A/N: Longclaw: Sorry for the long wait, but I think this will be worth it :D

Read some great stories recently. A Jade Dragon by my friend bykim0120 and Gift of the Gods by Nielsen1984. Check em out :D

BRuh4: Hey all, we're back with another one. I hope you like it. We sure do. This is one we really enjoyed writing together.

Enjoy.

Chapter 26: Beautiful

Cold to the touch, rough against her back and rear. No ruler worth his salt should be comfortable upon a throne. And for Daenerys it was no exception. While not forged from the sharp points and protruding hilts of the swords of Aegon the Conqueror's enemies, the Dragonglass throne had its own discomfort about it. But only her second time ever sitting here, Daenerys cared not. Mind preoccupied with something momentous about to happen.

Within the cavernous hall, the drumming of the Queen's fingers upon the seat of the throne echoed about the walls. "Take a breath, your Grace," Tyrion advised, voice louder than he would have wished. The size of the seat of Targaryen Lords and Princes kept him far from Daenerys. "There's no sense in you being nervous."

Twin violet eyes flickered to the side, narrowing at her advisor. Debating between having him or Barristan escort the party from the beach, Dany felt that she had erred in not sending the former. "If you were about to meet someone from your family you never imagined to ever meet, I'd think you'd be nervous too."

"Well, with my family… I'd be more nervous for my life." His attempt to lighten his Queen's mood noclearly failed once he saw her glare not softening. "Sorry, bad jape."

Sighing, Dany placed her hands in her lap… only for her foot to start tapping. "Seven bloody hells… It's just my great-uncle. My long-lost great-uncle that I hadn't even heard of when I thought I was the last Targaryen…" Yet again the prospect overwhelmed her, burying her face in her hands. A gesture of vulnerability, the young woman alone in the world hiding underneath the layers of fire and blood that had forged the Mother of Dragons into existence.

Tyrion looked uncomfortable at the moment, but Missandei stepped gingerly by her friend's side. "Perhaps this Aemon would feel the same way that you did, moreso even."

Taking a calming breath, Daenerys peered up at Missandei. "And how would that be? Did he end up watching his own brother have his face nearly melted off? Knowing that it might be for the best but also that it meant you would be alone forever? Cursed with a barren womb and a stillborn child?" She didn't intend to be biting, but it just came out.

Missandei, to her credit, took none of it personally. "If what Lord Varys says about him is true, then he has been alone at the Wall for decades. Helpless to watch his family, your family, suffer tragedy after tragedy since only he and you were left."

Her eyes fluttered shut. "You're right." Her story mirrored Aemon's greatly, if anything the old maester had the worst of it. How chaotic is his constitution? Having imagined me for so long…

Just then, the door to the audience chamber opened - just a sliver - to let in one of Daenerys' bloodriders. Daenerys straightened immediately. "Mori hash she, khaleesi," he said simply.

Meeting the eyes of both her translator, who smiled, and her advisor, who nodded, Daenerys took a breath and gestured to the door. "San athchomari yeraan, Rokharo. Fichat eyak tat anna."

Clasping his sword arm against his muscled chest, Rokharo complied, darting out again. Well, this is it. Another deep breath into her lungs, stoking the inner flame within her blood. Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains… she could handle the reality she was no longer alone in the world.

Back straight, she was the picture of regal grace… yet for this, the customary black leather battledress and severe braids were dispensed with. Instead, a flowing black dress with bits of red lace adorned her, hemline and bodice both lined with the color of blood. Her House's colors, topped off with a diadem atop her head. Power, yet of a soft kind - not for a conqueror, but that of a monarch. She decided to dress more Queen-like for the occasion, even though Aemon could never look upon her.

Both doors flew open as the bloodriders fanned out in a protective pattern. Ser Barristan right behind, his aging yet nimble legs carrying him to the base of Daenerys' dias. Unsullied guards followed, and then… Daario. It didn't surprise Dany to see his smug grin saunter into the room. In the past, it might have caused a bit of desire in her loins. But now, she felt nothing. Even though her Queenly mask hid revulsion, Dany made a mental note to send him to the mainland as soon as possible after food was delivered to White Harbor..

But it was those that Daario and several Unsullied were escorting that drew her attention. Two robed figures, one with clinking maester chains and the other without. Her eyes widened involuntarily, form frozen on the throne...

Missandei cleared her throat, beginning. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, the Unburnt. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons." How she managed to say all without stopping was beyond all but her. Probably with a lot of practice.

The younger man without the chain stepped forward, bowing. "Your Grace… Samwell Tarly, acolyte of the Citadel, if it pleases you." Taking her stunned silence as approval, he continued. "This is Aemon Targaryen, Prince of the Realm and Maester of Castle Black."

She took in the man, formally introduced as her great-uncle. He was old, very old - wrinkles covering his entire face as he stooped over. Two bony hands just emerged from the folds of his robe, hobbled by age and rheumatism. The expression was toothless and eyes glassy, but Daenerys could only see the violet in his eyes. The hint of silver in his hair. He is a Targaryen through and through. "Ae…" She hesitated. "Aemon Targaryen." It came out softer than she intended. Less commanding. "Please step forward."

Blind as he was, as soon as the voice hit his ears Aemon perked up. As if a livewife coursed through him, hearing a ghost. Shaera… sweet niece? Is that you? Older certainly than his brother's little girl, but the resemblance was almost a clone. Slowly, he hobbled forward, cane clinking upon the polished tile floor. Sam walked next to him, the old man often needed an arm to rest on. Scuffle, clink. Scuffle, clink. Scuffle, clink… "Your Grace… Queen Daenerys…"

Each step that Aemon drew closer as if her heart thumped in her chest, Daenerys stood. Lace of her dress billowing about her. "Your Grace…" Tyrion began, feeling she needed to keep her regal composure but she ignored him. Walking down to Aemon's level at the bottom of the steps.

"Uncle Aemon," she breathed, voice soft. Now fully face to face, her eyes scanned him head to toe, mystified by his mere existence. This only being the second Targaryen she'd ever seen, the old man had the look if anyone did. Though surely he could live an unassuming life. A man as aged as this, no one would look twice.

Aemon's blank eyes stared at her as if he truly could see, though his blindness wouldn't fully impair him. His bony hand reached up to touch her cheek. Dany leaned down a bit to meet him. Both Targaryens had a sharp intake of breath as he made contact. Reverence and… a hint of sorrow curling on his wrinkled face. Brushing against every bit of skin with a gentle caress. Committing every bump and ridge to memory. Daenerys closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. "Shaera…" he murmured, mouth open in awe. "You look just like her… my niece… your grandmother. Beautiful."

"Truly?" Dany gasped a bit. She'd been called beautiful more times than she could count. Yet, hearing it from Aemon knocked her back a bit. It wasn't out of lust or favor currying, but a means of connecting her to her long-lost family. No words of affirmation ever meant more to her.

"Ah… I wouldn't lie," Aemon said, chuckling a bit. "I'd know you were a Targaryen even if I didn't already know."

Unable to hold back a smile, Dany felt lighter than she had in ages. "I'm glad you've come."

"I am as well, sweet child. However, in my old age, I'm tired from the journey. I'm afraid I must rest."

"Yes, of course." While it was a bit deflating to not be able to speak with the only other dragon in existence, Daenerys couldn't blame an old man for needing his rest. "We shall continue on the morrow, uncle?"

Smiling toothlessly, Aemon placed his hand behind her head and pulled her in. He kissed Dany sweetly on the forehead. "You can count on it, child."

The same lightness returned, a gesture so loving that Daenerys could only remember her brother doing… a few times before Ser Willam died, when he was still her loving brother. "Splending," she ended up saying, voice catching a bit. "Missandei will take you to your chambers."

At the arrival of the Naathi translator, Aemon followed the sound of her steps. "Missandei? Naathi, correct?"

Missandei's eyes widened. "Yes, Prince Aemon. How did you know?"

"Oh, I wasn't always an old codger once," he chuckled, beginning to walk with her. "As a child, I was quite the worldly figure. Socialized with men and women of every nationality in the known world, got a good ear for accents even now… and it's not Prince. Hasn't been for a long time." His voice was warm. "Call me Aemon." He coaxed a smile out of Missandei quite quickly.

Watching and sighing in contentment and happiness, Daenerys motioned to her Hand and her bloodriders to follow her back to the painted table room. "Wait… your Grace." The Queen turned as the portly acolyte rushed to approach her before she left the hall.

Barristan was already in the way before the bloodriders, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Stand aside, Lord Tarly…"

"No." Daenerys held up a hand, but stayed behind the burly Dothraki. "I'll hear what he wishes to say." A small smile for the acolyte… "Lord Tarly?"

He nodded. "Samwell Tarly, your Grace - though everyone calls me Sam." He smiled sheepishly, feet shifting nervously.

Daenerys watched him expectantly. "You have something to say, Sam?" The question was gentle.

"Your Grace, if I may," Sam began, shaking a bit. He drew a thin sack from behind his back. He reached into it and retrieved a longsword. "I believe you may recognize this blade. It was Jorah Mormont's. I... I was with him. He went there for treatment."

Dany walked forward slowly, eyes only on the sword. Sam held it out to her and she took it. She pulled the blade out just a bit from the scabbard. "I see."

"I'm… I'm very sorry, Your Grace. I believe I did all I could for him."

"What happened to him?"

"The greyscale had spread and we had no cure. I tried. I really tried to help him. But the Citadel wouldn't allow me to further treat him in fear of it spreading. He didn't want to be alone. So, I sat with him for a while. He talked long about you. You were all he talked about," Sam explained, laughing a bit. Remembering Jorah fondly despite the circumstances. "Greyscale, you see, doesn't outright kill you. Not immediately, at least, it just spreads all over the body. It had covered his chest and both his arms." Sam hovered his hands over his own body to accent his point. "It had begun to spread up the neck… But he didn't want it to continue. The Citadel prepared a painless concoction for him to drink. It seemed like he just went to sleep."

"Oh," Dany sighed. "I understand."

"He… He cared very much for you. Often he'd ask if you'd landed on Westeros. Finally, I was able to tell him that you had. A bright smile bounded across his face. Even though he was in great pain."

"Thank you for trying…" Dany replied. Though clearly seeing Jorah himself instead would've been better. Having just heard this, she didn't really have time to fully react. That would come later. Her Queenly persona stayed intact, despite her insides screaming. "Ser Barristan can escort you to your quarters, Acolyte Samwell."

Barristan blinked. "But my Queen…"

"Go," Dany ordered, slightly blunter than she wished. "I want to be alone." Bowing, Barristan complied, leaving Daenerys alone in the Throne room. Leaning against one of the columns, head pounding, Dany realized it wasn't good enough. Her heart beating out of her chest. She needed to be somewhere. Anywhere else but here.

And so her legs carried her away, her mind somewhat blank. The direction surprised her, but she didn't stop herself. Going to a place she strangely desired to go.

Cowl pulled over his head, Daario cursed as he swung the torch back and forth. The air down here was cold and fetid. Water droplets pittered on the stone floor, moisture prevalent everywhere. What the fuck am I doing down here? Teeth clenched, his mind thought back to his childhood in the sleazy pleasure houses of Lys. How he had forged such power to rise out of that muck… where it had been silken sheets and gold goblets that adorned his life rather than dank tunnels and rot-covered ground.

Well no more. Now is your chance to end this. Trying to keep calm in the face of his rising frustration, he stormed down the corridor. Searching blindly for the room…

A rough hand pulled him through a doorway, latch shut tight behind. Daario felt his torch yanked away and thrust into a wall-mounted holder. "Been followed?" came the gruff voice. One of my loyal men, good.

"You know me better than that, Tyro," Daario replied with a smug grin. Eyes flickering around the tiny storage vault - looked to be cases of sour wine rations by the looks of them - he spotted two other lieutenants and a sergeant, the remaining officers of the Second Sons on Dragonstone. Good, everyone is here. "Alright Tyro, what's the status of the prisoner?" There was no need to elaborate, nor did his subordinates ask.

Tyro, a thin man good with a bow that had joins the outfit only a year after Daario, cleared his throat. "I don't know for sure."

Blinking, Daario narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean you're not sure? I ask you for one simple task."

"You have to understand," said The sergeant. "After your little… interrogation accident, her Grace has frozen us out of the loop."

"Impossible." Daario couldn't believe it. "We're an integral part of Her Grace's army."

"Oh no, we still are, but most of us are in the middle of fucking no man's land in the beachhead…" while the characterization of the land between Lannister and Targaryen held regions wasn't one he knew, Daario could deduce the meaning. "But we have heard things."

At least someone did their assigned task. "And?" Daario tapped his foot impatiently.

Sighing, Tyro eyed each of the men before turning back to his nominal Captain. "He's been moved from the dungeons." The voice was low, almost a whisper.

Daario heard it nonetheless. "He what?" The voice was stunned and dangerous, eyes narrowing.

Another lieutenant nodded. "The freed slave with the huge tits moved him to one of the unused guest quarter. I don't know which one for sure, but there are double Unsullied and Dothraki guards on the secondary guest wing so I can guess he's somewhere there."

Running a hand through his hair, Daario silently cursed Missandei and the Imp… both of them were probably behind this. Probably Barristan too, but I doubt he'd take an interest. His talents were mostly military. "Fuck… alright. There's still a chance to reverse this mistake… what?" His men were giving him quizzical looks and he didn't like it.

Eyes shifting from one to the other, finally Tyro stepped forward for the lot of them. "Boss… we've discussed it and we believe it would be best if you just let this one go."

The Captain of the Second Sons couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're just going to let a northern bastard corrupt the Queen's mind?" As long as he remained in Missandei's custody, the soft policy would continue and only lead to another Harpy uprising situation.

"I'm sorry, boss, but we've been basically pariahs since you pulled that stunt. A hostage cannot be harmed unless ordered by the Dragon Queen. Even we sellswords know that." As hesitant as they were to do this to their captain, it was necessary and they stood firm.

Glaring, Daario met the gaze of each one of them. "So if I order you to drag him back to the dungeons where he belongs?" He just wanted to know if he could trust his own men, or if they would emulate his actions at Yunkai.

The sergeant stepped forward. "Brave, skilled men died because you disobeyed the Queen and set upon Jon Stark. I'm not going to wastefully lose my life for you… Captain." The use of his title didn't soften the blow.

"And so it is, then?" Daario nodded. "Alright. Get whatever men we have left, we ship off to the mainland as soon as I obtain her Grace's blessing." Relieved looks on all of them, they shook hands with and smack Daario on the back. Worries finally abated.

When they left, leaving Daario alone under the flickering torchlight, he slammed his fist on the wall. Snarling half at the pain of his split knuckles and half on the situation.

"Fine!" He yelled into the void, brushing his hand over the stump that used to be two fingers on his left hand. "I'll do it myself!"

Ash…

It was all he could see around him. A mass cloud of it falling from the sky, coating the ground as the snow did north of the Wall - grey and lifeless. His boots made imprints in the horrid substance as some force compelled him to walk through it. Towards something… but he didn't know what…

The vast plain of ash wasn't all he could see for long. Buildings appeared, once large and beautiful. Now at best desolate and shoddy, covered in the remnants of a once mighty inferno. The majority however, in various stages of destruction. Some half-collapsed, some mostly collapsed, many more gutted out corpses worse than any wight - monuments to whatever force had erupted into the once vibrant place Jon felt he was desecrating by his very presence.

One foot after the other, he nearly lost his balance on something… a body. A woman holding a babe close to her, bottom half having burned off in the past flames. Jon fought the urge to vomit, struggling to stay upright as he doubled over. A dragon… Only a dragon could do this much damage, cause so much death… Perhaps he should have killed the Dragon Queen when he had a chance…

The thought died in his mind as quickly as it came. Somehow, Jon felt his consciousness reject the urge to blame Daenerys. As if by some instinct, he knew she wasn't culpable for this. But that answered less questions than it caused…

And then he heard it. Cheers. Drums. The sound of some sort of celebration, some sort of parade. Gingerly breaking out in a trot, Jon came upon a massive courtyard. Overlooked by the ruins of a once great castle. The Red Keep? Was he in King's Landing the whole time?

At the steps stood a figure, obscured by the ash still falling from the sky. Army cheering before him, a mighty conqueror, warrior… murderer. Jon strained his eyes, trying to pick him out to no avail. The army was formless, shapeless, just a mass of bodies unrecognizable to him. Desperate, he looked at the sigils, trying to spot anything. A lion, a dragon…

Suddenly a roar knocked him to his back, the last thing Jon witnessing being a massive green shape descend from the sky. Amber eyes seeking out him…

Jon woke up suddenly, eyes flying open before they fluttered shut with a groan. His skull pounded behind his eyes. Gods, what in seven hells was that? He pushed himself upright, legs swinging to dangle from the cot. Nightmares were nothing new. In all honesty, all his dreams were nightmares. They fell into a predictable pattern: his family all dying before him while he was immobilized, the army of the dead ripping through the armies of the living, his friends being burned alive…

But this one was different. There was no haze, no surreality about it. Clear, clean, crisp… Almost like a vision… Jon shook his head. Not possible, Snow. You're only a bastard.

Laying back into the bed, feet up, Jon closed his eyes. Not to sleep, for sleep was impossible now. Merely to think - to reflect upon the swirling cauldron of his emotions. This dream was unlike the others in another way. Others expressions of utter terror, this one found him after the horrible fact. Walking upon an atrocity having been committed… If his head hadn't ached before, it certainly would now.

Hearing footsteps outside the comfortable room he was locked up in, Jon sighed. Assuming it was merely Missandei and continuing to stare at the ceiling. Not looking even when the door opened, or when the Unsullied clicked their heels. Such were a regular routine of the Naathi translator's visits. While he didn't enjoy them, he didn't not dislike them either. Even the most uncooperative prisoner appreciated companionship.

Stirred into turning from the silence, the first glimpse of silver hair proved the intruder wasn't Missandei. "Oh, it's you." On some level, he wasn't surprised Daenerys Targaryen was in front of him. "I would stand up, but what would be the point."

She was quiet, simply standing there. The door closed behind her. She stood by it. "I don't expect you to."

Sighing, he shifted upright, leaning against the dark stone walls while sitting on his bed. Eyebrow quirking up at her appearance. Normally the dark blacks and grey leather of a Targaryen dragonrider, the person before him wasn't that at all. While her eyes were still powerful and piercing, her battledress was replaced with a flowing gown of red and black. Rubies, diamonds, and jet jewels adorning her. She looked radiant, like a true Queen...

Yet it wasn't what truly piqued his interest. No, it was her eyes. Beneath the hard exterior, the look that made one think she saw right through them… it masked a sadness. She's grieving. He knew the look - Jon had seen it in his own face when Ygritte died. What could you possibly be grieving about?

Minutes pass, perhaps even hours. The two of them, one a trueborn Queen if an illustrious House and the other a baseborn bastard only legitimized as a power play by a desperate King, simply staring at the other. Unknowing of the nature of this standoff. Be it hostile, proving, or something else entirely.

It was Daenerys who made the first move. "I…" she said, emotions threatening to bubble up. Yet she pushed it back down as she always does.

"Is there something you want?"

Her jaw clenched, "I'm not sure." Daenerys hated showing weakness, especially in front of him, but she simply had no answer. "I don't even know why I came down here." It was as if her legs had simply brought her here of their own accord instead of literally anywhere else.

"You think I have answers for you?" Jon said, chuckling. "I'm afraid I'm all out of ideas. This continual confinement has deprived me of many things. I don't feel particularly chivalrous either."

"I'd hardly expect nice things from you, Stark. You've only been cold to me."

"Cold?" Jon sat up. "You call that cold? You're from the South… Seven Hells, not even the South. From Essos." A land alien to him; it might as well have been on the moon. Put into context, the gulf Daenerys elicited with the people she was trying to rule. "You don't know what cold is. To be covered in three layers of furs and still be freezing. That's cold. I know all about being cold. It's all I've ever known."

She crossed her arms. "You hardly know how to properly treat a Queen."

"You are a Queen. But not my Queen." Jon didn't want to antagonize her. At this point, it was worthless, a momentary fleeting high that served no one. But his honor owed even the Dragon Queen the simple truth. "You so desperately want me to serve you. To bend the knee, but for the life of me, I can't figure out why."

Her scowl was deep. This had been discussed and browbeaten into him for weeks, and yet he still failed to understand. "You need to stop being stubborn, Jon Stark. Your usurper King holds no title and holds no claim over the Iron Throne. His brother usurped the Throne from my family and stole my rightful birthright…"

"And there it is!" he snarled, sick of hearing this. "How the fuck do you think your family gained that throne in the first damn place?!" Pausing to breathe, he saw her quiet. Violet eyes narrowed at him. "Conquest. It's a fucking Iron Chair worth nothing, yet the only birthright is by conquest. Aegon the Conqueror forged it through conquest, and Robert took it through conquest. You are taking it not by right, but through conquest as well, leaving me and my men in the middle of it."

The fire within her blood was flaring, begging to emerge and smite this insolent whelp for daring to attack her in her moment of personal anguish. But Daenerys wasn't Viserys. She wouldn't allow herself to become what her enemies painted her as. What Jon Stark believed of her. "So many in Westeros do not care about slaves and freedmen in Essos, yet I have. They are why I shall earn my throne. Not simply conquer it."

Jon snorted. "Perhaps I don't know about Essos. I admit it, but tell me this, Queen Daenerys." He sat up slightly, never breaking his lock on her eyes. The first man since she had taken the Unsullied who dared to stare her down. "Would you see yourself as the person to free the slaves - to free us from something I can't point to - had your name been Stark? Tyrell? Lannister? Tollet? Giantsbane? Fuck, had you been a fucking bastard named Snow. Would you have even bothered to imagine yourself taking that throne with a mind clouded with delusions of altruism?"

How dare he? "When I sit on the throne, it shall be by the choice of the people. As I allowed the Unsullied to choose. The Dothraki to choose. The free men and women of the former Slaver's Bay to choose."

"Choice?" He couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Between bending the knee and burning alive? What sort of choice is that?"

"The choice between a ruler that truly fights for them and rulers that only fight for themselves."

Sighing, Jon fell back against the furs. "There is no choice for me, or the North. You've already soundly defeated my army. There is no one left to fight for you, probably only enough to keep my sisters safe in the keep they call their home! You did that. I'm not there to protect them because of you. You'll just fly your dragons over there and make them come to heel as your ancestors did. Likely, I'll still be sitting in this damn room when that happens." Jon hadn't wanted to raise his voice, but he didn't lower it either.

Dany, aside from the first outburst, remained unmoved as he went off on her. "That's not the way I want it. I don't want to burn your home to the ground." It was the truth. "I came to break your chains."

"You had no problems burning all my friends when you attacked me." It was also the truth as well. "What chains of theirs did you break?"

His words truly stunned her. Dented her regal demeanor. "That was different."

"How?"

"We were warring with each other. Burning Winterfell unprovoked would be a crime."

"So that's where you draw the line? Alright to burn men to death without even a parlay before battle. Burn men to death that surrendered to you, but not their homes and keeps?"

"All I want us to bring peace into a world that's only seen chaos. I've come to break the wheel that's crushed all below it for centuries," Dany tried to explain, though Jon's exterior was hard to crack. "I told you already. I don't want to force you or your people to follow me. I just wish you'd do it yourself."

"Why? What reason do I have?"

"It's the proper thing for you to do as the leader of your people."

"How do you know what the 'proper' thing would be for my people? You don't know them."

"I know what I would do if I was in your position. Give up yourself in exchange for the safety of your people," Dany told him, speaking as if it was obvious.

Jon scoffed, "The mighty Mother of Dragons, taking what you will from the world just because your father was a King." How could this be the woman Missandei spoke of? "Well I had none of that! I'm a damn bastard, worth nothing in the scheme of things and yet my men followed me because I'd give everything for them. Give everything for my family including my own worthless life!" It was why he was here, at the mercy of the Dragon Queen. "I hardly think you know anything about giving yourself up for anyone or anything."

There was a long silence, the two simply staring at each other. A tension so thick that it would take Longclaw to cleave through it. Neither moving, Jon's breathing heavy as he cooled his rage while Daenerys didn't make a single sound...

"Have you ever been raped, Jon Stark?"

Whatever answers Jon expected, that wasn't one of them. He had no response.

Taking his wide eyes as answer enough, Daenerys continued. "Do you know what it's truly like? To be raped, defiled, used as a broodmare by someone who cared nothing about you but as some sort of plunder? A trophy to display to the world, to his followers?" Once again no answer.

He broke her. The words a Valyrian steel driving straight through her regal armor, through the dragonhide that had so shielded her since walking into the flames and emerging with dragons. Everything - from her dreams, his stubbornness on and off the battlefield, all revolution of her life since her arrival on the island of her birth centering on this Jon Stark - a whirlwind of emotions turned into a shattering tsunami upon Daenerys Targaryen. Exploiting her weakness upon the death of Ser Jorah… a perfect storm, one that now drew a tear from her eye. Unbidden, but unavoidable.

One the completely stunned Jon Stark couldn't help but notice.

"You grew up with a father that loved you, Lord Stark. A home where you could be safe - from an assassin that waited somewhere in the shadows paid by the King that destroyed your family. Ready to do to you what Tywin Lannister's dogs did to my niece and nephew all for a measly bag of gold. Your life, the life of an innocent child bartered for a bag of gold like a… a… common chicken!"

Jon had seen pathetic crying before. From Rast, cowering before Ghost, from Janos Slynt, fleeing from the Wildlings. This… this was genuine. One he was familiar with. A little boy, crying before the Godswood and praying to the gods for a mother to love him…

All in all, with such similar emotions ripping through her, the Queen was holding up pretty well.

What whispers and pained cries had changed to a snarling rage. A desperate anger. Things long dormant inside her finally bubbling to the surface. "Did you ever know hunger as a child?!" Daenerys screamed. "Hunger that shreds your insides, thirst that feels like sheets of sand are scraping against your throat? Being beaten, demeaned, defiled by the only family you had left, oh trueborn son of the Lord Paramount of the North. Growing up in a great keep with warmth and food." She sneered at him "You never had to be sold as a broodmare. Watched the corpse of your newborn son carted off. Parlayed off as chattel, as a means to gain an army!"

'I would let his whole tribe fuck you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that's what it took.' Dany remembered the words as they were etched into her mind. Ever since they left the lips of her brother, a man who was supposed to care for her. Only for him to only treat her as lesser.

From how Jon simply stared at her, confusion and shock evident even in those enigmatic grey eyes of his, she must have spoken out loud. Good.

It all erupted, violet eyes filled with hate. Disgust. Envy… "You couldn't have ever endured what I did, Jon Stark! Never triumphed after what I've gone through. Sold, raped, chained, defiled, beaten, attacked, engulfed in flame… I took it all and triumphed!" Daenerys was sure that the very stone of the keep was shaking from her screams, but she did not care. "And I would do it all again! Burn as many of those vile people that sought to destroy me. To destroy the millions that follow me! I will have my throne! I will have my birthright! I will have my home…" Voice hoarse, mind-clearing from its rage, she trailed off. Merely standing there in her glittering dress. "So don't ever tell me that I've never given myself. My entire life is a sacrifice." Chest heaving from her breaths. Daring him to respond.

His eyes studied her. Peering as if to analyze Daenerys' very soul. It made her shiver involuntarily, as if he could see beneath her dress. But it was what Jon Stark finally said that knocked her composure. "I know what that's like."

Daenerys blinked. "Know what what's like?" Frankly, she had said plenty of things - his simple words didn't give her much of a clue.

What would have elicited a sarcastic chuckle at her confusion before, it didn't this time. Jon was serious. "To be in a place surrounded by people who are supposed to love you. Bound by blood and nurture to be your family in every sense of the word. Yet at the same time, not feeling an ounce of that love." Glancing at the floor, he grinned weakly, lost in the absurdity of it all. "Who was it? Your brother?"

She closed her eyes. Remembering every single time he had hit her - the moments blended together, so common across her entire childhood. "Yes." The single tear returned, falling down her cheek.

Seven hells… Somewhere, out of thin air, Jon felt the urge to rend this brother of hers. Dead and buried somewhere in Essos, didn't matter. His instinct just surged within him. "Was he the one who raped you?"

The Queen shook her head violently. "Not that he didn't try, nor that he didn't desire it, but he wasn't the one."

"Thank the gods for small favors." Jon eased himself upright, swinging his legs to dangle from the small bed. "My sister… she was raped. I saw what the monster turned her into."

"I hope he's dead." Rapists deserved no quarter in her opinion.

"He is. Theon ripped his throat out."

"Good." Legs sore, wobbling, Daenerys took a chance and sat upon the bed. As far away from him as she could, hands in her lap. "You love your sister… Sansa?"

He nodded. "I do… even though she hated me most of her life." Jon didn't bother to wait for any response. "Her mother, Lady Stark. She… followed the Faith of the Seven in regards to bastards. Greedy, covetous creatures to be seen in contempt. Much as I loved my sister, till we reunited that's how she saw me."

"No one deserves treatment like that… not even bastards."

"Or slaves I suppose." He was never bought or sold as a slave - or Daenerys, by her brother apparently - but as a bastard Jon had never been free. Not like Robb, or Arya. Only when his father was around… My father. "I may not know how it is to be raped, or to be sold, or to be a child on the run, but there are things that I do know." It didn't take heightened senses to feel her eyes intense upon him. "Imagine knowing that the only people that do love you were butchered thousands of miles away, or lost in the vastness of the continent."

"You speak of your father."

"And my brothers… and sisters. House Stark is only half of what it was, and even the survivors shells of what we were. As for myself, I was always a shell. Half of a man. I often wonder what it would've been like if my father would've just stood up for me. Just told Catelyn Stark that I truly was his son. That no one should bother me anymore. Yet, he never did."

He never had a mother… much like me. "I never knew my father. All I know of him is how terrible he was. Yet, I wonder what he truly was like. Perhaps before he lost his mind."

Jon didn't know whether to sigh or to chuckle. For Sansa, he would have done the former coupled with a hug. For Sam or Tormund, the latter with a gentle nudge on the shoulder. He decided to just continue the conversation. "I should count myself lucky on that. My father was just and kind."

"He supported the Usurper." It wasn't an accusation, merely a statement. "Robert Baratheon was a man that grinned gleefully at the sight of my murdered niece and nephew."

What Daenerys knew, so did Jon. Stannis was never anything but honest about his brother. "Any man can make a mistake. It is the ones that try to remedy them that truly care."

Dany's eyes shut tightly at that. His statement bringing her back to what Samwell Tarly told her… about Jorah. My old bear. If Jon has been at the Watch, wouldn't he know them? Perhaps he'd understand, or be swayed by…

"A delegation from your sister arrived today." Without looking, she could tell his eyes were now on her. "For the sake of impartiality, I believe, both were sworn brothers of the Night's Watch… both men that knew you closely." Her face clouded with emotion, a wan smile forming.

Thinking, Jon searches his mind for who of his former friends would rate that level of positive thought in Daenerys. There was only one, and it came to him quickly. "Maester Aemon?" he asked with hope.

The Queen nodded. "You have to appreciate how… infinitesimal the odds are. That we are enemies…" The word left a bad taste in her mouth. "Rivals," Dany corrected. "And yet someone so close to you is also the only family I have left."

"Aye. He was… sometimes almost like a grandfather to me. Or a kindly uncle." A thought came to Jon. He didn't know why, but he felt the urge to tell her. "He spoke of you, at the Wall… of your exploits in Essos. I confess that I didn't often listen as I should have, but the lowly bastard at the Wall doesn't imagine himself a great Lord involved in such great matters as these."

"No, I suppose not." The truth in his words about her uncle made Daenerys want to fall back on the bed and cry tears of joy. Her long lost family caring for her even from afar. And yet… "His arrival was bittersweet. All the joy was tempered with sorrow."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure anything could complicate a reunion with your long-lost family."

"Your friend, Samwell, came with Aemon as his caretaker. Not that he himself is the cause for my sorrow."

"Sam's here?" Jon asked somewhat excitedly. "I haven't seen him in a very long time."

"Perhaps it could be arranged that you could meet with him." Daenerys would not deny him that. "Besides, they were likely sent here for you."

"What do you mean?"

"My council suspects that your sister sent Aemon to prey on familial sensibilities. She knew I wouldn't turn Aemon away. She wants him to convince me to let you go."

"Well," Jon shrugged. "I suppose that's possible."

It was the smart thing to do - Dany didn't begrudge the Starks for it. "Your friend Sam told me that a dear friend of mine had died. Jorah Mormont."

"Mormont?" Jon asks. "I knew a Mormont once. I respected him greatly."

Dany huffed quietly, with a shadow of grin. Thinking of the odds they both knew a Mormont. Finding it strange how similar some of their experiences were. Only reality set in again, her grin disappearing. "Jorah... He loved me. But I could never return his feelings. Now, he's gone. He was with me from the beginning. I... I will miss him."

"I know what it's like to lose someone." Jon sighed. Remembering how he had killed Roose Bolton, how he had butchered Walder Frey. "You and I... we have more in common than I ever thought possible." He focused on her words from earlier and recognizing her loss, comparing it with his own. "Holding a person you love beyond possibility." Ygritte, the wild yet beautiful warrior of the Free Folk, dead by the hand of his own men… dying in his arms because of him... "Knowing they died because of your own foolish pride and duty." He sighed once more. "Perhaps, it is that reason that we are monsters. Or grief and sorrow simply follow those with title."

"I choose to believe that in our power, we can bring justice and peace."

"Aye… that's what keeps me going."

For once in their short yet turbulent history, Daenerys found herself smiling at him - small and halting - but a genuine smile nonetheless. Gaze studying Jon Stark, the true Jon Stark. For a simple moment the brooding and pain vanished, leaving a comely young man. Face serene at having someone to unburden his soul with. A person that he needn't protect as he would his family, for Daenerys understood Jon Stark's pain as she felt he understood hers.

Staring at his comely face, a sudden urge to reach out… to touch him, to kiss…

It was gone in an instant. Replaced with the aftershock of surprise and shock. How did… Without hesitation, Dany stood - smoothing out her dress and adopting a regal demeanor. "Thank you for your counsel, Lord Stark." Even when personal in nature, that was what he did. "If there is anything you require within reason, I shall instruct Missandei to obtain and provide you with such."

"I am in need of a boat to White Harbor."

Turning to glare at him, there was a twinkle in his eye that confessed a lack of complete seriousness. "Within reason, Lord Stark," Dany chided. Not without a slight amusement as well.

Watching her leave - the mystery of the Dragon Queen both chipped away and added to from their conversation - Jon failed to feel hate. To glare at her retreating form, despising the tyrant that killed his men. Distrusting the usurper that imprisoned him. Wary of the enigma that she was even after the confessions of today.

Before she left, her face turned back to him. As if to say something, but clearly the need faded and her mouth shut. Though she graced him with another small smile before ducking out.

Jon couldn't help but notice how truly beautiful she was.

A/N: BRuh4: I hope most of you are able to finally see what we've got going on. There was at one time so much doubt. I hope it's been dissipated a bit. Contrary to popular belief, we do know exactly what we're doing. We have the whole time. The conversation Jon and Dany have in this chapter accents the growth they've had. They've come to a point where it's not so much they hate each other. But more that they're on the same level. The two of them have a lot in common they ever realized before because all they saw in each other was hate.

I hope you can see what we see. I hope it makes sense now. If it doesn't... well, I honestly have nothing less to say that I already haven't before. Just be a decent human being.

Longclaw: Aemon's scene with Dany even made me cry. It was a moment that Dany deserved and we were glad to make it.

Daario... wel...

For Jon and Dany... everything came full circle. The plan is going into effect... and Jon is having dragon dreams. Interesting, isn't it?

Translations:

Mori hash she, khaleesi - They're here, Khaleesi.

San athchomari yeraan, Rokharo. Fichat eyak tat anna - Thank you, rokharo. Bring them to the me

Tell your friends.