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usafphantom2 · 2 years ago

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F-22 Raptor: the world's first 5th Generation fighter

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 02/11/2012 - 18:26 in History, Military

The story of the F-22 Raptor fighter, which was recently commented in the media for shooting down the Chinese balloon, was born in the early 1980s, when the North American Air Force (USAF) started an audacious aerospace program with the aim of building a military aircraft aiming to replace the extraordinary F-15 Eagle fighter.

The F-15 Eagle, which represented from its insertion in the operational service in 1976, a real revolution with the effective introduction of the (functional) concept of aerial superiority. The program that culminated in the F-22 fighter was named Advanced Tactical Fighter (ATF).

Conceptual image of Lockheed Martin's ATF in the 1980s.

Despite the subsequent fall of the Berlin Wall (1989) and the fragmentation of the Soviet Empire (1991), with the consequent end of the Cold War (1947-91), the world confrontational polarization, although at levels much lower than the antecedents, still continued to influence, to some extent, the search for American technological (aeronautics) superiority, which would remain assured by the objectives of the aforementioned

YF-22 and YF-23 during tests at Edwards Air Base in the 1980s

Also, in another aspect, it was sought, in the context of the ATF program, - in addition to the construction of an aircraft relatively immune to the sophisticated Soviet SAM (surface-surface) missile systems (inherited by Russia and acquired by China) -, the development of a combat aircraft that was in a recognized (and undisputed) degree of superiority, in the present sold to China or equivalent versions developed by reverse engineering techniques -, thus ameaning the absolute guarantee as to the maintenance of air superiority on the battlefield and, in broader terms, of the American military aerospace power.

With the scope of carrying out this contract, two groups of high-tech aerospace companies were selected. On one side was the team formed by the association between Lockheed, Boeing and General Dynamics, in opposition to the union of the companies Northrop and McDonnell Douglas. The latter group developed the prototype called YF-23, while the first group conceived the YF-22.

In April 1991, after ten years of successive tests, the aircraft chosen was the YF-22, later named F-22 Raptor, although the YF-23 boasts better performance, with higher speed and operational ceiling compared to the YF-22, which was, however, more maneuverable and stealthy, which ended up motivating its choice, in the context of the main characteristic of the so-called 5

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The first F-22, designated 4001 (Raptor), was completed on September 4, 1997, inaugurating the so-called 5th Generation of military fighters, having made its first flight in September of the same year. The construction of this device was divided between Lockheed and Boeing, with the latter responsible for the avionics, operating systems and some aerodynamic components and Lockheed in charge of the fuselage and final assembly.

The first F-22 Raptor.

The construction of the aircraft also involved the participation of about a thousand subcontractors located in approximately 46 American states, generating, directly or indirectly, something around 100,000 jobs.

This new fighter took over, in many ways, the lead in U.S. military aviation (including its complete ban on sales abroad, even for the main American allies), in that it developed absolutely unprecedented and innovative technologies, such as, for example, the vectorization of the thrust (limited two-dimensional, although the Russians introduced, soon after, 3D vectorization in their 4 movement of its aerodynamic surfaces.

The plane also introduced second-degree stealth technology, (reason for the limitation of its 2D vectorization, instead of a 3D TVC), which enables hunting, - thanks to its special format (curling and no longer pointed like the F-117 Nighthawk), as well as its external coating (with a still confidential material called RAM, in English radar-absorbent material), which Russian, Sukhoi Su-57, and Chinese correspondents, Chengdu J-20 Black Eagle and Shenyang J-31 Gyrfalcon/Falcon Hawk, - less sophisticated naval and export version, also known as J-21 Snowy Owl or F-60 -, which are only truly stealthy on their front).

The Chinese and Russian combat aircraft that tried to follow in the footsteps of the F-22 Raptor.

It is worth noting that in this stealth arena the horizontal detection section of the Su-35S Flanker-E (RCS), of 4th Advanced Generation, is in the range of 1 to 3m2, - while the other Russian fighter, Sukhoi Su-57 (PAK FA/T-50), of 5th Generation, has a RCS ranging from 0.1 to 1 m2 On the other hand, the F-35 Lightning II (Panther) has a less appreciable stealth capacity (but still superior to its competitors), with an estimated RCS of 0.01m2, while the Chinese Chengdu J-20, comparatively, has an RCS, according to some analysts, in the range of 0.0918m2 (that is, approximately ten times lower than the F-35 and

It should be noted that these numbers consider only the aerodynamic profile of aircraft, disregarding computerized systems. It is also worth noting that Chinese stealth technology, according to widely majority opinions of the specialized media, was developed through cyber espionage techniques and even by the direct theft of parts of the North American F-35 project (especially in the case of the J-31), in addition to the use of reverse engineering on small batches of several models of state-of-the-art Russian aircraft acquired by

DAYTON, Ohio – The cockpit of the F-22A Raptor at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force. (U.S. Air Force photo)

In the wake of this technological development, the F-22 is also the first aircraft to enable a complete immersion of the pilot in the aircraft, due to the wide range of sensors disseminated throughout the aircraft and the shipment to the cockpit and, consequently, presentation to the pilot of all these data collected by the device. The so-called MLD system enables, for example, the detection of infrared missile launches through the sensors scattered throughout the device, thus offering a complete sensory and situational coverage to the pilot, something absolutely unprecedented and innovative at the time of the operational introduction of the new fighter in 2005.

The F-22 also inaugurated, in its time, a new supersonic flight mode, abdicating from the highly expensive post-fuel fuel system (called supercruise), allowing this fighter to perform long periods of supersonic flight (at speeds of the order of Mach 1.4 to Mach 1.8) in a more economical way, even compared to other aircraft (especially those later equipped with identical supercru

Thus, this aircraft combined a series of cutting-edge technological innovations and very high research and development costs, transforming it into the best air superiority fighter so far built, debunking, in this regard, the extraordinary F-15 Eagle, which boasts the impressive world record of 104 opposing aircraft shot down for each F-15 lost in air combat, including, also, one of the best and

Among other technical specifications, this fighter has a length of 18.92 meters, a height of 5.08 meters, a wingspan of 13.56 meters (with wings of a 42° sweep), weighs about 20 tons and, fully loaded, has the maximum limit for takeoff of 38 tons. It is provided with two Pratt & Whitney F-119 engines, each capable of generating more than 35,000 Lbs of thrust, which translates into a weight/push ratio of 1.08 (quite similar to the extraordinary performance of the F-15 Eagle, with 1.1) thus producing more thrust than its total weight, a fact that results in a speed greater than 2,400 km/h,

Combined with these factors, the F-22 has the ability to store internally more than eight tons of fuel and another four tons in external tanks, allowing an autonomy of approximately 3,000 km and a (operational) combat action radius of about 900 km.

In addition, with regard to the armament used, the aircraft boasts a standard 20 mm cannon, called M-61A2, with 480 projectiles; six medium-range missiles generated by semi-active radar model AIM-120D AMRAAM; two infrared guiding missiles, type AIM-9X Sidewinder; and also has free space for the transport (externally) of almost two tons in

Regarding the defense equipment available in the F-22, there is the innovative AN/APG-77 radar, manufactured by Northrop Grumman, capable of detecting a target in the space of a visible surface of one square meter to the limit of 200 km away, being certain that its sensors can still detect enemy radars about 500 km away.

In addition, it is appropriate to mention that the F-22 uses as countermeasures the traditional chaff launches, metallic particles and highly reflective surface particles, which form a cloud to mislead enemy radars and flares, "fireworks" launched by the plane to deceive enemy missiles guided by heat.

Therefore, in the face of all these factors, the conclusion is forced to conclude that the high technology used in the creation of these multiple characteristics (to a certain extent, exclusive to this aircraft) make the F-22 a singular fighter and visibly superior to its competitors that are still being put into operation: the Russian Sukhoi Su-57 and the Chinese Chengdu J-20 and Shenyang was based on projects diverted, by cyber attacks, from the computers of the North American manufacturer, the reason for its rapid (and surprising) development.

Reis Friede - Professor Emeritus of the School of Command and General Staff of the Army (ECEME), Honorary Professor of the School of Command and General Staff of Aeronautics (ECEMAR), Professor Emeritus of the School of Improvement of Army Officers (EsAO) and Special Lecturer of the Higher School of War (ESG).

Isabela Sofia - Research Assistant and Writer at the Air Force Magazine.

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awolfhowled · 7 years ago

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double update since i already got that sweet, dank second chapter up on ao3 and ff.net and ANOTHER double update tomorrow, so excuse the spam.

A TOUCH FOR SILENCE

Series: Part 1 of To Freeze or To Thaw Rating: M Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

CH. 02: BEHIND A CLOAK’S SHADOW

Summary: In the Lord Commander's study, Daenerys tries to convince Jon to grant her the shelter she so desperately craves. But there is one big obstacle standing in her way and it is not her gender.

Word Count: 4,380

READ ON AO3 | READ ON FF.NET | READ BELOW

JON I

The men of the Night’s Watch hardly had the luxury of a good slumber. They were paralyzed by fear, by cold, by their memories, or a gust that made all of them swirl through their heads at once. Even those that have already spent nearly all their lives at the Wall struggled to shut their eyes, being forced awake by the chilling howls of northern winds shaking the creaky windows of Castle Black in their frames. Those in position of power suffered the same, even more. If one brother couldn’t properly wield his sword in the training court the next day, that was their responsibility.

Jon had gotten used a while ago to fear, to the cold, to his regrets and his memories. What kept him truly restless were all the whispers of his responsibilities constantly creeping at the back of his mind. The Watch was collapsing, a war was approaching, his own men were divided by a vision that no other Lord Commander before Jon Snow had dared to construct. There were times when it seemed like the more he tried to dig his fingers in and climb his way out of a pit, the deeper it went and he always fell back down.

Regardless, none of this could ever carry any finality to it. If he stopped fighting, what would be left? Half of the men of the Watch chose to go against centuries-old regulations and their own brothers to support his beliefs while the other half needed to be proven that they were wrong. Worst of all, all of the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms still lived in oblivion. To some extent, battling giants, mammoths, and White Walkers sounded much easier than trying to convince Southerners that their bedtime stories were coming to life.

None of this was eased in any way by the blizzard that had shaken the Wall the night prior. Many of the windows of Castle Black needed to be restored, Jon realized. All the noise and sprinkles of snow blew through the cracks like a summer breeze through a court lady’s hair. Some of the men complained that the snow fell on their heads as they slept – a humorous imagery for some, of course, but one more bullet point on the Lord Commander’s already mile-long list of necessities the Watch was desperately craving. He was advised to give up on his ambition to repopulate the other castles or to create ways to preserve crops through the harshness of upcoming winter. That was a last-call solution, he thought. When he would show up before the Southern lords and the King, he would need to present an evolving Watch, one with the ambition to be restored to its former glory. He had to cling to every chance of boosted credibility he could. None of these things had arisen overnight. They’ve been intoxicating his thoughts like a plague and reinforced his sleeplessness that the blizzard had instilled.

Luckily, the morning after was quiet, the calm at the end of a storm. Snow carpets covered the roofs, the tops of the gates, the top of the Wall, and the courtyard. It was strictly a cleaning duty today, much to the dismay of the brothers in black appointed to carrying handcarts of snow on and off the top of the Wall. With the speed of the transporting cage, it would take them a little bit after sunset until they’d finish their duties. Jon was grateful for the slow day on his part. He was stuck at his desk, replying to the letters of those who had accepted the Watch’s pleas for help, not that many in numbers. He figured he’d leave the negative responses to a better day, just so his spirits wouldn’t plummet any more.

After a couple of hours of scribbling, though, he reached a blockage. With his temple rested against his knuckles, he’d been doing nothing but idly tapping the tip of his quill against the desk for the past few minutes. A sigh fell off his lips, as if snapped from a daze, and his chair echoed a soundly creak as he straightened his back, riddled by numbness and a hollow ache.

He was about to stand up and take a break, go for a walk to observe the progress on cleaning duties, when a knock on the door stopped him before he could stand up. Instinctively, he did so anyway, turning to face his visitor.

“Lord Commander,” he greeted and Jon dipped his head in response, “there’s some folk saying they seek refuge for provisions.”

Jon’s brows furrowed gently, the corners of his eyes slipping toward the window filled by frozen webs before his gaze found the other brother again. This had happened before, albeit not that often, so Jon settled on addressing one plain question, “How many?”

It looked like the young man was struggling with the question – or, rather, the concept of counting which was required to answer it. “I don’t,” the man inhaled sharply, “I didn’t see, my Lord. But there’s a woman with them. Said she wanted to speak with you.”

This was the statement that washed away some of his apathy, igniting in the dimness of his dark eyes flickers of intrigue. The rotten floorboards whined under the weight of his steps as he approached the other man, a hand running along the edges of his own jaw. The first thing that came to mind was the Red Woman, but the steward would have definitely mentioned if it were her. Women weren’t easily forgotten around there, much less presences as alluring and outlandish like Stannis Baratheon’s priestess. That still begged the question: what woman would go to Castle Black seeking refuge? It was common knowledge that the Watch harbored no women. This reason alone made him think it wasn’t a mere slip, but something of importance.

Jon bobbed his head in a short nod and, after a moment of ponder, started fixing the black wool and fur mantle on his shoulders, arranging Longclaw in the sheath. “Go find Edd and tell him to check the top of the Wall. Have the rooms prepared in advance, just in case. Don’t want to see any snow on beds or wet sheets.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

After receiving confirmation to his request, he exited his quarters and started making his way to the entrance gates. Needless to say, the courtyard was populated, filled with the hushes of bewilderment, confusion, or excitement of a bunch of men who never knew anything aside from their own company and the solitude of the cold, lonely nights. Some of them acted out because of this, at least. There were some with predatory instincts and he knew that. But those and the former alike didn’t hesitate to open up a path for Jon to walk once he’d made his arrival known by slamming the door behind him.

“Lord Commander,” stuttered a scrawny man, closest to him, as his head reluctantly bowed in some form of forced respect.

It wasn’t difficult to pick apart the woman – all donned in blue, petite looking, yet with no other cues of her physical appearance underneath the cloaking of her hood. As he made his way toward her, Jon tossed glances to the ones who’d arrived with her. If she could afford guards – assuming this is what they were – then she wasn’t a lowborn wanderer. Actually, he dismissed this idea the moment he spotted her. Highborn blood tended to be like an unshakeable badge.

He stopped, a decent distance gaped before himself and the woman.

“Lord Commander?” She chimed in first, clearly making an effort out of trying to shield her voice from the quaking of her cold bones.

Even though there had been no cues to his identity, she made the lucky assumption, albeit slightly hesitant. She wasn’t an idiot. He chose to keep to himself his suspicion of her status by replying only with a nod of basic curtsy. “Aye.” He cut off any continuations to shoo off the men who had been paralyzed by their own curiosity. “The last man to return to his duty’s going to feast with the horses tonight. Sod off!” Jon had never personally put in practice these threats, but he’d heard tales from Maester Aemon of this being a recurring half-gag, half-punishment running through the line of Lord Commanders. All brothers knew of these stories and neither wanted to see it materialize for all the right reasons. The last one to leave was Alliser Thorne, whom Jon had locked eyes with and maintained a perturbing gaze as the older man slowly shifted his position and turned away.

As people were shuffling past him, finally disconnected from the novelty of the situation, Jon found himself – more or less – standing alone before the woman. Her company didn’t seem to pay much mind to whatever the topic of the conversation would be. He was about to open up the conversation, to inquire about her intentions, the reasoning behind her request, to ask whether she, per chance, didn’t know about the Watch’s regulations regarding feminine presences. It wasn’t as if Jon Snow had proven himself to be particular about ancient rules and customs, but he had to at least try to draw a line at some point. However, his attempts ended before they materialized the moment he decided to take a closer look in front of him, taking note of the slightly crooked and stiff footing of his guests.

“You must be freezing,” he remarked as the thought was shaping up in his head, his voice maintaining hues of meekness through the evenness imposed by his position. “Let’s go on inside. We can discuss whatever matters concern you much better by a fire and a warm meal.”

“Thank you,” she replied, after a moment’s hesitance. This time, he took the time to analyze her voice, how it sounded like a strange blend of frailty and conviction, a tune more fitting of a woman at the dawns of her youth.

Jon whirled around, the black mantle swinging heavily on his shoulders. His steps dug deep footprints when he stepped over the blankets of snow that the other men in black hadn’t gotten around to swiping yet. It was difficult for him to miss out on the rather organized and neatly methodical way in which the woman’s companions journeyed across the courtyard. It became more and more likely that they were guards, perhaps even trained soldiers. Not even highborn children, trained at arms since they were little, were polished so well. He tossed a glance behind to see the woman climbing the steps after him, her gloved fingers still stubbornly clinging to the fur-lined hood betraying nothing but rosy cheeks battered by the whippings of the wind. At the door into the Lord Commander’s Tower, his own fingers closed in around the handle, suddenly halted in their attempt by her hand, which grabbed a tentative hold of his arm.

“I wish to speak with you privately,” she began, her gaze hanging low, “but my companions need food and a chance to rest their feet. Do you have room for them in your hall?” He took in her request, first processing the undertones of her words. The fact that their discussion had to be private struck him first, followed by the fact that she seemed to bear genuine care for her companions despite the likelihood of them being mere guards. The Starks had always treated those around them with humane decency, so it wasn’t as if this was a foreign gesture to Jon. But he knew that not all noble families were as warm toward those below them. He doubted the Lannisters did, for example.

“Elden,” he called out, gaze wandering toward a nearby steward. His voice didn’t need to be raised, as the steward had been observing them for a while. He shuffled over and Jon noted the fact that he seemed to tense as he climbed up the steps past the woman’s guards. Jon reached out a hand, prompting it on the man’s upper arm. “Take these lads to the dining hall and treat them to some ale and stew. Toss more logs into the fire.” He noted a brief flicker of hesitance in Elden’s face, which Jon tried to dismiss through the duality of firmness and reassurance in his own eyes. Their ratios were pretty scarce, everyone knew that, but the Night’s Watch didn’t need to be as cold as the eternal winter they lived in. They’d leave the following day and if not, they’d definitely have to work for their mead and bring in more supplies. Plus, they did say they were willing to offer some in exchange for a night spent under their roofs. Elden tore away with a short nod and Jon turned to the door again as soon as the men took off – all but one, whom Jon noted was observing him intently.

“Grey Worm,” the woman spoke, addressing the man whose features were cloaked in unreadable marble. “I am sure the Lord Commander is perfectly capable of keeping me safe while you go and eat.” Grey Worm. Was it a nickname? A strange one at it too.

The man did not move. He heard her sigh before speaking again, “Go and rest, it is an order.” Only then did he finally leave, stiffly following after the party that had departed earlier.

Once he was left alone with the stranger woman, this was when he pushed the door open, allowing her the curtsy of slipping past him first. A few steps walked in silence led to the door of his study, through which they entered. They were welcomed by the chamber which was barely lit by the rays of light managing to sneak through the drapes of ice on the windows. He made his way in numbly and slowly, slipping the black gloves off his hands finger by finger. His head hung in thought, mentally preparing himself for the scenario of having to turn the visitors away. Alternatively, he’d have to find a way to explain it all to the handful of men that likely wanted his head on a platter. None of it sounded like a good outcome, but he’d have to pull through regardless.

Jon wasn’t the only one having to strategize and pick his words, apparently. The only source of noise in the room was the barrage of idle chatter coming from the men shuffling through the yard outside. Otherwise, complete silence. He pondered shrugging off the cloak, but a chilly streak running through his veins made him reconsider. Finally, he sunk into his seat behind a desk piled with letters, papers, and a half molten, unlit candle, resting his eyes on the woman before him, her image hidden even better by the dimness of the study.

“Can I sit?” she had finally asked before gesturing to a chair.

He instantly craned out a hand, pointing it to the empty chair in front of the desk. “Of course. Please.” Once she was seated, he leaned back into the chair, which whined out a rusty creak. “My name is Jon Snow,” he began, “Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

DAENERYS II

She sat down as elegantly as possible in her thick dress and cloak, still not completely used to the foreign fabric. She nodded politely at his introduction, not sure if she could refer to him as simply Jon; she had hardly earned that right yet. The matter of her introduction was a thin layer of ice to tread. But during her moons of travel, she had been given plenty of time to anticipate this particular moment, so she did not hesitate much before rewarding him with a name of her own. Her hands folded in her lap, which was also the target of her adverted gaze.

“People call me Dany.” Not many did anymore, but that was once all she had been called. When the name rolled off her tongue, it sent a ghastly shiver down her spine. The one person she could recall to have addressed her as such was Viserys, never in pleasant circumstances. But she was determined to tell the least amount of lies about her identity as possible, this being the closest she could get to the truth without shedding light on it. He would find out soon enough, either way. There was no point in lying and offending the only man who could grant her and her companions safety. Daenerys wondered how long she could keep her hood up without him questioning it. She supposed that he would not for a couple of moments more. The hood provided warmth, as well as safety.

As a child, she had owned a doll with brown hair, one she had used as a tether to safety whenever she would feel scared. Whenever Viserys would succumb to yet another fit of rage, she would hold the doll tight and close her eyes, trying to block out his yells and insults which were often directed at her. He had taken away the doll when he thought she was too old for toys, but the cloak held the same power to her now. Her ability to hide her identity meant safety, it meant a chance to speak without anyone having formed an opinion of her beforehand. It could never last long, she knew that, but she just needed for it to last long enough. She observed him for a moment, noting his features so she could try and understand what reaction might grace his face upon the reveal of the name.

“Dany,” he repeated, his husky voice giving a particular edge to it. “I was told you and your men are seeking shelter at Castle Black.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, casting her gaze down, struggling to avoid the meeting of their eyes and the recognition it might spark in his.

“And that you’re offering supplies for it.”

“I have already shared the last of my meat and wine with your men before being granted passage through your gates.”

“I would suppose so,” Jon added, his voice unreadable enough to frustrate her. “You would have probably been turned away otherwise.” That much she had known, at least.

Daenerys wanted nothing more than to burst that bubble of anxiety in her stomach, to get this over with, to get her answer already, no matter if good or bad. She was also deeply concerned over the Unsullied that had left her. For a moment, she had intended to let Jon Snow know that if anything were to happen to them, she would hold him personally responsible for it, but she had elected not to succumb to this impulse. It did not make a good first impression.

In the deaf silence of the room, all she heard was the drumming of his fingers against the desk.

“I suppose your reasoning has to do with why you wanted to speak with me,” he said, much to her relief.

“It has,” confirmed Dany. “I have come to ask for safety. The reason for it is that the Wall is the only neutral ground that I know of in Westeros.” She knew her best card was to try to appeal to his compassion, if there were any in his heart. The men of the Watch were labeled as vile and foul, criminals with no conscience.

“Safety from what?”

“I have been hunted across the Narrow Sea and most of the Seven Kingdoms. My guards are tired and I promised them that I would find us safety. You are my only hope; there is nowhere else I dare go.” She took a deep breath, only focusing on her men, knowing she had to cast away all sense of pride. Hearing him shift in his chair, Dany felt a sense of urgency, suddenly afraid he was about to make a decision without hearing the rest of it. “We have supplies that we will happily share with you,” she hastily added, likely cutting him off from intercepting. “My men can work, they are all skilled warriors, but they can also help with maintenance on the Wall or your stronghold.”

“That is certainly comforting,” Jon Snow commented, curse the flat lines of his voice. One thing she did make out: he did not seem convinced.

“All I can offer is information about the Dragon Queen rising in the East.” Her words were bold, but calculated. She could not pin it all on her men. She had to be part of this exchange for their shelter.

“You may keep that information,” he spoke lowly. “It means nothing for the Night’s Watch. I have to say the prospect of labor is a lot more attractive.”

She was surprised by his refusal of receiving the information she had offered to him freely. A part of her felt grateful that he was not interested in what he probably thought was only rumors and nothing more. Despite that, he still did not seem convinced enough, he still would not offer her the clear answer she needed.

Daenerys felt restless, deciding to get up before walking towards the only window in the room. She pushed the curtains slightly aside as she stared out to see the men in black cloaks go about their day and duties. “You are responsible for all of these men. You call them your brothers, do you not?” She could see his dark frame from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s what we call each other.”

“If they were lost in the cold without any safe haven, would you not do whatever it takes to save them? If they were in danger because of something you did, a mistake you made, how far would you go to redeem yourself, to save them?” The questions were asked in a low voice despite the boldness that had been laced through them. She lowered her gaze slightly, drowning in a moment of regret and guilt, before slowly turning around to look at him, properly, for the first time, the dread of the lavenders blooming in her eyes gone. It was then when she could truly glimpse at how young this Jon Snow was, something that could have easily been forgotten from the control in his voice. But she did not let this distract her from the path of her speech. “I would do anything for those who put their faith in me and for those I am responsible for. I owe them safety, but I cannot personally provide it, not right now. I understand what I am asking is against your rules, I know the Night’s Watch allows no women, but I am asking you to make an exception just for a fortnight or a moon’s time. I can go somewhere else to sleep, I will even sleep up on the top of the Wall if need be.”

The desperation could be detected in her voice, but she did not let it rule her tone. All she was asking for was kindness, something she would have granted when she had the opportunity, something which only those with power could afford to grant these days. She knew that soon the moment would come where the hood had to be lowered. The moment where she had to be judged for whatever rumors or stories he had heard of the Mother of Dragons, but at this exact moment she was just Dany who only wanted to protect her friends and start working on saving everyone else from Euron Greyjoy.

Anticipation for an answer boomed in her rib cage, uncertain if she was grateful the Lord Commander had been silent enough to carefully listen to her plea or to feel cursed because of it.

Dany observed as he prompted his knuckles against the desk, slowly ascending from his seat. He side-stepped by the table, freezing there on the spot and eying her calmly. “They’re my brothers, aye. We all look after each other here, but as their Lord Commander, I have to ensure they’re well-fed, well-rested, well-trained… I have to keep them safe so they can keep the millions of people south safe in return. But it’s because, years ago, I took a vow and pledged my life in front of the Old Gods. There are some men I can’t stand and probably even more can’t stand me either.” His words felt unfair, he talked about his men as if most of them despised him, but she could not see how that was possible. They were his army, they were the strength he had to send. If they were truly displeased, they could take the power from him.

He took a small step forward, then another, and another, raising his arms to slip off the cloak off his shoulders as he approached her slowly, igniting in her the self-awareness of her raised gaze, which she hastily dipped, foolishly hoping to delay that accursed moment for as long as she could. He rested the cloth on the backrest of the chair as he came to a halt in front of her, enough to allow him to lower his voice even more while still speaking clearly. “Your men, they don’t seem like they just heed your word. They care for you. Sounds like you care for them too, but you’re not letting me actually help you.”

Something about that statement froze her heart, a sudden wave of nervousness coiling around her bones. She wanted to say something, but anything that she would say would be retaliation against a piece of truth.

He continued, “Castle Black has sheltered women before. That’s not the problem. But to allow this change, I need something more to go by, to know if it’s worth bending the rules for. Why would someone hunt a nameless lowborn woman? Why is a lowborn woman donned in fine clothing and followed by loyal guards?” And still, she was silent, her gaze cast down, her fingers clipping at the base of the hood, continuing to hope that he would not indulge in the almost certainly present desire of seeing it removed.

At last, Jon Snow said something that made her realize she truly was cornered.

“Why have you truly come here, Dany?”

#jonerys #jon x daenerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fic #tfott #atfs: 02

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