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shyyydragons · 7 years ago

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The Lion’s Dragon

Soooo....I wrote a lil’ something. I just really, really needed that hot, angsty and temperamental conversational that awaits these two...and what follows, so I figured I would write it myself. This is pure DanyxJaime trash. I couldn’t get anything done without writing this and getting it out there into the world. Jonerys is my #1 love, but Jaimerys is coming in a close second. @danyandjaime Rating: M Pairing: Jaime/Dany Word Count: 4,376 Preface: I’m just going to say now that Cersei isn’t pregnant, and for this to work Jon and Dany have decided to remain political and cordial, nothing further -- I didn’t want to character assassinate Jon for this to work. Again, I apologize for any discrepancies with the book/show.

xox

He should have known the first time he saw her that she would be beautiful.

Was beautiful the right word?   

Sort of odd seeing this fresh-faced young woman with silver hair attempting to dislodge a spear from her dragon’s shoulder after decimating his army in a fury of fire and blood. The agonized screaming from his men triggered him to recklessly charge at her with nothing but a spear — he could have ended the war, should have ended the war.

In hindsight, he had always been called the slowest of the Lannisters — and perhaps everyone was right in their judgement.

The second time they spoke would be in the dragon pit, with it’s destroyed ruins that had been home to her ancestor’s claim — he never found dragons fascinating like the public did. Yes, they were indeed magnificent beasts, but the impending damage they caused to cities and people alike didn’t bode well with Jaime. He much preferred the stories of knights and kingly men that did heroic things — those stories were much simpler than the lore of beasts and magic.  

Or perhaps he simply didn’t like fire.

And she symbolized fire.

This time, he could see her clearly when said beast wasn’t guarding it’s mother. Again, he had to recognize beauty when it was presented before him — and he didn’t miss the calculated, close-natured way her and the proclaimed King in the North moved and spoke in defense of one another.

Truthfully, she reminded him nothing of her father. If anything, she adhered to the ethereal looks of her mother Rhaella. Madness didn’t seem to touch her — just a petite woman with a large army that dared disrupt his sister’s throne. He never enjoyed politics such as this — but when the wight erupted from the box and made a run at Cersei, even he fumbled with grasping his sword.

Jaime Lannister believed in what he saw.   

He protected the people of King’s Landing once from the Mad King.  

He would protect them again from the dead.

Which is why when Cersei told him they wouldn’t be assisting the North to fight against those…things, he couldn’t break another vow. The tales of heroes must have been implanted within him, because although he killed innocent men on the battlefield and did questionable things — his golden hand brought a new sense of reality of their situation and how important it was for them to fight against the dead. “I made a vow, and I intend to honor it.”

He left that day on horseback when the arrival of the first snow in decades lingered in the air, providing a hush over the city that was normally awake at all hours. The ignorant minds of the people in King’s Landing must have seen it as a fluke, but when he rode with his back turned to the capitol, he knew he was making the correct decision.

The third time was in the council room.

Unlikely faces gathered around.

Tyrion stood beside him, and he could feel the wary glances of all the men he had been predisposed to hate thanks to his family name. Unspeakable things had been done, but his brother stood as a shield between him and their judgement with the bigger evil in front of them.

Bronn scoffed at the unusual air within the hall at Winterfell, “aye, what a fucking lot.”

Tyrion had to keep himself from snickering, much to the annoyance of his Queen, “we are an unusual group of people, but we have to stay focused on the task at hand.”

“I don’t know why you have the man that crippled my younger brother in this room, Jon,” Sansa spoke abruptly, narrowing her eyes at the kingslayer.

He had been at Winterfell for weeks now — and he had made it a point to visit Bran at the godswood and speak with him. What had been more surprising than the dragon’s circling the air above them in the harsh winter or the howl of the dire wolf had been the simple way that Bran thanked him.

“I don’t think it’s custom for someone to be thanked for crippling another,” Jaime spoke off-handedly.

Bran offset him with an odd stare, one that was much too knowing for a body so young, “if it weren’t for you pushing me — I would have never become the Three Eyed Raven, you gave me the opportunity for sight.” Sight...Right. “—You’ve changed from the man that pushed me out the window.” Jaime couldn’t hide his confusion. “You’re here to help my brother against the betterment of Cersei, and you’ve saved half a million lives — including the life of the woman that helped my sister, I hold no grudge against you.” Relieved and mostly unnerved, Jaime apologized again before dismissing himself — wondering in what world the dead, dragons, and three eyed ravens made themselves known to the simple minds of humans.

“Jaime Lannister has made peace with Bran — and we need his mind for the wars to come, he has invaluable experience on the battlefield, something we’ll need,” the King in the North declared to the table, nulling the rest of the character’s from questioning him.

She chose not to say anything in that moment, but he looked past Jon Snow to see the Silver Queen watching him with narrowed eyes - sizing up the man that killed her father with a sword through his back.

The third, fourth, and fifth time had been during the long hours of their planning within the council room.

Time went on like this, the still before the storm.  

And each day he figured she would stuff the past away — they were too focused on the impending long night, and he too feared for the worst, being a knight of summer.

One night, when the air was still and snow stopped layering the ground with the foreshadowing oft the storm to come, the people within Winterfell chose to loosen themselves with some wine.

A rare night, really.

He had been enjoying himself actually speaking with Tyrion in their down time when Daenerys entered the small hall.   Tyrion looked towards his queen sluggishly, slightly buzzed — and he had to admit he felt the slight inclination and sway of alcohol inhibit the processing speed of his movements.

He stood to dismiss himself, but she motioned for him to stop, “I would like to speak with the Kingslayer.”

Ah. So finally the time for their conversation came.  

He could see the calculations of such a conversation ending badly between the two within his brother’s eyes — but his younger brother decided to let them be and dismissed himself.   

Daenery’s sat herself across from him in the seat that Tyrion had previously occupied with a cup of wine in her hand.

He could see the rosette in her cheeks, the determination for information within her eyes.

Once they were alone, he could feel the undeniable presence of her fill the space.   “I would like you to tell me about my father,” she spoke boldly, crisp and firm with a slight hint of reservation.

Jaime could feel the heat of the fire within the hall cackle wildly, “I don’t think—“

“You were my father��s kingsuard — entrusted to protect him until death. I can only hear so much from the people that once knew him, and I have a right to know about him by the man that broke his vows,” she took a sip of her wine, “so tell me.”

The knight sat himself back in his seat, willing himself to remember, “he…Was a cruel man.”

She knew, he could see she knew how mad her father had been -- but Daenerys wanted different answers.

“-- I grew up hearing stories about you, Kingslayer. Your family was the Usurper’s dog, you Lannisters, and you broke your oath to my father,” her voice tight and constricted with years of wonder and tightly wound stories that Viserys would tell her about the man that killed their father.

“Yes,” he bit at her, “I broke my vows and killed the Mad King, I would do it again if it meant saving the lives of thousands that your father would have rather seen burn. I asked him to surrender, but he didn’t listen when they sacked the city --”

She didn't see the sentiment, “you broke an oath the the man you swore to protect — leading to the death of my father, the murder of Elia, and the rape and slaughter of my niece and nephew,” she ground out sternly — the Queen’s voice, as his brother liked to call it — the one she used in the council that only hardened against those she didn’t incline herself to agree with.

“I had nothing to do with their deaths.”

“You also did nothing to stop it.”

He could feel his temper rising, fueling the anger that had sat in a vault within him for years while the world danced around the words kingslayer and oathbreaker, “do you understand what happened that night?” he paused to break away from the hastiness of the young woman, “of course you wouldn’t, you were but a child still — I tried to tell your father to surrender peacefully, I wanted him to live.”

“To whom? Your family? That’s rich coming from a Lannister.”

“You chose a Lannister as your hand, quite contrite are we?” he knew he was treading on uneven ground, she could easily offer him to her dragons — and even he could see the spark of Aerys within her.

“The only Lannister worth trusting,” she took another sip of her wine, to which he sarcastically tipped his glass to and took a well-needed swig, this girl was as temperamental and stubborn as his sister.

A few moments of silence rolled by before he spoke, “you asked me about your father — I am giving you my account of him as you asked, I don’t intend to sit here with you all night arguing.”

His words must have reached somewhere because she decided to sit back and toss her hair over her shoulder — silvery gold in the glow of the fire, “go on.”“

He burned people alive, burned them until their flesh blackened and fell off of their bone — and he enjoyed it. His laughter would echo around the hall and we had to stand there as he burned people — the more mad he became, the more people he burned. Lords, ladies — the children that would get caught stealing…” he paused, remembering the way their screams intermixed with the Mad King’s laughter, begging for him to stop.

But you can’t stop wildfire.

Just as you can’t stop dragon fire.

He could see the information churning within her, she had to have known — There were plenty of people who could recount this for her, he didn’t understand why she had to hear it from him. The ghost of her father would always haunt her, but as much as her presence annoyed him, he had to commend her for refusing to use her dragons in taking King’s Landing — as a war general, it was the easiest and most efficient way to take back the throne.

“I don’t suppose you enjoy watching people burn,” he muttered under his breath, to which Daenerys glared at him.

“Of course not.”

“Then what of the Tarlys?”

“They refused to bend the knee, I gave them a choice,” she defended herself.

Jaime smirked and shook his head, the thread of a laugh on his lips, “right, bend the knee and submit or be burned by dragon fire? That’s quite the choice, you Targaryens have an interesting perspective of the term choice.” Perhaps now he was baiting her, but the fiery temper in her violet eyes was rather enthralling.

“I don’t take kind to the likes of you questioning my decisions.”

“As I don’t take to being called a kingslayer, but I suppose you get used to it after so many years — the words bounce themselves off of you like armor. But there still isn’t a day where I don’t think of his last words.”

She remained quiet then — so this is what she wanted to hear.

“What did he say?” her voice was quiet, and he couldn’t fathom how word didn’t reach her, the slight tremor in her voice was almost childlike compared to the stern dragon queen that faced the harsh Northern lords. Then he supposed that truthfully, before Ned Stark found him — he had been the only one to hear the words himself.

“Burn them all.”

He remembered the time he told Brienne, the first person that he felt inclined to tell after their journey — and it felt like being reborn, the past served only to suffocate and tie people down.

Still, he didn’t regret his decision.

“Your father would have rather seen the city burn and laugh as innocent men, women, and children burn alive by wildfire and watch the city weep in flames. If I hadn’t done what I did, if I hadn’t become the Kingslayer — there would only be ash and ruin littering the ground of King’s Landing, and no iron throne left.”

Silence permeated the air.

He kicked back his cup and tasted the bitterness of his words, of how open he became with young queen that believed in the fire of her dragons and words of her house.

Jaime watched her, through the fog of wine and of the truth he could see her own tremulous thoughts before she stared at him in a placated understanding. Jaime felt like leaving, the weight of his begotten twin in King’s Landing — the dead that were marching south, there wasn’t anytime for him to dwell on the past that chained him to a post as an oathbreaker.

“I understand, Ser Jaime,” Daenerys tipped back her wine glass — the substance stained her lips red, glowing against the milky color of her skin. “—I won’t pretend and think my father was a good man, I knew that coming into this conversation. However, I also won’t pretend that I can walk around you and look at you as anything other than the man that killed my father.”  

“Fair enough.”

They spoke a few more minutes before the dragon queen excused herself to leave to her chambers. In the following days a new, untried lightness swept the air around her.   He couldn’t issue it as his doing, but he did notice the way her gaze would linger on him, as if assessing his true character -- something he hated.

The first time she truly smiled at him had been during dinner, most of the advisors had retired to their chambers, Jaime chose to come later in hopes that it would deter the fact that it took him so long to eat with only one hand. At the capitol he had his meals pre-cut, and most times at the war camps he chose to eat alone — allowing him to simply eat with his lone hand rather barbarically without pondering, judgmental eyes.

Unfortunately for him, Daenerys entered after him, leaving the two opposing forces alone at the table in stewed silence.

As custom, he struggled to cut the meat on his plate — but he kept quiet about it until he noticed her eyeing him casually, regarding him with a curious exterior. “It isn’t becoming of a queen to stare,” he shot at her.

“Apologies,” the words came but she continued to eye him, “—so then you regard me as your queen?”  

Well, he walked himself into that one.

“I regard you as a leader that is helping save the seven kingdoms, I can respect such a notion — more than I can say for my sister,” at the mention of his lover, Jaime scowled -- the person he shared a womb with always brought a sour taste to his mouth.

After Cersei threatened to kill him — him, of all people — he had stupidly stuck by her side their whole life. Still, he loved her and knew in the deepest part within him that they would exit this world together, but he wasn’t blind enough to see how vile of a woman she had become after the death of their children.

She decided to switch the course of conversation, “Tyrion has always spoken very highly of you, to me it seems he looks up to you quite fondly.”

Jaime huffed indignantly, “well he shouldn’t, I was never very good to him -- in fact, I’m not a very good man in general.”

“He says differently.”

“He was probably drunk.”

And there it was.  

She smiled, and together they laughed at the heartiness of the truth. “You aren’t like many other men I’ve met,” she complimented after their laughter died, keeping her gaze steady with his -- her words sprawled his memory with the years of his narcissistic behavior. “I would have to agree,” he agreed with a slight smile, and again -- she smiled gently towards him.

“Tell me more of Tyrion and yourself as children, I always love to hear the dynamic of functional siblings, though I don’t think he tells the entire truth of his stories,” she murmured

Like green children they spoke of his stories at the jest of his younger brother at the great dinner table, and she seemed fascinated by the stories of their past, he omitted those that usually ended in ill will against Tyrion — but he found the way her eyes lit up when he spoke of their upbringing together as brothers at Casterly Rock utterly fascinating.

Perhaps it was due to such a long time of duty and honor that he felt lightened to the situation — the only other time his reserve had broken like this had been with Brienne of Tarth, though he supposed their circumstances made them utterly vulnerable in each other’s presence.

He still needed to thank her for that.

The first time they kissed, it had been short and hot and tasted like honey on his lips.

For nearly a month they went on like this — teasing and playful touches, making sideways comments that treaded on the line of offensive and whether or not one of them dared take offense to the small jokes. They found solace in being the two mistrusted outsiders within Winterfell. The Northern lords would rather see him dead and the Targaryen woman and her army leave.

“It seems we’re grouped together,” he commented wryly one day in the hall.

Daenerys frowned, annoyed by the gathering of the northern lords and their persistent refusal to accept her, “it seems that way. I suppose it’s hard for northern men to forget the past sins of my father.”

“My father is not innocent in the betrayal of the Starks either, I’m afraid.”

If it weren’t for Jon’s adamant reminding of the army of a hundred thousand marching towards their home, he didn't know if they would have been allowed here at all.

Their overtly friendly banter didn’t go unnoticed by Tyrion.  

“I see you have been coming to know her Grace, brother.”

Jaime thought about their light banter, he found it relieving she had a rather hearty and sarcastic sense of humor — he rather enjoyed it.

“I have, nothing for you to worry about.”

“Ah, but as her hand — I must think of all possibilities in her regard.”

“Possibilites?”

Tyrion glared at him, “I know you’re smarter than that, and I don’t miss the way you look at her.”

He wanted to laugh, the idea alone hadn’t crossed his mind, “and how is that?”  

“How most men look at her, you idiot.”

 Another week and news broke that the wall had fallen, destroyed by the undead dragon risen by the Night King. Chaos erupted in the North. Ravens were sent across the seven kingdoms.

Winterfell was consumed with planning.

It was decided that he would be leading secondary defenses — the vanguard had been given to the Northern Lords that would take their forces first.

Organizing men, making sure weapons were crafted, food, supplies, strongholds, it was happening.

Nobody slept for days. He was dragging himself to his chamber, praying to the gods he could get a small sliver of sleep.

They passed each other in the hall -- tired, perhaps a little delirious, weary, and barely starving off the blanket of sleep that compelled them.

Perhaps it was the lavender that complimented her skin, or the simple way she kept her hair down — regalities gone in the face of death, but Jaime gently grasped her arm and brought her closer to him.

He halfway expected her to retaliate, but instead she leaned against him, sighing a breathe of relief at the touch of humanly contact. He kissed her then, his lips and body flush against her own, and she brought her hands to cup his face, two southerners in a northern world.

Jaime had only ever known one woman, and to that credit it nearly besot him with the feel of her tender, young body ignited a hunger within him that threatened to consume him.

A lion’s hunger.

The young queen must have registered this, because she broke away with bruised lips, her pout looking rather exquisite after his assault.

They were panting in the dreary cold halls, but between them a new heat rose. Without word, she left to her chambers — leaving Jaime to his own pertinent thoughts that plagued him that night.

And a painful erection.

The second and third time they met in secret.

They would pass in the halls and delve into a shadowed corners like clockwork, bodies consumed by the threat of death and a raw hunger that dragon and lion felt in the pits of their stomachs.

His bit at her lower lip, tugging at her skin where her hands found their way into his growing golden locks. Their breathing heavy and labored, anyone could pass by and find them — but they rather liked the thrill.

Daringly, her hand dragged itself over the material of his pants, swelling his cock painfully under the intrusion of this young woman.

A breathy moan muttered into her lips, and with a renewed valor, he pinned her to the wall, his fingers tracing along her neck until he gripped her chin and forced it upwards, exposing her slender neck to him. He nipped at her at first. The small shudder of her body brought ablaze a new heat, and he kissed her neck, suckling at the juncture of her neck and collarbone, reveling in the taste of her sweet skin.

She moaned softly into his ear, a delightful sound that would burn itself into his memory.

“I wouldn’t expect the queen to be ticklish,” he breathed into her skin, hands gripping her ass to bring her flush against him — as if there could be no room between them.

She gripped him in response.

Slender fingers stroked his length beneath his pants between them, the material doing nothing to stop the fire of her touch.

He kissed her again to silence his guttural groan.

“W-we can’t,” she breathed softly, although her actions betrayed her words as she still teased him.

Lannister and Targaryen.

Lion and Dragon. Rivals and enemies is what their colors of red represented.

Their history ran deep, although they had never met before. He rested his forehead against hers, heart ready to implode from her touch — he was more than a decade older than her, and although he came into this world hanging on the heel of his sister — he couldn’t fight the primal instinct this petite woman dragged out of him.

Whether it be their long talks in the night, of their stories and their past, or the simple way her hands would brush along his and the feather light way she laughed — where his sister had been sharp, edged, and calculated; Daenerys was soft, round, and understanding.

Jaime Lannister had never been a tender lover.

The first night they fell into bed with one another was covered in their lust.

He bent her over the bed, his hand tangling itself in her golden silver hair and pulled her back to him, he thrust into her from behind, using his knees to spread her further for him.

The young queen muffled her moans into the furs of her bed, gripping onto the bedding for life as the sound of him fucking her echoed in her room.

Wet and inviting, her sheath tightly pulled him back in.

They both knew the dangers of this, nor did they care.

They met once again in the hall — and in a few days time he would be leading the secondary defenses north, and it was she that pulled him to her chambers, breaths ragged and joined together to commemorate their need for one another.

He could feel her tightening around him, feel the clench of her impending orgasm.

The lion groaned his pleasure, uncaring to the world beyond them and what consequences lie ahead. The hotness of her core made his cock slick with her arousal, and seven hells she looked gorgeous bent over for him, the slenderness of her back and spine taut with her pleasure.

“Ah-!” after a forceful thrust, her fingers turned white clinging onto the furs in an attempt to push away her peak.

A masculine sense of pride filled him, and he bent further over her, pushing her hair off of her neck and licking the shell of her ear, her body twitched pleasurably beneath him — he forced her head back and kissed her jaw, neck, a husky groan dancing around them.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the noise stemming from somewhere deep within him — her gentle cries were caught by his hand to silence her, and the daring minx pulled one of his digits into her mouth, suckling on his finger while moaning into his hand.

The sight alone made his cock rigid, his balls tightened at the precipice of his orgasm.

The queen crumbled, melted before him as her orgasm tore through her and she cried into the furs, her body tightening and free hand gripping onto his arm to steady herself.

Her walls milked him, and he lost it — he came inside, hot and wet — his cock twitched his release, spurring one of the best orgasms of his life.His legs nearly buckled, but he spent himself in her with a low growl, sticky and content.

Together, they fell onto the bed and he rolled onto his back — sweaty and incoherent in the after glow of their orgasm.

Where had she learned so much?

The Silver Queen turned onto her side to face him, her pouty lips held a ghost of a smile on them.

He reached with his one hand to flick his thumb gently over her bottom lip.

With a simple motion he leaned over and caught her lips in a kiss, they both lingered — afraid of what this meant and their odd tug towards one another, “I leave north in a few days,” he reminded her.

Daenerys pulled herself closer to him, her fingers playing with the golden hair on his chest, “I know.”

“I probably won’t be coming back,” he muttered — years of preparation made him fearless of death, and many nights in Robb Stark’s camp as his prisoner he welcomed the thought, and when they took his hand he wanted nothing else but the sweetness of death.

“You will,” she tested him, “your Queen demands it.”

He chuckled then, knowing the unspoken agreement between them. What stood between them.

“And if I don’t?”

She contemplated his words, but nulled any thoughts by climbing on top of him with a devilish smirk on her pretty face, “you’re a slow learner, Jaime Lannister.”

Daenerys grabbed his belt that had been discarded on the bed and tied his forearms together to disable his movement. His member sprung back to life beneath her administrations.

Bloody hells, had she learned this across the narrow sea?

“—You will return to me, and don’t make me repeat myself.”

He did return, half alive — but he could only think that he truly, selfishly wanted more firsts with this Daenerys Targaryen in the midst of the long night.

#jaimerys #jaime x dany #jaime lannister #daenerys targaryen #prompt #fanfic

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