You knew this time would come; when Danereys would set off to take The Iron Throne. Except, in your mind, you were going with her. Imagine your surprise at hearing she didn’t want you there, beside her as she ruled over The Seven Kingdoms. (Words : 1956) (Based off of : Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie)
When you met Jorah in Essos, you had no idea what was in store. You didn’t think you’d have the honor of meeting the last Targaryen; the true heir to the Iron Throne. You definitely didn’t know that you’d fall for his sister. Amongst all of the wild Dothraki, her sweet, calming features stuck out to you. She was a strange being, when compared to those around her. Her fair skin and silver hair caught you gaze; but it was her heart and fire that kept you around. You were hesitant to get closer to her, knowing that Khal Drogo would not stumble when it came to having your head severed from your body.
Despite her husband’s fierceness, Daenerys brought you along with her wherever she went. You stood at her side as he brother died, ready to defend her. It was you, along with help from Jorah, that brought the Khaleesi to the aid of witch when her child was ready to be born. You were also there when she mourned her lost son and husband.
Through it all, you caught glimpses of her tender heart; which she had hidden under a tough exterior. When she woke from the flames of Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre, you knew without a doubt, she was destined to lead and take back Westeros. The stories that Jorah told you about his home country made it seem as untamed as the Great Grass Sea. Daenerys’ older brother, Viserys would have failed to unite such an unruly country; but you knew that Daenerys would succeed.
With her quest for power set, your spot beside her was cemented. The bond between you only deepened at that point. After everything you had been through together, you finally opened up about your cloudy past. You told her how Jorah saved you from your harsh Master in Meereen, without fearing what she’d think of you. She pleaded with you, entreated you to tell her more about your captivity. Once you had recited your life’s story, Daenerys grabbed your hand.You looked up, meeting her light blue eyes that were slightly hidden with her loose hair.
“I swear to you, Y/N L/N that we will take Slaver’s Bay and free those barred in the same chains that held you. I swear this to you, ñuha jorrāelagon mēre (my dearest one).” Never once had you loved someone more than you loved Daenerys Stormborn in that moment. You held back from leaning in with all of your might; but your entire being wanted to kiss her pink lips. You had heard what she said : She’d never marry again. But you couldn’t help but love her.
“Thank you, Khaleesi,” you whispered, trying to restrain yourself. Your face was a mere inches from hers; you were so close you could smell the hint of wine on her breath. Her hand, the one that was not holding yours, went up to your face. Soft fingertips traced your face, as if trying to memorize it. You held your breath, still staring into Daenerys’ light eyes.
“Do you swear yourself to me?” she asked lowly, making you shudder lightly. “Do you swear to defend me,” Daenerys continued, “fight for my honor, and cherish me?” She was so close now, too close. If you were to lean forward, you’d finally kiss her.
“I do,” you whispered steadily, “I swear it. From this day to my last.” Daenerys smiled softly, lingering in your personal space. Almost like she was waiting for you to move. Waiting for you to press your lips to hers and sweep her off her feet. Maybe your kiss could make her forget about everything that had happened, even if it was just a moment. Sadly, against your wishes and her hope, you remained still. You were scared to take that step, so instead, you cherished her as she commanded; as you swore to do.
And cherish her you did. Even as she slept with Daario and exiled Jorah; your affections remained. Every so often, you’d think back to that night. Locked in Daenerys quarters with, what was probably too much to drink. If you had an ounce more of courage, you would’ve kissed her; but now you were sworn to live as a mere friend. As part of her Queensguard.
The day soon came, long after you first laid eyes on Daenerys Targaryen, when the rightful Queen announced her departure to Westero. You lingered outside of her door as she spoke with Daario about the finalities and loose ends in Meereen. She had confided in you, telling you that she wished to leave Daario behind to care for her city. You agreed that it was a good idea; you’d finally be rid of the source of your jealousy.
Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the mercenary. From your post at Daenerys’ door, you could see him exit her room. He peered around until his eyes finally landed on you.
“Our Queen wishes to speak with you,” he said sadly. You furrowed your brows, but nodded. You had started to walk off in the direction of her door when Daario spoke up again. “At least now you can be with her without the shackles of her other lovers. Until Jorah comes back, that is.” You turned your head, giving Daario a strong glare; but the man paid no mind.
You swiftly walked into Daenerys’ room, looking around for her familiar head of silver hair. As you looked, Daario’s words lingered in the back of your mind. Now that he was out of the way, you had a chance; however it was slim. You knew that Daenerys didn’t love Daario, but she did carry an affection for Jorah; as he did with her. If it came down to you and Jorah, fighting for the Queen’s love, it would be a close match. Jorah confessed his love to her while you still barred it deep within your heart. You had a chance to meet on a leveled playing field that night so long ago, but you had now missed you chance.
“Khaleesi?” You called out, after finding no trace of her in her bed chamber. You walked back out to the meeting table and smiled at you glanced out at the balcony. There she was, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the one you loved. “Daario said you needed a word,” you said, standing at the opening of the balcony. Daenerys nodded, still staring out towards the city of Meereen. You waited silently and she finally turned around. Her face was stern, brave as ever.
“You swore yourself to me long ago, before I took your home city of Meereen.” You nodded, not really knowing where Daenerys was going with that recollection. “You, as well as Daario, know it’s streets better than anyone else.” No, this wasn’t happening.
“My Queen, what are you saying-” Daenerys stepped towards you, the movement silencing you. Her blue eyes held your gaze and you knew your nightmare had come true. “You can’t leave me here,” you said strongly, trying to hold your ground.
“And leave my cities in the hands of Daario alone? Who would be the fool,” she said, putting on a soft, but fake, smile. “You have shown promise as a warrior and leader. You are one of my most trusted friends, Y/N, this is an honor.”
“With all due respect your Grace,” you said, lingering on her title, “it is an honor I do not wish for. All I want is to be at your side when you take the Iron Throne from the usurpers.” Daenerys took another step towards you, a small hand reaching up to brush against your cheek.
“This is an order,” she said lightly, her brave face wavering slightly. Your hand reached up, clutching the one of hers that rested against your face.
“Daenerys,” you whispered, hoping to appeal to her sense of friendship towards you. “Without you I am nothing. If you hadn’t found me-”
“Jorah found you,” she interrupted, trying to stop your speech. You simply shook your head, slowly moving towards her. She looked away from your eyes.
“He may have found me but it was you that gave me purpose. What in the hells would I be without you?” Her gaze softened when it met with yours again. “Your fire lead me out of the dark, Khaleesi. So I beg of you, don’t leave me in the dark, alone again.” Daenerys frowned and you could see the starting of tears in her eyes.
“Y/N, I must leave you here.” You shook your head again, closing your eyes to stop your own tears from falling. You needed to be with her, or at least tell her you desperately needed to be with her. You couldn’t be alone again. Jorah wouldn’t come back to find you, he’d go off to Westeros to find Daenerys. You’d be left in Meereen, the city you never really trusted. You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze once more.
“Why? I need a better reason than I’m your most trusted friend. You seemed to trust Daario quite a lot.” Daenerys had a sharp intake of breath, as if your words hurt her. “Sorry,” you whispered, “but it’s true.” Now it was her turn to shake her head.
“Not in my truth,” the very truth she still hid, “I trust you with my life, with my heart. That’s why I can’t truly lose you.” Your eyebrows furrowed together at her words. “I’m sick of losing soulmates,” she said sadly. “I’ve lost my husband and child, my closest friend to a sickness he might not heal from, so I cannot lose you.” Her hands went to your cheeks, cupping them as tears fell from your eyes and hers. “I won’t be alone again,” she said lightly, her eyes closing, “not because of fighting. I won’t let my war take you away.”
“If you won’t let me go with you,” you started, “and you’ll make me stay here where a grand sea splits us apart, how do we win?” You closed your eyes, leaning down to press your forehead against hers. All you felt was the warmth of her body, that was close to yours, and her soft hands against your skin. Silence was what answered your question.
Daenerys pulled away from you slightly, just far enough away to look into your eyes. You could see a fire burning deep within her soul; that same fire would burn all of those who oppose her in Westeros to the ground. IN her eyes, you also saw a bittersweet truth.
“We don’t win,” she whispered, giving voice to that truth, “at least not this time.” Her hands slowly fell from your cheeks, allowing you to step away from her small frame. Daenerys moved past you, leaving you on the balcony.
“If you need me at your side once more,” you started, “send word. Send a raven.” You turned your head to see your Queen stop and turn around. Her blue eyes met yours again, a soft yet sad smile playing on the lips you still longed to kiss.
“I’ll do one better,” she said, turning to walk out of her room, “I’ll send a dragon.” You smiled to yourself as your Khaleesi left her room for the last time. You walked towards the edge of the balcony, resting your hands against the wall around it. You gazed out to the waters surrounding the Bay of Dragons, admiring the fleet and army Daenerys had put together.
You’d see her again, you knew that you would. You were soulmates, forged in fires and struggles of life around you; and that bond is unbreakable.
i’m honestly just so confused by people being excited about jon being legitimate and the true heir to the iron throne or whatever
in what world would jon even want the throne? he doesn’t even want to be king in the north, king of his own people, people he’s known his entire life, for whom he fought.
in what world would he start calling himself jon targaryen?
all his life he’s only ever wanted to be a stark, he’s the one who looks the most like ned and he knows nothing about the man who (as far he knows) kidnapped and raped his mother, a man whose family burned his uncle and grandfather alive
his entire identity is based on the fact that he’s a bastard and his entire arc is him accepting that and showing the rest of the world (and us readers) that titles and birthright mean nothing
there’s a nameless bastard who fought beyond the wall for all the living, a man with no mother who gave his life for his people and a leader who was elected (elected!!) not once, but twice! in a world where people fight over what belongs to whom based only who their father was.
jon fought for winterfell, not because it was his birthright, but to avenge the people he loved and to make sure his siblings would be safe, he didn’t expect anything in return
he may be the prince that was promised, he may have a prophecy to fulfill but he won’t do it because of a father he never knew, and it won’t be because of the blood that runs through his veins, it’ll be because of who he is, who he‘s been brought up to be and who he has become.
i think he’d look at the iron throne and turn away in shame at the things people have done for this ugly chair
basically, birthright means nothing, titles are meaningless and legitimacy is a lie. jon has earned everything he has because he’s fought for it and he fought not because it was his by right but because it’s who he is and it’s what he believes in
Daenerys and Jon face challenges after arriving at Winterfell
Author’s note: Fluffy, smutty fanfiction ahead
Jon sat on the edge of
the bed and rubbed his face in his hands, scratching at his beard over and
over, before looking straight forward with unseeing eyes.
felt hot tears threatening to spill from her eyes to her cheeks. Why didn’t he say anything?
Only a few hours earlier as Missandei had been dressing her,
struggling a bit more than usual to button the bodice of the Queen’s dress, did
the two suddenly reach a simultaneous conclusion: Daenerys was pregnant. Their eyes connected in the looking glass,
sharing a knowing look. Dany had thought
the month-and-a-half at sea en route to White Harbor from Dragonstone had been
to blame for her “shrinking” wardrobe; she was not used to being so confined
and therefore inactive, nor eating so well, for so long. Never had she thought, for even a moment that
she could be pregnant.
Missandei finally broke the silence to ask when Daenerys had
last bled, pointing out the gentle swell of the queen’s once-flat belly, her now
fuller breasts, her darkening areolas and suddenly tender nipples. Dany’s red flower had not bloomed on a
regular basis for many years, she truly had no idea. When Missandei asked, “Who might the father
be, Your Grace?” Daenerys had shot her a disbelieving look and replied, “I
believe you know the man of whom we speak.”
After all, there were no secrets between Dany and Missandei,
her most trusted advisor. Missandei had
found Jon Snow in Her Grace’s bed in the morning on more than one occasion. She had changed the queen’s linens, the evidence
of their nightly activities plain as day on the silk sheets. She knew from their girl-talk during Dany’s
baths and dressing routine that Dany and Jon had lain together every night on
the voyage to White Harbor, and more-often-than-not they coupled two or three
times a night, as though no amount of love making could sate their desire for
one another. In truth, it was a
desperate attempt to make up for all the nights they had spent apart before
finding one another, and for all the nights they may never have if they failed
to defeat the Night King in the Great War to come.
A visit with Maester
Wolkan had confirmed what they suspected.
Missandei had held her hand as the Maester had performed his examination
and given them the news, and they both had sat for long moments in silence
after he quit the chambers she had been given on her arrival at Winterfell. Missandei was again the one to finally break
the silence, “Are you happy for this news Your Grace?”
Dany smiled. “So
happy. Missandei, I never thought I
would bear another child after …” her voice cracked, thick with emotion. Missandei turned and embraced her friend and
queen. “I am so happy for you both. What do you think Lord Snow will say? How will you tell him Your Grace?”
“I expect it will be a shock,” Dany said, worry furrowing
her brow. “I told him more than once
that I could not have children, though he did say I might consider the mage was
not an ‘accurate source’ for that information.”
She smiled at that.
“I believe he will be happy for this news Your Grace. Every man desires heirs. Perhaps he will propose a marriage. He is an honorable man and Lord Snow
explained to me that he, himself, is a bastard - that is, his mother and father
“I know what a bastard is,” Dany cut off her friend, and
gave her a squinty, disbelieving look as she continued, “This is unfortunate
timing, but then, when would be a good time?”
She gave a small, bitter laugh.
“I need to tell him Missandei, I need to tell him now. Can you send for him?”
30 minutes later, Jon Snow knocked at her door and she
called out for him to enter. They were
more formal with one another now than they had been on the seas. They had spent every night together on the
ship – either Jon came to her cabin or she to his – and had made love so many
times she had lost count. Afterward,
they spent hours talking while Jon held her close, his hand twined with
They had told one another their life stories in the still of
the night, the only noise their breathing and the gentle slap of the waves on
the side of the ship. Dany spoke of many things to Jon, both happy
and sad, some that she had never told another living soul. Jon pointedly asked her what she had meant,
when during their first meeting, Dany said she had been ‘sold like a brood
mare, raped and defiled.’ She had not
been prepared for the flood of emotion as she spoke of her brother Viserys
selling her to Khal Drogo, of her subsequent rape at the tender age of 13 and
many nights thereafter, of overcoming her trauma to love the Khal, the devastating
loss of both her husband – even though it had been a mercy, it had been at her
hand, had been her fault – and their child, and the guilt and shame she still
carried for all of it. Jon held her
tenderly as she cried for what felt like the first time in many years, his
heart overflowing with compassion and genuine concern for his queen, but there
was something else; something deeper that made Jon rage inside like a wild
animal at the pain and betrayal she had experienced at the hands of others. He loved her.
He was thankful those that had hurt her were already dead,
otherwise he would have ended them himself.
No one would ever hurt her again as long as he still drew breath. Longclaw, the great bastard Valyrian steel sword
given to him by Lord Commander Mormont, would drip with the blood of anyone
who would harm her. He silently vowed it
would be so. He took no joy in killing,
but could not stop his mind from conjuring an image of himself cutting down Daenerys’
enemies - shattering the Night King into a million shards of ice, gutting
Cersei Lannister as she sat on the Iron Throne.
Jon had no delusions about the possibility of his death - never had had
any. He had accepted the truth - that he
was the shield that guards the realms of men, and would lay down his life if
need be, he thought bitterly. Only
gladly would he lay down his life for his queen, Daenerys Stormborn, his Dany.
For her part, questions had poured out of Daenerys’ mouth as
though she couldn’t help herself, curious and impatient to know everything
there was to know about Jon Snow. Tracing
a slender finger over each of the scars on his chest and abdomen, she asked him
how he came to leave the Night’s Watch when the vow was for life, how he came
to be stabbed in the heart, and how he had survived his wounds. Jon explained how his men had labeled him a ‘traitor’
for allowing the Wildlings through the Wall, and had killed him for it,
expecting Dany to disbelieve that he had actually died, but she did not. He told her of the red priestess, Melisandre,
who had brought him back to life, and her belief that the Lord of Light had
resurrected him, for what purpose he still did not fully understand. He also told her what is was to grow up a
bastard, Catelyn Stark’s hatred of him and the coldness and distance from his
family he suffered as a result, and of his first love, Ygritte.
An intimate group, those closest to Daenerys and Jon – Jon,
Davos, Daenerys, Missandei, Tyrion, Grey Worm, Sansa, Arya, and Gilly – had assembled
in the Stark crypt beneath Winterfell at the request of Bran and Sam. Jon had assumed the meeting location was to
keep whatever information they had to share from the ears of the wrong people. They stood together in the cool, damp, darkness,
the only light coming from the sparsely spaced torches on the walls and the few
candles at the feet of the statuary.
When Bran began to tell his revelation – that Jon was the
son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, and not Ned Stark’s bastard as they
all had believed, Jon’s knees had nearly buckled. “This changes nothing,” Sansa had said,
matter-of-factly. “You are still a
Stark. You are still our blood. And you are still the leader the North has
chosen, the King in the North.” Clearly
the implications of what Bran had said hadn’t fully sunk in to everyone present. His throat dry, Jon’s gravelly voice broke
the silence, “I’m still a bastard. And I’m
not a Stark. I was born in Dorne - am I
even still of the North? It doesn’t
matter. I will still fight for the North,
bleed for the North, die for the North if need be.”
Daenerys stood beside Jon, so close her shoulder brushed his
arm. He could feel the heat she put off
in the cool darkness, through even his thick leather jerkin and fur-lined cloak. She sensed there was more dark words to come
from Brandon Stark, from this Three-Eyed Raven.
In the cool darkness, her hand brushed against Jon’s, and she caught his
little finger with her own, a silent show of solidarity and support. He accepted it gladly, twining his large
finger around her small one.
“That’s not entirely accurate,” Sam interjected with a bit
of trepidation, his eyes beseeching Bran to continue. Bran went on, “Sam told me Rhaegar and Lyanna
were married in a secret ceremony in Dorne, after Rhaegar had his marriage to
Elia Martell annulled. I used my
abilities to travel there and see it.
You were never a bastard Jon; you are Rhaegar Targaryen’s trueborn
son. Your true name is Aegon Targaryen
and you are the heir to the Iron Throne.”
There were several sharp intakes of breath before a hushed silence fell
over the group, each of them wondering what the ramifications of Bran’s
confession would truly mean – for the North, for all of them, for the realm.
To Jon, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of
the room. The only thing that kept him
standing was the warmth of Dany’s small fingers entwined with his own. She hadn’t let go, not even when Bran told
them that Jon, and not she, was the true heir to the Iron Throne. Somehow, Jon knew, she never would.
It seemed like everyone started to talk all at once, their
voices slicing through the quiet of the crypt.
The echoing din made Jon’s head feel as though it would split in
two. “Enough,” he said finally when he
could stand it no longer. The voices
stopped, all eyes on him. “I need time
to think, I need peace and quiet. Leave
me and do not speak of this to anyone.”
Respecting his wishes, everyone turned and began to make their way to
the stairs leading up out of the crypt.
Tyrion lingered a moment longer than the others before he
turned to go; his eyes narrowed and shrewd and missing nothing in the darkness –
certainly not the laced fingers of his queen and the bastard. He had seen Jon go into Daenerys’ cabin on
the ship, and it did not take much thinking to connect the dots in Tyrion’s troubled
mind: they were fucking – no, not just fucking – they were in love. Gods
help them all, he thought, for love is
the death of duty.
Dany saw Tyrion hesitate, felt certain her amethyst eyes
betrayed her true feelings for Jon, but it was her actions which left no question. She did not try to pull her hand away; she
wouldn’t let go and neither would he.
She looked at Jon as though for the first time, her eyes meeting his in
the torchlight. “Not you”, he said, obsidian
eyes blazing, his voice a velvet whisper. “Never you.” She embraced him then, her arms going around
his shoulders. “Blood of my blood,” she
said whispered against his neck.
Blood of my
blood. Jon never had a mother, never
had anyone to comfort him or hold him or assure him that everything would be
alright. And he was so tired, so weary,
so weak. He’d been fighting all his
life. In this world, men didn’t show emotion and they certainly didn’t cry or
need comforting from women, but Dany’s embrace felt good to Jon. It felt right. Daenerys comforting him didn’t make Jon feel
weak, it made him feel strong. For the
first time, he felt he had someone who had faced and overcome the same adversities
as he had - someone who understood him completely.
The group had agreed to keep the truth about Jon’s parentage
to themselves for the time being.
Northern politics were complicated enough as it was, more so now that
Jon had bent the knee to Daenerys. The Northern
lords had no trouble believing in the army of the dead or the Night King, but
asking them to believe that Daenerys Targaryen was not there to conquer them
proved a difficult feat.
Here in Winterfell, with all eyes on them, the freedom Jon
and Daenerys had to continue their physical and metaphorical exploration of one
another became little and less. They certainly
had less privacy for their wanton abandon, and less time to slake their thirst
for one another as nearly every waking moment was spent in preparation the
possibility the Wall would fall and the Night King and his undead army would
come pouring through the breach.
Not to mention that almost immediately upon arriving, Jon
had been rocked by the revelation of his true parentage. The nights had become long and empty for them
both, as there were too many people about in the castle to allow them to sneak
into one another’s chambers, even in the middle of the night. The fact that Jon was a Targaryen changed
nothing for them; in fact it made their connection run deeper than the name
they both shared, deeper even than blood.
Jon had been shaken deeply by the information Bran and Sam
had told him; everything he thought he knew about himself had been a lie. Robert’s Rebellion had been built on lies;
how many tens of thousands had died for Rhaegar and Lyanna’s forbidden
love? To protect him, the honorable Lord
Eddard Stark, who Jon had thought was his father, had lived a lie. It wasn’t that Jon felt his father had
abandoned his honor; quite the opposite. Ned Stark had been so honorable, so
loyal in fact, that he wrapped Jon in the cloak of his honor and sacrificed his
own reputation and even the trust of his wife for his duty. His father had chosen the hard way.
We all do our duty
when there’s no cost to it. Honor comes
easily then, Jon thought remembering the words of Maester Aemon. Yet sooner or later, in every man’s life,
there comes a day when it is not easy; a day when you must choose. Yes, the fact that the honorable Lord
Eddard Stark had done his duty when the cost was so great; that fact shook Jon
most of all, because he realized, he felt the same honor and sense of duty to
Daenerys. There would be no sacrifice
too great for his queen if he the day came when he had to make that choice.
But as far as Stark or Targaryen, Jon felt he did not have
to choose. In his heart, Ned Stark was
still his father, still with him always.
His mother was a Stark. He was
the blood of the wolf. He had yet to learn
what it meant to be a Dragon, but he was a dragon still. There was no denying his blood. He was a dragon raised by wolves. He could be a Stark and a Targaryen. He could be ice and fire; a dragon and a wolf.
Jon and Dany had managed only a handful of moments alone
over the last weeks since they’d been in Winterfell. There had been one or two stolen kisses in
the Gods wood and a brief moment in the cool darkness of the Winterfell crypt
before the statue of Jon’s mother, Lyanna.
Her body had ached for Jon’s touch, the sort of physical pain an
alcoholic goes through when there’s no drink to be had. In truth, he had ached for her just as
They had crossed paths in the hallway late one night;
Daenerys had been returning from the privy, Jon had been returning to his
chambers from the library. His eyes
locked on her, like a wolf stalking its prey.
He had pulled her into a curtained alcove, ripped her dressing gown open
to find nothing underneath. He pushed
her roughly up against the warm stones, claimed her mouth, pushed his knee
between her legs and slid his hand over her sex. Finding her soaking wet, he slid two fingers
inside, stretching her pleasurably. Daenerys found herself hitching one leg up to
wrap about his waist, giving him more access, more depth. His tongue in her mouth mimicked the motion
of his fingers pumping in and out of her soaking pussy, and he massaged her
swollen nub with his calloused thumb until she came, her legs shaking and her
breasts heaving, on a string of breathless Valyrian words Jon did not
And now she stood before him, having told him she was pregnant
with his child. “I know I told you I
could never have any children, and believe me, this is the last thing I ever
expected, my lord. But there is no doubt in my mind, I am with child. Your child.”
His legs had gone out from underneath him at the revelation
and he’d sat down hard on end of the bed, the second time in the span of the
week he’d felt the air sucked from his lungs, the ground falling out from
beneath his feet. A child. My child, he
thought. My child inside my Queen. He rubbed his face with his hands, he
scratched his beard over and over. Then
he looked up to see her standing before him, arms wrapped around herself, worry
and fear so plain on her face, tears threatening to spill from her beautiful
He stood and closed the distance between them in two
strides. When he reached her, he paused,
unsure whether his touch would be welcome.
She had been so formal, almost cold when she gave him the news, as if
she had clad herself once again in armor, ready to do battle. In truth, she was his one weakness, and the
thought did not terrify him as it should have.
He put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her to him; she started
and looked up at him, her violet eyes wide her lips slightly parted. “My lord?” she asked, her voice small and
shaky. He placed his lips against her
forehead, then enfolded her in his arms.
Her hands came up to wrap around his upper back and she melted into his
embrace. “Dany, there’s no need to be so
formal. Fuck the formalities. I am Jon, your Jon. You know that.” Her heart danced at that.
He needed to know how she felt about this child; all that
mattered to him now was her happiness. He
broke off the hug and taking her hand, he pulled her to the bed to sit beside
him. He angled his body slightly to look
at her. Gods, she took his breath away. It
was true what they said about pregnant women; she was glowing, she was radiant. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his
thumb calloused and rough as it stroked over the softness of her face. “Are
you happy about this child, our child?”
he asked. She was so overcome with joy
at the thought of the new life quickening inside her at this very moment, all
she could do was nod. Jon had never been
a talker, never a man of many words nor very eloquent, but at this moment, the
words began to pour out of him and he found he could not hold them back.
“Dany,” he began, his gravelly voice thick with emotion, “I
can’t begin to tell you what this means to me.
Until a few days ago, I was a motherless bastard with no home, no
birthright, no name. Then come to find
out, everything I thought I knew - about my father, my family, myself – it was
all a lie. The only truth I know now is
you.” Slayer of lies, Daenerys thought, as Jon continued.
“I had worn the name ‘Snow,’ the word, ‘bastard’ like armor
– I thought if I did, no one could ever use it to hurt me. I never dreamed I’d be named King in the
North, or have as much as I do to be thankful for. There was a time I thought I’d be a man of
the Night’s Watch until my dying day, honoring my vows to hold no titles, take
no wife, to have no children. The love
of a woman didn’t matter to me then, neither did having children. My Uncle Benjen warned me I wouldn’t have
given it up so easily had I known what it meant.
“So much has happened since then. I never dreamed …” He took a deep breath and
blinked hard, his emotions threatening to spill over, and fought to regain
control of himself. Dany squeezed his
hand, letting him know she understood.
Her warm touch gave him the strength to go on.
“I never dreamed I’d meet someone like you. You’re not like anyone else. You’re so fearless, so strong, and so full of
fire, so much a dragon in every sense of the word. On the ship to White Harbor, when we were
together, it seemed like time stood still, like everything else just fell away. I know what you told me about not being able
to have children. I know you truly believed it.
By now, I’ve seen so many things that shouldn’t have been possible,
experienced them myself … I’ve seen enough to know this child, our child is a
gift; a gift of the impossible, a gift of life in this shit world. In this world of blood and darkness, you and
our child, are hope. But none of that
matters, it’s all just pretty words unless … unless it means the same thing to
you, my Queen. ”
She had listened intently, letting every word hit her skin
and sink in, a soothing elixir to her heart.
“Jon, I …” her voice cracked with the weight of her emotions, “I want
this child, your child, more than
anything in the world. It makes me so
happy, but it also makes me afraid. I
don’t know what’s going to happen.
“I lost one babe before, the result of my own stupidity, my
own selfishness. The witch told me I’d
have another child when the sun rose in the west and set in the east, when the
seas ran dry, when the mountains turned to dust and blew in the wind … You can
understand why I never thought I would have another?” Jon nodded his understanding, brought her
hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm.
“And now, with the army of the dead on the
march, with the Long Night approaching … who knows if either of us will live to
see the dawn. All I know is I love you.”
((Okay, jsut so you know, if you want me to retry this open shot I DEFINITELY WILL! I would restart it and rewrite it from scratch but I don’t have time. I am so sorry if this sucks….))
((Word Count: 1,390))
((Warning: This one shot may suck…like REALLY BAD))
It was dangerous, highly dangerous, but Viserys hadn’t
seemed to care. He had taken one look at you and for some reason he had decided
to save you from slavery, from the chains you had been forced into by Khal
Drogo when his Khalasar attacked you and the others you had been traveling
with. Viserys was the elder brother to Daenerys, the new wife and Khaleesi of
Khal Drogo, so when he began to whisper about wanting to help you get free you
hadn’t believed him. He would never
leave his sister behind. He planned it for months, from Pentos until the
Khalasar was just a few days away from Vaes Dothrak, never giving a single hint
to you or anyone else what he was planning.
The first Jon chapter is A Storm of Swords is followed by a Dany chapter & this book has three Jonerys chapter transitions unlike the first two books. Yay! I have so many thoughts on this one…
Both Jon & Dany start out travelling, Jon riding a horse to Mance’s camp & Dany on a ship (Qarth to Astapor)
Jon talks about how Ghost is bigger, stronger & different than all the wildling dogs that keep barking at him just as he is different & will never be a wildling. Dany talks about how her dragons are the size of dogs now but her Drogon is a much larger beast. Plus I love how Drogon travels ahead of them or behind because he has to hunt, exactly like Ghost does.
Jon meets Mance’s sister in law Val & describes her as a beautiful blonde. This was his first impression of Ygritte’s hair in ACOK, “shaggy mop of red hair” so I guess it’s settled, he’s into blondes, not red heads.
Mance Rayder shows Jon a black cloak with Red silk stitched into it (Targaryen colors) because of which he deserted the watch. A wildling healer stitched her most priced possession, red silk from Assai, into his torn cloak but the people at the Watch wanted him to burn it & wear a black cloak. So he runs away to a land with freedom to wear & do as you want.
Not a Jonerys thing but this really pissed me off! Jorah enters Dany’s ship cabin to convince her to go to Astapor & buy unsullied but kisses her when she is getting dressed in an extremely creepy pedophile sexual predator way & can’t get a hint even when she tells him he shouldn’t have done it. Jorah stop trying to make boatsex a thing, only Jon can pull it off because he is smooth enough to make sure she actually wants him first! #Consent is sexy
But end of both chapters, Mance is gullible enough to believe that Jon wants freedom because he was treated like a bastard thanks to Westerosi Law. Jorah is delusional enough to propose: “The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders …Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me.” Well there is a Targaryen alive & well, to be her nephew husband. So like keep dreaming Jorah! God I hate this condescending & crusty pedo so damn much, he’s tolerable on the show but book Jorah needs to be bitch slapped! Jonerys and crazy old dudes *eye roll*
But Jonerys had the cutest childhood flashbacks
Mance tells Jon about the first time he saw him as a child when he visited Winterfell as a brother of the Night’s Watch:
“I was walking the wall around the yard when I came on you and your brother Robb. It had snowed the night before, and the two of you had built a great mountain above the gate and were waiting for someone likely to pass underneath.”
“I remember,” said Jon with a startled laugh. A young black brother on the wall walk, yes … “You swore not to tell.”
“And kept my vow. That one, at least.”
“We dumped the snow on Fat Tom. He was Father’s slowest guardsman.” Tom had chased them around the yard afterward, until all three were red as autumn apples.
Dany thinks about her childhood voyages:
The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives…. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she’d watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor. But when she told her brother, Viserys had twisted her hair until she cried. “You are blood of the dragon,” he had screamed at her. “A dragon, not some smelly fish.”
But I’m living for all of Dany’s worried mom & Dragon training moments:
Dragons always preferred to attack from above, Dany had learned. Should either get between the other and the sun, he would fold his wings and dive screaming, and they would tumble from the sky locked together in a tangled scaly ball, jaws snapping and tails lashing. The first time they had done it, she feared that they meant to kill each other, but it was only sport.
She took a chunk of salt pork out of the bowl in her lap and held it up for her dragons to see. All three of them eyed it hungrily. Rhaegal spread green wings and stirred the air, and Viserion’s neck swayed back and forth like a long pale snake’s as he followed the movement of her hand. “Drogon,” Dany said softly, “dracarys.” And she tossed the pork in the air.Drogon moved quicker than a striking cobra. Flame roared from his mouth, orange and scarlet and black, searing the meat before it began to fall. As his sharp black teeth snapped shut around it, Rhaegal’s head darted close, as if to steal the prize from his brother’s jaws, but Drogon swallowed and screamed, and the smaller green dragon could only hiss in frustration. “Stop that, Rhaegal,” Dany said in annoyance, giving his head a swat. “You had the last one. I’ll have no greedy dragons.”
Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other … Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion’s tail, to pull him off his green brother.
How many centuries had it been since dragons roamed the skies? But I dreamt that if I carried those eggs into a great fire, they would hatch. When I stepped into the fire, my own people thought I was mad. But when the fire burned out, I was unhurt – the Mother of Dragons. Do you understand? I’m no ordinary woman. My dreams come true.