"What's next for you today?" Dany asked when they were above ground. After the warm, musty air of the crypts, the cold felt wonderful on Jon's skin. The scent of fresh snow was heavy on the air—he wondered if the smell of it would ever leave him. "After we show our friends, that is."
"Next, I'll call my bannermen," Jon answered. He pretended to ignore the stumble in her breathing; it was just nerves, he knew because he had his own. He stroked her fingers where they lay upon his arm. "And you?"
"Council meetings, I'm sure," she said. "Then getting ready for this evening."
"So soon?" he asked past the jump of anticipation in his throat. "It's barely mid-morning."
"You'd be surprised," she said, "how long it takes to prepare for a wedding."
"I'm sure," he said, repeating her own words, smiling down at her as they passed through the gate to the yard. The hair on the back of his neck rose when they left the protection of the gate-tunnel. He would have thought it a product of walking from shadow to light but with the clouds thick above them, shadows were thin. And still, there was something…
His head snapped up, eyes scanning.
"Jon, what—"
Dany's shocked inquiry was cut off by an anguished roar from the left, from behind Dany. And then—
"Sam!" Gilly screamed.
Jon whirled—
Ripping Longclaw free—
Dany's breath a sharp gasp as
—swinging the sword up
—pulling her into the hollow of his chest
—catching Heartsbane on the descent.
The shudder of Dany's body against him
The pounding of battle focus
The tears on Sam's stricken face
His best friend.
The world came rushing back as Sam broke free and swung again, sideways this time. Jon pulled Dany against his body tighter and stumbled back a step with her. He couldn't move like this. "Dany, behind me," he snapped. "Right behind me."
She swept around him, her eyes wide and full of fear.
And then it was only Sam.
"Move, Jon," his friend grunted as Jon blocked another wild swing, parried, stepped to cover Dany.
"No," Jon said. "Drop the sword, Sam, before it's too late."
"It's already too late. She killed them, Jon. She killed them." The tears and snot still ran over Sam's face, a testament to the grief. There wasn't time to wonder how he'd found out, to wonder why he grieved for a man as cruel as his father. Jon said nothing, only watched his friend move, looking for the opening that would do the least damage to any of them. He could hear Dany's breathing halt, stutter to a start again.
"You knew," Sam accused. "You knew what she did and still bent the knee? How could you? How could you?"
Still, Jon did not answer.
"He didn't," Dany said. " He didn't know before."
"Shut up!" Sam yelled.
"Sam!" Gilly screamed again in answer, and Jon saw the Northman holding her back, though she kicked and screamed and lunged and tore against the withholding arms, sobbing. Sam took advantage of the lapse of attention and lunged himself.
And there was the opening. Jon slid a leg out to trip and landed an elbow in the center of Sam's back to force him to the ground. He kicked Heartsbane from his hand, and then again to send it into the bank of snow against the wall. "Stay down, Sam," he said and looked for Dany. She stood behind him, just as he'd asked, her eyes blank, unseeing on Sam where he lay curled into a ball in the snow, weeping. Beyond her, Jorah watched, one in the crowd of people standing in the archway nearest them, one in the hundreds who stared from every direction.
"Ser," Jon called, and Jorah hesitated, then came forward, looking stunned. "Hold him." When the man nodded, knelt to lift Sam to sitting, Jon took a step toward Dany. Her eyes snapped to him, fury and pain and fear a deadly mix in her eyes. There was something else, something more, but he couldn't see it, couldn't name it.
"Dany, are you hurt?" He asked softly., only for her. Her jaw clenched but she shook her head just once, and only slightly. He returned it with a short nod but held back. Hundreds of eyes had born witness to Sam's foolishness and that presented a major problem. Dany couldn't let an attack on her life stand unanswered, not with so many to speak of it, and Jon could not let Sam be killed for treason.
He nodded once more to himself, resolved, his eyes not leaving Dany's, then he slowly lowered himself to one knee, Longclaw held out to her in both hands. Dany's emotion didn't fade, only grew more confused, and Jon hoped it was right, what he was about to ask of her.
"Your Grace," he said, loud enough for the gathered ears to hear. He hoped he would not stumble. He watched her eyes grow wary as he continued. "My queen. I have pledged you my sword when you may need it, pledged to be your sword when justice demands it."
"You have," Dany said when he paused, searching.
"I ask you now, as your sworn bannerman, your sworn sword, for something."
"Name it," she said stiffly.
"Mercy." Jon watched her eyes flash to roaring anger, heard the murmurs from the crowd, but did not shift under the weight of either. He held his chin high, took a breath, waited.
"You would ask that of me?" Dany asked in a quiet voice, a hard voice, a small voice. Jon could hear the hurt, the pain, and steeled himself.
"I would," he said in softer tones for her alone, then offered up a reason. "I beg Your Grace for mercy for my friend. He is grieving; he is not in his right mind. I beg you give him the mercy you could not show his father or brother so that all your subjects might know you are both wise and strong, as I know you to be.
"I know, given time, Samwell Tarly may be a great asset to you. I beg you not judge him only by this."
It was one of his longest speeches in a great while, Jon knew, and yet he could not know if it was enough. Dany's eyes were hard, rife with the betrayal he knew she felt, as well as the fear, the pain, the confusion. She held his gaze for a long time as if by staring into him, she might understand.
"Your Grace," Jorah said from behind. Her eyes snapped to him and Jon held back a shiver; her gaze was heavy with feeling, and release from it was both a blessing and a curse.
"Yes, ser?" she asked stiffly, in reply.
"Samwell Tarly has already done you a service, one that may sway you."
"What has he done?" she asked, and Jon watched her emotions war on her face.
"He cured me of grayscale when no other man would attempt it. You asked me to go, to find a cure, to return to you. Without him, I could not have done so. See him, an instrument of your will, a tool you might rely upon, should he be punished and then forgiven. Without him, who knows what may destroy us. With him, who knows what miracles we may bring about."
Dany watched Jorah's face a moment longer over Jon's head, then let her gaze fall to meet his again. The silence—excepting Sam's muffled sobs—held the whole world still for a minute, two, and then—
"Thank you for your counsel, ser, my lord," Dany said, though the words rang hollow. Did anyone else hear it? Jon wondered. "I will take it into consideration. Samwell Tarly, while I determine what is to be done, you will need to be confined."
Jon's heart squeezed in relief, as well as concern for what might come next.
"Take him," Dany said in the Common Tongue to a group of Unsullied who, having arrived late to the scene, stood against one wall at attention. "Return him to his chamber and place him under guard. Remove his weapons; I'll see to him later."
John heard Gilly's gasping cry of relief join Sam's whimpers, but did not turn to watch. He could not pull himself away from Dany, who held still in the shifting tide of people, as unmoving as carved stone, holding him captive in her destroyed gaze.
And then she tore away.
And fled.
Though she did so at a dignified pace, it was the only word to describe her long strides away
away
away from him.
It took an eternity to stand, another to press through the crowd of people suddenly raucous with the excitement over, to follow her blinding silver hair into the castle. She moved like lightning through the people who went about their work in the halls, but Jon had a better knowledge of the rhythms of the castle and caught her up.
"Dany," he said softly.
She whirled on him, the fury plain on her cheeks. "Don't."
He reached for her hand, took it though she tried to pull it away, and led her to the nearest storeroom door.
"How dare you?" she spat when he'd let her go to shut the door.
"Would you rather every kitchenmaid hear what we need to say to each other?" he asked, growing angry himself. "I've hurt you; I mean to apologize if you'll hear it."
"Hurt me? Hurt me? You've betrayed me, publicly. How could you side with him after he attacked me? After he tried to kill me?"
"I'd not have let him hurt you."
"But you'd defend him!" she shouted, pacing restlessly.
"Aye, I did. I would again."
"Why?" she accused him. "How could you—today of all days?"
"I'd not have a death on your hands on our wedding day if you can understand that," he said, his own voice growing louder though he tried to keep it level. She huffed out a disbelieving breath and turned away, her breathing heavy. "That's not my only reason, Dany."
"I am your queen, you should address me as such," she hissed. Jon took a breath, settled himself. This was not the way to get her to hear him and he knew it.
"Yes, my queen," he said, his voice near a whisper, then lowered to a single knee again. He would be the calm in this storm until they could talk as they were used to.
She glanced over one shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"Begging your forgiveness, Your Grace," he said, meaning it. He'd not lose her without losing himself and well knew it. So, if it meant begging her forgiveness as a subject to a queen, he would.
"You cannot have it," she said, turning away again. Jon watched her hands come up to hug her own elbows against her chest and felt something tear within his heart. "You humiliated me, begging for Tarly's life. I cannot forgive that."
"He's my best friend," Jon whispered but knew that was not the true problem. "I did not mean for your humiliation, Your Grace. I only sought to give you another path, one that did not end in my friend's death, in the creation of another widow, another orphan. If anyone can understand that wish, it is you and I."
"Meant or not, the humiliation was there," she said in a small voice, her arms tightening against herself as if in belated defense.
"I do not think any of your subjects saw you humiliated, saw you weak at that moment, Your Grace."
"You cannot know that."
"You're right, my queen, I can't. So, let me tell you what I saw. Will you permit me that?"
"Do what you like. I cannot stop you." He could hear the defeat and his own grief swamped him. They had been so innocent, so young before now. He wanted to bring it back, rewind time to reclaim the days where they had never hurt each other.
"I saw a woman, the queen, the Khaleesi," he said softly, "strong, powerful, fierce, though she'd just been attacked. Not vulnerable, not weak, only shaken, as any ruler might be. I watched the same woman pause to consider the counsel of two of her advisors, rather than acting on instinct, on emotion. I watched my queen, my Khaleesi, my woman, strong, wise, kind, postpone a decision until she could set those aside until she could consider her counsel with the distance of time.
"Had I not known your character already, it could have only improved any opinions I carried."
Her shoulders were still stiff, still defensive, but not as if they were her only shield. He took a chance and rose, moving slowly to stand behind her as he had so long ago in her cabin, and laid his hands on her waist. "I saw the woman I love; I saw you."
"Don't," she said again, though not with fury, but pain.
"I cannot take it all back, would not, but I'd take back the hurt I've caused you."
She said nothing, did nothing.
"My queen—Dany—I… I nearly lost you, thought I might for a moment, and all because I did not take the time to talk to my friend. I could not bear that, could not forgive myself if—" He stopped the thought, took a shaky breath, deep, filling his lungs and wishing he could do the same for his heart. "If I've lost you for trying to save you both, I'll understand, but tell me now." His voice has faded to a hoarse whisper by the last, and he wondered if that emotion is what caused her to turn in his hands, to look up at him, though she still said nothing.
"Tell me how I can undo this pain, Dany. Tell me how I can avoid it in the future. I do not want to be the cause of any harm done to you. I do not want to be the cause of these," he murmured, lifting a hand to brush at the line of tears on her cheek.
"You could have asked me privately," she said, and the heat was nearly gone from her voice.
"Would there have been time?" he asked gently, reaching up to cup her face. "You are a decisive woman, Dany. You know what you want in moments."
"Are you asking me to change that? To change who I am?"
"No," he said, then again more firmly. "No, I'd never ask that of you. Will never. You may make your decisions, all I ask is that you do not act on them so immediately if it can be helped. You may gain people's opinions if you seem to weigh theirs. Their opinions may not be right, mine most certainly will not, but you may gain much by pausing now and then to hear them."
She shut her eyes, her brow wrinkled as if against one more pain, but she lifted her hands from where they had been clenched at her sides to rest them on his chest. "I will think on it," she murmured. "Surely, doing so would prevent Varys and Tyrion from accusing me of impulsivity again."
Jon watched her take her own breath, the air trembling on her lips. "I will ask your forgiveness now," he said after a long moment. "I had no wish to hurt you, only to protect a friend. I will not speak out so if you'll give me time to speak with you privately."
"You have it," she said, finally. Then, in a smaller voice, "I'd ask for yours as well."
"You have it," Jon said. "Now and always."
"I've not said what I want forgiveness for," she protested, her eyes opening with the shock he saw on her brow.
"I'd forgive you anything, Dany. You are my love, my queen. Soon, my wife."
"I'd still ask you to let me make amends," she said, and when he smiled softly down at her, she continued. "I may be your queen, but I am just yours, too. I'll not ask for your deference again, it demeans my own feelings to ask it of you."
"You are forgiven that," Jon said, and leaning in to brush his lips over hers, whispered, "my queen." He felt the shiver in her spine and smiled, then kissed her again for the joy of it. When he pulled away, he ran a hand over her braided hair.
"I'd want you, right here, if I kept that up," he said by way of explanation, then sighed, "and the truth is that we both have much to do now, and little time. I'll need to speak to him, Dany, to Sam."
"I know. I will, too. I'll wait to hear your thoughts before I make a decision. I know what he means to you. I'd not rob you of your friend by choice; I cannot be a source of your pain, either."
"No," he said, tucking a loose strand of her bangs behind her ear. "You're not."
She said nothing in reply, only, "The dragon's eggs, should we…"
"I think we've lost our time. They'll keep another day," he said. "It's been centuries, what is one more day?"
She nodded, though her face was still stuck in a frown.
"What is it?" He asked it quietly, lifting her chin so he could study her eyes.
"Will they all hate me like that, do you think?"
And there it is, he thought, thinking of the emotion he could not name when he'd seen it in her eyes. He weighed his thoughts, watching her watch him as he tried to find the right words to heal the worry. He couldn't find them, and so said only. "I do not know."
"Nor do I," she said, her eyes going sad.
"If you show them who you truly are, they can do nothing but love you," he said after a long pause. "As I do."
"I love you," she said back, but he knew the pain was not gone. It was not one, he suspected, that could be healed in a day.
"I love you," he answered, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Shall we face the rest of our day?"
She nodded again, then took his offered arm, took a deep breath. They walked in silence to her temporary council chambers, both of them lost in thought the whole way to the doors.
"Will you send someone to gather them?" she asked, meaning her counselors.
"I will," he said as he opened the door to check all was well within. He doubted any would have slid past the four Unsullied who guarded the room at all times, but it eased his own mind to check. "I must gather my own as well."
"I wish you luck," she said, her voice quiet but alive with nerves.
"Thank you, my queen," he said, then lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. "I'll see you again beneath the heart tree."
She nodded, tried to smile, then turned into the room, looking back over her shoulder once before she eased the heavy door shut between them. He stared at the closed door for one long moment, then walked away.
I'm back from a hiatus. I didn't plan on it being a hiatus, but life gets its own ideas sometimes. In this case, most of the ideas were good, just time-consuming.
Even still, if life hadn't gotten in the way, I'm not sure I could have posted until now. I needed to process season 8. It was. That's the highest compliment I can give it. There were moments where it felt like D&D were readers here or over on FF, but then... then. I hope you all are well. How is everyone?