A/N: This is the first half of a chapter that I found a bit too long to post as a single one. The second half will be posted over the next couple of days as a separate chapter once I'm finished touching it up. Thanks so much for reading!
Jacen
Clang!
The relentless pounding of the hammer on the anvil matched the cacophony of thoughts echoing in Jacen's mind. In the dimly lit blacksmith shop, sweat dripped from his furrowed brow as he wrestled with the fiery demons of self-doubt. His hands robotically shaped the molten metal before him, but his heart was weighed down by a familiar darkness that clouded his thoughts.
Daenerys Stormborn, the Queen of Westeros, had agreed to have dinner with him in his own home at his own table later that very night. Yet, as he toiled away at his forge, the gnawing question persisted:
Why me? She can have any man she wants in all of Westeros. Why me?
The question reverberated like a bitter echo in his mind. It was a bewildering reality, that a queen had not only agreed to join him for dinner, but had been excited to. Almost as if she had been waiting for him to ask her. Not only that, she had kissed him.
Regardless of the developments that proved she had feelings for him, the feelings of self-doubt loomed, though he had become adept at concealing their presence from prying eyes. Years of battling his inner demons had taught him the art of deception, a survival tactic born out of the scars left by friends who had weaponized his vulnerabilities in the past. No one, not even those closest to him, suspected the depth to which his internal turmoil could sometimes take him seemingly on a whim.
His hands, so skilled at shaping steel, seemed clumsy and inadequate when it came to navigating the intricacies of his own complex and ever-changing emotions. The wild fluctuations between bitterness and happiness, between crippling self-doubt and unbounded confidence. It was an exhausting existence some days, and he had given up on trying to understand it many years ago. He had learned to stay afloat, and that was the best he could hope for.
What would Daenerys think?
Daenerys had only ever seen him at his best: laughing heartily with Ser Barristan, carefully guiding her in the process of forging a sword, laughing while eating lunch together. She had never seen the depths to which his thoughts could take him. Part of him wondered if Daenerys could ever love a man who so often found himself a victim of his own mind, and if she could, was it fair to ask her to? She had struggles of her own that he would never be able to comprehend, what right did he have to ask her to bear his as well?
Maybe she feels the same way about burdening you with her own struggles.
Maybe you should let her decide for herself.
"You're your own worst enemy," he mumbled to himself as he considered grasping the orange-hot end of the iron sword. He had found the pain to be exhilarating and even euphoric in the past, but he had stopped inflicting these wounds on himself many years ago, and he had no intention of descending into that level of darkness again.
There will be time enough for that tomorrow after I fuck up tonight and leave her never wanting to spit in my direction aga—
He dropped his hammer, took the partially forged sword over to the oil bath, and quenched it. When he began to descend even deeper into the feelings of bitterness, he had learned the hard way that it was time to drop everything and leave for the day before he allowed himself to fall any deeper. The hot steam billowed up from the hissing oil bath and bathed his face in a damp heat that helped to clear his ailing mind.
Another piece of iron wasted. Uncle's going to have my head if this continues.
He tossed the ruined sword into a bin of scrap pieces of iron and walked out of his forge and into his shop. As it so often did, his mood immediately shifted.
He began to mingle about the storefront as the evening sun set, signaling the end of another work day. As he absentmindedly cleaned the glass cases behind the front counter in an effort to distract himself and withdraw from the pit into which he had just found himself slipping, he allowed his thoughts to drift to the times he had shared with Daenerys. Their time making her new shortsword had been the most fun he had had in years, and had confirmed to him that this young woman was indeed like no other he had ever met. He had hoped that she would enjoy her time living his life for a day, and he had put no small amount of effort into it to make it as enjoyable as possible, but he had never dreamed that it would become what it had.
Daenerys had always seemed like a grounded person in the time he had spent with her. She sat on the Iron Throne because she was a Targaryen and believed that it was her birthright, not necessarily because she loved it. In fact, he had always gotten the impression that she liked visiting his shop so much because he didn't treat her like a queen. He had become very careful with how he interacted with the royal family during the rule of the Lannisters after King Robert's death, but from the moment she had walked into his shop with Ser Barristan, he could tell that she was no Joffrey Baratheon.
For the better. Whoever killed that fucker deserves a lordship and a royal pardon.
He was both excited and nervous for the coming night and the opportunity to finally spend quality time with this woman who had so captivated him. His mind had been racing the entire day, concocting questions and scenarios seemingly intended to instill fear:
What will she think of my home?
Do I kiss her?
Do I ask her to stay the night?
What if she doesn't even show up?
He sighed and shook his head.
Your own worst enemy, indeed.
As he walked to the exit to his shop, he exchanged his apron for his jacket on a hook next to the door and slipped it on. He locked the door and stepped off of the small porch in the direction of his home along the darkening streets of King's Landing.
The heat of the forge far behind him, Jacen closed the door to his modest home, the weight of both the anvil and his hidden struggles seemingly lifted for the time being. Jacen could only hope that they would be held at bay through dinner, at least. Tonight, the Queen of Westeros would cross the threshold into his humble and decidedly ordinary world.
He hurried to his washroom and bathed as thoroughly as he could manage. He scrubbed the soot from his hands and the dirt from under his fingernails, and he rinsed his brunette hair several times over with his favorite fragrance of shampoo to remove as much soot, ash, and dust as he could. He exited the bath and roughly dried his hair before combing it, satisfied to let it dry on its own as he toiled away in the kitchen. He then slipped on a simple shirt and pair of pants and set off to the kitchen.
As he prepared for her arrival, Jacen's hands moved with a practiced grace, setting the table with careful attention to even the smallest detail. The aroma of a simple, hearty meal filled the air, mingling with the scent of freshly picked wildflowers that sat on his dinner table next to a small basket of freshly baked bread that was still warm to the touch and gleaming with butter that had been bought that morning. The flickering candlelight cast fleeting shadows on the walls, a reflection of his wandering thoughts.
If you put her on a pedestal, she'll be forced to look down on you. One of his uncle's favorite pieces of wisdom to pass on to his nephew when he had approached him in the past about struggles with women. This had become a personal mantra over the past few weeks as he had started to think that Daenerys's initially innocent and seemingly random visits may not be so innocent and random after all.
How can you not put a queen on a pedestal?
Queens sit down to shit just like you do. An adaptation of another of his uncle's musings.
He was roused from his thoughts by a light knock at his front door. His heart pounding in his ears, he walked over to the door, put on his most convincing air of smug confidence, and opened the door to find the Queen of Westeros standing on his doorstep. She was wearing a simple black pair of pants and a red shirt with a white coat buttoned over it that extended to her knees. Her hands were in the pocket of the jacket, shielding them from the chilling evening breeze that made her silver-blonde hair dance lightly about her shoulders and back. A simple outfit, and strangely ordinary for a queen, but stunning nonetheless. Or maybe it was stunning because it was so ordinary.
"Daenerys," he smiled after composing himself.
"Jacen," she returned his smile. Her violet eyes held a warmth that sent shivers down his spine.
"You look amazing," he said after staring at her for a few seconds.
"I wish I could say the same to you," she gave an amused smile, gesturing to his simple shirt and pants.
Fuck me, you could've at least changed.
"Hardly a way to greet your host," he laughed and pulled her into a hug, which she returned. "Has the soreness passed?" he asked as he pulled away and led her inside.
"It has," she smiled, "and yes, I did consider having you beheaded."
"Well, you have my thanks for your mercy, Your Grace," he bowed deeply, and they both laughed.
"You have a beautiful home," she looked around as she walked deeper into the living room that adjoined the kitchen and dining room and shed her jacket.
"I know it's not much," Jacen said, as he took her jacket from her and hung it on a coat rack by the door, primarily in an effort to occupy his hands so he didn't find himself absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. "Especially compared to the Red Keep, but it's home."
"More of a home than the Red Keep," she responded wistfully, a wide smile on her face as she turned to him and fixed him with those deadly violet eyes. "It's amazing."
"I'm glad you think so," he smiled, not entirely convinced of her feelings but willing to let it pass. "Well, come in, dinner's ready." He led her into the kitchen, and she leaned against the chair and looked around the room. Jacen saw a small smile play on her face as her eyes fell on the wildflowers sitting in a vase in the center of the table.
"You went all out for this," she remarked as Jacen walked into the kitchen.
"Well, they say that first impressions matter," he said from the stove as he pulled two glass bowls from a cabinet and scooped two ladles full of the thick brown stew into each.
"That they do," she looked over at him. "What are we having?" she asked as Jacen walked over to the table carrying two bowls.
"Stew," he put them down in front of two chairs on opposite sides of the table and poured red wine into two goblets sitting next to their respective bowls, "but I want you to guess what the meat is."
She looked down at the stew. "Deer?" She offered, barely stopping to consider the challenge.
"Deer," Jacen responded flatly. "Guess I played my hand a bit early with that sandwich."
Daenerys laughed. "I think you did, yes."
Jacen couldn't help but chuckle himself as he fetched two spoons from the kitchen and set them on the table next to their respective bowls. He pulled out Daenerys's chair and gestured to it. Her cheeks took on a light shade of red as she smiled and gave him a nod before she settled into the seat and allowed herself to be pushed towards the table.
"So, Jacen Senneck," she said as Jacen walked around the table to take his own seat. "Tell me about yourself. What is it that brought you to this very moment?"
"Well," he began. "I was born in King's Landing. My father ran our blacksmith shop with my uncle as the Royal Blacksmiths, and my mother was a server at a tavern that used to be across the street from the shop. As I've told you before, I have two older sisters, and we all lived a reasonably stable life. When King's Landing fell, my parents were killed by the Lannisters and we were taken into my uncle's care. When they were of age, King Robert saw my sisters married to good husbands as payment for my father's workmanship and condolences for our losses in his rise to power, and my uncle raised me to take my father's place helping run our family shop."
"Losing your parents so young in such a terrible way must have been difficult."
"It was," he nodded, "but my uncle is a good man, and I've always been very close to my sisters. Sometimes I wish they were here, but I'm happy with the life I've risen up to make for myself."
"You should be," she smiled. "Ser Barristan certainly thinks highly of you."
"Rightfully so," Jacen laughed. "He's a good man, and you're lucky to have him. Always quick with a joke, and the stories he's collected while serving your family are something to behold. Not to mention his skill with a sword. There's a lot to be said for an old man in a profession fraught with men dying young."
"You're right about that."
"Now, before I start in on you, I have a question."
Daenerys nodded for him to continue as she took a sip from her spoon.
"Where does 'Stormborn' come from?"
"I was always told that it's because I was born during the most violent storm in living memory."
"Fitting," he smiled. "Do you prefer Stormborn or Targaryen?"
"Stormborn."
"Why's that?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Using my family name may imply that I grew up living a cushioned life until I had the Iron Throne handed to me based on my name alone. Calling myself 'Stormborn' underscores the hardships I've endured in my life, and what I sacrificed along the way in my journey."
"Very well, that leads me perfectly into my next question: what exactly is it that brings you to this very moment, Daenerys Stormborn?" He sipped a spoonful from the stew.
She laughed. "I spent much of my early life traveling throughout the lands across the Narrow Sea with my older brother trying to stay ahead of those who wanted to kill us. I was married off to a Dothraki horse lord, watched my brother die, hatched three dragon eggs, conquered Slavers' Bay in Essos, ruled in a city called Meereen for a time, then crossed the Narrow Sea with my friends and my three dragons and reclaimed the Iron Throne."
"Quite the abridgment."
"Someday I'll tell you more," she smiled and took a sip from her own soup.
"I'll hold you to it."
A long silence that Jacen found particularly painful passed between them.
Say something!
"How's the stew?"
Great question, dumbass.
"Very good," she smiled. "You can cook almost as well as you can put together a sandwich."
They both laughed at the teasing comment.
"I'll take it, I suppose."
"So you've lived in King's Landing for your entire life?" Daenerys asked as she reached for a piece of bread.
"I have."
"Must have been quite a colorful upbringing," she dipped the bread in her stew and stirred it.
"It certainly was," Jacen laughed and took a spoonful of his own. "A personal favorite moment of mine is one of the many times where one of my friends was trying to impress a young serving girl at a nearby tavern. He drank a glass of the strongest wine the owner had on hand and spit it onto a torch to simulate blowing fire, and he burned his beard and eyebrows off."
Daenerys laughed. "Did he get the girl?"
"He did, believe it or not," Jacen smiled. "No matter how much of a fool he made of himself, he always got the girl in the end."
"And what about being a blacksmith?" She took another sip from her soup. "What made you stay when you were old enough to go your own way?"
"It's a simple life, but a fulfilling one. There's a special satisfaction in creating something from nothing that you can't quite get from any other job, and the beauty of a well-forged blade is like poetry or a finely aged wine."
Her nod of understanding spurred him on, and he found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would, sometimes talking for minutes at a time as she occasionally nodded for him to continue or asked further questions. Jacen felt like the person he was talking to wanted him to keep talking instead of just waiting for him to stop talking so they could talk about themselves.
As the evening unfolded, Jacen began to see beyond the titles and the power Daenerys wielded. As she spoke about her daily life and her duties as the Queen of Westeros, he saw a woman who sought refuge from the weight of the crown, someone who appreciated the smallest simplicities in life that he so often took for granted. At her core, she was just a young woman who endured the same personal struggles as any other young woman.
As they laughed and talked, Jacen couldn't help but feel a connection deeper than the stories and glances that had been exchanged in the past weeks — a connection that transcended the boundaries of their disparate worlds.
Several hours later, they sat across from each other with cold and empty bowls in front of them and candles to their side that had almost depleted, remnants of a meal well-enjoyed. They had finished the stew hours ago and had since been caught in the easy flow of conversation, which ranged from their pasts to the responsibilities that their respective stations in life brought to them to what they had done that day.
The free-flowing conversation eventually gave way to a silence that Jacen found strangely comfortable and nerve wracking at the same time, where they found themselves staring into each other's eyes. Daenerys's were as captivating as always, and the gentle smile on her face as she stared into his made his heart race. The flickering candlelight played on her features, casting a glow that made her look ethereal, yet entirely approachable.
"I… I had a really great time tonight," Jacen finally managed, his words stumbling out in a nervous rush.
Daenerys smiled, the candlelight dancing in her violet eyes. "I did, too. It's been a while since I've had such a pleasant evening, I have to admit."
A silence that was noticeably more awkward settled between them, accompanied only by the light crackling of the dying fire in the fireplace that Jacen had neglected feeding for some time now. Ever perceptive, Daenerys seemed to sense the shift and took the initiative.
"Well, I suppose we should get cleaned up," she suggested, her tone light.
Jacen nodded, grateful for the change of topic. "Yes, of course. Let me just—"
But before he could finish his sentence, Daenerys interrupted with a playful grin as she rose from her chair. "No, no. I'll take care of it. I insist."
There was a moment of hesitation in Jacen's eyes, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. "Oh, you really don't have to do that, Daenerys. I can handle it."
She waved off his protest with a dismissive flick of her hand and walked around the table to grab his bowl. "Nonsense. I don't mind at all. Besides, it's the least I can do after you treated me to such a lovely evening."
He began to rise, but Daenerys pushed him back into his chair with a hand on his shoulder that lingered for just a little too long. "Jacen, let me do this. Consider it a gesture of appreciation for the delightful company." She grabbed the decanter from nearby and refilled his goblet. "Sit. Your queen commands it."
He met her eyes, finding sincerity in her gaze, and nodded reluctantly. "If you insist."
She smiled and grabbed his bowl and stacked hers inside of it and walked to the kitchen. It was at this moment he found himself grateful that he had taken the seat facing the kitchen.
"You're a little short on dishes and utensils, in case you haven't noticed."
"The perks of living alone," he said as he ran his finger along the rim of his goblet and watched her. "Doing the dishes once per week."
"That certainly sounds like a perk to me," she nodded as she set the bowls into the sink. "Though admittedly, it's something I always took for granted. It's delightfully domestic."
"I suppose it is. You did this a lot growing up?"
"I did," she nodded. "Before I married Khal Drogo. My brother always thought that the act was beneath him." The casual way in which she always talked about her deceased brother with what bordered on bitterness had surprised him, but she hadn't revealed anything that may suggest why she would feel this way about him.
She'll say more in time, I'm sure.
If there is a next time.
Jacen shook the thoughts from his head. "I'm assuming they don't allow a queen to do such things in the Red Keep?"
"Not at all," she shook her head. "I tried to insist once, but they seemed to take it as an insult that I thought they weren't doing a sufficient job. They didn't believe me when I said I'd grown to miss the act."
"Well, once a week you're more than welcome to come over and get your fill."
Interesting choice of words.
She laughed nonetheless. "I may do that."
Silence descended upon the room again. Jacen watched intently as she washed each dish and utensil with care. The way she moved so gracefully, even down the blowing a stray hair out of her face every so often, captivated him almost as much as staring into her eyes. He could almost feel the warmth emanating from her.
He couldn't help but imagine a life together as commoners — cooking together, taking turns doing the dishes, laughing in the living room while curled up on the couch in front of a crackling fire, falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms. It was a future he grieved for.
Ask her to stay the night, He could almost hear his friends urging him. Do you think she came all the way here hoping that she'd have to walk back to the Red Keep in the middle of the night?
His eyes lingered on her as she set the last of the dishes beside the sink to dry and grabbed a nearby towel to dry her hands. She turned to walk back over to the table. "Care to inspect?"
Jacen smiled and stood up. "I trust you to rule seven kingdoms, so I'll trust that you can do the dishes as well."
"The faith of the public is always welcome," she chuckled
As they stood staring at each other, Jacen felt his awkwardness growing more palpable. The air was beginning to feel charged with unspoken feelings and a desperation to bridge the gap between them.
Clearing his throat, Jacen attempted to address the unspoken tension. "Daenerys, I've been thinking…" He began, the words tumbling unbidden from his mouth.
"A dangerous pastime," she smirked, as if she knew what he was trying to find the courage to say.
He gave a small chuckle, his awkwardness now on full display. "It's time that we address this once and for all."
"Address what?" She raised an eyebrow.
"You know what I mean. Us."
"Us?" she echoed, her tone casual.
"Yes," Jacen replied, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "We've been spending a lot of time together, and I've been wondering—"
Daenerys crossed the few paces between them, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply on the lips, pulling him towards her and arching her midsection into him. He slowly put his hands on her back without entirely understanding why, and he was acutely aware of her breasts pressed firmly against him.
Don't lose it already. Please.
He also said a silent prayer to the Seven, none of whose names he could remember at the moment.
After several seconds, Daenerys pulled away and looked up at him, a look of innocence in her eyes. They released each other at the same time and she took three careful steps back. All Jacen could do was laugh and rub the back of his neck.
"What were you wondering?" She asked as a small smile slowly appeared on her face.
"If you'd… like to stay over tonight…" His voice trailed off.
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you inviting me into your bedroom, Jacen Senneck?"
He nodded, his heart starting to race again. "I am. I mean, if you want to, of course. No pressure."
They held each other's gaze for what felt like an eternity, but Jacen knew what her answer would be.
"I'd like that," she said, her voice a whisper that seemed to ease the tension in the room.
A feeling more of relief than excitement spread through Jacen's entire body and made his ears ring, though he couldn't say if it was relief that she agreed or relief that he finally brought himself to ask. "Good. Great, actually."
Without a word, he slowly reached out his hand and forced his most confident grin, and she returned a wide smile of her own and grasped it.
BEHIND THE CHAPTER
This chapter was the first problematic one to write, and it was difficult to write for multiple reasons.
The depiction of depression and mental illness: The most difficult part by far was writing the chapter in such a way that it didn't reduce Jacen's entire identity to "generic sad guy who wants a girl to fix him" and make him more "a man who is a victim of his own mind, but he's learned to cope and is very aware that asking Daenerys to love him is almost unfair". It's a balance that I put a lot of work into striking and maintaining, both in the outlining stage and in the writing stage, while paying respect to people who suffer with the condition themselves or know someone who has.
The first date, in contrast, was fun to write. Writing it all from Jacen's POV was a nice way to help capture that nervous and awkward feeling that you get when you meet your very first potential romantic partner, and you worry about everything, whereas Daenerys (who is obviously more experienced) had a very different set of worries about the night and what it could evolve into. The nervousness that comes with inexperience is so often glossed over in romance fics, and I really wanted to show everything from the perspective of someone who was flying by the seat of his pants and terrified of every word that came out of his mouth. This is one of the final chapters that was from Daenerys's POV only, and it's one of the ones that made me want to add more POVs.