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Chapter Text

Jon and Daenerys are in Winterfell, in a small living room. The fire crackles in the hearth. However, it is not enough to warm the atmosphere, which is colder than the northern air. Each one tries to make themselves understood. But they brush against each other, without managing to touch. As if an invisible wall had risen between them.

[…]

- I owe them the truth, said Jon, his throat tight.

He knows. That she is right. But he can't lie to them. Not to them.

- Even if the truth destroys us? says Daenerys, her teeth clenched, as if to contain all her hatred and despair.

She feels that he doesn't understand. Her voice is almost resigned, but the sorrow shines thru her words.

- It won’t, Jon protests softly, his voice breaking, as if in a desperate attempt to make her understand his way of seeing things.

As if he were telling her "it will be okay."

- It will, Dany replies in a choked voice, tears in her eyes.

She gently shakes her head from right to left, her chin trembles. She reaches out her hands, grips the arms of the man she loves. She squeezes her fingers to convey everything she feels, her heart on the verge of spilling over.

- I have never begged for anything, she whispers, tears blurring her vision.

She takes a shaky breath.

- But I’m begging you. Don't do this. Please.

She utters the last word in a whisper, a desperate murmur. As she seeks his gaze, broken. He breaths strongly. He steps back slightly, raises his hands. And brushes her cheeks, before gently cupping them between his palms.. He finally raises his gaze and locks his eyes with hers. A thin, tired smile stretches his lips as she looks at him, practically on the verge of breaking down.

- You are my queen. Nothing will change that.

He whispers these words as if he had never been so sure of himself in his entire life. His voice is firm, assured. She looks at him with hope.
 

- And they are my family. We can live together.

Daenerys shuts down. He doesn’t understand. He will never understand. The tears rise again, she holds them back.

- But I'm your family too.

His sentence echoed like a plea, a final call. He breathes harder. She hit the nail on the head. He hesitates. Don't answer. Daenerys felt her heart break. She collapses inwardly. She steps back and frees herself from his hands.

- I understood very well that I would never matter as much to you as they do, she said bitterly, almost with hatred.

Her voice becomes hurtful. But she really means it. She moves away again, a look of pure pain on her face. She turns away, but he catches her, forcing her to look at him.

- Why do you say that ? he whispers, hurt.

- What do you think ? she spits out, involuntarily raising her voice, as her whole body trembles with an overflow of emotions.

Rage, pain, everything mixes within her.

- You look at me as if I were a stranger. Since you know... I disgust you. I trusted you. And you... and you...
Her voice breaks as hatred and despair jostle within her. The words come out like venom.

- Because you think it's easy for me?

Jon's voice rang out like a stab, tearing thru the heavy silence filled with a dull pain that had settled between them.

-You think it's easy for me ? he retorts, grumbling despite himself.

His hand tightens around Daenerys's arm.

- I learned that I am your nephew, that I am heir to a throne I don't want ! That my father is not who I thot he was. That I am not a bastard ! How can you believe for a single second that it doesn't affect me !

His breath becomes shorter, his words burst violently out of his mouth, held back for far too long. Anger, sorrow, almost fear, resonate in his intonation.

- But I have nothing to do with it ! Daenerys cries, tears now streaming down her cheeks. I believed in you ! I thot I could trust you ! But you betrayed me, you gave me hope, then you let me down, just like all the others ! Why do you make me carry all this ?

The tears keep flowing, while her chin trembles. She clenches her teeth, her jaw tightens.

- But because you're concerned ! Jon thunders, his voice breaking. Don't you think it's already hard enough for me to try to understand my own feelings, now that I know everything they involve ? I always try my best, and it's never enough !

They look each other straight in the eyes, out of breath. Their eyes are filled with too many emotions, more than they can contain.

- So it's my fault ? Daenerys groaned, her heart in pieces, ravaged by grief and hatred.

- I never said that, Jon breathes, desperate. I... I don't know, I don't know anymore.

Daenerys turns around, but he holds her back.

- Wait... please...

His voice becomes almost pleading.

- Why ? she hisses. You're not going to listen to me. I laid myself bare before you, I gave you everything. But you don't believe me, you don't listen to me, you betrayed me !

Her cheeks are flooded, her eyes shine even more, filled with salty, bitter water.

- I never betrayed you ! almost shouts Jon, furious and broken. Why do you say that? Do you want to hurt me ? Is that your goal ?

Daenerys shakes her head, closed off.

- You don't understand anything, she whispers.

- But I'm trying ! I'm trying with all my might !

His voice wavers, he looks her straight in the eyes.

- Tell me. What I must do to understand, he begs.

His eyes desperately seek an answer in Daenerys'. She tries to escape, he holds her tighter.

- I won't let you go. Not this time, he growls, his voice broken.

She struggles, tears roll down her cheeks. And... she explodes.

- I can't take it anymore ! I can't stand fighting constantly for people who hate me anymore, I can't stand losing those I love anymore, I can't stand being betrayed by everyone I trust anymore, I can't take it anymore! I thought you loved me, I loved you, I love you ! But you, you distance yourself, you give me false hopes, then you back away ! Do you realize how much it hurts me ?

She pauses, her breath ragged. A lump grows in her throat, she refuses to let it burst. Her bitterness, her rage, her despair, escape in waves, violent and disordered.

- I come to help you, but I lose everything ! And what do I get in return ? Hate ! And then... I also learn that I'm losing you ? I feel like you're drifting away, you, the last person I had absolute trust in ! I don't know what to do anymore, I'm afraid of losing you ! Is it too complicated for you to realize how much I care about you ? Yes, surely. You, you are appreciated, you have a family.

Her voice breaks once more, sobs rise, she shakes her head, refuses to give in.

- Me, I have nothing. I have nothing left, she spits out. You were the last...

Her voice cuts off as her head suddenly rests against a warm and firm fabric. She blinks, surprised. Jon wraps his arms around her, pulls her close. He surrounds her with his presence, a hand in her hair, inviting her head to rest against him.

She hears his heart beating rapidly thru his coat, as her tear-filled cheek gently rests against his chest. He hugs her tighter.

- Let me go !

She thrashes, struggles while crying. His voice suddenly rang out, broken.

- Forgive me, Dany. You won't be alone anymore. Sorry. I am so, so sorry. Sorry... I'm here, now.

The tears rise violently in her eyes and she gives up all resistance. The sobs finally give way, she collapses into his arms. He holds her against him, apologizing tirelessly, also in tears, and she cries like she has never dared to do in front of anyone.

She clings to him as if he were the last person connecting her to the real world. He hugs her tighter, while her sobs finally escape, tearing her throat in painful gasps.

He kneels with her, and gently strokes her back, like one would comfort a child. She drops her barriers, her tears stream down her cheeks, inexhaustible, soaking her clothes. He doesn't care. He cradles her against him as she breaks in his arms. She falls.



But she finally has someone to catch her.



She closes her eyes, her forehead against his shoulder, her tears wetting his tunic. His firm arms surround her, gently pressing her against him. She would like to be angry, break free, tell him that he understands nothing and will never understand, that he abandoned her. That more than anything, it's his gaze on her, that gaze that has changed, that breaks her inside.

But she is incapable of it. Because she doesn't think so. He understands her, quite the contrary, and far too much. How long had it been since she had been comforted like this ? Worse, had anyone in her entire life ever taken her in their arms, even just once, simply to comfort her ? She doesn't know anymore.

Her chin starts to tremble again. Jon seems to feel her tears rolling again, refusing to stop despite all her efforts. He tightened his grip on her waist, hugged her a little closer, and ran his other hand thru her hair, gently caressing the back of her neck.

- Sorry, he whispers once again.

                                                                        ***

Jon felt Daenerys's fingers grip his tunic tighter on his back, as her slender body convulsed under a fresh assault of sobs. He has the vivid sensation that his heart is rising into his throat, and a violent wave of guilt washes over him.

He is completely lost, torn by his feelings. Part of him just wants to hug her, kiss her, promise her that everything will be alright, tell her that he loves her. But he can't. He doesn't know anymore, he's lost. He feels like his father, or rather the one he thought was his father, is watching him every time he gives in to his love.

Staring at him with disgust, like all his ancestors. She is your aunt. He would have preferred to never know. He no longer knows how to respond to her love without being overwhelmed by guilt.

But right now, the violent remorse he feels is for her. He gave her contradictory signs, loved her and then abruptly distanced himself, leaving her alone in her doubts and sorrow. Alone, in the middle of the North that stared at her, and still stares at her coldly despite all she has done for them – despite all that he, Jon, asked her to do and that she did -. Despite all her losses. He only now realizes the pain she must have felt. He had suspected it, somewhere, she had lost her son, as well as the one she considered her father. But he had always seen her as strong, even tho she had opened up to him more than anyone else. He had always thought she was strong enough to handle all of this.

But no one is powerfull enough to fight against such loneliness, such sorrow, such despair. And he had abandoned her at the moment when she needed him the most, making her bear the weight of his own indecisions. She's right. She's not to blame. Jon feels her body against his again, and realizes how frail and small she seems to him. He slowly strokes her back with his thumb. Her fingers are clenched on his tunic, and she clings to him as if she were begging him not to let go, not to abandon her.

A new wave of guilt washes over him. Not so long ago, she would have melted, completely relaxed in his embrace, in that way that filled his heart with love.

But now, she's just afraid he'll leave. And he can't blame her, he just broke free from their embrace barely a few minutes earlier. Her arms tightened around him and her muffled sobs broke his heart. He slides his own arms a little further under hers, and gently pulls her closer to him, pressing her against his chest. He strokes her back, thinking of only one thing : to soothe her. That she feels good. That for once, she feels safe, with him.

He forms light, gentle, and regular circles on her shoulder blades, her neck, following her spine. And little by little, he feels her shift. Slowly. Her body slumps a little more against his, her breathing becomes more regular, her tears stop flowing. Her fingers finally relax, still holding onto his tunic, but slowly unclenching. He rocks her for a moment longer, and realizes without knowing how much time has passed that she has fallen asleep. He looks at her face nestled in his neck, finally looking unwinded. His heart overflows with an almost painful love. He is still just as lost about what he should do, about his duty, his choices, his feelings.

But he is sure of one thing. He will never let her feel that alone again. He turns his head slightly, rests his forehead against her hair, gently inhales her scent.

And he whispers "I promise."

Chapter Text

Daenerys wakes up gently, initially lost. Her tongue feels a bit pasty, her eyes dry. She suddenly sits up abruptly, the memories of the previous night flooding back into her mind.

She realizes she is in her bed, in the room dedicated to her in Winterfell. She lifts the blankets covering her body. She had obviously been changed and put to bed. A wave of contradictory feelings overwhelmed Daenerys. The shame of collapsing into Jon's arms the previous night burns her cheeks. Worse, he had also brought her back to bed, apparently.

He had also... changed her ? She doesn't know what to think of this information, but her face gets a little warmer again. She suddenly hears a knock at the door.

- Can I come in?

Daenerys recognizes Missandei's gentle voice. She relaxes a bit and leans back against her pillows. A hint of guilt washes over her. She told Jon that he is the last one who matters to her and at the moment, she meant it. But now that she has a slightly clearer mind, she realizes that she carries Missandei truly deeply in her heart, like a real sister. She, at least, is still there. As long as she's there, everything is fine.

- Of course, she replies.

The young woman opens the door, and closes it as she steps into the room.

- Did you sleep well ? she inquired.

Daenerys is about to respond automatically, but closes her mouth. She probably slept better than she had in weeks. Since the boat with Jon, actually. When she had fallen asleep against him after...

Her cheeks flush again, and she shakes her head, refusing to think about their moment together. It's painful enough as it is, and she hates herself for hoping that they can one day return to their previous relationship, even after all his actions that have clearly shown her that his feelings have changed.

But... the day before, the way he had comforted her... and he had told her that his feelings for her were incredibly strong. She closes her eyes, annoyed with herself for still having that hope. This violent hope of finding him again, him and the way he used to behave with her before the revelation about...

She lets out a frustrated grunt. Her thoughts are definitely not going in the direction she wants today. She quickly reopens her eyes, smiles guiltily at Missandei, suddenly remembering her presence and her question.

- Very well, thank you. And you?

- Good too.

Daenerys hesitates for a moment, then finally asks.

- Jon…

The young woman seems to hesitate. She moves forward and sits down next to her. She gently takes her silver strands between her fingers and begins to slowly brush her hair. Daenerys closes her eyes. This little ritual every morning calms her. Missandei's hands are soft, caring. She eventually answers his implicit question.

- He brought you back last night. I was wondering where you were, and he arrived with you in his arms… Seeing you like that, resting against him without moving, I wondered if something hadn't happened to you. He approached carefully so as not to wake you, and he just told me that you were exhausted after the battles, the funeral, and the banquet, and that you needed to rest. I asked him to follow me, and he laid you on the bed. Very gently. Looking at you with an… original expression. After, he stood there for a bit, not knowing what to do, given the way he was standing, then he muttered something like thank you, take care of her, and he left, Missandei finishes. And then, I took care of you. You were clearly as exhausted as he had told me, because you didn't wake up even once.

Daenerys looks up at the young woman, disturbed. She doesn't know what to think of Jon's attitude. It's adorable – although she feels even more ashamed of having been carried like a damsel in distress – but it gives her hope. Too much hope.

She bites the inside of her cheek, refusing to imagine that things between them will get better. But she is not fooled by the weakness of her own heart.

- Thank you, she said softly to Missandei. For taking care of me.

- It's normal, she smiled. It made me happy to see that you were finally in a real deep sleep. And… did something happen with him ? she asks slowly.

The young woman is the one who knows the most. Daenerys has only confided a small part, but still a small part of what she feels for him, and especially of what she feels since she senses him drifting away.

- I don't know, she admits frankly. I don't know if something happened, or if I'm just getting my hopes up.

She has no idea if this will impact their relationship, or if he will simply continue to keep his distance as he has since... that day.

- One day he cares about me, the next day he distances himself, she continues.

She has a strong need to express what she feels. And she knows that Missandei will listen to her.

- Men are not easy in love, the young woman finally replies calmly.

- Tell me about it, sighs Daenerys.

They share a knowing smile. Even when talking about a subject that weighs so heavily on Daenerys's morale, and even as she almost feels like crying about it, the young woman's presence and simple words comfort her and lighten the heavy burden on her heart a little.

A wave of affection washes over Daenerys.

- Thank you, she whispers.

- I'm here for that, replies Missandei, continuing to gently braid her hair, a hint of affection and tenderness in her voice.

Daenerys relaxes a bit, a slight smile on her lips. Which quickly darkens. They would have to hold a council during the day to determine how and when to reclaim King's Landing. And Sansa would be present.

She was sure that she would try to throw a wrench in the works. Now that she had helped them, the hostility of the Northerners was almost even worse. She had hoped it would get better, but apparently, losing half of their armies as well as her heart's father, for them, it wasn't enough.

She gets up, dresses quickly, puts on a warm wool dress and fur-lined boots. She thanks Missandei for her hair with a gentle smile, and goes out to get some fresh air. As usual, she receives cold, hard, almost contemptuous looks from every Northerner she encounters.

She wants to scream at them, "Isn't it enough that I fought for you ? That I lost half of my army for you ? Half of my people ?" But this other remaining half, precisely, needs her. And she is now used to being insulted with looks. She simply ignores them, maintaining her usual poise.

She goes to see her men, tries to comfort them, thanks them for their bravery. She takes care of the food management as she does every day, trying to accurately count the human losses due to the battle.

Her heart clenches. Jorah is one of those figures that estimate the number of deaths. A lump forms in her throat, she swallows with difficulty. Don't let yourself get distracted. And she resumes her tasks even more ardently.

***

They are losing. Daenerys tries to keep a straight face as she is told around a large map that half of her armies are decimated, which she expected, but she also gets the stinging reminder that the Lannisters, on the other hand, have reinforcements.

She is then told that they have many new allies, while most of hers have been defeated. They are losing.

- We will hit her hard. We will ripe her out root and stem, she says, her face cold.

- The objective here is to remove Cersei without destroying King's Landing... Tyrion whispers.

He looks at her as if waiting to see if she will contradict him. She says nothing. He's right. They can't take the risk of hurting and killing hundreds, maybe thousands of innocents. But as Varys speaks, her marble face falters. She swallows her saliva with difficulty and lowers her eyes for a few seconds to regain her composure. She refuses to show weakness in front of her allies.

But what can they possibly do? Their chances of victory are low. Too low. Varys tries to tell her that she has allies too. Who believe in her, and who proclaim her name. She replies coldly that as long as Cersei is on the throne, nothing else matters. They need the capital.

Her brain is working at full speed. She can't find peaceful and feasible solutions. Unless... Jon's voice suddenly rang out, cutting short Tyrion's speech and his thoughts.

- We’ll surround the city, he announces.

As she turns her head toward him, her face softens despite herself. She is unable to look at him with the same coldness, the same distance, and superiority as the others. Her eyes lose their animosity. She listens to him attentively as he lays out his plan.

Tyrion jumped on what he said, but at that point, she was no longer listening. And neither does he, obviously. They look at each other for a moment. In his eyes, there is a slight trace of supplication. As if he were saying to her, "Please, trust me, it will work."

Their eyes get lost in each other. And for a few seconds, they can no longer tell if they are looking for answers on how to bring down Cersei, or answers about what they feel.
Jon finally looks away, hesitant, as usual. Daenerys lowers hers right after, and blinks quickly. Her heart on the verge of spilling over, she prevents her sorrow from showing. She tries to regain an impassive face, but her eyes remain lowered.

- All right, she finally whispers in a voice weaker than she would have liked.

- The men we have left are exhausted.

Daenerys looks up. Her expression suddenly hardens. Sansa. She was sure of it. That she wouldn't be able to help but find fault. She listens to his speech with one ear. She knows very well why this one contradicts her.

More precisely, she doesn't know why, but clearly Sansa has a problem with her. Her arguments don't reach Daenerys' ears. She will never be satisfied with the decisions I make. It will never be good enough for her. Despite everything I've done, she still finds fault.

The fatigue exhausts Daenerys. She has no more patience. She tries to listen to her anyway, asks her what she suggests. Sansa responds vaguely.

Daenerys then coldly continues, in an icy tone, about all the help she has provided –Obviously, Sansa doesn't thank her-. Jon finally intervenes in her defense. Despite herself, she feels her heart warm, spreading a gentle warmth thru her limbs. He defends her.

A thot then came to her. She will have to talk to him. From the night before. Before leaving. She needs to know. They will be separated for a long time during their journey to King's Landing.

The council is finally over and she walks out with a quick step, relieved, Missandei by her side.

Chapter Text

Jon waits for Daenerys to leave the council room, his eyes lowered. He then turns, ready to go, when Arya appears in front of him.

- We need a word, she tells him.

He looks at her, holds back a sigh. He is tired, and he has a good idea of what the discussion will be about. He turns his head toward Sansa, then Bran. He ignores his urge to flee, but he is already exhausted in advance. The discussion was going to be long...

- I respect what you have done, Arya says slowly.

Jon has a little hope. They are gathered under the tree. Arya, Sansa, Bran, and him.

- We needed her.

Despite himself, he tenses up. He wants to tell her to stop talking about Daenerys as if she were a tool, almost one that you get rid of when you no longer see its usefulness.

- We needed her armies, her dragons...

And what ? Did he suddenly want to ask. Now that we no longer need her army, her dragons... we're going to throw her away ?

- You did the right thing.

Despite himself, her words suddenly reach him. He is told so rarely that it does him a world of good. And coming from his sister, the short phrase does him even more good, soothing his heart.

- And we’re doing the right thing telling you we don’t trust your queen.

A violent resentment suddenly swells in his chest. Why do they need to constantly question Daenerys ? They don't see her as he does. And they didn't see her break down the day before because of people just like them who don't trust her and clearly never will, despite everything she has done for them.

- You don't know her yet, he grumbles, his voice lower.

- I’ll never now her, she’s not one of us, Arya protests.

It's too much.

- Stop.

Arya pauses, surprised. Jon's tone is more subdued and threatening than it has ever been with her.

- What exactly is your problem ? You don't trust her ? What more does she have to do ? She sacrificed everything for us. I can't stand you constantly criticizing her anymore. Do you at least realize it ? he breathes, feeling the anger rising within him.

- She looks down on us, Sansa blurts out.

- She is your queen ! cuts Jon off before she can continue. It's normal that she's superior ! And given how you constantly challenge her, she could have done much worse !

He's had enough. Enough. He understood what she was going thru. He especially understood how badly she was dealing with it, even tho she never showed it – except to him -. And there, her sisters were spitting in her back. Again.

- You... tempt Arya.

- No, that's enough, he grumbles, furious.

He loves his sisters with all his heart. But he also loves Daenerys. And she, she never criticized them behind their backs. She had already suspected Sansa, she had already reproached her for not respecting her. But criticize her just to criticize her ? Never. When she had every reason to. And obviously, unlike her, Sansa and Arya don't hold back at all when it comes to bringing her down even lower than dirt.

- I've had more than enough of your childishness. You have no empathy ? She is human. Do you think it doesn't hurt her, in the long run, to be constantly demeaned and hated by a people she saved ?

- She is not part of our family, Arya says firmly.

- I am his family ! hisses Jon.

He doesn't know why, but he feels furious. He sees her again crying all the tears in her body against him. Despair rises as well. Why don't they understand ?

- You are not his family, Sansa protests. You are a Stark.

It's too much. He needs to tell them. And he also needs them to understand. That she is no more foreign than he is. He looks at Bran, his breath short. He no longer has time to hesitate. He needs them to understand.

- Tell them.

Bran stares at him. Arya and Sansa turn toward him, surprised and worried.

- Wait. Promise me that what Bran is going to tell you, you won't repeat to anyone, he says abruptly, out of breath.

They try to protest.

- Promise it, he repeats in a harsh voice.

They end up swearing, a bit reluctantly.

- Go ahead, ask then Jon, turning a little more toward Bran. Tell them.

***

Daenerys goes back to her room. Her belongings have been packed and organized. The departure for the final battle has been set for the afternoon, in just a few hours. She wants to get to King's Landing as quickly as possible. The more time she gives the Lannisters, the stronger they become.

She sighs, momentarily lost in her thoughts. She needs to talk to Jon. They won't see each other again for a while, throughout the entire journey, and she needs to know where they stand. A deep hope resides in her heart despite herself, but she refuses to give it too much importance.

She gets up and goes out into Winterfell. Three dothrakis follow her as usual. She had always kept them as a mere precaution, but now, she wouldn't be surprised if a Northerner ended up jumping on her, given how harsh their gazes are and fixed on her. It was to the point where she almost wondered if without Jon constantly reminding them, they would have kept their promise to help her in return.

She moves forward without paying them any attention, and finally finds Jon. He is talking with some of his troops. He suddenly smiles, a sincere, deep smile. Daenerys melting despite herself. And at the same time, she can't help but wonder how long it has been since he smiled like that with her.

She walks toward him, the almost muddy snow accumulating under her boots. Jon's gaze changes immediately upon seeing her, but she couldn't tell if it was in a positive way or not. He gives a slight nod to his men – who don't bother to give her a nasty look – and joins her. They stare at each other for a moment, as if unable to tear their gazes away from one another. Their breaths form small, misty clouds, regular. Jon's dark gray eyes, like a storm, draw Daenerys in despite herself. She makes a violent effort to turn away, and whispers softly, with that particular intonation she only uses with him.

- Can we talk?

He simply nods, and they move away from the small group, venturing into the streets of Winterfell. The white blanket covering the roofs and walls of the houses, as well as the ground, seems to muffle the sounds. For a city preparing to go to battle, the calm seems almost surreal.

Daenerys quickly signals her Dothrakis to leave them alone. They finally isolate themselves away from prying eyes, in a small living room heated by a wood fire. They remain silent for a moment, arms dangling, neither knowing where to start.

She practically stops her hands from shaking, annoyed with herself for feeling so stressed – a mix of apprehension, hope, anticipation, worry ? – in any case, her body seems to be overheating, and her heart is beating much too fast.

She is about to speak, finally making up her mind despite her dry throat and sweaty hands. But he speaks just before, and Daenerys immediately senses that his tone is heavy, almost… guilty ? A bad feeling fills her chest.

- Daenerys… he whispers, hesitant.

He seems to be trying to adopt a firm voice, to maintain his composure.

- I told them, he continues.

A chilling shiver shakes Daenerys, freezing her from her ears to her toes, despite the ambient warmth. A long cold sweat trickles down her spine. No. She begs him with her eyes. To tell him that she is wrong, that she is misinterpreting his words. That it's not what she thinks.

- I told them, he resumes, his voice hoarse. To Sansa and Arya. But I made them promise to keep it between us, and not to repeat it to anyone. Daenerys, I assure you ! he adds, a slight tinge of despair in his voice when he sees her fall apart.

She feels something within her collapsing, brutally. She couldn't say exactly what it was, but it hurt. Why ? She begged him. With all her heart, she crumpled in front of him, she showed herself vulnerable. She suddenly felt stupid for ever hoping that it could go back to how it was before. She had lost him a long time ago.

- I had to tell them, he continues in a low tone with a mix of confidence and despair, as he sees her barely contain her trembling.

- I begged you not to do it ! It's the only thing I've ever asked of you, Jon ! The only one !
Her voice is bitter, the words burn her throat as they escape. A sour taste fills her mouth. Fear. Anger. She fought her whole life for this Throne. It was this goal that guided her and gave her the strength to move forward. Despite the humiliations, the violence, the betrayals. Despite the pain. And she always wore her name proudly. Daenerys Stormborn. The last heir of House Targaryen. And even that, they took from her?

Jon is naive to believe for a single second that Sansa will keep the secret. Daenerys knows it all too well. She knows very well that it's only a matter of time before the rumor spreads. And they hate her. The North hates her. Even after all she's done, even after all she's sacrificed. And... they adore Jon. He's going to take the Throne from her.
She tries to keep a straight face, but her breath quickens, becoming almost irregular, and her chin trembles despite herself.

- Why ?

There is as much hatred, anger, as there is despair in his words. But above all, the misunderstanding. Brutal.

- I couldn't lie to them, he whispers. Not to them…

- You betrayed me ! she hisses, her voice icy despite her shattered heart.

Ah. She was right, in the end. He will always choose them. She had only just realized how much. She falters for a moment, her heart on the verge of leaping out of her chest. Nausea violently takes hold of her.
He immediately steps forward, a flash of worry crossing his eyes. He catches her firmly in his arms, supporting her body that her legs no longer have the strength to carry. But she abruptly pulls away from his hands as if he had burned her. She sees in his gaze that she has hurt him, but she herself is too broken to pay attention.

And then, how many times had he also withdrawn, leaving her alone and lost ? Anger ravages her heart. She is used to betrayals. It doesn't even hurt her that much anymore. So why, coming from him, does she feel like her world is collapsing ? She knows the answer. Even tho it destroys her to think that she still feels that way about him.

- Daenerys, I promise you I will never take that Throne, he asserts, trying to reassure her, to convince her that it won't change anything.

- They won't care about your opinion, she grumbles, out of breath.

A wave of worry washes over her at these words. Not for her. But for him. That's true. No one asks his opinion either. Anger almost rises then. Why do they have to force him to take power if he doesn't want it? The secret hasn't spread yet - unless Sansa spoke right after - but she knows very well that as soon as that happens, neither she nor Jon will have a say... He looks at her for a moment, his eyes deeply locked with hers. She sees his sorrow, and almost a plea, that she understand his feelings, his genuine desire to do well. An immense weariness overwhelms her. She no longer has the strength to feel anything. She has the sensation of being emptied. Again. As if she felt nothing anymore.

- All we can do now is hope that Sansa keeps her mouth shut. Which she won't.

Her voice is cold, dry. She regains her usual impassive expression. Her Queen's mask. How long had it been since she had looked at him like that ? She stares at him coldly. Then she prepares to turn on her heels, her heart desperately empty.

He suddenly grabs her by the shoulders. He presses his fingers, which sink slightly into the thick wool of her dress, as if trying to bring her back, to pull her out of this completely closed-off state she has just slipped into. Because he knows better than anyone that it's just a facade.

- Look at me, he orders her gently. I promise you that I will not take this Throne, Daenerys. I promise you.

He hesitates, takes a deep, almost whistling breath.

- I... I'm lost, he admits, the pain gripping his throat. I don't know what I feel anymore. I am torn between what I feel for you, what my heart tells me, or what my reason tells me. I try my best, but I constantly find myself in the middle of conflicts between the people who are most dear to me. I don't know anymore, Daenerys. I don't know if I made the right choice. I don't know if I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life. But I promise you that I never wanted to hurt you. I swear. You... you matter to me. Really. And... I can't figure out what I should do, I can't figure out how to act. I... I need time. Because I can no longer understand my own feelings. But there is one thing I am sure of, even if I don't yet know how to express it, even if I don't yet know how I have the right to express it. What I feel for you is infinitely stronger than anything I've ever felt for anyone, he whispers in a final desperate murmur.

His voice is hoarse, almost broken. Daenerys realizes that he has opened up to her like he had never dared to do before. He had just laid bare his feelings, confiding in her everything he felt. Like he had perhaps never done in front of anyone. His dark gray eyes desperately seek an answer in hers.

She feels the tears rising abruptly. She refuses to let them flow. A salty drop still pearls at the edge of her eye, and rolls down her cheek despite herself.
He raises his hand almost instinctively, but suddenly seems to hesitate. As if he was waiting for her agreement. She doesn't move. He then brings his fingers a little closer and gently wipes away the fine droplet with his thumb, which had already started to trace a damp trail below her eye.
They stare at each other for a moment, their faces just a few centimeters apart. Their warm breaths mix. Jon's fingers remain pressed against her shoulders, like a solid support. She takes a painful breath.

- All right, she whispers.

The words burn her lips, hurt her. But she sees his sincerity. And a wave of guilt washes over her. She practically lashes out at him, blinded by pain, but he is just as lost as she is. He never asked to have a claim to the Throne, he never asked to be Targaryen. He told his sisters. He shouldn't have. But... somewhere, his name belongs to him. She has no right to it, and even if she did, she would never force him to obey her anyway. And she knows it. She knows him. She also fell in love with him for that.

He is upright, honest, fair. He would have been incapable of lying to them, he is incapable of it. It would have eaten away at him. And he had warned her. He had spoken to them behind her back, but he had told her beforehand that he wanted to do so, and now he was telling her that he had done it. As he so aptly put it : he tries to do his best. He tries to do what seems most fair to him.

Including what he feels for her. She knows very well what makes him so hesitant in his behavior around her. What makes his once confident gestures now unsure. She wants to shout at him, to scream that as long as he loves her, nothing else matters. No matter what they have learned. A lump rises in her throat as an almost childlike thot takes hold of her. I want it to be the way it was between us. But she knows he can't. At least not now. She closes her eyes, bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying.

- Think, then. Put some order, she whispers.

He looks at her for a moment, his face marked by sorrow. Her voice is broken, weary.

- I understand. I know it's hard for you. Thank you... for your honesty. Take your time to think. But in the meantime, don't give me any more contradictory signs. Don't give me hope like that. Because it hurts me more than anything. And for Sansa...

She doesn't finish her sentence. She no longer has the strength. These few words she herself uttered tear her apart. She would like to beg him to love her, to try to ignore his principles. But she loves him too much. She loves him too much to ask him to do that, to go through that for her.

She gently moves away, freeing herself from his grip. He seems to want to say something, to hold her back, anything.

- We'll meet in King's Landing, she whispers, drained. Have a good trip.

She turns on her heel and leaves the room. Her tears stream down her cheeks without her being able to hold them back, barely after she crosses the threshold. She clenches her teeth, tightening her jaw as much as possible. Stay strong. Like you always have been.

Chapter Text

- Jon!

He suddenly comes back to himself and realizes that Ser Davos has been calling him for a while.

- Excuse me, I was lost in thought… he sighs.

- We should set up camp in an hour, given the position of the sun. It won't be long before it gets dark. Does that work for you?

Jon quickly thanks him and agrees. Davos relays the information to the captains of the retreating troops and makes no further comment. But he looks at him with a hint of concern.

It's been a week since they started walking to King's Landing. And Jon still can't sort out his thoughts. And especially in his feelings.

He sighs. She is so beautiful. Her silver hair, her deep violet eyes, her soft skin. The curve of her jaw. Which makes him want to grab her chin and kiss her until they run out of air. Her lips, too, and her smile, rare but radiant. Her scent, a mix of fire, embers, but also honey, bringing a light, warm, and sweet note.

Even more, the way she addresses him, with that particular intonation she reserves for him. The way her face softens when she talks to him. Her strength of character. Her vulnerability, too, which she dares to reveal only in front of him.

And then, the way she looked at him. To look at him as if she saw in him much more than he himself could see. The way she would plunge her eyes into his. With an intensity that gave him both the illusion of drowning and breathing for the first time in years. This intensity that each time ignited a deep, burning fire in the pit of his stomach.

He shakes his head, disturbed, his cheeks a little flushed. If only he had never known. It would have been so much simpler. They walk for a while longer, then finally dismount and set up camp on a large plain. Jon, with the help of a few men, marks their progress on a map and calculates how much travel time they have left.

He then eats some dried meat and slips into his tent rather than sitting around the fire with the others. He's not in the mood to talk. He feels a deep need to be alone. Well, more precisely, he would like to be with her. Is she okay ? She's with Grey Worm, Tyrion, Missandei, Varys. And Drogon, Raeghal. Everything must be going well on her side. He hopes so.

He turns over in his bed, wrapped in thick furs. At least, the further south they go, the warmer the air becomes. That will be better for her. She didn't seem to have enjoyed the cold. He suddenly growls.

Daenerys has occupied his thoughts since the beginning of the journey. He can't help but worry about her constantly. They haven't heard any news yet. Jon assumes it's positive, but he would have liked to know a little more about where they were.

He tries to close his eyes, but his thoughts automatically bring him back to her. His heart clenches violently when he thinks about the last time they spoke. She had looked so hurt. So broken. His instinct had screamed at him to take her in his arms.

But she was right. He couldn't embrace her, then ultimately regret it afterward, overwhelmed with guilt, and subject her to his own internal conflict. He feels guilty. He feels terribly guilty. He suddenly has the impulsive urge to hit himself. Why couldn't he get past their bond?

In any case, despite all his doubts, he is sure of one thing. And the more he thinks about it, the more he feels that this feeling completely takes over him, practically possessing his entire body. He would like to deny it, tell himself that it's wrong, that he doesn't have the right. But he is incapable of it. This feeling is too strong, much too strong for him to ignore. He loves her.

Strangely, admitting this to himself makes him feel better. He sighs heavily, then finally decides that he will think more about it the next day. What he repeated to himself every night since they had left, and what he pushed back every time dawn arrived. He tries to go to sleep, without success. And involuntarily, his thoughts drift back to her again. He finally manages to fall asleep... imagining her looking at him tenderly, with her sweet smile.

***

Daenerys closes her eyes. The fresh and salty morning air does her good. She clings a little more to Drogon's spikes, her limbs slightly numb. The rising sun slowly warms her face, chasing away the feeling of persistent cold that has been lingering for a while.

She stifles a slight yawn, then glances downward. She observes her fleet with pride. She will finally reclaim her right. At the thought of rights, Jon suddenly comes back to her mind. Him and his smile that transforms his face, his eyes as dark as the storm, his firm arms that gave her the feeling of being protected. gAve.

She vehemently rejects her thoughts. She refuses to have even the slightest glimmer of hope regarding the two of them. Even though she can't help but hope anyway, much to her annoyance. She sighs, trying to sort out her thoughts. She looks to her right. Raeghal has bounced back since his injuries against the Night King.

A warm smile stretches across her face. Her two sons are still there. And they will never abandon her. Their loyalty is unwavering. She absentmindedly strokes Drogon's scales. She couldn't say how much longer they moved forward before a strange hiss caught her attention.

Followed by a repulsive sound of metal sinking into flesh. In echo to this sound, Raeghal suddenly screams, losing his balance. He flaps his wings with difficulty, and Daenerys feels terror surge through her. She looks at him in astonishment, in complete incomprehension. A metal stake is deeply embedded in his chest. She realizes what has just happened, and powerlessness and fear overwhelm her, abruptly accelerating her heart rate.

The whistle sounds again, and Daenerys watches, horrified, as a second stake is launched, almost tearing his wing. He cries out in pain and struggles to avoid falling, but a third throw brutally pierces his throat from one side to the other. A gush of blood, abundant, escapes from his mouth as he falls.

Daenerys feels like she's watching the scene in slow motion. Her breathing quickens, becomes shorter, irregular, as she has the vivid sensation that someone has just ripped her heart out through her throat. Her vision blurs, she hears nothing but the blood pounding violently in her ears, and Raeghal's heart-wrenching screams. Her son.

He crashes into the water, causing an explosion of foam. Then nothing. He disappears into the depths of the sea in an instant. Daenerys's hands begin to shake violently, she is almost no longer aware of her own body, as her face contorts into an expression of immense hatred and pain.

Euron's fleet suddenly appears, concealed behind a rocky island. It's him. She feels a violent rage surge through her veins. The boats are arming in her direction. She directs Drogon toward them, desperate, consumed by indescribable fury.

She screams in pain, determined to raze them, burn them, until there is nothing left of them. But a volley of stakes forces her to turn back, as deep sorrow takes hold of her. Her tears blur her vision, making the world appear more hazy.

She can't approach them, she can't risk losing Drogon. And she suddenly sees. Her own ships exploding under the assault of those of Euron. Her fleet is brutally destroyed. What remains of her armies takes refuge on the coasts, swimming. Daenerys had rarely felt such pain. And the helplessness seized her, deep within herself. Awakening her brutal hatred.

They just killed her son. They have just decimated a large part of her fleet. Her breath becomes ragged as she desperately tries to sort out her thoughts. But she can only witness the massacre of her men, without being able to intervene.

***

- Dracarys!

Missandei's head detaches from her body at the same time that Daenerys feels her heart being ripped from her chest. She almost wants to reach for her torso, to see if she can feel the gaping hole.

She feels nothing but hatred anymore. An immense, deep, violent hatred. As if fury alone flowed through her veins instead of her blood. Her jaw clenches to the point of hurting, her face contorts brutally, involuntarily.

And her gaze is filled with such rage that she can't even fully express it, fully feel it. She stares at Cersei. You will pay. I swear on anything you want that you will pay.

Missandei was her friend. Her confidante. They had taken her son from her. They were now taking her sister from her. Her throat tightens to the point of suffocation, as her fists clench so tightly that her knuckles turn completely white, leaving deep nail marks in her skin. She slowly turns her back on Cersei. You will pay. Believe me, you're going to pay.

***

Jon sighs, exhausted from their many hours on horseback. He carefully looks at the map spread out in front of him. If he's not mistaken...

A young man suddenly bursts into his tent, hastily. Jon looks at him, bewildered. A violent anxiety grips him when he sees how alarmed the boy looks.

- A letter… from Dragonstone… he groaned, trying to catch his breath.

He doesn't have time to continue before Jon practically snatches the scroll from his hands, fear now well present in his veins. They shouldn't go to Dragonstone. Daenerys was not supposed to go to Dragonstone. Why was he receiving a letter from that place, in that case ? Something had happened to them. Something had happened to her. His breath quickens.

And his bad feeling is confirmed. Davos, by his side as usual, sees him fall apart.

Jon,

I am writing these words to you with the utmost urgency. We were caught off guard by Euron Greyjoy. He decimated our fleet, even though a large part of our army made it out. But... Raeghal was shot down.

He stops reading for a moment. His breath catches. He rereads the sentence. Raeghal was shot down. He reads it a second time. A third time. His hands start to shake despite himself. He couldn't be dead. Not like that.

He continues reading, desperately searching for an explanation, a logic.

A weapon, the Scorpion, a kind of immense crossbow capable of firing metal stakes. That's what did him in. Euron's fleet ambushed us, and they killed Raeghal by surprise. He collapsed into the water before we could do anything.

Jon feels his heart clench brutally. He suddenly realizes that he cared about him. He had ridden him twice. Involuntarily, a bond had formed between them. A lump rises in his throat. And a thought suddenly crosses his mind, lightning-fast. It immediately takes over, crushing her own sorrow. Daenerys.

She had lost Viserion recently. He had seen how much she had hurt. And now, she was losing a second child ? An intense pain grips his heart. She was going to suffer again. Again. But his expression turns to horror as he continues reading the message.

We have taken refuge in Dragonstone. And we received a summons from Cersei. During Euron's attack... Missandei was captured. We went to the gates of King's Landing, hoping to negotiate her release. My sister asked Daenerys to abdicate. She refused, and imposed the same conditions. So... they executed Missandei. Right in front of Daenerys' eyes. Jon… I think she's going to do something stupid.

He stops reading. He throws the paper on the table and starts putting away the map.

- Jon… what are you doing ? Davos inquired in a hoarse, worried voice.

- Raeghal was killed. Missandei was killed. I'm going to see Daenerys. Now.

Davos abruptly widens his eyes, visibly deeply shaken by the news. But his reason remains stronger.

- Jon… he tries.

- Now, cut this one brutally.

His voice is dark, hoarse. And his brain is racing at 100 miles per hour. Even if his heart is beating even faster. Only one thought drives him : To find Daenerys. He knows. He knows her too well. She lost a son, then her mentor. And then, they take away a second of her children, and the one who was her best friend, her confidante. He suddenly feels the urge to vomit imagining the pain she must be feeling.

- Jon… where did you stop in your reading ? suddenly asks Ser Davos.

Something in his tone Main urges him to pause abruptly. He looks at him, a hint of fear spreading through his veins. Davos hands him the letter. Jon finishes reading, and he starts to tremble despite himself.

I'm sorry, it's a lot all at once. But… I know. Who you really are. The House to which you are truly connected. Varys knows it too. And you need to know... that he is plotting against our Queen. I think he won't hesitate to betray her for you, Jon. He has already started. I'm sorry to ask you like this, but I think we really need you. Especially Daenerys. I'm worried about her. She no longer eats, no longer sleeps. She is broken. She's going to make a mistake. I feel it. Well, if... Varys doesn't stop her before. Come quickly, please.

Tyrion

Jon feels like his world is collapsing. Sansa betrayed him. He knows it's not Arya. Sansa. The rage, muffled, rises within him, almost making him suffocate. Mixed... with pure pain. His sister, in whom he had placed his trust, even as Daenerys had tried to open his eyes. Regret is destroying him.

He finally believed that she truly accepted him, that she would be honest and fair with him. But despite her promise. Despite seeing how important it was to him. She had revealed his secret in a flash. He had been wrong. His fingers tightened so hard on the letter that it almost tore. He would never make the same mistake again.

Daenerys was right. There, now, she's suffering, she must be in more pain than ever. And she is also in danger, now. Because of him. The second-to-last sentence of the letter terrifies him. If Varys doesn't stop her before? What exactly did Tyrion mean ?

His fury suddenly rises a notch. If he had the advisor in front of him... He doesn't want to believe it. But he knows very well what the Queen's Hand wanted him to understand. And for him to write that, even though the Spider is one of his closest friends, it's not just suspicions. Daenerys is in danger.

He stuffs the letter into his pocket and hastily gathers his belongings.

- Advance to the Trident. I will meet you as soon as I can, Jon orders in a voice darker than ever. I'll leave you to take care of all this, he adds to Davos.

He had never seen Jon in this state. He nods. He is deeply worried. But he feels that right now, Jon needs to go see her. A visceral need.

Jon responds to Tyrion in a few lines and sends the raven back. He then quickly loads his belongings onto his horse, mounts it with a smooth motion, and gallops off into the plains, toward the sea. He forbids himself from panicking. He's afraid of arriving too late. To arrive and find Daenerys already lost, or worse. That she had already been...

Anger suddenly takes hold of him again. If anyone, Varys or another, dared to touch her... he will personally take care of his case.

Chapter Text

Daenerys feels both empty and filled with immense pain. Her council with Varys and Tyrion on what to do with King's Landing was already two days ago. Two days during which she hasn't left her room, hasn't eaten, but hasn't slept either.

Her sorrow is so immense that she feels like she is living swallowed up by it. Like underwater. But a shell of hatred also surrounds her. She wants to kill them. To burn them. To make them suffer. All of them. So that they understand. So that they endure as much as she has endured.

She thinks back to her discussion with Tyrion in the afternoon. She had lost two sons, her father, her sister. And now, she was learning that her closest advisor with her Hand was also betraying her. She almost wants to laugh, then collapse in despair. Everything she has built is falling apart.

Despite everything she did. She was right. Jon should never have told his sisters the truth. Jon. Infinite sorrow crushes her heart. She feels nothing but hatred anymore. But when she thinks of him, she just wants to fall into his arms and cry.

But he's not there, and even if he were, he's no longer the Jon from before. He is lost, as he had made it very clear to her. A harsh, bitter taste filled her mouth. She finally gets up. She warned Tyrion. Varys' execution will take place within the next few hours. An immense weariness overwhelms her, enveloped in fury and despondency. She can't take it anymore. But she has to do it. And she needs to prepare for it at least a little. Even though just the thought of leaving her room terrifies her now.

***

Jon finally lands on Dragonstone. He quickly steps off the boat, his boots sinking into the wet sand. He spots Varys and Tyrion approaching him. He stiffened at the sight of the Spider, holding back his rage. There was no point in getting angry here. He wanted to join Daenerys, now.

- The Northern armies ? Varys inquired.

- Just crossed the Trident, he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

- You didn't have too much trouble getting here ? asks Tyrion.

- No, the sea was calm, he blurts out.

He tries to answer the questions quickly, on the verge of annoyance. His journey or his armies don't seem to be his priority at the moment. He already knows the answer, but he can't help but ask, a vague worry gripping his heart.

- How is she ?

He dreads what the two advisors are going to tell him, and he is quite right.

- She hasn't seen anyone since we return. Hasn't left her chambers, hasn't accepted any food, announces the Spider.

Jon catches a strange look from Tyrion at the mention of food. Perplexed, he suddenly has the vivid sensation of being slapped when a phrase comes back to him. If Varys doesn't stop her before. A cold sweat runs down his back, and he promises himself to ask Tyrion when they are alone.

- I must see her, he breathes.

- You're worried for her, Varys observes. I admire your empathy.

Jon stares at him for a moment, his gaze dark.

- Yes, I'm worried about her. It seems to me that it's the most logical reaction to have, right ?

- Of course... I worry about her, but also about all of us. They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath.

- We’re not much for riddles where I’m from, he said slowly, trying not to give in to irritation.

- We both know what she's about to do, Varys states, his voice firm.

Jon suddenly stops walking and turns to him.

- That’s her decision to make. She is our queen, he says, his voice lower, like a warning.

- Men decide where power resides...

Tyrion subtly intervenes, seeming to sense that Jon won't be long before he gets angry if Varys continues to be so ambiguous.

- We should go back to the castle. The queen...

But Jon cuts him off, his gaze darker than ever.

- What exactly are you implying ? he growls, ignoring the Hand, addressing Varys.

He looks at him steadily as well, his expression tense but certain of his words.

- All along, I wanted the true heir on the Throne. I still don't know how her coin has landed. But I'm quite certain about yours…

- Oh really ? he interrupts, barely containing his anger.

- I know you would rule justly and for the good of the people, he insists. While she...

He doesn't have time to finish his sentence before Jon violently grabs him by the collar, fury darkening his gaze. He pulls him roughly, bringing his face just a few inches from his own.

- Will she ? Listen to me carefully. I will never betray our queen. Repeat those kinds of words just once. Imply even once more that you would be willing to betray her. And I will personally take care of your case. You said you knew which side my coin landed on ? Good for you. Me, I don't know. But what I am certain of is that I would always do what is most fair to me. And I would always keep my word. Always, he finished, his voice lower than ever, a low rage rumbling through his words.

Varys looks at him, astonished by his sudden outburst of anger that seems in stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. But they don't have time to continue their discussion before slightly heavy footsteps behind them echo – much to Tyrion's relief, who was starting to worry about the direction their altercation was taking.

Jon releases the Spider's collar, not without giving him one last look filled with warning. He turns, sees a group of guards led by Grey Worm advancing toward them... and surround Varys.

Jon steps back, in total incomprehension. He looks at Tyrion, and the latter's head makes him realize it brutally. He clearly won't need to carry out his threats. Despite himself, he feels a pang in his heart at the thought of what will become of this man.

The Spider initially seems surprised, almost frightened, but his expression quickly stabilizes into a deep resignation. Although a spark of fear is still visible in his eyes. The guards order Varys to follow them, and they set off.

Jon and Tyrion follow suit. Night is already falling, cold and dark, slightly illuminated by the soldiers' torches. Jon doesn't know what to think. He strongly suspects that Varys will be executed.

And if he has done everything he thinks, he is relieved. But he knows by whom the sentence will be carried out. And he starts to really worry about her. A dull, deep anxiety.

She shouldn't have to do this. Not when she has almost lost everything, not when she must be on the verge of losing herself, not when she is suffering so much. He needs to see her, needs to hold her close, needs her to finally feel understood and loved in his arms. He is certain that she must have cried. But alone. Terribly alone. His heart aches at the thought.

They emerge from the cove, walk a bit in a silence barely broken by the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. They finally emerge onto the large beach, swept by the wind and the spray. And he sees her. Standing tall and proud as ever, her gaze impassive, fixed straight ahead.

She doesn't even give him a glance. Her expression is hard, like carved in stone. But Jon stares at her. And his heart clenches even more violently. He detects the slightest sign. The corner of her lips tense, the small bone of her jaw protruding from her cheek because it is so tense, her chest rising irregularly and too quickly, despite her upright and confident posture.

He also notices her dark circles, more visible than ever. She looks emaciated, and his worry increases at the sight of this clue that proves she hasn't eaten in several days. And he sees her eyes. They are glacial, burning with what seems to be a cold, relentless fire. But immense pain seems to be hiding behind it.

He moves forward. No sign in her attitude shows that she has seen him – or at least, that she wants to give him any attention. But she flinches very slightly when he positions himself just to her left, a little behind her. He keeps a sufficient distance to be appropriate, but positions himself close enough so that she can feel his presence, his support.

With a quick nod, she finally allows Tyrion to speak to Varys. Jon doesn't hear, or rather doesn't listen to what they say. She shouldn't have to do this. He would have much preferred to execute him himself, and although it would probably have hurt him too, it was nothing compared to what she must have been feeling.

When Tyrion and Varys finish their heavy discussion, she speaks. Her voice is devoid of any emotion, any resentment, but also any guilt. She is empty. Desperately empty. Drogon emerges from the shadows behind her. And burns Varys in a few seconds, with an ease that seems almost unfair.

Jon finally turned his head toward her, something he hadn't done since he had positioned himself behind her, and stared at her, no longer able to hide his anxiety. Anxiety that he doesn't feel toward her, but for her. She doesn't tremble, doesn't flinch, doesn't have the slightest reaction to what just happened. And he has the terrible feeling that she simply doesn't feel anything anymore.

***

Daenerys looks at the necklace in her hands. It seems distorted by the black and grey shadows that the fire casts on it. He almost seems animated, alive. She can't take her eyes off it, despite the pain that radiates through her body more and more intensely.

She is hypnotized, as if this object were the last part of her that still remained. But the more she stares at it, the more unbearable the pain becomes, to the point of making her want to vomit.

- This was all she brought with her when we crossed the Narrow Sea.

Her voice is strangled, muffled. She can't even understand how her mouth and tongue still work.

- Her only possession, she continues without knowing why, because with each additional word, she feels her throat tighten even more, until it makes her choke.

Grey Worm, who stands in front of her, stares into the void. From an outside perspective, he might have seemed simply focused in his guard stance. But Daenerys sees how destroyed he is. How much he hurts, how devastated he is. Maybe even more than her.

She looks at him, her heart on the verge of her lips. And she hands him the necklace. He looks down at her, a flash of pain crosses his eyes. He finally grabs the object, his fingers involuntarily clenching at its touch.

And Daenerys can't let go of it. She feels like it's the last thing that connects her to herself. Her chin starts to tremble, she swallows the lump that grows in her throat with difficulty. She finally loosens her fingers and looks at Grey Worm.

He alone seems to understand her pain. But it doesn't make her feel better, contrary to what she might have thought. The nausea returns with such force that she seriously wonders if she's going to end up throwing up. The Unsullied's face suddenly contorts, and he throws the necklace into the flames of the hearth.

Daenerys watches it melt and twist under the heat. She feels like her body and her heart are nothing more than a condensed mixture of sorrow, hatred, and pain. Of regrets. Of guilt. She hadn't paid enough attention. She hadn't protected her. Despair overwhelms her, hits her with such violence that her vision blurs for a moment.

Grey Worm suddenly turns around, his posture straighter and his gaze hardened. Daenerys spots Jon, and contradictory but overwhelmingly strong feelings flood her.

- It's all right, Torgo Nudho. Let me speak with him.

The Unsullied looks at her, then nods. Daenerys tries to hide her tear-filled eyes as the sound of Grey Worm's footsteps climbing the stone stairs gradually fades away. Leaving only silence.

Jon then slowly moves forward, as if not to startle her. Daenerys looks at him, and tries to keep a calm expression, although she suspects that her despair must be more than visible – especially to him. She opens her mouth to speak, but contrary to what she expected, he doesn't stop a few meters away.

He reaches her, and she is unable to maintain her apparent false calm. She is unable to maintain her queenly mask in front of his dark gray eyes, which gaze at her with such deep concern, such pure tenderness that the facade she had just built crumbles.

He bends down, and gently so she can step back if she needs to, he tenderly embraces her. The few remaining barriers that Daenerys had erected are brutally torn down. She feels his warm and firm arms surround her, and her tears start to flow without her being able to or wanting to stop them. His hands slide down her back, caress her slowly, and he runs one up into her hair, urging her to rest her head against his chest.

She bursts into sobs, unable to hold back any longer. He pulls her close, and she collapses into his arms. His warm palm makes slow back-and-forth movements, he runs his fingers through her strands and braids with infinite tenderness.

Daenerys felt all her fury, all her grief, all her guilt, and her pain come out violently, in disordered sobs that shook her shoulders and chest.

- Raeghal is dead. Missandei is dead. Jorah, Viserion are dead.

Her voice is destroyed, torn. Just like her inner self.

- I didn't know how to protect them. I had promised them, she mumbles in despair. I had promised them, Jon.

He gently takes her face in his hands and delicately lifts her chin so that he can gaze into her eyes.

- You did everything you could, Daenerys. You're not to blame. We all have regrets. Always. But I assure you it's not your fault, he says in his low, comforting voice.

He smiles at her very gently, wipes her tears with his thumbs. He tilts his head very slightly, moving closer to her. He waits a moment to make sure she has understood his intention. She doesn't move back at all. And he gently places his lips against hers.

Daenerys has never experienced anything so reassuring. No one has ever kissed her like that, not even him until now. In a way that suddenly seems to lighten the burden too heavy for her heart, in a way that makes her feel safe, in a way that makes her feel loved, and worthy of being loved.

She leans against him, eyes closed, finally relaxes. He makes her feel so good. She feels like he heals her, soothes her, even if it's just a tiny part of all that pain that crushes her to the point of suffocation.

He eventually gently detached himself from her, and pulled her a little closer to him, resting his chin on her head.

- You have the right to cry. You have the right to be in pain.

Her breath catches. No one had ever said those words to her, yet they were so simple. When she was a child, Vyseris would hit her as soon as she let her tears flow. Drogo had treated her like a nobody, ignoring her sobs. Before she was able to harden herself. She had never cried in front of him again and had never shown weakness again, except at his death. She had never cried in front of anyone again.

Daenerys' tears intensify, streaming down her cheeks without any restraint. She has the right. With him, she has the right to cry. It relieves her so much to finally be able to let her grief flow freely surrounded by his warmth, and not by solitude. Surrounded by his love, enveloped by his presence that makes her feel safer than anywhere, with anyone.

The world could collapse around her, but if he held her in his arms, she would still feel safe. He gently rocks her, with immeasurable patience and tenderness. She closes her eyes, listens to the slow rhythm of his heart in her ear, feels the warm breath of his respiration against her face.

All her sensations become entangled and seem to create a comforting, protective bubble. Daenerys lets herself be guided, lets herself fall. And she feels sleep slowly overtaking her, for the first time in days. She inexorably tips into the world of dreams... always surrounded by this infinite warmth.

Chapter Text

Daenerys slowly blinks her eyes, unable to determine where she is. She tries to sort out her thoughts, but she feels like she's floating in cotton. It's so soft and warm that she has no desire to leave. How long had it been since she had felt this good ? Since...

Painful memories suddenly flood her mind, shattering the tranquility that reigned over her spirit. She sits up with a grimace, pushing aside some of the furs that had been placed on her. Dawn seems to be breaking, the night is clearer through the semi-transparent curtains. It's still early, anyway. She suddenly notices a warm, gentle, enveloping presence around her right hand.

She lowers her eyes. Jon leans his torso against the edge of the bed she is lying on, his dark curly hair cascading onto the mattress. The rest of his body rests on a chair. He is sitting in a position that looks frankly uncomfortable.

His head is turned toward her, as if he had tried to resist and stay awake all night. His face is relaxed, peaceful. She shifts her gaze slightly, to where his hand is. His fingers are firmly intertwined with hers, not letting go by an inch, even in his sleep.

An infinite love rises within her. He comforted her like no one ever had before – in fact, he's probably the first to have truly comforted her at all. He took care of her, and he stayed. He didn't leave her alone. He didn't abandon her. He stayed.

She gently tightens her hand around his. The warmth of Jon's palm transfers to her cold fingers, but also slowly travels up her arm, making her practically shiver as the pit of her stomach gently ignites.

She loves to see him sleep so peacefully, so calmly. She would like him to always be this relaxed. She hates it when he looks overwhelmed, tortured. Anxiety surges within her at this thought. And what if he ignored her again ? What if he was still undecided ? That's why she didn't want him to give her even the slightest bit of hope anymore.

Because his love filled a deep wound within her. His love gave her the feeling of finally having a real family, the family she had always missed, gave her the feeling of being understood, reassured, loved. It was so sweet, so comforting.

So, when he suddenly let go of her, plunging back into the void, the cold, the fear, the solitude was a thousand times more painful. It was too hard. It was like being plunged into an endless blizzard, and finally being allowed to taste the warmth of a home for a moment. Before you were mercilessly thrown back out. The snow and wind suddenly seemed more icy and biting than ever.

Daenerys knows she won't be able to bear it. She won't stand him drifting away again. She must protect herself. Now. Before it becomes too hard. She stops her chin from trembling by clenching her teeth, and tries to remove her hand from his. When he wakes up, she will thank him, and that's all. She doesn't want to suffer anymore. Because she's not sure she'll be able to get back up.

She tries to pry her fingers from his grip, but he keeps her hand as gently as firmly imprisoned in his. Tears well up in her eyes. Why does he have to make it so hard?

Her vision blurs. And she suddenly feels something brush her eyelids, catching her tears before they fall. Her vision clears. Jon sat up, still looking sleepy. But his eyes plunge straight into hers with a mix of love and worry, as his thumb gently finishes wiping away the water droplets clinging to her lashes.

- Don't you feel better ? he asks softly.

Yes, I am. And that's exactly the problem.

- Yes, thank you, she replies, trying to control the trembling in her voice. But…
- But ? he breathes encouragingly as she seems to stumble over the sentence, looking away.

His eyes distract her far too much. The intonation of his voice reminds her of a mix between how he spoke to her before he knew... "that," and the familiarity he uses with his sisters. A kind of slightly different gentleness. Daenerys suddenly realizes the word she was looking for. He speaks to her as before, but in a tone that seems almost unintentionally more protective. It's light, but present.

He waits patiently for her response.

- I told you not to come near me again unless you had made your choice, she finally blurted out with a hint of bitterness.

She hates the way she says it, like a reproach when he comforted her all night, but she is unable to talk to him any other way.

- I made my choice.

Daenerys' breath catches. Despite herself, her heart races. Despite herself, despite everything she has prevented herself from doing or feeling, hope roars within her.

- And my choice is you. No matter what the North thinks, no matter what my sisters, my brother think, no matter what morality thinks. I'm sorry I doubted so much, Daenerys. I have thought. Really, with all my heart and all my strength, day and night. I thought about it every night, I turned it all over in my head countless times. I came to the conclusion that I didn't know. I don't know what I should do, what the fairest choice is, between what my duty, my reason, my origins, my heart dictate to me. But I realized that I was certain of one thing. Probably the thing I've been most sure of in my entire life. The only thing I've ever been sure of in my entire life. I love you, he finishes softly, squeezing her hand in his.

He feels her lips press against his the very moment he finishes his sentence. Daenerys kisses him passionately, all her love pouring into him. She straightens up a little more, moves toward him, slides a hand over his chest. He responds by gently embracing her.

Their kiss deepens, they part their lips, as their tongues meet and blend in a perfect fusion. Daenerys can't help but think that she has definitely never kissed anyone who gave her that same feeling of perfection. This feeling of complete union.

Their mouths fit perfectly, as if they had been made for each other. Jon raises one hand to her nape, lowers the other to the small of her back, pulling her a little closer against him, pressing her waist against his. She moaned in his mouth without being able to hold back, and his desire for her suddenly intensified.

He presses her against his chest, enveloping her entirely in his protective and warm embrace, as they barely detach to catch their breath, returning to each other in the next second with a devouring intensity. Daenerys finally slips a hand to his belt, feverishly tackling the first buckle. It's been a long time, much too long since they fully gave themselves to each other.

Jon pushes her back against the mattress, covering her body with his, pinning her firmly but with infinite tenderness beneath him. His lips press more forcefully against hers, and she feels swept away by his fire, which completely makes her lose her footing.

He raises his hands to her collar, while she finally manages to free him from his belt with a small grunt of satisfaction. Their movements are hurried, urgent, they need to feel each other again, now, without any barrier, just the two of them and only the two of them.

Finally, the last garment falls to the floor, leaving their bodies fully reunited. He slides a hand down her bare back, and Daenerys feels his fingers ignite every inch of her they come into contact with.

Her skin burns under his firm palm that he presses against her lower back, caressing her flanks with a mix of fever and tenderness. He slides the other along her neck, gently clearing her hair, refreshing her sweat-drenched nape.

She runs her hands along his prominent abs, follows the line of his taut muscles, making him shudder violently, and loses them in his hair, tugging at his curls. She wants to touch him, feel him, melt into him.

Her fingers suddenly clench tightly in his dark strands, and she gasps with pleasure in his mouth as he intensifies their kiss, igniting her completely. Waves of increasingly burning heat spread throughout her body, down to the pit of her stomach.

He stops suddenly, his forehead against hers, waiting for her agreement. She gives it to him in a desperate sigh, almost a plea. And finally, they find each other completely, perfectly. They had never been so sure of their love as at that precise moment.

Daenerys felt Jon's back muscles contract under her palms as he held her in his firm, warm arms. His passion, his fire engulfs her, and she completely surrenders to his embrace, feeling more alive than ever, burning with inexhaustible flames. She sees only him, feels only him, touches only him, lives through him.

His sweat-drenched chest pressed against her breasts, his entire body enveloping hers, making her feel more loved and safe than ever before, his lips pressing against hers as she breathed only through his mouth.

She feels like she has the right to fall, and that she finally has arms to catch her. His fingers trace her trembling skin as if she were the most fragile person in the world, the most precious in his heart. His eyes darkened by desire plunge straight into hers, and he looks at her with such intensity, so much love, that for the first time in her life, she truly feels like she's in her place. Where she needs to be. Here, and nowhere else.

An immense love takes hold of her heart. Jon's hand behind her neck offers her a protective contact, an anchor to hold onto amidst this torrent of passion that fills her and would make her forget her own name to have only his on her lips. His thumb follows the curve of her neck with infinite tenderness.

She wraps her legs around his hips, to feel him even closer, even deeper. They are both overwhelmed by a wave of almost violent pleasure, and she lets herself completely go against him, in absolute trust, as he embraces her with even more love. Together. And finally, they are one.

They stay against each other for a moment, panting, with no desire to separate. Jon eventually lets himself roll onto his side, and pulls Daenerys a little closer against his chest. She closes her eyes. She feels good. She slides her face into his neck, inhales his reassuring scent.

For once, she allows herself not to carry everything, she allows herself to let him take some of everything that weighs on her shoulders. His fingers gently untangle her silver hair in a calm, soothing rhythm. His other hand resumes its tender and regular movements on her back.

She lets out a sigh of well-being. The feeling of security she feels is so comforting that she dozes off, between dream and reality. She is constantly on alert, always overthinking, maintaining her queen's mask, letting nothing get to her.

But there, her mind is strangely calm, her body too. She is filled by a deep inner peace, transmitted by him, by his presence, by his love.

- You can sleep a little longer, he whispers in his hoarse voice.

She raises her head to meet his gaze. His dark gray eyes still have the same effect on her, as if she were getting lost in that intense and rumbling storm. But only love burns deep in his pupils. And it is for her. She gives a soft smile as her heart swells with affection. She will definitely never stop feeling more and more for him.

She rises a bit to be at the same level as him, moves her lips until their noses brush and their breaths mingle. And she kisses him tenderly, with less eagerness and passion than a few minutes earlier, but with a gentleness, an intensity, and an infinite love. He slides a hand along her neck and gently strokes her cheek.

- I missed you, she murmured, repositioning her head in the hollow between his shoulder and his chin.

She takes a deep breath, her hands a little sweaty. She has no reason to worry, but she can't stop her heart from suddenly beating much faster. These words mean a lot to her. And he deserves them, more than anyone. He who managed to carve such an important place in her heart.

- And me too... I love you, she finally manages to whisper.

He tightens his arms around her, and she feels him trembling with emotion. He seems unable to say anything, deeply touched, so he compensates with gestures, as usual. He holds her even closer to him, strokes her hair, her back, her cheeks, her forehead, her sides, her arms, her whole being.

It's adorable. She melts with love and affection for him, for this man so strong but so sensitive to her every word. She snuggles a little closer against his chest. And surrounded by his warmth, she falls back into a peaceful sleep, more at ease than ever.

Chapter Text

Jon taps his fingertip on the Painted Table, thoughtful. Daenerys, along with Tyrion and Grey Worm, stand by his side. They decided to take advantage of being together to do a final review of their plan, which had clearly not been understood the same way between the Hand and his Queen.

- We just need to besiege them. They will ring the bells, no matter how long it takes. Even if Cersei refuses, they will eventually disobey. Their fear of us will be much worse than their fear of her, Tyrion insists. We don't have to kill thousands of innocents. We just need patience.

- Cersei is mad and cruel. She will never let go of the city. She knows well what her end will be. If she can take all of King's Landing with her, she will, Daenerys replies coldly. You know it as well as I do. Her people, it's different. They might rebel. But they will have to ring the bells on the same day. Or the confrontation will take place, and so much the worse. We had agreed to encircle them, not to besiege them. We don't have the time, and the troops don't have the energy to lead for that.

- Her people are currently too blinded ! But they won't follow her if given the chance, I'm convinced ! The people of King's Landing do not wish to die-

- As long as the bells don't ring, the entire Lannister army will fight. We don't have the necessary resources for a siege, I just told you, and I'm not going to wait indefinitely. If the bells ring, all the better. If not, too bad. If you are so certain they will eventually surrender, why not consider the possibility that they might abandon Cersei sooner than expected ? interrupts Daenerys.

Her voice has lost some of its coldness. She seems almost compassionate, but she remains firm. Her tone is final. Jon thought, half-following their conversation.

- I'm sure they'll end up turning their backs on her, but maybe not as quickly as they should. That's why laying siege to give them time to realize her madness, and thus abandon her, seems to be the most logical thing ! They will eventually let her go, even the soldiers, Tyrion pleads.

- We will surround them, as you said, Daenerys says dryly. But we're not going to wait forever. If they surrender, all the better. Otherwise, too bad. I'm not going to prolong the war. It's over. Forces allied with the Lannisters might come to their aid. We will then lose even more men. I don't want my armies to suffer anymore. They are as much my people as those of Mereen, regardless of whether they are soldiers and not just ordinary citizens. I would prioritize them over a population that is not yet mine. Moreover, if we delay too much, if we give them too much time, Cersei will find a way to escape. I'm convinced of it.

Jon notices that her voice changes slightly at this last hypothesis, darkening abruptly with anger. He imperceptibly moves closer to her.

- She has no more allies... and she won't escape. Never. She is too power-hungry for that.

- Are you sure about that ? Would you take that risk ? She must pay, Tyrion, she continues, her voice harsher, without noticing that Jon had moved closer to her. I heard she was expecting a child... Thanks to Varys, when he was still loyal to me. Cersei would never run away. But for her child, wouldn't she be capable of it? As cruel as she is, she lost her previous three. I've lost three as well. I know how that feels. She's sadistic, but she seemed to like them at least a little, from what I've been told. Do you really think her pregnancy won't influence her choices?

The Hand doesn't respond and looks away.

- I'm starting to wonder where your loyalty lies, she hisses at his lack of reaction. I remind you that she killed my son, that she killed Missandei !

- My loyalty is yours, my Queen, you know that well ! And I have not forgotten the death of your loved ones either. I simply don't want to massacre thousands of innocents when we might be able to avoid it, Tyrion retorts vehemently.

Jon sees Daenerys clench her teeth, containing her annoyance. He guesses that her anger is still there, boiling. Fueled by her grief. He moves forward a little more, and gently takes her hand in his, hidden by the table. She immediately relaxes, even though he couldn't say if it's intentional or not.

She looks at their hands, and tightens her fingers around his a little, as if to cling to his presence, before looking up at him. Her eyes soften as she meets his gaze, but he can clearly see that her fury is still there. Harboring something deeper. A dull pain. He gently strokes the back of his hand with his thumb, then speaks.

- Daenerys is right. We can't take the risk of Cersei escaping, or unexpected reinforcements arriving. We also can't kill innocents, and a siege is too risky. But... the problem lies simply in whether Cersei's soldiers believe in her enough to obey her – and thus, not ring the bells. And I honestly think they have no loyalty to her anymore. Let's hit the streets of the city. Daenerys will burn the walls. But she won't do anything more. We will then stop, facing them. They will be scared. Fear changes men. They will ring the bells. And then... we won't go any further.

He stares at Daenerys intensely. She looks away, but eventually nods in agreement. He smiles gently at her, grateful, and slips his fingers between hers.

- The second they surrender, we will take the city, ascend to the Red Keep, and execute Cersei. Thus, there will be no deaths other than the soldiers on the wall, and this queen, who fully deserves it, he concludes.

Silence falls in the room.

- I only hope they will give up in the face of a simple show of force... but it does seem to be the best solution, indeed, Tyrion finally sighs.

He falls silent and looks at Daenerys, just like Jon. She seems to hesitate, but she nods softly again.

- All right. No siege but no unnecessary blood spilled. We make a grand entrance, sow terror in their ranks by killing a minimum. Then we wait... and we'll see if their faith in Cersei is stronger than their faith in life. Unless they are stupid enough to believe they have a chance of winning... I think I know the answer, she asserts.

They murmur their approval, and a silence, this time less heavy, once again fills the room.

- What day, then ? Tyrion inquired.

- There's no point in making the troops wait, states Daenerys. They are exhausted by this endless war. The sooner the better. I would say in two days, to give time to coordinate the armies. Does that suit you?

Jon and the Hand nod again, and Grey Worm simply gives a brief salute, as if to say, "What my Queen commands, I do."

- There is one last point... she breathes.

The former King of the North notices that she is looking at him furtively, and that she is holding his hand slightly tighter. He worries a bit... and he is right to do so.

- We need to take care of Euron's fleet. And only I can do it. I will ride Drogon, and I will burn his ships completely, before attacking the wall of King's Landing as planned, she explains.

- It's too risky ! exclaims Jon, practically cutting her off, deeply worried. Drogon is the last dragon. They...

He stops. He doesn't want to hurt Daenerys, but he wants her to understand.

- They've already taken down Raeghal. What will you do if they manage to kill Drogon too ? It's the symbol of our army's strength. If he dies, we're finished. The battle will be much harder, the losses much heavier, and this time the Lannisters will never give up. And...

His words get lost in his throat. He continues with difficulty, his voice suddenly lower, more intimate, to the point that Tyrion fidgets and mutters something in his beard about "two lovebirds."

- If Drogon dies, you will die too. You can't take that risk, not you, the Queen. You are the one who unites us, the one who will lead the Seven Kingdoms. Without you, we have no more purpose, and we're back to years of fighting over who gets the Throne – assuming we manage to take down Cersei. Without you, we are nothing, he breathes, a dull anguish in his chest.

Without you, I am nothing, he wants to shout in despair. He plunges his eyes straight into hers, and she looks at him with such tenderness that he feels the overwhelming need to take her in his arms and hold her close. She then gently strokes the back of his hand with her thumb, just as he had done a few minutes before to comfort her.

- You know very well that there are no other solutions, Jon, she smiled at him a little sadly. And... If I die –

Jon tenses at her words. "If I die". It's out of the question.

- If I die, she continues, the Throne will not be left abandoned. There is another heir, more legitimate than me, who will be able to rule with kindness and fairness, she whispers.

His face crumbles when he understands what she implies.

- I will never take your place, he exclaims abruptly, horrified at just the thought.

She smiled at him again gently, softly, in a way that broke his heart a little more.

- You don't realize your worth, she whispers. You deserve it as much as I do, even more.

He feels the fear radiating through his veins. He sees in her serene face, a little saddened for him, but firm, that she has already made her decision. And no one, not even him, will be able to change the Dragon Queen's mind. Seeing him tense up even more, she gently raises a hand to his face and tenderly strokes his cheek.

- I'm not going to die, Jon. I'm going to burn Euron's fleet, then we'll fight and save King's Landing, before I take the Throne and finally the Realm will be more just and at peace. All right ? Euron caught Raeghal by surprise last time, she continues, seeing his dismayed look. He has no chance of reaching us, Drogon and me. Promise.

The flame that ignites her pupils reminds him of her immense strength. That's one of the reasons he fell so deeply in love with her. She has such confidence, such power. He really wants to believe her. But his worries refuse to be silenced, even tho he tries to listen to her reassuring words with all his heart.

Tyrion suddenly clears his throat, and Daenerys hastily removes her hand from her face, as if caught in the act.

- If I may give my opinion, he says, glancing at the two lovers who suddenly blush, this idea doesn't please me any more than it does you, Jon, but I honestly don't see any other solutions. It's the only way to destroy Euron's fleet. And I am also certain that Daenerys will not be fooled by one of these weapons, now that we are warned.

He seems to be trying to convince himself a bit, but his voice is sincere.

- We'll do that, then, she states calmly, tightening her grip on Jon's hand.

He feels that she is sorry to worry him like this, but that she is making what seems to her to be the right choice. His throat tightens. He would so much like to protect her. But he can't, and his powerlessness destroys him.

- Let's prepare our troops. Jon, I'll leave you to take care of the Northern armies, you'll need to join them. As for you, Grey Worm, warn the Unsullied that we are about to launch the final battle, she orders him.

He nods, his gaze firm.

- We will take care of the Dothrakis, and I will personally manage Drogon.

They resume with more pragmatic discussions. Which armies will invade from which side, how to adjust Daenerys and Drogon's arrival with that of their troops, how to make a strong impression with their show of force.

Jon listens with one ear. He really tries to concentrate. But the prospect of losing her leaves a bitter and sour taste on his tongue, the taste of fear, which invades his mouth relentlessly. He interlaces his fingers more firmly with Daenerys'. They will get through this, he promises himself. Both of them. He won't allow it otherwise.

Chapter Text

Daenerys gently strokes the tip of Drogon's broad snout. A thin smile stretches her lips. The wind makes her hair fly, and the tall grass run along the edge of the cliffs. The sky darkens slightly, the clouds gather in irregular clumps. But for now, the rain spares them.

- We will avenge your brother, she breaths to her dragon. And Missandei.

He growls softly, like a purr that transmits its vibration into her hand, and throughout her whole body. His rumbling resonating within her soothes her, and Daenerys smiles involuntarily a little more. But the hatred rises quickly. And a slight guilt floats in her chest. Tomorrow, they will invade King's Landing and finish it once and for all.

And she would start by burning Euron's fleet, all his ships down to the last one. The fury rises a little more, as well as the impatience to see them burst into flames and hear the men who took away those dear to her scream. Her fists clench. She will avenge Missandei, as well as Raeghal.

Where she feels a bit of remorse is when she thinks back to Jon's face. He looked so worried and so anxious that she almost wanted to cancel everything at once and find another strategy. But she had no choice. There were no other solutions.

Her mood darkened even a little more as she thought of her son. And to the one she considered her sister. To her hand in hers, to her slight smile when she understood without Daenerys needing to speak, to their knowing glances, to their discussions about their respective lovers that gave her the feeling of simply being a young woman her age, and not a Queen, a Khaleesi, or the Mother of dragons. Just her.

Her heart tightens, and tears well up in her eyes. She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. She needs to clear her head. Drogon looks at her with eyes that seem to decipher her better than anyone else, and he lowers himself slightly.

She smiles again and accepts his implicit proposal. She clings to his scales, and climbs up to settle into her spot, between his spines. She as the impression that this is definitely where she feels best. With in second place... no, tied, Jon's arms. A slight blush rises to her cheeks.

She closes her eyes, the salty sea air caresses her face and enters her lungs, invigorating her body. She whispers to Drogon "Sōves", and the great dragon rises, before taking off from the edge of the cliff with a powerful beat of his wings.

They quickly move away from the ground, the wind whistles in her ears. Below them stretches Dragonstone, but Drogon is gaining distance, preferring to descend toward the sea. He gets so close that he ends up skimming the waves with his long claws, leaving a trail of foam in their wake. Daenerys completely relaxes. The splashes leave fine droplets on her face.

She knows she can't afford to enjoy this flight for very long. She needs to go give her orders to the Dothrakis, finish planning precisely who will lead what, how they will synchronize well, agree on the precise actions.

But it does her good to be a little alone, just with him, in this timeless space. She will have to take Jon with her, one day. He won't be able to ride Raeghal anymore, but he can come on Drogon by her side. Without quite knowing why, this idea filled her with happiness.

After a few moments that still seemed almost unreal, she finally sighed.

- Vezof va brā, Drogon, she whispers.

The dragon roared, then slowly ascended into the sky, returning to the island much to Daenerys' regret.
***
Jon finishes packing the meager belongings he had brought with him, just enough for two or three days in Dragonstone. He must leave to rejoin his troops, in order to be ready for their final battle the next day. A grunt of frustration escaped his lips. He would have given anything to spend one last night with Daenerys.

The previous one, he had naturally joined her in her quarters, as if it was obvious they were going to sleep together. Daenerys had seemed to share the same view, although in the end, they had clearly done more than just drift off into slumber.

His cheeks flush at the memory, and he sees her again clinging to him, murmuring his name, or words in Valyrian that he didn't understand – although he's starting to grasp some of them – but that sounded so good to his ears, like a melody he was convinced he would never tire of. And then her closed eyes, her silver hair spread out in a crescent moon on the pillows, her nails in his back, her soft skin reflecting the glow of the simple candles that lit the room with a dim light.

They had then fallen asleep against each other. Daenerys' warmth always plunged him into a deep sleep, more restful than ever. Her little body nestled against his soothed him to a point he wouldn't have even thought possible.

But that night, he was going to spend it alone, far from her. So, already, the fear of losing her the next day refused to be silenced, darkening his mood all day. He had even sharply dismissed Ser Davos when the latter had simply asked him to hurry so they wouldn't join the armies too late.

Jon refrains from moping any longer, annoyed with himself, and leaves his room after finishing gathering his belongings and adjusting Longclaw to his waist. He spots the craft waiting for him in the cove below through the openings of the great hall, which then disappears from his sight as he moves further into the immense corridors of Dragonstone. He finally begins to find his way around, and remembers with amusement the days he had spent here a few months earlier, when he had first met Daenerys.

He had gotten lost a countless number of times, to the point that the servants no longer even asked him if he needed help, and simply guided him to his room with a smile. Fortunately for him, he had finally managed to memorize at least a minimum of the castle's interior.

He steps outside after crossing the great hall, and the wind assaults him with force. He looks at the ocean with concern. Waves crash against the cliffs below. They're going to get quite a shaking at sea, obviously.

He follows one of the paths and descends toward the small cove where the boat awaits him. The few men who accompanied him are already launching it, and he sees Daenerys, Davos, and Tyrion discussing a little further away. He approaches them, more relaxed just by seeing his Queen, even though he would have preferred to be alone with her.

She is facing him, and her face immediately softens when she meets his eyes. The two advisors turn around when they see her change her expression, and look at him in turn.

- We're going to be able to go, announces Davos. Everything is ready. The sea is rough, but nothing that prevents us from reaching the ship, then the coast, fortunately.

Jon nods, then turns his attention back to Daenerys. She looks at him with a gentle smile, but he notices her slightly tense, worried expression. He realizes that he too will be on the battlefield. He shouldn't normally have to fight much unless their plan fails... in which case he'll be on the front lines. And then they'll still have the walls to get through...

It doesn't bother him, he's used to battles even though he still hates having to kill, but he can clearly see Daenerys's anguish. He feels a slight pang in his heart, although he is even more worried about her on his side. Euron has already taken down Raeghal. He could start again with Drogon.

Even though he truly appreciated the green dragon, he had already imagined against his will what would have happened if Drogon instead of Raeghal had been hit. He shudders again at the thought. He tries to refocus a bit and comes back to the present. They all look at each other for a moment, without saying much, their thoughts directed toward the final battle that awaits them.

- Well, have a good trip... and until tomorrow, hoping that everything will be resolved when we can talk again, Tyrion finally said.

Jon thanking him for his words with a quick nod. The Hand moves away, and Davos follows him after telling Jon not to take too long.
He barely gives his consent and looks at Daenerys, unable to hide his anguish. Hundreds of scenarios play out in his head. What if she didn't come back ? What if it was the last time he saw her ? And if it was the last time he had the chance to talk to her ?

The flood of his worries abruptly stops when she gently moves toward him. She takes his hands in hers, and smiles at him a little more weakly than usual, looking at him in that way that makes him melt, which she only reserves for him.

- I'll be prudent, Jon. I swear to you. In exchange... Promise me that you will be careful too, okay ?

He feels her voice tremble slightly, although she seems to be trying to hide it. He looks her straight in the eyes, and the fear, the fear of losing him that he sees deep in her pupils breaks his heart. He slowly raises his hands, delicately places them on her cheeks.

He leans toward her, and she closes her eyes. He then gently places his lips on hers. He wants her to feel all his love, all his affection, all his strength. He kisses her tenderly, more tenderly than he ever has.

She presses a little closer against him, and he slides one of his hands down her side, before slipping it around her back to bring her closer to his chest. He needs to feel her, he needs to have the sensation of protecting her in his embrace, at least for a moment. Let her feel that she is safe.

They slightly open their mouths, allowing their tongues to meet, mingle, and intertwine. They lose themselves, merge into each other, carried by their gentle fire, which warms their hearts and bodies.

They eventually pull away reluctantly, and Jon tenderly rests his forehead against Daenerys'. The tips of their noses gently touch, and they each feel the other's breath on their lips. Jon doesn't care if his men, Davos, or Tyrion are watching them. Nothing matters to him except her. He strokes the back of her neck in a soothing, regular motion, and looks her straight in the eyes. He is scared. But he doesn't care, not for now. He just wants to reassure her.

- I promise you I will be prudent, Daenerys. Really. Tomorrow, we will both meet again when everything is resolved. I promise you. And… you too, be careful.

She smiled with affection.

- You give an order to your Queen ? she asks mischievously.

He smiled in turn.

- Yes. It's an order.

He kisses her gently this time on the forehead, then steps back despite his overwhelming desire to hold her in his arms once more. They look at each other for a moment, once again drowning in the eyes of the other. Then Jon smiles one last time, tenderly.

- Come back to me, okay ? I've grown used to you, he breaths.

She laughs, with that wonderful laugh that seems to chase away all his anxieties, all his worries, that laugh that brightens his day, that makes everything seem more beautiful.

- Okay, she replies, a smile on her lips.

Her face is more relaxed, and he is deeply relieved to have been able to soothe her fears. His discussion with her also lifted his spirits, and he forbade himself from sinking back into unnecessary anxieties. They will find each other again. He is certain of it.

They look at each other one last time, then he turns away with regret. He moves toward Davos – who gives him a small glance but says nothing – as well as his men, and they board the boat. The oars strike the water with force, splashing his tunic and breastplate with foam.

They move away from the shore. And Jon watches Daenerys who appears smaller and smaller. Until he could no longer determine the color of her eyes, then the way her hair was braided, the expression on her face, the way she stood, and finally until her silhouette completely disappeared from his field of vision.

***

Daenerys sighs for a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed in her room at Dragonstone. She can't believe that everything might end tomorrow. She has been pursuing this aim for years. That she's chasing that damn Throne. And she's closer to her goal than ever.

Despite herself, a dull anxiety grips her heart. Jon. She knows he's a good fighter, and they've faced much worse before, battling the White Walkers and the Night King. And even knowing it, she can't help but feel anxious. If all goes well, they will hardly have to fight, she tries to reassure herself.

The fire crackling softly in the fireplace seems less effective at warming the atmosphere than usual, and a slight shiver of cold runs through her. She closes her eyes. She is exhausted, but she feels a strange apprehension at the thought of going to bed.

Given the turmoil of her thoughts, she will probably have nightmares. Well, it's not like she wasn't used to it. She would occasionally see Viserys in her dreams. Who screamed her name, his skull half melted. A grimace crosses her face. What is painful is not so much his death. He was no longer the brother she had known.

Honestly, she had felt nothing when he had begged her, and nothing either during his cries of pain. But she missed her old brother, the one who still had a heart. Unfortunately, she didn't have many memories of that side of him. He had immediately shut himself off when they had to go into exile. Somewhere, Daenerys feels like he took out all his anger on her for everything that happened to them.

Thinking about Viserys puts her in an even gloomier mood. She eventually gets up, quickly changes, and slips into her bed. The sheets are cold. There is a lack of warmth from a particular person. Who would have chased away all her anxieties, leaving only peace and comfort. She curls up under the furs, sighs for a moment. She slept so well in his arms that the nights without him definitely seemed much colder and darker.

She turns onto her side and closes her eyes. She imagines him as if he were in front of her. His gentle smile, his reassuring arms, his deep and low voice, which comforted her... or increased her desire, depending on the moment. She feels her heart quicken a little despite herself at this thought.

His eyes as dark grey as the storm, his hands so strong but so gentle with her, his lips, his way of always doing what he thinks is right, the manner he refuses to be walked all over. It was also one of his character traits that had seduced her. When he was sure of something, when he was certain it was the best choice, then he did it, and it didn't matter if he was severely criticized or judged for it.

Daenerys suddenly realizes that Jon is actually one of the very few people she truly admires. She can't help but laugh softly at the thought, thinking that if he knew, it would probably really please him. She eventually falls peacefully into sleep, her thoughts still and always directed toward him.

Chapter Text

The wind whistles violently in Daenerys' ears. Her dragon beats its powerful wings, soaring over the ocean, passing through thin layers of clouds along the way. Her heart races, her blood boils in her veins. She forces herself to stay calm. She must destroy them, all of them. The hatred rises, slow, but burning. She urges Drogon to dive, and finally spots him. There. On the sea of oil. Euron's fleet.

A wave of rage takes hold of her. You'll see. You are all going to die. For Missandei. For Raeghal. She comes straight toward the hundreds of boats. She doesn't even need to shout. She whispers "Dracarys." And Drogon sets the first ships ablaze in the blink of an eye. It shouldn't, but the men's screams relieve her for a moment.

They start by destroying an entire row of vessels with astonishing speed, forming a long, orange and reddish burn on the shimmering blue of the waves. The fury rises even more within her. She will kill them all. She will turn this fleet that took away those dear to her into ashes.

Jon's words suddenly echo in her head. "Be careful." They spread through her, like a soothing breeze in the midst of her anger. She forces herself to breathe more calmly and to think logically.

Aim for the scorpions, she orders herself. Drogon rises a bit, then unleashes his searing flame upon the ships possessing the weapon. It takes them far too long to try to turn these to follow his movements. They can't even reload a single stake before they ignite in a fiery explosion, sending flaming debris onto the neighboring boats.
She massacres them all. They desperately try to reach her with their giant crossbows, but she gives them no respite, and burns the last ones they had left. She sets the boats ablaze in a fire that ravages the ocean, leaving behind a sea engulfed in flames. She destroys the last remaining vessels, which end up burning in an incandescent blaze.

But she's not done yet. She turns Drogon, and heads straight for King's Landing, toward the fortifications right by the sea. She hears men shouting, but she doesn't pay the slightest attention. They are finally above the first walls, and Drogon demolishes the few Scorpions in an instant, carrying the soldiers into the inferno.

She couldn't say if unleashing herself like this relieved her or, on the contrary, made her even more hurt. I must exterminate them, she tells herself. All of them. Her jaw clenches involuntarily, and her already rapid breathing quickens even more. Drogon flies above the walls, setting them ablaze with his incandescent fire.

They leave a veritable brazier behind them, and the smellof burnt flesh and ash now hangs in the air. Columns of smoke and flames rise everyplace they go. They raze the walls, literally.

Daenerys and Drogon continue to assault their enemies, plunging them into a massive fire. She clenches her teeth. It will soon be over. Soon, it will all be over. And she will free all those who have suffered like her from the hands of these tyrants.

***

Jon clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. He can't reassure himself. Has he ever worried this much about someone in his entire life ? Probably not.

What if Drogon got hit? What if Daenerys never came back? What if they waited for her, waited for her signal, but it never came? He forces himself to calm down, aware of the futility of the anxious thoughts swirling in his head, and stares at the walls rising before them.

The Northern army, the Dothrakis, and the Unsullied stretch out at the foot of the small hill on which he stands. And facing them, the Lannister army also waits patiently. The men look at each other like dogs, only the sound of clanking weapons and the neighing of a horse disturbs the heavy silence reigning over them all.

- If the bells ring... recall your men, Tyrion whispers, abruptly snapping him out of his stupor.

Jon turns to him, his gaze hard. He suspects that the Hand's intentions are not bad, but that he allows himself to give him orders as if he were Daenerys and, above all, to imply that he doesn't know what he should do strongly annoys him. In fact, he is simply consumed and excessively worried by the wait. His patience is lower than dirt. Nothing hurts him more than waiting idly while Daenerys risks her life.

He merely stares at Tyrion with a cold face.

- I know, thank you, he grunts.

He descends from the hill and positions himself at the front line, in front of his troops. A sudden explosion makes him prick up his ears. Several, in fact. Distant, but muffled, rumbling, making the ground vibrate beneath his feet. The men stir.

The noises are getting closer, and even from this distance, Jon sees the Lannisters breaking ranks a bit to look behind them, anxious. And suddenly, a tremendous explosion demolishes a huge section of the wall, accompanied by a torrent of flame, instantly burning hundreds of Lannister soldiers.

Others are buried in an instant under the flying stones as the wall collapses. Jon feels an immense relief wash over him. Daenerys. And Drogon. His gigantic, imposing silhouette emerges from behind the smoke screen, casting its shadow over the men who flee, screaming.

The Unsullied cry out in turn, overtaken by the Dothrakis, who charge and pour into the city through the gaping hole in the fortifications. Jon quickly regains his composure and launches his troops into battle as well.

The Dothrakis execute the remaining poor soldiers in an instant, leaving behind a long trail of agonizing bodies. The former King of the North also enters the city following the charge. There is clearly no need for his intervention. The Lannisters are getting slaughtered. He ends the suffering of several of them still agonizing from fatal burns, but not enough to cause immediate death.

Grey Worm and Davos move alongside him. He raises his head for a moment, looking for Daenerys. She and Drogon are still setting the walls ablaze, exterminating every remaining soldier, every last threat. He is still slightly worried that she might get hit, but from what he sees, she has finished burning all the crossbows. He takes a deep breath and focuses on what lies ahead.

They continue to move forward, and Jon catches up with the group of his men who have suddenly stopped.

- Move ! he growls, roughly pushing one of his soldiers aside.

He stands in front of his troops and stares at the bulk of the Lannister army facing them. The Northmen and the Unsullied continue to arrive behind Jon, filling the streets. Silence falls. The Lions face... the Wolves allied with the Dragon. They all look at each other, waiting. A signal. Jon holds his breath. For pity's sake. Make the bells ring. Make it so we don't have to face them.

He knows that in any case, with Drogon by their side, they will prevail. They are also superior in numbers. But he doesn't want to fight again, and spill even more blood... for nothing. He suddenly sees Drogon flying over the city, getting closer to them. He hears the crowd screaming in the distance as it passes, completely panicked. The immense dragon then lands on one of the still-standing sections of the wall and lets out a thunderous roar. Silence falls, broken only by his hoarse roars, which even Jon finds frightening. He stares at the Lannisters in front of them. He knows how to recognize a man's fear. He sees it very well. They are terrified.

And suddenly... the sound of a weapon falling to the ground. One of the soldiers dropped his sword, which bounced on the stone with a slight metallic sound. Then a second weapon joined it. A third. A fourth. The swords fall, raining on the ground, as the Lions surrender.

An intense feeling of relief washes over Jon. They finally have the hope of ending this endless war without a last bloodbath. The silence is deafening, heavy, broken by the sound of weapons thrown onto the cobblestone streets. And by cries. Distant, but increasingly louder.

"Ring the bells ! For pity's sake ! Ring the bells ! »

***

Daenerys breathes heavily, perched on Drogon. She tries to catch her breath, her face covered in ash and soot. Her anger is not appeased. Cersei must pay. The bells do not ring. She told Tyrion she wouldn't wait. But she can't coldly burn an entire city she wants to liberate, when it's only the queen who refuses to surrender.

She listens, desperately, even though she knows very well that if the bells rang, she would hear them. She perceives the screams of men shouting at the queen to give up. The silence is heavy, heavier than ever, punctuated from time to time by supplications.

And finally, a sound. Deep, resonant. Then a second one. The entire city seems to shake as the melody of the bells breaks the heavy silence, filling the air with hope. Daenerys felt an intense relief wash over her. There is only Cersei left. She no longer has to face the others. She doesn't move for a moment, relaxes, savoring her victory, and above all, she wants to make it clear that they won't attack anymore, now that they have surrendered. They are not their enemies. She...

A sharp, violent pain suddenly tears through her side. She cries out in pain, a white veil falls before her eyes. She clenches her teeth, tries to regain her composure, and lowers her gaze. An arrow is deeply lodged just below her ribs, and blood is already oozing from her wound. She remains frozen, unable to comprehend what has just happened. She just got shot. Now ? She won. After all that. Why now ?

She looks around for what could have, who could have done this. And she spots a Lannister, a few dozen meters from her, buried under the rubble. But alive, given the crossbow he's pointing at her. Ah. She was careless. She should have checked, made sure they were all dead, been certain.

They had surrendered, so she had relaxed for one second too long. This man was part of the Lannisters, and they had gave up, but she had condemned him to certain death. He will have had his revenge. Drogon spots him, and lets out a roar before setting him ablaze in an instant. I should have checked, she cursed herself, desperate.

The wound is extremely painful, but to her great relief, the blood is flowing less than she would have thought. On the other hand, the slightest twitch makes her groan. She has no choice. She can't give up now. She suddenly has an idea, which she will probably regret later. But for now, she doesn't care. She must show strength.

She grabs the shaft of the arrow and breaks it, leaving only two or three centimeters sticking out of her side. She screams in pain at the sharp movement the tip makes in her stomach, but at least, the wood is almost no longer visible. She covers the wound with a fold of her dress. The blood has only slightly seeped through, and on the dark fabric covered in ash, the scarlet liquid goes undetected. No one will notice. Perfect.

She will get through it. She needs to settle this once and for all, and only then will she be able to rest. She urges Drogon to take flight. The crowd stirs, she hears them scream in fear, and she orders her dragon to gain altitude so they no longer see her as a threat. She flies over the city at about a hundred meters above the ground, and finally lands at the foot of the Red Keep.

The square is fortunately deserted, the people fled screaming at her approach. She waits, extremely vigilant now. She won't be fooled a second time. Finally, Jon, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Ser Davos arrive, followed by an escort of Unsullied and Northmen.

Jon. An intense relief washed over her. She knew he would make it, but she couldn't help worrying about him all along. A slight sense of guilt seized her when she thought he would believe she was fine, while she had an arrow stuck in her side.

She gets off Drogon and walks toward them.

- It's almost over, she breathes, stopping herself from grimacing.

Walking is ten times more painful than flying on her dragon, which was already frankly miserable. She pulls herself together, adopts a firm voice.

- Then let's finish this once and for all, she concludes.

They nod, and enter the Red Keep, leaving Drogon outside, who takes off to land on one of the castle's towers, roaring. Jon had tried, when they had discussed what they would do after reclaiming King's Landing, to tell Daenerys to wait with her dragon on the steps of the Red Keep, while he and his men would go and ferret Cersei out of her castle and bring her back. She had refused. She wished to see the expression on the false queen's face when she saw her, Daenerys, advancing with her men, dragging her down to be executed. She wanted to see what defeat looked like on the face of the one who had killed her sister.

They progress through the maze of corridors. They come across a few men, who surrender immediately, but clearly, the Dungeon had already been almost deserted.

Despite herself, Daenerys worries that Cersei has fled. She needs to take revenge. She will kill the Queen in front of the people, thus freeing them definitively from the Tyrant's reign. A deep hatred rises in her heart.

- Did you close the doors properly ? she suddenly inquired.

- Yes, and we have placed trusted men where the walls have collapsed, Jon asserts. Others will encircle the Keep, to block Cersei if she tries to leave.

That was what they had agreed upon, so that no Lannister soldier could flee now that they were prisoners. Daenerys doesn't yet know exactly what she's going to do with them, but she knows she'd rather not have them scattered all over Westeros.

She suddenly feels Jon's gaze on her. He knows her too well, and if she continues to walk in this slightly hesitant way, he will immediately understand. She bites the inside of her cheek and forces herself to take a more confident step.

They continue to move forward, and pass thru several large rooms. Climbing the stairs literally destroys Daenerys, who holds back from screaming in pain with each step. She suddenly feels Jon take her hand, firmly intertwining his fingers with hers.

- Are you okay ? he murmurs with concern. You look...

She hates herself for having to do this, but she knows that if she gives in now, she won't be able to stand up anymore. She removes her palm from his, but still smiles at him.

- I’m alright, don't worry, she asserts, her voice fortunately as firm as she had wanted.

She turns and walks a little faster to avoid catching his eye. Suddenly, the smell of blood assaults her nostrils. She accelerates even more, a strange premonition rising within her. She emerges into a large room, at the edge of the stairs, which must have served as a reception hall. About twenty soldiers have obviously been killed, given the pool of blood in which they lie, their throats cut. Each one has the same cut. Their execution was done methodically. A shiver runs down Daenerys's back.

Qyburn, the Queen's hand, also lies on the ground. And further away, someone is holding Cersei against a wall. A not-so-tall figure, with black hair, her usually so cold face contorted with anger. Daenerys feels like she's delirious.

- Arya ?!

Chapter Text

- Arya?!

Jon's voice echoed in the silence. The young woman still holds the Lannister against the wall, and turns towards them with a cold look, a dagger in her hand. More than a dagger, the weapon seems to be a kind of needle, it's so fine and tapered.

- What is... What are you doing here ? Jon breathes, astonished.

- I came to do what I have been fighting for since the beginning, she asserts.

- No ! Daenerys interrupts her. She must die in front of everyone. Her people must see her lose !

I want my revenge too, she stops herself from grumbling. And she knows that if Cersei is executed in front of the crowd, the impact will be much stronger. The people will thus understand that she only wants to free them from her tyranny.

- She is going to die here, and now, claims the young woman.

- Arya, please, Jon breaths. Daenerys is right, and you know it very well.

She tenses, and the Mother of Dragons sees how much she cares about her brother. Despite everything, she still keeps Cersei against the wall, the blade at her throat. An idea suddenly came to her.

- We’ll execute her on the steps of the Red Keep, in front of the crowd. But... It is you who will kill her. It is you who will deliver the final blow. And not Drogon. Is that good ? asks Daenerys.

She feels like she can no longer speak, as the pain exhausts her side. She wavers between dropping to her knees and begging Arya, or calling Drogon and asking him to burn her. She shakes her head. Stop hallucinating.

Jon's sister seems to hesitate for a moment.

- And why would I do that ? she breaths.

- Because she is your Queen, her brother asserts, to Daenerys' immense gratitude, who clearly did not feel in a state to argue. And... for me. We both know that this is the best solution. Arya, please.

She finally gently moved the blade away from Cersei's throat. She whispers something to her, and Cersei's eyes widen.

- Thank you, Jon whispers to his sister.

Arya just shrugs, but she still seems tense. Two Unsullied step forward and firmly grab Cersei, who still hasn't said a word. But tears roll down her cheeks, much to Daenerys' satisfaction.

- As long as it's me who kills her, she claims.

Her tone sounds both calm and threatening.

- I will let you do the last act, breathes Daenerys.

Arya gives her a suspicious look, but says nothing. She may not visibly have any confidence in her, but she still has it in her brother.

They descend from the Red Keep, and Daenerys has the vivid sensation of taking an arrow with each step. I should have stayed with Drogon, she thinks, her heart on the verge of bursting. She knows very well that Jon is starting to have more than a suspicion now, so she forces herself to walk very straight, and at a steady pace, despite her urge to scream at the slightest movement.

Finally, they emerge onto the castle steps. As expected, the crowd is there, gathered by the armies. A large part of the people of King's landing. They murmur, frightened, agitated. Daenerys suddenly felt an immense pride wash over her. She finally succeeded. Finally. She freed them all. And she is now finally fully Queen.

Daenerys steps forward, faces the crowd. She takes a deep breath and gathers all her concentration.

- People of King’s landing ! she proclaims. Today, I, Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, free you from the reign of the Tyrant Cersei! She committed many crimes, used you, took advantage of you, tried to use your innocence against me, held onto power that did not belong to her, and made you suffer!

Today, you are now free ! I am the new Queen of King's Landing, as well as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms ! We will rebuild your city, our city, we will make it safer, more just for all. We will build a new world, founded on prosperity and peace ! I promise you I will not harm you. I know that most of you associate me with my father, the Mad King.

But he is no more, and I promise you that I will never make the same mistakes as him. I will always treat you with the respect you deserve. I promise you that this time, I will watch over you, I will protect you, I will rule with justice and compassion. Those who wish to leave the city as a free man, woman, or child, may do so. I will not hold anyone back, you are free to do as you wish.

But stay with me, and we will build a new world, a world of compassion, a more just world. Stay, and we will build a world of peace.

Are you with me? she shouts in a last effort.

Her question is risky. If the people don't follow, she risks losing her authority. But she really hopes she has managed to calm their fears, to make them understand her good intentions. Silence falls. No one moves.

And suddenly, as Daenerys begins to lose hope, a murmur spreads through the crowd. A child, as tall as three apples, applauds her. The man to his right imitates him. Then a young woman, a little behind. A boy. A little girl. The rumbling spreads throughout the crowd, and the people suddenly cheer for her.

- Long live Queen Daenerys! Long live the Queen who freed us!

A smile stretches her lips, she is radiant, although she maintains a minimum of her rather authoritarian facade. That's what she fought for. She sees well. Many faces scrutinize her in the crowd, not very convinced. Some even have clearly displayed hostility. But some look at her with hope. And just for a look like the one the little boy who applauded her first gave her, she feels like she didn't do all this for nothing.

She turns to Cersei. Her enemy says nothing. She is destroyed, in tears, her face distorted by fear and grief. Daenerys doesn't even feel satisfaction seeing her like this, all things considered. She only feels pity for her now.

- Cersei will be executed for what she has put you through, she announces.

She hardly wants the children to see this, but she suspects that unfortunately, they have already witnessed much worse. Despite herself, she feels deeply saddened for them. She signals to the soldier holding Cersei to move forward with her. He complies, and everyone can now see the former Queen facing them, humiliated, her cheeks full of tears.

The crowd boos her violently, shouting that she deserves to die in suffering. Daenerys nods her head in the direction of Arya. She barely gives her a look back, and moves towards Cersei.

- Any last word ? breathes the Mother of Dragons ironically.

The former Queen looks at her with a devastated face. Daenerys steps back slightly. Her anger is strangely calmed. She realizes that in the end, she cares little about the fate of her enemy, now. Arya then reaches out, and quick as a snake, slices Cersei's throat, who collapses to the ground in a death rattle. It's quite far from the classic executions, where an executioner would chop off the condemned's head, but the crowd roars and cheers.

The blood of the former queen stains the ground, and the scarlet liquid drips down the steps, further encouraging the people to stir and boo her. Daenerys thinks they still have quite a penchant for violence. With all they've endured under the reign of cruel Kings or Queens, how can you blame them?

She suddenly feels a violent dizziness take hold of her. She looks down and sees blood dripping down her dress, fortunately masked by the dark color of the fabric. A brutal wave of nausea overwhelms her, and she nearly collapses. Ah. She may have pushed herself too hard. As long as she still has a minimum of energy left, she clears her throat.

- You are now free men, women, and children ! she proclaims. Together, we will build a more just world ! Let peace reign !

Although some of them are still cold and doubtful, the majority of the people of King's Landing now acclaim her, shouting her name. She smiled gently. She succeeded. She finally steps back as Davos, Tyrion, and others move forward. It will now be necessary to start the reconstructions, clear the city of corpses, especially since they risk spreading diseases. Take care of the prisoners, the Lannister soldiers, manage the armies, as well as the food, make sure the people...

A white flash suddenly bursts, piercing her skull. An unimaginable pain assails her side. Fortunately, she managed to finish her speeches before.

She enters the Red Keep, and the moment the doors close behind her, she collapses. Firm arms catch her, but she sees nothing anymore, lost in a fog of pain. She makes a violent effort to stay conscious.

She feels a warm hand on her face, as a familiar but panic-altered voice reaches her ears. She concentrates, and finally manages to make out Jon's face leaning over her. She realizes that he has been talking to her for a while, but she struggles to understand what he is saying.

- Daenerys ! Are you hurt ? You're hurt ! Where-

She feels the distress in his gestures, and seeing him so desperate breaks her heart. She manages to raise a hand to his cheek, smiles weakly.

- I'm fine, she whispers with difficulty.

- No, you're not ! he protests with rage, tears streaming down his face.

The flap of her dress suddenly slips, revealing the arrow deeply embedded in her side. He gasps in horror.

- How long have you had... that ? he stammers, terrified.

She tries to respond, but groans in pain as she lets her arm, which was still resting on his cheek, drop. She clenches her teeth. She has rarely been in so much pain in her entire life, and the nausea returns as she feels herself drifting.

She hears panicked cries, and it seems to her that other people are gathering around her. Normally, she would have hated being so vulnerable in front of so many people, but she's in so much pain that she simply can't care about anything.

She hears some people screaming, shouting, and believes she understands that they are calling for a Master. Jon's voice reaches her through the fog, a soft, warm, reassuring tone, although desperate and terrified. She has never seen or heard him like this. She doesn't want him to be so sad.

- Hold on, Daenerys. It's going to be okay, I promise you. We're going to save you. Okay ? Don't leave me, please...

She wants to respond, but a black veil falls before her eyes. The last thing she perceives is Jon's hand supporting her neck, and his desperate cry as she sinks into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Jon had never been so scared in his entire life. Daenerys's head falls back as he holds her in his arms.

- No ! he practically yells, panicked. Daenerys, please ! You mustn't... his voice breaks despite himself.

Tears blur his vision as he desperately searches for a solution, anything. Don't leave me, I beg you. Please, don't abandon me. I need you. Without you, I am nothing. Please. PLEASE. Please…

He suddenly feels a hand firmly placed on his shoulder. He turns around. Arya. His sister has a cold face. Or rather, focused.

- Move, she orders him. Let me see.

Jon obeys, unable to think properly. His sister places two fingers on the Queen's throat. She frowns.

- Her heart still beats regularly, but too slowly. I sent Perclan to fetch Master Cargan, who accompanied our armies, fortunately for her. The arrow didn't hit anything vital, from what I can see. The problem is that she must have lost too much blood. If she had gotten treatment immediately, there would have been no problem. But there...

Jon felt his world collapsing. He had seen, in the Red Keep. He had seen her grimace in pain at times, and her gait was hesitant. But she had pulled away when he had tried to ask her if everything was alright. He should have insisted. He should have...

- Jon ! Arya repeats firmly, looking him straight in the eyes.

He raises his head towards his sister, gripped by terror.

- Calm down, she urged him. You're not helping her by panicking like that. You can't make an effective tourniquet on the torso, but you can compress the wound.

She looks at her brother for a moment.

- I'm going to do it, but you have to help me. We're going to cut her dress all around, and I'll press on her wound to stop the blood from continuing to flow. All right ?

He nods. His sister's calm helps him not to completely sink into terror.

- Hold her tight, she orders.

She draws Needle from its scabbard and begins to cut the fabric surrounding the arrow deeply lodged in her side. Arya glances at the shaft, and grimaces.

- What ? asked Jon, trying by all means to keep his voice from trembling.

- She broke the shaft of the arrow, she grumbles. She's crazy. She must have been in a lot of pain, seeing how it's lodged right under her ribs. Fortunately, she left enough of the shaft sticking out so that the Master could remove it. In short... she might move a bit, even unconscious, Arya warns.

Jon barely processes the information. She broke the arrow ? He decides he'll think about it later, and nods, before holding Daenerys more firmly, fear in his gut. His sister rolls up her sleeves, wipes her fingers on her tunic, then presses her hands firmly around the wound.

Even in her unconsciousness, Daenerys groaned in pain, and Jon felt his warm tears blur his vision.

- Hold on, he stammered, his heart breaking with grief.

The blood oozes a little harder for a moment, but Arya doesn't let up the pressure, and the flow finally seems to lessen. Her fingers become covered in scarlet liquid, and she continues her effort, her face closed and focused.

They wait for what seems like an eternity before an old figure finally approaches them quickly, limping, preceded by a young man with a frightened look. The Master approaches, and frowns at the sight of the blood spilled on the floor.

- You did well to press the wound, he said in a calm voice. Perclan...

The boy hands him a box containing a few instruments. The man then approaches Daenerys, and Arya slightly opens her fingers so he can see better.

- It's ugly, he grumbles. But the arrow slipped into the right place, I don't think it hit any vital organs. On the other hand, many nerves are located in that area. Well, first of all, you need to remove the tip. It's the most dangerous step. If we manage to do it correctly, she has a good chance of making it.

Jon doesn't want to hear what might happen if this moment goes wrong. He nods quickly, his heart on the verge of leaping out of his chest.

- Before that, let's finish cutting the dress. It will be better for working, the old man specifies.

Arya takes Needle again and complies without question, clearing the blood-stained fabrics from Daenerys' chest and stomach.

- I'm going to remove the arrow now, but for that, you really need to hold her, okay ? orders the old man. I would have preferred that we had poppy milk, but I hardly have any stock left and it would take too much time to try to make her drink... Perclan, get some compresses, will you. We'll need to stop the bleeding as soon as the tip is cleared.

Jon and Arya nod, and the young man quickly rummages through the chest with vigor. The Master kneels beside them.

- We would have been better off on a table, but moving her would be too risky... Good. Are you ready ?

Arya presses her hands on Daenerys's hips in agreement, and Jon braces her shoulders against his knees. She's going to be in pain. He can't hold back his burning tears, but nods.

The old man then firmly grips the shaft of the arrow and pulls to dislodge it. She resists for a moment, and Daenerys struggles, crying out in pain. Jon feels his heart break as his cheeks become stained with salty and bitter water.

The point finally comes free from her side, and Daenerys falls back with a groan against Jon's knees. A stream of blood gushes from her wound, and fear grips him more brutally than ever. The Master quickly grabs the compresses that Perclan hands him before vigorously pressing them against her side.

The old man then quickly retrieves a bottle with one hand, opens it, and pours some green paste with a minty smell onto clean compresses that were previously laid out right next to him. He puts the bottle down, then removes the blood-stained bandages, before placing those covered with the poultice on her wound.

Arya hands him a roll of bandage, which the Master accepts with gratitude. Jon sees him apply the compresses, then firmly wrap the long strips of fabric around her torso. He finishes wrapping the young woman's flanks with precision, then takes her pulse. Jon feels the fear violently rising within him, waiting for what he will say.

- I think she's on the right track, he finally breathes out with relief. We need to put her in a bed, keep her warm, and we'll have to monitor her constantly in the coming days. She lost quite a bit of blood, but I don't think her life is in danger, continues the Master.

Jon felt immense relief wash over him, so much so that if he wasn't already on his knees, his legs would have given out beneath him. He forbade himself from hoping too much, still terrified of losing her. But he holds her a little closer to him. You'll get through this, Daenerys. I'm certain of it. You can do it. Courage, my love.

***

Jon looks at her, as he has for hours. She is still as pale as ever, but her hand is less cold in his. The fire crackles in the room, and furs that he himself placed cover her small body. The atmosphere is too hot for him, but he doesn't care.

He is exhausted, refuses to close his eyes despite the fatigue that relentlessly assails him. His thumb tirelessly caresses the back of her hand, with infinite tenderness. He wonders for a moment if this is the kind of violent and heavy worry that Daenerys felt when she was waiting for him to wake up after the battle against the White walkers.

He suddenly jumps and turns around sharply when the door swings open with a heavy creak. He relaxes when he sees his sister enter, and turns all his attention back to Daenerys.

She at least looks peaceful. Her features are no longer drawn, and he can see her chest rising regularly. He remains fixed on this movement, as if terrified that it will suddenly stop if he looks away.

- You should sleep, Arya tells him.

- I have to watch over her, he breaths.

He doesn't turn to his sister, but he would have sworn she rolled her eyes.

- Because you think your precious Queen would be happy to find you staring at her like a zombie when she wakes up ? she taunts him.

Her mockery is evident, although he detects a hint of worry in her voice. Meanwhile, she's not wrong. But he is unable to drift off to sleep. He has the horrible feeling that if he looks away, Daenerys will die without anyone noticing.

He couldn't say how long they both remained in silence after Arya sat down by the fireplace, against the wall.

- She's mad, she suddenly blurts out.

Jon looks at her, his eyes colder than ever. If she...

- Let me finish, Arya sighs before he can speak. In case you didn't understand, I think she had that arrow stuck in her side since she landed with her dragon at the foot of the Red Keep. If not before. Which means she climbed those steps, searched for Cersei with you, went back down, and finally gave her speech to the crowd, with an arrow under her ribs. She broke the barrel so no one would notice, Jon. It must have hurt her... Anyway, she cuts herself off, clearly not wanting to bring up the pain of the woman he loves in front of her brother.

Jon suddenly understands Arya's tone. It's no longer the open distrust, the guarded attitude she had towards Daenerys when they were in Winterfell. Her voice is now almost... curious, and... admiring?

His sister falls silent for a moment, then continues.

- I've had my share of suffering. And I can tell you that staying impassive, talking, walking, shouting while you have an arrow stuck in your stomach, that must be more painful than anything I've ever experienced. I don't know how she did it. Her strength of character is impressive, she asserts.

She seems to hesitate, but eventually continues in a slightly softer voice.

- I may have judged her a bit too quickly. Her speech... was not what I expected. And she used her dragon, Drogon, for good. Not against the innocent.

Jon notices the sparks that shine in his sister's eyes when she talks about the immense beast. Arya had always been fascinated by dragons, and she had always admired strong women. A gentle warmth spreads through him. If the two people he holds most dear in his heart actually talked, without pretense and with sincerity, he is convinced they could well become the best friends in the world.

Jon takes a deep breath, a thought suddenly crossing his mind.

- Sansa betrayed me, he whispers, his heart breaking just from talking about it. And because of me, Daenerys is now in danger. She will be questioned. After all she's done.

Suffering crosses his gaze as he turns to his sister.

- I hate being a threat to her, Arya. And Sansa…

He falls silent, hatred boiling in his veins. He doesn't understand why she betrayed him. Or rather, he understands it very well. She doesn't trust him, and above all, she wants to make decisions for him. He realizes that he is not sure if he will ever be able to forgive her.

- You did what you thought was right, Arya states, looking him straight in the eye. Continue to take responsibility for your choices. I know you well, Jon, you are my brother, no matter what the blood says. And I saw... a part of who Daenerys Targaryen really is, today. If there are two people capable of getting out of this mess, it's you.

His sister's words bring him immense relief. Her approval and the trust she places in him warm his heart. He smiled gently at her.

- Thank you, Arya, he whispers in his hoarse voice.

She smiled back at him before continuing.

- As for Sansa, well, I guess we should have continued to apply our famous " Don’t tell Sansa", she says ironically, referring to what they used to say to each other as children, when everything was still simple.

Jon nods, unable to laugh at the joke. But he feels relieved. His sister finally approves a little more of the woman he loves, and above all, she trusts him, probably more than he trusts himself. For a moment, he thinks that if Daenerys were awake, he would probably be happier than ever, surrounded by the two people he loves the most in the world.

He looks at her again. Her silver hair is spread across the pillows, her face is peaceful, no sign seems to tighten or trouble her expression. She looks so… good, that he almost feels like she's just taking a nap.

He would so much like her to open her eyes, her beautiful violet eyes, to smile at him in that way that makes him melt, to talk about everything and nothing, no matter the big discussions about the Throne, the Crown, or whatever else. These can wait, and they would just talk about whatever they wanted. He would love to hold her in his arms, place his lips on hers, and above all, feel her there, present, with him.

His heart tightens, and he clasps his fingers more firmly between hers, still gently caressing the back of her hand with his thumb with tireless tenderness. Come back to me quickly…

Chapter Text

Daenerys is alone. It's cold. The sky is completely darkened, the whole world seems to be frozen. A shiver runs through her from head to toe. The blizzard prevents her from seeing clearly. She suddenly hears a voice, terrifying, rumbling, echoing across the snow-covered plains. She can't understand the meaning, but she is brutally terrorized.

The storm is raging. Daenerys suddenly sees people in front of her. They look like the… dead, but not because of their appearance. By their attitude. They advance toward her, inexorably. She panics, retreats hastily.

Suddenly, a burst of light emerged in the midst of the darkness.

She hears a child's cry.

And a white star appears, luminous, of incredible power.

A roar, similar to that of a dragon, echoed in the distance.

A final battle.

These three words echoed in her head without her knowing why.

And then, a deafening rumble... and nothing more.

***

Daenerys suddenly opens her eyes, looking haggard. She no longer knows where she is. She gasps for a moment, lost in a freezing fog, of the same type as that of her... dream ? She pants, lost, tears well up in her eyes, she...

- Daenerys !

The shadows suddenly seem to disappear, replaced by a familiar face, a face she would recognize among thousands. Whose dark gray eyes fix on her with undisguised worry. From that glimmer that reassures her in a flash.

She feels like she can finally breathe, and he suddenly embraces her against him, with infinite tenderness, immediately dispelling her last anxieties. She melts into his embrace, amidst his warm arms, inhaling his comforting scent. She is protected. An intense feeling of security runs through her limbs, and she relaxes, nestled against him, finally back in the present, in the warmth, and not in the icy terror she felt earlier.

The memories jostle brutally in her head. She is Queen. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, finally. She must have lost consciousness because of that damned arrow. Jon finally backs away, gently, and she notices that he has actually been extremely delicate, barely brushing her side where long strips of fabric are wrapped. She tries to move her right arm a little, and grimaces at the sharp pain that radiates through her ribs with this movement.

Jon's firm hand presses on her shoulder, preventing her from fidgeting.

- You mustn't move ! The Master said your wound was still sensitive, he breathed in a hoarse voice.

She looks at him, and her heart swells with immeasurable love... and sorrow. He is sitting right next to her, looking haggard. His hair is undone, he doesn’t seem to have eaten for a while, and his eyes are fixed on her, filled with a violent blend of relief and worry, mixed with immense affection.

- You're finally awake... he mumbles, tears in his eyes.

- Yes, I'm here, everything is fine, she whispers, her heart breaking to see him so lost.

She straightens up a bit, and manages, not without difficulty, to take him into her arms this time.

- I’m sorry, she said sadly. I didn't want to worry you...

He rests his head against her chest, and she feels his warm tears wetting her bandages, as well as her bare stomach. He wraps his arms around her again, and holds her close as if she were about to leave again. He seems to try to take a firmer tone, angry that she risked her life like that, but he can't manage it. He is incapable of it. Only his broken voice echoes.

- Never do that again. I thought...

He doesn't finish his sentence, and Daenerys feels a sharp sense of guilt wash over her. If Jon had hidden such a serious injury from her, she would have been deeply angry with him, and above all, she would have been terrified for him.

- I’m sorry, she repeats softly.

They remain for a moment against each other, embraced. Daenerys closes her eyes. She feels so good with him. She runs her hands through his dark curls, slowly caressing his hair, threading her fingers through his strands to untangle them with immense patience. He doesn't let go of her, even though he seems to calm down with the regular movements of her hands.

- How long have I been… asleep ? she finally murmurs.

- Four days, he whispers without looking up.

Her heart tightens even more. He had to wait for her to wake up in constant anguish for four days. She is well-placed to know how long the hours, minutes, and even seconds seem when you are desperately waiting for the return of those you love.

She lets her hands slide out of his hair, cups his cheeks with her delicate palms, and gently lifts his face. She plunges her eyes into his. His storm-colored pupils are definitely magnificent. She lowers her chin a little, and places her lips on his with infinite gentleness.

He straightens up, wraps her in his arms, deepening their kiss, pulls her against him, pressing his warm palms against her back. She finally pulls away a little, and melts at his loving and relieved expression. She strokes his cheek, softened.

- I'm fine now, she smiled gently at him.

- Never hide this kind of thing from me again, okay ? he whispers with an almost pleading gaze.

She looks away and lets her hand drop, a little uncomfortable. He slides his fingers under her chin, lightly touches the corner of her lips with his thumb, and brings her face closer to his.

- Daenerys, I'm serious. I... understand that sometimes, you consider your health, your life, or whatever comes after your goals. Even if I don't agree, and I never will. But I would at least like to know. Even if you don't let me intervene, tell me. Dany, please, he finishes, practically begging her, seeking her gaze.

She finally looked up at him, and the sincere, deep worry she saw in the depths of his pupils overwhelmed her.

- All right, she breathes.

- Thank you, he said with obvious relief.

He kisses her again, and she melts into his arms, soothed.

- And you, you have nothing ? she suddenly asks, straightening up a bit to meet his gaze, worry abruptly washing over her.

He seems to be in great shape, but you never know. He might be injured internally, or maybe it's just in a place not visible at first glance, or...

- No, I have nothing, he whispers, looking her straight in the eyes, with such tenderness that it instantly disarms her.

He gently strokes the back of her hands. She closes her eyes and leans against his chest, deeply relieved.

- What happened since I lost consciousness? she finally inquired after a moment.

He steps back slightly, but takes her palm back into his, naturally interlacing their fingers.

- You fainted in my arms, he replies, and she can feel him trying to keep his voice from trembling.

Her heart tightens a little in her chest, and she strengthens her grip on his hand in an attempt to comfort him. She hates to think that he was also scared because of her.

- I panicked, he admits. I don't know what I would have done if Arya hadn't been there. She took charge, tending to your wound while the Master arrived. After, he...

His voice wavers for a moment, and he continues, his tone a little shaky.

- He removed the arrow, then he bandaged your wound. They transported you to a room in the Red Keep, and I have stayed by your side ever since.

- Thank you, she whispers softly.

A faint smile lights up his saddened face as he delves back into his visibly painful memories, and he furtively places a kiss on her forehead.

- Regarding King's Landing, the basic organization has been established while waiting for you to wake up. Already, it was necessary to calm the ardor of the Dothrakis who have their own vision of what should be done to a city after defeating it, he grumbles.

Daenerys worries for a moment, knowing very well what her men are capable of doing if they are not firmly forbidden.

- I calmed them down, he immediately reassures her upon seeing her expression freeze a bit. Telling them that you would burn them if they dared to touch the inhabitants without your permission was enough, he adds, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She can't help but smile imagining Jon threatening the poor Dothrakis, probably with Drogon behind him...

- Drogon, she suddenly remembers. Is he okay ?

- Very well, Jon agrees. He either stayed flying over the city or fishing at sea, or waiting perched on one of the towers of the Red Keep, right next to your room. Otherwise, the armies have already started evacuating the corpses. We tried to bury them, but Drogon also burned some of them, those that were already... well, some bodies were beyond recovery. There is still some clearing to do, but the number of deaths is ultimately quite low, thanks to our plan.

We have also started the reconstruction of the buildings damaged by the collapse of the walls in some places, which have also been partially repaired, although there is still much to do. It is Tyrion who mainly takes care of that part. Moreover, Davos is overseeing the Northern armies in my place for the time being.

As for the Lannister armies, some of them have been locked up in the city's cells, while another part is disarmed and guarded outside the city by Unsullied, who are themselves under the supervision of Grey Worm. We didn't have enough room to put them all in prison... he finally finished.

Daenerys thought intensely. They have already visibly made good progress in her absence. A smile floats on her lips.

- It seems like you managed very well on your own.

A sentence suddenly comes back to her mind.

- By the way, you said that... Arya had helped you ? Well, had helped me, then ? she asks, trying to contain her surprise.

The young woman had always seemed very upright and detached to her, but she had clearly understood that the she didn't hold her in her heart. That she had tried to save her really surprised her.

- Yes, confirms Jon. She… pressed on your wound to prevent too much blood from flowing out before the Master arrived, and it was actually her who called him. And… I think she's changed her opinion about you a bit, he finally adds after a hesitation.

A smile, this time genuine and warm, stretches Daenerys's lips. Telling herself that Arya, the sister of the man she loves, helped her and maybe finally sees her at least a little differently warms her heart. She mustn't forget to thank her. Jon smiled in turn as he saw her light up.

- Do you have any other information ? she asks.

He seems to hesitate and tightens his hand around hers.

- We sent the news of your victory throughout Westeros, and the announcement of Cersei's death, as well as your accession to the Throne and thus the fact that you are the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he finally announced softly. But… even though for now, the news seems to have been rather well received, some say that you are not legitimate in power, and that it is…

She sees that just saying it breaks his heart.

- I who should rule. Varys has visibly spread the news of my true origins much more than we thought, and almost the entire continent knows about it now, he finishes with difficulty.

He plunges his eyes into hers, and she sees the extent of his regrets and the deep remorse that torments him. He intertwines his fingers more tightly with hers, and she feels him trying to keep his voice from trembling as he continues.

- I'm sorry, Daenerys. I am so, so sorry. I should never have revealed the truth to Sansa. You had warned me, beside. Sorry. I promise you that I will do everything to fix my mistake. I...

He stops abruptly when he feels the palm of the now Queen gently caress his cheek. She sees him look up at her, and tears well up in her eyes. This is going to be tough. But... he did what he thought was right. And he regrets it now. She has already made mistakes, too.
And as he is like that, destroyed before her and consumed by guilt, she is unable to resent him.

- It's all right, Jon, she whispers. Thank you for admitting you were wrong. We'll get thru it as usual, both of us. As long as we're both together, it'll be okay, alright ?

She realizes that more than anything, it is the fear of losing him, of feeling him drift away again, that distresses her. It doesn't matter if the world is against them. She is certain that as long as they are together, everything will be fine. An idea suddenly rises within her, unexpected, taking control of all her thoughts.

And... what if they joined forces ? If they got married ? That would solve all their problems. They would both rule. They could balance each other, him the ice, her the fire. They are perfect for each other. And... she loves him. She loves him, with all her heart and soul. She only wants him, wants to live the rest of her life with him. She would have never thought of sharing her Throne. But with him... it almost relieved her. To think that she could always count on him by her side. So... the idea seems crazy to her, and at the same time... But will he want her ?

- You're right, he suddenly breathes, interrupting the train of her thoughts. Thank you, Daenerys. You are incredible. You are the most incredible woman I have ever met, he whispers, his voice tinged with emotion. I promise I will never leave you again. I promise to give you all the love you deserve. To show you everything I feel for you, he finishes, looking at her with such pure love that it gives her chills.
Tears well up in her eyes as his pupils, filled with raw sincerity, warm her entire body, and his words seem to heal something within her. As if she had just found a piece of her heart. It makes her feel so, so good.

Her idea of marriage comes back to her, even more insistently, and she doesn't know what to think. She is both terrified... and at the same time, it gives her crazy hope. Like a dream she would never have dared to believe in, or even hope for.

She suddenly feels exhaustion creeping over her. She is clearly not yet fully recovered from her injuries. She makes an effort to gather her words.

- And you, you are the most just, the most upright, and the strongest man I know. And I don't want to know another. I only want you, she whispers softly.

She feels his lips against hers as he kisses her with tenderness and infinite love. She surrenders to him, melts into his embrace. She feels like she is merging with him. She is never as sure of her place as in his arms. As if she were home. This home she never had... It's Jon who gives her the closest feeling.

They eventually detach, and he wraps her even tighter. He notices her sudden exhaustion as she leans against him, her cheek resting against his heart. She hears it beating softly against her ear, in a regular rhythm that lulls her like a child.

- You can rest, he whispers tenderly, sensing her fatigue. You just finally woke up, you can take some time for yourself without pushing too hard.

She would like to protest, but the warmth of his arms, his breath against her hair, the firm and reassuring presence of his hands on her neck and back soothe her to the point of making her doze off.

- Thank you for being there for me, she mumbles in a semi-sleep.

She is confused by all the information she has just received, by the pain that is much less intense than it was four days ago but still present in her side, by her crazy hope of marriage that she doesn't know what to think, by Jon's comforting and adorable words, by his embrace that makes her forget everything and just makes her want to surrender to the world of dreams again.

She almost tries to struggle, to get out of this torpor, thinking that there are now plenty of things to do. And then she needs to take care of the organization, she needs to get out of this damned bed and take everything back into her own hands – although they seem to have managed perfectly in her absence – she also needs to show the people that she is indeed there, that she is their Queen.

But the warmth that surrounds her envelops her mind in a gentle, soothing bubble, and she falls asleep despite herself in the arms of the man who probably loves her more than she loves herself.

Chapter Text

Daenerys pushes the furs away with annoyance. It's been almost a week now that she's been rotting in this damned bed, and the Maester refuses to let her out. If it had been up to her, she would already be up, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.

But Jon's pleading look had gotten the better of her, and she found herself waiting miserably in this room, every corner of which she was beginning to know by heart. She had regular visits, but some hours seemed terribly long as she waited for only one thing : news from King's Landing, from her people, her armies, her Kingdom.

Now that she was awake, she made the important decisions and gave all the directives, but she obviously couldn't enforce them from her bed, and she found herself alone and plunged into boredom as soon as her advisors hurried off to carry out her orders.

Except for Tyrion, who stayed with her as much as he could. He had visited her several times, and had allowed himself to lecture her for an eternity on her recklessness, before she finally dismissed him with an annoyed look, preferring silence to his endless rebukes.

She had also reconsidered the marriage. But she didn't know, and still doesn't know what to do. Should she try to talk to Jon about it ? Think about it a bit more before ? She doesn't want to rush him. Regret takes hold of her heart. Missandei would have known what to do.

She finally rests her head against the pillows and sighs. At least, she has time to think about all this. A slight pain suddenly radiates through her side as she attempts to sit up slightly again, and she grimaces involuntarily.

Suddenly, three sharp knocks are heard behind her door. Finally, a bit of excitement.

- Come in, she says as she sits down, trying to maintain a dignified air.

No one needs to feel like she is weak. On the contrary, she needs to appear stronger than ever.

She tries to prevent the surprise from spreading across her face as she sees the person entering her room. A young woman with jet-black hair, a stern look, but above all, eyes that remind her terribly of someone very dear to her heart. Arya.

She looks at her without quite knowing what to say, disconcerted by her visit. Jon's sister hadn't come to see her since she had woken up. They size each other up for a moment, and Daenerys clears her throat.

- My brother, the Arya cut.

The Mother of Dragons looks at her with questioning surprise.

- He wanted to come see you, Jon's sister continues. Except that he had to follow up with a second Council. So he didn't have time. He started to get agitated, said that as Queen you had to have a debrief of the session immediately after the debate. He was told that others could handle it and that it was important for him to stay for the meeting that would follow, but he obviously refused. So I volunteered to come see you.

Looking at the young woman's face, Daenerys thinks that she must have rather imposed herself than offered, but she keeps her remark to herself, waiting for her to finish.

- There you go, finish this one without any more explanations.

The Queen looks at her for another moment. She is a bit uncertain, but eventually responds.

- I thank you, she states.

What Jon told her suddenly comes back to her. "I don't know what I would have done if Arya hadn't been there. She took charge, tending to your wound while the Master arrived". Gratitude overwhelms her. She hasn't been able to thank her in person yet.

- And thank you for what you did for me, right after the capture of King's Landing, she adds with a warm smile.

Arya's cold face cracks for the first time, and she suddenly looks disconcerted.

- It's normal, she says almost hastily. Anyone would have done it.

- No, corrects Daenerys. Most would have left me to die.

Arya seems about to protest, but the Queen continues.

- Even though I suspect you did this for your brother, I'm still grateful to you, she continues. I will never forget it, you have my word.

Jon's sister cannot hide her astonishment at Daenerys' gentle face. She thinks that she has indeed only shown her cold side to Arya. She thinks for a moment that perhaps she should have kept the mask on, but oh well. She had probably saved his life, and the Queen wasn't the type to show ingratitude.

Jon's sister looks at her without saying anything, then sits comfortably in one of the armchairs in the room. She doesn't ask Daenerys for permission, but strangely, while she would have thought otherwise, it doesn't bother her that much. The silence that settles between them either. To her great surprise, she even feels quite comfortable in her company.

- I also owe you thanks, Arya suddenly blurts out. For everything, she continues without giving Daenerys time to respond. Thank you... Thank you for coming to help us in the North, for fighting alongside us against the Night King.

- It was you who shot him down, the Queen points out.

- I could never have done it without your help, your dragons, and your army. I... well, without you, we would all be dead by now. So thank you, Arya finishes.

Daenerys' heart fills with warmth. A gentle, deep warmth. She had almost forgotten how good people's gratitude could feel.

- Anyway, I would have had to face them one day, so it was normal to join our forces. I'm glad I could help you, she smiled.

She feels like she's revealing way too much, but she almost feels close to Jon's sister. And… They probably have a lot in common.

- I understand why my brother likes you, Arya suddenly blurts out after a moment of silence.

Daenerys can't help but smile again, her heart lightened.

- Have you seen Drogon ? she suddenly inquired, remembering what Jon had said.

According to him, Arya adored dragons, to the point that she had learned each of their names, as well as those of their riders. Obviously, he hadn't exaggerated, and Daenerys clearly sees the young woman's eyes light up.

- Yes, he is magnificent ! He is black like Balerion, and although he is not yet as big, he is already imposing ! she affirms, trying to contain her enthusiasm – without much success -.

The Queen holds back a laugh, almost amused. This marble-faced assassin seems to turn back into a little girl with stars in her eyes.

- I'll show it to you up close, one day, if you want, she suggests.

- Really ?

This time, Arya couldn't hold back her exclamation.

- Really, Daenerys agrees, no longer losing her smile as Jon's sister is now radiant.

The young woman falls silent for a moment, and finally seems to become serious again.

- I'm sorry for the way you were treated in the North. We… have a hard time trusting, after what we've been through with many Southern leaders. But you didn't deserve such antipathy, she says.

Daenerys almost felt tears welling up in her eyes. That among all, it is the sister of the man she loves who finally recognizes the suffering and the violent lack of recognition she has endured, touches her much more than it should. She looks away for a moment and regains her composure before turning back to Arya.

- I understand. Foreigners are often difficult to accept, she replies softly.

The young woman looks at her a bit furtively, as if she were suddenly questioning her ideas.

- You are really different from what I expected, she finally said, looking intrigued.

- For better or for worse ? asks Daenerys, amused.

- Rather better, I would say, Arya states, and the Queen seems to detect a trace of humor in her words for the first time.

They then remain silent, simply enjoying the calm reigning in the room. Daenerys felt her heart fill with happiness. It couldn't have gone better. She was finally beginning to see a truly positive future, without having an astronomical amount of conflicts to manage – what's more, with Jon's family, which was even more delicate -.

- By the way, I think I was supposed to give you a summary of the meeting, right ? says Arya.

- I guess, Daenerys acquiesces.

Decidedly, the young woman has no use for manners due to their differences in social status. But the Queen feels that she now respects her, even if only minimally. And that is quite enough for her.

- You haven't missed much, explains Jon's sister with a slight shrug. They mostly talked about food distribution. As you requested, letters were sent to the neighboring lords to ask for their help. They should send us part of their stocks if they have enough. For now, the reserves are sufficient, but to continue feeding the city as well as all these armies, it's certain that we will need to manage the quantities, she notes.
And otherwise, the announcement that Cersei is finally defeated and that you are the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms has also spread well throughout Westeros. For now, they are still monitoring the reactions it is causing everyplace. That's all, she concludes.

Daenerys thinks intensely. How much food will they need ? Thinking about that also makes her wonder what the different troops gathered in King's Landing are going to do.

The Northern armies will probably head back toward Winterfell and its surroundings. It remains to be seen what the Unsullied wish to do. She no longer needs fighters, now. The war is over. Moreover, there are still the Lannister prisoners...

An idea comes to her mind. She can release them in exchange for public works. The city will need labor. And these men surrendered. They no longer wish to fight. If they recognize her as Queen, she will then consider them as her people just as much as the others.

As for the Unsullied, then, she will talk to Grey Worm about it. They will probably want to return to their native islands. Or, knowing their captain, they will want to stay by her side. Whatever the case, she will give them the choice.

There is also the question of the Dothrakis. Who are not always easy to manage, by the way.

The problem of armies – and especially feeding them, then housing them in better conditions – is therefore very much present.

To this is added the reconstruction of the city, managing allied lords or, on the contrary, those reluctant to her access to power, improving the living conditions of the people who clearly suffered under the rule of the Lannisters, and countless other concerns.

Daenerys resists the urge to massage her temples as a headache quietly settles behind her forehead.

- Thank you, she said to Arya, holding back a sigh.

Deep down, taking care of her people and the Kingdom doesn't bother her at all. She simply loves it. But as long as the organization is so unclear and struggles to take shape, and the post-battle excitement hasn't yet subsided, economic problems and puzzles keep coming one after another.

Arya seems to notice her fatigue, and a slight smile touches her lips for the first time since she entered the room.

- I wouldn't like to be in your shoes, she says.

Daenerys looks at her for a moment, and thinks with amusement that indeed, from the little the young woman had let her see of her character, she could well imagine her fleeing all the way behind the collapsed Wall if necessary rather than having to behave like an exemplary Lady or Queen.

- It also has its advantages, she jokes half-heartedly.

- Lucky for us, Arya points out. Otherwise, we could always run around for someone to take on this role.

- You're not wrong, concedes the Queen.

- I'm rarely wrong, asserts the young woman, looking serious.

- I'm willing to believe you, Daenerys smiled, amused.

A slight pause settles between them. The Queen appreciates Jon's sister's quick wit and her frankness. Arya may be an assassin – who could probably kill her immediately if she wanted to – but she didn't seem like the type to stab you in the back when you trust her. Daenerys looks at her again. Not without reason, at least, she corrects herself.

- My brother loves you, Arya suddenly inquired without preamble, looking her straight in the eyes.

The Queen freezes for a moment, uncertain. The last time one of Jon's sisters had thrown that phrase in her face, it had turned out rather badly. To put it frankly, it didn't turn out well. Cautiously, she responds to Arya's scrutinizing gaze. No animosity seems present in her eyes, just... curiosity?

- And do you have any reservations about that ? she asks, almost suspicious now.

The young woman seems to be thinking, sincerely weighing the pros and cons.

- No, she finally blurted out. If you make him happy... then I'm happy too. You seem like someone nice. Really. But don't even think about harming him.

- You can trust me on that, Daenerys smiled, relieved not to have to break the slight, but present bond of respect... and more ? that they had just created during their conversation.

She suddenly takes on a slightly colder demeanor. She wants Jon's sister to understand that she is serious.

- And it's the same for you, by the way, she states firmly.

- What is the same ? asks Arya, a bit surprised.

- If you hurt him. By whatever means. He cares about you more than anyone else. So if you hurt him, it's the same on my end. You will come across me, she asserts, looking straight into the young woman's eyes.

She seems genuinely surprised. Then she slumps into the armchair, relaxing quietly.

- It seems like my brother chose you rather well, she says.

This time, a genuine smile rises to Daenerys' lips.

- Thank you, she replies simply.

They fall silent again. The regular silences that hang between them are not disturbing, on the contrary. Daenerys doesn't feel the need to talk, and evidently, neither does Arya. Yet, she still doesn't make any move to leave the room. Somewhere, the Queen is grateful to her. Just the thought of being alone in boredom again makes her want to grimace. An involuntary smile comes to her lips. This meeting that she had imagined several times had ultimately gone much better than she would have believed.

Chapter Text

Jon comes out of the council completely drained. He has just spent more than two and a half hours listening to the lords of the Northern army complain. Either the lack of food, or the little space they had to set up their tents, or the fact that they wanted to return to Winterfell tomorrow, or a bunch of other minor problems.

He had spent his time trying to calm them down, find solutions, and nuance sometimes clearly aggressive remarks. He had even nearly struck a Northern lord who had suggested they should have left the "disdainful blonde" to fend for herself. Jon had replied coldly instead that she was now his Queen and if he disrespected her again, he would cut off his head himself. After that, no one had dared to even mention Daenerys.

Daenerys. He is dying to see her. He thought about her throughout the entire meeting. Already, he would have liked to stay with her as long as she was confined to bed, even tho she was now awake. But she had insisted that he go back to his duties, a few days earlier, claiming that she would survive without him. Faced with his reluctance, she had eventually gently chased him away, telling him that he wasn't going to stand there watching her for hours with his puppy-dog eyes.

He sighs. He can't wait for her to be able to leave this room. The worst was in the evening. He had only slept a few nights with her, but he already felt terribly lonely without her warm little body snuggled against his.

According to the Maester, she will soon be back on her feet, but she will need to remain cautious. He grimaces at the thought. He'd better keep an eye on her, or he's certain she'll jump on Drogon as soon as she's barely standing.

A slight worry clouds his thoughts. Arya went to see Daenerys in his place – he still doesn't know whether he should be grateful to her or resent her – and then she didn't come back to the council. Even tho it probably has nothing to do with Daenerys : Given how bored she had looked at the previous meeting, he doesn't even understand how she had the courage to attend it until the end.

She had insisted on participating, but from the expression she had displayed afterward, she had probably regretted it from the very first minutes. Talking about food distribution for several hours was hardly exciting, even for him.

His heart swells with affection as he thinks back to the face Arya had made. She had probably looked colder than ever in the eyes of others, but he had only seen the adorably gloomy face of his little sister.

He emerges from the stairs into the hallway, and finally arrives at Daenerys' door. The two Unsullied posted in front of her room immediately step aside as he approaches. He knocks against the heavy door, impatient to see her again though anxious about what she will say to him. He is certain that Arya and they can get along well, but they both have strong personalities. He hopes their one-on-one wasn't too stormy.

- Come in !

Daenerys's voice and warm tone dispel his worries in an instant, and he pushes the door open. She turns her head toward him, and her face softens almost the moment she sees him, as an adorable smile forms on her lips.

- You look tired, she remarks, a little amused though he hears the compassion that breaks through her intonation.

He is about to answer, but suddenly stops, astonished. Arya is quietly settled in one of the armchairs, and looks at him as if nothing had happened.

- You... you are... he tries to ask, unable to contain his surprise.

- Don't worry, I'll leave you alone, she says as she straightens up.

She gets up with ease and approaches her brother to grab the doorknob.

- I remind you that she is still recovering, by the way, so go easy on the hanky-panky.

- What do you... We don't...

Arya gives him an evocative and amused look, but she keeps a stone face and slams the door in his face as she leaves without waiting for his explanations. The blush rises to his cheeks and he turns to Daenerys, fuming.

- I suppose it went well between you ? he asks after a moment of silence, his ears warming. Sorry. Arya is quite… blunt ?

- I had noticed, she says with a smile on her lips, her cheekbones a little flushed too.

She seems to think for a moment.

- I would say she doesn't hate me as much as I thought, she finally declared.

Jon felt relief wash over him. He moves toward her, sits on the edge of her bed.

- I wasn't extremely serene not being present, he admits. But I was sure you would get along well.

He gently reaches out near her face and delicately touches her silver hair.

- Do you feel better, otherwise ? he continues, his voice a little lower.

She nods.

- Raising my arm is still difficult, but apart from that, it's okay, she explains, remaining quite evasive.

Jon distractedly slides his fingers through her strands. Her hair is really soft and silky. And magnificent. Has he ever caressed any that were so fine, so beautiful ? They have a particular sheen in the sun. It looks like a waterfall of molten silver flowing down her shoulders. Sansa's or Arya's hair is rough compared to hers.

- You ask me a question but you don't even listen to the answer, Daenerys remarks, thus snapping him out of his stupor.

- Excuse me, he said with a sheepish look. So, apart from when you move your arm too much, you don't have any pain ? he inquired.

She nods, and lets herself fall back into the pillows, closing her eyes, soothed by the way he quietly untangles her hair.

- I'll have to braid your hair one day, he says.

Daenerys sits up abruptly, her eyes shining.

- You know how to do that ? she asks him with curiosity.

He smiles, and a gentle warmth spreads through his limbs as he sees her enthusiasm. He thinks he must be the only one who finds the Mother of Dragons adorable. Looking at her hopeful face, it's the only word that comes to mind.

- I used to make them for Arya, when she was little, he explains. But don't have too high expectations, it's been a while since I practiced, and it was already rough back then...

Given the complexity of the hairstyles her Dothrakis give her, he would almost feel like he was defiling her hair if he tried anything.

- It doesn't matter ! she exclaims, looking delighted. You can try next time !

He laughs softly at her sparkling eyes.

- As my Queen wishes, he whispers affectionately.

She has a small smile, and gives him a flick on the palm that is gently caressing her strands. He stops and looks at her, surprised.

- Dany, she corrects as her smile widens slightly. That's better.

- Okay, he replies, his heart swelling with a love too strong for him to contain.

He gently brings one of her long, wavy strands to his lips and places a light kiss on the silver threads that flow between his fingers.

- Dany, he repeats very softly.




***




Daenerys felt a smile rise to her lips. Finally. Jon holds her against him, one hand slipped under her arm, gently pressing her side. The Mestre observes them attentively.

- Try to walk on your own now, suggests the old man.

Her former King of the North doesn't seem extremely serene, but he slowly releases her, keeping an arm just a few inches around her. She takes a few steps into her room and notes with relief that as long as she doesn't make any sudden movements, she's almost pain-free.

- I think it's okay, she says, trying to keep a calm and non-radiant face.

She will finally be able to get out of this damned bed and take part in the councils and meetings concerning the Kingdom. It won't be easy, and it will take time, but she will get there. They will make it.

- You will need to stay cautious, explains the old man. Don't push yourself too hard. If you feel the pain returning or you're too uncomfortable, don't hesitate to send me a message. I will continue to check on your progressive healing from time to time, but we will be able to see each other much less often than until now.

Daenerys nods in agreement.

- Thank you, she replies, trying to remain impassive, despite her desire to smile from ear to ear.

She notices Jon looking at her with an adorable expression, clearly delighted for her. He finally approaches her and kisses her furtively, slipping a hand behind her neck. They have stopped all their clumsy attempts to hide their relationship in front of the Master, although they are still embarrassed in front of others.

- I'm happy for you, he breathes, his face lit up with a gentle smile.

She chastely takes back his lips, and they exchange an involuntary glance as they linger, opening their mouths a bit more than expected. Seeing the light that comes into his eyes, Daenerys deduces that she is not the only one who has suffered through her nights without him. Whether it was the lack of his arms around her, the steady sound of his heart that she loved to listen to, his reassuring scent, or...

She swallowed hard and moved away from him a little too quickly, her cheeks flushed, before she gave in to her desire to send the Master away right then and there so she could jump on Jon and make up for all those days—and all those nights—spent without him.

He probably had the same kind of ideas that came to his mind given the way his chest suddenly rises more quickly.

- A council will soon start with Tyrion to lead it, on which reconstructions to prioritize in the city, what new structures to add, and how the people are reacting for now, he said rather quickly, his voice a bit lower. You have already given us your instructions, but if you have the courage, you could participate.

Daenerys let a smile form on her lips. She will finally be able to take her rights and duties as Queen. She thinks she will also need to take a tour of the city. One is never more certain of the people's opinion than by directly asking them.

- Of course I'm coming, she replies. I've been looking forward to this since I've been stuck in bed.

Jon smiles in turn, and she tries to ignore the swirling warmth that ignites in the pit of her stomach at this sight.

- Let's go, then, he breathes as he opens the door for her.

She passes in front of him, brushing her fingers against his, and notes with satisfaction that despite being in constant contact, Jon still reacts just as much. He flinches and she sees out of the corner of her eye his ears turn red.

Unfortunately, it's the same for her too, and she desperately tries to slow down her heartbeat. She feels like a kid madly in love. But strangely, this feeling isn't so unpleasant. She finally has the feeling that, despite all her duties, all her titles, and all her responsibilities, she has the right to allow herself a little innocence amidst all these trials that have tried to snatch it away from her.

Her heart swells with affection as he joins her, and naturally slips his hand into her. She finally has the right to love.