Daenerys

Daenerys walked from Tyrion's chambers to her own with a noticeably more relaxed demeanor. The feeling of nervousness still nagged at the back of her mind, but he had never failed her in over two years as her Hand both in Westeros and in Meereen, and she knew he wouldn't now.

As she approached the door, she looked over at a knight of her Queensguard standing nearby.

"Could you find Ser Barristan and have him meet me outside of the main doors of the castle immediately?"

"Of course, Your Grace," he nodded and took off in the direction from which she had just come.

She entered her chambers and closed the door behind her and walked over to her closet. She parsed through the hanging jackets and dresses and grabbed a casual dress that was suited to walking through the streets of King's Landing and quickly changed. She then departed and walked down to meet Ser Barristan.

"Your Grace," he gave a small bow as she walked through the main door and saw the tall old man waiting for her at the foot of the front stairs. "What calls you to the city?"

"Some fresh air and a change of scenery," she said as they set off down the path to King's Landing. "I've been inside for far too long."

"A wise choice," he nodded. "Did you have anything in mind?"

"Nothing in particular," she shook her head. "Just whatever catches my eye."

They walked through the streets of King's Landing at a leisurely pace, a light, cool breeze rustling her dress and hair. Many of the citizens bowed to her and offered baskets or plates of food, which she graciously declined only on account of not being able to carry it all. They had lunch among some of the locals at a small tavern that some of her Queensguard had come to enjoy, instilling so much pride in the owner that he had a sign outside of his door calling the establishment "Her Majesty's Royal Tavern".

The owner, an old man named Alvan Pylas, always happily insisted that she and her Queensguard would always eat there free of charge. Daenerys hated to impose, but she allowed the old man this courtesy without making a fuss, knowing how much it meant to him to finally serve a ruler who didn't actively hate him; and she found herself a frequent patron out of pure enjoyment of the food and the kind man's company. He claimed to have been operating his tavern since her great-great-grandfather, Maekar I, made his tragic and unlikely rise to the Iron Throne, and he always loved to regale her with stories of his tactical brilliance, the strength of Aegon V, the gentle and kind nature of Jaehaerys II, and the early years of her father's reign before he earned the title that would forever haunt Westeros. His favorite stories often involved Rhaegar, the Mad King's original heir, who used to sing songs standing outside of his tavern that would move even the most stoic of his patrons to tears.

Daenerys always spent a good deal of their time together asking her own questions about the stories of Targaryen cruelty and ruthlessness that Viserys had told her so many times growing up, finding out each time that Viserys had either openly lied to her or had never known the truth in the first place. As Ser Barristan had said before, he was indeed his father's son, even at a young age.

"You remind me so much of your brother," Ser Barristan smiled at her when she turned away from a group of pauper children who had rushed out of a nearby alley to greet her as they exited the tavern.

"How so?" She asked, amused. Ser Barristan had shared many of his own stories about his exploits with Rhaegar Targaryen throughout the years he had been in her service.

"Your love for your people," he gestured around her. "Your father never made the attempt to bridge the gap between the royal court and the commoners, but Rhaegar always made time for his future subjects. He had a strange way about him that no one ever quite understood or could emulate, a way to make every person he spoke to feel seen and heard."

"That's very kind of you to say," Daenerys smiled, slightly embarrassed by the praise but appreciating it nonetheless.

Ser Barristan looked down at her and gave her a small nod, a look of pride on his face. "Your Grace, might I suggest a visit to the Royal Blacksmith?" he nodded towards a nearby nondescript building, its windows adorned with ironwork of startling craftsmanship. "The man is quite an artisan. His work rivals the best in the realm."

Daenerys turned her violet eyes toward the blacksmith's shop and considered the idea.

"A fine idea. In all of the time I've been here I've never visited."

They made their way through the door, and the ring of a bell loudly announced their arrival. The interior of the shop was filled with the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal, the air thick with the scent of what she assumed could only be hot metal. She looked around at the metalwork adorning the walls and a series of large weapons hanging behind the counter encased in a wooden box that was painted red and black. The colors of House Targaryen.

"He and his uncle make all of the weapons and armor for your Queensguard," he nodded toward the colored display. "Have since the days of the Conqueror, and they even like to say that their ancestor helped forge the Iron Throne from the flames of the Black Dread."

"Very impressive."

"Master Jacen!" Ser Barristan called.

The clanging immediately stopped, and a few seconds later a young man hardly older than Daenerys appeared behind the counter. He pulled a towel from a pocket on his apron and wiped a mixture of soot and sweat from his brow.

"Ser Barristan!" He grinned broadly as he returned the towel to its pocket on his apron, "and the Queen," he gave her a small bow, though she heard a split second of hesitation in his voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Daenerys looked at him with more than just a discerning gaze. There was something about the way his brunette hair fell over his forehead and the intensity in his green eyes that caught her attention immediately and sent a jolt through her body as their eyes met for the first time.

"Just quality control, as usual," Ser Barristan continued, not noticing.

"Of course," he grabbed a large axe that was hanging on the wall in the colored box and tossed it over the counter. Daenerys quickly stepped back, but Ser Barristan caught it easily.

The seasoned knight turned the axe in his hand as he closely examined it, though one glance at Jacen told her that this was a common dance between the two of them. A brief smile passed between them when he looked over at her and caught her lingering gaze.

"Suitable for a squire, I'll give you that," Ser Barristan tossed it back to him.

Jacen laughed and shook his head as he returned the axe to its hook. "A decade and a half of this quality control nonsense and I still have yet to please you, old man."

Ser Barristan laughed. "You'll get there someday, son."

Daenerys marveled at the ease with which the banter passed between the two men, and she couldn't help but laugh along herself. Jacen's was a hearty, loud laugh, contagious and delightfully carefree as it mixed melodiously with Ser Barristan's deep and grizzled laugh. It was a far cry from the gentle and 'polite' laughs of the nobility who often surrounded her; and his smile was broad and genuine in every sense, not intended to pay lip service to a queen he hoped to impress.

Jacen looked over at Daenerys. "Would you like to see what I've been working on, Your Grace?"

"I would, Master Jacen," she smiled.

He nodded enthusiastically and wiped his hands on his pants. "Right this way," he gave a small bow and led them to a display on the wall, "and you can call me Jacen, if you like, your Grace. If my uncle heard you call me a master then he'd give you an earful," he gave her a joking grin that made her heart rise into her throat.

He spoke animatedly about each piece on the wall, all completed first thing that morning. Daenerys marveled at the passion in his voice and how little he concerned himself with the formalities that a normal commoner would feel they had to observe when the Queen of Westeros entered their establishment. Every time he looked back at the pair, his eyes met hers with a warmth that appeared to extend beyond simple professional courtesy, beyond even queen and commoner.

"You do exceptional work, Jacen," she smiled when he was finished.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Jacen replied, giving another small bow.

"Do you do all of this on your own?" She gestured around the room at the weapons and pieces of armor sitting on stands or hanging on the walls.

"A good deal of it, yes," he smiled. "My uncle has spent most of his time traveling in recent years, so I do the bulk of the work here myself. I'm actually currently working on an order of longswords and breastplates to send to the Wall at the request of Lord Commander Snow."

"In that case, I suppose we should leave you to it then, son," Ser Barristan smiled and glanced over at Daenerys. "I'm sure you'd rather be doing that than entertaining us."

"You, certainly, but I can always make time for the queen," he gave her another joking grin and extended a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace."

She took his extended hand and shook it. A firm handshake that matched his profession, but tinged with something more in the way his hand lingered for the briefest of moments.

"The pleasure is mine," she managed a smile as she stared into his deep green eyes.

Ser Barristan led Daenerys to the door and opened it ahead of her. "As usual, you can expect a list of my grievances first thing in the morning."

"My thanks, Ser Barristan," he nudged a nearby garbage bin with his booted foot, "I'll put it with the others."

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets of King's Landing as the pair stepped off of the front porch of the blacksmith's shop. Daenerys couldn't shake the image of Jacen from her mind, and a newfound excitement stirred within her. An excitement that was different from that she had felt when she had first laid eyes on the Iron Throne. An excitement she wasn't sure if she had ever felt. In the lingering glances and shared smiles, she couldn't help but wonder if Jacen felt the same connection that seemed to ignite between them.

Yet, amidst the blossoming warmth in her chest, a shadow of concern loomed. Thoughts of Tyrion, her trusted advisor and confidant for the entirety of her time in Westeros, crossed her mind. What would he think if he knew she was drawn to a commoner instead of a nobleman? The weight of tradition and expectation began to press upon her now more than ever before, and she couldn't help but dread the inevitable disapproval from someone whose counsel she valued so greatly.

As they continued through the winding streets, Daenerys found herself lost in thought, her mind a battleground of conflicting emotions. Tyrion had always been pragmatic, a voice of reason in the midst of her sometimes impulsive decisions or in her naivete to the intricacies of this so-called game of thrones that he was so adept at playing. The idea of admitting her affections for a common blacksmith would undoubtedly complicate matters. Not to mention that, mere hours ago, she had asked him to find a suitable husband for her. The idea of falling for someone outside of the noble circles of Westeros sparked a sense of dread within her, but accompanying it was that undeniable feeling of excitement.

"An impressive man," Daenerys remarked, desperate to take her mind off of her current dilemma. "A Royal Blacksmith at such a young age."

"Yes, I could see that you were most impressed," he smiled slyly over at her.

"So you noticed," she said, not bothering to deny it in the eyes of one of the men who had seen her at her most conflicted.

"Anyone could have. Does that trouble you?"

"It does," she nodded. "Tyrion is my primary concern. I worry what he would think if he knew I was drawn to someone like Jacen. Just a few hours ago I asked him to find a suitable partner for me to marry, and he would undoubtedly choose someone of noble birth."

Ser Barristan offered a reassuring smile. "Your Grace, love knows no boundaries or social class. It has been a common saying among the Kingsguard since I was a young man that love is the death of duty, and I have seen it proven true countless times in my years serving at King's Landing. Perhaps it is time to let your heart guide you, at least for a while. I would be most appreciative if you left my name out of the impending argument with Lord Tyrion, though," he added with a small smile.

Daenerys returned his smile and nodded. "Your secret is safe with me, my friend, and your counsel is always appreciated." Part of her wondered if Ser Barristan had recommended that they visit the shop in hopes that a connection would form, but she pushed the thought away, if only because he would never admit to it.

"Always, Your Grace," he gave her a nod as they walked down the main street that cut through King's Landing.

As the day waned and they approached the Red Keep, Daenerys couldn't help but wonder how her relationship with Jacen might evolve and what consequences it might bring to their lives, both personal and political. The allure of a forbidden connection between queen and commoner tugged at her heart, even as the voice of Tyrion Lannister echoed in her mind, chiding her and reminding her of the challenges that lay ahead.

Days turned into weeks, and the blacksmith shop became an unexpected sanctuary for Daenerys, perched on a counter with her feet dangling over the workshop floor or sitting in a dusty desk chair as she watched Jacen work. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal provided a comforting backdrop as she found herself drawn back, time and again, to the place where titles and royal duties were left at the door. The ever loyal Ser Barristan accompanied her on these visits, a silent witness to the unspoken connection that had developed between the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and the young blacksmith.

Yet, for all of the shared laughter and lingering glances, neither Daenerys nor Jacen dared to make their feelings known to each other. There was an unspoken understanding, a dance of words and emotions that painfully hovered on the edge of something more. It was as if the weight of their respective stations held them back, and the fear of crossing a line that could not be uncrossed kept them in a delicate balance, neither of them wanting to sacrifice the friendship of the other, but both wanting to move forward to something beyond.

And so, the visits continued, all the while the fear of the potential consequences looming like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Regardless of the potentially dangerous situation in which they found themselves, Jacen always welcomed her presence as if they had known each other for their entire lives, his green eyes lighting up whenever she entered his shop. They would talk about everything and nothing — about the intricacies of his craft, the happenings in King's Landing, and the weight of ruling a realm. It was a welcome respite from the pressures of the Iron Throne.

In the quiet moments, as Jacen meticulously worked the forge, Daenerys found herself admiring the strength in his hands, the dedication in his eyes. There was an intimacy in these shared silences, a connection that transcended words. She marveled at the way he shaped ugly and amorphous chunks of metal into exquisite forms, and in those moments, it was as if the barriers between them melted away and she saw the artist behind the pieces that sat upon the shelves in the front of his shop.

She found herself drawn to the seemingly ordinary details of Jacen's existence — the way his hands skillfully manipulated the molten metal, the way his eyes lit up when discussing his craft, and the sincerity that colored every word he spoke. The way he blew his hair out of his face, a simple and mundane gesture that captivated her. The way beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as he focused on his work. The way he casually brushed his hair aside with a hand and smeared soot across his face, never failing to draw a laugh from Daenerys. The way he would run a finger across his anvil and tap her on the tip of her nose in retaliation, leaving her smelling soot for the rest of the day. The way he would gather a pile of ashes into his hands and blow them at her, much to the chagrin of her handmaiden, Lenna, who had to help wash and comb the ashes out of her hair.

But most of all, the soft smile that always played on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes when he looked up from the anvil at her.

These moments were what occupied her thoughts on nights like tonight, where the burden of the crown was lifted for the day and she was left alone in the darkness of her chambers.

We've never actually expressed our feelings for each other, and still he keeps me awake at night.

Daenerys knew that this wasn't completely true, however. Jacen had expressed his feelings in all ways short of screaming directly into her ear, and she had likely done almost as much. She wanted nothing more than to scream her feelings from the highest balcony in the Red Keep to all who could hear, but still she feared the potential fallout with Tyrion. He had certainly done his due diligence in finding men for her that he believed suitable for marriage, but Daenerys had found herself rejecting all of them. They may be of noble birth, they may be from rich families, and they may have an abundance of land and political connections that would trivialize certain aspects of her rule, but they didn't hold a candle to the young blacksmith, a man of humble birth who was himself a victim of the very games the nobles so loved to play.

Tyrion is as far from a fool as anyone in all of Westeros. He has to know what I'm doing. Varys, too. His little birds probably took flight to the Red Keep the second we left his shop that day.

She heaved a sigh and rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Try.

Try.

TRY!

You'll never forgive yourself if you don't at least TRY.

She sat bolt upright and shoved her hands through her long silver-blonde hair. She brought her knees up to her chest and looked around the room, as if she expected the remedy for what ailed her to be somehow hidden in the walls of this great castle. The dull ache in her chest was particularly painful tonight, for reasons that she didn't understand.

Unable to sit still and bear the torment any longer, Daenerys swung her feet out of bed and rose, her hair cascading around her like a shimmering waterfall. The dim light of the moon spilled into her chamber as she approached the open window, casting the room in a silver glow. With a sigh, she gazed out over the city below, wondering if Jacen's thoughts mirrored her own. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains and her hair as she leaned her elbows on the windowsill and stared up at the moon.

"Am I allowed to have something that I want?" She whispered. "Something that goes beyond what would be considered acceptable for a queen?"

The moon stared back in silence, indifferent to her struggles, and the city below remained oblivious to the inner turmoil of its queen. Daenerys stood there, bathed in the silvery glow, torn between the expectations of her station and the desires of her heart. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if Jacen was feeling the same way.

Jacen

Meanwhile, in a modest house nestled in the outskirts of King's Landing, Jacen Senneck sat alone on his back porch, his weathered hands gripping a mug of ale. The light, cool breeze ruffled his hair and chilled his face, a welcome feeling after a day of working with unbearably hot pieces of metal. His uncle had always told him that sitting outside on a clear night with a mug of ale was the perfect cure to a day's soreness, and Jacen had come to agree over the years. His breath caused ripples in the translucent liquid as he stared into the mug, trying to calm his roaming thoughts.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and focus only on his breathing. He had grown adept at this since trying it at the behest of one of his friends several moons ago, but he had found himself struggling since the day Daenerys Targaryen and Ser Barristan Selmy had walked into his shop. Every so often, he found himself casting his eyes in the direction of the Red Keep, wondering if Daenerys was staring at the same night sky.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky as wisps of clouds moved in front of a full moon. Every time Jacen stared up at them on a clear night, he saw something different that brought his imagination to life and awakened in him a sense of childlike wonder that he had lost many years ago. Some nights, he was a fearless knight on the largest horse in all of Westeros, and he was riding alone with sword and shield in hand against Tywin Lannister on the day his men had sacked King's Landing. Some nights, he was a more skilled knight than even Jaime Lannister, and he had taken the same sword and shield and saved the life of Ned Stark, one of the greatest men he had ever met. Some nights, he was the man who had poured the wine that killed Joffrey Baratheon. Some nights, he was the executioner who had taken the head of Cersei Lannister that fateful day that the Dragon Queen had first walked into King's Landing and freed them all.

Tonight, though, he saw what he had seen so often lately: a flowing mane of silver-blonde hair.

Gods, I can't get her out of my head. He leaned his head forward and took a deep sip from his mug.

Daenerys Stormborn had quite literally taken him by storm. From the moment she had first walked into his shop, he had been captivated less by her beauty and more by how she had an air about her that could put even the most restless and nervous heart at ease. Her visits to his shop had resulted in some of his fondest memories at the forge, and every time she left him for the day he had to bite back the urge to ask her when she would be returning. She was truly remarkable, not as a queen, but as a person.

Does she think of me as much as I think of her? He found his eyes straying towards the Red Keep again.

He wanted nothing more than to spend more time with her outside of his shop, but he knew from his experience forging weapons for the Lannisters that the gap between a commoner and the royals was leagues wide. Jaime Lannister was one of the only ones who had ever tried to bridge that gap, but Jacen was sure that it was because Jacen and his uncle made all of the weapons and armor for the Kingsguard. It had only made him miss Robert Baratheon all the more. Though he may have been a disinterested and lackluster king, he would always come to the forges with a story prepared and a week's worth of wine in hand while the Royal Blacksmiths repaired his weapons and armor or fashioned new ones for him.

Daenerys isn't a Lannister. She doesn't see class like they did.

But her nobles do, and the ruling monarch must keep the nobility happy. He knew that the nobility would be most displeased if their queen took up with a commoner, but that didn't stop him from dreaming about the day when he finally found the courage to reach across that impossibly wide gap and ask Daenerys if they could spend more time together and get to know each other on a deeper level. They had spent many hours talking over the past weeks, but they had never really talked. There was always an implied barrier between them, a need to avoid appearing too close.

What would we even do together? I'm a blacksmith and she's a queen. It's not likely that we'd share any hobbies.

She's demonstrated at least a passing interest in the work of a blacksmith, I could always offer to forge a blade together. I could even give it to her as a gift.

Yes, he smiled fondly. I think she would like that.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the cool night air. The more he considered it, the better the idea seemed. She already came to his forge often, so it likely wouldn't draw any extra attention from the ever-vigilant prying eyes of King's Landing, and it would give them plenty of time alone.

And we could have lunch together, he remembered the deer meat sitting in the icebox in his kitchen that he had prepared for his meals for the next several days. Sandwiches will do fine. It may be a nice change from whatever they serve in the Red Keep.

If she comes tomorrow, I'll ask.

A smile now firmly etched on his face, he drained his mug and rose from the chair to walk back into his house and begin his preparations for the coming day.

BEHIND THE CHAPTER

This chapter went through quite a few iterations. To start, the original version ended shortly after Daenerys's conversation with Ser Barristan after they left the shop. That was also a longer conversation with more exposition, but I decided to move the bulk of it to a later chapter. The Jacen POV was a late addition as well, and the Daenerys lying down scene used to be a few paragraphs that established a time jump. It was probably the first chapter that made me really consider the scope of the story and just how long I wanted it to be, which was both intimidating and exciting.

The Targaryens are my favorite family, so I really wanted to include some characters who knew more about Daenerys's family than just that her father was an evil man and her brother was beloved by everyone who knew him. Also, Ser Barristan's story about Rhaegar singing in season 5 of the show is one of my top five favorite show moments, so I wanted to include some references to her family that aren't stories about cruelty or gruesome murders. Hence, the kindly old bartender was born.

I did make an unintentional change that I actually didn't catch until I had already posted the chapter: Jaehaerys II isn't included in the line of succession in the show given by Maester Aemon, only in the books. In the books, it goes Maekar - Aegon - Jaehaerys - Aerys, but in the show it goes Maekar - Aegon - Aerys. It doesn't affect the story or anything, I just thought I'd note it for those who haven't read the books.

Jacen as a character is a character that I kind of came up with out of the blue. It would have been easy to have Jon and Daenerys be the main couple and maybe lean more into the Jonerys ship, but I much preferred the thought of making a new OC from the ground up to give myself more control over the story. Also, I just really love writing OC fanfiction. Plus, like I said earlier, I started outlining this early in season 5 before I even knew that they would be a couple.

I wanted him to be the exact opposite of Daenerys in terms of station in life. He would be a character that she could be herself around and show her more playful and fun loving side that you don't really get to see much in a monarch who has an image to maintain. Seeing the human and normal side of the characters is one of the things I love about both writing and reading slice-of-life fics. As for why he's a blacksmith, I've just always found the profession to be one of the most interesting out of the "typical" medieval professions. I can write all day about why I made him how I made him, so if you have any follow-up questions or curiosities then feel free to drop a comment and I'd love to talk more!