You Are The One

Chapter 4

Dani always made this look so easy. Like she was riding a wooden horse—forget a real one.

Where Dani would hold on with her thighs and one fucking hand, Jon's thighs tremble from their tight hold, while both her hands grip the two nearest spikes of his neck for dear life.

She doesn't know if anybody saw her, but then again, she doubts nobody saw Drogon's huge frame darting up and over the very castle he half burned to ashes. She doesn't know how much trouble with the council she will be in after this. And for once, she doesn't even worry too much about what the innocent people left over from the families that Drogon burned—along with half the city—will think of her for riding the very beast who destroyed their lives and livelihoods.

All she can think about now is simultaneously not shitting her draws, while thoroughly enjoying every damn moment of it. And when he finally stops ascending to level out just above the clouds, Jon manages to slow her breathing down and enjoy the ride even damn well more.

She sits up as straight as she can, like she would a horse, even though dragons weave rather than bob in their movements. He keeps her steady on his back, whether he means to or not. And even with the small bumps under her arse, dragons are still way more comfortable to sit upon than horses. There's no roll of the hips or the shoulders making her do most of the work to stay seated. Just the smooth up and down motions of his wings.

The winds blast her hair back and she's suddenly glad she decided not to wear her fur coat for a whole other reason. She may be colder without it, but the missing weight of it makes her feel like she's flying with him and not just on him. She sits up straighter, relaxes her shoulders and even the grip of her thighs a little. She takes a deep breath and begins to take it all in properly.

Without her just wanting to show off to Dani, this is the first time she's actually appreciating every part of riding a Gods damned dragon.

Yes, she could definitely get used to this.

As far as her eyes can see in front of her is the vast open ocean. She glances back over her shoulder, seeing the shore in the distance.

Only then, does she begin to panic a little again. Suddenly realising that he isn't just taking her for a ride.

He's taking her somewhere specific.

Somewhere not even on the continent...

Jon's eyes widen as she turns back to face the seas before and beneath her. All a-fucking-round her.

"Wh..." She clears her throat and yells as calmly as she possible can over the winds and the waters and the beats of dragon wings, "DROGON, WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME??"

Typically, he doesn't answer her. Doesn't even look back at her. Doesn't make a single noise to let her know he even heard her.

Jon tries not to panic even more, even when she's panicking a little more by the minute.

She thinks logically.

He would have killed her already if that's what he wanted from her. She doesn't see dragons doing the whole revenge served cold thing. They're far too brutal and just simply too unstoppable to give a shit.

But he's taking her somewhere. Of that, she is certain of.

He's flying with too much purpose. Too much urgency. And he's ignoring her to do so. Which she somehow feels is true, because he doesn't seem annoyed with her, let alone angry.

Thank the Gods for that—if they really do exist.

She's still on the fence with that one. Even after dying—no—especially after dying.

I'm going to fucking die again if I don't hold on tight and stop almost shitting myself.

At that thought, Jon sucks in a deep breath to centre herself and override any nerves she has, just like she does before each fight or battle.

Just like she had when standing in that field waiting for Ramsey's army to run her down.

But this isn't that, she tells herself.

This is a dragon, of all mighty beasts, that wants her. Not a sadistic jealous bastard that wants her erased from existence.

Bastard.

Such an odd thing, thinking about it now. That she was never one to begin with, yet, the very word used to be the bane of her existence.

That Lady Catelyn hated her so much and had her heart broken because of Jon for absolutely nothing.

Jon doesn't and has never considered herself of much value, even though she has tried to make herself as useful as possible, but she still thinks she'd have been better off dying before she got to kill her mother. Setting her mother and father free and saving everyone later in years all the heartaches and wars.

And now, that's where she knows she was ungrateful. That she was rather prissy and pompous for someone who had been raised a bastard and mostly treated as such.

Tyrion was the first to open her mind. That first time she met him outside in the Stark's yard, banished until guests and dinner were done with.

But the older she got and the more shit she experienced outside of her lavish and comfortable home in Winterfell, the more Jon began to resent herself.

Her mother died for her.

Her father died for them both.

And Lord St—her dear uncle Eddard broke his soul-mate's heart to keep both Jon and her mother—his sister—safe.

Jon never realised back then just how much he did for her. Even while just thinking at the time that she really was his bastard with some woman he couldn't even bare to talk about.

She'd always hated him a tiny little bit for never wanting to talk about her mother. And in turn, hated herself for hating the only man (besides Robb) that ever truly cared for her.

But when dragons and magic and walking dead men are suddenly thrown into her life, the bigger picture is revealed and humbled her really fucking quickly. Though, with having to shoot a man you counted as a good friend in the heart to save him the horrible death of burning at the stake—among many other horrific tragedies—well, she was already halfway up that humbling path of her life.

Drogon suddenly shatters her swarming thoughts by lifting his head to let out a sort of warning trill, the sound vibrating right up into her bones. He looks back at her, letting out a huff before straightening and diving forward.

Jon sucks in a breath and tightens her hold, both hands and thighs clamping down.

Well, at least he warned her this time. Bless him, she thinks with a small smile, even as the wind whips so violently at her face that it begins to scratch her cold-bitten skin.

In a matter of moments, Drogon flares his wings out and levels himself just meters over the waters as he continues to fly forward.

Jon glances back when she hears a soft splash and sees the tip of his tail dragging to slow him down. Though, when she looks forward again, a small slither of land comes into view on the horizon. One she recognises.

Maybe he's having a funeral for Dani and wants me there.

Jon shakes her head immediately at the utterly stupid thought. Though, she is worried of what she will find when they land.

It's been two months since Dani's death and if he hasn't...dealt with her body...well, Jon dreads to think of it.

However, she feels she more than owes it to the woman she betrayed—and then, murdered immediately after—to give a proper send off.

So, as she always does, she will do what she must.

Drogon flaps his wings and gently, slowly rises above the waters and Jon gets her first look at the place since she left it with Dani and Tyrion.

Dragonstone.

Completely deserted. But still fully intact and eerily beautiful to look at.

Drogon flies them a little faster, up and darting right over Sea Dragon Tower, the armoury, and then, of the main part of the castle with the Stone Drum that houses the infamous Painted Table sitting protected in the middle of it all. On the other side, where Drogon suddenly stops and hovers over, is the gardens that Dani promised to show her, but never got to with all of the chaos.

The Dungeon Tower is just a few yards away. For a moment, Drogon hovers nearer to it and Jon really hopes he doesn't expect her to climb down from him from all the fucking way up there. Thankfully, he doesn't, and she breathes out a sigh of relief when he moves up and over the tower.

Finally, Jon pays more attention to the dragon himself. Noting that he's stopped, but only finally now asking, "Something wrong?" Just in case, she keeps her voice as low as she can while still enough for him to hear over his wings.

Maybe he forgot where he put Dani and he is trying to sniff her out. Though, Jon doesn't dare ask him that.

Drogon slowly descends upon the stairs descending into the garden. Stone and just about big enough not to crumble to complete dust under his weight. Though, Jon can hear the bits of stone still falling away to his clawed feet as he moves to adjust his weight. He turns his head then, his long neck allowing him to fully face her.

When he blinks at her, Jon blinks back at him. But then, he simply stares at her and it takes her a moment to figure out that he's waiting for her to get off of him.

Jon gives the huge beast a sheepish grin and nods. "Right." She gives him an awkward pat on the back, to which she is sure he huffs out some sort of amusement in return.

She chuckles, shakes her head while thinking about how fucking crazy her life is...literally all the time since leaving Winterfell that first time.

Jon thanks him, more sure by the more moments she spends with him that he understands more than she'll ever know. She then, more gracefully this time, manages to climb, slide and jump those last few feet down onto the steps just under his clawed feet.

Each is bigger than she is on the whole. She doesn't think she'll ever get over how magnificent these creatures are.

If only Tormund could have seen her. He'd probably have a shit attack...right before celebrating with a week's worth of ale.

And, oh, back to how fucking crazy her life is—the marvelling smile is wiped clean off of Jon's face when Drogon beats those magnificent wings of his and suddenly leaps up into the sky...without her.

No, no, no—

"NO! Don't you dare!" Jon snaps, pointing a scolding finger at him before she can even stop to think about actually trying to scold a fucking dragon.

He ignores her. Because of course he does.

He's already back above the Dungeon Tower when Jon yells out after him, half panicked, half pissed off, "Drogon! Drogon, don't you dare leave me here!"

When he meets the clouds in the next few seconds, Jon tips her head back and yells out, in full outrage, "FUCK!!!"

And then, after laughing hysterically for two split seconds; "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! You fucking—GARRGH!!!"

And then, finally, after her little meltdown, of which she almost literally never lets herself indulge in—mostly, for the sake of saving lives, while saving time—Jon stands up straight, takes a deep breath and begins her walk down the steps.

She doesn't know where the fuck she's going. Maybe find Dani's body and deal with that first. Just to take her mind off of literally being fucking deserted on a lonely island with no way back—

Then again, maybe this could be a good thing...

Obviously, she can't relinquish her duties as a queen now that she's committed to the responsibility and role of it all.

But...some time by herself to just gather her thoughts and enjoy the rare peace and quiet...

Gods, that sounds so divine that Jon isn't sure she really deserves it.

Still, she will make do.

Hopefully, Drogon hasn't left her here forever.

Really...really hopefully...

Fucking Seven Hells—she doesn't even have her sword with her. Nor even just a tiny little dagger in her boot or something.

This is what she gets for trusting a dragon.

No, this is what she gets for trusting the one dragon whose mother she murdered just a hundred feet from.

Jon gulps and instead makes her way to the armoury. She doubts there's anything left, but it won't hurt to try her luck.

Once she finally reaches the bottom of the long winding dragon shaped stone staircase, her boots hit the soft grasses of the gardens. It's long since been left to overgrow and the pathway she takes is all but dust in the patches than can be seen and flooded with varieties of brush where it isn't. The gardens themselves are mainly just tall meadow grass sprayed with flowers of yellows and whites.

Jon breathes in a lungful of sea air and can't help smiling at the utter peace and serenity of it all. She briefly wonders why Dani would ever want to leave; should have really asked her why she wanted that Iron Throne Jon now has herself.

Because Jon knows it wasn't just because Dani thought she was owed what was hers and taken from her.

"Jon Snow."

Jon freezes entirely when a voice stops her in her tracks. She knows that voice. She's sure of it. But she just can't think of where from. It's nobody she knows, she knows that much. And yet, he speaks like he knows her better than anyone, even herself.

Like he's been waiting for her.

Jon frowns as she slowly turns around to face whoever that voice belongs to. Her eyes widen, then, dart away instantly. Though, only for a moment and only out of instinct.

This man is naked. Almost as the day he was born, save for the thin gold band of a crown wrapped around his forehead and the longsword hanging loosely in his right hand.

Though, immediately, she can't deny that he's the most beautiful person that she has ever laid eyes on. Even more so than any woman, even while his features hold little to no femininity.

Strong jawline, broad shoulders, wide chest, ribbed torso, thick meaty limbs. Dusted all over with tiny golden hairs that almost match the unmistakable silvery pearl coloured hair of the Targaryens that sits on top of his head in a shaggy mess that tickles downs to his earlobes.

"Are you..." Jon clears her throat, gives him a kind smile as she asks, "Are you all right, My Lord?"

Him addressing his new Queen by her bastard name doesn't even come into her head right now.

And whether or not that's because he's so beautiful to look at or she's just confused as to what he's doing out here naked and alone, she could not say...nor really care, for some reason.

He didn't say her name with disgust or derision. Neither does he now when he frowns softly, looking confused as he asks, "You're Jon Snow?"

Now, Jon is a little confused, too. If he doesn't know who she is, why is he even looking for her? How does he even know her name?

Still, Jon bows her head, trying only for the first time to act regal so as not to flush fully at the sight. And what a sight that...that beast is between his thighs. She's no virgin, nor is she the most shy in most situations, mainly because "being a bastard" never allowed her such comforts.

But Holy Seven Gods...

The people are wrong to tell stories of her being a god.

This is a God—if there were ever any walking among men.

Jon has never been one to swoon so easily either, though, right now, she's starting to feel really fucking hot.

But at least she still has some good sense left in her to warily eye the sword in his hand as she carefully asks him, "And which Lord before me now might be asking?"

He tilts his head, stares curiously at her. "You are from The North." He says in his well-spoken accent and smooth deep silk voice that makes her skin shiver just like...

Jon sucks in a tiny breath, but otherwise keeps composed.

The man from my dream. That voice... I... What the absolute fuck is going on?

The man seems to misinterpret her look—he lifts his free hand in a peaceful manner while his other lifts up his sword to let it drop to the path at his bare feet. "I will not harm you, My Lady, you have my word." He says in a soft voice. Though, he's back to eyeing her curiously—or more accurately, taking in the armour she's wearing.

Jon can't help it. She chuckles. She has never been called a lady before, of all things. It just makes her laugh.

A slow, but wholly unfairly bright and dazzling little smile stretches across his lovely pink lips.

Jon doesn't know what the hell is going on, but things literally could be worse.

She tilts her head, eyes his face curiously until she realises he really doesn't know who she is. He's just staring back at her, smiling slightly and looking somewhere between intrigued and...delighted?

Still, she is a queen now. Which means, she doesn't have to answer questions first anymore.

She arches a brow. Lifts her chin and stares right into his eyes, looking at his reactions as she sternly asks, "Who are you?"

He scoffs out a laugh, but it's not aimed at her as he tips his head back up to the sky and says to himself, "What the absolute fuck is going on?"

Jon bites her bottom lip. Both from smiling amusedly at his words echoing her earlier thoughts and—Gods, help her—the way his muscles stretch at the movement.

He blows out a breath. Head falling limply forward and eyes connecting with hers. His gaze darts down to her mouth for a split second, a flicker of something dark and shiveringly lovely flashing passed his lilac orbs. When he looks back into her eyes, it's gone, and instead, he's adopting a cute little grin.

"My apologies, My Lady, I seem to have...woken up with all of my clothes gone." He shrugs his shoulders, hands held out in a what am I going to do? Motion. Like it happens to him all of the time or something.

Jon doesn't even dare herself to let her eyes stray back down. Keeps them firmly planted on his as she arches a brow and asks him, "Where did you wake up?"

"Here." He motions around to the entire island. Chuckles when she gives him a withered stare and adds, "Here, in my gardens."

In...who's...gardens?

She may not be a history buff like Arya or know literally everything like Brann, but she knows enough...

Jon blinks slowly, now letting her eyes trail up and down, though, this time, only to help digest his words.

He...

He—it can't be him, even if she somehow has a deep knowing feeling that it really is—takes a small step forward. Holds his hands up to show her he still means no harm, leaving his sword on the path behind him as he steps over it.

"My name is Aegon Targaryen, My Lady." His voice is soft, almost wary as he then asks, "Do you...know who I am?"

Jon blinks—wants to ask: who doesn't know who you are?