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Nearly three days had passed, now, since Jon had come to. The very first thing to come into focus had been her face. Dazed, he watched the worry melt from her features, leaving behind relief. Daenerys Targaryen was relieved to see him wake up. Had he not seen the darkness after death firsthand, he might've even believed himself ascended to the highest of the seven heavens he didn't believe in. But it was real—as real as the dull aches and pains that riddled his body from head to toe, as real as the tears that welled in those sad, violet eyes.
While he might've woken to the queen at his bedside, he hadn't seen her since she left him alone with nothing but his thoughts and a strong sense of defeat. There had been little else to ponder in her absence, and he'd been left with no choice but to pore over each and every word exchanged during those few precious moments spent in her company.
The Daenerys that had waited faithfully by his side was quite unlike the Daenerys who resided on Dragonstone. And that was the first clue he managed to glean. Her voice, delicate and quivering, her stoic mask yielding to a softness he guessed few, outside of Missandei, had ever seen. There had been little effort on her part to hide her tears or vulnerability, either. It was a moment of weakness she felt comfortable enough to share with him. Daenerys had even let Jon hold her hand, comfort her—or at least attempt to.
What had felt like outright rejection at the time, had actually been a confession.
'The dragons are my children. They're the only children I'll ever have. Do you understand?'
When she first uttered the words, he couldn't help that his heart sank. Not because he thought she couldn't, but because he thought she wouldn't. It was Jon's self-consciousness that deafened him to what it was she had actually meant to confide.
Daenerys Targaryen could not bear children.
His disappointment was all too clear when she asked whether he'd understood. Perhaps she even assumed that had she stayed there with him, he might've agreed to something he'd later regret. Now, Jon could see it for what it was—a strategic and preemptive move to protect herself from hurt and rejection. Laying her cards on the table in plain view, and letting him decide whether or not pursuing her was worth it.
A man whose greatest fear was fathering a bastard, falling for a woman who felt inadequate that she couldn't bear him one. Jon might've even laughed at the irony, had he not spent so much of his time stranded on that frozen lake dreaming about silver-haired babes. That was a detail he could blame on delirium, easily enough. Daenerys was well worth such a cost and more, assuming he'd interpreted the message correctly.
It was Daenerys that finally drove Jon from his bed that morning. It had been several days since he'd last seen her—and the silence proved almost maddening. Lumbering around, he considered what he might actually say to her as he broke his fast and washed up. A few ideas had sprung to mind, but in truth, he wasn't so great at expressing himself. Already, he dreaded fumbling over his words and driving her further away.
Slowly, Jon made his way onto the deck. Outside, the sky was overcast and ominous, the cold, crippling as it tossed his loose hair every which way. The dark masts billowing overhead cast long shadows across the prow, shielding him from what little sunlight might've otherwise warmed him. Even just a few moments exposed to the elements felt excruciating, rippling right through to his marrow. If there were no reward to reap, he certainly would've turned tail by now.
"Jon Snow," her voice called from behind him. "You're up."
"I've been up, Your Grace."
"Upright, then. You're upright."
"I am."
A pair of small, gloved hands gripped the wooden railing beside him. Daenerys steadied herself from both wind and waves before inquiring further, "Should you be? So soon?"
"Who's to say?"
"Ser Davos, surely?"
"Not exactly the company I was lookin' to keep," he teased, offering his queen the best he had to give—a weak smile.
Whatever softness they'd shared between them those days ago had seemingly dissipated. Daenerys let her gaze drift back to the black and wrinkled sea that stretched out before them. Unsure where her mind had wandered to, Jon gave her a moment or two alone with her thoughts while he examined her. She had on one of her usual stiff and formless dresses—thick, though likely not thick enough to comfortably withstand the winds that whipped at whatever hair hadn't been twisted into intricate braids. The cold dotted her ears, nose, and cheeks bright red, and likewise urged his haste.
"You never asked how I managed to make it back."
"No."
Jon frowned. "Not the least bit curious?"
"Of course I am, it's just..."
"What?" he pushed, "It's just what?"
"My mind was still piecing together how you might've survived those scars, let alone crashing through a frozen lake."
Luckily, Daenerys hadn't caught Jon wincing. The most fatal of his wounds had been on full display for however long she'd sat beside him, waiting for him to regain consciousness. What had she concluded? he wondered, though he tried not to dwell on it. After all, she'd had gods know how long to visually examine his marred chest at her leisure. Whatever judgments she'd made had already long since come and gone.
"I clawed my way out of that lake with whatever might I had left," he confessed. He waited until Daenerys turned to him before continuing, "While I may not be a true Stark, I thought I should at least die like one."
The queen intently listened, though her gaze faltered.
"Once I managed to lift myself up, a figure on horseback came ridin' toward me."
"Yes," she nodded in recognition. "The horse... I had wondered..."
"It was my Uncle Benjen's horse," he clarified. "He had gone missin' beyond the Wall years ago. Before I could even consider how he might've subsisted there all these years, I was hoisted onto his horse while he stayed behind. As I rode away, a horde of dead men closed in on him."
Daenerys heaved a sigh at that. "He died so that you could live."
"Aye," he absently agreed, having yet to process the weight of such a sacrifice.
"I'm so sorry, Jon."
A moment of silence passed between them before Daenerys slid her hand along the railing, bumping Jon's. Reflexively, he pulled away just as she caught him between her fingers, running her thumb along his glove.
"Were you close?"
After steadying his breath, Jon began, never lifting his eyes from their interlocked hands, "One of my last memories of Benjen was when he came to Winterfell for a royal feast. I practically begged him to take me back to the Wall with him. You know what he said to me?"
"What's that?"
Jon cleared his throat then, carefully choosing his next words as he met her curious gaze, "He said, 'You don't understand what you'd be givin' up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons'."
As Daenerys cast her eyes away, Jon shifted his weight in an attempt to follow them.
"I told him, 'I don't care about that'. "
"You might care," she said after a moment, "If you knew what it meant..."
Unable to help himself, he chuckled. The queen sure had a knack for echoing the same sentiments as the many ghosts from his past.
"Forgive me, my lord, but my words were not in jest..."
"I know," he winced again, feeling feverish against the chill, now. "It's just that he said somethin' similar, too."
"Your uncle must've been a wise man, then," she smirked. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
"Wise, he was. But still a Stark."
She paused a moment to consider before turning toward him. "I'm afraid I don't follow?"
"For me, it's always meant bringin' another child into the world whose odds would be stacked against them simply for bearin' the name Snow."
"Have you forgotten you're no longer a man of the Night's Watch? You're King in the North."
"No," he corrected her. "I was King."
With a grunt, he finally let go of her hand, making an effort to kneel; but before he could make it even a quarter of the way, the queen rushed to halt him.
"What in seven hells do you think you're doing, Jon Snow?"
"Bendin' the knee, Your Grace."
"I don't think so," she insisted, grasping his arms and drawing him back up to his feet.
Sharply, Jon inhaled, his weakened heart thrumming to life with her touch, warding off even the chill that had seeped through to his bones.
"You've done quite enough for one day."
Though she'd maintained a tight grip on either arm, the queen's hesitation was palpable, then. Any moment now, she'd slip away again to return to her grief alone—he could feel it. Perhaps everything he'd concluded in her absence had landed far from whatever mark she'd intended, but these formalities felt downright hollow, now. Unnatural. He couldn't go back to them. Perhaps she was his queen, but that's not all she was to him. Not anymore.
Slow to raise her shields, Daenerys reclaimed one hand, letting the second linger a moment longer. When she finally met his eyes, he tried his damnedest to muster a look that conveyed the truth—his truth. He loved her.
After only a moment's inspection, he found an excuse to touch her—a stray tendril had escaped her braided crown, wriggling across her forehead like a fish out of water. Jon held his breath as he inched closer, raising his hand to brush it from her skin. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his touch.
The fine hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as he made his move—briefly, he wondered how many unseen eyes had been spying them in that moment. But he didn't care. Daenerys was all he could see.
"Perhaps you should retire, my lord," she finally said, averting her gaze. "Get some rest."
He gulped, nodding in agreement. "Aye."
Remaining on deck long enough to watch her disappear into the ship's cabin, Jon took one last lungful of frigid air before making his way back to his room, alone and in defeat. It would be a long trip south to King's Landing, however—and a little too early to give up hope.
. . .
When Jon woke for the second time that day, he half expected to see the queen's face to come into focus above him. Instead, he found only a dark and empty cabin, the faint moonlight trickling in through the windows. Shucking the furs from his body, Jon shambled to his feet, still feeling a bit clumsy after so many consecutive days lying abed. He paced his room in an effort to exercise his exhausted muscles, lighting a few candles as he roamed the narrow space.
There was no telling what time it was, exactly. Judging by the darkness outside, it was too late to freely roam the ship. After shrugging on an ill-fitting tunic, he wandered to his bedside table, retrieving a book Davos had left for him, something to help pass the time.
'I've brought you somethin' to read', the old man had said with sad eyes, 'It's about Aegon and his dragons'.
Unsurprisingly, every time he so much as glanced at the book's cover—An History of Aegon the Conqueror and His Conquest of Westeros—he thought of Daenerys. The Conqueror come again, he smirked at the thought. Taking a seat on the very stool she had used while keeping him company, he raked his fingers through his beard, considering.
Before his mind could wander too much further, the floorboards outside his door began to creak. Remaining seated, he listened for a moment, unable to hear anything more than the waves beating against the ship's hull.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Startled, Jon stood, rushing to greet the visitor. The moment he opened the door, he paused, hardly able to believe his eyes.
Daenerys.
His eyes locked onto hers, neither gaze interrupted by so much as a blink. The queen's breaths were deep and steady, yet her lips trembled. No words came—not from his mouth, not from hers.
As if any sudden movement might break the spell, Jon pushed his door open as slowly as he could manage, silently granting her entry. Daenerys stepped forward, his eyes hanging on her as she turned and shut the door.
He couldn't help the hunger with which he stared. His mind begged him to say her name, to greet her, to ask what she wanted, but his tongue refused to comply. Frozen, he merely gaped—eyes drifting over her lips and neck—following the trail of exposed skin to a dip in her shift. It conformed to her body, revealing her shape in a way nothing else quite had before. Loose, silver ringlets fell about her shoulders without a single braid in sight.
When his eyes traveled back to hers, he was surprised to find them hanging on his lips. Heart hammering, he trembled as she leaned in, clenching his eyes shut just as their mouths met. He couldn't help the satisfied sigh that followed as her fingertips brushed over his neck, diving straight into his unkempt hair.
Hands skimming her waist, he parted his legs to better anchor himself as she pressed her body into him. Already feeling faint, his knees began to wobble as the boat swayed, caught in the ebb and flow of the sea. With the queen finally in his arms, his body's refusal to cooperate had proved maddening.
Cruelly, she tore her mouth from his, taking a few extra breaths before insisting, "You're trembling."
Unable to locate his voice, Jon only nodded as Daenerys trailed her hands over his shoulders, getting a good grip before walking him backward to his bed.
"You must be cold," she added, urging him to sit. In truth, it was the first time in days he hadn't felt cold at all, though he wasn't about to argue it—certainly not as she bunched the hem of his tunic in her fists before stripping it from him completely.
For a fleeting moment he considered somehow hiding his mutilations from view, but the craving in her eyes hadn't abated an inch. Rather, she held his gaze as she tugged at her shift, drawing it over her thighs. Succumbing to temptation, Jon slipped his hands underneath, chasing after the newly-exposed skin, soft as pale as churned cream.
Once her garment went up and over her head, he couldn't help indulging in the sight of her—almost ashamed his imagination had been so poor at working out exactly what she looked like underneath each of those rigid, imposing dresses. Daenerys had the dense, defined thighs only a dragonrider could possess, her breasts in perfect balance with soft flare of her hips.
After letting Jon get his fill of her, Daenerys stepped forward, taking his head in her hands. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Jon rolled his forehead in the hollow between her breasts. He stayed there a moment, reveling in the comfort of her touch as he worked up his nerve.
Breathing erratically now, Jon placed at kiss over her heart before letting his lips more liberally wander. Daenerys trembled, too, as her hands slipped into his lap to unlace his trousers. Stubbornly, Jon kept his mouth on her breasts as she leaned him backward, even chuckling at his pained expression when she pulled away long enough to wrench him free of the last of his clothes.
It was her turn to take in the sight of him as she removed her stockings and slippers. Tortuously slowly, her eyes skimmed his body. Jon's cheeks flushed hot as they finally drifted over his all-too-apparent arousal.
"Getting under the furs should help," she finally said, rounding the corner of his bed before tugging them out from underneath him. She drew back the many layers, giving Jon a moment to settle before slipping in beside him.
Immediately, she nuzzled against his body, her heat enough to permeate through his muscles in an instant. Despite it, the moment she reclaimed his lips with hers and sent her hands wandering over his back, he couldn't help the shiver that followed.
"You're still shaking," she said between kisses.
Pulling away, he lifted a hand to brush her temple. "It's not the cold, Your Grace."
"None of that," she sighed. "Just Dany."
Jon narrowed his eyes at her. "But I thought-"
"Don't," she interrupted, settling onto her back. "Don't think."
Giving his beard a tug, she urged him back to her mouth for one final, lingering kiss before flipping onto her side. After brushing her hair across his pillow, she nestled in, retrieving his arm and tucking it under her breasts. While Jon could hardly complain to have the woman he loved naked in his bed and pressing her backside into him, he found himself surprised, nonetheless—especially as the minutes piled up.
The queen hummed contentedly in his arms, tracing shapes over the fine hairs. It was clear by now she wasn't tired, nor had Jon been. When he cleared his throat, she craned her neck to steal a peek of him.
"You're still awake."
"Awake?"
She studied his face. "What are you pouting for?"
"What? I'm not."
"You are ."
"It's nothing," he frowned.
"It's not nothing," she insisted, settling onto her back once more. "You're brooding harder now than your first few days on Dragonstone."
"I suppose that I thought we might- That you might've wanted to-"
"You nearly froze half to death," she reminded him, though her brow had quirked in consideration. "How could we-?"
"Very carefully," he interrupted, flashing a timid yet hopeful grin.
The moment she matched his smile with one all her own, he decided to pick up where they'd left off. After nudging Dany's hair away, Jon dipped his head, teasing his tongue across her neck. Whimpering, the queen arched into his touch as hands roamed over her breasts and belly. Cradling his head as he rose for air, she snaked a leg out from under the furs to push them away. Before he could so much as react as the cool air struck his skin, Dany kicked her leg off of the mattress, effortlessly rolling him onto his back.
Nose to nose, she wasted no time before parting her legs, the wet heat of her arousal immediately recognizable. Sharply, Jon exhaled, hissing through clenched teeth.
"Have I made it worse?"
When he opened his eyes, he couldn't help but smirk at her wounded expression.
"This is as well as I've felt in years," he admitted.
Briefly, Dany nipped at her bottom lip, teasing him with several slippery strokes before a small hand disappeared between their bodies, "Not yet, it isn't."
Immediately pursuing the beautiful threat, she guided Jon inside of her. This time it was Dany who hissed as she took him deeper with each roll of her hips. Once fully engulfed inside of her, she leaned in, knocking noses with him, tucking her knees against his thighs. There was a tingling all throughout Jon's body as his blood deserted his limbs one by one. He held onto her tightly, fanning his fingers across her back as she rocked above him. The sweep of her hair, the drag of soft skin, the slick clamp around his cock—a bevy of sensations that proved intoxicating.
Trying his best to keep up with her kisses as she moved, he couldn't help but tear his mouth away to catch his breath, feeling lightheaded. Abruptly, Dany retreated, coming to a halt as she peered into his eyes, the sound of their panting filling the space between them. With nothing more than a look, Jon tried to convey how deeply he'd come to care for her as she brushed the curls from his temple—he was hers, body and soul.
In just seconds, she had seemingly deciphered the wordless message. Exhaling with a shudder, it was as if a weight had just slipped from her shoulders.
It was then he knew—everything he felt was reflected in her eyes.
She was his, too.
Suddenly, her gaze dropped to his lips. The hunger had seeped back in. She dove in, seizing his mouth with such possession that it made him tremble. Hooking an arm around her neck as she picked up pace, Jon dragged his fingertips lazily over her skin and through her hair—devoured whole with each lunge, with every swirl of her hips.
Completely wrapped up in her, Jon had endured just about all his fatigued body could handle before a familiar tightening crept up. He had just enough time to grasp her hips, pushing himself further into her as his body convulsed, flooding her womb with his seed. Dany slowed, allowing for a few final thrusts to see him through. Stopping just before it became too much to bear, she rolled off of him and to his side.
As if breaking the lake's surface a second time, Jon was left gasping for air as his eyes followed Dany. Curiously, her hand slipped between her legs as she pressed them together, quirking her hips. To Jon, it looked as if she was determined to keep every last drop inside of her. He tried to snuff the flicker of hope that swelled within him at the peculiar sight.
Nuzzling against him as he recovered, Dany traced her fingers along the edges of his scars, dipping into the ridges of his abdomen. Jon was rather unaccustomed to such light, gentle touches, half-considering batting her hand away. Thankfully, he was too exhausted for even that, and so he silently tolerated the torment of every ticklish touch as his mind lingered on the queen's earlier confession, that it didn't quite add up with her priorities post-lovemaking.
"Dany?"
Shifting her head, she met his eyes.
"I mean no offense, but how is it you know that you can't have children?"
"I was told so."
"By who?"
"The witch who murdered my husband."
Jon drew a hand up to scratch at his beard, considering. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear—figuring she might've tried all throughout her first marriage, and failed.
"You don't believe me."
"Oh, I believe you," he clarified. "It's the witch I don't believe."
Heaving a sigh, Dany let her gaze fall from his. The last thing Jon wanted her to think was that he'd ignored the terms she'd set, the very ones he'd already agreed to.
"In the event your witch turns out to be the liar I suspect she is," he paused, "Well, I won't be disappointed. Whatever happens or doesn't happen—I just want to be yours."
"I didn't take you for a poet, Jon Snow."
At the risk of sounding like some mooning boy, he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he simply stared at her—all a mess with tousled hair, dewy skin, and pink-flushed cheeks. It was in his arms Dany could finally relax, her vulnerability softening her features.
"Hopefully the next time we try this," he finally said, "I won't be so... frail."
"The next time?" she scoffed.
Jon tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, to no avail.
"To assume you'd regain your strength after only a few moments of rest," she said, "Well it's awfully presumptuous."
He tilted his head in confusion.
A fresh wave of desire washed over the queen as her hand left his belly, fingernails softly trailing over his hips and toward his thighs. Already, his heart raced and his cock stirred at her touch—involuntary reactions on his part, but that sly grin of hers grew all the same.
It would be a long trip south to King's Landing, Jon reminded himself, pulling Dany in for another round of kisses. Though not nearly long enough.