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Chapter Text

Rewriting on 11/18/2025 because it was really not great lol

Jon and Daenerys are in Winterfell, in a small living room. The fire crackles in the hearth. However, it is not enough to warm the atmosphere, which is colder than the northern air. Each one tries to make themselves understood. But they brush against each other, without managing to touch. As if an invisible wall had risen between them.

[…]

- I owe them the truth, said Jon, his throat tight.

He knows. That she is right. But he can't lie to them. Not to them.

- Even if the truth destroys us ? says Daenerys, her teeth clenched, barely containing her growing despair.

She realizes that he doesn’t understand. Her voice becomes resigned, and it barely contains the pain she feels. She has the sentiment that he is moving further and further away from her. And that terrifies her.

- It won't, Jon protests softly, his voice broken.

He tries by all means to reassure her. Only, for once, to his greatest frustration, he is unable to find the right words.

- It will, Dany replies in a choked voice, tears in her eyes.

She gently shakes her head from right to left, her chin trembles despite herself. Her hands rise and grip the arms of the man she loves. She clenches her fingers on his tunic, her heart on the verge of her lips.

- I’ve never begged for anything, she whispers with difficulty.

She takes a shaky breath.

- But I’m begging you. Don't do this. Please.

She utters the last word in a desperate murmur. He remains horribly silent, and she seeks his gaze. If only, if only he could understand. His breathing is heavy, and he steps back slightly before raising his arms.

And he softly touches her cheeks, tenderly cradling them between his palms. He finally raises his gaze, locking his eyes with hers. A thin, tired smile stretches his lips as she looks at him, practically on the verge of breaking down.

- You are my queen. Nothing will change that.

He breathes these words as if he had never been so sure of himself in his entire life. His voice is firm, assured. She looks at him with hope.

- And they are my family. We can live together.

Daenerys shuts down. He doesn't understand. He will never understand. The tears slowly begin to rise, partially blurring her vision, and she holds them back with difficulty.

- But I'm your family too.

Her sentence resounded like a plea, a final call. He breathes harder. She hit the nail on the head. He hesitates. Doesn't answer. Daenerys feels like her heart has just been crushed. She collapses inwardly. But she won't show it to him, she won't give him that pleasure. She steps back and frees herself from his hands.

- I understood very well that I would never matter as much to you as they do, she said bitterly, almost with hatred.

Her voice becomes hurtful, even though she is merely expressing her true thoughts. She moves away, and bites her lower lip violently to prevent the despair she feels from showing on her face. She turns away, before suddenly feeling his fingers around her wrist, his grip firm but delicate. He brings her back to face him, forcing her to look at him.

- Why do you say that ? he whispers, his intonation a bit more hoarse.

She wonders if she is imagining the pain she sees in his eyes. Probably not.

- What do you think ? she spits out, involuntarily raising her voice, as her whole body trembles with an overflow of emotions.

Everything mixes within her, far too strongly and far too violently. Just... too much, too much, too much.

- You look at me as if I were a stranger. Since you know... I disgust you. I trusted you. And you... and you...

Her voice breaks as hatred and pain jostle within her. Her words come out like venom, acidic and bitter, and they seem to burn her throat as they pass. But the worst part is that they are sincere.

- Because you think it's easy for me ?

Jon's voice rang out like a stab, tearing through the heavy silence that had settled between them.

- You think it's easy for me ? he retorts, grumbling despite himself.

His hand tightens around Daenerys's arm.

- I learned that I am your nephew, that I am the heir to a throne I don't want. That my father is not who I thought he was. That I’m not a bastard. How can you believe for a single second that it doesn't affect me !

His breath becomes shorter, his words burst brutally out of his mouth, held back for far too long. Anger, sorrow, almost fear, resonate in his intonation.

- But I have nothing to do with it ! cries Daenerys, in a voice more wavering than she would have liked.

Too wavering. Her tears eventually win, and overflow from the corners of her eyes.

- I believed in you! I thought I could trust you ! But you gave me hope, you made me love you, and then you let me go, just like all the others ! Why are you putting all this on me ?

The water now stains her cheeks, humiliating her as if the mere pain wasn't enough. She clenches her teeth, her jaw tightens.

- Because you are involved ! Jon thunders, his voice breaking. Don't you think it's already hard enough for me to try to understand my own feelings, now that I know everything they involve ? I always try my best, and it's never enough !

They look each other straight in the eyes, out of breath. The love that once shone in the depths of their pupils is now mixed with so many different and contradictory emotions, which crush their ribs and make them feel like they are suffocating.

- So it's my fault ? groaned Daenerys, her heart aching.

- I never said that, Jon sighs, desperate. I... I don't know, I don't know anymore.

She turns on her heel, but he weakly holds her back.

- Wait... please…

His voice becomes almost pleading.

- Why ? she hisses. You're not going to listen to me. I laid myself bare before you, I gave you everything. While you don't believe me. You don't listen to me. You really made a fool out of me.

She tries to ignore the pain she now clearly perceives in his eyes and which reflects her own, without much success.

- I have never considered you like a fool ! Everything I told you, everything I did has always been sincere ! almost shouts Jon, furious and broken. Why are you saying that ? Do you want to hurt me ? Is that your goal ?

Daenerys shakes her head, closed off.

- You don't understand anything, she breathes.

- But I'm trying. I try with all my might ! And it's never enough !

His voice falters, and he plunges the dark storm of his pupils into the depths of hers.

- Tell me. What I must do to understand, he begs.

His eyes desperately seek an answer in Daenerys'. She tries to break free, deliberately avoiding his gaze, aware that one more moment... and she will give in. Only, he tightened his grip without hesitation, and she found herself unable to escape.

- I won't let you go. Not this time, he says, his voice broken.

She struggles, tears roll down her cheeks even more profusely. And all her restraint, everything she contains... escapes violently. More violently thane ver.

- I can't take it anymore ! I can't stand fighting constantly for people who hate me, I can't stand losing those I love, I can't stand being betrayed by everyone I trust, I can't take it anymore ! I thought you loved me, I loved you, I love you ! But you, you distance yourself, you give me false hopes, then you detach yourself ! Do you realize how much it hurts me ?

She pauses, her breath ragged. A lump grows in her throat, she refuses to let it burst. Her rage, her despair, escape in waves, violent and disordered.

- I come to help you, but I lose everything ! And what do I get in return ? Hate ! And then... I also learn that I'm losing you ? I feel like you're drifting away, you, the last person I had absolute trust in ! I don't know what to do anymore, I'm afraid of losing you ! Is it too complicated for you to realize how much I care about you ? Yes, surely. You, you are appreciated, you have a family, she says bitterly.

Her voice breaks once more, sobs rise, she shakes her head, refuses to give in.

- Me, I have nothing. I have nothing left, she spits out. You were the last...

Her voice cuts off as her head suddenly rests against a warm and firm fabric. She blinks, surprised. Jon wraps her in his arms, holds her close. He surrounds her with his presence, and slowly slides a hand through her hair, inviting her head to rest against him.

She hears his heart beating steadily through his tunic, while her damp cheek gently rests against his chest. He wraps her a little tighter in his embrace.

- Let me go !

She thrashes, struggles while crying. His voice suddenly rang out, broken.

- I’m so sorry, Dany. You won't be alone anymore. Sorry. I am so, so sorry... I fucked up. I'm here, now.

The tears rise violently in her eyes and she gives up all resistance. Her sobs finally give way, tearing her throat in painful gasps, she collapses into his arms. He holds her against him, apologizing tirelessly, as she cries like she has never dared to in front of anyone.

She clings to him as if he were the last person connecting her to the real world. He kneels with her and gently strokes her back, like one would comfort a child. She lets down her barriers, the water streaming down her cheeks, inexhaustible, soaking her tunic. He doesn't care. He cradles her against him, tenderly, with infinite patience. She falls.




But she finally has someone to catch her.

***

Daenerys closes her eyes, her forehead against Jon's shoulder. His strong arms surround her, gently pressing her against him. She would like to be angry, break free, tell him that he understands nothing and will never understand, that he abandoned her. That more than anything, it's his gaze on her, that gaze that has changed, that tears her apart inside.

But she is incapable of it. How long had it been since she had been comforted like that ? Worse, had anyone in her entire life ever embraced her even once without ulterior motives, simply to make her feel better ? She doesn't know anymore.

Her chin starts to tremble again. She tries to regain her composure, but her own body seems to refuse to obey her. Her throat is sore from crying too much, not to mention she feels exhausted. She leans a little more against him, and he tightens his grip on her waist, gently stroking the back of her neck with his free hand.

- I'm sorry, Dany, he whispers once again, his voice tinged with regret.

***

Jon feels Daenerys's body finally start to relax, although her shoulders remain stiff. Her fingers are gripping his clothes so tightly that he can feel her nails digging into his back through the fabric, but she doesn't seem to realize it. He has the vivid sensation that his heart is rising into his throat, and a violent wave of guilt washes over him.

He is completely lost, torn by his feelings. Part of him just wants to hug her, kiss her, promise her that everything will be alright, tell her that he loves her. Except that he can't. He doesn't know anymore, he's lost. He has the impression that his father, or rather the one he thought was his father, is watching him every time he gives in to his love.

Staring at him with disgust, like all his ancestors. She is your aunt. He would have preferred to never know. He no longer knows how to respond to her love without being overwhelmed by guilt.

Only then, right away, the violent remorse he feels is for his behavior toward her. He gave her contradictory signs, loved her and then brutally distanced himself, leaving her alone in her doubts and sorrow. Alone, in the middle of the North that stared at her, and still stares at her coldly despite all she has done for them – despite all that he, Jon, asked her to do and that she did -. Despite all her losses.

He only now realizes the pain she must have felt. He had suspected it, somewhere, she had lost her son, as well as the one she considered her father. But he had always seen her as proud and implacable, even thought she had opened up to him more than anyone else. Selfishly, he had always thought she could handle it all on her own. He took refuge behind this false certainty, and only now realizes how much he closed his eyes to all the signs that showed that, on the contrary, she needed him more than ever.

No one is strong enough to fight against such loneliness, such isolation. And he had abandoned her at the moment when she most sought his support, making her bear the weight of his own indecisions. She's right. She has nothing to do with it.

Jon feels her body against his again, and realizes how frail and small she seems to him. He slowly strokes her back with his thumb. She clings to him as if she were begging him not to let go, not to abandon her.

A new wave of guilt washes over him. Not so long ago, she would have melted, completely relaxed in his embrace, in a way that was enough to fill him with happiness.

But now, she's just afraid he'll leave. And he can't blame her, he just pulled away from their kiss barely a few minutes earlier. Her arms tightened around him and her wet cheeks broke his heart.

He slides his own arms a little further under hers, and gently pulls her closer to him, pressing her against his chest. He rubs her back, thinking of only one thing : to soothe her. That she feels good. That for once, she feels safe, with him.

He forms light, gentle, and regular circles on her shoulder blades, her neck, following her spine. And little by little, he feels her tipping. Slowly. Her body slumps a little more against his, her breathing becomes more regular, her tears finally stop flowing, her fingers relax.

He rocks her for a moment longer, and realizes without knowing how much time has passed that she has fallen asleep. He looks at her face nestled in his neck, finally looking relaxed. His heart overflows with an almost painful love. He is still just as lost about what he should do, about his duty, his choices, his feelings.

But he is sure of one thing. He will never let her feel that alone again. He turns his head slightly, rests his forehead against her hair, gently inhales her scent.

And he whispers "I promise." 

Chapter Text

Daenerys wakes up gently, initially lost. Her tongue feels a bit pasty, her eyes dry. She suddenly sits up abruptly, the memories of the previous night flooding back into her mind.

She realizes she is in her bed, in the room dedicated to her in Winterfell. She lifts the blankets covering her body. She had obviously been changed and put to bed. A wave of contradictory feelings overwhelmed Daenerys. The shame of collapsing into Jon's arms the previous night burns her cheeks. Worse, he had also brought her back to bed, apparently.

He had also... changed her ? She doesn't know what to think of this information, but her face gets a little warmer again. She suddenly hears a knock at the door.

- Can I come in?

Daenerys recognizes Missandei's gentle voice. She relaxes a bit and leans back against her pillows. A hint of guilt washes over her. She told Jon that he is the last one who matters to her and at the moment, she meant it. But now that she has a slightly clearer mind, she realizes that she carries Missandei truly deeply in her heart, like a real sister. She, at least, is still there. As long as she's there, everything is fine.

- Of course, she replies.

The young woman opens the door, and closes it as she steps into the room.

- Did you sleep well ? she inquired.

Daenerys is about to respond automatically, but closes her mouth. She probably slept better than she had in weeks. Since the boat with Jon, actually. When she had fallen asleep against him after...

Her cheeks flush again, and she shakes her head, refusing to think about their moment together. It's painful enough as it is, and she hates herself for hoping that they can one day return to their previous relationship, even after all his actions that have clearly shown her that his feelings have changed.

But... the day before, the way he had comforted her... and he had told her that his feelings for her were incredibly strong. She closes her eyes, annoyed with herself for still having that hope. This violent hope of finding him again, him and the way he used to behave with her before the revelation about...

She lets out a frustrated grunt. Her thoughts are definitely not going in the direction she wants today. She quickly reopens her eyes, smiles guiltily at Missandei, suddenly remembering her presence and her question.

- Very well, thank you. And you?

- Good too.

Daenerys hesitates for a moment, then finally asks.

- Jon…

The young woman seems to hesitate. She moves forward and sits down next to her. She gently takes her silver strands between her fingers and begins to slowly brush her hair. Daenerys closes her eyes. This little ritual every morning calms her. Missandei's hands are soft, caring. She eventually answers his implicit question.

- He brought you back last night. I was wondering where you were, and he arrived with you in his arms… Seeing you like that, resting against him without moving, I wondered if something hadn't happened to you. He approached carefully so as not to wake you, and he just told me that you were exhausted after the battles, the funeral, and the banquet, and that you needed to rest. I asked him to follow me, and he laid you on the bed. Very gently. Looking at you with an… original expression. After, he stood there for a bit, not knowing what to do, given the way he was standing, then he muttered something like thank you, take care of her, and he left, Missandei finishes. And then, I took care of you. You were clearly as exhausted as he had told me, because you didn't wake up even once.

Daenerys looks up at the young woman, disturbed. She doesn't know what to think of Jon's attitude. It's adorable – although she feels even more ashamed of having been carried like a damsel in distress – but it gives her hope. Too much hope.

She bites the inside of her cheek, refusing to imagine that things between them will get better. But she is not fooled by the weakness of her own heart.

- Thank you, she said softly to Missandei. For taking care of me.

- It's normal, she smiled. It made me happy to see that you were finally in a real deep sleep. And… did something happen with him ? she asks slowly.

The young woman is the one who knows the most. Daenerys has only confided a small part, but still a small part of what she feels for him, and especially of what she feels since she senses him drifting away.

- I don't know, she admits frankly. I don't know if something happened, or if I'm just getting my hopes up.

She has no idea if this will impact their relationship, or if he will simply continue to keep his distance as he has since... that day.

- One day he cares about me, the next day he distances himself, she continues.

She has a strong need to express what she feels. And she knows that Missandei will listen to her.

- Men are not easy in love, the young woman finally replies calmly.

- Tell me about it, sighs Daenerys.

They share a knowing smile. Even when talking about a subject that weighs so heavily on Daenerys's morale, and even as she almost feels like crying about it, the young woman's presence and simple words comfort her and lighten the heavy burden on her heart a little.

A wave of affection washes over Daenerys.

- Thank you, she whispers.

- I'm here for that, replies Missandei, continuing to gently braid her hair, a hint of affection and tenderness in her voice.

Daenerys relaxes a bit, a slight smile on her lips. Which quickly darkens. They would have to hold a council during the day to determine how and when to reclaim King's Landing. And Sansa would be present.

She was sure that she would try to throw a wrench in the works. Now that she had helped them, the hostility of the Northerners was almost even worse. She had hoped it would get better, but apparently, losing half of their armies as well as her heart's father, for them, it wasn't enough.

She gets up, dresses quickly, puts on a warm wool dress and fur-lined boots. She thanks Missandei for her hair with a gentle smile, and goes out to get some fresh air. As usual, she receives cold, hard, almost contemptuous looks from every Northerner she encounters.

She wants to scream at them, "Isn't it enough that I fought for you ? That I lost half of my army for you ? Half of my people ?" But this other remaining half, precisely, needs her. And she is now used to being insulted with looks. She simply ignores them, maintaining her usual poise.

She goes to see her men, tries to comfort them, thanks them for their bravery. She takes care of the food management as she does every day, trying to accurately count the human losses due to the battle.

Her heart clenches. Jorah is one of those figures that estimate the number of deaths. A lump forms in her throat, she swallows with difficulty. Don't let yourself get distracted. And she resumes her tasks even more ardently.

***

They are losing. Daenerys tries to keep a straight face as she is told around a large map that half of her armies are decimated, which she expected, but she also gets the stinging reminder that the Lannisters, on the other hand, have reinforcements.

She is then told that they have many new allies, while most of hers have been defeated. They are losing.

- We will hit her hard. We will ripe her out root and stem, she says, her face cold.

- The objective here is to remove Cersei without destroying King's Landing... Tyrion whispers.

He looks at her as if waiting to see if she will contradict him. She says nothing. He's right. They can't take the risk of hurting and killing hundreds, maybe thousands of innocents. But as Varys speaks, her marble face falters. She swallows her saliva with difficulty and lowers her eyes for a few seconds to regain her composure. She refuses to show weakness in front of her allies.

But what can they possibly do? Their chances of victory are low. Too low. Varys tries to tell her that she has allies too. Who believe in her, and who proclaim her name. She replies coldly that as long as Cersei is on the throne, nothing else matters. They need the capital.

Her brain is working at full speed. She can't find peaceful and feasible solutions. Unless... Jon's voice suddenly rang out, cutting short Tyrion's speech and his thoughts.

- We’ll surround the city, he announces.

As she turns her head toward him, her face softens despite herself. She is unable to look at him with the same coldness, the same distance, and superiority as the others. Her eyes lose their animosity. She listens to him attentively as he lays out his plan.

Tyrion jumped on what he said, but at that point, she was no longer listening. And neither does he, obviously. They look at each other for a moment. In his eyes, there is a slight trace of supplication. As if he were saying to her, "Please, trust me, it will work."

Their eyes get lost in each other. And for a few seconds, they can no longer tell if they are looking for answers on how to bring down Cersei, or answers about what they feel.
Jon finally looks away, hesitant, as usual. Daenerys lowers hers right after, and blinks quickly. Her heart on the verge of spilling over, she prevents her sorrow from showing. She tries to regain an impassive face, but her eyes remain lowered.

- All right, she finally whispers in a voice weaker than she would have liked.

- The men we have left are exhausted.

Daenerys looks up. Her expression suddenly hardens. Sansa. She was sure of it. That she wouldn't be able to help but find fault. She listens to his speech with one ear. She knows very well why this one contradicts her.

More precisely, she doesn't know why, but clearly Sansa has a problem with her. Her arguments don't reach Daenerys' ears. She will never be satisfied with the decisions I make. It will never be good enough for her. Despite everything I've done, she still finds fault.

The fatigue exhausts Daenerys. She has no more patience. She tries to listen to her anyway, asks her what she suggests. Sansa responds vaguely.

Daenerys then coldly continues, in an icy tone, about all the help she has provided –Obviously, Sansa doesn't thank her-. Jon finally intervenes in her defense. Despite herself, she feels her heart warm, spreading a gentle warmth thru her limbs. He defends her.

A thot then came to her. She will have to talk to him. From the night before. Before leaving. She needs to know. They will be separated for a long time during their journey to King's Landing.

The council is finally over and she walks out with a quick step, relieved, Missandei by her side.

Chapter Text

Jon waits for Daenerys to leave the council room, his eyes lowered. He then turns, ready to go, when Arya appears in front of him.

- We need a word, she tells him.

He looks at her, holds back a sigh. He is tired, and he has a good idea of what the discussion will be about. He turns his head toward Sansa, then Bran. He ignores his urge to flee, but he is already exhausted in advance. The discussion was going to be long...

- I respect what you have done, Arya says slowly.

Jon has a little hope. They are gathered under the tree. Arya, Sansa, Bran, and him.

- We needed her.

Despite himself, he tenses up. He wants to tell her to stop talking about Daenerys as if she were a tool, almost one that you get rid of when you no longer see its usefulness.

- We needed her armies, her dragons...

And what ? Did he suddenly want to ask. Now that we no longer need her army, her dragons... we're going to throw her away ?

- You did the right thing.

Despite himself, her words suddenly reach him. He is told so rarely that it does him a world of good. And coming from his sister, the short phrase does him even more good, soothing his heart.

- And we’re doing the right thing telling you we don’t trust your queen.

A violent resentment suddenly swells in his chest. Why do they need to constantly question Daenerys ? They don't see her as he does. And they didn't see her break down the day before because of people just like them who don't trust her and clearly never will, despite everything she has done for them.

- You don't know her yet, he grumbles, his voice lower.

- I’ll never now her, she’s not one of us, Arya protests.

It's too much.

- Stop.

Arya pauses, surprised. Jon's tone is more subdued and threatening than it has ever been with her.

- What exactly is your problem ? You don't trust her ? What more does she have to do ? She sacrificed everything for us. I can't stand you constantly criticizing her anymore. Do you at least realize it ? he breathes, feeling the anger rising within him.

- She looks down on us, Sansa blurts out.

- She is your queen ! cuts Jon off before she can continue. It's normal that she's superior. And given how you constantly challenge her, she could have done much worse !

He's had enough. Enough. He understood what she was going thru. He especially understood how badly she was dealing with it, even tho she never showed it – except to him -. And there, his sisters were spitting in her back. Again.

- You... tempt Arya.

- No, that's enough, he grumbles, furious.

He loves his sisters with all his heart. But he also loves Daenerys. And she, she never criticized them behind their backs. She had already suspected Sansa, she had already reproached her for not respecting her. But criticize her just to criticize her ? Never. When she had every reason to. And obviously, unlike her, Sansa and Arya don't hold back at all when it comes to bringing her down even lower than dirt.

- I've had more than enough of your childishness. You have no empathy ? She is human. Do you think it doesn't hurt her, in the long run, to be constantly demeaned and hated by a people she saved ?

- She is not part of our family, Arya says firmly.

- I am his family ! hisses Jon.

He doesn't know why, but he feels furious. He sees her again crying all the tears in her body against him. Despair rises as well. Why don't they understand ?

- You are not her family, Sansa protests. You are a Stark.

It's too much. He needs to tell them. And he also needs them to understand. That she is no more foreign than he is. He looks at Bran, his breath short. He no longer has time to hesitate. He needs them to understand.

- Tell them.

Bran stares at him. Arya and Sansa turn toward him, surprised and worried.

- Wait. Promise me that what Bran is going to tell you, you won't repeat to anyone, he says abruptly, out of breath.

They try to protest.

- Promise it, he repeats in a harsh voice.

They end up swearing, a bit reluctantly.

- Go ahead, ask then Jon, turning a little more toward Bran. Tell them.

***

Daenerys goes back to her room. Her belongings have been packed and organized. The departure for the final battle has been set for the afternoon, in just a few hours. She wants to get to King's Landing as quickly as possible. The more time she gives the Lannisters, the stronger they become.

She sighs, momentarily lost in her thoughts. She needs to talk to Jon. They won't see each other again for a while, throughout the entire journey, and she needs to know where they stand. A deep hope resides in her heart despite herself, but she refuses to give it too much importance.

She gets up and goes out into Winterfell. Three dothrakis follow her as usual. She had always kept them as a mere precaution, but now, she wouldn't be surprised if a Northerner ended up jumping on her, given how harsh their gazes are and fixed on her. It was to the point where she almost wondered if without Jon constantly reminding them, they would have kept their promise to help her in return.

She moves forward without paying them any attention, and finally finds Jon. He is talking with some of his troops. He suddenly smiles, a sincere, deep smile. Daenerys melting despite herself. And at the same time, she can't help but wonder how long it has been since he smiled like that with her.

She walks toward him, the almost muddy snow accumulating under her boots. Jon's gaze changes immediately upon seeing her, but she couldn't tell if it was in a positive way or not. He gives a slight nod to his men – who don't bother to give her a nasty look – and joins her. They stare at each other for a moment, as if unable to tear their gazes away from one another. Their breaths form small, misty clouds, regular. Jon's dark gray eyes, like a storm, draw Daenerys in despite herself. She makes a violent effort to turn away, and whispers softly, with that particular intonation she only uses with him.

- Can we talk?

He simply nods, and they move away from the small group, venturing into the streets of Winterfell. The white blanket covering the roofs and walls of the houses, as well as the ground, seems to muffle the sounds. For a city preparing to go to battle, the calm seems almost surreal.

Daenerys quickly signals her Dothrakis to leave them alone. They finally isolate themselves away from prying eyes, in a small living room heated by a wood fire. They remain silent for a moment, arms dangling, neither knowing where to start.

She practically stops her hands from shaking, annoyed with herself for feeling so stressed – a mix of apprehension, hope, anticipation, worry ? – in any case, her body seems to be overheating, and her heart is beating much too fast.

She is about to speak, finally making up her mind despite her dry throat and sweaty hands. But he speaks just before, and Daenerys immediately senses that his tone is heavy, almost… guilty ? A bad feeling fills her chest.

- Daenerys… he whispers, hesitant.

He seems to be trying to adopt a firm voice, to maintain his composure.

- I told them, he continues.

A chilling shiver shakes Daenerys, freezing her from her ears to her toes, despite the ambient warmth. A long cold sweat trickles down her spine. No. She begs him with her eyes. To tell him that she is wrong, that she is misinterpreting his words. That it's not what she thinks.

- I told them, he resumes, his voice hoarse. To Sansa and Arya. But I made them promise to keep it between us, and not to repeat it to anyone. Daenerys, I assure you ! he adds, a slight tinge of despair in his voice when he sees her fall apart.

She feels something within her collapsing, brutally. She couldn't say exactly what it was, but it hurt. Why ? She begged him. With all her heart, she crumpled in front of him, she showed herself vulnerable. She suddenly felt stupid for ever hoping that it could go back to how it was before. She had lost him a long time ago.

- I had to tell them, he continues in a low tone with a mix of confidence and despair, as he sees her barely contain her trembling.

- I begged you not to do it ! It's the only thing I've ever asked of you, Jon ! The only one !
Her voice is bitter, the words burn her throat as they escape. A sour taste fills her mouth. Fear. Anger. She fought her whole life for this Throne. It was this goal that guided her and gave her the strength to move forward. Despite the humiliations, the violence, the betrayals. Despite the pain. And she always wore her name proudly. Daenerys Stormborn. The last heir of House Targaryen. And even that, they took from her?

Jon is naive to believe for a single second that Sansa will keep the secret. Daenerys knows it all too well. She knows very well that it's only a matter of time before the rumor spreads. And they hate her. The North hates her. Even after all she's done, even after all she's sacrificed. And... they adore Jon. He's going to take the Throne from her.
She tries to keep a straight face, but her breath quickens, becoming almost irregular, and her chin trembles despite herself.

- Why ?

There is as much hatred, anger, as there is despair in his words. But above all, the misunderstanding. Brutal.

- I couldn't lie to them, he whispers. Not to them…

- You betrayed me ! she hisses, her voice icy despite her shattered heart.

Ah. She was right, in the end. He will always choose them. She had only just realized how much. She falters for a moment, her heart on the verge of leaping out of her chest. Nausea violently takes hold of her.
He immediately steps forward, a flash of worry crossing his eyes. He catches her firmly in his arms, supporting her body that her legs no longer have the strength to carry. But she abruptly pulls away from his hands as if he had burned her. She sees in his gaze that she has hurt him, but she herself is too broken to pay attention.

And then, how many times had he also withdrawn, leaving her alone and lost ? Anger ravages her heart. She is used to betrayals. It doesn't even hurt her that much anymore. So why, coming from him, does she feel like her world is collapsing ? She knows the answer. Even tho it destroys her to think that she still feels that way about him.

- Daenerys, I promise you I will never take that Throne, he asserts, trying to reassure her, to convince her that it won't change anything.

- They won't care about your opinion, she grumbles, out of breath.

A wave of worry washes over her at these words. Not for her. But for him. That's true. No one asks his opinion either. Anger almost rises then. Why do they have to force him to take power if he doesn't want it? The secret hasn't spread yet - unless Sansa spoke right after - but she knows very well that as soon as that happens, neither she nor Jon will have a say... He looks at her for a moment, his eyes deeply locked with hers. She sees his sorrow, and almost a plea, that she understand his feelings, his genuine desire to do well. An immense weariness overwhelms her. She no longer has the strength to feel anything. She has the sensation of being emptied. Again. As if she felt nothing anymore.

- All we can do now is hope that Sansa keeps her mouth shut. Which she won't.

Her voice is cold, dry. She regains her usual impassive expression. Her Queen's mask. How long had it been since she had looked at him like that ? She stares at him coldly. Then she prepares to turn on her heels, her heart desperately empty.

He suddenly grabs her by the shoulders. He presses his fingers, which sink slightly into the thick wool of her dress, as if trying to bring her back, to pull her out of this completely closed-off state she has just slipped into. Because he knows better than anyone that it's just a facade.

- Look at me, he orders her gently. I promise you that I will not take this Throne, Daenerys. I promise you.

He hesitates, takes a deep, almost whistling breath.

- I... I'm lost, he admits, the pain gripping his throat. I don't know what I feel anymore. I am torn between what I feel for you, what my heart tells me, or what my reason tells me. I try my best, but I constantly find myself in the middle of conflicts between the people who are most dear to me. I don't know anymore, Daenerys. I don't know if I made the right choice. I don't know if I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life. But I promise you that I never wanted to hurt you. I swear. You... you matter to me. Really. And... I can't figure out what I should do, I can't figure out how to act. I... I need time. Because I can no longer understand my own feelings. But there is one thing I am sure of, even if I don't yet know how to express it, even if I don't yet know how I have the right to express it. What I feel for you is infinitely stronger than anything I've ever felt for anyone, he whispers in a final desperate murmur.

His voice is hoarse, almost broken. Daenerys realizes that he has opened up to her like he had never dared to do before. He had just laid bare his feelings, confiding in her everything he felt. Like he had perhaps never done in front of anyone. His dark gray eyes desperately seek an answer in hers.

She feels the tears rising abruptly. She refuses to let them flow. A salty drop still pearls at the edge of her eye, and rolls down her cheek despite herself.
He raises his hand almost instinctively, but suddenly seems to hesitate. As if he was waiting for her agreement. She doesn't move. He then brings his fingers a little closer and gently wipes away the fine droplet with his thumb, which had already started to trace a damp trail below her eye.
They stare at each other for a moment, their faces just a few centimeters apart. Their warm breaths mix. Jon's fingers remain pressed against her shoulders, like a solid support. She takes a painful breath.

- All right, she whispers.

The words burn her lips, hurt her. But she sees his sincerity. And a wave of guilt washes over her. She practically lashes out at him, blinded by pain, but he is just as lost as she is. He never asked to have a claim to the Throne, he never asked to be Targaryen. He told his sisters. He shouldn't have. But... somewhere, his name belongs to him. She has no right to it, and even if she did, she would never force him to obey her anyway. And she knows it. She knows him. She also fell in love with him for that.

He is upright, honest, fair. He would have been incapable of lying to them, he is incapable of it. It would have eaten away at him. And he had warned her. He had spoken to them behind her back, but he had told her beforehand that he wanted to do so, and now he was telling her that he had done it. As he so aptly put it : he tries to do his best. He tries to do what seems most fair to him.

Including what he feels for her. She knows very well what makes him so hesitant in his behavior around her. What makes his once confident gestures now unsure. She wants to shout at him, to scream that as long as he loves her, nothing else matters. No matter what they have learned. A lump rises in her throat as an almost childlike thot takes hold of her. I want it to be the way it was between us. But she knows he can't. At least not now. She closes her eyes, bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying.

- Think, then. Put some order, she whispers.

He looks at her for a moment, his face marked by sorrow. Her voice is broken, weary.

- I understand. I know it's hard for you. Thank you... for your honesty. Take your time to think. But in the meantime, don't give me any more contradictory signs. Don't give me hope like that. Because it hurts me more than anything. And for Sansa...

She doesn't finish her sentence. She no longer has the strength. These few words she herself uttered tear her apart. She would like to beg him to love her, to try to ignore his principles. But she loves him too much. She loves him too much to ask him to do that, to go through that for her.

She gently moves away, freeing herself from his grip. He seems to want to say something, to hold her back, anything.

- We'll meet in King's Landing, she whispers, drained. Have a good trip.

She turns on her heel and leaves the room. Her tears stream down her cheeks without her being able to hold them back, barely after she crosses the threshold. She clenches her teeth, tightening her jaw as much as possible. Stay strong. Like you always have been.

Chapter Text

- Jon!

He suddenly comes back to himself and realizes that Ser Davos has been calling him for a while.

- Excuse me, I was lost in thought… he sighs.

- We should set up camp in an hour, given the position of the sun. It won't be long before it gets dark. Does that work for you?

Jon quickly thanks him and agrees. Davos relays the information to the captains of the retreating troops and makes no further comment. But he looks at him with a hint of concern.

It's been a week since they started walking to King's Landing. And Jon still can't sort out his thoughts. And especially in his feelings.

He sighs. She is so beautiful. Her silver hair, her deep violet eyes, her soft skin. The curve of her jaw. Which makes him want to grab her chin and kiss her until they run out of air. Her lips, too, and her smile, rare but radiant. Her scent, a mix of fire, embers, but also honey, bringing a light, warm, and sweet note.

Even more, the way she addresses him, with that particular intonation she reserves for him. The way her face softens when she talks to him. Her strength of character. Her vulnerability, too, which she dares to reveal only in front of him.

And then, the way she looked at him. To look at him as if she saw in him much more than he himself could see. The way she would plunge her eyes into his. With an intensity that gave him both the illusion of drowning and breathing for the first time in years. This intensity that each time ignited a deep, burning fire in the pit of his stomach.

He shakes his head, disturbed, his cheeks a little flushed. If only he had never known. It would have been so much simpler. They walk for a while longer, then finally dismount and set up camp on a large plain. Jon, with the help of a few men, marks their progress on a map and calculates how much travel time they have left.

He then eats some dried meat and slips into his tent rather than sitting around the fire with the others. He's not in the mood to talk. He feels a deep need to be alone. Well, more precisely, he would like to be with her. Is she okay ? She's with Grey Worm, Tyrion, Missandei, Varys. And Drogon, Raeghal. Everything must be going well on her side. He hopes so.

He turns over in his bed, wrapped in thick furs. At least, the further south they go, the warmer the air becomes. That will be better for her. She didn't seem to have enjoyed the cold. He suddenly growls.

Daenerys has occupied his thoughts since the beginning of the journey. He can't help but worry about her constantly. They haven't heard any news yet. Jon assumes it's positive, but he would have liked to know a little more about where they were.

He tries to close his eyes, but his thoughts automatically bring him back to her. His heart clenches violently when he thinks about the last time they spoke. She had looked so hurt. So broken. His instinct had screamed at him to take her in his arms.

But she was right. He couldn't embrace her, then ultimately regret it afterward, overwhelmed with guilt, and subject her to his own internal conflict. He feels guilty. He feels terribly guilty. He suddenly has the impulsive urge to hit himself. Why couldn't he get past their bond?

In any case, despite all his doubts, he is sure of one thing. And the more he thinks about it, the more he feels that this feeling completely takes over him, practically possessing his entire body. He would like to deny it, tell himself that it's wrong, that he doesn't have the right. But he is incapable of it. This feeling is too strong, much too strong for him to ignore. He loves her.

Strangely, admitting this to himself makes him feel better. He sighs heavily, then finally decides that he will think more about it the next day. What he repeated to himself every night since they had left, and what he pushed back every time dawn arrived. He tries to go to sleep, without success. And involuntarily, his thoughts drift back to her again. He finally manages to fall asleep... imagining her looking at him tenderly, with her sweet smile.

***

Daenerys closes her eyes. The fresh and salty morning air does her good. She clings a little more to Drogon's spikes, her limbs slightly numb. The rising sun slowly warms her face, chasing away the feeling of persistent cold that has been lingering for a while.

She stifles a slight yawn, then glances downward. She observes her fleet with pride. She will finally reclaim her right. At the thought of rights, Jon suddenly comes back to her mind. Him and his smile that transforms his face, his eyes as dark as the storm, his firm arms that gave her the feeling of being protected. gAve.

She vehemently rejects her thoughts. She refuses to have even the slightest glimmer of hope regarding the two of them. Even though she can't help but hope anyway, much to her annoyance. She sighs, trying to sort out her thoughts. She looks to her right. Raeghal has bounced back since his injuries against the Night King.

A warm smile stretches across her face. Her two sons are still there. And they will never abandon her. Their loyalty is unwavering. She absentmindedly strokes Drogon's scales. She couldn't say how much longer they moved forward before a strange hiss caught her attention.

Followed by a repulsive sound of metal sinking into flesh. In echo to this sound, Raeghal suddenly screams, losing his balance. He flaps his wings with difficulty, and Daenerys feels terror surge through her. She looks at him in astonishment, in complete incomprehension. A metal stake is deeply embedded in his chest. She realizes what has just happened, and powerlessness and fear overwhelm her, abruptly accelerating her heart rate.

The whistle sounds again, and Daenerys watches, horrified, as a second stake is launched, almost tearing his wing. He cries out in pain and struggles to avoid falling, but a third throw brutally pierces his throat from one side to the other. A gush of blood, abundant, escapes from his mouth as he falls.

Daenerys feels like she's watching the scene in slow motion. Her breathing quickens, becomes shorter, irregular, as she has the vivid sensation that someone has just ripped her heart out through her throat. Her vision blurs, she hears nothing but the blood pounding violently in her ears, and Raeghal's heart-wrenching screams. Her son.

He crashes into the water, causing an explosion of foam. Then nothing. He disappears into the depths of the sea in an instant. Daenerys's hands begin to shake violently, she is almost no longer aware of her own body, as her face contorts into an expression of immense hatred and pain.

Euron's fleet suddenly appears, concealed behind a rocky island. It's him. She feels a violent rage surge through her veins. The boats are arming in her direction. She directs Drogon toward them, desperate, consumed by indescribable fury.

She screams in pain, determined to raze them, burn them, until there is nothing left of them. But a volley of stakes forces her to turn back, as deep sorrow takes hold of her. Her tears blur her vision, making the world appear more hazy.

She can't approach them, she can't risk losing Drogon. And she suddenly sees. Her own ships exploding under the assault of those of Euron. Her fleet is brutally destroyed. What remains of her armies takes refuge on the coasts, swimming. Daenerys had rarely felt such pain. And the helplessness seized her, deep within herself. Awakening her brutal hatred.

They just killed her son. They have just decimated a large part of her fleet. Her breath becomes ragged as she desperately tries to sort out her thoughts. But she can only witness the massacre of her men, without being able to intervene.

***

- Dracarys!

Missandei's head detaches from her body at the same time that Daenerys feels her heart being ripped from her chest. She almost wants to reach for her torso, to see if she can feel the gaping hole.

She feels nothing but hatred anymore. An immense, deep, violent hatred. As if fury alone flowed through her veins instead of her blood. Her jaw clenches to the point of hurting, her face contorts brutally, involuntarily.

And her gaze is filled with such rage that she can't even fully express it, fully feel it. She stares at Cersei. You will pay. I swear on anything you want that you will pay.

Missandei was her friend. Her confidante. They had taken her son from her. They were now taking her sister from her. Her throat tightens to the point of suffocation, as her fists clench so tightly that her knuckles turn completely white, leaving deep nail marks in her skin. She slowly turns her back on Cersei. You will pay. Believe me, you're going to pay.

***

Jon sighs, exhausted from their many hours on horseback. He carefully looks at the map spread out in front of him. If he's not mistaken...

A young man suddenly bursts into his tent, hastily. Jon looks at him, bewildered. A violent anxiety grips him when he sees how alarmed the boy looks.

- A letter… from Dragonstone… he groaned, trying to catch his breath.

He doesn't have time to continue before Jon practically snatches the scroll from his hands, fear now well present in his veins. They shouldn't go to Dragonstone. Daenerys was not supposed to go to Dragonstone. Why was he receiving a letter from that place, in that case ? Something had happened to them. Something had happened to her. His breath quickens.

And his bad feeling is confirmed. Davos, by his side as usual, sees him fall apart.

Jon,

I am writing these words to you with the utmost urgency. We were caught off guard by Euron Greyjoy. He decimated our fleet, even though a large part of our army made it out. But... Raeghal was shot down.

He stops reading for a moment. His breath catches. He rereads the sentence. Raeghal was shot down. He reads it a second time. A third time. His hands start to shake despite himself. He couldn't be dead. Not like that.

He continues reading, desperately searching for an explanation, a logic.

A weapon, the Scorpion, a kind of immense crossbow capable of firing metal stakes. That's what did him in. Euron's fleet ambushed us, and they killed Raeghal by surprise. He collapsed into the water before we could do anything.

Jon feels his heart clench brutally. He suddenly realizes that he cared about him. He had ridden him twice. Involuntarily, a bond had formed between them. A lump rises in his throat. And a thought suddenly crosses his mind, lightning-fast. It immediately takes over, crushing her own sorrow. Daenerys.

She had lost Viserion recently. He had seen how much she had hurt. And now, she was losing a second child ? An intense pain grips his heart. She was going to suffer again. Again. But his expression turns to horror as he continues reading the message.

We have taken refuge in Dragonstone. And we received a summons from Cersei. During Euron's attack... Missandei was captured. We went to the gates of King's Landing, hoping to negotiate her release. My sister asked Daenerys to abdicate. She refused, and imposed the same conditions. So... they executed Missandei. Right in front of Daenerys' eyes. Jon… I think she's going to do something stupid.

He stops reading. He throws the paper on the table and starts putting away the map.

- Jon… what are you doing ? Davos inquired in a hoarse, worried voice.

- Raeghal was killed. Missandei was killed. I'm going to see Daenerys. Now.

Davos abruptly widens his eyes, visibly deeply shaken by the news. But his reason remains stronger.

- Jon… he tries.

- Now, cut this one brutally.

His voice is dark, hoarse. And his brain is racing at 100 miles per hour. Even if his heart is beating even faster. Only one thought drives him : To find Daenerys. He knows. He knows her too well. She lost a son, then her mentor. And then, they take away a second of her children, and the one who was her best friend, her confidante. He suddenly feels the urge to vomit imagining the pain she must be feeling.

- Jon… where did you stop in your reading ? suddenly asks Ser Davos.

Something in his tone Main urges him to pause abruptly. He looks at him, a hint of fear spreading through his veins. Davos hands him the letter. Jon finishes reading, and he starts to tremble despite himself.

I'm sorry, it's a lot all at once. But… I know. Who you really are. The House to which you are truly connected. Varys knows it too. And you need to know... that he is plotting against our Queen. I think he won't hesitate to betray her for you, Jon. He has already started. I'm sorry to ask you like this, but I think we really need you. Especially Daenerys. I'm worried about her. She no longer eats, no longer sleeps. She is broken. She's going to make a mistake. I feel it. Well, if... Varys doesn't stop her before. Come quickly, please.

Tyrion

Jon feels like his world is collapsing. Sansa betrayed him. He knows it's not Arya. Sansa. The rage, muffled, rises within him, almost making him suffocate. Mixed... with pure pain. His sister, in whom he had placed his trust, even as Daenerys had tried to open his eyes. Regret is destroying him.

He finally believed that she truly accepted him, that she would be honest and fair with him. But despite her promise. Despite seeing how important it was to him. She had revealed his secret in a flash. He had been wrong. His fingers tightened so hard on the letter that it almost tore. He would never make the same mistake again.

Daenerys was right. There, now, she's suffering, she must be in more pain than ever. And she is also in danger, now. Because of him. The second-to-last sentence of the letter terrifies him. If Varys doesn't stop her before? What exactly did Tyrion mean ?

His fury suddenly rises a notch. If he had the advisor in front of him... He doesn't want to believe it. But he knows very well what the Queen's Hand wanted him to understand. And for him to write that, even though the Spider is one of his closest friends, it's not just suspicions. Daenerys is in danger.

He stuffs the letter into his pocket and hastily gathers his belongings.

- Advance to the Trident. I will meet you as soon as I can, Jon orders in a voice darker than ever. I'll leave you to take care of all this, he adds to Davos.

He had never seen Jon in this state. He nods. He is deeply worried. But he feels that right now, Jon needs to go see her. A visceral need.

Jon responds to Tyrion in a few lines and sends the raven back. He then quickly loads his belongings onto his horse, mounts it with a smooth motion, and gallops off into the plains, toward the sea. He forbids himself from panicking. He's afraid of arriving too late. To arrive and find Daenerys already lost, or worse. That she had already been...

Anger suddenly takes hold of him again. If anyone, Varys or another, dared to touch her... he will personally take care of his case.

Chapter Text

Daenerys feels both empty and filled with immense pain. Her council with Varys and Tyrion on what to do with King's Landing was already two days ago. Two days during which she hasn't left her room, hasn't eaten, but hasn't slept either.

Her sorrow is so immense that she feels like she is living swallowed up by it. Like underwater. But a shell of hatred also surrounds her. She wants to kill them. To burn them. To make them suffer. All of them. So that they understand. So that they endure as much as she has endured.

She thinks back to her discussion with Tyrion in the afternoon. She had lost two sons, her father, her sister. And now, she was learning that her closest advisor with her Hand was also betraying her. She almost wants to laugh, then collapse in despair. Everything she has built is falling apart.

Despite everything she did. She was right. Jon should never have told his sisters the truth. Jon. Infinite sorrow crushes her heart. She feels nothing but hatred anymore. But when she thinks of him, she just wants to fall into his arms and cry.

But he's not there, and even if he were, he's no longer the Jon from before. He is lost, as he had made it very clear to her. A harsh, bitter taste filled her mouth. She finally gets up. She warned Tyrion. Varys' execution will take place within the next few hours. An immense weariness overwhelms her, enveloped in fury and despondency. She can't take it anymore. But she has to do it. And she needs to prepare for it at least a little. Even though just the thought of leaving her room terrifies her now.

***

Jon finally lands on Dragonstone. He quickly steps off the boat, his boots sinking into the wet sand. He spots Varys and Tyrion approaching him. He stiffened at the sight of the Spider, holding back his rage. There was no point in getting angry here. He wanted to join Daenerys, now.

- The Northern armies ? Varys inquired.

- Just crossed the Trident, he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

- You didn't have too much trouble getting here ? asks Tyrion.

- No, the sea was calm, he blurts out.

He tries to answer the questions quickly, on the verge of annoyance. His journey or his armies don't seem to be his priority at the moment. He already knows the answer, but he can't help but ask, a vague worry gripping his heart.

- How is she ?

He dreads what the two advisors are going to tell him, and he is quite right.

- She hasn't seen anyone since we return. Hasn't left her chambers, hasn't accepted any food, announces the Spider.

Jon catches a strange look from Tyrion at the mention of food. Perplexed, he suddenly has the vivid sensation of being slapped when a phrase comes back to him. If Varys doesn't stop her before. A cold sweat runs down his back, and he promises himself to ask Tyrion when they are alone.

- I must see her, he breathes.

- You're worried for her, Varys observes. I admire your empathy.

Jon stares at him for a moment, his gaze dark.

- Yes, I'm worried about her. It seems to me that it's the most logical reaction to have, right ?

- Of course... I worry about her, but also about all of us. They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath.

- We’re not much for riddles where I’m from, he said slowly, trying not to give in to irritation.

- We both know what she's about to do, Varys states, his voice firm.

Jon suddenly stops walking and turns to him.

- That’s her decision to make. She is our queen, he says, his voice lower, like a warning.

- Men decide where power resides...

Tyrion subtly intervenes, seeming to sense that Jon won't be long before he gets angry if Varys continues to be so ambiguous.

- We should go back to the castle. The queen...

But Jon cuts him off, his gaze darker than ever.

- What exactly are you implying ? he growls, ignoring the Hand, addressing Varys.

He looks at him steadily as well, his expression tense but certain of his words.

- All along, I wanted the true heir on the Throne. I still don't know how her coin has landed. But I'm quite certain about yours…

- Oh really ? he interrupts, barely containing his anger.

- I know you would rule justly and for the good of the people, he insists. While she...

He doesn't have time to finish his sentence before Jon violently grabs him by the collar, fury darkening his gaze. He pulls him roughly, bringing his face just a few inches from his own.

- Will she ? Listen to me carefully. I will never betray our queen. Repeat those kinds of words just once. Imply even once more that you would be willing to betray her. And I will personally take care of your case. You said you knew which side my coin landed on ? Good for you. Me, I don't know. But what I am certain of is that I would always do what is most fair to me. And I would always keep my word. Always, he finished, his voice lower than ever, a low rage rumbling through his words.

Varys looks at him, astonished by his sudden outburst of anger that seems in stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. But they don't have time to continue their discussion before slightly heavy footsteps behind them echo – much to Tyrion's relief, who was starting to worry about the direction their altercation was taking.

Jon releases the Spider's collar, not without giving him one last look filled with warning. He turns, sees a group of guards led by Grey Worm advancing toward them... and surround Varys.

Jon steps back, in total incomprehension. He looks at Tyrion, and the latter's head makes him realize it brutally. He clearly won't need to carry out his threats. Despite himself, he feels a pang in his heart at the thought of what will become of this man.

The Spider initially seems surprised, almost frightened, but his expression quickly stabilizes into a deep resignation. Although a spark of fear is still visible in his eyes. The guards order Varys to follow them, and they set off.

Jon and Tyrion follow suit. Night is already falling, cold and dark, slightly illuminated by the soldiers' torches. Jon doesn't know what to think. He strongly suspects that Varys will be executed.

And if he has done everything he thinks, he is relieved. But he knows by whom the sentence will be carried out. And he starts to really worry about her. A dull, deep anxiety.

She shouldn't have to do this. Not when she has almost lost everything, not when she must be on the verge of losing herself, not when she is suffering so much. He needs to see her, needs to hold her close, needs her to finally feel understood and loved in his arms. He is certain that she must have cried. But alone. Terribly alone. His heart aches at the thought.

They emerge from the cove, walk a bit in a silence barely broken by the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. They finally emerge onto the large beach, swept by the wind and the spray. And he sees her. Standing tall and proud as ever, her gaze impassive, fixed straight ahead.

She doesn't even give him a glance. Her expression is hard, like carved in stone. But Jon stares at her. And his heart clenches even more violently. He detects the slightest sign. The corner of her lips tense, the small bone of her jaw protruding from her cheek because it is so tense, her chest rising irregularly and too quickly, despite her upright and confident posture.

He also notices her dark circles, more visible than ever. She looks emaciated, and his worry increases at the sight of this clue that proves she hasn't eaten in several days. And he sees her eyes. They are glacial, burning with what seems to be a cold, relentless fire. But immense pain seems to be hiding behind it.

He moves forward. No sign in her attitude shows that she has seen him – or at least, that she wants to give him any attention. But she flinches very slightly when he positions himself just to her left, a little behind her. He keeps a sufficient distance to be appropriate, but positions himself close enough so that she can feel his presence, his support.

With a quick nod, she finally allows Tyrion to speak to Varys. Jon doesn't hear, or rather doesn't listen to what they say. She shouldn't have to do this. He would have much preferred to execute him himself, and although it would probably have hurt him too, it was nothing compared to what she must have been feeling.

When Tyrion and Varys finish their heavy discussion, she speaks. Her voice is devoid of any emotion, any resentment, but also any guilt. She is empty. Desperately empty. Drogon emerges from the shadows behind her. And burns Varys in a few seconds, with an ease that seems almost unfair.

Jon finally turned his head toward her, something he hadn't done since he had positioned himself behind her, and stared at her, no longer able to hide his anxiety. Anxiety that he doesn't feel toward her, but for her. She doesn't tremble, doesn't flinch, doesn't have the slightest reaction to what just happened. And he has the terrible feeling that she simply doesn't feel anything anymore.

***

Daenerys looks at the necklace in her hands. It seems distorted by the black and grey shadows that the fire casts on it. He almost seems animated, alive. She can't take her eyes off it, despite the pain that radiates through her body more and more intensely.

She is hypnotized, as if this object were the last part of her that still remained. But the more she stares at it, the more unbearable the pain becomes, to the point of making her want to vomit.

- This was all she brought with her when we crossed the Narrow Sea.

Her voice is strangled, muffled. She can't even understand how her mouth and tongue still work.

- Her only possession, she continues without knowing why, because with each additional word, she feels her throat tighten even more, until it makes her choke.

Grey Worm, who stands in front of her, stares into the void. From an outside perspective, he might have seemed simply focused in his guard stance. But Daenerys sees how destroyed he is. How much he hurts, how devastated he is. Maybe even more than her.

She looks at him, her heart on the verge of her lips. And she hands him the necklace. He looks down at her, a flash of pain crosses his eyes. He finally grabs the object, his fingers involuntarily clenching at its touch.

And Daenerys can't let go of it. She feels like it's the last thing that connects her to herself. Her chin starts to tremble, she swallows the lump that grows in her throat with difficulty. She finally loosens her fingers and looks at Grey Worm.

He alone seems to understand her pain. But it doesn't make her feel better, contrary to what she might have thought. The nausea returns with such force that she seriously wonders if she's going to end up throwing up. The Unsullied's face suddenly contorts, and he throws the necklace into the flames of the hearth.

Daenerys watches it melt and twist under the heat. She feels like her body and her heart are nothing more than a condensed mixture of sorrow, hatred, and pain. Of regrets. Of guilt. She hadn't paid enough attention. She hadn't protected her. Despair overwhelms her, hits her with such violence that her vision blurs for a moment.

Grey Worm suddenly turns around, his posture straighter and his gaze hardened. Daenerys spots Jon, and contradictory but overwhelmingly strong feelings flood her.

- It's all right, Torgo Nudho. Let me speak with him.

The Unsullied looks at her, then nods. Daenerys tries to hide her tear-filled eyes as the sound of Grey Worm's footsteps climbing the stone stairs gradually fades away. Leaving only silence.

Jon then slowly moves forward, as if not to startle her. Daenerys looks at him, and tries to keep a calm expression, although she suspects that her despair must be more than visible – especially to him. She opens her mouth to speak, but contrary to what she expected, he doesn't stop a few meters away.

He reaches her, and she is unable to maintain her apparent false calm. She is unable to maintain her queenly mask in front of his dark gray eyes, which gaze at her with such deep concern, such pure tenderness that the facade she had just built crumbles.

He bends down, and gently so she can step back if she needs to, he tenderly embraces her. The few remaining barriers that Daenerys had erected are brutally torn down. She feels his warm and firm arms surround her, and her tears start to flow without her being able to or wanting to stop them. His hands slide down her back, caress her slowly, and he runs one up into her hair, urging her to rest her head against his chest.

She bursts into sobs, unable to hold back any longer. He pulls her close, and she collapses into his arms. His warm palm makes slow back-and-forth movements, he runs his fingers through her strands and braids with infinite tenderness.

Daenerys felt all her fury, all her grief, all her guilt, and her pain come out violently, in disordered sobs that shook her shoulders and chest.

- Raeghal is dead. Missandei is dead. Jorah, Viserion are dead.

Her voice is destroyed, torn. Just like her inner self.

- I didn't know how to protect them. I had promised them, she mumbles in despair. I had promised them, Jon.

He gently takes her face in his hands and delicately lifts her chin so that he can gaze into her eyes.

- You did everything you could, Daenerys. You're not to blame. We all have regrets. Always. But I assure you it's not your fault, he says in his low, comforting voice.

He smiles at her very gently, wipes her tears with his thumbs. He tilts his head very slightly, moving closer to her. He waits a moment to make sure she has understood his intention. She doesn't move back at all. And he gently places his lips against hers.

Daenerys has never experienced anything so reassuring. No one has ever kissed her like that, not even him until now. In a way that suddenly seems to lighten the burden too heavy for her heart, in a way that makes her feel safe, in a way that makes her feel loved, and worthy of being loved.

She leans against him, eyes closed, finally relaxes. He makes her feel so good. She feels like he heals her, soothes her, even if it's just a tiny part of all that pain that crushes her to the point of suffocation.

He eventually gently detached himself from her, and pulled her a little closer to him, resting his chin on her head.

- You have the right to cry. You have the right to be in pain.

Her breath catches. No one had ever said those words to her, yet they were so simple. When she was a child, Vyseris would hit her as soon as she let her tears flow. Drogo had treated her like a nobody, ignoring her sobs. Before she was able to harden herself. She had never cried in front of him again and had never shown weakness again, except at his death. She had never cried in front of anyone again.

Daenerys' tears intensify, streaming down her cheeks without any restraint. She has the right. With him, she has the right to cry. It relieves her so much to finally be able to let her grief flow freely surrounded by his warmth, and not by solitude. Surrounded by his love, enveloped by his presence that makes her feel safer than anywhere, with anyone.

The world could collapse around her, but if he held her in his arms, she would still feel safe. He gently rocks her, with immeasurable patience and tenderness. She closes her eyes, listens to the slow rhythm of his heart in her ear, feels the warm breath of his respiration against her face.

All her sensations become entangled and seem to create a comforting, protective bubble. Daenerys lets herself be guided, lets herself fall. And she feels sleep slowly overtaking her, for the first time in days. She inexorably tips into the world of dreams... always surrounded by this infinite warmth.

Chapter Text

Daenerys slowly blinks her eyes, unable to determine where she is. She tries to sort out her thoughts, but she feels like she's floating in cotton. It's so soft and warm that she has no desire to leave. How long had it been since she had felt this good ? Since...

Painful memories suddenly flood her mind, shattering the tranquility that reigned over her spirit. She sits up with a grimace, pushing aside some of the furs that had been placed on her. Dawn seems to be breaking, the night is clearer through the semi-transparent curtains. It's still early, anyway. She suddenly notices a warm, gentle, enveloping presence around her right hand.

She lowers her eyes. Jon leans his torso against the edge of the bed she is lying on, his dark curly hair cascading onto the mattress. The rest of his body rests on a chair. He is sitting in a position that looks frankly uncomfortable.

His head is turned toward her, as if he had tried to resist and stay awake all night. His face is relaxed, peaceful. She shifts her gaze slightly, to where his hand is. His fingers are firmly intertwined with hers, not letting go by an inch, even in his sleep.

An infinite love rises within her. He comforted her like no one ever had before – in fact, he's probably the first to have truly comforted her at all. He took care of her, and he stayed. He didn't leave her alone. He didn't abandon her. He stayed.

She gently tightens her hand around his. The warmth of Jon's palm transfers to her cold fingers, but also slowly travels up her arm, making her practically shiver as the pit of her stomach gently ignites.

She loves to see him sleep so peacefully, so calmly. She would like him to always be this relaxed. She hates it when he looks overwhelmed, tortured. Anxiety surges within her at this thought. And what if he ignored her again ? What if he was still undecided ? That's why she didn't want him to give her even the slightest bit of hope anymore.

Because his love filled a deep wound within her. His love gave her the feeling of finally having a real family, the family she had always missed, gave her the feeling of being understood, reassured, loved. It was so sweet, so comforting.

So, when he suddenly let go of her, plunging back into the void, the cold, the fear, the solitude was a thousand times more painful. It was too hard. It was like being plunged into an endless blizzard, and finally being allowed to taste the warmth of a home for a moment. Before you were mercilessly thrown back out. The snow and wind suddenly seemed more icy and biting than ever.

Daenerys knows she won't be able to bear it. She won't stand him drifting away again. She must protect herself. Now. Before it becomes too hard. She stops her chin from trembling by clenching her teeth, and tries to remove her hand from his. When he wakes up, she will thank him, and that's all. She doesn't want to suffer anymore. Because she's not sure she'll be able to get back up.

She tries to pry her fingers from his grip, but he keeps her hand as gently as firmly imprisoned in his. Tears well up in her eyes. Why does he have to make it so hard?

Her vision blurs. And she suddenly feels something brush her eyelids, catching her tears before they fall. Her vision clears. Jon sat up, still looking sleepy. But his eyes plunge straight into hers with a mix of love and worry, as his thumb gently finishes wiping away the water droplets clinging to her lashes.

- Don't you feel better ? he asks softly.

Yes, I am. And that's exactly the problem.

- Yes, thank you, she replies, trying to control the trembling in her voice. But…
- But ? he breathes encouragingly as she seems to stumble over the sentence, looking away.

His eyes distract her far too much. The intonation of his voice reminds her of a mix between how he spoke to her before he knew... "that," and the familiarity he uses with his sisters. A kind of slightly different gentleness. Daenerys suddenly realizes the word she was looking for. He speaks to her as before, but in a tone that seems almost unintentionally more protective. It's light, but present.

He waits patiently for her response.

- I told you not to come near me again unless you had made your choice, she finally blurted out with a hint of bitterness.

She hates the way she says it, like a reproach when he comforted her all night, but she is unable to talk to him any other way.

- I made my choice.

Daenerys' breath catches. Despite herself, her heart races. Despite herself, despite everything she has prevented herself from doing or feeling, hope roars within her.

- And my choice is you. No matter what the North thinks, no matter what my sisters, my brother think, no matter what morality thinks. I'm sorry I doubted so much, Daenerys. I have thought. Really, with all my heart and all my strength, day and night. I thought about it every night, I turned it all over in my head countless times. I came to the conclusion that I didn't know. I don't know what I should do, what the fairest choice is, between what my duty, my reason, my origins, my heart dictate to me. But I realized that I was certain of one thing. Probably the thing I've been most sure of in my entire life. The only thing I've ever been sure of in my entire life. I love you, he finishes softly, squeezing her hand in his.

He feels her lips press against his the very moment he finishes his sentence. Daenerys kisses him passionately, all her love pouring into him. She straightens up a little more, moves toward him, slides a hand over his chest. He responds by gently embracing her.

Their kiss deepens, they part their lips, as their tongues meet and blend in a perfect fusion. Daenerys can't help but think that she has definitely never kissed anyone who gave her that same feeling of perfection. This feeling of complete union.

Their mouths fit perfectly, as if they had been made for each other. Jon raises one hand to her nape, lowers the other to the small of her back, pulling her a little closer against him, pressing her waist against his. She moaned in his mouth without being able to hold back, and his desire for her suddenly intensified.

He presses her against his chest, enveloping her entirely in his protective and warm embrace, as they barely detach to catch their breath, returning to each other in the next second with a devouring intensity. Daenerys finally slips a hand to his belt, feverishly tackling the first buckle. It's been a long time, much too long since they fully gave themselves to each other.

Jon pushes her back against the mattress, covering her body with his, pinning her firmly but with infinite tenderness beneath him. His lips press more forcefully against hers, and she feels swept away by his fire, which completely makes her lose her footing.

He raises his hands to her collar, while she finally manages to free him from his belt with a small grunt of satisfaction. Their movements are hurried, urgent, they need to feel each other again, now, without any barrier, just the two of them and only the two of them.

Finally, the last garment falls to the floor, leaving their bodies fully reunited. He slides a hand down her bare back, and Daenerys feels his fingers ignite every inch of her they come into contact with.

Her skin burns under his firm palm that he presses against her lower back, caressing her flanks with a mix of fever and tenderness. He slides the other along her neck, gently clearing her hair, refreshing her sweat-drenched nape.

She runs her hands along his prominent abs, follows the line of his taut muscles, making him shudder violently, and loses them in his hair, tugging at his curls. She wants to touch him, feel him, melt into him.

Her fingers suddenly clench tightly in his dark strands, and she gasps with pleasure in his mouth as he intensifies their kiss, igniting her completely. Waves of increasingly burning heat spread throughout her body, down to the pit of her stomach.

He stops suddenly, his forehead against hers, waiting for her agreement. She gives it to him in a desperate sigh, almost a plea. And finally, they find each other completely, perfectly. They had never been so sure of their love as at that precise moment.

Daenerys felt Jon's back muscles contract under her palms as he held her in his firm, warm arms. His passion, his fire engulfs her, and she completely surrenders to his embrace, feeling more alive than ever, burning with inexhaustible flames. She sees only him, feels only him, touches only him, lives through him.

His sweat-drenched chest pressed against her breasts, his entire body enveloping hers, making her feel more loved and safe than ever before, his lips pressing against hers as she breathed only through his mouth.

She feels like she has the right to fall, and that she finally has arms to catch her. His fingers trace her trembling skin as if she were the most fragile person in the world, the most precious in his heart. His eyes darkened by desire plunge straight into hers, and he looks at her with such intensity, so much love, that for the first time in her life, she truly feels like she's in her place. Where she needs to be. Here, and nowhere else.

An immense love takes hold of her heart. Jon's hand behind her neck offers her a protective contact, an anchor to hold onto amidst this torrent of passion that fills her and would make her forget her own name to have only his on her lips. His thumb follows the curve of her neck with infinite tenderness.

She wraps her legs around his hips, to feel him even closer, even deeper. They are both overwhelmed by a wave of almost violent pleasure, and she lets herself completely go against him, in absolute trust, as he embraces her with even more love. Together. And finally, they are one.

They stay against each other for a moment, panting, with no desire to separate. Jon eventually lets himself roll onto his side, and pulls Daenerys a little closer against his chest. She closes her eyes. She feels good. She slides her face into his neck, inhales his reassuring scent.

For once, she allows herself not to carry everything, she allows herself to let him take some of everything that weighs on her shoulders. His fingers gently untangle her silver hair in a calm, soothing rhythm. His other hand resumes its tender and regular movements on her back.

She lets out a sigh of well-being. The feeling of security she feels is so comforting that she dozes off, between dream and reality. She is constantly on alert, always overthinking, maintaining her queen's mask, letting nothing get to her.

But there, her mind is strangely calm, her body too. She is filled by a deep inner peace, transmitted by him, by his presence, by his love.

- You can sleep a little longer, he whispers in his hoarse voice.

She raises her head to meet his gaze. His dark gray eyes still have the same effect on her, as if she were getting lost in that intense and rumbling storm. But only love burns deep in his pupils. And it is for her. She gives a soft smile as her heart swells with affection. She will definitely never stop feeling more and more for him.

She rises a bit to be at the same level as him, moves her lips until their noses brush and their breaths mingle. And she kisses him tenderly, with less eagerness and passion than a few minutes earlier, but with a gentleness, an intensity, and an infinite love. He slides a hand along her neck and gently strokes her cheek.

- I missed you, she murmured, repositioning her head in the hollow between his shoulder and his chin.

She takes a deep breath, her hands a little sweaty. She has no reason to worry, but she can't stop her heart from suddenly beating much faster. These words mean a lot to her. And he deserves them, more than anyone. He who managed to carve such an important place in her heart.

- And me too... I love you, she finally manages to whisper.

He tightens his arms around her, and she feels him trembling with emotion. He seems unable to say anything, deeply touched, so he compensates with gestures, as usual. He holds her even closer to him, strokes her hair, her back, her cheeks, her forehead, her sides, her arms, her whole being.

It's adorable. She melts with love and affection for him, for this man so strong but so sensitive to her every word. She snuggles a little closer against his chest. And surrounded by his warmth, she falls back into a peaceful sleep, more at ease than ever.

Chapter Text

Jon taps his fingertip on the Painted Table, thoughtful. Daenerys, along with Tyrion and Grey Worm, stand by his side. They decided to take advantage of being together to do a final review of their plan, which had clearly not been understood the same way between the Hand and his Queen.

- We just need to besiege them. They will ring the bells, no matter how long it takes. Even if Cersei refuses, they will eventually disobey. Their fear of us will be much worse than their fear of her, Tyrion insists. We don't have to kill thousands of innocents. We just need patience.

- Cersei is mad and cruel. She will never let go of the city. She knows well what her end will be. If she can take all of King's Landing with her, she will, Daenerys replies coldly. You know it as well as I do. Her people, it's different. They might rebel. But they will have to ring the bells on the same day. Or the confrontation will take place, and so much the worse. We had agreed to encircle them, not to besiege them. We don't have the time, and the troops don't have the energy to lead for that.

- Her people are currently too blinded ! But they won't follow her if given the chance, I'm convinced ! The people of King's Landing do not wish to die-

- As long as the bells don't ring, the entire Lannister army will fight. We don't have the necessary resources for a siege, I just told you, and I'm not going to wait indefinitely. If the bells ring, all the better. If not, too bad. If you are so certain they will eventually surrender, why not consider the possibility that they might abandon Cersei sooner than expected ? interrupts Daenerys.

Her voice has lost some of its coldness. She seems almost compassionate, but she remains firm. Her tone is final. Jon thought, half-following their conversation.

- I'm sure they'll end up turning their backs on her, but maybe not as quickly as they should. That's why laying siege to give them time to realize her madness, and thus abandon her, seems to be the most logical thing ! They will eventually let her go, even the soldiers, Tyrion pleads.

- We will surround them, as you said, Daenerys says dryly. But we're not going to wait forever. If they surrender, all the better. Otherwise, too bad. I'm not going to prolong the war. It's over. Forces allied with the Lannisters might come to their aid. We will then lose even more men. I don't want my armies to suffer anymore. They are as much my people as those of Mereen, regardless of whether they are soldiers and not just ordinary citizens. I would prioritize them over a population that is not yet mine. Moreover, if we delay too much, if we give them too much time, Cersei will find a way to escape. I'm convinced of it.

Jon notices that her voice changes slightly at this last hypothesis, darkening abruptly with anger. He imperceptibly moves closer to her.

- She has no more allies... and she won't escape. Never. She is too power-hungry for that.

- Are you sure about that ? Would you take that risk ? She must pay, Tyrion, she continues, her voice harsher, without noticing that Jon had moved closer to her. I heard she was expecting a child... Thanks to Varys, when he was still loyal to me. Cersei would never run away. But for her child, wouldn't she be capable of it? As cruel as she is, she lost her previous three. I've lost three as well. I know how that feels. She's sadistic, but she seemed to like them at least a little, from what I've been told. Do you really think her pregnancy won't influence her choices?

The Hand doesn't respond and looks away.

- I'm starting to wonder where your loyalty lies, she hisses at his lack of reaction. I remind you that she killed my son, that she killed Missandei !

- My loyalty is yours, my Queen, you know that well ! And I have not forgotten the death of your loved ones either. I simply don't want to massacre thousands of innocents when we might be able to avoid it, Tyrion retorts vehemently.

Jon sees Daenerys clench her teeth, containing her annoyance. He guesses that her anger is still there, boiling. Fueled by her grief. He moves forward a little more, and gently takes her hand in his, hidden by the table. She immediately relaxes, even though he couldn't say if it's intentional or not.

She looks at their hands, and tightens her fingers around his a little, as if to cling to his presence, before looking up at him. Her eyes soften as she meets his gaze, but he can clearly see that her fury is still there. Harboring something deeper. A dull pain. He gently strokes the back of his hand with his thumb, then speaks.

- Daenerys is right. We can't take the risk of Cersei escaping, or unexpected reinforcements arriving. We also can't kill innocents, and a siege is too risky. But... the problem lies simply in whether Cersei's soldiers believe in her enough to obey her – and thus, not ring the bells. And I honestly think they have no loyalty to her anymore. Let's hit the streets of the city. Daenerys will burn the walls. But she won't do anything more. We will then stop, facing them. They will be scared. Fear changes men. They will ring the bells. And then... we won't go any further.

He stares at Daenerys intensely. She looks away, but eventually nods in agreement. He smiles gently at her, grateful, and slips his fingers between hers.

- The second they surrender, we will take the city, ascend to the Red Keep, and execute Cersei. Thus, there will be no deaths other than the soldiers on the wall, and this queen, who fully deserves it, he concludes.

Silence falls in the room.

- I only hope they will give up in the face of a simple show of force... but it does seem to be the best solution, indeed, Tyrion finally sighs.

He falls silent and looks at Daenerys, just like Jon. She seems to hesitate, but she nods softly again.

- All right. No siege but no unnecessary blood spilled. We make a grand entrance, sow terror in their ranks by killing a minimum. Then we wait... and we'll see if their faith in Cersei is stronger than their faith in life. Unless they are stupid enough to believe they have a chance of winning... I think I know the answer, she asserts.

They murmur their approval, and a silence, this time less heavy, once again fills the room.

- What day, then ? Tyrion inquired.

- There's no point in making the troops wait, states Daenerys. They are exhausted by this endless war. The sooner the better. I would say in two days, to give time to coordinate the armies. Does that suit you?

Jon and the Hand nod again, and Grey Worm simply gives a brief salute, as if to say, "What my Queen commands, I do."

- There is one last point... she breathes.

The former King of the North notices that she is looking at him furtively, and that she is holding his hand slightly tighter. He worries a bit... and he is right to do so.

- We need to take care of Euron's fleet. And only I can do it. I will ride Drogon, and I will burn his ships completely, before attacking the wall of King's Landing as planned, she explains.

- It's too risky ! exclaims Jon, practically cutting her off, deeply worried. Drogon is the last dragon. They...

He stops. He doesn't want to hurt Daenerys, but he wants her to understand.

- They've already taken down Raeghal. What will you do if they manage to kill Drogon too ? It's the symbol of our army's strength. If he dies, we're finished. The battle will be much harder, the losses much heavier, and this time the Lannisters will never give up. And...

His words get lost in his throat. He continues with difficulty, his voice suddenly lower, more intimate, to the point that Tyrion fidgets and mutters something in his beard about "two lovebirds."

- If Drogon dies, you will die too. You can't take that risk, not you, the Queen. You are the one who unites us, the one who will lead the Seven Kingdoms. Without you, we have no more purpose, and we're back to years of fighting over who gets the Throne – assuming we manage to take down Cersei. Without you, we are nothing, he breathes, a dull anguish in his chest.

Without you, I am nothing, he wants to shout in despair. He plunges his eyes straight into hers, and she looks at him with such tenderness that he feels the overwhelming need to take her in his arms and hold her close. She then gently strokes the back of his hand with her thumb, just as he had done a few minutes before to comfort her.

- You know very well that there are no other solutions, Jon, she smiled at him a little sadly. And... If I die –

Jon tenses at her words. "If I die". It's out of the question.

- If I die, she continues, the Throne will not be left abandoned. There is another heir, more legitimate than me, who will be able to rule with kindness and fairness, she whispers.

His face crumbles when he understands what she implies.

- I will never take your place, he exclaims abruptly, horrified at just the thought.

She smiled at him again gently, softly, in a way that broke his heart a little more.

- You don't realize your worth, she whispers. You deserve it as much as I do, even more.

He feels the fear radiating through his veins. He sees in her serene face, a little saddened for him, but firm, that she has already made her decision. And no one, not even him, will be able to change the Dragon Queen's mind. Seeing him tense up even more, she gently raises a hand to his face and tenderly strokes his cheek.

- I'm not going to die, Jon. I'm going to burn Euron's fleet, then we'll fight and save King's Landing, before I take the Throne and finally the Realm will be more just and at peace. All right ? Euron caught Raeghal by surprise last time, she continues, seeing his dismayed look. He has no chance of reaching us, Drogon and me. Promise.

The flame that ignites her pupils reminds him of her immense strength. That's one of the reasons he fell so deeply in love with her. She has such confidence, such power. He really wants to believe her. But his worries refuse to be silenced, even tho he tries to listen to her reassuring words with all his heart.

Tyrion suddenly clears his throat, and Daenerys hastily removes her hand from her face, as if caught in the act.

- If I may give my opinion, he says, glancing at the two lovers who suddenly blush, this idea doesn't please me any more than it does you, Jon, but I honestly don't see any other solutions. It's the only way to destroy Euron's fleet. And I am also certain that Daenerys will not be fooled by one of these weapons, now that we are warned.

He seems to be trying to convince himself a bit, but his voice is sincere.

- We'll do that, then, she states calmly, tightening her grip on Jon's hand.

He feels that she is sorry to worry him like this, but that she is making what seems to her to be the right choice. His throat tightens. He would so much like to protect her. But he can't, and his powerlessness destroys him.

- Let's prepare our troops. Jon, I'll leave you to take care of the Northern armies, you'll need to join them. As for you, Grey Worm, warn the Unsullied that we are about to launch the final battle, she orders him.

He nods, his gaze firm.

- We will take care of the Dothrakis, and I will personally manage Drogon.

They resume with more pragmatic discussions. Which armies will invade from which side, how to adjust Daenerys and Drogon's arrival with that of their troops, how to make a strong impression with their show of force.

Jon listens with one ear. He really tries to concentrate. But the prospect of losing her leaves a bitter and sour taste on his tongue, the taste of fear, which invades his mouth relentlessly. He interlaces his fingers more firmly with Daenerys'. They will get through this, he promises himself. Both of them. He won't allow it otherwise.

Chapter Text

Daenerys gently strokes the tip of Drogon's broad snout. A thin smile stretches her lips. The wind makes her hair fly, and the tall grass run along the edge of the cliffs. The sky darkens slightly, the clouds gather in irregular clumps. But for now, the rain spares them.

- We will avenge your brother, she breaths to her dragon. And Missandei.

He growls softly, like a purr that transmits its vibration into her hand, and throughout her whole body. His rumbling resonating within her soothes her, and Daenerys smiles involuntarily a little more. But the hatred rises quickly. And a slight guilt floats in her chest. Tomorrow, they will invade King's Landing and finish it once and for all.

And she would start by burning Euron's fleet, all his ships down to the last one. The fury rises a little more, as well as the impatience to see them burst into flames and hear the men who took away those dear to her scream. Her fists clench. She will avenge Missandei, as well as Raeghal.

Where she feels a bit of remorse is when she thinks back to Jon's face. He looked so worried and so anxious that she almost wanted to cancel everything at once and find another strategy. But she had no choice. There were no other solutions.

Her mood darkened even a little more as she thought of her son. And to the one she considered her sister. To her hand in hers, to her slight smile when she understood without Daenerys needing to speak, to their knowing glances, to their discussions about their respective lovers that gave her the feeling of simply being a young woman her age, and not a Queen, a Khaleesi, or the Mother of dragons. Just her.

Her heart tightens, and tears well up in her eyes. She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. She needs to clear her head. Drogon looks at her with eyes that seem to decipher her better than anyone else, and he lowers himself slightly.

She smiles again and accepts his implicit proposal. She clings to his scales, and climbs up to settle into her spot, between his spines. She as the impression that this is definitely where she feels best. With in second place... no, tied, Jon's arms. A slight blush rises to her cheeks.

She closes her eyes, the salty sea air caresses her face and enters her lungs, invigorating her body. She whispers to Drogon "Sōves", and the great dragon rises, before taking off from the edge of the cliff with a powerful beat of his wings.

They quickly move away from the ground, the wind whistles in her ears. Below them stretches Dragonstone, but Drogon is gaining distance, preferring to descend toward the sea. He gets so close that he ends up skimming the waves with his long claws, leaving a trail of foam in their wake. Daenerys completely relaxes. The splashes leave fine droplets on her face.

She knows she can't afford to enjoy this flight for very long. She needs to go give her orders to the Dothrakis, finish planning precisely who will lead what, how they will synchronize well, agree on the precise actions.

But it does her good to be a little alone, just with him, in this timeless space. She will have to take Jon with her, one day. He won't be able to ride Raeghal anymore, but he can come on Drogon by her side. Without quite knowing why, this idea filled her with happiness.

After a few moments that still seemed almost unreal, she finally sighed.

- Vezof va brā, Drogon, she whispers.

The dragon roared, then slowly ascended into the sky, returning to the island much to Daenerys' regret.
***
Jon finishes packing the meager belongings he had brought with him, just enough for two or three days in Dragonstone. He must leave to rejoin his troops, in order to be ready for their final battle the next day. A grunt of frustration escaped his lips. He would have given anything to spend one last night with Daenerys.

The previous one, he had naturally joined her in her quarters, as if it was obvious they were going to sleep together. Daenerys had seemed to share the same view, although in the end, they had clearly done more than just drift off into slumber.

His cheeks flush at the memory, and he sees her again clinging to him, murmuring his name, or words in Valyrian that he didn't understand – although he's starting to grasp some of them – but that sounded so good to his ears, like a melody he was convinced he would never tire of. And then her closed eyes, her silver hair spread out in a crescent moon on the pillows, her nails in his back, her soft skin reflecting the glow of the simple candles that lit the room with a dim light.

They had then fallen asleep against each other. Daenerys' warmth always plunged him into a deep sleep, more restful than ever. Her little body nestled against his soothed him to a point he wouldn't have even thought possible.

But that night, he was going to spend it alone, far from her. So, already, the fear of losing her the next day refused to be silenced, darkening his mood all day. He had even sharply dismissed Ser Davos when the latter had simply asked him to hurry so they wouldn't join the armies too late.

Jon refrains from moping any longer, annoyed with himself, and leaves his room after finishing gathering his belongings and adjusting Longclaw to his waist. He spots the craft waiting for him in the cove below through the openings of the great hall, which then disappears from his sight as he moves further into the immense corridors of Dragonstone. He finally begins to find his way around, and remembers with amusement the days he had spent here a few months earlier, when he had first met Daenerys.

He had gotten lost a countless number of times, to the point that the servants no longer even asked him if he needed help, and simply guided him to his room with a smile. Fortunately for him, he had finally managed to memorize at least a minimum of the castle's interior.

He steps outside after crossing the great hall, and the wind assaults him with force. He looks at the ocean with concern. Waves crash against the cliffs below. They're going to get quite a shaking at sea, obviously.

He follows one of the paths and descends toward the small cove where the boat awaits him. The few men who accompanied him are already launching it, and he sees Daenerys, Davos, and Tyrion discussing a little further away. He approaches them, more relaxed just by seeing his Queen, even though he would have preferred to be alone with her.

She is facing him, and her face immediately softens when she meets his eyes. The two advisors turn around when they see her change her expression, and look at him in turn.

- We're going to be able to go, announces Davos. Everything is ready. The sea is rough, but nothing that prevents us from reaching the ship, then the coast, fortunately.

Jon nods, then turns his attention back to Daenerys. She looks at him with a gentle smile, but he notices her slightly tense, worried expression. He realizes that he too will be on the battlefield. He shouldn't normally have to fight much unless their plan fails... in which case he'll be on the front lines. And then they'll still have the walls to get through...

It doesn't bother him, he's used to battles even though he still hates having to kill, but he can clearly see Daenerys's anguish. He feels a slight pang in his heart, although he is even more worried about her on his side. Euron has already taken down Raeghal. He could start again with Drogon.

Even though he truly appreciated the green dragon, he had already imagined against his will what would have happened if Drogon instead of Raeghal had been hit. He shudders again at the thought. He tries to refocus a bit and comes back to the present. They all look at each other for a moment, without saying much, their thoughts directed toward the final battle that awaits them.

- Well, have a good trip... and until tomorrow, hoping that everything will be resolved when we can talk again, Tyrion finally said.

Jon thanking him for his words with a quick nod. The Hand moves away, and Davos follows him after telling Jon not to take too long.
He barely gives his consent and looks at Daenerys, unable to hide his anguish. Hundreds of scenarios play out in his head. What if she didn't come back ? What if it was the last time he saw her ? And if it was the last time he had the chance to talk to her ?

The flood of his worries abruptly stops when she gently moves toward him. She takes his hands in hers, and smiles at him a little more weakly than usual, looking at him in that way that makes him melt, which she only reserves for him.

- I'll be prudent, Jon. I swear to you. In exchange... Promise me that you will be careful too, okay ?

He feels her voice tremble slightly, although she seems to be trying to hide it. He looks her straight in the eyes, and the fear, the fear of losing him that he sees deep in her pupils breaks his heart. He slowly raises his hands, delicately places them on her cheeks.

He leans toward her, and she closes her eyes. He then gently places his lips on hers. He wants her to feel all his love, all his affection, all his strength. He kisses her tenderly, more tenderly than he ever has.

She presses a little closer against him, and he slides one of his hands down her side, before slipping it around her back to bring her closer to his chest. He needs to feel her, he needs to have the sensation of protecting her in his embrace, at least for a moment. Let her feel that she is safe.

They slightly open their mouths, allowing their tongues to meet, mingle, and intertwine. They lose themselves, merge into each other, carried by their gentle fire, which warms their hearts and bodies.

They eventually pull away reluctantly, and Jon tenderly rests his forehead against Daenerys'. The tips of their noses gently touch, and they each feel the other's breath on their lips. Jon doesn't care if his men, Davos, or Tyrion are watching them. Nothing matters to him except her. He strokes the back of her neck in a soothing, regular motion, and looks her straight in the eyes. He is scared. But he doesn't care, not for now. He just wants to reassure her.

- I promise you I will be prudent, Daenerys. Really. Tomorrow, we will both meet again when everything is resolved. I promise you. And… you too, be careful.

She smiled with affection.

- You give an order to your Queen ? she asks mischievously.

He smiled in turn.

- Yes. It's an order.

He kisses her gently this time on the forehead, then steps back despite his overwhelming desire to hold her in his arms once more. They look at each other for a moment, once again drowning in the eyes of the other. Then Jon smiles one last time, tenderly.

- Come back to me, okay ? I've grown used to you, he breaths.

She laughs, with that wonderful laugh that seems to chase away all his anxieties, all his worries, that laugh that brightens his day, that makes everything seem more beautiful.

- Okay, she replies, a smile on her lips.

Her face is more relaxed, and he is deeply relieved to have been able to soothe her fears. His discussion with her also lifted his spirits, and he forbade himself from sinking back into unnecessary anxieties. They will find each other again. He is certain of it.

They look at each other one last time, then he turns away with regret. He moves toward Davos – who gives him a small glance but says nothing – as well as his men, and they board the boat. The oars strike the water with force, splashing his tunic and breastplate with foam.

They move away from the shore. And Jon watches Daenerys who appears smaller and smaller. Until he could no longer determine the color of her eyes, then the way her hair was braided, the expression on her face, the way she stood, and finally until her silhouette completely disappeared from his field of vision.

***

Daenerys sighs for a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed in her room at Dragonstone. She can't believe that everything might end tomorrow. She has been pursuing this aim for years. That she's chasing that damn Throne. And she's closer to her goal than ever.

Despite herself, a dull anxiety grips her heart. Jon. She knows he's a good fighter, and they've faced much worse before, battling the White Walkers and the Night King. And even knowing it, she can't help but feel anxious. If all goes well, they will hardly have to fight, she tries to reassure herself.

The fire crackling softly in the fireplace seems less effective at warming the atmosphere than usual, and a slight shiver of cold runs through her. She closes her eyes. She is exhausted, but she feels a strange apprehension at the thought of going to bed.

Given the turmoil of her thoughts, she will probably have nightmares. Well, it's not like she wasn't used to it. She would occasionally see Viserys in her dreams. Who screamed her name, his skull half melted. A grimace crosses her face. What is painful is not so much his death. He was no longer the brother she had known.

Honestly, she had felt nothing when he had begged her, and nothing either during his cries of pain. But she missed her old brother, the one who still had a heart. Unfortunately, she didn't have many memories of that side of him. He had immediately shut himself off when they had to go into exile. Somewhere, Daenerys feels like he took out all his anger on her for everything that happened to them.

Thinking about Viserys puts her in an even gloomier mood. She eventually gets up, quickly changes, and slips into her bed. The sheets are cold. There is a lack of warmth from a particular person. Who would have chased away all her anxieties, leaving only peace and comfort. She curls up under the furs, sighs for a moment. She slept so well in his arms that the nights without him definitely seemed much colder and darker.

She turns onto her side and closes her eyes. She imagines him as if he were in front of her. His gentle smile, his reassuring arms, his deep and low voice, which comforted her... or increased her desire, depending on the moment. She feels her heart quicken a little despite herself at this thought.

His eyes as dark grey as the storm, his hands so strong but so gentle with her, his lips, his way of always doing what he thinks is right, the manner he refuses to be walked all over. It was also one of his character traits that had seduced her. When he was sure of something, when he was certain it was the best choice, then he did it, and it didn't matter if he was severely criticized or judged for it.

Daenerys suddenly realizes that Jon is actually one of the very few people she truly admires. She can't help but laugh softly at the thought, thinking that if he knew, it would probably really please him. She eventually falls peacefully into sleep, her thoughts still and always directed toward him.

Chapter Text

The wind whistles violently in Daenerys' ears. Her dragon beats its powerful wings, soaring over the ocean, passing through thin layers of clouds along the way. Her heart races, her blood boils in her veins. She forces herself to stay calm. She must destroy them, all of them. The hatred rises, slow, but burning. She urges Drogon to dive, and finally spots him. There. On the sea of oil. Euron's fleet.

A wave of rage takes hold of her. You'll see. You are all going to die. For Missandei. For Raeghal. She comes straight toward the hundreds of boats. She doesn't even need to shout. She whispers "Dracarys." And Drogon sets the first ships ablaze in the blink of an eye. It shouldn't, but the men's screams relieve her for a moment.

They start by destroying an entire row of vessels with astonishing speed, forming a long, orange and reddish burn on the shimmering blue of the waves. The fury rises even more within her. She will kill them all. She will turn this fleet that took away those dear to her into ashes.

Jon's words suddenly echo in her head. "Be careful." They spread through her, like a soothing breeze in the midst of her anger. She forces herself to breathe more calmly and to think logically.

Aim for the scorpions, she orders herself. Drogon rises a bit, then unleashes his searing flame upon the ships possessing the weapon. It takes them far too long to try to turn these to follow his movements. They can't even reload a single stake before they ignite in a fiery explosion, sending flaming debris onto the neighboring boats.
She massacres them all. They desperately try to reach her with their giant crossbows, but she gives them no respite, and burns the last ones they had left. She sets the boats ablaze in a fire that ravages the ocean, leaving behind a sea engulfed in flames. She destroys the last remaining vessels, which end up burning in an incandescent blaze.

But she's not done yet. She turns Drogon, and heads straight for King's Landing, toward the fortifications right by the sea. She hears men shouting, but she doesn't pay the slightest attention. They are finally above the first walls, and Drogon demolishes the few Scorpions in an instant, carrying the soldiers into the inferno.

She couldn't say if unleashing herself like this relieved her or, on the contrary, made her even more hurt. I must exterminate them, she tells herself. All of them. Her jaw clenches involuntarily, and her already rapid breathing quickens even more. Drogon flies above the walls, setting them ablaze with his incandescent fire.

They leave a veritable brazier behind them, and the smellof burnt flesh and ash now hangs in the air. Columns of smoke and flames rise everyplace they go. They raze the walls, literally.

Daenerys and Drogon continue to assault their enemies, plunging them into a massive fire. She clenches her teeth. It will soon be over. Soon, it will all be over. And she will free all those who have suffered like her from the hands of these tyrants.

***

Jon clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. He can't reassure himself. Has he ever worried this much about someone in his entire life ? Probably not.

What if Drogon got hit? What if Daenerys never came back? What if they waited for her, waited for her signal, but it never came? He forces himself to calm down, aware of the futility of the anxious thoughts swirling in his head, and stares at the walls rising before them.

The Northern army, the Dothrakis, and the Unsullied stretch out at the foot of the small hill on which he stands. And facing them, the Lannister army also waits patiently. The men look at each other like dogs, only the sound of clanking weapons and the neighing of a horse disturbs the heavy silence reigning over them all.

- If the bells ring... recall your men, Tyrion whispers, abruptly snapping him out of his stupor.

Jon turns to him, his gaze hard. He suspects that the Hand's intentions are not bad, but that he allows himself to give him orders as if he were Daenerys and, above all, to imply that he doesn't know what he should do strongly annoys him. In fact, he is simply consumed and excessively worried by the wait. His patience is lower than dirt. Nothing hurts him more than waiting idly while Daenerys risks her life.

He merely stares at Tyrion with a cold face.

- I know, thank you, he grunts.

He descends from the hill and positions himself at the front line, in front of his troops. A sudden explosion makes him prick up his ears. Several, in fact. Distant, but muffled, rumbling, making the ground vibrate beneath his feet. The men stir.

The noises are getting closer, and even from this distance, Jon sees the Lannisters breaking ranks a bit to look behind them, anxious. And suddenly, a tremendous explosion demolishes a huge section of the wall, accompanied by a torrent of flame, instantly burning hundreds of Lannister soldiers.

Others are buried in an instant under the flying stones as the wall collapses. Jon feels an immense relief wash over him. Daenerys. And Drogon. His gigantic, imposing silhouette emerges from behind the smoke screen, casting its shadow over the men who flee, screaming.

The Unsullied cry out in turn, overtaken by the Dothrakis, who charge and pour into the city through the gaping hole in the fortifications. Jon quickly regains his composure and launches his troops into battle as well.

The Dothrakis execute the remaining poor soldiers in an instant, leaving behind a long trail of agonizing bodies. The former King of the North also enters the city following the charge. There is clearly no need for his intervention. The Lannisters are getting slaughtered. He ends the suffering of several of them still agonizing from fatal burns, but not enough to cause immediate death.

Grey Worm and Davos move alongside him. He raises his head for a moment, looking for Daenerys. She and Drogon are still setting the walls ablaze, exterminating every remaining soldier, every last threat. He is still slightly worried that she might get hit, but from what he sees, she has finished burning all the crossbows. He takes a deep breath and focuses on what lies ahead.

They continue to move forward, and Jon catches up with the group of his men who have suddenly stopped.

- Move ! he growls, roughly pushing one of his soldiers aside.

He stands in front of his troops and stares at the bulk of the Lannister army facing them. The Northmen and the Unsullied continue to arrive behind Jon, filling the streets. Silence falls. The Lions face... the Wolves allied with the Dragon. They all look at each other, waiting. A signal. Jon holds his breath. For pity's sake. Make the bells ring. Make it so we don't have to face them.

He knows that in any case, with Drogon by their side, they will prevail. They are also superior in numbers. But he doesn't want to fight again, and spill even more blood... for nothing. He suddenly sees Drogon flying over the city, getting closer to them. He hears the crowd screaming in the distance as it passes, completely panicked. The immense dragon then lands on one of the still-standing sections of the wall and lets out a thunderous roar. Silence falls, broken only by his hoarse roars, which even Jon finds frightening. He stares at the Lannisters in front of them. He knows how to recognize a man's fear. He sees it very well. They are terrified.

And suddenly... the sound of a weapon falling to the ground. One of the soldiers dropped his sword, which bounced on the stone with a slight metallic sound. Then a second weapon joined it. A third. A fourth. The swords fall, raining on the ground, as the Lions surrender.

An intense feeling of relief washes over Jon. They finally have the hope of ending this endless war without a last bloodbath. The silence is deafening, heavy, broken by the sound of weapons thrown onto the cobblestone streets. And by cries. Distant, but increasingly louder.

"Ring the bells ! For pity's sake ! Ring the bells ! »

***

Daenerys breathes heavily, perched on Drogon. She tries to catch her breath, her face covered in ash and soot. Her anger is not appeased. Cersei must pay. The bells do not ring. She told Tyrion she wouldn't wait. But she can't coldly burn an entire city she wants to liberate, when it's only the queen who refuses to surrender.

She listens, desperately, even though she knows very well that if the bells rang, she would hear them. She perceives the screams of men shouting at the queen to give up. The silence is heavy, heavier than ever, punctuated from time to time by supplications.

And finally, a sound. Deep, resonant. Then a second one. The entire city seems to shake as the melody of the bells breaks the heavy silence, filling the air with hope. Daenerys felt an intense relief wash over her. There is only Cersei left. She no longer has to face the others. She doesn't move for a moment, relaxes, savoring her victory, and above all, she wants to make it clear that they won't attack anymore, now that they have surrendered. They are not their enemies. She...

A sharp, violent pain suddenly tears through her side. She cries out in pain, a white veil falls before her eyes. She clenches her teeth, tries to regain her composure, and lowers her gaze. An arrow is deeply lodged just below her ribs, and blood is already oozing from her wound. She remains frozen, unable to comprehend what has just happened. She just got shot. Now ? She won. After all that. Why now ?

She looks around for what could have, who could have done this. And she spots a Lannister, a few dozen meters from her, buried under the rubble. But alive, given the crossbow he's pointing at her. Ah. She was careless. She should have checked, made sure they were all dead, been certain.

They had surrendered, so she had relaxed for one second too long. This man was part of the Lannisters, and they had gave up, but she had condemned him to certain death. He will have had his revenge. Drogon spots him, and lets out a roar before setting him ablaze in an instant. I should have checked, she cursed herself, desperate.

The wound is extremely painful, but to her great relief, the blood is flowing less than she would have thought. On the other hand, the slightest twitch makes her groan. She has no choice. She can't give up now. She suddenly has an idea, which she will probably regret later. But for now, she doesn't care. She must show strength.

She grabs the shaft of the arrow and breaks it, leaving only two or three centimeters sticking out of her side. She screams in pain at the sharp movement the tip makes in her stomach, but at least, the wood is almost no longer visible. She covers the wound with a fold of her dress. The blood has only slightly seeped through, and on the dark fabric covered in ash, the scarlet liquid goes undetected. No one will notice. Perfect.

She will get through it. She needs to settle this once and for all, and only then will she be able to rest. She urges Drogon to take flight. The crowd stirs, she hears them scream in fear, and she orders her dragon to gain altitude so they no longer see her as a threat. She flies over the city at about a hundred meters above the ground, and finally lands at the foot of the Red Keep.

The square is fortunately deserted, the people fled screaming at her approach. She waits, extremely vigilant now. She won't be fooled a second time. Finally, Jon, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Ser Davos arrive, followed by an escort of Unsullied and Northmen.

Jon. An intense relief washed over her. She knew he would make it, but she couldn't help worrying about him all along. A slight sense of guilt seized her when she thought he would believe she was fine, while she had an arrow stuck in her side.

She gets off Drogon and walks toward them.

- It's almost over, she breathes, stopping herself from grimacing.

Walking is ten times more painful than flying on her dragon, which was already frankly miserable. She pulls herself together, adopts a firm voice.

- Then let's finish this once and for all, she concludes.

They nod, and enter the Red Keep, leaving Drogon outside, who takes off to land on one of the castle's towers, roaring. Jon had tried, when they had discussed what they would do after reclaiming King's Landing, to tell Daenerys to wait with her dragon on the steps of the Red Keep, while he and his men would go and ferret Cersei out of her castle and bring her back. She had refused. She wished to see the expression on the false queen's face when she saw her, Daenerys, advancing with her men, dragging her down to be executed. She wanted to see what defeat looked like on the face of the one who had killed her sister.

They progress through the maze of corridors. They come across a few men, who surrender immediately, but clearly, the Dungeon had already been almost deserted.

Despite herself, Daenerys worries that Cersei has fled. She needs to take revenge. She will kill the Queen in front of the people, thus freeing them definitively from the Tyrant's reign. A deep hatred rises in her heart.

- Did you close the doors properly ? she suddenly inquired.

- Yes, and we have placed trusted men where the walls have collapsed, Jon asserts. Others will encircle the Keep, to block Cersei if she tries to leave.

That was what they had agreed upon, so that no Lannister soldier could flee now that they were prisoners. Daenerys doesn't yet know exactly what she's going to do with them, but she knows she'd rather not have them scattered all over Westeros.

She suddenly feels Jon's gaze on her. He knows her too well, and if she continues to walk in this slightly hesitant way, he will immediately understand. She bites the inside of her cheek and forces herself to take a more confident step.

They continue to move forward, and pass thru several large rooms. Climbing the stairs literally destroys Daenerys, who holds back from screaming in pain with each step. She suddenly feels Jon take her hand, firmly intertwining his fingers with hers.

- Are you okay ? he murmurs with concern. You look...

She hates herself for having to do this, but she knows that if she gives in now, she won't be able to stand up anymore. She removes her palm from his, but still smiles at him.

- I’m alright, don't worry, she asserts, her voice fortunately as firm as she had wanted.

She turns and walks a little faster to avoid catching his eye. Suddenly, the smell of blood assaults her nostrils. She accelerates even more, a strange premonition rising within her. She emerges into a large room, at the edge of the stairs, which must have served as a reception hall. About twenty soldiers have obviously been killed, given the pool of blood in which they lie, their throats cut. Each one has the same cut. Their execution was done methodically. A shiver runs down Daenerys's back.

Qyburn, the Queen's hand, also lies on the ground. And further away, someone is holding Cersei against a wall. A not-so-tall figure, with black hair, her usually so cold face contorted with anger. Daenerys feels like she's delirious.

- Arya ?!

Chapter Text

- Arya?!

Jon's voice echoed in the silence. The young woman still holds the Lannister against the wall, and turns towards them with a cold look, a dagger in her hand. More than a dagger, the weapon seems to be a kind of needle, it's so fine and tapered.

- What is... What are you doing here ? Jon breathes, astonished.

- I came to do what I have been fighting for since the beginning, she asserts.

- No ! Daenerys interrupts her. She must die in front of everyone. Her people must see her lose !

I want my revenge too, she stops herself from grumbling. And she knows that if Cersei is executed in front of the crowd, the impact will be much stronger. The people will thus understand that she only wants to free them from her tyranny.

- She is going to die here, and now, claims the young woman.

- Arya, please, Jon breaths. Daenerys is right, and you know it very well.

She tenses, and the Mother of Dragons sees how much she cares about her brother. Despite everything, she still keeps Cersei against the wall, the blade at her throat. An idea suddenly came to her.

- We’ll execute her on the steps of the Red Keep, in front of the crowd. But... It is you who will kill her. It is you who will deliver the final blow. And not Drogon. Is that good ? asks Daenerys.

She feels like she can no longer speak, as the pain exhausts her side. She wavers between dropping to her knees and begging Arya, or calling Drogon and asking him to burn her. She shakes her head. Stop hallucinating.

Jon's sister seems to hesitate for a moment.

- And why would I do that ? she breaths.

- Because she is your Queen, her brother asserts, to Daenerys' immense gratitude, who clearly did not feel in a state to argue. And... for me. We both know that this is the best solution. Arya, please.

She finally gently moved the blade away from Cersei's throat. She whispers something to her, and Cersei's eyes widen.

- Thank you, Jon whispers to his sister.

Arya just shrugs, but she still seems tense. Two Unsullied step forward and firmly grab Cersei, who still hasn't said a word. But tears roll down her cheeks, much to Daenerys' satisfaction.

- As long as it's me who kills her, she claims.

Her tone sounds both calm and threatening.

- I will let you do the last act, breathes Daenerys.

Arya gives her a suspicious look, but says nothing. She may not visibly have any confidence in her, but she still has it in her brother.

They descend from the Red Keep, and Daenerys has the vivid sensation of taking an arrow with each step. I should have stayed with Drogon, she thinks, her heart on the verge of bursting. She knows very well that Jon is starting to have more than a suspicion now, so she forces herself to walk very straight, and at a steady pace, despite her urge to scream at the slightest movement.

Finally, they emerge onto the castle steps. As expected, the crowd is there, gathered by the armies. A large part of the people of King's landing. They murmur, frightened, agitated. Daenerys suddenly felt an immense pride wash over her. She finally succeeded. Finally. She freed them all. And she is now finally fully Queen.

Daenerys steps forward, faces the crowd. She takes a deep breath and gathers all her concentration.

- People of King’s landing ! she proclaims. Today, I, Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, free you from the reign of the Tyrant Cersei! She committed many crimes, used you, took advantage of you, tried to use your innocence against me, held onto power that did not belong to her, and made you suffer!

Today, you are now free ! I am the new Queen of King's Landing, as well as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms ! We will rebuild your city, our city, we will make it safer, more just for all. We will build a new world, founded on prosperity and peace ! I promise you I will not harm you. I know that most of you associate me with my father, the Mad King.

But he is no more, and I promise you that I will never make the same mistakes as him. I will always treat you with the respect you deserve. I promise you that this time, I will watch over you, I will protect you, I will rule with justice and compassion. Those who wish to leave the city as a free man, woman, or child, may do so. I will not hold anyone back, you are free to do as you wish.

But stay with me, and we will build a new world, a world of compassion, a more just world. Stay, and we will build a world of peace.

Are you with me? she shouts in a last effort.

Her question is risky. If the people don't follow, she risks losing her authority. But she really hopes she has managed to calm their fears, to make them understand her good intentions. Silence falls. No one moves.

And suddenly, as Daenerys begins to lose hope, a murmur spreads through the crowd. A child, as tall as three apples, applauds her. The man to his right imitates him. Then a young woman, a little behind. A boy. A little girl. The rumbling spreads throughout the crowd, and the people suddenly cheer for her.

- Long live Queen Daenerys! Long live the Queen who freed us!

A smile stretches her lips, she is radiant, although she maintains a minimum of her rather authoritarian facade. That's what she fought for. She sees well. Many faces scrutinize her in the crowd, not very convinced. Some even have clearly displayed hostility. But some look at her with hope. And just for a look like the one the little boy who applauded her first gave her, she feels like she didn't do all this for nothing.

She turns to Cersei. Her enemy says nothing. She is destroyed, in tears, her face distorted by fear and grief. Daenerys doesn't even feel satisfaction seeing her like this, all things considered. She only feels pity for her now.

- Cersei will be executed for what she has put you through, she announces.

She hardly wants the children to see this, but she suspects that unfortunately, they have already witnessed much worse. Despite herself, she feels deeply saddened for them. She signals to the soldier holding Cersei to move forward with her. He complies, and everyone can now see the former Queen facing them, humiliated, her cheeks full of tears.

The crowd boos her violently, shouting that she deserves to die in suffering. Daenerys nods her head in the direction of Arya. She barely gives her a look back, and moves towards Cersei.

- Any last word ? breathes the Mother of Dragons ironically.

The former Queen looks at her with a devastated face. Daenerys steps back slightly. Her anger is strangely calmed. She realizes that in the end, she cares little about the fate of her enemy, now. Arya then reaches out, and quick as a snake, slices Cersei's throat, who collapses to the ground in a death rattle. It's quite far from the classic executions, where an executioner would chop off the condemned's head, but the crowd roars and cheers.

The blood of the former queen stains the ground, and the scarlet liquid drips down the steps, further encouraging the people to stir and boo her. Daenerys thinks they still have quite a penchant for violence. With all they've endured under the reign of cruel Kings or Queens, how can you blame them?

She suddenly feels a violent dizziness take hold of her. She looks down and sees blood dripping down her dress, fortunately masked by the dark color of the fabric. A brutal wave of nausea overwhelms her, and she nearly collapses. Ah. She may have pushed herself too hard. As long as she still has a minimum of energy left, she clears her throat.

- You are now free men, women, and children ! she proclaims. Together, we will build a more just world ! Let peace reign !

Although some of them are still cold and doubtful, the majority of the people of King's Landing now acclaim her, shouting her name. She smiled gently. She succeeded. She finally steps back as Davos, Tyrion, and others move forward. It will now be necessary to start the reconstructions, clear the city of corpses, especially since they risk spreading diseases. Take care of the prisoners, the Lannister soldiers, manage the armies, as well as the food, make sure the people...

A white flash suddenly bursts, piercing her skull. An unimaginable pain assails her side. Fortunately, she managed to finish her speeches before.

She enters the Red Keep, and the moment the doors close behind her, she collapses. Firm arms catch her, but she sees nothing anymore, lost in a fog of pain. She makes a violent effort to stay conscious.

She feels a warm hand on her face, as a familiar but panic-altered voice reaches her ears. She concentrates, and finally manages to make out Jon's face leaning over her. She realizes that he has been talking to her for a while, but she struggles to understand what he is saying.

- Daenerys ! Are you hurt ? You're hurt ! Where-

She feels the distress in his gestures, and seeing him so desperate breaks her heart. She manages to raise a hand to his cheek, smiles weakly.

- I'm fine, she whispers with difficulty.

- No, you're not ! he protests with rage, tears streaming down his face.

The flap of her dress suddenly slips, revealing the arrow deeply embedded in her side. He gasps in horror.

- How long have you had... that ? he stammers, terrified.

She tries to respond, but groans in pain as she lets her arm, which was still resting on his cheek, drop. She clenches her teeth. She has rarely been in so much pain in her entire life, and the nausea returns as she feels herself drifting.

She hears panicked cries, and it seems to her that other people are gathering around her. Normally, she would have hated being so vulnerable in front of so many people, but she's in so much pain that she simply can't care about anything.

She hears some people screaming, shouting, and believes she understands that they are calling for a Master. Jon's voice reaches her through the fog, a soft, warm, reassuring tone, although desperate and terrified. She has never seen or heard him like this. She doesn't want him to be so sad.

- Hold on, Daenerys. It's going to be okay, I promise you. We're going to save you. Okay ? Don't leave me, please...

She wants to respond, but a black veil falls before her eyes. The last thing she perceives is Jon's hand supporting her neck, and his desperate cry as she sinks into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Jon had never been so scared in his entire life. Daenerys's head falls back as he holds her in his arms.

- No ! he practically yells, panicked. Daenerys, please ! You mustn't... his voice breaks despite himself.

Tears blur his vision as he desperately searches for a solution, anything. Don't leave me, I beg you. Please, don't abandon me. I need you. Without you, I am nothing. Please. PLEASE. Please…

He suddenly feels a hand firmly placed on his shoulder. He turns around. Arya. His sister has a cold face. Or rather, focused.

- Move, she orders him. Let me see.

Jon obeys, unable to think properly. His sister places two fingers on the Queen's throat. She frowns.

- Her heart still beats regularly, but too slowly. I sent Perclan to fetch Master Cargan, who accompanied our armies, fortunately for her. The arrow didn't hit anything vital, from what I can see. The problem is that she must have lost too much blood. If she had gotten treatment immediately, there would have been no problem. But there...

Jon felt his world collapsing. He had seen, in the Red Keep. He had seen her grimace in pain at times, and her gait was hesitant. But she had pulled away when he had tried to ask her if everything was alright. He should have insisted. He should have...

- Jon ! Arya repeats firmly, looking him straight in the eyes.

He raises his head towards his sister, gripped by terror.

- Calm down, she urged him. You're not helping her by panicking like that. You can't make an effective tourniquet on the torso, but you can compress the wound.

She looks at her brother for a moment.

- I'm going to do it, but you have to help me. We're going to cut her dress all around, and I'll press on her wound to stop the blood from continuing to flow. All right ?

He nods. His sister's calm helps him not to completely sink into terror.

- Hold her tight, she orders.

She draws Needle from its scabbard and begins to cut the fabric surrounding the arrow deeply lodged in her side. Arya glances at the shaft, and grimaces.

- What ? asked Jon, trying by all means to keep his voice from trembling.

- She broke the shaft of the arrow, she grumbles. She's crazy. She must have been in a lot of pain, seeing how it's lodged right under her ribs. Fortunately, she left enough of the shaft sticking out so that the Master could remove it. In short... she might move a bit, even unconscious, Arya warns.

Jon barely processes the information. She broke the arrow ? He decides he'll think about it later, and nods, before holding Daenerys more firmly, fear in his gut. His sister rolls up her sleeves, wipes her fingers on her tunic, then presses her hands firmly around the wound.

Even in her unconsciousness, Daenerys groaned in pain, and Jon felt his warm tears blur his vision.

- Hold on, he stammered, his heart breaking with grief.

The blood oozes a little harder for a moment, but Arya doesn't let up the pressure, and the flow finally seems to lessen. Her fingers become covered in scarlet liquid, and she continues her effort, her face closed and focused.

They wait for what seems like an eternity before an old figure finally approaches them quickly, limping, preceded by a young man with a frightened look. The Master approaches, and frowns at the sight of the blood spilled on the floor.

- You did well to press the wound, he said in a calm voice. Perclan...

The boy hands him a box containing a few instruments. The man then approaches Daenerys, and Arya slightly opens her fingers so he can see better.

- It's ugly, he grumbles. But the arrow slipped into the right place, I don't think it hit any vital organs. On the other hand, many nerves are located in that area. Well, first of all, you need to remove the tip. It's the most dangerous step. If we manage to do it correctly, she has a good chance of making it.

Jon doesn't want to hear what might happen if this moment goes wrong. He nods quickly, his heart on the verge of leaping out of his chest.

- Before that, let's finish cutting the dress. It will be better for working, the old man specifies.

Arya takes Needle again and complies without question, clearing the blood-stained fabrics from Daenerys' chest and stomach.

- I'm going to remove the arrow now, but for that, you really need to hold her, okay ? orders the old man. I would have preferred that we had poppy milk, but I hardly have any stock left and it would take too much time to try to make her drink... Perclan, get some compresses, will you. We'll need to stop the bleeding as soon as the tip is cleared.

Jon and Arya nod, and the young man quickly rummages through the chest with vigor. The Master kneels beside them.

- We would have been better off on a table, but moving her would be too risky... Good. Are you ready ?

Arya presses her hands on Daenerys's hips in agreement, and Jon braces her shoulders against his knees. She's going to be in pain. He can't hold back his burning tears, but nods.

The old man then firmly grips the shaft of the arrow and pulls to dislodge it. She resists for a moment, and Daenerys struggles, crying out in pain. Jon feels his heart break as his cheeks become stained with salty and bitter water.

The point finally comes free from her side, and Daenerys falls back with a groan against Jon's knees. A stream of blood gushes from her wound, and fear grips him more brutally than ever. The Master quickly grabs the compresses that Perclan hands him before vigorously pressing them against her side.

The old man then quickly retrieves a bottle with one hand, opens it, and pours some green paste with a minty smell onto clean compresses that were previously laid out right next to him. He puts the bottle down, then removes the blood-stained bandages, before placing those covered with the poultice on her wound.

Arya hands him a roll of bandage, which the Master accepts with gratitude. Jon sees him apply the compresses, then firmly wrap the long strips of fabric around her torso. He finishes wrapping the young woman's flanks with precision, then takes her pulse. Jon feels the fear violently rising within him, waiting for what he will say.

- I think she's on the right track, he finally breathes out with relief. We need to put her in a bed, keep her warm, and we'll have to monitor her constantly in the coming days. She lost quite a bit of blood, but I don't think her life is in danger, continues the Master.

Jon felt immense relief wash over him, so much so that if he wasn't already on his knees, his legs would have given out beneath him. He forbade himself from hoping too much, still terrified of losing her. But he holds her a little closer to him. You'll get through this, Daenerys. I'm certain of it. You can do it. Courage, my love.

***

Jon looks at her, as he has for hours. She is still as pale as ever, but her hand is less cold in his. The fire crackles in the room, and furs that he himself placed cover her small body. The atmosphere is too hot for him, but he doesn't care.

He is exhausted, refuses to close his eyes despite the fatigue that relentlessly assails him. His thumb tirelessly caresses the back of her hand, with infinite tenderness. He wonders for a moment if this is the kind of violent and heavy worry that Daenerys felt when she was waiting for him to wake up after the battle against the White walkers.

He suddenly jumps and turns around sharply when the door swings open with a heavy creak. He relaxes when he sees his sister enter, and turns all his attention back to Daenerys.

She at least looks peaceful. Her features are no longer drawn, and he can see her chest rising regularly. He remains fixed on this movement, as if terrified that it will suddenly stop if he looks away.

- You should sleep, Arya tells him.

- I have to watch over her, he breaths.

He doesn't turn to his sister, but he would have sworn she rolled her eyes.

- Because you think your precious Queen would be happy to find you staring at her like a zombie when she wakes up ? she taunts him.

Her mockery is evident, although he detects a hint of worry in her voice. Meanwhile, she's not wrong. But he is unable to drift off to sleep. He has the horrible feeling that if he looks away, Daenerys will die without anyone noticing.

He couldn't say how long they both remained in silence after Arya sat down by the fireplace, against the wall.

- She's mad, she suddenly blurts out.

Jon looks at her, his eyes colder than ever. If she...

- Let me finish, Arya sighs before he can speak. In case you didn't understand, I think she had that arrow stuck in her side since she landed with her dragon at the foot of the Red Keep. If not before. Which means she climbed those steps, searched for Cersei with you, went back down, and finally gave her speech to the crowd, with an arrow under her ribs. She broke the barrel so no one would notice, Jon. It must have hurt her... Anyway, she cuts herself off, clearly not wanting to bring up the pain of the woman he loves in front of her brother.

Jon suddenly understands Arya's tone. It's no longer the open distrust, the guarded attitude she had towards Daenerys when they were in Winterfell. Her voice is now almost... curious, and... admiring?

His sister falls silent for a moment, then continues.

- I've had my share of suffering. And I can tell you that staying impassive, talking, walking, shouting while you have an arrow stuck in your stomach, that must be more painful than anything I've ever experienced. I don't know how she did it. Her strength of character is impressive, she asserts.

She seems to hesitate, but eventually continues in a slightly softer voice.

- I may have judged her a bit too quickly. Her speech... was not what I expected. And she used her dragon, Drogon, for good. Not against the innocent.

Jon notices the sparks that shine in his sister's eyes when she talks about the immense beast. Arya had always been fascinated by dragons, and she had always admired strong women. A gentle warmth spreads through him. If the two people he holds most dear in his heart actually talked, without pretense and with sincerity, he is convinced they could well become the best friends in the world.

Jon takes a deep breath, a thought suddenly crossing his mind.

- Sansa betrayed me, he whispers, his heart breaking just from talking about it. And because of me, Daenerys is now in danger. She will be questioned. After all she's done.

Suffering crosses his gaze as he turns to his sister.

- I hate being a threat to her, Arya. And Sansa…

He falls silent, hatred boiling in his veins. He doesn't understand why she betrayed him. Or rather, he understands it very well. She doesn't trust him, and above all, she wants to make decisions for him. He realizes that he is not sure if he will ever be able to forgive her.

- You did what you thought was right, Arya states, looking him straight in the eye. Continue to take responsibility for your choices. I know you well, Jon, you are my brother, no matter what the blood says. And I saw... a part of who Daenerys Targaryen really is, today. If there are two people capable of getting out of this mess, it's you.

His sister's words bring him immense relief. Her approval and the trust she places in him warm his heart. He smiled gently at her.

- Thank you, Arya, he whispers in his hoarse voice.

She smiled back at him before continuing.

- As for Sansa, well, I guess we should have continued to apply our famous " Don’t tell Sansa", she says ironically, referring to what they used to say to each other as children, when everything was still simple.

Jon nods, unable to laugh at the joke. But he feels relieved. His sister finally approves a little more of the woman he loves, and above all, she trusts him, probably more than he trusts himself. For a moment, he thinks that if Daenerys were awake, he would probably be happier than ever, surrounded by the two people he loves the most in the world.

He looks at her again. Her silver hair is spread across the pillows, her face is peaceful, no sign seems to tighten or trouble her expression. She looks so… good, that he almost feels like she's just taking a nap.

He would so much like her to open her eyes, her beautiful violet eyes, to smile at him in that way that makes him melt, to talk about everything and nothing, no matter the big discussions about the Throne, the Crown, or whatever else. These can wait, and they would just talk about whatever they wanted. He would love to hold her in his arms, place his lips on hers, and above all, feel her there, present, with him.

His heart tightens, and he clasps his fingers more firmly between hers, still gently caressing the back of her hand with his thumb with tireless tenderness. Come back to me quickly…

Chapter Text

Daenerys is alone. It's cold. The sky is completely darkened, the whole world seems to be frozen. A shiver runs through her from head to toe. The blizzard prevents her from seeing clearly. She suddenly hears a voice, terrifying, rumbling, echoing across the snow-covered plains. She can't understand the meaning, but she is brutally terrorized.

The storm is raging. Daenerys suddenly sees people in front of her. They look like the… dead, but not because of their appearance. By their attitude. They advance toward her, inexorably. She panics, retreats hastily.

Suddenly, a burst of light emerged in the midst of the darkness.

She hears a child's cry.

And a white star appears, luminous, of incredible power.

A roar, similar to that of a dragon, echoed in the distance.

A final battle.

These three words echoed in her head without her knowing why.

And then, a deafening rumble... and nothing more.

***

Daenerys suddenly opens her eyes, looking haggard. She no longer knows where she is. She gasps for a moment, lost in a freezing fog, of the same type as that of her... dream ? She pants, lost, tears well up in her eyes, she...

- Daenerys !

The shadows suddenly seem to disappear, replaced by a familiar face, a face she would recognize among thousands. Whose dark gray eyes fix on her with undisguised worry. From that glimmer that reassures her in a flash.

She feels like she can finally breathe, and he suddenly embraces her against him, with infinite tenderness, immediately dispelling her last anxieties. She melts into his embrace, amidst his warm arms, inhaling his comforting scent. She is protected. An intense feeling of security runs through her limbs, and she relaxes, nestled against him, finally back in the present, in the warmth, and not in the icy terror she felt earlier.

The memories jostle brutally in her head. She is Queen. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, finally. She must have lost consciousness because of that damned arrow. Jon finally backs away, gently, and she notices that he has actually been extremely delicate, barely brushing her side where long strips of fabric are wrapped. She tries to move her right arm a little, and grimaces at the sharp pain that radiates through her ribs with this movement.

Jon's firm hand presses on her shoulder, preventing her from fidgeting.

- You mustn't move ! The Master said your wound was still sensitive, he breathed in a hoarse voice.

She looks at him, and her heart swells with immeasurable love... and sorrow. He is sitting right next to her, looking haggard. His hair is undone, he doesn’t seem to have eaten for a while, and his eyes are fixed on her, filled with a violent blend of relief and worry, mixed with immense affection.

- You're finally awake... he mumbles, tears in his eyes.

- Yes, I'm here, everything is fine, she whispers, her heart breaking to see him so lost.

She straightens up a bit, and manages, not without difficulty, to take him into her arms this time.

- I’m sorry, she said sadly. I didn't want to worry you...

He rests his head against her chest, and she feels his warm tears wetting her bandages, as well as her bare stomach. He wraps his arms around her again, and holds her close as if she were about to leave again. He seems to try to take a firmer tone, angry that she risked her life like that, but he can't manage it. He is incapable of it. Only his broken voice echoes.

- Never do that again. I thought...

He doesn't finish his sentence, and Daenerys feels a sharp sense of guilt wash over her. If Jon had hidden such a serious injury from her, she would have been deeply angry with him, and above all, she would have been terrified for him.

- I’m sorry, she repeats softly.

They remain for a moment against each other, embraced. Daenerys closes her eyes. She feels so good with him. She runs her hands through his dark curls, slowly caressing his hair, threading her fingers through his strands to untangle them with immense patience. He doesn't let go of her, even though he seems to calm down with the regular movements of her hands.

- How long have I been… asleep ? she finally murmurs.

- Four days, he whispers without looking up.

Her heart tightens even more. He had to wait for her to wake up in constant anguish for four days. She is well-placed to know how long the hours, minutes, and even seconds seem when you are desperately waiting for the return of those you love.

She lets her hands slide out of his hair, cups his cheeks with her delicate palms, and gently lifts his face. She plunges her eyes into his. His storm-colored pupils are definitely magnificent. She lowers her chin a little, and places her lips on his with infinite gentleness.

He straightens up, wraps her in his arms, deepening their kiss, pulls her against him, pressing his warm palms against her back. She finally pulls away a little, and melts at his loving and relieved expression. She strokes his cheek, softened.

- I'm fine now, she smiled gently at him.

- Never hide this kind of thing from me again, okay ? he whispers with an almost pleading gaze.

She looks away and lets her hand drop, a little uncomfortable. He slides his fingers under her chin, lightly touches the corner of her lips with his thumb, and brings her face closer to his.

- Daenerys, I'm serious. I... understand that sometimes, you consider your health, your life, or whatever comes after your goals. Even if I don't agree, and I never will. But I would at least like to know. Even if you don't let me intervene, tell me. Dany, please, he finishes, practically begging her, seeking her gaze.

She finally looked up at him, and the sincere, deep worry she saw in the depths of his pupils overwhelmed her.

- All right, she breathes.

- Thank you, he said with obvious relief.

He kisses her again, and she melts into his arms, soothed.

- And you, you have nothing ? she suddenly asks, straightening up a bit to meet his gaze, worry abruptly washing over her.

He seems to be in great shape, but you never know. He might be injured internally, or maybe it's just in a place not visible at first glance, or...

- No, I have nothing, he whispers, looking her straight in the eyes, with such tenderness that it instantly disarms her.

He gently strokes the back of her hands. She closes her eyes and leans against his chest, deeply relieved.

- What happened since I lost consciousness? she finally inquired after a moment.

He steps back slightly, but takes her palm back into his, naturally interlacing their fingers.

- You fainted in my arms, he replies, and she can feel him trying to keep his voice from trembling.

Her heart tightens a little in her chest, and she strengthens her grip on his hand in an attempt to comfort him. She hates to think that he was also scared because of her.

- I panicked, he admits. I don't know what I would have done if Arya hadn't been there. She took charge, tending to your wound while the Master arrived. After, he...

His voice wavers for a moment, and he continues, his tone a little shaky.

- He removed the arrow, then he bandaged your wound. They transported you to a room in the Red Keep, and I have stayed by your side ever since.

- Thank you, she whispers softly.

A faint smile lights up his saddened face as he delves back into his visibly painful memories, and he furtively places a kiss on her forehead.

- Regarding King's Landing, the basic organization has been established while waiting for you to wake up. Already, it was necessary to calm the ardor of the Dothrakis who have their own vision of what should be done to a city after defeating it, he grumbles.

Daenerys worries for a moment, knowing very well what her men are capable of doing if they are not firmly forbidden.

- I calmed them down, he immediately reassures her upon seeing her expression freeze a bit. Telling them that you would burn them if they dared to touch the inhabitants without your permission was enough, he adds, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She can't help but smile imagining Jon threatening the poor Dothrakis, probably with Drogon behind him...

- Drogon, she suddenly remembers. Is he okay ?

- Very well, Jon agrees. He either stayed flying over the city or fishing at sea, or waiting perched on one of the towers of the Red Keep, right next to your room. Otherwise, the armies have already started evacuating the corpses. We tried to bury them, but Drogon also burned some of them, those that were already... well, some bodies were beyond recovery. There is still some clearing to do, but the number of deaths is ultimately quite low, thanks to our plan.

We have also started the reconstruction of the buildings damaged by the collapse of the walls in some places, which have also been partially repaired, although there is still much to do. It is Tyrion who mainly takes care of that part. Moreover, Davos is overseeing the Northern armies in my place for the time being.

As for the Lannister armies, some of them have been locked up in the city's cells, while another part is disarmed and guarded outside the city by Unsullied, who are themselves under the supervision of Grey Worm. We didn't have enough room to put them all in prison... he finally finished.

Daenerys thought intensely. They have already visibly made good progress in her absence. A smile floats on her lips.

- It seems like you managed very well on your own.

A sentence suddenly comes back to her mind.

- By the way, you said that... Arya had helped you ? Well, had helped me, then ? she asks, trying to contain her surprise.

The young woman had always seemed very upright and detached to her, but she had clearly understood that the she didn't hold her in her heart. That she had tried to save her really surprised her.

- Yes, confirms Jon. She… pressed on your wound to prevent too much blood from flowing out before the Master arrived, and it was actually her who called him. And… I think she's changed her opinion about you a bit, he finally adds after a hesitation.

A smile, this time genuine and warm, stretches Daenerys's lips. Telling herself that Arya, the sister of the man she loves, helped her and maybe finally sees her at least a little differently warms her heart. She mustn't forget to thank her. Jon smiled in turn as he saw her light up.

- Do you have any other information ? she asks.

He seems to hesitate and tightens his hand around hers.

- We sent the news of your victory throughout Westeros, and the announcement of Cersei's death, as well as your accession to the Throne and thus the fact that you are the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he finally announced softly. But… even though for now, the news seems to have been rather well received, some say that you are not legitimate in power, and that it is…

She sees that just saying it breaks his heart.

- I who should rule. Varys has visibly spread the news of my true origins much more than we thought, and almost the entire continent knows about it now, he finishes with difficulty.

He plunges his eyes into hers, and she sees the extent of his regrets and the deep remorse that torments him. He intertwines his fingers more tightly with hers, and she feels him trying to keep his voice from trembling as he continues.

- I'm sorry, Daenerys. I am so, so sorry. I should never have revealed the truth to Sansa. You had warned me, beside. Sorry. I promise you that I will do everything to fix my mistake. I...

He stops abruptly when he feels the palm of the now Queen gently caress his cheek. She sees him look up at her, and tears well up in her eyes. This is going to be tough. But... he did what he thought was right. And he regrets it now. She has already made mistakes, too.
And as he is like that, destroyed before her and consumed by guilt, she is unable to resent him.

- It's all right, Jon, she whispers. Thank you for admitting you were wrong. We'll get thru it as usual, both of us. As long as we're both together, it'll be okay, alright ?

She realizes that more than anything, it is the fear of losing him, of feeling him drift away again, that distresses her. It doesn't matter if the world is against them. She is certain that as long as they are together, everything will be fine. An idea suddenly rises within her, unexpected, taking control of all her thoughts.

And... what if they joined forces ? If they got married ? That would solve all their problems. They would both rule. They could balance each other, him the ice, her the fire. They are perfect for each other. And... she loves him. She loves him, with all her heart and soul. She only wants him, wants to live the rest of her life with him. She would have never thought of sharing her Throne. But with him... it almost relieved her. To think that she could always count on him by her side. So... the idea seems crazy to her, and at the same time... But will he want her ?

- You're right, he suddenly breathes, interrupting the train of her thoughts. Thank you, Daenerys. You are incredible. You are the most incredible woman I have ever met, he whispers, his voice tinged with emotion. I promise I will never leave you again. I promise to give you all the love you deserve. To show you everything I feel for you, he finishes, looking at her with such pure love that it gives her chills.
Tears well up in her eyes as his pupils, filled with raw sincerity, warm her entire body, and his words seem to heal something within her. As if she had just found a piece of her heart. It makes her feel so, so good.

Her idea of marriage comes back to her, even more insistently, and she doesn't know what to think. She is both terrified... and at the same time, it gives her crazy hope. Like a dream she would never have dared to believe in, or even hope for.

She suddenly feels exhaustion creeping over her. She is clearly not yet fully recovered from her injuries. She makes an effort to gather her words.

- And you, you are the most just, the most upright, and the strongest man I know. And I don't want to know another. I only want you, she whispers softly.

She feels his lips against hers as he kisses her with tenderness and infinite love. She surrenders to him, melts into his embrace. She feels like she is merging with him. She is never as sure of her place as in his arms. As if she were home. This home she never had... It's Jon who gives her the closest feeling.

They eventually detach, and he wraps her even tighter. He notices her sudden exhaustion as she leans against him, her cheek resting against his heart. She hears it beating softly against her ear, in a regular rhythm that lulls her like a child.

- You can rest, he whispers tenderly, sensing her fatigue. You just finally woke up, you can take some time for yourself without pushing too hard.

She would like to protest, but the warmth of his arms, his breath against her hair, the firm and reassuring presence of his hands on her neck and back soothe her to the point of making her doze off.

- Thank you for being there for me, she mumbles in a semi-sleep.

She is confused by all the information she has just received, by the pain that is much less intense than it was four days ago but still present in her side, by her crazy hope of marriage that she doesn't know what to think, by Jon's comforting and adorable words, by his embrace that makes her forget everything and just makes her want to surrender to the world of dreams again.

She almost tries to struggle, to get out of this torpor, thinking that there are now plenty of things to do. And then she needs to take care of the organization, she needs to get out of this damned bed and take everything back into her own hands – although they seem to have managed perfectly in her absence – she also needs to show the people that she is indeed there, that she is their Queen.

But the warmth that surrounds her envelops her mind in a gentle, soothing bubble, and she falls asleep despite herself in the arms of the man who probably loves her more than she loves herself.

Chapter Text

Daenerys pushes the furs away with annoyance. It's been almost a week now that she's been rotting in this damned bed, and the Maester refuses to let her out. If it had been up to her, she would already be up, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.

But Jon's pleading look had gotten the better of her, and she found herself waiting miserably in this room, every corner of which she was beginning to know by heart. She had regular visits, but some hours seemed terribly long as she waited for only one thing : news from King's Landing, from her people, her armies, her Kingdom.

Now that she was awake, she made the important decisions and gave all the directives, but she obviously couldn't enforce them from her bed, and she found herself alone and plunged into boredom as soon as her advisors hurried off to carry out her orders.

Except for Tyrion, who stayed with her as much as he could. He had visited her several times, and had allowed himself to lecture her for an eternity on her recklessness, before she finally dismissed him with an annoyed look, preferring silence to his endless rebukes.

She had also reconsidered the marriage. But she didn't know, and still doesn't know what to do. Should she try to talk to Jon about it ? Think about it a bit more before ? She doesn't want to rush him. Regret takes hold of her heart. Missandei would have known what to do.

She finally rests her head against the pillows and sighs. At least, she has time to think about all this. A slight pain suddenly radiates through her side as she attempts to sit up slightly again, and she grimaces involuntarily.

Suddenly, three sharp knocks are heard behind her door. Finally, a bit of excitement.

- Come in, she says as she sits down, trying to maintain a dignified air.

No one needs to feel like she is weak. On the contrary, she needs to appear stronger than ever.

She tries to prevent the surprise from spreading across her face as she sees the person entering her room. A young woman with jet-black hair, a stern look, but above all, eyes that remind her terribly of someone very dear to her heart. Arya.

She looks at her without quite knowing what to say, disconcerted by her visit. Jon's sister hadn't come to see her since she had woken up. They size each other up for a moment, and Daenerys clears her throat.

- My brother, the Arya cut.

The Mother of Dragons looks at her with questioning surprise.

- He wanted to come see you, Jon's sister continues. Except that he had to follow up with a second Council. So he didn't have time. He started to get agitated, said that as Queen you had to have a debrief of the session immediately after the debate. He was told that others could handle it and that it was important for him to stay for the meeting that would follow, but he obviously refused. So I volunteered to come see you.

Looking at the young woman's face, Daenerys thinks that she must have rather imposed herself than offered, but she keeps her remark to herself, waiting for her to finish.

- There you go, finish this one without any more explanations.

The Queen looks at her for another moment. She is a bit uncertain, but eventually responds.

- I thank you, she states.

What Jon told her suddenly comes back to her. "I don't know what I would have done if Arya hadn't been there. She took charge, tending to your wound while the Master arrived". Gratitude overwhelms her. She hasn't been able to thank her in person yet.

- And thank you for what you did for me, right after the capture of King's Landing, she adds with a warm smile.

Arya's cold face cracks for the first time, and she suddenly looks disconcerted.

- It's normal, she says almost hastily. Anyone would have done it.

- No, corrects Daenerys. Most would have left me to die.

Arya seems about to protest, but the Queen continues.

- Even though I suspect you did this for your brother, I'm still grateful to you, she continues. I will never forget it, you have my word.

Jon's sister cannot hide her astonishment at Daenerys' gentle face. She thinks that she has indeed only shown her cold side to Arya. She thinks for a moment that perhaps she should have kept the mask on, but oh well. She had probably saved his life, and the Queen wasn't the type to show ingratitude.

Jon's sister looks at her without saying anything, then sits comfortably in one of the armchairs in the room. She doesn't ask Daenerys for permission, but strangely, while she would have thought otherwise, it doesn't bother her that much. The silence that settles between them either. To her great surprise, she even feels quite comfortable in her company.

- I also owe you thanks, Arya suddenly blurts out. For everything, she continues without giving Daenerys time to respond. Thank you... Thank you for coming to help us in the North, for fighting alongside us against the Night King.

- It was you who shot him down, the Queen points out.

- I could never have done it without your help, your dragons, and your army. I... well, without you, we would all be dead by now. So thank you, Arya finishes.

Daenerys' heart fills with warmth. A gentle, deep warmth. She had almost forgotten how good people's gratitude could feel.

- Anyway, I would have had to face them one day, so it was normal to join our forces. I'm glad I could help you, she smiled.

She feels like she's revealing way too much, but she almost feels close to Jon's sister. And… They probably have a lot in common.

- I understand why my brother likes you, Arya suddenly blurts out after a moment of silence.

Daenerys can't help but smile again, her heart lightened.

- Have you seen Drogon ? she suddenly inquired, remembering what Jon had said.

According to him, Arya adored dragons, to the point that she had learned each of their names, as well as those of their riders. Obviously, he hadn't exaggerated, and Daenerys clearly sees the young woman's eyes light up.

- Yes, he is magnificent ! He is black like Balerion, and although he is not yet as big, he is already imposing ! she affirms, trying to contain her enthusiasm – without much success -.

The Queen holds back a laugh, almost amused. This marble-faced assassin seems to turn back into a little girl with stars in her eyes.

- I'll show it to you up close, one day, if you want, she suggests.

- Really ?

This time, Arya couldn't hold back her exclamation.

- Really, Daenerys agrees, no longer losing her smile as Jon's sister is now radiant.

The young woman falls silent for a moment, and finally seems to become serious again.

- I'm sorry for the way you were treated in the North. We… have a hard time trusting, after what we've been through with many Southern leaders. But you didn't deserve such antipathy, she says.

Daenerys almost felt tears welling up in her eyes. That among all, it is the sister of the man she loves who finally recognizes the suffering and the violent lack of recognition she has endured, touches her much more than it should. She looks away for a moment and regains her composure before turning back to Arya.

- I understand. Foreigners are often difficult to accept, she replies softly.

The young woman looks at her a bit furtively, as if she were suddenly questioning her ideas.

- You are really different from what I expected, she finally said, looking intrigued.

- For better or for worse ? asks Daenerys, amused.

- Rather better, I would say, Arya states, and the Queen seems to detect a trace of humor in her words for the first time.

They then remain silent, simply enjoying the calm reigning in the room. Daenerys felt her heart fill with happiness. It couldn't have gone better. She was finally beginning to see a truly positive future, without having an astronomical amount of conflicts to manage – what's more, with Jon's family, which was even more delicate -.

- By the way, I think I was supposed to give you a summary of the meeting, right ? says Arya.

- I guess, Daenerys acquiesces.

Decidedly, the young woman has no use for manners due to their differences in social status. But the Queen feels that she now respects her, even if only minimally. And that is quite enough for her.

- You haven't missed much, explains Jon's sister with a slight shrug. They mostly talked about food distribution. As you requested, letters were sent to the neighboring lords to ask for their help. They should send us part of their stocks if they have enough. For now, the reserves are sufficient, but to continue feeding the city as well as all these armies, it's certain that we will need to manage the quantities, she notes.
And otherwise, the announcement that Cersei is finally defeated and that you are the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms has also spread well throughout Westeros. For now, they are still monitoring the reactions it is causing everyplace. That's all, she concludes.

Daenerys thinks intensely. How much food will they need ? Thinking about that also makes her wonder what the different troops gathered in King's Landing are going to do.

The Northern armies will probably head back toward Winterfell and its surroundings. It remains to be seen what the Unsullied wish to do. She no longer needs fighters, now. The war is over. Moreover, there are still the Lannister prisoners...

An idea comes to her mind. She can release them in exchange for public works. The city will need labor. And these men surrendered. They no longer wish to fight. If they recognize her as Queen, she will then consider them as her people just as much as the others.

As for the Unsullied, then, she will talk to Grey Worm about it. They will probably want to return to their native islands. Or, knowing their captain, they will want to stay by her side. Whatever the case, she will give them the choice.

There is also the question of the Dothrakis. Who are not always easy to manage, by the way.

The problem of armies – and especially feeding them, then housing them in better conditions – is therefore very much present.

To this is added the reconstruction of the city, managing allied lords or, on the contrary, those reluctant to her access to power, improving the living conditions of the people who clearly suffered under the rule of the Lannisters, and countless other concerns.

Daenerys resists the urge to massage her temples as a headache quietly settles behind her forehead.

- Thank you, she said to Arya, holding back a sigh.

Deep down, taking care of her people and the Kingdom doesn't bother her at all. She simply loves it. But as long as the organization is so unclear and struggles to take shape, and the post-battle excitement hasn't yet subsided, economic problems and puzzles keep coming one after another.

Arya seems to notice her fatigue, and a slight smile touches her lips for the first time since she entered the room.

- I wouldn't like to be in your shoes, she says.

Daenerys looks at her for a moment, and thinks with amusement that indeed, from the little the young woman had let her see of her character, she could well imagine her fleeing all the way behind the collapsed Wall if necessary rather than having to behave like an exemplary Lady or Queen.

- It also has its advantages, she jokes half-heartedly.

- Lucky for us, Arya points out. Otherwise, we could always run around for someone to take on this role.

- You're not wrong, concedes the Queen.

- I'm rarely wrong, asserts the young woman, looking serious.

- I'm willing to believe you, Daenerys smiled, amused.

A slight pause settles between them. The Queen appreciates Jon's sister's quick wit and her frankness. Arya may be an assassin – who could probably kill her immediately if she wanted to – but she didn't seem like the type to stab you in the back when you trust her. Daenerys looks at her again. Not without reason, at least, she corrects herself.

- My brother loves you, Arya suddenly inquired without preamble, looking her straight in the eyes.

The Queen freezes for a moment, uncertain. The last time one of Jon's sisters had thrown that phrase in her face, it had turned out rather badly. To put it frankly, it didn't turn out well. Cautiously, she responds to Arya's scrutinizing gaze. No animosity seems present in her eyes, just... curiosity?

- And do you have any reservations about that ? she asks, almost suspicious now.

The young woman seems to be thinking, sincerely weighing the pros and cons.

- No, she finally blurted out. If you make him happy... then I'm happy too. You seem like someone nice. Really. But don't even think about harming him.

- You can trust me on that, Daenerys smiled, relieved not to have to break the slight, but present bond of respect... and more ? that they had just created during their conversation.

She suddenly takes on a slightly colder demeanor. She wants Jon's sister to understand that she is serious.

- And it's the same for you, by the way, she states firmly.

- What is the same ? asks Arya, a bit surprised.

- If you hurt him. By whatever means. He cares about you more than anyone else. So if you hurt him, it's the same on my end. You will come across me, she asserts, looking straight into the young woman's eyes.

She seems genuinely surprised. Then she slumps into the armchair, relaxing quietly.

- It seems like my brother chose you rather well, she says.

This time, a genuine smile rises to Daenerys' lips.

- Thank you, she replies simply.

They fall silent again. The regular silences that hang between them are not disturbing, on the contrary. Daenerys doesn't feel the need to talk, and evidently, neither does Arya. Yet, she still doesn't make any move to leave the room. Somewhere, the Queen is grateful to her. Just the thought of being alone in boredom again makes her want to grimace. An involuntary smile comes to her lips. This meeting that she had imagined several times had ultimately gone much better than she would have believed.

Chapter Text

Jon comes out of the council completely drained. He has just spent more than two and a half hours listening to the lords of the Northern army complain. Either the lack of food, or the little space they had to set up their tents, or the fact that they wanted to return to Winterfell tomorrow, or a bunch of other minor problems.

He had spent his time trying to calm them down, find solutions, and nuance sometimes clearly aggressive remarks. He had even nearly struck a Northern lord who had suggested they should have left the "disdainful blonde" to fend for herself. Jon had replied coldly instead that she was now his Queen and if he disrespected her again, he would cut off his head himself. After that, no one had dared to even mention Daenerys.

Daenerys. He is dying to see her. He thought about her throughout the entire meeting. Already, he would have liked to stay with her as long as she was confined to bed, even tho she was now awake. But she had insisted that he go back to his duties, a few days earlier, claiming that she would survive without him. Faced with his reluctance, she had eventually gently chased him away, telling him that he wasn't going to stand there watching her for hours with his puppy-dog eyes.

He sighs. He can't wait for her to be able to leave this room. The worst was in the evening. He had only slept a few nights with her, but he already felt terribly lonely without her warm little body snuggled against his.

According to the Maester, she will soon be back on her feet, but she will need to remain cautious. He grimaces at the thought. He'd better keep an eye on her, or he's certain she'll jump on Drogon as soon as she's barely standing.

A slight worry clouds his thoughts. Arya went to see Daenerys in his place – he still doesn't know whether he should be grateful to her or resent her – and then she didn't come back to the council. Even tho it probably has nothing to do with Daenerys : Given how bored she had looked at the previous meeting, he doesn't even understand how she had the courage to attend it until the end.

She had insisted on participating, but from the expression she had displayed afterward, she had probably regretted it from the very first minutes. Talking about food distribution for several hours was hardly exciting, even for him.

His heart swells with affection as he thinks back to the face Arya had made. She had probably looked colder than ever in the eyes of others, but he had only seen the adorably gloomy face of his little sister.

He emerges from the stairs into the hallway, and finally arrives at Daenerys' door. The two Unsullied posted in front of her room immediately step aside as he approaches. He knocks against the heavy door, impatient to see her again though anxious about what she will say to him. He is certain that Arya and they can get along well, but they both have strong personalities. He hopes their one-on-one wasn't too stormy.

- Come in !

Daenerys's voice and warm tone dispel his worries in an instant, and he pushes the door open. She turns her head toward him, and her face softens almost the moment she sees him, as an adorable smile forms on her lips.

- You look tired, she remarks, a little amused though he hears the compassion that breaks through her intonation.

He is about to answer, but suddenly stops, astonished. Arya is quietly settled in one of the armchairs, and looks at him as if nothing had happened.

- You... you are... he tries to ask, unable to contain his surprise.

- Don't worry, I'll leave you alone, she says as she straightens up.

She gets up with ease and approaches her brother to grab the doorknob.

- I remind you that she is still recovering, by the way, so go easy on the hanky-panky.

- What do you... We don't...

Arya gives him an evocative and amused look, but she keeps a stone face and slams the door in his face as she leaves without waiting for his explanations. The blush rises to his cheeks and he turns to Daenerys, fuming.

- I suppose it went well between you ? he asks after a moment of silence, his ears warming. Sorry. Arya is quite… blunt ?

- I had noticed, she says with a smile on her lips, her cheekbones a little flushed too.

She seems to think for a moment.

- I would say she doesn't hate me as much as I thought, she finally declared.

Jon felt relief wash over him. He moves toward her, sits on the edge of her bed.

- I wasn't extremely serene not being present, he admits. But I was sure you would get along well.

He gently reaches out near her face and delicately touches her silver hair.

- Do you feel better, otherwise ? he continues, his voice a little lower.

She nods.

- Raising my arm is still difficult, but apart from that, it's okay, she explains, remaining quite evasive.

Jon distractedly slides his fingers through her strands. Her hair is really soft and silky. And magnificent. Has he ever caressed any that were so fine, so beautiful ? They have a particular sheen in the sun. It looks like a waterfall of molten silver flowing down her shoulders. Sansa's or Arya's hair is rough compared to hers.

- You ask me a question but you don't even listen to the answer, Daenerys remarks, thus snapping him out of his stupor.

- Excuse me, he said with a sheepish look. So, apart from when you move your arm too much, you don't have any pain ? he inquired.

She nods, and lets herself fall back into the pillows, closing her eyes, soothed by the way he quietly untangles her hair.

- I'll have to braid your hair one day, he says.

Daenerys sits up abruptly, her eyes shining.

- You know how to do that ? she asks him with curiosity.

He smiles, and a gentle warmth spreads through his limbs as he sees her enthusiasm. He thinks he must be the only one who finds the Mother of Dragons adorable. Looking at her hopeful face, it's the only word that comes to mind.

- I used to make them for Arya, when she was little, he explains. But don't have too high expectations, it's been a while since I practiced, and it was already rough back then...

Given the complexity of the hairstyles her Dothrakis give her, he would almost feel like he was defiling her hair if he tried anything.

- It doesn't matter ! she exclaims, looking delighted. You can try next time !

He laughs softly at her sparkling eyes.

- As my Queen wishes, he whispers affectionately.

She has a small smile, and gives him a flick on the palm that is gently caressing her strands. He stops and looks at her, surprised.

- Dany, she corrects as her smile widens slightly. That's better.

- Okay, he replies, his heart swelling with a love too strong for him to contain.

He gently brings one of her long, wavy strands to his lips and places a light kiss on the silver threads that flow between his fingers.

- Dany, he repeats very softly.




***




Daenerys felt a smile rise to her lips. Finally. Jon holds her against him, one hand slipped under her arm, gently pressing her side. The Mestre observes them attentively.

- Try to walk on your own now, suggests the old man.

Her former King of the North doesn't seem extremely serene, but he slowly releases her, keeping an arm just a few inches around her. She takes a few steps into her room and notes with relief that as long as she doesn't make any sudden movements, she's almost pain-free.

- I think it's okay, she says, trying to keep a calm and non-radiant face.

She will finally be able to get out of this damned bed and take part in the councils and meetings concerning the Kingdom. It won't be easy, and it will take time, but she will get there. They will make it.

- You will need to stay cautious, explains the old man. Don't push yourself too hard. If you feel the pain returning or you're too uncomfortable, don't hesitate to send me a message. I will continue to check on your progressive healing from time to time, but we will be able to see each other much less often than until now.

Daenerys nods in agreement.

- Thank you, she replies, trying to remain impassive, despite her desire to smile from ear to ear.

She notices Jon looking at her with an adorable expression, clearly delighted for her. He finally approaches her and kisses her furtively, slipping a hand behind her neck. They have stopped all their clumsy attempts to hide their relationship in front of the Master, although they are still embarrassed in front of others.

- I'm happy for you, he breathes, his face lit up with a gentle smile.

She chastely takes back his lips, and they exchange an involuntary glance as they linger, opening their mouths a bit more than expected. Seeing the light that comes into his eyes, Daenerys deduces that she is not the only one who has suffered through her nights without him. Whether it was the lack of his arms around her, the steady sound of his heart that she loved to listen to, his reassuring scent, or...

She swallowed hard and moved away from him a little too quickly, her cheeks flushed, before she gave in to her desire to send the Master away right then and there so she could jump on Jon and make up for all those days—and all those nights—spent without him.

He probably had the same kind of ideas that came to his mind given the way his chest suddenly rises more quickly.

- A council will soon start with Tyrion to lead it, on which reconstructions to prioritize in the city, what new structures to add, and how the people are reacting for now, he said rather quickly, his voice a bit lower. You have already given us your instructions, but if you have the courage, you could participate.

Daenerys let a smile form on her lips. She will finally be able to take her rights and duties as Queen. She thinks she will also need to take a tour of the city. One is never more certain of the people's opinion than by directly asking them.

- Of course I'm coming, she replies. I've been looking forward to this since I've been stuck in bed.

Jon smiles in turn, and she tries to ignore the swirling warmth that ignites in the pit of her stomach at this sight.

- Let's go, then, he breathes as he opens the door for her.

She passes in front of him, brushing her fingers against his, and notes with satisfaction that despite being in constant contact, Jon still reacts just as much. He flinches and she sees out of the corner of her eye his ears turn red.

Unfortunately, it's the same for her too, and she desperately tries to slow down her heartbeat. She feels like a kid madly in love. But strangely, this feeling isn't so unpleasant. She finally has the feeling that, despite all her duties, all her titles, and all her responsibilities, she has the right to allow herself a little innocence amidst all these trials that have tried to snatch it away from her.

Her heart swells with affection as he joins her, and naturally slips his hand into her. She finally has the right to love.

Chapter Text

- I sincerely believe that the most important thing remains the schools, asserts one of the advisors.

- I would like to give my opinion, another quietly responds. Nursing homes should be a priority. The current ones are unsanitary, in a deplorable state, and we only have two in the entire city. Compared to the number of residents, it's far too few.

Jon thought, torn on the matter. They had gathered, him and Daenerys, as well as Tyrion and Davos, to hold a council on the facilities to put in place for the benefit of the people.

The Queen had decided that she would then hold open sessions where everyone could come to see her to share their requests, but for now, they had selected about ten representatives of the people to decide on the initial measures to take.

Although, as usual, these advisors were unable to agree.

- We will prioritize the medical aspect, Daenerys then inquired in a firm voice. Education is important, but access to healthcare is even more so. A huge number of children die due to lack of care. Does that suit you?

Everyone nods in unison, and Jon once again feels filled with admiration for her natural authority. She moves the discussions much faster than he could. On the other hand, he regularly had a more objective opinion on the matter, and she always listened to what he had to say with attention. His interventions often helped to clarify the reasoning.

As he thinks that they complement each other well, a man suddenly enters the room quickly. Jon turns to him at the same time as the others, intrigued.

- A letter from the North, Your Grace. But this time, with the seal reserved for emergencies.

A heavy silence falls over the room. Jon felt his heart race. He has absolutely no idea what this envelope could be about, but he feels anxiety coursing through him. Followed by deep annoyance. Since Daenerys' appointment, the North had done nothing but proclaim that he deserved to be king in her place, despite his numerous negative responses, which annoyed him to the point that he no longer wanted to hear anything about them.

- We're going to take a break, the Queen finally declared after a brief moment of hesitation.

Tyrion says a few words to Daenerys that Jon cannot understand, but she nods in response. Everyone quietly leaves the room as he approaches her. He gently places his gloved hand on hers. She looks up at him and hands him the paper with concern.

- I hope it's nothing serious, she sighs. Open. It's probably your family.

He grabs the letter and breaks the wax seal, a slight anxiety in his chest. He slowly unfolds the paper and spreads it out on the table so that Daenerys can read it at the same time as him.

Jon,

I hope I'm not bothering you, and I'm sorry to bring you bad news like this when you already have so much to deal with, but it concerns our family. You need to know.

Lately, Bran had been very regularly elsewhere. Since he became the Three-eyed Raven, he had always been that way, but it was becoming different. As if he was fighting against himself.

And he disappeared five days ago. We searched all of Winterfell, then launched sweeps over a maximum perimeter, but he remains nowhere to be found. I'm worried. But I also tell myself that he is the Raven, and so he has probably left because of one of his visions, or whatever else, and that he will be back soon.

I simply wanted to warn you and ask you to keep an eye out among your people if you don't see him. Knowing him, he could be anywhere. I am no longer surprised by his strange powers. If you spot him, please let me know.

Yours truly,

Lady Sansa Stark

Jon felt the worry overwhelm him. Bran, his little brother. He might as well be... different since that Raven story, he cared about him no less. But a silent anger overwhelms him at the same time. He can't stand that the North continues to deny Daenerys access to power.

And here was his sister who had betrayed him, who otherwise allowed herself to speak to him normally without any apology or justification, sending a letter to the crown without even greeting or simply mentioning Daenerys even once.

She suggested that it was he who led, and even worse, she then said it clearly : 'your' people, whereas she had simply mentioned his name at the beginning of the letter. She therefore only addressed herself to him. His annoyance turns into something stronger. He is starting to have enough. Moreover, by her behavior, Sansa influences the other lords of the North, who were therefore just as reluctant as she was. He was going to have to fix that. And too bad if he had to end up using the hard way.

He suddenly feels Daenerys gently turn her hand, still placed under his now clenched palm. She slips her fingers between his, and squeezes them tightly, gently anchoring him to her. He takes a deep breath.

- I'm sure he's fine, don't worry, she assures him in a comforting voice, misunderstanding the reason for his sudden tension. As Sansa said, he probably left because of a vision, or he simply needed a moment to think.

- That's not what bothers me, he growls dryly.

He feels her flinch at the tone of his voice and immediately regrets it. Daenerys is not to blame, worse, she is suffering, and she in no way deserves even the slightest manifestation of his anger. He turns his head toward her, and raises his free hand to her cheek, caressing it tenderly.

- Sorry, he breathes. I... Bran worries me, yes, but that’s not what I have a problem with in the first place.. I hate the fact that Sansa addresses me as if I were the King. I've had more than enough of her not recognizing you as the Queen. Her childishness is unbearable to me, and it's becoming dangerous for you. The North allows themselves to disrespect you. All this because they consider me more legitimate. That's their only argument. And... if too many people doubt...

He doesn't finish his sentence. Daenerys knows very well what he means, even though he has no desire to say it out loud. If the North feels all-powerful, they might rebel at every decision or request of the Queen. Worse still, even if Jon dares to hope they will never be stupid enough to go that far, they might try to put him in power by any means. A wave of hatred rises within him. If they touch a single, not even a single hair on Daenerys' head...

- There is indeed a solution, she inquired in a voice that suddenly became almost trembling.

Surprised by her unexpected change of tone, he waits for her to continue, while... apprehension rises within him? He has the strong feeling that she is about to tell him something very important. More important than anything they have ever said to each other.

She doesn't continue, and he seeks her gaze, which she stubbornly keeps lowered, fixed on her feet.

- I'm listening, he finally encourages her gently, reaffirming his grip on her right hand to try to give her courage.

She takes a deep breath, then looks up and plunges her eyes straight into his. As usual, he can't help but find them magnificent, and he feels like he's drowning in the violet ocean of her pupils.

- I am suggesting... that we unite. Let's get married. You, and me. I've thought about it for a long time. That's what seems most logical and intelligent to me. The best alliances are made through marriage. Thus, the North will no longer threaten us and will be forced to listen to both of us, having no more arguments for their claims, since you will be King by my side, she blurts out in one breath.

She doesn't give him time to respond and continues, this time her voice less assured, as if she were completely revealing herself and was afraid of how she would be received. But she doesn't look away for a single second.

- And I... Even without talking about politics, even without talking about what is expected of us, even forgetting the North, even if I forget everything except the two of us, I want to live the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up by your side, I want to be the first person you talk to every morning, I want to be the first person you smile at in that special way that lights up your face. I want to be the one who makes you laugh, I want to be the one you can cry with, I want to protect you, I want you to stay with me and only me, and that for all my life. I don't want anyone but you, I want you, completely, your story, your doubts, your feelings, your fears, your joys, your tears, your love. If... if you want me too, she finished in a breath, her voice now frankly trembling, while her cheeks were red and her breath was short.

He remains stunned for a moment, unable to say anything. A feeling stronger than anything he had ever felt in his entire life suddenly overwhelms him, ravages him, and submerges him, to the point where he wonders if he was truly alive before feeling this.

She fidgets in the face of his silence, uncomfortable. He then raises his hands to her cheeks, his heart overflowing with too much, too many emotions, in a mix and with an intensity he never thought he could experience.

- Yes, he replies, trying to calm his voice. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, Daenerys. Of course I want to be with you. Of course I want you. You are the most wonderful woman, person I have ever met, the strongest, the bravest, the sweetest, the kindest and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. You are incredible. You make me feel alive. You make me alive.

Daenerys' eyes fill with tears at his words. He leans in and kisses her, pouring all the infinite love he feels for her into it. Their lips meet with immense desire, their mouths open almost immediately, she eagerly slides her hands into his hair, he wraps his firm arms around her waist, pulls her close, and they press against each other in a whirlwind of emotions that takes them deeper and deeper, as they move awkwardly across the room, completely forgetting what surrounds them, where they are, who they are.

She runs her hands down his back, he brings his own to her hair, her neck, her sides, her hips, wants to feel her, touch her, everyplace, this wonderful woman who deserves all the love in the world. They retreat into the room, nearly succumbing to the onslaught of their own kisses, in a mix of ragged sighs and gasps.

Daenerys' back hits the door behind her, although the impact is softened by his arms around her, and she immediately finds herself pressed against Jon's muscular body, who pins her against the wood, kissing her ever more intensely, rediscovering her entirely under his fingers, caressing every part of her in a fever that completely takes over him, and her.

Their tongues tangle, their hands meet again in a passionate urgency, he slides and presses a knee between her legs, she moans with a mixture of desire and pleasure, and...

The door suddenly opens abruptly when Daenerys accidentally bumps the latch with her elbow, and Jon barely catches her by the waist, preventing her from falling backward as it slams against the wall and echoes throughout the hallway.

They look at each other for a moment, confused and embarrassed, relieved when they see no one around, much to their honor's delight. A smile then spreads across their lips at the same time, and they both burst out laughing, a deep laugh that does them a world of good.

- We have a Council to finish, I believe, Daenerys breathes, her cheeks still flushed as she tries to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Jon knows she's right, but he can't help but let out a grunt of frustration.

- Don't worry, she smiled at him mischievously, but with such an adorable look that he almost melted right in front of her. We still have all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

Jon adjusts his grip around the small, warm, and naked body that is peacefully nestled against his. As soon as the meeting had ended, they had rushed up to their room, and nothing could have and had stopped them from fully burning and consuming their love – and several times in a row -.

He feels like he's swimming in happiness. Rather, he is truly swimming in happiness. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn't have imagined being this happy. His heart overflows with love for the little dragon asleep on him.

She is visibly exhausted, and sleeps against him, her cheek half-pressed against his chest, her mouth slightly open, giving her an adorable look. Despite himself, he feels a bit guilty. She was supposed to be careful according to the Master's recommendations, and although he had been mindful of her side, he doubted that an intensive workout on the very day her convalescence ended was a good idea.

Daenerys suddenly mumbles something, and shivers from the cold as she presses a little closer to him, seeking his warmth. He carefully pulls the furs up over her shoulders, and she relaxes again, completely at ease. Her arms still wrap around him as one of her legs slides between his, and she stops moving with a satisfied sigh, looking more at peace than ever.

Seeing her like this against him, in the most complete trust, almost makes him want to cry. Especially after what she had told him about her past. He hadn't yet dared to ask her more about it, but she had mentioned "raped." That was enough to make him want to kill.

His heart tightens in his chest, and he slips his hands under the covers to slowly and tenderly stroke her back. He will never let her be hurt again, he promises himself internally.

He looks at her again, unable to take his eyes off her. Her face is completely relaxed, he melts with love seeing her so peaceful. She often maintains a firm, distant expression toward others. But there, her adorable eyebrows are not furrowed, her jaw is not clenched, her whole entire body is relaxed against his.

She looks much younger, like this. Or more precisely, she looks her age. Both of them had been forced to grow up far too quickly, plunged into the adult world too early and too violently… and it showed in their expressions.

Especially her. She had never had the right to a childhood. He had been despised by Lady Catelyn, despised for his bastard origins that he was constantly reminded of, causing him to spend long nights wondering why he had come into the world.

But he had an older brother to count on. Little brothers to teach what he knew, an adorable little sister to protect whom he then watched progress with pride thanks to his advice. And a father, to teach him everything he needed to know.

Daenerys, on the other hand, had nothing. She spent her childhood trying to survive, begging, dragged around by a brother clearly unworthy of that title. He doesn't know what Viserys did, but he knows what he didn't do. Protect his sister. In the end, Daenerys never had the right to be a child.

His heart wavers at these thoughts. He is dying to know more about her, but at the same time, he is worried about discovering all that she has endured. It destroys him inside to know that she has suffered so much without anyone to support, protect, or reassure her. He would have so much wanted to be there for her.

He lets a hand gently run down her back, brushes her shoulder blades with his fingertips, traces the fine line of her spine. Her skin is soft, warm under his touch, and she barely shivers at his caresses, letting out a small sigh of well-being.

He runs his other hand through her hair, slowly untangling her messy strands and half-undone braids – by his fault. She finally lifts her head a little, rests her chin on her chest, her eyes still half-closed.

- You really are a perfect lover, she murmurs in a voice made a bit hoarse by sleep.

- Glad to please you, he whispers back, a smile on his lips.

She smiles in turn, and rests her cheek against his chest. She slightly raises her forearm, letting her elbow rest on it, and absentmindedly draws imaginary lines on his firm stomach in irregular circles.

- Do you think the news will be well received ? she suddenly asks, in a slightly more awake tone.

She doesn't need to specify for him to understand what she's talking about. He thinks and sighs slightly, pulling her a little closer to him.

- I suppose Tyrion will still find something to complain about, but deep down, he will approve. Even though it would surprise me if he gave us the joy of accepting without numerous criticisms. Davos... will certainly make some remarks to me, but he won't say anything more, if you want my opinion. As for the others, they will celebrate, and the North will finally stop questioning you, he asserts.

Daenerys curls her lips into an amused expression.

- And Arya won't fail to hit us with a few well-placed jabs, she adds, her face laughing.

Jon's smile widened. His sister had gone back to see the Queen during her convalescence, without any particular reason or justification, and apparently, they now got along more than well.

- We'll have to get used to it, I suppose, he sighs with a slightly amused look.

He suddenly feels her stiffen a little in his arms, and she straightens up slightly, leaning on his chest to look him straight in the eyes.

- Jon… Nothing makes me happier than you accepting. Really. But… You have said many times that you didn't want the Throne, that you didn't want to rule. For nothing in the world would I force you to do what you don't want to. So... if you prefer to refuse so you don't have to lead, I'll understand, and I won't take it...

He interrupts her by kissing her tenderly, and her body instantly relaxes against him. He eventually pulls his lips away from hers, but lets his forehead rest against hers.

- I didn't want to rule, no. Especially, especially not to take your place. But leading by your side, being able to support you in your decisions and being there for both the people and for you... I think nothing could make me happier, he smiled softly.

He takes her hand and places it on his heart. Her little palm warms his skin, and spreads a gentle fire within his.

- It's yours now, he says affectionately, a hint of teasing in his voice. You'll have to take care of it.

A big smile appears on her lips, and she leans in to steal another kiss.

- I promise, she whispers.



***


- Very well.

Daenerys blinks, surprised. She looks at her advisor cautiously. He is sprawled in an armchair, his eternal glass of wine in hand – which never fails to slightly annoy her – and doesn't seem disturbed in the least.

- You have no objection ? she asks with suspicion.

After telling him about her plan to marry Jon, she expected an avalanche of protests. But Tyrion had barely noticed her announcement.

- Honestly ? No. He is loved by the people, he will finally help to ease the conflicts with the North, and you complement each other very well, both politically and emotionally. And frankly, I kind of suspected it. You have no discretion. It was bound to happen sooner or later, he finishes, shrugging his shoulders.

Relief washes over her. The prospect of having to argue for long hours with her Hand did not appeal to her at all, whereas the fact that he accepted the news so calmly takes a weight off her shoulders.

- You'll have to organize all of this, tho, Tyrion remarks.

- That's also why I quickly informed you, explains Daenerys. We would like to announce the news and hold the ceremony without delay. The North is getting increasingly restless, some lords are starting to seriously question my legitimacy, claiming that Jon should be the King. Well, let's give them what they want, and they'll have no reason to protest anymore. That will save us a lot of conflicts and disappointments. Westeros has suffered enough without us needing to launch into yet another battle that has no place. But if despite everything, their insubordination continues...

Her jaw clenches slightly.

- Then we will use another method, she finishes coldly.

To her taste, she already behaves with restraint. Some of the remarks she had received would have practically warranted execution. But the North remains Jon's first home - tho her fingers involuntarily clench when she thinks of how he was treated -.

And above all, she has no desire to have to kill again to establish her authority. Ruling over a world of ashes doesn't interest her, nor does spilling more and more blood. She doesn't particularly have scruples about doing it when necessary, but she hates the idea of wiping out countless opponents again when she now considers them her people, however reluctant they may be. She won't eliminate them unless she has no other choice.

Only, they disrespect her and barely submit to her authority. She refuses to let them behave like that. Marrying Jon seems like an excellent idea, to permanently stop the rumors about her in a peaceful manner. She just hopes that will be enough.

- And so you want me to take care of preparing this celebration ? supposes his advisor, raising an interrogative eyebrow, interrupting the train of her thoughts.

- Yes, Daenerys agrees. I know you were Master of Coins when you were still in King's Landing with the Lannisters. So you're used to having to manage different events of this kind. And you know about... parties, let's say, she adds with a hint of irony.

Tyrion fidgets a bit in his chair, visibly wondering if his sarcasm is actually real or if he's just imagining it.

- Allright, I can handle that, he agrees. When would you like to schedule it?

Daenerys holds back a grimace, aware that her advisor won't appreciate the delay.

- The ideal would be in two weeks at the latest. But, she continues, cutting short his protests. We can push it to three weeks, I think, and spread the word during that time, which will also allow us to invite all the lords. However, the aim is not to have a grand ceremony, full of luxury and royalty, she says.

They had discussed it with Jon. The people were hungry, tired, they had suffered under the rule of Kings and Queens who despised them and barely gave them enough to survive. Having a solemn and grand celebration would remind the people of King's Landing too much of Jon and Daenerys' predecessors.

Anyway, neither of them wanted that. They were both very close to the people, and they liked that, and so they had decided that their wedding would reflect that.

- We would like to have a grand banquet, where everyone will be invited, she continues. By everyone, I mean all the people of King's Landing, as well as all the lords we will have invited. The important thing will therefore mainly be the provisions. This will also allow us to start building a bond of trust between us and the people. And the ceremony will thus appear accessible to all.

- Do you realize that your request is extremely complex? half chokes on her Hand, taking a long sip of wine as if to gather courage before continuing. You wish to hold a banquet for all of King's Landing?

- Yes, she affirms. I suspect it seems unachievable, but thinking about it...

- The Square of Baleor could work to accommodate so many people... finishes his Hand by completing her sentence left in suspension. At least, something positive will come out of the massacre my sister committed there, he says ironically. And we will be able to ask the Iron Islands, as well as the Dornish and even the lords of the Reach for their help in receiving a sufficient amount of food...

Daenerys holds back a slight smile. Her advisor may sometimes grumble about her orders or requests, but he always ends up taking his task to heart and accomplishing it – with varying degrees of success, but nonetheless -.

- Thank you, Tyrion, she breathes in a slightly warmer voice.

- I am delighted to be able to serve you, my Queen, he replies, nodding his head.

And for once, she doesn't detect any sarcasm in his words.

Chapter Text

Jon is waiting patiently although anxiously, leaning against the wall not far from the door behind which Tyrion and Daenerys are talking. He would have liked to speak at him with her, but she had convinced him that the Hand would probably take the news better if she simply announced it to him face-to-face. The advisor would also feel more comfortable if he had objections to make, and there would thus be no unspoken.

The door finally opens, and the Queen quietly steps out, looking around for him. He walks toward her, a bit worried. He hopes that Tyrion hasn't demoralized or criticized her, but as he approaches her, a big smile stretches across her face upon seeing him.

- He didn't say anything, she declares to him. Fortunately, I didn't need to argue for hours, and he also agreed to take care of the wedding ceremony organization, she says in a voice that barely contains her enthusiasm.

Jon felt relief wash over him. That simplifies many things. He moves even closer to her, slips his arm around her back, presses his warm palm against her waist, and pulls her against him. She lets her hands naturally rest on his hips, and he softly places his lips on hers. They kiss gently, but deeply, in a way that soothes them both.

- I have rarely been so happy to be wrong, he says as he finally breaks their kiss, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Daenerys laughs, with a soft and clear laugh that he finds adorable, as always.

- It must not happen to you often, beside, she says with mischief.

- Of what ? he inquired, intrigued.

- Being wrong. You're always right, after all, she teases him with a playful glint in her eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, amused.

- Is that ironic, Your Grace ? he asks in a falsely suspicious tone, exaggerating the pronunciation of the title.

Without giving her time to answer, he tilts his head slightly, and feels her chest suddenly rise more rapidly with anticipation as he looks straight into her eyes, and lets his lips brush against hers. She tries to kiss him, but he barely pulls back, staying just a few millimeters from her mouth while preventing her from closing that distance.

His attempt to destabilize her works successfully, and she groans slightly in frustration. She then tries to pull away, but he keeps her pressed against him, his hips against hers. Her cheeks flush, and her meager hope of managing to turn her face away is made impossible by his fingers slipping under her chin and keeping it in place.

- What are you playing at ? she groans, trying to hide the nascent excitement in her voice.

She fidgets despite herself, her breath suddenly quickening. He leans in a little more.

- I love teasing my Queen, he whispers in her ear in a deep, warm voice that is enough to make her shiver in every limb.

A glint of defiance crosses Daenerys' eyes.

- Oh really ? she breathes in a suddenly dangerously sensual manner.

Her change of tone sets his stomach ablaze in a flash, and she takes advantage of this distraction to abruptly bring her mouth close to his without giving him time to react. Her warm breath feels almost tangible to him, and she slips her upper lip between his, catching him completely off guard.

He forgets everything around him every time she kisses him, but she suddenly grabs his plump flesh between her teeth and bites it, eliciting a protest of pain from him.

She steps back with a satisfied smile, looking very proud of herself despite her reddened ears.

- Don't push her too much anyway, she says mischievously in a low voice.

He runs his tongue over his cut lip, amused despite himself, desire warming every inch of his body. He simply cannot resist her. He moves toward her without hesitation, gently places his hands on her cheeks, and kisses her passionately.

She immediately melts into him without pretending to tease him a little longer. Neither of them could make their games last very long. They were simply too weak against each other, too drawn to fight. Their tongues intertwine in a burning embrace, and they feel they won't last long if they continue like this. They eventually force themselves to detach, panting.

- You really need to stop jumping on me constantly, because I'm incapable of setting a limit for you, and we're going to end up missing half of the Councils if we don't pull ourselves together, Daenerys declares reluctantly, out of breath.

He knows she's right, but he can't hold back a frustrated sigh, no more thrilled than she is. He steals one last kiss from her, then nods.

- I can't wait for all the organization to be in place, and for us to be married, so that we can finally enjoy ourselves a bit, he says, following her as she starts walking down the long corridors.

- You said it, she grimaces with regret, although he detects that her face lights up at the mention of marriage.

He smiled at this sight, his heart swelling with a happiness too intense for him to fully believe. He couldn't have dreamed of a brighter future, by the side of the woman he loves.

They descend several flights of stairs, cross various halls, and encounter numerous lords, advisors, servants, or guards who rush to greet them. The two lovers always make sure to respond to them warmly.

They finally exit the Red Keep, moving further down into the large square stretching out before them. They had wanted to take a tour of the city to talk to the people for a while, but they hadn't had the chance yet. Although he is certain it is in it usual place, Jon can't help but quickly glance to make sure Longclaw is securely in its scabbard, firmly attached to his waist.

Most people in King's Landing now adore Daenerys, but some are still hesitant about her rise to power. He preferred to be wary. His Queen slightly precedes him, although she then waits for him before entering the streets, a gentle smile on her lips as she takes his arm.

- Shall we go ? she breathes.

He slightly bends his elbow and nods.

- Let's go, he smiles.

They advance along the narrow alleys, under the impressed and astonished gazes of the people who turn as they pass, but no one dares to speak to them yet. A child suddenly calls out to them at the corner of a street. Daenerys detaches herself from Jon and moves toward what turns out to be a little girl, no more than eight years old.

- Your hair is beautiful, she exclaims with admiration. It looks like the moon !

The Queen has a warm smile, and Jon feels himself melting before her tender face. He approaches a bit cautiously, but doesn't intervene. The child spots him and stares at him, before grimacing.

- Him, it’s not beautiful. It's the color like when my mom messes up the cooking.

Daenerys' face freezes in surprise, then she seems to hold back from bursting into laughter, while Jon is a bit taken aback and remains rooted to the spot, unsure how to react, amused despite his temporary dismay.

- Everyone has pretty hair, in their own way, the Queen smiled at the little girl.

She seems to think for a moment.

- But I still prefer yours, she declares with admiration.

Daenerys looks at her with affection, then bends down a bit to her level.

- Do you want to touch ? she kindly suggests.

The child's face lights up.

- Can I ? she asks, looking delighted.

Daenerys nods, and the little girl reaches out to touch the silver strands braided in intricate patterns.

- It's so soft ! she exclaims without containing her excitement.

The Queen laughs softly, and Jon can't help but think that Daenerys is made to lead. She is kind, courageous, but she also has broad enough shoulders to lead with fairness and impartiality. And she is made to be surrounded by the people. She never seems more at home than now, surrounded by those she has always wanted to protect and guide.

She eventually walks away, giving her a small wave, to which the child responds with joy, and she joins Jon with a small smile.

- No comments, he grunts.

- Don't worry, your hair is magnificient too, she replies, bursting into laughter.

He is simply incapable of continuing to pretend to be in a bad mood when she laughs like that. He would do anything to hear and provoke that sound, over and over again. A genuine smile stretches his lips before he offers her his arm.

- Shall we continue ? he suggests.

She nods, her face radiant, and they quietly resume their walk. They move a bit into the rather lively alleys and pass by partially reconstructed sections of ramparts. The streets cluttered with stones have mostly been cleared, and the minor damage to the houses, like a few fallen tiles or some cracked walls, is almost entirely repaired.

They spot former Lannister soldiers, who are now the main workers for the reconstructions. These seem to take their task very seriously, much to Jon's relief. These men were not bad, just unlucky, under the command of crazy and greedy leaders.

He had been surprised at first when Daenerys had announced that she wished to free them if they agreed to take care of public works and recognize her as Queen. Then he had been deeply admiring of her clemency, and the intelligence of her gesture. This solved several problems at once : the maintenance of prisoners, as well as the need for labor.

He couldn't have had a better idea than her, and his heart had lightened at the thought that he wouldn't have to keep them imprisoned indefinitely, or worse, execute them. He couldn't stand killing anymore, and obviously, neither could Daenerys. Thinking about it, he couldn't help but once again melt with admiration for this woman whom he finds – objectively, of course – so perfect. He turns his head slightly and places a light kiss on her hair, to which she responds with an adorable smile.

He suddenly notices an elderly lady, who seems to be struggling to carry a heavy box loaded with meticulously painted vases up to her home, wobbling on the stairs leading to her doorstep. He quickly moves toward her, a bit worried that she might hurt herself.

- Can I help you ? he asks as he reaches her.

She looks at him with suspicion, but she finally accepts his offer with gratitude. He effortlessly loads the crate onto his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the sensation of the wooden edge cutting into his skin through his clothes. He then places it where the old lady indicates.

- Thank you, young man ! she exclaims in a voice made shaky by age, grateful.

He suddenly realizes with amusement that she must not have understood who he is – incidentally, both a former and future King, even though she can't know it yet. He greets her with a brief nod, and returns to Daenerys, offering her his arm again, which she takes with a small smile and a sidelong glance.

- Admit it, you just wanted to show everyone your incredible strength and your beautiful muscles, she teases him in a mischievous voice as she starts walking next to him again.

- Or maybe I just wanted to impress my future wife. With my beautiful muscles, he breathes, his tone a bit deeper, in that way he knows she loves.

- I've already seen them up close. Very close, even, she murmurs, biting her lip.

The answer was too easy and he expected it, but he still feels his cheeks flush.

- Who knows, you might even get to touch them tonight, he suggests in a lower, warmer voice.

She blushes slightly and turns her head to look at him in such a way that he feels like she is undressing him with her eyes.

- I'm waiting to see that, she whispers softly.

He releases Daenerys' arm, which was resting on his elbow, and suddenly slides his hand behind her back, firmly grabbing her hip to pull her against him, so that their hips press against each other. She shuddered, holding back a slight cry of surprise.

- Stop tempting me, because I'm not going to be very resistant, he warned her in a breath, the blood suddenly boiling in his veins.

Her cheekbones flush slightly, but she smiles.

- Tell me about it, she replies with mischief.

They resume their tour, trying to ignore the somewhat too present tension between them, as they are now observed with more curiosity than animosity. The people are visibly surprised by their natural closeness with them.

Jon and Daenerys spend the entire afternoon walking through the streets, asking the people of King's Landing they encounter what they lack, what they would like to change... Obviously, no one had ever been interested in what they thought before, and the couple ended their stroll surrounded by a large number of curious and interested people.

Daenerys seems perfectly in her element, smiling at the children who stare at her with wonder. They are fascinated by her silver and wavy hair, and she lets them place their little hands on her head while laughing, without worrying for a second about the dirt covering their palms.

As he melts with affection at this scene, Jon suddenly feels a sharp pang in his heart, and sadness takes hold of him. "I can't have children." She had looked so dejected, almost resigned when she had trusted him enough to tell him. The pain grips his heart when he thinks of her despair.

He would love to find himself with one, or even several mini-Danys running around him. And he would love for their mother to then look at him with a radiant, blissful expression. He lets his elbow - which she had taken back after their teasing - slide down his body and gently takes her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.

He is still not convinced of her sterility, having no trust in the word of that damned witch. He tightens his palm around hers. I will give her that happiness, he promises himself. This happiness that you never believed you had the right to, I will offer it to you.

Chapter Text

Arya knocks on the door without hesitation, but waits patiently for a response before entering. She may appreciate her brother and Daenerys, but she has no desire to catch them kissing, or worse... She imagines them despite all her efforts to stop herself and holds back a heave, disgusted. No, definitely, it was better not to.

A slightly heated voice suddenly reaches her, granting her entry, and she pushes the heavy door open. Jon is settled in a chair near Daenerys's. He stands a little too straight, his hair disheveled, while her cheeks are still slightly red.

Arya rolls her eyes.

- I could have come back later, she says, amused.

She loves to tease them. They blush every time in an instant, which is extremely funny to see. At her remark, her usually so stoic brother suddenly fidgets, not knowing where to put himself, and the proud Queen with the impassive face doesn't fail to flinch, which amuses her to no end.

She doesn't push it too far, anyway, as she also needs to talk to them, and it's not good news. She pulls out a chair and sits down, letting out a slight sigh.

- Do you have a bit of time? she inquired.

They exchange a quick glance before Jon nods.

- My next council with the main Lords of the Northern Armies is in just over half an hour, and Daenerys will have her meeting with her commanders shortly after, so...

- All the better, she says. Davos told me that Bran had disappeared ? she immediately asks, trying to hide her anxiety.

Her brother's face suddenly freezes, and a mix of annoyance and worry briefly crosses his features. He runs two fingers over the bridge of his nose, momentarily closing his eyes.

- I've sent letters to Sansa since then, but apparently, no news. Sorry. I wanted to warn you, but right now... Well, it completely slipped my mind.

Anxiety grips Arya. Bran may have changed, to the point where she struggles to recognize him if she doesn't pay attention to his appearance, but he is still her little brother. And she won't bear losing another member of her family again.

- And you didn't do anything ? she asks him.

It's not a reproach, but she doesn't understand his inactivity while one of them has disappeared. He sighs heavily, suddenly looking weary. Arya notices that Daenerys discreetly slides a comforting hand onto his forearm, and he seems to calm down at this gesture, pulling himself together a bit.

- I sent countless missives to Sansa, then to various Lords of the North who remained around Winterfell. I asked them to help her in all her searches, so they could cover a larger area. Apart from that, I don't see what else I could do, he sighs. Even if I rushed to Winterfell, as Sansa seems to want, what more could I possibly do?

Arya realizes that he is not wrong, but her worry for her younger brother does not diminish.

- And the Northern armies ? Has a date finally been set for their return ? she suddenly asks.

- Yes, Daenerys interjects. In a week, they leave for Winterfell and its surroundings.

She seems to hesitate, as if she were apprehensive.

- Are you going back with them ? she inquired softly.

Without really knowing why, Arya loves it when the Dragon Queen takes on that particular tone, soft and comforting. It reminds her terribly of Lady Catelyn. The more she knew Daenerys, the more she understood what had given so many people the faith to follow her. As for her question... She doesn't know.

- I'll see, she says, shrugging her shoulders.

She would really like to be that nonchalant, but in reality, she realized that she enjoys life in King's Landing much more than she thought, now that the city is no longer ruled by madmen.

Being by her brother's side after being separated from him for so long almost brings her relief, and she is also starting to really appreciate Daenerys. They had had other discussions, and they really got along well on many different topics. They had discovered a great number of similarities.

Arya really has no desire to leave. But she misses Winterfell, and above all, Sansa is now alone there. As annoying as she is, she doesn't want to leave her sister isolated and alone. And she would like to participate in the search for Bran, although she doubts that she will be of great help.

- Arya…

The change in her brother's tone surprises her, and the look the two lovers exchange before turning toward her even more. She waits for him to continue speaking, intrigued by his almost grave, serious tone.

- We haven't announced our decision yet, he begins slowly. Only Tyrion and Davos know. We planned to inform the Council and start spreading the news tomorrow... Daenerys and I are getting married.

She stares at them in turn, bewildered. She is well-placed to know how much they love each other. All the little attentions they have for each other don't lie, their relationship is clearly much more than just a simple crush. But she still absolutely did not expect that.

- You mean... politically, or...? she asks, hoping not to make a blunder.

They exchange another look, and their expressions soften slightly.

- Both, Jon finally answers. This works out well for us in relation to the North and those who continue to question Daenerys' legitimacy. On the other hand...

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for his sister to understand what he meant. They would probably have ended up taking the plunge, even without any external reason.

- The ceremony will take place in just over a fortnight, Daenerys explains to her.

- In so little time ?

- Unfortunately, yes. Sansa and the rest of the North don't make it easy for us, the Queen replies with a slight tinge of bitterness in her voice.

- Does that mean Jon will be King too, then ? she deduced, struggling to process the information.

Her brother, King of Westeros, of the 7 Kingdoms, alongside the Mother of Dragons. She has a hard time believing it because it seems so unreal.

They nod in unison.

- Stay for the wedding, Daenerys suddenly whispers.

Arya realizes that they are both looking at her with hope. After all, this event is going to be extremely important for them. That her brother wants her presence does not surprise her, but that Daenerys seems to want her to come as well warms her heart pleasantly.

Ordinarily, she doesn't much care for parties or banquets, preferring to quietly isolate herself and enjoy the solitude rather than mingle with the noisy and chatty crowd. But even if only out of curiosity, she would never have wanted to miss her brother's wedding.

- Okay, she finally agreed. I'll stay at least to see that. You go well together, she simply concludes. And you look happy, she adds at the sight of their bright faces.

They smile gently at her words and thank her, radiant.

- I'm happy for you, she breathes sincerely.

And she means it. Her brother has never seemed so at peace, and Daenerys also appears more cheerful than ever. A sudden thought comes to her mind as she observes them both.

Daenerys kept her hand on his forearm, Jon looked at her from time to time as if he couldn't take his eyes off her and she was the eighth Wonder of the world, his Wonder. A look she returned with such tenderness that it contrasted so much with her usual impassive face that it almost disturbed Arya, even though she was seeing more and more of this aspect of the Queen, and realizing that it was her true personality, hidden behind barriers probably erected to protect herself over the years. Just like she herself did, in the end.

It certainly wouldn't surprise her as much as the first time Daenerys had smiled warmly at her, thanking her for saving her. Her softened and grateful expression had caught her off guard, and her heart had almost lightened, as if the Queen's words had been enough to make her feel good. She suddenly realizes that she wants to get closer to Daenerys, to continue seeing her smile and speak in that comforting way.

A pervasive thought thus overwhelms her as they look at each other with affection. Her brother had never truly belonged at Winterfell, due to his status as a bastard. She had always found it unfair and stupid: after all, he hadn't asked to be born out of wedlock, let alone from infidelity - which had, moreover, turned out to be completely false.

But she had been one of the only ones to treat him like a Stark in his own right, instead of constantly belittling him. She now realized how much he must have suffered. And... Daenerys Targaryen had been in exile since she was very young. Homeless, begging in the streets for something to eat, and eventually a roof over her head. She doesn't have the details, but from what she knows, the Mother of Dragons simply didn't have the right to a real childhood.

A smile forms on her lips. They found each other well. They each became the home the other never had.

- I'm going, she whispers as she stands up.

She slips out furtively without giving them time to protest, happy for her brother. She glances at Needle. A few warm-ups and a good recall session won't hurt her...

***

Daenerys slowly opens her eyes, still drowsy. Jon's arm is wrapped around her waist as he still sleeps peacefully, his warm breath brushing against her neck with each exhale. She enjoys this feeling of fullness for one more moment. Sleeping in his arms is definitely incredible. His presence gives her such an intense feeling of security and well-being that she always falls into calm and restful nights.

She had never had a single nightmare with him, which happened to her regularly when she slept alone. She leans back slightly to better feel the warmth of his firm chest against her back, and he moves a little in his sleep too, almost possessively pulling her back against him. She can't help but smile at this gesture, and closes her eyes, feeling simply good, in her place.

She finally gets up with regret after several minutes, escaping from his embrace. He grunts and then curls up a little more into a ball under the furs. She holds back from bursting into laughter. He looks like Drogon sulking when he thinks he doesn't have enough to eat.

She stretches a bit and turns toward him to get a better look at him. He is adorable when he sleeps. His face is completely relaxed, his dark, curly hair falls onto the mattress. His mouth is slightly open, as his chest rises regularly.

She leans toward him and brushes her lips against his. He finally opens his eyes, still clouded with sleep, and a radiant smile spreads across his face the moment he sees her.

- How do you manage to be so beautiful right from the morning ? he asks in his voice a little hoarse from waking up.

She laughs softly, turning to observe her reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room. Her hair is completely tangled, falling in clumps over her thin shoulders.

- You're not very objective, she smiles with amusement.

- I am perfectly objective, he replies, straightening up in turn, stifling a yawn.

She rolls her eyes, her heart overflowing with affection, and looks for her clothes in the numerous closets. She finally finds a pretty blue dress, rather light, that will suit the mild temperature of the capital. She quickly slips it on, and suddenly feels his hands around her waist as he buries his face in her neck. His warm palms gently rest on her stomach, and he wraps his arms just under her breasts, with a soft sigh of contentment. She raises a hand and runs her fingers through his hair as she finishes getting dressed with some difficulty.

- You're not making it easy for me, she remarks with an amused tone.

- Sorry, he apologizes, although she doesn't hear an ounce of remorse in his voice.

He still steps back to let her finish, and gently reaches out a hand toward her long silver strands.

- Do you want me to try to braid your hair ? he suddenly asks.

Daenerys' face lights up at the proposal, as he rocks back and forth on his feet, almost a little embarrassed. She would love for him to take care of her hair, no matter the result. Just the fact that he tries would make her happy. She nods enthusiastically, and he smiles a little more at her bright eyes.

- Sit on the edge of the bed, he tells her.

She obeys, and settles comfortably as he rummages through their belongings, and pulls out a whole set of brushes and combs.

- I won't be too demanding, don't worry, she laughed at his serious expression.

- I know, but I would really like to make it look good, he breathes affectionately.

She melts at his adorable gaze filled with sincerity, then he places his little load on the sheets, and settles behind her. He gently takes her strands and carefully begins to untangle them.

- I really need to calm down, he grumbles after a moment. It looks like a monster came through here.

- Not a monster, a wolf. And he's terrifying, she sneers. Although... He can be charming, when he wants to...

He suddenly nibbles her ear, and she abruptly stops, taking a short breath, her cheeks flushing as she shudders, surprised.

- Don't tempt me first thing in the morning, he murmurs.

His voice, still a bit hoarse, makes her shiver, and her ears must be turning red, because he laughs, looking very pleased with his little effect.

- Focus on your work, she reprimands him, her tone a little shaky.

- Yes, my queen, he replies in a very serious voice, although she can tell that he is smiling.

He gently runs the brush thru her hair, taking his time to smooth each section properly. She closes her eyes, soothed, and resists the urge to lean back against his chest. He finally runs his hand through her long, silvery strands, which flow perfectly between his fingers.

He then delicately grasped a few of her wavy strands.

- I'll do my best, but don't expect an incredible result, he grimaces.

- I'm sure you'll do very well, she asserts.

She feels him rummaging through her hair, this time intertwining it in a precise arrangement. She can tell just by the way he breathes that he is focused, concentrated on his task. His strong fingers are precise and skillful, adjusting each of her strands. He busies himself for another moment before finally stepping back a bit as if to admire his work.

- It's good, he said, hesitating a bit.

She gets up, eager to see the result. She steps toward the mirror, and her breath catches. The first thought that comes to her mind is that Jon Snow, this man so honest, does know how to lie. According to him, he only has basic knowledge.

But contrary to what she would have thought given what he had told her, the braids are not coarse but fine, and regular. The hairstyle is clearly not as complex as when her Dothrakis do it for her, and the way her braids are arranged is rather rudimentary.

But he disposed her hair in a way that cleared her face, and without her being able to say exactly how he did it, he managed to highlight her eyes, bringing out the deep violet of her pupils.

She turns to him and sees that he is looking at her, looking worried that she likes it. She moves toward him and hugs him, causing him to stumble backward under her weight as she leans completely against him. He laughs, that laugh that instantly makes her smile.

- I suppose you like it ? he asks with a relieved look.

- It's perfect, she breathes. Another quality in you that I hadn't discovered. When will you stop surprising me, Jon Snow ?

His almost moved smile fills her heart with a love too strong for her to contain. She places her hands flat on his chest to lift herself up a bit, and kisses him tenderly.

- You are a sweetheart, she whispers.

- I'm glad you like it, he says softly, looking at her almost with adoration.

She smiles, and again places her lips on his, closing her eyes. Every day with him fills her with a little more happiness.

Chapter Text

- My house has still not been repaired, and the roof has partially collapsed, announces an old man. I can't fix it alone...

- Five men will be sent to help you, declares Daenerys after exchanging a look with Jon.

He quickly signals to one of the guards stationed in the room, and the soldier nods before walking away with the old character who seems relieved. Another then comes forward, this time calling for a more abundant food market in the western part of the city, which has even more difficulties in supplying food than elsewhere.

Jon quickly notes it, thinking that they will have to tackle it without delay given the large number of requests that have been made on this subject, while Daenerys responds patiently. He glances at the long thread that doesn’t seem to diminish by an inch.

They have been sitting in the grand council chamber for hours, on chairs that seem to have been designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. Daenerys decided with him to open free hearings, where the people of King's Landing can come and make complaints as they wish. They had started the day before, and the requests had been coming in steadily ever since. Jon stretches his legs, numb, trying not to be distracted by the Queen's beautiful profile.

He had to restrain himself from constantly looking at her, drawn to her pretty violet eyes and her silver cascade of hair falling down her slender shoulders. She had insisted on keeping the braids he had done for her, and knowing that she was showing off in front of everyone with the hairstyle he had so carefully executed warmed his heart.

They had hesitated to hold the hearings in the Throne Room, but had decided that it would clearly not inspire confidence in the people, rather reminding them of bad memories. They had therefore instead settled on the great Council chamber.

Tyrion suddenly quietly enters the room, giving them a knowing look. Daenerys finishes answering the man, and Jon straightens up, announcing the end of the council for the day. The guards close the doors, despite the grumbles of protest from the crowd still waiting outside.

The Queen turns to him, a tired but satisfied smile.

- It was as busy as yesterday, she remarks.

- Yes, and given the remaining queue, it will be the same in the coming days, he agrees.

- You're not too bored ? she asks him, a slight smile on her lips.

She adopted a teasing tone, but he detects that her question is sincere.

- It's okay. If I get bored, I just have to look at you, and it suddenly seems much more interesting, he smiles, half amused, half honest.

She laughs, and looks at him with a tender expression.

- You really are a charmer, Jon Snow, she whispers, biting her lower lip.

Before he could respond, Tyrion cleared his throat, and they turned their attention to him.

- Sorry to interrupt your discussions of the utmost importance... but we have the usual news from the Kingdom. The lords are taking the news of your marriage very well, including those from the North who seem finally satisfied and have mostly sent their congratulations. Bran is still missing, he sighs, glancing at Jon. And...

He turns to Daenerys and places a scroll on the table.

- News from Essos, he finishes. I haven't looked, but it must be important...

Jon sees the surprise spread across her face.

- I've already received the usual letter of the month, she says, intrigued and a little worried given her tone.

She unties the ribbon and unfolds the paper, which crackles a bit. As she reads, her fingers tighten on the paper and her eyebrows furrow. Jon gently places his hand on her thigh, trying to communicate his presence and calm, despite his worry at seeing his wife's growing concern. She gives him a grateful look and finishes her reading. She places the letter back on the table, undecided.

- It's from Daario, as I thought, but... He informed me that a strange disease has just appeared. There has been a slight resurgence of slavery. He managed to suppress it without any problems, but some of the slaves behaved strangely, and that didn't change, even when they were freed.
Apparently, they would be apathetic, almost seem without consciousness. But... they become extremely aggressive as soon as they spot a sane person. Among sick people, they don't do anything to each other, though... she finishes in a somber voice, and Jon knows her well enough to see that her brain is racing at a hundred miles an hour, already thinking about the measures that need to be taken.

He presses his hand a little more firmly on her thigh, spreading the warmth of his palm onto her skin through the clothing. The contact seems to soothe her, and she relaxes a bit despite her worried expression.

- That's strange, Tyrion inquired, troubled. I don't remember ever hearing about symptoms like that...

- Did he give you an estimate of the number of infected ? asks Jon.

Without knowing why, this news really sends a chill down his spine.

- For now, there are only about a hundred cases, she says while nodding at Tyrion's silent request as he reaches out to read the letter.

- And he doesn't know if it's contagious ? he asks.

- No, but it doesn't seem like it. This strange behavior has only been identified in a single regiment of freed slaves.

A slight relief comes to him at his words.

- So there is no cause for alarm, he asserts. It needs to be monitored, but these cases are isolated. It may come from a specific bacterium resulting from poor living conditions... even if it remains to be monitored.

- You're right, Daenerys states firmly.

She sighs, then grabs a piece of paper and a nearby pen.

- I'm going to ask him to keep me informed. I hope this resolves quickly, she said.

Tyrion and Jon nod. The former King of the North still can't help but shiver, the strange foreboding taking hold of him once again. He has the unpleasant feeling that this strange event is just the beginning of a long series...


***


Daenerys walks at a brisk pace, savoring the warm evening air that caresses her face and lets her hair fly in the wind. Jon follows her without difficulty despite her brisk pace. They move behind the Keep, as the setting sun casts warm, red, and golden lights on the sea and the slightly taller grass, now that they are in the wild part of the garden.

- I'm a bit worried about Essos, she admits, slowing down slightly so he can catch up with her.

- You did what you could... this Daario will give you more news. For now, we can't do more than that, he breathes softly. It might be nothing more than an illness that will quickly resolve itself.

- We'll see, she agrees.

Despite herself, she is still slightly anxious. She suddenly feels Jon gently take her hand, firmly interlacing his fingers with hers as he has now gotten into the habit of doing.

- Don't worry too much. We'll probably know more soon, he smiled at her as if to reassure her.

She responds to his smile, deeply grateful for the way he immediately understands what she's thinking or feeling, without her needing to speak. He always found the right word or the right gesture to make, soothing her heart like a cool breeze in summer.

She finally spots Drogon, enjoying a carcass from the sheep she had set aside for him. Most of the time, he simply fished in the sea, but he wasn't against a bit of meat from time to time, although Daenerys limited him as much as she could. They already didn't have astronomical amounts of food, so if he helped himself to their stocks...

He raises his enormous head upon seeing them, and growls softly. He lowers himself to their level, and the Queen reaches out a hand to gently stroke his large scales, warm beneath her hand. Jon does the same, gently touching its nostrils.

She detaches from him and skillfully proceeds to escalate her dragon. She grimaces a little, still a bit bothered by her flank wound.

- Be careful, Jon shouts from below, clearly worried.

She gives him a little wave to assure him that she's managing, and finally achieves to settle into her usual spot, between the spikes of her dragon's crest. She smiled, suddenly filled with a pleasant serenity. She had seen Drogon many times since her awakening after the attack on King's Landing, but she had not yet ridden him again. She had almost succeeded time and again, but Jon had stopped her by a narrow margin each time.

She had tried to threaten him, to trap him, to sulk, but nothing had worked. She couldn't even stay mad at him for very long, his sad look breaking her heart. But today, she had clearly made him understand that either way, he would come with her, or she would ride alone, whether he liked it or not.

- Go on, she calls out to him with a smile.

He grumbles a bit, muttering something like "I have a sense of déjà vu," and begins to climb onto the dragon with difficulty. He nearly falls twice, under the amused gaze of Daenerys who refrains from bursting into laughter so he can maintain what little dignity he has left. He finally reaches her level, letting out a sigh of relief.

He sits astride behind her, wraps his firm arms around her flanks, as his warm palms settle under her chest and his thighs frame her hips. He presses his chest against her back, and places a light kiss on her neck that makes her shiver, before resting his chin on her shoulder.

She lets herself slide back, leaning against him. He holds her firmly, and she smiles.

- You're not too bad, as a file, she teases him. You should come more often.

- With pleasure, Dany, he smiled in turn before kissing her on the cheek, furtively but with tenderness. Don't push yourself if you feel pain, okay ? he adds softly.

She raises her eyes to the sky, softens despite herself.

- I'm fine, Jon, I assure you. I'm not a little princess who collapses at the slightest injury and stays in bed for months, she says with an amused tone.

- You almost died with your "slightest injury," he points out. And it's precisely because I know you're not a "little princess" that I'm careful. You would be capable of riding Drogon with one leg off if you had to, he grumbles.

She laughed, unable to help herself, and lightly pinched his thigh, eliciting a small, very unmanly protest of pain.

- Watch what you say to the Queen, Jon Snow, she whispers with mischief. I remind you that you are on her dragon, which could eat you at any moment.

- He would be too scared of me, he wouldn't dare, he sneers.

She raises an eyebrow.

- You think so ? Do you want to try ?

Drogon suddenly shakes beneath them, grumbling with impatience. Daenerys turns her attention to him, scratching his scales affectionately while whispering apologies in valyrian.

- We better go, or it won't just be you but me too who ends up in its mouth. Are you ready ? she asks.

She feels him tighten his arms around her waist while being careful of her injury.

- I suppose, he agrees in a voice that is not particularly reassured.

She laughs, then grips the spikes in front of her before asking Drogon to take off. He shakes himself gently, almost throwing them off, then spreads his large wings before taking off with a powerful beat. They quickly gain altitude, flying over King's Landing illuminated by the rays of the setting sun.

Drogon turns toward the sea, straight over the ocean that stretches out endlessly before them as they pass over the land. Daenerys closes her eyes, relaxing against Jon who holds her close. He is relatively stable, probably well braced against one of the spikes running along the neck of her dragon, and she can thus lean against his chest, simply enjoying the view, without worrying about having to hold on to anything, unlike her usual habit.

The sea unfolds beneath them, an immensity of turquoise water tinged with orange, red, and yellow hues. The air is warm despite the rather late hour, pleasantly brushing against her face. She lets her head rest on Jon's shoulder, right in the hollow of his neck, snuggled against him.

- It's really beautiful, he whispers after a moment.

She nods gently, simply feeling good, next to the two living beings who mean the most to her in the world.

- Sunrises or sunsets are always magnificent to see from up here, she breathes.

- I've seen many, from the top of the wall, but it's not the same. There, it's really... different, he declares in a low, warm voice.

She smiles and nods. She readily believed him. Drogon glides for a few more moments before beginning a gentle descent toward the waves, forming a cloud of foam behind them caused by the swirling wind in their wake.

She turns slightly toward Jon, a smile lighting up her face.

- I'm happy you're here, with me, she whispers.

- Me too, he answers softly, as a deep sense of well-being seems to emanate from him.

Their eyes simultaneously turn to each other's lips. Daenerys straightens up a bit, places a hand on his chest, and slightly raises her chin. He leans his head and kisses her tenderly, pressing his soft lips against hers.

She will definitely never tire of this feeling of perfection that takes over her heart every time she melts into him like this. Their kiss is incredibly sweet, different from their sometimes torrid and passionate embraces, but just as incredible and addictive. Their tongues meet, intertwine lazily and slowly, in an almost agonizing delicacy.

Drogon suddenly growls beneath them, abruptly interrupting them. He repeats his low growl, sounding annoyed, and Daenerys bursts out laughing.

- He's jealous, she explains, laughing at Jon's astonishment.

A smile spreads across his face, and his eyes crinkle in that way so characteristic of him, which signals that he is amused.

- The poor thing, he has to share his mother, he breathes.

- He will have to get used to it, she smiled. But let's give him a little break, or he'll kick us out without any regrets, she adds, laughing.

She notices that Jon is looking at her with infinite tenderness. Had anyone ever looked at her with such tenderness, such love? She knew the answer. She snuggled a little closer to him. She doesn't know what she did to deserve him. But she fully intends to enjoy her life with him, and this until the end of her days.

Chapter Text

Jon tries to gather the letters, a bit lost by the astronomical amount of papers spread all over the table. Davos and Tyrion were also busy in the room beside him, immersed in piles of paperwork.

- Of the fifty invited lords of the North, about thirty have confirmed their attendance. Most of those from Dorne have also announced their arrival... Regarding the Reach, almost all of them have responded in the affirmative, Davos lists.

Jon holds back a groan. They had insisted with Daenerys on inviting as many people as possible to their wedding, in order to try to definitively unite Westeros, and at the same time show the strong image of their union. Thus, the protests and criticisms about any legitimacy or otherwise will finally cease, and they will finally be able to fully lead, rebuild the Kingdom, and create a world of peace, a more just world.

In the meantime, they are striving to manage all the preparations, which turns out to be quite complex.

- The information about the exact location and date, within a week, has spread well throughout the city. From what I know, the reactions are clearly enthusiastic. It's not usual for rulers to marry among the people... Tyrion remarks, one eyebrow raised above his notebook. And in the meantime, I'm stuck with all the organization, he grumbles under his breath, grabbing his eternal glass of wine placed in front of his small desk.

Jon frowns, clearly remembering that Daenerys had already asked him to drink a bit less. Tyrion is about to bring the goblet to his mouth, but grimaces upon seeing the disapproving expression of the future King.

- What ? I have to give myself courage, right?

Jon simply ignores the Hand and plunges back into the numerous letters scattered in front of him, containing the responses to their invitations. He suddenly spots an envelope coming from the North, still sealed with a wax stamp. He had not yet received Sansa's response. He wasn't even sure he wanted her to be present.

He hadn't seen her since she had betrayed him by revealing his name, which had made his task much more difficult on many fronts. Not to mention the impact it had on Daenerys, which broke his heart, even more so given that he also shared some of the responsibility.

And the only times they had communicated, she had greatly exasperated him, being on the verge of disrespect toward the Queen. If she came, he would demand that she apologize properly to her. But not during the wedding. He wasn't going to ruin their moment for both of them with that.

A smile comes to his lips despite himself when he thinks about it. He is really going to get married. With Daenerys. He couldn't have been happier. Spending the rest of his life by her side was now what he wished for more than anything in the world.

- You are really, but really in love, Tyrion observes.

Jon suddenly realizes that he is staring into space, a dreamy smile on his face. He quickly regains an impassive expression.

- Yes, he still simply acquiesces.

He wasn't going to deny it. Even that, he wasn't capable of.

- Youth, Davos smiled.

He may say it in a light tone, but Jon can tell that his advisor is genuinely happy for him. He had been the closest thing to a father for him, moreover, since Ned's death. At this thought, he reflects that he will never see the man he has become. No more than his true father, Raeghar Targaryen.

He momentarily looks up, to gaze at the sky piercing thru the windows of the small room. Almost surprised, he realizes that he hopes they would be proud of him, if they knew. He refocuses and begins to open the letter still in his hands.

Sansa's handwriting then sprawls across the paper he unfolds, indicating that she will come for the wedding quite concisely, addressing them with the usual polite formulas without elaborating. He sighs and places the sheet back on the table.

He hopes it will go well. In any case, he won't let her spoil his mood, much less Daenerys'. If she makes a scene, he will throw her in the dungeon for the night. That will allow her to clear her head and reflect on her inappropriate behavior.

- Sansa will come, he announces to the two men who look up at him at the news.

Davos merely nods, and Tyrion empties half of his glass of wine in one gulp after a resigned sigh.

- I'm going to need it, he muttered before taking another sip.

***

The sun is shining brightly, although the heat is not yet too unpleasant. The tall grasses rustle in the wind, and a light, pleasant breeze from the sea caresses their faces.

Arya doesn't remember ever being this impatient in her entire life. She refrains from jumping for joy and speeding up to go faster, forcing herself to match her pace with that of the Queen, which suddenly seems far too slow. At the same time, a slight apprehension floats in her gut, without her knowing exactly why.

Daenerys gives him an amused look.

- Don't worry, I'm sure he's going to like you, she smiled.

- Do you think so ? she asks, genuinely a little worried.

- I am certain of it, affirms the Queen.

Arya felt immense gratitude surge within her. The day before, Daenerys had found her and suggested they go see Drogon when they had the time. She had immediately accepted the proposal, stars in her eyes, which had made the Queen laugh. Arya had gently smiled back at her, deeply touched although she didn't fully show it.

The Queen had then suggested that she go the next day, regretfully announcing that she would have to attend an endless council, and she wasn't even sure it would end before sunset. Arya had agreed, and the night had seemed longer than ever.

She suddenly spots a huge form basking in the sun, curled up in a ball on the ground. Drogon. The dragon is magnificent, with black, copper, and ochre reflections. Arya felt her heart race. She had seen him many times before, but not this close, and had never had the chance to touch him.

He straightens up as they approach, and stretches his large wings before shaking himself. The two young women move forward a bit more, and the enormous beast almost seems to purr, before lowering its heavy head and rubbing its nostrils against Daenerys' hand.

The Queen smiles affectionately and whispers a few phrases in Valyrian, of which Arya doesn't understand a single word. As she observes them from a little distance, she suddenly understands why Daenerys is called the Mother of Dragons. The bond between her and Drogon seems extraordinarily strong.

The Queen turns to her, a smile on her lips.

- He's not going to eat you, don't worry.

Arya approaches slowly, and the dragon turns its head toward her with what seems almost like curiosity.

- Hold out your hand, Daenerys advises him. He gathers a lot of information through smell, she explains.

The young woman obeys and presents her open palm to Drogon. He sniffs her for a moment, before lowering his head a bit more. Arya finally felt his warm scales under her fingers, amazed. She would have thought it would be cold, but on the contrary, it is almost burning hot, although not in an unpleasant way.

She turns to Daenerys, radiant, as the latter looks at her with a big smile.

- He's incredible, Arya breathes, almost moved.

- He likes you a lot, smiled the Queen. How he had liked Jon.

The young woman feels her heart fill with an almost childlike joy, while the dragon looks at her with eyes that seem animated by the most intense fire she has ever seen.

- How old is he ? she asks with curiosity.

- Within seven years, Daenerys replies with a smile.

- He is already immense, Arya observes.

According to the books she had read, their growth was clearly not usually this fast.

- He has always been tall, the tallest among his brothers, she whispers softly.

The young woman catches a flash of sadness in the Queen's eyes as she probably thinks back to her two lost dragons, Vyserion and Raeghal. Her heart clenches in turn. Daenerys seemed to care a lot about them, so she imagined the loss must have been heartbreaking.

- It must not be easy to find enough food for him, she says cheerfully in the hope of returning to a lighter subject.

To her relief, the Queen's face lights up with a smile once again.

- He finds food on his own, and fortunately, I can't imagine what it would be like if he couldn't manage on his own. Although I still have to keep an eye on him. Otherwise, our livestock supplies would be depleted in a week, she laughed.

Arya smiled involuntarily at the Queen's contagious laughter. She can't believe how much Daenerys transforms when she's confident and comfortable enough. To think that the Queen allows herself to behave like this in her presence warms her heart.

Moreover, she seems much happier than she generally was at Winterfell, her face less impassive and closed, even with her simple advisors. She is probably more in her element, but her marriage to Jon must have something to do with it too.

- Thank you, Arya whispers softly.

She doesn't need to specify for Daenerys to understand what she's talking about.

- With pleasure, she simply replies with a gentle smile.

***

Jon gets out of the steaming tub, dripping with warm, clean water, delighted to feel his muscles finally relax after his long combat training. He preferred to continue practicing, as a precaution. One was never too careful, and although he would have liked to pretend otherwise, he didn't delude himself. He would probably need to use his sword again one day.

He waves away some of the steam surrounding him. He had hesitated to wait for Daenerys, but although he loved bathing with her, she always made the water scalding hot, and complained that she already lowered the temperature enough for him when he begged her to make it a little cooler.

A smile crosses his lips as he remembers her looking at him with her sparkling eyes, her wet silver hair falling down her slender shoulders. He grabs a towel and rubs his hair, wringing out some of his dark curls. Unfortunately, he can't dry them properly, and they still drip down his back despite all his efforts, which isn't particularly pleasant.

He finishes wiping himself and puts on light pants before sitting at the desk in their room. He spreads out some of the numerous letters they haven't had time to respond to, and gets to work. It's not too late yet, but a light, cool breeze still circulates in the room through the slightly open window, gently stirring the thin silk curtains.

He runs a hand through his hair, spilling a bit of water on the table as he does so, and tries to concentrate. But every time he reads the word "Marriage" on one of the papers – which is practically every thirty seconds – he can't help but smile.

In four days. In four days, they were going to get married. The two weeks since she had proposed to him, which he had joyfully accepted, had passed by in a flash, and the event was now fast approaching. The Northern armies had set off well for Winterfell and its surroundings, under the command of various trusted men.

Arya had stayed as promised, much to his delight – and Daenerys', who visibly appreciated his little sister's hotheadedness more and more. Some guests would arrive in just two days, although the vast majority would only travel for the day.

He works for a moment longer then finally straightens up, his hand numb. He glances at the sky, which is clearly beginning to darken, already revealing a few bright stars, although the glow of the setting sun hasn't completely faded.

Daenerys has been at her Council for several hours already. He hadn't been able to participate, having gone to check on the Unsullied. They had wished to remain in the service of the Queen, despite her offer for them to return home. He had needed to talk a bit with Grey Worm about the overall organization, and then had the time to get a full training session.

She still hasn't returned, and he suspects she's going to be exhausted. He grabs a stack of papers concerning the wedding preparations that Davos gave him, and settles comfortably in bed to read, propping himself up against the pillows.

He couldn't say how much time had passed before the door suddenly opened with a slight creak. Daenerys enters and closes the door with a quick gesture, looking tired.

- You alright ? he asks gently at the sight of her pinched lips and furrowed brows.

- Yes, don’t worry. The meeting was just long, she sighs.

He hears the fatigue in her voice as she quickly changes, slipping into a simple pale tunic. He places the papers on the small table by the bed and gently opens his arms. She climbs onto the mattress on all fours and moves toward him, before letting herself fall against his chest, her little cheek pressed against his torso, right at the level of his heart.

She looks exhausted, even though she doesn't really show it, and quickly closes her eyes as she snuggles against him. He gently wraps his arms around her, softly strokes her back in regular circles, and she lets out a soft sigh of contentment.

- Have you discussed the commercial part ? he inquired after a moment of soothing silence.

- Yes, we saw which parts deserved our attention first. Some wanted to prioritize maritime routes, others terrestrial ones. I thought it would probably be more profitable to make the most of the port, given its size and the number of ships available. And we'll see who will manage all this part tomorrow. There will also be the regular hearings with the people to continue, by the way, she adds.

- Do you have any names in mind for who could handle this commercial part ? he asks.

- Why not Davos, with the help of Kercan, one of Dorne's former advisors, she suggests.

- Good idea. Davos will have much more time in a few days, when the wedding is over, beside, he approves.

A quiet silence envelops them again as they both know very well what they are thinking about, a mutual smile on their lips. Daenerys suddenly raises a hand and gently traces the scars running across his firm chest. She sits up a bit, half-sitting on him, and traces the line at the level of his heart, as her eyes cloud over with a mix of sadness and anger.

They had discussed their pasts a bit, but never really in depth, both aware that they carried betrayals, experiences, and traumas. They hadn't yet dared to ask each other clear, frank questions. Until now.

- Jon… Where do these scars come from ? she finally asks softly, looking up to meet his gaze.

He sees the sorrow she feels for him in her pretty violet pupils, and he almost wants to lie to her, to hide the truth from her, which seems too horrible to be revealed. But she has the right to know. And her past is probably just as heavy. He takes a deep breath as she waits patiently, without rushing him, continuing to let her fingers run over his chest in regular caresses.

- You know I was Lord Commander, he begins.

She nods.

- At that time, few people still believed in the threat of the White Walkers. I was among the few who had seen them and, above all, survived them. Only, they were very real. And I wasn't going to let an entire people die under the pretext of old grudges that no longer had any place. So I let the free folks, the wildlings, pass to the other side of the wall, despite the strong resentment of some members of the Night's Watch. I couldn't let them die, Dany, he whispers in an almost wavering voice as he delves back into his bad memories.

She says nothing, letting him take his time, but gently kisses his chest, just above his scar. Then she places a light kiss on each of the lines that mark his skin, tenderly, as if to heal him, giving him the strength to continue.

- So one evening, my companions set a trap for me. I trusted them. Really. And they stabbed me. One after the other. I collapsed in the snow. It wasn't the physical pain that hurt the most. But the pain of being betrayed, of being killed for doing what I thought was right. And... I was resurrected. By the Red Priestess, Melisandre. You know the summary now, he finishes.

He barely dares to look up, almost worried about what he will now find in her gaze. He feels her hands on his cheeks, lifting his chin.

- Are they dead ? Did you kill them ? she asks in a voice that clearly barely contains her anger.

- I did, he replies, his throat tightened.

- Good. Because otherwise, I would have climbed on Drogon right now, and I would have gone and burned them all, she hisses.

He can't help but smile at her words, and at the sight of the flame dancing in her eyes. And he is relieved. Not an ounce of pity shows in the depths of her pupils and in her voice. Only understanding, anger, and sadness.

- You were right, she asserts. You were right to let them in. You saved the lives of hundreds, thousands of people. It's their fault if they were too stupid to see beyond the end of their noses, she assures. You made the right choice, and you should never have had to endure that for your actions as just as they are noble. I'm very glad you killed them. And I'm happy you came back, she finishes softly.

She says it with so much conviction, so much firmness, that he feels like she has just lifted a weight off his shoulders, a weight he wasn't even aware he was carrying. He straightens up a bit and smiles tenderly at her, trying to keep his voice somewhat stable.

- Thank you, Dany, he whispers.

- It's me who thanks you. For being such a wonderful man. You may have been betrayed, but you continue to be excessively honorable.

She pronounces the last two words with a slight hint of amusement in her voice, and he smiles a little more.

- You are strong, Jon. I am proud of the man you have become, she finished, looking him straight in the eyes.

This time, he struggles to hold back the tears that well up in his eyes. He moves a little closer to her, places his lips on hers while slightly tilting his head, and kisses her with deep affection.

- Thank you, Daenerys. Really. You don't realize what your words mean to me, he breathes in a hoarse voice after pulling away from her, deeply touched.

She smiles at him with pure love, which warms him more than ever. He rests his forehead against hers, closes his eyes for a moment before reopening them, raising a hand to caress her cheek.

- And you ? he asks after a brief moment.

He knows that her story is no happier than his own. And he knows it's going to be hard to hear. But he wants to be there for her. More than ever, he wants to be there for her. So he will.

Chapter Text

There is a slight silence hanging in the air since he asked his question, but he waits without pressuring her, exactly as she did for him a few minutes earlier. He doesn't need to specify for her to understand what he's talking about. She stiffens slightly and takes a difficult breath. She finally straightened up, and he gently took her hand, caressing the back with his thumb.

- Since I was little, I have always lived in exile... My - our - family was exterminated, as you know, she begins.

He hears that just mentioning the event, just thinking about all the innocent children and infants murdered for a simple name, breaks her heart... and to him as well, later on.

- Viserys and I were taken in by one of our supporters, who saved us from certain death by taking us far away from Robert and his killers, to Essos. But when I was about six years old, he was murdered, and we then had to manage on our own, with nothing, forced to beg for even a little bit to eat, or a place to sleep. My brother... changed. He became violent, aggressive toward me, and I had to watch every word or gesture I made, lest I upset him. And who knows what he would do to me then, she said bitterly.

Jon felt anger rising within him. From what they had already told each other, he had clearly understood that Viserys was definitely not a likable person, to say the least, he was detestable. But hearing so clearly how he treated her is beyond him.

Being a big brother himself, he doesn't understand how it's possible to be so cruel and violent with his own sister. Never, ever would he harm Arya, and Sansa either, even after all she had done to him.

- We ended up being greeted by a Master, who assured us that everyone was waiting for our return to Westeros : the return of my brother, the King of Dragons. That idiot believed it, too. But he needed an army to reclaim his lands. We had nothing, no money, not enough gold even with the help of our ally to buy even a small war band. But my brother suddenly remembered that he had something valuable on hand. His sister. Me. So he sold me. To a barbarian, the chief of the Dothrakis, a Khal, Drogo. In exchange for his army, she huffs bitterly.

- He what ?

Jon doesn't remember ever feeling this furious in his entire life. Hate flows through his veins with unprecedented force. He knew that Daenerys had been married, and by force, to a Khal. But her brother ? It was her own brother who sold her ? If Vyseris were in front of him... what he feels capable of doing to him almost frightens him. He didn’t think he could experience such murderous impulses. Even more. Such desires to cause suffering. Daenerys looks down for a moment, but he gently raises her chin with his fingers.

- Continue. Please, he gently encourages her while forcing himself to calm down.

Seeing him so agitated was certainly not going to help her, so he takes a deep breath. Until his resolution shatters at the next words.

- He told me he would have let the forty thousand men and their horses rape me if he had to, when I said to him I wanted to go home, she blurts out abruptly.

Ah. He wasn't going to be able to control himself, in the end. He pulls her against him and wraps his arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then relaxed almost instantly against his chest, soothed by his warmth.

- I swear to you that if he wasn't already dead, I would have killed him myself, Dany, he hissed with barely controlled hatred. And slowly. Very, very slowly.

He then forces himself to be silent, waiting for her to continue, but unable to detach himself from her. And unable to stop the flow of his thoughts. I would have massacred him. Until he begged me to stop. And I would have continued. Again and again. Until he bleeds out. He orders his mind to calm down, aware that he is torturing himself more than anything else. He can't do anything about it, even though it destroys him.

He knows very well that she doesn't need his protection. She is proud, powerful, and he admires her immensely for that. But he would have loved to be there for her at that time. He would so much like to erase all the harm that has been done to her.

So at that moment, tonight, it doesn't matter if she's strong enough to carry it all alone. He will take some of the burden that weighs on her heart with him. Just because we are capable of defending ourselves alone, doesn't mean it doesn't feel good to have someone who supports and protects us, for once. He is well-placed to know that.

Her arms then wrap around his chest, and her slender fingers gently trace his skin, as if to anchor themselves to his presence.

- I know, she whispers softly.

He hears the comfort it brings her, knowing he would have done that for her, and his heart tightens. He would have done anything for her. She waits a moment, then continues.

- The Khal raped me, she announces bluntly. Every evening. Every evening was a new torment, and each passing day brought me a little closer to the night that I knew was going to be horrible – when the urge didn't strike him during the day, she grimaced. Finally... one of my maids ended up giving me advice, helping me, and I managed to make him love me. After that, I suppose I ended up falling in love with him in turn, although I'm not very sure about that now. It was... It was a form of love. I loved him, she breathes softly. And I'm not going to deny it. But now that I have you...

She raises her chin to look him straight in the eyes.

- I realize how fragile this love was, and especially conditional. I couldn't afford to falter even for a moment in front of him. I couldn't show anything of myself, of my real self, as if I were playing a role. Because somewhere, I think I had learned... I think I had learned that in front of him, I always had to show myself as strong, always. Don't cry, don't falter, even when it hurt.

From the tone she takes, he wonders if she isn't realizing it as she tells him.

- Anyway, I was left to fend for myself, so I might as well try to make it more comfortable. I quickly realized that I was the only one who could change this situation, and that no one was going to come to help me or get me out of there. My maids were kind, but the way the Khal treated me seemed perfectly normal to them. Let's not talk about my brother, his actions boiled down to hitting me for anything and everything, and telling me to make Drogo happy... she hissed with a grimace of disgust. As for Jorah, he couldn't do much except assure me that it would get better with time. So I fought, and I got out of it on my own, she finishes with a hint of pride.

She seems to be trying to adopt a lighter tone and smiles somewhat forcedly, but Jon perceives the sadness that shines through in her voice. She leans over him, and lets her cheek rest on his chest, turning her face away.

He feels his heart twist violently, and he tightens his embrace around her small body nestled against his.

- Dany... he breathes.

He waits for her to look up at him again, her beautiful violet eyes shining with contained tears.

- I know you don't need it. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, and I realize it more and more each day I spend with you, he said softly, not hiding his admiration.

She smiled gently despite her misty pupils.

- But I promise you, he continues as he looks straight in her eyes, that I will never let anyone raise a hand to you again, or hurt you in any way. I promise, Daenerys. You have my word. I will protect you, I swear it. Even thought Drogon will probably burn any threat before it reaches you, he adds with a slight smile.

He doesn't see her face, which she has buried in his neck again in the meantime, but he feels her squeeze him tighter as her warm tears stain his skin, and she whispers with a wavering intonation.

- Thank you, Jon. Really, thank you, she whispers in a muffled voice, these few words clearly the only ones she manages to utter.

He smiles gently and tenderly strokes her back, lets his thumb draw circles on her nape, runs his fingers through her hair and untangles it without rushing to soothe her, giving her time to continue her story at her own pace.

- With Drogo, I would just behave exactly the way I knew he wanted me to, she resumes after a moment. Well... I finally ended up getting pregnant by him. You can't imagine the happiness I felt.

The pain that brutally shines through her voice pierces his heart like a stab.

- But my child died. Stillborn, at the same time as my husband, whom I loved despite everything. It was that witch, that witch I had saved, whom I trusted, who killed them. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he had survived. What he would have liked, what he would have thought of dragons, if he would have bonded with one of them...

A lump rises in his throat at the sight of the tears rolling down her cheeks and shining in the candlelight, and he gently wipes them away with his thumbs, his heart aching to see her cry like this. Oh how he would love to go back in time, find her, and spare her all this pain. Find her, and slaughter all those who dared to hurt her.

- Afterward, I burned their bodies along with the witch who killed them, and that's how my dragons were born. After that, I freed cities from slavery, and I think you know the rest, she finished with a slight smile despite the water staining her cheeks.

- Yes, he murmurs. I know the rest. I know what kind of woman you have become. A woman stronger than I have ever met, more concerned about others than herself, who deserves as much love as she gives and more. The most stubborn and strong-willed person I've ever seen, too, he smiles tenderly, and she smiles back, her eyes still slightly misty, as he pulls her a little closer to him.

He slowly strokes her back, and she relaxes in his arms, letting her forehead rest in the hollow between his chin and his shoulder. He feels immeasurable hatred at the thought of everything she has endured. Why did she have to go through so much hardship ? Why couldn't she have simply had the right to a happy childhood, surrounded by her parents, her brothers ?

He will keep his word. He will never, ever let anything hurt her like that again.

And his heart melts with love for her. She is incredible. She has suffered so much. And she still manages to be gentle, kind, to trust. He raises his hands and gently caresses her cheeks again with his thumbs, meeting her gaze to convey all his sincerity.

- I love you, Daenerys. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone, he whispers.

Her eyes fill with tears again.

- Me too, she whispers softly. Me too, I love you.

He gently moves his face toward hers, slides his fingers under her chin to lift it toward him. He moves a little closer, their warm breaths quicken slightly, filled with the desire that begins to rise between them. But their desire is not passionate or torrid, as they so often feel it. It is gentle, incredibly gentle. Their lips brush against each other, barely touching, and she finally presses her mouth against his.
She runs her fingers through his thick curls, deepening their kiss as a soft but deep fire takes hold in their stomachs. Jon pushes her silver strands behind her neck, deepens their embrace even further, and they let their tongues meet, intertwine quietly in a way that seems so obvious, so natural to them.

He slides his hands along her body, along each of those perfect curves, caresses every inch of her. He would like to be able to adore her completely. He turns her with infinite gentleness beneath him. He kisses her lips again, then moves his own under her chin, on her throat, on her collarbone, descends further, leaving a line of long, burning kisses on her body that trembles even more, clearing the thin tunic covering her fair skin.

He lets his lips linger on her breasts, her flanks, kisses the small scar still present from her injury during the capture of King's Landing, traces her belly with skin so soft. She sighs with pleasure, shivering slightly, her hands still rummaging through his hair, tugging on his strands when he touches a more sensitive spot.

He goes down further, he hears her breathing become suddenly choppy, and she moans with pleasure when he finally slides his tongue where she was waiting for it. He wants her to feel how much he loves her, how strong he finds her. And he wants her to be proud of her body, proud of herself, as much as he is proud of it himself, that she knows she is loved, protected, and that he will never let her alone again.

He gently maintains her hips, feels her burn and consume under his love. He focuses solely on her reactions, attentive to the slightest variation in her breath, dedicating himself entirely to making her feel good. She deserves it so much. She suddenly arches under his lips and abruptly clenches her fingers in his hair, throwing her head back. She breathes his name followed by several Valyrian words, whose meaning he doesn't understand but whose intonation makes him shiver.

He tenderly accompanies her in the wave of pleasure that overwhelms her, waits for her tremors to subside. He then softly moves up along her trembling skin and kisses her with infinite passion. He pulls back very slightly, barely detaching himself from her.

He looks straight into her eyes, and the trust he sees deep in her pupils, that unwavering trust she has in him, fills his heart with overflowing affection. She runs her hands through his hair and brings her lips to his, as if she couldn't bear to be separated from him for a few more seconds.

Daenerys strokes every curve of his muscles with her slender fingers, and Jon groans under her touch that sets him ablaze, sending a surge straight to his groin, as she moves down a little further and slides his light pants along his hips, which he quickly gets rid of.

He slides a hand into the small of her back, presses her stomach against his abs, and raises her hip against his with his firm palm. He waits for a moment, his eyes locked on hers. He will never do it without being certain that she wants it. Never. Daenerys then raises her chin and takes his lips again, kissing him as if she hadn't tasted his mouth in years. And she guides him without hesitation toward her, against her, into her.

A sigh of relief escapes them at the same time as they fully reunite. Their bodies seem made for each other, fitting together perfectly. Jon never feels as good as when he is united with her. Like an obvious truth imposed within his mind and heart. They are finally complete.

They literally merge, melting into each other, in a mutual warmth so intense that their bodies seem to ignite.

Her nails dig into his back, she pants as she searches for his lips, he lowers his head and kisses her with all his love, all his tenderness. He feels her melt into his embrace, letting herself be enveloped and carried by his arms, clinging to him and completely surrendering to the movements of his presence within her.

Jon's heart filled with an overflow of emotion. She is so beautiful. Her skin gleaming with sweat, her eyes that cling and get lost in his, her lips that tirelessly sigh his name in his mouth.

He holds her close as he joins her even further, and they both end up carried away by their fire that submerges them with pleasure and warmth.

They remain against each other, out of breath. Jon rolls onto his side, and Daenerys moves a little, following the motion. She rests her cheek on his chest and wraps an arm around him, her face serene. Jon surrounds her with his firm arms too, completely relaxed himself. They are both overwhelmed by a deep sense of well-being, of serenity.

He strokes her back as usual, in regular movements, which visibly make her drowsy as her eyes gently close. She still raises her head a little, rests her chin on his chest, and looks at him with a smile.
- What's wrong ? he asks, faced with her silence.

- I was just telling myself once again that you are really handsome, she breathes with amusement.

His smile widens in turn, and he straightens up a bit to kiss her on the forehead.

- I'm rarely told that. Generally, the first word that comes to describe me is rather... cold, he thinks aloud. You, on the other hand, must have already received quite a few compliments. And for good reason, he smiles. You are magnificent.

She blushed slightly, unsure how to react to his words, which were so direct. His heart warms at the thought that no matter how many compliments she has received, and that she has probably listened to with her usual impassivity, his always seem to move her just as much.

- In itself, I must have been found as often distant and dry as beautiful, she remarks, playing with her fingers on his skin, following the contours of his chest.

- I'm willing to believe you, he said with an amused look. When we met in Dragonstone, my first thoughts were that you were quite intimidating, and easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And then you opened your mouth and started talking, and the charm was broken, he says dramatically while holding back laughter.

- I don't allow you, she protests, pinching him in the ribs, eliciting a small cry of pain from him – which causes her to make a satisfied pout -. You proudly showed up in front of me, you refused to bend the knee, then you had the nerve to ask for my help, and even worse, you told me that I, with my three dragons, needed your help. I was so annoyed, she scoffed. Who was this man who was so pretentious, and who told such serious-faced fables created to scare children ? In fact… She seems to think. You may have been unbearable, but I think you already intrigued me.

Jon can't help but smile.

- And now ? he breathes, knowing very well what she is going to answer.

- Hmmmm…

She seems to be pondering the question quite seriously, and puts on an innocent look.

- I discovered that he might not be as terrible as all that.

- Terrible ? he exclaims, falsely offended. You're going too far...

- Okay, maybe just annoying. Still very annoying, and-

She suddenly lets out a soft moan and her cheeks flush abruptly as he slides his hand toward the inside of her thigh, brushing the spot where they had joined just a few minutes earlier with his thumb.
- You were saying ? he asks just as innocently as she did a few seconds earlier.

- You're cheating, she retorts.

But her sparkling eyes contrast with her dry tone, and he laughs before pulling her against him and wrapping her in his arms.

- I don't cheat, I play with the cards I have in my hand, he whispers in her ear.

She straightens up, freeing herself from his embrace, and tries to glare at him – without much success -.

- You are very despicable, Jon Snow, she asserts. You deserve a punishment.

She suddenly starts to move gently, sitting on him in a slightly too sensitive spot, and he groans, grabbing her hips.

- Continue, and…

- Continue and what ? she murmurs as she leans in to brush her lips against his, visibly very pleased with herself.

- And I won't stop, he breathes, suddenly straightening up, his face now at the same height as hers.

He pulls her a little closer to him, drawing her further onto his knees, and she wraps her legs around his waist, straddling him, her breath short.

- Don't stop, then.

Chapter Text

-I welcome you, my Lord and my Lady Tiergan, Jon greets them kindly.

- Thank you, Your Grace, reply the couple, bowing their heads respectfully.

Jon suppresses a grimace at "Your Grace." He will probably never get used to that title. He tries to concentrate on receiving the guests, but his heart and mind are in turmoil. Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours, and they will really get married.

Despite the tight budget, he has to admit, Tyrion did things in style and pulled it off very well. The square of the Great Sept of Baelor is fully decorated, resplendent with colorful banners in Targaryen and Stark colors. Immense tables are set, stretching for dozens of meters, and provisions are already stored on them, although countless Dothrakis and Unsullied are still bustling around.

The atmosphere is... Jon searches for the word. Magical is what comes closest to it. The afternoon sun is dazzling, and seems to bring out the beauty of the place. Children run laughing in the streets. Each house facade has been painted to celebrate their union, the streets are lively, everyone eagerly awaits the start of the evening.

Jon takes care of welcoming the invited nobles. Davos had kindly offered to take care of it in his place, but the former King of the North had nothing to do, as the Hands and advisors had insisted on managing everything. And the wait was unbearable. So he preferred to do something, anything, to at least keep himself physically occupied. He felt completely out of place, his hands sweaty and his heart pounding, imagining what Daenerys would look like.

She had insisted on keeping the dress a secret, telling him she would love to surprise him – and of course, he couldn't resist her request. But she had done worse : that very morning, wrapped in his arms, she had told him that he wouldn't see her all day before the ceremony.

To make the moment even more memorable, she had announced. He had refrained from begging her not to inflict this torture on him, but had still blurted out in despair that it was far too hard, having to spend an entire day without her by his side, and even more so when he knew what was happening in the evening. She had burst out laughing, with her sparkling laughter.

And then she had kissed the tip of his nose, with a sweet smile. She had told him that his wait would be rewarded, then placed a kiss on his lips, before slipping out of their bed like a maiden caught in the act, barely having put on her light robe. She had fled like that, leaving him with his arms dangling, a storm wreaking havoc in every part of his body and mind.

He had thus been forcibly engaged in what seemed to be the hardest battle he had ever fought : waiting desperately all day until evening. Since then, he had been trying to keep himself busy by any means, impatience coursing through his veins with force.

A hand suddenly lands on his arm, and he jumps, turning around abruptly.

- You're rather tense, Arya sneers.

- I know, he grumbled. I've been tense all day, and I'm going to be for a while longer.

- You have to admit, there's something to it. She is really beautiful, his sister blurts out with a furtive glance.

He turns his head toward her, surprised.

- What are you talking about ?

- The dress. And Daenerys, she replies nonchalantly.

- You see it ? he exclaims a bit too loudly, causing heads to turn toward him.

- Yes, his sister whispers with a mischievous smile. Be careful to close your mouth when you see her, or you'll drool, she retorts teasingly.

- So you're joining in now too ? What is it with all of you making me suffer today ? he groaned.

But he can't hide his radiant face. A mix of apprehension, good apprehension, and pure happiness spreads throughout his body. He never thought he had the right to be this happy.

Arya smiled affectionately at the sight of his bright eyes. She pats him on the shoulder.

- Good luck waiting, big brother. I wish you all the courage, she says with amusement before quickly disappearing.

He can't help but laugh, and turns to welcome a new group of Lords. Decidedly, the afternoon promises to be long.

He couldn't say how much time passed before he suddenly caught sight of a face with a cold expression, red hair, and a few men accompanying her, looking around with suspicion. A haughty and upright woman, whom he immediately recognizes. Sansa. She moves forward as if she were judging everything she saw, and she seems to judge harshly, probably criticizing in her head everything that doesn't suit her taste.

Stay calm, he tells himself. He won't let her ruin his day. If she is understanding, he might even be happy she is there, but he waits with suspicion. And he still hasn't swallowed that she revealed his name to everyone. It's not about him, despite the annoyance and sorrow at the thought that she betrayed his trust, he doesn't have time to waste on exhausting and painful grudges.

But her act, her betrayal caused serious problems for Daenerys, and worse, put her in danger. He considers this intolerable, and if she weren't his sister, he doesn't know what he would have done to her, but he wouldn't have been so understanding. Moreover, she hadn't apologized even once, continuing her jabs through the letters.

If she expects a warm welcome from him, she's dreaming.

- Jon, she breathes as she spots him.

- Sansa, he replies, nodding his head, keeping a closed face.

- How are you ? she asks.

- Good. Thank you for your presence. You can follow the stairs leading to the Red Keep, the advisors are taking care of the reception.

She seems surprised by his neutral tone. He expresses no animosity, but clearly no affection either. He refrains from sighing, annoyed. After her actions, she really thought he would act as if nothing had happened.

He suddenly spots a white figure behind her. His heart skips a beat.

- Ghost ? he whispers in disbelief.

The direwolf reveals itself by sliding out from behind the men, and advances toward him with a steady step, passing Sansa. His red eyes fix him with their usual glow.

- Good to see you again, boy, he says, delighted.

He bends down and scratches the animal's neck, who licks his face. Jon laughs softly, caring little about the drool now present on his cheeks. He had terribly missed his direwolf, and he had regretted every moment of not bringing him along. He kisses the animal's big head, scattering a few white hairs into his beard in the process.

Ghost seems very satisfied, and stretches, before lying down next to him. Jon turns his attention back to Sansa.

- I thought you must miss him, she hesitates before his questioning look.

He smiled gently.

- Thank you, Sansa.

- You're welcome.

She is visibly relieved that he has softened.

- Would you have time to talk ? she finally asks.

- Not today, he replies without hesitation. Follow the stairs over there. Whatever you have to tell me, we'll see later.

She seems destabilized by his newly distant tone. But as grateful as he truly is, he won't risk darkening his day with discussions that will annoy his. And above all, he waits to see his behavior toward their Queen.

He would probably have already forgiven her if it only concerned him, he strongly suspects. Sansa is considerate and respectful toward him. He doesn't want to hold a grudge against his sister for a mistake, even though its magnitude is immense. But Daenerys is involved, and as long as her behavior toward her hasn't changed, he won't change either.

She eventually backs away, nodding her head, and takes the path he indicated, followed by her men, who exchange a few wary glances with the Unsullied stationed not far away. Ghost stays by his side, and Jon feels even more radiant – if that were possible -. He crouches down, seeing that no one seems to be paying attention to him, all too busy with preparations or chatting animatedly, and he plunges his fingers into the animal's thick fur.

- I'm sorry I didn't take you with me, he whispers affectionately, certain that his direwolf understands his words – and even more so by the look he gives him at that moment -. It was stupid.

He smiled, his heart suddenly swelling with happiness.

- You're going to meet Daenerys. You'll see, she has quite a character. But she is the most wonderful woman I have ever known. I'm sure you'll like her.

Even more, he thinks. I am convinced of it.



***



Arya feels strangely in a good mood. She goes up the streets of King’s Landing, being careful not to jostle anyone, as the crowd occupies the slightest free space. Usually, she would have hated it, being oppressed by so many people, but that doesn’t bother her that much today.

Not when she knows what event the people are so excited about. A genuine smile forms on her lips. His brother is getting married. With a Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons. Daenerys. She couldn't have been happier for him, for them. If she had accepted Gendry's proposal, she could have been in their place, she thought absently. Their wedding would certainly have been much less impressive, but…

The blush suddenly rises to her cheeks, something that hadn't happened to her in so long that she can't remember the last time. Why was she thinking about that now? She scolds herself sharply and instead focuses on the decorations hanging from the facades of the houses, as well as the mostly laughing faces spread around her.

The people seem incredibly happier than when Robert or the Lannisters ruled, she suddenly notices. And yet, it wasn't that long ago that Daenerys —and in a few hours Jon— were in power.

She finally arrives at the Red Keep, climbs the steps four at a time, and enters a large reception hall where Lords and Ladies from neighboring regions are chatting, asking numerous questions to the advisors of the two sovereigns. Arya quickly passes by them, looking at her feet, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

The nobles and their manners always bothered her just as much. She suddenly hears a muffled exclamation and turns toward where the sound is coming from. She freezes, surprised.

- Sansa ? she asks, approaching her sister. You came, after all ?

- Yes, but what are you doing here ?

- Well...

Arya suddenly realizes that she hasn't sent any news to her sister since she left, and that before that, she hadn't warned her about what she was planning to do either. She clears her throat for a moment, then sighs.

- Long story...

- All the better, I couldn't stand staying here for another second. Can we go to a place that's... quieter ? asks Sansa.

Arya raises an eyebrow, unpleasantly surprised by her dry and cold tone. She's still in a bad mood and suspicious, after everything she's just seen? She suppresses her urge to roll her eyes and finally nods, signaling her to follow her.

Sansa orders her men to leave her alone, and they venture out of the room, into the corridors of the Keep. Arya thinks they will probably be better off in her room, if her sister wants a silent place.

She glances at her furtively, holding back the slight twinge of annoyance that is already rising within her. She feels that this discussion is not going to be easy…

Chapter Text

The two sisters walk briskly, then finally enter the small room, and Arya closes the door. Sansa advances toward the window, admiring the sea that stretches out in the distance. A large balcony overlooks the outside, but Arya has never set foot on it. To be honest, her room was only used for sleeping. She spent the rest of her time going about her business, wandering through the city streets, or attending a council when they seemed interesting.

Or she would join her brother as soon as he had free time – which was rare – and they would laugh like before. Or she would go visit Daenerys, who always seemed happy to see her, much to her delight.

She slumped into one of the armchairs under her sister's slightly disapproving gaze and reached out to offer her a seat across from her. Sansa sighs and sits down. They remain silent for a moment, to the point that Arya eventually starts to feel a bit uncomfortable.

- So, they're getting married, her sister suddenly blurts out.

- Yes, she answers simply.

She doesn't understand her gaze filled with anger.

- You've seen, the city is much improved and rebuilt, thanks to the Queen, she inquired to try to show the positive. She-

- Fortunately, it was she who partially destroyed it, Sansa hisses brutally.

Arya stops and stares at her, her surprise turning to annoyance.

- Daenerys only damaged some sections of the walls, which then caused some damage to buildings, but there were almost no civilian casualties, she notes. And it was to free them from Cersei, I remind you. When you throw that out without context, it almost sounds like it's a reproach...

- It is one, her sister states bluntly. She should have-

- She should have what ? Arya cut, now disturbed by her behavior which she finds frankly puerile. She did what she could, she did her best, and she almost died, by the way, for your information.

She understands that her sister doesn't hold the Queen in her heart, but to hate her so openly when she hasn't actually done anything wrong to her... Sansa flinches at her words.

- Probably a false rumor, she muttered.

- I was there, Arya asserts. And I can assure you that no, it's not a false rumor.

Her sister looks at her for a moment, eyes wide, then her face suddenly hardens.

- Why are you defending her ?

- I'm not defending anyone, she retorts. I simply don't understand your hatred toward her-

- She's a Targaryen ! A Targaryen, Arya ! We can't trust them!

- You still think that after everything she has done for us ? Do you realize what you're saying ? she breathes, now almost shocked.

- It's you who doesn't realize !

Her sister's eyes flash.

- She manipulated everyone, Jon first ! You should have seen the way he looked at me-

She stops at Arya's laughter, astonished. She eventually stops laughing and stares at her sternly, her gaze icy.

- Sansa, do you really think Jon is acting this way toward you because Daenerys made him believe you were mean and cruel?

- Well-

- Without her, he wouldn't have even invited you, she grumbles.

Her sister seems to be taking a stab. Her marble face wavers for a moment.

- What ?

Arya's annoyance rises with much more force than she would have believed, and her voice hardens. Her relationship with her sister had finally improved, but clearly, Sansa might still have the spoiled brat behavior she had when they were younger.

- Have you forgotten what you did to him ? You had sworn to him that you wouldn't tell anyone his name, you had promised him. And he barely turned his back before you repeated it to who knows who, and then it spread like wildfire. Because of you, they had a hard time with Daenerys, and the marriage actually came from that idea, she said coldly.

- Ah ! That's what I thought, so it's just politics, Sansa whispers.

Arya suddenly straightens up in her chair, fury almost making her reach for Needle, twisting the pommel as the urge to slash something, or someone, right then and there, takes hold of her.

- Of course not. Do you really wish they had married out of duty and not out of love ? Is it too much to ask you to be a little happy for them ? What did Daenerys do to you, it's incredible, she hisses. Why do you hate her so much ?

- She thinks she's superior, with her poor dragon ! retorts Sansa, visibly getting more and more annoyed as well.

Suddenly, Arya feels like a light is turning on in her mind.

- Ah, she murmurs to herself.

- What ? her sister asks sharply.

- You're jealous, she whispers.

At these words, Sansa stiffened abruptly, and she felt that she had hit the mark.

- You're jealous because she has what you've never had, she continued.

- Stop !

- She is the Queen of Westeros, she has a strong, protective, brave man who is madly in love with her, even if you don't want to believe it, I know what I saw, she is powerful, she is beautiful, she has the blood of a Noble House flowing through her veins, she-

- Shut up ! scolds her sister.

Arya lets out a small sigh. She really feels like she's seeing the Sansa from years ago again.

- To think I believed you had changed. Sansa, I could never even begin to imagine what you have been through and what you have suffered. But that doesn't give you the right, in any, but any case, to hate certain people who have done nothing to you simply because they possess what you have always dreamed of. Daenerys has a similar story to yours. Everything she has, she has earned in hard battles, and she has had to make heavy sacrifices. You could even be friends, she suggests, forcing herself to make one last effort for her sister.

- You're dreaming !

Sansa's eyes blaze.

- I could never have any kind of friendly relationship with that whore who seduced-

- That's enough ! hisses Arya, anger rising sharply within her at the insult, making her tone colder than ever. You're acting like an eight-year-old.

- She manipulated you too, Sansa said as if she realized it just now.

- Of course not, she grumbles. I spoke to her. You know what, communication changes everything, she remarks bitterly. While you were constantly criticizing her without trying to see beyond a name or a heritage, I discovered who she was beyond just her appearance and origins.

- You are completely under her spell, her sister sighs, shaking her head. You-

- Do you really think I'll fall for sweet talk so easily ? Is that really what you think of me ?

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, uncertainty suddenly flashed across Sansa's face.

- What I told you is true. Jon didn't want to invite you to the wedding, she continues. But Daenerys told him that you were his family, that there wouldn't be any problem, and that you had the right to be present. Even after what you did to her.

- You...

- It's the truth, Arya asserts, her face closed. I would never lie to you, and even less about that.

- But Jon ! He looked at me-

- He looked at you like that because you broke his trust, she retorted dryly. You might think twice now before acting behind his back right after giving your word. And yes, somewhere, it has something to do with Daenerys. You put her in danger by repeating his real name to just everyone. And if you want my opinion, that's what he's going to have the hardest time forgiving you for. But it's absolutely not her who told him to act coldly toward you. Maybe she's even less angry with you than he is.

Arya suddenly notices that her sister looks completely lost, and hurt, her marble face gone. An immense weariness takes hold of her, and sorrow grips her heart despite herself. Why does it have to be so complicated ?

- Sansa, I understand that you have a hard time trusting now. But it's not by becoming excessively suspicious and spitting on those who have managed to overcome the obstacles in their lives better than you that you will live better. On the contrary, she whispers gently, trying to soften her tone. Jon and Daenerys love each other, whether you like it or not, and you can't change that. Now, all you have to do is apologize to them, and I'm sure they will forgive you, even if it takes time.

She hesitates, but eventually continues.

- You're hurting yourself by behaving like this, she sighs. I assure you...

- I can't, Sansa growls in a surge of anger. And I don't want to. I could never trust her, not her. I... She...

- Stop constantly picking on her, she hisses, her compassion gone as quickly as it had come. Daenerys hasn't done anything to you, except succeed better than you. And without her, you would have died because of the White Walkers, by the way. We would all be dead. Well, I can say whatever I want, you don't listen to me. Don't bother them this evening, Sansa, she warned suddenly, her eyes flashing with a fiery light. This is their moment. I won't let you ruin this for them, not after everything they've both been through to get here.

- I-

- Get out, she breathes, unable to continue this conversation for another second. Get out, before I say something I regret.

Her sister seems broken for a moment, and Arya feels her heart clench with remorse. Sansa turns around and rushes out of the room. The young woman closes her eyes, letting out a sigh. Why does it always have to happen like this ?

She glances out the window. The sun is descending further and further in the sky. She shakes herself, taking control again. Not today will she wallow, she decides firmly. And she must keep an eye on Sansa, after all. She won't let anyone disturb her brother and his lover on the best day of their lives.

Determined, and a little invigorated, she leaves the room with a light step, Needle faithfully at her belt.




***




- Really ? I mean, really ? No, I can't, it's too... Well, it's too... protests Arya, her eyes wide.

- It would make me very happy, Daenerys smiled at her. I assure you that you have as much of a place here as anyone else. But if you refuse because you don't feel comfortable, in that case there is no problem. It's just that...

- No, that's not that ! replies the young woman sharply. It's just that I didn't expect such a proposal...

She can't believe it. Daenerys, the Queen, asked her to be the one to accompany her to Jon. They had apparently decided to recite the vows and celebrate their union in a fairly conventional manner, he would wait for her on a small platform set up in the square of the Great Sept of Baelor, and she would walk toward him alongside a trusted figure, before they swore to be bound forever.

Only, she would never have imagined that Daenerys would propose to her to be the "trusted figure."

- And... isn't it supposed to be a man who comes with you to him ? asks Arya after a moment of hesitation.

The Queen shrugs.

- It's the most common, but no, not necessarily. And anyway, apart from Tyrion, I don't see who could escort me... and be accompanied by him when he will probably already be drunk to the point of stumbling, no thank you, she grimaces with amusement.

Arya thought for a moment, trying to realize. She looks at Daenerys. She is magnificent. Her hair is elaborately braided in a way that looks both very complex and very natural, falling gracefully along her shoulders. And her dress. She really meant what she said to Jon a little earlier.

The fabric is fine and light, decorated with delicate lace, and some of the spirals resemble the Targaryen symbol, the three-headed dragon. The neckline is slightly scooped, but without anything suggestive, simply following the line of her neck and bust, falling perfectly on her, embracing her as if it had been custom-made for her – which is probably the case, Arya suddenly realizes.

The dress spreads out in an elegant arc around her, the pearly white seems to glow against the dark floor. And Daenerys is radiant, a constant smile no longer leaving her lips, illuminating her face in a way that makes her even more beautiful, if that were only possible.

Arya shakes her head, horrified. She, with her black hair gathered at the nape of her neck in a basic hairstyle that took her just a few minutes to do in the morning, with her clothes as classic as they could be as well – at least, they are clean – was going to stand out like a sore thumb next to the poor Queen, who was going to make a fool of herself because of her.

- I can't, she sighs regretfully.

In reality, she would have enjoyed escorting Daenerys, and she is deeply touched by her request, her heart pleasantly warmed. But she can't accompany Daenerys like this, not while-

- Stop worrying ! laughed softly the Queen, interrupting her frantic thoughts by taking her hand. I'm telling you it's okay, Arya, I assure you. No matter what you're wearing, as long as it's you who's there. If you don't feel like it, you refuse, but if you do feel like it, you accept. Forget the rest, just what you want. So ?

She waits for her response, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Arya smiled despite herself, and gave in.

- It would make me very happy, she admits. And it really touches me that you offered that to me. But my outfit isn't appropriate-

- No buts ! Daenerys's haircut with a mischievous smile. You told me what you wanted, very well. So let's do it !

Arya bursts out laughing, under the almost… tender gaze of the Queen. And a question arises in her mind as she looks up to watch the stars beginning to appear. How could she have ever thought that Daenerys was just a cold and mad woman, coming only to conquer them ? She no longer remembers. She is now incapable of seeing her in any other way than how she perceives her now.

Chapter Text

Jon had never experienced such an intense mix of emotions in his entire life, torn between the apprehension that made his heart race, impatience, happiness, as if his body was a vase filled to the brim.

He is on a small platform, overlooking an countless number of unknown faces. But he's searching for only one : Daenerys's. He doesn't remember ever being this stressed, not even before the battle against Ramsay. He fervently hopes his outfit is well-fitted, even though he has already asked Davos countless times to check. He had, moreover, ended up looking at him with amusement, patting him on the shoulder and assuring him that everything would be fine.

Maester Cargan stands behind him. He had stayed even after the Northern armies had left for Winterfell, having decreed that the Northern city already had its healer, and that King's Landing would need all the available help for the sick.

And he suddenly spots her. There, at the other end of the crowd that parts before her and forms a guard of honor. She is radiant. He feels his breath catch, tears practically welling up in his eyes. He is really going to get married. With her. The silence becomes brutal, unless it's just him who can't hear anything anymore, and she slowly moves toward him, smiling gently.

Her pearly white dress accentuates her deep violet eyes, perfectly complementing her long, silver hair that cascades down her shoulders, though some of it is braided into a stunning pattern. He thinks for a moment with concern that he is not sure he will be able to find enough voice to say the vows.

He suddenly realizes that it is Arya who is by her side, and his heart overflows with an excess of emotions, even more so if that were possible. He couldn't have dreamed better. He couldn't have even dreamed of such a perfect event.

She finally reaches him, and he realizes that her eyes are also clouded with tears. He desperately wants to kiss her, right there, right away, but he holds back with difficulty. He needs all his willpower and more not to take her into his arms immediately.

Arya gives them a sweet and sincere smile before stepping back and descending from the slight promontory, leaving them both alone with the Maester, facing the crowd that now seems to be holding its breath.

They slowly turn toward the old man, but without taking their eyes off each other for a single second. Jon felt the emotion tighten his throat, and he gently took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. She smiled at him tenderly, her eyes still moist, and the Mestre then came right up to them.

- We are gathered here to unite Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, announces the old man in a loud voice.

Jon isn't really listening anymore. He gets lost in her pupils, in her smile, in the warmth of her hand in his, in the softness of her features, in her hair sparkling under the stars, in her gaze that reflects as much her love as his, and even more.

The old man finally reaches out, and then wraps a thin ribbon around their wrists pressed tightly against each other. Jon takes a deep breath, hoping with all his heart that his voice won't fail him.

- Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.

He could not differentiate her words from his own, all mixing up to come out in one and the same sentence, pronounced by a single person.They perfectly match the same rhythm, their breaths coordinated and regular, without having to make any effort, instinctively. He has the feeling that everything fades around them. Nothing else matters. As if she were the only one existing at that precise moment.

- I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.

His promise echoes hers, and a radiant smile takes them both. He leans toward her, slips an arm around her waist to draw her closer, and kisses her with all his love, trying with all his heart to convey to her even a tiny part of the immensity of what he feels for her. Their lips press against each other, and he realizes. That's it. They are married. Bound to each other forever.

He rests his forehead against hers, ignoring the enthusiastic cries of the roaring crowd, which erupted as soon as their lips had barely touched. Their noses brush, and he whispers as softly as possible, so that only she can hear him.

- I promise to do everything to fill you with happiness, Daenerys, he whispers.

She smiles a little more, almost laughing amidst the tears that now glisten on her cheeks in the moonlight, and she looks at him with such intensity that his heart swells for the hundredth time of the evening.

- You already make me happy. Happier than I've ever been in my entire life. I love you, Jon, she whispers.

- Me too. I love you, Daenerys, he replies, his throat tight with emotion, the water for once not bitter but sweet threatening to overflow from the corner of his eyes as well.

I love you more than you could ever imagine. I love you more than I could ever express to you, more than I could ever show you.

But I promise you I will spend my life trying.




***



Daenerys feels practically euphoric. Even after the ribbon was untied, Jon hadn't let go of her hand for a single second, the warmth of his fingers intertwined with hers reminding her at every moment that it's real, that she's not dreaming because it seems so wonderful to her. Sitting side by side at the end of the largest buffet table, they have a perfect view of the scene unfolding before them.

Laughter echoes from everyplace, the music fills the air, the smell of food could make anyone's mouth water, children run and play, shouting with joy without anyone stopping them, the common people mingle with the nobles, no distinction seems to be made between anyone anymore. As a precaution, it had been decided that Grey Worm would stay by their side for part of the celebration, but Daenerys felt threatened by no one, more at ease than ever.

An incalculable number of guests have succeeded and continue to succeed each other to send them congratulations in a warm voice, and they respond to each of them in the same way, with a big smile on their faces that hasn't left either of them since the end of their exchange of vows.

Among them, Tyrion had come to see them a little earlier with not a glass but a pitcher of wine in hand, his state of inebriation probably already well advanced given the rather suggestive remarks he had allowed himself to make about the future wedding night of the two young newlyweds. They had ended up thanking him quickly, a little amused despite the embarrassment caused. Davos had also congratulated them, looking at least as moved as they both had been during the vows.

They finally have a little respite, most of the guests having finished congratulating them, now tackling the immense buffet set up in the large square. Daenerys rests her head on Jon's shoulder, and he gently brushes her hair with a kiss in response. She looks up at him, thus meeting his gaze that overflows with at least as much happiness as her own.

- Finally married for good ! It was about time this ceremony arrived, suddenly says a well-known voice.

They turn toward the young woman with an amused look who is watching them, a smile on her lips.

- Arya, Jon responds warmly.

- I came to offer you my congratulations and... all that, all that, she announces.

She grimaces slightly.

- Sorry, I didn't have much inspiration, but I told myself I should probably still come and say something to you, she adds.

Daenerys can't help but laugh, and sincerely thanks her at the same time as Jon.

- Do you know where Ghost is, by the way ? asks the former King of the North to his sister.

The Mother of Dragons raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

- Ghost ? she repeats before Arya has time to answer.

- Jon, don't tell me you forgot to tell her that, she sighs in an incredulous voice.

- No, protests Jon. You know, my white direwolf. I had told you about him, I don't remember exactly when... he explains, turning toward her.

- The one you took in just after he was weaned ? she asks.

- Yes, he affirms with a smile.

He had indeed described the animal to her several times, telling her that he had raised him since he was very young. The direwolf had followed him throughout his journey, accompanying him behind the Wall and staying by his side at every moment. Daenerys had well understood from the way he spoke about him, a slight glimmer of sadness in his eyes, that he missed his companion more often than he said.

- To answer your question, no, I don't know where he is. I didn't even know he was there. Did Sansa bring him back ? asked Arya.

- Yes, he replies warmly. He must have gone for a walk somewhere around here again...

He turns toward Daenerys, suddenly looking a bit more serious.

- I told you Sansa was coming, but I forgot to let you know that she had already come to see me before the ceremony... Well, I haven't seen her since, he sighs with annoyance.

Daenerys thinks she should probably feel offended that she hasn't even bothered to congratulate them yet, even though the evening is already well underway, but she's actually quite relieved. She feels like she's floating on a cloud of happiness, and she really doesn't want anyone to darken her mood—even though she feels like nothing could diminish the almost euphoric state she's in at this precise moment.

- She'll probably come by later, she suggests.

- Or not, Arya grumbles. I had a little discussion with her, and I'm not sure she appreciated it.

She shakes her head at the questioning look from the two lovers.

- Just enjoy yourselves, you can think about the party poopers later, she tells them. Daenerys will finally be able to meet Ghost, then ! she says with a smile on her face.

- I'm sure he's going to adore you, Jon told  her, looking at her with affection.

The Queen tries to imagine the white direwolf, suddenly thinking with amusement that if they introduce him to Drogon, the poor animal will probably be traumatized for life. Or, on the contrary, they will get along extremely well. She doesn't know which option to lean toward.

- I can't wait to meet him, she smiled sincerely.

- It'll be fine. You look alike after all, you almost have the same hair or fur color, Arya jokes.

They talk for a while longer about everything and nothing, the words coming to them naturally. Once again, Daenerys notices how easy it seems for her to talk with Arya. Neither of them cares about manners or conventions at that moment, and the feeling of being able to speak freely is particularly pleasant.

- You didn't tell me it would be you who would accompany Dany, Jon suddenly blurts out.

She looks up at him, her heart still filled with happiness at the warm smile he gives her, which slightly crinkles the corners of his eyes.

- I was surprised when she offered it to me, Arya laughs. But nothing could have pleased me more, she asserts with conviction. Well, I'll leave you lovebirds, and enjoy your wedding night, she finally said, chuckling at their blushing cheeks, before slipping away in that stealthy manner so characteristic of her.

Soft music fills the air as a peaceful and soothing silence settles between them, more than enough to express the happiness they both feel.

She couldn't say how much time passed before Jon's famous red-haired sister suddenly appeared in the middle of the crowd. Daenerys stiffened slightly, and her husband tightened his fingers around hers as Sansa approached them.

She stops barely a meter away from them, fixes them with... The Queen absolutely couldn't say what, but to her great surprise, no animosity showed in her gaze. Only... a kind of strange sadness?

- Congratulations, she finally whispers.

She clears her throat, her voice noticeably coming out weaker than she thought, and she seems to regain her composure, adopting a prouder demeanor than the one she had just a few seconds earlier.

- You make a beautiful couple, she says simply.

- Thank you, Sansa, replies Jon.

Daenerys senses that he is tense, visibly still genuinely annoyed by his sister, although his neutral tone doesn't really show it. She briefly strokes the back of his hand with her thumb to convey her calm, before turning her attention back to Sansa.

She realizes that she no longer really feels that anger that had gradually grown in Winterfell each time the young woman questioned her authority, despite her constant efforts to show kindness and good heart. No, she feels more like... maybe not compassion, but a form of pity.

She realizes that Sansa actually makes her feel sorry for her. The young woman is clearly envious, jealous of what she has accomplished and achieved. A slight, sad smile stretches her lips, and she even surprises herself by thinking for a moment that she hopes Jon's sister will eventually find what makes her happy, rather than relentlessly trying to obtain the happiness of others.

- Thank you, Sansa, she finally says softly.

The young woman gives them a final, somewhat stiff nod before turning her back on them and walking away.

- She was reasonable, Jon sighs.

Daenerys smiles and lightly kisses him on the corner of his lips, laughing at his face that lights up almost immediately.

- Everything went well, so don't think about it anymore, she tells him affectionately.

He nods, a genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth, before he leans slightly toward her.

- Do you want to dance ? he proposes.

Daenerys’s eyes shine at the exact second he finishes his sentence. She wouldn't have thought he would dare to ask her, and she didn't want to impose on him, but his request delighted her.

- With pleasure, she smiled.

- I'm warning you, I'm not very good, he says with a slight worry.

She can't help but burst out laughing at his suddenly more serious tone as they both stand up. He may be clearly confident in his actions and words, but he becomes anxious as soon as he thinks he might disappoint her.

- I'm sure you'll do just fine, she assures him. And at worst, I'll just let you sleep on the floor tonight while I enjoy the double bed all to myself, she teases him.

- You wouldn't dare, he retorts in a falsely offended tone.

- That would be a poor understanding of me, Jon Snow, she whispers with amusement.

He laughs softly before sliding his right hand onto her hip, and she places hers on his shoulder in response. His palm seems to warm her even through the dress, and she couldn't say if it's just the single glass of wine she drank that's causing this flush of warmth, or if it's just him. Probably just him.

His left hand with calloused yet strangely soft skin and her right hand always have their fingers intertwined. He starts to move them slowly, naturally, to the rhythm of the music playing in the background.

She feels like the world is fading around her, the external noises and people disappearing from her field of vision. She gradually loses herself in his deep, dark grey eyes that seem to barely contain all the love he feels for her.

Their breaths coordinate perfectly, as do their every step, as they follow the melody with ease. She feels like she's simply letting herself be carried away, without needing to think about what she's doing, the gestures coming to her instinctively.

She smiled at him tenderly, her heart on the verge of bursting, and he responded with just as much sincerity. The glow of the large candles illuminating the buffet, as well as that of the Moon and stars, bathes them in a soft, warm light. His black, curly hair seems to sparkle with a thousand lights, as much as the spark deep within his pupils.

She already finds him handsome under normal circumstances, but tonight, he is so radiant that she is simply unable to take her eyes off him. She moves a little closer, gently pressing her beating heart against his chest, feeling his own respond, a steady rhythm that now guides their movements.

He softly leans his head toward her, and she raises her chin. Their lips brush against each other and then meet, and Daenerys closes her eyes, filled with happiness. She never thought she could be so happy. She would have never thought she had the right to this kind of love.




To have the right to love.




***




Daenerys feels like she's living a waking dream as they slip away like two young lovers on the run. They flee from the party, now well underway, leaving behind them the joyful discussions and the festive atmosphere of the buffet.

She struggles to run, unable to stop laughing, lifting her dress with one hand, while the other is firmly held by Jon's warm palm. Her fingers are intertwined with his as they have been for several hours, and he turns to her for a moment to look at her with such an adorable smile that she feels like melting.

They finally arrive at their room, and he lets her enter before him before releasing her hand to gently close the door. He turns to her, and her heart suddenly beats much too loudly in her ears. Their chests rise rapidly, and Daenerys feels a familiar desire surge between her thighs. He moves toward her, murmurs in a deep voice.

- You look magnificent in that dress, but since I saw you in it, not a single second has passed without me wanting to tear it off you.

She feels her stomach ignite at his words, the burning arousal completely taking over her.

- Don't you dare damage it, she threatens him in a heated voice. Or I-

She is interrupted by his lips suddenly pressing against hers, as his presence is all at once everyplace, his hands on her cheeks and the back of her neck, his body pushing her against the door, completely engulfing her. She runs her fingers through his hair and feverishly unties the bow at the back, releasing his dark curls which she pulls lightly on as he deepens their kiss.

She slightly opens her mouth, encouraging him to go further, and he responds immediately, sliding his tongue over hers in a passionate and warm embrace that makes her dizzy. The contrast between the cold wood and his burning body against hers makes her shiver, and a rumbling fire takes hold of her belly. He tilts her head back, gently tugging on her braids to gain better access to her mouth, and takes possession of her lips with renewed intensity, as their tongues mingle and intertwine. She feels her knees buckle beneath her as the flames ravage her.

He slides his hands over her hips to support her, and presses his pelvis into hers, trapped against the door. She moans with desire, clearly feeling the physical proof of the effect she has on him. She finally manages to slip her hands under his tunic, tracing every line of his contracted muscles, making him tremble violently.

He finally manages to untie the thin lace behind her neck, and the dress falls in a soft rustle of silk, spreading on the floor in a white cloud. Daenerys feels like she is coming back to life, his fingers now tracing each of her curves, caressing her delicate, sensitive skin already gleaming with sweat. She groans in frustration at his recalcitrant belt that refuses to open despite all her efforts. He helps her with one hand, and the buckle finally comes undone to her great satisfaction. Quickly, nothing separates them anymore, and their skins ignite against each other.

Jon suddenly slides his hands under her thighs and lifts her against him, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her, and she wraps her legs around his hips. They kiss as if it were their last night together, or on the contrary their first after months deprived of each other. They falter for a moment, almost succumb to the onslaught of their own kisses, tumble onto the bed barely noticing.

Daenerys pulls him back onto her as her back is firmly pressed against the furs. His body completely covers hers, and their lips as well as their tongues tangle in a torrent of flame. She meets his gaze and drowns in his stormy eyes. He contemplates her with so much admiration, so much love that she feels her heart tighten under emotion. And finally, he joins her in the deepest part of herself, where they are finally united, where nothing else matters except the other, where their hearts and souls merge.

She clings to him, throwing her head back, instantly overwhelmed by the pleasure that takes hold of her with devastating intensity, and he kisses her everyplace, on her forehead, under her chin, on her throat, nibbles at her collarbone before taking her lips again with a mix of passion and infinite tenderness. She hears nothing but his warm and deep voice, which whispers in her ear that she is his wife, that she is the most beautiful woman in the world, that he loves her more than he could ever express.

Each of his words carries her a little higher with him, while she tirelessly repeats his name, unable to say anything else, unable even to think of anything else but him.

She makes an effort to reopen her eyes and cling to his, to his dark gray pupils that look at her as if he couldn't conceive of a more perfect image than the one spread before his eyes, and which he contemplates with such adoration. He holds her with one hand in the small of her back, pressing her slender stomach against his contracted abs.

She bursts into flames in his arms, and waves of heat surge through her, taking possession of every inch of her body, rising along her spine, then from her ears to her toes, which involuntarily clench. She gasps with pleasure in her mouth as his deep and relentlessly regular movements completely throw her off balance, making stars dance before her eyes.

She surrenders to him as much as he loses himself in her. He slides his thumb over her throat, follows the curve of her neck and the line of her jaw, before tenderly caressing her cheek, bringing a bit of sweetness to their passionate embrace that ignites them more than ever. She sees nothing anymore, overwhelmed by too much, too many sensations, and she digs her nails into his back to anchor herself to him, completely consumed by the intensity of what she feels.

And the obviousness takes hold of her, as they look at each other with infinite and burning love. She is his, he is hers. Nothing will ever be able to separate them again. Nothing will ever be able to stand against the power of their love. They are together. Together, forever.

Chapter Text

Jon is awakened by a light elbow to the chin, which elicits a sleepy grunt of protest from him. He slowly opens his eyes and looks around the room with a vacant expression, struggling to realize where he is and what the events of the previous day were, before it all comes rushing back to him. He got married. With Daenerys. Finally.

A genuine smile stretches his lips, and he turns his eyes back to the small body nestled against him. Their legs are intertwined, and he doesn't exactly understand in what position they fell asleep.

She has her face buried in his neck, one arm tucked under her head while the other is wrapped around his chest at a particular angle. His arms also surround her, and he no longer feels his hand trapped under her side. He slowly disentangles himself, trying not to wake her, wiggling his fingers as the unpleasant tingling of returning blood spreads through his forearm.

He sits gently on the mattress without ceasing to look at her with affection. The light of the rising sun pierces through the curtains, illuminating her entirely, making her silver hair and the fine curves of her sleeping face shine.

He couldn't say what time they had drifted off to sleep the night before, probably falling into each other's arms, dead with fatigue. She suddenly stirs slightly before gently opening her eyes, stifling a yawn.

- Hello, Dany, he murmurs.

She turns her head toward him and responds broadly to his smile, her gaze lighting up the very moment it meets his.

- Hello, Jon, she breathes.

She stretches and straightens up with difficulty, rubbing her lower back with a slight groan of pain.

- Are you alright ? he worries.

- Yes, she sighs, grimacing. I just have some… aches because of a certain person, she says, raising an eyebrow.

A slight pang of guilt assails him, even if he can't help but smile a little more, amused.

- Sorry, my Queen. I may have been more passionate than expected, carried away by the strength of my unconditional love, he announces dramatically.

She laughs, and he moves toward her to pull her against him, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her back against his chest. He kisses her tenderly just behind the ear, making her shiver, before continuing in a more serious voice.

- But I didn't hurt you ? he asks with a slight concern.

She turns her head toward him, looking him straight in the eyes, almost indignant that he would ask the question.

- Of course not, she reassures him. You would have known, otherwise, she adds with a sly smile.

It's his turn to laugh, and he places another kiss on the back of her neck, before letting his hands slide down her sides and placing his warm palms on the small of her back. He gently presses his fingers against her skin, and she closes her eyes almost immediately, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips.

- There ? he asks in a low voice.

She simply nods, letting her head rest on his shoulder as he begins to form regular circles on her contracted muscles. He feels her loosen up in his arms with satisfaction, and he continues his work, until she completely relaxes against him.

She eventually pulls away, regrettably given the small line formed between her eyebrows.

- Thank you, she murmurs affectionately. We should have given ourselves at least one day of rest, she adds with a sigh.

- Yes, agrees Jon, also unenthusiastic.

Only, he knows very well that it's not realistic. Even if they won't really be the ones taking care of it, they need to oversee all the party arrangements, from clearing the banquet to sending the leftover food to orphanages and care homes as previously planned. He hopes Tyrion will be in good enough shape to help them, but knowing the dwarf, it certainly won't be his first hangover.

Not to mention that a large number of guests left the previous day or during the night, but another part stayed to sleep in establishments specially opened for the occasion. They will need to wish them all a safe return, and take advantage of the event to discuss in more detail with some of what requires in-person advice, rather than correspondence by letter.

Thinking about important discussions, Jon grimaces. He had almost managed to forget Sansa. He doesn't even know exactly what they're going to talk about, but he suspects it will be turbulent.

He finishes putting on his tunic, adjusting his belt with the eternal Longclaw at his waist. He furtively kisses Daenerys before leaving, and they cross the threshold of the door, for the first time as husband and wife. And at that thought, despite the heavy day ahead, Jon can't contain a smile more than radiant.




***



Daenerys has the distinct impression of having been running all day, barely having had time to eat lunch. She and Jon had been continuously overwhelmed, struggling with all the necessary organization to quickly clear Baleor's Square and do the main tidying, not to mention the countless number of guests who had insisted on repeating their congratulations before leaving.

She greatly appreciated their attention, sincerely, but she was starting to wonder if they would be able to finish even the minimum of what they needed to do before nightfall. Some of the lords absolutely wanted to speak with them, and it had been difficult to make them understand that the two sovereigns would be in a better mood to listen to them if they agreed to wait at least until the next day.

She finishes counting the remaining food stocks, getting a bit tangled in her papers, and takes two seconds to close her eyes and take a deep breath. She doesn't see him, but she clearly feels Tyrion's gaze directed at her.

- You should maybe rest, I should be able to finish this alone... he suggests.

- No, it’ll be fine, she asserts with less energy than she would have liked.

The door of the small office they are in suddenly opens wide, and Jon enters, looking at least as exhausted as she does, even though she can clearly see he is trying to hide it. He walks up to her side with a worried look, nodding in response to the counselor's greeting.

- Dany, you need to take a break, he says with concern. You've been working since this morning. I don't even know if you really ate anything decent this noon.

He gently reaches out and tenderly pushes a silver strand behind her ear.

- It's all right, I assure you, she says without much conviction.

She absentmindedly thinks that she would really like to be with him, in bed, snuggling against his firm chest and then peacefully drifting off to sleep in his arms. She doesn't know what he will want for dinner, she will have to ask him in order to pass the information on to the cooks. She-

She suddenly realizes she's rambling and refocuses with difficulty.

- Getting some fresh air will do you good, he insists gently, seeking her gaze.

She meets his stormy eyes filled with a slight worry, and sighs.

- Just a moment, then, she concedes.

He seems relieved and nods, smiling at her affectionately.

- Just a moment, he repeats.

She gives a small apologetic nod to Tyrion, who merely waves his hand nonchalantly, visibly unperturbed. They both leave, walking through the corridors populated by at least two or three people despite the rather late hour.

Without needing to exchange words, they instinctively head toward the gardens in unison, emerging outside, the reddish glow of the setting sun painting the sky with scarlet and molten orange. Daenerys pauses for a moment at the top of the steps, savoring the warm breeze brushing against her face.

- The day has been quite busy, finally sighed softly Jon.

She simply nods, giving him a sidelong glance. In profile, illuminated thus by the last rays of the sun, he is magnificent. She observes the reflections of his long curly hair gathered into a bun - much to her dismay, by the way, she would rush to undo it and run her fingers through his curls as soon as they were alone.

His deep gray eyes, clearer in the light, his perfect jawline, his lips she knows are so soft. She moves closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder, while he slips an arm around her waist, and they both savor this little moment of fullness in a soothing silence.

- I should go back, Daenerys finally announced, slightly pulling away. And I bet you have some remaining tasks to complete as well...

He seems about to answer, but his gaze suddenly darkens slightly, and his face closes as he fixes a point behind her, where the sound of footsteps is coming. She turns around and suppresses an annoyed sigh at the sight of the person approaching them, her long red hair slightly ruffled by the wind.

Two of her men follow her, looking around cautiously. As if they were going to kill her here, Daenerys thinks ironically, refraining from rolling her eyes. At the same time, the lady of the North probably has as many enemies as she does, and it’s true that the Queen would never stroll around Winterfell without Jon or her guards.

She stops just a meter in front of them, and they stare at each other for a moment in what could almost seem like a staring contest.

- Can we talk ? finally asked Sansa.

Daenerys places a hand on Jon's forearm before he can respond. She knows he'll probably refuse, but she doubts their week will be any less busy than this day. The longer Sansa waits, the more irritable she will be, and above all, they will have to have this discussion one day.

The Queen looks up at the King, who nods reluctantly at her silent request.

- Follow us, please, Daenerys then replies with a smile that she tries to make kind.

She doesn't miss Sansa's disapproving look at her closeness with Jon. She can't help it and finds it extremely immature, but she suddenly feels a deep satisfaction.

They walk in silence along the hall before entering a small conference room. The two rulers sit down on two of the few chairs arranged in the room, gesturing for Sansa to take a seat across from them.

- Unsullied guard the entrance to this room, Daenerys inquired after they were all settled. Could your men join them?

The Lady of the North keeps an impassive face, and if the implicit order annoys her, she hides it perfectly. She signals to her two guards to wait at the door, and they nod before retreating, leaving them alone.

A heavy silence falls between them before Daenerys clears her throat.

- You wanted to talk, if I'm not mistaken ? Speak, then, she says.

- I thought I would see this first with Jon, and not with both of you at the same time. Without meaning to offend you, my Queen, Sansa retorted sharply.

- I don't see why Daenerys couldn't be present during one of our discussions, Jon calmly points out.

The Queen appreciates his composed attitude. She feels she's going to need it. The annoyance is already rising within her, and it's only the beginning.

- Well, then. I don't exactly understand why Jon gets power through Daenerys. It should be the other way around. My brother is the rightful heir to the Throne. He is the last male Targaryen, Sansa begins in a cold voice.

- Thank you, I think all of Westeros knows thanks to you, who broke your oath to repeat this information as soon as you could. And I would point out to you that it hardly matters anymore. Jon is as much a King as I am a Queen, Daenerys retorts just as coldly.

Sansa seems to contain a grimace.

- He is more of a King Consort than anything else...

- I am King, Sansa, that’s all, Jon interjects. There is nothing to debate about that.

The silence returns, so heavy that Daenerys suddenly feels like she's suffocating.

- If that's all you had to tell us... she smiled, gathering her last strength to remain polite.

The Lady of the North abruptly rises from her chair, practically glaring at them.

- It will be fine, yes, she whistles.

Daenerys holds back a remark that burns at the tip of her tongue. She can tell that Sansa hasn't said everything she was thinking, and knowing that there will still be unsaid things makes her sick.

- I don't think so, no, Jon asserts.

His voice is perfectly neutral, only the Queen senses the firmness that emanates from each of his words. No anger comes through his phrase, but from his intonation, Daenerys understands that no matter what he says, Sansa would do better to obey.

- You owe me an apology. You betrayed a promise, an oath. You had sworn, Sansa. What is your word worth, honestly ? But most importantly, you owe Daenerys an apology. You put her in danger. Trusting you was clearly a mistake I wouldn't repeat, but in the meantime, the damage is done. Because of you, the Queen could have been assassinated. Then apologize. Now, he demands in a voice that leaves no room for any protest.

Sansa is now frozen.

- I only apologize to those who deserve it, she grumbles.

She turns on her heel, ignoring Jon, and walks away at a brisk pace. He abruptly rises from his chair, ordering his sister – who turns a deaf ear – to come back and sit down. Daenerys sees her husband's annoyance growing second by second.

Only, not as much as her own anger, which then threatens to overwhelm her. She has already made efforts for her, again, she has tried to give her, she doesn't even know anymore, not a second chance but a sixth, a seventh ? She's had enough of her more than puerile and problematic behavior. The fury rises within her, and she tries to contain herself with difficulty.

A breeze of freshness suddenly seems to engulf her, soothing the fire swirling within her like ice numbing the burn of a wound. She realizes that Jon has tenderly taken her hand, gently caressing it with his thumb, diminishing her anger with just his soft and sincere gaze.

- I'm going to talk to her, he breathes.

She nods, feeling that she won't be able to stand another second facing Sansa. Jon quickly kisses her on the forehead before chasing after his sister, leaving the Queen alone to sigh. As much as Arya appreciates her now, it seems that the Lady of the North is determined to hate her until the end of her days.

Chapter Text

Sansa hasn't been this close to losing her cool in so long that she doesn't even remember when it was. The sound of her footsteps echoes in the hallway, seeming to amplify her fury with each additional sharp clap.

Her brother has lost her mind. He loves, and he actually married Daenerys Targaryen, that foreigner, that mad conqueror who deserves the Throne no more than anyone else. The Lady of the North does not understand the admiration of those who follow her. What has she done, apart from coming to Westeros to seize power that absolutely does not belong to her ?

Sansa is well aware that she is hiding the real reasons for her resentment behind this jumble of political reasons, each more questionable than the last, but she is clearly not ready to acknowledge what really bothers her.

"You're jealous." Despite herself, Arya's words come back to her violently in her mind. She tries to send them away, to chase them out of her mind, but they remain stuck in her thoughts, following her like her shadow since the precise moment her own sister had uttered that short phrase to her.

She feels like her whole family is abandoning her. Bran has disappeared, Jon is now more loyal to this Targaryen than to his real family, the Starks, and Arya has recently been taken in too. Sansa had rarely felt so alone. Even more, she feels betrayed. A bitter feeling seizes her, and a few words too fleeting for her not to grasp their exact subtlety cross her mind, but she has time to realize what she has just thought.

Is this the kind of bitterness Daenerys Targaryen felt when she came to Winterfell?

- Sansa !

Her brother's voice suddenly interrupts her increasingly horrible thoughts, and she turns to him, her eyes blazing. She's had enough, and for once, she's not going to mince words. She's had enough of holding back to preserve all the manners or whatever. Jon is going to get a piece of her mind, hoping he finally realizes his mistake.

- What ? she hisses. You're chasing me because I disrespected your precious Queen ? She has no right to that Throne, she doesn't deserve it, you should be the King and she should be sent back to where she came from ! Do you realise how blind you are ? You're so stubborn in your love for her that you don't even realise what you are doing ! You bring shame to the Starks, to those who raised you ! I don't understand how you can sink into stupidity like that, and stay there, despite everything I try to do to open your eyes ! she spits.

She suddenly has the vivid impression of being stabbed in the face by her brother's expression. He looked annoyed, after catching up with him, she knew him well enough to know. But what scares her now is that for the first time since they reunited in Winterfell, she is simply unable to decipher his expression.

- Sansa, is that what you think of me ? Is that what you think of her ? Really ?

His voice is so cold that she shivers violently. She barely recognizes him.

- I've had enough of your behavior. I thought you had changed, really. I wanted to believe it. But I find the more than confident girl who despised me years ago. Worse, you are now blinded by your ambitions. You wished to be Queen of the North, is that it ? See Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, even. Except that it's Daenerys who took what you think is your place.

No, not you, she thinks with horror, each of his words tearing her heart a little more. Don't say that, please.

- You're envious. You are envious of her and her situation. You're jealous, he whispers with an icy tone.

- No ! she protests vehemently, almost scared.

Scared that he might be right. Scared that they are all right. She tries to turn around and walk away, but Jon grabs her arm with an iron grip. He doesn't hurt her, apparently gaging his strength despite his... anger, if that's really what she can call it, given that she can no longer decipher him. On the other hand, it's a waste of her time to try to break free. She regrets having harshly ordered her guards to leave her alone when she had gone out. They could have at least pushed him away.

- Oh no, you're going to listen to me, he growls. And you're going to listen to me until the end, whether you like it or not. You have no argument, no justification for your hatred toward Daenerys. Nothing. Even if she wasn't of Targaryen blood, she would deserve the Throne. I don't give a damn about blood, you hear me ? And I know very well that it's not her legitimacy in power that's the problem for you, it's simply the fact that it's her, and not you, who has that power. Because you believed it. You believed that this power would come back to you, you believed that you would be the woman, the Queen of the 7 Kingdoms. You thought you were going to become the special person you always wanted to be. At first, your aversion to Daenerys was genuinely because she was a foreign Targaryen. But now it's just based on your frustration. On your shattered childhood dreams, he states in a tone colder than ever.

The young woman feels like she's been stabbed right in the heart. Because he's right. Because he is terribly right, and even if she tries to deny it with all her might, she knows it. She feels the visceral need to cover her ears, to struggle and scream for him to let her go, but she is incapable of it. Her body no longer responds to her.

- Sansa, if I could, believe me that I would bring back all those who have hurt you so that I could torture and kill them again. But Daenerys also suffered. Daenerys also endured unspeakable horrors, was raped, humiliated, used, betrayed. She suffered as much as you. Except she didn't even have a family, or even memories of her family to keep her head above water, apart from a brother who deserves to rot in hell just as much as Joffrey or Ramsay. She has always fought alone and desperately alone. And she performed miracles. She freed hundreds of thousands of slaves. She saved all of our lives against the White Walkers. She saved the entire continent. She freed Westeros from Cersei. No one, you hear me, no one is more deserving of that Throne than her. And... I love her, I love her with all my heart, whether you like it or not. I am her family, that family she never had but always deserved. As for you... your hatred toward her makes no sense. Daenerys is in no way responsible for what you have suffered, and she deserves power much more than you. I'm not saying this to hurt you, Sansa. Believe me, I would have desperately wanted things to turn out differently. But you know as well as I do that it's the truth, he finishes abruptly.

The Lady of the North feels as though she has been stripped bare in such a violent way that tears well up in her eyes. But the worst of all. It's that she would like to hate him, she would like to yell at him, even hit him, for daring to utter those words. Except that she knows he's right. And that is what scares and destroys her the most. A drop finally rolls down her cheek, followed by others.

Her brother's gaze finally returns to something she knows. Not compassion, not really. Pity.

- Sansa, despite everything you've done, you remain my sister. If I'm honest, I don't know how long it will take me to forgive you and trust you again, I don't even know if that will ever happen. Probably not. But I'm willing to make an effort. On the condition that you make an effort too, he asserts.

She feels that he is offering her one last chance. And she feels that if she doesn't take it, she might as well cut the bond that ties her to her... family right now. The horror of the situation destroys her. She hates what she feels, that mix of guilt and realization, because her brother and sister forced her to admit a truth that is far too hard to accept.

She meets Jon's eyes again.

- Let's go see the Queen, she finally breathes in a weary voice.

He nods without asking any questions and releases her arm, before they turn back in heavy silence. The Targaryen Queen is still waiting patiently when they return to the room, an almost gentle expression on her face, but which quickly hardens at the sight of her.

She holds back a grimace. She doesn't back down from what she's about to do. She would almost be ready to change her mind once again, but her brother's gaze freezes her to the bone and she speaks in one breath.

- I am sorry for the way I treated you, my Queen.

The title burns her tongue, but she forces herself to continue.

- As well as by breaking my oath which put you in danger. I will never make this kind of mistake again. You have my word, she asserts in a voice less firm than expected.

She then turns to her brother.

- Same for you, Jon. I'm sorry for betraying your trust, she finishes.

He simply nods, and Sansa then turns to Daenerys, expecting her to have a satisfied smirk on her face, or even to demean her to humiliate her. Then astonishment takes hold of her when the Queen merely smiles very slightly. It's tiny, but Sansa is sure she saw it. And that smile wasn't arrogant, or presumptuous, or anything like that. It was gentle and warm. Very quickly, Daenerys resumes an impassive expression, this time still less stiff than a few seconds earlier.

- Thank you for your apologies, Lady Sansa, she replies simply.

The young woman with the red hair notices well that the Queen did not say she granted her forgiveness. That doesn't surprise her, at least much less than her face, which is no longer as closed as it was a few moments earlier. And she is even more stunned following Daenerys' words.

- You can stay for a while as a guest in Port -Réal, without accommodation costs, of course. As you wish. On that note... she looks at her suggestively, and Sansa nods stiffly.

She steps back and leaves the room, a powerful mix of emotions swirling within her. Her guards follow her this time, matching her quick pace. The Lady of the North tries to stop herself from thinking about Jon's words. She tries desperately.

But deep down, she knows she will hear them again and again in her dreams... and many times.




***




Arya walks through the corridors with a brisk pace, having planned to meet some Unsullied she had spoken to earlier in the courtyard a bit lower down in order to train with them. They had agreed wholeheartedly despite the late hour. The communication had been difficult, but it was worth it. It had been an eternity since she had fought real opponents.

Suddenly, bursts of voices reach her from behind one of the large doors she passes, and she can't help but stop and step back to listen, the laughter far too loud to be a casual conversation.

- … and I'm telling you, she's a whore who seduced the King of the North like the witch she is ! yells a male voice.

- Speak quieter, idiot ! hisses another. I would like to point out that we are now few who hold such opinions, but especially here, in her Dungeon...

The end of his sentence dies when Arya slams open the door, the two panels producing a noise loud enough to wake the dead. She walks toward the small group of six or seven men sitting with a few mugs of beer around a table, giving them a wide smile. She pulls up a chair and sits down next to them, reaching out to grab one of the drinks placed in front of her.

- Continue, she says to them cheerfully. I would be delighted to learn more about your opinions regarding Daenerys Targaryen.

The men look at her in astonishment, visibly surprised by her entrance.

- You are Arya Stark ! suddenly one of them exclaims.

She doesn't answer, but raises an eyebrow. Understanding what she expects from them, one of the men clears his throat.

- We were saying... well, that the Queen is an usurper who manipulated the true King by seducing him like the whore she is-

- She must be damn good in bed, another interrupts with a snicker.

- And are there many of you who think that ? asks Arya distractedly, tapping her fingertips on the edge of her glass.

Her interlocutor shrugs.

- Honestly, no. Hardly anyone realizes her treachery, even in the North...

The North, then, as she had recognized from the accent. Probably Sansa's men.

- I still say she must be pretty damn nice to fuck, sneers the same crude character as a few seconds earlier.

He licks his lips while rolling his eyes.

- I would gladly-

He is interrupted by the tip of Needle pointed straight at his throat, so close that a slight drop of blood beads under his chin and runs down his reddish skin. The men freeze, suddenly silent as Arya now looks at them with a glacial expression, her arm having moved more swiftly than a snake.

- Make that kind of remark one more time, and I'll cut your throat in front of your comrades, so they can watch you bleed out right before their eyes.

The silence is deafening as they barely seem to dare to breathe. The young woman finally moves her thin blade away from the man's neck, resuming in a tone colder than ever.

- If any of you dare to speak of the Queen like that just one more time, I will make sure you never speak of your miserable life again, she hissed.

The small group seems too shocked to respond, but Arya doesn't have time to pay attention to it, distracted by the sound of footsteps behind her. She turns around to see Sansa entering the room, accompanied by two of her guards.

She has slightly red eyes. To the point that the young woman brutally wonders if she has cried.

- What are you doing there ? asks her sister without real animosity, but in a rather dry tone.

- I'm teaching your men to hold their fucking tongues, she replies.

She turns toward them, regaining the smile with which she had approached them.

- I hope I made myself clear. Moreover, I didn't kill you simply out of respect for that Queen you despise so much. She doesn't need any additional political problems. You owe her your life. Think about it conscientiously, she tells them. And if I hear again that you have said anything negative about her...

She leaves her sentence hanging and moves toward her sister, who is still at the entrance, in order to leave this room in which she doesn't want to stay for another second.

- What did you do to them ? asks Sansa with a pinched expression. Can you explain why you just threatened my men ?

The young woman shrugs.

- I simply reminded them of the importance of speaking like civilized beings, she says calmly.

She glances sideways at her sister on the doorstep.

- Speaking of discussion, you just had the one that was necessary, I suppose ?

Sansa doesn't respond, but she sees from the slight contraction of her face that she has guessed correctly. She deeply hopes that her sister has finally come to her senses.

- I see. Well, with that, have a good evening, she said before disappearing.

She thinks she will probably have to inform Jon and Daenerys about this incident. However, she is convinced that there is no cause for alarm. They seem isolated, and have themselves admitted to being among the last few to hold this opinion. Moreover, even if Sansa doesn't like Daenerys, Arya knows very well that she would never allow her men to do anything reckless.

An amused smile stretches her lips. In any case, they no longer risk daring to express their... political opinions like that.

Chapter Text

Daenerys didn’t expect Jon to be able to make Sansa finally apologize. The Lady of the North looked so stubborn that she would have sworn she would have preferred to cut off her tongue rather than apologize.

They walk through the corridors to finally reach their room, the torches illuminating the darkened hall. Jon had sent a young messenger to inform Tyrion that the Queen would not be returning this evening. Daenerys can't help but smile slightly. Jon had frankly insisted, saying she clearly needed to rest.

The worry in his eyes and voice always made her give in. And she realizes that without him, she would probably have collapsed from exhaustion, agonizing in who knows what room of the Red Keep. She was well aware of her strong tendency to overwork, but it was the first time someone cared enough about her to notice it as well.

She gently extends her hand and takes Jon's, and he intertwines his fingers with hers in response, in his usual adorable way. Only, she notices a small wrinkle on his forehead, and he is a bit stiff, visibly preoccupied. She suspects that the discussion with her sister must not have been easy...

- Are you alright ? she asks him gently.

He seems about to answer reflexively, but freezes before closing his mouth with a heavy sigh. He turns his head toward her, giving her a somewhat sad look.

- I just told Sansa everything I had on my heart, and I made her cry. I made my sister cry. And I'm not even sure it really accomplished much. She did apologize, but given her state, I think she hates me too now. I don't know how we're going to get through this with the North. I probably just made things worse. It's my fault, he sighs wearily. I'm sorry, Dany. I should have-

He stops as she halts, placing herself right in front of him, using her body as a barrier despite her small size, and she glares at him.

- I forbid you to say that. You did what you could, and that's already more than enough. And it's not because you dared to speak frankly to her once that she's going to hate you. On the contrary, even if it's clearly not what she wanted to hear, she really needed it, believe me. Of course, it will take her some time to digest, but she cares about you, even I can see that. And don't be so defeatist. I've seen my share of liars and traitors, and I can assure you that Sansa's look when she apologized was sincere, albeit bitter, she states firmly. And above all, stop taking everything on yourself. I remind you that we are bound, now. Your mistakes are just as much mine, she whispers softly.

He wears an unreadable expression, and she wonders for a moment if what she said was so horrible as to freeze him like that. But he suddenly pulls her into his arms, hugging her tightly and burying his face in her hair. She responds almost immediately to his embrace, closing her eyes as she wraps her arms around his back.

He finally detached himself from her, and relief washed over her when she saw that he was much less tense.

- Thank you, Dany, he whispers.

She responds with a gentle smile, but suddenly notices someone – or something ? – approaching behind Jon. A huge white mass appears behind him, and two red eyes suddenly fix on her.

Jon notices her change in attitude almost immediately and turns around before she can even warn him, keeping her behind him with one arm. But he then instantly relaxes at the sight of the creature standing a few meters away from him, adopting a warm tone.

- Hi, boy. Where had you been ? he asks affectionately. You take a tour of the property?

He turns to Daenerys, a smile on his lips.

- It's Ghost, he explains.

The Queen advances slightly, astonished. A beautiful and large white wolf with thick fur and scarlet pupils stands before them, staring at them as if waiting for something. Daenerys suddenly realizes that he is missing an ear, and she can't help but feel a slight pang in her heart.

Jon approaches the animal confidently and scratches his neck, while he moves toward him and rubs his big, furry head against him, making him laugh in an adorable way.

The King straightens up, and gives him a genuine smile while making a small gesture.

- Come, he whispers.

Daenerys cautiously joins Jon and observes with curiosity the long-haired white beast, which looks at her with as much interest as she does. Her husband steps back slightly to make room for her, and she moves right in front of the direwolf.

Seized by a sudden inspiration, and although there wasn't really any need given the size of the wolf compared to hers, she crouched down and extended her hand toward its snout.

- Hi, Ghost, she whispers.

He lightly sniffs her fingers before looking at her with what seems to be a sharp intelligence. Daenerys smiled gently.

- I heard that you had always been loyal to Jon, and that you had protected him for many years. I thank you, she whispers.

He slightly tilts his head as if he truly understands the meaning of her words, before lowering it and gently rubbing his snout against her shoulder. She laughs and raises her hand to pet him as she had seen Jon do a few minutes earlier.

He observes them with a radiant air.

- I was certain you would get along well. You can be honored, Ghost very rarely behaves this way with strangers at first.

Daenerys straightens up with one last scratch at the wolf's neck, who then naturally follows her to the King. She wraps her arms around his neck, while he slides his around her waist with an adorable smile.

- I'm used to taming wolves, she says, in a voice more affectionate than teasing.

Her smile widened a bit more, and he rested his forehead against hers, bringing his hands up to her cheeks and gently caressing her cheekbones.

- And I must admit that you're quite good at it, he whispers softly.

They both lower their eyes on the other’s mouth, before gently pressing their lips together. And as she catches a glimpse of Ghost out of the corner of her eye, Daenerys could have sworn the animal wore an indignant look.

***

- More news from Essos... sighs Tyrion. And like the previous one, apart from the usual letters.

It has only been three days since Jon and Daenerys officially began ruling together, but some problems are already starting to surface. They had managed to finish cleaning up and putting away everything related to the banquet, and most of the guests had now left, although some were still waiting for an audience with the rulers. The commotion due to the wedding was finally subsiding.

Speaking of advice, they had had a ton of it over the past two days, answering as best they could to the requests of numerous Lords and Ladies about everything and anything, ranging from food stocks to labor, to questions about political organization, or even trade.

Jon and she were otherwise conducting these audiences, having paused the one with the people, so that the guests could ask their questions first and leave without too much delay. But Tyrion had joined them, accompanied by a silent Davos, and their concerned airs had made them interrupt the Council for a moment. Silence now reigns in the room, and Daenerys exchanges a look with the King.

She then nods, suppressing a worried frown. Tyrion hands her the envelope, and she feels the anxiety starting to rise. She has a bad feeling. It could very well be a trivial problem, or even just important information that can't wait for the menstrual letters.

But she has a strong feeling that this letter is related to the previous one. And unfortunately, she is not mistaken.

My Queen,

I am sorry to bother you once again, and this time with bad news. The epidemic I mentioned to you last time has spread. The resurgence of slavery was slightly stronger than we anticipated. We didn't have any trouble calming her down like the previous one, but this time, all the slaves we freed turned out to be aggressive. We are starting to have difficulty managing them. They are penned up in enclosures guarded by the Second Sons. We haven't found a better solution for now.

But what makes me write this letter to you more than anything is that for the first time, an individual from Meereen has started to behave like this. A child. Without any apparent reason, from one day to the next. We don't understand if it's a form of contagion, because he hasn't been in contact with the sick. We isolated him like the others.

Only, my Queen, I admit to being somewhat overwhelmed by this epidemic. For now, it is still manageable, but if the disease continues to spread, and this time including the urban populations... I don't know how we will be able to handle this situation.

I wanted to warn you,

We are waiting for your instructions.

Daario Naharis, Commander of the Second Sons

Daenerys feels like a heavy weight is dropping into her stomach. She had hoped that this strange symptom would disappear as quickly as it had appeared, but obviously, they weren't going to get rid of it anytime soon.

- We should send Maesters from King's Landing so they can observe this... disease in turn, suggests Tyrion once she has informed him as well as Jon and Davos of the letter's contents. They could observe how the disease acts and help fight it.

- We can't afford it, Jon interjects. We already have a very limited quantity here...

- We should probably ask for help from the surrounding Houses, Daenerys says with concern. Only, nothing tells us that this will solve the problem, and I suppose that these healers are just as important to their cities as those of King's Landing are...

- Your graces, perhaps we could send not a Maester but simply a small group of men, who could go and see this disease with their own eyes, and report back to us precisely its effects - as well as to our Maesters, suggests Davos.

- We won't be any further ahead... sighs Daenerys. If I want more information, I can ask Daario... and above all, it would take far too long to send men to Essos. Just the round trip would take weeks. But it is true that having people who can actually report what they have seen, and especially, being able to ask them questions without having to wait several days for the answer... Correspondence is clearly not enough in this kind of situation, I'm afraid. I would like to ask Daario to join us to talk about it, but I can't leave Meereen unattended...

She suddenly stops, thouht she continues to walk along the table, needing to physically release the tension. The three men look at her with an intrigued expression. An idea has just come to her. But she strongly suspects that they will protest if she even dares to mention it.

Only, what better way to realize the problem and be able to remedy it than by seeing it with your own eyes ?

- You don't think what I think, do you ? asks Jon in a suddenly much more serious voice, weighed down by anxiety.

She looks at him with a slight pang of guilt.

- That would be the most effective...

- You can't go to Essos ! You are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms ! Tyrion protests, suddenly understanding her idea in turn.

- I am the only one who can, on the contrary. I would be there in just a few days thanks to Drogon. And I could get all the information and details we need, without the discussion dragging on for too long. And as you so rightly pointed out, I am a Queen. I am also Queen of Meereen. I'm not going to let my people be decimated without trying to solve the problem.

- You won't be able to do anything more than what they're already doing, Jon breathes with worry.

- I have to go see, she told him softly. We need precise information. Daario's letters are not enough.

- You can simply ask him for more details in your next envelope, suggests Davos.

- Certainly, but the situation will have already changed. And I would also like to see for myself the condition of the infected.

Daario's descriptions had sent chills down her spine. And above all, it reminds her of something she has already seen, even if she would be unable to say exactly what.

- I would like to be able to speak with the healers of the continent, as well as with the family of the contaminated child, she continues. And anyway, I had been thinking for a while that I should probably go back to Meereen for a few days to make sure everything is going well, and to show my people that I still care about them.

Jon's tense face breaks her heart. She clearly sees his deep worry, and he moves toward her before gently taking her hand.

- You can't take the risk of going to see sick people, Daenerys, he whispers. Can you imagine if you caught this virus yourself ?

- You know very well that I have to see this situation for myself, she answers him softly.

He stiffened, his anxiety now clearly visible in the way he unconsciously tightened his fingers.

- I know you won't let me go in your place, but at least, let me go with you, then, he almost begged.

- Our two sovereigns can’t leave for Essos, Tyrion immediately replies. We need you here. The absence of one of you will already be complicated enough to manage as it is...

- And we can't take the risk of losing both of you, Davos adds reluctantly, visibly almost as unenthusiastic as Jon about her talking about going to a continent likely in the midst of an epidemic.

Jon stares at her almost desperately, running out of arguments to keep her. And above all, he knows better than anyone that when she makes a decision, it is rare that she changes her mind. However, seeing his truly dejected look, she sighs.

She has been feeling strangely tired for some time, and today she doesn't miss the call.

- We will talk about it again, she finally asserts. You may leave.

The two advisors leave the room, leaving her alone with Jon. He seeks her gaze, to which she responds without flinching.

- Everything will be fine, Jon, she asserts. I would be careful.

He leans back slightly, before pulling out a chair to sit down, and pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

- Why is it always you who has to take all the risks ? he finally blurted out.

- I am their Queen, she replies. It’s my duty.

- You know very well that it's dangerous. Even without talking about illness, if you plan to go there with Drogon, you won't be able to take any guards, he argued.

- Most of them like me, over there, she replies. And I have the Second Sons. And Drogon.

- Not the former slave masters. On the contrary, you have a large number of enemies, he retorts. And I have moderate confidence in a bunch of mercenaries to protect you. As for Drogon, he won't be with you all the time.

- I'm not a child, I don't need to be constantly watched, she hisses, feeling the anger rising within her.

- Don't twist my words, you know very well that's not what I meant ! Only, you are just as aware as I am that despite all your good intentions, you have people who wish you dead...

She would like to protest, however, he is right, much to her annoyance. She turns slightly away from him, holding back her frustration. She hates this feeling of acting immaturely, but the idea of someone trying to hinder or control her – even for her own good – always makes her lose her temper. She should probably thank Viserys for that.

Only, she is well aware that her reaction is excessive. Moreover, she herself doesn't understand why it bothers her so much. Which annoys her even more. He interrupts the vicious circle that had begun to form in her head by sighing heavily.

- Sorry. I... It's just that it kills me to know that you're going to put yourself in danger again for the sake of others, without even really taking care of yourself, he breathes with regret.

She closes her eyes, tired, and even more so of arguing with him. She is well aware that he is only worried about her, just as she would worry about him in the opposite case.

And above all, she doesn't forget that the last time she had assured him that everything would be fine... she had almost died in his arms. Enough to traumatize him for a while. Her thoughts bring back an old guilt about this subject she thought she had gotten rid of. She sits down, almost feeling dizzy.

- Are you okay ? he inquired gently after a moment of silence that was a bit too long.

- I am, she replies, but she is well aware of the weakness in her voice.

He moves toward her seat, and kneels right in front of her, sliding a hand over her cheek until she looks up at him.

- I'm sorry, Daenerys, he whispers. I don't want to hurt you, or force you, or anything else. Only, you are the person who matters the most to me in this fucking world. So when it comes to your safety...

She can't help but feel deeply moved by her disarming sincerity. And she can't help but notice that she is far too sentimental, quickly shifting from one emotion to another. And why was he apologizing when he was right ?

She eventually stopped trying to understand and let herself slide into his arms, hoping he would grasp what she needed. To her great relief, he deciphers her perfectly as usual, and holds her tenderly in his arms without asking any questions.

She lets her forehead rest on his shoulder, closing her eyes, soothed by his warmth and comforting scent.

- I know you're right, she finally whispered. It's me who is sorry for my bad reaction. You don't have to apologize. We'll find a solution. I assure you that I won't throw myself into danger like that, Jon.

He pulls her a little closer to him before answering softly, gratitude emanating from his tone.

- Thank you, Dany.

Chapter Text

- We thank you immensely for all the provisions, as well as the budget that allowed us to sanitize the House and welcome new orphans, Your Graces, inquired a young woman, prostrating herself lower than the ground.

- Stand up, Daenerys smiled warmly.

Jon glances at her, softened by the sight of the gentle expression she offers to Reinha, the manager of the main orphanage in King's Landing. A slight growl sounded at his feet, and he lowered his hand to stroke the enormous direwolf lying by his side. Ghost no longer left them, now, to his great joy – and Daenerys'.

A special chemistry really seems to be forming between them, and he can't help but smile every time the Queen also runs her fingers through the animal's fur, so naturally that she seems to do it almost without thinking.

- We are delighted to have been able to help you, he says in turn to the young woman as he returns to the present.

She looks at them with so much gratitude that it gives him a strange feeling. Pride, he realizes. He finally manages to build the world he so longed for, and alongside the woman he loves. At this thought, bitterness returns to him despite all his efforts to banish it.

It had already been a few days since Daenerys had talked about going to Essos, and for the time being, she hadn't brought the subject up again. But he strongly suspects that she hasn't forgotten, and he absolutely doesn't know how he will cope with the idea of her being in danger, and several weeks' journey away from him.

He is once again pulled from his dark thoughts when he realizes what Reinha in front of them is telling them.

- The orphans also wanted to thank you, she whispers. They gave me gifts to offer you... I highly doubt they are up to your standards, but they spent time making them, so I promised them I would try...

Without consulting each other, Daenerys and Jon simultaneously order the two guards standing beside them to step aside to let Reinha pass.

- No doubt it will be magnificent, smiled the Queen.

- Don't worry, come closer, encourages the King in the face of the young woman's obvious hesitation.

The orphanage manager finally steps forward and hands each of them a pretty blackish stone. These are engraved with their names, with the small inscription "Long Live the King and Queen" on each of them. Jon can't help but feel touched.

- Thank you, he breathes.

- You’ll tell these children that their gifts are superb, and that they have our utmost gratitude, adds Daenerys.

He hears in her voice that the gesture, though quite trivial, moves her at least as much as it moves him. Reinha now wears a radiant smile, and nods before bowing once more and stepping back, exiting the grand hall.

Daenerys turns to him and gives him a wide smile.

- We must believe that we have the right to a little sweetness, between the problems, she sighs.

He nods, a grin stretching his lips as well in an instinctive response to hers.

- They adore you, he said sincerely.

- Not as much as you, she protests. You're a hit with the kids. I'm almost certain I've already heard rhymes reported by my Dothrakis, talking about a man with a steel gaze, stronger than a bull, capable of beating a dragon with his bare hands, and defending the Kingdom against any danger, she teases him.

He raises an eyebrow, amused.

- Oh really ? And you believe that ?

- The dragon would devour him before he even had time to lift a finger, she sneered.

He places his hand on his heart, falsely offended.

- My Queen, I think you underestimate me. I could very well surprise you, he says in an outraged voice. I demolish dragons as easily as I breathe.

- It's true that you handle one regularly, after all, she murmurs, innocently looking away.

He freezes for a moment, and the color rushes to his cheeks when he realizes what she just implied.

- You... what... he stammered, caught off guard by her frankly bold remark, right in the middle of the council and in front of guards – Unsullied, yes, but still.

- A problem, my King ? she asks with a sly smile.

He hears from her tone that she is extremely pleased with herself, and she asks that the next citizen of King's Landing be brought into the room without giving him time to regain his composure.

- You'll get what's coming to you, he finally grumbled as an old man stepped forward.

She gives him a radiant smile, visibly holding back from bursting into laughter.

- I can't wait to see that, she whispers, biting her lip.




***




Arya taps the pommel of Needle on her chin, thoughtful. She observes with her usual keenness the commotion unfolding before her. What was supposed to be a Council seems practically like a battlefield. The only bulwarks that seem to keep this meeting from coming to blows are Daenerys's reminders of order and her brother's icy glares.

The rulers had gathered with Tyrion and Davos, as well as about twenty other lords or advisors – important, that's all Arya knows about them. She had decided to attend the Council, more out of curiosity than anything else, but she was starting to get annoyed by the puerile behavior of some.

They had been trying for hours to finalize the layout of the main trade routes of King's Landing, as well as the major food supplies and support to the surrounding and distant regions. The King and Queen had decided to take advantage of the major guests still remaining to finalize this with them, but the lords had been behaving immaturely since the beginning of the Meeting, each wanting the largest share without making concessions.

- My Lords, for the last time, I order you to be silent, Daenerys says in a cold voice over the tumult.

Everyone immediately calms down, even the murmurs cease entirely. Fortunately, despite the relatively short reign of Jon and Daenerys so far, the two sovereigns had very quickly gained strong respect from the people and the nobles, their reputation as good leaders already spreading throughout Westeros. Mainly due to their fair and calculated decisions, and their excellent renovation of King's Landing, which finally seems to be becoming the capital it should always have been.

The discussions continue for a while longer, in a calmer atmosphere, before the King and Queen finally close the audience after the last questions have been resolved. The lords withdraw, all more or less satisfied. Arya gets up and prepares to leave as well, but notices out of the corner of her eye Daenerys' worried expression. And the concerned look her brother gives her.

She leans nonchalantly against the edge of her chair as the hubbub subsides and the doors close behind the last noble, leaving only the King and Queen, Tyrion, Davos, and two other advisors whose names she doesn't know in the great hall. She approaches them, without hiding for a moment that she is listening to what they are saying.

- We still haven't made a decision about Essos, Tyrion sighs.

- I've said it and repeated it. I’ll go with Drogon, and I‘ll ask for an escort of about ten mercenaries from the Second Sons there, Daenerys asserts.

- We've already talked about this, Jon protests. These men are not reliable enough...

- Do you have a better solution ? asks the Queen, visibly exasperated.

Arya felt for the first time a slight tension between the two sovereigns. Only, she detects that this tension isn't really directed toward each other. They both just look almost... desperate. Especially the Queen, who seems genuinely affected, she who usually hides her emotions so easily.

Her feelings are confirmed when Daenerys finally approaches Jon and drops her forehead onto his shoulder, closing her eyes, visibly seeking comfort. Her brother wraps an arm around her waist almost reflexively, gently stroking her side with his thumb, while placing a light kiss in her hair.

Arya is starting to get genuinely worried now. She had never, ever seen the two sovereigns show this kind of affection in public. They were clearly no longer hiding, but from there to giving each other an embrace without seeming to care for a single second about the advisors' gaze...

- What exactly are you talking about ? she finally inquired.

Daenerys slowly detaches herself from Jon, visibly with regret, before turning toward her.

- Don't repeat it outside of here. We six are the only ones in the know. I have received quite a few letters from Essos... You are not unaware that I am Queen of Meereen, and that I have liberated and rule the Bay of Slaves. Well, currently, one of my men is doing it for me. Only lately, a strange epidemic seems to be spreading across the continent. I must go and see the situation with my own eyes. I can’t abandon my people like this. But unlike when I was in Meereen last time, I won't have my army of Unsullied. I‘ll only have one dragon instead of three, and I won't have Jorah, Ser Barristan, or even Missandei. I plan to travel on Drogon to go faster, so bringing soldiers with me is inconceivable. Given the scale this is taking, I prefer not to delay any longer. A boat trip would take far too long. The problem is that my safety seems somewhat… compromised if I travel to Meereen that way, she concludes.

Her voice is stable and just as confident as ever, but Arya still senses the weariness breaking through in the Queen's tone.

- It's not like I can bring back a regiment of Unsullied on Drogon's back, she adds.

A slight silence falls in the room before they resume their discussion, understanding that Arya was not going to answer them. She is far too absorbed in the solution that presents itself before her with such obviousness that it seems to taunt her.

She knows she shouldn't. She really shouldn't. She should have been back in Winterfell for a while now. She loves the North. But people who are extremely dear to her are here, and won't follow her if she leaves.

She is just delaying her departure with excuses that no longer fool anyone. She has no desire to leave her brother yet again, but this time also his wife, whom she both hold deeply in her heart, to instead reunite with Sansa, with whom her current relationship is rather... strained, since their discussion on the wedding day.

She doesn't even know why her sister hasn't left for the North yet, but that's not what's currently on her mind. Finally, she had reasoned with herself and planned to finally leave the capital in three days.

So her idea is absolutely, absolutely not a good idea.

- I might have a solution, she suddenly asserts, royally ignoring her thoughts, focusing on her goal as always.

The faces immediately turn toward her, hope visible in the pairs of eyes that fixate on her.

- Go on, Daenerys states with curiosity.

- Well, the problem is that there's no one to protect you if someone tries to kill you there, is that it ? she asks.

The Queen nods, and Arya notices that her brother's eyes suddenly widen in astonishment, having clearly understood what is about to follow before she continues.

- I could come with you, then, she suggests out of the blue.

The advisors' jaws seem to drop, and the young woman continues before anyone can interrupt her.

- Without wanting to offend you, I would be capable of killing any of you at this very moment if the urge took me. Even my brother. And although I am not trained to defend anyone, I am quite good at quickly spotting danger, she concludes.

A silence hangs in the air as everyone seems to actually consider her proposal with attention.

- But you wanted to go back to Winterfell, right ? finally asked Jon.

Arya shrugs.

- Honestly ? Yes, but it can wait.

- I couldn't ask you to put yourself in such danger for me, Daenerys then interjects, visibly... worried ?

The young woman would have thought that it would be her brother who would care about that. But contrary to what she thought, he doesn't seem to be trying to overprotect her. She sees the anxiety in his gaze... but he is visibly aware of her strength. Knowing that Jon trusts her warms her heart.

- I've experienced much worse, asserts Arya. Danger isn't really something I'm not used to. And it doesn't pose any problem for me to defend you. Even more, it would honor me.

- That could be a good solution, Tyrion then whispers. She can accompany Daenerys on Drogon, then she can follow her to ensure that no one is overcome by a sudden burst of... courage, aiming to bring down our Queen.

The silence returns, but Arya notices the subtle exchange that occurs then between the Mother of Dragons and the King. She would be unable to say what they communicate, but it’s clear that these two know how to talk with their eyes.

They finally turn toward her in unison.

- Arya, are you sure this doesn't cause you any problems ? asks Daenerys firmly, looking her straight in the eyes.

Hardly impressed, the young woman returns her gaze.

- Certainly.

Jon and the Queen exchange another quick glance.

- In that case, I gladly accept your proposal, Daenerys states, her voice filled with gratitude. Thank you, she whispers softly, a grateful smile spreading across her features.

- I'm glad I can help you, Arya simply replies, smiling back at her.

A heavy sigh interrupts them, and Jon speaks in a tone that is meant to be serious, but from which a slight amusement still peeks through – probably only audible to his sister and his wife.

- Well, it looks like you're finally going to ride a dragon...

Chapter Text

Jon slightly tightens his arms around Daenerys' waist, moving his chin resting on her shoulder a bit further forward to better see what she’s writing. She composes a small paragraph on the piece of paper placed against a thin wooden board, slightly sunken into the mattress because of her wrist resting on it.

With her free hand, she distractedly draws regular patterns on his forearm, her nails tracing circles and lines in such a way that he almost feels like dozing off. He rarely finds himself in such a state of fulfilment.

He should be worried about Essos. The day before, with Arya's announcement, everything had rushed forward. The departure had finally been decided for three days later, which already left him with only two days before his wife left, along with his sister.

Of course, if he thought about it, his anxiety would catch up to him at lightning speed. And as much as he was relieved that Arya was accompanying Daenerys, he hated the idea of the two people he cared about most in the world leaving for a distant continent where a strange epidemic was spreading.

But for now, he thinks of none of that, simply enveloped in a deep sense of well-being.

The thin rays of the morning sun pierce through the curtains, making pretty golden lights dance on the sheets. Not as pretty as the naked woman sitting between his thighs, the soft and warm skin of her back pressed against his chest, her silver hair framing her bent and focused face, preventing him from being able to meet her gaze – much to his dismay.

She dips her pen one last time into the black ink placed on the bedside table right at the edge of the bed, and puts the final period on her letter, before setting it to dry next to the pot of dark liquid. She stretches with a sigh, and he brushes her neck with his lips.

She partially relaxes, but he still feels her stiff against him.

- What's wrong ? he finally murmurs.

He suspects that just as much as he does, her decision to leave for Meereen weighs on her, however, he has the feeling that there is something more today. She finally turns around in his arms and rests her forehead against his collarbone, appreciating the warmth of the contact given the slight relaxation of her shoulders.

- There is something I haven't told you, she sighs. It didn't seem important to me and it had even slipped my mind, to be honest, but now that I'm leaving for Essos...

A slight worry takes hold of him, although he tries to hide it. She looks anxious, with her adorable furrowed brows, and he gently strokes her flanks to relax her.

- You already know that I had Drogo, my former husband. But… I also had a lover after him. Daario Naharis, the one currently managing Meereen and the former Slaver’s Bay... If I'm perfectly honest, I think he mostly served to take my mind off things, she grimaces slightly. He was very persistent and straightforward about his intentions, and he was quite handsome, although he doesn't hold a candle to you.

She may have given the compliment without even seeming to realize it, but it still goes straight to his heart.

- Well, I finally ended up giving in when he came to find me in my bedroom one evening.

- He came to your bedroom ?

The annoyance rises slightly, not to say frankly within him. From the descriptions she gives him, this mercenary seems to have been far too persistent. She seems to notice that he asked his question with a slightly threatening tone, although he tries to hide it as best he can. As if she hadn't already suffered enough from this Khal...

- Don't worry, I know he wouldn't have done anything to me if I hadn't said yes, she quickly reassures him. Finally, I ended up accepting his advances, and we were in a relationship. Only, he was in love with me... but I really didn't share his feelings, although I asked myself the question several times. Unfortunately for him, I think I never actually saw him as anything other than a friend. When I left for Westeros, I asked him to stay and manage Essos for me. And I felt nothing when I left him.

She raises her head slightly toward him and smiles shyly, a hint of guilt present in her eyes.

- It seemed important to tell you. I'm sorry. I promise you that I would forbid him from even attempting anything, and if-

He interrupts her by gently placing his hands on her cheeks.

- Daenerys… he breathes. You don't need to justify yourself in any way. Thank you for telling me. But do you really think I'm going to get mad at you for that ?

From her look, he understands that she was at least dreading telling him. He sighs, deeply saddened. What kind of relationships has she been in to worry about that ? He knows it very well, and it destroys him even more. He leans and kisses her tenderly on the forehead.

- I have complete trust in you, he whispers with all his sincerity, kissing her again now on the tip of her nose.

- But aren't you jealous ? she asks.

He grimaces a little.

- Of course I'm jealous. He‘ll be by your side, when I'm stuck here, going in circles and worrying about you every second. And I absolutely don’t appreciate him looking at you knowing what thoughts are going through his head, he grumbles. But I'm not angry at you, and I could never be, much less for that. I trust you, Daenerys. Blind trust, he whispers as he kisses her tenderly, this time on the lips. And if anyone should be jealous, it would rather be him, he adds with amusement.

He pulls her against his chest possessively.

- It's me you married, after all, he murmurs in her ear, his voice low.

She shivers at his slightly deeper tone, and looks up at him, her gaze filled with such love that he feels himself melt, all traces of her previous worry gone, to his great relief.

- Thank you, Jon, she said softly, affection shining through her voice.

A glimmer lights up in the depths of her pupils.

- And he can look as much as he wants, only you can touch, she adds suggestively, her intonation suddenly warmer.

She slowly takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, before guiding his rough palm over her cheek, which always seems incredibly soft to him, along the line of her jaw, her throat, letting it brush against her collarbone while keeping her eyes locked deep in his, completely hypnotizing him.

She gently releases his hand, and he then lets his thumb caress the delicate curve of her neck, savoring the way her skin warms his, and the way she reacts to his touch, shivering as soon as he grazes a sensitive spot.

He is fascinated to find that he knows exactly where to touch her to make her tremble, now knowing her little body by heart, after long hours entirely dedicated to mapping it, until he memorized it perfectly.

- Yes, he whispers in response.

He slides his fingers along her sides, following the fine lines of her ribs, before finally bringing his hands up to her face. He gently caresses her cheeks, filled with too much affection and mixed desire.

He lowers his chin slightly, and their breaths quicken with anticipation, before he presses his lips against hers. He’s immediately overwhelmed by her perfect taste, and that feeling of losing himself in her. She lets out a soft moan that instantly heats him up, and he deepens their embrace by inviting his tongue into her mouth, much to her delight given the way she suddenly squirms in his arms.

He finally pulls away, just for a few seconds, equally breathless as she is.

- And it's the same for me, he says in a voice made almost shaky by desire.

It's his turn to take her hand this time, and he places it against his contracted abs, which tense even more under her touch.

- Only you have the privilege of testing the firmness of my muscles, he manages to tease her slightly, despite his tone being heavy with the need to feel her everyplace, and in every possible way.

He didn't think he would even be able to speak, not in this state. He is, however, delighted to have found the strength, very satisfied with his sentence. But he suddenly feels much less proud when she lets her hand slide dangerously down.

His breathing quickens almost instantly.

- You're right, only I can touch that, she murmurs softly.

- Dany, he warns.

She looks him straight in the eyes, and the desire she sees in the depths of her pupils, which probably perfectly reflects his own, takes his breath away. Even more so when she finally lets her fingers strokes the now firmest part of his entire body.

He refrains from swearing, clenching his teeth with all his might, but quickly gives up, closing his eyes and whistling her name. Her warmth envelops him entirely, and he truly feels himself leaving, elsewhere, he couldn't say where, but far away.

Only, he fully intends to take her with him. He straightens up with a violent effort, and pulls her closer against him, before gently brushing the inside of her thighs with his thumb, ending his caresses where they meet, and he watches her eyes roll back, the sight of her pleasure amplifying his to such an extent that he wouldn't have believed it possible.

He rests his forehead against hers, both burning as the very air around them seems to ignite.

And as he feels himself definitively leaving his body, just at the same time as she collapses trembling against him and bites his shoulder almost to the point of drawing blood – a wound he will wear with pride –, certainty seizes him with incredible force.

Nothing in the world has ever made him feel even a thousandth of what Daenerys Targaryen makes him feel at every moment.




***



Daenerys carefully studies the map spread out before her. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, heating the small room in a not entirely pleasant way, although no one seems to pay much attention to it. Her usual loyal advisors surround her, Tyrion and Davos now quite often accompanied by Ysnar and Lempon, as well as Jon and Arya.

They all watch her intently as she traces a route on the cracked paper, ending her imaginary line above Meereen, tapping the city with her nail.

- I think it will take us a little less than a week, if the winds are favorable and Drogon is in good shape, she explains.

- You really need to be careful about where you set up for the night, Jon remarks.

- We‘ll take the time to choose a suitable spot, secluded and sheltered, she agrees.

One of the advisors, Ysnar, who had now become one of those whose recommendations she listened to the most, given his always wise and well-adjusted suggestions, suddenly speaks up.

- You do not wish to inform the people, Your Graces ? he asks.

She gently shakes her head in the negative.

- I don't want to worry them for nothing. And even less to give them something to fuel rumors and gossip, she replies. Especially since those who are still doubtful about our access to the Throne might seize the opportunity.

- I’ll take care of managing the Meetings alone by pretending that the Queen needs to dedicate herself to Drogon for a while, explains Jon.

- If I may, Tyrion interjects, I think it would be better in this case to invent some kind of justification that would cause the Queen to move. A diplomatic discussion in Dorne, or something close to it. That will be much easier to simulate than making them believe you're still there.

Daenerys thinks intensely, exchanging a look with Jon.

- We've already thought about it, but it would probably be better for everyone to think that I'm still present with Drogon… My dragon represents the strength of King's Landing, from now on, she asserts. Some might take advantage of my absence and especially, his, she concludes.

- The stakes are however important, Your Graces. If the people discover that you have lied to them about this, the trust you are working so hard to build between them and you risks crumbling, Lempon suddenly inquired. A simple change of destination won't disturb them, but learning that you made them believe you were present when you weren't...

The two sovereigns weigh the pros and cons once again. Jon moves a little closer to her.

- What do you honestly think ? he murmurs so that only she can hear him, while Davos is now arguing with Ysnar, also in a low voice.

- How right they are, she finally announced after a brief moment of reflection.

- I am of the same opinion, he breathes, nodding his head.

- So, we're doing this ?

- We're doing this.

He clears his throat, and everyone turns their attention to him, including Arya, who hasn't said a word since the beginning of the Council but seems to be attentively following every conversation that takes place.

- We will do it this way, announces Jon. We’ll invent an excuse that’ll justify Daenerys' departure. We might, however, be able to strengthen the Unsullied patrols to show that just because Drogon is no longer present doesn't mean the capital becomes weak, he adds.

They discuss for a while longer, going over all the details thoroughly. Daenerys had decided to have two large saddlebags made to hang on the sides of her dragon, so that she and Arya could carry food and shelter.

They finish talking about the organization of the city and the advice that will be given without the Queen, the progress that has been made, the living conditions of the inhabitants now significantly improved, before deciding that they will announce their departure only about an hour beforehand, seeing no point in communicating the information earlier.

The Mother of Dragons smiled as the last little problems were being resolved. Everything will be fine. She is certain of it.

Chapter Text

Daenerys is cold. Terribly cold. A sense of déjà vu takes hold of her, and an icy shiver shakes her entire body. She squints, blinded by the snow that sticks to her eyelashes and slaps her reddened cheeks.

She sees absolutely nothing, except for a whitish curtain, lost in the blizzard. The wind whistles in her ears, and she desperately tries to get her bearings, disoriented.

She suddenly notices a shadow in front of her. Then a second one. Dozens, hundreds, thousands. They advance toward her, wavering figures extending what appear to be shriveled hands toward her. Hands armed with knives, swords, scythes, already adorned with dried blood.

Panic rises within her like a tidal wave, and she tries to back away hastily, but suddenly sinks into the snow up to her knees, the sea of flakes continuing to rise slowly, gradually reaching her thighs, then her waist, completely entangling her and pinning her in place.

A dark mass then appeared before her, and immense relief washed over her. Immediately followed by an even greater terror. Jon. He will protect her, certainly, but he is mostly likely to die with her. The kind of men who are advancing toward them are getting closer and closer, and her husband gently turns toward her, a smile on his lips.

He raises a hand and softly strokes her cheek, his fingers warming her face in an instant, before turning back toward the shadows. Daenerys wants to scream at him to run, to save himself, but her mouth refuses to respond, and he is suddenly much further ahead of her, and she tries to run toward him, to shout at him to leave her behind, when a stake of ice suddenly appears in her field of vision.

Through Jon's back, which wobbles and collapses into the powder just as she is about to touch him. She can't even tell what kind of inhuman sound bursts from her lips, louder than his own, as she miserably tries to catch up with him. She finally grabs him in her arms, and they are both swallowed by the snow due to his now inert weight.

She shakes him desperately, trying to catch his eye, but instead of the stormy and warm pupils she usually finds, only an abyssal void answers her. Colder than death itself. Her tears freeze before they even have time to flow, and horror surges through her veins at the sight of a crimson flood suddenly gushing from the lips of the man she loves.

She screams his name in despair, but her voice is muffled by the storm, and the perfectly white snow around them turns a deep red, with a ferrous and nauseating smell. A lance with a deadly bluish glow pierces him through and through, passing through his abdomen to emerge between his shoulder blades.

She is aware of the futility of her actions but feels possessed by panic, and she violently tears at his coat, in the irrational hope of bandaging his wound, making a tourniquet, anything to save him.

And her heart skips a beat. Jon's now exposed chest is stained with blood, but above all...

She reaches out trembling fingers toward his skin, and lightly touches his scars. His scars that she had kissed so many times to heal him, his scars that she had so strongly wished she could erase and heal permanently, and at the same time, they were now a part of him, representing his conviction to fight to the end for what is right.

His scars, now reopened and gaping, releasing so much scarlet liquid that her hands are suddenly covered in it, up to her wrists. A brilliant red, which stands out perfectly against the pearly white that surrounds them. A howl of pain escapes her, and her voice breaks as she bends over, doubles over, and vomits in the snow. The acid rips at her throat and burns her lips, and her tears won't stop flowing, instantly freezing into small pearls on her cheeks.

The pain of seeing him lifeless and bloody in front of her, without her being able to do anything to prevent it, is so strong that she feels like she's going to faint. It's my fault. It's my fault. He wanted to protect me.

She raises her head for a moment, distress blurring her vision, but she still sees them. Hundreds of thousands of men who are now coming right up to them. Men in perfect physical health if she believes her eyes, braving the cold without difficulty. But whose face is devoid of any expression. Or more precisely... whose expression seems to be that of a corpse. An acute fear washes over her.

And behind... at the same time as her own heart is in turn sliced by an icy bite, shredded and torn to pieces...

Three eyes. Immense in the blizzard. Blues. Ice blue.




***




Daenerys wakes up with a start, her heart pounding violently in her throat, her hands clammy and trembling. She feels the vise of fear and pain tighten around her chest, compressing it to the point where she struggles to breathe.

She tries to reason with herself, tirelessly repeating that it was just a nightmare. It's just a nightmare. It's just a nightmare. It's just a nightmare. She desperately tries to ignore her horrible premonition, which screams at her that what she has just seen is, on the contrary, much more than just a bad dream.

She doesn't understand why she still feels so terrified. She doesn't detect Jon's presence beside her, and ignores the panic by trying to cling to something in the room, anything other than the deafening silence and the blackness that engulfs her.

A slight moan suddenly echoed at the edge of the bed, and a whitish form rose near the mattress, red eyes fixed on her. Ghost. The wolf growls again, and rests its head on the furs. Daenerys drags herself painfully toward him, her heart on the verge of bursting, and finally manages to slip a trembling hand into his thick fur, the contact immediately calming her, although she feels that her control is still on the verge of slipping.

She focuses on the sensation of his long, thick, silky fur under her palm, of his moist, cool nose that he has placed against her forearm. The adrenaline seems to finally be wearing off, and she feels the tears welling up with devastating intensity.

At the same time, a deep incomprehension takes hold of her. Why does she feel this fear, so intense and irrational ? A flood of overwhelming emotions washes over her, and she finally can't hold back her sobs. She gently grabs the direwolf's head, which doesn't move, offering her one last stable and present pillar, and she rests her forehead between his ears. She tells herself to breathe, counts in her head. One. Two. Three. Four.

- Dany ?

His voice. Hoarse, warm, sleepy. His fingers that slip under her chin, gently turn her face toward his. His eyes in which she can see the worry despite the darkness. He is there. He is alive. The water that stains her cheeks now drips down to her chin. She can't move, the feeling of being nailed to the spot still overwhelming her, and she starts to shiver, pleading with him with her eyes to do something to get her out of there, anything. A dull fear literally rips at her ribs.

Although he has just woken up, Jon seems to suddenly realize her condition. He slides his hands over her cheeks, caresses them in a steady motion with his thumbs, and immediately adopts a reassuring voice.

- Okay. Everything is fine, Dany. You are with me, safe, in our room, just the two of us and Ghost, he whispers softly without taking his eyes off hers.

She raises her forearm with difficulty and touches his bare and perfectly scarred chest, warm under her palm. She feels his heart beating between her fingers, which seems to help hers regain a more regular rhythm. Alive. Jon is alive. The relief that washes over her almost makes her collapse.

Jon puts an arm around her waist and pulls her firmly against him. He gently strokes her back with his thumb, and rests his forehead against hers, so that his breath brushes her lips with each exhale.

- I'm here. I am with you. Everything is fine. You’re safe.

His warm and reassuring tone seems to bring her back to the present, and she finally manages to regain control, synchronizing her breathing with his as much as possible. When he notices that she has regained her composure, he wraps his arms around her a little tighter, and rests his chin on her head, enveloping her in his comforting embrace, the heat of his skin against hers. He waits a moment before asking gently.

- What happened, love ?

The "love" makes her shiver, and despite the situation, this time, it's clearly not from fear.

- I had... some kind of vision, I think.

Her own voice sounds strangely hoarse to her ears. He slides his fingers through her silver strands without a word, patiently waiting for her to continue. He traces a few regular circles with his nails on her scalp, and the gesture relaxes her more than she would have imagined.

- I know it wasn't just a simple nightmare, she continues. It was...

She searches for the words to describe the horror she felt, deeply grateful that he doesn't rush her as she delves back into her troubling memories.

- I had the impression that the world I was standing in was empty, as if life itself had left it. Only desolation remained, and the cold. A glacial cold. A cold...

She stops, and the light suddenly dawns in her mind.

- The same kind of cold as during the battle against the Night King at Winterfell, she lets out in a breath.

This time, he flinches and his fingers stop moving for a moment, although he almost immediately resumes his soothing drawings on her skin.

- First, some sort of... shadows appeared, or men, I couldn't say precisely. But there were hundreds, hundreds of thousands. And then... You appeared in front of me, but I could barely see you. You... you tried to protect me, but... you failed, she whispers weakly.

He still says nothing, clearly not wanting to interrupt her, but gently tightens his embrace.

- Everything was blurred, we were lost in the blizzard, she continues.

Another flash of realization strikes her. What she has just seen reminds her in every way of the kind of vision she had just before waking up in King's Landing. She hadn't paid attention to it. She had thought it must be a simple hallucination due to her injury, but obviously, it was more than that...

And she is no stranger to this kind of feeling. Even though she tries with all her might to push this idea away, it still forces its way into her. It clearly seems to be... a premonition.

- I think I've already had a dream like this, she said hesitantly. A few weeks ago, during my recovery...

- Everything seems to indicate that, as you said, it's more than just a nightmare... finally breathes Jon, slightly moving away from her to look her in the eyes.

- I know, she sighs with worry.

The fear she felt is far too real to simply come from her imagination. She turns her head slightly and buries her face in his neck, inhaling his reassuring scent. She once again has the impression that she is feeling too much, too strongly, as has often been the case lately. Only he seems to calm her emotional turmoil.

Jon realizes that her anxiety is still very present, and could resurface at any moment, and he releases her before lying back down on the mattress, pulling the covers back a bit. He then reopens his arms and gently pulls her against him, in that position he knows she prefers.

His firm chest pressed against her back, enough for her to feel his heart beat and his chest rise and fall in rhythm. His nose in her hair, his warm breath brushing against her neck, his strong arms wrapped around her waist, just below her breasts, their legs intertwined.

- Sleep, he whispers. We'll see more clearly tomorrow, during the day. Unless you want to keep talking about it ? he suggests softly.

She gently shakes her head. The feeling of security that envelops her drives away all her adrenaline, and the exhaustion becomes painfully noticeable. Sleepiness slowly overwhelms her, and she feels that she won't be long before she drifts back into sleep. Despite her desire to remain still, she manages to reach out a hand to rub the head of the white wolf still resting on the mattress.

- Thank you, she murmurs, scratching his neck.

He looks at her with his beautiful, intelligent red eyes, and she is convinced that he understands perfectly.

- He's a good boy, isn't he ? whispers Jon in her ear, and she can tell from his tone that he's smiling.

- Not as much as you, she breathes, unable to resist, but half teasing, half sincere.

He laughs, and she turns slightly toward him.

- Thank you, Jon.

He gently strokes her sides, and brings his lips closer before tenderly placing them on hers.

- I'm glad I was able to help you. Don't hesitate to wake me up if you have that kind of dream again, okay ? he murmurs as he slowly pulls away.

This time, it's her turn to kiss him, overflowing with affection. She gives him a sweet smile before turning around and snuggling a little closer to him.

- You're a sweetheart. Good night, Jon, she whispers as she closes her eyes.

- Good night, Dany, he replies, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

Tranquility slowly envelops her, and she prepares to reenter the world of dreams. Only, despite everything, Daenerys cannot shake off this strange bad feeling that seems lodged in the pit of her stomach. And a slight shiver shakes her. Jon and she will soon be separated. The day after tomorrow, to be precise. So…

She pushes away her thoughts, deciding to pursue them when the sun is up. Tonight, she must sleep. She will need to be in top form like every day to rule her Kingdom, alongside the man she loves.

She slowly closes her eyes, swallowed by sleep.

And she's probably wrong, disturbed by her strange nightmare and her overwhelming emotions.

But she could have sworn she saw three icy blue eyes staring at her just before she drifted into the world of dreams.

Chapter Text

Daenerys slowly opens her eyes, emerging from the heavy sleep she had finally fallen into. She realises that it was Jon who woke her, his thumb gently brushing her cheek as he lean over her. She responds to his adorable smile and sits up, stretching, grimacing at the sensation of her numb muscles.

- Hello, she whispers, looking at him with affection.

- Hello, Dany, he replies, gently tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear.

He seems to have a slight hesitation, but he still ends up asking his question.

- Have you slept well since your... nightmare ? he asks.

She nods before trying to free herself from under the covers to join him. She disentangles herself from the sheets as best she can, under his amused gaze, although he visibly refrains from commenting. She eventually escapes from the fur twisted with a grunt, and a slight hint of guilt rises in her at the idea of her Dothraki who will have to put it back in order.

She distractedly runs a hand through her equally messy hair, then finally moves towards him, who is waiting, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She presses into his back, and rests her cheek against the prominent muscles of his shoulders while wrapping her arms around his waist, letting a small sigh escape her lips.

He places his large hands on her forearms, which he tenderly strokes with the tips of his fingers.

- I don't know what it was, Daenerys finally began, suspecting that avoiding the subject wouldn't make it disappear, even though talking about her dream is the last thing she wants to do right now. But it really felt like a premonition, or at least a nightmare containing some kind of magic.

- And have you done others in this style before ? he asks softly.

- One, in King's Landing. But it was less...

She sees again his gaping and reopened scars, his beautiful strong body against which she loves to snuggle sprawled in a pool of scarlet blood, his eyes that usually gaze at her with love now turned glassy. She shudders.

- Detailed.

He continues to draw his regular circles along her skin, which soothe her to such an extent that she has to force herself not to think about when they will be separated. She will survive a few weeks without him, no ?

- And so, it makes you think of the battle of Winterfell, he enquired with an anxious sigh.

- Yes, she whispers. But apart from... your death, and thousands of shadows advancing towards me... Like the dead... and this terrible cold...

This observation spoken aloud makes them both shiver.

- I don't remember much anymore, she breathes.

She has the strong feeling of forgetting something, but she would be unable to put her finger on it. A heavy silence hangs over them, different from the usually tranquil ones that gently enveloped them. No, this silence is filled with worries and assumptions.

Jon finally sighs again, and he turns towards her before pulling her into his arms, holding her close to his chest, on which she leans with relief.

- First this strange disease in Essos, and now a dream that seems premonitory... And this at the very moment we are about to be separated, he breathes anxiously.

- It will be alright, Jon. I'm going to go solve this problem in Meereen in no time, and maybe it really was just a nightmare after all, she reassures him.

He nods, visibly unconvinced with his eyebrows still as furrowed as ever, but he seems to be trying to believe her words.

Just as much as she tries to believe it herself.

***

Arya experiences two extremely contradictory emotions as she follows the Queen, who moves with her usual lithe step through the tall grass at the back of the Red Keep, in the quieter and wilder part of the garden. On one hand, she couldn't have felt happier in her entire life. She is going to ride a dragon. A dragon.

She still doesn't realise, even though she's about to ride Drogon alongside Daenerys in less than fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the weather isn't ideal, for once heavy grey clouds are piled above the capital, but they won't have another moment. The departure is already scheduled for the next day, and they had agreed that the young woman absolutely had to try flying with Drogon to learn the basics before they left for the journey. You never know.

However, despite her barely contained euphoria, a second, much less pleasant emotion is lodged in the pit of her stomach, causing her a slight discomfort. The Queen may seem as smiling as ever, but the young woman knows her well enough to see that, unlike her usual sincerity, it seems like a facade today.

She hadn't dared to ask her what’s wrong. Daenerys already seems exhausted enough without her having to explain all her problems, which she probably tells Jon anyway. Unless the Mother of Dragons is just having trouble with her brother?

Arya quickly corrects herself. On the contrary, they had seemed closer than ever when she had joined them earlier in the morning. She supposes anyway that a lot of Daenerys's wavering mood must come from the fact that she's leaving Jon the next day. But she can see that it's not just that.

She will ask her later, she decides.

The two young women finally reach the small wall bordering the garden, the cliffs gently extending towards the sea below. Arya squints and finally spots Drogon in the distance, who who was probably fishing.

She turns to Daenerys, who smiles warmly, as if she had forgotten her worries for a moment.

- He's coming, she whispers.

Indeed, the dragon grew larger and larger in her field of vision, approaching them at a rapid pace, the sound of his powerful wingbeats becoming louder and louder, before he reached their altitude and greeted them with a soft roar as he passed over their heads.

The Queen and Arya hurry to follow him, and the enormous beast lands a few dozen meters away. Their hair is both dishevelled by the violent gusts of wind he causes upon landing. The young woman, always armed with her faithful Needle, feels the excitement rise as they approach Drogon, who lowers his majestic head to their level.

Daenerys smiled and gently stroked his nostrils before giving Arya an encouraging look. She doesn't need to be asked twice and in turn extends her fingers to let them run along the dragon's warm scales.

The Queen eventually managed to move along the animal's flank.

- Come on, she urges her. It's not very difficult to climb on him. You just wedge your feet at the edges of his scales and go on. Alright ? she asks.

Arya nods and watches the Mother of Dragons scale her son with agility, perching on his neck in the blink of an eye. The young woman tries to follow suit, but quickly realises that Daenerys has lied to her. Climbing a dragon is anything but easy.

She almost slips at least two or three times, Drogon's skin far too smooth for her to find the small grips that the Queen uses with ease. She finally pulls herself to the top, under the highly amused gaze of the Mother of Dragons.

- It must be in the family, she laughs at Arya's red face, who is more than out of breath. Jon always has trouble, just like you.

- I rather think you're the exception, she retorts.

Daenerys laughed even more, before nodding her head.

- Now, look : I hold onto Drogon's spines right in front of me, I squeeze my thighs like on a horse, otherwise I might fall, then I lean slightly forward to match his movements and not get thrown off by a sudden jolt. Well, for you, it's easier. Just put your arms around my waist and hold tight, that should be enough, she finishes with a smile.

- Okay. Thank you. Is it you who gives her the order to fly ? asks Arya, wondering if Daenerys's mere voice is enough or if he needs something more.

Meanwhile, she hurries to obey the Queen's instructions. She doesn't value her skin much, otherwise.

- Yes, replies the Queen. In Valyrian, she specifies.

That Daenerys mastered three different languages so well, the common tongue, Dothraki, and Valyrian had always impressed Arya. She strengthens her grip around her waist, before ignoring her growing apprehension – a good apprehension – and spoke firmly – or at least, she tried.

- I'm ready, she asserts.

The Mother of Dragons gives her a furtive glance, a grin on her lips, her impatient and anxious tone clearly not having escaped her, then she nods before leaning towards Drogon.

- Sōves, she breathes.

Arya would never have thought she could feel the dragon's power like this, yet his muscles suddenly roll beneath her before he stirs, and with a heavy flap of his wing, he is already in the air. The movement almost threw her off, but she held on tight, firmly gripping Daenerys.

Immediately, a flood of incredibly strong sensations, both predictable and unexpected, bursts from all directions. The wind whistling in her ears, half deafening her, and practically slapping her face, bringing her to the brink of tears despite being partially protected by Daenerys.

The strength of Drogon that she feels perfectly beneath her, the suddenly colder air with the altitude that dries her mouth, the burning flame deep in her stomach every time he turns a bit abruptly. It's more exhilarating than anything Arya has ever experienced.

The dragon suddenly stops rising higher and higher, and spreads his wings to their maximum span. The young woman understands after a moment of surprise that he is gliding, and everything is suddenly softer, calmer, the gusts stop, and she realises she was almost closing her eyes. She slowly looks around her, and the view takes her breath away.

Beneath them, vast plains and forests unfold, King's Landing and its buildings stand in the distance, the sea is immense along the edge of the continent, and Arya feels overwhelmed by the beauty of what she sees—or rather, what she discovers. She feels like she's only now realising the vastness of the world around her. It's... she can't even find words to describe the kind of emotion that takes over her entire body, her soul, and her heart at this precise moment.

Daenerys suddenly turns to her, a big grin on her face in response to the huge smile that Arya must probably be wearing as well.

- Do you like it ? she asks softly.

- It's... magical, Arya breathes.

The Queen laughed, a pretty, clear laugh, before nodding.

- No matter how many times I fly, this feeling never completely goes away, she confesses to her. On the other hand, I'm warning you. Even if you don't realise it now, you'll have some good muscle aches tomorrow... and you might suffer during the journey, by the way, she adds, grimacing.

The young woman strongly suspects that she is right, but rather than frighten her, the prospect of travelling long hours on the back of a dragon in the coming days fills her with joy.

- It’ll be fine, she asserts. I'll probably regret saying that when we arrive in Essos, she adds with an amused tone, but I'll manage, I've seen worse.

- I don't doubt it, replies Daenerys, half-serious and half-teasing at the same time. Alright, I'll explain the basics so you don't get too tired. Are you ready ?

Arya goes into her usual focused mode, and nods. She is determined not to miss a word of what Daenerys is going to say.

They fly all afternoon, the Queen advising the young woman countless times on her position to make it more comfortable. Daenerys shows her all the basics, demonstrates the main figures Drogon might be asked to do, explains how to stand to tire less. She even teaches her some of the movements she makes to control her dragon.

And when they finally land several hours later, despite the horrible pain between her thighs and her throat burned by the wind and cold, Arya can't contain the immense smile that spreads across her face.

She flew on a dragon.

Chapter Text

Jon observes with a distracted air the cooks filling bags with provisions. They are generous, and everything goes in, an assortment of still-steaming meat pies, fresh goat cheese, honey and plum jam, bread just out of the clay oven, and more.

If he hadn't been so anxious, the smell alone would have made his mouth water. Only, he is far too preoccupied to pay attention for even a single second to the food spread out on the counters and in the pots in front of him.

He tangles his fingers in Ghost's fur, who, miraculously despite the various pieces of meat roasting over the fire or being cut up, stays wisely by his side. Probably he senses how worried Jon is. His thoughts are solely focused on Daenerys... and her departure. With Arya.

He suddenly realises that the provisions are finally done being packed under the insistent gaze of the young man in front of him, and he offers him a thank you with what he hopes is a warm smile. Although he should rather grimace, given his current state.

He loads the bags onto his back, the three Dothrakis who accompanied him to help grab the remaining ones, and they leave the kitchens, thanking their suppliers again as they go.

The direwolf follows them trotting, his calming presence welcome, and they progress along the rather lively corridors despite the early hour. The four men eventually emerge behind the Red Keep, and they advance for a moment among the grasses, first meticulously ordered to the millimetre, then increasingly taller, until they spot a dark mass rising in the distance.

Shouts and a low growl reach the King's ears, and they finally lead to the small, secluded clearing that had been chosen as the starting point. It is rather well off-center, at the very back of the gardens, and despite the bushes that border it, there is enough space for Drogon to stretch out comfortably.

Daeenerys is also in the process of strapping pouches to her dragon's side, and the animal clearly doesn't appreciate the experience. He fidgets slightly, although Jon detects that he is careful not to hurt his mother, and he violently thrashes his tail on the ground, a kind of annoyed snort escaping from his wide nostrils.

The Queen whispers sweet Valyrian words to him, which seem to at least calm him down a bit. Not very far but at a respectful distance, Arya observes the scene attentively, still just as fascinated by the dragon according to the soft, bright glow in her eyes.

Jon drops the bags of provisions not far from Daenerys' child, and signals to his men to do the same, before approaching the small group of advisors waiting on the side. They are discussing animatedly, and the King can tell from the tone of their voices that they are quite anxious. Ghost quietly sets off to rummage through the bushes, and the Northerner covers the last few meters alone.

- Your Grace, Davos greets him while bowing as he approaches.

He responds with a nod and a slight smile, which quickly fades again. Tyrion turns towards him upon hearing his footsteps, and sighs.

- Your Grace, he says in turn.

- Is everything ready ? he asks, trying to calm his growing apprehension.

- As ready as we can be, I suppose, the advisor grimaces.

Jon thinks that he’s clearly not the only one dreading the Queen's departure, although probably not for the same reasons.

- It’ll be fine, Arya suddenly states right next to them without him having heard her approach. And I won't let anyone touch even a hair on Daenerys's head, she continues in her usual voice, as relentless as her gaze.

- I know, replies Jon.

He has blind faith in his sister. She softens to give him a genuine smile, but it doesn't last long, cut short by a throat clearing from Tyrion.

- And we thank you for that, my Lady -

- Arya, she interrupts him with a slight hint of annoyance.

The advisor observes her furtively, but quickly nods in agreement.

- Arya, he corrects. Only, he continues, I hope everything goes well in the capital as well. Drogon represents our strength...

No one dares to contradict him. Jon hears furtive footsteps, and Daenerys gently brushes his hand as she stands beside him. He glances to the side and notices that she has already finished placing the provisions in the saddlebags. A wave of anxiety rises within him. She instinctively intertwines her fingers with his, soothing him with her touch, and the anxiety grips him even more brutally when he realises he won't feel the sensation of her small hand in his for a while.

- I will send you news as soon as we arrive, she begins after a moment of silence. We won't stay too long, as agreed, just long enough to gather the necessary information. I will also wait for your letters. Well...

She looks up at him, the violet depths of her pupils darkened, revealing her apprehension, and she gently strokes his wrist with her thumb.

- We can leave, she then states, giving Arya a nod.

The small group of advisors seems to wake up, and they all offer their greetings and wish the Mother of Dragons a good departure and safe travels.

Jon slightly detaches himself from her to let her respond calmly and reassure them, and he moves towards his sister. They exchange a long look before they move at the same time and fall into each other's arms. The King hugs her tightly, gently ruffles her hair, and finally pulls back halfway to look into his sister's eyes, just as dark and stormy as his own.

- Be careful, both of you, he finally whispers, ignoring the lump in his throat.

- Don't worry, Arya replies with a brief nod. We will.

His sister's face softened, and she hugged him one last time, holding him tightly, before reluctantly pulling away. A smile appears on her lips.

- See you soon, big brother, she says.

- See you soon, little sister.

He may try to keep a light tone, but the gravity in his voice does not escape Arya. She gives him an understanding look, and he then turns around with regret, ready to face what has been tightening his chest for several days. The advisors have stepped back, now about fifty meters away.

Daenerys is alone facing him, though at a short distance, a distance that suddenly seems immensely vast to him. She observes him with a gentle smile, but he sees the sadness and worry dancing in the depths of her pupils.

He closes the distance between them in a few seconds and pulls her against him. She melts into his embrace so naturally, her whole body so relaxed the moment it's against his that he almost wants to cry. He should never have let her leave.

He suppresses his selfish thought, and hugs her a little tighter, rests his forehead against her hair, inhaling her so sweet, so... simply her scent that makes him forget everything around him, as usual. She buries her face in his neck, and he gently strokes her back, her nape, her shoulders, slips his fingers through her silvery strands.

He so much wishes he could take her place, spare her these dangers, protect her. He raises his hands to her cheeks, gently touches her cheekbones with his thumbs, and gazes deep into her eyes. The love he sees there, which reflects his own, twists his heart a little more, and he leans slowly towards her.

Their breaths mingle, she raises her chin a little, and finally her lips meet his. Daenerys almost immediately opens her mouth to give him access, and their tongues intertwine as much as their bodies. They kiss almost desperately, merging into each other, and everything fades around them, only the spots where they touch seem real.

Jon holds her a little tighter, deepening their kiss, and she also slides her fingers behind his back, pressing him forcefully against her. They eventually break apart, as slowly as possible, and he already misses the taste of her lips terribly.

She looks at him with undisguised affection, an infinite love that is meant only for him.

- I would be careful, she whispers.

- I know, he murmurs.

He rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, focussing solely on her, her presence, her small body encircled and protected by his arms and chest. A slight growl eventually interrupts them after he couldn't say how long, but it's much too soon.

The great black dragon looks at them impatiently, and shakes slightly, almost making the ground tremble. Daenerys turns her head slightly towards him and smiles.

- Vestri jiōne, Drogon, she replies to him, laughing softly.

Then she turns her attention to Jon, and he feels too many emotions swirling within him, not to mention his sudden urge to kidnap her and run away with her, no matter where, as long as they can both stay together. A maelstrom of overly complex feelings surges within him, and he is unable to find the right words, unable to express to her all that he feels. Then he kisses her one last time tenderly, before gently pulling away.

- I love you, Dany, he whispers.

He wonders if he's imagining the brilliance of the water at the bottom of her eyes, but probably not.

- I love you too, Jon, she says in a slightly trembling voice, despite her gaze showing that she has never been more certain of anything in her entire life.

And then she slowly moves away, seems to tear herself away from him with difficulty, her jerky movements showing that she would have so much wanted to escape with him, too. Until he no longer felt her chest against his bust, her hair flying in the wind against his cheek, her small hand in his, until he no longer smelt her so characteristic scent.

She gives him one last adorable smile that says a thousand times more than words, before signalling Arya to join her. The two young women advance towards the dragon together, and both climb up using the ridges of its scales. They wedge themselves between the spikes on Drogon's neck, who is already starting to spread his wings.

Daenerys gives him one last wave, seems to shout something he can't hear because of the already too great distance separating them, but he could have bet he heard "my love" at the end of her sentence.

And then the dragon suddenly begins to beat his wings powerfully, and they rise into the air with him. He quickly gains altitude, moves towards the sea, and Jon is unable to take his eyes off him, even when he has already disappeared on the horizon for several minutes.

The sensation that finally brings him back to reality is Ghost's fur under his fingers, as well as his wet tongue on his skin. He lowers his head towards him, and as he raises it, he realises that the advisors haven't dared to approach him, but are watching him with concern.

His heart heavy as a stone, he sighs and tells himself to pull himself together. He joins the small group, and they head back to the Keep together, already discussing the new measures to take. Only, all Jon can think about is how cold the bed is going to be tonight.

Vestri jiōne: I'm coming

Chapter Text

Essos:


Daenerys tries to ignore the bitterness weighing on her, without much success. Although she greatly appreciates Arya, she can't help but wish she had another person's arms around her waist at that moment.

A pang of guilt rises within her at this thought, and she scolds herself severely. She is already extremely grateful that the young woman is accompanying her. Especially since the latter is going to put herself in danger for her. What she hates, by the way : Arya being in danger because of her. But even Jon hadn't seemed too anxious about it, so... She shakes her head slightly and forbids herself from thinking about the man she will terribly miss in the coming days.

And no matter how hard she tries to get him out of her mind... she bites her lip and sees his anxious and helpless face when they took off with Drogon. She hopes he won't worry too much, but she knows him well enough to know what he will feel. Probably the same thing as her.

A voice partly distorted by the wind suddenly reaches her ears.

- Are we landing soon ?

Daenerys glances at the setting sun. Indeed, if they want to set up their camp before it gets pitch dark, they better land quickly. She turns to Arya and gives a thumbs up, to which she responds with a smile and a nod.

The Queen looks down below her for several minutes. They had flown over the sea for many hours after their departure, but they had finally reached the continent of Essos by the end of the day. Since then, vast plains had stretched beneath them, while immense mountains loomed in the distance to the North.

Daenerys finally spotted a small grove of trees. She waves down at Arya to warn her, then whispers to Drogon "Sōvagon" The great dragon grunts slightly, folds his wings, and slowly begins his descent.

He lands a few moments later, and Arya nearly crushes the Queen as she lurches heavily forward upon impact. Daenerys can't help but burst out laughing for the first time of the day, and this simple, innocuous action seems to lift a weight off her shoulders.

- Sorry, the young woman apologises pitifully, although she is also laughing according to the tone of her voice.

- Don't worry, it's normal at the beginning, you're not used to it, replies the Queen with a smile.

They slide off the dragon, and Daenerys notices with a mix of compassion and amusement Arya's grimace, although she manages to walk without limping or massaging her thighs, which is already a great feat after their several-hour flight.

They set up camp, the Queen releases Drogon from the bags and straps, and the dragon takes off almost immediately, visibly delighted to be perfectly free to move again. She unpacks the tent and starts setting it up, while Jon's sister goes to gather firewood.

She returns with a pile of wood under her arm, and two rather plump rabbits, and the two young women set about preparing their meal. Drogon doesn't seem ready to return, clearly gone hunting. Although Daenerys can precisely detect where he is through their connection, she feels slightly uneasy, surrounded by these tall trees behind which the shadows of the approaching night shimmer.

She hates not being able to spot a potential enemy. She would have much preferred to camp on the plains of the Dothraki Sea, but as a precaution, Arya and she had decided it was safer for them to remain at least somewhat out of sight. Even though with Drogon and his ten meters in height, these measures were probably quite useless.

Her thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a roasted and juicy rabbit right under her nose.

- Thank you, she smiled gratefully at Arya.

She nods in response, then also passes her some bread and cheese from their provisions. They will probably have enough for their week-long journey, but as long as they can stock up directly on-site, they take advantage of it.

Only, without really knowing why, the smell of goat’s cheese suddenly repulses Daenerys. As much as the rabbit looks delicious, she can't help but now look at the cheese as if it's going to attack her. She finally ends up discreetly placing it on a wooden log nearby, refraining from wrinkling her nose. Arya seems to notice, but she does nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

They tackle the meat without further delay, and the Queen is pleasantly surprised by the taste of the animal.

- You cooked it to perfection, she compliments, savouring the tender flesh.

- I'm used to, Arya replies, smiling slightly, taking a sip of water from one of the waterskins they had brought. When I fled King's Landing after my father's death, I found myself much more on my own than before, she continues.

- I understand, breathes Daenerys.

Arya gives her a questioning look, intrigued, prompting her to continue.

- It's not the same type of journey as yours, explains the Queen. But you know that I had to beg in the streets with my brother, starting from when I was 6 years old. I acquired some skills to save food, if you know what I mean, she says distractedly, diving back into her memories.

She doesn't go into more detail, not particularly wanting to discuss what she endured from her brother, or even simply to lament her fate. She came out of it very well, discovering a strength in herself that she had never suspected, and that is the most important thing. The rest is in the past, and complaining about it seems frankly pointless to her.

- I see, Arya replies thoughtfully. I suppose we've all gone through our share of trials, and we've all ended up dealing with it in our own way, she concludes, leaning over to stoke the fire.

The young Stark's voice may be neutral, but the Queen doesn't miss the sort of... heaviness, like a threat in her tone. Daenerys knows she has blood on her hands, only she wonders now to what extent. They finish their meal in quiet silence despite the faint noises coming from the animals in the distance in the undergrowth, only interrupted by Drogon landing and wrapping his large body around the camp a few minutes later.

The young women smother the fire, then slip into the tent. Daenerys changes after quickly washing in the cold water of the small stream found nearby, regretting her scalding baths. She wishes Arya a good night, who lies down not far from her, then the Queen lifts a flap of fur and slips underneath, the cold already starting to be felt.

The sheepskins are plentiful enough to form a semblance of a rather comfortable bed, compared to what she might expect. She has restrained herself all day, but now that she is truly alone and with nothing specific to focus on, she can't stop her thoughts from wandering to Jon.

She hopes he is doing well, and stares at the tent canvas above her while wondering what he is doing. Is he eating, washing ? Maybe he's already asleep, also in a cold bed, missing a particular warmth ? Or maybe he's trying to wrap up one of those endless meetings, she muses with a small smile.

She sees him again in the evening, when he pulls her into his arms, and she snuggles against his chest, all her worries from the day disappearing in an instant.

It seems that tonight, her many worries will not leave her. Usually, she has no trouble falling asleep peacefully. But tonight, despite Arya's regular breathing – they trust Drogon enough to warn them in case of danger –… Sleep only takes hold of her many hours later.



Sōvagon : Land 




***


Westeros :


Jon wakes up with a terrible headache, which spreads unpleasantly throughout the entire left side of his head. He sits up on the bed with a slight groan, and massages his temples, closing his eyes for a moment. It had been a long time since he had had such a terrible night. Not since he had been sleeping with Dany, actually.

He had woken up quite a few times, and it felt more like he had taken a series of naps rather than actually having a night's sleep. He stretches and grimaces at the tension in his muscles, before getting up and splashing some cold water on his face in the faint hope of waking up a bit more.

He glances at the sky, observing the first orange rays piercing through the grey clouds darkening the atmosphere. The audiences with the people begin in just about twenty minutes, if he believes the sun already almost entirely above the horizon. He dresses quickly, but turns sharply towards the bed when he hears a slight rustling. Ghost.

- I said no ! he asserts to the wolf, who looks at him as if he had just deprived him of food for a month.

The animal turns away from the mattress he was about to climb with a grunt clearly indicating his displeasure, and curls up on the rug without sparing him with one of his heavy sighs, typical for showing his annoyance. Ghost had already tried to join him several times during the night, taking advantage of Daenerys not being there to try to take her place.

Only, even if Jon wouldn't mind sleeping with his direwolf, he has no idea what his wife would think. And he knows very well that if he allows his companion to get on the bed even just once, he will immediately claim it as his own. And then to dislodge him...

He resists his old habit of adjusting his sheath to his size, aware that Longclaw's presence makes the people uncomfortable. Even if some children adored him. He reluctantly turns away from the beautiful Valyrian sword and instead heads towards his wolf, whom he gives a gentle scratch behind the ears. Jon finishes putting on his tunic and finally leaves the room, Ghost on his heels, who follows him without hesitation despite his apparent bad mood.

He walks through the grand hall, warmly greets the numerous servants and guards he passes, before finally reaching his destination. The King pushes open the heavy doors leading to the Audience Hall, an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling and walls decorated with banners and paintings.

The soldiers bow their heads respectfully, and he responds in a similar manner, before sitting down on his chair – he will definitely need to change it, by the way, the wood bites into the inside of his knees, and it gets worse and worse as the hours go by. He tries to ignore the bitterness mixed with worry that grips him at the sight of the empty, cold seat next to him. The Queen's seat.

It had only been a few days since they had left, but he already missed his wife and his sister far too much. He forbade himself from thinking about it, aware that he couldn't do anything to help them anyway. And they would be the first two to scold him upon seeing him moping like that.

He gives a slight wave to the guards, who understand the assignment and open the large doors at the front of the hall. Jon prepares for the screams and is not disappointed, his poor ears instantly overwhelmed by the hubbub of the crowd.

The soldiers contain the people as usual, but they no longer have much effort to make to maintain order. Despite the still-present unrest, fortunately, it was nothing compared to the first day. There had been such crowd movements that the two sovereigns had genuinely worried that someone would get hurt.

From now on, the people of King's Landing seemed reassured about their leaders. The opening of the hearings was not a stroke of luck that would last only a day, and everyone could have their voice heard. Since then, the queue had been much calmer, to the great relief of the King and Queen.

Jon turns his attention to the little boy accompanied by... probably his mother ? and looks at them attentively, waiting for them to speak.

As he is now accustomed to, their requests mainly concern the supply of food, which is evidently still too scarce in some areas of the city. Although according to the young woman and her son, many efforts have already been made, and they are no longer at risk of starving.

Jon notes their requests and sends a guard to deliver his message to Davos, who handles the external commercial part but also the internal one in King's Landing. The two citizens thank him profusely – it still slightly embarrasses him to receive so much praise, but he is starting to get used to it -.

To his surprise, and also to his mother's given the little sound she makes, the young boy suddenly turns around and comes back to him, his big eyes shining with worry.

- And, Your Grace, do you know when the Queen will return ? She and the dragon have been gone for a long time already...

The child bites his lip and twists his fingers, and a small, anxious sniffle reaches the King's ears. His heart fills with happiness and tightens at the same time. Daenerys is already missed by the people and the children. She made sure, just like him, to make regular visits to the orphanages or simply to stroll around the city, and obviously, many had already become attached to her. And he knows better than anyone how happy it would make her to know that. He will have to tell her, in the letter he plans to send her to ask for news.

However, this boy is not the only one who wants Daenerys to come back. Jon probably thinks about her more than he thinks about anything else. Every moment spent without her feels strangely emptier. She makes everything so beautiful that his days just seem dull when she's not around. He only understands how much he loves her. He always knew, of course. But he now realises that he has truly fallen desperately for her.

He reassures the child's mother with a smile, who tirelessly apologises for her son's impertinence, before answering in a voice a little less confident than he would have liked.

- Soon. She will be back soon.

Chapter Text

Essos :

Arya tries to find a more comfortable position, holding back a grimace, but only manages to irritate her thighs a bit more. Despite the wind slapping her cheeks and the hard, sharp scales beneath their buttocks, Daenerys, on the other hand, always seems in her element, and perfectly at ease.

Unlike the young Stark who is seriously starting to wonder if she will ever be able to walk again. Fortunately, according to the Queen, they should finally arrive in Meereen this afternoon. It had been six days since they had been travelling with Drogon, and Arya had rarely been so grateful to be in excellent physical condition.

Without that, she doesn't know how she would have managed almost twelve hours a day contracting all her muscles to stay in place on the back of the immense dragon. Her countless days spent on horseback had also helped her a lot, even though she had never missed the comfortable leather of a good trail saddle so much.

At least, the landscapes are magnificent – though quite repetitive -. Large plains stretch beneath them, and the gusts seem to create waves in the tall grasses, forming ever-changing patterns. Some mountains also rise in the distance...

At the very moment she seems to see some kind of dwellings appearing on the horizon, Daenerys turns to her, a relieved smile on her lips.

- We have arrived, she asserts through the wind, pointing to the now clearly visible houses and buildings, and... a more than imposing pyramid.

Arya had already heard about it, but it must be acknowledged that the immense structure that has practically become the emblem of Meereen is impressive. It towers over the city, gleaming under the scorching rays of the sun. Drogon, on the other hand, seems to recognise the place, and lets out a formidable roar as if to announce his arrival – or rather his return.

They fly over the houses sprawling below, swallowed by the dragon's shadow. Daenerys has him veer to the side, clearly planning to land him a bit away. So as not to crush one or two people in the process, probably, Arya thinks with amusement.

He begins a descent, and lands in a cloud of dust and sand. The Queen slides off her son with her usual grace, and the young Stark follows her as best she can, fortunately now used to it enough not to embarrass herself too much.

She ignores the unpleasant rubbing of her pants against the raw wounds adorning the back of her thighs, and positions herself right behind Daenerys, determined to follow her like her shadow. She attentively observes their welcoming committee.

About twenty men are waiting, looking quite relaxed for soldiers. They are dressed rather simply, fleetingly reminding her of the North : clothes designed for efficient movement, rather than armour like the Lannisters.

However, where the people of her Kingdom are equipped with furs and heavy cloaks, these favour leather and padded fabrics, but visibly light.

Drogon takes off again in a whirlwind of hot air, and a man approaches them, a charming smile plastered on his lips. He bows before Daenerys, before taking her hand with exaggerated delicacy and placing a kiss on the knuckles of her fingers.

- My Queen, he greets.

- Daario, she responds warmly.

Despite her friendly tone, Arya notices that Daenerys quickly withdraws her hand. She notes it in the back of her mind while suppressing a frown. He better not be persistent. The mercenary then invites them to follow him, and the queen walks behind him, quickly accompanied by his men. The young Stark strains her ears to follow the conversation taking place between the Mother of Dragons and Daario.

- … finally, the famous Throne you wanted so much, the mercenary says.

Arya notices that despite his light tone, he’s watching the Queen's reaction out of the corner of his eye, and with great attention.

- Yes, Daenerys simply replies.

- And did he bring you what you were looking for ?

This time, the Queen takes the time to look at him for a few seconds before nodding. She clearly doesn't want to engage in this kind of conversation with him.

- And who is this famous King who has the chance to stand by your side ? he continues nonchalantly.

Arya tenses slightly, at the same time as Daenerys, who, on the other hand, seemed to expect it. The young Stark suppresses an annoyed sigh and instead fiddles with the pommel of Needle. This mercenary and his questions that clearly bother the Queen are starting to get on her nerves. So if he starts implying that her brother...

- Jon Snow. An honourable and deserving man from the North, the Mother of Dragons finally said, interrupting her thoughts, and Arya detected the subtle warning in her intonation.

Obviously not Daario.

- Honourable ? Is that why he has the right to marry you ? he persists.

The mercenary seems to be trying to keep a neutral voice, but Arya perceives the bitterness and sourness echoing in his tone. She knew Daario was a former lover of Daenerys, but she would have thought he had come to terms with the fact that the Queen did not reciprocate his feelings.

- Unless you married him for an alliance, simply ? he continues innocently.

The Mother of Dragons abruptly stops walking, and the icy look she gives him almost makes Arya shiver. It had been a long time since she had seen Daenerys look at anyone like that.

- This is none of your business, Daario, she hissed coldly. And you know the answer very well, even though it displeases you.

Her voice and expression suddenly soften, and she observes the mercenary with almost... compassion, pity ?

- I love him, she says softly.

Arya can clearly see that the Queen hadn't planned to say it, but had resolved to do so to put a quick and definitive stop to the mercenary. And even if he doubted her words, the tone of her voice made him understand that she is sincere. It was something Arya found secretly adorable : unintentionally, every time Daenerys speaks to Jon or simply about Jon, her voice takes on this particular little intonation that makes her much softer.

A flash of pain crosses Daario's eyes, quickly replaced by a sincere smile, and a slight hurt gleam in his eyes.

- All the better. You deserve to marry the man you love, not just any idiot to conclude I don't know what alliance.

Without giving her time to respond, he continues.

- We have planned to relocate you to your old apartments. Does that suit you ?

The Queen seems hesitant to address the mercenary's previous remark, but eventually just nods. Then she suddenly turns to her and gives her a warm smile.

- As you must have noticed, I’m not alone. Arya, my husband's sister, is accompanying me. We will stay in the same apartments, so you will need to prepare a bed for her next to mine, she explains.

Daario slightly tilts his head towards her to see her better and looks at her with curiosity. Don't even think about it, Arya ponders, suppressing a snicker. Fortunately, he quickly turns away from her to dive back into his conversation with Daenerys.

The young Stark would like to continue listening, but she is distracted by the sight of the enormous wall that stands before her. Two immense winged statues seem to watch over each side of the equally imposing gate. Clearly, those who built this city didn’t do things by halves.

The heavy door swings open in a cloud of dust, making her cough under the amused gaze of the mercenaries, whom she ignores despite her irritation. They must probably be wondering what she's doing there, but she isn’t going to give them the pleasure of providing answers.

If she had learnt one thing from that mad girl in Braavos, it was that being underestimated was one of the best ways to win a fight. If the rumour could spread that she was only there as the Queen's servant or whatever, that would be perfect.

They had barely taken three steps into the city when they were suddenly overwhelmed and assaulted from all sides. Hundreds and hundreds of slaves cry "Mhysa," and try to touch Daenerys while encircling them and half-blocking them. The mercenaries grumble slightly and push some of them away, but the Queen just smiles warmly at them.

The young Stark, on the other hand, tries to stay as close as possible to Daenerys, a bit destabilised by the crowd's such pronounced enthusiasm. Moreover, if anyone tried to kill her brother's wife now...

Fortunately, everyone clears the way for the Queen, and they eventually move a bit higher along the paved streets, leaving the bulk of the slaves behind, although the majority still follow them. Arya observes the dwellings out of the corner of her eye, intrigued by the architecture.

 The buildings are all made of stone, some several stories high, lining the city walls and the edges of the alleys. Although this must be largely due to Daenerys' arrival, the streets are also extremely lively, crowded, and full of life. The young Stark grimaces at the sight of two red priestesses, who begin to sing praises as they pass.

She still doesn't know how to feel about these strange witches. On one hand, she clearly despises them and still hasn't digested what one of them did to Gendry... and at the same time, even though she only knows the short summary of the story, she knows that her brother is alive thanks to their magic, Lord or whatever. Not to mention the help provided to Winterfell during the battle against the Night King. So it's rather mixed.

Their small group finally arrives at the main pyramid with its pale and sandy colour, and they go inside for shelter. The cacophony gives way to a pleasant silence, and it is also much cooler, to Arya's great relief. She definitely prefers the cold of the North over this exhausting sun.

Daario guides them along the warm-colored corridors, whose floors and walls seem well-maintained. Given the size of the building, the young Stark would have expected the corners to be at least a bit dusty, but from what she sees, everything is impeccable.

They finally reach the top of the pyramid after climbing several flights of stairs. The mercenary steps aside with a smile almost smug enough to let them pass, and Arya refrains from rolling her eyes. She follows Daenerys into their apartments instead. These are larger than she would have thought, although they remain reasonable, especially for a Queen.

Daario reappears behind them, and informs the Mother of Dragons that the sheets on her bed were changed in the morning, before glancing at the young Stark.

- My Lady, everything has also been prepared on your side, he enquired. If you would kindly follow me, your room is right next to the Queen's...

- Arya, she corrects automatically.

Without waiting for an answer or correction from him, she then turns to Daenerys and questions her with a look. She doesn't like the idea of leaving the Queen alone and out of her sight, even if it's only for a few moments and a few meters away.

A gentle smile and a nod, however, are enough to convince her, and she turns back to Daario, who’s watching them attentively. He clearly doesn't quite understand their relationship, but it isn’t from her that he‘ll get answers.

- Don't worry, there are guards in front of the door, he assures her as she joins him and follows in his footsteps.

- The windows seem quite easily reachable from the street, she replies in a tone that indicates she isn’t particularly open to discussion.

The mercenary understands the message and leaves her alone, much to her delight. The way he spoke about Daenerys's relationship with her brother displeased her more than anything, even though it wasn't particularly offensive, these insinuations remained unpleasant. It was clear that he hadn't completely moved on from the Mother of Dragons.

Daario stops, and Arya carefully observes what will be her apartments for the coming days, or even weeks. A fairly large bed, a few shelves, two chairs covered with… sheepskin, probably ? The whole setup remains simple, which is quite a relief for her.

Unlike Sansa, she had always hated places that were too bright or flashy. They always seem to be hiding something, as if their gilding and decorations only served to mask a far less beautiful reality.

She realises that Daario is still waiting for a reaction.

- That‘ll be good, thank you, she affirms.

He simply smiles, and points his index finger towards the left wall of her room, which has an opening that surely leads outside.

- You should go see the view, he suggests. It's really nice.

- Thank you, but I think I'm going to join the Queen, she replies.

Daario gives her an amused smile, but shrugs.

- As you wish. If you need her permission even to go out...

She ignores his sarcasm and leaves the room to go find Daenerys. The entire small floor is quite open, the entrance common to all three rooms, and their two bedrooms are barely thirty meters apart, separated by a large living room. Perfect.

Arya stops at the doorway without a door, suddenly feeling like she's interrupting something. Daenerys looks more melancholic than ever, her hands tracing the soft fabric of the blankets, a faint smile on her lips. The young Stark thinks that it must indeed bring back many memories for her. How long had it been since the Queen had returned to Essos?

The Mother of Dragons suddenly notices her presence and quickly stands up.

- Does everything suit you ? she asks gently.

- It's perfect, and we're quite close, Arya agrees.

Daenerys responds with a simple smile a bit wider than the previous one, before pointing to the outdoor balcony as Daario had a few minutes earlier.

- Have you gone to look outside ? You can see the whole city. It was one of my favourite places to think, she explains with that nostalgic look again.

- Not yet, breathes the young Stark.

The Queen merely looks at her in such a way that Arya gives in to her curiosity and steps onto the terrace. Wonder takes hold of her as soon as she steps outside. A myriad of small houses stretch out below, and the City's fortifications unfold a little further away, alongside the twin pyramids next to the main one, though smaller.

The sun is already setting, casting warm and golden hues on the river slowly moving on the horizon at the edge of the city. A slight rustle alerts her that Daenerys has joined her. She turns towards her, and cannot help but admire the beauty of her features under the last fiery rays, her hair appearing almost aflame in the low light.

- It's beautiful, isn't it ? she murmurs.

- Magnificent. Almost as much as Winterfell, adds Arya with a slight smile.

- Almost as much as Winterfell, the Queen agrees, smiling in turn. It's... different, let's say, she resumes after a few seconds of silence.

She doesn't explicitly say it, but the young Stark perfectly understands what she means. Her childhood town is swathed in a cottony white that makes everything quieter and softer on the ears and eyes, the bright red of the scarlet maple leaves popping against the snow, and the towers standing tall against the sky, despite storms and blizzards. This beauty could be described as raw, pure.

Meereen is... different. Arya would be unable to describe it other than with a warm beauty, the soft glow of the sunset reflecting on the buildings and making everything shimmer, the horizon stretching out endlessly...

The landscape is superb, there's no denying it. Despite everything, thinking about Winterfell makes her feel nostalgic in turn. She has absolutely no idea when she will see her childhood home again, and she can't help but feel a slight pang in her heart.

And then there’s King's Landing, and her brother, who is waiting for them, somewhere on the other side of the sea. She watches the last rays of sunlight disappear in silence, Daenerys by her side. A roar suddenly echoes in the distance, and she sees Drogon flying a few moments later. Seeing him alone, without his brothers by his side, gives her a strange feeling, so she can't imagine what it must be like for the Mother of Dragons.

Nothing more that is dear to her will be taken from her, Arya promises herself. She suddenly realises something that had been on her mind for a while, although she hadn't yet put words to it.

From now on, she considers Daenerys as part of her family. And she will always protect her family.

Chapter Text

Essos :


- You seem quite close to that young woman... Arya, is that right?

Daenerys stops sliding her nails along the edge of the table with a thoughtful air and looks up to observe Daario. The mercenary doesn't hide his interest, a glint of curiosity in his eyes, leaning against the windowsill.

They are in a small room, which is fortunately quite cool given the oppressive heat outside in the afternoon. Despite the numerous openings, it is always more comfortable inside the pyramid.

She used the same place for her meetings and councils before. With Daario, Tyrion, but also Jorah, Ser Barristan, Missandei… her heart clenches violently, and she tries to think of something else, the memories catching up to her at a terrifying speed.

Ser Barristan speaking to her with such kindness about her brother, Missandei comforting her about her many doubts regarding her way of ruling, or both of them braiding each other's hair... she bites her lip, her throat tight, and forces herself to turn her attention to Arya, who waits like a quiet shadow a few meters away, calmly leaning against the hallway wall.

Daenerys strongly suspects her of listening to the conversation, but that doesn't bother her, quite the contrary. This will save her from having to explain everything to her again if they talk about important topics – which is very likely to be the case.

- Yes, I appreciate her very much, she finally replied to Daario. You seem to be doing well with the management of Meereen, she continued.

- As said in my letters, he agrees, nodding his head. Apart from managing this... disease, he grimaces.

Now that the subject has been brought up, might as well try to gather as much information as possible. Daenerys felt she would need it. Obviously, her intuition hadn't deceived her, and she suppresses a smile as she hears Jon's sister straighten up slightly in the hallway. But very quickly, her face darkened again. The news isn’t going to be pleasant to hear.

She places her palms flat on the table, a habit she had picked up in Meereen and then lost in Westeros, preferring to keep her hands at waist level, fingers interlaced.

- Can you explain everything to me from the beginning ? she asks.

The Commander nods, and begins to recount the events to her step by step, detailing as much as possible. They had first stopped a slave uprising and imprisoned the Masters, before freeing the forcibly enslaved men. Only, as he had explained to her in his reports, a good portion of the former slaves turned out to be extremely aggressive and violent.

Daario and the Second Sons then imprisoned them in turn for lack of a better option, and they had not had any further problems.

However, when a new wave of enslavement was stopped, this time all the men behaved as if they were mad.

- And the worst was that child, Daario continued with a sigh. After locking up all the former slaves in an enclosure guarded by some of our troops, I received information a few days later from one of my soldiers that they had to stop a child who had broken into a bar and attempted to strangle and tear apart several people in succession. His behaviour is in every way similar to that of the other infected, so we ended up putting him with them. And strangely, as before, they didn't attack each other. That's all the information I can provide you with, I'm afraid, the mercenary concludes.

Daenerys sent hundreds of thoughts rushing through her head one after the other, and she tried to calm her anxiety. First and foremost, she needs to see them. She will better understand the situation if she can observe with her own eyes the actions of this strange virus.

- Take me to see them tomorrow morning. I need to see this for myself, she told him. And we must also visit the child's family. There are a few questions I would like to ask them...

- If I may...

The Queen suppresses a start, Arya now right next to her. The young woman always manages to surprise her with her stealthy and quick movements. Even Daario seems surprised to see her there.

- Weren't you outside just a few seconds ago ? he asks, amused... but suspicious.

Jon's sister completely ignores him and turns instead towards her.

- I know it will be necessary for you to see them, but it's dangerous. Are you sure it's worth it ? she asks.

- I agree with her, strangely, the mercenary adds.

Daenerys looks at them one by one, and suppresses her sudden urge to massage her temples. Fatigue catches up with her again, and although she associates it with their long journey, this constant urge to close her eyes and simply sleep is starting to wear on her nerves.

- I thank you both for your conciliation, but you both know as well as I do that I have to do it. Moreover, it's one of the main reasons why I came, she finally replies.

Arya seems unconvinced, but nods. Daario simply replies with "If that's what you want."

- So, you'll be able to take me to see them tomorrow ? she asks again.

The sooner she resolves all these problems, the sooner she can be with Jon. She absolutely refuses to neglect her duties for her own selfish feelings, but she also does not want to spend more time than necessary away from him. She already misses his strong arms and his reassuring scent terribly. She would give anything to snuggle up against him and forget everything, the feeling of security and the certainty of being loved soothing her heart.

- Of course, Daario agrees, half-pulling her out of her thoughts.

- Thank you, she breathes while scolding herself for letting Jon distract her, as usual.

Oh how I miss you.

- Regarding Meereen, is there any other information you need to communicate to me ? she continues. As long as I'm here, it also seems interesting to me to hold meetings and consultations if necessary, she continued.

The mercenary shrugs.

- Some former slave masters have complained a lot about your departure for Westeros, it might be wise to meet with them to assure them that you have not forgotten them. But regarding the bulk of the city's population, that is, the former slaves, the red priestesses have truly done a wonderful job. They all consider you the saviour and goddess come to earth carrying within yourself the light of R’hllor. The promised princess, even, if I'm not mistaken, he adds with amusement. Well, at least, they absolutely don't hold a grudge against you for leaving them for others and going away.

Daenerys can't help but notice the slight bitterness emanating from his words. Obviously, he still has it stuck in his throat. Which she can understand.

- All the better, she sighs. I will meet the ancient Masters if necessary, and if not, I will focus on this virus. I would still make a few appearances in the city, so that my people can see that I am truly there.

She wants to show them anyway that they all still matter just as much to her.

- I will take care of organising these meetings, Darrio announces. In the meantime, I'll let you rest, my Queen and... Arya. Despite the night you have already spent here, you have had a long journey, I would not wish to impose...

- You can go, breathes Daenerys.

At the same time as the mercenary quietly leaves the room, she thinks ironically that her first night spent in Meereen in months was not very restful, on the contrary. The warmth of one particular body had been too much for her to sleep peacefully. And she had been regularly nauseous lately, to make matters worse.

She walks towards the window and observes the city stretching out below. She wholeheartedly wishes that everything would resolve quickly. Arya reappears in her field of vision, and gives her a gentle smile. It's quite rare for her. She had only seen the young woman smile like that at her big brother, so to speak. And... maybe a few times to her too.

- We will be back soon, and everything will be resolved, she then asserts with an almost fierce look.

Daenerys returns her smile, deeply grateful for the young Stark's concern for her. She had noticed that despite her cold and insensitive demeanour, Jon's sister actually paid a great deal of attention to every little detail in the behaviour of the people she cared about.

Knowing that Arya now behaves this way with her as well warms her heart.

- Thank you, she whispers.

They stay side by side, in a soothing silence. They will be back soon. Soon…



***
 

Westeros :



- Your Grace!

Jon turns his head to see an old man hurrying towards him. The King stops to give him time to catch up, a thin smile on his lips. Although he would like to wear a warmer one, he is too preoccupied with his swirling thoughts for that.

He had decided earlier in the morning to take a tour of the city, given that it had been a long time since he had gone out to talk with the people. With Daenerys and Drogon's absence, his presence was more necessary than ever.

Almost all the residents came to greet him, although few stayed to actually talk with him.

The man finally ends up waiting for him, and quickly lowers his head very low with the obvious intention of bowing. Jon stops him with a hand under his arm. According to his hesitant gait, the King would be too afraid that he might make a wrong move and get hurt.

The old man straightens up with a big, trembling smile.

- I wanted to thank you, Your Grace. Since my complaint at the hearing two weeks ago, the streets are much less dirty around there. Thank you, he repeats.

He looks at him with so much admiration that Jon almost squirms, slightly uncomfortable. But the thank you goes straight to his heart, and over time, he has learnt to accept them.

- You’re welcome, he smiled gently.

He continues his walk after a final nod, calling Ghost between two brief discussions with young children running past him. The white wolf appears a few moments later from behind one of the houses, trotting calmly to join him.

The King greets him with a customary scratch behind the ears, and they continue their walk for a good hour. Jon finally decides that it's time to return to the Red Keep, given the council that will take place in less than half an hour.

Entering the corridors of the castle, he is struck by a sudden inspiration, and his steps instinctively lead him to the Throne Room. It had been a while since he had been there. The last time was with Dany...

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he silently enters the grand hall and realises he is not alone. A young woman from behind, facing the grand Throne, her long red hair falling over her overly straight shoulders...

Sansa. Alone, strangely. Jon tries hard not to let his annoyance show. He had wanted to come here without really knowing why, but it certainly wasn't to find his sister. On second thought, he didn't really resent her anymore, but he was still strongly irritated by the suffering her actions had caused Daenerys.

She seems to hear the rustle of his footsteps and turns abruptly towards him. He would have expected to see her angry, even furious, but instead, only sadness shines through in her gaze.

- You don't use it much.

The King takes a moment to understand that it was she who just whispered that. She runs her finger over the Throne, collecting a light layer of dust at the tip of her index finger.

- No, he simply replies rather abruptly.

A long moment of silence passes between them before she speaks again.

- I'm going back to Winterfell, she murmurs.

Jon tries to suppress his expression of surprise, without much success. With what his sister had done previously, he would have expected her to take advantage of Dany's - and Arya's - absence to try to turn him against her, or at least sow a bit of discord.

If she had done that, it is almost certain that he would have sent her back to their hometown himself and refused to ever see her again. But as she now stands before him, only a faint, melancholic smile crosses her lips.

- I know it won't erase what I did, but I'm sorry, Jon, she suddenly whispers. For what I did to you, and what I did to the Queen.

Decidedly, he expected everything but that.

- You should have thought about it before, he finally replies in an emotionless tone.

- I know, but better late than never.

She spoke so faintly that he wondered if she was really saying her last words to him, or if it was for herself.

- Why are you deciding to come back now? he finally asks a few moments later.

- I've already stayed too long. And someone will have to welcome Bran if he finally comes home, she adds.

He nods, having no idea how else to respond. He watches his sister closely. He had rarely seen her so vulnerable, except perhaps during their reunion at Castle Black, after all Ramsay had put her through. But she shouldn't count on him to embrace her, this time.

- I suppose we won't see each other for a while, then, he said, running a hand through his hair, readjusting his bun.

- I suppose, she acquiesces.

She seems to have regained some composure, and her tone is colder this time, although there is no real animosity in her words.

- When do you leave, exactly ? he asks.

- At the first light of dawn.

A moment of silence passes before she turns completely towards him and moves forward until they are only a meter apart.

- Goodbye, Jon.

- Goodbye.

She seems hesitant to make a move towards him, perhaps simply bow, or maybe hug him, but ultimately doesn't move any further in the face of his complete lack of reaction.

She simply nods like he did a few seconds earlier, before leaving the room and leaving him completely alone with Ghost. Without quite knowing what to think of their interaction, and even less of her departure, he eventually sighs and moves towards the Throne at the back of the room.

The seat is cold and empty, only adorned with a light spiderweb that he quickly brushes away. A faint smile touches his lips as he thinks back to the first time they had approached this Throne, Dany and him.

She had sat on it, and had beamed, although he probably should have been even more delighted. He was so happy for her. But Dany had finally gotten up, and had walked towards him. And she had told him that nothing in the world mattered more to her than him, and that nothing would make her happier than being like this, with him by her side. They still had many doubts at the time, but everything seemed to vanish when she spoke those few words to him.

His heart clenches violently at this memory, and he struggles to fight the lump growing in his throat. His nose stings unpleasantly for a moment. He glances outside, the pure blue of the sky barely disturbed by a few whitish clouds.

I miss you. I miss you terribly. Come back quickly, please.

Chapter Text

Essos :

Daenerys slightly squints, half-blinded by the sun. The heat is stifling, and if even she is suffering, she can't imagine the ordeal it must be for Arya. The poor young woman says nothing, but her forehead is drenched, and she drinks from her canteen every few minutes.

They have been walking through the gravel and sand for a little while now, without any shade to protect them from the scorching rays. The Queen slightly tugs at the collar of her dress, hoping to cool down a bit, but allows herself no more than this slight sign of discomfort. She endures the scorching heat like the few men accompanying them, and Daario, a few meters ahead.

Daenerys is starting to find his presence slightly burdensome, although he clearly understood the message from the first day and hasn't attempted anything inappropriate with her, fortunately - for him, not for her -. If he had dared to touch a single strand of her hair, Arya would probably have sliced him into thin strips.

To protect her, of course, but the Queen strongly suspects that the young Stark would have more than savoured the moment. A certain... animosity seems to have developed quite quickly between the two. Which isn't exactly surprising, given their strong respective characters – and as opposite as possible.

The mercenary also turns towards her, inviting her to come closer with a slight wave of his hand. Daenerys climbed the last few meters of the rocky dune, and barely suppressed a gasp of surprise. A little further down, large enclosures stretch out, in which stand men – if they can still be called that.

Even from here, the Queen can hear them screaming strangely, and relentlessly attacking the wooden structures preventing them from escaping. They look more like animals than anything else, and Daenerys feels a slight shiver run down her spine. At least, it cools her down.

Small troops of mercenaries patrol between the isolated groups, collecting aggressive howls along the way, the former slaves jostling and half-crushing each other in an attempt to reach them through the barriers. They seem devoid of any form of intelligence, as if the only word left in their minds was kill, kill, kill, kill.

- Let's take a closer look, the Queen finally whispered.

Arya, who had joined her by standing just behind her as usual, barely stiffened at her side, visibly unenthusiastic about the idea of approaching the sick. Daenerys would swear she heard him mutter something along the lines of Why not just go straight into the fucking pen and she barely contains a laugh. Although, in any case, the young Stark isn’t wrong.

As Daario nods and they move towards the former slaves and the small group of mercenaries guarding them, Daenerys can begin to examine the faces and demeanour of these men. She doesn't have much time to observe calmly, however : as soon as they reach a certain distance, it's as if they've flipped a switch.

The former slaves turn their heads sharply in their direction, eyes completely wild, and rush towards them screaming, the teeming mass crashing against the wood in an attempt to reach them. Seeing men behave like this breaks Daenerys's heart. She hopes that at least, they’re not suffering physically...

They ignore as best they can the sick who are clamouring on the other side of the barriers, and join the group of soldiers, who straighten up at their sight.

- Anything new ? asked Daario nonchalantly.

They shrug, before one of them speaks up.

- Still as crazy as ever, but at least it doesn't seem to be getting worse. Not like it could, at the same time, he sneers. They eat what we give them and still have enough awareness to drink what we pour for them, that's already something, he finishes with a difficult-to-decipher grimace – Probably tired, but more... scared ?

At the same time, it must be mentally exhausting to be constantly surrounded by sick men ready to tear you apart if you get too close. Daenerys's brain is racing as she listens to the brief report while simultaneously looking at the former slaves, who have become slaves once again, this time to their own bodies...

If all forms of reason seem to have permanently left them, even their physical appearance is altered. They certainly don't live in ideal conditions, but the Queen can almost see the outline of their bones through their skin, and their eyes are half-bulged, sometimes rolling in their sockets.

- Have they always been like this since you took them in, or has their condition worsened ? she eventually asked.

- They weren't in great shape already, but they didn't seem to have completely lost their minds, one of the men says from a bit further back. Now, he continues, they have nothing human left.

- How long ? Daenerys sighs as a serious anxiety begins to grip her.

This looks much worse than she and Jon thought, as well as their advisors. They suspected this epidemic would be difficult to manage, but currently, the Mother of Dragons wonders if they will be able to do anything at all.

- It's been more than a month since we got them, I think, and I'd say they've been like this for at least two good weeks, he finally replies after a slight moment of hesitation.

The Queen tries to think while ignoring the screams and growls of the infected. She absolutely must find a solution. Her heart aches at the thought of all these former slaves suffering like this, and at the same time, a strange shiver runs through her. Their behaviour strangely reminds her of something, although she is unable to put her finger on it.

Driven by a sudden inspiration, she turns to face the enclosure and advances towards the sick, trying to suppress her worry as they go wild upon seeing her approach. Arya grumbles under her breath and hurries to follow her, but Daenerys doesn't really pay attention, honestly, no more than she does to Daario asking her what she's doing in a panicked tone. She needs to see them up close.

She feels that something is slipping away from her, something that could well be the key to understanding this virus. As she gets closer to the patients, she notices small details that had escaped her. They secrete a strong odour of decay, their nails are blackened and encrusted with blood for the most part. Their faces are hollow, their protruding bones more than visible through their thin skin.

They definitely remind her of something. She is certain. A flash seems to suddenly strike her, as if she were taking a violent shock, and an explosion of fear occurs deep in her stomach. She stumbles back, her face ashen, to the point that Arya appears at her side in an instant and stands firmly in front of her.

- Is everything alright ? she enquired after a few seconds, disturbed by Daenerys's behaviour when she saw no immediate threat, the sick still well sequestered behind the interspersed boards.

- Everything... Everything’s alright, yes, she breathes. Thank you.

Her dream. This strange fear seems identical to the one felt during her dreams. Nightmares. Visions. Could it be that all of this is connected ? Something is missing. But she feels deeply uncomfortable, as if her instinct is screaming at her to flee.

- Let's go back, she finally sighed as they both rejoined the group of mercenaries. I need to think.

Daario nods, and they turn back onto the rocky paths. She will need to organise meetings with the available Maesters on site as soon as possible. They must find a way to resolve this disease, or at least be sure that it won't spread.

As for this strange connection that immediately occurred in her brain, in her very being, in the face of this sort of... surge of irrational fear? She doesn't understand at all where it comes from for the moment.

She feels the fatigue catching up with her again, along with that constant nausea that exhausts her more than anything. If only Jon were here. She misses him. Terribly. Him, his smile, his eyes, his scent, his arms, his chest, his reassuring embrace in which it seems to her that nothing can happen to her. Her fears seem to evaporate the moment he holds her close.

She fixes her eyes on the sky, thinking for a moment that he might be looking at it at this very moment. She hopes. She really hopes so.

***

Essos:

Arya gnaws on her poultry bone, absentmindedly wiping the warm juice that runs down her chin. She throws the small piece of cartilage into the pot placed at her feet, then looks anxiously at Daenerys, standing on the balcony in a simple dress of light fabric despite the cool evening air.

To be honest, what's bothering Arya is more that the Queen hasn't said much since they returned to the pyramid after checking on the slaves. And it's been at least a good hour since the Mother of Dragons has been outside, lost in contemplation of the city below – or more likely, lost in the labyrinth of all her problems to manage.

The young Stark had once told her, some time ago now, that she wouldn't like to be in her place. But if replacing her for a few moments could relieve everything that seems to weigh on her too small silhouette, Arya would gladly take on this role.

Not to mention that the Queen had declined the meal again, as she had quite regularly in recent days. The young Stark feels like she's worrying the way Catelyn worried about her when she was younger, and she can't help but crack a slight smile. Despite all her differences with her mother, it seems she has inherited some traits of her personality.

She wipes her greasy fingers on her linen pants, and straightens up before heading towards the opening, silently slipping alongside Daenerys who barely jumps when she notices her, now used to her movements that are more stealthy than the norm.

A quiet silence settles between them, though a bit heavier than usual. A light, cool breeze brushes their cheeks, rustling Daenerys' braided hair.

- We will find a solution, Arya finally asserted.

She strongly suspects that the Queen has been thinking intensely about what to do since they saw the sick people. Honestly, that men behave in such a way, more like wild and aggressive animals than humans, also gave the young Stark chills. Not fear, but apprehension.

Unless the Maesters miraculously find a cure or Daenerys suddenly has an idea to fix everything, Arya is rather sceptical about a possible cure for this strange virus. But she's with the Mother of Dragons, after all. If anyone is capable of solving this thorny problem, it's her.

She even turns towards her, a faint yet gentle smile on her lips.

- Thank you, Arya, she breathes.

She lets out a deep sigh.

- But if I'm honest with you, no matter how much I think about it, I feel like something is missing about this whole story. I hope that talking to the child's family will help me see things more clearly, she adds.

- When will you be able to question them ? asks the young Stark.

- In two days, I think. I told Daario that I would hold several meetings with the former slave masters starting tomorrow. Although it doesn't thrill me, if I'm perfectly honest, it's necessary, she grimaces.

Her face suddenly softened, and a glimmer of affection passed through her gaze.

- I will also open hearings to all the people, as in the past. I don't know any of these people personally, but they are all important in my eyes. And I need to show them, just as much as they need me to show them, she smiled.

Arya grin as well at the clear evidence of the attention Daenerys pays to all the inhabitants of Meereen – and even more broadly, the Dragon’s Bay.

- I suspect why they love you so much, she eventually sighs. If any of them disrespect you, by the way, let me know. I would be delighted to get rid of them for you, she smiled with amusement.

She may have said it in a rather light tone, but the young Stark is sincere. If she catches anyone criticising the Mother of Dragons after all she's done for them, they better have a good excuse. At her words, Daenerys laughs, and Arya can't help but laugh in turn, delighted to feel that she is finally relaxing a bit.

- Don't hurt them, I care a lot about them, smiled the Queen.

- You have my word, breathes the young Stark.

A distant roar makes her glance at the city below, then at Drogon flying far away, his large wings producing enough noise for them to hear him even at this distance.

- I wonder what Jon is doing, Daenerys suddenly enquired.

Arya shrugs.

- Probably brooding, like he knows how to do so well. Or thinking about how much he misses you, she says.

She would expect the Mother of Dragons to protest – her brother and his wife's cheeks still turn a slight red when she teases them about their relationship, although since they got married they are much more comfortable – but Daenerys just looks at the horizon, her expression quite unreadable.

- I miss him too, she finally admitted softly.

Arya wants to respond that she knows and that it's obvious, but the Queen seems lost in her thoughts. What thoughts, the young Stark is actually not sure she wants to know if it truly concerns her entire relationship with Jon. She watches her sigh, a slight sparkle in her violet eyes.

- I hope Tyrion doesn't give him too much trouble, she said mischievously after a few moments. He must be drunk three-quarters of the day. He's been having a blast since we returned to King's Landing.

- Davos is there, at least he can count on him, Arya laughed.

- Fortunately, Daenerys smiled.

A new comfortable silence envelops them, and the young woman watches the dragon slowly returning towards her, his great mass casting shadows over the city already engulfed by the evening glow. A few small stars slowly appear in the sky, and Arya surprises herself by smiling. She has the strange feeling that her brother is watching them too at this very moment.

Chapter Text

Essos :

Daenerys lifts her braids slightly, which are stuck to the back of her neck, in the faint hope of bringing herself some relief from the heat. It has been several days since she returned to Essos, but she still hasn't fully regained her warmth endurance. At least, it's always cooler in the pyramid.

She straightens up, a little sore from sitting for several hours on this chair without even a backrest for all these hearings since this morning. That was what she had done the previous two days as well, receiving an incalculable number of Meereen‘s inhabitants, and she had answered their questions and requests with patience. She had also held three councils with former slave masters, firmly and coldly reminding those who needed it of their place, and reassuring the others. In the end, she had quickly found a sort of routine.

It had felt strange at first, sitting in that same spot where she had stood a few years before, with very different people beside her. She glances at Arya who’s stationed just to her right, impassive, hands behind her back without moving, although Daenerys senses that she is starting to get a little annoyed at having to wait so long without doing anything.

She is about to suggest that she take a break while knowing very well that her husband's sister will refuse, when it’s Daario who enters the great hall instead of another resident of Meereen.

- The family has arrived, my Queen, he announces.

The Mother of Dragons rises, nodding her head, clasping her hands as usual, and descends the steps to join the mercenary, Arya following closely behind. She had decided to question them face to face in one of the side rooms rather than in the audience room to make them more comfortable.

What she will ask them about their now-sick son will probably be quite personal, and she wants to make them comfortable in order to get the best possible answers. She will desperately need it if she wants to understand how this virus spreads and, above all, how to stop it.

They walk for a little while in the corridors before arriving in front of the pre-selected room. Daenerys enters, thanking Daario, who goes back to fetch their witnesses, and the Queen walks around the small table on which some fruit has been arranged to sit on one of the armchairs while waiting for them.

- You don't have to stay standing, you know, she suggests at the same time to Arya, although she already knows her answer.

- I know. But I prefer to, she replies.

The Mother of Dragons gives her a slight knowing smile before a little movement at the opening of the room catches their attention, the muffled footsteps echoing in the silence of the hall. Daario reappears a few seconds later, accompanied by a young woman holding a little girl's hand, and a wide-eyed man, all three visibly very anxious.

They bow lower than the ground the moment they see Daenerys, and she smiles at them gently to try to reassure them.

- Here’s the family, my Queen, announces the mercenary.

He then steps back after a slight amused smirk at the hesitation of the two inhabitants of Meereen who seem more than anxious, their foreheads almost glued to the ground, while their child imitates them roughly, then he turns back and disappears into the corridors.

- We are more than honored that you wish for our presence, Your Grace, said the one who appears to be the father of the family.

He speaks in the common dialect of Meereen, a sort of mix of High Valyrian and old Ghiscari, and Daenerys feels more grateful than ever for Missandei, who had taught her the basics when they had the time.

The Mother of Dragons was aware that it could always be useful to her, and had perfected it on her own since... she tries to ignore the still-sharp pain, her chest compressed. Her thoughts bitterly followed their course : since the death of her best friend, by obtaining a few books through Jon, who had himself asked for Sam's help.

- Thank you for coming. Stand up, Daenerys gently urges them in their language as she passes by.

They quickly straighten up, and the Mother of Dragons smiles at them again.

- Make yourselves comfortable as you wish, she suggests, gesturing toward the seats placed right in front of her, a beautiful sheepskin covering the backs.

The little family complies without a word, almost rushing to take their places on the armchairs. They sit with their backs straight, their fists clenched on their knees. Except for the child, who looks with brighting eyes at the appetizing fruits resting on the platters.

She seems almost hypnotized, her little fingers trembling with hesitation as she begins to reach for the nearest peach, almost unconsciously. She’s immediately taken back by her father, who pulls her against him with what could almost be described as brutality.

Daenerys frowns but makes no comment, assuming the man is behaving this way out of concern that she might punish the child. Although she strongly desapprouves.

- She can help herself, there's plenty, she inquired. You can take one, she adds, addressing the little girl.

She looks at her as if it's too good to be true, but she realizes that Daenerys isn't lying to her, probably at the sight of her encouraging smile. She then reaches out and grabs a fruit in a flash, her speed of action surprising for her age. The Queen watches her take the biggest bite she can, her large eyes shining with contentment. Her heart warms gently, and she then turns her attention to the parents who are visibly still just as impressed, squirming in their seats.

- I will need to ask you a few questions about your son, as I suppose you have been informed ? asks the Queen with a soft tone, to put them at ease.

They nod quickly, and Daenerys has time to catch a glimpse of a flicker of pain passing through the mother's eyes. She doesn't know if she’ll ever see her son again. The young woman's undisguised pain brutally echoes within her, and she feels a wave of sorrow wash over her, almost making her shudder. Raegho. It still hurts just as much, even after all these years.

She swallowed hard, fortunately regaining her composure almost instantly as she usually does.

- We will do everything to find a cure. That's why you're here, she explains gently with a slight smile.

- Thank you, whispers the mother, speaking for the first time.

- And I thank you for your attention, replies Daenerys. I would first like to know how long it took for him to fall ill ?

- It happened quickly, but he had been acting strangely for a while, the man breathes this time, squeezing the young woman’s hand. I would say he really started not recognizing us and... trying to bite or scratch us just a few hours after showing his first real sign of madness. He had gone into a huge rage, he who is usually so kind and gentle. I had sent him to calm down in the small room with his sister... and a few moments later, he turned on us, then he ran off toward that bar...

Daenery tightens her fingers together, refusing to show her surprise. So he had tried to… hurt his own family ?

- You say he attacked you first ? she asks, regulating her voice.

- Yes, Your Grace. He... He no longer controlled anything. He almost killed Zaya, our little girl, he whispers.

The child shudders at these words, but says nothing, focused on retrieving the small pieces of fruit flesh - which she has just devoured - still stuck in the pit.

- Then he jumped on us, with a strange gleam in his eyes... I wouldn't know what happened to him, but I no longer had my son in front of me. I... I had to push him away violently, at least a few meters, and I thought he was going to assault me again... when he sensed something, if I interpreted correctly, and rushed outside. We live in an attic right above the bar... so he jumped out of the small window and attacked people in the street and in this restaurant, before a group of mercenaries stopped him and captured him, he finishes with an almost broken tone.

Daenerys felt a surge of hope rise within her. If he had enough awareness to avoid his family and choose other targets, then... maybe there is a way to recover the consciousness of all the other poor contaminated ones.

- Did he seem to regain himself for a moment, spare you intentionally ? she asks.

Unfortunately, the man shakes his head in the negative, while the mother next to him seems to be barely holding back her tears.

- No, he replies. He just kind of... detached from me as soon as he spotted other men closer, I suppose...

- Closer ? breathes the Queen. He simply rushed at the nearest person, who turned out to be one of those in the street and not you, to attack them?

This time, the father nods. Daenerys' limbs go slightly numb, her whole body overcome by a shiver. This boy has just completely lost his mind, from what she understands.

- Alright, thank you. And you told me that he had been acting strangely for a while ? she resumes.

- He seemed prone to mood swings, and regularly complained of a severe headache, or strange nightmares...

An alarm goes off almost immediately in Daenerys' mind. Nightmares ?

- Nightmares ? she repeats aloud.

- He dreamed of... of violence, of blood, all in an incomprehensible fog... but all he felt was... Just simply nothing, precisely, and that's what terrified him. He felt nothing in those dreams, not even the slightest emotion, the father murmured.

Despite herself, relief washes over her. During these dreams of hers, she feels clearly. The terror that overwhelms her is, on the contrary, practically more powerful than what she has already experienced in reality.

She questions them for a few more minutes, but they don't offer her much more. She who had hoped to feel a little enlightened is only lost again in infernal thoughts, which swirl in her head without a single solution appearing. She will talk to the Masters, but... What will they be able to do against this unknown disease?

She finally thanks the little family before dismissing them after giving the little girl a second fruit, rewarded by her adorable little delighted face.

Daenerys then summarizes the situation for Arya, who had absolutely not been able to follow the conversation held in another language.

- It wasn't Dothraki or Valyrian, by the way, right ? asked the young Stark. I didn't recognize...

- No, it's the particular dialect of Meereen... It's a mix, she explains. Missandei had taught me...

Jon's sister sighs before dropping into one of the seats next to the Queen, grabbing one of the fruits placed on the table in turn. She tosses it distractedly into the air several times, without even needing to look at it to keep it from falling.

- This whole story is strange, she grumbles. Already, regiments of slaves are strange, but it can still be explained. By a disease caught in the bad conditions there or I don't know what. But I don't understand how it's possible that a child who has nothing to do with it got sick.

- You're telling me, Daenerys agrees.

- Especially since the kinds of warning signs they described are not normal, like just simple vomiting or just a fever. No, he has to stop acting like himself... Arya comments with a slight grimace.

The Mother of Dragons intensely reflects on these words that form a good summary of the situation, although her hope of having a sudden spark that unlocks everything and makes her understand what is happening is increasingly slim.

Something’s missing, she knows it. And she's going to find out what it is.

It is necessary.

Chapter Text

Westeros :


Jon rolls his shoulder muscles, a bit numb after spending almost the entire morning as well as a good part of the morning in hearings. Without Dany to share the tasks, he couldn't be more grateful for the help Davos and Tyrion provide.

The two advisers now handle all commercial matters very efficiently, whether internal or external to the city, while also managing diplomatic situations. He also advises them on these matters, but greatly appreciates their assistance.

From now on, the organization is finally well established, with habits starting to form through exchanges and correspondence between the different Kingdoms.

However, he holds hearings all day, which doesn't leave him much time for himself. Not like he needed it. Drowning himself in work is much easier – and useful – than sitting around ruminating the same thoughts over and over. It only serves to tie his stomach in knots with worry.

He had finally received a letter from Dany, a few days earlier, informing him that she and Arya had arrived safely in Essos and that they were in great shape, just like Drogon, but he hadn't received any more information. He rereads it every night, her little "I love you" preceded by "I miss you" at the end inexplicably helping him fall asleep. He knows it's ridiculous, but he refuses to deprive himself of it. Not like anyone other than Ghost knew about it anyway.

He absentmindedly strokes the fur of his large white wolf, in his favorite spot just behind his ears, and continues his way through the alleys of King's Landing. It had been a while since he had returned to the orphanage, and he wished for nothing more than to see those kind and intelligent children again, all lacking affection when they deserved so much.

Jon supposes he can't help but recognize himself in them, somewhere. Having never known his real father or his mother... Ned had been a good father to him, but he had always missed the maternal figure. Maybe that's why Dany’s also so sensitive to their cause.

A gentle smile touches his lips as he thinks back to her laughter when she plays with them, three children clinging to her arms as she imitates a terrifying monster. She had even already agreed to pretend to be Drogon, showing her teeth in such an adorable way that he had wanted to kiss her on the spot, even more so when she had blushed while mumbling something after realizing he was watching her. She hadn't lost her smile, though, her eyes sparkling as she listened attentively to the little toddlers confiding all their dreams to her.

He’s interrupted in his sweet thoughts by a group of residents who greet him with delight, and he responds warmly to them, then turns the corner, Ghost still faithfully on his heels, before finally spotting the small sign for the orphanage.

He had decided to do the one in the West part first, and he would probably move on to the one in the East part the next day. He takes a moment to admire the fully renovated facade, his heart warmed by the sight. He and Dany had put a lot of the budget into it, in parallel with the Medical Homes, and it was clearly worth it.

He pushes the heavy wooden door open, almost immediately overwhelmed by laughter and children's squeals. Ghost flees back into the streets before Jon even has time to open the door wide, and he holds back an amused smile. His big, fierce wolf isn't particularly comfortable with little men pulling his tail or trying to climb on his back.

He therefore advances alone into the hall, and feels his heart lighten at the sight of all the rascals who already surround him, greeting him by jumping, their big eyes sparkling with happiness.

- The wolf has arrived ! cries one of them a little louder, quickly echoed by the others.

It was his nickname given by the children, and they called him that as soon as they could, much to the dismay of the couple managing the orphanage. They had corrected them countless times, trying to force them to call him and Dany "Your Graces," but it was impossible. The little boy and girl were quite stubborn.

The couple had eventually given up when the rulers had assured them that it was no problem for them. Dany also had her nickname : the dragon.

Jon turns his attention to the children surrounding him, bending down to ruffle the hair of most of them while greeting them in turn with a big smile. He’s never comfortable when surrounded by too many people, a sort of unpleasant pressure on his chest, probably since the Battle of the Bastards.

But instead of making him anxious, being swarmed by kids running between his legs and looking up at him with adoration makes him feel lighter than ever. He finally reaches the large courtyard with his personal escort of children - who are visibly taking this very seriously, ordering the others who have just arrived to move aside.

Jon thanks them with amusement, then manages to slip between them as they head off to warn the others of his arrival, joining the two orphanage managers who are cleaning the square by actively sweeping.

Fortunately, a good number of volunteers help them regularly, and the establishment is now in really good condition, its former unsanitary state more than just a bad memory. The couple stops immediately when they see him, and they bow with respect.

- It's a pleasure to receive your visit, Your Grace, inquired the man with a warm smile.

- The children must be thrilled, adds the young woman with a smile at least as big as her companion's.

Jon laughed slightly, nodding his head.

- I confirm, they welcomed me as if I hadn't come in months. Although most of them asked me where the "dragon" was, he adds softly.

A glimmer of understanding passes through the managers' eyes, and Jon continues, catching up on the usual news. The kids are in good health, there have been two new adoptions in the past 5 weeks, and the orphanage now has five additional available spaces to accommodate new arrivals in addition to the 37 children already residing there in case of need.

- And do you have enough supplies ? Jon asks.

The establishment was normally regularly supplied with provisions, but the King prefers to make sure each time.

- Yes, they agree. We don't have anything extra, but we don't have to ration either.

Jon relaxes, relieved. Everything seems to be working well.

- Thank you, he breathes.

- Thank to you, replies the couple.

The former King of the North gives them one last smile before turning toward the toddlers. He always takes some time to play with them, and they can't wait for it. They know they shouldn't bother him when he's talking with the managers, but they have a great time as soon as he's available.

He had barely finished his conversation when he was surrounded by the urchins, and he crouched down to their level, laughing. They are all rather small in stature due to their youth, their ages ranging from 4 to 7 years old. They bombard him with requests and questions, always just as curious and impatient.

- Do the wolf ! begs one of them. It was so great when you did it last time !

Another one tugs at his sleeve insistently, gently asking if he can carry him like last time so he can "see the world from waaaaaay up high." Unable to resist, Jon agrees and kneels down completely, before taking the child in his arms, the warmth of his little body still surprising him just as much, and hoisting him onto his shoulders.

He straightens up, and the little boy lets out a cry of joy, wiggling slightly as Jon holds him by the ankles. He suddenly starts to laugh, a small, crystalline laugh that fills the King with happiness.

He can't help but catch a glimpse in a flash of a little boy with silver hair and dark gray eyes, a little girl with violet eyes and hair as dark as a raven's feathers, them also laughing and playing around him, Dany's hand in his, his face lit up and happy.

Amidst the enthusiastic cries of the urchins and their pleas for him to carry them on their turns – which he will do for each of them, even if it takes him the entire afternoon – he can't help but glance at the sky, toward the sea. Toward Essos.

I promise you that we will have what you have always deserved and wanted, Dany.

***

Essos:

- So I don't see how we're going to be able to stop this virus with so little information, concluded the Maester.

- Not to mention that it is impossible to approach them to understand what the disease actually does to their bodies, we can only observe their behavior, added another. It would be nice to be able to catch one from the herd to observe it-

- They are not beasts, they are sick, so please avoid using the word herd, Daenerys cuts her off sharply. Speak of them as human beings.

The man seems less than thrilled by the reprimand, but says nothing and nods.

- Among the group, he corrects.

The Queen thought intensely, trying to erase the concern from her face. If she shows that even she is worried, it will quickly become very difficult. As if it wasn't already complicated enough.

- We can't take the risk of letting anyone get too close to the infected. If the disease spreads more than that…

She leaves the rest of her sentence hanging, confident in everyone's ability to imagine the rest. She tries to refocus, exhausted. It's already been a good hour that she's been managing the Council, in which they are supposed to – or rather must imperatively – find solutions to stop the disease.

Their meeting is composed of fewer people than she would have liked : She, Arya as always, Daario, the only three Maesters she could find, as well as three red priestesses, including Kinvara. They had not said anything else, and were content to listen. After all they had done for her – in this case, probably saved Meereen from a civil war – and considering their particular worldview, Daenerys had told herself that it could only help them.

She had decided to hold the Council today – only three days after discussing with the family of the infected child – to resolve everything as quickly as possible, but she couldn't do it any earlier, given the numerous hearings she had given.

- My Queen...

Daenerys turns to Daario, raising an eyebrow to encourage him to continue. He looks hesitant. Very hesitant. A bad feeling rises within her.

- I'm listening, she clarifies when he doesn't continue.

- I know you're not going to appreciate my suggestion, he sighs.

In any case, he's off to a bad start.

- But I don't see any other solutions, so I'm taking the liberty, he continues. The real danger is if the disease spreads, isn't it ?

Daenerys waits for him to continue, her bad feeling growing heavier and heavier.

- Then maybe we should consider more... radical solutions, he finishes.

- Radical ? repeats the Queen, hoping he's not suggesting what she thinks.

- You're not going to stay in Meereen forever. So maybe as long as we have Drogon...

- Are you suggesting that I ask my son to burn hundreds of innocent men ? she hisses.

She feels overwhelmed by a cold anger. They have already suffered their entire lives, some of them are just children, most of them have never, ever known freedom.

Daario ducks his head a little into his shoulders at her obvious indignation. He has never been one to back down when she disagreed with him on this or that point, but it has been a while since she has been this annoyed... and, she must admit, upset. So, for the moment, even the mercenary barely dares to stand up to her.

- He's not entirely wrong, Arya whispers.

Daenerys turns to her, astonished. The young Stark almost never speaks during the meetings, let alone to take Daario's side. She seems quite uncertain and uncomfortable for once, she who always looks cold and self-assured, but she continues.

- It displeases me greatly too. But if it's the only solution... then it can save tens, hundreds of thousands of men. I am ready to sacrifice one man if it means saving a thousand, she asserts.

The Queen can't help but feel slightly betrayed. Of all people, it had to be Arya, whom she trusted the most, who opposes her. But... Daenerys knows she is right. As horrible as it is, as terrible as it may seem, Daario and Jon’s sister are right. If the disease spreads, it will claim hundreds and hundreds more. It could even ravage the continent.

Daenerys felt her head spin. She had rarely faced such a dilemma. On one hand, she risks the virus spreading and literally decimating Essos. But on the other hand... She can't kill innocents. She simply can't bring herself to do it.

She had already executed a good number of men, but all of them were guilty of severe crimes and deserved that sentence. The only time she had killed... that boy so young, so innocent and who only wanted to serve her, and for that had taken the life of a Son of the Harpies under her protection... The only time she had had to kill someone she couldn't help but consider innocent had turned her stomach, and she had had nightmares for many nights afterward, his pleading eyes haunting her relentlessly.

Not to mention that there are children. Children only a few years old, who had always been slaves, and who could finally have known freedom. Panic almost starts to rise within her. She can't. She can't kill them. She can't kill hundreds of innocent men and children !

If only, if only Jon were here. She could have asked him for his opinion, he would have comforted her, he would have assured her that she was making the right choice, and that he would be there for her and to support her. She had written him a second letter, a few days earlier, after seeing the infected for the first time. She is still waiting for his response, but she suspects it will take a while before she receives it.

And for the moment, she is alone. Despite her advisors surrounding her, she feels more alone than ever in the face of this choice she simply cannot bring herself to make. Except that not choosing is already a choice.

She suddenly feels a warm hand take hers and give it a gentle squeeze. She is pulled from her swirling, racing thoughts and looks at Arya in surprise. The young Stark has her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

- You don't need to make a decision now, she says, squeezing her hand again.

That's wrong. She has to do it, and letting the problem linger won't make things better. But the words and touch of the young Stark abruptly pulled her off the dangerous path her mind was heading down, and she feels the calm flowing back into her.

This time, it is the Queen who gives Arya's hand a slight pression, while at the same time giving her a look of deep gratitude, then she releases it before regaining her composure.

- Let's think, she asserts. We could-

A boy of about ten suddenly bursts into the room, two scrolls in hand.

- My lord, news from-

He lets out a small cry when he realizes that he isn’t only in the presence of Daario as he probably thought, and that, moreover, he has just interrupted a council.

- Sorry sorry sorry !!

He seems ready to run out of the room, but Daenerys gives him a warm smile.

- It's alright, she breathes.

He relaxes at her gentle and approachable tone, but still remains tense, frozen without knowing what to do. Daario rolls his eyes, and waves a finger to signal him to come closer.

- Give us that, and get out, he grunts.

The child quickly obeys, delivering the two letters, then hastily leaves the room.

- Sorry about that, the mercenary apologizes.

The Maesters look at him with indignation, but Daenerys doesn't have time to worry about a poor meeting interruption. They have significant enough problems not to need to add more futile details.

- They are not usual, right ? she asks.

Daario shakes his head and hands her the parchments.

- One comes from Astapor, the other from Yunkaï, he explains. I have trusted men there. But I don't understand why they're sending news now...

A surge occurs in Daenerys's stomach, and she suddenly feels the need to regurgitate the contents of her meal right away. The last time she had received unusual letters...

She slowly unrolls the first scroll, and she needs all her concentration to keep her face from falling apart.

Commander of the Second Sons,

I am sorry to bother you outside of our usual communications, but I remembered one of your previous letters, in which you asked me to inform you if there were any signs of illness in Yunkaï.

I would never have thought that this could happen, but unfortunately it is the case. For the past few days, cases of a strange illness have been reported, mainly among children or recently freed former slaves.

For now, we count them at about a hundred, which is relatively few. However, they have the exact symptoms you described to us, and the cases have emerged one by one, randomly throughout the city, without any particular contamination.

We therefore don’t understand how this disease spreads. We have locked the infected in the dungeons that formerly served as slave dormitories, but we don't know what to do with them.

Another case was reported recently, with no connection to the previous ones, in a completely different neighborhood. Yet they all have the same symptoms.

We are waiting for your instructions,

Jekerys Nensor, sub-leader of Yunkaï.

Daenerys felt her heart beat at a frenzied pace in her chest. She feverishly opens the second letter... whose content is almost identical.

She slowly hands one of the parchments to Arya, then the other to Daario, under the annoyed and disappointed gaze of the Maesters who would have clearly liked to be informed as well. The priestesses, on the other hand, remain as silent as ever. They both read, and even the young Stark's facade seems to waver as she progresses through the contents of the letter.

Daenerys observes the small council, a slight despair piercing her chest. For the first time in ages, she wonders if she will be able to overcome this problem. But there is no question of her giving up. She will find solutions, even if she has to do anything for it. She‘ll never abandon her people. She looks at the assembly, the Mestres eagerly awaiting what she will say. They shouldn't. They should be happy not to know.

- The disease has spread throughout the entire Dragon Bay.

Chapter Text

Author’s note:

Hi everyone,

I’m sorry to post this to you, I really hope you didn’t think it was a new chapter 😭 But I’ve been thinking, and I thought it would be better if I gave you 30 seconds of false hope rather than you waiting all week 🥲

Already don’t worry, it’s not to tell you that I’m giving up this fanfic, or that I’m taking an indefinite break lol I know the pain it causes, I’m not going to inflict that on you 😂 ! 

It’s just that I didn’t have time to write last week, and that this week is the busiest I’ve had since the beginning of the year... I have a lot of revisions to do, like really, really a lot 😭 I also have a mock oral exam on Wednesday and my driver's license test on Saturday, so I have to admit that things have rarely been this hectic 🥲

All this to tell you that I am NOT giving up on this fanfic, but that I need to take a break just this week because otherwise I will reduce my sleep time to 2 hours lol

So, I won’t post until next Sunday (not later, don’t worry hehe ^^) ! I might try to post earlier but I can’t guarantee anything, it’s going to be really complicated 🥲 But on the other hand, for those who like Jon/Dany and my writing style and not just this story, I’m still going to release other one-shot titles week in my Jon/Dany universe AU Modern because I’ve already written them, and even if the translation takes time, it should be fine hehe you’re not going to get rid of me anytime soon 😂

Anyway, see you soon for those who will read my one shots, and see you on Sunday (February 8th) for the others ♥️ (I’ll tell you if I got my license 😂)

Ps: I admit that I don't realize at all that there are probably quite a few people reading me, because I don't know why I can only imagine those who comment regularly, which is three people 😂 (a huuuge thank you to them ♥️♥️♥️ I LOVE YOU) but anyway it would really interest me to know if there are more people in reality, so if you have the time and you don’t mind, you can leave a comment with even just a simple smiley or even a letter, but just so I know that you read 😂 Thank you sooo much :D !

Byyyyyyyyyyyyyye