Merry Christmas, @kittenharrington​! You asked for angst, smut, a happy ending, and to have it all seen through the eyes of a third party. Also asked for a bonded pair and a non-season 8 compliant au. 

I present, a (long) oneshot that throws season 7 and 8 into the trash. It turned out more plot with a bit of smut than anything else, but I hope it still satisfies.

Happy holidays!

A Dance of Ice and Fire

This place is fucking creepy. Trees aren’t supposed to listen and they should be watching even less. She’d even go as far to say they’re judging her. What gives these useless piles of kindle the right? The sea answers to no one. 

Yara scowls at the creepy face watching her with even creepier eyes. This isn’t her first time with a godswood, but damned if this isn’t the worst she’s ever been to. Just being here makes her skin crawl with the need to be back at sea.

How can her brother stand it? How can he enjoy it?

No, that’s unfair of her. Theon doesn’t enjoy being here. He did, once, but no longer. Now he fears the gods watching him. 

Now he comes here to pray. For forgiveness, for guidance, for scraps of peace. He prays and prays and prays. 

They’re Ironborn. The only god they should pray to is the Drowned. And they don’t pray to him as Theon prays to these trees. Theirs is not a god who grants peace.

The worst part is that his prayers are heard. The trees listen. They see. And they judge.

Coming here was a mistake. She thought being here without her little brother might help her understand what he sees in this place, but it’s only pissing her off.

Stupid magic trees.

She takes another drink of ale. When the sense of judgement grows, she glares at those bloody eyes. What, her drinking is a problem now? She wouldn’t even have come here without it. Only ale could have made this seem like a good idea.

Yara ignores the voice pointing out she’s mildly intoxicated at most. This is about the trees.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The sense of judgement remains the same. It pisses her off even more. The thing is mocking her by not caring about the insults she throws at it.

“You’re nothing but a useless pile of kindle and you will not be taking my brother. He’s Ironborn. He belongs to the sea. You’re just a pathetic replacement he clung to while on land. He’ll forget about you soon enough.”

Except he won’t. Her brother, who grew up on land. Who came home with all of their father’s weaknesses and none of his strength. Who spoke as a stranger. As a Northerner.

Yara used to believe the Starks treated her little brother worse than they treated cripple bitches. When Theon returned home, she amended that to the Starks treating him as a beloved pet. 

Now that she’s in Winterfell herself, now that she sees her brother’s tentative pride and growing confidence despite the anger and hatred thrown his way, now that she can see the love buried beneath the hurt…

Their father should have never allowed Theon to be taken here. Damn the consequences, Theon should have remained with his family. It would have saved him.

The Starks turned her brother into a wolf. A weak and foolish wolf, a wolf deformed before he ever fell into Bolton hands. But still a wolf.

Theon will never embrace the sea as he should.

He’ll never embrace the land either. Not as wolves should. Yara takes vicious pleasure in that. The Starks might have stolen her brother but they couldn’t erase the salt running through his veins. Despite their best efforts, Theon still feels the pull to the sea. Just not as strong as he should.

The Starks deserved the vengeance her brother wrecked upon them.

The sense of judgement grows.

“Go suck a festering cunt.”

With a final glare at those bloody eyes, Yara turns around and starts making her way back to the castle. She’s going to fuck off the first pair of willing tits she finds.

Before she can take more than twenty paces, the judgement disappears. Replaced by a sense of anticipation. Yara hesitates, wary at what could have caused this, but then she shakes it off. If the magic trees want to get their cunts wet, they can do so without her.

She’s about to resume her journey when she hears snow being disturbed. She’s taken refuge behind a tree before she even realises what she’s doing. When she does realise, she curses herself as viciously she’d do one of her men. Ironborn don’t hide and their queen least of all. If she weren’t surrounded by these damned trees, she never would have done so either. This place messes with her mind.

She’s about to step from behind the tree when the intruder comes into view. Jon Snow. He who warms their queen’s bed.

Well now. This changes things.

Yara leans against the tree and takes another drink as she observes the lucky bastard. She hasn’t seen much of him since arriving. King Snow is still recovering from his month long beauty sleep. And from having a close meeting with his own sword. When she first met him on Dragonstone, he moved like a damned ghost, eerily quiet wherever he went. Now, he’s all but limping through the snow. Announcing his presence for all to hear.

That isn’t the only unusual thing about him. Ignoring that he isn’t wearing his beloved cloak and armor, clothed for the indoors instead, the bastard king normally presents an image as determined as it is in control. 

There’s no trace of that control now. King Snow is wild eyed and moving as though he’s in the midst of battle. His swordhand is clenching and unclenching as though he longs to hold the blade hanging from his side. 

Yara wonders what caused the stoic bastard to act this way. He isn’t even examining his surroundings beyond a habitual glance, something she’s never witnessed from him before. Bastard is as paranoid as her brother is. Though unlike Theon, King Snow watches his surroundings with an air of danger, not one of terror. 

She supposes it’s a good thing the bastard isn’t alert as usual. This is a rare opportunity to see beyond the mask King Snow presents to the world. She isn’t about to waste that. 

She won’t hide from the bastard either. He’d see her, leaning against a tree and watching him without shame, if only he put in a little more effort.

He doesn’t put in the effort. Instead he halts in front of the heart of his gods, giving the fresh footsteps there no more than a brief glance before he lifts a gloved hand as though to touch the creepiest tree of them all.

He doesn’t touch it.

The sense of anticipation grows. The damned tree wants King Snow to touch it.

King Snow snatches his hand back as though burned. If he weren’t a Stark bastard she’d say he’s being sensible, but if there’s one thing her brother has taught her about wolves, it’s that tree magic runs through their veins. By all rights, King Snow should be ecstatic at the approval of his gods.

King Snow shivers violently instead. It isn’t from the cold. Then, the bastard king who refused to bow down to the Dragon Queen herself, bends the knee to his magic tree.

He prays.

Really, what does their queen see in him? The bastard has a pretty face, Yara will give him that, but that’s the only thing he has going for him.

Fine, it isn’t the only thing. King Snow appeared before the Dragon Queen with a plea for aid and nothing of value to offer in return. No supplies, no manpower. Not even fealty. One has to admire the sheer balls of that. At first, Yara assumed it to be bravery born from stupidity, but she was soon forced to admit that King Snow is no fool. 

She was forced to admit it because their queen kept him close whenever possible. Lady Daenerys refused to acknowledge the North as a free kingdom of course, but she was determined to win them over through love instead of fear. Which meant she often involved King Snow in discussions he had no business being present. King Snow rarely spoke up during those discussions unless prompted by their queen, but when he did speak, his insights were not those of a fool.

It revealed that his brazen request was a calculated risk. If Lady Daenerys were not as generous as she is, if she’d taken his head as she was well in the right to do, their queen would have turned the whole North against her. She’d be more than capable of conquering it of course, but it would cost the North a great deal. King Snow leveraged this fact, but he knew the argument would only have merit if their queen cared about the people she wished to rule. He knew he could have easily walked to his death. Knew he could have condemned his people to ruin.

He considered this to be an acceptable risk for what he stood to gain in turn. If the Dragon Queen ruled through terror, the North wouldn’t be able to stop her no matter what they did. But if the tales of her generosity were true, if she wished to be loved by her people instead of having them fear her, then the North’s plea might stand a chance at being heard.

King Snow didn’t swear fealty to their queen. But he all but stated that the North would gladly bend the knee to her should she save them. 

He all but stated he himself would swear fealty without hesitation if she were but to aid them. Not gain victory first, merely aid them. 

He was desperate. If it were up to him, a mere promise of aid would have been enough to make him swear fealty. The only reason he kept from doing so is because it would divide the North. Some would accept their king swearing allegiance to another. Others would not.

When their queen saw he was not a fool, it intrigued her further. Yara will admit to being jealous over the attention their queen grants this bastard. She and Lady Daenerys flirt on occasion, but it’s always been clear nothing will come of it. King Snow, on the other hand, managed to capture their queen’s attention as no one else has. Their queen didn’t allow her feelings to cloud her judgement, a fact Yara has nothing but respect for, but from the beginning it was clear that she wanted to fuck the lucky bastard.

And the bastard wanted to fuck her. He didn’t allow it to cloud his judgement either, not in a noticeable manner at least, but from the beginning, the tension between the two was hot enough to temper steel.

Nothing came out of it. Not at first. Queen Daenerys came here to reclaim the Iron Throne and she refused to let anything stand in the way of that. King Snow and the threat Beyond the Wall could wait until after she conquered King’s Landing.

It didn’t take long to conquer King’s Landing. Even ignoring their alliance with Dorne and the Reach, Queen Daenerys arrived with three dragons an army numbering in the tens of thousands. Not much can stand in the way of that. The only surprise was that Cersei was already dead by the time their queen took the Red Keep. Killed by her own brother. Even the Kingslayer couldn’t abide his sister’s plan to blow up the entire city with wildfire. Who would’ve thought the Lannister heir had a shred of decency left in him.

Who would’ve thought there was enough wildfire hidden throughout the city to even accomplish that madness. They knew there was some thanks to the Queen’s Hand, but even the dwarf hadn’t known the extent of it. 

Yara has never been more grateful for their queen’s regard for the common folk than she was after finding out that information. Hearing wildfire was hidden in the city, however little it might have been, made their queen decide to take the city without dragonfire. Her dragons still performed battle but they spewed no flames. Yara shudders when thinking of what would have happened had their queen decided otherwise.

After their queen took the Iron Throne, King Snow repeated his plea for aid. This time their queen didn’t refuse him out of hand. She agreed to go Beyond the Wall and assess the threat herself. And she’d go by dragon. None could worry over her safety then. 

She’d go after she finished stabilising her rule. And after she deposed of their cunt of an uncle. Euron had the luck of demons, somehow slipping away during the siege.

His luck didn’t last. Ships might be fast but dragons are faster. Wasn’t an easy hunt, the cunt took a great many down with him. But for all that the sea answers to no one, dragons can burn it as they do everything else.

She’ll never forget her coronation. The saltwater filling her lungs, the dark pulling her under. A pain so sweet no pleasure will ever compare to it.

What is dead may never die. Yara hadn’t understood just how true those words are until she died herself. Until she drowned. Until she became one with the sea instead of merely carrying part of it. 

What led her to these thoughts again? Right, King Snow. Still praying to his magic tree.

He prays as Theon does. With fervor born from desperation. With anguish. With a need to be heard.

The trees are listening with an intensity they’ve never shown for Theon. Further proof that these trees are the worst of cunts. How dare they prefer this bastard over a child of the sea.

Then again, perhaps it isn’t the wolf they prefer. Perhaps it’s the dragon in him. Yara will reluctantly admit that would be a valid reason for favoritism. Dragons are magnificent.

As though to emphasise this thought, the air is filled with the sound only dragons can make. It reminds her of sails being beaten by storm winds, but these sails aren’t being battered. They conquer the wind instead.

The gorgeous form of their queen’s green dragon appears, hovering in the air with wing beats that make storms sound feeble. Yara marvels at the wonder that is the fire made flesh. No matter how often she sees them, dragons remain breathtaking.

They remain terrifying. Every time she sees them, she’s reminded of how easy it would be for them to kill her. Those claws, those teeth. Those eyes alight with the fire they carry within. They could end her in a thousand different ways, each easier than the last. What is dead may never die, but dragons can burn even death itself.

She’s getting aroused. Dragons do that to her.

They don’t do the same to King Snow. He looks even more anguished than before. He doesn’t even lifts his head to watch the dragon. The dragon, who chose him as its rider. The disrespect is unbelievable. If she were in his place, she’d worship her dragon as it deserves to be worshipped.

Is that wrong of her? Ironborn don’t worship. They conquer, they take. They acknowledge strength, they respect the power their god holds. They even pray. But they don’t worship. Not like that.

They don’t ride dragons either. If that were to ever change, they can damn well change their way of worship as well. The Drowned God would understand. Or rather, he’d be able to do fuck all about it. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men.

The dragon lets out a hiss that makes her heart leap into her throat. Fuck, but that’s terrifying.

It’s glorious.

King Snow has the nerve to keep his eyes closed. Still not looking at the dragon who chose him. Yara sees his lips move but she fails to hear him over the thunder filling the air. 

The dragon lets out another thrilling hiss. Yara likes to imagine its telling King Snow to go piss himself. Then the glorious being takes its leave, flying up with breathtaking grace. It takes but a moment before those great wings carry it from view. Yara returns her gaze to King Snow and takes another drink.

She wonders what happened Beyond the Wall. She knows the general happenings of course, that tale spread in no time. After getting rid of Euron and estabilishing a firm enough hold on her realm, Queen Daenerys left King’s Landing with the King in the North and her three dragons.

She returned to King’s Landing without the bastard king and with her dragons numbering but two. One of who limping through the sky, its shoulder a ruin of broken scales and jagged flesh. Yara hadn’t seen the limping, the white dragon had recovered from that by the time she returned from the Iron Islands. But she saw the remnants of the wound. Saw where scales stronger than steel had been torn off.

King Snow’s tale of the dead stopped being humorous after that. It became even less so after Yara learned that the queen’s dragon gained its wound while in the sky. She saw those dragons during the siege of King’s Landing and the hunt on Euron both, saw how they dodged every projectile with ease. Saw how the white dragon was the most nimble of them all.

And it was torn from the sky. It would’ve been one thing if it had gotten injured while grounded, but to have an enemy capable of making dragons fall from the sky?

The lingering sweetness of her coronation was wiped away in an instant. King Snow was right, the dead are a threat to them all. He might have been smug about their sudden belief if he hadn’t been hovering on death’s door in Winterfell. Watched over by the third dragon, who claimed him as its rider at some point during that ill fated expedition. 

The dead made the Dragon Queen their enemy. Mention the dead in her presence and she’ll grow grim and determined. 

Mention the dead and her eyes blaze with the same fire as that of her dragons. Yara thought she knew how passionate their queen could be already, but the desire Lady Daenerys showed to reclaim her throne is nothing compared to the determination she shows now.

The dead will burn.

Yara won’t lie, their queen’s fire does all sorts of delicious things to her. It makes her believe, truly believe, they’ll turn the fuckers to ash. Quite the accomplishment on their queen’s part. An injured dragon isn’t good for morale. Her dragon might have recovered in full, but the memory remains.

The memory haunts their queen. She loves her dragons in a way she loves no other. Nearly losing one made her fear as she never has before. Or perhaps she did when her dragons were younger. When they were small and vulnerable.

They’re no longer vulnerable. They’re the most powerful beings in existence. Dragons can burn away death itself.

Death can snuff out their fire.

Lady Daenerys isn’t convinced they’ll be able to win. She puts up a good front, but there are times her doubt is visible. Never when it matters most, never when they need her to be strong. But the doubt is there.

Yara still believes they’ll turn the fuckers to ash. The doubt their queen shows doesn’t negate her determination. If anything, it makes it burn even brighter. 

Her attention is drawn back to King Snow when he lets out a harsh breath. He looks as though he’s readying for battle. A moment later, she hears snow being disturbed. King Snow addresses the person without turning around.

“Dany.”

Yara stiffens. She hurriedly moves further out of sight when her queen steps into view, remembering just in time to keep her movements quiet. 

Her queen’s stride is calm, her back is straight, and her hands are clasped in front of her. She’s confident as she is when preparing to parley with a new lord.

Yara needs to speak up. It’s one thing to spy on King Snow, something else entirely to do so on the queen she swore fealty to. 

No, she shouldn’t speak up. That would reveal she’s been spying on the queen’s lover in the first place. Lady Daenerys wouldn’t be pleased with that. So how to leave without drawing attention? The tree hides her well, but no other cover is near enough that she can leave without being seen.

While Yara considers the best course of action to take, King Snow gets to his feet and turns around to face their queen. He looks as though he’s about to go on the offensive. Not something she’s seen from him before. King Snow has always been aware of the difference in power between himself and the Mother of Dragons, and he acted accordingly from the start. Even when he first arrived with his brazen request, he was careful to treat her with the respect she deserves.

Lady Daenerys isn’t acting as she should either. She’s confident and composed, looking every part the Dragon Queen. No trace of the woman within is allowed to be seen. Even in public, she’s long since stopped treating King Snow this way. And the two believe themselves to be alone.

They’re having a quarrel. Yara is torn. Her curiosity is a living thing, demanding she remain and discover what this is about. But no, she can’t. Spying on a royal love spat won’t go by without punishment.

She’ll take her leave as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

“You’re hurting Rhaegal.”

Their queen delivers the words without a trace of disapproval. Revealing that whatever this argument is about, it’s coming from the bastard’s side, not hers. Their queen is protective of her dragons as she is of few others. Which says great deal.

King Snow confirms that the argument is coming from him.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

The words are harsh and biting. The wolf showing his teeth.

A wolf stands no chance against a dragon.

“You didn’t seem to mind before.”

There’s still no trace of anger or frustration, yet their queen’s voice contains a bite of her own. Warning the bastard that he’s on thin ice.

The bastard ignores the warning.

“My apologies for not fulfilling your every wish, Your Grace.”

That hits home as the previous jab didn’t, their queen’s composure broken by frustration.

“Stop pushing me away!”

Yara startles before she can help it. She’s never heard her queen raise her voice like this. Even when delivering judgement or grand speeches, even when faced with the worst of cunts, their queen remains in control of her temper. Yara knew this couldn’t be the case in private, but it’s one thing to know, another thing entirely to see.

Lady Daenerys is no longer clasping her hands together. They’re balled fists at her sides, before they’re a hard grip on a shapely hip and a frustrated hand being run through the most beautiful of hair. She’s as fearsome as she is stunning. Aside from her nose. Her nose is scrunched up in an adorable manner. 

She should not be thinking about her queen’s nose at a time like this. 

King Snow grimaces and turns his head to the side. For a moment Yara worries he’ll spot her, but the bastard remains oblivious. Too consumed by anger. Or perhaps by guilt? While the anger is most prominent, the guilt is not insignificant.

What could cause King Snow to push their queen away? The two have been all over each other ever since he woke up. The fealty issue has been resolved by a royal bethrothal. And yes, it’s true that all the Starks have been acting as prickly wolves for the past days, but Yara had assumed their queen wasn’t involved in whatever is going on. Or rather, she assumed that Lady Daenerys was involved as queen only, not as the bastard’s lover. Apparently she was wrong. 

Looking back, she should have realised that already. Ever since the trouble began, their queen hasn’t been seen taking walks with her lover. King Snow is still recovering from his injury, remaining out of sight much of the time, but those walks are a daily occurrence. Or they were.

“I need to work through this on my own, Dany.”

King Snow’s voice is kept steady with great effort. The closest thing to a plea the bastard is currently capable of, Yara supposes. He still looks furious.

So does their queen.

“Because you’re handling this so well.”

The sarcasm is another thing Yara has only caught glimpses of before. Their queen understands the power words hold.

King Snow glares. Yara briefly tenses when he takes hold of his blade but he isn’t holding it with his swordhand. The gesture isn’t a warning or a threat. Just a way to steady himself. Their queen is aware of this as well, for she gives no reaction to her lover holding the pommel of his blade. Instead she meets King Snow’s glare with a burning one of her own.

When King Snow speaks, he’s all but snarling.

“This doesn’t involve you.”

“I beg to differ. He was my brother.”

Yara doesn’t get a chance to untangle that piece of information before King Snow snaps.

“I don’t care about that! I care about the lie, the one I’ve been told my entire life! Everything I knew, my father, my family, my damned name. All of it is a lie!”

Once again, Yara is offered no chance to work through the information. Because King Snow’s blade bursts into flames. Yara is moving forward before she realises what she’s doing and the bastard is cursing as he hurriedly lifts his blade, the sheath burned away by blue flames. Their queen is racing forward as well, hurriedly patting the bastard’s leg. His leggings have caught on fire.

Neither of them are in pain. Yara stops moving, her heart still racing like mad. Then she realises she’s no longer hidden and she quickly returns to her previous position. She remembers that she was to take her leave as soon as she could.

This would be the perfect time to leave. Lady Daenerys and her lover are both so distracted by the flames they didn’t even see her. She should leave.

She doesn’t. She should, she really should, but King Snow’s blade is alight with blue fire. And neither he nor their queen are hurt by it.

The Ironborn carry the sea with them. Magic runs through their veins.

Their magic is nothing compared to the magic of dragons.

Lady Daenerys puts out the last of the blue licking over King Snow’s leggings. Her gloves have been burned away but her skin shows no sign of that. Neither does the bastard’s leg, visible through the ruined cloth. Their queen’s magic comes as no surprise, she’s called the Unburnt for a reason. But the bastard should have burned.

He didn’t.

Lady Daenerys lifts her head and meets King Snow’s gaze.

She laughs, a bright sound that will never cease to be surprising. The Dragon Queen is power incarnate. She’s so beautiful it’s sometimes hard to gaze upon her. Yet when she laughs, she sounds like a girl. Like a mortal woman instead of the dragon she is.

King Snow watches their queen as though he finds her laughter to be just as mesmerising. Gone is his anger, replaced by a helpless smile. By a look as warm as the fire still dancing over his blade.

Except that fire isn’t warm. Even at this distance Yara can feel the cold bite into her, far stronger than what it was before. Radiating from those vivid blue flames. 

When their queen’s laughter fades, King Snow looks at his still burning blade. Freezing blade?

“So that’s how you do it.”

He sounds awed. 

“Does it always feels so…”

“So freeing.”

Their queen follows the statement by grasping the pommel as well, her hand covering the bastard’s own. 

Bright red joins the blue, dancing together in a breathtaking display. The cold is joined by searing heat. The sight of the more familiar colors allows Yara to understand just she’s seeing.

She’s seeing dragonfire.

“Is it so wrong to be a dragon?”

It’s the uncertainty, the near fear, that draws her attention back to their queen.

Lady Daenerys looks vulnerable as she never has.

“No.”

King Snow lowers the flaming blade so the tip is resting on the ground, snow around it burned away. His other hand gently strokes their queen’s cheek. Their queen leans into his touch as though she’s been hungering for it for an age and more.

“It isn’t wrong at all. I still love you and Rhaegal. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

A question Yara would like answered as well. The more she hears, the greater her confusion. This argument seems to be about the bastard’s Targaryen heritage, yet King Snow has been awake for over a month now. He’s known about his heritage for just as long. Being chosen by a dragon left no doubt over the blood he carries. He didn’t seem to have a problem with his mother’s lineage before.

What changed?

King Snow looks conflicted. When he speaks, the words are near inaudible.

“I’ve been a bastard my entire life.”

He sounds broken.

He sounds like Theon.

“He treated me like that. My entire life he treated me like that. And he wasn’t even my father.”

The pieces fall into place. Oh. Oh, that pus eating son of a bitch. 

Yara doesn’t know whether she’s impressed or offended. Her entire life she’s heard tales of the honorable Ned Stark. Heard how his honor made him act like a fool, how his inability to lie would one day lead to his downfall.

Turns out he was the greatest liar of them all.

“He hurt you.”

Their queen’s voice is soft. Her expression is even softer. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me he did it to protect me?”

It’s a plea, yet the bastard looks as though he fears having it answered. 

Lady Daenerys shakes her head, her expression even softer than before.

“That doesn’t matter. He hurt you.”

She lifts both her hands, her dragonfire disappearing as she lets go of the blade. She cups her lover’s cheeks.

“You have a right to be angry with him, Jon.”

King Snow’s breaks. He throws his blade aside, blue flames gone as fast as they appeared, but the bastard doesn’t care about that.

What he cares about is kissing their queen as though he’s a drowning man who’s just found salvation.

Their queen kisses him back just as fiercely. The bastard was the one to close the distance between them, but she’s the one pulling him even closer. Holding him as though she never intends to let go of him.

Yara would give anything to be in the bastard’s place. Even more so when their queen lifts a shapely leg and hooks it around his to pull the lucky bastard even closer.

The lucky bastard lets out a pained sound. Their queen immediately lowers her leg and takes a step back, worried eyes locked onto her lover’s chest.

“Are you all right?”

The demand is filled with worry. 

The bastard grins as she’s never seen from him before. Gone is the anger and despair. Instead he looks what she can only call boyish.

“I believe I require a closer examination before I can answer that.”

Their queen laughs. It inspires sharp envy. Yara wishes she could make their queen laugh like that.

“I fear I’m a little overdressed for that.”

The quip is as mischievous as their queen’s smile. Yara has witnessed that sense of humor before, but never like this.

She’s never seen her queen look so carefree.

Lady Daenerys takes another step back and spreads her arms with invitation.

“Will you help me put on a more appropriate outfit?”

“Putting on clothes is not what I had in mind.”

The words are teasing but the look the bastard is wearing is anything but. He looks at their queen as a wolf looks at its next prey. Yet when he closes the distance and starts unbuttoning their queen’s coat, his touch is gentle and revenant. 

The fur coat slips off startlingly delicate shoulders. Yara is abruptly hit by what she’s about to witness.

She needs to leave. Now. She’s overheard things she never should have, things that could easily see her head placed on a spike. If she stays for this as well and Lady Daenerys finds out, she has no doubt that her queen will show her just why her words are Fire and Blood.

Her feet refuse to obey. She can’t move. Not when her queen’s is being undressed. Revealing pale skin she’s been dreaming of for so long. Lady Daenerys wore wonderfully revealing garments when they first met, but since coming to Westeros, she’s been covered from head to toe. In the North, she wears even thicker garments, lush furs hiding the beauty beneath.

That beauty is now being revealed. Smooth skin broken by faint blemishes. Yara wishes to trace those blemishes with her tongue. Her queen is so strong, yet when unclothed, she gives off the illusion of frailty.

How can such power be contained in a body so delicate?

When her queen’s breasts are bared, Yara hears herself gasp softly. Her preference has always gone to women with tits big enough to drown in, yet seeing those small globes makes her hands itch with the need to hold them. To caress them.

The bastard lowers his head and kisses those perfect breasts. The urge to bash in his head and take his place grows stronger. 

Lips she longs to feel on her own part in a silent gasp, her queen’s eyes alight with desire. She’s never looked more stunning.

The lucky bastard bends the knee. The meaning that holds briefly captures her attention but then he starts revealing her queen’s legs and everything else ceases to matter. Her queen is startlingly delicate in so many ways, but her legs are firm and strong. Revealing to all just why she’s able to ride her dragon so well.

Yara would give anything to have her queen ride her.

“Dany.”

Her queen’s name leaves the bastard’s lips like a prayer, but he looks at her as though he’s about to devour her. A moment later he does, his lips finding the place Yara longs to taste herself. 

Her queen cries out in a way that will haunt her forever, her hands tugging the bastard’s head even closer and her leg thrown over his shoulder to give him better access. The bastard’s arm holds her steady as she rides his tongue.

Yara realises her hand has slipped down her trousers. With the greatest of efforts, she stops touching herself, gripping the tree instead so the wrongness of it will make her hands stay put. Touching herself would be a step too far. It’s bad enough that she can’t bring herself to leave. She should, oh, she needs to leave.

She can’t. Not when her queen is lost to pleasure, when her body is moving in the most mesmerising of ways. When it’s impossible to think beyond the need to find out what she tastes like.

Without warning, her queen lets out a commanding sound and pulls the bastard’s head back.

The bastard looks drunk on desire, his chin glistening with her queen’s juices. Yara genuinely wants to murder him.

If he were gone, her queen’s bed would be open once more.

“I want to feel you inside me.”

A strangled sound escapes her. The only reason it isn’t overheard is because the bastard lets out a groan of his own. He gets to his feet and her queen wastes no time in undressing him. Yet despite her haste, her movements remain gentle. Treating the bastard as though he’s precious.

Would she do the same if it were her? Would her queen touch her with the same care and passion? Would she look upon her as though she’s achingly beautiful?

Would her queen love her this sweetly?

It’s only when her queen’s passion is dampened by concern that Yara looks over the bastard. 

Her queen is looking at the ruined flesh that forms her lover’s midriff. The place where she ran him through with his own sword. A delicate hand comes up and traces the still healing wound with aching tenderness.

The bastard takes hold of that hand and places a gentle kiss on her palm.

“You saved me, Dany.”

And Yara is wondering how in the seven hells her queen managed that. Seeing the sheer size of the wound makes clear that the bastard should have died. It spreads across his entire right side, it drowns out every other scar he has.

It turns the tale of what happened to him real as it wasn’t before. Beyond the Wall, King Snow was stabbed through by a spear infused with the magic of the dead. It should have killed him.

Lady Daenerys saved him by having her dragon heat up her lover’s Valyrian steel blade, before stabbing it through the wound and burning out the magic of the dead. 

Her lover nearly lost his life anyway.

“Your brother saved you.”

Yara grimaces. She does not need to be reminded of that damned tree whisperer. Kills the mood like nothing else.

“He is your brother, Jon.”

Yara realises the bastard is grimacing as well. He opens his mouth as though to argue but their queen continues speaking before he can.

“You were raised together. You share the same blood. You love each other. He’s your brother in all the ways that matter.”

For a moment, it seems as though King Snow will continue arguing. Then he lets out a sigh of defeat.

“Bran isn’t who I want to be talking about right now.”

“Then what do you wish to talk about?”

The question is teasing. Turning away from the returning tension in favor of more pleasurable matters. King Snow responds with another boyish grin.

“How to best make you sing with pleasure.”

Yara is offended by how good a line that is. 

The line is ruined by King Snow turning his head to the side so he can sneeze. Yara would take more satisfaction in that if their queen didn’t respond with a chuckle, her expression warm as she twines her arms around her lover’s neck.

“Here I thought wolves weren’t bothered by the cold.”

Unlike dragons. Their queen wears furs when in the North, but she does so to put the people at ease. The Dragon Queen is as untouched by cold as she is by heat.

King Snow gains a faint smile but he doesn’t speak. Instead he kisses their queen as though she’s the most precious thing in existence. As though he doesn’t understand why she chose him but will forever be grateful that she did.

He doesn’t deserve their queen’s love. Yara should be glad he understands that much at least, but the only thing she feels is resentment.

The only thing she feels is longing. Her queen is looking at the bastard as though he’s more dear to her than any other. She keeps looking at him like that as she finishes undressing him and guides him down the coat spread across the snow. Even when she takes him inside her, she keeps looking at him like that. Part of Yara is overcome by arousal once more. Those rolling hips, those parted lips. Those eyes alight with desire.

At the same time, there’s a discomfort that wasn’t there before. She isn’t witnessing a random fuck. This is something far more intimate. Something she shouldn’t be privy to.

Yara finally manages to take her leave. There are so many feelings running through her she fails to name them all.

She realises not all those feelings belong to her. The excitement, the satisfaction. Those belong to the trees. Unlike her, they don’t feel the need to mind their own business.

Stupid magic trees.

Yara hasn’t gotten far before she hears her queen cry out ever so sweetly, the sound carried far further than it should. It’s joined by the sound of the bastard finding his own release. A snide part of her points out she’d be able to pleasure their queen far longer than this pathetic display, but most of her feels a strange sort of grief.

Her queen loves Jon Snow. Yara still doesn’t understand why but she cannot deny the truth.

Lady Daenerys will never love her as she loves her wolf.

Yara ruthlessly smothers what she refuses to call hartbreak. It never would have worked out between them anyway. The sea is no place for a dragon. 

Drinking the last of her ale, she straightens her back and leaves the godswood.

She tenses when she spots the massive beast that is King Snow’s direwolf, guarding the entrance. It watches her with lazy attention.

King Snow will know she was spying on him. What the beast knows, the bastard knows. Which means Lady Daenerys will be informed of her presence as well.

This will lead to dangerous waters. The kind she’ll need to navigate with care if she wishes to keep her head. But that’s a worry for later. For now, she gives the beast a sharp smile. Their queen might love a wolf but Yara refuses to do the same. She’ll respect their strength but no more. And she’ll respect their strength only when on land.

Throw a wolf into the sea and it drowns.

Eyes as bloody as those of a heart tree grow more alert. Watching her with a consideration the beast was lacking before. Good.

Wolves should fear the sea.

Satisfied, she saunters towards the castle.

It’s time to fuck off the first pair of willing tits she finds.