Last night had been a disaster. He may have been deep in his cups, but he can’t forget the way she looked when he pushed her away or as she begged him not to reveal the truth or even as she left his room for good. They were haunting looks, ones he can’t seem to get out of his mind. He’s sure now that he had ruined everything that had been formed between them.
Now as they stand here planning their next move, she won’t even look at him.
“We'll march down in a month then,” his Queen says, and he quickly looks up at her surprised by this.
“A month?” Sansa asks before he can.
“Yes. The armies need to rest and the Maester recommended that I rest that long as well,” she reveals and he feels panic filling him.
Is she hurt? Is she ill? How had he failed to ask and know about her wellbeing?
“Are you alright?” Tyrion asks, just as confused as he is.
She gives her Hand a soft smile before answering.
“Yes. It’s mostly a precaution at this point, we’ll talk more about it in private,” she says.
Tyrion gives a nod and the man seems to relax at the Queen’s words. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Tyrion will know what’s wrong soon, but he won’t. He lost the right to know.
Before he can fall into a bigger hole of fear and sadness, Varys enters the room and hands Daenerys a note. She takes but a moment to read it before she turns her attention to Sansa.
“Lady Stark, I apologize but it seems we will have a few more guests joining us in Winterfell. I know you’ve been worried about the using of the North’s resources but one of the guests is bringing grain and other resources with him, so you will no longer need to worry about my armies. If you excuse me, I need to go rest and prepare for their arrival,” the Queen announces before turning and leaving the room with her advisors, not once looking at him.
He sighs, preparing to leave, but is stopped by Arya.
“We need to talk,” his youngest sister says.
He sees Sansa also giving him a look that she was not going to let him be.
“Fine but at the Godswood, not here,” he says, walking towards Bran. Both his sisters nod and walk out the room he takes a settling breath before getting ready to push Bran down tot the Godswood.
“Wait,” his brother says.
“What is it Bran?” he asks.
“You don’t have to tell them,” Bran says in his monotone voice.
“They deserve to know the truth,” he says to the second person in a day.
“Maybe, but do they need to know now?”
Do they? He could wait to tell them after Kings Landing is under Dany’s control. Does it really matter?
“I don’t know,” he admits.
“Think of Cersei, of Littlefinger. If they had this information and it would be to their advantage, what would they do?” Bran asks.
“They’d use it against Daenerys and for their own benefit,” he answers without hesitation.
“Keep that in mind when thinking about Sansa, she may be a Stark, but she spent many, many years under their wing,” Bran warns before warging away.
He pushes his brother out of the castle and into the Godswood, where his sisters were waiting.
“What took you so long?” Sansa asks.
“Bran needed to say a few things to me before we came down here,” he excuses.
“And?” Arya asks.
“He warged away before he finished,” he lies, and he can see that surprisingly they believe him.
Before he knows it he begins to be verbally scolded and attacked by his sisters, both of them telling him how bad of a person Daenerys was, really showing how much they hate her.
He can’t tell them. That much is obvious to him. One day, if he can trust them again he’ll let them know the truth. But not now.
So, he just listens and ignores, knowing deep down that he’s right about the type of person Dany is and how good of a queen she is going to be. He’s so focused on this fact that he misses the hint of a smile form on Bran’s face as he returns to them.
A little less than a fortnight passes when the queen’s “guests” arrive.
During that time, she had met and personally talked to every remaining Northern Lord listening to their grievances, their needs and opinions as to what she could do to win Kings Landing and make the life of the North better. She seemed to have won them over, one by one they seemed to realize how different she was to those talks of mad Targaryens and the horrible Kings and Queens of the past few years. He had been happy for her, even if she did not once meet with him or even spoke to him during these two weeks.
He was happy until he spoke to Tyrion and he revealed what these “guests” came here for and what certain sons of Lords had recently spoken about.
“The Queen is expected to marry,” the youngest Lannister told him, gulping down his sixth cup of wine that night. “She needs to make alliances with different houses and marriage is the easiest way to do so.”
Tyrion pauses to refill his cup as he himself tries his best not to explode in rage in front of the dwarf.
“The Prince of Dorne and heir of Highgarden are both coming to try to claim her hand. Some of the Northern Lords have been pushing their son’s forward as well.”
“What does the Queen say about this?” he asks, fighting the tightness in his voice.
The Hand seems to get nervous at this question and downs his cup and refuses to look at him.
“At the end of this, it’s her choice and decision to make,” is all Tyrion says before standing up and leaving him alone.
Today he’s watching as these true born Lords arrive at Winterfell and immediately start charming the Queen. He tries his best to hide his emotions but if Sansa’s glares are anything to go by, he’s failed miserably. As soon as it's acceptable for him to do so he leaves and looks for the closest thing to hit. He’s a bastard, she’s a Queen. What more could he expect?
Except he isn’t. But he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that fact.
This goes on for days.
Throughout his life as a bastard, he’s felt many different emotions. Anger, betrayal, sadness, loneliness and, on their way back to Winterfell, joy and love. Now as he watches from afar as the woman he loves, but shouldn’t, speaks with different men, different suitors, he can’t fight against this horrible feeling growing inside and threatening to ruin his self-imposed separation from her.
He needs to get away, to find some form of peace.
Without even thinking he walks out of Winterfell and walks towards where he knows the dragons rest. He finds Rhaegal there, the poor thing still recovering from his wounds against the night king. The green dragon named after his father lifts his head and makes a chirp of joy at seeing him.
“Hey boy,” he says softly, caressing the scaled head. The dragon begins to purr in satisfaction. “I’m sorry for not coming to visit you sooner, but things between your mother and I…” he sighs, not knowing how to explain these things to a dragon.
But somehow the dragon seems to understand and nudges his head in a comforting manner.
“Do you think we could fly somewhere?” he asks, and all the dragon does is stand up and lower his shoulder to let him climb on.
He does it far easier than he did the first time and settles in before Rhaegal decides to take off. He lets the dragon set the pace and the direction, while he enjoys and cherishes the feeling of flying. Without directing him, Rhaegal still seems to know exactly where he wants to go. The waterfalls soon come into view and surprisingly he sees Drogon on the ground near them.
Upon landing he sees that the dragon is not alone, there, sitting on the ground is Dany and even more surprisingly, Ghost, who is being petted by his queen.
She looks up and the smile she had before fades as she sees him climbing off of Rhaegal.
“My apologies Your Grace,” he says. “I didn’t know Rhaegal was bringing me here.”
“No worries, my Lord. If you need to be alone, I’ll leave,” she answers, carefully standing up.
“NO!” he exclaims, shocking them both. “No, don’t go.”
She nods but looks away from him and goes back to running her fingers through Ghost’s fur.
“He’s a sweet thing. Reminds me of my Dragons when they were younger,” she says.
“Aye, he really is a truly loyal friend,” he says.
“Those are hard to come by my Lord, you have to make sure to keep them close to you,” she says sadness lacing her voice.
“Dany…” he says, and he watches as she grimaces.
“Don’t call me that, please. I…I’m trying to move on, accept that you and I…” she starts with tears filling her eyes.
He’s not sure what to say to that. He's the problem, he knows it. He’s the one who refused her, who's pushed her away. What right does he have now to comfort her? Her suitors have more rights than he does at the moment.
“Are you going to marry one of them?” he needs to ask, having been reminded to the reason he has escaped Winterfell, to begin with.
It takes her a minute; silence surrounds them as she seems to be looking for the best way to answer.
“I’m going to have to marry someone,” she says.
“Do you lo… fancy any of them?” why he's asking and torturing himself he doesn't know.
“It doesn't matter. Being in love or fancying someone has only gotten me hurt. I won’t be making that mistake again,” she answers and he can’t help but grimace knowing he’s at fault for this.
“Then why do it?”
“Alliances. I need to find a husband for stability and security,” she says. “Someone who will be at my side without hesitation, even if it’s just for their egos or personal gain,” she sighs before speaking the final part just above a whisper. “It’s not just me that I have to think about now.”
As she says this, he watches as she moves her hand and lays it upon her abdomen. He feels his heart clench before it shatters.
“Y…you’re…” he can’t even speak.
“It’s the reason the maester told me to wait a month before traveling. Falling from a dragon and fighting the dead… there was a risk of losing the babe… I couldn't go through that again, so I decided to stay; swallow what little pride I have left and stay here a few weeks until the Maester confirmed it was safe to travel.”
Without warning, he walks towards her and places his hands upon her hips.
“You…You’re carrying our babe,” he needs her to confirm it one more time.
She takes his hand and places it on her abdomen.
He kisses her then. Tired of fighting against his emotions. Tired of staying away from her. Tired of watching all those men after her. But above all he’s happy. Beyond happy even. The woman he loved was carrying his child. What she had thought impossible, happened.
She pulls away. Her eyes are full of tears as she takes steps back away from him.
“Dany…” he says taking a step towards her.
“Stop!” she yells. “Stop this right now! I’m trying to move on Jon! I can’t….”
“What?! You’re still thinking about marrying one of those lords?”
“Yes! This babe changes nothing,” she says.
“This babe changes everything!”
“My place is down south. Yours is up here in the North with your family. Nothing about that has changed,” she tells him. “I need a husband at my side down in Kings Landing.”
“So, you would deny me, my child!”
“No! How can you even think that?” she asks indignantly.
“That’s what it seems like!”
“If I wanted to deny you our child, I would not have told you. I would have married the Prince of Dorne and claimed the child his!”
“But you’re still considering marrying him?”
“I have to Jon! I have no other choice!” she takes a settling breath, her hand resting on her abdomen. “Once I reclaim Kings Landing and am crowned, I'll marry whoever the best match is. Our child will want for nothing, that I can assure you. He’ll be a Targaryen; he'll carry my name proudly.”
She wipes a few tears away.
“You’ll be told when he is born and I'll even consider flying somewhere a few times a year to let you see him. Not Winterfell, I know neither of us will be welcomed back here,” she turns to look at him, “He’ll know his father loves him, that he is a man of honor and the dutiful Warden of the North. I promise.”
He doesn’t have an opportunity to answer before she carefully climbs onto Drogon's back and flies away. He stands frozen for a few moments, staring at where moments ago the love of his life, the mother of his child, stood.
At least that’s what Arya says after their sparring session. He’s been sparring more and more since that day at the falls. He can’t get past all his anger, all his grief. He’s brutal to whoever decides to face him in the training yard. One of those times he caught a glimpse of Dany walking around the grounds, her arm interloped with one of the Lords and he saw red. He found the nearest training dummy and destroyed it.
Those Lords aren’t good enough for her. They aren’t good enough to raise his child.
Gods his child.
He would never be a father to him if Dany went south and married one of these Lords. He would have to live the rest of his life knowing that Dany is with another man and his child knows someone else as his father. He can imagine their child learning to walk, saying Papa to another man, learning to sword fight and mount a horse. He also sees Dany smiling at someone in a Sept, growing large with child, completely naked beneath a man moaning out in pleasure…
He finds the closest dummy and destroys it.
“Easy there my Lord. Soon Winterfell won’t have any more of those if you keep it up,” he hears Ser Davos say behind him.
He turns to face his advisor, panting in exertion and rage. There’s a moment that the older man steps back startled but soon his advisor gives him a look of sympathy. And that look does him in.
He sobs. For the first time since he found out the truth of his parentage, falling in love with Dany, losing her and finding out he was losing his child as well, he sobs.
His advisor simply holds him guiding him away from judging eyes and into the privacy of an empty room.
And in that room, he tells Ser Davos everything.
The man seems to somehow age a few years right in front of him with all the information he receives.
“Lad, I wish you had come to me sooner. No wonder you’re going mad,” Davos says and he grimaces.
“Can you not refer to it like that,” he asks, but the former smuggler doesn’t address it.
“Right then. What do you plan to do now?”
“I don’t know… I lost them… both of them because I couldn’t get out of my own damn head,” he runs his fingers through his hair frustrated by it all.
“You haven’t lost them yet. They’re still here and the Queen still has not made any announcements regarding marriage. You still have a shot at winning her back,” his advisor says.
“But how? I’ve ruined any chance I had. She thinks I don’t want her, that I don’t love her.”
“And do you love her?”
“More than anything, more than anyone. I… I don’t think I can live without her Davos. She… she brought meaning back to everything,” he admits without shame or hesitation.
“Then tell her that. And do it soon or your child and love will belong to someone else,” Davos pulls him up to stand and straightens him out a bit. “She doesn’t need a Lord or a bastard, lad. Aye, she fell in love with one but it's not what she needs. She needs a King at her side and its time for you to be what you were always meant to be.”
“Her King,” Davos corrects and he can’t help but smile at the man.
“Thank you, Ser Davos,” he says, before leaving the room and heading straight for the Queen’s quarters.
He hesitates for a moment before knocking, and he’s met with Missandei.
“Lord Snow,” she addresses him.
“I need to talk to Daenerys,” he says not bothering with formalities.
“She’s a bit indisposed, my Lord,” Missandei says and concern fills his gut.
“Is she alright?” he says in panic and Dany’s friend seems to understand.
“She’s resting. Her morning illness was particularly harsh today and she hasn’t been resting as much as she should,” Missandei tells him.
“Please Missandei,” he begs, taking the advisor's hand in his own. “Please.”
She takes a moment to think and she gives him a small nod. She opens the door and moves aside to let him in. His queen is asleep he can see how tired she seems even in sleep. It might just be his eyes but she seems thinner than before.
“How long has she been ill?” he asks in a whisper.
“White Harbor. It’s normal for a woman to be ill like this but the stress, the lack of sleep, it's making it worse.”
He sits in a chair next to her bed and takes her hand gently in his own.
“Would you mind leaving us alone, Missandei?”
“Of course,” she agrees with a soft smile on her face before leaving the room.
He turns his attention back to the woman he loves and to the soft hand, he continues to hold. He places a kiss on her hand.
“I’m sorry Dany, I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot,” he says softly. “I’ve been such an idiot that I might lose you both. I got stuck in my own head and pushed you away when there’s really no reason why I did. I never stopped feeling the way I do for you and no relation changes that for me.”
He chuckles sadly, taking one of his hands and placing it on her abdomen. He feels a little bump and he nearly loses it.
“You have no idea how much I wanted this Dany. Every day on the boat I prayed to the gods to let us have a child. To let me give you this happiness. I love you so much that I didn’t mind fathering a child, although I had sworn to never have one.”
He takes a deep breath.
“I love you two, so much. I can’t lose you. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life making up for my mistakes,” he vows.
He feels her move but refuses to move his hand from where their child is growing. He watches her face, waiting for her eyes to open and when they do and they are wet with tears, he knows she heard him.
“Did you mean it?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
“Every word,” he says. “I love you Dany and I hate that I made you doubt that.”
“Y…you’re not just here for him?” she asks, moving her hand to lay on his.
“No. I’m here for you,” he assures her. “Even before you told me I was fighting with myself to come back to you. Just seeing those lords…”
“Jon Snow was jealous,” she says with a small laugh.
“Aye, I was. I wanted to kill every single one of them. I’m pretty sure I’ve left the keep without practice dummies,” he says and she laughs. “Please forgive me.”
She reaches her hand towards his head and pulls him to her until their lips meet. It builds and soon he’s above her.
“We have to talk,” he says between kisses as they begin to rip their clothes off each other.
“Later,” she pants out. “I need you, now.”
“Rest?” he tries to argue but not really.
And he’ll make sure of this later, but for now, he needs her as much as she needs him. He’ll make sure to show her how much he loves her and erase any doubt she may ever have again.
Hello, everyone, I'm back! I thank you all so much for the reviews and the encouragement to keep writing for this story. You guys did it! You convinced me to write another chapter! I'm still not going to mark it as an incomplete story but I'm going to keep an open mind in case more inspiration does come.
I hope you all like it and thank you once again for reading it!
He’s happy and he’s sure he’s never been this happy before in his life. They’re still in bed neither of them willing to move and start their day.
It had been days since their reconciliation and they still can’t stand to be away from each other for more than a few minutes. They had talked, they had apologized, and even a marriage proposal was said. They were ready to move forward, ready to take their places as the rightful rulers of Westeros, and he was ready to claim his true identity after they conquered Kings Landing.
But above all they were happy.
“It's rude to stare at your queen,” he hears his love say.
“Aye but right now I’m staring at my soon to be wife, not my queen,” he answers, kissing her neck and gently caressing her little bump.
“Mhm,” she responds joining her hand with his.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Fine for now but I don’t want to celebrate too soon,” she admits, and he gives her a soft kiss.
“From what Missandei told me, it has gotten better these past few mornings,” he reminds her.
“You being here has helped. Maybe our babe just needed his Papa with him every morning,” she says, and he feels his eyes tear up.
“Shh…” she stops him. “No more. We’re moving on, you’re here now and that’s what’s important.”
He nods in agreement and places another kiss on her shoulder.
“I’m someone’s Papa,” he whispers still in disbelief.
“You are,” she says. “And you’ll the best father you can possibly be.”
He kisses her then slowly climbing above her, both moaning into the kiss. He’s ready to lower himself and love her when there’s a knock on the door.
“Your Graces?” Missandei calls out.
They groan in frustration as he moves off her and she calls in one of their closest advisors.
“I apologize for interrupting,” she says, walking into the room with a smug smile. “But your sisters are looking for you, my King.”
“I told you that in private you don’t need to call me that, Missandei,” he sighs, putting on his trousers.
“I apologize,” she answers.
“Do you know what they want?” he asks, not wanting to talk to his sisters, which he has ignored since their reconciliation.
“I do not,” the translator answers.
“They’re probably wondering where you’ve been and why you’re spending all your nights with me,” Dany says.
He sighs, putting on the rest of his clothing, knowing this confrontation is coming up. Part of him wants to get it over with but he won’t, at least not yet.
“Well they won’t get an explanation right now,” he says sitting down on her side of the bed, where she continues to lay. “The next time I speak with them you will be my wife, and only then will I speak with them.”
He places his hand on her abdomen again.
“I want this official. I want our family to be forever bound through our vows and our blood. For no one to be able to separate us,” he says.
“So what will you do?” she asks.
“Have Ser Davos hide me until tonight,” he answers with a smile.
“And tonight, I’ll become your wife,” she says with a brightening smile.
“Aye, tonight you will become mine and I will become yours,” he says.
“From this day to the rest of our days,” she answers.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too. Now go and get ready,” she says giving him a slight push.
He gives her one more kiss before leaving her quarters. As he closes the door, he finds Grey Worm standing guard. He offers the Unsullied a smile, which he surprisingly returns.
“Take care of her,” he asks.
“With this one’s life,” the man answers.
He leaves him with a nod and quickly heads for Davos’s room before anyone can find him. He enters the room quickly and closes the door behind him.
“You might be the King of the Seven Kingdoms but you should still knock your Grace,” the smuggler says with a chuckle.
“Aye, my apologies but I’m being looked for,” he explains.
He nods and Davos sighs.
“Alright then. I’ll go get your cloak and send for your bath here.”
“Thank you, Ser Davos.”
“Anything for you lad,” the man says before leaving.
Surprisingly the day goes by quickly locked up in his advisor’s room and soon the sunsets. He makes sure his cloak is fastened and heads to the Godswood. They're waiting at the heart tree is Bran, who is going to perform the ceremony, Ser Davos and Tyrion.
Dany’s Hand had been extremely relieved to see them figure out their differences and decided to marry each other.
He walks towards his brother, who has a soft smile on his face.
“Thank you, Bran,” he says sincerely.
“You’re welcome, Jon. You two deserve to be happy. I know you two will be the best rulers this land has ever seen and the best parents for your children,” Bran says in his monotone voice.
“Ch…children?” he stutters in surprise.
“It’s just one now, but I see many more in your futures,” he says.
But before he can ask more, he hears someone approach the Godswood. There is her love being accompanied by her closest friend. It feels like time stands still as he takes her in. She’s beautiful, practically glowing. It takes all his will not to collect her in his arms, but he remembers his place and waits for her to make it to his side.
“Who comes before the Old Gods?” Bran asks.
“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen comes here to wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” Missandei answers perfectly.
He almost forgets to answer in it takes a slight throat-clearing from Davos to draw him back to the moment.
“Aegon, known as Jon, of House Targaryen,” he answers, and he catches the surprise on Tyrion’s face from the corner of his eye, but ignores it. “Who gives her?”
“Missandei of Naath, her loyal advisor and friend,” Missandei answers.
“Daenerys, will you take this man?” Bran asks.
“Yes, I take this man,” his love answers, and he feels his heart about to burst with joy.
With a nod from Bran, he takes Dany’s hand and guides her to the heart tree. He knows her balance has been off and her ability to get down and up has diminished, so he wraps his arm around her waist helping her to the ground, before joining her.
He prays. For the longest time now, he believed the gods didn’t listen, that they didn’t exist. But after the blessings, he’s received since his resurrection he can’t help but believe that maybe, just maybe they may exist. So, he prays. He prays for their child to be born healthy and strong, for his wife to be safe in the upcoming war, and for their marriage to be blessed with the happiness he has felt these past few days. When he’s done, he’s surprised to see he needs to wait for his wife to finish her prayer. When she finally does, he helps her up, leading her back towards their guest before pulling her in for a kiss.
He hears the applause from their guests and when they end their kiss, he’s sure they wear matching smiles.
“You two are now joined from this day to the end of your days,” Bran announces.
“Thank you, Bran,” he says.
Their friends take turns saying their congratulations. The last one to do so is Tyrion who has a look, letting them know that they needed to talk. But thankfully he doesn’t bring up the topic. Instead, they all allow them to retire to their bedroom, for there will never be another night he will spend away from her.
They spend their entire night making love to each other. Taking their time to claim each other as husband and wife. When they finally do sleep it’s with her laying on his chest and him with his arm wrapped around her. Happiness and love filling them.
This bliss ends however by screaming and pounding at the door.
“We know he’s in there and we demand to speak with him!” he awakes to the sound of his oldest sister’s voice.
“Jon! Jon!” Arya yells out, pounding on the door.
He hears a struggle going on outside the door before it burst open and his sisters pour in. He quickly makes sure his wife is covered as she is woken by the commotion.
“We’re sorry, your Grace. We did not want to hurt them,” Grey Worm says.
He sees Dany pale and quickly moves to help her get to the chamber pot. She empty’s out the few contents in her stomach. His anger takes hold of him.
“Out,” he growls as he rubs Dany’s back.
“Jon,” he hears Arya say.
“I said get out now!” he yells, and both his sisters are escorted out. Missandei quickly rushes in and goes towards them.
“Can I get you anything?” she asks Dany.
“Water,” she answers.
Missandei quickly moves to get some water for her. When she returns, she hands the glass to Dany before giving them some privacy. Dany takes small sips, trying to get her stomach to settle. When her stomach finally calms, she lays back down on their bed.
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes.
“Don’t,” his wife says. “You have no more control over what they do than I have over Ghost,” she jokes, and he gives her a sad smile.
“I need to go talk to them,” he sighs.
“I know,” she says, gently caressing his face. He turns his face to kiss the palm of her hand.
“This was not how I imagined spending our first morning as a married couple,” he admits.
“When has anything gone as we expected?” she asks teasingly.
“Last night,” he answers.
“Last night,” she agrees.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
He gets out of bed and quickly gets dressed. Missandei comes in prepared to help Dany get ready for the day. He walks out of the room and his anger returns. He storms through the halls of the castle his rage growing with every step he takes. He doesn’t even bother announcing himself, he slams the door open, glaring at his two sisters. He also sees Bran in the room but can tell he has a disappointed look on his face.
“What in the seven hells was that?!” he yells, feeling fire burning through his veins.
“We were looking for you!” Sansa yells back.
“And that gave you the right to burst into the Queen’s bedroom!”
“What did you expect us to do? She’s kept you away from us for days!” Arya argues.
“She has not kept me away! Have you ever once considered that I was the one avoiding YOU!” he exclaims, and this seems to bring them up short.
“Why would you be avoiding us?” Arya asks, seeming to be hurt by this. But he’s lost all sympathy for his two siblings.
“Because all you two do when in my presence is tell me how horrible a person and queen Daenerys is and I am sick and tired of it!” he growls, letting his frustration seep into his voice.
“If you listened, we would stop!” Sansa yells. “For a few weeks it seemed like you did but then you seem to fall back in her bed…”
“Don’t you dare, Sansa!” he warns.
“It’s true! She’s used what’s between her legs to get what she wanted! She stole the North from you just by letting you get between them!”
He slams his fists against the table and knocks everything off. But that doesn’t sate his anger. Instead, he stalks his way towards Sansa, hands balled into fists. He sees her eyes fill with fear, but it doesn’t stop him. Arya steps in front of him to stop him and hold him back.
“Stop it Jon!” his youngest sister yells at him. “Don’t you see what’s happening? She’s turning you against us, your family!”
He shoves her hands off him.
“Don’t blame her for what you two have done yourselves. Maybe you and Bran actually considered me family but Sansa never did,” he reminds them.
“You're our brother, Jon, we care for you,” Arya says.
That just makes his anger grow.
“Not ONCE since we arrived at Winterfell have you two even asked about how I felt about all this! Or even taken the time to get to know the Queen that I chose! The other Lords actually managed to get their heads out of their asses and talked to. But not you two. No, you two made your judgments and once again reminded me that in your eyes I am nothing and I mean nothing,” his disappointment coming through at the end.
“We told you we don’t need to get to know her. She’s just a foreign whore, who crossed the Narrow Sea with savages and plans to burn us into submission,” Sansa says.
He’s about to yell, to tell them the truth, to tell them he will not accept one more insult towards his wife. But something stops him, he looks at Bran and he remembers his warning from before about Sansa.
“Don’t risk what you fear to lose,” his brother says. “Be what you’re meant to be.”
He nods, truly understanding for the first time. He looks down at his armor, the one he’s only dared to remove when he’s with Dany and he realizes he did not trust his sisters enough to see them without it. He sees the snarling direwolves of House Stark and never before has it felt so wrong to wear them than at this moment.
“The armies are marching out any day now. I'm going to keep my word to the Queen and march down with her. Once we do, no matter what the outcome, I will not return to Winterfell,” he tells them.
“So that’s it your choosing her instead of us. The Dragon Queen over the Starks,” Sansa says coldly.
He smiles sadly.
“It was never her against you. It was never the Dragons against the Starks. They can coexist, work together, make a better realm,” he tells them.
“They can’t. Her family nearly destroyed our family,” Sansa says.
“And the Starks helped Robert Baratheon completely destroy hers!”
He takes a settling breath looking back down at his breastplate.
“All my life, what I wanted more than anything was to be a Stark,” he says, not looking up at his siblings. “I dreamt that maybe one day Lord Stark would ask the King to legitimize me and that I would be welcomed into the family.”
“Jon, you are family,” he hears Arya say but ignores her.
“But now, seeing what it means to be a Stark… the pettiness, the distrust, the scheming, the bigotry, the ingratitude,” he shakes his head in shame.
He unbuckles his armor, takes it off, and throws it on the ground in front of his sisters… no, not sisters, cousins.
“I don’t want it,” he says. “I may have Stark blood running through my veins but never before have I been so glad not to carry the Stark name.”
He turns around to leave but he feels Arya holding him back.
“Jon, please. Remember what Father taught us. The pack must stay together,” she says and he can’t help but scoff.
“Aye the pack. The problem with that Arya is that there is no pack here. There's just a pair of rabid dogs ready to kill one another in a moment’s notice,” he glances one last time at Sansa. “Your father would be ashamed of you both.”
He shrugs Arya’s hands off and leaves the room. He thought that he would feel sadness at the loss of his siblings but instead, he feels relief. He feels free from another chain, from the remnants of the bastard armor forced upon him and that he had worn dutifully his whole life.
He will be what he was always meant to be. Part of him would always be a wolf, for that was what his mother was and what his uncle raised him to be. However, he was born a dragon. And to protect what he loves and to keep his newfound happiness he needed to be a dragon.
He leans against the wall, closes his eyes and opens himself to the bond he had been forming with Rhaegal. He feels his bond entwine with the one he’s had with Ghost and feels how they become one and coexist happily together. Through their eyes he sees her. She’s outside of Winterfell giving love and attention to all three of their children. Yes, children because he finally understands that that’s what they are.
He goes there, not once hesitating or being bothered by the cold winter air. He smiles at the sight. He watches as each of their sons takes a gentle turn sniffing and nudging his wife’s abdomen where their babe is growing. His eyes tear up as he realizes his family, everything he may need in life to feel happy is here. She finally sees him stand there and flashes him a bright smile, letting him know that everything was going to be alright as long as he was with her.
Hello! So this story was finished, I swear it was. However, I had one more chapter mostly written and decided to post it. Hopefully, you all like it.
He watches as Dany climbs off of Drogon and helps a little body down as well. She carries their son, careful not to hurt the small bump that is growing while walking towards him with a tight smile.
“Daemon, say hello to Papa,” she says, but as he reaches for the boy, he moves away, refusing to be touched.
“No! Not Papa! Not Papa!” the little boy yells and Dany sighs in sad resignation as he himself is filled with hurt and sorrow.
“I’m sorry Jon, we can try again next year,” she says.
Suddenly a man appears in the clearing on top of a horse. He watches as Dany’s face brightens and a smile takes the place of her frown. His son also catches sight of the man and his entire demeanor changes.
“Papa! Papa!” the little boy yells out, reaching out towards the man.
As the man, who he now recognizes as the Prince of Dorne, dismounts he takes Daemon into his arms.
“Hello my boy, have you been good for your Mama?” the prince asks and his son nods. The prince then walks towards Dany and kisses her, softly caressing her abdomen with his free hand.
“And how are you feeling my dear wife?” he asks teasingly and Dany smiles back, lovingly.
“Very well, your child has given me no issues, my love,” she answers before the Prince turns to look at him.
“I thank you, my lord, for watching the North for my wife. And for giving me this,” the Prince holds Dany and Daemon closer. “You never did deserve them. How could a coward like yourself ever deserve a family like this?”
“Papa,” the little boy in the Prince’s arms says.
“Papa,” he hears again.
The crash of thunder wakes him, and he takes settling breaths, trying to tell himself that it was all a bad dream. He looks to his side and sees his wife laying on her side, her arm around her abdomen where their second child is growing. He smiles at the sight, knowing how hard it’s getting for her to sleep and glad that she can now.
Another flash of lightning brightens the room followed by a crash of thunder.
“Kepa…” he hears a familiar voice cry out. He doesn’t hesitate and quickly gets out of bed and goes through the door connecting the two adjacent rooms.
“Kepa,” the little voice whimpers, as he sees his little boy sitting upon his bed, shaking.
He scoops him up in his arms, immediately rocking him back and forth.
“Shh… it’s okay, I'm here,” he coos.
“Kepa,” he whimpers between his neck and shoulder and as he clenches his little hands against his back. Another rumble of thunder is heard and his son trembles again.
“Let’s go back to Kepa and Muña's room. I'm sure she’ll be happy to have you in there with us,” he whispers, and he feels Daemon’s head nod against his shoulder.
He hums the soft melody of the lullaby he and Dany would take turns singing to him since he was born. He laughs at the memory of the first time he sang to his son, believing that he sounded horrible. Instead, he was told by his wife that in reality, he had one of the sweetest voices she had heard. After their son had fallen asleep, she had revealed that his singing talent must have come from Rhaegar, as he was known to love singing more than he ever liked fighting.
When he walks into the room, he sees Dany sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Did the storm wake him?” she asks.
“Aye, who knows how long he’s been crying,” he says lowering Daemon onto the bed. Their son immediately crawls into his mother’s arms.
“Muña,” Daemon sighs in relief and he can’t help but chuckle at that before climbing back into bed. Dany kisses their son's silver tresses. He had all the traditional Targaryen features, violet eyes, silver hair, but Daemon’s hair curled like his and he had his facial features.
However, when he first laid eyes on his son, he knew he wanted to name their first child after Dany. She had accomplished so much in her life, had overcome all odds, and had made the impossible possible. If their child, any of their children, had her strength, her drive, her ability to live and love, he would be happy. So they decided to use an ancestral name that combined both her name and Maester Aemon's as well.
“Did his cries wake you?” Dany asks.
“No,” he admits with a sigh. He lays down as Daemon settles between the two of them.
“Nightmare?” she asks.
“Aye,” he says.
He can see the sympathy in her eyes. She knows about his nightmares, all of them. At first, he had been ashamed to admit what he dreamt about, how much his fears and insecurities weighed on him. But just like his metal armor, he soon learned that he was safe to be around his wife without that armor as well. She doesn’t press, instead, she reaches across their son, taking his hand in hers.
“I love you,” she tells him.
“I love you too.”
He waits until she closes her eyes and her breathing slows, before closing his eyes as well feeling peace at having his family here at his side.
He wakes in the morning with a three-year-old jumping on him.
“Papa!” Daemon shouts.
“Daemon!” he shouts back, grabbing his son and lifting him up above him. His son’s laughter fills the room before he lowers him to give him a big kiss. “Happy Name Day, my boy.”
“Thank you!” his son answers.
Today is his third name day and the crown was to host a tourney in his honor. There had been so much reconstruction and reparations that needed to be done throughout the Six Southern Kingdoms, that they did not waste coin on things such as tourneys or even on their coronation or public wedding. Instead, Name Days had become days where they would give to the people, taking their time and going through the streets to visit the less fortunate. However, with the economy improving under Missandei’s watchful eye, Tyrion convinced them to host their first tourney to honor not just their child’s name day but their rule overall.
He hears Dany’s laughter join their son’s as she wishes him a Happy Name Day and he’s once again reminded how truly grateful he is for his family.
Their merriment ends with a knock on their door.
“My King and Queen,” Tyrion says entering the room, with a bow.
They both know this must be serious for Tyrion being the one coming to their quarters.
“What is it Tyrion?” he asks.
“Some ‘guests’ arrived late last night and were turned away by the Unsullied. They’ve returned this morning and demand to see the Queen,” one of their Hands explains. The fact that he has not revealed who it is, is not lost by either monarch.
“Who is it?” Dany asks.
“The Starks and the Northern Lords who have yet to bend the knee to you,” Tyrion answers.
When they had finally taken Kings Landing, they had sent Ravens telling the Northern Houses to come South to bend the knee. His cousins and many of the stubborn Lords refused, declaring themselves independent from the crown. Advisors from the other Kingdoms had told them to wage war against these “traitors” but both he and Dany were done with fighting, especially after Daemon was born. So instead they sent them all a warning. If they bent the knee, they would receive help from the crown for the upcoming winter, if they did not, then no help would be provided, and trade would occur as if it were a separate country taxes, interests and fees included.
Some houses went against the Starks and pledged their loyalty, thinking about their people and their families, but most clung onto the idea of an independent North. Since then, refugees have come pouring in from the North. People needing help were quickly relocated to neighboring towns of Kings Landing or Dragonstone or even other kingdoms just for their survival.
The people were suffering, they both knew that, and they hated it. They wanted to make a world where there wasn’t so much starvation, so much suffering by the innocent because of the Highborns’ whims. Now it appeared that the Northern Lords may have come to their senses, but he was hesitant to hope for that.
“Where are they now?” he asks.
“Outside the throne room,” Tyrion answers.
“They asked just for the Queen?”
“They did, I’m not sure they know who you really are and probably don’t want to deal with an unknown King,” Tyrion tries to explain.
“I’ll meet them,” Dany answers, “It will be a short meeting for I will not miss my son’s Name Day. Inform them of this, while I ready myself.”
“Yes, your Grace,” Tyrion says with a bow before leaving the room.
Dany’s handmaids quickly enter the room and help her get dressed. He also gets ready, not wanting her to be alone with all the Northern Lords. A Dothraki nursemaid, who tended to Daemon whenever they were busy, also quickly came in and took their son to get him ready for the celebration. He and Dany are quickly readied and make their way to the throne room.
“Do you want to sit with me?” Dany asks.
“I do, but I’m not sure we can get their true intention if they finally see who I am,” he answers.
“Alright then, your throne is there for you whenever you want to face them,” she says, stopping before the doors of the throne room. “Will you be alright?”
“Seeing them again will be hard but, you, Daemon and this babe,” he caresses her belly, “are my family, my everything. Nothing they say or do will change things.”
She kisses him before turning to climb the steps to her throne. He takes his time, hiding in the shadows, waiting to see what will happen.
The doors open and he watches the Northern Lords enter, followed by Sansa and Bran.
Tyrion takes his time announcing all his wife’s titles and he can’t fight the pride he feels every time he hears her achievements. However, that positivity leaves when he hears Lord Glover announce Sansa as Queen of the North.
“Ah, Queen… that’s what they call you now, Lady Stark?” Dany asks, her face completely passive, and all her subtle sarcasm lacing her voice.
“That’s what I am,” Sansa answers.
“Very well then,” Dany says, leaning back on her throne. “What is the Queen of the North doing here in my Kingdom, in my courtroom?”
“You are starving us. You are trying to starve us into submission and we came here to demand you stop,” Sansa says.
“I'm doing no such thing. You and your Northern Lords wanted your independence and to avoid unnecessary bloodshed I gave it to you. It is not my fault you did not realize or even consider what the consequences of that independence might be,” his wife answers calmly.
“The taxes, the interest,” one of the Lords points out.
“Are the same as the ones given to Essos and the Iron Islands,” Dany quickly cuts him off. “You claimed to be an independent Kingdom and you have and will be continued to be treated as such.”
“During Winter we have always received help from the South,” another Lord argues.
“I have Five Kingdoms and cities in the East that need to be fed. Why should I sacrifice their food, for an independent Kingdom which has shown nothing but hatred towards myself and my people and complete ingratitude for my sacrifices? No, my dear lords, we will not carry the burdens that belong to the North and the North alone,” Dany answers regally, never wavering or faltering.
“So, you would let people starve for your pride?” Sansa asks and he watches as his wife’s anger ignites instantly. She keeps her composure, but he can see the fire burning in her eyes.
“The North is starving not because of my pride but yours,” she says in a stern voice. “I gave you all a choice, you were informed of the consequences but your desire for independence and your inability to swallow your pride stopped you all from seeing it,” she says standing from her throne and taking a few steps towards them. “Day after day we get refugees from the North, begging for food and shelter, while you all sit in your castles and prideful boast about not bending a knee to me. Tell me? Whose pride is killing the most people?”
Someone opens the door and an Unsullied soldier hurries to Dany’s side and whispers something in her ear.
Her face turns pale and panic fills her features.
“Is he alright?” she asks, grasping onto the Unsullied soldier with a desperation that nearly brings him out of the shadows.
“Yes. Stopped intruder. Brought her here.”
The doors once again open and he watches as his other cousin is dragged in by some Unsullied soldiers.
Things begin to come together in his mind. The Unsullied soldier, Dany’s reaction, Daemon, Arya…
“Let me go!” Arya yells out before she is thrown onto the ground. She looks up and glares at his wife. “Where is my brother?!”
The glare Dany throws at his sister would make the strongest knight tremble but his stubborn cousin, to her credit does not cower in fear.
“What were you doing in the royal wing? What were you doing near my son?” Dany growls.
“Looking for my brother!” Arya shouts. “And that boy is my brother’s! Where is he? I demand to see him.”
“You had no right to enter those quarters. Only those authorized by my husband or myself can enter there,” his wife says, ignoring Arya’s demands.
“Your husband. You mean that Aegon, we’ve heard of?” Sansa sneers.
Dany raises her eyebrow.
“Yes, even up North, we’ve heard that you married your nephew who turned up out of nowhere,” Sansa says smugly.
“Who I married, is none of the North’s business,” she answers coldly, not giving anything away.
“It is our business because Jon followed you,” Sansa says, “you seduced him like the foreign whore you are, used him and when he was no longer of use you threw him away.”
He’s had enough. Stepping out of the shadows he makes his way up the steps towards his throne.
“Enough!” he announces, stepping next to his Queen.
“Jon!” Arya exclaims, trying to get close to him, but the guards immediately stop her.
“You stand in the presence of Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and the Five Kingdoms, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark,” Tyrion announces with a smirk.
He enjoys watching the reality sink into the lords before them and into his cousins, but makes sure to hide it.
“Y…you’re the King?” Sansa stammers out.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, ignoring her.
“Jon…” Arya starts.
“I asked you a question,” he interrupts.
“We…we…” one of the girls stutters.
“Congratulations,” Bran interrupts, drawing his and his wife’s attention. “On your son’s name day. I apologize in my sisters' behalf for intruding and interrupting this day."
Dany smiles at Bran and so does he.
“Thank you, Lord Stark,” Dany says at the same time he speaks.
“Thank you, Bran,” he answers, before turning to look at his cousins. “You all have arrived here on my son’s name day, the first one that is actually going to be celebrated after all the reconstruction that has been done throughout our Kingdoms, uninvited and hostile. Not only have you arrived making unfounded accusations and demands but also hurling insults towards my wife. Unless you bend the knee right now this audience is over.”
No one moves, no one speaks and so he takes his wife’s hand and guides her away.
“Jon, please! We’re your family!” he hears Arya shout out.
He freezes hating the fact that they’re once again trying to manipulate him. He turns around and looks at them again.
“It’s Aegon, my name is Aegon, it’s the name my mother bestowed upon me and the one I carry with pride. No amount of your begging or crying is going to change the fact that I gave you all a chance, more than one in fact to respect me and my wife, but all you’ve done and continued to do is try to manipulate the love and respect I had for Ned Stark to your convenience,” he practically growls at them.
“Our father protected you, you owe the Starks your life!” Sansa exclaims.
“And you owe me and Daenerys yours!” he yells back. “I saved you all without me and the Queen you all would have been part of the army of the dead! Never forget that! I owe you all nothing!”
There’s a roar outside the keep and he feels Dany’s hand trying to calm him.
“Now if you excuse us, we need to attend to our son’s celebration,” he says.
Turning and finally leaving the Starks behind him.