You Are The One
Chapter 13
"Vorka—"
"Uh-uh, my Queen. Is, vorrrr...sa. You roll word over tongue."
Jon nods, takes a breath, then, tries again. Slowly sounding the word for 'fire' in Dothraki out—"Vorrrsaa."
"Ah, yes!" Rogo clasps his hands together, a huge happy grin spreading across his lovely caramel coloured face. "Very good, my Queen! Even with not very good, eh—is you say 'accent'??"
He glances to Tyrion for confirmation, who nods.
Rogo nods enthusiastically, looks back at the his Queen and tells her, "You learn fast. Is good."
Jon can't help the small proud smile tugging at her lips.
Aegon's own smile is all but wiped away when the maester's rude scoff interrupts and he looks at Rogo with contempt as he says, "You're lucky Her Grace is even bothering to learn your...language. Really, it should be the people learning the tongue Her Grace is native to."
Jon scolds and firmly states rather than asks, "And what kind of leader would I be if I didn't take interest in the actual lives of my people?" She arcs a brow as she adds, "And you yourself, Maester Titus, have acknowledged that I myself do not belong to just one bloodline—therefore, I represent two houses. And as your Queen, I now represent all of my people, no matter their cultural differences. If I am to expect the people to follow me, the very least I can do is actually give a shit about them."
And it's not true to say she is the first Sovereign whose blood holds more than one legacy. Though, she will probably be the first to embrace all of her sides equally.
Tyrion looks pleasantly surprised and rather amused to hear her using curse words. He believes this is the first he's ever heard from her mouth.
Aegon's smirk is very quickly wiped away, this time, when the maester arcs a brow and asks, "And do you really think just by learning how to speak to those heathens that they might just stay in line for you?"
Rogo bites his tongue to keep from answering when he sees his Queen's annoyed look as well as her own reply burning in her dark eyes before she even opens her mouth.
Jon scowls, jaw clenching, pulse racing.
(And yet, somehow seeing Aegon looking more pissed off than she feels really does make her feel better.)
She sucks in a silent breath and stares hard at the maester as she says, "You heard what Br—The Three-Eyed Raven said; I am their leader now. I gave Dani's loyalists a choice to either stay with me or leave and never look back. The Unsullied had more of a personal connection to Dani after she freed them, so, I understand why they chose to leave. But the Dothraki chose to remain and not one of them has wavered in their choice. They answer only to power; to whoever can control them."
Aegon grits his teeth when Maester Titus steps forward and sternly asks her, "And can you?"
Tyrion rolls his eyes and makes his way out of the cabin to fetch some more wine for himself.
Jon goes to open her mouth, but Maester Titus cuts her off with, "And not just because you have the dragon at your back. Will they really follow you, Jon Snow?"
And that is Aegon's fucking limit—
Jon sees Aegon push himself away from the post he was leaning against. So, before he makes things worse—by being annoyingly, yet, sweetly protective—and before anybody else forgets just who the fuck she is...
Jon steps forward with an expression that leaves no room for arguments—effectively stopping Aegon in his tracks and shutting Maester Titus up finally. She stands right in front of him and though he and his silly robes tower a good few inches over her, she's glad to see her presence seems to make him shrink as if she were a dragon herself.
"Forgive me, Maester," Her tone is low and dangerously calm as she stares up into his grey eyes. "I am your Queen, so, it is clearly my own fault that I have let you become so familiar in how you speak to me. And let's just remember that before I ever even knew dragons existed again, not even death could keep me to itself."
Aegon arcs a brow, mouth twitching upwards at the maester's quiet gulp.
Rogo, however, is watching wide-eyed and grinning amusedly from ear to ear.
Jon keeps her gaze focused on the maester's as she reminds him, "I was not raised to be a Queen or even a Lady. But I was a Lord Commander. So, you do not have to worry about me dealing with anyone who steps out of line."
"You can shove your orders up your bastard arse!"
"My Lord, please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm afraid! I've always been afraid! Please, I beg you! Mercy!"
At the time—and after the initial few seconds of satisfaction wore off—Jon felt rather sorry for Lord Janos. Especially with him being her first act of brutal punishment in general, not just as Lord Commander. But now, she barely feels like it was her own life. It feels like to long ago...
Maester Titus takes a step back and bows his head. "Your Grace."
Jon nods, takes a breath just as the door opens and Tyrion steps in with two musty looking corked bottles.
"I bring peace!" Tyrion chimes, already looking halfway gone for the night. He scowls, glances around at everyone in the room, then, rethinks his logic and mumbles, "Or possibly war..." Grins again and chirps optimistically, "Who can say until we test the wine-waters, hm?"
Jon is the first to crack a smile, which makes Aegon automatically smile, which makes Rogo smirk knowingly and Maester Titus grimace as he makes a swift exit.
"Anhaan vekhatjin. (What a cock.)" Rogo mumbles to himself, shaking his head.
Tyrion chuckles as he walks over to sit beside the Dothraki warrior. "I believe most men with small cocks like to pretend it is everyone else's fault but their own that they are such stuck up pricks because of their small cocks."
He chuckles when Rogo grins at the same time Jon shoots him a lightly scolding look.
"He's honestly not even that bad." Jon states, making all three men scoff, even Rogo, the fucking traitor. "What? He isn't. This one was raised a bastard, remember?" She says, pointing a finger at herself. "You're literally the first person outside of my family that didn't treat me as such." She adds, then, pointing at Tyrion.
Aegon arcs a brow at the short man, pleasantly surprised, but not all that shocked.
Tyrion waves a lazy hand away at them both. Then, tells her, "As I told your brother Brann shortly after that; I have a soft spot for broken or misplaced things."
Jon smiles. And finally, says, "Thank you for your gift. I hear he was quite depressed after he woke."
Tyrion bows his head with a smile. "Of course, Your Grace. It was the least I could do."
He's rather touched that she doesn't even mention it was his own brother's fault that her brother was crippled in the first place.
Just one more thing different from Daenerys, who would, every now and then, remind him of who he was just to keep him in his place. Where Daenerys counted up her slights and betrayals, Jon seems to let them roll off of her, like fire rolls off of a dragon. And unlike Daenerys, even at the times where Jon has no choice but to act with violence, she does not enjoy the thrill of power that comes with it.
All these reasons guide Tyrion, where he failed to guide Daenerys. And it is the same with the people—the people who seek Jon out just to bend the knee, while Daenerys had to use force or bribery (or worse; false promises and fire and blood.)
Which is why, despite Jon's next words, Tyrion finds himself smiling happily as he stares at her.
"Gods, everything is all over the place. How am I supposed to help people when I can't even stop my own council worrying about me?" Jon sighs as she goes to plop herself back down in the chair beside Rogo.
"Your Grace, we have already gathered the materials to start rebuilding the castle now that the city is already up and running." Tyrion says, trying and failing to lighten her mood.
"Up and running. But still in complete ruin. Half the people are sleeping under the damn stars at night. Which is fine for now. But when winter comes again? Dani would have burned half the people and I will have finished the job by letting the other half freeze to death."
Fucking fire and ice—what a joke!
"I can't even bring them into the castle with me, because that's being rebuilt. I can't bring them to Dragonstone, because Dani burned whatever ships Euron Greyjoy stole off with. I have no Lord of the Seas. No Coin Master. No bank that will even consider meeting with me in fear of burning under Dani's dragon. All I have is a throne and a crown, of which mean absolutely nothing if there is nothing for anyone to lead. I have one Queen's Guard—which, I don't even really think is a good idea! And I don't even have a fucking Hand!"
"Breathe." Aegon swoops over to kneel at her feet. "You have me, Your Grace. No, I am not King here in this time, but not even mentioning my sisters as rulers, I, myself, did manage to rule all of Westeros for almost five years. And before that, I was Lord of Dragonstone...after my arsehole of a father finally passed."
He smiles with her when his words make her crack the tiniest one. Breathes with her when she takes a deep breath, just as he told her to.
He fights back a shiver over the wondering thought of what else he could tell and get her to do for him...
"You are not alone." Aegon tells her with as much sincerity and reassurance as he can stuff into one look.
And he's glad to see her relax back in her seat, even if just a little, and give a tiny nod of acknowledgement.
"Five years?" Tyrion curiously pipes up as he hands a cup of wine over to Rogo and begins pouring the next out for his Queen. "That would make you three-and-two, would it not?"
Aegon nods. "It would." Then, arcs a brow, stares up at Jon with intrigue as he asks, "And how old, if I may even ask, is Her Grace on this day?"
"You may not." Jon quips snootily. Though, there is a small teasing smirk spreading slowly over her lips.
Aegon has to actively force himself not to push himself up and press his lips to hers.
Tyrion cuts in with a drunken snort and tells him, "She was one-and-seven when I met her, which would now make Her Grace two-and-six."
Jon purses her lips, flips her middle finger at Tyrion, who merely laughs when she snatches the mug of wine from his fingers and gulps it down for herself—while wincing in disgust at the taste through every drop.
Aegon now understands why Jon lets the short man—and only him—speak so freely with her or about her. She trusts him, which is more important than the fact that they have known each other for so long—and clearly before either of them rose to their places in the world. They both know the real people underneath and Aegon finds himself envious of the short man.
"Still so young." Aegon says, shooting her a soft adoring smile.
"Oh, you can piss off as well!" Tyrion spouts with a half bitter half amused laugh. "Begging no offence, Sire, but in my presence, you, too, may as well be a child."
Aegon chuckles quietly. Holds up a hand, nods and says, "Apologies..." Trails off, grins cheekily and adds, "Old man."
Tyrion's mouth gapes open in offense...quickly snapping shut when Rogo offers him a top up from the second bottle—which smells like chemicals one would use to clean metal armour, but tastes oddly sweet and quite lovely when he takes a dainty testing sip before knocking it back in one.
Aegon puffs out a laugh and plops himself down on his backside, arms looping around his knees. He grins up at Jon when she stares down at him.
"There are enough seats. You don't have to stand for the entire sail home." Jon says with a small amused smile. "And I certainly don't expect you to sit on the floor."
Without missing a beat, Aegon's grin widens with a cheeky glint in his eyes as he replies, "This is the best view."
Jon rolls her eyes and shoves down the urge to smile. Though, cannot deny the lack of control she has on her stupid gut or pulse as they flip and flutter in tandem.
Tyrion laughs, while fighting back a knowing smirk.
Rogo, though, as most Dothraki, he is not one to shy away from revealing what he really thinks at any given time. Like now; "Yer hash jin Khaleesi. Kifindirgi tat zalat sum qoy hash yer laz zhorre zhille? (You are the Queen. Why do you want the same blood when you can have any?)"
At Jon's completely lost and slightly panicked expression, Tyrion holds up his finger to her and smiles reassuringly before turning to—in very broken Dothrak—ask Rogo, "Fin tat...yer...veltor?? (What do...you...yellow?)"
Rogo fights back a snort. Glances to his Queen, then, smiles somewhat sternly as he looks upon the man sitting at her feet—who looks as surprised as Rogo was hoping when he speaks his next words in the very language his last queen (and her lovely handmaiden) had taught him.
"Nyke gīmigon skoros gēlenka ōghar iksos. Qrīdronnor, daor perzys. Dāria ōghar iksos zōbrie. Ao qrīdronnor. Dāria rele perzys. Lo ao ȳdra daor mīsagon dāria, nyke ossēnagon ao. Zaldrīzes jāhor daor jorrāelagon naejot. (I know what silver hair is. Chaos, not fire. Queen hair is black. You chaos. Queen real fire. If you don't protect Queen, I kill you. Dragon will not need to.)"
"And that—" Tyrion practically chokes around his mouthful of wine. Pushes himself up from his seat, grins awkwardly as he chirps, "—is my cue to leave before things get violent. Farewell!" Then, hastily makes a run (and stumble) for the exit.
Jon scowls after him. Then, scowls between the two men left sitting in the room with her.
One of which is glaring in warning, while the other stares calmly back.
Jon waves a hand in front of the glaring man's face and glares pointedly at him when his eyes snap to her.
"What is going on? What did you just say?" She asks sternly, eyes flitting briefly to Aegon, who is now (oddly) smiling.
Rogo's glare hardens. But right as he opens his mouth, it's Aegon instead who speaks up. "He was just making sure I understood where I stand with him." His tone is calm, though, his smile turns slightly amused. And Jon swears she sees something that looks like relief in his lilac eyes.
She arcs a brow as she asks, "And where is that?"
Aegon grins as he holds out a hand to Rogo, whose glare falters and is slowly replaced with both suspicion and confusion.
Aegon nods reassuringly at his hand and says, "Your words were heard loud and clear, my friend. I am glad to know you would kill so easily for Her Grace."
When Jon's eyes widen a little in horror at Rogo, Aegon chuckles and says, "Fear not, Your Grace, I'm sure Rogo would ask you first."
"No, I would not." Rogo shakes his head, shrugs nonchalantly.
"You—" Aegon's grin morphs into a withering look. "You couldn't just humour me to make Her Grace feel better, could you?" He mutters with a shake of his head.
Rogo simply blinks and stares at the two of them for a moment. Whatever he sees, Aegon sees his shoulders slowly begin to relax and Aegon blows out a silent breath of relief. He feels hopeful when the Dothraki man finally rises from his seat a moment later, looking ready to leave.
"I didn't say you could leave." Jon says, voice so calm it borders on something very opposite.
Rogo pauses in confusion as Aegon freezes in surprise.
Rogo clears his throat quietly, smiles warily as he turns back around to face her. "My Queen?" He asks somewhat timidly, making Aegon all the more gobsmacked—such a huge man, at least a head taller than even Aegon, and yet, he all but trembles before Jon.
Jon.
Not her dragon...
Aegon stays deadly silent, eyes flickering between them.
Jon slowly rises from her seat, but doesn't move closer. She wants him to remember she's not afraid to act if she needs to, while also wanting him to know she's completely in control of herself—unlike his last Queen...
Aegon's brow arcs and a smirk tugs at his lips when Rogo immediately bows his head and lowers his gaze to the floor.
"What would your last Queen have done to you if you had killed without her permission?" Jon asks, voice still calm, head tilting slightly as she stares almost pointedly up at him.
Rogo's eyes widen for a split second when his gaze snaps back up to hers. He gulps quietly, then, smiles weakly as he tries to reason with her. "M-My Que—"
Jon cuts him smoothly off with: "And what did I do to your last Queen when she did something without asking me first?" Doesn't let him answer as she takes just one tiny step forward, and then, with a little warning tint to her tone, she asks, "And now, what do you think I'll do to you if you do something without asking me first?"
Rogo can only take it like a man and a true warrior as he lifts his chin, looks her in the eyes, nods firmly and replies, "You would not use dragon to kill me."
Jon has to fight back the pleased little smile twitching at her lips. She takes a breath as she takes a step back. Nods and says, "Good answer."
Rogo bows his head respectfully.
As Jon finally lets the poor man go, Aegon has to finally haul himself up to his feet and walk away just so she won't see him trying not to grin like a complete and utter fucking fool.
When the door closes behind Rogo and Jon turns back around with a huff, she sees Aegon running his fingers over the length of her blade laid out on her bed, and shivers pleasantly as if feeling the touch herself.
(Yeah—she's probably just being over-observant, but he really is so very graceful in every single little movement he makes, like they've been thought out and planned precisely.)
"Don't be so hard on him." Aegon says, shooting a smirk over his shoulder when he hears her silence loud and clear, and then, sees it for himself with her jaw clenching and her beautiful dark orbs twinkling with only a mild rage.
He shrugs just to annoy her a little more, flashes her a quick grin when her lips purse and her eyes narrow.
Then, is serious when he tells her, "I suppose their people take a bit of getting used to, but he really was just warning me that he'd end my life if I ever endangered yours first."
"Oh, he 'just' threatened to kill you, did he? Is that all, hm?" Jon asks, voice a tad higher as she tries to keep from letting the most inhuman (forget about ladylike) growl of frustration tear up her throat.
Aegon turns his body half towards her. Pauses. Stares warily. Tries not to laugh or smile. Then, pretends to look intrigued as he says, "Your Grace, you're sounding very not happy right now."
Jon blinks. And just when she thinks he will piss her off, that tiny but slowly growing smirk of his instead makes her deflate with a huffy laugh. When he grins, she shoots him a somewhat playful but absolutely serious glare and says, "Call me that one more time while there's nobody else around, and I'll show you what I really look like when I'm—'very not happy.'"
Aegon tries to be offended by her achingly bad impression of his voice, but only ends up betraying himself the instant his laughter blurts out of him.
She clearly sees the split second conflict when she smirks smugly to herself. And he doesn't know whether to be touched, annoyed or impressed with her reading him so easily.
Though, he can't help smirking back and shaking his head when their eyes connect in the next moment before she turns her back on him.
"I named my sword Blackfyre."
He doesn't know how much she knows about him, but right now, he will say anything to keep himself distracted enough when she begins to unlatch her armour and slide it off...
"Did you name yours?"
In his mind, he curses himself for being so weak and looking back at her when she says, "I did not."
He can't help but let his gaze take in every detailed curve as she lays her pieces of armour neatly over the seat she was previously sat in.
Before he can even scramble a real thought to ask, she tells him, "But it does have a name." She sounds almost coy and a little hesitant, which only makes him all the more intrigued.
She keeps her back to him when deciding to tell him, "It's name is Longclaw. And it was given to me as a reward for saving Lord Mormont's life." She gulps down the ache in her throat as she adds, "Even all the while Lord Stark let me believe he was my father, I think I've somehow always known. It's surely the only thing that explains why I seem to grow so close to old men who just want to father me."
Aegon puffs out a soft chuckle. Smiles brightly when she turns around with a sweet little frown that shows just how much she doubts herself. Shakes his head slowly. Turns and slowly walks over to her. Stops a foot in front of her and tells her, "You and I are so much alike, and yet, at the same time, so different. I had a father, but never had his love. You had your father's love, but never had a father. We are both surrounded by people who would die and kill for us; people who loves us—and yet, you're so full of love that you don't know what to do with it. And I'm..."
Jon takes a small step closer when he trails off with a slightly lost look beginning to form in his pretty eyes. She's breathes easier when she reaches for his hand and he instantly snaps out of it to look at her instead.
"I want to trust you...more." She adds the last part with a small grin when he gives her a dramatic little pout. "I've told you about almost all of my scars."
Aegon knows what she's going to ask, and oddly, the only thing that makes him nervous is making her look at him like he's the monster he really is...or at least, can be...
But when Jon smiles that beautifully sweet and hopeful little smile and asks him if he would maybe share at least one of his own scars with her, he really cannot find it in himself to refuse her.