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)

7. Epilogue: Spoils of War

Author's Note: Consider this an epilogue of sorts (a 17k epilogue I guess). We change to Dany's POV now, and reach the conclusion of our tale. I hope you've enjoyed the little trip - feel free to let me know. I'm a certified praise whore and sadly no one here appreciates my dedication to washing dishes and folding laundry, so I gotta get my fix in other ways lol.

---

The sun was setting, the sky painted in pink and gold and violet, when Rhaegar joined her, his hands settling firmly on the cool gray stone as he came to stand beside Dany atop the parapet.

"You will leave tomorrow."

He kept his voice even, her brother, but he could not hide the sadness in his voice.

It had lessened in the moons that had passed since they'd defeated the Lannisters, and set about their task of uniting all the Kingdoms of Westeros under one banner, one Throne. They had done just that; gathered every crown, one by one, amassing quite a collection that they kept safe in a heavy trunk in the chambers she and Jon shared.

Rhaegar's had been the first, a crown of silver and rubies that Dany had claimed for her own.

And the Northern crown, the Crown of Winter, would be their last.

"Yes," Dany answered, then blinked suddenly, realizing that her brother's words indicated his absence, on the final leg of the journey they'd begun together. "You will not join us?" A faint pang of hurt echoed in her heart, that he would not be with them, as they went to Winterfell, but as she rolled it over in her mind, she supposed she could understand.

That was where his love was born, the love he'd lost, and that was a grief she had been well-acquainted with, or so she'd thought.

But Rhaegar surprised her, giving her a slight smile, his face morphing not into its customary melancholic mask, but one that looked decidedly more nervous. "My road, I think, leads South now." When he said nothing more, eyes darting self-consciously everywhere *but* her face, Dany felt her lips twitch.

A sly smile spread, and when Rhaegar finally spied it he sighed heavily, hands rising in surrender.

"You're going to Dorne," Dany replied, biting at her bottom lip hard to keep a happy laugh from bubbling free. She had not missed the flirtation that had passed between her brother and the widowed Martell Queen. Elia had been rather overt in her interest in Rhaegar, and while he had remained ever-stoic, Dany had hoped, secretly, that perhaps something more might grow.

She and Jon would rule, now, and it was a desire that welled deep within her that perhaps, without the weight of a Kingdom on his shoulders, her brother might be free to find some happiness for himself.

Elia, for her part, had presented them with the Dornish crown with little protest, for Jon's mother had been a dear friend to her, in childhood, and she had proclaimed that while Dorne would bow to no one, they would gladly see a Son of Dorne, a son of the sands, on the Throne.

Daenerys had not taken this as a slight. She understood well enough how this game was played. Each Kingdom would have their own reasons for bending the knee. Highgarden had already begun singing Dany's praises, the Old Queen of Thorns firm in her support of a Targaryen rule. She was rather indifferent as far as Jon had been concerned, and like Dany, Jon had been rather non-plussed.

All he cared about was protecting his family, he had whispered in the night, as they'd lain together in their rooms at Highgarden. So long as their knees bent, he'd said against her skin, kissing his way down her body, he cared little as to who they preferred.

Rhaegar cleared his throat, shifting on his feet rather awkwardly. "Yes," he answered finally, "I will go to Dorne. But I wished to speak to you, before I do. About Dragonstone." He sucked in a breath, eyes of amethyst catching hers. "It's yours, Dany."

Dany frowned, hand pushing back stray silver tendrils from her face as she gazed at her brother. She shook her head. "Rhaegar, you are the Warden of Dragonst—"

He held up a hand. "Just listen. I've thought long on this, and it seems to me there is no need for this little island to be a separate Kingdom any longer. Make it your home, your seat of power. Rule from here. There will no safer place for our steel than the home of the King and Queen of Westeros. No better guard than your dragons. No place more peaceful for your family to grow." He quirked a smile at her, watching her carefully. "And perhaps you can maintain a bit of privacy, if you wish it. You can hold court here. This place is close enough that the journey by boat is not so arduous, and with Balerion at your command you may seek out those who cannot make the voyage to you."

It wasn't a terrible idea.

Not at a first, cursory pass in her mind.

She squinted at Rhaegar in the dying light. "I will think on it. Discuss it with Jon."

"Good." Rhaegar nodded firmly, pleased. "There are too many ghosts here for me to stay, sister. I need to a new start, before I am too old to learn to love again."

"In Dorne?" At her pointed look her eldest brother began to blush, and now she couldn't fight her laugh, nudging him with her shoulder.

"In Dorne," he repeated. "But I do hope you will visit me, bring my niece, and Jon. I've come to rather enjoy his company."

Perhaps it was for the best, but she knew it might take time for the sense of loss she already felt, at his prospective absence, to fade. She'd only just found him again, she thought. If she were alone, she knew, he would stay by her side, but that was no longer her life. She had more love now that she'd ever hoped to possess, and she could not begrudge him a chance at his own.

Still, she couldn't help but needle him a bit.

She threaded an arm around his waist loosely, narrowing her eyes as she craned her neck up. "However shall I manage my own affairs without you sticking your nose into them?"

Rhaegar snorted, and let his own arm lay atop her shoulders. "Ahh, sister," he sighed, sounding far more content that she ever remembered, "I think you shall manage just fine."

---

Naerys had pled desperately for Jon to see her off to bed that night, and so Dany retreated to their chambers, indulging in a long, leisurely bath on her own. Jon usually wished to join her, and that was most pleasing, but in his absence she could enjoy the waters while they still steamed with a heat far too intense for his pale Northern skin.

Her love for Jon had only grown over the years, in the time they had been parted, when she'd thought him dead, a lie from Viserys's viperous tongue. Had she been told it was possible to love him more, she would have claimed it impossible.

But she did, and each time she saw him in the training yard with her little dragon girl, when they whispered to each other as they dined and he cajoled her into eating her food, when they traipsed about the Keep with Naerys perched atop Jon's strong shoulders, laughing together, she only loved him more.

It was far more than she'd ever hoped to find, when she'd returned to these shores, knowing she must wed this Northern Prince, her heart in tatters and shreds, worried for her daughter in her absence. All for naught, she'd found, and she let herself sink into the hot waters with a small laugh, smiling to herself as she trailed her fingers through the water, and let herself remember.

---

Her heart was in her throat, as Balerion thundered to the ground, the cliffs shaking under his great weight, black wings folding back and then down to allow her to climb down.

Rhaegar was waiting, and Ser Arthur as well, their faces lit by brilliant smiles, but it was the small girl who streaked forward, unafraid and crying out to her, that she had yearned for most.

"MAMA!" All else was swept away as slim arms circled her legs, her daugther's face pressed tight against her side, and tears filled her eyes even as she grinned widely at the feel of Naerys's nearness. She knelt, so that she could embrace the girl fully, pressing urgent kisses against her tightly braided hair, her forehead, her cheeks, all as the girl giggled in delight.

"Oh, my sweetling, I missed you so. Are you well?" She tried to speak as best she could around the kisses she peppered on her daughter's face, until Naerys finally squirmed away, eyes wide and excited.

"Oh, yes, Mama, I am very well!" She was near-giddy, this child of hers, the dearest thing she had in all the world, and she smiled warmly at her brother, gladdened to see Missandei was there as well, just to his side. "I'm so glad you're back!"

She hugged her daughter tightly, once more, a firm embrace, for as long as the girl could bear it, but her excitement seemed to great to be contained, and before long Naerys was pulling away again. "I wanted to have Ghost here, too, but Uncle said that wouldn't be proper."

Daenerys squinted, puzzled, her eyes flying to where her brother stood. It was odd, for him to look so amused, but he did, and he shared an odd look with Arthur before nodding. "Yes, I thought some introductions ought to wait 'til a bit later."

"Oh, Mama, you shall love Ghost. He is the very sweetest creature in the whole wide world, except for Silverwing. He's not even afraid of Silverwing, Mama, isn't that lovely?" She chuckled at her daughter's rhapsodic happiness, but her own confusion was mounting.

"Who is Ghost?" She posed the question to the trio who stood watching the reunion between mother and daughter, but it was Missandei who answered, something mysterious and knowing on her friend's face.

"He is a Direwolf. Belonging to the Northern Prince, your betrothed, Your Grace." Though she wished otherwise, a cold shudder coursed through her at the answer. So, he had come, this Prince Jonnel of House Stark. She had agreed to this, before she'd left, had seen the value in the match, had been swayed by the assurances of both her brother and the Prince's uncle that he was a good man, one that she need not fear in such an agreement.

Still, her misgivings had lingered. His name alone stung her heart, so close to her only love, the one she'd had then lost on the shores of Lys. Naerys was all that remained, her only piece of her sweet Jon, the part she could always have, though he was dead and gone. She forced her lips into a smile, and ruffled her daugther's hair. "A Direwolf, is it? I thought they were extinct."

Naerys just laughed, but her face grew solemn, suddenly, and she grasped Dany's cheeks in her small hands. "Oh, no, Mama, he is very real. And he is my very dearest friend. The Prince lets him come with me to my lessons, and sometimes Ghost comes and sleeps with me in my chambers. For if he is scared, you see?"

"Ahhh." Dany nodded sagely. "That is very wise." She took Naerys's hands in her own, and held them tightly between their bodies. "And what do you think his master, then? This Prince that I have promised to marry?"

It was this answer she desired, more than any assurances by Rhaegar, or Arthur. She had found Naerys to be a very good judge of character, even for one so young, and she tipped her head to the side curiously, watching her daughter's face carefully for any sign of concern or worry.

Naerys smiled, the deep purple of her eyes sparkling in the sun as she squeezed Dany's hands. "I like him very much, Mama. He is very nice, and he is teaching me to be a warrior, did you know that? Uncle said he could."

She checked her gaze to Rhaegar, who nodded stoically. "Is that so?" She was not opposed to the idea, but she was surprised that her brother had allowed a stranger to bear weapons around her daughter, let alone teach her to wield them.

Arthur laughed, as Rhaegar gave a measured reply. "It seemed a valuable way to pass the time, as we waited for you, sister. And I daresay, the Prince was uniquely qualified for the task. His father has told me many times of how he trained his own sister with blade and bow."

She felt her brows rise in surprise. "Is that a common thing, in the North?" She felt her concern beginning to trickle away, replaced slowly by a growing, gnawing interest.

Arthur smiled. "They're warriors, in the North, Your Grace. And the Princess Arya is likely as fearsome as her brother, by now, from the tales I've heard. The Prince has taught your daughter well."

Dany stood, slowly, entreating Missandei silently with her eyes to follow as she took her daugther's hand in hers and began to make for the Keep. "I should like to speak with my daughter, before we meet further, Rhaegar. And I fear I must refresh myself after such a journey."

"Of course," Rhaegar said smoothly, hands clasped before him. "The Prince will have audience with us later in the day, if that pleases you."

Dany let out a quiet, shaky breath, dismissing the sudden dampness of her palms, trying to seem unaffected at the notion. She had given her word, and there was no going back now. "That suits me fine," she said, and nodded in parting to both Rhaegar and Arthur, letting Naerys pull her towards dark stone of their home as Missandei took up position beside her.

She looked between the two faces, once they were a fair distance away. "Now, then," she said quietly. "I should like to hear all about this Prince, and what you have been up to while Mama has been away, yes?"

---

Naerys had nattered on endlessly about this Prince Jonnel, extolling every virtue she could imagine the man had, and Daenerys began to wonder what was true, and what was merely the fabrication of a lonely child's mind, by the time the girl had been lured away with the promise of lunch.

In the blessed silence that fell after the girl's departure, Daenerys turned to Missandei, who was pulling several gowns from a wardrobe, shaking the skirts free and laying them on Dany's bed for her perusal.

With a hand on the other woman's forearm, Daenerys stilled her motion.

"You are *my* very dearest friend," Dany said, pulling Missandei by the hand and leading her to sit before the fire. Seating herself as well, she let her fingers twist and dig into the fabric of her thick coat. "Tell me true; How much of what Naerys says is real?"

Missandei studied her silently for several long, endless moments, then, just barely, her lips quirked upwards in a smile. "Would you believe that near all of it is true?" With a chuckle, Missandei squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I have taken great care to observe them, together, even when the Prince believes they are alone. He is very kind to her, Your Grace. Very patient. He has a good way with her, I would say."

Dany leaned back, a relieved sigh escaping, though fear still twisted her stomach into knots. "That pleases me."

Missandei sipped from a goblet before responding, her eyes on the dancing flames. "Ser Arthur has shared with me, stories of the Prince's childhood. His father remarried when he was very young, it seems." Missandei's eyes flicked towards Dany, full of an understanding sort of sadness. "The Prince did not have a happy youth, because of it. His new mother was not kind, not at all."

Dany looked away, pondering this. It had stirred a more ominous suspicion inside her, that this stranger would be so overwhelmingly kind, and it had brought forth the worst sorts of thoughts, the sort that led to her burning him alive beneath Balerion's flames. But this, this she could understand. He must be kind, in truth, that he would not visit upon her daughter the wounds he had suffered himself.

She relaxed, but just barely.

Missandei would not have it, it seemed, could see the tension in Dany's shoulders, and drew Dany's hand into her lap, grasping it tightly. "I think he would be very kind to you, as well. If you permit him to, if you can allow it."

Her friend sighed, and brought her other hand to glance her knuckles across Dany's cheek fondly. "I have heard other tales, as well, of this Prince you will marry. He has known his own suffering, his own loss. I think that perhaps you two would be well-matched. It is within you, to love again, this much I believe."

Daenerys swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat. She wished she shared her friend's faith, but she feared that part of her was dead and gone, with Jon. But she could hope that Missandei was correct, couldn't she? Perhaps it was time to let go of him, if she could manage it. Perhaps she could let another into her heart, what remained of it.

"Is there anything else you would tell me of him?"

A mischievous glint arose then, in Missandei's amber eyes, and she smiled widely as she sipped against from her wine. "Well," she said, rather primly, "I suppose there is something else you might find of interest."

Dany raised a brow, running her tongue across her teeth as Missandei cleared her throat gently but said no more. "Come now," she entreated teasingly, "no need for such coyness. Tell me."

With a devious smile, Missandei leaned closer. "Well, I don't believe it would be incorrect for me to say you will find him rather easy to look upon."

She nearly choked on her mouthful of wine, an unbidden laugh rising when she finally cleared the liquid. "I should hardly think myself concerned with his appearance," she said, with a haughty lift of her chin, but she was hardly fooling herself, and certainly not fooling her friend, who just stared at her knowingly.

"Naturally," Missandei said dryly. "But all the same, I think you will find him pleasing."

Daenerys scoffed lightly, but still smiled, rising and pulling Missandei with her. "Well that remains to be seen, I think." She took a steadying breath, straightening her spine and willing herself to be prepared for whatever awaited her with this audience. She looked amongst the options that lay on her bed, pondering the impression she wished to make. Fingering the silky skirt of a sea-green gown, she shook her head. She would not be soft, not this day. If it was warriors that dwelt in the North, that's what she would great him as.

And she would hope, would allow it to dwell within her now, that perhaps she could see in him what the others had. Perhaps, one day, she could love him. It might not yet be, but for the first time in so very long, she found herself wishing to try.

---

Prince Jonnel of House Stark refused to meet her eyes. It was odd, yes, but she remembered Missandei's words, and cautioned herself that he was merely as damaged as she was. He carried himself more like a warrior than a Prince, each step executed with military precision, his spine stiff and straight, though he kept his head lowered.

She found herself intrigued by him, as much as the sight of the dark-haired Northerner stirred the loss in her soul, that aching wound that had never healed.

She found herself desperately hoping she would not call him by another name, a slip of the tongue, his given name so very close, after all.

But when her booted heels carried her down the steps, and closer to him, she knew something far greater was at work.

Near enough to look into his eyes, she was certain, though she felt her palms grow numb with shock, her lips as well, words dying on her tongue as she could do no more but look at him. She knew those eyes. He was taller, and broader, his voice deeper, and his clean-shaven face was a mere memory now, hidden beneath the short, dark hair of the beard that graced his jaw and cheeks.

It was his eyes, her heart screamed to her, though her mind insisted she was wrong, she had to be. He was dead, and she was only seeing what she wished to see.

"Dany," he whispered, when that steel gray gaze met hers, and she was lost. He blurred, his image softening at the edges as tears filled her eyes, as she recoiled physically, stepping back. 'It's him, it's him,' her mind began to chant, followed swiftly by a refrain filled with denial of what her eyes showed her to be true.

It can't be, she chanted back, silently, even as he questioned her again, as his voice gruffed out that blessed, cursed name, that only a few had ever called her.

She barely heard what his Hand said, lost in the gray seas of his eyes, and she knew.

"Jon?" Her whisper seemed to carry around the room, and if she was wrong the Gods could take her now, because it was *him*, she was certain. "Jon Snow?"

That flare of recognition in his eyes, his own awe and disbelief, sealed it firmly in her mind, and she was in his arms, even as she spoke once more, helpless to the tears that streaked her cheeks now. Every beat of her heart, heavy in her ears, clamored that she must hold him, claim him, keep him close, or he would slip away between her fingers, just a figment of the past.

But as she buried her face against his chest, smelled the scent of him, smell that was solidly him, she felt her resolve give way. She was glad for his strong arms around her, as her knees felt as fragile as glass, near shattering, confusion and joy and such sweet, unbearable relief coursing through her.

Home, she thought. This is home.

She felt so scattered, even as they spoke, the only reality that mattered being the one that lay beneath her palms, his heart racing against her fingertips, the truth of him deep in his eyes.

He loved her, still. And she loved him.

And she vowed, in that moment, that she would never lose him again.

---

The snick of the door latch brought her back to the present, and then he was there, her apprentice smuggler, her wayward Prince, her King. He had been returned to her for six moons, her husband for four, and yet, still, each time he saw her it was as if it was the first time, all over again.

He backed against the door to the small chamber, closing off their sleeping quarters from view, hunger growing and sharpening his features as he leaned his back to the wood and watched her.

"I have fortuitous timing, I think," he drawled, pushing away and hastily loosening his gambeson, tossing the dark leather aside as his steps began to lead him closer. With a wicked grin, he pulled his tunic over his head, chest bared in the light of the scattered candles, his eyes sweeping the length of her body with such lust that in this, too, it was as if he had never gazed upon her before.

Her toes curled against the lip of the copper tub, and she reclined, breasts barely emerging from the surface of the still-heated water as she let her dripping arms rest on either side. "Is that so?"

"Oh, aye, Dany," he growled, guttural and low, and he sat himself upon a nearby bench, stripping off his boots quickly and stockings as well, hands falling to the laces of his trousers as he watched her with starving, stormy eyes. "'Tis no sight finer than this one, I think." He cocked his chin towards the water, still noticing the faint hint of steam. "You going to cook me alive in there?"

Dany laughed, waving him closer with one hand as she watched his progress, heart beating faster as he finally rid himself of the rest of his clothing in a flurry of practiced motion. "I think it is safe. I should hate for you to melt."

Jon chuckled and approached the rear of the tub, waiting for her to shuffle forward to allow him room to slip in behind her. She already knew what he would do, as they did this often enough, but she savored these quiet moments with him, these things she thought she'd never do, like sharing a bath, as much as all the other hours spent in his arms.

He climbed in, and though it was clear enough by the stiff length of his cock pressed against her back as she settled against him that he desired her, he made no move to take things further, not yet. He would, no doubt, or she would. It varied, but it was inevitable how this night would end, and she found her smile growing as she tipped her head back to rest against his shoulder. He returned the look warmly, his hands trailing down her arms to wrap around her waist as his knees bent and bracketed her thighs, pale islands of flesh surrounded by the lapping, sloshing water that slowly stilled.

For a while, they were content to simply be, to let their flesh be reminded of the other's, only an occasional murmur or hum as she let her palms slide up and down his thighs, and he grazed a knuckle absently against the full curve of her breast.

"What are you thinking?" It was Jon who finally broke the peaceful quiet, pressing a kiss to her temple as he gazed down at her.

He'd freed his bound curls, and they surrounded his head in a dark halo as she stared up at him, worrying her lip again as her hands stilled their motion. She sighed, allowing the world to intrude yet again. "Rhaegar came to see me this evening. He has given over Dragonstone to me. He will go South, now, and make a home there. In Dorne."

She saw the muscle in his jaw ticking, just barely, through the cropped dark hair of his short beard, and she pressed a finger against it, tickling his skin as he thought. "That's good, isn't it? Elia seemed rather taken with him, if I recall."

She pressed her lips together tightly. "It is," she said slowly, tracing her finger along his cheek. "But he thinks we ought to rule from here. From Dragonstone. Make this our seat, hold court here, all of it, everything." The arm wrapped around her middle tightened, slightly, and she let her other hand rest against it, playing against his flesh as she thought. "What do you think?"

"Hmmmm." His considering hum rumbled against her back from deep in his chest, and his knuckle grazed a bit more firmly against her breast, just glancing against her nipple this time, making her bark arch into him. "I think it would be good for him. I don't believe it is too late for him to take some joy in life, again. And if it is to be found in the South, then to the South he must go."

Dany gave a tiny smile, leaning up to press a cheek to his neck, just above his collar bone. "Yes, I agree," she mused, "but I meant about ruling. Here."

Jon raised his head from his study of her, looking about the large, grand bathing chambers that had been given them, glancing at the door that led to a vast bedchamber and sitting rooms. Rhaegar had given over the chambers that had long since been abandoned, since his first wife and daughter had been lost, bidding them that they ought to have chambers fit for a King and Queen.

"I am very fond of this place," Jon finally said quietly, head tipping down again to meet her eyes. "But the truth is, wherever you go, there I shall be as well. A shack, a manor, a Keep, I care little in that regard." He punctuated the declaration by claiming her lips with his, a teasing kiss that he surely knew would only inflame her, the flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips making her moan as he pulled away. "As long as you and our little lass are with me, I shall be glad to be anywhere. But this place," he nodded, casting eyes about once more, "this place is special to me, this is true."

He smiled at her so sweetly, then, that she found she didn't need to ask why. She knew.

It was here they had found each other again. It was here he had learned he was a father. It was here that he, that they, had found joy in each other.

"Then here we shall stay, when we return from our visit North. We shall send ravens to our Wardens, alert them of our plans." With that settled she felt the last of her tension melt away, but the barest shift in his own features caught her attention. If she had not committed his face to memory, held it close to her broken heart for so very long, she might have missed it, but his face had fallen, just a hint. "Now you tell me what *you* are thinking, my darling. Are you troubled?"

It was Jon's turn to sigh, and avert his eyes, and at his discomfort she twisted, rising to her knees and shifting so that they were face to face. With wet hands she captured his cheeks, bringing his gaze back to her, holding gently, but firmly. "What is it?"

Jon shook his head slightly, his hands dipping into the water to grasp at her waist and begin to knead. "It's nothing, really. I'm just a bit worried about this trip North."

Her brow wrinkling in concern, she leaned in, her damp hair coiling against his chest as she pressed closer to him. "Why? What have we to fear in your home?"

"In the North," he began, frowning mightily, "I fear they have rather outdated views in some areas. My father couldn't be prouder of Naerys. From the ravens I have received he has done little but sing the praises of the little Dragon Princess and her field of fire since the day we did battle."

Dany's head tipped to the side, as she waited, because this was surely not it. "But," she prompted, sliding her right hand around to cup the back of his neck.

"But if I hear even the barest word as to the circumstances of my daughter's birth, Dany, I do not know if I can refrain from skinning my steel and running through the first man who dares." A hard bitterness flickered across his face as the notion, his body tensing. "I want us to be done with war, but I will not allow anyone to speak ill of her. She is my daughter, my blood, and we are wed, truly. I will have her seen as any other trueborn is." Though he was born in the ice and snows, there was fire in his eyes, now and she found it did little to dampen her desire, only served to stoke the blaze that seemed to burn within her constantly.

"I do not think your father would hear such, either, would he?"

Jon huffed out a breath. "No, I do not. But I think it best to warn you ahead of time, Dany. I'll not hesitate to shed the blood of any who seek to harm her. If they would speak ill of her it would be to hurt her, and I will not have it." An odd twist of misery took his face. "I couldn't protect her before, or you, but I will now. Until I draw my last breath."

"I see," she breathed out. Had she ever loved this much? This fully? She thought her heart would burst with it, and she smiled tenderly at him as she resumed tracing the lines of his face. "Let us hope, then, that your people are as wise as their new King is, yes?"

She kissed him, once, then again, and again, each deeper than the one before. Suddenly, she was well and truly flush against him, between his spread thighs, nipples rubbing against the firm wall of his chest as his hands ventured down her back, one anchoring at her hip, the other reaching to palm the swell of her arse. "And if they aren't," she whispered against his lips, beginning to pant with the want coursing through her, "then it shall be your steel, or my fire, my sweet. That I can promise."

He growled against her, words escaping him, and claimed her mouth forcefully, hands gripping tight and his tongue spearing between her lips to slide against hers. Water began to slosh, splashing and escaping the copper walls that contained it, and finally he pulled away, only to stand rapidly, his hands on her forearms as he drew her up as well.

"C'mere," he urged heatedly, helping her step from the tub and grabbing for a wrap to absorb the water from her damp body. Picking her up, he maneuvered them from the room, tossing her down onto the plush bedding and crawling up beside her like a big jungle cat, dark-eyed and sinuous. "No more talking," he mouthed against her neck, and she was more than happy to comply.

---

The flight from Dragonstone to the heart of the North was hours long, but for Dany each minute seemed to streak past like the white, misty clouds they flew through, Jon's body pressed tight to hers, his breath at her ear and his arms locked around her waist. Balerion hadn't put up much fuss, though he was less familiar with Jon's presence than either of the other dragons seemed to be.

But he had allowed her husband to climb up his leathery wing, only letting free a brief gust of hot air when he'd sniffed Jon from head to toe before allowing him to approach closer.

Now, tucked together atop her dragon's back, Dany thought it seemed little more than a dream, to be sharing this with him. He had flown before, as well, had ridden with Naerys into battle on Silverwing's back, but this was different, she knew.

Balerion was her chosen, her mount, and to take to the skies alone astride the dragon was a wonderous thing, even alone. But to share it with Jon was everything.

Keeping close, just behind and to their left, was Naerys and her silver beast, Missandei no doubt clinging tightly so as not to slip free. Her friend was no stranger to travelling thusly, but it was without a doubt her least favorite way. She preferred the gentle rocking of a boat, to the beat of leathery wings and the constant rush of wind, but she had demurred when Daenerys had offered that she could sail for Westeros with Ser Davos and Ghost, weeks prior.

She turned her head back, after ensuring Naerys was following and was refraining from some of the wilder, more daring antics she preferred when she rode alone, finding Jon staring ahead, grinning madly, as his eyes searched the horizon.

"The Vale," he shouted, to be heard over the roar of the wind, and pointed out the landmarks they passed, his excitement seeming to grow, finally, as they ventured closer and closer still to the land of his birth. She hoped that his fears of the night before were unfounded, but they had planted a seed of doubt in her mind, all the same. She had not yet met Eddard Stark, nor Jon's sisters, her own battle taking place far from where Naerys and Jon had confronted the mostly-Baratheon forces of the Stormlands that had allied with the Lannisters.

She had her own worries, and the silliest, and yet most pressing amongst them was what Jon's family might think of her. She hoped they would like her, hoped that they might be the sort who would accept her, and Naerys as well, and not think ill of them for the manner in which the child she shared with Jon was conceived.

Dany hoped it wouldn't matter, but her apprehension only built, as the air grew colder, and they headed further North.

---

Davos was a welcome, and friendly face, waiting steadfastly for Jon and Daenerys as they made a rather subdued landing in the clearing near the gates of Winterfell Keep. Naerys was wide-eyed and full of wonder, drawing off her small glove and testing a hand against the snowy ground as she took in her surroundings.

"Papa," she breathed excitedly. "It's like a picture! From my books!"

It was beautiful, Dany agreed inwardly, taking in the white that covered the ground, the cold chilly air that made her breath escape in misty puffs before her face, the tinkling of icicles in the trees as the wind whistled past them, the entire area ringed in dark, foreboding forests.

Though it was afternoon, still, the sky was a steely gray, the sun hidden behind low-lying clouds. Jon sniffed at the air, looping his arm around her waist as they walked. "It'll snow soon," he said with assurance, holding her close against his side, sharing his warmth. "They'll have the fires lit, at least."

As if he could sense the nervous energy building in the pit of her stomach, he leaned in. "Don't worry," he whispered. "They will love you."

She knew she was being ridiculous. Marriages were arranged all the time, she was far from the first, and it was certainly not a necessity that her husband's family take to her quickly. But she would be their Queen, and even if she did not immediately receive their kindness, she hoped, at least, that she might command their respect.

At her back, Balerion roared, and she felt her fears settle as a chorus of shouts rose from within the stone walls.

Davos chuckled as they drew close enough to greet Jon's Hand, his eyes kind as he grasped Jon's forearm then turned his attention to her. "Safe to say they know who's come calling, Your Grace. Though tales of the dragons have already reached their ears. I think they're quite curious to see what all the fuss is about."

"Ser Davos," Dany said with a smile, nodding a greeting at the old man with kindly eyes. "I am so very pleased to see that you've arrived intact."

With a grizzled laugh, Davos leaned down, to let Naerys wrap her arms around his neck quickly. "Oh, aye, the waters were rough but they've not yet made a sea I can't navigate." Naerys returned to her mother's side, tucking her hand inside Dany's, and the small family fell into step as Davos led the way through the gates.

The intensity of their stares, these Northmen that lined the courtyard, was something she had not fully anticipated. They were silent, yes, no doubt fearful of the two large dragons resting just beyond the walls of their Keep, but they were not unkind. Just watchful, a bit wary, as Dany clutched more tightly to Jon's arm.

Ahead there stood another trio, waiting to receive them, and Dany let her eyes rest on each face, in turn.

The man's identity was clear, his face long, stern, his cold bearing one she was familiar with, though she'd never seen him in the flesh. This was Eddard Stark, Jon's father, the Winter King. She could see echoes of Jon in the man's face, as they drew closer, and though he remained solemn she thought she spied a flicker of warmth in the man's gray eyes as he took them in. He cut a tall, imposing figure, in his iron and bronze crown, graying hair held back in the manner Jon now wore his, his dark, battle-scarred leathers accented by the heavy fur cloak clasped at his neck and trailing down his sides.

To his right stood a tall, slender girl, with flaming red hair and piercing blue eyes. She, too, possessed that air of aloofness that her father presented, but when her eyes met Dany's the corners of her lips twitched, as though she fought a smile. She looked the picture of a perfect, proper lady, in her thick gray woolen gown, her fur cloak of more feminine designed perched gracefully atop her shoulders.

To his left was a girl with raven hair, stick straight and barely brushing her shoulders, so remarkably like Jon in appearance that Daenerys blinked several times. She wore no fine gown, instead dressed in leathers with a woolen cape, lined with fur, that sat askance. She bore several weapons, and had the keenest stare Dany reckoned she'd ever seen. Balerion gave another cry, in the distance, and the girl grinned, though she stifled it quickly.

There was such a stiff, cold formality to it all that Dany felt it again, that shudder that coursed through her at the prospect of this introduction.

But then, Naerys dashed forward, straight to the Winter King.

"Grandfather!" Her exclamation was punctuated by a boisterous laugh, not from the small silver Princess, but from the man into whose arms she leapt.

"There she is!" Jon's father was transformed, nothing cold or aloof about the way he embraced Naerys tightly, a grin splitting his lips as he peered down at the girl now in his arms. "How is my little silver wolf, Eh?" Naerys giggled when her nose was tweaked, the tip already pink from the chill in the air. "Not frozen yet, I hope."

He placed her back on her feet, and the moment her booted heels hit the ground, Naerys unleashed the torrent of things she'd clearly been holding back. "Oh, no Grandfather, it's so lovely here! I've never seen snow before, did you know that? There's so much! Does it snow all the time? How do plants grow here?"

Eddard Stark studied the girl intently, scratching at his gray-bearded chin. "Well, now, that's an awful lot of questions, lass. I'll see if I can answer them for you. But first," he held a finger in the air, raising his voice, no doubt knowing he held the attention of his people as he looked about. "There are two here who have been *most* excited to meet you." His smile remained as he gestured to Jon's sister, Sansa, who looked friendly enough as she crouched to eye level before Daenerys's daughter. "This is Sansa."

Dany could only imagine the look of wonder that must have crossed Naerys's face, for all she could see was the way the redhead's eyes grew soft as she leaned closer to the silver-haired girl. "I'm very happy to meet you."

"Papa!" Naerys twisted to stare up at Jon. "You said she had hair like fire, and she does!" She was off, again, her lips no doubt ready to stumble of the stream of words that came next. "Papa says you are very clever with a needle, Aunt Sansa. He says you made his cloak. Can you make me one, like that? So I can have one like Papa? I would like that so very much, and I would be so careful with it, and never ever let it drag in the mud, I promise." She could just see the way Naerys's hands pressed together pleadingly, and stifled a laugh as she glanced at Jon, who snorted quietly under his breath.

"My goodness, yes, of course. I have already started working on it, actually. Shall I show you, later?" The nerves that had twisted Dany's stomach so lessened at the kindness in the other woman's voice, and she met Daenerys's eyes with the same warmth that she had shown the girl, nodding slightly in acknowledgment before she returned her attention to Naerys.

"Oh, yes." It was as if the Gods had bestowed a gift upon the girl, such was the reverence in her voice. "I would like that very much."

Then, just as quickly, her eyes shifted to Jon's other sister, the fabled Arya, who had watched the entire exchange with a healthy dose of amusement.

"You're Arya," Naerys said firmly, needing no introduction either, and she shifted to stand before Jon's younger sister with no small degree of awe. "I know all about you. Is that your sword? Papa said he gave you that sword, very long ago, and look," she gestured at her own waist, where the thin blade Jon had requested from the Dragonstone forges was secured. "Papa said it was just like yours. But I don't have a name for it yet, and Papa says all swords should have names, shouldn't they?"

Arya made no effort to hide her laughter, chuckling halfway through the peppering of questions, a hand on her hip as she regarded the small girl. "Oh, aye," she said, touching a hand to the pommel of her blade. "This is Needle. And your Papa is right, all swords should have names." She leaned low, but her whisper was of the quite loud variety. "I shall help you name yours, in exchange for a ride on your dragon, of course. Is that a fair trade?"

Naerys began to dance on her feet, turning to Daenerys, her face lit with a brilliant smile. "Oh, Mama, may I take her? I took Grandfather, he said it was great fun! May I? Please?"

Daenerys did not know what she ought to respond. She didn't mind in the slightest, as Naerys had become well-accustomed, by now, to carrying a passenger with her when Silverwing took to the skies, but as unfamiliar as she was with Northern customs she did not want to stray from what might be expected where propriety was concerned. She gazed at Jon, who grinned and nodded subtly. "Arya isn't going to be worth a single shit for company until she does. No harm in getting it out of the way."

His dark-haired sister wrinkled her face in false affront, and punched at her brother's shoulder. "Remind me why I ought to be glad to see your terrible face again?" Jon laughed heartily when his sister reached over and hugged an arm around his neck, despite her fake outrage.

"Because I am your favorite brother, naturally." His laughter continued as he regarded his family. "It's a fine thing, to see you again, all of you." His good cheer was contagious, and she found her own lips spreading in a shy smile as he gestured grandly at her. "Before you run off, sister, I should very much like to introduce you to my wife, Daenerys of House Targaryen." The way he spoke, his voice so full of pride, of unabashed love, made her cheeks warm, made her feel heated from within.

It was an exquisite thing, to be loved so completely, and she did not hide her own affection when their eyes met again. She managed to look away, reminding herself that she had a lifetime to lose herself in the man at her side, but only one chance for a fine first impression with his family.

She gave a careful bow, dipping her head to each in turn. "A pleasure to meet you all, truly." She held her breath as they all directed their stares to her, and she tried not to squirm under their scrutiny.

For several moments, there was naught but silence, but then Eddard sighed and reached forward to take her hands in his. "For so very many years, Daenerys, I wondered what had so captured Jon so, about this girl who had stolen his heart in Lys, and never let it go. Now, though," he smiled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners, "Now I understand well enough. How fortunate that fate has seen fit to bring you together again, I think. We are most happy to have you here." He checked his eyes down to Naerys, who stood clutching Arya's hand as though their palms had been fused together. "And the little Princess as well. Oh, we are best pleased, indeed."

She could see emotion building in the man's eyes, and perhaps Arya did as well, because suddenly she chimed in, winking at Naerys before she addressed her father. "If we're done being sentimental, I think I have a dragon to ride, Father, by your leave?"

With a good-natured frown, he growled out his answer, the King's eyes dancing even as he tried to sound stern. "Oh, aye, be off with you both then, but you'd best take care, Arya. And you," he said, dropping to a knee to study Naerys, who was beside herself with excitement. "You'll be taking Grandfather up later, yes?"

"Oh, I swear, Grandfather," Naerys answered earnestly, giving the man another quick hug, the true affection between the two a not unwelcome sight to Dany's eyes. The girl seemed to have that effect on people, she thought proudly, watching as Jon's sister took Naerys's hand in hers, her head bowed low as the two chattered and made their way back out of the Keep.

Davos ducked his head to whisper to Missandei, who stood at his side, then turned to Jon and Daenerys. "We'd best go keep and eye on that pair," the older man said with a chuckle, and they were off, trailing after the smaller forms of Naerys and Arya as they left through the front gates. Ghost trotted off behind them, and Dany felt the small fissure of worry that had opened in her chest bind closed. Of all there, save for herself and Jon, and no doubt the massive dragons outside the gates, she knew Ghost would let no harm come to her daughter.

"Now then," Jon's father said, his eyes warm as he stared at his son, first, then Daenerys. "Let's get you both settled in, shall we?"

---

Daenerys wasn't certain exactly what she'd expected Winterfell to be like.

It was cold, yes, and the walls of this ancient Keep were far older than those of Dragonstone, something daunting about treading these chilled halls.

But the people were not so; Jon's father was most gracious, taking the pair on a tour of the grounds that Jon knew all to well, his sister, quite the proper Lady, pointing out various points of interest as they walked along, a deep well of kindness in them both. They spoke more to Daenerys than to Jon, who seemed content to keep Dany's arm tucked in the crook of his arm, his gloved hand laying atop hers, his eyes never straying from her as they journeyed around the grounds.

"What is it?" Her whisper only deepened his fond smile, and he dipped his head towards hers as they made their way to the Great Hall.

His breath was hot on the shell of her ear, so at odds with the icy air that it made her shiver. "It's just," he replied quietly, then stopped, and she found his eyes growing glassy. "Seeing you here. It's more than I ever dreamed I would have."

She stopped, then, turning to face him fully, in that moment completely uncaring for anything but him, for the look in his eyes, that precious face that had, for so long, lived only in her own heartbroken dreams.

"I find I must remind myself, every day, that this is real," she whispered, then leaned up, sealing her lips against his, barely mindful enough of their company that she managed to just tease the seam of his lips with her tongue before she pulled away, their breath steaming the air between their mouths as she returned his longing stare with one of her own.

"I want to be alone with you," he rasped out meaningfully, then winced as his sister called out to them to hurry along.

She didn't miss the knowing, tiny smile on his father's face, even as the Stark pair politely pretended their had not witnessed the tender embrace.

"Now," Sansa trilled, "Let us show you to your rooms."

Jon spared her one more heated look before tucking her hand back at his elbow, clearing his throat and straightening, every inch the stoic Northman once more.

But from the corner of his mouth, came one last remark, one that made her thighs grow damp with want beneath her many layers.

"Finally," he muttered, and she couldn't help but agree.

---

The moment the found themselves alone, their belongings brought to their chambers, Jon's father and sister bidding them farewell so that they might 'refresh themselves after their journey', Jon's mouth was on hers.

She could do little more but arch and moan as he nipped at her bottom lip first, then the upper, suckling each into his mouth in turn as his hands moved in a well-practiced flurry over her clothing. She shrugged out of her heavy coat, mere feet from their door, her hands seeking the cool strands of his hair as she plunged her fingers into his curls, holding him close as she attempted to devour his mouth as thoroughly as possible.

His clever tongue teased against hers, then he withdrew, growing frustrated with the laces of her undercoat as he panted against her lips. "Too many bloody clothes," he grunted, frowning mightily. "Mayhap I have been in the South too long, because I swear to the Gods, Daenerys, you ought never wear so many layers again."

She smirked at him, brows raising as she took advantage of his distance to see to her own laces, drawing the garment over her head, and began to work on the laces of her trousers as she toed her way out of her boots, a nod towards him motioning he ought to do the same. "Shall I merely prance around naked then, Your Grace? Freeze my arse off so that you might not be troubled by all these trappings?"

He threw her a wicked grin, shucking off his gambeson, his cloak now in a haphazard heap on the floor, and worked his thumb through his own trouser lacings. "In a perfect world, aye, of course. But we must settle for this one, so I must accept that you must, indeed, clothe yourself. Though I must admit," he said playfully, sitting at the edge of the bed and ridding himself of his boots, "It does pain me so."

Dany scoffed lightly, now clad only in her thin tunic, nipples already straining and hard, no doubt visible through the sheer material that barely brushed the tops of her thighs. She clucked her tongue, coming to stand between his legs, as he stripped his own tunic off, now bare except for his accursed trousers. "You poor thing," she cooed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Perhaps we ought to remedy that situation?" She pressed her chest to his, glorying in the way the material chafed against her sensitive flesh, in the growl that rumbled his chest and he grabbed tight to her hips, pulling her up to straddle his lap, before his hands grappled for the hem of the fabric that shielded her from his eyes.

They both sighed as he pulled the tunic over her head, his eyes dark and hungry as he drank in the sight of her. She wondered, wistfully, whether they would ever tire of this, if the simple act of stripping each other bare would ever become commonplace. Because now, as he gazed at her, licking his lips and letting his warm palms cup the curves of her hips, it was as though he had never gazed upon her before, a sort of wonder in his stormy gaze that had enchanted her from the start.

Suddenly, the world was spinning, as he twisted them so that she laid, limps spread, open to his starving gaze as he stood above her, shoving his trousers roughly down his legs.

"How many times have you imagined this, Jon?" She arched her back lazily, reveling in the heat that coursed through her, eyes lingering on the thick, stiff length of his cock as it bobbed against his abdomen. She rolled her eyes back up to his, letting her hands trail up along her sides, cupping her own breasts and pulling lightly at the hard peaks of her nipples as his face shifted into a look that was near-feral. "Hmmm? Having me, here, in this Keep? In your bed? At your mercy?"

His chest was heaving, his breath coming in ragged pants, and she moaned aloud as he fisted a hand around his cock, stroking himself once, then twice, as he let his eyes blaze a trail down her body.

"Too many times to count," he ground out, releasing himself to crawl up the length of her form, until their mouths were even, and then he struck. He plundered her mouth, kissing her with a passion that left her dripping for him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, groaning and stroking her tongue along his as she rutted her slick folds against his hardness desperately, craving him with a fierceness that still managed to catch her off guard, at times.

No one had ever loved her as he did, and none ever would, that much she knew.

She grabbed for his shoulders, letting her nails prick the skin, until he raised his head and she managed to take several loud, gasping breaths. "Then have me, Jon. Like you imagined."

He needed no further prompting, her King, though she whimpered when his body was no longer resting atop hers, the loss of his cock thrusting against her a distressing one, until, blissfully, his mouth was at her chest, taking mercy on her as she writhed beneath him, suckling roughly at first one rosy nipple then the other.

If he had been tentative, before, when these acts were so new to them both, he was sure, now, a confidence that ran bone-deep clear in every touch of his hand on her body, every flick of his tongue, every mouthful of flesh he took as he claimed her.

He had learned, well, how best to touch her, and he used that store of knowledge, now, teeth grazing against each sensitive peak as he slipped a hand between her thighs, a knowing chuckle issuing forth as he let the pads of his fingers graze her wet cunt, lightly, torturously.

"I certainly thought about this," he said teasingly, and let his index finger circle the swollen bud above her core, making her hips roll and buck as she tried to seek more pressure, more of that teasing touch. His hand left her, and she uttered a soft please, shifting willingly when he moved her atop the bed, so that her head rested on soft, downy pillows.

She raised her head for a kiss, but he denied her, his hot mouth working a wet trail down her body yet again, his tongue snaking out and laving a slick line up the column of her throat before he bit gently at her earlobe. "I will show you what else I thought about, my Queen."

Words escaped her; She had become a wanton creature, beneath his hands, grasping for whatever part of him was within reach as she gave herself over to the sensations he stirred in her. Desire was a snarling, greedy beast that rose up inside her, and she savored the heady pleasure of his mouth at her breasts once more, her eyes falling shut as he worked her over until her skin was slick with his saliva, his thumb and forefinger pinching just hard enough to make her writhe all the harder against the furs at her back.

"Enough of your teasing, you wicked man," she urged, trying once more to trap him between her legs, only for him to slip free and kneel between her spread thighs. She rolled her hips up, in invitation, knowing full well what he intended as he crouched and hooked her thighs atop his shoulders.

She felt him blow a puff of hot air against her damp center, biting at her lip as she prized her eyes open, with effort, and looked down her body, to find him staring up at her with blatant want and a sweet, soft adoration.

"All those years," he said, each word tickling against her tender flesh, "and I never forgot how you tasted, sweet Dany."

Her loud cry seemed to echo off the stone walls as, with no further preamble, he buried his face in her folds, his tongue licking small, tight circles around that swollen bud that begged for his knowing caress, and she let out a wail as he began to pleasure her in earnest, alternating flicks of his tongue with the suckling press of his mouth, sending her careening over the edge in with his name on her tongue, a rough chant that seemed to drive him onward.

No man had ever touched her in this way, brought her such pleasure with merely his mouth, but Jon had become a master of the art, seeming to relish each cry he wrung from her as though it fed his own hunger.

He chased her desire further still, sliding first one long finger, then another, into her cunt, his palm curling up to press against her clit as he caught his breath, his fingers plunging into her as he ground the heel of his hand just above her core, his face damp with her arousal and his cheeks flushed, eyes hooded as he watched her face contort in agonized want.

"Again, Dany," came that gruff, sure voice, and his eyes were near black with lust as he watched her be flung over the precipice again, groaned as she cried his name as she came, his free hand coming up to wrap around his cock once more, slowly stroking as he watched her pant and moan, felt her walls clench tight around his intruding fingers.

Finally, satisfied that she had recovered herself, he slid his fingers free of her, licking the residue of her wetness from his fingers unselfconsciously as he studied her spread before him, gasping atop the coverlets.

"No sweeter sound in the world, Dany." He ducked his head again, pressing firm kisses to each of her hip bones, then the hollow of her navel, making her giggle when he dipped his tongue into the recess quickly, then to the valley between her breasts, until he was hovering above her again, worship in his eyes. "I never forgot the way you sound, the way you feel. And in here," he murmured, casting his eyes about quickly, before returning them to hers, "In here, in the night, sometimes it was like you were still here."

Her throat constricted at the longing she heard still, the ghost of the grief that had plagued them both, for so very long, that had pierced both their hearts in equal measure. She knew well where his mind dwelt; It had only been the memories of him that had sustained her, when the nights were the darkest, when her suffering was the greatest.

Only the wisps of remembrance, of how he had held her, how he had looked on her as though he would never love any but her; These had been her comfort, when there had been little else.

Until Naerys had come, and the gift he had given her had left her with a reason to live on.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, a move nearly like habit to her now, and closed the distance between their faces, needing to kiss him, needing the feel of his body pressed fully to hers to chase those old hurts away, to reassure her that this, now, this was what mattered.

"I want you, Jon," she whispered against his mouth, kissing him soundly, teasing his tongue with hers even as she captured him about the hips with her legs, locking her ankles together at the small of his back so that he could not slip away, this time. A roll of her hips had his cock sliding slick against her cunt, the want to have him inside her, filling her, spilling his hot seed into her depths now beyond her ability to control.

He had mercy on them both, and she gave him a slow, wicked smile as he reached between their bodies to align himself with her, the head of his cock bumping against her entrance.

With a smooth, quick thrust, he was buried in her, to the hilt, and she was helpless to stop the wail of his name, crying out at the way he seemed to complete her, when he filled her so sweetly.

This was what home was, she thought, holding tight to him, pulse pounding in her ears as he took hold of her thighs where they encircled his hips. He set up a swift, demanding rhythm, no doubt having pushed himself a bit too far in aiming to please her so well, his eyes wild and frantic as he stared down at her before burying his face at her neck and raking his teeth across her slender collar bone.

Gods, she would never get her fill of him, of the delicious agony of his thick flesh feeling as though she would be split in two, of the way he seemed to know just the angle she wanted, adjusting to drive her to the point of madness as her hips rose and fell to meet and match the cadence of his.

She had never forgotten this, how it felt to be taken by him, to belong to him, to hold him inside her and revel in the solid feel of him under her hands. She moaned his name, over and over, feeling her spine bow up from the bedding, the slap of his skin against hers a counterpoint to the way they keened and called out to each other.

She was tightening around him, against, each slide of his cock against her inner walls hitting a spot he knew to strike, hands cupping her arse now to hold her just so, his face contorting as she began to spasm anew around him, a blissful release that had stars flaring to life behind her eyes.

He followed soon after, with a loud roar of satisfaction, rocking into her still as he spilled into her, as she milked every drop she could from him.

Neither ever seemed to mind the way their flesh clung, in the aftermath, their skin dewed with their exertions, the cool air chilling them, only making the blanket of heat that was his body on hers even sweeter.

Jon pressed light kisses to her closed lids, then the tip of her nose, then the apples of her cheeks, before dropping a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips.

He laughed, quietly, the sound muffled as he kissed her through it.

"What's amused you so?" Her breathing was still labored, and her limbs were languorous and weighty as she seemed float on a lingering cloud. She couldn't help but smile when he gave her a slightly chagrined look, bracing himself on his forearms along either side of her head.

"Well," he drawled, sheepishly, "Reckon the whole of the Keep will sort out what we were up to."

Dany grinned and pecked at his lips, clenching around him where he remained inside her, her smile growing when he hissed and withdrew, cock softening and leaving a slick trail of seed along her thigh as he rolled to his side and tucked her against him. "Let them," she hissed, laying her head upon his chest, listening to his heart as it slowed to a regular rhythm. "They shall simply know how well my King pleases his Queen."

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, holding her close, his nose pressed against her hair. "Let's just stay in here forever, eh?" When she rolled her eyes at him and pursed her lips he groaned, and dropped a kiss to her head. "At least for a little while longer, then."

She nodded in silent agreement, closing her eyes, perfectly willing to savor him, like this, for as long as she could.

---

It was not long after, as they roused themselves, Jon trying his level best to repair her crown of braids to something resembling their former style, that a knock sounded at the door, and he squeezed her shoulder warmly before crossing the room to answer it. Dany busied herself with searching for her crown, not remembering immediately where she'd left it, grimacing to herself when she saw it on it's side under a nearby table. What would Rhaegar say, to see the Crown of Dragonstone discarded in such haphazardly fashion, rubies glinting in the daylight that still shone through the room's windows.

She had just placed it on her head when Jon ushered his father into the room, and she cleared her throat quickly, smoothing her hands down her clothing, hoping it hadn't rumpled to terribly in the earlier, frenzied removal of it.

"Your Grace," the Winter King intoned, a small smile playing about his lips. "I've asked my son to speak with his sister, to finalize preparations for our feast this night, in your honor." Jon gave her a quick, put-upon pout, his face straightening when his father looked his way. "I wonder, in the meantime, if you might accompany me to the Godswood?" His eyes were on Jon again, quickly. "If that suits you, my son."

Jon's eyes were on Dany, questioning whether she wished to do this or not, and she gave a smooth nod, giving King Eddard a beaming smile. "I would be honored, Your Grace."

The King rocked back on his heels, gloved hands clasped together, clearly pleased. "Right then," he said smartly, extending an arm in her direction as Jon blew out a beleaguered breath. "Son, go find your sister and lend your advice, before she works herself into a proper tizzy, won't you?"

"Aye, Father," Jon said, and then he was at her side, in an instant, a quick kissed pressed to her temple, his hand grasping her forearm in farewell. "I shall see you later, sweet Dany," he whispered, and left, leaving Daenerys alone for the first time with his father.

She offered the King a shy smile, and took his arm, noting, as he led her from the room, how much he favored her husband, in profile.

The pair remained quiet as they left the main halls of the Keep, Daenerys shivering a bit as a blast of cold air greeted her once they made their way to the courtyard, then through the back gates of the Keep, to the grounds beyond.

A copse of trees, large and towering, greeted her, the leaves long since departed, bare branches covered in a thick layer of ice and snow. Jon's father opened the iron gates that guarded what she knew, from the tales Jon had told her, to be sacred ground.

The Godswood was where one might pray to the Old Gods, a holy place for those who followed such faith, and she held her breath as she walked in tandem with the older man, who spared her several glances as they progressed towards the center of the wood.

"How is Naerys faring, Your Grace?" At the mention of her daughter's name, Eddard Stark grinned, his attention finally focused directly on Daenerys as they continued onward.

"Oh, quite well. I suspect my daughters are quite taken with her. A delightful child, Daenerys. You should be quite proud. I cannot imagine it was easy, so long on your own, so far from home, with a child to raise." He patted her hand as they walked, the one tucked along his arm, and she wondered how much Jon had explained to his father, of what had befallen his daughter and his bride before they had returned to Westerosi shores.

She frowned slightly, training her eyes ahead, though she felt the King's gaze heavy on her. "No, it was not, Your Grace. But it does no good to dwell upon the past. We must, all of us, look ahead now, to the future." She let out a measured breath, then asked what pressed the deepest upon her heart. "Is she safe here? In the North?"

Eddard looked at her, aghast, his face paling slightly as he took in her question. "You jest, Daenerys." When her brow knit, slightly confused, he let out a breathless chuff of laughter. "All those lords gathered to greet you, they were all there that day, leading their soldiers as we faced the Baratheon forces. He shook his head, a look of wonder appearing there, the years seeming to slip away as his features softened. "I've never seen a finer sight that than silver dragon streaking across the sky. And this it was my son, astride it, my granddaughter as well." He clucked his tongue, as though he were offended that she might possibly fear for her daughter's welfare here in the North. "There's not a man here who would dare raise a finger to hurt that wee lass, that much I can promise. We saw her field of fire, sure enough, heard the screams of Robert's men as she reduced them to ash, right before our eyes." He fell silent, considering, continuing to lead her deeper into the wood.

She heard his weighty sigh, peeked askance to find that Jon's father was also staring ahead, to the clearing they were approaching. "Do you know, Daenerys, I think it can be naught but fate that has led you and Jon together." He stopped, suddenly, and she did as well, curious, her eyes catching and holding a set of pale gray. "When you were just a babe," he whispered solemnly, "Your father, Aerys, sent me a raven. Rhaegar had not yet wed my sister, you see, and he wished to know whether I might wed my son Jon to his newborn daughter, whether we might, at last, join our houses together by vow, by blood."

He waited, and she supposed he expected her surprised face, the way her lips parted slightly. This was something she had never known, that at one time her father had wished for her to wed Jon Stark. "What did you say?"

The old King sighed, a cloud of mist forming on his exhalation. "I fear I was too lost in my own sorrow, in those days. I believe I told him I would think on it." He shook his head sadly, his lined face creasing further. "And then many things happened, Daenerys, many terrible things. And yet, still, you found each other, you and Jon, as though destiny had already decreed this union."

His words hung in the air, as Dany pondered them, wondering what might have befallen her if such promise had been made, so early in her life. Perhaps it would have changed nothing, or everything. But she was convinced, as she had been since the day Jon had come back to her, there in the throne room of Dragonstone, that it mattered very little.

"There is no other for me," she said, her voice ringing in the still, chilled air, "but him. That much I know." She was as sure of that fact as she was of anything, that Jon Snow had been fashioned for her, made for her heart, her body, her soul. No other could fit against her as he did, could have captured her so completely.

King Eddard chuckled at her side, sounding so much like his son that she had to glance at him again, to confirm it was the father and not the son. "And we are all the better for it, I think."

They entered the clearing at last, and Dany felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of the great, white-barked tree at the heart of this wood. It was terrifying in its beauty, a think that provoked both revulsion and awe. There was a face, seemingly carved into the side, oozing a red sap that resembled blood, enough to make her shudder as the King led her close enough to make out the fine detail of the eyes, the mouth, frozen open in a scream, she imagined.

"I used to find my son here, you know. More often than I cared to, after he returned from Essos. For so long, I did not know what he prayed for, only that he lingered so long I feared the tears on his cheeks might freeze, that I would find him frozen where he stood, beseeching the Gods forever." He turned to face her, taking her hands in his. "Now that you are here, I think I understand what brought him here so often."

He led her to a large, flat boulder, set into the ground, beside which lay a still, clear pool, indicating that she seat herself upon it. She did, settling the folds of her thick white overcoat around her legs for warmth, her eyes on the Winter King as he stepped away. Jon's father approached that horrible face, and lifted a hand, placing his palm on the bark. His eyes seemed to close in something approaching reverence. "I serve the Old Gods, always. I serve my blood. My House. My Kingdom. And now, very soon, that Kingdom shall be yours. Yours and Jon's."

One step back, then another, and he was examining his glove as he returned to where she sat, the leather now marred by drops of red sap. He claimed a stretch of the rock's surface beside her, looking out into the white wood that surrounded them, light flakes of snow falling all around. "I prayed in these woods for many things. And, no doubt, many of those prayers went unanswered." She could see the man's eyes grow a bit watery, and she thought that this must be Jon's father as he had been. Somber, brooding, a man whose life had been filled with little joy. He sniffed, then, and gave her a small, wistful smile. "But the Gods have answered Jon's prayers, and mine as well. For in the years after he returned, I would come here, long after the Keep had gone dark, and pray that there would be an end to his misery, his suffering."

Another heavy sigh, and he was pressing his hands together, leather against leather, creaking slightly at the pressure as he frowned down at the snowy ground below his feet.

"I only wish we had found each other sooner. But perhaps we did so precisely when we ought to have," Dany said, haltingly, her voice thick with emotion, her mind filled with the image of Jon as he had been, on his knees before this tree, begging his Gods for just one thing. Her. It was all too easy to imagine, all too similar to her many entreaties, to any Gods that might listen, across the Narrow Sea. She believed in none of them, but still she had prayed, at every altar that stood along her way.

Eddard considered her words thoughtfully, then nodded, eyes narrowed slightly. "Perhaps so," he agreed. "I know it pains him, how much you suffered before your paths were joined again. How much his little lass did. He wants so badly to protect you both, you see. 'Course," he continued, another rare smile spreading his lips thin, "I reckon that would be a sight easier with dragons."

Daenerys laughed, her head bobbing in a nod of agreement, breath huffing out in a white, steamy cloud. "I should certainly hope so," she said dryly. "If they cannot protect us all, I do not know what can."

That earned a snort from the man. "Oh," he answered knowingly, "I suspect Ghost shall try his level best. He is quite taken with the girl. Though I daresay we all are." He scrubbed his gloves hands against his lap, quickly, and drew in a breath, then stood.

"I wonder if I might ask a boon of you. It might be too much, I know this. It should be enough that you have done the impossible, many times over. You have, alone, hatched dragons from stone. You have saved my son from a life of misery. Given him a child. Delivered us all from the Lannister threat once and for all." He seemed so nervous that Daenerys felt her curiosity truly piqued, wondering what it was he could possibly ask that would cause such tension in the way he paced, such worry in his pale gray eyes as they flitted to hers.

"Of course, please," Dany answered, hands spread encouragingly, wondering what he might possibly wish.

"Naerys," he said in a rush. "Would you let her come, let her foster here? For a season?" He raised his hands as she made to answer, plunging ahead as though he feared she would decline. "She is young yet, I know, and now is not the right time. But when she is older, 'twould be a blessing, I think." His eyes plead with her, and she felt her fondness for him grow, the way he seemed to beg her with naught but his eyes reminding her yet again of his son.

"I think she would like that just fine, Your Grace. She seems quite taken with the North. And if she is to rule, one day, after Jon and I are gone, it would be wise for the people to grow to know her as well."

He rushed to her, grasped her hands in his once more, the smile on his face seeming almost unnatural, as though he was not used to such. It seemed genuine, though, and she gave him a brilliant smile in return. "You will be a fine Queen, Daenerys. I know that is true. The Gods have blessed us, have blessed my son with your return, with his little lass as well." He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing above the furs of his cloak. "His mother would be proud, you know, that he has taken a wife such as you. And do you know," he continued quietly, kneeling beside the stone she sat upon, "So would your mother, and your father besides." He crowed out a bright laugh that seemed to multiply there amongst the bare, snow-laden trees. "Oh, if Aerys could see his only daughter, with dragons no less."

It had not occurred to her that he might be so very familiar with her parents. She found herself suddenly burdened with questions, and before she could halt the words, they spilled from her lips. "Would you tell me what you remember of them, Your Grace? I was just a girl when I lost them, and I would hear of them from one who knew them will, if you wouldn't mind?"

With a hearty nod he extended his hand to help her rise. "It would be an honor. Let us return to the Keep, though, before my son sends out his wolf to seek us out. We have been gone longer than I intended, I think."

Indeed, she saw the sun beginning to dip down below the horizon, and took the man's arm again with a grin. "No doubt," she said with an amused quirk of her lips.

He began to speak as they took the path towards the iron gate, and it seemed to Daenerys that, despite the chill of this place, despite the rather hostile, foreign clime and the hard, weathered people, that it had a warmth of it's own, a charm that she could appreciate.

And so long as she had Jon, and Naerys, she could make any place into that thing she had longed for so desperately, for so long: a home.

---

The feast was a splendid affair, the Great Hall of Winterfell filled to the brim with the bannermen and ladies of the North, as well as a great many smallfolk from the neighboring village. It was a boisterous event, ale flowing and plates endlessly filled with roasted boar covered in a rich, dark gravy, roasted root vegetables, and loaf after loaf of thick, crusty bread. The smell alone had made Dany's mouth water, and she indulged a bit more than she might normally have, chasing each warm mouthful with a sip of water from the gilded cups that lined the head table.

Jon was in his element, she saw, Naerys perched on his lap for half the meal as she described, with great enthusiasm, all the things she had seen when she had Arya had set out on Silverwing's back earlier in the day.

Jon's dark-haired sister seemed just as excited as the smaller girl was, piping up with vivid descriptions of frozen waterfalls and lakes, of the hunting grounds the Winter King favored, how they had scared herds of elk and deer from the tree lines when Silverwing had let out a mighty, piercing scream.

"It was just marvelous," Arya sighed wistfully, collapsing back against her seat and shoving a forkful of food into her mouth. She swallowed, her eyes steady on Naerys. "We ought to fly again on the morrow, Naerys, and I will show you other, very wonderful things."

Sansa, who had been seated to Dany's right, let out a light huff, looking quite cross as she leaned over to glare at her sister. "You're trying to keep her all to yourself, sister." Her gaze softened as she looked at the little trio between her father and herself, and Arya craned her neck around Eddard to scowl back at her sister and stick out her tongue, a move which sent Naerys into a fit of giggles. "I have a surprise for you as well, Princess. I shall show you at first light tomorrow." She seemed to remember herself, and gave Jon and Dany a sheepish smile. "With your permission, of course."

Jon screwed up his face as if he were inclined to say no, laughing when Sansa looked absolutely desolate. "Of course," he said playfully. "Though we must take care that she not become spoiled, I think."

Naerys looked offended, staring up at Jon with wide eyes. "Papa, I have said my 'thank yous' many, many times today. And I only had one lemon cake, even though Aunt Sansa said I may have as many as I wish."

Jon considered that, making a show of it, scratching a hand along his jaw as he looked down at his daughter. "Well, then I suppose you have been on your best behavior then. But you still must finish your food, lass." He gestured to Naerys plate, where her vegetables still remained, and everyone chuckled at the distaste that flashed across the girl's face, at her forlorn expression as she climbed down from Jon's lap and took her seat, spearing a chunk of parsnip with her fork.

"Yes, Papa," she said obligingly, but Dany saw immediately the way the girl's indigo eyes began to travel for a familiar white form.

"Naerys," she said with light warning, "Those are for you, not for Ghost."

Jon smothered a laugh as Naerys sighed. "Yes, Mama."

Dinner seemed to pass in a blur of activity, then, so many faces passing by and offering greetings and thanks that she knew it would be a mighty task to remember them. Jon proved endlessly helpful, though the sinful burr of his whisper as he told her the name of each Lord or Lady also served to stir a quite different sort of hunger.

She sipped frequently at her water, wondering, with a furious flurry of nerves, when Jon would notice she had eschewed both wine and ale.

The Maester had confirmed her suspicions, just before they'd departed Dragonstone, but she had not quite found the right time to tell him. Watching him with Naerys, their little whispered conversations in-between the interruption of yet another well-wishing Northman brought her such peace that she had to imagine their joy could only double, when she told him that his seed had taken root in her again, and in six moons she would bear his second child.

She smiled to herself, a small, private thing, then busied herself with praising Jon's eldest sister on the finery of the feast, the hall itself bedecked in a charming mix of her colors and her husband's, quite complementary to her admittedly biased eye.

Dany had found herself growing fond of both girls, for different reasons. They were as alike, perhaps, as night and day could claim, but they were each, in their own measure, precisely what she had expected. Belatedly, as she watched Jon's father rise and call for the attention of his people with a loud clang of his fork against his tankard, she thought her prior concerns had proven rather silly.

And then, as his people paid a rapt, reverent attention, the Winter King stood, and with the least amount of pomp or formality she'd witnessed in this quest for every crown of Westeros, simply laid it atop his son's head, turning back to his people and giving a roaring shout of "Long live the King!"

The North echoed such cry, and then he stepped to Daenerys, raising her hand from the table, and urged the same from his people, the cries of "Long live the Dragon Queen!" echoing through her ears long after the meal had concluded.

The new Warden of the North then begged her to share the tale of her own conquest, of the battle these Northerners had not witnessed, when she had retaken the Reach atop Balerion, an army of Dothraki thundering below as she had lain fiery waste to her enemies from the skies above. It was a rousing tale, to be sure, and Jon let Naerys curl against his chest once more as father and daughter listened as well, though they had heard it so often that surely she thought they must be tired of it.

Jon listened with a proud smile, along with his people, as though it were the first time, hand pounding the table as the people cheered when she recounted how the Lannisters had thought to use mounted ballistae against her, how she had Balerion had dodged each projectile only to wheel around and reduce each and every one to ash, before doing the same to the armies the Lions had raised against them.

Naerys, however, clearly exhausted from her own day of excited discovery, eventually nodded off against her father's chest, and with an indulgent smile Jon excused both himself and Dany, the pair quietly weaving their way through the halls to the chambers just beside their own.

Ghost took up position by the feather bed, as they made quick work of changing the groggy girl into a sleeping shift. She seemed to settle back into sleep as soon as her silver head hit the pillow, her lips curved up in a smile, and for a moment Dany was content to sit by Jon's side, perched on the bed, and look down in wonder at the girl they'd made together.

But then Jon rubbed his hands up and down her arms, and leaned in close, lips brushing her earlobe. "I have a surprise for you, love." With a cheeky smile, he pulled her up, and they blew out the candles scattered around the room and departed, leaving the direwolf to watch over their daughter as she slept.

Jon stopped them both by the door to their own chambers, holding up a finger, signaling she ought to wait as he slipped inside. When he emerged, nearly vibrating with glee, his eyes dancing, he kept a hand behind his back, unwilling give her a peek. Instead, he waggled his brows at her hand took her hand, leading her up several narrow flights of stone stairs until they found themselves bathed in moonlight on the battlements above.

He seemed to be searching for a certain spot, along a stretch of rooftop, but finally he discovered it and, with a sigh, sat. He stretched his legs out before him, then quickly removed his fur cloak, far more used to the cold air than Dany was, spreading it beside him for her to sit upon and join him.

She did, smiling against his neck as she tucked her head against him, his arm rising to rest across her shoulders. Though she had enjoyed the time spent with his family, there was still a small, selfish part at the heart of her that was greedy for ever second they found to be alone together. She sat up, gazing up at the face she loved most, the one she always had, and gave him a shy smile as she raised a brow.

"Are you ready for your surprise?" He seemed almost more eager than she, and when she grinned and nodded he presented the object in his hidden hand with a flourish, a bottle she recognized immediately, instantly aware of who must have procured this.

"Remember?" He uncorked the bottle, and the heady smell of rum stung her nostrils, causing her stomach to pitch a bit. "Ahhh," he sighed out, and took a healthy swig. He smacked his lips and handed her the drink. "Just like old times, Dany."

She let out a nervous huff, taking the bottle carefully, memories flooding her of days spent on sunny shores, the sound of the surf merging with the low timbre of his voice, falling in love with him ever more deeply with each shy, sweet look they shared, each brush of their hands as they traded the bottle back at forth, drunk on rum and each other.

"How did you sweet talk this out of Davos, I wonder?" He laughed at the question, the arm around her tugging her closer, tipping his cheek to rest against her head as they stared up into the night sky.

"No need," he murmured. "He's somehow convinced Missandei that he ought to learn Valyrian, and when I last checked, she was trying her level best to teach him all the swear words she knew." Dany burst into laughter, and she felt Jon shrug at her side, his own low laugh rumbling from his chest. "Those were the ones he wanted to learn first, I imagine."

She clasped the bottle between her palms, but still she did not drink, knowing if there were ever to be a perfect time to tell him, it was now. She just wasn't sure how. Should she just blurt it out? Perhaps she ought to wait, let him discover it on his own, when the proof was undeniable. It would not be long, now, anyway. With Naerys, she had found that small, gentle swell of her abdomen just before her fourth moon of carrying the babe, and she suspected this one would be much the same.

"Dany?" The questioning lilt of his voice brought her back from her wonderings, something worried in the depths of his eyes as he swept them over her upturned face. "Have you lost your taste for it?"

She closed her eyes, lips pressed together tight, and willed herself to stop being so silly. Surely he would be happy, though the timing might not be what she would have chosen. Why, their reign over all of Westeros had barely just begun, and another child would scarce make such things easier. But she was happy, all the same, longing for what it would be like to bear this child in the safety of Dragonstone, with Jon near, and perhaps Naerys as well.

"I like rum just fine, my sweet." Placing the bottle down against the wall, she turned in his arms, let her gloved fingers trail along his cheek. "But I fear I cannot share it with you tonight."

His brow furrowed, concern creasing his features. "Are you ill? I should have warned you about the food, bloody hells." He sighed and leaned his head against the wall, his eyes still holding hers. "It's heavy if you aren't used to it."

She shook her head slightly, adoration blooming in her chest at his concern for her, how the love he had carried for her seemed to spill over into every interaction. She cupped his jaw and leaned up, just brushing her lips to his. "It's not that, my love."

"Then what is it?" He tensed, his breath caught in his chest, as though he feared the worst.

She felt her eyes grow hot as she let the truth spill from her lips. "The Maester said I oughtn't drink, Jon. Her lips twisted in watery smile as she watched the confusion that flitted across his face. "Not 'til the babe is born."

It hit him like a hammer blow, and she beamed at him as his eyes rounded like saucers, jolting back in surprise, breath leaving him at once, as though he'd been struck. "A babe?" His shocked whisper seemed thunderously loud, and she gave into a fit of laughter as he gazed everyone at once, dumbstruck. "You're having a babe?"

"Yes." He captured her in his arms, then, wrapping his arms around her so tight she worried she might not be able to breathe, releasing her only to pepper her face with frantic kisses. "A babe," he murmured between each one, "Truly?"

With a snicker, she allowed him to pull her fully atop him, now gazing down at him as he looked up at her, amazed. "Yes, Jon," she said drolly, letting her fingers trace along the curled hair at the nap of his neck. "How can you be so surprised?" She raised her brows at him meaningfully. "It's certainly not for lack of trying."

He laughed, a joyful sound that caressed her ears, that wrapped itself around her as surely as his strong arms were. "Now that's the Gods honest truth, to be sure. Oh, Dany," he sighed, lips seeking hers urgently, kissing her soundly before releasing her. "I do love you so."

She dipped her head, kissing him softly, smiling against his lips. "Especially making babes with me, I think."

He chuckled against her mouth, breath hot as it fanned out into the sliver of air between them. "Yes, especially that bit. But all the other bits, as well." He stiffened, suddenly, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her back enough that she could see his terrified face. "Gods be good, was I too rough earlier? We must take care." He groaned, and she clucked her tongue at him in response, playfully scolding.

"Of course not." She let her fingers trail down his neck, to rest her covered hand over his heart, captivated at the way it pounded under her touch. "I'm not spun-glass all of a sudden, you silly man. Now," she whispered wickedly, bringing their faces close again, brushing her nose against his teasingly, "Let us go back to our chambers, and I shall prove it."

With a grunt of effort, Jon stood, carrying her in his arms, and began striding quickly for the door that would lead them to the stairs, into the Keep and closer to the chambers that beckoned them both. "No need to ask twice, my Queen."

---

It was precisely six moons later, the agony of birthing her babe made bearable by the solid strength of Jon positioned behind her on the bed, his hands clasped so tightly in hers that she thought she might cause him serious harm, that her second babe was borne.

Naerys had been summoned when the time had drawn close, and so she was there, her mouth falling open in wonder, when her Dothraki midwife held the babe aloft, cutting the cord and scrubbing at the tiny thing roughly until that first, squalling cry was heard.

Dany sobbed, relieved, her body aching with the effort, mindless as she was tended to, her eyes on the red, squirming bundle that was quickly swaddled and handed to her, her vision of the small face blurred by her hot tears.

Naerys crept closer, at Jon's quiet encouragement, a small bundle of black fur in her arms that grew larger by the day. Sansa's gift of a direwolf pup, borne of her own wolf, Lady, had been a most welcome addition, and Naerys had tended to the pup with great care, proclaiming she was practicing for the babe to come.

Dany hadn't been sure Midnight, as Naerys called the pup, appreciated the effort, but she had accepted it all the same. Eyes of bright, forest green, emerging from a dark muzzle, peered at the babe, a matching set of deep purple following suit, as both girl and pup strained to see what lay now against Dany's chest.

Jon's large hand strayed down, his mouth hot on her neck as he pressed a firm, lingering kiss there. She felt the silent shake of him behind her, suspected he wept as well, at the glory of it, that at least the babe was here. No doubt his heart had been claimed anew, as hers had, by the small little being that had caused her no small amount of endless, sleepless nights, little feed lodged firmly in Dany's ribs, kicking about as though the babe danced when Dany tried to rest.

Oh how things had changed, she thought, smiling absently as the babe in her arms began to root around, searching for her breast, and she unlaced the ties of her loose shift to allow her babe to suckle, wincing at the tight pinch as the newborn latched on.

"What is it, Mama?" Naerys was almost breathless as she watched, her eyes as wide as Dany had ever seen them.

"A girl," Dany whispered, leaning her head back for a moment against her husband's chest, finding him wet-faced and beaming as he watched his second daughter nurse at her breast. "Another princess, it seems."

"Look how beautiful she is," Jon said quietly, so full of awe and wonder that she had to savor it, had to remind herself that this was new for him. He had been thousands of miles away when Naerys had entered the world, an entry not nearly as peaceful as this had been, and she wanted him to be there for every moment of it. His hand shook as he trailed his fingers along the sweep of dark hair atop the babe's head.

"A sister!" A happy little whimper escaped the silver-haired girl, and she crept up onto the bed beside her parents, taking in every detail she could see; The pink of the tiny babe's skin, near-translucent lids covering eyes that remained a mystery, small little upturned nose, and rosy, pouty lips currently trying as best they could to coax a meal from her mother. "Oh, Mama, she's just like I hoped! She's so small!"

"You must be very careful," Jon said gravely, cuffing his hand under Naerys' chin. "New babes are very fragile."

"Oh, I know Papa. I will be so, so careful with my sister." She looked to Dany, a bit unsure. "May a touch her, Mama?" When Dany nodded, the girl's face lit up, and she traced the shape of the babe's full cheeks, tickled at a small little fist until it spasmed open and grasped her finger tightly. "Look, she's holding hands with me!"

Jon chuckled, and sighed against Dany's hair. "I shall be outnumbered, I think," he whispered quietly into the shell of Dany's ear, but she could feel his lips curve upward with the pronouncement.

She was exhausted, her energy spent, and she let herself fall further into his embrace, her eyes closing tiredly as she smiled, as well. "Yes," she whispered back, "You truly will." Drowsiness threatened to claim her, but she fought it, unwilling to stop looking at the perfect little babe just yet. "She has your hair," Dany said, her hand tracing a stray, dark wisp, wondering if it would curl once it grew.

Naerys giggled and cooed at her sister, taking care to be quiet as the babe seemed to drift off into a doze, mouth still working every now and then. She had never felt as complete, Dany mused, the world full of a hazy warmth, that enveloped her completely. She felt safe, she realized, a luxury she had not known well, before.

But she felt it now, her lids drooping of their own volition, and she felt readjust them, so that she might recline more against him. "Sleep," he urged gently. "I've got you. You need your rest, sweet Dany."

"Not yet," she murmured, eyes locked on her babe's sleeping face. "She might open her eyes. I want to see, when she does."

He hummed in his throat, his fingers coming to thread through hers, against the babe's head. "What color do you think they will be, hmmm?"

With a contented sigh, she smiled again, as Naerys leaned in to kiss the babe's cheek, then her mother's, in turn. "All babes have blue eyes when they are born. We shall have to wait and see."

His arms tightened around hers, and she felt his lips brush her ear once more. "Well, Naerys has my mother's eyes. I hope this little lass has yours. Wouldn't that be fine? Singular eyes." The soft rumble of his voice against her back was lulling her to sleep, but she heard his final pronouncement before she succumbed to the dark, easy quiet that beckoned. "Eyes like the sea."