You Are The One

Chapter 2

When Jon died there was nothing.

It's not her unable to remember anything. She literally experienced nothingness.

Like being there and not being anywhere at all. Like the moment right before your body decides if something you're touching is too hot or too cold in those first few seconds of contact. Like you're still starving, but couldn't eat another thing. Like you're about to wake up even though you've already woken up. Like everyone and everything is waiting for you, yet, have left you behind and moved on without you.

Funny how nothing and everything are two sides of the same coin.

And looking back now, looking back to that other side is rather fuzzy.

She hasn't dreamed since she came back from the dead. Which started off rather perky and peaceful and is now slowly unnerving and unravelling her mind. And yet, tonight she dreams.

Well, nightmares are still dreams...

It's dark and cold. She can't see anything, can't move anywhere. She feels trapped. Like maybe she really did stay dead and Ed and Samwell buried her instead. And why did she have to think that?

...Because that's exactly where she finds herself in the next moment. A thin stream of light breaks her vision into the darkness. A tiny hole just above her. But her limbs are locked at her sides and she can't reach out.

So, Jon sucks in a deep lung full of air, stiffens her neck, and then, smashes her forehead against the wood of her coffin. She groans, but the pain is muted through her trying to focus so hard on not fucking panicking. Her fingers spread before curling into fists of determination.

"Come back to the light, Jon Snow..."

She can hear Melisandre, the only clears words that let Jon know who is calling to her. Whatever follows from the woman's lips is mumbled words of a language she doesn't recognise.

But then, she hears a voice she's never heard before. A male voice. Deep and somehow like rough silk against her insides. Soft, but somewhat amused sounding as he says, "So, you're the one that was promised, hm?"

I'm a promise of nothing.

Besides only paying half attention to Melisandre's words—because to be honest, the woman creeps her out a little bit—Jon just about remembers her mentioning something about a prince that was promised for something.

But Jon isn't a man. Not a prince even when she had technically been a princess all this time and is Queen now.

This has nothing to do with anything real. I'm just having a nightmare.

The male voice laughs, teasing, but playfully so. "Not a nightmare, my sweet. If it was, I'd wager you'd be afraid." His tone softens with seriousness as he says, "But you're never afraid. Not of men or monsters, at least."

OK, so, it's absolutely plausible that Jon has finally cracked. That she's finally gone crazy enough to create other personalities inside of her mind. She's heard of such illnesses, but never witnessed it for herself. Until now, anyway.

He—whoever this he is—laughs again. This time, softer, as if he's endeared. Jon doesn't know why it makes her feel warm and loved, but it does and she finally stops panicking. Finally knows what she has to do.

And with a soft smile tugging at her lips, she takes a calming breath and locks her eyes onto that tiny little hole of light. And just like that, she's waking up and staring at the canopy above her new bed. A bed so soft that she didn't know it could even exist.

Seems as though Dani saved the personal parts of the palace for herself after she let her dragon burn everything else. Jon thinks about that as she pulls herself up to sit and looks around. She sighs long and loud, wincing as her eyes take in the light pouring from the curtains she forgot to pull last night.

A knock startles her out of her thoughts. And then, as soft female voice calls through the door, "Your Grace? May I come in?"

Jon scowls at the title, but is huffing out her annoyance and slapping on a bright smile as she calls back, "Of course."

The door opens and in walks a pretty little brunette who can't be that much older than Arya is now.

Good, Jon thinks, biting back a glare for the girl's sake as she thinks back to her actually having to make a fucking rule about the Dothraki—through Tyrion's broken translations helping her—specifically only being allowed to bed women and not girls. And certainly none by force. She doesn't know whether it's really her own power or the threat of a looming dragon still roaming about out there at the back of her forcing them to listen to her still, but she'll take whatever the fuck she can get with those unpredictable lot.

So much worse than the Wildlings. At least a few of them actually like her for who she is and what she's done to help. Or tried to, anyway.

"Would you like me to prepare a bath for you, while you break your fast?" The girl asks quietly. Her head is bowed, brown eyes peeking out from under thick lashes while glued to the floor. Hands neatly tucked behind her back as she waits for an answer.

"What is your name?" Jon asks, only mildly interested in her actual name. She really just wants the girl to know she doesn't need to be so prim and proper. It's really never been Jon's style. And it's going to stay that way, no matter what her council try to tell her.

Well, at least Tyrion doesn't give a shit about all of that.

"Maliah, Your Grace." She says, lifting her gaze as she addresses Jon.

"Maliah." Jon nods, smiles as she holds her gaze. "Well, then, yes, Maliah, I would very much like to drown in a bathtub right after I've enjoyed whatever delicious treat you've decided to bring me this morning."

A quiet laugh bursts from the girl's lips before she can seem to stop it. Her eyes widen over at Jon as she slaps her hands over her mouth.

Jon chuckles, tells her, "At ease, Maliah. I know I'm your Queen now, but I hope that will make us good friends." She offers a sincere smile before softly adding, "You are not my pet, Maliah, do you understand?"

Maliah flushes and nods eagerly, smile timid but nonetheless genuine. Yes, Jon will get along fine with her.

"Good." Jon nods. Then, sternly adds, "And that means you're under my protection. So, if you're ever having problems, I want to know about them the moment after they arise, understood?"

Maliah's shoulders relax a little as she nods again. "Th-Thank you, Your Grace. You are most thoughtful."

Jon puffs out a laugh at those words, but thanks her anyway.

She yawns, then, cracks her neck and finally pulls the covers back. She rises from the bed as Maliah makes her way over to grab the two pots to fill the silver bathtub by the window, bathing itself in the centre of spotlight from the Sun's rays. She yawns again, feeling a little groggy. She stretches her arms above her head, cracking the rest of her joints when Maliah turns and suddenly freezes in her place.

Jon glances slowly down at herself and finally remembers she's naked. Her cheeks flush a little and she smiles sheepishly as she says, "Sorry. I can cover up if it makes you feel uncomf—"

Jon's smile falters when she notes Maliah's eyes wide with horror. Jon glances slowly down and this time, she's looking at the same thing she knows Maliah is looking at. She lifts a hand gingerly up, her fingertips ghosting over the many scars. Her hand lifts up a little further, her fingers lingering on the one curved over her heart.

The one that hurt the most. And not because of the pain.

She expects to see that horror, or even a thousand questions on the girl's face. But when Jon looks back up at her, Maliah is frowning softly.

Jon stands motionless, simply staring at the girl's expressions as Maliah places the pots down at her feet and steps slowly up to Jon. She gives a little nod when the girl lifts her hand slowly and pauses to glance up at her. Maliah's gaze returns to Jon's chest and Jon doesn't move, save for her eyes fluttering briefly at the soft touch along her stomach.

Into the comforting silence, Jon's eyes snap open and down when Maliah whispers, "Were you made by the Gods?"

Jon chuckles. "Weren't we all?"

Maliah gives a playfully scolding look. A smile tugs at her lips, shy and sweet as she blushes. She pulls her hand back a little as she says, "The people talk. They say that the Mother grew you in her own womb. That the Warrior carved you with his own two hands before he placed you in the Father's hands to place in the Mother's womb. That the Crone imbued you with a piece of her own wisdom. That the Smith broke away and piece of his heart to make yours strong. That the Maiden took her own reflection from the oceans and cast it onto you. That the Father is always whispering in your ear, telling you who is innocent and pointing out who is not."

Maliah's eyes trail back with her fingers to Jon's scars. This time, she lifts her hand carefully, tracing the one pressed over her heart. Her eyes lift to meet Jon's as she ends with, "That the Stranger has made Death promise not to touch you until you decided."

Jon takes a deep breath to calm herself. Because thinking about all the crazy shit people are thinking about her is really not helping her focus on being a good queen for them.

And that's all that matters to her now. Or, at least, it should be...

Jon smiles tiredly as she says, "Sounds like a nice story."

And she really means that. Oh, how simple it would be if that were all true. How easily she could navigate through her shit show of a life.

Maliah nods, smiling as she backs away. "Some of them believe you are the Gods themselves. Melded together in unison to make themselves unstoppable. To make men remember them and denounce all else."

At her Queen's alarmed look, Maliah chuckles and tells her, "I promise though, most of them believe the other story."

Jon blows out a breath of relief.

She's about to open her mouth to ask where her sword is—because she swears everyone has to keep moving everything around here for her and it's already starting to annoy her—when another knock on the door sounds. This one, more persistent and a fuck lot louder.

Jon winces as Maliah rushes over to open it.

"Oh, thank fuck for that!" Someone hisses. "Thanks, is she—err, I mean, is Her Grace here?"

"One moment, please, My Lord."

Jon grabs the robe hooked up by her bed and slips it on. She tightens the silk belt around her middle and turns just as Maliah is closing the door and turning to tell her, "Your Grace, Lord Gendry Baratheon is here to see you." And before Jon can say anything again, Maliah gives a disapproving scowl a she says, "It is most improper for a man you are not wedded to or—pardon my tongue, Your Grace, but a man you are not bedding for your pleasure either—to seek out Her Grace in her chambers."

Jon blinks. Then, chuckles.

Maliah's scowl deepens.

Jon sighs, shakes her head and says, "He has already had my sister. He will not have me." She jokes, but still, Maliah's eyes widen in pure scandal.

A beat of silence between them. And then, Maliah's face takes on an intrigued hue while slipping out the question, "Which sister?"

Jon laughs as her eyes widen at her little outburst. Well, what she thinks is an improper outburst, most probably. Jon just finds her totally endearing. She reminds her of Arya...if Arya was just a little bit more like Sansa.

Jon shudders at the thought. She loves them both just the way they are.

Jon gives the girl's shoulder a soft squeeze. Smiles and says, "Draw my bath. Then, bring enough breakfast for the both of us. We can sit out on what's left of the courtyard balcony and eat."

She can see the protest in Maliah's eyes about no doubt how improper it is for her to eat with her Queen, but Jon gives her an encouraging grin and walks away before she can protest.

Jon opens the door and is faced with Gendry, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his left boot tapping more anxiously than impatiently. Seeing Jon seems to somehow make him look relieved, but even more fidgety at the same time.

"Gendry." Jon nods at him as she steps out and shuts the door behind her.

It's freezing. She's already regretting just donning this thin silk robe. She rolls her eyes at the young man's wide-eyed stare and the way his eyes drop briefly to her chest before snapping up so fast that he blinks rapidly to right his dizziness.

Seriously, why are men so easy? And they call women whores.

Though, Gendry is rather cute. Less creepy. And even less when he looks to be deliberately keeping his gaze on her face.

He clears his throat, takes a deep breath and says, "There seems to be a dragon waiting for you in the Throne Room...uh, Y-Your Grace."

Jon blinks. Her still tired brain from all of the mostly sleepless nights since dying taking a moment to process his words. And when she does a moment later, Jon gulps quietly, nods and calmly asks him, "Is anyone dead or hurt?"

Gendry shakes his head. "No. He's just...standing in there and staring at the...the, uh, the new Throne..." He says, tone as wary as Jon now feels.

Jon nods and says, "OK. Just give me a few moments to get dressed and I'll be there."