Hi! Here's an update for you guys and another thank you for all your kind words! But also, something else:
I enjoy constructive criticism as much as the next guy, because it helps me better myself and my writing. But in the end, it's still fanfic that is (unfortunately) not real and will never be published other than on this website. So before you comment something mean, try remembering that, and then decide if you still want to pm me your negative comments!
Thanks love you bye!3
Jon pressed the warm cloth to her face, the warm water dripping onto her shirt. Enrin winced, but tried her best to be still.
Her head smarted, and her body was already to begin to ache. Enrin had tried to wave Jon away, to see to his wounds first, but he had stood by the door and glowered at her until she relented. It felt like hours that he cleaned every speck of blood from her, inspecting her bruises that were already forming, checking for broken bones. She wanted to tease him, but she did not, because she knew that this is what he needed.
"Your turn," she said, pushing him down where she had sat, pouring fresh water in the basin from the kettle warming over a burning candle. She pulled off his jerkin and discarded it on the floor. His chest and face were marred with blood; she could not tell where his blood ended and someone else's began. They were silent as she cleaned the blood from him, the ship rocking slowly as it sailed through the night.
"Thank you," he said suddenly, as she rung out the cloth in the basin. The water was pink now, but yet there was still so much more blood to go.
"For what?" She asked, running the cloth across his shoulders. He flinched as she touched a sensitive spot, a black and purple bruise forming over his back. His eyes found hers, and he realized how beautiful she looked in the glowing light of the candles, her hair wild around her face.
"You saved me, too," he said, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles softly. She pulled back from him, her brows pulling together.
"Of course I did," she said, laughing in her confusion. "Do you ever think I wouldn't?"
Jon only watched her, a shy smile on his lips.
Enrin leaned forward to kiss him, pouring everything into it.
"I'll always save you, Jon Snow."
The rest of their journey passed smoothly, but Enrin thought she may be going mad. The cabin boy she had saved had taken to be her personal squire, if Queens even had squires. She had asked Jon one night as they lay together; he had laughed and said if any Queen deserved their own squire, it was her.
The boy's name was Cedrick, and the wolves scared him. Night and Ghost were becoming restless. Enrin could feel the need to run itching beneath her skin, and she had taken Jon every night, roughly, to relieve her tension.
She rolled away from him one such night, the last night on the ship, panting. He lay next to her, gazing at the ceiling, arms beneath his head.
"I don't think I want to leave this ship," he said, rolling over to rest his head on her chest. She grinned, toying with his curls.
"No matter how much I love you, you could not pay me to sleep another night on this canoe."
He laughed, a deep sound. She loved it when he laughed.
"We face this dragon queen on the morrow," he said, "are you ready?"
Enrin scoffed. "I am not afraid of this girl and her winged lizards," she said, although something like apprehension unfolded in her gut.
"They could burn us alive."
Enrin tugged on his hair. "Are you trying to frighten me?" She asked, turning his head to look at her. Jon saw his own eyes reflecting back in the blue of hers.
"I'm trying to prepare you."
Jon had a lump of fear in his belly, growing larger by the day. It was for her, for his wife, whom he had dragged into the war. Even as he thought it, Jon knew she wouldn't have stayed behind, even if she didn't love him. It wasn't in her to pass up an adventure. He envied her that.
"She can try," Enrin said, leaning her head back onto the pillows and closing her eyes, "she can try all she wants to flay me. But if even one of her stupid lizards looks at you like a meal, I'll skin it and make you a new cloak."
Jon laughed, because he actually believed she would try.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but Enrin placed a finger on his lips.
"Sleep," she said, "we've both slept so little. Sleep," she kissed his head, "and I'll stay awake to slay the dragons."
The air was warmer here than in Winterfell, but a chill slowly crept into her bones as the longboat sailed them to the shores of Dragonstone. The castle loomed above them, watching them from the mist. Jon's hand rested on the small of her back, his thumb moving in slow circles. His intent was to be soothing, but his nervousness rolled off of him in waves, crashing against Enrin. The boat skidded across the sand, and Davos was out first, kicking a stake into the sand so the boat would not float away. Jon reached for Enrin as he stood, lifting her from the boat and placing her on the dry part of the sand. She watched only him until he turned to face the man awaiting them, standing shoulder to shoulder with her.
"Ned Stark's bastard," the small man said first, a scar marring from one side of his face to the other. His beard was dark and well trimmed, but his hair shone golden in the sun. The Hand's pin glimmered in the light.
"Imp," Jon replied, raising an eyebrow. They regarded each other for a moment, and then embraced like old friends, each of them laughing.
"I must say, it is good to see you...alive," The man said, before he turned to Enrin and said, "my lady, I don't believe we've met. I am Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen."
"My wife," Jon spoke first, something like pride glowing in his voice. He stepped away, to let her speak, but kept his hand hovering over the small of her back, just to let her know he was still there.
"Enrin," she introduced herself, and Tyrion reached for her hand, kissing her knuckles. Enrin wanted to squirm, not at his touch, but at the formality of it all.
"My lady, have you ever met a dwarf before?" He asked, taking her hand in his and beginning to lead them up the beach toward the stone steps. Enrin looked down at him, a confused smile on her lips.
"Of course I have, we have many of all shapes and sizes north of the wall. But we don't call them dwarves," she said, "we just call them people."
Tyrion looked up at her, a surprised smirk hidden beneath his beard.
"Be careful, Jon Snow," he said, turning back to look at her husband, "I may just steal her away and marry her myself."
A girl stood at the foot of the winding stone stairs. Her hair was beautiful and natural, with more curls than Enrin had ever seen. She stood poised, her back straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. Ten men stood behind her, one for every soldier they had brought with them, their chests bare except for thick leather straps that bound their weapons to them. Enrin released Tyrion's hand, instinctively falling back a step to level herself with Jon. They eyed each other, and suddenly she understood the severity of what they had done.
"Welcome to Dragonstone," the girl said, her voice as pleasant as a summer breeze, "I am Missandei. If you would please relinquish your weapons, our queen awaits."
Davos shifted uncomfortably behind them as Jon unclasped Longclaw from his waist. One of the guards stepped forward, his long braid swinging behind his back. She pulled her bow and quiver from her back, feeling more naked now than she had ever before. Missandei smiled, and turned on her heel, marching up the stone stairs. Two stone dragons met them as they neared the great open doors. Enrin could almost feel their eyes following her as she walked. Apprehension constricted in her gut. She needed her wolves now more than ever.
The mountain stairs wound farther and farther as they ascended, standing two abreast. Tyrion regaled Davos with tales of the time since he had left Dragonstone; Daenerys' conquering of Astapor, Merreen, other cities Enrin had never cared to hear of. Enrin stared at the castle, the stone dragons atop the towers glowering at her menacingly.
Only they were not stone, she realized, as they crowed and took flight, all three whirling above their heads. She gripped Jon's arm, her fingers almost piercing his skin. Tyrion turned to smile at them as he walked.
Jon pulled Enrin down as the great black beast sailed over their heads, almost close enough to touch. Enrin's hair whipped about her as Jon forced her to duck. She pushed up from the ground, craning her neck to get a better look.
"They're beautiful," she said, breathless, and Jon whipped around to stare at her like she had sprouted another head. Enrin saw something fantastic; all Jon saw was death.
They neared the open doors of the castle as the dragons wheeled out over the sea. The braided men ushered them through, darkness swallowing them. Jon fought the urge to turn and run. Enrin felt strangled by the dankness of the castle, instinctually clutching closer to Jon. He looked down at her, her eyes wide as harvest moons, and tried to manage a smile that came off more as a grimace.
Two men in black armor met them at a set of closed doors. Thick helmets covered all but their eyes, and Enrin wondered idly how they breathed. Missandei led the way, watery light spilling from the windows. A black banner hung behind the throne, a red dragon with three heads emblazoned on the cloth. Missandei took her place at the stairs of the great sloping throne, and it was then that they saw her.
She was smaller than Enrin would have thought, her long silver hair braided elaborately behind her head. The rest was swept to the side, curling down her chest. Amethyst eyes met them with a cool, detached curiosity.
"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains, The Unburnt, and Mother of Dragons."
Enrin felt tired even hearing all of this woman's names. She glanced at Jon, a dubious look on both of their faces. Davos cleared his throat.
"A pleasure," he said tartly. He straightened his green robes, standing straighter.
"May I introduce Jon Snow, King in the North, the White Wolf. And his ladywife, Enrin, Queen in the North, the She-Wolf."
Enrin could have rolled her eyes. She glanced around her, waiting for someone, anyone, to speak.
"I thank you for traveling such a long way," Daenerys Targaryen suddenly said, ever the diplomat, "I was sorry to hear of your injury, my lady, have you recovered?"
Enrin narrowed her eyes, noticing that the words 'my lady' seemed like an affront. She straightened her shoulders, releasing Jon's arm.
"I did, thank you, my lady," she said, almost spitting it back in her face. Missandei almost flinched. "Her Grace is a queen," she said, "and should be addressed as such."
Enrin snorted. "I am also a queen, my lady, and have been addressed beneath my station."
She heard Jon's quick intake of breath, but did not turn to look at him. The wolf queen and the dragon queen stared each other down, unmoving, for what felt like an eternity.
"No matter," Daenerys said, a coy smile on her mouth, "for I assume you are here to bend the knee."
Enrin could have laughed at the arrogance. Jon came to stand next to her, his boots echoing loudly across he halls.
"We are not."
Daenerys looked like she could have spit.
"I am the queen of the Seven Kingdoms," she said, slowly rising from her seat, "and the North is one of those Seven Kingdoms. Are you telling me that the North has separated?" Daenerys laughed. "But no, you couldn't be, could you? Because that would mean that you are in open rebellion."
They both watched her, faces impassive. The silver girl was incredulous.
"You do realize, Lord Snow, that your ancestors bent the knee to mine hundreds of years ago, after Aegon's conquest."
"Aye," Jon said, sliding his arm through Enrin's, "but I am not a Stark, and our people do not kneel."
Daenerys' face lit with flames from within, her purple eyes glinting with malice. Jon reached for a sword that was not there.
"Your Grace!"
The voice rang out from the doors of the hall, and a thickset bald man shuffled through, his hands hidden beneath his great sleeves. He made his way to the queen's side, whispering into her ear. Daenerys' face changed, momentarily, before a serene mask slid over her features.
"I'm sure you must be tired from your journey," she said, false sweetness in her tone, "my bloodriders will show you to your chambers. I'll have supper sent for you as well. We shall reconvene this meeting upon the morrow."
She turned swiftly, the bald man and Tyrion falling into step with her as she disappeared behind the sloping throne.
The braided men pushed forward, herding them from the room.
"Missandei," she called as the girl turned to leave, "allow me to send for my squire. There are some things I wish to retrieve from the ship."
Two braided men almost pushed them down the narrow hallways, Davos close behind. One of them suddenly stopped to pull open a door, motioning with his head for them to step inside. The other man disappeared with Davos into the darkness.
Panic gripped Enrin as the door closed behind them. Footsteps retreated down the hall, and she stood watching the door until all was silent.
The room was as dark and damp as the rest of the castle, candles waiting to be lit on the wooden table by the bedside. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, anger making her hot.
"The nerve," she spat, the side of her fist connecting with the heavy wooden door, "the nerve of that woman! Did you see? How arrogant could one be?!"
Jon sank to the bed, his hands shaking as he placed them on his knees.
"You handled it well," he said watching her as she paced. Enrin almost growled.
"Dragon queen," she muttered, her teeth clenched, "she tries to intimidate us with her lizards and her stories from how many years ago? Hundreds? I won't have it."
Jon let her rage, tired eyes following her across the room. His chest was tight with apprehension. A small knock broke her from her rant, and Jon all but leaped from the bed, his hand going for his sword again and cursing when he was met with empty air.
"Your Grace?"
Enrin wrenched open the door, almost plowing into Cedrick in her haste. The boy's ashen blonde hair was windswept, his plain brown eyes afraid. Enrin placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Were you hurt? Were they kind to you?" She asked, searching his face. He only nodded.
"I knew what you wanted me to bring, Your Grace," he said, moving from in front of the door to bow as she burst from it. She didn't wait for Jon to follow, but heard his footsteps echoing behind her, just as she knew they would.
They were met with no resistance when they left the castle, but the guards all dressed in gray watched them like hawks stalking their prey. They wound down the stairs, Enrin taking them two at a time.
The wolves howled as they appeared in view, all seven, adding their music to the waves. Enrin fell to her knees and threw her arms around Night's neck, the pups leaping at them and licking their faces. It had been only hours since she'd seen them, and they already looked to have grown.
Ghost moved slowly to Jon, pressing his muzzle to his outstretched hand. Enrin rose, casting her eyes about the beach. Two armed guards stood at the foot of the stairs. Cedrick climbed back into the longboat, oars in his hands. "Send for me if you have need, Your Graces," he called as he quickly rowed away, faster than Enrin thought possible. This island sat well with no one.
Jon pulled her to him, her back to his front, and they looked out onto the waves as Cedrick disappeared behind the jagged rocky outcropping, where they had docked the ship.
"We need to go," Jon said, pressing his lips to her ear. Anyone who was not within earshot would think it nothing more than a lover's kiss.
"How? Where? We are all but prisoners here," Enrin said, turning to face him so that her lips were pressed to his neck. Jon tightened his grip on her, but had no answer. What chance had they to make it to the ship, unnoticed, with thousands of armed men swarming the castle and the beach at any one time? Jon cursed.
"We never should have come here," he sighed, his eyes back on the waves. Enrin pulled the cold air into her lungs, steadying herself against him, pressing her hands to his chest.
"Our people need us to bring home dragonglass. Our people need us to bring her armies. Our people need us to bring her dragons." She looked up at him, emotions at war inside her. Jon hated to see her like this, trapped against the water. She looked out of place without the dappled sunlight of the forest on her skin. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, kissing her slowly. When he pulled away he took her hand with him.
"Come," was all he said, and he started to run, because he knew that this was what she needed.