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I'm finally going home, Daenerys thought to herself as their ship came to port in the Planky Town at the mouth of the Greenblood. So far, it hadn't seemed like anything special—not terribly different from the free cities she'd bounced to and from in her youth—no instant recognition, no nostalgia, nothing yet. The air felt thick with humidity, scented with salt and fish. Birds cawed as the swooped for fish and discarded food scraps.
Several longshoremen stepped forward to greet them as they disembarked, explaining, with thick Sandy Dornish accents, that they were here to help unload the former queen and king's belongings to move to storage. Tonight they would stay at the local inn as a wheelhouse was prepared for their travels northeast to meet the new Lord of Sunspear the following day.
Ser Davos had shepherded the twins, Aemon and Lyanna, while bouncing their youngest, his namesake, on his hip. Over Jon's shoulder had been little Barristan, fast asleep and somehow snoring right through all the commotion of the docks. Missandei, Grey Worm, and their hired milkmaids had emerged from below the decks, each maid scooping a twin into their arms, leaving Dany's arms unusually empty.
Her dear friends and her children's acting grandsire strode ahead of her and her husband. Politely, they nodded along with their escorts, leaving Jon free to question his wife as they walked toward the inn, luckily, only a short distance away.
"How does it feel to be home?"
"It doesn't feel like home quite yet," she admitted. "This is all as foreign to me as it is to you."
"Aye," Jon agreed, the small word laced with mild disappointment.
She smiled in an effort to lift his spirits. "I could ask the same of you."
"I was in Dorne for only a few days, of course," he agreed. "I'm as likely to remember it as our Davos will remember this trip when he is my age."
At a mere three months, Davos had been even older than Jon was by the time he'd left Dorne as an infant.
"You don't suppose Bran could be wrong, do you? About the location?"
"Bran, at least prior to the great war, would have no reason to mislead you. He was more like a book than a person, if you recall."
"And in his pages, he saw my home. Here, of all places. In Westeros, all along. Sometimes, I wish I had never left."
"I don't," Jon said solemnly.
"You don't?" she felt her temper flare as she recalled her heinous memories across the narrow sea. "You'd rather I were sold to an army of savages by my own broth-"
"Yes," he interrupted with a hiss. "It made you who you are and I've never loved a person more than I do, you. Well, aside from our children."
With a simple sentiment, he'd stamped out her irritation. Her husband sure had a knack for tempering her. "Those are terms I can accept," she laughed.
"It's just... the thought of you fallin' for some Dornish prince as a mere girl makes me ill," he sneered.
"Oooh," she taunted him. "Yet, I've gone and done just that, haven't I?"
Jon glared at her for only a fleeting second before the realization had struck him. She, technically a Dornish princess, and he, a Dornish prince. Just another strange parallel they'd shared.
As they walked, she thought of her good-sister, Arya, and how they'd first bonded over Braavos. The more Daenerys described it, the more the girl's nose wrinkled with suspicion—certain Daenerys had either been terribly mistaken, or flat-out lying about her origins. 'There are no trees in Dorne, Your Grace,' the roguish girl had gleefully insisted, 'The only green you'd see in Braavos is its sea.'
And with a simple statement, the girl had rattled the only foundation Daenerys had ever known. Together, they sought Bran's aid, seeking his help in identifying the location of the house with the red door, still vivid in her memories whenever she closed her eyes.
Bran had found it, curiously surrounded by lush grasses—exactly the kind she remembered running through barefoot. It was not lost in a sea of stone like Braavos, but in a sea of sand. Dorne. A meager two-story stone house that rested along a river, lying abandoned since she'd fled it in her childhood.
Unfortunately, her good-brother had since lost his powers. After the final weirwood tree had burned, the boy slipped into a coma. Afterward, he'd lost nearly all memory after having reached the Three-Eyed Raven, and everything beyond it, even the great war.
Daenerys had been in the same wheelhouse as the boy when he woke during their trip south. He demanded to see his friends—Meera and Jojen Reed, Hodor, and even his direwolf, Summer. All too well, she remembered his cries and pleas when his younger sister explained their fates, one by one, as well as their brother Rickon's fate. The boy had helped save the world, and lost the better half of his loved ones to do it. At least he has the crannog girl, she thought, who, despite all expectation, had managed to survive alongside her father. Needless to say, gaining any more answers from the former greenseer was out of the question.
In the years that followed, they wrapped their lives up in King's Landing. They'd resigned from their positions of power, even staying through the coronation ceremony for Tyrion Lannister. All the while, Daenerys dreamed of Dorne. She studied Dornish maps, tracing her finger over the rivers, wondering which one it could be. The river Brimstone had sulfurous waters, so she'd heard, virtually ruling out her memories of scented oils and perfumes. What stuck out to her was Lemonwood, sitting not far from the river's mouth, like a giant X on a treasure map. And so, they decided they'd sail for the Planky Town, which sat adjacent to Castle Lemonwood, and acted as the major trading port to the Shadow City, Sunspear. For months, they'd made arrangements, sending ravens to and from the Water Gardens. Dorne would welcome them with open arms, she had been assured.
Finally, they'd reached the inn—an impressive enough stone structure. Above them, red, orange and yellow curtains billowed in every window, alight with flickering lanterns. Fruit trees of all kinds wrapped around the inn like a second wall, lending the sweet smell of citrus to the air. Maybe this is home, after all, Daenerys considered.
. . .
The very next morning, they rose even before the sun. While baby Davos had slept through the night, he was up early with a cry loud enough to wake the dead. His mother held him to her chest, cooing and soothing him with gentle swaying. Jon had left to retrieve food from the kitchens below for their eldest three children.
After their entire party had been dressed and fed, they loaded, one by one, into the stuffy wheelhouse. Luckily, it was not only large enough to comfortably house everyone—but rather lavish. They took the coastal road northeast to the Water Gardens, projected to arrive in only a few hours' time.
Winter hadn't lasted long, and already spring had come. With it, near scorching temperatures in Dorne—at least so far as her husband was concerned—but Jon was determined to see his family home. But first, before scouring the Greenblood for the elusive stone house from her memory, they'd meet with the Lord of Sunspear, Anders Yronwood, who had taken up residence at the Water Gardens, just as the family he was previously pledged to, the Martells, had.
The secrets of the Martells had died with Ellaria, who took the lives of both Doran and his heir, and who led all of Oberyn Martell's daughters to an early grave—hers, included. Upon the discovery of their chained bodies—the blackened, rotting corpse of Tyene Sand just out of reach of the emaciated, skeletal remains of her mother, Daenerys had almost wished she possessed the powers of the Night King, himself, so that she may raise Cersei Lannister from the dead just to have her killed again. Despite the betrayal, they would return the remaining bodies to the Water Gardens, so they could be put to rest at home, as was custom.
They first passed the Old Palace, Sunspear—a mountain of gold-tipped towers overlooking the sea, wrapped with high brick walls. The twins began to shout as they recognized the oddly-shaped building against the horizon, "Ship! Ship! "
After Ser Davos had explained the ugly building was known as the Sandship, Jon pulled Lyanna into onto one knee, and Aemon, the other, showering both with kisses and congratulating them on being so clever.
As they passed under the Sandship's shadow, the Water Gardens finally came into view—bathed in rays of light like a beacon, the pale stone almost twinkled like a star. Unlike Sunspear, the Water Gardens were wrapped in tall trees packed with blood oranges, teasing the scent of sweet citrus down the coastal road.
Just as the children were becoming hungry and restless, the wheelhouse parked just outside the entrance to offload their party. A band of guards was there to greet them, wearing bright, opulent armor decorated with yellow and pointed Martell suns. They wielded longaxes encrusted with orange and red jewels—tourmaline and rubies that glinted in the hot sun. The baby at her hip was transfixed by all of the bright colors, which seemed to distract little Davos from his fit. For now.
They were led into a large room, tiled from floor to high ceilings, capped with a gilded dome. The twins began to point upward, alerting their parents of the flashy sight. Unable to help themselves, the pair slowed to a halt, stopping to admire the extravagance. If she were not mistaken, she'd even heard a soft "Wow," escape her husband's lips.
Though the spring air was hot outside, indoors it was cool. Thank the gods, she thought, stealing a peek at Jon's stricken-pink cheeks. The climate would require some acclimating for her poor husband.
They were greeted by the sight of a tall blonde man with bright blue eyes and fair skin as they passed under a trio of pillars. Anders Yronwood. He was enrobed in silks and looking a rather uncomfortable, or out of his element. Not unlike Jon.
After the twins were set down, they ran together to a low table, flipping over a golden bowl of fruit. Large blood oranges spilled across the floor as the sounds of their giggles echoed throughout the chamber.
"I'm so sorry," Daenerys groaned in embarrassment. What an introduction, she thought.
"Don't be," the man said with a smile. "They're only children. In fact, your friends are welcome to take them down to the fountains while we speak. Several others are there, now, for them to play with."
Daenerys nodded to her dear friends, Missandei and Grey Worm, each of whom scooped up a twin, and Ser Davos, little Barristan, leaving a sleepy baby in her arms. The milkmaids followed slowly behind them, still gaping at the luxurious interior. At only three months, little Davos was too young to play in the pools, anyway. Even the thought of Barristan swimming, who had been almost a full year older than Davos, made her wildly uncomfortable.
"Forgive me, my lord," Daenerys began, cradling her babe as she dipped into a curtsey.
"There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace," Anders held out his hands as if to interrupt the motion, dipping into a bow, himself.
"Oh," she blushed, "I am no longer a queen, I assure you.'My lady' will surely suffice."
"You might've stepped down," he said, gesturing toward the plush yellow sofas, offering the pair a seat. "But the people of Dorne recognize you for what you truly are."
It was a line that brought a smile to her husband's lips as they took a seat across from the lord.
"I couldn't help but notice how different your accent is from those down near Lemonwood," Daenerys chimed, instantly regretting her words. Not everyone from Dorne is olive-skinned and heavily accented, she internally scolded herself.
"I hail from the Stony side of Dorne, it's true. My house seat is in the foothills of the Red Mountains."
"You have the blood of the First Men," Jon interrupted.
"Indeed," he agreed, nervously tousling his sandy-blonde hair. "I must admit, my former seat is far cry from the extravagance of the Water Gardens, and it is taking some adjusting to. Every day here, I feel as though I'm on a trip for leisure, rather than at home. I'm a man of simple tastes, myself."
"Aye," Jon laughed. "To that, I can relate."
Anders offered a smirk, "A man of simple tastes who happens to have a direwolf upon which he rides into battle?"
"Stories," Jon scoffed.
"So you don't have a direwolf?"
"I suppose I do. Though he's being fostered at Storm's End for now. With my sister, and his sister."
Merely raising an eyebrow at Jon's curious statement, Anders decided to broach a similar topic, "Speaking of mythical beasts— what of your dragons, my lady?"
Daenerys sighed. "Gone."
"Oh," he frowned. "You have my condolences."
"Not dead, just... gone."
Jon reached for her hand to squeeze it, knowing how badly she'd missed her other sons.
"They came to me to help me save the world. Perhaps now their work is done, they're off in their own paradise, somewhere, just like their mother," she laughed, tears budding in her eyes.
An awkward moment of silence passed, before Daenerys decided to wade back into more familiar waters.
"You mentioned your former seat?" Daenerys inquired.
"Yes, Yronwood. A fortress of little more than stone and mortar, but imposing, nonetheless."
"If you are the acting Lord of Sunspear, who is Warden of the Stone Way?"
"Ynys, the eldest daughter."
Daenerys exchanged a smile with her husband. She could get used to Dorne.
"It's beautiful here," she beamed, unable to help her eyes from darting around the room, taking in the small details she'd missed before—the intricately carved archivolts between the pillars, the hand-painted vases atop the tables, and the beautifully woven Dornish rugs beneath their feet.
"The personal style of the late Prince, I'm afraid, but I thank you nonetheless for the compliment."
Daenerys averted her gaze, feeling a sharp pang of guilt for the fate of the Martells.
"It is a shame you never had the opportunity to meet Prince Doran, my lady. He was a clever man, a man of peace. I remained loyal to him until his last day."
"It seems you are loyal to him, still, my lord."
Anders replied with only a hint of a wistful smile.
True to form, Jon had said little more than was necessary, letting his wife take the diplomatic reins. Despite it, the conversation that followed flowed like wine. They learned more of the late House Martell, everything both Doran and Oberyn had stood for, and their lasting legacy. They'd discussed the tragic deaths of Ellaria and her daughter, and further back, those of Jon's half-siblings, Rhaenys and Aegon. The couple had agreed to attend Ellaria's funerary ceremony, if Lord Yronwood saw fit to hold one, something he still had to mull over.
"I'd like to show you something, Daenerys," Anders said at the end of their meeting.
Jon took Davos from her as they rose, slumping the sleeping baby over his shoulder, gently stroking his back as they walked. Anders led them past another set of pillars to a foyer. On the wall hung a portrait of a woman who looked so eerily like herself, that even Jon gave both her and the painting a double take.
"Daenerys Targaryen, wife of Maron Martell. The Water Gardens were built for her. She was renown for her kindness, having started a tradition here by inviting children of both high and low birth to play in her pools. The very pools your children are playing in as we speak."
Together, she and Jon stared at the painted face of their ancient ancestor. Adorned with jewels and a golden crown, the Princess possessed a beautiful pair of purple eyes and long, silver hair.
"The same portrait hangs in the Tower of the Sun in Sunspear, even grander in scale. Daenerys is a revered figure of peace to the Dornish, just as her namesake," he paused to offer a kind smile. "Perhaps one day, your portrait will hang across from hers, my lady."
Daenerys raised a hand to wipe a tear away from her cheek.
"We are honored your family should choose to retire to Dorne. If ever you need for anything, I shall personally see to it that you are provided for, myself. The realm is indebted to you, both."
Shortly thereafter, they were led through a veil of sheer orange curtains, getting their first true view of the many pools and fountains the Water Gardens were famous for.
They followed the marble path beyond the gallery, listening to the birds singing amongst themselves. Terraces overlooked the courtyard of pools, supported by heavy wooden arches and beams. She stopped in her tracks, finally feeling a dizzying recognition upon seeing the wood engravings of animal faces, those which she assumed were native to Dorne. The carved eyes of vipers, jackals, hares, sand steeds, lizards, and wild dogs all stared back at her. I've been here before, she thought with utmost certainty.
"Are you all right?" Jon asked as they walked. He'd had an almost sixth sense when it came to her shifting moods.
"I recognize this place," she admitted softly as they wandered further in.
The waters looked green as they reflected the many trees and shrubs that lined the walkways. In the distance, she could hear the laughter of children, the splashing of water. Below their feet, the pink marble had red stains from fallen blood oranges that had broken open, providing a citrusy perfume that permeated the air. Daenerys sucked it in, so sweet she could happily drown in it.
After meeting up with others, they stayed in the courtyard well after night had fallen, letting the twins paddle and swim in the pools with their aid, in the soft light of the lanterns that hung from the terraces. Though no longer a babe, herself, Daenerys got to experience that childlike wonder vicariously through the eyes of her four children. From them, Daenerys was granted two things she'd never truly had before now—a family and a childhood. Both had brought her immeasurable joy, something queendom never had.
. . .
The trip back to the Planky Town had not gone as smoothly. The children were devastated to leave the Gardens, rightfully so. It was a small slice of paradise, thus far unrivaled. However, it was time to find their home, not to overstay their welcome.
By the time they had arrived back in the port city, the sun was falling fast. They unloaded one by one from the wheelhouse, cracking stiff joints and gasping for the crisp, salty air, compliments of the nearby the river. Along with Ser Davos, the milkmaids had disappeared into the inn, each carrying the youngest of Dany's babes. Grey Worm and Missandei had again, claimed the two-year-old twins, conspiring with Jon beside the wheelhouse.
Just as Daenerys approached them, Missandei flashed her a smile, agilely side-stepping her as she passed. I don't think so, Dany thought, catching her by the arm to stop her.
"Where are you taking Aem?"
"Upstairs."
"I thought we'd explore the town a bit more before retiring, stretch our legs."
"The children are exhausted from the trip, and could use a proper meal and a bath."
Daenerys relented, stepping forward and toward the inn with a frown.
"Not you," Missandei laughed.
"What?"
"Go. Explore," she commanded. "Take Jon."
"But-"
"I know you, my lady," her friend began. "You feel guilty for all the help we've given you with your family."
"I do."
"You shouldn't. It is great practice for me and Grey Worm."
"Practice? "
Missandei cast her gaze away, a light rosy blush coloring her cheeks. With a nonchalant shrug, she smiled, "Go. We'll discuss later."
Daenerys returned to the wheelhouse to change into a lighter, flowing dress of white with lilac embellishments. She braided her hair and wrapped it into a crown, using pins to hold it in place. Daenerys didn't mind that her work had been rumpled, so long as the bulk of it was off of her neck—the humidity already pulling flyaways out from under the pins.
Jon's mouth hung agape at the sight of her as she exited the wheelhouse. "You are stunning," he panted, his elbow bent in offer.
"Shut up," she groaned, knowing she looked a mess.
"I mean it," he insisted as she weaved her arm through his. "Purple suits you."
"Well, you look good, too."
"I do not. My hair is twice the size down here. I don't know how I'll manage," he groaned, using his free hand to push the mound of frizzy curls from his forehead, attempting to tuck them behind his ears. Immediately, they fell back over his eyes.
"I could braid your hair up, too?"
"Ha, ha," he mocked back. "Maybe I'll just shave it all off," he said with a nudge to her side.
Daenerys gasped in horror, "You wouldn't dare."
"Don't forget you're the one who dragged me down here."
"Fine. If you're getting a haircut, then so am I."
He paired a smirk with a sidelong glare. "I don't believe that for a minute."
Proudly, Jon escorted his wife through the perfumed streets of the Planky Town. It came alive by night, even more so than during the day. On the docks, the longshoremen toiled away under the cover of darkness, but on the streets, the markets stirred with light and life, exchanging vendors as they set up shop anew, setting out their produce and wares.
Daenerys filled a bag with fresh lemons, a jar of pickled olives and a bottle of Dornish Red for Ser Davos. She bought a bright, silken robe for Grey Worm, in an effort to help him finally relax, now that they had lived in a time of peace. For Missandei, she'd found a golden chain with a serpent charm—one that, to Dany, had looked a bit like a worm. She'd even purchased a pair of bracelets for her milkmaids. Unfortunately, the night vendors had nothing to offer for the likes of children, so, Jon agreed to take her to the markets the following day to find gifts for them, too.
After patronizing their way up and down each street, they spotted a blockade in the distance—a large tent. Small braziers within cast the shadows of dancers onto the sheer red fabric draped over its sides. Daenerys took Jon by the hand and led him over.
Just outside, they spied a cook grilling meats over a hot firestone. Likely lamb, seasoned and skewered with green pepper and onion. The cook's wife stood by, peddling samples of strongwine—so sweet it could serve as a dessert all its own. Instead, they opted for two mugs of Lemonsweet with which to wash down their food. After ordering several sticks of lamb each, they dipped below the tent to listen to the performance of stringed instruments with necks half as tall as Daenerys, and large drums to keep the beat.
They sat together at an empty table, gnawing at their skewers before downing the rest of their Lemonsweet. They watched the dancers spin and twirl, the women lifted into the air before lewdly wrapping their legs around their dancing partners. Between the sensual display, the romantic music, and the sweet taste of lemon on her tongue, Daenerys felt her blood stirring.
"Care to dance?"
Jon flinched. "You know I don't know how."
"You certainly do know how," she argued, "You just prefer to do your dancing on a battlefield."
"Those days are behind me," he reminded her. "Besides, I have a better idea."
After taking his wife by the hand, Jon led Daenerys back down to the inn. She waited outside as he left their purchases with the innkeep, freeing them up for whatever it was he had in mind.
They walked along the docks by the light of a full moon, the air cool enough to make her shiver. Finally, they'd found an abandoned dock, free of anchored ships and workers. Jon took a glance around before pulling his wife into his arms and showering scratchy kisses all along her jawline and neck.
"I never get you alone," he grumbled between kisses.
"Whose fault is that?"
He pulled away, furrowing his brow in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"You held true to your threat..."
"What threat?"
"To never let my belly flatten out before fattening me back up with another one of your babes."
"My babes? They're just as much yours as mine. Aemon and Barristan with their silvery curls... and the twins with those hauntin' violet eyes of yours."
"I know, I know," she relented.
"Besides, your belly seems plenty flat to me."
She frowned, "It's not flat. Not after four children."
"Hmm," he hummed, running had hands all over her body. "Maybe after five?"
"Five? " she croaked. "Please tell me you're joking. Four is plenty."
"I want another girl," he confessed. "We'll name her Daenerys."
Dany's nose scrunched at the thought, "I'm not naming one of our children for myself."
"Oh, put that ego of yours away, already," he teased.
"Excuse me? "
"Not for you, for Princess Daenerys Martell. My great ancestor."
Daenerys laughed before slipping into a sarcastic tone, "Of course. How silly of me to assume otherwise."
"Exactly," he agreed, letting go of her.
Jon glanced around again, noticing the docks had emptied out even further. His gaze fell upon the river, squinting as he spied something in the distance.
"Speaking of silly..." he mumbled. "Are you ready?"
"Ready? For what?"
He answered his wife with a mere grin before he bent down, hoisting her up and hurling her body over his shoulder. Daenerys shouted as many curses and protests as she could muster, begging to be put down as she threw her fists into his back. Instead, he ran along the docks and straight out of the Planky Town to the river's edge, laughing like a boy all the while.
Finally far away enough from prying eyes, he set her down gently in the grasses below. They were close enough to the town to still smell the lingering scent of oils, perfumes, and incense from the bazaars. The wind rippled through the leaves of the lemon trees that stood tall amongst the grasses. The moonlight had reflected in the water, illuminating the area and giving it an almost unnatural glow.
"We're finally alone," he whispered into her ear before wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her to the ground.
Daenerys yelped in surprise, but it was quickly swallowed in a round of giggles. As the laughter dried up, they sat together, simply gazing to the heavens—watching shooting stars streak the sky.
After loosening the laces in the back of her dress, Jon kissed his way over her shoulders and collarbone. Gently, he tugged at her bodice, inching it down as he took bites from her cleavage. Leaning back on her palms, Dany drifted in and out of a dreamlike haze as her husband fondled and tasted her skin. Squinting her eyes, she, too, spotted something in the distance.
Abruptly, she pushed him off of her, recognizing the unmistakable shape instantly.
"Jon," she trembled. "It's just there, across the river. I can see it."
"What is?"
"The house... with the red door."
Jon's head whipped around, hoping to discern it, himself. Not far from the coastline, there was a row of tall stone houses, a small settlement adorned with lemon trees of all sizes. She couldn't see the door from where they'd sat, but she knew that shape, it was etched into her mind, her heart. Home, she mused. I've finally found it.
Scrambling to her feet, Daenerys tore her dress off, casting it aside as she stood in just a chemise and smallclothes. Likewise, Jon stripped down to his breeches, both of them hopping between either foot as they wiggled out of their boots.
They jumped straight into the slow-moving waters with a pair of large splashes, careful not to swallow any of the murky water as they swam across. Jon offered his hand to help Daenerys from the water. From there, they ran barefoot through the grass, Jon letting her take the lead as he chased after her.
There she'd stood, before her childhood home, flooded with emotion, almost to the point of paralysis. Even in the moonlight, she could see the color clearly, now. Red. Martell Red.
Though the paint had been weathered and chipped away, not nearly as vivid as in her dreams and memories, Daenerys wept. With tiles missing from its roof, and broken windows to match, she knew restoring it would take a lot of work, but it would be worth it. Her children would grow with a lemon tree outside their window, just as she had, feeling the grass between their toes, smelling the incensed downdraft of the Planky Town across the river.
As Daenerys stood there stunned, Jon tried the door, first. It wasn't locked, but it was stuck. After several unsuccessful attempts, he turned to his wife with a frown.
"We'll come back in the mornin'?"
"Let me try." Dany wriggled the door's handle. When it didn't budge an inch, she threw her shoulder into the door with all her weight.
"Careful," Jon hissed, pushing her away, his bare chest illuminated in the moonlight, beaded with droplets of water that had fallen from his hair. Suddenly, she was overcome with passion.
When Daenerys approached again, he readied another lecture until he recognized the look in her eye. She snaked a hand around the back of his neck, tugging him into a kiss, pushing him up against the red door.
Jon broke away long enough to gather a fresh lungful of air before his wife attacked him again, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip and pulling him toward her.
"What has gotten into you?"
"You, I hope..."
With a wicked snicker, Jon spun her around, whipping her with a spray of droplets from his wet hair. Gripping the hem of her chemise, he drew it over her head, careful not to unravel her sopping, braided crown. He came next for her smallclothes, practically ripping them from her legs before tossing her clothing aside with a wet splatter.
Between the water and the cool breeze, Dany's nipples were so hard they almost hurt. She cried from a mixture of pain and pleasure as Jon took one in his mouth, tracing a ring around it with a warm tongue. He drifted across her chest, mimicking the same movements at her second breast, letting his tongue swirl away.
Before long, his mouth began its descent, following the streaks of water as they ran along her skin. He stopped at her navel, flicking his tongue at the water that had pooled inside. Dany shuddered, rattling the door in its frame. Coiling her fingers in his tangled mess of hair, she pushed his head further down, hoping he'd take the hint.
Jon hunched on the ground below her, kissing his way over her curls. Agonizingly, he stopped just shy of her cunt, taking a moment to lift a thigh before slinging it over his shoulder. He returned between her legs, lightly flicking his tongue side to side as he pressed it into her. Just when it felt like too much to bear, he'd back away again, alleviating some of the pressure and returning to light flicks. Once Jon had reduced her to a blubbering wreck, he latched onto her velvety, swollen lips, wrapping his mouth around her and sucking like a leech.
Daenerys ground into his nose as her climax shook her—even the scrape of his teeth as she bumped into him hadn't been enough to drag her back from ecstasy.
When Jon rose, he'd left his breeches behind. Possessively, he drew her thigh back up, pressing it against her as he positioned himself between her legs. He wriggled from his wife a throaty groan as he slipped inside of her in one quick motion, the tip of his cock already hammering against her womb. Writhing beneath him, Dany tried to match his every stroke as her tongue laved across his collarbone and neck.
Though he'd slowed in speed, Jon began throwing his weight into each thrust, pushing Dany further up against the door until she was lifted off of her feet entirely. The door wobbled on its hinges as she wrapped her liquid limbs around him, enduring the savagery of his movements as he crushed her against the door with all his strength. Pinned, she would be at his mercy until he'd taken from her what he needed.
There was a sudden snap that startled her. Jon must not have heard it, or must not have cared, as he continued his bombardment. Before she could even alert him to it, there came a second loud pop. Dany felt herself falling backward, her breath catching in her throat as they crashed into the floor, dust and sand kicking up in clouds all around them. The loud crack rang in her ears as they stared at one another, stunned. Dany rubbed her scalp, her braided crown having protected her head where she'd hit it.
"Are you all right?" he finally asked.
"I... think so..." she carefully answered, shifting beneath him to see if anything ached more than it should. "You?"
He quickly took stock, his face scrunched with confusion as he nodded.
"Well," she laughed, "That's one way of getting in."
"I'm so sorry, Dany, I don't know what got into me..."
"You were enjoying yourself," she answered for him. "Taking a nice break from the slow, quiet love we make whenever we get a moment alone."
Jon snorted at her comment, attempting to lift himself off of her. Quickly, she clutched his sides and pulled him back on top of her. "You didn't finish," she whined.
"That's okay. We should be gettin' back, anyway."
"No."
"No? Why not?"
"What about little Daenerys?
Jon merely raised an eyebrow at her, his wet hair dripping all over her chest.
"Your second daughter," she cooed, tangling her hands in his hair. His eyes widened as she continued, "She's waiting on us."
After swallowing the lump in his throat, he croaked, "Are you sure? I thought you didn't want-"
"The first Daenerys brought peace to Dorne," she interrupted. "The second? Peace to Westeros. Just imagine what the third could do."
His eyes misted as he digested her words, his face cracking into a smile. Needing no further encouragement, Jon split her legs open and pushed his way back inside before catching her mouth with his, trapping her with a kiss. Her husband began to kiss her all over—her mouth, her neck, and breasts. They were man and wife—simple folk living a simple life, making love in a tall stone house on a broken red door.
