Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Daenerys, can I get you anything else?”

Missandei’s soft voice broke through Dany’s thoughts, drawing her back to the present from the swirl of confusion, lust, grief, and peculiar twist in her belly that felt like it might be called love, but she refused to acknowledge it. It should be buried deep, in the pits of nothing, because it was not love.

She lifted her face from her bare hands, which she’d been twisting in her lap, knitting in her silk robe belt, as her maid had finishing unwinding her silver hair from its braids, letting the loose curls fall down over her shoulders and back in cascading waves. She shook her head, not meeting Missandei’s curious eyes. “No thank you Missandei. I’m fine, have a good evening.”

Her maid, the closest thing she had to a friend, who had been with her from her days in her brother’s manor to her coming out to her husband’s castle in another country, furrowed her brow. “Daenerys…you seem…off this evening. Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine Missandei, truly…just…thinking,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. She ran her thumb up over her bare left ring finger. She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly parched. “Missandei…may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

Dany turned in her dressing table chair, reaching to grip either side of the gilded wooden frame, staring intensely at her friend. She would tell her the truth. Missandei always did. “When I came to Winterfell, four years ago, a new bride, did you think that I was in love with the Earl?”

The Earl of Winterfell.

The heir to the Stark family name, lands, title…all the things every girl in King’s Landing dreamed of when they came out to society. And in her first season she had been swept off her feet and married within three months, the Countess of Winterfell.

Daenerys Targaryen Stark.

Missandei tried to busy herself with straightening the many pots and bottles on the vanity. “I…yes, of course…of course you were in love with the Earl.”

She was hesitating. They’d been together for far too long for her to hide her true feelings. “Missandei,” Dany murmured. She stood slowly from her chair, smiling comfortingly. “You do not have to lie. You never have. You are not very good at it.”

The young woman sighed, her dark eyes downcast. “I believe you loved him, and he loved you, but…” She folded her hands in front of her and lifted her chin a moment later. Now she was the Missy that Dany knew. Fire in her eyes, her caramel skin darkening on her cheeks. “But I did not believe that it was the love you dreamed of as a young girl when we first met. That’s all, my lady.”

Dany nodded smartly. “Thank you, Missy.”

“May I speak plainly?”

“You never need to ask.”

Missandei smiled gently. “He’s a good man, his lordship. He is not his cousin, of course, and…and for you…well, I always wondered why he did not offer his hand before. He always was more enamored with you than your husband.” She bowed her head and murmured. “Good night, my lady.”

It wasn’t a real surprise to hear that from Missandei. If anything, it confirmed her own thoughts. Dany nodded and murmured good night, watching her friend leave and close the door softly behind her. She closed her eyes tight, reliving those early days. They had been fun, the three of them, and then…he’d gone away. He was there and then he wasn’t. The man had become a constant and her friend. Her best friend. And he wasn’t her husband.

When he came back, she was married to his cousin— practically his brother— with the title Countess, and they’d all fallen in a comfortable rhythm. He disappeared for months on end. Returned with stories of adventures in the far North, Dorne, and Essos. She spoke to him of things she didn’t even tell her husband.

And then her husband died.

And he became the Earl.

And she was a widow. A widow who was barren, who hadn’t had children in her short two-year marriage. Not even a miscarry. Just nothing.

She was so confused. Things had changed so much in recent months. She didn’t understand why. She knew something had awakened inside of her because he was there all the time. He had returned, announcing he would be staying put, and at the same time she decided she would remarry. She wanted a baby. Maybe she was barren, but she would have to find out some way.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured, pacing in the Countess’s chambers. They’d been hers for years. It sickened her to think now he was back with no plans to travel; she might need to vacate. Surely, he’d marry at some point, as much as she struggled with the idea of someone else in her place. How else could the Stark name carry on? Why was she even still there? She was a Dowager. A dowager at the ripe age of three and twenty.

The wedding ring had been off her hand for over a year now. He hadn’t commented. Nor had Missandei. She barely noticed it missing most days.

Dany blew out a hard breath and turned on her heel, padding barefoot across the cold, stone floor to the large, heavy wooden door beside her bed. She touched her fingers to lock and after a moment, she flicked it to the side. It made a godawful noise, a boom in the din, and she cringed, praying none of the servants heard.

She walked away from the door, her hands pinned to her hips, robe and nightdress flying around her legs. “Please don’t, please don’t,” she whispered.

The door hinges squeaked.

Her heart stilled, breath catching. All she heard was the blood in her ears. Why was this so terrifying? She might have been shaking like a virgin on her wedding night.

The door pushed open, the wood scraping on the floor. It creaked and eventually thudded softly when it reached the wall. She swore she heard his breathing, deep and even. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the interior of his bed chamber, the Earl’s suite. He had changed it. She oversaw those changes. He wanted it dark. All deep navy blue and gray. It suited him.

“Dany,” he murmured.

She turned completely and stared. He hadn’t changed for bed yet. Still wore black trousers and his white shirt was untucked, sleeves unbuttoned and neck loose. He’d removed his boots and had his ankles crossed, leaning against the door frame. His wild curls fell around his face, taken out of the queue he normally wore them in during the day. He was cold, pale, and his gray eyes tracked her every step, a wolf with its prey.

Except she was not a wolf’s prey. She was Daenerys Targaryen, a dragon. She was the bloody Countess of Winterfell.

Her chin lifted. “I made a decision.”

“And?” he asked, rather bored.

She glared. “No.”

It rang out, a challenge. She’d thrown the gauntlet.

He stared at her a long while. Her skin prickled. He always had that way about him. Like he was stripping her with his eyes, seeing straight to her soul. Moments…hours later…he finally responded.

And he smiled.

Long, slow, wolfish. Gleaming white teeth against his dark beard. “No?” he echoed

She growled. “No.”

He laughed, softly, and shook his head. “You are something else Dany.” He sighed and continued to smile. “Have a good evening.”

Her arms fell to her sides. “Did you not hear me? I said no! No, I will not marry you!”

“Good night, Dany!”

“I mean if, you stubborn wolf! I will not marry you!”

And he turned, Jon Snow, the Earl of Winterfell, who had been her best friend, who had been her brother-in-law, and was now the man who did nothing but madden and twist her insides, and he grinned.

“You will. You’ll marry me. You just don’t seem to understand it just yet.” He waved. “Good night, Dany.”

The door slammed shut and to her horror, he flicked the lock on his side, like he was the one who had to protect himself from her!

She ran for the door, smacking her hand on it, ignoring the sting of hurt. “I mean it Jon! I’ll marry someone else, anyone else but you!”

And she went to bed hearing his laughter through the wall.

“Jon, we must find you a wife.”

Jon flicked through another page of accounts, murmuring a bare acknowledgment to his mother Lady Lyanna’s proclamation. She had been bringing this up a lot lately. He reached for his coffee, still reading about that quarter’s dairy exports, while breaking his fast in the small dining area off the kitchens. The room was normally reserved for children or servants. He preferred to eat here because as a Bastard— capital B, always— the former Countess of Winterfell had never allowed him to eat in the main dining hall with the rest of the family.

Even when he could rub his nose into Catelyn’s face that he was the Earl now, he couldn’t. She had lost everything, he supposed that was more than enough for her sins. Plus, that room…well it was Robb’s. Most all of this was still Robb’s.

Dany was Robb’s too.

He shivered, pushing away the nagging imposter feeling he’d had since he opened a missive from the North, over two years ago while he was in Volantis, and read that his cousin had gone to bed with a headache and never woke up again. The letter had been in her hand, shaky but words steady, informing him of burial arrangements and he was the new Earl.

His mother continued speaking about getting married. “What about Clan Wilde?” she wondered, tapping her chin with her fingertip. “They have a young woman about your age, maybe a couple years older…Ygritte I believe? Or the cousin, Val?”

He slid a quick glance to his mother. “Uh…no on both counts.”

Lyanna scoffed, picking up her teacup. “Really Jon?”

“I was young.” He didn’t want to talk about his former lovers with his mother of all people, but she was no stranger to his reputation, such as it was. He had led a wild youth; he had had nothing to worry about. He was living up to what others thought of him, after all.

She clicked her tongue, disappointed. “Well, my son, is there any young woman in the North that I can perhaps one day call daughter-in-law?”

As ever his mother’s timing was impeccable.

Because she appeared in the doorway, fresh from a morning ride. “Lyanna,” Dany greeted, removing her riding gloves. The crisp air had flushed her cheeks, bits of her silver hair escaping her knitted braids. She had a bit of hay stuck to her riding habit. “Good morning.” She barely glanced at him. “The stable roof is leaking on the western side; we should see to it Davos has a boy repair it. Also, the oats were spoiled, I sent the Umber boy into town to place a new order.”

He grunted in reply, picking up his coffee. Lyanna was watching him. He did not want her to get ideas. “Fine.”

“I was thinking of visiting my brother. I’ve sent him a letter. I will need the carriage.”

Jon jerked his head up, eyes wide. “What?”

Dany poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table, her face unmovable. They might have been discussing the weather. “Yes, it has been some time and as you know I am looking for a new husband. Rhaegar will introduce me to some men. I hear that Lord Baratheon is in town.”

Lyanna snorted her tea, coughing loudly. “Mother,” he growled. “Are you well?”

“Fine!”

Dany pursed her lips and smiled tightly. “Lord Gendry is a fine match.”

“He’s half your age!”

“Lies.”

“My cousin is courting with him.” It wasn’t quite the truth but judging from Arya’s letters and ink blots all over them as she angrily discussed Gendry Baratheon it seemed that she wanted a match between them.

She shrugged. “Baron Greyjoy then.”

“Theon!” he roared.

“He has expressed considerable interest.”

Because Theon was a perverted pig of a man, who was clearly doing this to get back at him for beating him all through their university days. He was always Robb’s friend which was why this behavior further disgusted him. His fingers clenched in a fist on the table, trying to keep his temper in check but when it came to Daenerys Targaryen…Stark.

Stark.

Robb’s widow.

His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, his stomach aching. He took another deep breath, held it, and ignored the dizziness when he opened his eyes and fixed them on her. She was staring at him, placidly smiling over the rim of her cup. He smiled. “Of course, he is expressing interest, the Greyjoys always need money and you have a considerable amount.”

“I do at that,” she chuckled. She tugged a chair out, scraping the legs noisily on the floor. Her skirts flounced around her legs when she sat. “Which is why he is a fine match.”

“He’s not a fine match, I do not approve.”

“I do not need your approval.”

“You are the Dowager Countess of Winterfell,” he began.

“I am Daenerys Targaryen Stark, Dowager Countess of Winterfell and I am three and twenty years of age, I do not need your permission just because you happen to now carry the earldom and maybe some time ago you thought you could help me find a match!” She clanged her cup into the saucer, her violet eyes flaring angrily when she turned them upon him.

He pushed to his feet. “I am looking out for you, you live here…”

“You do not control me.” Dany pushed back suddenly and stalked to him, poking him hard in his chest. He felt shocks vibrate out from where she’d hit him and he glanced up, pretending to be unaffected. She was so beautiful when she was angry. “I will make my own decisions, my lord, about who I plan to marry again.”

His lips twitched. Of course, she would. “Fine.”

She was taken back by that, blinking hard. “Well…fine.” She glanced at the accounts and grabbed them from in front of him. “I was working on this last night. I’ll finish.”

Jon watched her walk away, her black riding habit tight around her bodice and flaring at her hips out into the long skirts. He knew underneath she would be wearing breeches with her boots. He brought them from Vaes Dothraki for her. On one of his trips. Before…before everything.

He closed his eyes, exhaling hard. “She is maddening!” he exclaimed, pouring more coffee. He would need it. “I was fine with those accounts!”

Lyanna patted his hand. “Obviously, dear.”

“She thinks because she was running this place while I was away…”

“She was doing a bang-up job too; you cannot deny that.”

Fuck, no he couldn’t. She had done more for the Winterfell estates than anyone had before her. Robb even joked that was why he married her. To bring the estate back from the brink. Jon always smarted at that statement. Dany and Robb might have got on famously when they finally met, the first ball of the season, but he had been there when Catelyn Stark had been combing the pages for the perfect family for her perfect son, the Earl of Winterfell. Not any girl would do for him.

And after Lyanna indicated she knew the Targaryens personally, that had been that. They were beautiful, rich, and Rhaegar was a Duke. It solidified everything Cat wanted for her son.  The conversations had begun years before Robb even met Daenerys.

They happened to like each other. They joked and laughed and got on wonderfully. Robb said he loved her. Duh. Who couldn’t love Dany?

It was a shame Jon met her first.

And he had known who she was too. Everyone did. And he didn’t care, he laughed with her. Flirted with her. Argued. Went on a fucking promenade when Robb was too hungover.

But she was always Robb’s. Never his. Nothing ever was.

He closed his eyes, pinching his nose and slumped in his seat. “She is the bane of my existence.”

“You need a wife, darling.”

His eyes sprang open, and he turned, gazing out the window, spotting Dany outside talking to one of the gardeners. He folded his hands in his lap, murmuring. “I’m working on it Mum.”

Lyanna stood up and walked over, leaning down to kiss his head. She ruffled his hair and sighed. “Don’t get burned darling. Dragons have a habit of doing that.”

He nodded absently. Aye, he thought, watching her laugh, the rare Northern sun playing off her silver hair, her smile bright. He sighed. “I know Mum,” he murmured.

“I have a few burns already.”

It was a stupid thing she’d done.

She had just been thinking about it. Maybe because Rhaegar had sent her a letter, telling her the good news that his daughter Rhaenys had had a healthy baby boy. Her nephew. She had been sitting in front of the fire, letter in her hands, and looked at him.

He was sprawled on the chaise, book in his hands. His cravat was undone, coat tossed over the back. Queue was loose, his hair curling around his face. He was beautiful. He had what she had learned quickly was “the Northern look” as did his mother, Lady Lyanna.

Robb had been handsome. In a different way. Auburn curls and blue eyes. His mother’s Riverlands looks. He’d had a way about him. He was her friend, her confidant, her husband.

“I want a baby.”

That’s what she’d said. About a month ago. It changed everything.

It was true, she had wanted a child for a very long time, since before she got married. Marrying Robb meant there had to be a child. To carry on the Stark name. It just…never happened. Two years of marriage before he died. She’d thought maybe, once, or twice, but never. Every month she bled.

Now two years after his death, closer to three, and she was almost mid-twenties and no baby. No husband.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I want a child.”

“You need a husband for that,” Jon had said matter of fact, before returning to his book. It took him a moment before he lowered it, staring at her again. “You want to get married again?”

“Of course. I need a husband for a baby as you said.”

“But…” She’d seen his face, confusion, betrayal…pain. She wasn’t sure what else had been there, but something flashed in his gaze that had her skin aflame.

Hope.

“But?” she’d murmured, prompting him.

He stood and put on that cold air he got sometimes. No emotion. No feeling. The Broody Rake, the girls had tittered, every season. “But what about Robb?”

“Robb is dead, Jon.” And he would have wanted her to move on. Her heart ached for him, but…she had to move on.

A week after her announcement, he’d come to her rooms. They shared the suite together, after all. Jon had never let her leave Winterfell when he had all the right to send her back to Dragonstone with her family. Except he didn’t have a Countess and he didn’t want to be at Winterfell those early days. So, she stayed and turned the estates into a productive venture.

“You will marry me.”

“Excuse me? “

He was so sure she would agree to it. “Aye,” he had said, before going back to his room. “You will marry me. It makes sense.”

“Sense!?”

“Aye, I am the Earl, you have already been Countess, you live here and know the estates. It makes sense.” He had swung his door shut with a brief grin. “I’ll expect a formal answer soon.”

The brute! Just assuming she would say yes to him! Well ha! She’d told him no, hadn’t she? Yes, she had seriously considered it. It would make sense but matters of the heart didn’t make sense. And she’d already done one practically arranged marriage. She didn’t fancy another.

That was why she told him no, a week later.

And he’d ignored it.

Gods he was impossible! He never gave her a straight answer. One moment he was all broody and distant, then he was proposing marriage! He’d disappeared off the face of the planet for months on end after the funeral and returned like he owned the place. He had refused the Earl’s chambers until all semblance of Robb was gone and flinched when people referred to him as “Lord Winterfell.”

It had changed, the comfortable arrangement they lived in, since she made that announcement. But it was true. She did want a baby and she would have to try soon. “Maybe it was your husband,” Lyanna had told her, when she’d confided in the early days of her widowhood about their troubles with a family. “It is not always the woman, try as men seem to make it our fault.”

Dany wasn’t so sure. Her courses had never been regular. They’d been quite painful too, sometimes requiring the Maester when she was a young woman to help soothe her through the week. She had merely nodded and gone on with her tea, while Lyanna pondered about the curiosities of fertility and virility.

Lyanna was a strange woman always removed from the rest of society, so it was no surprise she would have such strong opinions on such normally personal matters. She’d openly raised her bastard son, something never heard of, and he had all the treatment of a legitimate one. Then on his deathbed, the former Earl of Winterfell decreed that his nephew would be legitimized and placed in the succession for Winterfell. No one thought much of it. Ned Stark had three healthy sons.

And the year before Dany met Robb and married him, tragedy struck. In a quick succession, Ned had died, followed by his youngest Rickon from a child fever and then Bran, who’d fallen from a tower while climbing. Then Robb, two years later from a simple headache.

Dany fussed with her papers at her desk, pouring over the accounts. She liked numbers but sometimes running an estate was not her preferred time waster. She wanted to be riding. She loved horses and Winterfell boasted one of the best stables in the Seven Kingdoms. It had been her idea for them to move into the stud market, Jon agreeing eagerly and instituting some of what he’d learned while he had been in Vaes Dothrak, known for its horse acumen.

She glanced out the window, the sky dreary, threatening to downpour. It was always like this but in the springtime, it was a several times daily occurrence. She could ring fir Missandei, have her dress in her habit for a late afternoon ride. “Maybe later,” she mumbled.

“Talking to yourself?”

Yelping, she almost overturned the ink pot onto the books. “Damnit!” she cursed, whipping her head to glare at Jon. “You startled me!”

“Apologies.” He was not at all sorry. He stepped into her study, glancing around. “I haven’t been in here in some time”

“You were not invited.”

“Come now Dany you can’t be that mad at me.” He smiled. It was disgusting how when he smiled, he was even more handsome. The Broody Rake, she thought briefly, as he could often be seen at various events with his eyes downcast, brow furrowed, thinking of anything but the women throwing themselves and fawning over him. Then he'd disappear and come back the following day with yet another debauched story to his reputation. “I only proposed.”

Yes, and you should have done it far sooner, she thought, her heart heavy. She had removed those thoughts from her mind while she was with Robb. Each and every time she saw Jon, she refused to think them and eventually fell into a lovely state of denial about her feelings for him because she had to. Because if she didn't, she would be miserable and seeing her mother in a miserable marriage to her father-- arranged of course-- told her that she would never be like that in hers.

Jon saw her first. Jon spoke to her first. Jon had her heart first.

And then she met Robb, then everything came out that he was the one she was supposed to marry, that it was to be a true Stark and Targaryen union to account for the troubles between their families-- start fresh-- while also securing the vast estates and finances and ensure that they would be united together against anyone else who tried to separate their hold on both the North and large pieces of the Crownlands.

Jon was her best friend. Jon was her confidant. Jon was the one that she could whisper silly things to and argue about politics and go riding and have him not worry she'd fall off her horse, like Robb did. Oh, Robb was fine. Robb was gentle and kind and never pushed her where she didn't want to go.

That was what was so annoying about him.

Robb was just...fine. A fine husband. A fine friend. He'd be a fine father, if she could ever have gotten with child, which she couldn't. She missed him. Missed his laugh, his smile, and the way he would always pause breaking his fast to get up and kiss her hand when she entered the dining room in the morning to inquire about her night. He never questioned when she kept the door to her rooms locked, just came, and went when they were open, fulfilling his marital duty.

It was fine.

Jon... Jon was not fine, and he was not fine right now, as he leered at her from the corner, where he'd plunked himself down in one of her crushed velvet chairs, his feet kicked up on an embroidered ottoman, and he was flicking through a book she'd left on it when she'd come into the study, intent to put it back on her shelf. "This is fascinating," he announced. "When did you get it?"

"I sent away for it after hearing Arya mention it during the spring harvest feast."

"Bloody hell, why didn't you ask me? I could have picked it up for you."

She sniffed. "I can order my own literature thank you very much."

"You're so touchy." He settled back in the chair, the book turned to the first page, making himself comfortable. "I took a look at the accounts; I think we can manage a new roof for the stable if we cut back on the grain purchases. We'll have to hoe the backfield to make up for purchasing lesser quality to offset."

That was a risk to take, giving the horses inferior grain for now, but it would have to do. "Fine," she commented.

"I saw that Silver was beating the shit out of his stall door, when I went to speak to Davos about the upgrades."

Her beloved silver, a wedding gift from Robb from the Dothraki Sea, was ready to stud. "Hmm, I was thinking we could pair him with Beauty."

"You think their offspring would be worth it? Beauty might be a beauty, but she's daft as all get out."

"Daft!" Beauty was just...she was beautiful. She turned, glaring at him. "She's perfect, leave her alone. Their offspring will be champions, we'd be able to get twice what we got Beauty for, and she was a pretty penny, don't forget."

"Oh, I certainly don't."

She snorted. "Sure, you showed up after I purchased her."

He narrowed his gaze on her, his lips twisting in a sly smile. "You make a habit of tracking my comings and goings?"

"It is easy when you disappear for years on end."

That had his smile breaking and his eyes shuttering. The gray turned inky black. He would be lost his head soon, she thought, her jaw tightening. It was hard to tell some days what could send him off into hours of brooding, could even spur him to take the next ship from White Harbor to Essos. He broke his gaze from her, turning the page in his book. "You still insist upon this ridiculous notion of marrying anyone but me?"

"Yes." They were back to that? Good Gods. She got up, brushing her hands over her skirts. "If you'll be so kind, Lord Winterfell, I'd like to depart my personal study and go to the stables to collect my horse and go for a ride." She exaggerated a curtsy, a simpering voice. "Might I do so with your permission? You seem to believe you have to give it on all matters of my decisions."

"Marriage is different!" He slammed the book shut, throwing it aside and got to his feet. He might not have been a tall man, but he was imposing, with his dark looks and darker demeanor. He had an 'aura', that's what her niece Rhaenys had said when she'd first met Jon.

It called to her.

She ignored it.

"How Jon, how is marriage different?"

There had been a strange tension in them since she made that announcement. It was a change. They had fallen into a nice normalcy. She ran the estates with him, he traveled as he needed for the estate, she lived in the Countess of Winterfell's rooms and sometimes visited her family in Dragonstone. He came with her from time to time, to visit family and friends who had moved down to Kings Landing. He liked Rhaegar; Rhaegar liked him. Then again, Rhaegar had always liked Jon. They had a lot in common. More than he had with Robb.

Stop thinking about Robb. Robb is dead and has been for two bloody years.

She squeezed her hands at her sides to steady her nerves. "I told you,” She whispered, her gaze locked on his. He stared straight into her. Jon had that way about him. From the moment she met him. his eyes were so peculiar. They were almost as silver as her hair, but when he laughed, they turned bright gray. Then they changed to the color of storm clouds when he was angry. Pure black when he was furious. Or frustrated.

Or...like now.

She didn't want to think what that might mean, although she knew.

He was aroused.

"Told me what?" he breathed, taking another step towards her. She chanced at look at his hands. He had them clenched, much like hers, but he would flex his right fingers when he was trying to find his thoughts. Like he was right now.

"I told you no, I won't marry you."

"I told you that we'd see about that."

"What are you going to do Jon? Throw me over your shoulder and carry me to the nearest godswood?" She caught a breath in her throat, his brows arching, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. She gasped. "You're not seriously considering it!?"

Did she want that?

Bloody seven hells she might.

No, no, no, no! He's Robb's cousin! He's practically his brother!

That was always what stood between them, and it always would. He was Robb's brother by relation if not by blood. Jon would never betray him, and she would not betray Robb. That's why she could scarcely believe his insistence that they marry. It was shocking to her, honestly.

"That's the funny thing about being in the North, Dany." He took another step, lifting his finger, wagging it knowingly and he smiled again. Now his eyes were positively coal colored. He husked, "our religion. We don't need septons or septs or even witnesses. We just need the gods and they...well they're all around us."

Fuck! "You wouldn't," she threatened.

"Would I?"

"You wouldn't," she repeated herself, smirking and crossed her arms under her breasts. She was trying to hold her breath in, to keep them from straining against her suddenly tight bodice. Her skin was on fire, and she knew her cheeks were flushed. They always got this way when she argued with him. "You wouldn't marry me because it's the same reason you didn't propose to me first. Robb."

There.

A pin could have dropped, and it would have sounded like a drum clash.

He stared at her a long while, unblinking, and scarcely breathing. When she thought he would turn, because he twitched, seemingly to move towards the door, he instead tilted his head a fraction and barely moving his lips, uttered: "And you would not have said yes, because you were only going to marry the Earl of Winterfell and not a bastard."

That was her family. That's what they wanted. She lifted her chin and whispered, "Well we will never know, Jon. Will we?" She swallowed, her throat constricting, staving off tears that pricked in the corners of her eyes. She tried to laugh, to chuckle this off, but she coughed instead. "Face it, you don't want me to marry anyone else because you think I'm betraying Robb. Do you think i should be wearing mourning black my entire life? That I should not at least try to have a family, maybe it will never happen, maybe I am barren, but at least try?" She was harsh, her words cutting, but he had to hear it.

He flinched, his brow wrinkling, and pain creasing his features. "No, Dany I never...no! I know you miss him and...and I do too."

"Which is why I'm stunned you would even think of proposing to me, Jon, because again, let's face it, but you would never do anything that might be a betrayal of him in your eyes either, it's why you're only waiting until now to do so! When you think I might actually leave you and you'll have to marry someone else to be your Countess!" She spit the words angrily, her heart aching, heavy and throbbing in her bosom. She pressed her hands to it, digging into the flesh above her bodice, carving red marks into her pale skin, shouting, "Do you think I want this? I miss Robb, but that was a marriage of arrangement, it was not a love match, and maybe I want that before I truly become a dried-up spinster with no prospects! Maybe I want it before I have to see you marry some spineless little twit because you have to produce the next heir to Winterfell!"

Was that what this was about? She froze, shocked at her words. Now she sounded like the jealous one. His eyes were wide, pupils blending with the deep gray irises around him. His chest heaved and he took a few shallow breaths, until suddenly he was upon her.

This was the closest he had ever been to her, she thought momentarily, before she was backed up against her desk, papers and books scattering as he reached for her upper arms, grasping her, and his forehead touching hers, their lips a hair's breadth apart. She cried out, alarmed, and he stopped, his breathing ragged. "Say it," he demanded, his voice raspy. "Tell me Dany."

"What?" she mumbled, her mind cloudy, trying to figure out what was happening. Nothing made sense to her right now, with Jon’s lips– gods they were so soft– brushing against her cheek, her face turned slightly from his. She moved to face him, and there it was, the gentlest touch of them against hers. A nervous exhale rattled from her throat, and he drew it in sharply. She inhaled his name, “Jon.”

His fingers played along her arms, long and nimble, heating her skin through the woolen dress she wore against the Northern chills. She groaned. “Tell me Dany.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me do you want this?” He kissed her, no more just touching his mouth against hers, but a full kiss, his lips insistent, slanting over hers, but he kept them closed, until she opened hers beneath, moaning and grabbing his upper arms, tilting backwards on the desk. He growled, hoisting her up by her thighs roughly, stepping between them, her skirts falling to either side of her legs. She moved her hands to the front of his coat, clutching the lapels, and his wicked tongue slipped between her lips, sliding along hers.

It was so wrong, a voice told her, but another one, one that whispered: You want this, you’ve always wanted it. Yes, she nodded, she did. She wanted to taste him, and it was glorious. She pulled back, gasping for breath, her nose pressed to his. “Jon,” she mumbled. “What are you doing?”

He quirked his eyebrows up with the corners of his lips, smiling wickedly. “You didn’t answer me. Do you want this?” And his hands were moving under her skirts, against the soft inner flesh of her thighs, just above the ties of her stockings. She quivered, desire shooting through her body, an arrow from where he’d kissed her mouth to where she wanted him to kiss next.

She swallowed hard, sobbing. “Yes.”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“But what if…” His thumbs pressed into the creases of her hips, where her thigh met, and his index fingers hooked over the top of the thin lace drawers she wore underneath her skirts. His mouth hot on her face, he licked her earlobe, positively sinful. “What if I kissed you…here?” And he dragged a finger over her cunt, so sudden she jerked on the desk, one leg hooking around his waist to keep from falling backwards entirely. He chuckled. “Hmm…is that a, yes?”

She had never envisioned such a thing, although she’d heard of it. It had never been…done to her. “You…” She swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to think, her mind swimming. This was so confusing. “You want to kiss me there?”

“Hmm, I’ve dreamed of it, honestly.” He kissed her again, one hand still cupping her cunt, the heel of his hand pressing up against the apex, the pressure unbearable. She thrusted her hips up, trapping his hand there with her thighs, and she grabbed his wrist over the top of her skirts, encouraging him to move his hand. He broke the kiss. “Dany, say it. Say you want this.”

“I want it,” she cried. Gods how she wanted it. She wanted his fingers and his mouth and his cock. She wanted these feelings to never end, she wanted to drown in them. Never in her life had she felt like she was going to die if she didn’t get it. All she wanted was him.

Jon.

He smiled, that sinful, slow little smile of his, and her eyes flicked open, meeting his. They stared a moment at each other, and he cocked his head, murmuring. “Alright.”

And then he fell to his knees, her body an altar for him to worship, and he pushed her skirts all the way up over her hips. She tugged them back, glancing down, her breasts straining against her bodice, her heart hammering so hard she feared he’d hear it. She watched his dark curls, his hands at her thighs, spreading her open, and he peeled down her drawers, tugging easily at the satin ties. They fell loose and he tugged them down and off, pooling on the floor.

He returned to her, baring her completely, and she hissed at the chill hitting her overheated cunt. He cursed, low under his breath. “What?” she gasped.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

“Jon,” she moaned again. She didn’t know what it was, the heat that flooded through her veins, the tingling and pressure up through her legs in the pit of her belly and up to her breasts, which felt heavy and achy. She palmed one, just to give herself some relief, and Jon cursed again, before he dove his head down between her legs and she felt simultaneously his tongue and his finger swipe through the cleft of her cunt.

And she screamed.

It escaped before she could stop it. It felt so good.

“Oh gods,” Jon groaned into her thigh, his breath hot and panting. “You taste so good.”

She dropped a hand to his head, fingers curling in his hair, soft and luscious, tightening her grip to hold on as he dropped gentle kisses along her thighs and outside her cunt before he tasted her once more. She sobbed, Valyrian tumbling out, her hips lifting up to meet his mouth with each twist and lick of his wicked tongue into her body, one hand holding her open, the other slipping between his tongue and her cunt to tease her entrance, his thumb lifting to circle the nub at the apex of her cunt, dragging erratically.

It was too much, building slow, and then moving faster and faster, with each movement against her. “Jon,” she repeated, over and over. “Yes, oh gods, kostilus.”

Moments later, his finger hooked inside of her, the rough pad of his finger hitting a spot inside of her she’d barely found herself alone at night, and his lips closed around her nub, carefully suckling, and she shattered. She cried, tears hot in the corners of her closed eyelids, her mouth open, face flushed, and called out, “Jon!”

He soothed her down from her peak, soft strokes on her thighs, teasing behind her knees, and he peered up from on his knees, when she dared to open her eyes to look down at him. He stared up, his lips damp, flushed red, and his eyes black. “Dany,” he murmured. He breathed, “Do you want more?”

Did she? Yes, she did. Except…she didn’t know. She tore her gaze from his, embarrassed at her body’s reaction, her heart tearing into two, confused. Her mind was swimming, dizzy from the feelings he'd just invoked in her. Every nerve ending in her body tingled, her throat dry, choking.

What just bloody happened? He got to his feet, carefully, and she ripped her gaze from him, knowing why he was standing awkwardly. After a long moment, she turned her face back up, trying to judge the emotions hidden behind his well cloaked face. He was so good at doing that, he'd always been good at hiding what he truly wanted and felt. And she finally spoke.

Except the words weren’t what she expected herself to say, surprising. "You should go," she managed to get out, closing her eyes again, so she didn't have to look at him. Yes, yes this was for the best. After this…incident. If she looked at him, she might change her mind. She might tell him to come with her to her bedroom and take her there, no thinking, no regard.

"Do you want me to do that?" he rasped.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted.

He stepped back to her, and she stilled. He framed her face with his palms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, skimming his lips down over her brow to her nose and ultimately her mouth, soft and sweet. He stroked her cheek and breathed. "Tell me. What do you want?"

I don't know.

"I don't know," she sobbed. She was so confused. Everything was muddled, nothing made sense.

He nodded and stepped away from her. He swiped his hand over his beard, still damp from her cunt, and went cold, retreating into himself. He reached his hands to adjust his cravat, turning away. She closed her eyes, wanting him to turn back, just so she could see what he was thinking. Or at least, try to understand what he was thinking, if he let her get that close. "When you do know," he announced, his voice loud, crisp, and cool. He's pulling from me, she thought instantly, she knew it, she knew he'd do this. He was regretting it already. "You know where to find me."

Boots clicked on the floor, his strides long across the room, and he left without looking back, slamming the door after him.

Dany crumpled to the floor in a heap of her disarrayed skirts, burying her face into her palms, confused. It would be so easy to say that he'd done this on his own, but he hadn't. No, he'd asked her permission each and every step of the way, each kiss, touch, and stroke of her body. Not once did he move without checking with her and she’d willingly allowed it. She wiped her face, sniffling and closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady her racing heart and rushing blood.

And she did what she had always done when it came to Jon.

She ran.

She ran all the way to Dragonstone.

Someone was banging on his door.  He ignored it.  Until he couldn't any longer, a voice booming through his aching head and muddled thoughts. 

"Jon, what are you doing?"  

"Mother!" he groaned.

She ignored him, rattling on, her accent thick with anger.  "The servants are terrified of you, the wine cellar is damn near empty of the best vintages, and you haven't dressed in clean clothing in days, this is disgusting. Have you even been outside?"

Sometimes having his mother live with him was a nightmare, he thought darkly, slumped in an armchair in his study. he picked up his pistol, aiming it out the open window at a set of targets that he'd had Davos line up for him. He shook his head, snorting. "I'm doing my best Earl impression, Mother."

"And what is that exactly? Are all Earls pigs?"

"Not all, most."

Lyanna snorted in an exact imitation of him. She threw down a set of dirty coats from when he had gone outside, to go riding and then shooting to get out his anger and pinned her hands to her hips. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I'm practicing."

"For what?"

To shoot whatever buggering fool tries to marry my Daenerys. He aimed the pistol again, but as he'd been drinking- -quite a bit-- his aim was off and missed the shot by a large margin. "Damn," he cursed, lifting the pistol up. He got to his feet, stumbling to the window, and waved off at a couple terrified gardeners. "Best be on your way!"

His mother grabbed the pistol, smacked him upside the head with it, and then cocked, aiming, and fired. She hit the target clear on point, the last one on the row near a fence line just outside the window. "There, all done with that nonsense."

"Ow!" he shouted, rubbing his head. It hadn't been that hard of a smack with the pistol's butt, but it had been hard enough to leave a ringing in his ears and bite his tongue in shock, which now was bleeding. There'd probably be a knot there tomorrow. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Because you're a fool Jon Snow and I did not raise my son to be a fool!"

He rolled his eyes. "And how am I fool, Mother?"

"You let Daenerys go!"

His jaw clenched. No, he didn't. She ran away. There was a difference. "She is a grown woman who can leave of her own accord, she doesn't need my permission."

"That's rich coming from the same man who told her he wouldn't allow her to get married," Lyanna retorted sweetly. He whipped his head around so fast, his neck cracked. She had taken a seat primly on one of the armchairs in the library, her hands folded delicately in her lap. Lady Lyanna Stark looked delicate; fine, thin Northern features, alabaster skin, light gray eyes, rich hair so brown it was almost black, and a lithe, dancer-like frame. Except she was as hard as a steel sword and capable of as much damage, cutting through anyone who dared to cross her.

It was why she had not been banished to have him and give him to some peasant. Why she owned up to her youthful indiscretions and convinced her brother to give him a place in the line of succession to Winterfell, since well, no one believed he'd ever be the Earl.

The gods laughed at that.

He gaped. "How did you know that?"

"Servants talk, love."

Fuck. "What else do they know?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I’m not telling you."

"Mother!"

"Stop whining, it's unbecoming. You're being a child. You've never behaved like someone took your toys and you want them back. You have always been strong, steady, and refuse to back down in the face of adversity. Why now?" she arched her slip dark brows up to her hairline. He'd never asked, but Lyanna always wore black or deep gray. Never any other color and now, as she swept her skirts around her feet, striding to a series of paintings that hung on the wall of the library, she reminded him of one of her beloved horses, galloping across the moors.

When he'd become the Earl of Winterfell, he'd been beside himself, grieving for his best friend, wondering about Dany's future, and securing her position at Winterfell so she didn't feel cast out by Catelyn and the rest of the Starks, and also battling his own demons related to his status and what this meant for him. He had struggled, taking on Robb's role, a role he never imagined he'd have, simply by virtue of the fact he didn't even know who his father happened to be. His mother refused to tell him. All she said was that he was dead, they weren't married, and it would do no good to worry.

Robb was good at being the "leader" of the Starks, but he did not manage the people on the estate very well, nor was he very good with the numbers. He liked the title, the parties, and the "fun" that came with it. Jon had sat back during their lessons, learning, and watching, and his mother had instilled in him a good bit of lecturing on management of the estate, as she'd had to take on the "Countess" role when her mother passed away and her father refused to marry.

Jon slid a glance sideways to his mother, who continued to stare unblinking at him. "What?" he demanded, uncomfortable with her look. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to Daenerys and tell her you're in love with her and you have been since before she met Robb, I want you to then propose to her again, this time not as a business transaction or because you're jealous of whomever might have the stones to do what you should have done years ago," Lyanna said, matter-of-fact again, her lips pressing tight together when she finished.

He gaped at her. "What?" he exclaimed again. That was all he seemed capable of saying. "Mum!?"

"You held back because you didn't want to upset Robb, because he was the Earl and Daenerys was meant to marry him. You didn't want to betray him. Don't think I don't know that. You didn't step in front of him the first time and now that you have a chance, you're not doing it right." She got up and walked over to him, slipping a ring off her hand, holding it up in his face, mere inches from his nose. "This ring belonged to my mother. It belonged to my grandmother. It has belonged to every single bride in the Stark family except two. Catelyn and Daenerys. I didn't give it to Ned for Cat because I could not stand the woman. I did not give it to Robb to give to Daenerys because I was saving it for my son. For when he married the love of his life." She smirked, her voice softening, her heavy Northern lilt sounding like scissors through silk. "And then you did meet the love of your life and you were my stupid, noble, honorable son and you hid your feelings. What's stopping you now Jon? You proposed, after all."

Aye, he did. He proposed. He chewed his bottom lip and lifted his gaze back to hers, quiet. "I proposed because I don't want any other man to be with her. Does that make me a controlling monster?"

"Not a controlling monster, just confused. You could have done this very differently."

"Obviously."

She swiped her hand over his hair like she used to do when he was a child, brushing her lips to his forehead. "Jon," she murmured, pulling back slightly, her face going hard. "Fix it. I don't care how. You fix this and bring her back, because you love her, and she loves you."

"No, she doesn't. She doesn't want to marry me." He caught his last word, going back to their...moment, as it were, in her study. Maybe I want it before I have to see you marry some spineless little twit because you have to produce the next heir to Winterfell. His nose wrinkled, murmuring, thinking through it. "She didn't want me to get married."

Lyanna's lips quirked. "Oh?"

"Hmm...she...she didn't seem happy...said she should get married before...but...but I proposed!"

"You offered a business transaction, Jon. No woman wants that, least of all a woman who already had her first marriage as a business deal." The brightness faded from her gray eyes, her lips curving downward. "I was lucky Jon. I was very lucky I had a family who respected my decision, who could weather the shame. I did not have to marry, did not need to have that arranged."

From what he knew of Dany's brother Rhaegar, he hadn't necessarily wanted the arrangement, but it had been in discussions before he'd taken over the family's title. "It wasn't...wasn't really arranged."

"Might not have been completely arranged, written in papers and signed by the heads of the household, but it was clear that Robb was going to marry a Duke's daughter, his mother would have no one else for him." Her gaze hardened again. "And the only one with a rich daughter was the Targaryens...and if they got on, well...that's what it was. I don't believe they would have forced her, but women put pressure on themselves. Dany puts pressure on herself."

"So, what would it have mattered?" he complained. At the end of the day, he didn't propose to her, didn't tell her how he felt before. He got up and shook his head, going to find more scotch, he knew he had to have some. "I offered to marry her, she said no, and I said she would change her mind, now she's gone running off to Dragonstone!" He found a half-empty decanter on its side near his collection of Pentoshi novels. He uncapped it and swung the crystal up into the air, saluting nothing in particular. "So long Daenerys! I'm done!"

Lyanna grabbed one of his boots from the floor and flung it across at him, where it knocked on his arm. "Bloody moron!" she shouted.

"Mother!"

"You have been wallowing for over a week and I'm done. I told you what I needed to tell you. What happens next Jon Snow, that's all on you." She sniffed, striding towards him, and pushing her hands into his chest, hitting him against his bookcases. He was going to be covered in bruises once she was done with him. She jabbed her finger into his heart. "You both need to talk and sort out your misunderstandings. You're confusing each other and yourselves. Now, I'm going to write a letter to Rhaegar and tell him that we miss Daenerys and hope she comes home soon, because yes, Jon, this is her home, and you will not chase her out."

He didn't chase her out, he felt like protesting, she ran on her own.

Bloody seven hells.

"I’ve fucked this up, haven't I Mum?" he mumbled, placing the decanter back on the shelf. He twirled it around, gathering his thoughts, and turned to face her, scrubbing his hands over his face, groaning into his palms. "I just don't want her to go."

"I know."

"You know, you kept mentioning me getting married," he complained, trying to find something he could blame on something other than his own insecurities. He tried not to look at the portraits of Robb, Ned, and his grandfather Rickard along the wall behind him. This is not my place, a tiny voice inside him squeaked, and he did all he could to suppress it before he became a booming shout.

Lyanna chuckled. "Aye, I did. Mayhaps I thought I could get you both in the same place. Seems I misjudged that one." She poked him again. "But you are still the one who also messed up. Time to fix it, Jon."

Aye, he needed to fix it. He exhaled, closing his eyes. "I have to get her back."

"You do. First, let's see if we can't somehow get her back on her own."

"And how do you propose that?"

Lyanna wagged her finger at him. "Let me talk to Rhaegar, love. He and I go way back."

He frowned. "How far?"

"Oh, far enough." She smirked. He must have made a face or something, because she laughed, reaching to pinch his cheeks, like he was a little boy again. "Relax, love! He's not your father. That's a story for another time. Let's get through all this, eh?"

Fine.

"Go wash up. You smell disgusting. Sober up too, I can smell your breath from here and it's like a distillery."

Jon nodded, scrubbing his face again, and doing his best not to look at the cheerful grin from his cousin's portrait, mocking him as he left the study.

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since that moment in the library, when every feeling she'd ever felt for Jon exploded in one glorious moment. She still couldn't think about it without turning flush, heated, and needing to excuse herself from wherever she was if she had others around her. It had never felt like that before. Never. She didn't even know she could feel such things. Her body still tingled in memory. At night, she tried everything in her power to keep her hand from drifting under her nightdress, but she couldn’t, because it felt so good, remembering his lips and mouth on her body.

Except she couldn’t think on that now, and she pushed it to the back of her mind, as far as it could go, into a little box she locked up, because her eldest brother had just entered the sitting room, where she had been gazing out the window, watching the rain fall during a particularly dreary day at Dragonstone. It was the rainy season, it made her think of the North, but damper and more humid, to the point where her hair was frizzing up from the braids, and she always felt warm.

Or that could have been because she was always thinking about Jon.

He hadn't reached out at all. Not one missive. She half expected an eviction notice to show up by express courier or by ravens, which the North still used to send messages, despite the fact the practice had been abandoned by most southern houses. Dragonstone still had a Maester who managed ravens, but none arrived from the North. Every time a butler walked past with the post, she sat up straighter, but there was none for her. Well, some for her, but none from him.

Rhaegar had a letter open in his hand, scarcely glanced in her direction, and did not even greet her before he began to recite, standing before her chair. "Dearest Rhae, I hope this letter finds you well, far better than myself, because as I am sure you have heard from your sister, my son has been an abominable fool, forcing her to flee from the house for reasons I am still as yet unclear, but I do miss her terribly and want her to know she will forever have houseroom here, as she is until my son marries, the Countess of Winterfell."

Oh seven hells. “Lyanna sent you a letter?" she asked, stupidly. Of course, she did. Who else would be writing it? Rhaegar lifted his silver brows, silently questioning her back. She sighed, shoulders falling, and slumped in her chair. "It's silly, Rhaegar. Nothing at all."

"You told me when you arrived out of nowhere and with only one letter that you were coming, that you missed your dearest brothers and wanted to visit with us." Rhaegar passed the letter to her, which she took gingerly, afraid it might burn her. He chuckled. "Dany, my sweet, you arrived clearly upset, which I did not pry into because you are a grown woman, a Countess, and your affairs are your own private business, but now I must wonder what happened in the North and why have you come running instead of confronting?"

They were dragons, he silently said, by the way he went to stand beside the massive carved dragonstone fireplace, with dragons curving and snarling around the flames, taking up most of the wall in the sitting area. The castle was enormous, set on an island, removed from Westeros, and she had spent most her entire life here, while Rhaegar lived at one of the Targaryen summer homes with his wife and children. She had been sheltered, rarely allowed to visit with society in King's Landing, but when she did, she took it all in, enamored and wondering what i might be like when she came out to the peerage and found herself a husband.

She took a deep breath, noting that Lyanna's handwriting was precise and neat, not written in anger. She should have left something for Lyanna. Of course, the other woman was concerned for her. "Nothing happened exactly," she said, choosing her words carefully. Rhaegar was her brother after all. There were certain things she never wanted to tell him about. Far too embarrassing. She wasn't Viserys, who loved to share his exploits. "I... well...well I just..." she huffed, closing her eyes, and knocking her head against the chair. "I have been widowed two years Rhaegar! I am a... a dried-up spinster now! No children, no husband..."

"Since when has that ever bothered you what anyone thinks?"

"It doesn't bother me what they think, it bothers me that I am near thirty years of age, and I do not have a child. I want one." She pressed her palms to her belly, which quickened under her corset boning. Her eyes closed around tears, each time she thought of her so far barren womb. "And I told Jon I wanted a child...he...well..."

Rhaegar frowned, walking to sit across from her. He leaned over his knees, hands folding between them. "He did what Daenerys?" he murmured.

"He proposed!" She lurched to her feet, waving the letter from Lyanna angrily. "And he said that we would get married and...and when I told him no, he became..."

"What?" her brother snarled, immediately protective. "I swear to the Fourteen Flames of Valyria if he has harmed you!"

She cut him off before he went on Big Brother Sort of Father Rant. Waving her hand, she furiously shook her head. "No, no, no, no! Rhaegar, calm down, no! He didn't harm me." She pushed her fingers against her forehead, the letter crumpled in her fist, now pinned to her hip. The words tumbled from her mouth, confusing her further. "He...he proposed to me and I... I wanted to say yes, Rhaegar!" She covered her mouth, spinning away so he would not see her tears.

That's what it had come to. Missandei answering her, that evening, brushing out her hair and prepping her for bed, when she'd initially told him no. Telling her that she wondered what would have happened if Jon proposed first. Missandei had not brought it up again, their talk. Of course, her friend knew something was wrong, because she had run straight to her and demanded they pack for Dragonstone and even when they stayed at inns along the way, Missandei never questioned why they had rushed out, or why she stared out the windows of the carriage, bumbling along the countryside, lost in her swirling feelings.

She wanted to tell Jon yes, yes, she would marry him.

But she couldn't.

"He's...I'm so confused Rhaegar," she cried, falling down onto one of the sofas, blinking angry tears away. She gazed at the letter, shaking her head, whispering, "I married Robb because that's what Father wanted. He wanted me to marry someone in the peerage and to carry on the family dynasty...I... I heard him shouting at Mother about it..." Their parents did not get along, it was not a happy marriage, and her father Aerys had been mad, obsessed with their family lineage.

Rhaegar sank beside her, folding her into his arms, where she buried her face into his shoulder. he stroked her hair gently. "Dany, Father was mad, I never would have forced you to marry someone you did not want to marry."

"But the contracts!"

"They were not signed, there was no marriage contract," he murmured. "You knew that."

She knew they had been drawn up at least. It was decided when she'd come out. Robb Stark, Earl of Winterfell, would be her husband, before she even met him. She closed her eyes tight, the tears finally slipping free. "I did not want to disappoint anyone." Except...gods, in the pit of her stomach she wondered if she still would have been able to go through with it if Jon had been the one who proposed to her first. If he had taken it upon himself, bastard or not, to ask her to marry him.

Except she would never know, because he never did, and she married Robb instead, because it was what was done.

Rhaegar let go of her and pulled back slightly to wipe at her tears with his thumb. "Daenerys," he whispered. "You are my baby sister, but you are as much my daughter as Rhaenys is, because I helped raise you and I can tell you, if you had come to me and said you did not want to marry Robb, you wanted to marry anyone else, I would have given you, my blessing."

"Even if it was Jon?" she mumbled.

She didn't expect him to answer, but he did, nodding. "Yes. Even if it were Jon."

"But he wasn't even legitimized then."

Rhaegar lifted his chin, his lips pulling in a thin smile. "Do you know that when Jon's mother became with child and the rumors came out, she had been sent to Dorne to give birth, away in a tower, from all of society, that Elia offered her help, from the Martells?"

Dany frowned. She had never heard such a thing. Elia had passed a few years ago, her brother's wife had been a lovely, kind woman. "Really?"

"Hmm...obviously the Martells have different opinions on such things. More progressive." Indeed, she thought wryly, the Principality of Dorne had always been removed from Westeros, by very nature that they were still considered a lower form of royalty in the kingdoms. Rhaegar continued, "Elia knew Lyanna from their seasons, knew that Lyanna was every man wanted but no one could get to, which only made her more desirable." He sighed, smiling briefly. "It was a sight to behold, watching all those men, young and old, falling over themselves for her. Regardless, when she became with child, Elia offered one of the Martell homes in Dorne for her convalescence, away from the prying eyes of the North and King's Landing. Jon was born in Dorne and when he was almost a year, Lyanna returned to the North with him. During her time in Dorne, Elia visited her, and they became friends...I became friends with her as well."

She wasn't sure why he was telling her all these things. "It doesn't matter, Rhaegar, whether you knew Lyanna or not."

"It does because Jon lived a unique life for a child born out of wedlock. He grew up the son of an Earl, beside the heir. He knew what that meant for Robb, he knew that whatever Robb could have, Jon could not, even if his mother was noble, even if he had been born in a royal home. You need to think of that, why he would, therefore, not propose even if he wanted to, because well, Robb got everything he ever wanted." Rhaegar smiled sadly. "Of course, these are my own thoughts, watching the situation. I am very observant."

She chuckled. "Aye."

"Aye," he teased. "You've been in the North too long, little sister."

"Perhaps I have."

He leaned against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, his silver plate falling over his shoulder. "You cannot change the past Daenerys. You cannot bring Robb back. You cannot make Jon do things you wanted him to do before you met Robb. You cannot decide to tell Robb no. All you can do is think of what you want right now and go from there." He arched a slim silver brow. "So," he demurred. "What is it you want?"

I want Jon.

She sniffed back tears, which pricked her eyes, burning hot. "Rhaegar, I don't know...I... he’s only doing this because...."

"Do not put feelings into his heart that might not be there, Daenerys. You are a dragon." He pressed his palm to her heart, pushing. He ground his teeth, hissing, fierce. "Be a dragon."

Be a dragon.

A dragon would not run away from a wolf. A dragon would not hide. A dragon would fight.

She nodded. "Be a dragon," she repeated. All her childhood and into her teenage years she had been taught to be the dutiful, perfect daughter. A future wife to a future earl or duke. Except that wasn't who she was in her heart. She wanted adventure, she wanted to escape, she wanted to see everything. She wanted to put her head to papers and write and do sums and all the things they said women couldn't do.

Robb allowed her that much, saying a Northern woman would never just sit around doing embroidery all day if she knew what was good for her. To his mother's horror. Lyanna had appreciated that sentiment, but Dany knew she'd been able to do far more in her marriage to Robb Stark than others in her position.

And Jon would never have accepted it.

That was how she met him. She smiled, lifting her fingers to her lips, remembering. Rhaegar got up, leaving her to her thoughts, and she tightened her fist around the letter from Lyanna. She would return to Winterfell, of course, and confront Jon about this whole proposal business. She'd see to it that he knew exactly how she felt about, well, everything. And if he was just proposing because he didn't like the notion of his cousin's widow marrying another man, well, that was too damn bad for him.

Except...

Gods.

She wasn't sure she would be able to handle it if he did not have the same feelings for her that she had for him. Feelings even she was not quite sure about. They were so muddled. She didn't understand. "I don't know if I love him," she murmured to Rhaegar, her brow wrinkled, concerned, trying to flip everything upside down, to see it from all angles. "I... It’s so confusing...I don't want to betray..."

"Daenerys."

Lifting her face, she stared at her brother, who now appeared exasperated. "What?"

"Daenerys," he repeated. He stood up and tugged down his waistcoat, always dressed smartly even if he had no callers for the day. He was the Duke of Dragonstone after all. His chin lifted, his deep indigo eyes sharp, ever a dragon. "Do not second guess your own feelings because you do not know the full extent of Jon's. It will only bring you pain." He nodded briefly. "I'll leave you to prepare for your return to Winterfell." He walked to the door and paused, before glancing over his shoulder. "I remember that night very well. It was at the Tyrell residence in King's Landing, the Rose Ball. Your first ball. You had run off, I remember because the Dowager Duchess Tyrell was quite miffed about it, kept chastising me for raising you to be a heathen, disappearing, but also being grateful because it meant her granddaughter could take center stage." He chuckled. "I also recall you being confused on the way home, something about a misunderstanding?"

Her eyes widened. "How do you remember?"

"I remember everything Daenerys, including how one Stark looked at you with greater longing and want than the other." He nodded. "See you at supper."

Oh bollocks.

She slumped on the chaise, her head knocking on the hard wood armrest. It struck her; how absolutely oblivious she must have been. Or rather, how she had placed the blinders up. How else was she supposed to move on with her life? When the man she had initially struck up the conversation with turned out not to be the man she had been told she might one day marry?

Dany closed her eyes, dissolving into the memory like it was yesterday.

Four Years Ago...

The Rose Ball was the biggest, most lavish event to start off the season and only the best of the best received invitations from the notoriously picky Queen of Thorns, aka Dowager Duchess of Highgarden, Olenna Tyrell. Their massive home in King's Landing was nothing compared to Highgarden proper, which would host a country party there later the season, but for now, everyone had to make do with the oppressive rose smells overlaying the various perfumes and colognes that everyone used to hide the scent of fear and anxiety that permeated the guests.

Dany had disappeared as soon as they arrived. It was her first official ball of the season. She'd attended others, but she wasn't "out", yet, and honestly, she did not think it mattered. She knew that her family wanted her to catch the eye and marry the Earl of Winterfell. It had disappointed her as a young girl to learn that this match had been something in the works for a bit, just to make up for a long history of animosity between the two families. It also disappointed her that her father did not think she was worth marrying anything higher than an Earl, until she learned that the North operated under a different peerage structure and the Earl was the highest title there, equal to a Duke in the remaining kingdoms.

The Earl of Winterfell, Robb Stark, she thought darkly, lurking in the corner of the Duke of Highgarden's impressive library. There was dust caked on all the books, she didn't think he could read and judging from his boisterous and drunken embrace of her brother when they'd arrived, she suspected it had never been at the top of his to do list. All good with her, meant that no one would bother her here during the party.

She knew it didn't matter if she danced with other men and she didn't fancy the other girls and their mamas giving her dirty looks all evening. This was never her strong suit. Oh, she could dance better than any of them, speak four languages, play two instruments, and chat about anything and everything under the sun, but did she want to? Seven hells no she did not.

So, when Rhaegar had been distracted by a pinch on the behind from Lady Olenna, she'd slipped away, and now found herself perusing the volumes of an old Maester from the Citadel who had apparently thought it interesting to document his entire day-to-day experiences, boring as they were. "What a life," she snarked, rolling her eyes and shoving one of the books back. Her finger dragged down the dusty spine, staining her lilac lace glove. "All the world at your disposal for learning and writing, and you write about your chamber pot contents every day."

"The disturbing thing is that someone actually purchased the book documenting those chamber pot memories."

She yelped, startled by a roughly accented voice from behind her. Whipping around quickly, ensuring that she was somewhat presentable in her new gown of pale lilac, the skirt flowing in layers of silk and chiffon, intricate beadwork scattering it in designs of dragons. Her belt was a darker purple, also of the same beadwork and her dress's sleeves capped at her upper arms, see-through and stitched onto the bodice which also shimmered from the beading. Her silver curls were in her trademark braids, unlike the rest of the styles to be held entirely off the neck, she allowed her braids to tumble down her shoulders. Her mother's silver dragon necklace coiled around her neck and her earrings were made of Valyrian pearls.

When Rhaegar had seen her, he declared her the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms, to his daughter Rhaenys's displeasure. Although her niece had fluffed her braids and shaken her skirts, commending the dressmaker's talent and Missandei's incredible ability to turn her "rat's nest of hair" into art.

She held her composure, taking in the sight of the library intruder. Except it seemed she'd missed him entirely, because he was sitting in a chair he'd just turned, lazily rumpled, a book in his hand. He stood fluidly, snapping the book closed. She swallowed hard, having never been alone in a room with a man who was not family or someone she'd known already. "I beg your pardon," she said, steeling her back. "I did not meet to intrude."

"Seems we are both intruding." He smiled briefly. She lifted her eyes to peer through her lashes. The man was in an all-black ensemble, from his tie down to his boots. The only difference to being dressed as a septon was his waistcoat was made of fine crushed velvet and there was silver embroidery around the pockets, hidden behind his frock coat. His cravat was knotted loosely at his throat, and she noted that his jaw was swathed in a dark stubble, quite unlike the Southern fashions of clean faces. His hair was also loose, not tied back, and riotous, inky black curls that matched his long thick lashes, which framed eyes of the most peculiar gray.

His thin pale face, the rough accent, the rejection of the Southern fashion...he was Northern.

She swallowed hard. The only Northerners in attendance were her future family. Or rather, she hoped were her future family. She knotted her hands in front of her and forced a tight smile. "You are also not one for the party?"

"Not quite my scene," he said. He lifted up the book in his hand. "This, on the other, is." He offered it to her, and she took it, stepping carefully towards him. He chuckled, his teeth flashing white. "I didn't realize that the wolf sigil meant people thought we'd bite."

Wolf sigil. Her eyes widened. He was a Stark. She glanced at the book. "An accounting of the history of Vaes Dothrak?" Her heart lurched. "Oh! I'd love to see Vaes Dothrak. Did you know that you cannot bring weapons into the city? You can have hundreds of khalasars present, khals who would slit each other's throat with nary a glance, but within the city itself..." She waved her hand. "No weapons. They must all get along. It's truly something."

He nodded. "Aye, it is. I've been there."

"You have?" She fought jealousy, wishing she could go. She sighed hard. "My father never allowed me to leave Dragonstone. I have only been to Braavos for a short time, to visit a family friend for a summer as a girl."

"Braavos is magical," he said, sitting on the edge of the chair's armrest. "The House of Black and White is..."

"You got to see that!" She laughed. "Well, I was only seven years of age, so I do not believe I would ever have bene allowed into the house of assassins, but to at least see it..." She trailed off, dreamily and quickly caught herself. Manners! She turned the book in her hands. "And what might I call you, Sir Traveler?"

He flashed another smile. "Why do we need names?"

"Because that's just how it is done."

His smile faded and he shrugged his shoulders, voice soft. "You can call me Snow."

"Snow?"

"It's a..." he trailed off, throat tightening. "Nickname."

She felt uncomfortable with a gentleman's nickname only. It was not done. "Well...Lord Snow..." she decided, offering her hand. "My name is Daenerys."

"Daenerys Targaryen." He gripped her hand, not as most men did, delicately touching her fingers and pecking her knuckles, like she was some flower that might crumple, but like the men did, palm to palm, squeezing quickly. She squeezed back and dropped her hand a second later, warmth from his body shooting straight through hers. The stranger-- Lord Snow-- smiled again. "I guess it is easy enough for you to know who I am."

"Silver hair, violet eyes...the dragons are a nice touch as well."

She snorted. "A horse on display for the buyers."

His face darkened. "You are not on the marriage hunt then?"

She shrugged, glancing down. It was not his business. "I am out, yes, but perhaps I might want to find my own husband and not...not be passed to someone else."

"And are you betrothed already?"

"Sort of."

"That's unfortunate." Dany arched her brow, cocking her head in his direction. The strange man, Lord Snow, lifted his shoulder, lazy and dismissive. "I think it would be fun to watch all the men vie for your attention. You look like you could eat them alive and that is not just because you're a Targaryen."

She smirked. "How do you know, sir?"

"You found the library before the sitting room within the first thirty minutes of arriving at the ball," he said matter-of-factly.

Her lips pursed. "Well, I might..."

"No," he interrupted. He waved his finger. "No, you found the library because you're not interested in the mating rituals going on, on the dance floor right now or the mamas flitting about here and there gossiping about so and so's dress and the dowry or the title or the lands of someone else."

That was very true. Dany flicked open the book, thumbing the pages, choosing her words carefully. "You are here as well Lord Snow; might I say the same of you? No desire to be on the marriage market either?"

It was dangerous to be alone in this room with a strange man, one who did not even give her his true name. If she had any brains at all, she would throw the book at him and hightail it out of there, straight for the safety of Rhaegar or Viserys, or anyone who might be able to protect her reputation. Except that was the fun of it. Her heart thundered against her ribs, she worried it would be obvious in her breathing-- her dress felt far too tight across her chest at the moment. She had never been able to just...carry on like this.

It was fun.

Dangerous.

Playing with fire, but she was a dragon, wasn't she?

She cocked her head, eyes twinkling. "I might be on the market."

"And yet you came straight to the library."

"The smell out there was getting to me. Too many roses."

"Aye, it is a bit much, even for the Tyrells." He scratched his beard, narrowing his eyes at her. "You want to leave this place, don't you?"

"Don't you?" she retorted. She crossed her arms over her chest and walked towards him, her fire rising. "Don't you want to see the world and get out beyond the confines of what is normal? Oh wait, you can." She snapped her fingers. "You're a man, Lord Snow, and I am but a woman, I am meant to be on the market and to follow through with my father's plans for me."

The bitterness cut in her words, and Lord Snow sympathized, voice soft. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It just is the way of things."

"So why let it?"

"Because it's what my family wants and because...well..." She wasn't sure. It was what she was meant to do. Yes, her father was gone, but it was what Rhaegar would likely want for her too. "Because I want to make them happy."

The Lord Snow's pale brow wrinkled, his gray eyes darkening. "And what about what you want, Lady Daenerys?"

I want to see the world. I want to travel. I want to have children. I want love.

"Doesn't matter," she chose to say. This man was a stranger after all. "And it's not something you want, for you are here too."

"I don't care for the South."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because my family made me come too," he said, managing a small smile. He stood up and walked by her, straight to one of the shelves. His voice carried in the large space, calling over his shoulder as he searched the many books, hopping up onto one of the ladders to see above. "If you like the Dothraki, you might be interested in this particular volume, should be here...ah!" He jumped off the ladder, holding a small book in his hand.

Dany took it from him, flicking open. She smiled. "The Stallion Who Mounts the World?"

"It's quite fascinating, the Dothraki culture. This goes into the nuances of their religion." He flicked to the middle and pointed at a drawing. "And that is believed to be one such Stallion. Curious, isn't it? She is drawn with pale hair. A woman."

"I have pale hair."

"Perhaps then you are this prophecy."

She laughed. "Lord Snow, are you flattering me? Very wicked."

He grinned. "If I were flattering you, Lady Daenerys, you would know. I am simply noting the similarities here. Now, if you are interested in foreign religions, I suggest anything by the former Earl of Winterfell Cregan Stark, he might have been the only Stark with a sense of humor."

Stark. "Do you know the Starks?" she asked, trying to hide her curiosity.

"We've met."

"Hmm. You said something of a wolf sigil."

"I did, but lots of wolves are on sigils in the North."

Dany wondered if this was actually the Earl of Winterfell himself. It would make sense. Blood rushed to her head at the prospect, her cheeks flushing. He had the Northern look, he was well traveled as was the Earl, and he was keeping his name from her. Was this a bit of a game? Her lips felt dry, and she licked them in semblance of trying to moisten them again, but it was pointless.

Maybe he was testing her? Or perhaps he just wanted to hide from all the lusting Mamas and their kin out on the dance floor?

She straightened her back, shoulders pulling away and spoke crisply, “I am interested in the Northern religion of course. In fact,” she trailed off and smiled up at him, nervous. “If you are not otherwise engaged, I would not mind carrying on this conversation later.”

His lips twitched. “Lady Daenerys,” he began.

She laughed, even though she should have been mortified. “Wicked thoughts Lord Snow!” It was freeing, not having to worry in some ways about her behavior, but she was also worried now he thought poorly of her. “No, no, no…I…oh goodness I meant…”

“I was jesting.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighed. She pressed the back of her hand quickly to her flushed face. She needed to leave. “No, I mean perhaps we should meet for a walk, in the Red Keep gardens?”

Lord Snow made a move to say yes, or she thought he did, and then stopped himself. His face darkened, shadows moving over it and he dipped his face from hers. “I do not think that would be a good idea,” he murmured.

“Oh!” Her heart crumpled. “I…yes of course that was forward of me…”

“No Lady Daenerys that isn’t…” He fumbled a moment but was saved in some ways by the door opening, cutting him off.

Dany whipped her head to see who the intruder was and came face to face with a cheerful man in ceremonial Northern dress, a short black jacket over white dress shirt, a black cravat, and then to her shock-- she had never seen a man wearing one-- a skirt! It was in an intricate plaid detail, deep grays, black, and with silver thread, a large swath of it tossed over his shoulder and pinned with a large silver wolf sigil. He was grinning, his face as pale as Lord Snow’s but otherwise that’s where the Northern resemblance stopped. He had deep auburn curls, bright blue eyes, and whereas Lord Snow’s was angular, this man was round.

He burst out laughing. “Jon! Of course, I find you in here with a beautiful lass! And oh!” He patted his hand to his heart, bowing deeply. “Lady Daenerys Targaryen of course, we finally meet.” He lifted his chest and took her hand-- the delicate way, just the fingertips-- brushing his lips to it. He grinned even wider, if possible, his teeth shiny white. "I am Robb Stark, Earl of Winterfell."

This was Robb Stark!?

The difference was astounding. He stood straight, dropping her hand, and clapped...Jon?! on the back, shaking his hand hard. "Bloody good of you to keep the lass occupied, but this is Daenerys Targaryen Jon, do not think she's someone you want to ah..." He smirked in her direction, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Add to your collection."

Collection!? "I beg your pardon?" she snapped.

Jon growled-- that was the only word for it-- at Robb Stark. "I was merely talking to Lady Daenerys about our shared interest in travel and comparative religion."

"Wait a moment..." She pointed to Jon. "You are not the Earl of Winterfell then, Lord Snow?"

"Lord Snow!?" Robb guffawed. "Jon, you are something else, is that what you said for her to call you?"

Daenerys realized she had stepped into something darker and bigger than a simple jest and misunderstanding. She narrowed her eyes imperceptibly, watching the emotions crossing Jon's face. The former Lord Snow, as she had taken to calling him during their conversation, appeared pained and then all emotion vanished, his face a blank canvass. His eyes went dead-- no longer teasing-- vast hollows in his now suddenly shrunken face. He even seemed to disappear into himself, she thought, watching his shoulders drop, his very being vanish in the presence of Lord Stark.

She tried to smile, to maintain her manners. "Lord Stark? Pleasure to meet you. I believe there has been a misunderstanding." She smiled warmly at Jon. "I made a mistake, I believed you...Lord Jon, is it? Well, I believe you were the Earl of Winterfell in disguise. I meant no offense."

"None taken," he murmured, unable to look at her.

Robb laughed again, booming. "This is my cousin, Lady Daenerys, practically my brother. We were raised together, but no, he is not the Earl of Winterfell. Lord Snow, yes, but he hates that name. Has only had it a year since my father's death."

That name was familiar to her, but she wasn't quite sure why. She had never heard of him in relation to the Earl before. "Wait a moment..." she trailed off, a recovered memory from childhood popping into her head. A gorgeous woman from the North, visiting with Rhaegar and Elia, on her way from Essos back to the North. "Lady Lyanna Stark?"

Jon's smile was tight. "You've met my mother."

Oh! Oh, how she had been mistaken. It made sense he was hiding in the library at such an event. He was a bastard. A highborn bastard, but one, nevertheless. She felt her cheeks warm. "Well...it was a pleasant conversation I assure you, nothing untoward."

"Of course not, Jon knows better than to go after the highborn ladies."

Her lips twitched. Robb was entertaining, most likely, but she did not care for his flippant disregard for his cousin. "Well, we had a very enlightening conversation." She tightened her grip on the book. "In fact, I should take my leave. My brothers will no doubt believe I have run away to Essos."

"Allow me, Lady Daenerys." Robb took her arm immediately. "And can I trouble you for a dance?"

"Ah..." she trailed off and glanced back at Jon, who had turned into a mere shadow. "Um...yes of course you can...in fact, I will meet you out there, let me replace this book."

"Don't dally, I've been meaning to dance with you all evening!"

"Of course." She let go of his arm and waited for him to depart, before rounding on Jon, laughing softly. "You are a wicked one Jon Snow!"

"So, they say," he breathed. He wasn't smiling. He took the book from her. "I'll put this back. Your betrothed awaits."

"Jon," she began. She bit her lower lip. She did not care for bastard titles and so forth. Maybe it was the Valyrian in her or just living with Elia as long as she had, since Dorne had such different views of things than the rest of Westeros. She tilted her face up to peer at his, quietly speaking, "I would very much like to walk with you in the park tomorrow. Please?"

He tried to smile. "Unfortunately, Lady Daenerys, I believe my cousin will have to take that walk instead of me, but I do look forward to future conversations with you about...anything." He patted her arm and waved his fingers towards the door. "Go on, your Earl awaits."

Her heart skipped, a pang of regret striking it. She nodded. "Very well. Have a good evening, Lord Snow."

He bit his bottom lip and jerked his head in a nod. "Aye. Have a good evening, Lady Daenerys."

With a tiny wave, she went to the door, and slipped out to go have her dance with the man who most likely would become her husband. As she danced, she laughed with him, taken by his merriment and joy for life, but with a seriousness towards his lands and his people. Except even as she danced, she kept glancing for the man she had initially believed was the Earl, but even if he were there, he had disappeared into the woodwork, a shadow.