The Storm That Was Promised || Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen

The Storm That Was Promised

"I hope I deserve it."

"You do."

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When he reached the door to Daenerys' cabin, the last thing Jon expected was to find an argument inside.

"Please, not that again..." Dany's voice rang muffled. "All this talk of love is ruining everything... What is it you want from me?"

"Daenerys, please," Jorah insisted, quieter than her. "Allow me to prove-"

"You've proven enough to me, Ser Jorah... Now, if you please forgive me, I must ask you to leave. I am expecting someone."

"... it's Jon Snow, isn't it?"

"You object?"

Before Jorah could say any more, Jon was compelled to finally knock on the door - dangerously on cue.

There was incoherent muttering inside the cabin, and then Jorah's footsteps grew nearer to greet him at the door.

"Mormont." Jon feigned surprise, but the friendly gesture was not returned in kind. Jorah coldly stared him down, gave his queen a last fleeting look, and briskly brushed past him.

Cautiously, Jon came into Dany's cabin, closing the door behind him as gently as he could.

He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, nervously searching the room with his eyes and looking around at anything but at Dany.

"Why are you still standing back there?" She smiled curiously. "Come forward into the light."

"You'll have to forgive me, Your Grace." Said Jon. "I'm afraid I'm still a little achy from the Eastwatch incident."

His body groaned like an old man's, but with every step he took closer to her, he found himself growing younger and younger again.

She stood leaning ever so slightly against the side of a table, hands neatly clasped, and wore dark blue robes and fur draped over her shoulders - it was unlike anything Jon had seen her wear before. The winter is truly here if even the mother of dragons must wrap herself in furs to keep warm. It beautifully complimented her snow-white locks of hair, he thought, but brushed the thought aside after he realized his smile grew a little too wide for comfort.Stop gawking at her like a complete idiot, he mentally scolded himself, disgusted by his awkwardness.

Meanwhile, Daenerys was quite obviously grazing her eyes up and down his body as he emerged from the shadows. "You look stronger than you did yesterday, my lord." She sighed with soft relief. "It appears you heal faster than most men, wouldn't you say?"

"Well- yeah. I suppose I am. I mean, I do... I, uh..." Jon fumbled over his words, swallowing back something that was making it increasingly harder for him to breathe. "Listen, Dany - all this - this curtsying crap – what say you we move on from that already? You don't have to call me 'my lord' anymore. I owe you my life. I think that makes us a little better acquainted by now."

Now it was Dany's turn to look away.

She focused on her fingers, fiddling them shyly, the thoughts in her mind having seemed to lose their graceful flow.

Dany. Only one man has ever called her that - a man whose very name haunts her like last meal's bile. But when Jon said it... it was as though all those memories were never real afterall. She felt comforted – so much so that she wanted to hear this gruff, northern boy to say it to her again and again.