Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349276.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Relationship: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Aegon VI Targaryen/Daenerys
Targaryen
Character: Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen
Additional Tags: Jon Snow(Aegon Targaryen)/Missandei, Daenerys is known as Dany
only
Stats: Published: 2018-04-17 Updated: 2018-07-06 Chapters: 5/10 Words:
14122

In Another Life.
by targaryenrestoration

Summary

Queen in the North Dany Snow goes to meet King Aegon Targaryen at Dragonstone, in
hopes for dragonglass and a successful military alliance.

Notes

1. Daenerys is Rhaegar's daughter with Lyanna, though she doesn't know that and has
been raised by Ned as Dany, his daughter.
2. Jon is Rhaegar's brother. And has 3 dragons.
3. Jon still has black hair despite being Aerys and Rhaella's child and God knows how tf
that happened but hey, this is fiction so I get to make the rules. Just can't see Jon with
blonde hair. Fuck logic, I ain't here for blonde!Jon.

This is all I can tell you yet and obviously, more will be explained in further details as we
go but I felt like you needed to know that before starting. This is a rather short fic and this
chapter is just a preview as I won't be working on this now. Coming soon...I think.
 zero

Breathe in.

The door slowly opens and the creaking sound seems to crawl all the way up her ears, slowly at
first and then eating at her every last sane thought. Breathe in, she had told herself a few seconds
ago, but now she has forgotten to breathe out. She only dares take one more step before stopping.
Abruptly. And staring at him.

Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of his name, sits like a King. More kingly than she has ever seen
someone look in her life so far. Dany has spent a fair amount of time at King’s Landing and
caught more than enough glimpses at the Iron Throne to see how little the men who had sat on it
looked like they belonged on it. She had seen Robert Baratheon on the chair, briefly, before it was
occupied by Joffrey Lannister. The image was so unfitting that it was scary as if these were the
two last things that needed to be fused.

But not Aegon. If anything, the throne in this room looks like it is not qualified for him. And
nobody had warned her that Aegon Targaryen looks like this. She had heard about his peculiar
hair colour, charcoal-black rather than silver-gold, but then again people talk about her hair too.
Dany brushed it off. Perhaps her mother's hair was silver-blonde. But while Aegon does look as
regal as a Targaryen, there is something soft in his eyes, too. His face is comely, prettily shaped
lips surrounded by whiskers, sharp nose, dark purple eyes...

She brushes the thoughts about the Dragon King's appearance off as quickly as they came.

“You stand in the presence of Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the
Rhoynar and the First Men, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Breaker of Chains and…the
Father of Dragons.” Missandei of Naath’s voice is as soft as a breeze, yet as strong as steel.

A shiver runs down her spine at the last title, still party shaken up by her recent sighting of a
dragon. It was extraordinary. Its scales were yellowish and its cry pierced through her heart,
enlightening all of her nerves at once.

When Aegon shifts in his seat, the first movement since she entered the room, she realises that she
has not yet spoken. Glancing at Melisandre, Dany purses her lips, waiting for the Red Woman to
speak up. “Your Grace,” Melisandre begins, “this is Dany Snow. I spoke to you about her when I
came here, I told you that—”

“She has a role to play,” Aegon finishes, cutting Melisandre off in a deep voice. “As I’ve heard. I
hope the seas weren’t too rough, Lady Snow.”

Even through the distance separating them, Dany feels his gaze with the strength of a physical
caress when it lands on her. Like a feather brushing across her skin, only it’s sharp and could slice
through her and draw blood. “The winds were kind, Your Grace,” she answers, proud of her stern
and formal voice.

Melisandre protests, “If I may, Your Grace, I shall remind you what I had told you about Dany
before suggesting you two met. She is not simply a lady, she is Queen in the North.”

Dany straightens her back at the sound of the title. She may not like it, she may not always feel
like she deserves it, and she may not want it but Melisandre’s words are true. And Queens have to
own up to their title.
“Perhaps my lack of formal education is the reason for this misunderstanding,” Aegon drawls,
“but I could’ve sworn that the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who swore fealty to
House Targaryen and to my ancestor. Correct me if I am wrong, Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion Lannister, stood perfectly in between the Queen in the North and the Dragon King, nods.
“You are right, Your Grace. Though we were not there to see it.”

Dany has known Tyrion briefly. Even if that seems like a lifetime ago now, Tyrion was always
polite to her. His words even stuck to her. One night, Tyrion had stood as tall as a King when
he’d told her, “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not.” Has he forgotten who he
is? How has he come to serve House Targaryen? Dany knows so little about this King, so little
about his people, his lifestyle and his dragons. She has a feeling she does not truly want to know.
They’re all the same, children playing at a game of thrones that has already been doomed, as they
scream among themselves that the rules are not fair. Silly, silly children.

“Ah, yes. We were not there. But Lord Tyrion, Torrhen swore his allegiance to Aegon in
perpetuity. Perhaps you should enlighten this word for us, as well,” Aegon continues, sarcasm
dripping from his tone.

Dany remains quiet, watching Tyrion.

“Forever,” the dwarf answers and his eyes find hers, pleading almost. Dany wants to laugh – does
he believe she is here to swear fealty to his King?

Aegon’s lips twitch. Dany feels this is the closest she will get to a smile from this man, or
emotions at all. “Forever.” He seems pleased with his Hand’s answer, as if Tyrion has proven a
point. His pale eyes settle back on her. Dany briefly wonders what about his eyes is so nerve-
wracking. She holds his gaze evenly, though, refusing to show any sign of ineptitude. “So, I
assume, my lady, you’re here to bend the knee.”

Dany takes in a deep breath.

She lets out a word with the power to start a war and foolishly hopes that she will not feel his
dragons’ flames engulf her the next second, “No.”
 one
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“So, what is he like?”

Dany mulls over the question. It’s been only a few minutes since Aegon had dismissed her and
she is still hot to the core, anger and desperation a dangerous mix in her system. He is infuriating.
Handsome, yes, but that detail was soon thoroughly disregarded in the Throne Room. His mouth
twisted and turned at her words and his eyes even shone in laughter at some point as if she was
playing a game, as if the Army of the Dead was a joke. Dany wanted to scream, something out of
character for her to even want to begin with.

Aegon Targaryen barely heard what she had to say. Instead, he was speaking about wars he won,
about the Throne he ‘deserves’, about his hard work to get to where he was. Dany almost felt like
he could be a good King. Almost. For a brief and fleeting second. But then it was gone and she
scolded herself mentally for being foolish—the only King that matters currently is the Night King.
And he doesn’t come with a grandiose speech like the Targaryen King, he comes with the dead
and only the dead.

“Everything we expected,” Dany replies. “And nothing we expected, at the same time.”

Arya blinks. “What does that mean?” The little girl has never been a fan of wordplays.

“He doesn’t believe me,” Dany explains and bolts the door behind her. “He thinks I’m crazy.”

“Did he say that?”

“No.” Dany thinks of his dark eyes scanning her every move, “but he was thinking it.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “What did you not expect, though?”

Dany remembers the girl next to Aegon, Missandei, her smile was kind when she attended their
arrival on the beach. She thinks of Tyrion, the only Lannister she can stand, and his proud eyes
when Aegon told tales of the difficulties he had to slither through to get to where he stood. She
thinks of the Dothraki around him. “I think he might be a good person,” Dany admits, almost
reluctantly, basing herself off of the variety of advisors he has. Aegon clearly does not belong to
one group. And for him to be so diverse must mean that he has done something that has been able
to gather so many different mindsets for a single cause. That must mean something.

Arya’s eyes flash. “Good people won’t help us against the dead.”

Dany sighs. “I know.”

Arya stands up from where she was seated on the bed. “I don’t see why you didn’t want me to
come along to that meeting. Clearly, he plans on keeping us locked in this fucking room with
stupid baths drawn for us and we’re supposed to, what, dress up like pretty little Northern ladies
and tell him funny tales about the snow?”

“That,” Dany pronounces carefully, “is why I didn’t want you to come along.” She offers her
sister a half-smile.

Arya scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No offence, Arya, but you don’t have a pretty way with words,” Dany says.

“None taken,” Arya responds sharply, lips curling upwards, “but I do have a pretty way with
other things. Let me go see him, Dany, you know I can be convincing when I want to.”

Dany shakes her head instantly.

Arya huffs impatiently. “Then what will we do?”

“This was one meeting,” Dany reasons. “We’ll speak more.”

“That red witch,” Arya spitefully says, “she said that Aegon would help us. Where is she now,
huh, and her great stories about the Prince That was Promised?”

Melisandre had come to them in Winterfell, speaking of prophecies and the one true God. When
Dany questioned her presence, Melisandre went on to talk about how she misread the flames, that
Stannis wasn’t the one that was promised—that Dany is. But not just her, someone else too. “If
you’re ice,” she had said, “there needs to be fire. Just like good needs bad, light needs darkness.
I’ll speak with Aegon Targaryen, you must join us South. You two will change the world, the
flames do not lie.”

Arya had laughed at her face and asked her to leave at once. But Dany…Dany was desperate.
And even if the Red Priestess’s words plunged in one ear and went through the other, Dany was
surprised about how much this Aegon Targaryen had accomplished. A man with armies, half of
the country behind his back and dragons. If they could get his help, it would be significant, unlike
the pitiful help of small houses and clans of people. The Wildlings and the Freefolk saw the truth,
they would fight with her. Despite their initial differences, they learned to put aside their petty
disputes to join a much bigger cause. She also has the support of the Northern people. But they are
not nearly enough. That was her sole motive to agree to Aegon’s summon, she needs his help.
The whole world does. But he does not see it and she feels helpless.

“Arya, what the Red Woman said has nothing to do with this war,” Dany acknowledges, “but
you’ve seen it for yourself. He has dragons. Three big, fire-breathing creatures.” Dany pictures it
then, a field of fire. Fire on ice. Fire burning ice. Fire burning the dead. It sends a thrill down her
body, to her toes. “He could help us—more than any army would.”

Arya nods. “I know he can. But he’s a Targaryen. He’s the mad King’s son.”

“That does not matter.”

“It might. If he fights with us, he may want so much more if—when we win this war. He is
dangerous, Dany. Dangerous for the future of the North.”

“What other choice do we have?” Dany asks, not meaning to sound hopeless but the words decide
on their own, leaving her mouth in despair. “Whose help should we get? Cersei’s?”

Arya’s mouth clamps shut. She considers Dany’s words and heaves a sigh. “Fine. You go ahead
and try to convince this Targaryen King. But I’m not going to stay locked in this room.”

“Where are you going?” Dany questions as she watches Arya slip her dirty boots on.

“We’re on an island. I’ll surely find something interesting here or there.”

Dany shakes her head at her sister’s curious nature. “Be careful,” Dany warns, thinking of
Aegon’s men and the dragons.
Arya cracks a smile. “When am I not?”

“Amazing thing to see.”

Jon turns around, then, and sees her climb down the rocky stairs. The Queen in the North’s hair is
pulled back in the similar intricate braid that has caught Jon’s attention the moment he saw her.
Her hair is silver. Not any type of silver but Targaryen silver. Her face resembles what little he
knows about Starks, long and sharp and her eyes a deep colour of grey, which seemed black in
the dim lighting of the Throne Room. Lighting really shifts her features, he realises. In one
lighting, she looks all Stark and in another, almost a Targaryen. Jon looks away, back to Viserion
flying overhead.

“They are,” he agrees with her. Their last discussion has been all anger and glares, but he’s
calmed down now. And by the sight of her cooler demeanour, it seems that she has, too.
However, Dany has not worn one of the dresses he had sent to her and her sister’s joint chamber.
Instead, the Stark Queen is dressed in a black armour which curves to the shape of her body, a
wolf sigil carved into the front of her breastplate and matching boots. Perhaps so much blackness
is the reason her hair stands out so much.

“I’ve heard one is named…Rhaegar?”

Jon shakes his head negatively. “Rhaegal,” he corrects, “but yes, he is named after my brother,
Rhaegar.”

“And that one?” Her thin finger points to the biggest dragon.

“Drogon,” Jon replies. “And Viserion.”

Dany looks thoughtful. “Viserion because of your sister, Viserya?”

Jon gives a nod. “I’ve lost them both, Rhaegar and Viserya.”

Dany says nothing for a moment. “Drogon is named after…?”

“Nothing in particular. Because he’s a dragon,” Jon replies.

At the sight of an almost smile on the Northern woman’s face, Jon looks away. He didn’t mean
that to sound friendly. She is not a friend, far from it. She won’t even be an ally, clinging to some
fictional story about walking dead men.

“You’ve lost a brother as well,” Jon finds himself saying.

He returns his gaze to his dragons but he itches to look at her face due to her lack of response.
After the wind carries his words far away and all that’s left is a moment of silence, she finally
says, “Aye. I have.” Her Northern accent coats every syllable like honey, or venom.

He says nothing more about the subject then. Just like she asks nothing more about Rhaegar. They
are strangers and closer to enemies than allies, so, any sort of bonding is unwelcome. Jon finds
himself inhaling the salty ocean air deeply before saying, “I spoke with Tyrion.”

“He likes to speak.”

“We all like what we’re good at,” is his direct, cool reply.

Dany Snow’s pauses between replies are easy to keep up with now. “I don’t,” she says at last.

Once again, he does not consider her words or what they could signify for such a young woman.
“He was telling me about you.”

The Queen in the North says nothing.

Jon continues. “What you did for the Stark girls is something he admires, apparently.”

“What I did for my sisters?” she repeats, seeming confused.

“Plan an escape?”

“Ah. Well, I didn’t suppose Tyrion Lannister enjoyed the fact that I ran away from his nephew’s
wedding with the Stark captives his sister wanted to keep, which was also the same day his
nephew got murdered and the blame of his death and our escape all went on poor Tyrion.” Her
voice is dry.

“He’s never been a big fan of Joffrey.” Jon thinks of how they accused him of murdering Joffrey,
of how Tyrion looked when he told him the tale—his mouth twisting up in a grimace that made
his face look worse than it already was. “Nor of his sister. Which is why he is my Hand. So, as a
matter of fact, yes, he did enjoy telling me about your escape. He praised you for it, said you’re
the bravest woman he’s ever met.”

Dany is not reciprocal to Jon’s obvious attempts at forging a path for them to agree on. Don’t
women crave compliments? Why is she still staring at the sky, as if he’s spoken nothing? “Your
Grace,” she says evenly, “I did not travel so far to talk about my bravery. I did because—”

“—of the Night King, I know.” Jon looks at her, meeting her eyes, searching for any sign of
madness there. “But I cannot offer you my help or belief on the subject.”

The silver-haired woman’s face contorts. She sets her jaw. “Very well.” She bows slightly.

Jon has to think fast. Eventually, he will need the North. And she is already here, looking for
something that this island has plenty of, something of no use for him. Tyrion's words come to
mind: give her something by giving her nothing. Before she leaves, Jon loudly says, “What I can
offer you is the right to mine the dragonglass and forge whatever weapons you need from it.”

Dany freezes. Turns to him. Her mouth parts the littlest. Off guard, without her barriers of ice,
without the steel her face seems to be wrapped around, Jon finds her the epitome of innocent
beauty. Feminine, soft and beautiful. Gods. So clearly beautiful. His mind is cleared from such
unbidden thoughts when she quietly says, “Thank you.”

Jon nods once and looks away, dismissing her. As her footsteps grow less loud, he turns to steal a
last glance at the fierce woman of the North.

He does not know what to think of her.

Jon is drowned in battleplans when he takes notice of the door creaking open. His eyes are still
fixed on the map, his skull aching.
 Loose arms drape around his waist and he feels her press against his back, her body melting into
his. Jon sighs regretfully, untangling himself from her embrace.

“What is it?” Missandei purrs.

Jon moves around the table, viewing the map at a different angle. Only then does he lift his head,
to see that she has parted her robe already, nipples stood in attention, the smooth skin of her
chocolaty stomach open to his tired eyes. Jon closes his eyes. “What is this?” he asks gruffly.

Missandei smiles shyly. “Just trying to get your mind off of some troubling thoughts, my King.”

“I thought you understood,” Jon speaks, forcing himself to sound calm and not angry. “What we
had…it cannot continue. Not here.”

Missandei hides her hurt well, but he sees it anyway in her quick fingers working to strap her cloth
around her once more. “You are not marrying anyone yet. We could still go on. A few more
nights, perhaps.”

Jon shakes his head, looking away from her.

“What is it?” Her voice gives away her slight annoyance. “Are you ready to marry the Northern
girl who calls herself a Queen?”

Jon realises he is not going to do much work here tonight, not with Missandei around. “You
should get back to sleep,” he suggests dryly, walking past her, leaving her alone.

He nods at his guards and on his way to his chamber, he passes next to the Northern women’s
room. Just in time, due to the aperture of the unclosed door, he sneaks a view of the Northern
Queen wearing a very thin robe – one of those he had sent for her and her sister – with her silver
hair damp, thrown across one shoulder to be dried. So young, his first thought is. She is still so
young, yet she speaks with horrors that felt like they were born within her from decades ago. He
stares, unashamed for a second, before he realises what he’s doing and how creepy it would look
if she glances up and spots him. Shaking his head to himself, Aegon Targaryen retires to his own
chamber.

Chapter End Notes

2 things about this chapter:

1. sorry rickon fans (if real fans of rickon stark exist i'll be shockedt), but he won't be
in here. ned's children: arya, bran, robb, sansa and dany.

2. yes the name 'jon' does exist in this story and the reason behind it will come to light
in the future. but his povs will be written using jon, while dany knows him only as
aegon.

the updates to this story will be sporadic. it really depends on when i feel like writing
this haha. let me know your thoughts as always! :D
 two
Chapter Notes

so, i decided to switch up a little detail and have jon possess violet eyes while dany
will have stark grey eyes. i just wanted jon to at least have one valyrian feature and
same for dany with a stark one. anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. x

The first time Arya Stark sees King Aegon Targaryen, the Seventh of his name, she is surprised
by his looks. Firstly, she expected an old man. Really old. Old Nan once told her a brief tale about
Aerys Targaryen and Arya remembers picturing him as a wrinkling man with bright grey hair.
Targaryens were always believed to possess an otherworldly beauty but old age would spare no
one so, she believed Targaryens would suffer the same consequences as everyone else and would
appear ugly with age.

But Aegon is not old. No. Older than her, for sure, but if she has to pinpoint an exact age, she
would say he is about the same age as Dany. The other feature that has her flabbergasted at first
sight, or lack of the feature thereof, is the silver hair. Why is his hair dark and not pale?

Arya looks around her. They’re alone at the beach. They’ve set foot on the island a little less than
a moon ago and Arya has woken up everyday since to take a walk along the lengthy shore,
admiring the waves, enjoying the tranquillity and wishing distantly to return home. In none of her
walks did she ever encounter the King. In fact, she’s only ever come across an Unsullied guard
going in the caves on the side of the island the previous morning and that was about it for human
interactions on her early walks. Nobody rises so early, that’s why she made sure to choose this
instant to wander around. The mining of dragonglass hasn’t even begun yet. Dany was still
snoring in an indecently loud manner when Arya left their chamber.

So why is the Targaryen King awake and staring at the ocean, in deep reflection?

Arya considers turning around and walking away. It would be the right thing to do. She hasn’t
met Aegon properly yet and Dany has warned her not to, afraid of what Arya might say if not
under supervision. And even if it annoys her, Arya has obeyed Dany’s words without question.
But today feels different. She feels propelled to Aegon – a sudden wish to approach him, talk to
him, know what’s so great about this King, what makes him different from the Mad King or
Cersei or all these rulers that only brought blood and torture to these lands. Is he any different? If
not, why do his people follow him so loyally?

Perhaps she’s stepped on broken coral pieces which caused a disturbance to be heard because the
next second, Aegon’s head snaps in her direction, freezing her from head to toe. They blink at
each other. He looks at her up and down—not the undermining manner men usually looked at a
girl of her height and size with but in genuine curiousness. Understanding washes over his face.
“Arya Stark of Winterfell,” he says in a deep voice.

Arya bows her head. “Your Grace,” she says sweetly. Ha. Wish Dany was here to see this perfect
curtsy I just did.

“I believe we haven’t got the chance to meet,” he says smoothly, just as a loud wind unfurls
around them, shuffling his charcoal hair in all directions. Aegon looks up and smiles. “It’s going to
rain soon.”
rain soon.”

Arya knows that. She misses the rain. She wants to feel it on her skin again, rather than the snow.
“I was just heading back inside,” she offers as answer, unsure of how to resume the conversation.

“Let me walk you in, then,” Aegon proposes, much to her surprise.

Stifling a frown of confusion, she nods and waits for him to join her. When he does, she cannot
help but look down at his armour and the knives on his belt.

“I suppose your sister’s around here,” Aegon says as they walk.

“Dany? Oh. No. She’s still sleeping,” Arya responds.

Aegon quirks an eyebrow. “So, a little girl like you is on her own on the beach of an island she
doesn’t know without any weapons?”

Arya clamps her mouth shut, biting back any retort. You need his help. Don’t fuck this up. “I
suppose I’ve put my trust in you, Your Grace.”

Aegon smiles, clearly not buying it. “Are you enjoying your stay here?”

“I am. This island is very beautiful.” And Arya is not even lying. Even the dragonglass cave is a
sight for sore eyes. Maybe one day when all the wars are won she could come back here.

“And your sister? Is she enjoying the place as well?”

Arya nods. “I believe she is.”

“It’s hard to tell. She doesn’t speak a lot, does she?”

Arya sends a sideways glance in his direction. Is he trying to get a good measure of his enemy? Or
is he, for some reasons, actually only curious about Dany? Arya decides to assume the worst
rather than the best. “She is not a woman of many words,” Arya declares, closing any door for
more questions about Dany’s personality.

“Nor of many smiles.”

Now, Arya wants to say something. Badly. Why should this Targaryen King be concerned about
her sister’s smiles? Is this a new tactic of his—playing nice or even ‘flirting’ to get Dany to hand
over the North? Arya knows her sister would never do such a thing, she knows Dany is smarter
than Aegon and she will absolutely never agree to bend the knee. But still, Aegon’s comment irks
her. They’ve come all this way to seek his help in a life-or-death battle and here he is, speaking of
Dany’s lack of small talk and smiles. “My apologies, Your Grace,” she drawls, close to snapping,
“But winter’s here. And there’s not much to smile about.” Maybe if you got your ass out of this
island and witnessed what Dany and I saw, you’d know why smiles are so rare.

Aegon halts. “I did not mean to offend,” he says.

Arya blinks in surprise. Did she expect Aegon Targaryen to sound apologetic, out of all things?
No. She was half anticipating for him to snap at her or to ask her to not talk back to him. Earlier,
she even thought for a fleeting second that he might feed her to his dragons. “You did not offend
me,” Arya finds herself saying rapidly, “I meant what I said. There’s not much to smile about in
this world.”

Aegon stares at her, as if trying to depict what she is trying to tell him.
Arya helps him out with that. She holds the King’s gaze, deciding to be strong. “Dany has seen a
lot. And so have I. My sister is strong and good. And she doesn’t lie. If you could trust someone,
it would be her. She was not kidding about the Night King.”

Aegon blinks out of his momentary daze of trying to understand Arya and his features form a
blankness she assumes is equal to dismissal. He still doesn’t believe us. Arya nods once and
begins walking away.

“Dany,” Aegon says loudly enough for her to hear, having to speak louder than the singing of the
crashing waves. “She is not a Stark. How come she is the Queen in the North? And not Sansa
Stark – your sister?”

Arya does not turn back to him. “Because we chose her.”

She lets him wonder about her curt answer.

“King Aegon invites you to dinner tonight.”

Dany keeps her hand on the door handle, staring down at Tyrion Lannister suspiciously. “On
what occasion?” she inquires.

Tyrion smiles. “Welcoming you.”

“We arrived a long time ago.”

Tyrion sighs but his smile remains. “Dany, don’t make this difficult. He’s trying to trust you here.
He’s trying his best, might I say. Aegon’s not usually a very patient person. But for you to intrigue
him enough to have him let you stay here, without any promise on your part for an alliance…it
should mean something. At least it should get you to try to understand him too.”

“Intrigue him?” Dany deadpans. “I couldn’t care less about intriguing your King. Am I some sort
of entertainment for him?”

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “You’re taking my word out of context.”

“I forgot. It must’ve been a figure of speech.”

“What would it take for you to ally yourself with him? Is he so bad?”

“I don’t know him,” Dany says heatedly. “I don’t know anything about him or what makes him
different from the Targaryens who’ve reigned with terror and bloodshed. I came here for my
people. I came here for the dragonglass, I came here hoping he’d prove to be different and at least
believe in what I had to say.”

“He offered you the dragonglass,” Tyrion tries. “He has men working with you to forge weapons
from it. What have you offered him in return?”

This shuts Dany up.

Behind her, Arya asks, “What does he want?”

“Ah. I forgot about Arya. Bring your sister as well,” Tyrion suggests. “He is not a bad person.
You trust me, don’t you?”
Dany reluctantly moves her head in a nod.

Satisfied, Tyrion adds, “He left you both dresses to wear for the dinner.”

When Dany shuts the door, Arya is behind her, arms crossed over her chest, a scowl on her face.
“I’m not wearing a dress!”

She won’t come.

Jon doesn’t understand why that thought induces so much disappointment. Perhaps because he
took the first step, he put his pride aside and allowed her to mine the dragonglass, allowed her and
her sister to roam the island freely instead of treating them as real prisoners. Perhaps because he
feels stupid for behaving so…softly with her because she is a woman. Perhaps because he
believed that she’d come tonight and maybe, maybe she’d even show her gratitude by bending the
knee.

The chair next to him being pulled back brings Jon back to reality, in the busy hall, where food is
being eaten and warm laughter is being shared among soldiers. Missandei takes the seat next to
him, purposely brushing her fingers against his under the table.

He takes a look at her and sees a faint smile on her face. The wine has loosened him up and while
Jon may be a King, he is still a man. Missandei is gorgeous. “You look beautiful tonight,” he
whispers close to her ear, pretending as if he is fetching the salt shaker next to her left hand.

Her smile widens the slightest. “Have you changed your mind about our relationship, my King?”

Jon stares at her for a second before he shakes his head. Crestfallen, she looks away.

When the laughter and chatter suddenly all come to an unnatural end, Jon looks up from his plate
worriedly, wondering what has caused this disruption. His breath is cut short at the sight of the
Queen in the North entering the dining hall, her sister at her side. For only a brief second does Jon
feel relieved, relieved that she at least put in the effort to come, to show him that all the doors for a
possible alliance aren’t shut.

But that feeling is oh so fleeting. Because the next moment, all he can see is her. Arya Stark and
the rest of the room seem to disappear. Without her metal armour and hair pulled up, Dany Snow
looks otherworldly. The black dress is made of Essosi silk but it is conditioned for the cold
temperature, hence it’s thick. It fits her perfectly. Just like I’d imagined. The sleeves are long and
the only part of her skin that is visible through that gown is the V-line down her throat, stopping
just above the valley of her breasts, not failing to bring out her moon-kissed skin. Over her right
breast, she still wears her wolf sigil proudly.

Her striking silver hair falls in wild waves down her back and some in front of her shoulders. Jon
is not only aware that he is staring but that almost all men in the room apart from the Unsullied are
doing the exact same thing, which is to be expected. When Jon finally looks at her face, he notes
that the looks are obviously making her uncomfortable, indicated by the light crease between her
brow.

He stands up to greet her. “My lady,” Jon greets loudly, causing everyone to get back to their own
business. “I’m glad you’ve decided to join us tonight.”

Dany meets him halfway, her eyes rapidly sweeping him up from toe to head. Really rapidly and
Jon can’t tell what she thinks of him. “Your Grace,” she says. “May I present to you my sister,
Arya Stark of—”

“We’ve met,” Jon replies with a polite smile.

Dany frowns, looking down at Arya. “You have?” she asks, the question directed at her sister.

Arya shrugs. “Yes.”

Dany blinks. “Oh, well. Thank you for having us.”

Jon can tell she is trying her best to be nice, even if her hands are clasping and unclasping in front
of her. He can’t tell what’s making her so nervous. “I never treat my guests with less respect than I
wish to be treated with.”

He leads Dany to their table, offering her a seat next to him. Arya is next to Tyrion, who, as hard
as he tries to strike a new conversation, fails miserably every single time. Dany is quiet too. She
eats in silence, drinks in silence and mostly, listens in silence.

Tyrion seems to notice how little the Northern girls talk so he pipes in, “Tell us about the North.”

Dany stops mid-chewing and swallows prematurely before telling him, “They were all against the
idea of me coming South.”

“I said the North not Northerners but alright,” Tyrion chuckles. “It’s understandable. Starks don’t
do well in the South.”

“I’m not a Stark,” Dany mumbles, digging in her food.

Is there anything that this enigmatic woman is happy to speak about? Jon has a feeling he won’t
be finding out anytime soon. The rest of the meal drags on as such, with Tyrion speaking and the
rest listening and eating. Afterwards, Dany begins getting up, while Arya already sets off,
departing to their chamber in eager steps.

For some reasons, Jon finds himself standing as well, proposing to lead Dany to her room.

If she is surprised, she hides it well. In the hallway leading to her chamber, Dany turns to Jon and
asks, “have I worn this dress correctly?”

Jon tries not to look at her again. He keeps his eyes ahead and responds, “Yes. Why?”

“I feel like I’ve worn it wrongly,” Dany admits, “These men were staring at me…. I hope I’ve not
offended.”

Jon laughs. He can’t help it. The fact that she thinks the reason she was being stared at was that
she wore the dress incorrectly comes as a shock to Jon.

She seems to take the laughter in a wrong way, frowning to herself. “I should have listened to
Arya and opted to wear something else,” she announces coldly.

“No,” Jon quickly says, “No. I wasn’t laughing at you. And nobody was staring at you because
you wore the dress in an incorrect fashion.”

She looks up at him, dark eyes questioning. Is she really unaware of her beauty? Are Northmen so
oblivious to how divine their Queen is? Or does she always wrap herself in armours made for war,
does she always tie her hair up, hiding its splendour? Jon answers as honestly as he can without
appearing creepy, “I think they found you quite…different in a dress. In a good way, of course.”
Dany’s lips part the littlest in realisation. “Oh,” she says shortly, eyes falling to the floor. Jon
wonders if she normally receives compliments at all in the North. He wonders so much about her
—an unhealthy amount of curiousness about someone he’ll most likely never figure out. They
arrive at her doorstep and she turns to him, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for the meal.”

“You’re most welcome.” He begins to leave.

“Your Grace,” she calls out to him after a beat.

Jon looks back at the silver-haired woman. “Yes?”

She fiddles with her fingers again, as if she doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. “I would
like for you to see the caves before we hack it to bits.”

Taken aback by the offer, Jon manages a nod. “I would like that.”

Dany relaxes and smiles at him before bidding him good night.

That night, when he finds himself helpless in front of her door, she opens it with a grin on her
face. A victorious grin. “I knew you’d come,” Missandei says.

Jon curses himself for his lack of control and he steps inside her chamber, kissing her before she
can even fully shut the door. Missandei mewls against the force of his mouth against hers and he
groans in her mouth, sucking on her lower lip, hands tearing at her clothes.

He is not a weak man. He’s been able to resist her for months now. Months. Even when she’d
throw herself at him, even when she’d make suggestive comments. Therefore, he knows damned
well that Missandei is not the reason he came here tonight. He tries not to think about it, he lets
himself believe that he wants her. Her, the woman in his arms right now. Not her.
 three
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dany awakes with the sun’s first rays, lazily putting her boots on as she uses the back of her right
hand to wipe the soreness from her eyes. Next to her, Arya is still soundly asleep in her bunk. The
silver-haired Queen cannot help a little smile as she looks at her sister. Arya is sprawled on the
mattress, her right knee brought up while her left leg lies flat on the bed and her black hair is all
over her face, a few strands lifting and falling at her mouth where she is breathing in and out
deeply. She looks so at ease here, Dany thinks, this is how she always wants to see her sister. Not
the warrior or the girl who’s never had a normal childhood but this Arya, soft and safe and warm.

Dany allows herself to brush a few strands of hair away from her face and is amused by how
quickly the little girl jolts awake, head shooting up in defence mode. The amusement is short-
lived. She has been through so much, this little warrior of hers, that even a light brush on her skin
is enough to scare her.

“It’s just me,” Dany softly says.

“Oh. You’re awake before me? Gods. Is it really late?”

Dany rolls her eyes. “You act like I wake up decades after you. The sun has only just risen.”

Arya grumbles, swatting Dany’s hand away. “So, you’re awake early then. Why?”

“Going to show the King the drawings in the cave,” Dany answers. She had made the decision
last night over their shared dinner. The reason he doesn’t believe her is because he does not know
her, granted, but he cannot deny the facts if they are laid down in front of him. Aegon cannot look
at those ancient walls and tell her that he doesn’t believe in the dead at all. It’s worth a shot, she
has nothing to lose in showing him the caves.

“Hope that works,” Arya mumbles, shutting her eyes. “Also…consider smiling more.”

Dany pauses the process of buttoning up her grey duvet. “Smiling?” she repeats peculiarly.

“You know, the thing one does with their lips—”

“Arya,” Dany scolds.

The little girl’s lips lift in her sleep. “Aegon thinks you don’t smile a lot. Nor talk a lot.”

Dany thinks that it’s really, really weird for Aegon Targaryen to speak about her smiles. If that’s a
new way to secure allies in the South then she might’ve really underestimated just how bizarre this
part of the world is.

“Noted,” she assures Arya.

“What happened last night cannot happen again,” Jon tells her.

Missandei walks quietly next to him, humming in response.

Jon despises how lightly she is taking his words. But then again, he supposes he didn’t take them
seriously either with what happened yesterday night. But in his head it is clear, it was merely a
moment of weakness. It happens to everyone—even Kings. But he does not want her to assume it
is something else. “You are an important part of my council,” Jon says gently, casting a glance at
the woman at his side. “And trust me, Missandei, you are beautiful. To die for. And were I not a
King, I’d be at your feet any day. But…things are such that nothing can happen between us. In
Westeros, I’ll need allies. And the best way to make alliances is with marriage. Do you
understand?”

To her credit, Missandei takes the news well. She’s never been one to get angry. She’s always
told Jon that she will never be able to repay him enough for having freed her and therefore, she
will never be ungrateful about his decisions, not even if they break her heart. Even now, she keeps
a soft and understanding smile on her face. “Who are you marrying?”

“Maybe no one,” he says quickly.

“Your Grace.”

They both look at the bottom of the stairs where stands Dany Snow. For a moment, a very brief
moment, Jon’s mind pictures her in the dress from the previous night, the material hugging every
curve and plane of her body. Now, she is back in her armour. And he wonders why she even
wore it last night—perhaps only to please him.

“Lady Snow,” he acknowledges. As he begins making his way to her, he notices the shuffling of
the Dothraki men behind him. Jon merely lifts a palm to stop them. “It’s fine,” Jon says in their
mother tongue. “I’ll manage.” He nods to Missandei, dismissing her as well, before he finally
steps down to stand in front of the Northern Queen.

“Your Grace,” she greets again, just as a long piece of silver hair brushes across her face due to
the strong winds. “Last night, I told you about how I’d wish for you to come see the caves before
we take down all the dragonglass.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’ll be most happy to follow you.”

She nods, looking behind him. “Shall we wait for your guards?”

Jon’s lips quirk up. “Why, you’re not planning to kill me, are you?”

Northmen have a sour taste of humour, Tyrion once drunkenly told Jon before he invited the
Queen in the North to their island. It seems like the dwarf’s words were not far from the truth.
Dany only peculiarly stares at him, eyebrows joining in a frown, clearly not understanding the
joke and the attempt to say that he trusts her enough to be in a cave with her, alone. A step in a
possible alliance—a display of trust. But, no. Dany Snow seems confused more than anything.
With an inward sigh, Jon explains, “It was a jest. I don’t think of it necessary to bring my men
along, I’m sure we can handle some alone time…one leader to another.”

With simpler and more professional words, Dany appears to finally comprehend. She nods and
leads the way for Jon to follow. He notes that she hasn’t brought anyone either, which, to the very
least means that she trusts him too…enough not to kill her.

She lights a torch and holds it up as they go into the cave. Just a few feet in, she relays the
flames ti some fixed torches on the walls, the lights mingling to illuminate the darkness around
them. And Jon is in utter awe by the glow of the dragonglass. “All we’ll ever need,” Dany
breathes out, in apparent wonderment as well. “I knew the island had an abundance of it but
this…this is more than I had ever imagined. I have to thank you again.”
Pleased, Jon keeps his eyes on the glass around them as he replies, “I’m glad I could be of some
help to you.” And your weird cause of fighting the ‘undead’, he almost adds but he knows better
than to expect her to follow his sense of humour.

Dany takes a beat. “There’s more I want to show you.” She looks at a narrow pathway down the
cave.

Jon follows her gaze, his brow furrowing. Is there a particular reason this woman wants to lead
him deeper in the caves…all alone…in the dark? Jon is not scared of her but that doesn’t mean he
will let his guards down totally. He still does not trust her with his whole heart, and what does she
want to show him? More dragonglass? Jon subtly touches the sword and knives lining his metal
belt and shrugs. If she is planning some funny thing down there, he will not hesitate to attack, of
that he is sure.

He foolishly trusts the silver-haired Queen once more, keeping a correct distance between them as
they dive further into the endless pit of darkness, the walls closing down on them, tighter and
warmer—until both of his shoulders are brushing against the stone walls and the flames from the
torch in her hand are licking his skin, drawing him closer.

And then they step into a wider room. Where everything is quiet. Eerie. And dark. So dark. “The
dead…is not a story I made up. I wish I had. But it’s not,” she says softly.

Jon’s breath is cut short at the sight of the ghastly carvings on the walls. The flickering lights do
not help in their monstrosity and Jon wills himself to hide his surprise, to hide the chill that goes
down his spine. For the first time since the Queen in the North came on his island, Jon is taking
her seriously. Before that, her words were just meaningless to him and if he is being sincere, her
subtle beauty and mysterious attire were the only things that intrigued him. Now…it all seems so
real. He looks at her. This time, he looks past her stony face and past everything he wonders about
her journey—he looks at the woman who came here for her people. He sees only sincerity. He
exhales shakily, returning his attention to the drawings. “This was before…all of us. Before
Lannisters and Starks and Targaryens.” He pauses. “Before men.”

“No.” Her voice is steely cool as she approaches him. Jon instinctively starts to bring his hand to
his sword belt…just in case she is trying something. But she only brushes against his shoulder to
show him something else. “They were here with the First Men.”

Jon cannot believe what his eyes are witnessing. Ancient drawings of something he believed to be
mythical. He turns to Dany, with a newfound goal. “I wouldn’t have believed you,” he starts,
“And part of me is still sceptical. You cannot blame me, after all. I’ve dealt with enemies but I
haven’t encountered…dead enemies.”

“You have dragons,” she points out, meeting his eyes fiercely. “Northmen laughed when I read
the scroll Tyrion sent me to them. It was not in front of me but I know my men. They were
laughing at the idea of dragons even existing, yet, you have three large dragons flying over us
right now. People believe what they want to believe. Trust me, I didn’t believe dead men were
roaming around either. I saw them. Northerners won’t believe dragons until they see them. And
you…you won’t believe in white walkers until you see them.” She takes a step forward, more
daring than she should be. “Come with us North. See them for yourself and decide who is the
bigger enemy.”

“I will come with you to the North. I will fight with you. For the North, for all of our people.” Jon
stops because the look on her face is the closest thing to hope he’s ever seen on this woman. Her
dark eyes seem to capture every flame in the torch and create their own source of light. She steps
forward, again, unconsciously, and Jon wonders what she would do if he closes the remaining
distance between them. Before he forgets where he was going with this, he finally finishes:
“When you bend the knee.”

And the light on her face turns into shadows once more. “You don’t understand,” she says in
exasperation. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…they won’t accept you as their King. They don’t know you. I don’t know you. No one
will accept a Southern ruler after all that happened, after all they have suffered.”

Jon hides the bitterness he feels about her words. “Have I been anything like my father to you?
Have I treated you with less respect than what you deserve in the past weeks? Have I been a
horrible ruler? I could’ve sent you away the moment you stepped in that Throne Room and
refused to bend the knee. I didn’t have to give you dragonglass or men to work in this cave with.
But I did.”

Dany sighs, looking away from him. Jon exhales, as well. They’ll never agree. On anything. He
doesn’t see why he is even bothering. “Your sister told me they chose you,” Jon adds lastly, “If
the person they chose, their Queen, chooses someone else…don’t you think they will respect it
and follow you?”

As answer, she only steps away from him and says that they should leave—before the torch burns
out.

Aegon Targaryen appeared lethal the first time she saw him on his throne. He wore red and black,
on that day, his Targaryen armour as fiery as the warriors she forged in her mind while listening to
Old Nan’s stories as a little girl. And while Dany thought of those warriors as possessors of
blazing silver hair, Aegon’s black hair only made him more regal. Black hair accentuated by pale
eyes—a combination she never thought would be this tantalising to the eyes.

Back to her point, Dany thought that Aegon would burn her alive the moment she opened her
mouth. She thought he would be another Mad King, that he’d scream and traumatise everyone.
Instead, despite his tenebrous appearance, the Throne Room was filled with normal arguments,
just one leader to another. He wasn’t violent in his words, his advisors did not look terrified of him
– if anything, she would later learn that they worship their King – and Aegon did not terrorise her
with harshness. He was cold during their first meeting, yes, and even deeply annoyed perhaps but
he wasn’t angry. He treated her politely. In fact, he’s treated her as such so far.

But this…this is what an angry Aegon Targaryen looks like.

With Tyrion’s news welcoming them after their fruitless cave expedition, Aegon snaps. He lets
out a side of him she’s never seen before. Targaryen anger, some would say, is not something you
want to witness in a lifetime. His voice seems to swallow up every sound on the beach upon
which they’re standing, it seems to ring and silence the whole world; the waves and birds’
chirping alike. He towers over Tyrion, all teeth and growls. “Our enemies?” He roars. “Your
family, you mean.”

Dany winces at his tone, at the loudness of his words. To her horror, her heart has begun
accelerating. She suddenly realises that what she said earlier is still true—she doesn’t really know
him. What if the nice pretence falls away after today and unveils the monster underneath? She
feels anxious and out of place here, on the sand, with Aegon and his council. Missandei has her
head bowed, Varys is listening intently and Tyrion looks offended.
Dany should be with Arya. She should be far from this. She should be in the caves, working with
the men that just went in after they left.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion mutters, “I’m just suggesting that a clever plan would be to—”

“Enough with clever plans,” Aegon decides. “I have three dragons. I’m not going to sit here and
do nothing but think of clever plans with you. I’m losing the war. I’m losing allies. I am losing,
period. And if I do nothing now, it will be too late.”

Dany awkwardly shifts on her feet, staying small and quiet. Aegon’s advisors exchange looks,
concerned and judging looks. The Targaryen King doesn’t miss the swapping of gazes. He glares
at Tyrion. “Or do you have a better idea?” he asks, in a threateningly calm voice.

Tyrion opens his mouth but all that leaves is an exhale of defeated breath.

Aegon clenches and unclenches his fists. “That’s what I thought.” He looks at Varys, at
Missandei. “Does anyone have a better idea?” While he still does sound menacing, it now seems
as if he is genuinely asking for any advice, as if he is looking for a reason not to go. When his
eyes find Dany’s, she holds her breath in anticipation. “Do you?”

She blinks. Do I? Logically, she should say nothing. So, she follows her mental instincts and
shakes her head.

The glimmer of disappointment in his pale irises is shocking to her. Does he want her advice?
After all their disagreements—does he still want to hear her input?

“You don’t?” he continues, staring her down. “As Queen in the North, as the leader your people
chose…you’ve nothing to say?”

“It’s not my place to say something,” she answers.

Aegon’s eyes flash. “You don’t want to help me, do you? You still think of me as the Mad King’s
son. And you’re afraid that if you say anything, you’ll be guilty of being a helping hand in a
horrible man’s pursuit to victory.”

Dany doesn’t know what to say. Why he sounds so…upset that she does not want to offer her
opinion, she has no idea. But she feels the need to defend herself. “At the very least, I think you’re
better than Cersei. But if you use your dragons to burn cities to the ground then, yes, forgive me
Your Grace but you won’t be any different from your father.”

Tyrion’s lips thin in disapproval. Dany realises how idiotic it was of her to basically insult
Aegon’s plan on his beach while he is already furious only after she’s already said the words. And
she who always classified Arya as the impulsive one…. She squares her shoulders. It’s too late to
take them back. Uncertainly, she continues, “I think I should leave—”

“You are staying,” Aegon states. “I’m not going to lose more allies. Probable allies.”

“I meant,” Dany says, “I should go back to mining. They’re waiting for me.”

She is of no use here, with Aegon and his advisors, especially if all she is saying is going to be
taken in the wrong way.

Aegon tears his gaze from her and Dany takes a good look at everyone before nodding and
walking away, knowing she is better at using her hands to sculpt swords than her mind to plan
strategies in a game of thrones.
“He doesn’t want us for dinner tonight.”

“No.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“There is no particular reason?”

“No.”

“Dany, you’re shit at lying. Did anyone tell you that?”

Dany undoes the rest of her braid and flicks all of her hair behind her shoulders, her fingers
working to massage her scalp. Behind her, Arya is on her bed, one leg propped on her other knee,
a knife forged from dragonglass in her hand. She is playing with the blade, flicking it, tossing it.
Dany had it custom-made for her. It was the first thing she had fabricated out of the dragonglass
they obtained thus far, an instinctive move to make sure that at least Arya has some sort of
protection lest they don’t get to mine more of the glass.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Dany lies, putting all of her pins aside.

“I’ve heard rumours that he plans to burn down the Red Keep and the whole city afterwards. I
was right. He is the Mad King’s son, isn’t he?”

“He won’t do that,” Dany finds herself saying.

“Ha! So you know what’s happening here. Did you say something? Does he hate us now?”

“Why do you care so much about having dinner with him?” Dany inquires, rolling her eyes. “You
were complaining about it last night.”

“Well, the food was better for one. And secondly, I just don’t want to be in the new Mad King’s
blacklist. Gods know how long until he goes mad enough and decides to burn us too like Aerys
did to our unc—”

“Stop doing that,” Dany cuts her off, getting up.

Arya meets her gaze. “What? Calling him the Mad King? Reminding you that coming here was a
bad idea?”

“Yes. That’s what I did earlier. I insinuated that he wasn’t different from his father and…and I feel
bad.”

Arya snorts. “You feel bad? Why? Maybe it’s the truth for all we know. Seven hells. You are
beginning to sound like Sansa, when she was swooning over Joffrey and could not see him for the
monster he was.”

“And maybe it's not the truth,” Dany replies. She shakes her head. “It’s unfair. He’s given us no
reason to doubt him or his intentions yet. And he is nothing like Joffrey, I know that.”

“While you’re at it, you might as well go talk to him and get to know him and his intentions a bit
better, since you’re so convinced that he’s ‘different’,” Arya suggests sarcastically.

“Actually,” Dany decides, breaking away from her sister’s scowling face, “That’s what I plan to
do.”

Two knocks on his door are what distract Jon from his reading session. He closes the book and
sets it aside on his table before going to his door, wondering who could be disturbing him at such
an odd hour.

A Dothraki guard stands in front of him, displeasure etched on his brow. “The Northern lady
wishes to see you,” Vorro says in his native language.

Dany is shielded from Jon’s eyes but he sees her feet behind Vorro’s. Jon nods. “Let her in,” he
says.

“I should stay here. Who knows what funny tricks she wants to try?”

“I said it’s fine,” Jon argues.

Vorro curtly nods before allowing Dany inside.

She has changed into a white tunic, which only seems appropriate for sleeping. Jon doesn’t let his
gaze wander south of her body. Instead, he moves aside and asks her to enter, which she does
hesitantly. “You speak Dothraki so fluently,” she remarks as greeting.

Jon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question the bizarre conversation starter. “I lived with them for
a while…while my sister was married off to Khal Drogo. It was more than enough to learn their
language and their sword skills.”

“They aren’t exactly the nicest people, are they?”

“They’re harsh, yes. Their way of life is different but with time, they treated me like one of them.
A part of me is a part of them,” Jon says.

She nods. “That’s how you got them to follow you? I heard they’re only loyal to their khal but
here they are….”

“That’s a story for another time,” Jon offers.

She blinks. And looks away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I just…didn’t know what to tell you,”
she admits.

He frowns. “Why are you here?”

“About earlier,” Dany justifies, “I meant to say that…I think your people believe in you because
they’ve seen that you made something impossible happen. They know you can make wonders,
they believe in you for that. You asked me for advice and I didn’t give you because you’re right, I
don’t really know you and I don’t know whether you’re different or not. But I want to believe it.
Don’t burn down cities to the ground…don’t be like the rest of them.”

“I thought about it,” Jon admits, “And instead, I am going to meet the Lannister soldiers on the
field. But I appreciate you coming here with your advice. I thought about it and you were right, I
have to be different from my father if I want people to forget him entirely.”

"Meet them on an open field...with Dothraki and dragons."

Upon seeing the look on her face, he licks his lips and observes, “You’re not sure how you feel
 about that.”

“No.”

“Wars can’t be won without fighting,” Jon says. “You’ve never had to fight a battle before? One
that you wish you didn’t have to fight but you had no choice?”

Her eyes meet his, as if he’s read her mind. She nods slowly.

“Strength is terrible,” Jon tells her, “sometimes.” Carefully, curiously, he adds, "How did you
become Queen in the North?"

“A story for another time,” she responds.

Jon chuckles slightly. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he announces.

“So soon?” Dany sounds surprised. “No…preparations needed?”

Jon cracks a smile. “Drogon’s getting ready. I only need to follow his lead.”

“Aren’t you a little bit afraid of what could happen? You being on a dragon…if anything goes
wrong, if he falls you fall too.”

If Jon didn’t know better, he would think that she even sounds slightly concerned about his safety.
He brushes the thought away, he is reading too much into it. “I trust my dragons more than I trust
anyone in my life,” he answers.

Dany looks at him. He knew what she was going to ask before she even does. “Where…how did
you get them?” Before he can give her an answer, Dany shakes her head negatively. “It’s none of
my business. I apologise, Your Grace.”

“Tell you what,” Jon declares reflectively, “when I come back, I’ll tell you all about what you
want to know.”

Dany Snow looks at him, confused. “Oh?”

“In exchange, maybe you’ll tell me a story or two about how you became Queen in the North. It is
only fair for us to get to know each other, since you will be here for a while, don't you think?”

To his bewilderment, instead of seeming perplexed by his humour, instead of gazing at him with
her naturally stoic face, Dany’s lips quirk up. Just a bit. Enough for him to see, enough for it to be
considered an almost smile. “I think you are right, Your Grace.”

Chapter End Notes

reviews are most welcome x

 four
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dany has only ever worried about two persons in her life. Well, most of her life anyway. In the
past—back when she was a child, she does admit the list was longer. She worried about Ned
every time he went hunting, afraid her father would not return, would get stuck in a storm or eaten
by a bear. Despite the temperament of the Stark woman and her lack of affection towards the
silver-haired infant, Dany had worried about Catelyn, too. About her health and mental state,
especially when Ned was gone. She thought of Catelyn often when she was in King's Landing,
she imagined what the wife and mother must have been going through.

She worried about Robb. Her brother, her best friend. Although she is fairly sure it was also the
other way around. And how could she forget little Bran and his beautiful and lively smile?

But when her life hastily switched, from living with the Starks to living with the Lannisters, from
sword fighting with Robb to watching Joffrey order people to torture Sansa as a sickening form of
entertainment, from watching Arya and Sansa bicker lovingly to watching the two sisters barely
eat, sleep or speak with one another…when all of that happened, Sansa and Arya became her only
concern.

She knew she was going to get them out of King’s Landing. One way or the other. Hells, she did
not care if they’d have her head for it. Let them. Let them put her head on a spike and cheer her
death, she was going to save her sisters. She was ready to die, ready to defy the Old Gods and the
New for it. She could not stand watching them lose a bit of their mind and soul every day. Even if
her own mental health was deteriorating, Dany could not care less, what mattered to her was that
she could bring her sisters back home.

And then the night before Ned’s execution came and her father requested to speak with her in
private. That night would forever be engraved in her memory, forever inked in every neuron in
her brain.

Ned had looked so tired; so exhausted. So not the father she had in Winterfell. Somehow, she
knew that Ned knew what was coming. Instead, he held her tightly and looked her in the eyes,
“Promise me, Dany,” he whispered, “Promise me you’ll look after them.”

She did not need to ask about whom he was speaking.

She had frantically nodded, her eyes wide. She wanted to ask about her mother, about her life but
she could not. She wiped at her father's tears and he embraced her close to his chest and he
promised her, in turn, that they would all survive this and then, he would tell her all she ever
wanted to know.

Young she was but that day, she felt like the world rested on her shoulders. Ned’s words to her
never left her soul. And as they cut his head, as Dany watched with her bare eyes when the sword
sliced through his skin like a mere doll, the words became a mantra in her head.

Promise me, Dany…. Sansa was frantically crying, screaming her heart out…. Promise me, Dany.
Arya was in Dany’s arms, struggling to break free, angry tears through her eyes as she whimpered
and screeched. Promise me, promise me, promise me….

“If I didn’t know you well,” a voice says, “I would think you are worried for his safety as much as
I am.”

Dany whirls around, finds Tyrion standing there, wind in his hair, his gaze inspecting her. She
returns her eyes to the edge of the cliff, to the sky. No sign of a dragon. She frowns to herself.
“You don’t know me well and I am not worried for his safety.”

“Ah, yet you know of whom I speak.”

Dany rolls her eyes. “Who else would you be talking about?” Over the days, she’s found herself
growing tired of Tyrion and his wordplay. He would come to the caves, would not offer a helping
hand, would watch her and her men bleed and sweat while carving the dragonglass out and the
only thing he’d do was crack jokes that annoyed everybody. Except himself. Tyrion seemed to
honestly think he was helping with the ambiance.

“Well, if you were to be worried…you should be for the Lannister soldiers.” Tyrion’s voice
quietens. “They’ve no bloody clue what’s about to befall them. Or, may I correct myself, what has
already befallen them.”

“You think the fight’s over?”

“He charged on them with a dragon twice the size of their army. The fight is over and won, I’m
willing to bet.”

An unbidden, perturbing little voice in her head asks: Then, where is he?

Dany may deny it as much as she wants but the extraordinary view of the crashing waves and
flock of birds colouring the skies with their wings are not the only reasons she’s come to this spot
every single day. She is not looking up at the birds—she is looking up in hopes to find a dragon.
Gods, am I worried for the safety of a Targaryen King I barely know? She feels so foolish,
shaking her head as if this would physically drag those ridiculous thoughts away from her mind
once and for all.

“How’s the dragonglass mining going?” Tyrion asks.

“Good. We have plenty of it already,” she answers.

“Does that mean we’re approaching your departure?”

Dany blinks. “Yes. Yes, it does. But I suppose I’ll have to wait for the King’s return.”

“No, you don’t. Aegon doesn’t have you as a prisoner here. You shall leave if you wish, I will
speak with him,” Tyrion says.

She faces him again. “Really?”

Tyrion nods once, slowly. “I’ve told you. I don’t believe many people. Less women. But you are
one of the rare people I trust and believe. Whatever you saw beyond the wall…I know it’s not a
myth. If you have to go, don’t worry about Aegon. He is not his father, he will understand. I will
make him.”

Her mouth forms words of thanks she does not voice out. She can leave. She has the dragonglass.
The North is safe. And Aegon…he might be dead somewhere, or he might be returning today or
in weeks. She should be happy, she knows Arya will be.

“So, what do you say?”

Dany finds herself hesitating. She has no idea why. Frustrated with herself and the sudden
indecisive nature of her mind that she blames on tiredness, she shakes her head. “I’ll think about it.
Still, thank you.”

Tyrion does not hide his stupefaction. “You’ll…think about it? You don’t wish to get the hell out
of here?”

Dany doesn’t know what to say, since his question is valid. “I just need some time to think,” she
repeats, “I don’t want to…anger Aegon. And my men have worked day and night mining,
perhaps they could use some days off in the sun on this lovely island.” She licks her lips and as an
afterthought, she adds, “And please, do not mention this proposal to my sister Arya.” She knows
Arya will not take a second to think, that she will want to leave right then, right there.

“I’m a bit confused,” Tyrion mumbles. “You want to stay?”

“Just until the King’s return,” Dany says, “You might speak with him but who’s to say that he
won’t be mad that I left? I’d rather be on the safe side and not have any King plotting against the
North after my departure.”

Tyrion eyes her as if he is seeing an otherworldly creature. Dany maintains a straight face but she
is not so sure she sounds sane herself. The dwarf offers a half-hearted shrug. “As you wish.” He
nods once. “I’ll see you at supper?”

“Yes, my lord,” Dany answers, facing away from him.

Tyrion doesn’t believe her reason for staying, that part is obvious. She stares at the blue sky again,
her mind blank.

She doesn’t believe herself either.

Aegon Targaryen returns hours later, when Dany is taking a bath. It’s not hard to notice the
presence of a dragon. Quietness is replaced by loud roars and bellows, amplified sounds
which shake up the tub in which she is found. Her eyes snap open, her body still plunged under
hot water. Arya barges in the bathroom, her eyes wide. “He’s returned,” she announces, not
caring one bit about her sister’s nakedness.

Dany tries to appear impassive, unimpressed. But she fails miserably and almost jumps out of the
bathtub, her feet slippery on the floor. Calming herself down, she requests Arya to bring her a
towel and her tunic. She tells herself that she doesn’t care about Aegon himself but more about
telling him that she needs to go home. Yes, that is the sole reason her heart is capering in her chest
at the idea of seeing him again after so many days.

She leaves the bath and her room with Arya at her side. Her sister seems more collected than her.
Dany and Arya wind their way through doors and hallways, at last reaching the main entrance of
the castle. From afar, they spot the Dothraki and the Unsullied, all surrounding the large dragon on
the cliff upon which Dany was standing hours ago.

Dany swallows as she trails after Arya. It doesn’t help that the men are all huge and tall, shielding
Aegon from her. Is he safe? Is he hurt? Is he alive? When her stomach drops, she does not
question it. She only walks faster and faster until she reaches the mass of people. Dany lifts herself
on her toes, her head craning up to get a better view of the King.

“Ask them to disperse,” Arya hisses, “You’re a Queen.”

Dany is about to clear her throat and make her presence known but it’s useless as she hears a loud
and clear, familiar voice ordering the crowd away. “I’m fine,” Aegon shouts. “And tonight, I’ll let
you know all about the battle.”

“Are they defeated, my King?” A man asks and the crowd shares noises of agreement, all
wondering the same thing.

Aegon pauses for dramatic effect. “They are.”

Dany stands straight as the people around her wave their weapons and hurrah for their King’s
victory and their enemy’s defeat. When they begin moving away, while still shouting his name
with all their might, she still does not budge. Until finally, she gets a clear sight of said King,
standing in all of his glory next to his dragon.

Arya tenses next to her sister. “Maybe we should go,” she mumbles, staring at Drogon with wide
eyes.

But Aegon sees them and to both of their surprise, smiles. “Arya Stark,” he greets with a polite
nod, his eyes lingering longer on Dany, “And Dany Snow. How have you two been?”

How have we been? You were the one at war! Dany ignores her incredulous subconscious and
instead, answers, “We have been just fine. And you?”

He pauses, as if looking for a good word. Apparently failing to do so, he settles for, “Good.”

Arya startles when Drogon shrieks before leaping upwards, flapping his large wings as he goes,
subsequently causing the winds around them to strengthen. Dany watches the dragon in awe.
Everything about him fascinates her, from his scales to his fire-breathing mouth. She’s seen a
dragon in her lifetime…not one, actually, but three. Three fucking dragons. If she dies, she’ll do
so without regrets.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Aegon asks, noticing how she’s watching Drogon.

“Aye,” she answers absent-mindedly, “Not the word I’d use but yes, he’s a gorgeous beast.”

“A beast,” Aegon deadpans, “He’s not a beast to me.”

Taken aback, Dany begins to correct herself but her sister clears her throat. “Your Grace,” Arya
says, “We’re glad you’re back to safety but…we were wishing to discuss our departure from
Dragonstone.”

“Departure?” Aegon demands, eyes moving to Dany. “You never told me about a departure.” She
is suddenly brought back to their conversation in his room before he left. When he’d told her that
they’d exchange stories of the past once he’d come back…. She was not thinking straight, she was
momentarily distracted by her curiousness about him, momentarily swayed by his pale eyes and
the soft curl of his lips. They don’t have time for that.

“We’ve gathered enough dragonglass,” she tries. “Arya is right. We should get going.”

Aegon stares at her. “Can I have a moment alone with your sister, Lady Stark?” he inquires, his
eyes never flickering from Dany’s.

Dany keeps her chin high as Arya nods, bowing before she leaves. Dany only breaks off the
staring contest to watch her sister disappear and then, she looks back at the Targaryen King. He is
approaching her. “You want to leave?” he asks, his soft voice sounding accusatory.
Dany has no idea why she wants to justify herself. She is a Queen, she can do as she pleases!
Instead, like a stupid maiden girl, she licks her lips and explains, “We have to.”

Aegon’s lips twitch. “Does that mean you do not wish to?”

“No,” she blurts out.

“No, you don’t want to or no, you want to go?”

Dany looks away from him. Gods, he is unnerving. “No, I need to do what’s right,” she states.

“That was hardly one of the options,” he says, his voice light and playful.

“You don’t believe me about the dead, that’s fine. But I need to go. With or without you.” She
emphasises on ‘with’.

“I want to believe you,” he offers.

She sighs silently. Then do.

“I just came back from a battle that killed thousands of men,” Aegon tells her slowly, “I would
like some more time to process everything before losing more potential allies. Perhaps we could
finally talk a bit, like promised.”

So, he still hasn’t forgotten about their conversation. He wants to get to know her…. Dany shifts
footing, not knowing what to do. This is crazy. She is retarding the fight against the dead for what,
a friendship with Aegon Targaryen? But then, more time would mean more mining…and more
dragonglass is never a bad option. And perhaps speaking with Aegon will convince him to help
her, after all. If he comes along, it would change a lot. It would be meaningful—his armies, his
forces, his dragons.

“I suppose my men could use some more rest before we depart,” Dany acknowledges, “And
Arya, too, even if she denies it.”

Aegon shakes his head at her. “You always seem to worry about your sister. Don’t you think you
need a break, too?”

“I can’t take a break knowing that my people are in danger,” she says.

“Will you tell me how you became Queen in the North?”

“Will you tell me how you got your hands on three dragons?”

Aegon smiles. “You never make things easy,” he declares. She doesn’t take it as an insult. He
begins walking and she dutifully follows him. Dany is surprised when he begins explaining, just
like that, as easily as ever, as if speaking about the weather. “My sister Viserya and I were on the
run for quite some time. We had little food, little sleep and little fun trying to escape Robert’s
assassins. One day, when shopping for supplies, we stumbled upon dragon eggs. I know this will
sound stupid but the merchant was claiming they were real eggs from a Targaryen descendent,
found in the ruins of war, that in the lucky hands they could even birth real dragons. It obviously
was just for show and as a bait for clients but I felt something that I can’t explain…like…they
were meant to be mine? I don’t know how to tell you about it—”

“Like they were destined to be with you,” Dany unconsciously finishes for him.

Aegon stops, looks at her. Their eyes meet in a loud crash of understanding, a buzzing feeling
lighting up the air between them. “Yes,” he says. “How do you know that?”

“I found my wolf like that.”

“You have a wolf?” He sounds genuinely intrigued.

“We all did,” Dany answers, thinking of the time she had stumbled upon them. “One for every
Stark and then, one last one, abandoned and away from the others…an outcast. His name is
Ghost.”

“Ghost,” Aegon tests the name. “Perhaps I’ll meet him one day.”

That seems very unlikely, she thinks. “Perhaps.”

“Tell me about Ghost.”

How they begin walking along the length of the beach, she later will not be able to recall. Words
and wind carry them and Dany finds herself talking and talking and talking. It’s a new thing to
her, to open up and tell stories of the past. It hurts her heart as her mind stubbornly flashes pictures
of her deceased family in her mind with every sentence but she can’t stop. There’s something
about Dragonstone and its views, about the screeching of dragons and birds, about the peaceful
crashing of waves and unsettling weight of Aegon’s eyes on her that all collectively drive her to
keep talking.

He listens. He is a King, she thinks, he could interrupt at any time and he could probably find her
tales boring but in that moment, he’s just a young man like her and he takes in every bit of her
story like…a friend would.

So she goes on to tell him about how they found Ghost and the other pups and somehow, she
ends up reminiscing some of the others’ fates as well. That is when she stops talking. If he notices
the abrupt cut, he says nothing of it.

“You’ve grown up with that wolf, then?” Aegon asks quietly.

Dany nods. “He’s always been with me.”

“What happened to your sister’s? Arya’s direwolf?”

“Nymeria is gone. She’s happier now,” Dany answers plainly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Your Grace.”

“I know about what happened to your brother Robb Stark,” Aegon goes on to say, though he
does keep his tone respectfully low and hesitant, indicating he’ll stop if she wants him to. He stops
walking, looks at her. “And Tyrion told me the tale of him marrying your sister and then you all
running away from King’s Landing. But that’s where my knowledge stops. How did you get
away? How…did you go from there to becoming Queen in the North?”

Dany knows he’s curious and she doesn’t blame him. But the story to get to where she is now, on
a beach at Dragonstone before the last surviving Targaryen, is not one she can narrate so quickly.
And a very little part of her still doesn’t know if she really wants to go there. “You haven’t
completed your story about the dragon eggs,” she points out.

Aegon blinks and smiles. “Fair enough,” he answers. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I felt like the eggs
 were meant to be mine. I could not resist it. I bought them.”

“You had enough coins to do so?” Dany asks, surprised.

“Not at all. Viserya was angry. Rightfully so. She was furious I lost everything to meaningless
dragon eggs.” Aegon looks away for a brief instant and Dany sees the darkness behind his pale
eyes, a darkness she can recognise in herself. “I remember that night, she snuck out and came
back later with food. I was dumbfounded, not comprehending how she got her hands on such a
feast, given how I had spent all we had on dragon eggs. She was not speaking to me so she would
not say but later, I found out she sold our—our mother’s crown.” A crack in his voice.

Dany inhales sharply.

“I was as shocked as you are. I hated myself, then, but I could not bring myself to regret the eggs.”
He shakes his head. “And today, I don’t.” He looks up and just in time, his smallest dragon flies
directly over them, the sky a nice contrast to its dark scales.

Dany stares at the dragon for a moment. “How…did they…?”

“Go from ‘fake’ eggs to this?” he supplies with a knowing smile. “That,” he murmurs, “is a story
for another time, don’t you think?”

Dany’s eyes shift from the beast to the setting sun dancing with its last orange rays and realises
that they’ve been here, talking, for hours. “Yes,” she answers abruptly. “We should get going.”

She is still admiring the horizon for one last time before her lungs cease to function briefly at the
feel of soft fingertips on her cheek. Dany freezes, eyes wide, as she stares at the Dragon King. He
is only a foot away from her and there is this furrow between his brow, as if he is deeply
concentrating on whatever he finds on her face. She did not even see him coming near her. He
brushes a strand of silver hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, his fingertips
brushing ever so gently against her skin before realising what he just did. His hand flies away as if
he has come in contact with a disease and he quickly steps away. “I apologise,” he mumbles in a
heartbeat, “I…I don’t know what—”

“It’s fine.” Her voice is shaky. Her heart is pounding. Why did he just do that?

Aegon stares at her and she meets his gaze evenly, hoping her skin is not flush red and that he
can’t hear how loudly her heart is beating which, of course, is irrationally impossible.

Fright, she meekly convinces herself, I was just afraid he was going to hurt me.

In her mind's eye, she can almost see Tyrion's disbelieving eyes judging her once more for lying to
herself.

“I’ll see you at supper, Lady Snow,” Aegon tells her, his voice shaped back like the King he is.

She moves her head. “Aye, Your Grace.”

Chapter End Notes

this is quite a short chapter and is mostly a filler for the next, much longer and more
eventful one. let me know what you think :)
Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!