Cerulean Blue

by NorthernLights37

When Jon agrees to a betrothal to the newly-found Princess Daenerys Targaryen, he cannot help but wonder if the marriage will be doomed from the start. He will do his duty, unite their Houses and help lead the war against their common enemies, but he remains haunted by the love he found, and lost, seven years prior, across the Narrow Sea. (Canon-Divergent AU/Arranged Marriage)

5. Reunification

Author's Note: Here we are, up to Chapter 5 already! Pardon the tardiness, I usually try to update in the morning but today got away from me with work, kids, and trying to manage 'virtual school' when half the technology doesn't want to cooperate! Enjoy!

---

Torture.

Exquisite, delicious, mind-numbing torture.

That is what it was, he thought, to spend an entire afternoon with Dany, in this imposing Keep, surrounded by people. All he craved was time alone, so that he could assuage the creeping doubt in his gut that any of this was happening, in truth.

This setting was not one in which they'd ever seen each other, cloistered in Rhaegar's council chambers, bent low over his Painted Table, arguing the merits of strategic attack. They stood, together, fingers laced together, neither will to let go. This had earned a few strange looks, to be sure, but after the first hour Jon had stopped caring.

He had known the younger, wilder version of her; In Lys, she had been bold, and reckless, full of life, willing to capture every moment and milk every drop of satisfaction from it, as though it might be her last. In some ways, she was much the same. Her suggestions to end the House Lannister, to wipe it from the map and from the annals of history, were bold, most certainly. She had a keen military mind, he found, and he wondered if she had always been as such, or if the atrocities she had faced across the Narrow Sea, after he had thought her lost together, had borne that fruit in her.

However, she was not the same, not precisely. She had grown, and changed, just as he had, and coupled with her ruthless push was a streak of compromise. He had led campaigns himself, not on dragonback, of course, but this type of warfare, army against army, was an area in which he had experience, as well. When he suggested more devious means of attack, of a certain level of trickery, in which they might minimize civilian casualties, she was all too willing to hear him out. It struck him, by their third hour of planning, that they worked rather well together, all things considered.

Rhaegar seemed to agree, rare smiles coming all too quickly now, as he watched the pair move pieces about the table, and even Jon could sense what rose between them all in that small room. It was, in the simplest terms he could imagine, an overwhelming sense of rightness.

Even her men, Dothraki and Unsullied alike, seemed to be more curious than suspicious of him now, their gazes falling to the joined hands between the two and meeting his with a reluctant consideration.

But still, despite the excitement that buzzed through him as they worked through the plans for this final assault, he couldn't shake the notion that being this close, so near to her he could feel the warmth of her body, could hear the occasional exhalation of breath, was near unbearable torture.

But it was a torture he gloried in, looking at her every chance he could, only to find her eyes trained on him, as well. He knew why, of course. He knew, in his heart, that it must be the same for her.

He was afraid if he looked away too long, if he were to release her hand from his grasp, that she might disappear, again. It was a pain he couldn't bear, and so he clung to her, and she to him, their shared looks saying what lips could not, at least not before such an audience.

He hoped that, by nightfall, they might find a chance to steal away. He wanted to know everything, even the things that kept him at a low-level state of anger, a fire in his heart that grew each time he tried to reconcile, in his mind, the stories he had heard of Daenerys Targaryen and all she had suffered, with the woman by his side.

Jon hated it, his jaw occasionally clenching and teeth grinding together as he remembered every hurt and betrayal that had befallen her. He was filled with a rage that he mused might rival the might of her dragon's, when he considered what he would do to all who had ever dared harm her.

Jon was done with any notion of mercy, for the Lannisters, or any other who might stand against them, now.

He had rid himself of the last of his qualms, as to what would come next, ruling a united Westeros under one banner, the moment he'd looked in her eyes, in that throne room. That power was the ultimate sort, and he did not seek it to rule over the realms of men. He sought it, with a surety that made him consider every plan, no matter how brutal, because of what it would afford him.

He had no dragons, but if he were King, he could protect them all. They could protect everyone who could not protect themselves, together.

If he were King, and she his Queen, he would never let her be harmed again.

And if any dared, he knew, with startling clarity, he would tear these lands apart at their very seems to bring about true justice, Northern justice. He would paint these lands red with the blood of their enemies, if they chose to attempt such, and he would do it with a song in his heart.

Because Jon would not, could not, lose her again.

Quiet had fallen, with Rhaegar, Davos and Athur engaging in a hushed conversation to the side about how best to ferry supplies to the Riverrlands, where the Northern armies would garrison, and he took the opportunity to nudge Dany with his shoulder, sharing a small indulgent smile that she mirrored at the contact.

"I like your beard," she whispered, glancing about before sneaking a hand up to stroke along his jaw. "Very dignified," she said, her eyes twinkling as he puffed up his chest a bit.

"You think so?" He narrowed his eyes at her playfully, leaning his head closer. "You don't want me to shave it all off, then?"

She kissed her teeth, sucking in a breath through them, her head tipping as she took his measure. "No," she finally whispered, "Though I must say, I almost didn't recognize you, before." Her gaze travelled his entire form, then, heat flaring between them as she studied him with decidedly improper intent. "You've got," she nibbled at her lip in a manner that made him want to take her, right there on that blasted table, "bigger."

He snickered, quietly. "Gods, I should hope so. I was barely more than a boy, when you last saw me."

Dany smiled demurely, a move at odds with the growing hunger in her eyes, and licked her lips. "Forgive me, Jon," she murmured, "but I daresay you were certainly man enough then to be getting on with." He did not miss her intent, his mind touching all too briefly on the hot press of her skin against his, his mouth everywhere, his hands everywhere, nothing existing but what pleasure they could find in each other.

Jon let out a shaky breath, a wave of desire threatening to knock his knees out from under him. "It's very wicked, to tease me so, when I can do nothing about it, Dany." He kept his voice quiet, and low, but made no effort to hide the desire that was building inside him, could see no reason to. Once, there had been such blunt, effortless honesty between them, save for that one larger truth, that shared lie of who they really were. It hadn't mattered, back then. He had loved her for who she was, the truth of her, not the Daenerys Targaryen who stood before him now, royalty in her own right, the woman who'd brought back the dragons and commanded massive armies.

He had loved the girl at the heart of her, with silver windswept hair and piercing blue-green eyes, who'd made him feel free, who had awakened a part of him he'd never known existed, before her.

And though they had changed, undoubtably, he hoped that had not died away, in the years that now lay between then and now.

She squeezed his hand, and gave him the most lascivious look he'd ever received. "I tease you not," she breathed, coming ever closer, "though I shall leave the assessment of my wickedness solely to your judgement, Your Grace." She punctuated the words with a sound nip to his earlobe, then drew back, innocent as a babe, to look about the room.

Jon shifted on his feet, thankful his gambeson shielded his rapidly burgeoning want from the other eyes in the room, giving Dany a teasing glare. "Your Grace, is it? I think Jon will work just fine, thank you. I hardly think there's much room left for formalities between us now, is there?"

Dany stifled a laugh with her hand, realizing, as he did, that they had drawn everyone's attention.

Rhaegar rapped a knuckle on the table. "I think we can disband to prepare for dinner." He glanced out the window over his shoulder, noting the sun had begun it's descent, afternoon rapidly giving way to evening. "Sister, will you stay? I would speak with you privately."

With an agonized, regretful look, Dany let go of Jon's hand, her gaze promising that touch would not be the last. "Of course." It was a nearly physical pain, the loss of their fingers tangled together, and he could see it was much the same for her, in the way she seemed rather deflated, bereft without his touch.

Jon dipped his chin towards her, never once looking away, praying to any gods that might hear him that this had not all been some wild, fantastical dream. "I shall see you at dinner, then, Daenerys." He couldn't help himself, a foolish fancy stirring his heart, and he took her slim hand one last time, flipping it over in his grasp at the last moment to press a gentle kiss to her palm. A lover's kiss, one that made a pretty blush flush her cheeks.

Collecting Davos, and exiting quickly, Jon set a course for his rooms, hoping he could collect his wayward thoughts and calm the tempest inside him before they met again.

"Will you be telling me what all that was about, Prince Jon?" The sailor's grizzled voice over his shoulder, along with his put-upon question, made Jon chuckle.

"Aye, Ser Davos. I'll explain everything, lest you get carried away." No doubt his future Hand had set his mind into a tizzy, their introduction to Jon's betrothed going not at all as planned. He checked his eyes towards the windows that lined the corridor, hoping he had enough time to explain it all before he was back before her again, his sweet silver Dany.

---

Jon wasn't entirely sure what he expected this dinner to be like. A feast, he had assumed, to welcome the returned Mother of Dragons, certainly a more lavish affair than his own somewhat more subdued welcome.

He dressed with care once more, while trying his best to set Davos straight on precisely what and who Daenerys was to him, why he had such familiarity with her. Davos had never seen her, so far as he knew, in his visits to the young Prince in Lys, but he had certainly been there that awful night, days after Dany had bid him a final farewell. Davos had seen him kneeling in the ashes, Dany's ring burning a permanent scar into his flesh, had seized him under the arms and hauled him from the place, finally, after hours of his broken weeping, of his awful, soul-wrenching grief.

He had been there for the aftermath, for the sorrow, but he had not seen the joy.

And the man sat, open-mouthed and for once, blissfully at a loss for words, when Jon had finished his somewhat abridged tale.

"But, Jon…," he spluttered, shaking his head in disbelief, when he'd finally regained his voice, "I don't understand how this can be? I saw that wreckage, saw you pull that ring from the embers. She couldn't have survived that."

Jon merely shrugged, knowing there were some answers only she could give him, willing, in the face of this most wonderous revelation, to spare some patience in learning them. He had bathed and trimmed his beard, donning fewer layers than he had for his formal audience, dressing in just a fine, steel gray tunic and black gambeson, strapping Longclaw to his waist and sparing a glance for the state of his more comfortable boots before he looked to the Onion Knight. "I don't know, Davos," he answered honestly. "I can only be glad she did, that she is here, now."

Davos scratched at his graying beard. "And the girl?"

His brow furrowed. "Naerys?" Jon frowned. "What of her? I shall still be her Lord Father, once Dany and I are wed. What change should this news make?" If anything, Jon found himself yet more eager to be father to the small girl, his fondness for her doubling now that he could pin down the source of her willfully endearing stubbornness, the streak of wildness that had so reminded him of Arya, before.

Now, he could see it clearly, that this girl was her mother's daughter in many ways, and his desire to see her protected and cared for, to shield her from whatever ills the world might fling her way, had only strengthened in its' resolve.

There was a curious look in the old man's eye, sharp and knowing, and Jon couldn't help but find it a bit discomfiting. "Perhaps it's nothing," Davos finally said, but his countenance seemed to suggest the exact opposite.

Jon had no chance to press him, however, a knock sounding at the door that startled them both, sending Davos scurrying to the door to fling it open.

It was Missandei, with Ghost in tow, and while the wolf had not taken to the Lady with the same fervor he had her charge, he was waiting amiably enough, tail brushing the floor when Jon came into view. "I've been sent to bring you to the feast, Your Grace, Ser Davos." She nodded to them both, in turn, and moved to the side, to allow them to exit Jon's chambers.

As they walked, she took up pace at Jon's side, a warmness to her smile that had been fairly rare, in his time on Dragonstone.

"My Lady tells me many wonderful tales of you, Your Grace." Jon felt himself flush a bit, the collar of his tunic growing a bit tight as he wondered exactly what Dany had shared with this woman, and Missandei grinned at him, clasping a hand around his forearm as they made their way to the hall. "I have seen your kindness, of course, with Naerys, but I am most pleased that you have been reunited with Her Grace once more." She squeezed at his arm. "This is a most blessed day, I think."

Jon quirked his lips at her, smiling in turn. "Aye," he nodded, "It is indeed, for us all."

Missandei leaned in close. "She asks that you come to her tonight, in her chambers. I will fetch you, show you the way, but she instructs only to come if you wish to. She says," the woman paused, "that she wishes to ask you some personal questions."

Jon tried to stifle his bright laugh, but still it escaped, earning a look back from Davos, where he walked just ahead. He desperately fought to tamp down his almost delirious excitement, for he knew those words with aching familiarity, knew precisely what it was his wicked Dany intended him to take from such statement. "I most certainly wish to. I will await you later, then."

They were nearing the place where they would dine, and now Missandei pulled away, speaking with a great measure of amusement as they passed line after line of Unsullied who stood guarding the halls. "The Princess Naerys has been regaling Her Grace with tales of your shared exploits, Prince Jon. She has rather insisted that she show her mother the fruits of her training, on the morrow. Shall I make sure preparations are made?"

This pleased Jon, a warmth in his heart that was made clear by the willing chuff of Ghost, just behind him. "Naturally. We must show Her Grace the warrior her daughter has become."

Rounding one final corner, Jon was met by a sight that set loose a song in his heart. There, flanked by her large Dothraki men, stood Daenerys, Naerys standing by her side, the latter looking to and fro as though she searched for something.

When the girl saw Jon, it was clear what she'd been searching for, and she let loose a less than dignified squeal, clapping her hands together and sprinting towards Jon before any could stop her.

"Prince Jon!" Her bubbly excitement was contagious, and Jon chuckled as she flung herself at his leg, wrapping her arms 'round his waist and hugging him tightly before she stepped back. "Mama said we can go to the training yard in the morning. Isn't that wonderful?"

Jon smiled broadly, tugging at a silver curl that trailed over the girl's shoulder and crouching. "Aye, it is." He squinted, looking up at the ceiling as though he were deep in thought, sparing a wink in Dany's direction where she stood, quietly watching the pair. "What should we start with, do you think?"

"Hmmm." The girl's small brow furrowed, giving the question serious consideration. "The bow, I think," she finally proclaimed, "but I want to show her how I can fight with a sword, as well." She giggled when Jon cuffed a hand under her chin, bouncing on her heels, absently reaching out to pet Ghost when he snuck around Jon's side to slide against the girl's small frame.

"Oh, we shall," Jon said, adopting a playful warning as he stood, "but you'd best keep that shield up or I'll ring your bell, little lass." He absorbed the girl's little shove, grinning at her pushed-out jaw, at the way she crossed her arms and glared at his warning.

"That was just the first few times, Prince Jon," she grumbled. "I'm much better now."

He looked at Dany again, hoping the genial friendship he'd fostered between her daughter and himself would be well received, surprised to find her completely expressionless, save for the suspicious wetness gathering in her eyes. Together, he and Naerys joined her, and he ducked his head bashfully, ready to apologize if he had overstepped in his training of the girl.

But he was given no opportunity, for before he could let even one word fall she had stepped to him, their chests brushing, the fine black silk gown she wore tonight teasing his every sense as she stole a quick, forceful kiss. When she withdrew, he could see, up close, the glassiness of her eyes, the way she seemed to tremble against him. He could not make sense of it, but at the very least, he was relieved that she was not cross with him, if her fervent kiss was any indication.

She took his hand, and stepped back, chin tipped up regally, and gave a nod to the men at the door, extending her other hand for Naerys to take.

"We enter together," she finally said, on an exhale, a weightiness to her voice that puzzled him further. Naerys, for her part, seemed oblivious, hiding a giggle behind her hand at the sight of her mother kissing him, Jon supposed. He spared her from any further questions, wouldn't push her now to ask what troubled her, instead curling his arm up and tucking her hand into the crook, nodding smartly.

"As you wish, Your Grace." With Naerys grinning madly at him from her mother's side, and a quick, fleeting smile from Dany, he patted his free hand against hers, where it lay against his arm, realizing that there was something quite nice, about this arrangement, the three of them together, united.

They felt, Jon thought whimsically to himself, like a little family.

It was a feeling he thought he could get used to.

---

Jon found himself seated between Rhaegar and Dany, Naerys still pouting well into their second course that she was not situated closer to Jon, and taking every opportunity to squirm around in her seat and call out to him, craning her neck to catch his eye as she pushed around the roasted vegetables on her plate.

He couldn't complain, really, but he knew the girl had grown used to conversing with him while they dined, so he did his best to keep engaged with her when he could, though Dany rolled her eyes several times and urged her daughter to settle in her seat and eat.

"Prince Jon," she said, leaning forward to look at him. "Watch!" She took a big bite of a vegetable, grimacing even as she chewed, making a show of swallowing and opening her mouth to show him she'd downed the food, though he knew she disliked them. The moment he grinned she turned to her mother, growing solemn. "Mama," she said, "did you see me eat my vegetables?"

"I think everyone saw you, sweetling. Perhaps we can manage not to demonstrate this newfound love of things between every bite, eh?" Dany's hair was styled much like Naerys's was, braided about her crown, the length of it loose and flowing in curls that cascaded down her back. He watched the play of light upon one curl in particular, perched atop her silk-clad shoulder, when Dany was suddenly twisting to face him. She laughed, silently, so that the girl wouldn't see, so as not to encourage her rather uncouth behavior, Jon thought.

Naerys went on, clueless as to her mother's amusement at her antics. "Prince Jon says that if I want to be a warrior I must eat all my dinner, even the bits I don't like."

Dany made a sound of amusement in her throat, giving him an appreciative look and a nod before she faced Naerys again. "And he's quite right. Let us see your strong sword arm, then, hmmm?" She reached as Naerys extended her arm, exclaiming as she felt along the girl's bicep, to the little girl's endless pleasure. "My word, you have grown quite fierce since I have been gone, haven't you?"

The little Princess wiggled in her seat, glowing at her mother's praise, and took another large bite. "I will show you tomorrow, Mama. Prince Jon says I must practice very hard if I want to be the best in all the realms."

Jon could only see Dany's profile now, as her fork scraped against her own plate, but he was happy to see a warm smile spreading on the lips he knew only second to his own. "Prince Jon seems to be filled to the brim with helpful advice." Another look was granted him then, cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement, searching his as she took a bite. She raised a brow, questioning, and he laid his palm atop her hand, where it rested beside her goblet on the table.

"I only, and ever, wish to be of service, Your Grace," he whispered quietly, then raised her hand to his lips to press a much more decorous, relatively chaste kiss to the back of her hand.

Something devious flared to life, in those blue-green depths, and she delicately pulled her hand free, taking a sip of her wine before resting the hand he'd held upon her lap. Naerys chattered on in fits and starts, and Jon saw her sneaking a morsel back to Ghost, who sat on his haunches behind her chair, as though he meant to stand guard over the girl. Jon knew, however, that he was merely awaiting the treats she would toss his way, not sharing the girl's distaste for the food on her plate.

He didn't know if Dany saw, and made no move to call her attention to it. She'd notice, soon enough, after a few shared meals. He smiled to himself, as the next round of food was served, a bite hovering just before his parted lips, when he felt it.

A warm hand came to rest upon his thigh, and he froze, breath stalling in his chest, turning his head just barely to peek at Dany from the corner of his eyes. With a hissing breath, he shoved the bite into his mouth, chewing without tasting at all, his entire being focused on the way she began to slowly slide her palm up his leathers. "Gods, Dany," he muttered, chuckling nervously, pulse beginning to race. "Are you testing my resolve? Hmmm?" He clucked his tongue, trying to chide her, even as he shifted in his seat, wishing she'd go higher still, to where his cock stirred against his breeches. "For I can assure you I am running dangerously low."

She looked about for a second, satisfied no one was watching them closely, then brought her lips to just brush against his ear. "Will you come to me later, Sweet Jon?" The tentative look that flitted across her face, the hint of shyness in her voice, nearly did him in, as if the matter were even truly a question at all.

"Oh, aye," he answered. He shifted again, hoping she would continue her trek, praying she would stop, before he forgot himself completely and ordered everyone from the room so that he might feast upon her as he did their meal. Her remembered curves, the swell of her full breasts against the tight bodice of her gown, the flare of her hips as he'd walked beside her earlier, had only fueled the flames of his desire, and it was not a jest to declare that the deep well of willpower that he prided himself on was very nearly depleted. "Seems to me it is the least I can do, as best I recall it was you who came to me, before."

Both brows raised now, and Dany gave him a long, lingering look that ended at the surface of the table, where her fingers traced light circles against his inner thigh, driving him near madness. "How very chivalrous of you." She glanced ahead, to where the gathered Dothraki let out a raucous noise, smiling politely, her lips barely moving when she spoke again. "I do hope you have rid yourself of such chivalrous intent when you seek me out later."

She punctuated her heated remark by trailing her finger up his stiff length, where it strained against the fabric of his pants, and he stifled his gasp by quickly raising his goblet to his lips. He shook his head at her, laughing silently when she winked at him, then turned to chat once more with her daughter, Ghost occasionally sneaking his head between the pair of silver heads to help himself to a potato or a piece of boar, held aloft for him in the little girl's fingers.

Jon took the opportunity to calm the lusty beast that had roared to life inside him, willing himself to dig deep, to find some spare patience, to contain himself for just a bit longer.

He turned to his left, surprised to find Rhaegar staring at him, with more than a little merriment. "Are you enjoying the feast, Jon?" He sounded rather bland, as though he were merely making polite conversation, but Jon didn't miss the way he continued to steal little peeks at Dany and Naerys, a bit further down the table.

Jon leaned on his elbow, fully facing the Dragon King now. "You knew," he said lowly, realization washing over him as he saw the way Rhaegar looked between them all. "You knew that was her ring, when I showed it to you, didn't you?"

Rhaegar hesitated, then wiped neatly at his lips with his linen napkin. "I had a very strong suspicion. 'Tis true, I knew that ring the moment I saw it, but I couldn't be sure until Daenerys returned. You could've happened upon it anywhere, the love you swore you lost might've obtained it from another," he paused, looking to his near empty plate. "I could not dare speak what I suspected aloud until she came, you understand. However," he continued, "I will admit that I knew that ring on sight. Before it belonged to my sweet sister, it was my mother's." A sad smile graced Rhaegar's face, the most common one he wore. "I hoped I was right, if it's any consolation. For you, and for her," he said, with a nod to the back of Dany's head, as she was still in deep conversation with little Naerys. "I'm sure this must be a shock, though. Are you faring well, in the face of all this?"

At the very real concern in the other man's voice, Jon slumped back in his chair, slightly, searching himself. "Aye," he said. "Though to be honest, I am not quite sure I believe it's real. It is like a wonderful dream, one I pray I will not awaken from, but I am terrified I will."

Rhaegar smiled thinly. "After so many seasons of misery, it must be difficult, I think, to accept glad tidings when they come. But heed my words, Jon Stark." He lowered his voice, fingers drumming on the table, fidgeting. "We face a great war, now, and there is no guarantee of tomorrow, no time to be wasted dwelling in the past. You must take what happiness you can, seize it with both hands, and hold tight to it, lest it slip away."

Jon knew what drove the man's words, knew the deep chasm of pain that hung around Rhaegar's shoulder like a mantle of grief, and could do little more than swallow heavily and nod solemnly. The King's amethyst eyes flicked away, to Jon's side, and turning his head, the Northern Prince found Dany watching them both intently.

"Brother," she said, with a hint of irritation. "What has you looking so forlorn?" Something unspoken passed between the two, a fissure of slight rancor that had Jon puzzled, wondering just what had taken place between the two after Jon had left the council chamber.

"Nothing, Sister. Nothing of concern. I was merely giving my soon-to-be goodbrother a piece of advice, in the wars to come." Rhaegar took a deliberate, slow sip of his wine, gazing out at the crowded hall. "I do hope you will heed my advice of earlier as well, Daenerys. The sooner the better, I should think. For all involved."

Dany stood suddenly, chair scraping loudly against the stone at the movement, and fixed her brother with a fierce glare. "It will be handled, as I promised. And I will remind you," she said warningly, real ire in her eyes now, "of your own promise, not to meddle in such affairs."

Rhaegar blinked, calm and collected, and took another sip of wine. "I will keep my word."

Jon looked between the two, flummoxed as to what was transpiring before him, wondering if he had been the cause of it somehow. Dany's hand came to light upon his shoulder, her eyes much kinder as she looked down at him. "I shall see Naerys to bed, if you will excuse me." Her fingers dug in against his shoulder, and she held his eyes for a bit longer, promise lingering in hers. "Brother," she acknowledged, in colder, but cordial tone.

Naerys, realizing what was happening, that she was about to be swept away, climbed from her own chair, scrambling past her mother with wide eyes, hands clasped together as she came to stand before Jon. "Prince Jon, may I have Ghost come with me? What if I have a bad dream? And I get afraid?"

He saw Dany begin to protest, surely thinking this would be some impossible question to ask of Jon, but he held up a hand to her, stilling her words as he looked down at Naerys. "Of course, you may. But you must promise, that if *he* has a bad dream, you will give him many pets until he settles down, yes? Even wolves can have bad dreams."

"Ohhh." Naerys looked down, then over to Ghost, who looked rather silly, his tongue lolling out as he panted and waited expectantly. "I will do my very best."

"I know," Jon answered, gravely. "I would expect nothing less from you, Princess. Now, you must get some rest, so that we may have a good showing for your mother in the morning."

She gave him no answer, just a bright smile and a fierce hug around his neck, and then she obediently moved to Dany's side, taking her mother's hand. "Mama, you must read us a story, for that is Ghost's very favorite thing."

He was surprised to hear a slight sniffle from Dany, her eyes a bit glassy again. But she pasted on a comely, indulgent smile, all the same, leaving Jon to wonder what had affected her so. "Well, we cannot disappoint Ghost, can we?"

She gave Jon one last, indecipherable look, then the pair left, Missandei trailing behind, in swirl of silk and white fur.

Rhaegar watched them leave as well, he saw, and in the ensuing silence Jon found himself looking down the length of the table to the Dragon King's left, searching for his Uncle's face in the mass of bodies.

"Where has Ser Arthur escaped to? Is he well?" It wasn't like the man, to miss a meal, usually working up a mighty appetite with Jon in the training yards, and Jon's brow creased as he began to worry.

Dany's brother was non-plussed, raising a dismissive hand. "Your Uncle is fine, Jon, not to worry. He received news this day that came as a bit of a shock, that is all. He requested time to gather his wits, as it were." He gave Jon a speculative look, before his gaze darted around the room. "I'm sure all will reveal itself in due time." Finally, the man smiled again, as a rich desert was served, lemon cakes by the look of it, and he waved his fingers to the plate set before Jon. "In the meantime, do try the lemon cakes, would you?"

---

Jon was alone, in his rooms, anxiously pacing, his favored way to pass the time. Around and around, his layers stripped further, to just his tunic and trousers, candles guttering in their silver holders as he toyed with the ring in his hand.

He'd fished it from his trunk the moment he'd escaped the dining hall, bidding Davos a rather curt good evening, later wishing he'd asked the man to stay, to help him pass the time.

The darkened sky and rising moon told him the hour grew late, but he could not begrudge Dany some private time with her wee daughter, not after so long apart. His own desires could wait, of course. It was a surprisingly easy task, he found, secure in the knowledge that he would not be made to wait forever.

What were mere hours, really, in the face of a lifetime together?

There was a gentle knock upon his wooden door, and he reverently set her ring upon his dresser, hurrying to the door to open it, taking a calming breath before he did so. He had expected Missandei, alone, but the sight that greeted him instead was one that left him weak-kneed and off-kilter.

Missandei was there, certainly, smiling somewhat smugly, but she stepped aside to reveal Dany just behind her.

Gone was the Mother of Dragons, the Conquering Daenerys from earlier in the day, in her stiff coats and heavy chains. The proper Lady in her fine silks had departed, as well. Instead, he saw what had always lay just beneath, the Dany who had lived on in his mind over the past years, her hair let down and curling around her shoulders, shining in the flickering torchlight, a thick robe wrapped around her body, a shy smile on her lips.

"I thought it best to come to you, instead, Jon. May I enter?" She waited, hesitating across the threshold, taking two steps inside as he held the door open and nodded mutely. Missandei did not wait to be dismissed, taking her leave with a knowing look cast towards them both.

"Enjoy your evening, Your Graces." She was gone, as quickly as she'd come, leaving Jon and Dany standing finally, blessedly alone, in the silence of his chambers. He felt awkward, suddenly, as nervous as he was as a youth, in the face of her beauty. She had been lovely upon her carved throne, and radiant in her black silks, but now it was as though she'd walked out of his dreams, and he wasn't sure where to start.

"Hullo," she whispered sweetly, biting at her lip as he shut the door, sealing them both away from the world. She toyed with her fingers for a moment, glancing down before she risked meeting his eyes again, and he realized with a wave of relief that she was just as nervous as he was.

It was ridiculous, really, after all that had passed between them, but it had been so long that he thought it might not be so strange, this anticipation that swirled in his stomach. She had always been so bold, far bolder than he, and he realized it was time for him to take action, for once.

So, he reached for her, plucking at her hand where it fisted in the red brocade of her robe, joining their hands and pulling her further inside. Jon smiled down at her, leading her to the hearth, tugging lightly at her hand to pull her into a loose embrace. "I thought I was coming to you, Dany." He wrapped his arms around her back, his palm flat against her spine, as she pressed in closer against him. "What changed?"

Dany seemed to shed her shyness with each second that passed in his arms, and he reveled in the feel of her slender limbs wrapping around his waist, at the way she nuzzled her nose and cheek against his neck, taking slow, deep breaths before she finally answered him. "I thought we might be best served with a bit of privacy, tonight." Jon felt his eyes widen as he realized precisely what she meant, the rush of blood southward warning him that his want for her would be very obvious, very soon, pressed chest to chest and hip to hip as they were. She giggled at the look on his face, leaning back in the cage of his arms to give him a tiny, wicked smile. "There are ears everywhere, near my chambers, and I seem to recall finding it a bit difficult to control my volume where you are concerned, Jon."

She set about a silent examination of him, as he chuckled, her hands crawling up his chest to pull at the tie that held his hair back, letting out a relieved little sigh as his curls were freed. "There he is, my shy apprentice smuggler." Warm hands swept across his forehead, down the line of his nose, tracing the line of his short beard, and he found himself able to do little else but close his eyes and soak in the pleasure granted him by her mere touch. He felt lighter than he had in years, and freer as well, joy rushing through him and chased close behind by the steady current of desire that he could not contain. It had been locked away, so long now, that it was like a beast, uncaged, refusing the chains he tried to place around it.

Dany let her fingers dance against the fabric of his tunic, at his shoulder, where long ago she had tended the wounds that had long since scarred over. She smiled wistfully, peeking up at him, letting out a long sigh. "I can hardly believe that you're really here, that it's really you. All day long, I have found it difficult, to truly let myself accept it." Pushing lightly against his shoulder, she took a step back, her smile growing wider and hungrier as she drank in the sight of him. "Show me," she urged, nodding towards his shoulder. "Perhaps I need more convincing, for my heart to accept what my mind tells me is true."

Jon was all too eager to comply, stilled only by a flash of metal that caught his eye, over her shoulder. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he smoothed his palms down the thick fabric that covered her, his fingers catching and tangling with hers briefly before he took a regretful step back. "Hang on," he said, giving her a reassuring smile before stepping to his dresser.

He'd had it for so long, this last remnant of her, of Dany, of their time together, but the time had come, he realized. It was time to give it back, to return to her what had been lost.

He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, slowly approaching her, the ring held before him like an offering. And he knew, the moment she realized what it was, heard the small gasp and her breath quickening, saw the way her eyes widened and her hands shook as she reached forward, to bridge the gap.

"Jon," she whispered. She shook her head, features crumpling as her fingertips traced the design of the cold metal. Cerulean eyes locked on his, an adoration pouring from them that made him glad beyond reason that he'd kept this trinket for so long. "That ring is—"

"Yours," he finished, handing it over, watching as she turned it over and over, her eyes clinging to each swoop and curve of the band, a sad smile stealing across her face at his words.

"No," she said, with a sniffle. "My mother's." She fiddled with the ring a moment longer, lips parted, almost disbelieving, even as she finally slipped the ring onto her finger. Her eyes flew to his, her brow wrinkling. "I thought this was gone forever. Viserys, my brother," she paused, her throat bobbing, face growing pained, "he said the Lannisters had found us, that we had to throw them off our trail. We left, the very day I said goodbye to you. And my mother's ring," now her lip trembled, and he cupped a warm hand along her jaw, "he said it had to remain behind. We had to make them think we were dead."

Jon's eyes closed, that old despair washing over him. "I distinctly believed you were dead, yes. So I suppose it worked. And you were bartered off to the Dothraki." He shook his head miserably. "I'm sorry, Dany. I'm so sorry. You'll never know how much. I sat in that shack for days, moping. And by the fifth day, when Davos came, I had myself convinced I'd been a fool, that I had to go after you, tell you the truth." He let loose with a harsh breath, remembering the guilt that had nearly crippled him, the way he'd cursed himself for going, finally, and being too late to save her. "I had it in my head that I would take you away, to the North, and hide you, forever if I must."

When he opened his eyes, Jon saw her staring at him intently, his own regret there, in her eyes. "I wanted to tell you, as well, but it was dangerous. Too dangerous, I thought, to tell you who I really was. How could I have known we were afraid of the same enemy?" She stepped into his personal space, robe brushing against his tunic, and again her fingers danced across his shoulder. "I want to see your scars, Jon. I need to see them."

Jon sucked in a breath, his whole body tensing as he pulled his tunic over his head, tossing it away mindlessly and tracking her every move as her hand pressed against the pink, puckered scars she'd seen when they were fresh and raw and new.

Her index finger dipped into each, then she slowly circled him, stopping behind him, giving the same soft, warm touch to the mirrored injuries she found there. He shuddered when he felt the hot, humid puff of her breath against him, when those full, plump lips pressed open-mouthed kisses against each scar she encountered. "There was nothing you could have done, Jon. You must understand that."

Jon turned abruptly, clutching her to his body fiercely, face sinking into the silver mass of hair that flowed down her shoulders and back, his hands pinning her tightly to him, locking together behind her back. "Perhaps that is so," he whispered hotly, finding her ear and nuzzling it with the tip of his nose, "but it doesn't change the fact that I wanted to, more than anything. That ring was all I had left, so I kept it," he said, each word urging him to hold her impossibly tighter. He leaned back, only far enough to look into her face, to see the wistful sadness and want and love that blazed from her, freely now. "But I reckon I'm willing to give it back. A fair trade, all things considered. You, for that." He nodded towards her hand, now adorned with her mother's ring, where she clutched at his bare shoulder.

Her lips tipped up in a salacious little twist. "Hmmm. I think we can do rather better than just my presence, Jon *Snow*," she offered, emphasizing the last part with an air of amused desire. She pushed him away, gently, firelight flickering across her fine features, and nibbled at her lower lip. Then, before he could speak a word, she untied the sash at her waist. She shrugged, the weighty fabric slipping down, and at first he thrilled, thinking her bare underneath.

But she was not, he saw. Almost, but not quite.

She stepped free of the robe, letting it pool at her small feet, and gave him a hesitant smile. "Do you remember?" Her hands lingered at her thighs, smoothing the lavender fabric, peering up at him through her lashes as she moved to press against him.

He stopped her, though, grabbing at her shoulders and halting her progress. "Oh, aye," he said, with a guttural growl. "I remember." This dress had been burned into his memory, seared into his consciousness, the subject of more fantasies than could be tallied over the years. Reverently, his fingers traced the straps that slipped down her shoulders, along the collar of the flimsy material, before coursing up the elegant column of her neck to tip her chin up. "I can't believe you still have it."

Dany sucked in a breath, seemingly hesitant. "I was married in it." Her eyes were downcast, on her feet, for several beats, until she seemed to force her head upwards, defiant. "But I was yours, first, Jon. Yours, always. I never forgot you," she said vehemently, "Never." Pale fingers teased between his pectoral muscles, beginning a slow glide down his chest that had his muscles twitching, 'til she dipped a fingertip into the hollow of his navel. "I have always been yours."

Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, her every admission only prompting more, but it had been too long, far too long, since the simple, unyielding pleasure of her touch.

She seemed to sense the war within him. Lips quirking in a tiny grin, she leaned up, nipping at this skin of his neck, just as she used to. "Let us talk later. I need you, now. I need to know this is real, not some fever dream that my mind has conjured up, to torture me with."

Jon was conquered, wholly and completely, by the fierce hunger in her eyes, and the soft plea in her voice; She was two, in one. This was Daenerys Targaryen, Conquering Dragon Queen, but his Sweet Dany remained, wild and free and dragging him along in her wake, just as she always had. His hands skated along her sides, skimming down her hips, 'til he reached the hem of the garment. "I want to see you," he husked against her lips, just barely grazing that tender flesh with his own, his eyes still locked with hers. She gave a nod, hesitation having fled, and reached behind to untie the lacing at her neck as he gathered the material in his hands.

Jon pulled, higher and higher, every inch of flesh revealed only serving to stoke the raging inferno inside him, banked for so long he'd forgotten that he could feel this way. When he pulled her dress free, her hands raised obligingly so that he might strip the garment over her head and down her arms, he felt the air rush from his chest. She was perfect, every inch, so achingly perfect. They had been young, certainly, when he'd first seen her this way. But before him, he could see for himself, that the promise of what she would become had been fully realized.

She was a girl of six and ten no more. Now, she was a woman grown, breasts rounder, fuller, hard-tipped and pink in the slight chill of his chambers. She showed no hint of bashfulness, her eyes dark and hungry as she watched him take her in, his gaze trailing from the enticing curves of her breasts, down her narrow waist, to the contours of her full hips. Her legs were strong, well-muscled now, no doubt from riding her great beast, and she kicked off her silk slippers to reveal the dainty feet he remembered well as she endured his heated scrutiny.

With effort, Jon dragged his eyes back up her body, meeting hers as he gave her a slow, easy smile. "I meant to tell you how beautiful you looked, earlier. But," he said with a pleased sigh, "I reckon I like this even better."

Dany snorted, indelicately, stepping close, her warm hands tracing across his chest and down his stomach, to tease just above the material of his trousers. "Enough talking," she said, eyes dancing as she reached for the lacing of his trousers. "You're wearing too many clothes. It's very rude, you know."

Jon looked down, watching as her nimble fingers set him free, hissing as she wrapped her palm around his hard, aching length and set him free from the confines of his breeches. Her lips curved in a wicked smile, eyes bouncing from the stiff cock in her hand to his face. He shoved at the offending clothes, trying not to stumble as he toed out of his boots and stockings and rid himself of the few items he still wore. "Well," he ground out, wriggling out of her grasp before he could embarrass himself completely by spilling in her hand, "I shouldn't wish to be rude, not to my betrothed, certainly. You could fry me up with your great big dragon, after all."

Dany cocked a brow, her gaze predatory as she searched his form, no doubt a bit different from what she remembered, as he was a boy no longer, either. Tongue snaking out to wet her lips, she sauntered to his bed, climbing atop nimbly, to seat herself and rub her palm at the empty space beside her. "Look at all this room, Prince Jon. Not at all like that tiny cot in your little shack, is it?"

It wasn't, not at all, almost palatial compared to the narrow little bed he'd had her on so long ago, and he chuckled as he crossed to stand before her, catching her wicked hands before she could undo him completely. He made a censorious noise under his breath, smirking when she frowned at him, her wrists caught in one of his hands. "You'd best keep your hands to yourself, Princess, or I shall be very cross with you. It's been far too long since anyone's touched me, and you're liable to have this over far sooner than I'd like."

Her consternation turned decidedly naughty, her eyes falling to where his cock bobbed rather insistently near her face. "I wonder if I remember everything you like, Jon. I rather suspect I do." Before he could shy away she leaned forward, tongue sweeping across the head of his cock, wringing a tortured groan from him as she took as much of his length into her mouth as she could manage, her reach limited by the hands caught between their bodies.

"Dany," he whimpered, stepping back, wincing at the loss of her hot, wet mouth as he was released from between her lips. He dropped her hands only to grab about her waist, hauling her up the bed until she was resting on his pillows, staring down at him stubbornly. Smoothly, he slid up, pulling her calves apart, watching as her smile grew as she realized what he was going to do. It had been a long time, no doubt, but he was certain he remembered what she liked, as well. "Clearly you aren't going to behave yourself, are you?"

His sweet Dany only wiggled her brows at him, shifting her hips upward in a clear request, as he situated himself between her thighs, his knees holding them apart so that his eyes could drink her in. "Define behave."

Jon narrowed his eyes at her, his hands smoothing up her thighs, and he allowed himself the sweet bliss of nestling his cock against her, reveling in how slick she was for him, her want clear at the searing wetness his found as he brought their bodies flush together. He claimed her lips, kissing her voraciously, moaning as she did when their hips took up a long-forgotten rhythm as they ground together. She clutched at him, her hands roaming from his shoulders to tunnel into his hair, working the band that held his curls back free as she suckled at his tongue.

When he pulled back, panting, she grinned. "There he is," she breathed, tousling his hair. "That's who I remember." She smiled at him then, so sweetly, that he couldn't help but return it, his ardor cooling only slightly as a wave of affection took over. He braced himself on his elbows, looking down at her, wondering which Gods he would have to give thanks to, that she had been returned to him. Jon leaned down, pressing light kissing to her forehead, then her eyelids, on the tip of her nose, to each of her cheeks, in turn.

"Aye, I reckon that lad is still in here, somewhere." With a knowing look, he crawled down her body, enjoying the way she began to writhe, the way her hands sought purchase on the furs in anticipation. So, he thought, she had not forgotten either, the ways he had learned to please her. He breathed out, against her inner thigh, nipping and licking a path to where she was wet and wanting, the scent of her enough to make him believe he could hear the surf pounding against the sand, that sea birds were crying above, as his right hand slid to her drenched folds, teasing at the silver curls just above and glancing teasingly against the swollen bud just below.

"Jon," she keened, her hips twisting and rolling beneath him, "I need—"

He parted his lips, giving her one long, slow lick from her center, dipping in just barely to taste her, his eyes closing as his every sense was flooded with her. She was just as he remembered, tart and sweet and addictive, and when he reached her clit he knew what she wanted. He flicked his tongue against her, tracing slow circles around the tender bud then teasing across it, until she was whining and crying out, mindless with each sweeping stroke.

Dany had run out of words, and he grinned against her dripping pink folds, sucking and licking in ways meant to drive her mad, her hands releasing the furs to clench at his head, nails digging into his scalp as she gave sharp, keening cries. Finally, he took mercy on her, knowing he had brought her to the precipice, that she was teetering on the edge, and he thrust two fingers inside her, groaning himself at the feel of her, tight and grasping against the digits as he started a fast, driving rhythm that he followed with his mouth, suckling at her clit until she arched so sharply her back came clear of the bed.

"Jon," she cried out, sobbing his name over and over, as wave after wave took her, and he nursed every last convulsion from her, following each roll of her hips with his mouth and hand until she collapsed, breathless, limp and boneless when he finally pulled away.

This was how he remembered her most; Those precious moments when pleasure infused her every cell, when she was laid to waste before him, conquered completely and gazing up at him with rapturous wonder. No matter how many preened and fawned in his father's court, this was the only worship he ever required, the adoring stare of the one he loved most, as he fed the need inside her.

It was almost enough to make him ignore the furious throbbing of his cock.

Almost.

She crooked a finger at him, breath still coming in fast pants. "C'mere," she said, holding her arms out for him to make the journey up her form. He swiped a hand across his mouth and beard, still wet from his actions, and teased a moist trail up her stomach, stopping to let his mouth caress and tease at each stiff, rosy peak with his teeth and tongue until she forcibly pulled him up the rest of the way. "I missed you so," she said, grinning at his smug expression. "Every day, I missed you, Jon."

His face softened, something tender hovering between them, and he braced himself on his arms above her, welcoming the way she wrapped her legs around him, to hold him close. With a shaking hand, his control nearly pushed to the limit, he swept back strands of silver that clung to her sweat-dampened skin. "I never stopped loving you. Never."

The force of his whisper wasn't lost on her, and it was all there, in her eyes. All the love they'd clung to, had never been able to kill inside themselves, flared back to glorious life, and he was sure she could see the same in him.

"I loved you then, my sweet Jon, and I love you still." She gave a slow, rolling circle of her hips. "I want to feel you." His head dropped at the feel of her, wetting the length of his cock, his hips thrusting of their own accord. "Inside me."

He nodded, breath stalling as he reached down, lifting up so he could take himself in hand, the blunt head of his cock just pressing against her dripping entrance.

Jon pressed into her, slowly, inch by inch, until he was seated inside her fully, biting hard at the inside of his cheek to keep from slamming into her in a frenzy. It had been too long, and he needed her too much, but he didn't want to hurt her. It was exactly what he remembered, but more, for his dreams and fantasies had not been able to recreate the molten heat of her, like a forge fire, like she was remaking him into something new, with each slide into her welcoming body.

And perhaps she was, he thought, as he started a slow, steady pace, the first steps in a dance they had perfected a lifetime ago, drunk on each other and Davos's strong rum, under hot summer skies and scorching heat and sand. Their bodies knew, they remembered well, and she was rolling up to meet each thrust, spurring him on, squeezing him with her cunt and a tight grip at each shoulder to go harder, faster, deeper.

"Yes," she gasped, nails scoring down his back, heels digging into his spine as their hips began to slap loudly together, the wet sounds of their lovemaking almost eclipsed by her high-pitched cries and his deep, guttural groans.

"Fuck, Dany. Oh, Gods," he moaned, abandoning restraint in favor of fucking her furiously, feeling the way she was tightening around him, her body coiling and ready for another release, that hot, itching burn starting deep in his groin as he felt his own building beyond his control.

He only just barely got his thumb to her sex, sliding and swirling her slickness against her clit, grunting and he watched her face begin to contort in sweet agony. "That's it, Dany. Give it to me." He worked her, cock stroking deep, changing the angle of his hips just a fraction, each rolling thrust hitting something inside her that made her let out a cry that was almost a scream as he pressed and circled the small, swollen nub just above where they were joined. "Let me hear you."

She was clenching him so tightly, when she came again, that he thought he might pass out, so much tighter and sensitive than he'd remembered, and he finally let go as her walls began to flutter and grab at his in a way that made holding back impossible. She was crying out in a language that sounded like Valyrian to his rather untrained ears, coupled with pleased groans as she felt him spill inside her, his seed filling her as his hips jerked and strained, as he was overcome with a euphoria that seemed never-ending.

His arms finally gave out, and he was blanketing his body with hers, their skin sticky and hot, his hips still gently stroking his cock into her until he finally felt drained. His face came to rest against her neck, and he pressed open-mouthed kisses there until he finally felt strong enough to push up and off of her.

Dany's legs fell to his side, and he withdrew from her, rolling onto his back as his eyes closed, a peace sweeping over him that had almost been forgotten, something he'd discounted as lost forever, something he'd only ever felt with her.

And, just as she used to, she twisted, pressing into his side, her head coming to rest against the crook of his arm as she placed her palm flat against his racing heart.

"I missed you, too," he finally said, quietly, piercing the silence of the room. "So much I can't even begin to describe it." He glanced down, watching the moonlight and orange glow of the fire in the hearth dancing along the ring on her finger.

"I know exactly what you mean," she whispered against his skin, and then they did not speak, not for some time, in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Instead, they indulged in something they'd never gotten to do, before. They fell asleep, in each other's arms, content to stay as they were, skin against skin, all night.

---

Jon sat up slowly, every muscle screaming in protest, his gut twisting sickly when he reached beside him and realized he was alone. Suddenly frantic, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glancing at the window to see the sun was just starting to creep above the horizon.

He was relieved to see her robe still lying on his floor, her gown as well, their discarded clothing still littering the room, and then she was there, emerging from the privy in the small, adjoining room, still naked, and even more glorious to his eyes in the new morning light.

"Hullo," she said, an endearing shyness emerging that made him fall in love with her, anew, and when his throat grew tight at the sight of her, he just held out his arms, hands waving her over, and she crawled willingly into his embrace.

"Hullo," he said, against her silver hair, just breathing her in for a moment as she relaxed against him. "I was scared, for a moment, that I had imagined everything."

She giggled, and sat back, kneeling on the furs, but then her eyes grew serious, and he wondered if he'd misspoken. "Jon," she began, a note of graveness in her voice that made him nervous, "there's something we must speak about. Now, before we leave this room."

Jon cocked his head, his eyes searching her face. "Dany," he said reassuringly, "whatever it is, you can tell me, without worry, without concern." She shuffled closer, raising a hand to comb through his wayward curls. "I swear it." He captured her hand and kissed it, and waited.

Dany took a deep, steadying breath, and he was proud of the way he only barely glanced at the way it made her breasts sway before he returned his gaze to her face. "Naerys has grown very fond of you. You've been very sweet to her, in my absence. Though, now that I know just who this Northern Prince is, I am not surprised." She gave him a tentative smile, that fell away all too quickly.

"She's a good lass, Dany. You ought to be very proud of her." He smiled, warmly, trying to soothe the worry he saw in her eyes.

"I am," she replied, haltingly, eyes flitting here and there. "There have been times, Jon, when she was all that kept me alive, that kept me sane. What happened, after we parted," she took another deep inhalation, her eyes growing damp, "were terrible things, save her for. Without her, I would have surely been lost."

Jon couldn't take it anymore, and he reached out, pulling her close, smoothing a hand down her back as the other caressed her hair. "Then I am even more glad to know her. And I will treat her as though she were my own, I swear to you. I know what it is, to be in her position. I will not treat her as my father's wife treated me, that I can promise."

His earnest words, rather than comforting her, only seemed to make her tense further, and she pulled away from him forcefully, her eyes pressed tightly closed, as though she was fighting back tears.

"I know," she finally said, her lips trembling. She began toying with the ring on her finger, cerulean eyes opening again to watch as she fidgeted with the metal band. "Why did you keep this ring, Jon?"

Jon blinked, somewhat taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation. He pondered the question silently, for several moments, before he finally responded. "Because it was all I had of you. Because even if you were lost to me, I had this," he took her hand, thumbing at the ring, "I had one little piece of you to keep with me, always, no matter where I was."

Dany let out a shuddering breath, seeming to decide on something, nodding slowly as she let out a ragged exhale. "I understand." She licked at her lips, nervously, and laced their fingers together, squeezing. "I had a piece of you, as well. Something I treasured, above all else. Something of you that I could have with me, always. Viserys told me you had been killed, you see. I don't know how he found out about you, about what we were up to." Her lips twisted in a sad smile. "He told me, just after we left Lys, that he'd had you and your smuggler friend killed, had your shack burned to the ground. Though clearly that was a lie." She swallowed, and finally her eyes locked with his. "But until now, all I had was that one little piece of you, that no one could take away from me, something perfect and wonderful." There was a deeper meaning, in her voice, and he felt his brow crease in confusion.

He tugged at her hand, mind racing over what she could've taken with her. Finally, he simply asked, not sure entirely what she was getting at. "What was it?"

Dany looked down, nibbling at her lower lip. "I realized, when we were traveling to Vaes Dothrak," she said, tensing again, "that I had not had my moonblood."

Jon stilled, eyes widening, comprehension beginning to creep in. "Dany," he answered, startled, "what do you—"

"And by the time I wed Khal Drogo," she pressed on, raising her free hand to silence his question, words falling faster now from her lips, "it had been nearly two moons gone." She was trembling like a leaf, now, but she looked bravely into his eyes, willing him to understand.

Everything narrowed, and tunneled, and all he could see was her, her eyes telling him what her lips had hinted at, the truth of it threatening to stop his heart completely.

Naerys. She was speaking of Naerys, the little Princess who said Ghost could tell her secrets, the wee lass his wolf had taken to instantly. He felt dizzy, as though he might faint, and clung to her hand with all his might, as though it alone was keeping him anchored to reality.

"Is she mine?" He sounded dazed, even to his own ears, and at Dany's tearful nod he felt everything shift, his life warping and twisting and turning before his very eyes, his heart pounding in his ears.

Naerys was his daughter.

He had a daughter.

And then many truths began to batter him like a brisk sea wind, all at once, and onslaught of realizations that had him collapsing back against the pillows, terrified and amazed and overwhelmed.

The irritated words she'd exchanged with Rhaegar, the night prior.

His uncle's absence from dinner, the way the Dragon King had explained it, in riddles and hints, never really giving him a true answer.

The way Dany had watched he and the small girl together, that look in her eyes as though she were overcome with an emotion he couldn't put a name on.

It had all been due to this, this truth the three of them had known, for how long he could only guess at, that he had not been privy to, until now.

He didn't know what to say, his mouth opening and closing several times, speechless, alternating between a joy so sweet he thought he would weep with it, and a fierce and terrible anger that fate had kept him from his wee girl for so long. The thought of what had been done to them, just the barest hint, was enough to make him want to strike something until his knuckles bled, made him want to take his steel and run through any who had ever tried to harm them, Dany and Naerys both. If any still lived, he thought darkly, they would not for long. He would see to that.

Slowly, he sat up, finally realizing the way Dany sat in petrified silence, as though she feared his reaction, as though she sensed his fury. But his anger was not reserved for her, and he reached out, crushing her to him, holding her tightly as he felt her shudder in his arms, felt her tears begin to fall hot and fast against his shoulder.

"She's mine," he said quietly, surely. She nodded against him, weeping, her arms wrapping tight around his neck. "She's mine," he began to repeat, over and over, rocking Dany gently, letting the truth sink in, to permeate every layer of his heart.

And in his heart, he knew it was true. He let out a watery laugh, remembering all the times he'd thought the girl so like his own daring sister, the small girl's flashes of boldness, of fierceness, now rooted in fact. She might look like a dragon, but she was a girl of the North, as well. She was his blood. His heir.

Dany's face was flushed and red, when she finally leaned back, eyes still pained when they met his. "I didn't know how to tell you. I wasn't sure you'd believe me. I told Rhaegar that she was not Khal Drogo's, when I first came to Dragonstone, told him the whole sad tale one night over too many goblets of wine," she sniffled, swiping a hand at her tears, "but I never dreamed I would find you again. I thought it was impossible, I thought you were gone forever."

There had been so many holes in his heart, so much emptiness that it had been poised to consume him, he'd thought. But now, he was being filled, with something old, and something new, as well.

"I will not allow us to be parted again, Dany. Never," he said vehemently, leaning down to kiss away another tear that tracked down her cheek. He took her face in his hands. "Swear the same to me. I cannot lose you again. Or her."

Finally, the heaviness that seemed to weigh her down abated, and she gave him a tremulous smile. "Never, Jon. Never again. We do this together, now."

"Aye," he said, firmly, and kissed her gently, sweetly, as he had when he was barely a man at all. They stared at each other, in contented silence, until another thought crept in, unbidden. "Does she know? Naerys? Does she know about us? About what happened?"

Dany shook her head, sadly. "No," she answered. "But I think we ought to tell her."

Jon shook his head, bemused. "I don't even know where to begin."

She chuckled, cupping his cheek, "We'll tell her in due time. First, we ought to get up and about, I think. She's very excited to show me what she's learned, you know."

Jon's nod was somewhat absent, the thought crashing over him that he had been training to mere girl, or princess, even, to master the bow and the sword. It was his *daughter*, and the pride that swelled in his heart, as he replayed each little victory she'd experienced at his prompting, made his body seize for just a second, as he fought to clear the gruffness in his throat.

A monumental shift, even greater than being reunited with the love he'd thought long lost, had happened, and he knew he faced a choice, here and now. He could let himself be swept away in this, so lost in what he felt that the world around him faded away, or he could take control.

He was a boy, no more, for certain, now. He was a man. A *father*. And it was time, he thought, rising decisively and holding out his hand to Dany, helping her from the tangle of linens and furs, that he started acting like it.

---

Naerys was nervous.

Jon could tell by the set of her small shoulders, her whole frame buzzing with energy as Jon helped her strap on her quiver, her limbs trembling slightly beneath her training leathers.

She kept glancing over to the side of the training yard, where Dany and the Lady Missandei stood, flanked by several Dothraki and Unsullied, all silently waiting and watching.

He heard a little breath escape, and took a knee, clapping a hand on her shoulder and waiting until her anxious gaze was focused on him.

"You look a bit worried, lass." He was trying his best to be steady, to treat her as he always had, not to let it show that everything in his world had shifted, in the space of a day. This was not the place to grab her up and hold her to him, to tell her that she was his flesh and blood, her father in truth, and it was a subject he found himself still grappling with, as well. It was almost beyond comprehension, even as she stood before him, gnawing nervously on her bottom lip, just as Dany always did when she was off-kilter.

The girl looked down at her feet for a moment, then back up to him, her eyes wide and worried. "What if I miss, Prince Jon?"

He had to push aside all that he had learned, he knew, seeing the fear on the girl's face. He shook his head, commanding her attention. "Listen to me, lass." He pointed to the pitch, where ten targets had been placed. "That is all I want you to focus on, yes?" She nodded, barely, still clearly unconvinced, peeking back again at her mother. "Naerys," he said forcefully, and braids whipped through the air as she faced him again. "Don't worry about who is watching. Don't worry about anything, except this bow," he tapped his finger against the wood, "and that target. You know what to do. Nothing's changed."

Her eyes fluttered closed, her brow wrinkled in concentration, and though it seemed a struggle, he saw the girl slowly force herself to relax. When she looked at him again, he saw something that nearly stole his breath, that look of hard, steely determination that he knew all too well.

Right now, in just this moment, though she was fair where he was dark, and her eyes were of uncommon purple where his were iron gray, it was as though he was looking at himself in the mirror. He let out a breath, cuffing her under her chin and making her laugh, fighting the urge to whisper the truth to her.

Not yet, he reasoned. Not here, and not now.

"Will you stay near me?" Normally, he would take up a position to watch, as she had outgrown the need for constant correction, but in this, he found he could not refuse her. He nodded, his throat tight, unable to force any words out in reassurance.

She didn't need his words, though. She leaned over, giving him a quick hug 'round his neck, bow still clasped in her hand and thumping against his back. "Thank you, Prince Jon." She pulled back, and he was glad to see she did not spare another look at their audience. "Wish me good fortune."

Jon screwed his face up comically, shaking his head. "I would, Princess, but I don't think you'll need it."

Naerys just wrinkled her nose at him, amused and, he was happy to see, heartened by his confidence. She swatted him away with a small hand, then clenched her jaw, marching with determination across the yard with Jon trailing close behind.

She took up her spot, planting her feet, just as he'd shown her, and nocked an arrow.

"Breathe," he whispered to her, "and let it fly."

She peeked at him, gave a slow, solemn nod, and did as he said.

And one by one, she planted her arrow in the heart of each target, ignoring the cheers that arose from the onlookers, so focused on her task that she did not look anywhere but before her until her last arrow had found a home.

Jon wasn't surprised, not at all.

He wasn't surprised, either, when she eschewed seeking her mother's praise in favor of walking to each target and dutifully pulling her arrow free, setting it back in her quiver. That was the order of things, when they trained.

But he was surprised, near stunned, when finally, her last arrow tucked away, it was to him she turned, and ran, a smile as brilliant as the sun on her face. "I did it," she breathed, her face awash in amazement, and no small measure of pride. "I did it, Prince Jon!"

He couldn't help it. He knelt down, and swept her up into a fierce hug, one that only lasted a few seconds before he released her and stood again, grinning down at her. "I knew you could." He tugged at one of her thin silver braids as she felt let her excitement run free. "Good thing you ate your vegetables, I think." He sneaked a glance to where Dany stood, and he didn't need to see her clearly to know she was wiping away a stray tear, beaming at them both, Missandei whispering steadily in her ear. "Now, go let your mother tell you how proud she is of you, lass. She looks like she's about to burst."

Naerys complied readily enough, scurrying off to the patch of shade her mother occupied, across the yard, silver braids flying as she ran. Jon threw Dany an easy smile, one she quickly returned, and tried, in the girl's immediate absence, to sort out how he was going to make it through the day without telling her the truth.

---

Daenerys insisted that Naerys tend to her lessons, and though Jon hated to be parted from either of them it was a bit of a relief, to be striding the halls with Davos, to have some quiet in which to sort out how he felt.

Because, he was finding, it had been so long since he'd felt anything, really, that he was feeling everything, now, and all at once.

Oh, he was elated in one respect, that Dany had been returned to him, that fate had been kind enough to return the piece of him that had been ripped away so long ago. And he was equally happy to know that the little girl he'd grown so fond of over the past months, whom he'd sworn to treat as though she were his own, was just that.

It was just all so enormous, it seemed to him. It was hard to grapple with, that any of it was really happening. He thought it must be like living in a never-ending dream, and so, despite his overwhelming joy, something bone deep that filled him with uncommon warmth even in these cold stone walls, it was chased by something else, that shook him to his very core.

Fear.

Gods, it set his teeth on edge, a terror that twisted his heart, that filled him with such dread that he truly worried, for the first time, what he might be capable of.

There was so much to lose, now, so much more than ever before, and he had found the parts of him that had been missing only to march headlong into a great war, that might cost him everything.

"Your Grace," Davos murmured from his side, "I must say, you seem a bit troubled."

Jon came to a stop, extending a hand to halt the other man's progress as well, and pulled Davos into a nearby parlor, shutting the door firmly behind them. He stared at the old sailor, suddenly at a loss, wondering where he should even begin. But bluntness had always been best, between the two of them, so he just spit it out.

"She's mine, Davos." When the man's brows furrowed, he hastened to clarify. "The girl, Naerys. She's *mine*."

Davos grinned, slowly, the corners of his mouth creeping up as a nodded. "Ah, yes. You've worked that out, then?" Jon looked askance at the man, who seemed nearly smug.

"You knew?"

Davos shrugged slightly, lips pressed tight beneath his gray beard as though he were trying to contain a laugh. "That little lass doesn't look much like those Dothraki of Her Grace's, now does she?"

Jon scoffed, rubbing at his temple as he dropped into a chair. "I don't know if you've noticed, but she doesn't favor me much either, Davos. That doesn't really prove much."

Davos heaved a heavy sigh, and took a seat nearby, growing serious. He was silent for several moments, eyes searching the small room, a bit dusty from lack of use by all appearances, no torches lit nor fire burning in the meager hearth. It was only the sunlight filtering in that showed Jon the play of emotions across the man's face. "I have served your father for a very long time, Prince Jon. He was a Prince himself when I was caught smuggling goods from White Harbor, and brought to King Rickard to face justice. I reckon Eddard was near your age, when your grandfather relieved me of a few fingers, and set me a place in his court, to serve House Stark alone, as penance."

He raised his hands, where Jon knew a digit was missing from each hand, and laughed. "Not such a big price to pay, I suppose. The North has been my home, and House Stark has become like family to me, lad. I was there, when your father took the field of battle. I was there, when he lost his father. I was there," Davos paused, words hanging pendulously in the air, "when he fell in love."

Jon look away, this topic surprisingly tender to him, in this moment. "Aye, I know."

"Your father," Davos stopped and started, before he found the words he wanted to say. "It was hard for him, when Ashara died. I think you understand that, now, how it can break a man, though he still stands, when he loses what he loves the most."

Jon nodded, but just barely, his jaw clenching as he wondered what the man was getting it. "Aye," he agreed again, "but what has that to do with this, Davos?"

Davos winced, slightly. "He rarely spoke of her, his first Queen, his greatest love. It was too hard, even a man as sturdy, as steady, as Eddard. And so it is, that you don't know much of her, not what she was really like, from those who loved her, and knew her best."

Jon crossed his arms, eyes narrowing as he studied Davos. "My uncle has told me much, since we've come." And that was true. Arthur had shared many stories, some gladder and some sadder, of what his mother had been like, but even for the knight there were times he had to stop himself, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

Davos stared right back. "A good thing, indeed. But when you tell me that the girl doesn't favor you at all," the man's head tipped back and forth, considering. "I don't know that to be technically true. She certainly scowls like you." Davos laughed sharply when Jon rolled his eyes. "But there is something else, and perhaps if your mother had survived, you would have known it right away."

Jon sat, mutely, mulling the man's words over in his mind.

"What color, my Prince, would you say the girl's eyes are?"

Jon frowned slightly. "Purple, of course. Targaryen eyes." It was true that Dany had not inherited the traditional Targaryen eye color, as her brother had, but it was to be expected that such things could still appear in their blood. Besides, he found he preferred the remarkable cerulean she possessed, unlike any other.

Davos shook his head. "No. No, Rhaegar, his parents, all with amethyst eyes. A lighter shade, mind you, though I agree they are 'purple' by any account." He was watching Jon closely, now, as the Prince hung on his every word, leaning forward in his chair. "But the little lass, well," Davos blew out a short breath. "That girl's got your mother's eyes. Indigo eyes, that's what they all said of Ashara."

Jon felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room, a tightness of chest striking him yet again, for what seemed to be the millionth time in just the span of a day. "Are…are you certain?"

The old sailor's eyes were kind as they met Jon's again. "Oh, aye, lad. I'm quite certain. 'Singular eyes', that's what your father called them. Quite striking. You ask Arthur, when you see him next. He'll tell you the same, I'd wager."

Jon braced his elbows on his knees, and placed his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do with all this, Davos. I just," he raised his head, fear nearly choking him, burning its way down his throat, "I came here thinking I'd be gaining a wife I didn't want." He could feel an unbidden panic rising within him, threatening to spiral out of control if he allowed it. "Now, there is nothing I want more than to marry her. Now," he gestured wildly with his hands, breath coming hard and fast, "now I am a father, as well? And we march headlong into war?"

Davos peered at him closely, stepping near and cocking his head as he studied the Prince. "Now," he said gravely, "you've got something to fight for, I think. Something to really fight for. Not just your people, Jon, though I've no doubt you would've done your duty, without all this." The grizzled man took a knee, staring straight into Jon's face. "Calm yourself." He placed a steadying, bracing hand on Jon's shoulder. "I will tell you what you are going to do. You're going to marry your Dany, quick as we can manage it, aye?"

Jon nodded, willing himself to listen to the man's words, to try to slow his stuttering breath and racing heart. "Tonight. I want to wed her tonight. There's a Heart Tree, in Aegon's garden. Rhaegar showed it to me. We'll do it there." As he spoke, he felt it, a clarity of intent that showed him the path forward. There was only one, now, revealing itself to him as his mind began to work and pick apart the tangled knots of everything that had transpired.

"Then," Davos continued, ticking off his verbal list on his remaining fingers, "You're going to win this bloody war, and make the Lannisters nothing more than a memory, soon forgotten. Shouldn't be too hard to pull off with three bloody dragons."

Jon took another deep breath, nodding. "I think you've got the right of it there."

Davos smiled sagely, ticking off another item. "And then, Jon Stark, you're going to rule them all with your Queen at your side, and your wee little lass, and you're going to do everything in your power to make sure that protect them, and keep them safe."

He understood, intellectually, what Davos was doing. It was as he had done with Naerys, in the yard. He needed to focus on nothing but what was most important to him, the little family he'd found in the wreckage of what he'd thought he lost. Dany and Naerys, that was what mattered. The notion carried a certainty with it that finished off the job of calming him, that settled his mind, crystallized the future in his mind.

He had not, in the aftermath of Rhaegar's plans, been sure he wanted the weight of so many Kingdoms on his shoulders, even with the might of dragons to keep at least a modicum of order within their grasp, but now, he could see the possibilities.

They could forge something new, he and Dany, perhaps leave the world a little better for his daughter, and those who came after, for all the daughters and sons who need not grow up in the throes of constant conflict.

His daughter. It was still a bit foreign, still an adjustment to grow familiar with, but it had already lodged itself in his mind and heart, and it grew and flourished like a green spring vine, wrapping itself around everything, wild and untamed.

Jon nodded firmly, giving Davos a small smile. "Where is my Uncle?" He stood, smartly, the mantle of this new identity settling around him as warmly as his heavy Northern cloak did. "I need to speak with him."

---

He found Arthur, alone, in his chambers, the man's eyes rimmed with red, heavy with shadows.

When bid to enter, he saw his mother's brother standing at the window, staring out into the grounds below, his face purposefully blank as he turned to watch Jon enter.

"Is it true?" The question escaped before Jon could stop himself. "Her eyes, Uncle. Is it true?" His voice broke, finally, wetness building in his eyes as he felt himself begin to break under the weight of it, the wall between his mind and his emotions finally cracking.

Arthur nodded, his face changing into a mask of wistful sadness, and then the wall came down completely. His uncle crossed the room, just as Jon backed himself against the chamber walls, sliding down as his knees gave out, harsh sobs beginning to escape as the man reached him.

And then Arthur was embracing him, kneeling on the floor before him as Jon wept. All the years, of feeling so empty and hollow, of missing the woman he'd never known crashed over him, and it was futile to try to remain stoic and unaffected, especially in front of one who would surely understand.

His uncle seemed to, implicitly. "Oh, 'tis a blessing Jon. An unexpected blessing." He could hear, even without looking at the man, that his Arthur had given himself over to his emotions, his own voice thick with tears. "How happy she would be, my sister would, if she were here with us now."

Jon sucked in a breath, shaky and shuddering, as Arthur drew back, still crouched before him, his face just as wet with tears as the Prince's. "Truly?" He felt a sick twist in his gut as another realization struck. "She is a bastard. My daughter. Gods, Arthur, what have I done?"

"No." Arthur had collected himself, at Jon's declaration, his eyes steely and set as he eyed Jon. "That is not what she is. She is a gift, Jon Stark. She must be, sent by the Gods themselves, so that at least, perhaps, we can heal the hurts inside us both. And she will never be known as a bastard. Never." He spoke with such vehemence that Jon was compelled to believe, even though was not sure what was to be done about it. Perhaps she could be legitimized, but he wondered if he had stained the small girl's future prospects beyond repair.

"She doesn't know yet." Jon squinted, brow furrowed with worry. "How do I tell her this? How do I explain this? That she had to suffer so?" He felt himself choking up again, grief gripping him as he replayed in his mind the torment his greatest love and his child had endured, across the Narrow Sea. "I wasn't there to protect them."

Guilt was a bitter sting on his tongue, and he wondered if it would ever abate. Perhaps he couldn't have known, and perhaps there was little he could've done if he had, but still, the thought of a moment of hurt befalling either of them was enough to make an unholy rage burn in his chest.

"You cannot change the past, nephew." Arthur shook his head sadly, his own ghosts flaring to life in his eyes as they met Jon's. "And dwelling on it does no one a bit of good. But the future is not yet set, and you can make of it anything you wish." Arthur stood, extending a hand, pulling a still-sniffling Jon to his feet. "You're not the boy you were, either. You're a man now, and I swear to you, on the Old Gods and the New," his uncle gripped his forearm tightly, "I will see you made King of us all."

Crowns were heavy things. And Jon could not pretend that the task ahead would be easy or without challenge.

But he would bear the weight of it, no matter the cost. He would do it wholeheartedly, to the best of his ability.

For them.