Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As the rain hides the stars,

as the autumn mist hides the hills,

as the clouds veil the blue of the sky,

so the dark happenings of my lot

hide your shining face from me.

Yet, if I may hold your hand in the darkness

it is enough, since I know that though I may stumble in my going

you do not fall

-Traditional Scottish Gaelic Prayer

Playlist

successful- Ariana Grande

Foreigner's God- Hozier

The Man- Taylor Swift

Scotland- The Lumineers

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince- Taylor Swift

Talk- Hozier

you should see me in a crown- Billie Eilish

You Don't Own Me- Lesley Gore

To Be So Lonely- Harry Styles

STUPID- Ahsnikko, Yung Baby Tate

Getaway Car- Taylor Swift

Compass- Zella Day

Mustang Kids- Zella Day

Wish I Knew You- The Revivalists

Delicate- Taylor Swift

Cherry Wine- Hozier

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have- but I have it- Lana Del Rey

From Eden- Hozier

Lovers- Anna of the North

ghostin'- Ariana Grande

New Light- John Mayer

Golden- Harry Styles

Say It- Maggie Rogers

Slow Dancing- Aly & AJ

Call It What You Want- Taylor Swift

Ave generosa- Hildegard Von Bingen

O virga ac diadema- Hildegard Von Bingen

Ubi Caritas- Ola Geijlo

Entreat Me Not To Leave You- Dan Forrest

As the Rain Hides the Stars- Elaine Hagenberg

This Marriage- Eric Whitacre

From Their Homeland- Hildegard Von Bingen

Kissing You- Des'ree

Dress- Taylor Swift

7 Rings- Ariana Grande

Say So- Doja Cat

Retrograde- Maggie Rogers

Dinner & Diatribes- Hozier

Try A Little Tenderness- Florence + the Machine

Stand By Me- Florence + the Machine

needy- Ariana Grande

Let Her Go- Passenger

Gold- Imagine Dragons

I Did Something Bad- Taylor Swift

Look What You Made Me Do- Taylor Swift

Eavesdrop- The Civil Wars

The North Remembers- Ramin Djwadi

Playlist Link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6y3FTk6vzWjqPAQeDGBVqP?si=qPu31pagTdaA2XZpnpRhUA

Chapter Text

The Free City of Braavosi hummed under the early afternoon sun; red tiled roofs basked in the heat, turquoise waters sparkled against the white-washed facades of centuries old buildings, locals and tourists alike walked the bridges over the canals as small boats passed underneath. The boundless energy of the initial days of summer seeped into every person, place, and thing— except for one apartment in the trendiest part of the historic district.

Sure, the sun streamed through the double glass doors of the terrace warming the walnut floor with its gentle filigree, but its efforts went unnoticed by the couple huddled under the ivory duvet. Not even the alarm roused them— though it persisted and ran uninterrupted for seven minutes.

Only the ferocious knock of the security officer and the call of "Your Highness!" finally woke them. The woman sat upright, shocked from her dead sleep, and slapped the alarm clock blindly until it stopped.

"Sorry," she called out, then immediately buried her face in her hands.

A minor hangover was the perfect souvenir of a night spent gallivanting around Braavos in honor of her recent graduation. Fancy restaurants, clubs and boat rides through the lesser-known canals— it was a perfectly cinematic end to her academic career.

Now, she had a week before she left for Slaver's Bay on a month-long excursion through the three cities. It was how she spent every summer. She started with outreach through the University, but her brother encouraged her to find a local charity to work with. She spent her days distributing supplies to shelters and speaking with slavery survivors, and her nights schmoozing with the Essosi elite and promoting her family.

This time was different. By the end of the summer, she hoped to find a firm to start her civil rights career in. She always knew she wanted to work. Everyone expected nothing more than a vanity degree of some significant level (anything below a Master's was frowned upon, but a Doctorate was too ambitious) and just work as a royal for the rest of her life but Dany was determined to do something with it.

The warm floorboards were heaven under her feet as she abandoned the toasty bed for an equally warm shower. When she finished, the steamy air was a cloud of amber and jasmine— luxurious as someone of her status should be, but also sensual and free. The very things she was either praised or critiqued for. The media could never make up their minds.

One day she was the royal poster girl, perfect and sweet and a testament to the Crown. A role model, a leader, a saint. The next, she was a diva, a she-devil that her brother needed to rein in. A mad woman, a bad girl, a heathen. Those days were rare but never without consequence.

Wrapped in a fluffy towel, she traipsed across the bedroom and into her tiny closet. The Braavosi apartment was much smaller than her King's Landing one, but the kind of small she appreciated. Just enough space for her and her security officer and strategically located between the important districts and the campus while keeping a safe distance from the tourist hot spots.

The Westerosi Embassy offered to host her but the thought of spending even more time around diplomats and sycophants, curious visitors and gawkers, was not enticing to someone whose life was already full of it.

As she rifled through meticulously organized drawers to search for an appropriate off-duty outfit, she tried to fill her empty day with plans. At the very least she would go down to the Financial District and window shop before finding a sunny spot in the park to have a late lunch.

"Dany?" a groggy voice called from the bedroom.

"In here."

"That towel would look better off."

Her latest— and longest— conquest, Daario, leaned against the doorway, devilish eyes raking over her body with the same hunger as last night. With a smirk, she untucked the towel at tossed it at him so he was at least covered from the waist down.

She met the Tyroshi tech heir last summer in the Bay during a brief, one off encounter at a dive bar. He wasn't her usual type— too far outside the confines of someone royally acceptable to even land on her honed radar— but something about him drew her in. It wasn't the money, though she thought about it often. Perhaps it was his dashing good looks.

Shoulder length chestnut hair shot through with gold and a well-managed beard paired with a physique to die for. His dark eyes were always sparkling with some rogue plan bound to get everyone around in trouble. His sense of style wasn't all that bad— though it consisted mostly of plain button ups and dress pants. He was desperate to impress his father (an impulse Dany was well acquainted with), but would it kill him to wear something else for once.

There were times, mostly when he went to visit family in Tyrosh, that he would return with his hair and beard dyed a flamboyant color. Dany laughed but always promised it didn't hurt her opinion of him, always shutting him down with the simple claim that she was (kind of) into the strange courtly dress code.

They didn't reconnect until her autumn break in Tolos, but after one fateful night they spent the rest of said break selfishly holed up in an expensive hotel and spoiling each other with room service and, of course, sex. With nothing better to do than follow after his princess, Daario ended up in Braavos— in the same building as Dany, no less. Not quite a year old, their fling quickly neared its expiration date.

Giving her relationships a deadline was the easiest way out of public scrutiny. Anything longer than a year and the paper trail caught up. Then the media got excited, shamelessly predicting who her paramours were, when they could expect her to go public, and— worst of all— if this was the one. 

"Don't look at me like that," she warned as she pulled her jeans on, knowing her resolve for pretty men was incredibly low.

"Last night was fantastic," he complimented.

"Isn't it always?" she brushed past him to get to the bathroom.

He rolled his eyes but followed, leaning against the door and watching her apply her makeup.

"Really?"

She furrowed her brows. "What?"

"Dany," he sighed, "We've been doing this for a while—"

"And it's been great."

"But don't you think it's time we took the next step."

She froze, mid-mascara stroke, to consider. She was third in line for the throne, fresh out of graduate school, and would (hopefully) be settling into Slaver's Bay. Transitioning their affair into something more serious was the obvious move— one the press was no doubt counting on. Being in her mid-twenties, they were more than ready to declare her a hopeless singleton. But settling down with Daario... that gave her pause.

Their relationship wasn't perfect, plagued by disagreements, raised voices, and play fights turned temper tantrums but it wasn't meant to be anything more. Couples fought, they weren't exempt from that.

"You know how I feel about that," she dismissed, avoiding his gaze by tracing the grey veins in the marble countertop. Her brushes laid across it; skin care bottles scattered haphazardly. She started setting them to rights.

"Yes. But normally when people have been hooking up consistently, they go ahead and make it official."

Making it 'official' involved Daario meeting her family and Rhaegar sanctioning their relationship, thrusting their quiet dalliance under the magnifying glass of the public eye. They would appear at royal events as a couple, always smiling and waving. Their personal business aired out on newsstands; every interaction analyzed by people desperate for gossip.

"I'm not." 

"Oh, come on."

"It's true."

"What do you have to be so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid, I only..." She gave up on her organizing and leaned her back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest as the rounded edge dug into her back. "I like how quiet it is. No cameras, no stuffy galas, no tight schedules made for us, just you and me doing whatever we want."

She still couldn't meet his eyes, so she kept them glued where her toes met the antique tile and chewed her bottom lip.

"Is this about the rule?"

Dany screwed her eyes shut, regretting her honesty about the one-year stipulation. In her defense, she never thought they would make it that far.

"No. No, it's not about that."

"Your brother?"

She only shook her head. A piece of hair fell in her face and she quickly tucked it back.

"There's someone else, isn't there? Some side piece you're hiding from me?"

Upon seeing his lopsided smile, she cracked one of her own.

"Who is he? I'll kill him, I swear," he said, attempting to sound serious but chuckling as he spun her around and wrapped her in his tight embrace.

"You know damn well there isn't anybody else," she managed to say between laughs.

"Then what is it, Dany?"

"I'm not ready to let this go. Does that work?"

He hummed, "For now."

Dany kissed him quickly before freeing herself from his arms.

"This is only the first time we've talked about it. Maybe breakfast will change your mind?"

Dany scoffed as she entered the main room, "It's nearly noon and expensive food won't change my mind. You're not meeting my family. Good morning, Jorah."

Ser Jorah, her assigned security guard, had his feet propped on the coffee table, leafing through a useless tabloid.

“Morning, Your Highness. Have any plans today?”

“I was supposed to meet with Missandei for brunch, but she caught an early flight home. Family emergency.”

Jorah hummed and turned the page. As he gave the publication a shake to settle it, Dany saw the front page. A picture of her from last night, grainy but identifiable. Her party dress rode high on her thighs and Daario’s arm was thrown casually around her shoulders. Above them screamed the headline Princess Dany’s Wild Night Out.

It was  a punch in the gut followed by another as she read the lines splattered across the photo in obnoxiously bold font. Camera Shy Royal caught in the act… New beau revealed… Just like Viserys?... Does His Majesty know?

Sure, she let herself have fun in the name of her graduation, but she was always careful. Especially after she grew up in the shadow of Viserys.

Always troubled, Elia blamed it on being the middle child. Jealous of the attention Dany and Rhaegar received, not to mention losing his mother at an early age, he acted out in the worst ways: fighting, shoplifting, partying, and finding the most unfavorable women to tote around. He lashed out at Dany whenever he saw her, once attacking her so viciously it left scars and Aerys ordered staff to keep them separate at all times. All of it culminated the year before Dany finished secondary school.

Viserys was out late drinking in Flea Bottom, an area of the Old City known for its seedy bars and criminal activity. Whatever cocktail of drugs and alcohol he took drove him mad. He evaded his security officer for the second time that night and stole a car, driving it off the cliffs at the edge of the city. King Aerys had the City Watch and King’s Guard combing the beaches, but his body was never found.

“Oh Gods, I’m screwed.” She sank into the armchair opposite Jorah, head falling into her hands.

Rhaegar allowed her to step back from royal duties and study in Braavos if she behaved. She’d been so careful.

“Dany, baby, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Of course it is! You saw the headline. They’re comparing me to Viserys–”

“Okay, alright. But there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“Yes, there is. There is always something I can do.”

“Dany–”

“Just leave,” she snapped.

She could feel the tears coming on and didn’t want Daario around when it happened. He huffed.

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes. It is.”

She didn’t watch him go but she cringed at his heavy steps and the slam of the door. She hated upsetting him but he would be back around when he cooled off.

She exhaled— a soft sigh instead of the scream she needed to release. 

“I need to make a call.”

There was only one path to take when it came to fixing a media explosion this large and Dany knew just the woman to handle it— Galazza Galare.

Although based in Mereen, Galazza’s career reached farther than Asshai. She was the puppet master behind the success of Dany’s latest outreach trip to the area; making sure the right photos were published and bullying the publishers into only positive, glowing reviews. Of course, none of her services came free and Galazza never accepted cash if her customer had something better to offer. She played the game better than Dany’s family.

“It’s Daenerys. I need to speak with Galazza,” Dany demanded as soon as the receptionist picked up.

On the other line, the man questioned her in the bastard Valyrian of New Ghis.

“Targaryen. Tell her it’s an emergency and she’ll be well compensated.”

The receptionist put her through. An electronic dance beat played beneath Galazza’s greeting when she picked up.

“Dany, darling, you’ve got to tell me how you do it!”

Galazza’s accented Common was almost a comfort.

“Don’t get me started. I just want the headline retracted. And a statement from the tabloid if you can get it.”

Keys clacked furiously under Galazza’s reply, “I’m not a magician, my dear. We might need a backup plan.”

“What? Like a publicity stunt?”

“Exactly.”

Dany chewed her lip and considered what Daario mentioned earlier.

“I don’t think there’s a way to overshadow this. You know they’ve been dying to catch you breaking a rule ever since your debut. Maybe our best move is to let it die down.”

“Lying low sounds nice,” she admitted.

Hiding away in Essos was tempting. Ignoring her family drama despite all the legal loopholes she would have to jump through.

“Well, be prepared this might be out of my control this time. I’ll call you back when I figure something out,” Galazza confirmed.

“Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Galazza hung up and Dany sank into her chair. Never had she wanted to disappear into the floor more. 

“Dany…” Jorah prompted, knowing better than to call her Your Highness when she needed a friend.

“Galazza said it might be impossible but she’ll try,” she responded.

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Galazza works hard and you’re her best client.”

“But what if she can’t?”

“Then we hope Baelish has bigger guns,” Jorah joked.

She changed out of her casual clothes as she clearly not leaving the apartment. A beautiful day wasted.

In baggy sweats and her favorite fuzzy socks— green with gold tinsel woven in— she busied herself in the kitchen; cleaning dishes and rearranging everything. There was no reason for her pots and pans to be in two different cupboards. Ser Jorah shooed her out because she was making too much noise.

Both bathrooms received a thorough scrubbing, she finished re-organzing her makeup, and both inside and outside plants were watered. 

With all of that done, she balled up on the sofa and considered re-arranging the furniture. The room would look more open if she put the sofa against the wall and the armchairs in front of the two, slender windows. As she was getting up to enact her interior design frenzy, her phone buzzed aggressively on the coffee table. 

It was a palace number; she saw as she contemplated answering.

“Hello?”

“Dany…”

It was Rhaegar. A little disappointment crept in at his stern voice. She thought she grew past her anxiety of Rhaegar’s lectures but as she folded her legs underneath her on the sofa she was nothing more than a child preparing for a scolding.

“I’m glad you called,” she offered.

“I think we’ve both been dreading this.”

Tense silence. It was Rhaegar’s favorite tactic— waiting until Dany couldn’t take it anymore and tattled on herself. Well, Dany wasn’t going to give in this time.

“Dany—” Rhaegar began.

“I’m really sorry. I know I messed up, but I can’t change it now—”

“Dany, it’s time you came home.”

She froze. “What?”

“I spoke with Baelish, who talked with some woman named Galazza, and we think the best thing you can do is be reinstated as a working royal.”

“But—”

“I know. Baelish assured me it would show the public that you’re a professional young woman, that you— and by extension this family— can stand strong in the face of scrutiny.”

He let that bit hang in the air. Dany tucked her free hand under her thigh to resist chewing at her nails. 

“Elia and I think it would be good for you to be at home while this blows over. Aegon and Rhaenys miss you too. They ask about you all the time.”

“They do?”

Her last stint in King’s Landing lasted two days, hardly enough time for the young children to enjoy their favorite Aunt Dany.

“I’ve arranged for a flight early tomorrow morning so you’ll be home in enough time to attend the charity gala tomorrow. You better be on it.”

Dany didn’t respond. She didn’t know how. Something in her yearned for Westeros, for home, but another part dug its stubborn heels into the ground and refused. She didn’t belong in the spotlight and the events of last night proved that.

Returning home and immediately back into the spotlight wasn’t ideal but she did miss her family. Before she could tell Rhaegar it wouldn’t be permanent, the line clicked.

Dany took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the sofa. This would blow over and when it did she would be back in Braavos and her relatively uneventful, unroyal life.

Chapter Text

Despite being home to the legislative body of the Sovering North and home to Winterfell Castle, Winter Town managed to be unremarkable. Even during the busy season of early summer, with nobles packing the council building, the streets were nearly deserted. But without the harassment of tourists and potential press leaks, the titled children of the North came out to play like the elusive creatures they were.

Their haunt of choice was The Smoking Log, a tavern as old as the town. Its windows were warped with time obscuring the dimly lit inside. Dusty blue neon blazed through the warm pendant light haze but it did little to brighten the inside. A steady stream of folk rock flowed from the speakers, loud enough to keep murmured conversations secret but not drown the place in sound. It was the last place on the planet anyone would expect to find nobles at play and the usual suspects were on the prowl.

Tucked into a corner booth were Prince Robb and his girlfriend Talisa Maegyr, ignoring the fact that other people were present and hanging all over each other like a pair of teenagers. Known as they Northern Prince Charming, Robb and his annoyingly vivid blue eyes were never single long. He brought Talisa— the daughter of political refugees turned successful hedge fund managers— from the University of Barrowton to be a bad influence.

Princess Sansa was making her rounds, drifting from one group of titled young adults to the next; graceful, tall, with vibrant looks to match her brother's. She was only seventeen (seventeen and three-fourths, she would remind you) and generally likeable, something that kept her in the good graces of all. Including her brothers, who brought her along solely because she stayed sober and out of the way.

Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands duchy, circled the site like a vulture— looking for someone to take home and coming up with nothing. It could be because of that nasty rumor that his father threatened to disown him and leave everything to Asha— Theon's sister and Balon's only daughter— of his reputation as Winter Town's resident jackass.

Other, less notable figures included a handful of Umbers, the middle two Karstark sons, and up-and-coming model Dacey Mormont.

Seated at the bar, trying not to think about the questionable stick of the heavily varnished wood, was Crown Prince Jon.

Unlike his counterparts, Jon didn't parade himself around the hazy bar, tossing his title about for attention. He preferred to spend his night with the bartender and sip away at his usual pint of Northern Ale. Cool, secure, nonchalant. He was a man with stories kept close to his heart and no care for the vanity of his peers.

The title he held was quite flashy too. But in a way, it wasn't his. A decade and some years ago, his father decided to lfit him from the condemnation of a bastard and seat him ahead of Robb in the succession. A controversial choice that threw the council and public into an uproar. Jon was too sullen and quiet whereas Robb was charismatic and friendly and, well, not of dubious parentage.

His Majesty's motion passed anyway, launching Jon into a world of etiquette and affluence he never asked for.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say your tipsy, Snow," the bartender, Ygritte, taunted.

Compared to the rest of the patrons, Ygritte was their polar opposite. Untitled and rough around the edges with plain, mismatched looks to pair. Her father was once the Regional Ambassador from The Gift, representing the interests of the Free Folk settled there at his Majesty's request. She grew up at court and while the other girls were chasing the titled boys, Ygritte was giving them all a run for their money. When her father retired, Ygritte stayed, meaning to carve out a life for herself in the only place she really knew as home.

She was the only person allowed to Snow. Normally, he despised the nickname, but they’d known each other so long it was strange to hear him called anything else.

“Someday you’ll have to stop calling me that,” he warned.

“Aye. When we’re both dead and in the ground. Giving you a hard time is a second job. You wouldn’t deny me another source of income, would you, Your Royal Highness?”

He shook his head and drained the last of his drink, “I think I’m good for another.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” She took his empty glass and filled it from the tap. “And tell your brother to stop with the PDA, it’s grossing everyone out.”

As if he had super hearing, Theon Greyjoy and all his overconfident sleaze, asked, “Would you like to join them?”

Ygritte narrowed her eyes and leaned against the bar. “I thought I told you I didn’t like your kind.”

“Ironborn?”

“Men,” Jon answered and sipped his fresh pour.

Ygritte reached over the bar to punch him in the shoulder and Jon spilled a little on himself.

“Shut up, Snow. You know better than anyone I play both fields and I do it damn well.”

They both laughed but Jon had to look away from her. 

“Why does she get to call you Snow?” Theon complained.

“She doesn’t annoy me.”

The door opened and a group of men, lacking the common thread between all patrons, strode in. A gust of fresh air came with them. While refreshing, it only served to make the compact tavern warmer. They swaggered to the nearest open booth, blissfully unaware of the stir they caused and the countless narrowed eyes locked on them. One of them caught sight of Jon but he turned his head away from them slowly.

Theon made a face. "What's their deal?"

"Interns for Karstark," Ygritte reported.

"How do you know?" Jon questioned.

In the past year, he spent a lot of time around the administrative offices for the High Lords acting as his father's liaison. He didn't recognize them, but he rarely dealt with interns.

"They won't shut up about it."

Raucous laughter sounded from the new arrival's booth, disturbing those around them. A waitress drifted past and one of them reached for her. He missed but she swung around and started shouting. It only made them laugh harder. An upset Dacey Mormont gave them an ugly look before sliding away from her seat and marching to the bar. Her hip-first runway strut was wasted in a place like the tavern.

With a casual toss of her sleek black hair, she leaned on the bar. "Isn't there anything you can do about them?"

Ygritte shrugged, "Unless they start throwing punches, my hands are tied."

Dacey groaned and sat on the stool next to Jon, back against the carved edge of the old bar.

"That bad, huh?" he pondered.

"Oh, only for the past three nights."

A highball glass appeared on the bar between them.

"Brandy?" Dacey asked.

"And whiskey."

"A woman after my own heart. Thank you, honey."

Drink firmly in hand, she crossed her legs at the knee— an action as unladylike as spreading them wide.

"Hey, how long are you at court?" she asked Jon, eyeing him over the rim of her glass.

Dacey had her sights set on Robb since they were teenagers, but as soon as he and Talisa appeared to be more than a fling, she quickly changed course. And Jon was considered the next desirable target by measures of heraldry— not necessarily by the court of public opinion.

Her singular attention had nothing to do with titles or social climbing— outside of the North, Dacey's modeling career had more influence than the Starks. She simply considered the other men of their set beneath her.

"Same as last time: indefinitely," Jon said and as an afterthought added, "You?"

"As luck would have it, indefinitely as well."

She smirked and dug something out of the front pocket of her low-rise jeans. A cigarette.

"I'm gonna pop outside. Wanna join?"

Jon shook his head in dismissal.

"Oh, right, you quit," she scoffed, "I remember you being a lot more fun, Your Highness."

Jon didn't consider his life before his military stint fun. He was young and angry with the world on his shoulders and at his back, indulging every fight he found lurking in dark corners.

"I'll join you," Theon offered.

"Absolutely not," Dacey spat then offered her glass to Jon, "Watch this for me?"

He took it as she gave him a wink and slinked off toward the rear entrance. Tomorrow morning, her too-tight jeans and tiny top would be all over fashion blogs. She was the closest thing the North had to a celebrity, perhaps their only, and she was nobody outside of their dignified borders.

"She's such a snob," Theon muttered, watching Dacey's luxurious retreat.

Jon made a sound of neutrality then drained the rest of her abandoned drink.

An old drinking rhyme came to mind, something Robb told him when he came back from his first semester at Barrowton. Beer before liquor, even sicker. He wasn't sure how much truth it held but he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he followed Dacey Mormont out back.

He felt a twing of shame when she smirked at him, her lit cigarette thrown to the ground and snuffed by her heeled boot. It persisted through the feel of her lips shifting against his. He was her second choice, selected only because she needed something to chase. He knew this and still played into her hand.

And as his hands drifted down her back, he regretted that it couldn't be more. That their meetings would never be more than hand jobs and quick blows in closets and backrooms. Her efforts were wasted on someone who was incapable of seeing past her game. Until she realized that, their dalliance continued.

The next morning, Jon shook off the night before with a run. Winterfell, being the ancient seat of House Stark and older than creation, was built upon for centuries. It expanded outward like a maze from the First Keep— a city unto itself, constantly undergoing refurbishment and, in some cases, reconstruction. The northernmost courtyard was always deserted, no one would stumble upon him unless they meant to.

His run was really more of a purposeful jog— a souvenir from the military accident that sent him back to Winterfell. Sometimes it was a run but never for long. His physical therapist would kill him if he re-injured himself.

His freedom from the eyes of Winterfell was short-lived.

Since the age of fifteen, Jon had attended council sessions with his father. King Eddard believed that experience taught more than textbooks and lessons— and Jon had always been observant. He picked up the subtle political workings and wordings used by the lords, figured out how to spot the ulterior motives in votes and bills. His time outside of sessions was spent running between offices in the Council Building, working as his father's voice.

He tried to stay invisible since his return to Winterfell— employing his old habit of staring at the ground and hoping to be mistaken as an assistant. Being the most interesting person in the North, this was impossible and his presence— or absence— was always noted.

So, Jon made himself visible. Sitting at his father's side and pretending to be intrigued as Lord Flint delivered a long-winded report on the national unemployment rates. To summarize: it wasn't good and it hadn't changed.

Jon shifted and resisted the urge to glance around the room. The High Lords were watching, waiting for a misstep to complain about later. Their scrutiny wasn’t new.

Even the Queen didn’t hide her true feelings about Jon. He cheated her precious Robb out of the throne, after all. And his existence reminded the court of the King’s infidelity. She couldn’t lash out at her husband when he outranked her, and with his mother nowhere to be seen, Jon became the target of her casual aggression. Nasty looks, whispered names, exclusion— if there was a way to hurt Jon’s feelings, she found it.

Her efforts lessened after his legitimization. Even more so after his graduation and subsequent retreat to the Wall but the nasty looks and exasperated sighs remained unchanged.

“Thank you, Lord Flint, your insight is valuable and appreciated as always. We now open the floor to discussion on the facts presented,” Ned’s voice resounded.

“If I may,” Lord Manderly spoke, standing from his seat along the regal arrangement. 

He was a large man and past sixty years old. To the untrained eye he appeared as nothing more than a royal sycophant doing all he could to please his King. A cowardly yes man. But Jon knew that behind his staunch loyalty was a calculated intellect. Manderly’s ice blue eyes betrayed it with a glint just then.

“Representatives of The Bite introduced legislation to provide aid to those families suffering from the current economic situation. Said bill was struck down in the first round of voting, in this very room! By lords who claim to put the families of the North before their pockets.”

      Several of the Lords present shifted uncomfortably as Manderly continued, “But it is clear that personal interests are more important than our people.”

“I read your bill,” Lord Mollen— a man nearly as large as Manderly— spoke, “Nearly half of the funding went to your region!”

“That is untrue.”

“Then what are you getting at Wyman? Would you have us read your sad excuse of a bill all over again?” Umber demanded.

The voices grew louder as more joined in, overlapping in an unsavory clash. Jon gazed over them and quickly landed on the only one not taking part in the discourse.

Lord Bolton, with his unreadable expression, stared at Jon. It wasn’t a new occurrence. The ancient animosity between the Starks and Boltons ran deep. For a moment, the corner of Roose’s mouth quirked. It could have been a grimace, but Jon knew it was a self-satisfied grin.

“What do you think?” His father’s voice cut through the noise. A quiet relief in the cacophony.

They had already tried taking care of the crisis regionally and it turned out much like Manderly said. There was no way to hold the Lords accountable except for the embarrassment of the Crown stepping in. It was clear someone had to put the idea down on paper and fine tune it— the question was who.

“Have Mormont and Bolton make edits to Manderly’s original proposal. They can introduce it at the next session.”

“Bolton is currently working on a new defense budget, and he has a child on the way. I couldn’t possibly give him more work to do.”

“True. But he’s the only one not taking part in the battle of wills,” Jon defended with a nod toward the council room floor.

“And Mormont? She’s participating the most out of everyone.”

Lady Maege Mormont, representing her father while he attended to his duties on the Wall, was making very pointed gestures at Manderly. Well, Dacey had to get her hot blood from somewhere.

“Bear Island has handled their unemployment the best out of any region. Their insight might find the holes in Manderly’s attempts.”

Ned hid his smile well as he turned to look at the rest of the room.

“My Lords,” the King’s voice silenced the disastrous chatter, “It is my decision that Bolton and Mormont will take Manderly’s original document and make the necessary edits. It is to be completed and proposed at the next session. Are we in agreement?”

      A chorus of affirmations went up as the Lords settled back into their seats, their fervor forgotten at the command of their King. A sneering smile occupied Bolton’s face as his cold eyes remained on Jon.

“Perfect. Keep in mind that the next session is the last before the summer holiday. This meeting of the High Council is adjourned.”

Murmurs and mutters replaced their awed silence as they bowed in the King’s direction.

Jon had always admired how his father commanded the room. How his carefully chosen words placated flared tempers. Ned’s sternness melted as they left the chamber and was replaced by the man Jon knew as his father.

“You’re awfully sullen today,” Ned remarked as they walked down the corridor.

People bowed without hesitation or grievance as they passed.

“Long night?”

“Something like that,” Jon shrugged.

“You handled today very well.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish you would take more of the responsibilities—”

“You know how I feel about that,” Jon reminded as they reached the stately door of His Majesty’s office.

“Yes, you’ve told me many times. However, there’s nothing I can do to change that. The North will be yours someday. You should learn what it’s like to represent and fight for a cause.”

“But I am learning that with you.”

“You are learning a part of it,” Ned said with finality.

He opened the door and acknowledged his secretary. She responded with a curtsey.

“The North is heading toward a new age, and she needs someone to guide her through the confusion.”

Jon sat opposite of his father in the worn leather armchair other important lords occupied in their audiences with the King. There was so much history in the room one could drown in it. Photographs of former kings, books older than either of them, and a view of the busy inner courtyard of the Council building where assistants, secretaries, and interns meandered past each other in the summer sun. 

The new age his father mentioned was far off. Aside from technology, the North was set in her ways. Tradition was a matter of pride for the isolated nation outpaced by the globalized world around them.

Ned Stark was perhaps the first Stark king to find a fault in the view. He considered their history greatly as he looked for ways to move forward but the pace was slowed by those Lords who would prefer they remain behind the times. 

“How can your people trust you if you haven’t shown them you can handle the responsibility? That you care enough to try?”

Jon had been presented with plenty of opportunities. He rejected the Board of Energy and Natural Resources at eighteen. The same response was given to the Appropriations Committee six months ago. He had yet to give an answer to an appointment on the Public Works Committee.

It didn’t matter where he went, the Crown would always offer him things he didn’t deserve.

“It’s not easy being your bastard son who got lucky.”

Ned sighed and leaned forward. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I decided after much thought. You know, your mother wouldn’t approve of the way you’re acting, either.”

Jon scoffed. Once again, the faceless entity of his mother was dragged forth to pass judgement.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use my mother against me. You can’t refuse to talk about her and then put words in her mouth.”

“We’ll talk about her one day, aye?”

Jon nodded.

“Now, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

The old leather chair creaked as Ned settled into it. “Tomorrow, we leave on a diplomatic trip. To King’s Landing.”

The South. No Northern King had been past the border since the Targaryens finished their conquest and closed it for good. 

“His Majesty extended an invitation to their annual charity gala seeing as it’s a cause we’re closely tied to. He agrees about moving our two nations in a new direction.”

“Sansa’s going to be upset.”

“She’s coming with us. PR thought it would be a clever way to get the fashion people looking at us.”

Jon ran a hand over his face and leaned back in the great armchair. “It’s just a visit?”

“Well, there will be some appearances. This is a big deal for both nations, we want lots of good press.”

“And we leave tomorrow morning?”

“Yes. Will you make sure your secretary knows?”

“Of course. If that’s all, I’ve got to take care of something.”

“What?” Ned asked with a raised brow.

“A couple of Karstark’s interns are causing trouble in town.” He stood and stretched. “Figured I’d take care of it since no one else seems to be able to.”

“Jon…” There was warning in his father’s voice that made him smile.

“I’m going through the proper channels this time.”

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Thanks, Father,” he said with a grin before turning to leave. 

He paused in the doorway, “I am thinking about that appointment. Promise.”

Ned looked pleased at that. And if his father was happy, Jon was happy.

Chapter Text

The scene outside Dany's airplane window was one she knew well. Reporters on the tarmac with cameras and microphones waiting to ask her questions approved by the Firm. Even the threat of the downpour didn't deter them. They were going to get their big story even if it meant getting struck by lightening.

She uncrossed her ankles, crossed them again, and smoothed her navy dress pants. A graduate student no longer, she returned to the costume of a working royal though she was reluctant to jump right back into the modest dresses, sheer stockings, and pointed-toe pumps after years of denim and well-worn sneakers. Even for formal presentations she opted for pants and sturdy loafers.

"It's time, Miss," the secretary alerted Dany.

There was a final outfit check at the door. Final adjustments were made to the tuck of her white button up, the lay of her double-breasted blazer. A silver dragon pin winked on her lapel with a single head instead of the customary three— that design was saved for specific state functions. One last smoothing of her gently curled hair and the plane door opened.

Tomorrow's headline came to her as she stepped onto the mobile stairs and donned her dazzling smile. Royal Rebel: Princess Dany wears pants upon return home.

Shouts of her name blended with the clicking of cameras. It was a stinging noise she used to be immune to but after a few years of minimal exposure, it was sharper than ever. The brisk wind picked up the ends of her styled hair. So much for that, she thought bitterly.

Terrifying. "Refreshing," she assured them with a million-dollar smile, "It's good to be back."

"How does it feel to be graduated?"

Also terrifying. "Exhilarating."

"Will you attend the Charity Gala?"

As if I have a choice. "Yes, of course, it's my favorite event of the season."

"Are you bringing a plus one tonight?"

Dany wanted to glare and frown but she chuckled good naturedly, "Not this time."

"How long will you stay in King's Landing?"

"I haven't decided yet."

It was the only answer that wasn't a lie. A security officer appeared at her elbow and ushered her to the waiting car. Ser Jorah assumed his proper place in the passenger seat with Dany alone in the back. Everyone had a place.

Dany sighed and leaned her head against the cool window— dark tinted and bulletproof. When paired with an armored hood and the little royal standards waving from the corners, the whole thing was a moving cage. And a very expensive one at that.

The New City winked at her despite the clouds. An enticing view of sleek high-rises: business headquarters, vegan restaurants, and clothing stores advertised themselves in the windows. The playground of the nouveau riche and trendsetters, properly distanced from the old money mansions in the shadow of Aegon's Hill. The best parties happened there, in penthouse apartments and rooftop pools. At least, that's how it appeared online.

Shiny and modern gave way to the Old City. The original King's Landing was nothing more than dilapidated tourist trap meant to encapsulate centuries of history and Westerosi pride. A mess of crumbling infrastructure and buildings huddled together like misshapen stones. All of the charm and nostalgic beauty promised in travel guides and promotional material was destroyed by lack of care— a disappointing claustrophobia remained in its place.

People went about their mundane tasks on the uneven cobbles but stopped and gawked at the heavy vehicle navigating the narrow streets. She missed being able to smile at people as she passed, feeling the fresh air on her skin. But those things were possible. At least, not in King's Landing.

The car rolled through the front gates of the Red Palace, the sea of spectators parting to let them through. Once a great, ancient keep of red stone, it was destroyed in her family's bloody civil war. A new palace of sprawling red marble sprung up once the rubble cleared. Rows of shining windows and dragon gargoyles glared at the stone courtyard. What was once a symbol of a new age, was now outdated and dwarfed by true progress.

Dany took a deep breath. A precaution against a quickened heartbeat and dry throat, against the press of dread on her shoulders. Rhaegar gave no indication about his intentions behind urging her home. It could be a minor time out while the public cleansed their palettes. Or he could ask her to give everything up. Everything she worked for gone in the name of reputation— her's and her family's.

The car took its usual arc around the small fountain in the courtyard. The marble dragon at the center peacefully gurgled water. Cries of Princess and camera flashes greeted her as she stepped out. She stopped to wave and smile at them.

"Your Highness," Jorah said, "We should head inside."

"In a minute."

She heard his sigh but walked to the closed iron gate all the same. Dany would never consider herself a great socializer but she shook hands and paid compliments like she was born for it. If tourists were willing to make the hike up Aegon's Hill, it was the least she could do.

Ser Jorah finally steered her away to meet her fate. The tall, ornamental doors opened like the jaws of a great beast. A dragon prepared to incinerate and consume.

Lord Chamberlain and resident pain-in-the-ass, Petyr Baelish stood in the cavernous entry hall, insignificant against the marble and crimson and sheer size of the room.

"Your Highess," he called, "It is so good to see you again."

"Lord Baelish," Dany greeted, "Am I correct in assuming you have more important things to do at this moment? Harassing the decorators on table placement, perhaps?"

He smiled, a tight-lipped sardonic expression. "And yet, here I am, taking time out of my busy schedule to welcome you home."

Dany returned his false expression. "Would you like a thank you?"

"I would like for you to stop leaving little messes for me to clean up."

"It was one time." She proceeded past him, turning right to pick up the corridor to her collection of rooms.

Baelish matched her brisk pace with ease. "Are we forgetting the topless sunbathing incident with a certain Dothraki Khal? You know, I am in charge of a myriad of other, vastly more important things than your public image. Now, the charity gala is tonight—"

"I'm aware."

Baelish gave her a sharp look but continued, "We pulled some gowns. They're old but we're hoping it reads as us getting on the sustainability train. Dinner is at six forty-five with the prime minister and his family, gala starts at eight. It would be in your best interest to know that the King of the Soverign North, Eddard Stark and two of his children will be in attendance tonight."

She stopped dead in her tracks. A recluse of a nation, the Northern royal family was rarely seen outside of the occasional press release and state address. And their vast nation was absent from the world stage after the last in a long line of Aegon's to conquer Westeros respected Torrhen Stark's refusal to kneel. They took care of their own, of that Dany was sure, but they appeared to have no interest in foreign affairs.

"What are they doing down here?"

"The charity represented tonight is the champion cause of King Eddard. The palace extended an invitation to them and they accepted. There will be a semi-formal reception to welcome them in—" Baelish checked his watch— "an hour."

The whole thing reeked of Rhaegar's obsession with the Targaryen legacy. He was desperate to be seen as innovating and groundbreaking and to uphold the significance of the monarchy in an age that wasn't sure it needed one.

"Auntie Dee! You're home."

Dany's heart lurched at the familiar voice. Her neice and nephew sprinted down the hall. She forgot their rooms were there.

Rhaenys, tall for nine years old, her height was perhaps the only thing she inherited from Rhaegar. She had the delicate, glowing brown skin and thick, dark brown hair of her Dornish mother. As well as Elia's big, deep black eyes that were always lively and warm.

Aegon on the other hand, who also had the unfortunate honor of being seventeeth of his name, looked every bit a Targaryen. At seven years old he had a mop of silver hair and eyes of such a deep purple they were often mistaken for blue. Dany liked to imagine he acted like a young Rhaegar too. Adventurous and always daydreaming, the polar opposite of the brother she knew.

She bent down to hug them, giving them kisses on their foreheads. She didn't want to let them go.

“How long are you home this time?” Rhaenys asked.

“Longer than a day right?” Aegon broke in.

“I think I can manage that.”

The children’s nanny appeared, red-faced and out of breath. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, they heard about your arrival and took off. I told them you wanted to be left alone but it appears they no longer listen to me.”

Dany grinned at the exasperation in her voice. “Don’t worry, I’m glad to see them.”

“Do we have to go back?” whined Aegon.

“We’d much rather spend time with you!”

Dany laughed, “We’ll have plenty of time to hang out while I’m home.”

The kids groaned but didn’t protest when Dany took their hands and led them back to the playroom. They filled her in on life at the palace and she praised them endlessly for their good grades and for making friends while sneaking self-righteous looks at Baelish who was rather perturbed at the interruption.

“Your Highness, if you would please pick up the pace. We don’t need to be late.”

At her begrudging silence, Baelish continued to inform her about the rest of her schedule while in the city. Tomorrow, a state breakfast with the Northern royals, then a visit to the local King’s College campus for a brief note on higher education before attending a session of the King’s Landing Youth Parliament and an Interior Council session— purely for aesthetics. The day after, however, was completely up to whether or not their Northern guests decided to stick around.

Finally, they made it to her apartments and Baelish headed off to bother the staff.

Unchanged since her graduation from secondary school, she was greeted by the painted wallpaper of the salon. Scenes of courtyards, gardens, and ancient castles graced the walls in faded water-colors. One of the maidens dancing across a green field was more faded than the others. Dany tapped her as she passed.

The spacious salon was a remnant from a time when ladies hosted intellectual gatherings as a pastime. In its current state, it was where the hair and makeup teams arranged their elaborate setups. The rack of gowns Baelish promised loomed in front of the towering windows and their heavy drapes. Pale pinks and purples, sage greens and sky blues. Dany sighed, knowing she looked better in clear jewel tones.

From the drawing room and its monotonous peach hue came Her Majesty Elia, looking as though she was ready for a royal engagement in her pristine white palazzo pants and flawlessly styled hair. Not a flyaway or hint of frizz in sight. As close to perfection as a human could get. She wordlessly opened her arms and Dany easily fit into her embrace.

Dany inhaled. Elia’s signature citrus perfume settled over her. It was a custom scent designed for her by some atelier who then commercialized it. 

“I’m sure you know all about it,” Dany sighed into Elia’s chest.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she warned, rubbing Dany’s back with dissonant reassurance, “but Rhaegar was very upset.”

“It’s not my fault. I’ve been on my best behavior. People are looking for excuses to talk.”

“Either way, there’s a mess and it’s stressing Rhaegar out. Who was that man you were leaning on?” The mock scandal in Elia’s tone wasn’t missed.

“Daario Naharis.”

Dany ran her hand over the expensive fabrics. Chiffons and taffeta embroidered with gold and detailed in white. 

“You mean the Tyroshi tech millionaire?”

“His father’s the millionaire. Daario will just inherit most of it. What do you think?”

She held up a pale blue gown. Chiffon with bishop sleeves and a high neck. Sweet and demure. She couldn’t remember where she wore it last.

Elia shook her head, “That blue isn’t for you. How long?”

“Six months, give or take. It’s nothing serious.”

“That’s a while to entertain someone.”

“He asked to make it official but I said no.”

“Oh?”

“What we have is fun but it’s not made to survive royal pressures,” Dany admitted, thinking of her already packed schedule.

She held up the next dress. Blush pink and empire waisted with fluttery cap sleeves. There were flower appliques along the hem and short train but nowhere else.

“I like that one,” Elia cooed, pinching the flowy material.

“Too sweet,” a new voice offered.

Dany’s eyes darted to the doorway where her best friend stood. The gown was abandoned as she collected Missandei in a bone crushing hug.

People in Braavos may have turned their noses up at Westerosi politics but they hesitated to befriend a royal. All the protocol and rules that came with such a relationship was a powerful deterrent but not to Missandei, who decided she needed a bigger challenge than their shared Free Cities Studies class.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had a family emergency.”

“I may have lied a little. But when Her Majesty asks you to come to court, you can’t say no.” Dei gave Elia a playful look.

Dany eyed her sister-in-law with suspicion. That meant they (Rhaegar and Elia and most likely the larger entity that was the Firm) had been planning her return for a while.

“Well, it’s good you’re here. I need someone to agree with me on everything.”

Dany removed another disappointing dress from the rack. A huge skirt of lilac tulle and simple bodice.

“It looks like a cupcake,” Dei observed.

Elia agreed and Dany put it back. She reached for the next one— dusty green and equally frothy— but decided against it.

“I can’t think about gowns right now.”

Kicking off her shoes, she marched to the drawing room. She deposited herself onto a peach settee and hugged a large matching pillow to her chest. Dei tucked herself into the opposite corner.

“Remember what Galazza said— there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way for royalty. We try to keep unplanned appearances in the press to a minimum,” Elia stated, sitting in the high-backed chair that matched the rest of the old floral furniture.

She crossed her ankles neatly and continued, “The more invisible we are, the more the public likes us. Though, they never complain when we dress up and spend time with them.”

The baby lights in her hair shimmered as she flicked it off her shoulder. There was a time, before being inducted into the royal mess, when Elia and Dany would have girl’s nights. They watched sappy movies, ate popcorn, and braided each other’s hair. All of that disappeared after Elia married in.

“I need a drink.” Dany sat up but Dei stopped her from getting up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“If I’m going to get through an evening with this pompous court, I need something stiff.”

Elia shook her head. “There will be plenty of champagne at the gala.”

“This is so… unfair. You know, if I was a man and that picture got out the press wouldn’t care. Men don’t have to put time limits on their… entanglements.”

“Dany,” Elia sighed.

“But because I’m a woman I can’t entertain men the same way?”

“Dany!”

Dany’s eyes burned as she looked at sister-in-law. She never snapped at Dany.

“I know you’re upset and that’s understandable. I’ve been in your shoes. But it’s our lives. You’re a Targaryen, not a social climber.”

Dei watched the interaction with interest. 

“Wait, sorry, why can’t Dany and Daario be public?” she asked.

“The monarchy is already in a delicate position because we represent an outdated establishment. Allowing Dany to seriously consider a foreign millionaire would be unpatriotic.”

“But I can do it in my free time. Undercover,” Dany noted bitterly.

“Your Majesty, your stylist has arrived,” Elia’s assistant reported. 

“I’ll see you two at the gala,” Elia said, standing and brushing the wrinkles from her pants.

Dei waited until Elia was gone to say anything.

“You’re not actually going to wear any of those are you?” She lowered her voice as though someone other than them would hear. “They’re so… debutante.”

“Gods, no,” Dany snorted, “I have a backup plan.”

She stood and motioned for Dei to follow. They passed through the apricot-colored study and into Dany's proper bedroom. The stereotypical antique furniture was still present but there were touches of a teenage girl— lost to time and trend cycles— here and there. An orange bean bag chair, a few stuffed animals on the bed, a lava lamp. Her posters of movies and pop stars were framed as she wasn't allowed to simply stick things to the walls.

Standing in her old bedroom, a strange sense of nostalgia took over her. She knew Rhaegar would call her back to Westeros at some point but she hated the circumstances. Her time in Braavos was a sabbatical, she returned to her duties as a working royal at Rhaegar’s command. Maybe she could convince him to let her redecorate the time capsule of a room while she was there.

Half of the bedroom was dedicated to her personal closet, things she wore every day or might need at a moment’s notice cleverly hidden behind a false wall painted with another picturesque garden. Dany slid the door open and flicked the light switch. Much like her Braavosi closet, everything was tucked away in an elaborate system of drawers and cabinets. A few casual, frequented items were on display, but they were all outdated trend-wise.

“I knew you were royalty but this—” Dei gestured randomly— “This is crazy.”

Dany only shrugged and left her stunned friend to gawk. She supposed four rooms dedicated for her private use was extreme, but such was her lot.

Dany slid open another door and surveyed the garment bags. “I left Quaithe a message last night and asked if she could drop off a dress for the gala tonight. If I had known about you, I would’ve asked for an extra.”

“Don’t worry about me. Her Majesty has me covered.”

She unzipped a familiar red garment bag, smiling at the gown inside. Red satin pleated like a seashell across the bodice, the same pleats draped into a form fitting skirt ready to burst from the bag.

The more conservative fashion columnists would shame her for the lack of sleeves and the figure-hugging shape, calling it a degradation of traditional values rooted in their precious religion despite Elia’s change to the dress code. But the new age reporters, the ones who preached secularism and progression, would hail it for the strong stance it promoted. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

Dei came up behind Dany to look. “Oh, wow. Stunning.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

If this was her big return to court, she wasn’t going to do it dressed like a cloud.

Chapter Text

The Starks weren't fans of flamboyant displays of wealth. No private planes or yachts, they did most of their travel by car or train. However, the distance from Winterfell to King's Landing (and the lack of sophisticated border crossings_ justified a different mode of transportation. The Crown leased a small private jet from Lord Manderly— the only Northern lord who owned one. It was small and outdated and surely not the height of luxury the south expected of them, but they weren't there to draw attention... yet.

Like all diplomatic trips, there would be cameras abound. The King's private secretary notified them that there would be a brief photo op on the tarmac before they were whisked away to the Red Palace for a very formal greeting between His Majesty, King Rhaegar, and the rest of his family. They were also invited to attend the formal dinner with the Royal Family and the Prime Minister before the gala— an offer Ned humbly accepted.

Sansa beamed at the prospect as she had the whole flight, excited by the thought of being accepted by people considered far more fashionable than her own. Jon, on the other hand, was skeptical. They were putting on an awfully bug show for a simple state visit.

Then again, when your border was closed for centuries and you remained unbelievably absent from the world stage, a sudden interest in other countries deserved heightened interest. A hermit taking his first steps into the sun after years of sheltered solitude.

The pilot, borrowed from the Sovereign North's meager military, alerted them of their oncoming descent.

Sansa buzzed like a bee as she looked out the plane window. Photographers were gathered on the tarmac as well as official looking men in a mix of military uniforms and suits. Little Northern standards waved from the hoods of two black cars, stripes of blue, white, and sage snapping in the raising wind. An impressive welcome for impressive people.

Ned sighed and mumbled, "I didn't want a big show."

His father insisted that their jaunt south was not a state visit in the traditional sense— merely a sanctioned visit of titled people with a shared interest. However, that excuse was wearing away every second they spent out of their element. And Jon was both intrigued and apprehensive of it all.

Jon's private secretary gave him a once over for wrinkles, creases, or lint but spent the bulk of their minimal time on his hair. The mess of raven curls were the recipients of much adoration (from women and royal watchers who cared an uncomfortable amount about his appearance) and disdain (from stylists and himself at times). After the wall, he wore it longer but always on the fashionable side and never the unkempt length some Northmen preferred.

He adjusted the fit of his dark green tie. He was beginning to realize his choice of outfit wasn't as subtle as he thought. Paired with a dark grey suit, he wore the colors of House Stark. He was certain Sansa only packed green for the whole trip so perhaps his references would be overshadowed by hers.

The Starks were all smiles as they coasted to the tarmac accompanied by the constant shutter of cameras and important introductions. Head of the Armed Forces, two prominent members of Parliament, and most interestingly, the Prime Minister himself— whom Jon hadn't expected to glimpse until dinner.

Tywin Lannister cut an impressive figure with a face as cold and stern as the cloudy sky above. His conventional black suit was tailored, his tie striped red and gold. A small golden lion, rearing and roaring, was pinned to the lapel and he wore three massive rings on his right hand. Mere whispers of wealth that he clearly searched the Starks for with his shrewd green eyes.

The sparkled with interest when they landed on Jon, flickering jade and emerald as though he knew something of great importance that humored him. And, in the brief moment he met Lord Lannister's eyes, Jon wanted to know the secret too. He wanted to be clued in on Tywin's thoughts and his analysis of the foreign royals.

"Your Royal Highness," he greeted, voice crackling with age and formality.

He gave a shallow bow before offering his hand for Jon to shake. Jon addressed him simply as "Prime Minister".

"I hope you enjoy your time here."

"Thank you."

Their courteous (if a bit stifled) exchange was thankfully cut short by security ushering them away to the waiting cars. Jon wasn't allowed to ride with his father should some tragedy befall his car, the security team needed to ensure the same wouldn't happen to the second most important person in the nation.

Traffic was awful as they merged into it. With nothing to interest him in the car, Jon turned to the tinted world beyond his window. High rises stood out against the sky in darker shades of grey and reflected the congestion below, the crush of bodies flowing alongside the cars like an endless ebb and flow of a river in flood. No end and no beginning, only continual swift motion.

All of it was bizarre. Jon had seen cities before, skyscrapers and crowded sidewalks were no strangers to him. But something about the urgency, the impatience of that similar city, made it alien. Disengagement, distance, and the distinctly metropolitan refusal to get distracted from your destination.

The Old City, however, was a welcome sight. There, people strolled even in the threat of a gathering storm. They took their time between old facades, stopping to see and raise their eyes to the people around them. There was a connection there that reminded Jon of Winter Town, the union of modern life in an ancient setting.

And waiting ominously at the end of their path, watching through high iron fences, with their destination: The Red Palace.

The whole façade screamed intimidation tactic. Hundreds of windows and dragon shaped gargoyles leering from their posts. The marble looked washed in hundreds of years of blood, the silver accenting it was weathered but still visible.

The display of southern dominance disguised as opulence continued through the grand front entrance, held open for them by matching well-dressed employees of the Crown. The soaring ceilings were painted in the pastel hues of the sky with bright dragons resting on the pristine clouds and flying between them. Everything was red: the intricate wallpaper, the lengthy rug and the floor beneath, even the stairs at the end of the hall. Portraits of important people lined the walls fringed in silver frames.

A short, sharply dressed man appeared from one of the archways lining the halls.

“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses,” he said with a deep bow, “Welcome to The Red Palace. I’m Lord Chamberlain Petyr Baelish. His Majesty will meet you in the Jaehaerys the First drawing room. Please, follow me.”

They were made to wait outside the door as they were announced by a herald. The room was already filled with people King Rhaegar considered important enough to be present for the momentous occasion.

The king himself stood at the head of the room, flanked by the Queen and Princess Royal. Both natural born Targaryens had the hallmark silver hair and violet eyes, while the Queen provided a blunt contrast with her dark Dornish looks.

They refrained from the usual handshakes and pleasantries for His Majesty to say a few words. 

While the Southern King and Queen were able to disguise their feelings toward their rare guests, the Princess Royal was unable to do the same. Dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit, pale hair arranged in a sleek ponytail and a pair of sensible pearl earrings, she was clearly trying to dodge attention but failing. Jon caught her curious eyes passing over the Starks with the occasional twitch of an eyebrow to mark her confusion.

They were close in age, he knew, and by all measures of politeness he should try to make conversation. She was in high demand, however, always occupied by someone. If no one was going to force him to socialize, Jon wasn’t going to complain.

The whole event took less than five minutes as they were ushered away as soon as the photographers were satisfied. One of the Lord Chamberlain’s underlings showed them to the guest apartments— which were just as saturated and gaudy as the rest of the place.

Jon was lucky that his rooms were quieter. The gentle oak panels did little to save the decor from its stuffy fate. Heavy velvet and brocade made up the curtains and upholstery and reflected the yellow-green color back onto itself. It seemed inviting and hospitable were different things in the south. Still, they lacked the overwhelming clutter that passed for décor in every other room.

He busied himself with unpacking the three-piece suit required for the gala and ignoring the usual dread that accompanied any event with required socialization.

"Can you believe all this stuff," Sansa said, strolling through the door connecting their rooms.

Curlers held her auburn hair aloft, a light dusting of makeup settled on her fair features. He didn't envy her far lengthier process.

"They've been here forever," Jon threw back with disinterest.

"We've been in Winterfell for centuries and we don't have half as much. I mean, isn't a marble bust for every ancestor overkill?"

He knew what she was doing. A natural born social butterfly, Sansa had no issue facing countless hours of small talk. She also had a unique talent for distracting people from their anxieties.

"We have a marble bust for every ancestor too. We just keep ours in the crypts. And you clearly haven't been in the First Keep lately."

They shared a smile. Mission accomplished.

"By the way, Father wants to talk to you."

"About what?"

She shrugged, "He wouldn't tell me so it must be important."

Jon sighed and abandoned his suitcase.

The study of the guest apartments was another overdone room with green walls, gold accents, and marble floors peeking out from under antique rugs. There was even a mural of a luscious orchard set between rolling green hills with a far off-castle. Ned sat behind the imposing mahogany desk, a folder in his hand and his usual conflicted yet stoic. The look of a king in contemplation.

"Please close the door and sit down."

He was using his monarch voice which unnerved Jon but only a little. Sometimes the King persona refused to turn off, especially in new environments.

"Is there anyone... special in your life right now?"

"Er," Jon stalled, trying not to think too hard of Dacey Mormont and their on-again-off-again dalliance.

"I'll take that as a no. But what about that girl who works at the Smoking Log—"

"Ygritte?'

"Yes. What about her?"

"There's nothing there."

Maybe once when they were eager teens who spent a lot of time around each other, but not anymore.

"And Dacey Mormont? Is she..."

"How did you—"

"People talk, especially to me."

"It's nothing serious. You know how she is. What does my romantic life have to do with this?"

"Do you remember why we're here?"

"We support the charity being showcased tonight," Jon said, unable to take his hands off the folder.

"That's only part of it. A couple of months ago I received a report from our climate researchers predicting low crop yields for this year. They also included that this winter will be the longest and harshest we've endured in the past hundred years."

Jon frowned, "We'll have enough for ourselves and Winter Town. Surely the other Great Lords can figure something out."

"The Great Lords are already petitioning for more supplies based off of their calculations and it's only the middle of summer."

"What can we do?"

"Let me finish," His Majesty said, his gentle, insistent fatherly voice seeping into the kingly persona.

Jon sat back and eyed his father. It was one of the rare times when his father didn't treat him as an equal which only served to make his skin itch.

"I reached out to Rhaegar to see if we could reach a trade agreement. Something that would allow us to import food from the Reach but still recognize our sovereignty. And he agreed. Our countries' estranged relationship has no place in the modern age. A week later he contacted me and told me that the Senate refused to send us aid without us joining their union. They claimed the original treaty was so well thought that there is only one loop hole."

Jon fought the urge to speak up. He wasn't a politician and he certainly didn't have all the pieces. But his father did. Ned placed the folder in front of Jon, who opened it with a slow apprehension.

An official portrait of a young woman with white-blonde hair and violet eyes sat at the top of a very thin set of documents. She looked familiar, the kind of face you saw once and never forgot— a face Jon saw only an hour before with the same hint of a smile and mysterious look in her eyes.

Daenerys I Stormborn of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone.

He couldn't form words out of his confusion.

"A fail-safe in case of dire emergency. Association by marriage. If an important royal family member is linked to our country, they will provide aid. Marriage is the only way."

"What?"

"Since we are in desperate need of support, Rhaegar offered the marriage contract between you and the Princess without hesitation."

Realization ignited the kindling of unrest in him, the resulting flames uncontrollable and left Jon flexing his hands to quell the energy.

"This is... archaic!"

"It's old fashioned, sure, but necessary."

"It can't be," Jon protested.

"I know it's shocking—"

"That's one way to put it," Jon scoffed as he turned over her photo to look at the rest of the dossier.

A few other words crossed Jon's mind— Earth-shattering and heart-stopping to name a couple.

Listed on the paper like a citizen's resume was all of her charity work, schooling, and family.

"What about Robb?"

"I suggested your brother first. He's certainly the better choice politically. Their union wouldn't cause a fuss; she's not inheriting the whole kingdom. But Rhaegar insisted it be you."

“Our people will never accept her,” Jon stated.

“They don’t have to. She’s the key to our survival and I’ve been assured she gets a say in the treaty and will be sympathetic if not cooperative. Tonight, your job is to impress her, get on her good side, convince her we’re worth the sacrifice.”

Jon wasn’t sure about that. On paper, he was His Royal Highness Jon Stark, Crowned Prince of the North. His proper rank and position in the line of succession are undeniable and clear but in the minds of society he was a stain, a bloodied mark that no amount of bureaucratic scrubbing could get rid of. A bastard was a bastard.

“And if I can’t?”

While Jon had never had trouble with women, he equated most of that success to the title he carried around. Showy romanticism and shameless wooing were more suited to Robb.

“You don’t have to sweep her off her feet like Prince Charming. Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon for people like us.”

He sighed, remembering all that talk about his lack of responsibility. He ran his hand over the princess’ title. When he was younger, and still a bastard, he dreamed of being trusted with something so important to the nation. Those idyllic fantasies were trampled on by snarky nobles and journalists with loud opinions.

The King looked like he wanted to say something else— something along the lines of remember your duty to your country most like but Jon beat him to it.

“If this is what it takes to keep our people alive, I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” The King nodded then cracked a rare smile. An indication that His Majesty had left the room and Ned Stark— husband and father— had returned. “That’s my boy.”

“You can’t be serious. We can’t have a southern queen!”

“I know. The situation isn’t ideal but it’s what Father thinks is best.”

“But what about her reputation? Everyone says she’s standoffish and has a superiority complex.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“The Daily Digest, the Braavosi Tatler—”

“Sansa, those are tabloids.”

“They’re the only ones who tell the truth.” She shrugged. “Besides, she’s in a relationship. Paparazzi captured her leaving a club with someone two days ago. Did Father discuss this with the Council? There’s no way they would let him do something like this.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Jon supplied, “He might pull on his executive powers to by-pass the council completely.”

“That is something Father would do, especially if he thought he had the right solution.” She paced, the train of her deep green gown swishing. “What about Essos? We couldn’t strike trade deals with them?”

“Maybe. But he’s got it in his head that we need to mend the rift between our two nations and—”

“And a charitable donation couldn’t do that? Maybe a gifted monument to mark the occasion?”

Jon shrugged, “Two birds, one stone.”

More like three, he thought. Settling him down would certainly soothe the disquiet about his seeming disinterest in being the future monarch of the Sovereign North.

Sansa picked up her phone, typing furiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I read an interview about her once, one of her ex’s or something… someone important. Ah! Here!”

She shoved the screen in Jon’s face. Khal Drogo tells all! it read in aggressively bold letters. 

“He called her calculated—”

“It also says that she ended things, I don’t think I’d trust the word of a jaded ex. Look, Sans, I appreciate it but I don’t think any amount of salacious gossip is going to change Father’s mind.”

“You’re seriously going to go along with this?”

“Arranged marriages are perfectly normal for royals. If that’s what it takes to keep our people safe, that’s what I’ll do.”

Sansa’s unusually stony face remained unchanged, a sure fire sign that she was unconvinced by Jon’s argument. But she cracked a smile and said in her teasing tone, “Dacey’s not going to like it.”

“She’ll get over it. We weren’t serious.”

“You should tell her that. She still thinks she has a chance.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Alright, so what’s our plan?”

“Our what?”

“Our plan,” she enunciated, “We have a princess to dazzle so we can live to see spring. And your usual act of standing in the corner, pretending to be above it all, isn’t going to work.”

“I do not do that,” Jon defended.

“Yes, you do!” Sansa laughed.

“I assume we’ll be introduced— again— at some point in the evening. I can take it from there.”

“Or,” Sansa drawled, “You can take initiative and attempt to make conversation like a normal person who is mildly interested in someone.”

“It doesn’t work like that. We have to be introduced,” Jon insisted, “I think someone has to introduce her to me since I technically outrank her.”

Sansa cringed, “Maybe don’t mention that in conversation.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

“It’s not entirely your fault,” she amended, “Women are raised to catch you, not the other way around.”

“Catch me?”

“What do you think Dacey is doing? She was raised with marrying you in mind.”

“A Mormont centering her life goals around a man?”

“It’s not the man, it’s the power he comes with.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Really? Jon, you have the one thing that only the rarest of men have.”

He only raised an eyebrow at her.

“You’re going to be king. And if you can't use that to your advantage, may the Gods help us all."

Chapter Text

It was a Targaryen tradition that every princess received a tiara on the occasion of their debut. Some were repurposed, the familiar floral patterns dotting the society pages like they had for centuries before hand, and some were crafted specifically for the princess. But no matter if the piece was new or old, each contained a diamond from the mines of Valyria. The pressure from the cataclysmic collapse of the Targaryen homeland a millennia ago created the most beautiful, pure diamonds on the planet.

After she received it, however, the places she could wear it were limited to evening functions or important state events. But tonight, every sparkly headpiece would be on display.

The dresser lifted the impressive statement piece from its black velvet bed and set it atop Dany's voluminous waves. The weight was almost a comfort: reminding her to carry her head high or else it would slip, grounding her in its grace and austere beauty.

Her tiara, creatively dubbed the Princess Daenerys tiara, was a band of silver with a large pear-shaped diamond set in the middle, surrounded by several smaller ones. The design was angular, intimidating, and cold. All words used to describe her by people she never once held a conversation with.

If only they knew her camera shy, frigid personal was all a defense mechanism. Avoiding cameras curbed unwanted photos, avoiding conversation kept words from getting twisted and taken out of context. It was an act she learned alongside etiquette and democratic philosophy. Be polite, but keep quite, and everyone will leave you aline.

It fell apart rather quickly. After the death of royal problem child and tabloid darling, Viserys, Dany was thrust under a magnifying glass. They were all waiting to see if she would fly or fail— the latter wasn't an option. The Firm doubled their efforts to make her appear well-rounded and classy. Photo-ops became her extracurricular, primped and posed in conservative skirt-blazer combos with perfect hair and makeup. Never an inch too much of skin, never a blemish or flyaway in sight. She never gave interviews, only the rare speech at a revered institution to a carefully selected audience. When she stepped back from her duties to attend University, The Firm requested privacy for her, and the tabloids retaliated with rumors of her Ice Queen personality.

It was no matter; she wore all their hurtful words like her tiara— as impenetrable armor. And if she was going to spend her night at the Annual Charity Gala, she needed it.

Said gala was nothing more than outdated courtiers dressed in equally outdated fashions with nothing better to do than gossip about each other and indulge in the alcohol and food provided by their generous king while they threw money at whatever charity to make themselves feel better. And they would be especially talkative considering the very special guests in attendance that evening.

Her first impression of the foreign royals was exactly as she expected. They were stoic and modest and if she were in the business of assuming, she might think they weren't exactly pleased to be there. Or they weren't happy with her brother's showy welcome. Either could be true.

At first, she'd been a bit miffed and confused about their cryptic appearance, but it quickly turned to relief when she realized they would overshadow her return to court. They would reduce her to mere mentions in fashion digests and one offs in much longer articles about the night and she was thrilled— giddy even, a rare emotion to be connected to such events.

Missandei returned from shopping in Elia's extensive closet wearing a yellow, off-the-shoulder number with quick alterations made. With her curls arranged in a halo around her golden face, she glowed. None of Dany's cool pastels would do her justice.

"Gods, you look stunning!" Dany cheered, grabbing her friend's hands.

"Thank you. Elia has amazing taste."

As though summoned, Elia swept into the room, a vision in sunset orange chiffon. A tiara composed of the golden suns of House Martell graced her long curls giving her the appearance of a Rhoynish goddess.

"You two look beautiful," she complimented, reaching up to adjust Dany's tiara with a gentle nudge, then let her hands rest on Dany's bare shoulders. "Rhaegar wants to speak with you."

"Now? But the dinner—"

"He's in his office. It's very important so, please, don't keep him waiting."

With furrowed brows, Dany tossed Dei an apologetic look. "Duty calls."

"I"ll keep our lovely guest company until you get back," Elia promised.

Dany traveled down the hall, the lavish rug muffling the click of her heels. She had to tackle a flight of stairs before landing in the lengthy hall leading to his office. A wall of windows revealed the restless Narrow Sea and the horizon that swallowed it. The opposite wall was covered in mirrors, reflecting the ocean and sky back but with Dany's red swathed form floating on it.

She watched as she passed. Her reflection looked dangerous and proud, ready to face the world— or at least her brother. But looks could be deceiving.

She hadn't talked to her brother at all since her return. He was far too occupied by his fancy guests to acknowledge her during the reception. She let it roll like water off her wings. It wasn't an unusual treatment considering their family's striking formality. And Rhaegar especially never failed to make her feel small. It wasn't intentional but he was a man with so much on his agenda, so much behind him and under him, it was impossible not to feel minuscule when faced with everything he was.

She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She would hold her ground this time. She was no longer a scared little girl hiding under daddy's desk. She was a graduated woman with a whole promising life ahead of her— noble titles or not.

The impressive carved door echoed as it shut behind her. Rhaegar didn't look up from the papers scattered across his desk. A serious conversation indeed.

"Dany, thank you for coming." That familiar formality coated every word from his mouth. She was dealing with The King and she should act accordingly. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be home." The sincerity in it was false but impressive.

She smoothed the back of her dress as she sat. The last thing anyone wanted was wrinkles.

The desk, which commanded the room in size alone, was used by every monarch since its addition to the collection. When Dany and Vis were young, it served as the home base for all their games. Rhaegar never played with them; he was too old and too busy with all his training.

With all eyes on the (unfairly named) heir and spare, Dany escaped notice most of the time, especially after the birth of Princess Rhaenys. Her lessons centered less around diplomacy and socialization and more on traditional academics. Of course, she was still a Princess of House Targaryen, so there would be no escaping the tortures of etiquette and the expectations of her role but there were never any stakes attached to it. How quickly it all changed.

Rhaegar looked so much like their father poised in his kingly stature with his silver hair. His eyes were darker than Aerys', deep with his famed melancholia.

"To start, Galazza Galare contacted Baelish. The Braavosi Tatler has agreed to remove the photo from their site, but they will not be issuing an apology."

Dany knew it was too soon to relax herself. There was always something else with Rhaegar.

"There's still the fact that you were hanging on this... Daario Naharis. Do you know what people are saying?"

"You don't have to worry about Daario. It's nothing like the last time."

"Dany, we can't have you acting like this. People will assume you've gone down the same path as Viserys—"

"I was celebrating my graduation. I wanted to let loose for once."

"And look what happened."

Dany set her jaw, clasping her hands in her lap. She promised herself she wouldn't bend under the weight of the Sovereign.

"I've never done anything out of line, you know that." She tried not to sound like she was pleading but a hint of desperation tinged her words.

"But the negative aspects of this whole situation have taken the spotlight. Next people will be leaking photos, your impressive string of ex-boyfriends will release tell all novels— you've allowed the first domino to fall, Dany."

She blinked at her brother. "Me? All I did was be normal, I don't—"

"We are not normal, Daenerys. We are Targaryens, we have ruled Westeros for centuries and while we have had our fair share of wild cards in the past it is significantly harder in this day and age to maintain appearances."

And just like that, she was nothing more than a girl being scolded, expected to hang her head in shame and beg forgiveness. She would, she knew it, and she would do anything to make it better. Bridge any gap, seal any cracks.

"Monarchy is dying. Every day more people turn against us and any small misstep, any perceived imperfection, is a reason to get rid of us."

"I understand," Dany stated, raising her eyes to try and read her brother's expression but it didn't give her the answers she wanted.

No sympathy awaited her there. No compassion, no empathy. He arched an unconvinced brow.

"I do. We are in a delicate situation with the court of public opinion and I haven't been helping."

"Good." He opened the desk drawer and pulled out an official looking folder with the state seal printed in the front; a three headed dragon with a set of scales and a longsword grasped in its talons. "Now, we do have a proposition that serves to smooth this whole thing over."

He slid the folder across the polished desk and Dany took it with a cautious hand. A familiar face, previously glimpsed during a brief handshake at the reception to welcome him, peered back at her. Dignified and strong in a military dress uniform, devoid of the extraneous decoration she had seen on so many. His hair was shorter and his face a touch softer than the mature one she met earlier. Printed underneath were the words, His Royal Highness, Jon of House Stark, Crowned Princess of the Sovereign North.

"What—"

"Two months ago, I received a message from His Majesty seeking to terminate the previous agreement between our countries and open up trade. This, however, cannot be done except for an emergency fail safe. Marriage."

"Marriage?" Dany balked, "Why didn't you discuss this with me first?"

"I knew you would see this for what it is: an opportunity. Not only does it provide aid to a nation in desperate need of support, it strengthens our houses. It strengthens our monarchies."

Her gown, which was already tight in fit, felt like a scarlet satin snake tightening around her. Blood, frustrated and embarrassed, rushed to the surface and tinted her skin.

"And you expected me to accept it? With no push back whatsoever?"

"I expect you to do what is right and put your family before yourself. When Aegon conquered Westeros he didn't do it because of a silly whim, he did it to save his family. The same family that you and I are now tasked with preserving."

"That is—"

"No matter what your time in Braavos would have you believe, you are still an active member of this family. You still answer to The Crown and you cannot let your personal feelings get in the way of your duty."

"What if I wasn't?" Dany asked, recalling a conversation about hunkering down in Essos with a man she at least liked and a career she cared about. "What if I wasn't a working royal?"

"I wouldn't advise that."

"Why not?"

His Majesty took a deep breath and looked her dead in the eyes, "I'll cut you off."

It was a ridiculously melodramatic sentiment but it still stung, still toyed with the burned nerves of the last twenty four hours.

"It doesn't matter. I don't need my inheritance of my title. I have a degree and—"

"And what, Dany? Your name? Without my backing, that goes away too. You know how this game works. It's not a decision I'm happy about but I will do it."

She still had the Prince's profile clenched in her hand. All his achievements and honorifics and personal information crinkled by her manicured fingers and their curated stress.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

"You have until tomorrow morning. Negotiations start then."

Her eyes stung as she took her first deep breath and left the extravagant office in a crimson flare. The dress kept her from breaking into a dead sprint back down the hall but she still managed to move at a brisk pace. Her reflection was transformed from the upright, confident woman who entered Rhaegar's office into a frightening specter hell bent on getting as far away from the site as possible.

"Did you know about this?" Dany demanded of her sister-in-law as she entered the staging area for the evening.

All the upholstered furniture, carved wood, and ancient paneling made her sick. What an elaborate prison.

Dei looked up as Elia furrowed her brows.

"Did you know that Rhaegar sold me off for some alliance we don't need?" She held up the folder as evidence.

Elia sighed, "He asked me not to tell you for fear you would react like this."

"Wait, what's happening?" Dei questioned from the brocade ottoman.

"I'm engaged." A statement usually full of joy and excitement left Dany's lips empty and hollow. "I found out five minutes ago."

She needed to punch something. She needed to scream, to run. Yes, running sounded like an excellent idea.

"It's perfectly normal," Elia assured their non-royal guest as Dany handed the dossier to Dei.

Upon opening it, Dei gasped. "Oh, he's hot."

Elia hummed in agreement. "He's the Heir to the Sovereign North. His country seeks an alliance with the United Kingdoms of Westeros. And he is handsome, you could do a lot worse for looks."

"So your brother arranged a marriage contract without your consent?"

"Yes and I have until tomorrow to decide if I want to go along with it or lose literally everything."

"Decide? The answer is obviously no. This is the twenty-first century," Dei insisted.

"If only it were that easy." Dany rolled her eyes. "Arranged marriages are incredibly popular. The narrative we shape around them is different though."

"Rhaegar and I were an arranged match," reported Elia, "And we turned out fine."

"That's different," Dany pointed out. It sounded much whinier than she intended but it was all she could manage.

"How so?"

"Rhaegar was the heir to a nation! I'm just Dany, I'm... I'm the spare."

Though Dany was never meant to hold that unspoken title, and she was now third in line for the throne, she was still a very visible member of the family. The unwed Princess Royal; meant to fulfill a decided role to the masses. To the older citizens she was the little girl all grown up, an inspiration to her peers, and to those younger than her, she was something to aspire to— at least until last night.

She had a role to play. As long as she lived she would be Daenerys Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, forever bound to the wishes of The Crown.

"I spent six years in Slaver's Bay making change— real change by getting my hands dirty. If I marry him, I can't do that anymore. It will all be overrun by photo ops."

"I would argue that you could make more change," Dei offered, "Albeit, a less directly impactful kind of change but you're still helping a nation that desperately needs it."

"But I know nothing about them— their culture, their history—"

"You'll learn," Elia supplied, "As Queen, it will be your responsibility to—"

"Queen?" Dany cried, "I don't want to be their queen. I don't want any of this, I—"

Tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to ruin her picture perfect makeup. She took a shaky breath. Crying was the second to last thing she needed right then.

What she wanted to do was crawl into bed in her Braavosi apartment and pretend everything was some passing nightmare— a fever dream that would fade with the waking hours. But it was a luxury she didn't have. There was no easy escape route, she would have to burn one with as much resistance as she could muster.

The foreign prince had to be as opposed to this match. She looked down at his crumpled portrait. The only way to find out was to talk to him. That would at least make Rhaegar and Elia happy and cover her while she planned the quickest way to sabotage everything.

"I—" she started again but was interrupted by the appearance of Elia's assistant.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness, it's time."

Chapter Text

There wasn’t a formal dinner before the gala started. Baelish claimed too many people were in attendance to host in the grand dining room, which Jon doubted was true. An invitation to dine with the Royal Family was extended but the Starks opted to be served in the little dining room in their guest apartments. A quiet, understated, and pleasant place. Similar motifs of the South’s agricultural region dotted the walls, trying their hardest to transport them to the picturesque pastoral setting. It failed. There was no tricking Jon out of the truth he already knew, a silver and jewel-encrusted labyrinth lay beyond the decorated double doors.

The whole drawn-out process was unbearable. A million questions rattled through all of their heads but no one wanted to risk addressing the mammoth in the room. And Sansa, despite her best efforts and natural talents, failed to get a conversation flowing. For the first time, his family felt the need to walk on eggshells around each other.

He stared at his portion of the lamb, Sansa’s voice a mere hum in the background as she tried to fill the silence. He had no urge to eat and the watery sauce drizzled over the meat wasn’t helping. 

Of the various subjects of thought Jon switched through, the princess kept coming back. Her official portrait staring at him in pretty intimidation, the information Sansa divulged. Calculated, untouchable, spoiled, bitchy . If the woman he was bound to meet was anything like her reputation, Jon would need a drink in his hand for most of the night and a full stomach to facilitate it.

Too soon, waiters carried off their private dinner and their idyllic surroundings swept away with it. Replaced by an enormous hall done up in gold and warm light meant to replicate the playful flicker of a thousand candles. Hundreds of people milled around the space, a lack of the standard dissonant noise that came when voices mingled together in such a space. Gatherings in the North weren’t subdued in any fashion. The night started loud and ended louder. 

On those occasions, a large number of people were welcome because they helped keep the hall warm. Now the same number of bodies made him claustrophobic. The summer heat and humidity mixed with the mass created an uncomfortable warmth. The kind of swelter that made one hyper-aware of the clothes on their body, and yet, guests wore full skirts and sleeves.

Jon and Robb stayed close to their father, observing the party from afar. Sansa, however, threw herself into the action. And the people loved her as she flitted from group to group in true social butterfly fashion.  

“Why can’t you two be that sociable?” Ned pestered.

“We’re not here to make friends,” Robb bristled.

Jon stayed silent and sipped his drink.

A loud sound brought their attention to the other end of the hall where a large staircase loomed over them all. Sansa returned to her father’s side in anticipation.

“Their Majesties, King Rhaegar I of House Targaryen and Queen Elia of House Martell of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, Prince and Princess of Dorne, Duke and Duchess of the Crownlands and Lord and Lady of King’s Landing and the Watergardens.”

Jon held in his scoff at their excessive titles. The King and Queen entered the room, descending the stairs and basking in the applause of their guests.

“Her Royal Highness, Daenerys Stormborn I of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone.”

Like a vision, she appeared at the top of the stairs. No applause accompanied her, only whispers. 

The other guests dressed in muted colors and tasteful cuts, keeping the possibility for a scandal to a minimum. Daenerys on the other hand, seemed to like ruffling feathers. Her bold gown bared her shoulders and much of her chest, it clung to her curves and highlighted every move she made. He always thought of red as a warm color but on her it was utterly cold, enhanced by the silvery jewels adorning her body.

Her eyes raked over the crowd before settling on the corner where the Starks were. Jon hoped it was pure coincidence.

Her descent took a lifetime and no one looked away. Never once did she look down or second guess a step. She was calm and graceful. Even when she stepped onto the floor of the hall and was swallowed by courtiers, he could feel her presence.

Robb nudged Jon’s shoulder, shaking him from his reverie.

“She’s going to eat you alive,” Robb jested.

“Oh, ye of so little faith.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

It was true, Jon’s track record with women wasn’t impressive but when compared to the circumstances surrounding him, a case could be made for it. Most women he found himself with weren’t what the crown would consider ‘proper’. So, Jon’s responsibility to keep his, and by default the crown’s, reputation clean won out over his inherently male nature. Ned’s insistence on legitimization meant a higher set of expectations to meet and it was easier to avoid conversation with women whenever possible.

Sansa elbowed him in the ribs, “Now's your chance.”

The courtiers were done with her and she surveyed the table with photos of that year's charity with a brown-skinned woman in a yellow dress. As he approached the pair, Daenerys looked up and briskly walked away. He meant to follow her but the princess’ companion stepped in his way.

“Your Highness, it’s such an honor to meet you,” she greeted.

Jon looked over her shoulder and watched the silver hair disappear into another crowd.

“It’s an honor to meet you too …”

“Missandei. I’m Princess Daenerys’ best friend.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake. 

There it was. 

Jon shook it and chuckled, “I see.”

It was refreshing to just shake someone’s hand instead of the usual bowing and scraping.

“Is this your first time in the south?”

“It is.”

“Do you like it?”

Her question felt like a trap. She may not have been educated in the ways of the court but she had to know about Daenerys’ engagement. They were best friends.

“I haven’t seen much of it but it’s different from the North, that’s for sure.”

“It’s my first time in Westeros too. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Like you said, it’s very different.”

“Where are you originally from?”

“Naath.”

“Then how did you meet the Princess?”

“University in Braavos. I think I was the only person who dared to speak to her. Everyone was terrified,” Missandei divulged.

“I can see why,” he agreed, taking a drink from his glass.

The look he received from the foreign woman was enough to make him wish he was invisible. He cleared his throat, aware of how his stomach dropped. Missandei only laughed and Jon let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s okay. Everyone thinks that when they first meet her.”

She lowered her voice and gave him a serious look, “Just don’t get on her bad side, it won’t end well for you.”

“I couldn’t imagine myself wanting to,” he answered.

The smirk on Missandei’s face worried Jon.

“Did you go to university?”

“No. I entered the military.”

“Right. Well, if you did go, what would you have majored in?”

“Something political, I’m sure.”

He gave her the answer he thought she wanted. That was how politics worked after all, you told people what they wanted to hear. But Jon wasn’t a politician.

“Actually, when I was younger, I wanted to be a veterinarian. My dad had this massive dog and I loved him. His lords joked that the dog was more loyal to me than him.”

“Then why the military?”

Missandei wasn’t an ordinary member of the court, just a visitor. She seemed like a modern woman who was tired of gossip and passive-aggressiveness. 

“The title ‘bastard’ doesn’t go away just because some papers were signed. If I went to university, the Northmen would see me as a waste of their tax dollars. So I went into the military. I spent four years protecting my people so they wouldn’t see me as the bastard who got lucky.”

She didn’t respond. Maybe he’d overstepped and shared too much. He couldn’t have these kinds of conversations with people at court. And Missandei was easy to talk to. 

“That was probably an overshare,” he chuckled, taking a swig of his drink.

“No, it was actually really refreshing. I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours and everyone is so formal. Nothing goes deeper than the surface. It was nice to hear someone be real for once.”

The smile on her face was genuine, Jon could tell that much. And he felt the corners of his mouth tug up too.

“If you spent four years on active duty, then you’ve been off for two. Why’s that?”

“That’s classified,”

It wasn’t true, of course, but Jon found that when faced with questions considered far too personal, employing the common saying was easier than getting too personal. There was a reason he was sent home but Jon wasn’t fond of talking about it.  

Missandei laughed again but her charming smile puttered out when she saw the serious look on Jon’s face, “Oh, you were serious?”

He offered her another grin before taking another sip from his near-empty glass.

They talked a little while longer about random subjects. Missandei talked about her home in Naath and Jon about the North. 

“I should probably go find where Her Highness has wandered off to.”

“I can come with you,” Jon offered, wanting to meet the mysterious dragon princess for himself.

“No need. It was a pleasure to meet you though.”

And with that, Missandei and her soft yellow gown weaved back into the sweltering crowd. Jon let out a sigh of relief and acute frustration.

He leaned against the wall and studied the bottom of his glass. Maybe it was time for a real drink. Something light that he could nurse for a while and not get into trouble with. Another survey of the crowd revealed Daenerys talking with Missandei near a statue of some political figure.

It didn’t take long for Sansa to make her way over and feign interest in the displayed photos. 

“Who were you talking to?”

“The Princess’ best friend.”

“I hope you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

Jon left his wall to stand beside her and pretend to look at the photos as well.

“I don’t think I did. I tried to talk to Daenerys but she ran away when she saw me.”

“If I found out I was engaged to someone I’d never met, I’d bolt too.”

Jon sighed, “What’ve you figured out from the floor?”

“Every distinguished lady here thinks she’s fast and loose. Burning through heirs and millionaire’s sons faster than they can make them. They’re surprised she returned home after that picture went around.”

“Missandei said that people were terrified of her in university.”

“This doesn’t look good for us. The Northmen will never accept someone who causes such a scandal. We can’t afford to look bad on the world stage especially with our economy failing.”

“Not to mention the Boltons,” Robb stated as he arrived at Jon’s side, “Father says they’ve been getting testy, more vocal against our policies. I can’t wait to see what they have to say about this.”

“This is the 21st century, they couldn’t stage a coup if they wanted to. There are too many safeguards.”

“Nothing is safe from men who crave power.”

His father said those words once when Jon was younger. He assumed it was just an off-hand comment but Ned started saying it more often as Jon got older. 

“They’d rather have no monarchy than us in power,” Sansa remarked.

“Once the great lords see that this was done to protect our people, they won’t question it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

“Sansa, don’t be such a skeptic. This is how great dynasties survive. They adapt and overcome.” Robb threw his arm around her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

Sansa hurriedly shrugged it off as another person approached them.

“You must be Princess Sansa,” the gentle, velvety voice greeted.

Draped in fabric the color of a soft sunset and a cluster of suns sitting on her head, the woman stood as tall as Sansa and possessed the same beauty and grace. The Queen smiled as Sansa curtseyed to her. 

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you.”

“The same to you. You are a breath of fresh air at this court.”

“Thank you.” Sansa blushed. 

“If I could, I would have you moved here immediately.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“There’s always space.” she winked before turning. “And you must be Prince Jon.”

Between the too-friendly Rhaegar and Daenerys’ cold shoulder, it was the nicest greeting he’d experienced that day. He nodded and greeted her back. 

“If it’s alright with you, Jon, I’d like to speak alone.”

Sansa didn’t need to be told twice. Like the socially adept lady she was, she threaded her arm through Robb’s and towed him away. She glanced back over her shoulder in a ‘good luck’ gesture. Jon took a deep breath and prepared himself for his conversation with the queen.

“Have you had the opportunity to talk with my sister?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. She appears adamant on avoiding me . 

“That’s a shame. I’m sure she’ll find her way to you eventually. She just returned home and everyone is excited to talk to her about university and her charity work and who knows what else,” Elia rambled, slipping her arm through Jon’s and leading him away from the display table and the crowds.

When they were away from people the queen lowered her voice, “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’ve heard.”

“About the Princess?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not all terrible. The majority of it is … concerning but I’ve learned that the whispers of any court can breed lies.”

“That’s true. Daenerys is too fierce for her own good but Targaryens are nothing without their fire. How are you handling the announcement?”

It was the first time that night someone asked him how he felt. His family had been up in arms, weighing pros and cons and worried about the much more important external. In situations like theirs, the personal was often set aside.

“As well as I can at the moment.”

“Good. Arranged marriages have fallen out of touch but my marriage was arranged and Rhaegar and I are very much in love.” She turned her face to look out over the crowd.

Jon followed her gaze and found it rested on the tall, silver-haired king engaged in conversation with several older gentlemen.

“Daenerys will come around. You know, she doesn’t act it, but she’s very much a romantic. When she was younger we would have movie nights and she only wanted to watch classic romances.”

To imagine the cold woman gliding across the floor as someone who enjoyed romance movies was hard. They had warmth, something she clearly lacked. He certainly didn’t see where the Queen saw the romance in an arranged marriage with the two most uninterested parties. 

An assistant approached the queen and whispered something in her ear.

“I’m so sorry but I have to go catch Rhaegar before he gives his speech about this year's charity,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it. Duty calls.”

She laughed and gave him a knowing look before following her assistant off. 

Rhaegar’s speech proved to be unnecessarily long but it gave Jon an opportunity to see Daenerys up close. As the king stood at a podium on a makeshift platform, Elia and Daenerys stood beside him. 

She laughed at the jokes and smiled at the right times, her eyes sparkling. Even as the speech drew on she maintained her upright posture and never fidgeted. She’d probably experienced longer speeches and spent hours in tedious lessons with impossible teachers.

Rhaegar finished his speech to a polite round of applause and stood with his wife while the photographer snapped a photo.

That was when Daenerys looked down at Jon. Their eyes met. He expected a nice reaction, maybe a smile of sympathy to show that she understood how complicated their situation was. Instead, she clenched her jaw and hardened her eyes. Elia whispered something in her ear that drew her attention away.

The party resumed and he found himself clenching his fist with an unconscious intensity. He was wound up and starting to get desperate. The princess still evaded him at every turn and the heat of the room started getting to him.

At the beginning of the night, he saw the garden outside the ballroom and its promise of refuge if everything went wrong. As soon as the rather bold debutantes holding him hostage gave up, he locked his eyes on the doors and he didn’t break concentration until the glass panes were behind him.

The gallery between the courtyard and the ballroom was dark and quiet but people still gathered on the various settees lining the walls. Still too many people for his taste. The patio and gardens just beyond, which he planned to escape to, were occupied as well.

He continued down the hall, not even looking at the portraits of various Targaryen ancestors or idyllic scenes. He found another door and followed it out. 

The fragrant smell of citrus and flowers welcomed him. The air was drier, cooler too. Wherever he was, wasn’t outside. He heard trickling water from within and followed the sound. 

Trees lined the walls and life-sized statues of naked water bearers and intimate scenes of lovers hid among the plants. Everything lit by the natural light from the glass-paneled ceiling, the tops of palms and the decorative tile. And a man sat at the edge of a pool, smoking a cigarette with a bottle of liquor by his side.

A woman floated in the shallow fountain, wearing nothing but a white nightgown. Her silver hair fanned around her, as pale as the moonlight that fell through the glass and onto the rippling water.

Not wanting to interrupt a private moment, or bear witness to any unsavory sights, Jon turned to leave. But then the woman spoke.

“Jorah?”

The man hummed, blowing the smoke from his cigarette into the air.

“Do you think they’re missing me right now?”

“I told them you were jetlagged and needed sleep. I don’t think they bought it but we’ll see.”

She sat up, pulling her hair over her shoulder. Her gaze drifted past her partner in crime and she gasped when she spotted Jon among the palms. Water flew in a clear spray as she rushed to stand. It was then that he noticed the slip was see-through from the water. He should’ve run right there but his feet were heavy as lead. 

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, the edge in her voice cold as ice.

Jon wanted to respond but his mouth was dry, caught in the last place he should’ve been. Sure as snow in winter, it was her and Jon cursed for letting himself be seen.

Chapter Text

The palace’s water garden was built at the request of Maron Martell, husband to the first Princess Daenerys and the one from which Dany got her name, for his visiting family. The greenhouse was dry with plants native to Dorne and several different water fixtures mimicking the ones in the real Watergardens. The peaceful place was Dany’s choice reprise spot when everyone else in the complex was occupied.

Floating in the gardens was a tradition born from the days when she and Elia would sneak snacks from the kitchens and have a picnic. And sometimes, Rhaegar would join them but those were the days before Aerys’ health took a turn for the worse. Rheagar never picnicked with them again.

Her little ritual was the same every time. After completing the necessary duties of the night, she met Jorah in the concert hall attached to the ballroom, changed, and slipped into the gardens unnoticed. Floating, weightless and letting the water pass over in her idea of sacred alone time. Now it was sullied by a trespasser. 

Obscured by the shadows of the palms and backlit by the dim gallery, they made no effort to move from the side of the room.  

“I’ll ask one more time, who are you?”

“I’m sorry. I was just looking for an empty room.”

He ventured another step into the garden, the moonlight settling over his angular features, highlighting the unmistakable arrogant youth in his face. The scar over one eye. It was him. 

Fuck, she cursed and turned her eyes up to the Gods, you won’t let me catch one break . 

“What are you doing in here?”

Despite the warm air, a shiver passed through her. Her hair clung to her arms and the slip to her thighs. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Just looking for a quiet place.” He shrugged off his suit jacket and held it out.

She looked from the jacket in his hand to his face. Did he mean it for her?

“Nothing that hasn’t been seen before.”

Prideful vanity kept her from accepting. She knew her appearance made him uneasy and planned to exploit that, the need to keep her authority winning out over common sense. She wrung her hair as she stepped out of the pool, water dripped from the hem of her slip onto the Dornish marble tile. 

“Please?” He offered her the jacket again, like a trapped explorer encountering a hungry tiger.

He kept his expression soft, unwaveringly so. There wasn’t an ounce of commanding to his voice, only a simple offer. And Dany hated it. A chill gently shook her and she snatched the suit jacket from him. Wrapping the warm article around her, she smelled a cologne she didn’t recognize; orange blossoms and hearty herbs. One she wouldn’t expect from him.

“These are the queen’s private gardens, no one should be here.”

“No offense, Your Highness, but you’re in here.”

She looked him up and down, then straightened her posture, “I’m a member of the Royal House Targaryen, this is my home. I’m allowed to go wherever I please.”

“Princess, what would you like me to do?” Jorah questioned from behind her.

Dany jumped at the sound of his voice. With all her focus and intent on Jon she forgot Jorah was still in the room. A multitude of options crossed her mind. She could have him take the prince away and go back to her floating but the intrusion wound her up. And she wasn’t ready to retire.

Besides, if the prince was so bold as to seek her out here, he could handle a minimal interaction with her.

“You can go, Ser Jorah, I’ve got this under control.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He was only going to wait outside the proper entrance so he could escort her back to her rooms. 

“Alright, Your Highness.”

As soon as he was gone, Dany took up the bottle of whiskey and settled at the edge of the pool.

“So, you’re the poor fool they’re trying to chain me to.” 

“Aye, I’m Prince Jon of the-”

“I know.”

She took a pull from the bottle before offering it to him. He took it.

“You spent the whole night avoiding me,” he pointed out.

“And I was doing very well until you got adventurous.” She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye. “Elia and Missy gave you glowing reviews, if you care to know.”

“Why send them to talk to me when you could’ve done it yourself?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

She remembered her promise to Elia, about giving Jon a chance. A thought struck her. Was this prince going to give her the same chance ?

“What have you heard about me?”

“That you’re calculated. You’re fast and loose and you burn through men like wildfire.”

A smirk grew at his admission. His opinion formed on fictitious information spread by petty old hags and jealous debutantes. If that was the Daenerys he expected, she was more than happy to play the role.

“And despite all of that you’re somehow convinced I would be a good match? That you would want me to stand at your side for the rest of your life?”

She swished her legs through the water, watching the way it slid off her legs in a strangely calm daze.

“Of course not but if it means my people live through winter…”

“What’s it like?”

“The North?”

“No, Dorne,” she simpered then rolled her eyes, “Yes, your home. What’s it like?”

“It’s cold and it snows a lot.”

“Doesn’t sound like the proper place for a Targaryen.”

“It’s not.”

She should’ve been offended, angry even, but his comment rolled off of her like the water on her legs. The alcohol of the night inhibited her ability to feel much else but deep contempt.

“Well, you’ll have to find someone else to grant your aid.”

“You’re not going through with the arrangement?”

“Why would I want to?”

“You would be helping a whole country.”

“Ask yourself this, what does my country have to gain from this?”

He went silent and not in contemplation. She took the whiskey back.

“You see, this marriage is a way for Rhaegar to sell me off. He sees it as a way to settle me down and ship me away so I’ll stop ruining his day with revealing headlines. He doesn’t care about the North, he cares about his reputation.”

The innate protective nature Rhaegar had over the Targaryen name wasn’t his fault alone. The dynasty stayed in power for 330 years by adapting and changing, making people adore them and setting an example of the highest kind. As he’d told her earlier, the people were growing tired of the burden the monarchy represented and any step out of line, any crack in their perfectly moulded facade would be an invitation for the destruction of the Targaryen line.

The worst part was, Dany couldn’t imagine a life of not being a royal. She’d gone to university and experienced something like it there. But even then the issue of money never crossed her mind. She never stayed awake at night wondering how to pay rent or afford food or any other luxury she cared for. If the crown fell, every day would be uncertain and her life would be in danger.

“I don’t care what your family gets out of it, as long as my people get what they need to survive.”

She stood, the bottle still clutched in hand, “What do you know of marriage treaties?”

“Not much.”

Perfect . 

“They’re just like regular ones. They require that representatives of the two parties sit down and discuss terms and agreements. While I assume you’re already sold on the fact that your country needs me to secure supplies, there’s still the very tricky matter of my opinion.”

She approached a statue of two lovers, bare and frozen, their mouths inches away. She heard his dress shoes on the tile as he followed.

“That’s why my family came south. To convince you to say yes, to help us.”

“No.” she turned on him. “You were dragged here to be appraised like jewels at an auction.” 

Her features remained placid despite her need to scream. To rage. To raise her voice and burn him with her words.

“You know what you have to do and you’ve made up your mind. But me? I get to decide whether or not this whole operation happens. Why else would you need to convince me to help you if my word didn’t matter on this subject?” 

He was silent again. His eyes betrayed nothing but Dany got the feeling he knew what was coming next. In their stillness, Dany noted how the moonlight laid on his strong face. Something about the scene awoke an urge within her.

She was well aware of her affinity for pretty men. Hells, the whole world knew she couldn’t say no to an attractive face. Under normal circumstances, nothing would stop her from adding the Northern Prince to her collection but this conquest came with a significant amount of baggage. And there was an edge to him that reminded her of Daario.

Daario. She hadn’t told him where she was going before she left. He probably thought she was still mad and avoiding him as they usually did after a fight. When in truth, she’d hardly looked at her phone since her flight took off. And the few times she did, no notifications awaited her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh laugh from the prince.

“What?” she demanded.

“All day I’ve been told to play nice and make a good impression on you and your family.”

“As you should,” she affirmed, the corner of her mouth tugged into a pleased grin.

“But you… you-”

“I what?”

“You’ve been a rude bitch the whole night.”

Dany supposed she deserved that but it didn’t lessen the sting. She fought hard to keep her composure, the same self-satisfied smirk standing vigilant. She knew the people of the court compared her to fire but Dany liked to think of herself as the personification of the element. Beautiful and warm from a distance, scalding and dangerous up close. 

If she was fire, he was cold, unyielding ice. 

“Did you expect anything less?”

“I don’t want this any more than you-”

“Then why make such an effort?”

“Have you not heard a word out of my mouth? My people are in danger! Our economy isn’t strong enough to secure trade with anyone else. You’re their only help so get off your damn high horse and realize that there are people more important than you.

“I know what it’s like to have people whispering behind my back and calling me names that I don’t deserve. Our lives and positions come with baggage that not even we understand but unlike you, I haven’t decided to take it out on everyone around me and burn more bridges than I build.”

His brief rant brought him closer to her and she caught another whiff of his cologne. She tilted her chin up to meet his gaze but her smirk was gone. The fierceness in his eyes reminded Dany of herself. He was ice alright but a fire burned inside, deep below his cool exterior.
Dany would usually fight until she’d worn down her opponent. But being put in her place three times in one day left her exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go to bed. 

“Here,” she whispered, taking a step back and holding up the bottle of liquor.

“What’s this for?”
“If you want to marry me, you’re going to need that and a lot more,” she told him.

She looked upon his face one last time before she turned to leave.

“Does this mean you’ll go through with it?”

Dany paused and looked over her shoulder. Her hair and slip were nearly dry, but she kept Jon’s suit jacket wrapped around her. Her intention was to melt him, to reduce him to nothing more than water under another burning bridge. But she failed, her actions having the opposite effect.

“The North sounds like a lovely country. I would like to see it sometime.”

She slipped out the greenhouse door, making her way back to her apartments, Jorah trailing dutifully behind her. He didn’t ask questions, he heard it all. 

The back hall was quiet considering a party still blazed nearby. The distant sounds of music and numerous conversations muffled by the thick walls. The rooms flanking the seemingly endless hall remained closed off, waiting for their occupants to return. It reminded her of walking through their summer home on Dragonstone.

The ancient keep stood empty for most of the year, used only for exclusive diplomatic trips and the Targaryen’s summer vacations. The first few hours were spent breezing through the lifeless corridors and reveling in the solitude.

Dragonstone was meant to be bestowed to Viserys, since he was second eldest, but after his death the lands and titles fell to Dany. She planned to make it her permanent residence when she eventually settled down. But if things went according to Rhaegar’s plan, she wouldn’t need to worry about that. 

They arrived at her door and she thanked Jorah and went inside. Still wrapped in the prince’s suit jacket, she shook out her hair and lay across the settee. The exhaustion she forced to the side settled in, weighing her limbs down, but her mind still rattled with the words Jon said.

No one looking to gain her favor spoke to her like that, no one ever dared. They feigned overly nice, bought her expensive things, and complimented her to no end. All in an effort to appease her scaley nature and get somewhere, and it always worked. When their relations inevitably bored her, they said nothing and found someone else to bide their time. Never once did they call her out on her behavior.

Rhaegar tried but their confrontations focused on public habits, not so much her behavioral ones. And the words hurled around in those verbal scuffles never stuck. They didn’t dig their claws into her already battered brain and drag her down a long and winding path of second-guessing. 

Luckily, a knock at her door pulled her away from a downward spiral of overthinking. Elia swept into the room with Missandei on her arm. They blushed and giggled, glowing from the social atmosphere. 

“It’s so dark in here,” Missy commented as Dany reached up to turn on the lamp. 

“Did you get to talk to Prince Jon?” Elia asked, her voice a mixture of business and giddy girlishness a s if they were teenage girls at a sleepover about to discuss their crushes. 

Dany had never been a fan of those games. Elia usually took that as an invitation to meddle and those situations never end well.

“Yes, we had quite the discussion,” Dany answered, allowing herself a stupid smirk.

The women looked her up and down. Missy pursed her lips as she sank into the seat at the vanity. 

“Oh, Dany, please tell me you didn’t-”

“Don’t worry Elia, nothing happened. Nothing fun anyway. This-” she tugged at the fabric around her- “was just a gentlemanly gesture.”

“Is that where you disappeared to?” Missy questioned.

“We just happened to run into each other.”

“And?”

“We talked.”

“What did you talk about?” pressured Elia, still standing.

She shifted her weight and placed her hands on her hips, employing her motherly nature.
“I’d prefer not to say.”

“Daenerys…”

A warning.

“Elia, I’ve made up my mind. About the marriage.”

Missy sat up straighter.

“And what did you decide?”

“I decided that I need more time. A month at least before anything is official. I need to tie up some … loose ends.”

Elia swooped down to hug Dany, pulling her up from the bed. Dany wished she could share in the queen’s happiness but she felt devoid of anything but deep-seated dread. And she’d left out the very crucial detail of Rhaegar’s blackmail.

She put up a good fight. Trying to forget that it wasn’t ultimately hopeless. She could at least put it off, give her some space so she didn’t feel like the world was bearing down on her.

“I’ll tell Rhaegar in the morning, he’ll be overjoyed. I’m so glad you’re considering this. You’re going to be an amazing queen.”

Missy cleared her throat, “I’m really sorry to rain on the parade, but Dany won’t be a queen. She’ll still be a princess. In order for Dany to become Queen of the North, she needs to be granted the crown matrimonial.”

“How do you know this?”

“Missandei studied world governments as part of her degree in Public Relations,” Dany informed Elia. 

“And a quick glance back at my notes on the North told me that traditionally the Crown Matrimonial is only granted once the consort in question proves themselves worthy through an act of honor and great courage.”

The princess frowned and looked toward Elia.

“When you attend the contract meeting tomorrow, bring it up. I’m sure Rhaegar will have it amended to the documents.”

Dany didn’t try to fight back the yawn that left her, hoping it would remind Elia that she was tired and wanted to sleep. The queen gave her another tight squeeze and hugged Missandei before saying her goodbyes and slipping from the room. Missy stayed in Dany’s rooms as the guest apartments were for important diplomatic guests only. 

Not long after, there was another knock on the door. Dany let out a groan of frustration and got up to answer it. She expected Rhaegar, but it was only the night maid stopping by to collect the dresses. She finally removed the suit jacket and gave it to the woman, requesting that it be express cleaned and returned to Prince Jon first thing in the morning.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married… in a month,” Missandei sighed as they lay on Dany’s bed.

Dany stared at the ceiling, trying to calm her racing mind, “Me neither.”

If she had her way, by the end of the month, there would be no wedding and the past twenty-four hours would only be a bad memory. She may have lost a battle, but she wouldn’t lose the war.

Chapter Text

Sitting in the cavernous official office of King Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon felt unsettled. Whether from the dark color scheme or the dragon statues leering at him, he couldn’t say, but the subject up for discussion certainly didn’t help.

Instead of the impressive desk at the other end of the room, the participants sat around a smaller table. Papers splayed around the shining surface and the two monarchs spent hours discussing each point in the new contract. Daenerys stewed in silent rage across from Jon, as she had that morning.

In a show of goodwill, the Targaryens invited the Starks to breakfast in the formal dining room. Jon expected another stuffy, extravagant hall with a mile-long table weighed down by hundreds of food options; the Targaryens basking in the glory of their ostentatious wealth. What he got surprised him. 

The impressive chandeliers were off in favor of the natural light from the tall windows. The mile-long dining table was much more modest with just enough seats to fit all of them in. And the light breakfast foods were offered on a platter in the center. 

The only open seat was across from the Princess and Jon swallowed down the curses he wanted to utter. She had her back to the windows, the morning sunlight making a halo out of her white-gold hair. The princess looked up when he entered, something strange flickering in her eyes before she tore her gaze away. Under any other circumstances, Jon would’ve appreciated the beautiful scene and maybe tried his hand at a compliment, but considering their confrontation the night before he thought it best if he kept his mouth shut.

Just the look of her brought back images of wet hair over a black-clad shoulder, a whiskey bottle clasped in a pale hand. The drenched, see-through slip and a pair of violent violet eyes trying to conceal their anger at the world.

She avoided eye contact with him the whole time, preferring to push her food around her plate and throw a few disinterested comments Elia’s way. 

She spoke to Jon only once, breaking her pointless silence to say, “I trust your jacket made it back to you.”

“In perfect condition,” he answered, keeping it short. No need to give anyone ideas.

They returned to their silence for the rest of the breakfast. Occasionally, Jon would sneak a glance at her, only to find that she was looking at him too. They both averted their eyes and went back to their food.

The two played the same game as Rhaegar and Ned discussed yet another point on the treaty. A gap came in the conversation and Daenerys spoke for the first time the whole meeting.

“There is one thing I would like to propose as an amendment to the contract,” the young woman spoke up, straightening her posture from the slouched, disinterested pose before.

“What’s that Daenerys?”

Rhaegar didn’t look up from the paper he scribbled notes on

“The Crown Matrimonial.”

King Eddard sighed and Jon tightened his hands around the arms of the chair to keep his face from betraying him.

Reading the change in demeanor the princess asked, “Is there a problem?”

Eddard began, “No, it’s-”

“You’ve no right to it,” Jon blurted

She arched an eyebrow at him, tilting her chin up in defiance.

“What my son means is that traditionally the crown matrimonial is-”

“I know. Only granted when the consort in question proves themselves worthy through an act of honor or great courage. I think entering a lifelong commitment to provide your country with supplies to make it through winter is an honorable action.”

“Dany…” Rhaegar sighed.

As she turned her head to look at her brother, Jon noticed the numerous braids in her hair. All wrapped and pinned around each other with precision. She looked like a queen sitting on a war council, carefully planning her next strategic move. Though she was acting less like a noble monarch and more spoiled princess.

“Normally, the honorable action is childbirth or, in ancient cases, serving in war. It’s a title that must be earned, not bartered away. I hope you understand that this is the reason we withhold the crown matrimonial,” Ned explained.

Rheagar and Daenerys exchanged looks, the King’s eyes burning in warning.

“Is there any way we could keep it on the table?” the southern king asked. 

“Of course but the final decision rests with the Council of High Lords.”

Jon didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. Were they really so desperate? 

Daenerys hummed, “No crown, no contract.”

With that she stood and strode from the room, as though it was a casual conversation between passers-by.

“I’m very sorry about her. She just needs time.” Rhaegar collected the papers and put them into a folder marked with the Targaryen crest.

Ned nodded, “I understand.”

“She asked that we give her a month before anything is finalized.”

“And what happens when the time comes and she still says no?” Jon asked.

Rhaegar reached for a second folder and opened it, “ I doubt she will but, just to be safe, we planned a month-long tour of the North. If you give her a chance to see why your people need her, she’ll be sympathetic. Daenerys may not act it but she has the biggest heart in this family.”

From the tone of the southern king’s voice, Daenerys’ big heart wasn’t a good thing. Or it didn’t exist. 

The tour of the North was strategic to say the least. The first stop in White Harbor featured a public appearance at one of the homeless shelters, then to Winterfell for a few days before setting off to the Mountain Clans. They would arrive in time for Midsummer celebrations. 

Jon smiled to himself to think about a foreign princess participating in the long-held traditions of the North. He bet her reaction to it all would be priceless.

With nothing left to discuss, the meeting finished. Jon returned to his rooms to find Robb and Sansa in a lively discussion of their evening plans. 

“What did I miss?”

“Sansa thinks we should spend a night on the town.”

Jon should’ve expected as much. Sansa’s eagerness to explore the city outside their rich trappings grew with every hour. Her desire to be seen by the people of a world she considered much more interesting. Though Jon and Robb had no interest in experiencing a place they would sooner be rid of, they knew they weren’t going to win against their persistent younger sibling.

“I heard a couple of ladies talking about the Dragonpit last night.”

“The Dragonpit?” Robb rolled his eyes.

Everything in the city had a dragon theme, whether for royal patronage or not it was annoying and predictable. Although Winter town had a few wolf-themed establishments. He supposed no capital was without tribute to the elusive royals there.

“It’s super exclusive with tight security and I think we should go.”

“What makes you think they’ll let you in? You’re still seventeen,” Jon joked.

Sansa protested in her usual way, “And three-fourths! Besides, my age doesn’t matter because I’m somebody.”

“Yeah, everyone in the South knows who we are.” Robb’s sarcastic comment had no effect on her positive disposition.

“They will by the time we leave.”

The basement of a highrise in the new city housed the so-called Dragonpit. Cameramen crowded the entrance, held back by a velvet rope. The flashes of their cameras like lightning in a summer storm, their shouts the accompanying thunder. 

Sansa walked down the paved path with all the confidence of a queen. Flipping her hair and smiling for the cameras, flanked by her brothers. Robb gave his best performance but Jon couldn’t find it in him to fake anything. The bouncer didn’t even try to stop her and as they descended the stairs, they found themselves in another world.

A name like ‘The Dragonpit’ insinuated a medieval vibe but the space beneath the building was ultra-modern. The people on the crowded dance floor revealed through flashes of the stage lights surrounding the DJ’s booth. Low red lights around the club signaled where the extra seating was. A den of hot air and clashing perfumes and an oncoming headache. Sansa meandered toward the dance floor, Robb following to keep an eye on her. Jon however, went straight for the bar. 

The backlit liquor options and the black marble countertop were too fancy. The heavy bass from the music made it so Jon had to shout his order to the bartender and his unwillingness to be there doubled by the second. He really needed to stop letting Sansa drag him places.

A commotion at the entrance drew his attention. The song blasting through the speakers faded out and the DJ proclaimed over his mic, “Looks like a special guest just dropped in. Ladies and gentlemen, Her Highness Daenerys Targaryen!”

This time Jon did swear, the applause and cheers from the patrons loud enough to drown him out. The Gods had it out for him, he was certain of that now.

The track switched back on, the bass reverberating through the crowded club again. Jon’s eyes followed the princess as the people on the dance floor swarmed and swallowed her. The bright strobe lights reflected off her silvery hair and the impractical hoops hanging from her ears threw it any which way.

It wasn’t long until she made her way to the bar.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she complained when she saw him. 

Her short red dress was a complete turnaround from the soft grey sweater she’d worn that morning but her hair remained in the warrior-esque braids.

“If you care to know, my sister dragged me here.”

“Your sister? Isn’t she a bit young to be going to clubs?”

“No one tells Sansa no.”

“Maybe someone should.” Despite her previous rudeness upon seeing him, she sat next to him.

“I understand you changed your mind,” Jon said, eyeing her.

“I didn’t change my mind, I bought myself time.”

“So you can try to wiggle your way out of responsibility?”

Instead of the deathly stare he expected, she arched a brow at him.

“So I don’t have to spend the rest of my life with you .”

The bartender came around and took her attention away.

“A Braavosi Apple Martini and a Dragon’s Blood.”

“Cocktails? You were drinking stronger stuff last night.”

“I’m here with Missandei and I’m banned from drinking in public.”

“Whatever you say,” he smirked.

He knew what game he played. It was how he got Theon to do anything stupid. Jon didn’t want Daenerys to embarrass herself but their love of liquor was the only thing they had in common; an olive branch and wildfire.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she sneered.

“No, but I’ve heard plenty.”

Her jaw tightened and she lengthened her neck. Jon learned quickly it was her little way of gathering confidence, preparing for battle.

“Fine,” she declared and reached over the bar, “If that’s how you want to play it.”

She slammed down two shot glasses. The bartender came over with her previous order and she demanded a bottle of Crown Royal.

He knew he should’ve stayed away from the alcohol, it never ended well, but the princess presented a challenge and he was determined to beat it.

“Let’s turn it into a game. We make assumptions about each other. For each one you get right, I take a shot and vice versa.”

“I have to warn you, I’m very good at reading people.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m impossible to read.”

Jon shook his head, no one was impossible to read. Bastards learned to notice things and that aspect of his nature was honed during his military time.

“Ladies first,” he offered, sliding his original glass out of the way.

She narrowed her violet eyes at him, scanning his face.

“Your best friend is your brother.”

Jon took the shot then considered Daenerys as she refilled his glass.

“You’ve played this game before.”

“That’s obvious,” she pointed out, the edge of the glass hovering in front of her lips.

The nude shade soft and inviting unlike the vicious red of the night before. Jon found himself watching as they parted into a smirk before taking her shot.

“You smoke. You told everyone you quit but you still do it.”

Jon took his shot.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“When you gave me your jacket last night.” she reached into her bag and slid the pack across the bar. “You left these in the pocket.”

“And you’ve been carrying it around with you?”

She shrugged, “There might be a couple missing. Your turn.”

A few shots later, Missandei came over to see what held her friend up. She saw them together and simply grabbed her drink, warning Jon to keep an eye on her.

“You joined the military because you felt like you had something to prove,” she stated.

Jon couldn’t refuse her and took the shot. The previous assumptions were light, simple things that barely scratched the surface of a person, but Daenerys made it clear that she wanted to move on. To rip away the skin and tear into the meat of her prey. 

“You ran off to college to escape your family.”

“And this dreadful city,” she added before tipping back the glass.

“Your father is the reason for your discharge from the military, not an accident like the dossier said.”

Shot. It was only half true.

“You’ve been with more than three people.”

Shot.

“You’ve never been with anyone.”

He allowed himself a stupid smirk as her eyes shifted from the shot glass to him.

“Am I wrong?”

 “Yes.”

She looked at him as though she didn’t believe it before reaching over and taking the shot for him. 

“For a bad assumption,” she excused.

As they carried on, Jon felt the pressure building in his head as he tried to come up with something.

“Your relationship with the Dothraki Khal was much deeper than people know.”

Her jaw ticked as the words left his mouth. She furiously threw the shot back, setting the glass down with effort. The dull clink audible over the music. He’d really struck a nerve. He needed to back off and sober Jon would have but the alcohol emboldened him. Haphazardly blurring the lines between the presentational self and the bitter bite inside.

They continued, the world fuzzy around the edges but both of them were determined to get the other to quit. Especially Daenerys. 

“You hate me.”

Gone was her diplomacy and tact. She messily tried to get as many hits on him as she could, hoping one would get him where it hurt. Jon thought he witnessed the bulk of her ruthlessness last night but she proved herself even more devastating now.

His hand clasped around the shot glass, poised to take it, but when it came time, he paused. He wanted to take the shot, to prove her pointless little games didn’t phase him. But something deep in his mind stopped his hand. 

Jon felt a lot of things about Daenerys; distrust, unease, … pity, but hatred was strong and he couldn’t bring himself to put her on that level. At least not yet.

She took note of his hesitation, “Well?”

The smug look on her face cleared his mind. Before he could second guess it, the liquor slid down his throat, comforting in the way it burned. 

“Good because I can’t stand you either.”

He didn’t need to think hard on what he would say to her, he’d figured it out last night. 

“You’re in love with that Tyrohsi millionaire- what was his name? Daario Naharis?”

From the way her eyes widened Jon knew he caught her off guard. The corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to say something, but she pushed the glass toward Jon instead. 

“You got one wrong.” She slapped money down on the counter for their alcohol.

“And you’re not lying?”

She released a bitter laugh, “I don’t get attached. The press just spots me with any man and assumes I’m already planning the wedding.”

“If you weren’t so public with your exploits, the media wouldn’t have so much stake in your life.”

“Let’s think about this critically for a moment. If you were to exhibit the same behaviors-”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she snapped.

The venomous look in her eyes struck Jon with acute fear and woke something else deep within him.

“If you were to do the same things, people wouldn’t bat an eye because you’re a man. I don’t care what higher moral authority you think you have but don’t assume for one second that makes you better than me. If the roles were reversed, your reputation wouldn’t be affected at all.”

“That’s where you're wrong,” Jon corrected.

“Oh really? Explain it to me.”

“I was born a bastard. The title didn’t go away when my father legitimized me, it was put under a magnifying glass. If I stepped out of line there would be more than whispers in the court. It’s not only my reputation on the line, it’s my family’s.”

He stopped himself before he could mention the underlying tensions with the other high lords. The subject was deeper than he needed to go. And discussing private matters of state with a woman who cared little for their situation sounded dull.

She was quiet in a contemplative way, reminding Jon of last night when his outburst led to her reconsideration of the marriage contract. She had every opportunity to use the instance during their meeting to call Jon’s character into question and free herself from the arrangement. But she didn’t. Not for the first time did he wonder what was going on in that pretty, stubborn head of hers.

“Do you think I have a higher moral authority now?”

“No. But I’m not one to ignore the pressures and restrictions monarchy puts on us. Let’s call it a truce. At least until you give me another reason for an alcohol-fueled confrontation.”

She held her Dragon’s Blood cocktail up, her face betraying no emotion. Not even a smile at their hastily made peace. He clinked her glass with his empty one. She retreated to the dance floor where her friend was, surprisingly sturdy on her high heels with the alcohol she’d consumed. Then again, she boasted about her ability to hold liquor. 

He had no interest in joining the mass of bodies and heat composing the dance floor. He preferred to observe what kind of foolishness took place.

Sansa danced near the edge of the floor, Robb kept an eye on her from outside the commotion. Talisa gave him quite the talk before they left about staying out of all the action and he took it seriously.

One of the spotlights blazed across the crowd and Jon’s eyes followed. When they landed on the braided, white-blonde hair of Princess Daenerys, he didn’t look away. She mouthed the words to the song with her eyes closed, head thrown back and body moving with the beat. The track ended and as the crowd on the floor responded to the DJ, she looked dead at Jon. A new bassline rumbled through the club and she charged away.  For the second time that day, she stormed out because of him.

Chapter Text

“It was announced this morning that Her Highness, Princess Daenerys, will embark on a month-long tour of the North. The Official Statement from the Red Palace states that the trip is meant to encourage friendly relations with our Northern neighbors despite our current estranged nature. Princess Daenerys will be accompanied by-”

Dany turned the TV off before the reporter could deliver the worst part of the news. She would get to leave King’s Landing but every place she went would be a publicity event, filled with the repeat offenders of flashing cameras and hawk-eyed reporters. And worst of all, she would spend it with people she hardly knew.

The pounding in her head refused to subside, even after she’d specially ordered her hangover cure. She let her temperamental nature get the best of her last night. And then let it go further than intended when he mentioned Daario. 

Surprisingly, Rhaegar hadn’t ordered a press conference about Dany’s trip, leaving her free to do whatever she wanted until she and Elia had their movie night. They planned it last minute when they realized it would be their last one for a while. 

Only one pressing matter remained for Dany to take care of but she kept delaying it. She wandered aimlessly through the palace and the gardens and found herself in the gallery, standing in front of the first official portrait of a Targaryen monarch. 

King Aemon the Peaceful stared back at her with his oddly painted face. Before him, pictures of the monarchs were recorded in manuscripts by maesters and those were preserved at the Citadel. Commissioning an artist wasn’t popular until his reign as he was the first to rule without a war. 

Across from him was an artist’s reimagining of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya. The two sisters stood strong in their plate armor, staring off into the distance as Aegon held the ancient Valyrian steel broadswords “Dark Sister” and “Blackfyre” in the air. There was debate about whether Dark Sister belonged to Visenya and was never attributed to her but the old maesters at the Citadel were slow to revisit the topic.

Dany felt for her phone in her back pocket. She wished she could be as strong as her ancestors, then again, she faced a very different kind of battle. Affairs of conquering could hardly be compared to affairs of the heart. 

She wandered past more scenes of male rulers before stopping at her favorite. A gorgeous painting from the 1860s of Queen Erina, her pale pink gown stretching to the spectacular golden frame. She was never meant to be queen but her family died after a nasty illness spread through the palace while she attended finishing school in the Reach.

When Dany was a first-year in high school she auditioned for the school’s play The Dragon Queen: A Tribute to Her Majesty Queen Erina . Though the title was unimaginative, Dany received the role of her ancestor. Students whispered that it was only for her looks but Dany knew she was a good actress. Wearing the replica dress while delivering a monologue about choosing her country over the life she knew was one of Dany’s favorite memories. 

Her theatre career was short-lived, however. After the performances, the Drama Club advisor suggested Dany switch to the Volunteerism Group. She sensed her father’s guiding hand again. He considered actors untrustworthy and the last thing their dynasty needed was to look like a bunch of convincing liars. 

Although it was years ago, Dany felt the words from her script in a whole new way. She couldn’t draw strength from Rhaenys and Visenya but she could find it with Erina. 

“Oh, Dany, I’m glad I found you.”

Elia approached, dressed for a day of private audiences. Her jade green pantsuit pressed and tailored to perfection. 

“If you’re here to talk to me about the marriage contract, I’m going to walk away,” she warned.

“No, dear, I wanted to check on you. Am I not allowed to do that?”

She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. 

“When you found out your marriage was arranged what did you do?

“What do you mean?”

“How did you choose between him and the crown?” Dany sighed, leaning her head on Elia’s shoulder.

She knew all about Elia’s relationship with a Dornish actor, though Elia liked to pretend it never happened.

“The Crown doesn’t care that you have a personal life. When it picks you, it picks you, and you can’t say no. And before you ask, I don’t regret it and, no, it never really gets easier. But you’ve got me and Missy and Rheagar.”

Dany rolled her eyes.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it but, Dany, he wants what’s best for you. We all do.”

She didn’t want to fight back like usual. She was too tired and hungover.

“I know why you asked me about him.”

Elia put her hands on Dany’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes, “I know it’s tempting to hold onto the hope that maybe things will work out but you need to … tie up your loose ends. It will make the transition much easier once you’ve had time to move on.”

An assistant popped their head through the doorway and said, “Your Majesty? You have five minutes.”

She pressed a kiss to Dany’s forehead and retreated, leaving Dany with the weight of her decision. She took one last look at Queen Erina and her mind was made up. 

She found an empty common room in the family guest suites on the east end of the castle. Surrounded by the subdued grey hues meant to invoke the Stormlands, Dany found herself in the same position as four days ago. Her phone sat on the marble-topped coffee table, black screen mocking her. 

When Dany realized she couldn’t force the universe to do the work for her, she picked it up and dialed the number herself.

He didn’t pick up until the third ring.

“Dany?” he breathed, as if he didn’t believe it could be her.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s a relief to hear your voice. I- I’m so glad you called.”

“I know.”  

“I tried knocking on your door but you didn’t answer so I figured you needed space. It sounded like you were dealing with a lot.”

So that was why he hadn’t called . Her chest tightened and she leaned back against the grey velvet of the settee.

“I am.”

“I take it things didn’t go well with Rhaegar.”

“He summoned me home. I’m not sure I’ll ever see my apartment again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something came up but that’s not the reason why I called. It’s- well- Daario, it’s about us.”

“Dany, I told you. Let me come to King’s Landing and meet your brother. He’ll see that we make a perfect couple and-”

“Please, don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“That we’re a perfect couple.”

“We are. We’re young, attractive, rich...”

Dany took a deep breath and prepared herself to begin the small speech she’d stitched together on her walk to the common room. 

“I really wanted to do this in person but my current circumstances won’t allow for it.”

“What are you-”

“I’m breaking up with you,” she blurted.

The sound of his breathing on the other line unsettled her. She wanted to hang up right then and block his number but it was too immature and cowardly. I am the blood of the dragon and dragons fear nothing . 

“Why?”

“For legal reasons, I can’t tell you.”

“You’re lying.”

Her grip on her phone tightened as she tried to stay polite but things were taking a messy turn, she could feel it.

“Everything will make sense soon, I promise.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off.

“Is Rhaegar making you do this?” 

“Daario-”

“You can make decisions for yourself Dany.”

“Not this time.”

“Stop being so goddamn cryptic and tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re not listening to me,” she argued.

“You’re not telling me anything worth listening to.”

She took a deep breath, “We have to end this.”

“Because this is honestly not working or because it’s what the crown wants?”

Unable to ignore the tension in her body, she stood up to pace the room. She clenched and unclenched her fist, trying to redirect the need to punch something. 

“I don’t need this from you,” she said. 

“You know, I heard the rumors but I ignored them. I thought you were different-”

“I am!” she defended.

“-but you’re just like they say. A cold-hearted bitch who throws people away when she gets tired of them.”

Every instinct Dany knew failed her. Her mouth fell open and the tension in her limbs dissipated. Every ounce of strength in her was focused on her throat, which grew tighter by the second.

He knew she hated that word, especially when it was directed at her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, Dany, I do.”

“But- but you wanted to make this official. You wanted to meet my family.”

“Well, I realized something. I realized that I have constantly made sacrifices for you. Leaving clubs separate and taking different cars and sneaking around and always waiting for you to call first. I made peace with the fact that I would always have to share you but I’m a fucking millionaire and that isn’t good enough for you?”

“Do you think it didn’t kill me either? You know why it had to be that way.”

“It doesn’t matter now because I’m just another destination on your long road of conquests.”

“That is not true.”

Her eyes stung, the all too familiar pinching in the bridge of her nose a tell-tale sign of what came next.

“I’m sure it’s not,” he scoffed, “Save that lie for your next victim when he inevitably falls in love with you.”

Dany opened her mouth to respond but the beep of the call ending stopped her. She wanted to hurl her phone across the room and break every precious item around her. Instead, she sank to her knees, resting against the seat of the sofa.

Daario and his harsh words upset her but something else snapped and the tears didn’t stop. They blazed down her cheeks as her chest heaved and her vision blurred. 

She hadn’t even cried that way when her father died. She’d calloused her heart by then and grew angry instead of letting people see her weep. Tears are only for children and the weak , she told herself, and I am neither . 

Repeating those words did little to stop the sobs, they just hurt more. Her whole world was falling apart and yet the gilded walls and polished floors remained sturdy and valiant. Dany wasn’t sure when she stopped crying over Daario but the tears still came, quieter now, as her mind moved through all of the events of the past week and beyond.

Her inevitable engagement, being ripped away from the life she desired and thrown back into the one she detested, the loss of what little freedom she had from the crown. Even her graduation, which was only a few weeks ago. It had just been Ser Jorah and Daario in the audience to cheer when her name was called. Rhaegar and Elia were too busy with preparations for the Charity Gala and planning to marry her off. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a startled voice said from the doorway.

Dany looked up to see Princess Sansa standing there.

“I was looking for Elia, she offered to give me a tour of the palace.”

Dany hiccuped, “She’s in private audiences.”

Her throat was raw, the sensation alien, like her body wasn’t her own. 

“Oh. Again, I’m really sorry for interrupting you.”

“Interrupting what?” Dany chuckled as she stood up.

“That seemed like a really private moment.”

She wasn’t sure how long Sansa stood at the door but she might have heard Dany’s outbursts.

“It’s fine,” Dany dismissed as she wiped under her eyes, her hand shaking.

She knew she looked a mess. Puffy eyes and red nose and there was no way her mascara wasn’t smudged. 

“Did you still want a tour?”

“Are you sure? I could always wait for-”

“I could really use the distraction.”

Sansa pressed her lips together before offering a terse nod. Dany attempted a smile before leading her guest down the hallway. 

Over the course of the tour, Sansa let her icy facade melt away. She became a physically warmer person. Dany got her talking about school and her choices of universities. She was set to graduate in the coming year and had her eyes on the University of Braavos, but she knew her dad would insist on Barrowton or White Harbor. Then music and pop culture, which led to a brief conversation about Dany’s coarse relationship with the tabloids.

“Was the photo really a fake?” 

There wasn’t an ounce of timidness in her voice. Dany appreciated that.

“Yes. The whole thing was doctored. Just another display of how the press profits on the downfall of powerful women.”

“I know the North and the South aren’t close but I grew up with stories of the Targaryens. You’re ambitious and powerful and scary and rode on the backs of dragons once upon a time. I won’t lie, I thought you were like them. But you’re nothing like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Dany warned.

They turned a corner and headed down the main staircase.

“Your governess forgot to tell you that we’re cunning and calculated as well. There are rumors that my ancestors poisoned their brothers and sisters, bribed high lords and septons and common folk alike to sit their arses on the throne. The monarchy survives by adapting to the world around it, that’s what my father would say. But Targaryens survive by changing the game.”

A pair of ladies passed them, gracefully bowing their heads in respect, whispered “Your Highnesses” echoing in the hall.

“Ladies Sara and Meire Merryweather of Longtable. They’ve been at court for as long as I can remember. Lady Sara is Elia’s biggest critic after the general public but she’s just jealous she’s not one of the Queen’s ladies. Lady Meire is her daughter she treats like an object. She brought her here in hopes that she would befriend me and I would keep her in my circle. It’s a shame I don’t keep friends in court. Meire’s almost been married three times but her mother keeps breaking it up so she can’t leave.”

“I see why you went to a different continent for university.”

“Court seems beautiful and perfect from the outside because Elia works hard to make it that way. Without her, this place would look as ugly as it really is.”

A door in the hall opened and Elia strode through it, her public appearance smile still stretched across her face.

“Speak of the Stranger,” Dany called, waving to her sister-in-law.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked when she reached them.

“I bumped into Her Highness while looking for you. And since you were busy, she gave me a tour of the palace,” Sansa answered.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along so well,” Elia stated as she waved to another member of the court as they passed. 

When the lord left and the hall finally emptied, Elia’s face fell and she tore off her blazer. After tossing it to her assistant, she began massaging her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you how much that smile hurts,” she grumbled through her moving face, “Now, we have a movie night to get to.”

“Movie night?” Sansa asked, clearly intrigued.

“Elia and I have a tradition of movie nights and we planned one last minute since I’m leaving. We just sit around, have popcorn and wine, and watch sappy romance movies until we cry.”

“That sounds fun.”

Dany considered the red-headed girl beside her, “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Sansa blinked, “Are you sure? You said it’s a tradition, I’d hate to impose.”

“I would be honored if you came along. We are going to be sisters soon.” Dany stated as she looped her arm through Sansa’s.

The comment slipped past her without a second thought and caught Dany off guard. She stopped dead in her tracks. The Northern Princess let out a snort and the three of them dissolved into giggles. Their laughter echoed through the halls as they journeyed to the in-palace media room.

Movie nights were always a huge to-do and while informal, a sense of showiness pervaded the event. Gourmet popcorn and the perfect wine pairings, cashmere blankets and themed decorations. The staff did an amazing job of turning their last-minute plans into a gorgeous going-away party, complete with swag bags.

“This is a little extra for me, don’t you think?” Dany asked from her seat between Elia and Missandei.

Elia, dressed in a designer pajama set and wrapped in her cashmere blanket, frowned with mock offense. “I’ll have you know that this isn’t just for you. It’s for Missy and Sansa, who I’m very grateful to have met and will miss very much.”

They were halfway through their second movie when Rhaenys propped her chin on the back of Dany’s seat and asked, “Auntie Dee, are you sure you have to leave?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighed, smiling sweetly at her niece.

The frown on her face was adorable but it hurt Dany’s heart. 

“Where are you going?” Aegon demanded as he crawled onto his mother’s lap.

“On a great adventure to Princess Sansa’s homeland.”

“And if all goes well, you’ll get to go there too,” Elia encouraged, squeezing her son’s shoulders.

“Dany, I forgot to tell you the news!” Missy blurted from her spot next to her, eyes shining.

“What?”

“I got the internship with Galazza Galare! I’m leaving tomorrow for Naath so I can spend some time at home before I transfer to Meereen.”

Dany’s stomach fell. She was going North alone.

“Missy, that’s fantastic!”

She wasn’t going to let her selfishness get in the way of her happiness for her best friend. No matter how much it hurt to let her go.

“I’ll come back in time for your wedding, of course. Both of them.”

“I wouldn’t be upset if you missed them. Galazza is great and you’re going to have the best career a girl could wish for.”

Along with her sunken stomach, Dany felt her chest growing tight. She always knew that her best friend would move on and have a career while Dany was held back. But everything moved too fast.

The end of the movie crept upon them and when the lovers said their heart-wrenching goodbyes, Dany couldn’t hold back her tears. Her heart was still raw and bleeding and the movie did nothing but stomp on it. Missy’s hand found her’s under their blankets and Elia secured her other one. Dany wasn’t ready for tomorrow, that much was clear.

Chapter Text

Jon woke up early, as was his habit, but this time he couldn’t sleep to begin with. He spent the night tossing and turning, never asleep for longer than an hour or two. 

The three days spent in the glittering court of the Red Palace felt like an ongoing interview, constant questions and feigned interest with no end in sight. Jon never liked the spotlight, a trait he inherited from his father no doubt, but in his experience, so much attention brought bad things. If his name appeared in headlines, a criticism of his behavior followed. Even though Jon tried as hard as he could to never step over the line, the line continued to move, creeping closer and closer until he had no room left to run.

Most of the time his slip-ups went under the radar but when he first came home from his time on The Wall, he wasn’t so lucky. Fueled with anger and resentment for his position, Jon wanted nothing more than to take it out on someone other than himself.

And now with the inevitable engagement, all the scrutiny and harsh words would increase tenfold. Even if it did end well and his people were saved, they would never forgive him for marrying someone like her. A foreigner with a terrible reputation from a family with motives of their own. They were doomed. 

As he readied himself for a day of travel, he received a text from Sansa --a link to a blog dedicated to posting pictures of royalty from all over the world doing mundane things. However, the most recent posts were just photos of Jon and Daenerys from the Dragon Pit club from two nights ago, their heads bent close and shoulders turned enough to block out the rest of the club. The post boasted captions calling the two ‘cozy’ and speculating at a deeper connection. From the angle the photos were taken, Jon understood the interpretation. But there was a tension in the lines of their shoulders, their rigid posture, indicating the actual conversation was anything but. 

It wasn’t long before their departure in a Targaryen-owned jet. Rhaegar insisted they take it, although the Starks were fine with commercial travel.

The compact interior of the private plane reinforced the cramped feeling following Jon. But as the jet soared over the grey-blue waters of The Bite, his jumbled and off-balanced state from the past couple of days slipped away. Even as the constant reminder of his imminent fate sat right across from him, he felt more comfortable knowing he would be home soon.

Across the plane from him, Princess Daenerys still had a pair of dark, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. They hadn’t moved since she said goodbye to her friend at King’s Landing. Despite her smiles and waves, Jon knew she would rather be anywhere but there. Her security officer sat with her, the two carrying out a clipped conversation in hushed tones.

Relief flooded Jon’s senses when they landed in White Harbor. No paparazzi this time. No flashing bulbs, no raucous cries from nosey reporters. They slid through the airport with ease, unbothered despite being the most important family in the North returning from a very important trip.

White Harbor was the North's closest thing to a city but the great beasts of teh South dwarfed it. No highrises to be found, all the buildings favoring the old styles and keeping the city’s charm in place.

The mayor of White Harbor greeted them at the town hall along with Lord and Lady Manderly and the rest of the Stark entourage. Queen Catelyn, Bran and Arya, and Talisa. Although, Talisa would have to watch the proceedings from the crowd as she had no official standing with the royal family.

As soon as Jon was in sight of Arya, she bolted for him, enveloping him in a hug with all the force of a bear. After Robb, Arya was his closest sibling. Their bond driven in part by the fact they looked more Stark than Tully; they both had their father’s dark hair and grey eyes. Sansa and Robb took after Catelyn, with auburn curls and striking blues.

“I was only gone three days,” Jon laughed, returning her ferocious squeeze.

“It felt like forever. Especially with mom babysitting us.”

Bran came second, his usual few steps behind. 

Talisa and Robb were already arm and arm. Jon’s heart ached. He would never have a chance at the affection he witnessed between them, not that such an opportunity existed.

He’d gone so far as to deny himself a love life for the sake of avoiding a scandal. He and Ygritte were brief; a quick, private affair near the end of their high school careers but they both knew it could never be anything serious. Any future contender for Queen Consort had to be from noble blood. And Ygritte, with all her charm and wild beauty, was anything but. Her father was a political upstart who made something of himself, but there was no land or title to go with it.

A stable ruling pair was easier to achieve with no baggage from past exes and no possible tell-all articles. But where he fell short in romantic entanglements, he made up for in physical confrontations. 

  Daenerys smiled through the introductions, playing perfect princess before disappearing into the restroom to change.

“Why is she here?” Bran asked once she was out of earshot. 

“She’s helping us finalize a treaty,” Ned answered, looking between his other children who were in the know. 

His message was clear, ‘Don’t tell them’.

“What do we need the treaty for?” Arya questioned.

“That is a topic for the next family meeting.”

Ned whispered something to Catelyn and the two walked away. Jon watched them wander down the hall to another seating area.

“Is anyone going to tell us what’s really happening?” Arya folded her arms over her chest and glared at her older siblings.

“We have a right to know, “ Bran seconded.

“Jon’s engaged,” blurted Sansa. 

“You’re what?” Arya gasped.

“That was fast,” Bran responded at the same time as his twin. 

Jon gave Sansa an ‘are you kidding me’ look and she mouthed sorry in return.

“It was dad’s idea and I’m sure Catelyn knows but it’s supposed to be a secret. The public can’t know until we’re ready to tell them. We aren’t even engaged yet, the documents haven’t been signed.”

“His Majesty mentioned a treaty and Jon came back engaged. What happened down there?” Talisa chimed in. 

“I think I’m going to side with my dad and say that’s a topic for the next family meeting.” Robb looped Talisa’s arm with his and led her away from the little gathering. 

Arya and Bran’s attentions returned to their phones, their hushed voices gushing over the newest app they’d discovered. Out of all the Starks, they were the most tech-savvy. They drove the press secretary mad with their covert social media accounts with outrageous names. Although they always covered up their faces in the photos. 

“You know, you should really try to talk to her,” Sansa prompted, not looking up from the magazine she’d returned to flipping through.

Jon didn’t need any elaboration.

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“She’s not as bad as you think.”

Jon gave his sister an incredulous look.  

“And you’re both going through the same life-changing event.”

“Just the other day you were wholly against her.”

“And? People’s opinions can change.”

“Sansa-” he started.

“I love your outfit, Your Royal Highness,” Sansa smiled as Daenerys came out of the restroom.

“Oh, thank you.” the princess looked up from the notecards in her hand and returned Sansa’s smile.

For a moment she didn’t look so venomous. 

“And please, call me Dany. All my friends do.” 

Sansa grinned, shooting a look at Jon before turning back to her magazine. Dany, as Jon figured she wanted to be called, smoothed down the back of her black skirt as she sat. Her usual warrior-esque braids were simplified into two twists holding her soft, white-gold waves out of her face.

Sansa and Dany might be on good terms now but she had yet to make a good impression on Robb and the twins. 

Sansa flipped another page of her magazine, the crisp sound sharp in the silence of the room. Jon watched her as her eyes darted from the page, to him, and to the princess beside her. He could see the gears turning in her head. 

“You know what, I’m going to take a look at the crowds. Arya, Bran, wanna come with?”

Jon went to call out after her but she was already halfway down the hall, Arya and Bran trudging along with disinterest.

“Play nice!” she called over her shoulder.

He groaned and Dany chuckled.

“She’s a handful, that one.”

“You’re telling me,” she sighed.

He considered what Sansa said and swallowed his pride. What could it hurt?  

“ Dany-”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, not looking up from her notecards.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Only my friends call me Dany and as far as I’m concerned, Your Royal Highness-” she looked up in a sharp gesture, “we are not friends. Acquaintances, maybe, but certainly not friends.”

It could hurt a lot, apparently.

She stood as if to leave when the royal family’s press intern rounded the corner and announced that it was time to begin the event. 

They were led from the town hall to the small stage set up outside. A canopy overhead meant to shade them from the sun or, more likely, the rain as the thick clouds crowding the sky looked dark. The Stark sigil of a grey wolf on a white and green background displayed on banners, floating lazily on the breeze. 

Jon held out his hand to assist Daenerys up the steps. She wore a pair of precarious heels and he knew stairs were a challenge for any woman in them. He watched Sansa parade around in them, and Arya wobble behind in a valiant attempt, for years.

Daenerys allowed her hand to hover over his to avoid being labeled as rude or too bold by the audience. The people watching were bound to notice if she blew off his chivalrous offer.

The mayor started his short introduction speech, followed by a few words from Lord Manderly. As usual they were politically perfect and manufactured. And Jon expected the same from the visiting princess.

When Lord Manderly announced their visitor's name to polite applause, she approached the podium with grace and a forced smile. 

“Thank you, Lord Manderly, for the warm welcome. Speaking of warmth, I always thought the North was cold and snowy but she’s proved me wrong. The weather is beautiful and so is the landscape. I’ve only been here a short time and what I’ve managed to see through airplane and car windows has taken my breath away.”

Jon wondered if her statement was true, or something generic used by the Royal Family for all foreign visits. But her delivery was so impressive and convincing he didn’t question it for long.

“I come before you today, not in any diplomatic capacity, but as a guest of the Starks. And as a woman who wishes to nurture a much friendlier connection between our two lands, who for so long have acted distant and foreign to each other despite being neighbors.”

She continued on but Jon’s mind wandered, her words fading into the background. News cameras stood in front of all the people, capturing everything from all possible angles. Reporters stood by them, anxiously accepting the Princess’ words about her excitement to see the North and her hope for a stronger friendship between the two nations. He wondered if the people watching in their homes reacted the same way. 

A Targaryen hadn’t been in the North since the 13th century. One of the hundreds of Aegon Targaryens trying to conquer the south, a name so lucky they recycled it. Despite being the King who refused to bend the knee, one never saw many people named Torrhen. 

The closest he'd encountered was his friend Tormund Giantsbane -- a member of the Free Folk settled in the Gift who spent so much time around Castle Black he was as much a Brother as anyone else. He refused to join them, however, considering such a fate betrayal of Wildling ideals. Jon tried to convince him to join Ygritte at The Smoking Log, but he refused as well. Winterfell was too far south for him.

At the end of all the formalities, the royal family set out to mingle with the citizens of White Harbor.  Jon set out on his own, shaking hands and greeting the people gathered there, a security officer not far behind. For the first time in days, his smile wasn’t forced. Something about having his feet on the ground and moving through crowds was natural to him. 

Greeting people and talking with them reminded Jon of the responsibility he held. A King should be seen by his people and the people by their King , he recalled Ned saying once. His father always dropped pieces of advice into their regular conversations; he thought it was the best way to share them.

Daenerys was a few feet away also smiling and being on her best behavior. Jon couldn’t help but take interest in the way she bent down and hugged the children. He knew her little niece and nephew but not every aunt was a good one. He’d met Catelyn’s sister, Lysa Arryn, on a few occasions, and to think of her brought an unfortunate chill. 

He shook another hand before his security officer ushered him toward the fleet of cars to take them to Winterfell, to take them home. Unfortunately, he had to share a car with Her Royal Highness. While her mood appeared to have mellowed, she proved her ability to turn dangerous in a moment’s notice. 

Jon missed the countryside. The beautiful shades revealed after the morning frost melted away. Fields of barley waved gold and green in the sun between rolling hills with the pastels of wildflowers peeking from the edges. Bursts of trees composed of conifers and deciduous, their signature shapes and hues blending into a wall. The White Knife, the impressive river flowing from the Lonely Hills to the Bite, followed them for most of the journey, adding a burst of color to the beauty of the accompanying scene. The very sights he grew up seeing.

He’d never been so happy to see so much green, except once when he returned from The Wall. It was the one positive thing he could focus on as he was dragged away from the one thing that gave him a tangible sense of purpose. 

Now the Crown dragged him back with a new impossibility. 

Before long, the gates of Winterfell rose before them. The Wolfswood stood impressive to the West with its sentinels taller than the castle walls. Jon chanced a look at the Princess as she gazed out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of her first impressions of the castle. Although she tried to hide it, he saw the glimmer in her eye as they passed under the south gate. 

Jon resisted the urge to give the princess a hard time as she looked around the courtyard, all the previous disinterest gone. Something shoved his shoulder and he turned around to find Sansa, who was motioning toward their guest. Offer her a tour, you dolt , her eyes screamed. But Jon wasn’t ready to make nice yet. And a tour of his home, just the two of them, was much closer than he ever planned on getting to her for a long while.

Sansa shoved his shoulder again but Ned called for Jon and he thanked the Gods he avoided that bullet.

“We have the Council meeting to get to,” Ned reminded him.

Upon second thought, an inconvenient tour with the one person he couldn’t stand seemed like the much better option.

“I was about to give our new guest a tour of the castle,” Jon offered, hoping he sounded convincing.
“That’s quite alright, I can handle it. No need to keep the great lords waiting,” Catelyn stated, detaching herself from Ned’s side.

Jon took a deep breath. 

As expected, the small council was not pleased with the appearance of a foreign princess. He stood at his father’s side as the Lords bickered, their voices amplified by the stone walls, and resisted the urge to rub his temples like his father did.

“As I’ve said before gentlemen, I have considered all options and this treaty is the only one that works. Both now and in the future,” Ned defended.

“It’s ludicrous!” Karstark bellowed.

“A betrayal of our values,” shouted Umber.

They'd even managed to make Lord Umber mad, and the Umbers were the strongest supporters of the Starks. 

The Lords of the North weren’t ‘yes men’ by any means. Direct and staunch by nature, their love of tradition outweighed any opinion of the King. They only listened when Ned shouted back. And Jon only knew of one occasion when such action was called for; when he announced his wish for the legitimization.

Jon remembered sitting outside the great room with Robb, their ears pressed to the heavy wooden door as they did for every council meeting. However, they weren’t prepared for the news they heard.

“I want to make a motion to legitimize my son Jon, so he will succeed me to the throne.”

The room erupted into shouts, in much the same manner Jon experienced now, as Jon and Robb pulled their ears away from the door to stare at each other with agape mouths and wide eyes. At only ten years old they understood the implications. Both of their lives were about to change.

Roose Bolton, situated in a far corner, remained out of the noise. He usually kept his face placid, devoid of any indication of his true sentiment, but the news brought an uncharacteristic reaction out of him. Exasperation. The voices around them continued but Jon stared at Bolton. There was something else behind his cold eyes and Jon wanted to find out what it was.

The room quieted and Jon realized his father addressed him. 

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Your thoughts on the treaty?”

Jon had been looking for an opportunity to reveal his true feelings on the matter but looking at his father he knew what he needed to do.

“I’m not fond of the marriage aspect of it. The Princess is … difficult and has a lot against her. But my personal life doesn’t come before the needs of our country and I stand by my father’s decision. If he believes this will protect our people, then I believe it too.”

“Has the princess agreed to this arrangement?” Lord Bolton spoke up.

“She has asked for more time to make her decision,” Ned reported.

“How much time?”

“A month, at most. Even if she takes all that long, we’ll still have plenty of time to import goods and build shelters.”

“And if she says no? Her country has nothing to gain from this except our assimilation.”

Their voices rose again at the thought of a bent knee. Jon let his eyes wander the room of red-faced lords. He’d said his piece, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of a fist connecting with the long wooden table silenced everyone in the room and brought Jon’s attention back.

Ned’s hauntingly calm voice filled the room, “We are not assimilating with the south. We keep our freedom and our ways but more importantly, we keep our people alive. Without them, the North is nothing. This meeting is adjourned.”

The Northern lords filed out, grumbling about the news. The secretary followed behind, arranging the notes from the meeting turned screaming match. 

Ned sat back down, letting out a strong cough as he did. 

“They’ll understand once everything is set,” Jon assured his father.

“I know but I doubt I’ll be able to stand their complaining while we wait,” Ned joked but his laughter turned into a cough followed by another.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as he handed his father the water glass from the table.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured his son, “Just adjusting to the change in air. You know what I always say-”

“Starks never fare well in the South,” they stated together.

Now more than ever, that statement rang true.

Chapter Text

Of all the things Westeros had to offer, castles were at the top of that list. Most of the great families in the south abandoned theirs for stylish, sprawling palaces when Queen Jalaesa convinced King Daeron I to demolish what was left of the Red Keep after the Dance of the Dragons. A few were still inhabited or turned into museums, but none were as impressive as the one she toured with the Queen of the North, Catelyn Stark neé Tully.

After Prince Jon and the King left them, Sansa and Catelyn offered their services to give Dany the official tour. The youngest Stark daughter, Arya, tagged along as well, though she kept a disinterested silence the whole time. 

An intricate pathway of halls connected everywhere so one wouldn’t have to go outside in the winter to get from one place to another, although nice enough they walked through the courtyard to enjoy the fresh air. Arches and vaulted ceilings were everywhere, the same kind Dany imagined the Red Keep would have if it were still standing.  

They showed her the kitchens and then the Godswood, making a point to stop by a red-leaved tree. A carved face with red eyes stared at them over a pool of dark water -- a weirwood.

Dany had never seen one in real life. When the Andals came, all the way back in the 10th century, they brought their own religion, the Faith of the Seven. To them, the Weirwoods were symbols of the Old Gods, considered demons and forces of dark magic. So the haunting trees disappeared from the southern lands.

“All promises and oaths are made before the heart tree here,” Catelyn stated.

Coronations and weddings, Dany knew. It wasn’t where she would have a ceremony but it wasn’t her decision to make.

Catelyn talked for a bit about the hot springs and the way they used the water to heat the castle in the winter. It was a system they’d never needed to fix, she claimed. The group continued on to the glass garden and passed by the crypts and the First Keep, heading instead for a large building on the other side.

They stepped through a set of heavy wooden doors and into what could only be the Great Hall. Vaulted ceilings to support the heavy chandeliers but still low enough to keep the heat in, stone walls accented by great arches, and the shutters on the windows nestled inside were open to allow the air and light in.

“This is where all of our important feasts take place,” Catelyn explained, motioning toward the length of the hall.

Her eyes settled on the great hearth. The stonework was simple but impressive. Daenerys found the whole castle to be that way. It was so old and yet it continued to withstand harsh winters and winds and rains. She reached a hand out to feel the smooth stone surrounding a window.

“Feasts?” Dany didn’t know people still had those.

“Etiquette, as you know it, is seen as stuffy and Southern. We prefer to be loud and drink until we can’t stand. And the best part is no one cares,” Sansa laughed.

“Quiet evenings with whispers and low music and fine wines are not for North men,” Catelyn agreed.

“But, Your Majesty,” she addressed the queen, “You’re a Tully. Tullys are Southern.”

As far as Dany knew, part of the air-tight treaty that required her marriage was that important families were not supposed to intermarry.

“When I met Ned I was studying in Barrowton, same as him. He was second in line for the throne and I was the first child of Hoster Tully, but I was more than happy to give up my Tully name to be his bride. We were already married when his father and brother died in a boating accident so there wasn’t much the Great Lords could do besides let us continue.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”

“It’s not where we thought our lives would take us but it’s where we ended up. You must be exhausted, let’s find your room.”

Daenerys’ room was across the courtyard, near the old armory-turned-housing for the permanent court guests. Smaller than her apartments in both Braavos and King’s Landing, it was the closest to living in a fairytale as she would ever come.

The early evening light fell across the room from the arched window on the far side, highlighting the polished paneled walls. A four-postered bed with a cream-colored duvet took up a good portion of the room and hid most of the rug on the floor. Dany figured it to be a century old. Her luggage rested around the upholstered chairs near the fireplace, the mantle expertly hidden by the same wood paneling with an intricate design etched into it. And a dressing screen, silk panels painted with faded pastoral scenes, sat in the corner.

“It’s a beautiful room,” Dany complimented.

“I’ll leave the girls to help you settle. Arya, don’t cause trouble.”

Dany glanced at the youngest Stark, who rolled her eyes. The Queen departed and Dany sat on the edge of the bed.

“I feel like I’ve been living out of my suitcase since I left Braavos,” she remarked.

It struck her how far away those four days felt. So much happened. Dany felt like a shark, like if she didn’t stay busy she would drown in her emotions.

“What were you doing in Braavos?” Arya asked, breaking her silence.

“School. I lived there for six years until, well…”

“Is it true that there are men who still wear swords and fight in the streets?”

“A Braavo?” Dany stood to begin unpacking. “I’ve never met one, but I’m not usually on the docks that late at night anyway. I have seen street performers do it for tourists though.”

She got through her first set of dress clothes, Sansa being gracious enough to hang them up in the armoire in the corner.

“Are you really going to marry my brother?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn't it? Dany asked herself.

“It looks like it.”

“But you don’t love him.”

“I hardly know him,” Dany sighed, “Though, I haven’t been trying very hard to fix that.”

“So why agree to this?”

“Arya,” Sansa warned, “Sorry, she’s really overprotective of Jon.”

“I’m not overprotective. Not only is he my brother, he's like my best friend, and friends look out for each other.”

The last thing Dany wanted was an interrogation but Arya intended on bringing the heat.

“It’s fine. Your country needs help, my brother thinks I’m the best way to do that. And the Crown comes before your personal life, always.”

“He told me you’re a raging bitch.”

Dany’s hand tightened around the folded shirts she held. She regretted the unfortunate circumstances surrounding her and Jon’s first meeting. With so many raw emotions bubbling inside her and without the proper time to process them, she reacted poorly.

“That tends to be the impression I make,” she responded, setting the shirts into a drawer.

“If I’m being honest, it’s so much easier for people to assume you’re going to be mean and cold to them than to deal with panderers and pretenders. And it hurts less when you’re criticized because you know that it’s not really you.” 

Arya was young, sixteen; an age of life-changing events. Dany was the same age when Viserys’ died and she lost her father soon after.

“You went to university for six years and now you’re going to get married to a man you don’t know?”

“When I decided to go to college, I knew that I would never have a normal person job. I could have renounced my titles and name but without ‘Targaryen’ behind Daenerys, I’m nothing. My brother would have me blacklisted I’m sure.”

“That sounds like a harsh punishment for doing what you want,” Sansa pointed out.

“Rhaegar and I have a complicated relationship. And our family values and reputation don’t make it easier. Besides, being a Targaryen is all I know, I couldn’t be something else if I tried.”

“Well, you’ll just have to learn how to be a Stark,” Sansa confirmed as she placed a pair of shoes at the bottom of the armoire.

“I think it’ll be rather hard for a dragon to pretend to be a wolf,” Dany scoffed. 

“Not if the dragon has the right wolves to teach her,” Arya offered, a smirk on her face.

Dany gave her a soft smile in acceptance of her offer. They talked of other things, Dany taking the chance to get to know the other Stark sister better. She learned that Arya loved archery and knife throwing (and was well accomplished in both fields). She wanted to be a painter and computer programmer, actress and sailor, the list went on. And she and Bran had the best pranks in the whole family. Dany decided she would need to stay on Arya’s good side.

Arya and Sansa invited her to see their rooms, located near the Great Keep. Dany agreed and finally changed out of her dress clothes. She was glad she did as the air rapidly cooled.

“The sun’s going down,” Arya noted after a while.

“Then we’d better get going if we want to be there by sunset,” Sansa stated

“Bran said that everyone else is heading to the garage.”

“Tell him we’re on our way.”

“On your way where?” Dany couldn’t help herself, she was intrigued.

Sansa looked at her younger sister, who looked hesitant. They could be headed to a party of some kind but Dany hadn’t seen anything besides the bare countryside and the deserted Wintertown.

“Sansa, no.”

“She’s going to live here, she might as well know what we do for fun,” Sansa egged.

Arya glanced at her phone again, which buzzed with a notification.

“Jon’s going to be pissed.”

“Jon has been in a mood since he was born.”

More buzzing from the young princess’ phone.

“Alright, fine, but only because I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

She followed the princesses to another building on the west side of the castle with several large garage doors, all of them open. Dany couldn’t hide her surprise to see several luxury cars lined up like toys inside of a cubby. They were older models, she noticed, but not so old that they looked outdated.

“What did you expect? Horses?” Arya demanded in a joking manner, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How backward do you think we are?” Sansa joined.

Dany opened her mouth to respond when a voice from inside the garage stopped her.

“What the hell is she doing here?”

Dany’s stomach sank with an unusual anxiousness. Prince Jon leaned against a sleek, all-black Volantene sports car, a cigarette hanging from his lips. It was the most casual and relaxed she’d ever seen him look. Sweatpants, athletic sneakers, a fitted tee, and dark curls pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t look at me. It was Sansa’s idea,” Arya threw her hands up in surrender.

“What were we supposed to do, leave her in her room all night? She’s a guest. An important one.”

Jon looked at Dany, she knew he saw how lost and out of place she looked. And she hated it. 

“I don’t care, as long as she’s not in my car,” he decided.

“When did you start smoking again?” Sansa inquired as she walked past.

“In light of recent events, I’ve decided to pick it back up.”

Without much more protest, they arranged themselves in the small fleet of cars. Dany rode with Sansa in her little red Myrish convertible, the top already down. Sansa stated that it wasn’t meant for racing but she loved it so much, she didn’t care. Talisa joined them, citing that she preferred Sansa’s driving over Robb’s.

They set out towards their destination on an old dirt road that hadn’t been maintained in years with Sansa definitely driving over the speed limit. Dany let the cool night air wash over her. She’d been in convertibles before, of course, but never going this fast. Her hair whipped around her and she could hardly see with the draft bombarding her eyes. It was unglamorous but Dany felt free. Like her troubles weren’t so close behind.

As she wrangled her hair back into the spare elastic she brought, she posed a question to Sansa, “Where are we headed exactly?”

“It’s a surprise but you’ll love it, I promise.”

She cast a glance at Talisa in the backseat, who only flashed her a sweet smile. The song from Sansa’s curated driving playlist switched and the woman’s eyes lit up, her sweet smile taking on a manic twist.

“Oh, this is my favorite song. Sansa, turn it up!”

Sansa reached down for the volume thobe and turned the already loud music higher. The thumping bassline and breathy vocals surrounding them like the background track in a movie. Talisa unbuckled her seat belt and sat on the edge of her seat, the increased wind around her tearing at her hair and clothes as she screamed the lyrics into it. 

“Dany, come dance with me,” Talisa called down.

She winced at the over-familiarity, then had to remind herself that Talisa wasn’t from royal blood. She was only trying to be nice . Dany wasn’t sure that moving around in a speeding car was a good idea, but then again, she rarely listened to reason.

She unbuckled herself and twisted around in her seat, accepting Talisa’s outstretched hand. As she did, she noted an anchor tattoo with a broken chain peeking out from under her stack of bracelets. Dany wished she could have such a visible tattoo.

She convinced herself that she would get one on her eighteenth birthday. She made an appointment with a high-end tattoo artist in the New City, formulated an excuse for being out when she got it done, and even tried on every swimsuit she owned to find the right spot for the design to go. The valyrian word for dragon fire, dracarys , was inked into her skin and so far, she’d never been caught.

Dany shouted an apology to Sansa as she climbed between the front seats to sit in the back with Talisa. Her feet slipped into the footwell and she nearly collapsed against the leather of the backseat. Cradled in the backseat, they swayed like complete idiots against the forceful wind. 

“ I’ve been hearing all these things about you, creeping into all the things that I do. I’ve been hearing all these things about you, about you, about you! ” Talisa sang before turning to blow a kiss to Robb in the car behind them. 

Dany wished she could see through the dark tinted windshield, to see the Princes’ reactions to their recklessness. 

The destination in question was a flat tract of land not too far away from Winterfell. The green grass rose up around the road as it wound around a group of trees and disappeared into the distance.

Dany was still hung up on the luxury cars. She hadn’t expected the Starks to be holy as septons but even the Targaryens didn’t have such nice vehicles. Dany wasn’t even allowed to drive the town cars around King’s Landing and yet these well-behaved royals were racing around the countryside.

Talisa set out a large blanket for the spectators. Dany settled next to her while Arya and Bran flipped a coin to decide who was going first.

“What do you think of the North so far?” Talisa asked.

“It surprised me, that’s for sure.” Dany chuckled as she combed her fingers through her wind-tangled hair. “How long have you lived here?”

“I moved here from Volantis to study at Barrowton.”

“I’ve been to Volantis, it’s a beautiful city.”

“Beautiful to visit, terrible to live in,” Talisa commented.

“I know what you mean.”

“Is King’s Landing that bad?”

“Of course. If I wanted to smell garbage and horse shit every day, I would live in the palace stables,” Dany laughed as she tied off her braid.

“Bran’s going first against Robb,” Theon announced. 

Talisa rolled her eyes, “Poor Bran, Robb never loses.”

“Never?” Dany asked in disbelief.

“Never,” Theon answered, “It’s kind of annoying.”

“You’re just jealous because he always picks Jon as his co-pilot,” teased Talisa before turning her attention on Dany, “Sansa tells me you're engaged to our sweet prince,” Talisa stated.

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Will you?”

“I’m not sure. I have to make the decision by the end of the month, and I broke up with my previous… whatever we were to be here. Something is keeping me from saying yes,” Dany admitted.

“Well, Jon acts like a lone wolf but he’s a huge softy.”

“Really?” Dany asked in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah. I blame Cat for his being so sullen all the time,” Talisa lowered her voice.

“The Queen? But she acted so nice when she showed me around Winterfell today.”

“She’s been awful to Jon since I can remember. I heard she calls him ‘the constant reminder of my husband’s infidelity'. Imagine living with that woman taking her anger out on you for no reason. And I’ve seen her mad, it’s not fun.”

Dany looked over to where the two cars were waiting, Jon leaning through the window to talk to Bran. He ruffled his brother’s hair, a beaming smile on his face, before climbing back into Robb’s car.

 “I had no idea,” she whispered. 

She recalled the night they first met, when he said that he understood what it felt like to be whispered about and called names he didn’t deserve.

“How could you? It’s not something he willingly talks about,” said Theon.

“I figured but still, it’s no way to live.”

The sound of revving engines drew their attention back to the dirt road. Sansa stood between the two cars with all the grace and dignity of a military commander. Instead of a sword, she held a small version of the Stark banners that hung on the walls of Winterfell.

As she dropped her arms, the banner fluttered with them. And they were off, disappearing from view in a cloud of dust. Talisa assured her that they would be back soon and that the races never took long. 

And she was right. They were back before Dany knew it and, as predicted, Robb won. Arya and Bran argued about something as they approached. 

“How about we let our guest have a turn?” Robb said with enough challenge in his voice that Dany considered his offer before anything else was said.

“You can go against Theon, that’s an easy win.”

Theon rolled his eyes, “Like hell. Just race with Robb and get it over with.”

“I’ll be your co-pilot,” Arya offered, “But only because I want to beat Robb.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a good driver,” Dany deflected, shaking her head lightly. Better to avoid an embarrassing scene.

“And you think any of us are?” Arya asked, her siblings joining in her laughter.

“The best way to learn to be a wolf is to run with them,” Sansa whispered in her ear.

All eyes were on Dany as though this were her final judgment. 

“Alright,” she looked Robb dead in the eyes, “You’re on.”

She used Sansa’s car, putting up the top after they got into position. Arya settled into the passenger seat and was utterly engrossed in something on her phone. 

Dany had to admit she was nervous. In all her years, she’d never driven a car at such high speeds. I am the blood of the dragon , she reminded herself, Dragons fear nothing . She took a deep breath and tightened her hands on the wheel.

Sansa returned to her place in front of them, the same Stark banner in her hands. Dany kept her eyes fixed on the fabric, revving the engine hoping to give herself more confidence. 

As soon as Sansa dropped her arms, Dany’s foot turned to lead. The little car managed to stay neck and neck with the far superior sports model.

“Hey co-pilot, do you have a strategy?” she called over the noise of the wind and engines.

“I have a secret weapon but winning requires you to get in front of them first,” Arya shouted back, looking to the right where her brothers were keeping steady.

Dany cursed under her breath before pressing her foot down. They only gained an inch on the other.

“On second thought, fall back!” Arya announced.

She bit back the protest and took her foot off the gas. As Robb sped past, Arya commanded that Dany hang a right.

“What, why?”

“Because I said so! Now do it!”

Dany was ashamed of the scream she let out as the car wheeled around the sharp bend but it dissolved into a fit of laughter as she reinforced her foot’s weight on the gas pedal. It gained her a strange look from the Stark girl next to her but they were soon laughing together.

“You’re absolutely crazy,” Dany shouted.

“I know!” 

They lost their race but as Robb celebrated his latest victory, Dany found that she had yet another Stark ally. Maybe she wasn’t as alone in the Northern court as she thought.

Chapter Text

The revelry of the races last night helped bring Jon a sense of normalcy; as though they’d never traveled south and all of the revelations and situations were fever dreams. Fragments to be forgotten as soon as he opened his eyes. But when he awoke at his habitual time and stared at the wood beams crossing the ceiling, his current problems still plagued him and the world felt heavier. He still pulled himself away from his bed so he could finally go on his run without the threat of anyone intruding.

He stuck to his usual route, a few laps around the exterior castle walls so he could keep in sight of the stationed guards atop. A much easier time than being trailed through the Wolfswood. Running alone allowed him to hold off the bigger issues plaguing his life and focus on the small details: the way his feet fell on the frost-covered grass, the rhythm of his breathing, the way the chilly morning air bit at his face.

Wanting to steer clear of the Great Keep as much as possible, he entered through the Hunter’s Gate on the west side of the castle when he finished. What awaited him was person number two on the long list of people he was trying to avoid. His father occupied spot number one at the moment.

Princess Daenerys sat at the little wooden table where kitchen staff took their breaks, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She looked up when he entered. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice even.

It made Jon pause. He was expecting a little more resentment and coldness.

“I didn’t take you for an early riser.”

“I’m not usually,” she admitted, “But I try to make it a habit.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear before carefully sipping from her mug. She pulled her knees up to her chest and Jon saw the fuzzy socks patterned like tabby cat paws on her feet. Matched with her red and black flannel pajama bottoms and green Braavos Titans sweatshirt, she looked more like an absent-minded eccentric than a polished princess. She looked more approachable and human.

“Nice socks,” he nodded and leaned against the counter.

“Oh.” The princess glanced down as though she’d forgotten what pair she had on. “Uh, thanks. Did you have a nice run?”

He furrowed his brows at her.

“You came in here sweaty and breathing hard, so I assumed that’s where you’d been,” she stated, motioning to the obvious sweat mark on the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, it was … a good run.”

A few members of the kitchen staff filed in to prepare breakfast for the rest of the court, who were starting their days too.

Jon knew it was best to get out of their way. While he ranked higher than them, they weren’t afraid to get nasty if he stood between them and their tasks. He sat in the other chair, watching as the workers busied themselves and tried not to stare too long at the foreign visitor and prince conversing.

“Why are you really up this early?”

“I can’t enjoy my coffee in the solitude of an empty kitchen at the ass crack of dawn?” she rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her statement, a light smile peeking over the edge of her mug.

Jon’s face betrayed him with the grin it displayed at her sarcastic comment.

“Actually, I’m trying to enjoy some peace and quiet before Sansa gets a hold of me. I think she’s got every minute until we leave booked.”

“Sorry about her.”

“Oh, she’s fine. I was the only girl until Elia, it’s like making up for lost time.”

A sad look passed her face momentarily before a subtle jerk of her shoulders brought the smirk back.

“Arya’s very protective of you.”

“Aye, a little guard dog. Her Majesty’s always favored Robb and Sansa so it was only natural the outcasts banded together.”

At that moment, a very distinct head of copper hair entered the kitchen, gazing over the tops of the workers' heads almost frantically. 

“Speak of the Stranger,” she muttered, sliding her mug out of the way.

Sansa was by her side immediately, already talking about all that she had planned.

He watched her form recede into the commotion of the kitchen, a tad disappointed their conversation was cut short.

They were on the move before he knew it, on their way to the foothills of the mountains for the Midsummer celebrations, a huge festival was attended by lords and common folk alike. It had what all the Northerners loved: tradition. Traditional music, food, clothing, and even traditional dancers. Although they were professionals hired by the festival planners, that never stopped a few drunken lords from joining in. 

After her bonding experience with the Starks last night, Daenerys was fitting right in. Jon didn't see her after their run-in that morning but her and Sansa’s laughter could be heard throughout the castle. The reason for their jovialness was evident when they’d gathered to leave. Sansa had turned the woman into her own fashion doll.

The festival and its focus on tradition meant Sansa got to break out the traditional dress. The woolen skirt she wore was starched white with lines of grey and pale green crisscrossing over it, the colors of House Stark. A sash of the same fabric crossing over her blouse and secured at her waist with a brooch in the shape of the Stark direwolf.

She’d given their guest nearly the same treatment. She’d dug a similar length wool skirt out of somewhere, but the one Daenerys wore was a deep blue and devoid of any lines of other colors. A safe bet, since it wouldn’t be confused with any other House’s pattern. Her white hair was braided in its usual way but they were woven into a different pattern, forming a shape akin to a heart. If it weren’t for her light hair and odd-colored eyes, she would look every bit a true Northerner.

Jon’s task of the evening included escorting their guest around the festival and ensuring all introductions went smoothly. He asked Sansa to stick close by just in case, she was a natural at turning any awkward situation out but they found her services unnecessary. Daenerys charmed everyone she met with ease and exchanged nothing but kind pleasantries. 

As they were leaving yet another Lord and Lady behind, Daenerys took note of a young girl passing around wreaths made of flowers. When the young girl stopped in front of them, the Princess immediately bent down to meet her at eye level.

“Hello,” Daenerys greeted.

The young girl curtseyed and wordlessly held one of her creations out to the woman in front of her. A wreath of small blue flowers interspersed with white and green, shiny blue ribbons binding the whole thing together.

They weren’t too far from the dancers, Jon noticed. The sounds of pipes and fiddles drifting toward them. 

“For me?”

The young girl nodded again, holding the flowers out further. Daenerys took it from the girl with delicate hands and examined it.

“Did you make this?”

Nod.

“It’s very beautiful but I’m afraid I don’t know how to wear it,” Daenerys frowned.

Jon feared for a second that she planned to return the wreath to the little girl. It would be the perfect slip-up, a story would leave bitter tastes in the mouths of Northmen. But she surprised him yet again.

“I would be honored if you would help me,” she smiled and gracefully bowed her head.

The little girl placed the ring of flowers atop Daenerys’ braids, her round face growing red.

“Thank you very much.”

The little girl curtseyed again and ran off to find her mother. Daenerys turned to him with a broad smile but she quickly averted her eyes when all he could do was blink at her. Who was this woman, poisonous as a snake one moment and gentle as a cloud the next?

Similar interactions followed wherever they went. While Jon held onto his belief that she was playing a part that she’d rehearsed so well it was believable, he found his stubborn grasp slipping with each person they encountered.

Jon heard the music change and watched as Sansa grabbed Daenerys’ hand.

“Come on,” Sansa said excitedly, “I want to dance.”

As she was dragged away, Daenerys looked back over her shoulder, a nervous smile on her face. At least there wouldn’t be any introductions for a while.

It was later when he found himself talking with the patriarch of Clan Norrey, a tankard of summer ale in his hand. The old reels of the North filled his ears thanks to their proximity to the band. He chanced a glance at the dancers. The professionals were on break, so the common folk and lords swung each other around with the sun burning behind them.

During one of the passes, a flash of white hair caught his eye. He watched as Daenerys was spun by Sansa before switching directions and ending up in the arms of a large man. Jon recognized him as Lord Umber, a man oddly graceful despite his size, age, and drunkenness. They exchanged words and whatever the Princess said had the GreatJon roaring in laughter before she was spun off. 

The music ended with a flourish and the dancers all bowed to each other, applause and cheers rising into the air. 

“She sure is something, that Southern girl.” Old Norrey commented.

“You have no idea,” Jon replied.

“What would a city girl like her want to come up here for?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” he lied.

“I hate to say it but I hope she sticks around.”

Another song started up, the laughter of the festival-goers rising above the music as they started dancing again. 

“What are you doing standing here talking to me for? You should be out there dancing-”

“I’m not a dancer,”

“-and wooing the next Queen of the North.”

Jon wondered how Old Norrey would react if he told him the future queen was already spinning herself dizzy with the other ladies. And that she was the southern girl impressing even the staunchest of traditionalists. The old man would probably have a heart attack. Daenerys visiting the North was one thing, but marrying it was a whole other beast.

Jon wanted to make another remark about their guest, when she bounded up to him, breathless from the dancing.

“I need to talk to you,” she announced, gravity in her breathless tone.

“Okay…”

She looked at Norrey and back to Jon, “Alone, preferably.”

Jon nodded despite his confusion and led her away from the crowded space, towards the edges of the festival. With fewer people and less activity, it was more quiet and calm. As they walked, Jon noted the sturdy boots she wore. 

They walked in silence for a while, Daenerys’ gaze fixed straight ahead. She’d taken the ring of flowers from her head, holding it in her hands. He could tell she was trying not to fidget with it. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” she started.

Jon was taken aback, “For?”

To quote you, being a ‘raging bitch’.”

Damnit, Arya, you weren’t supposed to tell anyone . He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and found she was doing the same.

“Now I feel like I should be apologizing,” he covered.

“No, that’s alright. It was a correct assumption, even if it was harsh. I was really overwhelmed with everything and I took it out on the wrong person. You didn’t deserve that. And I’d like to apologize for being so stubborn.”

“Really?”

They paused their stroll by one of the several bonfires burning across the stretch of land. The flickering orange light washed over Daenerys’ features, the blank canvas of her hair taking on the lively color.

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” she looked at him for a moment.

Sensing her hesitation, Jon said, “Go on.”

“I know I’ve only been here a few days and there’s so much more to see of the North but it’s beautiful here. I’ve spent the last few years running around the world, trying to get away from the south, when this was right next door the whole time.”

  She looked around the landscape before she started walking again.

“Everyone keeps asking me if I’m actually going to marry you,” she commented.

“Everyone?”

“Well, the Queen, Arya, Theon, Talisa. And my answer, every time, was I don’t know. This whole treaty ordeal is tricky and my brother will make it happen one way or another, but I thought I could figure a way out. But sometime last night, I started thinking, what would happen if I just bit the bullet? What would happen if I dropped my weapons and stopped fighting?”

“What are you saying?”

“The North is the only place I’ve felt like no one’s watching my every move. No one cares if I swear or talk too loud or slide down the hallways in my socks!”

“Wait, you weren’t allowed to do that?”

“Technically yes. My handlers didn’t want me to feel like I had too many rules to follow so everything was just highly discouraged ,” she informed in a stuffy accent Jon imagined belonged to one of her ‘handlers’.

“Got it. So you never did it?”

“Oh, I did it once. Then I got lectured and was too scared to do it again.”

Too scared? Daenerys didn’t seem like someone who was scared of anything.

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

“You were talking about the alliance,” Jon reminded her. 

“Right. I wanted to tell you that I’m saying yes.” She took a deep breath. “I’m agreeing to the engagement.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

At her admission, Jon wanted to pick her up and spin her around.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll tell your father and my brother tomorrow morning. ”

Her voice lowered as a group of girls about Sansa’s age passed them by. They whispered excitedly once they thought they were out of earshot.

“The common folk love you,” he commented.

“For now. Tomorrow, when the alcohol has worn off and the news is released they’ll turn on me. And your court already hates me. No matter how nice their words are, I know their true intentions. They dislike me for the same reasons I’m loved. Beauty, kindness, and the splendor of a foreign land.”

“But you’re not doing it for the people of the court.”

“No, I’m not. I’m doing it for your people, who have charmed me beyond imagination.”

It wasn’t how Jon imagined a proposal might go. There was no romance to it, though the ambiance was certainly there. No ring, no ‘will you marry me’. He wished he could breathe easier but the previous weight on his chest had only been replaced with another. He’d done what he needed to do and was headed into unknown territory.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” he asked.

“Of course I am. I want to do what’s right, even if it means being married to you for the rest of my life.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, grinning at her own joke.

“Thank you for that,” he said, returning her attitude.

“Oh, lighten up!”

“Daenerys-”

“And please, call me Dany, all my friends do.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her, “Alright, Dany, what now?”

“Well, I’ve only seen half this festival and I would like to see it all before the sun goes down.”

Jon offered his arm and she looped her arm through it. They were off to take on the festival as they would soon tackle the much larger challenges of marriage and the life after.

Chapter Text

When Dany was younger, she planned her future wedding with as much fervor and gusto as a young princess with every resource at her disposal could. It would take place in the Great Sept of Baelor, obviously, as that was where all royal weddings took place. She would marry a wealthy foreign diplomat, or even better, a foreign prince. The guest list would be a mile long, with even more people attending the reception afterward. Above all else, she wanted one of those ridiculous many-tiered cakes and a hideous confection of tulle and lace for a dress. 

Of course, as Dany got older, visions of a career and increasingly less domesticity replaced the wedding daydreams. If nuptials ever presented themselves, she would go the quick and easy route of elopement. Anything else was frilly fantasy. 

Except now, those things were tangible and real. The remnants of her childhood wedding plans manifested in the foreign prince, the only thing she didn’t have a say in. 

The Queen commandeered an old study near Dany’s guest room to be their official wedding planning headquarters. The whole space transformed and lost in the madness of planning two royal weddings in the span of a month.

In order for all the kinks to be worked out on the paperwork and numbers part of the treaty, Dany and Jon needed to be married as soon as possible. On top of that, both families were convinced they could sell the out-of-the-blue engagement as a whirlwind, love at first sight romance. Which meant they were stuck with a very limited window to get everything planned to the high expectations of the most important wedding of the decade. Maybe even the century. 

 Catelyn sat opposite of her with Elia and the Palace Event Planner, their electronic forms attentive on the screens as the Royal Event Planner from the Stark side presented more options for color schemes. 

They’d ruled out Targaryen red and black unanimously and Dany shot down both the mauve and dusty pink options. She’d had enough of those colors in her youth. Varys always insisted she wear pink to everything important, as all unmarried Targaryen ladies did for centuries. The last thing Dany wanted was to deal with it on an already stressful, terrifying day.

The planner pressed a button on her little remote and another color palette appeared. 

“This one consists of laurel green, timberwolf, and a neutral grey,” she reported before continuing on about the reasoning behind the colors. 

“Too much green,” Dany said with only slight disinterest, reaching for a ring of fabric swatches near her.

“The ceremony is taking place in Godswood, the last thing we need is more green.” Catelyn agreed.

As Dany ran her hands over the pieces of cloth, she noticed a familiar color. 

“What about this one?”

She held the burgundy swatch up so everyone in the meeting room could see, including the two virtual guests. Deeper than Targaryen red and verging on purple, it was the same color as the heart-shaped leaves of the Weirwood tree.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Catelyn cooed.

Elia voiced her approval at the same time.

“Could you create a palette around this and bring it tomorrow?”

“I can have it to you tonight, Your Highness.” She collected the sample and made a note.

“Thank you. And there’s no rush,” Dany smiled.

Once the meetings were over she hoped to avoid anything marriage-related. She looked at the long list they still needed to cover. At least we’re getting somewhere . 

“Next item of business is wedding party assignments,” the planner continued.

“Since this marriage involves someone who is first in line for the throne, candidates for bridesmaids and page boys are selected by proximity to the royal family as well as status within the court. Here is a list of possible candidates.”

A list of potential bridal attendants landed in front of her. Rhaenys and Aegon were at the top of their respective categories along with Sansa, Arya, and Bran but the rest of the list was names she was unfamiliar with. 

“Lyanna Mormont would be a good choice. The Mormonts have always been strong supporters of House Stark and her grandfather, Jeor Mormont, is currently Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Choosing her would be a statement about your commitment to the Night’s Watch, who defend our Northern Borders.” Catelyn suggested.

Dany made a star by the name and surveyed the rest; Karstark, Manderley, Tallheart. She wanted Missandei as her maid of honor but knew better than to suggest it. It wasn’t her wedding. Technically, it was a transaction between the heir and the useful spare. Everything had to follow tradition.

She expected there to be limits on what liberties could be taken. Rhaegar and Elia’s wedding was much the same way, everything decided for them and all they had to do was show up and say the words. It all looked sparkling and magical to fourteen-year-old Dany as she watched from the audience with the other bridesmaids. 

Another list was set in front of her but this time she knew the names. They were the great houses of Baratheon, Tyrell, Arryn, and Tully. There would be at least one bridal attendant from each region and with the wedding between Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon, there was a spot open. Dany marked another star by Myrcella’s name and continued to survey them.

“We don’t have to have them all decided today, but within the next few days is preferable. We still have to send out the invitations and notify the choices for bridal attendants,” the planner reminded the room as Dany placed the selective list into the binder holding all of the wedding plans.

The mockup of the new couple’s cipher was tucked inside the cover, an intertwined D and J with a crown over it. It was strange to see her initials joined with someone else’s. 

According to Catelyn, a traditional Northern royal wedding ceremony included a processional, presentation of a sword, exchanging of vows and rings, changing of the bride's cloak, and recessional. 

“I’m sure we have a maiden’s cloak somewhere in this palace. They were in fashion once,” Elia stated, “I’ll have someone start looking as soon as possible. Unless Dany wants to commission a new one but that would tie up the seamstresses.”

“I was actually thinking we could exclude the changing of the cloak,” Dany spoke up.

The look she gained from the room wasn’t what she would describe as pleased. 

“It’s been performed at weddings for centuries,” Catelyn argued.

“Well, then, what if we altered it. A veil, cloak, and dress are a lot of layers but if we substituted something else. Like…”

To be honest, Dany hadn’t thought her suggestion through and as she frantically racked her brain for an example, she remembered Sansa’s festival outfit and the particular piece of sparkle that caught her eye.

“A brooch.”

“A brooch, Your Highness?” the planner questioned.

“Yes.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea. There are certainly more dragon pins in our collection than cloaks,” Elia offered, being the only obvious supporter of Dany in the room at the moment.

“We would need to discuss it further,” Catelyn sighed, writing something down.

It was the first time one of Dany’s suggestions garnered such a reaction from Catelyn and she was especially grateful she hadn’t suggested Missandei be in the wedding party.

“Now, there is one more tradition that we would like to keep. The first dance is always performed as a choreographed reel.”

“Choreography?” Dany bleated.

“Dany, you’ve taken dance lessons,” Elia tried to reassure her.

“When I was twelve. And something tells me this is a completely different wheelhouse than ballet and ballroom.”

Catelyn spoke up, “Not entirely but it does require a few sessions to get everything smooth. Unless you want to do away with that too.”

The way the Queen’s eyes settled on her was a warning and a challenge. As if speaking against her would bring the whole wrath of the North upon Dany. 

She straightened and tilted her chin a fraction, “I haven’t made my mind up yet.”

The wedding planner cleared her throat. Dany took that as her sign to let the moment pass and return to the task at hand. 

“We usually broadcast the ceremony but given the circumstances, we’ve decided against it,” the planner informed, “but there will be a photographer there to capture everything.”

At least she wouldn’t have to deal with bloggers analyzing every angle and glance. 

Her phone buzzed next to her and she turned it over out of curiosity. The notification expanded against Dany’s wants, revealing the news headline about her engagement. Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut as she took a deep breath. For most of the morning she sat through the planning session with a detached sense of reality, like she was watching someone else flip through books of swatches and check items off lists. 

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

“Could you all excuse me for a moment?”

Dany stood and walked from the room with as much control as she could. As soon as the door closed her pace quickened. She wasn’t sure where she headed but the more distance she put between herself and the wedding business, the better she would feel. It took a flight of stairs and several turns before she was satisfied, only to realize she was absolutely lost.

With only one tour of a place as massive as Winterfell, Dany was bound to get turned around. The sounds of a conversation came from a room down the hall. As she approached the words became more coherent and revealed the details of the exchange.

“I mean, this woman hasn’t had a single long-term relationship in her life and suddenly she’s up and engaged to a man with a much higher rank after a week.”

She knew at once what they talked about and rolled her eyes. Jon wasn’t that much higher ranked. 

The open door acted as an entrance to a smoking lounge and the conversation came from an old radio. Jon sat in one of the leather chairs, engaging in the act that the room was meant for. Intrigued, Dany leaned against the door frame.

“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s southern imperialism.”

The second person laughed.

“You shouldn’t listen to this shit,” she warned, a hint of teasing in her voice, “It’ll rot your brain.”

When Jon looked up, she stepped into the room, crossing to sit next to the radio as well. The room had a masculine energy about it that Dany was smitten with. Dark wood and leather, the stone around the fireplace and the sleek bear pelt on the shining wood floor, just one of the many hunting trophies on display with old weapons.

“A King should always listen to what his people have to say,” he remarked.

“To genuine criticism, but this is just conspiracy and gross speculation.”

The radio personality continued, “We’re allowing this foreign woman access to the ear of the most important person in our country. Now, what do you think she’s gonna do with that kind of power?”

“Push her own agenda.”

“Exactly, her southern agenda. She may have had people fooled at the Midsummer festival with that traditional dress stunt, but I was not impressed.”

She scoffed. The outfit wasn’t meant to be a PR stunt. Sansa suggested it and Dany agreed but they failed to consider that Dany was actually a nice person who wasn’t putting on a front.

And as for pushing her southern agenda, Dany wished they knew how much she loathed her brother and refused to impart his plans on anyone. Especially after the text message she’d received from him the other night, demanding her to hurry up and seal the deal. Only then did she figure out how to work the whole ugly mess to her advantage. 

No matter where in the world she ran, she still had to answer to her brother and the Crown. And renouncing her titles was a hassle with too many negative repercussions, including Rhaegar’s thinly veiled threat of blacklisting her if she did. But in his desperate attempt to settle her down, he handed her an escape plan on a silver platter. 

A kind of liberation one didn’t seek out but settled for when they realized it was the only option. And if it weren’t for the hysteria surrounding the weddings, she might have counted down the days as she did before her departure to university, with giddy anticipation.

As she brought her attention back to the radio personalities and their outlandish theories, she let herself sink down into the club chair. It proved much more comfortable than the wooden one she sat in all morning and she was past caring if she wrinkled her business casual ensemble.

“While I’m with you on imperialism, I think there is a more obvious reason they’re engaged so soon and that is Princess Daenerys’ wardrobe. If you didn’t know, the Targaryens hosted their annual charity gala and the dress she wore was … putting a lot on display, to put it delicately.”

“I know what you’re talking about. Is there not a dress code at that court? Not that it matters, I mean, we all know about her nip slip-”

We’re still on that? She supposed the news cycle in the North was slower, allowing people like the two morons on the radio to focus their attention on something the South already considered old news. That would take some getting used to.

“You know, they said that picture was doctored,”

“Yeah right. At least Prince Jon knows what he’s getting in bed because there is a popular interview with her ex-lover Khal Drogo, he compared her to-”

“Could you turn it off, please,” Dany asked, not wanting to hear what came next.

“Gladly,” Jon answered.

She reached for the cigarette case without a second thought and slid one free. Jon lit it for her.

“So, tell me the truth. Are you really a spy for your brother?”

“What?” she choked on her laugh, not expecting that particular statement.

“The seductress of the south sent here to infiltrate the royal family and sell our secrets to foreign enemies,” he said with humor in his voice.  

“I can assure you I’m not. Whatever nefarious plans my brother has at work, he hasn’t included me in them. Not that I’d want to be a part of his scheming.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m not,” Dany laughed.

“Promise?”

“I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, and Lady of Dragonstone, promise that I am telling the truth. And when I make promises, I don’t break them.”

She lifted her cigarette back to her lips.

“I thought you were supposed to be in top-secret wedding meetings all day.”

“We were in the middle of discussing the ceremonies and I needed to take a breather.”

“Let me guess, tradition?”

Dany groaned, “I’m going to be sick of that word by the time this is all over.”

“You get used to it.”

She wasn’t so sure. Her whole life was dictated by that word, and she didn’t expect change anytime soon. But while the Northern traditions were a thorn in her side at the moment, she supposed she could get used to it… eventually.

She considered him for a moment, “You should come to them.”

“I don’t think I’d be of any help.”

“Yes, you would. Right now, it’s me against Her Majesty and as much as we both dread it, it’s still our wedding.”

“What did you do to make Catelyn dislike you?”

“I merely suggested we re-evaluate a certain element of the ceremony and she acted like I insulted her entire life’s work.”

“As far as she’s concerned you did. Besides, if I showed up, there would be two people in the room she hates.”

“Exactly! Maybe she won’t even come. But it’s not her fault. There are so many rules about these weddings and she’s just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly. Now that I’m thinking about it, it would be more helpful if you weren’t first in line for the throne.”

“Not fair. That is all I have going for me,” he complained.

“Oh, whatever,” exclaimed Dany as she rearranged herself in the chair, folding her legs underneath her so she could lean on the arm and face Jon full-on.

“You expect me to believe that you’re oblivious to the goo-goo eyes thrown at you everywhere you go?”

He threw up his hands in surrender.

“Oh my gods.” Dany shook her head.

“Okay, answer me this, if I wasn’t heir to a vast country who you happened to be engaged to and you met me at a bar, what would you do?”

Dany looked him up and down, trying to look like she was seriously considering his question. She already knew her answer, she’d admitted it to herself that night in the greenhouse. I wouldn’t hesitate to add you to my list . But hookups and marriage were different things with a common denominator and she didn’t want her answer misunderstood.

“Well?” he asked.

“Now I don’t want to answer it,”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at her.

A voice from the doorway called, “Your Highness.”

They both turned their heads. Ser Jorah hovered in the doorway and Dany sighed in relief even though she knew she was being dragged back into the wedding fray.

“Her Majesty wanted me to let you know the florist is here.”

Dany nodded and snuffed the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray. When she stood, she saw that her pants and blouse weren’t wrinkled and sighed in relief. 

“Have fun,” Jon said as she headed for the door.

Despite her best efforts, a chuckle and smile escaped her.

“I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sure Rhaenys will be fine, it’s Aegon I’m worried about. He’s a little chatterbox.”

The bits of dialogue between Dany and her conference call reached Jon’s ears as he stared out the window and watched the countryside slip past. Another Northern landmark awaited their arrival, just the two of them. Their Majesties thought it was a good way for the public to see them acting like a real couple, even though it was far from the truth.

Despite the impending publicity stunt, Dany was seemingly playful. After a week of wedding planning, she was ecstatic to get away from it all. And understandably so. He attended a few of the planning sessions, specifically the cake tasting and menu planning. Dany surprised him by taking his opinions into consideration and even Catelyn tolerated his presence. 

Their dance lessons started too, reinforcing the fact that Jon had two left feet. Luckily, standard ballroom dance was a no-go, so they were both spared any crushed toes. Aside from a few instances of hands missing their mark and ending up in the other’s face, they escaped unscathed. They could hardly look at each other the next day without cracked smiles and stifled laughter. Much to the dismay of the Great Wedding Committee who wanted to discuss stationary and rings. 

Jon felt guilty after that particular meeting. While discussing wedding rings, he realized he’d never given Dany a proper engagement ring. She’d taken to wearing a ring of her mother’s on her finger so no one would get suspicious about the lack of a real proposal. Dany said people wouldn’t question the legitimacy of their engagement if a ring was involved. 

So Jon employed the help of Arya and Sansa, who were both detrimental in getting Dany’s ring size on the sly and helping him choose from the modest selection of jewels. They found a perfect choice after an hour of looking, it didn’t even need reset. He would’ve given it to her there in the car but it wouldn’t matter. The weather took a nasty dip and it was always cold on the wall so they would be wearing light gloves.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Dany cried, breaking Jon from his reverie.

“Finally done?”

“Deadzone.” she let her phone fall dramatically onto the seat between them and leaned her head on the window.

Jon chuckled. They had crossed into the Gift, a swath of land set aside for the Night’s Watch specifically and notorious for its spotty reception. In another hour they would be at Castle Black. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious to be back. The reminder of the incident and his subsequent indefinite leave was still fresh in his mind.

Even though he trained and studied like the other recruits, he was never meant to be a ranger. A job considered too dangerous for the Prince of the North so Lord Commander Mormont requested Jon as his personal steward. While he still craved the adventure of the rangings, he was willing to concede. However, one time he got a taste of what could’ve been if he weren’t so damned important.

Shadow Unit was down a man and with no reports of wildling activity in the area, they let Jon ride out with them. That was how it usually went. In his four years at the Wall, the only time actual run-ins happened were if the tribes that lived there got too close or Mormont sent the ranging parties further north.

The clear mile between the forest edge and the Wall was in their sights, bringing with it the promise of warmth and rest. The night was still and unnaturally dark and cold, the men in the unit were just as wary of the atmosphere as their mounts. The Haunted Forest was overgrown and wild, making it impossible for bulky vehicles to navigate. And going on foot was worse for obvious reasons so the Watch kept horses. 

A rustling in the trees brought their procession to a halt. With no wind to shake the branches, Jon knew at once they shouldn’t have stopped. One of the men went to radio in the activity when dark shapes descended on the front and rear. Chaos ensued. 

Their formation broke into a mess of nervous horses and shouting men. On the narrow trail there was no way to break through, they were fish in a barrel. 

Somehow, in the darkness and confusion, Jon was tossed from his saddle. He landed on the frozen ground and narrowly avoided being trampled by his own horse. With no cover and no clear way out, Jon ducked into the trees, managing to conceal himself. He tried to contact Castle Black when he was tackled, his radio skidding across the snow and out of his reach. He wedged his forearms between the attacker and his face but not before his crude knife slashed at his eye. 

The shout that left Jon filled the still forest as he forced his assailant off. Jon flipped himself over, pawing fruitlessly for his radio. A searing fire erupted in his leg and he knew he was a victim to the primitive tool his attacker had. 

Jon considered his options, however few there were, landing on one he didn’t want. As though it was second nature, Jon drew his gun and aimed. 

Even in the dark, he could feel the eyes of his opponent. In a fleeting thought, Jon realized there was a human staring down the barrel of his gun. Neither of them moved. The time for overthinking passed and without any more consideration, Jon pulled the trigger. 

He didn’t shake like he hoped he would. His breath remained even, the pain from his eye and leg dull but growing harder to ignore by the second. He laid there in the snow, contemplating what would come next.

The following afternoon brought a meeting with Lord Commander Mormont. The Old Bear didn’t command Shadow Unit, nor did he lead the ranging so Jon couldn’t fathom why they needed to meet. At least that’s what he told himself to keep the dreading feeling away. Mormont would tell him his time with the Night’s Watch was over and returning to Winterfell imminent.

“You wished to see me, Lord Commander?” Jon asked as he stepped through the door.

“Have a seat Jon.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to leave the moment the Old Bear said the words but the ache in his leg was still too bothersome to ignore.

“I’m sure you know that your father was alerted about the attack last night. Once he heard of your involvement and subsequent injury he commanded that you be placed on leave indefinitely and sent back to Winterfell.”

Jon didn’t try to feign shock. “What did you say to him?”

Mormont sighed, “I tried to convince him to let you stay but my explanation of the events did little to sway him.”

“I can’t go back there.” Jon shook his head.

He anticipated his going back to Winterfell would come eventually but Jon imagined it happening on his own terms, in his own time.

“Neither of us has much choice in the matter,” the Old Bear reminded him, “We must all answer to the crown.”

At court, Jon felt like everything was handed to him. Even his claim to the throne was presented like a gift on his name day. While any other man would’ve taken advantage of the situation, Jon came to resent it. He found it to be one of the many reasons for the disdain surrounding him. It didn’t help that bastards were considered treacherous, even a legitimized one.

Serving with the Night’s Watch gave him the chance to earn something. Even if it was the least exciting of the positions, he put in the time and effort to achieve it. Hearing his name called and reciting the ancient words beneath the grove of heart trees was the most gratifying experience. 

Jon found himself in much the same position again, though this time it was a woman the Crown placed into his life. Like an invitation for a week-long hunting trip on Bear Island only significantly more permanent and harder to refuse. And they were both real people with their own wants and needs but some selfish pricks higher than them decided none of that mattered; reducing him and Dany to mere pawns in the ever-evolving game.

The view outside the window changed with the first signs of Mole’s Town, several roofs and chimney stacks sticking out of the ground. To help protect against the cold, homes were built underground and the public buildings were connected by tunnels. In more recent years, people began constructing their houses into the sides of man-made hills. It seemed the only structure visible from the road was Castle Black, standing stoic and dark against the gleaming ice of the Wall.

Once a simple fortification of towers and scattered rooms, the years saw it transform from an ancient keep to a proper military base. Not that there was a great war to be expected from the folk beyond the Wall, Castle Black was really a form of discouragement from trying to sneak through.

“Seven hells,” Dany muttered as they passed through the gates, “That is a lot of ice.”

“Wait until you see the view from the top,” Jon said.

“We’re actually going up there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t be a trip to the Wall without it.”

There was a media frenzy in the courtyard. As part of the agreement between the press and the Royal Family, Jon and Dany would give them enough time for a photo op as they met the Lord Commander and then they expected peace and quiet for the day and a half they were there. 

Jon was surprised they were willing to accept such a quick and easy deal since it was the first public sighting of the newly engaged royals. A pair who were supposedly so in love, they decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together in the span of a week. Luckily, decorum helped them avoid any public displays of affection and bed-sharing as their accommodations provided two separate rooms.

Brothers of the Night’s Watch paused along the walkways to view the flashing cameras and the two people being fussed over. Jon didn’t recognize any of the faces. He doubted he would, a lot could change in two years. He at least expected to see Edd Tollett walking alongside the Lord Commander, complaining his ear off. But the Lord Commander arrived alone, dressed in the ceremonial blacks with the bear of Mormont set among the various pins and medals.

“Your Highnesses, it is an honor to have you at Castle Black.”

The camera flashes increased as Jon shook Mormont’s hand and they posed for a good minute afterward, smiling and acting graciously. The press was ushered out of the courtyard and Mormont dropped the pretense.

“So, this is the young lady you’ve decided to spend the rest of your life with?” Mormont sizing up Dany, “A spectacular choice.”

Jon saw her smug smile. When she noticed he was looking at her, she nudged him with her shoulder.

The loud, high-spirited sounds that accompanied a returning patrol unit drew his attention away. Ghost Unit, he could tell. The two friends he made in his time at the wall, Grenn and Pyp, were in that group. 

“Well if it isn’t Lord Snow!” one of them called.

He shook his head. The nickname was meant as a mean tease and it stuck. Jon should’ve corrected them, reminded the men that he deserved the respect of his rank, but it brought back a grateful wave of nostalgia.

“Aurochs and Pyp-squeak,” he greeted in the same mocking tone.

“We were about to head to Tormund’s if you wanted to join us,” offered Grenn, clapping Jon on the back.

“The lady can come too.”

Pyp nodded toward Dany, who stood by Jon’s side.

She laughed, “I would love to but one of us should stay for the tour from the Lord Commander.”

“You don’t mind if I go?”

“Of course not. You’ve probably seen enough of the place anyway.”

Jon thanked her, which she waved off in her casual way before leaving with Mormont.

Tormund’s little pub was one of the busiest attractions in the underground village of Mole’s Town. The atmosphere was humid and hot with all the bodies stuffed in the small space. When Jon inquired about the increase in people, his brothers laughed.

“It’s because of you and your sweetheart. As soon as news broke about your visit up here they all decided to make a weekend trip just to catch sight of you two.” Grenn informed. 

Jon noticed the handful of people wandering around up top, hoping to get close enough to the base to catch a glimpse. They would just have to wait until the photos were released. The strict royal press policy worked in his favor once again. 

The group found an empty table somewhere, Edd ended up joining them later. He wished he could enjoy their company like he used to but they kept asking him about the wedding and Dany and he found himself dodging questions, unable to relax.

“Can I come to the wedding?”

“You can come to the reception.”

“What if I’m your supporter?”

“Robb’s already got the job, Pyp.”

“Okay but what if-”

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to throttle you,” Edd threatened, as tired of the wedding talk as Jon was.

He managed to flip the conversation back to them by asking Grenn about his possible promotion. Grenn launched into a long-winded rant, with added talking points by Pyp, about the placement of new recruits and new training requirements. All was going well until Tormund found out where they were.

Jon heard his warhorn of a voice call ‘Crow!’ from across the packed room. There was more grey in his orange hair than Jon remembered but that didn’t stop him from plucking the Prince out of his seat and nearly crushing him in a hug.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you when they shipped you back south. What the hells are you doing up here?”

“He and his fiancée are here to see the wall.”

“Fiancée? Well, what are you waiting for Crow, show me a picture of this special woman,” Tormund demanded.

Jon pulled out his phone to find a picture of Dany and realized that he had none on his camera roll. He tried to search the internet for one but Tormund spotted him.

“You don’t have a picture of her on your phone?”

“They’ve only known each other a week,” Pyp chimed in.

“A week? Gods you work fast,” echoed Tormund in disbelief.

“It’s a long story that I’d rather not get into,” he tried to defend.

He wasn’t allowed to reveal the exact nature of his and Dany’s relationship, no matter how far-fetched it seemed to other people.

Edd broke in with, “I think we know why Lord Snow fell so fast.”

The tone in his voice reminded Jon of someone who was about to tell a bad joke. When he gave Edd a questioning look, he shrugged.

“When we found out who you were engaged to we did some digging.”

“The deep web is a wonderful, wonderful place,” came Pyp’s addition.

“It’s much more complicated than that.”

Jon tried to sit down but Tormund pulled him back up and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“At least he’s found himself a girl to share his time with. Unlike the lot of you, sitting in my pub every weekend in the same spot and leaving together. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re more like to warm each other’s beds.”

Groans and protests went up from the group, mostly accusing Tormund of similar bachelor behavior. Jon patted Tormund’s shoulder, relieved that the conversation was off of him for a moment longer. 

When he returned to Castle Black with Grenn and Pyp, the sun had dipped below the wall, the sky making its nightly shift from orange to pink to purple to black and casting half the wall in shadow. The breeze had a harsher bite to it and Jon shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. His gloved fingers brushed against something small and odd-shaped. The ring. He’d almost forgotten about it.

In a streak of luck, Dany crossed the courtyard with the Lord Commander. He called out to her and she stopped to look at him.

“We were about to go up top,” she said, “Everyone says now is the best time.”

Jon doubted it. The air would be colder and the wind rougher but there was something he needed to do.

“I can take you up.”

“Are you sure? Lord Commander Mormont said he would do it.”

“I’m sure.”

The Old Bear backed off and let Jon take Dany’s arm.

Despite the creaking and rattling from the winch, it was an unbearably silent ride. One that left Jon with nothing to do but fiddle with the piece of jewelry in his pocket and watch Dany readjust her scarf from the millionth time.

No matter how much he’d seen it during his four years at the Wall, the view from the top still impressed him, especially then. The horizon burned orange, lighting the soft clouds yellow and making the purple-blue of the sky look electric. The light reflected off the trees and light snow of the lands beyond the wall.

“The Lord Commander told me there are still people who live out there. What will they do when winter comes?”

“They’ve survived the cold and snow for thousands of years, they can handle one more.”

Silence settled between them again. 

“You were right. It is beautiful.”

Dany tucked her chin into her scarf as the wind picked up, swirling her loose hair around. She gathered it in her hands and wrestled it under her scarf. A few pieces managed to escape and as she turned to look at him they brushed across her face. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold and her eyes were starting to water. Jon lost his nerve.

It was too romantic, he decided. There was nothing he wanted less than to seem like he was trying to woo her. Not to mention with their security officers present and the possibility of a watchman passing by, it was too public. 

“We should head back down,” he offered.

“In a moment.” she turned to look into the setting sun.

After taking in the beauty another moment, they descended, heading directly for their guest quarters. The pair of bedrooms with a common space between was fully furnished and a welcome retreat from the oncoming cold. There was even a fire burning in the fireplace. Castle Black had a modern furnace system but nothing truly beat the cold like a roaring fire.

They parted to peel off their outerwear and change. Jon waited a good few minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed, examining the ring and trying to get his nerve back. He finally stood, walked into the living space and said, “Hey Dany, can you come here for a second.”

She appeared in the doorway. An oversized brown flannel hung from her shoulders, dwarfing her small frame, and she wore a pair of hot pink fuzzy socks on her feet.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, heading straight for the sofa in front of the fire.

Dany pulled her legs up beside her and twisted so she could see him. Her hair had a frizz to it, he noted. The light from behind caught in it, surrounding her make-up-free face in a halo of gold.

“Yes,” he answered without thinking, “I mean, no… Yes and no.”

Her eyebrows raised as she eyed him. 

Jon moved to sit on the sofa with her, “When we talked about wedding rings this week, I realized that I forgot an important part of engagements.”

He realized the error he’d made in waiting until then. While the scene on the Wall was romantic in a trope-riddled teen romance movie way, the low light and Jon and Dany in their sleepwear was much more intimate. And Jon cursed himself for it.

“Uh, it’s fine? I’m not really sure which part of the engagement you’re referring to.”

“That would be the proposal. I mean, you deserve a real one.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, that’s a shame because I have this…” Jon held the ring up.

“Oh, I’m fine with the one I’ve been wearing. You didn’t have to-”

“I know.” Without another moment’s hesitation he continued, “Daenerys Stormborn the First of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

A laugh escaped her, good-natured and light, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Considering the wedding is in three weeks, I figured I’d better squeeze it in at some point.”

“Talisa was right, you are such a sap.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll be taking this back.” he started to put the ring back in his pocket but Dany reached for it.

“No, no, no, you proposed and I said yes, the ring is a fair exchange.”

She still had her mother’s ring on, so she took it off and put it on her other hand.

“Here,” Jon offered, taking her hand and sliding the real engagement ring onto her finger.

It wasn’t anything extravagant or glamorous, a simple kite-shaped diamond with flecks through it (something Sansa called a ‘salt-and-pepper diamond’) set in silver. The shape reminded Jon of the tiara Dany wore to the charity gala, as well as the dragon sigil of her House.

“It’s a beautiful ring,” she said with a soft smile, still twisting and turning her hand to watch it catch the light.

“It was my Aunt Lyanna’s.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met her?”

“She renounced her title. After Uncle Brandon died the succession skipped to my father. She was never meant for the princess life anyway, it was too stifling for her.”

“Where is she now?”

“We don’t know. Sansa thinks she fell in love with a Myrish poet and took off to be with him in Essos.”

Dany’s face took on a thoughtful look, she dropped her hand to her lap and looked at the flames.

“I was engaged once,” she said wistfully.

“Really?” 

Jon was shocked. As far as he was concerned, Dany had never been in a serious relationship. She just flitted from one man to another, like a bee in a patch of wildflowers.

“I was fresh off my first semester of university and it was my first time in Meereen. The Grand Masters invited me to a gala of theirs and the Dothraki Khal happened to be there. We hit it off right away, although he didn’t speak a word of the common tongue except ‘no’. Ser Jorah had to translate everything.

“When I returned to Meereen the next summer, he invited me to Vaes Dothrak and I spent more time with him than I should have. It wasn’t a proper proposal, there was nothing planned about it. No ring, no kneeling, no pretty words. It was spur of the moment and I said yes.”

“What happened?”

“Rhaegar found out. I haven’t seen or heard from Drogo since unless you count that tell-all article.”

“I’m very sorry.”

She looked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why? It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anybody’s fault but my own.” There was a bitterness to her voice.

“I guess I… have sympathy for you,” Jon admitted.

“Well thank you for that. And for the ring.”

She paused, like she was contemplating something more, then got up and disappeared into her room. Jon gazed at the closed door. He sighed and departed for his own bed.

Chapter Text

Dany could hear the conversations happening in the other room and dreaded what awaited her there. She looked in the mirror again, hoping that she could find another thing to fix so she could delay her departure from the safe space. She went to tuck her hair behind her ear and noticed the shining rock decorating her finger.

The ladies would all be asking about it. Especially if they noticed that it was different than the one she’d been wearing. None of the ladies at court made an effort to get too close to Dany, keeping a safe distance from the foreigner in their midst, but they still saw things and whispered. If anyone asked, Dany would say it was being resized. That would slake their thirst for new rumors but it would start fresh ones too. Anything to keep them entertained she supposed.

In the mirror, she could see the ivory dress bag containing her wedding gown. The whole thing had arrived from White Harbor with the designer that morning for a fitting. The wedding planner reached out to as many Westerosi designers as she could and they raced to send in their portfolios. After looking through them all, Dany selected a northern designer named Jeyne Poole who worked for a well-known fashion house in Norvos. Her submission was an unused design for an upcoming bridal collection.

Dany cast it aside at first, claiming it wasn’t her style, but when she looked at the sketch again she saw potential. She and Jeyne worked together to achieve what Dany now considered her dream dress. If she was only going to be married once she at least wanted the dress to be perfect. 

Hanging next to the monstrous bag were two dress options for the engagement party. One of ivory tulle and the other of champagne chiffon. They were both modest lengths and clearly meant to invoke the word ‘bride’ without being too obvious. She chose the champagne dress as it was darker and featured a thick sash of lavender silk around the waist, then she swept her hair into a simple yet elegant knot at the nape of her neck.

Styling her hair on the go was a trick from princess training she found increasingly useful. All of her appointments were scheduled one after the other, she barely had time to breathe between them let alone manage the various costume changes. Dany preferred it that way. If she kept herself distracted she wouldn’t think about anything else but the task at hand.

She slid the last pin into place and glanced at the tiara sitting in its case, surrounded by red velvet.  A simple band with a fringe of raised silver points glittering with little gems.The sparkling piece wasn’t hers, it was on loan from the Queen’s personal collection. Catelyn wore it to her engagement celebration and wedding and claimed she would be honored if Dany wore it too. 

With a gentle hand, she grazed her fingertips over the uneven points before lifting the tiara from its cushioned nest. The fringe sparkled in the moody lighting of the room and Dany realized it was meant to represent icicles. Without any blue-tinted stones, it looked more like dozens of little swords. It gave Dany a fierce look once placed atop her head and she was grateful for it. She needed strength now more than ever.

“Dany?”

Jon stood in the doorway, dressed in the semi-formal attire required of the official engagement party. She noticed his eyes flicker to the large dress bag.

“Is this the dress?”

“Yes,” she answered before turning back to adjust the tiara.

She watched, partly in horror, as Jon reached for the bag.

“You can’t look at it!” she whirled around and intercepted him.

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“I’m not. I’d just rather not tempt fate.” And risk fucking things up more than I already have .

“Okay, I won’t look at it. Are you ready to go? I don’t think our guests will appreciate it much if the couple of the hour is late.”

She adjusted the high neck of her dress and fought the familiar urge to run. She promised herself no more running.

Accepting Jon’s arm, he escorted her to the neighboring room. They paused outside the heavy door as their names were announced. She tried not to tighten her grip on his arm when it hit her that there were no rules regarding PDA this time. And people were expecting the young love-birds to act like they actually liked each other. And while they had come to an understanding between each other, Dany wouldn’t label them as friends.

The ring caught her eye again. A small smile escaping her at the reminder of the unnecessary proposal. It was such a sweet thought, no ulterior motive and he didn’t make a big deal out of it. She doubted her deserving of a ring with so much sentimental value but she saw at once why Jon picked it. It was geometric and different, simple yet powerful. 

Dany swallowed her stubbornness, it was time for her to step up to the plate. She slid her hand to plant it with Jon’s. She didn’t intertwine their fingers. There was no need to, it wasn’t that kind of gesture. There were no words between them, only smiles as the doors opened and the attendants politely applauded.

For an event on a joyous occasion, there was a bit of somberness to it. There were no real decorations but a banquet table of finger foods and several members of the waitstaff meandering around with trays of champagne. Dany wanted to grab one but she and Jon were ushered to the head of the room before she had a chance.

They would accept congratulations from a long line of courtiers, organized by precedent. There were the dukes of large swatches of land and the lords of castles and strongholds. Down to the smaller, ceremonial titles of Baronet and Earl and the knighted citizen who happened to be at court that day. Someone was announcing their official titles and names but Dany was already on autopilot. Sentiments like ‘thank you’ and ‘we’re so glad you could be here’ slipped past her lips with unconscious ease, her mind barely registering the actual words anyone was saying. 

There was an art to it, she supposed, being able to shake hands and smile and be grateful while her mind was somewhere else. She’d employed the same trick half a million times at the required state functions and once or twice at college parties. 

As the Duke and Duchess they were addressing took their leave, Jon’s posture grew tense. It was enough to make Dany shift back to manual. 

“His Grace, Roose Bolton, Duke of The Weeping Water and Lord of the Dreadfort.”

A man with eyes as cold and unforgiving as winter itself stood before them. The pink shield-shaped pin on his lapel glinted, showing off the red blood drops and the shape of man without skin.  His gaze chilled Dany’s blood and she stepped closer to Jon. 

“Your Highnesses, my congratulations on such an advantageous engagement.”

Despite the room buzzing with the sounds of smaller conversations, it seemed eerily quiet as Bolton spoke. His voice soft and lacking the boisterous quality the other courtiers possessed. It made his compliment sound more like a nasty piece of gossip he shouldn’t be spreading.

“And my best wishes on a long and happy marriage.”

From the tone of his voice, Dany knew he was praying for exactly the opposite. She reinforced her smile and wrapped her hand around Jon’s arm in what she hoped was perceived as a loving, possessive manner. 

“Thank you for your kind words, your Grace, we are wishing for much the same.”

She looked up at Jon in affirmation. Breaking out of the odd state, he grinned at Dany with much the same false pretense as her hand on his arm. The Duke’s face remained in its unimpressed scowl as he left them to face the next people in line.

Dany had half the heart to ask if they could take a break but the assembly of attendants was so long there was no time. She took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. It was no different than the few occasions she’d had the displeasure of dealing with Cersei Lannister, whose mannerisms were as fake as her waistline. At least Dany wouldn’t have to deal with that woman on a regular basis anymore.

Once they’d made it through the long and impressive list of courtiers, she and Jon split up to meander through the room and socialize on a more personal level. Dany was about to raid the food table when she was tapped on the shoulder. Expecting it to be Catelyn about to scold her manners, she was surprised to find a lady of the court she hadn’t yet been introduced to.

She was taller than Dany even though she wasn’t in heels and wearing a simple wrap dress of forest green. The lady looked like she was meant to be gliding down the runway at a couture show instead of couped up at court. 

“Your Highness, I wanted to compliment you on the engagement and your beautiful dress.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Dany was a little put-off. None of the court ladies made an effort to befriend her and she wasn’t sure if the lady’s intention was good. Dany smiled anyway, if they kept talking she would figure it out. 

“Princess Sansa was telling me about your charity in Essos and I got curious.”

“It’s not my charity really, it’s a non-profit that was willing to let me work with them.”

“And what do you do there?”

“Mostly photo ops but I love interacting with the children and I help make the food for the shelters. It drives my family insane because we’re not supposed to champion causes that concern real people.”

“That’s pointless. How are you supposed to help the people of your country if you’re not allowed to?”

“Exactly! Gods, I’m so glad there are more people with common sense here.”

“I’m Dacey Mormont.” she extended her long arm out to Dany.

“Nice to meet you, Dacey.”

“I’d love to introduce you to some of the other ladies. They’ll be nicer if I’m with you,” she promised.

Dany agreed and allowed herself to be led to a group of other ladies. She noticed Wynafryd Manderly among them. After she was introduced to the ladies, one of them blurted, “Can we see it?”

She knew what they meant but was still taken aback.

“Of course,” she stuttered out, offering her hand. 

They gathered around and gaped at the stone, whispering about how it was Princess Lyanna’s and how pretty it was. Dany detected a little jealousy but that was to be expected. Any of them would kill to be a princess. Hell, they would commit war crimes to be queen and all Dany had to do was be born with the right name.  

The ladies did seem too bothered by it though. They asked her questions about where she’d traveled and what schooling in Essos was like. They were vastly more interested in Dany, for when she tried to change the subject to one of them, it somehow came right back to her. 

Dany felt bad that she’d assumed the Northern court was anything like the one she hailed from. These women were genuine as far as she could tell, asking her about her opinions on fashion and even current events.

As Dacey was telling Dany about Bear Island, she looked past Dany’s shoulder and smiled.

“Your Highness, I apologize for stealing your fiancée but she’s been so busy planning that damn wedding, the ladies and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon shrugged.

Dacey started talking to him about something but Dany was distracted by the feeling of a pair of eyes on her. It was Roose Bolton. 

“What is his problem?” Dany blurted and immediately regretted it.

Dacey pursed her lips, “I’ll let you handle that one, Your Highness.”

As Dany’s new friend slipped away, Jon followed her gaze.

“Bolton’s had a stick up his ass since I can’t remember when. I don’t think I have to explain why he’s not pleased about this whole ordeal.”

“He’s more than welcome to join the club,” Dany muttered and took a sip of her champagne.

Jon scoffed, “I hope you’re watching how much of that you drink.”

“I am. Why?”

“Something tells me you would be sharing some strong words with His Grace if you were drunk enough.”

She hummed in agreement, “More than words. First, it was the condescending attitude and now he can’t keep his eyes to himself.”

“He’s just playing mind games, trying to get under your skin. Ignore it.”

Dany nodded and took another sip of champagne, finding comfort in the way the fizz felt on her tongue. She looked at the other members of the court and noticed they all had sigil pins somewhere on their person.

“What is Duke Bolton’s sigil?”

“What?”

“His sigil pin had a man without skin, is that a metaphor?”

“Quite the opposite,” Jon began, “A long time ago, when the Boltons styled themselves the Red Kings, they practiced flaying. They used the skins as decoration in the Dreadfort and some accounts say they wore them as cloaks, but they don’t like to talk about that part. It’s illegal now, of course, but they’re still mad about it.”

“They were kings once. Any man that had to give up that kind of power would carry a grudge so strong it became generational.”

Jon chuckled, “I suppose your right.”

The herald banged his staff and the volume in the room dropped, everyone turning to see who was late to the party. Dany couldn’t believe someone missed it but she was still unfamiliar with all the titleholders at court.

“Her Majesty, Queen Elia of House Martell. Accompanied by Her Royal Highness, Crowned Princess Rhaenys II and His Highness, Grand Prince Aegon III of House Targaryen. And Miss Missandei of Naath.”

Dany’s heart swelled and she had to hand her glass to Jon so she wouldn’t drop it as the doors opened. She pushed through the crowd, forgetting that she was supposed to keep her princess composure. Dany felt a tear slip down her cheek as she threw her arms around her best friend.

“I thought you weren’t coming until the day of the wedding,” she gushed to Missy’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to but Galazza’s cashing in a favor you owe her.” Missy patted the press badge on the neckline of her dress.

Dany knew all too well what that meant so she promised Missandei they would talk later as she gave Elia a quick squeeze.

“Aunt Dany, you look so pretty!” Rhaenys gaped from beside Elia.

“Do I?” Dany carefully dabbed at her eyes to make sure they were dry.

“You always do,” agreed Aegon.

“Even when I look like this?”

Dany stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes, her nephew bursting into giggles. Jon came up beside her and she quickly returned her face back to normal.

“Rhae, Aegon, I want to introduce you to Jon. He’s going to be your, uh, uncle,”

For some reason, the phrase felt strange leaving her mouth. Bringing him into the family meant adding another title to his already long list. Prince, future king, son, brother, soon-to-be husband, and uncle; and somewhere down the line a father.

Gods, she hadn’t even thought about kids. She knew they were necessary and expected for the heir to a throne but hopefully it was far down the line for them. Dany didn’t even know if she was completely ready for kids. She wanted them of course, she’d known since a newborn Rhaenys was placed into her arms. 

 She remembered her sister-in-law’s nervousness about all the pressure to start having kids. Elia was twenty-two when she and Rhaegar were married and twenty-four when she had Rhaenys. So Dany wasn’t too far behind in the heir-making game but she couldn’t believe she would have to join it soon. 

Rhaenys and Aegon were wary of Jon, Sansa was the only Stark they formally met, and even then they were reserved but once he got down on their level the two were as talkative as ever. If Jon and Dany had the same luck as Rhaegar and Elia, maybe kids wouldn’t be a challenge. She needed to take her mind off its current course so she turned her attention to Missy and Galazza’s favor.

“She heard you’re not letting the press cover the Northern wedding so, in exchange for saving your ass a few weeks ago, she wants the rights to document the whole thing. It’s going to be the first story in her new publication The Green Grace . She’s branching out.”

“We already made a statement about barring the press from the ceremony. If I let Galazza in, I’ll have to let everyone in. And you know I don’t want that.”

“Galazza figured you’d say that and that’s why she sent me. We figured it would be easier if it was somebody already invited to the wedding.”

“You majored in Public Relations, why does she have you playing field journalist?”

“It’s just this one assignment. And all she needs are my notes and some photos so she can hand them off to her real writers. Although, she would love it if you would let a couple, more qualified, people in.”

Dany sighed, “I’ll talk to everyone tomorrow and see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

The Godswood of Winterfell was always magical. Something about the overgrowth of the plants gave it a mystical quality and enhanced that it was a holy place. It was surrounded by activity and noise but remained quiet and peaceful, wholly removed from the frenetic atmosphere of the castle. Jon found himself there often, listening to the soft bubbling of the hot spring and the light birdsong. He’d spend hours there if he could but somebody always discovered him and the moment was ruined. 

 Now, instead of the uninterrupted nature scene, there were a hundred or so chairs arranged in front of the heart tree to form a long aisle lined with white and wine-colored flowers and twinkling lights. The decorators even wove them around the tree branches, letting the strings dangle off and wave like the branches of a willow. At the beginning of each row of chairs stood an arch, laden with flowers and greenery. There wasn’t an altar or arbor, the Weirwood provided all of that, its red leaves stretched over the place they would stand. 

On top of the ethereal decor, the excited energy from everyone gathered for the rehearsal ceremony created a palpable buzz. Jon hoped it was enough to cover up his apprehension. He refused to be nervous, it wasn’t any different than all the state appearances and functions he participated in. But there was still reason to be hesitant.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dany’s voice called from the back of the seating area, “The final fitting took longer than expected.”

The wedding planner assured her it was okay as Dany charged up the aisle. When she reached the front, a bundle of fabric was pushed into her arms and she settled into the seat next to Jon.

“Is that a bride’s cloak?”
“Yes,” she sighed, “I had to make a compromise with Her Majesty so I could repay a favor I owe someone.”

He assumed she meant the single photographer that prowled around the area of the Godswood, whose obnoxious camera clicks interrupted the soft bird song and whispers around them.

Dany unfolded the bundle and swept the black cloak around her shoulders, fastening the clasp with ease. Jon was a little pleased to see it was lined with fur.

“You’ll be glad to have it tomorrow,” he commented.

“Why? It feels fine right now.”

“There’s going to be a cold snap.”

The forecast didn’t predict for anything other than a rain shower overnight but Jon could tell. The drizzle would turn to flurries and the snow would stick around long enough for the wedding ceremony around noon. At least it would be ice and snow instead of muddy and damp.

“Let me guess, you can feel it in your bones?”

“Something like that.”

“Doctors say that’s a sign of arthritis.”

Jon splayed his hands out in front of him and then turned them so Dany could see, “They look fine to me. Would you like to assess them, considering you have a wealth of medical knowledge?”

“Mm, I’ll pass, thank you.”

He shrugged and dropped his hands but unconsciously popped the joints. He noticed Dany doing the same thing.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” the wedding planner said, “We will be running through the whole ceremony so everything goes smoothly tomorrow. After the processional we will have the opening remarks and invocation from His Highness, Benjen Stark, a reading from both sets of Their Majesties, then the unity promise and changing of the bride’s cloak, then we’ll exchange vows and rings, and finally the recessional. It should be noted that the vows and rings section will only be mentioned.”

They were given the rundown of the processional order and dismissed to their starting positions. Dany retreated back down the aisle with Sansa and Arya right behind her, wrangling a gaggle of high born children. A stirring, melancholy melody started from the string quartet behind the seating and his father and Catelyn started down the aisle. They were followed by Elia, escorted by Bran as her husband would be responsible for leading Dany.

As was a royal wedding custom, the bridesmaids and pageboys followed the bride down the aisle, so Dany walked before them. With her brother absent, she forged down the lengthy walkway by herself. She was far enough away that she looked small and lonely despite the bodies behind her.

That Dany reminded him of the version he’d first met, the outer shell of Daenerys that the media observed and critiqued. Jon would’ve assumed she used her solitary nature as a form of elitism. Keeping people at an arm’s length and seeming to float above them just to show she was better. But he knew her at least a little bit better than that and was starting to understand it.

Being alone was easier for Dany. He noticed that long and lengthy social events weighed on her. She still smiled and made conversation, like any good Princess was taught, but she always slipped away quietly when things settled down. It made sense then, why she skipped the gala to swim in fountains.

As she neared, Jon saw that instead of a bouquet she had a sword in her hands. It took him by surprise until he remembered that she was supposed to have it. The presentation of a weapon the groom could use to defend the bride was meant to further reinforce the idea that she was under his protection. Rheagar would carry it tomorrow but, for now, it was hers. And paired with the stoic look on her face, Dany looked like a painting of a warrior queen Jon saw at a museum opening once. A romanticized rendering of a woman standing against the backdrop of a dark, furious storm. Her dress and hair caught in the forceful gales before the skies opened up, the sword held tight against her chest. 

Then the breeze picked up, tousling Dany’s hair and fluttering the white silk of her rehearsal dress. And Jon wondered if the Gods pulled that warrior out of her frame and set her walking down the path toward him.  

“You picked a fine young woman, Jon,” Uncle Benjen remarked.

There weren’t priests for the old gods so the wedding committee picked the closest thing they had to a holy man. It helped that Uncle Benjen was ordained by the state too.

“We’re just lucky she hasn’t sprinted back down the aisle yet.”

Jon elbowed Robb in the ribs, “That’s because this is a rehearsal, dumbass.”

“You never know.”

But they did know and there was no chance anyone was allowed to get cold feet. 

Finally, Dany was standing at his side, her stoic expression as they turned to face Uncle Benjen. As he started in on his opening remarks, Dany set the tip of the scabbard into the ground and rested her crossed wrists on the pommel. 

The invocation started when Uncle Benjen started asking the Gods to watch over the ceremony and provide a number of things to the couple about to be married. It was during this that Dany leaned toward him and whispered,

“So, do you have a huge bachelor party planned for after this?”

“You mean like a stag party?”

“Yes, that.”

Jon hadn’t wanted to tell her about the custom practiced in the North so it would come as a surprise. But he figured Dany wasn’t a big fan of those, so he decided to tell her. The ceremony moved on to the readings.

“Actually, we have this… tradition-” the look she gave him was full of annoyance- “where the groom has to steal their intended from their family. Otherwise, he isn’t worthy of her.”

“I think we’re far past needing to worry about ‘worthiness’ but continue.”

“And we get out of the castle for a while.”

“Just us?” she raised an eyebrow.

“And the security detail.”

“Alright, I’m in. Just one more question.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I supposed to put up a fight?” the smirk on her face was full of mischief.

“You can if you want to,” Jon agreed.

“I’m in.”

Uncle Benjen stated it was time for the unity promise and motioned to Dany.

“If you plan to steal me, then you’ll probably need this.”

She offered the sword to Jon, the modestly embellished scabbard glinting as he took it. A hand-and-a-half, a bastard sword. A small smile bloomed on his face, he wondered if Dany knew it was called that. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, a little worn from use, and the silver pommel contained an egg-shaped fire opal that shifted between orange and green and red. He pulled the sword out of the scabbard enough to reveal the swirling texture of the blade. Valyrian steel, the technique of making it was long lost to the world. Owning one was rare as the Targaryens kept them in a private collection. 

House Stark had one in their possession, the greatsword Ice. It was gifted to them by the original dragon lords of Valyria who settled on Dragonstone, before Aegon’s ambitious conquest and the doom. The greatsword was only used in the coronation ceremony of a new King of the North now but it was still considered to pass from king to king as though they still used it in battle.

It would belong to Jon, without question. But there was a time when it couldn’t be. He couldn’t remember if he really wanted the sword and he certainly didn't expect it. But what young, bastard boy doesn’t want to rise above his station by some miraculous means?

“Does it have a name? All the best swords have names.” Jon prompted, wondering if Dany knew any of the history behind the weapon.

“If it did, we don’t have any record of it. It’s one that we loan out to museums but I’ve always been fond of it so I figured it could find a home here.”

There was something wistful about her tone, as though she wasn’t really talking about the sword.

Jon handed the sword to Robb, who placed the Stark bride’s cloak in his hands. He turned back to Dany and she removed her Targaryen one. The direwolf embroidered in pearls and jet gave the cloak weight and her shoulders shifted trying to distribute it and keep the clasp from her throat.

“May you each bring your best self to the other. May you each bring commitment as well as faith to the task set before you. May you maintain enduring respect and trust. May all who follow your lives have cause often to rejoice, not only in happiness but also in your brave and generous living,” Uncle Benjen recited.

Jon couldn’t think of a more perfect blessing for a marriage forged in politics. There was no reflection of love, merely neutral intent and factors that would make any business relationship successful. 

They had to go through the recessional, Dany and Jon retreating down the aisle to the playful cheers of their family. Luckily, the wedding planner deemed the single run through acceptable but there was still one more rehearsal waiting for the happy couple.

The tables of the Great Hall were pushed to the sides, as they would be after the dinner portion of the reception, to create a dancing space. Above them hung the banners of every house in the North, from Karstark to Reed, and the decorators hadn’t spared the hall in their descent upon the castle. The same flowers and lights were strung through the heavy chandeliers, similar bunches near sconces and on window panes.

The choreographer gave them last-minute reminders before the music started. An old fiddle, guitar, and pipe ballad at a walking speed, perfectly paced for two arguably amateur dancers but a tad melancholy for a wedding celebration.

“Are you ready for this?” Dany asked over the music as they circled each other.

“As ready as I can be. You?”

“We’ll see.”

The first pass of steps was easy and they stayed far enough away to avoid injury. The next part brought them closer until Jon offered his hands and Dany accepted them. They both had to focus harder to keep from making mistakes. However, their little blunders still happened. 

The instructor once explained the symbolism behind the steps and their order. Something about the development of his and Dany’s relationship but also the expected camaraderie between North and South. Jon didn’t know if any of the wedding guests would pick up on it, they would be too drunk to really care, and all he could focus on was how complicated the steps were despite the slow pace of the song.

Jon second-guessed his hand placement and missed the intended mark entirely, colliding with Dany’s rib cage. She stumbled but recovered.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to remember what piece of the overly complex choreography came next.

She chuckled and shrugged it off, “If it boosts your confidence, you’re better than a good portion of the partners I’ve danced with at court.” 

She looked up at him, inclining her chin in the slightest hint of movement. Their bodies were pressed close together as they moved back and forth across the floor, allowing them to lower their voices. 

“I highly doubt that.”

“Not all noblemen are light on their feet. I’ve had my fair share of toes and fingers crushed.”

“Fingers?”

“It’s a long story,” she dismissed.

“One for tonight?”

“If the conversation leads us there.”

They quieted as they came closer to the end of the dance, the series of steps and passes and small hops requiring their full attention if they wanted to get through it. Dany stepped on Jon’s foot when she was behind the music. 

The apologizing started again but was cut off when Jon wrapped his arm securely around her waist for a small lift, foreheads bent close to offset the gravity. Dany’s cheeks were a deeper shade of pink when he set her down but whether that was from the dance or something else he couldn’t tell.

They entered the last section of the dance, a series of spins and twirls ending with the two facing each other, palms touching. Instead of the expected applause, they were celebrated by a groan from the choreographer.

They received a sum of all their mistakes, accented by looks of disappointment, but Jon and Dany fell into their regular fit of stifled laughter that came with the hilarious thought of broken toes and misplaced hands. They would run it two more times before they were allowed to leave the Great Hall, tired and sweating.

Jon found Robb and Theon in the smoking lounge with a large group of people fussing over a pile of foam swords. Leftovers from someone’s birthday party long ago but they would serve their purpose. 

“We’re going to have to split into teams, Dany doesn’t have enough family for it to be any fun,” Robb said as Jon approached.

“Sansa and I will be with her and the Southern Queen tonight,” offered Arya as she poked her sister with the soft weapon. 

Sansa knocked it away but when Arya stuck her again, she gripped the foam blade and pulled it from the young troublemaker.

“And I plan to be there too,” Rhaegar Targaryen, who arrived at Winterfell only an hour ago, pitched in.

“Just don’t give Dany a sword. She’d love to knock me senseless right about now.”

“I will make no such promises,” Jon answered, not wanting to deny Dany the satisfaction of taking her anger out on her brother in a relatively harmless way.

After double-checking the transportation and destination arrangements and sending Sansa and Arya off to ‘guard’ Dany, Jon was able to relax into some light drinking with the men who joined him. They lounged around with their glasses and laughed at stupid jokes they had heard a million times before. He was already feeling a little more like himself, ready to run through the halls of the ancient castle wielding a foam sword like a damned idiot. It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin that night’s fun.

Jon stood, raised his glass and said, “Alright boys, let’s go steal my bride.”

Cheers and laughter rose up as Jon drained the contents of his glass and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

Chapter Text

Dany sank down into the fancy chair by the fireplace, a worn book in her hands. A nice non-fiction novel about the ancient art forms of Valyria. After the day she had, it felt nice to be in her comfy clothes. She only hoped her book could take her mind off the events of the next day, which loomed over the horizon like fast approaching dark clouds. She tucked her feet up and opened to the chapter she’d left off on.

The lost art of Valyrian fire dancing, which was previously thought to only serve a purpose in religious ceremonies and festivals, was actually a popular court performance. Dany faced her own popular court performance tomorrow. That stupid dance. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own that she loathed it. The fact of the matter was that Jon was a really good dancer, even if he didn’t want to admit it, and nearly every accident was her fault. If she could just let herself relax into it she might have better luck but her deep-rooted sense of independence and innate stubbornness made it a very hard feat. 

A likely subject of secular fire dance was forbidden lovers because of the passionate nature of those relationships. Her eyes fell on the picture by the text, a fragment of pottery showing two dancers embracing.

Dany bit her lip to stop the small, girlish grin threatening to spread across her face as she thought of Jon’s hand secured around her waist. No , she shook away the intrusive thought, we’re not doing this . If there was ever a worse time to let her immature fantasies of love and romance float to the surface, it was then. 

A knock at the door saved Dany from the disastrous derailment of her train of thought. She pressed her cool fingers against her cheeks to dull the inappropriate blush. It was probably the royal party planner with last-minute wedding duties. Maybe, if she sat still enough and didn’t open the door, they would go away. The person knocked again, more rushed this time and Dany groaned as she closed her book with more force than necessary.

“I’m coming!” she barked, marching across the floor.

When she opened the door, it was not the wedding planner, but a host of familiar faces smiling at her. Talisa pushed past her and into the room, setting down the stuff they brought and giving her a quick hello. Dany’s bristling mood dissolved at once. Gods, I really need to get my mind out of the gutter.

“We know you were hoping for a more extravagant bachelorette party but we’re hoping a good old-fashioned movie night will do,” Elia smiled as she held up the pizza box she carried.

“Self-care edition!” Missy held up a small basket of the basics.

“And this is the only time Arya will do girly stuff with me,” Sansa muttered as she passed by Dany.

“I heard that,” the younger Stark called, “Don’t let her lie to you, I do girly stuff all the time.”

Dany wasn’t sure how true that was but she didn’t question it as she lowered herself to the floor with them. 

“Are you okay? You look a little flushed,” Elia questioned, examining her sister-in-law’s face.

“I’m fine. Just sat too close to the fire.” Dany’s cheeks grew hotter with her lie.

“I know what you mean. I can never get warm enough here. But that’s just my Dornish blood.”

After a short debate, they decided on one of the less cheesy films available on Dany’s laptop. It just so happened to be the palace movie night staple of the disguised Rhoynish prince in the Meereneese fighting pits, with enough action and romance to satisfy everyone present. Even Dany didn’t want to watch something too mushy. 

They got to the scene where the Slaver’s daughter figured out the identity of the prince when Dany started in on her usual rant about the inaccuracies of the tokar worn by the noblewoman. She’d seen the historical garments up close and while it was very common to wear a two-piece variation in modern times, no Ghiscari woman would’ve worn one in the time when the movie took place.

Elia groaned, “Dany, you’re ruining the magic.”

“No, I’m not. Historical and cultural authenticity is very important.” 

“The actress playing the slaver’s daughter is also very Westeros-centric for a woman from Slaver’s Bay,” Missandei joined in, snickering at Elia’s annoyed expression.

“You two are no fun.”

Dany was about to offer her rebuttal about the significance of representation on screen when a commotion in the hall drew her attention. The shouting and rapid footsteps were growing closer.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dany asked, looking at Arya and Sansa.

They nodded in response. She got up and went to retrieve her coat and gloves from wherever she left them after the trip to the Wall. Jon was right about the dip in temperature. When she stole a glance outside, there was already a light flurry starting up. The door flung open as Dany was pulling on her boots.

Framed in the doorway was the valiant Prince of the North with Robb and Theon. An unladylike snort escaped her when she spied the foam swords and plastic shields, accompanied by a sincere smile when she made eye contact with Jon. He and his men swept into the room, swiping at her companions. 

After getting jabbed in the chest, Sansa dramatically gripped her imaginary wound and sunk to the floor. Talisa met her ill fate at the hands of Robb, the two of them giggling the whole time. Elia and Missy effectively yielded but Arya put up a good fight until all weapons were on her, resulting in her theatrical passing. And finally, it was Jon and Dany face to face. Her heart was pounding even though she’d hardly moved.

“You’re not going to fight me?” 

There was humor in his voice but it was a genuine question. He offered his unoccupied hand, playfulness in his stormy eyes. 

“Not this time,” she answered, accepting his gesture.

With a chorus of whooping from Robb and Theon, Jon towed her out of the room. She managed to grab Sansa’s discarded prop before they were sprinting down the hall. Before they could descend a flight of stairs, Jon put his arm out to stop her. 

The hall was silent, save for their breathing.

“What’s wrong?” Dany questioned, whispering even though it was all a game.

“We haven’t run into your brother yet.”

“Rheagar’s here?”

“Arrived at least two hours ago.”

Dany hummed in acceptance of the fact. He could’ve at least come and said hello.

They started down the carpeted steps, watching for Rhaegar the whole way down. The small foyer at the bottom was dark but the partially lit courtyard was visible through the doorway. 

“I’ll be needing my sister back now,” Rhaegar’s voice came from the dark. 

Even though it was meant to be a dramatic joke, the statement was eerily threatening. He stepped out from around a corner, prop weapons raised. 

“That’s too bad,” Dany responded, “Because I’m going. Whether you want me to or not.”

He raised his sword to strike and Dany swiped hers at his legs. It didn’t actually hit him, she was too far away, but he dropped to his knees and keeled over nonetheless. More shouting was heard above them. Dany and Jon dropped their playthings and ran outside.

Waiting in the courtyard were two gorgeous horses, dark coats glimmering in the artificial outdoor lights.

“Can you ride?”
“How do you think I almost married a khal?” she said as she mounted. 

The implication of her words made Dany chuckle and so did Jon when he caught on. Their reserved snickers blossomed into full-blown laughter as they started their ride across the land between Winterfell and the Wolfswood.

The snow was picking up, not yet stronger than a flurry but it was more frequent. The flakes caught in their hair and Dany’s cheeks, which were earlier red from warmth, were now stinging with the cold wind. She didn’t mind. Something about being on horseback again reminded her of her time on the Great Grass Sea. 

Racing through the high grass with reckless abandon made it easy to forget the family she belonged to and all the drama that came with it. Out there, she was no one, she was whoever she wanted to be. She never rode much after the sudden severing of her relationship with Drogo. Braavos wasn’t a place for horses, the royal family didn’t keep them anymore, and Dany was never in Westeros long enough to spend a weekend in Dorne or the Reach.

In spite of the chill creeping through her coat, Dany lifted her head to feel the wind bite at her already frozen cheeks and tangle through her loosely bound hair. For the first time, the weight on her shoulders didn’t keep her down, her rapid tattoo of her heart beating against her ribcage and at the base of her throat.

They slowed at the edge of the Wolfswood and the reasoning behind horses as their mode of transportation became apparent. The path they followed was clear but thin and would be difficult to navigate on something like an ATV. 

“Where are we headed exactly?” Dany asked as she leaned to avoid a low hanging branch.

“It’s an old hunting lodge where royal couples usually spend their honeymoons. Since we don’t get one of those, I figured it’d be a nice place to hideout.”

Dany visited her fair share of hunting lodges in the south, including the famed Baratheon monstrosity known as Stag’s Retreat in the Stormlands, but she didn’t expect something that gaudy from the Starks. She pictured the supposed lodge as more of a small cabin nestled under some tall trees, something cozy and special. However, the North had a way of surprising her.

When the trail opened up into a small clearing, the lodge stood before them. The ‘nestled under pines’ part Dany got right, but their place of refuge proved larger than the picture in her mind. Of course, it would be sizable since it was meant to house large parties of guests for a week or two at a time. The structure was older too but no less impressive. 

Jon helped Dany down, her booted feet landing in the dusting of snow. A staff member rushed forward to take care of their horses. Dany shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets. Her gloves were thin and not meant for long exposure to the cold. 

“Gods, that was great. I haven’t ridden in forever.”

“They don’t keep horses in King’s Landing?”

“No, we house them elsewhere. I’m surprised Winterfell still has them on site.”

“Well, that’s partly because of me.”

“Really?”

“Aye. My aunt Lyanna was always good with them and I guess it must be Stark blood because Arya and I are the same way. It’s just these two though.”

“I suppose I rode on her beast then?” Dany stroked the animal's long, muscular neck. 

“Nymeria,” he answered, looping his fingers through the bridle and stroking the elegant head.

Dany nodded. Of course, Arya named her horse after the famed Rhoynish warrior queen.

“And yours?”

Jon grinned, “Night’s King.”

“Very fitting.”

"It's an old legend," he explained. "During the first years of the Age of Heroes, a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was bewitched by a ghostly woman and laid with her, giving her his soul. He proclaimed himself Night's King and her Corpse Queen and took control of the Wall. Some versions say he was a sorcerer who made deals with the Others. My ancestor, Brandon the Breaker, and the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Joramun defeated him. If you ask my Nan, she says he was a Stark as well."

A shiver seized her, teeth chattering and shoulders hunched.

“Right, I think it’s time we got you inside,” he said.

Dany nodded in agreement and gladly followed him to the door, but stopped him before he opened it. 

“Thank you for all this but you really didn’t have to,” she reminded him.

“It’s nothing. Besides, it’s-”

“Don’t say it. That word is now forbidden for the rest of the night.”

He scoffed and opened the door.

It wasn’t as lofty and spacious as the exterior promised, in fact, the common room looked more like that of a common cabin with the usual hunting trophies and skins. There was a surprising lack of lighting fixtures composed of antlers. 

They shucked off their outer layers and stepped further inside but instead of heading straight to the worn leather sofa, they came to rest in the space between the coffee table and the fireplace. The spread of light food and wine was ignored for the promise of warmth.

She sat as close to the fire as she could and reached her hands out, trying to warm them.

“Wait,” Jon said, pulling her hands back from the flames and encasing them in his own, “You have to use your own body heat first.”

His hands were cold too but not nearly as frozen as Dany’s.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s just how it’s done.”

Dany didn’t question it further, Jon had a lifetime of cold survival knowledge, but she was wary of the way her heartbeat quickened when he held her hands. The sleeves of her tawny sweater were pushed up to her elbows from her rush to put on her coat, firelight illuminating the uneven row of small crescent-shaped scars on her forearm. 

“If the summers can be like this, the winters must be terrible.”

“Maybe for you southerners but we’re adapted to it here,” he assured her.

Dany shifted, pulling her legs closer and leaning her shoulder against the coffee table. She kept her gaze on their hands, trying to distract herself from looking at the scars. Did he see them too? Of course, he did, he was just being nice by not mentioning them.

“Yes, but what about this winter? What’s going to be so bad about it that you need humanitarian aid?”

Jon sighed, “My father won’t get into specifics about it, even though it’s my place to know, but I can make assumptions. It sounds like extreme snowfall and sub-zero temperatures for the actual winter months but the maesters say we can expect below freezing for the summer after and much of the same for the following winter.”

He switched from pressing their hands together to holding just her fingers. His thumbs smoothing over the backs of her hands in soothing circles. Despite their relationship’s recent growth, Dany feared the gesture too familiar. She didn’t pull away though, something inside wanting to indulge her curious mind.

“I know what winters on the wall are like. People lose power or freeze to death or get sick and those are only mild ones lasting a few months. With the below-freezing summer temperatures our farmers won’t be able to plant crops, leading to food shortages. We can’t import food from Essos because the prices will increase and people will still starve. It doesn’t help that we’ve got no real exports besides timber and most of the forests are protected now.”

She watched his thumbs draw their lazy circles in the flickering light as she responded, “What about manufacturing? Factories and the like?”

“We have a few, nothing sticks around for long. They build their giant warehouses and then end up bankrupt so the buildings sit empty. What we need are the big companies from the South who have more reach but thanks to your ancestors we can’t do business with them.”

With a gentle squeeze, Jon let her hands go. Dany pulled her sleeves over them. 

“Couldn’t,” she corrected, “Once we’re married, Southern companies can bring their factories here.”

He looked at her with a furrowed brow, “There won’t be time to build anything new.”

“No, but they could retrofit the empty ones you mentioned. There’s still two and a half months of summer left, plenty of time to start production and maybe turning a profit before the winter comes. And you said it yourself, the Northmen always find ways to adapt so maybe they could find a way to keep running with the snow and cold.”

“Maybe. There are a lot of theoreticals.”

“Of course, it’s just an idea. That’s why you present it to the idea people and then they figure out how exactly it works.”

Dany, deciding she was warm enough, stood and went to the sofa. Picking up a throw blanket from the arm and draping it around her shoulders.

“Sounds like a bad way to rule.”

She sat and started preparing herself a glass of mulled wine from the insulated carafe, “Not bad, different. We can only know so much about so many subjects. And there are people who dedicate their lives to problem-solving.”

She added cinnamon and an orange slice to her wine before settling into the sofa, tucking her feet beside her and covering them with the edge of the blanket.

Jon joined her, “I guess we’ve never done it that way. The monarch is the ruler, the people’s problems are theirs alone to handle.”

“Maybe when you’re king, you can try it out.”

“Maybe. You know, we don’t have to talk about politics all night?”

“Of course but what is there to talk about?”

“We hardly know each other so maybe we start there.”

Dany sipped her hot wine and shook her head, “What do you want to know?”

“If you didn’t have to marry me, what would you be doing?”

“That’s very basic.”

“But important.”

“Okay, I would, hopefully, be starting my career as a civil rights attorney. That’s what I went to school for anyway and that’s what I would be doing if it weren’t for… all this,” she admitted.

“All the professions in the world and you chose to be a lawyer.”

“It was kind of an accident really. I was halfway through my four-year program for social work when I found this outreach mission through the university. It was supposed to be three months of waking up early, helping out in the shelters and camps, and going to bed late. Maybe some sight-seeing here and there but I didn’t care, it seemed like it would keep me busy and away from Westeros so I was sold.

“When you work with people, they tell you stories. A lot of the time they were in those shelters because they’d been kicked out of their homes because of where they were from, their gender, or what they did for a living. And there were stories of loved ones they’d lost because of those same factors. When I got back to Braavos, I had a long conversation with my advisor about a career.”

Dany nudged him with her foot, “What about you Prince Charming?”

“Veterinarian.”

“Really? Well, I should’ve guessed. Is it just horses or are you good with all animals?”

He smiled, “I don’t know about all animals but my dad had a dog when I was younger, a coronation gift from the Council. He was this massive, mean beast. Catelyn always complained about him, worried he was going to hurt Robb. She wasn’t too worried about me, for her own reasons, but I climbed all over him, pulled at his fur and he never once growled at me. I was really upset when we had to put him down.”

“What did he do?”

“Nipped at Robb, didn’t actually catch him but there was plenty of warning. Robb even admitted it was his fault but Catelyn wasn’t having it.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Dany offered.

“Don’t worry about it, it was a while ago.”

“So it was the military then?”

“To be honest, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice. When you’re a young boy who’s mad at the world for something you can’t control, you do a lot of stupid stuff. And sometimes that stuff ends up in the news. I felt like, if I went to university for something I didn’t care about, I would just be freeloading.”

“Hold on, you had bad press?

Jon just sighed and drank.

“That makes me feel so much better. Here I was thinking this pure, wholesome prince and his nice family were taking pity on me when we’re both just PR nightmares.”

“It’s nice to know you’re not the only fuck up.”

“It is,” she grinned, slightly pleased with herself, “But we’re not those people anymore.”

She finally took her eyes off her lap and studied Jon for a moment. The firelight deepened shadows on his face, the scar over his eye looking ominous. The stubble along his jaw made his face sharper, hardened. They’d progressed, somehow, in the few weeks they’d known each other. He wasn’t the arrogant boy in a suit tracking her down and she was no longer the girl in the dress running from responsibility.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you were so dead set on being terrible the night we met.”

“Well… it’s easier for one thing. Everybody hears things about me from outside sources who have no clue what’s actually happening in my life. They get these ideas about who Daenerys is and I got tired of trying to convince them I wasn’t like that. So when I asked you what you’d heard about me, I figured you already had your mind made up and that wasn’t going to change. And I was pissed at my brother for everything and I wanted to scare you off,” she admitted.

“But you still said yes.”

She held onto her response, knowing she couldn’t tell him the whole truth about Rhaegar’s suffocating pressure no matter how desperately it clawed at her chest to escape. Dany didn’t need his pity any more than she already had it.

“You stood up to me. You didn’t let me bulldoze over you and I respect that. It was also a sign that you really cared. And then I got to come North and experience everything and-” she leaned forward to take Jon’s hand- “I meant it. I want to help, even if this is the only way.”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He knew she didn’t want him to say thank you.

“Can I ask you about your scar?” Dany had to steel herself from reaching out to touch the vertical mark over his eye.

She knew of an accident he was involved in and assumed it was from that but she’d noticed the way he acted on their trip to the Wall, there was more to it.

“If you want to hear about it. It was standard patrol, I wasn’t supposed to be out but it was just dumb luck. We were attacked, I got separated and when I tried to radio for help one of them jumped me. Gave me the scar on my face and stabbed me in the leg.”

There was a long pause, Jon gazing into the fire.

“I shot him. My father was furious after that. The Lord Commander tried to explain that it was a freak coincidence but my father wasn’t hearing it. He’s got this weird thing about protecting me, like I’m a little boy who can’t take care of himself.”

“Fathers are like that with their sons,” Dany said, “Especially with firstborns.”

She knew Aerys was overprotective of Rhaegar, even before what happened with Viserys. Dany believed it was just one of the reasons for his behavior.

“I was fine at first, then I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I was there in that freezing cold forest, reliving every sound and sight. It’s better now but the stress of being back in Winterfell didn’t help things.”

“Why?”

“The Lords, for one. They never asked but they had their guesses about why I was mysteriously discharged and I could tell none of them were positive. And all the added attention wasn’t pleasant.”

“You didn’t miss the ‘marry me, Jon’ signs at every public appearance?” she teased.

He chuckled, “You’ve seen those?”

“They’re hard to miss.”

She’d seen them first at White Harbor and they filled her with bitter irony at the thought of someone actually wanting to be in her position. Thinking about them again, a strange pride warmed her chest, as if she’d won some coveted prize.

“What about yours?” he inquired.

Jon pulled her hand close and pushed her sleeve up, his thumb brushing lightly over the raised shapes. Under his touch, they burned, white-hot against her still chilled skin and he looked at her with sympathy and question. Her heart was in her throat and she hated it. Dany swallowed hard, willing herself to speak. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about mine yet. But I couldn’t sleep after it happened either,” she confessed, “They’re pretty ugly, aren’t they?”

“You think scars are ugly?”

“Mine, not yours,” she corrected, “Yours looks all strong and mysterious. These are just unfortunate.”

She pulled her arm back, pulling the sleeve down yet again. There was still one more scar hidden by her collar, thankfully. It happened at the same time as the ones on her wrist and she wanted to talk about that one even less.

“Why are we so obsessed with everything being perfect?”

“What?”

“Not about the scars necessarily, but the wedding and lying about our relationship. Why does everything have to be a damned fairytale?”

“Rhaegar once phrased it like this, we exist to rule and set an example of what everyone should aspire to be, the perfect citizens. If one of us acts up, it’s easy to dismiss but if the general public knew what happened behind closed doors, it’d be disastrous. Gods, that’s depressing, I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing evening.”

That made him smile but he hid it. Dany liked seeing his grin, she liked it even better knowing it was because of something she said.

“Admit it, I’m fun,” she pestered.

“You’re not as bad as I previously thought.”

“A-ha! So I’m not a raging bitch?”

“No, but you’re fucking stubborn.”

Dany smiled, “You’re not as sullen and broody as I thought you were. In fact, you have a decent sense of humor for a prince.”

“Alright,”

“And-” he tried to interrupt her again but she spoke over him, “And you’re an excellent dancer.”

“Oh please.”

“It’s true! I’m the one who keeps screwing up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I get so nervous that I’m going to forget something, I get worked up and then actually forget.”

“You’ll get it tomorrow,” he promised.

“Thank you.” She rolled her eyes.

“I mean, at least we haven’t crushed each other’s fingers.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Dany sighed, “Do you want to know that badly?”

“I’m kind of intrigued.”

With his admission, she told him the account of the dance gone wrong with one of the Tyrell boys when she was seventeen. He’d tried to end their anti-climactic waltz in a dip and instead dropped her to the floor, leading to one of the couples exiting the floor stepping on her vulnerable fingers. He felt terrible and tried to make it up to her with a weekend in Highgarden but his twelve-year-old sister Margaery was more entertaining.

Dany requested an entertaining story from him which led to the recounting of the time he and Robb convinced Sansa to help them prank Theon with anonymous love letters. It lasted all of two months, coming to a disastrous close when Theon decided it was Dacey Mormont and attempted to kiss her in the Godswood after a feast. He had a black eye and all the Stark siblings were lectured about playing pranks on each other. The speech from Catelyn did little to deter them.

“We never had prank wars like that. Rhaegar was too old and Viserys would throw a tantrum if I did something like that. Not to mention the reaction from all the staff.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with Bran and Arya running around.”

“At least there won’t be any fake love letters,” she smirked.

“No, I think we’ve worn that one out.”

The next couple of hours were spent exchanging the most lighthearted memories they had. Eventually, Dany let out a huge yawn, poorly concealed behind her hand.

“Is that a sign that we should head back?” Jon inquired.

She hummed, burrowing further into the blanket around her shoulders, “No, I want to stay here until the sun comes up.”

“And be exhausted for our wedding?” his coaxing was interrupted by his own yawn.

“If we must,” she stated dramatically.

They pulled back on their layers and Dany said a quick thank you to the staff who had readied the lodge for their use and were probably glad the royal couple was leaving so they could rest too.

Outside, the snow accumulated, blanketing everything in a nice, soft layer of sparkling white. There was too much so they would return to the castle via SUV, to which Dany wasn’t complaining at all. It was now far too cold for her. As soon as she was out the door she was shivering. 

A high lonesome sound echoed through the trees as the driver opened the car door for them.

“Is that?” Dany asked, looking into the trees as she instinctively tucked herself into Jon’s side.

Maybe it was the wine going to her head but when he grinned down at her with that ridiculously pretty grin, she swooned a little. Then he threw his head back, cupped his hands around his mouth, and howled back.

“Try it,” he dared.

“Dragons don’t howl, they roar.”

“Humor me.”

She gave him the side-eye as she raised her hands to imitate him. Dany’s was quieter and much timider but it still carried and sounded haunting in the still of the forest.

“Could use some work,” Jon offered.

“Oh, shut up.” She punched him playfully in the arm before turning to climb into the vehicle. 

Their driver took the much more accessible southern trail that wound through the forest and could easily be classified as the scenic route. Dany fought her eyelids as they grew heavy, refusing to give in to the temptation to lean her head on Jon’s shoulder.

Her good fight was spoiled when the SUV hit a divot in the trail and upset her balance enough that she ended up braced against Jon’s shoulder. It was downhill from there. He was warm and she was tired and they both snickered as Jon wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

When they finally arrived back inside Winterfell’s walls, Jon escorted Dany to her room. They didn’t talk, letting their footsteps fill the silence. She held his hand as she leaned against him, oddly exhausted from all the excitement and talking and the wine. Tired as she was, every nerve ending was buzzing and she was hyper-aware of her pulse.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Their marriage was a business transaction between two nations, it wasn’t built with romance in mind. But Elia and Rhaegar had it. Dany was tempted to see if there was a possibility in her increasingly tangible future.

Her door came faster than anticipated and she was reluctant to let go of Jon’s hand. She wasn’t sure if it was their night full of confessionals or the subconscious feelings she harbored about him. Dany was never able to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling in the moment, no matter how hard she tried. In moments like these, she did whatever came naturally. 

Gods, she was going to regret this. 

As fluidly as she could, Dany grabbed his other hand, pulled him as close as she dared, and pressed her lips firmly to his.

As quickly as she’d lunged forward, she pulled back. It wasn’t the frenzied, desperate, tongue and teeth sort of kiss she knew before, and it wasn’t supposed to be. She meant it as a promise. There could be something if they were patient and let things take their course. Dany noticed something different in Jon’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and averted her eyes, “I just thought… because we had to do it tomorrow… we might as well get it out of the way.”

He pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead, “Goodnight, Dany.”

“Goodnight, Jon.”

Chapter Text

The morning came as it always did on important occasions, quiet and heavy, as though something shifted and there was no way to know if it was for better or worse. When Dany woke, her window was frosted over and the room was cooler than usual. She stared at the wooden beams across the ceiling, recalling the events of last night. Her scars and his hands, their laughter and howling, the biting wind against her cheeks. She expected to feel dreadful or nauseous. Instead, a sense of detachment followed her through her unusually empty morning. No meetings, no fittings, only a quiet breakfast with her family.

Before she knew it she was seated in front of a vanity while the hairstylist flitted about. Dany insisted on doing her own makeup (no one ever got her eyebrows right) and was trying her best to not annoy the woman as she put on the final touches. Her usual flare for the dramatic was absent as she found herself reaching for soft, neutral colors. In an attempt to keep everything organized, and Dany’s increasing anxiousness at bay, every single brush and cosmetic product was placed back in its proper place.

The detached feeling disappeared as the loaned tiara from Catelyn, which Dany nicknamed “The Fringe”, was lowered onto her head. The weight grounding her back in her body. When she looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. The woman who stared back was fiercely ethereal with soft eyes and a halo of sword points. Giddiness ignited in her chest and she couldn’t fight the smile on her face. 

A member of the castle staff hurried into the room just before Jeyne was scheduled to dress Dany. The snow wanted to stick around for the ceremony and she couldn’t wear her light-soled, silk shoes. Somehow, the staff dug up a suitable replacement. Soft, caramel-colored leather boots lined with a lighter shade of fur. They were walking boots from a time before Dany was born with a stumpy heel, they pinched her toes but they were warm. 

Finally, the enormous dress rack was rolled into the room and it was time for the main event in ceremony prep. 

Jeyne’s expert hands fastened the detail buttons on the column of white chiffon pleated and darted to fit like a glove around her torso and waist. Soft tulle lay delicately and near-invisible against her arms and chest. The only embellishments were the patterns of crystalline beads along her wrists, swirling up toward her elbows with similar beading on the edges of the high neckline. At first glance, Dany thought the details were just pretty decoration but upon closer inspection, the meandering lines proved to be an artificial frost with subtle hints of blue and grey. An odd choice for a summer wedding she knew, but by pure chance, it was fitting. 

All the drama lay in the layers of tulle expertly folded, pressed, and starched to form the architectural bustle skirt that needed to be attached to the dress through a system of hooks and eyes. The over-skirt added more width than length but there was still a considerable train. It was a royal wedding dress after all and she sacrificed the veil to settle a debt. 

“You look absolutely gorgeous, Your Highness,” Jeyne commented as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“All thanks to your wonderful artistry. This dress is… perfect” Dany sighed, afraid that if she moved, she would disturb the perfect way the fabric rested.

“Some of my best work and all for the most important wedding of the year.”

Normally, referring to the occasion as such would annoy Dany but more and more she was starting to see why it was referred to in that way. When she first arrived at Winterfell, the surrounding town was near deserted but according to the staff, the inns filled up and people were lined along the streets to watch the ceremonial carriage route that would take place after the wedding. Not to mention the pop-up gift shops selling royal wedding memorabilia both real and counterfeit.

A knock on the door drew their attention away from ogling the dress. Rhaegar entered with an important-looking document holder in his arm.

“You look lovely, Dany.”

“You weren’t supposed to see it yet,” she huffed, not bothering to turn around to address him.

Her eyes fixed on the reflection of the red padded folder. She knew what was in it, her marriage contract, the source of much debate and ire. It required her signature. A few pen strokes across the parchment and everything would be close to final. Rhaegar didn’t have to say anything, Dany was already stepping down from the platform. 

He laid it out on a table, the blank space for her name practically glowing in the overcast light from the window. A gilded fountain pen sat beside it. An official document needed an official pen to sign it. 

The papers sitting before her detailed everything she was giving up; Dragonstone and her claim to it, her place in line for the throne, her potential career, and a small bit of personal freedom. But for the first time since her return to Westeros she felt a sense of control. She was picking up the pen and signing her name because she decided to, not because Rhaegar forced her hand. 

The pen was cool to touch, as everything was that morning, and Dany took a deep breath to ground herself. She had a personal saying she liked to tell herself whenever she made an important life decision. If I look back, I’m lost. The door was open, all she needed to do was walk through and shut it firmly behind her. 

A hand on her arm stopped her, “Dany, before you sign those papers I have something to ask of you.”

She furrowed her brow and made a motion to Jeyne, who gracefully bowed her head and left. 

Dany waited until the door closed to glare at her brother, “Haven’t you already asked enough?”

“It’s just one more thing,” he assured her, “When you returned to King’s Landing, I told you about the military strength gathering here, do you remember?”

“Yes,” she answered, “but if this doesn’t concern me or the wedding, you need to discuss it with the King.”

She tried to turn back and sign her name but he stopped her again, with more force. The pressure from his hand was enough to make her blood run cold.

“I want you to keep an eye out while you’re here and let me know if you learn anything.”

The way Rhaegar worded it made Dany’s stomach twist. Using the unsubstantiated military threat to cover up what he was really asking.

“You want me to spy on them,” she whispered, pen hovering above the parchment.

“We’ve wanted to get someone into the Northern court for a long time but they’re very closed off. Tywin suggested we use you since you’re already here.”

It was well known that there were Westerosi agents in every major government around the world. They had the ears of the most influential people, guiding their hands in favor of western interests. Wealthy men like Tywin Lannister, Rhaegar’s Hand and current Lord Supreme of the High Council, benefited greatly from the exploitation.

She’d expected Rhaegar to suggest such a thing but the fact he actually said the words amazed her. She recalled the ignorant comments of the radio hosts after the engagement was announced, accusing her of seducing their prince so she could further her brother’s agenda. Dany scoffed at the notion but there she was, facing the exact situation she’d dismissed as mere conspiracy. She refused to let them be right in their assumptions. With a glance back at her marriage contract, she rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. 

“No.”

“What?”

“You heard me perfectly fine. I won’t do it.”

Before Rhaegar could get another word out, she signed her name on the line. It was done. The pen clattered against the lacquered wood table. There was a reason he asked her before her name was signed but he obviously didn’t expect her answer to be ‘no’.

“There.” She flashed her palms, “I’m a Targaryen in name only now, you can’t command me anymore.”

“You’re still a citizen of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and I am your king.”

“Not for much longer. I’m not your pawn, Rhaegar. Did you think I would sign away my future because you asked?”

“Yes, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“The South has nothing to gain from this treaty, it was pointless of you to consider it, so why are you pushing so hard.”

“I have the chance to get someone in the ear of the most influential person up here. With your marriage, you have the chance to steer policy in our favor.”

Dany barked a laugh, harsh and abrupt against the level tones of their conversation. 

“Daenerys, do as I say or I’ll-”

“You’ll what? There’s nothing for you to take away. I’ve done exactly what you asked of me and signed away my future and my own damn claim . You think I said yes because you wanted me to but that’s wrong. I didn’t do it for you, or the Targaryen legacy, or the United Kingdoms of Westeros. I did it for the North, for the Starks and their people.” For Jon . “And you know better than anyone that I keep my promises.”

He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off.

“How dare you come in here and demand things of me when I’ve already sacrificed everything so you can play Aegon the Conqueror come again. You think you’re going to be some great Targaryen King but you’re not, you’re just a bully like our father,” she ranted.

A wild rage flashed in Rhaegar’s eyes and he struck out like a snake, gripping her forearm like a vice. The soft weave of the fabric scratched under the force and the beads dug into her skin.

She cried out before tearing away, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You didn’t know father! Everything he did was to protect us from a world that wants to see us fail.”

Dany clutched her arm close to her chest and tried to back away but in her gown only allowed a few inches distance. 

“You’re messing with things you can’t even begin to comprehend,” Rhaegar hissed.

“If you’re keeping something from me, you had better spill it right now.”

He only looked at her. It was enough to confirm Dany’s fears and set her off.

“Get out,” she seethed, forcing herself to keep as level a voice as she could.

When he only blinked at her, she surged forward and seized the thick folder, shoving it at his chest.

“Go!” 

He did, with an awful, storming fury. Dany braced herself against the table, her legs weak and her throat tightening. She wasn’t sure if she was going to vomit or cry or both, she couldn’t afford to do either. I am still the blood of the dragon , she reminded herself with a shaking inhale, dragons do not cry . 

Ser Jorah, who had been standing guard at the door, was at her side, “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, accepting his guiding arm. She had to keep moving to distract herself from thinking about anything other than the task at hand.

“Dany…”

“I’m sure there’s somewhere I’m needed so if we could get going.”

He nodded and took her to the room where the rest of the women were getting ready, trying her best to put whatever just happened out of her mind. In another hour, she would be free from her brother completely. Until she had to see him again for the Southern ceremony.

The reactions to her wedding look lightened her mood, her heart swelling at the gasps and sincere compliments. There were a few selfies and pictures for private memories before they were forced to continue on to their places. 

Dany waited for the ceremony to start, concealed with her wedding party behind trees and a trellis of flowers the staff managed to salvage from the cold. Even with the bride’s cloak draped over her shoulders, she was still feeling the effects of the cold. The castle staff worked their way through the seating, dusting off chairs and decoration as best they could and blankets were offered to guests who hadn’t planned for the sudden snow.

Missy swept her into yet another hug, “I can’t believe my best friend is getting married. You look so beautiful.”

Dany murmured her thanks into her best friend’s shoulder.

“I’m really sorry you couldn’t be in the wedding party, I know it’s a big deal.”

“Are you kidding me? This is the hottest ticket in town and I’ve got a front-row seat. There are watch parties for this thing, Dany.”

“You’re joking,” she gasped.

“I would show you but, no phones,” she shrugged, “Apparently you love birds are the epitome of fairytale romance and the people have hardly seen you.”

“That’s a good thing,” Dany sighed, “We wouldn’t want to spoil the narrative.”

A coordinator poked their head in to remind them of the time. Missy left to find her seat, leaving Dany with Elia and the gaggle of noble children.

Usually, Dany preferred the company of her sister-in-law but at that moment she wanted to keep her distance. Elia had a way of knowing when something was up and Dany knew if she didn’t keep her mind off of the confrontation with Rhaegar she wasn’t going to be able to fake a smile.

Elia wasted no time in getting to Dany.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mostly nervous,” Dany deflected, about to cross her arms when she remembered the embroidery on her sleeves would snag her dress.

“Jeyne came to us after you asked her to leave. We heard yelling but no words so what happened?”

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

Dany scoffed, “It seems Rhaegar’s keeping secrets from us both then.”

The coordinator started arranging everyone in their places, thankfully separating the two royals before any more explaining had to be done. However, it meant that Dany was now face to face with her brother.

It never failed to amaze her how similar to their father he looked. Whereas Aerys had tried to preserve the monarchy through keeping a low and positive profile, Rhaegar meant to do it through securing his power and expanding his influence. He was too ambitious for his own good.

As the melancholy string music started from the other side of their hiding spot, Rhaegar offered his arm for her to take. In his other was the precious Valyrian steel sword, a symbol of the protection provided by her family. She wanted nothing more than to rip it from his grasp and march herself down the aisle. 

When she refused to take his arm, he glanced at her and sighed.

“Dany, I apologize for earlier. I don’t know what came over me but it was out of line.”

“Apologies are for when you step on someone’s foot, what you did was not only out of line, it was unforgivable. Especially since you know my history with situations like that. Unfortunately, I am not a frightened little girl hiding under daddy’s desk and I will not be intimidated into doing what you ask.”

Elia started her procession, escorted by Bran. Dany and Rhaegar would follow when they got the go-ahead from the coordinator. 

“And Rhaegar, if you ever suggest something that absurd ever again-” she looped her arm through his and accepted her bouquet from a waiting Sansa- “you’ll have a lot more than a PR mess to clean up.”

The green light came and Dany put on her best, pleasant smile. She fought herself to keep from putting too much distance between her and Rhaegar, though her dress helped in that aspect. And to keep from rushing ahead of the music accompanying their achingly slow march. The sooner she was standing in front of that sacred tree the better.

She almost laughed at the thought. A month ago she was ready to fight the Gods one-on-one to get away from the arrangement imposed on her. Now, she had to restrain herself from sprinting down the aisle like a madwoman. The eyes of the guests reminded her that there were thousands of people gathered in front of their televisions to witness the strange liberation of Daenerys Targaryen from one gilded cage to another. But this new trap was roomier and Dany could move and breathe and dance as she pleased, without judgment or trepidation.

At the end of the aisle stood Jon, looking every bit the part of Prince Charming. His black ceremonial uniform wasn’t the same one she’d observed on the Wall, with the pale green sash and silver braid it must have been from another order. Only three medals shone against the dark fabric. 

With a few more steps, the snow packing beneath her borrowed boots, she was there. Released from Rhaegar’s arm, her bouquet safely in the hands of Sansa, she took Jon’s hand.

“Dearly beloved,” Jon’s uncle, Benjen, started, “we are gathered here today to witness not only the joining of a man and woman in holy matrimony but the joining of two nations, separated for too long..”

As he continued, Jon leaned closer to whisper, “I heard about what happened with your brother. Are you alright?”

Dany jerked her head to look at him, her jaw dropping for an instant before she snapped it back shut. She had to remember where she was.

“I’m fine. Or I will be. How did you find out?”

“Sansa,” he said simply.

That girl .

He squeezed her hand, “You’ve got this.”

“ We’ve got this. We’re a team now, whether either of us likes it or not,” she replied with a reassuring pulse of her own hand.

She wished she could bring an easy smile to her face again but at least she could relax her jaw. 

Elia stood to give her reading, a piece from the Book of the Maiden that was usually read at royal weddings in the south. There were at least fifty different variants of the song version.

“The maid presented Hugor with a bride and the fair woman said, ‘Entreat me not to leave you, to turn back from following after. For where you go, I will go. And where you live, I will live. Your people shall be my people and your Gods, my Gods. Where you die, I will die, there I will be buried. The gods do so to me and more also. If aught but death parts you and me.”

The words sounded less somber in her Dornish lilt, prettier too. Eddard Stark stood and gave the next reading, a longer piece Dany remembered. She tucked her free hand under the warmth of the lined bride’s cloak, the cold was starting to settle through her boots.

“The little things are the big things. It is never being too old to hold hands, it is remembering to say, “I love you” at least once a day. It is never going to sleep angry, it is at no time taking the other for granted; the courtship should not end with the honeymoon, it should continue through all the years. It is speaking words of appreciation and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways, it is not expecting the husband to wear a halo or the wife to have wings of an angel. It is not looking for perfection in each other, it is cultivating flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humor. It is having the capacity to forgive and forget. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is finding room for the things of the spirit. It is a common search for the good and the beautiful. It is establishing a relationship in which independence is equal, dependence is mutual and the obligation is reciprocal. It is not only marrying the right partner, it is being the right partner.”

The King smiled at his son and soon to be daughter in law, Dany found it in herself to return the gesture.

“It is now time for the unity promise,” Benjen announced.

Rhaegar passed the sword to Dany, who presented it to Jon. She wanted to ask Jon if he’d come up with a name for their weapon but it was too quiet. The sword passed from his hands to Robb’s which meant it was time for her to change cloaks. Her brother waited behind her to remove it. Before she turned to face him, she unclasped it and pulled it from her shoulders. Dany carefully folded it before handing it to Rhaegar.

She was supposed to let him do that, he was the one giving her away, but she couldn’t stand the thought of it. And she couldn’t wait to hear the fuss it made later.

The chilled air nipped at her exposed skin and she hummed in relief when the new cloak was placed over her shoulders. The weight of the embroidered direwolf was calming, like a welcoming hug. The symbolism was evident then, she would be safe with the Starks.

Despite the rehearsal, the exchanging of rings and vows snuck up on her. Her left hand was presented to Jon, her fingers red from the cold and her ring finger bare. The beautiful engagement ring sitting on her right hand for the ceremony. Then he was saying the words and sliding the silver band onto her finger. 

When she looked into his eyes, there was understanding and encouragement. They were doing this and it was nearly over.

It was her turn. The ring pressed against her palm and she shivered.

“I, Daenerys, choose you, Jon, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not. I will respect you as an individual, a partner, and an equal. I promise to laugh with you when times are good, and endure with you when they’re bad. I will always adore, honor, and encourage you. From this day, until the end of my days.”

She shook as she slid the ring onto his finger, from the cold and her own nerves. Both her hands were caught in his as Benjen started his next declaration.

“By the power vested in me by the Old Gods and The Crown, I pronounce you husband and wife, two hearts that beat as one. You may kiss the bride.”

Even though they kissed last night, this time was different. There was the same chaste sweetness but a weight resting behind it. And just like last time, it was over as soon as it had started. At first, Dany didn’t hear the cheers. She was too busy staring into the conflicted eyes of her new husband. The nuance that caught her eye was gone when they turned to face their audience. 

“We did it,” Jon said, wide smiles of relief spreading across both of their faces.

“Yes, but the day’s not over yet.”

The ceremonial carriage ride that followed was crowded and long but Dany managed to escape the cold tucked next to Jon. As soon as they arrived back at Winterfell they were separated. Dany could still feel the impression of Jon’s hand clasped in hers as she was hauled off for her second costume change of the night. 

According to the coordinator they were running late, which was Dany’s fault. Luckily, the bustle skirt was removed so she could fit in the tight confines of the antiquated vehicle, making the dress switch easier and quicker. 

The second dress of the evening, unlike her main gown, Dany was in love with from the first moment she put it on. She tried to remain firm on her preference for structure and drama but this dress changed that. The soft layers of pure white silk chiffon fell around her legs into a handkerchief hem just above her ankles, flowing from a gathering at her chest and carefully cinched at her waist with a thin strip of matching white ribbon. It was the sort of dress worn by a woodland fairy or a mythical maiden and it brought out the girlish nature Dany fought hard to keep at bay. She wanted to spin around in it for hours.

She was relieved of her hardly effective winter boots and didn’t have time to let her feet relax before she was doing up the straps on her dancing shoes. She winced when she stood, it was going to be a long night.

She let down half of her hair and replaced The Fringe with a simple thin band of silver. Then she was escorted to the heavy door of the Great Hall, where Jon was waiting for her. Looking sophisticated in his tux, having ditched the princely uniform. If it weren’t for the hundreds of high profile guests congregating in the room before them, they could pass for an ordinary groom and bride. Well, husband and wife, now.

Dany never thought she would be a wife before thirty yet there she stood. All things considered, she’d done pretty well for herself. Making the best out of an awful situation and turning it in her favor. She shifted her weight and sucked in a breath. Even though the shoes were well broken in, the residual pain in her feet grew worse.

Through the heavy doors, The King of the North’s voice boomed, “I have the pleasure to introduce, for the first time, Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Jon of House Stark and Princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Duke and Duchess of The Last River.”

The doors were wrenched open and the cheers that accompanied were louder than the ones from the ceremony. Of course, there were more people at the reception and they were waiting for the newlyweds’ arrival to commence their feasting. Jon and Dany were seated at the center of the high table, with the Targaryens on the right and the Starks to the left. 

The guests were too interested in their drink and food to gawk at the supposed love birds, it took a great deal of pressure off them. In anticipation of the dancing later, Dany watched how much she drank and ate, everything was going well and she didn’t want to ruin it by throwing up. There was plenty of toasting too, Jon politely telling Dany about each Lord and high ranking officials who offered their words. 

She recognized the Mormonts and Manderelys and, of course, Roose Bolton. His amiable wife was dulled by his off-putting demeanor as they sat at a table nearest to the royals. He kept his bone-chilling gaze off of Dany this time, hopefully because the nuptials quieted his suspicions of her intentions with Jon. The creepy duke would be at it again by sunrise tomorrow. Thinking about snooping, a thought struck her. 

If Elia and Sansa heard the argument between Dany and Rhaegar, did that mean other people in Winterfell heard it too? No, Elia said she couldn’t make out the words. And Duke Bolton had no business being in the guest wing, especially when it was blocked off to non-wedding personnel. But walls had ears and every sensible, titled man with a bone to pick had an extra set of eyes. Dany knew she wasn't escaping court politics for good, she was entering an inherently political position, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to be so vigilant.

Just as Bolton’s head turned to look at her, Dany’s gaze was torn away by Jon’s hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed how quiet the hall was as the king announced it was time for the first dance. The momentary gap in sound vanished as everyone took to helping move the benches and tables out of the way. 

She survived the first half of the day without any jitters and somehow, her sudden stage fright made up for it. 

Swallowing her nervousness, Dany stood, wincing as she did. Even though her shoes were well broken in, the residual pain in her feet only grew. She made it as far as the edge of their temporary dance floor before she bent to tear them off, sighing as her feet felt the cool stone. The shoes found a home with the person standing next to her, Dany offering a smile in apology, then she and Jon took their places. 

The moderate tempo of the fiddle filled the room, accompanied by a softly picked guitar. In rehearsal, they used a pre-recorded track and the song always sounded pretty but now it sounded alive and brilliant. The difference in sound quality did nothing to quell her nerves and her restraint for not rushing ahead of the music was wearing thin. Dany caught Jon’s eyes, reminding herself to relax and breathe. There was no use getting worked up over it now. At least most of the people watching were tipsy so if she screwed up, it would be the last thing they remembered.

The guitar picked up and so the step started to get more interesting. They were still the basic ball changes and three-step turns but with more energy. Jon and Dany traveled across the floor, passing each other but never interacting except for a few quick glances. The force behind Dany’s smile eased up as she let herself fall into the ebb and flow of the dance.

The fiddle gave a low whine before resuming the melody. From opposite sides of the floor, Jon and Dany started to walk towards each other. A pipe joined in the orchestration, it’s high, lamenting sound rising over all else in the room as the two circled each other. Their palms resting together and rising over their heads before they switched directions and did the same thing. They circled each other again, growing closer as the fiddle and guitar intensified and the pipes soared over it all.

The music broke from its build as Dany and Jon carted each other around the floor. She wasn’t trying to think ahead, letting herself exist within the lively rhythm. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of the court, the musicians played louder as the song entered another build; the drums becoming a driving force. 

They abandoned the choreography to spin each other around the floor with all the vigor and freedom of children, something that would never happen in the south. Those waltzes had specific steps and a break from protocol could result in a few scrapes and bruises. But Dany tried not to focus on anything other than the feel of the soft fabric of her dress as it fluttered around her legs, the cool floor against the balls of her feet, and Jon’s warm hand against her waist. 

She was content to stay like that for the rest of the song, but Jon surprised her by lifting her straight off the ground. It was just the little lift they rehearsed a dozen times before, there was more momentum behind it and Dany felt suspended in the air, only to be lowered to the ground as though she were a delicate package. She twirled away and around herself, never wanting to stop. Then the music stopped, and she stopped, standing face to face with the man she now shared her life with.

He would’ve looked a disheveled mess if he weren’t so damn beautiful. Dark curls tousled and shirt partly unbuttoned, breathing hard. Dany was suddenly aware of how warm the room was and the light sheen of sweat along her back, her head still spinning a little. The near-hysterical laughter of relief bubbled in her chest, spilling from her throat as she threw her arms around Jon’s shoulders. He responded much the same and her feet left the floor as he spun her around once more.

Dany felt more like herself than she had in a while. She spent quite a bit of time on the dance floor, spinning Rhaenys and Aegon around and swaying to the occasional slow song with Jon. She hit a wall sometime after the cake cutting, the heat of the hall getting to her as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. 

They were back at the high table, taking a break from the action and observing from afar. It would’ve been cooler there but a fire burned in the hearth behind them. 

“I’m exhausted,” she sighed, letting her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Me too. Ready to slip out of here then?”

“What time is it?”

She felt him shift to check his watch, “Still early.”

Dany hummed, “I’ve still got another hour in me, just need some air.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m not going far,” she promised, pulling herself away from him, “Be right back.”

She found respite in the empty hallway. It was dark and cool and surprisingly quiet despite the noise next door. Dany sat on a cushioned bench beneath a window overlooking the blanketed courtyard. It had been such a long day and now that she was alone and away from the party, the ache set in her muscles and tempted her to take her shoes off again. A sweet ache from dancing as she hadn’t in a long time, but the one in her head was going to be an issue. She rested her head on the frigid glass.

Thinking of aches brought back a phantom feeling in her arm. The feeling of soft tulle and embroidery turned harsh under a harmful hand. She pushed the thought away, rubbing her forearm. It would do her no good to dwell on it. She had to look forward.

“Dany?” a familiar voice asked.

She whipped her head around and sure enough, there he was, like a figment of a hazy memory. Dany stood, her head clear in an instant.

“Daario, what are you doing here?”

He took a step towards her and she took one back

“I was invited,” he offered.

“You most certainly were not.”

“Then how did I get this?”

He reached into his suit pocket and produced the official invitation for the reception only. 

“I don’t know but you weren’t on the guest list. You shouldn’t- you can’t be here.”

If someone saw them, she was doomed. The wife of the Crowned Prince, married only a few hours, talking alone in a secluded hallway with an ex-flame she had been publicly photographed with was bound to start rumors. And that sort of gossip would be the fuel needed to drive down public opinion of her. Not to mention the havoc it could wreak on her already delicate relationship with Jon.

“I want to talk to you,” he supplied, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

Dany huffed, “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please, I came to apologize.”

The one time she actually needed to run away from a situation and she was glued to the spot.

“Fine, I’ll hear you out but you have to leave immediately after. And we can’t talk here.”

A little further down the hall was a small sitting room, which was bound to have alcohol in it. Dany made sure to secure the door once they were inside. Ignoring the light switch and finding her way around in the dark, she poured herself a glass of whatever looked the strongest.

“Well?” she asked as she settled into a sofa on the opposite side of the room.

“When you called me to end things, it was so out of the blue. And you wouldn’t tell me why, I got so upset and said things I knew would hurt. But they weren’t true and you didn’t deserve any of that.”

She just watched and listened, there was no reason for her to interject yet.

Daario exhaled harshly, “Seeing your engagement everywhere stung because I thought you moved on so fast. Then I remembered you talking about your brother and the crown and it started to make sense. You said, legally, you couldn’t say anything. Can you now?”

“I’m afraid I still can’t be one hundred percent honest with you,” Dany answered, “But I can assure you this was my decision, even if it’s strange to you.”

“How was it your decision?”

“They presented me with an agreement and I said yes, after a short while.”

“But you should be in Essos. You were happy.”

“I’m happy here. Besides, I never set up an internship after graduation. There wouldn’t be much for me to do there.”

“What I meant was, we were happy.”

Dammit, there it was.  “I’m such a fucking idiot,” she grumbled, putting her head in her hands.

“Dany, I love you.”

“No, no, you do not get to come in here and say that to me on my wedding night!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t love you.” Her temper flared. “I thought I did but I was lying to myself because I was so desperate for a reason to say no. I wanted so badly to cling to my old life I made myself think my feelings were deeper than they really were. And for what? All it did was cause me more pain. It was stupid and childish of me. I made my decision, I went through with it, and it’s time to move on.”

“What about him, do you love him?”

“Not right now, but I will. It may take months, maybe years. Jon is a good man and he would never say the things you’ve said to me.”

Yet she stomped on the faith he had in her with every second she spent in that sitting room. 

“And he’s probably wondering where I am, so I’m going back to the hall and I want you the hell out of this castle.” She pushed past him, surprised there wasn’t steam rising off her skin in the cold air.

She found Ser Jorah as he ended a conversation with his father. It seemed her union fixed relations in more ways than one. After telling him about Daario, she scanned the room for Jon. He was nowhere to be seen.

The Great Hall was a chaotic environment and it didn’t look like it was going to calm down until the dawn. 

Dany bumped into Talisa, who was tipsy and hanging on the shoulder of a much more sober Robb.

“Where have you been?” she demanded,

“I was taking a breather. Have you seen Jon?”

“I think he’s looking for you,” Robb cut in.

Dany huffed and looked out across the courtyard, spotting a light shining from one of the rooms across the way. She was still learning the layout of Winterfell but she had a hunch about whose room it was. Grabbing a whole bottle of wine from a passing server, she ventured away from the revelry and into the cold. The night was young and Dany was about to do something very stupid.

Chapter Text

With every soul crammed into the Great Hall, the rest of the old castle felt abandoned, devoid of the low buzz of liveliness it usually held. If Jon listened closely he could hear the distant sounds of the party as they drifted through the empty halls, bouncing off the bare stone. After Dany went to get some air and never returned, he assumed she found her way to bed. They had every right to be exhausted after a day packed full of movement and interaction. He still checked the hallway for her but saw no sign of his new wife wandering around.

So he went back to his own rooms, a little relieved to be away from the heat and busyness. He loved his family and their energy but he was tired. Though, he could find the energy to spend all night dancing if just to see Dany dash around the floor like a mythical woman of the forest, for her manic laughter in his ear and slight form pressed to him. After the dance, she seemed different. Bolder and brighter, more carefree and present. As though she adopted the frenetic atmosphere around her. It was truly a wonderful thing. 

Dany was full of little moments like that. Like during their carriage ride through Wintertown, when she spotted a group of children in paper crowns and fancy dress and immediately ordered the driver to stop. When security wouldn’t let her down to mingle, she simply leaned over the side of the carriage, pulling flowers out of her bouquet for them. Jon got in on the act too, talking with the people on his side, shaking hands and graciously accepting their congratulations. The overcast sky failed to dull her brilliance, adorned in white and grey and beads and gems. Just another instance where he wondered how this woman ended up in his life.

What coin did the Gods flip for this to be his future, the way his life must go. Not that he was complaining, there were worse ways to live and Jon was certain there would be hard times. But now, he had Dany. And just like he and his family were a pack, dynamic and complex, Jon and Dany were discovering their own way of operating. She’d said it best, they were a team. Though he wasn’t sure how coordinated.

After being unable to find Dany and making for his rooms, he heard voices coming from one of the sitting rooms, the door shut. Jon didn’t make it a habit of listening in on private conversations, he discovered that it brought him more harm than good, but one of the voices sounded very familiar. With the heavy door in between, he was only able to make out bits and pieces but he heard enough. 

He didn’t listen long either and was still trying to decide what to make of it all. 

A knocking at the door pulled him away from his musing and set him onto wondering who could want him at this hour.

He opened the door to Dany, a half-empty bottle of whisky dangled from one hand, a glass from the other. She leaned against the door frame, a lazy yet confident smile on her face, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jon returned, confused.

“Can I come in?”

He motioned for her to enter and she pushed off the door frame to walk past him. Something was different about her demeanor, looser and swaggering. Jon remained in his place by the door, doing what he did best, observing.

“Dany, where have you been?”

“Oh, around,” she sighed, dropping to the settee in the solar.

“And leaving a trail of empty bottles behind?”

“You could say that.” she undid the straps on her shoes, letting them clatter to the ground before tucking her feet up.

Dany shifted, draping herself over the dark upholstered cushions. The liquid fabric of her dress settled over her legs like the crystal silver waters of a placid lake, spilling off the edge of the seat in sheer waves. She wasted no time in removing the pins from her hair, the silver band too. Ruffling a hand through her waves, they rested in a messy, lopsided halo around her face and exposed shoulders.

She finally leveled her gaze on him. Her pretty violet eyes, rimmed in hazy makeup, were dark in the dim light. A flush colored her cheeks the soft pastel of health and exhilaration. Or was it a drunken boldness simmering beneath.

“How much have you had?”

“Hm, not enough to kill me. You know you can come over here and sit down, you know, instead of brooding in the corner.”

“Not brooding.” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Then what are you doing?”
“Looking.”

“Do you like what you see?” mixed with her heated gaze, the smirk she gave him was near predatory. 

“I would be a fool to say no,” he admitted, “Did you come here so I would stroke your ego?”

“No, I came because I genuinely enjoy your company and I … don’t want to be alone right now.”

Her boozy confidence wavered and she drank her whiskey straight from the bottle, as though trying to replace it.

Jon gave in and sighed as he approached her.

“Is it about your brother?” he didn’t want to breach the subject of her private conversation too soon.

She scoffed, “Like you really care.”

“Think what you want, Dany, but you’re the one who came here. It’s clear you’ve got to get something off your chest.”

She side-eyed him before the bottle found her lips again, the amber liquid inside swishing around, the only sound in the room for a moment.

“Don’t do that,” she ordered, voice a little harsh from the drink.

“Do what?”

“Psycho-analyze me. People have been trying to do that for years. It’s daddy issues, it’s mommy issues. There’s too much pressure on her, there’s not enough. I’ll tell you what it is, it’s people who don’t know how to leave me alone!”

Apparently, that was the push she needed. At her emission, she stood and paced in front of him. Hints of her citrusy perfume floated in her wake, a contrast to the heavy mood surrounding her.

“I’ve had to deal with people controlling me my whole life. And my family’s a fucking mess, which doesn’t help. I finally figure out how to get away from it all and Rhaegar drags me back. Then he springs this marriage on me without my prior knowledge, so when I rightfully freak out, he threatens to ruin my life. The longer I delayed it, the more pressure he put on me and what was I supposed to do with him breathing down my neck about it? So, of course, I broke down and said yes but I guess that wasn’t enough for him because-”

Jon hated the way his stomach sunk at her revelation. He needed an explanation, deserved one. He intercepted her path and placed his hands on her shoulders, her slight flinch strangling his heart.

“You said you agreed to the marriage because you wanted to help my people.”

“I did,” she blinked, “And I do but it wasn’t the only factor at play. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, to dismiss her apology and the conflicted feeling settling in his chest. Their marriage was inevitable, so why did he feel terrible about this new information. Because she made it seem like it was her decision, like there wasn’t someone in the shadows forcing her hand. And Jon couldn’t help but feel that he was at fault. 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize. Just, sit down before you wear a hole in the floor.”

She looked at him for a moment, the Dany he was accustomed to searching his face before she retreated again. Jon was a little relieved that her heated, predatory stare from earlier was gone.

“What’s it like? Being close with your siblings?”

“I won’t lie, it has its moments,” he admitted, sitting down next to her, “Sansa and Arya get into petty fights all the time, but they’re at that age. Robb and I would get into it, though there’s not much now that he can do to piss me off. Now Bran, he’s an old soul, stays out of the way for the most part, handles everything like a diplomat. But at the end of the day, we’d die for one another. ”

She pulled her knees up to her chin, whiskey bottle resting on her shins, “That sounds nice. I don’t think I have to tell you that Rhaegar and I’s relationship is complicated. Strained is a better word. Viserys and I were closer in age, for whatever good it did us. My mother had a difficult pregnancy with Rhaegar and was told she wouldn’t have another. Eight years later, Viserys came and in another two, there was me.”

“You don’t talk about Viserys a lot.”

“There isn’t much to say. We were close, then we weren’t. He died young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” she took another swig. “You wouldn’t have liked Viserys, he was very punchable.”

Jon couldn’t keep down the chuckle that left him and it brought a small smile to Dany. They fell into their usual silence, something Jon was finding more comfort in but the knowledge of what he heard nagged on him. He should tell her he’d heard her conversation. It didn’t feel right.

Dany continued to look at him in her contemplative way. She set the bottle on the floor, knees leaving their place below her chin as she leaned closer to him. There was still distance between them, though significantly less than ever before. Her hand crept up to trace the length of his scar, from brow to the spot just below his eye. 

“You never told me the real reason why you came here,” Jon reminded her, voice toeing the line of a whisper.

“Well, it wasn’t to talk about my poor familial relations.” 

“It wasn’t?”

She chuckled, soft and breathy, “Are you always this clueless?”

“Not particularly.”

His hand tightened around the armrest, the threads scratching his palm. Her soft fingertips brushed over his cheek, bringing her closer, until she was in the no man’s land she’d only dared to cross once before.

Jon expected a moment of hesitation, a moment for the Gods to flip another coin and decide his fate for him. He closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer. Please . For what, the jury was still out. For them to go further, for the willpower to do so? For Dany to stop dead in her tracks and realize she was making a mistake. But the alcohol-fueled boldness Dany possessed was stronger than any deity and she proceeded as she had the night before.

Her lips, which had been pillowy and careful, were harsh and persistent. The once delicate, hesitant sweep of her fingers turned assured. Pressurized points drawing Jon’s nerves to the surface and igniting them. He wanted to be rational about the situation but the feel of her made it difficult. Tongue, lips, and cool, soft skin. With a swing of her leg, the formal reasoning in his brain shut down, leaving him like a car with no driver, speeding toward a cliff. And below the precarious overhang, a valley of white water, sharp rocks, and venomous snakes.

His hand sunk into the mess of her hair, the other ghosting over the ethereal fabric hiding the skin of her thigh, her hip, the small of her back. She arched under the pressure of his hand, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging, egging him on and draining the rest of his common sense.

But his mind still wandered, landing on the very recent memory of overhearing something he clearly wasn’t meant to. Who was she talking to? What did they talk about? Those radio commenters who theorized Dany was a spy, were they right? His need for answers was greater than it had been before, outweighing the other, much more present want.

It was the sensation of her hands slipping under the hem of his shitty old tee that pulled him back. They couldn’t. Not with Dany in the state she was in and not with all the questions piling up. His hands found her shoulders, gently creating space between them.

“Dany we can’t,” he stated.

The confused crease in her brow smoothed, “Why not? We’ve already kissed… three times now. I think that means we can kick it up a notch.”

“No. You’re not thinking straight,”

“So?”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Technically, I won’t remember it, I think that’s a perk.”

“It’s not right.”

“Nothing about this has been right,” she countered, “Why are you so cagey? Is it me?”

She didn’t give him time to respond before rambling on in the loose-lipped way of someone with a lot on their mind and too much alcohol in their system. Until realization dawned on her, transforming her face into a look of slow surprise.

“Gods, it is me. You probably think I’m crazy, coming here to, well-” she backed off, her dress trailing across Jon’s lap as she did- “I’ve made a big enough fool of myself so I’ll…”

She stood and was about to leave when Jon caught her wrist. The curiosity swimming in his mind needed answers and it was going to get them.

“Dany, it’s not you. And I don’t think you’re crazy, I swear. I- I overheard you talking with someone. I have to know who.”

It seemed, for the first time that night, Dany couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a ghost?” she pondered.

Jon scoffed, running a hand through his hair, “A ghost?”

“Daario Naharis, a person of former … interest.”

A mixture of dread and surprise and irritation twisted under his ribs. The combination was an unexpected reaction to her reveal, leaving him bristling. 

“And you invited him?” There was more bite than he meant.

“Of course not. The guest lists were triple checked and his name was never on them, it was never even considered. But he had one. Said he wanted to apologize , well that was a fucking lie. I’m tired of lies.”

“Me too,” Jon agreed.

“And yet here we are, living in one.” Dany sat back down, exhaustion starting to show through her posture.

Her answer should’ve been enough to appease him but he wanted more details.

“What else did you talk about?”

“I didn’t reveal any state secrets if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“You know I don’t believe the conspiracies. But why would you agree to speak alone with him?”

“Maybe you are clueless. That’s the man who appeared beside me in a scandalous photograph, people knew we were involved. What would it look like if I was spotted speaking with him in an abandoned corridor on the eve of my wedding, with my new husband nowhere to be seen? I’m already suspected of being a foreign operative, no matter how ridiculous and untrue it is. People love to talk and we don’t need them adding fuel to an already large, uncontrollable fire.”

“Thank you, for being honest. I know our … relationship is delicate but I do trust you.”

“And I trust you,” she assured him.

Her hand found his, entwining their fingers but keeping the space between them.

“That being said, there is one more thing you should know. Sansa didn’t hear what really happened between Rhaegar and me, only that we raised our voices at each other. He tried to delay me from signing the marriage contract so he could ask me to be his inside man. He admitted to trying to plant agents in Winterfell but having no success, his Hand thought I would be a good fit.”

The shallow irritation from the earlier part of their conversation returned, rapidly turning to a flare of deep ire. Dany’s hand tightened to let him know she felt the same way.

“When I refused, as he should’ve expected, things went from bad to worse. Rheagar’s raised his voice at me before but he’s never …” she took a deep breath, it trembled slightly as did her jaw. “He’s never gotten physical with me. And I’ve never had a reason to fear my brother but in that moment I was so scared.”

She looked at him, tears welled in her eyes but he knew she wouldn’t let them fall. Dragons didn’t cry.

He gathered her into his arms, a novel sense of protectiveness adding itself to the cocktail of emotions the night possessed as he held her tightly. Gods help him, he wanted to protect her. This woman who, only a month ago, he could feel nothing but deep contempt for. Who, in the short time they knew each other, did nothing but confuse and impress him and make him wonder what was going on inside her head. Shifting from discontent to tolerance to acceptance of her as part of his life.

Earlier that night, he couldn’t imagine her being considered part of the metaphorical pack his family composed. But the way Sansa made it a priority to tell him that something happened between Dany and her brother, and the way she simply won over the other members, proved she was considered a Stark by more than just the law. And she bonded so well, it was like she was always meant to be.

“Can I stay here?” she murmured into his shoulder.

“Of course,” he answered, breathing in the sweet, chemical scent of her hair, “For as long as you want.”

That proved to be all night. Jon loaned her a shirt so she could change out of her dress and Dany requested they talk about anything other than family, marriage, and politics. Which led to several long-winded conversations about literature and travel, some of it involving Dany’s mindless mumblings. While they were both exhausted, she was the first to nod off, tucked under a throw blanket in the opposite corner of the settee.

Jon took in her resting face. It seemed impossible that she was the same whirlwind of a woman who swaggered into his room practically plastered. And he realized they were both going to end up with sore necks if they slept crammed into the corners of the age-old piece of furniture. 

He decided to let Dany take his bed, gently picking her up so as not to wake her. Though he doubted anything could disturb her at that point. Jon considered sharing the bed with her, it was large enough, but their little blunder undid some of the progress made. So Jon returned to the loveseat, stretching out and letting the weight of everything take hold.

Chapter Text

Dany couldn’t be sure what time it was but her body wanted to be up, or her mind did at least as it pulled her from the dark obscurity of sleep. Her usual wake-up call was the maid knocking and opening her curtains but from the looks of her surroundings, it was too early for that. She rolled onto her back to gaze at the wooden beams across the ceiling, a habit she’d developed recently. It oriented her, reminded Dany of where she was and where she wasn’t and in a way informed her mindset for the day. But as she looked up, a strange feeling took root in her chest. Something was off and it wasn’t her ignorance to the hour.

She pulled her eyes down to the duvet swaddled around her. It was a different color than she remembered, dusty blue and a different texture. When did that happen? Dany slowly pushed herself up and noticed the sizing and arrangement, a few key pieces of furniture were missing from the room. If she was on her usual side of the bed, then the window was on the wrong side of the room which meant… Oh gods, it wasn’t hers. 

Despite the harsh bite in her head, she flew from the foreign bed as though it were on fire, taking only a second to blink at it before heading to the doorway between the two rooms. A string of the most un-princess like curses rattled through her brain, both in regret and pain. She wanted to do something stupid, and she accomplished it. Better to slip out and explain herself after she had time to think of something.

Two hushed voices in the sitting room stopped Dany from charging straight through. Instead, she peeked around the doorway in caution. Jon stood there, conversing with someone she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t make out anything they were saying, the gauzy spectre of her reception dress laid over a chair distracted her. Dany’s hand felt over her chest and, realizing she wore a borrowed tee, her heart picked up its pace.

She knew they hadn’t crossed the line drawn so firmly in the sand even though she’d taken a step across it. It was the implication of said borrowed shirt paired with her shoes peeking out from under the settee and the abandoned hairpins and dress. And what all of those things meant to the stranger in the room.

“I will let her know, thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

The door clicked shut and Dany retreated to the safety behind the door frame, hoping she hadn’t been spotted.

“You can come out now.”

She exhaled, there would be no slipping out unnoticed. Dany tried her best to appear nonchalant but the cliche, tacky events of last night were rattling through her brain. Those tactics might have worked on the people in university bars or a desperate lord's son but there was no trick in the book for someone considered her equal, if not her better. 

“There isn’t a castle wide man-hunt for me yet?”

“No, they figured out where you might be pretty quickly.” 

There was a little humor in his dark eyes, obscured by the lack of brilliant sunlight. It was gloomy outside again, the perfect weather to accompany the first day of their union.

Whoever Jon was talking with would go back to their co-workers and recount their findings, filling in the gaps with whatever they dared to. Their spun tales would reach the right ears and claim anyone who didn’t believe in fairytales had better start because they were witnessing one. A love at first sight, happily ever after fluffy wonderland right before their eyes, live and in living color. How were they to know that it was really one battle after another, an uphill climb fraught with tumbles and falls like the one last night. 

Dany leaned against her own doorway, in Jon’s shirt. The scene conjuring sensations familiar and distant as she eyed him warily. She remembered why she came there, unannounced and trying to drink herself into an uninhibited state. A failed seduction of herself and her new spouse. An attempt to wrench herself free of the past and embrace the promising path she was set upon. The end result being a devastating step backward.

At least, she thought it was but Jon appeared rather calm and unaffected by the events of last night. But something unspoken between them hung in the room like a dense fog weighing down their shoulders and spirits. Both of them like animals trapped in a cage, agitated and unsure. There wasn’t the spectacular happiness shared between true newlyweds but a fragile peace and perhaps understanding. The two of them in their shared silence, having decided there wasn’t a need to fill every single moment with chatter.

But as Jon crossed the room to sit, Dany wanted to fill the expanding quiet.

“I’m surprised they didn’t assume I’d run off,” she chortled. 

“Why would they think that?”

“Stress, nerves, making an absolute fool of myself.”

He only arched a brow at her and Dany returned her gaze to the dress in the chair.

“Throwing myself at you when we clearly aren’t there, which, I’m sorry for by the way.”

She glanced at Jon, meaning to gauge his reaction but instead getting distracted by the casual look of him. All messy curls and slept in clothes and a pinched brow that her fingers ached to ease. Then she noticed the blanket tangled up on the cushion next to him and her heart twisted itself up. She was still unsure of the mood, it couldn’t be terrible. 

He shook his head in dismissal, the following words escaped with more bite than he probably intended, “We really aren’t going to get anywhere if you keep apologizing for every little thing.”

“Right, sorry,” she said automatically, cringing as soon as the word left her mouth, “Starting now.”

Dany finally noticed the bouquet occupying the center of the coffee table. Modest and delicate with blooms in soft pink, lavender, and white of varying lengths, small puffs of bold yellow peeking through. All of it framed the little card nestled in the center. Curious, she forgot her previous hesitations and approached the bundle of flowers in their plain glass vase.

“Who are these from?”

“Their majesties,” he answered simply.

“Yours or mine?” she plucked the card from the holder, a singular congratulations inked in elegant script was all that was written on the creamy cardstock. She ran a finger along the edge, with the same tenderness she’d traced the scars on her husband’s face the night before. 

“Ours.”

Dany jerked her head slightly, not expecting what she considered a bold answer, but resolved to a little smile and considered the card once more, “Cute.”

“My father’s secretary dropped them off and asked me to relay a message.”

Dany hummed, absentmindedly fiddling with the floral arrangement, “And what was that?”

“He’s requested a meeting with you.”

She paused, a jolt of mild shock possessing her nerves. She knew something bad would come of her spilling her guts and now she was about to enter a very complicated lion’s den, or wolf’s den for that matter.

“Just me? Not … us?”

“Just you.”

“I’d better get going then,” she decided, turning her back to Jon and removing the shirt he’d let her borrow.

Slipping back into her abandoned garment and managing the short zipper with ease, she spotted her shoes hiding under the settee. 

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, I’m alright. I’m actually starting to understand the layout better, I mean, I found my way without issue,” Dany joked as she secured the straps, the shoes were much more comfortable now that her feet had recovered from the pinching and cold. 

When she stood, Jon was there, offering her a jacket, “Aye, that you did.”

“Thank you, for everything.” Dany slid her arms through sleeves too long for her arms. “I know I’m not easy to deal with.”

When she turned to face him, there was a quizzical look on his face.

“What?” she asked, her own brows furrowing.

“I’m trying to figure out why you do the things you do.”

“Good luck,” she shrugged before breezing past him toward the door.

She stopped before crossing the threshold, a thought pinging into her head, and paused in the doorway. For all the damage caused by her blaze of boldness, she might as well offer an olive branch. 

“Will I see you later?”

Better to leave it open-ended, the decision was his to make.

Jon’s brow creased, then smoothed, “Tonight, maybe, if you’re sober.”

“Of course. How else could I tell you everything your father said in our meeting,”

And with that she started on the longest and strangest walk of shame ever, but she was grinning like a damned fool. So everything wasn’t totally ruined, there was something salvageable from the wreckage of last night. A month ago she would’ve left things as they were, shattered and scattered with her reveling in the middle of the mess, dancing in the flames. But she needed to pick up the pieces and put them back together however she could. There was no other option, she knew. No doors to run through, no windows to break. Dany huffed at herself, she had to stop thinking of her marriage as a trap with no way out when it wasn’t. It was a shining opportunity like Braavos had been, a chance to escape and thrive but Winterfell offered her more. It was a fertile field she could put roots down into and grow and create. And she’d nearly scorched it.

How does Jon do it? Dany wondered as she turned a corner and hugged the plain, unassuming jacket closer to her body. Spilling her emotional baggage wasn’t how she planned on starting a marriage, specifically not this one. And certainly not when they were about to embark on a tour of the south before the southern wedding, just the two of them parading around the countryside for all to see. She was so focused on herself last night and causing trouble like she always did in that mindset. If she pulled the same antics on any other prospect they would’ve dropped her like a fad that ran its course. But Jon hadn’t washed his hands of her yet.

He had every right to, Dany wasn’t going to deny it. With the way she acted from their very first meeting until the night she changed her mind, she would understand if Jon avoided her save for public functions but he didn’t. She hurt him with her actions, even if he wouldn’t show it. He was selfless, he was compromising. Dany needed to be more like him. 

She reached her resolution and turned another corner, finally in the wing of the castle containing her guest room. A trio of maids were there, whispering among themselves as staff were so apt to do. Dany wanted to duck her head and rush past like any woman returning from a man’s room in the same clothes as last night, but she reminded herself of who she was. A princess, a married woman in her new home, a dragon turned wolf. The maids bowed and addressed her in hushed tones, Dany dipped her head in recognition. 

A sense of relief filled her chest when she opened the door to her room, like returning home after a long trip. Everything was familiar, comforting. She’d grown attached to the temporary quarters and would be sad to leave them so soon but Dany was excited to show Jon the south. Outside of King’s Landing it had the most beautiful sights: Sunsets over the Golden Coast in the Westerlands, the acres of masterfully cultivated gardens in the Reach, the real watergardens in Dorne, the mountains of the Eyrie. It was the thought of meeting her brother again that dampened her mood.

She shook it off at the same time as her shoes, dress fluttering like delicate petals on a windblown flower. Now she was faced with a new dilemma, what did one wear to meet with their new father-in-law whom they’ve never talked to outside of formal occasions.

Black was out of the question, something reserved only for mourning and she had nothing to observe in that respect. Red was the color she usually chose when in need of courage, a shade to bolster her strength. But it was too bold, too Targaryen, and Dany’s fraught relationship with the color pink eliminated it from her wardrobe entirely. There was always the option of grey and white, Stark colors. A subtle show of allegiance if this meeting entailed what she thought it did. Or perhaps she should choose something unrelated to house colors, there were plenty of blues and beiges among the clothes she brought with her, lavender and sage and a handful of jewel tones too. 

In the end she selected a sweater in a grey shade that leaned toward beige and dark trousers, neutralizing herself visually and mentally. She brushed through the mess of curls and hairspray comprising her hair, smoothing it back into a low bun. She removed her very obvious nighttime makeup, but didn’t reapply much besides hiding the dark circles under her eyes and some mascara. She managed to get her hands on some food as well, knowing better than to go into something important on an empty stomach. 

Eventually, someone came to retrieve her, taking her on another journey through the halls of Winterfell. The wing in which the king’s study was housed felt older, heavier. The persistent overcast sky outside didn’t help, it only deepened the impressive shadows in the hall. As she swept into the room, a steward announced, “The Princess Daenerys, Your Majesty.”

Dany curtseyed, dipping her head, “Your Majesty.”

“Daenerys, thank you for coming. Have a seat, please.”

The inside of the study was brighter, the arched windows letting in whatever natural light there was to offer, highlighting the bookcases and portraits. Stark ancestors looked down upon them in different styles, but it was the smaller frames lining his desk that caught her eye. The few that faced her weren’t the usual official portraits at state gatherings, they were candid moments caught by chance. The twins, younger than double digits, with cake smeared on their faces. Sansa in a fluffy formal dress stretched on a sofa, tiara askew as she napped. A slightly blurry snap of who she could only assume were a teenage Robb and Jon, chasing after each other in the courtyard.

“I see you’ve noticed the unconventional display of pictures.” 

“They have a lot of personality.”

“I’m glad you like them.” Ned picked up a folding frame, the kind that displayed two pictures, “This one-” he offered it to Dany “-is my favorite.”

A picture of Jon, in the white and grey of Stark regalia, kneeling before his father and surrounded by the lords of the North. An investiture ceremony, the naming of an heir. The image in the next slot was a complete departure from the formality of the last. Young Jon with a wide smile on his face, holding onto the silver coronet as it tilted at a playful angle. The absence of his characteristic scar was a little jarring, enhancing the youthfulness and instantly dating the photo to a bygone time. 

“I can see why.”

“Daenerys,” the king began but she had to stop him.

“Please, call me Dany.”

“Then you must call me Ned.”

“Of course,” she acknowledged, passing the treasured photo back to him, a little pleased and comforted at the sense of familiarity. 

“I wanted to let you know that the first round of aid from your country has already reached our borders and reiterate how thankful we are for it.”

Dany only nodded so he could continue but his gratitude felt hollow. She wasn’t the one coordinating the dealings between North and South, nor was she dispensing the resources herself. She was only the cyvasse piece that allowed for it to happen.

“And to apologize for the security breach last night. Our team is already doing a thorough investigation of protocol to determine how Mr. Naharis got in and was able to corner you.”

Not the topic Dany thought they would start with but she was glad they were discussing it. 

“He had an invitation. I saw it,” Dany affirmed, “But he was never even considered for the list. And there were only four people with access to them. Myself, the wedding planner, Elia, and Her Majesty, Catelyn. I know that she and your son have a complicated relationship but I couldn’t imagine her doing something that underhanded.”

“Her Majesty is unflinching in her views but she’s competent enough to know how something like that could do more harm than good. The planner on the other hand is worth looking into. For now, we’ve decided to bring on more security and there are a few men retiring at the end of the month, so those positions will need filling as well.”

“Could I ask who is in charge of the hiring process?”

Whichever lord Ned chose would need to be alerted to her brother’s ambitions, or at least, to be more thorough in their interviews and background checks.

“His Grace, Roose Bolton has been chosen to work in collaboration with Ser Rodrik.”

Dany made a face, unable to hide the gut reaction to hearing that name. She expected Ned would judge her for the way she distrusted Bolton but he only chuckled.

“I understand, there is not much to like about the Duke of The Weeping Water but out of respect and allyship he maintains a certain degree of power and influence at court.”

“He doesn’t have a very trustworthy demeanor, forgive me for saying it, and from the way Jon explained it to me, the Starks and Boltons have been uneasy allies since the middle ages.”

“That is true and they were quite outspoken in their opinions of strengthening our relationship with the South. But everyone is skeptical of change and we must often make concessions to keep everyone happy. House Bolton hasn’t done anything to upset the balance and Roose’s input has been helpful on many occasions.”

Dany hummed in agreement, it was classic political understanding and a strong philosophy to hold, though she didn’t think it should apply to political rivals. But perhaps Bolton was the best choice as he was wary of outsiders and could spot one of Rhaegar’s southern plants if needed. Something that could work in her favor for once.

“Is that all you called me here for?” 

The statement came out with more desperation than she meant. Dany didn’t intend to sound like she had somewhere else to be, or that the meeting was unimportant to her. She suspected there was an ulterior motive to the harmless beginning and braced herself for the bombshell question to ring through the room.

“Well, I was hoping to check in with you. Make sure you’re settling in alright.”

“Oh,” Dany answered, a little stunned, “I think you’re the first person to ask me that. Thank you.”

“Everyone assures me you’re doing fine but I wanted to see for myself.”

She was reminded of their first interaction, in the meeting to negotiate the terms of the marriage contract, when she showed a nasty side of her that wasn’t made for first impressions. And she stubbornly demanded something she had no right to.

“I’m adjusting. I know I’m going to miss it while we’re south, that’s a good sign. Then I can finally stop living out of my suitcase when we return.”

“Cat and I have had our fair share of intense touring, it’s exhausting but fulfilling. Getting to see the people and the sights, the funny thing about them is their ability to strengthen the bond between a couple. We were already crazy for each other but after our first tour, we were inseparable. Of course, we were married for a while before it happened but it certainly changed our dynamic.”

Dany felt ridiculous saying it but she had to be sure, “And you think it will have the same effect for Jon and me.”

“In a general sense, not necessarily as romantic partners,” Ned assured her but the tone in his voice implied that it wouldn’t hurt.

“Got it,” Dany replied with a small smile. 

Relieved she didn’t have to explain the actions of her brother, she felt much more comfortable in the study. No sense of intimidation or otherness existed; she didn’t need to establish herself as an unyielding force.

“You should know that Jon used to complain about you whenever the topic came up. Now, he has a much more positive outlook.”

“And I feel much the same way.”

Chapter Text

With an hour to themselves before the grand event that evening, it was spent on last-minute preparations. As well as adjusting to the ostentatious display of wealth that composed the sprawling palace of Casterly Rock. 

The dry heat and blazing sun were welcome friends after the North cursed them with overcast skies. The change in climate hitting Jon when he stepped out of the plane upon landing late that morning. It got warm up North but those temperatures were nothing compared to the Westerlands. The secretaries warned them of the temperatures, the high eighties and mid-nineties. The kind of insufferable numbers Jon knew he would dislike. However, the heat wavering off the dark asphalt was deceptive. The dry air was light and inviting, enjoyable if not for the industrial smell clinging to it with determination.

He happened to glance up at the airport windows, blinded by the brilliant sun bouncing off. Through the glare he could see hundreds of people crowded to the glass, struggling to get a look at the lovely young couple descending to the tarmac where the senior members of the Lannister family awaited them.

It was easy to understand why the lion was their sigil. Besides the pride and vanity they failed to conceal, the twins embodied the animal. All golden curls and glowing green eyes scanning and assigning value to every object and person. And whereas Jaime glossed over Jon with apparent disinterest, Cersei’s eyes raked over him like an appraiser’s over a set of antique gems, hunting for details and flaws. Determining false from authentic. Not for the first time in his life did Jon wish he were invisible.

It was an event filled with icy exchanges and insinuations. From Tywin’s calculated draw to Cersei’s off-hand comment about Dany being territorial, Jon was relieved when they reached the final member of the house. Tyrion received endless praise during Dany’s info dump on the flight, with her stating that he was the only Lannister she could stand. He exuded a different energy entirely from his self-obsessed siblings and his inquisitive mismatched eyes held humor and warmth, he held himself with confidence instead of stubborn pride.

He smirked when he saw Dany, stating, “When they told me you ran off and married a Northman, I thought, there goes the last bit of personality in this stuffy world of ours.”

She laughed in reply, “Good thing you have plenty for both of us.”

They were ushered into the stately town cars that would carry them to Casterly Rock, another not so subtle statement. The noise and excitement disappeared with the closing of the door, the faces and expressions hidden. They were carried out of Lannisport via a highway that expanded to fourteen lanes in places. The opposite side was crowded to a standstill but the royal escort cut through their side with ease. Jon glimpsed the shimmering waves of the Sunset Sea crashing against the shores alternating between soft sand and uneven rocks. 

Their destination loomed above the modest two-lane road they exited onto. Casterly Rock was comparable to the Wall in size, crowned by the jagged ruins of an old keep. No doubt the Lannisters carved out their home in it, making it a true lion’s den. Or lair rather.

Jon settled himself onto a gaudy settee to finish the revisions on the remarks he was expected to give at the gala in their honor. It was his third read through, not counting the four on the flight over when he was handed the sheets. His speech also marked the first time a Northern representative addressed a gathered party of Southern nobles, it needed to be impressive. He glanced up at Dany through the doorway into her room, where she held a piece of jewelry against the fabric of a dress.

There were three options, he noted. Bold blue, soft lilac, and something a few shades lighter than black. She sighed and let the purple fabric flutter from her hand, turning away and tossing the silvery bauble. It clinked as it landed against the other pieces she gathered there. Jon put his attention back into the sentence he’d been editing.

“Could you believe all those people were there to watch us get out of a plane?”

“They don’t show up in numbers like that for you?”

“No, actually. Up until recently, the public couldn’t make up their minds about me.”

“Now they’re stepping on each other to get a glimpse.”

“Partially thanks to you, of course.”

“What happened between you and Lady Lannister? She looked like she wanted to murder you.”

Dany sighed, “She said some unfounded shit about me being territorial . So I told her we can’t all have a twin to cling to when we’re lonely. Cersei went through a nasty divorce a few years back, which I’m not faulting her for. Robert Baratheon is a serial adulterer and any sane woman would’ve left him a long time before she did. Now the only male company she keeps is her brother and practically smothers her children. I’m not proud of it but that’s how you deal with the likes of Cersei Lannister.”

She disappeared into the bedroom, allowing a moment of silence.

“How’s the speech going? Perfected yet?” her voice called out, though he couldn’t see her through the doorway.

“Could be better,” he huffed, striking out another word and scribbling in a more suitable replacement.

“Make sure you don’t kiss Tywin’s ass too much, his ego’s already over-inflated.”

“Why don’t you have to do one of these?”

She poked her head around the doorframe, half of her light hair now arranged in a halo of curlers. Jon chuckled at the ridiculous look of her, to which she rolled her eyes. 

“Because I’m not the most important person there. And they’ve heard me speak before, probably want a breath of fresh air.”

“Too bad this is the most generic speech they’ll ever hear.” Jon slapped the slim stack of papers down on the coffee table.

Dany swept forward and sifted through the sheets, taking in his notes and adjustments. Humming and nodding in approval like some eccentric teacher grading school work.

“No, this is really good. Very personable. Did you write this yourself?”

“Well, they give me the bare bones and I flesh them out.”

“They’ll love it.” she offered the papers back but pulled them away before Jon could grab them. “But seriously, no gushing about what great hosts the Lannisters are, I don’t think I could stand it.”

He took them from her, “I’ll make a note. You should wear the blue.”

“Pardon?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“The gown. You look good in blue.”

‘Good’ wasn’t the right word. It failed to capture the extent of the notion. It seemed brutish and careless. He should’ve said ‘pretty’ or at the very least, ‘nice’. 

An amused smile graced her face, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he offered with a stupid casualness, kicking himself as he took in the last paragraph of his absurd speech.

Jon remembered the charity gala in the Red Palace and feeling suffocated by the number of people and metallic decor. The gold-encrusted, overheated ballroom in Casterly Rock was that feeling tenfold, except it was easier to ignore the overwhelming sensation this time around. There was enough socialization to keep both Jon and Dany distracted. They split the room, working their way around but still managed to catch each other’s eyes from time to time and share brief expressions about whoever they were talking to.

He gladly took his eyes off the lady he was talking with, a Westerling if he remembered correctly, to find Dany across the room. Her head tilted slightly with a bemused smile, bordered by a gilded mirror. Catelyn’s tiara glittered atop her perfectly styled hair, tossing twinkles with effortless precision as she turned her head. Jon had seen it worn to a few functions before but it never looked so radiant as it did on Dany.

Catching his eye, she smiled and quickly said something to her conversation partner. Then Dany was making her way across the empty space that was meant for dancing. The deep blue fabric wrapped around her frame and draped over one shoulder recalling her outfit the night she accepted the marriage arrangement, crowned in simple flowers with firelight and distant sadness dancing in her eyes. 

Now, she shone brighter than the oversized baubles adorning the other ladies and the countless incandescent bulbs providing over-saturated light now that the sun was gone. 

“How are you fairing?” she asked.

“Pretty well, all things considered.”

“Your speech was brilliant, everyone is talking about it. You know, it’s a shame Tywin paid for these musicians and no one’s dancing.”

“Shall we show them how it’s done?”

“Of course.”

The music for that evening wasn’t the Northern standard of reels but something smoother, jazzier; less string quartet and more subdued brass. A kind of tune meant for swaying, which is what they did, pressed close without a care in the world.

They were getting very good at pretending, so good that it was impossible to draw a line where the acting stopped and started. It was easier, now that relations between them were friendlier. They were able to smile and chatter and be in the same room together, the bare minimum requirements for acquaintanceship. But there was still so much they didn’t know about each other, superficial details and hidden truths. 

Dany spun away from him, the silk panels of her dress flaring and sweeping along the floor before she returned to him.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best dancing partner I’ve ever had?”

Jon considered the question before answering, “Once, but you could stand to mention it more.”

The giggle that left her was surprisingly girlish, though he couldn’t be sure if it was genuine or because she didn’t want to laugh too loud. Dany didn’t seem like the type to hold back just because she was in front of a few stuffy states people but he never knew what was going through her head from one moment to the next. 

“Where’d you learn to dance anyway?”

“Private school, aside from the traditional ones, we had to learn standard ballroom steps. And I wanted to be better than Robb.”

“I just had private lessons with a strict woman with an accent I couldn’t understand. You can imagine how much I hated it.”

“So you quit?”

“Naturally but I had other reasons than a shitty instructor.”

She glanced over her shoulder as they passed where Jon had been standing moments earlier, clearly searching for something … or someone. The rogue thought crossed his mind when he saw his former conversation partner. Lady Westerling was pretty but she was so demure their conversation hadn’t strayed past the climate habits and scenery of the North. And she looked too much like their Lannister hosts for Jon to feel at ease around her. But he remembered what Cersei said about Dany being territorial and he found that every snide remark had some truth behind it. 

“Was there a reason you wanted to drag me out here? Besides having pity for the musicians.”

She blinked at him, violet eyes wide under her full lashes, “No … why do you ask?”

“I was having a lovely conversation with Lady Westerling when you spotted us and came running over-”

She caught his sarcasm with a sly smile, “Are you insinuating I’m jealous of the Lady? You’ll be disappointed to know that I’m not that insecure. And you’re too smart to even entertain that idea.”

Another couple had entered the floor and breezed past them causing the brief pause in their conversation so they could smile graciously. Once the other pair passed, Dany turned back to him.

“Cersei mentioned you were territorial. I wanted to see if there was any truth to it.”

“It’s true that I don’t like to share but I would never stoop so low as to consider Jeyne Westerling a threat. Unlike someone we know.” Dany nodded her head and Jon turned them so he could see where she motioned to.

Cersei, wearing her weight in emeralds and gold and green silk, threw a scalding glare at her brother who had struck up a conversation with the young lady in question.

“Green is certainly her color,” Jon chuckled.

Other couples were following their lead and stepping onto the floor. Once it became too difficult to navigate, they left. Dany made a comment about their early morning press appointments, to which Jon agreed and they made their quiet exit. 

Once in the significantly cooler hall, Dany removed her heels and dangled them by their straps. Her head rested against Jon’s shoulder, he could feel the stiff points of her tiara through his suit jacket. Their hands were entwined and they walked in silence, comfortable and content.

Before, it had been unbearable. Every passing second needling him into annoyance at her refusal to play nice and throw down her sword for the sake of diplomacy. He was stubborn too, acting like he had a moral high ground when they were just two people in an unfortunate situation. The realization brought an evolution, both of them testing the waters to decide if they could make the best of what they’d been handed. A strange agreement grew into the very first signs of a friendship.

The sitting room was dark when they returned to it. Neither of them bothered to turn on a light, they were going to their own rooms anyway. They didn’t untangle their hands, standing for a moment in the stillness of the room until Dany turned to him.

“I was thinking, this is technically a honeymoon, we have our evenings free. Would you like to take a drive up the coast? The sunsets are spectacular over the ocean.”

He smiled at her, “I would love that.”

“Great. I’ll see you in the morning then,” she replied.

Her response indicated that their conversation was over, yet they remained unmoved in the darkroom, halfway to their separate quarters. The urge to stay and talk to each other hung heavy in the air. Every nerve in Jon’s body pressed him to seize upon the opportunity but there was nothing left to say. Instead, they very stupidly exchanged good nights and disappeared behind their doors.

The next day brought an interview on a radio show, with two hosts who were over-eager to have them. The questions were polite and didn’t require answers deeper than the surface. Which made it much easier to perform their roles of “royal couple playing tourists”. Throughout the whole interview, Jon answered questions about how much he was enjoying the south and married life. He and Dany joked about the weather differences with Dany recounting the story about their snowy summer wedding.

It wasn’t long before they were carted off to their next destination. One of the West’s famous Lannister mines, owned by a proxy business of course and situated on the outskirts of Lannisport. The site functioned only for tourism, having run dry decades ago.

A guide towed them through miles of tunnels. At one point the path narrowed so much, the group was forced to talk single file. That far down, the tunnels were cooler offering a reprieve from the outer heat. Though it was as insufferable as he originally thought, Jon took comfort in the lower temperatures. Until it opened up into a natural cavern, the walls covered in simple drawings of animals and men, handprints dotting the scenes.

“This is, of course, a recreation of similar caves in the area, believed to be frequented by the First Men before the Andal invasion. The original caves are off-limits to visitors to preserve their natural state,” the guide informed them.

As part of the attraction, they were instructed to extinguish their lanterns. Jon knew what to expect, having experienced the same kind of total darkness from the walkways through the wall, where his body awoke deeply buried reactions. There was still the initial spook when his eyes couldn’t focus but a new one surprised him when a chilled hand found his own and gripped it tightly. It broke their strict no public displays of affection rule. 

The rules felt like some cruel joke. At Winterfell, their hands always found each other when they needed to. Jon and Dany turned into their own personal signal of support, of trust and understanding. And just when they reached that point, it was taken from them by outdated ideas about affection and professionalism. The lamps’ glow returned and they released their hands, fingers lingering a beat longer than they should have.

They returned to Casterly rock when the sun was starting on its scheduled descent. Dany practically dragged Jon to the palace’s garage, excited about their escape from their strict schedule. Her anticipation was contagious and Jon was ready to leave the Lannister den as soon as possible. The mechanical smell of the city still lingered, following them as it had their whole stay. 

“Oh, shit, I have to run back to the guest rooms,” she announced when they arrived, “I would say head in without me but I’m not sure which car they loaned us.”

“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness, I’ll make sure your prince gets where he’s going.”

Dany sighed at the appearance of the youngest Lannister, “Tyrion, thank the gods. How many times must I ask you not to refer to me by that dreadful title?”

“It’s a sign of respect. And I believe it’s ‘Your Royal Highness’ now.”

“Why bother with another word and more syllables when Dany works just fine?”

“Point made,” he conceded. 

Dany smiled at Tyrion, then Jon, “I’ll be right back.”

When she bounded away Tyrion noted, “I offered up my car for your little excursion. Come on.”

Tyrion led him down the row of neatly parked vehicles, each more impressive than the last. All of them were custom models, recent too. However, the one designated for him and Dany was all the way at the end. A shining cherry-red to stand out amongst the other dark vehicles, with the distinct long line body of vintage cars. And, unsurprisingly, no top. The tan leather looked like it had never seen the sun.

“A gift from my father so I can’t say he never did anything for me.” Then he turned his mismatched eyes on Jon, “You’re the first crowned prince I’ve actually taken a liking to.”

Jon disguised his surprise at the abrupt change in topic with a chuff. His interactions with the self-proclaimed black sheep of the Lannister family were limited. “And why’s that?”

“Well, from what I hear, you’re not constantly talking about yourself. Though you could stand to do that a bit more. But I do have a soft spot for people like me.”

Jon furrowed his brows. Unless Tyrion was blind as well, there was no evidence to support his claim. At his pause and confused face, Tyrion offered, “There’s an old saying, ‘all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes’. And word travels fast around court.”

Jon bristled. It wasn’t a huge secret, a simple internet search would turn up hundreds of opinion pieces and state documents about his legitimization and the scandal it caused. And no doubt courtiers got curious and did their digging. 

“Words hurt, that much we can agree on. But I’ve found it’s much easier to accept what you are, rather than distance yourself so far it becomes an insult.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Tyrion’s gaze shifted to look past Jon, he followed suit. Dany was back, her hair tucked under a fluttery scarf, a few strands escaping.

“You’ve got a precious gift in Daenerys.”

“Aye, I’m grateful for her.” The line was rehearsed but much easier to say.

“Good. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t. Is sharing wisdom about life all you do?”

“It’s one of my many talents.”

“You and Dany are close then?”

“She dislikes my father to say the least. But we share views on politics and religion and countless other subjects. And most importantly, she never forgets how human we are.”

“Ready to go?” Dany chirped.

“You’ll need these.” Tyrion handed him a set of keys.

“I’m driving?”

“I figured you’d enjoy it more than whatever the hell I do.”

Jon chuckled and spun the key ring around his finger.

“Thanks again Tyrion,” she called from the passenger seat.

“Anything for my favorite royals.”

Dany was right about the coast. It was beautiful and warm, delightfully open and a complete departure from their rich entrapment. Just having a steering wheel in his hands, with no destination or plan, was freeing; the impending, packed schedule of the rest of their trip carried away by the wind. Even with the security vehicle tailing them. 

They found a little parking space on the side of the road, overlooking the rocky beach below. The sun hovered temptingly close to the wavering waters and washing everything in its extreme saturation. They stepped out of the car and Dany pointed to the way they had come.

“Look familiar?”

Casterly Rock towered over the horizon, bathed in the harsh sun. The flat face of the peak fell away into plateaued levels. The resemblance was uncanny, a regal lion overlooking an aquatic domain.

“Thousands of years ago, before my ancestors even dreamed of Westeros, Lann the Clever tricked his way into the Rock and never gave it up.”

“So he took the lion for his sigil and gave birth to the least favorite house of a princess in the far off future.”

“I doubt Lann was thinking that far into the future but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a prophecy or something.”

“There’s always one of those,” Jon commented.

The sun inched further down in the ombre sky, its burning surface kissing the reflective waters. A twin disk burning equally as bright. Crashing waves sounded below and somewhere above a seagull called.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jon hummed in agreement, casting a side glance at his wife. Her side profile received the same treatment as their surroundings, skin and hair aflame as they leaned against the hood of Tyrion’s car. When they first met, Dany was frigid, devoid of the things that comprised a friendly person. But those traits were simply hidden beneath the surface in a stone chest and it took extraordinary circumstances to draw them out.

She moved and the rectangular shape of her phone appeared, aimed at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want a picture.”

“Of me? What brought this on?”

“When I had my meeting with your father, I noticed all the photos on his desk. They were just silly, candid things. We don’t have pictures like that in my family but I want there to be and I thought now would be a good time to start.” Dany paused with a thoughtful smile. “He told me his favorite was one of you. He’s incredibly proud.”

“All fathers are like that with their children,” Jon shrugged.

“They should be, shouldn’t they,” Dany agreed with a certain wistfulness in her voice.

“I take it you didn’t get the same?”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t try.”

“Good thing there’s plenty of that with the Starks,” he smiled.

His fingers found hers, his hand taking up hers. Dany scooted closer to rest her head against his shoulder and Jon tipped his to hers. They stayed like that as the sun slipped under the restless horizon.

Chapter Text

Dany had been on tours of the Kingdoms on different occasions. The first being when she was just an infant, before her mother’s untimely passing, when the country fawned over baby Daenerys and her blushing mother. Taking a child on such an arduous journey was unheard of and a bit taboo in the noble circle but Rhaella and Aerys managed it.

There was another shortly after her debut at sixteen. The incident between her and Viserys was only a few months prior but Dany smiled and waved and waltzed like nothing happened. At an age when she should have burst with excitement at the chance to dance with notable young men, she wanted nothing to do with them. Every box step was its own torture and every minute of forced conversation drove her to the point of exhaustion. 

The press at such events took note of it, questioning the ethics of the practice and criticizing the organizers for putting a young girl through so much. But those were the new age papers who sought to humanize Dany. More established columnists picked out every imperfection and condemned her inability to keep up with the demanding schedule.

She was able to avoid the customary tour after she turned eighteen because her birthday fell during the traditional mourning period for her father. When the time came to reschedule the event, Dany had already jetted off to Braavos for university.

Of all the travels through her home country, Dany liked the Reach the most. A lush landscape of green dotted with orchards and fields. Fresh air and uninterrupted horizons. The palace of Highgarden never bored her with its expansive gardens and luxurious sights. It was a different kind of wealth from the showy Lannisters, subtle and meticulously blended with the natural elements around it.

Dany was especially looking forward to this leg of the trip, not only because the Tyrells were wonderful hosts, but because it provided a lapse in the usual busy schedule. No galas, state dinners, or ribbon cuttings. Only a few charity visits and one interview, which they completed when they landed in Bitterbridge. And then it was on the Roseroad to Highgarden.

Tucked away in the country, the Tyrell summer home was the pinnacle of a vacation retreat. All old stone and overgrown elegance. Standing in the foyer to greet them was the whole Tyrell clan. Matriarch Olenna, known in all circles as the Queen of Thorns for her prickling jabs, cutting wit, and vindictive attitude to those she saw as threats to her family. Dressed in her usually muted vintage colors, her hair still styled as though she walked off the set of a golden age screen. 

Mace and his lovely wife Alerie. And the most interesting members of the family, their children. Willas, Garlan, Loras, and Margaery. 

She and Marg were closer, despite the age gap. After that unfortunate waltz with Willas and the following trip to Highgarden, the girls formed a sort of mentorship. Dany wouldn’t call it sisterhood but it was something adjacent to it. 

That day brought them a foray into the very edge of Tyrell lands, a walk that could be more aptly categorized as a hike. They reached their destination by midday even with the assistance of a fleet of golf carts. However, the little vehicles couldn’t reach the very place they were meant to go. Uncharted territory. A stretch of trees and high grass untouched by the Tyrell penchant for artful landscaping and planned gardens. 

The group walked along trails barely beaten and ducked under branches as someone high up on the groundskeeping chain of command explained plants to them. A hundred years ago, during Olenna’s prime, this sort of outing would’ve been enjoyable. The charm that must have surrounded it was lost in the humid air around them. Dany tried to feign interest in whatever lecture they received but was distracted by the man walking next to her.

Jon was doing his best to pretend this activity was interesting. Occasionally they would catch each other’s eyes, betraying their true feelings on the matter, and have to hide their laughter. Eventually, they came upon a point in the trail where the land beside it rose into a knoll of high grass.

Tired of the unending green light of the forest, Dany departed from the group and stepped through the thin line of trees. She made no effort toward the top, only gazed at where the crest met the crystalline blue sky. The wisps of clean, white clouds trekked lazily along, occasionally blocking out the harsh sun. A breeze stirred the sultry air and she took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut in her moment of still relief.

The rustling of the overgrowth attracted her attention, though she was unsurprised to find it was Jon.

“Needed a minute,” Dany said simply, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I don’t think we’ll be missed.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous. The view from the top is probably better.”

Dany hummed in agreement.

“Race you to the top?” Jon challenged, a playful grin on his face.

“In this heat?”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

Dany rolled her eyes, “Fine.”

Without much more debate, she took off with Jon’s claims of cheating lost on her ears. The incline wasn’t terrible but it still stole her breath all the same. High grass grazing her legs and threatening to trip her. Jon was right about the view from the top, though, it was even better. A patchwork of varying shades of green as the fields stretched to the horizon, occasionally broken up by strips of trees or the odd pasture and farmhouse. 

The peaceful moment of awe was interrupted by Jon grabbing Dany from behind and spinning her around, raucous laugh music to her ears. She playfully swatted at him when he set her down but she lost her footing and fell into the high grass. He came down with her and they laughed as though it was the funniest joke in existence.

“I should’ve known you’d do something like that,” Jon managed through breathy chuckles.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

Dany rolled onto her side, resting her head against her hand. Jon reached up to brush back a strand of hair worked loose from her messy braid. As he tucked it behind her ear, the familiar thumping in the chest and tightening of the throat that accompanied her so often lately came back.

A side effect of her current state, a sickening twist of her stomach and pinching in her brain, made her freeze. Eyes searching Jon’s desperately for any sign that she was not alone in her newfound mess.

A security officer cleared his throat and the two royals sat straight up, looking guilty though they were not.

“Your Royal Highnesses, the Tyrell’s have inquired about your intention to continue the hike,” he reported.

Dany blinked, “Of course. We were simply enjoying one of the more diverse views the Reach has to offer.”

“We’ll be down shortly.” Jon put in.

The officer nodded to them and headed back to their group, who were no doubt stopped at some unfortunate bend in the trail and wishing they hadn’t invited newlyweds on their excursion. The childish playfulness in their relationship was fresh and a nice reprieve from the solemness woven in their time together. It also resulted in camera rolls full of silly photos they managed to snag of each other.

They were in somewhat of a friendly competition to see who could collect the most candid photos of their trip around the country. A contest that was tied as of their landing in the Reach. In order to keep track of the standings, their text conversation was filled with pictures and comedic captions.

Dany learned that all of her cherishable moments happened when she and Jon were away from public view. The only precedent she had for a relationship like the one she found herself in was Rhaegar and Elia, a comparison she hesitated to make. The bond between those two blossomed under the public eye and, as far as Dany knew, didn’t require near the amount of building. The moment she and Jon were under pressure to perform, every action and statement was forced and watched and analyzed.

They heaved themselves up from the ground, making sure no bits of grass stuck and they didn’t look too guilty, and rejoined the awaiting group. They pretended not to hear Olenna’s snide remarks.

Late the next morning, the boys offered to take their guests on a horseback ride through the vineyards. 

“Actually, I have some last-minute wedding things to sort out.” Dany deflected, “But Jon would love to.”

She’d let it slip to Garlan the other night that Jon was quite the equestrian. 

The three eager boys hauled Jon off. Ecstatic that they finally had someone to antagonize.

Dany was not free from her own abduction. The women took her to a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a jade green color scheme, the same little room where they were known to exchange gossip. It was Olenna’s favorite hobby. This time, there were none of her fellow old ladies to sip tea and spill secrets with, just the Tyrell women and Dany.

“How are you enjoying married life, my dear,” Olenna asked.

“Oh, it’s … fun.”

“Always is in the first years.” Alerie reminisced.

Was it? Sure, traveling around the country and seeing sights she hadn’t in a while, was enjoyable but would it be the same with or without her new life partner? So far, the most memorable moments revolved around Jon. The cave and gala and sunset would’ve been enjoyable but forgettable in the end. Now, those specific scenes stuck out in her mind, vivid and sparkling, and she couldn’t seem to stop them from occupying center stage in her mind.

“Daenerys?”

Dany shook her head, breaking away from her reverie. 

“Are you going to answer that?”

She glanced to where Alerie pointed with a well-manicured finger at a buzzing phone.

“Oh,” Dany turned it over.

Missandei’s gorgeous contact photo, a snap from one of their last brunches together, smiled back. She’d almost forgotten her SOS text.

It occurred after Dany awoke to a different text from Jon. A photo of her, head lolled to the side as she slept on their flight captioned, “prettiest sleeper around”. As the smile spread across her face, her heart skipped a beat. And the mild panic set in.

Dany swiped across the screen to answer Missy’s call as she swept through the doors to the exquisite patio overlooking the gorgeous vineyards she turned down a tour of.

“It’s so good to see your face,” Dany gushed.

“Yours too,” Missy chuckled.

“How’s the new job?”

“Galazza’s amazing per usual. And thanks to you I’m already gaining a ton of positive attention.”

“I always knew you were going to be amazing.”

“How’s the tour? I assume that’s what your text was about.”

Dany groaned, “Yes. By principal, I should be hating every moment of this stupid trip but I’m having the time of my Gods damn life. Not to mention being utterly infatuated with the person I’m with it’s-”

“Wait, rewind! Did you just say ‘ utterly infatuated ’?”

Dany shook her head, “It’s not what you think, we’ve spent every damn moment together, that’s why. Luckily, there’s plenty of space on this leg. Margaery’s brothers have him occupied for now.”

She gazed over the tops of the trellises, eyes drawn to the sight of a group of riders returning. Jon and the Tyrells back from their escapade. She couldn’t take her gaze away from a certain someone, body relaxed into the saddle and the laid-back sway of his horse. The almost lazy way he held the reins in his hand. It was, dare she say it-

“Um, Earth to Dany?”

“Yeah?” she acknowledged, still only half-listening.

Jon caught her staring, shielding his eyes to look up at her. He waved and she returned the gesture.

“Hello?”

Missy finally broke through to Dany, “Oh shit, sorry.”

“Mm-hm, I know that behavior.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. I’m acting like a love-sick idiot.”

“You know, I hate to say it but I-”

“Don’t,” Dany warned.

“Told-”

“Missy, don’t say it.”

“I told you so.”

“I hate you.”

Missy cackled, obviously pleased with herself.

“I just- it’s too early. I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“Dany, look at your hands.”

With furrowed brows, she did as her friend commanded. Her wedding band, nestled snugly against the kite-shaped stone of her engagement ring winked at her.

“You’re already locked in. It’s not like he can run.”

“That’s exactly the problem. What if … I pursue this and the timing’s all wrong. Divorce isn’t an option.”

“Has Jon given you any reason to doubt that it could?”

“No. Quite the opposite actually.”

“Then what do you have to lose?”

Everything and nothing.

A rise in noise from the adjacent room reminded Dany of her hosts in the other room and ended her call to be with them, saddened to cut her conversation with her friend short. It wasn’t long before Dany grew tired of their talk of marriage and children, especially the latter part. So she retreated to her rooms, which also boasted a nice balcony to take in the fresh, summer-scented air. A binder laid open on the table in front of her with song choices from the repertoire of Baelor’s Blessed Singers, the official ensemble of the Great Sept. 

Most of them were in the Common Tongue but a few were in the dead language of High Valyrian, the mother tongue of her Targaryen ancestors. Although the Faith of the Seven existed before the Conquest, when the Targaryen’s adopted it, they commissioned hymns to be written in their native language. Some sort of symbolism, Dany figured.

Footsteps entering the balcony drew her attention away from the Valyrian text before her.

“How’s wedding planning this time around?” Jon’s voice asked teasingly.

“About as well as the last. I have to pick out seven songs and seven prayers for the ceremony.”

“That many?”

“It used to be seventy-seven.”

“I’ll count us lucky then.”

“How were the vineyards?”

“A lovely display of grapes and greenery.”

“I’m very sorry to have missed it. I had no idea how good of an equestrian you really are.”

Jon chuckled, “You’ve seen me ride before.”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t paying attention then.”

At least not in that way .

He sat down in the open chair next to her. Gazing over the next line of text with its accent marks and translations. 

“What does i-os- ruh-li-” he paused as he leaned closer to the page to examine the word that caught his eye.

Dany giggled at his stumbling mispronunciation, “ Iosrūlirion . It’s Valyrian for autumn. The whole line translates to ‘as the autumn mist hides the hills’.”

“And the whole poem?”

“As the rain hides the stars, as the autumn mist hides the hills, as the clouds hide the blue of the sky, so the dark happenings of my lot hide your shining face from me. Yet, if I may hold your hand in the darkness, it is enough, since I know that though I may stumble in my going you do not fall.”

The last word fell from her and hung in the air with birdsong. With hesitation, she shifted her eyes off the papers and to the waiting gaze of Jon’s. 

“A pretty piece.”

“Thank you. It’s one of my favorites,” she admitted, tearing her eyes away and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She blinked at the heat in her cheeks, pressing her hands to her face at the strange sensation. She hadn’t felt it in while. The giggling, the blushing, all things she’d experienced before on several occasions. All of them preludes to romance.

“How do you know Valyrian?”

“Targaryen family requirement. Every one of us knows how to speak it, read it, write it. A completely useless skill, unless we’re in Essos, then we just sound like pretentious assholes.”

Jon chuckled, “It does sound ridiculous.”

Dany shoved his shoulder, “And who assigned you higher authority on poetic language?”

“It’s a self-appointed position.”

“Then you won’t mind showing me your qualifications.”

“My qualifications?”

Dany hummed as he leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat.

“I carry it in my heart, anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling. For you are my fate, my sweet, for beautiful you are my world, my true. Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide. I carry it in my heart.”

Jon spoke more like an actor performing a monologue than someone pulling words from their memory. Intent in every line.

“I carry your heart with me. I am never without it. I fear no fate, I want no world and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that.” Dany breathed, “Who was she?”

There was only one reason someone memorized a poem like that and the slight smile on his face said it all.

“Her name was Ygritte, her dad was a diplomat at court so we went to the same school. It was the first time I ever had a crush like that and I was desperate to impress her. So I learned the piece, recited it to her and by the end of it she just laughed at me. Told me I knew nothing about women if I thought that cheesy performance would get me anywhere.”

“She didn’t,” Dany gasped, thoroughly surprised.

“She did. If you met Ygritte you’d understand.”

“Then what happened?”

“She’d never admit it but it definitely worked. We were thicker than thieves after that. And eventually, we became more.”

“You never mentioned her before.”

“There wasn’t anything to mention. It was … short-lived. We knew it wasn’t meant to last. A classic case of teenagers fooling around. I went to the wall and she stayed in Winter Town. Don’t tell me you never did something stupid to impress someone you’re interested in.”

“Never,” Dany affirmed, “It’s usually the other way around.” 

Dany didn’t like the way their eyes lingered on each other. More specifically the way it affected her heartbeat.

Looking for a way out, she turned over her phone and gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. I promised Marg I would help her … choose an outfit for dinner tonight. And I said I would meet with her ten minutes ago so I’m late.”

A lie. Shoddy and thrown together but she needed to get out, away from Jon and the unwanted thoughts surrounding him.

Reprieve from such things was unachievable. The Reach screamed romance. Every garden saturated in the sickly sweet hallmarks of the idea. There were statues of lovers placed around every corner, rose bushes lining the pathways. In her blind wandering, Dany passed fountains and gazebos and tile mosaics laid in the ground.

Around every bend she found herself contemplating the words of her friend and the newfound curiosity surrounding the seriousness of her girlish feelings. In truth, Dany wasn’t sure she could trust herself on this issue. They had spent so much time together, it was only natural she felt strongly about Jon. 

But what if she was confusing mere friendly feelings for something more. The last time she showed all the symptoms for a textbook case of a crush, it ended in a messy engagement and family intervention. Not to mention most of their romantic interactions occurred in the form of performance. The line between reality and fairytale was more of a gradient. Dany, you’re being ridiculous , she reprimanded. There were the fuzzy feelings the night before their first wedding. And when she got drunk and failed at seducing her husband of a few hours, that had to come from somewhere.

She wandered until she couldn’t anymore. The sun reminded her that there was an official dinner she needed to attend. Dany sat through the proceedings in her printed wrap dress, distracted and feigning interest when she could muster the concentration to do so. When the last course was whisked away and the party dissolved into the social part of the evening, Dany was hounded by Margaery’s cousins, all of them eager to look at the ring and ask the same questions she’d been answering for weeks.

Marg had taken a page from Dany’s book and disappeared, leaving Dany to bite the bullet. As she offered up another half-hearted answer and tuned out the sighs of idealism, Dany searched for Jon. He met her gaze, not too far away, and she gave him a pleading look.

Like a true knight in shining armor, he swept in, nudging gently into their group and graciously humoring the girls before spouting some lame excuse to save Dany. 

They left the social scene for the nearby garden, unfortunately decorated with naked figures and plenty of alcoves.

“Thank you,” Dany said lamely, not wanting to provoke a full-blown conversation between them.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What makes you ask?”

“You’ve been cagey all day. Pawning me off on the Tyrell boys, running off on wedding planning. By the way, if you’re going to lie about where you are, make sure the other party is in on the plan.”

Dany looked at him with a furrowed brow, “You were looking for me?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Dany nodded and they continued their walk in silence. The path opened up into a little plaza, a bubbling fountain at the center of it. The moving water sparkled under the dim glow of the outdoor string lights overhead.

“Do you think we’ve been spending too much time together?” she pondered as they came to the other side of the fountain, “I mean, putting on this performance so no one gets suspicious. It has my brain spinning a hundred miles a minute and I’m not sure when it stops and starts.”

“I know how you feel,” Jon echoed.

“And sometimes I find myself wondering what would happen if we just kissed, not to prove anything to anyone else but us.”

Her statement came out more rushed than she meant it, sounding childish in delivery.

“We’ve found a really great friendship here, and I don’t want to threaten it, but…”

“You still wonder.”

Dany nodded to keep another rambling sentence from leaving her. She was having a hard time being concise. 

“Are we performing now?”

His thumb brushed in a reassuring arc on the back of her hand. She’d almost forgotten they were holding hands, the sensation of being entwined so familiar to her now. Her heart fluttered and beat against its bone cage.

“I- I don’t know.”

Jon glanced at their hands, then back to Dany, dark eyes questioning. There was no one around, she didn’t have to feel that way. And yet, she wanted to fall into his gaze forever, to never move from that spot in the garden with its soft golden light and twinkling waters over the sound of a distant dinner party.

Jon’s free hand ghosted over her bare arm, disturbing the fluttery short sleeve of her dress and resting against her cheek with a tenderness that scared her. The soft burbling of the architectural fountain faded with the feel of his thumb brushing across her cheekbone, there was only them floating in that enchanting space.

“Dany.”

“Jon.”

Their voices were no louder than whispers, hushed with intensity and the understanding that it was for no one else but them. Her lips parted without command as the space between them dwindled to mere atoms. Her heart waited in her throat for the indication to either swell or shatter.

Ultimately it was both. Somewhere past the cautious, reserved nature of their previous embraces but only reaching the edge of a deep sea of nuance. The complexities were obscured by the busy waters, however, the intent and want were clear.

She tore her entwined hand away to thread her fingers into his mess of curls, Jon’s now free arm finding the small of her back and pulling her closer. And there it was, as their lips parted for a moment, only to meet again with greater urgency than before, that certain spark reverberating through her whole body. It screamed in relief and righteousness.

This was right; the right path, the right time, the right person.

Chapter Text

Dorne suits her , Jon thought. All the places they’d visited in the past week or two were breathtaking and complemented Dany’s beauty in unique ways but Dorne was another story. The sun and sand and brilliant sky captured her in a manner the saturated greenery and golden sunsets couldn’t. Brutal contrasts highlighting her softer edge.

They had a quick stint in Sunspear that included a horseback ride along the beach. It was going well, the two of them enjoying the fresh air and salted waves until a horde of paparazzi descended upon them with flashing bulbs. Luckily the security team jumped into action and got the royal couple away. They figured it would happen, anticipated it, but it didn’t make the intrusion any less annoying. It left both of them agitated, a feeling that carried over to the next day.

From Sunspear they headed to another location, spending the entire car ride looking out windows they weren’t allowed to roll down. Disappointment more than agitation filling the shared air. It was as if they’d forgotten how exposed they were; as if they weren’t the most-watched people on the planet. Jon certainly had.

Dany put it best. When did the acting start and stop? Were they just performers so entrenched in their roles that real life and fantasy blended?

Jon shook his head, chuckling to himself. There was no pretending anymore. He knew it from the way the feel of her hand in his was overwhelming and depriving. He wanted to share every little thing with her, minor moments and big events.

A structure in pure white stone interrupted their smooth landscape, rising up from the red sands like a beacon. If not for the spires and domes, it would be easy to mistake it for another of the sporadic spots of green the interior of Dorne offered.

The real Water Gardens, not the sized down replica housed in the Red Palace. The very sight of their first meeting and subsequent argument. The soft, hazy moonlight replaced with a blazing sun and their moods significantly changed from the stand-offish chill to fuzzy and cordial. And wearing swim gear instead of formal dress.

Waiting for them at the entrance of the little palace was the skeleton staff and Her Majesty, Elia, flanked by her children. They fidgeted excitedly when Dany stepped out, finally wiggling out of their mother’s grasp to run at their aunt. She caught Aegon and swung him around, she went to set him down but he clung to her.

“You’re getting too big for this, zaldrīze .”

He giggled, “You just called me dragon. I learned that word last week.”

“You did!” Dany playfully gasped, “I’m so proud of you!”

“I’m learning Valyrian too! I’m much better at it than Aegon.”

“Are not!” Aegon pouted.

“Am too!”

“I’m sure you’re both wonderful speakers,” Dany cut in, although Jon could tell by her smile she was enjoying their sibling spat far too much.

They reminded him of Arya and Sansa when they were the same age. Always bickering about trivial things until someone broke them up. Thankfully, they were beyond that stage now.

“Rhae, Aegon, you remember Jon right?”

Jon hovered sheepishly beside Dany. The children were still wary of him, though Rhaenys nodded in response to her question.

“Shall we give our new guest a tour,” Elia suggested.

They were more excited about that prospect and Dany released Aegon to walk with his sister. With her hands free, she immediately took up Jon’s. They wandered through the halls, decorated in colorful tile and intricate designs. Light filtered through the arched windows and doorways, fresh air surrounding them at every turn. In her flowing kaftan of sheer ivory, Dany fit seamlessly into the halls, as though she were a ghost who’d always been there. 

“And, now, for the reason we’re all here,” Rhaenys’ little voice broke through.

They stepped into the main courtyard. It was much larger than the replica, the pools deeper and the fixtures taller. There was no shortage of statues and trees basking under the hot Dornish sun. Spots of shade dotting out the intricate tile work of scrolls and sunbursts.

“Last one in is a rotten egg,” Aegon challenged his sister.

They took off in a burst of childish giggles and Elia called after them to be careful, following as a concerned mother would.

Dany turned her face to the sun and sighed. It was clear she was meant for the sun and warmth, days spent lounging around and taking in what summer had to offer. What would it be like when winter came and she was trapped inside by snow and wind and ice, with no sun? She wasn’t made for such things, it would be hard on her.

“What’s on your mind?” she questioned, fingers brushing over his wrinkled brow.

She’d taken to doing that whenever she noticed he was pulling the face.

“It’s so hot here,” he noted.

Just as Dany wasn’t built for the cold, he wasn’t made for the heat. He was in a constant state of sweat since they landed in the southernmost kingdom.

“Then maybe we should take one out of the kids’ book.”

She undid her cover, revealing the bold red suit underneath. The bottoms sat high on her waist, curving over her hips and allowing the bone to peek out when it cared. The top was square-necked and a line of black peeked out from under the band. Of course she had a tattoo. 

“Auntie Dee, jump in!” 

She laughed and ran, diving headfirst into the water. When she resurfaced and smoothed her hair from her face Jon had no choice but to recall that fateful night. The way her slip clung to her form, hair plastered to her neck.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” she called back.

Jon grinned at her, he took his simple tee off and jumped in, tucking his legs up. He’d had plenty of practice from the Stark family trips to Long Lake. He came up right in front of Daenerys.

“Show off,” she muttered as Rhaenys and Aegon giggled about the size of the splash.

Later, Dany and Rhae abandoned the pool for the chaises and Aegon worked up the courage to talk to Jon without his aunt as a buffer. 

“Do you really have wolves in the North?” Aegon questioned with only slight interest.

“Yes, and bears.”

“I’ve never seen any of those.”

Jon’s brows furrowed, “Have you ever been to a zoo?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t count.”

“How so?”

“Any animal in a zoo isn’t a true animal. It’s behind all that glass and stuff. So it only counts as seeing a real animal if it’s in the wild. You get me?”

“Sure.”

They floated past where the ladies were sprawled out, soaking up the sun. Their babbles became clearer and revealed they were conversing in Valyrian. The elongated vowels foreign on Jon’s ears. Dany glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching his before leaning into her niece’s ear conspiratorially. 

Jon looked at the boy next to him, “Can you understand what they’re saying?”

“I don’t speak it that good.”

Jon sighed, he would have to ask Dany later. 

“Will you throw me again?”

“Of course,” Jon answered, grabbing Aegon under the armpits.

“I’m really glad my auntie married you,” Aegon stated before Jon launched him.

“Me too, kid.”

The sound of Aegon’s giggling as he resurfaced brought a smile to Jon.

“Speaking of, how is married life treating you?”

Elia, who floated by herself since Jon and Dany had taken up her children’s attention, sidled up next to him. She rested an arm on the edge of the pool, eyes scanning him as she awaited the answer.

“Better than I thought it would,” he admitted, though he was getting tired of answering that question.

“I thought it might,” Elia said with a knowing look, “So how soon can I expect my own collection of nieces and nephews?”

At Jon’s hesitation, she continued, “It’s no rush, of course, I understand. Better than most, actually. From my understanding of events, they’re not far off.”

Laughing, followed by Dany exclaiming something in Valyrian, distracted them from exploring that topic further. Thankfully.

“I hate when they do that,” Elia complained.

“You don’t speak it?”

“No, and thank the Gods I never had to learn.”

Dany settled onto the tile between her sister-in-law and Jon, slipping her legs into the water.

“What are you harassing him about now?” she asked, playfully splashing water at Elia.

“Someone has to complain about the lack of grandkids,” Elia sighed with a light splash at Dany’s legs, “Is there any way you could get to work on that?”

Dany rolled her eyes, leaning back on her hands and letting her head roll to the side. “I’ll look into it.”

“The biological clock is real so you’d better-”

“Mommy, look what I found!” Aegon’s excited cheers came from somewhere in the foliage. 

“What?” Elia called back.

“This!”

Aegon had something bright colored and squirming held proudly above his head.

“No, put that down!” Elia climbed out of the water to chase after her son who took off in the other direction.

When Jon looked back at Dany, she shook her head. 

“He’s in a frog phase right now. Hasn’t quite figured out you’re not supposed to touch the bright colored ones.”

Jon hummed, “What were you and Rhaenys talking about?”

She smirked, violet eyes sparking, “She’s curious about you so I was filling her in. Aegon has really taken to you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” she glanced around their meticulously decorated surroundings, “It’s so strange being here. All I can think about is that night.”

“And how different everything was.”

She nodded, “But a good different. And I much prefer this one.”

“Me too. It’s brighter.”

Jon shifted in the water, bringing himself to hover in front of Dany’s knees. The corner of her mouth quirked as she sat up. Jon almost felt bad for the plan formulated in his brain.

“Not nearly as humid,” she added, leaning closer.

“I think the best part is this.”

With deft hands, he pulled her from the edge of the pool and into the clear waters.

“Jon, I was dry!” she complained when she resurfaced, shoving hair out of her face.

Streams of water glittered along her skin and his eyes lingered on the places he hadn’t shown interest in before. The sound of Dany clearing her throat reminded him that staring was rude.

“What?” he asked in an innocent tone.

She splashed him for that one, the cool water falling over his face. 

“I deserved that.”

“You think?”

“Can you blame me? I wanted you in here,” he slipped an arm around her, resting at the small of her back.

The half-smile returned to her face, “You’re not nearly as smooth as you think you are.”

“I have to disagree.”

He leaned down to kiss her when a little voice stopped him.

“Jon and Dany sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” the voice sing-songed.

Dany pulled back and gasped, “Rhae.”

Girlish giggles were interrupted by a shriek as Dany and Jon climbed out of the water in pursuit.

The decision to stay overnight at the Water Gardens was an easy one. The whole party was exhausted from the activity and heat but only retired to their rooms once the sun was gone from the sky. Despite being dreadfully tired, Jon couldn’t sleep.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Dany asking if he was still up. His response was a quick yes and a moment later there was a soft knock on his door.

“Is something wrong?” he asked when Dany pushed it open.

“No, I want to show you something. Come on,” her hushed voice insisted.

And so they went, down the now dark halls with Jon following Dany’s pale silhouette. Her nightgown was a pale grey that left her back and shoulders exposed, hemline falling to just below her knee. She was leading him back to the courtyard, he realized.

It looked slightly different in the dark, the statues and their long shadows keeping watch. A few lamps lit the space, providing just enough light. Dany pressed a button on her phone and a slow song trickled from the device.

“And your reason for dragging me out here was…”

“I was hoping to enjoy this place without Elia and the kids. Unfortunately, this was the only time.”

She took his hand and stepped closer. Jon’s other found the small of her back as though it was second nature. They let the quiet tune dictate their sway.

“What does your tattoo say?”

“Dracarys. It’s Valyrian for dragon fire.”

“Fitting.”

“Isn’t it? What about you, any tattoos I should know about?”

“Nope. I’ve never felt the urge to get one.”

“Hm, maybe you should. My name in a heart sounds like an awfully wonderful idea.”

“You got the awful part right,” he chuckled.

“Just a suggestion.” Dany rested her head against his chest.

A content sigh left her and Jon leaned his head against hers.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier.” she pressed.

“I told you, it was just the heat.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Jon relented, “I’m still thinking about those photographers from the beach.”

“Don’t let them bother you.”

“I’m not trying to. It’s been so peaceful and quiet that I almost forgot who we were. The way they appeared out of nowhere was a rude awakening. And a reminder.”

“Of what?”

“The fact that we’ll never be normal. There will always be people with cameras and microphones and opinions.”

“Our wedding is the event of the decade, probably the century. Things will die down when we return North.”

He hummed in agreement but his brows creased. A part of him knew it was wishful thinking; things wouldn’t settle down and a whole new set of pressures would form. He just needed to make it through the next week. The thought he’d entertained all day came back to him. 

“Dorne suits you.”

“Huh?”

“The sun, the warmth. All of it. You belong in a place like this. Not the North.”

“And why not?”

“It’s cold and snowy, not to mention overcast. And it’s especially worse in winter.”

“Let me make one thing clear,” she said with a stern voice, settling her eyes on him, “I belong wherever I want to, whether that be north, south, east, or west.”

He looked at her, the determination in her eyes something he wanted to see more of.

“Where do you belong now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” her expressive brows knitted.

He shook his head.

“I belong by your side. Wherever you are, I’m meant to be.”

She took her hand away from him to rest her arms on his shoulders, forehead pressed against his. His hands slid from the small of Dany’s back to just under her shoulder blades, the smooth material of her nightdress slipping past. The soft song broke into an instrumental solo as they continued to sway. 

Jon pressed a quick kiss to Dany’s nose, then her lips. She laughed a little when he pulled away. 

“What is it?” he pondered.

“Two months ago, I was determined to scare you off. Now, I don’t want to let you go.”

“My stubbornness did us some good.”

“Mine certainly didn’t help.” 

They returned to their swaying, enjoying the night sounds of the little palace around them. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“What?”

“It’s a good thing you were so mean that night or else I would’ve made a fool of myself.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I felt the same?”

In truth, he wouldn’t have but she said it with enough confidence to convince him. How changed things would be if they had met under different circumstances.

Chapter Text

Related to the Targaryens by an off-branch from way back on the tree, the Baratheons made a huge deal whenever one came to stay at Storm’s End. There was always a full itinerary and enough alcohol to keep everyone’s spirits high but at least it was private. Usually, such events ended in a weeklong hunt through the heavy forests of the Stormlands, chasing boars and stags as though there was nothing better in the world.

Thankfully, the short time frame of the newlyweds’ visit didn’t allow for one. Not one to let his court be disappointed, Robert arranged a day of hawking to allow the royal guests some rest.

Any hope of sleeping in, as Dany planned to do, was crushed with the persistent buzzing of her phone. With a groan, she flipped it over to see the wall of notifications from Rhaegar, Elia, Sansa… even the twins. Screenshots of headlines and links to articles with no context but Dany still felt the urgency.

The words massive sham, chilly marriage bed, and even espionage dug their malicious claws into her stomach and twisted. No matter how bloodthirsty the words, their intent was clear— they figured it out. Blood already boiling, she pressed one of the underlined links to scan it.

A source close to the princess claims she left her Braavosi apartment suddenly after the fateful tabloid photo. It was radio silence until two days later when our source received a call, during which the princess admitted to being forced into an engagement she had no wish for. More sources have detailed the icy relations between the supposed lovebirds; one even revealed that the princess was seen speaking intimately with a man who was not her husband— on their wedding night, no less.

She sat straight up as the words flooded her groggy brain. Enraged, she threw back the duvet and marched into the sitting room.

Unsurprisingly, she found Jon already seated on the tacky brocade sofa, staring pensively out the picture windows. He looked lonely, sitting there in the spacious room with his mind elsewhere. She wondered what it must be like to wake up next to him, to see the diffused light playing on his handsome features first thing in the morning, their limbs tangled and breathing soft and slow.

The tension in her shoulders dissolved and for a second, she forgot what angered her— mind blanking and breath catching. With just one look the rest of the world fell away and it was just them, no troubles or worries to be found. When was the last time that happened?

Her thumb brushed the place where her wedding ring usually sat, reminding her that the man was, in fact, hers. And no amount of vicious rumors would change that.

He glanced at Dany, the corner of his mouth tugging upward at the sight of her unbrushed hair and sleep-wrinkled clothes. Then he turned back to the view beyond the glass, “Have you seen them?”

“Worse. I read one.”

Jon stretched his arm across the back of the sofa in invitation and Dany gladly filled the space, tucking herself in his security.

“What did it say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured into his shoulder, “It’s all bullshit.”

They sat in silence, Jon’s thumb brushing absently over the bare skin of her arm— soothing and pricking all at once.

Their room had a view of the courtyard and the gates beyond. Cars lined the side of the little road leading from the palace to the city. And from those cars came photographers with varying lenses and cameras and microphones. 

Jon noticed her fixation, “Is there any way to get rid of them?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Dany frowned, leaning her head against his shoulder, “Can you believe it? We finally get a day to ourselves and this happens?”

“Just more damage control,” he sighed.

“I know,” she returned, “Gods, what was your life like before me?”

“Quiet and uneventful,” he chuckled. “Normal, I guess.”

Normal . Slipping in and out of places undetected, no cameras waiting around corners. Normal people didn’t have their every move analyzed by body language experts, or have random people dedicate entire blogs to their daily lives. Their lives were wholly unremarkable, passing under the radar of media interest.

Dany perked up. “Tell you what, I’ll make a few calls and then you and I are going on a date.”

“A date?”

“You know, like normal people do. We may have skipped a few steps but that doesn’t mean we should ignore them completely.”

Her sudden change of demeanor amused him; she saw it in the subtle shift of his face.

“A date?” he asked again, sounding more convinced.

“We have a few drinks, we dance a little, and at least pretend our personal business wasn’t plastered across every newsstand in the country.” She snuggled a little closer.

“Does that usually work for you?”

“It did in University.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at her and she playfully swatted him. He laughed, his usual non-committal sound.

“Shut up. Are you in or not?”

“Aye. I’ll go.”

Dany beamed and kissed him on the cheek.

Spirits renewed, she bounded off to make her calls. The major tabloids of Westeros— the Flea Bottom Tattler, The Dragon’s Herald, and even The King’s Landing Sun — all wanted the young couple’s version of events before the dust could settle on that morning’s excitement.

Together, she and Jon crafted a hasty, rough version of the official statement the publicist sent out. Vague and crafty, it dodged any of the hard accusations and avoided any added drama with a simple dismissal of the so-called ‘source’.

Then, she tracked down the savviest of the Baratheon brothers to figure out a classy establishment that wasn’t too stuffy but had a reputation for top-notch exclusivity. 

Renly knew just the spot, of course: Tango for Two , an up-and-coming nightlife destination doubling as a pop-up, which made it young, fresh, and impossible to get into. Reservations required twenty-four hours notice, but Renly knew the owner and figured he could get them in.

So, Dany and Jon hit the charming town of Storm’s End for their outing. Their presence in the sleepier community drew crowds. Aside from the usual paparazzi and gossip writers, the streets hosted avid fans of the social elite and casual bystanders drawn by curiosity.

Their security detail hung back but weren’t completely out of sight and Dany concealed her hair under a scarf— an old trick from the family playbook.

They walked along, arms around each other, an intimacy they rarely displayed.

According to royal protocol, absolutely no PDA was to be shown between royal couples. The Targaryens made the rule and stuck to it with fierce loyalty. But the loophole of private outings was one Dany exploited the hell out of.

Being ‘off-duty’, the two opted for casual clothes— well, more casual than usual. The skirt of Dany’s simple black dress was well above the knee and the halter neckline plunged below acceptable. Jon’s fitted white tee was standard for him, but he wore jeans— something Dany never expected to see him in. And she had to admit, she never saw anyone else wear denim so well.

Tango for Two was impressive and impossible for a place that changed location every night. Existing for the night between a laundromat and tattoo parlor, it had a full bar, dance floor, pink and purple mood lighting, and the obligatory photo ops manned by someone with a polaroid camera, as all phones were confiscated at the door.

Dany tied her scarf around her neck as she and Jon surveyed the club. The patrons fit seamlessly into the laid-back atmosphere, their chatter a content murmur over the low music. Renly, experienced in sneaking around the nightlife, conveniently left their names out of his conversation with the proprietor, leaving the young couple free to do as they pleased.

“Remember the last time we were in a bar?” Jon said, just loud enough for Dany to hear. 

“Oh, Gods,” she scoffed as they approached the bar and claimed a couple of stools, “I promise to be much nicer this time.”

“Do you plan on drinking me under the table too?”

Dany shook her head and held her hands up in casual surrender. “I’ve changed my ways. No more drunken mishaps. Only tipsy ones.”

The menu— displayed on a blackboard and cluttered with calligraphy and chalk art— was an uninspired one. Cocktails with puns for names and complicated jumbles of words for the wines. The club was exclusive, but it missed the mark on classy.

“I don’t think they have Northern Ale here, so what’s the next best thing?”

“You’re asking the wrong girl.”

“Not a beer person?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t know a stout from a lager if they introduced themselves by name.”

The bartender swept by and they ordered whatever was highly recommended.

He chuckled, “That’ll have to change.”

“Why?”

“No one lives in the North and doesn’t drink Ale. Even Sansa does.”

“Sansa can keep her ale , I’ll stick to my wine and fine liquors.”

“Try it.”

“What? No.”

As though hearing the turn in their conversations, the bartender reappeared with their drinks. Dany’s was served in a coupe and contained what looked like champagne, and Jon’s ale was in a tall glass.

He sipped it and Dany watched to gauge his reaction. He was neither impressed nor disgusted as his tongue darted out to wipe the resisting foam off his upper lip. Whether it was intentional or not, Dany flushed and thanked the Gods for the low lighting to disguise it.

She took a long swig of her cocktail without a second thought, needing something to do besides stare.

“Not bad. Here,” Jon reported, offering his glass to her.

Dany made a noise of uncertainty. “You’re not supposed to mix alcohols.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Come on, Dany.”

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” she teased, accepting the glass.

“Then we’ll be even.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and summoned her courage to take a sip. It tasted exactly as she expected, and she screwed up her face as the amber liquid slid down her throat.

Jon laughed at her, a true chesty sound that had her giggling along.

“Shut up. That tasted like piss.”

“There’s an orange note in there,” he defended.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Orange-flavored piss.” She sipped her bubbly cocktail to chase the acrid taste from her mouth.

“We’ll work on it,” he promised.

“Try all you want, there’s no way you’re converting me.”

Not being a traditional club, the DJ opted for tracks with less thumping bass and more atmosphere— tracks that were, for the most part, undanceable. So, they were stuck at the bar for the time being.

Their conversation blended with the shapeless murmurs of the room, unintelligible and unremarkable. The longer they talked, though, the more people glanced over. Some patrons abandoned subtlety and outright stared, and the once deserted bar grew curiously crowded. The young royals tried to pay them no mind but even the bartender overstayed his welcome.

Finally, once Dany and Jon were sufficiently lightheaded, a steady beat and electric guitar trickled from the speakers. The two took to the sparsely populated dance floor like it was a breath of fresh air, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Jon’s hand rested at the small of her back, fingers lazily tracing patterns through the thin fabric. Sometimes he chanced to glide his thumb over her bare shoulder blades, lightly brushing her hair out of the way, or dance his fingertips through the light gathers of her skirt. And when he did, Dany felt it echo through her.

She was sure he felt her hammering heart with how close they were. Looking up at him, his profile enchanting in the oversaturated violet light, she saw the hallmarks of a future that wasn’t theirs: moving boxes, house keys, cooking dinner together, and nights staying in after declining invitations out; an endless list of mundane things that belonged to other people, something she might have had with someone else.

Perhaps it would be easier if they were miserable, avoiding each other like the pox and only exchanging a few words here and there. Then she wouldn’t be tempted by something so trivial. But the thought of being without Jon broke her heart. Did the tabloids know that?

That she fell for a man who exceeded her expectations at every turn? Someone who took one look at her rough edges and understood? Someone who made her crave the softness and vulnerability she was denied?

Jon looked down at her, smiling as though he heard her thoughts. She tilted her chin up, inching closer and glancing at his pretty lips when a white flash broke them apart.

Dany stared at the outline of a person and their instant camera with wide eyes.

“Oh, sorry! You guys just looked so— seven hells, you’re them! You’re—”

“Time to go?” Jon asked, humor in his eyes and voice.

“Yep,” Dany agreed and snatched the printed photo from the employee.

With Jon’s hand wrapped protectively around hers, they sprinted for the exit, attracting the attention of the other guests— who now had their wild suspicions confirmed. The small space filled with cell phone flashes as the security team closed ranks around them. Sheltered, they slipped out the entrance.

“Are you alright, Your Royal Highness?” one of them asked Jon.

“Yes,” he answered, “Yes, we’re alright. Probably scared the poor people in that club.”

“What should we do about the employee?” he questioned.

“It was an honest mistake,” Dany assured them, “They’re harmless. Though, I think we should head back now.”
The officers confirmed with each other and made the appropriate signals before guiding the young royals away. They rounded the corner of the building, the street empty save for a few loitering people and their idling car. Dany undid the scarf around her neck, the smooth fabric irritatingly warm in the humidity, and tied it loosely around her head.

The behavior of the club patrons was an indication of how their night was meant to go, a reminder of who they were. As soon as they stepped into the street, the peaceful night erupted in flashing bulbs and shouts. Their team jumped into action and formed an ineffective wall around the royals.

Jon threw his arm around Dany’s shoulders, pulling her under its limited protection. She threw her own up to block the cameras from any lucrative shots, but it didn’t stop their shouts from growing scarily close despite the efforts of their team. All the jostling caused her silk scarf to slip, the reveal of her signature Valyrian hair setting the paparazzi into even more of a frenzy. She tucked her head closer to Jon.

Thunder rumbled overhead from invisible clouds; their presence turned the sky into an endless void threatening rain.

The driver had the door open, standing guard beside it as Dany, ungracefully, threw herself inside. When the door slammed behind Jon, an awkward shifting ensued but the clamor outside sounded miles away.

“Are you okay?” Jon asked, his hands on her shoulders, cradling her face as he searched it.

“I’m fine.”

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

She placed her hand over his, “No, they didn’t even get close.”

She rested her forehead against his, “And you? Are you okay?”

“Aye. I’ll be fine,” he assured her, then scoffed, “So much for normal .”

Dany couldn’t help it, she laughed and after a moment, Jon’s furrowed brow relaxed and he joined her. In a swift, surprising move, Jon pressed his lips to hers, insistent and soft. Dany melted.

“That was crazy,” he whispered when he pulled back.
“I know,” she said and kissed him again.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Someone at the club tipped them off, most likely. But at least I got this.” Dany held up the little instant photo.

The underexposed lighting managed to capture the intimate tenderness in hazy detail, a moment of fleeting freedom frozen forever: Dany, in her short skirt and bare back, pressed against his classic, casual form, gazing at each other like two kids who just discovered that marvelous thing called love.

“Oh, that is a winner.” Jon plucked the photo from Dany’s hand to examine it closer.

“We’ll have to send them a thank you note.”

The halls of Storm’s End castle were silent when they returned. Their voices carried as they tried to stay quiet, but their giggles, stumbles, and whispers echoed endlessly, no doubt disturbing the sleeping court members.

         “I get a little lonely—” she sang as they entered their room, voice breathy and off-key.

         It was the song from the club—what she remembered anyway—and they certainly weren’t the right notes. Someone drew the heavy drapes over the picture windows while they were out, casting the room in near darkness except for the singular lamp in the sitting room.

         “Get a little more close to me—” she spun under Jon’s arm, inelegantly bumping into his chest.

         He didn’t complain, only snaked an arm around her waist and held her there.

         “You’re the only one who knows me, babe—”

         The way Jon’s eyes gazed into hers, near black in the dimness of the room, fogged her already hazy mind and she dropped her heels, the clattering muffled on the carpeted floor.

         “So hot you’re hurting my feelings…can’t…”

         Jon didn’t just kiss her then; he claimed her mouth and she inhaled sharply as he enfolded her even closer.

         She wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of the day, or the heat that persisted in spite of the storm, but everything was different. Dany wanted his kisses on places other than her lips, wanted his hands to slip under her skirt and touch her in ways he hadn’t yet dared. She felt the air crackling with it— the anticipation, the craving— and knew all it would take was one spark for everything to catch flame.

         His lips moved from hers to the spot below her ear, the crook of her neck, the winged tip of her collarbone. Heat rose beneath her skin, searing blood rushing to answer his attention.

         Just like earlier, he brushed her hair away from her bare back, but this time he toyed with the bow of her halter top.

         “May I?” he whispered into her ear, breath sultry as the air outside.

         And there it was, the spark. The very thought sent a rush between Dany’s thighs, her knees comically weak as she mumbled her answer.

         A shaky breath left her when the bow came undone, Jon’s lingering fingers setting her skin on fire. Dany nipped at his lower lip as he guided the fabric away. His fingers brushed along the soft skin underneath her breasts, unhurried thumbs grazing over her peaked nipples, and Dany eased into his touch.

         Blindly, her hands glided along the waistband of his jeans, untucking his tee and slipping underneath. The defined lines of his abs passed under her palms. He was so warm, practically burning to the touch, and she still wanted to melt into him.

         Jon pulled his shirt off, allowing Dany free range, though she was much more interested in threading her fingers through the black curls at his neck. His index finger traced the depression of her spine, a chill rippling in its wake.

         His kiss swallowed her shuddering sigh, each move of the tongue deliberate and assuring. She gripped his arm to steady herself but got distracted by the muscle rippling under her touch. The sensation of Jon palming her ass brought her back, his fingertips playing with the hem of her skirt and sliding under, tracing the line of her panties.

         Jon abandoned them for the delicate zipper holding the dress together but when he tried to pull it down, it stuck.

         “That was a lot easier in my head,” he chuckled.

         “Here,” Dany giggled, reaching behind her to deal with it.

         Jon pulled her against him, delving his hand into her hair and kissing her soundly again. Dany swept her hands across his back, searching lower until she found the round of his lovely ass. She didn’t like the denim barrier between them, rough and uneven with seams, but gave an experimental squeeze anyway. His groan fueled the fire at her core.

         Her impatient hands fumbled with his belt, but his own appeared to brush hers away. She didn’t know Jon’s thoughts on the matter but knew having sex on the antique Myrish carpet wasn’t an option. So while Jon rid himself of his pants, she backed toward the nearest bedroom. She posed in the doorway, with her hands up on the doorframe.

         There was no stopping her stunned expression when she saw Jon.

         She really had no right to be surprised; her husband was undeniably handsome and, to use a less eloquent word, downright hot. But admiring a man with most of his clothes on and seeing him completely naked for the first time were two entirely different things.

         Highlighted by the dim light he stood like a hero’s statue— the kind studied in art history and that lined museum exhibits. Smooth skin, cool in the late light of the room, tempted her to warm it; to follow every line and vein to its source. She let her eyes linger on his erection, proud and indicative; the very thought of having it made her whine.

         She met his gaze, feelings deeper than carnal convenience easily recognizable. But he made no move toward her. A thousand thoughts coursed through Dany’s mind, but she forced them away, refusing to entertain uncertainty.

         “Is everything alright?” she asked, masking her insecurity with sincerity.

         He came closer and stole her breath with his dark eyes. Dany had stared into the eyes of many lovers, all of them dark and lustful and craving, but none possessed the same profound adoration, amazement, and softness in his.

         “Am I not allowed to admire my beautiful wife?” came his cheeky reply as he cradled her face in his hands.

         She softened. “You can do whatever you like, my dear husband.”

         Husband. Every time she saw the word, thought it even, it was foreign— distant and unreal. But now, it was the best word in her vocabulary.

Jon had a shy— if a bit self-satisfied— grin on his face that she wanted to kiss off. And his eyes were just as hungry and dazed as hers. He didn’t make her wait, advancing with smooth prowess and striking an embarrassingly desperate urge through her.

         “Oh, I plan to.”

         He made the promise to her buzzing lips and caught them in a searing kiss, backing her farther into the bedroom. They tumbled onto the gaudy, metallic duvet and over each other until his weight rested on top. And Dany blushed like a wide-eyed maiden. Then she laughed.

         “What?” Jon questioned, eyes flickering to her face before kissing her sternum, hands caressing her sides.

         She sighed into his touch, “This reminds me of that song. Gods, how did it go?” Letting herself relax a little more, the melody came back. “Like a maiden, whew.”

         A peek at Jon’s shoulders revealed his silent laughter, encouraging her as his forehead came to rest on her chest, curls tickling her skin.

         “Touched for the very first time,” she continued, her nasal impersonation of a retro popstar broken up by buoyant giggles.

         “I can’t believe you,” he mumbled, trying to sound disgruntled but failing miserably.

         “I thought it was pretty good,” Dany admitted, proud of herself.

         “It was.”

         “Best you’ve ever heard?”

         He hummed in agreement but clearly wasn’t too put off by her terrible vocal stylings as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss between her breasts.

         “Gods, you’re gorgeous,” came a reverent whisper.

         “I could get used to that.” She closed her eyes and softened farther into her satin surroundings.

         “Pretty words?” he wondered, “Or my mouth on you?”

         He didn’t wait for a response to take a pink peak into his mouth.

         “Both—” a stifled groan released from deep within— “Definitely both.”

         Jon switched his attention to the unattended breast. Dany whined and arched into his touch shamelessly as he dared to skim his teeth over the unbothered skin. Desirous eyes locked on hers and another wave of heat surged.

         His unbearably light touch navigated her stomach, fingers catching the waistband of her panties. Soft, warm lips pressed to her hip bone, and, with another flash of his heated gaze, Dany shivered at the thought of what he planned.

         Fabric slid down her legs, trailed by his tantalizing fingers and an adoring kiss to the inside of her thigh. Dany sunk deeper into aroused mindlessness, all of her focus attached to his efforts.

         “Dany?”

         His voice pulled her from the reverie, and she pushed herself up to meet his dark eyes. He grinned at her and ghosted his fingers along her bare thighs. Dany used her knee to nudge him over, straddling him. She leaned forward to bestow a kiss upon him. Jon tried to meet her halfway, but their noses collided, and he hesitated. Dany giggled and kissed his apology away, sliding her hands up his torso to ease his shoulders back against the bed. Then, she guided his hand across her rosy skin to the glistening between her thighs.

         “Yes.”

         At her confirmation, his finger brushed carefully over her folds, and she shivered in anticipation. She hadn’t expected to be so sensitive— so on edge. As the next passed with more determination, she moaned. He traced the outline of her folds, finger stopping at the bundle of nerves with a curious press. Dany ground encouragingly into his hand.

         “There.”

         The high, breathy pitch of her voice was shameful if she cared to dwell on it. Promiscuous and wholly unbecoming of a princess. She never considered herself someone who needed another person to be satisfied and yet, there she was, falling apart on his fingers.

         She wanted to blame the weather, the stress, or even the fact that she hadn’t had sex in a while, but Dany couldn’t. Jon was simply too good at this. Any attempt to deny the feelings he roused in her was pointless.

She admired the way he looked beneath her. Their host’s decor was a travesty, but Jon made their overwhelming poor taste look enticing with his dark looks and fine skin.

Dany’s reactions encouraged his diligent exploration of her body:  a gasp when his fingers surged into her suddenly, a moan when he dragged them along her front wall. She recalled the stifling silence in the halls and all their effort in keeping quiet, only to ruin it with her unabashed noises.

He eased a third finger inside and her legs quivered, resisting the natural roll of her hips. She knew she was ready to take him; she was so wet the insides of her thighs were slick.

“Jon?” she panted.

He responded with a concentrated “Hmm?”

Dany bit her lip. “I want you.”

“I know,” he said, drawing his fingers out for a moment to circle her clit.

Dany hummed low in her throat and delicately felt behind her for his hard cock.

“All of you,” she corrected breathlessly, giving him a languid stroke.

His steady attentive work stopped as he let out a groan and shifted.

She couldn’t help but chuckle and continued her stimulation, taking a moment to rub her thumb over the head. He arched, his slick hand gripping her thigh as he gasped, flexing his muscular torso. He looked so beautiful Dany wanted to leave vicious bites along his neck and back— something to mark the end of their so-called chilly marriage bed.

She positioned herself over his cock but before she could go any further she paused, a moment of clarity breaking through. All the insecurities about timing and feelings hit her in a brief moment of what if .

She shook her head, ready to move past her uncertainty when Jon squeezed her leg with a reassuring hand.

“Dany?” he coaxed, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You looked checked out.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, placing her hands on his chest and pretending to be intrigued by the way her fingers spread on his burning skin.

         “Do you actually want to have sex with me?’

         “What? Yes, of course, I don’t think I would’ve made it this far if I didn’t.”

         “This is the second time we’ve taken a pause. Do you want to go slower or…”

         “Gods, no. I want to. I really, really want to but…”

         “But?”

         Dany worried her lip with her teeth before finally meeting Jon’s eyes. “I’m nervous.”

         “You’re nervous?”

         “I know, I know but this isn’t a one-time thing. It’s kind of important that we do this a lot so I want it to be good—”

         She was interrupted by Jon’s laughter, his torso shaking beneath her as he hid his face behind his hands.

         “What?”

         “Can I be honest with you?”

         “I would hope you’re honest with me all of the time—”

         “Dany, I have not slept with anyone in years.”

         She blinked at him, “You’re joking.”

         He continued to laugh, peeking at her between his fingers.

         “You’re serious?”

         “And I was a teenager, so the bar is pretty low. Can’t say the same for you…”

         Dany rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

         “You know—” she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his— “I never would’ve guessed.”

         His hands returned to roaming with gentle, lingering touches as he took her mouth in a renewed passion. She pressed a kiss to the place just below Jon’s ear, nipping the skin lightly before sitting up— ready to resume what they had started.

         She stroked his cock with a measured, confident hand before re-aligning herself and sinking down. Their breaths caught as she did, slowly descending until he was completely inside her. Feeling the fullness of him, Dany realized she would be sore tomorrow. A small price to pay for the pleasure of now.

         “Fuck,” Jon sighed.

         She paused to give herself time to adjust, mildly entertained by Jon’s cinched brows.

         “Dany?” Jon breathed.

         “Yeah?”

         “Can you—”

         She circled her hips slowly, testing the waters and moaning. Planting her hands on his chest, she continued to grind against him. Jon’s hand drifted from her thighs to her hips, fingers sinking into the flesh hard enough to bruise.

         She placed her hands over his, sitting upright to ride him properly, increasing her tempo from gentle, restrained ease to the one her body craved. Deeper and only a little faster, she wouldn’t be satisfied until they were merged.

         But Jon held back. Whether that was because of his inexperience or simply not wanting to embarrass himself, Dany didn’t know but she knew what she wanted. She placed her hands on either side of his head and kissed him, still grinding her hips atop him. Then she whispered, “I’m not breakable, you know.”

         His dark eyes searched hers and, for a moment, it looked like he had some cheeky response. Instead, he sat up, cradling her and pulling her in for a kiss. Her hands slid up his arms and shoulders before sinking into his curls, keeping their mouths fused. She wanted to hold him impossibly close, to feel every inch of his skin against hers, and never let go.

         Jon moved with her, answering each roll of her hips with one of his own. His teeth pinched the skin of her collar bone and she hissed in response, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders.

         He dipped his head lower, nipping the top of her breast before taking an aching nipple into his mouth. Arching into him, Dany’s head lolled back and she knit her fingers deeper into his mess of hair.

         Dany cried out when he thrust up into her, leaning against his bent leg, and clutching his corded thigh. The beginnings of sweat glistened on their bodies as they danced ever closer to completion. With every kiss, pinch, thrust, and grind, they chased whatever fulfilled their need.

         “Gods,” she cried, “Yes!”

         “Dany,” he panted as she ground particularly hard, “I’m close.”

         In between heavy breaths, Dany murmured me too and slipped her hand to the place where they joined. She rubbed the bundle of nerves quickly, bearing down on it. Jon’s hand brushed hers away, taking over the job.

         “Let me.”

         When she opened her eyes, she met his dark gaze. He was enraptured, irises dangerously dark and searching her own as though commanding her to finish with him.

         His hips stuttered and with a shout, he came. The sensation tossed Dany over the precarious edge; her walls fluttered around him as chesty moans soared from her throat.

         The dark room lightened for a moment, Dany’s head fuzzy with relief in the aftershocks. Jon slumped against the ruffled duvet, curls a wild halo around his head and bare chest heaving as he threw his arms above his head. Dany collapsed on top of him, ignoring the uncomfortable heat of his body, the stickiness of their sweat.

         “That was…” Jon trailed off, seeking her hand and entwining their fingers.

         “Great,” Dany finished, a breathy laugh following.

         “Yeah,” Jon chuckled as well, the sound rumbling against the ear pressed to his chest.

         “And it only gets better,” Dany promised, shifting her head to look at him.

         He smiled that gorgeous smile at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She lifted her hips carefully off him, the two groaning as he slid out. She settled next to him, Jon’s thumb rubbing across the back of her hand.

         “Stay with me?” he requested, his voice suggesting it was as easy as asking about her day.

         “Trust me—” Dany kissed his hand— “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

The courtyard of the Red Palace, which usually offered a sense of calm and escape to the residents there, sprung to life in the early morning hours. The staff worked diligently the night before to string up lights and arrange tables and chairs according to the exact layout provided. But more work awaited in the coming hours: table cloths needed laying and securing, the auxiliary seating had to come in, floral arrangements had to be installed (a task requiring a small army considering the sheer number of pieces), the dance floor and DJ booth constructed, and finally, place settings and name placards. Carts carrying masses of burgundy, white, and green entered the courtyard alongside massive helpings of coffee.

An unlikely observer of the organized frenzy sat within the confines of his guest apartments, surrounded by the chilly glamour of the Red Palace. For whatever reason this time around, the staff put him up in a much more gilded cage. Perhaps they thought Jon more important now, deserving of rooms drenched in gold and beige and not understated in the least.

The commotion in the center of the palace woke him and so he watched the staff in hopes of forgetting where he was, or the nerves creeping in. Another hour or so and the whole courtyard would look vastly different. A different world to spend the night in, surrounded by people he hardly knew.

His attempt to distract himself was in vain, however, as nothing could disguise the vicious red marble and dragon gargoyles staring back. The Red Palace possessed an ostentatious quality that made Winterfell look quaint. Jon missed the old castle, with its stoic grey stone and backdrop of green. And the family that called it home. They would all be together soon, gathered in the Great Sept to witness the wedding ceremony of the decade.

As he stepped into the sitting room, he realized he missed someone else as well.

Jon and Dany were promptly separated upon their arrival in King’s Landing and hadn’t seen each other since. The morning felt empty without her, as though she were a vital piece of his routine.

On days when they had time in the morning, Jon would find her situated on whatever settee with a book in her hand. Or her hands curled around a mug as she stared out the window at whatever their view happened to be, with a fresh face and hair still messy, savoring the calm before their schedule became unbearable.

And on their last stop in Storm’s End, he got to wake up by her side. Her silvery gold hair was strewn across the pillows and her face, both of them tangled in the ugly duvet and unwilling to accept the fact they had places to be and things to do. When he tried to rouse her, she groaned and pushed his hand away, mumbling nonsense words and turning over. And when he tried again, she simply pulled him closer, her back flush against his chest.

Jon indulged her on that one and wrapped his arms around her. Feeling the soft curves he traced the night before, bare under his hands. He thought of repeating their misadventures but knew if he started, they wouldn’t stop and the Baratheons would never be rid of them.

He glanced at a nearby clock. He had plenty of time to see Dany, though she was in the middle of wedding prep.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” a maid greeted, moving through the room with ease and only slightly startled by his presence.

“Good morning. Where’s Dany?”

The maid blinked at him before responding, “Her Royal Highness would be in her rooms, I imagine.”

“Of course. And where would those be?”

“Uh, down the hall.”

Jon thanked her before heading off, the extravagant hall surprisingly empty of courtiers. Everyone kept to their rooms to preen for the day ahead. They all had an important ceremony to attend later and wanted to look their best in case a camera caught them.

Jon snuck a look at the seating plans when Dany gave them a final scan. The palace-approved guest list, which also happened to be a non-negotiable list of people that must be invited, featured so many people they had to set up seating on the plaza outside the cathedral. The courtiers were so desperate to be spotted at the wedding that they were willing to sit in the summer heat for a glimpse of it.

Another body came down the hall. White-blonde hair and bright-colored socks were unmistakable, the silk robe wrapped around her looked out of place and at home.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” she reprimanded, stopping just short of him.

“Good thing we’re already married.” He gathered her into his arms.

Through her laughter, Dany pressed a quick kiss to his lips before tucking against his chest.

“Are you nervous?” she questioned.

“Not as much as the first time.”

She pulled back to look at his face, peculiar eyes scanning over his features, her own growing very stern with the effort. Jon had only seen such eyes in illustrations or photos, captured in still lifeless moments. And now he had the loveliest pair to get lost in for the rest of his life. His expression must have shifted at the thought because Dany cracked a small smile.

“You’re lying,” she revealed as though surprised.

“Aye, I am.”

“Well, don’t be, we’re practically pros,” she chuckled, “Is that why you were coming to see me?”

“No, I missed you. Waking up without you was weird,” he admitted.

“We get through this and we’ll never have to be apart again.”

Jon pressed a kiss to her nose, smiling at her giggles and scrunched face.

“I found her Elia!” a voice called out.

Dany glanced over her shoulder, “Do you think if we stand really still they won’t notice us.”

Her southern Majesty, flanked by Missandei and Sansa, came for them.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” Elia’s teasing, slightly exasperated voice called.

“Already married,” Dany reiterated.

Sansa dismissed it as a technicality and grabbed her sister-in-law, intending to haul her away but not before Dany kissed Jon one more time. The girls went up in protests and groans while Dany relented to being towed away, throwing apologetic looks over her shoulder the whole time.

When Jon signed his name on the legal documents a few months ago, he did so with the sole purpose of saving his country, never considering the possibility at his fingertips. Then, Dany was nothing more than a newly acquired ally whose hidden charm was growing on him more and more. How fitting their second wedding, and the more extravagant, be the marker of something so personal.

A while later, the Stark men showed up, bringing a much-needed distraction. Somehow, the conversation always found its way back to the situation at hand. Jon may have asked how things were at home, and received a vague answer, but Robb started asking about his relationship with Dany and how their time alone progressed. His brother’s remarks earned a swat with turned into light roughhousing.

  “Not in the suits,” Ned reminded them.

  The reprimand got Bran to look up from his phone. The teen looked a little lost separated from his twin.

Arya’s willing decision to spend the morning with the ladies surprised Jon. He knew she didn’t care for any of the fluffy, utterly feminine things happening on the other side of the castle. But Arya warmed to Dany quicker than expected and didn’t mind participating in the antics if it meant time to talk to the intriguing woman in their midst.

“Jon.” His father’s voice drew his attention. “I’d like to talk to you.”

They left the main sitting room for a smaller one attached to the apartments.

“If this is about the incident in Storm’s End, you don’t have to say anything.”

         When the headlines rolled out, Jon expected the worst but it all worked out. The more serious publications ignored the event altogether, followed by an online firestorm attacking the press for their invasion of the young couple’s privacy. No promises were made to leave the newlyweds alone in the wake of the backlash.

“No, it’s not about that,” Ned assured, “I don’t think I’ve made it clear how proud I am of you.”

Jon scoffed, “All I did was get married. It’s not like I signed my first bill or anything.”

“You’ve still made a great sacrifice. Not an easy one either.”

“It’s not all that bad anymore. We’ve grown… closer.”

Ned hummed, “And have you two… you know?”

His father trailed off, leaving Jon to decipher his insinuation.

“Uh… I don’t…”

“Usually when you put a young couple alone together for a while, they get attached .”

“Yeah, I mean, we are… attached.”

“Oh. Really? Since when?”

“Last night, actually.”

They lapsed into silence. Jon fiddled with his shirt sleeve.

“Would she be proud of me?”

“Who?”

“My mother. I like to think she’d be here if she could.”

At Ned’s shifted posture, Jon knew he struck a nerve. He hadn’t meant to.

“I’m sure wherever she is, she’s watching with pride as well.”

“You don’t know where she is?” Jon burst, but immediately backtracked, “Sorry, I know you hate talking about her.”

“When I took you in, there was a lot of legal paperwork involved. By the time it was all signed, we agreed it would be best if I didn’t keep tabs on her. She never liked the attention that came with my promotion anyway.”

“She was Northern?”

  “Of course. I don’t think you’d look so much like a Stark if she weren’t.”

“Did you love her?”

Ned sighed, a small smile on his face, “It was a confusing time in my life… but in a way I did. One day I’ll tell you more.”

“Okay,” Jon accepted as one of the several assistants assigned to keep him on schedule that day entered and announced it was time to leave.

People packed the streets of the Old City alongside filming equipment and vendors selling merchandise. From painted plates and commemorative shirts to limited edition drinks with specially printed labels, they thought of everything. And it only grew worse the closer they got to their destination.

The North’s religion of Old Gods was one of silent prayer surrounded by nature, where the Gods could heart you best. Hence the Godswoods and their eerily beautiful trees. But the Southern favored Light of the Seven was known for its large Septs, seven-sided temples with impressive votive statues. And the most famous of those was the Great Sept, commissioned by Baelor the Blessed.

Dany explained that ever important royal wedding took place in Baelor’s Sept and made it clear that if it were up to her, they would be married in a smaller chapel somewhere else. But their southern wedding had to be a spectacle, a common theme Jon picked up throughout their time there.

Late morning light poured through the hundreds of stained-glass windows, casting rainbows and scenes on the marble floors. The southern Gods, his wife’s Gods, towered over the gathering. Their massive forms glinting with gold and the deep colors of other gems, Jon couldn’t name most of them, but he knew the important ones by the number of flickering candles at their feet.

He watched from the doorway near the impressive, gilded statue of the Father as the weddinggoers filtered in, finding their seats and gazing at the domed glass ceiling. He spotted Dany’s friend Missandei in the second row in a jade green dress, talking animatedly with the lady she sat with. The pews in front of her remained empty in anticipation of the very important guests coming to witness the fruition of their planning.

“Are you going to be alright?” Robb questioned, “I haven’t seen you this nervous since your investiture.”

“I’ll be fine but this whole thing is so… intense.”

“Right. Why are there so many songs and prayers? These things don’t need to take up the whole morning.”

“Dany said it used to be seventy-seven.”

Robb let out a low whistle, “The sooner we’re back north the better.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

A distant horn sounded, accompanied by rustling as the guests stood. Elia made her way down the center aisle, followed by Ned and Catelyn, all of them appearing pleased. Once they settled, Jon and Robb started down the short aisle between two of the giant statues, headed toward the altar resting between the Father and Mother. Topped with a white cloth, lit candles in varying colors, and clear crystals, the altar sparkled just as much as everything else that morning.

A singular voice filled the airy space, bouncing off the stone walls and shimmering above their heads. The words landed foreign on Jon’s ears but he didn’t care to understand them, his attention focused straight ahead on the small procession of septons. They led the way for the most important religious leader, still hidden from view. Each of them carried a different token of the Faith, followed lastly by one with a censer of incense.

The High Septon, surrounded by the Most Devout and wearing an impressive set of light green and gold robes, paraded down the aisle. Tucked under one arm was a thick, illuminated tome, a tall scepter clutched in his other hand, and a crown of crystals adorned his head. They caught the light and threw it every which way, the spots of light dancing across the guests and statues. Once at the altar, he stood in front of it, watching and waiting for the rest of the participants.

For as bright and shining as every surface in the sept was, nothing compared to the radiant beauty of Dany as she made her way down the aisle. This time, she ditched the bride’s cloak for the traditional veil, which concealed her face as Rhaegar led her down the aisle. The bouquet Dany carried spilled over her hands, tendrils of green reaching to the red-carpeted floor beneath.

The pure white of her dress acted as the perfect blank canvas for the colorful light to dance, purples, blues, and the occasional flash of red or yellow or green. It was as though she were a subject from one of the windows come to life and dancing among mortals. Jon’s breath caught in his throat as all he could do was wait until her slow pace brought them closer.

The gaggle of noble children tailing Dany dispersed as Sansa took the very end of the intricate veil. Delicately embroidered along the edges appeared the heraldry of the south, so detailed and seamless it was easily missed: Martell sun, Baratheon stag, Tyrell rose, Arryn falcon, Tully trout, and Lannister lion. And in the place of honor, stitched along the very bottom of the impressively long veil, appeared the Targaryen dragon and Stark direwolf. The mythological creatures faced each other; a foot raised as though prepared to make an agreement. A subtle symbolism.

She sank before the High Septon and turned to Jon when she rose. He took the veil’s edge in his hands, which were surprisingly sturdy, and turned it over. Dany wore Catelyn’s tiara again, he noted, and as she raised her face to look at him he forgot how to breathe.

“Please be seated,” the Septon encouraged.

“Hi,” she whispered, voice uncharacteristically small and soft.

“Hi,” he said, air returning to his lungs.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the court, we are gathered here today, in the sight of Gods and men, to join Daenerys and Jon in the most sacred of unions,” the High Septon preached from his place behind the altar.

“Their union is, of course, extraordinary. Not only are the Gods witnessing the joining of a man and a woman who so deeply love each other, but of two countries too long separated by imaginary lines and borders. We will begin with the lighting of the candles.”

A septon ushered them to the altar in front of the towering statue of the Father and provided tall, thin candles meant to light for each god, and say a quick prayer if they wished. But Jon didn’t know with to ask from Gods he didn’t know.

Luckily, the choir started another song in the dead language of Valyria, this time with a few more voices. And the High Septon talked over it all, describing attributes and asking the Gods to provide them to Jon and Dany as they began their married life.

When they made it back to the altar, Dany whispered the number six to him. Meaning they had six more prayers, blessings, and or vows to make before they were free of the ceremony and crystalline sept.

“Seven almighty, creators of the heavens and earth, thank you for the gifts of marriage, for all the joy and love that it brings us. We thank you for Daenerys and Jon. We thank you, that you have brought them together for this special day, and pray that you hold them safely in your hands. We pray that you would richly bless them as they exchange their vows and their wedding rings. And from this day forward they would walk hand in hand into everything that you have destined them to be. We give our hearts and beings to you now in adoration and welcome Your Holy Spirits among us. Amen.”

The guests echoed.

“Join me, in the first blessing of this couple.”

“May there always be work for your hands to do. May your purse always hold a coin or two. May the sun always shine upon your windowpane. May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain. May the hand of a friend always be near to you and may the Gods fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.”

The guests echoed him once again, repeating the lines back in a general way. Finally, they were allowed to sit as Baelor’s Blessed Singers started their second song of the ceremony, once again in Valyrian.

Dany leaned to him, translating every line as it came. She didn’t need to, Jon would be fine not knowing what was happening, but he liked hearing Dany say the words.

“Where charity and love are, the Gods are there. Love of them has gathered us into one. Let us rejoice in Them and be glad. Let us fear, and let us love the living Gods. And from a sincere heart let us love one another.”

The septon stood and led them through another blessing. By this time, the sun sat high in the sky and beat down on the sept relentlessly. The guests fanned themselves and shifted as the humid air grew warmer, more and more stifling with each passing moment.

Finally, the High Septon invited them to rise and join hands and repeat after him.

“We swear by peace and love to stand—"

“We swear by peace and love to stand,” Jon and Dany said in unison, not breaking their eye contact, smiling like idiots in love.

“Hear to heart and hand to hand.”

“ Heart to heart and hand to hand .”

“Listen, spirits, and hear us now—”

“ Listen, spirits, and hear us now— ”

“Confirming this our sacred vow.”

“ Confirming this our sacred vow .”

They sat back down and the Septon launched into a long-winded speech about the sanctity of marriage and all it represented. How precious and delicate and holy. Would the southern Gods mind if those ideals were twisted for a political agenda? Clearly not, as no great tragedy struck the sept or the earlier wedding.

Then again, perhaps they planned for him and Dany to meet his way- thrust into each other’s lives and faced with a choice: despise each other or get along. Yet, after much trial and error, they found an elusive third option and chose it; to fall for each other in spite of everything.

Though perhaps they planned that too- for the two of them to uncover a potential spark and decide what to do with it. And there they were, at yet another altar, making more life-long promises. At the time of their first wedding, their vows were nothing more than words in a cold wind; blind, shallow statements uttered as a means to an end, but not in total vanity. Dany was a friend and someone Jon didn’t mind having around.

After a few weeks of touring around the southern kingdoms, something deeper grew, wrapping its strange roots around his heart and mind. Jon couldn’t be sure if Dany thought the same thing, but as he repeated the words from the southern holy man, he meant them. He wanted to cherish her and their union until the Gods decided they were done. And even then he might defy their orders.

He looked to his wife, who sat attentively in her sparkling white ensemble. She noticed him and met his gaze with a bright smile. Jon kissed her knuckles and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She squeezed back, confirming she understood.

Before he knew it, it was time for the official vows. They made their way back to the front of the colorful altar. With the rings distributed, the High Septon asked Jon to repeat after him until the lines formed the complete rites.

“I, Jon, take you, Daenerys, to be my wife. In your heart, I’ve found love. With you, I am whole and alive. I am yours and you are mine- of this I am certain. I promise to give you my hand and heart and I promise to always lead with love. I promise to remain by your side regardless of what trouble befalls you, and I promise to remain steadfast and true from this day until the end of my days.”

With the blessing of the High Septon, Jon finally brought his lips to Dany’s.

No cheers came from their audience, only polite applause as the Septon started the last blessing, the sacred seventh.

“Gracious Gods, our hearts are filled with great happiness at this union between Daenerys and Jon. They came before you to pledge their lives and their hearts to one another. Grant that they may be ever true and loving, living together in such a way as to never bring heartbreak into their marriage. Temper their hearts with kindness and help guide them to be sweethearts, helpmates, friends and guides. And together, may they meet the cares and problems of life more bravely. May their homes truly be a place of love and harmony where your Spirits are ever-present. Bless their wedding day, we pray, and walk beside them, through all their life together. Amen.” 

Another lone voice filled the air as they started to arrange themselves for the recessional and when the short song was done, the church bells overhead tolled. The ornate sept doors opened and revealed the hundreds of people crowded at the bottom of the steps. All of them cheered and waved, snapping pictures as the young couple climbed into a carriage for a quick turn around the old city as tradition required. Their hands remained clasped together the whole time. 

“How do you feel?” Dany asked as they waited patiently for the driver to situate himself.

“Official. Like all of the boxes are finally checked, even if the ceremony was long.”

Dany laughed, “Yes, His High Holiness is known to ramble. I think I liked our Godswood ceremony better.”

“Snow and all?”

“Of course.”

The carriage jerked, jolting them closer together. Their faces hovered close, Dany’s eyes flickered from his to his lips, her own parting into a little smile. The cheers of the spectators faded as Jon pressed his lips to Dany’s, lost in the sweet pressure and soft fit of their mouths together. 

With a snap of the reins, the carriage started off. The waving and smiling came as less of a burden this time around.

Chapter Text

Jon watched with amused eyes as Dany fidgeted with the silver band in her hair, attempting to figure out the placement without a mirror.

“Here,” he offered, fixing it for her and letting his hands rest on her shoulders when he was done.

“I think I’ve adopted your nerves,” she chuckled.

“Aye, it looks that way.”

“This is crazy.”

“Even more than last time?”

Dany nodded, a sweet smile on her face, “Only a month and everything’s different.”

Jon opened his mouth to agree when the booming voice of the herald interrupted him.

“Presenting Their Royal Highnesses, Jon of House Stark and Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Prince and Princess of the North, Duke and Duchess of Last River.”

And so began one of the last major portions of the evening. Get through this , he thought, and you’ll be back North before you know it . Jon exhaled as the massive doors swung open to reveal the gilded ballroom. He slipped his hand into Dany’s and drew up his posture.

The guests lounged around the ballroom, sipping cocktails and chatting in their formal wear. Most were nobles, some were extremely lucky politicians, and the rest were visitors from lands foreign and not. Their idle chatter died down as the royal young couple swept past, either because they wanted a better look at Dany’s new outfit or they wished to evaluate the prince who stole her heart. All Jon could feel were their invasive stares over the rims of their glasses. 

A squeeze to his hand brought his attention to the woman next to him. She smiled as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, the prying eyes and low-lying nerves lost in the sparkle of her eyes. He should tell her.

They took their seats at the head table, elevated above the others in the ballroom, alongside the two kings and their queens. Champagne found its way around for the toasts, which were heartfelt but short, so they could get onto the three-course meal promised to their guests as a reward for waiting through the hour of royal portrait taking.

As the first course got underway, Jon scanned the sea of faces. He recognized the Lannisters seated close to the head table, out of respect for Tywin’s position as Rhaegar’s Hand. The Martells also sat nearby due to their proximity to Elia. And, of course, the Starks that didn’t fit at the high table.

And next to him, in her gown of pure moonlight, sat the beautiful woman he had the honor of calling his wife. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but she leaned in close and he abandoned his plan.

“That man seated next to Tywin with the dark hair, that’s the Prime Minister. He flew in from Slaver’s Bay this morning. Rhaegar has him bouncing between Yunkai, Mereen, and Astapor to negotiate crude oil prices,” Dany whispered into Jon’s ear.

Her low voice sent a tell-tale shiver through him, raising heat through his neck. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation, but one he found occurred more often in Dany’s presence. 

“You import your oil?”

It was the only thing he could think to say.

“The North doesn’t?”

“Not all. We allow companies to maintain contracts with the Free Folk in the Gift and Beyond the Wall, but we have to monitor them; employment quotas, land boundaries, and all that.”

“Why watch them so closely?”

“The projects are meant to support both our economies, so it’s written into the agreement that a certain number of Northmen and local Free Folk are hired in different positions. It helps with observing the land boundaries. A lot of Free Folk still follow the old way, especially farther north. They allow the companies on their land with the understanding that they’re visitors who can’t disturb what lies beyond the agreed-upon boundaries.”

“And what if they do?”

“In most cases, fines and investigation. In others, the permission to drill is revoked.”

“Companies would rather pay fines than protect their workers or shy away from profit,” Dany pointed out.

“That is the unfortunate side of things.”

“Can I pick your brain about something else?”

“Anything.”

“Your thoughts on renewable energy.”

A sly smile peeked over the clear rim of her wine glass, her playful nature shifting in the amethyst eyes.

“It’s a step in the right direction but it’s too idealistic.”

“How so?”

Jon sighed in contemplation, “We have an entire region that relies on coal mining to keep its people alive. Most are too poor to consider other options. If we made the switch it would be death to them and their way of life.”

“Slow implementation, then,” Dany offered.

“It’s a start but there would still be complications. Pushback from the lords, the people in that region. It’s all they know and change is scary.”

She hummed in agreement, “Well, I’ll have to introduce you to the Minister of Energy. She’s got ideas I think you’ll love.”

“Are you two seriously talking about politics at your wedding?” Elia’s voice cut in.

“Why not?” Dany smiled.

Elia muttered something about them being an odd pair, which was the only kind of couple they could be considering the circumstances. Enemies to friends to hopefully lovers, if Jon could get the words out of his mouth.

The second course appeared with the flurry of the waitstaff fluttering about the tables. In the daylight, the formal ballroom felt airy and open. The gold was less overbearing and more like a pretty dusting along the hand-painted walls. And the ceiling seemed loftier without hundreds of bodies pressed together. 

Important members of state made toasts throughout the final courses--positive proclamations to Jon and Dany’s health, their union, and the hope for the continuation of the two great lines. Even Tywin Lannister had something gracious to say about the young royals he recently hosted under his roof, though his expression hinted he wasn’t too pleased to say it.

Outside, the sun began its languid descent, shining through the tall windows until it met the other wing of the palace. By that time, most guests finished their dessert and mingled around, waiting for the next event of the evening. Champagne continued to flow and with it came the loosened state of mind. Jon doubted anyone even noticed the couple seated above them. The newlyweds would be old news by tomorrow.

The party moved to the courtyard after dinner, relishing in the decreased temperature from the setting sun. With the amount of alcohol going around everyone soon forgot where they were and the rigid sense of decorum they carried slipped away without much care or thought.

Jon stood with his arm around Dany, the two of them watching their party guests let loose on the dance floor. He also relaxed into the evening alongside her.  The courtyard was crowded but they lived in a world of their own, sharing secret moments as no one watched.

As they talked, his eyes lingered on the places they hadn’t been tempted to before. He watched the way her breath disturbed the flowy fabric at her chest, the neckline pulling taunt at her laughter, the way the unstructured dress managed to hide and accentuate her curves and moved with her as she swayed and moved.

And Dany’s touches set his skin to flame, even through the heavy fabric of his suit jacket, especially when she placed her hand on his upper arm and whispered in his ear. Her lips brushing the shell and her heated breath gave him a chill.

He returned the favor of course, allowing his fingers to brush along her bare shoulder and exposed back when he exchanged whispers with her.

These feelings weren’t new or foreign to Jon; he’d met women who made his heart race and his skin burn before, but something about the unexpectedness and strength of his relationship with Dany put everything in a new perspective. The skips in his heartbeat still caught him by surprise and he lost himself in her smile and eyes. And perhaps most surprising, he longed to feel her skin beneath his hands. 

He should’ve expected it from the catastrophic first meeting in the greenhouse. His taste for particularly lethal women threatened to rise to the surface despite the importance of the situation at hand. But the weight of everything stopped him and it was for the better. His restraint allowed them a journey of discovery, their trust and emotional understanding the hard-won reward.

As Jon pointed out another guest who clearly enjoyed the free champagne, and while his eyes glossed down the soft golden skin of Dany’s neck, someone snatched her from his side.

Her surprised shriek dissolved into laughter as Robb spun her around.

“Welcome to the family!”

Dany nearly tripped over her feet when Robb set her down, still laughing as she managed to say, “I’ve been part of your family for over a month.”

“Aye. But now it’s officially official.”

Jon couldn’t help the smile as Dany swatted Robb’s arm, pulling the stubborn look she always gave when play-fighting.

“You know what this party needs?”

“What?”

“A good old-fashioned reel.”

At the suggestion of the traditional Northern dance, Dany shook her head, “Oh Gods no!”

“Too late. I’ve already requested one from the DJ.”

Dany shook her head before the arms of Catelyn took her up, “We’re so glad to have you, dear.”

Jon turned to Robb with a furrowed brow. Catelyn never hugged anyone besides her own children, and Jon knew she was wary of Dany at the best of times. 

“She’s had a few,” Robb informed.

“I can tell.”

Dany caught Jon’s eyes through Catelyn’s embrace, a look of satisfaction and humor on her face. 

“And you!” Catelyn turned her gaze on Jon.

He froze in anticipation of a reprimand, an old habit that never died. But the influence of several drinks turned her usually icy gaze rosy and warm, hinting at the young woman his father must have encountered all those years ago at Barrowton.

“Have I told you how proud I am? I feel like I don’t tell you that enough.” 

And without much time to process that , Her Majesty simply pulled Jon into a hug.

He never fought for Catelyn’s approval, never craved her validation, never thought she could treat him with anything other than disdain and cold distance. And yet her simple, albeit drunken, gesture brought an unexpected wave of emotions. 

“Whoa,” came Arya’s impressed voice.

“Oh Gods, she’s really in the sauce,” Bran seconded.

“I heard that,” Her Majesty reprimanded without moving her chin from Jon’s shoulder.

“Alright Mom, maybe we better find a nice cool place to rest for a minute,” Sansa suggested, gently removing her mother’s arms from around Jon’s neck. 

Although he was grateful for Sansa’s intervention, a part of him didn’t want Catelyn to go.

A sudden burst of fiddles and pipes filled the air from the speakers expertly hidden by the staff, breaking into the strange but peaceful moment.

“This one’s mine! C’mon Dany!” Robb cheered.

Dany glanced to Jon, “You coming?”

“No, I- uh- I think I’m going to need a minute.”

She gave him a knowing smile and allowed herself to be pulled to the clearing of people. 

At first, Jon didn’t recognize the melody, too caught up in his encounter with Catelyn to think about it. Then it hit him. It was the same song from the Midsummer festival, the night Dany accepted the proposal. The same twists and spins and steps came from Dany with no hesitation and much more confidence. In her fluttery dress, she looked every bit the fairytale maiden, a lithe woodland creature come to walk among mortals before retreating to the mystical place she called home.

Laughter and excited shouts cut through the demure, polite conversations of the evening. A change Jon welcomed.

“Gods, we’re being invaded,” an elder member of the court laughed as she wandered near.

It took Jon a second to realize she meant the comment for him.

“Aye,” he exaggerated, “Quite so.”

And with that, he entered the floor. The dance brought him to Sansa first, then Arya, and finally Dany. They weren’t professionals by any means, and with a little too much to drink, they stumbled around each other. But dancing the old dances was more fun that way and Jon liked having the excuse to touch Dany. 

She only laughed when he let his hand wander lower than necessary, or when he pulled her closer and tight to his chest. And she let herself do the same. It wasn’t just the burning influence of alcohol, although it helped, but the renewed confidence in each other, the trust and understanding that they could be more now. Nothing held them back.

When it was over, they bowed to each other, cheeky smirks on their faces.

The Martells stole them after the excitement of the Northern dance, trying to hold a conversation with the breathless, giddy couple. So far, they were the most entertaining guests, treating Jon as though he were really part of the family. As Arianne put it, “anyone Dany loves, we do.” At her sweet comment, Jon squeezed Dany tighter.

Their conversation was cut short however, as the familiar figure of Rhaegar approached. Dany’s subtle tense and shift closer put Jon on his guard. Even the Martells sensed the change and scattered, though he would’ve preferred they stay.

Even though he was technically family, Rhaegar was still an imposing and distant figure, impossible to read and even harder to decipher his motives.

“Dany, have you talked with Uncle Aemon yet?”

“Of course, we greeted him when he arrived.”

“Perhaps you should speak with him again, I heard he might be leaving soon.”

Uncle Aemon was near a hundred years old and surprised everyone by staying as long as he had. 

Dany looked at Jon, brow furrowed in concern.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, “Go, I’ll be fine.”

She only nodded before detaching herself and heading across the courtyard for her uncle.

“Congratulations again, Your Royal Highness.”

Jon regarded the Targaryen king warily, picking up the falseness in his tone. This was their first interaction since the first wedding, the one where he threatened Dany before the ceremony.

“Thank you,” Jon said, making sure he didn’t sound overly friendly, or too cagey.

“Having you all as part of the family is wonderful. Daenerys made the right choice about this marriage.”

Jon’s stomach twisted at the phrase. Dany’s choice . Neither of them had a say in the matter, unwilling participants from the start.

“The way I hear it, Dany’s decision didn’t matter.”

Rhaegar blinked at him, clearly trying to formulate a response, “Well, the situation wasn’t ideal but Dany had as much autonomy as you did.”

“Did she?” Jon tested, he wanted to see if Rhaegar actually thought Jon had no idea.

“Of course,” Rhaegar scoffed, “But you know Dany and her flair for the dramatic, making a big deal out of little things. I’m sure she told you how trapped she feels, how much of a burden this family is. She’s smart. She knows if she plays the victim people will take her side, no matter what.”

Jon fought to keep his expression unchanged. He never doubted Dany when she warned him about Rhaegar. And this exchange was more proof to trust her assessment. 

He glanced toward the other side of the courtyard, where Dany accepted a hug from her ancient uncle and leaned down to hear him better. Her smile was unbelievably genuine and wide with care.

Keeping the same careful tone he’d employed for the whole conversation, Jon said, “If you told me two months ago, I would’ve believed you. But now, I can’t.”

Rhaegar looked the prince up and down, arching a brow in the same way Dany often did. “And why’s that?”

“You once mentioned that Dany had the biggest heart in your family and I’ve spent enough time with her to know it’s true. She’s not the woman your media makes her out to be. And your confrontation before the first wedding had more witnesses than you think. Dany told me what you asked her to do, what happened when she refused. She said she feared you.”

All the land and titles in the world couldn’t protect Rhaegar from what he was; a man who still cared deeply about his family no matter how he chose to manipulate them. Jon’s carefully constructed comment was enough to shake the foundations of Rhaegar’s intimidating facade.

“My sister understands what’s expected of her… and the outcomes of her decisions.”

“Aye, she does. Could that be why she left her real family behind for one she hardly knew?”

“You’re bold,” Rhaegar commented, the slightest hint of being impressed in his voice.

“I’m taking a page out of someone else’s book.”

The southern king’s eyes flickered with recognition, a cool smirk growing on his face, “You’ve fallen for her.”

“Maybe I have. Is that really so bad?” 

For all Jon could think it was not. He looked back toward Dany, who was waving Uncle Aemon off, the picture of womanly grace. She made her way back across the dance floor, pure white bold among the more subdued palette of other guests. With the fading sun, the hundreds of twinkling lights strung overhead got to work. Their incandescent light provided artificial starlight to the not-yet-dark-enough sky.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to make sure she knows it.”

Jon left Rhaegar behind to join his wife on the dance floor. He met her in the center of it all as the previous track faded away. The guests took note of his presence and whispered excitedly, stopping their own dancing to watch the young couple.

A simple piano ballad surrounded them and Jon wordlessly took Dany into his arms. The song became an opportunity to hold each other and breathe. Jon’s hand found the small of her back, spine bared by the low cut of her dress and highlighted by the short row of buttons. He paid no mind to their audience, only the rhythm and the way Dany fit into his arms.

She gladly folded into his embrace, resting her head against his chest and swaying with him. Jon felt her contented exhale, the way her ribs settled with it, and tilted his cheek to rest against her forehead. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was distracted, agitated.

“What’s wrong?” He pulled back to examine her face.

She looked at him with a small smile, “Nothing.”

Her answer wasn’t reassuring so he followed her eyes to the subject of her discontent.

Rhaegar stood with his arm around Elia as they looked on, occasionally gazing into each other’s eyes, an unusual show of affection now that no one watched them; their own secret moment in a crowded room. The southern king whispered something into the Dornish woman’s ear that made her turn her face into his shoulder to hide her chuckle.

“I always wondered how they did it,” Dany remarked.

Now was his chance to tell her the very thought plaguing his mind all night.

“Do you remember the first wedding? When we stood under the Weirwood as nothing more than two people who hardly knew each other and said some words?’

She chuckled, “Yes. I remember being so nervous to get them right. And how strange it was to say such beautiful words without really meaning it.”

“It was. But this time it was different, standing in front of all those people and the septons. And, I’m not sure if it was the same for you, but I meant them.”

She raised her brows sharply, in surprise, “You did?”

“Yes, I did. Dany, I realized that I want to share my life with you and not because of a treaty or because someone told me I have to. But because you are genuine and lovely and fierce and if we weren’t already married, I would be proposing right now.”

“Jon, I- I really don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Dany… I love you.”

Underneath them the music crescendoed and Jon swore tears welled in Dany’s lavender eyes. His throat felt tight too as Dany threw her arms around his shoulders. 

“I know what I want to say,” she murmured as he released her. “You once asked me if you weren’t a prince with lands and titles, just a random man I happened to meet at a bar, what would I do? And I didn’t answer.”

Jon nodded.

“The truth is, and I have to admit I’m a little shocked I’m saying this,” she scoffed, “But I would’ve dragged you back to my apartment first thing and I’d go through all of this, everything, again. I’m having the time of my life with you, which I didn’t think possible. Gods, I think I love you.”

She inhaled, a little shaky, “I do. I love you too.”

Jon kissed her as though he was swearing in the sight of Gods and men, for a third time, to hold her forever, to gift to her the entirety of his mind, body, and soul.

He didn’t even notice the music ended until the people around them started moving again.

Chapter Text

Dany knew she made the right choice when she requested to stay at Dragonstone. While it wasn't an ideal destination, it was quieter than the Red Palace and much more private.

She and Jon lounged on the settee of their simple room, sipping the chilled champagne that greeted them. The open windows let the cool night air in, a hint of sulfur on the breeze.

Her sweat-ruined makeup was gone, as well as the picture-perfect curls from the reception, returning to her natural state with the addition of a rich flush— one of alcohol, heat, and anticipation.

Her legs lay across his lap and she stared at him shamelessly. His smokey eyes, darkened to obsidian in the low light, framed by soft lashes, the bump in the ridge of his nose, and a pout she always wanted to steal kisses from. He occupied their little space with an attractive gravity, pulling her further in as his fingers toyed with the modest hem of her dress.

Snagged in Dorne, it appeared to be doing its job. A slip of red silk with delicate straps and high slits, it was eye-catching, head-turning, and for Jon's eyes only.

"What did you think of the Martells?"

"I think Arianne wanted to take a bite out of me," he confessed.

Dany snorted, "She looks at everyone that way."

They lapsed into a crackling silence.

"I change my mind," he spoke, still invested in drawing patterns along her shin.

"About what?"

"Red looks much better on you than blue."

Dany smiled at the memory of Lannisport. Of two people fighting the free fall of love only to land safely on their feet.

"I have an ulterior motive for it," she confessed, reaching across Jon to set her flute down.

"And what might that be?" He took her hand, entwining their fingers and kissing her wrist.

The look in his eyes told her he already knew, he just wanted the satisfaction of hearing her say it.

"So you could take it off."

The statement broke their already feeble resolve, already worn through after a day of stealing touches. His lips crashed into hers, possessive and exciting as his tongue teased with the taste of champagne. A hand at her neck urged her closer and she shifted until she was on his lap.

His attention descended to her neck, hands drifting higher along her legs. The smooth, cool fabric trailed after, stopping with him at her bare hips.

She opened his shirt further, spreading her hands across the defined planes of his chest. His skin burned beneath her touch.

"I love you," he murmured with a kiss to her throat.

Love. Easily said but not easily meant. But as Dany sighed it back, she knew it came was true.

"Say it again," he urged, dark eyes trained on her raw lips.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear and kissed his neck as his hands tightened around her ass. 

He tried to catch her but she ducked away, silently chastising his greed.

"I love you," she delivered to the other ear, rolling her hips.

His breath hitched and she slipped out of his reach again to say it one last time.

He captured her lips with an intensity that had her heart stuttering. She untucked his shirt and he slid out of it before gathering up more of Dany's dress. She started to slip the straps from her shoulders but he took his hands.

"Leave it on."

Heat flooded her already burning skin as the heedless craving for him swelled. Guiding hands laid her along the length of the settee and Dany stretched long and languid before him. As Jon hiked the hem higher, he pressed a kiss where the low neckline met her sternum.

Another kiss was pressed to her hip bone before he settled his face between her thighs. She gasped in anticipation, every nerve alight and holding its collective breath.

His tongue licked along her folds in a delicate stroke, as though testing the waters. Dany sighed his name, softening into her plush surroundings and giving him all the confirmation he needed.

Every lick, nip, and pull was full of determination, as though it was just as enjoyable for him as it was for Dany. Her hips canted at him and he threw an arm across them, a gesture so casual it was cruel. Dany tightened her grip around the carved wood along the back of the sofa, the other finding purchase in his unruly curls.

A devilish thought crossed her mind and she gently pulled on the locks between her fingers. An enthusiastic groan rumbled against her.

His tongue traveled upward to her clit, his finger occupying the space left behind. Dany whined and ground against him, chasing the pinnacle of his attention. Every thought centered on his efforts, unable to escape the delicious fog clouding her brain. She tossed her head to the side and cried out to whatever God dared to listen.

He wasn't letting her off easy. A hand pressed her thigh away, her knee digging into the sofa's cushioned back as Jon doubled his efforts. Another finger joined the first and his tongue flicked faster over the bundle of nerves.

Finally, as though her desperate and aimless prayers fell on attentive ears, the tension in her snapped. A thousand dizzying stars, the heavens themselves, danced behind her eyelids. She was suspended. No force could move her.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, seeing only the dimly lit ceiling above them as her breath returned. The silk dress clung to her damp skin, a result of their activity as well as the island air. Gentle hands stroked under the fabric but they pricked instead of soothed. Glancing down, she was greeted with a sight tempting enough to wind her up again.

Jon, with his head resting against her thigh, gazed at her with such longing Dany never wanted to look away. Desire ghosted across them. Desire and love and all the huge feelings they once denied.

His wet lips met hers in a heady rush, sinking her back into the haze. She wanted him again... and again... and again.

She grappled with the straps of her clingy dress as he kissed her. Jon stopped her again, hands skimming down her arms as he held her.

"I thought you wanted me to take it off?" His voice was low and breathy in her ear, sending a chill down her spine.

"Better hurry," she replied, trying to disguise the desperateness in her voice.

Jon didn't, however. He was determined to take his dear, sweet time in removing the silk from Dany's glowing skin. The slow trailing of his fingers only served to heighten the excitement coursing through her. Gentle kisses followed in the wake of his touch across her collarbones, the thin straps of the dress falling away from her breasts.

She stood and the dress pooled at her feet, cast away with an unceremonious kick. She was much more interested in getting Jon undressed.

His rumpled shirt was easy enough to manage, same with the belt as he rose to help her. Dany followed his briefs and dress pants to the floor, remaining on her knees after he removed them.

She felt a strange sense of surrender as she knelt before him. She was always the instigator— the one in charge. She knew the moment she was anything other than the aloof seductress, commanding and controlling, they would try to take advantage of her. But she knew Jon would never assume her place was like this. She was vulnerable and tender and still his equal.

Her hands shook as they ghosted along the well-toned lines of his thighs and she glanced up briefly, knowing she would lose her nerve if she saw how his gaze bored into her.

His cock stood at attention before her, rosy and just as desperate as she was. She took him in her hand and pressed a kiss to the head. Before she could take him into her mouth, Jon caressed her jaw. She looked up.

"Dany—" he said softly.

"I want to," she assured him and he said no more.

She licked along the underside before taking him between her lips. A heavenly moan left him, his idle hands finding their way into her hair. She hummed around him, stroking the length not in her mouth.

"Fuck, Dany," he sighed.

She glanced up, watching his face shift with reverence. With one hand braced on his hip, the other deftly palmed his balls bringing another beautiful sound from him. The sweet, coiling pressure between Dany's thighs grew, demanding to be answered but it would have to wait.

She was focused on Jon and relishing in his reactions to her. When she hollowed her cheeks or teased with her tongue, he answered. The sound of her name on his lips, his hands in her hair, the way his thighs tensed as he tried not to thrust into her mouth— it all drove her wild, leaving her to drown in a touchless pleasure.

Jon pulled out of her mouth and knelt down, catching her in a bruising kiss. They were breathless and hot but far from done. She pulled him down with her.

The rug scratched her bare, burning skin but she didn't care, she wanted him now. Jon wasted no time entering her, the stretch a delicious ache.

Dany cried out, arching against Jon's chest and gripping his shoulders. He found a slow, deep pace at first but his resolve melted into something rough and unrelenting, roused by Dany's nails digging into the flaming skin of his back and her leg wrapped around his waist to bring him impossibly closer.

His weight pressed her into the floor. Already alive from the nonstop attention, her orgasm tore through her in a blaze of light and overwhelming relief, leaving her a heaving mess underneath him. 

Jon buried his face in her shoulder as he came. Dany clutched him to her and thought, a bit wildly, that she wouldn't mind if they never left that room on Dragonstone. So long as she could have him.

The morning light stretched brilliantly across the airy decoration of the room, covering everything in its insistent brightness and making the room glint as though it were the heavens. Outside, the sparse hills of Dragonstone stretched, soaking in the warm sun before it turned scorching, and just beyond the sharp line marking the island's coast, were the sparkling grey waters of the bay. The island breeze whipped through the thin curtains and brought whispers of the salt and humidity on the fresh air.

As enticing as the world outside tried to be, it couldn't beat the scene inside the quaint room.

Jon was surrounded by the pristine white of ruffled sheets, chest rising and falling in the unbothered pattern of sleep. His face was free of the usually furrowed brow— an echo of the boyhood Dany would never know. Her eyes traced every line bared to her, trying to commit it to memory as though he could disappear at any moment.

If someone told her four months ago she would fall head over heels for a man she was all but forced to marry, she would've laughed herself into hysterics. How strange to think of the turn her life took. She didn't know who to thank— the Gods or those awful Braavosi tabloids... her brother? Not likely.

Her fingers inched across the sheets, closer to him. She wanted to trace every angle and follow the veins to their source. At her delicate touch, Jon hummed and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her in.

Dany laughed, "And here I thought I was awake before you."

"Not likely." He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She snuggled closer, his heartbeat thrummed in her ear. 

"We don't have to leave, do we?"

"No. We've got all day."

"Never were words so sweet."

"Oh, a poet are we?"

"You love it."

"Hm, I do." She kissed the hollow of his throat, "And I love your curls. Have I ever told you that?"

She toyed with one in her reach, bringing a smile to Jon's face.

"No, I don't think you have."

"You must get them from your mother," Dany wondered, "You never talk about her."

He tensed.

"I don't mean to—"

"It's alright." He smoothed a tendril of hair away from her face. "I don't know her."

"Really?"

"She's one of the only topics my father won't discuss with anyone. Ask him anything— from politics to weather— and he'll gladly tell you his opinion but the moment it comes to my mother, he shuts down. I couldn't describe her if I tried."

"Well, you can have mine, if it helps you any," Dany offered unhelpfully.

"I don't know what she looks like either, I'm afraid."

"I hardly remember," she admitted, "I've only seen her face in photos and my dad stopped talking about her a few years after she passed. Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful to have what I do, but—"

"It's still unfair."

"Yeah."

"I get it"

"Everyone says I looked like her. Especially in the eyes."

"I love your eyes."

"She would've liked you."

"I'm sure she was a lovely woman.

"She was. The people loved her from what I've heard. Everyone took her death really hard."

She glanced at the scars on her arm. Jon noticed, of course, and brushed his fingertips across the raised crescents.

"Viserys was the baby until I was born so, naturally, he wasn't too fond of me," she started, then took a breath.

"But I was closer in age so we were together all the time. He was always a little too aggressive but our nannies chalked it up to 'boys being boys' and all that. But as we got older..."

Dany remembered well the precursors to the big event. Minor but not harmless incidents that few under the radar of their watchers. Hair pulling, breaking toys, and general roughness. There were never any cuts, only tears and hurt feelings.

When Elia came to live at the palace, she took it upon herself to ensure their complete separation. It was easier with Dany attending an all-girls private school and all her extracurriculars but a perfect storm was brewing.

Viserys finished secondary school that spring and had no plans to attend university despite Aerys' best efforts. He preferred to spend his nights at clubs and his days sleeping off whatever drug and alcohol cocktail he mindlessly consumed the night before.

Given that it was summer, Dany was also at the palace more and she was busy with preparations for her society debut. After days of dance lessons and rehearsals of the overzealous ceremony, Dany finally had a little time to herself so she headed to the library.

She had a summer reading list she wanted to get ahead on but she wouldn't mind getting sidetracked if something else caught her eye. Philosophy was a mystery she wasn't ready to investigate, she preferred her arts and histories. Tucked into a back corner, she poured over a well-loved copy of Valyrian poems— a version with little illustrations sprinkled in.

The library was large, easy to get lost in and eerily quiet, so when the door opened the sound reverberated through the whole room. Dany got up from her spot and looked around the corner.

"I know you're in here!" Viserys' voice echoed and Dany shrank back, hoping the towering bookcase would hide her.

"Where are you?"

The small entrance required her to cross the room, putting her directly in his path. The thought crossed her mind to stay put but self-preservation won out. Her immature sense of immortality, somehow untouched by the loss of her mother, knew she could do it. He couldn't possibly hurt her— at least as he had before.

In that respect, she was gravely mistaken. She watched him disappear down the first aisle and tip-toed from her spot, her socked feet silent on the carpeted floor.

She held her breath as she ran past the sitting area. Desperate to be free, she didn't see Viserys come around the corner. He blindsided her, sending the two of them crashing into an armchair.

Dany gasped but no air came, a sensation sharp and unforgettable. No sound left her, she could only wiggle away. It all blurred after that.

She remembered his knee in her back and unintelligible accusations, the relief of air rushing back into her lungs and her cries for help. His grip on her arm, fingernails pinching the delicate skin. She swore she heard the skin break. 

More voices came, loud but indistinct. Her arm was freed and she was shoved into the waiting arms of Rhaenys' nanny. The woman tried to distract her as Viserys was hauled away but Dany still heard.

Elia was livid. Aerys was a stickler for hierarchy and evaded Elia's requests for a meeting since her arrival at court, but not that time. She went directly to Rhaegar and laid her plan before him. Unless Viserys was removed from the palace, Elia would take Rhaenys and Dany to Dorne until he was. The King was told the same thing, however, his reaction was much less compassionate.

Dany was in the room, of course, though she didn't need to speak— her bandaged arm and puffy eyes did that for her. But she listened as her father hurled slurs at Elia and threatened her. Never once did the future queen's face change. And when he had worn himself out, she said, "Call me whatever you like, Your Majesty, but Daenerys is your daughter and she is still a girl. She deserves to be safe in her home."

Viserys was discreetly shipped to Dragonstone that night, with a modest host of guards and no return date.

"He died a year later, in a car crash outside the city. My father never recovered from the loss."

Dany stared at the sheer canopy. Despite the tightness in her body, her eyes were surprisingly dry. She took a deep breath and sighed. Jon kissed her shoulder.

It felt good to tell him. To get it off her chest even though it didn't matter. It had never strained their relationship, never put a barrier between them. But now he knew a piece of her that not many did. Something that brought him closer and entrenched him deeper in her life.

"I know you don't want me to say it..."

Dany looked at him. His heartbroken expression tore her. She wanted to hide, to run to the other side of the castle and avoid him, but the thought was fleeting. 

No more running.

"But I am sorry that happened to you. It never should have."

Her throat tightened and with a shaking breath, the absent tears flooded her eyes. She buried her face into Jon's shoulder and let the sobs run their course. He stroked her messy hair and whispered sweet, calm things as he held her. Reminding her that if she was nothing else... she was safe.

Chapter Text

The court of the North had seen its fair share of grand events that year considering it's usually lacking social calendar. And Princess Sansa's eighteenth birthday was no exception. A day packed full of appearances by all royal family members ended in a formal state dinner and lavish reception.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was transformed under the supervision of Sansa (and occasionally Catelyn and Dany) into an autumnal wonderland. Shades of copper and pine and subtle hints of crimson, warm-hued dahlias in bundles of baby's breath and filler greens, and strategically placed taper candles flushed the grey stone room with warmth. All of it was tasteful and worthy of a magazine spread, which was no doubt Sansa's intention. The only thing that set it apart from any other court function was the presence of a DJ playing all of Sansa's favorite (appropriate) songs— a mix of censored current hits and throwbacks that made Dany feel old.

The birthday girl meandered through the crowd in her shimmery birthday gown, playing perfect hostess to her wealth of guests. She was easy to track as she towered above her guests in a classy pair of heels and her bold auburn hair straightened into a sleek sheet. She traded her trademark greens for a column of pale pink silk that brought out the golden highlights in her hair. Of course, the glittering tiara atop her head was also helpful.

Her graceful pathway was disrupted as she made a beeline for Dany, who tried her best to stay invisible since their royal entrance. She found herself to be one of the most in-demand people in Winterfell. There was always a diplomat, businessperson, or noble who hadn't had the honor of meeting her yet.

Sansa made a high, excited noise when she hugged Dany, who barely managed to keep her full glass from spilling. "You look amazing!"

Dany waved her comment off. The gown was simple by all definitions. A-line with an unassuming square neckline and embellished by little silver four-pointed stars sprinkled over the bottle green silk. Her Targaryen Tiara, as the Royal Correspondents like to call it, was nestled in her equally simple updo.

Now that Dany's tiara found its new home in Winterfell's collection, she reluctantly retired Catelyn's beloved fringe from her retinue of formal jewelry. Sansa seized the opportunity to claim the piece as her own and it currently graced her head, making her look even more ethereal and mature. Dany was glad it wouldn't sit in storage.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Dany asked, having to look up at her towering sister.

"Jon and I got you a gift for the table but this is from me." Dany pressed a little black box into Sansa's hand.

Her already excited smile broadened. "Can I open it now?"

"If you want," Dany giggled, watching Sansa carefully lift the lid and gasp.

A pair of earrings meant to invoke ivy in the morning with their long, white gold stems, leaves of emerald, and impossibly small diamonds nestled in between. They weren't gaudy or spectacularly sparkly but timelessly elegant— just like Sansa.

"Dany, these are gorgeous," she gushed and swept Dany into another bone-crushing hug, "You're the best sister ever."

"Don't let Arya hear that," Dany admonished.

As Sansa found more guests to entertain, Dany disappeared into the eclectic collection of titled nobles— young and positively elderly— bumbling about. Countless ladies hovered around her, complimenting and appropriate, as they had been in the several, rapidly passing weeks after her return.

Their crowding wasn't just for show. Dany was expected to choose her inner circle in the spring. An elite assembly of ladies to provide useful insight, help her navigate Northern customs, and be something of professional acquaintances so it appeared she had friends. They were not meant to be actual confidants.

As an officially married woman of the court, Dany was welcomed into the collection surrounding Catelyn composed of Ladies Umber, Bolton, Glover, Karstark, and Reed. She spent most of the time observing the inner workings, deciphering which roles each woman played in Her Majesty's well-oiled machine.

Admittedly, Dany avoided it when she could, preferring the company of Jon and his siblings. And Talisa when she happened to be at court. They were all nice women but, lately, they eyed her waistline with too much interest.

She wasn't helping their curiosity by avoiding the cocktails and champagne. Thankfully, it was a recent endeavor. Missy, who was the only one privy to the sensitive information of her potential pregnancy, helped by sneaking her sparkling grape juice from the kitchen.

It was just a precaution— wishful thinking on her part. And perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her but she swore her dress was a little tighter.

After she and Jon returned from Dragonstone, a heat wave struck the North and canceled a good portion of their appearances. They were inseparable with nothing better to do than each other. Such activities led to certain complications and a missed period.

It's just late, Dany reminded herself. Stress from her new routine and responsibilities, a change in her diet, or even a freak hormone imbalance; any of them could be the reason for the minor blip but two weeks was suspicious.

Surveying the crowd once more, Dany spotted Elia by an overflowing bouquet of peach dahlias, practically blending in with her similarly colored gown. Elia caught her gaze and waved her over. 

"You never pass up an opportunity to drink recreationally," Elia said with suspicion, "And with much stronger stuff than champagne."

The Dornish woman gracefully plucked the flute from Dany's hand and passed it under her nose. A sly, knowing smile grew in the wake of the glass. Dany bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back.

"I knew it. Have you told him yet?"

"I don't want to get my hopes up." Our hopes.

An unusually bubbly Catelyn materialized from the mass of brocades and gemstones, beaming like the proud mother she was.

"Your daughter has excellent taste," Elia said to ensnare her in the conversation.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Catelyn addressed without an ounce of formality, as though the title was a mere joke between them.

And it appeared to be so as they dissolved into a fit of giggles, gripping each other like long-time friends. The significant age difference between the women didn't seem to matter then.

"Did you see the headline they ran?" Cat continued, lowering her voice.

Both Elia and Dany shook their heads. Dany avoided giving any sort of publication the time of day now. Whatever she needed to know, her secretary gave her a morning brief that Dany read with breakfast. The occasional opinion column made its way in but it was never about the royal family or Dany.

"Birthday princess." Cat made a sound of disgust. "And to think, we gave them exclusive rights to the interview. And that royal correspondent"— said with equal disdain to the headline— "acting like she and Sansa were friends. The North Star used to be the premiere news journal in the North."

Dany couldn't subdue her grin, so she hid it behind a sip of sparkling grape juice.

Cat sighed, "I shouldn't get so worked up. If Sansa's happy, I'm happy. What were you talking about before I interrupted?"

"The baby," Elia said simply before sipping her cocktail.

"Elia!"

The southern queen served her a characteristic Dornish shrug.

"There's a baby?" Cat inquired with an arched brow.

"There might be a baby, I don't know yet."

"Oh, you'll know," Elia assured her.

"This is only my first one, how the hell would I know?"

"Between mothers, trust me, you will," Cat said with a playful grin, "Do you want to find out?"

Dany gave her a look, "Cat, you're scaring me."

"I can have my assistant get a test right now."

Dany blinked at her, amazed at the audacity and excitement.

"That's an amazing idea!" Elia seconded.

Dany took a deep breath, glancing about the crowded room as her stomach sank. 

"No!" she blurted, "It's Sansa's big day. I'll take a test tomorrow. Besides, I think Jon and I should discuss it first."

Elia shrugged again, this time to say Jon's opinion on the matter wasn't necessarily relevant.

In that moment, Dany saw the procedural, public parts of her child's life play out before her. The portrait sittings, the formality, the constant scrutiny of the public eye, and the stifling pressure to be perfect. The overbearing weight of upholding an ancient institution placed on tiny shoulders. She saw her silent suffering and its place in the never-ending cycle.

Was that why they were so excited? A baby meant an heir and all the good things that came with it: the continuation of the Stark line, renewed confidence in their power, and solidifying Dany's value to the Crown as the right investment.

"Excuse me," she whispered and glided away.

She found refuge in the courtyard. It was a pleasant evening save for the chilling breeze that kept people from venturing from the lively company indoors.

Dany didn't have a northern bone in her body but even she could tell autumn was upon them. Cool nights and crisp air. It rained earlier, the last few nice days of summer swallowed up by what would soon become snow and gusty winds and ridiculously cold temperatures. Sunny days faded into overcast ones and misting rain was frequent. The Stark children returned to school not long ago and Robb planned to stay with Talisa in Barrowton while she finished her last semester.

A healthy pregnancy lasted nine months. She did the quick math. A spring baby— how fitting. Spring was salvation, the glimmer of hope at the end of a long night. And an heir renewed hope in the strength of the line— a blessing and a huge step.

She and Jon had never seriously talked about children. They had mused, sure, but with their busy schedules, there was never a good time to sit down and discuss it.

After their return, they were thrown into royal duties. Ned named Jon head of the Relief Resource Distribution Committee— something Jon took immense pride in. Every day he was somewhere new.

Meanwhile, Dany's days were taken up by Catelyn's instruction on the basic points of Queenship. And if it wasn't Cat, it was lessons on Northern history, governance, and law. Naturally, Dany threw herself into the monumental studies. The North was her home now and it only made sense she knew it inside and out.

Catelyn also gave Dany several events to plan. Luncheons and the like— small yet important things for Dany to get her footing in the immense role. Unlike Elia, or the other hopefully ladies of the court, Dany was not raised to catch a prince. The role of Queen and all its diplomatic nuance was not part of her upbringing.

She was supposed to have a career in a very different type of court, getting her hands (metaphorically) dirty. Now she planned dinners and made scheduled appearances and the hardest decisions she had to make from day to day were superficial nonsense— what to wear, who to invite, how long she wanted to shake hands with the public.

"Figured I'd find you here," the lively voice of Missandei taunted from the doorway.

She looked amazing in her cream-colored gown, her natural curls pinned away from her face on one side.

"Do they need me?" Dany asked.

"No, but I saw you haul ass out of there."

"I needed some air. My cover's blown."

Missy laughed, "Well, we tried."

"We did," Dany blew, "Gods, this is all so strange."

"How so?"

"I'm married to a prince. I don't have a career— unless you count queen-in-training. I'm on the opposite side of the world from where I planned to be. I'm having a baby..."

Her hand drifted to the waistline of her dress, the beaded stars rough under her delicate touch. Then her throat tightened and her vision blurred.

"I'm having a baby."

Not an heir for the sake of succession. A child who would grow and do amazing things. A child she would get to raise with the man she loved. Would that be enough to spare them from the horrific underbelly?

Dany sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Oh, who am I kidding? This isn't me."

"Come on, Dany," Missy sighed.

"I mean it. I don't know the first thing about being a mother. And— and you know how awful my childhood was. How can I condemn a child— my child to this mess?"

"Oh, come here."

Then Missy was there, wrapping her arms around Dany with the fierceness of friends. Of a bond strengthened through sleepless nights and secrets shared and four years of dealing with insane professors.

"You're going to be a great mom. And you and Jon are going to love that child so much. It'll be different with you. You can decide to make it different."

Can I? she wondered. In her lived experience, choice was an illusion.

"Thanks for the confidence." Dany tried to be sarcastic but sniffed again. "I can't believe you won't be here for any of it."

"I know. Downsides to the dream job. But I am just a phone call away."

"A phone call is a terrible substitute for a hug."

Dany sensed the eye roll.

"Sansa's about to give her speech—" Jon stopped in the doorway. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Dany assured him, dabbing at her eyes, "I only— I can't believe Missy is leaving me again."

In response to the partial lie, Missy entwined their hands. Jon smiled, kind and simple.

"Sorry to break it up but we're expected to be front and center."

He extended his hand to her and Dany took it with her free one, towing Missandei along.

Sansa's speech was the epitome of grace and courtesy. She had a gift for balancing diplomacy and humor for whatever audience she addressed. The whole Stark family looked on with pride.

Jon broke etiquette and snaked his arm around Dany's waist to hold her tightly against his side. Given the rosy looks on the other guests' faces, they were too far gone to notice. She would've rested her head on his shoulder but her tiara prevented that.

"You look gorgeous," he murmured under cover of the applause marking the end of Sansa's speech.

Dany took him for the first time that night. He started wearing his hair shorter after their return and he shaved for the event, much to her dismay. His dark suit was a nice contrast against the myriad of jewel tones and pastels herded around them.

"So do you."

They couldn't kiss there, in a place where protocol was most important. But after they said their goodbyes and journeyed back to their room, they took their time undressing each other and exploring bodies they already knew so well, ignoring the full schedules awaiting them with the morning light. They, along with the night, were still young and they made the most of what time they had together.

When they were finished, they lay in the dark, silent and satisfied but unable to sleep.

"You know what we haven't talked about yet?" Dany asked, eyes searching the blank ceiling above.

"What?"

His voice was soft, as it always was then it was only them. As though there was no world outside to care about, only them in that room until time stopped.

"Children."

Jon was silent for a moment, then he replied, "We have talked about that."

He was lying on his stomach. She could tell from the way his voice was muffled and didn't need to look to know that he had his arms under his pillow.

"We've... mused," Dany corrected.

"Alright, was there a specific topic you had in mind?"

"How many?"

"Four," Jon said automatically.

"Four!" Dany shifted to look at him. 

Her initial shock at his suggestion faded when she saw that her prediction about his sleeping position was correct. Except he had his head turned to look at her.

"But we'll probably have more considering I can't keep my hands off you."

"No wonder Northern families are so large."

"As opposed to?"

"Well, the royal standard is two—"

"Royal standard?" Now it was his turn to be shocked. Or at least intrigued by her wording.

"Yes. The heir and the spare and whatever happens after is—"

"Hold on." He propped himself up on his elbows. "The heir and the spare? That's awful."

"I never said I agreed with it."

"Good because it's despicable."

"I'm glad you think so." She leaned against the headboard and turned her head to look out the window, hiding her little victorious smile. "Do you think we're ready for one?"

"There it is," he whispered, hand finding hers automatically in the rumpled sheets. "My father told me that not being cautious about the unknown is a dangerous thing. It's the proper next step, right? Marriage, kids..."

"This feels more like a leap."

"I'd say we're pretty good at taking those. Maybe not in the right order but..."

He searched her face and for once Dany wished Jon could read her mind so she did not have to say her selfish thoughts out loud. But I want you all to myself, just for a little while longer. She had finally allowed him into her life and heart, fully, and already they were too busy for each other. How was she going to split her time between her role, Jon, and a baby? How could she expect Jon to do the same?

Elia did it, Rhaella and Catelyn did too, but not without struggle. The North already proved how forgiving it could be but Dany didn't have that luxury. The Lords were still wary of her, the people even more so. Maybe a child could fix that? No. Her child would not be a pawn.

"What's the face for?" Jon's gentle voice asked, lifting her from the downward path of her thoughts.

"I didn't realize I made one."

"Whatever you're thinking, know that I believe in us. And I support you no matter what."

Dany kissed the back of his hand. "And I stand beside you. Always."

After a long day of appearances and lessons, Dany was glad to be back home and done for the day. Relief washed over her as she opened the door to the guest room she and Jon currently inhabited. A pair of desks took up the sitting room instead of the usual settee and visiting comforts. The setup was temporary as the minor remodel of their apartments got underway. For the time being, the young couple shared one bedroom, en suite bath, and closet. It was unconventional by court standards but Dany wasn't complaining. It reminded her of simpler times. A period of her life she never got to share with Jon.

Dany shed her light coat and handed it to the maid trailing behind. "Any idea when Jon will arrive?"

"They left Cerwyn thirty minutes ago, ma'am."

Dany nodded and flicked on a lamp for more light.

"Thank you. That will be all."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Have a good night," Dany said pleasantly.

"You too, ma'am."

She passed Jon's desk before crossing to hers— a habit she didn't bother to correct. The glossy wood was littered with papers and folders and picture frames. Several of the pictures were from their tour of the south; the two of them riding horseback on a Dornish beach, a selfie of Dany kissing his cheek with Jon's face scrunched up. It looked like it was taken during their stay at Highgarden. And in the place of honor was the accidental polaroid from Storm's End.

With a private smile, she moved on to her mess of a workstation.

The revised schedule from her personal secretary sat on top of all the other materials cluttering her desk. Due to her excitement that morning, they had to do some canceling and shuffling, but it looked like she got everything all worked out.

Dany set it aside and picked up the samples she vetted that morning from the interior designer. Paint, wallpaper, wood finishes, and drapery in varying shades of beige, gold, ivory, and tan. She and Jon had agreed on warm neutrals and antique furniture from Winterfell's plentiful storage. They were currently fending off Catelyn's constant offers to have it all reupholstered as yet another wedding present. She wasn't pleased with their decision on such bland shades but Winterfell's rooms were small (especially the older ones) and needed the illusion of space.

Underneath were the new palettes she requested. Blues, pinks, yellows, and lots of delicate, airy touches.

She called the designer after she got the results that morning. She didn't say anything about a baby, only that they were interested in seeing options. Now that she thought about it, that explained Cat's newfound positivity about the remodel. Nothing happened in the castle without Her Majesty's knowledge.

Dany didn't look up when the door opened, knowing it was Jon. He spoke in a low voice to his secretary before wishing him well and shutting the door. Her smile grew as he breezed into the room utterly clueless about the information Dany held.

"How was your day?" he asked, placing a thick stack of papers on his desk. More Resource Distribution numbers.

He looked as though the stylists had been at him again. Perfectly polished, not a curl out of place— something that annoyed Dany to no end.

"Not much different from the last. Hey, love, can you take a look at these?"

Jon shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. "I thought we already decided on wallpaper and paint colors."

His confusion (and exasperation) were well deserved. When the redesign process started he was more than happy to offer his opinions but now that everything was decided he could live with never seeing another color palette again. She couldn't wait to see him change his tune.

"Well, they're not for us exactly..."

He stopped loosening his tie to furrow his brows at her. Dany beamed, rather pleased with herself.

Jon stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Dany flipped through them just fast enough for him to see.

"I don't know, Dany, they're very..."

"Baby-ish?" she suggested, looking up at him.

He didn't say anything as his slate eyes surveyed her, narrowing in that analytical way she had seen so many times. Dany bit her lip and tried to keep from telling him outright. She watched as it clicked and his confused expression softened.

"Are you..."

Dany nodded, words caught in her throat.

"You're..."

Now there were tears in both their eyes.

"I am."

Jon whisked her up from her desk, crushing her against him as she let out a surprised squeak. She quickly settled into his embrace, melting into him as though it was where she was meant to be.

"How long have you known?"

"Well, I only took the test this morning, but it feels like I'm only a couple of weeks along."

"Gods," he whispered, voice muffled against her neck, "we're having a baby."

A baby. Not an heir to check a box or fulfill a requirement to an institution. A child they were going to love and raise and cherish with every breath in them.

But a pang of consciousness hissed at the back of her mind. How could she sentence an innocent child to a life she knew was nothing more than a luxurious prison? A life that brought her nothing but pain, that she wanted to leave behind before she got swept up in a messy modern fairytale.

It's simple, she thought to force the remorse away. She and Jon would make it different. They chose the least conventional path before. They would do it again. Together.

Chapter Text

This dinner is too important, Jon reminded himself, though the temptation to simply leave was too great.

To continue fostering the fledgling relationship between the North and South, Rhaegar arranged for ambassadors from the Reach to visit Winterfell and a few other places. Unfortunately, he did not send mid-level politicians but the Warden of the region himself. Mace Tyrell— who refused to be sent into the Northern wilds without some kind of buffer— brought along his wife and daughter. Though they knew Jon vaguely from his short time at Highgarden, they still clung to Dany for socialization and guidance, something that irked her endlessly. She told him as much the night before as they readied for bed, detailing her attempts to pawn Alerie and her daughter off on Catelyn and Sansa to no avail.

"I've got my own shit to worry about," she had complained, giving a harmless pillow a nasty shove, "Next time foreign dignitaries visit, they're getting an assigned tour guide."

Despite the stilted first visit, Catelyn arranged a subtle but still impressive dinner as a sendoff. The most influential and prominent figures in the North were there, along with two minor lords in consideration for the new position of Ambassador to the South and the Great Lords they answered to: Bolton and Manderley.

Jon tried to convince his father to go with the less obvious choice of Karstark or Glover, or even Mormont or Hornwood, but it was a battle he was doomed to lose.

As it was, he sat between Lord Tyrell and one potential ambassador but according to the conversation he wasn't there at all. Being ignored had never brought him so much relief. A healthy appetite for socializing wasn't in his cards for the evening.

On the opposite side of the table, partially obscured by a floral arrangement, was Dany. The distance did little to stop them from getting caught up in each other. With every sip of fine wine, Jon found it harder and harder to focus on the conversation at hand. The need to escape the dull talk of weather and agriculture grew ever more urgent as thoughts of other things he could possibly be doing with his time seeped in. Things that were much, much more pleasurable than feigning interest in another course of food and commentary on wildlife population. Thoughts that involved him and Dany, alone and definitely naked.

To be fair, he didn't hate making conversation with Lord Tyrell but every word out of his mouth gave more credence to the rumors that his mother and wife were the secret to their success.

Dany caught his eye again, humor visible over the rim of her glass. She was sticking to the non-alcoholic menu that evening— something the eagle-eyed Alerie pointed out after dinner started. Dany demurred and claimed she was getting over a cold and the substitution was doctor's orders. For the time being, the news stayed between him and her, everything else left to rumor. The whole Stark clan already felt out of control but secretly they were dying to tell everyone.

The corner of her mouth curved into the beautiful, soft smile hinting at an inside joke and Jon couldn't look away. That was, until he registered Lord Tyrell using his honorific to get his attention.

"Apologies, what were you saying?"

"I asked about the hunting in the Wolfswood this time of year," Tyrell repeated. If he was miffed at Jon's apparent disinterest, he didn't show it.

"It's lovely. Perhaps your sons would like to visit before the autumn snows arrive."

An impossibly small window of time as the remnants of drifts from yesterdays flurries still dotted the courtyard.

"It's a wonderful idea but there are still so many restrictions to getting into this country. I'd have to label it a diplomatic visit, and of course, the bureau will want evidence..."

The rest of his complaint died away as Jon's wandering eyes found Dany again. She laughed at something said by the women around her, her cheeks tinted the glowing pink of health and joy. Then she turned her playful, violet gaze on him and winked.

Mace's jolly voice commanded Jon's hearing so he didn't know what Dany said before she excused herself from the table. He watched her like a hawk as she slipped from the grand dining room. Without really thinking, Jon mumbled an excuse that had nothing to do with pursuing something much more enticing than another hour of conversation and food.

"Dany," he whispered, following her down the deserted hall.

He watched the hem of her dress flutter away again and all but groaned in frustration. But she waited in the center of the hall like an illusion, hands clasped behind her back patiently. Every step forward from Jon resulted in retreat from her, delighted by the way he played into her game.

"Dany," he said in a low, measured tone not all that indistinguishable from a growl.

She let him close enough to kiss her. Never before had the feel of her smooth lips been so gratifying. But she only allowed him relief for a moment. Two could play that game.

"We should go back," he suggested, pretending not to be let down by her retreat.

"It's almost over. Besides, my absence is excused. What about yours?"

"I'm checking on you. They won't buy it for much longer."

"Pity." She wiggled out of his arms and took off down the hall again.

"Damn it, Dany," he swore but couldn't stop the laugh that bubbles up.

The chase was half the fun. What happened after was even better.

Her path through the castle took them to the First Keep. Old and barely kept up, it was the one place sure to be deserted at that time of night. She disappeared through a door and Jon followed.

The room was a graveyard of furniture and art, old pieces no longer on display, any flat surface draped in dust cloth. He wasn't even sure it was wired for electricity (or at least not updated within the last century) as their only source of light was the ambient tinges of dust as it slipped from the world and took any sense of color with it.

Before Dany could venture too far, Jon backed her into the rough wall. He wanted to hold out— to tease her as she did him, to make her wait for it— but he was weak against her enticing eyes, dark as wine with thoughts clear on the rippling surface. His reward was a bruising kiss as he slid his hands up her smooth legs, catching the hem of her simple dress. Her fingers tightening in his dark curls sent an unbearable shiver down his spine, awakening him even more.

"Gods, look what you do to me."

"What do you mean?" Her reply was chased by a breathy laugh as he kissed along the modest neckline of her dress, resisting the impulse to rip it apart to get at the skin beneath.

"You give me one look at dinner and I'm chasing you through the halls for this." He undid the zipper with surprising restraint.

"You're not complaining, are you?" She pushed his dinner jacket off his shoulders, deftly loosening his tie before setting to work on the buttons. She lacked the withering patience of her spouse and Jon chuckled at the mess they were in.

"No, no, not at all." He couldn't bring his voice above a whisper as he took her in. Luminescent in the scarce light, flushed with anticipation.

"Because we can go back—"

"Absolutely not," he banished the thought and any further conversation with a bruising kiss.

As he sank to his knees in front of her, he knew there would be no going back to dinner. Neither of them could face that room of people again. And he didn't want to. Not if it meant he could have Dany all to himself, undisturbed.

He slid her pantyhose down. An outdated garment from outdated times and for once he didn't mind having the extra layer to wear away. They were expensive, luxurious to touch and nearly impossible to snag, but he still took great care trailing his fingers along her heated skin. Dany sighed above him, eyes closed in bliss.

A year ago, he was so caught up in his own misery, that anything outside his melancholy was unattainable. Love and hope were meant for the common folk; people unburdened by the legacy of weighty titles and duties. How could one woman change so much? He was a pouty boy transformed into a man at her loving hand. One who wanted to take an active part in his life, one who wanted to assume the responsibilities awaiting him.

Dany made him a man, and in time, a father. Another change he wasn't sure if he was ready for but with Dany at his side, he could face anything so long as it wasn't a single person in the grand dining room.

He used his mouth on her, a trick he knew drove her crazy, but only until she was just squirming and struggling to muffle the moans desperate to fall from her lips. He longed to be in her, to be greedy with his love making and waste no more time. But despite the circumstances, he couldn't treat their rendezvous like some midday tryst, something meant to be messy and quick and done in an instant.

He took her right there, against the wall with no care how the sounds of their lovemaking carried through the stone halls. She clung to him as though he were the only solid, stable thing in the ocean of their pleasure.

As the rush of their rebellious rendezvous waned, neither of them wanted to chance running into anyone— be they guest or staff. So they lingered in the chilly room laid out on an uncovered chaise.

"I learned that Winterfell has secret passages connecting the different wings."

"Aye. Getting lost in them was practically a pastime as a child. Developed a strong sense of direction though."

Dany hummed as she played with the raven curls she loved so much. "There's probably one connected to this room."

"Most likely."

"Want to test out that sense of direction?"

"Ditching dinner, exploring tunnels. What's gotten into you?" He nuzzled the crook of her neck, attacking it with kisses.

She shrugged between giggles. "I'm only curious."

"As much as I would love to entertain you, those things are pitch black and falling apart. Maybe you could convince the twins to show you around them."

"Hm. And give them the chance to pull some elaborate prank on me? I think I'll take my chances in the dark."

"You can do that in your own time, you're not getting me involved."

"Alright. I suppose we should start our walk of shame," she said with a glance at their discarded fancy clothes.

"Well, we can't walk out of here naked."

She frowned at him and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Remind me, what's on your agenda tomorrow."

He thought for a moment, trying to conjure his packed schedule in his mind. "A quick Council Session and then another distribution center opening. What about you?"

"Lessons, lessons, and more lessons. Although, I might be able to convince Cat to let me skip a few to go up to the Lake House."

The Lake House was a wedding present from Their Majesties as part of their duchy titles. House was definitely too modest a word for the sprawling, century old estate situated along the southern shore of Long Lake. Dany had taken overseeing its rearranging as seriously as her cultural lessons. She wouldn't say it but Jon knew it was already her little haven when she needed an escape from court. Of course, Winterfell wasn't nearly as busy as the palace she left behind. Then, she was a princess with no chance of inheriting a throne. Now, she was going to be Queen— a prospect that scared both of them, though they would never admit it.

"Have I told you how impressed I am with you?"

She paused with her dress around her waist and laughed. "What?"

"In less than six months you've done a whole one-eighty. You didn't want any of this and now you're diving headfirst into it."

"Guess I've been inspired." A delicate squeeze of his shoulder told him he was the reason.

He caught her hand before she could snatch it away and kissed it.

"Are you going to get dressed? Or am I walking back alone?"

He relented with a dramatic eye roll that made her laugh.

He couldn't wait until the winter snows slowed life to a glacial pace. With drifts so high transportation was impossible, they were often trapped inside for days at a time. No appearances, no royal commitments, no so-called duties— just the two of them holed up in their rooms all day. Dany would go stir-crazy being forced to sit still for so long but he had a lifetime of winters under his belt and knew all the tips and tricks for surviving the long spans of time cooped up in Winterfell: walks through the endless halls, lunches in the glass gardens, swimming in the hot springs, and turning into absolute bums by sleeping in as much as humanly possible.

Yes, they would be fine.

Another day, another appearance from His Royal Highness, except this time he was accompanied by his father to oversee the opening of another distribution center. It was all very standard. The King said a few words, Jon gave a short speech (altered from the template he came up with to reflect current events and location), they cut a ribbon, then helped hand out resource vouchers and shake hands. Despite the formulaic process, it was still gratifying work, especially with His Majesty in attendance. The RDC was Jon's project, after all.

He built the system from the ground up alongside organizers and local officials to ensure efficiency and effectiveness as he couldn't possibly oversee every single aid application and everyone he appointed would be stuck in Winterfell, hardly useful for the workload required of the task.

The only unfortunate side effects were the photographers crawling everywhere.

As Jon made another counter-clockwise circle through the gathered crowd, kneeling to talk with a child or shaking a hand or two, the clicking of a camera followed. He did his best to ignore it, but the people he conversed with had no skill in tuning them out. Instead of human connection, he found himself met with strained, uncomfortable smiles and hesitant conversation and his frustration simmered.

He thought of the night he and Dany were chased from that Storm's End club by opportunistic hounds with cameras. The adrenaline, frustration, and senseless worry flooded him in an instant, he couldn't imagine going through that again. He made a mental note to talk to his father about scaling back the presence of said menaces at events.

A small part of him knew it was fruitless fight. He had broached the topic once before, early in the days of the engagement when he wasn't sure he could act as in love as he was supposed to feel. This is what we do, Ned had said, The people love to see you and Dany out and about. If we don't allow them where we can control them, they will stop at nothing in the places we can't.

His father had that look of far off regret he always did when speaking of the sacrifices that came with their position— one quickly replaced with a sympathetic smile and an unnervingly positive quip. Jon wished he had his father's patience but a few choice words for the photographer trailing him simmered in his mind.

Another person, another voucher, another set of irritating shutter clicks. And Jon had nothing better to offer the uncomfortable citizen opposite him except an apologetic smile eerily similar to the one his father gave him. He hated it.

The words gathered on the top of his tongue as he turned to bark at the camera, but the fervor died when he caught sight of His Majesty's secretary whispering something into his ear. Those grey eyes, so like his own, glanced up and flickered downward as though he hadn't meant to look directly at Jon. Inexplicable unease threaded itself around him and pulled taut. And that damn camera still clicked away.

He gave the person an unimpressed look before shoving past them and heading straight for his father. His heartbeat, picking up speed with every second he went without an answer, reverberated in his ears.

"What's going on?" He tried to keep his voice as level as possible.

"There's been an incident—" his father began in that stately, calm voice of his.

"What happened? Is it Dany?"

Cameras were trained on them, people started to gain interest and stare. There was an apology in his father's mirror-like eyes. Jon's mind moved quickly from one impossible scenario to the next. He couldn't explain it. He simply knew whatever was wrong involved Dany somehow.

"There's been an incident," he stated again with a firmness that snapped Jon's frazzled mind to order. He was "on duty" and this was the worst place to lose his grip. "You'll return to Winterfell while I wrap things up here."

Unceremoniously shoved into the back of his waiting car, Jon wasted no time calling Dany and her secretary. No answer. Who else would be with her? Arya, Bran, and Sansa were at school, Robb and Talisa in Barrowton. Catelyn never had her phone on her but it was worth a try.

Surprisingly steady fingers found her contract as his leg bounced. The dial tone droned and droned but no one answered. He could only sit and watch the country fly past, firing worried messages begging for unspoken support and hope everything was alright.

Winterfell was as good as deserted when the car slipped past the gates. Jon had no patience for the usual courtesies given his arrival. He threw the car door open himself, charging inside the castle as though he were an invader, a herald on the fringes of a dark storm.

"Your Ro—" someone tried to greet him but he had no time for etiquette.

"Where is she?"

"I—"

"My wife! Where is she?"

"Jon," the calm, collected voice of Catelyn Stark called from the top of the stairs, hurrying down them as he came up.

"Is she—"

"She's fine. It was a little medical scare. She's resting now."

"Can I see her?"

"Yes. But first, a deep breath. No need to have both of you in distress."

"No one would tell me—"

"I know." She took his hand, leading him up the staircase. "It happened very quickly, security was our first priority. But she's fine, the baby is fine."

The room they confined her too wasn't terribly far. Despite the radio silence Jon endured, the atmosphere was alight with activity. Medical staff rushed in from the nearby hospital, a brigade of trained castle staff and maids, a handful of royal secretaries scrambling to make sure privacy was maintained and supplies coordinated. Sitting in the eye of the hurricane, reclined on a settee with an IV drip in one arm and a weary tear stained face, was Dany.

Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of him, posture straightening with the desire to run to him but her position didn't allow for it. He wanted nothing more than to feel her crash against him, to collect her in his arms and hold her tight as though he could hold off the awful things of the world.

He settled for kneeling before her and taking her red face in his hands, foreheads bent together. All that passed between them were mumbled jumbles of affirmatives, reassurances to calm racing hearts. Catelyn and the doctor conversed behind them but the words were gibberish to his ears.

"I—" Dany began but Jon quieted her.

"You don't have to say anything, love, just rest."

"Your Highness, I would like to check your vitals again, if that's alright."

Dany nodded meekly and allowed the nurse— and Jon— to adjust her. He took the newly opened space on the settee and kept her hand clasped fiercely in his, giving gentle squeezes of support as she answered the nurses softly spoken questions. The frenzy seemed to subside, or perhaps the nurse had enveloped them in her sense of tranquility and kept the anxiety of the room at bay.

One of the secretaries, who so easily faded into the background taping away at the screen illuminating her face, let out a sharp gasp followed by a curse.

"What is it now?" Catelyn hissed.

"There— there's been a leak, Your Majesty."

Jon glanced up in time to watch Catelyn's eyes grow cold. "All of you, with me, now."

There were hurried curtsys and utterances of Your Majesty as they filed into the hall.

"What's going on?" Dany asked, broken from their little bubble as well.

"I'm not sure. I'm going to check."

"Don't go," Dany said, tightening her grip on his hand.

"I'm not going far, love. I'll be right back." He dropped a quick kiss to her knuckles.

The scene in the hall reeked far worse of anxiety and dread than the one he left. He arrived just in time to hear exactly what he needed to.

"What leaked?" Her Majesty demanded, employing the strict and even tone she always did when exercising her authority.

"Well... everything, Your Majesty. It started with the medical incident but the news of the pregnancy got mixed up in there somehow.

Standing in the doorway, Jon's stomach sunk. Catelyn gave him a look of apology with a heavy sigh and he looked back at Dany, still chatting with the nurse and blissfully unaware of the fresh mess they were in. This was the last thing they wanted and now they were going to have to draft a statement and face the public.

Chapter Text

"I'm so sorry I can't be there for you right now," Elia's calming voice lilted through the speaker of Dany's phone.

"I know," Dany replied, absentmindedly fiddling with a pen.

A copy of the official statement released by the castle confirming her pregnancy and condemning the publications that capitalized on the leak of personal information lay in front of her. Perhaps worse than the invasion of what little privacy she had was the summons to the High Council session slated for that afternoon. Their Majesties wanted to launch a probe into castle security and needed approval from the Great Lords to use government money. Dany was needed to voice her concerns and tug at the heartstrings of the neutral lords— a nigh on impossible feat considering her track record.

"Don't let them get to you. People love to talk."

"I'm the last person you need to remind of that."

"Yes, well, this... this is different. And if I didn't have a full calendar of events, I would be on my way up there right now."

"I know. Don't worry too much, I've got plenty of support here.

Even before the doctor cleared her— confirming that the cramps were a result of stress and dehydration and assuring her that all women were jumpy about such things during their first pregnancy— her schedule was wiped clean. The youngest Starks stayed home from school and Cat found little free periods in her day to check in. Dany spent most of the morning letting Sansa talk her ear off about all the private school drama. Jon, unfortunately, could not be relieved of his very important princely duties. He was in charge of the morning council session while His Majesty had a routine checkup.

Dany almost wished they hadn't canceled her engagements. No amount of tutoring or playing princess could be as awful as doing nothing all day.

"I'm glad. How is Jon doing?"

"Good. He's been busy lately with—"

"Oh, looks like I've got to move on. Best of luck. I'll talk to you later."

Right. "You too. Bye."

"Bye, Dany."

Phone discarded, she resumed her previous activity of staring at the wall. It was better than drowning herself in the sympathies and suspicions of the public but it left her mind free to put words in the mouths of lords she didn't know. A gentle, and welcome, knock at the door saved her.

"Come in."

"Hello, darling," Cat said, "I was just coming to check on you."

She was clearly done with her engagements for the day, evidenced by her straight leg jeans, cashmere sweater, and lack of baubles.

"Oh, thank you. I just finished speaking to Elia and was about to go back to dying of boredom."

"You don't like to sit still, do you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Come. Let's get some air. I'll show you what I like to do when I've got the jitters."

"I wouldn't call it jitters," Dany started but was silenced by a motherly look from Her Majesty. Without further comment, she followed her mother-in-law into the hall.

The entire castle was brought to a standstill by the leak, laying in wait for the next steps like the rest of the royal family. Increased security— somehow greater in number than the already large presence since the wedding— roamed the halls with the skeleton crew of staff. The Head of Household thought it best to reduce them to the most veteran, proven members. It seemed a tad overkill but she supposed the North wasn't used to scandals rocking the royal foundations every three to five business days.

"This council meeting, is it—"

"Purely routine," Cat assured her, "Normally, we could just tap into our private funds to pay for an investigation but considering you're married to the heir and carrying his heir, it's now a matter of national security and requires pulling funds from those accounts."

"That's good to know."

"You have nothing to fear. Jon and Ned will be there, obviously, but Sansa and I will be in the gallery. And if any of the lords get pushy, Maege Mormont will make sure they stay in line."

"Pushy?"

Cat inhaled like she hadn't meant to let that part slip and looked at Dany with apologetic eyes. "Given the nature of the incident, some of the older lords might try to question the validity of your pregnancy and your health—"

"Why would they do that? This is a request for funding?"

"They're old men," Her Majesty sighed, "with outdated beliefs about the world and women and are more concerned with the safety of the succession than ours. Which is why I'm telling you, do not let them stray from the topic at hand."

Catelyn opened the door to the Glass Gardens— a building that Dany had seen many times but never entered. The warm, humid air smelled of dirt and greenery and was welcome against the autumn chill that seemed inescapable even in it's infancy. Rows and rows of flowers and vegetables and fruit trees and vines lay before them, some unexpected and steadfast, others exotic and luxurious. The mixture of smells, of soil and blooms and something tuberose, was cloying but Dany could put on a brave face to entertain Catelyn.

"I find that getting my hands dirty calms me, takes my mind off whatever preoccupies it."

Dany received brief instruction on how to prune the flowers and then the women set to work. On either side of the bushes, they made their way down the row. Connecting with nature might have worked for Her Majesty but it did nothing for Her Highness.

"What you said earlier, about the Great Lords being old men with outdated beliefs, it sounds like you have some experience there."

"I—" Catelyn started, paused, then buried her focus in the gardenias. "It's not a story I'm fond of telling."

Dany shrugged and clipped a wilted hydrangea. "You don't have to. I was only curious."

"No, no, you should hear it. It's— I'm not sure where to start." She took another breath, which left her as a heavy sigh. "There was supposed to be another Stark child... after the twins. You can see how that panned out."

A dead gardenia hit the gravel path under her feet and Dany pretended not to notice.

"They wanted to talk about my experience as if I could enlighten them on what happened. Me, a grieving mother, trying to explain to men who think they're gods that sometimes... babies never get to see the world outside the womb."

"I stood up there and tried to force words out but all I did was cry." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her glove. "We planned to name him Rickon, like Ned's father. I was so worried for you. That you would have to face the same unfairness I did."

Dany ripped her dirty glove off and reached over the rounded bush top to take Cat's hand in hers. The woman gave it a firm squeeze despite the weakness in her voice. Her Majesty had always looked nebulous in age. Not young but certainly not stereotypically old; a smile line here, a deepened forehead crease when she furrowed her brow. As she clutched Dany's hand, a frailness revealed itself, weariness and exhaustion cleverly hidden behind a her queenly guise. She took a shuddering breath.

"Elia struggled early in her marriage. People started bringing up my mother, saying she had more miscarriages than children, that the Targaryens must be cursed. And I thought—" She hastily cleared her tightening throat— "Well, I always wondered—"

"You're not cursed. No more than I or any other woman." A mother's fierceness filled her eyes. "Things have changed. I've no doubt you can handle a room of stuffy old men."

Dany huffed, though it was a little shaky. "They don't respect me enough for that. They... tolerate me because of Ned and Jon and the treaty but they don't see me as an equal, let alone a leader."

"Not all of them have warmed up to me yet and I've been here a lot longer." Another squeeze of Dany's hand. "Give them time."

Dany gave Cat a convincing smile but uncertainty swirled beneath.

The Lords on the Council still didn't respect Jon, who had proved a thousand times over how capable he was. She saw the way they regarded him with skepticism. And The Crown's insistence on strengthening the relationship with the south (and newfound reliance on them) only served to deepen whatever rifts already existed.

Maybe her reappearance at the Council Session would humble her in their eyes. Her dependence on them making them feel like they had some power over her, even if it was only an illusion to stroke their egos. The thought frustrated her but it was only politics and Gods knew she had better get used to it— she would be playing the game all her life.

Dany had never seen the Council Chamber before. She hadn't seen anything on the legislative side of ruling in her short time living in the North. She and her team had made a strong effort to keep her away from anything that could set her naysayers off on some tangent about her scheming to steal political power for the South. That being said it was much... smaller than she expected. Of course, she was used to the massive Southern parliament building and it's theatricality.

The Council Chamber was a perfect representation of the North's preference for simplicity and efficiency. The only things grand about it were the high, vaulted ceilings that allowed for the gallery of press and other important people to look down on the proceedings, and the raised (but modest) throne the King sat in to preside over the meetings.

There were cameras present, with photographers in the gallery and TV personnel for the Public Affairs network, but she had been informed about them. They usually filmed the afternoon sessions as that was when actual policy was debated and passed. The morning, as Jon bemoaned, was all about reports and assigning duties. The approval of governments funds to investigate the leak was apparently a matter of public interest.

Even though people were still filing in and taking their seats, everyone stopped to watch the Prince and Princess enter. The murmur of idle chatter was replaced with clicking cameras as they went their respective ways: Jon to sit by his father and Dany to wait her turn alongside professors and community representatives who had come to remark on legislation in a long row of chairs pressed against the wall.

She was, however, last on the docket. Dany did her best to pay attention to the commentary on new taxes and agricultural practices but as the people ahead of her dwindled down, she found herself desperate to stop time. Her prepared notes were gripped in her hands and crinkled. Prepared for what exactly? She wasn't sure. She thought it would be best to have an accurate account of what happened— the doctor's exacting wording on the incident and who was with her when it occurred— just in case. Taking a deep breath, she tried not to admonish herself for being so anxious.

When it was finally her time, she approached the front podium, gazing out at the people who held the purse strings with The King staring down at her.

"Lords and Ladies of the High Council, my apologies for being unfamiliar with your process, but I am confused about what testimony is required of me."

"We have a few questions," Lord Bolton stated in that distantly formal tone of his. He probably meant it to be reassuring but no words from his mouth could ever achieve that. "The first being, why wasn't the High Council made aware of your condition?"

"Condition?"

"Your pregnancy," he clarified.

Dany caught Catelyn covering her mouth. Maege Mormont rolled her eyes and stood. "Your Majesty, I request we pass over Lord Bolton's question. Not only is it invasive and unnecessary, it was not included in the list arranged by the Council."

The King raised his hand to quell the murmur from the vast room. "You don't have to answer, Your Highness. Lord Bolton will advance to the next question."

"I ask," said nobleman interjected, "because there is a rule requiring the wife of the King or Heir to inform the High Council of her condition the moment it is confirmed by a doctor."

"Could I ask you a question, Lord Bolton?" Dany spoke.

He motioned for her to continue.

"How is my pregnancy relevant? This is a request for funding to investigate an egregious privacy violation."

"Funding from our national defense budget which is already stretched thin. If we're going to delegate tax payer money into your investigate, we must make sure you comply with the rules of this nation and it's governing body."

Even more murmuring, growing rapidly into discontent. Something self-righteous danced in Lord Bolton's glacial eyes as the King called for order, the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth. So that's what this is. He sought to embarrass her. To call into question her knowledge and loyalty and make an example out of the clueless southerner who set her sights too high. Catelyn hadn't warned her about the possibility of that.

She glanced into the gallery where Sansa and the Queen sat, the princess on the edge of her seat. Lord Bolton forgot that Dany once aspired to the courtroom. This was her domain. She would not let him make a fool out of her. She would not let him win.

"I apologize," she started with a clear, calm voice that ended the last of the whispers, "I was not informed of any protocol surrounding royal pregnancy. How old would you say that rule is?"

"It is one of our oldest."

"So I would be correct in assuming it predates modern medical knowledge and practice?"

"You'll have to be more sp—"

"It's a yes or no question," Dany stated, softening the blow with a patient smile.

He didn't shift or falter. His facade was impenetrable to her trained eye. "Yes, you would be correct."

"Since the implementation of the rule, which we'll say is also the establishment of this council in 1115, our medical understanding of women's health and pregnancy has increased substantially. Your wife had a child recently, do you remember what the doctor told you about early pregnancy?"

His mouth set in a firm line. "I can't recall."

"Any properly educated obstetrician would have told you that a pregnancy, while viable, is incredibly vulnerable in the first trimester— that would be the first three months, if you were unfamiliar with the term— so much so that many women choose not to tell people until the second trimester, in case something were to happen. I'm very fortunate that I did not experience the worst possible outcome and the situation was only exacerbated by first time jitters. I can't help but wonder, if I had miscarried the heir to this nation's throne, would you summon me to testify that as well? Would you put a grieving woman, who is already in pain, through even more distress?

The silence was tense but Dany forced them to sit in it as she collected himself.

"Times have changed. A woman's health, no matter her position, is a private matter between her and her care provider. It should only be made public when she decides." She shuffled her papers around. "Considering I was not informed of this... guideline, I have to assume it hasn't been required of royal wives for some time and it's presence in this conversation exists to hold me to a higher standard. I'll leave it to the Council to think on why Lord Bolton would want to do that. Furthermore, I find it very interesting that, despite my husband's privacy also being violated and this probe being requested by Their Majesties, the King and Queen, I was the only one summoned to speak today. How disappointing that the first time I address the High Council, my compliance is called into question. That is all I have to say on the matter, Your Majesty."

"There are further questions," The King prompted.

"Your Majesty," Lord Glover stood, "In light of Lord Bolton's stunt, the council would like to forgo further questioning and proceed to the vote."

Lord Bolton sat slowly and straight backed. Dany wondered what other questions he could possibly have. If all of them sought to make a mockery of her.

"In that case, you're dismissed, Your Highness."

By the time Dany made it back to her seat, the voting was underway. Lords Reed, Umber, Manderly, and Mormont voted yes but it wasn't enough to pass, even with a handful of abstentions. She caught Jon's eye and found her sentiment reflected: dissapointed, but not surprised.

"You should be proud of how you handled that," Jon complimented, "I know I am."

They sat in the King's office, waiting for him to be freed from post-session stragglers. Jon pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. People filled the hall, heading back to their offices and meetings with their chatter muffled by the ancient walls, but behind closed doors, the conservative rules of Prince and Princess didn't apply.

"Well, I would hate for my university education to go to waste," she chuckled, "All these teas and history lessons, I was worried my courtroom skills had atrophied."

"They haven't," he assured her, "Not one bit."

She smiled but tried to appear demure about it. It may have caught her off guard, but she found a thrill in sensing Bolton's challenge and rising to it. She proved she was made of stronger stuff than the Northern lords thought and, if she was lucky, the might come to respect her for it.

The door opened and in swept the King and Queen.

"You were brilliant," Catelyn cheered, pulling Dany into a tight hug.

"Thank you for sharing your story. They might have eaten me alive if you hadn't."

"I doubt that, my dear. Simply brilliant."

"You did wonderful," the King complimented, sitting at his desk and folding his hands, "Now there's only the push back from Bolton's camp to deal with. I doubt he planned that stunt for no reason. The media team is already working to get ahead of him and put a positive, progressive spin on it. You're the victim here, not the aggressor, we want that to be crystal clear. It won't be pretty."

Dany sank back into her chair. "It seems all I do is make messes."

"It'll be fine," Catelyn said, "I can't believe he would make such a fuss, especially with his... baseborn son in the gallery."

"I thought I saw him," Jon remarked, trying to ignore Catelyn's hesitation, "I heard Bolton wants to have him legitimized."

"Not likely," the King sighed, "I'm the only one who can legitimize nobility and after his little orchestration, he's not going to ask me for favors. He knows he's in the wrong. It is odd. He's usually far more... underhanded. He never makes a show. Either way, we can try again at the next session. Or we can wait and let this news cycle run it's course, let the public catch  wind of this and cause a stir, then try again."

"So long as I don't have to be questioned again," Dany muttered.

"You shouldn't have to," His Majesty continued, "You were right, it should have been Catelyn or I asking for money, not you. You have my apologies for the way they acted."

Dany only nodded in thanks.

"We should wait," Jon spoke, "Let the public put pressure on the lords who voted no or abstained. In the mean time, we can have the houses who voted in favor do some lobbying."

"The percentage of the public who likes me will be upset but there are plenty of people, with platforms, who will side with Lord Bolton," Dany pointed out.

"That shouldn't pose too great an issue," Catelyn assured her.

"But they're right," she argued and received odd looks from her family. "Why should tax payer's hard earned money pay for this probe. If it was an actual threat to national security, I'd understand but the leak didn't put the nation in danger, it only made me feel unsafe."

"So we're asking for the wrong thing," Jon realized, "Instead of asking for money from the defense budget, we should be asking for permission to fund it ourselves. If we make a big enough deal out of the fact that it's not tax payer money, then we might win some lords, and parts of the public, over."

"Exactly."

The King thought. "I can't promise it will work but it's worth a try. I'll introduce it tomorrow and Jon can defend it. Unless you'd like another stab at the High Council, Dany?"

"No," she chuckled, "That's alright. I think I'd better lay low for a while. And avoid any form of media until the inevitable shit storm blows over. The lake is calling my name."

"I'll join you," Jon offered, "As soon as the session concludes tomorrow."

She squeezed his hand.

"If we're finished here, I'd like to go pack up."

"Of course, Dany, enjoy your time off."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Jon followed her into the hall, walking alongside her with their hands still entwined. "I'll be back to Winterfell before you leave."

"Alright."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Well, I'm a little shaken, who wouldn't be," Dany offered, "There's plenty at the lake house to keep me busy and my mind off... everything."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good luck with the council, I know you'll be great."

They stopped where the hallway connected with another. Jon had to go back to the King and hammer out the new proposal if they wanted to force a vote in the early session tomorrow before the fall break.

"Don't worry about me too much," she smiled, "I've survived worse."

"I know, I just... I love you."

"I love you too."

In that silent hall, devoid of the usual end of day hustle and bustle, Jon broke protocol and kissed her.

If politics and protocol and performance were what life had in store for her, she could endure, if only for the moments she could pretend to be normal with him.