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Chapter 25: PART TWO — The Winds of DragonstoneNotes:

Don't get used to these quick updates most of this was already written 🤭

I'm enjoying the back and forth between Dany stans and Jon stans about the allegedly sequel. Cannot let go of my phone because of it. That's what I call a proper feedback - I entertain you, you entertain me. 👌 👏

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

25.

The Winds of Dragonstone.

It took a whole day for the fire to start dousing and the smoke to dispel before they could enter the city again. The foul smell of burned human flesh though, still lingered in the air. Walking in a straight line from the Gate of the Gods to the Red Keep, they weren't really able to assess how great the damage was; perhaps half or more of the city was caught in the firestorm. 

They walked past scorched skeletons lying in a position of eternal agony. A man walked past them in a seeming state of numb trance as his skin peeled off and hung down his back. Jon's eyes followed his ghostly figure as he turned around to see Ser Davos and Tyrion, two or three steps behind him.

An object caught his eye amid the rubble and debris, its pendular shape still well defined despite the burned and broken metal.

A bell.

The enormity of this damage was a show of horror. The goal of conquering the city with the fewest casualties possible and the will to bring changes to Westeros had been foregone, left buried under the stones and ashes, and the snow that started raining down from the bleakest sky. 

They saved the world from the certain, unforgivable, and cruel threat of the ice beings but they have brought King's Landing an equally cruel and unforgivable death through fire. Perhaps unintentionally but still, they did.

It all seemed vain now.

A quiet darkness enveloped him.

His vision faded into the drab and cold shadows of his chambers at Castle Black.

He lay there, motionless, staring at the rickety roof and listening to the winds that sent an incessant shower of snow whose rattling against the wooden awning caused a screeching protest.

A wandering crow rattling above, croaking with a devious voice:

KING!

KING!

KING!

Jon woke up with a start.

From across his cabin, thunderous blows against the door threatened to knock the damn thing down.

He jumped out of bed, throwing on his breeches and securing Longclaw in one hand as he hurried toward the door.

On the other side, Arya had both hands raised in the air ready to strike again.

"Seven hells, Arya!" Jon bawled out.

Arya's large eyes squinted on him as she noticed the troubled look in his eyes.

"A bad dream?" she asked. 

He pushed the door wider to invite her in, then slammed it shut.

"What are you doing here, Arya?" he deflected her question. 

"I wanted us to see Dragostone from the bow, I didn't think my Night's Watch brought-back-from-the-death brother was going to be a heavy sleeper."

"Piss off," he dismissed her. "You could have used Hale's company, or Gendry's for that matter."

Jon didn't even remember how those two ended up on his vessel, sailing to Dragonstone with them. Somehow Arya convinced them to embark with them. 

It was Arya's strange habit of picking up strangers fellows along the way, he supposed.

"I've heard something about Theon Greyjoy," she said, "Supposedly he and his sister are on the island at the moment."

Jon rubbed a hand on his face.

"Why does that matter?" 

"Theon, who betrayed our family," she sharply pointed out.

Jon knew that and held a persistent grudge against him for that.

He also knew that piece of shit saved Sansa.

"He deserves punishment," Arya continued. 

"Haven't you heard about what Ramsey did to him?" 

"It is not enough," she pressed. 

Jon let out a weary sigh. She seemed to be making a huge effort to compensate for the loss of her chance to kill Cersei herself. 

He had no idea what would be in store for them once they set foot on the island other than to begin mining the Dragonglass. Soon they would have to leave for the North no matter what resolution the southrons made.

No matter what Daenerys decided.

"I don't want any trouble with the Ironborn, Arya. They're Daenerys' allies and we're still on her dominions," Jon explained. 

Arya did not protest but was clearly exasperated.

"I thought you'd manage to soften her up."

Jon frowned. "And what does that mean?"

Arya rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

"Whatever," she said, slamming the door shut as she left.

Jon threw himself back into bed, trying to catch up on sleep but all he will see were those hands like claws clinging to him, taking him back to that hellish day of Cersei's death. 

***

King's Landing

Dany had barely had more than a couple of hours of good sleep. If she closed her eyes she could still see herself there, immobile and small before the angry mob tearing Cersei Lannister apart, Drogon on top of her shrieking in desperation, trying to keep her safe. If she got too lost in those memories, her right hand would start shaking; she would tend to clench it into a tight fist, trying to release that energy that somehow felt pent up.

"And tell me, dear, have you already decided on the matter of your coronation and your wedding?" Lady Olenna's sharp voice pulled her out of her thoughts. 

A long table had been set in front of the Iron Throne, where she sat, stuck in the middle of several figures of the Great Council, among them Lady Olenna and her over-complacent nephew. They all had compliments to shower her with, congratulations to give her, and requests to make her hear. Cersei's death solved only one of the many issues that concerned the Realm. Too many more remained to be settled, besides the pressing threat of the Army of the Dead.

The mismanagement of the Lannisters left the royal arks reduced to dust and cobwebs. The sentences of Jaime and Tyrion plus the fall of House Lannister caused an acephaly in the Westerlands and the South was pressing her to make a decision soon now that the Iron Bank was at the gates of King's Landing claiming unpaid debts.

Daenerys had tasted displeasure more than victory in what time she'd been in Westeros.

"When I do," responded Dany, "You'll be the first to know, Lady Olenna."

She tried and meant to sound polite, but a hint of frustration and disbelief escaped her every time she spoke to the Queen of Thorns.

"Hm. I just thought it was an appropriate time to make an official statement. Tycho Nestoris is in the city, and I don't believe he's simply visiting the charming landscape King's Landing offers."

Dany sipped from her wine. "Perhaps he is."

"My Desmond is a man with a sensitive heart," Lady Olenna pressed on, "Little coercion will suffice to get him to sign the necessary documents to pass on to you the funds you require for Nestoris to leave the city, for the time being."

Daenerys lowered her glass, casting an angry glare.

"I had thought that this business was to be handled by you and me."

"Oh, sweetling, do not be naive. When has a woman ever contested so much in the game of power? My nephew will soon become Lord Paramount in his own right. There is nothing I can do about it."

The old woman offered her a look of insincere sympathy. Dany had long before realized that she did not have the woman's unquestioning loyalty for altruistic reasons. The throne had given her more false sympathizers than enemies throughout her life. The one she lived and the one she's trying to save.

Dany turned slightly towards Lady Olenna with a piercing look.

"Do not be fooled by my youth, Lady Olenna. I respect you for you have been in the fray for far longer than I, but I have known adversities that you cannot even fathom, so bear in mind not underestimate my intellect."

***

Dany paced the chamber with a chalice in her hand filled with Arbor Gold. It tasted sour with the added memory of her late conversation with Lady Olenna. The issue of her marriage was not foreign to Dany and she had pondered the matter on several occasions. In another life, it stayed a prospect since she prioritized the Iron Throne. Then she met Jon.

She'd been a young woman filled with expectations, drunk in the heights of power. Deluded, she thought to herself. Mostly she'd overestimate herself. Dany halted her pacing slowly coming near her desk and resting the chalice on top. So many years of unrestrained freedom made it difficult for her to accept so passively the restrictions that came with the title of Queen. In fact, they infuriated her.

Running into an alliance with Lord Desmond Redwyne at the first show of necessity was as rash movement as seeking to throw Jon away, in hopes that this time around things would not end badly for her.

It's been proven by this point that some things were meant to happen.

The memory of Jon came flooding back. Every time she seemed to have a good reason to send him back to his beloved North, something came up to make him stay. And the more he stayed, the more she ached with unleashed yearning, may or may not relating to him. The part of her that questioned his reason and that she thought she had buried deep in a grave was now making its spectacular climb to the surface. Daenerys gulped her wine down to the bottom, trying to make the image of him disappear from her brain.

Daenerys started as she heard the door to her chamber open.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting," she reproached Missandei the second she set foot inside.

Missandei frowned in that way of hers that claimed disbelief and curiosity at the same time.

"I should ask the same question."

"My injuries are not as bad as they seem. You, my friend, lost lots of blood."

"I survived. That's what matters." 

Dany rubbed an eyebrow and took a seat. Missandei followed suit.

"I just came to give you my report."

"Report? On what matter?"

"With regard to the task, you entrusted me with."

Dany's stomach turned at the memory.

"Though sincerely concerned, Lord Varys seemed to have no intention of committing treason that day."

"I see."

"He was concerned when the attack began. He wanted us to flee."

"And why didn't you listen to him?"

Missandei leaned back in surprise by her bluntness.

"Because the guards who died that day, they were...friends of mine."

Dany closed her eyes ruefully. Black Fist, Cetherys, Duran, and Loyal Spear...she repeated their names at night before going to sleep, vowing to find Aurane Waters and make him die screaming for what he did.

"I regret that my incompetence cost you time and resources, your Grace," Missandei told her. 

"Missandei. You should never have been there. I should have left Lord Varys in charge of someone else and you should have been by my side as always."

"If I am always at your side, then I will be just a burden, a servant as I was when I served my master," she softly countered and reached for Dany's trembling hand, "When I joined you, Daenerys, you warned me that death was a possibility."

In a gesture that left Missandei bewildered, Daenerys withdrew her hand and rose to walk toward the open window.

"I've never asked you how you've felt since we are in Westeros," she asked her, looking out over the horizon from which they came.

"It's a place with its unique charms," Missandei replied. 

Dany smiled sadly and tilted her head, "But it's not home."

Missandei shrugged.

"I never had a home," she said. 

"Naath was your home."

"It was."

Dany didn't know what to make of that answer, so she changed the subject, walking to her desk on the opposite side from Missandei.

"From now on there will be no need to keep Varys under scrutiny. His alliance with Lord Tyrion came to a conclusion that kept him content. Tyrion and Jaime were stripped of all their titles and dominions and sent to the wall. I had the sentence passed with Jon Snow's written agreement."

Missandei batted her eyelashes and a smile flashed across her face.

"It seems the King in the North and Her Grace are on better terms." 

"There is some understanding," Dany played it down.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to him and his sister Arya; thank them for saving my life."

Dany's gaze had gone unfocused again as if lost in some memory.

"Daenerys, is something bothering you?"

"Not at all," she said, coming back to herself and smiling forcibly. "You'll get your chance at Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" wondered Missandei.

"Yes, Missandei, I need you there to attend to an urgent matter, which awaits no further delay. That is, of course, as soon as you feel better for traveling."

Missandei looked down at her hands, still confused by what she was hearing and the distance in the tone with which Daenerys addressed her. 

"I haven't heard from Daario Naharis in weeks," she said quietly, "I'm sorry I couldn't keep up with it, with everything that happened..."

"I delegated that matter to Lord Varys."

Missandei's brow furrowed deeply. 

"But I thought you didn't trust Lord Varys with that."

Dany sighed regretfully. "I'm running out of people to place my trust in, Missandei."

***

Dragonstone

Jon was walking wearily back to the castle and his quarters where he hoped to find a tub of warm water to relax in after another grueling day in the mines when he walked halfway into the last person he wanted to have in front of him at that moment.

"Snow," Theon Greyjoy greeted him, clad in his Ironborn armor, his face aged beyond the years he bore witness to.

"Greyjoy," he barked back, low and gruff. 

Jon made an attempt to pass him by.

"Jon," Theon stopped him, "I was hoping to have a conversation."

"You and I have nothing to converse about."

"Jon! Jon, please!"

When Greyjoy tried to grab him by the elbow from behind, Jon turned violently on him, pushing him against the island's outcrop with his arm pressed against his throat. 

"The only reason I don't kill you is because of what you did for Sansa but as far as I'm concerned, you're just a worthless waste scratching at the pieces of a life you don't deserve."

"I'm sorry, Jon, I'm so sorry," Theon whimpered, unresisting, "I'll regret it until the day I die."

His superior strength against his cowed and emaciated form made Jon want to simply give in to the urge to break his neck, just like the people of King's Landing did with Cersei, who likely died of a broken neck long before the flogging of her body began.

Jon gave up and tossed Theon aside.

His trembling hands clenched and unclenched.

He gave Theon one last look and went on his way. 

***

Jon dipped into the warm water of the bath, staying there for longer than any ordinary man could. Sometimes he did these things, tempting death. Ever since he had been brought back he had fantasized about being pushed down by the same dark force that brought him back only to prove that he no longer own the decision of whether he lived or died. 

This time when his eyes opened still underwater, he met Malissandre's piercing, dark gaze watching him from above with a malevolent smile.

Jon resurfaced, gasping for air.

He looked around his chamber for the red witch but could not find her. Her image was too real to be a just fantasy. He was certain that she stood there. 

Gathering what little strength he had, he finished his bath and put on some clothes. When the maids returned to remove the bath and his dirty clothes, they announced that Daenerys was in the castle.

***

His heart pounded impatiently as he made his way to the Chamber of the Painted Table, where Daenerys was. Jon told himself he hoped for new (perhaps favorable) tides, but the truth he didn't want to admit was that he just wanted to see her.

Ever since he saw her fall from her dragon, a primal instinct had awakened in him that made him want to be there to protect her. Jon believed it was primarily human nature, secondarily something to do with their relations, which she still ignored. 

That she was his kin made his growing feelings for her feel misplaced, and yet he ran at the first opportunity to meet her.

Daenerys was sitting in front of a roaring fire in the hearth when he walked in. She rose to her feet and smiled with what Jon thought was kindness. 

"Your Grace," she said, "How have you found your Dragonstone's accommodations? Is the island more pleasant than the city?"

"I do like the strong winds."

Jon frowned - was that really his answer?

"Please, take a seat," she invited him, and Jon awkwardly complied, plopping down the seat opposite to her while clearing his throat. 

"I didn't hear you coming," he observed. "I mean, your dragons..."

"I think my children also do like Dragonstone more than King's Landing. At night they often roam the island seeking refuge in the old nests beneath the volcano."

"They'd be naturally drawn to it," Jon opined. 

Silent servants entered with a decanter of wine and two silver chalices, which they placed on the table beside Daenerys' seat and served after a first taste.

Caution, Jon thought.

"Are we?" Daenerys continued, "...Naturally drawn to our roots, I mean. Cause I haven't felt like that at all. Perhaps I'm not more than a dragon that you are."

Jon shifted uncomfortably. 

"Excuse me?"

"You are a wolf of the North. You don't like any place down the Neck."

"And have you drawn that conclusion so easily?"

"Well, Jon, you are not good at expressing your feelings as neither are you good at hiding them."

"And what else have you found out?"

He sounded unintentionally taunting as if he was questioning her sharp assessment of him.

Daenerys looked at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"Tell me, Jon, do you find me pleasing to the eye?"

Jon almost choked on his wine.

"Delicacy is not my forte, I'm sorry," Daenerys excused herself, "I just find it curious that you proposed a marriage alliance without even considering a proper courtship. Unless you find me repulsive and are incapable of-"

"I do not find you repulsive," Jon said flatly, his voice shrill, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I say that with the respect you deserve."

Unimpressed by the response he provided, she leaned back in her seat.

"Coming from a man who spent a lifetime in seclusion in the North, that's not much."

"What do you want me to say other than we are running out of time and that it is the only solution that gives us both what we want. I want to save my family and you want the Seven Kingdoms together, isn't it that?

"So that's it...you are capable of entering into an alliance that condemns you to spend your days next to someone you can barely tolerate."

"Hadn't I tolerated you, Daenerys, I'd be gone by now."

"I can object to that. You are still here because you still need something from me."

Jon remained silent, considering a response to match.

"You expect me to tell you that the alliance would be a burden to me?"

"Exactly," Daenerys agreed, "Sincerity is what I'm looking for. Flattery and dishonesty abound in my court of King's Landing, which we would share if we were to marry. Is that the life you want? The sacrifice you're willing to make to save a bunch of ungrateful, loathsome beings who will plunge into war even if we defeat the dead?"

Compression dawned on Jon's face.

"You see it too, the cruelty and savagery that went on that day," he said.

Daenerys took a deep breath and averted her gaze.

"I swear I close my eyes and I can only see that, long before I sleep," Jon continued, "I think of Aurane Waters and fantasize about wringing his neck in my hands."

"If you want my honest opinion, I dislike King's Landing and I don't understand how people can inhabit a place like that. I don't understand the charm of the sweltering weather or the crowding. The first thing I would do if I were king, would be to open up the city, look for other trading and business centers in the surrounding areas and deconcentrate the city."

Daenerys tilted her head as if in agreement with his points.

"Taking into account everything I just said," he made a pause and looked at her, trying to meet her eyes, "The one single benefit of it greatly outweighs the regret of having to deal with it all."

Daenerys blinked up and asked in earnest, "What benefit?"

"The landscape, of course," Jon quipped. 

She frowned and tested his gaze for seriousness, but he smiled and then she followed him.

"Gods be good! Jon Snow has a sense of humor."

***

At supper time, silence reigned in the chamber. Captain Yara Greyjoy, Theon's sister, and Theon himself were invited to sit on the table as well as Arya had dragged an uncomfortably awkward Gendry also there.

If Dany lost reign of her senses, her gaze would dart to Jon frequently. His own eyes would meet her halfway sometimes and other times he was cutting Theon with a glare.

She tried to keep her mind on the business that awaited her at King's Landing to feign indifference. 

"I lived in Braavos for some time," Arya broke the silence, turning to Daenerys, who looked at her with curiosity piqued.

"You did? I did too. When I was little," she replied.

"People really like you there," Arya pointed out. 

"I heard so. Braavos maintains a policy of no tolerance for slavery, although it allows certain concessions - which I disapprove."

"Well, it is not an easy task to topple down an entire system overnight. But having dragons does the trick, I think."

Daenerys cocked her head.

"Some believe power is bestowed upon some lucky ones but I do believe our will plays a part. You see, along the way I have made some concerning choices that granted me more power. And though it didn't me make me more humble, I accepted the consequences that came after."

"So you believe that power can be used to make good," the young Stark questioned.

"I believe is a choice. Those who usually see it as something divine fallen from the skies...they are surprised when consequences arrive."

"That seems sound."

"Thank you, Lady Arya."

The matter seemed settled until another question of hers popped up,

"What would you do if there's another claimant to the Iron Throne?"

Cutlery sounds stopped and both Jon and Gendry dropped their jabs. 

"What do you mean?" Daenerys asked in earnest. 

"I don't know. If suddenly, someone with a better claim to the throne than yours pops up."

"In what circumstance?"

"Arya..." it was Gendry gently nudging her.

"Robert Baratheon had many bastards. What if you come across one of them?" Arya pressed. 

Daenerys observed the scene and thought this: else she already knows about Jon's true identity or she's referring to Gendry's condition. 

Whatever the case, she collected her composure. 

"Well, that would depend on who this claimant is. I prefer to think that won't be the case. Tyrion Lannister told me that his nephew sent the White Cloaks to murder all his father's known bastards. The Usurper's bastards."

"And would you do the same? Murder children, that is."

"I want to believe I wouldn't do that." Not again.

"And if they weren't children. And if it was...a man. I mean, the Blackfyre rebellion. The Dance of Dragons. Your family has a very particular history of fighting succession."

"Every family does. And it is because of that violent history that today it's just me and my children. Soon, there will be no more House Targaryen."

Everyone in that table turned and looked at her with deep frowns.

"But you are not the last," Arya countered, "Your children, your human ones, who will come after you-"

"I do not fear the appearance of some...missing scion of House Baratheon," Daenerys cut her off, raising her voice a little, "My main problem right now is your brother."

"I beg your pardon?" Jon finally spoke.

"House Stark, which he represents, refuses to recognize me as Queen."

"Then why do you have us here if we do?" Arya sternly questioned. 

"Because the petty squabbles of King's Landing are tremendously bore compared to the amusing exchanges one can enjoy during supper with people that clearly have unfinished business going on," Daenerys asserted, looking at Arya with wide open eyes and a smile not unkind. 

The aforementioned unfinished business at hand plunged the room into a cutting tension.

She returned to her supper not before adding,

"By the way, any further attacks on my allies will be seen as an affront to me. Am I clear?"

Arya and Jon shared a glance, which they then averted to the Greyjoys, to Theon especially, who sank back in his chair in shame and embarrassment. A gash on his face and the marks on his neck spoke clearly of his lack of opposition, further enraging Yara who came with that complaint to Daenerys. 

"Clear as the waters of the Shivering Sea," Arya settled.

***

The next day she was finishing business with Yara Greyjoy on the beach. 

"Her Grace is certain of what you are asking me? In the midst of this supposed threat of ice monsters in the North," the Captain questioned it.

"It's not a supposed threat. The White Walkers and the undead are a very real threat. I'm going to need you in the one territory they will be unable to invade should we lose dominion of the lands."

"How will I be able to provide help when I'm in-"?

Jon approached at that moment, interrupting the conversation. His inquisitive stance gave away that he wanted to say something.

Yara must have noticed the look the two monarchs exchanged because she rolled her eyes, offered a small nod to Daenerys and brushed past Jon menacingly.

The Ironborn Captain's displeasure was noticeable.

"Your Grace," Jon greeted her.

"Jon," she returned, clasping her hands, "I see you've been working."

Jon nodded with a grimace that was neither a smile nor a sign of discomfort.

"I'd like to show you something," Jon said.

Then he led her toward the place she suspected he had in mind. This time she allowed herself to be led with less apprehension than the previous time, but with an equally racing heart. The tightness of the cave suffocated her just as intensely as his closeness.

When they finally reached the place he wanted to show her, Daenerys pretended to look for the first time at the scribbles engraved on the wall.

"They are curious," she observed.

"They are history written in stone," Jon insisted, before giving her his reasons for believing it was one more reason to rally the people against a common enemy, just as before.

"So, history repeats itself. It's not so set in stone, after all," Dany opined.

Instead of letting him hold his gaze on her and sparing them both the painful, tension-filled moment, she turned on her heel and walked out of the cave.

Even as she trudged across the sand toward the castle, Daenerys felt short of breath. Just when she thought she was going to need to lean on her knees to catch her breath, Jon came up behind her calling,

"Daenerys."

Daenerys stopped in her tracks. Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly toward.the recipient of the voice summoning her.

Jon was standing a distance away from her, somehow staggering in the strong wind blowing off.

"May I ask what the quarrel is between you and the Greyjoys?" asked Daenerys, in an attempt to ease the growing tension.

Jon's expression turned sour.

"Theon betrayed my brother and weakened his position in the War of the Five Kings," he replied. 

"And that led to Robb Stark's death?"

"Perhaps. Possibly."

"Or maybe it was never a chance that the Greyjoys were going to collaborate with the North."

Jon looked at her quizzically.

Daenerys continued, "The issue of alliances...It's more than a complicated matter. My people don't think there's any need to go North."

Jon approached with a serious look on his face.

"But there is a need."

"I know," Dany said, stepping back, "But just as your Lords demand loyalty from you in the face of the foreign invader who wants to take away their independence, mine demand that I not give in to the rebel king in the North when he and his people are in a clearly weakening position."

"So you are going to ignore this threat and condemn thousands to die for the stubbornness of your people?" 

"I could hold you to the same reproach, Jon Snow," Daenerys replied sharply. "Is it so hard to understand my position? If I deliberate and make concessions, I am a fool not to see the consequences coming. If I use my strength to end a conflict quickly and concretely, then I am a tyrant. Any decision I make leaves me in a position of vulnerability to people who wouldn't give a damn about me. About the people that I care about."

Jon moved closer, almost clashing against her.

"But I do, I do care," Jon insisted stridently. "And while I stand firm in my stance that there was nothing to reward, I was there for you when you needed it.

Daenerys remained silent with an uneasy look on her face.

"And I understand, I understand what you are going through, and I would give my all to ease at least a little of that burden...if only you would let me."

"Why would you do that...with a complete stranger?"

Jon took a deep breath. 

"Because at this point, we are no longer strangers, Daenerys."

They both stared at each other for a long time with uncertainty and something else, something they dare not to put a name to.

Daenerys cleared her throat and broke the moment.

"I did not come casually to Dragonstone, Jon. I needed to discuss a matter with you."

"What matter?"

"Lord Petyr Baelish."

It was like throwing a bucket of ice water on him. Jon's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"He is currently an important ally of the North. We owe him the victory of the Battle of the Bastards."

"But he is not in your favor," Daenerys guessed. "It's fun, everyone I've asked about him has had the same reaction; they greatly dislike him, but they all owe him something."

Jon said nothing. 

"I bet it would be interesting for him to finally know someone who owes him nothing."

Without further ado, Dany left the beach and bolted away toward the castle.

***

Afterward that same night, Jon mulled over his conversation with Daenerys. He lay on his back, a cut log behind him as a cushion as he gazed up at the starry sky, several times catching shadows dancing in front of them. The dragons.

He wondered how high they could fly.

How high in the sky could he go if he climbed one?

In the distance he could hear the hubbub of the soldiers' camp where his people and Daenerys' people mingled. On a note that struck him as curious, Jon realized that only when the two were present did there seem to be a line that drawn them apart, the men that is.

Exhilarated by this realization he stood up and skirted the beach along a desolate path that left the camp behind.

The only light that shone on his way up was that which the moon shed on the bare side of the island, a difficult trek to tread without clear guidance.

He set out for the castle, however, where three beasts guarded the great wall up the hill.

The three dragons raised their huge snouts and sniffed at him as he approached, growling a warning under their breath. Jon advanced cautiously and raised a hand high for them to sniff. Two of the dragons stepped aside, leaving only the dark beast to stare at him long and hard with piercing, accusing eyes.

Others might have been shitting their breeches right now, but Jon felt no fear. Not the slightest bit.

In his chest rumbled the low purr in unison, the heat emanating from their bodies a minor annoyance. When Drogon had taken a deep breath and sighed a ring of smoke, he stepped aside and let him pass, as if resigned.

The castle was just as uninhabited and deserted, sounds of the servitude here and there and a few sentries who acknowledged him with a nod of their heads. No one questioned his presence there after sundown, when he should have stayed within the confines of the camp.

A sudden curiosity entered him as to why Daenerys was so careless with her own safety. Was it carelessness or ego? did she really believe her dragons were enough to keep her out of danger?

If Jon were to be her husband - or at least a person whose trust she deposited in him, he would tell her to pay more attention to that detail.

If he were something more to her, he would demand it.

Jon started to believe that what they said about the magic of this place was true. The walls seemed to speak to him in whispers. Perhaps those whispers were his intrusive and ever conflicting thoughts, some trying to stop him and remind him of his duty and honor and others urging him on.

Whatever the case was, he didn't relent at any point. Like in combat, there was no turning back once the adrenalin had kicked in.

The deserted hall to her apartments was empty, anyone who might have wanted to venture could have tried and done so. That is if the dragons had not sensed ill intentions, which in his case, were nil. In fact, the fierceness within him felt stimulated, almost spurred on.

Could it be that perhaps it was true and they could sense it? The blood running through his veins?

Would they take his unseemly intentions as a lack of honor to the truth? 

Did he, Jon, also believe so?

She was as much his blood as Arya, Sansa and Bran were. And in her case, he was perhaps the only vestige of a family she believed gone for good. Jon entertained in his mind the possibility that the truth might be a relief to her. But that was naive, even knowing her as little he knew her.

Only trouble would ensue to tell her, or anyone, the truth. If telling this secret meant more loss than being at peace with his own conscience, then he had to be resolute.

Sometimes silence is better.

Eddard Stark served that principle to the end.

He would do too.

In pursuit of that goal, he raised his arm and, with his clenched fist, struck three neat blows on the door at the end of the corridor, where hung a badge of three dragons united in a single body and waited patiently to be received. 

The door creaked open and a warm light shone on his face. 

Inside, the candles were still burning at their fiercest, the logs in the fireplace crackling audibly even from there. At the threshold, Daenerys held the door as a frown of confusion creased her brow. Her lilac eyes, pale in the trembling light of the room, were dulled by black orbs that widened impossibly large at the sight of him.

Jon's words died choking in his dry throat.

Notes:

*Runs & hides