JON
Jon Snow, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
The title played over and over in his mind as he lay awake in bed the night Daenerys proposed to him. He was so taken back that a woman as beautiful and powerful as her would even consider him that he said yes without thinking of the ramifications, and now just the title he would be gaining was beginning to make him queasy. Jon never wanted to be King in the North or even Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, yet here he was, standing on the precipice of becoming King of the whole bloody country - some highborn bastard who'd been sneered at and looked down upon his whole life, soon to be king of the very people who hated the idea of who he was. But the prospect of having Daenerys by his side to weather it all made the thought of it easier to handle. She had plenty more experience ruling over people who hated her if her stories of the masters in Mereen were anything to go by.
They still had plenty of details to work out, including how in all seven hells he would tell his people, but if Daenerys held true to her word and made him an equal ruler by her side, the Northern lords couldn't be too unhappy. Jon knew they would never consider Daenerys their queen, so it was crucial that he present the marriage alliance to them that showed it in the best light...
Gods , he needed to tell Sansa. He almost wished he'd brought her along to help with negotiations. Ser Davos gave wise counsel, and Jon was beginning to look at the man as a father figure, but he didn't know the north as well as he thought he did. Jon only hoped the two of them could navigate the negotiations without everyone losing their heads. His biggest worry was convincing Daenerys and Tyrion the threat of the Night King and his army of the dead were real. It was critical that they believe him and agree to mount some sort of defense against them. Tyrion seemed to be humoring him with his far-fetched armistice plan with his sister, and Jon couldn't deny how much more prepared they would be if Cersei would agree to send along troops as well, but in his experience, nothing ever went as planned; Tyrion's most recent plans more.
Best to table it for the night and ponder more on it in the daylight hours.
Jon sighed and rolled onto his side as he closed his eyes to sleep, the image of a very flushed and flustered Daenerys appearing behind his eyelids. He never thought it was possible for her to be more beautiful, but the sight of her cheeks turning pink as he kissed her hand goodnight had his abdomen tightening and trousers feeling uncomfortably tight, even hours later. He chided himself, knowing that since they were going to marry, he'd have her in due time, so it was pointless getting himself worked up now.
The next thing he knew he was being awoken by someone pounding on his door. Grumbling, Jon stumbled from the bed and pulled on a shirt, then wrenched open the door, blinking blearily.
"Davos?"
"Good morning to ya to, yer grace. Sorry to be buggin ya so early, but I wanted to ask ya something before I took Lord Tyrion to King's Landing. Can I come in?" Davos greeted, his hands folded behind his back.
Jon wordlessly stepped back from the door, allowing the older man inside before shutting it behind them and making his way over to the washbasin. "The sun's not even up. What's so important that it couldn't wait till after the sun was up?" He splashed some cold water on his face, sighing as it washed the sleep from his eyes and helped pull him to full consciousness. "Actually, since you're here, I've some news to tell you. But go ahead, you first."
"Alright then," Davos knelt in front of the fireplace, stoking the hot coals back into a small flame. "While Lord Tyrion speaks to his brother on our behalf, I'd like your permission to search Flea Bottom for a young man I happen to know, a blacksmith, and a damn good one as far as I know. I figured it would do us some good to have a smith here with us to start working on the dragon glass weapons. The stuff's no good to us unless we make it into weapons, and we're not making use of what we've already got. I want to fix that."
Jon began lacing up his gambeson and pondered. He'd considered having a few of the men they'd brought with them start making weapons, but Davos was right, having a blacksmith do it would be better, and leave more men available to continue mining the obsidian. "Do it. If Cersei agrees to this truce, we're going to need as many dragon glass weapons as possible in a short amount of time. It'd be a big help to have a blacksmith on hand."
"Very good." Davos groaned as he stood from the now steady fire, dusting his knees off. "Now, what did you want to tell me?"
"Queen Daenerys asked me to marry her."
Jon grinned at the look on Davos' face, the poor man's eyes so wide they looked as if they would pop out of his head. The smuggler laughed after a moment.
"She really wants the north so badly, she'd resort to marrying ya just to get it?" He asked, taking a seat on the bed.
"Aye. And this time she'll have it. I've agreed."
Davos ran his hand across his face in exasperation even as he laughed. "I dunno why I'm so surprised. Ya both have been looking at one another like lovesick children for a while now. At least this solves our mutual problems, but I wish you'd said something to me before agreeing. What all are we giving up? What is she giving in return?"
"We were hoping to discuss particulars with you and Lord Tyrion when you returned," Jon answered, pulling on his boots. "We decided it was better to have you both there for that discussion."
"Hm. Sounds like yer already working well as a team. That's good." Davos smiled, then clapped Jon on the back. "Well then, I'm off to get a bit of breakfast before heading out. While I'm gone, make sure you tell Daenerys about that trunk in the dragon glass cave. Perhaps she knows someone who can swim and retrieve it. I'd be very interested to know what treasures it holds."
Jon grinned back, giving his companion a nod. "I'll be down to see you both off. And I planned on letting Daenerys know about the trunk, it's on her island after all."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jon did his best to focus on their conversation as he held the torch high in the cavern and forced himself to not turn around. Every little splash and ripple of water grated across his nerves, calling to him to turn his head and look at her, his mind fighting a battle with his body, his honor barely winning out over his lust.
Damn Daenerys and her logic- she didn't seem to mind disrobing in front of him in order to keep her clothes from getting too wet, but she also didn't know how often Jon thought about her in less than appropriate ways. She made a point that he knew what parts were already under her clothing and that he would see them eventually because they'd agreed to marry, and his body was in complete agreeance with her. Yet.... he couldn't let her do it. He couldn't let himself watch her bare her body in front of him- if not for him- until they were married, or else he'd risk being more forward, he'd risk touching her, he'd risk laying with her if she showed any signs of willingness. And as much as he wanted it - as much as he wanted her - that was something he could not risk.
Daenerys was a queen. One who would be fighting alongside her troops in the coming wars and could not have a child in her belly or on her hip while doing so. Jon would not disrespect her by getting her pregnant before they married, even if she had the power to legitimize any bastard they had together. Life for a legitimized bastard could still be hard in Westeros, and he refused to put his own children through that.
So he stood steadfastly, patiently waiting for her to tell him he could turn around, and wishing once again she wasn't so gods forsaken beautiful. Her wet hair clinging to her face and chest, her leather tunic and suede leggings clinging to her still damp skin in ways that made Jon want to whimper. He gave her the torch and carried the trunk, using the simple task to have something else to focus on, and found by the time they had returned to the mouth of the cave he was nowhere near as worked up.
Jon gave her the honor of opening the trunk, his eyes widening as she pulled out the contents.
"A dragon egg..." Daenerys whispered in awe, reaching in and removing the egg from its confines. The scaled shell was almost pure white, with veins of red and silver streaking its surface. When she tilted it in the sunlight, the scales twinkled in opalescence. "It's alive! I can feel it!" she crooned, holding out the egg to Jon.
He removed his gloves before handling it, just as he had with Drogon, and took the egg with care, his lips slightly parted in wonder. It was much warmer than he expected, considering the trunk itself wasn't very warm when he held it. "It's so warm. Like it's got a fire burning inside it."
Daenerys pursed her lips, her brows furrowed in confusion. "When I held the eggs of my children and felt their fire, no one else could. You continue to amaze me, Jon Snow."
He felt his cheeks warm and his lips crook into a small smile at her compliment. Just how feeling the warmth emanating from the egg amazed her, he wasn't sure, but he was thankful for it.
After another moment of studying his face, Daenerys looked down into the trunk and rifled through the rest of the contents. The cloth came out easily enough to reveal a small leatherbound book, the spine cracking with age, but still completely intact. Her fingers traced the embossed three-headed Targaryen dragon upon the cover then opened it with care to a random page in the middle, a frown creasing her brow again as she tried to make out the words.
"What is it?" Jon moved behind her to look over her shoulder and squinted at the writing on the page. There certainly weren't any words he recognized. "What language is that?"
"It's High Valyrian... It speaks of forging weapons... 'Steel forged in dragon fire..." Daenerys replied quietly as her eyes continued scanning the writing. After another few moments, she closed the book and set it back into the trunk, then pulled out another long item, wrapped in more cloth. The cloth fell away, revealing a thick black horn, banded in a red and black metal that gleamed in the sunlight, with strange symbols branded into the metal.
"I've seen a horn like that." Jon mused as he set the egg back within the trunk, careful to nestle it back beside the book. "Not quite as extravagant, but similar in size. It was found with dragon glass daggers at the Fist of the First Men beyond the wall. Although it was cracked in half and the symbols on the bands wore off."
"When I was a girl, my brother told me stories of the Dragonriders of Valyria using horns to control their dragons... Perhaps that's what this is." Daenerys murmured as she ran her fingers over the horn.
Jon shifted his position, his arm reaching around her to touch the horn himself, careful not to touch her, but enjoying how close their bodies were to one another. He caught himself before he ghosted his fingers over hers, resisting the sudden and overwhelming urge. "Perhaps the book could tell us more." he cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, taking a deep breath to clear his head as he stood upright.
The motion seemed to break whatever spell Daenerys was under and she placed the horn back into the trunk, closing the lid as she moved to stand beside him. "Let's get this up to my study, and I can have a better look at the book."
Jon nodded and lifted the trunk once more, allowing Daenerys to lead the way. A short walk later they made their way through the castle to her study, the queen asking a guard to fetch Missandei along the way.
"Your grace? Is all well?" the brown skinned woman asked as she entered the room just behind Jon. "I had thought your ride would last at least until the noon meal."
"Ride?" Jon set his parcel on her desk and raised an eyebrow, his hands still resting on the handles of the trunk.
"I had intended on going riding after seeing Tyrion and Ser Davos off, however, King Jon and I went treasure hunting instead," Daenerys smirked, approaching him and reaching for the lid of the trunk. He stepped back, allowing her to pull out its contents and lay them out carefully on her desk, her hands lingering on the egg as Missandei approached, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.
"It's beautiful, your grace," she commented, her hand extending toward the egg. "May I hold it?"
To his surprise, Daenerys nodded, stepping to the side as she watched her advisor gently lift the egg from the table. Jon kept his expression neutral as he studied the queen, her violet eyes alight with the same eagerness she'd regarded him with as he held the object before them. The eagerness turned to confusion as Missandei set the egg back onto the table, and Daenerys regarded him with curiosity.
"Will you try to hatch it?"
Jon couldn't quite figure out the final look Daenerys gave him before turning back to the other woman, smiling softly. "Perhaps. I'm hoping the journal packed with it gives more clues as to how it is supposed to be done. I don't believe the circumstances that led to my children being hatched were exactly ideal."
He knew that story from their nightly suppers together- she had set the eggs within her former husband's funeral pyre, tied the witch responsible for his death to it and set it ablaze before walking into the flames. The tale was a tall one, but so was the tale of the Night King and the white walkers, he supposed. Plus, it was handy for a woman who was around fire-breathing dragons to be fire-proof as well.
"As you say, your grace. Shall I have the kitchens prepare the noon meal then? Will King Jon be joining you?" the other woman answered, glancing at Jon briefly and hiding a small, knowing smile.
Daenerys has told her.
"Aye. I've not had anything to eat today and didn't have any other plans. If that's alright, your grace?" Jon answered, somewhat emboldened by the fact that one of her closest advisors knew about their pending marriage and seemed to approve.
Her smile grew and she merely nodded before her advisor left them alone, shutting the door behind her. "She didn't feel it," Daenerys stated, picking up the book and heading over to the fireplace, sitting on a low bench in front of the large fire. "The egg, I mean. Missandei didn't feel the fire within it like we did. She would have said something. Do you know what this means?"
"No. Do you?" Jon removed his cloak and draped it across a chair before joining Daenerys in front of the fire, sitting on the bench beside her.
"It has to mean that somewhere, within your family history, the blood of old Valyria is mixed in. It is the only way to explain how Drogon reacted to you, as well as how you are able to feel the same life within the egg as I can." She said quietly as if speaking too loudly about it was forbidden. "Do you know who your mother was?"
The question surprised Jon, following such a proclamation of what his bloodline must be, that he hesitated on answering, and Daenerys seemed to take it as offense.
"I am so sorry... That's not-"
"It's alright," Jon replied, his lips pulling into a lopsided grin. "I like that you want to know more about me. But... no. My father... the last time I saw him, I was headed off to the wall and he was headed to King's Landing. He told me that the next time he saw me, he'd tell me all about my mother, but I never saw him again after that. I was stuck up at the end of the world, and he was stuck in a pit of vipers that took his head. I'm afraid the answer to who she was and where she might be died along with him." His heart wrenched as her face fell. "Why does that make you sad?"
"It seems neither of us knew our mothers. At least you knew your father." She replied, her gaze slipping down to the book in her lap before returning to his. "Tyrion and Varys have told me much about Lord Stark, and the picture they paint is much nicer than what Viserys made him out to be. As you and I grow... closer... I find myself regretting many of the thoughts I've had regarding your family and my overall treatment of you upon our first meeting. Can you forgive me?"
The lovely pink tinge was returning to her cheeks and Jon found himself wishing the setting weren't so intimate; he was sorely tempted to lean forward and touch her, gently kiss her beautiful lips and tell her it was alright, she has nothing to be ashamed of. As it was, he had no idea if she would take offense to such an action, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from going further if she accepted the kiss.
"There's nothing to forgive, Daenerys." He offered a small smile. "I grew up being told all Targaryens mad and bloodthirsty. Yet I've met two Targaryens who couldn't be farther from that."
"Two? You've met another?" Her eyes sparkled, lighting up her face with hope.
"Aye. Aemon Targaryen. He was the maester at Castle Black... probably one of the best men I've ever known." Jon replied, knowing his next words would dash that hope away, and cursing himself for being the one to do it. "He... passed, some time ago. From what I'm told, it was peaceful. In his sleep."
Daenerys was quiet, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to spot him in a lie. After a moment her gaze dropped as she let out a small laugh. "It would be my luck, that the only other Targaryen to survive the Usurper would be up at the wall, untouchable to the man who would have us all killed, only to die before I could meet him."
"He knew about you, you know. His steward would read him letters telling of your conquests in Essos." Jon said quietly, reaching forward and gently taking her hand in his to offer comfort, once again memorizing the softness and heat radiating from her. "He was proud of all you had accomplished. Truly. Perhaps at supper, I can tell you more about him."
Her breath had hitched slightly when he took her hand, but she quickly relaxed, her fingers gently wrapping around his as she nodded. "Yes, I'd like that." She gave him a soft squeeze then pulled her hand away and opened the book, carefully turning the pages until she came across the one they had been studying on the beach. "I... ah... I will have Missandei look through this in more detail and perhaps make a full written translation into the common tongue so that you may have a copy as well if you'd like."
"Aye, that'd be nice. I'm afraid I can't make much sense of," Jon leaned closer to look at the page Daenerys had turned to and frowned as he struggled with the words. "Gah-uma-gone course-ee-on... and so on."
His butchering of High Valyrian earned him a laugh, Daenerys' eyes sparkling once again. "That was horrid, Jon. Your accent is more suited to Dothraki, but if you wish, I can work on teaching you Valyrian as well. It says, 'Gaomagon korzion hen daor hēnka sȳz se bāneves lēda zaldrīzes perzys ēva māzigon hēnkirī. Pār mazverdagon egros.'"
"That's a mouthful." Jon cut in, needing her to stop speaking before he did something very stupid. The language was confusing, but the strange yet beautiful words coming from her lips made it increasingly harder to keep from leaning forward a few more inches and kiss her. "What's it mean?"
"It's instructions. Heat iron and steel together using dragon fire, and then shape a sword from it... folding over the metal at least a thousand times..." She replied distractedly, her finger ghosting over the page as she continued to read. "Down here it talks about crushing obsidian and using it to keep the metal pure. How would powdered obsidian keep it pure?"
Jon laughed as he recalled his childhood at Winterfell- on days when Robb was off learning what it was to be Lord of Winterfell, Jon would spend his time training with the sword or sulking around the forge, observing the blacksmith. Daenerys seemed almost offended by his laughing at her question, her glare quickly sobering him. "Sorry, I'm not laughing at you, I swear. I spent a great deal of time in Winterfell's forge as a boy. Never quite got the hang of actually making anything, but I know the process well enough. Fine sand is used in the heating of the metal to help draw out dirt and anything that isn't steel. It makes for a stronger finished piece. I suppose crushed dragon glass would be very similar to sand."
Daenerys' face transformed from anger to wonder, a small smile playing about her lips. "Jon... I think we may have just uncovered the secret to Valyrian steel. Dragon fire and dragon glass and folding the steel... it's no wonder there are no longer that many weapons left- a truly skilled blacksmith and an almost unlimited supply of dragon glass would be needed."
"And dragons."
"Yes. And dragons." she chuckled at his statement, shifting her body slightly toward him. "If we could find a blacksmith willing, I would gladly help with attempting to forge new weapons based on the instructions here. If we are successful, as a token of good faith, I would give the weapons to the North first, so that you may distribute them as you see fit."
He didn't know how long he sat there, gaping like a fool at her proclamation, captivated by her gaze. "I... ah... Daenerys. Thank you." He finally stammered out. "That will go a long way in getting the northern lords to trust you."
"I would hope so. I can't imagine we could make new Valyrian weapons as quickly as we could traditional weapons, and if you are right when you say they can kill the White Walkers, I'm thinking you could use them before I can." Her smile turned somewhat shy, and her hand moved to rest upon one of his own where it lay on his knee. It didn't help his stupor. "At the very least, they would be invaluable to each of the northern lords to pass down... to... their heirs..."
Jon couldn't help reaching forward with his free hand and brushing back an errant strand of hair as she spoke, causing her to trail off. Or at least, he thought she trailed off. The sound of his own heart beating seemed to slow down time and block out all other thoughts and noises, his sole focus being Daenerys as he closed the last few inches between them, his hand cupping her cheek and his lips tentatively pressed to hers. She relaxed against him, opening her lips to him so he deepened the kiss, his grip sliding from her cheek to the base of her neck, his other hand slipping from her grasp to slide around her waist and pull her closer... When the sound of the door scraping open made them both jump and pull away from one another, their heads turning to look toward the source of the noise.
Missandei had returned with a tray full of food and had the good grace of pretending as though she hadn't just walked in on a rather intimate moment, simply nodding at the two very red-faced monarchs as she set the tray on the table beside Daenerys' desk. She quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
He let out a tense breath, standing up and turning away from Daenerys, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. It was the middle of the day! In a room where literally everyone had access to, behind a door that wasn't even locked! What would have happened had the queen's advisor not interrupted them?
He couldn't even allow himself to go down that line of thinking. Perhaps it was best that he left for the time being.
"Daenerys I-"
"Don't." She cut him off as he turned to speak to her. "Don't apologize. It's fine, Jon. It really is." She was standing now, taking a tentative step toward him, causing him to step backward in response.
"I meant what I said in the cavern, Daenerys," he growled, curling his hands into fists to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her. "I want you, but I have to make sure that doesn't happen again until after we're married. Which is going to be especially difficult now that I know this isn't completely one-sided. So I think I'll go for now. I meant to check on the progress of the mine today anyway, and I've a letter home I should be finishing. I'll see you at supper? Assuming I'm still invited?"
Jon knew he'd messed up as he spoke, watching her face change from beautifully flushed and breathless to her queenly stoicism from their very first meeting, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what else to do. She merely nodded and walked over to the tray of food, effectively dismissing him by simply ignoring his presence. He gave her one last longing look before he stalked off, silently cursing himself once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There'd been a small cave-in in the mine, stranding two of Jon's men and three of the Dothraki workers Daenerys had lent him. It had taken him and the others working through the afternoon and most of the evening to free the trapped workers, and by the time Jon made it back to his chambers it was well past the time he would normally go to supper with Daenerys.
Surprisingly, there was a hot bath already waiting for him, along with a bowl of still steaming stew, a heel of bread and a giant horn of ale. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day, and he decided to scarf down the food and gulped down the ale as the water in the tub cooled slightly. Then he stripped, sighing loudly as he slipped into the large copper tub, allowing the hot water to soothe his muscles while he reflected on the day.
He'd been excited to show Daenerys the location of the trunk, surprised at her willingness and ability to go get it, awed at its contents and her willingness to share them. However, all of that paled in comparison to the way her body felt pressed against his, the taste of her lips, the exotic smell of her...
"Seven hells...." Jon groaned, sliding down under the water to get his hair wet, wiping it back from his face when he surfaced. "You bloody, northern fool." It didn't take him long to lather up and rinse off the suds and dirt as he grumbled to himself, worrying about how much he'd just messed up everything.
Her reaction to the kiss itself wasn't what worried him, he was actually elated that she had responded so eagerly to his touch; it was her cold dismissal of him when he closed himself off and suggested he leave. Perhaps she had misunderstood him in the cavern when he told her his feelings on siring a bastard, but... Gods , how hard was it to understand his worry? And now that he'd perhaps scorned her, would her proposal still be on the table? If she reneged, what would that mean for him and the north? Would she return to holding her help hostage on the condition he bend the knee? He'd be left either the Warden in the North or having to fight against her, assuming he survived the Great War, and all he'd have was the memory of a single kiss.
He was pulling on his trousers after drying off when he heard a soft knock on his door. After hastily putting on a nightshirt he opened the door and stood face to face with a Dothraki guard who merely grunted and held out a letter bearing the Targaryen seal. Jon took it and thanked the man, who promptly strode off without a word. He swallowed a lump in his throat, closed the door and sat on his bed, hands shaking. Whatever this letter contained couldn't be good for him. Why would Daenerys send him a letter and not speak to him in person?
With a huff, he broke the seal, unfolding the parchment and read the note:
Jon- I was a little disappointed you didn't show for supper, here I was thinking you were beginning to reconsider my proposal, but then was told about what happened in the mine and thought it silly of me to have worried quite so much. I'm thankful no one was hurt, and I do hope that this setback hasn't hindered your progress in mining the dragon glass. Please meet me for breakfast in my chambers an hour after sunrise tomorrow. I feel we have much to discuss before Tyrion and Davos return and we negotiate the marriage part of our alliance. Yours truly, Daenerys.