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Chapter Text

The winds blew hard come nightfall through Bellway, Colorado and by the time Daenerys had finished her supper, the storm had reached her farm. Typically, after supper she would read a while by the fireplace but the pattering of rain against the roof and the shaking of the window shutters from the wind made concentration difficult. She wasn't ready to retire for the night, though. The fire felt too soothing with her feet propped up on the coffee table and a quilt wrapped around her shoulders.

Daenerys Targaryen lived alone ever since her husband passed, but not for a lack of suitors. Quite the opposite, the woman attracted many and would frequently receive visits from men of all ages and occupations looking to take care of a pretty young widow such as herself. To all of those men, though, Daenerys refused.

“This farm is too big for one lady to handle on her own,” they would tell her and it was true that she needed help. Despite her strength and capability, tending to her many responsibilities proved to be quite strenuous for one person. Even so, Daenerys told them she needed no husband and sent them on their way.

Some men were old widowers, looking to support a woman while she took care of the children he already had. Some men were youngsters thinking they could sweep Daenerys off her feet with their fresh good looks. Some men were former soldiers looking to settle down. Some men were those who Daenerys had known for years and who thought maybe they had a chance now that no other man seemed up to snuff. But no matter the age, origin, occupation, or intention, Daenerys refused their proposals. Every single one.

Just as her eyelids began to droop and her head began to lull to one side, Daenerys heard a loud banging noise that startled her back to full consciousness. It was coming from a distance, someplace outside. The barn. It was the storm most likely, but the sound concerned her all the same. If she had forgotten to lock the barn doors, they could blow right open and allow the horses to escape.

Daenerys pulled on her boots and a wool coat and, better safe than sorry, grabbed her shot gun as well. Trenching through the mud, hair growing soaked by the dense rain, Daenerys saw a faint yellow light glowing out of a small window in the barn. Cursing under her breath, she approached the doors cautiously. It wouldn't be the first time someone had taken refuge in her barn during a storm, she just hoped she wouldn't have to shoot anyone this time.

Pulling open the barn door slowly, Daenerys held her gun, ready to fire, as she stepped into the barn. “Whoever's in 'ere better show themselves now! I don't wanna have ta shoot, but I will!”

Looking around, she didn't see anyone, just one lit lantern hanging on a hook beside the door. She checked each of her two horses' stalls but came across no one but the horses. Could she have left the lantern lit before going in for supper?

Grumbling under her breath with frustration, Daenerys extinguished the lantern and made her way back to her cottage, taking long quick strides to get out of the rain as quickly as possible. Stepping up to her porch and pushing open her door, Daenerys's heart stopped as she was confronted by a man with eyes as dark as the night sky, water dribbling from long strands of black hair peeking out from under his hat.
He bled from a gash above his brow and his short beard was sprinkled with mud. In his hand, aimed between Daenerys' eyes, was a silver pistol.

“My husband's asleep upstairs,” Daenerys firmly stated. “Take what ya want and leave before he wakes up and maybe this won't be the night you die.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, seeming more confused than anything else, the man asked in a deep, hoarse voice. “I've checked the upstairs, miss, and there ain't anyone else home.” His eyes trailed downward to her left hand. “And you're not wearin' a weddin' ring.” Sighing, the man lowered the gun to his side. “I apologize. I didn't realize a lady lived 'ere alone.”

Daenerys gulped, shivering from the wind that blew past her back as she stood just outside the doorway.

“My name's Jon Snow,” the man named Jon Snow continued. “I've been travelin' a long time and your home's the first one I seen in days, which is also the last time I had anything real to eat. I don't wanna take nothin' from ya, miss, but I'd sure appreciate it if you could spare some food and maybe let me rest by your fire til the storm passes.”

At a loss for words, Daenerys stood silently for a while, eyes moving over the man but never being able to meet his eyes. She felt she would freeze to the bone if she didn't get inside soon, but would she be any safer inside with him? He had lowered his weapon, and if he was true to his words, she could tell him to leave and he very well might, but Daenerys didn't make a habit of taking men at their word.

“Gimme your gun,” she demanded, thrusting out her palm.

As if expecting the command, Jon placed the gun in her hand. Immediately, she rose it, pointing the barrel at his chest. “Now you get off my farm before I shoot ya through the heart.”

Raising his hands above his shoulders, Jon told her “It ain't loaded, miss. I ran outta ammunition 'bout a week ago.”

Grumbling, Daenerys checked the weapon and sure enough, it contained no bullets.

“Please, miss?” It wasn't a beg, but his expression seemed sincere.

“I didn't see a horse outside.”

“Haven't had one of those for a while now either. Been either walkin' or hitchin' rides since a town called Jasper.”

Daenerys hadn't heard of a town called Jasper, which meant it was far, or fake.

“You got any more weapons on ya? Guns, knives, anything?”

She put the handgun in her coat and turned around her shot gun, pointing it at Jon while he pulled up his pant leg and removed a sheathed dagger from his boot, a wolf's head carved into the handle. Handing it to her, he said “That's all I got.”

With a sigh, Daenerys relented to her sense of charity and said “Sit down at the table then. There's some leftover stew still simmerin' on the stove.”

He thanked her, and Daenerys tried not to let herself be taken in by his politeness as she took her gun and his weapons to the cabinet just inside the front door, locking all three items inside with the key around her neck. Jon was seated at the table when she turned back to him, but she paid him little attention, simply walking on past him into the kitchen. After pulling a clean rag from the cabinet to dry her face and hair with, she ladled out a bowl of her homemade chicken stew, shaking her head at her own actions. Not just the part where she let this strange man sit at her table, but also the part where she forgot to lock the barn. She knew better than to be so foolish.

“Here,” she spoke curtly, setting the bowl in front of him with a spoon.

He thanked her again just before diving into the stew like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

“You don't say grace then?” asked Daenerys as she sat down opposite him, wrapping the rag around her silver hair to soak up the water.

Suddenly, his spoon ceased shoveling and he looked up at her. Daenerys could have laughed at his expression, like he had done her a great offense by sitting at her table and eating her food without waiting a moment longer to thank the Lord for his good fortune.

“I like to pray silently,” he soon told her, then continued to eat.

“It's alright. I don't pray no more either.”

Mouth full, he asked “You ain’t gonna eat with me?”

“I already ate.”

It only took Jon another minute to finish the bowl and when it was all gone, he nodded his head in appreciation. “This was some delicious stew, miss.”

“You want more then?”

Cracking a half smile, Jon replied “If there's more, miss.”

Daenerys stood, took his bowl, and went to ladle him out a second helping. She also retrieved another clean rag. “Your head's bleedin',” she told him, setting the bowl down in front of him and handing him the rag.

He thanked her yet again.

“If you think by thankin' me so much it'll make me like you, it ain't gonna work. I still don't like you and I still don't want you 'ere, and you're still gonna have to leave once you're done.”

Pressing the cloth to the cut above his brow, he tried to meet her eye, but as Daenerys resumed her seat opposite him, she never relented – never let herself gaze into those dark eyes of his. She had given up trying to read the eyes of men a long time ago.

“You really ain't got yourself a husband? I mean no offense, quite the opposite actually, but you're a pretty enough gal and you make a good stew.”

“I don't have a husband because men only think I'm worth marryin' because I'm pretty enough and make a good stew,” she replied cheekily, but immediately rid her face of the smile that she somehow let slip.

Jon caught it though, and smiled back. “Alls I'm sayin' is that you livin' out 'ere all by yourself ain't safe. One woman can't defend 'erself against the kinds of ruffians ya might encounter out 'ere. Grifters and the like. Men runnin' from the law. Men just lookin' to take somethin' that don't belong to 'em.”

Daenerys took offence. “Like you? I think I can defend myself just fine against the likes of you, mister.”

Shaking his head, Jon chuckled. It seemed he had temporarily forgotten about his food. “You ain't gotta worry about me. I ain't a ruffian, I ain't runnin' from the law, and I ain't lookin' to take nothin' that you ain't gonna offer.”

“And what is it you think I'm gonna offer you past that stew?”

“Well.” He looked to the side, toward the sound of thick rainfall hammering against the side of the house. “That storm's somethin' else. Maybe you could let me stay the night. I don't intend on stayin' for free, though. Once the storm's over, I can help ya out with somethin' on your farm before I go.”

“That won't be necessary,” Daenerys stated, standing from her seat. “As soon as the storm's over I want you outta my home. You got that, mister?”

“Thank you.”

“And stop thankin' me. If you wanna show your gratitude, you'll be a gentleman in my home. You'll stay downstairs on that sofa tonight and if you so much as put your foot on that bottom stair right there, I'm gonna shoot you, mister. I'm a light sleeper and a good shot. You got that?”

Nodding, he spoke softly “I got that.”

“Good. I'll go get you somethin' to change into. Can't have you muddyin' up the rest of my home with those wet clothes you got on.”

* * * * *

That night, Jon Snow intended to do just as his host had instructed by remaining downstairs. Sleep rarely came easy to him, but the comfort of four walls surrounding him, a ceiling above his head, and something soft to lay upon quickly put his tense muscles and mind at ease. Before his host had retired to her room, she had brought him a bundle of clothing for him to sleep in. Jon did not find it peculiar that an unmarried woman would have men's clothes on hand. He figured they were a departed father's or maybe a brother's who was no longer around. He had asked her her name and she told him it was Daenerys Targaryen. Somehow Jon thought the unusual name suited her.

Waiting for sleep to overtake him, Jon found his mind wrapped around the face of Daenerys Targaryen. Even drenched from head to foot with rain water, Jon could tell she was a beauty, fair skin like alabaster, hair as white as a lamb's coat, eyes bluer than the sky on a sunny day, and a voice like warm chocolate. She was thinner and more petite than most women, but she was no waif. There was a strength in her presence, somewhat cold, but somehow inspiring. She seemed like the kind of woman who could tell you stories for hours and you'd never get bored. Jon thought he had learned his lesson about trying to speculate on a woman's nature, but he just could not understand how a woman such as she could go unmarried for so long.

Jon slept well that night, the rain patter outside lulling him like a pendulum, until he was startled awake by the sound of a loud crash and his host's voice cracking in a high-pitched scream from upstairs. This was why Jon Snow had to disregard Daenerys's instruction, why he had to put his foot on that bottom stair, why he bound up those stairs and burst into the woman's bedroom without a hint of hesitation.

Standing against the wall, shivering in her night dress that was soaked to the skin, Daenerys screamed once more as Jon barged into her room. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly as her teeth began to chatter. Jon grabbed the wool coat that hung beside the door and stepped up to his host, wrapping the coat around her shoulders. He then stepped to her bed, also soaked with water and covered with scatterings of wood and debris. Looking up at the ceiling was a hole the size of a large cart wheel, revealing the clear, dark blue sky tinted with a small bit of light as the sun began to peak over the mountains.

“Well,” Jon began, hands on his hips as he eyed the hole “at least it stopped rainin'.”

* * * * *

“I don't need your help!” Daenerys called up to Jon, who had taken the liberty of setting up a ladder and climbing up onto the roof.

“You're gonna need to replace this half of the roof!” Jon called back down.

Daenerys stood outside the house in a clean dress and shall, though still shivering from the chill in the early morning air. She shook her head in disbelief, grumbling under her breath. “I can take care of it myself!” she called back up.

Coming down the ladder, Jon replied “As sure as I am that you're capable of replacin' half a roof by yourself, why not let me help ya? You did somethin' nice for me, let me do somethin' nice in return.”

Frowning, she shook her head at her own misfortune. “How long does a thing like this take to fix?”

“If weather's good and I work all day, I can get it done for ya in a week.”

Daenerys sighed. “And I'm guessin' you'll need to stay here while ya fix it?”

The man nodded with a smile. “If that's alright with you, Daenerys. I reckon ya might feel more comfortable hiring some woodsmen from town, but I wouldn't need any compensation except a roof over – well. . . a place to stay, I mean.”

“Alright, then. You can stay til the roof's fixed,” she replied cautiously, but without any other real options. Hiring out would be much too expensive and she knew the men in her town too well to trust in their efficiency. She would just have to hope that this Jon Snow character was a man of his word.

* * * * *

The sky was clear that day and the air fresh after the rain. If it weren't for the goat manure Daenerys was shoveling, she would have delighted in just closing her eyes and breathing in the atmosphere. As she tended to her usual morning chores, she kept Jon in her peripheral, watching him atop her roof, tearing at the rotten wood. How strange the feeling was to have a man working around her home again, bringing back memories of a former life.

As Daenerys completed all of her daily chores, Jon took care to cover all of Daenerys's bedroom furniture with sheets and then went about carefully removing all of the rotten wood from the roof and tossing it down the side of the house. As the sun began to set beyond the mountains, Jon was just finishing up securing a temporary covering over the gap in her roof. The cloth wouldn't keep out any water if it rained again, which Jon was almost certain it would not, but it would hopefully keep out any animals or debris from getting in as well as keep some of the warmth inside the house.

Daenerys was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder when he descended. “I fixed you a bath,” she told him.

“That's mighty nice of you,” he replied with a smile.

“Well, if you're filthy, my house'll be filthy too,” she stated pointedly.

“Can't argue with that.”

“I'll have supper ready when you're finished,” she told him, leading the way up the front steps and into her home. “You can leave your clothes in the bath room and I'll wash 'em for ya.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“Like I said, if your --”

“Right, right, if I'm filthy your house'll be filthy.”

Jon smiled at her while walking past, going up the stairs and to the left. Under the side of the house which still had a roof, there were two rooms with two closed doors. Though he had checked the house for occupants the night before, it was in such a rush that he hadn’t retained the contents of each room into his memory. So, unsure of which door lead to the bath room, he tried the first one. However, instead of a bathing tub, the small, dusty bedroom featured only a couple of wood furniture pieces hidden under old table clothes, a child-sized bed in one corner, and a few framed photographs upon the walls. The largest photo, even in the dim light still coming in through the window, Jon could clearly see was of Daenerys, appearing younger than her current age, standing blankly beside an older man of very broad stature and sporting a thick black goatee.

“What’re you doing in ‘ere?” Daenerys asked from behind him, unnerved.

Turning around and shutting the door, he replied “Sorry, I wasn't sure which door to use.”

Biting her bottom lip as if trying to force herself to let the misstep go, Daenerys nodded curtly and showed Jon to the next door. “I brought you some more hot water in case ya need it,” she said, handing him the cauldron she'd been carrying. It was heavy. She must be stronger than Jon thought.

After he bathed, he dressed in the clean clothes Daenerys had left for him. Like the clothes he'd worn to bed last night, he found them suited for a much larger man than himself. Not that he was small, but he was rather lean and of average height. Jon thought back to the picture he saw in the second bedroom, thinking these clothes must have belonged to that man.

“Rather big on me, ain't they? Your father's?” Jon tried with a chuckle after coming down the stairs for supper.

“My husband's,” answered Daenerys, beginning to ladle out stew from the pot in the center of the table into two bowls.

“Husband? What happened to you not needin' a husband?”

“I don't need a husband, but that doesn't mean I didn't once have a husband.” She picked a piece of corn bread from the bread basket and tore it in half. “He died six years ago.”

“Stew again?” Jon asked, taking a seat in the same position he had sat in the night before.

Daenerys sent him a glare as she took a bite of cornbread.

“Hey, I mean no offense. I love stew, and your stew if really somethin' else,” he said quickly.

“I don't know how to make many things,” she admitted. “I had to learn to cook on my own.”

“You've had to do a lot on your own,” Jon replied, digging into his stew. “Six years, huh? How old are ya, if ya don't mind my askin'?”

“Twenty-two.”

Jon's eyebrows furrowed. “Twenty-two?” he asked with a full mouth, some stew spilling from his mouth and back into the bowl. “You got married when you were sixteen?”

“I got married when I was fourteen. My husband died when I was sixteen,” she replied nonchalantly, staring down at her food while she ate in small bites.

“Shit,” Jon cursed under his breath, leaning back in his chair. “I'm sorry, Daenerys. That just don’t seem right to me, marryin' off a little girl like that.”

Letting go of her spoon and setting down her cornbread, Daenerys folded her hands in her lap, suddenly losing any interest in food. She didn't speak of that period of her life and she wasn't sure why she was speaking of it then, but she certainly did not expect him to react the way he did. She always expected that everyone would treat it as if it were normal, because it was. Girls as young as fourteen were married off all the time, but Daenerys always felt that just because something was tolerated, that didn't make it right. Always thinking her opinion was an outlier, she was taken aback by Jon's words.

“You alright?” he asked her when she remained silent for a while just staring at her hands in her lap.

“Yes,” she replied, forcing a smile at him and continuing her supper. “It happens all the time actually. Once a girl bleeds, she is a woman fit for havin' children.” She wasn't sure why she said the exact words which she always hated to hear come from others' mouths, or why she said them with such a complacent tone. Maybe she was testing him, wanting to see if he would fold and agree with her faulty logic.

Jon sighed. “The last time I saw my sister, she was fourteen and my parents were fixin' to have her married off to one of their friend's boys. Now, he wasn't no man or nothin', just a dumb kid like my sister, but still. . . never sat right with me. I just hope they didn't go through with it.”

Before Daenerys even realized it, she was looking into Jon's eyes. They were so dark, but not in a menacing may. They were soothing, really, like dipping your hands into warm mud. For the first time, Daenerys realized how young he looked, even with the short beard and the little scars that decorated his face. He had to have been not much older than herself. And he was actually rather pleasant to look at after having that bath. His dark brown hair was no longer greased and dirty, but smooth and falling in curls around his face, skin pale and lips plump.

“When's the last time ya saw your family?” she asked, wondering how he could not know if his sister had gotten married or not.

“Um, well I'm twenty-three now, so it's been five – no, sorry. I ain't so good at countin' – seven years.” In response to Daenerys's questioning look, Jon added “You see, I'm a bastard – my father's wife wasn't my mother – so when I got old enough to work, they sent me further West to work with the railroad and send money back. That was when I was sixteen and a year later I got word that my father was murdered, then not two years after that, I got word my step-mother had also died. And by then I had already lost track of my two little half-sisters and my three half-brothers.”

Daenerys looked upon Jon solemnly as the young man simply nodded his head, as if still not fully believing that was his real story and not a fictitious tale he told strangers along his journey.

“I'm sorry, Jon,” Daenerys told him softly.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jon changed the subject “So you been takin' care of this farm by yourself since you were sixteen?”

“Mhm,” she hummed with a nod of her head.

“Wow. You really are a tough woman, Daenerys Targaryen.”

* * * * *

That night, after Daenerys had hung up Jon's laundry on the line outside and double checked the barn's lock, she settled in the chair beside the fire, re-reading one of the books from her small collection while Jon sat across from her upon the sofa-turned-bed. Without the wind and rain from the night before, the night was quiet save for the crackling of the fire.

“What're you readin'?” Jon asked her after quite a while of calm quiet.

“It's called The Scarlet Letter,” she replied. “You ever heard of Nathaniel Hawthorne?”

Jon shook his head. “What's it about?”

“A beautiful woman who has a child through an affair and is then forced to wear a scarlet “A” on 'er chest for the rest of 'er life so that everyone will know that she's an adulteress.”

Jon hummed under his breath. “Well, my mother had me through an affair. I reckon it wasn't her fault, though. She wasn't the married one.”

With a silent nod, Daenerys closed the book and rose to her feet, suddenly wary of learning any more about Jon's past or the opinions he had that matched her own. She found herself not actually disliking the man, which was a problem. “I should get some sleep. Lot's to do come mornin'.”

“Your mattress probably ain't dry yet,” Jon pointed out, eyes looking up at her with a hopefulness like the information would cause her to stay a while.

“I can sleep in the spare room.”

“On the child's bed?”

Daenerys didn't respond at first, chewing on her bottom lip instead. Eventually, she simply nodded her head and bid him a cordial goodnight.

* * * * *

The next morning began at dawn again for Daenerys, but that was life on a farm. She didn't wake Jon Snow when she went out to begin her daily duties. Something about waking a person from sleep made Daenerys uneasy. It felt like she would be pulling them away from an alternate reality, like the person she was waking was someone else entirely until their eyes were open.

After feeding and brushing the horses, Daenerys led them out of the stables to roam. Looking toward the house, she saw Jon, awake and by the clothing lines. She found herself watching him fasten his trousers, having already removed his borrowed shirt and had yet to replace it with his own now-clean one. Even from her distance, Daenerys could see the shadowed outlines of the man's muscles, lean and pronounced. It had been so long since she had seen a man's body that she found the sight of a simple bicep left her struggling for breath. As he tugged his shirt from the line, his head turned toward Daenerys and she quickly averted her attention back to the task at hand.

In just two minutes time, she found Jon approaching her, now fully clothed, boots and all.

“Mornin', Daenerys!” he greeted her jovially, clearly a morning person. He leaned forward against the wood fence separating the horses pen from the rest of her acreage.

“Mornin',” she replied neutrally.

“So, I was gonna head into your woods back behind the house, saw down some wood for the roof. Would go a lot quicker if I could use one of your horses to pull the trunks out to the house.” He lifted both hands up and jokingly declared “I won't steal 'em, I swear.”

“Alright,” she agreed passively and motioned toward the larger, all black stallion. “You can take Drogon. Viserion here is pregnant.” She smiled as she stroked the cream-colored mare's neck. “Be careful, though. Drogon's not wild 'bout strangers. ‘Specially men.”

Accepting the challenge, Jon hopped the fence and approached the beast slowly. “That's alright, buddy,” he told the horse in a soothing, near-baby-talk voice. “We gonna be best friends, ain't we? Gonna make your mama so jealous, ain't we? She doesn't know this, but I am great with all animals – oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense. Yes, I am sure you are much more intelligent than those sheep. Yes, yes, and much more good lookin'.” He turned to Daenerys and whispered “Kind of an arrogant one you got 'ere.”

She couldn't contain her smile but hoped Jon hadn't noticed how bright it was or how sincere. She watched him hold out the back of his hand for the stallion to sniff. Slowly, Jon closed the gap between them and within seconds, the temperamental horse was under Jon's spell, allowing the man to rub his snout and scratch his chin.

Daenerys remembered all of the other men who would come around her farm, trying to impress her by showing her how much they knew about stallions. Drogon would never let them get their hand within inches of his face without snapping at it, sometimes even chomping down like their meaty paws were a fresh picked apple. Eventually, Daenerys couldn't tell if Drogon hated all men, or if he was simply feeding off of her energy. “Drogon's a great judge of character,” she would tell the men while she tried not to snicker. Was she supposed to say that to Jon now that Drogon had taken to him so quickly? She decided to keep her mouth shut.

* * * * * *

When mid-day approached and Daenerys was just about to head inside to fix something for her and her guest to eat, she glanced across her land to see the silhouette of a horse and rider coming over the bend in the hill from town. With a sigh, Daenerys took the handkerchief from her belt and wiped clean her hands and face as she crossed the pasture toward her front porch.

The rider wasted no time approaching and dismounted from his horse before her. He was an older man of maybe forty with a clean haircut and professionally made clothes and brand new boots. He walked like a drunkard, though, legs stepping unevenly and his arms swaying out at his sides.

“Can I help you, mister?” Daenerys asked. “I don't think we've met before.”

“No, we most certainly haven't,” the man replied, grinning. “I'm new in town, just acquired the hotel back on the main road from my poor departed older brother, God rest 'is soul. Been tryin' to get to know everyone a little bit. And a fine young lady such as yourself can feel free to call me Euron. And your name?”

“I hadn't any idea Mr. Greyjoy passed. I don't really leave my farm very often, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry for your loss.” Daenerys replied. “My name's Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Daenerys Targaryen? Well that certainly makes sense.”

“You know of me, Mr. – I mean, Euron?”

Chuckling, the man of about forty stepped forward, spurs scraping the dusty ground, and flashed a wide grin, revealing yellowed and rotten teeth. “Well you see, Miss Daenerys, I find myself hopelessly without any female companionship and when I asked around the village who was the most beautiful woman in Bellway without a husband, every single man said Daenerys Targaryen from the farm over the hill. Now that I'm seein’ you with my own eyes, I have to say, they were correct in their assessment of your beauty.”

With a huff, Daenerys replied “I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place for female companionship, Mr. Greyjoy. I believe the establishment your lookin' for is located above the tavern in town, just across Main Street from your brother's hotel if I'm not mistaken.”

“You've got me all wrong, Miss Daenerys. You see, I'm lookin' to make myself an honest man and I think you might be the perfect bride for a man such as myself. You see, I come from meager beginnin’s admittedly, but with my brother's unfortunate passin', I find myself with funds in an amount I am not yet accustomed to. I believe I possess sufficient means at which to offer you a decent life.”

“I'm flattered by the offer,” Daenerys replied in a tone of voice that in no way indicated that she was flattered by the offer “but I already have one decent life and I ain't lookin' for another.”

Smiling smugly, he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He reeked of chewing tobacco and whiskey, but Daenerys stood her ground, looking straight up at him, focusing on his heavy brow rather than the eerie ice-blue color of his eyes. “You ain't one of those. . . lady lovin' types they got in the East are ya?”

“No, sir. It's just like I said. I ain't lookin' for a husband.”

“Alright,” he said, taking a step back. “I can respect that. I mean, we've only just met and all. Maybe I can take you out some night soon, treat you to some dancin' maybe. We can keep things casual at first.”

“Oh I don't dance, sir, and I've really got lots to do 'ere on my farm seeing as it's just me 'ere. I don't have time to be going out with men, women, or anyone else, casual or otherwise. I apologize, Mr. Greyjoy, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I've really gotta continue on with my work now.”

His smug smile turned into a smug scowl. “You know, little miss, it's customary for a lady to invite a man of my stature into their home for a drink of lemonade.”

“I'm sorry, sir, I don't got any lemonade,” she told him.

“Iced tea then.”

“All I've got is a bucket of rain water from the leak in my roof.”

Euron feigned amusement as he sauntered back to his horse. “You have a good day, Miss Daenerys.” After he pulled himself up on his horse, he looked back down at her and added “I hope to see you again real soon, now.”

After a spur to his horse's side, the beast trotted along in the path which they came and Daenerys finally let out a long breath, rolling her eyes at the deeply unpleasant man.

“Who was that?” Jon's voice asked.

She whipped to her side, seeing Jon Snow walking toward her from the side of the house, face wet with sweat and pink from the sun. His clothes were already dirty from a morning spent in the woods.

“Come on inside,” she told him before turning on her heel and marching into her home, having an uneasy feeling about what may happen if that unpleasant man were to turn around and see that she had been lying about it being just her at the house. The little town of Bellway wasn't the same sort of puritan community as in The Scarlett Letter, but Daenerys still wished to maintain her long-standing reputation of being completely disinterested in male companionship. The last thing she needed were all the single men in town to start coming back around thinking she was finally on the market.

“You didn't wanna introduce me to your friend?” Jon asked as he scraped the bottoms of his boots on the porch steps before following Daenerys into the house.

She shut the door behind them and went to the kitchen to warm up some leftover cornbread. “Apparently the owner of the hotel in town died and left the business to his brother. That was 'im.”

“What's he want?”

“To marry me.”

Jon smiled wider, amused as he leaned against the ice box, arms folded over his chest. “Oh really? What'd you tell 'im?”

“I told 'im what I tell every man who comes 'round here askin' me to marry 'em: get off my property.”

Laughing, Jon took a rag from the table and blotted at his face with it. “You get a lot of proposals then?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, I ain't surprised. I reckon a man would travel a thousand miles just to ask a woman like yourself to marry him.”

Throwing him a look of annoyance, she retorted “Those men don't know nothin' ‘bout me, women like me, or women in general.”

“You're probably right about that.” Jon took a breath, face turning more serious. “But, I reckon – wouldn't you wanna get married again at some point? You bein' out 'ere all alone for so many years – maybe havin' someone 'round to talk to and share in your burdens wouldn't be such a bad thing. And don'tcha wanna have kids some day? Not that you're old or nothin', but time tends to go by quicker than you expect.”

Jon watched Daenerys’s face that she kept down-turned at the stove, her eyes closed and her body still.

“I'm sorry,” Jon said quickly, taking a step toward her, holding out his hand to hover above her shoulder, not quite confident enough to lay it down on her. “I said somethin' I shouldn't've. It ain't my place to speculate on your life.”

“No, it ain't,” Daenerys replied pointedly, finally picking her head back up and looking at him sternly, though her demeanor quickly softened as her eyes made the mistake of meeting his again. He was standing so close to her. She wouldn't have to reach far at all to just feel his arm or his chest or his face, just to make sure he was actually real and that she hadn't hallucinated his entire being out of her own loneliness. The thought had crossed her mind. Six years was a long time not to touch another person in any more meaningful way than a handshake or the accidental brush of fingertips when she received her change from the cashier at the dollar store during her infrequent visits to town. Maybe Daenerys went mad the night of the storm, dreamed Jon up and his entire presence was part of an elaborate delusion.

And then, Jon's hand lowers the last inch, enveloping her shoulder in warmth as his fingers curled over clothed flesh and bone and muscle. His strong, yet gentle hand radiated so much heat that Daenerys thought she could melt into a puddle right on the kitchen floor.

“You alright?” he asked her softly.

Waking from her daze, she nodded her head quickly and shrugged his hand away, resuming her task as if the emotions budding inside of her weren't really there.

“Why do you care so much ‘bout whether I want a husband or not anyway?” she asked him, as she lit a match under the stove, going back to her usual ambivalent tone. “It ain't like you've asked me yet.”

“Yet?” he asked, taking a seat at the table. “You think I'm gonna ask you to marry me?”

“You'd be the first single man to come 'round and not ask me to marry 'im.”

“I can't marry you, Daenerys,” he told her.

Her brows furrowed, not out of disappointment, but out of resentment for allowing herself to feel disappointed.

“I mean no offense,” he replied. “I just don't have anything to offer you. I ain't go money, property, or even bullets in my gun. All I've got in the whole world are the clothes on my back and the boots on my feet and five half-siblings I haven't seen in seven years. Been tryna find ‘em for some time now but haven't had much luck. I reckon you could do a hell of a lot better than me for a husband anyway. Maybe the owner of a hotel or somethin'.”

Looking down at the ragged, yet handsome, young man sitting at her table, Daenerys chewed her bottom lip to keep herself from saying something stupid, like that he was probably more deserving of a good woman to marry than anyone in Bellway, that she didn't need a man's money or property or protection, that he was right before about how she could simply use someone around to keep her company and help with chores.

* * * * * *

Another couple of days passed and Jon finally had half a roof's worth of wood cut and carved and stacked up along the side of the house. However, after looking through Daenerys's tools, they both discovered that she hadn't long or thick enough nails suitable for the project. When Jon offered to head into town for them, Daenerys insisted that it would be better if she went herself. The town's folk had never met Jon before and she wanted to avoid anyone finding out Jon had been staying in her home.

She made the five-mile trip to the dollar store, Frey’s, on Main Street and found what she was looking for, getting twice the amount of nails Jon said he needed, just in case.

“You doin' some home improvements, Daenerys?” asked one of the elder Frey daughters as she counted out Daenerys’s change. The shop owner, Old Man Frey, had so many daughters that it was nearly impossible for Daenerys to keep track of them all, so she made sure to refrain from referring to any of them as anything other than “darlin’.”

“Just fixin' my roof,” she replied sweetly. “Didn't hold up very well durin' that storm the other night I'm afraid.”

“Well, these nails'll do the job, but please tell me you ain't tryna fix it on your own now. I could always send my husband over there for ya. Or my sister’s husband. Or my other sister’s husband. Or –”

“I've got it handled. But thank you, darlin’. You’re sweet to offer.”

“Alright, well, you be careful now.”

As Daenerys turned to exit the shop, she found her path blocked by the broad, swaying frame of Euron Greyjoy.

“Hello there, Miss Daenerys,” he greeted her with a maniacal grin. “I thought I saw that ivory hair of yours disappearin' in there. Allow me to walk you to your horse.”

With pursed lips and a look of annoyance, Daenerys stepped past him, exiting the shop and walking swiftly back to Drogon with Euron sauntering right beside her. She kept him in her vision, wary of any advances he may try.

A girl with long, stringy auburn hair and freckled cheeks skipped past – the Baratheon girl, Shireen, young but taller now than the last time Daenerys had seen her. She gave Daenerys a sweet smile and a wave before bouncing up the steps and into Frey’s. Daenerys immediately returned the kindly wave, but then soon noticed the way Euron’s eyes followed the girl, as if he was trying to consume Shireen’s every inch with his sinister stare. Discomforted, Daenerys found herself suddenly despising the man all the more.

As soon as she pulled Drogon's reigns loose, Daenerys offered Euron an ungracious “Thank you” before hoisting herself up onto the saddle.

“Miss Daenerys,” Euron began, staring up at her, eyes squinted into thin slits due to the harsh rays of the mid-day sun, “now I do apologize if I came off as rather gruff the other day. It ain't every day I'm confronted with a woman as beautiful as yourself.”

“I believe it was you who did the confrontin', Mr. Greyjoy,” Daenerys replied. “But, no harm done. I'm sure I'll be seein' you 'round every now and again and I wish to have a cordial relationship with everyone in Bellway, and that includes you, sir.”

Waving a hand in front of him like swatting away a fly, he replied jovially “Forget that 'sir' and 'Mr. Greyjoy' nonsense. I do insist you call me Euron. I understand now that a woman such as yourself has to be cautious around men like me, but once you get to know me, I believe you'll come to quite enjoy my company, cordial or otherwise.”

“Cordial is all I'm after,” Daenerys insisted. “You have a good day, Mr. Greyjoy.”

Chuckling, Euron said “You are givin' me quite a challenge, ain't ya? I reckon these games are common among pretty ladies, but I assure you that no matter what games you play, I am a persistent man and I do not give up easy.”

“I must be on my way now. Time to feed my flock I'm afraid.”

As Daenerys turned Drogon in the direction of the road, Euron moved his hand a bit too close to Drogon's snout, causing the beast to nip at his fingers. Leaping back, Euron scowled at the horse. 'He's a great judge of character,' Daenerys wanted to say, but restrained herself for the likes of Euron Greyjoy and simply gave Drogon a pat of gratitude as they galloped along down the road.

* * * * *

As she and Drogon approached the house at a respectable trot, Daenerys heard the familiar sound of a shot gun being fired in the near distance. Startled, she turned toward the noise, eyes falling on Jon's form across the pasture, walking with his back to Daenerys and toward where her sheep had been grazing but were now scattering and running in every which direction. He looked to have Daenerys's shot gun perched on his shoulder.

Quickly, Daenerys dismounted Drogon and ran into her house, seeing that her gun cabinet by the door had been broken into and indeed her shot gun was gone. She grabbed Jon's silver pistol and, from a drawer at the bottom of the cabinet, she pulled out some small shell bullets which thankfully fit the weapon. Once back atop Drogon, she raced after Jon.

“Hey!” she yelled out as she caught up to him at a gallop, pulling on Drogon's reigns to slow him down.

Jon turned around just as Daenerys was dismounting and in quick fashion, she marched up to him and lifted the pistol, pointing it to his head.

“Ya put some bullets in it, then?” he asked with a pleasant smile, as if Daenerys had shown him a pillow she'd just stitched and was looking for his approval.

“Gimme my gun,” Daenerys demanded, holding out her other hand.

“Alright,” he said easily and dropped the shot gun into her awaiting palm. His smile had faded, realizing how angry Daenerys was. “I'm sorry 'bout your cabinet.”

Glaring up at him, she slid the pistol into the belt around the waist of her dress and went back to Drogon, hitching the shot gun to his saddle. She re-mounted her horse and told Jon firmly “Stay 'ere. I don't wanna have to shoot you.”

Jon raised his eyebrows and watched as Daenerys kicked Drogon into a gallop in the direction he had been walking. Disregarding the woman's demand, Jon followed her path across the pasture.

When Daenerys reached the area of which her sheep had been startled into vacating, her eyes widened. With a gasp, she halted Drogon and dismounted him, stepping cautiously toward the animal lying dead in the grass – a mountain lion, bloodied from a single gun shot to its side. She wasn't sure how long she stared at the beast, but she didn't look away until she heard Jon's voice beside her.

“Like I said, I'm sorry 'bout your cabinet.”

Looking him in the eyes now, she wanted to say thank you, but somehow couldn't allow herself to be gracious. “You're a good shot,” she said instead.

He simply nodded in response, then stooped down beside the predator, placing his hand upon its head and stroking the fur like he would stroke a child's hair if they were sick in bed. “Poor thing,” he softly spoke. “But, I suppose that's life.”

When he stood back up, Daenerys reached into her pocket and handed him the boxes of nails he would need for the roof. Then, she pulled his pistol from her belt and handed that to him as well – a peace offering.

“You know how to cook a lion?” she asked him with a little hint of a smile.

* * * * *

That night, the two partook in a hardy supper of mountain lion steaks, having a good laugh over the strange taste, especially after so much effort had been put into skinning, gutting, and figuring out how to cook it, still unsure if they did it correctly. Half way through their meal, Jon insisted on cracking open one of the few bottles of wine Daenerys had in the house and shortly after that, they had forgotten their food all together, moving into the living room and taking the wine with them. They sat facing each other on the sofa, trading the bottle between them and sharing silly stories from their childhood.

“So, you're tellin' me,” Daenerys began, taking a sip of wine straight from the bottle, “that you got struck by lightenin'?”

“Yes! I was struck by lightenin’!” Jon insisted, taking the bottle from Daenerys and drinking a long swig then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Shaking her head emphatically, Daenerys stopped laughing to say “If you were struck by lightenin' you'd've been burnt to high heaven and I ain't seen any burn scars on ya.”

“Listen, maybe it was a tree branch that hit me on the head. That's very possible. But that doesn't explain what happened when I woke up!”

“What happened when you woke up?”

“Well, now, this is a secret, Daenerys,” he told her in a low voice, leaning forward. “You can't share this information with no one, alright? Can I trust you?”

“Yes, tell me!” she laughed.

“Alright, alright, I'll tell ya.” He leaned forward a few more inches, nearly closing the gap between them. Daenerys wasn't sure if it was the wine or not, but she found herself not minding the closeness as he whispered “I developed, like. . . special abilities. I'm talkin' like extraordinary abilities. Supernatural? Maybe. Witchcraft? I dunno, but I'm tellin’ ya, this ability is –"

“What ability?!”

“I became an amazin’ dancer.”

Shaking her head, Daenerys grabbed the wine bottle from Jon's grip and took another sip. “Dancin' is your extraordinary ability?”

“You bet your boots it is!” Jon hopped up and pushed the coffee table to the side of the room until the rug between the couch and fireplace was uncovered. Holding out his hand to Daenerys, he said “Let me prove it to ya then, since ya don't believe me.”

Smiling down at her lap, cheeks red from the wine and the silly man before her, she shook her head.

“Come on now,” he insisted. “I promise I won't step on your toes. Dance with me, Daenerys.”

She looked up into his dark eyes. “I don't dance.”

“I didn't ask ya if ya danced. I asked ya to dance,” he replied, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

Sighing heavily, Daenerys decided to humor the man. He did shoot a mountain lion for her after all, so maybe a little box step was the least she could do. She set the near-empty wine bottle on the floor and as soon as she placed her hand in his, Jon pulled her up so fast she lost her footing and fell against him. Immediately Daenerys pushed herself from him, brushing Jon’s hands away from her like they were toxic. She raised her fingers to her left cheek, feeling the flesh that had grazed Jon's clothed chest during her stumble.

This time, Jon offered Daenerys his hand with a tentative optimism, eyes staring into hers and beckoning her back into his arms. More anxious now, Daenerys placed her trembling hand in his, and this time, Jon lead her to him slowly until they were standing mere inches apart. His fingers curled around her hand as he raised them together to shoulder height. He slid his other hand around to rest on the middle of her back.

“You can put that hand on my shoulder,” he told her softly.

Biting her bottom lip, Daenerys abided. She suddenly felt flushed, heat enveloping her entire body. Maybe it was how close they were to the hearth, or maybe it was her intolerance to alcohol that made her temperature rise, but Daenerys had a sinking suspicion that it was all Jon, his firm hands on her, his dark eyes gazing down at her, his manly scent filling her nose and taking over her good sense, sense not to be standing so close to a man.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered down at her. “You're alright with me.”

“There ain't no music,” she said, breathlessly, up to him.

With a smile, he replied “The music's in your head.”

As Jon began to move his feet, Daenerys followed, head turning down to watch and make sure she was doing it right.

“Don't look down,” he told her. “Your feet'll know what to do all on their own. You just keep your eyes on me.”

She looked back up and as he moved with her slowly around the small room, Daenerys felt she may drown under his gentle stare. She couldn't hear the music in her head, like Jon said she would, but she heard something much more soothing: the voice of her dearly departed Great Uncle Aemon. “A Targaryen alone in this world is a terrible thing,” he would say whenever she wanted to run off unsupervised, every time she'd talk about running away all together. She had always longed for independence, but perhaps she had taken it too far in the last six years. She'd isolated herself too much, she'd allowed herself to become overwhelmed by the slightest touch of another human, she'd been alone too long and she was finally realizing just how terrible that was – finally realizing that maybe she didn't want to be alone anymore, and that maybe she wouldn't have to be.

But that was ridiculous. All of her family was gone, and there was nothing Jon could do to change that. He said it himself, he couldn't marry her. He had nothing to offer her, and even if he did, he was a man with a mission to find his own family, not to start a new one.

Suddenly, Daenerys felt a tear escape her eye and slide right down her cheek. In a panic, she pulled away from Jon, taking a couple steps back and bringing her hand up to her face, wiping away the moisture. She chuckled, trying to pass off her crying as nothing significant. “I'm really not used to drinkin'” she told Jon, who was looking upon her with a unreadable expression. “You're really good at that. I wouldn't say extraordinary, but you're alright.”

After a moment of agonizing silence, Jon finally replied “Well, the truth is, I've just got a sister who loved to dance and she always needed a partner.”

She turned her back to him, hating herself for not being able to control her emotions, wiping and wiping and wiping at her eyes but the tears just kept coming. And she hated him too, for being so sweet and funny and nonthreatening while also being strong and masculine and comely.

“You were a good brother, then?” she asked him.

“Tried to be.”

With slow steps, Jon approached her, reaching his hand out to touch her shoulder, but before his skin could meet the fabric of her modest dress, the air filled with an echoing cry from outside, startling the both of them. It wasn't the cry of a person, though, it was the cry of a horse.

Daenerys's heart immediately began beating a thousand times a second as her mind went to Viserion, due to give birth any day now. Perhaps this was the day. Without even a glance back at Jon, she grabbed one of the gas lanterns from a hook on the wall and ran out of the house, bounding across the grass, slick from the nighttime fog. She hadn't even realized Jon had been running alongside her until he was pulling open the barn doors for her. She had forgotten to lock it again.

As she followed the whimpers quickly to Viserion's stall, Jon pulled a box of matches from his pocket and began lighting the other lanterns in the barn. He then brought them each to the hooks closest to Viserion until her entire stall was filled with yellow light and Daenerys knew for certain that her mare would become a mother very shortly.

Jon watched the woman before him as she hitched up her skirt and climbed into the pen, taking her horse's snout in her hands and pressing a kiss to the top of her nose. He watched everything Daenerys did to help her distressed mare give birth.

“I need water,” Daenerys told him, the first time she looked at him since they entered the barn.

Obeying without a word, Jon grabbed a large bucket on his way out of the barn, running around to the well pump. When he returned, Daenerys was standing stiff in the pen, staring down at a white foal, lying motionless and steaming in the hay.

“Daenerys,” Jon tried, holding the bucket out for her.

She remained still, though, eyes glued downward, arms trembling at her sides.

There was no time for confusion, though. Jon hurriedly climbed into the stall and overturned the bucket of water onto the foal before rolling up his sleeves and digging his fingers inside its mouth to clear the mucus from its airway. In a moment, the foal sprung to life, literally. The little guy's eyes popped open, revealing bright red irises, and hopped up onto its long slender legs, wobbling back and forth and falling back into the hay before his mother came over and began licking the rest of the mucus from his white coat.

“Daenerys?” Jon asked, stepping close to her.

Finally, she looked up at him then back down at the foal. “I just – I don't know. . .”

“Let's go inside,” Jon suggested softly.

After Daenerys nodded, Jon blew out the lanterns and followed her out of the barn. As she locked it up, Jon rinsed off his hands at the well. It wasn't until they were back inside by the fire, sitting on the sofa Jon had been calling home, that Daenerys was able to speak in complete sentences.

“I knew what to do,” she insisted quietly.

“I know.”

“I just. . . froze.”

“It can be frightnin'.”

“I wasn't frightened. I. . .” Sighing deeply, Daenerys put her head into her palm. “He was lyin' there. . . I was lookin' at 'im, and I knew what to do, but. . . suddenly, I wasn't seein' the foal no more.”

Jon put his hand on her back and held it there even when she flinched. “What'd you see?”

Staring at her lap, she replied “My son.”

“I didn't know you had a son,” Jon replied, but suddenly the child sized bed in the spare room made sense. “Where is he?”

“He died the day I gave birth to 'im.”

“Daenerys. . . I'm so sorry.”

She took a hard, shuddered breath. “Turns out, just 'cause a girl's old enough to conceive a child, doesn't mean she's old enough to have a child. I was too small, and my baby's head was too big. I had to decide whether to try havin' 'im and probably die, or let the midwife kill 'im in order to save my own life. . . I may as well've murdered my son with my own two hands.”

“It was an impossible choice.”

“I made it, though,” she replied, suddenly feeling so utterly undeserving of the hand upon her back, of the warm eyes gazing down at her so sympathetically. “I'd always wanted to be a mother. It was the one thing about my marriage that brought me joy. It brought my husband joy too, and he wasn't the type to find joy in anything. I reckon he didn't wanna marry me almost as much as I didn't wanna marry 'im. Sometimes you just gotta take the best option your offered, I suppose. But when I told 'im I was with child, he was so happy. He built all the furniture in that second room upstairs ‘imself – said he wanted everything to be perfect for when the baby arrived. I don't know if he ever loved me, but while I was pregnant, he was the perfect husband, and I knew he would be a great father.

“But, then he died. Got cut real deep on his chest one day and within a week, the infection caused a fever so bad he passed in the middle of the night before it was light enough to ride out to the doctor. And by that time my Great Uncle, who raised me, had died and so had my last livin' brother. All my husband's relatives were gone as well. I was all alone and nine months pregnant at sixteen. So when I was given that choice, me or my son, I would've died for him in an instant, but there was no one to take care of 'im. He woulda been alone in this world, an orphan. Somethin' in me thought that was worse than dyin'. But I'm probably just selfish.”

“That ain't selfish,” Jon said adamantly. “You're the least selfish person I ever met, Daenerys Targaryen, and you ain't got nothin' to feel guilty about. What happened wasn't your fault. Fact of the matter is, you shouldn't've been forced to marry someone so young. You shoulda been allowed to grow up and decide for yourself when to get pregnant and who to get pregnant by. No one should ever have to go through that sorta thing.”

Shaking her head, Daenerys finally turned her gaze to his compassionate eyes. “Well life just ain't as kind as you, Jon Snow.”

His hand left her back and Daenerys immediately regretted her forceful tone of voice. She should have remained silent, staring at her lap and then maybe they could just sit together for the rest of the night with his hand upon her back. But then his hand appeared in front of her face, resting ever so gently against her cheek while his thumb wiped away a tear from under her eye. She found herself leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Life can be cruel,” Jon breathed. “But, I dunno. It seems like every once in a great while, life gives back a little of what it takes away. . .”

Daenerys's eyes blinked open, looking upon Jon's face, thinking that she might not mind the feel of his short beard against her skin or maybe even the taste of his chapped lips.

“. . . It brought me here, to you.”

Suddenly, Daenerys felt her breath catch in her throat and she pulled away from the man's hand, standing up and smoothing down her dress nervously. “I think it's 'bout time we both got some sleep,” she said hurriedly. “Goodnight, Mr. Snow.”

Perplexed by her sudden movement and her use of such a formal title, Jon's eyebrows furrowed, but he remained silent as she left swiftly up the stairs.

Daenerys barely slept that night. She simply laid in a ball upon the miniature bed in the second bedroom, hugging her knees and crying silently into her night dress.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Daenerys dragged herself through her chores in a sleepy haze, barely being able to marvel at the beauty of Viserion's new foal, or to ponder the newborn's peculiar physicality. She had seen his abnormality in other species, dogs mainly, but never in a horse. His mother was a smoky cream color and his father was black as coal, yet this little guy was white like fresh fallen snow.

“Have ya named 'im yet?”

Her back stiffened at the sound of Jon's voice behind her. She simply shook her head, not meeting his eye as she walked past him and out of the barn.

“Daenerys?” he tried, walking after her.

“Jon?” she responded flippantly.

“Well, at least you're not still callin' me Mr. Snow. I reckon that's a good sign.”

She turned around so suddenly that Jon almost walked right into her. “Shouldn't you be workin' on my roof?”

“Daenerys, are you mad at me?” he asked. “‘Cause if I in some way offended you, I apologize, but I honestly haven't any idea what I done wrong.”

With a sigh, she turned around once more and continued on toward the house even though she still had things to do outside. “You’ve done nothin' wrong.”

“Well then why won't you look at me?”

Speaking louder than she wanted to, she announced “Maybe I just don't wanna talk to you right now! Maybe I just feel like bein' left alone! Is that alright with you?!”

Jon stopped before the porch, watching her clomp up the steps and inside the house. “Yeah, that's alright,” he said quietly.

* * * * *

Spending the rest of the morning hammering boards atop Daenerys's house, Jon still kept one eye trained on the young woman as she went about her daily routine. Jon had been no stranger to beautiful women. Having worked on the railroad for so many years, he had traveled from town to town meeting all types of women. Married women, single women, women whose company you could purchase by the hour; admittedly, he was tempted more than once to acquire such company but was never able to commit. Jon was paranoid that if he slept with one of those ladies, he would get her pregnant, and then what would he do? Marry her? He hadn't the money for that. Raise the child on his own? He didn't have the money for that either. Run off and forget about his child? He hadn't the stomach for that. It always just seemed best to repress his urges.

There was one woman, though, a number of years back. A woman with hair like fire who was wild in every way, but somehow came to love a fool like Jon, and he thought he loved her back. Now, he wasn't so sure. He never thought his relationship with her would last, because she wasn't the lasting type of person. He always assumed one day she would sprout wings and fly away, and maybe that's what she did, after that stray bullet caught her in the heart. As Jon gazed upon Daenerys from the height of her roof, though, he felt that she was a woman who would last.

As soon as mid-day came around, Jon descended the ladder and took a hike into the woods behind the house. When he returned, Daenerys was in the kitchen and Jon came up to her, presenting her with a small bouquet of wildflowers of all different colors and sizes.

“Forgive me,” he said. “For whatever I did.”

“You didn't do nothin',” she stated, turning away from him.

“Forgive me anyway.”

Feeling her body temperature rise, Daenerys shook her head, feeling completely helpless being in the same room as him and wanting desperately to regain the control she had before this man entered her life so abruptly.

“Tell me what ya want me to do, and I'll do it,” Jon insisted, taking a step closer to her.

Finally, she turned to look at him, though her eyes never quite reached his “I want you to fix my roof,” she said firmly. “Can you do that? Just fix my damn roof so that you can get outta here and outta my life!”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth and her eyes widened at her own harshness. Worse, they finally met Jon's dark eyes and she felt a strange, awful urge to wrap her arms around him and tell him she didn't mean it and hold him for hours, forgetting the entire world and everyone in it, because they didn't mean a thing to her, only Jon did.

But then, before she could do any of those things that her body would never allow her to do anyway, and before Jon had time to pick up the chunks of his heart from the kitchen floor, there was a knocking at Daenerys's front door.

Daenerys’s wide, apologetic eyes turned squinted and confused toward the door. Before she had time to process that there was someone coming to visit her, Jon had left out the back door. It was for the best, Daenerys thought, but she still hated his leaving all the same.

When she opened the front door, she had to fight the urge to scowl.

“Mr. Greyjoy,” she greeted in a less than pleasant manner. “Why are you 'ere?”

“I've brought you a gift,” he replied with his usual grin. In his hands was a large rectangular box which he thrust into Daenerys's hands.

“Oh, I don't want --”

“Come on now, I wanna see your face when ya open it,” Euron said cheerfully, sidestepping his way into Daenerys's home without an invitation.

“Um, sir. . .” she started, but she was at a loss for words, unaccustomed to dealing with a man as brazen as Euron Greyjoy.

“Go on, then,” he said to her, motioning toward the kitchen table. “Take a look.”

With a heavy sigh, Daenerys set the box down on the table and removed the top. When she unfolded the paper that was inside, it revealed a beautifully beaded gown that Daenerys could immediately tell was worth more than any of the dresses she owned put together.

“Mr. Greyjoy, I could never except a gift like this in a million years,” she insisted, folding the paper back over the dress and putting the top back on the box. “I surely hope you'll be able to return it, or maybe give it to some –"

“Now, now, Miss Daenerys, don't be silly. This is for you. I bought it especially for you, and you are the only woman I want wearin' it.”

“Sir, I have no occasion to wear a dress like this. It would go wasted –"

“Well then we should create an occasion for you to wear it!” he replied jovially.

With a sigh, she picked up the box and tried to hand it to him, but he raised his hands, refusing to take back possession of the box.

“Sir, your persistence is beginnin' to frustrate me,” she huffed. “I have told you time and time again that I do not wish to marry you or go out with you and yet you keep pesterin' me.”

Eyes narrowing, smile beginning to lose its luster, Euron ripped the box from Daenerys's hands and placed it back on her table before taking a large step forward, nearly completely closing the gap between them. With a gasp, Daenerys backed up but Euron simply matched her every step until her back was pressed against the wall. Euron clutched her shoulders, causing her to wince.

“Now, I dunno what your late husband did to turn you so frigid,” he sneered his tobacco breath down at her, “but I think that what you need is a real man to wake you up inside.” He lowered his hands slowly, ignoring Daenerys trying desperately to push his large frame away from her. His hands slid with uncomfortable firmness down her sides and hips until they were gripping the skirt of her dress, slowly bunching up the material.

As Daenerys felt her dress being raised above her knees she gasped sharply and smacked Euron right across his face, but the smile that appeared upon it told Daenerys this person was another bread of man entirely.

“Let go of me this instant!” she demanded, attempting to kick and punch him, but even with her strength she was no match for his bulk.

She thought of Jon just then. Where was he? Could he hear her screams? Was he too far away? Had he gone into the woods out of contempt for her mean words? Maybe he was never real. Maybe she really did just make him up in her head in an attempt to feel less lonely. How would that explain the half-finished roof project, though? Surely she wasn’t so crazy that she would replace a roof by herself and not notice.

But just half a moment later, her ears filled with a familiar clicking noise, the sound of a pistol readying to be fired, and suddenly, Euron's movements ceased and all went silent for a moment.

“The lady told you to let ‘er go,” spoke Jon's voice, deep and thick with contempt.

Daenerys looked up, seeing the barrel of Jon's pistol pressed so firmly to Euron's temple it would surely leave a mark. Slowly, she felt her dress being lowered and her personal space being regained as Euron took a few careful steps backward, Jon's pistol following him carefully.

Chuckling despite his circumstance, Euron glared down at Daenerys and said “You lied to me, Miss Daenerys. You told me it was just you 'ere.”

“She ain't wantin' to talk to you, mister,” Jon sneered. “Now you get the hell outta this house and off this lady's farm before I put a bullet through your tiny little brain.”

Euron turned to face Jon, leaving the pistol to be pointed right between his eyes. “You don't know who you're messin' with, boy.”

“Just another dead body as far as I'm concerned. Unless you wanna smarten up and get goin' on your way.”

There was fire in the man’s crystal eyes as he glowered at Jon. After a few moments of bone-chilling silence, Euron lifted his hands above his shoulders in surrender.

“Alright,” he said, even putting on one of his fake smiles for Jon. “I'll be on my way, then.” He turned to look at Daenerys but she had her eyes glued firmly to the floor. “You have a good day now, Miss Daenerys. I reckon we'll see each other again real soon.”

Jon didn't holster his pistol until the unwelcome man was out the door, on his horse, and riding clear across the pasture toward town. By that time, Daenerys had run up the stairs and shut herself up in the second bedroom where she could allow herself to release all of her distraught and frightened emotions away from Jon’s gaze.

There were no locks on the doors, but Jon knocked anyway. To his surprise, she was quick to open the door and as soon as he stepped into the room she collided into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle and pressing her cheek against his chest. Immediately, he reciprocated the embrace, holding her tightly and resting his own cheek atop her head. They stood like that for some time, Jon rubbing circles into her upper back and breathing in the scent of her hair.

Daenerys had completely forgotten herself, holding onto Jon like he wasn't just another man, and it wasn't because he had saved her or because she was afraid Euron would come back, it was because Jon truly wasn't just another man. He was like one of the men in those English novels Daenerys loved so much, the kind of man that only existed in English novels, but Jon existed and he was real and she could feel his heart beat in her ear as clear as day.

Eventually, though, reality had to sink in. Maybe Jon was a good man, but that didn't make him her man. He couldn't marry her. He couldn't stay with her. He would leave her like everyone else and she would never see him again.

Pulling away from his warm embrace, she took a few steps backward, arms going around herself instead. After a deep breath, she said “I should get back to work.”

“Daenerys, you should rest or somethin'.”

She shook her head, looking down. “I'm grateful for what you did for me, but –"

“I don't need you to be grateful. I need you to lie down. I'll take care of the farm for today. I may not do as good a job as you, but it'll give you something to yell at me 'bout in the mornin' and I know how much ya love doin' that.”

He wasn't smiling but there was something in his eyes that calmed Daenerys enough for her to nod in agreement with his plan. She was terribly exhausted after all and even though it would ruin her sleep pattern for a week, Daenerys felt she desperately needed a nap.

* * * * *

Jon did just as he said he would, to the best of his knowledge of how Daenerys took care of things around the farm. Come sunset, Jon began to wonder what he was going to do about dinner. Daenerys may not have been the best cook out there, but she certainly knew more than Jon did. Just as he was heading on inside for the evening, he noticed a pair of men on horses galloping their way toward the house.

With his hand over his holstered pistol, Jon stood ready to greet the men at the bottom of the porch, with a smile or with blood. He only moved his hand away from his weapon upon seeing the familiar shine of a Sheriff's star pinned to the vest of the older of the two men.

“Howdy,” the Sheriff, a slender, sophisticated man of middle age, greeted Jon with a deep, almost proper voice and tip of his hat while his deputy stayed behind with the horses. “I don't believe we've been acquainted. I'm Jorah Mormont, the Sheriff in this ‘ere town.”

“Jon Snow,” Jon replied with an air of suspicion.

“How do you know Daenerys Targaryen exactly, Jon Snow?” Sheriff Mormont asked, sharing that look of suspicion.

“Oh, I'm just a friend, Sheriff.”

“Just a friend, eh?” Sheriff Mormont took a glance around the farm before asking “And where is Daenerys now?”

“She's upstairs restin’ from ‘er ordeal, but I reckon you already heard 'bout that.”

“I did indeed. I'd like to have a few words with her.”

Nodding, Jon reluctantly turned into the house, feeling uncomfortable about the man following him up the porch steps. Thankfully, the Sheriff remained on the porch as Jon went up the stairs and knocked on the second bedroom's door.

“Daenerys?” he asked through the door. “The Sheriff's ‘ere to speak with ya.”

After another knock, the door opened from the inside and Daenerys appeared, walking swiftly past Jon while fixing her hair in a new braid over her shoulder.

“Good evenin', Sheriff,” she greeted the man with some familiarity as she stepped out onto the porch.

Jon decided it would be best not to look like he was eavesdropping, so he went into the kitchen and sat himself down at the table. Daenerys left the front door open, though, so he heard just about every word they spoke between one another.

“Good evenin' to you, Daenerys,” Sheriff Mormont greeted back, removing his hat and setting it on the porch railing. “Now I heard there was some sort of trouble over 'ere earlier today. I'm sorry to be comin' by so late, but I just heard 'bout it not an hour ago and thought it shouldn't wait til mornin'. Now, Daenerys, when Euron Greyjoy was tellin' folks you got a man out ‘ere, I didn't believe him, but ‘ere there be, a man at your house. Should I be concerned?”

“The only person you outta be concerned about is Euron Greyjoy,” Daenerys stated firmly, arms crossing over her chest.

“Well the way he's tellin' it is that he came by with a gift for ya and not a moment into the visit, your guest in there had a gun to his head. Is that accurate, Daenerys?”

Shaking her head, she replied “That ain't how it happened, Sheriff.”

“Did Euron Greyjoy come over 'ere with a gift that you accepted?”

“He came over 'ere tryin' to get me to accept a mighty expensive dress he got me, which I declined multiple times to accept. I don't want the gift, Sheriff. I can give it to ya right now to give back to 'im. I ain't even taken it outta the box.”

“Now, I don't wanna be getting' in the middle of things.”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, ain't it your job to get in the middle of things?”

Sighing, Sheriff Mormont hooked his thumbs in his belt and took another glance around the farm. “Daenerys –"

“Sheriff, I didn't invite Mr. Greyjoy into my home,” Daenerys said quickly. “He came in on his own –"

“Did you ask 'im to leave?”

“Yes! I – I think so. I can't remember specifically asking 'im, but –"

“So then what would provoke your guest to put a gun to a man's head before you'd had the chance to ask 'im to leave? Was it 'cause he gave you that dress? Was this Jon Snow character angered by Mr. Greyjoy's interest in you? Are you sure this man you've taken up with ain't a madman? A criminal maybe?”

Growing frustrated, Daenerys huffed “Jon Snow put that gun to his head 'cause when I told Mr. Greyjoy for the hundredth time that I wasn't interested in marryin' him, he pushed me against my own wall and put his hands all over me even when I was tellin' him to quit, even when I was pushin' 'im and yellin' at 'im! Jon Snow ain't the madman! Mr. Greyjoy is!”

With another deep sigh and a shake of his head, Sheriff Mormont apologized, saying “I'm sorry that happened to ya, Daenerys. You gotta understand the predicament this puts me in, though. Euron Greyjoy owns the hotel now, an establishment that brings a lot of money to this town. The mayor would throw a fit if I so much as threatened to lock that man up. Now, I don't particularly like 'im either, but y'all are gonna have to figure outta way to coexist.”

“Coexist?” She asked incredulously. “This ain't like a mutual grudge, Sheriff. I stay clear of 'im. I rarely even leave my farm, but he's always showin' up. What am I supposed to do if he won't stop harassin' me? Or maybe I should just let ‘im rape me so that the town don't lose money!”

“Daenerys, you know I would never let anyone hurt you,” Sheriff Mormont stated emphatically.

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Daenerys said “Well you ain't ‘ere, Sheriff. It's just me on this farm and I was lucky to have Jon 'ere, but he's just passin' through, ya see. What's gonna happen when I'm back on my own? You've gotta do somethin' 'bout Euron Greyjoy.”

“I'll talk to 'im. Try to convince 'im not to come by no more,” he replied, then lowered his voice and took a step closer to Daenerys. “Maybe it's 'bout time you gave in and got yourself a husband. Not some ruffian comin' 'round to take advantage of your good nature like this Jon Snow character, but someone who can offer you somethin' real. Someone with good standin' in this town. Someone of importance. No one would come 'round tryna mess with you then.”

“And who exactly do ya want me to marry?” she asked, glaring up at the much older man. “You, Sheriff? I don't think your wife would care for that.”

“You know I only married her 'cause you kept refusin' my proposals.”

Daenerys took a large step back, turning her head toward the horizon. “Y'all better get on your way before it gets too dark.”

There was an uncomfortable few moments before Sheriff Mormont replaced his hat atop his head, gave it a tip as he wished her a cordial good evening.

Once he and his deputy had mounted their steeds and began their journey back toward town, Daenerys went inside and slammed the front door behind her. Leaning with her back against the door, she grumbled “I swear, the men in this town. . .”

Jon stood from the table and sat instead at the foot of the staircase directly in front of Daenerys. “The Sheriff, he seemed. . .”

“Incompetent?”

“I was gonna say he seemed smitten.”

Scoffing, Daenerys was finally able to roll her eyes at Sherriff Mormont even if he wasn't there to see it. “He asked me to marry him a few times a couple years back after his second wife died.”

With a small chuckle, Jon said “You sure are a popular woman, Daenerys Targaryen.”

“I don't try to be!” She sighed, looking down at him hopelessly. “You're a man. Tell me, am I really that beautiful, or is it just 'cause I keep sayin' no that everyone keeps tryna change my mind?”

“Well, it's definitely the latter,” he replied seriously. “Men like a challenge. They want what they can't have. They all wanna be the one person who finally gets Daenerys Targaryen to say yes, whether they actually like ya or not.”

Daenerys looked to the floor, frowning miserably.

Jon added quietly “But, you’re also very beautiful, and a very good person. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife, but I reckon I can't think of a single man who'd deserve ya.”

'There might be one person who'd deserve me,' Daenerys thought, but dared not speak.

* * * * *

After supper, Daenerys wanted to spend time in the barn, watching Viserion's foal. There was something about his abnormality that made the newborn even more precious in her eyes.

“You should name 'im,” Daenerys told Jon, who sat beside her atop the wood railing surrounding Viserion's enclosure.

“I couldn't do that. He's yours,” Jon replied.

“Please?” she asked, turning her head to look at him in the dim lantern light. “You've helped me a lot while you've been 'ere. I'd like ya to name 'im. That way, after you’ve gone, it’ll be somethin’ for me to remember ya by.”

This caused Jon to smile, not used to such sweet words coming from the young woman's lips. He looked upon the white foal, standing unsteadily as he suckled milk from his mother.

“How 'bout Ghost?”

With a smile and a nod, Daenerys agreed to the name. She couldn't wait til the foal was old enough to gallop around the pasture alongside his all-black father. Drogon and his little white Ghost.

* * * * *

By mid-day, day after next, Jon finished the roof.

Finally able to rest on her own bed, Daenerys lied flat on her back, staring up at the new wood paneling her ceiling while Jon stood at the foot of the bed assuring her that he had already water tested it, ensuring that it would hold up to the next storm.

“It looks good,” she told him, sitting up and scooting back to her feet. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“No thanks necessary,” he replied, then gave a short sigh with a melancholy smile. “I suppose you'll be wantin’ me outta your hair now.”

Daenerys was confused at first until she remembered their arrangement, and how she had never actually taken back her harsh words from the other day. Now that Jon was finished with her roof, he would be on his way, off to find his family.

“I don't know,” she breathed, ringing her hands together in front of her. “I reckon I grown used to you.”

Taking a step toward her, Jon reached out his hand and slowly took one of hers, curling his fingers around her palm. The sensation of the man's rough fingers holding her hand so gently caused Daenerys to lose her breath, and when she lifted her eyes to his, the dark pools beneath his long lashes threatened to swallow her whole.

“I don't have ta leave just yet, Daenerys,” Jon told her. “I could stay with ya for a while to make sure you're alright.”

This was her chance, her chance to take back what she'd said. All she would have to do is tell him to stay. But, she couldn't. . . “What about your family?” she asked him quietly.

His eyes saddened as he thought of his siblings being somewhere out there, possibly needing their big brother's help. His thumb caressed the back of Daenerys's hand as he said “I wouldn't be able ta leave you thinkin' that ya ain't gonna be safe.”

Smiling sadly, she replied “Is anyone really safe in this world? You got no obligation to take care of me, Jon. I ain't your family, and your family needs you.”

Closing the gap between them, Jon took a small step forward, reaching out to envelope Daenerys's other hand in his as well. Looking down into her soft blue eyes, he breathed “I know I gotta leave. I know my family needs me. I know you probably don't need me. But, I can't help but think that maybe I really need you, Daenerys.”

Daenerys felt all of the air leave her lungs. Her eyes fell from his deep eyes to his full lips, becoming aware of how close they were standing, that she need only to lean up on her toes to catch his mouth with hers. She wasn't sure if she had the courage, though, to kiss a man she would never see again, but before she could debate the morality of it, Jon had leaned down, closing the gap between them completely until Daenerys finally felt his lips against hers.

The kiss was soft and slow and sensual and seemed to last for days, but Daenerys still found herself missing his mouth once he pulled away. Daenerys slid one of her hands from his and lifted it to his face, letting her palm graze his whiskers and her thumb caress his cheekbone. His eyes stared into her, dark and heavy, but she wasn't frightened. Quite the opposite, Daenerys found herself yearning to have the man dive into her soul and fill her with his warmth.

Moving both of his hands to her lower back, Jon leaned forward again, capturing her mouth with his own. There was more pressure this time, more heat, more everything, and when Daenerys felt his tongue enter her mouth as his fingers pressed into her back, she couldn't help the moan that escaped her throat. She wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck, completely surrendering to him as he pulled her flush against him, so much so that Daenerys could feel the buckle of his belt digging into her stomach, as well as something other than his belt buckle.

Quickly, Daenerys stepped back from him, gasping to catch her breath. She brought one hand to her mouth and the other to her belly, as if trying to block the parts of her that wanted Jon so much, that wanted desperately to feel every inch of his skin against her, to listen to his heart beat without any clothes in the way, to feel him on top of her and all around her and deep, deep inside of her.

“Lord have mercy,” Daenerys muttered to herself, trying to keep her eyes averted from Jon at all costs.

Jon stood a couple feet from her now, chest heaving slightly from the fire that was building inside of him so rapidly. It was the first time he had ever wanted someone so much. The only other time he lay with a woman, he was nervous and apprehensive and unsure if it was what he truly wanted, but with Daenerys. . . he felt he needed her more than he needed air to breath or boots on his feet, but only if she wanted it too.

“I, um. . .” Daenerys began, the redness in her cheeks starting to go down. “I still got a lot of chores to attend to.” She stepped past Jon toward her bedroom door, but somehow her feet refused to carry her past the doorway. 'This is your last chance', she told herself. 'Stop being such a coward and take what you want for once.' Quickly, before she could change her mind, she turned back to Jon. “You should stay tonight. It's – um – better to set out in the mornin'.”

“Alright,” he breathed and before he could blink. Daenerys was out the door and down the stairs.

* * * * *

Since Jon had finished the roof with hours left til sunset, he helped Daenerys a bit with her chores before deciding he would fix supper for her and himself, although he was sure his stew would not compare to hers. First, he made himself a bath, though, and when he was done with that, he fixed another one for Daenerys as the sun began to set.

When he told her there was a bath waiting for her upstairs, Daenerys looked at him suspiciously.

“I'm just tryna be a gentleman,” he insisted. “Do somethin' kind for a good woman.”

Though she shook her head at his peculiarity, Daenerys couldn't help but smile as she climbed the stairs.

“I'll have supper ready for ya when you're finished!” he called up to her before she closed herself in the bath room.

The first thing Daenerys did was to dip her fingers into the water. Hot, just the way she liked it. Smile still playing on her face, Daenerys disrobed, removing all of her layers until she stood completely naked. As she undid the plait in her hair, she wondered how attractive her body was, not just in general, but from the perspective of a man who had probably seen many women without their clothes on in his life. Daenerys didn't know much about railroad workers but moving from town to town like that would surely grant a young man lots of options along the way.

Daenerys reckoned she was thinner than most women, less buxom and curvaceous, more plain and petite. Despite her days outdoors, her skin was rather pale and her hair was an unusual white-blonde color that presented naturally to her family line, but Jon was already well aware of those features. Maybe she was his type. Maybe Jon did not fancy a tall, broad-shouldered beauty, or maybe it had just been so long since Jon had been with a woman that he wouldn't mind what Daenerys’s body looked like.

Stepping into the scalding water, Daenerys forced the thoughts from her mind. She had never been particularly self-conscious about her appearance, so why should she start being so now? It wasn't as though she was fretting over what Jon's body would look like.

But, what would Jon's body look like? She had seen his lean torso from a distance already, but she was certain it would be something else entirely to view his bare skin up close. Was he a hairy man? She didn't reckon so. Was he blemished with scars or moles or scatterings of freckles across his shoulders? She reckoned she wouldn't mind either way.

As she leaned back in the tub, letting the water engulf her body and legs and hair and face, she squeezed her eyes closed and wondered how Jon's naked body against hers would compare to a fresh, hot bath.

* * * * *

Coming down the stairs, Daenerys was clad in her favorite dress, its deep blue color bringing out the sparkle in her eyes and making her feel regal despite it being rather plain. Her hair was still damp, but she tied it up behind her head as not to moisten her clothes.

Jon was setting out some bowls and utensils when she came into the room and when he saw her, he smiled like she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. He quickly pulled out Daenerys's chair for her before bringing the pot of stew over and ladling out a decent sized portion into her bowl, then his. After putting the pot back on the stove, Jon took his seat opposite Daenerys at the table.

“Now, I don't reckon this'll be as good as your stew,” Jon admitted “but I'm hopin' you enjoy it at least.”

Daenerys took a bite of the hot stew and nodded her head in appreciation. “It's good,” she insisted.

Chuckling, Jon shook his head. “You don't gotta lie to me.”

“I ain't lyin'.” Smiling, she took another bite. “I mean, it's. . .”

Jon clapped his hands together with a grin. “I knew it. It ain't as good as yours.”

Laughing, Daenerys felt the heat rise up in her cheeks and suddenly she was unable to stop smiling. She looked down at the table, taking a few breaths to try to compose herself. Thankfully, Jon was busy partaking in his mediocre attempt at cooking and did not notice Daenerys trying desperately to keep her cheeks from turning bright pink. When composed, she took another bite.

“Do ya know where you're headed then?” she asked him. “Where your family might be?”

“Actually, yes,” Jon replied gleefully. “A while back I heard that my sister Arya had joined the travelin' circus of all things. She's like, a knife thrower or somethin' of the sort, can you believe that? I'm gonna head down to Oklahoma ‘cause the circus supposed to be settled there for another month, and I'm gonna make sure Arya's alright and then see if she can tell me where the others might be. My other sister Sansa's an adult by now, and she's strong like you, so I'm not real worried ‘bout ‘er, but my brothers are still young, thirteen and fifteen and without a mother or father.”

Daenerys smiled at his plan, picturing Jon at the circus.

“You live an adventurous life,” Daenerys told him. “Must be nice.”

He thought about her statement for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “I reckon I have, but it ain't all great. You meet a lot of people, which is nice, until you think maybe you'd've been better off not ever havin' met 'em. You see a lot of things, also nice, til you see somethin' ya wish you never did. It's a give 'n take I guess. Most of the time all I want is to just build a house up on a mountain, sit on my porch all day drinkin' lemonade and lookin' out at the world.”

“What about havin' a family of your own one day?” she asked, too caught up in the conversation to realize how the question may come off in the wake of their rather ardent kiss.

Thinking about that for a moment as well, Jon eventually replied “Yeah. I mean, I never really expected to ever have a family. I just never felt like a lucky enough person, but when I think about it, I would really like to have a wife and maybe a couple of kids. I think I might like to be a father.”

Daenerys tried not to digest his answer too personally. Tried not to imagine him married to another woman, no doubt more beautiful and sensual than herself. Tried not to picture him running about their big home, chasing after little children who looked exactly like his wife. The thought made her feel more lonesome than she'd ever felt.

“You said you meet a lot of people,” Daenerys began nervously. “I reckon you've met a lot of women.”

“I suppose.”

Daenerys looked down at her stew, taking small bites in silence.

“Daenerys?” Jon asked her.

“Hm?” she hummed, turning her eyes up to him, trying not to look like all she was thinking about was how, for once in her life, she wished the man in front of her would ask her to marry him.

“You askin' me if I been with other women?”

Nearly choking on her mouth-full of stew, Daenerys swallowed quickly and shook her head. “That's none of my business. Besides, I'm sure you have. You're a man after all. . . You have, right?”

He shook his head slowly, wearing a faint smile of amusement at her flustered expression. “Just once, quite a while ago.”

“Oh,” she replied, somewhat taken aback. “And you weren't married?”

“No,” he replied softly. “You think that's wrong?”

Thinking about it for a moment, Daenerys shook her head. “No. No, I mean, not if both people are wantin' it, I guess. But, what happened to the woman? Or, was she like a. . . pay by the hour kinda gal?”

Jon laughed at this, cheeks going red. “No, she definitely wasn't. No, the woman I was with. . . she passed on.”

“Oh. I – I'm so sorry. I shouldn't've asked.”

“It's alright,” Jon assured her.

Reaching his hand across the table, Jon took Daenerys's in his and held it while he continued to spoon stew into his mouth with his other hand. Unsure of what to do, but knowing she didn't want him to let go, Daenerys simply did the same, eating her stew while they held hands across the table.

“Daenerys?” Jon asked after a couple of minutes silence. “I've really enjoyed bein' 'ere with you. I'm gonna miss you.”

As she felt his hand squeeze hers gently, Daenerys smiled wistfully at him. “I reckon I'm gonna miss you, too.”

Slowly, Jon brought Daenerys's hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, lips lingering on her skin and causing Daenerys to lose any and all interest in food. He kissed her hand a second time and a third until Daenerys couldn't stand it anymore. As her mind raced with all of the many areas of her skin she needed desperately to feel Jon's lips upon, Daenerys found herself asking “Do you wanna go upstairs with me?”

Jon lowered her hand from his warm mouth and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Yes,” he breathed.

Step by step, Daenerys led Jon up the stairs, chewing her bottom lip nervously but not for a moment questioning her desires.

Daenerys lit the lanterns on either side of her bed, illuminating the bedroom in a soft yellow glow. When she turned back to Jon, he had already removed his boots and belt. Daenerys sat upon the side of her bed and reached to untie her own boots.

“Let me,” Jon told her, kneeling down in front of her.

Sitting back up, Daenerys watched as the man lifted her foot onto his knee, unlaced and slid each of her boots off one by one followed by her socks, and when her slim feet were bare, Jon’s hands slid slowly up her ankle, tantalizing the smooth skin that grew hot under his touch.

It took longer for Daenerys to disrobe than Jon, which may have been due to her wanting so badly to just watch the man before her slowly reveal his body to her. She thought perhaps it was perverted of her to long so much to gaze upon another person's naked form, but in that moment she didn't care, and it didn't seem as though Jon did either. In fact, as he dropped his shirt to the floor and began to unfasten his trousers, he looked down at Daenerys, right in her eyes.

And when he was completely uncovered to her vision, Daenerys discovered that Jon Snow was smaller than her late husband in every physical way except one. Cheeks turning bright red, she averted her eyes, bringing her hand to her mouth. Even with the cool air in the room, Daenerys felt herself sweating profusely as Jon stepped closer to her, taking her hand from over her mouth and helped her to stand.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, voice hushed.

She nodded, looking up into his eyes.

“We can stop whenever you want,” he promised.

After a hard swallow, Daenerys breathed “I don't wanna stop. Do you?”

With a small smile, he shook his head.

Slowly, Daenerys turned her back to him. She wasn't so brave that she could look him in the eye while ridding her body of every stitch of clothing, so she did it watching their shadows on the bedroom wall. First, she slid down her dress, long sleeved like all the rest of her old frocks. She had left so much to Jon's imagination that she felt nervous to simply have his eyes on the back of her shoulders. Next, she reached down to the bottom of her shift, bunching the fabric in her hands and ever so slowly lifted it up past her hips, her stomach, breasts and shoulders until it was over her head and dropped to the floor beside her, leaving her nude at last.

Time seemed to stop. The crickets ceased chirping and the flame of the lanterns quit flickering. Suddenly, nothing in the world was real except the two of them.

When Daenerys felt Jon's fingers on her bare shoulder, she gasped softly from the sensation. A hand upon her waist, sliding precariously to her small belly. Lips on the curve of her neck. Daenerys let her eyes fall shut as the tip of his tongue massaged her neck in small circles and the hand upon her shoulder dipped under her arm and around to her breast. She let out another gasp as his calloused fingers grazed her pebbled nipple.

And then the hand upon her belly brought her just a couple inches closer to him and suddenly, Daenerys could feel Jon's manhood pressed against her lower back. Her eyes opened, seeing the shadow on the wall of their bodies pressed together and she became aware of how heavily she was breathing, small gasps of breath as his fingers and mouth caressed her skin.

And then the hand upon Daenerys’s belly inched lower and lower and lower. . . Quickly, she pressed her own hand over his. No one had ever touched her down there besides herself and the midwife so many years ago. Her husband never thought to put his hand there for longer than it took to guide himself inside of her.

But she didn't want him to stop and she didn't want him to think she wanted him to stop, so before he could say anything, Daenerys turned around in Jon's arms and threw her own around his neck, standing up on her toes to kiss him eagerly. Her boldness seemed to wake something in Jon because he stopped being so gentle. Moaning into her kiss, he dug his fingers into the muscles of her back as his stiff cock pressed against her abdomen.

Catching her breath, Daenerys looked down between their bodies at that which she longed to fill her. She was still nervous, but her cheeks were no longer red. She was nervous about the size, about the sensation she had long since forgotten, and about the pain, but her desires overpowered her nerves ten-fold.

Looking back up at him, she asked “Should we lie down?”

It took him a moment to nod his head in the affirmative and it was then that Daenerys realized that he was nervous too. After all, he had only ever been with one other person, and only the one time. She wondered, though, how he knew where to touch her and where to kiss her to make her gasp and shudder. She did not realize then that it was because Jon was in love with her.

Daenerys rested flat on her back, just as she'd done to gaze up at Jon's handiwork with the roof the other day, except now Jon was not standing by the bed, but lying on his side beside her, and he was the one gazing. His eyes moved over her every inch while his fingers blazed trails all across her supple skin, so warm and wanting.

When his eyes found her again, he leaned in close and kissed her lips before whispering “You're so beautiful, Daenerys.”

She smiled up at him, for the first time actually believing a man when he told her she was beautiful. There was something much more relaxing about lying down with him hovered above her, making way for her curiosity. She brought her hand to Jon's and slid it down between her legs, now desperate to know what Jon wanted to do down there.

“Oh,” she found herself gasping aloud, as she felt Jon dip a finger into her warmth. There was a sound too and it wasn't until Jon began to stroke his fingers around her entrance that she realized how wet she had become.

Leaning close to her ear, Jon kissed her earlobe then whispered “I'm gonna put my fingers inside you.”

“What?” she asked quickly, eyebrow raising in confusion, wondering why Jon would ever want to put his fingers in a place meant for a different body part entirely.

“It's so it won't hurt when I. . .”

“Ain't it supposed to hurt?”

Shaking his head, he licked his lips before kissing hers. “It ain't ever supposed to hurt.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. Never supposed to hurt? It hurt every time her husband would take her. “You have to get used to the pain,” he had told her, and she eventually did.

Smiling, he whispered. “Don't worry. Just trust me.”

And that's what she did. She trusted him. She put her hand behind his head and kissed him, closing her eyes and letting herself enjoy the feel of his mouth over hers, of his beard tickling her chin, of his warm breath mixing with her own as he pushed her thighs further apart and sunk his index finger deep into her. Daenerys let out a whimper, not out of pain or discomfort, but out of the wildness of it all, and before she knew it, Jon was sliding a second finger in with the first.

It didn't feel particularly good at first, more unusual than anything, but the more his fingers moved inside of her, sliding carefully in and out and curling deep inside of her, Daenerys began to relax into the sensation and after a couple of minutes, she forgot all about kissing Jon. Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed up at the ceiling, but Jon never forgot about kissing her. As he slid a third finger into the mix, he lowered his mouth to her neck, licking and nipping at the skin, listening to the little noises coming from Daenerys's mouth like it was the sweetest song he'd ever heard.

Lower and lower, Jon's mouth soon found her breast, kissing the flesh there and flattening his tongue across her nipple before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently on the nub.

Eventually, his head lifted and he asked Daenerys if she was ready and she nodded. This time, she dared not shut her eyes. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

Jon removed his fingers from her folds and situated himself between her legs, pushing her knees apart as far as was comfortable. Daenerys looked down her body, watching as he wrapped the hand that was just inside of her around his erection and stroked it a few times before pressing it to her entrance.

Just as Jon leaned his hips forward, inching his cock inside of her, he covered Daenerys's gasp with his mouth, kissing her deeply while feeling her warmth completely engulf his cock.

“Jon!” she cried urgently against Jon’s mouth as her inner muscles engulfed his member to the hilt.

Leaning up slightly to ask if she was alright, Jon got his answer before he even asked it when she brought her leg around his waist firmly, trying desperately to feel as much of him inside of her as possible. Jon cupped her cheek in his palm as they search each other's eyes, mouths agape, chests rising and falling with each shuddering breath. Jon thought she may have been crying the way the shadows from the lamp lights danced across her face. What he did not then realize was that it was love in her eyes that he saw, that Daenerys was in love with him, too.

And then their mouths collided again, deep and amorous, and Daenerys's leg relaxed, allowing Jon the freedom to make love to her, and it was the first time Daenerys ever felt love like that in her bed, in her home, in her life. She wished it could last forever, but that kind of love wasn't meant to last very long. She reckoned she may go mad with all the love she felt if it did. But she made the time count, savoring the feeling of his skin pressed so closely to her, or his muscle tucked so deeply inside of her, or his mouth so hungrily pressed against her, and when Daenerys felt Jon release inside of her, she found herself smiling against his shoulder, adoring the sound of him grunting into her hair.

It took Jon a minute to regain his bearings, breathing heavily into the pillow beside Daenerys's head. Lowering her legs, Daenerys ran her hands up and down Jon's back, fingers sliding easily across his perspiring skin. When he finally leaned back, his cock had already deflated enough to slip from Daenerys's wetness.

Jon moved to lay on his side beside Daenerys and she was quick to turn on her side as well, placing her hand on his neck and kissing him gently.

Smiling, Jon whispered “Did you. . ?”

Raising an eyebrow, she asked “Did I what?”

Jon chuckled and kissed her again.

“What?” Daenerys asked, laughing out of her confusion. “Was I supposed to do somethin'?”

Shaking his head, he kissed her once more. “No. I was supposed to do somethin'. Lie back.”

Daenerys smiled at his silliness, but complied, rolling onto her back.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

She nodded her head as Jon’s hand trailed down to her inner thigh, pushing her legs apart once more.

“Close your eyes,” he told her.

Chewing her bottom lip, Daenerys let her eyes fall shut, but only a few moments later, she was snapping her eyes wide open, gasping and staring down at Jon's mouth between her legs. “Oh mercy,” she moaned into the nighttime air.

* * * * *

“What are ya thinkin' 'bout?” Jon asked Daenerys.

She was lying half-way on top of him, head upon his chest and watching her fingers dance across his skin. Jon's own hand did the same, gliding slowly up and down her back. Eventually, the chill had gotten to them and Daenerys pulled a quilt over them, but they weren't at all interested in dressing, content to lie in bed together, bare skin against bare skin.

“That I'm mad at myself,” replied Daenerys softly.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I shoulda let you do that to me the first night you showed up ‘ere.”

Chuckling, Jon said “I don't reckon it woulda been the same.”

“But now. . .” She paused, sighing against Jon's chest. “Now I don't want you to leave. I mean, I didn't want you to leave before neither. I don't know why I kept sayin' that I did. I guess I was just frightened. I thought I liked bein' alone, but maybe I just hadn't yet met anyone I wanted to stick around. I know you gotta leave, though. I ain't gonna try to make ya stay.”

“Daenerys.”

Grimly, Daenerys leaned up and met his eye, expecting him to tell her some pretty lie like that he would always remember her, or that he wished he could stay.

Purposefully, Jon said “Come with me.”

Daenerys blinked up at him slowly.

“Come with me, Daenerys,” he said again, like she didn't hear him the first time.

Shaking her head, she replied “I can't leave my farm.”

“Why not?”

Daenerys squinted her eyes, taken aback by this sudden change of direction. “Are you havin’ a go at me?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I can't – I haven't left my farm for anythin' more than a quick trip into town in eight years, since I was fourteen. I ain't like you. I ain't made for an adventure.”

They were at a crossroads. Neither of them wanted to leave the other, but they couldn't remain together either. Shaking her head at the predicament, Daenerys moved away from him, lying on her side beside him, her back to him. But Jon wouldn't let her shut down. He curled his arms around her and pressed his front to her back, holding her tightly from behind.

Leaning in close to her ear, he whispered “I'll come back then.”

She shook her head again. “Don't say that.”

“I will.”

“No, you won't. And you shouldn't. I'm just some silly farm girl who's house you came across while on your way to somewhere else.”

“While on my way to find my family. All I cared about in the world was my family. Once I find 'em, I ain't got no other purpose. I ain't got no home to go to – that died along with my father. But now, I care about you as much as I ever cared for anyone, so you may as well be my family now, too. And maybe you could also be my home. If ya want me, I mean. . .”

Daenerys turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes as he continued.

“. . . I love you, Daenerys Targaryen. I reckon I don't deserve you, but if you'll let me, I'd like to spend every day for the rest of my life with you, whether it's on this farm, on a different farm, or in the middle of the damn ocean. It's just that. . . every day for the rest of my life can't start just yet. But I promise I won't be gone a minute longer than it takes to make sure my siblin's are alright, and I'll make sure to write you letters every week, or hell, every day. They might not say much 'cause I never been a great writer, but they'll always begin 'Dearest Daenerys' and I'll always sign 'em 'Love, Jon'.”

After a breath, Daenerys simply said “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright, Jon Snow,” she told him. “You go on and finish your mission, and then you come on back 'ere to me.”

Smiling, he asked “You ain't gonna shoot me off your property then?”

Daenerys raised her hand to his cheek, stroking the skin with her thumb. “Depends how long you take.”

“How long you givin’ me?”

Thinking about it for a few moments, Daenerys eventually said “Winters get tough ‘ere. Not that I need anyone's help, but. . . it'd be nice.”

Jon leaned down and kissed her gently, whispering “By winter then.”

* * * * *

When Jon awoke before the first light, he was alone in Daenerys’s bed.

After pulling on his trousers and shirt, Jon found Daenerys downstairs, sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, a heavy shall wrapped around her shoulders and covering her shift. Her hair was down in long waves of white and she was stitching something into a cream colored handkerchief by the light of the fire and the lantern hanging on the wall just behind her. As he went to sit beside her, she sent him a sweet smile.

"You coulda done that in bed," Jon told her, swiping a thin lock of hair from in front of her face as her eyes went back to concentrating on her project.

"I didn't wanna watch you sleep," she replied.

"Do I look down right embarrassin' when I sleep?"

Smiling brightly, but still focusing on her embroidery, Daenerys replied "No, it's just that – Well, maybe it'll sound silly, but ever since I was a little girl I've thought that when people are asleep, it's like their leading whole other lives in their dreams. Like they don't have the same memories they do when they're awake, or the same feelin's, or the same interests. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I just couldn't relax again with you sleepin' there next to me. I kept thinkin' that for as long as you were asleep, you wouldn't love me, cause your dreamin' mind wouldn't let ya. So I came down 'ere."

Jon leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then said in a hushed voice “Well, you didn't have to worry 'bout that, 'cause you've been in all my dreams since the night of that storm."

Turning her eyes to him, Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "You lyin' to me, Jon Snow?"

"I ain't lyin' to you," he insisted. "I'm a stubborn man, Daenerys. I ain't gonna let anythin' get in the way of me lovin' you, ‘specially not my own mind."

Daenerys blushed down at her project.

"What’re you makin'?" he asked her.

"It's a gift I guess. I dunno really." She turned the handkerchief in her hands so that Jon could see the embroidery work. In beep blue thread, she had stitched out her full name in an elegant cursive font and looked to be half way through stitching a little yellow dandelion right beside the capital 'D.' "Guess I just figured if you're gonna be writin' to me, you may as well know how to spell my name."

"I love it," he said with a chuckle. "You're makin' me a smarter man already."

"You should eat somethin' before ya run off."

Leaning in close to her ear and sliding his hand around her knee, Jon whispered "I'd rather do somethin' else before I go."

Grinning madly, Daenerys leaned away from him, looking into his eyes incredulously. "Jon Snow, the sun is comin' up quick and I have lots of work to do when it does."

"I can be fast."

Giggling into her hand, Daenerys shook her head at him.

"Come here," he insisted gently, holding out his hand.

Setting her embroidery on the arm of the sofa, she placed her hand in his, but instead of standing and leading her back upstairs, Jon slid his other hand around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Her shift rose up as her knees parted, resting into the sofa on either side of Jon's hips. She draped her arms around his neck, falling so effortlessly into his kiss like she'd been accustomed to doing so for years. When their lips parted, Daenerys gazed into his eyes, her breasts rising and falling with each of her lust filled breaths.

They made love like that as the room slowly filled with sunlight and Daenerys wondered if this was what it would be like to be married to Jon Snow – making love every night and every morning and in every which room in the house without a care in the world. She reckoned she would rather enjoy that.

* * * * *

Daenerys pushed back her morning chores an hour so that she could fix and pack some food for Jon to have during his travels. He told her not to bother, but she couldn't let him wander off into the wilderness without at least a couple days worth of food to sustain him.

Jon's real objections came when Daenerys lead Drogon out of the barn and threw a saddle over him.

“No, Daenerys,” he objected. “I'm not taking your horse. Put 'im back.”

“Well how the hell are ya gonna get to Oklahoma without a horse?” she asked him, hands on her hips staring at him pointedly. “If I'm gonna marry you, Jon Snow, I'm gonna need you to get back 'ere as soon as you can, and that ain't gonna happen if you're walkin' from state to state. Now, my barn's only got room for two horses and Ghost is gonna be growin' up quicker than it'll take you to get back. When you do, you can repay me by buildin' me a bigger barn.”

Mimicking Daenerys's stance, hands on his hips and eyes squinted stubbornly at her, he told her. “You love Drogon, Daenerys. I ain't takin' 'im.”

“Well I love you, too, so ya are gonna take 'im.”

Marching up to her with tight lips, Jon put his hands on her shoulders, giving her a pointed look. “Daenerys Targaryen, I could make love to you right here in the dirt.”

“Jon!” she exclaimed, flushed and pushing him away from her. Her hand covered her mouth but did nothing to hide her smile. “Now you just get on that saddle and get goin'. The quicker you leave, the quicker you can get back home.”

Home. . . It was hard to believe that this quaint little farm house Jon had stumbled upon during that storm just over a week ago was now being referred to as his home. That this woman of such bewitching beauty and tenacity loved him and wanted to be his wife.

Jon re-closed the gap between them, this time lifting his hands to cup her cheeks gently. “I love you,” he told her softly before kissing her lips tenderly.

“I love you, too,” replied Daenerys once their lips parted. “Don't forget this.” She slipped the handkerchief she made him into his vest pocket. “Or this.” She pulled Jon's dagger from her belt.

He unsheathed it, examining the long, sharp blade, curved for precision. Then, he slid it back into its sheath and tucked it inside his boot.

With one last longing stare at his beloved future-spouse, he mounted the black stallion and rode off toward the sunrise.

Chapter Text

Jon turned Drogon's direction to loop around Bellway. Something about alerting the town's folk to his departure from Daenerys's farm unsettled him. Daenerys liked to be alone, she felt safer that way, and Jon didn't want anyone viewing his leaving as a go-ahead to bother her at home.

Making his way under the cover of the Eastern woods, he caught up with the road out of town in just over an hour, and after a couple more hours trotting down the road, he came across a wagon and mule, appearing unattended at first, but that suspicion was quickly changed when an old man appeared from the other side of the cart. His eyebrows were almost as bushy as his gray beard, hanging low in his eyes as he aimed his shotgun directly at Jon, but the way the weapon shook in his hands told Jon he wasn't accustomed to handling it.

Slowly, Jon halted Drogon and lifted his hands above his shoulders, his eyebrow raised along with them, confused more than anything.

“You havin' some trouble there, mister?” Jon asked him, noticing the mule's front hoof raised as he shook his head from side to side.

“I don't want any trouble, boy,” the man told him in a low, gruff voice.

“I don't want any trouble neither. I'm just lookin' to get outta town, same as you by the looks of it.” Jon replied. “Though, I don't reckon you're gonna get much father with your mule in that condition.”

“Stepped into a hole on the trail,” the man grumbled. Lowering his weapon, his expression lost its intensity but none of its anxiety. “Listen, son, you look like a decent fella and your horse there looks mighty healthy. We've gotta get outta Bellway quick and maybe you could help us.”

“We?”

“Aye, me and. . .” the man looked to his side, and soon appeared a girl from behind it, a girl with round cheeks and thin hair down to her waist. She wrapped her arms around the man, with something like fear in her eyes. “Me and my daughter.”

“Where are y'all headed?”

“Up to Montana where my son's stationed with the military.”

“Montana. . .” Jon spoke under his breath with a sigh. Montana was the opposite direction he needed to go and carrying on that way would take a lot of time that he needed to spend getting to his sister, Arya. If he couldn't get to where the circus was situated by the month's end, he'd have to follow them all the way to their next site in New Mexico and that simply wouldn’t work with his timeline, especially when he had the rest of his siblings to locate. Besides, he knew nothing of these people and got a strange sense that that girl wasn't really his daughter. There was something to be said about the man's decency that he lowered the gun rather than try to take Drogon by force, but that could have just been from the man's lack of know-how with a firearm and not wanting to take any chances. “I'm sorry, mister. I'm headed down to Oklahoma to find my sister. I wish y'all luck, though.”

Taking the risk of having the old man shoot him in the back, Jon gave Drogon a soft kick to the side and they were trotting along once more. However, as Jon rounded the first bend, he began to think of the first night he met Daenerys, how he had pointed a gun to her head and she responded by feeding him and giving him a place to sleep. She didn't have to do that, she didn't want to do that, but she did it anyway. Jon couldn't turn his back on two people in need after what Daenerys had done for him, when he was sitting atop her horse, carrying her home cooking in his pack, even if it meant extending his time away from her for a little while longer.

With a sigh, Jon turned Drogon around and headed back up to the bend when suddenly, Jon could hear the faint sound of horse hooves back where he had run into the old man and his maybe-daughter. Maybe more travelers who could assist the two so that Jon wouldn't have to. But, then Jon heard the loud, distinct sound of a shot being fired, but it wasn't from a shotgun, and then. . . the high-pitched scream of a young girl in distress.

Thinking on his feet, Jon decided that rather than racing up to the scene, he would trot Drogon off the path and into the brush, tying the reigns to a tree. Once done, Jon took to climbing the ridge, thinking it best that no one see him coming if he was going to have to insert himself into an altercation. Drogon would act as his emergency getaway method, in case things were too out of hand.

At the top of the ridge, Jon had a good vantage point across to the action. He lied on his stomach in the dirt, level with the road, disguised among the foliage maybe ten yards from the scene.

“Please, please!” the girl cried, being restrained by a pudgy man quadruple her size. “Please don't hurt ‘im!”

Even from his distance, Jon could tell the girl's eyes were full of tears as they watched the old man – her traveling companion – be forced into the dirt. There were spatters of red on the road before the man as he begged for his life and the life of the girl.

“Please, just let her go,” the old man grunted out against the dirt, the boot of a man who's back was turned to Jon pressed against the back of his neck. “She's just an innocent girl. She's. . .”

Jon couldn't make out the rest of the man's words over the girl's screams, her captor beginning to twist her arms behind her back. There were two other men leering over the proceedings, and four horses left unattended behind them.

Finally, the man with his boot on the pleading man's back spoke, and Jon immediately recognized his sneer.

“She ain’t an innocent girl anymore, Seaworth,” the crude, sniveling voice of Euron Greyjoy spoke down at the old man named Seaworth. “She's a woman now. My woman. I paid her daddy good for her. I married her. I – Well, I did what husbands do to their wives.”

Jon's eyes moved rapidly from the back of a Euron’s head to the girl writhing about in the grip of that behemoth. She was so small, a thin girl, frail really, but she definitely had courage if she was continuing to fight so futilely. But. . . a wife? This girl wasn't old enough to be anyone's wife.

What could he do, though? He couldn't shoot a man for trying to reclaim his lawful wife. As unsavory as it was, that was the law, and Jon certainly could not let himself be hanged as a murderer. But he also couldn't let Euron take that girl who so clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

Pulling his gun from his holster, Jon said a silent prayer, to God, to the universe, to mother nature, to anything that might be listening, because he knew he was about to do something really stupid.

* * * * *

Daenerys didn't miss Jon immediately. She busied herself with the chores she was getting a late start on and that occupied her mind for a time. It wasn't until Daenerys realized that she kept glancing up at her roof, expecting Jon to be there, that she began to feel the effect of his absence. She began to realize that Jon wasn't just running into town for a bit. She wouldn't be seeing her beloved for two months, maybe three, four. Could she have to live without him for more than four months?

Suddenly, her farm felt so big, so open, so empty. In just over a weeks time, Jon had become a fixture in her life. And just like that, he was gone again, forcing Daenerys to revert back to her old lifestyle, completely alone.

Feeling lightheaded, Daenerys thought she might have her lunch a bit early, maybe rest her eyes on her sofa which smelled so much like Jon. But before she reached her front porch, she heard the sound of horse hooves, galloping at a tremendous speed, growing ever louder in her ears. Swiftly, she turned and to her utter bewilderment, it was Drogon who was racing across her pasture, but it was not Jon Snow upon the saddle, but a waif of a girl, pale faced and hair blowing in the wind behind her like a cape. She recognized this girl immediate as Shireen Baratheon.

Drogon skidded to a stop in front of Daenerys, kicking up a cloud of dust with his hooves and the girl dropped to the dirt, stumbling to her knees from the height of the beast she'd dismounted so quickly.

“Where's Jon?” Daenerys asked the girl urgently, incapable of processing any of what was happening until knowing the answer to that.

“Jon Snow?” the girl spoke with a mousy little voice as she stood on her wobbling legs. “Jon Snow told me to come 'ere. He said you'd help me.”

Shaking her head at the absurdity, Daenerys asked quickly “Where is he? Why would he tell you to come 'ere? Is he in trouble?”

Just then, Daenerys heard galloping hooves against the dirt path once more, but this time the sound was coming from more than one horse.

“Oh no,” the girl whimpered, holding onto Daenerys's arm as if she was afraid she'd blow away with the wind. “Please, ma'am, you gotta help me. I can't go back with that man.”

Squinting her eyes down at the girl who looked more terrified than anyone she'd ever seen, Daenerys asked “You're the little Baratheon girl, ain't you? Where's your daddy?”

“Please, they're comin!” she cried, tugging on Daenerys's arm toward the house.

Not knowing what else to do as the three riders gained ground on her property, Daenerys allowed the girl to pull her up the porch and into her home. Shireen slammed the door shut behind them and fell onto the foot of the stairs, curling in on herself in terror.

“Now you tell me right now what the hell's goin' on,” Daenerys demanded, standing over the girl, but she couldn't get her tone to match the sternness of the words as she looked upon this crying child. Sighing, she asked “Your name's Shireen, right?”

“Shireen, ma'am, yes,” the girl named Shireen murmured through her tears.

“You runnin' away from your daddy or somethin'?”

Shaking her head, Shireen replied “My father didn't want me no more. He sold me off to that awful man from the hotel.”

“Euron Greyjoy?”

Shireen nodded, seeming to flinch from the use of his name.

“How old are you?” Daenerys asked, finding herself resting the palm of her hand atop the girl head, smoothing down her hair which had tangled in the wind.

“Thirteen.”

Thirteen? Thirteen and married off to Euron Greyjoy? Nearly the same age Daenerys was when she married her late husband and she remembered how terrified she was, especially that first night. She had cried herself to sleep every night for months. Even so, she thought Shireen would have it worse. It was no great stretch of the imagination to think that Euron rather enjoyed hurting people, intimidating girls and watching them suffer at his hand.

“Daenerys!” called a voice from outside, a voice sticky like slime, lilting as if being spoken through a smile. “Miss Daenerys Targaryen, I do believe you've got my wife in there!”

Shireen's head snapped up to stare anxiously at the front door. Going to the window, Daenerys peaked out through a slit in the curtain and saw Euron Greyjoy along with two other men looking just as menacing, standing a few yards in front of her porch. Behind them were their three brown horses.

“I know it's just the two of you gals in there!” Euron called out. “Met with your male friend on the South road, by the way! He didn't look so good when I left 'im!”

Eyes widening, she looked to Shireen, but the girl was out of her mind with fear, eyes just locked on that front door while her hands clung to the stairway banister.

“I reckon if you go now, you may be able to get to 'im before he bleeds to death! Say your goodbyes!”

With a gasp, Daenerys backed away from the window, mind filling with images of Jon lying flat in the dirt, closing his eyes for good while blood pooled from under him. She ran back to Shireen, falling to her knees in front of the girl and grabbing her thin shoulders. “What happened to Jon?” she asked her urgently.

Shaking her head, she replied “I dunno. They was gonna kill my friend and that outlaw Jon Snow came outta nowhere and shot at ‘em. I reckon he killed one of 'em before he grabbed me and told me to run down to ‘is horse and get to Daenerys Targaryen's farm as quick as I could, so that's what I did.”

“Oh, Miss Daenerys!” Euron's voice called. “Ought I fetch Sheriff Mormont?! I sure don't wish to see your pretty face behind bars, though, when he arrests you for kidnappin' a man's rightful property!”

Prison? For protecting a young girl from a monster? Daenerys reckoned that if Jon could sacrifice his life to save a girl he never met in his life, Daenerys could risk being thrown in jail. Besides, Jorah Mormont wouldn't actually arrest her, would he?

* * * * *

Jon's eyes blinked open, a blindingly bright light invading his sight. His head felt full enough to burst and his shoulder ached even worse.

“This one's definitely dead,” said a female's voice a few yards from where Jon was lying, flat on his back, trying to raise his arm up high enough to shield his face from the sun.

How long had he been lying there? The sun was just slightly west of center, telling him it must be after noon. Unfortunately, he hadn't a clue as to what time it was when he blacked out.

“This one's alive!” a male voice called out, but it was far enough from Jon's ears that he knew the voice wasn't referring to him. “Let's get 'im in the cart quickly.”

Jon heard the shuffling of dirt under the boots of people trying to lift a barely living man, when the man began to speak. “Shireen,” his low voice crackled. “Shireen.”

Shireen? Who was that? Jon's mind went to a young girl, standing in the road, hands pulled roughly behind her back by a large sinister man. Shireen must have been that girl, and the man speaking her name must have been that old fellow she was traveling with. What ever happened to that girl? Where was she? Oh yes. . . Jon began to recall the events just before his mind went black. He had spoken to the girl, taken her in his arm and whispered into her ear.

“Do you know where Daenerys Targaryen lives?”

“The white-haired lady?”

“Yes. Follow the bend and look for an all-black horse in the brush. Take ‘im fast as ya can to the white-haired lady’s farm. She'll help you.”

The girl's eyes were a shimmering blue as she asked him “Is you an outlaw?”

Jon had shaken his head. “Right now, I'm just a man with a gun.”

Groaning deep from the pain, Jon reached his hand down to his hip, but his gun wasn't tucked in the holster. He looked to the left but saw nothing but dirt. He looked to the right and saw nothing but a brown horse, lifeless on the ground, a casualty of Jon's chivalry no doubt.

“Hey, is that one alive?” Jon heard the male voice mutter to his companion.

Quick footsteps approached until a female was on her knees beside him asking “Mister, you alright? Can ya see me?”

Jon looked up at the owner of the voice, but her face was disrupted by the brightness of the sun's rays in his eyes. Slowly, he nodded. Then, there was a man on the other side of him, reaching down and taking Jon's left arm, but as he tried to lift Jon up, a searing pain radiated though from his shoulder to the rest of his body and he yelped out in pain.

“We gotta get you up, mister,” the female said and then she and the man both pulled him to his feet.

Once he was up off the ground, Jon took a look around the scene. One dead man lay in the dirt, saturated with blood and that old man Seaworth sat in a half-daze upon a doctor's cart.

“Where's the rest of 'em?” Jon asked in a hoarse voice.

“Rest of 'em?” the male voice asked, too soft and kindly for a world such as this one.

“The men. The rest of the men. There were three other men.”

“There's only you, him, and the dead one,” spoke the man. “Was this some sort of robbery or somethin', mister?”

Jon shook his head. “I have to go. I need a horse.”

“Mister, you been shot!” exclaimed the female.

Looking down, Jon saw that there was indeed a substantial amount of blood soaked through his clothes from a hole in his left shoulder. “That's alright,” Jon told them. “I ain't left handed.”

Jon pushed away from the two holding him up and staggered toward their cart. Sure enough, they had a decent looking steed hooked to it.

“I need your horse,” Jon told them.

“Now listen ‘ere, mister,” said the man with a shaky voice, as if unaccustomed to confrontations with strangers. “I make it a point to treat the injured before getting the law involved, but --”

Turning to face them, Jon exclaimed hotly “This wasn't no robbery, alright? Now there were three other men ‘ere last I was conscious and if they ain't ‘ere no more, that means they've run off fixin' to hurt a little girl they been chasin'. Now I sent that little girl to the home of my betrothed, and if those men followed ‘er there, that means the love of my life is danger now too. I gotta get to her and protect her, and I'm gonna need your horse to do that. I don't wanna steal it, but I will if I gotta. I noticed neither of y'all have any firearms on ya.”

The man and woman looked at one another and as Jon waited for their response, he noticed how young the two of them were and how they couldn't have been older than Jon himself. The man had a round body and stood with an awkward countenance, and the woman was tall with big round eyes.

“Please?” Jon tried. “Her name is Daenerys and if she gets hurt it'll be all my fault.”

“With respect,” the man began “everyone says they're gonna marry Daenerys Targaryen and no one ever does.”

Staggering up to them, Jon reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the handkerchief Daenerys had embroidered for him. “She made this for me.”

The woman took the handkerchief in his hand and examined it for its authenticity. Smiling, she looked up at Jon and said “How precious. She must really like you.”

“Let him take the horse!” called out the voice of the old man Seaworth as he hobbled out of the cart, having regained most of his senses.

“Sir, you've been shot!” the man called back to him. “We've gotta get ya into town!”

“It's just my damn leg,” Seaworth grumbled. “Wasn't like I could walk so good before it got shot.” He wobbled over to Jon and looked at him pointedly. “Save Shireen. She's a good girl. I love her like she's my own daughter. I worked for her father since before she was born and the day he defied my counsel and allowed that barbarian to marry her, I quit my position and vowed to rescue her. I'm just an old man, though, and I've never been a fighter.”

Jon gave Seaworth a sympathetic nod before taking back his handkerchief from the woman's hand and sliding it back into his pocket. He then marched as quickly as he could to the horse. Once freed from its harness, Jon mounted the saddle-less beast and kicked it into a gallop in the direction of Daenerys's farm.

* * * * *

They were in Daenerys's bedroom, Shireen huddled under the window sill, face in her hands as Daenerys knelt beside her, aiming her shot gun out the window. She hadn't any idea how long it had been but her legs had long since fallen asleep and Shireen had long since lost the ability to produce tears as Euron taunted them from the lawn.

Daenerys didn't know how to feel when one of Euron's friends came back with the Sheriff in toe. Jorah Mormont was about as useless as anyone she'd ever met. He succeeded in getting Euron off of Daenerys's back which just allowed him to avert his deviant attention onto a girl of only thirteen.

“Daenerys!” Sheriff Mormont called up to her from under the window. “Why don't you put the gun away and meet me at the front door so we can discuss this!”

“Ain't nothin' to discuss!” she shouted back. “These men are trespassin' on my property and I'm fixin' to shoot 'em if they don't leave!”

“I will happily escort these men off your property as soon as you release Mrs. Greyjoy to her husband!”

Daenerys could have shot him in that moment. Instead, she stood and leaned out the window, glaring down at him. “You son of a bitch!”

“Hey now, young lady --”

“I am not lettin' this scared little girl out of this house until she wants to leave! And if these men ain’t off my property in five minutes I'mma start shootin'!”

“Now, Daenerys, you know the law! I can't stop you from shootin' a trespasser, but you're commitin' a crime right now by withholdin' that woman from her husband! Any shootin' you do in the process of commitin' this crime will be done so unlawfully!”

“She ain't a woman, Jorah Mormont. This is the Baratheon girl! Little Shireen!”

“You were her age when you married!”

Daenery's finger twitched on the trigger as she glowered down at him.

“Alright, this charade has gone on long enough!” the despicable Mr. Greyjoy sneered, pointing a finger up at Daenerys. “Either she releases my wife to me right now, or I am breakin' down that door and gettin' her myself!”

“Calm down now, Mr. Greyjoy,” Sheriff Mormont told Euron before turning back up to Daenerys. “Come on, Daenerys, just let me in and we'll talk about this, one on one, and figure somethin' out before things get outta hand!”

Sighing with frustration, Daenerys didn't really see another way but to let the Sheriff in, if only to buy her some time to think about her next move. Leaning back inside the window, she looked down at Shireen. “I'm gonna let the Sheriff in, alright? You stay up 'ere and I'll talk with him in the kitchen.”

The girl picked her head up, staring her shimmering eyes up at Daenerys, and asked “You're not gonna send me out there, are ya?”

“No,” replied Daenerys firmly, shutting the window and then handing Shireen the shot gun. “And if anyone who isn't me comes through that door, you shoot 'em.”

* * * * *

Jon rode through the woods. It was slow and tedious, having to weave the horse around the trees and brush, but assuming Euron and his brood were already at the farm, Jon's only hope of getting to Daenerys would be to make sure no one even knew he was there. When he reached the house, coming at the small two-story cottage from behind at a quiet trot, thankfully, Euron and his clan were hollering so loudly out front that Jon was confident the horse's movements would go undetected.

After tying the young gray stallion to a turned-over cart along the back wall, he hopped up onto the back porch, but before opening the back door, he stopped. Through the window, he saw Daenerys sitting at the kitchen table with Sheriff Mormont. Jon stayed back, not trusting the Sheriff. Besides, seeing that Daenerys was alright was enough to offer him a bit more patience, and the patience would offer him some extra time to think of how he could get Daenerys – and Shireen, assuming she was in the house – out of there.

But the sound of breaking glass, followed by a high-pitched scream coming from the second floor, interrupted his thoughts.

* * * * *

As Daenerys sat at her table with Sheriff Mormont, she felt her blood boiling beneath her skin. He spoke to her as if she was a child, as if she didn't understand what marriage meant, when really, it was Jorah who did not understand marriage, nor did any other man Daenerys had ever spoken to about the subject with the sole exception of Jon Snow.

“When a woman says her vows in front of the Lord, those vows are legally bindin' until either spouses’ death or abandonment, Daenerys.”

“Alright, then Shireen's abandonin' her husband.”

Sighing heavily, the Sheriff replied “A woman cannot abandon her husband.”

“So a man can abandon ‘is wife without consequence, but a woman is obligated to remain in an abusive marriage against her will?”

“Daenerys, you don't know that Mr. Greyjoy is abusin' Shireen.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, I can bet ya good money he's already hurt that girl more than anyone deserves. You're wastin' your time ‘ere, Sheriff, ‘cause she ain't goin' nowhere with that man.”

“What if. . .” he began, leaning forward. “What if I convince Mr. Greyjoy to let Shireen stay ‘ere tonight?”

“You can tell Mr. Greyjoy that Shireen is gonna be ‘ere tonight, tomorrow night, and every night until he drops dead, abandons her, or she suddenly decides she's in love with ‘im and runs on back to ‘im on her own accord.”

Pounding his fist on the table, Jorah began to scold her “Now, listen ‘ere Daenerys Targaryen --”

But, suddenly, he was interrupted and both their heads turned toward the sound of Daenerys's bedroom window smashing and Shireen's high-pitched scream echoing through the house.

In an instant, Daenerys bolted from her seat and ran up the stairs, bursting into her bedroom. Shireen stood there, in the middle of the room, shotgun raised and pointed at the window whose glass had been shattered into shards on the floor.

Shireen's head turned to look at Daenerys, but before either one of them could speak, a flaming wood steak flew threw the window, hitting Shireen's face with such force that the girl was knocked backward, shot gun dropping to the floor beside her.

The girl shrieked in agony as one side of her face caught ablaze before Daenerys's eyes. In a split second, Daenerys grabbed her coat that hung in its usual place beside the door and smothered Shireen's face with it until she was sure the flames had died, but when she removed the coat, the damage was done. The girl continued to scream as Daenerys looked helplessly down at her charred, black and red skin covering nearing all the left side of her face.

In her shock, Daenerys did not realize that the burning hunk of wood had rolled beside her bed, the flames igniting her bed sheets almost immediately, until she heard Jorah yelling about a fire from where he stood dumbly in the doorway before retreating down the stairs.

But the fire that was quickly engulfing her bed was not the most pressing issue at hand because before Daenerys could even think about what to do about the fire, or poor Shireen's face, a massive mustached man with a body shaped like a boulder was climbing in through the window brandishing a revolver.

Quickly, Daenerys crawled around Shireen, grabbed the dropped shot gun, and before she knew it she was firing a loud shot right at the man, hitting him square in the chest and sending him falling right back out her window. She gasped, realizing what she had done, that she had actually shot a man, most likely killing him. But there was no time to think about that, not when the fire from her bed was creeping up the walls and filling the room with smoke.

Daenerys pulled Shireen up off the floor and held onto her as she made her way to the stairs, but that plan quickly became impossible at the sight of Euron's second henchman bounding through the front door and starting up the stairs toward them. In a panic, Daenerys took Shireen back into her bedroom, dropping the girl back on the floor so she could slam the door shut and push her dresser in front of it just as the man collided into it.

Now trapped in a room ablaze, Daenerys felt herself begin to hyperventilate into her hand. Quickly she pulled her scarf from the hook by the door and wrapped it around her nose and mouth, then retrieved a handkerchief from atop her dresser and put it in Shireen's hand, guiding it up to her face so that the girl would hold it in place.

Daenerys's mind began to race with thoughts of what she could have done differently. She could have just let Euron take Shireen and lived with that for the rest of her life. She could have shot all three of those men the minute they dismounted their horses and most likely be hanged for murder. She could have never let Jon leave that morning, because then none of this would be happening. She wasn't sure how Jon had gotten himself into all of this, but if she had just kept him with her another day, she could have lived in blissful ignorance not even knowing about Shireen's forced marriage to Euron Greyjoy. But none of that mattered now, because none of that happened and those were not the decisions Daenerys had made.

And now, she was going to die, and so was Shireen.

On her knees beside Shireen, Daenerys took the still-wailing girl in her arms and began to cry into her singed, flaxen hair. Daenerys would never be a real mother, something she had always wanted, but at least she would die while trying to save this girl whose own father abandoned her. She would never in her life be married by choice, but at least she would die having felt love, if only for one night.

“Daenerys!” shouted someone from behind the bedroom door, and even with the sound of fire crackling and Shireen whimpering and her own sobs, Daenerys could hear the familiar huskiness of the voice.

Releasing Shireen, Daenerys leaped to her feet and shoved the dresser aside, giving clearance for Jon to burst through the door, hand immediately clamping over his mouth to keep out the smoke that had plumed out at him.

Daenerys didn't even have time to digest the fact that Jon was alive and safe, but obviously wounded from the blood stains on his shirt and the cuts on his face. All she could think to do was hastily pull Shireen to her feet.

“Hurry,” Jon said, motioning for the girls to follow him.

After letting the girls pass him into the hallway, Jon stooped down beside the lifeless body of the man he had just killed and pulled the wolf's-head dagger from his neck, releasing a torrent of blood to spill onto the floorboards. When Jon stood back up, ready to run down the stairs, he was halted by the sight of Daenerys standing in the second bedroom, arm being almost violently tugged by Shireen back toward the stairs, but Daenerys was sturdier than she appeared and wouldn't move an inch.

“Daenerys!” he called out, trying to get her attention.

But she still wouldn't move. She just stood there under a haze of black smoke, staring down at a small pinewood crib adorned with the yellow and white blanket Daenerys had knitted and the rag doll she had stitched during her pregnancy leaned against the panels.

After sheathing his dagger, Jon ran to Daenerys and took her by the shoulders, turning her forcefully until she was looking unto his eyes.

“We have ta go,” he told her firmly.

Daenerys shook her head rapidly at him, unable to make out his face clearly through the smoke and her tears, but Shireen was still tugging on her arm and something inside of her just gave up, relenting to the young girl's force and allowing herself to be pulled out of her departed son's bedroom and down the stairs.

They quickly rounded into the kitchen then out the back door, removing the fabrics that covered their faces and gasping as fresh air filled their lungs. Jon was out of the house moments after. Daenerys stared up at the smoke billowing from the gape in her roof, watching as her entire life for the last eight years went up in flames. Soon the fire would engulf the whole house. Her late mother's linens would turn to dust, her late father's handmade furniture would be nothing but cinders, her late brother's war memorabilia would melt and her late husband's photographs would vaporize and blow away into the atmosphere with the smoke.

“Get on the horse,” Jon told Daenerys, but only Shireen was listening. Jon took the girl's hand and helped her to mount the borrowed steed, still tied to the overturned cart. “Daenerys,” he tried, but she was in a daze. Her cheeks were caked with soot and her eyes full of tears. “Daenerys.” He was whispering now, coming close and resting his palm on the curve of her neck. “Here,” he spoke, holding out the little rag doll between them.

Daenerys looked down, a tear rolling from her cheek and landing on the rag doll's button nose. She took the thing in her hand and smiled. With a bittersweet whimper, Daenerys wrapped her arms around Jon's neck and held him tight, eyes squeezed shut. She could feel his heart beat against her breast and his labored breathing in her ear, but all sounds and senses seemed to float away as she melted into his embrace, his warmth bringing her some unexpected relaxation despite their circumstances.

After half a minute, Jon spoke against the side of her head “Daenerys. . . Deanerys, let go. Let go, Daenerys.”

But she could not heed his words. How could she? Let go? She would never let go again.

“Let go, Daenerys!” Jon demanded, louder, with his fingers digging into her hips and pushing her away from him.

With a start, Daenerys stepped back, eyes squinted at him in bewilderment. That is, until she discovered why Jon's voice turned so harsh. Standing just behind him, was Euron Greyjoy, hand banishing a silver pistol aimed between Jon’s shoulder blades, digging sharply into his spine.

“How precious,” Euron leered. “Now, Miss Daenerys, why is it that when I put my hands on you, you cry, but when this sorry excuse for an outlaw touches you, you can't get enough? Maybe you do prefer pussy.”

She didn't know whether to beg for Jon's life, or just lay down and cry, so Daenerys instead did what she knew best. She wiped away her tears and glared right into Euron's dead eyes, asserting “Jon Snow is more of a man than you'll ever be, Euron Greyjoy.”

Cocking the pistol, Euron replied with a smirk “Well, ‘e won't be for long. And before ‘is blood has finished seepin’ into the dirt, I’m gonna find out once and for all what you got between those legs of yours that makes all the men in Colorado want to fuck you.”

“Don't you lay one hand on ‘er!” Jon snarled, only to be met with a sharp kick to the back of his knee, sending the young man tumbling to the ground.

Euron grabbed the collar of Jon's shirt and lifted him to his knees, now jamming the barrel of the pistol against the top of his head.

“No, no, no, please!” Daenerys cried, giving in. “Don't kill 'im, please! I'll do whatever you want!”

“No, Daenerys!” Jon told her.

Finally, in her fit of tears, Shireen fell from the horse and ran to Euron, pleading “Please, don't! Don't kill 'im! I'll come with you! I'll be a good wife, I promise, just please don't hurt no one!”

Turning his head to look upon his young wife, Euron cackled, shaking his head in amazement. “You think I want anythin' to do with you, now? Look at yourself, darlin'. You are down right grotesque! You think I want that face looking up at me each night? Now, I gotta admit some fault 'ere since I was the one who told my men to burn this shit hole to the ground. Once they retrieved my bride, that is. I should've known better than to delegate such an important task to two buffoons such as them. Normally, I would sell you off to the whore house, but you're my wife, and I've got a responsibility to you, til death do we part.” He pulled the gun from Jon's head and aimed it at Shireen. “Goodbye, darlin'. You were good while --”

A wild, high-pitched scream emitted from Shireen's throat as Euron jolted forward unexpectedly, the gun going off with a loud bang, followed shortly by an equally horrific wail from the borrowed horse as it collapsed to the grass, blood spilling from a hole in his neck.

Euron was on the ground now, arm outstretched as his fingers tried to grasp his pistol that had fallen just a few inches out of reach.

Thinking fast, Jon pulled the dagger from his boot and flung himself on top of the man, pressing the blade to Euron's throat with so much pressure that blood began to trickle down his neck.

Daenerys ran to Shireen and hugged her tightly, careful not to make contact with the burnt portion of her face, and soothed the child as best she could by smoothing down her hair in long strokes. Her eyes moved to Jorah Mormont, who was standing just behind the mark where Euron had stood only moments before – before Jorah had jammed the butt of his gun into the back of his head. The Sheriff looked to be bleeding badly from his side, but was still managing to hold up his own pistol, aimed at Euron and Jon.

“You don't have the guts,” Euron sneered up at Jon. “It's one thing ta shoot a man, it's a whole other to feel 'im bleed to death beneath ya.”

Lips pressed tightly together and brows knitted into a deathly stare, Jon felt his hand tremble with desire to release its full potential, to drive the blade into this despicable man's throat and slice him up until he’s nothing but a leaking corpse. Then, the chinking sound of metal handcuffs landing beside Euron's head caused Jon to groan with displeasure.

“Turn 'im over and cuff 'im, son,” Sheriff Mormont commanded Jon.

Shaking his head sternly, still glaring down into the depths of Euron's eyes, Jon asked loudly “What's ‘e bein' charged with?!”

“Attempted murder and destruction of private property.”

“It's not enough!” Jon exclaimed. “He needs ta die!”

“That man shot the Sheriff,” Jorah replied, voice dripping with disdain. “He's gonna hang for his crimes.”

“Hangin's too polite a death for the likes of 'im.”

Daenerys interjected before she could watch Jon do something stupid. “Jon! Please, Jon. Let's just get outta 'ere.”

Forcing his rage out with a heavy sigh, Jon reached out his hand and grabbed the pistol Euron had dropped. It was Jon's. He tossed it behind him where Daenerys quickly scooped it up. Then, he pulled back the dagger just far enough to kick Euron onto his stomach. The Sheriff stepped forward, aiming his weapon at Euron's head while Jon pulled the man's hands behind his back and fastened the cuffs around his wrists so tight the man's hands would be blue in a matter of minutes.

Shireen stuck closely by Daenerys and Jon as they scrambled to hitch the wood cart to Drogon. Jon rode the black stallion with Jorah's wilting body lying in the back of the cart and Euron being forced to follow on foot, his neck fastened with a noose hitched to the back of the cart. They also fixed him up with a cloth gag around his mouth – Daenerys's idea. She and Shireen followed behind atop Viserion, leaving Ghost behind in the locked barn. Ironically, the bright light at the end of the horrific ordeal was that it rained that evening, a long dense shower, the first rain since that storm that carried Jon into Daenerys's life, drenching the fire that would completely destroy her house and thus stopping the flaming virus from spreading to the barn, her flock, and all of her farm.

* * * * *

After leaving Euron in a locked cell under the watchful supervision of two of the Sheriff's deputies, they all carried on toward the doctor's house. Jon had emphatically advocated that he be the one to watch over Euron until the morning, when his sentencing would be bestowed, but Daenerys wouldn't have it. She looked at him with such earnest eyes, blue pools among smoky ash and salted tears. She wouldn't let him leave her again so soon.

When they arrived at the large gothic home just on the edge of Main Street, the rain was already falling steadily, but the doctor and his wife came out to assist Jon and Daenerys in bringing in the half-conscious Sheriff and the burnt-up girl, so melancholy she could hardly stand. Jon recognized the young couple as the man and woman he had encountered on the road outside of town.

“Shireen!” called out that same old man from the road, standing on one leg in the doorway with bandages all around his other.

Hearing her friend's voice, Shireen woke from her daze and pushed herself off of Daenerys, running right up the porch steps and into the man's arms. “Davos!” she cried against him. “That outlaw and 'is wife saved my life!”

Davos Seaworth took the girl inside as to make room in the doorway for Jon and the young doctor to carry Sheriff Mormont into the home. “Thank you,” he said to Jon. “Thank you,” he said again to Daenerys as she followed them inside along side the doctor's wife.

Daenerys smiled as sweetly as she could through her trauma, happy to see the young girl had someone to care for her, if not her own father, but still feeling utterly responsible for Shireen's injury.

“Come now,” the doctor's wife spoke gently to Shireen, her hands upon the girl's shoulders to lead her away from Davos's embrace. “My name's Gilly and I'm gonna take care of that burn you got, alright? Don't worry, now. Mr. Seaworth can hold your hand if ya want.”

Meanwhile, Jon and Davos brought Sheriff Mormont into the backroom where some of the more delicate procedures were conducted, and lied the man flat on the table.

“I'm gonna have to get the bullet out or he'll simply die from the infection no matter what we do,” said the doctor to Jon. “I'm Samwell Tarly, by the way.” He held out a hand for Jon to shake, a kind smile playing on his round face. Jon shook his hand while the doctor named Sam continued. “I don't believe we've formally met yet. I'm the doctor ‘ere in Bellway. Sort of a new position since the man I was apprenticin' for passed away.” He looked down at Jorah, who was losing consciousness. “Alright, better get started.”

As Sam got to work, Jon spoke to him apologetically. “I'm Jon Snow. I'm not from 'ere. I just came 'ere to cause trouble, it seems. I'm so sorry to say, but your horse was shot down at Daenerys's farm.”

“Shot?” Sam asked, anguish for the beast filling his eyes.

“Yeah, I'm sorry. Euron Greyjoy's gun went off while the Sheriff was tryna detain 'im and the horse got shot right through the neck. He bled out pretty quick. I reckon there wasn't much time for sufferin'.”

“Will ‘e be alright?” asked Daenerys from the doorway.

Sam answered with cautious optimism “He's lost a lot of blood already, but I've seen men worse off come back from the dead.”

“Do you need any help?” Jon asked him.

Shaking his head, the young doctor replied. “No, no. I've got this. I work best when left alone. I get nervous workin' 'round other people actually.”

“Alright. Thank you, Sam,” Jon replied before stepping out of the room.

When they were in the hall, Daenerys wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at Jon with a sad calm about her. “I thought you'd died,” she said quietly, voice hoarse from the smoke.

Smiling softly, Jon replied “I reckon I thought so too for a bit.” Smile falling, he added “I'm so sorry, Dany. This was all my fault and now your home is gone.”

“It's just a house,” she replied, but her melancholy eyes and helpless pout showed she was being anything but flippant. “But it ain't your fault. You tried to save that girl? Took her away from Euron?”

“That man, Mr. Seaworth, took her from Euron. I came across 'em on the road an hour outta town with an injured mule, sayin' they were fixin' to go up to Montana, asked if I would help. I told 'em I couldn't be of assistance seein' as how I was goin' South and not North, but after I got a little way's down the road, I reckoned I couldn't just leave 'em like that. So, I turned back, but by then, Euron and his buddies had shown up to take Shireen back. Now, once I heard what Euron was doin' with that girl, I couldn't just let it be. Thought the best thing would be to create a diversion, so I ran out guns blazin' and was somehow able to hold off the lot of 'em while Shireen ran to Drogon. I never shoulda told her to go to your farm, though, Daenerys. I shoulda known I couldn't've fought off all four of those men by myself. I brought trouble to your farm after you specifically told me not to, and I put your life in danger --”

“It's alright,” Daenerys interrupted.

“It ain't.”

“It is,” she insisted, bringing her hand up to Jon's cheek. “I didn't have to let that girl in my home, and I surely didn't have to keep her there while Euron and his men threatened me, and I probably shouldn't've kept her there after Jorah showed up demandin' I release her. I just kept thinkin' back to when I was her age, wantin' so badly to run away from my husband, but knowin' it wouldn't've mattered 'cause no one was gonna help me.”

Jon whispered “I woulda helped you.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

* * * * *

The debridement process was hell on Shireen, as evident by how loudly she screamed as Gilly tended to her wound, and when it was all over, the young girl fell immediately to sleep on a sofa by the fireplace. Gilly insisted on fixing Daenerys a bath and afterward, went about fixing supper for everyone. Meanwhile, having done all he could for Sheriff Mormont, Sam went to work on Jon's injured shoulder.

By the time Daenerys had come down the stairs from her bath, having dressed in just her shift and a housecoat Gilly had let her borrow, Sam was just finishing up dressing Jon's wound, blood from having dug the bullet from his shoulder seeping into the white linen almost instantly.

Even with the pain, Jon couldn't help but smile happily at Daenery as she approached him cautiously, as if worried that her presence may hinder the healing process.

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

Jon simply nodded and held his hand out to her. After helping him to stand, Jon's leg muscles finally feeling the strain he had put on them through the day, he wrapped his right arm around Daenerys and held her close.

He smelled of sweat and smoke, but Daenerys didn't mind. In fact, she found herself adoring the scent as she breathed it in with her cheek upon his shoulder.

“I ain't ever leavin' you again,” Jon murmured tiredly into her freshly washed hair.

“Don't be foolish,” Daenerys replied, causing Jon to lean back from her enough to look into her eyes.

“I mean it.”

“Now, Jon Snow,” began Daenerys purposefully, a small smile playing on her lips, “whatever happened today, I don't want you thinkin' of me as some damsel in need of your constant protection.”

“I told you, I ain't leavin'.”

Shaking her head, she took Jon's hands into her own and told him “Yes, you are. 'Cause I don't want you resentin' me for keepin' you from your family --”

“I won't ever resent you --”

“I been takin' care of myself for six years. I think I can stand to do it for another couple of months.”

After a small sigh, Jon asked “What if I can't stand it?”

Daenerys gave his hands a squeeze and replied “We're gonna have our whole lives together, Jon. Assumin' you're fixin' to marry me. I don't ever recall you askin'.”

The corners of Jon's mouth stretched slowly into a grin. “Forgive me, Miss. You see, I ain't ever asked no one to marry me before. I would reckon, though, that a lady as decent as yourself deserves a ring upon her proposal. I ain't got a ring, but when I do, I'm gonna ask you to marry me proper. That's a promise.”

Daenerys averted her eyes down but smiled through her disappointment. As much as she wished she could just marry him right then and there, she rather liked the idea of being proposed to with a ring. The self-conscious part of her also feared that perhaps Jon would not return once he left. Perhaps he would die – he nearly died just outside of town that very morning – which would make her a widow once again. Perhaps he would meet another woman on his travels, prettier and with more to offer than Daenerys.

“Hey now,” Jon whispered down at her before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I don't want you bein' too happy, alright? Because I am gonna come back to you, and whether you've got my ring on your finger yet or not, I'm gonna be tellin' everyone I meet in this land that Daenerys Targaryen is the love of my life and that I'm gonna be her husband. . . if she don't shoot me off her property the second I set foot on it.”

A blush spread across her cheeks as she lifted her eyes to meet his once more. “Don't worry. I'm only gonna shoot ya if ya don't come back.”

Chapter Text

Jon had left after the hanging, which was prolonged a few days until Sheriff Mormont was on his feet, refusing to let anyone preside over the execution but him. Mr. Baratheon, Shireen's father, attempted to sell her to the brothel now that she was without a husband, but Sheriff Jorah Mormont put a stop to that, pointing out that she ceased being his legal obligation the moment her marriage was final, and as Euron Greyjoy's lawful widow, Shireen Baratheon was his sole beneficiary, inheriting the Greyjoy Hotel and any wealth therefrom. Of course, a thirteen-year-old girl could not run a hotel all on her own, but good old Davos Seaworth was quick to step in as General Manager to handle major operations until Shireen would come of age.

Despite Daenerys's objections, Shireen insisted that she accept a substantial restitution from the Greyjoy estate for her destroyed home, even going so far as to pay the laborers directly for added services, like building out Daenerys's barn.

Daenerys spent her days on the farm tending to her many duties and slept in the hotel free of charge at night after she and Shireen cooked supper together. The girls had become akin to sisters, something neither one of them ever had, and Shireen's company was a welcomed comfort while Jon was away. He did indeed write to her every chance he got, but his short letters about how much he missed her and loved her were nothing compared to hearing the words from Jon's own mouth.

It was nearly four months before Daenerys was able to move into her newly built home. She had asked for it to be kept similar to her original house, except it was almost twice the size with a spacious living room, kitchen, and formal dining room, and the second floor had not two bedrooms, but four. She felt like a queen walking in, never in a million years thinking that she would own a home so large. It was too large, with just her, and she would sometimes miss her quaint cottage, but she knew that in due time, the extra space would be put to good use.

Not a day went by that she didn't think of Jon. Usually, they were happy thoughts, but sometimes they were less optimistic. If ever two weeks went by without her receiving a letter, she would go into a panic until one finally arrived, convinced he had died or left her for good. Because he was always on the move, Daenerys could never write back to him, and this led her to believe that Jon would forget how much she loved him and fall into the arms of another woman. That didn't feel like Jon, but the thoughts intruded her mind all the same.

When four months turned to five and the first snowfall of the winter came down on her farm, Daenerys really began to worry. She found herself unable to complete her daily chores or even perform some of her usual tasks and was forced to hire a couple of young men from town to help her. Even Shireen began to come by most afternoons after her morning shifts at the hotel to help Daenerys around the house. Sometimes, she would stay the night, even sleep beside Daenerys in bed on nights when she felt particularly lonesome.

When five months turned to six, Daenerys's resolve was quickly shattering. Jon was supposed to be back by winter, but winter had come and yet Jon was nowhere to be found. Having to be cooped up indoors made the loneliness and the paranoia worse. She had begun knitting and quilting constantly to try to busy her mind. What few novels she’d collected since the fire sat unread – their romances too painful to read.

When six months turned to seven, Daenerys was sure that Jon had forgotten all about her, but no matter how hard she tried, Jon's face never left her mind. She could still smell him if she thought of him just right. She found herself crying herself to sleep on the nights that Shireen didn't stay over. It was like losing her husband all over again, except at least when he died, there was some closure in it, a gravestone to lay flowers beside in the plot beside the church in town.

Shireen was forever an optimist. She worshiped Jon for saving her and Davos that day and refused to believe that he wouldn't stay true to his word. She also refused to believe that the great Jon Snow could ever even die. But, no matter how much she told Daenerys that he would surely come back, Daenerys wasn't so certain.

“It's 'cause of the weather, Dany,” Shireen had insisted all winter long, having begun to seldom use the pet name only Jon and her long-departed family members ever called her. “No one's gettin' any mail. I bet that when the roads clear you're gonna be downright flooded with letters from Jon tellin' you how sorry ‘e is for bein' so late.”

Maybe she was right, but that didn't change the fact that Jon was supposed to have been back months ago. Christmas had come and gone. They were into a brand new year and still he had yet to come back. Daenerys had begun to despise Jon. She hated him for not coming back, for not finding a way to get a message to her in more than three months, for making her fall in love with him in the first place.

“No one is ever gonna wanna marry me now,” Daenerys told Shireen as they sat together by the fire after eating a late breakfast. Following a sleepless night, this morning had been particularly melancholic for Daenerys and she clutched her late-son's rag doll in her hands for comfort.

“That ain't true,” Shireen replied, resting her cheek atop Daenerys's shoulder. “You probably been proposed to more times than anyone in history and that ain't gonna change.”

Daenerys felt her eyes begin to well up with tears, realizing that this was the first time Shireen had implied that Jon might not actually return. It was nearly Spring. The roads had begun to clear, the snow had begun to dissipate and, as Shireen predicated, Daenerys did receive an overflow of letters Jon had written to her, but none of them postmarked later than January, more than two months ago. And now, it had been almost nine months total since Daenerys last saw him.

“Besides, you're the most beautiful lady I ever seen,” Shireen continued. “Ain't no one ever gonna wanna marry me. That's for sure. I'm hideous.”

“Hush,” Daenerys told her softly, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You ain't hideous and when you're old enough, suitors are gonna be linin' up and down Main Street to ask for your hand. You'll be wishin' you were hideous then.”

Not a half hour later, there was a light knock on the front door. Shireen hopped up and threw on her overcoat before going to the door. Daenerys assumed it was one of her hired hands but hoped that it was concerning a matter simple enough for Shireen to handle, because just the thought of rising from the sofa made her back hurt.

She pulled her newest knitting project into her lap, a blanket in yellow and white to mirror the one lost in the fire, but she didn't get through three stitches before sensing something suspicious about the way Shireen sounded as she ran out onto the porch, leaving the front door wide open and allowing a biting breeze to waft through the house.

Grumbling with annoyance at having to stand, Daenerys begrudgingly did just that. She threw a thick shall around her shoulders and walked to the door.

She thought it was an illusion at first, a hallucination, that the man Shireen was embracing was just one of the young hands who’d been coming over to help tend to her farm while Daenerys was stuck indoors, forced to live with the less-than-stellar job they did. But when Shireen stepped back and the man straighten up and turned to Daenerys, even under the brim of his hat, Daenerys would know those dark eyes anywhere.

“Daenerys,” he spoke, her name dripping from his mouth like honey as he removed his hat, the corner of his mouth curving in a nervous smile. “Ain't you a sight for sore eyes. Even more beautiful than I remember.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She remained standing in place, one hand on the doorframe and the other clutched in the fabric of her shall, obscuring her frame.

“Saw Ghost on our way in” Jon began with an awkward charm. “I reckon it was near impossible to see 'im durin' the thick of winter. I love the house. Think I coulda done a better job on that roof though. And the barn. . . But I’m glad it got done.” When Daenerys remained silent, he stepped aside and glanced behind him at a boy of fourteen with tightly curled hair standing at the bottom of the porch steps, “this ‘ere's my youngest brother, Rickon Stark.”

The boy, Rickon, stepped up the porch stairs, stopping just before the threshold and holding out his hand with a kind smile. “I heard a lot about you, ma’am.”

Though both overwhelmed and perplexed, Daenerys offered the boy a small smile in return and as she shook his hand, her shall fell open, and that was precisely when Jon realized the true weight of his absence.

Noticing Jon’s paralysis, Daenerys swallowed and told Shireen to take Rickon to the well to pump fresh water for the horses they’d ridden in on.

Shireen nodded and seemed to blush when Rickon turned to her. She raked her fingers through her hair so that it might conceal the half of her face wrinkled with scarring and then they were on their way, a slight skip in their step at their new acquaintanceship. Daenerys and Jon's eyes followed the two young teens until they were out of earshot.

Closing the gap between them with careful steps, Jon asked Daenerys in that low, husky voice she had longed to hear again for nine long months “Am I too late?”

With only time to process the question at its surface value, Daenerys raised her hand and swung it purposefully, her palm colliding with Jon's cheek in a bitter slap.

She turned her back to Jon, lowering her face into her stinging palm, her other hand resting on her swollen belly. She flinched when his hand came to rest on her shoulder, reminding her of the first time he had ever touched her.

“I’m so sorry. So much happened, Daenerys. I wanna tell ya everything,” he said with such a sadness in his tone that Daenerys had to fight not to forgive him right then. “Is it. . . mine?”

Spinning around, Daenerys wanted to smack him again but refrained, her emotions bubbling up in other ways – tears rolled down her cheeks quicker than she could swipe them away. “How can you ask me that?!”

“I’m sorry,” he insisted and his hands now clasped her shoulders purposefully. “Look at me, Dany.” She looked. “I’m just surprised, alright? I didn’t expect. . . How far along. . ?”

“Gilly says any day now,” she mumbled quietly.

He brought her against him, holding her tight and feeling the curve of her belly against him, but Daenerys only allowed him a few moments affection before she pushed away.

“You forgot about me,” she accused of him.

“Never. Not one second went by that I didn’t think of you.”

“You stopped writin’.”

“There was so much goin’ on. My brother. . . he was in a bad place.”

“Don’t blame ‘im,” she snapped, “You promised me, and you lied. I thought you were dead, or that maybe you ran off with someone else. I thought you forgot about me.”

“I would never –”

“Well what am I supposed ta think?!” she shouted as her chin quivered and her eyes watered. “I hate you, Jon Snow! I don’t want you anywhere near me. Get out of my house.”

He reached out to touch her once more. “Dany –”

She flinched away. “Get out or I swear I’ll get my gun!”

Jon did not try to touch her again, but he also did not abide by her command. He remained standing before her in the foyer in front of the opened door and he reached into his vest pocket, retrieving from it a balled-up handkerchief. Daenerys did not want to look. She did not want to care what he was doing or that he was still standing there at all. She did not want to love him still after all he’d put her through with his absence, but he was Jon Snow and he was hers, so she let her eyes follow his hands as they carefully unfurled the handkerchief.

It was still as white as the day Daenerys had embroidered her name onto it before the fire, as if he’d had it in his pocket for all those months keeping it safe and clean. But it was not the care Jon took that left Daenerys speechless, it was what he’d had wrapped up in that handkerchief – something else to keep safe and clean. Jon tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket so that all that remained in his palm was a silver ring that sparkled with about a dozen little diamonds all situated in a dome like they were all a different flower in a bouquet.

As Jon descended to one knee before her, Daenerys’s countenance lost all of its tension. Her shoulders dropped and her eyes softened. Her arms slipped to her sides and her bottom lip crept between her teeth. For nine months all she dreamed of was seeing Jon Snow on one knee but now that it was happening, she couldn’t believe the sight.

“Dany. . .” he spoke softly. The beginning of a question that had been on the tip of his tongue since the night they first made love. He took her left hand into his, savoring the feel of her delicate skin lest she refuse his proposal and forbid him from ever touching her again. “I know I said I’d be back by winter, and I know I failed you in that regard, but I also promised you that as soon as I got back ‘ere, I wouldn’t never leave your side. That’s a promise I will keep, given you do me the honor. So, Daenerys Targaryen, will you be my wife?”

Shaking her head, Daenerys looked away, but she did not pull her hand from Jon’s gentle grasp. “I don’t forgive you.”

“Don’t forgive me. Marry me.”

“How can I marry you when I hate you?”

“Because you love me more,” he replied. “Unless you forgot about me.”

Finally, Daenerys looked down at him sternly. “I wish I did.”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s too much,” she said of the ring, and Jon took that as a sign and slid it onto her ring finger to find it was a perfect fit. “How did you get somethin’ like this? You didn’t steal it, did ya?”

His smile widened. “I didn’t steal it.”

“‘Cause if your bringin’ trouble to my farm, Jon Snow –”

“You’ll do what?”

Daenerys took his face in her hands. His hair was even longer now and greasy from a long ride. She let her fingers dip between the curls. “I’ll just have ta kill all of ‘em.”

His eyes sparkled. “Is that a yes?”

Feigning ignorance, Daenerys replied “A yes to what? I’ve already forgotten the question.”

“Will you marry me?”

The words released her smile and she answered succinctly. “I’ll marry you.”

Jon popped up, taking Daenerys into his arms and kissing her the way he wanted to as soon as he saw her just minutes before. For the first time in months, Daenerys felt light on her feet with Jon’s arms around her waist, holding her to him while they kissed like young lovers.

That evening they ate supper together. The two of them with Shireen and Rickon. Jon held Daenerys’s had atop the table as he ate her cooking, his thumb playing with the dome of her engagement ring.

“You sure it’s alright me stayin’ ‘ere, ma’am?” asked Rickon to Daenerys and Shireen perked up like she already had a vested interest in the outcome of his question.

“Of course,” replied Daenerys “but only if you quit that ma’am business. Makes me feel like an old woman. You can call me Daenerys.”

The boy smiled shyly and turned back to his food, but not before sharing a quick glance with Shireen. Daenerys’s hand was raised to Jon’s mouth and he kissed her knuckles, causing her cheeks to redden, but even with her eyes so bashfully downcast at her plate, Daenerys reckoned she was the happiest she’d ever been at this, a real family supper. Her with Jon, the father of her child who kicked gleefully within her womb, and Jon with his sweet brother. Her with Shireen, a near sister, and Shireen with her hero and fast-made friend.

When their plates were cleared, they all moved to the living room where they sat by the fire and Jon told tales of his journey, so arduous and breathtaking. Shireen sat at the edge of her chair, listening with wide-eyed enchantment, but Daenerys simply rested her cheek against Jon’s shoulder and took pleasure in the sound of his voice more so than the words he spoke. His arm was around her, keeping her warm.

As they all began to tire, Daenerys took Rickon upstairs to fix up a bed for him in one of the spare rooms. While they worked, Rickon offered her small glimpses of his troubled life spent in the Carolinas over the years, just enough for Daenerys to get a flavor of why Jon felt compelled to travel him thousands of miles across the country. She did not press for details when his voice would trail off, because the why did not matter to her. Rickon was Jon’s brother and so, in her mind, he belonged in her home as much as Jon did.

“You ever work on a farm before?” asked Daenerys as she smoothed a thick quilt over the bed sheets.

“No, ma’am,” replied Rickon. “I mean. . . No, Daenerys.”

She rounded and bed and placed her hand upon his shoulder. “Alright, well you get lots of rest tonight then, ‘cause tomorrow I’mma put ya to work,” Daenerys warned the boy with a sweet smile so as not to let him worry. She’d go easy on him for a time.

By the time Daenerys returned to the living room, Shireen was hunched over the arm of her chair, sleeping soundly and Jon was flipping through the pages of a novel from the bookshelf. Daenerys ran her fingers through Shireen’s hair affectionately, waking the girl just enough for Daenerys to instruct her to head upstairs for bed.

The young teen walked clumsily in her state up the stairs, and Daenerys regained her spot beside Jon, falling heavily against his side.

“You been keepin’ ‘er around?” asked Jon.

Daenerys hummed in the affirmative. “You got me used to not bein’ alone.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I never liked the idea of you bein’ alone. I reckon I’d rather you be with another man if it was between that and you bein’ all on your own.”

“Now why would I need to be with a man when I got you?”

“You’re a funny gal, Daenerys.”

She scrunched her nose at him and he kissed her on the mouth and as soon as Daenerys kissed him back, he was hopping up from the sofa and shoving the coffee table to the very edge of the room.

“What’re you doin?” asked Daenerys suspiciously.

“Somethin’ I been wantin’ to do for nine months.” He stood straight and proper before her and held out his hand from her to take.

She shook her head. “I can’t, Jon. I’m even more of a clod these days. My balance is all off.”

“Just for a little?” he asked with such precious optimism.

With a smile, she relented and allowed Jon to help her to her feet. One arm curled around her waist while his other hand never left her own. He held her close and she rested her cheek upon his shoulder. They began to dance in that slow, somber way with short steps and closed eyes.

“You hear the music?” asked Jon softly.

Daenerys shook her head and Jon proceeded to hum a tune – a waltz. She felt the vibrations of his throat against her forehead, lulling her into a gentle serenity. Daenerys thought she could have danced with Jon for the rest of her days, but the little one growing inside of her, so anxious to leave its confines and greet the world, had other plans.

“Jon,” she spoke, looking up to his eyes with a sudden, sorrowful urgency. “I’m afraid.”

His head shook, though his eyes filled with concern. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right ‘ere.”

A pained expression washed over Daenerys’s face and her knees suddenly felt brittle. Down she went, falling slowly to the floor with Jon keeping his hands on her the whole way. A heavy groan escaped her as the sharp, churning pain in her abdomen increased and then her skirt was wet with fluid.

“What should I do?” Jon asked frantically.

“Get Gilly and Sam,” she replied quickly and with a clenched jaw. “Hurry, Jon. Hurry.”

He had to pry his hand from hers she was gripping it so tightly, and then he pressed a firm kiss to her cheek before scrambling out the front door.

Never had Jon ridden faster in his life and never had he so brazenly beat at a front door with no regard for the time, but he couldn’t let Daenerys down again. Sam and Gilly were all smiles to see Jon again, but there was no time to catch up. By the time Jon got them both back to the house, Daenerys was red-faced, sweat-drenched and heaving for every breath. Shireen and Rickon were on either side of her, Daenerys’s anguished noises having woken them up.

Sam and Gilly seemed to know exactly what to do and while they milled about the house gathering supplies, Jon replaced Rickon on the floor beside Daenerys and put his hand back into hers. She was on her knees, shifting about with her free hand pressed into the side of her belly.

“Everythin’s gonna be alright,” said Jon in as calm a manner as he could manage, though inwardly he was in a full-fledged panic.

Daenerys shook her head violently. “No. No, it ain’t alright. It ain’t alright, Jon.”

Gilly brought pillows and blankets and Sam a basin full of water with clean rags. He drenched one of them and pressed it to Daenerys’s forehead. The moist rag seemed to sooth her, because she immediately put her hand to it, holding it in place and letting the water dribble from the fabric and down her face. Gilly helped Daenerys to remove her dress and her house shoes until she was clothed only in her shift and then she lied back on the pillows so that Sam could inspect the progress of her delivery. Jon reclined with her, putting his arm under Daenerys’s head and whenever she felt the need to scream, she did so through gritted teeth and with her face pressed against Jon’s chest. He dared not look between her legs. He was not even tempted. The baby had Gilly and Sam to help it enter the world, but Daenerys only had Jon to get her through it what with Shireen being just a girl and not mentally equipped to sooth a woman through childbirth.

At one point, Gilly grew unnerved with Sam’s technique and pushed him aside. “Never let a man do a woman’s job,” she said and Sam’s expression seemed to agree with the statement.

It would be another half hour before their child would breathe his first breaths and while Jon had never seen Daenerys in such a frightful state, he reckoned he’s never been so afraid in his life either. The final push soon brought the slippery babe into Gilly’s arms and as a crackling wail left his little lungs, Daenerys was so overcome that she began to laugh through her tears.

“Here’s your son,” Gilly said cheerfully, bringing the tiny, wiggling thing to lay upon Daenerys’s chest.

What a sight to behold. Jon gazed upon the face of the woman he loved as she gazed with such joyful wonderment at the dark-eyed babe, thin wisps of dark hair stuck to his head with mucus, but Jon kissed that little head anyway, because that was his son.

“I reckon this wasn’t what you expected ta be comin’ home to,” Daenerys spoke hoarsely and with a glimmer in her eye like they were the only people who existed – the three of them.

“No, it’s ain’t. It’s so much more,” he replied. “I just wish I’d’ve married you before ‘e was born. That’s my biggest regret. I should’a been ‘ere sooner. I should’a tried harder to be ‘ere.”

Her head shook. “It don’t matter. He don’t know the difference. We’re ‘is mommy and daddy. That’s all that matters to ‘im.”

After a kiss to her temple, Jon whispered “You did amazin’.”

“I was a mess.”

“A beautiful mess.”

* * * * *

Sam and Gilly stayed until the first light to make sure Mom and babe were doing well and then they set off back to their home in town to prepare for their appointments. Shireen and Rickon had fallen soundly asleep in their respective bedrooms, exhausted from such an eventful night, and as Daenerys fell in and out of her own slumber up in her own bed, Jon stayed up to tidy up the living room, to scrub the carpet of Daenerys’s waters and soak the blankets that were her birthing bed in a barrel of boiled water.

When the boys showed up, the young men who tended to Daenerys’s farm while she was unable, Jon instructed them to simply go about their daily routine to the best of their ability. Daenerys would be in no state to supervise and Jon did not wish to leave the house until he was sure she’d be back on her feet.

Alone in the kitchen that morn, Jon did what he could to fix an early lunch and as the bread baked, there was a gentle tapping at the front door. Rather than one of the hands coming to ask a question of his duties, Jon opened the door to greet Jorah Mormont, that familiar silver star still pinned to his lapel.

“Now I thought I’d find you ‘ere,” Jorah spoke in lieu of a good morning. “Word around town is that Miss Daenerys had her child in the nighttime hours. I reckoned I better get down ‘ere to offer my congratulations. To you both I suppose.”

Jon shook the older man’s hand and allowed him inside. “I think she’s gonna be alright,” he said.

Gazing up at the stairs, Jorah hooked his thumbs into his belt and released a sigh. “You ain’t gonna let that babe be a bastard now, are ya?”

Jon fumed. “That’s my wife up there. We might not be married yet under the eyes of the Lord, but that’s my wife.”

Jorah looked to Jon then. “So you’re back for good then?”

“That’s right.”

Stepping closer to Jon, the Sheriff lowered his voice like a secret and spoke “You know, the town’s gettin’ bigger. More opportunities what with the railroad stopping not long from ‘ere. I could use another Deputy ta keep things in line around ‘ere. You think you’d be interested in wearin’ a badge?”

With a contemplative look, Jon’s eyes raised to the stairs, considering his family. “I dunno, Sheriff. Would have ta speak with Daenerys about such a matter.”

“‘Course. You just let me know. I reckon you’d be a good fit, and half the town’s already wary of ya. You developed quite a reputation for yourself in your short time spent in our town, Mr. Snow.”

They shared a small chuckle, and then Jorah added “You mind if I go check in on Daenerys?”

Jon led the Sheriff up the stairs, gave Daenerys’s slightly ajar bedroom door a short knock and then pushed it the rest of the way open. The shutters were pulled shut, casting the room in a gray hue and Daenerys was sitting half under the blankets, her back propped by two pillows, cradling the bundle in her arms to her chest.

“Hi,” she breathed a whisper as Jon entered her room.

“You should be sleepin’.”

“I know. I just wanna look at ‘im longer.”

“Sheriff’s ‘ere to check up on ya.”

Daenerys gave a nod and Jon let Sheriff Mormont into the room. The older man removed his hat and held it to his chest until he hung it on the back of a chair that he pulled up by Daenerys’s bedside. The babe in her embrace stirred, raising a skinny arm out of his swaddle to grasp at the air a few times before he drifted back off to sleep.

“How’re you feelin’?” asked Jorah.

“I feel already. I reckon I’m quite a sight, though.”

“You look just fine, Daenerys.” Jorah leaned in just enough to see the little thing all wrapped up in wool, his rose-colored cheeks and wrinkled forehead. “You got a name for ‘im yet?”

A cheeky smile, Daenerys looked to Jon who’d taken to lean against the wardrobe by the door, watching the two talk with just a hint of jealousy in knowing the Sheriff’s previous infatuation with his betrothed. “I got a name for ‘im.”

“You do, do ya?” Jon asked quietly, the corner of his mouth raising. “And when were you gonna tell the father about this name you got all picked out?”

Though she knew Jon was being lighthearted, Daenerys’s expression fell, replaced by a solemn apprehension at his potential dismissal of her idea. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout namin’ ‘im after my uncle. Aemon. Figured, he looks just like you. May as well ‘ave a Targaryen name at least.”

Jon offered an encouraging nod, rather liking the sound of the name as it rolled off Daenery’s tongue. Lil’ Aemon Snow from the farm over the hill.

“Maybe the next one’ll look more like you,” spoke the Sheriff as he stood. He leaned down and pressed a ginger kiss to the top of Daenerys’s head before taking his hat back into his hands.

“You wanna stay for lunch?” asked Jon, but the Sheriff shook his head saying he best be off.

After seeing the older man to his horse, Jon finished up cooking and then went to wake up his brother and Shireen. They ate at the table and Jon fixed a plate for Daenerys, taking it up to her room, but when he reached her bedside, she was fast asleep, head lulled against her shoulder as she sat in the same position as when he left her.

Carefully, Jon scooped little Aemon up in his own arms and placed him instead inside the wicker bassinette by the window. When Jon put his arms under Daenerys to slide her further down under the covers, she blinked her eyes open and tiredly asked “Where is ‘e?”

“Don’t fret. He’s just fine. You gotta get some sleep.”

“Jon.” She took hold of his hand and held it tight. Her eyes drifted shut as she sunk into the mattress and she said “Stay with me.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” replied Jon.

Grip softening, Daenerys released his hand and he was able to pull off his boots. As he rid himself of his vest and belt, Jon gazed down at his sweet sleeping son. “I shoulda built you this bassinette,” he whispered. “I’ll start buildin’ you a new one tomorrow and then you’ll always know your safe, ‘cause your daddy built it for ya. And then one day, I’ll teach ya how to build one yourself so that your son’ll always know ‘e’s safe, too.” Jon grazed the pad of his thumb across Aemon’s chubby cheek and over his button nose. He leaned down and touched his own nose to Aemon’s new skin and breathed “I love you, son,” against it.

Jon slid into bed and pulled Daenerys’s sleeping form to him and held her tenderly to his chest. And in just the way Daenerys had found it so difficult to shut her eyes when she could instead look upon Aemon’s precious face, Jon struggled to fathom shutting his own when he could simply watch his love lying in his arms, for Jon Snow had a new mission now. He had found his family, and now it was his job, above all others, to keep them safe.

THE END