➰Jon➰

She stares at me hard.  Too hard.  As though she can see through my ravaged heart into my soul. Was that another Targaryen trait? Could they ride dragons and see what lay in the hearts of men? 

Gods I hope not.

Small framed and silver-haired, her eyes are the deep purple shade of the Targaryen line; a shocking, hypnotic colour that blinds me for a moment.

Tyrion, seeing my trouble, steps forward and stretches out his hand to me.

'Good to see you again, Jon Snow,' he says, shaking my hand warmly. 'Or should I say, your grace?' His tone is amusement overlaid with respect and it causes a ripple of something to move over the Queen's face. It could be amusement too, or it could be rage at the north's insolence. I don't know. I don't know her.

'Your fortunes have improved too, I see.' I say, glancing at the queen, at the carriage, at the men stood on either side of him.  An exotic looking woman stands between Tyrion and the queen, her arms clasped in front, elegant face impassive and proud.

'They have certainly been worse, it is true,' he nods.  He's holding a bottle of wine, which he lifts as my eyes move over it. 'Dornish.  We brought barrels with us.' He waves over his shoulder and someone jumps to attention to begin unloading barrels of what I assume is Dornish wine. I'm not much of a wine drinker, but I'd heard a lot about the wine from Dorne.  When I look back at the queen I find her eyes watching me still, a curious and intense study.

'Please, come inside,' I offer.  'The snow is bitter and we have food and warmth. You are welcome here - the guest right is yours.' I give my sincerity to the Queen with my eyes and she smiles a small smile in return before reaching out her arm to me. 

I stare dumbly at it for a few moments before I realise what it is she wants of me.  Lifting mine up for her to place her small gloved hand on top of it, I lead her inside the castle.  She feels warm beside me, very warm, her small body simmering with heat and strength. The heat and strength of a Dragon.  There's a fragrance from her too. Sweet and floral. Exotic, like nothing I'd ever smelled before it, like nothing that could survive in the north.

Outside the door to the great hall, Davos, Lady Lyanna, Lord Umber and Lord Merryn stand.  Sansa at the head, Baelish to her left, Lady Brienne to her right. Sansa looks at the queen, wary and curious, a small tight smile settled upon her mouth.

'Your Grace, this is my sister, Lady Sansa Stark,' I say as we stop in front of her.

Sansa hesitates only a moment before stepping forward to lower her head. 'Welcome to our home, Your Grace,' she says, deferent. 'I hope you haven't found the journey too tiring?'

'Not at all. I'm used to it. I travelled most of the earth to get home to Westeros,' replies the queen, measured. 

Sansa smiles, a glint of surprise sparking her blue eyes. 'It feels like home so soon? Only you were but a babe when you left it.'

'I did not leave it, I was taken from it for my own protection,' corrects the queen smoothly. 'But as soon as my feet touched the sands of this realm I knew that I was home.'

'The North is very different from anywhere else in this realm, your grace,' Sansa replies. I stiffen at the imprudence, Baelish smiles, the queen stands a little taller.

'It is colder certainly, but no less beautiful.' Her eyes linger on Sansa a moment, expression guarded.

'Well we are blessed to have you here,' Sansa says, sweetly now. What an actress she had become. Suddenly her eyes go wide at a sight over my shoulder. 'Lord... Tyrion,' she gasps. 

'Lady Sansa,' Tyrion says warmly.  'We meet again.'

'I never expected it would be so.'

'I share your sentiments. Things have not gone entirely as I would have predicted for either of us. You look more than well, my lady.'

'My brother and I have been fortunate in the face of our enemies.'

'You have no enemies here tonight my lady, be assured of that.'

'And neither do you,' she says. 'Please, Your Grace, Lord Tyrion, all of you who have travelled so far,' she turns and smiles at the queens men, arm wide in welcome.  'You are welcomed into our home.  May the Guest right be yours.'

***

The Queen had taken the seat in the centre of the head table, with me to her left, Sansa to mine, Lord Tyrion and her silent translator on the Queen's right. Just after being seated, she'd stood again to deliver a speech full of strong words of promise and peace.  She'd proclaimed herself not only the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, but their friend and the destroyer of the Lannister usurpers. She was not here to bring fire and blood, she was here as Aegon the first had come 300 years before, to bring unity, prosperity and security. She'd come to unite the seven kingdoms. 

I listened in silence, stunned by the conviction of her words and surprised by the look of respect that had crept into the eyes of many gathered in the great hall.  Some suspicious faces remained, pockets of defiance, mistrustful broken families determined that no southerner could ever rule the north; determined that a northman sit on a Northern throne once and for all. 

Their memories hold strong to that of her father, The Mad King. The one who burned their Lords and brought forth the war which plagued their homes and lands for years. They remember her brother, Rhaegar, who kidnapped and raped their beloved Lyanna. They remember that the act was avenged by a true friend of the north, Robert Baratheon.  Some looked at her hand, with even more distrust — a Lannister himself — and wondered how she could trust him to advise in their interest or hers. Some looked at me and wondered why I didn't slay her where she sat, guest right or not.

Little conversation occurs between us during the feast. Small economical snippets about the food, the weather, and the music being played by the group of musicians in the corner are all that passes.  It occurs to me that she must have seen some fantastically rich sights in her time. What chance did a small castle in the North covered in snow stand against Meereen, Astapor and even Dorne?

'How is the wine, your grace?' she asks, turning to me.  She's smiling, her violet eyes glittering under the glow of candlelight. The weight of her gaze on me is heavy, so that I feel oddly crushed and half breathless under it. Also, the address sounds almost preposterous coming from her pink accented tongue.

Dropping my eyes briefly to my cup, I nod.  'Sweet, rich, southern.  I'm not much of a drinker truth be told - I don't enjoy it like most do.'

She glances absently at my mouth then lifts her wine to take a delicate sip, watching me intently over the rim. 'And what do you enjoy?' she asks me, soft, curious.

There's suggestion in her words I think, and in her eyes, and it makes my hands dampen with hot licks of sweat.  Why is she looking at me like that?  As though she knows me?  As though she knows what I've done, the vows I've broken. Mayhaps it's just because she thinks me a simple-minded northern fool.  Dull and spiritless, my life absent of anything worthy of enjoyment. Certainly I was nothing like the men she must have known across the narrow sea; wed to a Khal and again to a nobleman from Mereen. Practised lovers no doubt skilled in the arts of wordplay and more.

In her eyes I could never possibly compare or compete with these men. Which since I was not trying to do shouldn't concern me — I need her as an ally and nothing more. 

As she awaits my answer, a small smile still teases her lightly wine-stained mouth. What did I enjoy?  Come now, you bloody idiot, surely you have something to offer her?

I clear my throat and drop my eyes from hers. 'I enjoy being here, in my home, with my family - what I have left of it - hunting, riding. The usual past times of my sort.'  So empty my life felt then.  So fruitless and pointless. I want to tell her of how I've slayed dead men, of how I supped ale with giants and kings on both sides of the wall, of how I bred with a wildling woman with hair like fire. I want to tell her anything that may impress upon her my value in some fashion. What is your value? You're a bastard wearing a crown you have not a right to.

'Your sort?' she queries, pale brows furrowed. 

'Northmen,' I shrug, swirling the wine in my cup. My head and body feel soft from its effects, my bones buzzing, weakening. I lower the cup back to the table, shaking my head when the server steps forward to refill it.  When I look back at her, her eyes are watching me still, but they're almost distant, her mind clearly elsewhere.

'I knew a Northman once,' she says after a moment.

'Only one?' I jest, raising an eyebrow.  She smiles but it's gone in an instant. An echo of sadness moves over her face like a ripple across water.

'Yes. Only one,' She says, heavily, her voice tremulous from some deeply felt emotion.  'I loved him and he betrayed me. He broke my heart.'

She had a lover from the north?  The Mother of Dragons loved a northman? A surge of resentment shoots through me and I don't know why. Vaguely, I wonder from which house...

'Forgive me your grace, but I was led to believe you were wed to a Dothraki leader?'

She nods,bringing her gaze back to mine. Then she smiles, a smile that lights up the entirety of her face.  'I was. To a Khal. The Great Khal.'

'And so then your northman..?'

'Oh, a friend and a councillor.  He was a Mormont,' she says.  She turns her head and gazes across the room to where Lady Lyanna listens to the quiet whispered words of her own council, nodding seriously. 

'The Mormonts are good people,' I assert, following her eyes.  'I've no doubt this one wronged you, but they are loyal folk.  They came to our aid when no one else would.  They can be trusted. They are true to their rulers.'

'To their Northern rulers at least... The North's loyalty is a hard won prize it seems,' she turns to me. 'Our people have suffered unimaginably in this war of too many false kings - my house and yours were almost destroyed. My family ruled this land for many years; some of them ruled well, and others not so. But not one of them ruled alone. They gave trust and took loyalty where they could get it and I will do the same. But it is what we do with that fragile bounty of trust and loyalty that matters most in the end, do not you think?'

My head is too full of wine to decide how I feel about her words or how to answer them, but it lingers longest on the term 'false kings'. Does she consider me one? I certainly felt like one. You are one.

'The North are loyal folk, your grace... do not judge us all by the actions of one.'

Draining the remnants of her cup, she stands abruptly. And out of respect I do the same.  As the rest of the room begin to stand also, she turns to me.

'Walk with me?' she says.

I blink, surprised.  'I would urge against it, your grace. It is frozen outside.'

'I am aware of that. But ice will always succumb to fire — or so I am told,' she glances at Tyrion and offers him a small private smile. 'But incase I have been misled, I have also brought a cloak of boar fur lined with Pentos silk. Come, show me this home of yours you fought so hard to take back from your enemies. There is also something I should like to discuss with you. Let us take some air.' Her tone is no longer a suggestion.

I pull on my own cloak as her maid wraps her tight inside hers, whitest fur inlined with deep red silk. It is fastened closed with a dragon brooch the size of my hand, nestled gently against her throat.

Again, I notice how the colour of the fabric brings out the paleness of her skin, the silver of her hair, the violet hue of her eyes.

As we are about to exit the castle she turns to her Unsullied commander and shakes her head, ordering him silently to stay behind.  He obeys without question or words, but I see his body harden and his gaze slide to me with warning.

Outside and alone, she steps closer to me, close enough that the now familiar scent of her wisps up from her much smaller body, and curls around me, around my throat and my neck and up into my nose.

'There's something extremely beautiful about it,' she says as we begin to walk.  'Snow. A blanket of white that covers the world.'

It did cover everything. It covered the blood and bodies of those slain. It covered the ravaged torn land; the ruins left behind by the battles of her so called false kings. I don't utter these words. It isn't proper to speak to queens of dead men.  Except, soon I would have to reconcile this. Soon I would have to talk to her of dead men. Because an army of them was coming towards us, led by another false king who wanted to take her land and people from her.

We walk in silence the length of the east wall, where she stops and looks out.

'Your people mistrust me,' she begins. 'I want to change that. I want them to see me as their queen. The way I see them as my people.'  She turns to me, pensive, serious.  I have no desire to lie to her but I've even less desire to tell her the truth. That before this night most of them wanted her dead. That they wanted me to send a raven back with a denial of her rule and a declaration of war inscribed on it.

'We are mistrustful of southerners in general, your grace, I would urge you not consider it a slight upon you as queen.' I say.

Unexpectedly, she laughs, a soft musical sound that pinches at her cheeks and scrunches her nose. 'A southerner, that's how they see me? When I have been in the south less than forty days?'

'Aye, well, they like foreigners even less, so be thankful,' I smile, widening my eyes playfully.  She laughs another soft laugh, which this time she covers with her small dainty hand.  She hadn't worn her gloves and a glint of twisted metal flickers under the moonlight from the ring on her first finger.  A dragons head, the eye deep red, it's tail twisted around the full length of her finger.

'Thank you for your honesty, your grace — it is refreshing. I can see why Tyrion is so fond of you.'

'He's fond of me?' I blink in surprise. 'I thought he was fond of nowt but wine and the sound of his own voice.'  She smiles at this before nodding in agreement.  'And please, call me Jon,' I plead, fixing her with a serious look.

'But you are a king,' she says, puzzled.

I take a deep breath, my skin tightening over my bones, ill-fitting.  'I was given that title by people who wanted something to believe in again, by people who had lost everything. I don't wear it comfortably, believe me.'

'No crown is worn comfortably, Jon,' she says. 'At least it should not be.'

The weight of her words is so at odds with the image before me. The words sound like those of an ageing queen who had ruled a thousand years.  It occurs to me then that she might well be the smartest warrior I'd ever faced.  She'd won back the seven kingdoms from her enemies in four days, defeating the Lannister army through strategy then destroying it in a reign of fire and blood not seen for generations.   

If we were to be pit against each other I would lose. This much I now know for certain. Which is why I have no intention of fighting her.  Which is why before this night is out I'll bend the knee to her. Because I need her.  The north needs her. The whole of the seven kingdoms needs her. Winter was here and we didn't have long.

'Well you seem wear your crown more comfortably than most, your grace,' I tell her.  She wasn't wearing a crown tonight but if she were it would sit proud and true against her braided silver hair. 

Her eyes widen and her mouth pulls up into one of its dazzling smiles. What a thing to be smiled at by her.  An elegant arch of grace and delicate beauty. The weight of it coupled with the look of expectation in her eyes causes that same suffocating sensation to take hold of me. I have to force my breath upward and out, turning my head to look out over the snow covered beyond lest she see the weakness in me.  Lest she see her own power reflected back at her. 

In the moments of silence that follow it's on the tip of my tongue. On the clearest of days we can see the outline of it. The wall.  Big enough to hide the monsters behind it, though mayhaps not strong enough to hold them forever. 

Beside me she lets out a loud deep breath, which as I turn becomes solid ice in the air in front of her. So then fire succumbed to ice much like ice succumbed to fire...  When she senses my eyes on her she turns her head and gives me a warm look.  It causes my breath to catch once more, and beneath my layers of fur my body hardens. A warm hardness that starts between my legs and rises up, slow and urging.  A readying.  A need. A need I had convinced myself I no longer had nor wanted.  I force it down and look away from her out towards The Wall once more.

'You were in the Nightswatch,' she says, her voice soft. 'You took a vow to be the shield that guards the realms of men, to protect us from that which lurks beyond the wall. You vowed to protect these lands from the wildlings who now drink wine and break bread with you in your great hall.' Her tone is measured with curiosity not judgement.

'Our enemies are not always who we judge them to be, or who we think they are at the first.'

She nods, thoughtful. 'And your judgment has served you well, Jon.  But it is your inability to keep your vows which cause me concern.'

My eyebrows knit together.  Does she know?  No,  she cannot. No one knows. I think of her again. I think of how her body tasted, of how warm and alive she'd been, of how limp and cold she'd turned as I'd held her dying in my arms.

'For did not you vow to wear no crown? Take no Glory? And yet here you stand, a King, glorious in victory...'

There's no accusation in her tone, only curiosity. When I bring my eyes back to hers the urging inside my body grows louder. Gods it had been so long.  Too long.  It shouldn't be this long.  It wasn't natural. But to have these thoughts now, concerning her, concerning Daenerys Targaryen. 

Well, that was close to madness.

'It's true,' I nod.  'I have broken many vows, your grace. Too many. And I paid the price for it each time.' With my heart. With my life.  She's silent for a long moment, but the weight of her stare is almost suffocating. 'If you're here to command me back to the Nights Watch then so be it. As long as my home and my family are guaranteed their freedom, I won't defy you.' Was that the title she'd come to offer me? Lord Commander? It made more sense than not.

'And what good would you be to me or your people there? I am not blind, nor am I fool,' she says. 'Your people respect you. They love you.' A statement of fact according to her tone. 'They praise your name and chose you as their king because they believe in you, and they believe in you because you gave them hope. They would likely follow you anywhere, into any battle against any foe.'

I attempt to dismiss her words with a shake of my head but she waves it off, silencing me.

'I was also chosen by my people, Jon.  Not here, not in this strange, broken, fought-over land that is my home - but across the narrow sea. I was born to rule the seven kingdoms, but I was chosen to rule the cities foreign to me. Not because of my name - I was the daughter of a king who they did not know or care for - they chose me for who I was and for what I gave to them. I gave my people hope, too.' Her voice once again is Valyrian steel, driven straight through my chest. 

It isn't hard to see why those across the sea had chosen her.  It isn't hard to see why even now some of the northern folk had warmed to her. She was born to rule the seven kingdoms. Before tonight it had been an understanding based on her name, tonight, here, it had become something more.  I could see what she was, what she wanted to be, and her own belief in herself was magnificent to behold. The desire to bend the knee, to pledge my own allegiance to her, stirs sure and true inside me then. I even glance at the snow covered ground for a moment.

Before I have the chance to say a word she steps toward me and speaks again.  'We've both fought a lot of battles, Jon. We've both fought long and hard to get back what was taken from us. But tell me this, aren't you tired of fighting? Aren't you tired of the killing and the blood and the smell of death?' Despite the fire in her eyes her voice sounds tired.

'I fear there are more fights yet to come,' is what I offer her as a response.

She sighs, nods. 'Maybe. But not now.  Don't we all deserve some peace for a time?  Don't our lands and our people deserve to live their lives without fear for a time?  If rulers cannot give their people peace and prosperity then they are not fit to rule at all.'

'I do not intend to fight you, your grace,' I tell her, geniuine.

'Nor I you,' She says, firm. 'I want your people to love me as they love you, to follow me as they follow you. I want to give this realm back the hope that was taken from it. I've no wish to see any more of my people dead, or watch any more of these lands destroyed by war,' she looks down, guiltily. 'This is my home and I would have peace for it now.' Inside I practice the speech I'll give her as I tell her of the dead king and his army. As I tell her that the greatest war was still to come. 'And so here is my proposal to you,' she lifts her head, raising her chin to look me straight in the eye.  'A way to unite our people and forge a new future for the seven kingdoms — to solidify peace between north and south for generations to come.'

'I'm prepared to listen to any proposal you have.'

'I propose marriage.'

I frown. 'My sister? To whom? I won't force her into another marriage, into another man's bed,' I say sternly.  'The next time she marries it will be for love and love alone. I apologise your grace but she has suffered enough at the hands of those who would use her. She is no longer a pawn in this game. I will not consider it.' I shake my head and the queen steps forward so that she's only inches from me, her eyes serious. 

'My interest is not in your sister — my interest is in you. I propose that we marry, you and I,' she says. 'I offer you the title of King Consort of The Seven Kingdoms. You will sit upon my council as my advisor and rule by my side as my husband. Through marriage we will unite north and south and give peace again to our lands and our people.'

A few flakes of snow have landed on her long silver eyelashes and the tip of her nose is pink from the air.  She raises her pale eyebrows and smiles, warm, glinting, like steel under the light.

My mouth is open as I gape at her, wide and useless. The snow begins to fall a little thicker around us. It settles on the fur of her cloak, in the silver of her hair, on the tip of her nose. I can't feel it. I can't feel anything except the fast, overworked beat of my broken heart. It rumbles like thunder in my chest. 

Suddenly somewhere, above, a beast roars. Then another.  Then a third.  A songful greeting.