08x03, 'The Long Night'

Daenerys has been spending most of her spare time here, tending to him like a nursemaid. He ought to feel guilty that his queen is lowering herself to that, but a treacherous part of him enjoys the coolness of her fingers against his skin and the soft way she directs him to a goblet of water.

"I want to do this," she says firmly. "I'm not a queen when I'm here with you. I'm a friend. And friends help each other. Now hush, or I'll send for Tyrion to keep you company."

That's enough to quiet him.

Still, when he is alone at night, he wonders.

For years she has struggled with the boundary between queen and friend. He has seen that a thousand times over; the way that she draws back into herself, shrouds herself in regal finery to impose the distance between them if she feels like he's getting too familiar.

But ever since his return to her, there has been a shift.

Open smiles reserved only for him, the brush of her hand against his arm, the way that she seeks out his company like a dragon seeks heat.

Queen, friend. She has apparently learned to compartmentalise these facets with aplomb.

Servant, friend. It's not something he can do so easily. He is forgiven, he knows this, but it's proving harder to forgive himself. To prove that he is worthy of that forgiveness.

To feel like he can be her friend again.

He keeps those thoughts to himself.

Instead envies the way that she keeps the box to their friendship unlocked more often than she has done in years, even around those who cast them suspicious looks. Varys and Tyrion, the Starks, the other northerners.

She shouldn't do it. It's a dangerous game. There are already whispers.

But she doesn't seem to care. And, when she's there with him, confiding her fears, it's hard for him to as well.

Which will make it all the harder when he has to box his feelings back up and pretend that they don't matter for the sake of the realm.