Here we go, chapter 2. This assumes the first meeting between Jon and Daenerys was exactly as the 7x03 scene had gone. We'll start to slowly veer off the show canon, starting with the events of 7x04, soon.
I still own nothing. Author notes at the end.
Jon fell back onto the large four-poster bed within his chambers, sighing loudly, in both frustration and... relief?
He was surprised by that. Surprised to suddenly note the tension he hadn't realized he'd held throughout his entire body since his arrival at Dragonstone a few hours earlier, beginning to finally subside. Surprised, by the entirety of his first meeting, with Daenerys Targaryen.
She hadn't been what he'd expected, though he wasn't sure what his expectations had been.
Majestic, yes, and fierce, and every inch the Targaryen beauty she was rumoured to be. But there was something... something he couldn't place.
She had been cold with him, and formal. That much wasn't a surprise, either.
Their meeting couldn't have been said to had gone well. Though, strictly speaking, it didn't go quite as badly as it could have, either. He was relieved, now that this first meeting was over. Though his brow stayed furrowed as he thought over it, frustration coupled with temporary resignation washing through him. Of course she didn't believe him. He could hardly believe himself.
Of course she wanted his fealty – the invitation the raven brought to him, to embark upon this visit, made that clear also. So what was it that did surprise him then, he mused.
The forceful strength of her. The very power emanating from her as she spoke of her past, of her faith in herself, of the sense of destiny she felt guiding her, to rule over the Seven Kingdoms.
He frowned at that thought. Seven Kingdoms. Including his own.
Still, her passion was impressive, if intensely unnerving. He remembered the way his throat ran dry, the way his breath caught of its' own volition as she came down the stairs of her elevated seat, to stand before him, close enough to feel that power emanating off of her, attempting to envelop him.
He'd stood his ground, he was glad of that. Though it was oddly more challenging than he'd have thought, he had held to his dignity, his resolve, and his aims. He couldn't afford not to.
That was one of the most surprising things about this meeting, he suddenly realized.
The way the circumstances of his life thus far had panned out, he could rarely afford to be distracted from his aims, to release his focus for long from anything he had set it upon.
He'd stood his ground, against distrustful wildlings, against disapproving Night's Watch brothers, against the weary Lords of the North, against the Bolton army, against the on-slaughter of the army of the dead itself. He'd faced certain death more times than he'd care to recall (and even succumbed to it once). And he'd stood his ground – sometimes with grief, usually with trepidation or, at times, full-out terror. Because he'd had to.
He'd thought that holding his own, against Daenerys Targaryen, could not be as hard as any of that.
She was one woman, after all - armies and dragons at her back notwithstanding.
One woman. And he had found it hard to meet her eyes.
She was unnerving, he frowned to himself.
She wasn't supposed to be. This slip of a woman, young and sightly, commanded an aura around her which he did not bank upon.
It should have been nothing, compared to all he'd seen and faced; shouldn't have inspired more than the somewhat comparable air of respect his sister Sansa's strength has come to command of late; nor more than the slight flush that was all that remained of his youthful nervousness around beautiful women.
It should not have hitched his breath nor sped up his pulse as much as it did.
He had been nervous of this meeting since before he'd agreed to it. Before he'd ever set foot upon Dragonstone. But he had been nervous of the vast army of trained fighters at her back; nervous of the 3 mythical fire-breathing beasts which she had called her children.
He had never expected, to be nervous of her, in her own right.
Fire and Blood indeed. Vehement to the point of forcefulness. And the mask of haughtiness and cool disdain, though polite, had not slipped from her face during their entire audience.
Yet somehow, he knew it covered something.
There was more to this Dragon Queen than met the eye. Much more.
He didn't know how he knew that. But he was determined to find out what it was.
Thank you all so much for the amazing reviews, faves & saves. As a new writer on here, it's been incredibly inspiring and humbling, and this chapter would probably not have been written or posted anywhere near this fast, without your encouragements. So grateful.
The next chapter will probably finally be from Daenerys' POV.
Be prepared for this story to start veering off the show canon soon. I'll likely stick to introspection and extended/added scenes within 7x03, and start deviating more and more from then on. Though we'll see what the muses have to say about it. ;)
As a fellow writer put it, this will probably be a "slow burn" kind of story.
Thanks for reading.