Work Text:
my hands
open the curtains of your being
clothe you in a further nudity
uncover the bodies of your body
my hands
invent another body for your body
octavio paz - touch
She lies in the tub until the water grows icy cold. Her fingers are still pink with scrubbing blood. She lies in a stupor of grief and disbelief. What was it all for ? Why were her people sacrificed so brutally? Why did her Bear need to die for her? What kind of victory can be rooted out of this uneven battle?
Dany knows there was a point to all of it, that her efforts were worth something, but she can’t muster it right now. She can't help feeling she was robbed. She can’t be thankful for surviving.
Worst of all, she is now facing a battle south with two wounded dragons and less than a quarter of an army, and she has no idea who is friend or foe anymore. She is, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, alone.
She used to think Jon Snow would dispel the loneliness. But he is now a forbidden door, the red door of her childhood that she can never pass through again. She should be happy - there’s one more living Targaryen in the world. He is family. Yet she only tastes ashes in her mouth.
She hears her brother’s ghostly laugh along the walls.
You used to wrinkle your nose at our predilections, she hears him insidiously in her ear. And now look at you, starving naked for your own blood.
She sinks into the cold water. She won’t let this voice overwhelm her. She will think about anything except this.
There is a silver lining, at least. It will be easier to rally support from the Northerners now that she’s fought with them side by side, but will it be enough?
Will it ever be enough? How can loyalty be vouchsafed?
If they accept any Targ on the throne, they’ll accept Jon, not her.
I loved him. I still do.
No, stop it.
She’ll have to love him differently now, she’ll have to be different herself.
Why must she change? Why must she always be the one to shed skin and alter alchemy? Why must she constantly prove she’s earned this?
Maybe she hasn’t.
Maybe after all this time it’s not meant to be. Her whole life has been a fool's errand. She has reached the end of the world for nothing.
She thinks on it for a long time until it does not seem to matter anymore. Her eyes flutter shut. Better to surrender to oblivion for a while.
She is startled by the knock on the door.
The land of dreams merges with that of the living and she almost thinks she sees Jon walking towards her.
In fact it is him.
Dany twists her body, water splashing from the tub.
Jon’s eyes widen when he realizes he has come upon her naked and vulnerable, and he quickly turns away.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were - I'll come back later.”
Dany heaves a sigh. She knows this is all inevitable. She must talk to him, now or later.
“It's all right. Could you hand me the robes on that chair?”
Jon stiffens momentarily. He wrestles with himself, as if faced with a difficult choice. He walks to the chair.
He opens the robes wide, shielding his gaze.
Dany steps out of the tub, shivering. There is a small satisfaction in seeing him so manifestly uncomfortable at the sight of her.
Good. You know how I feel then.
Jon wraps the robes around her and she is thankful for the added warmth. His hands linger on her back, then gently fall down to her arms. She feels each callus, each familiar indentation.
This is going to be hard.
She turns around and his arms fall to the side.
She stares into his weighty grey eyes. His gaze was always burdened with something unspeakable, something almost despicable. Her Khal would’ve called it weakness.
“I...I wanted to tell you,” she begins. “During the battle I thought I wouldn’t get the chance.”
Jon nods. He waits on her every word.
She clears her throat, adopts a more formal tone. “I was remiss earlier when you told me about who you are. I can’t pretend I’m happy about it, but I - I won’t turn you away. You are...family. I will treat you as such.”
Jon exhales. She swears there’s something like disappointment in the slant of his mouth. Isn’t this what he wanted?
“So you believe me,” he says slowly.
“I’ve seen you on Rhaegal. And I know you are not accustomed to lying.”
"No. I'd never lie to you," he rasps.
Dany looks away, knowing he is still looking at her. She pulls the robes tighter.
“Do you want me to call you Aegon?”
“No,” he says quickly.
Dany moves past him. She gathers her loose hair in her hands and rinses the water out. She has been far less dressed in front of him, but never so unbraided.
“Do you have something to tell me, nephew?”
“Gods, Dany.” His voice goes hoarse. “Don’t - don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call me Dany,” she retorts, cheeks flush. “We’re not who we were anymore.”
“I know that.”
“We’ll have to think about what we are now, but it can wait until tomorrow or the day after,” she tells him remotely, her back to him.
Jon takes a few steps towards the door and stops. Pivots.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t want the throne. I never wanted it. You - you’re still my queen. And I’ll defend your right to it.”
Dany bursts into bitter laughter.
“I wonder how many will defend my right. But thank you, I suppose. It’s a fine jape, how often men get all the things they never wanted.”
Jon hangs his head.
“It’s not fair, I know. But I know about unfairness, Da- your Grace. My whole life -”
“Jon, please don’t. Your life has been hard, so has mine. There’s no point talking about it.”
“I won’t talk, then. I’ll show you. I’ll give up any rights I have to the throne.”
Dany glares at him. She can’t help it. Her temper gets the better of her. She advances on him quickly.
“I don’t want you to do that! I don’t want you to give it to me! I want it to be mine fairly. I want to take it on my own.”
“It is yours to take -”
“And how do I know you won’t change your mind? How do I know you’ll stand aside? Even you can’t be so noble. What kind of queen would I be, to usurp my own nephew? Other Houses will find your cause much more sympathetic. To them I’m just a bloodthirsty conqueror who is going to burn them alive for the smallest transgression! Isn’t that what they think of me? Isn't that -”
- what you think of me?
But she doesn't say it.
She can read the awe and fear in his eyes and it thrills her. It always has, secretly. Maybe he’s always been too afraid.
But then Jon does something that scares her . He takes a step closer and raises his hand to her shoulder, resting his thumb against the fold of her robes and then sliding underneath, touching bare skin.
Dany suppresses a shudder.
"I don't care what they think. I know who you are, and so will they, in time."
She'd laugh if he weren't so close to her. "You know n-"
"Nothing," he finishes for her with a strange smile. "Yes. I've been told before."
Dany frowns. "I don't understand."
Jon shakes his head. "I thought I'd lost you when you fell off the dragon. I couldn’t see you anymore. I didn’t know if you - I couldn't stop -I was going mad -”
She is startled by his vehemence. “You had to get to Bran."
Jon nods absently. His thumb traces the side of her throat. “You saved my life. You could’ve let me die. Could’ve got rid of me easily.”
Her face darkens. “You think I’d do that?”
“No.” A pause. “ Yes . I’m always either scared of you or scared for you. I - it’s hard to even describe it. Before I met you, I didn’t know I could feel so many things.”
Her heart beats fast. “And now?”
“Now I have to let you go,” he says, tracing the underside of her jaw. “All my life I’ve had to let go of things and I am so tired . Tired of sacrifices. We almost gave up everything tonight. I want to be selfish. I want to keep something for myself.”
Dany inhales sharply. She stills his hand.
“You know it doesn’t work like that. We are who we are. We’re Targaryens.”
Jon stares into her violet eyes.
“And what do Targaryens do?” he asks, as if he knew. As if he knows.
She parts her lips. Viserys’ laughter echoes through the walls. They take what is theirs, blood or no.
Jon becomes a Targaryen in the first hours of Dawn.
He chooses to take.
He doesn’t let go of her jaw.
He sinks his hand in her braidless hair and pulls her to him.
Dany grips his tunic helplessly. She pours a scream into his mouth as he pours one into hers.
He tastes so differently now that she knows. He groans when he feels her kindred tongue inside his mouth. It’s like knocking down false idols, or raising up new ones. He doesn’t care. He loves her, that’s what he knows, he loves her with his dead, unbroken body. Ygritte was right. He knows nothing, except this. He’s never been blessed with deeper insight. He has a bastard’s lust, after all. A bastard’s understanding of love.
He does quick work of her robes. He needs to touch her bare skin, feel the fire limning her veins.
Dany hangs onto him, presses her body to his. She wants to feel the winter frost under his fingers.
They both fall on the bed, half-naked, unrepentant, blind.
He rests his head on her belly. He does not know yet there is a living thing there. He looks up at her, at her naked splendor, his dragon without scales. He’s found his monster and he will not let her go. He kisses down the warm flesh until she trembles, until she has her fingers in his tangled hair.
“Jon... please . Oh Gods...you shouldn’t -”
But we should.
Tears wet her cheeks, tears of pain and pleasure and grief.
His eyes darken as he drinks from her, as he grips her thighs and lifts her from the bed, dragging her with him.
Dany cries out as she comes into his willing mouth.
Surrenders.
For a moment, she has no idea who is taking her. She forgets about him.
His mouth meets hers again, to remind her. She tastes herself. He is a part of her, after all.
“You are mine and I am yours,” he whispers feverishly as he slips inside her, as he latches onto her breast with his teeth. “Say it.”
There’s fear in his voice, even as he’s being cruel. Love is always meant to be a bit of both.
“You are mine and I am yours,” she moans and pulls him closer inside her.
Wedding vows that will perhaps never be said.
Targ words to live by, instead.