Chapter Text
JON
Jon braced himself on the wall that overlooked the now full grounds outside of Winterfell. Snow fell on the newly erected tents and fires could be seen along the pathways. The Dothraki and Unsullied had settled in, and as far as he could tell, only Rhaegal was flying overhead. Since the loss of his brother, Viserion, even Daenerys had a difficult time bringing him to rest.
But even as they seemed to finally be on a proper footing, his brother had all but yanked the stone from beneath his feet. Not his brother. Cousin. He hadn’t seen the queen since she’d heard the confession and, to be truthful, he didn’t know what he would say to her when they saw one another.
Bran’s delivery of the news couldn’t have been more shocking, the flat affect of his voice as he told them, with, of all people, Samwell Tarly to back up the news. Bran had changed, no longer the little boy who wanted their father’s praise, but now an all-seeing being able to tell even the most private of moments between people. He knew of his time with Ygritte and even his conversation with Stannis to make him a full-fledged Stark but also informed Dany that he witnessed her putting her husband out of his misery with a pillow. The queen had been taken aback by this declaration, as had Jon. He had known she’d lost a husband, he hadn't known of the circumstance.
He didn’t know what she would do now that she had heard that he, the bastard of Winterfell, was actually the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. His hands actually shook when he considered it. As he pieced in moments from his past, questions he had asked his father, or even Ser Rodrik, no one ever gave him a satisfactory answer. In fact, his father always avoided the discussion. He had always assumed it was to not upset Catelyn, now he knew that it was because of a promise to his dying sister, and to protect he himself. He hung his head and stared at the snow, actually wishing for the times when he believed that he hadn’t been wanted because he was a bastard. It was easier to be a Snow. It was easier to believe that you were unwanted.
Bran had destroyed all such illusions.
Daenerys was technically his aunt, which was its own set of problems. The truth was, cousins often married and even the Starks had an avuncular marriage in the not so distant past. The Targaryens were notorious for marrying siblings in order to keep the lines pure. That’s where the madness had come from, he thought, but now, faced with all he knew, he felt dizzy and even more out of place than usual.
“Your home is beautiful.” The sound of her voice actually soothed him a bit. He glanced to his right and could see her, wrapped in the black fur cloak that Sansa had made for her. There were small traces of red that lay within the fur, and he had to hand it to his sister...cousin: she did fine work.
“Thank you,” he said as he watched Rhaegal finally settle near a sleeping Drogon. “He’s lost without his brother.”
She nodded. “I felt that way for a bit after Viserys sold me to the Khal. I felt like he had betrayed me, simply for his own ambition.”
“Hadn’t he?”
She looked over at him, her violet eyes staring into his grey ones. “Yes. I suppose he had. Had he not, however, I don’t think I would be standing here, today.” He frowned and looked back out at the two dragons. “Where would you be, Jon, had your father told you all that you learned today? Would you even be alive? Had Robert Baratheon received the smallest hint that you weren’t who Ned Stark said you were...would you have lived?”
“No,” he answered. “Father always said that it was Robert’s mission to rid the world of Targaryens.”
She smiled a bit at him. “I’m very glad he failed. On both of our accounts.”
He straightened and then faced her fully. “This makes you my aunt,” he declared.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Obviously that bothers you.”
He was still unsure how he felt about it. He certainly didn’t feel like she was any relation to him. It did nothing to diminish the longing he felt for her. The love that had been blossoming between them since their time on the ship. If he was honest, it was before that. The cave, maybe? “It doesn’t you?” He needed to know how she felt. He needed to know if he was alone in his feelings, and if all of this was some sick plot by the Gods to dangle something so sweet in front of him only to rip it away.
She shook her head. “I know you as Jon Snow, King of the North, and defier of my will,” she responded. “The fact that you are now a long-lost nephew has little weight with me.” He sighed and looked to the ground. “You feel differently? Do you want me less?”
His head shot up and looked at her, his eyes fixated to hers. “No.”
She stepped forward and pressed her hand over his heart. “I know you, Jon. Whether your name is Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen, it changes nothing in how I feel for you. The man in front of me leads his people with a single-minded determination that I adore. A name change does not change that for me.”
His hands captured her elbows and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Leave you to be the one to make all of this seem less immediate.”
She burrowed her face into his neck and her arms moved to his back beneath his cloak. “Maybe what you should be considering is how you and I were on opposite sides of the world, separated by politics, marriages, vows, and a great sea. Yet, here we stand on the walls of Winterfell staring out at the army to take on the coming night. Of all the people that you could have sent to me in your place,” she paused, “a raven, a messenger, something in place of you; you rowed to my shores and openly defied me in my own throne room,” she said before she pulled her head away and looked up at him. “You even used family history against me. We were meant to find one another. We were meant to unite against whatever is coming for us. We were meant to do it together,” she whispered.
He leaned down and captured her lips with his, pulling her to him tighter. She whimpered when he released her. “You’re right,” he answered.
“I do like it when you agree with me,” she said before she leaned up and kissed him briefly. “I think I like it better, though, when we argue.” He rubbed his nose against hers and then pulled away from her as Rhaegal let out a screech. Dany turned to the wall and watched him thrash on the ground, and then go still again. “Come with me to settle him?” she questioned.
“Should I bring guards?”
She shook her head. “Why do I need them when I have you?”
He escorted her down the stairs and out of the doors of the keep, nodding to soldiers as they passed. As they made their way over to the dragons, Rhaegal crawled on his belly closer to them, Drogon only lifting his head at their approach and then settling down once more. She moved her fingers over the scales of his snout and over his brow, Rhaegal preening under her caress. “There now,” she whispered. “I’m here.” She took a seat on the snow, and the large dragon dropped his head beside her, allowing her to coax him to sleep with her voice and soft caress. Jon continued to look around, his eyes sharp for anyone who would harm her, but he felt she was probably safer here than anywhere else. The dragons would die before they allowed anything to happen to her. Rhaegal nudged him with his tail and huffed out smoke at the ground beside Dany. “I believe he’s insisting that you sit.”
“It’s safer if I stand.”
The dragon snarled and Dany looked up at him, a smile playing at her lips. “You don’t tell a dragon ‘no’.”
He noticed that Rhaegal was staring directly at him, and until he relented, he didn’t lower his head back to Dany. He felt something behind him and turned to see that it was Rhaegal’s tail as the large dragon seemed to be curling around them. “He mourns,” Jon said softly, feeling Dany move closer to him.
“He lost his brother,” she whispered. “I think both of us can understand the pain that comes with that.”
He cautiously moved his hand to Rhaegal’s snout and the dragon allowed him to pet him too, though it was short. “Drogon doesn’t seem...”
“Drogon wasn’t locked away with them. He’s...smart. Smarter than some people. He knew I was going to imprison them, and he left. Rhaegal and Viserion were locked away together for a long time. They were as close as any two brothers.”
“And you’re their mother.”
“Mother of Dragons,” she said as she looked over at him. “Never of man.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “I have the three most powerful sons in all of history. Don’t pity me.” The words were without malice but instead were wistful. He could tell when Rhaegal was finally asleep as the dragon seemed to almost roll onto his side and Dany smiled over at Jon who returned it.
“I’m not trying to be insulting, but they remind me of wolves.”
She stood and brushed the snow from her backside and then offered a hand out to Jon. “I take no insult to that, knowing how much you love wolves.” Her breath mingled with his and he was struck once more by her beauty. The sun had set and left out in the darkness, the moonlight shining on her skin, she looked ethereally beautiful, something not of this world, or too good for it.
“Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”
She nodded and looped her arm through his. “I think I’d like to have a bath,” she declared as she glanced at Jon.
“I’ll make sure you have warm water,” he responded as they walked back through the gates which were closed behind them.
“Is that all?”
Jon looked up at the castle, trying to control what appeared to be uncontrollable. His lust for her was something that seemed to rage like one of Drogon’s fires, but they were in Winterfell, and he knew from experience that voices sometimes carried over the thick stone. “What else would you like, your grace?”
She stopped outside the door to the tower and chewed on her bottom lip. “I’d like to negotiate the terms of your surrender.”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “My surrender?”
“Yes. It seems only fitting that you surrender to me.”
“Fitting how?” he questioned, aghast at the suggestion.
She smiled but said nothing. The comment hung heavily between them and his brow was now furrowed as he stared at her. Suddenly, realization struck him and he felt his face flush. “Oh.”
“Indeed.”
He sighed. “You’ll still need hot water to be drawn,” he answered. “For my surrender.”
“I’ll leave that to your capable hands,” she said as she turned and entered the tower. He found a servant and requested for water to be taken to the queen’s chamber, and waited until the last bit had been taken into her room before he raced up the stairs.