Long May We Reign

Do Not Disturb

JON

He couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she looked so tempting in just a dressing gown with her hair simply braided, the way her exotic citrusy smell still filled his nose, the way he could still taste her lips on his tongue, and the feel of her body pressed tightly against his. It made his heart pound just to think about it and his trousers were starting to become uncomfortably tight again. As he made his way back to his chambers to ready himself for the inevitable meeting he would have to attend, he prayed to the Old Gods, the New Gods, and even the Lord of Light that he would have a few moments alone to deal with his arousal.

It seemed the Gods were either cruel or didn't care, as Ser Davos and a man about Jon's age were already waiting outside his door when he arrived. He waved the duo in and looked the younger man over, noting his scrubby appearance and realizing this must be the blacksmith Davos asked to retrieve.

With a small huff, Jon nodded to Davos. "Good to see you've survived King's Landing."

"Yet again. Your grace, this is Clo-"

"Name's Gendry, Your Grace." The young man cut in, his blue eyes shining against his soot smeared face. "I'm Robert Baratheon's son. Bastard son."

The admission hit Jon like a slap in the face. He'd heard a rumor that Joffrey had had all of his father's bastards killed, but it looked as though one slipped through the cracks. He scowled, realizing Dany wasn't likely to react well when she was introduced to him, then glanced over at Ser Davos with raised brows.

Davos sighed with a scowl of his own. "He was meant to keep that to himself."

"Our fathers trusted each other. Why shouldn't we?" Gendry pointed out with a grin, looking between Jon and Davos.

Jon looked him over and gave a small shrug, walking over to his dressing table and pulling on his freshly laundered gambeson. "I saw your father once at Winterfell."

"I met yours in my shop. Is it alright if I wash up?"

"Aye, it's probably best you do. Washbasin is over there." Jon pointed to the table in the corner. "You're a lot leaner than your father." He added, glancing at the smith as he pulled on his armored jerkin.

"And you're a lot shorter."

He should have been offended by the comment, but Gendry wasn't wrong. He chuckled and pulled on his sword belt, securing Longclaw to his hip then pulled his messy hair into a leather tie behind his head to keep it out of his face. "I grew up on stories about them."

"All I ever knew is that they fought together, and won." Gendry's smile got bigger, his eyes sparkling. "Ser Davos told me where you might be headed, Your Grace, and why. Let me come with you."

"Don't be a fool, you're not a soldier." Davos cut in, his scowl growing deeper.

"No, but I'm a fighter. And he won't be needing a smith with a sword like that."

"Aye, but there are lots of others who'll need swords like this," Jon answered, rejoining the pair by the door and waving them out. "Queen Daenerys and I may have found how to make them. If you're half as good a smith as Ser Davos thinks you are, you'll be more use to me here, where the dragonglass and dragons are. Even if what we found is useless, we need weapons, and lots of them, as soon as possible."