I'm in the dark.
I can't see, can't see it.
Can't see it.
Feeling my way back to you.
I can't feel, can't feel it.
Can't feel it.
Reach out and show a little loving.
Shine a little light on me,
show a little loving
-Anna of the North, "Lovers"
With every soul crammed into the Great Hall, the rest of the old castle felt abandoned, devoid of the low buzz of liveliness it usually held. If Jon listened closely he could hear the distant sounds of the party as they drifted through the empty halls, bouncing off the bare stone. After Dany went to get some air and never returned, he assumed she found her way to bed. They had every right to be exhausted after a day packed full of movement and interaction. He still checked the hallway for her but saw no sign of his new wife wandering around.
So he went back to his own rooms, a little relieved to be away from the heat and busyness. He loved his family and their energy but he was tired. Though, he could find the energy to spend all night dancing if just to see Dany dash around the floor like a mythical woman of the forest, for her manic laughter in his ear and slight form pressed to him. After the dance, she seemed different. Bolder and brighter, more carefree and present. As though she adopted the frenetic atmosphere around her. It was truly a wonderful thing.
Dany was full of little moments like that. Like during their carriage ride through Wintertown, when she spotted a group of children in paper crowns and fancy dress and immediately ordered the driver to stop. When security wouldn't let her down to mingle, she simply leaned over the side of the carriage, pulling flowers out of her bouquet for them. Jon got in on the act too, talking with the people on his side, shaking hands and graciously accepting their congratulations. The overcast sky failed to dull her brilliance, adorned in white and grey and beads and gems. Just another instance where he wondered how this woman ended up in his life.
What coin did the Gods flip for this to be his future, the way his life must go. Not that he was complaining, there were worse ways to live and Jon was certain there would be hard times. But now, he had Dany. And just like he and his family were a pack, dynamic and complex, Jon and Dany were discovering their own way of operating. She'd said it best, they were a team. Though he wasn't sure how coordinated.
After being unable to find Dany and making for his rooms, he heard voices coming from one of the sitting rooms, the door shut. Jon didn't make it a habit of listening in on private conversations, he discovered that it brought him more harm than good, but one of the voices sounded very familiar. With the heavy door in between, he was only able to make out bits and pieces but he heard enough.
He didn't listen long either and was still trying to decide what to make of it all.
A knocking at the door pulled him away from his musing and set him onto wondering who could want him at this hour.
He opened the door to Dany, a half-empty bottle of whisky dangled from one hand, a glass from the other. She leaned against the door frame, a lazy yet confident smile on her face, "Hi."
"Hi," Jon returned, confused.
"Can I come in?"
He motioned for her to enter and she pushed off the door frame to walk past him. Something was different about her demeanor, looser and swaggering. Jon remained in his place by the door, doing what he did best, observing.
"Dany, where have you been?"
"Oh, around," she sighed, dropping to the settee in the solar.
"And leaving a trail of empty bottles behind?"
"You could say that." she undid the straps on her shoes, letting them clatter to the ground before tucking her feet up.
Dany shifted, draping herself over the dark upholstered cushions. The liquid fabric of her dress settled over her legs like the crystal silver waters of a placid lake, spilling off the edge of the seat in sheer waves. She wasted no time in removing the pins from her hair, the silver band too. Ruffling a hand through her waves, they rested in a messy, lopsided halo around her face and exposed shoulders.
She finally leveled her gaze on him. Her pretty violet eyes, rimmed in hazy makeup, were dark in the dim light. A flush colored her cheeks the soft pastel of health and exhilaration. Or was it a drunken boldness simmering beneath.
"How much have you had?"
"Hm, not enough to kill me. You know you can come over here and sit down, you know, instead of brooding in the corner."
"Not brooding." he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Yeah? Then what are you doing?"
"Looking."
"Do you like what you see?" mixed with her heated gaze, the smirk she gave him was near predatory.
"I would be a fool to say no," he admitted, "Did you come here so I would stroke your ego?"
"No, I came because I genuinely enjoy your company and I … don't want to be alone right now."
Her boozy confidence wavered and she drank her whiskey straight from the bottle, as though trying to replace it.
Jon gave in and sighed as he approached her.
"Is it about your brother?" he didn't want to breach the subject of her private conversation too soon.
She scoffed, "Like you really care."
"Think what you want, Dany, but you're the one who came here. It's clear you've got to get something off your chest."
She side-eyed him before the bottle found her lips again, the amber liquid inside swishing around, the only sound in the room for a moment.
"Don't do that," she ordered, voice a little harsh from the drink.
"Do what?"
"Psycho-analyze me. People have been trying to do that for years. It's daddy issues, it's mommy issues. There's too much pressure on her, there's not enough. I'll tell you what it is, it's people who don't know how to leave me alone!"
Apparently, that was the push she needed. At her emission, she stood and paced in front of him. Hints of her citrusy perfume floated in her wake, a contrast to the heavy mood surrounding her.
"I've had to deal with people controlling me my whole life. And my family's a fucking mess, which doesn't help. I finally figure out how to get away from it all and Rhaegar drags me back. Then he springs this marriage on me without my prior knowledge, so when I rightfully freak out, he threatens to ruin my life. The longer I delayed it, the more pressure he put on me and what was I supposed to do with him breathing down my neck about it? So, of course, I broke down and said yes but I guess that wasn't enough for him because-"
Jon hated the way his stomach sunk at her revelation. He needed an explanation, deserved one. He intercepted her path and placed his hands on her shoulders, her slight flinch strangling his heart.
"You said you agreed to the marriage because you wanted to help my people."
"I did," she blinked, "And I do but it wasn't the only factor at play. I'm sorry."
He shook his head, to dismiss her apology and the conflicted feeling settling in his chest. Their marriage was inevitable, so why did he feel terrible about this new information. Because she made it seem like it was her decision, like there wasn't someone in the shadows forcing her hand. And Jon couldn't help but feel that he was at fault.
"It's fine, you don't have to apologize. Just, sit down before you wear a hole in the floor."
She looked at him for a moment, the Dany he was accustomed to searching his face before she retreated again. Jon was a little relieved that her heated, predatory stare from earlier was gone.
"What's it like? Being close with your siblings?"
"I won't lie, it has its moments," he admitted, sitting down next to her, "Sansa and Arya get into petty fights all the time, but they're at that age. Robb and I would get into it, though there's not much now that he can do to piss me off. Now Bran, he's an old soul, stays out of the way for the most part, handles everything like a diplomat. But at the end of the day, we'd die for one another. "
She pulled her knees up to her chin, whiskey bottle resting on her shins, "That sounds nice. I don't think I have to tell you that Rhaegar and I's relationship is complicated. Strained is a better word. Viserys and I were closer in age, for whatever good it did us. My mother had a difficult pregnancy with Rhaegar and was told she wouldn't have another. Eight years later, Viserys came and in another two, there was me."
"You don't talk about Viserys a lot."
"There isn't much to say. We were close, then we weren't. He died young."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be." she took another swig. "You wouldn't have liked Viserys, he was very punchable."
Jon couldn't keep down the chuckle that left him and it brought a small smile to Dany. They fell into their usual silence, something Jon was finding more comfort in but the knowledge of what he heard nagged on him. He should tell her he'd heard her conversation. It didn't feel right.
Dany continued to look at him in her contemplative way. She set the bottle on the floor, knees leaving their place below her chin as she leaned closer to him. There was still distance between them, though significantly less than ever before. Her hand crept up to trace the length of his scar, from brow to the spot just below his eye.
"You never told me the real reason why you came here," Jon reminded her, voice toeing the line of a whisper.
"Well, it wasn't to talk about my poor familial relations."
"It wasn't?"
She chuckled, soft and breathy, "Are you always this clueless?"
"Not particularly."
His hand tightened around the armrest, the threads scratching his palm. Her soft fingertips brushed over his cheek, bringing her closer, until she was in the no man's land she'd only dared to cross once before.
Jon expected a moment of hesitation, a moment for the Gods to flip another coin and decide his fate for him. He closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer. Please. For what, the jury was still out. For them to go further, for the willpower to do so? For Dany to stop dead in her tracks and realize she was making a mistake. But the alcohol-fueled boldness Dany possessed was stronger than any deity and she proceeded as she had the night before.
Her lips, which had been pillowy and careful, were harsh and persistent. The once delicate, hesitant sweep of her fingers turned assured. Pressurized points drawing Jon's nerves to the surface and igniting them. He wanted to be rational about the situation but the feel of her made it difficult. Tongue, lips, and cool, soft skin. With a swing of her leg, the formal reasoning in his brain shut down, leaving him like a car with no driver, speeding toward a cliff. And below the precarious overhang, a valley of white water, sharp rocks, and venomous snakes.
His hand sunk into the mess of her hair, the other ghosting over the ethereal fabric hiding the skin of her thigh, her hip, the small of her back. She arched under the pressure of his hand, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging, egging him on and draining the rest of his common sense.
But his mind still wandered, landing on the very recent memory of overhearing something he clearly wasn't meant to. Who was she talking to? What did they talk about? Those radio commenters who theorized Dany was a spy, were they right? His need for answers was greater than it had been before, outweighing the other, much more present want.
It was the sensation of her hands slipping under the hem of his shitty old tee that pulled him back. They couldn't. Not with Dany in the state she was in and not with all the questions piling up. His hands found her shoulders, gently creating space between them.
"Dany we can't," he stated.
The confused crease in her brow smoothed, "Why not? We've already kissed… three times now. I think that means we can kick it up a notch."
"No. You're not thinking straight,"
"So?"
"You're going to regret this."
"Technically, I won't remember it, I think that's a perk."
"It's not right."
"Nothing about this has been right," she countered, "Why are you so cagey? Is it me?"
She didn't give him time to respond before rambling on in the loose-lipped way of someone with a lot on their mind and too much alcohol in their system. Until realization dawned on her, transforming her face into a look of slow surprise.
"Gods, it is me. You probably think I'm crazy, coming here to, well-" she backed off, her dress trailing across Jon's lap as she did- "I've made a big enough fool of myself so I'll…"
She stood and was about to leave when Jon caught her wrist. The curiosity swimming in his mind needed answers and it was going to get them.
"Dany, it's not you. And I don't think you're crazy, I swear. I- I overheard you talking with someone. I have to know who."
It seemed, for the first time that night, Dany couldn't look him in the eyes.
"Would you believe me if I told you it was a ghost?" she pondered.
Jon scoffed, running a hand through his hair, "A ghost?"
"Daario Naharis, a person of former … interest."
A mixture of dread and surprise and irritation twisted under his ribs. The combination was an unexpected reaction to her reveal, leaving him bristling.
"And you invited him?" There was more bite than he meant.
"Of course not. The guest lists were triple checked and his name was never on them, it was never even considered. But he had one. Said he wanted to apologize, well that was a fucking lie. I'm tired of lies."
"Me too," Jon agreed.
"And yet here we are, living in one." Dany sat back down, exhaustion starting to show through her posture.
Her answer should've been enough to appease him but he wanted more details.
"What else did you talk about?"
"I didn't reveal any state secrets if that's what you're wondering."
"You know I don't believe the conspiracies. But why would you agree to speak alone with him?"
"Maybe you are clueless. That's the man who appeared beside me in a scandalous photograph, people knew we were involved. What would it look like if I was spotted speaking with him in an abandoned corridor on the eve of my wedding, with my new husband nowhere to be seen? I'm already suspected of being a foreign operative, no matter how ridiculous and untrue it is. People love to talk and we don't need them adding fuel to an already large, uncontrollable fire."
"Thank you, for being honest. I know our … relationship is delicate but I do trust you."
"And I trust you," she assured him.
Her hand found his, entwining their fingers but keeping the space between them.
"That being said, there is one more thing you should know. Sansa didn't hear what really happened between Rhaegar and me, only that we raised our voices at each other. He tried to delay me from signing the marriage contract so he could ask me to be his inside man. He admitted to trying to plant agents in Winterfell but having no success, his Hand thought I would be a good fit."
The shallow irritation from the earlier part of their conversation returned, rapidly turning to a flare of deep ire. Dany's hand tightened to let him know she felt the same way.
"When I refused, as he should've expected, things went from bad to worse. Rheagar's raised his voice at me before but he's never …" she took a deep breath, it trembled slightly as did her jaw. "He's never gotten physical with me. And I've never had a reason to fear my brother but in that moment I was so scared."
She looked at him, tears welled in her eyes but he knew she wouldn't let them fall. Dragons didn't cry.
He gathered her into his arms, a novel sense of protectiveness adding itself to the cocktail of emotions the night possessed as he held her tightly. Gods help him, he wanted to protect her. This woman who, only a month ago, he could feel nothing but deep contempt for. Who, in the short time they knew each other, did nothing but confuse and impress him and make him wonder what was going on inside her head. Shifting from discontent to tolerance to acceptance of her as part of his life.
Earlier that night, he couldn't imagine her being considered part of the metaphorical pack his family composed. But the way Sansa made it a priority to tell him that something happened between Dany and her brother, and the way she simply won over the other members, proved she was considered a Stark by more than just the law. And she bonded so well, it was like she was always meant to be.
"Can I stay here?" she murmured into his shoulder.
"Of course," he answered, breathing in the sweet, chemical scent of her hair, "For as long as you want."
That proved to be all night. Jon loaned her a shirt so she could change out of her dress and Dany requested they talk about anything other than family, marriage, and politics. Which led to several long-winded conversations about literature and travel, some of it involving Dany's mindless mumblings. While they were both exhausted, she was the first to nod off, tucked under a throw blanket in the opposite corner of the settee.
Jon took in her resting face. It seemed impossible that she was the same whirlwind of a woman who swaggered into his room practically plastered. And he realized they were both going to end up with sore necks if they slept crammed into the corners of the age-old piece of furniture.
He decided to let Dany take his bed, gently picking her up so as not to wake her. Though he doubted anything could disturb her at that point. Jon considered sharing the bed with her, it was large enough, but their little blunder undid some of the progress made. So Jon returned to the loveseat, stretching out and letting the weight of everything take hold.
