Dany ached. All she wanted was to leave the darkened War Room and find Jon, to curl beside his fire and hear his cousins' stories, to drink mulled wine, and fall asleep beside him. But duty came first.
"Your Grace," Missandei whispered to her over the crackling of the fire in Valyrian. "You worry me. What cannot wait until morning?"
"It is nothing to worry over; it's only news I wish to share sooner, my friend," Dany said back in the same language, showing a mask of calm she did not feel. Missandei seemed to try to read her face for a moment, then let her gaze drift to Grey Worm, who stood calmly at attention behind Dany's left shoulder.
"You are a good match," Dany said, loud enough for both of them to hear.
Missandei hesitated, then spoke softly, not ashamed, only discreet. "Khaleesi, we—"
"Are a good match," Dany said across her. "It's quite evident."
"Thank you, my queen," Grey Worm said evenly, though he did not look to them, ever vigilant. Dany studied him with a smile and turned back to her friend, who had turned a subtle but definite shade of red.
The faint smirk fell crashing from Dany's lips as Grey Worm said, just as calmly, "You and the Lord of Winter are a good match as well."
It took her a moment to find her tongue. "Yes, I believe we are."
"He is very handsome, Your Grace," Missandei offered.
"And kind," Dany said, though the word felt small for Jon. It was more than kindness. He was… everything. "Is he handsome enough to marry, my friend?"
Missandei's eyes latched on to Dany's, lit, sparkled. "Do you think so, Your Grace?"
"Yes. I do."
"Then I would be in agreement. Is this the news you bring to us?"
Dany nodded, then watched Missandei's eyes drift again, this time in Ser Jorah's direction. She knew the path of that thought well, having wandered it dozens of times herself. "It will be a hard telling, I think." She paused. "But worth it."
Yes, she thought, it would be difficult to tell these men she'd chosen her future, but then she would have it. She would. If there was anything she wished, it was that.
At last, the servant arrived with Tyrion's wine and was dismissed. Dany returned to the head of the table but did not sit, instead opting to stand beside the hideously uncomfortable chair. She studied the remnants of her council—an unlikely bunch if there ever was one. Kos sat beside the perfumed and verbose Varys, Tyrion and Jorah sat in a sort of companionable silence, and Kovarro, Missandei, and Grey Worm stood, each a remnant of a long-ago girl.
"You had something to tell us, Your Grace?" Varys prompted when the silence could be felt.
"Yes," Dany said evenly, then straightened her shoulders. Let it be quick, she admonished herself. The sooner she slogged through the detritus of her next words, the sooner she could be beside Jon, assuring herself that he was still with her. "Lord Snow has offered his hand in marriage," she said, and then, very deliberately, she turned her gaze so that it touched Jorah's. "I've accepted him."
There was a beat of silence, a second. Kovarro, brow wrinkled, leaned down to repeat the words for her kos, whose confusion mirrored his own.
"But, Your Grace—" Varys began.
"There are no reservations, Lord Varys. I am betrothed to Lord Snow. We intend to wed in a small ceremony on the morrow and to host a celebration after we have defeated the dead. Anything else can and will be resolved separately."
"Did you not think to discuss this with us before you accepted him?" Tyrion asked.
"I am telling you as a courtesy, no more," Dany said.
"As a queen, you are beholden to your people—"
"As your queen, you are beholden to me. I do not do this for my people. I do this for myself, but if you wish me to consider my people, believe me, I have. You are my people. The people under your sister's rule are my people. The Northmen are my people. Do you truly think uniting Houses Stark and Targaryen will do them harm?"
"Khaleesi, you do not know him," Jorah protested, his voice rough.
"That has never stopped my marrying a man before," Dany said, beginning to lose her tiny handful of patience. "I had only seen my sun and stars once before we wed. We did not have any words in common but one. My second husband came to me through a marriage purely for political gain, and look what I gained—rebellion and chaos. I know Jon Snow better than I knew either of them."
"Regardless, we still should have been told, Your Grace. We are your council; we could have counseled you," Tyrion said with some measure of calm.
"And what, pray, would have been your council?" Dany said, trying to match his tone. "How long ago was it that we spoke on Jon Snow?"
Tyrion did not answer at first, only studied her. "Many weeks, Your Grace. A meeting in which you said he was too little for you."
"I did say that; you are correct. It was a first impression, one I was able to supplement. You did not seem so opposed then."
"Then, it was not a reality I must dance around in order to keep our military alliance safe."
"This will not strengthen it? The North will be tied to us through a marriage contract—it's been done before, and worked well."
"And how many toes will Jon Snow be stepping on with his marriage? His sisters will have to rule the North in his stead when he is away with you in other parts of the Kingdom. His lords will be upset that he has not married one of their daughters. The wildlings will not want to be ruled by anyone but the man who let them through the Wall."
Dany sighed internally. She had thought all this but had let herself forget it for the sake of keeping the one thing she'd wanted close. "Let us worry about that when it happens."
"Do you think your brother said that when he stole Lyanna Stark?" Jorah said, quietly and without meeting her gaze. The Westerosi seemed to hold in a breath, while confusion held reign over the others. Dany had to calm the rage that roiled in her stomach. He did not know the depth of the insult she felt, she knew, and she could let it loose, let it fly, but she did not think it would let her leave any sooner. Not when part of the insult came on Jon's behalf as well.
"My brother did not make his intentions known to her family, nor honor her obligations to the Baratheon. That is not the case here. Jon is not promised. I am not promised. Neither of us has been spirited away without a word. We may bring this before the entire North on the morrow and express what my brother and Lyanna did not. I will not be compared to Rhaegar. Rhaegar is dead—my family is dead—but I am still here." She did not intend to tell Jorah that Jon was a dragon, that she had found her family. She would keep that to herself until it could not be kept.
"And when these Northmen do not like the results of the impulse?" Varys asked. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, truly, but you do not know these men."
"You're right. Do you know them?" She paused only a moment for him to simper and smile. "Jon Snow knows his men, his ladies. He knows which will be a source of trouble, and which will back him for the rest of his days. He knows how to rule them, but most importantly, he knows how to speak to them. They heed his words. They will this time as well."
She laid her hands on the table, leaned into it for support for only a moment. "Nothing you say will reverse this decision."
"And if I ask if it was impulse that had you saying yes?" Tyrion said quietly, and the words burned in Dany's ears. She remembered another fireside, another council chamber, and a conversation that meandered from Jon to Lannister promises to who would follow in Dany's place as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Gods willing, it would be the child inside her, but she did not share that yet.
"I would tell you that this was necessary as well. Not for strength or power or appearances, but for myself. You can and will accept that."
"Khaleesi," Kovarro said when no more was heard for a beat. She turned her gaze on him, on the kos who would have missed the nuance of the rest of the conversation, perhaps even the meat of it.
"Yes, blood of my blood," she answered him in Dothraki.
"I do not understand," he said, gently. "You are marrying—will he be khal? He did not earn the kos respect. He cannot lead them."
"He will not be khal, blood of my blood, only my husband. A prince with a crown."
Kovarro nodded, some of the confusion dying in his eyes. "He will give you strong sons. He rides well."
The sentiment was echoed in other forms by some of the horsemen, who respected the absolute power of the Khaleesi who had not burned. She smiled. "I will hope so, blood of my blood."
At last, Missandei spoke. "Your Grace, the wedding, are there plans?"
"Very little, my friend," Dany said, though she felt the weirwood calling her, knew she'd wear a blue gown to match the winter roses, knew she'd share the old words with Jon in front of gods and men.
"I should like to help those who are planning it," Missandei said. "It will be difficult, I think, to honor the faiths of all who follow you."
"I should think so as well, my friend. You would do well at that. If there is nothing else, my lords," Dany said, "I will leave you. I meant what I said about being useless if we are not rested."
No one said a word, and Dany nodded. "Excellent. I bid you goodnight."
She swept towards the doors, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Kovarro following in her wake.
"You handled that well, Your Grace," Missandei said from where she stepped lightly to keep up.
"Did I?" She could feel the shaking in her stomach again. "I felt ready to bite heads off."
"Bite heads?" Kovarro repeated, and Dany let out a weak laugh.
"You would say 'cut tongues out,' blood of my blood. I was frustrated." She drew in a deep breath. "Even as queen, as Khaleesi, I do not get to live my own life. I want one thing for myself and I must fight as if I've told them we're going to war."
"Will we, my queen?" Grey Worm asked. "Will this start another war?"
Dany had to take another breath to stay calm. "Let us pray it does not." And then she threw open the door to the courtyard, ready to feel the wind kiss her cheeks, wanting to run the whole way to Jon. Ghost lifted his head across the bailey, his red eyes boring into her. He was breathtaking, but she smiled at the wolf. His ears twitched—the smallest of movements—then broke the stare.
"Verhrazef," Kovarro said, almost reverently. Wolf-horse, she thought, was a perfect way to think of him. Dany moved toward Ghost, slowly, less unsure knowing Jon had said the wolf wanted to protect her, but cautious enough to know that might not override some instincts. She watched his ears twitch at each crack of snow beneath her boots, then smiled when she saw he watched her from the corner of his eye. She reached out, stroked the side of his neck and wondered whether he could carry someone upon his back. She decided she would not be the one to try it, though she imagined it'd be a deal more comfortable than riding Drogon.
After a moment, she glanced around, wondering which of the doors would take her to Jon. "Which way, Ghost? Where's Jon?" she asked in an undertone, not expecting the wolf to understand.
She jolted when he took a step forward, toward one of the towers, and let go of his fur to watch him walk straight to the door. He'd barely fit through it, she thought, but he seemed intent on it, even turning to study her when she did not follow.
"Your Grace?" Missandei called from behind her when she moved to do as he seemed to bid.
"This way, my friend," she called back and went to open the door for the wolf. He slunk through, head lowered, and padded to the tower steps confidently, pausing to look back only once. He dominated the small hallway, and though he moved silently, she was very aware of his every movement. Ancient instinct, she thought. A hunter walks through the walls.
He did not shirk, never even hesitated, and stopped only when he'd reached a heavy, iron-banded door. Dany slid past his shoulder, raised her hand, and froze, just for a moment. Nerves were not often her companion, but on the other side of the door, Jon's family sat, telling stories and perhaps arguing over his plans to marry her.
"Nya dare, where has the beast led us?" Grey Worm asked quietly.
"To Jon," she said, and there was a small shake in her voice.
"And yet you hesitate," the man said.
Dany looked over her shoulder at him, at Missandei and Kovarro behind him. "What if they do not approve?"
Grey Worm said nothing, staring into her soul, it seemed, for a long moment. "That has never stopped you before."
"It's never been so important," she said softly. He nodded, then stepped up to her side, and raised his own knuckles to knock for her. She would have been indignant, had she not needed that small push. She lowered her own hand just as Jon opened the door.
She was struck by the seriousness of his gaze, his silence. Was this what she'd looked like when he'd come to check on her, when they had fallen together? She wanted to reach for him but wasn't sure if he had yet told his family, and so only smiled. "Ghost led me here."
The smile started in his eyes, spreading across his face. He saw only her, she knew, in that first moment. When his gaze widened to her attendants, the smile didn't dim, only grew quizzical.
"We'll leave you," Missandei said, "if you'll send someone to direct us to our rooms."
"No," Jon said, and Dany blinked in surprise. "No, you should come in. You're Dany's family, after all. Aren't you?"
He said it with a smile and Dany's heart swelled. He knew. He knew her so well, her life so well, and after such a short time. She wished to reach up, to stroke his cheek and tell him how much it meant but restrained herself as he stepped back to open the door fully and to reveal the small party sitting around the hearth.
"Welcome, Your Grace," Sansa Stark said from where she stood, her face a mask. This girl—this woman—was so unreadable, so distant, and with good reason. She had been subjected to so much betrayal and fear, it was no wonder she held her distance. For Arya Stark, it was nearly the same, though that distance was masked behind a smirk and twinkling eyes. Brandon… he was just gone. No distance, Dany thought, just empty space.
She entered the room hesitantly, her misfit family entering behind her, and Ghost behind them. The solar felt intimate, close, with so many people in it, not to mention the direwolf who moved to lay stretched behind the desk littered with papers. It was Jon who made her feel comfortable again, by taking her hand and bring it to his lips, brushing his lips over her knuckles.
"Lady Sansa," she managed in a voice that would have cracked had she allowed it. "Thank you for all you've done so far."
"There is no need to thank me," Jon's cousin said, then smiled. "If we're to call you 'sister,' we must dispense with the formalities."
"You like it when they call you 'my lady,'" Arya accused her sister with a smirk that she shared with Jon.
"And you like it when people call you 'boy,'" the elder retorted. "Won't you join us, Your Grace?"
"If I'm to dispense with the formality, so must you," Dany said easily, then let Jon lead her to a chair. It was one of few. "I don't believe any of you have formally met my friends."
"No, we've not had the pleasure," Sansa said, turning the cool gaze on Missandei and Grey Worm, who stood quietly near the door, close together. Kovarro lingered behind them, a quiet shadow.
"This is Missandei of Naath, my advisor, Grey Worm, the commander of the Unsullied, and Kovarro, blood of my blood," Dany said, then motioned for the three to come closer.
"And these are my sisters, Sansa and Arya, and our brother Bran," Jon supplied, though everyone knew the Starks.
"A pleasure, my lord," Missandei said.
It shouldn't have been easy, Dany thought, three Starks, her Jon, her friends. It shouldn't have been so simple to fall into companionable chatter, into stories, jokes. And yet, they all had found a place to settle in front of the fire and had relaxed into banter. Jon held her hand openly, laughed—actually laughed—and held a smile with no sadness hiding behind it. She found herself grinning like a girl in love—and wasn't she?—and felt free. Truly free, for the first time in ages, in millennia. She owed it to Jon. Her Jon.
Her love.
"Your Grace," Missandei prompted, and when Dany turned to her, she realized it was not the first time her friend had called upon her. She'd been lost, looking at Jon and falling into hopeful visions of their future.
"My apologies," Dany said. "What was the question?"
"I believe you've answered it," Sansa said. "We were trying to determine if we ought to retire."
"Oh," Dany said, a bit surprised, then looked about to find the candles had burned down considerably. "Oh, yes, of course. I sent everyone else off to rest, didn't I? I should heed my own advice."
Dany made to stand, straightening her skirts as she rose. Everyone except Bran rose with her, an automatic gesture.
"Then we shall leave you," Sansa said. "Arya and I can show everyone off to their rooms."
"Oh," Dany said again, the exhaustion she hadn't felt until just then clouding her thoughts. The single word earned a sly smile from the wolf women.
"We are not so naive, Your Grace."
"Oh," Dany said a third time, then shook herself. "No, of course not. Just—"
Jon pressed his lips to her temple and she lost her next words. "We'll see you all in the morning," he said.
"Goodnight," Arya said, then reached to press a kiss to Jon's cheek. "Don't forget to let her sleep."
"Arya," Sansa chided, only half-joking. The smaller girl rolled her eyes but smiled.
It took time for them all to leave, and Dany could feel sleep trying to creep up and snatch her by the time the door shut behind Kovarro, who only left because the verhrazef was still laying along the wall, seeming to sleep but more than capable of handling any threat that came her way—at least in the bloodrider's opinion.
"You're tired," Jon whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his cheek against her hair. She didn't answer, only leaned into him, heaved a heavy breath. She could have slept for a year, she thought. It had been a long whirlwind of a day. 'Tired' could not begin to match the size of her fatigue. "Come, my love, come lay down."
He led her into his bedchamber, letting go of her hand to bank the fire. She sat on the edge of the bed, studied the sparseness of the room. It didn't hold much of him, she thought, but he'd already told her that. Winterfell did not call him home anymore. It made her sad to think of it, so she turned her gaze to him, watched him move ash to cover the coals. He rose stiffly, and she saw the exhaustion on him as well. "Come, my love," she said, smiling as she repeated his own words. "Come lay down with me."
"As my queen commands," he said, and though she was tired, she laughed and pulled him into her arms. He kissed her, lightly, teasingly, but what should have been a quick kiss deepened, transformed. She could have died happy in that kiss, she knew. His hands trailed up to cup her chin, just the slightest brush of fingertips against her skin, and yet enough to send gooseflesh soaring down her spine. Her fingers tightened on his back on instinct and the fatigue faded. Mine, a sure voice whispered as he shifted to hold her more firmly.
"We should sleep," he murmured, but then his lips were back, and smiling against hers, pulling a long, contented sigh from deep within her. Sleep, necessary though it was, could wait. She needed this more; the touch, the rush, the quiet, the love.
"We should," she said, pulling back to breathe, to smile into his grey eyes, to reach up to undress him, just as she had that first night. Except on this night, he made her laugh when he nuzzled her neck, his beard tickling as his hands paid tribute to the rest of her. She wasn't numb, wasn't past tears; she was full, glowing with joy. It felt like sacrilege to be so happy, so whole, when the world was falling.
"Jon," she murmured as they lay back, tangled but not yet joined.
"Dany," he responded, stroking the hair at her temples, his gray eyes afire, burning her as they always did.
"I feel lucky," she said, running her hands along his sides. She didn't need to say that it was the first she'd ever felt so, she could see it in his eyes that he understood.
"As do I, my silver queen," he said, leaning in close to run the tip of his nose along her jaw, his gentle breaths causing her skin to tingle to life. "My love," he murmured against her lips. "My life."
My sun and stars, her thoughts called, and for the first, Dany knew the full meaning of the phrase—more than an epithet, more than just words. He was the sun by which her path would be lit, by which she would grow and bloom, the stars by which she would navigate the world, to which her soul called. Her sun, her stars, her everything.
And the knowledge burned within her as they took each other, as they gave themselves, as they fell further.
Hi everyone, thank you so much for your patience with me over the last couple of months. I would have updated much sooner but circumstances prevented me from doing so. A depressive episode took me in October and I'm just starting to break out of it now. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and you're still with me :)
Updates shall continue as long as I can weave the tale.