Love is the Death of Duty

Chapter 2

Closer.

Closer.

And Closer still.

Dragonstone grew larger and larger on the horizon as Jon Snow rowed towards it. The jagged cliffs shot out of the island, making it as visually foreboding as his reason for coming was psychologically.

Jon knew he was taking a risk; men of the north never fared well when they traveled south. He was gambling his fate on a bid that Sam was right about the supposed mountain of Dragonglass on this accursed island, knowing that if he was successful it could make all the difference in the war against the White Walkers. He also knew that if he was wrong, it could be the end of everyone that he loved. Jon was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly pitched over the side of the boat when the bow made contact with the beach, arms pinwheeling in a desperate attempt to stay on his feet. He turned around to look at his companion, Davos Seaworth, who was miserably failing at keeping a smile from creeping onto his face. Frowning at the older man, Jon straightened his tunic and, placing his left arm on the side of their small boat, swung himself over and into the ankle deep water.

"Jon Snow."

Jon's eyes settled on the speaker, and a half hearted smile crept across his face.

"Tyrion Lannister."

The Dwarf approached him, beaming, and extended his hand. Jon took it, wondering at the strangeness of the moment, and the comfort he felt at seeing a familiar face. "It's good to see you, Snow," the Dwarf stated, drawing back his hand, "though I must admit, the circumstances of our reunion are rather….peculiar, wouldn't you agree?" Jon nodded, looking down at the man he hadn't seen in eight years. "Certainly," he concurred, "I'm very interested to hear how the Dwarf of Casterly rock came into the service of the last Targaryen." Tyrion raised an eyebrow at that, but kept the smile on his face. "Oh it's been quite interesting, even if I have been drunk for most of it," the Dwarf laughed at his own statement, "though I'm not sure if it could possibly be more interesting than how you managed to get out of your Nights Watch vows and becoming the King in the North." The smile slipped off of Jon's face, as his mouth pressed into a hard line and his brows furrowed. "A story for another time, perhaps," his demeanor much more serious than it had been moments prior. "Shall we?", he said, motioning for Tyrion to lead him up the path towards where the castle stood, towering over him. Tyrion was a very intelligent individual, and while Jon's shift in attitude wasn't disguised in the least, he simply chose to ignore it, and drop the subject. "Of course," Tyrion said jovially, and started off with a spring in his step towards the foreboding fortress, Jon at his heels.

...

Halfway up the walkway, Tyrion began to feel uneasy. Jon Snow had changed; and Tyrion wasn't entirely sure if this new person walking behind him would be malleable enough for the queen to bend. Tyrion also realized that it was rather ridiculous to have expected to find a completely unchanged Jon Snow, but he wouldn't have ever anticipated this level of shift. Jon was clearly a hard man, and straight to the point; but Tyrion had always been rather good at seeing beyond people's exteriors, and he saw a darkness in Jon. Perhaps these negotiations weren't such a good idea after all. His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill, deafening sound of a dragon's roar, which was followed soon after by Rhaegal swooping out of the sky and passing over them, not twenty feet above where they were walking. Tyrion turned to see Jon and Davos ducking for cover, both of them breathing heavily. The Dothraki that had accompanied Tyrion down onto the beach were regarding them with something bordering on contempt, which he found very ironic as nobody that he had met had ever reacted in any other manner upon beholding the Dragons for the first time.

"I'd say you get used to them," Tyrion said, following Rhaegal's path through the clouds towards his siblings who had just come into view, "but you never really do." He turned back to Jon, who was helping Davos to his feet, an expression of awe plastered on his face. "Come, Jon Snow," Tyrion began to walk again, "Their mother awaits you."

...

Walking through the corridors and hallways of Dragonstone, Jon Snow did his best to ignore the growing sense of discomfort that was gnawing at his stomach. The passage ways were cool and dark, and the silence was palpable; Tyrion had made no attempts at conversation since the Dragon had passed over them on the walkway, the only sound was the Dwarf's heavy breathing and the splashes from stepping in the puddles that riddled the stone floor. When they finally arrived at the two metal doors that presumably led to the throne room, Jon's discomfort had essentially consumed him. Tyrion glanced back at him, and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then, seemingly thinking better of it, he motioned for the two Dothraki standing on either side of the doors to open them. Each man took hold of one of the Dragon adorned handles, and pushed, the metal grinding the black rock below them.

The room was dimly lit by torches that adorned the left wall, splashing a faint orange light across the rest of the space. There were windows on the right side of the ceiling that let very little light permeate them; the glass was covered in salt and darked from decades of neglect. In the center of the room, the sigil of House Targaryen was engraved in the floor, though time had worn down some of its details. On the far side of the room, Daenerys Targaryen sat rigidly on the throne of her forebears, her violet eyes distinguishable from across the expanse between the two monarchs. Grudgingly, Jon admitted to himself that none of the stories of her beauty had been exaggerated. A pretty, curly haired woman standing to the right of the last Targaryen spoke, breaking the silence.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons."

Jon looked back at Davos awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. Thankfully, his companion was a little quicker to respond than he was.

"This is Jon Snow, your grace," he replied, glancing at the man he followed. "He's king in the North," he added, a trace of amusement accompanying his flea bottom accent.

"Jon Snow."

Daenerys voice, clear, concise, and totally foreign, reached out to him. He turned to face his southern counterpart.

"Daenerys Targaryen."

Ooooook! So I've just come back to school, and as a result of having no work yet to keep me occupied, I've written another chapter. Please review and let me know how I'm doing... some of the line breaks that I had in chapter one were removed, so hopefully these ones stay! I'm working on the next chapter already, but production is going to slow down dramatically starting tomorrow.

If you're wondering about why I've not written about some portions of the plot, its that I don't necessarily feel like rewriting everything that we saw in the show. I'm definitely more focused on telling my own story, but I will incorporate certain scenes that we saw from this past season, such as the meeting between Jon and Dany. It will not, however, be a word for word, action for action copy and paste.