#so damn concerned about she & viserys coming to take the kingdom back before her dragons were even a glimmer in anyone's eye. lmao

[myimaginationplain]

these people are so fucking lost, man skskdkdj

[importantchaosgiver]

Where Loyalties Lie:

The Lady Knight

Summary: Nine years into Viserys's reign. And so much yet so little had changed in those year...

Warnings: Canon typical violence and swearing, Daemon being Daemon, angst

Masterlist

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No One's POV

The early morning sun shone down upon King's Landing. The warm weather of the south already coming into play. (Y/N) opened the door to the balcony of her room, stepping out and breathing in the morning air. She was still in her nightclothes, a loose shirt and comfortable breeches. It had been quite a long day prior. With all the tension of Aemma's pregnancy and Viserys's insistence that it was a boy. Not to mention the Heirs Tournament that would happen soon. So, what happened with (Y/N)? Well, after Jaehaerys died in 103 AC and Viserys was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms, he made a move which surprised many. He made (Y/N) Lady Commander of the Kingsguard. She was shocked too, but with her loyalty to the crown and the Targaryen house, it wasn't as much of a surprise to others.

When the sun was visible over the horizon, (Y/N) headed back inside of her room to get ready for the day. She had a quick bath and began putting on her clothes. As she was putting on her armour, a knock came to her door. "Enter," she said, curious to who it would be. Then, Princess Rhaenyra entered. Her expression was hopeful and (Y/N) knew that look all too well. "No," she said instantly. "You did not know what I was going to say," Rhaenyra stated. "You were going to ask if Ser Westerling can go with you to the Dragonpit so you may ride Syrax," (Y/N) replied, raising an eyebrow. Rhaenyra's shoulders fell. Damn (Y/N)'s abilities to see right through her. "Please," Rhaenyra pleaded. "Your mother does not wish for you to ride when she is so close to the due date," the lady knight stated, fixing her armour on properly. "It shall not be a length ride. Just once around the city," Rhaenyra said, picking up (Y/N)'s cloak and handing it to the woman. She looked at Rhaenyra for a solid minute and sighed. "Very well. But if I get blamed for your absence by your father, I'll deal with you myself for your lack of discretion and punctuality," (Y/N) said with a playful exasperation. Rhaenyra grinned and bowed her head, leaving to do just that.

Once (Y/N) was ready, she left her room and went about her duties. She did her usual rounds and checks before she was called into a meeting just as it turned mid-day. She was brisk, entering the Small Council chambers. Viserys smiled as his sworn shield entered. "Lady (Y/N). Still as punctual as ever," he chuckled. She nodded her head with a slight smile, taking her seat. To say his council were... intrigued when Viserys gave her a seat on said council would be correct. Everyone agreed. Well, almost everyone. (Y/N) looked up to see Otto looking at her. He always managed to disguise his emotions rather well. But, she could tell he was either impressed or concerned. Probably both.

"Where is Rhaenyra?" Viserys asked (Y/N), peeling the egg in his hands. "Gone to see her mother, your grace," she said calmly. That was until Rhaenyra arrived late and Viserys smelt dragon on her. She claimed the same story, but he looked at his knight whom was looking back with innocence and slight mischief. Despite her being stoic, calm and collected, she was still mischievous from time to time. When Corlys started speaking of the Triarchy, (Y/N)'s ears pricked up as a slight feeling of unease entered her stomach, making it twist slightly. Her instincts were powerful. And the moment she heard that, she had a feeling something wasn't right. And their leader, The Crabfeeder. But, it was dismissed. However, the feeling didn't go. When the meeting was concluded, she went to leave when a hand stopped her. Corlys.

Otto looked back and narrowed his eyes before leaving with Viserys. He may have to get someone to keep a close eye on (Y/N). "My lord?" she asked, turning to look at him. "The king may not take this seriously, but I know you will. Rhaenys has told me much about you and I am not disappointed from what I have seen since. Should a war break out with the Triarchy, can I count on your aid? Daemon hasn't attended the council in an age. And he is... unhinged at the best of times," Corlys said, his hand still upon the woman's shoulder. (Y/N) knew that wouldn't ask if it were not serious. She gave a subtle nod and left once he let go of her arm. She will always do what was right. No matter what...

~~~

"You were very nearly late," Ser Westerling said as (Y/N) arrived just before the king began his speech to being the tourney. "Yes, I know. I am here now, however," she shot back, adjusting her cloak. "It's those dreams, isn't it? You've been skittish ever since the queen was announced to be with child," Westerling muttered so no one could hear them. "They are dreams. That is it and that is all they will be," (Y/N) replied firmly as Viserys began his speech, the crowd applauding. Rhaenyra entered halfway, subtly and quickly taking her seat. However, she heard what (Y/N) said and was intrigued. She had quite a defensive tone. What was that about? Hmm, curious.

Anyways, the tourney hit off with a roaring start with Ser Criston Cole unsaddling both of the Baratheons. And it only got more interesting afterwards. Especially when Otto's eldest child and son, Ser Gwyane Hightower, nearly knocked Daemon off. But, the Rogue Prince managed to unsaddle Gwyane by taking out his horse's front legs. It made everyone gasp, boo and cheer. But (Y/N) could see Otto's lip curling in distate. Otto disliked Daemon and Daemon hated Otto. Enough said. But then, her stomach knotted. Something wasn't right. Even when she couldn't see anything wrong. Her instincts never lied. And this almost felt painful. She looked around, trying to see anything that was wrong. But, there was nothing. At least, not yet. It couldn't have been halfway through the tourney when Viserys left hurriedly after Otto muttered something to him. "Your breathing is shallow," Westerling muttered. "I am fine. Can you blame me?" she asked dismissively. He didn't answer that. His instincts may not be as good as the Lady Commander's, but something didn't sit right.

The tourney then began taking a bloody turn after a few more knights were unsaddled. And then, (Y/N)'s vision blurred and she felt an excruciating pain in her stomach. She let out a choked cry, lurching forward. People instantly stopped at the sign of the Lady Commander in distress. Rhaenys stood up quickly, going over. "(Y/N), what's wrong?!" she asked. But, the lady knight just let out a louder cry of pain as it became excruciating. It was agony! Like someone had just taken a blade to her stomach. She fell to her knees, gripping her gut through her armour. The combatants in the arena stopped as people began panicking, wondering what was happening to her. (Y/N)'s vision was swimming with tears at the severe pain. But she could hear screams that weren't her own. Cries for someone to stop. (Y/N) barely acknowledged Rhaenys or Corlys trying to get through to her, to get her armour off to see what in the Seven Hells was going on.

Then, a face came into view. "Viserys?" she whispered weakly. But, the same time, it wasn't her voice. Not to her ears. It sounded like... gods be good. Then, she felt ice cold and she collapsed onto her side. Corlys lifted her head onto his lap so it could be cushioned as someone shouted for a maester. "She's as cold as death," Lord Strong whispered, his hand touching her forehead. (Y/N)'s vision was slowly growing dark as she could just about hear the wailing of a babe. "... Baelon," she whispered before her eyes closed and she fell into an unconscious state. Ser Westerling quickly put his head to (Y/N)'s chest. "Her heart is slow, but there," he informed. Everyone looked at (Y/N) as she laid there. What had happened?! Little did they know -but were soon made aware- that the queen had just died... in childbirth...

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Okay, so I hope you like this little twist. I won't say much, but I hope you like what will happen eventually.

[janiedean]

Hope you don't mind a random Jaime question. I was wondering what might have happened had Cersei actually been in KL while Jaime was in the KG. b/c at that time he was still pretty idealistic and set to keep the vows he made so do you think he'd have broken them with her before Aerys and his experiences there broke his faith in honor?

man I never mind jaime questions random or not ;)

that said: I think that if the point is ‘had cersei stayed in KL’, then the problem isn’t if jaime would have kept his vows - the point was that he never meant to keep that specific one when it came to cersei. like, he doesn’t keep it post-aerys and the entire plan was ‘you join the KG so we can be together and you’ll always stay with me’ and he went like oh yeah sounds great...... and she proposed that to him when they presumably had sex *for real* for the first time (I mean, not... whatever they were doing when they were kids, like full-on sexual encounter.��

I mean:

Jaime, meantime, had spent four years as squire to Ser Sumner Crake-hall and earned his spurs against the Kingswood Brotherhood. But when he made a brief call at King's Landing on his way back to Casterly Rock, chiefly to see his sister, Cersei took him aside and whispered that Lord Tywin meant to marry him to Lysa Tully, had gone so far as to invite Lord Hoster to the city to discuss dower. But if Jaime took the white, he could be near her always. Old Ser Harlan Grandison had died in his sleep, as was only appropriate for one whose sigil was a sleeping lion. Aerys would want a young man to take his place, so why not a roaring lion in place of a sleepy one?

"Father will never consent," Jaime objected.

"The king won't ask him. And once it's done, Father can't object, not openly. Aerys had Ser Ilyn Payne's tongue torn out just for boasting that it was the Hand who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms. The captain of the Hand's guard, and yet Father dared not try and stop it! He won't stop this, either."

"But," Jaime said, "there's Casterly Rock . . ."

"Is it a rock you want? Or me?"

He remembered that night as if it were yesterday. They spent it in an old inn on Eel Alley, well away from watchful eyes. Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench, which somehow excited him all the more. Jaime had never seen her more passionate. Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest.

I mean, in my house this is called emotional manipulation since he objected but she convinced him with sex and the whole ‘you must want me more than your entire inheritance, name and status because we’re the same person’ deal, never mind the implications in the fact that she didn’t even let him lie down and like sleep on it but never mind that (and never mind that cersei basically has told sansa straight ahead that sex is a weapon to convince men and so on but whatever I’m gonna keep my mouth shut here). anyway: she convinces him also with sex, so there’s no way that he thought sex was not in the cards - he would have broken his vows with her regardless, but the thing is that he sees his love for her as something pure/meaningful/that wholly defines him, so for him breaking *that* one vow isn’t exactly the same level as killing your king, especially because I mean...... chastity is a vow because he’s in the kingsguard, but it’s not a knightly vow per-se, regular knights don’t have to swear chastity and they can take wives and so on, so it’s technically not on the same level as protecting the weak, serving your king/lord and so on.

so: jaime would have broken his vows with cersei whatever happened.... if she had been available to.

because like, the problem here isn’t whether he wanted to or not. the problem is:

The first time (Cersei) she had seen him (Aurane Waters), for half a heartbeat she had almost thought Rhaegar Targaryen had returned from the ashes. It is his hair, she told herself. He is not half as comely as Rhaegar was. His face is too narrow, and he has that cleft in his chin. The Velaryons came from old Valyrian stock, however, and some had the same silvery hair as the dragonkings of old.

+

Black cats brought ill luck, as Rhaegar's little girl had discovered in this very castle. She would have been my daughter, if the Mad King had not played his cruel jape on Father. It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest.

The memory of the rejection still rankled, even after all these years. Many a night she had watched Prince Rhaegar in the hall, playing his silver-stringed harp with those long, elegant fingers of his. Had any man ever been so beautiful? He was more than a man, though. His blood was the blood of old Valyria, the blood of dragons and gods. When she was just a little girl, her father had promised her that she would marry Rhaegar. She could not have been more than six or seven. "Never speak of it, child," he had told her, smiling his secret smile that only Cersei ever saw. "Not until His Grace agrees to the betrothal. It must remain our secret for now." And so it had, though once she had drawn a picture of herself flying behind Rhaegar on a dragon, her arms wrapped tight about his chest. When Jaime had discovered it she told him it was Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys. She was ten when she finally saw her prince in the flesh, at the tourney her lord father had thrown to welcome King Aerys to the west. (...)

Seventeen and new to knighthood, Rhaegar Targaryen had worn black plate over golden ringmail when he cantered onto the lists. Long streamers of red and gold and orange silk had floated behind his helm, like flames. Two of her uncles fell before his lance, along with a dozen of her father's finest jousters, the flower of the west. By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes. He has been wounded, she recalled thinking, but I will mend his hurt when we are wed. 

Next to Rhaegar, even her beautiful Jaime had seemed no more than a callow boy. 

The prince is going to be my husband, she had thought, giddy with excitement, and when the old king dies I'll be the queen. Her aunt had confided that truth to her before the tourney. "You must be especially beautiful," Lady Genna told her, fussing with her dress, "for at the final feast it shall be announced that you and Prince Rhaegar are betrothed."

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy's curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

now: given that this is legitimately the one time in these books when cersei actually seems to have a crush on someone else/want someone else not as an extension of herself but because she’s.... well interested in them on a... healthy-ish level (I mean she’s fantasizing about mending his hurt when they’re wed when she sees that he’s sad and she thinks about him in the same terms (more or less...) on top of doing the regular things you do when you have a crush on someone ie drawing pictures of the two of you together and so on. BUT she also lies to jaime about it and she flat-out says that next to rhaegar jaime seems no more than a callow boy ie doesn’t compare or hold a torch at all. now we also know that when rhaegar married elia tywin still was hoping to marry cersei to viserys or try again with rhaegar if elia died of childbirth (poor woman jfc) and cersei pretty much knew that (also she had known about tywin wanting her to marry rhaegar since she was six-seven which was also incidentally the time she was **experimenting** with jaime and they were separated hm) so the question is.... would cersei actually have welcomed him to her bed if they both were in KL and she was either married to rhaegar *or* seriously hoping for it to happen *or* waiting for it to happen?

because sorry but from what I see above the answer is a hot no - if she had actually married rhaegar (and **mended his hurt** or if **rhaenys had been hers and not elia’s**, like she legit wanted to give him children and there’s no ‘ah jaime is the only man worth of giving me some/that I want in my bed’ discourse here) she would have never risked being found in bed with her twin brother on the side and if she had been hoping to marry him she’d have never risked ruining her chances like that anyway, so as far as I’m concerned however you look at it, if cersei had stayed in KL, jaime would have kept his vow...... because she wouldn’t have pursued their relationship until she could hope for a match with rhaegar (or viserys at worst) *or* if she was married to rhaegar period, and the fact that she asked him when she perfectly knew that means that she about told him to give up his name, titles and inheritance for absolutely nothing. or better: she would have gotten jaime protecting her for his entire life and she’d be queen while married to the one guy she actually seemed to have healthy-ish feelings for (for her standards anyway), while jaime would have been stuck there sticking to the damned vows because like hell she’d have risked her status or a marriage to rhaegar for him after having renounced his name and inheritance and status (and ngl I have the suspicion that she also didn’t want him to have the rock because it couldn’t be hers but never mind that).

and honestly? that would have broken his faith in honor, vows and idealism way faster than aerys did, because aerys actually kind of still couldn’t and it’s obvious because years later as much as he thinks he has, he still hates people for thinking him honor-less and he does very idealistic/honorable things just counting asos that completely disregard his supposed ‘I only give a shit about myself and my relatives’ attitude (I mean, he didn’t have to get himself kicked in the stump to save brienne from being raped when he didn’t even like her but guess what he did, and I’m not touching the rest of asos only), but if jaime ie the person who romanticizes everything to unhealthy degrees took the white *also out of love* which to him would have been the ultimate sacrifice that would at the same time grant him to be forever with the woman he loves ended up not getting it/getting left behind because cersei *convinced him* to do it and then left him there........... do we all think he wouldn’t have turned cynical way earlier than he actually did? because sorry but if you basically give up your life to be with someone and then you find out they actually are happy to marry someone else and leave you just looking at your back and maybe begging for scraps and not giving you even that, well, I think you actually stop being idealistic very soon. I mean, the way things went he can still tell himself that it wasn’t cersei’s fault that she wasn’t there in the first place and since she hated robert and he thought he was the only other one for her he could keep her on the pedestal he kept her on until the hand loss changed the status quo, but if she actually married rhaegar and became queen and was perfectly happy in that role? I... really doubt that. I don’t know if at that point he’d have found some way to resign or not but if he couldn’t... well, let’s just say I have a feeling he’d have turned out being the same as his got-canon self way earlier and way worse unless something came along that either made him want to keep the knightly vows at least or someone made him realize he deserved better or something of the kind, but I mean, the entire problem if cersei had stayed in KL is that she’d have never let herself risk being caught with him if the stakes were a) marrying rhaegar, b) marrying into the crown. so... I mean not to be that person but there’s no way cersei convincing jaime to join the KG wasn’t a fucked up move as far as I’m concerned /o\ /end rant

[secretshamewriting]

Taming the Dragon-Chapter 6 (Viserys x Reader fic)

Chapter 5

Original Link

Viserys POV

Forcefully squinting against the sunlight streaming in with the salty breeze Viserys groaned and rolled in the bed. Burying his face in his pillow he wondered what time it was and why the Seven had seen fit to punish him so. It felt as though the Smith and taken a hammer to his head. Laying there, cursing the distant calls of the gulls drifting in through the opened windows and wishing they would just fall from the sky, he tried to remember the details of the night before.

He had felt restless, eager for his and the Magister’s plans to come to fruition but too nervous to wait. That was until he had seen (Y/N), and the flagon of honey wine. Just the thought of the cloying amber liquid was enough to stir the memories from when he was hugging onto the house fern only hours before. Viserys rolled back over, shielding his precious eyes with his arm, and taking a deep breath in and out to ease his stomach. Some food would do him good, but he would be damned if he was ready to get up yet.

His nose was buried in the crook of one arm but the other languidly moved up where his fingers tapped along to the pounding in his head, thrumming on the bare skin of his chest. Yes, she undressed me he recalled, thinking of his clothes discarded in a pile on the floor. Compelled he asked himself Why did I not command her to get in bed with me? Then the thought of commands got him sifting through the events of the night before, piecing it together. He recalled her hounding him every step here, even after his attempts to send her away, but she hadn’t listened. She had even had the gall to tell him to ‘Stand up’ and ‘Get in bed’.

Feeling unlike himself he wondered why he hadn’t berated her, who was she to give orders after all. HE was the King. HE was the Last Dragon. But it only raised more questions in his mind instead of allowing him to dismiss it. Why hadn’t she woken the dragon? He heard himself say it in his mind, all the times he had used that phrase, usually for less. I should have punished her, but hopefully the wine is doing that for me. However in that same thought he shifted slightly and got a shooting pain, withdrawing it, imagining her feeling as miserable as he did. Why though? When normally he would not only want to share the pain brought upon him but actively planning some retaliation for the insult to his station.

Deciding being in bed, unable to escape from his own thoughts, was worse than the physical discomfort Viserys forced himself up to his feet. He slipped back into his clothes because he had to be presentable, putting on his regal appearances even if he didn’t feel like it. Another lesson his father had always impressed on him.

His first action was to actually slam the shutters on the window, leaning his back against them as he stepped into his breeches. Likewise he staggered about the room as he fitted back into his clothes, but when he sat to put on his boots on he couldn’t help but fall back into the soft feather bed. He landed with a poof, his tired eyes blinking slowly as they traced over the colorful mosaic tiled on the ceiling.

Almost as soon as his head touched back down the thoughts started again. She’s only lied to me once and it was to get me to quit the wine. If only she’d done it sooner..bringing his fingers up to press in front of his ears and rub his temples. Otherwise everything she says is honest, wearing her heart on her sleeve. That or she’s an incredible lair. Either way, I certainly see why she is one of Illyrio’s most trusted agents.

Viserys sighed moodily, again tortured by the thoughts of doubt, if he could ever find someone to trust. Loyalty.. But why try to find someone when you could steal someone. He sat up as fast his weary body would let him, pulling on his boots as he decided to start recruiting some agents of his own.

Forcing himself back into his confident strides Viserys stalked downstairs. First he went to the kitchen, but after not finding the Magister there as he’d expected, he remembered the plea of his stomach. He sat at the wide feasting table by himself, and one of the servants came and began piling trays up around him. “Do you know (Y/N)?” he asked offhandedly as a plate of candied figs was set down in front of him. Too sweet he reeled, feeling as though he would be unable to ever eat anything with honey again, pushing them away disgustedly as the stammered answer came from over his shoulder. “I-I do, Your Grace.”

Turning away from the food he looked back at the girl, it had been the same one as that first night he’d met (Y/N). He could see the fear in her eyes, he could practically smell it on her. “Tell me about her.” it wasn’t a friendly invitation despite the sly grin that graced his face.

The serving girl took a step back from where she had nearly been hovering over the table, resting her arms down to her sides. “What? do you want to know?”  she asked sheepishly, forgetting to be overly polite in her concern.

“Anything” he responded cheerfully, tilting his head to add “Everything.”

Similar requests, similar concerns were shared among a few more of the servants. Each one only offering small tidbits of information, obvious things he’d already learned about her, and most if them he’d heard from her own mouth. That was why when none of the servants had been helpful he was relieved to see her at dinner that night.

It was much the same as the dinner they had shared weeks past, (Y/N) and Illyrio trading stories from all around Pentos, silly meaningless things. Viserys did find himself pausing, waiting for an answer as Illyrio inquired if she had a new job lined up as she was no longer needed at the Khal’s.

With a slight chuckle to his straightforward question she replied “No. I fear the Pentoshii nobles don’t have as many children as they used to.”

She and the Magister shared a deep laugh together, perhaps it was some insinuation about Pentos’ backwards political system. But wasting little time Illyrio proposed “Then why don’t you stay and be a Governess to our Princess. Perhaps you could share some of your knowledge, about Dothraki culture with her.”

Viserys’ attention was drawn away from where he watched (Y/N)’s face attentively to his left side as Daenerys had squeaked like a mouse. He assumed it was because of her fear of the horselords and wrote it off as no more than that. “Yes, that would be very helpful.” he insisted, looking across the table at (Y/N) once more.

With a smile that exceeded being just polite she nodded. “I would be honored to teach the Khalakki Rhaesh Andahli * ”

*Princess of the Seven Kingdoms (Dothraki)

Chapter 7

Index

[alchemistc]

another un-innocent elegant fall

an: i will never be over how quickly i fell into this fucking ship and i will never be over how much they are never gonna be as happy as i want them to be. for @artielu - i wouldn’t even let the tennis elbow bullshit get in the way of this being written, and since you know how idiotic that is i’m dedicating this to you

Dany has imagined, before, what her life might have been if things had been different. If Robert’s Rebellion had never happened, if her brother had won at the Battle of the Trident. 

If, if, if...

She’d have been raised a princess, sister to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms, daughter to a mad king who would likely have been deposed regardless of a rebellion. She imagines Rhaegar himself might have done it - if the stories of his honor were true, at least. 

She’s less certain now.

The men of her family have disappointed her, one after another, until they were all nothing more than rotting flesh and memories of horrible deeds, and the truth of what her brother had done does not make him more admirable in her eyes.

He’d cast aside his wife - an alliance few Targaryens had ever bothered with before, content to keep the family blood as pure as the snow they dared not face to the north. Cast aside the children he’d born of that alliance, to marry a woman a maester had claimed he loved. 

And that woman had given birth to the heir to the Iron Throne. 

She has questioned so many outlandish claims of northern men, and she’s paid the price for it, but that is not what makes her so sure this vision of Brandon Stark is true. 

No, it is the King in the North himself - her knowledge of him, her respect for him, the connection she’s always felt with this courageous fool who hates the violent tool his body has become but uses it all the same. 

She believes in the truth of this vision, not because this Three Eyed Raven business makes any sense at all to her, but because it means she is not the last of her family. She is not alone, and she so desperately wants it to be true.

It is a fool thing to do, admitting to herself what she has denied to Tyrion, to Varys, even to Missendei - but once she has done it, she cannot take it back. If only to herself, she will acknowledge the truth of the matter. In the short time she has known Jon Snow (Aegon - her fool brother had asked his northern bride to name the child Aegon, but he will never take the name for his own, this Dany knows) he has managed to win her trust, her armies, her respect, and her heart. It is the last of those that terrifies her - she’d long suspected she had nothing left of it to give, and to know that it might yet yearn for a companion is something she is ill-equipped to handle.

It is worse by far to know he will find their connection repulsive now. Whatever quiet breaths they might have exchanged together on the ship back to Winterfell, whatever promises she might have seen in his eyes in the bed they’d shared - those were gone now. They had to be. The Targaryens might have bedded and wedded to keep the line pure, but the Starks - the Starks were different. 

She’d seen the way he looked at her in the moments before he swept from the room.

Perhaps, in another life, she might have already been married to the man who was the new heir - perhaps in the political upheaval of casting aside his first wife (and with no precedent either, he’d had two children out of that marriage, no maester should ever have allowed it), the kingdoms would have fought themselves to extinction, perhaps Rhaegar would have died anyway - perhaps Viserys would have been considered more appropriate, and without having grown up an exile he might have made a passable king.

Perhaps the world would have fallen into chaos sooner, and perhaps the Night King would have made himself known earlier. 

Perhaps not. 

It hardly mattered. This world is the only one she has, the one she was born into, the one she will live and die in, and whatever might-have-beens there are, they change nothing now.

In the days since Bran Stark had revealed the truth, Daenerys has considered many courses of action, but none of them have changed the fact that her only tether to her sanity has been the silent direwolf who will not leave her side despite the absence of his master. 

It doesn’t bother her, though she’s certain it should. The wolf is much the same as the man - quiet, watchful, curious but unobtrusive. When she leaves her chambers each morning Ghost is there, already standing as though waiting for her, a sentinel outside her door. 

It’s a concern more than a few have brought up - this beasts master is now the biggest challenger to her rule, and yet, when Dany slides out of her rooms to attend to the days business, her fingers slide over the white fur of his muzzle and the beast leans into her touch, eyes catching hers and holding as though waiting for a command.

It doesn’t come. Ghost is a comfort to her, no matter how her advisors warn her against it, but she does not wish to command him. There is an irony to that she does not care to look too far into.

Throughout her day he comes and goes, but each night the direwolf returns to settle across the hall from her door. 

Tonight is the sixth such night, and as she unravels the braids in her hair and tries to ignore the growing hollow in the pit of her stomach at Jon’s continued avoidance of her, his family, and Winterfell itself, she considers, not for the first time, opening her door to the beast and ushering him inside, allowing his presence to fill the room, and banish away some of the loneliness that has seeped into every stone in this castle.

She is no longer the last of the dragons, but she feels more alone now than ever. 

On her third turn about the room, she hears the clatter of Ghost rising, hears a soft crunch of leather, and considers the possibilities - it could be one of her men, startling Ghost awake (though she’s never seen the direwolf so much as blink in surprise), or it could be one of the northerners angry that the King in the North is just as much a dragon as a wolf - it could be one loyal to Jon, here to get rid of the only person who might stand in his way.

Dany pauses, just before the door, eyes darting across the room, and they land on a dagger near her bedside. In the moment before she moves to reach for it, she tries to shake off the knowledge that her first instinct had been to open the door right away, to defend her silent shadow, before she ever thought of herself.

When she is in front of the door once more, Dany takes a deep, steadying breath. There are Unsullied soldiers at the end of this hallway, and Ghost outside the door besides - nothing outside of her chambers could pose a threat to her.

Arya Stark might, the thought comes, unbidden, but she casts it aside, and twists the key in it’s lock, unlatching the heavy wooden door and blinking into the dark corridor.

Ghost she spots first - there are no torches lit in the hall, and only a dim light coming from the shuttered window at the far end, but Ghost is easy to spot, sitting once more, the bright white of his coat glimmering in the candlelight cast from behind her. 

Her gaze shifts to her right, and Dany can do little more than blink as she takes in the direwolfs late night companion - head propped back against the wall opposite her, legs stretched out in front on him, missing the usual cloaks, and furs - the chestplate and boiled leathers gone too, his eyes shifting carefully from Ghost to her as she stares down upon him.

Jon Snow is a mess. He’s always been hesitant, tentative, rarely holding himself with the grace that might be expected of a lord or a king - the only place he’s ever looked truly highborn is with a sword in his hand and an enemy to fight. 

She’d liked that about him from the start - it had amused her at first, but as she’d grown to know it she’d learned to respect him for it. He didn’t give a damn about titles or ancestors - he cared about his people. About their survival.

His eyes as he turns his gaze to meet hers are glossy, his hair tied back clumsily, the scruff of his beard longer than she’s used to seeing it. 

He doesn’t speak, even as he moves to stand, bracing a hand against the wall behind him, and she takes this moment of distraction to admire the line of his neck, and the strand of hair he’d not managed to pull back that hangs loose over one brow. 

She remembers the way he’d grunted when she’d licked a line up his throat, remembered the pleasant stutter of her heart at the way he’d looked at her when she’d brought a hand up to run her thumb over the widows peak at his crown, and even as he moves across the hall towards her, his steps carefully light and even, she can’t find it in her to hide her thoughts. 

She expects a brisk and curt conversation, some declaration that what they’d done was a mistake, that they must move past it, for the north, for the realm. For the fight ahead, and she braces herself for it, ready to swallow back her arguments, ready to accept that they will be but strangers who share the same blood.

It is a surprise, then, when his hand reaches up to cup her cheek, when his eyes seek out hers, and hold her gaze, and she pulls in a deep breath in response, memorizing the feel of those warm, rough hands against her skin. 

Closer to him now, she can see the sharp hollow of his throat as he swallows, the deep purpling beneath his eyes, showing off the same sleepless nights she has gone through recently. The hand still hanging by his side is clenched into a fist, and without a thought for decency, or propriety, for anything but the man standing in front of her with hope in his eyes, she reaches for it, curling her small fingers around it, the rustle of the fabric around his wrist the only sound save their breathing.

He follows her into her rooms without question, allowing the pressure of her hand over his to pull them both past her doorway, and as she shuts the door behind them, Ghost settles once more against the stone floor.

He’s more sure of himself, beyond the threshold, his hand sliding down her cheek, skimming her throat before it settles where her neck meets her shoulder, and the fist in her hand unfurls, fingers twisting over her palm so that he can curl them into hers. Another stuttering breath and he leans forward, presses his forehead against hers, and his eyes flutter closed as he brushes aside the curtain of hair hanging over her shoulder.

“Dany,” he says, the word barely more than a whisper, and she takes in the rise and fall of his chest, the pressure of his head against hers, the tremble of his hand as it settles once more, this time curled carefully around her neck, his thumb against her pulse, two fingers sliding against her spine.

She wants desperately to kiss him, wants desperately, despite what she might have said before about it, to hear him call her Dany again in that rough, thick way he’d said it into the side of her neck as he finished, but she’s not entirely sure he’s here for that.

He’s still coiled so tight - every shift of his muscle tells her he’s holding back, every unsteady breath makes her think he’s prepared for a fight.

His eyes blink open again, and he blinks, twice, something unfocused about the movement. 

When she pulls her head back, his own falls forward before he manages to jerk it back, and he nearly stumbles forward into her.

“You’re drunk,” she tells him, her face pinching, her gaze growing cold, and he stares at her for a moment before he drops her hand, and the one curled around her neck he drags across her skin, raising it away from her to run over his face, pulling back the strand of loose hair as he leans back against her door.

He snorts, his lip twitching up, and turns to meet her gaze again. “Aye.”

Everything instinct she has tells her to send him away, to order him out of her sight, to sober up and behave like the king he’s meant to be. She does none of those things.

Off her stern look, he chuckles, shoulders bouncing as he stares at her, which only serves to make her more angry. “This situation amuses you?”

“Can’t seem to rustle up disgust, Your Grace,” he says, and the loose hair falls back over his eye. “Might as well enjoy the fucking joke until it kills me.”

Her eyes snap to his. “And you think I intend to kill you?”

His shrug slides against the wood of the door at his back, but after a moment he recovers from the slump, shoulders rolling back, his stance straightening, the half manic smile disappearing from his face. “Not yet.”

It angers her more than it should. They are barely more than strangers, despite the things they’ve shared between them. And in the dark recesses of her mind, the thought had crossed her. Just the once, and she’d dashed it away as quickly as it had come. She’d never once considered he might have the same thought.

Whatever he was, he was a dragon, and a good man besides. Both of those were a rare thing in this world.

And still it irks her that he’s come to such a conclusion. “I haven’t spent the past week planning your demise, Lord Snow.”

His jaw clenches at the name, just as she’d hoped it would. She could have used Aegon to the same effect, but if he meant to call her Your Grace behind closed doors, she’d give him a taste of the same.

“You’re the only one then.”

There is no anger in his voice, no fear, only resigned acceptance, and the dragon in her rears up, her lips pursed as she drags her eyes over him once more. 

He blows out a breath through his nose as she takes two wide steps to meet him, her hands reaching for his where they hang loose at his sides.

“They will have to come through me first, if they plan to get to you.”

The rough scars along his palm steady her through the buzzing rage at the thought of any who might dare to plot against him. It is a foreign feeling to her, reserved in the past only for her children, but it is different, too. He is far more vulnerable than the two dragons she has left - he’s seen death in a way she will never understand, and he is still barely more than a stranger. But she has seen his heart behind the strength of his gaze, and she has never known anything that she wishes to fight for more than that.

More words burn on the tip of her tongue, promises of fire and blood, affirmations that his enemies are hers as well, and if it sounds in her mind like a pledge of fealty, she cares not - but before she can get them out he seems to shake himself of the fog around his mind. 

Hands still grasped tight in hers, he drops to one knee.

In the half year since they’d met, this man has at turns refused to swear his loyalty, has told her his people will not accept her, has pledged himself in word, has declared for House Targaryen in front of the rulers of Westeros despite the trouble it would cause, all for the sake of being honorable and true.

He has not, however, bent the knee.

If she is honest, she never truly expected it of him. His words meant more than most, and the action itself became unnecessary in the Dragon Pits of Kings Landing.

And now he kneels before her, no bastard of the north but the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I don’t want it,” he tells her, the sharp cadence of his voice drifting over her like a prayer. “Not the bloody throne, not the north, not the Seven Kingdoms. I’ll refuse them all, given the chance.”

“How do you suppose you’ll do that?”

“I’ll take the Black. Your uncle did it.”

He’s so adamant it’s hard not to smile, but she pushes through it. A plan has begun too form in her mind, and though it will certainly tear her from him, it will ensure their families survival.

“You’ve broken your vows to the Nights Watch before. Who is to say you wouldn’t again?” He opens his mouth, ready with a response, but Dany continues over him. “What would you protect us from? The Wildlings are already here at your invitation, living and fighting with us. And if we fail to beat the Night King, there will be no one left to protect anyway.”

“Grumpkins and snarks, then,” he tells her, and though it is surely meant to be cheeky, it does not lift her spirits. 

Or his, it seems. 

“The North will accept your rule,” she argues.

He shakes his head slowly, that lock of hair drifting lazily about his forehead once more, and she must again resist the urge to pull him to his feet, strip him of his days old clothes, and fuck him into the furs lining her floors. “I have more enemies now than I did yesterday.”

“And you will prove them wrong.”

“Your Grace -.”

“Am I your queen?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Aye, but -.”

“The I insist upon it. I demand you earn their loyalty back.”

In the silence that follows, she imagines the conversations she will have to have later. Tyrion will be furious - or pleased, she supposes. Others will fight it, and some might even respect it. She does not care.

Jon, she knows, will hate her for it, but it will make for a clean break between them. 

They will never again be able to share the shift of skin over skin, the quiet confessions beneath furs and darkness. 

“Why?” he finally asks, and Dany stares down at him for a moment, remembers the feel of his hair against her fingers, and the pucker of skin around his scars, the quiet groans against her skin, the whisper soft touch of his hands against her, the look in his eyes as he bore down into her.

Dany kneels down to meet his gaze head on, ignoring the panicked understanding she sees there. “You are the last of us. The only one left to continue our line. When we defeat the Night King, I will take the Iron Throne, but I will bear no children, and it cannot end with me.” Dany breathes deep, ignores the itch to press her forehead to his as he had done. He is a man used to touch - embraces given freely to old friends, kisses bestowed upon the foreheads of the girls he had grown up calling sisters, hands clasped with allies, this man is no stranger to touch, but Dany has avoided such contact for so long. If she begins anew with him now, she will not be able to say her piece. “You and your children will rule after me. The Targaryens survive, and the realm will have a true and just leader long after I am gone.”

He stares at her a beat, jaw rolling and then clenching before his gaze meets her steadily. He nods, and for a moment she is certain she will receive no argument.

“Fuck the Targaryens.”

Jon pushes away from her and stands, dropping her hands to run his fingers through his hair. It has the effect of turning him into a wild creature - as he paces back and forth, steady despite the drink still surely affecting him, curls spring loose from the leather strap he’d haphazardly contained them in. 

Dany stands as well, ready to fight back, to explain to him that this must be their way through this.

Jon has other ideas.

“What have the the Targaryens done for either of us? Your father burned my uncle and grandfather. My father - uncle. Another uncle died still protecting the secret of my birth because the world hated the Targaryens enough they would have wanted me dead - they wanted you dead, just like the rest. If they’d lived, what do you imagine they would have done for us? How does the saying go? When a dragon is born, the gods flip a coin.” The look he shoots her tells her he’s not certain which way either of theirs had landed. “They ruled through fear! They destroyed everything that made them great - isn’t that what you said?”

Dany tries to argue the point, getting so far as to say his name before he’s begun again. 

“The only one to survive the Baratheons other than you and me was your shit brother.” She’d told him of Viserys, one night on the ship, while they sat in her rooms and shared wine while they pretended they weren’t going to end up back in her bed. It had been easier, at the time, than talking about the dragon she’d named after him. “Is that what you want? Madness, and brutality? Family willing to sell each other off like chattel, to break vows and cast aside children?”

Dany raises her chin. “And who do you suppose will rule instead?”

“No one. Anyone. I don’t care.”

If she were a wiser woman, she’d demand it of him. But his words, harsh as they are, cut deep to the heart of the one thing she has always been most afraid of, a fear he shares, that seems now to have grown in the wake of his new knowledge. We all enjoy what we’re good at, she’d told him.

I don’t.

He was only half Targaryen, but what sort of difference could it really make? His children might be good and kind with his help, but after them? How many centuries would it take to dilute the madness out of their stock?

“I’ve had little enough reason to want to survive beyond this war.” His voice is soft, and she watches his expression shift as he stops his pacing. 

Love comes in at the eyes.

When she’d come to these shores, she’d wanted a throne, and an alliance. She’s done a horrible job with both, thus far, but now. Now she has family, and a cause to fight for. Now she has this man, this foolish hero, standing across the room from her, challenging once more everything she knows, every plan she makes.

“Don’t ask me to give up one more thing to live for.”

It’s not romantic - it’s rather bleak, truth be told. But it is true, and it is real, and from Jon, it means more than any proclamation or flowery phrase ever could.

Perhaps neither of them will survive this war. Perhaps he is right about the curse which she has always taken at face value. Perhaps another is destined to rule the Seven Kingdoms.

Perhaps. 

It matters not.

“Fine.”

He falters. He’d expected more of a fight from her - words on the tip of his tongue swallowed as she moves across the room towards him once more. 

She’s chased this man more than anything but the Iron Throne.

He leans into her touch when her hand slides across his cheek, breathing raggedly as she presses forward to graze her lips against his cheeks, one after the other. They have been passionate, and tender too, but Dany is not certain she’s ever been this gentle with anyone before. Tonight is not a night to let the fire run wild between them. 

“Why did you come here tonight?”

His hand curls around her elbow as her own slides up his arm, over his shoulder and around his neck to tug him closer. “I came to fetch Ghost.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t tell them often, and he’s terrible at it. It makes her happy, knowing that she understands him well enough to know that. She shakes her head, and he leans into her. 

“I came to bend the knee.”

“Lie,” she says, a whisper against his lips in the small space left between them.

He smiles, the bristles of his beard shifting against her skin.

“To fuck you, then.”

She hums, a low noise, her forehead rolling against his as she shakes her head one more time. 

“Because I need you,” he mutters, dragging a palm across her back, his head dipping to the side to press his lips into the hair behind her ear. “Because I want you. Because I’m yours just as much as the fucking wolf who hasn’t left your side.”

She strips him down to his smallclothes, tosses her own gown over the end of the bed, and drags him beneath the furs with her, pressing kisses to his skin, his face, his lips. She ignores the stirring in her belly - despite his claim, it wasn’t her body he came looking for tonight. It was something far more difficult for her to give, and yet, she had anyway.

“Dany,” he whispers, a promise and a challenge all in one, one last reminder that he will continue to defy her even as they find a way through this storm together. She’ll never tell him that it pleases her, but it does, all the same.

He falls into slumber with his hands still curled around her cheek, and it takes some maneuvering to free herself without waking him. She pads across the room to the door as quietly as she can, wincing when the hinges of the door squeak upon opening.

Ghost stares back at her through the darkness of the corridor, tilting his head as though in thought. Dany stares back. 

The great beast stands quietly, and then slips past her as she opens the door wider, blood red eyes watching her as she closes and relatches it before returning to her spot beside Jon, who mumbles nonsense as she settles back in and pulls the rest of his hair free of the leather strap containing it.

The direwolf drops her gaze after a moment, and settles back onto the floor at the end of the bed.

Perhaps, she thinks as she closes her eyes, in another world, things might have been different. Perhaps this was an inevitability in any world. Perhaps she merely needs an excuse for accepting this.

Perhaps.