Chapter Text
Jon Snow was a cold hearted bastard.
He knew this of himself. He relished it. He’d made it his entire identity and it served him well over the years. He had made something of himself. No one equated the shy, bookish nerdy teen who let people beat him down to the aloof, designer dressed man with a tongue that could cut people in two with just a word.
He didn’t care what people in his hometown thought of him when he returned for visits that never lasted longer than a couple days. He could afford it, since he flew on his private jet from his main base in King’s Landing or helicopter if he happened to be at his office in Eastwatch.
They whispered when he walked by, they guilted him when he wouldn’t donate to save a collapsing tower at Winterfell— as if he would part with a dollar for that shithole— and they would simply sign and say, “That’s the boy who drove Catelyn Stark mad, all she did for him.”
Winterfell, the city named for the castle at the top of the hill, had not adopted the concept of “don’t blame the victim.” Jon Snow though, was not a victim.
Not anymore.
He was a cold bastard, who currently found himself sitting in the driveway of the house he had spent his entire life trying to escape. It was a part of Winterfell castle, the old gatehouse attached to the main castle complex, with crumbling stones to match the crumbling relationships of the people who once lived inside. No one lived there full time now. He stayed there when he came this far North. It was nothing like how it had been when he once lived there. In the Before.
There was the Before and there was the After.
In the Before, he used to look out his window to the house that was beside the gatehouse. It was on the Winterfell castle property, which belonged to the Starks, but when the going got tough, the Starks sold off pieces of the land and turned some of the buildings into homes they sold.
It was a funky house built from some of the stone of the stables, but more modern in some spots. There was a turret, which came up to his window and he could see straight in, across the weirwood that continued to stand in the godswood.
He fucking hated that tree.
It represented the Before.
Tonight he found himself unable to get out of his fancy Land Rover and go into the house he hated and wanted to burn down. He wanted to cross the godswood and go to the other house. To knock on the door and have her answer, to sit down at the worn oak dinner table and listen to spirited debate, to be plied with leftovers because he was too skinny, and to not be afraid that an argument would turn into violence.
She had always hated it when he made mistakes. Sometimes they warranted a backhand across the cheek. Other times it was just her words, cutting like knives. Jon couldn’t ever figure out which hurt worse. The words, probably. Bruises healed. The marks left by the verbal abuse took longer to fade. They always stayed in his mind, echoing.
You are nothing.
It's your fault they're gone.
I'm only stuck with you because I promised Ned.
Worthless bastard.
He had fought long and hard to suppress that voice and now he no longer heard it the moment his eyes opened in the morning. Not that he slept much anyway. The only friend he had, if you could call him that, referred to it as his "coffin sleep." It was only here, the shadow of this place, when those voices whispered to him, always in that cold, nasty voice.
He had to get out of the car, to go inside, and face what would be happening that week. In his life he had dealt with loss after loss after loss. This one felt different somehow. He suspected it was because, if his therapist was to be believed, he actually loved the man he'd returned to Winterfell to mourn.
"He was the closest you ever had to a true father figure, Jon. It's only natural and expected that you would be affected, even if you pretend you're not."
What did Davos know, Jon thought darkly, continuing to gaze at the house. He took a deep breath and opened the door, unfolding himself from the Range Rover. A blast of frigid air pushed his coat back and he reached up to anxiously push back some of his unruly black curls. He didn't mind the cold; it suited him. He ignored buttoning up his coat and strode down the drive, crossed the yard, entered the godswood on one side, and went around the massive weirwood tree-- ignoring the worn branches that stepladdered up to the bay window that looked directly at his childhood bedroom-- out the back gate and around the edge of the house to the front porch.
He didn't even have his knuckles lifted to knock on the door when it exploded open and a silver-haired, elegantly coiffed man flew out, smacking into him. "Jon!"
"Vis," Jon sighed, patting the man's back. Vis was older than him by at least seven years, but there were times where he behaved far younger. He figured that he'd be a mess. Vis was never one to handle anything rationally or professionally. He carefully extricated himself while at the same time turning Vis around and marching him into the house. "You made it in alright?"
Vis wiped at his eyes, nodding. "Yes, the plane was a bloody nightmare, they wouldn't even bump me from business to first class, can you believe it? I didn't even get a lie-flat seat on the flight!"
"Sorry to hear, call me next time I would have had my plane get you."
A set of pale lilac eyes widened greedily, even through the grief etched on his thin, pointed face. "Oh? Well I will do that." He beckoned him into the house. "Come on in. We ordered pizza, but mine is without carbs."
Jon didn't even know what that was supposed to look or taste like. Ash, he expected, and he politely declined, holding his hand up even as Vis was trying to offer him a slice. "No thanks, I already ate."
A cool, icy voice floated down from the staircase behind him. "Don't you know Viserys, vampires don't eat actual food. He only drinks the blood of innocents."
And there she was.
He didn't even need to turn around. In fact, he thought if he did, his knees would either give out because of the intense want she invoked within him. Or he'd snap and say something he would regret because of the intense fury she also invoked in him. There had been no one in his life who could make him swing from emotion to emotion on either side of the pendulum except for her.
Daenerys Targaryen
Dany, to her friends. Satan's Majesty to him.
He held his breath, turning his head a fraction to glance at her, a bemused expression settling on his face. Tonight she wore fuzzy pink dragon slippers on her tiny feet, a pair of dragon scale-like leggings in vibrant purple, and an oversized Winterfell High Track and Field sweatshirt that had seen better days, the dark gray wolf mascot on the front almost white from so many washes. Her silver hair, the same shade as her brother's, was bound up in a variety of braided knots, some of it left loose to cascade over her shoulders. There were a few faded pink drinks within it, probably a remnant from an All Hallow's Eve costume a couple weeks ago.
Unlike her brother, her eyes were more vivid, lavender with a flame held over them. It matched the fire that was always bubbling under her surface, unleashed whenever she felt passionate about something. Which happened more often than not.
Daenerys was nothing, if not passionate.
Especially for the ones she loved.
And he hated her for it.
It was that same passion that betrayed him.
And he couldn't forgive that. Jon Snow never forgave and he never forgot.
Plus, she was the epitome of Before. And the reason for After.
The funny thing was, Dany frgave and forgot either. It made for some awkward encounters over the years. Encounters which always left him aching, wanting, sometimes begging for more. Things he had suppressed in himself over the years. Weaknesses. Failures. It was why he never came back here if he could help it and when he did, he tried to always avoid the house beside the weirwood tree.
Yet it seemed he'd been here more often than he ever had before, checking on things...on people. On Aemon.
Now Aemon was gone. But he as here, wasn't he? That's all Aemon could have hoped for at this rate. Even if he never had understood why his beloved great-niece and his beloved...whatever the fuck Jon was suddenly couldn't bear to be in the same room as each other without tearing each other's throats out.
He nodded to her. "Your majesty." He affected a fake bow, exaggerated and theatrical. He straightened, smirking at her, pushing down the surge of attraction. It seemed his body— notably his cock— had never received the memo that Daenerys Targaryen was off limits. She was the bane of his existence. She was the most obnoxious, annoying, infuriating, and downright ridiculous person he had ever met.
As she walked by, the top of her head barely at his eyesight, she scowled at him, giving him the finger. Her nails were purple with smiley faces on them. He hated them. "Fuck off, why are you even here? Vis, you know when you invite vampires into the house they can come in whenever they want."
Vis had a mouthful of no-carb pizza, making his response intelligible. They ignored him, sizing each other up across the kitchen table. He crossed his arms, while she pressed her hands on the edge of the table, nails digging into the worn oak. "Go away," she ordered.
"No."
"I don't want you here."
"Too fucking bad, I'm here." Aemon Targaryen saved his life. He would never be able to do enough to warrant it, but he could be here for the man's funeral. He glared at her. "Did you get dressed in the dark, what the fuck are you even wearing?"
"It's comfortable!"
"It looks like something you pulled out of the Goodwill dumpster."
Any of his barbs bounced right off her armored dragon skin. "How much did you spend on that coat? COuple thousand dollars? I could say the same." She made a face at him, turning around and opening the fridge. "I'd offer you something to drink but I don't have the blood of small children. Perhaps you should go visit with Sam and Gilly, heard they popped another one out."
Well she'd know more than him, even if Sam was one of his oldest "friends." He'd sent a bouquet of flowers for one of the births. Or at least, his assistant did. They might have been on child three or four, he couldn’t remember. It was his turn to make a face. “Must not be going well at the library if you can’t even remember the local kids, perhaps it is time for you to look for another job.” He paused; she was staring at him, on her toes, waiting for the punchline. He dropped it, with a dark smirk. “The Icicle might be hiring.”
As it was the strip club on the side of the highway headed to White Harbor, he’d seen it driving in. Viserys howled, laughing, and she chucked a plastic knife at him although he supposed he deserved the real deal. “Fucker!” she shouted. She fumed. “God, I hate you.”
He only smiled, lifting his fingers to his forehead in salute. It had been fun. “Good night, Dany”
“Go to hell, Jon.” She snapped her fingers. “Actually now that I think about it, you’re already the ruler of hell so just go back home.” She plucked a bottle of vodka off a shelf near the den, walking by, her wide purple eyes shimmering.
He froze; he could not handle it when she cried.
It seemed she was doing her best. She glared at him, voice soft. “Aemon would want you here but I don’t. Get in and get out Jon, wouldn’t want you to catch feelings. That’s not your thing, remember?”
Of course he bloody remembered.
He said no more, barely nodded to Viserys and turned, walking to the front door. He paused, before he turned and reached into his inner coat pocket, removing a thick envelope. He held it up so she could see. “I don’t know if Aemon told you but he had my lawyers draft up his will. Strict instructions only you see it first.” He dropped it on the rickety table by the door, overladen with her massive tote bag, a bowl of keys, books and now whatever Aemon had left for them.
Jon didn’t know what it contained but he knew Aemon well enough to know the old dragon wouldn’t have passed away without leaving a few surprises.
He walked out of the house, into the freezing night. He got halfway across the godswood before his anger got the better of him for the first time in years, and flung his fist out, cracking his knuckles into the trunk.
The white wood splintered from the force, revealing the bloody sap beneath. It trickled down the trunk and over his knuckles. He released his hand, shaking out the stinging numbness and glanced at the broken skin. He couldn’t tell what was from the tree and what was his blood.
It was probably the same.
He glanced over his shoulder, towards the house he’d wished was his, and thought he saw the curtains flick in the topmost bay window.
Couldn’t be. She didn’t care anymore.
Jon turned away and slunk off in the cold darkness towards the empty house he wanted to burn down, but he knew he never would.
The perk of being the town librarian and knowing essentially everyone, and having your beloved great uncle as the town's most well-known and respected solicitor, academic, and doctor, was that there was now enough food stuffed in the fridge and freezer to last another century.
Dany wedged another casserole into the freezer, hoping now the door would shut after she played Tetris with everything. She held her breath, shoving the door closed, and released it in relief when it stayed shut. She dusted her hands and turned around, staring at the table filled with flower bouquets they'd taken from the funeral home. She had donated the vast majority of them to local nursing homes, but these ones she wanted to scatter about to try to bring some cheer to the dreariness that her uncle had left behind with his passing.
It was good though; he was pain free and at peace, that was all that mattered to her, but it was still sad. Aemon had rescued her and her brother when they needed him teh most and with so much loss in her life, he'd been the steady presence throughout most of it. No parents, elder brother dying in an accident, no caregivers...until their social worker tracked him down in the far North. He took them immediately and they became part of Aemon Targaryen's "rescues." He had a whole motley crew he'd picked up over the years, teaching them and saving them in various ways.
The bouquet of red fire lilies from Essos drew her attention. She fingered the petals, the soft texture whispering on her skin. She sighed. "Too bad you're from the devil," she said to them. She knew they were from him. No one in the North could afford such a luxury flower. They had to be shipped in overnight from Essos to maintain their open petals and she knew they cost a fortune. Always showing off, that...that...ugh.
How dare he just show up last night? Although seven hells, she knew he would. She'd been expecting it, steeling herself for it to happen. When one thought of Aemon Targaryen's Lost Boys, the first one they thought of was Jon Snow. Jon Snow, poor Jon Snow, they whispered. HIs dear aunt, look what happened to her, taking in that frightful boy and all it brought her was heartache. At least she had her daughter, her sweet Sansa, but could you imagine living in a house with that boy? No wonder she went to live in the Vale after everything that happened.
The Before. The After.
Dany rubbed at her side where she felt a gnawing ache, like she always did when she thought of that night. It was scar tissue, tightening over the years as her body changed from teenager to woman. She sighed hard, trying nto to think about it, and let her hand drop from the beautiful arrangement he'd sent. He didn't evne put on a card on it, since he knew she'd know it was from him anyway.
The first boy she'd ever loved.
The only man she still loved.
Too bad he hurt her. He might as well have been the one to cause the scar on her side, plunging in the knife, but he didn't. He just turned his back on her, ignored her, and proceeded to become the worst person in the world. The coldest, meanest, most distant person, with no soul or heart. It hurt worse because she knew he had one. He just acted like he didn't, like that was somehow okay.
He appeared at the funeral, in his usual black, and he stood in the back, ignoring everyone. Aemon would be cremated and when it came time for her to pick him up, she planned on going up North to the Wall to scatter his ashes. It was where he was happiest, when he had first been stationed up there with the Maester Society nd where he'd first started to help young people. H'ed moved south when he took on guardianship of her and Viserys.
She knew she'd have to invite Jon, even if she didn't want to. "I hate him," she murmured to herself, half-heartedly.
It was such a lie.
The bell rang, an old-fashioned gong throughout the funky house, with its eaves and dormers and turret window. She shouted up the stairs. "Vis! Can you get that!"
No response.
Oh, right. Vis had gone off with some of his friends, which she was shocked he still had. He'd bolted from Winterfell the moment he could, going straight back to Pentos. He had better memories there than he did of the cold tundra they'd mvoed to. Meanwhile, she had nothing, and this place was her only home. She had no intention of leaving.
She sighed, hoping it wasn't another group of people to dump stuff off. Dany enjoyed hr public-facing role as town librarian, but right now she wanted to be alone. She bypassed her massive black cat Drogon, who was lolling in a sunbeam, his fat spilling over to the hardwood and providing a cushion for him to sleep on. She nudged him with her toe. "Stop eating the birds," she warned; he kept getting out and feasting, they'd have nothing left to enjoy come springtime.
Drogon yowled, rolling voer to start cleaning his paw. She rolled her eyes, peeking out the side window by the large ornate front door. There was no one there. Huh, odd. She wondered if perhaps someone was jsut dropping something off and flicked the lock, tossing open the door.
There was a box. It had no labels on it. She glanced up and saw the back end of a black generic sedan spinning the corner around one of the broken down Winterfell castle walls, heading away from the house. "Weird," she wondered out loud, kneeling to pick it up, as she did, the bottom fell out, whatever it was was too heavy for it and out fell several squirming, chattering...
Rats.
"Ahhhh!" she screeched, taken aback. She wasn't wearing shoes, one of the rats heading straight for her foot. She squealed, kicking at one and slamming the door, but one had already rushed into the house.
Drogon hissed, screeched, and took off. For a fat cat, he was shockingly fast and she knew as they whipped around the corner that the rat was not long for this world.
Heart heaving against her chest, she fell backwards against the door, eyes closing. "Holy fuck," she cursed, dropping the cardboard box still in her hand. She had no idea what that was about. Out of the corner of her eye, a white card slipped from the box. She knelt, picking it up gingerly with two fingers.
In black typeset, in all caps, was simply the word: BITCH.
"What the fuck!?" she yelped. Now she was really mad. This was a cruel prank. She dropped the card onto the floor and reached for the phone, halfway calling the police department before she paused. She didn't trust them. Not since that night. She set it back in the cradle, biting her bottom lip.
Do it.
You know he'll find out anyway.
Dany reached for the phone again, only to put it back down. She turned away from it, blocking out her mind, and going about cleaning up the mess. She took the cardboard to the trash, tucked the note in the catchall by the front door to remind her to mention it to one of the kind police officers-- one of the only ones she trusted, a nice young man named Satin-- the next time he came into the library for a mystery novel.
It was a stupid prank, probably some dumb high school kid who knew that people would be coming and going. Perhaps even someone who saw Aemon's name in the paper and knew he was gone, maybe they were on teh wrong side of the aisle when he was actively arguing in court. Or a family member of someone who thought one of his Lost Boys deserved to be lost or something.
She shoved her feet into pink wellies and tugged on a parka, going into the garage and gathering up a rake and an old wire racoon trap they'd had to use when one of them was holding drum tryouts with the trash can lids one summer. She took a deep breath and marched up to the front porch, gathering a few of the remaining-- stunned-- rats and shoving them unceremoniously into the trap using the rake. "Get in there you freaky demon," she ordered.
"Are you talking to me?"
Dany straightened, her spine stiffening. She closed her eyes. Fuck. Of all the times.
She turned, glaring at the demon standing before her. He had his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat, the lapels turned up against the cold, and his flinty gray eyes narrowed suspiciously at her. She knew she looked insane. Her faded pink streaks in her silver hair, her black sheath dress from the service, black tights, and pink wellies with her battered bright red parka. She pursed her lips and scowled, thinking of a retort. She settled on an oldie, but a goodie. "Well you said it not me."
It was dumb, but it brought her back to her childhood with him. He cocked his head, no longer interested in sparring. The gray eyes widened slightly at the sight of the rats in the cage and her rake. He spoke, his voice soft and even. Uh oh. "What are those?"
"Um..."
"Those are rats."
"So why did you even ask?" she huffed, shoving another scurrying rat into the cage with his friends. She dumped the cage on the bottom step, intending to take them into the woods and let them be free there. Drogon eyed the cage with unsatiated hunger, hovering behind her ankles. She stepped around him and marched to the garage to put hte rake away, with Wolf Demon stalking after her. "Go away Jon."
"Those are rats," he repeated. "Why are they on your porch?"
"I don't know, maybe they mixed up and were headed to your place instead."
"Daenerys," he growled.
She spun on her heel, annoyed he was following her into her house. SHe made a face at him. "Joooon," she drawled. She waved her hand. "It's nothing, go away. Why are you even here?"
He didn't answer, which she didn't like, following her inside. He was too controlled, in a way she knew she'd probably end up paying for later. Jon was so tightly wound she was surprised he didn't bounce when he walked. The man was terrifying to just about everyone but her. He liked it that way which was why she intended to never let him scare her or intimidate her because she knew it just annoyed him that his scowl and cold manner did nothing to her.
besides, she knew what he was like under that ice sheet.
Jon ignored Drogon, who was hissing and swatting at his feet. "I came to see if everything was alright before I went back to King's Landing, but clearly it is not alright if there are a ton of rats on your front stoop."
"I told you, they were off to find you but got messed up."
"Dany!"
She poured herself a cup of coffee, mimicking his voice. "Jon!"
He was about ten seconds from stomping his foot, but that would mean he'd be exhibiting an emotion other than irritation, so he kept himself buttoned up. Dany wished he wouldn't. It only served to make him hotter and she hated that because it also made it harder for her to remember that she hated his guts and wanted him to rot in the seven hells. She sipped her coffee, refusing to offer him one, and went to sit at the table, which besides all the arrangements, also had the papers he'd left the night before with Uncle Aemon's estate information.
Jon made no move except tracking her with his gaze. He had that stillness about him that forced people to start filling conversation. Too bad Dany didn't have to do that with him. She opened up the large manila envelope, tugging out blue-backed legal documents, unfolding and scanning the top page. This Will and Testament of Maester Aemon Targaryen....sound mind and body....signed....attested...
It was clear to her that the house would go to her and Viserys, and most of what Aemon had she knew he'd wanted to donate to The Wall to help with programs for at-risk youth. She wasn't interested in money anyway because as the sole heirs to their brother-- who was the sole heir to their parents' fortune, Dany didn't have any need for money.
She skimmed across the top paragraph, bunch of legal jargon, blah, blah, blah.... "What in Aegon's Left Nut is this!?" she shrieked, eyes landing on a paragraph on the second page. She whipped it around, slamming her index finger on it, her eyes blazing violet flames at Jon. Teeth ground, she read aloud, "I hereby declare Jon Benjen Targaryen to be sole executor of the funds for The Wall, to be allotted at his discretion, and that he be obligated to donate a portion of all proceeds from The Wall interest revenue to the The Winterfell Public Library!?"
Jon was side-eyeing Drogon. He ignored her, speaking instead to the cat. "Should that thing be on a diet? He looks obese."
"He's husky!"
"If you say so."
She threw the pages at him. "I hate you, you did this to him."
"Aemon was of sound mind and body, it was his belief, trust me I didn't want anything to do with it." Jon smiled, bemused. "You haven't gotten to the third page yet."
Her glare dropped and she ripped at the pages, scanning for anything she deemed offensive. It was actually on the fourth page, not the third. She echoed, horrified, "I hereby declare my niece Daenerys Targaryen and my former ward Jon Snow, to be the co-executors of a fund for at-risk youth...to meet monthly!?" SHE HAD TO SEE HIM EVERY SINGLE MONTH!?
Jon sighed, plucking imaginary lint from his nightmare black coat. "I assure you I tried to talk him out of it."
"I hate you."
"Feeling is mutual, Dragon Cheeks."
Her actual cheeks warmed at the childhood nickname. As did other parts. Parts that only been treated recently by her hand and her trusty vibrator. Ugh, seriously? Tingles spread through her belly straight between her legs. She was disgusted with herself. Perhaps she needed to something a bit more realistic than her vibrator. Like a real man. In fact, that is exactly what she needed to do. It wasn’t just getting laid either. She wasn't getting any younger, she was in her late thirties, and she knew her mother-- despite having three children-- struggled to get pregnant each time and had had multiple miscarriages. It was likely she might face the same issues and she was not going to keep waiting any longer.
Aemon's death had ignited a fire inside of her. He was over 100, but that didn't mean that life wasn't short. It was incredibly short and she'd almost died once before. She was going to dedicate this next chapter to her beloved uncle. She was going to live life to the fullest, but she also wasn't going to wait around.
Dany wanted to get married, she wanted to have children, and even if a guy wasn't around to do it for her, she'd do it herself. She'd already emailed a sperm donation center and set up a doctor appointment to discuss her options for in vitro. She didn't need to be bogged down by worrying about setting up things with Jon Fucking Snow of all people. This seemed like her uncle's way of trying to set them up beyond the grave.
He had never been subtle about his desire for her to reconcile with Jon, even if he didn't quite understand the full extent of their history. He was not just the boy next door.
Jon was everything else and more.
And she despised it.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up. "Jon, go away, don't you have an appointment to terrorize a small town that isn't Winterfell?"
"As a matter of fact, I do, but I wanted to make sure you read the will, seeing as I know you only read books with pink covers." He side-eyed the stack she had on an end table that in fact....were very, very pink.
"You know, you can insult me all you want, but do not insult my books."
"I bet if I open any one of those books I will find a euphemism for a male appendage."
She smiled sweetly. "Like a finger?"
Now it was his turn to look a little taken aback. He scowled. "Forget it. What's with the rats?"
Gods he would not let that go. "A prank, Jon, it was just a prank, now go home. I've got stuff to do. I have a date." She threw that in there, hoping it would get rid of him.
It did something else. Something very curious.
His eyes widened at the corners and his nostrils flared. She observed his lashes drop, hooding his expression, and a muscle ticked in the corner of his jaw. Whoa. Was it possible she had just ruffled the unruffable Jon Snow? This was quite a development indeed. She smiled sweetly, pushing forward.
"It's at the new Braavosi place in town. I'm meeting a guy I met on a dating app. It's called Roar. See?" She plucked her phone off the table and shoved the app up into his face. He recoiled, like she was throwing dirt on his pristine clothing. Honestly, she had only used the app a couple times and both dates were total busts. She didn't actually have a date that evening, but it might be fun to keep fucking with him.
That was her favorite pastime, especially if it made him disappear again so she could pretend he didn't exist and wasn't constantly reminded of....everything.
He stepped backwards and she used it as momentum to keep him moving towards the front door and out of her bloody house. She took the phone back, but kept talking and he began to walk away from her. The app might taint him, he probably thought. "It's really easy, you roar if you like someone and if they roar back, you match and you can talk. I have to say, it's definitely a good way to get out there."
"And you...you...meet men this way?" he sputtered. His lip curled over his teeth; she once again noticed that his canines seemed so much longer than normal people. Perhaps he truly was part wolf.
"Yes Jon, it's the modern age and I'm a modern woman. This is how women meet men and then sometimes they even have...." She made an exaggerated whisper, eyes wide. "Sex."
He growled. "You're not meeting men this way."
"Wanna bet?" She opened the front door, pointing out. "Also, you're not the boss of me, now get out." She wanted to childlishly add, "and don't come back", but something told her he'd ignore it.
Jon took a step towards the front porch, but he stopped. Dany watched his gaze drop to the end table. Oh no, no, no, no, she chanted inwardly, seeing the very second when he caught sight of the note that came with the rats. He stilled and did not even breathe. It was one of the scariest sights, a Jon Snow about to attack. If anything, his gray eyes almost went red with rage.
"What," he spoke softly, "Is that?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly, because she was a terrible liar. She lunged for the card, but he was too close and also too fast. He was there one moment and the next he had the card in his fingertips, holding it about a foot from him, and he vibrated, the anger coming off him in waves, so strong she did not move, wondering if it might knock her down. She attempted to cut him off, speaking quickly, at a babble, "It's nothing Jon, it's a dumb prank, just forget it, leave it alone..."
He said nothing, but took the card and tucked it into his inside coat pocket. "No," he finally declared. It was final, no more arguing. It probably worked on everyone.
Just not her.
Dany glared at him. "You can't take that, it's mine!"
"Yes, I can and I will." He opened the front door, glowering at the front porch like it was the one who left the damn thing there. "This is not a prank, it's a warning."
"Yeah, I don' care."
"Were you even planning on calling the police?"
"Would you?" she fired back, not breaking eye contact. They said nothing and it cast a dark pall over him. The police and Jon Snow did not get along, for very good reason.
In an instant, she felt like she was back there again, lying on the ground, bleeding, crying out through tears of pain and frustration.
"Please, don't! Don't arrest him, he had nothing to do with this!"
"He attacked me, I was defending myself!"
"I saw it, he went after my mother with the knife! It was his fault!"
"Jon, don't say a word, I'll meet you at the station."
The sounds of sirens, the glare and blinding red and blue flashing lights, and pain...pain she'd never felt in her life. The pain of heartbreak, as she blinked through tears, being pushed into the ambulance, seeing Chief Thorne shoving him into the back of a squad car, ignoring his own injury as he'd tried to defend her, but then...
Betrayal. Hatred. He hated her. The burning red from the lights in his eyes, staring at her in the ambulance. She'd broken his trust. She'd ruined it.
But she also saved him, didn't she?
At what cost?
"I'm handling this, I'm also sending over someone to install a security system, this is unacceptable."
His clipped-- she wondered if he was about to lose his shit and she finally could see that-- tone brought her back from that fateful night. "Jon, what the fuck, I'm a big girl!"
They squared off, her pink wellies toes up next to his probably $1000 leather boots, hands pinned to her hips and his at his side, still holding the note. He didn’t blink— then again she didn’t think reptiles could— while she simply glared, wondering if he would back down.
Something gave, she wasn’t sure what, and he finally broke eye contact. "R'hllor," he cursed, reaching into his pocket and taking out a single cigarette. He stepped onto the porch and lit it, the silver lighter with the etched wolf disappearing into his pocket. She rolled her eyes. Only Jon Snow would have the control to allow himself a single cigarette a day. It was usually something related to her that got him to lean on his only crutch. It pissed her off. Anyone else would just keep smoking or go get wasted, but no, Jon Snow couldn't do that. He had to be so fucking noble and pure.
She tried to grab the note, but he was faster than her again. Damn, he was truly like a ghost. “Jon!” she shouted.
It was no use. He had made up his mind, that was that. All she could do was just ignore him when he tried to bother her about it some more. Fine, whatever, let him waste his precious, precious time that he never wanted to spend in Winterfell just to find out it was some dumb kid.
And gods help that kid when Jon Snow got his wolf claws around him for such a stupid ass prank.
Jon blew a stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth, away from her. Daenerys hated smoking, but fuck, he made it look so damn sexy.
You have got to get laid Dany.
Exhaling hard, she closed her eyes, scrubbing at her face. “Jon, just…do whatever, just go away, I have stuff to do.”
“I’ll be in touch about that security system. If you get anything like this again, call me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Not that it mattered, she didn’t even have his number. Viserys probably did.
He reached into his pocket, after securing the remaining cigarette between his lips, and her phone dinged in her pocket. He’d Air Dropped his number to her. She shook her head and rolled her eyes trying to play it off. Jon gave her his number. She must have been only the third person in the world who had that vital information. Although he probably cycled through phones like he did businesses and people, discarding them the moment they became useless.
Jon turned around, walking towards the gatehouse, and waved his hand carelessly. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Fuck you Satan!”
He laughed; it was throaty and deep, turning around and grinning. Gods, she thought again, her stomach clenching. He was really fucking perfect, especially when he smiled. He gave her another mock salute, as he had last night, “See you around Dany Fanny!”
She squealed, her teeth gritting, and stomped her feet petulantly. That was probably the worst nickname, even worse than Dragon Cheeks. Seven hells, she preferred it when he called her Satanic Majesty, at least it sounded badass. “Jon!” she shouted. “Stay out of it!”
He ignored her and she turned, storming into the house and slamming the door hard, so hard that the pictures on the wall beside the windows rattled. She scrubbed her face again and shoved her hand into her pocket, ripping out her phone, opening up one of the apps. Might as well get on this, she thought, since she’d already lied to him about it.
As she opened one of the dumb apps, to finally tell some guy named Daario that she’d meet him at the Snow Palace Hotel in downtown Winterfell for drinks, an unknown text appeared.
You’re next, bitch
Her stomach dropped, this time in fear. She was very protective of her personal number, since being one of the more visible people in the small town often put her in odd situations. People considered her a confidante, but that also meant that there were occasionally randoms who were bothersome. Plus, there was a loud but obnoxious minority who had started hounding librarians because they didn’t think certain books should be on the shelves. Assholes. Regardless, she was careful, and she had other reasons to be careful too.
She swallowed hard, opening up the text and replying. “Who is this?”
Three dots appeared and another message. You’ll find out soon. Like my gift? You’re a rat. Rats get rats.
When Dany went to reply, biting her bottom lip, typing out “Not a fan of rats but my cat is, thanks for feeding him”, there was an error. The message wouldn’t go through. Whoever it was must have stopped using the number or something. It was of course, fake. She exhaled hard, taking a couple screenshots and saving them.
And when she brought up Jon’s number to text him the images, she froze.
No, not yet.
Dany tossed her phone onto the couch, walking up the stairs to her bedroom to get a shower and change into something comfier, then she’d settle into her reading nook with a book and try to get rid of this awful day. She aimlessly flicked on the ancient CD player on her bookshelf, listening to the soft crooning of Ellaria Sand, as she puttered back and forth from her bedroom to her bathroom, preparing a bath.
She was about to reach back and tug down the zipper of her dress when she paused, her eyes sliding towards the open curtains. She had never bothered with closing them after all these years; there was no one around to peek at her or anything. Except now, there was a light on in the gatehouse, the sun dropping behind the remains of the castle. She bit her bottom lip and walked slowly towards the windows, peering out and beyond the red leaves of the weirwood tree.
In the window opposite hers she could see his outline. He was tugging at the collar of his shirt and began to unbutton it. She stared, her mouth falling open, and watched him shrug it off, revealing a wide expanse of pearly white skin and rippling muscles through his back as he reached into the closet for a hanger, putting the shirt back on it. He’d undone his curls from the pretentious little knot he kept them in now, and they fell loose his shoulders.
Dany felt dizzy watching him. She reached to touch at her throat, remembering his lips, the way they’d trailed over her skin, hot and blazing, before they became soft and gentle, teasing kisses over her stomach and down to her… “Oh gods,” she moaned, closing her eyes and shuddering. She really did have to get laid.
She reached for the edge of the curtains to pull them closed, eyes opening. She gasped.
He was staring at her.
She stared back.
He smiled, long and slow, before reaching for the pull of his blinds. With a little wave, he dropped them, at the same time she jerked her curtains shut, blocking out any image of half-naked Jon Snow.
Dany stayed rooted in place for a minute, until she shouted, “I bloody hate him!” and turned on her heel, stomping towards her bathroom.
It would only be a few days. Jon never stayed long.
And like all those other times when he left, it would be like the first time, when her heart ached to have him back and then she’d remember…
That Jon Snow was gone and he was never coming back.