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Chapter Text

On those brief nights they were together, Jon did more than just roll around in the sheets with the woman who turned out to be her Gods damned fucking aunt. They had talked. So much so, besides Robb—and maybe Ygritte—that Jon found herself being sucked right into the fact that she could just talk to someone who didn’t look down on her. Or worse, look up to her.

Among all of the horrors about their lives that they shared with one another, after the chaos finds a calm patch and everything is done and can’t be taken back, Jon could only remember one thing that Dani had told her. And as Jon sat just feet from the Iron Throne with Dani’s lifeless body in her arms, all the could think about was walking into the fire, just like Dani did.

But where Dani had produced a miracle and not only hadn’t burned but hatched her three dragon eggs after walking into the funeral pyre of her first husband—Jon wishes to destroy everything herself by walking into Drogon’s angry spitfire of rage and heartbreak.

She wonders why he didn’t kill her for killing his mother. Jon even stares into his eyes after he’s melted down the Throne in a rage of despair. Wills him to come over and burn her, too. Melt her down to nothing, just like the Throne that then sat in front of her, dripping down the stone steps.

But the dragon only gives a soft whimper. And Jon is numb to her core as she simply sits back and watches Drogon gently wrap his tail around Dani’s waist.

And then, as she watched him fly up and out of view, Jon just sat there and waited. For what exactly, she didn’t know.

She sure didn’t expect not to be punished.

Among other things...

“I can’t.” Brann shakes his head, making her heart drop slowly when he turns a small knowing smile on her. Because that’s what he does now; he knows everything.

“Of course you can.” Tyrion says, somehow looking more worse for wear than Jon. His eyes flicker briefly to her, pursing his lips in determination. He hasn't forgotten how to play people. And people tend to want things more if you tell them they can’t have said things. “You said it yourself—you, and only you, know of everything that has happened, will happen, and is happening right now. Surely, that makes you the perfect candidate.”

“That is exactly why it doesn’t.” Brann adds with a tiny smirk, almost condescending looking if he were actually to be bothered.

Tyrion fights his own smirk, but he lets the potential boy king who knows all things see the twinkle of amusement and knowing in his own gaze. He tilts his head very slightly when Brann arcs a brow to Tyrion’s left.

Exactly where Jon is standing with a small scowl glaring down at her boots.

Before anybody can open their mouth, Grey Worm takes a step forward, breaking the mini formation he, Tyrion and Jon hold before the small dais holding the head of the court. He turns his head and doesn’t take his glare off of Jon as he says, “If the following words any of you speak are to put this murderer on your fucking throne, I will kill her myself.”

At this, Jon finally snaps her head up. She glares back at him, and with force behind her words, she points at him and states in a dangerously low tone, “Oh? Is this coming from a man I saw order himself and his men to start stabbing and slitting the throats of innocent people? Children?!” The words to tell him to go fuck himself are on the tip of her tongue, but she bites them down.

Brann smiles fully at last, the most real emotion Sansa and Arya and Jon have seen on him since they’ve all been reunited. He looks at Jon and says, “That is exactly why it should be you, Aegonyra.”

Jon’s nose wrinkles, her cheeks turning slightly pink with embarrassment. “‘Jon’ is fine, Brann.”

“Another reason it should be you. You, Jon, who is brave, like The Warrior. Who is just, like The Father. Who defends the innocents, like The Mother.” Brann stares into her eyes, tone vacant, but every word meant with the utmost conviction. “Jon Snow, she who defeated Death. She who is the body of ice filled with the veins of fire. It’s you, Aegonyra. You are the heir to the Iron Throne. Whether you like it or not, which you don’t, and that is just another reason it should be you.”

Grey Worm says through gritted teeth, “My people will not like this.”

“Your people are few.” Sansa says, voice calm and posture regal as she stares over at the man. His eyes lock with hers and narrow, but she doesn’t so much as flinch. She’s been through far worse men than this one. She smiles sweetly and says, “I assure you, that was not a threat. Just a helpful reminder.”

Jon has to fight back a small amused smile.

It doesn’t work. Grey Worm now looks like he wants to murder her.

“Might I add,” Tyrion cuts in warily, glancing between every person present as he reminds them, “The Dothraki now technically belong to Jon here.” He motions his hands to his right side at her. “Well, what’s left of them. Which is just a little over two hundred. That’s not a lot, but each one does fight like ten of the average man in terms of strength and brutality.”

“They won’t do anything.” Jon cuts in, giving the short-ass bastard a shut the fuck up look before turning a small and rather pathetic smile to the council. Mainly Brann as she pleads for his help with, “They won’t, will they?”

Brann gives a confirming nod as he says, “You have killed the greatest leader they have ever known and you have survived her dragon’s wrath. The Dothraki are yours, completely.”

Thank fuck, Jon thinks, hopefully they’ll stay right the fuck where she told them to until further instruction. She breathes out a sigh, nods and says, “My watch ended because I was murdered for trying to help outsiders simply survive the winter, Brann.” She blows out another breath, shakes her head and says, “And even if the Throne was mine to begin with, I still killed to make it vacant again. I don’t deserve it.” She glances around and is actually relieved to see a few looks of agreement.

Though, Sansa doesn’t look pleased. What more does she want? Fuck sake, she’s already named herself Queen of the fucking North as an entirety. Oh, the Wildlings will be pleased.

That would make Jon want to laugh if she wasn’t actually making a mental note to check in with her sister every so often just to make sure she’s safe. As with all power shifts, whether they’re good or bad, it doesn’t matter, someone will always try to swoop in a grab it for themselves or just try to destroy it altogether.

Gods, Jon just wishes, above all else, to go hide somewhere for a few years—like maybe that cave she and Ygritte found or possibly even the pretty meadow she and Robb used to sneak off to, if it’s even still there after all these years—and either curl up and sleep forever or just die already. For good, this time.

What else is left for her?

That’s exactly what she’s thinking now, just days later after that meeting in the old dragon pits.

Well, other than the resounding question her brain is asking her.

Which is: what the fuck are you doing?!

“...wisdom.”

The very hilariously mocking word from the Grand Sept brings Jon back to reality just as he is pressing his thumb of doused Holy Water onto her forehead. He backs away and she blows out a shaky breath, but otherwise, she keeps her head held high.

Even though she doesn’t even have to really. The faces staring back up at her are all in awe. And she maybe gets it. Maybe it’s weird having a Targaryen back on the Throne. Even if she isn’t the usual incestuous full on blood of the dragon. The people who have come to witness her take what’s left of the melted down throne—Tyrion assures her it’s already being remade for her and she doesn’t really care enough to ask about the details of just how that will happen—and of their own volition. Jon made it very clear to “her people” here in the half crumbled and burnt down palace that the people these idiots want her to rule see that they have a choice in all things from now on. That they truly are free.

Maybe that’s why the looks of awe. Or maybe it’s just the usual talk. They must know by now of what she’s done. Killing Dani, yes. But she’s also still getting over the fact that she rode a fucking dragon. Maybe they know that, too. Talk travels fast and there are eyes and ears everywhere.

Not even the Dothraki that line the walls all over the palace now seem to be enough to scare the people away. If anything, they flock and huddle closer, trying to get a good enough look at their new Sovereign. Maybe they’re just trying to see if a dragon will appear from the shadows behind her.

Now, that would be a coronation to remember.

Jon manages a small smile and with that smile she stretches it to meet her eyes; sets her eyes on her people as the Grand Sept walks over and begins his overly dramatic speech.

“The Crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations...”

Jon blocks out his words and keeps her sincere gaze focused on her people and as the Grand Sept stands before her, she then kneels before him and bows her head to her people as much as she does to the one placing the crown on her head.

The Grand Sept lifts the crown up to show off to the people before turning towards Jon. “Let The Seven bear witness,” He places the crown carefully on top of his Queen’s head, takes a step back and grins brightly with pride as he bellows out, “Aegonyra Targaryen, is the true heir to the Iron Throne!”

Jon takes a deep breath before rising to stand and fully facing her people. There’s a slightly awkward moment where she gives a sheepish smile into deadly silence...that then suddenly erupts into cheers and applause—and is that a few people she sees crying with joy?

OK, so, it’s possible someone really did see her come back from the beyond again just two nights ago...

Possible...

Well, fuck, seems like she’s right when the first wave begin to fall to their knees and bow their heads.

“They think you’re a god. Reincarnated, of course.” Tyrion smirks, mumbling the word just so she can hear when he comes up to her to hand her her sword. “I’m not sure which. It shall be fun trying to figure out.”

Jon rolls her eyes, faint smile flashing over her lips. She grips her sword tight and raises it above her head in a silent vow to protect her new queendom.

Finally, the Grand Sept places a hand over his heart as he introduces his new Queen, “All hail, Queen Aegonyra Targaryen, the First of Her Name, High Lady to Dragonstone, Shield of Her People, Protector of the Realm, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Queen of All of Westeros!”

Chapter Text

When Jon died there was nothing.

It’s not her unable to remember anything. She literally experienced nothingness.

Like being there and not being anywhere at all. Like the moment right before your body decides if something you’re touching is too hot or too cold in those first few seconds of contact. Like you’re still starving, but couldn’t eat another thing. Like you’re about to wake up even though you’ve already woken up. Like everyone and everything is waiting for you, yet, have left you behind and moved on without you.

Funny how nothing and everything are two sides of the same coin.

And looking back now, looking back to that other side is rather fuzzy.

She hasn’t dreamed since she came back from the dead. Which started off rather perky and peaceful and is now slowly unnerving and unravelling her mind. And yet, tonight she dreams.

Well, nightmares are still dreams...

It’s dark and cold. She can’t see anything, can’t move anywhere. She feels trapped. Like maybe she really did stay dead and Ed and Samwell buried her instead. And why did she have to think that?

...Because that’s exactly where she finds herself in the next moment. A thin stream of light breaks her vision into the darkness. A tiny hole just above her. But her limbs are locked at her sides and she can’t reach out.

So, Jon sucks in a deep lung full of air, stiffens her neck, and then, smashes her forehead against the wood of her coffin. She groans, but the pain is muted through her trying to focus so hard on not fucking panicking. Her fingers spread before curling into fists of determination.

“Come back to the light, Jon Snow...”

She can hear Melisandre, the only clears words that let Jon know who is calling to her. Whatever follows from the woman’s lips is mumbled words of a language she doesn’t recognise.

But then, she hears a voice she’s never heard before. A male voice. Deep and somehow like rough silk against her insides. Soft, but somewhat amused sounding as he says, “So, you’re the one that was promised, hm?”

I’m a promise of nothing.

Besides only paying half attention to Melisandre’s words—because to be honest, the woman creeps her out a little bit—Jon just about remembers her mentioning something about a prince that was promised for something.

But Jon isn’t a man. Not a prince even when she had technically been a princess all this time and is Queen now.

This has nothing to do with anything real. I’m just having a nightmare.

The male voice laughs, teasing, but playfully so. “Not a nightmare, my sweet. If it was, I’d wager you’d be afraid.” His tone softens with seriousness as he says, “But you’re never afraid. Not of men or monsters, at least.”

OK, so, it’s absolutely plausible that Jon has finally cracked. That she’s finally gone crazy enough to create other personalities inside of her mind. She’s heard of such illnesses, but never witnessed it for herself. Until now, anyway.

He—whoever this he is—laughs again. This time, softer, as if he’s endeared. Jon doesn’t know why it makes her feel warm and loved, but it does and she finally stops panicking. Finally knows what she has to do.

And with a soft smile tugging at her lips, she takes a calming breath and locks her eyes onto that tiny little hole of light. And just like that, she’s waking up and staring at the canopy above her new bed. A bed so soft that she didn’t know it could even exist.

Seems as though Dani saved the personal parts of the palace for herself after she let her dragon burn everything else. Jon thinks about that as she pulls herself up to sit and looks around. She sighs long and loud, wincing as her eyes take in the light pouring from the curtains she forgot to pull last night.

A knock startles her out of her thoughts. And then, as soft female voice calls through the door, “Your Grace? May I come in?”

Jon scowls at the title, but is huffing out her annoyance and slapping on a bright smile as she calls back, “Of course.”

The door opens and in walks a pretty little brunette who can’t be that much older than Arya is now.

Good, Jon thinks, biting back a glare for the girl’s sake as she thinks back to her actually having to make a fucking rule about the Dothraki—through Tyrion’s broken translations helping her—specifically only being allowed to bed women and not girls. And certainly none by force. She doesn’t know whether it’s really her own power or the threat of a looming dragon still roaming about out there at the back of her forcing them to listen to her still, but she’ll take whatever the fuck she can get with those unpredictable lot.

So much worse than the Wildlings. At least a few of them actually like her for who she is and what she’s done to help. Or tried to, anyway.

“Would you like me to prepare a bath for you, while you break your fast?” The girl asks quietly. Her head is bowed, brown eyes peeking out from under thick lashes while glued to the floor. Hands neatly tucked behind her back as she waits for an answer.

“What is your name?” Jon asks, only mildly interested in her actual name. She really just wants the girl to know she doesn’t need to be so prim and proper. It’s really never been Jon’s style. And it’s going to stay that way, no matter what her council try to tell her.

Well, at least Tyrion doesn’t give a shit about all of that.

“Maliah, Your Grace.” She says, lifting her gaze as she addresses Jon.

“Maliah.” Jon nods, smiles as she holds her gaze. “Well, then, yes, Maliah, I would very much like to drown in a bathtub right after I’ve enjoyed whatever delicious treat you’ve decided to bring me this morning.”

A quiet laugh bursts from the girl’s lips before she can seem to stop it. Her eyes widen over at Jon as she slaps her hands over her mouth.

Jon chuckles, tells her, “At ease, Maliah. I know I’m your Queen now, but I hope that will make us good friends.” She offers a sincere smile before softly adding, “You are not my pet, Maliah, do you understand?”

Maliah flushes and nods eagerly, smile timid but nonetheless genuine. Yes, Jon will get along fine with her.

“Good.” Jon nods. Then, sternly adds, “And that means you’re under my protection. So, if you’re ever having problems, I want to know about them the moment after they arise, understood?”

Maliah’s shoulders relax a little as she nods again. “Th-Thank you, Your Grace. You are most thoughtful.”

Jon puffs out a laugh at those words, but thanks her anyway.

She yawns, then, cracks her neck and finally pulls the covers back. She rises from the bed as Maliah makes her way over to grab the two pots to fill the silver bathtub by the window, bathing itself in the centre of spotlight from the Sun’s rays. She yawns again, feeling a little groggy. She stretches her arms above her head, cracking the rest of her joints when Maliah turns and suddenly freezes in her place.

Jon glances slowly down at herself and finally remembers she’s naked. Her cheeks flush a little and she smiles sheepishly as she says, “Sorry. I can cover up if it makes you feel uncomf—“

Jon’s smile falters when she notes Maliah’s eyes wide with horror. Jon glances slowly down and this time, she’s looking at the same thing she knows Maliah is looking at. She lifts a hand gingerly up, her fingertips ghosting over the many scars. Her hand lifts up a little further, her fingers lingering on the one curved over her heart.

The one that hurt the most. And not because of the pain.

She expects to see that horror, or even a thousand questions on the girl’s face. But when Jon looks back up at her, Maliah is frowning softly.

Jon stands motionless, simply staring at the girl’s expressions as Maliah places the pots down at her feet and steps slowly up to Jon. She gives a little nod when the girl lifts her hand slowly and pauses to glance up at her. Maliah’s gaze returns to Jon’s chest and Jon doesn’t move, save for her eyes fluttering briefly at the soft touch along her stomach.

Into the comforting silence, Jon’s eyes snap open and down when Maliah whispers, “Were you made by the Gods?”

Jon chuckles. “Weren’t we all?”

Maliah gives a playfully scolding look. A smile tugs at her lips, shy and sweet as she blushes. She pulls her hand back a little as she says, “The people talk. They say that the Mother grew you in her own womb. That the Warrior carved you with his own two hands before he placed you in the Father’s hands to place in the Mother’s womb. That the Crone imbued you with a piece of her own wisdom. That the Smith broke away and piece of his heart to make yours strong. That the Maiden took her own reflection from the oceans and cast it onto you. That the Father is always whispering in your ear, telling you who is innocent and pointing out who is not.”

Maliah’s eyes trail back with her fingers to Jon’s scars. This time, she lifts her hand carefully, tracing the one pressed over her heart. Her eyes lift to meet Jon’s as she ends with, “That the Stranger has made Death promise not to touch you until you decided.”

Jon takes a deep breath to calm herself. Because thinking about all the crazy shit people are thinking about her is really not helping her focus on being a good queen for them.

And that’s all that matters to her now. Or, at least, it should be...

Jon smiles tiredly as she says, “Sounds like a nice story.”

And she really means that. Oh, how simple it would be if that were all true. How easily she could navigate through her shit show of a life.

Maliah nods, smiling as she backs away. “Some of them believe you are the Gods themselves. Melded together in unison to make themselves unstoppable. To make men remember them and denounce all else.”

At her Queen’s alarmed look, Maliah chuckles and tells her, “I promise though, most of them believe the other story.”

Jon blows out a breath of relief.

She’s about to open her mouth to ask where her sword is—because she swears everyone has to keep moving everything around here for her and it’s already starting to annoy her—when another knock on the door sounds. This one, more persistent and a fuck lot louder.

Jon winces as Maliah rushes over to open it.

“Oh, thank fuck for that!” Someone hisses. “Thanks, is she—err, I mean, is Her Grace here?”

“One moment, please, My Lord.”

Jon grabs the robe hooked up by her bed and slips it on. She tightens the silk belt around her middle and turns just as Maliah is closing the door and turning to tell her, “Your Grace, Lord Gendry Baratheon is here to see you.” And before Jon can say anything again, Maliah gives a disapproving scowl as she says, “It is most improper for a man you are not wedded to or—pardon my tongue, Your Grace, but a man you are not bedding for your pleasure either—to seek out Her Grace in her chambers.”

Jon blinks. Then, chuckles.

Maliah’s scowl deepens.

Jon sighs, shakes her head and says, “He has already had my sister. He will not have me.” She jokes, but still, Maliah’s eyes widen in pure scandal.

A beat of silence between them. And then, Maliah’s face takes on an intrigued hue while slipping out the question, “Which sister?”

Jon laughs as her eyes widen at her little outburst. Well, what she thinks is an improper outburst, most probably. Jon just finds her totally endearing. She reminds her of Arya...if Arya was just a little bit more like Sansa.

Jon shudders at the thought. She loves them both just the way they are.

Jon gives the girl’s shoulder a soft squeeze. Smiles and says, “Draw my bath. Then, bring enough breakfast for the both of us. We can sit out on what’s left of the courtyard balcony and eat.”

She can see the protest in Maliah’s eyes about no doubt how improper it is for her to eat with her Queen, but Jon gives her an encouraging grin and walks away before she can protest aloud.

Jon opens the door and is faced with Gendry, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his left boot tapping more anxiously than impatiently. Seeing Jon seems to somehow make him look relieved, but even more fidgety at the same time.

“Gendry.” Jon nods at him as she steps out and shuts the door behind her.

It’s freezing. She’s already regretting just donning this thin silk robe. She rolls her eyes at the young man’s wide-eyed stare and the way his eyes drop briefly to her chest before snapping up so fast that he blinks rapidly to right his dizziness.

Seriously, why are men so easy? And they call women whores.

Though, Gendry is rather cute. Less creepy. And even lesser when he looks to be deliberately keeping his gaze on her face.

He clears his throat, takes a deep breath and says, “There seems to be a dragon waiting for you in the Throne Room...uh, Y-Your Grace.”

Jon blinks. Her still tired brain from all of the mostly sleepless nights since dying taking a moment to process his words. And when she does a moment later, Jon gulps quietly, nods and calmly asks him, “Is anyone dead or hurt?”

Gendry shakes his head. “No. He’s just...standing in there and staring at the...the, uh, the new Throne...” He says, tone as wary as Jon now feels.

Jon nods and says, “OK. Just give me a few moments to get dressed and I’ll be there.”

Chapter Text

Jon knows her steel armour won’t protect her, let alone the leather. Still, she puts them on anyway. And is sure to leave her flammable fur cloak behind. She also leaves her leather gloves behind—not that she’s assuming he’ll even let her touch him again, she’s just trying to be respectful.

Well, as respectful as she can be after murdering his mother...

Again, her brain asks her just what the fuck she thinks she’s doing as she makes her way over and around the still half crumbled down palace—Tyrion assures her that plans for reconstruction will begin very soon, not that she even asked; she’s more concerned with rebuilding the city—stepping carefully as she does.

Gendry is nowhere to be seen. Having disappeared when she stepped back out of her room.

Even Maliah was braver as she asked Jon if she needed her to come with her and even followed her halfway down the windy hallways—even with the Sun shining, since Dani’s devastation on King’s Landing, it’s like a permanent winter chill has settled.

Jon keeps her breathing steady, trying to stay focused and not panic. She’s not exactly afraid...OK, not completely. But somehow, she feels like she understands these creatures.

Which, she guesses she understands after finding out who her father really was.

She knows as long as she doesn’t piss the dragon off intentionally, he (probably) won’t eat or burn her.

She grabs the tie from her wrist— almost forgetting about her hair—and scrapes the top half back into a loose bun and lets the rest sit behind her back as usual. She pauses when she hears a rumbling, feels vibrations under her feet. A soft and slightly impatient sound. Like he’s tired of waiting for her.

Jon gulps, nods to herself to just go ahead. She straightens her back and slowly walks down the steps. The wall entering the Throne Room is still mostly standing, but over the tops of the huge double doors, Jon can see a flicker of a tail and those giant wings shifting, causing the air to lightly ruffle her hair.

She takes the last step and pushes the doors slowly open, letting them creak loud for him to hear, even when she knows he can probably either hear or smell her already. She stops just inside the doors, standing and staring at him.

And Gods, he’s just as fucking big as she remembers him. Yes, it’s only been two months, but she still can’t even get over the fact that she’s rode one of these things all by herself.

Drogon doesn’t turn his head. He’s still staring forward at the new throne. Jon can’t see his face, but she sees his wings twitch with annoyance and his tail curling as he reacts to her being there. Almost like he’s waiting for her to come to him.

Jon doesn’t want to die, at least, not right now, anyway, but she really doesn’t want to piss him off. More than that, she feels she owes him an explanation. Whether he understands or not is a different issue.

She takes another deep breath and walks slow and steady over to him. He doesn’t look at her still, just stares at the Throne. She stands by his curled tail and stares at it, too.

It’s like nothing ever even happened. Each sword of the Conqueror’s enemies planted back exactly where it was. Jon has only laid eyes upon it that one time before she ended Dani before she could take it for herself.

Jon would have let her. Would have fought for her Queen to her last breath.

And then...

Jon closes her eyes, lets out a quiet sigh. Opens her eyes, turns her body to face the dragon. Looks up at him as he continues to ignore her and says to him, “I know it means nothing to any creature who has their mother taken from them, but I am sorry, Drogon, truly.” She swallows down the lump trying to form in her throat.

Because—God’s, help her—she was beginning to fall for the crazy, beautiful woman.

For her aunt...

Jon then has to ignore the curdling in her stomach and the acid trying to rise up her throat. She takes another breath, then, says, “If you’re here for your revenge or justice, I won’t blame you.”

Drogon finally moves, though, only a fraction. His shoulders shift and he lowers his head a little as he lets out a rumble from the back of his throat.

Jon notes his tail curling a little more and she doesn’t know how she comes to the conclusion that he wants her to touch him, to comfort him. But with only a slightly trembling step forward, she takes a deep breath to sooth herself while slowly lifting a hand to lay across the fold of his wing pressed into the stone.

She’s never touched the wings before. Only the rock solid and rather smooth to the touch scales. His wing feels a lot more like animal skin without any hair. It feels delicate and she finds herself smiling a little when her touch seems to tickle him and he wiggles his wing and it ripples under her hand.

Jon stares up at him, finally meeting his eyes and somehow not feeling afraid at all anymore. He looks right into her soul, at least, that’s what it feels like. And as her smile falls away, she realises he probably can do just that. He can see all the pain she’s caused and the pain she’s had caused to her. Seen the choices she’s had to make; all one she’s didn’t want to, but did anyway.

He...understands her.

She guesses it takes a dragon to really know a dragon.

Even if she’s half wolf and was brought up full wolf, the dragon runs through her veins.

She’s always felt it, even if she didn’t know what it was. Always felt this annoying itch just under the surface of her heart. Like she was a withering flower that just had to, but never could reach a slither of sunlight.

Drogon snaps her from her thoughts as he suddenly shifts back. She pulls her hand back as it slips from him. She stays deadly still, just in case. But is surprised and a little shocked when he lowers his face down to her instead.

It’s just like last time, only this time, Dani isn’t here and Jon isn’t trying to get a dragon’s approval just because she wants Dani to herself.

She ignores the bad taste that thought leaves on the back of her tongue. Which is easy when you have a huge dragon staring right at you.

His eyes are the brightest glowing rubies she’s ever laid her own eyes on and each one is almost the size of her entire head.

He blinks slowly at her, like she used to see the stray kittens Brann or Arya would find do whenever they would show them love and care. Jon does as her siblings (or technically, her cousins) would do with the kittens and now blinks slowly back at the dragon in front of her.

Jon chuckles nervously when he blows out a hot breath through his nostrils and right into her face, making her hair whip back. If he was going to eat her, he probably would have done it by now...right?

But then, what is he doing h—

Drogon shifts again. In seconds, this time, he’s standing to her right. He lowers his head until it’s almost touching the stone floor. He dips his wings, the folded joints flattening to the ground at his sides. His wings ripple before settling calmly. His back cracks and his tail flicks. Then, he rolls his left shoulder at her.

Jon’s eyes widen as he finally turns his head to look at her with expectancy. “You...” She gulps, clears her throat. “You want me to...”

Nope, she still isn’t processing.

Jon shakes her head, just barely before he lets out a rumbling soft growl of disapproval. She literally has a dragon fucking glowering at her right now.

It’s like he’s saying: “you killed my mum, so, now, I’m your problem.” Jon almost laughs at the thought, but thinks better of it. Considering she’s already treading on thin ice concerning pissing off said dragon any more than she already has.

Jon clears her throat again, instead, sincerely wanting to know, “Why would you want me?”

Drogon simply blinks at her, still seemingly waiting for her to just hop onto his back like it doesn’t change everything. Again.

Jon isn’t sure how much more change she can take right now.

She can’t exactly serve up the excuse this time of whether the dragon might even want her on his back or not. Nor can she say anymore that she doesn’t know how to ride a dragon.

Well, she still doesn’t really know, but she’s a lot more confident than she was.

Horses really are boring now...

Her brain screams at her for her stupid reasoning when that confidence suddenly rises within her and she finds herself walking slowly over to him.

He’s a bit bigger than Rhaegal was.

Jon’s heart twinges at the thought of his death, anger curling around her stomach as she thinks of Euron and wishes she’d been the one to kill him (instead of an oath breaking, King slayer turned Queen deserter like Jaime Lannister.)

Drogon, much like she remembers Rhaegal doing as she approached him for the first time, seems to vibrate with excitement. He huffs when she just stands there staring at him.

Gods, what am I doing?

Jon shakes the doubts away and begins her less than graceful climb up onto his back, using his spikes to grip and pull her up. But bless him, he does try to stay still for her. At least, until he feels the moment her backside is planted between his shoulders.

Then, he’s off without warning and Jon is letting out a less than regal yelp of surprise...and some panic.

He’s a lot fucking faster than his brother was, but his movements are more balanced and once they reach the clouds in just a matter of seconds and he levels his body out, Jon suddenly remembers why she ever climbed onto a dragon in the first place.

Chapter Text

Dani always made this look so easy. Like she was riding a wooden horse—forget a real one.

Where Dani would hold on with her thighs and one fucking hand, Jon’s thighs tremble from their tight hold, while both her hands grip the two nearest spikes of his neck for dear life.

She doesn’t know if anybody saw her, but then again, she doubts nobody saw Drogon’s huge frame darting up and over the very castle he half burned to ashes. She doesn’t know how much trouble with the council she will be in after this. And for once, she doesn’t even worry too much about what the innocent people left over from the families that Drogon burned—along with half the city—will think of her for riding the very beast who destroyed their lives and livelihoods.

All she can think about now is simultaneously not shitting her draws, while thoroughly enjoying every damn moment of it. And when he finally stops ascending to level out just above the clouds, Jon manages to slow her breathing down and enjoy the ride even damn well more.

She sits up as straight as she can, like she would a horse, even though dragons weave rather than bob in their movements. He keeps her steady on his back, whether he means to or not. And even with the small bumps under her arse, dragons are still way more comfortable to sit upon than horses. There’s no roll of the hips or the shoulders making her do most of the work to stay seated. Just the smooth up and down motions of his wings.

The winds blast her hair back and she’s suddenly glad she decided not to wear her fur coat for a whole other reason. She may be colder without it, but the missing weight of it makes her feel like she’s flying with him and not just on him. She sits up straighter, relaxes her shoulders and even the grip of her thighs a little. She takes a deep breath and begins to take it all in properly.

Without her just wanting to show off to Dani, this is the first time she’s actually appreciating every part of riding a Gods damned dragon.

Yes, she could definitely get used to this.

As far as her eyes can see in front of her is the vast open ocean. She glances back over her shoulder, seeing the shore in the distance.

Only then, does she begin to panic a little again. Suddenly realising that he isn’t just taking her for a ride.

He’s taking her somewhere specific.

Somewhere not even on the continent...

Jon’s eyes widen as she turns back to face the seas before and beneath her. All a-fucking-round her.

“Wh...” She clears her throat and yells as calmly as she possible can over the winds and the waters and the beats of dragon wings, “DROGON, WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME??”

Typically, he doesn’t answer her. Doesn’t even look back at her. Doesn’t make a single noise to let her know he even heard her.

Jon tries not to panic even more, even when she’s panicking a little more by the minute.

She thinks logically.

He would have killed her already if that’s what he wanted from her. She doesn’t see dragons doing the whole revenge served cold thing. They’re far too brutal and just simply too unstoppable to give a shit.

But he’s taking her somewhere. Of that, she is certain.

He’s flying with too much purpose. Too much urgency. And he’s ignoring her to do so. Which she somehow feels is true, because he doesn’t seem annoyed with her, let alone angry.

Thank the Gods for that—if they really do exist.

She’s still on the fence with that one. Even after dying—no—especially after dying.

I’m going to fucking die again if I don’t hold on tight and stop almost shitting myself.

At that thought, Jon sucks in a deep breath to centre herself and override any nerves she has, just like she does before each fight or battle.

Just like she had when standing in that field waiting for Ramsey’s army to run her down.

But this isn’t that, she tells herself.

This is a dragon, of all mighty beasts, that wants her. Not a sadistic jealous bastard that wants her erased from existence.

Bastard.

Such an odd thing, thinking about it now. That she was never one to begin with, yet, the very word used to be the bane of her existence.

That Lady Catelyn hated her so much and had her heart broken because of Jon for absolutely nothing.

Jon doesn’t and has never considered herself of much value, even though she has tried to make herself as useful as possible, but she still thinks she’d have been better off dying before she got to kill her mother. Setting her mother and father free and saving everyone later in years all the heartaches and wars.

And now, that’s where she knows she was ungrateful. That she was rather prissy and pompous for someone who had been raised a bastard and mostly treated as such.

Tyrion was the first to open her mind. That first time she met him outside in the Stark’s yard, banished until guests and dinner were done with.

But the older she got and the more shit she experienced outside of her lavish and comfortable home in Winterfell, the more Jon began to resent herself.

Her mother died for her.

Her father died for them both.

And Lord St—her dear uncle Eddard broke his soul-mate’s heart to keep both Jon and her mother—his sister—safe.

Jon never realised back then just how much he did for her. Even while just thinking at the time that she really was his bastard with some woman he couldn’t even bare to talk about.

She’d always hated him a tiny little bit for never wanting to talk about her mother. And in turn, hated herself for hating the only man (besides Robb) that ever truly cared for her.

But when dragons and magic and walking dead men are suddenly thrown into her life, the bigger picture is revealed and humbled her really fucking quickly. Though, with having to shoot a man you counted as a good friend in the heart to save him the horrible death of burning at the stake—among many other horrific tragedies—well, she was already halfway up that humbling path of her life.

Drogon suddenly shatters her swarming thoughts by lifting his head to let out a sort of warning trill, the sound vibrating right up into her bones. He looks back at her, letting out a huff before straightening and diving forward.

Jon sucks in a breath and tightens her hold, both hands and thighs clamping down.

Well, at least he warned her this time. Bless him, she thinks with a small smile, even as the wind whips so violently at her face that it begins to scratch her cold-bitten skin.

In a matter of moments, Drogon flares his wings out and levels himself just meters over the waters as he continues to fly forward.

Jon glances back when she hears a soft splash and sees the tip of his tail dragging to slow him down. Though, when she looks forward again, a small slither of land comes into view on the horizon. One she recognises.

Maybe he’s having a funeral for Dani and wants me there.

Jon shakes her head immediately at the utterly stupid thought. Though, she is worried of what she will find when they land.

It’s been two months since Dani’s death and if he hasn’t...dealt with her body...well, Jon dreads to think of it.

However, she feels she more than owes it to the woman she betrayed—and then, murdered immediately after—to give Dani a proper send off.

So, as she always does, she will do what she must.

Drogon flaps his wings and gently, slowly rises above the waters and Jon gets her first look at the place since she left it with Dani and Tyrion.

Dragonstone.

Completely deserted. But still fully intact and eerily beautiful to look at.

Drogon flies them a little faster, up and darting right over Sea Dragon Tower, the armoury, and then, of the main part of the castle with the Stone Drum that houses the infamous Painted Table sitting protected in the middle of it all. On the other side, where Drogon suddenly stops and hovers over, is the gardens that Dani promised to show her, but never got to with all of the chaos.

The Dungeon Tower is just a few yards away. For a moment, Drogon hovers nearer to it and Jon really hopes he doesn’t expect her to climb down from him from all the fucking way up there. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and she breathes out a sigh of relief when he moves up and over the tower.

Finally, Jon pays more attention to the dragon himself. Noting that he’s stopped, but only finally now asking, “Something wrong?” Just in case, she keeps her voice as low as she can while still loud enough for him to hear over his wings.

Maybe he forgot where he put Dani and he is trying to sniff her out. Though, Jon doesn’t dare ask him that.

Drogon slowly descends upon the stairs descending into the garden. Stone and just about big enough not to crumble to complete dust under his weight. Though, Jon can hear the bits of stone still falling away to his clawed feet as he moves to adjust his weight. He turns his head then, his long neck allowing him to fully face her.

When he blinks at her, Jon blinks back at him. But then, he simply stares at her and it takes her a moment to figure out that he’s waiting for her to get off of him.

Jon gives the huge beast a sheepish grin and nods. “Right.” She gives him an awkward pat on the back, to which she is sure he huffs out some sort of amusement in return.

She chuckles, shakes her head while thinking about how fucking crazy her life is...literally all the time since leaving Winterfell that first time.

Jon thanks him, more sure by the more moments she spends with him that he understands more than she’ll ever know. She then, more gracefully this time, manages to climb, slide and jump those last few feet down onto the steps just under his clawed feet.

Each is bigger than she is on the whole. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over how magnificent these creatures are.

If only Tormund could have seen her. He’d probably have a shit attack...right before celebrating with a week’s worth of ale.

And, oh, back to how fucking crazy her life is—the marvelling smile is wiped clean off of Jon’s face when Drogon beats those magnificent wings of his and suddenly leaps up into the sky...without her.

No, no, no—

“NO! Don’t you dare!” Jon snaps, pointing a scolding finger at him before she can even stop to think about actually trying to scold a fucking dragon.

He ignores her. Because of course he does.

He’s already back above the Dungeon Tower when Jon yells out after him, half panicked, half pissed off, “Drogon! Drogon, don’t you dare leave me here!”

When he meets the clouds in the next few seconds, Jon tips her head back and yells out, in full outrage, “FUCK!!!”

And then, after laughing hysterically for two split seconds; “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! You fucking—GARRGH!!!”

And then, finally, after her little meltdown, of which she almost literally never lets herself indulge in—mostly, for the sake of saving lives, while saving time—Jon stands up straight, takes a deep breath and begins her walk down the steps.

She doesn’t know where the fuck she’s going. Maybe find Dani’s body and deal with that first. Just to take her mind off of literally being fucking deserted on a lonely island with no way back—

Then again, maybe this could be a good thing...

Obviously, she can’t relinquish her duties as a queen now that she’s committed to the responsibility and role of it all.

But...some time by herself to just gather her thoughts and enjoy the rare peace and quiet...

Gods, that sounds so divine that Jon isn’t sure she really deserves it.

Still, she will make do.

Hopefully, Drogon hasn’t left her here forever.

Really...really hopefully...

Fucking Seven Hells—she doesn’t even have her sword with her. Nor even just a tiny little dagger in her boot or something.

This is what she gets for trusting a dragon.

No, this is what she gets for trusting the one dragon whose mother she murdered just a hundred feet from.

Jon gulps and instead makes her way to the armoury. She doubts there’s anything left, but it won’t hurt to try her luck.

Once she finally reaches the bottom of the long winding dragon shaped stone staircase, her boots hit the soft grasses of the gardens. It’s long since been left to overgrow and the pathway she takes is all but dust in the patches than can be seen and flooded with varieties of brush where it isn’t. The gardens themselves are mainly just tall meadow grass sprayed with flowers of yellows and whites.

Jon breathes in a lungful of sea air and can’t help smiling at the utter peace and serenity of it all. She briefly wonders why Dani would ever want to leave; should have really asked her why she wanted that Iron Throne Jon now has herself.

Because Jon knows it wasn’t just because Dani thought she was owed what was hers and taken from her.

“Jon Snow.”

Jon freezes entirely when a voice stops her in her tracks. She knows that voice. She’s sure of it. But she just can’t think of where from. It’s nobody she knows, she knows that much. And yet, he speaks like he knows her better than anyone, even herself.

Like he’s been waiting for her.

Jon frowns as she slowly turns around to face whoever that voice belongs to. Her eyes widen, then, dart away instantly. Though, only for a moment and only out of instinct.

This man is naked. Almost as the day he was born, save for the thin gold band of a crown wrapped around his forehead and the longsword hanging loosely in his right hand.

Though, immediately, she can’t deny that he’s the most beautiful person that she has ever laid eyes on. Even more so than any woman, even while his features hold little to no femininity.

Strong jawline, broad shoulders, wide chest, ribbed torso, thick meaty limbs. Dusted all over with tiny golden hairs that almost match the unmistakable silvery pearl coloured hair of the Targaryens that sits on top of his head in a shaggy mess that tickles downs to his earlobes.

“Are you...” Jon clears her throat, gives him a kind smile as she asks, “Are you all right, My Lord?”

Him addressing his new Queen by her bastard name doesn’t even come into her head right now.

And whether or not that’s because he’s so beautiful to look at or she’s just confused as to what he’s doing out here naked and alone, she could not say...nor really care, for some reason.

He didn’t say her name with disgust or derision. Neither does he now when he frowns softly, looking confused as he asks, “You’re Jon Snow?”

Now, Jon is a little confused, too. If he doesn’t know who she is, why is he even looking for her? How does he even know her name?

Still, Jon bows her head, trying only for the first time to act regal so as not to flush fully at the sight. And what a sight that...that beast is between his thighs. She’s no virgin, nor is she the most shy in most situations, mainly because “being a bastard” never allowed her such comforts.

But Holy Seven Gods...

The people are wrong to tell stories of her being a god.

This is a God—if there were ever any walking among men.

Jon has never been one to swoon so easily either, though, right now, she’s starting to feel really fucking hot.

But at least she still has some good sense left in her to warily eye the sword in his hand as she carefully asks him, “And which Lord before me now might be asking?”

He tilts his head, stares curiously at her. “You are from The North.” He says in his well-spoken accent and smooth deep silk voice that makes her skin shiver just like...

Jon sucks in a tiny breath, but otherwise keeps composed.

The man from my dream. That voice... I... What the absolute fuck is going on?

The man seems to misinterpret her look—he lifts his free hand in a peaceful manner while his other lifts up his sword to let it drop to the path at his bare feet. “I will not harm you, My Lady, you have my word.” He says in a soft voice. Though, he’s back to eyeing her curiously—or more accurately, taking in the armour she’s wearing.

Jon can’t help it. She chuckles. She has never been called a lady before, of all things. It just makes her laugh.

A slow, but wholly unfairly bright and dazzling little smile stretches across his lovely pink lips.

Jon doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but things literally could be worse.

She tilts her head, eyes his face curiously until she realises he really doesn’t know who she is. He’s just staring back at her, smiling slightly and looking somewhere between intrigued and...delighted?

Still, she is a queen now. Which means, she doesn’t have to answer questions first anymore.

She arches a brow. Lifts her chin and stares right into his eyes, looking at his reactions as she sternly asks, “Who are you?”

He scoffs out a laugh, but it’s not aimed at her as he tips his head back up to the sky and says to himself, “What the absolute fuck is going on?”

Jon bites her bottom lip. Both from smiling amusedly at his words echoing her earlier thoughts and—Gods, help her—the way his muscles stretch at the movement.

He blows out a breath. Head falling limply forward and eyes connecting with hers. His gaze darts down to her mouth for a split second, a flicker of something dark and shiveringly lovely flashing passed his lilac orbs. When he looks back into her eyes, it’s gone, and instead, he’s adopting a cute little grin.

“My apologies, My Lady, I seem to have...woken up with all of my clothes gone.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands held out in a what am I going to do? motion. Like it happens to him all of the time or something.

Jon doesn’t even dare herself to let her eyes stray back down. Keeps them firmly planted on his as she arches a brow and asks him, “Where did you wake up?”

“Here.” He motions around to the entire island. Chuckles when she gives him a withered stare and adds, “Here, in my gardens.”

In...whose...gardens?

She may not be a history buff like Arya or know literally everything like Brann, but she knows enough...

Jon blinks slowly, now letting her eyes trail up and down, though, this time, only to help digest his words.

He...

He—it can’t be him, even if she somehow has a deep knowing feeling that it really is—takes a small step forward. Holds his hands up to show her he still means no harm, leaving his sword on the path behind him as he steps over it.

“My name is Aegon Targaryen, My Lady.” His voice is soft, almost wary as he then asks, “Do you...know who I am?”

Jon blinks—wants to ask: who doesn’t know who you are?

Chapter Text

In her mind, Jon continued to prove just how unladylike she is. Only five minutes in, by the time they’re just approaching the Dungeon Tower, Jon is walking by his side rather than behind him. Precaution seems to have left her, while her eyes can barely stray from him.

But thank fuck he doesn’t notice. Seems more interested in peering around at their surroundings as they go. Jon thinks maybe, by the slightly faraway look on his face, that he’s either homesick or taking in any changes that may have occurred in the last three centuries.

And that was almost one of the most surreal conversations she’s ever had.

Telling The Conqueror himself, that he has somehow woken up three hundred years after his three-and-second birthday.

But he’d taken it well.

A little too well...

Though, he did still seem just as confused as she is about this turn of events.

Which is why she gives him a chance.

Everybody deserves one chance—that’s what both her Uncle Benjen as well as Uncle Eddard had told her. And that is what both men had always done for her. Given her the chance to prove herself.

And Aegon handing his sword over to her before they started their trek to the Stone Drum in a gesture of goodwill really has started him off very well.

Gods, she wishes Arya was here. At least she seems to know all the Targaryen’s names and who they really were. Jon knows next to nothing about her father’s family.

And as she realises this, a crude blush of embarrassment settles over her entire body just as she is placing some folded leathers she found in the armoury outside his chambers. The same chambers she would sneak up to after dark before ultimately chickening out and running back to her own chambers.

Oh, how she wishes she’d just stayed in her own chambers on that damn boat.

The first person from her family she ever got to know and she turns out to be Jon’s father’s little sister.

Though, she does remember one infamous thing about Aegon, other than his great conquest...he had not one, but two sister-wives.

That little reminder both makes Jon feel a little less dirty and a whole lot more shitty.

Jon doubts she’ll be able to relax, even if Aegon hadn’t suddenly shown up. What with being abandoned by a dragon and all. Though, that doesn’t mean she can’t try. And since riding Dani’s dragon in the day—while letting Dani ride her in the night—Jon hasn’t had any time at all to just fucking take a seat and relax.

She isn’t stupid enough to take off her armour, no matter how pleasing to the eye and charming Aegon really is.

She looks around for a few moments, just taking everything in again. It’s all left exactly the way it was left from the morning she finally set sail with Dani.

Jon walks over to the Painted Table, the figures still in place from the last strategy plans. She runs her fingers over the edges of the western coastlines of Westeros, slowly making her way until she reaches all the way around, stopping finally at the points between King’s Landing and Dragonstone.

In comparison to the bigger picture of the map, the two locations are not at all that far from each other. By horse and sea, two days, by dragon, seemingly hours.

Jon finds herself scowling over the map as she thinks to where Drogon has fucked off to in favour of leaving her here. And if she sees him again...it’s not like she can tell him off.

She likes having all of her limbs...

With a soft huff, Jon pushes away from the Painted Table. Turning, her eyes immediately land back on Aegon’s longsword. She tilts her head, thinks about it, rethinks it, then, finally, remembers that she’s the Queen and that she can technically do anything she wants.

OK, no—it’s totally intrigue that wins her over. Makes her walk right over to pick it up. Again, she’s pleasantly surprised by the balance of the thing, making it feel twice as light. Even letting her hold it in one hand.

Jon grins, because while she’s a good fighter, she’s still a woman with half the strength of most men. So, she’s never been able to hold a longsword with just one hand until today. Her grin widens as she raises the blade in her right hand and swings it smoothly around her before darting forward in a hard jab.

Jon chuckles as she swings again, not having felt this much playfulness since her younger days with her siblings—or cousins, she guesses.

Even Sansa was once as wild as Arya—before she discovered boys. Jon is chuckling again, just thinking back to those days. When Arya would show Brann up with the bow and arrow and Jon would do the same with Robb whenever they sparred with the sword.

Jon made herself learn whatever weapon she could get her hands on. And thankfully she had always seemed to pick it all up quickly enough.

But the sword?

Yes, that is her favourite.

So gallant and just so fucking elegantly brutal.

And she could never deny the pure satisfaction of the looks from men twice or thrice her size seeing her lift and swing those swords with just as much ease as they ever could.

She’s never been interested in real power. Though, she has fought hard to never be powerless.

And this sword? Well, that’s something she knows all about.

How his sword, the very one she now holds in her hand, was a bastard itself forged of Valyrian steel. That it was first owned by The Conqueror. That he used it to invade the Seven Kingdoms before he brought them all together. That no one has seen it since it was lost over a century ago. Disappeared after its last wielder.

Jon finally finishes with her mucking around. With a small admiring smile, she walks closer to the lonely lit sconce along the back wall to get a better look at the fine weapon.

She holds it up with one hand, using the other to brush her fingers down the blade. She flips the blade into her palm, holding up the pommel to inspect that next. A shield made of gold with the tiniest rubies embedded all the way around.

The sword itself looks so much more stunning in real life, those history books doing it no justice at all.

The hairs on the back of Jon’s neck suddenly stand on end, like they always do whenever she senses she’s no longer alone—something being raised as a bastard will force you to somehow condition yourself to learn. She’s flipping the sword back and gripping it before swirling around with it raised in front of her before she can even think about it.

Aegon stands there. This time, dressed, and Jon decides to straight up just ignore the feeling of disappointment unfurling inside of her. Though, he still looks good with clothes on—he just looks better with them off...

He has one brow arched and a small grin tugs at his lips. His eyes trailing up and down, taking her in. Lingering on his sword before resting on her lovely face. “You have a strong stance.” Finally, he speaks, voice low and soft, but also holding a playful note. Especially when he gives her a tiny flirty smirk and adds, “And grip.”

Jon’s chuckle puffs out of her in her surprise. “Oh, how lucky for me—another Targaryen charmer.” She gives a light-hearted roll of her eyes as she finally lowers his sword to her side.

Aegon flashes her another grin. He pushes himself off of where he leans against the wall just inside the doors. Jon briefly wonders just how the hell he creeped up on her...before remembering who he really is again.

“Where did you learn how to handle a sword?”

He sounds genuinely interested, but Jon doesn’t hesitate to give him a look.

He chuckles. Hold up his hands. Promises to her, “That one was an accident. Make no mistake, Lady Jon, I would never be so crude to someone so fair.” Though, he does give her a cheeky hint of a smirk that makes her stomach do flips even before he adds, “Well, not unless she asked me first.”

Jon forces herself not to laugh at the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. Instead, she nods and finally gives him an answer. “My f... My uncle taught me the basics, then, left me to fend for myself.” A small smile slips over her lips at his concerned look. She tells him, “He did the same with his own children. He treated me as if I were his own.”

Aegon hums with a nod, seemingly satisfied with her explanation, his shoulders relaxing as he moves closes to her. His steps are wary, like he’s trying not to scare her.

And usually, that would make Jon want to puff her chest out just to prove she’s as good as any other man protecting themselves. But oddly, with Aegon, there is none of that. Only a warm feeling under her skin that makes her want to move closer to him, too.

She doesn’t.

Jon controls her ridiculous impulses. Controls her foolish wonders and thoughts about the man stood before her. She keeps the sword in hand, stays right on her spot and keeps her eyes on his. Her expression calm where his is more intrigued the closer he gets. She sees his eyes dart down to her twitching fingers around that hilt, followed by a twitch of his mouth as his eyes rise back to hers.

Aegon stands in front of her then. Edging slowly forward until the toes of his boots touch her own. Until he’s literally looming over then.

He leans his face down, slow and sure until their noses are almost brushing. His eyes dart down to her cheeks, to her throat just barely peeking out of the top of her leather under her armour, and then, back up to her eyes again.

Not one flinch. Not one tick. Not one rapid spike of her pulse when he leaned in. Not one fucking beautiful raven black hair out of place as she just stands there and stares calmly back at him, like she’s waiting for him to get his stupid test over with.

He arches a brow again, sorely impressed, if not, highly aroused. He has to fight back a gleeful laugh right from his gut as he finally relents. Instead, Aegon smirks as he leans back to give her her space again.

And now, she’s arching a brow right back at him and he has to laugh, at least, a little. “You are magnificent, little beastie.” He nods in approval. Folds his arms and grins with pride as he adds, “I can see why your dragon chose you.”

Jon takes a moment to unpack those words in her mind. She still has no real reason to trust this man, so, she doesn’t really know how much to tell him.

So, she starts out small with, “He isn’t my dragon.”

Aegon pauses, grin fading with confusion. And then, instantly lighting his face back up again as he asks, “Shit, are you telling me you’re one of those rare polyriders?”

Jon blinks. “What?”

Aegon’s grin falters, a small pout etching over his brow and making Jon want to slap it off of him for making her really want to lick it off of him—Gods, what is wrong with her?

“Well, then, I will guess that he left you here, because he feels like you don’t want him.”

Again, Jon blinks, because: “What??”

Though, her tone is stern rather than baffled this time. Her eyes slowly widen as she glances over her shoulder and out to the balcony and across the oceans beyond.

Aegon chuckles, taking the rare opportunity to take her in while she’s not looking at him. With that sweet little wary scowl she thinks she’s hiding so well. “He’ll come back.” He tells her, “He’s just punishing you. You’d be surprised how petty dragons can be.”

A flash of Dani using said dragon to burn down half of King’s Landing flits through Jon’s mind before she blows it back out.

Jon bites her bottom lip, taking the sword loosely in hand with her as she shuffles back to perch her backside on the end of the Painted Table. She sighs, eyes briefly closing before locking back onto Aegon’s. She then, tells him, “I killed his last rider...who was also his first and only rider... His...His mother, you could say.”

“I see.” Aegon sighs deeply, nods and says, “Well, he hasn’t burned you alive or eaten you for it. I’d say that whatever reason you did it for, he agrees with you, otherwise, he wouldn’t let you bond with him.”

Jon blows out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. And when she looks back up at Aegon’s worried face, she knows the sting of her eyes isn’t just a sting.

But Gods, it just felt so good to say that. To finally let the words out of her before they ate her from the inside out.

He takes a step forward, but stops when she holds up her free-of-sword hand. Shaking her head while quickly smearing the tears back, Jon strains around a smile and says, “I’m all right. Really.”

She can tell he wants to ask, but is wholly grateful when he doesn’t. He simply smiles reassuringly and nods while taking a small step back again.

Jon clears her throat. Finally offering some goodwill of her own.

Aegon looks surprised when she grips his blade to hold the hilt out to him.

It takes him another moment to recognise the pain lingering in her dark and beautifully mysterious eyes. He doesn’t think even he knows pain like he thinks he sees in those eyes right now.

Someone so beautiful should not be so unhappy looking, even more so when they have the fire in their veins that he most definitely does recognise in hers.

You don’t have to necessarily be a Targaryen to ride a dragon, he knows that much.

But then, why does he somehow feel her heart aching like it’s his damned own?

Maybe whatever happened to bring him three hundred years into the future really is to do with her, but she just doesn’t remember any more than he does.

Or maybe someone did it do the both of them.

Whatever it is...

His attention is swiftly drawn back to the lovely lady stood before him. Aegon smiles and bows his head in thanks before gently taking his sword back from her.

“It’s a fine blade.” Jon nods her approval, steps back to perch herself against the table again, her hands gripping the edges either side of her.

“Ah, that, it is.” Aegon nods his own approval while lifting it up to admire it—for the millionth time by now, he’s sure.

Jon smiles as he reminds her very much of Arya in this moment. She can still remember the excited and grateful look on her sister/cousin’s face when Jon gifted Needle to her. It isn’t much unlike the appreciative look now on Aegon’s face.

Though, when she lifts her eyes to his, he’s now looking more appreciatively at her instead.

Jon fights back a shiver and ignores the pimples erupting over her arms and legs (thankfully under her armour and leathers.) However, she holds his gaze, not even daring herself to look away.

Yes, she has self worth issues, but that’s not what this is about...mostly.

Really though, why would she even want to look away?

Could she even if she wanted to?

That last question is the most dangerous one, she knows.

She ignores that, too. Swiping her thoughts to the side, and instead, asking, “Will you tell me about the dragons?”

Whatever that look was in his eyes vanishes the moment she utters the last word of her question. Now, both his eyebrows arching and a pleasant sort of endearment slowly spreading over his handsome face.

“Please?” Jon quickly and politely adds as she fights back a flush, again.

This man is going to induce an early fucking menopause in her if she isn’t careful.

But she has literally no one reliable left to really teach her about the dragons—courtesy of her own actions, but still, Aegon is perfect for it.

Among other things...

She bets he’s perfect at a lot of things...

Things that could make her—

This is why you’ll never feel like a real Lady. Forget about being a sodding Queen! Focus!!

Aegon grins mischievously and for a brief second, Jon’s heart almost bottoms out of her arse as paranoia tries to set it’s claws into her mind—the very same way she ridiculously thinks he can read her mind for that split second of panic.

Though, it’s forgotten in the next second as he nods and she smiles a small but hopeful smile and he grins back even brighter and says, “Of course, little beastie. I am your open book.”

Chapter Text

“What would you like to know?” Aegon asks.

He hands his sword back to her, smiling assuredly until she takes it. He sucks in a silent breath when his knuckles brush hers and he feels like his entire body comes to life. Like he was just existing before now.

He’s thankful that she doesn’t seem to notice, but also, highly disappointed she didn’t feel it, too.

Or maybe she did, but she’s just that good at keeping herself composed.

In which case, he is again, very impressed.

Not a lot of women—in his experience anyway—even know how to be stoic, let alone consistent and rather hard-core at it.

Then again, maybe he’s just talking out of his own arse.

He knows he’s attractive, so, he’s used to pretty much all types of women flocking to him for his undivided attention.

The first question Jon asks seems to surprise him, which in turn, surprises her a little.

“Where to do they come from?” She asks, her eyes flitting between him and the blade in her hand.

She holds it up to tests it weight again and can’t help smiling. When she looks up, she also can’t help flushing a little at his attention. Those eyes of his are so intense.

Aegon cracks a small grin and quickly looks away; pretending he wasn’t looking at all.

Jon lowers the blade back to her side, fighting back her blush, while letting her smile tug at her lips this time.

“Ah, now, that is thee question.” Aegon finally says, “Some say they’re the left over Titans of the Old Gods. Some say they’re the New Gods that have been here for thousands of years, just waiting to rise to their truest power.” As he speaks, he walks aimlessly around the Painted Table, eyes on the map, but not really looking at it as he says, “Some even think we Targaryens created them from just our blood and the fire of a volcano. Oh, and magic, of course.”

Jon finds herself smiling amusedly at his scrunched up face of dismay.

Aegon huffs quietly. Though, when he lifts his eyes back to her lovely face, his expression melts away and he can’t help smiling. Very much like a pathetic school lad with his very first fancy.

Jon doesn’t dare to look away—her pride is still a work in progress.

But he doesn’t make it easy. Not with that perfect face or that wickedly fervid gaze he’s boring into her very soul right now. Instead, she clears her throat—notes his eyes darting down to track the movement before flitting back up to connect with hers and sucks in a small breath of relief.

He looked away first.

Now, she can relax and do the same.

(She’s aware that her head is messed up. And she’d blame the dying, but that only made things worse—rather than created the problems from scratch itself.)

Jon nods, eyes still flickering back to him as she asks, “And what do you believe?”

“I’ve never given it much thought.” Aegon shrugs, gaze finally lightening from black back to lilac within a flash.

He straightens his posture, blinking away the look and replacing it with a lazy smile. “I suppose I believed what I read in the history books—the Fourteen Fires of Valyria were finally tamed by the Targaryens, or at least, as tamed as one can manage fire itself. And when the fires finally rolled back, that is when and where we found the first dragon eggs. Bright and beautiful pearls of hope in a land of nothing but ash and bones.”

Jon nods in acknowledgement.

She definitely remembers Arya telling her that. What with the girl being practically obsessed with dragons growing up.

Jon smiles at the thought of at least giving her sister/cousin a chance to see the dragons for herself. Remembers the bright eyed look of innocent wonder in Arya’s eyes as Jon rode back into Winterfell with Dani at her side—and Dani’s army at their back and both of her (still living) dragons flying above them.

Aegon simply watches her getting lost in whatever lovely thought she’s lost in.

Yes, he thinks, this is the expression she should always wear.

He doesn’t know why, but he suddenly makes it his personal mission to see her smile more.

“My sister,” Jon’s smile broadens—because to her, Arya, especially, will always be her sister; her favourite, though, Jon would never dare tell either of them that, but they’re just so much alike...until Arya became utterly terrifying, Gods, bless her. “She used to favour the story of how the bonds between riders and dragons were made—the one where the Targaryens used bloodmagic.”

Aegon chuckles at that and Jon tanks down on the smile the nice sound brings out of her. He grins over at her, lightly sarcastic, but playfully so as he asks her, “You’ve seen how temperamental dragons are—do you really think any man, including the Targaryens, could ever hope to tame them through overpowering them?” He chuckles again, shakes his head and says, “No, little beastie. The dragons look for those who suit them best.”

Jon fights back a gulp when he gives her that intense look again and adds, “Not unlike us humans, no?”

She really can’t help making a face at that, only making him laugh again. The sound softer, this time, and doing nothing good for her insides.

With a sweet little smile as he tilts his head and eyes her face, he tells her, “When a Targaryen is born, we would place a dragon egg in their cradle, in hopes that it the egg would hatch and the two would form a naturally close bond as they were allowed to grow along side one another.” He pauses with a frown, then, says, “Well, that used to be the tradition.”

Jon walks over to the table to join him. She places his sword gently down over the Painted Table and gives him her full attention.

Aegon has to take a second to remember how to breathe properly. It’s as if she can stare right into his soul with those deep dark eyes of hers.

He’s suddenly glad that the table is between them, otherwise, he doubts he’d have been able to keep his hands from her lovely face. Just to tilt it up enough for her eyes to catch the light for him to see even better.

He takes in a slow and deep breath. Then, finally carries on with, “By the time I managed to mount Balerion for the first time, he and his two sisters were the only three dragons left bigger than a stray cat or dog.”

This surprises Jon, because she definitely remembers both Arya and Brann arguing over which dragon was the best from the famous events of the Dance of the Dragons. Which happened only a century and a half ago. And she absolutely remembers both her siblings having screaming matches over it, while viciously pointing to the sketches in the books at just which dragon was the best.

“Why can’t you just accept that Vhagar is superior to all the dragons that ever lived, Brann! You’re such a basic idiot! She even outlasted her brother, Balerion, by a damn century!!!”

“Oh, that’s all it is to you, isn’t it? How typical of you to lack elegance and just go straight for the brutal blow, you heathen!”

Aegon’s wonderful laugh brings her from her thoughts. Soft and deep and so tingly on her insides...and some parts on her outside...

Jon throws him a questioning look.

“It’s very surreal,” His eyes drift around the room, taking in all of the changes. “Climbing onto Balerion for the first time was quite literally just seven years ago for me, and yet, it’s really been over three hundred.”

Jon instantly feels bad for lusting after him. Even if she does so in secret.

The look on his face says he already misses his home. And probably misses his wives.

She doesn’t dare ask about them. No matter how much she itches to.

She feels she’d just embarrass herself, or at the very least, make herself too conspicuous.

He obviously misses his dragon, too.

She gives a faint grin when he suddenly turns to her with a fond smile and tells her, “He is not unlike your own dragon in terms of pettiness.”

She can’t help smiling with him when he laughs again; as he tells her, “Not that I have ever been interested in taking part myself, but there was this one time—upon one of the first rides where we were still getting to know one another—that I flew over one of the summer knight tournaments, just to be nosey and see what was happening and he decided to make sure I knew he wasn’t for playing around when then, he flew out into the middle of the ocean and shook me off, leaving me to swim at least four bloody miles back to the sore.”

Jon chuckles at that, bowing and shaking her head.

When she catches him shooting her a small glare, she hides her smirk with her hand and mutters the least sincere apology she’s ever uttered.

Well, she thinks, at least Drogon isn’t that bad.

And Aegon didn’t even murder his dragon’s rider to get him.

Aegon tilts his head, stares curiously at her. And like he somehow knows just what she’s thinking, he says, “You must be quite something, Lady Snow, for your dragon to still choose you after what you have told me. She was his mother, you say. Will you tell me about that? Was his egg placed in her cradle at birth?”

Aegon is no expert on dragons. And having the biggest dragons, while only having the extreme likes of either one of Balerion’s own two sisters or the tiny withered looking creatures leftover—well, he couldn’t really say how old the Lady’s dragon is. At least, not from where he was hiding within the bushes as he watched and hoped the dragon wouldn’t sniff him out and burn him.

He’s starting to think that maybe her dragon knew he was here. That maybe he brought her to Aegon. Though, for what, Aegon couldn’t say either.

Jon nods once. And she’s easily answering him, but he still notes the tension suddenly bunching in her shoulders as she says, “She didn’t have the eggs placed in her cradle.”

Jon pauses and her eyes widen in realisation of her little slip up just as Aegon’s widen in surprise.

As predicted, he obviously asks, “Eggs? Plural? She had more than one dragon to herself?”

For a second, Jon feels the ugly green head of jealousy rearing its head in her gut at his sudden flicker of interest. Which is ridiculous, because she’s still actually trying to get over the woman. Both from falling for her and ending her life.

But then, something about Aegon’s expression tells her he’s more intrigued by the new information, rather than the truly magnificent woman she’s talking about.

And she really was...until the Targaryen Coin flipped—as the people say.

Jon fights back a scowl just for thinking that.

She wasn’t just some crazy, evil bitch. She was finally broken beyond repair.

So broken that even Jon couldn’t fix her. No matter how hard she tried. No matter how much she wished to.

Obviously, Jon doesn’t think she could have picked things back up between the two of them after finding out who she really was and who her father really was to Dani. But she still would have followed Dani to the ends of the earth and back again.

Jon clears her throat, tells him, “She told me she was one-and-five when someone gifted them to her for her wedding. They were already over a century and a half old by the time they were placed in her hands and had turned to solid stone. She told me that when her first husband died, she loved him so much that she wanted to die with him. And after losing their only child while the babe was still forming in her womb as well, she took her three dragon eggs with her and walked into the pyre to burn with him.”

Aegon’s eyes don’t widen like Jon thought they would do when she tells him the next part, instead, his eyebrows furrow and he looks slightly concerned: “The next morning, when the fire had burned out, she said she must have fallen asleep, and there was not one mark on her. And all three of her dragon eggs had hatched.”

Jon eyes him carefully, just in case he tries to lie to her as he tells her, “Sounds like your...friend,” He offers a soft, understanding smile on that word before continuing with, “Was a Targaryen then.”

Jon simply nods, eyes never leaving his face.

He doesn’t seem panicked or disturbed, just slightly uncomfortable. Scratching at the back of his neck and smiling timidly, he nods and says, “There are stories—ridiculous, even to us—well, most of us. It’s mostly a pride thing.” He rolls his eyes, but waves a dismissive hand and gives her a quick look that tells her he’ll tell her later.

Instead, he now tells her, “Some Targaryens back in the Old Days—well, my Old Days.”

Jon fails to fight back an amused smile when he shoots her a cheesy grin and adds, “I suppose that now makes my days your Old Days, hm?” She bites her lip to keep from grinning when his own grin drops and he mutters with a huff, “Gods, I sound like an old man.”

Aegon shoots her a playful glare when he catches those sweet rosy cheeks of amusement as well as those dark eyes twinkling back at him.

“Don’t even think of answering that.” He snips with a tiny smirk and a loosely pointed warning finger.

Jon chuckles. Then, quickly purses her lips when he pouts. Lifts her right hand up from the table in silent surrender—and offers another apology...just because he’s earned it by being so lovely to ogle and—talk to!!

She means talk to...

Aegon’s eyes narrow a little more. He smirks, gives a dramatic little huff for emphasis, then, dives straight back in to tell her, “As I was saying; mostly old-fashioned Targaryens believed that if their bloodline were pure enough, we could not only bond and ride our dragons, but we could even start to become their power.”

Jon finds herself scowling a little when his eyes widen in awe and he looks away from her. Laughing to himself before turning back to her with those awe-filled eyes and saying, “Your friend, whoever she was, was very fucking special.”

Gods, why the fuck is Jon’s heart slowly sinking to her stomach?

Even if it weren’t for his sudden interest in Dani, he is still married to two women. And his sisters, no less.

If anything, even if she is Targaryen, Jon doubts she’s enough for him.

Still, Jon nods, forces a small smile onto the corners of her lips. Mumbles, “Yeah, she was.” Sighs tiredly and asks, “You’re talking about the fire thing, right?”

She nods when he nods and asks him, “So, I’m guessing it’s not a standard Targaryen thing?”

Aegon shakes his head, breathes out a laugh and tells her, “It’s also a very taboo thing for us to even talk about, let alone a bad fucking omen.” He smiles at her adorable confused look and explains, “To ride the dragons is one thing. And even though many Targaryens used bloodmagic to try to unify both our forms, it never actually worked. At least, not the way they wanted it to—the babes would all either be stillborn and deformed or too deformed to live for themselves.”

Well, that weirdly makes Jon feel better. Odd times she seems to be given such comforts. Knowing that she still burns herself with the ease of any other person.

That it isn’t because she isn’t enough of her father’s blood to withstand the pain and heat.

Aegon shakes his head.

He looks less awed and more disturbed now. Especially when he looks over at her, seemingly seeing something new in her as he nods and tells her, “I’m starting to understand why you had to...deal with her.”

When her lovely face falls slightly and those shoulders of her bunch up all the way and she turns away from him, Aegon quickly moves around the table towards her.

He holds up both hands as he says, “I’m sorry, My Lady, I did not mean to upset you. I just meant that you do not seem like a person who takes such matters lightly.”

Jon blows out a breath to steady herself. “That’s two now.” She says, cracking an almost bitter but mostly just tired and sad smile.

Gods, fucking help her if Aegon becomes the third.

She doesn’t think she’ll survive it this time.

(Third time is the charm—and all that bollocks.)

Aegon’s confusion doesn’t need to last long enough for him to ask as she takes another breath to collect herself and finally turns back to face him and tell him, “The first person I loved, I had to watch die in my arms just seconds after an arrow pierced her heart.”

Jon doesn’t know how she keep her words from wavering. They even come out a little firmer as she says, “And I loved her so much. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone.”

Aegon sort of knows what that feels like. He and Visenya were never really close. But Rhaenys was always so sweet and inviting to just about everyone.

He loves her dearly. Wholly.

But...

But there’s a “but” and he didn’t know what that missing feeling was until now.

Until this day...

Until meeting this woman now stood before him.

He clears his throat, leans his backside on the lip of the table beside her and gently asks, “And the second?”

He otherwise wouldn’t ask; wouldn’t want to upset her. But she’s very clearly either opening up to him or just in need of a venting session.

Aegon doesn’t mind. More than doesn’t mind.

He could listen to her speak for days; forever. That charming Northern accent of hers doing naughty things to his nether regions, when it isn’t making him smile with total fondness.

Jon glances up, meeting his eyes. She marvels for a moment at how they can go from being so intense and downright scandalous to soft and patient, and somehow, completely understanding.

They nod slowly in unison, and then Aegon says, “Your friend, then.” He nods again when she does, offers a small but reassuring smile; no judgement.

Jon blows out a wary chuckle and says, “I don’t know how, of all people, talking to someone who should have died from old age three hundred years ago is the easiest person to talk to in my life right now.”

Aegon grins, pushing himself off of the table to give the Lady a formal bow. Even tucking his hand to his chest and the other behind his back as he says, “I am glad to be of service, My Lady.”

Jon chuckles. Amused, but deep down, nervous when the time inevitably comes that he finds out just how much of a “Lady” she really isn’t.

(And not so deep down, she’s guilty for lying to him.)

Gods, can’t her life be simple for just one fucking day?

They’re probably saving it for her retirement, if she’s lucky, and if not, then, for the days before she finally dies horribly in whatever way.

Again.

“So, I had a little nose around my chambers. Your friend seemed to be doing a lot of reading before she left you.”

Jon can’t help the soft smile that touches her lips as his subtle but sweet avoidance of the subject of Dani’s murder.

“Oh?” She arches a brow, waits for him to continue.

(She wouldn’t know. She was too chicken to step foot in there while here.)

Aegon leans back against the table again, mirroring her actions and trying not to lean his shoulder just that last couple of inches closer to touch her own. He bows his head in a nod and says, “She was reading up on Targaryens.” He chuckles and asks, “Are you sure she was one of us?”

Jon gulps. Loud. Then, pathetically writes it off with a strained smile as she tries not to think of just what he will think of her when he finds out.

“Did I say something wrong, My Lady?”

He frowns softly, turns to face her, leaning one hand on the lip of the table. His other, hanging in the space between them, hovering hopelessly. He’s itching to touch her and ignores it all as he focuses on getting a smile back on that lovely face again.

Jon shakes her head, strains even harder with the next smile she attempts.

Finally, it’s Aegon’s turn to throw her a withering look.

Normally, he’d force the truth out of whoever he is talking to. Well, either force or persuade.

But he doesn’t want to do that with Lady Jon; it doesn’t even come into his mind for a second.

Jon manages to smoothly cover for herself, while simultaneously managing not to outright lie to him.

“She was the last of the Targaryens.”

Was.

“She’d been hunted down for most of her life. Until the dragons, of course.”

Aegon nods. “Gods, I have so much to catch up on.”

He chuckles to himself, this time, not noting Jon’s eyes flickering nervously for a brief moment.

But no matter how nervous she is, it clearly no longer seems to matter to her mind the moment he turns back to her with a sweet boyishly hopeful grin and asks her, “I know it sounds real tedious—and you can, of course, tell me to right toss off, but—will you please help me, Lady Snow?”

Chapter Text

It’s been a day and half now since Drogon left her on Dragonstone without any way of getting back and no way of warning anyone about her disappearance. She can only dread and wonder just how frantic her council is.

Though, Brann is probably laughing his arse off...on the inside, anyway.

Since then, however, Jon has managed to find them enough food left behind from whatever they could carry when she left with Dani. Mostly the cheeses and breads and meats especially that people favour the least. There is plenty of water stocked up in tanks—in which Jon assured Dani would weigh too much for the ships and would also be abundant in a place like The North. And next to the tanks are various bottles of wine. All the ale has either been drunk or they’d taken it with them. (Mainly for how easily it can spoil.)

Aegon had brought the quilts and pillows from his chambers and placed them by the fireplace. Letting Jon make her own makeshift bed on the floor just beside his. Though, where Aegon had slept like a babe, Jon barely caught a wink with all of the nightmares flooding in.

She did wonder if the timing of her plentiful “dreams” had anything to do with Aegon. But when she’d turned to her side and stared at his peacefully sleeping face, she’d finally calmed herself enough to just relax until she actually caught that wink of sleep.

“I have to say I never believed in magic much, neither.”

Jon agrees after he’s told her that the only reason he ever paid any attention to religion or magic was because of the politics and his people’s beliefs.

Which makes her wonder if she will have to start, at least, pretending that she’s into all of it. Again, she doesn’t like the lying aspect of that, but maybe she could chew on the inside of her cheek, while ignoring her twisted guts and just do it.

The Starks believed in both the New Gods and the Old Gods, and Lord Stark never forced her or tried to condition the way she thought. At least, not when it came to thinking for herself.

Aegon smirks around the rim of his wooden mug. “You think the dragons are magic?” He guesses that’s what she’s talking about. That that is where she first thought she saw such magic.

Then again, he knows little about Lady Snow, so, he’s not at all surprised when she smirks smugly back and very calmly states, “No, I think the hundreds of thousands of walking dead men I both saw with my own two eyes and killed many of with my own sword, are magic.”

“Oh.” Aegon pauses, frowns slightly, huffs quietly and says, “So, that story was true, then.”

He chuckles when Jon mutters to herself, “Only a lot.”

“Oh, Lady Snow, I can see the two of us getting along like a straw house on fire.” Aegon grins. He nudges her knee with his own before downing the rest of his wine.

Jon frowns softly to herself. Then, deciding that she needs to, at least, begin easing him into the truth here—“You know that ‘Snow’ is a bastard name?” She asks casually, but keeps her eyes zoned in for any minute reaction.

She assumes he knows he technically isn’t the King now. So, he must assume what is implied. Someone else is ruling.

But if he were to stay?

And/or if the people were to want him back as their ruler?

Jon doesn’t think she could agree to let him take over, even if she wanted to. And it’s not so much her being forever remembered as running away from duties she promised to take on, but more of her not wanting to let anyone else in her life down.

She was a warrior before she was a queen. And warriors fight for their causes until the very end.

And as Jon keeps her eyes on him now, she knows that looks can be deceiving, but...well, he doesn’t seem like he wants to kill her.

But if the people did want him over her, he technically has the stronger claim.

Aegon rolls his eyes, waves a hand of dismissal and says, “You’re talking to a man whose entire lineage is made up of inbreeding. Trust me, Jon Snow, a name is just that. Death does not care what we call ourselves or each other—she still makes us all shit our draws, all the same. Rich or poor. Young or old. Stupid or smart. Evil or good.” He shrugs, picks up the wine bottle on the floor between them and pours them both another.

“Besides,” He adds with a sarcastic grin, “There’s no bloody way I’m addressing you as ‘Bastard’ or ‘Bastard Jon.’ That is insanely rude.”

She chuckles at his cute nose wrinkle. She’s glad he thinks so, because he’s the first of many to. Until the last few months of her life, there weren’t many people who looked at her first and saw a bastard last.

And Jon then quickly finds herself smiling more at his awareness and understanding of life rather the actual words he says. He’s a presence like no other’s. And Jon has met so many great people, both good and bad.

She nods her thanks when he picks up her refilled cup and hands it to her. Tries to ignore the summersault of her stomach when their fingers brush—because she’s pretty sure he did it on purpose this time.

Gods, she’s the one who ended things with her aunt—which most likely did not add a good point to Dani’s list of reasons to burn the entire world to the ground. And now, here Jon is already pining after her Gods knows how many great-greats grandfather just two fucking months after stabbing Dani through the heart.

Her...

Her grandfather...

Oh, fuck, she’s going to be sick.

Jon manages to stand up smoothly enough as to not raise any suspicion or concern from Aegon. She pretends to stretch her legs for the moment, just pacing aimlessly around and pretending to take in the odd painting of either dragons or damned fruit scattered here and there.

She glances over her shoulder, lets out a silent breath of relief when she sees him lifting up the bottle of wine and eyeing the label with annoyance.

“This says Dornish Red, but I know Dornish Red.” He lifts the bottle up to his face and squints at the label before scoffing. He glance at her with a look of outrage as he tells her, “Five percent?! They’re taking the piss.”

Despite her almost meltdown, Jon’s lips crack for a small but amused smile.

She blows out a breath, turns to face him and he lowers the bottle and stares at her with concern when he finally notes her expression.

“I’m going to take a leap here and trust you.” Jon begins, keeping her voice steady somehow. “Which means, I hope that you’ll trust me enough to know that I’m no threat to you.”

Aegon places the bottle down along with the cup, his eyes never leaving hers. “Well, that sounds ominous.” His tone is low and soft, his lips tugging into a faint smile. Then, dropping just as quickly when she doesn’t smile back this time.

He sighs. Nods and rises slowly from the window seat they were sharing to walk over to her. “I trust you, Jon Snow.” He nods again, chuckles a little breathlessly and tells her, “I don’t know how, but I feel like I have known you all my life.”

This time, Jon cannot hide her quiet gulp from him. She didn’t realise until he just said those words, but yes, it feels exactly that way for her, too.

Not even Ygritte had ever made her feel that way. With the stunning Wildling, Jon always felt the excitement of wanting to get to know more and more.

And with Dani, Jon was the one to submit to her Queen on every level. And clearly, Dani wanted to keep it that way with how threatened Jon knew she was, but tried to cover up by whispering words of greatness into Jon’s ear, like she was one of her dragons. One of her weapons. (And even for all of that, Jon still would have followed her to the end.)

But with Aegon...

With Aegon, she just feels that beautiful and long awaited calm she’s always craved to feel inside both her heart and soul.

“OK,” Jon takes a deep breath and makes sure she’s looking him in the eyes and not looking away like a coward as she tells him, “I haven’t been lying to you, not once... But I haven’t exactly been telling you the entire truth about who I am.”

“OK...” Aegon says, slow and careful.

She had told him the basics, so far.

That she was raised by her uncle alongside her siblings. All of whom she loved dearly and still loves—all of her siblings but poor sweet Rickon and—Gods, it still hurts to think about him—Robb. (She hasn’t gotten anywhere near to the parts of Ramsey, let alone her getting her little brother/cousin killed.) She’d left out Lady Catelyn for the sake of keeping more questions from arising. She’d even told him about Uncle Benjen and how close she was to him.

She’d told him all about the betrayal and the wars that involved her and her family and ended in both her uncles’ deaths. That for years, she didn’t even know if she was the only one left of her family. That she’d never been so fucking happy to see Sansa (leaving out that she was on top of Ramsey and beating him to a bloody pulp), and then—as if one by one, the Gods sending them back to her—Brann and Arya coming home, too.

She’d told him a little more about Ygritte. And of course, Aegon was both sweet enough to ask the right kind of questions before letting her move swiftly on.

Most importantly—as for what she’s told him, so far, anyway—she’d told him all about her time at The Wall and Castle Black. OK, almost all about her time there...

She doesn’t even know how you would explain to anyone about what happened to her after her betrayal to The Watch and The Watch’s swift return of tit-for-tat (with extra fucking cherries on top.) She still doesn’t understand what happened after all of that with weird magic stuff Melisandre did to her corpse, and without stripping naked for him to see the proof, she doesn’t think the headache of explaining it all over again is worth it.

But she trusts Aegon, oddly when she barely knows him (personally, anyway.)

She’ll tell him everything.

But first, she needs to know if he is a threat now or will become one later down the line.

So, Jon stares into his eyes, keeps herself calm and says, “I know I haven’t outright stated that I’m a bastard...because I’m not.”

Aegon surprises her with a light chuckle. “Shocking.” He quips with a cheeky smirk.

“Why isn’t it shocking?” Jon scowls. Takes a step back. Folds her arms over her chest.

Aegon scoffs out a laugh, mirroring her stance before pointing a finger between the two of them and telling her, “The way you hold yourself. You either had a strict Maester as a child or you do it for others. Either way, bastards tend not to give a shit what people think of them and they definitely can’t afford a Maester who gives enough of a shit either.”

Jon huffs and just knows she’s proving his point when can’t help but letting him know: “It was the first one.”

Aegon chuckles.

Jon fights back a stupid smile. Huffing again instead and letting her arms fall loose at her sides. She ignores his grin at the less than subtle defiant movement.

“As I was saying,” She gives him a pointed look and he holds up a hand over his heart; silently promises to not interrupted her again. She ignores the tug of her heart at such a little thing and focuses more of the nerves rising in her gut and says, “My real mother was a Stark. The uncle that raised me—she was his little sister. Lord Stark was the oldest after his other brother died.”

Aegon can see that clearly with her beautiful raven black hair and those dark piercing chocolate eyes of hers. That strong but elegant brow, the symmetrical face, the small button nose made for keeping the cold away. That pale as creamy snow skin and those lovely dainty high cheekbones.

She was made to command the ice. To steer it away from her and rain it down on all of her enemies who’d dare come within sword’s reach of her.

When he nods and stays silent for her to go on (as he promised with a hand over his heart), Jon gulps quietly for a whole different reason, this time, as she then, says the next words to him: “And my father... Well, I very recently found out that he was a Targaryen.”

Jon told him of King Robert’s rebellion, including who fought who for what reasons. So, she’s very careful not to say just yet what her father’s name is.

And it’s not like Aegon would know Rheagar personally, anyway.

Aegon surprises her by not at all looking surprised. Instead, his face practically lights up with pride as he hisses, “I knew it.” He smiles when her lovely face takes on an adorable pout. He doesn’t think she’s aware, which makes her even more adorable.

Jon scowls, folds her arms over her chest again and sternly asks, “How?”

Aegon chuckles. “Well, first and foremost, you have a bloody fire-breathing dragon.”

He chuckles again when she opens her mouth to protest.

He holds up a hand a nods and says, “Yes, yes, he’s not your dragon.” He rolls his eyes, grins and tells her, “Except...he is, little beastie. He has chosen you. They do that sometimes.”

Jon flushes when he leans closer and adds in a low purr of a voice, “But only if you’re extraordinarily fucking special.”

‘Extraordinarily’ not just ‘very.’

Gods, she’s pathetic.

She doesn’t even know why it matters.

“And for the...particular history you already have with him,”

Aegon leans a little closer until his eyes are level with hers and he’s breathing in the same air space as her. Lips inches apart from hers and his heart straining with every heavy beat as she stares ever calmly back at him.

“And yet, he still wants you. He could have chosen to retire humans altogether. Could have lived wherever and however he wanted now that us Targaryens are practically wiped out. But he chose you...”

Whatever he was going to say next, Jon quite literally sees it fall from his gaze as his eyes soften and lock onto the top of her face. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, even after telling him that she’s a Targaryen, but he doesn’t seem to care either as he lifts a hand to her face and brushes his fingertips up her left cheek to her eyebrow and up over her forehead. And Jon is leaning in the slightest bit, even has her eyes fluttering shut as she sinks an inch into his touch.

Her dark eyes fly open and he sucks in a quiet breath before whispering, “Who gave you this?” His jaw tightens and a new kind of flare burns his gaze, one of anger.

Jon cracks a tiny amused smile as she says, “A big bird.”

Aegon’s expression snaps into one of surprise. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. He cracks a tiny smile, too, chuckles quietly as he pulls his hand back to his side. “A big bird?”

Jon nods. Smile slowly receding as she tells him, “Ygritte and her Wildling friends wanted me to prove my loyalty by killing an innocent farmer and I couldn’t do it, so, they tried to kill me instead and one of their Wargs used an eagle to try to claw my face off.”

She chuckles, unable to help it with that too sweet look of horrified shock on his face. Such an expressive face. She smiles as she tells him, “I made it out.”

Aegon puffs out a laugh, while shaking his head. “No? Really?”

Jon smirks at his tone; more humouring than mocking her.

“Anyway,” She says with a small shrug, “It’s not the worst scar I’ve got.”

Slowly, she thinks, ease him into her murder and those other fucked up parts of her life slowly...

Aegon doesn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.

Who has scarred her??

He wants the names of every single fucking person who thought they could touch her. Who thought they were even worthy of laying their eyes upon her.

But of course, his magnificent little beastie is still standing. Standing here and talking to him.

Which can possibly only mean that she vanquished her enemies herself. Because of course she did.

He’d recognise a true warrior’s stance from a mile away. Not as poised as a Knight’s, but even more determined.

Just like hers.

Aegon isn’t helping himself here when he adds to the sudden arousal of the thought of her standing on a pile of corpses with not a perfect raven hair out of place and a fierce look in her eyes. But he’s already accepted that he was doomed from the moment he laid eyes on her.

Which is why he has no problem grinning as charmingly as he can as he says, “Well, My Lady, maybe if we get to know each other a little better—I’ll show you all of mine if you show me all of yours.”

He grins broadly when she chuckles. Gently grasp her hand in both of his own after she playfully shoves at his chest. He lifts it up to his lips to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

Jon arcs a brow up at him—she’s not the shortest for a woman, though, she is shorter than most men (and Sansa, for some annoying reason), but Aegon towers over her like even Tormund doesn’t. She doesn’t pull her hand away, but she’s sternly playful when she says, “I see the Targaryens reputation proceeds them.”

A slow but fully cheeky grin spreads across Aegon’s lips. His eyes twinkle with amusement and Jon is simply too glad that she hasn’t offended him for her to care about his next words. “If you think about it, all of the first men and women surely had to have been...a close family.”

Jon chuckles. Then, narrows her eyes a little and says, “You don’t even know who I really am I to you.”

“Well, you’re not my daughter or my granddaughter, so, it doesn’t matter.” Aegon says with a shrug and a huge dramatic sigh of relief.

Jon laughs, gently pulls her hand from his. Rolls her eyes when he pouts dramatically. Tells him, “I’m actually—“

Going to actually shit her draws if dragons keep coming for her with the same enthusiasm as the way they fucking leave her on almost entirely abandoned islands.

Drogon.

His screech makes her startle and her eyes widen as she realises she can feel the vibrations of the sound through the thick stone walls of the Drum.

Unlike Aegon, who doesn’t even flinch. Just tilts his head up as if listening for more.

Though, Jon does take a moment to admire the gentle smile lighting up his pretty face.

As if on cue, Drogon lets out another screech. This one louder and more impatient sounding.

And making Jon wince.

Clearly, he’s asking her to get her arse outside to meet him and hurry the fuck up about it.

Which is just rude considering.

Aegon smirks as he eyes her with a tilt of his head. “I don’t believe you’re truly afraid of him. So, what is it?” He really is so very intrigued to know.

To know everything about her, really.

Jon huffs as she tells him, “Some time very soon, I will tell you all about how much I’ve already cheated death. But for, I think it best not to tempt her.” She bites her tongue to stop the word again from ending her sentence and makes her way over to the balcony.

Aegon could not be more invested as he follows after her.

Chapter Text

Oh, you big beautiful bastard, thank you for coming back.

That is the first thing Jon thinks when she walks out onto the balcony just in time to see Drogon breaking through the clouds a few miles away. And as the way she would see Dani smile whenever she watched her dragons fly, Jon smiles the same oddly proud smile now, even though she barely knows the beast, really.

“My, my, what a handsome one he is.” Aegon notes as he walks up beside her, resting his hands over the stone edge of the balcony. His head is tipped back, both watching the dragon and letting the disappearing Sun warm his face.

Jon nods, but tells him, “I wouldn’t know. His brothers looked too similar to him. Well, apart from their colours and size.”

Aegon chuckles nervously as he points out to the horizon. “Someone is coming. Please tell me you know who.”

Jon squints and when her eyes settle on the ships, just small black dots right now, she blows out a breath of relief. “I think,” She pauses, thinks about it, nods, then, says, “I think maybe Drogon has brought my pe—my, uh, friends to come get me.”

Aegon turns his body to face her, though, his eyes are still warily locked on the ships. “Lady Jon, I cannot be seen. I don’t think whoever Your Grace currently is would like it too much if they knew I was...back.” He finally turns his head to shoot her a less than eager smile.

Jon arches a brow.

Because she did not see that coming. Did not, for a moment, think that he was even worried about such things.

Even without his fucking huge dragon under him, he was already known for being a fierce warrior and a charismatic one at that. She thinks, if he really wanted to, he could kill her, take Drogon and conquer all of Westeros again.

She fights back a smirk as she tells him, “I’m sure the Queen would like to know if you plan on killing her first before she kills you.”

Aegon scoffs quietly. “If I were her, I’d kill me and ask my corpse the question afterwards before I could kill her.”

Jon stiffens, but recovers quickly as he glances back at her. She keeps her face neutral and her tone low but calm as she asks, “Is that what you’re here for? To kill the Queen and take your throne back?”

“What??” Aegon turns fully to her, looking more than surprised by her words and a little confused. “No.” He shakes his head.

Jon simply stares at him.

Aegon doubles down with a stern look as he repeats a little firmer, “No.”

Jon sighs, nods and takes a step back.

She doesn’t know how, but she can tell he’s telling the truth. Maybe it’s the intense way he looks at her or the way his presence itself simply demands to be heard and seen.

Drogon darts back down out of the clouds at that moment. His roar sounding rather like a happy sort of trill.

Jon turns back with a smile, getting lost in just watching the giant flying miracle that is dragons—or was...

Her heart sinks along with her smile as the images of Viserion falling under the ice, and then, later shattering into millions of icicles, and then, Rhaegal screeching in pain as he fell to the oceans between Dani’s ships, flash through her mind.

Gods, all the times she has felt so lonely, but now, she doesn’t even think she could imagine how Drogon feels.

Or Aegon, for that matter.

Drogon chooses that moment to swing by the balcony, close enough for the beat of his wings to force the winds back...

And Jon along with it.

She’s still getting used to dragons existing, but she’s glad that Aegon is there with her. He catches her shoulders from behind and gently steadies her footing.

She’s smiling to herself when she hears Aegon’s chuckle and he teasingly asks, “Do I have to retract my statement about you having good form?”

He smirks when she swirls around with a glaring pout and tells him, “Just six months ago, I never even knew dragons existed again. So, please forgive me if I’m still getting used to them...and also, for not really giving a shit what you think.” She adds with a sly little smile.

Aegon chuckles, grins.

Something tells him she doesn’t curse very often; doesn’t let herself go completely at all, if not rarely.

He bows his head, hand to his chest as he says, “Of course. Pardon my input, My Lady.”

Jon fights a roll of her eyes, but meanwhile can’t also fight back the next smile tugging at her lips. Though, when she turns back to the skies, her smile drops right off and her eyes slowly widen.

Where...

“Where is he going??” Jon tries not to sound panicked, but mostly fails when she sees Drogon’s retreating form.

Aegon tilts his head and watches for a few moments. When he realises, he has to purse his lips to keep from either laughing or smirking.

Oh, dear. She isn’t going to like this.

Aegon clears his throat, taps her on the shoulder to get her attention. Waits for her to turn to him before politely informing her, “I believe he may be trying to relocate you and your friends. Seems he’s lead them here to you.”

At her wide-eyed alarm, a soft chuckle escapes him.

He shrugs. Tells her, “You’re a Northerner. You live in The North, I presume. Dragons don’t like the cold. And yes, Dragonstone isn’t the warmest place, but it’s better built for them than even King’s Landing, because they don’t like being kept in pits or cave-stables. They’re free to roam here, away from the people who fear them.”

Well, fuck.

There’s a lot of things Jon hasn’t thought about.

But she has only been Queen for quite literally a week and a half. She’s still easing into things...while trying to pick up the broken pieces of her mind from the last ten years worth of things that have happened to her.

“Oh, you bastard.” Jon growls under her breath as she turns back to glare after the dragon, who is now almost a dot in the distance again.

Aegon chuckles, but there’s that nervous look on his face again as he says, “Either that or he was just checking up on you—and your friends’ arrival is purely coincidence.”

Great.

There’s no more denying or hiding the fact now.

Jon has to tell him. Because if she doesn’t, he’ll only end up finding out when she’s inevitably addressed by her new title.

Jon glances back out to the oceans and sees the ships slowly but surely growing bigger the closer they get. She estimates she has at least half an hour before they dock.

Jon walks back into the room, hearing Aegon following slowly. She picks up his sword from the Painted Table, right where she left it and turns to face him.

Aegon stops in his tracks when he sees her pointing his own weapon at him. He frowns, slowly raises his hands and carefully tells her, “Those ships do not belong to me, I swear to you, Lady Snow.”

He realises it probably seems like he’s been stalling her. So, if he needs to be on the pointed end of her sword to prove his loyalty, he would gladly kneel at her feet.

Which is why he does so before she can deliver that pointed end to him.

“That’s not—what are you doing?” Jon takes a small step back, lowering the sword just a fraction in her confusion.

Aegon looks up at her while on both his knees. His eyes slightly wide, the only part of him betraying his calm exterior. “I am putting myself completely at your mercy, Lady Snow. I don’t know who those ships belong to any more than I know just how the fuck it is that I have woken up three hundred years into the fucking future. Everyone I have ever known is dead. Everything I have ever done, I now, will never do—I don’t even know if me being here now means anything will change for your history. All I do know for certain right now is that I am here, and your name was the one thing ringing loud and clear in my head when I woke up. And that you were right here after I woke up.”

Jon lowers his sword a little more. Takes a small step forward. But eyes him suspiciously as she demands, “Tell me everything you remember and everything that happened from the moment you woke up here to the moment we first spoke.”

Aegon nods eagerly, tells her, “I’ve only been King for four years. But after conquering, I’ve never really felt real purpose. Being King is fine, but it lacks...something.”

Everything...

“I suppose I just let my sisters rule in my stead a lot of the time. They’re a lot better with politics and a lot more interested, too. Though, I’m still there whenever they need me to be. And Balerion gets restless, so, I am not proud of it, but I fly him around looking for a new battle or war. It’s less the killing part that thrills me and more the part of just knowing I have that kind of power; the kind that nobody else has. Silly boy stuff, really.”

Jon briefly muses to herself of just how fucking useful his dragon would have been with the walkers.

“Anyway,” Aegon shakes his head and moves quickly back onto track by telling her, “I must have had too much to drink, because one moment, I was...flirting with a barmaid...”

He grins sheepishly when she arcs a brow and quickly tells her, with a hand over his heart, “I never strayed from my wives, not once. Flirting is nothing. Everybody does it without even realising.”

Jon rolls her eyes and silently waits for him to go on.

He does, telling her, “Yes, and the next moment, I find myself waking up bleary-eyed in some old woman’s bed.”

He looks horrified and Jon has to fight back a smirk when he tells her, “I thought, just for a moment, that she’d...taken my manhood while I was passed out. But she assured me that she’d found me sleeping under her chicken coop and somehow had gotten me up and walked me into her home. Bless her.”

Jon nods, not allowing herself to pay attention to his soft smile this time. “And then?”

Aegon blows out a defeated breath, tells her, “And then, she gave me some water, said she would go prepare one of her horses for me to ride back home and I fell asleep again while I was waiting and that’s when I woke up here. Well, I woke up down on the beach right next to the fishing village. Waves lapping at my ankles, and only my crown on my head and my sword in my hand.”

He pauses, scowls, then, notes, “I didn’t even have my sword with me that night. I always leave it strapped to Balerion’s saddle when I’m with civilians.”

Jon knows that if he isn’t telling the truth, he at least believes what he’s saying with unwavering doubt. Which means that she’s no closer to figuring out why he’s here or how.

Still, he seems too calm. Has since she first saw him.

But...if she wants to build real trust between them...

“It’s me.” She finally just says the words: “I am the Queen.”

She then, takes a solid step back and even though he is still on his knees before her, she raises his sword just a smidgen.

Aegon looks shocked for a moment, then, swiftly lets out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Jon’s eyes narrow a tiny bit as she watches his expressions closely.

He grins tiredly and says, “I’m hoping you haven’t slain me, because you don’t think I am a threat to your throne...” He trails off with a sheepishly hopeful look.

“I’m hoping you’re right.” Jon replies solemnly.

She really does; she’d hate to have to really “slay” him.

Besides being exceptional to look at, talking with him over the past two days has been like that peaceful time away she was just looking for.

Aegon holds his hands up, while slowly rising from his knees. “Keep the sword until you trust me fully.” He tells her.

Then, turns his back on her as a show of him trusting her not to stab him right then and there. He smiles softly to himself when she doesn’t, then, grabs the one other thing he came here with from the end of the Painted Table.

He turns to face her, walks back over to her and holds it out to her as he tells her, “My crown is yours now...Queen Jon.”

He smiles, because she smiles—and Jon is smiling, because he’s the first one to add the “Jon” on instead of the name her mother gave her.

She is grateful to everything her mother ever did for her, except for her choice of name for Jon.

Though, she is curious to know what he will think as she tells him, “My real name—the one my mother gave me with her last breath—is Aegonyra Targaryen.”

The grin that slowly splits his lips and spreads across his face makes Jon’s heart both leap and flutter. “Aegonyra.” He nods, breathes, “Beautiful.”

Jon couldn’t stop the unladylike snort that comes out of her even if she’d have tried or even wanted to.

Aegon pouts a little. “You don’t think so?”

Jon rolls her eyes and smirks—because she knows he’s really asking if she likes his name.

Aegon lowers his arms, the crown going down with them. That cute pout still lingering on his face as she tells him, “The two children my father had with his first wife, he named the boy after you, as does anyone who names their children ‘Aegon.’”

Aegon simply stays silent and listens to her speak. A pleasant shiver erupting all over him as she speaks his name and he realises this is the first time he’s heard her do so.

Jon frowns, only a little stung, but still stung nonetheless as she says, “He obviously hoped for another son when he met my mother.”

As far as he knew at the time, Rhaegar still believed his other children were alive—even while they and their mother were being violated and murdered horrifically.

Aegon frowns, too. Shakes his head. Says, “Not necessarily.” He shrugs, says, “My father, like a lot of Targaryens, was off his fucking rocker. But not just mad—he was cruel and arrogant with it. Thought he was a dragon in human form, literally.”

He nods at Jon’s surprised look.

“My uncle Aegon, who my mother named me after, and who was the youngest of my father’s brothers—he used to tell me all about the horrible things my father had ever done to him. Like one time, my father threw Aegon’s pet cat and new born litter of kittens down a well just because Aegon picked up the dragon egg my father owned to have a look at it for a few moments.”

Jon’s eyes widen in horror.

Gods, she’s so glad Lord Stark had a heart enough for their direwolves.

Gods, she misses Ghost.

(Which reminds her, she must go to The Wall to bring him back with her as soon as she has the chance.)

Aegon nods in agreement with her expression. Smiles sadly as he then, tells her, “A lot of the time, my father would joke about how Aegon was too pretty to be a man. And one time, he even crept into Aegon’s chambers at night, held a knife to his throat and threatened to cut his cock off so that my father could make him woman enough to marry him.”

Jon sucks in a breath at that.

Aegon gives a watery smile, but is quick to assure her: “He didn’t. Thankfully.”

Jon nods.

“My point is: my father was a monster and yours sounds very much like he always did everything he could for the good of everyone except for himself. He is surely a better man than most and a better one than me...”

For all of the shit that he did just because he could.

And now, for falling for someone when he already has two someones.

Or did have...

“Again,” Jon puffs out a chuckle, glancing down at his sword still in her hand. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Are we truly the only ones left?” Aegon asks quietly as he glances gloomily around.

Jon looks him in the eyes when he turns back to her and reminds him: “I killed the last one.”

Aegon gives her a withered look and reminds her: “You didn’t kill her because of who she was, you killed her because of what she became.”

Damn.

He always seems to know just what to say to her...

It’s as annoying as it is actually comforting.

She puffs out a breath and finally tells him, “Keep your crown. It’s yours. And...I already have one. I just...”

At his small smirk, she scoffs and spits out, “It gives me a headache, OK? It’s heavy.”

Aegon scoffs smoothly and says, “Whoever didn’t make sure you liked it beforehand is a complete idiot.”

Another thing he will have to fix for her.

Is everyone around her just either a murderous prick or utterly useless?

Jon chuckles. Shakes her head. Tells him, “It’s all right. I have about a thousand other worries on my mind. The literal weight of my crown doesn’t even come close to the mental one it weighs upon me.”

Gods, why is she even telling him any of this? Even if it feels easier than breathing to.

Aegon frowns softly, abandons his crown back to the Painted Table without taking his eyes off of her. He moves closer, careful and slow, not wanting to give her a reason to use his blade on him.

“What worries?”

He can’t exactly say why he’s more concerned with her problems when his own are so beyond surreal and inescapable that he doesn’t even know where to begin.

He really should.

But...

No. She needs you.

That thought in his mind is so strong that it’s all he can focus on.

You want her.

He does.

He really does.

You—I wish to see her sat on that throne with me between her legs...

Aegon blinks the thoughts away, fighting back a scowl for himself as he moves to stand in front of her. He’s pleased when she doesn’t raise his sword against him.

Again, she’s calm and collected and is bravely looking back up into his eyes without breaking away or even straying a hair.

A flash of her on the Iron Throne, naked and legs spread for him knelt between them flashes ravenously through his mind.

Aegon shoves it away with a small frown. His hand slowly lifting to the scar over her eyebrow.

This time, she doesn’t lean in, nor do her eyes flutter, causing her lashes to brush over his knuckles. But the soft, yet, intensely soul searching look she’s giving him almost takes his breath away.

So careful.

So proud.

So cautious.

So scarred...

He can see it in her eyes; all of that pain left behind and thought or maybe forced to be forgotten.

And he won’t have it.

Can’t stand it.

Will fix it and make her smile every damn day if he has to die doing so.

Yes, I will help her.

“I will help you.”

Jon arcs a brow, confused but intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Fiercely, Aegon says, “I think—no, I know that I am here to help you. I don’t know how I know that, I just feel it. And it cannot be coincidence that the only thing I woke up remembering for sure was a name I’d never heard of, of a woman I’d never even met; couldn’t possibly have ever met.”

Chapter Text

“OK—you stay here. I’ll...ease them into it and—“

“What??” Aegon’s eyes widen in alarm.

He shuffles quickly after her as she makes her way across the chamber of the Stone Drum with his sword now strapped to her back. He almost pokes his own eye out with the pommel in his haste to ask, “You mean to say you’re going to tell them about me??”

Jon stops at the top step and turns to face him. She pauses, thinks about it, then, slowly nods and says, “Yes.”

Aegon’s eyes widen even more, though, just for a second before he is frowning and telling her, “Your Grace, that really is not a good idea.”

Jon scowls back, pointedly tells him, “I don’t like lying. Especially to people who are supposed to trust me...” She pauses again, realises: “Which is everyone now that I’m the Queen.” She wrinkles her nose up at him and adds, “And please, just call me ‘Jon.’”

It’s not as if anyone else will dare anymore.

Not even Samwell. Though, Tyrion is the exception. And her siblings are all back in Winterfell—or in Arya’s case, somewhere west of Westeros by now.

Aegon gives her a soft and understanding smile, but tells her, “As you wish, Jon. But please do not ask me to do so unless it is just the two of us.” With a sheepish grin, he adds, “And my Queen, I must beg you not to...reveal me. At least, not so...boldly.”

Jon sighs, nods as she takes a step back and leans her hip against the wall. She eyes him curiously for a moment, then, asks, “What do you propose?”

When he stays silent with a thoughtful look on his face, Jon adds, “If I go back with my people, I can’t leave you here alone with good conscious. And if you’re right about Drogon—which, I think you are, considering King’s Landing is also where I killed his mother, not to even mention taking him back to The North to freeze or starve—well, that means I’ll be moving people here, if I don’t end up moving here myself, which also means that someone will eventually see you.”

“Your lack of faith in my skills of stealth is truly hurtful. I’ll have you know I am the Master of diligence.” Aegon gives a cocky grin, but Jon notes it doesn’t reach his eyes. That he’s just forcing it on as he chirps his words out.

When she simply stares at him and waits for his real answer, Aegon sighs, head hanging between his shoulders and glare on the cold hard stone floor.

How will you help her otherwise? Idiot. No—coward.

Aegon grins his teeth, blows out a choppy breath. Lifts his head back up. Looks back into those lovely deep dark pools of brown and asks her, “How long have you been the Queen?”

Jon blinks, confused. Though, she replies, “A week and half.”

Aegon winces.

Her claim is still so fresh.

And though he knows how cruel people can turn within the blink of an eye, when he looks back into her eyes, he feels what he’s been feeling since he first laid his own on her.

Longing.

Understanding.

Completeness.

Power...

Jon stares at him as he says, “The books in my chambers—many of them had sketches or paintings of myself. Not all of them were good, but enough of them were accurate...enough.”

He grins sheepishly and when Jon nods, he asks, “You meet me, and now, you’re going to bring your people and yourself here, away from the Iron Throne—will they not surely think I’m trying to lure you away and take back what used to be mine?”

At this, Jon actually finds herself smirking as she tells him, “Well, then, I guess I’m not the only one you must prove your loyalty to.”

She grins slightly when he chuckles. Then, says to him, “They will believe me. Whatever I tell them, I swear to you, they will listen to me. And not just because I’m their Queen.” It’s her turn to smile sheepishly as she rubs the back of her neck and says, “Anyone who knows me actually really...gets annoyed that I can’t lie...”

Aegon eyes her curiously when she grimaces, but saves the questions for another time—when he’s trying not to panic.

He has no dragon.

No sisters.

No family at all.

No one at all.

He is completely alone and outnumbered.

Jon seems to know just what he’s thinking. Pushes herself from the wall and reaches out to rest her hand over his upper arm—and absolutely gulps back the warmth that spreads through her when she feels solid muscle beneath even the thick leathers he’s wearing.

Aegon’s eyes dart down to where she’s touching him. Warmth spreading through his own body, starting from the beautifully burning touch of her hand and flowing to wherever it can reach.

His eyes lift back to hers and he tries but fails not to get lost in her ever intensely undressing gaze. He feels as naked as the moment he met her whenever she looks right into him the way she does now.

He breathes through the disappointment when she pulls her hand back to her side a moment later. His eyes fighting not to flutter, then, snapping back to focus when she says, “I don’t know if it means anything to you—but all the same—you’re under my protection while you’re here.”

And by here, she means the time, not the space.

Aegon seems to understand that, smiling softly with a nod and saying, “It means more than you could imagine, Your Grace.”

Jon lets him get away with the title this time, because he’s making a point and being respectful while he’s at it.

And because the sweet look he gives her makes her head feel a little dizzy with want...

“I have an idea.” Aegon suddenly says, a small but bright and rather devious grin stretching slowly across his entire face. “A little risky—for me—but simply enough to secure at least a modicum of trust between your people and myself.”

Intrigued, as she finds herself a lot around him, Jon steps forward, head tilting and mouth asking, “What are you thinking?”

Aegon’s grin widens a tad. His eyes flitting over her shoulder before landing back on hers. He leans closer until their eyes are level and their noses are almost touching.

He smirks over how impressed with her he is when she doesn’t look away or even seem the least bit nervous.

He’d feel a little stung over her seemingly lack of attraction to him.

But the eyes never lie.

And even though hers are so dark, he can still tell the difference between her browns and the blacks of her pupils, which is all he now sees as she stares back at him. And that very light dusting of pink on the tops of both her pale cheeks gives him just that little bit more hope.

“Do you trust me, Jon?” He asks in a low and soft voice, then, adding, “If only just a little for now?”

Jon stares back at him, searching his expression for a moment. She then, gives a simple nod.

And his grin is back in a flash, making her heart stutter with how close those perfect lips of his are to hers right now.

“We’ll see...” He mumbles, slowly lifting his right hand up.

Jon doesn’t move, but doesn’t stiffen either. She’s completely relaxed, her eyes never leaving his and his never leaving hers as he reaches slowly behind her and latches his hand around the hilt of his sword.

Aegon arcs a brow, impressed once more. Though, his grin slowly falls away from his face, gaze losing focus as he gets absolutely swept out to sea by her dark pools.

He feels a charge around them that feels nothing like fire and everything like the lightning of a storm. But not raging or chaotic, rather muted and distant, like they’re suddenly in their own little magical bubble of protection.

Aegon leans in, so sure of making their lips finally meet, his grip on the sword loosening.

And her eyes flutter before closing, followed by the soft intake of her breath...

But when he sees the tiny frown marring her lovely face, he blows out a soft breath. Rests his forehead against hers instead.

She isn’t ready.

She isn’t thinking of him.

Not yet...

Aegon scowls at his inner voice—which has been annoyingly persistent since he woke up in the future. Pushing them away, he slowly pulls his sword from the makeshift strap she made and strapped to her back, just as slowly lowering it to his side.

Her eyes are still closed and he fights back a soft smile with a frown. Forces himself to focus—well, just enough, anyway—and says, “Go out to meet your people without me. I will soon follow. I sw—I promise, you have my word.”

Because this isn’t just some oath he’s expected to keep.

He is physically promising her.

Jon almost opens her eyes and her mouth to argue—or, at least, ask him what his idea is. But then she feels his free hand come up to cup the back of her neck and all capability of rational thought immediately evacuates her mind.

She shouldn’t trust him. At least, not logically.

Yet, here she is, actually relaxing her shoulders and leaning in a little more as his warm fingers give the back of her neck of soft squeeze. She sighs quietly and slowly opens her eyes and feels her heart begin to race when she sees his lilacs slowly disappear under black as he continues to stare at her.

Her grandfather...

(Or—close enough...)

And the sudden flash of Dani lying dead in her arms makes Jon finally pull herself together. For the sake of them both.

Aegon blinks away the moment between them as she pulls it from them both, stepping back from him until his hand slips from her.

Pull her back to you. She wants you.

Again, Aegon ignores the stupid voice in his head. Instead, takes a small step forward while still giving her time to back away. He fights back a smile when she doesn’t, then, slowly reaches out to her again. This time, holding his fingertips almost close enough to touch her cheek again, only at the last moment, swooping down to gently grasp her hand in his.

Jon ignores the silly summersaults her belly does when he lifts her hand up to his lips and presses a tender kiss there.

“I,” Aegon pauses as if looking for the right words. Then, says, “Understand...that the Targaryens are the odd ones out when it comes down to...too close of a family.” He nods, cracks a tiny nervous smile.

Jon suddenly realises he’s trying to be careful with his words as to not offend her rather than himself. And she’s oddly touched by his simple thoughtfulness.

She also just realised he’s still holding her hand, now in both of his own as he lifts it and presses it over his heart. She feels his pulse, steady and strong and...pacing almost as fast as her own.

Which means nothing.

A hint of a sad smirk plays on her lips as Ygritte’s words ring through her mind.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Seems like nothing has changed there. She still feels like she knows absolutely nothing even after finding out pretty much everything.

Aegon takes her expression hopefully—and with a small smile, Jon lets him as she listens to him then says, “I want you to trust me. I want us to trust each other. I want your people to believe I am here to serve their Queen. And yes,” He adds with a sincere and rather glum look, “I do miss my best friend and my dragon, but...”

Jon feels his heart beat a little faster as he blows out a chuckle and smiles at her.

“Truth be told, they’re just about the only two things I actually do miss.”

He hates how shitty it makes him, but he hasn’t much thought of his sisters since waking up, and then, even less so when he met Jon.

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that, so, she just stays silent.

Truth be told for her right now; she’s really just still itching to ask about his sister-wives.

Aegon carefully lets her hand go—hoping to add to the trust he’s already managed to gain. He takes a step back, turns his sword around so that the point faces to his rear. He, then, gives her a bow of his head and says, “After you, Your Grace. I will join you shortly. Just give me a few minutes. And promise me, whatever you do, just go along with what I’m doing, please?”

At his hopeful look, Jon’s curiosity peaks.

Though, she bites her tongue and instead, asks, “Does it involve any real violence?”

“What??” Aegon wrinkles his nose, looks positively appalled. “No. Of course not.”

Jon narrows her eyes suspiciously. “So, you don’t...enjoy violence...??” She eyes him curiously.

And he surprises her again by scowling and saying, “I didn’t say that. But unlike a lot of men, I only enjoy it when I know I’m doing it for the right reasons.”

Jon nods. Thinks to herself. Frowns nervously and tries not to sound so hopeful when asking, “Does it ever get easier?”

At his questioning glance, she elaborates with: “Does killing ever get easier?”

Aegon seems slightly surprised by her asking.

He thought all of her traumas and grievances were all to do with whatever else—that she hasn’t told him—has happened to her, and instead, she’s still thinking about the lives she took.

Lives he knows were more worthy of taking than a lot of the people he has put to his sword—or Balerion’s spitfire.

He sees why she’s asking and he decides this isn’t a teaching moment, but a moment for him to be empathetic. For him to actually do so and mean it—rather than just going through the motions of it.

He takes breath, thinks about it, then, tells her, “I guess that all depends on what kind of person you are. But the cruel irony of it all is that if you are a truly good person, you will wake up every night for the rest of your life thinking about what you have done, and if you are a truly bad person, you don’t even remember killing them—or you make sure you remember every light in a person’s eyes that you extinguished.”

Jon puffs out a chuckle. Nods, while fighting back tears of relief. “Well, that’s...”

Deeply insightful—he surprises her more and more the more he speaks.

She clears the rasp from her throat, says, “That’s good to know. Thank you.”

Aegon’s heart simply sores the moment she cracks a tiny smile. A real smile. Another smile just for him.

He gives her another bow of his head. Takes another step back—if only to keep his itching hands from reaching out to touch her again. If only she would—

“YOUR GRACE? ARE YOU HERE??”

Aegon stiffens slightly, though, Jon notes only his shoulders bunch up, his hand around his sword staying loose and not even twitching once.

Which means, he’s either braver than he’s letting on, or she should actually start trusting him...

(It could still go either way.)

“For the love of tits and wine, man, use your loaf—of course she is here; her dragon insisted upon us following him.”

Tyrion.

Jon fights back a smirk as she takes a deep breath to ready herself—but pauses and scowls when she hears Maester Titus’ words.

“I do not like this. She’s supposed to be our Queen, and what’s the first thing she does? Claims the usurper’s dragon who melted the Throne and abandons her people.”

Abandons her—

“You should cut out his disrespectful tongue.” Aegon spits his words out like raw venom and Jon realises this is the first time she’s seeing him truly angered.

And Gods, it really shouldn’t be making the place between her thighs wet.

He isn’t looking at her as he glares towards the balcony and adds in a dangerously low voice, “Or let me do it for you.”

Jon has a moment to take in the sharp angles of his face and the pale golden skin stretched tight under that very light dusting of face shadow. She’d never even noticed until now, being so close to him, that he even has any facial hair. It’s so fine and pale like his shaggy locks. Though, oddly, like Dani, his eyebrows are almost so dark blonde that they almost look brown.

Why don’t I just draw a damned picture? Gods, I really fucking am a Targaryen, aren’t I?

She tears her away from him. Turns her back on him as she finally takes the steps.

She forces out a laugh (at his intense...everything) that echoes up the stairwell, along with her words: “No violence. Your Queen commands it.”

And when she pauses to throw a smirk over her shoulder and tell him, “For now, anyway,” and then, turns and continues on her way without him, Aegon is simply left standing there, staring after her with the deepest longing in his heart he has ever known.

Chapter Text

Aegon positions himself by the nearest window, carefully poking his head out just in time to see Jon walking down the steps of the Stone Drum and out into the Middle Bailey. From here, he can see the maester and some very short man walking beside him. The short man, Aegon eyes curiously when he notes Jon making her way towards him first. He notes the few of her guards poking out from behind the dragon shaped head of the Great Hall.

And it’s not the weapons they carry that worry him.

For a moment, his worries leave him entirely as he sees Jon scowling up at one of the flags; Her own flags. He smirks, because she clearly has the same thoughts as him...

“...What’s this?” Jon is stood in front of the short man, but is arcing a brow at the maester. She points up at the banner that floats in the wind by the guard who is holding it and stood to attention at the sight of his Queen, behind the maester.

Aegon watches her, getting to see how she interacts with someone that isn’t him for the first time ever.

She doesn’t disappoint him.

Though, she could use a gentle nudge where her convictions are concerned. She clearly believes in herself, but is still too afraid of letting others down by being who she is, unapologetically.

No, no, no.

Aegon smirks, a thrill shooting up his spine at all the things he could teach her. And she would learn well, he just knows it. Would perfect his taught skills like they’d originally come from her.

The short man opens his mouth to answer and grits his teeth in annoyance when the maester steps in front of him.

Aegon’s eyes narrow at the same time as Jon’s do and a fraction more.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but you are of both Stark and Targaryen blood.” Maester Titus glances back to the banner the one guard behind him holds.

When he turns back to Jon, there’s a slight look of distaste on his face as he says, “We didn’t know which colours you would prefer, so, we just kept them all...” He grimaces as he mutters—and Aegon still hears, because this man must have learned to whisper at a fucking carnival or something, “As you can see.”

Aegon’s tight jaw relaxes and a small smile tugs at his lips when Jon folds her arms over her chest, stares calmly back at the maester and asks, “And as a very intelligent man, which maesters are, did you not think to simply ask me?”

The short man finally steps from behind the maester and he’s wearing the biggest shit-eating smirk. One that Aegon can’t help copying as the maester purses his lips and even turns a little red in the face.

Well now, maybe she won’t need him to teach her too much after all...

“Well, I—“

“And now, we have a banner that either no one will recognise or everyone will, because they don’t know whose side their Queen is on, let alone which side they’re meant to be on.” Jon sighs, takes a step back and loosens her arms to her side.

Aegon watches curiously as she stares up at the banner behind the maester, who is now silent—turns out he does know when to shut up.

Jon takes a breath, nods to herself as if having decided something, then, says, “We will be black and white.” She says it loud enough for her words to carry across the entire Bailey, turning on the last word and facing the rest of her council and guard. “We are the light the Knight King and his army could not put out. We are death of the darkness. We. Not me. I am your Queen, because you all chose me. I am your Queen, but I am still your people. I am your people, but I am still your Queen and protector. And I...”

Aegon sees the conflict in her eyes. The struggle with how to move forward and do what she must. To actually stand and be a Queen. And so far, she has shown him no real fire of want for her new role.

Her true role; the role born from his own legacy.

And yet, she struggles, like so many men do, even the greatest men in their times of doubt. And then, he sees the change in her eyes. The acceptance along with defeat, instead of the prolonged disbelief of defeat itself. Sees the moment after when that determination comes back onto her face.

She turns slowly around on her spot as she speaks, so that she speaks to each and every one of them. She says, “And I will protect you. Until my last breath.” Again. “And I may be the true heir to that throne of iron made by man and dragonfire,”

Aegon pouts through a grin.

He and Balerion put a lot of effort into making that throne. How dare she? He simply must punish her.

Naughtily!

No! It’s almost time—focus! Aegon’s eyes slowly fall closed for a brief moment as he looses the will to live with himself.

Jon makes sure she connects with each and every person’s eyes as she turns slowly and tells them all, “But I swear to you all right now, after everything you’ve all endured, I do not ask you to bend the knee to me, I ask you to follow me. To help me keep you all safe. I will not ask you to fight for my claim to the throne, but instead for all you hold dear. That you do not fight each other but for each other, so that I may fight for you—“

Aegon did not see this coming. Underestimated just how much her people trust her, even though he trusted her within the first few seconds of meeting her...

The first one to fall to his knees is the guard standing behind the maester. He throws the banner to the ground, steps around the maester and falls to his knees at her feet as she swirls around at the commotion.

Two more guards follow before the small tidal wave of people all fall to their knees one by one, then, bowing their heads.

”—all...” Jon murmurs, small smile of awe tugging at her lips.

Before being immediately wiped away at the sound of slow and heavy wing beats.

Jon slowly tips her head up to see Drogon hovering over the armoury. For a moment, she’s glad that the people aren’t running away or screaming their heads off. But then, she glances back to them and suddenly can’t tell if they’re bowing to her or to Drogon.

Which is fine, she guesses. Only, not really, because that’s not what he is for. Jon doesn’t care that Dani used him as a weapon; Jon will not do to him what so many others have done to her.

She clears her throat loud enough to get their heads lifting. She smiles widely, holds two calm hands up as she says, “He would not lead you all here just to kill you.” That much she knows at least.

He would have just killed them for following him...probably...

Aegon presses his cheek to the stone as he leans against the window and watches intensely. His eyes flitting back and forth between Jon and her dragon.

Another thing he will have to show her is that once a dragon is yours, they will protect you with their life.

Jon takes a deep breath and just hopes he understands her as she walks over and tips her head back to look up at the dragon. “Drogon!”

Drogon’s head tilts, his eyes connecting with hers.

Jon gulps, suddenly realises she doesn’t know what to say. Then, decides to just try not to sound stupid or nervous as she yells up to him, “Stop hovering and introduce yourself...without hurting or killing anyone...please.”

Aegon shrinks back with a gulp when the dragon’s head jerks his way and his big golden eyes suddenly connect with Aegon’s lilacs.

He wasn’t planning to do this in front of her beast, too—he’d wanted to do that later when the three of them were alone again...

Jon glances over her shoulder, trying to see where Drogon is looking to and seeing nothing out of place, just the Stone Drum behind her.

Drogon lets out a snappy roar over at the building as he glares at it.

Jon arches a brow up at the dragon in realisation, while muttering under her breath, “Oh, now you want to kill him.”

After leaving her alone with him for two days...

Drogon flaps his wings once, moving himself back to give himself just enough space.

Jon’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t have time to step back as the dragon quite literally lands with a graceful dumping of himself right in front of her. Her legs wobble only slightly as the ground shakes. And when everyone else, even while on their knees, has to put their hands to the ground to keep them from eating the dirt, it makes her proud enough of herself to throw a smug smirk up at him.

Drogon simply grumbles in reply. Though, Jon’s rather shocked when he leans his huge head down and nuzzles her torso gently with the end of his snout.

Automatically, this time, Jon reaches out a hand to him and brushes her fingertips softly at first, over the delictate patch between his two nostrils, her hand not even filling half the space of such a small part of just his face.

Aegon pauses at the door, but only because he’s smiling at the way Jon is smiling as she runs her hand over her dragon. He can see the amazement as in her face and it makes him feel all soft and silly.

Though, he’s quickly pulled the fuck right back out of his daydreaming when her dragon snaps his head up from her and glares in Aegon’s direction—not having to see him lurking just inside the shadows to sniff him out.

(Gods, when your own dragon is nowhere in sight to back you up, you really realise how fucking big they all are.)

“Fuck it.” Aegon mutters, takes a deep breath, grips his sword and finally stalks out of the entrance to the Stone Drum. Making his boots echo loud enough for each and every single pair of ears to hear as he slowly but surely makes his way down the steps.

Immediately, he can hear a few people gasping. Notes the pale look on the maester’s face. Sees the small man opening and closing his mouth several times and his eyes growing slowly wider as does everyone else’s. One by one, their expressions either hold terror, amazement or both.

Aegon doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like that they are not still looking at their Queen, like they should be...

He stops halfway down the steps, sword in hand and half raised like he’s ready to attack. He arcs a brow around at her guards, waiting for them to do something. He grits his teeth when nobody moves, just continues to stare at his every move instead.

His nostrils flare in temper, teeth gritting harder as he holds that temper back.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t bother as he marches down the rest of the steps. Eyes focused on Jon, who just stares at him with a frown before her eyes quickly widen in shock.

Tyrion is simply gobsmacked right now. But instincts take him over as he pushes himself off of his knees and darts towards the guard kneeling behind the maester. He grabs the hilt of the guard’s blade, yanks it free from the sheath at his belt, and swings it up into the air just as he yells, “Your Grace!”

Aegon may be holding back, but the graceful sidestep she swirls around him to catch the hilt in her hand has him pausing and grinning to himself.

He hides it quick enough to turn and give her a loud scoff before he says, “So, you are the Queen. And the half man is the bravest warrior you have.”

Tyrion finally finds his words with a monumental scowl. “Pardon me, your Original Grace, but you do not belong here in this time, let alone this place.” A short hysterical laughs bubbles out of him as he asks Jon, “Your Grace, please tell me this isn’t really who I think it is and that we are all somehow dreaming or high as fucking kites right now.” He says in a voice just low enough for the three of them to hear.

Aegon arcs a brow at the small man. He didn’t realise he was the real brains here among her people. Certainly not the shock-frozen maester, who now, slowly hauls himself up to stand.

Jon holds up the sword in her hands and glares at Aegon as she asks, “Who are you, really?”

Aegon knows what she’s really asking: is he Aegon the Conqueror right now, or the more human Aegon he has shared with her for the last two days.

He looks into her eyes, ignoring everything and one else around them as he tells her, “If you didn’t know me... If I truly meant you harm, your dragon would have already killed me.”

Tyrion is about to remind him that technically “her dragon” doesn’t burn a lot of people who mean her harm and that—

“I am yours.” Aegon says loud enough for the entire Bailey to hear. Then, flips his sword in his hand as he walks slowly and calmly towards her. And when he’s just a foot from her, he leans in slowly and with a soft and hopeful smile, he whispers for only her to hear, “And you are mine.”

Before Jon can even think any thoughts, let alone any good enough to speak out loud, he’s taking a solid step back and taking a knee before her. And Jon’s heart races in both shock and...something else.

Aegon glances around at all the faces, making sure they’re looking at him before he says, loud and bold, “I am who you think I am. I am Aegon Targaryen First of His Name. I did not wish to reveal myself to anyone, let alone to the Ruler of this time I now, somehow, have found myself awakened in. But if it wasn’t for your Queen’s hospitality and understanding of my situation—if I had not met her myself first, I fear I may have made a grave mistake in even thinking her a threat to me.”

There is only silence.

Jon notes even Tyrion is at a loss for words. Which worries and somehow amuses her at the same time.

Aegon’s eyes connect back to hers and her heart does a silly little flip when he smiles softly and says, “She is Targaryen. And yes, while that does please me to know a Targaryen sits on my throne, I kneel here before not just you, Your Grace, but before your people, too. After all, they are the ones who will truly have to accept me...” With a hopeful little smile, he adds, “If or when you do.”

Aegon takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders, keeps his blade offered to her as he says, “My sword is yours, Your Grace. My life is yours. If you will have me...” He stares deep into her eyes as he vows to both her and her people, “I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength, to give my blood for Hers. I swear to obey Her commands and defend Her secrets. I swear to defend Her honour and serve at Her pleasure.”

Jon’s stomach does another much bigger flip when his lips tug into the briefest smirk at that last word. Her eyes narrowing back at him in warning as she tries to hide a small smile.

“I will never flee or falter in my duties. I shall take no wife, hold no lands and father no children. I, King of over three centuries ago, pledge to Her Grace my life and my honour until my very last breath on my very last day.” Aegon says, tone turning serious in a split second and smirk falling away to show her he really means every word he says to her—that he doesn’t think he could lie to her if he even wanted to, which, not even Rhaenys had the privilege of.

Tyrion finally snaps into action, standing beside her to take the guard’s sword from her hands.

Jon gives him a smile of thanks.

Then, turns to Aegon, who is still holding his own sword up to her. She flexes her fingers quickly when her hand shakes just the tiniest bit out of nervousness.

She only remembers a literal dragon is still currently sat behind her when Drogon gently nudges her side and huffs.

Jon puffs out a chuckle at the entire fucking surrealism of it all.

Even after the army of walking dead men.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself nerves, grips the hilt of his sword in her right hand. She holds the tip of the blade over his heart, less a threat and more just using it to point at him as she points out, “If you truly mean all of that; if you actually want to become one my Royal Guards, I am assuming you won’t have a problem making your vows just once more for all of my people to hear.”

Tyrion arches a brow—since when has people-pleaser Jon Snow started being as careful as she actually buggering should be? She couldn’t be like this for their utterly pointless meeting with Cersie?

Tyrion glances at Aegon, eyes narrowing at the Queen’s new bloody influence.

Heavy on the ‘bloody’...most probably...

Oh, shit—this cannot be good.

Even if Aegon is telling the truth about his time travel escapades and that he wishes no harm on Jon, but Tyrion knows powerful magic while it’s staring him three centuries late in the fucking face when it should be, in fact, long fucking dead...

Drogon finally seems to get bored of the politics of humans and leaps up into the air with a whirl of dust and wind.

Making everyone but Aegon, Jon and Tyrion gasp in either shock or fright.

Jon scowls up after the giant assho—the giant beast and wonders briefly just how many times he plans on leaving her after he is the one who sought her out—after she killed his mother!

Aegon keeps his eyes on Jon for the sake of her people seeing how sincere he is. And what a rewarding decision it is to see her cute and rather amusing little death glare aimed at a fucking dragon, of all things.

She truly is magnificent.

And he craves to see the rest of her.

The rest of who she is...

(OK, he more than wants to “see the rest of her.”)

When the commotion dies down and he’s able to hear himself think again, Aegon finally answers, loud and clear, “Of course, Your Grace. I would do it a thousand times on the same day, if it pleased you.”

“No, no, no.” Maester Titus is all but shoving Tyrion out of his way, ignoring Tyrion’s scoff and his Queen’s scowl as he glares and points at Aegon and says, “Your Grace, if this truly is The Conqueror, he can only be an abomination. Can only be either here of his own vile volition or sent here by something or someone just as evil.”

Jon is about to snap until he looks right at her and she sees true fear in his eyes, not just some hysteria he’s worked himself into.

She sees Aegon glare for a moment before quickly composing himself and is about to open her mouth when he smiles pleasantly; charmingly, even, and says, “I understand your doubts and fears, Maester. But for now, until I prove myself to you, all I can do is make that vow to do so.”

Jon notes even Tyrion smirking when Aegon glances calmly up to the sky as he adds, “And I think if I were actually a threat to your Queen, her dragon would have burned or eaten me by now. Instead, he appears to have...fucked off.”

Jon fights back her own grin when Aegon grins at her. He then, bows his head and says, “Pardon the language, Your Grace.”

“Only evil itself spews such a foul tongue.” Maester Titus mutters in disgust, folding those ridiculously long robed arms over his chest.

Aegon barely fights back the rolls of his eyes, and instead, smirks while holding back a laugh when Jon scoffs and turns to the maester and says, “You became a maester when you were thirty-and-four. You told me that when you all but begged to be a part of my council. Of which, at the time, you also told me of your past. I will not embarrass you, Maester Titus, but I will remind you that you once took part in the same bedroom activities as most people do...and a few that most don’t.”

Jon smiles pleasantly when he purses his lips and tries so hard not to glare at her. At least, not in public. She’s glad he isn’t that stupid.

Aegon does chuckle then when she adds with that sweet smile of hers, “So, let’s not get too caught up in words when actions speak so much louder.”

When she throws Aegon a small glare he slaps a hand over his mouth and bows his head again.

“J—Your Grace,” Tyrion offers an apologetic smile for his almost slip. Only to find Her Grace still looking at her new...friend.

If Aegon really is Aegon and he really does want to serve the Queen he is now knelt before, well, then, Tyrion believes this could go very, very well for them as a people and Queendom...

Or...

Really fucking badly for literally everyone involved, which is literally everyone alive in the entire Realm...

Jon straps Aegon’s blade back to her back strap, takes a breath and says loud enough for all to hear, “We will settle and confirm matters when we are back in King’s Landing.”

(Oh, the irony of the very capital being named after The Conqueror’s successful takeover.)

Jon doesn’t want to go back. She knows she has to.

And if she and Drogon can communicate just a little better in the future, she won’t even have to worry about being stuck in that depressing fucking chamber of death. Just one of many of Aegon’s legacies Jon has managed to taint and destroy. Dani being another—and getting her other two dragons killed when she first got Dani involved with the army of dead men walking.

Gods, why do people want her to be Queen again?

(Why do people keep putting her in charge of things?)

“Right now, all that matters is rebuilding our city and keeping it safe.” Jon says continues.

Only to be interrupted by Maester Titus, who scoffs loudly. “And you expect us to believe that the same dragon who burned it all down will now be protecting his pile of ashes?”

“I don’t know how much maesters are supposed to know these days, but surely they still remember that it is extremely rare for a dragon to not only choose their rider, but seek them out especially for that choice. Which is exactly what happened with your Queen and her dragon...” Aegon stays on his knees to make a point even as he makes his point aloud. He puts emphasis on Jon’s title, because...well, the maester is really starting to piss him off. Pompous prig.

Tyrion bites back a smirk.

Maester Titus, however, doesn’t back down. Which impresses both Tyrion and Aegon himself.

“You may have our Queen’s trust,” He hisses in a low tone, glaring daggers at Aegon and putting emphasis on our as he motions around to everyone but the man he’s glaring at. “But that is what her people are for. To give up the ones amongst us that mean us ill intent and bring them straight to her sword when she cannot discern our enemies for herself. That is what you just vowed to do, and that is what I will be personally seeing to it that you do.”

Aegon arches a brow. “Is that so?” He fights back a smirk as he glances up at his Queen and grins cheekily. Presses a hand back over his heart and says, “To know you Aegonyra Targaryen, for these past two of days, twas the best two days of my life.”

Even though she knows he’s trying to wind up Maester Titus, Jon’s stomach still flutters in time with her heart.

Maester Titus’ eyes narrow as he mutters, “You will not win me over with your use of fancy words.”

Aegon shrugs, chirps back, “Twasn’t trying to.”

Tyrion snorts, unable to hold back his amusement this time.

Even Jon, who can usually stay composed in most situations, fails to fight back her quiet chuckle.

Although, she clears her throat and composes herself as soon as Maester Titus’ narrowed eyes flick to her.

However, the moment Aegon’s bright purple eyes connect with her and he cracks a tiny grin, her own smile tugs free again.

(His expressions are just so damn infectious.)

“Your Grace, if I may?” Tyrion motions around to the rest of the people still on their knees and waiting for...well, their Queen.

When she nods, he smiles gracefully, bows his head at her, then, turns to address the rest of Her entourage. “Friends, we have travelled for long enough to require a night’s rest. We shall return to King’s Landing at first light.”

He glances to Jon to confirm and she nods her head once.

He nods back, turns back to their people and says, “Those of you who wish to remain in your ship cabins for the night, may do so. In fact, I think it’s best some of us do, so as not to attract unwanted attention. We are not many and we do not currently have Her Grace’s dragon in range of us. Oh, and also, you will be sharing the wine with me, or the dragon will be the least of your worries.”

Jon puffs out a chuckle, shakes her head as Tyrion shoots her a sheepishly apologetic smile.

Aegon is starting to like the small man more and more. Though, he holds onto his smirk—just until he knows he can trust at least one other person that isn’t Jon.

He trusts her word, but she is one person and she cannot protect him all the time. It is impossible for any one person, especially a Queen.

“Please,” Jon says when nobody moves a muscle. “Try to make yourself comfortable wherever you like. Just be careful of the armoury and the dungeon.” She lifts both hands, motions for them all to rise and blows out a tiny sigh of relief when they do. Though, out of nervousness, she adds, “And I know after everything that this is the last place any of you would want to stay in, let alone call home to, but it belongs to me now. And anything that belongs to me, belongs to you...my people.”

Aegon chuckles silently at her little wince on the end there. He grunts to get her attention, forgets to breathe for that initial moment their eyes connect. Then, he asks, with a pout, “May I rise, too, Your Grace?”

His heart just about almost implodes with her small smirk and quiet chuckle.

Jon nods, lazily waves him up. Smiles smugly when he scoffs. Almost sucks down her tongue along with her breath when he rises, and the next moment, he is looming over her. Though, he’s careful not to get too close to her this time.

Not with all the eyes watching them as they pass them by to go and make themselves at home for the night.

“I assume you’re taking my chambers tonight.” He says just low enough for the two of them to hear.

Tyrion startles when Aegon’s eyes lift and narrow in on him. He turns away, pretends to cough and to give a shit as he asks Titus: “So, my friend, where shall you be bunking this fine evening?”

Aegon fights back the roll of his eyes. Leans in just a tiny bit closer to Jon, who’s actually rolling her eyes at him—because OK, he’s not all that subtle about wanting to tease her—and asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “And where will you have me tonight, Your Grace?”

Chapter Text

“Your Grace, may I have a word?” Maester Titus asks as soon as they are the only two within earshot of one another. Jon could see he wanted to say more to Aegon, but since she’s the Queen—and it’s her own fault that Aegon is no longer present outside—she guesses she’ll be the one to hear it all instead.

She barely gets to sarcastically think, lucky me; has barely turned her back on the maester before he’s already storming after her.

Jon sighs long slow and silent before forcing on a friendly smile and turning back around. “Of course, Maester Titus.” She nods, pretends to look more sympathetic than she actually feels (which is close to none, for once.) And asks, “What can I do for you?”

Maester Titus glances warily around the Bailey. He looks slightly on edge and Jon understands the whole Aegon situation is...well, not normal.

And Jon has seen how scared and angry, and then, violent people can get when they don’t understand something.

She now loses all pretences, leans closer and shows him he really does have her full and sincere attention..

Just as he finally locks eyes with her again and tells her, “It’s really more of what I can do for You, Your Grace.”

This is the first time Jon is seeing him look so open and actually worried for her.

“I,” He sighs softly, pausing as if treading carefully of which words to use. Says, “I understand that You, personally, of all people, would be fascinated or even curious about where and who You really came from...but I...I implore that whatever You see fit on deciding to...to do with...with the man who claims to be The Conqueror, You will not ever come regret that decision.”

It’s sounds fucking ominous. And if he didn’t look as worried as he did, Jon would think he was trying to subtly threaten her. In fact, he sounds so fucking serious and uneasy right now, Jon even finds her eyes flickering over to the Stone Drum where she sent Aegon off to wait for her.

Maester Titus must see something important enough in her expression, because his next words are soft and even rather sympathetic when he says, “I do not mean to put You on edge or to drive any wedges between You and Your father’s blood. I only mean to keep Your eyes open for You, as You have so graciously appointed me to, along with the rest of Your Council. And if the man truly is who he says he is, and he kneels for You as the rest of us do, then, quite rightly so, he would be a...formidable asset to Your Queendom.”

Jon can’t quite gauge his real angle here, so, instead of outright asking for it and most probably—not to mention; predictably—having him lie to her, or at the very least, tell her a bunch of half truths, she—can’t say why she feels a strong protective streak rise in her for a man she only met two days ago—politely but firmly lets the maester know just what she thinks about what he thinks about Aegon.

With a very slight scowl just to let him know she didn’t, in fact, approve of the careful words he thinks he chose, she says, “Even without being raised to treat every person equally, no matter who they are—and this goes without saying long before you lot put me on that bastard throne just last week,” She waves a lazily aggravated hand around; motions to the people wandering or setting themselves up cosy enough for the arriving night.

Maester Titus glances around at them, too. Though, his nervous gaze is focused on his Queen as he sees in her eyes now a similar rage to the one he saw the last Targaryen rain down in dragonfire.

And while he truly trusts that of all people, this woman is not only the true heir to the Throne, but is the first heir in over one hundred and fifty years to actually damn well deserve to sit upon it—he also, knows that if Aegon, who is now with them is the very same Aegon The Conqueror, then, Gods only know what kind of...encouragements Her Grace will take from him...

“But I am not the type of person who keeps those only useful close to their sides.”

He shrinks back a little when her blackened eyes of anger find and narrow in on him; even though she doesn’t move toward him. He swears he actually feels a bit of heat wafting from her like little waves of fury. He takes a deep but silent breath and a tiny little step back, while also bowing his head in complete submission at her words.

“You chose me to lead, not to follow—the last time that happened to me, I ended up in bed with my Gods damned aunt, then, had to end her life before she ended everyone else’s. And the time before that, when I was asked to be the Lord Commander of The Night’s, my life was ended for trying to save everyone else’s. But now I am your Queen, and I am refusing to lower myself to the miserable and abusive moral low grounds as almost everyone I have ever bloody met! So, the only time you need to worry about Aegon is when I tell you to!”

Her tone is dangerously low and trembling. Though, when she focuses that searing gaze onto him and not through him, she forces her shoulders to relax and takes a deep breath to calm herself.

Maester Titus keeps his eyes on the toes of his sandals peeking out from the bottom of his robe.

With the submission laid out before her, rather than revel in it, Jon seems to snap out of her anger. She feels guilty and almost apologises for her outburst, but bites her tongue for it, because she did mean every word, she just didn’t mean to get so fucking angry.

So, instead, she takes another deep breath and says, “I understand who you all wish for me to be for you. And I will be everything I can for my people. And I understand your worries, Maester Titus. I do believe you truly want what’s best for the Realm, if I didn’t, you would not be on my council.” She gives a solemn nod and continues with, “But make no mistake, I wasn’t raised to be a Queen, I wasn’t even raised to be a Lady, so, I do know when to be cautious of people. And you, like the rest of my council that I chose, are there when I ask for your advise. If you need to tell me how to be a Queen, then, I think you should choose someone who you actually believe can do it without.”

When he lifts his head, she arcs a brow and stares at him with a pointed look.

He bows his head, this time, with no other intention written over his face other than the one that shows he heard and understands her every word and will do as she says.

Jon gulps quietly when she feels a small rush of power shoot up her spine and into her brain and making her eyes tingle like she’s been drinking too much wine.

It doesn’t help when Maester Titus lifts his eyes back to hers and tells her, “We believe in Her Grace. We choose Her Grace. And Her Grace chose us in return. Even when Her Grace did not have to. Even when Her Grace was already at Her limit with life.”

He stares right into her eyes, is serious as he says, “Pardon my tongue for a moment, Your Grace, but we did not choose Aegonyra Targaryen, we chose Jon Snow. The woman who united all of The North together; who was murdered by the same people she tried to save and did not hesitate to save again when she was ripped from her eternal and already well-deserved peace and thrown back into the harsh land of the living; who brought the means to end the army of dead men, and then, who betrayed her own kin to save the people yet again—who in doing so, brought about the end of her own family’s legacy.”

With every memory his words bring up in her mind, the thrill recedes quicker than it shot through her and Jon is left feeling empty all over again. Even when she knows the maester’s intentions are completely the opposite, that he’s trying to fill her with the confidence he and the rest of the people are apparently filled with because of her.

“We are with You, my Queen; I am with You.” Maester Titus nods in gesture for a salute and adds, “All the way, Your Grace.”

Jon simply nods back and says, “I’m glad to hear it,” and “Please make yourself comfortable anywhere you would like for the night, Maester. I must leave you now to make sure the rest of our party are settled in,” before she turns and makes her way towards the Great Hall.

On the way, she passes a few guards who are curiously wandering in and out of the armoury. They all halt and stand to attention before bowing their heads when they notice her walk by.

Jon gives them a respectful nod as she carries onwards. Though, she makes a note to ask them later if they found anything she somehow missed.

She doubts it, however, considering Dani used what was left to arm the Dothraki and her army of Unsullied, both of which they still are armed with...or whoever is left of them, anyway...

When she reaches the dragon head-shaped entrance to the Great Hall, Jon pauses in surprise when she hears the sounds of chorused and rather merry singing bouncing from each wall and escaping out through the doors the moment she opens them.

She pauses again at the sight—a good portion of her party have gathered here in the hall and have seemingly already started an actual party for themselves.

A small smile tugs at her lips as the chorus rings out...

“Promised to us in fire and ice,
The Queen that we choose ‘cause she sees all the lies!
Her Grace burns all beasts but the One she rides on,
The growing black dread of Ba-leeeri-on!”

She briefly wonders what Drogon would think of humans singing their drunken chants to him, too.

Jon shakes her head, wearing a small grin as one of the completely sozzled looking young servant men comes up to her with two wooden mugs of ale sloshing out the sides and holds one out to her while trying to bow and also not just completely drop the entire contents of both mugs. He pouts when she holds up a hand and instead motions for him to drink both for her. Though, he bows his head again and is ultimately quite easily persuaded to leave her be when a pretty blue eyed woman smiles and waves him back over.

When she walks back outside a few minutes later, Jon halts in surprise when she sees Drogon standing a few yards away seemingly waiting for her as he stares expectantly at her.

She stares back at him. Blinks slowly at him when he does to her. Glances around to find practically nobody left outside. Shrugs to herself and walks over to him.

“Something wrong?” She asks as she takes in his body language. She shakes her head to herself when he continues to stare down at her. Mutters, “OK, nothing wrong. Good... For once. Must be Robb’s birthday or something.” Tilts her head up at him and just asks, “What is it then?”

Drogon slowly leans his head down to her, very much like the first time she ever met him—and he charged over to her just to test her nerve before proceeding to demand a pet on his nose from her.

Jon puffs out a chuckle as she obliges him now, gently running her hand over his top lip and around his heated nostrils (of which she could literally fit her whole hand in with no problem, if she was stupid enough to.)

Drogon sighs, eyes closing and low rumbling sound of satisfaction vibrating from him.

Jon laughs, grins and teasingly asks, “Is this all you wanted, hm? Just a little love...”

Her grin slowly fades as those last words sink into her mind. Into her damn heart...

Every person who has ever loved her has either been taken from her or have taken themselves from her.

(Surely, she can only be cursed.)

Drogon’s eyes snap open and narrow slightly. He huffs and shoves at her hand when her soft touches stop moving over his scales. He needs her attention back on him, or anything that isn’t the feeling he gets when her face looks all sad like his mother’s did every time she was sad. He can’t fucking stand it. Humans are so stupid. Even the good ones.

Jon puffs out another chuckle, nods and says, “I’m here if you’re here.”

Strangely, after all the people she’s grown close to that are still alive now, it’s Drogon she feels closest to; like he’s the only one who understands her; the only one who really understood Dani.

Drogon lifts his head, sits back on his folded wings and hinds. Then, proceeds to stare at her again. This time, he doesn’t seem to be waiting for anything, which only confuses Jon when she takes a step back so she can see his face a little better.

She frowns. Takes a step forward. Stops when he doesn’t move a muscle. Just keeps staring at her. Scowls and feels even more confused by his actions (or lack of), then, shakes her head with a tired sigh and brushes it off to deal with in the morning after she’s finally hopefully able to catch some rest.

But when she turns around and heads towards the Stone Drum, the ground begins to shake gently beneath her boots and when Jon stops and turns back around, she sees the dragon slowly following her like a giant pup’.

Drogon tilts his head back, glancing up at something towards the Stone Drum. He gives one slow blink to the growing darkness, then, lowers his gaze back to focus on her.

Jon opens her mouth to ask, but closes it quickly on reminding herself that she will get no worded answers from a dragon, no matter how intelligent they seem to be.

Instead, she continues towards the Stone Drum, and yes, the dragon follows her all the way. But she is somewhat relieved to see him lay himself down across the steps of the entrance instead of following her inside a building that not even half of him would fit into.

Jon pauses just at the doors, turning to glance down at the dragon, who is now curling up and closing his eyes.

“He’s protecting you.”

Jon sucks in a gasp. Then, at the recognition of his voice, she swirls around to glare and hiss, “How do you do that?!”

No one has ever been able to sneak up on her without her hearing them first.

Aegon holds up both hands in surrender, a smirk tugging at both ends of his lips. He shrugs nonchalantly as he says, “I’m just the best.” He winks, grins cheekily and adds, “After Her Grace, of course.”

Jon barely contains the roll of her eyes, but fails on her tiny smile...that is quickly wiped off of her face when she notes the tightness around his own. “What’s wrong?” She asks before she can even think about it, like it’s automatic or something.

Aegon pauses with a surprised look, but quickly wipes it away and seems to double down his efforts on his smile when he relaxes his shoulders and tells her, “Nothing is wrong.”

Jon narrows her eyes very slightly, because she can see and also, somehow feel that that isn’t the case. Yet, she still knows he’s telling the truth.

Aegon sighs, lowers his head along with his voice to a whisper as he says, “No matter how good things can get; how you can make them, you will never be able to please everyone around you. I just...” While they aren’t alone, he refrains from leaning closer and pressing his forehead to hers. Instead, looks into her eyes and says, “I need you to be careful.”

Jon sighs, looks almost bored as she feels tired. “If I have just one more person telling me to be careful of anything else today, I may get Drogon to actually burn me this time.”

Aegon shoots her a withering look.

“You don’t think I’m careful?” Jon arcs a brow, asks too calmly for him to see the challenge coming. Smiles too sweetly for him to even notice her reach for his sword still strapped at her back. Widens his eyes and stumbles back too late to dive away from his own blade coming up to press delicately against his throat.

“And now?” She asks, now sounding painfully bored and a little offended.

Aegon gulps, his Adam’s apple squishing against his blade. “And now, I understand how his own potential death can make a man’s cock harder than steel...Your Grace.”

“Ugh!” Jon scoffs, pulling the blade away and shoving at his chest with her elbow instead. “Typical man!” She huffs to herself after turning her back on him and storming off.

Aegon can only stare after her again...can’t help the way his eyes drift down to her tight little backside.

Chapter Text

“Aegon the Conqueror, but not really first of his name.”

Aegon fights the stiffness off his shoulders at being so easily crept up on, especially by the short man. Who is stood behind him when he slowly turns.

“You were named after your uncle, if my memory still serves...which, despite the copious abuse I’ve put it through over the years, astonishingly still does.” The short man says as he eyes Aegon curiously.

Aegon tilts his head, arcs a lazy brow and deducts more than questions, “You are a book man.”

He turns his nod into a respectful bow of his head as he extends a hand up to Aegon and introduces himself as; “Tyrion Lannister, Sire.”

Aegon is surprised both by the name and that that name standing before him is so freely holding out a welcoming hand to him.

Nonetheless, Aegon steps forward and takes the smaller hand in his. Surprised again by the strong grip, though, he can’t say he has known many...dwarves? Is he allowed to say that anymore? (He isn’t taking the chance either way.)

Tyrion smirks slightly at the look on the Conqueror’s face. “A Lannister, yes, you heard right.” He nods as he takes a step back after their hands shake and pull apart. “I was actually the Hand to the almost Targaryen Queen...”

Aegon nods, says, “Yes, Her Grace has told me about her; Daenerys.” He scowls and adds, “Who was never a true queen at all. J—Aegonyra was the almost never queen.”

Tyrion arches a brow. “She hasn’t told you everything then.” He says in a low voice for only the two of them to hear. He glances around, counts the few people still fluttering about. He motions with a tilt of his head and turns towards the closest door to them.

Aegon closes the door behind them, turns and smiles when he sees he’s in the library—Rhaenys’ favourite place on this entire island, as well as their mother’s.

His mother whose life ended far too early...

”—my life was ended for trying to save everyone else’s...”

Aegon is back to scowling again, deeply, and uneasily as he stalks forward and asks very sternly, “What does Her Grace mean when she says that her life was ended for trying to save everyone else’s?”

He watches Tyrion’s expressions very carefully. Sees them flicker through surprise, defence, and then, sadness.

“Tell me or I will not let you leave this room conscious.” Aegon demands in a low tone, taking a solid step forward and glaring right down at the smaller man.

Much to his dismay as well as his admiration, the smaller man doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t look away from his menacing gaze once.

Even with the threat of a dragon now behind Jon, Tyrion still believes his safer option is to piss her off instead of pissing the fucking Conqueror himself off. So, he huffs, takes a step back to lean against a nearby column, tips his head back with another huff and glares right back into Aegon’s eyes to let him know just how not happy he is about talking behind his Queen’s—and more importantly, his friend’s back.

Aegon merely rolls his eyes in agitation, but he’s quickly stilling at the short man’s next words...

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed already, Her Grace is not a woman who beats around with bush with neither her words nor her actions. She was a crow, then, Lord Commander, then, killed for betraying The Watch when she tried to save the Wildlings. A choice that made sense tactically, no matter what, considering that their bodies would have only added numbers to the army we were all trying to fight in the end.”

Tyrion folds his arms over his chest, showing that he refuses to speak about it anymore. At least, not without Jon’s permission.

Clearly, Aegon doesn’t give a shit as he says, “She told me all of that, minus the getting killed part. She just said she betrayed them; they paid her back in kind; which, made her leave...”

Tyrion swears under his breath. Glares back up at Aegon and tells him, “I will be telling Her Grace you threatened this information out of me.”

Aegon waves him off as he mutters, “You won’t have to.” He turns, but pauses and shoots the shorter man a sheepish smile and a mumbled thanks before darting off towards the door.

“I better not! I don’t want to be eaten by a dragon!” Tyrion snaps after him just as the door closes behind him.

Aegon makes his way to the Chamber of the Painted Table first. When he sees it’s empty, he makes his swift journey to his chambers where he pauses with his hand raised ready to knock when he hears her lovely voice...

“Really, Maliah, I’m fine. It was definitely scarier riding this one, but at least he chose me this time.”

He smiles at her chuckle.

“Well, that is not what I hear, Your Grace. The first dragon you ever rode was named after your father—the people say it is a sign you were meant to sit upon a dragon as well as you are meant for the Iron Throne.”

Aegon likes this girl’s attitude already.

“Yes, well, I say that the dragon with the keen sense of smell most likely recognised the Targaryen whiff in my blood.”

Aegon holds back his chuckle as Maliah surely does not, a bubbly sound of laughter escaping her before she says, “I wonder what Targaryens smell like.”

However, it’s Jon’s muttered retort that makes him snort his laughter out and give away his position...

“Probably smoke and incest.”

Aegon tries to suck the sound back down his throat, but it’s already too late.

“What... What was that noise?”

Inside, Jon sighs—while hiding a smirk—and sarcastically mutters, “Two guesses,” as she’s already making her way over to the door.

As predicted, Aegon is stood on the other side of the door when she opens it. He smiles cheekily, gives her a pathetic little wave, wiggling his fingers.

Jon arcs a brow, now forcing back her amusement as she notes to him, “You know, I’m not very impressed with The Conqueror’s actual lack of stealth.”

Aegon blinks; blinks passed the focus his brain suddenly wants to keep over the new skin he’s seeing. It’s only her bare forearms and her throat, but it somehow feels like a step closer to her. Like she’s letting him see more of her.

He clears his throat when he realises she’s clearly waiting for an answer. “Forgive me, Your Grace—I only wished to speak with You, but I can wait until the morrow. You must have Your rest, of course.”

The sly little smirk on her servant girl behind her obviously means he’s not as subtle as he thinks he’s trying to be.

He gives the girl a polite nod of his head and turns to leave.

Only to have Jon stop him with the simple word: “Stay.”

He doesn’t know if it’s a request or a command, but it matters not when he’s almost instinctively halting his steps and turning back around to face her. He feels hopeful when he sees the light flush on her cheeks.

Jon opens the door wider for him, then, turns and walks slowly back into the room. “Maliah, please bring me some ale instead of wine and have one of the men bring up some more firewood.” She says when she notes the girl’s curious stare on Aegon.

Gods, she really must be pathetic to be jealous of him merely looking at another woman. What is wrong with her?

Jon fights back a wince on that last thought, while thinking to herself: so fucking many things; why do I even ask stupid questions?

“Of course, Your Grace.” Maliah bows her head before rushing off without a second glance back...at Aegon, anyway.

Jon finds herself fighting back a smirk when Maliah grins mischievously at her until she’s closed the door behind Aegon...who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Jon once.

Jon definitely isn’t smiling now. Doesn’t think she has the motor skills while he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing worth looking at.

“I have a confession to make.” Aegon says and Jon has to tear her eyes away before her focus hones in on the way he bites his bottom lip. He smiles tightly, looking uncomfortable until the next words leave his mouth, “I was listening in on your conversation with your maester.”

Jon gives him a surprised look. She’s not angry, not all that bothered, really.

Not when she’s more bothered about whatever the fuck this growing feeling for this man she barely knows is inside of her...

“Oh?”

It’s Aegon’s turn to look surprised as he parrots, “Oh?” Sighs in relief, then, smiles lightly and chirps, “That’s it?”

Jon shrugs. Then, pauses and notes. “I did wonder what Drogon was staring at...”

Aegon grins sheepishly. “Yes, well, your dragon has every reason to be on his guard.”

Jon’s face sours a little, along with her mood. She knows he didn’t mean it the way she takes it, yet, she still can’t help scoffing up a chuckle and bitterly muttering, “Of course he does.”

Aegon frowns, then, softens with a sad smile and tells her, “That is not what I’m talking about.”

He shoots her a withering look when she only rolls her eyes in disbelief and shuffles away from him. He follows slowly after her, giving her space, while not actually wanting to.

Gods, he’s never felt so fucking smitten. It’s almost pathetic...

“I know you think it’s because King’s Landing holds horrid memories, but I, in fact, believe Drogon brought you here to keep you safe. I do not know where he was hatched, but all dragons, like all Targaryens, have a special bond with Dragonstone.”

And that is where he should probably stop talking. Because he needs her to trust him. But more importantly, he wants her to...to like him. To see him. And Gods, he wishes he knew why, because it can’t just be as easy as him falling for her already...

Jon arcs a brow when he stalks slowly up to her. Stares up at him as he stares back down and her when he’s stood right in front of her a moment later. Tries to convince herself she’s taking in the detail of his expression and not the actual beauty of his face.

He seems to have a habit of doing this. Looming over her and trying to stare right into her soul.

If only she had one left to look at...

Still—Aegon must find what he’s looking for, because there’s a tiny smile tugging at the ends if his lips.

“Your father did well when he chose your mother.” He tilts his head, eyes leaving hers and roaming leisurely over her face as he speaks. “A Targaryen with eyes as warm and as dark as hot chocolate...” He lifts a hand up to curl a few of her locks around his fingertips, rubbing the soft silk against his skin and holding back a shiver as he looks back into her eyes and says, “And with hair as black as midnight...”

Gods, he fucking loves her hair. He can’t even begin to describe just how much.

Jon’s eyes are almost fluttering when his own suddenly zone in on something, his gaze hardening, eyes then slowly narrowing. His fingertips brush over the right of her cheek, curling around her eye—along with the scar she now realises he is tracing—the only wound she ever kept from a Walker (astonishingly.)

“How have I never noticed this one before?” His voice is a soft mumble, making Jon’s heart flutter instead.

“Maybe because my black as midnight hair is always in the way.” Jon replies with a small taunting smirk. Which only widens into a smile when he chuckles.

“So,” Jon pulls herself away so she can fucking breathe right at last. Turns and makes her way over to the lonely wooden stool by the foot of the bed. Perches on top of the stool, stares at him again and asks, “Why were you listening to my conversation?”

“Because I don’t like your maester.” Aegon replies with brutal honesty and a pleasant smile.

Jon chuckles. “OK.”

Aegon arcs a brow. Again, asks, “That’s it?”

Jon shrugs again. “You told me. I now know. It’s no longer a secret. There’s no longer a problem.” She blinks, asks, “What else is there?”

Aegon scoffs out a laugh and before he can stop himself, says, “Visenya would love you.”

His smile falters when he looks up and sees her slight frown. He clears his throat when she (too) calmly looks away from him. Tells her, “I’m sure Rhaenys would love you, too, but she’s more of a lover in general anyway, so, it wouldn’t make much of a difference on any day of the week, and...”

And on top of rambling at the end there...‘lover’ was definitely a poor choice of a word on his part...

Fuck.

Jon merely nods in response and busies herself with resting her right ankle upon her left knee before slowly beginning to untie her boot laces.

He would make an excuse to leave. Except, he doesn’t want to. And she did invite him in. Even with her handmaiden present as witness. Which means the girl is trustworthy or the Queen gives no shits either way.

It makes him want to smile proudly at her boldness.

“The reason I knocked,” Aegon says, feels like he can breathe right again when she finally looks at him. “The things I said previously about not being able to please everyone all of the time,”

Now that he has her full attention, he can’t carry on speaking with his fully intact until he walks over and kneels at her feet and begins to untie the laces of her boot for her. She looks surprised, startled, even, but sets her hands to the sides of the stool and lets him pull her foot into his lap.

Aegon feels her eyes heating him from the inside out. He takes a silent breath to steady his nerves of which she sets each in a fucking blaze, and keeps his own eyes focused on his task of unbooting the Queen.

“You do not fear death, yet, you feel like you should fear your own dragon. You truly perplex me, beastie.” When he chances a glance up at her, he’s glad to see her smiling.

“Even if I’m not afraid of dying, I’m still afraid of being in a lot of pain...like most normal people.”

And even more thrilled to hear her going back to snarking him instead of politely ignoring him. Even if it was only for a few minutes.

(No, Gods, he isn’t almost pathetic; he really is pathetic.)

“I don’t know about that.” Aegon tells her, staring up into her eyes as he tells her, “You seem like a person who takes all of theirs in stride, and even some more on top, so that others don’t have to... A person who is afraid isn’t afraid because they’re a coward, they’re afraid of themselves, whether it being too much or not enough.”

Aegon chuckles when she asks, “And which one are you?” Because it was exactly what he was about to ask her next.

He grins, tells her, “Clearly the latter, otherwise I would not have bothered to conquer the entire Realm.”

Jon scoffs and mutters with a smug smirk, “Almost the entire Realm.”

Aegon arcs a brow, tries and fails not to smirk back.

“That’s right; I know things.” Jon says with proud glint in her eyes and her smirk widening.

Aegon grins, nods. Says, “Well, then, pardon me for not quite getting them all.” He pauses, then, pouts and adds, “Still, all but one isn’t bad, right?”

Jon’s lips tilt in a shrug of their own.

Aegon’s eyes narrow slowly before widening in both shock and surprise.

Jon chuckles. “Don’t look at me. Dani was the one who got them on her side.”

“That’s...” Aegon scowls, demands, “How?”

Jon arcs a brow—yeah, she really is already starting to get used to this whole Queen thing. Or this title thing in general...

Especially when Aegon the fucking Conqueror, of all people in all of time and space, smiles a sweetly boyish smile and says, “Apologies, Your Grace.”

Jon rolls her eyes, gives a lazy wave of dismissal. And before he can carry on buttering her up for whatever he’s trying to tell her, she states rather than asks: “You heard everything then. And now, you’re curious. Just like everyone is when they hear about it.”

Aegon feels his heart ache horribly when she closes her eyes and looks like she’s just trying not to fall the fuck apart.

Jon pulls her foot from his grasp, presses it the floor and lifts her other still-booted foot to his lap. Then, sighs steadily and says, “Finish what you started,” (Something Lord Stark used to tell her for anything and everything.) “And then, I’ll finish my story.”

Chapter Text

“Vorka—“

“Uh-uh, my Queen. Is, vorrrr...sa. You roll word over tongue.”

Jon nods, takes a breath, then, tries again. Slowly sounding the word for ‘fire’ in Dothraki out—“Vorrrsaa.”

“Ah, yes!” Rogo clasps his hands together, a huge happy grin spreading across his lovely caramel coloured face. “Very good, my Queen! Even with not very good, eh—is you say ‘accent’??”

He glances to Tyrion for confirmation, who nods.

Rogo nods enthusiastically, looks back at the his Queen and tells her, “You learn fast. Is good.”

Jon can’t help the small proud smile tugging at her lips.

Aegon’s own smile is all but wiped away when the maester’s rude scoff interrupts and he looks at Rogo with contempt as he says, “You’re lucky Her Grace is even bothering to learn your...language. Really, it should be the people learning the tongue Her Grace is native to.”

Jon scolds and firmly states rather than asks, “And what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t take interest in the actual lives of my people?” She arcs a brow as she adds, “And you yourself, Maester Titus, have acknowledged that I myself do not belong to just one bloodline—therefore, I represent two houses. And as your Queen, I now represent all of my people, no matter their cultural differences. If I am to expect the people to follow me, the very least I can do is actually give a shit about them.”

And it’s not true to say she is the first Sovereign whose blood holds more than one legacy. Though, she will probably be the first to embrace all of her sides equally.

Tyrion looks pleasantly surprised and rather amused to hear her using curse words. He believes this is the first he’s ever heard from her mouth.

Aegon’s smirk is very quickly wiped away, this time, when the maester arcs a brow and asks, “And do you really think just by learning how to speak to those heathens that they might just stay in line for you?”

Rogo bites his tongue to keep from answering when he sees his Queen’s annoyed look as well as her own reply burning in her dark eyes before she even opens her mouth.

Jon scowls, jaw clenching, pulse racing.

(And yet, somehow seeing Aegon looking more pissed off than she feels really does make her feel better.)

She sucks in a silent breath and stares hard at the maester as she says, “You heard what Br—The Three-Eyed Raven said; I am their leader now. I gave Dani’s loyalists a choice to either stay with me or leave and never look back. The Unsullied had more of a personal connection to Dani after she freed them, so, I understand why they chose to leave. But the Dothraki chose to remain and not one of them has wavered in their choice. They answer only to power; to whoever can control them.”

Aegon grits his teeth when Maester Titus steps forward and sternly asks her, “And can you?”

Tyrion rolls his eyes and makes his way out of the cabin to fetch some more wine for himself.

Jon goes to open her mouth, but Maester Titus cuts her off with, “And not just because you have the dragon at your back. Will they really follow you, Jon Snow?”

And that is Aegon’s fucking limit—

Jon sees Aegon push himself away from the post he was leaning against. So, before he makes things worse—by being annoyingly, yet, sweetly protective—and before anybody else forgets just who the fuck she is...

Jon steps forward with an expression that leaves no room for arguments—effectively stopping Aegon in his tracks and shutting Maester Titus up finally. She stands right in front of him and though he and his silly robes tower a good few inches over her, she’s glad to see her presence seems to make him shrink as if she were a dragon herself.

“Forgive me, Maester,” Her tone is low and dangerously calm as she stares up into his grey eyes. “I am your Queen, so, it is clearly my own fault that I have let you become so familiar in how you speak to me. And let’s just remember that before I ever even knew dragons existed again, not even death could keep me to itself.”

Aegon arcs a brow, mouth twitching upwards at the maester’s quiet gulp.

Rogo, however, is watching wide-eyed and grinning amusedly from ear to ear.

Jon keeps her gaze focused on the maester’s as she reminds him, “I was not raised to be a Queen or even a Lady. But I was a Lord Commander. So, you do not have to worry about me dealing with anyone who steps out of line.”

“You can shove your orders up your bastard arse!”

“My Lord, please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’m afraid! I’ve always been afraid! Please, I beg you! Mercy!”

At the time—and after the initial few seconds of satisfaction wore off—Jon felt rather sorry for Lord Janos. Especially with him being her first act of brutal punishment in general, not just as Lord Commander. But now, she barely feels like it was her own life. It feels like to long ago...

Maester Titus takes a step back and bows his head. “Your Grace.”

Jon nods, takes a breath just as the door opens and Tyrion steps in with two musty looking corked bottles.

“I bring peace!” Tyrion chimes, already looking halfway gone for the night. He scowls, glances around at everyone in the room, then, rethinks his logic and mumbles, “Or possibly war...” Grins again and chirps optimistically, “Who can say until we test the wine-waters, hm?”

Jon is the first to crack a smile, which makes Aegon automatically smile, which makes Rogo smirk knowingly and Maester Titus grimace as he makes a swift exit.

“Anhaan vekhatjin. (What a cock.)” Rogo mumbles to himself, shaking his head.

Tyrion chuckles as he walks over to sit beside the Dothraki warrior. “I believe most men with small cocks like to pretend it is everyone else’s fault but their own that they are such stuck up pricks because of their small cocks.”

He chuckles when Rogo grins at the same time Jon shoots him a lightly scolding look.

“He’s honestly not even that bad.” Jon states, making all three men scoff, even Rogo, the fucking traitor. “What? He isn’t. This one was raised a bastard, remember?” She says, pointing a finger at herself. “You’re literally the first person outside of my family that didn’t treat me as such.” She adds, then, pointing at Tyrion.

Aegon arcs a brow at the short man, pleasantly surprised, but not all that shocked.

Tyrion waves a lazy hand away at them both. Then, tells her, “As I told your brother Brann shortly after that; I have a soft spot for broken or misplaced things.”

Jon smiles. And finally, says, “Thank you for your gift. I hear he was quite depressed after he woke.”

Tyrion bows his head with a smile. “Of course, Your Grace. It was the least I could do.”

He’s rather touched that she doesn’t even mention it was his own brother’s fault that her brother was crippled in the first place.

Just one more thing different from Daenerys, who would, every now and then, remind him of who he was just to keep him in his place. Where Daenerys counted up her slights and betrayals, Jon seems to let them roll off of her, like fire rolls off of a dragon. And unlike Daenerys, even at the times where Jon has no choice but to act with violence, she does not enjoy the thrill of power that comes with it.

All these reasons guide Tyrion, where he failed to guide Daenerys. And it is the same with the people—the people who seek Jon out just to bend the knee, while Daenerys had to use force or bribery (or worse; false promises and fire and blood.)

Which is why, despite Jon’s next words, Tyrion finds himself smiling happily as he stares at her.

“Gods, everything is all over the place. How am I supposed to help people when I can’t even stop my own council worrying about me?” Jon sighs as she goes to plop herself back down in the chair beside Rogo.

“Your Grace, we have already gathered the materials to start rebuilding the castle now that the city is already up and running.” Tyrion says, trying and failing to lighten her mood.

“Up and running. But still in complete ruin. Half the people are sleeping under the damn stars at night. Which is fine for now. But when winter comes again? Dani would have burned half the people and I will have finished the job by letting the other half freeze to death.”

Fucking fire and ice—what a joke!

“I can’t even bring them into the castle with me, because that’s being rebuilt. I can’t bring them to Dragonstone, because Dani burned whatever ships Euron Greyjoy stole off with. I have no Lord of the Seas. No Coin Master. No bank that will even consider meeting with me in fear of burning under Dani’s dragon. All I have is a throne and a crown, of which mean absolutely nothing if there is nothing for anyone to lead. I have one Queen’s Guard—which, I don’t even really think is a good idea! And I don’t even have a fucking Hand!”

“Breathe.” Aegon swoops over to kneel at her feet. “You have me, Your Grace. No, I am not King here in this time, but not even mentioning my sisters as rulers, I, myself, did manage to rule all of Westeros for almost five years. And before that, I was Lord of Dragonstone...after my arsehole of a father finally passed.”

He smiles with her when his words make her crack the tiniest one. Breathes with her when she takes a deep breath, just as he told her to.

He fights back a shiver over the wondering thought of what else he could tell and get her to do for him...

“You are not alone.” Aegon tells her with as much sincerity and reassurance as he can stuff into one look.

And he’s glad to see her relax back in her seat, even if just a little, and give a tiny nod of acknowledgement.

“Five years?” Tyrion curiously pipes up as he hands a cup of wine over to Rogo and begins pouring the next out for his Queen. “That would make you two-and-thirty, would it not?”

Aegon nods. “It would.” Then, arcs a brow, stares up at Jon with intrigue as he asks, “And how old, if I may even ask, is Her Grace on this day?”

“You may not.” Jon quips snootily. Though, there is a small teasing smirk spreading slowly over her lips.

Aegon has to actively force himself not to push himself up and press his lips to hers.

Tyrion cuts in with a drunken snort and tells him, “She was seven-and-ten when I met her, which would now make Her Grace six-and-twenty.”

Jon purses her lips, flips her middle finger at Tyrion, who merely laughs when she snatches the mug of wine from his fingers and gulps it down for herself—while wincing in disgust at the taste through every drop.

Aegon now understands why Jon lets the short man—and only him—speak so freely with her or about her. She trusts him, which is more important than the fact that they have known each other for so long—and clearly before either of them rose to their places in the world. They both know the real people underneath and Aegon finds himself envious of the short man.

“Still so young.” Aegon says, shooting her a soft adoring smile.

“Oh, you can piss off as well!” Tyrion spouts with a half bitter half amused laugh. “Begging no offence, Sire, but in my presence, you, too, may as well be a child.”

Aegon chuckles quietly. Holds up a hand, nods and says, “Apologies...” Trails off, grins cheekily and adds, “Old man.”

Tyrion’s mouth gapes open in offense...quickly snapping shut when Rogo offers him a top up from the second bottle—which smells like chemicals one would use to clean metal armour, but tastes oddly sweet and quite lovely when he takes a dainty testing sip before knocking it back in one.

Aegon puffs out a laugh and plops himself down on his backside, arms looping around his knees. He grins up at Jon when she stares down at him.

“There are enough seats. You don’t have to stand for the entire sail home.” Jon says with a small amused smile. “And I certainly don’t expect you to sit on the floor.”

Without missing a beat, Aegon’s grin widens with a cheeky glint in his eyes as he replies, “This is the best view.”

Jon rolls her eyes and shoves down the urge to smile. Though, cannot deny the lack of control she has on her stupid gut or pulse as they flip and flutter in tandem.

Tyrion laughs, while fighting back a knowing smirk.

Rogo, though, as most Dothraki, he is not one to shy away from revealing what he really thinks at any given time. Like now; “Yer hash jin Khaleesi. Kifindirgi tat zalat sum qoy hash yer laz zhorre zhille? (You are the Queen. Why do you want the same blood when you can have any?)”

At Jon’s completely lost and slightly panicked expression, Tyrion holds up his finger to her and smiles reassuringly before turning to—in very broken Dothrak—ask Rogo, “Fin tat...yer...veltor?? (What do...you...yellow?)”

Rogo fights back a snort. Glances to his Queen, then, smiles somewhat sternly as he looks upon the man sitting at her feet—who looks as surprised as Rogo was hoping when he speaks his next words in the very language his last queen (and her lovely handmaiden) had taught him.

“Nyke gīmigon skoros gēlenka ōghar iksos. Qrīdronnor, daor perzys. Dāria ōghar iksos zōbrie. Ao qrīdronnor. Dāria rele perzys. Lo ao ȳdra daor mīsagon dāria, nyke ossēnagon ao. Zaldrīzes jāhor daor jorrāelagon naejot. (I know what silver hair is. Chaos, not fire. Queen hair is black. You chaos. Queen real fire. If you don’t protect Queen, I kill you. Dragon will not need to.)”

“And that—“ Tyrion practically chokes around his mouthful of wine. Pushes himself up from his seat, grins awkwardly as he chirps, ”—is my cue to leave before things get violent. Farewell!” Then, hastily makes a run (and stumble) for the exit.

Jon scowls after him. Then, scowls between the two men left sitting in the room with her.

One of which is glaring in warning, while the other stares calmly back.

Jon waves a hand in front of the glaring man’s face and glares pointedly at him when his eyes snap to her.

“What is going on? What did you just say?” She asks sternly, eyes flitting briefly to Aegon, who is now (oddly) smiling.

Rogo’s glare hardens. But right as he opens his mouth, it’s Aegon instead who speaks up. “He was just making sure I understood where I stand with him.” His tone is calm, though, his smile turns slightly amused. And Jon swears she sees something that looks like relief in his lilac eyes.

She arcs a brow as she asks, “And where is that?”

Aegon grins as he holds out a hand to Rogo, whose glare falters and is slowly replaced with both suspicion and confusion.

Aegon nods reassuringly at his hand and says, “Your words were heard loud and clear, my friend. I am glad to know you would kill so easily for Her Grace.”

When Jon’s eyes widen a little in horror at Rogo, Aegon chuckles and says, “Fear not, Your Grace, I’m sure Rogo would ask you first.”

“No, I would not.” Rogo shakes his head, shrugs nonchalantly.

“You—“ Aegon’s grin morphs into a withering look. “You couldn’t just humour me to make Her Grace feel better, could you?” He mutters with a shake of his head.

Rogo simply blinks and stares at the two of them for a moment. Whatever he sees, Aegon sees his shoulders slowly begin to relax and Aegon blows out a silent breath of relief. He feels hopeful when the Dothraki man finally rises from his seat a moment later, looking ready to leave.

“I didn’t say you could leave.” Jon says, voice so calm it borders on something very opposite.

Rogo pauses in confusion as Aegon freezes in surprise.

Rogo clears his throat quietly, smiles warily as he turns back around to face her. “My Queen?” He asks somewhat timidly, making Aegon all the more gobsmacked—such a huge man, at least a head taller than even Aegon, and yet, he all but trembles before Jon.

Jon.

Not her dragon...

Aegon stays deadly silent, eyes flickering between them.

Jon slowly rises from her seat, but doesn’t move closer. She wants him to remember she’s not afraid to act if she needs to, while also wanting him to know she’s completely in control of herself—unlike his last Queen...

Aegon’s brow arcs and a smirk tugs at his lips when Rogo immediately bows his head and lowers his gaze to the floor.

“What would your last Queen have done to you if you had killed without her permission?” Jon asks, voice still calm, head tilting slightly as she stares almost pointedly up at him.

Rogo’s eyes widen for a split second when his gaze snaps back up to hers. He gulps quietly, then, smiles weakly as he tries to reason with her. “M-My Que—“

Jon cuts him smoothly off with: “And what did I do to your last Queen when she did something without asking me first?” Doesn’t let him answer as she takes just one tiny step forward, and then, with a little warning tint to her tone, she asks, “And now, what do you think I’ll do to you if you do something without asking me first?”

Rogo can only take it like a man and a true warrior as he lifts his chin, looks her in the eyes, nods firmly and replies, “You would not use dragon to kill me.”

Jon has to fight back the pleased little smile twitching at her lips. She takes a breath as she takes a step back. Nods and says, “Good answer.”

Rogo bows his head respectfully.

As Jon finally lets the poor man go, Aegon has to finally haul himself up to his feet and walk away just so she won’t see him trying not to grin like a complete and utter fucking fool.

When the door closes behind Rogo and Jon turns back around with a huff, she sees Aegon running his fingers over the length of her blade laid out on her bed, and shivers pleasantly as if feeling the touch herself.

(Yeah—she’s probably just being over-observant, but he really is so very graceful in every single little movement he makes, like they’ve been thought out and planned precisely.)

“Don’t be so hard on him.” Aegon says, shooting a smirk over his shoulder when he hears her silence loud and clear, and then, sees it for himself with her jaw clenching and her beautiful dark orbs twinkling with only a mild rage.

He shrugs just to annoy her a little more, flashes her a quick grin when her lips purse and her eyes narrow.

Then, is serious when he tells her, “I suppose their people take a bit of getting used to, but he really was just warning me that he’d end my life if I ever endangered yours first.”

“Oh, he ‘just’ threatened to kill you, did he? Is that all, hm?” Jon asks, voice a tad higher as she tries to keep from letting the most inhuman (forget about ladylike) growl of frustration tear up her throat.

Aegon turns his body half towards her. Pauses. Stares warily. Tries not to laugh or smile. Then, pretends to look intrigued as he says, “Your Grace, you’re sounding very not happy right now.”

Jon blinks. And just when she thinks he will piss her off, that tiny but slowly growing smirk of his instead makes her deflate with a huffy laugh. When he grins, she shoots him a somewhat playful but absolutely serious glare and says, “Call me that one more time while there’s nobody else around, and I’ll show you what I really look like when I’m—‘very not happy.’”

Aegon tries to be offended by her achingly bad impression of his voice, but only ends up betraying himself the instant his laughter blurts out of him.

She clearly sees the split second conflict when she smirks smugly to herself. And he doesn’t know whether to be touched, annoyed or impressed with her reading him so easily.

Though, he can’t help smirking back and shaking his head when their eyes connect in the next moment before she turns her back on him.

“I named my sword Blackfyre.”

He doesn’t know how much she knows about him, but right now, he will say anything to keep himself distracted enough when she begins to unlatch her armour and slide it off...

“Did you name yours?”

In his mind, he curses himself for being so weak and looking back at her when she says, “I did not.”

He can’t help but let his gaze take in every detailed curve as she lays her pieces of armour neatly over the seat she was previously sat in.

Before he can even scramble a real thought to ask, she tells him, “But it does have a name.” She sounds almost coy and a little hesitant, which only makes him all the more intrigued.

She keeps her back to him when deciding to tell him, “It’s name is Longclaw. And it was given to me as a reward for saving Lord Mormont’s life.” She gulps down the ache in her throat as she adds, “Even all the while Lord Stark let me believe he was my father, I think I’ve somehow always known. It’s surely the only thing that explains why I seem to grow so close to old men who just want to father me.”

Aegon puffs out a soft chuckle. Smiles brightly when she turns around with a sweet little frown that shows just how much she doubts herself. Shakes his head slowly. Turns and slowly walks over to her. Stops a foot in front of her and tells her, “You and I are so much alike, and yet, at the same time, so different. I had a father, but never had his love. You had your father’s love, but never had a father. We are both surrounded by people who would die and kill for us; people who loves us—and yet, you’re so full of love that you don’t know what to do with it. And I’m...”

Jon takes a small step closer when he trails off with a slightly lost look beginning to form in his pretty eyes. She’s breathes easier when she reaches for his hand and he instantly snaps out of it to look at her instead.

“I want to trust you...more.” She adds the last part with a small grin when he gives her a dramatic little pout. “I’ve told you about almost all of my scars.”

Aegon knows what she’s going to ask, and oddly, the only thing that makes him nervous is making her look at him like he’s the monster he really is...or at least, can be...

But when Jon smiles that beautifully sweet and hopeful little smile and asks him if he would maybe share at least one of his own scars with her, he really cannot find it in himself to refuse her.

Chapter Text

Tyrion has been staring at her for the last minute and a half and Jon thinks maybe he didn’t hear her...

Well, until he blurts out a slightly unhinged laugh. Slaps a hand over his mouth, as if he hadn’t meant to let the sound out. Then, clears his throat, composes himself and more than warily asks, “Are you feeling well today, Jon?”

Jon narrows her eyes playfully and mumbles, “I could have your tongue for calling me by my bastard name.”

She can’t help it, she’s in a good mood this morning after arriving back to King’s Landing and seeing how much progress with the rebuilding has already been made. She made a good choice to trust the Dothraki enough to put them to work. That, and they were beginning to grow restless...

Tyrion puffs out a laugh and reminds her, “You were never a bastard...Your Grace.” He adds the last part with a teasing smug smirk, then, grins cheekily and says, “And begging your pardon for such crudeness, but I would sooner you cut off my cock.” Then, winces; thinks better of that choice and quickly adds, “No. No, I wouldn’t. Forget I said that.”

Jon rolls her eyes with a small grin. Then, shoots him a sincere look and says, “I know you haven’t had the best time being Hand, or for the best people. And I’m not trying to imply that I’m the best person... But from what I’ve both heard and seen for myself, there is no one else more suited for the title. You’re smarter than most men. And not just with books and history and politics, but with battle, too. You have a tactician’s mind, yet, you barely know how to swing a sword, nor do you have any real wish to. And most importantly, you actually care about people.”

Tyrion bows his head—Jon being one amongst a rare few people that can actually make him feel bashful or modest in the slightest.

Jon smiles and hopes he believes her words. She then, says, “You know what you’re talking about, but you listen to others when you know you must. And you admit when you’re wrong, which is a rare trait in itself. And...well, if I can have more people like that around me, I think I will actually be able to do this.”

Tyrion watches her motion around with a slightly overwhelmed look in her eyes.

“You are doing this.” He says pointedly when she glances back to him. Smiles teasingly when she shoots him a withered look.

Then, he, too, motions around like she just did as he says, “Of course you’d need to take a step outside first, but—look around you, Your Grace. In less than a month, you have already given the people their hope back along with the means to rebuild their lives. And that is without loaning any money from the banks. You are no different now, still, to the girl who believed she was a bastard all of her life but always just tried to do the right thing anyway, because it is in her heart to do so and not because she was born to, or even taught to.”

Jon smiles, happy to know people believe in her enough to see her for her mind and not just her sword. And definitely not because of the—OK, fine—“her” dragon (she might as well just accept it. And before Aegon...appeared, she and Drogon were the only two dragons left...thanks to her...)

She fights back a scowl at her thoughts easily dampening her mood, instead, gives Tyrion her full attention again when he says, “Your Grace, your people have full bellies, plenty of ale, wine and water, and are all in high spirits enough to be working well into the nights to keep up the pace of our city being rebuilt before any threats of autumn, let alone the winter. That kind of peaceful feat hasn’t been accomplished since King Viserys reined over one hundred and fifty years ago.”

And before that—he leaves out mentioning for the sake of her good mood—Aegon the Conqueror himself was the last to bring at least a semblance of peace to the Realm.

Tyrion just hopes Jon keeps up her personal no dragonfire rule, unlike the rest of her Targaryen blood. He hopes she always remembers that Starks take the duty of violence into their own hands—and while looking their enemies in the eyes, unlike Targaryens; who are known for their backstabbing and familicide (not just incestuous)...tendencies.

Jon shoots him a look before reminding him, “Thanks to Sansa, not me.”

Tyrion arcs a brow, reminds her right back, “And she did so after your copious begging.” He scoffs, shakes his head in disappointment. “Begging, Your Grace. Honestly.”

Jon scowl-pouts. Defends herself very weakly with, “I owe her my life after Ramsey.”

Though it is a good point, Tyrion scoffs again and says, “The entire Realm owe their lives to you, Jon.”

She surprises him yet again in her humbleness when she chuckles, shakes her head and points out, “No. They owe you their lives. Not me. You are the one who came to me; who made me see sense; who pushed me to make the hard choice.”

“I suppose I did.” Tyrion replies thoughtfully. He then, finally nods in understanding, but sighs as he moves to sit on the bottom step to the steps leading up to the Throne. “Your Grace, I will, of course, happily be your Hand.”

Jon walks slowly over and sits on the step beside him—making Tyrion smile to himself over how she physically brings herself down to his level just to talk to him.

She turns to face him, hands resting over her knees. She nods knowingly before asking, “But...?”

Tyrion chuckles lightly. “But,” He nods, tells her, “I believe someone else would be better suited for it.”

Even if he wasn’t just wanting to focus on his own heartbreak over his brother’s (and yes, even his evil cunt of a sister’s) death, he still believes if Aegon really isn’t here just to cause trouble, then, he must be here to help, surely.

Jon blinks, confused. Wrinkles her nose when asking, “Not...Maester Titus?”

Tyrion pulls a face of horror. Shakes his head furiously. Groans, “Gods, no.” Takes a breath and says, “Aegon.”

He waits to see her reaction, but he’s pleasantly surprised to himself by the thought behind her reply...

...Yet, not at all surprised to hear the Honourable Jon Snow That Never Really Was; the bastard that never really was give such a reply—

“Well, even though you clearly enjoy his company, I know you don’t fully trust him, because we don’t really know why he’s here. Which means, you’ve probably been having the same idea I have—Queen’s Guard is too limited a title for one who is so willing to be a full asset; who better a Hand than someone who used to rule himself?; and it sends a message that The Conqueror is not here to conquer us...again, and instead...OK, hopefully, it will look like he really has bent the knee to me if he’s willing to lay down his sword in favour using his mind to...”

(Ever The—Honourable—Peacekeeping Diplomat; Jon Snow That Always Ever Was.)

Tyrion purses his lips. But it’s already too late. She’s caught him trying so very hard not to laugh or even smirk. Clearly, he has failed, because his Queen is now narrowing her eyes in a half suspicious and half annoyed glare.

He slaps on a pleasant smile, tries to make it look like he’s waiting for her to continue and has no clue as to why she’s even stopped talking...

It doesn’t work.

Jon rises from the step—and that’s the first clue that Tyrion has of touching a nerve; she doesn’t usually get so easily defensive. And yet...

“Is there something particularly funny that you’d like to share with your Queen right now?”

Tyrion scoffs at her snooty tone. Then, scowls and scolds her with, “No, no, no. You can’t do that. You can’t cherry pick. You either want to be called Jon, or you don’t.” He shoots her a withering look when he sees a small grin tug at her lips.

“Technically, I can do whatever I want if I’m the Queen.”

Tyrion barks out his laughter this time, grins with her and rather proudly says, “Oh, good, you do like showing some of your Targaryen...edge. That will come in handy being a Queen.” Then, teasingly adds, “I was beginning to wonder if you Starks even knew how to have fun.” He chuckles when she makes a sour face at him.

Jon huffs, hands on hips as she thinks for a moment. Then, says, “Being honourable doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.” Pouts a little at his tiny smirk and adds rather defensively, “I know how to have fun.”

Before Tyrion remembers just who the fuck she is, he chuckles and says, “Oh, I’m sure you do, Your Grace.” Then, swallows down his laugh as quickly as he watches her expression harden and her eyes darken.

He gulps, but before he can open his mouth, Jon takes a firm step towards him while sternly telling him, “This time, I am not asking for you to share your thoughts; I’m telling you to. Now.”

She can see in his eyes, he isn’t actually afraid of her, but he does know what she is capable of without a fucking dragon, and she can see that in his eyes, too.

Yet, that’s not what she wants.

So, to be clear, she takes that firm step back, holds her hands behind her back and holds her gaze with his as she tells him in a softer more reasonable tone of voice, “If I have you, of all people—after all we’ve been through, and how importantly I regard you—thinking all sorts of me, then, how am I ever to trust anyone? I am not Dani; I will not burn you or take a sword to you for the truths that lie in your heart, or any other’s, for that matter.”

Tyrion shakes his head furiously. “No, Your Grace, I simply forgot myself for a moment. And I never made those kinds of jokes with my brother or sister, so, I don’t know what possessed me to think I could do so with you.”

Jon makes another sour face. Rolls her eyes, huffs and even smiles a little in amusement. “That’s what you think my problem is?”

She chuckles at the surprise and intrigue that flash over his face, then, tells him, “Love is love. I didn’t want to love a Wildling or almost fall in love with my own aunt, but I did.” She shrugs, adds, “Maybe the reason that everyone dies around me, but I myself cannot die is because I am Death.”

Tyrion scowls and with miserable slump of her shoulders, so does his heart slump for her in defeat. He thought she had all the answers. Even if she didn’t know it yet. Maybe his work isn’t done. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to rest, even if his Queen herself thinks he does.

“I will be your Hand, Jon. I will be happy to.” He shoots her a smile when her surprised gaze lifts to him.

He stands and steps down to kneel at her feet. He looks up at her and says, “And at any point, if you wish to replace me, I will have been honoured to serve you for the time that I had.”

Jon nods, understanding what he’s saying: that he knows she doesn’t quite trust Aegon as much as she clearly wishes to. As much as Tyrion already seems to, and maybe someday, as much as Aegon himself seems to already trust Jon.

She can’t think why he would beyond the kindness and decency she’s shown him. But maybe it’s finally time to start finding out why he’s even here...

Just another reason she would rather have Tyrion as her most trusted.

He looks like he’s holding back laughter or a smirk (maybe both) when Jon glances awkwardly around the empty Throne Room, and then, to her empty hands. Then, she smiles sheepishly and says, “I don’t have a pin to give you.”

Tyrion bows his head to hide his smile as he tells her, “I’m sure we can have one made, Your Grace.”

Jon nods. “Good idea.” Grins and says, “See? You’re already giving me good advice.”

Tyrion can’t help sputtering out a little laugh this time.

Jon scowl-pouts as she admits, “Ramsey was better than me. At least, on a bigger scale; where it counted. After all that Sansa had been through with that monster, and even she was more in control of her emotions than I was. Just like always, I let my heart rule my head.”

“Just like your father, then.” Tyrion teases with a grin, but there’s a soft look in his eyes as he stares at her.

At her confused frown, his grin softens, too, and then, he’s carefully asking her, “Have you never heard the story of how he declared his love for your mother?”

Jon forgets whatever the fuck she was just moaning about, because...well, no one has ever spoken about either of her parents, let alone spoken of them as if they knew them. She keeps her mouth shut and simply shakes her head, eager to see if he’ll say more about her father (while wondering why she’s too afraid to actually ask about him.)

“You really should have put your wooden swords down for at least once a day as a child, Your Grace, you would have learned so much more.” Tyrion teases, but easily tells her, “My father was the Hand of Daenerys’ father.” And chuckles at her wide eyes of shock.

Is this why Lord Stark always encouraged her favour of the blade over books? Jon feels a little sting in her heart when she thinks about that reason being true.

Though, Tyrion shoves her thoughts carelessly aside, her attention perking again when he continues with, “I was a few years older than Prince Rhaegar. I met him, yes, but know him, I did not. And not many ever truly did, really. He was a private...rather mysterious creature. And if I had never looked upon the beauty of your mother’s face, I’d have guessed your good looks came from him.”

Jon cracks a faint smile. And really, of all the silly things to ask, she really just is painfully curious to know: “Did he... Did he have the Targaryen hair?”

Tyrion shines a rather motherly smile upon his Queen who towers over him by at least two feet. Like for her brother, he has always felt a fondness for her. A kinship, if you will. He nods, tells her, “He did. And you wonder why you don’t, but you wouldn’t if you’d have seen your mother’s midnight locks. Stark genes are strong, even when there is competition. It’s most probably also why you have her eyes and not his.”

He adds that last part with a look and Jon smiles gratefully while nodding in understanding.

“Trust me, Aegonyra,” He chuckles at the wrinkled up face she makes and says, “Jon—whatever you want to be called—you may have the same warrior’s heart and spirit that your mother had, but you also have the same sight and mind your father had. He was a gentle soul. Which is why, I imagine, he fell for your mother when he witnessed her spare a poor knight from death in defiance of his own father’s orders. Why his heart followed after her as she rode off without even taking her helm off. Why he obsessed over finding her. And why when he fell for her, he let his heart rule his head and probably caused the death of your mother and himself...”

Hours later when Tyrion has left her; when she is in her chambers alone and even Maliah has left her for the night, Jon finds herself now obsessing over every little word he told her of her parents. Her father, in particular...

The dragon who made her...

The dragon who runs in her veins now...

The dragon who couldn’t even protect his own family, just like she couldn’t protect hers...

She almost lost Brann.

But Lord Stark was the first.

Then, Robb.

(And Lady Catelyn...)

Mance.

Ygritte.

Fuck, even Wun Wun.

Even Olly, and Alliser.

Definitely all of the Wildings that she couldn’t save in Hardhome.

Not to mention—

A rumbling noise snaps Jon out of her thoughts and when she turns, she sees a flicker of black flash back at her from under the moonlight.

She walks over to and through the curtains, onto the balcony just in time to see his tail curling up into the air. She turns and smiles when she sees the dragon perching on the edge of the spire. His claws wrecking the brick and tiles there only make her smile wider.

She laughs, then, says, “Thank you for giving me just one more reason to leave this city as soon as possible.”

Drogon seems pleased, whether he understands her words exactly or not, he uncurls his tail from under his backside. Wings flapping heavily in haste to keep him from slipping, then, digging back into the tiles as he tucks them against his side.

Jon arches a brow up at him when the tip of his tail slaps lazily against the balcony floor in front of her. She chuckles when he blinks down at her, but sucks the sound back down her throat in horror when he stares expectantly at her. She scoffs quietly before telling him in the most matter of fact tone of voice, “No.”

Drogon pulls his head back to let out an arguing shriek.

Jon winces at the piercing sound. Then, glares up at him and says, “I am not climbing up your tail while you’re hanging off of the side of a tall building.”

Drogon lets out what can only be described as a growling whine.

Jon places her hands on her hips, scolding a fucking dragon of all things again as she says, “I bet you never pulled stuff like this with Dani.” And then, a realisation as she purses her lips with a glare and adds, “Oh, yeah, OK, I get it now. You’re still angry with me, so, you’re going to punish me at every opportunity you can take.”

She nods with a loud and defeated huff when he just stares blankly back at her and she can quite literally feel his resounding silence.

Jon nods and chuckles with neither bitterness or mirth, just acceptance as she says, “People think you chose me because I’m either a Targaryen or because I’m supposed to be the one that was promised for something, and I thought you chose me because you don’t want to be alone.” She can’t really say why she’s smiling fondly up at him when she says, “But really, you just want me to suffer like I should.”

Her smile dims a little when he gives her a slow blink, stares at her calmly for a second, and then, finally pushes his tail up with himself as he takes off flying into the night.

“Like you do now,” She whispers, “Because of me...” She trails off both just as she feels the guilt creep up in her...amongst other things...

“A lot of things are because of you,”

Jon whirls around to find a man she doesn’t recognise personally. He’s stood in the middle of the entrance to the balcony, effectively blocking her way back into her chambers. He’s wearing clean black riding leathers, but is barefoot, which Jon finds odd.

He snarls a grin at her as he adds a very sarcastic, “Your Grace.”

And here they are; the first person she meets that actually wants her on the throne less than she does for herself.

But tough shit now. They chose her. And now she has taken her duty on, like all others she’s taken on, she will not rest until said duty is complete. And if that means until when she dies (again and it actually sticks), then, so be it.

Jon doesn’t have her sword with her, but thankfully, this man didn’t think to take it from her bed before coming out here to meet her. And she notes to herself she still has the dagger shaped hairpin that Arya sent to her (from Gods know even where) still tucked neatly away under her belt. It’s only the size of her thumb, but it will have to do, because she can already sense this man isn’t here just to lay eyes on his new Queen.

Maybe this is why Drogon wanted her to leave with him. It’s not like she could ever ask him and get a clear answer back. It’s not even a thought that lasts long enough to wonder further.

Not when the man slowly begins to inch his way towards her. And certainly not with that small dagger of his glinting under the moonlight, gripped tightly in his hand at his side.

Jon moves her eyes up to his and keeps them there, better to keep her gaze on him whole than to have him try to distract her in some way and her not seeing his attack coming. And she couldn’t say if it’s her trying to act like a Queen or if it’s just all the worse shit that she has already been through. But she doesn’t feel as afraid as she knows she probably would have before...well, dying.

“She told us not to try when there was just one of us. Told us that you’re too dangerous to take on alone.” His tone holds curiosity as well as wariness. Yet, he scoffs a moment later, looks at her the way most people have looked at her for her entire life as he says, “But you’re just a girl.”

Jon doesn’t expect a straight answer or any answer at all, but it would still be stupid of her not to at least ask anyway; “Why are you here?”

The man glances down at the knife in his hands, then, back to her.

Jon nods, understanding. “Is this your choice or have you been sent by someone?”

“No, no, no. We’re not going to do that, Your Grace. You will not get in my head with your false words of kindness. Not like you did with our tr—“ He purses his lips hard then, as if he’s already said too much. Scolds and hisses at himself before glaring back at her and snapping, “Just keep your mouth shut, bastard!”

Jon presses her lips together and nods once again. Lets him think he’s still in control so that she doesn’t lose actual control of the entire situation.

“Now,” He takes a step forward, while slowly raising his knife-armed hand. “I can make this quick and painless, but that’s only up to you. I’m not here for vengeance, this will be justice I serve, for the Gods themselves.”

Jon simply stares at him, effectively letting him decide for her.

He looks surprised, but nods in acceptance a moment later. And then, he charges at her without hesitation or holding back in the slightest.

And Jon, she closes her eyes and takes a calming breath.

And exactly when she feels the air shift around her, she swirls on her feet, spinning around his back and shoving him forward with his own momentum. He falls to his knees hard with a grunt, but is snarling and right back up on his feet. He turns to face her, knife gripped tighter and face more determined.

Jon eyes him in warning; challenging him to stop rather than actually challenging him.

Which he ignores with a scoff as he comes barrelling towards her again.

And again, Jon dodges him gracefully—knowing that with his size being almost twice her own; if he gets his hands on her, she won’t be so lucky. But he doesn’t move like a knight or any trained fighter, thank the Gods, so, Jon easily sidesteps his next attack. Ducks under his next swing of the blade, comes up behind him and sends a hard kick to the back of his right knee.

Though, this time, she isn’t quick enough when he swipes out at her with an angry snarl. The blade slices through her thin summer leathers and right through the skin on her right hip. She hisses and stumbles back, grits her teeth with a glare when he throws a smirk over his shoulder at her.

Jon sends her own knee to the back of his neck, shoving herself away from him while cracking his nose against the stone floor. He grunts, pulling himself slowly up and swaying dizzily for a moment, while Jon checks the wound on her hip. Thankfully, it’s only skin deep and only bleeds very little.

She startles then when she hears a knock from somewhere in her chambers quickly followed by Aegon’s curious voice, “J—Your Grace? Are you well?? I thought I heard...something.”

The man glares at her while shaking his head.

Jon glares back, but only half defies him with, “I am. Return to your chamber. That’s an order, Aegon.”

The man arches a brow, but smirks and gives her a satisfied nod.

Jon almost takes a breath of relief when Aegon replies with, “Very well, Your Grace.” Though, she doesn’t know why (especially right now, of all times) him forgetting to say goodnight to her like he’s done so every night since they’ve known each other really bothers her.

With a scowl, Jon bites her tongue to keep from shouting after him, and not for help against this man trying to kill her, but for Aegon to fucking bid her a goodnight (even when it’s clearly already a fucking shit night!)

And maybe that’s the reason she doesn’t notice Aegon appearing in the balcony entrance until she hears him say, “That’s the first time you’ve ever actually demanded anything of me.”

Jon finally does sigh in relief and also smile a tiny little bit. And not because he’s here to save her. And not even now because he didn’t really forget to bid her a goodnight. But because he knows her so well already.

Now, if only she could figure out why that’s actually important to her. Why he feels so important to her...

“We’re coming for you next, dragon slayer scum!”

Aegon’s amused expression drops right away when the man turns to snarl his words at him. He doesn’t know what the man is even talking about, but he doesn’t really care while that little toothpick of a blade is pointed at Jon. He steps forward, slow and menacing...

...But stops at the very moment he witnesses his magnificent little beastie disarm the man within the blink of his fucking eye. He just about catches the way she snatches the blade from the man’s hand. Grabbing and twisting in the most unnatural angle until his elbow pops lightly and his grip loosens.

Aegon stands wide-eyed and slightly aroused. And only slightly because he’s far too focused on marvelling at Her Grace’s...well, grace. Though, when his eyes rove down her form (the way they often seem to before him even noticing), all arousal fades and replaces with full fury at the sight of blood against her side.

But before Aegon can stalk over the rest of the way and beat the man to a bloody pulp, Jon is backing her attacker up until he’s bending over backwards over the stone wall of the balcony.

The man’s hands are held up in defence, but he clearly isn’t afraid, even looks ready to die. Proves it so when he snarls his words defiantly, “Not just a girl, after all then. Good. Because I was only the first. We are many; we are legion; we are endless.”

“No wonder you didn’t want me to talk.” Jon says, voice blank while bordering on the edge of amused. Then, turning serious and hopefully threatening enough as she adds, “You like to talk, which makes you talk a lot, which is good. But you’re not talking about the right things. Things I want to hear.”

Aegon can’t see her face with her back to him, but he sorely wishes to see whatever it is the man sees in Jon’s face when she leans in as she speaks and as she speaks and leans closer, the man’s eyes grow wider and wider in fear. She’s not even outright threatening him in any way.

Aegon is back to marvelling. But now, in nothing less than a true masochistic fashion, he is instead wishing to experience the fear the man feels right now as he looks into the magnificent little beastie’s dark eyes.

Maybe he sees nothing. Maybe her eyes are so black that the man sees nothing in them at all—which frightens Aegon himself to think about, because there have been moments, just moments, where has seen the look of nothingness in her eyes.

Maybe she really is more like him than he cares to admit...

Aegon shakes the thought away quickly and with a scold to himself.

It doesn’t matter if she holds as much fire in her blood as any other Targaryen before her. Nor does it even matter if she holds more. All that matters is how he’s seen her deal with that fire in her blood.

Like no other Targaryen; preferring to take diplomacy before taking up the sword to her enemies, yet, not mistaking her soft side for weakness, but using it to her advantage when others think her weak for it...until they really see who she is.

And he still has yet to see the full image.

But is enjoying every piece he finds—like now, as he watches her with a small but growing grin of satisfaction and pride (and a little amusement on the account of the idiot who thought she would fall so easily when Death has already neatly returned her.)

“Maybe,” Jon pauses, sounds thoughtful, but slightly taunting then as she says, “I should feed you to my direwolf instead of my dragon. At least, then, I could question you while Ghost makes you disappear chunk by chunk. Of course, with Drogon, I am sure he wouldn’t even think you big enough for an appetiser, and I would have nothing left of you to question, very quickly.” She ends with a pleasant little smile.

Aegon arcs a brow, because that sounds very much like something a Queen would say. He can’t help the sheer pride that swallows him whole. Folding his arms and leaning on one leg as he hooks his foot casually around the opposite ankle.

He came in here worried over how strange she sounded (not even mentioning the command she threw at him). Then, he immediately wanted nothing more than to annihilate the man holding up a blade to her.

But now?

Oh, well, obviously, he just can’t wait to see what she will do next.

—Because she clearly doesn’t need his help... Or anyone else’s for that matter.

He’s both disappointed and impressed.

Gods, she is a beautiful soul of complications and intricacies.

He really can’t get enough.

“Then, let me save you the trouble, dragon slayer.” The man lowers his hands, tone dignified as he puffs his chest out and looks her in the eyes before proudly declaring, “I would rather die than betray my people by giving you anything.”

Jon’s scowl is wiped off in the next moment; her protest dying halfway up her throat, her lips pursing shut and eyes widening in shock when the man grabs her wrist with her hand still holding his knife, walking into the blade as he yanks her wrist forward. In her shock, her hand goes limp as he then drags the blade through his flesh, effectively gutting himself. He doesn’t make a sound, just grits his teeth through the pain before sinking to his knees. He flops over to the side a moment after, sliding right off of his blade and from Jon’s now blood soaked grip; lifeless.

Even Aegon is stood in shock for a few moments as he takes in the scene. Though, the second he notices her stumbling back in her own shock, he’s snapping out of it and rushing to her side.

“Your G—” He purses his lips, takes a breath and softens his tone at the same time he tells himself not to fucking panic. “Jon, are you OK?” He gently grabs a hold of her shoulders and waits for her to look at him.

Jon frowns, looks slightly confused when she looks up at him. “I’m fine.” She says it like she can’t understand why he’s even asking—it makes him want to punch things. She shrugs his hands away, ignoring the tug on her heart over the clear look of disappointment flashing passed his pretty lilac orbs.

She huffs after her curious examination of the now bloody knife in her bloody right hand. Shaking her head and speaking mostly to herself, she says, “After what happened at The Night’s Watch, especially—I don’t know how I didn’t even think about people trying to kill me.”

Just one more thing to add to her lost of never-ending Queenly duties.

Chapter Text

“That’s because you have a habit of thinking of anyone’s wellbeing before your own.” Aegon says as he slowly reaches forward and gently takes the dead man’s blade from her hand. He takes a closer look for himself, but sees that it’s just a butcher’s knife; no great weapon and more than likely chosen at the last moment. Aegon feels offended and infuriated to know that this dead man did not put much thought into ending someone as...well, magnificent as his little beastie.

And then, the moment he hears her hiss softly, his fury is only magnified as his eyes snap from the blade in his hands and land on her own hands gingerly rubbing at her bloody hip. He all but tosses the blade onto the floor beside the man’s corpse and moves swiftly to her side to inspect her wound for himself.

Though, he pauses with hands hovering between them. Eyes darting up to hers in question even before his mouth is asking, “May I?”

With them being so close right now, Jon doesn’t have the luxury of taking a breath to calm herself first without him noticing. So, like always, she simply soldiers on with (what she hopes is) a brave nod. Although, she does then steady herself, instead, by chuckling quietly at his all too sweet look of concern, while she lightly informs him, “It doesn’t hurt. The blood is drying and got caught on...” She blushes fully as she realises what she was about to so openly tell him.

Blushes even fucking more when his eyes slowly lift to hers and a slow devilish grin takes form across those sinful lips of his.

Jon ignores the fact that she’s probably beet-red right now. Holding her head up with (as much) dignity (as she can muster), she tries not to sound (too) snooty while then informing him, “...On nothing of consequence.”

A horrific side-thought—now, he probably thinks she’s “furrier” down...down there than a Gods damned direwolf...

Jon uses his replying chuckle of amusement to puff out a breath and suck one back in to finally try to save at least a shred of her composure. Her dignity is obviously gone. And it’s never returning if she makes an even bigger fool of herself as his warm hands suddenly wrap around her waist.

She thinks of flying on the back of Drogon and is gratefully surprised to find that it works in calming her. Though, it’s more plausible that Aegon’s soft touch is behind the reason her shoulders drop and she closes her eyes with a small but content smile tugging at her lips.

Aegon doesn’t even think about the mess on his hands as he gently brushes the blood away. It’s already congealed, which makes him pause right before that one last swipe.

Jon’s eyes spring open when she feels his hands still over her bare flesh. Finally, she turns her head to look down at her wound. But stops on his wide-eyed look of awe, confusion and a little fear.

Her heart sinks, but she clears her throat just long enough to croak out the words, “I told you; I’m fine.” She pulls away from him, but this time, his right hand reaches out, gently snatches her left wrist and firmly yanks her back to stand face-to-face with him.

Aegon smiles, cutting her off as she opens her mouth with a protesting scowl as he says, “You are more than that.” At her the answering flash of confusion, his smile widens as he nods at her and says, “Look at your wound, Jon.”

Jon’s confusion melts away as her gaze snaps down and lands on absolutely nothing but the smear of her blood from Aegon’s hands and the rip of her leather from the dead man on her chamber floor. Her eyes don’t widen, like Aegon’s, but instead, she feels her heart sink even further.

Her first thought is; I’m a monster.

And it is so loud in her mind that she almost blurts the words out loud.

So, instead, like she’s been doing since she returned from the dead, she shoves everything related to the topic away from her as far as possible and focuses on anything else.

Namely, the man who just tried to kill her.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Aegon blinks, confused. Then, gapes, shocked. “Doesn’t mea—“

“Doesn’t change anything.” Jon only corrects herself to avoid creating arguments...or wanting to even know what it really does mean...

Aegon purses his lips, clearly not finished with the matter. But Jon is thankful when he simply bows his head, and then, carefully steps around her.

“Wait,” Jon says when Aegon crouches down and snags up the lifeless man’s right wrist. He does so, immediately dropping the dead flesh as if it has burned him and despite the shitty situation she’s in right now, she finds herself fighting back a smile at both Aegon’s comedic timing and the fact that he doesn’t hesitate to do as she asks of him.

“I need to check him first.” She says, making Aegon arc a brow and ask slowly, “Fooorrr...??”

Jon makes a sarcastic face as she replies, “Love bites.”

Aegon chuckles.

Jon rolls her eyes, this time, fighting back a faint smile as she ducks down into a crouch. She then, begins searching the man’s pockets, finding nothing in any of them very quickly.

“Hm. Not just a pretty face then.”

When Jon glances up at Aegon, he’s grinning cheekily.

She narrows her eyes and mutters out, “Rude,” even though she’s not offended in the slightest, even if he did really mean it as more than teasing—which somehow, she feels like he did.

Aegon grins to himself, feeling not at all smug as he always does with both his sisters, but rather excited to see how his little beastie will surprise and excite him next. He crouches down opposite her, watching her peek and poke carefully around the man’s body before he asks seriously, “What are you looking for?”

Jon doesn’t look up at him, keeps her attention on the body as she answers, “Clues, hopefully. He wasn’t working alone—he slipped up, just for a moment, but it was enough to tell me he’s working for, or with someone; a ‘she’ someone.”

“She told us not to try...”

And whoever She is at least knows Jon isn’t just a pretty face. But also...that means whoever it is will try that much harder to come for Jon...

(She’s always understood why Lord Stark always told her to keep her skills secret until they needed to be revealed. Unlike Robb, who’d always been eager to show off just how skilled he was.)

“I...” Aegon’s uneasy pause makes Jon pause and finally give him her full attention. He takes a breath, feeling as pale as he probably looks, then, quietly asks, “Permission to creep the both of us out with my next words, Your Grace?” He’s only being formal about it because he really does want her permission before he puts any unwanted thoughts into that pretty head of hers.

Jon straightens her back to level her eyes with his before giving him a go ahead nod.

Aegon nods back, blows out a tiny breath. Smiles meekly. Leans a little closer. Pauses to look around the room. Leans a tiny bit closer. Widens his eyes slowly as he whispers, “Do you think this ‘She’ that this man spoke of could be D...Daenerys???”

Jon stares at him for a few moments, because for all sorts of reasons, starting with the most logical, that was not what she could have ever imagined him asking her—even with her surreal experiences.

Aegon blinks back at her, paling by the second. He sucks in a breath, leans back and looks utterly distraught as he mutters, “And now, I’ve upset you.”

He opens his mouth again, no doubt to apologise, but Jon jumps in quickly with a surprised, “N—no. You haven’t. I just...” She trails off with a quiet chuckle.

“Oh, good. You’re laughing.” Aegon breaths a small sigh of relief. Even grins a little as he adds, “I don’t need to ask you if I’ve pissed you off instead then.”

Jon bites her lip to keep from laughing properly. She doesn’t know if his fragile ego could take it if she actually meant it. “Why do you ask that?” She asks instead, instantly going back to biting her lip right after to keep that laughter inside.

Aegon looks at her like she’s crazy for a few moments. That is, until he notices the tiny crinkle around those dark eyes now twinkling with amusement at him.

He narrows his own eyes, then, scoffs and filled with both sarcasm and snootiness, he asks, “I’m sorry—are you actually laughing at me for asking a question like that when you’re the one—literally the only one—who has ever returned from the dead?”

Jon swallows back the reply she really wants to give, but still doesn’t let him off so easy with: “I’m actually...not the only one.” She ends with a pleasant, albeit, teasing little smile.

Aegon blinks, shocked back out of his protest. “What??” He then, all but squeaks.

Jon can’t take it anymore. If she doesn’t want to laugh in his handsome face, she has to move away from his handsome face and move away from his handsome face, she does.

Rising to stand, she says, “His name was Beric Dondarrion.” She honours the man by naming him, because—“I didn’t know much about him, but I do know that he died more times than you can count on one hand. And he used two of those times to save my sister; Arya’s life.”

Aegon blinks, looks wary, then, slowly intrigued. Nods to himself, then, says, “I wish to meet him.”

Jon purses her lips, because the man is dead and it’s no laughing matter. But she thinks she’s just found her new favourite thing to do: mess with Aegon (just like she used to mess with Robb.) So, she finds herself speaking without thinking at his questioning look, simply telling him, “You can’t.”

Aegon stares at her for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out the answer before he even asks her, “Why not?” His words come out slow and wary as his eyes narrow a tad.

Jon holds up her palms in a hopeless manner as she replies bluntly with, “He died.”

Aegon blinks, looks startled into confusion. “What...” He scowls. “But you just said—“

When he finally notices the little smirk she’s trying but failing to mute, his eyes narrow fully. “And you are toying with me. Very good, Your Grace.” He nods with acceptance as he puffs out a breath, glares weakly at her, while now, trying to mute his own smirk.

Jon shrugs and says, “Honestly, you make it too easy.”

Aegon doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he’s both happy and offended. Eyeing her with playful anger as he watches her crouch back down.

This time, she begins gently pulling at the edges of the man’s clothing. Peeking underneath at the flesh before letting go of the material and moving onto the next patch.

Before he can ask what she’s doing, she’s explains to him about this other dead man who apparently died many times.

“Beric fought for Arya’s life twice. She would not speak of the first. And the second, I also did not witness myself, but happened at the battle against the army of walking dead men. Beric saved her life, taking his final breath at last, and Arya went on to kill the Knight King.”

Aegon nods in acknowledgement when she glances briefly up at him. Though, as he realises he’s watching her check for any distinguishing marks on the man’s body, this time, he’s about to ask why she’s telling him this when he knows she still doesn’t trust him. He feels her holding back.

(Always. He hates it. Hates the way it makes his chest ache...)

And again, before he can open his mouth to ask, she answers him anyway.

“It sounds to me, like he very much was kept alive for one soul purpose...” Jon pauses when she lifts up the dead man’s left hand and spots an inked image on the inside of his wrist. She grits her teeth and nods to herself as she ends with, “Before he was finally deemed useless.”

Something she knows the feeling of all too well...

No, no, no—

Jon does not like this. Doesn’t like that she feels like she already knows who this “She” is that has decided to come for Jon’s blood.

“What is it?” Aegon leans forward. Looks at the tattoo and frowns as he asks, “Is that a House sigil?”

—But only one person really makes plausible sense...

“If it is, it’s not one that I know of.” Jon says before she drops the man’s wrist and rises to her feet.

—Even if it is a literal suicide mission for anyone to come after a Queen in general...

Jon crosses hers arms over her chest, her eyes glazing over a little as her mind races with possibilities; all awful, for all, if not, most parties involved.

—“She” has already declared her utter hatred for the last Queen to sit on the Iron Throne.

(Not that Jon blames her for that one. Considering what Jon almost did to Ramsey for what he did to Sansa and Rickon.)

Aegon follows suit swiftly, rising to stand with her. Yet, looking concerned for her lack of concern. She looks more thoughtful than worried.

But most pathetically of all; on his part: he can’t take her silence. Never can. And especially not when it’s shrouded over him, too.

He steps around the man slowly, voice soft as he says, “Whatever it is, Your—whatever it is, little beastie, I will not let it harm, nor even worry you.”

His disappointment comes like a punch to the chest when she finally places her lovely eyes upon him, but mutters a distracted, “Hm?”

He feels even fucking worse when she snaps back out of her thoughts and slaps on an apologetic smile that makes him want to throw up—because she’s looking at him like she’s trying not to make him feel bad; like he’s a child, who doesn’t know any better...

But then, in the next moment; the moment right before he almost feels his heart begin to shatter, instead, he’s watching as that smile of hers softens and her eyes focus on him and widen just a fraction in surprise, like she’s seeing him for the first time again and she likes what she sees. And fuck, Aegon almost slumps to his knees with the pure relief that floods him.

His toes, oddly, but nicely, feel tingly when she says, “Sorry. What did you say? I wasn’t ignoring you. I just...get lost sometimes.” He can’t help smiling as she does, even if it’s faint, he can see it’s a happy one. She chuckles, looks pleasantly surprised as she says, “That’s actually the first time that’s happened since I came back from...well, being dead—I thought maybe I came back different, or...”

Aegon’s smile dissolves as hers fades, her expression growing slightly weary as she firmly mumbles the word: “Wrong.”

He doesn’t even know what to say to that, because he’s felt just about the same for all his life...

Thankfully, she unknowingly saves them both when she turns and walks over to her desk.

He watches her as she picks up a loose piece of parchment and a small piece of drawing lead. She walks back over to the dead man, crouching beside him once again. Aegon stays standing, this time, but his eyes never leave her, ever curiously excited to see how she will surprise him next.

And so she does—in the next half minute, Jon is grabbing and, this time, holding up the man’s wrist in one hand, while her other hand balances the parchment on her right knee just long enough to copy the ink on his already hardening flesh. And while Jon makes a note to move him before the rest of death’s stiffness follows and makes him more difficult to deal with, Aegon is marvelling at both how dexterous she is and how quickly and easily she drew such a detailed sketch (when he’s never been able to draw two straight lines—well, unless he’s planning a battle.)

Jon lets the man’s wrist fall softly back to the floor before rising to her feet again. She stares down at the sketch, trying to make real sense of what this could possibly be before taking any action...or making any false assumptions. Maybe she’ll send a copy of this symbol to Arya, though, she would have to go through Brann to even find out where Arya is right now.

Or she could just ask Brann about what happened tonight...and who would probably be no help at all by telling her nothing useful.

She scowls at that thought, because; seriously, what is even the point of knowing everything and doing absolutely nothing about it?

Aegon approaches her. Slowly holds out a hand, while asking, “May I?”

Jon nods and passes the parchment over. She watches him and hides a small smile to herself over his rather sweet frown of concentration as he stares down at the symbol.

“The Sun and spear part of it look very much like the ones on the Dornish sigil.” Aegon mumbles, eyes raking over the wings of the other half.

He has less of a bad feeling, like he was expecting to. Instead, he’s just pissed off to know that this symbol either means mockery or invasion and...conquering.

Jon snaps out of her ogling, flushes while thankfully he isn’t looking at her. Hopes she doesn’t sound as horribly swoony as she feels inside when she clears her throat quietly, nods uselessly, then, says, “Yes. That is my thinking.”

When he finally looks up at her again, Jon has to pause, lest she stumble over her words while trying not to get so lost in his brilliantly lit lilac orbs. She takes a step back and uses a puffy breath of confusion to fight back the soft sigh of appreciation she almost lets loose.

“I don’t know why all of Dorne would see me as their enemy.” Jon says; both speaking for distraction and thinking the situation over—at least, before she fills her council in about what happened here tonight and doesn’t get a moment to herself again. “I met with Ellaria Sand myself on the third day of my ruling. She thanked and gifted me a small jewelled blade for saving her life—I found her after Dani burned half the city down. She almost killed Ellaria, who was trapped in one of the castle dungeons.”

Aegon arcs a brow, looks uneasy as he asks, “She thanked you for killing the same woman she bent the knee to?”

Jon bites her lip, looks awkward as she says, “When Ellaria was captured and given to Cersie, Dani...didn’t really make much effort to help her. I didn’t know at the time, otherwise, of course, I would have at least tried to do something about it, but...”

Aegon nods in understanding when she ends with a miserable little sigh. He sighs softly and finishes for her, “But you feel responsible for her, no matter what you both do. That part I understand; I’ve felt the same about my sisters all my life.” He refrains from telling her he’s missing the guilt part that she’s so clearly got down, because...well, he doesn’t want her to look at him like she doesn’t want to know him anymore...

He shakes off the thought and, instead, tells her, “To be fair to anyone in that situation, Daenerys probably assumed her dead, or at the very least, to be used as a lure or ransom for her.” He smiles cheekily but fondly at her withering stare. Holds up his hands in surrender and says, “You’re just too noble for your own good, little beastie.”

When she makes a sour face at him, he chuckles, and then, gives her a sincere look as he tells her, “Don’t take that trait for granted in a world that constantly and shamelessly discards or lacks it altogether.”

Jon arcs a brow, only mildly challenging, but wholly curious as she asks, “Are you lacking it?”

Aegon blinks, completely caught off guard by that question. Surely, she must already know—even if she’s not read much about him.

‘During most of his years, Aegon was not known for being particularly pious...’

The first thing that comes to his mind is the very line he read from only the very first book out of the many piled up and waiting to be read on his bed beside him, in those first few nights of being here in this time.

‘Pious.’

In other words: lacking any real desire for anything at all...

Yet, without any real motivation other than being overly pissed off and offended for his best friend, he started a fucking invasion and conquered ninety percent of the world known to man. His armies were small, but his dragons were more than big enough.

Just not as big as his balls right now, which he thoroughly accepts as he bows his head just so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes as he finally answers her with, “I’d like to think I am and I can be, sometimes, but the truth is, it’s not something I have ever particularly strived to be, no. I’ve mostly found that too many don’t deserve to be on the other end of your nobility, or your mercy.”

He chances a peek up at her and is both relieved and pleasantly surprised to find her looking thoughtful rather than judgemental...or worse.

But he can’t help smiling faintly and nodding in agreement after she says, “Even when they beg you; or try to convince you; or promise you.”

Jon feels a small stab of guilt on the last part of her statement. Thinks of the last time she saw and spoke to Lord Stark and he had promised her that the next time they met, he would tell her all about her mother.

Finally.

Only, that time never came...

And for so long now, she’s been both trapped between the guilt of hating him for waiting so long to tell her and the guilt of being too helpless (even if she was there with the rest of her family) to stop his death.

Jon nods; satisfied with his honesty as he hands the parchment back to her. She takes it and stares down at it, and then, nods to herself in decision and says, “I will meet with Ellaria. I will go to Dorne myself on Drogon’s back. But I will send him to retreat before asking her if she knows anything about this symbol. If she has knowledge, she will most probably lie and I wish to know what that looks like.”

Aegon takes a tiny subtle step back and turns his waist slightly to the side before she can notice his rising cock beneath his tight night leathers.

She really was born of not just fire, but ice, as well—and it’s amazing to see both fighting for dominance through those determined dark chocolate orbs of hers.

Oblivious to his arousal in her own set of mixed feelings, Jon glares down at the dragon wings wrapped around the two spears—if She wants the dragon, Jon will take the beast right to her.

Chapter Text

In her dream, Jon is flying.

Flying the dragon. Flying with Drogon.

And she knows it’s a dream, because she does not sit upon the beast and struggle to see only clouds, but instead, is looking through his very eyes and able to see the entire world whizz by beneath her. She is able to feel every wing beat as if she were flapping her own arms. Able to feel passed the exciting newness of flying in general to feel the tiredness; the weariness of Drogon himself.

No loneliness, like she’d expected; guilted.

If anything, she feels a mild sort of urgency rushing through his veins. Like he knows exactly what he’s looking for, yet, has no clue of where or how to find it.

Jon knows that feeling. Has often wondered if she really wants what she wants or if she wants it because she knows it’s what she should want.

Drogon suddenly lets out a surprised, yet, somehow also, angered sounding shriek and—

“Your Grace, may I come in?”

—And Jon is awake that split second before a knock, and then, Maliah, again, calls out to her from the other side of the door of her chambers.

Jon blinks, feels a mix of confusion and annoyance. Confusion from the dream and annoyance from Drogon being a prissy little preteen Sansa (Gods, both forgive and never let her sister hear those words from her mouth) to her even in her dreams.

“Yeah.” Jon croaks out as she glares up at the canopy of her bed.

There’s a small pause before the door opens and closes. Another pause of footsteps, then, “Are you not well this morning, Your Grace?”

Jon lets out a long and slow sigh. Then, without moving from her back, says, “I’m well,” and bites her tongue to stop the word ‘enough’ from rolling off her tongue to pile right on top of her shitty mood.

More footsteps, slow and unsure. Then, Maliah is carefully asking, “Um...Your Grace, did something happen in here?”

Jon frowns, confusion taking her, then, falling away as she pushes herself up to sit. Her eyes follow the trail of Maliah’s own, taking in the trails of bloodstained to the stone floor and the slight mess of her chamber in general—that she could not be bothered to deal with after the shitty night that started her shitty mood now.

“Oh.” Jon mumbles. Smiles weakly. Drops the smile with a huff and says, “Yes, something happened.”

Maliah purses her lips, brows creasing with worry.

Jon tilts her head, arcing a brow at the girl, who knows exactly what this look means.

Maliah smiles meekly, but nods; speaks her mind with, “Did... Did The Conqueror... Did he...”

Or tries to speak her mind; Jon can’t help the amused and slightly crude little smirk tugging at her lips as she asks, “Did he conquer me?”

Maliah’s eyes widen. She even takes a step back with the little scandalised gasp that leaves her lips.

She glares at her Queen when her Queen so blatantly chuckles at her.

Maliah huffs, folds her arms and sternly states, “That is not what I was going to say.”

Jon’s smirk widens as she says, “No. But you were thinking it.”

Maliah bites back a scoff, fights back glaring at her literal Queen. Composes herself and starts again with, “You must not believe everything you read. History is written mostly by winners. The ones left standing to tell those stories we read. Or by those who wished they were winners.”

Jon flops back down on her bed with a sigh and a chuckle. She stares up at the canopy as she says, “That is exactly why I never really bothered to read about history. It’s much better to visit it instead. My time at the Wall was very eye-opening.” She adds that last part sarcastically, waits, and grins triumphantly to herself when she hears Maliah scoffing quietly.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace—I did not mean to imply that you are lacking in experience, or that you are lacking in growth from your experience.”

Jon bites her lip to keep from laughing at the obvious sarcasm touching the edges of Maliah’s tone. “I know what you meant.” Jon says, showing mercy before the girl can fluster herself into an early retirement. “And no, don’t worry, Aegon is not the reason for the blood, nor my...off mood.” It’s less bad since Maliah cheered her up in those last few minutes.

“OK. Good.” Maliah blows out a sigh of relief...with a dreamy little hint to the end of it there.

Jon narrows her eyes before slowly rising to sit again. Suspicion quickly rising in her, slowly, she asks, “Why?”

Maliah blinks, looks lost. Asks, “Why, what, Your Grace?”

Jon’s eyes narrow a little further. And without sounding (too) smug, she asks, “Why were you more concerned over something happening with Aegon and I than the blood on the floor you still haven’t asked any follow-up questions about?”

Maliah blinks again. Smiles rather weakly. Then, all but stumbles through her answer of: “Well... I was obviously concerned about You, Your Grace. But everyone knows You can take care of Yourself...”

Jon nods, accepting the answer for truth, but not real logic this time. Jon arcs a brow, leans back on her hands, tilts her head inquisitively, and plainly, asks, as if a child would ask, “So, you care if I might be being forced upon by someone, but not if they’re trying to murder me?”

Maliah follows her Queen’s motioning gaze down to the bloodstained stone floor just a few feet away from where she stands, almost at the foot of the bed. Maliah’s eyes flick back to her Queen’s, spotting a flicker of an amused grin across her taunting mouth. “Ye—no.”

Jon arcs her brow higher, fighting back her smirk with all her might.

Maliah folds her arms, turns to snootiness with: “Without adding: returning from Death itself like it was simply a summer frolic to you, to your list of achievements—you’ve killed everyone who has ever tried to kill you first, and instead of doing it with a song in your heart like most men or vengeance in your bones like most women, you did it with mercy and remorse.”

Jon flops back down onto her bed with a groan and grumbles, “It’s too early for buttering me up. What are you not telling me?”

There’s a pause, and Jon can feel the hesitation before Maliah quietly mumbles back, “There is a wager going on around the castle over how long it will take for you and Sire Aegon to...well.”

Jon groans even louder, flips over onto her stomach and buries her face into her pillow.

Quickly then, Maliah is rushing out her words, “I swear, Your Grace, I am not involved. I’ve just heard about it and I only first heard about it last night and I only know a few involved...those being the ones who told me about it...and about whose wager is whose...which could technically be them lying, which is why I said I only know a few of those who—“

“Maliah,”

“Your Grace?”

“I don’t care.”

“...OK.”

“OK.”

“OK, good. Thank goodness.”

She does care...

Jon takes a little of the past Maliah’s snootiness in lending her a hand with brushing off even entertaining that—truth—thought.

It doesn’t work...

Jon groans even fucking louder into her pillow before yanking herself out of bed and up to stand in all of her naked glory.

And while Maliah is already turning and rushing over to bring her her robe, Jon holds up a hand to stop her and says, “There’ll be no point in bathing until after I’ve returned.”

If there’s one thing that helps her think clearly (while also, getting away from everyone and thing getting on her nerves), it’s always been swinging a sword and letting her thoughts swing through her until they can both swing no more.

Maliah nods and goes to fetch her armour and leathers instead. “There is no training yard until the castle has been fully restored. And the courtyard is full of workers.” She says as she lays the armour over the end of the bed, loops half the leathers over one arm and with the other, holds out the other half at the ready.

Jon nods, but pauses with a worried scowl to ask, “Is Maester Titus keeping his word about not rationing the water between workers?”

There is no need for it, he’s just being...difficult.

Maliah nods eagerly and with a grin, says, “Your Hand sent the Maester off to keep your Dothraki watered instead. I believe his exact words were: ‘I bid you good luck, but hopefully not good morning for the last time, should you choose to ration them, too.’”

Jon cracks a faint smile and nods in satisfaction. Happy to hear Tyrion is already backing her up even in her absence. She nods and mumbles, “Good.”

As her Queen takes the silk black braies and slips them on, Maliah says, “If I may ask, Your Grace—I am curious to know where you find your peace with your sword.”

Jon cracks another smile, this one, a little brighter, a little warmer in the sudden realisation that both this girl is observant and even cares enough to ask.

She knows it’s probably just the girl carrying out her own duties, but it still makes Jon feel like more and more people care about her.

For her; not just for who she is—whether it being obligated, because she’s Lord Stark’s “bastard” or because of who her real parents were, she’s mostly just felt like...well, a duty.

“Here and there.” Jon answers as she slips her breast wrap around her, turning her back when Maliah motions for her to do so.

Then, as Maliah ties the wrap in place, Jon tells her, “Wherever feels right at the time. Mostly though, I’ll ride until the horse needs to stop. And while he’s munching on grass or drinking his fill from a nearby stream or river, I’ll just wonder about until my thoughts finally stop talking to me, and instead, take out my sword and just...fly away.”

”—fly away, like me. You’re not like me. And I would never want you to be.”

Jon blinks rapidly, her heart beating hard and fast for all of a few seconds. That voice, she’s never heard it before, and yet, she somehow knows exactly who it belongs to.

“Your Grace?”

“I’m fine.” Jon croaks out. Without turning around; not wanting the girl to see how fucking weirded out she looks (by default of feeling so, heavily), Jon clears her throat and just about keeps her voice steady, while asking, “Maliah, I feel a bit of headache coming on. Would you please leave me for another hour?”

“I—O-of course, Your Grace. As you wish. I...I will return in an hour then.”

Jon doesn’t see her face, but she doesn’t have to to hear the concern and hesitation. Though, she’s grateful to the girl and lets out a breath of relief when she hears footsteps retreating before her door opens and softly closes.

What the fuck is going on with her now?—is the first thought that exasperatedly (and a little bit patronisingly) springs to her mind.

OK, logically, she cannot be hearing real voices in her mind, no matter how real they feel. Which only means she’s hearing voices in her head that aren’t real; she’s finally going insane.

But then again, not so logically, Aegon The Conqueror himself has somehow sprang out of his past and into her present...

Not so logically—Jon glances down at her hip where there is not even a scar from last night’s attack—she came back from the dead and now, doesn’t even know what she is.

A soft knock to her door doesn’t even break her distraction as she mumbles out, “Come in,” without even looking up, forgetting herself completely...until she hears a sharp and very loud intake of breath. Her eyes slowly widen as she comes back to herself.

Though, she doesn’t turn around, she knows; Gods damned somehow feels who it is—his gaze ever heavy on her and so warm it almost feels beautifully suffocating—no; grounding.

Even now—even though it’s her own fault for telling him to come in—Jon doesn’t feel nervous or flushed, but only that same calm she always feels around him.

Any other man—maybe besides Tyrion, and only because he doesn’t care about crudeness in the slightest; is in fact, rather known for it himself—would have either apologised and runaway or tried his luck (like men are rather known for themselves.)

But this man here now, he doesn’t say anything.

Jon hears his footsteps approaching, confident as always but deliberately slow, like he’s either giving her the chance to stop him or waiting for her to tell him to leave altogether. Jon doesn’t do either, and then, he’s standing just a foot in front of her, close enough, while still giving her space.

She is almost naked before him. And instead of feeling nervously excited or happy of any kind, her heart is waiting to sink (or possibly break, but she’s not ready to admit that yet.) Just waiting those few seconds to see what he will say of the only scars that will apparently never leave her now.

Aegon wears a soft and troubled frown as he stares at her closed eyes and the small shame-coloured lines between her strong yet delicate brow. He did not know what to expect, but somehow, it’s both worse and not as bad as he imagined; tortured himself thinking about late at night (when he wasn’t torturing himself over how badly he simply wished to touch her.)

He reaches out a hand, wanting to touch her so fucking badly right now. But pulls back at the last moment with a scowl for himself. Takes a deep silent breath and whispers with a bad taste in his mouth, “Open your eyes, Jon,” and when she does, he musters up a smile and says, “You trust too easily, even when you know you shouldn’t.”

She shoots him a withered look, which he counts as a victory and grins triumphantly to show her just that.

He shrugs, says, “I like you better pissed off rather than upset or worried.” Then, bows dramatically and adds, “At your service, Your Grace.”

Jon shakes her head, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused, possibly, because she’s a little of both. Which then, just makes her more annoyed. She scowls, shakes her head a little firmer and glares at him, while pointing a finger and snapping, “Don’t cheer me up!”

Aegon freezes and flaps his hands up in surrender. Eyes slightly wide, but twinkling with humour.

Jon blows out a breath. Calms herself. Stares blankly at him. Then, calmly says, “I bet this is your fault.”

Aegon opens his mouth to—

“Well, it can’t just be a coincidence. I’ve been back from the dead for a long time. And nothing. But then, you show up, and now...” Jon pauses for the right word and gives up almost immediately and ends with a frustrated, “Everything!”

She never blames anyone for anything unless she knows for certain they are to blame. But somehow, Aegon, of all people, seems to be the only person that can just make her forget who she’s meant to be and just really fucking let go for just fucking once in her fucked up life...

Odd realisation and feeling of gratefulness to have while she’s literally having a go at him right now...

Even more odd and slightly infuriating is that he seems to find it funny—if that stupid little smirk on his annoyingly handsome face is anything to read into.

Jon glares harder. Swaps her pointed index finger for her middle finger and flips it off at him.

Aegon chuckles. And bites his lip in amusement to stave off the urge to lean forward to nip at her finger...or possibly take the entire thing into his mouth...possibly...

He’s never seen her so flustered. And while only a tiny part of him is disappointed that he isn’t the cause, he’s still very much enjoying bearing witness to it. He finally sees a little of that unhinged fury that Targaryens seem to share, whether they’re ‘purebred’ or not.

Though, quick as a flash, like she always manages, she reins that ironclad control of hers back—Jon sags with the breath that leaves her, glare leaving her, too, but no better being replaced by that annoyingly persistent guilty look of hers.

Aegon doesn’t let her even think about apologising; quickly distracts her (and himself from staring too long); by, tone softly encouraging, asking her, “What has happened? What is my fault, Your Grace?”

(Your Grace, because he doesn’t even trust himself enough to not keep it as formal as possible right now. He is only a man, after all; and she is...beyond any efficient enough words he knows.)

Jon takes another breath, but this one doesn’t calm her enough as she purses her lips, grits her teeth, and without taking her irritated gaze from his face, points with both hands down at her absent-wounded hip.

Aegon purses his own lips to keep from laughing or even smiling. She looks like she would do more than just not care about him finding her anger adorable (when he isn’t finding it highly erotic); he just knows she would punch him...if she would just let go a little more.

For the moment, while she looks genuinely spooked behind her bravado, Aegon sighs and nods and carefully asks, “Is it really so bad?”

He freezes, his eyes widening in sheer horror and panic when she sucks in a sharp breath and her lips purse even more.

She looks so fucking much like a dragon in human form, but right now, he’s more worried over being the real cause of her unhappiness.

And right now, his little beastie really doesn’t look happy...

Aegon’s words all but tumble out of his mouth then; “I only asked because I don’t wish to see you suffer. I wasn’t asking you to just accept it. I swear. I just thought, for now, at least, we could count a win where there is one. And I know you’re worried, but—“

“I’m not worried about myself.” Jon sighs and takes a step back. Shakes her head. “Whatever happens to me now, after everything, I will most likely deserve it.”

Aegon cuts her off before she can say anymore, snapping slightly with, “That’s the biggest pile of dragon shit I’ve ever heard.”

He puffs out a breath, but she’s already calming him with that surprised look and that tiny smirk.

Aegon smirks and arcs a brow back as he reminds her, “I thought you never fibbed, Jon Snow.”

His heart swells with pride and joy over the laugh she blesses him with; soft and over quickly, but unguarded and real, just for him.

Finally, Aegon can’t take it anymore and gives in. This time, he reaches out and touches her.

Chapter Text

He thought the moment touched her would be his undoing. That he would lose all sense of self, let alone control...

But in fact, it’s quite the opposite.

The moment he touches her, his mind goes so peacefully quiet that a soft puff of a calmed sigh escapes him. A smile tugs at his lips, but really, he doesn’t know if she relaxes beneath his touch or if she’s taking a breath with him. Either way, he doesn’t really care right now. Not when she’s letting him touch her...while almost fully nude.

Aegon slowly trails his fingertips along her collarbone. At the last moment, he drops his hand and brushes his knuckles along the perfectly defined lean ridges of muscle along her lower stomach. His eyes lift to hers and he almost grins, completely endeared and expectant to see her dark orbs locked on his face. No fear, no nerves—at least, not until his fingertips trail back up and land over the first scar...

Her muscles tense then, her entire body going a little stiff, and Aegon, determined to show her who she truly is inside that dragon heart of hers, instead of pulling away, he presses the flat of his hand over the scar just an inch away from her navel.

He can tell, by the very subtle strain in her expression, that she wants to pull away. But he can also see that it’s not because of him; that his touch isn’t the thing that she’s pulling away from, but rather, his attention on her scars.

How beautiful, he thinks, the marks that Death’s claws have left upon her. How ethereal they make the beauty already there, when his only mar and brand the monster he was slowly becoming...

She puffs out a quietly determined breath through her nostrils, reminding him very much of an irritated dragon again and making him fight back a smile. He doesn’t want her mistaking any of his reactions for judgment upon her; upon what she is allowing; trusting him to see.

Instead, Aegon gently drags one finger along the scar—the smallest of them, and there are many, much to his dismay. He knows, by that slightly uneasy look in her eyes; like she’s waiting for him to recoil or turn away, that she’s waiting for him to say something. But Aegon doesn’t think he needs to and he’s glad to know he’s right when he slowly drags his hand away from her and lifts it up to pop the top button of his tunic and her shoulders drop to relax—even while her eyes widen with surprise.

He hates himself for being such a coward when the fact is that he trusts her more than he ever trusted anyone and she has now shown him enough trust, but Aegon can’t bring himself to undo anymore than the first three buttons before slipping his left arm out for her to see—cannot bear to show her his true self.

The scar is barely even visible anymore, but he shows her this ugly part of his past and his family anyway, because he hopes he’ll be able to show her she isn’t alone with her scars.

“My father,” He begins after her silence—hypocritical of him, he knows. But her concerned soft gaze upon him now is somehow even worse than when he was afraid of her hating him just moments ago. “Nasty piece of work, I’m sure you’ve already guessed.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and she doesn’t smile back, clearly not wanting to make jokes—which is too bad for him, because that’s all he can do whenever he’s fucking terrified.

“I’m not showing you to compare.” Aegon says at her slightly questioning gaze. He musters up a small reassuring smile as he says, “I just wanted you to know you are not alone.”

“I’m not going, Lyanna. You can’t make me! I’m not leaving you and our unborn babe alone!”

Jon doesn’t even flinch that time. Though his voice is loud and clear in her head, it’s clear that he isn’t talking to her. And yet, she nods and cracks a tiny grin up at Aegon and answers him with, “Yeah. I think I’m beginning to understand that.”

Aegon nods and Jon can’t help noticing this is the first time she’s seeing him completely unsure of himself. She watches him quickly shuffle his arm back into his clothing before buttoning himself back up. It’s obvious that he really doesn’t want her seeing, so, Jon quickly averts her gaze when his lifts back to hers.

“I should...get dressed...too.” Jon smiles sheepishly. Pointing a thumb over her shoulder towards the clothes and armour still lying on her bed from where Maliah neatly set them out for her, she turns without looking back at him.

...And instantly halts when he lays a hand over her left shoulder. His grip is gentle but firm, holding her in place. And the only reason she doesn’t pick up on the tension of his touch is because she’s pathetically enjoying it a little too much. Smiling lazily and letting her eyes fall shut...and then, snapping them instantly back open when he speaks again.

“Your heart...” His voice is soft, but trembling with fury. “They got your heart.” Tone now more disbelieving and hateful, like he can’t believe how his magnificent little beastie could ever be taken by anyone, not even Death itself.

Jon now realises, as his fingers gently brush over the scar just under the centre of her shoulder blades, as she fights back a shiver of delight, that from behind, her breast wrap doesn’t cover as much flesh as is does around the front; where it’s needed most and what it is solely created for. She huffs out a chuckle and turns to face him. Grabbing his outstretched hand in one of her own and using her other to curl all his fingers but the index and middle finger.

Aegon arcs a brow at her. Smirks slightly when she arcs one back. He sucks in a sharp breath then, and not because she suddenly drags his two fingers to her chest and under her breast wrap...

It isn’t the biggest scar, by far—that credit belongs to the one pressed just under her second rib on the left, almost matching the one right next to it on the second rib to the right—but it’s the one with the biggest curve, like it was shoved in so viciously before being twisted.

And when he recoils, snatching his hand back with an actual fucking hiss of anger, he really can’t help himself, even when her face drops a moment before she hardens herself and turns her back on him again.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” She says then, sarcasm and a little bit of irritation in her tone as she walks over to her bed. “These seem to be the only wounds I cannot fully heal. Though, I’m sure we could still give it time.”

She did, after all, only start healing like a fucking God just last night...after being back from the dead for almost a year now.

Whatever God is responsible must be fucking laughing their arse off at her.

Aegon huffs out a laugh.

—Then, quickly sucks it back down when she shoots a quick glare over her shoulder at him.

He sighs quietly to himself, then, walks over and gently snatches the leathers from her hands, grinning when she glares at him again. He rolls his eyes, smiling softly as he tosses the leathers to the bed behind her, grabs her hand and places it flat over his heart. She looks confused, but he presses on, smile slowly falling away as he lifts his other hand, slow and sure, giving her time to slap him away.

She doesn’t.

And Aegon’s smile brightens a smidge with amusement as he arcs a brow and says, “The most perfectly beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and yet, you’re still worried of what an old man, like myself, might think of you.”

Jon narrows her eyes a tiny bit, but when she sees no humour and only earnest lilac eyes shining back at her, she deflates with a quiet huff. Pauses for a moment, smirks very slightly as she says, “You’re not that old,” and only to give herself breathing room from his most beautiful comment.

Her smirk grows a little more when he chuckles.

“Cheek.” Aegon narrows his eyes playfully. His smile then slowly dissolves as he realises his hand is still pressed over hers, while hers is still pressed over his heart.

She seems to notice a moment after and he’s both so happy and nervous to see she is consistent still; eyes never straying from his, whether she feels just as he does or not. He hopes she does; hopes his hope isn’t just all in his head. (Hopes the lingering looks and brightest smiles are mutual...)

He doesn’t want to drop his hand, so, he uses his other. Lifts it slowly up to her chest, watching her carefully for any discomfort as he then gently grips and tugs at the breast wrap. She stays rooted, eyes still focused calmly on his. But he can feel her pulse through the back of her hand and it beats almost as fast as his own. He just can’t tell if that’s because he’s touching her, or if; his attention is on her scars again.

Aegon flicks his gaze up to hers, relaxing a little more when he gets his answer. She hasn’t frozen, this time, hasn’t gone all ridged, and most importantly, she doesn’t look like she wants to pull away, again.

He tugs down the material, leaving it bunched up just over the top swells of her breasts. Her skin is the softest thing he’s ever touched, he swears, but a man he is and not a boy with his first pair of tits and legs.

And this is Jon, his magnificent little beastie; his fucking legacy.

He touches her like he is touching something precious, something that no man should ever deserve to touch (and ruin.) He touches the scar over her heart like it’s the most beautifully ugliest thing he’s ever seen; like it shouldn’t exist, but he still can’t help feeling impressed by it so.

Finally, while trying not to fidget as she tries to figure out what he’s thinking, Jon huffs out a nervous laugh and asks, “Do you still think I’m magnificent?” She is both joking and also, really wanting to know if his opinion of her has changed.

Without missing a beat, Aegon bluntly replies with, “No, I think you’re phenomenal, Jon Snow.”

Jon can’t help it; she laughs.

It has just all become too much now. Too many people telling her she’s too many great things she knows is just too not true. Not really. She may have done great things, but she herself is not...well, great.

But perhaps that is what Death sent her back to life for...

She shakes her head at his small pouting frown. “I’m just a girl trying to keep the peace, just like my father taught me.” She pauses for thought before adding, “And who also just so happens to be very eye-to-hand coordinated.”

Aegon flashes a smirk that makes her pulse tick up a notch. Only to slow real quickly when he drops his hand from her chest, stares at her in the eyes with a determined and slightly pissed off look and asks her, “Is the one over your heart the one that took your life? Or did the cowards keep at it even after you were gone?”

Jon doesn’t know why she isn’t pulling away from the entire conversation when she couldn’t even really bring herself to tell Dani the full story (because she still hasn’t herself accepted that it happened), but her heart slows to a calm pace. No panic or fear is settling in her bones. No flashes of her dreams or the calling of her dragon father’s voice making her feel like she’s crazy. She feels like herself again whenever Aegon is around. Herself before even leaving Winterfell.

Jon nods. Realises nodding doesn’t actually answer his question. Makes a face at herself for her stupidity, feels her heart jump and her lips flicker at the sight of his own doing so in a brief smile. Lets her hand slip from his chest—or rather, tries to, but gives up quickly when both his own huge hands come up to cover her own tiny hand and keep it to his chest. Makes another face, this one, teasing, and this time, at him. Rolls her eyes when he simply grins happily.

Then, finally, answers him with, “Yes, the one over my heart is the one that took my life.”

Aegon nods, jaw clenched as he tries to process that information without doing something he will probably feel stupid for later.

Jon lifts her free hand and points to the scar just above her navel, then, to the one just underneath and tells him, “These two were Thorne’s and they were the first and second—I’m assuming he wanted me to know it was his idea to kill me.”

She then, points to the one over her right hip and tells him, “This one was from a new face in The Watch that I hadn’t even gotten to know yet; impressionable, and it was technically a place for the worst kind of men, so...”

She shrugs like that explains everything, which is does. But it’s more like she just accepts the way of the world, and Aegon fucking hates it. Hates when she does that. When she holds back. And not even for herself, but for others who don’t even deserve her mercy.

This is not what a dragon is.

(This is what being made to believe your less than what you actually are all your damned life is!)

This is not even what a wolf is.

This is not what his phenomenal little beastie is.

And he will show her so...

Oblivious to his scheming, Jon now points to the two almost identical and slightly curved scars over the centre of her upper torso, just under her wrap, drawing his focus from his thoughts and eyes back to her. She looks down at the scars, too, deep in thought as she tells him, “These two were from Yarwyck, and for some reason, they were the most painful. Even more than feeling my heart explode.”

—Her joke falls flat, her smile shrinking when she sees Aegon’s completely blackened eyes and rosy-cheeked anger.

“That’s because it’s where your liver is; one of the most painful organs to be stabbed in.”

She arcs a brow, completely intrigued to know just how he knows that. Even though he knows she can already guess when he arcs a withering brow back and she simply nods in understanding.

Aegon drops one hand from holding hers over his chest. Lifts it to her chest.

“Heart.” He tells her, cracks a brief smile when she shoots him a sweet little face of sarcasm.

He points to the next scar down, tells her simply again; “Lung.”

He presses his finger closer, letting in brush over her skin until he trails down to the next two scars she was just talking of and tells her, again, “Liver.”

Jon feels her skin prickling and just about fights back a shiver and a sigh of pleasure when he curls his fingers. His knuckles dragging lighting down to the next scar before he says, voice slightly lower this time, “Belly.”

“Kidney.” Jon does shiver then as his touch moves to the next.

She smirks when he arcs a questioning brow, his own lips tugging up just a little bit.

She chuckles as she tells him, “I only know that because Brann used to complain all the time about Arya punching him in the kidney.”

Aegon cracks a devilish and humorous grin as he says, “Your sister sounds like an utter menace and I am fully supportive of her.”

“I’m sure she’d be very happy to know that.” Jon says, and because she’s a little too comfortable with him right now, she doesn’t think twice about adding, “Your sister is very much a favourite heroine of my sister,” until she’s said it, and now, just feels awkward at Aegon’s surprised look. Whether it’s over what she said or the fact that she’s brought up his sister altogether, she knows not.

Though, she does know she immediately regrets saying anything at all, because the fond grin that lights up his face a moment after her words sink in just makes her feel like tearing off every inch of her uncomfortably itching skin—and all just because his stupid attention isn’t on her anymore...

Oh, Gods, no!

This cannot be happening!

She cannot be falling for another one of her—fuck, she really is a Targaryen!

While trying to keep her small smile of interest slapped over her face, Jon tries to subtly slip her hand from him. Only for his hand to grip hers and keep it pressed to his chest while he speaks. And whether he notices her sudden awkwardness, she couldn’t say.

“I would ask which sister of mine,” He still grins fondly, and Jon feels her heart sink slowly into (ridiculous) jealousy—something she doesn’t feel often (though, resentful, sure), even while being raised a bastard. She hates it; doesn’t know what to do with it.

And Aegon’s grin widens with amusement touching his eyes as he says, “But after the way you have described your not-so-little-anymore Arya, I can, with conference, guess that she takes to Visenya the most. They don’t sound all that different in the way of their thinking. I think they’d get along like a straw house on dragonfire.”

“And you, my little beastie,” Aegon lays his grin upon Jon now, and Jon, pathetic as she feels for it, doesn’t even care that she feels all the better for it, and maybe also, because he called her his (Gods, she’s worse than pathetic really.)

“Are a fraction of them both,” And before Jon can feel like shit again, he finishes with, “Because despite your doubts, Jon, I know you know exactly who you are. You think yourself too honest, like your Uncle Lord Stark, yet, you always seem to worry if you are sincere enough. You think yourself too soft, like your father, yet, you always make the hard choices no one else can seem to make, even myself. You think yourself too distant, like your mother, when really, you wear your heart and soul for the entire world to see. You want to hide away from everything, even yourself...like me...”

This time, Jon finishes with a breathy, “Yet, every time you feel the slightest tremor...you can’t help but seek it out.” Whispers, “Like something so fascinatingly horrible that you can’t help looking at.”

Like a moth to a flame; like fire over ice...

Aegon nods slowly, soft smile tugging at his lips.

—Because of course she understands.

“You were not made by the Gods, Jon Snow,” He whispers back, not wanting to break the spell between them. Reaching out slowly with one hand, while still keeping the other pressed over hers pressing over his heart. Wanting her to feel his pulse; to feel just what she does to him as he then presses his hand back over her own heart; over the scar marring her perfect pale flesh. “You were made from them. Of this, I am sure. And even more surer with each moment I spend with you.”

At this, Jon finally does gently yank her hand from his. Ignoring the look of disappointment on his face that then tugs at her stupid heart. Ignoring the way everything about him tugs at her everything inside of her when she’s simply not close enough to him. Like right now as she turns her back on him and scoops up her leather bottoms and yanks them up her legs.

Aegon’s shoulder sag as he blows out a quiet sigh. Clearing his throat and hoping his voice is steady enough, quietly, he says, “I’ve upset you.”

“You haven’t.”

She answers quick and sure enough to make him feel like he should be believing her. But Aegon knows; feels better (no, no that kind of better in this context unfortunately), shakes his head and says, “I clearly have. I... I will leave. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Jon closes her eyes, counts his footsteps and only lets him get to number seven before she finally caves. With a huff at herself, she turns and says, “I didn’t say you could leave.”

He halts instantly. But she can see the way his shoulders bunch up. Guilt creeps in, but she ignores that, too, when he turns around slowly and for the first time since meeting him, she can see he’s on full guard.

And she fucking hates it...

Trying to hold back a scowl, because his sour mood now is technically her own fault, Jon takes a breath to steady her nerves and those doubts he just told her all about herself. Runs her hands through her mussed up curls. Takes another breath, drops her arms to her side in defeat.

And then, tells him, “I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to be Queen. I don’t want to be special in any way. I don’t want a dragon that hates me and only wants me because he doesn’t have anyone else—because of me. I don’t want my friends to start treating me differently because I’m their Queen. I don’t want to be a bastard. I never did. But I don’t want to be a leader. And the truth is, when I was a bastard, at least then, I didn’t feel so fucking alone.”

Aegon doesn’t want to feel like his heart is breaking with every word she says and breaking even more with every dip and strain of her tone as she tries so very clearly to keep from breaking herself.

“And now, that’s just the fucked up thing about me, is that I’ve spent so long focusing on what I don’t want that I have no fucking clue of what I do want.” Jon bites down hard on her bottom lip when she feels it wobble. Glares as she glances at Aegon and miserably asks the Realm itself, “How is it that now I finally have everything, yet, feel like I have nothing at all?”

And by nothing, she also, means inside of her.

And that’s not counting the way that Aegon makes her feel, or the slim moments she had riding on the back of the dragons of a woman she claimed to love, and then, killed without hesitation...

“Jon—little beastie,”

“How is it that now I have everything, I feel even more fucking empty than I ever have?”
“All men must die, brother. And yours is an ego that unfortunately never will.”
“Thank you, Rhaenys, my darling, I feel much better now.”

Even though Jon doesn’t have the first clue of what’s happening to her right now, she can’t help feeling sucked right into their rather sweet moment. It’s only flashes, but it’s clear and bright and leaves a feeling of warmth inside of her as she sees Rhaenys flash a pretty smirk at Aegon as he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“You could always ask Visenya for council instead.”

Jon finds herself smiling faintly at the light and bubbly sound of Rhaenys’ laughter.

Clearly, Aegon misinterprets her smile for endearment over his little nickname for her. Smiling brightly back at her...until she looks up at him and with the sweetest look of intrigue, asks him, “Do you miss Rhaenys?”

His smile falters, but he quickly recovers. Clears his throat, nods and says, “I suppose I do.”

Jon arcs a brow, then, frowns and asks, “Suppose?”

She thinks she’d be pretty heartbroken if any of her siblings never missed her. She always misses them whenever they aren’t around.

Aegon puffs out a rather awkward chuckle before asking, “Why do you ask?”

Jon shrugs, but is looking curiously at him while asking, “Why wouldn’t I ask?” Then, pointedly adding, “You want me to trust you.”

Aegon nods. “I do.”

He sounds sure of that, at least.

Jon nods back, stares at him for a moment. Then, says, “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk about them.”

Aegon huffs out a laugh. “You’ve never asked much of them.”

“You hardly mention them. I thought maybe there was a reason for that.” Jon says, while turning her back on him to grab the rest of her leathers.

Aegon fights back a knowing smirk as he takes a step closer to her. “And what reason would that be?” He asks as he lifts a hand and brushes his knuckles lightly over the bottom curve of her spine.

Jon stiffens for a split second. Then, is huffing as she drops her leathers back to the bed. Turning around and glaring rather pathetically up at him, she tells him, “We’re not doing this.”

A smirk flashes through the innocent smile Aegon presents to her as he asks, “Doing what?” while his hand lingers in the very narrow space between them.

Jon now stares up at him with an unwavering withered look.

Aegon purses his lips to keep from laughing. “We’re not doing anything.” He relents with a sigh when her expression doesn’t change. Though, still smirking at her when he adds, “You, of course, can trust me to ask me anything you wish, and I...well, I am allowed to...appreciate your...aesthetic.”

Jon scoffs under her breath, only earning herself a cheeky grin. Rolling her eyes then to keep herself from cracking a small smile.

His are just so annoyingly infectious.

She deflates with a sigh then, looking thoughtful before curiously and all too hopefully asking, “You really don’t care about...all of this...do you?”

Aegon glances down at her scars when she nervously motions to them. It is honestly, and oddly, the sweetest thing he’s ever witnessed. This time, his lips purse to keep from swooning like some mother hen. His heart softens with his tone as he says, “No, little beastie. The only thing I care about is that you got your revenge on every last owner of those scars of yours.”

“I killed a child.” Jon blurts out before he can go back to praising her again and making her feel both awed and sick to the stomach in process.

Aegon doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t flinch, nor does he look at her with anything other than a patient sort of waiting.

Jon presses a hand over the scar over her heart and tells him, “His name was Olly. He was barely one-and-three when he stabbed me through the heart and killed me; barely one-and-three when I came back from Death to send him to her instead.”

Aegon is completely unforgiving, unlike his little beastie. His tone is fierce and firm as he says, “A merciful death he less than deserved. I would have cut his head off without blinking and I would have slept like a babe that night after doing so.”

(And that’s just for himself; he knows he’d do a lot worse for her...)

Jon puffs out a mirthless laugh. Nods in complete understanding as she now tells him something she is only just now admitting to herself, “I wanted to. I wanted to do what Dani did and just kill everyone, because I was so done with them all. So, instead, I took my moment of vengeance, and then, I just walked away. Like I always do. Like I did with my Stark family. Like I did to Ygritte. Like I did with Dani; I thought by ending her that I would clear up everything I started with her, but since then, the problems just keep piling up.”

“Unfortunately, Your Grace,” Aegon lets out a tired sigh, shoots her a mixed look of sympathy and understanding. “Dealing with problems while they’re piling up is one of the many shitty sides to being in charge of...anything really.” He looks at her curiously while asking, “How long were you Lord Commander for?”

Jon pulls a small smile at his way of thinking. Tells him, “Two and half years. And yes, it was a more taxing duty than being a Queen, but only on the body. When I was the Lord Commander, or even when I was a crow—yes, I never knew if I would still be alive by the following day, but I always felt free. And not free in the way most people want to be; from the world and everyone in it. But rather...just free from myself; my thoughts, my doubts, my useless desires, my disappointments...”

She smiles at the realisation that being around Aegon seems to make her feel just as free.

Aegon can’t honestly say that he understands. Not fully at least.

At least, not until he met Jon and realised that he really does think too much all the time; unless he is near her, and then, all his focus shifts and stays more than willingly.

Until he met Jon, all he wanted to do was hide away from everyone and thing.

Maybe that’s why he overcompensates; feels like he has to, to at least look alive; to try to be normal and hopefully feel normal eventually.

That feeling never did come...when he was waiting for it.

—And then, just when he’d finally given up...he feels hope from the sound of her name in his head before he even lays eyes on her—and then—and then!

There, his little beastie stood; magnificent without even trying; without even knowing.

And now—and since then—Aegon has felt more feelings on these last few weeks combined than he has ever felt in his entire lifetime.

So, that has to mean something. He knows it does. He feels it.

It’s a morbid question for him to ask her, and probably a little obvious in answer. But Aegon has to know...has to know what she feels; if she feels...if she—

If she’s like him...

So, he asks, but he does so carefully and watches her every micro reaction and expression: “Did it hurt?”

Jon chuckles, a real sound that makes him smile so softly and adoringly at her that she almost chokes on it. She clears her throat; clears the nerves away and nods, and with a little taunt in her voice, says, “Yes, getting stabbed multiple times hurt.”

Aegon’s shoulder rise and drop with a playfully exasperated huff. His lips tugging up briefly before he shoots her a sarcastic face. Then, looks at her seriously and asks her, “Did dying hurt, Jon Snow?”

For the first time since meeting him, Jon can’t actually tell or even begin to figure out if he’s asking about her pain or if he’s afraid of his own in death. And that’s when it strikes her that she really has gotten to know him, because despite not knowing this, she still knows he’s holding back something. And also, despite being slightly annoyed by that, she feels a pleasant warmth suddenly blooming in her gut and spreading swiftly up to her chest and down to her toes and out to her fingertips.

This time, when Jon blinks and lets his question sink in so she can answer him honestly, the quickest flash of Olly jamming and twisting his blade into her heart appears behind her eyelids. She feels every part of it, yet, now, it merely feels like an echo.

“No,” She says as her eyes slowly lift to Aegon’s handsome face instead. “Not really.”

Aegon looks at her like he doesn’t believe her, but as he opens his mouth to no doubt ask her what the fuck she even means by that, Jon grins faintly teasing and tells him, “After being stabbed six times already, I think my body may have gone into shock. And yes, I felt almost unbearable pain when my heart exploded in my chest, but it only lasted for a few moments. And then, I was bleeding out in the snow, freezing and numb for a good few minutes, and then...”

Aegon fights back a disturbed shiver at the way his magnificent little beastie calmly shrugs and says, “Nothing.”

He gulps slowly and braves asking, “You don’t remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” She nods. Doesn’t look afraid, just either uncaring or mildly intrigued when she says, “I remember there was nothing. Wherever I was, it was all pitch black as far as I could see. But I couldn’t really see, because my body wasn’t there. I didn’t see myself if I looked down. But I couldn’t actually look down or move physically at all, even though it felt like I was. Didn’t feel myself, either. Didn’t know who I was, just that I was, and that that was enough to know. The only real thing I did feel for sure was that I was waiting. For what or for how long, I didn’t know, I just... I only knew that I needed to wait.”

“And you did,” Aegon nods, letting out a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he’d been hanging onto until now. “You waited and I’m so glad you did.”

“I...”

In that moment, Jon doesn’t have it in her to wipe that smile from his face by telling him the truth...

So, instead, she smiles brightly and (all too hopefully)—and rather excitedly, because he is the infamous Conqueror after all—asks him, “If I give you your sword, do you want to fight?”

Aegon blinks, slightly lost.

Jon grins; takes that as agreement enough.

(He might want to go easy to on her, but she’s going to show him—whether she bests him or not—why that isn’t the best idea to have, let alone entertain...)

See, Tyrion, I know how to have fun!