The Bastard and the Dragon

by Agot_enthusiest

Summary:

Jon Snow arrives at Dragonstone early and meets Queen Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys is expecting an easily swayed king, but is mistaken when she meets the king. Little did they both know this would be the beginning of love...

Notes:

Hi everyone,
First off I want to say thank you if you of end up reading this, this is my first ever fanfic so go easy on me lol. Please do not be afraid to point out any grammar/spelling mistakes in the comments.
Second, this fanfic involves Jon Snow leaving the North earlier to Dragonstone. Sansa is ruling the North while he's gone. This fanfic also has Ser Barristan Selmy live. Arya and Gendry do not happen until later.
Again thank you all so much.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Prolouge:

All Jon Snow ever wanted was to be a Stark. Stark, he thought to himself in silence, the name echoing through the cold corners of his mind. But he wasn’t a Stark—he was a Snow. A bastard. The name had followed him like a shadow all his life, a reminder of what he wasn’t allowed to be.

He was never permitted to sit with his brothers and sisters at feasts. He was the outcast in Winterfell, tormented by Sansa and her companions, treated like an unwelcome guest in the only home he had ever known. The only warmth he ever found came from Robb and Arya, who loved him like a true sibling, never making him feel like less than family.

Now Robb was dead, slaughtered by the Freys for being too honorable. Too much like Father, Jon thought bitterly. He was afraid of having a child like me. The thought twisted in his chest like a knife. He stood alone now, brooding at the edge of a ship as it cut through the icy waters, leaving White Harbor behind and heading south to Dragonstone.

How did I get here? he wondered.

Once, Robb held the title of King in the North. Now Jon bore it—he and Sansa had taken the North back from the Bastard of Bolton. He’d kill that son of a bitch seven times over if he could. Before that, Jon had been murdered in cold blood by his own brothers of the Night’s Watch, only to be brought back by a red priestess, an onion knight, and the few loyal brothers who still believed in him.

Now he sailed south to meet the daughter of the Mad King—Daenerys Targaryen. Ten guards traveled with him, along with his trusted Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth, the same Onion Knight who had stood by him when all others turned away.

Behind him, Davos approached quietly and cleared his throat. “Still time to turn back, you know,” he said, only half-joking.

Jon didn’t smile. He never wanted to be here. Never wanted to play the game of thrones. But the war against the Night King and the army of the dead left him no choice. Daenerys had dragons—and Dragonstone had dragonglass. Both were crucial if they stood any chance of surviving what was to come.

Jon’s hands gripped the railing of The Seastar tighter at the thought. He turned to Davos and said, “I wish we could, Davos. I wish I were still the naive bastard of Winterfell. No throne. No crown. No dead siblings.” His voice lowered. “None of it.”

Memories of stolen ale with Robb in the dark kitchens, of Arya beaming with pride as he gave her Needle for the first time, flickered in his mind like the dying flames of a hearth long left behind.

Davos nodded solemnly. He understood the weight of loss. Of his seven sons, only four came back from war—three buried on foreign soil. He placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder before shifting the conversation.

“You think Queen Daenerys is really what they say she is?” he asked.

Jon didn’t answer right away. He had heard the stories. That she burned Slaver’s Bay to ash. That she marched with a horde of Dothraki screamers and eunuch warriors from across the sea. That she had three dragons, living weapons of fire and death. And that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I hope not,” Jon replied at last, barely above a whisper.

He had no interest in beauty, nor in love. He had loved once. And that love had died in his arms beyond the Wall.

Davos broke the silence with a small smile. “Get some rest, lad. You look like you haven’t slept since you were stabbed.”

Jon gave a tired smirk, then disappeared below deck, retreating to the quiet of his cabin, the sea lulling him into a shallow, uneasy sleep.

~

Daenerys Targaryen tossed in her bed for the third night in a row. Sleep eluded her, haunted by thoughts she couldn’t quiet. With a frustrated sigh, she rose and stepped out onto the balcony of Dragonstone. The wind whipped her silver hair around her face as she listened to the waves crash against the black cliffs below.

Nothing should be awake at this hour, she thought. Not her dragons, not her Unsullied, not even her faithful friend Missandei.

Far on the horizon, she saw three ships. Tiny shadows against the moonlit sea. Likely merchant ships—or so she hoped. She had few allies on Dragonstone. Olenna Tyrell, now the Lady of the Reach in her grandson Willas’s absence, and Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, who had pledged support against Cersei Lannister.

The last piece yet to fall into place was Jon Snow—the so-called King in the North.

Daenerys believed she could sway him. He was a man, after all. Kings could be tempted, seduced by power, wine, or lust. Not that she intended to offer the latter—at least not deliberately. But she had heard things about him too. That he was young, quiet, honorable. That he had refused Stannis Baratheon’s name and crown. That he had been killed and came back.

Still, all men wanted something. All men broke when pressed hard enough.

She settled back under the covers, staring at the stone ceiling of her ancestral home. She wondered whether Jon Snow would be a friend, a tool, or an obstacle. She hoped for the first—but prepared for the last.

As she finally drifted into sleep, her thoughts were filled not with fire and blood, but with the throne her family once ruled—and the hope that soon, it would be hers again.

Chapter 2: The Halls Where the Kings who are Gone

Notes:

Jon Arrives at Dragonstone, and meets Daenerys, who takes a liking to the king...

The sea groaned beneath them, angry and endless.

Jon Snow stood near the bow of The Seastar, his black cloak soaked through by the salt spray. The wind tore through the sails with a relentless shriek, and waves slammed against the hull like the fists of forgotten gods. Above them, storm clouds churned, swollen and grey, as if even the sky held its breath.

Through the mist, Dragonstone emerged—its cliffs jagged, its towers dark and cold as obsidian. The castle loomed like something pulled from legend, its walls slick with mist and time. It looked less like a home and more like a warning.

Davos Seaworth approached quietly, squinting toward the massive structure. “I’ve been here before,” he muttered. “Once. With Stannis. That place is cursed.”

Jon said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the rising fortress. Every step closer to Dragonstone felt like a step farther from the North—from the wolves, the snow, the old gods, and the quiet comfort of Winterfell. But also from the weight of duty and the endless ache of loss.

Here, at least, was a new kind of unknown.

Behind them, Ghost shifted restlessly, his white fur bristling in the sea wind. The direwolf had not taken well to the voyage, pacing and whining with each swell of the sea. Jon reached down and scratched behind his ears. “Almost there,” he murmured, more to himself than to the wolf.

~

By late morning, they had docked. Jon stepped off the ship first, glad to be on land again. The stones of the pier were wet and slick, but solid beneath his feet. Ghost followed close at his side, a silent sentinel.

At the end of the dock, a dozen Unsullied waited in perfect formation. Their armor gleamed even under the gray skies, and their stillness was unnerving. Jon had heard stories of them—warriors who never flinched, who never questioned orders, who never broke rank. Now, seeing them in person, he understood.

One of them stepped forward—a tall man with shaved hair and a sharp gaze. “I am Grey Worm,” he said, his voice formal and deliberate. “Commander of the Unsullied. Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, requests your presence in the Great Hall.”

Jon inclined his head. “Lead the way.”

He and Davos followed, climbing the steep path carved into the cliffside. Dragonstone’s ancient stairway wound upward through black stone and sea mist. Each step seemed older than memory, each wall lined with carvings of dragons, flames, and the old Valyrian sigils.

“You ever climb so many stairs in your life?” Davos muttered breathlessly.

Jon gave the faintest smile. "Try climbing the Wall Ser Davos, you wouldn't know what hit you"', Jon said playfully.
~

Inside the throne room, Daenerys Targaryen waited.

She sat tall and composed on the throne of carved obsidian, her silver hair pinned in intricate braids, her gown a deep crimson trimmed with black. The hall was cavernous and dark, but the torches lit her like fire—warm, sharp, radiant.

By her side stood Ser Barristan Selmy, the last of the true Kingsguard.

“They say he’s quiet,” the knight said. “Honest. They also say he’s not easily impressed.”

“I’m not here to impress him,” Daenerys replied, but her eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity. “I’m here to find allies.”

Missandei entered just then, her expression serene. “The Northern King has arrived, Your Grace.”

Daenerys rose slightly. “What is he like?”

Missandei smiled. “Young. Quiet. Worn, but proud. Handsome, though he wouldn’t know it.”

Daenerys gave her a sideways glance. “You think I’ll like him.”

“I think,” Missandei said, “you’ll be surprised.”

Daenerys exhaled, adjusted her sleeves, and nodded. “Bring him in.”

~

The great doors opened moments later. Jon entered with Davos beside him and Ghost a pace behind. He wore black—simple but striking, the fur-lined cloak of the North hanging from his shoulders. His face was stern, focused, but his eyes wandered briefly across the hall—until they landed on her.

And lingered.

She was more than beautiful. She was composed, calm, and watchful in a way that made her seem older than her years. Her gaze held power—but not the cold, hungry kind of a tyrant. It was… curious. Warm.

Jon bowed. “Your Grace.”

“Lord Snow,” she said, rising gracefully. “You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen—First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.”

Jon blinked. Davos cleared his throat. “This is Jon Snow, King in the North.”

There was a pause.

Jon stepped forward, voice firm but not harsh. “I didn’t come to make demands. Only to ask for your help.”

“And what help would the North ask of me?” Daenerys asked, descending the steps of the throne. Her eyes never left his.

“We need dragonglass,” Jon said. “Your island is rich with it. It can save lives—thousands. Maybe more.”

Daenerys studied him. “And what do you offer in return?”

“Trust,” Jon said simply. “And the promise that when the time comes, we will stand together.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You offer no loyalty. No kneeling. And yet you expect me to give freely?”

“I offer honesty,” Jon said. “I offer peace. If I were here to bend the knee, I would have done so already. I’m here because I need your help—and because I believe you care about more than thrones and crowns.”

There was silence in the hall. Only the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs.

Then Daenerys smiled. “Walk with me.”

~

They stepped into the open air of the castle terrace. The sky was clearing, and rays of sunlight pierced through the mist in golden shards. From here, the sea stretched endlessly to the east, the waves shimmering like hammered silver.

“I didn’t expect someone like you,” Daenerys said.

“Nor I, you,” Jon replied.

They walked slowly along the stone path. Ghost trotted ahead, his nose in the wind. Below them, dragons roared faintly from the cliffs.

“You’re different from any Northern lords I’ve met,” Daenerys said, glancing at him.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” she replied with a small smile.

They stopped near the edge of a cliff. The sea wind played with her silver hair, pulling strands across her face. Jon watched her, then hesitantly reached out and tucked one behind her ear.

She didn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” Jon said softly.

“You don’t have to be,” she replied, her voice just as soft.

Their eyes locked again. No words passed, but something shifted—quiet and tentative, like the first bloom of spring after a long winter.

“You seem tired,” Daenerys said.

“Leading a kingdom isn’t restful,” Jon admitted.

“And yet you carry it.”

“Because someone must.”

She looked away briefly, then back at him. “You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Good memories?” he asked.

She nodded. “Painful, but good.”

The wind whistled gently between them. For a while, neither spoke.

“Stay a few days,” she said finally. “Rest. Learn. Talk.”

“I think I will,” Jon said, and this time, he smiled.

~

That evening, the castle quieted. Jon wandered the halls, sleepless, drawn by the distant sound of waves.

He found himself on a balcony overlooking the sea. The moon hung low and full, bathing the ocean in pale light.

Daenerys appeared not long after. She wore a long robe of deep blue, her hair loose now, flowing down her back in soft waves.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“No,” Jon said. “Too quiet.”

They stood together, side by side. For a moment, the silence was comforting, like an old song neither needed to finish.

“I used to dream of this place,” Daenerys said. “When I was a child. My brother told me stories. I thought it would be brighter.”

“It suits you,” Jon said.

She turned to him, surprised. “Why?”

“It’s strong,” he said. “Lonely. But not empty.”

Her lips parted slightly. “And what about you, Jon Snow? What suits you?”

He thought for a moment. “A quiet fire. A place to rest. A reason to smile.”

Her eyes softened. “And do you have any of those?”

“Not yet,” he said, and then, “But maybe I’m getting close.”

She laughed—a quiet, genuine sound that made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Would you walk with me again tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jon said without hesitation.

“Good.”

She stepped away, but just before disappearing into the corridor, she looked back.

“Goodnight, Jon Snow.”

“Goodnight, Daenerys.”

And when she left, the air still smelled like salt and fire—but it no longer felt cold.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading, chapter 2 comes soon!!!

Chapter 3: The Garden

Summary:

Jon and Dany meet, a meal, and a conversation between two great fighters...

The air in Dragonstone was thick.

Jon Snow tossed again in his bed, sheets tangled around his legs, hair damp with sweat. The castle breathed warmth, the walls still pulsing with the heat of ancient dragonfire buried deep in the stone. It was a far cry from Winterfell, where the cold crept into the bones and made the hearths a haven. But here, in this southern stronghold, the heat pressed against him like a second skin.

And still, the only fire that consumed him was her.

Daenerys.

He whispered her name aloud—too quiet for even Ghost to stir, but it was enough to shame him. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Pull yourself together,” he muttered.

He wasn’t some boy dreaming of fair-haired princesses. He was the King in the North. He’d fought white-eyed corpses in the snow, stared down the Night King himself, bled for the Wall, died for it. Yet here he was, restless in a stranger’s bed, haunted by silver-gold hair and violet eyes.

It had been years since he thought of another like this. Not since Ygritte, wild and brave and burning with laughter. But Daenerys wasn’t like her. She was… different. Sharper. Calmer. Warmer in a way that left marks beneath the skin.

He sat up with a frustrated groan, waking Ghost, who raised his great white head and blinked lazily.

“Go back to sleep,” Jon muttered. “One of us should.”

He dressed in silence, pulled on his black leather jerkin, tied his hair back in a half-knot, and opened the door to the corridor beyond. The halls were quiet, the castle still caught in its early hush. A gentle salt breeze stirred the heavy air.

Jon let his feet lead him.

~

Daenerys Targaryen walked in Aegon's Garden, the grass doing little to calm the nervous flutter behind her ribs. The morning sun was just beginning to pierce the mist that clung to Dragonstone’s peaks. Below, the waves clawed at the cliffside, relentless and white-capped.

She hadn’t slept. Again.

Not because of fear or dreams—but because of him.

Jon Snow.

There was a gravity to the man, one she hadn’t expected. He wore his honor like a second cloak, heavy and ever-present. He did not flatter her. He did not preen. But he watched. Measured. And beneath that brooding stillness, she saw something burning.

A man shaped by sorrow. A man who had been asked to carry more than his share.

He reminded her, uncomfortably, of herself.

Daenerys exhaled, setting the teacup aside. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that attraction made an ally. Nor was she so naive as to believe in romance amid war. But she also knew the ache of isolation—and what it meant to find someone who understood the weight of a crown.

Suddenly she heard walking near her.

~

Jon found the garden by accident—or perhaps instinct. The carved stone archway led into a surprisingly lush courtyard, hidden between black walls and wind-worn towers. Marble statues stood guard beneath lemon trees, their leaves flickering in the light. A fountain murmured in the center, and the air smelled of herbs and salt and something faintly sweet.

Daenerys was already there.

She stood beside a flowering bush, fingers grazing the edge of a white blossom. The sunlight turned her hair to fire.

She turned at the sound of his boots.

“Morning, Jon Snow.”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, stopping short.

“Not at all,” she said. “This garden isn’t often visited. Rhaenys Targaryen created it, they say. She wanted something green on this island of stone.”

“She had good sense.”

Daenerys smiled. “You found it quickly.”

“I needed air. Northern instinct.”

They stood in a silence that was not awkward, only tentative. Like the beginning of a song neither knew the words to yet.

She gestured to a stone bench beside the fountain. “Sit with me.”

He did.

“You look rested,” she said.

“I didn’t sleep,” he replied.

Daenerys laughed softly. “Neither did I.”

Jon looked at her, brows furrowing. “Why not?”

She hesitated. “A lot on my mind.”

They sat in quiet again, listening to the water.

“People say many things about you,” she said suddenly.

Jon turned. “Most of them unflattering.”

She smiled. “Some say you’ve seen death. That you rose from it.”

His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t answer.

“I don’t care if it’s true,” she added quickly. “I just… wonder what kind of man comes back from that.”

Jon looked down at his hands. “The kind who wishes he hadn’t.”

That surprised her.

He looked up. “But maybe it’s worth something if it leads to… this.”

“To me?” she asked.

“To peace,” he said quickly, then faltered. “To… understanding.”

Their eyes met. There was no pretense between them. No courtesies or crowns.

Just two rulers. Two people.

“I hope we can understand each other better,” she said softly.

Jon nodded. “So do I.”

She stood, brushing her fingers along the rim of the fountain. “Would you join me for dinner? You, me, your Hand, mine.”

“No politics?”

“A few,” she admitted. “But mostly food.”

“I’d be glad to,” he said.

~

That evening, the candlelit hall was quiet and modest by Dragonstone standards. The great obsidian throne had been left behind in favor of a smaller table near the hearth. It felt less like court, and more like family.

Daenerys wore a soft crimson gown, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. Missandei sat beside her, pouring wine with grace. On the other side sat Ser Davos, scratching his beard and eyeing the roasted duck with reverence.

Jon entered last, wearing clean black wool, Ghost waiting faithfully just outside the doors.

“You keep that direwolf well-trained,” Daenerys said.

“He trains me more than I train him.”

The meal began with roasted vegetables, lemon-seasoned fish, and hot, crusty bread. Davos and Missandei fell quickly into conversation—tales of Dragonstone’s rocky coast, the markets of Meereen, the strangest foods they’d ever eaten.

Jon found himself watching Daenerys. The way she tilted her head when she listened. The quick smile when she teased Davos about his accent.

She caught his gaze once and didn’t look away.

After dessert—sweet plum cakes and sharp goat cheese—Daenerys leaned toward him.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.”

“I don’t want you to see me as just a queen.”

“What else should I see?”

She hesitated, then said, “A woman trying to make a better world.”

Jon’s reply came quickly. “Then we’re alike.” "Except I'm a man" Jon corrected himself jokingly.

And for a moment, nothing else existed. Not the Night King. Not Cersei. Just two people in the warmth of firelight, realizing that trust didn’t have to be earned through war alone.

~

The dinner ended smoothly, Daenerys and Missandei returned to their respective corridors, Ser Davos had gone to who knows where

Jon stepped into the corridor, full and thoughtful. The air was cooler now, the sea breeze curling through the torches.

He didn’t notice Ser Barristan Selmy until the knight stepped forward from the shadows.

“Lord Snow,” Barristan said.

“Ser Barristan.”

They studied one another.

“She’s smiling more,” the old knight said. “Since you arrived.”

Jon cleared his throat. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“It may not matter.” Barristan walked slowly, hands behind his back. “She’s been hurt. Used by those who claimed loyalty, and abandoned by those who loved her too little.”

“I have no intention of using her,” Jon said.

“And no intention of kneeling, either.”

Jon looked at him. “Not yet.”

Barristan paused. “Good. Don’t kneel because of fear or fire. If you do, let it be because you’ve found something worth following.”

Jon nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“She respects you,” Barristan said. “Don’t let that be a weakness.”

“I won’t.”

The old knight gave a nod and turned, vanishing into the stone corridor.

~

Daenerys lay in bed, her braid loosened, her legs tangled in silk. The candle beside her had long gone out, but her eyes remained open, watching the ceiling.

She thought of Jon Snow. The way he had spoken. The way he looked when he tried not to smile. The sadness in him, like a well too deep to see the bottom.

She found herself wanting to know what lived in that darkness.

Not for the sake of alliance. But for herself.

~

Jon sat in the dark beside Ghost, staring out the window at the black waves below. Dragonstone slept around him, but the wind whispered through the cracks in the stone.

He thought of Daenerys. Not as a queen. Not as the Mother of Dragons.

But as a woman.

One who laughed at his dry jokes. One who offered peace in a garden of sunlight.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But for the first time since he’d died, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

Notes:

Thank you all for reading!! Please don't be afraid to comment any questions, suggestions, grammar or spelling mistakes.

Chapter 4: The White Wolf

Summary:

Ghost helps force a conversation. Jon and Daenerys have a conversation with their two most trusted advisors..

Notes:

Hi everyone! I really hope you enjoy this chapter I believe that it's my best one yet!!

Daenerys twisted in her sheets, her mind racing. She hadn't thought of someone this much since

Drogo

She thought to herself. She had never truly loved Drogo after her brother sold her off to him. Regardless, she kept thinking about Jon Snow.

Everything about him was different, his eyes gray, his soul melancholic, and his accent

Oh his handsome Northern accent. She thought to herself

Stop that! She thought angrily. Why do you keep thinking about him like a little child She thought

Suddenly, Daenerys was jolted up from her bed, she heard the repeated sound of pawing at her door.

She jumped out of her bed and opened the door slightly.

In front of her was a wolf who looked the size of a small horse. Ghost she had thought to herself.

She thought back to the books that she had read in Essos, about Free Folk and Starks who were able to warg into different animals, such as Direwolves.

I wonder if he's watching me. She had thought slightly, the idea of him watching her being eerie and cute at the same time.

“Come in boy” she muttered to Ghost, half expecting the Direwolf to attack her right there. But he didn't, he jumped in her bed and laid on a side.

Daenerys closed the door and fell back into bed, Ghost’s warmth comforting her. She hadn't felt this kind of warmth in many, many moons.

She stared into Ghost’s red eyes, slowly stroking his white fur.

“Are you watching me Jon?” She said, Ghost staring right back at her.

Why wasn't a mostly unfamiliar Direwolf laying and comforting her? Why wasn't Ghost attacking her? All these thoughts went away as she drifted to sleep, hand still on Ghost’s head…

~

Ghost, Ghost, Ghost?

Where the fuck is Ghost?!

Jon jumped out of bed, he was able to sense he was still near him, but where? Jon quickly threw on a cloak and left his room, the cloak barely covering his scars. He looked through his hall with Ser Davos.

“Ghost, where are you boy?” Jon said, just barely loud enough to wake up his hand.

Jon kept looking, wandering through the halls of Dragonstone. The library, no, the great hall, no, the armory no.

“Where are you, Ghost?”

After what felt like ages, he saw a white furry tail sticking out from a room. Jon ran over, almost tripping along the stone halls.

“Ghost!” Jon said, arriving at the turn.

To Jon's shock, near the entrance of the Chamber of the Painted Table stood Daenerys, staring at the table, stroking Ghost's hair on his head with Ghost’s tail wagging.

Ghost had never acted this kind to strangers before, in fact he had been so kind to anyone but Jon before.

Jon's thoughts were interrupted suddenly.

“Oh, hello Jon” he heard Daenerys say softly, she turned around, violet eyes staring into Jon's grey eyes.

“Hello, Your Grace” Jon said, slightly stuttering. He looked down to see her wearing a loose red and black dress. She's so beautiful. Jon thought to himself.

Jon looked back up to see her long silver hair with a braid at its side, crown on her head. The crown had three dragon heads on it. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion Jon knew. The crown makes her look prettier, Jon thought. He knew these feelings, he felt the same with Ygritte, but Ygritte wasn't here anymore and Daenerys was…

Before Jon could do anything, Daenerys spoke.

“He's taken a liking to me, he slept in my bed last night.” Daenerys said, looking at Jon stare at her. Daenerys blushed slightly at the sight of him staring at her dress.

“He's never been this friendly to anyone in a while.” Jon replied, his eyes looking up and gazing at hers.

Before anything happened, Daenerys quickly spoke. “I have a meeting with my advisors soon, and dinner with Missandei, but maybe later we can walk by the cliffs, just me and you.” She said, her blush getting redder by the moment.

Jon gazed into her eyes, a blush growing on his face. It was the first time Daenerys saw a color other than grey or black on him. “Of course.” Jon replied. “I'll see you then I guess” Jon said, trying to get out of the conversation without anything else happening. Ghost went with him.

Daenerys stared at him walking away. He's so handsome, please come to the cliffs later. She thought to herself, unable to contain her thoughts about him anymore. She had to talk to someone about this.

~

Jon walked to a secluded area of the castle with Ghost still at his side, he was still surprised at the offer that Daenerys had given him. Why would she want to walk alone? Jon wasn't complaining. Daenerys was the most beautiful person he had seen in a while. She's the most beautiful person he had ever met Jon thought. Her smile, her long silver hair, her violet eyes that stared into his eyes, it was the best he felt since before he died. Jon's thoughts were interrupted by Ser Davos.
“Your Grace? You look as though Ghost just told you the meaning of life.”
Jon blinked, still half-lost in silver hair and violet eyes. “Something like that.”
Davos jerked his thumb toward a narrow balcony half hidden behind a buttress of black stone. “Walk with me, lad, tell me what's on your mind.
They stepped outside. The sea crashed below, white spray flaring up the cliff face; gulls wheeled overhead, their cries snatched away by the wind. Ghost padded ahead, nose twitching at the salt. Davos folded his hands behind his back, casting Jon a sidelong glance.
“Ser Davos she had Ghost with her through the night” Jon said to him
“Ghost?” Davos said questioning him “Since when has he acted that friendly?” Davos asked
“The only person he's ever acted like that to was me, Ser Davos.” Jon Replied
“It makes sense, Your Grace, the way you look at each other makes sense why Ghost would be comfortable with her” Davos said
“We don't look at each other in any way.” Jon said
“Are you sure about that lad, the color of your cheeks back there say differently. You look at each other like I have with my wife” Davos said, slightly smiling.
Jon gripped the cold stone railing, staring out at the horizon. “I don’t have time for… for any of this. The Night King—”
“Aye, the dead are marching,” Davos interrupted gently. “But the living still have hearts. You’re allowed to feel them beat, even at the end of the world.”
Jon exhaled. “She unsettles me, Davos. She’s fire and purpose and… and I keep thinking about the way she looks at me. Seven hells, I feel like a boy on first patrol.”
“Good,” Davos said, surprising him. “Means you’re still alive inside. After Hardhome, after the Wall, after betrayal and blades and gods know what—alive is worth more than crowns.”
Jon bowed his head. “You lost sons, Davos. You understand grief. How do you keep the past from swallowing the present?”
“I don’t,” Davos answered softly. “I carry it. But I don’t let it blind me to what’s standing in front of me. And what’s standing in front of you is a queen with three dragons and, if I’m not mistaken, a fondness for Northern kings.”
Jon actually laughed, short and incredulous. “Fondness? We’ve spoken three times.”
“Once in her throne-room with half the court watching, and once in Aegon’s garden with no one but the roses.” Davos tapped the railing. “And once about how Ghost was being good with her.” Davos said. “A private stroll by the cliffs will make a fourth. Four times is enough, lad”. Davos said smiling at him
Jon’s smile faded as quickly as it had come. “I can’t afford to be weak.”
“Caring isn't a weakness,” Davos said. “It’s armor the dead can’t wear and the living too often shed. She has her counselors, aye, but she’s alone at the top of that throne. You understand that kind of cold better than most.”
Jon ran a hand through his hair. “You think I should… pursue her?”
“I think,” Davos said carefully, “that you should let things grow as they may. The Wall wasn’t built in a day, and trust isn’t either. But don’t push her away because ghosts of the past whisper you’ll lose anyone you dare love.”
The crash of a massive wave below punctuated the silence. Ghost returned, brushing his head against Jon’s thigh before settling at his boots.
Jon looked down at the direwolf’s red eyes and then back at Davos. “She asked me to walk the cliffs with her. Just the two of us.”
Davos’s grin widened. “Then walk. Talk. Listen more than you speak—gods know that’s a rare gift in rulers. And if your heart thunders loud enough to drown out the sea, maybe let it.”
Jon sighed, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you were meant to advise me on battle lines and grain stores.”
“I am,” Davos replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “But sometimes the best counsel is reminding a man he’s human. Wars end. Winter ends. Whether you’re still standing afterward with something worth living for—that’s the true victory.”
Jon stared out over the water until the sun forced its way through a gap in the clouds, setting the whitecaps aflame with gold. For the first time since leaving Winterfell, warmth filtered into his ribcage that had nothing to do with southern air.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Davos nodded. “Go on, then. I’ll keep Ghost company while you wash your face and find words that won’t stick in your throat.”
Jon gave a soft snort at that, turned, and headed back into the castle—heart thundering exactly as Davos had warned.
~
Daenerys hurried along the corridor toward her solar, skirts whispering like small wings around her ankles. Her pulse had not calmed since Jon left with his direwolf, and it only thrummed harder when she spotted Missandei waiting just inside the doorway, quill in hand.
“Good morning, My Queen,” Missandei greeted, ever serene—but her dark eyes glittered with curiosity. “Why are you in such a hurry, Your Grace?”
“I'm um just trying to get to my meeting earlier today.” Daenerys said, stuttering and looking to the floor.
“Your Grace I have been with you for many moons now, I can tell when you're lying, My Queen.”
Daenerys sighed “Jon Snow’s Direwolf slept in my bed last night and he found me again this morning. Jon saw me petting the animal and looked as though a spear had run him through.”
Missandei set the parchment aside, smile blooming. “You enjoyed flustering him.”
“I shouldn’t,” Daenerys admitted, a laugh slipping free. “But seven hells, it was—refreshing. Men usually try to flatter or intimidate me. Jon Snow just blushed.”
Missandei folded her hands. “The wolf trusted you. That speaks loudly of his character—and of yours.”
Daenerys’s gaze drifted to the balcony where sea-light painted the floor. “He said Ghost hasn’t been friendly with anyone in a long time. I… felt honored.” She shook her head, silver-gold hair sliding over her shoulders. “It’s foolish. We’ve armies to raise and alliances to secure, and I’m thinking about the sound of a man’s voice.”
“The heart rarely obeys war councils,” Missandei said. “Tell me what truly troubles you.”
Daenerys bit her lip. “I don’t want to appear weak. If the lords see me distracted—”
“They will see a queen capable of more than conquest,” Missandei interrupted gently. “Strength is not the absence of feeling.”
Daenerys sank onto a cushioned chair. “He looks at me as if… as if he knows how heavy my crown is because he wears one cut from the same stone. No courtly masks, no pretense. When he’s silent, it’s thoughtful, not indifferent.” She laughed, embarrassed by her own fervor. “And his eyes—gods, they’re storms that have forgotten how to break.”
Missandei listened, warmth in her smile. “Do you wish he would court you?”
A faint, startled gasp left Daenerys. “I don’t know what I wish. Only when he said I offered for him to walk the cliffs with me, I felt… lighter. As though I’d been holding my breath since Meereen and suddenly remembered how to breathe.”
Missandei moved to kneel beside her queen, taking Daenerys’s hand in her own. “You deserve lightness. You deserve breath.”
Daenerys looked down at their intertwined hands. “Do you think he feels the same?” Daenerys asked. “Do you think that he talks about me as I do him.” She said to Missandei.
“His direwolf certainly approves,” Missandei teased, earning a reluctant laugh. “And when Jon looks at you, the world narrows. I’ve seen it.”
The Queen of Dragons closed her eyes a moment, letting the words settle like embers. “I invited him to the cliffs later. No guards, no advisors.”
Missandei’s brows rose approvingly. “A bold step.”
“Bold terrifies me less than regret.” Daenerys drew a breath. “But tell me, what about appearances? If the court whispers—”
“Let them,” Missandei said. “Whispers cannot harm a dragon, nor a wolf who walks beside her.”
Daenerys felt a rush of affection so fierce it almost hurt. She pulled Missandei into a sudden embrace. “Thank you, my friend.”
A night that would change the course of history and two lives would be upon them soon, it was only a matter of time…

Notes:

Thank you all for reading! Please comment any questions, suggestions, or any mistakes. I hope the walk on the cliffs chapter comes out sometime this week!!

Chapter 5: The Walk

Summary:

A walk they would remember...

Jon was in his room, pacing around nervously. It was not long before he was to go to the cliffs to meet with Queen Daenerys Targaryen. This was the first time since after he was resurrected that he truly felt alive again. Jon was more nervous than he had been before he first went to the Wall. What if she dislikes me now? What if she's using me? These thoughts ran through Jon's head nervously.

The only thing that stopped these thoughts was a knock on his door.

It was Ser Davos, who had a stern look on his face.

“We need to talk, lad” Davos said firmly

“Come in” Jon replied

“There's ravens telling me that someone or something has assassinated most of House Frey at the Crossing. Walder Frey is dead, as are 11 of his sons, about 130 soldiers, and a daughter. Olyvar Frey is the new Lord of the Crossing. I thought you should be the first that I tell.”

Jon sat down, face pale in shock. He always wanted revenge on the Frey’s for killing Robb, but he never thought someone would do it first.

“I'm not accusing you of anything lad but they suspect a faceless man killed the Frey's, so I'm just wondering if you hired one to kill them.” Davos said, face still the same.

“What, why would I do that, Davos?” Jon said firmly

“I'm not accusing you, I'm just wondering.” Davos said to him

Jon stared in silence, still in shock from the situation. Davos quietly left the room.

Jon had too many things on his mind right now, he had to focus on one thing and that would be the upcoming walk.

~

Meanwhile, Daenerys sat in her solar, seated at the head of the painted table where her council meetings were held, struggling to maintain focus.

Varys was speaking in his usual calm, precise tone about grain shipments from the Reach—Lady Olenna had sent word that Cersei’s blockade was tightening near the Gold Road.

Tyrion added a few sharp remarks about Lannister logistics and how they might respond, launching into a detailed rebuttal about the crownlands, smallfolk morale, and potential naval blockades.

Daenerys nodded politely. But her thoughts had long since drifted from tactics and ships to black curls and grey eyes.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about Jon since that morning.

The way his voice sounded when he stammered. The way he looked at her—really looked—like she was not a queen to be worshipped, but a woman to be understood. It unsettled her in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

“Your Grace?” Tyrion’s voice cut through her thoughts.

She blinked. “Yes?”

“I asked if you’d prefer to send a ship to Gulltown or to wait on the Dornish reinforcements before committing any vessels.”

Daenerys paused, realizing she hadn’t heard a word of the last ten minutes. “Send one ship,” she said quickly, hoping that was the right answer.

Tyrion raised a brow, but said nothing.

Beside him, Missandei hid a knowing smile.

Daenerys sighed inwardly. If this meeting dragged on another hour, she might go mad.

She kept imagining what the cliffs would feel like. How the sea breeze would tug at her hair. How Jon might look standing against the wind—cautious, solemn, maybe smiling if she was lucky.

What would they talk about? What if he said something kind again? Would he dare touch her hand?

Her stomach fluttered at the thought. Gods, what was wrong with her? She had dragons. Armies. Enemies. And yet her heart thudded faster than Drogon’s wings at the thought of a man’s company.

Not just any man, though.

Jon.

At last, Varys concluded his report. Daenerys rose quickly, her chair scraping lightly on the stone. “That will be all for now,” she said. “We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

Her advisors exchanged glances but nodded. Tyrion gave her a half-smile, one that said he noticed her distraction but wouldn’t press. Yet.

She swept from the chamber the moment the door was opened, Missandei following a few steps behind.
~

Back in her quarters, Daenerys stood in front of her wardrobe, her hand hovering over a half-dozen cloaks and dresses. She was a queen. She had worn black for so long now—armor in silk form. But tonight, something different stirred in her. Something warmer.

She reached for deep crimson—a Targaryen red dress with black embroidery curled at the sleeves like dragonflame. It hugged her form softly, flowing and regal, but lighter than her usual attire. She added a dark red cloak lined with velvet, clasped at the collar with a small onyx brooch.

Her silver hair she left down, loose except for a single braid trailing down her right shoulder—the way she had worn it in Meereen on warm nights, when she had hoped for something more than politics.

She walked to her mirror and paused.

He’s going to be there. Just the two of us.

She thought of Jon’s face. So serious. So scarred. So strong. There was a wildness in him—unshaped and deep, like a wolf in the woods—but something noble beneath all of it. He looked at her not like the others did. He didn’t see her as some conquering vision on a dragon. He looked at her like he saw her. Like he wanted to know her, not use her.

And gods, he was handsome. The kind of handsome that wasn’t made for ballads or banners. It was a quieter sort of beauty—carved out of snow and shadow and silence. His jaw clenched when he thought too hard. His hair curled around the nape of his neck. His voice, that low Northern drawl, sent shivers down her spine every time he said Your Grace.

Daenerys shook her head, cheeks flushing. “You’re acting like a girl,” she muttered aloud.

But she didn’t stop smiling.

She turned toward the door, exhaling slowly. Her heart beat faster with every step.

~

Jon sat alone after Davos left, still trying to steady himself—not from the news of the Freys, but from what lay ahead.

A walk. Just a walk. With the Queen.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the stone floor like it held the answers. Ghost sat quietly beside him, sensing Jon’s unease.

“She’s just a woman,” Jon muttered to himself.

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.

Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t just a woman. She was a queen with fire in her blood and dragons in the sky. She walked like someone who carried centuries of expectation on her shoulders and still made time to be kind to his direwolf. She had every reason to stay distant, every reason to treat him like a lesser—but she didn’t.

She smiled at him.

She invited him.

He stood up, restless, and crossed the room. His travel cloak was still damp from morning mist, so he grabbed a cleaner one—darker, trimmed with wolf-fur. He thought about brushing his hair but scoffed at himself halfway through. When had he ever cared about how he looked?

And yet, here he was, checking his reflection in the polished steel of his sword.

His face was tired. Haunted, still. But there was something else now—life. He hadn’t seen that in himself for a long time. Not since… Ygritte. Not since the Wall. Not since death.

He ran a hand over his beard, smoothing it. Then tugged at his collar to hide the faint lines of the scars on his chest.

Would she ask about them?

Would he tell her?

Would she care?

The thought of her eyes on him—those violet eyes, strange and beautiful—made his heart hammer harder than it had in any battle.

He looked down at Ghost, who was now watching him quietly, as if amused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jon murmured. “It’s just a walk.”

Ghost tilted his head.

Jon exhaled sharply, gripping the cloak tighter in his hands. “I’m not good at this.”

But he put it on anyway, fastening the silver pin near his shoulder. He wasn’t a prince. He wasn’t a king. He wasn’t even a lord in his own mind anymore. He was just Jon Snow.

And yet—maybe, just for tonight—that could be enough.

He stepped toward the door, hand resting on the handle for a moment before pulling it open. The cool wind from the cliffs snuck in to greet him.

He followed it out, cloak billowing softly behind him, thoughts still a storm.

He was going to see her.

And he was terrified.

~

Jon walked out to the cliffs. It was slightly foggy, the ocean winds brushing against his cloak as the sun bled orange over the horizon. The last traces of daylight faded into deepening twilight, and the sounds of distant waves crashing against the rocks echoed below. Night was coming fast, but Jon hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere—on her.

As he got closer, he saw someone standing near the edge, the wind catching the ends of her dress.

Daenerys. He knew.

She was beautiful—unearthly, even. Her dress was crimson like a rose in bloom, flowing like silk fire around her. Her silver hair was loose tonight, with only a single braid tracing down one side, catching bits of light like threads of starlight. And her eyes… those violet eyes locked onto his, calm yet burning, like dusk itself had stopped just to watch them.

Jon froze for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. She looked like something out of the old songs. Not just a queen—something more.

And she was waiting for him.

~

Jon stood still for a moment, taking her in. She was framed by the ocean behind her, waves crashing softly against the rocks below, the dying light of the sun casting her in warm gold and blood-red shadow. His heart thudded in his chest like a war drum.

Daenerys turned her head, catching his eyes with hers. “You came,” she said again, a little more breathless this time, as if she wasn’t certain he actually would.

“I said I would,” Jon replied, walking toward her until he stood just a few steps away. He looked out at the water beside her, not quite ready to meet her gaze again. “Didn’t want to be rude to a queen.”

She gave a small, knowing smile. “You’ve been ruder to me before.”

“Aye,” Jon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But that was before you let my wolf sleep in your bed.”

She let out a laugh — not sharp or mocking, but surprised and soft. “Ghost is welcome whenever he likes. He’s better company than half my council.”

“That he is,” Jon said. “He usually doesn’t take to people.”

“Yet he took to me.”

Jon looked at her now, really looked, and something in his chest twisted. “I think he sees what I do.”

Daenerys tilted her head. “And what do you see, Lord Snow?”

He didn’t answer right away. The wind picked up slightly, tousling her silver-blonde hair and making her dress flutter gently against her legs. Jon glanced down, catching his breath for a moment before speaking.

“Strength. Fire. A leader people would follow across the sea and back… But also kindness. And sadness. Like me.”

Her eyes flickered, the words clearly cutting through her walls more than she expected.

They stood in silence for a few heartbeats, listening to the crash of the sea and the distant cry of gulls above. The last of the sun dipped beneath the waves, casting the world into violet dusk.

“Do you ever wonder what your life might’ve been, if things had been different?” Daenerys asked quietly.

“All the time,” Jon replied, without hesitation. “If I’d never gone to the Wall. If Robb hadn’t marched south. If I hadn’t died.”

She turned to him fully now. “Do you regret it?”

Jon’s jaw clenched. “Not the Wall. Not the Night’s Watch. Not even dying, if it kept others alive. But there are things I do regret.”

“Like?”

He met her eyes. “Not letting myself feel more. Before it was too late.”

A gust of wind swept by, and Daenerys moved slightly closer for warmth. Neither of them acknowledged it, but Jon could feel the heat of her beside him, could smell the faint scent of smoke and lilac in her hair.

She looked up at him now, serious and open. “And what do you feel now, Jon?”

Jon looked at her, eyes stormy and unsure, but he didn’t back away.

“I feel…” he began, struggling to find the words. “I feel like I’m not supposed to feel anything for you. You’re a queen. I’m… I’m no one. I’m a bastard, raised at the edge of the world.”

“You’re more than that,” Daenerys said, almost instinctively.

“Maybe,” Jon said. “But it doesn’t change what I’ve done. The things I’ve seen. I’ve killed, I’ve bled, I’ve buried people I loved. And for the longest time, I thought I’d never care for anything again.”

Daenerys stayed quiet, listening intently.

“But then I saw you,” he continued, voice low. “And I felt something I haven’t felt since before I died. Maybe not even then. You make me feel… real. Like I belong again. Like I’m alive.”

Daenerys blinked, visibly moved, her fingers fidgeting at her sides.

“I don’t expect anything,” Jon said, stepping slightly closer. “I don’t want a crown, or a throne, or… whatever it is people want from you. I just… I had to say it. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

Daenerys’ voice trembled slightly. “You came to me, told me the truth. About the dead, about your past. And now this.”

“Aye,” Jon said. “I’ve nothing left to lose but my pride.”

“And your heart,” she said, softer than before.

He looked at her, startled. “That was never mine to keep.”

Their eyes locked, the space between them shrinking by inches, yet filled with the weight of unspoken things. The surf crashed again below, a steady heartbeat in the silence.

“I will bend the knee, I will fight with you against Cersei.” Jon said, dropping to his knee symbolically.

“Then you shall have the dragonglass and my support against the Night King " Daenerys said, smiling.

Jon stood up, a strong blush on his face “There's one more thing I want” Jon said

“What is it, my lord?” She said, smiling

“You” Jon wrapped his arms around Daenerys and kissed her, she didn't resist, melting into the kiss and closing her eyes, her arms placed on the hips of Jon. They held their kiss for a long moment before he pulled away from her.

“I- I really should go back” Jon said to her, gathering himself together

“Please don't” she said. “Come back to my chambers.” She pleaded, hands still on his hips.

“But you're a queen and I'm a bastard, your court and advisors won't be happy.” Jon said frowning

“They're just there to give me advice, it doesn't mean I have to take it.” She said back to him, placing another kiss on his cloak. “Stop being so stubborn, Jon.”

“Fine, I'll come with you.” He said, kissing her again

They began their walk back, a moment that neither would forget…

Notes:

Thank you all for reading!! This was my favorite chapter to write so far. Please comment any suggestions, questions, or grammar and spelling mistakes.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed, Chapter 1 soon!!!!
Thank you