares you?" Daenerys whispered into Jon's shoulder when they were done. She was leaning against him as he tied his boots, begging him not to go now their tryst was over. Every fibre of her being yearning for him to stay longer, to let them be found entwined in each other's arms, for him to spill his seed inside her core and not elsewhere as he had earlier that night. For the Lords of their courts for force them to marry because of what they saw.
"I don't know what you mean, Dany." He didn't look at her. He hated this conversation. Was it still fear if every fibre of your being told you were right? Or if you hated feeling it? Or you knew that you only felt that way because you were lied to and about since the day you were born?
She pulled him to face her, forcing him to twist his torso so she can see him. "I see it flash in your eyes, Jon." She kissed him, gently probing her tongue past his lips in an invitation to fuck her again. "Every time we are together, I feel you hold back. I am not a fragile thing that you will break."
No. He thought, playing the old conversation in his head. "But I could get you with child." Too late he realises that those words were said aloud. He closes his eyes as she sucks in a quick breath, not wanting to see how those words would hurt her. He knows Daenerys believes herself barren. Her womb ruined by a birth too young and in exchange for a life. She knows Jon does not agree. Witches lie, he had said once. An ironic statement from a man who only lived because of one.
"And would that be so bad." She murmurs into his lips. Gods she wishes she could have his heirs, babes with his bouncing black curls and her purple eyes. Children that had his strength and thoughtfulness, who put others before themselves no matter what. Children who would ride dragons and befriend wolves, who would fight for life and liberty and laugh with an ease their parents had never known.
That had been the wrong reaction. He wrenched himself out of her grasp and moved to stand in front of the fire, grabbing his shirt as he did. He stood, staring into the fire like the red priests did, searching for answers and searching for nothing.
Eventually he spoke. "What is my name Daenerys?" His voice came out low and melancholy, a hint of anger and a touch of sadness. "My actual name. Not the one my mother gave me, that my court and yours calls me. The one you and my sisters use. That Sam, the Free Folk and the Watch uses."
"Jon."
"And the rest of it?"
"Snow."
"And what do those names mean?" He asked, so low and quiet she strained to hear him.
"That Ned stark had very little imagination in naming you." A sad smile found its way to her lips, she knew that a bastard upbringing had hurt him, ingrained ideas in him about his own worth he still struggled with. Nothing made him feel more like a worthless bastard, something wrong and a mistake, than the faith his people had in him, the faith that he felt was misplaced. "And that you were raised a bastard of the North."
Jon turned to face her again, arms crossed over his bare chest, shirt still clutched in his fingers, his breathing was ragged, like he had been running. He supposed he had been, running all his life from pain and anguish, running from emotions too painful to face. "Do you have any idea what that can do to a man? And then to be told it was all a lie to protect you? To know that every suffering you had – and others had - was to keep you safe?" As misplaced as it was he felt guilt for the pain Ned Starks lies had caused Catelyn Tully.
She shook her head. Jon had told her much about his childhood, his time at and beyond the wall, but he had only liked to share sweet memories with her. Savouring moments when he had felt safe and like he belonged. But she had heard things. From Sansa and Arya, from Sam and those who knew him longer than her. Whispers of a Lady Stark who hated his existence, of a life where he was less than his so-called half-brothers, and othered by this chosen ones on the Wall. A life where he had never truly belonged a dragon hidden among wolf pups, a King amongst criminals and paupers.
The pain from such an upbringing was clear as day in his eyes now. A deep sorrow and hurt that hadn't been healed by knowing his true parentage, or his time away from such notions beyond the wall. Or his time with her. A deep pain that turned into a fear for any woman he loved, and any child he might father. The whispers that would follow them as they grew regardless of the truth. And a newer fear, the bloody bed that had claimed his mother and Daenerys' alike. That had tried to claim Arya but for her stubbornness and refusal to meet her strange Many Faced God.
And how could it be healed? These were wounds that lay themselves open on your heart, ready to be made red and raw by a sly comment or jest, ready to bleed when poked in just the right way. That ached in the night when he couldn't sleep. Damery's knew the type too well, she had her own. A life on the run, being sold and raped, a son born dead. There was no salve for those, or any way to bind them. The only shield he knew for them was to force up barriers between himself and others. Jon knew he would rather be stabbed and killed again than watch Daenerys' suffer her mother's fate, or their child his.
"No." She whispered, standing up and moving in front of him, placing one hand over his heart, over the scars both physical and emotional, and using the other to pull his head down so his lips would meet hers in a deep, languid kiss. "But I want to. I want to know all of you Jon Snow. I want you to make me understand, and I want you to heal." She kissed him again, relishing how he bit at her lip as she pulled away. "And I want you to try and prove that witch wrong most of all."
This was the first time she had admitted that the Maegi could be wrong aloud, and it had the desired effect, eliciting a low growl from Jon, as he hungrily kissed her. Maybe this is what he had been waiting for. But he stopped, letting that Stark honour regain control. For a moment he had been both Dragon and Wolf, ready to take what was his. And she was always his. "Maybe one day I will." He muttered, a deep desire lacing his words. "But not today, and not before we talk more deeply about this. In the light of day. I need to go, before Davos comes looking for me." He kept kissing her, trailing across her jaw and down her throat, lust for the woman he loved, who would claim he was just a confidant outside these walls, driving him back to the edge. He wanted and needed her again.
And she could feel it as she pressed her naked body against him, feel the way he tried to meld their bodies together, and the way his hardness pushed against his pants again and the way he moaned when she rubbed her hand over it. Even through leather she could feel the outline of his head. "Well, I can hardly let you go in this condition." There was a smile in her voice as she slowly picked at the trouser laces, almost teasing him. He had given her her fill earlier, anymore and she thought she would explode, but she could still pleasure him like this. With the secrets Doreah taught her many, many moons ago. The sort of secrets she though only existed for serving men until Jon had showed her the ones that pleasured women.
Daenerys heard the breath hiss out of him as she knelt in front of him, and his hands went to her hair. Gods be damned if they were caught.
A/N Thanks for reading, this should be arround 5 or 6 chapters, fully plotted out.
Reviews feed an authors soul, and I'd love to know what I can be doing better.