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~*~*~*~
 
Killing her would be far too easy.
 
If one simply wanted her dead, there were more straightforward ways of going about it. One could purchase a firearm— almost any would do. Her security was so lax these days that it would take little effort to find oneself in her dressing room, in her bedroom, in the backseat of her private car and… Pull the trigger.
 
Death and all of his friends would come for her as easily as the sun drew the dawn.
 
The challenge... yes, the challenge was in laying the trap, coaxing her into stringing the noose she had so intricately woven around her own pretty neck. This one wanted to toy with her, allowing her to see the truth of her crimes only after it was too late.
 
For her crimes were many, and for each she would answer tenfold.
 
This one wanted a confession. To see the fear of realization dawn over her startlingly beautiful blue-green eyes, to see the hope drain from them after every safe haven had been ripped away. This one wanted her to know that she was going to die, long before she succumbed. This one wanted to feast on her terror, to know that the hell she had inflicted upon others would be revisited on her for eternity as each of her many demons dragged her screaming into all seven of the hells.
 
A syringe, a flick of a lighter, a drop of wax, and she would be none the wiser that the wine she was soon to be guzzling would mark the beginning of the end for her. And, if the Tears of Lys hidden in the wine didn’t do the trick? Well, there were other ways to poison someone, after all.
 
A drop of manticore venom in her adored roasted locusts, an exotic delicacy she had developed a taste for in her time spent across the Narrow Sea— time spent eating out of the palms of the oppressors, rather than hearing the agonized screams of the oppressed. A fitting, slow death for one who had doomed thousands to die forgotten and alone.
 
Perhaps a few drops of nightshade in her shampoo? Slowly seeping into her scalp, her tell-tale hair the first to bear the brunt of her sins. The brilliant silver-gold strands turning grey and brittle, breaking off in her hands, spoiling her crown of glory, and finally laying her bare before the world, unable to hide her sins any longer.
 
The possibilities were endless.
 
The thin leather gloves squeaked in protest against the iron grip on the neck of the bottle of Arbor Gold— her favorite, fervently whispered throughout every magazine, newspaper, blog, and television interview across the known worlds. Something to give the sheep to gnaw upon, keeping them fat and happy until the dragon regained her appetite. An elegantly embossed card with the scrawling script of her name strewn across it arranged just so around the neck of the bottle. Mereeneese ink, commonly found in any number of area shops, the calligraphy a breathtaking work of art.
 
The Dragonpit, home of the rapidly dwindling House Targaryen, was everything this one had expected. Ostentatious and cold, the gargoyle dragon guardians hideously overwrought. The colors of their House did little to incur warmth, the irony of their words “Fire and Blood” leeching instead of giving life. Dozens of people milled about, the photo shoot on the grounds rapidly coming to an end along with what was left of Daenerys’ patience. “Family” she would be quick to point out, although the “family” she had gathered had other names for themselves: maids, personal assistants, security— glorified slaves.
 
A smooth turn of a gilded door knob revealed another cavernous room with a four-poster bed dominating the middle of the room. Instead of the normal charcoals and reds that littered every other space in the manse, this room somehow did manage to hoard a modicum of warmth for itself, earth tones of green and browns and golds swirling together to form something almost cozy, almost comfortable. It was no wonder she often closed herself in this room, cocooned against the real hurts of the world. A princess in her high tower, blessedly removed from the stink of humanity far, far below her.
 
An antique crystal goblet placed to accompany the wine, lifted from their own depleted wine cellar. The Arbor Gold was cold and crisp, the card beautiful and innocuous, the note detailing what little time was left for her tucked between the sheets of her bed as lovingly as a mother would tuck in a child. It would be found, and the game would begin. The stage set for the final act of her stunningly short life, gone before she could reach her true potential for cruelty, cut down at the knees at the height of her glory.

The

Daenerys Targaryen deserved only the best— especially in death. She deserved so much more than that sweet release.
 
She deserved to suffer, and so she would.
 
~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~

The air was stifled as the heat of bodies closed in around him, angry murmurs rippling through the crowd. He could feel it echo in his chest, the unease prickling the back of his neck. In front of him was a mob of men who would not be listening to reason, letting themselves be carried forward by emotion, deaf to right and wrong. Training and instinct made him want to reach back for the gun holstered at his hip, its weight a comfort, but he forced down the urge knowing the move would be seen as aggressive and only spur on their rage.

The Lord Commander was behind him, looking over the chaos, Edd at the ready by the door to shuffle the man in command through if things took a turn for the worse. Jon had prepared for this moment all the while hoping it never happened. Gritting his teeth to give relief to his own fury and frustration, he held his ground as Lord Commander Mormont tried to regain control of his men.

A loud curse rang out above the heads of the men, amplifying the black energy, Jon’s body tensing as he rolled to the balls of his feet, ready to move, to protect, to defend. The brilliant red hair of Tormund caught his eye, the men being hurried out ahead of whatever was about to happen, hatred and filth being spewed at the retreating forms.

The heavy thump of the door being barred sounded throughout the room, separating the men and women of the Freefolk from the men of the Night’s Watch. It seemed to amp up the crowd’s rage, the vitriol of it all pouring over Jon, the bitterness of it sticking to the roof of his mouth, his senses sharpening to try and see who would be the first to break.

Who knew peace talks would turn the Night’s Watch into such mindless beasts unable to see reason over traditions?

He could feel the moment before everything snapped, time seeming to slow to a crawl as men surged forward. He risked a glance over his shoulder to Edd and gave the man the signal before turning back to the crowd, trying to be as formidable as the Wall they were all stationed at.

It was of little use, his hand finally drawing back as he was swarmed, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal as he pulled the gun free, a dozen of men suddenly in his space. A voice spoke low in his ear. A blazing hot ripping sensation in his chest. Then another.

“For the Watch.”

The blaring of the alarm startled him, bringing forth a painful awareness as the dregs of the dream dug its claws in deep and wouldn’t let go. Jon gasped feeling the ghost of pain in his chest, a tightness over the scars that stretched in protest as he dragged in an unwilling breath. Then another. Heart rate starting to slow, he reached over with a mindless slap at his phone, the annoyance finally silenced.
 
He let out an exhale of defeat. One year. One full fucking year and he could still feel steel sliding into him, the burn before the numbness, the ice that still coated him to this day. Remembering looking up at the ceiling as he fell, the nothingness until pain, pain dulled by medicine and the bright blinding lights of an ICU ward.
 
They gave him a medal. A piece of polished silver declaring honor and bravery for keeping his Lord Commander alive. A pat on the back and words of a job well done, then pushed him out the door. A solid dismissal to the man who had been second in command and groomed to take over. They were afraid, did not want a man who’d been injured like that still active, a liability in the field, afraid he’d snap if provoked.
 
Some days he wondered what was worse, the physical or mental scars.
 
Wincing with the tension coiled up within, he swung his legs over the bed, taking a moment to shake his head, trying to clear the tendrils of the nightmare away. A bottle of unused sleeping pills sat next to his phone, mocking him, tempting him, promising him sleep only to lure him into captivity, making him dependent and ensnared. It was a path followed once and he had swore to himself never again. Now they sat as a grim reminder of how it could be worse.
 
Noise slowly filtered through the sound of his pounding heartbeat in his ears, the bustling of a neighborhood waking up, cars leaving driveways, everyone unaware of his inner battle as they hurried along to work. His eyes adjusted to the dim light creeping through the curtains, over his suitcase spilling over with his meager belongings. Not a lot to show for twenty-six years of life.
 
Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, he stood, straightening his back and listened to the resounding pops of his spine slipping back into place. In his head he could hear the nagging of his sister Sansa who always was trying to convince him and Robb that this line of work wasn’t good for them. Not that they would listen. And as he would tell her, effectively silencing her complaints, this was probably better than the Night’s Watch... probably.
 
With another sigh he made it across the room, Robb’s spare room that he was setting up to occupy for a duration, blinking in defense to the glare of the bathroom vanity, shivering a bit with the cold. The first thing he’d done after his late night arrival was close the heating vents to his quarters, too used to the frigid temperatures of the North to be comfortable in the balmy warmth of King’s Landing.
 
With the need to torture himself further, he turned on the shower, ignoring the handle for hot water and sucked in harsh breath before he climbed in below the punishing spray. He let the freezing water shock him to full wakefulness, teeth starting to chatter as he held on stubbornly. It numbed him, filling his head with nothing but

cold

, ripping him away from the last of the nightmare he’d lived and subsequently relived over and over. Finally, his body crying out for mercy, he relented, twisting the handle to let heat into the stream, relaxing as his muscles finally filled with warmth.
 
He allowed himself to bask, giving in to his body’s craving for heat, soaking it into his pores allowing himself a moment of relief. Finally, with the hangover from a poor night’s sleep fading, he made himself turn away from the comfort, turning off the shower and reaching for the towel.
 
Ignoring the distorted image of himself in the mirror, his marred chest standing out through the steamy reflection, he dried himself off, slipping back into clothing trying to turn his mind away from the past to focus on the now.
 
The now was a job. A mystery job that had Robb calling him down to the overrun capital despite his dislike of the south. Pulling his wet hair off his face and securing it with a band, he steeled himself for what was to come and left the security of the bedroom.
 
The welcoming smell of coffee hit him as he stepped into the hallway. It tickled and teased him into becoming more alert as he moved towards the kitchen, heading towards the rustling of a person moving within the space.
 
“You made it!”
 
A true smile broke out as he rounded the corner of the dining room table and into the kitchen, his good sister’s voice greeting him with a genuine warmth, and found Talisa Stark standing at the counter pouring herself a cup of coffee. He ducked in for a hug, knowing she would good naturedly demand it and she was one of the few he was comfortable enough to return the affection. From the moment Robb had introduced her nearly four years ago, she and Jon had gotten along famously, bonding over the pair of them always being under Catelyn Stark’s look of disapproval.
 
“Late last night.” He confirmed, appreciative as she handed him the full cup she had just poured. “I tried to be quiet, figured Robb could use the beauty sleep.” He bussed her cheek in thanks as she chuckled. “Speaking of Robb, he’s been really god’s damned secretive about this job. Do you know why?”
 
Pretty brown eyes narrowed as she studied him. “I know what the job is and before you ask, no I’m not telling you. He’s on a call then he’ll be out and you can pester him.”
 
Pulling out a seat at the island, he sipped at his coffee, preparing himself to wait for his brother, letting himself adjust to being in the presence of company again. The hot liquid burnt his tongue and he cursed, feeling Talisa’s heavy gaze causing him to scrunch his shoulders up and pretend to ignore it. Finally he relented, knowing he was no match for her stubbornness and turned to meet the concerned scrutiny, his eyebrows raised in question.
 
She sat down in front of him, elbows planting on the counter. “How are you doing Jon?”
 
He wanted to blow off the question, give some clever quip as a retort but she was

staring

at him, voice full of concern and it caused anything sarcastic to die on the tip of his tongue. Giving a rough clear of his throat to clear the spasm that had seized it, he ducked his head. “That bad huh?”
 
“Jon.” Her hand covered his, a gentle touch. “We worry about you. Your sister worries about you.”
 
Blinking against the sudden burn in his eyes, he clenched his fist in reflex, making a noise of disapproval as he tried desperately to not be overcome by the wonderful sense of family. “I’m hanging in there.”
 
She didn’t push and he was grateful, the sound of footsteps coming down the hall making him swallow a few times in vain attempts to pull himself back together. He felt vulnerable, fighting the urge to snap his teeth like a cornered wolf, something he needed to mask from Robb. Talisa gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance before letting go and picking up her mug.
 
“Brother, you made it through the harrowing streets of King’s Landing!”
 
There was affection and delight in Robb’s voice, an infectious smile lighting his face and Jon climbed to his feet to be embraced by his brother in a back slapping hug. The loneliness wrapped around his heart chipped away a little under the warmth of the greeting. “Barely. You going to tell me why I had to hurry my arse down here?
 
“Aye.” The answer was laced with humor as Robb took a step back. The smile faded from his face as he studied Jon, concern flickering across his handsome features. “Arya wasn’t lying, you look like right shit.”
 
Jon heard the noise of admonishment that Talisa made and fought down the nettles that crawled under his skin. He loved his brother, but there was always that certain insecurity he’d felt since boyhood, trying not to and always failing, comparing himself to the man who could do no wrong in his family’s eyes. He wasn’t stupid or blind, he knew how haggard and worn he looked and didn’t need it pointed out. “Thanks.”
 
“Just an observation.” Robb raised his hands in defeat, voice softening. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look like a haunted version of my brother”
 
Caught between the warmth of someone caring and acerbic sting of anger, he sighed, shoulders slumping forward with weariness. He was

trying

. Demons of the past did not make for easy bedfellows.
 
“I’ve got to go now. You two get along.”
 
Talisa stood, her stern voice a distraction, Robb turning to her and Jon was grateful for it. As a testament to how tired he really was, he noticed she was dressed for work in her dark scrubs, a color she said would hide the blood and other fluids she might come in contact with. He knew her medical residency was almost complete, Robb often joking about how they needed someone around who would sew up gashes and not faint at the sight of gaping wounds. He wasn’t wrong, Jon noted, absent mindedly rubbing a thumb through his brow, down the cheek following the silver trail of a scar. It had been a nasty infection by the time he had made it down here for a visit, Talisa cursing the medical care of the Watch and preventing him from probably losing his eye.
 
There was a few minutes spent in a flurry as she prepared to leave and then the door closed leaving the two brothers in a silent stand-off, the only noise the quiet humming of the refrigerator. Jittery and unsettled under Robb’s blue eye gaze, he huffed out a breath, breaking first “Robb-“
 
“Jon, don’t tell me you’re fine, I’m lookin’ right at you.” Robb’s shoulders squared in preparation for an argument.
 
Frustration building, Jon wrestled it down, waiving a hand at his brother in a huff. “I appreciate your concern, I do. I’m as fine as I can be so just tell me why I’m down here. What case to you have that you need my help?”
 
With some resignation, Robb slipped onto the barstool that Talisa had occupied. “We are going back to this at another time, fair warning.” He cleared his throat and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I got a call from Tyrion Lannister.”
 
Jon made a face of disgust. “We are going to be hired by the Lannisters?”
 
“Nah, he’s the General Counsel working for Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.”
 
The name Targaryen tickled the back of his mind, but didn’t bring forth any solid memories. “And?”
 
Robb settled into business mode. “Daenerys Targaryen has received death threats on multiple occasions and someone even attempted to poison her. For some reason that I’m still not understanding, her security team isn’t taking this as serious as Tyrion believes they should be.”
 
Jon scoffed at the absurdity of security not taking death threats and attempted murder seriously. The memory of standing before Jeor Mormont flashed in his mind.

The men are restless, there’s talks of mutiny.

He shook his head to clear it.
 
“So he contacted me. Tyrion wants someone on Viserys anytime he leaves Rhaenys Hill and I’m assignin’ me.” Robb’s voice took on a tone that Jon couldn’t decipher. “He wants round the clock protection for Daenerys Targaryen and I want you on her.”
 
Putting thumbs to his temples he applied pressure, trying to silence the uncertainty that had resided inside of him for the past year. “Why me? It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
 
“Because I need help with this. Because I trust you to have my back.”
 
Jon looked up to see nothing but sincerity on Robb’s face. “I’m assumin’ you have a file?” Robb nodded a confirmation. “Who are the Targaryen’s?”
 
Robb snorted in amusement. “You didn’t get the news at the Wall? House Targaryen doesn’t ring a bell? The fashion empire?”
 
Jon winced at the mention of the Wall. “The Night’s Watch doesn’t have much use for fashion. We wore uniforms if you remember.”
 
“Aye.” Robb’s laugh helped lighten the pressure in his chest. “Ugly black uniforms.”
 
Rolling his eyes, Jon stood needing something to do, the prospect of going back into this line of work making him antsy with an anticipation of excitement or fear, he wasn’t sure. Making his way to the coffee pot, he helped himself to another cup, mind skimming ahead with the comfort of familiarity, planning out the steps needed for proper preparation of the job. “When do we meet them?”
 
“This afternoon. Tyrion’s sent over their information already.”
 
The dossier contained important details including the City Watch’s report on the poisoned wine, the people closest to the siblings and current security details. Not enough, Jon knew. He wanted to know who they were in public and in private, see what ghosts lingered about. He may not be trying to solve who was trying to hurt Daenerys Targaryen, but it might give him a better idea of how to keep her alive.
 
“Then I’ve got time for my own information gatherin’?” He waited for Robb’s nod. “I’ll be ready.”
 
“Oh I know you will.” Again, Robb’s smile was a little too humorous, as if he had a secret he wasn’t sharing. “Happy researching.”

~*~*~*~
 
He was cursing Robb.
 
With his fourth cup of coffee that he definitely did not need at his elbow, Jon was well into the unforgiving internet saga that was the Targaryen family. He briefly wondered if he and Robb were crazy for getting involved.
 
The Targaryen’s were a mess and had been for a while.
 
And he definitely noticed that Daenerys Targaryen was distractingly gorgeous.
 
He had not been prepared for the visceral jolt that ran through him, abused heart giving a dangerous thump upon seeing the search results of her name. Hundreds of pictures popped up, the signature Targaryen hair shining on the small screen. She had sea blue eyes and plump lips turned down in a pout, reminding him of the fact that he was still on most accounts, a healthy male, flesh and blood, that blood stirring at the picture of her tousled and sleepy, alluding to the after effects of carnal activities. Suddenly, Robb’s humor made a lot more sense. Gods, if he was this captivated by a picture, what was it going to be like, stuck in her presence every day.
 
Picking up his coffee, he took another sip, focusing on the bitter taste, something else to think about and forced himself to keep scrolling past the images of her looking back at him, diving deeper into the life lived under the spotlight.
 
They called her the Dragon Queen, a direct nod to her heritage and she looked the part, a fierce and aloof set to her face as she strode down a runway with purpose. A notebook at his side, he penciled down what seemed to be the habits easily noticed, circling a few in sheer amazement that nobody in her current security team seemed worried about the fact she visited the same bakery every Tuesday, made regular visits to Flea Bottom every month to check on the charity she had founded,

Rhaegar’s Harp,

or that she had people flocking her wherever she went. It grated on him, closing and opening his fist to relieve frustration, the thought of having to force her to change her routine already giving him a headache.
 
He hissed out a sigh when he came across the information about her parents, Rhaella Targaryen died in childbirth, and Jon tried not to acknowledge the sympathy of never knowing a mother, finding a harsh article written on the supposedly Targaryen madness that caused Aerys to take his own life.
 
Stopping for a breather, his own childhood weaving intricately into his opinion and feelings about this job, he stood up to stretch, check the time. He needed to keep a professional mental distance, keep himself focused on the fact this was a

job

and personal injections had no place in it.
 
With that reminder set firmly in his head he sat back down, allowing himself to read how she and her brother Viserys were raised by the oldest sibling Rhaegar, who had pulled the once wealthy family back from the brink of losing everything and building House Targaryen from the ground up. There was endless information on Rhaegar, but he pushed that aside to focus on the youngest Targaryen.
 
She was the face of the business, bright and bubbly, her time spent modeling and in charity work, her few but disastrous relationships kept relatively quiet. There was not much that was scandalous in her past— a few wild parties, no arrests or fights.
 
Viserys was another matter, stories of a mean spirited rich boy making headlines. There were numerous articles on Viserys’ preferences for high dollar escorts, known drug abuse, the countless times he was in and out of rehab. In the middle of it all, Jon found the surprising information of Rhaegar’s untimely overdose.
 
The paparazzi photos were cruel, swarming like flies at the funeral. She was hiding her grief behind big sunglasses and current security guy, tiny and vulnerable in the sea of strangers surrounding her. Jon felt it reverberate in his chest, the taste of sorrow rising up in his throat and suddenly he was back in time, standing in the rain, Arya tucked under his arm as they said goodbye to the only father he’d ever know, the mother of his siblings, his own dark sunglasses hiding his hangover of sorrow.
 
With fingers pressed to his eyes, trying to push away the memory, he took a deep breath, the scattered focus coming back to him slowly.

Compartmentalize, Jon.

After taking another moment to breathe, he went back to the article, ignoring the ache in his chest, reading over the surprising horror about a man who has pulled his failing family out of despair, then seemingly succumbed to the pressure of it.
 
There was a hesitation growing within him, leaving him unsure. A vapid rich girl was an easy job, easy to ignore and simply protect like he was paid to do. But, by what he could find on Daenerys, she was not the typical spoiled, tedious woman he expected. No, she was a survivor, broken and determined. And broken was dangerous. Broken meant pieces scattered about, sharp edges to be cut upon. Jon knew all about broken.
 
Running restless fingers through banded hair, he got up, the need to step away from it a bit overwhelming. He found himself wandering down to where Robb sat behind the desk that Jon knew used to be their father’s, paperwork covering the old wooden surface. He leaned against the door jam and waited for his brother to look up.
 
“Why did you assign me Daenerys?”
 
Robb sat back, his chair squeaking in protest as he studied Jon. “She needs full time protection. I thought it would be easier for you rather than me. Why?”

Because when I look at her past it drags mine back up to the surface and I’m trying to forget it all.

“Curiosity. You did your research on them I’m assumin’?
 
“Aye.” The amused look was back on Robb’s face and again Jon silently cursed his brother. “Bit of a disaster, aren’t they?”
 
“That might be an understatement.” Pulling up the spare chair, he sat himself carefully down. “You could have pulled anybody else in for this job, why me?”
 
“How many times am I going to have to answer this before you get it through your thick head.” The words were full of exasperation. “Someone has decided that Daenerys should be dead. So I need you,

she

needs you to do your job and keep her alive.” There was a long pause. “You’re the best, Jon.”
 
The words soaked through him as if he were a sponge, a soothing balm to the wound of self doubt. And in that moment he made his decision. “Then I guess we better go check this out.”
 
“That’s the spirit.” Robb stood, scooping up his phone before picking up the jacket tossed over the back of his chair. “Now, you remember the rules?”
 
“Aye.” Jon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary reminder. “Never let her out of your sight. Never let your guard down. I know the job, Robb.”
 
With a quick bark of a laugh, Robb tossed the keys, a quick snap of the wrist and Jon caught them as they hurtled towards his head

.

“You’re forgetting the most important part, Jon. Never fall in love.”
 
~*~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~

The sun was warm on the back of his neck, the bright glare helping to disrupt the fog that was settling in around him like a blanket. Jon tossed his hastily repacked suitcase into the back of Robb’s SUV and pulled out his sunglasses to censor the glare of the sky. He wanted to complain to his brother about the hubbub that was King’s Landing, but the anticipation of a new job and a new assignment was starting to bubble in his veins. That prickling of anticipation going from anxiety to a steady thrum of excitement. He almost hated to admit that he was craving the adrenaline that promised to come with it, the need to stay on high alert, twisting with the past trauma inside of him, making him feel a little strung out with energy.
 
“You drive, I want to look at a few more things.”
 
Tossing the keys back to Robb, he pulled out a tablet and settled into the front seat, intent of going over the files on the Targaryen’s current employees and security team, something he had neglected to do earlier, too caught up in the story of Daenerys.
 
“Have you looked at the file with their current security team?”
 
Jon let his eyes flicker up, taking in the neighborhood — stylish and old, Visenya’s Hill noted for keeping true to its history. It was a far cry from what awaited them once they turned onto Muddy Way and into the busy madness of the city, and a harsh jolt from the wide sweeping white
expanse of wilderness
he was used to.
 
Shaking himself out of the thought, he turned on the device and found the email, then shifted his eyes to his brother, noting the tick in Robb’s jaw. “Getting to it right now.”
 
“I’m going to give you a heads up-“
 
There was something in Robb’s voice that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, as if speaking to a cornered animal. And despite not knowing why, it made Jon want to behave like one, teeth bared and hackles raised, prepared to defend himself. He swallowed down the feeling with a choking gulp.
 
“-her current head of security is Jorah Mormont…. Jeor Mormont’s son.”
 
It shouldn’t have felt like a punch in the guts to hear that name, his scars tingling, mocking him. Jeor Mormont had fought hard for Jon to remain in the Night’s Watch, claiming that a man who had almost given his life to keep his Commander alive deserved more than a discharge, honorable or not.
 
He called once a month like clockwork. Jon never answered.
 
The sudden flash of shame had him scrambling. Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the present, keep the past behind him. “I’m surprised a Mormont isn’t better at his job.”
 
“Tyrion alluded to the fact that Jorah might have a few issues of feelings and blind spots when it come to Daenerys.”
 
Throwing up a hand, he caught himself on the dashboard as a car cut them off, shaking his head as Robb slammed on the brakes and swore under his breath. “So, he’s going to be a pain in our arse, then?” Blind spots and issues were never good. Having feelings for the client was never good. Emotions were messy, and romantic entanglements made a difficult job that much more difficult.
 
“Most likely.” Merging onto the Street of Sisters, Robb sighed, checking his mirrors. “And in addition to the poisoned wine, someone left her a note, in her bed.”
 
The implications were not lost on Jon and the bite of anger built in his chest. “Someone was

in

their mansion?”
 
“Yes, and they have chosen to not tell her at this time.”
 
This time it was Jon’s turn to swear, the bewilderment and frustration rolling around in his mind, until it almost gave him a headache. And he wasn’t even officially working for them yet. “Do you know what was in the note?” At his brother’s head shake of no, he asked the next important question. “Why haven’t they told her?”
 
There was a shrug that was meant to be careless, except the tension in Robb’s shoulder told a different story. “Tyrion said he’d explain it all when we got there.”
 
“I fuckin’ hope so.” He closed his tablet, suddenly uninterested in taking a closer look at the security team, rolling his head to relieve the pressure in his neck. He was good, he knew that, addicted to the game of it all, the protective tendencies that fueled him promising to be satisfied, but it didn’t mean he wanted a fight on his hands when it came to his techniques or what he needed in order to do his job and keep Daenerys alive. “Did they say how the intruder got in?”
 
“They have no idea.” There was a hint of scorn in Robb’s voice.
 
The Dragonpit loomed in the distance, looking cold and unwelcome against the sky. It was a big place, Jon knew, the only thing left from the Targaryen’s selling out generations ago. And now, apparently he would have to go over the current security on the ground. Pinching the bridge of his nose he made a mental note of all the equipment he had packed as an idea began to take form.
 
“Thanks for volunteering me to live here, by the way.” The words were dry and wrapped in sarcasm.
 
“I’m a married man and my beloved wife would not appreciate me staying there, for the gods only know how long.” There was a beat of silence. “
You’re good, right?”
 
“Worried about me screwing this up?” There was a bitter coating to the words, even though he

knew

Robb was saying it out of concern.
 
“No, that is one worry I don’t have. I’m making sure this is good for

you.”

Robb response was easy, the tightness in Jon’s chest loosening.
 
“I’m good. I’m ready, so quit askin’. You’re not going to get a different response.” Jon listened as Rob
b’s chuckled in approval, the dragons at the entry to the driveway, solemn stone guardians, coming into view. He felt the tension start to build up in his muscles, preparing himself. “Pull over here.”
 
Without a word, Robb obliged, by now used to Jon’s spur of the moment ideas. Almost to the mansion, Jon knew he needed to test what they would be up against. “I’ll see you on the inside.”
 
His brother’s slow smile was a confirmation and Jon felt the vibration of excitement roll through him as he shrugged on his leather jacket. It was scarred up and worn, a visible comparison to his own image, a familiar comfort as he shut the door and watched the taillights move towards the gate.
 
There was a buzz in his blood as he moved towards the wrought iron fence, the thrill of the game taking root inside of him. Studying the tall barrier, the relief was almost palpable, that this part hadn’t been tainted by bad memories. The outwitting and testing was his favorite piece of the set up, even if it meant the Targaryen’s needed desperately to get a better security system.
 
He could see cameras mounted in various locations, against the side of the house, on the tree by the pond and he flashed a charming smile to whoever he hoped was watching and walked up to the tall, heavy obstacle keeping him on the street. Giving a slight push to test the sturdiness of the iron bars, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the top of the pickets to prevent any hang ups on tender flesh against the sharp edges and giving a quick look over his shoulder to see if there were any nosey neighbors, he jumped. With a mighty pull and a quick scramble, he was up and over, agile and quick, landing softly on the grass.
 
Straightening up and rescuing the abused jacket, he pulled it on once more and took his first long look at the Dragonpit, taking in what was a beautiful mansion, one of the oldest estates in King’s Landing. It was still impressive, towering over everything around it, but as he moved across the expanse of green, he noticed a few things that needed repair, some peeling paint, the manse looking a little tired, rough around the edges.
 
There was a prickle along the back of his neck with the realization that not one person was coming out to investigate a strange man walking across the lawn. Heading to the camera closest to the fence, Jon cursed as he found the frayed cords. It would be impossible to keep track of intruders when the security cameras did not work.
 
Mentally adding that to his list of things that needed prompt repair, he turned his attention to the buzz of voices around the back, the clang of equipment. Something was going on to match the volume of vans and cars parked in the drive.
 
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he decided now would be as good a time as any to see what kind of chaos the Targaryen’s had going on.

~*~*~

Robb watched the form of his brother head toward the Targaryen residence, amusement mixing with worry, the dark shadow following Jon around all but visible. This job was offering the perfect excuse to bring him to King’s Landing and keep a close eye on him. The truth was, Robb did need the help— a high profile case like the Targaryen’s could only be good for

Stark Securities—

as long as nothing was mucked up.
 
Even with that, with the joy of having Jon finally around, his brother within reaching distance and not isolated away in the cold edges of the North, Robb still had some hesitation. Jon had always been broody, not that he could be blamed for all of it, but it had gotten worse when Jon had left home, Robb still harboring the kernel of resentment at their father for letting him go so easily.
 
He’d never forget that phone call in the middle of the night, the man on the other end trying to explain what happened, the numbness creeping over him until Talisa had ripped away the phone and taken control, Robb still stuck on the words,

there’s been an incident and Jon is in critical condition.

The days of horror that followed, the remaining Stark’s huddled around a hospital bed, waiting for Jon to wake back up, to

live.

Winding up the drive, the gates loomed in front of him, old and heavy as if daring someone to enter the fortress that housed that Targaryen family. And Robb hoped that dropping Jon off in the middle of the chaos would prove to be a good idea, that the scars didn’t cripple him.
 
Pausing to push the intercom at the gate, Robb settled into the game learned at the right hand of Ned Stark. A garbled voice came over, hard to understand and he gave them the most basic of information, that he was there to see Tyrion. Much to his dismay, without so much as being asked for a name, the gates swung open.
 
Not a good impression, being admitted so easily, something to remedy as quickly as possible. Getting closer to the mansion, he noted the abundance of vehicles parked, people moving around with determination, no one looking twice at another car pulling in the drive.
 
It would be too easy to walk into this place.
 
With his keys in his pocket, Robb headed towards the door, refraining from snickering when he caught sight of Jon moving across the lawn. It wasn’t really funny, the weaknesses surrounding the fortress glaringly obvious as they both made it in without being stopped. Hopefully, when he sat down with Tyrion Lannister, they’d be able to work out these problems.

~*~*~

“As you are aware, the

Grēza

shoot is today,” Missandei’s crisp, alto voice filtered through the intricately carved Myrish screen as Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes as she shrugged out of her navy blazer and tailored pants, flinging them over the top for Missandei to pull down and send out for dry cleaning. Of course she remembered the shoot that she, Viserys, and the photo editor at the magazine had spent weeks devising, squabbling, and slaving over. Even if she hadn’t, the ungodsly racket happening outside of her bedroom window as PAs and gaffers struggled to bring in the set and equipment would have clued her in— there was absolutely nothing wrong with her memory or her hearing. She wasn’t a child anymore, in need of constant hand-holding and reminders.
 
“You’re due in hair and makeup with Irri in a few hours, and she asked that you wear this until then—“ A red silk robe appeared over the top of the screen and Dany dutifully unclasped her lace bra, throwing it over the screen as well before taking a moment to rub the compression lines from her shoulders and rib cage as best she could. Time, hydration, and gravity would have to ease the rest. She slipped the robe around her shoulders, tying a knot into the slippery belt that was provided and hummed in agreement as Missandei continued, scrolling through her phone to tick off each box on her to-do list.
 
“Tyrion has asked for a few moments before you go into hair and makeup and he ‘loses you to the realm of sorcery and blood magic’, so I’ve scheduled him for fifteen minutes at noon.”
 
Dany wrinkled her nose as she stepped out from behind the screen, sizing up her assistant through narrowed eyes. “I thought we had a call with the Board of

Rheagar’s Harp

at noon?”
 
Missandei shook her head, her wild, caramel curls bouncing in the filtered sunlight streaming through Dany’s bedroom windows. “The Board requested a postponement this morning, so I’ve moved them to later in the month.”
 
“When?” Dany could feel her eyebrows raising in suspicion, but willed her face into an impassive mask. It would not do to appear in Irri’s chair with new lines and wrinkles, no matter how strange it was for the Board to ask for a change so soon before a scheduled call. Something about the request rankled her, setting her even more on edge than she had been since ‘the incident’.
 
There was a pause as Missandei scrolled through her calendar, searching for the email. “Thursday next, at three o’clock in the afternoon.”
 
Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “Yes, I suppose they would prefer to speak in the afternoon versus the hour of the wolf. Did they say why they needed to postpone?”
 
Yet another delicate pause from Missandei as she took a breath, her keen eyes flashing slightly. “They might have mentioned that with the… recent troubles… that you be allowed to rest and recuperate before—“
 
“They are aware that I didn’t actually drink any of the poisoned wine, are they not?”
 
“They are. However,
Septon Maynard
felt that you might need some time before jumping back into the strenuous world of charitable giving, and… Viserys agreed.”
 
Dany froze, her eyes flashing dangerously as she turned back to Missandei abruptly enough that her assistant took a sudden step back, knocking the antique screen just enough to set it rocking, and both women reached out to settle it before it crashed to the floor. “And why is Viserys being consulted about

my

scheduling?”
 
She could see the movement of Missandei’s long neck as the younger woman swallowed tightly. “Daenerys,” she began gently, “You’ve had a shock, and you need time to come to terms with what this threat really means.”
 
Dany shook her head firmly, pulling the robe more tightly around her. “Missandei—“ She clucked her tongue, trying to keep her anger in check. “All of this drama over some crazed fan. I’m not giving any credence to an ill and misguided individual who is most likely in need of medical assistance. So much nonsense because of one little bottle of wine that may not have even killed me!”
 
Missandei ducked her head, a flash of something unrecognizable spreading across her delicate features until her face was hidden by her mass of curls. Dany could feel her breath leave her chest in a whoosh, the crawling feeling of dread settling in her stomach. “Unless you know something I don’t?”
 
Her assistant busied herself with picking up the rest of Dany’s discarded clothing, throwing them over her arm and scurrying toward her open bedroom door. “Missandei—“ Dany’s voice cracked.
 
The young woman stilled in the doorway, turning back toward her so Dany could see only her profile, her golden eyes downcast. “It will be best if you let Tyrion explain.” She mumbled quietly before backing away once more. “I’ll come and find you when they’re ready.”
 
She was gone before Dany could reply, her mind a swirl of unnamed fears, grasping and clawing at the edges of her mind, begging for her to give in, to let the panic crack her in two, never to be whole again. Just like Rheagar had been, before the end.
 
Dany sucked in a deep breath, jerking herself back from that dark line of reasoning before it burned her alive from the inside out. Few people had seen Rheagar in the months leading up to his suicide— only his siblings bearing the full brunt of his descent into paranoia and madness, apparently brought on by the drugs polluting his system.
 
Shaking her head to clear the dark thoughts, Dany took a few cleansing breaths before she opened her eyes. Everyone was looking for her weaknesses, and she would rather be burned beyond recognition than to let anyone find any exposed chink in her armor. Steeling her spine, she drew herself up to her full height, cinching the robe more tightly around her waist, whispering to the open air to reassure herself more than anything— “Let them come.”

~*~*~

The center of activity was taking place in some strange garden area. Jon could see them putting together a winding staircase in the sea of flowerbeds, lights being mounted on poles and adjusted, focusing in on a few select spots.
 
He walked around the outskirts of it, partially curious but mostly waiting for someone to come and stop him as he watched, getting more and more disgruntled as he was eyed, but no one came forth.
 
Finally he gave up and turned from the scene, wondering if the hordes of people were a normal occurrence on the property, a small ache in his temples starting to brew at the thought of how to implement a better system. At least he had some experience due to the Night’s Watch, anything learned with Ned Stark was on a much smaller scale, no matter how respected his father had been in this field.
 
Noting the bars on the windows, he frowned, preferring an alarm system to the possibility of being trapped inside and ignored the
growing discomfort of claustrophobia wrapping around him, the brief flash of the memory of being surrounded by bodies. Absentmindedly he rubbed the scar over h
is heart, coming to a stop in front of a side door with no one watching it. Another bad mark for the current Targaryen security, with the amount of strangers on the property.
 
He let himself in.

~*~*~

“Robb, right on time.” Tyrion stood up from behind his desk, face crinkled in a smile.
 
“Of course. It’s good to see you Tyrion.” Robb took the offered hand and then the offered seat, giving the other man a moment to get settled in. “The security here is fucking awful.”
 
Tyrion shook his head, climbing back into his chair. “Pleasantries over then? Well, let us get right to business.” He sat back, hands folded on the desk. “I know it's been rough around here, but I’m not sure

fucking awful,

is the correct terminology.”
 
Robb snorted at Tyrion’s butchered attempt at a Northern accent and relaxed back into the overstuffed chair, a fancy piece of furniture for being in an office. “It is correct. All I had to do was ask to see you. No one checked a name, or if you were even expecting anyone.”
 
“We are in the middle of something as you have seen.” He waved his hand in the direction of all the activities. “So it's a little more relaxed than normal.”
 
Robb leaned forward with the surge of anger that swamped through him. “Someone was in this mansion to

poison Daenerys Targaryen,

and a little more relaxed than normal is fine?
Tyrion….” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly. “Do

you

even realize how serious this situation is?”
 
Tyrion’s shrewd gaze faltered just a bit, his sigh of defeat telling Robb all he needed to know. Taking a deep breath, the smaller man retrieved a key from a chain around his neck and used it to open a desk drawer. Without a word, he retrieved a picture from the messiness and slid it silently across the desk to him. “I snapped this before the Watch arrived.”
 
Robb bit back a groan. “You tampered with the evidence?”
 
“Not intentionally. The maid found it in her bed and brought it straight to me, along with the wine and the goblet. She was afraid she’d be fired if the goblet went missing— family heirloom and all.”
 
“So, you got lucky.”
 
“Extremely.”
 
Robb glared at Tyrion for a moment longer, his own anger starting to simmer below the surface. He glanced down at the picture in his hand, the bile in his stomach starting to churn. Daenerys’ beautiful face stared sightlessly back at him, her famous eyes gouged out in the picture, red ink pouring from her ears, lips, and eyeholes like drops of blood. The handwriting was elegant, a perfect match to the scrawl on the card on the wine, he noted. Whoever this was wanted it known that he or she was unafraid of being found, so confident that their plan was foolproof.

Miss Targaryen—

For every sin you saw and said nothing. For every hurt you heard and did nothing. For every lie from your pretty mouth that condemned another innocent to a fate worse than death.

For every cry from your lips when I find you, for every slash of your porcelain skin as I flay you, for every drop of blood as your life fades away, for every moment of horror for all of the unspeakable depravities I will take from you—

Do you know what awaits you?

Nothing.

Robb swallowed tightly, his stomach now a churning wreck. “Tyrion—“
 
“You see why we need you. Why

she

needs you.”
 
Robb nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the crumpled picture in his hands. “Any idea of what it means? What is she into? This is very specific hate. What lies has she been involved in?”
 
“Nothing. None. I don’t know what it’s referring to.”
 
“Tyrion, don’t lie to me!” His voice rose with his dread, the image of he and Jon being tangled up in betrayals and deceit making his skin crawl. “Our lives are now in this, so please tell me that Jon and I are not making a mistake and that she is not wrapped up in something too big for us.”
 
“She’s

not.

This message for her makes

no

sense. I cannot even fathom what they are talking about. Someone has put her in their sights and it’s not right. She’s a good person, Robb, she doesn’t deserve this and we are depending on you two to help us keep her alive until it is straightened out.” Tyrio
n sat back in his chair with a deep breath.
 
“You haven’t shown her this?” Robb forced himself to relax, tossing the picture back across the desk, unable to touch it for another moment.
 
“Would you show your wife or sisters?” Tyrion glanced down at the ugly image before scooping it back up. “If I need to tell her about it, I will, but I’d prefer her not to read it.”
 
“I want to show it to Jon.” Robb hated the thought of it, one more dark secret for his worn brother to hold onto. “He needs to understand what he’s up against.”
 
“Speaking of—“ Tyrion looked around, brow furrowed. “—where is your brother?”
 
Watching as Tyrion locked the foul threat away once more, Robb couldn’t stop the dark smirk. “Testing to see how easy it is to break in.”
 
Tyrion’s sigh was long suffering. “How’s it going so far?”
 
Relaxing again, Robb checked his watch, not sure if he should be amused or horrified at the situation. “Since no one checked me in, or has come in here to alert us to a strange man lurking around the grounds, I’d say it’s going terribly.”
 
“The gods help us all.” Tyrion muttered, before tilting his head, his gaze searching Robb’s tellingly. “On a slightly better note, I was happy to hear that Jon survived his ordeal at the Night’s Watch, even more pleasantly surprised for you to tell me that he was assisting.” He paused a beat. “I’ve always liked Jon.”
 
Robb bit back the surge of emotion at Tyrion’s sincerity, temporarily out of cheeky remarks. “Aye, I’m glad he’s here.”
 
“Well, you two will have your work cut out for you.”

~*~*~

It would almost be amusing how easy it was to walk into the Dragonpit, except it was fucking terrifying. He just opened the door and walked in. No lock, no alarm set, the keypad for the alarm system mounted mockingly by the door in silent sentry and utterly useless.
 
Frustration was building as he continued his prowl, disappointment running through him in waves, anger simmering below that. It would be an impossible task to help Daenerys and her brother if they weren’t even trying to help themselves. As much as breaking onto the property had been a thrill, it was not a game— lives were at stake, now he and Robb adding theirs to that list.
 
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he went in search of Tyrion’s office, knowing Robb was already in there. Finding himself facing a long corridor, he chose a direction.
 
Pictures lined the hallway, various covers of magazines that Jon had already seen. Photos of the siblings together were mixed in the bunch, making Jon feel like he was intruding as he stopped and stared at a younger Daenerys, hair whipping around her as she stood on the coastline, her eyes the same color as the ocean behind her.
 
Ignoring the tug of his insides, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and continued his journey, perking up with the quick steady steps of a woman on a mission, her dark eyes sweeping over him and narrowing as they stopped in front of each other.
 
“Are you part of the set up crew? Everyone should be outside.”

Finally, someone asking questions.

“No.” Jon shook his head and waited for more suspicion, for probing questions or alarm to set across the woman’s pretty face. He barely resisted grinding his teeth together when she stayed silent, a slight awkwardness filling the air. “Where’s Tyrion’s office?”
 
“You’re heading the wrong way.” She pointed over his shoulder. “At the end of the hall, turn right. Third door on the left.”

Ask me who I am.

“Thank you.” He wanted to throw his hands up in air, or shake the poor woman in front of him. He liked a challenge, but this was proving more and more to be a thankless endeavour, the risks growing even more substantial. Pulling out his phone to text Robb a quick, —

I’m heading towards you—,

he started to turn around, then stopped, a flair of curiosity making him pause. “Where is Daenerys?”
 
There was a short laugh. “Where she always is on the day of a shoot. Hiding in her study.” She tilted her head in the original direction Jon had been heading. “If you see her, tell her Irri is almost ready for her.”
 
The lack of safety was alarming. “Thanks.”
 
With a smile, the woman continued on her way and Jon took the moment to update his brother. —

Never mind, I’m going to go introduce myself to Daenerys—,

snorting in amusement at Robb’s quick reply of, —

you’re a pain in the arse—

and pocketed his phone to search for the famous Daenerys Targaryen.
 
He found her a short distance away, at the end of the hall, a light perfume hitting him at the door, not at all overwhelming, just a notice that the room belonged to a woman, and stopped in the doorway to lean against the jamb, taking a moment to look at her.
 
Unprofessional, but he couldn’t help but notice,

again

, that she was gorgeous, silver and starry against the vivid colors of the room, against the bright red of the robe she was wrapped in, feet tucked up under her as she scribbled on the pad in front of her, big sweeping motions, brow creased in concentration.
 
Shifting his weight he knocked on the wall and flashed her a smile as she looked up. “Daenerys Targaryen, I presume.”

~*~*~

The blank sheets of her sketchbook lay before her, the dress hidden within its pages haunting her, just out of reach of her vision. Dany sighed and pushed a wayward tendril of hair out of her eyes, her fingers rubbing her forehead against the strain of the oncoming tension headache. She was due any minute in hair and makeup for yet another vapid spread of flimsy clothes (Targaryen label notwithstanding), hidden beneath an even flimsier premise of a concept: “Persephone Returns: Spring’s Glory Realized”.
 
Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes again, as she had when Missandei had brought the magazine’s request to their attention. Exclusive use of the Dragonpit’s public viewing areas and gardens for the shoot, House Targaryen’s iconic pieces from the

original

collection— nothing new, or innovative, or pushing the boundaries of fashion forward in any way— and of course, her face spread wide across the cover and spread.
 
Just more of the same.
 
Viserys had said yes to the shoot before she even had a chance to ask a single question, capitulating to the whims of the magazine without even a hint at negotiation, strenuous or otherwise. No opportunity to introduce their new line of sustainable fashion, no chance at pushing the envelope or breaking the wheel. Instead, he had even suggested that

Grēza

choose which pieces they considered the most appropriate, given that the designer and creator would most definitely not be present.
 
Dany shut her eyes against the sudden pang in her chest. Five years since his passing and still— the grief could always catch her by surprise, the ache of it a physical pain in her chest strong enough to steal her breath and rob her of what was left of her dignity. Steeling herself, she blew a firm breath out of her nose, knowing that if she were to show up in Irri’s makeup chair red-lidded and swollen from yet another “crying jag” she would never hear the end of it.
 
Instead, she turned her attention back to the blank page, teasing out the edges of the dress she saw so clearly in her mind, trying to look beyond what she could see, to what she could not, to what she could feel only in her heart. Her pencil flew across the page with alarming speed as she tried to lose herself completely, giving herself over to the swirl of colors and rustle of fabrics in her mind.
 
She and Viserys may be the last, but she would be damned if all she offered to House Targaryen was a face. Rheagar had single-handedly turned their family’s misfortune around, and she would never allow his legacy to falter. Viserys did seem to have a mind for the business side (when he was sober), and someday he would learn to trust her instincts and designs for the creative side. However, Vis seemed to only be content whoring out her face and body to the highest bidder, but Dany… Dany would never be content to only contribute on camera. The world of fashion was complex, difficult, dangerous, and catty, but it also held moments of startling beauty, inspiration, and power. And so she would work as tirelessly as her eldest brother had to restore the glory of their house.
 
Or, apparently, die trying.
 
She heard him long before she could see him. Something about his shuffling gait gave him away— the scrape of a shoe against the poorly waxed flooring, the creak of his leather jacket as his arm brushed against the wood of the door jamb, his uneven breathing as adrenaline got the better of him. The panic was immediate, cold fingers of dread reaching through her chest and squeezing mercilessly as Dany fought to keep her own breathing steady, even as her heart pounded in her chest. She continued sketching calmly, falling back on years of on-camera training and experience to keep her face relaxed, giving nothing away, her mind racing as she took stock of her surroundings.
 
The study she had sequestered herself away from the frenzy of the

Grēza

shoot was simple enough, the mahogany paneling giving the room a close, comfortable feel. She hadn’t bothered to redecorate it after Rheagar passed. The man stood in the only doorway in or out of the room, and Dany knew without needing to look that any attempt at escaping through a window would be immediately thwarted by the iron bars that decorated most of the windows on the ground floor. One of the “improvements” Rheagar had insisted upon as he had spiraled further and further out of lucidity and control, his paranoia commanding every thought and action.
 
So, her only way out was through him…  To her left, the cavernous fireplace sat dark and empty as it usually did, given the unnaturally warm weather that plagued King’s Landing no matter the season, the iron tools just out of lunging reach should she need to try to fight her way past him in order to escape. She took a moment to stretch her back, her eyes fixed on her sketch, even as she surreptitiously searched for something, anything that she could use in her defense. Her fingers tightened around her drawing pencils, hoping that she would not have to try to prove the old “quill is mightier than the sword” adage true.
 
Through the fringes of her lowered eyelashes she could almost make him out— a shifting shadow watching her sketch, his dark hair pulled back tightly to reveal the stern lines of his face, his jawline strong enough to make many of the male models she worked with weep with envy. His feline grace was obvious even from a distance as she kept sketching, shifting her legs out from under her as naturally as she could, hoping that it wouldn’t come down to a foot race to save her life as he looked light and lean and quick.
 
Her desk was only a few paces away from where she sat curled on the charcoal sofa, and—
 
She froze. Her desk. And in the bottom drawer, Rheagar’s last gift.
 
Dany shifted ever so slightly, angling her body toward the desk, plotting just how many steps it would take, trying to remember which exact drawer she had stashed it in after the will had been read and Rheagar’s last wishes observed. To be honest, she couldn’t remember much about the encounter. The lawyer had insisted upon speaking to her and Viserys as soon as the funeral had concluded, about the state of the business and Rheagar’s debts, deeds and shell corporations, and who had power of attorney and any other number of things that had overwhelmed her at the time. She had retreated here, to his study, burying her face in the pillows of the couch she now sat upon, the smell of his stale cigarettes lingering in the air.
 
She had cried herself into a fitful sleep, the first of many nights spent on this sofa instead of in the echoing vastness of her own bedroom. She had found the note in his desk drawer, the small box tucked just beneath it. It had been barely legible, his hands obviously shaking as he wrote it, and hers trembled to match as she had lifted the lid of the simple cardboard box, brushing aside the paper inside.
 
The note had been straightforward—

For my Dany. Be safe. Always. — R

The gift had not— a small, sleek gun, a perfect fit for her tiny palms and fingers. Later research identified it is a Smith & Wesson .380– affectionately known as ‘the Bodyguard’ among gun enthusiasts. She had nearly dropped the box, her shock so complete at her brother’s last gift. Her darling brother who believed in love, not war, bringing a symbol of wanton destruction into her already obliterated life. How prescient must he have been, at the end.
 
Another sly look to her visitor in the doorway. He still hadn’t moved, taking her and the room in, no doubt sizing up the best way to off her in a mansion swarming with all manner of witnesses. She had to give him some credit— the bastard had balls.
 
He had just underestimated one thing— her.
 
Making a face at her ruined sketch, she rolled her shoulders, allowing the sleeve of her robe to fall away, exposing the pale expanse of her neck and shoulder. She was taking a chance that he was a straight, hot-blooded male, but hiding behind her famed beauty had the potential to work to her advantage. Two could definitely play at whatever sick game he was playing.
 
“Daenerys Targaryen, I presume?” His deep burr washed over her, and Dany had to suppress an immediate shudder, shocked at the gentleness in his tone, completely unexpected given the circumstances.
 
Schooling her features into polite confusion, she looked up, his deep brown eyes warm and… arresting.

Dammit, focus Dany.

“Yes?”
 
He flashed her a smile, and Dany had to quell a smile of her own in return, shocked at the transformation of his face. Gone were the stern lines and creases of concern, and gods— that smile lit up every corner of his face, the twinkle in his eye inviting her into some shared conspiracy, healthy or otherwise.
 
She surged to her feet, gathering her pencils and sketch pad close to her chest, pressing it reassuringly against the sudden pounding of her heart, hoping against hope that he couldn’t see the uptick of her pulse at her throat, or how tightly she was swallowing against the looming panic.
 
“Is Irri ready for me in hair and makeup?” She said, desperately trying to keep her voice steady. She threw him a dazzling smile of her own, hoping to tilt him off balance, or at least keep him distracted and chatty as she moved to her desk, opening various drawers to put away her pencils and sketch pad, all the while searching for the box.
 
“Almost.” He said quietly, leaning against the door frame fully, his leather jacket squeaking slightly as he folded his arms over his broad chest. So much for chatty...
 
Dany hummed in agreement, keeping most of her focus on her search, but eyeing him through the fringe of her eyelashes. “And you are?”
 
He cleared his throat abruptly as she jerked open the left most bottom drawer, and yes, finally— the box. “You can call me Jon.”
 
“And who do you work for, Jon?” She glanced back up at him, making sure he hadn’t moved as she reached for the box, pulling it out onto the desk as smoothly and confidently as she could, her hands surprisingly steady as her adrenaline surged. She flipped open the lid, sliding her fingers along the cool metal. “You seem to have lost your security badge for the shoot.”
 
She snapped the gun up, squaring him in her sights as best she could, fighting to hold it steady, as if she knew what she was doing, keeping his eye, letting him see that she would not go down without a fight.
 
“Are you sure you know how to use that?” His voice was unnervingly steady for a man with a gun pointed at him.
 
“Are you willing to find out?” She issued her challenge with her chin up, not letting the muzzle waiver with hidden nerves.
 
“Your safety is on.” He was still the picture of relaxation, not moving from his spot in the door as if he was a man asking a simple question and not a threat in her own home.
 
It was his easy tone that made her doubt herself, glance flickering down to where her finger rested against the trigger. And that’s all it took before he was across the room, a flurry of quick movement and their arms were tangled together, a strong grip holding onto the back of her elbow as she let out of noise of surprise.
 
She went to pull back, to scramble away, flight her full response now, but her wrist was locked between his arm and side, gun uselessly behind him as she was jerked into a hard body then propelled backwards, not stopping until she hit the bookshelf behind her, trapped between the two unforgiving surfaces.
 
“You should never point a gun at someone unless you’re ready to shoot them.” He made a noise of disapproval. “Otherwise you risk having it taken off of you.”
 
There was another fast movement and pressure applied to her wrist, making her surrender her gun or have her wrist broken, all while still pinned to the bookshelf, a figurine from the shelf behind her digging into the meat of her shoulder, completely at his mercy. She was trying not to shake, not understanding why he was talking to her, the fear of what he wanted mixing with the fury that somebody

dared

come into her home.
 
They were stuck in a silent standoff, close enough she could see the sweep of long lashes over the attractive eyes, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his muscular chest bumping into hers, skin tingling, unaware of what to feel with the close proximity. She made herself hold his gaze, chin lifted. If she was going to die, she would do so on her feet and without giving into the fear that was coiling around her spine.
 
Suddenly he leaned back, still too close, the breath she didn’t realize she was holding rushing back into her lungs, muscles tightened in defense. Instead of raising the gun at her, or something even more depraved, he ejected the magazine, checked the chamber and shook his head, faced marred with a scowl.
 
“You didn’t even have one chambered. You weren’t ready to shoot. Have you ever used a gun?”
 
A surge of anger made her straighten even more, fingers curling into fists, pushing back into his space, a foolish move, but the riling of her blood making her lose all sense of caution and prepare for a fight.
 
A knock against the doorframe brought her up short, both of them slowly turning to the new interruption.
 
“Oh good. You’ve met.” Tyrion stood there with a young man, lean and auburn haired, another face that would make women swoon.

Met? What was going on?

~*~*~

Robb wasn’t sure what he was prepared for, but it was not finding Jon and Daenerys standing toe to toe, both wearing scowls as she pulled the silk robe up over her shoulder, covering the pale skin that had been displayed. He had to bite back a surprised cough as Jon’s eyes flickered down for the briefest of moments before landing back on her face.

What the fuck, Jon? You’ve been here less than five minutes. Don’t piss off the clients. And probably don’t eyeball the hot one either.

“Who are you?” Daenerys’ heated gaze was still locked on Jon. “Tyrion, explain.”
 
Robb had to give her points for not backing down or wilting against Jon’s steely gaze. He knew his brother could be intimidating despite his lack of height but she seemed to be holding up well against it.
 
“Daenerys, this is Robb Stark. The man you are currently having a standoff with is Jon Snow, your new bodyguard.

Stark Securities

has been discretely hired by House Targaryen.”
 
“I was not consulted about this.” She practically spat out the words, her startling blue eyes flashing.
 
Robb wondered at what point she and Jon were going to step apart, the tension already twisting around them, making him and Tyrion look at each other with raised eyebrows. This…. was unexpected.
 
“I made the decision, sweet sister.”
 
The pompous voice seemed to echo about the room, finally prompting Jon and Daenerys to step back and give each other space to breathe. Robb blinked as Jon surreptitiously pulled a small handgun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to drop it into the desk drawer and push it shut. Curious— he’d have to quiz his brother on that later. Instead, he turned to the tall willowy man with silver hair that matched his sister’s.
 
“Robb Stark, at your service.” Viserys took his hand, the palm damp, eyes dull and listless. Robb barely kept the distaste from his face even though he knew about Viserys’ issues of (supposedly past) substance abuse. Robb may have his doubts, but he wasn’t getting paid to judge— just keep the siblings alive. Doing his best to keep his scorn down, he watched silently as the
other man swept across the room, his ego filling the room as if he owned every inch of the space.
 
Daenerys stiffened subtly as her brother marched toward her, rifling disdainfully through the books and figurines on her shelf. Jon narrowed his eyes with displeasure, no doubt reacting to her discomfort. “Vis, we should have talked about this.”
 
“No, we shouldn’t have.” He closed in on his sister, swiftly grabbing her wrist and yanking her toward him. Her face twisted in a flash of pain as Viserys towered over her. “Never forget, you don’t run things here, Dany, and I don’t need to ask your permission.”
 
At Viserys’ sudden move, Robb shifted, the clenching of his fists imperceptible as years of training threatened to take over in a heartbeat. Jon swung around and squared up, already visibly coming to Daenerys’ defense at her brother’s roughness. Robb groaned internally.

Fuck, this is a huge mess.

“Let’s take a deep breath and relax, everyone.” The tension thrumming through the room broke as Tyrion stepped in, hands raised in gesture of peace as Daenerys shook herself free and stepped sideways, rubbing her wrist, Jon’s presence looming protectively over her. Tyrion did not look the least bit surprised at the exchange. Apparently, this was not his first time being a referee.
 
Robb took the advice, flexing his fingers, giving a slight shake of his head towards Jon, who still looked ready to take a chunk out of Viserys. Finally, his tense posture dropped, and Robb took a deep breath of relief. The last thing he needed was to have to protect his client from his own brother.
 
“I don’t need to relax.” Viserys sounded like a petulant child. “I want to stay alive, and

Stark Securities

comes highly recommended. Tyrion vouched for them.” He turned to his sister. “Do you want to end up dead like our brother?”
 
She visibly flinched, the pain echoing across her face. “That is completely different.”
 
“Dead is dead.”
 
“You’re not helping.” Tyrion turned to Viserys, a small crack in his normal humorous tone. “Why don’t you go check on how the set up for the shoot is going and I’ll speak to Daenerys.”
 
“

Daenerys

is right here.” Fury had settled over, eyes flashing, chin lifting as her shoulders straightened. “Do not talk about me as if I’m not standing in this room.”
 
“For fuck’s sake—“ Jon’s quiet utterance drew his attention, but thankfully not that of either Targaryen sibling. Jon was staring at him, shaking his head slowly, his own thoughts clearly written across his face for anyone to read.

What the fuck have you gotten us into?

“Enough!” Robb almost flinched at Tyrion’s thunderous tone, the small man all together done with the hijinks and arguing back and forth. “Viserys, I’ll see you in my office in thirty minutes.” There was a tense moment as Viserys puffed up, his sallow eyes searching the room for an ally. Finding none, he wilted slightly and shrugged, sweeping from the room with a toss of his lank silver hair. Tyrion waited until Viserys disappeared through the door, then turned back to Daenerys. “He’s not wrong on this.”
 
“Your current security is terrible.” Jon crossed his arms, leaning back against her desk, earning him a scowl as she bristled like a porcupine.
 
“What my ineloquent brother is trying to say—“ Robb paused, searching for a more tactful way of relaying the truth before giving up. “No, he said it, it’s terrible.”
 
Her eyes snapped to his for the first time since he had been introduced, and Robb swallowed, the scorch of it chillingly thorough. It was rather intense to become the object of Daenerys Targaryen’s wrath, and he silently gave his brother kudos for withstanding it.
 
“I jumped your fence, walked across your miles of a lawn, ran into multiple people, let myself into your house and was

given directions on how to find you in here

.” Jon shifted back up and closer to her, the challenge firm in his tone. “Not that anyone on your security team would know— none of your perimeter cameras are operational.”
 
She paled slightly, but tilted her chin defiantly. “That is not normal.” Her hands went to her hips, turning to meet Jon head on.
 
“Actually, Daenerys—“ Tyrion shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “we thought it best that we didn’t tell you this before—“ he cleared his throat before continuing. “The poisoned bottle of wine was not sent to you, it was left for you.”
 
Her eyes went wide as she pieced it together. “Someone was here, in the manse?”
 
“Yes. They left you a note.”
 
She sagged, but Jon was at the ready, reaching out and gently leaning her against the desk. “A note? They

left

me a note?” Tyrion was looking at the floor, dutifully avoiding her gaze. At his avoidance, the steel crept back into her tone. “Where, Tyrion?”
 
“The note was left in your bed. The wine was on your nightstand.”
 
“Why wasn’t I made aware of this earlier?”
 
There was a dry clicking sound as Tyrion’s throat worked, but no sound came out. “Daenerys—“ He raised his arms helplessly, wilting under her withering glare.
 
“Do you still have the note?”
 
“No, it was given to the City Watch for analysis.”
 
She nodded thoughtfully. “What did it say?”
 
“There’s no need to go into all that—“
 
“You said it was a crazed fan.” Silence met her, all eyes now actively avoiding her pointed gaze.”What did it say, Tyrion? Do they know?” She tossed her silver head in Jon and Robb’s direction, and both shifted uncomfortably.
 
Tyrion looked helplessly between them both, his eyes wide. “Just of its existence.” Jon’s voice cut across him, quiet but firm. “From what we understand, the content was quite…” He trailed off, looking over to Robb for assistance.
 
Robb nodded slowly, taking a delicate step closer to his brother and his charge. He didn’t want to give her the details, to frighten her more than she already was, but she at least deserved to know what, exactly, she was facing. “It was graphic, Daenerys. Perverse. You really don’t want to— All you need to know is that this threat is real, and someone out there wants worse than death for you.”
 
She made a small noise, arms wrapping around herself as the reality of the situation rolled over her. Robb fought down the urge to cross to her to pull her into a hug, the thought of Sansa or Arya in the same situation disheartening. Jon looked ready to hit somebody.
 
Suddenly she straightened, pulling herself back together, finding some inexhaustible source of inner fire and narrowed her eyes dangerously at Tyrion. “We will be having an in-depth conversation about this, Jorah included.” She shifted her hot gaze to Jon. “Apparently, I do find myself in need of your services.”
 
“Aye.” Jon moved back around to her desk, helping himself to opening up her desk drawer, a move Robb would normally find humorous if not for the circumstances. “Also, if you’re going to pack this around, then you are going to learn how to use it correctly. And you will not point it at someone again unless you’re willin’ to kill them. And if you’re not, then you leave it right here.”

Well, fuck.

That’s what he and Tyrion had missed.
 
She huffed, thoroughly chastised but didn’t protest, taking the gun off of Jon and pulling a simple cardboard box to her and settling the small handgun back in as if it were breakable. Then her fingers faltered, the box dropping to her desk with a thump.
 
Robb moved towards her, triggered by the look of horror on her face, Jon already pulling her back away from the unknown threat, tucking her neatly behind him, holding her there with one hand as she tried to peek around him, all the blood drained from her already pale face. Robb approached the desk, moving to block her view as he peered into the drawer.
 
In it, presumably hidden under the case that held her gun, was a note, a lone bullet taped down, the ominous words —

I have one of these saved for you—

written in an elegant scrawl.
 
“Did you know about this?” He looked at Tyrion before glancing over to Daenerys, the latter leaning into Jon with her shock.
 
“No.” Tyrion looked defeated. “I didn’t. Daenerys, I’m sorry.”
 
“We will get it to the City Watch, have them look for evidence.” Jon spoke without looking over his shoulder to the woman pressed to his back.
 
“They are useless.” She scoffed, before letting her shoulders drop. “But I suppose we don’t have many other options.”
 
Robb pulled out his phone and snapped a couple of pictures to be on the safe side, her depiction of the City Watch absolutely correct. “We don’t.”
 
“Okay.” Gathering herself once more, Daenerys finally leaned away as Jon dropped his hand, and shook her own hands briskly before straightening her robe. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m afraid I need a few minutes before I head down to hair and makeup.”
 
“What?” Jon turned to face her. “No.”
 
They were like magnets, Robb observed. He found it fascinating to watch Daenerys close back in on Jon, the pull of something greater than either of them drawing them together or repelling them apart, the charged friction starting again between them.
 
“This is my

job

. You don’t get to tell me ‘no’. Ever. Are we clear?”
 
“I will if I need to. That’s

my

job.”
 
“If I may interrupt.” Tyrion stepped closer to the pair. “Jon, we need her to do this. If she doesn’t do the shoot, she’s in breach of contract, and then we all have much bigger problems on our hands. I’ll send Grey Worm out to you for assistance. Daenerys, moving forward, your schedule is going to need to be cleared by Jon. He cannot do his job otherwise. I’ll be sure to let Missandei know, and I’m sure she can smooth out any ruffled feathers.”
 
Huffing, she stepped away, arms crossed obstinately, and Robb could have sworn he saw her face twitch to stifle a violent eye roll. “Fine, he can come with me.”
 
“Robb, will you leave my stuff when you are done with Tyrion? Apparently I’m about to watch a photo shoot.” He rolled his eyes as Daenerys marched out the door, then tipped his head. “Tyrion, I don’t know how you’ve lasted working for them.” He followed in the waft of the lavender perfume Daenerys left in her wake.
 
“Well, that went better than planned.” Tyrion’s dry tone almost drew a chuckle from him. “Now, I suppose we should head down to my office and contact the Watch. Then you can go over Viserys’ schedule.
 
“Aye.” Robb could hear the fading clipped tones of Jon and Daenerys disappearing down the hall. He had noted the slight haunted look that Jon carried had gone away for the time being, no doubt too occupied to let memories take over.
 
Working for the Targaryen’s looked like it would be challenging, and if he knew one thing about Jon, it was that he could not walk away from a challenge. Daenerys Targaryen was as beautiful as she was stubborn and determined, a combination that would crawl under Jon’s skin and hopefully distract him from his demons and pull him back into the land of the living.
 
If Daenerys didn’t strangle him first.

~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~

Someone out there wants worse than death for you…

The taller man’s words rang through her, bouncing and echoing through her mind. What had he said his name was? Richard, Bob? Something Stark— normally she was much better with names. Missandei was always impressed with how she could rattle off the names of most of the crew by the end of a photoshoot, her memory something she had spent years cultivating in order to be more, to be different from the rest of the—

Worse than death…

Dany could feel the tendrils of panic crawling through her, weaving together with the embarrassment, the suspicion, the pain—
 
The pain. Her hand went to her wrist, rubbing the ache from it as best she could, trying to keep her focus on the sensations of it, the throbbing stabs with every beat of her heart drawing her away from the edge, keeping her grounded and present. Glancing down, she pulled the sleeve of her silk robe back to check for bruises. It wouldn’t be the first time that Irri would need to concoct some new foundation to cover the abuses she suffered at her brother’s hand. He must have been rattled to have manhandled her so in front of that many people.
 
A large hand closed gently around her injured appendage, dropping away as she hissed and snapped her glare up to him.

Jon Snow.

She clutched her throbbing wrist close to her chest, turning to keep her back to the paneled wood of the the hall, ready to snap and snarl at him, but brought up short by the concern in his liquid brown eyes.
 
“Did I hurt you?” She shivered as he took a step closer to her, crowding into her space— something she would just have to get used to, no doubt.
 
She shook her head, gritting her teeth against the ache. “No.”
 
He waited for her to say more, his head cocked to the side as he studied her, the scrutiny unnerving in the dim light of the hall. Ignoring the spike of agony, she rolled her wrist to show him just how fine she was. In fact, she had almost managed to block out the embarrassment of her failure and forget that Jon had disarmed her first. The pressure of his grip on her hand to get her to release her hold on the handgun hadn’t felt wonderful, per say, but his touch had been practically gentle compared to that of Viserys.
 
But, he was her brother, nonetheless. Targaryens didn’t answer to anyone.
 
Jon didn’t believe her— she could see it in his eyes, the flash of protectiveness and

anger

replacing the concern in the space of a heartbeat. She took another step back from him, momentarily stunned to find herself pleased that he was on her side. His anger had a dangerous edge to it, something that a more self-assured version of herself might enjoy teasing out of him, but for now she was so off-kilter that all she could do was cower from it within the walls of her own mind.
 
“Nothing a little willowbark won’t fix.” She could hear the high pitched tone in her own voice, although thankfully it was no longer quavering. Taking a step back, she kept her uninjured hand on the wainscotting, the wood digging into her palm. “In fact, I should really go find some before I go into hair and makeup. That way I’ll be right as rain by the time we’re ready to begin the shoot.”

Right as rain???

She was babbling, edging away from him, a wave of fear crashing over her, burying her, filling her eyes, ears, and mouth until she couldn’t breathe. She turned from him blindly, finding her way to the grand staircase in the foyer by rote, the sound of his footsteps doggedly following her. Her breaths were becoming more and more labored as she climbed the stairs, crossing through the upstairs landing and Viserys’ wing, another staircase at the end of the hallway leading to her rooms.
 
Still he followed her, his presence looming large in the back of her mind. “Ms. Targaryen?”
 
Pragmatically, she knew that he meant her no harm, that Jon had even stepped between her and Viserys, had bodily

thrown

himself between her and what he had perceived as a threat when she found the second note, but the sound of his steady footsteps might actually drive her over the brink. There was no escape from him, no escape from the reality which he represented-- the very real danger that had brought him to her door.
 
She arrived at her bedroom, reaching out for the gilded doorknob before pulling away as if burned. Someone had been in her room. The note had been found in her

bed

.
 
“Daenerys—“ Jon finally snapped, pulling her back from her bedroom door and turning her to face him, his eyes flying over her before cataloging their surroundings, looking for danger. She could practically hear his teeth grinding they were so close. “What is it?

I have one of these saved for you…

She gasped and shook herself loose from his grip. Swallowing down her sudden nausea, she lifted her head. “I need a few moments—

private

moments.” She could hear the woodenness in her tone, and knew that she had just a few seconds left before she crumbled to pieces.
 
His gaze softened and he took a step back. “Is this your room?”
 
She nodded quickly, feeling the prick of tears gathering in the back of her eyes, much to her mortification. He nodded, suddenly all business as he tucked her behind him once more. “Wait here.”
 
He threw open the door of her bedroom and stepped inside. She slumped against the wall opposite her door, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to remember what the therapist had told her to do when she felt the panic attacks coming on. She had just reached the number 37 when his hands reappeared in her line of vision, reaching down to help her up off the floor. She had no idea when she had slid down the wall, her forehead braced against her knees as she struggled to keep pulling air into her lungs.
 
“All clear,” he said, his heated gaze raking down her once more. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”
 
She didn’t reply, forcing her feet one in front of the other as she crossed the threshold of her room, the greens and golds of her decor now seeming foreboding instead of comforting. She shut the door behind her, not caring if it slammed a bit harder than she intended, and crossed directly to her

en-suite

bathroom, closing that door firmly behind her and throwing the lock.
 
The white marble and silver fixtures swam before her eyes as she fumbled for one of the crystal water glasses she kept next to her toothbrush. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably now that she was alone, and as she twisted the cold water handle, the sink gushed to life, splashing water out of the glass and all over the countertop. Dany cursed as she set the glass down with a thunk, turning to yank a hand towel off the bar behind her to sop up some of the mess. Once that was done, she threw the towel into the claw footed bathtub, and started opening drawers looking for the willowbark pills she kept close at hand. Finally finding one of the packets, she tore it open with her teeth, tilting both pills into her mouth and gulping what little water had managed to stay in the glass.
 
Dany set the glass down carefully before finally taking a close look at herself in the mirror. She was beyond pale, a grey pallor settling into her skin, the only color that of her eyes, and two bright pink spots high on her cheeks.
 
It was too much, all of it— everything. She found that her mind could not settle, jumping from one awful detail to the next. Someone was trying to kill her— had almost been successful. If the maid hadn’t discovered the note and the wine, would she even be here right now? Would she have assumed that someone from the staff had placed it in her room for a nightcap? She shuddered at the thought, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she most likely would be dead if she had discovered it on her own. She needed to ask Tyrion which maid had found it and make sure that person got a significant raise.
 
Someone had been in her room, in her bed, had violated all of the spaces that she considered her own, including Rhaegar's study. They had left multiple notes.

Possibly more...

She felt her knees give out, and with a groan eased herself as best she could to lie flat on the floor, her reddened cheek pressed against the cool tile, the nausea that had been lingering abating ever so slightly at the contact.
 
They needed to search the entire manse thoroughly. If it had taken them days to find the note with her handgun, there was no telling how many more might be out there, waiting to taunt her, to frighten her, to cow her into submission.

Graphic… Perverse…

That’s what the auburn haired man had said. Her stomach churned at the thought and she closed her eyes against the rising tide of her panic, trying to take even, shallow breaths. Tyrion had looked as if she had stabbed him through the heart, whatever the fuck his name was had coddled her as if she were a frightened child, and Jon… Jon had looked surprised when his boss had offered even those details. It had been subtle, only the slight raising of an eyebrow, but surprise nonetheless.
 
Her eyes snapped open. Jon hadn’t read the note. He had no idea what he was up against. For that matter, neither did she…
 
Dany forced her trembling hands under her, pushing herself upright, slumping against the wall as she burrowed her fingers into her hair, the strands coming undone from her loose braid easily. She raked her fingers through her hair from
scalp to ends, savoring the feeling, almost relaxing against her own touch. Rhaegar had done this for her when she was younger, when the anxiety became too much, when Viserys had become too much.
 
It wasn’t the same.
 
She clamped down on that line of reasoning before it sent her completely over the edge, setting her teeth and forcing herself to think.

Think, godsdammit.

There were so many questions whirling in her mind— why hadn’t Tyrion told her the full extent of the danger, why had he and Viserys hired her a bodyguard without even so much as a ‘by the by’, why hadn’t the City Watch asked to speak with her— surely someone, somewhere in that abysmal organization, had a brain in their head and had come up with some sort of suspect?
 
She’d had stalkers before, of course. A man from Vaes Dothrak had made her time spent in Essos one nightmare after another. A self-proclaimed

Khal

of old, determined to take what he thought was his. Jorah had made short work of him, and a thorough mental examination upon his arrest had hopefully gotten him the help that he so desperately needed.
 
She still thought of him sometimes, and had hoped that he would find healing and rest. She would need to ask Tyrion to check, to make sure that he was still in Essos, and had not somehow made his way to Westeros. Love denied made for a powerful motive, after all.
 
Dany took a deep breath, feeling the slightest bit better with a plan in place. She would need to ask Missandei as well if she had received any sort of threat via email, as she screened those. Anything to end this nightmare as quickly as possible and get back to more important work. If Jon Snow would let her…
 
She groaned again, already knowing that a clash of wills lay directly in her path. In the twenty minutes since she had met the man she already found him infuriating, confounding, terrifying, and surprisingly gentle. He reminded her very much of… Well, no one, if she was being honest. He was unlike anyone she had ever met, all hard lines and graceful, fluid movements— and deadly. He had the face of a man haunted by regret and pain. It would take time to learn him, to find the triggers to bend him to her will, but find them she would. Until then, she would take great pleasure in teasing and taunting, searching for the cracks in his carefully constructed facade.
 
She held her hands out in front of her, pleasantly surprised to find that the shaking had abated, and reached for the countertop to pull herself upright. The willowbark had already begun to work its magic, and she felt only a slight twinge in her wrist, although sure enough, a string of dull bruises were already popping up. Turning the faucet on once more, she filled her water glass much more gracefully than before and drank it down, the cool, crisp water settling her stomach and steadying her. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color back, knowing even if she were to put on blush, that Irri would have to take it off and start over from scratch.
 
Taking one final deep breath and cinching her robe more tightly around her, Dany lifted her chin defiantly. She was the blood of the dragon, after all.
 
~*~*~
 
Jon’s mind was still whirling as he leaned against the wall where Daenerys had been slumped, the surprised tightness of anxiety filling him as she disappeared behind her solid door and out of his sight. It was fine, she was

safe

— he knew it, had just cleared the room that smelled of soft exotic lotions, the same scent that clung to her skin...
 
But he did not know the threat, not really, had only reacted on instinct when she had recoiled. It was an itch between his shoulders, the need to understand what he was facing— the unknown would keep him at a disadvantage, handicap him when it was obvious, by Robb’s tone, that whatever content that note held was worse than the bullet left in her drawer. It was difficult to keep from gathering Daenerys under his protective wing and marching down the hall to Tyrion’s office, demanding to see the ugly words that were meant to strike terror into her heart.
 
Gritting his teeth against the anger that rose at the thought of the special brand of cowardice it took to threaten a woman, he crossed his arms to keep from fidgeting, keeping a keen ear toward where she had taken refuge. He tried to keep his whirling mind occupied by attempting to sort out everything that had just happened. It had been quite an introduction— a part of him admiring, another part horrified she had the gumption to pull a gun on him, surprised to see the fire in her eyes that hit him like a wall of flame, seeping in and clashing with the numbness, the part of him that he’d long let ice over. It intrigued him,

annoyed

him, and he’d been in her presence for less than half an hour. He couldn't imagine what more time left floating in her orbit would do to him.
 
His fingers flexed involuntarily, and his slight regret at manhandling her in such a way made him swallow hard. It had been a lesson, one he thought should have been well earned, but after her brother had grabbed her so roughly... His anger spiked again at the thought, compounding his own remorse. He had a good inclination that it was not the first time Viserys had laid his hand on his sister.
 
Jon vowed it would be the last time while he was here.
 
Shifting on his feet, he blew out a breath. It seemed like an eternity had stretched by, but he knew it had only been mere minutes since she’d disappeared through her bedroom door, the unease settling heavy on his shoulders. He needed to know the threat— he needed to sit down with her current security team, take the measure of those tasked with her protection; he needed to look at her schedule, find the patterns, the weak points, the likely moments of attack.
 
He also required a few minutes to sit down and try and to sort through the mess of emotions flooding through him, his mind rapid-firing from subject to subject, action to action. He was supposed to be a professional— calm, cool, and collected, not this unprincipled rookie trapped in a minefield of feeling.
 
His silent berating was interrupted by light and easy footsteps, feet falling in a pattern suggesting they knew where they were going. He tensed, coming off the wall and turning himself sideways in the hall, fingers itchy, blood riled, still not entirely down from the high of threat.
 
It was the woman he had met before, the one who had pointed out where to find Daenerys, all bouncing caramel curls and smiling at him as if she were not surprised to see him loitering outside Daenerys Targaryen’s door. Uncrossing his arms, he moved again, the door firmly at his back, putting on what he hoped was a pleasant smile.
 
“Is Dany in there?” She had an armful of paperwork, her phone silently vibrating on top of the stack. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Missandei.”
 
A slim hand was offered to him and he took it, giving it a polite shake, trying not to bristle at the woman. “Jon Snow.”
 
“Yes, Tyrion informed me that you’ve been hired as Dany’s bodyguard.” Eyebrows went up as she studied him. “He also mentioned something about going over her schedule. Do you know if she’s almost ready? Irri is ready for her and doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
 
Making a noncommittal noise, he took the moment to study her, his hands drifting to his sides as he tried to relax. He would try the nice way of getting his point across first. “You’re her assistant, then?” He waited for the nod of confirmation before continuing, reminding himself to use

tact.

Making an ally of Daenerys’ assistant would be in his best interest. “Yes, I will need to be kept informed of her schedule and where events take place.”
 
The creaking of floorboards from behind the door caught his ear, his body refusing to move from his strategic placement between her and everything else. “Another thing,” gods, he could hear the warning in his tone, and hoped Missandei was not the meek and mild type. “I don’t want you telling

anyone

where Daenerys is, unless it’s Robb Stark or someone else from the security team. If Tyrion or her brother ask and are informed of her whereabouts, I expect to be given a heads up. This is a very serious situation.” Footsteps moved towards him, his blood kicking up, something inside of him craving the rush it had been introduced to in the form of arguing with Daenerys. “Someone is after her and I want to keep her alive.”
 
Missandei’s golden eyes dropped as the door knob rattled, and Jon stepped to the side a split second before Dany threw open the door and crashed into his back. Giving her a grin as she huffed at him, he noted she had some color in her cheeks again, the steel back in her spine as her gaze roved over him before flicking back to her assistant.
 
“Are they ready for me?” Daenerys’ voice was fused with a warmth Jon hadn’t heard yet, a friendliness not often seen in a working relationship. Obviously she and Missandei had been paired together for some time, but he had to wonder what had transpired between them to bond them so closely.
 
“Yes, but before we head down there,” Missandei cleared her throat, throwing a nervous glance at Jon and an apologetic smile at Daenerys. “Tyrion has informed me that Mr. Snow is to be staying here and thought the bedroom next to yours should suffice.”
 
The roundness of Daenerys’ eyes gave away her surprise even before she spoke, Jon unconsciously angling his body to meet her wrath head on. “You’re staying here?”
 
“Of course I am.” Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he instead clenched his fists before consciously relaxing them again. “‘Round the clock, remember? You think I’m a pain in the arse now, just wait. It’s going to get worse.” He took a step toward her, catching her neatly between him and the doorframe. Her chin rose, allowing her to fix her hot gaze onto him, searing him to the bone. He sucked in a breath, fighting for focus.  “Get used to it, Daenerys, I’m going to be your shadow— you’ll trip over me every time you turn around. And by the time they catch this lunatic, you’ll still be alive.”
 
“I think the room next to me might be overkill.” She spoke through clenched teeth, even more color flooding her cheeks, his eyes drifting to the flush turning the visible flesh of her chest pink, intriguing and forbidden. “We have a guest house.”
 
“No.” He kept himself from reaching for her, wanting to find some modicum of that scared woman who had clung to him thirty minutes before, his frustration climbing along with her defiance. “I could never get to you in time.”
 
“Well then, is the room next door going to be close enough?” The words were a seductive purr with a hidden bite to them— she was trying to lure him into complacency. “Maybe you should just move into my room.” She shifted closer, the heat wafting from her soaking into his own skin, making him crave contact, but he stubbornly held his ground. “My bed is big enough for two.”

Godsfuckingdammit!

Right in that particular moment, he wasn’t even sure if he

liked

Daenerys Targaryen, hadn’t been allowed the time to sort out all the sensations clashing inside of him, but he was unable to resist peaking over her shoulder to the four poster bed behind her, the forest green down comforter pulled tight, an array of pillows against her headboard. And he could picture it in a surge of lust, being sprawled beneath her on that big bed, fingers digging into the luscious curve of her hips, those pretty blue eyes focused only on him as she stared down at him, a curtain of silver hair hiding them both from the world.
 
Hoping his neck wasn’t beet red and advertising his torrid thoughts, he straightened his shoulders, schooling his face into the hardened mask that had made men of the Night’s Watch fall to command. “That would be a conflict of interest,-“ he hooked his thumbs through his front belt loops, straining for nonchalance. “-it’s considered bad form to sleep with a client.”
 
He counted it as a win when her mouth pressed into a firm line, eyes narrowing at him. The offer had obviously been made to rile, to push his buttons, and internally he wanted to congratulate her on the strategy, her effective tactics probably made lesser men fall to their knees around her. Too bad she would find that he was immune.
 
However, when she grabbed his hand he almost startled, falling in behind her in confusion as she tugged him into her room, pulling him across the expanse of shining hardwood flooring.
 
“Here.”
 
She let go, his hand falling limply to his side, already missing the weight of hers, but he forgot about it as he realized he stood in front of another door, one disguised as a part of the paneling. She pushed a hidden button and it slid aside, leaving them staring into another room—

his

room apparently— his familiar bag of belongings already laying on the bed with Missandei standing beside it, an bemused expression drawn widely across her expressive face.
 
“Close enough, Jon Snow?”
 
He turned to look at Dany, giving her a sincere smile this time, ignoring the surge of warmth he felt when she hesitantly returned it. “I can work with this.”
 
“Thank the gods,” blue eyes rolled at him. “Now, can I go to work?”
 
“Aye. Let’s go.”
 
~*~*~
 
Dany swept into the sun-drenched solar where Irri had set up her station for the day, racks upon racks of bright, colorful dresses, outerwear, slacks, skirts, and blouses filling up every available space. Irri had managed to carve out a small nook for herself, muscling her makeup chair into a bright corner, the natural light streaming through the floor to ceiling windows negating the need for her usual lighting. Jon pressed in close behind her, not wanting to lose her in the maze of racks, the maddening sound of his steady footsteps finally dampened for the moment by the vast amount of fabric surrounding them.
 
Agitated, she pulled at the collar of her robe, the warmth of the solar stifling and she fought to keep the sudden smirk off of her face at the thought of Jon roasting in his completely impractical leather jacket. Vintage, by the look of it. How he had thought that piece of outerwear was necessary for the particularly warm climate that was King’s Landing, she would never know, but damn if he didn’t look—

No. Stop. He’s here to protect you, not be ogled shamelessly.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, his eyes a warm golden brown in the sunlight, so changed from the cold blackness that had seared themselves into her memory as he pressed her against the wall of her study, or even the lighter chocolate color as he had smiled down at her when she had shown him the secret entrance to the maid’s quarters off her bedroom. A bead of sweat was already gathering at his widow’s peak, the rest of his hair firmly pulled back into a no-nonsense bun. Sensible, given his line of work. He stopped behind her, wrinkling his nose at the finery threatening to swallow them from every direction.
 
“Do you have to wear all of these?” The disgust in his voice pulled a sharp laugh from her, her chest expanding with a full breath for the first time since she had seen him leaning against the door to her study.
 
Dany turned quickly from him so he couldn’t see her shock at the realization, reaching out to fondle the embroidered sleeve of a particularly beautiful piece. The fabric was rough beneath her fingers, but the stitching was impeccable as always. “No,” she murmured, lost for a moment to the past as she studied the intricate craftsmanship. “It’s customary to pull the entire collection when choosing pieces for a spread. As this shoot is to be a tribute to House Targaryen and spring, we pulled Rhaegar's first collection as Designer.” She could feel herself snag on the memory, the sight of her beloved brother’s face as he had shown her the breathtaking creations his endless imagination had wrought.
 
How his eyes had shone with pride when he showed her the piece he had designed with her in mind— the delicate,

haute couture

dress, frothy pink tulle with hand stitched ruffles and a train for days. The dress that had catapulted House Targaryen back to the forefront of fashion, had cemented Rheagar as the best new designer of an age, his vision fresh, his touch light and airy, and had launched her own modeling career into the stratosphere.
 
“There you are!” Irri’s sharp voice cut across her, yanking Dany back from the edgeless void as she hastily rounded the rack. “We’re now officially running behind and the magazine is already complaining about losing the light even though we aren’t scheduled to start until—“
 
The young woman’s voice cut off abruptly, her dark eyes going wide as Jon stepped even to Dany, his hands hanging loose and prepared at his side, his posture tense and poised like a panther ready to pounce. Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes as Irri’s gaze dropped over them both, and then slowly traveled up Jon, her smile growing predatory as she appeared to like what she was seeing— enormously if the subtle straightening of her shoulders to show off her more alluring assets were any indication.
 
Drawing herself to her full height, Dany shot a warning glare at her makeup artist before placing a hand on Jon’s forearm. “Jon Snow, may I introduce Irri Siya, she’s been one of my stylists for many years.” Irri huffed quietly, and Dany smiled in return. “One of my most

talented

stylists,” she amended before continuing. “Irri, this is Jon, my—“ she stuttered to a stop, not quite sure how Irri would react, her penchant for dramatics high.
 
Instead, Jon took the choice out of her hands, nodding formally at Irri. “I’m Daenerys’ new bodyguard,” his mouth turned down sternly. “We’ll be discussing some changes to her routine, I’m sure.” He gestured to the broad windows, “Movin’ forward, Daenerys will not be sitting for long periods of time in an unsecured area where anyone could get a bead on her at any moment.”
 
Irri’s eyes widened as they flashed between her and Jon, and Dany ignored the sudden crashing of her heartbeat to turn to glare at him. “Really?”
 
“Are we in danger?” Irri’s hands fluttered to the topaz pendant she wore around her neck, her fingers stroking over the smooth stone. “Jorah assured me that it was fine to set up in here. Since it’s an outdoor shoot I thought it would be best to do your makeup in natural light so that we know for sure what we’re dealing with, and you know that I can always make adjustments as needed on set, and—“
 
“Irri,” Dany snapped, rapidly losing patience with the entire situation. “If Jorah said it’s fine to set up in here, then I’m sure it’s just that—” she fixed Jon with a baleful stare of her own. “Fine.”
 
“All due respect, Daenerys, it’s not.” Jon reached out and tapped on the window, the entire pane of glass giving a worrying wobble. “This is not bulletproof glass, there are multiple unknown entities and personnel wandering the grounds unchecked, and we’ve already unearthed one threat to you today—“
 
“Then I suggest you take it up with Jorah.” Dany bit out, her cheeks flushing angrily.
 
Jon folded his arms across his broad chest. “Or Jorah should be taking these matters up with Robb and I.”
 She wheeled on him, ignoring Irri’s blanched features. “Jorah has been the head of our security detail for ten years,” she hissed. “All due respect, but I don’t appreciate your waltzing in here like you own the place after being formally employed for the better part of an hour. I have complete faith in him and his ability to do his job, and if he says this solar is secure, then I believe him.” She turned, taking Irri by the hand and pulling the petite woman over to her chair before plopping herself down into it unceremoniously. “Now,” her gaze never left Jon’s, her eyebrow arched in carefully crafted defiance. “What’s the look for today?” 
Irri licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between them and their silent standoff. “Well, they’ve selected four pieces, Jhiqui is steaming them now, and for the beauty look they want to go with a bold lip and a sculpted brow.”
 
“Perfect.” She fanned her face, the heat suddenly stifling. “Let’s get to—“
 
“Miss Dany!” Irri’s gasp drew her up short as she grasped her hand and pulled the sleeve of her robe up, revealing the bruises around her wrist. “Not again! You said he promised—“
 
Dany swallowed, jerking her hand out of Irri’s gentle grasp, her face flushing further under both of their scrutiny. “It’s nothing, Irri. It’s—“
 
“Fine?” Jon’s voice ground out, a snort of derision following.
 
Dany raised her chin, silence dropping over them like a cloak. He didn’t understand, none of them did, truly. “It was an accident,” she finally said quietly, her voice gone hoarse. Irri said nothing for a moment, but gave her a knowing look, her slim hands reaching into her makeup belt for the foundation she always kept on hand and giving it a shake.
 
“Of course,” she said lightly. She worked quickly and quietly, and under her tender ministrations the growing bruises disappeared from sight, and her face steadily transformed into the contoured lines and bold beauty the whole of Westeros craved from her. Jon simply watched for a moment, mercifully quiet, obviously deciding it wouldn’t be worth it to bodily drag her to a more secure location, although his eyes shifted at every shadow that crossed the windows, with the sound of every footstep outside the door.
 
Finally Jhiqui broke the tense silence, pushing a rack full of clothes before her, barely visible behind the mountain of tulle, bright and perfectly pressed. Irri stood back to admire her handiwork, quickly pulling Dany’s hair back into a smart bun at the nape of her neck. “Most of the looks have hair pieces,” she explained before giving her hair a quick spritz and moving over to the rack with Jhiqui to pull the first look off of the wooden hanger.
 
Dany’s heart gave a startled pang as she recognized the dress, her hands burying themselves in the baby pink fluff, the whisper of silk chiffon sliding over her skin as gentle as a lover’s kiss.
 
“They want to start with this piece.” Irri said softly.
 
Dany nodded, willing her knees to hold her weight as she stood. “Of course. It’s his signature after all.” She glanced over her shoulder again, Jon still watching, his brow pinched. “You want to give us a minute?”
 
His jaw worked abruptly, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Um… Can’t.” He spread his hands defensively. “It’s against protocol to let you out of my sight in an unsecured location without another member of the security team here.”
 
She raised an eyebrow at him, his uncomfortability amusing and enticing all at once. “Is that so?” She purred, grasping the distraction with both hands, much preferring torturing her new bodyguard to wallowing in self-pity and grief any day.
 
“Aye.” He seemed to steel himself, his shoulders drawing up tightly as his hands clenched and unclenched at his side.
 
“So be it.” She kept her gaze locked on his as she drew the robe’s belt into her hands, slowly pulling until it went taut in her grasp, the tie unraveling smoothly. Taking pity on him at the last possible moment she turned as she slipped the silk from her bare shoulders, the red robe pooling at her feet, stifling a laugh at the scandalized look on his face that seemed to imply she might have been a tad slow. Irri and Jhiqui gathered the robe and helped her struggle into the dress and matching shoes. There was a brief cough behind her and Dany grinned at the two women as they fussed with the fabric, making sure that the ruching was laying properly, no hair out of place, or blemish in sight.
 
Finally satisfied, Irri smiled at her, and turned her back around, offering her a hand to balance on as Jhiqui fought to gather the enormous train. Jon’s gaze settled heavily over her and she had to stifle a shiver at the dark look he threw her way. She cleared her throat lightly and tilted her head. “Shall we?”
 
~*~*~
 
Years in the Night’s Watch had trained him for tediousness, how to stand for hours-- hands behind his back, careful eyes roving for potential threats. But the first lessons and habits had been learned much earlier, taught by Ned Stark, ingrained until it was second nature, to

look,

to memorize faces and notice anything,

anyone,

that didn’t belong. Currently, there was a ball of tension in his gut, the result of not having more eyes on the ground, an unsecured perimeter, and the fact that he been had asked to move out of the way more than once.
 
With the sun now high in the sky, King’s Landing transformed into a balmy warmth that he hated. Jon finally gave in and shed his jacket, pushing up the sleeves of his Henley, and slightly mourned the loss of the familiar leather barrier and its shield against the curious and appraising looks he had been receiving since its removal. Or maybe they were looking at him fidgeting with his shoulder holster, too used to carrying his handgun at his hip, the weight of it balanced at his side not as comfortable as it should be.
 
Donning his sunglasses to hide his shifting gaze, he had to admit that even with the lack of security, nothing threatening had come to his attention. So he entertained himself by watching Daenerys and what seemed to be endless amounts of patience as she turned this way and that, molding her facial expressions to what the photographer called out, blinking sultry at the camera.
 
She had been marched from one spot to the next, tossing amused looks over her shoulder at him that were intended to chafe on his nerves, and informed him she’d be changing into different outfits as she went. Just how many bloody photos of the same thing did they need?
 
Currently he watched, safely settled to the side, making no move to help as she climbed precariously down from a spiral staircase assembled in the middle of the garden. She had been perched up there, fabric falling-- long and trailing from great heights as she leaned, smiling when asked. It was ridiculous and she was ridiculous in that dress that made her look like cotton candy. The same sugary sweet pink candy that they’d get at tourneys as children, melting over his fingers as quick as he could lick it off.
 
Swallowing hard, he turned away to scan over everyone again, looking for anyone loitering at the sides and tried futilely to

definitely

not think about the fact that Daenerys looked like something good enough to eat. Rolling his neck in hopes of relieving the tension, he ignored the heat of his body, the throb of his elbow where he’d hit one of the clothing racks in surprise as she had dropped her robe in front of him, all that creamy skin on display, looking soft and luscious and tempting--
 
“Jon Snow?”
 
A low voice broke him out of his spiral, the embarrassment of being caught in a daydream and unaware was something he’d give himself a stern lecture on later. “Yes.”
 
The man was young and somber, accent giving him away as being a native from somewhere is Essos. “My name is
Grey Turgon.
Mr. Lannister sent me out to you. I’m part of the current security team.”
 
Jon shook the offered hand, found the grip steady and strong without needing to try and flex authority or muscle. “Nice to meet you.” He gave a polite smile as he readied himself to test the young man. “Ask me for identification.”
 
“What?”
 
There was a flicker of confusion, and Jon bit back the annoyance building inside of him. “I could be lyin’ to you about who I am. Ask for my identification.”
 
“Yes, Ser.” Grey’s posture stiffened with the command, not with the slight chastising, making Jon think he had a military background,. “Please Ser, may I see your I.D.?”
 
Gingerly pulling it from his pocket, he handed it over, letting the other man study it as he kept an eye on Daenerys as she was surrounded again. Anxiety filled his chest, cold tingling down his spine as she all but disappeared behind the mass of bodies, only the top of her silver head visible. Laughter rang out and he forced himself to relax, the sound of it as soothing as the gentle glide of fingers over skin, warming and bright, a stark contrast to the morose and bleak colors he had gotten used to.
 
Shaking his head to focus, Jon let his eyes flit to the man beside him before he was drawn back to his charge in the crowd. “What is it that you do here, currently?”
 
“I’m on the gate.” Grey shifted a bit from where he stood ramrod straight. “Twelve hour shifts.”
 
Long hours to be sitting and watching. An almost impossible task that would inevitably lead to sloppy work, missed items, people overlooked. “How many security cameras are here?”
 
“Working or in general, Ser?”
 
The small edges of a smile tugged at his mouth, both surprised and pleased at the retort. This Grey might have potential. “I’d like the information on both please.”
 
“There are twelve cameras, seven are operational. We have blind spots on the sides of the house and most of the lawn. Inside cameras are also out.”
 
Rage simmered and then boiled, coloring his sight for a moment and he blinked rapidly to clear it. Someone had been in their manse, had let themselves into Daenerys’ room and they still were half arsing their security.
 
She popped out of the teeming mass of people, the pink confection gone, his attention arresting on the simple floral dress she was in, arms and shoulder bared-- not at all scandalous, but apparently showing enough skin to completely derail his anger. Stalking over the grass in heels that boosted her height, he tried not to bite his tongue as she moved towards him.
 
“We are moving to the greenhouse. Come along, Jon Snow, since you insist on being stuck to my side like a bur.”
 
Ignoring her exasperated tone, he tried not to watch her blood red mouth as she spoke, nodding to Grey to move with them, wondering if her lipstick smeared.

Gods, he was too easily distracted by her.

They indeed settled in front of a greenhouse at the back of the mansion, large rose bushes growing taller than her dainty frame, props set strategically about. He hadn’t noticed the dome of shiny glass, nestled in sprawling flower gardens when he came over the lawn, the building tucked behind the manse and it settled as another grating itch that he had no idea which direction danger was mostly like to come from, or what were his best routes for retreat and extraction.
 
The steady crescendo of voices and camera shuttering filled the air again, Daenerys posing with an air of aloofness. Jon found himself strangely fascinated by it. “Where are you from, Grey?” She stopped and per the photographer’s request, started her routine again. Jon scanned everything around them, rocking up onto his toes, dropping back down to his heels.
 
“Astapor.”
 
That bit of news drew his attention away from Daenerys. “Unsullied?” He let out a low whistle at the nod of confirmation, reassessing where they might want the young man. Although Meereen had wrestled control away from Astapor and Yunkai, and their new laws had stopped the barbaric practices of the Unsullied training program, the military force was still known far across the Narrow Sea as some of the toughest, strictest, fighting forces across the lands. “You’re a long ways from home.”
 
“No. That was not home.”
 
The words hit Jon in the chest with a hollow pang, making him feel like he was floundering for a moment. It was the same yearning that had driven him to the Wall, haunted him while he was there. The inability to find

home.

The sound of his name pulled him away from his reflections, Missandei moving rapidly towards them with a polite smile, and Grey shifted beside him at the interruption. Glancing at Daenerys quickly, he moved to the side, letting her assistant settle between them.
 
“You are requested to meet with Tyrion in his office, right now. Here.”
 
She handed over two sets of comms, and Jon slipped the piece into his ear-- a familiar motion, its light weight settling in. He wound the cord behind his neck, struggling for a moment to slip it under his shirt. With a sharp tug, he pulled the hem of the fabric back down over his stomach from where it had pulled out of his jeans, glancing up to see Daenerys watching him intently, her eyes flickering away quickly.
 
Not giving himself a moment to think upon

that,

he tapped the comms. “Robb?”
 
“Loud and clear, brother. Meet us in Tyrion’s office.”
 
He was not thrilled at the prospect of leaving Daenerys out here unprotected, even though nothing had threatened while under his careful watch. Still it was a trepidation in his veins, hesitation making his feet heavy as he walked away from the fragrant garden, his charge under the seemingly capable protection of Grey, once the former soldier’s comms had been verified as working.
 
Clipped words and stern tones echoed down the hall leading the way to the office, the interior’s dark stained wood giving an odd sense of foreboding in the afternoon light, his footsteps hollow on the hardwood as he stopped to take in the room’s occupants.
 
Tyrion sat behind his desk, exasperation writ large on his features and Jon wryly assumed that must be a frequent expression while working for the Targaryens. Robb was sitting in one of the three spare chairs, the line of his body showing he was not as relaxed as he was attempting to appear. The third occupant was unfamiliar, yet Jon could see traces of the man’s father in him, internally bristling at the reminder of the past he was desperately trying to ignore.
 
“Ah, Jon. How’s your first foray into the world of House Targaryen?” Tyrion’s mouth turned up in an amused smile.
 
“Tedious.” Jon sat when the man gestured, the leather chair creaking under his weight, and propped an ankle over his knee to try and quell the impatient habit of bouncing his leg. “And inconvenient since I have no fuckin’ idea where anything is, or exactly what cameras are working, yet she’s out there in the broad daylight with minimal protection.” He gritted his teeth to keep from glaring at Jorah Mormont, wanting nothing more than to give the man a verbal dress down about the lax of security.
 
“I have managed to keep Daenerys safe for the past ten years.” There was a snap in the tone, Jorah’s face glowering as he turned to Jon and Robb.
 
“Really?” Robb’s mouth twisted, and Jon felt the anger vibrate through him. “I believe we have two notes threatening her life that prove otherwise.”
 
“But she is safe. Daenerys doesn’t want to be smothered by security. She wants some semblance of a normal life.” Jorah folded his arms across his broad chest and begrudgingly sat when Tyrion pointed to the last remaining chair.
 
Jon was unable to sit quietly and calmly, a tactic Robb had learned and mastered, snark and sternness his brother’s usual weapons of choice. Jon’s foot slammed down onto the floor, frustration screaming through him as his body jolted up, a snarl rising in his chest. “But it’s not normal is it? She’s going to have to compromise and for some bloody reason, you are unable to see that, or unwilling to make it happen. Just why is that, Mormont?”
 
It was a pointed question and Jon knew it scored a direct hit, barbs digging in deep as a quick look of guilt flashed over the other man’s face. He forced himself to refrain from saying anything else, giving himself a moment to rub his hand over the back of his neck, needing an outlet for his animosity as he tried to rein himself back in.
 
“Now, now, let’s not turn this into a dick measuring contest, shall we? It would be embarrassing for you all to lose to a dwarf.” Tyrion’s interjection was meant to diffuse and distract, and Jon felt his lips quirk into a reluctant smile, unable to resist. “Now, Jorah—“ Tyrion rolled right into the subject change with ease. “—after a discussion between Viserys and I, we have decided that Stark Securities will be taking over. This decision is not meant to slight or dismiss the work you have done,” hands folded around the desk in front of him. “But, in light of recent events, we may in fact, be over our heads. This can only help, not hinder in the long run.”
 
It was a clever speech. Jon had almost forgotten the easy way Tyrion had with words. Relaxing back into his chair, he fastened his fingers over the armrests to keep his hands from twitching, trying to dampen down his agitation and readiness to head back outside and relieve Grey from his post.
 
“Now, Jon, I would like a list of equipment that need repaired, and any recommendations as to who you prefer to do the work. Since you will be here full time, I would also like to see proposals on anything, systems, rotations, or otherwise, that you would like to be changed or added. Under the contract made between House Targaryen and Stark Securities, you will be Head of security as well as being Daenerys’ bodyguard at all times.”
 
Surprise coursed through him— a jolt of electricity, and he knew the bewilderment was written on his face as he turned to look at his brother, who he had assumed would maintain control. “I am?”
 
“Aye.” There was a softness in Robb’s eyes that he didn’t appreciate, embarrassment rolling inside of him, making him feel awkward and clumsy. Instead, he focused on the contrasting firm set of his brother's face. “You are more than qualified, Jon. It makes sense since you will be here full time. Time to earn your fifty percent of the company, brother.”
 
The affection was smothering after learning the hard way how to do without it, even if it was being given by a sibling. He drew in a breath, trying to keep his expression neutral, needing to steer away from the mess of emotions. “I’ll hold up my end,” he turned to Tyrion with a sharp look. “And I want to see that note.”
 
With a nod of agreement, Tyrion shuffled through a drawer, until he found the innocuous piece of paper. Reaching over the top of the desk, Jon snagged it, the object light, considering the heaviness of the hate it contained. Taking a deep breath he dove in, absorbing the vitriol with horror, jaw clenching to channel the urge to march outside and gather Daenerys up, shield her from being the subject of all this targeted hostility and revulsion. Yet, the pragmatic side of him emerged— the well trained professional who needed his client to understand the depth of her situation.
 
“She needs to see this.” Ignoring Tyrion’s scowl, he pulled out his phone and took a picture, wanting to ensure he had a copy of his own to study. It was nothing personal against Tyrion or Mormont, but previous experience had assured him that sometimes a person had to watch his own back.
 
“No.” Jorah vehemently protested, climbing to his feet to pace. “With Rhaegar’s death, with her stalker in Essos, she’s been through enough. She doesn’t need this weighing on her as well.”
 Jon stood, Robb joining him as he carefully chose his words. “She needs to see this. Not only does she need to understand—“ he shook the offending object to draw their attention to it, “—but the City Watch is going to want to speak to her about it, everyone realizes that, right?” He tossed the paper back on the desk, annoyance keeping him strung wire tight. “I’m not sure why everyone is treating her like she’s a piece of glass. I’ve known her approximately—“ he checked his watch, “—three hours, and I can tell you, that woman is not fragile. You are not doing her any favors by withholding this. I’m not sayin’ I go marching outside to show her this right now, but she sees it, sooner rather than later.” 
He let his words sink in, ready to stand firm, the stubbornness that clung to him rising to the forefront. This was hate through and through, and according to Tyrion, a misplaced malevolence that threatened her very existence. It was beyond absurd that the information was being kept from her, played down. It was horrific that she would have to be exposed to it, a twinge of regret inside of him at the need to throw a blight over her brightness, but he had to make her understand, to accept any and all help.
 
“Okay.” Tyrion rapped his knuckles on his desk, a defeated sigh resounding in the quiet as his shoulders slumped. “I don’t care for it, but I’ll agree to it.” A resolute nod stilled Jorah’s protest before it could start. “I believe that we are done for now, gentlemen.”
 
Without a backward glance, Jon moved towards the door, feeling the presence of Robb behind him. Once safely ensconced in the seclusion of the hallway he turned, trying to untangle the threads inside of him. “You’re Stark Securities. I was at the Wall, I only have fifty percent because you insisted—“
 
“Shut up.” Robb’s words were said good naturedly, a man used to the behavior of his broody brother. “It makes the most sense, so deal with it.” A heavy hand slapped Jon on the shoulder, making his chest tighten as a unfamiliar, but not unwelcome trickle of warmth flowed through him. “I’ll go ahead and check out the cameras, make the call for repairs since Viserys is holed up and not requiring my services. Go follow Daenerys Targaryen’s lovely arse around.”
 
It was there, a flicker of possessiveness sparking to life inside of him that he didn’t like. “Eyes to yourself, Stark. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t want you ogling anyone else.”
 
Robb’s laugh set his teeth on edge. “She knows she needn’t worry. I prefer hers.”
 
With a disapproving shake of his head, Jon started his journey back outside, confirming with Grey that the entourage had moved to the pond, attempting to convince himself that he was not going to let himself be wound up over some woman, beautiful or not.
 
He found the pond mostly by the sound of the crowd of people, the long walk over the grass giving him time to find his center and calm, drop some of the tension, settling back into the familiar and comfortable routine of alertness as he scanned and analyzed the crowd and surroundings.
 
The click of heels on pavement brought him up short, and the sea of people parting enough to give him an excellent view of her in the latest ridiculous outfit— some sort of ridiculous hat balancing on top of her head. The trench coat she was “wearing” lent to the idea of nothing beneath from what he could tell, the exposed skin temptingly unblemished.
 
Stopping suddenly, he crossed his arms, scowling at his inability to control his reactions, annoyance lancing through him as he tried to ignore the quickening of blood in his veins as she laughed, her face lighting up in with a devious smile, a well manicured finger pulling the brim of the hat down, tipping her head with a flourish. A silly gesture that lightened some of the weight in his chest.
 
Letting loose a long stream of air, Jon hoped that the deranged person after her would be apprehended quickly. Otherwise, this was going to be a long assignment.
 
~*~*~
 
“And, that’s a wrap, people!” The photographer’s voice rang out across the lawn, followed by a round of applause from the entire crew. Dany dipped her head graciously, accepting Edric’s kiss on the hand and murmured a few words of encouragement to the young gentleman, hoping that this shoot would catapult his career forward in the way he so obviously hoped that it would. The entire crew set to work as one, packing up all the equipment as Irri and Jhiqui scrambled to her side, each grabbing a hand to help her hobble across the grass to the paved walkway.
 
Dany looked around, wondering where Jon had disappeared to, her pulse kicking up in sudden concern. If Jon was gone, that could only mean that danger was somewhere in the vicinity, and—
 
His sable curls came into view, sunglasses firmly in place against the setting sun, and Dany blew out a breath of relief as she glanced over her shoulder to find the newest of Jorah’s hires, Grey, flanking her closely with Missandei hovering nearby. She shot her assistant a curious look, the young woman’s blush lingering tellingly on her cheeks. Thanking Irri and Jhiqui, Dany motioned for Missandei to join her, not quite remembering her schedule for the rest of the evening, but doubted that she would be allowed to relax the tension of the shoot away in her claw-foot tub.
 
Sure enough, Missandei was already scrolling through her phone, her golden eyes flashing once toward Grey, and Dany gave a light laugh, looping her assistant's free arm through her own and striding down the walkway to where Jon waited stoically. She wondered if he had ever done any modeling of his own, his stance steady but relaxed. The afternoon had likely been boring in the extreme for him, silently watching her every step, but he seemed not to mind too much. Not that she had been subtly studying him out of the corner of her eye between shots, trying to get a read on him.
 
In fact, it was while she was most decidedly

not

watching him that she’d caught his eyes roving over her multiple times since their tumultuous introduction, and as she approached him she sensed that this moment was no different. His scowl deepened as his head followed the line of her body from the tip of her hat to the tops of her toes, his dark eyes hidden from view by the sunglasses, but the sudden tightness in his face, the way his shoulders drew back told her everything she needed to know about what Jon Snow thought of her famed beauty.
 
He hated it.
 
Or, more accurately, he very much liked what he was seeing (most men did), but hated the effect she had on him, the way his eyes seemed to slide helplessly to the column of her neck, the sweep of her legs. Dany felt her lips quirk into a small grin, unable to help the laugh that escaped from her at his expense, from teasing him as she pulled the brim of her hat down over her eyes in a salute. “Jon,” she said lightly in greeting, a spiral of secret delight as he stepped back from her, his throat working silently as he tried to gather his words.
 
“Daenerys,” his brogue washed over her with a shiver, her adrenaline already peaked from a long day. “Everythin‘ good?” His gazed flicked from her face to Grey, behind her, who nodded once.
 
“Yes, we’re wrapped. Missandei was just about to tell me what I’ve forgotten and what our evening has in store for us.”
 
Missandei’s voice seemed far away as Jon pulled the sunglasses from his face to study her, his displeasure written wide across his face. A thrill raced down her spine as she cocked an eyebrow at him, her own smile growing as she continued to walk toward the manse, the rest falling into step with them. “— and we’re expected at Blackwater Grille at seven o’clock. I’ve already advised the board that you’ll have one more guest than previously expected—“
 
“Three.” Jon’s voice echoed across the lawn, a subtle smile of his own creeping across his face, making Dany feel as if she were somehow caught in a trap of her own making. “If you insist on going to a dinner in yet another unsecured location, then Jorah and Grey are coming with us.”
 
Wary of whatever he was planning, Dany fought to keep the relaxed smile fixed on her face. “Of course. Missandei, please make the arrangements. Will Mr. Stark also be joining us?”
 
“Ah,” Missandei’s chagrined voice cut in before Jon had a chance to answer. “It seems as if Viserys has decided that his presence is not mandatory for this event. Mr. Stark will be staying with him in the manse this evening.”
 
Dany reached for her wrist before she could stop herself, the ache from the morning now dull but constant. She huffed out a breath, torn between frustration at her brother’s erratic behavior, and relief that the chances of him making a scene were significantly fewer when holed up at home. Realizing that Jon was watching her acutely, she lifted her chin. “Very well. In that case, please make sure that Jon

and

Jorah are brought up to speed on the location.”
 
“No need,” Jon said easily, motioning for Dany to precede him into the house. “He’ll follow whatever orders I lay down.”

That

brought her up short and she stopped abruptly in the doorway, turning to face Jon as his momentum carried him straight into her, both of them stumbling through the open door of the solar, his hands grasping her hips to steady her on the ridiculously tall heels as she scowled within his grip.
 
He was shorter than she thought, the heels bringing her even to his height, his breath puffing against her cheek as he fought to keep them both upright. “What is that supposed to mean?”
 
He chuckled softly, the grip on her hips easing as she regained her balance and stepped back, reaching down to rip the accursed shoes from her feet and handing them wordlessly to Jhiqui. She felt cold once his hands dropped away, the air-conditioning of the manse no doubt working overtime on this sunny day. “There’s a new Lord Commander in town now, Daenerys. Best get used to it.” His soft words were meant just for her, meant to bristle, to burrow under her skin.
 
Well, two could definitely play at that game.
 
“Very well,

Lord Commander

,” she went back up onto her toes, the fingers of her left hand dancing lightly across his sculpted shoulder as she leaned forward to breathe into his ear. “Missandei,” the tip of his lobe was turning a delicate shade of pink, similar to the sunsets she had seen in Essos. “Find this man a suit. I don’t think leather is an acceptable part of the dress code at Blackwater Grille.”
 
~*~*~
 
Under Irri, Jhiqui, and Missandei’s care, she was ready in record time— the strapless mint green dress hugging her curves just so, the mesh skirt brushing the tops of her ankles, her hair pulled back into an artistically messy knot. She reached for the handmade chandelier earrings the children of

Rhaegar's Harp

had gifted to her on her last visit, and slid them on while Jhiqui tightened the strap of her shoes, thankfully a full inch or two shorter than her previous pair.
 
With one last glance in her full length mirror, Dany gathered her clutch and bid Irri and Jhiqui a pleasant evening, thanking them for all the beautiful work they had done during the day and gave them a quick squeeze of appreciation. Missandei fell into step beside her, guest list in hand so they could review the

Who’s Who

of the evening on the way.
 
They swept easily down the stairs, Missandei’s ever steady voice a quiet hum in the background as she reviewed which members of the Board would be present, which top donors, and which of the children would also be making an appearance.

Rhaegar's Harp

had been founded first and foremost as a children’s music program, catering to her brother’s true passion in his memory, however the need for financial assistance to the residents of Flea Bottom was astronomical, and the charity had adapted to full after-school care and, in the more dire cases, advocacy and shelter for the homeless families and children that struggled to call that desolate wasteland home, her little birds in dire need of love and care.
 
“The older children will be putting on a musical performance with the instruments donated by Septon Maynard—“
 
Dany huffed out a breath. “Good, maybe then he’ll back off about our stance regarding his ‘mandatory’ introduction to the Faith of the families staying in our care.”
 
Missandei chuckled softly. “I doubt it, being the devout servant of the Seven he claims to be.”
 
“One can only hope—“ The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue, her gaze lighting on Jon at the base of the grand staircase, the crisp blue suit that Missandei had managed to pull for him a perfect fit. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders, the tail of it falling just above the most perfect ass she had ever seen to grace a pair of pants, the small lump at his side giving away his gun. She fought back a shudder at the sight of it, her mouth suddenly dry at the prospect of leaving the manse with nothing between her and the threat of death except for the man before her.
 
“It’s about time,” his exasperation pulled her up short as he glanced down at his watch. “We’re runnin’ eight minutes behind.”
 
She could feel the flush rising up her chest, her exasperation crystallizing in an instant. “Not all of us are able to simply change clothes and be ready to go, Jon Snow,” she snapped. “Some of us have more than one job to do.”
 
His brow pinched as he glared at her, his gaze once more raking her from head to toe in a way that left her breathless, a tingling at the base of her spine that crawled ever northward, a creeping coldness to soothe her fire. “And some of our jobs are impossible,” he retorted. “Can you even run in those heels if we need to?”
 
Dany blinked, jerking herself out of his thrall and glanced down at her bejeweled open toed sandals, sensing more than seeing the familiar presence of Jorah out of the corner of her eye. She could feel her fingers turning white as she gripped her clutch tightly, anything to keep her frustration from spilling out. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at him mockingly and threaded her arm through Jorah’s elbow. Let him ruminate on

that

.
 
“I believe it’s your job to make sure I don’t have to,” she sniffed, pert little nose thrust into the air as she moved toward the front door, Jorah more than happy to oblige her, opening the front door and escorting her to the town car which awaited.
 
The ride was tense and silent-- she was sandwiched between Jon and Missandei, the only sound Jon’s muttering through his comms as he directed Grey through the heavy traffic along the River Row. Thankfully, they arrived with no incidents, and Dany waited patiently as Jorah opened the door. Missandei climbed out gracefully, and Dany moved to follow when she felt Jon’s hand close over her wrist. “Wait for his all clear,” he said, his eyes roving over her to the busy entrance, the restaurant one of the most popular on Blackwater Bay.
 
There was a pause before Jorah’s hand appeared, and she took it, allowing the bear of a man to assist her in climbing out of the car as Jon quickly slid out behind her, grasping her elbow to hurry her indoors. His hands were warm, the rough callouses a delightful contradiction against the soft skin of her inner arm. The hostess greeted them warmly, immediately escorting them back to the private room Missandei had arranged. She opened the immense doors to a large room hewn from rock and sea stone, a beautiful grotto carved into a cliff face with breathtaking views of the bay.
 
Dany gasped as she stepped through the doors, her hand seeking out Missandei’s behind her. “Oh, Dei,” she murmured quietly, giving her friend a gentle squeeze. “Well done. This is breathtaking!” Missandei smiled in reply, ever the consummate professional and led her and Jon through the already gathered throng of Westeros’ social elite to their table so Dany could find her assigned seat and drop her clutch.
 
“I need to make the rounds,” she leaned toward Jon and he nodded, again murmuring into the comm at his wrist. He held up a finger for a moment until he got some sort of clearance from Jorah at the main entrance to the cavernous room, and he released her elbow, gesturing for her to proceed.
 
“I want you no more than three steps from me at all times,” he said softly. “And no leavin’ this room without either Jorah, Grey, or I with you. Missandei does not count, do you understand?”
 
Dany nodded stiffly, returning the wave of one of her top donors. “Fine. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
 
Jon sighed and stepped back, Missandei closing ranks on her other side, whispering the names and personal details of each person as Dany flitted about the room, anxious to make sure that no hint of her current circumstances would mar the evening. It was about the children, after all.
 
The light, floral scent hit her before Missandei could whisper into her ear, and Dany turned, a wide smile spreading across her features. “Varys,” she extended a hand to her Shelter Administrator, and the bald man grasped it gently, his smooth lips pressed against the back in a whisper of a kiss. “How are you this evening? How are our little birds?”
 
The effeminate man tittered a laugh, tucking Dany’s hand securely into the crook of his elbow. “They miss you desperately, my dear,” he said softly, leading her to where the group from the shelter had gathered, their eyes wide at the opulence surrounding them.
 
“I miss them as well,” she murmured, turning to press a quick kiss to both of Varys’ cheeks before she released him and paying no mind to her dress, went to her knees before the youngest child-- a little boy of no more than four years, his enormous brown eyes peeking out at her from under a mop of unruly blonde curls. “I’ll have to make sure to come visit you all soon!”
 
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Missandei had caught the subtle instruction, beaming as her assistant nodded and reached for her phone to find the appropriate date, pulling Varys aside to negotiate the timing as Dany was left to love on their little birds.
 
All too soon, she was pulled away from the young ones, donors and Board members alike demanding her attention throughout the night, one even going so far as to corner her during the children’s performance, both Jon and Missandei never more than a step or two away. At the close of the evening, she made sure that she was stationed at the doorway, taking another moment to personally thank each person for coming, another chance to give all the children that would let her a quick squeeze or affectionate pat, pouring all the love she possessed into them until she felt wrung out and dry.
 
Finally, there was no one left in the room except for her own team and the restaurant staff, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her as she stooped to unclasp her shoes, sinking her bare toes into the plush carpet with a sigh of gratitude. “You didn’t have time to eat,” Jon’s voice washed over her and she blinked blearily at him.
 
“Did I not?” A quick glance at Missandei confirmed that, yet again, she had managed to host a function without a single bite of food making it past her lips.
 
“I asked the kitchen to make you a plate. Why don’t you have a seat on the patio…” her voice trailed off as her golden eyes found Jon’s. “If that’s ok? I’ll bring it out to her there.”
 
Jon nodded once. “Looks like some fresh air might be good for her.”
 
“I’m right here,” Dany grumbled good-naturedly, too tired to put up anymore of a fight, instead looking forward to a quick meal, and a restful night’s sleep. She gathered up her shoes and mouthed a grateful

thank you

to Missandei as she slipped past Jon toward the open Pentoshi doors, a line of tables along the water outside their private grotto partitioned off from prying eyes by yards upon yards of colored silks.
 
The sun had set long ago, but the moon was bright and full, the reflection dancing off the waters of Blackwater Bay, the sounds of the waves crashing against the distant shore relaxing. The temperature had dropped drastically from the heat of midday, and Dany shivered slightly as she leaned against the railing, closing her eyes and allowing the breeze to caress her flushed face.
 
She felt more than heard Jon over her right shoulder, his silent presence actually somewhat comforting after a night of nonstop banter and mostly meaningless chatter. Letting her eyes fall open, she kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, something inside of her craving his understanding-- if nothing else-- at the end of this very long and trying day.
 
“I know you think I’m vapid, that what I do is pointless and vain. Most people think that about fashion.” She took a deep breath, allowing the scent of the sea to buoy her, to fill her with a cautious hope. “But I hope you can see it-- the entire scope and breadth of my career in one day.” Her fingers gripped the railing tightly, struggling to find the words she was searching for, the words to make him understand. “What I did this morning allows for the events of tonight to take place. And those children are hopefully better off today then they were yesterday. Spokes on a wheel…” her voice drifted off, no longer making sense in her exhaustion. “I just want to live long enough to… to matter. To make a difference. Because in the end what else matters except the difference you tried to make?”
 
He said nothing in response, but when she shivered again, she felt the weight of his suit jacket fall over her shoulders, the pine smell of his cologne lingering with the cold bite of the breeze, both silent as they watched the moonlit waves.
 
~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Won't you hold me in your arms, and keep me safe from harm

~*~*~
 
The crunch of gravel gave away the two sets of footsteps as Robb adjusted his sunglasses, watching dutifully as they moved towards the sleek black town car, the door open and accommodating, ready for Viserys to duck his silver head through.
 
He had been mildly surprised that out of the two siblings, Viserys was the easy one. He was often rude and short tempered, but had yet to try and defy Robb’s security protocols. So far an easy job, especially when leaving Jon in charge of overseeing everything, his hands more than full with Daenerys and her busy schedule. Robb would be lying if he said he wasn’t amused by the two of them not so subtly trying to figure each other out. Only a few days in and his brother was already losing some of the haunted look around his eyes, instead carrying a look of mild frustration. Robb preferred that on him.
 
Adjusting his jacket, he closed the door behind Viserys, his charge secured in the vehicle and slid into the front seat, clicking his seat belt into place. “Are we ready?”
 
True to his nature, Viserys gave a wave of his hand-- a motion Robb had already learned, that meant

get on with it,

and was already on the phone, no time to spare for his hired help. Robb didn’t roll his eyes, though the temptation was there, and instead gave a nod of confirmation to the driver, Doreah, who put the car into gear and started them down the driveway.
 
Robb wasn’t quite sure what to think of her— his first introduction to the woman had been when she had slipped out of Viserys’ room before an early morning meeting, buttoning her shirt and giving Robb a rather cheeky wink as she slipped by. He had been rather shocked to find her standing in front of the car, just a bit later that day, not sparing her employer-also-lover a second glance.
 
A thorough background check had shown she had spent some time in Lys, clawing her way up from orphaned beginnings. Robb felt slightly guilty about uncovering the fact she had at one point sold herself on a regular basis before making it to Pentos, joining a prestigious house and learning the necessary skills to get her to Westeros and into the employment of the Targaryens. And she was good at her job— Robb had to give her that credit even if he did side eye her person of choice for extra curricular activities.
 
They spent their ride in silence, low music playing as Robb checked for tails, eyes constantly in motion, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm on the door handle as they stopped and started at lights, weaving their way down through Flea Bottom and crossing the King’s Road. Traffic was heavy for mid-morning, but Robb preferred being just another nondescript car in the sea of vehicles.
 
“Well, you two are boring.”
 
Sparing a glance into the visor mirror, Robb verified that Viserys was sprawled across the backseat, the very picture of boredom, light hair a contrast against the black leather seats. He tried to tamp down the feeling of

spoiled, rich dickhead

as he adjusted his gaze back to their journey. “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about, Ser?”
 
A scoff sounded before the window rolled partly down, a muffled breeze filling the interior, and then back up, before starting the process over. “No. I just assumed there would be some liveliness to this boring trip.” The silver head popped forward, fingers tugging on the sleeve of Doreah’s blazer. “Maybe, he could drive and you and I could--“
 
The phone rang and Viserys promptly cut off whatever inappropriate suggestion he was going to make and with a quiet hum, the divider rolled up, cutting him away from the rest of the car. Robb felt his frustration starting to boil as they turned down Red Light Way, a street that used to be known in days of old for its brothels, now lines with office buildings instead.
 
“You’re judging, Mr. Stark.” Doreah’s voice was quiet, but not cowed, chin staying firm and she didn’t bother to spare him a sideways glance. “You don’t approve.”
 
“You don’t need my approval.” Robb started verifying addresses, checking the rearview mirrors to make sure nothing was there that shouldn’t be. “None of my business who’s in your bed, except—“ he tipped his head towards her. “Don’t you think that sleeping with the man who writes your paychecks is a disaster waiting to happen?”
 
She snorted, a quick upturn of a her full lips. “You try telling a Targaryen no.” Her eyes widened as soon as she said the words, Robb’s stomach giving a lurch. “I don’t mean it like that.”

Like that

was a horrible option that set his teeth together in a rage, made him want to rip Viserys out of the car and smash his pretty face into the sidewalk. He wasn’t convinced, with her background that she’d think she could say no. “Doreah. Fuck.”
 
“Don’t be dramatic, I haven’t done anything that I’m not more than willing to participate in.” She rolled her eyes as they pulled up to the curb. “And I know nothing is going to come out of it other than sex.” She put the car in park, and slid on her sunglasses. “I can’t wait to see your reaction when Dany decides she wants your brother in her bed, Mr.

Follow the Rules

.”
 
“Jon wouldn’t.” He said it with an air of confidence, hand gripping the handle to exit the vehicle. There were rules that had been set long ago, wisdom from their father, and Jon was nothing if not a stickler for the rules.
 
“Keep believing that, Stark.”
 
The words settled as an itch between his shoulder blades, despite his belief, the image of how Jon and Daenerys were circling around each other with thinly veiled attraction as they each tried to figure the other out.
 
But Jon was so

serious

, always had been, even as a child— duty and responsibility, the need for Ned’s approval overriding almost anything else.

Except his inability to walk away from someone who needed help.

A little voice reminded him as he scanned the sidewalk, looked up at the buildings, and mentally counted the steps between the car and the doorway.

Jon wouldn’t let himself become emotionally compromised.

Deciding the matter was settled he opened the backseat door, putting Doreah’s words behind him.
 
“It’s about bloody time.” Viserys huffed as he slid out, stopping for a moment to adjust his jacket.
 
“Keep moving, Ser.” Robb tapped his elbow, propelling him forward. “We don’t want to sit out here in the open.”
 
They moved through the doorway, his senses on high alert, his distaste for the owner of the building leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The elevator ride was short, Viserys tapping on his phone with a bored expression, sliding it into his pocket when they arrived at the fourth floor, the hallway a muted grey, cold and unyielding as their footsteps were muffled by the thin carpet.
 
The office of Petyr Baelish sat in the corner, a perfect view for his beady eyed gaze and Robb felt himself bristling as they were ushered in by a redhead, voluptuous and confident, her eyes lingering over him for just a moment longer than appropriate. He barely refrained from rolling his eyes, needing instead to make it through the door first, check the space for anyone loitering.
 
With his nod, Viserys came through the door and Robb settled in beside him, facing the east access to see anyone coming through, and also giving him a view of the windows in the opposite building, waiting for any out of place flash.
 
“Robb Stark.”
 
His eyes swung back to the man who’d spoken, concentrating to keep his face blank. His mother had grown up with the man nicknamed “Littlefinger”, and considered him a friend, but Ned Stark had told his children that the man was someone to never turn your back on. Robb believed his father, and wondered how the Targaryens ended up with such a shady man as CFO of their sprawling enterprise. “Baelish.”
 
“Things are that bad, Vis? You need a wolf to stand guard at your door?” Petyr took his seat, a smarmy smile across his face that Robb took an instant dislike to.
 
“You know that someone tried to poison Daenerys.” Viserys leaned back in his chair, his tone not nearly as concerned as it should be. “We’ve upped our security.”
 
“Wise decision. House Targaryen cannot withstand anymore hits.”
 
It was probably a good thing Jon wasn’t here, Robb decided, his own annoyance and anger seeping into his usually cool demeanor. A life should’ve been considered more than a financial problem, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from interjecting.
 As the two men dropped into conversation about the finances of House Targaryen he let himself tune out somewhere around analysis of Year to Date earnings and projections and let himself focus on the building across from them, mentally counting the steps between them and the window, and tried to guess how long it would take him to move down the hall to the fire escape. 
“Oberyn called me earlier. You know he has a show tonight.”
 
“So?”
 
There was a change in tone, the air around them shifting, drawing Robb’s attention back to Viserys, that petulant look back on his face as he tapped his fingers on the plush chair in boredom.
 
“He wants Daenerys.” There was sharp look in Littlefinger’s eyes, making Robb’s spine stiffen even more.
 
“And she said no, stubborn bitch.” Viserys shifted in his seat, ready to get up.
 
“But, it would be beneficial, the face of House Targaryen on the runway again. How long has it been, hmm? Think of all those who would flock back to you.” Baelish’s face had taken on a shrewdness that Robb didn’t care for, a warning sizzling beneath his skin. “He’s offering her 1.5 million gold dragons for the day. You know what that means, how it would… assist in the current state of affairs?”
 
There was a sharpening to Viserys’ face, filling Robb with apprehension as if he was missing a piece of the puzzle. “Yes, I do.” He seemed to have an internal debate before his lips pulled back from his teeth in imitation of a smile. “Tell Oberyn she’ll do it. I’ll call Missandei and make it happen.”
 
They wrapped up after that, exchanging stilted pleasantries that did nothing to alleviate the tension that had settled across the room’s occupants, and made Robb want to grit his teeth since it was obvious neither man actually liked the other. But, that didn’t matter to him and he stepped out, making sure it was clear before allowing Viserys to come through the door, and fell into step beside him.
 
He pushed the button for the elevator, tapping the comm to let Doreah know they were headed out, also taking a moment to shoot Jon a quick text to let him know that his evening was likely about to become a logistical nightmare.
  
~*~*~
  
A knock on his open door broke his concentration and Jon looked up from where he had been studying the monitor, his fingers twitching in reflex before he set down his pen. “Grey, hold up please.” He tapped his comm and the young man’s image on the screen paused.
 
Tyrion stood in the doorway of the study that he had pushed into, Daenerys wanting him out of her hair with his never ending security upgrades. It had been locked up and dusty but now the light filtered in, highlighting the natural shine of the hardwood floors, the dark polish of the monstrosity of a desk that he definitely did not need. He had protested at first, but after unpacking his own equipment, the flat surfaces of his room cluttered with it all, he had to admit, it was nice to have his own space, and it was conveniently located a few doors down from hers.
 
“Come in.” He sat back, fingers pressing into his eyes for a moment, wondered how much pressure could build behind there as the other man crossed the room, settling into one of the extra chairs.
 
“Still having cameras installed?”
 
“No, they’re all in.” Jon tilted the screen so Tyrion could see it, all the different areas numbered for easy viewing. “Just tryin’ to work out a few things. Watch.” Adjusting the screen so the other man didn’t have to crane his neck, he pointed at the camera that showed Grey in its view. “We have blind spots. See where he’s at in thirteen?” He pointed at the screen, rolled his shoulders. “Grey would you please move back into twelve.”
 
Holding his breath, he counted and waited, five heartbeats before a form moved back into the monitor, Jon writing it down on his notepad before turning back to Tyrion. “I’m not sure how much room for adjustment we have, but I need to narrow that space.” He tapped his comms. “Grey, we’ll get back to this. Will you please go check the new motion lights.”
 
“I never would have thought of that.” Tyrion shifted in his seat for a better look. “How many do you still have left?”
 
Wincing, he counted in his head, wondered how long it would take to get through them. “All of the outside still and half the manse.” Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back in his chair. Between Daenerys and this, he wouldn’t have time for boredom. “I might stick Robb and Doreah on it for a bit.” He tapped where the camera showed the sleek car pulling up to the garage. “I need to check in with Missandei fairly soon, see what the schedule for the week looks like.”
 
“About that.” Tyrion frowned. “Janos Slynt is out of town for a few days and wants to handle talking to Daenerys himself. So they are pushing it back.”
 
“That should be no problem. It’s not like she’s received death threats…. Fucking imbeciles.” He was angry enough to hit something, but settled for throwing his pen at the long forgotten dart board that had been left on the wall. It was proving a welcome addition, a flare of satisfaction filling him as it hit dead center before dropping to the ground.
 
“How many pens do you have to pick up at the end of the day?”
 
He couldn’t help but give a small chuckle. “Every single one I have in my desk.” Leaning forward, he blew out a breath of frustration. “They don’t have anyone else who can take her statement?”
 
“The Commander wants to handle it personally. I don’t like it better than you.” A buzzing in his pocket had him pulling out his phone. Tapping at the screen, he spared a glance at Jon. “How are the rest of the upgrades going?”
 
“The window sensors are proving to be the most difficult to get used to.” Absentmindedly, he reached up and touched the bottom of his jaw. “We had an incident earlier.”
 
Daenerys had set the alarm off that very morning, early enough that he had still been rubbing sleep out of his eyes, mere moments from getting into the shower. The sound has coursed through his system, adrenaline kicking in as he had burst through their adjoining door in a panic to find her wide-eyed and furiously pushing buttons on the newly installed control panel.
 
The breeze from the open window, the culprit of all the mayhem, had tickled his skin as he crossed the room, her back still turned to him, lovely round arse peeking out from an oversized shirt as she tried desperately to silence the alarm.
 
That silver head fit under his chin, he noted as he reached over her to push the code into the keypad, the heat of her soaking into the coldness that was permanently settled in his chest.
 
And he was most definitely not ready for her jolting in surprise, his approach muffled, he realized belatedly, his teeth rattling together as her head hit his jaw, her balance precarious as she tried to scurry away.
 
“Daenerys.” He caught her flying elbow and spun her around, his ears ringing in the sudden silence as the alarm abruptly cut out.
 
“Gods,

Jon!”

Her hand went over her heart, pretty blue eyes fixing on his chest, his bare chest and he fought the urge to cover himself up. “You frightened me.”
 
He took a step back, away from her soft skin and the gentle smell of whatever was in her lotion, the urge to step closer almost making him run in retreat. “Please disengage the alarms before opening the window.”
 
“I remember that

now.”

Finally she was looking him in the eye and he was thankful that he was still wearing shorts. “I don’t know why we need them, we have the bars,”
 
“You can get through bars. Bolt cutters.” Fuck, he needed to get away from her. It was too early in the morning for a mussed up Daenerys filtering into his system. He pushed the button for the speaker on the keypad, ignoring the fact they were still crowded in too close. “Jorah, the alarm company is going to call. Tell them everythin’ is alright. We are just getting used to the changes.”
 
Tyrion’s chuckle pulled him back into the now, the heat of remembrance settling in his neck. “Hopefully we won’t have anymore false alarms.”
 
“I’m sure we will.” Without looking, he opened his desk, pulled out another pen to tap on the desk, an outlet for energy that had suddenly seemed to build. “I’d rather have false alarms than no alarm system at all.”
 
“Fair point.” Tyrion stood. “I’m off then. Good luck.”
 
He watched the other man leave before picking up his phone, thumbing to the text Robb had sent earlier and had been happy to ignore. But the City Watch statement being moved made room for this

fashion show

and he could feel the anxiety growing in his chest, the impossibility of trying to secure a big event with no notice slowly riling his temper. Surely they could see what a terrible idea this would be?
 
Looking to the monitors he found Daenerys moving towards her office, her brother now in the manse and Jon checked his rising frustration, knew he’d need to go talk to her. Rubbing the scar over his heart in reflex, he went off in search.
 
She was right where he assumed she would be, feet tucked under her on the couch in her study, sketch pad in hand and he ignored the spiking of his heartbeat, assured himself it was a normal reaction since she had inadvertently gotten a glimpse of his past etched into his skin.
 
Taking a deep breath, he gave a sharp rap on the doorframe and waited until she looked up, trying to keep their boundaries. “Can I come in?”
 
A nod gave him permission and he entered, moving towards one of the chairs, feeling like he would be trying to intimidate her if he kept to his feet for this conversation. Her eyes were shielded by her lashes, making it impossible to get a read on her, his nerves tingling as he sat.
 
“The City Watch has postponed.” And he realized in that moment, with her relaxed in the remains of what had been her brother’s space, that he would wait just a bit longer before showing her that ugly note. Let her have a few more days without someone else’s hate coloring her life.
 
“That seems odd.” She looked back down to her paper. “Shouldn’t they have already collected my statement?”
 
The air left him in a frustrated huff, the wonderment on how the Watch could be so negligent making him want to grit his teeth. The Night’s Watch never would have allowed such shoddy delays and half arsed work. “In my opinion, yes. But I’m not City Watch.”
 
Her hum seemed to imply she could sense his true opinion on the subject, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing the more he thought of it, the angrier he would become. Besides, they had another pressing matter.
 
“Daenerys—“
 
“Sister!” Viserys stomped into the room, cutting Jon off and he felt his hackles rise in annoyance at the man for just barging in. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
 
Sugary sweetness dripped off his tone, putting Jon’s guard up, apparently doing the same for Daenerys as he watched her stiffen, flipping her sketches closed before facing her brother.
 
“Oh? And what have I done to deserve that pleasure?” When she moved to her feet he did also, Viserys crowding in close to his sister.
 
“It’s what you are going to do. Oberyn’s show is tonight.”
 
“I know.” She was already shaking her head, and he moved a step closer to her side, pleased when Viserys glanced at him, taking in his proximity. “And I’ve already informed him no. I don’t want to—“
 
“Well, I told him yes.” Gone was the nicety from Viserys voice, instead the bully was making his appearance with his sister’s defiance. “You will be doing it.”
 
“Hold on.” Jon hated the way her face twisted at her brother’s words, the need to defend her an automatic response. “It’s too short of notice. I don’t have the time to set up our security for an event like this.” He wasn’t even sure what an ev

ent like this

would entail, but he assumed it would be hectic and large, much more than they had the manpower for.
 
“Oberyn has a security team.” Viserys snarled at him and Jon felt his hand twitch in response, fingers rubbing across the old burn scars on his palms. “And you will be there

bodyguard,

keeping her safe. You know, your

job.”

“I don’t want to do it, Viserys.” There was an endless amount of patience in her tone and Jon had to admire it, even though her shoulders dropped wearily. Arguing with her brother was something she seemed well versed it. “It’s not a good fit for our brand. Oberyn still uses—“
 
“The amount you’ll make by walking the damned runway should quiet your conscience.”
 
Jon saw the move before it happened, Viserys’ temper rising quickly, his hand darting out to grab Daenerys. He responded without thinking, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side, out of her brother’s reach, her eyes fixing on him in utter surprise. But he wasn’t looking at that, only the pure hate dripping from Viserys.
 
“Hands to yourself.” He warned quietly, astonishment registering across the other man’s face at the fact someone dared deny him anything.
 
“Who do you think you are?”
 
“Bodyguard, remember.” Jon realized he still had his arm around her waist, soft and warm pressed up against him. He let go. She stayed there.
 
“Daenerys.” Like a switch had been flipped, Viserys tone changed again, a whine  accompanying this time, though he still shot poisoned looks at Jon. “We need you to do it. If we are going to keep House Targaryen afloat, then I need you to make sacrifices.”
 
The body against him sagged slightly and Jon knew it was in defeat before she even spoke, the sting that she’d give in so easily to her brother settling over his skin.
 
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
  
~*~*~
  
Somehow, the disappointment in Jon’s face was worse than her brother’s poorly veiled threat. She stepped away from him, the sting of it singing across her skin, desperately needing to remind herself to keep her distance from him— no room for curiousity or sympathy when it came to Jon. He would see it in her eyes, in the way she fought to keep her chin tilted upwards, her gaze trained deliberately on his face and not on the mural of scars that lay beneath his crisp shirt.
 
Also, her brother was a jealous man.
 
Vis had despised sharing anything from an early age— toys, love, attention. She knew exactly what Jon was attempting to protect her from, his hackles raising anytime her brother moved within a few feet of her, but he didn’t understand. Vis could make both of their lives a living nightmare. He had a morbid fascination with pain of all kinds, and she didn’t like the dark look that he had fixed upon Jon, the cold calculation of what exactly he would do to gain his revenge for Jon’s posturing unclear for the moment.
 
Dany knew from experience that whatever he was planning, it wouldn’t be good.
 
She needed to get them away from each other before the situation could escalate further, the enormity of what she had just agreed to settling in the pit of her stomach, the weight of it pulling her down into herself. Oberyn Martell was a brilliant designer, but he specialized in furs and exotics, everything that Rhaegar had fought to turn the tide against in fashion.
 
She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. And how could she choose the legacy over the only living family she had left, something that Viserys had lorded over her many a time before, knowing she would be cowed eventually. After all, how could a legacy continue unless they were able to keep House Targaryen in the black?
 
“Danyyyy.” His whine was pitiful, but he kept his distance for once, Jon’s presence at least serving as a deterrent in that regard.

Rhaegar, forgive me.

“

I said, I’ll do it,” she snapped, her mind already whirling with the details of what needed to come next. Obviously, her routine was shot to all seven hells, no time for the carefully crafted diet that would put her body at the optimum weight and shape just in time for the pinnacle moment. It would be pointless to purge, one myth that she had been glad to let slide years ago, her abnormal height overlooked for her fame.
 
“You had best be on your way then,” Vis’ voice had taken on what Dany was sure he thought was a sly quality, and she braced herself unconsciously for a verbal strike. “You know how Oberyn treats his

ateliers

if the models don’t look perfect. And since you should have been in fittings days ago…”

Godsdammit.

He was right, tension thrumming through her at the thought of the days of work these talented seamstresses would need to fly through in mere hours turning her stomach. Hopefully she could allay Oberyn’s vicious side, but they needed to leave,

now

.
 
With one last poisonous look thrown in Jon’s direction, Vis laughed, his heinous chuckle bouncing off the walls of the study as he swept out, her own personal hurricane, wreaking havoc once more.
 
She stole a look at Jon, his scowl focused solely on her, and she steeled her spine to face him. ‘“Get Jorah and Grey. I’ll find Missandei.” He shook his head stubbornly, and she stilled him by placing a hand on his arm. “Jon. I’m not asking. We’re already late.”
 
His jaw clenched, the ire in his eyes rising, and Dany braced herself for yet another lecture, another fight, already so very tired of it all. He surprised her, however, swallowing tightly before nodding. “We’ll meet you at the car in five minutes.”
 
He was gone before her whispered

thank you

could cross her lips, and she had the almost insatiable urge to gather up her sketch pad and rip every drawing in it to shreds. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, and followed him out, calling for Missandei.
  
~*~*~
  
The car ride was tense and mostly silent as they made their way to the Tourney Grounds, only Jorah confident and relaxed, her reliable old bear. Even Missandei’s usually placid calmness had turned a bit jittery at the sudden changes in the schedule. “Thankfully, I had already moved the Board Meeting this morning, so nothing to worry about there.”
 
Dany groaned, knowing that she would have hells to pay whenever they did meet next. “Please apologize profusely to them all, Administrator Varys and Septon Maynard especially— I know that we have much to discuss, and I will, of course, prioritize

Rheagar’s Harp

in the future.”
 
Missandei nodded, her thumbs working furiously as she typed out notes on her phone. “Already taken care of,” she said. “I told them what I always tell them whenever Viserys interferes. You were unable to say no.”
 
Dany blinked, the coldness in Missandei’s tone settling over her until the young woman looked up, a forced smile spreading over her lovely features. “Family comes first, after all.”
 
“Is this somethin’ I’m going to have to get used to?” Jon’s question drew her attention.
 
Before she had a chance to answer, Missandei cut across her. “Yes.”
 
“We’re here.” Grey’s voice filtered back from the front seat as the car drew to a stop. Missandei climbed out, already moving toward the hastily constructed edifice that Oberyn’s team of engineers and set designers had spent the last few weeks building across the Tourney Grounds.
 
Dany waited until Jorah’s hand appeared to help her climb out of the car, Jon closing ranks on her other side as they hurried across the open space and into the relative safety of the building, into the swirling chaos that was the pre-show.
 
“Daenerys!

Ñuha gevives

!” Oberyn Martell conjured himself out of thin air, the cloud of oppressive cologne following him making her nose itch, his sudden appearance causing Jon to tense beside her. He was dressed just as flashily as his designs, his outfit of brightly colored silks and what seemed to be snake skins dripping off of his lean form in waves.

Thank all the gods.

He was in a good mood today. She felt a smile fall over her face, all her apprehension fading away as she schooled her features for charm, and the game began.
 
“Have you discovered more talent for me, my dear?” Oberyn said, his dark eyes raking deliberately over Jon, and she fought off her surprise, an unexpected bristling feeling within her as Oberyn’s gaze took on a hungry quality. The man was a notorious flirt, and it felt as if he was equipped with X ray vision, able to see through the layers of clothing and directly through to the war zone of scars that lay across Jon’s chest. She rolled her eyes as Oberyn leaned over her outstretched hand, pressing a liquid kiss to her knuckles, the hairs of his mustache tickling her fingertips.
 
Still, the rules of society were finite, and she was nothing if not a true born Targaryen. A languid laugh fell from her lips as she turned to regard Jon thoughtfully. “I’m afraid that this one belongs solely to me, Oberyn.” She winked at him, but Jon grimaced, not in the mood for any of this shit. She couldn’t blame him. “Besides, he’s too little for runway— commercial at best, perhaps.”
 
“Ah, ah, ah— this from the world’s shortest runway model.” Oberyn purred. “You should know better than that, my dear. Glass gardens, et cetera. Still, all in all, a waste. I do hope that you are finding a good use for him, yes?”
 
“Enough, Oberyn.” Her voice took on a hard edge, done with these games at Jon’s expense, the blade of it deftly cutting through the uncomfortable tension. “Let’s talk about you— what do you have for me today?”
 
“Ever the consummate professional.” Oberyn threw Jon a subtle wink, and only years of discipline kept Dany from snapping at him, the dig burrowing under her skin. However, before she could launch a scathingly witty retort, Oberyn tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led them further into the bowels of the cavernous room.
 
“We were delighted to hear that none other than

the

Daenerys Targaryen would be gracing us with her presence for our humble little show.” Missandei returned as Oberyn led them through the maze of people, and fell into step with Jon and Jorah behind them both, struggling with the items of clothing already tagged for her. Dany could have sworn she heard a snort of disbelief behind her, the other models they passed throwing her dark looks.
 
“False modesty does not become you, Oberyn,” she clucked her tongue at him, her mouth already burning with lies. “You and I both know that House Martell and your SandSnake line are the next big thing in fashion, and it behooves me to be involved in any way that I can, competitor or not.”

Or, because Viserys is a pompous idiot who doesn’t know the codes of his own House from his own ass.

Oberyn grinned, somehow lulled by her obvious lie. “How I wish that you would tell that to
WETA
.”
 
“Now, how would that look for the face of House Targaryen and poster girl for sustainable fashion?”
 
Oberyn patted her hand. “You and I both know that is only for show.” Only Jon seemed to catch her perplexed look, the tension lines between her eyes deepening at Oberyn’s next words. “Sustainable fashion will never be able to stand up to the beauty of the natural world, and you know that House Martell does everything it can to ensure that our global footprint remains minimal.”
 
“Yes, yes, Oberyn, I’ve heard your pitch many a time.” She drew him to a stop, her eyes flashing, only for her argument to be curtailed before it could begin. An assistant with a headset stepped up, moving to whisper something urgently in Oberyn’s ear.
 
“Apologies, my dear, but we have a bit of a disturbance at the gates. I’m afraid the protestors have found us yet again.” He sighed dramatically. “I would like to see them face a red viper or shadowcat in the wild and then see how firmly they hold to their beliefs as they are being eaten alive. Alas…” he pulled Dany’s hand to his lips once more before stepping back with a slight bow. “I’ll see you at the after party, no? Perhaps then we can chat about further employment opportunities for your… help.”
 
Oberyn kissed the air in Jon’s direction, eyeing him hungrily before dropping her hand and stepping away. “Oberyn!” Her voice lashed like a whip, drawing him up short. “You never answered my question… What do you have for me today?”
 
Exasperation
flowed over his face for only a moment before he stifled it, turning on his heel to face her fully once more. “I would never dream of putting the face of House Targaryen in anything other than faux furs and leathers, no matter what an abomination they are.”
 
Dany beamed at him in relief, her smile the first genuine moment of their entire exchange. “Thank you, my friend.”
 
Oberyn shook his head slowly, charmed in spite of himself. “Anything for you, my dear.”
 
He was gone in a swirl of color, Jon taking a step back to avoid being slapped in the face by his myriad of scarves as Missandei scrambled to hang all of the items on Dany’s assigned rack, setting to work to press and steam as needed, no doubt the seamstresses and PA’s on their way to haphazardly fit her as best they could.
 
“Protesters?” Jon lifted an eyebrow in her direction as she shrugged out of her jacket, his eyes tracking down her body before he turned his gaze out to the rest of the bustling room. Dany stifled a snort at his obvious discomfort, her scrap of a shirt leaving little to the imagination.
 
“House Martell doesn’t exactly share the same sustainable beliefs as House Targaryen, and they are often plagued by protestors from Westeros for the Ethical Treatment of Animals at their shows.” His gaze took on a thunderous overtone and Dany swallowed tightly, her guilt threatening to overtake her. “I know it’s not ideal, and this probably just made your job a lot harder, but look on the bright side— Oberyn always has scores of extra security because of it. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
 
He huffed out a frustrated breath, his eyes continually scanning the chaos around them. “I’m glad one of us is,” he said, his tone bereft of any emotion. Dany fought off a shiver of apprehension, taking in the cavernous room as well, trying to see it from his perspective.
 
What she saw gave her pause, her usual excitement for a fashion show dampening with a sudden feeling of dread coursing through her. She shook her head firmly, unwilling to give into his obvious ploy to try to frighten her, cow her into submission. “Neither of us had a choice here, Jon. I suggest we both get to work.”
  
~*~*~
  
It was a fucking nightmare.
 
Everything was laid out in the open, too many possibilities for attack, the area too big to be contained on such short notice and the people— Gods, there were people everywhere. And backstage was no better, he had discovered, teeth clenched in frustration, anger simmering at a low boil just below his skin.
 Dodging someone running by him at full tilt with an armful of brightly colored fabric, he pulled her off to the side, ignoring her huff of impatience as he kept them on their feet, fully aware that by the end of the night, he and Daenerys would have pushed each other’s buttons to a near breaking point. 
He had tried to get find a secure location for her to get ready, the chaos whirling around them, models, seamstresses, designers, PA’s, and more sprinting at full tilt, his need to get her

out

almost overtaking him. She had laughed when he had suggested it, that frustratingly pretty mouth pursing at him as if he’d told her some sort of jest.
 
“Welcome to the world of fashion, Jon Snow.” Her eyes sparkled with an unspoken challenge. “We move fast, or the world moves on without us.”
 
Biting back a curse and the impulse to just tuck her under his arm and march them away from the madness, her temper be damned, he took a careful step back, allowing room for the seamstresses to begin fitting Daenerys for her first outfit and started checking his escape routes again, a careful map in his mind of where they were. He clenched his fists to relieve some tension, wishing for a brief moment that he had more men on the ground.
 
But he didn’t and they would have to hide her in plain sight, use the bustle of nonstop motion to keep her camouflaged in the mass of people. The prickle of claustrophobia was settling over his skin, a charge of static electricity as he pulled in Jorah and Grey.
 
“Here’s the plan.” Habit had him smoothing his jacket over his gun, checking to make sure it was secure as Jorah folded his arms over his chest, a stubborn set to his blue eyes, put off by the change in command. As if he gave a fuck what Jorah Mormont thought. “Grey, I want the car at the north east exit. Stay with it and don’t let anyone block our way out. Give me three different routes to the King’s Road.”

Gods, hopefully that would be enough. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to use it.

“Jorah—“ He trailed off for a moment to look at the impossibly crowded area, checking his exits again one by one. “We need to keep that exit clear. We don’t have the manpower for more than one option, so we

have

to be able to get through there.” The door led to the shortest route to the car, down a short stairwell before ending on the street. He’d had Grey check it as soon as they had gotten there.
 
He could feel the anticipation starting to roll through him, body going to high alert. “Once we start, Jorah will move through the crowd, keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, I’ll be backstage with Daenerys.” He had purposely pushed for keeping Daenerys there a secret, a surprise if Oberyn wanted to spin in that way, anything to lessen their chances of anything happening.
 
And when they got home… he and Daenerys would be sitting down to have another conversation about impromptu events.
 
With the plan clear, Jorah and Grey went to take care of their tasks, Jon turning back to move with Daenerys and Missandei even deeper into the cramped area as they moved quickly to get her into the ridiculous hair and makeup most of the models were sporting— more people and more clothing, both increasing in vibrancy and flamboyance. The heat was pressing, setting a wild edge to his sanity, the feeling starting to bubble as the smell of exotic furs tickled his nose, making his throat scratchy.
 
It was mind boggling, what should be normal could be perceived as a threat, and the second time he asked a seamstress to let him inspect her needles before they were set loose on Daenerys— making alterations to her assigned outfits— she snapped at him, his own temper spiking dangerously high. At wits’ end, he assigned the recently returned Jorah to

babysit

— an immature last scathing remark to her— while he went to scout and scan, ignoring the fact that the other man would no doubt be more comfortable and probably enjoying Daenerys stepping in and out of clothing with nary a care to who was around her.
 
Taking a deep breath as he moved away, he took in the impossible obstacle of the runway. Backstage was enough to give him a headache, even with it as secured as he could get it, the commotion of activity helping as much as it hindered. But having her out there in front of everyone—

fuck

. The tension was knotting up in his stomach, his mouth turning dry as he looked at it.
 
The runway was long, over 50 yards long, and he didn’t have the magic required to keep her shielded the whole length of it. Drawing in another mouthful of air and ignoring that it was shallower than the last, he knew that this was a perfect setup for the person after her. It would be dramatic and horrifying, killing her in front of friends, fans and competitors alike. A bold choice for a person who had already made daring attempts, no doubt getting more and more angry at each unsuccessful try.
 
He had failed, he realized, to make her see the danger she was in and that was clawing at him, knowing if everything went off here without a hitch, the battle between them would start, yet, he had to hope everything would be fine. The other outcome was unimaginable.
 
Adjusting the vest under his shirt, Jon ignored the glare of the stage hands doing a final lighting check, and jumped down to ground level, ducking under the runway and pulling the flashlight out of his pocket, checking for anything explosive, any sign of tampering with the raised flooring. Content in checking that off his list, he started his prowling around the perimeter, not able to shake the tingling of his senses, the morbid feeling that something was going to happen today. He loosened his tie, popping open the top button of his shirt, knowing he’d get a scolding from Missandei when her sharp eyes saw it. But he couldn’t

breathe

, his rib cage feeling hindered, a headache brewing behind his eyes.
 
Everything

should

be fine, nobody in the audience was aware of her presence— still, he couldn’t quiet the part inside of himself screaming to get her out, that something was going to happen.
 
Turning to the workers setting up more stairs, he let out a bit of his frustration with biting demands they keep the seven exits clear, that they push people even farther back from the catwalk, walking along the distance of it again and hoping he was still as quick on his feet as he was ten years ago.
 
Finally, he knew there was nothing else he could do, and turned to go backstage to settle in at her side. A body bumped into him, a dark look thrown his way as the man rushed by, startling him back to the moment and he closed his eyes for a just a second, clenched the fist that had started to shake, the noise of the crowd growing louder as they began to settle into their seats.
 
It was time.
  
~*~*~
  
The crowd loved her.
 
She had done two walks, hands set firmly on her hips, commanding every inch of that catwalk and if Jon hadn’t been so set on concentrating, he might have fallen under her thrall also. But, he was still perched just offstage in the wings, eyes narrowed against the nonstop camera flashes, the noise reaching all new levels. His stomach rolled with the energy, the long ago taste of gunpowder filling his mouth.

“You hold that fucking gate!”

With a curse loud enough to cause the woman beside him to jump, he shook away from the pull of the memory, wincing as the roars peaked again, causing a brief feedback in his ear, sharp enough to make him bite his tongue. “Jorah, Grey, check?”
 
There was a brief pause, his eyes scanning as he held his breath. “In position.” Grey’s voice was steady in his ear and Jon could just barely make out the shape of him through the backstage monitors. Nodding to the PA he had commandeered, a compromise from the Stage Manager who had threatened to have him bodily removed from the property if he didn’t stay out of view, they started cycling through video feed again.
 
“Jorah?” His voice settled into a firm tone as he started scanning the video feeds again— the other man not visible at his post.
 
It was utter cacophony behind him, the pre-show nothing compared to the uproar of an honest to Gods fashion show. Out front it looked calm and cool, but as soon as the models left the stage they were sprinting to strip out of the clothes they were in, a small herd of people helping them get into new outfits. It was a frantic grab and take, shoes, pants, and bags being flung in the needed direction, music pulsing around them, making it hard to think.
 
A cold chill went up his spine despite the oppressing heat, settling into his fingers with a tingling, making it difficult to breathe. He gave his hands a little jiggle, trying to shake the feeling off and refrained from throwing out his elbows to make himself a little more space in the bodies around him. “Jorah?”
 
There was no answer again, and he cupped the back of his neck, trying to separate the tension of the job with the stress coming off everyone else in waves. He glanced over at Daenerys, her eyes cool and determined, the atmosphere not affecting her, least he could tell.
 
“Jorah!” It was sharper this time and he blinked again, trying to keep the bright lights out of his eyes, a sharp sound settling in his ears, his head, a small part of his mind wanting him to flinch, duck for cover.
 
“Do you want me to look for him?” Grey’s voice was steady and Jon wrestled in a deep breath, reminding himself that Oberyn’s security team was doing a admirable job, their hands full of angry protesters.
 
“No, I want you to stay there.” It was a command that offered no room for disobedience, the need for their exit staying clear as important as finding their other team member.
 
Another camera went off in his face and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, his pulse spiking high with adrenaline, the old familiar taste of copper in his mouth.

“Gods, Jon! They are trying to come through from underneath! They’re in the tunnels!”

The flashbang flared in his night vision goggles, blinding him and he tore them off, wiping the tears out of his burning eyes. He ignored the sounds of screaming men, he had to, the scent of sweat and fear, bodily fluids all clinging inside his nostrils.

“Grenn, hold the gate! Whatever you do, hold that fucking gate!”

“Is everything alright?”
 
Missandei’s voice was a slam to his system, air rushing back into his screaming lungs and his knees went shaky for a moment, the concerned look in her brown eyes making him want to cower. But she wasn’t talking about him, didn’t know the battle going on inside his own head and he bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood, to snap him back into the

now.

“Jorah is not answering. Hold Daenerys back.”
 
“What?” She appeared, moving to take her position, an arm’s length away, struggling with the ties of her black thigh high boots. There was a whoosh in his ears, his mouth going dry and he blamed it on the situation and not as a result of her in the knee length stunningly white faux fur coat that was molded to her body, clingy and straining over her curves, open all the way way down and only held closed across her cleavage by a flimsy silver bar that looked like he could give it a flick and it would fall open, revealing her round breasts, show all of the fake leather micro mini that was hugging her arse, absurd amounts of silver jewelry dripping off every finger and her slim neck.
 
Tearing his eyes away, he fought down the rising dread, the feeling that they needed to abort

now.

“I don’t have contact with Jorah. You do not go out there until I have him.”
 
She was moving towards him, mouth turned down and he threw out his arm, catching her neatly, knowing her temper was rising, his concern over the missing member of their team more pressing then the wrath of the Dragon Queen.
 
“All clear.” Jorah’s voice came into his ear. “Thought I saw a pipe bomb but it was just someone with a hydro flask.”
 
Relief flooded his veins, muscles unclenching and he rolled his shoulders forward, letting his arm drop. “She’s going, be alert.”
 
The dark look she gave him as she rushed back was enough to burn his flesh. “Godsdammit, Jon! I missed my cue!”
 
It was all he could do to not give her back a snarky retort and roll his eyes, instead he moved his gaze back to the monitors, keeping a sharp watch on the crowd, trying to spot trouble before it started.
 
The heavy beat of the music was bleeding into him, echoing in his chest in perfect rhythm with her stomping feet, her swagger as she moved down the runway, a fierce dominatrix claiming all around as her supplicants. He could taste the change in the air, his eyes glued to her form with every step.
 
The music cut out.
 
He was already moving towards her, instinct pushing him forward as silence filled the space between confused people, the strobe lights continuing their strange dance. She was frozen into spot, eyes wide and it felt like someone had ahold of his throat, squeezing the breath out of him, the distance between them closing and if she would just turn towards him….
 
“TRAITOR BITCH!”
 
The unhinged scream came from the back of the room, aimed right at her and he was ten feet away, five feet and saw two quick muzzle flashes, the meaningful

pop-pop

of a silencer and she was falling, his heart stopping as she clutched her chest.
 
Skidding the last few feet, she crashed into his arms, pupils dilated in fear and he was fucking furious at everything— at himself, at her— as he turned them, putting his back to the danger, terror grabbing him as he saw red all over, staining pale skin.
 
“Fuck!” He scooped her up, her weight nothing as she grabbed his jacket with a pained whimper, shuddering breaths racking her small frame. “I’ve got you.” He started moving, dropping off the stage, letting the pandemonium of people carry him towards the exit. “Grey, get the car!” He hoped his voice was more confident then he felt, the urgency to get her to safety, then asses the damage almost blinding him.
 
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jorah’s voice was loud in his ear and Jon pulled up short as the crowd closed in, blocking him from the exit.
 
“Fuck!” Another noise made him look down, Daenerys’ face turning red with her own panic, fingernails digging into his neck. He needed to calm down. “Hey, I’ve got you. Daenerys. Breathe, okay, keep breathing.”
 
He looked to his right, hoping his last chance was not impassible, heart lurching when he saw the small fire door still available, only partially blockaded by speakers and lights. Adjusting his grip he ran them towards it, nimbly avoiding the taped down cords and wires, his elbow smashing something hard enough to vibrate into his fingers.
 
Then they were there and he threw himself into the crash bar, the force of it sending the door open and bouncing off the wall, slamming into them and he stumbled as she cried out, her grip tightening.
 
That was a good sign, he told himself, sliding down the stairs to another door and they barged through it, sending him staggering into the brick wall, the outside air shockingly cold to his system. But the car was right there, Grey holding the door open with fear on his face as Jon all but tossed Daenerys onto the backseat, climbing in behind her.
 
“Get us to the hospital! Baelor’s Hospital, now!” The door slammed behind them, the car lurching forward, his weight thrown abruptly as he scrambled onto the narrow seat, her hips pinned between his knees as she gasped and grabbed at him, clawing wildly.
 
There was blood all over the front of her jacket. He could taste it in his mouth, the sound of his heart loud in his ears and her broken

Jon

was like a fist in the guts. He had

failed

, fuck, he had failed again, his scars burning and

he tripped over something soft— hidden in the dark, ducking down to touch it, feeling the warmth of body heat, familiar blue eyes, lifeless and accusing as they stared back at him.

The shock of cold fingers around his wrist startled him, another set of blue eyes staring up at him, frightened but

alive

and he ripped open her tattered coat, beads and stones from her necklace scattering over the floorboards as her necklace gave out under his frantic tearing, needing to find where she was shot, to stop the bleeding, because she would

survive.

He stopped suddenly in confusion, no blood pouring from holes in her perfect skin, just a few smears between her breasts, two purple bruises over her heart— small, coin sized— and panic seized him again as he pulled her upright into his chest, hands spanning over her back, coming up empty, more unblemished skin. He ripped her arms out of the coat, shoving it away, his brain rapid firing as he tried to make sense of it.
 
Hands ran around her neck as she held onto the lapels of his jacket, her breath coming from behind clenched teeth as he found nothing, his hands running down over the slope of her shoulder, collarbone, then down, coming into contact with the red residue, thick and sticky, pungent between his fingers, a familiar smell.

Paint.

He almost collapsed in relief, his fingers curling at the exact moment he realized he had a handful of her tits, nipples puckered beneath his palms, goosebumps rising along her skin along with her own broken breathing.
 
Jerking his hands back and losing his balance, he rolled off of her, landing on the floorboard hard enough to rattle his teeth together. “Paint, Daenerys, it’s paint.” His voice was hoarse as he forced himself up and she grabbed at his hands, words not quite registering yet. “Daenerys.” He squeezed her hands. “Breathe. I’ve got you. You’re fine.”
 
“Jon?” Her eyelashes blinked rapidly, her hand and his falling to her chest as she winced and hissed, poked at the bruise. “Paint?”
 
“You’re okay.” He propped himself up to lean against the seat, reassuring her, himself, he wasn’t sure. Hyper aware of her bared skin, he shrugged out of his jacket, intent of covering her up.
 
“You saved me.” Her voice was small, broken, his chest squeezing tight as he shook his head in denial and she grabbed his hand again, laying it flat over the bruises, her fingers laced over the top of his, the swell of her breast rising and falling under his palm with her breath. He could feel her heart racing, could count the beats, the urge to do so suddenly strong and he closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the sensation.
 
“Jon?”
 
Grey’s voice came from the front seat, startling him and he pulled his hand away gently, helping tuck her into his jacket, safe and secure. “We are good, Grey.” He let out a shaky breath and pulled her hair free of the collar, ducking down low so he could see her face, needing to see the color blooming in her cheeks. “You ready to go home?” Her quick nod had him closing his eyes for a moment, suddenly exhausted as adrenaline fled him and he collapsed back against the interior, letting her thread their hands together, grounding them both. “Take her home Grey, it’s been a long night.”
 
He closed his eyes, relief almost palpable but accompanied by the unwelcoming feeling of dread balling up in his insides as he realized what he needed to do next. It was time she saw the note.
  
~*~*~
  
Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.
 
The lights from other cars flashed by dimly as they drove. She had no idea where they were, the landmarks of King’s Landing blurred and hazy through the new security tinting Jon had ordered for all their vehicles. The motion of the car was making her feel sick to her stomach, the swirl of color flirting with the edge of disaster within her. She couldn’t seem to get her eyes to focus— her mind kept short circuiting on the images filling her brain— never settling, never giving her a moment to breathe, to gather herself, to escape.
 
The only constant was his warm, scarred hand in hers. His long fingers gripping her own hard enough to let her know that she had survived,

they

had survived— his pulse dancing wildly and erratically beneath her fingers.
 
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flashes, felt the sting of something sharp in her chest, driving her back into Jon’s waiting arms. She had expected to fall, expected to die, if she was being honest, and instead, he had caught her. Not neatly—  scooping her up in a heroic gesture like the songs of old, bravely standing between her and danger, but in a chaotic scramble of adrenaline and fear, the taste of something bitter lodged in her mouth and throat until she felt as if she would choke on it. His arms had locked around her like iron bands, and he had broken into a pelting run that had nearly jostled her out of his grip, only her own terror and adrenaline cramping her fingers as she nearly tore the collar from his jacket, desperate to hold on to him, to beg him to never let her fall, her panic filling her eyes and ears and mouth.
 
She’d have to ask him how they made it to the car, her mind a dull and lifeless void— black— like his eyes had been until he had pulled her upright in the backseat, his powerful thighs straddling her as he tore her arms out of the beautiful coat Oberyn and his team of

ateliers

had no doubt spent months designing and painstakingly constructing, the gorgeous faux fox fur, soft and luxurious under her fingers, white now impossibly and forever streaked with red, a ruin of her own making.
 
She owed Oberyn an apology. She owed them all an apol— “Mi- Miss- Missandei!” She gasped, her fingernails digging into Jon’s palm. “Wh-where’s Missandei a-and J-orah?”
 
Jon’s pained grunt had her jerking her hand from his, the crescent shape indentions of her nails in his palm angry and red against his ghost-like pallor. His face looked hollow, somehow. Pasty and dark in the same turn, tight creases of concern across his brow, his firm mouth and plump, pouting lips pressed together into a thin grey line.
 
“Jorah has her, Miss Dany.” Grey’s voice filtered back to her from the front seat as Dany slumped in relief. “The City Watch has asked them to answer a few questions. He won’t let her out of his sight.”
 
Dany nodded vacantly, falling back into her seat with a hiss of pain. Jon’s face swam into view, somehow directly in front of her, kneeling between her legs on the floorboard, his strong hands coming to rest on her thighs as he searched her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
 
She shook her head wildly, finding herself fascinated by his thick eyelashes, long and full and the envy of every woman he had ever dated, no doubt. “I j-ust w-want to go ho-home.” She hated how small her voice sounded, how weak she felt, how a particularly stiff breeze would likely take her out at the knees if she were to try to stand.
 
He continued to stare at her, his obvious concern chiseling away at the raised walls of her heart, although whether it was concern for her, or for the status of his job she couldn’t be certain. Appallingly, she could feel the burn of tears starting behind her eyes. She blinked wildly, trying to chase them away, biting her lip hard enough that she could taste blood.
 
“Fuck… Dany,” he breathed, his warm breath washing across her face, a moment of silence as she struggled to keep from falling completely apart, too broken for anyone to be able to reconstruct, something inside of her wanting to rant and wail and tear at herself and him, until nothing was left of either of them.
 
“You’re in shock.” He gently pried her clenched fist open, placing something dry and soft into her palm before lifting her hand to the corner of her mouth. “Keep pressure here,” he murmured. “We’re almost home.”
 
She sucked in a deep breath, the high-pitched whistle sounding foreign and harsh to her ears, joining the chorus of clicking teeth and thundering pulse, a symphony of shock tearing out of her any way that it could. A shiver poured over her, her spine feeling as if it may ripple itself out of her body completely, and Jon pulled the lapels of his jacket more tightly around her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms briskly. “Grey, forget the routes. Get us to the manse.”
 
There was no reply over the sound of her hiccuping gasps, but Dany could feel the inertia pressing her body back into her seat as Grey accelerated, and let her head fall back against the headrest…
 
A hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality, Jon standing in the dim light of their garage, one of Viserys’ impractically sporty and garishly bright cars behind him. She blinked blearily at him, unsure if she had fallen asleep, lost consciousness, or if memory gaps were a side effect of stress and something she would just have to get used to.
 
“Can you stand?” His voice was gentle, but his gaze was harrowed and haunted, and she felt herself startle at the guilt which crashed through her. This was all her fault—  she should have fought back harder against Viserys, she should have contacted Oberyn herself, explained the circumstances so they wouldn’t have been there at all. She should

never

have done whatever it was that whoever was responsible for this said or thought that she had done.
 
She placed a trembling hand into Jon’s steady one, and let him gently lift her out of the car. His other hand caught her elbow before cradling her into his side, his arm settling around her waist, his scarred fingertips digging into the skin of her hip beneath his jacket, fighting to keep her upright on wobbly knees and an unbalanced gait. His cologne had taken on a slight sourness, his own adrenaline crash close at hand.
 
Tyrion was waiting in the kitchen, his face as ashen as she assumed her own was. “Daenerys, thank the Gods.”
 
He crossed to her, taking her hand in his own and giving it a reassuring pat before motioning to the maids behind him to come forward. Jon relinquished his hold on her as each woman took an arm to support her, ushering her from the room. She could hear their muted tones behind her, but couldn’t decipher their words as the maids led her to one of the guest suites on the ground floor, a large tub already full and bubbling, steam rising from the water.
 
“Tyrion thought you might like to try to relax a bit.” Dany nodded gratefully, dismissing the maids before they could help her undress, needing some time to try to claw her way back to sanity. She dropped onto the small vanity bench with a groan, her fingers shaking as she tried to untie her thigh high boots, finally succeeding in pulling them from her tired and aching feet, before standing and finally gathering her courage enough to look at herself in the mirror.
 
She was a fright— a ghoul of a woman, haunted into eternity. Her skin was waxy, tear tracks making their way through her makeup and down her face, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced and eerie. She peeled off the micro mini and her thong, both soaked through with sweat. Her fingers were shaking as she pried the rings off, the clanking setting her teeth on edge as the chunky silver bracelets followed. Her bottom lip was swollen where she had bitten through it, the crust of drying blood streaking down her chin, whatever Jon had pressed into her hand to stop the bleeding, lost. She hoped it hadn’t been anything important.
 
Finally, taking a deep breath and bracing herself, she unbuttoned Jon’s jacket, steeling herself by burying her nose into the lapel and breathing in his pine scented cologne, needing to borrow some of his strength for what came next.
 
She let the jacket fall away.
 
She had a scratch along the length of her neck, thin and red and raised. The bruises were no more than an inch apart, violent and purple, the welts ribbed and perfectly round. The red paint splattered across her breasts and stomach looked like something out of a song, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, an overwhelming sense of something unintelligible settling in her chest like an anchor. She had been lucky— so incredibly lucky. If the bullets had been real—
 
Turning blindly, she felt her way to the tub, splashing gracelessly into it as she continued to weep, tears obscuring her vision as she felt about wildly for a washcloth and soap, scrubbing her midriff raw in an attempt to remove the offending paint from her skin. She had no idea how long she wept, only that eventually the storm of tears did subside, her eyes and nose swollen and red. The water around her had also taken on a pinkish tint. She pulled the stopper out of the tub, clearing away the dirty water before filling it once more, this time making sure the water was scalding, just as she liked it, wanting to feel the scorch and burn of it, if only to reassure herself that she was, indeed, still alive, her heart still beating.
 
She lay back, allowing the heat to soak into her bones, her locked muscles finally relaxing as her hiccuping and sniffling subsided, clarity slowly returning to her once more. She slowly drew the washcloth over her abused skin, this time reveling in the feel of its softness, taking the time to properly wash her face, the remains of her makeup dissolving under her ministrations.
 
She owed Jon an apology. She’d been doing her best to make his life miserable over the last week, and instead of repaying her in kind, he had— and seemingly would continue to— thrown himself between her and whatever harm was intent on befalling her with no hesitation or doubt. She had no idea what she had done to inspire that kind of loyalty, but she was grateful. She owed him more than her thanks— she owed him her life.
 
Finding her determination once more, Dany drew herself out of the tub, the water cascading down her body, her hand drifting to the bruises. She wouldn’t bear outward scars from this encounter, only internal ones. It was enough.
 
She reached for the towel on the rack, wrapping it around herself snugly before gathering what was left of her clothing and folding it as neatly as she could. She had no idea if the Watch would need it for evidence, or if it would be able to be cleaned and returned to Oberyn, but she was sure someone would see to those details.
 
A soft knock sounded on the door, and she bade them enter, the maid bringing her
a
c
up of steaming nettle leaf tea
, fleece lined pajamas, and warm fuzzy socks and slippers. “Mr. Snow said for you to keep warm.”
 
Dany nodded, and changed quickly, only needing to call the maid back inside to help with the soft sleep shirt, her shoulder and chest too sore to pull it over her head on her own. Finally slipping her feet into her slippers, she took her tea, and made her way out into the hall, expecting to find Tyrion and Jon waiting for her, but instead everything appeared quiet and calm.
 
Perplexed, she headed toward Tyrion’s office, finally hearing their hushed voices beyond the door. She raised her hand to knock, but instead thought better of it, not ready to rehash the events of the evening yet. Instead, she turned on her heel and made her way around the corner to her study, leaving the door open as she gathered her sketchbook and settled onto the sofa, pulling her legs underneath her as she lost herself to her sketching.
 
Everything was a swirl of darkness and light on the page, her mind catching on the first flash of the gun, the strobe lights making everything and everyone blink in and out of existence until finally she realized she wasn’t drawing a dress, or even what had happened, but instead she was staring into a sketch of Jon’s eyes, a flash of light and mirth coming in at the smile lines at the corners.
 
A quiet knock sounded at the door, and she glanced up, the man in question looking more haggard and tired than she had ever seen, and she felt her heart give a dangerous thump. Some of his hair had come loose from his bun, and she was surprised to find that she longed to brush it back from his forehead, to find a way to help him bear some of this impossible weight.
 
He cleared his throat as she quickly flipped her sketchbook closed setting it aside before he could catch a peek, her cheeks flooding with warmth under his scrutinizing gaze. “Can I come in?” His voice was rough— hoarse, as if he’d been shouting for hours. Maybe he had, by this time.
 
Dany nodded, running her fingers through her hair knowing she must still look an absolute fright. Her mouth was suddenly dry as Jon entered, closing the door behind him before settling himself heavily in a wingback chair to her right instead of on the sofa beside her. The distance felt like a chasm, somehow.
 
“How are the bruises?” He placed an unmarked tube and his phone on the end table between them.
 
She grimaced, rolling her left shoulder as he winced in sympathy. “I’ve felt better.”
 
He nodded. “We should get some ice on that. It’ll help with the swelling.”
 
Dany studied her fingernails, the polish applied only hours earlier chipped, covered in flecks of red the bath water had neglected to remove. She took a deep breath. “Jon, I—“
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
She froze, her eyes flicking up to his, pain and embarrassment lingering there. “I shouldn’t have let you out on the runway, not after the scare with Jorah—“
 
“What? No, I—“
 
“And I’m sorry about what happened in the car. That was unprofessional, and it won’t happen again.”
 
Dany blinked.

What had happened in the car?

The last she remembered before they got home was him checking her over, trying to ascertain how hurt she was, to stop the bleeding—

his hands, warm and sure roaming over her smooth skin, sliding down her back, over the slope of her shoulder, the column of her neck, the paint between her breasts, his hands gently sliding over them, her nipples tightening despite the pain, despite the shock, the urge to arch into his hands nearly overwhelming her—

She was sure her face was a flaming red now as it all came roaring back. “Oh,” she murmured. “Um, it’s…” her voice trailed off.
 
And then she had taken his hand and— her hand flew to her mouth, mortified.

Oh gods…

“I mean, I had obviously, we both had— You know... Um.”  She swallowed tightly, reaching for her tea to give her something, anything to do with her hands.
 
“What I’m trying to say is that no apology is necessary,” she scrambled, desperately trying to regain some of her normal poise, anything to get him to stop looking at her like something fragile, and broken— “We’re both consenting adults after all.” She felt a ghost of a smile on her face, before his face changed, something dark and brooding passing over it.
 
He cleared his throat before shaking his head. “I brought you something.” He reached for the tube, tossing it lightly to her. She caught it with only a slight fumble, his light chuckle warming her through despite her embarrassment. “No idea what’s in it, but we used it in the Watch, and it works wonders on deep tissue bruises.”
 
“I didn’t know you were in the Night’s Watch,” she said, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.
 
“You never asked.”
 
Well, she had to give him that one. “Fair enough.”
Those scars hadn’t simply dropped upon his chest out of the open air, after all.
She took a breath, setting the tube back on the table between them, her fingers circling the rim of her cup. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes flickering from his to the tube and back again. “For that, and for today.”
 
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes flashing in the low light of the study. “You don’t have to thank me, Daenerys.”

Fuck… Dany.

She took another sip of her tea, another moment from the car surfacing in her scattered recollections. “I’m going to anyway.”
 
He shrugged. “It’s the job.”

Oh.

The silence stretched between them, neither of them quite able to tear their gaze from the other. Dany cleared her throat, and set the mug aside. “Right… Of course... Well, I guess I should be getting to—“
 
“There’s somethin’ else.” He sat up straight, his hands braced on his knees, his fingertips turning white under the pressure of his grip. He shook his head again before reaching for his phone. “I think it’s time you read the note this bastard left for you.”
 
She could feel herself shrinking back from his steady gaze, her head already shaking in protest before he reached out and settled his hand over hers, his warmth completely engulfing her. “It’s nothin’ you can’t handle. I honestly believe that,” he said gently, “—but it’s time you knew what you’re up against. What we’re all up against.”
 
He was staring at her, his eyes full of a fierce determination, his gaze wandering over her face, her lips as she wet them, finally giving her hand a quick squeeze as she found herself nodding. “Now, there’s two pictures. The first is the content of the note. That’s all you need to read.”
 
“But?” There was something he wasn’t saying.
 
He paused, his gaze dropping to his lap for a moment as he struggled to find the words. “But there is more to it than just the words. Only you can decide if you want to see it all. Either way you decide. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
 
She took a deep breath, searching his eyes, seeing nothing but the same spark of determination. “Ok,” she whispered.
 
He gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it, and placed his phone into her own. “The first pic is already up. Swipe right if you want to see the second.” She nodded again as she drew her hands into her lap, clutching his phone. “I’m right here if you need me.”
 
She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a shaky breath into her lungs, and gathering what was left of her shredded courage around her.
 
She couldn’t let them win. She wouldn’t.
 
Opening her eyes, she looked down at the picture on Jon’s phone, the swirl of the handwriting hard to decipher at times on the small screen.

For every sin you saw and said nothing…

For every lie from your pretty mouth that condemned another innocent to a fate worse than death…

For every cry from your lips when I find you…

Do you know what awaits you? Nothing…

Her heart was pounding in her ears, the deafening crash of it drowning out everything else around her, everything save the calm, steadiness of his presence. She had the sudden urge to vomit, but fought to keep calm, to keep focused, to not let this evil person win— because they

were

evil. Whoever could demand this of another human being had to be… Didn’t they?
 
“Daenerys?”
 
“Dany,” she said before she could stop herself, her eyes flickering up to his, confusion creeping into his gaze. “I liked it when you called me

Dany.”

His eyes became large and round, a hint of a smile coming in at the edges, the same eyes that would now stare out of her sketchbook eternally. She gave him a small smile before taking another breath and swiping right, needing to see everything this shell of a person had in store for her, what trap lay in wait.
 
She recognized the photo from one of her Essos shoots, the Red Waste laying barren behind her. Her eyes had been gouged out in the photo, and she could feel her hands starting to tremble as she took in the detailed drawing of blood pouring from what was left of her eyes, ears, nose, and lips.
 
She cleared her throat before she handed the phone back to Jon, the tightness in her face expanding to her chest, her fingers finding the bruises under her shirt and rubbing at them as the pain seemed to spike in response. “They found that in my bed?” She whispered, and Jon nodded. She took a moment to absorb that information, fighting off a shudder. “Is it ok if I sleep in here tonight? Please?”
 
His mouth tightened before he stood, moving silently to the windows and pulling the new blackout shades he had installed earlier in the week down over all of the windows. Without a word, he returned to the chair he’d been sitting in, dragging it over to the doorway to the study, placing himself between her and any harm that could possibly come through that door.
 
She turned on the small lamp on the end table beside her as Jon reached for the overhead light, dousing it quickly. She pulled a chenille blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over her, tucking her hands beneath her chin as she settled back against the throw pillows, careful to keep her weight off her bruised side. The silence spread between them, lengthening and thickening with weight as the minutes ticked by.
 
“Jon?”
 
“Aye?”
 
“I’m sorry too.”

For being difficult. For being stubborn. For being afraid. For putting you at risk too. “

For everything.”
 
“Oh, Dany,” he breathed. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
 
~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~
 
She had never paid much attention to his arms, it was always his hands that drew her focus— warrior’s hands, full of scars and calluses and strength. Hands that could be gentle or forceful depending on the situation, the need. She had been an idiot; she knew that now. Those arms, completely capable of bearing the weight of the sky, closed around her shoulders, swept under her knees, scooping her up to cradle her into his sculpted chest as if she weighed nothing.
 
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his breath puffing against her cheek, his lips gently brushing against her earlobe, a shiver of need thrumming through her as her heart pounded in anticipation. Her fingers wound themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck, the luxuriously silky strands slipping through them as he groaned in appreciation.
 
In his eagerness, he slammed through the heavy door and her foot caught against the doorframe, tumbling them into the brick wall on the other side of it. The stairwell seemed to swallow all other sounds— nothing audible except for the thundering of her pulse in her ears, the sound of his labored breathing as he set her on her feet, his hips driving into her as he backed her up against the wall, the bricks rough against her back as he nosed through the hair at the nape of her neck before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. His teeth sunk in as she gasped— his hot, wet tongue darting out to soothe and taste as her knees buckled. Only her fingers clenched in his collar kept her on her feet as he dragged his teeth down to her collarbone, tongue tracing a path across her heaving chest, dancing delicately into the valley of her breasts.
 
Not to be undone, she ground her hips into his as she ripped his jacket from his shoulders, shoving the offending fabric as far down as it would go. The hardened outline of his ready cock already strained against the seam of his pants, her extremely short skirt irrelevant as she hooked a thigh over his hip, a hiss of pain escaping her lips as his teeth latched onto the skin in the divet of her collarbone in perfect time with his pelvic thrust. The fabric of his black jeans scraped across her already soaked center, and a wanton moan escaped her lips, her thong doing little to keep the well of her desire from soaking into his leg.
 
“Jon,

please—

” she was begging, but didn't care, her fingers tightening in his hair. He was driving her wild, and hadn’t even properly kissed her yet. Nor would he, it seemed— scooping her up into those gods-like arms once more, the jump of his bicep against her skin making her mouth water, and giving her time to put her own clever tongue to use. The pounding of his pulse under his jaw was a mouth-watering treat. She suckled and groaned against his neck, nuzzling under his jaw with delicate licks and nips until the world tilted, and suddenly she was on her back in the car, her fingers grasping at his muscled thighs straddling her, pinning her beneath him.
 
His eyes were black with desire as his fingers found the silver bar of her white coat, the scarred skin of his right hand teasing under the coat already— tormenting, feather light touches across her peaked nipple, designed to drive her to the brink as she tried to push her way up onto her elbows, a willing offering, her breasts arching, aching for his touch.
 
“

Fuck…

Dany…” a flick of his fingers, and her coat fell away, his gaze hungrily taking in her breasts, her puckered and purpled nipples begging for his fingers, lips, and tongue to sample all that she had to offer. She could feel the beating of her heart throbbing down to her cunt, a streak of want and desire pulsing through her as he bent his head, sucking her breast into his wet mouth, his tongue swirling, his beard chafing at her sensitive skin as she groaned in encouragement.
 
She grasped his shirt and yanked it over his head, needing to feel skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his snarl of displeasure at being parted from his feast matching hers as they both struggled upright. Her fingers grazed his scars, her own talented tongue moving to map the contours of them, his hands buried in her hair to keep her close, the tangy taste of his sweat overwhelming her with the need to consume all that he would give. Her cunt was pulsing in perfect time to the thunder of his heartbeat under her touch, her hands fumbling— clumsy with need— for the buckles at his waist.
 
He stiffened as her fingers brushed over his cock, lost in a thrall of ecstasy. She peered up at him through lidded eyes, wanting to absorb his pleasure, feast upon it for days to come, but instead of his normally warm brown eyes, she saw nothing but gaping holes of scarlet.
 
She screamed, scrambling back from him, her shoulders still locked in his embrace as the blood poured from his ears, nose, and lips, his body falling lifelessly over her, trapping her under his lithe form, now heavy with death.

Nothing…

The whisper flowed eerily over her, a flash of pain and a line of red swept over her chest. Her fingers trembled as she touched it, coming away sticky with her own blood.

You said nothing…

Another slash across her belly, the wound deep and gaping and she scrabbled at it, trying to keep it closed, the blood splashing over her fingers, staining her hands as she screamed again, the panic engulfing her.

You did nothing…

A flash across her face this time, red filling her eyes and nose and mouth until she couldn’t breathe, Jon’s body pinning her, keeping her helpless, leaving her vulnerable and alone.

Do you know what awaits you…

Nothing.

~*~*~
 
She came awake with a start, Jon’s hand lingering on her uninjured shoulder, lamp on the end table already on, lesson learned from last night’s eventful awakening and the new bruise he sported just along his left cheekbone. He had explained it away to Tyrion as a late blooming contusion from the fire door at Oberyn’s show, but she knew the truth— unable to escape the terror lurking in her dreams and unable to see who was shaking her in the dark she had struck out blindly, the heel of her palm landing a glancing blow across his unfairly beautiful face.
 
Even that had been preferable to the first night, the unearthly shrieking she heard in her dreams had turned out to be sounds from her own locked throat. The pain pulsing through the bruises at her breast had been so sudden and severe that she had bolted from the study and down the hall, barely making it to the bathroom before the meager contents of her stomach had violently emptied themselves into the bathtub, unable to make it to the toilet in time.
 
She had opened the door a short time later, embarrassment coloring her features as she found Jon leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, a glass of water, willowbark tabs, and an ice pack in hand, concern and understanding in his eyes.
 
They hadn’t spoken much past reassurances either time. It had been enough to know that he was there— no pity to be seen, just a gentleness under the cover of darkness. His presence had been enough to suppress the black mark the attack had embedded in her soul, though sleep would prove to evade her the rest of both nights.
 
Tonight, however, was different.
 
She had never seen

him

die in her other dreams. The unspeakable horrors she saw in the murky netherworld of sleep were always aimed solely at her. She didn’t know how to describe the paralysis racing through her, the thought of him giving his life for hers unimaginable, unwanted, and unfathomable. He didn’t deserve to have his life cut off at the knees because of a lunatic, and he must have a family, somewhere— someone who loved him, cherished him... They didn’t deserve to have him violently ripped away from them, all because of her.
 
His eyes were black in the low light, and she felt a jolt straight through her chest that had nothing to do with her injury. She tried to steer her mind away from all of the other activities in her dream, but was unsuccessful— her mouth dry, her eyes drifting to the outline of his sculpted pec under his t-shirt, the darkness of his nipples visible through the thin, white fabric, along with the raised, puckered skin of his scars.
 
She hadn’t thought about anyone that way since Daario, and especially not in the years since her brother died at least. She had been too wrapped up in her own grief, in helping Viserys recover and rebuild House Targaryen from Rhaegar's ashes. There hadn’t been

time

for anything of the sort. And now— here she was at the worst possible moment, brought low by an silent specter intent upon her death...
 
Her hand went to Jon’s wrist, unable to help herself from gripping it tightly as her chest heaved, her breath struggling to return to normal as she fought to untangle her legs from the blanket holding her feet prisoner, no doubt lending to her paralysis in the dream. He offered his other hand, and she took it, allowing him to pull her upright on the sofa.
 
“Thanks for not hittin’ me this time.”
 
His quiet statement brought an unexpected chuckle to her lips, another zing racing through her chest at the relief it brought, unlocking her tongue as she kicked the blanket away and tucked her legs under her, making room for him beside her. She hoped he would accept her silent invitation, unable to chase away the yearning and horror still lingering from the dream.
 
He kept his distance though, kneeling before her on the floor, only his hand still captured in her own, her fingers clenched around his, unwilling or unable to let go, she didn’t know.
 
“Do they ever go away?” The question escaped before she knew she was going to ask it, the shadows still hovering too close to her tonight.
 
He froze, the roughened fingers of his burnt hand twitching in her own. “Do what ever go away?” He asked carefully, his eyes shifting over her face, the scrutiny with which he examined her making her heart ache for him as well as think she may have overstepped the tiniest bit.

Be brave.

“The nightmares,” she said, fighting the urge to look anywhere but him, to not let him see the depths of her dread. Instead, she forced herself to look squarely into his warm brown eyes, more thankful than she could express to see them and not gaping crimson holes, steeling herself as his brow creased with the first hint of a frown. “We’ve been sharing a room for three nights now. You mumble in your sleep sometimes.”
 
The grip he had on her hand was turning painful although she doubted he was even aware of it, her reluctance to release him roaring to life within her still racing blood, the memory and feel of that scarred hand upon her heated skin fresh and dangerous. “You’re almost always awake when I am,” she couldn’t help but stroke a finger down the soft skin of his inner wrist, tracing the pulse point gently. “Do you ever sleep?”
 
She realized her statement’s other implication the second the words left her lips,

feeling her cheeks and chest flush deeply, but for once Jon seemed to be lost to himself. She was grateful, silently scolding herself as she commanded her hand to let go of his, but instead found her traitorous fingers doing the complete opposite, tugging lightly until he all but collapsed onto the couch beside her.
 
~*~*~
 
He could feel the heat from her body as the comfort of the couch enveloped him, her cozy nest of the last three nights tempting and pulling, just as she had on his hand, letting himself be moved off the floor where he had settled to waken her, another nightmare making her twist and turn.
 
“No, I don’t sleep much.” Gods, he was tired, his body heavy and mind thick, the air around them seeming to pause as he let his head roll to the back of the couch, the confession burning down his throat, the feeling of showing his soft underbelly foreign and uncomfortable.
 
There should be a line between them, a small part of his brain was reminding him, a barrier of reinforced steel kept firmly in place, but currently it seemed more like a wall made of sand, the encroaching tide wearing it slowly away as she shifted, petite body in his space, warm hand still in his.
 
“I feel like that has a lot to do with these?” Gentle fingers touched a scar, the feeling muffled by fabric, but it was still a jolt to his system, a shock to the cold that lived there, the touch making him want to shake it off and curl into himself, another part screaming for him to take it, let her do as she pleased.
 
“Aye.” It was a choked answer, bitter with the taste of betrayal and sharp with nerves. She was going to ask him, he knew, to share if able, to hear his own haunted memories to help herself sort out her own.
There was still an urge to refuse, to push her away and retreat to the sanctuary of the chair he’d taken up since she’d moved in her study.
 
But he couldn’t do that, the night of the fashion show still stuck at the front of his mind, the

what if’s

replaying over and over until it was a knot of nausea in his stomach. If every time he closed his eyes he could imagine her laying broken and bloody on that catwalk, then certainly she re-lived it over and over again.
 
Did she realize how he had failed her?
 
“You didn’t answer.” There was a softness to her words, a caution to her pushing. “Do you think it will ever go away?”
 
The phantom echo of a cold burn prickled his chest, the jagged edges of roughly put back together skin tingling in awareness and his hand moved up to the mark above his heart, fingers tangling with hers, a yearning crawling through his chest. “I don’t have that answer.”
 
“Or maybe it’s a no and you don’t want to tell me.” The blue eyes closed, and he sighed in relief, certain she could see down to his chipped core, his breath catching in the next moment as her head dropped down to his shoulder, silver hair tickling his neck. “What happened to you up there? Will you tell me that?”
 
Everything inside him froze, panic flooding his veins, voices coming back to him asking him if he was okay, if he wanted to talk it out, even those chilling tones of men he had lived with, day after day that turned against him so easily. But she didn’t know the previous Jon, wouldn’t look at him with that trace of pity or regret that everyone else did. No, she only knew this Jon, the one who had been broken and was slowly piecing himself back together.
 
“I should have been wearing my vest that night.” He cleared his throat, Daenerys’ head lifting enough he could see her in his peripheral vision, confusion in the wrinkle of her brow. He could see the dark circles staining under her eyes, guilt eating slowly away at him. “But I was on our side of the Wall, in our own barracks…I thought I’d be fine.” A twitch of his hand had him grabbing at the arm of the couch, stuffing giving way under his grip.
 
“Peace talks with the Freefolk. Gods, everyone had an opinion on it.” He certainly did, right up until he made it to the Watch, until he was ranging in the far north. “Some people were- are- against it. They made their choice years and years ago and now they must live with it.”
 
He was sure her mind was spinning with questions, her curious nature piqued but she was staying quiet, her weight pressing further and further into him, grounding him there, knowing if she interrupted, his words would dry up and disappear. “There had been rumors going around, sworn brother’s furious that the Lord Commander would even entertain such ideas, that he would present it to the counsel of Westeros. Assassination talks.” He risked looking down into wide eyes, his heart catching and stumbling at the pain in them, wondered if they were a mirror image of his own.
 
“The LC told me that we couldn’t hide because of it, that we had a job to do, a duty that must be fulfilled.” He had to close his eyes, his throat feeling rough, the weariness of those eight years making him feel brittle. “I thought I had enough men out there to prevent anything from happening. I was naive enough to not fully believe our men would actually do it.”
 
His skin felt too tight all of a sudden, his ribs not willing to expand for a breath and he choked for a moment, an arm looping through his, pulling him out of reach of the panic attack. His thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles in appreciation, savoring the softness of her skin.
 
“I was wrong.” It left him in an exhale, he had been so very

wrong

in thinking that it was all just a jest, that loyalty had to count for

something.

“The very men I had served with, ate dinners with, bled with, tried to kill me to get through to our Lord Commander.”
 
“That’s terrible.” Horror colored her voice and he almost shuddered to hear it but he was trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering together.
 
“It felt a little undeserved.” He couldn’t help but give a faint smile at her huff of air, not at all amused by his jest, his body once again relaxing with hers still tight against him.
 
“I hope they didn’t get away with it.” She drew the blanket up around her shoulders, the soft smell of her skin and shampoo invading his senses, the prickle of awareness laying over his skin.
 
“They did not.” He tried not to think about it, the hours in court, his medical records being shifted through by strangers. The fates of the those men, the hate and sorrow that kept him in its twisted web.
 
Silence filled the room again, strangely comfortable despite his confessions, her hand turning over so his thumb could continue its mindless sweeping of her palm. It was too familiar, too intimate and he didn’t want to pull away but instead bask in the warmth of it, the feeling foreign and yet welcome, wanted, something he could easily become addicted to.
 
“How long ago did it happen?”
 
“A year ago.” Clearing his throat, he gave a little shake of his head in self deprecation. “If I’m not over that, then I don’t think you need to worry about three nights sleeping in here.”
 
Sharp nails dug into his hand, her fingers closing over his to stop his movement, disapproval coloring her tone.“I don’t think there’s a timeframe on how long it takes us to get over a trauma.”
 
A warmth filled his chest, like sun creeping through rain clouds, a crack of light filling the dark and he craned his neck look down at her, cheek pressed firmly to his arm, letting his heart race in admiration. “You are a wise woman, Dany.”
 
Something flashed through her eyes for a moment before her lashes fluttered, his gut tightening in reaction, that lush mouth curling with the compliment and he found he was unable to look away from her face, a willing prisoner as she shifted slowly, testing his reaction as she moved to her knees.
 
Lust hit him like a jolt of electricity, lungs forgetting to work as her eyebrows raised, a sharp look keeping him pinned to the couch, her body leaning, sleep shirt riding up to expose pale skin on her back, so close and so easily accessible, his mind stalling as she reached across him in slow motion, a hand landing on his thigh to keep herself balanced, the room going dark with the click of the light.
 
He burned as she settled right back where she had been, arm threading back through his, fingers tapping lightly on his wrist until he caught them, trapping them with his own. It was need gathering in his veins, awakening suddenly and with a hard bite as she fussed with the blanket a little more, then settling down with a sigh.
 
“Goodnight Jon.”
 
Closing his eyes, he absorbed the sensations, let himself

feel

them. “‘Night, Dany.”
 
~*~*~
 
He was gone when she jerked awake the next morning, sunlight bleeding around the edges of the blackout shades, chasing away the shadows stalking her into wakefulness. She took a deep breath, waiting for her heart to stop pounding, amazed that she had been able to fall back asleep after the first dream. After his story.
 
After his touch.
 
It had almost been too much to bear— watching him struggle for breath and words, the blank pain in his eyes breaking her already fragile heart. In those moments, she would have given anything to make him feel whole again. She found she couldn’t help herself as she pressed closer and closer to him, the mindless sweeping of his thumb across her skin driving her almost insane with barely controlled want. She wanted to map his scars with her fingers, feel him relax beneath her touch. She wanted to absorb all of his pain— this man who had already given so much of himself so selflessly for others. She had to wonder if he ever extended that level of regard to himself as well. Somehow she doubted it.
 
She didn’t know how long they had rested together, her attraction and limbs tangled up hopelessly in him. She knew sleep still hadn’t come easily to either of them, hours of shared silence before the sound of Jon’s steady heartbeat finally pulled her into a restless slumber, unsure if the feeling of his fingers brushing through her hair was dream or memory or wishful thinking.
 
She also needed to be fucking careful. If there was one thing Jon’s story proved, it was easily the fact that he wouldn’t hesitate to give his own life for another’s. A hero, in every true sense of the word. She really shouldn’t be entertaining any of these feelings at all-- not at a time like this, her life turned inside out in every way possible.
 
A gentle knock on the door had her shooting upright, her fingers combing through her hair, trying to put herself back together as if he hadn’t already seen her at her worst. “Come in,” she called out, standing and shaking out the blanket he must have tucked around her before he stepped out, folding it in quarters and throwing if over the back of the sofa.
 
She turned with a smile as the door opened, only to have it fall as Missandei stepped through. “Oh,” she said.
 
“Good morning to you too,” Missandei’s smirk was pulling at the corners of her mouth as she tucked her ever present phone into the pocket of her blazer. “Did you have a better night?” Her shrewd gaze passed over the study, flitting from the sketch pad tucked under the sofa to the empty water glasses and mugs of half finished tea on the end table along with Jon’s watch. He must have forgotten to put it back on this morning.
 
Dany scrambled to pick up after herself, something like shame spiraling through her for no reason she could identify. Missandei knew her habits better than anyone, but for some reason, the intimacy of sharing her space with anyone other than Jon seemed like an intrusion. Her fingers lingered on the watch as Missandei cleared her throat, and she strapped it around her own wrist, pulling the band to the smallest catch. It was too big for her slim wrist, truly, but she felt better with it on, adjusting the case of it before turning to face her friend.
 
“Not really,” she felt the lie fall from her lips, some part of her hesitant to share the growing bond with anyone, even Missandei. “But, I did manage not to vomit last night, so… Progress?”
 
Missandei’s smile grew wider, seeing straight through to the heart of her, but she said nothing, merely closing her lips over her teeth as she nodded. “Mmmhmmm.”
 
“Stop that,” Dany blushed, moving to her desk to put her sketchbook away, an embarrassing amount of pages now full of

him

, his eyes, his hands, the scar above his heart that he rubbed when he got stressed— etched into her memory along with any number of other tiny, scattered moments.
 
Missandei’s light laugh fell over her as the taller woman helped gather up the dishes. “I didn’t say anything.”
 
“For someone not saying anything, you’re certainly saying it loudly.” Dany stuck her tongue out at her before shoving the desk drawer shut, her secrets safe inside of the desk and locked within her heart.
 
Missandei pursed her lips in response. “All I’m saying is that you both seem to have… gotten closer than any of us would have expected, and in so short a time.”
 
“He saved my life, Dei.”
 
“He kept you from getting more paint on you.” One of her sculpted, perfect eyebrows raised. “We don’t want you losing perspective— I don’t want you to get hurt… not by him.”
 
Dany closed her eyes, knowing that what Missandei was saying had some truth to it, and yet… She couldn’t know what Dany instinctively knew in her heart— that Jon would rather throw himself to the wolves before allowing anyone to hurt her, possibly even including himself. “I’m a big girl,” she said softly. “I can take care of myself.”
 
Missandei simply stared at her, allowing the silence to grow before she nodded. “And yet, here I am— keeping you to your ever changing schedule. A thankless job, by the way.”
 
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been a nightmare lately, but you know as well as I do how Vis can be.”
 
“I wasn’t talking about Vis.” Missandei set the cups in her hands down to fish her phone out of her pocket. “Lord Commander Slynt has returned from his weekend away in Pentos, and Jon cancelled your day at Rhaegar's Harp to accommodate him—”
 
“Wait— he did what?” Dany snapped to attention, her heart suddenly pulsing. “We have those kids on schedules, they need stability, and they’re expecting us to be there.”
 
She was out the door and down the hall before Missandei could protest, her bare feet slapping against the floor as Dei followed behind her. “It’s not that ba—”
 
Dany knocked on Jon’s office door before she could get much further, ignoring the trill that raced through her breast as the door opened almost before she had finished knocking. He had pulled his hair back this morning, those gorgeous curls restrained in a small bun at the back of his head, still wet from the shower, and her mouth went dry.
 
“Saw you comin’,” he nodded his head over his shoulder to the mountain of screens across his desk and credenza, camera angles showing pictures from all over the house and grounds, all major points of entry covered.
 
She cleared her throat, dragging her eyes away from his plump lips, his hair pulled back somehow making them look even more enticing, and

gods

— she was in trouble. “Morning,” she squeaked, Missandei’s low laugh behind her making her turn to shoot her

former

friend a warning glare. “What’s this I hear about you cancelling my day at Rhaegar's Harp tomorrow?”
 
Dei’s laugh got louder. “She didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
 
Those godsdamned lips of his quirked in amusement, warm brown eyes sweeping over the crown of her head to take in Missandei, now completely lost to her amusement.
 
“Explain what?” Dany folded her arms across her chest, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was still in her pajamas, wearing no bra, hair still a snarled mess, and morning breath bad enough to stun a dragon.
 
His low rumble of a laugh settled in her chest, vibrating through her and she arched an eyebrow, waiting for the two of them to be done with their fun at her expense. “I didn’t cancel it,” he shrugged. “I moved it to today. We’re supposed to leave in an hour.”
 
“But, the kids won’t be expecting me today, and I don’t want to throw them off— they need structure, and—” She could have sworn he almost put a finger over her lips, his hand raising gently before he shook it out, dropping it back down to his side.
 
“I know, but your schedule is too predictable. We had to change it up.” Warm brown eyes searched hers, seeking to reassure.  “Besides, kids are resilient. They’ll just be happy to see you.”
 
She blinked as Missandei grasped her arm, slowly pulling her away from the door and him. “I think it’s time we get you into some clothes that are not going to put you on the worst dressed lists, huh?”
 
She let herself be pulled away, Jon’s amused half smile as she went doing strange things to her powers of reason. “I’ll want my watch back, eventually.” His voice followed her down the hall.
 
She felt the smile spread slowly across her features, her hand going to her wrist before shooting him a hungry look over her shoulder, eyebrow arched playfully. “Come and get it. I dare you.”
 
~*~*~
 
The dappled sunlight fell through the trees of the courtyard, a relaxed smile spreading over Dany’s face at the sound of the joyous shrieking of the children around her. She and Missandei had set up a small face painting station, even convincing Irri to tag along in case any of the older girls wanted a more classic makeup lesson, but they needn’t have worried. It seemed as if face paint brought out the inner child in almost everyone, most of the kids’ faces now sporting technicolor butterflies, prancing stallions, and one very impressive fire breathing dragon, if she did say so herself.
 
Now, it was the kids’ turn, Dany laying in the soft grass, not caring one whit if she got grass stains on her designer jeans or red, off the shoulder top. One of the younger girls attempted a design on her face under Missandei’s watchful eye and careful instruction.
 
“Heads up!” The call came along with the stampede of twenty pairs of feet, and Dany squinted against the sunlight trying to spot whatever was sure to be rushing at her face. Sure enough, the red rubber ball Grey and Jorah had found to start a game of kickball was coming straight toward her, if the squeals from Dei and Irri were any indication. She sat up quickly as little Allicia ran for cover, her arms over her head, paint forgotten.
 
She caught the ball neatly, the slap of her palms against the ribbing on the ball echoing throughout the courtyard, the smell of the rubber taking her back to simpler, summer days. All the kids cheered as she stood up, and she offered a small curtsy. “Out!” She called, and a chorus of

ooohs

greeted her as she tossed the ball to the nearest little boy.
 
“DID YOU HEAR THAT, MR. JON? Miss Dany got you

out

!” Another chorus of

ooohs

from the infield as Jon halted his easy jog around second base, sweat pants hanging loose around his narrow hips, the strip of skin visible along his abdomen making her toes curl into the grass. His smile was only broken by an exaggerated kick in the dirt, and the thud that ran through her as it returned and did something dangerous to her insides.
 
“Ah, man! I guess she did,” he said, his hand coming to rest on Dickon’s brown hair, giving it a good ruffle.
 
A laugh fell from her lips before she could help herself. “And don’t you forget it either.” She bent down to gather the scattered paint supplies. “I guess it’s time to concede the field.”
 
“Go on,” Jon nodded to Dickon. “Let me know when we have three outs so I can help Miss Dany clean up.”
 
Dickon squinted up at them both. “My dad used to say that a man only cleans up for a lady if he wants to buy power tools.”
 
Dany bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully to keep her mirth hidden as Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, you know what I think?”
 
“What?”
 
“I think that a man can always show kindness to a lady, no matter why or when, and sometimes helping her clean up can be very kind.” That thudding in her chest was back as Dickon considered Jon’s quiet words.
 
“Maaaaaybe,” he said, thoroughly unconvinced, and this time Dany did laugh, reaching out to give the little boy a quick cuddle, pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheek.
 
“Go on back to the game— we can debate the finer points of non-toxic masculinity another time.” Dickon ran off, holding the ball aloft in victory and Dany turned to Jon, a smile spreading across her face. “That was good!”
 
He blushed, the tips of his ears turning pink under her praise, kneeling to collect the paint supplies scattered across the lawn. “My youngest brother was about his age.”
 
The past tense resounded in her chest, yet another scoop of her heart hollowed out, lost hopelessly to him. Grief seemed as if it would be out of place here, surrounded by sun and shrieks of joy, but the loneliness and intimate familiarity of it all permeated, piercing her soul.
 
“He would have liked it here.” Jon continued on resolutely, avoiding her eyes, and she took her cue from him, focusing instead on making sure she had left nothing behind.
 
He stood, and she scrambled up as well, holding out her hands for him to add what he had gathered. His fingers brushed against hers for just a smidge too long, and she felt her own cheeks heat. “Thanks for today,” she said, her breath catching at the smile of relief that spread across his face, the knowledge that she wasn’t going to press him for that particular story relaxing the tension in his shoulders.
 
“See what a little advanced planning can accomplish?” He spread his arms in the sun, turning to take in the courtyard and the screaming, happy kids surrounding them. “This doesn’t have to be

so

difficult, Dany.”
 
She rolled her eyes at him, charmed in spite of herself, and turned on her heel, feeling his eyes on her back as she walked away toward the bathroom to clean out the brushes. She only stopped to give Dei the paint sets, the tittering of the older girls following her into the bathroom.
 
“Are you going to bring him along every time, Miss Dany?”
 
Dany laughed, throwing the brushes into the sink and turning on the tap, more than a little startled when she looked into the mirror to see that Allicia had only half finished what appeared to be some sort of abstract flower or non-corporeal design across her cheek and forehead. All she knew was that it was very, very blue.
 
“We’ll see,” she said, throwing the girls a wink as she rinsed out the brushes, pulling paper towels out to blot them dry.
 
The rest of the day ran by in a blur, with music classes taking up the majority of the afternoon, and Varys stopping by for a quick visit to express his commiseration for what had happened at Oberyn’s show before disappearing into his office to get a jump on the rest of the summer’s activity planning. “Field trips for all,” the only detail he would give.
 
Finally, the parents started to arrive to pick up those that were not permanently housed with them, the chorus of sweet goodbyes and hugs abounding through the brightly colored corridors. Missandei found her at the craft’s table at one point to ask if she’d seen Jaslynne, as her mother was here to pick her up, and the last anyone had seen, she’d been playing with Jon in the sandbox.
 
Dany ran the past few hours through her mind, realizing she’d only seen Jon fleetingly since the kickball game, his confidence in the security of their facility enough to let her roam as she pleased with only Jorah or Grey nearby. “I’ll find them,” she assured Missandei, “just give me a few minutes.”
 
She made her way to the nursery, some instinct pulling her there, sure that if Jaslynne had gotten cranky in the late afternoon as she usually did, Jon would have tried to find someplace a bit quieter to let her rest. What she didn’t expect to find was Jon sound asleep in a rocking chair, Jaslynne sprawled out across him, her little puffs of breath lifting her blonde curls with every exhale.

Well, this is unfair.

It was like an emotional punch to the gut, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she watched them together, curled around each other, the picture of absolute trust and relaxation. She hated to wake either of them, especially knowing how little sleep Jon got, but needs must. She approached quietly, trying to figure out the best way to wake him without also doing the same to the sleeping toddler when his eyes cracked open.
 
“Thank the gods,” he whispered. “I think I’m stuck.”
 
She couldn’t help the peal of laughter that escaped her, startling him and jostling Jaslynne awake, her piercing cry making her displeasure known. “Awww, it’s ok, baby,” she crooned, scooping her her out of Jon’s arms and into her own, cuddling Jaslynne’s soft curls against her neck, bouncing and whispering nonsense to get her to settle once more.
 
He chuckled as he got to his feet, shaking out his legs. “I was sure everyone had already left, and it’d be just me and her ‘til morning.”
 
“No,” she shook her head gently, cupping her hand against the baby’s head, resisting the urge to bury her nose in her curls, breathe in that unique scent. “You’ve earned your keep today. You get to come home with the rest of us. But first, we have to turn missy here over to her mama.”
 
Jon smoothed his hand over the back Jaslynne’s head in goodbye, his fingers briefly tangling with her own before he dropped his hand away. “Deal.”
 
~*~*~
 
Her fingers tapped nervously against her thigh in the stuffy waiting room. A harried secretary had waved them to a seat and then promptly forgotten about them as they waited for the Lord Commander. Only Jon seemed aware of her discomfort, watching her fidget with some amusement. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the secretary popped up from behind a leaning stack of manuals. “You can go on in now.”
 
Dany stood, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her pressed slacks, looking to Jon who nodded and motioned for her to go ahead, taking a moment to speak lowly to Jorah and Grey. She took one more deep breath, and made her way to the door.
 
“Lord Commander Slynt,” she swept into the man’s small office, the smell of mold and mildew from the hundreds of stacks of parchment covering every available surface nearly causing her to cough, the inch thick dust tickling her nose.
 
“Miss Targaryen, thank you for coming.” The balding man took her outstretched hand, bending over it like some sort of lord instead of shaking it like a normal human. His other hand grasped her wrist a moment too long, the bristles of his white beard scraping against her skin until he let go, and gestured for her to take a seat.
 
“Mr. Snow, Stark Security—“ she motioned over her shoulder to Jon. “I’m sure you won’t mind if he sits in?” They shook hands formally, and she nodded for Jon to take the chair to her right, no need for him to stand at the back of the confined space like a household guard, both Jorah and Grey just on the other side of the door. His eyes were narrowed in dislike at the Lord Commander, but when she caught his gaze his lips turned up in the barest hint of encouragement and she tried not to let herself be distracted as she sat. “I’m glad we could finally make this happen.”
 
“Ah, yeah—“ Slynt shuffled through more papers and parchments on his desk as he sat, no doubt looking for her paperwork before tapping the intercom. “Where’s the Targaryen file?”
 
A shrill feedback loop was all that answered him, and he swore under his breath before he punched the button and it mercifully cut off. He opened one of his drawers and pawed through it before a sound of triumph escaped his wet lips. “Here we are!” He crowed in victory. “Now, let’s just get some of the preliminary nonsense out of the way.”
 
Dany nodded, straightening her jacket as he continued. “Name?”
 
“Daenerys Targaryen.”
 
“Occupation?”
 
“Spokesmodel, House Targaryen.”
 
“Marital Status?”
 
Dany blinked, hesitating a moment before answering. “Unmarried.”
 
Slynt narrowed his eyes at her. “That sounded a bit evasive, Daenerys.”
 
She sighed. This was going to be a long interview. “I’m not quite sure how my marital status factors into this situation?”
 
“Motive. Could be a raging ex-husband bent on reclaiming what’s rightfully his, could be a current husband bitter about divorce proceedings—“
 
“Single,” she snapped, her temper already flashing. “Not divorced, and certainly no one’s property, rightful or otherwise.”
 
The tense silence was only broken by the scratching of his pen as he made a note.
 
“Family?”
 
“One brother, Viserys.”
 
“And your deceased family?”
 
“Certainly you don’t think that one of my deceased family members has returned from beyond the grave to conspire to murder me.”
 
He shrugged. “I’ve seen some shit that would haunt your dreams, Daenerys.”

Too fucking late for that.

“Miss Targaryen,” she bit out. “If you please, Lord Commander?”
 
He didn’t like that, a sneer curling his top lip. “Of course. Dae—

Miss Targaryen

… Deceased family?”
 
“One brother, Rhaegar Targaryen— deceased five years; my father, Aerys Targaryen— deceased eleven years; my mother, Rhaella Targaryen— deceased twenty-five years.”
 
“Any legal disputes with their last will and testaments?”
 
“Not to my knowledge, but you’d have to ask my brother.”
 
“And finally, you wish to waive your right to counsel for this meeting?”
 
She glanced at Jon, perplexed; confusion and anger simmering across his features as well. “What?”
 
“You wish to waive your right to counsel?” He repeated, as if speaking to a toddler.
 
“I most certainly do not.”
 
His beady little eyes narrowed further, if possible. “Something to hide, Miss Targaryen?”
 
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “However, you seem to be functioning under the predilection that I am either stupid, or insane, and I can assure you— I am neither.”
 
“So, you do not wish to waive your right to counsel.”
 
She spoke slowly, enunciating clearly. “I do not. I will answer what questions you have today to the best of my ability, but I do not, and will not waive my right for legal representation under any circumstances. Is that clear?”
 
“Crystal.”
 
“Good.” She slumped back into her chair, a huff of breath escaping her, the tension rolling off of her only reverberating as it clashed and combined with the dark energy Jon was exuding in waves. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that I was here to give a statement regarding the letter found in my home. Am I under investigation?”
 
“

Leave no stone unturned

is what I always say.”
 
There was another moment of silence as he made his notes before flipping through the file, and pulling out a parchment and inspecting it closely. “All right, so the findings from the lab indicate that the poison found in the wine was ‘Tears of Lys’. It’s not the most common poison in the world, but it’s also no ‘the Strangler’ if you know what I mean.”
 
“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in... poisons.” She stumbled over the last word, steeling her spine against the tendril of fear doing it’s damndest to wrap around the base of it.
 
“Made by alchemists in Lys, very expensive. Odorless, tasteless, dead in a few days, looks like natural causes.”
 
She nodded. “So someone would need to have a significant amount of expendable income to purchase it?”
 
“Or be an accomplished thief.” Slynt shrugged as he continued, “The card was embossed with Meereenese ink, available at any stationary shop nowadays. The picture was one of your photo shoots in Essos, correct?”
 
She nodded. “We shot a House Targaryen spread in the Red Waste a few years ago.”
 
“And did you recognize either the handwriting, or any of the content of the note? Especially as it would relate to that region?”
 
Relate to that region? What on earth was he talking about? “No.”
 
He made a note. “All right, so basically, this is a dead end. We have no way to trace where any of it came from— video footage from your manse has proved inconclusive, and the bottle found in your bedroom only had fingerprints from your staff, and one Tyrion Lannister.”
 
“Yes, I was told that one of the maids found the items in my room and brought it straight to Tyrion.”
 
“Do you have any reason to suspect that Tyrion or anyone on your household staff might wish you harm?”
 
She thought for a moment. “Not that I can think of. Not me anyway.”

However, if Viserys was the target…

Then they might have a different situation on their hands. A snort from Jon’s direction caused her mouth to quirk, his thoughts obviously aligning with her own, his low opinion of her brother clear.
 
“Can you think of anyone who would like to cause you harm?”
 
She cleared her throat, reaching into her purse for the bottle of water Missandei had thoughtfully tucked inside before they left. She took a sip, actively avoiding Jon’s watchful gaze. “Um, possibly. You likely already have a file on Drogo Asar. He stalked me when I was in Essos... seven or so years ago? He was caught, and determined to be a threat to others and himself. I believe he is still in a rehabilitation facility in the Dothraki Sea, but I have had no contact with him since his arrest.”
 
“What was the nature of stalking, his

MO

?”
 
Her fingers clenched tightly around the bottle of water, the plastic squeaking in her grip. “He would find out where I was using social media, and would show up at my shoots inevitably with some small ‘gift’— once it was a raw horse heart— asking for a few moments of my time. He would get… violent when he was turned away.” Her stomach turned over at the thought. “He was ill— thought he was a

Khal

of old, and wished to make me his

Khaleesi.

My security advisor at the time, Jorah Mormont, identified him as a threat, and when his pattern emerged, called the authorities.”
 
“I know Mormont, he’s a good man.” Slynt nodded. “You seem well rehearsed, Miss Targaryen.”
 
Her temper flared again, and she desperately tried to tamp it down. “I’ve had quite a bit of time to give this some thought,” she said pointedly. “I’ve not gone on any vacations in recent memory, and since the initial discovery of the poison have been made a target multiple times.”
 
“Yeah, that paintball nonsense was horse shit. Our boys caught that anarchist twink before he got a block away. Someone was supposed to call you about that.” Dany felt her jaw drop before she could compose herself, staring open-mouthed at his obnoxious bald head as the annoying scratching sound of his pen scraped against her nerves again. She shot a quick look at Jon as she fought the urge to rub at her suddenly pulsing bruises, his thunderstruck look of rage confirming that no one had called.
 
“Anyone else?”
 
She shook her head, trying to claw her way back to the relevant line of questioning, her stomach churning with her own simmering anger. “I do have one ex that might be cause for concern— Daario Naharis. He’s a Lieutenant in the Second Sons. We broke up five years ago, and he did not take it well.”
 
“And why did you break up?”
 
She rolled her head to try to relieve some of the tension building in her neck, her cheeks flushed as she felt Jon’s gaze on her. “My brother had just died, and it threw my life into quite a sharp relief. I realized that Daario and I were not right for each other. I had… outgrown him. He disagreed.”
 
“Sounds to me like you just tossed him aside the second you could gain some power in the family business.”
 
“You would be incorrect in that assumption, ser, as my position within House Targaryen did not change. Viserys took over as CEO, not I.” She swallowed down the rest of her ire, knowing that the second she showed any emotion whatsoever, Janos

fucking

Slynt would write her off as feminine and weak— possibly deserving of the cards that were being dealt to her.
 
“Do you know where he is currently?”
 
“My guess would be Meereen, but no. I do not. I have not had any contact with him in at least a year.”
 
“And the last time you spoke?”

Ashes in her wake…

“Harsh words, accusations. He wanted ‘closure’ after all these years. I attempted to give it to him. It did not go well.”
 
“Mmmhmmm. Anyone else?”
 
“Any number of other jealous models that are too many to name, however no one that I can identify specifically. No arch-rivals, or competitors pitted against each other in this situation.”

That

got his fucking attention, Slynt looking up in disappointment at that answer, no doubt hoping to call in another young beauty so that he could spread his toxicity over her as well.
 
“Do you have any idea why either of these young men would want to harm you?”
 
“Revenge? Restitution? Unrequited love can make for a powerful motive.”
 
“So does money.” Slynt’s eyes narrowed at her.
 
“Your point, ser?”
 
“Are you aware that your brother recently took out a 10 billion dragon life insurance policy on you?”
 
“If by recently, you mean five years ago after we discovered that Rhaegar had died with no such policy in place, then yes, I am aware.” Slynt looked even more disappointed at that, consulting his notes once more. “You’ll also note that Viserys has an identical policy. Our worth tripled after Rhaegar’s passing. Tyrion has all the proper paperwork.”
 
“Are you aware of House Targaryen’s current net worth?”
 
“I am not. My brother handles the business side with Petyr Baelish, our CFO. I contribute to the creative side with Viserys’ input.”
 
“Seems like you might want to check in with your brother there, Miss Targaryen.”
 
A cold shiver went through her at the warning as Slynt tossed something across the desk at her, her fingers scrabbling to catch it before it fell off. It was a series aerial photos— large, grey buildings with smokestacks, lines of children marching in and out of the factories, desolate landscape stretching in all directions. Her stomach turned at the sight of it. “What is this?”
 
“You tell me.”
 
“I have never seen these photos before, nor do I recognize them.” She handed the photos to Jon, his dark eyes scanning them quickly before handing them back over to Slynt.
 
“Those are two of the newest House Targaryen ‘acquisitions’, two new factories purchased within the past year,” Slynt purred, flinty eyes watching her closely.
 
“You are mistaken, ser. We have one manufacturing plant in Pentos, that is all.”
 
“What do you know about child labor laws in Ghiscar?” Her head was starting to hurt, a pounding in her temples driving her to distraction, confusion making itself plain across her features. “Wouldn't it be ironic to find that the woman who claims to care for the welfare of all, children especially, was responsible for destroying the lives of children and families all throughout the outskirts of Astapor?”
 
A clutch of dread wound its way around her heart. “House Targaryen has worked for years to expand their fair trade, sustainable fashion lines. My brother, Rhaegar started that revolution ten years ago, after my father died. Viserys and I have done all that we can to uphold and continue that vision.”
 
“But you are aware, that such nastiness does exist in the world of fashion, and that the irony of House Targaryen being involved in such might cause some of those chickens to come home to roost?”
 
Her heart was racing, the thought of those children— any children— being forced into unwilling labor turning her stomach no matter who was responsible. “What are you asking me?”
 
“That’s a nice scratch on your neck there.” Her head spun at the change of tack, completely off balance as her hand went to the red mark on her neck, healing nicely, but not completely gone yet. “Where’d you get that?”
 
She honestly didn’t remember how it got there, so much of the night of Oberyn’s show a blur in her mind. “I assume it happened in the scramble during the paintball... incident.” Yet another thing to ask Jon to fill in for her later.
 
“You sure? Or does your boyfriend beat you?” His eyes shifted pointedly to Jon and back to her.
 
His unspeakable gaffe had her head spinning— how could he— was he fucking

stupid

? “As if I could admit to that with him sitting

in this very room

.”
 
Even if he truly thought that Jon or anyone else was abusing her, which she very much doubted— an evil glint appearing in his beady little eyes— procedure dictated asking the survivor of such abuse about it

privately

, away from the watchful eye of the abuser. She knew that the City Watch was a joke, but this was a bridge too far. Her rage was boiling now, her hands shaking as she stashed the forgotten water bottle into her bag.
 
How many battered women, and possibly men, had come to this sham of an organization for help, only to be stymied by the likes of this imbecile. Her mind was already turning, new propositions to bring to the Board to expand their outreach program, establish liaisons to help any abuse survivor that wanted to press charges, or needed to interact with the City Watch at any point.
 
She shot to her feet, 1000% done with this interview, a million other questions burning in her mind— Slynt’s strange line of query unearthing nothing but confusion. Only Viserys could possibly answer them.
 
“We’re done here. Any other questions you have for me can be directed through my counsel, Tyrion Lannister.” She snapped her gaze to Jon, his silence taking on a dangerous edge the further they tread into that minefield of a conversation. “We’re leaving.”
 
~*~*~
 
“You were quiet in there.”
 
Jon turned his head to look at Daenerys, from where he had been silently seething while staring out the car window, finding he had to unclench his jaw before he could speak. “I didn’t need to say anythin.’” There was a small flare to her nostrils and he realized with a sudden start she may be misunderstanding his silence. “The second I opened my mouth in there was the moment he ignored you completely. You know that.” He took her huff as agreement, confused and conflicted as to why she was bringing it up. Unless she needed an outlet for her own frustration and an eager part of him was willing to let her use him as she see fit.
 
“I know. Gods, he made me so

angry!

” Hands reached up to thread into her hair, Jon remembering vividly how soft it was between his fingers, his eyes flickering to the front seat to see where Jorah and Grey’s attention was at.
 
“He’s a fuckin’ idiot.” A small smile played at the corner of her lips, the first one he’d seen in hours and it settled somewhere behind his ribcage, to be saved for examination at another time. Right now he was still too furious over Janos Slynt to worry over why he wanted to see those shadows leave her face.
 
“I won’t argue with that.” Her voice held disdain, rightfully so after that fiasco.
 
He had been on the edge of standing up and dragging that useless man over his desk when she has put an end to the questions, the

interrogation

as if she were the criminal. Sending Grey out to get the car, he had tucked her under his arm and sandwiched her between him and Jorah, the other man glancing worriedly at Jon after catching the fury in Daenerys’ eyes.
 
Blowing out a breath, he ran his hand over his face trying to separate his anger from his thoughts, pulling the threads that might be important, not letting himself linger on her,

with him sitting in this very room

and its implications, even if there was an easy explanation of why she had said it.
 
“Are you seriously worried about either that Drogo or Daario?” He had been lax, he realized, just focusing on security when he was fully capable of doing more, his background leaving him well enough trained and with enough resources to do a little

more.

“Not really.” She said it with a pause, carefully considering her words and Jon believed that it was something that she hadn’t previously thought twice about. “But nothing else makes sense.”
 
A niggling thought was in his head, his fingers tapping on the car window as he tried sorting it out, wanting to make sure the reasoning was solid and not because he didn’t like the man. Looking again at Jorah and Grey, he pushed the button to roll up the divider, watching her eyes go wide with surprise. Ignoring the heat in his veins, he kept his voice low. “How would Viserys benefit if anything was to happen to you?”
 
“That is a terrible question to ask me, Jon.” Her face twisted up and she flinched, a visible shudder running through her.
 
“I know it is. I’m sorry, but I’m asking it anyway.” He hated pushing on it, knowing Viserys was her only family left in the world, that the mere thought that he might be behind wanting to hurt her, must shred her insides.
 
“Money is money, I suppose.” Hands fluttered in the air for a moment, faltering before she gathered her strength. “In the long run, it’s more profitable to keep me alive.” Her voice caught in that word. “I’m the creative side, my designs are what keep our business afloat.” Clearing her throat, she shook her head, corrected herself. “My modeling keeps us going, my designs are building upon the foundation Rhaegar left us. Vis can’t do this without me.”
 
Jon thought Viserys probably would try or at least didn’t think that far ahead, depending on what their current financial situation was and made a mental note to ask Tyrion to look into those factories. She might believe her brother, but Jon had the benefit of looking at it from the outside, didn’t wear the sibling blinders she had forced herself into. He would pass on the information and concentrate on keeping her alive, even if the job would be easier if he could see the direction it was coming from, the need for her to be safe feeding through his muscles at all times.
 
“I didn’t ask that to upset you and I know you told Slynt that, I just wanted to see if you had any doubt.” The urge to take her hand had him making a fist, professionalism seeming to be slowly evaporating with each passing day and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cling to it or shove it away completely, the tug or war within him making him jittery and confused.
 
“I know.”
Her voice was weary, a reflection of the chaos in her life and he wanted to distract and soothe, knowing neither option was a possibility. “So what happens now? They have no leads.”
 
Wincing with the knowledge of the next step, he turned himself toward her, ignoring the seat belt tightening down on him as she angled herself in his direction, blue eyes focusing on him. “They are at a dead end until something else happens.”
 
“Until something else happens?” She said each word slowly, carefully weighing their meaning, her shrewd mind picking up on the implication. “What if the person succeeds the next time?”
 
White hot rage filled his chest as she poked at the bruises on her own, a grim reminder at how differently it could have been, how he needed to be better prepared, those purple marks taunting him with how he failed. “I won’t let it happen.”
 
It sounded more vicious than he meant, something crossing her face before she started to reach out, then stopped herself. “It wouldn’t be your fault, if it were.” The matter of fact way she said it made goosebumps break out on his skin. “You can only do so much, Jon. Remember that.”
 
It grabbed him by the throat, her seeming acceptance that he might not be enough and he didn’t even think this time, a hand over her shoulder, the feel of her collarbone under his thumb making him want to trace it, the heat of her skin seeping into the rough of his palm. “Don’t think like that. I’m here to stop anything. I’m sorry about what happened the other night, I should have-“
 
“You couldn’t have done anything short of locking me in the manse.” Slender fingers hooked over his forearm and for a moment her head tipped, chin brushing across his knuckles. “I didn’t listen to you and look at what happened.” His fingers tightened involuntary, a slight squeeze. “I trust your instincts and expertise now.”
 
Realizing he was lingering too much on the feel of her under his touch, he slowly pulled his hand back, fingers tangling slightly in her hair, brushing across the angry mark over her neck. Suddenly he could remember the panic of that night, but another memory was coming with it, making the heat flow through him, her dainty form under him, hands holding warm round flesh.
 
Blowing out a breath, he pulled quickly back the rest of the way, hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt, her bright gaze fixed on him and making his skin itch, his shirt suddenly feeling too tight and he glanced away long enough to crack the window, let air swirl around him.
 
“I hope that means we won’t be having anymore arguments.” He made himself say something, needing to diffuse the tension rolling around them, suddenly thick as syrup, her own hand coming up to cover the spot that his had just occupied.
 
Her smile was as bright as the sun, addicting in its warmth. “I wouldn’t go that far.
 
~*~*~
 
She felt like she was burning up from the inside out. The combination of his heated touch, the way his eyes lingered on the scratch on her neck, the feel of his fingers brushing through her hair combining with the rage still boiling inside of her creating a heady cocktail.
 
Confusion simmered there too, unable to overlook Jon’s practical questions about Viserys. They had never been especially close, even as children— her father spending the most time with his youngest son, leaving Rhaegar and her to navigate through their lonely world with only each other. She hated to say it, but it had been a relief for her when Aerys died and Rhaegar took over the business.
 
Viserys saw it differently.
 
But, she also knew that recovery took time. Viserys had clawed his way back to sobriety, and while his track record had never been perfect, he did keep at least

attempting

to try. Even Rhaegar's death had given him a renewed sense of purpose, something he had been lacking in the years since Aerys passed, a light in an otherwise bleak period of her life— losing one brother to regain another.
 
Perhaps she had been hiding in her sketches long enough. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t giving her very life blood to the company, but she could still do

more

— she was Designer in everything but name, after all. And, while her designs might not bear her individual name, she could still do more than design on whatever budget Vis gave her at the beginning of each quarter, contribute more than just her face and body. Perhaps it was time to offer more, to help her brother shoulder the load he had taken onto himself.
 
And if he was behind all this heinousness? Maybe proving her worth would endear her to him… for once.
 
They were quiet for the rest of the ride, each lost to their private thoughts, the fresh air circulating through the open window ruffling her hair in the breeze. A knock on the divider jostled her out of her reverie, realizing they had never put it back down. She reached for the button and the divider lowered, Jorah’s flashing blue eyes immediately finding hers before turning in the rearview to fix a less than pleased look on Jon.
 
“Everything all right?” His gruff voice had her almost rolling her eyes, her Old Bear flexing and making his presence known.
 
“Yes,” she said, flicking him with a warning glare of her own. “Grey, can you can drop us off out front please, I need to find Vis.”
 
Jon tensed beside her, his fist doing that clenching, unclenching thing. She wondered if he even realized he did it. He didn’t protest, yet, but she could feel the waves of disapproval coming off of him.
 
Grey pulled the car up the circular drive, and Dany stepped out of the car easily, Jon rounding the other side to catch her elbow and hurry her to the front door, ever vigilant. Even with all the changes and additional security measures he had already put into place, the manse a fortress now in almost every sense of the word, he still worried. She let them in, handing off her purse and jacket to the maid who greeted them.
 
Jon shoved his hands deep into his pockets, turning to face her. “Are you sure you should talk to him now?”
 
She nodded. “Some of the things Slynt said don’t add up. I need to ask Vis a few questions, get some clarity.”
 
“I’m coming with you then.”
 
“You’re not.” She smiled gently at him. “I don’t even know if you’ve signed an NDA, and you already got more of an earful than I was anticipating at the Watch this morning.”
 
“Dany—” his brow furrowed, and the urge to reach out and thumb away the tension between his eyebrows was strong.
 
“He won’t answer me truthfully with you in the room, Jon. I know my brother. He may not even answer me without you there, but… I have to try. Besides, I plan on keeping it strictly business.” She fought off the shudder that tried to run through her, her breath locking in her throat at the mere thought of Vis causing her any real harm. She stubbornly put that thought behind her. “You should really go see Tyrion about that NDA. You’ve seen a lot of things in the past few weeks. I don’t need the tabloids getting ahold of a story like ‘Dragon Queen sleeps with nightlight’ or any other lies you may want to spread one day.”
 
She softened her words with the barest wink, Jon’s hackles stalled before they had a chance to rise too far. “Do you really think I’d—“
 
“No, it’s just a precaution. Who knows, maybe you already signed it and now you’re stuck with all my secrets burning a hole through your heart.” She turned away before he could protest further.
 
He caught her with a gentle hand on her wrist. “Do me a favor?”
 
She turned back to him, breath catching in her chest at the fire in his eyes. “Door stays open when you find him. Deal?” Another shiver of dread tried to work its way through her, but she refused to give that fear any more ground. “I mean it, Dany. Please.”
 
She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Deal,” she heard herself saying, his small smile of relief settling in her bones. He let her go, and she lifted her chin as she turned,
Jon following behind until he met Missandei in the hall as she headed toward her study, figuring she might as well grab her sketchbook to go over her thoughts for the new
Fall line while she was at it.
 
The lights were off as she pushed the door open, taking a moment to slip out of her blazer, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the tension. It was almost time to put more of Jon’s salve on the bruises, the mottled purple color beneath her chemise spreading, looking much worse before it would look better. Thankfully, she had a week or so before her next shoot, so hopefully everything would heal in time. If not, there was always Irri’s magic.
 
“It’s about time you got back.” She jumped, spinning around to face just the man she was looking for, her hand going over her heart as she slapped at the light switch.
 
“Gods, Viserys!” He was seated in her chair behind her desk, her sketch pad open on the desk, a tumbler of brown liquid curled in his hand. Her heart sank at the sight. That was never a good sign. Her pulse was still pounding, her mind turning, trying to ascertain which sketchbook he had found, praying it was the one full of her ideas and designs for the upcoming season, and not the one full of Jon.
 
He put the tumbler to his lips, knocking the drink back in one swallow before he stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on her desk for support. “Where were you?” He asked, reaching for the nearly empty bottle also sitting on her desk, pouring himself another glass.
 
“My City Watch interview was today,” her voice sounded small, and she cleared her throat. “We should talk abou—“
 
“And when were you going to tell me about this?” The crumpled up piece of paper hit her between the eyes, his aim astonishing given his current state.
 
“Vis, why don’t you sit dow—“
 
“Trying to fix Oberyn’s PR problems, are you?” Another sip, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
 
Dany shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 
“Read it,” his voice was perfectly calm, although cold. He nodded to the paper at her feet. “I’ll wait.”
 
She kept her eyes on him, knowing how fast he could move under the usual circumstances, and knelt to pick up the crumpled piece of paper, the sigil of House Martell emblazoned across the letterhead. She smoothed the paper out as flat as she could, her eyes flying across the scrawl. Oberyn thanked her for waiving her fee in light of the ‘unfortunate incident’, and would instead be donating her salary to No-Kill shelters in the area— receipts to follow. A peace offering to both House Targaryen, and animal rights activists across Westeros.
 
“Just suck his dick like the good little whore that you are, next time. Then we can at least keep the gods-forsaken money.”
 
“Vis, his show was ruined. Possibly because I took the job. He could have sued us, what was I supposed to—“
 
He was across the room before she could finish her protest, his bony thumb digging into her bruises as he gripped her shoulder. She bit her lip, stifling the cry of pain as her entire arm and shoulder lit up in agony. “You really are a stupid bitch, aren’t you...” His breath stank of the dark
rum
as he leaned into her, his weight almost too much for her to bear. “Why do you think I pushed you to take the fucking job, Daenerys?”
 
“I don’t know. You never tell me why.” She fought to keep her voice calm, knowing she could talk him down, just needing him to fight through the alcohol and

listen

.
 
He snarled. “Father was right about you… Little whore with no mind for numbers, just good tits and ass.”
 
She reared back as far as she could, his words as good as any slap, her fingers scrabbling on his wrist, trying to get him to release her. “Are you using again?”
 
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Blame all your little shit on the fact that I had a drink, or snorted a line? Well, let me tell you a thing or two,

sweet sister…

You wouldn’t be here right now if not for me. I saved this company when you and Rhaegar were determined to run it into the ground, and I’ll still be here even after you’re gone.” His voice rose in hysteria, and she ducked as he hurled the glass across the room, the tinkling as the glass shattered ringing in her ears.
 
She finally pried his fingers off her shoulder, sparks of pain shooting down her arm, the tingling in her fingertips not distracting her from what she needed to know. “What are those factories, Vis? The ones outside of Astapor-- why does the Watch have pictures of

children

?”
 
His face went a pasty white, blown pupils sluggishly searching for her face. Her heart dropped at his response, desperately wishing that he would deny it, tell her she was crazy. She grasped his hand as his balance wavered, trying to lead him to the sofa. “The Watch knows about whatever that is. They’re going to want to talk to you next, I assume, so whatever it is, whatever you’re doing— Vis, it needs to

stop.

”
 
“Fuck you.”
 
It all happened so quickly, one moment on her feet, the next moment stars in her vision as she reeled back, falling against the bookcase. The left side of her face was numb, the only sensation a deep flare of pain and wetness as her hand pulled away from her mouth, the red of the blood on it deep, dark, more vibrant than the paint had ever been.
 
He’d hit her.
 
He hadn’t actually hit her in years. Not since Rhaegar’s funeral. Not since—
 
A shadow fell over her, an unearthly snarl filling her ears, and she flinched away, certain that Vis was back, some other punishment to be doled out upon her, only for once, it wasn’t her crying out.
 
~*~*~
 
It was a struggle to not keep following Daenerys down the hall, unease making every step heavy, the weariness in her blue eyes making him wish he could solve all her problems, see her brightness without the shadow hanging over her.
 
But, he couldn’t do that for her, all he could do was his job. “You’ve got the upcoming schedule?” He tapped Missandei on the elbow, directing her towards his office.
 
“Tell me how much of a pain in the arse our schedule is going to be for the next two weeks.” He settled into his chair, pen at ready, doing his best to act like he wasn’t straining to hear down the hall or had his eyes glued to the monitors, Daenerys not having appeared from her study.
 
Fuck, he hated that she was going to talk to Viserys without him there. Her brother was a proven bully, volatile and while he wasn’t worried for his own safety, no matter how tough Daenerys was, she was still outmatched in strength and pure meanness.
 
“That depends on what you think the past few weeks have been.” Missandei’s smile met the corner of her eyes and he was thankful she was pretending that he was paying attention.
 
Letting out a grunt of an answer, leg jumping with energy, he took another look into the cameras, confirming no Dany or Viserys still. “Interesting, I call it interesting.” He offered a half smile of apology, flipped open his notebook. Life was much easier for him if he got along with the person keeping Dany’s every move mapped out.
 
“It’s going to stay interesting.” She hesitated, voice dropping as if it were a conspiracy. “How did it go with City Watch? Are they close?”
 
With a shake of his head the frustration rolled back through him. Gods… Slynt was in charge of that madhouse? “Not close enough. You’re going to be stuck with me for a while.”
 
She snorted and batted her eyes at him in jest. “I’m sure Daenerys will hate that.”
 
Ignoring the heat crawling up his neck, feeling like he was stuck in a swamp and bogged down, mind filling with deciphering what

that

meant, he tapped his paper. “What do we have, Dei?”
 
“She has a studio interview with

Late Night

host, Renly Baratheon, in two days, and the end of next week,” brown eyes scanned her phone, a smile as her gaze flickered back up to him. “A photo shoot.”
 
Somehow the look on her face wanted to make him shift in his seat, as if she knew a secret he wasn’t in on. “Thursday, interview,
the following Friday is the shoot?” He noted it down. “Locations please.”
 
She paused, scrolled. “

Late Night with Renly B

will be done at the WBC building in Cobbler Square.”
 
It would take him no time at all to find out who was security for the building, see what needed to be done to boost it, maybe even give Grey a bit more responsibility and let him make the initial plan. “The photo shoot?”
 
“Here.”
 
That made his life easier. “I’ll need a list of names of everyone involved that will be here.” He tapped his pen impatiently, looked down at his notes. “And there is probably another plan for being at Rhaegar’s Harp on Tuesday?”
 
“Yes.”
 
He glanced again at the monitors, the uneasy feeling getting worse, the urge to head down the hall making him jittery.

She needed some space,

he reminded himself, the day long, that time with Slynt upsetting and unnerving, and she’d made it clear that she wanted the talk with Viserys to be private. He checked his bare wrist from habit, his watch still in Dany’s possession. “Monday.”
 
“What?” Missandei’s head popped up.
 
“Move it to Monday and keep her schedule clear for the rest of the day.” There was a lightness in his chest remembering her face covered in blue paint, children all around her. She had been all smiles and laughs, sunshine and moonglow and he wanted to give her the opportunity to be carefree again, even for just a short amount of time. “And don’t tell anyone we are moving it.”
 
The sound of breaking glass has his head snapping to attention, hackles rising with the loud voices coming down the hall. Muscles tensing he shoved back from his chair, a violent push that sent it into the table behind him, monitors rattling and swaying precariously. But none of that mattered as he hit the hallway, because he hadn’t heard voices, just

one

voice, the need to be between her and those vicious words fueling him on.
 
“Fuck you.”
 
If the door had been closed he would have torn off its hinges, his boots stomping prints into the floor, rage bubbling up and spewing over as he watched Viserys lift his hand, Jon’s steps not long enough, everything seemingly stuck in slow motion and he was going to fail

again.

The backhand knocked her off her feet, sending her into the bookshelf and his vision darkened, narrowed, his chest making an inhuman sound. Wanting to rip and break, he grabbed Viserys by his arm, yanking backwards. The lighter man lost his balance, surprise and the defiance in his glassy eyes as Jon let go of him, desperation grabbing tightly, needing to make it to her side as she pulled her hand away from her face in muted horror.
 
The sound he made gave Viserys away and Jon straightened, up on the balls of his feet, his anger coating his tongue, lining his chest as he jerked his head out of the way, the fist moving too slow. His did not, the satisfaction of cartilage crunching under his knuckles feeding the wolf inside, the urge to press toward Viserys, to pummel and destroy making him take a step forward.
 
But Jorah was there, a hand on his chest to stop his forward march, Viserys not at all stoic holding a bloody nose, his screeching nasal. “What did you do? Who do you think you are?”
 
Bared teeth came naturally in response to the yelling. Viserys leaned against Daenerys’ desk and he almost shoved past Jorah, to show Viserys

just who he really was

, when a quiet,

Jon

came from behind him.
 He shoved the beast back in its cage where it snapped and snarled, turning to Daenerys, her cheek red, the swelling becoming evident and he felt as if he’d been hit himself, the air knocked out of his lungs, seeing her sitting there dazed and small. 
“Dany.” It was softer than he thought himself capable, especially with all the darkness drowning him and he dropped down gather her up, lift her to her feet where she swayed once, wet eyes turning to fire as they fixed on her brother.
 
“Get him out of here!” Viserys’ voice had taken a shrill tone, Grey rushing in at the noise. Jon kept a hand under Dany’s elbow, leaving her the choice of staying at his side or leaving it.
 
“No.” Her voice was flat and firm, a hand held gingerly to her cheekbone. Jon bristled beside her, ready to protect at the slightest provocation.
 
“You’re fired!” A finger pointed bravely from over Jorah’s shoulder. “He’s fired, Daenerys! Grey, call the City Watch. I’m going to file assault-“
 
“You will not!” She was moving now, both hands balled at her side, spine stiffened and Jon felt his heart give a wild thump. Here was the fire, hot and burning. “He stays.” A sneer crossed her lips. “And you will not touch me again,

brother

, or it will be the last thing you ever do. Jorah, please remove him from my study and this wing. He has no business being here.”
 
Viserys' face had gone through a couple of shades of red, blood dripping wet and dark through his fingers as Jorah hooked an arm around him, hauling him bodily from her room.
 
Her ragged breathing filled the empty space, his own lungs stalling until her hand landed on his arm, pulling him out of his trance, “Dany.” He exhaled her name, seeing the welling tears and caught her by the waist to lift her slight form and deposit her easily on her desk.
 
“What are you doing?” Her voice was soft as he crowded in close, wincing as she flinched at his gently pressing fingers, but he had to check, horror tasting sour at what he might find.
 
“Making sure he didn’t break your cheekbone.” He wasn’t a Maester, but enough field training left him confident enough that she was still in one piece, the knot in his chest loosening even as the disgust with himself built up. She would be covered in more bruises, hurt inflicted upon her, because he was always one step behind.
 
Hands clenched together to control their shaking, his anger starting to appear as little black dots in his vision. The fury was still bubbling dangerously in his veins, the urge to go and smash Viserys’ face again extremely tempting.
 
But there were more important matters and he let his shoulders drop, admiring the defiant rage covering her face. “C’mon.” He hooked gentle fingers under her elbows to pull her off the desk, to start her moving before releasing his grip, not wanting to handle or force her, but wanting to get them both away from this space for just a bit of time.
 
“Where are we going?” She moved in pace with him and he wanted to draw her closer, fingers digging into his palm to prevent it.
 
“Kitchen. You need ice for that.” The rage bubbled again, the bloom of a bruise already appearing and he was fucking tired of seeing marks on her flesh, disgusted with himself for letting it happen, wanting to break the bones of every person who thought they could touch her.
 
“Jon.” A hand closed over his fist, her shoulder bumping into him, drawing him back down. “You’re going to break your teeth if you keep grinding them like that.”
 
Unclenching the jaw he didn’t know was clenched, he blew out a breath, another ounce of self despising heaping onto the pile he was growing, her trying to reassure him when he should be doing that for her. “I’m sorry.”
 
“For what?”
 
He could only shake his head, the feeling of failure making him nauseous as he lead them to the counter. “He’s been escalating in violence. I should have known better, I shouldn’t have left him alone with you.” Grabbing a dish towel from the drawer, he threw it on the counter, ignored the heat of her eyes staring at him.
 
“You are not here to be a buffer between my brother and I.” Some of her temper was picking back up, that backbone of steel that she had just shown to Viserys, and it helped ease some of the knot inside of him.
 
“You shouldn’t need a fuckin’ buffer, Daenerys.” Grabbing the tray of ice, he gave it a hard twist to break the cubes free, telling himself to calm down, marveling that she was standing in his space with the violence ebbing off of him. “He should never touch you, never talk to you like that, try and make you anything less than you are.”
 
“He’s the only family I have left, I can’t turn away from him.” Her words twisted his heart, made him ache. “He won’t touch me again, I can promise you that.”
 
That oath almost broke him, made him want to gather her close and hold her, trying to keep himself composed for her sake. Dumping the ice into the towel, he folded it up, letting out a big sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. His frustration was misplaced, he was taking it out on her and that barely made him more tolerable that Viserys. He finally allowed himself to turn
back towar
d her, only to find defiance on her face— her chin held sternly, even with the color blooming on her cheek.
 
Moving slowly towards her, he watched her for any sign of discomfort from his presence, but she never wavered, eyes keeping locked with his as he closed in on her, boxing her neatly between himself and the counter.
 
He needed to walk away, call Missandei in to take care of this, not let another notch of his control slip. His fingers found her chin, as softly and gently as he could, tilting it up and angling it to see the damage done to her flawless skin. “I’m sorry.” He repeated, thumb brushing over the swollen spot, feather light, her eyes rounding. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
 
“Stop apologizing to me.” She gave a small hiss when he came in contact with the cut at the corner of her mouth and he bit back the words she didn’t want to hear from him.
 
Instead, he pressed the ice against her cheek, his other hand cupping the other side of her perfect face to prevent her from flinching away. That’s what he told himself, his heart beating wildly with the tangle of emotions running through him, wild and untamed, leaving him unable to get a grasp on them, the urge to touch his forehead to hers leaving him a little breathless, at a loss for words.
 
But it seemed none were needed, fingers wrapping around his wrists, her prints searing into his skin with a welcome heat and she let her head rest in his palm, his own digits lost in the soft silk of her hair, watching her long lashes flutter as she welcomed his help, his

touch,

and he wondered where their line had disappeared to, if it had left with him punching Viserys or with her curled into him on the couch in her study, sharing broken pieces of themselves.
 
He was losing the battle with keeping his distance, and he realized he really didn’t care. “Tell me how to make this better for you.”
 
Lashes fluttered at him, eyes going bright and wet and for a moment he thought she might break, might let herself feel the full impact of what happened. And

fuck,

he wanted to be there to catch her. “You already are.”
 
Those words settled in him, melting some of the ice he’d been encased in, warmth filling those spots, his thumbs brushing her cheek and he wanted to kiss her, see how soft her lips were, see how she’d respond, but he didn’t, couldn’t, knew it was the worst possible time, afraid she’d get wrapped up in muffling her own pain, use him as a bandaid and as much as he wanted to give that to her, he wasn't sure he could withstand it, that it might finish tearing him in half.
 
So he kept the slight distance between them, the air thick, her eyes squeezing shut as she kept her grip on his wrists, his heart thudding wildly.
 
“Do we need to call someone?”
 
Jorah’s voice startled him, abruptly pulling them out of the muted bubble that had been building around them and Jon glanced over his shoulder, saw something flicker in the other man’s face before it was gone.
 
A slight shake of her head from where it rested in his hand, gave him the answer, something inside him twisting with sorrow at her quiet acceptance. Eyes stayed closed and he couldn’t help but move his thumb again, brush away some of the wet from her cheeks that she was trying to desperately to hold back.
 
“No.” His voice was rough, hoarse as it crawled out of this throat. He would have to call a meeting with all of security, lay down the new rules, but for now, he’d stay put for as long as she wanted.
 
~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ - mentions of abuse— physical and emotional, and violence against women, so please take care of yourselves and proceed with a bit of caution. ~*~*~ 
Tell me how to make this better for you…
 How could she explain to him that his gentle words had broken her, flayed her heart to the core, leaving her bare before him? There, in the circled sanctuary of his arms, his thumbs gently brushing over her hurts, both physical and emotional, the rawness in his eyes, the guilt and hurt coloring his voice— he had somehow worked his way past all of her defenses and she was lost to him, unmoored in an unfamiliar sea of emotion. No one had ever stood up for her for the sake of her before. He had risked her brother’s incredible wrath to protect her . Her stomach was still churning, anxiously awaiting some sign of Viserys’ inevitable revenge, but for now, here with Jon’s hands gently cupping her face she found she couldn’t bring herself to care. A new thought struggled to make its way to the surface of her mind— she actually didn’t deserve to be treated as less than, as weak, as stupid. She was none of those things, even though her entire life she had been told little else. Even Rhaegar hadn’t bothered to correct her father or Viserys when they said as much— he simply tried to comfort her when it all became too overwhelming for her to bear. She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes to find Jon studying her intently, the pain in his eyes as he observed her draining the rest of her adrenaline fueled rage away instantaneously. Her hands tightened on his wrists as her knees gave out, the full impact of the last few minutes finally hitting her. His hips drove into her, pinning her between him and the counter to keep her from collapsing to the floor, sealing their bodies together from groin to chest as he scrambled to keep from dropping the ice. His other hand wrapped around her back, fingers scrabbling in her shirt for purchase as her chest heaved against his. “Fuck, Dany? Stay with me.” She shut her eyes again, unable to withstand the hurt and concern in his eyes, the guilt at the edges threatening to drown him as well. It was all for her, nothing saved for himself, and she couldn’t help the way her fingers curled into his shirt, her forehead coming to rest against his breastbone as she struggled to regain control of herself. The ice dropped to the counter behind her with a dull thud, his hands coming to rest on either side of her neck, his fingers gently but insistently pulling her head back up. “Open your eyes, please.” There was a crack of fear there, getting wider by the second, the sound of it tearing at her heart as she stubbornly strengthened her knees, regaining her balance. She lifted her chin, opening her eyes to try to give him a watery half-smile. “Let’s take a walk.” His brow furrowed more deeply, if possible, all of his instincts likely calling for him to wrap her in a blanket and cart her off to the hospital, but she stilled his protests by taking his hand in hers and leading him towards the back door. Strength returned to her wobbly legs with every step, with every pace of distance put between her and her brother. The fresh air helped, the warmth of the sun bleeding into the both of them as they walked. She had no destination in mind, truly, but found her feet taking them to the pond, something in her craving the peace and comfort of the babbling fountain in the middle of it. She found a bench underneath one of the large chestnut trees, the sunlight streaming through the leaves. She tugged his hand as she sat, guiding him down beside her. Her mind was a whirl, words bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. “He wasn’t always like this, you know?” Her voice was subdued, the grip on his hand tightening. “I think he always missed Mother the most. He was always jealous that Rhaegar got more time with her.” She kept her gaze fixed on the fountain, a group of ducklings playing in the water making her face twitch with the barest hint of a smile. “And then Father got to him. Rhaegar was too old to be controlled. I was too young, too stupid to be worth anything. He used to say that until my tits came in I was worth less than nothing to our House.” His grip turned painful, and she dropped her other hand over their joined ones, rubbing the tension away until he got the idea, his fingers flexing open, allowing her to withdraw if she wanted. She didn’t. “I always wondered if things would have been different if she hadn’t died when I was born. Like, maybe she would have been able to soften them both? Maybe Rhaegar wouldn’t have died, maybe none of this would be happening.”  The ducklings continued to splash, her thumb idly brushing over his knuckles, slight bruising appearing— a reminder of what he had done, for her. “Rhaegar always wanted to be a musician, you know?” She turned to look at him, finally. His lips were tight in either concentration, or holding himself back from inserting himself into her musings. “It’s why I started Rhaegar’s Harp as a music program first. He loved songs. He never wanted to design, that was my dream. But, he was good at it. Probably better than me, if I’m being honest.” “I doubt that.” She bit her lip against his soft words, her heart soaring with his support. “It’s true though,” she sighed, the fingers of her free hand picking at a string on her pants, a small tear that hadn’t been there before an hour ago. “But, part of growing up as a Targaryen means an innate understanding that family— business comes first. Always.” “Does that have to include Viserys?” She smiled wanly at him. “One way or another he always gets what he wants.” A shadow fell across his eyes, his displeasure apparent. They fell silent for a bit, watching the ducks play, the feeling of the summer breeze across her skin making her feel more herself than she had in a long time. Or, perhaps, it was the man beside her. Or neither, or both. “Has he done this before?” He tensed as he asked it, as if he knew that her mind might rebel against the question, shield herself from him, shutting him out once and for all with the gentle push. Slynt’s face swam in her vision, her teeth grinding in sudden frustration. “See?” She said softly, “That’s how you’re supposed to do this.” Jon face was a mask of confusion, but she squeezed his fingers, gathering her courage. He deserved the truth. “Yes.” He clenched his jaw, the rage sudden and prominent. “It’s been a few years since it was this bad though. He’s using again.” “That’s not an excuse.” “I know,” but she didn’t know how to explain to him the depth of love she still felt for Viserys, her only family left in this world. To be alone would be worse. Somehow. She stood, her hand falling from Jon’s careful grip, and folded her arms across her chest, doing her best to ignore the spike of pain there, the last rays of sunlight catching in his eyes. She’d lost track of time. They must have been out here for hours, if the slight pinkness to Jon’s face was any indication. She’d have to search through her medicine cabinet to find the salve she’d picked up in Dorne, his Northern skin unused to being exposed to the sun for so long. He also stood, taking a moment to stretch, the lithe lines of his body making every movement as graceful as ever. “You know I won’t ever let him touch you again, aye?” The look he fixed her with was hard and heated, and a pulse of sudden want ran through her. “I know,” she swallowed hard before adding, “You know that I meant what I said too. He won’t. I won’t let it happen again. But, I do have to at least look for the possibility of forgiveness, try to help him if I can.” His sigh was deep, his disagreement obvious, as he came to stand at her side. His hand once more found its way to her cheek, tenderly sweeping his thumb across the cut at the corner of her mouth as she desperately tried to stay still and not burrow her face into the heat of his palm, a tingling sensation pulsing through her lips as his touch lingered. “You don’t have to.” “I want to.” “As long as you realize you do have a choice,” his hand dropped away, his serious gaze fixed on her for a moment before they both turned, making their way across the lawn and back to the house. She couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her face. “Thank you.” “If I have to stop apologizin’, then you have to stop thankin’ me.” His voice was gruff, but she could hear the humor creeping in. She chuckled. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the house, Jon only stopping her before they went inside to comm Grey and Jorah to find out Viserys’ whereabouts. Once he confirmed that Vis was in his room, he let her enter. Apparently, after pitching a bitch fit, Vis had fallen into a restless sleep and Doreah was keeping an eye on him until morning. She ducked into her study briefly to grab her forgotten blazer, donning it, wincing a bit as it slipped over her aggravated bruises. She put her sketchbooks away, breathing a sigh of relief to find that the one Vis had been pawing through was, indeed, the one containing her sketches for the fall line, and not the one full of studies of Jon. This time, however, she locked the drawer that contained them and hid the key, taking no chances of anyone unwanted finding them. The broken glass had been cleared away, but her bookcase was still in shambles, figurines knocked askew, books jostled and uneven. “I think I’m ready to try to sleep in my room again.” There was no answer from behind her, Jon watching silently as she worked. Surprised, she glanced up at him, reeling from the sadness she found in his eyes, some kind of lostness. It resounded within her, making her want to stroke and soothe, but she couldn’t sleep in a room where she could still smell blood, her cheek starting to throb as the beating of her heart crashed against her ribs. He only nodded, motioning for her to precede him out of the room, and shut the door behind them, the click of the catch sounding final and damning somehow. Though they walked up the stairs together, she keenly felt the loss of his hand in hers. Jon placed himself between her and Viserys’ door as they made their way past it to the stairs leading to her own wing. He nodded to Doreah and Jorah who had taken up residence outside her brother’s room, her bear taking a moment to wrap her in a hug as Jon spoke a few quiet words to Doreah. She pulled away as gently as possible, the proximity to Vis’ room setting her teeth on edge, and tried to ignore the hurt in Jorah’s eyes as she turned, waiting at the foot of the stairs for Jon to join her. His hand found its way to the small of her back as she led the way to her room, pausing again as Jon opened the door to her bedroom and performed a quick sweep. Once clear, he stepped past her into the hall, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets. “Need anythin’?” 
Yes. You.
 She shook her head, unable to trust her tongue to say anything appropriate, and he nodded. “Goodnight then.” “Night, Jon.” She closed the door softly behind her, leaning her forehead against the doorframe for just a moment before turning to face the cavernous emptiness of her bedroom. It was warm, the air thick and close, making it difficult to draw a steady breath. Her bed loomed before her, imposing and intimidating. 
I’ll still be here even after you’re gone...
 His voice in her mind had her pulling a chair from the nook by her windows over to the door, shoving the back of it beneath the handle and throwing the lock for good measure. No use in taking unnecessary chances. With that done, she stepped into the bathroom, not even bothering to look into the mirror as she stripped out of her clothing, done with inspecting the dark marks and bruises to her body. It was enough to know that everything ached, inside and out. She stepped into a scalding shower, hoping the heat of the water would remove some of the pain, relax her shoulders that refused to lower from around her ears, the tension coiled within her driving them upwards. Her thoughts were still too scattered to make much sense, the incredibly long day threatening to overwhelm her. Once she had deemed herself sufficiently pruny, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, making her way to her closet, wishing she could remember the code to the fucking window alarm so that she could open the window, and allow some of the stuffiness of the room to air out. Instead of her fleece pajamas, she slipped a peach silk nightgown over her head, taking care with her shoulder. Ties and braids decorated the bodice, just enough ornamentation to make her at least feel pretty, even if she didn’t look it, the cool feeling of the silk lovely against her tired and abused skin. The rest of her nighttime ablutions were observed in quick succession— hair brushed and braided, lotion and creams applied, going through the motions soothing her, a light layer of the salve Jon had given her covering both her chest and cheek. She realized it smelled of him— light and woodsy. She tapped her fingers on her vanity, wishing she had the presence of mind to bring one of her sketchbooks upstairs. She usually hated to bring work into her private space, wishing to keep business and rest separate, but… She knew she was stalling— that she could avoid her bed no longer, a tendril of apprehension winding through her as she approached it. She stood at the foot, staring at her green bedspread before she ripped the covers off in a sudden panic, sure that something else must be waiting for her beneath the sheets, something designed to torture, to frighten, to endure. There was nothing, but actual sleep in that bed would be impossible, so she pulled all the pillows off, making herself a little nest between the bed and the door between their rooms. The door… Before she could talk herself out of it, or think herself weak for needing to see his face, she crossed to the hidden panel, knocking lightly. She heard the scramble from the other side and stepped back as the door flew open and Jon barreled through, gun in hand. His aim was low as he came through, his eyes snapping around for danger until he realized there was none. She had caught him getting ready for bed, obviously— his hair loose and wet around his face, fresh from a shower, the pajama pants he wore slung low over his hips, his shirt forgone either for the heat or his haste to get to her. She had to keep herself from biting her lip as her eyes tracked the way the contours of his chest gave way to a V shaped muscle between his hips, the sudden desire to follow that shape with her tongue making her mouth run dry. “Sorry!” She squeaked. The thunder in his gaze cleared as he took her in as well, the heat between them building until he stepped back through the panel, firmly planting himself on his side. Right… it’s the job. It would do her some good to remember that, no matter what desires were racing through her.  “You ok?” She nodded, her eyes rounding with effort to keep her gaze fixed upon his face, and not the rest of him. But, she found herself edging forward, forcing herself to remain on her side, not wanting to encroach on his space… much.  “I just…” she trailed off, feeling stupid now, his reaction making her think this might not have been her best idea. He softened, tucking the gun into the waistband at his back, folding his arms across his chest as he stepped forward to lean against the door frame. “You sure?” She nodded again, wetting her lips before finally blurting out, “Can this stay open? Just for tonight?” He blinked, his mouth relaxing as sympathy took over, and maybe, maybe just the tiniest bit of relief. “Aye.” She shivered as she nodded, another thanks upon her lips until his eyes narrowed at her, reading her thoughts before she could say it aloud. She pressed her lips together, mirth dancing in her eyes for the briefest moment before he nodded and stepped back. It took a moment for her to get her body to move, reaching to turn off the lamp on her bedside table before she could do something truly ill advised, burrowing her way into her nest of pillows and tangle of blankets and sheets on the floor before she lay back. There were a few sounds from the room next door, Jon shuffling through the rest of his nightly routine before his light also doused. She didn’t sleep. ~*~*~ With his door closed behind him, Jon allowed himself a moment to slump against it, exhaustion taking over as the last of his adrenaline and anger fled him. She was tucked safely into her room, he had just seen to it, and yet the separation was gnawing at him, taunting him with reminders of what could happen when he wasn’t by her side. A big gust of air left him and he straightened, taking the time to look at his hand to assess the damage done in his altercation with Viserys. There was no proof that it had ended up at the end of Vis’ nose other than a slight bruising over the knuckles, and a little soreness as he poked at it. Truth be told, he felt more injured on the inside, raw and aching as he had watched Dany wrestle with coming to terms with what happened. He wondered if she realized that it was probably guilt that kept her from getting rid of her brother, that she somehow owed her last relative something. He’d had to clench his hand against the urge to push at her until she understood that it did not make her a bad person to cut ties with a person who was an abuser, who made her life one of the seven hells. A knock interrupted his brooding, Robb’s voice announcing himself and Jon winced, realizing he probably should have at least sent a text to his brother while he was out there by the pond. But nothing had been on his mind by the water except Dany. He was losing the end of the threads, everything tangling into one big messy knot, his job and his feelings starting to blend until he could no longer tell them apart. He remembered the last time something like this happened and this seemed so much more than that had been, it was slightly terrifying. “You couldn’t have called?” Robb’s face was stern with disapproval as he shoved past, Jon closing the door behind him. “Kinda busy.” He was not going to let his brother make him feel guilty about giving Dany his full attention. “And apparently I didn’t need to.” “Just because I’m off duty doesn’t mean I don’t need to know about when the person under my protection gets his nose broken by the man in charge.” Jon gritted his teeth, ready to punch his brother, the surge of anger giving energy to his tired limbs. “You want to go see the bruise on her face, Robb?” Even Robb’s wince didn’t appease him. “First of all, I didn’t break his nose, and most importantly, he hit her. That doesn’t happen. At all. And then he tried to come over the top of me. So, I stopped him.” “You’re right.” Robb shook his head, and had the good sense to look abashed. “You’re right, Jon. I guess I just didn’t like hearing it second hand.” Moving across the room, needing some space, he shrugged out of his shoulder holster, removed his gun and dropped the magazine, giving himself a moment to eject the bullet in the chamber, then reloaded it, the motion familiar and calming. “I feel like you have more to say.” There was a look on Robb’s face, one that he hated, something that told him they were all spectators, waiting for him to crumble. “I just feel like-“ There was a pause. “I didn’t just get here... I’ve been here for the past hour. I checked in with Doreah and then went out looking for you.” That choking feeling was there again and his fingers gripped the edge of the dresser as he tried to ground himself. “So?” “I worry that you’re getting too attached.” There was a softness now with the worry, making Jon want to snarl. “Jon, right now she’s a job.” “She’s a person, Robb, who’s had a shitty life and nobody to watch her back.” The air was rushing through his lungs as he turned to square up with his brother, something in the back of his mind telling him that he was only proving Robb correct with his reactions. “Everyone in her life seems to turn a blind eye and just let her deal with it. I’m not someone who can do that.” “That’s the problem.” Robb stepped closer, blue eyes narrowed. “Because you are not that person, and it always ends up breaking you.” Visions of a past life swam into his vision— red hair, a crooked smile, blood seeping from a bullet hole in pale skin. “Fuck you.” “Really?” Hands pulled at auburn curls in frustration. “That's how we’re doing this?” “Aye.” He crossed his arms, a sure sign of stubbornness, and concentrated on breathing, caging the metallic taste of his ire. “That’s how we’re going to do this.” “Fine.” Robb’s face set into a look that Jon imagined matched his. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He didn’t bother to see his brother out, slowly counting to ten, trying to slow the rushing of his blood, trying to see Robb’s view of it. But he couldn’t, not when he could still feel the soft heat of Dany’s face in his palms, how she absorbed easy touches, making his heart twist that she had done so long without. With the door shut again, finally alone in his room, he put himself back into his routine— a shower to ease tension from rigid muscles, his forehead pressed to the wall as water ran down his back. He pondered Robb’s concerns, a heaviness in his stomach, a worry that he might not be enough, his failings weighing heavily in his chest. She had put her faith in him and he couldn’t let her down. Dragging himself out of the shower and away from those thoughts, he went over a plan to keep Viserys and Daenerys separated, half listening for movement on the other side of his wall. The soft knock had him scrambling, almost stumbling as he pulled up his pajama pants, years of training leaving him as he grabbed his gun, making him frantic, yanking open the door, ready to sweep down, pull her from harm. But it was just her, looking soft and vulnerable, surprise in her eyes as she took in the gun in his hand, his body catching up to his brain that there was no danger. “Sorry!” Her voice was high pitched and startled, face pink and he realized belatedly that she was looking at his abdomen, something more than surprise there. He was caught then, in that moment, mind slowing down and he could feel the heat building, couldn’t miss the high outline of her breasts under that pink silk, his lungs forgetting how to work. Somehow he found the strength to move back to his side of the door, needing that invisible line, the boundary to keep them separated, wondering what her reaction would be if he pulled her into his room and threw her up on the bed, unraveled her out of that tempting nightdress. 
Stop it.
 “You ok?” He needed to end that other line of thinking. She was bruised and exposed, making it easy to accept any advance from him, something she’d regret later on. “I just…” She made a shrugging motion, still rattled and he needed to remember that giving her some comfort was an entirely different level than wanting her in his bed. The latter was inappropriate. For now. “You sure?” There was something else there, he knew, and he wanted— needed her to tell him. “Can this stay open? Just for tonight?” She had rushed the words as if she barely had the nerve to say them and he relaxed, mind slowing, trying not to feel too relieved that she wasn't quite ready to close a door between them either. “Aye.” That pretty mouth opened again, no doubt to thank him and he narrowed his eyes, hoped she could see the jest as he stopped her words of thanks. She needed to stop doing that, it just made all of him churn with confusion. It was his job, but he’d do it anyway, couldn’t say no to helping her. He moved away first, both of them suspended in a strange limbo and he needed to break it, not offer her anything else. He’d wholeheartedly give whatever she needed, but she would have to ask first. Returning his gun to its new spot on his nightstand, he doused his light, crawled into bed to stare up at the ceiling while she crawled into her blankets. He hadn’t missed the fact that she had made a bed on the floor, the urge to offer to switch rooms on the tip of his tongue, hating she felt so uneasy in what should be her safe place. But he stayed silent, letting her work it out on her own. He closed his eyes but never found sleep. ~*~*~ “Fuck.” Tyrion’s succinct reaction as he opened the door to his office cemented her decision to avoid mirrors until her cheek had healed, no doubt the bruise spreading and mixing with the bags under her eyes that came from yet another night of restless tossing and turning, no sleep, and nightmares chasing her through even her waking thoughts. This time with the added benefit of knowing that her brother, who may or may not have been plotting her death, was only a floor away— the only barriers between them a flight of stairs, and a rickety chair shoved under her doorknob. And Jon. Of course. He’d been stuck like a burr to her side all morning, and Dany found that she couldn’t bring herself to be as annoyed by it as she once might have been, her face warming even now as he edged into her space. “Did he even think about the fact that you have an interview tomorrow. On television?” She reached for Jon before he could bristle too much, her small hand gripping his muscled forearm. “Is there another time that smashing my face would have been more convenient? I’ll wait if you need to consult with Missandei about my calendar first.” Tyrion had the good grace to look ashamed of himself, a flush of embarrassment flooding across his features. “Of course not, my dear. I’m sorry. We might need to call the plastic surgeon to look at your lip th—” Dany brushed past him, her lack of sleep making her more impatient and waspish than she usually allowed. “We’ll need to prepare the guest house for Viserys. The maids will also need to do a full sweep, remove all the alcohol, etc. I doubt he’ll voluntarily go back to rehab this time, and I don’t know if he’s called his sponsor after yesterday’s… episode.” Tyrion followed as she sat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, motioning for Jon to take a seat beside her. “So, that’s a no on the maester then?” He took his own chair. She sighed. “His ring caught on my lip. I’ll heal.”   “But, if it scars--” “Then, I’ll have a scar, Tyrion. Who knows, maybe it will make my face more appealing. Aren’t you always the one telling me to find beauty in the imperfect as well?” She folded her hands into her lap, trying to regain her control, not particularly sure why she was taking so much frustration out on Tyrion, of all people. He was only trying to help, in his own way. “Daenerys…” And now he was looking at her with hurt in his eyes, and her cheek was throbbing in time with every tick Jon’s watch made, still strapped safely around her wrist. She closed her eyes, huffing an irritated breath out of her nose. “Tyrion, we have more pressing matters to attend to today. Viserys needs to be moved. We need to talk about my interview yesterday with the City Watch. I need to call the Board and start conversations about my new liaison initiative, and we have to prep for whatever this talk show is and I’m tired, so if we could please—” She dropped her head into her hands, hissing as her fingers bumped her cheek, the pain searing through her face, both men frozen and unsure how to deal with her outburst. Until his hand found her back, rubbing gently in a small circular motion. It was simple, nothing more than a concerned touch, and yet she could feel herself melting under it, the throbbing in her face subsiding. “I want him out of the manse. Today.” She could feel them exchanging glances over her bowed head, Tyrion’s voice careful. “It may be easier if we were to relocate you—” Her head snapped back up, fixing Tyrion with a hard glare. “I’m not interested in easier . I didn’t do anything wrong, and for once, I know that. So he can move. I’m done running, Tyrion. Make it happen.” She paused, her teeth gritting. “Please.” She forced it out, knowing how deeply her friend did care. He was just garbage at consoling her. Always had been. “I will see to it.” “Thank you.” She huffed out a breath and sat back, Jon’s hand coming to rest on the arm of his own chair. She already missed the feel of it on her. She stole a glance at him, not quite sure what to expect, but it wasn’t the admiration she saw in his eyes, a brightness that stole what was left of her breath for the barest of moments. She cleared her throat, casting about wildly back to Tyrion, his own eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The City Watch may also be contacting you, my interview was…” she trailed off, risking another look to Jon for help. “A disaster,” he supplied. “They seem to have no leads. Just some crazy theory about chickens coming home to roost? They showed us some aerial photos of two factories, allegedly owned by House Targaryen in Ghiscar, outside of Astapor. Do you know anything about it?” Tyrion’s brow furrowed in confusion. “There’s only the plant in Pentos.” Dany nodded. “That’s what I told Slynt. He didn’t believe me, so I told him if he had more questions for me to direct them through you, and we left.” She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself, her hands feeling tingly and foreign. “When we got back, I asked Vis about it, hoping he would be able to tell me why the City Watch has pictures of lines of children outside of a factory supposedly owned by us. That’s when this happened.” She motioned to her cheek. Jon sat forward in the chair, his forearms balanced on his knees, his eyes searching hers. “That’s why he hit you?” “He’s hiding something.” It was difficult to admit, but it was the only clear conclusion she had come to during her restless night of tossing and turning and listening to Jon do the same through the open door between them. Viserys was up to something, and she didn't know what it could be— nothing good. She tore her eyes away from Jon’s calculating gaze, turning to Tyrion. “I need you to find out what you can. Vis was drunk yesterday, so he may not have been able to alert Baelish as to what the Watch knows, he might have. I don’t know.” Tyrion sighed, his hand clasping the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” “The kids looked young, Tyrion.” She could feel her heart squeeze in her chest at the mere thought that Viserys could be involved in something so horrific, but his reaction had left little doubt in her mind that Tyrion would uncover something nefarious. Although now, she also felt like a fool for not seeing his potential for inflicting pain on anyone other than her. “I’ll hurry.” “Thank you.” “Now, about Renly—” “I know how to handle Renly, I just need to know what he’s going to be asking.” She could hear the cattiness in her voice, but couldn’t make it stop. “ Handle Renly?” She turned to Jon with a smirk. “You remember Oberyn, right?” He nodded and her smile grew. “Just wait.” Tyrion shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Let’s see. They want to talk about the CFDW award, so expect questions about that, the usual ‘what’s new for fall’, and of course, try to avoid talking about the threats on your life if you can. You know the drill. Keep it light.” She nodded, settling her hands on her knees as she pushed herself out of her chair, Jon rising to his feet in sync with her. “Anything else?” “They always want you to do the stage door autograph line.” She looked to Jon, catching the wince at the extra work. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Your call.” His slow smile unfolded like a flower, heat blooming low in her belly at the sight of it, his face transforming before her at the display of confidence in his abilities. In him. “I’ll see what we can make happen.” ~*~*~ The soft scent of her perfume was driving him slightly mad. It was something light that reminded him of spring and sunshine, something bright and shiny. It fit her well, wrapping into his senses as the outside heat came in through the car windows, only muted by the quiet whirring of the air conditioner. Maybe he was hallucinating, worn down on the edges, the nights of barely any sleep catching up with them all. Still, his nerves were stuck permanently on high alert, even with Tyrion’s promise to get Viserys out of the manse, the prospect of putting her back out among crowds making him shift uneasily in his seat. “You’re fidgeting.” A small hand dropped over his forearm and he sucked in a breath, her touch not having the calming effect she probably hoped for. No, it seeped into his skin, lingering there, a red flag going off somewhere in his brain. They were getting too comfortable with each other, neither one seemingly willing to be the first to step back. “Aye.” An eyebrow arched at him and his short response, Missandei snickering from the other side of the car. Daenerys was wedged in between them, her shoulder pressed firmly to his as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And, fuck, maybe it was right now, Robb’s pointed looks still stuck in his head, mingling with the newly found fire Daenerys was stoking, his confidence starting to build back up. She trusted him, that knowledge keeping his heart held tightly, and she was letting herself step out of the meek shell she had been forced into. “How hard to you think Renly is going to go?” Missandei’s voice broke off his dangerous thoughts and he turned his head to watch Dany’s lips turn up, bruise and swelling diminished under her light makeup. “At questioning me or trying to seduce Jon?” He groaned then, rolled his eyes for their benefit as both women laughed, more worried about getting her to and from the car than getting hit on. Inside, security was better— Jorah already there and doing a sweep. Grey’s careful plan had been well done as Jon had looked over his shoulder. “Fun at my expense, is it?” The car rolled neatly to the sidewalk and Jon straightened a bit, missing Daenerys’ warmth as she moved away from his side, adjusting her dress. Fuck, he needed some sleep, his eyes watching her legs disappear under her skirt for a moment longer than necessary. The door opened just as his hand reached the handle, Jorah’s scowl at finding him and not Daenerys almost making him smirk. The sounds of the city hit his ears, his senses going on full alert as he stepped out, using his body to block the open door. “We go in there.” Jorah pointed straight ahead to the side stage exit, Jon automatically judging the distance. “Locked?” With the other man’s nod he blew out a breath, went to adjust his watch on his empty wrist. He gave a narrowed eyed look over his shoulder at Dany’s chuckle, the smile on her face rolling some of the tension off his shoulders. “Go open it, Jorah, and we’ll come right through.” Watching the crowds as Jorah crossed the sidewalk, he mentally counted the six seconds it took to clear the space. “Ready?” He kept an eye out as he offered his hand, felt the tingle as Dany’s slid into his, his grip easy but firm as he helped her out of the car. He heard Grey helping Missandei, but didn’t look back, Dany’s smaller form pulled into his side as he moved them swiftly, nodding to Jorah as they went through the door, his breath held until they were in the building, out of the public eye. “Ms. Targaryen.” Jon stiffened as the tall blond woman appeared in front of them, her face serious, and a tablet in her hand. “Welcome to Late Night . I’m Brienne.” “Ah, Renly’s assistant.” Her voice was light, body relaxed against his hand at the small of her back as Jorah and Grey closed in around them. “I’m happy to be here. Anything I need to know right now?” “No. You’ll have a moment with Renly before you go on.” She checked something on her screen, then squinted at Dany, taking in her appearance. “Your dressing room is right down there.” She pointed, Missandei and Jorah already moving that direction, a garment bag thrown over the former’s arm. “Is there anything you need?” Dany stiffened for a moment, and he moved in closer, eyes swinging around to see what startled her, a hand covering her upper arm, thumb rubbing an apology before he gripped her, ready to move her as needed. “I’d like to be shot from my right side. My assistant called earlier?” The air coming out of his lungs moved her hair, tickling his nose, as it registered in his mind that she was trying to keep her swollen face from being shown to all of Westeros. Anger again brewed and bubbled as he let go and took a step back, ignoring Brienne’s widened blue eyes, no doubt confused by dark look on his face. “Absolutely.” She nodded and turned, leading the way past the array of crew members. As the walked, Jon checked that escape routes matched the blueprints, the heat of Dany’s skin seeping into his palm as he guided her forward. “All clear.” Jorah popped out a room, holding the door as Missandei ducked inside and Jon nodded to Grey, sending him in before moving Dany through the doorway, the lights from the vanity making him blink for a moment. “I’ll let you settle in and then I’ll be back in an hour. We’ll see if we have any last minute details.” Brienne spoke from outside the dressing room before disappearing from Jon’s view, leaving a blur of strangers as they went about their business. “It’s a little crowded in here.” Her voice pulled him from his duty, and he glanced down, realizing belatedly that it was a rather small space to fit four bodies. His hand dropped back into his side, fingers curling with the lack of contact. With a nod of dismissal, he sent Grey from the room, Missandei ignoring them all to hang up the bag, smooth down it’s contents. “You ok?” He crowded back into her space as she turned, hating the thought of the door closing between them, knowing fully well it shouldn't matter. She was safe there, he had confirmed it. “Yes.” She was peering up at him, studying his face intently, and he stepped back to give them both space to breathe. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” There was lead in his boots as he turned and made himself move away from her, the handle turning easily even if reluctantly, the click sounding loud in his ears as he closed the door between them. Standing in the hallway, he cupped the back of his neck, forcing himself back into the role of the unflappable bodyguard, the weathered man of the Night’s Watch, and away from this new Jon Snow that was developing in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen. “I want you stationed behind the audience.” He let his gaze flicker to Grey for a moment. “You and Jorah do another sweep.” Both men nodded their agreement, safety a priority and the controlling part of him wanted to scour the building, the larger need to keep within an arm's reach of her. He could hear muted voices from his post, sharper notes of laughter from behind the closed door, the rock in his chest shrinking as Daenerys came back out from under the shadow of her brother, bruises not enough to keep her down, his own guilt tucked firmly away where it couldn’t impact his performance. Light footsteps were behind him, the door opening quickly. Dei slipped through and he caught a glimpse of a bared back, black lacy fabric standing in contrast to pale skin. He swallowed roughly, heat burning in his veins as he swung back around, fixing his gaze to a blank spot on the wall in front of him. “I forgot her earrings in the car. Can you call Grey?” Certain his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, he nodded, rasped out over the comms, “Can you take Missandei out to the car please,” before latching his hands behind his back, keeping twitching fingers still. Minutes started to tick by, a familiar routine of being wary and alert actually starting to relax him, muscle memory taking over with the knowledge she was tucked into the room behind him and humming softly to whatever music she had playing in there. The sound of the door opening behind him made him to turn, maintaining his body block of the doorway as she peeked out at him, the smudges of makeup creating some sort of magic he didn’t understand— the blue more brilliant, eyes impossibly larger. “Can you help me for a moment?” Wordless, he nodded, stepping into the dressing room that now carried the scent he associated with her, something inside him craving the smell. He closed them off from the world again, noting that she’d slipped into a black dress, the pale skin looking even smoother, and he curled his fingers into his palm. “Dei isn’t back and I’m impatient.” She motioned awkwardly at her back. “Will you zip this up please?” He was certain he heard his brain fizzle before it stopped working, fingertips growing itchy with want as he stared stupidly at the buttons that adorned the front of her dress. “Zipper?” There was a bit of lace flirting around the front, keeping her modestly covered, just enough to tempt. “The buttons are for show only.” There was a sudden husk to her voice and he forced his gaze up where it belonged, on her face, where she seemed to just realize the simple task might not be so simple for him. It would be easy to turn away, walk right back out that door and wait for Missandei, hide himself behind the job and keep his distance. But, she was already turning, gathering her hair to the side, offering up the back of her slim neck, the cause of all his dilemma stuck level with the black of her bra. Fingers reached out without his command, rebelling against every rule he had memorized since Ned Stark deemed him old enough to learn their trade, a soft hold taken on the pull of the zipper as he stared at the skin available for his eyes, the low buzz running through him loud enough to drown out the sounds of any hesitation. To further torture himself, suddenly needy and weak, his free hand landed on her shoulder, thumb sweeping up the notches of her spine and it was right there at the tip of his tongue, the want to follow the trail with his mouth, taste her skin as the zipper slid shut with a sigh, closing down that idea almost as quickly as it had come to him There was the sound of ragged breathing, but Jon was certain his lungs weren’t working and he allowed himself look up, to see her staring back at him in the mirror. The locked gazes, the darkening of her eyes awakening something inside him that had been dormant for so long, and suddenly he had the urge to sweep his thumb over the plump mouth that was adorned in red, see if the color would stain his skin. Instead, he pushed the limit on his control again, fingers straightening the mass of silver back behind her, skimming over the nape of her neck as a substitute for wanting to put his mouth there. The sound of the door handle rattling seeped into his brain, and he pulled his hands back, keeping his eyes locked with hers until the very last possible moment, Missandei sweeping in victoriously, earrings firmly in her grasp. He took the opportunity to escape, breaking away from the gaze that was somehow both drowning him and reviving him, leaning back against the door to finally get a gulp of air and reevaluate just how close to the edge he was walking. ~*~*~ “Ladies and Gentlemen, none other than the Daenerys Targaryen!” With a roll of her shoulders, she walked away from his side, his hands clenching to keep from reaching out for her again. The crowd reacted enthusiastically to her presence and he made himself look away from her form, moving to the audience. They had all been through a rigorous security check— bag searches, metal detectors— with a suspicious few patted down, all overseen by Jorah, who was rapidly coming around to Jon’s way of thinking. His anxiety was bubbling, but on low, feeling fairly confident in the safety measures. She had reached the desk, Renly meeting her for a polite exchange of cheek kisses and Jon watched the bubbly expression on her face waiver for a moment. He shifted his weight, Missandei glancing over at him. “Renly’s seen her face and I’m sure she just told him it’s off limits. No danger yet.” He exhaled through his nose, not sure that he liked the fact that Dei had picked up on his body language, but he excused it as the fact they’d had a very trying few days, and not because he was still standing back in that dressing room, the warmth of her under his hands nothing compared to the blazing look in her eyes. He had seen that, right? It was hard to remember now that the haze had worn off, putting distance between them as he had stayed on his side of the door until she was ready, not quite willing to look her directly in the eye again. He was afraid of what he’d see, of how badly he wanted to see it. The lights dimmer as a clip played and he allowed it to pull him out of his spiral, seeing Daenerys in the same seat she was currently occupied, a rather large python being placed around her neck. While she was blindfolded. His heart slammed into his ribs, all sorts of evocative images that were so not appropriate racing through his mind, and he had to look away, had to pretend he was not having all sorts of depraved thoughts. “Ah yes, to see if she could tell the difference between real snakeskin and faux. That clip was quite popular.” They were talking fashion up there under the lights and he went back to scanning the crowds, running a quick check on comms as he spotted Grey and Jorah in their designated spots. They had Dany in a triangle, and he eyeballed the distance, even though he already knew it took twenty steps. He’d tested it, but it was a decent distraction from worrying over losing the impulse control he had been carefully honing since childhood. “Now, I hear that House Targaryen is about to be honored next week at the Council of Fashion Designers of Westeros Awards?” “Yes, my brother Rhaegar is being posthumously awarded the Alysanne Award for Positive Change in Fashion, and my other brother, Viserys, and I will be accepting on behalf of House Targaryen.” That caught his attention, as did her hands twisting in her lap, and he tipped towards Missandei as his mind thought over their schedule and came up blank. “An award ceremony?” He kept his voice low, ignoring the look of annoyance the stage manager shot him. “Hmmm? Oh, yes. Next Saturday. Didn’t we go over that?” They certainly had not, but he fought down his own impatience at the surprise, acknowledging that Viserys had interrupted their meeting. “No. We need to sit down again apparently.” The urge to cross his arms was strong as he listened to her explain the awards, the planes of her face softening as she spoke about her brother, and the edges of his heart ached for her, knowing exactly how lost she was, or had been. “Well, as some of you may be aware,” she had turned to address the audience directly, that brilliant smile on her face, and he was just as enraptured as everyone else. “House Targaryen has worked incredibly hard for the past 10 years to change the rising tide of Fashion into something sustainable, not only for the environment, but for all the people around the world who are involved in the making of our clothing.” Applause broke out, making his earpiece squelch for a moment and he twitched, adjusted his comms, and caught the low noise Missandei made in the back of her throat. Taking a moment to glance at her, he could see the tightness around her mouth, fingers gripping her phone tightly. “Thank you! We’ve striven to establish fair trade practices with the free cities of Essos, as well as employing over 400 underprivileged local Westerosi who do the majority of our manufacturing. That means everything from construction of our pieces, to supply chain/distribution, to packaging, and so on, all between our offices in King’s Landing, and our manufacturing plant in Pentos. The CFDW has decided after ten years of growth and prosperity, and making a difference in the lives of those that were previously exploited— to the benefit of some of the other fashion Houses— to award House Targaryen a special commendation, and we hope that more fashion houses will see the benefits and follow suit soon!” There was definitely something in Daenerys’ words that was striking a cord within the other woman, and keeping his eyes on the gleam of silver hair, he leaned a bit into Dei’s space. “What’s wrong? What is she talking about?” For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer, a cold look coming into normally warm brown eyes. “She’s not talking about it— she’s skimming the edge of it, making it graspable for the general public. Slave labor.” “Slave labor?” “Yes.” She snapped her gaze to him and he was shocked by the fury residing in there. “The fashion industry is built upon the backs of child slavery— little hands of stolen children.” “That’s awful.” His stomach churned, thinking of all those children safely gathered under the roof of Rhaegar’s Harp, instead being sold and treated worse than feral animals. “You have no idea.” It was a choked sound. “You know though, don’t you?” He was prying now, knew it was really none of his business. They all carried ghosts and scars. “You don’t have to answer that.” There was a long enough silence that he thought she wouldn’t and he turned back to focus on Daenerys as she breezed over the events of Oberyn’s show, his jaw clenched with the memory and the turn of fortune that seemed to be building off that unfortunate incident. “My brother and I ended up in it.” It was a jolt of electricity, Missandei’s quiet words dragging a ragged breath out of him. “I made it out.” The he didn’t, was obvious, the words not needed and he fumbled, at a loss of what to say, a little stunned that she had found herself in the same industry that had done so much harm. “Gods. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. You are not responsible.” It was a firm response and he wisely closed his mouth, sensing the subject done. “Of course, which is why we must all strive, together , to bring about this positive change in the world. So far, House Targaryen has been standing alone, but I think it’s time for more to join us, don’t you?” “Well I, for one, love to end on a call for action!” The crowd applauded again he watched her stand, Renly standing with her, and she offered her hand, Renly bending over it to give it a kiss. “Ladies and Gentlemen— Daenerys Targaryen.” The music from the house band The Stags kicked up a lively beat and the red light on the camera winked out, the spot lights diminishing as she gave Renly a brief hug, and stepped down from the platform, hurrying offstage and he moved forward, ignoring the thrumming in his veins as he reached her side. “Well, the masses seem to love you.” He tried for light, the clear blue of her eyes searching him as he offered out his arm politely, trying to gather around the scattered professionalism. A toss of her head had the bright hair falling over her shoulder. “They love everyone. Dei, are you okay?” She let go of his arm to hug her friend. “I forgot to warn you he was going to ask about the award—“ “I know. It’s fine.” Stepping back to her side, he tried to ignore her soft scent, instead focused on Jorah and Grey coming back. “How long until you’re ready?” He held his ground as she moved into his space, arm threading through his. “I’m ready now. I’m going sign on the way out so I’ll stay in this.” “Outside?” He growled when she nodded a response. He’d expected the autographs, but out in the open had not been part of the plan, and something inside him clenched, the warning bells going off in his head. He cupped her elbow, turning into her, ignoring her toes bumping into his. “There is no way to keep the environment controlled.” The smile she gave him was sly, something slightly infuriating, and he wanted to taste it, see if it would ignite a fire in him. “I guess you’re going to be stuck to me then.” “Daenerys.” It was a huff of exasperation, not at all the sound of a man in charge, and he hated himself for it as soon as it came out. He was getting twisted up over her— fucking Robb was right about that— and he just needed to figure out if he was going to continue down that path— or not. “If you say no, then we skip it. Like I said, your call.” Her slight weight leaned into him as she tilted her head and smiled, his heart skipping a beat at the sight, another step down the path of the forbidden. “Grey, go get the car and take Missandei with you. Let me know when you’re parked. I want you outside the car and watching the crowd. Jorah, you’ve got our back.” Both men nodded, Grey took the garment bag from Dei and they disappeared around the corner of the hall. Impatience rolled through him, not quite wanting to meet her eyes, lest she see the leftover heat in them as he remembered what the expanse of that pale skin looked like underneath that black dress. “Jon.” She spoke quietly, and he fought the urge to melt, looking down at her, opening his mouth to ask her what she wanted, needed, when— “Daenerys!” Annoyance had him tearing his gaze away to see Renly Baratheon heading towards them, studying him and Dany with curiosity written on his face. It irritated him, causing him to stand ramrod straight, squaring his shoulders. “Darling, you are such a good sport. Thank you for being here.” She let out a noise that could be called a laugh, something similar she had used on Oberyn, he noted, the sound letting him know she didn’t find the talk show host as charming as he found himself. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s always nice to use a something like this as a platform for getting things out there.” She gave a smile that was more bared teeth than anything else. “However, if you keep ambushing me on your show I’m going to find the need to be busy doing other things.” “It’s nothing personal, you know that. You’re far too brilliant to be caught unaware.” The gaze was flickering back and forth between him and Daenerys, until Renly couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Are you going to introduce me?” “Renly Baratheon, this is Jon Snow, my bodyguard.” He was certain he was the only one to hear her sigh and he wanted to press in closer but rigidly held his ground. “Bodyguard? I didn’t realize they came in that sort of pretty. You make sure to keep our girl safe.” He had to unlock his jaw before he could speak. “No worries on that front, her safety is the only thing that matters.” Another appraising look was sent their way, and he could feel Daenerys looking at him with that vulnerable expression in her eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting, despising every misstep and his inability to stay professional around her. “Car is ready.” Relief washed over him as he unhooked his arm from hers, letting his hand settle into the small of her back, a perfect fit. “Let’s go.” Jorah led the way, holding the door open and they both paused in the threshold, blinking against the bright of the sun. He reached into his jacket pocket and found his sunglasses, murmuring for her to wait as he reached into his other pocket where he had placed Dany’s after Missandei had handed them to him. A chorus of happy fans started up, an uncomfortable itch crawling over his skin as she slid on her sunglasses and plastered a big smile on her face, the tension rising in his muscles as he moved with her to the crowd. She was well versed in this, voice cheerful as she signed and chatted, his fingers keeping a light contact with her back as he mentally gauged the distance between them and the car. He stayed close enough that she kept bumping into him, ignoring the low heat in his stomach as unease rippled over him. 
Nothing was going to happen today. She would be fine.
 They were just about to the end of the line, his eyes on the open door, his hand twitching against her dress in anticipation when she made a low noise of surprise. At her hiss of pain he could hear the blood roar in his ears as he closed in around her, slamming her back to his front, banding an arm around her waist, and prepared to rip her off her feet, to dive into the protection of the car. “Ouch! Jon don’t move.” He froze as her body went rigid against him, Daenerys holding her hair, and he realized someone had the end of it, a growl bubbling up in his chest. He grabbed the slim wrist, ready to snap bones, his anger rising up that somebody would dare try and hurt her. “Jon!” Dany’s hand fell over his, stalling his violent reaction, the surprise in her voice making him look again, the owner of the wrist staring at him with scared green eyes. “My hair is caught.” Following the fall of silver, he moved down the girl’s arm, seeing the tangled ends of Dany’s hair caught in a bracelet. He blew out a breath, let his eyes flutter for a moment in relief, shoulders dropping as adrenaline fled his system. With a shuffle forward he gave them slack, the young woman looking terrified as he reached around Daenerys with his other arm, keeping her boxed into him as he helped free her from the clasp. Finally they were able to step back, and he knew he should give her space, back away from the firm press of her body against him, but he hooked her under the elbows, dropping his mouth close to her ear. “Let’s call it a day.” She craned her head to look at him, a wrinkle between her brows but her lips were slightly parted, enticing and forbidden, and he could feel the heat weaving between them, making him forget for a moment exactly why they were standing there. “Daenerys!” Cameras whirred with the occasional flash, Jorah’s voice jolting him back to reality and it suddenly came crashing around him that they were standing on the sidewalk and gathering more than a few curious glances. “I’m ready.” Pulling himself back together, he finally gave them space between their bodies, missing the contact as soon as they separated, his hand hovering behind her as they moved forward. He was jittery and jumpy as he helped her into the car, settling himself in beside her as Jorah closed the door. “Jon.” Her hand landed on his forearm, his hand clenching. “You almost broke that poor girl's wrist.” The car started moving forward, easing into traffic and he replayed it all in his head, every move they had made after they left the safety of the building. “I know.” He shook his head, his senses clouded with Daenerys. “I reacted.” “I’m not angry.” The small hand tightened until he looked at her, into the soft blue of her eyes that made him want to grab ahold of her and not let go. “It was just surprising.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “I shouldn’t be at this point.” With her words conveying her belief, she settled into her seat, the bruise on her cheek standing out below the smudge of makeup making his insides twist with the confusion of everything else rolling through him. Her safety was the priority, not his attraction. He needed to remember that. ~*~*~ Remembering that was proving to be more difficult than he had imagined. Jon wasn’t sure why he was surprised, she had slowly been weaving into his bones from their first meeting, her fiery depths soaking into the cold that had surrounded him for so long. But, still, she wasn’t some random woman he had met, no, not at all. She was a woman whose life was in danger, who was very much depending on his expertise to keep her alive. Being distracted was dangerous, for her— for him. He repeated that mantra over and over, the two days of downtime giving him time to retreat into his office, leaving her to sketching away in her study, his nerve endings crackling with the separation, conflicting with his mind’s need to be away from her. Viserys had finally finished moving into the guest house, Daenerys watching it from the kitchen window with sadness etched on her face. Jon desperately wanted to go and gather her up, give her comfort, something he might have done before that startling moment in the dressing room, reading the want on his face, on hers. But, it appeared she would not willfully ignore it as he was trying to do. The cloud of steam followed him out of the shower Monday morning as he buttoned up his pants, towel still slung over his shoulder. “You’re up early.” Her voice startled him, not at all prepared for her perched on the edge of his bed wearing nothing but one of those ridiculous silky nightdresses. Why was she so hells bent on driving him insane? “Weekend is over.” Lust settled somewhere in the region of his groin, but he ignored it to rub the towel against his wet hair, moving slowly towards her, deciding that two could play this game, her gaze stuck somewhere in the area of his abdomen. Fair was fair, he decided as he reached down beside her, close enough to smell the lotion on her skin, his mouth practically watering with the urge to put marks in the smooth flesh of her neck. Her sharp inhale let him know that he had the same effect on her that she had on him. It was torture. “Very true.” Her voice wavered as he snagged his shirt and stepped back. “But, my schedule is empty.” Those pretty eyes narrowed at him. “Unless you’re up early because you have something planned that you didn’t want everyone to know about.” His grin was hidden as he slipped the grey shirt over his head. “Clever.” “Maybe I find you easy to read.” That filled his chest with warmth despite his attempt to ignore it. “Perhaps you do.” He knew she was curious, but he decided to string her along a bit, revenge for coming into his room looking soft and rumpled, like every fantasy his mind could conjure up. She stayed silent, watching as he slipped on his belt, then put on his shoulder holster, pretended his palms didn’t itch with the urge to touch her. “You’re not dressing up.” He turned to see her tapping a well manicured finger against her chin. “And I doubt you would try to spring a formal event on me.” Even though he knew it was loaded, he dropped the magazine of his gun, pulled back the slide and emptied the chamber before reversing the steps, thumbing the bullet back into the magazine, popping it in, loading one before tucking it into its spot on his side, the weight comforting. “I would be out of my depth with that, plus Missandei would never allow it.” “Now who’s the clever one.” She shifted, that slip of fabric way too short for his own sanity, one little push and it would be higher up on her thighs, giving him access— He turned his body away from her, closing his eyes and digging his fingernails into his palms to distract him from those types of thoughts. “I thought you’d like a day at Rhaegar’s Harp.” Gods, he needed her out of his room and away from his slipping self control. This was too intimate, too familiar. “Thank you.” A soft touch at his elbow had him snapping his eyes back open, glancing down to see her at his side, the look in her eyes almost melting him into the expensive carpet. “I thought you were going to stop thankin’ me.” “Just this one last time.” As she turned to leave, he shuddered out a breath, hands grappling the edges of the dresser. He never did like to do things the easy way. ~*~*~ The traffic in King’s Landing was making him irrationally irritable, or maybe it was being stuck in the backseat again, his emotions fluctuating wildly, making him wonder if maybe he needed to be committed. Or perhaps it was the fact that he and Robb were still at odds, made clear not long after Dany had retreated into her room to get ready for the day. He had opened the door to his seething brother, some cheap tabloid in his hand and then slapped against Jon’s chest, a picture of him wrapped around Daenerys outside of WBC building. Apparently it was the big question now, who was he and why were they so at ease with each other? He could have offered an explanation to Robb, but something inside of him refused to give in to his brother, tired of being questioned about his ability to do his job. So it ended the same way the last confrontation had, with him telling Robb to fuck off. “Are you up for another game of kickball?” Pulling his gaze away from the bustle of the city, he looked over to Daenerys, the warmth of her body seeping into him where she pressed against his shoulder. “Always. Are you going to end up with that ridiculous half a butterfly on your face again?” Something in his words made her smile just that much brighter and he longed to trace it with his fingers, to catch its sweetness with his own mouth, let some of her goodness soak into him. “It was an excellent attempt, Jon Snow, and you better not let the girls hear you insult their work. They all have a desperate crushes on you.” Heat flooded his face, turning his neck red. He’d never been good at having the attention turned on him. “They do not.” “They do.” She laughed, twirling the ring on her finger, Missandei chuckling to her side. Any protest was halted by Grey turning into the driveway, leaving him to adjust his jacket, making sure his gun was hidden from the curious eyes of children. They were a well oiled machine by now, Jorah sliding out to get the door, Jon stepping out and blocking the opening while they both scanned the area. “All clear.” He moved aside and held out his hand, noting that he didn’t hear the happy sounds of excited children, just the noise of the neighborhood. Her grip was firm in his as she moved out from the car, Jorah falling in on her other side as they moved forward. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as they moved towards the entrance and he looked behind them, Missandei lingering by the car, waiting for Grey, the feeling of dread making his limbs ready for action. “Somethin’s not right.” He could hear a crackling noise in the background, still no sign of eager faces against the window or children racing out to meet them. “Jorah?” “I agree.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he stopped them, Daenerys stiffening in his hold. “Let’s move back to the car.” The smell of smoke hit his nose, his heart jumping in alarm as adrenaline flooded his veins. “Grey—“ The explosion knocked them off their feet, heat flashing over them and he curled around her, ears ringing, his hand covering her face as the shrill of fire alarms filled the air, Jon peeking up to see the building fully engulfed in flames. “Fuck, Dany we’ve got to move!” He made it to his feet, his vision tunneling as he coughed, black smoke rolling around them, hooking her under the armpits and hauling her up to her feet, ignoring her head colliding with his chin. “The children!” “We can’t help anyone.” She was fighting his hold, trying to free herself and he tightened his grip, feeling nauseous at knowing she’d wear his fingerprints and praying to the gods he no longer believed in that the building had been empty, using his strength to manhandle her back. Jorah was off to the side, his phone out and calling for help. Danger could be anywhere, from anyone and he could feel the pressing heat from the fire as he bodily moved her back to the open door, Missandei stuck frozen in one spot, Grey running towards Jorah. Nails were digging into his neck as she chanted the names of the kids over and over, horror filling him as he stumbled before shoving her into the car. “Dany!” He caught her face, bringing his level with hers, hoped he was right or she’d never forgive him. “There was nobody in there.” Sirens wailed, getting louder as they got closer, Jon waiting for a bullet in the back as he kept her confined inside, her grip on his jacket keeping him from turning around, the tears in her eyes enough to flay him wide open. Engines rumbled loudly, everyone now backed to the side of the car and out of the way as men jumped out of the fire trucks and he could hear them asking Jorah questions, the hiss of water hitting fire filling the air, the roar of flames consuming what was once a safe haven echoing in his ears. Prying free of her hands, he turned to step out of the car, and against his better judgment, let her climb back out beside him, keeping her shoved between him and Jorah, Grey rubbing the arm of a shocked Missandei. The building was a total loss, he could tell that even before the firemen turned to save the surrounding structures and he could feel her body shuddering in silent sobs as they watched the bones of Rhaegar’s Harp turn black and brittle, slowly collapsing in on itself. Despite his best intentions to stay away, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, noticed Jorah holding her hand in support, everyone standing in a shocked silence. “I’m putting you on lockdown.” As he said the words, his voice raspy with the smoke, he realized it was the right decision, an unshakable feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. This could be an accident, or it might not be and that possibility was an itch he couldn’t shake. “Lockdown?” Both Daenerys and Jorah were looking at him, one with approval, the other with disbelief, a gust of wind carrying over a mist from the fire hoses. “You’re going home to the manse and stayin’ there.” There was a finality to his tone that caused her to curl her lips in a snarl but she stayed silent and he was grateful for that, an overwhelming sadness taking over and he waited until she stopped staring at him to turn his own gaze to look at her. She was standing rigid and dry eyed, chin set firmly as she watched the legacy that she had built in honor of her brother, turn into ash right before them. ~*~*~ Her hair smelled of smoke. They had been there for hours, watching the fire brigade work to save the decimated structure, and when it became obvious that was a lost cause, move on to making sure the fire didn’t leap and spread to the other buildings nearby. The only comfort had been the knowledge that Jon had been telling the truth. The building had been empty, no screaming victims rushing out, or needing to be dragged to safety. Likely arson, they said. An investigation to follow. She and Missandei had been in a suppressed state of shock, Dany unable to do much more that silently seethe as she watched everything she had worked so hard to establish over the last five years literally burst into flame in front of her. Missandei had finally snapped her out of it, demanding that she call Varys and the Board of Directors, both of them trying desperately to ascertain the whereabouts of the multitudes of classes that normally occupied Rhaegar’s Harp on a given day, and families they housed in the shelter. It was either by a sheer stroke of luck, or by sinister design, that all classes for the day had embarked on a field trip to the Blackwater Bay Aquarium, and the shelter had been emptied earlier in the day for a routine pesticide appointment. It was a tense few hours until every family and child was accounted for, both she and Dei setting up a command center in the car, refusing to leave until they had made sure that every single person entrusted to their care was safe. They had then moved on to making sure that the families now homeless twice over had a place to go, Dany calling in every favor she was owed across King’s Landing in order to find space in other shelters, and even going so far as to make arrangements with local hotels until a more permanent solution could be reached in the meantime. The Board had balked at the extra cost, but Dany had brooked no room for argument, giving Dei permission to use her personal line of credit to make sure that every family had a roof over their head, and a bed to sleep in for this night, and as many nights to come as was necessary. She could still taste the ashes in her mouth as she slumped between Jon and Missandei on the way back to the manse, too tired and angry to be of much use. Her throat was dry and scratchy— from the smoke, from yelling into a phone all day, from the bouts of panic that would seize her, icy fingers of dread crawling through her at every pop and crackle from the flames. Only Jon had been steady throughout it all, and even he was starting show signs of cracking under the strain. She hated every fucking minute of this fucking day. To say that watching her brother's legacy evaporate in front of her had been a particular low in a week of lows was putting it mildly. She was unsure of how much more of this torture she could really be expected to withstand without her sanity starting to crack. The car pulled into the garage and they all piled out. Dany pushed past the concerned glances of Missandei, Grey, and Jorah to start the climb to her room, only Jon hot on her heels. He caught up to her as she reached Viserys’ wing, and even though her brother had been finally relegated to the guest house, Jon still put a hand on her arm to slow her as she passed his door, putting himself between it and her just in case. She felt her heart give a twist at the gesture, and knew he didn’t deserve this silent treatment, but she found that she couldn’t put her muddled thoughts to words yet, too worn down and tired to be able to handle his feelings with much grace and aplomb. They reached her door and Jon opened it, sweeping through quickly before ducking back out. She leaned against the wall, inspecting the new scrape on her palm from when the explosion had thrown them all to the concrete. Jon had taken the brunt of the fall for her, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her head as they dropped to the pavement, the press of his body almost knocking the air out of her until he jerked her up, dragging her back kicking and screaming to the safety of the car. Just a few seconds more and they all would have been inside— thank all the gods that Jon had been paying attention. When she thought back she could hear the strange crackling in her mind, but had thought nothing of it at the time. She started as Jon came to stand in front of her, his hands dropping onto both of her shoulders. She closed her eyes and shrugged him off, needing just five minutes to herself. His puff of breath caught her, wounding them both that she would pull away here and now, lifting her hair and she captured the strand quickly, twisting her hair behind her in annoyance. “Look,” his voice was rough, hoarse. “I know lockdown is not what you want— it’s not what I want for you eith—“ She held up a hand to quiet him, his words stuttering to a stop as he took in the new blemish on her skin, his jaw clenching with a sudden rage that she felt in a soul. How dare this person go after those she cared about. “I’m going to take a shower, and change into something more comfortable. I suggest you do the same. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.” His eyebrows stood at attention, his mouth stern and tight as his lips shifted into a frown. “Dany, I—“ “Jon. Please,” he was silent for a beat before he nodded only once, his jaw jerking in response to her shortness. Something to apologize for later, she was sure. But for now, she needed warm water sluicing down her skin, carrying away the infernal smell of the destruction of her life’s work. She ducked into her room, not bothering to close the door behind her, peeling off clothing as she went, caring little what Jon Snow saw or didn’t as she slammed the door to her bathroom and slapped the water on, stepping into the shower before the water even had a chance to heat. The cold sent a shock through her, finally breaking the dazed spell she had been under, a rage starting to simmer and boil. She slammed her hand against the glass of the shower, taking a towel and stuffing it in her mouth to muffle the scream of frustration that tore from her throat. She held her breath for a moment after she finished, half hoping that Jon would storm in. She needed— Gods, she didn’t know what she needed— to fight, or flee, or fuck, but something told her that Jon would be right there with her, every step of the way no matter which path she chose. After a few tense moments, she realized he must be in his own shower, her quick muffle too adept. With a sigh, she slathered her shampoo haphazardly through her hair, scrubbing harder than necessary, banishing the smell of smoke once and for all. A quick lather and rinse and she was out before the water had a chance to truly warm, her blood still running hot, keeping her from shivering as she wrapped a towel around her and stepped into her bedroom. The door between their two rooms was still open, and she was loathe to close it now, even if she could still feel her frustration and anger dripping off her in waves. She went to her dresser and ripped open the drawers, looking for the soft, blue cotton shorts that she usually wore outdoors on hot days, letting the towel drop as she pulled them on, slipping a white tank top over her bare shoulders. She rummaged through another drawer to find a sweatshirt in case the weather turned after dark, and went to her closet to find a pair of simple canvas shoes. She ripped open the door to her room— Jon must have closed it— and found him ready on the other side, those grey sweatpants she had first seen during the kickball game at— Don’t...  “Ready?” He shrugged, falling into step with her as she led them back down the stairs and sweeping into the kitchen, a woman on a mission. “I can still go outside, right?” His brow furrowed as she yanked the fridge open, pulling out various fruits and cheeses, slapping them with more force than necessary on the counter behind her. “I mean, yes, as long as you stay on the property then—“ “Great, grab some crackers.” She pointed to a cabinet behind her, rattling through the drawers until she came up with a couple of paring knives, and started opening other cabinets looking for something in which to carry her bounty. There was a huff of breath behind her as she found a basket in the back of a high cupboard, going up on her toes to try to reach it before Jon took a confused pity on her, reaching over her head and bringing it down. His chest brushed across her shoulder and she fought down a blaze of heat that seared through her at the contact, wanting nothing more than to turn into him, shove him up against the counter and ravish as much of him as he would allow. He stepped back before she could act, and with a low growl of frustration, she turned to grab a couple of plates, throwing everything haphazardly inside the basket. “Dare I ask what is happenin’?” She blinked up at him, her movements stalling. “Sure. I’m getting hammered. You’re welcome to join me. Unless you just like to watch.” His face flamed even as he barked out a laugh before he realized that she was completely serious. “What’s your poison? Ale? Wine? Something stronger?” “Dany—“ “Jon—“ she rolled her eyes and went back to throwing everything into the basket, brushing the dust off the handle. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I will call you a craven child every hour on the hour for letting this opportunity pass you by.” He smirked and reached for the basket, testing its weight. “Is that a challenge?” “Yes. I thought that part was obvious.” He considered her for a moment, his hesitation obvious. “You’ve had a long day.” “Others take me, Jon.” She had to fight down the urge to reach out and grip him by his gloriously muscled arms and shake him until his godsdamnned hair tie fell out. “Yes, I have had a fucking long day. And now I’m going to deal with that fucking long day by getting drunk off my ass. Join me, don’t— I really don’t care, but I am taking this—“ she raised the basket, “and I am getting wasted.” She wrapped her sweatshirt around her waist, throwing the basket over her arm as she rummaged through one more cabinet, finding a couple of shot glasses. She clinked them together aggressively in Jon’s direction and made her way outside, not bothering to make sure he was behind her. But, of course he was. “Um, I think you may have forgotten something.” His voice trailed behind her, the humid, sticky air making it even harder to breathe. “You’ll see,” she tossed the words over her shoulder as she struck out across the yard, not bothering with walkways, traipsing directly across the well manicured lawn, headed toward the pond. She could feel him close behind her, the urge strong to reach back and take his hand to drag him along, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands on her in all the ways she had hated instead of all the ways she secretly craved. He didn’t deserve any part of her ire, she knew that in what was left of the rational corner of her mind, he was only trying to protect her, to make sure no harm came to her, to do his fucking job . Another snarl fell from her lips as she picked up the pace, determined to outrun those particular demons if she could. As if he could sense her reservations, he also kept his hands to himself, no scarred palm perfectly fit to the small of her back, no arm offered, no hand on her shoulder, or thumb on the notches of her spine, tracing the ridges as if the feeling of her skin beneath his palms could offer him salvation. She could feel the tension crackling between them even now, his eyes burning a hole into her back, the silence stretching and morphing into something lethal, almost feral, but she would be thrice damned if she let him off the hook that easily. She reached the grove of chestnut trees by the pond, following the water until she spotted the well worn path. The trees were thick here, and the bushes were overgrown— she’d have to remind the gardener to trim it back, but finally, her destination was in sight. An antiquated gazebo, only visible from the back half of the pond, the stone of the patio dropping off directly into the water. It came complete with fully stocked bar, empty fireplace— given the season— and a couple of iron chairs surrounding the lone table. She dropped the basket on the table with a clunk, crossing to the counter and feeling underneath the lip of it for the key she kept taped there. It took a few moments, but she finally felt it, scraping the tape with a fingernail until it came loose and the key dropped into her palm. She wasted no time in crossing to the refrigerator, slipping the key into the padlock, and with a flourish, dropped the open lock onto the counter behind her and threw open the fridge. It hadn’t been stocked properly in awhile, but there was still more than adequate supplies for them both, a few bottles of Dornish red and Arbor gold, but she shoved past them all to get to the back, wanting the kick and bite of something stronger, something to strangle her thoughts before they could form, to allow her to slip quickly and solidly into the realm of numbness that blessedly awaited her. “Ha!” The sound of triumph left her lips as her fingers closed around the dark bottle, pulling the black tar rum from the depths of the fridge, the bottle sweating immediately in the heat and humidity. She bit down on the cap, pulling it out with her teeth before she tossed it onto the table, Jon’s face a delightful mix of confusion, awe, and horror at her behavior. She rummaged through the basket for the shot glasses, pouring one for herself, and one for Jon as he settled warily into the chair across from her. “I think I’m good.” She checked his watch on her wrist. “Hmmm, 6:57pm. You are a craven child.” She pushed the glass toward him again, his jaw tightening as a stubbornness swept across his face. “Like I said, drink, don’t— I don’t give two shits, but there are rules.” His arms folded across his chest. “Rules.” “Yes, Jon, rules .” She fought down the urge to roll her eyes at him, dropping heavily into her own chair, her fingers still curled tightly around the neck of the rum, her other hand lifting the glass. “Rule #1– I get to wallow for three shots. I can scream, cry, jump in the pond, run around naked if I want, and I get to do it and you won’t stop me as long as I’m not endangering myself or you.” His eyes had narrowed the further into the list she got, obviously not liking much of what she had to say, but willing to put up with it for the time being. “Fine.” “Rule #2– Your speaking privileges have been revoked until you drink three shots of your own.” “Dany—“ “Strike one,” she kicked him under the table like a child. “Like I said— you can opt out if you want, but you don’t get to say anything if you do.” She reached over to slide his glass closer to him, his eyes now watching her every move like a hawk. “Rule #3– The night is not done until the bottle is done.” His eyebrows raised in surprise, looking at the bottle, and then back at her. “Only you have direct control over how bad my hangover is going to be tomorrow, Jon. I’ve laid out my course and I’m sticking to it. Cheers.” She tipped the rum back before he could protest, verbally or otherwise, slamming the glass back onto the table as it burned all the way down. It was surprisingly sweet at first, but the spice of it caught her on the back end and she coughed once. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck.” His eyebrows were back at attention as the profanity spilled from her lips, her head dropping onto her folded arms to escape the concerned look in his eyes as she stamped her feet under the table and wound her fists into her hair. “Fuck this day, fuck my brother, fuck everything to all seven of the hells and may whoever is doing this burn for all eternity.” She could feel the sting of tears pricking the back of her eyes and she bit down on her lip to keep them from falling. “He’s escalating, isn’t he?” She asked it from the safety of her shield of hair, knowing what the answer was even before she felt Jon’s warm fingers thread through to reach hers, stroking softly until she let the death grip on her tresses go. “It’s not enough to kill me anymore. He wants to make it hurt on the way out.” Jon’s hand tightened on hers, his grip almost painful, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes, the pain she saw there a reflection of her own. “We got so lucky today— and I don’t just mean us not being in the fucking building. I mean—“ she choked before she could finish the horrifying thought, the imagined sight of bloody children something that would haunt her dreams tonight. She dropped his hand and shoved back from the table, a frenetic energy driving her to pace along the edge of the pond, not even the stillness of the water relaxing her. “What if it hadn’t been a field trip day? What if we would have gone tomorrow instead— would he have known and waited, or was this always the plan, something else to just take me out at the knees?” She made her way back to the table, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself another shot, slamming it back as well. “I swear, if this lunatic harms one hair on any of those children’s heads, he will come to know the meaning of Fire and Blood before I finish with him.” Jon shivered, whether from her oath, or the first hint of a cool breeze across heated skin, she didn't know. Ominous clouds were swirling in the distance, a summer storm to go along with the storm raging within her. She dropped back into her chair across from him, leaning back, her sudden burst of energy gone. She could feel the tears starting to well up again, obviously not quite the dry husk she had spent the day feeling like, and she gripped the arms of the chair as she stared at the roof of the gazebo, the sunlight filtering through a few patchy holes. Something else in her life to try to repair. “You’re right about the lockdown, by the way.” She could hear his sigh of relief, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet. “Maybe if I disappear for awhile, he won’t involve anyone else. I could never forgive myself if…” she trailed off, not knowing how to finish the statement. 
If anyone else got hurt… If anyone she loved was killed… If Jon…
 She sat up, unable to follow that thought to its end, reaching for the bottle to pour her third shot, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “I keep thinking about all of this. I keep trying to wrack my brain for the why of it all.” She brought the glass to her lips, taking a small sip before she sighed and threw the rest of it back, warmth finally starting to build in her chest. “I just can’t figure out what I did. Fuck me— what in all seven hells did I do? What do I have to do to make it right?” The scrape of the iron on the concrete startled her as Jon shoved his chair back, first shot downed before his fingers closed on the bottle, pouring the other two in quick succession and throwing them back. “Fuck him. You didn’t do anythin’.” She was just as startled by her laugh as he was, his hand already rubbing at his chest as the rum burned to go with the fire in his eyes. “And how would you know?” The question came out softer than she anticipated, the vulnerability of it catching in her throat. His nostrils flared as he tried to rein himself in, her shift in energy taking him by surprise. He was silent for a moment as he poured them each another shot, setting the bottle aside and making himself busy with unpacking the rest of the basket. “Because I see you.” Her heart stopped as he brought his gaze to meet hers steadily, not even the rum distorting the warmth of it, the way his fingers clenched and unclenched, hesitant even now to reach for her. “I can see straight to the heart of you, and nothin’ you could have done would deserve what he’s puttin’ you through.” She could feel her cheeks going pink under his praise, easily matching the shade of his neck at his outburst. Unsure of what to do, or how to handle such admiration she leaned forward, taking a stem of grapes and popping one into her mouth. “You don’t know all of me,” she found herself whispering in the quiet that had descended. “You’ve only been here, what— a few weeks?” “It doesn’t matter,” his response was immediate and firm, and she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest, her desire to take his face in her hands bubbling up, to stroke her thumbs against the edges of his beard. “You keep tryin’ to help, to be better. That counts for everything’.” She bit her lip to keep her quiet thank you from escaping, a slow smile spreading over Jon’s face as he realized what she had been about to say, and he slid a plate of fruit and cheese toward her along with her next shot. “Ready to stop wallowin’?” “Maybe.” “You said three shots— I’m just followin’ the rules.” She laughed, the tightness that had settled in her chest from the moment the explosion knocked her off her feet finally loosening as she leaned forward, capturing his hand in hers as she lifted the shot glass, waiting until he did the same. “May we both see truly.” He swallowed, the bob of his Adam’s apple long and slow as she leaned forward to clink glasses, her fingers tightening over his. They both drank, slowly this time, the need to rush gone. She turned out to look at the gathering clouds over the pond, the puffy darkness battling the last remnants of the sun as the breeze picked up around them, blessedly breaking the humidity. “Tell me something nice.” He groaned. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that. I think you may have noticed that pretty words are not my forte.” She shook her head, thoroughly charmed. “You’re better than you think,” but she acquiesced, taking a moment to scan through the available information she had learned, knowing that both of their pasts were littered with minefields. “What’s snow like?” He jerked in shock, almost spilling the bottle from where he had been pouring their next round. “You’ve never seen snow?” She had to laugh at the thunderstruck look on his face. “Is that so hard to believe?” “When you grow up in a place that sees more snow than rain, yes, it’s kind of a strange concept to grasp.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to continue, taking a wedge of cheese to nibble on as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s cold.” She nearly choked, coughing around the laughter as he got to his feet to pat her on the back, his hands coming to settle on her shoulders. “You’re tense,” he murmured. “I wonder why,” she said, her mouth dry as he gathered her damp hair to the side, throwing it gently over her shoulder before he set his strong thumbs to work on her shoulders and neck, a tiny groan of pleasure escaping her lips as he worked. “Go on.” He was quiet for a moment, obviously enjoying the feeling of her becoming absolute putty in his hands, the warmth of the rum swirling together with the searing heat he was conjuring in her belly with his touch. “There are lots of kinds of snow— flurries, which are tiny and more obnoxious than anything else. A good snow has some weight to it, it’s fluffy— will catch on your eyelashes and your skin before they disappear— gone forever.” “That’s sad.” “The North is a bit of a sad place. But beautiful.” She reached for their shot glasses, handing his over her shoulder to him, a tiny grin in place as he took it, his other hand spanning the nape of her neck, his fingers trailing over the fine hairs there. “Do you miss it?” Her voice was hoarse, her mind starting to go a little fuzzy, especially as she downed the next shot, her head lolling back into his hand to stare up at him. His gaze was thoughtful, that same heat she saw in the dressing room mirror simmering underneath as he also drank down his rum, setting the glass back on the table and pouring another for them both before returning his hand to her shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Sometimes. I miss my dog.” She sat up and spun around, the world tilting crazily as she reached for the table to steady herself. “You have a puppy?” His chuckle reverberated through her chest. “Don’t ever let him hear you call him that.” “Pictures, Snow.” She bounced in anticipation as he pulled the chair around next to her, pulling his phone from his pocket and swiping through until he found the picture he wanted, turning the phone to her and handing her another wedge of cheese. “This is Ghost.” “Oh my gods, he’s so fluffy.” Truth be told, she could barely see the dog in the picture he had chosen, the giant floof blending into the snowy backdrop of the photo completely. His laugh was starting to become an addicting sound to her, one that she would crave hearing no matter the circumstance. “Don’t ever let him hear you say that either.” “What does Ghost prefer?” “Ferocious beast?” She shook her head, her eyes going back to the photo, Ghost’s tongue lolling out in a giant doggy grin. “This puppers? Noooo.” He plucked the phone out of her grasp to scroll through more photos, and she pushed at his boundaries just a bit more, feeling a shift between them, something that had been growing from the start, exacerbated by the constant close contact. She rested her head on his shoulder as she nibbled on her cheese, oohing and ahhing over the rest of the photos— his transformation to proud doggy dad complete. They lapsed into silence, Jon’s chin resting on her head as they watched the clouds, the sunlight dying as the first low rumble of thunder made itself known. He sat up, reaching down to brush the strands of her hair caught in his beard away. “Storm’s comin’.” “Aye.” She couldn’t hold the serious tone and burst into giggles before she had even finished the word, reaching for their next round. “Guess we better hurry.” She stood up to stretch, thankful that the world was not shifting so violently, rolling her shoulders and neck, now loose and relaxed under his skillful touch. “You’re good at that.” She padded toward the fridge, opening it to pull out a couple bottles of water, handing one to him over his shoulder before grabbing the bottle of rum and crossing to the counter. She set the bottle down carefully, and turned to face Jon, his curiosity written wide as she placed her hands behind her and attempted to hoist herself onto the counter. She failed, slipping down with a laugh. “Oops.” He stood, crossing to her, crowding her between his solid form and the counter. “Need some help?” The gruffness in his voice tore through her, his eyes serious and lightly hooded. She had to fight to urge to bury her nose in his chest, to breathe him in as she nodded, unable to trust her voice. His hands went to her waist, thumbs rolling across the bones of her hips beneath the tank top, lifting her easily and placing her on the countertop. They were eye level for the first time, and she couldn’t help herself as her fingers traced the line of his strong nose, her thumbs finally finding that furrow between his brows and smoothing it away. She was seconds away from threading her fingers through his curls when he caught her wrists, pulling her hands gently from his face, and her breath caught at the blaze in his eyes, the rumble of thunder in the distance getting stronger by the minute. “Turn around.” She wet her lips as she said it, his gaze dropping there and lingering, another bolt of want streaking through her. For a moment, she thought he might not listen, that he might take her face in his hands, cover her lips with his own, but instead his gaze fell to her neck, his fingers lightly trailing over what was left of the scratch before a resolve came over him and he turned. She released the breath she didn’t know she was holding, wildly scrambling for the bottle of rum, not even bothering with a glass as she chugged straight from the bottle before handing it to him as well. This was too much, too intimate, but she couldn’t tear herself away, like a moth drawn to his flame. With trembling fingers, she reached for his hair tie, wrapping it around her wrist as she finally sank her fingers into his curls, shaking the hair loose from his bun. He groaned lightly, taking a swig of his own from the bottle before grabbing the lip of the counter behind him, his thumb trailing lightly along the skin of her knee. She continued her work, patiently untangling the curls, her fingers pressing into the warmth of his scalp, her thumbs working at the hollow where his skull met his neck, his tension bleeding away under her touch. The breeze picked up, a cool bite to it now as the storm loomed, and she found herself pressing closer to his warmth, her hands trailing down to his shoulders before winding under his arms, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder. He took another drink from the bottle, handing it back to her to set aside before grabbing her left hand, and bringing it forward to inspect the new scrape. The burn of the rum was nothing compared to his gentle, yet searing touch, and he took a step forward, pulling her off the counter, her wrists captured in his hands, her front pressed firmly to his muscled back, every movement sending a ripple through them both. She buried her face in the space between his shoulder blades, going rigid against him as his lips passed over the scrape, a whisper of a kiss that left her reeling, wondering if she had actually felt it. There was a gentle pressure on her wrist before he turned in her arms, smirking down at her as his watch now dangled from his fingers— brazenly stolen from her own wrist. Her jaw dropped, composure scattered to the rising winds, and she reached for the watch, only to have it snapped back out of her grasp. “Told you I’d want it back.” That cruel but sexy smirk was growing, as was her want, her need to wipe it off his face with her tongue, to finally find out if his lips were as plush as they felt against her palm, all pouting and soft. Instead, she leaned back, a cold, calculating look falling over her face as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from giving the game away. “You fight dirty, Jon Snow.” His eyes widened as she wet her lips, moving onto the tips of her toes, the rum making her a little brave, a little bold— her hands coming to rest ever so lightly on his chest for balance. She pushed herself forward, further into his space, taking a moment to nuzzle his jaw with the tip of her nose. His beard was coarse against her skin, and even the barest of touches had his jaw clenching, the skin in the hollow of his cheek jumping sporadically. She eased her way to his earlobe, wondering what he would do if she were to take it into her mouth, suckle it with her tongue, nip at it with sharp, cunning teeth. She let her hands travel up to his shoulders, pushing her breasts into his chest, the drag of her nipples through her thin tank against his scars spiraling waves of heat between them, his breath now coming in heaves beneath her. “I’ll remember that.” “Is that a threat?” His voice had dropped at least two octaves, more guttural than she had ever heard, and there it was, that throb of desire straight to her cunt, perfectly timed to the crash of his heartbeat. She leaned back, fascinated by the way his body involuntarily bowed to keep her close, her fingers trailing down her arms. “Worse.” His eyes were helpless, unable to look away from her and her smile spread, predatory, knowing in her bones that he was captured. “It’s a promise.” As if the gods themselves had witnessed her vow, a peal of thunder ripped through the gazebo, the concurrent flash of lightning igniting the fire blazing in his eyes as she dropped down and away, snagging the rum as his fingers brushed against her arm as he made to grasp her, pull her in. She danced away to the table, knowing somewhere in a darkened, fuzzy corner of her mind that she was a bit too tipsy to allow anything to happen tonight. He carried enough guilt. She wouldn’t let him add a night of drunken debauchery to that guilt, as much as she wanted to throw herself at him— to worship him with her lips and tongue, to follow that V shaped muscle to its point, finally, finally, taking him into her hand, her mouth, her cunt, as deeply as she had already taken him into her heart. His low growl of frustration nearly set her aflame as well, and she was dying to soothe, to explain, but settled instead for pouring them both another shot, turning to him with his glass in hand. She approached slowly, his eyes watching her warily as she offered him the shot glass. His fingers curled around hers as he took it, understanding finally simmering beneath the heat. “Last one.” He said, a promise behind the words, but she tossed her hair wildly, shaking her head. “Bottle’s not done yet.” She held it aloft, the two fingers left in it taunting them, and raised her glass, tapping it to his. “Here’s to tomorrow’s hangover.” “I’m not holdin’ your hair back if you start vomiting.” “Yes, you will.” She teased, and a soft look crept back into his face, some form of chivalry finally permeating the lust. He shook his head slowly, a smile spreading across his face, the sincerity of it stealing her breath away. “Aye, I will.” She tipped the rum into her mouth, the burn of it searing all the way down, her cheeks flushing as Jon’s eyes never left her, eyeing the column of her neck, the way her tank top rode up her stomach, the wind in her hair. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tongue stalling under his bold gaze. “I’m hardier than I look.” “I know,” he said quietly, advancing on her and plucking the bottle from her grip, pouring the next round as little plips and plops started out on the roof above them, another peal of thunder and lightning reverberating through her chest. He stopped, looking out at the lawn as the rain picked up speed, the drops splashing across the pond as the sounds quickly crescendoed, the crash along the roof almost deafening. “Here comes the rain.” She snorted, even as his smile cracked with his obvious comment, the smell of the rum in her hands almost as intoxicating as the scent of the rain swirling together with that of the man beside her. She threw the shot back, setting the glass unsteadily on the table. She couldn’t help herself then, throwing herself into his arms as they came down around her, gathering her into his chest, finally brave enough to realize that she needed to be held, she wanted to be held by him . His nose buried into her hair, and she could feel his lips mouthing against her scalp, the apologetic words she had forbidden him to say offered up as a prayer against her skin. The sound of his heartbeat crashed along with the thunder as the storm broke and wailed around them— how long they stayed wrapped in the other’s embrace unclear. All she knew was that eventually, the sounds of the storm dulled in her ears, the rain steady but no longer holding the wrath of all the gods. She pulled back slightly, and Jon’s scarred hand went to her cheek, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear reverently, his eyes searching her own for only a moment before she grinned up at him, and slapped his ass as hard as she could. The muscle jumped beneath her palm before she took off into the rain, the peal of her laughter trailing behind her as she fled. He caught her before she could get past the pond, strong arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her into the air to swing her around to face him, the rain streaming down both of their faces, both of them soaked through immediately. “Daenerys Targaryen!” His words were shocked, but that simmer in his eyes was back, a low boiling heat that she knew would bubble out and over them both soon. 
Soon.
 “Jonathan Snow!” That brilliant smile was there as well, his laugh keeping her warm in the summer rain, and she couldn’t help herself anymore, couldn’t hold back the rush of her desire as she hooked her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her, her lips capturing the joy of his laugh finally, finally , upon her own. He stiffened for only a moment before his arms locked around her, lifting her off her feet as his mouth opened under hers, her tongue sweeping past those soft and supple lips as teeth clanked messily, her legs wrapping around his waist as his hands went to her ass, supporting her until he got them back into the grove of trees, out of the still pouring rain. He tasted of rum and fruit and sweetness, his breath coming in gasps as he pulled away, setting her on wobbly feet against the trunk of a tree, one hand still on her wrist as he tried to wipe the rain off of his face. “It’s just Jon,” he said quietly, his chest heaving with the effort of restraint as she realized what she had just done. “Oh gods,” she put her face in her hands, the world suddenly reeling around her. She didn't even know if he had a fucking girlfriend, someone who cherished him, and here she was— “I’m so sorr—“ His mouth was on hers again before she could finish, his hands twining with hers as he pulled them away from her face. This time his lips were gentle and sweet, her blood singing as he gripped her tightly. “Don’t.” His breath was still coming heavily, or was it her own— she wasn’t sure anymore. “Don’t be sorry. We’ve got time, Dany.” “Do we?” The sting of tears was back, pricking her eyes as she stared up at him. “I swear to you, we do.” She buried her face in his neck, the rest of her strength leaving her in a whoosh, and everything was a swirl of light and color, nothing registering until she realized she was laying down, a soft, but firm pillow beneath her cheek that smelled of him. She drifted off, cloaked in his scent, this time letting her dreams take her where they may. 
~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~
He’d forgotten to close the blinds the night before, something overlooked in the aftermath of the fire, forgotten in his hurry to meet Daenerys, and definitely not on his mind at the end of his night. The brightness was creeping in, making him aware of the dull pounding of a headache, courtesy of the rum, his eyelids feeling like sandpaper over his eyes.
 
But, all of that was forgotten, even the warmth of the sun after the summer storm, because there was a greater warmth curled into him. Soft snores tickled his ears, a slim leg tucked possessively over his, his right arm numb under her slight weight.
 
Gods, it had seemed like such a good idea the night before, scooping her up in his arms, the rain drenching them both as he carried her inside, her face tucked into his shoulder. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to put her into her nest on the floor— her bed still off limits— so he had done the only thing he could and tucked her into his bed.
 
It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, and since he was a grown arsed man who could control his impulses and urges, he had crawled into the covers on his side, not sure if the spinning world was from the alcohol or from his first taste of Daenerys Targaryen.
 
Considering he was still weightless and turning, but without the nausea of a hangover, it had to be her.
 
Fuck, he was so done for. The previous night had been the final crack that toppled the wall, and that was

before

he’d even kissed her. No, that decision had been made the moment his fingers had curled around that shot glass to follow the rules she’d sternly laid out. Now he stood in the rubble of what had been his rules, the dirt and debris of the safety net he’d been hiding behind, finally out in the open and willing to see the consequences.
 
And all because he couldn’t stand the thought of her not understanding how godsdamned wonderful she was— how she made him want to climb out of the icy cage that he’d been stuck in, just to be around her and soak up that endless fire she provided.
 
The breathing against his skin broke, breath catching, her palm sliding down his abdomen— in hindsight, he should have kept his shirt on— as she shifted, and he caught her hand carefully, pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist in apology, already hard and aching for her.
 
For a moment he let himself fantasize about rolling her onto her back and waking her up in other pleasurable manners, before getting lost inside of her, but it wasn’t right yet. He wanted her,

fuck,

he wanted her, jaw clenching with effort as he carefully slipped free of the tangle of her limbs, but he needed to make sure she had seen all of him first— all the broken bits and not just the man keeping her safe.
 
Rolling onto his side, a cautious arm’s length away he watched her eyelids flutter, lashes dark against her cheek, his heart giving a resounding thump to remind him it still worked as her mouth rounded with the displeasure of waking up. A whine came from that back of her throat, her small hand moving heavily up to cover her eyes as she groaned at the sharpness of the light.
 
“Oh gods, we drank that whole bottle, didn’t we?”
 
“Technically, you had a head start.”
 
Her hand froze, the blue of her eyes peeking from between her fingers, surprise not quite muffled. “Jon?”
 
“Aye.” He chuckled and caught her hand. “Who did you think I was?”
 
There was no answer as she buried her face in his pillow, a growing nervousness that maybe he’d overstepped or

fuck

, even misread the situation, drunken choices mistaken for sober ones, before she lifted her head, pushing the knotted mess of silver from her vision. “I didn’t realize I was in your room. I should have known, the pillows smell like you.”
 
That chased away the unease, something inside him preening at the strange thought of her recognizing what he smelled like, and he propped his head up with his hand, letting her gather thoughts, not wanting to push, even though he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.
 
“My head hurts.” She flopped back against the mattress, turning to face him, lips turned down in a pout and he wanted to run his thumb over them, test their fullness again to make sure it hadn’t all been just a dream.
 
“Mine too.” He let his eyes flutter closed against the pounding in his skull, against the urge to pull her close, even though he wasn’t sure all his limbs would work properly. “How are you feelin’?”
 
He wasn’t talking about her hangover and she knew it, his eyes opening in time to watch hers close, mouth tightening with anger, loss, and he reached out to cover her hand with his own, wanting to give comfort, let her know she wasn’t facing this alone.
 
“Still angry but that won’t accomplish anything.” Lashes fluttered, sea blue staring at him, determination in their depths, and he felt himself fall a little farther down the hole with her.
 
Her hand turned over under his, smaller fingers lacing through his, and he felt the resounding squeeze around his heart. “And what does Daenerys Targaryen plan to accomplish?”
 
“Rebuild? Relocate? I don’t know yet, but I won’t be scared away that easily.”
 
Those words filled him with pride, with awe, the realization that fighting his feelings for her would be impossible when she kept stubbornly climbing back up onto her feet every time life knocked her down. And at the same time he was terrified, that very attitude likely to make her an easier target, putting her right into the crosshairs he was trying to keep her out of. But he’d have to learn to adjust, bend, double up on his work because he knew he wouldn’t allow himself to stifle her.
 
“That’s one of the things I like about you.” It was a heavy confession in the wake of what almost happened between them, regret that it didn’t mingling with the pleasurable torture of drawing it out, seeing how long it could last before they finally came together, and apparently, he mused, he was done pretending they weren’t barreling straight down that road.
 
“Jon.” Her face shifted, twisted, and his heart dropped, certain she was going to take it all back just as he’d realized what he wanted. “I need to ask you…” she trailed off, rolling to her back to stare at the ceiling, keeping the now awkward hold on his hand. “I mean, before I end up in your bed again, I don’t know anything about your personal life.”
 
It took him a moment to understand what she was saying, his concentration having came to a stuttering stop at

in your bed again

and the lusty images that brought forth. He forced himself mentally forward. “I’m not involved with anyone.” He cleared his throat as she turned back to face him. “I haven’t… it’s been awhile.”
 
Memories came up to choke him even though he’d moved forward, the tiniest bit of regret for the bitter ending before death had made it permanent, even with the knowledge it never would have worked out in the end.
 
“Another terrible story?” Gentle fingers touched a scar, then another and his breath shuddered.
 
“Aye.” But this story would not end the same, he vowed silently. “We were too different, even before it went badly, too stubborn to realize it. But I learned a lot about myself, about how I viewed the world, so I guess, in the end that part at least was good.”
 
“Too stubborn?” An eyebrow arched at him and he could tell she was trying to balance her curiosity with causing him pain at the recollection, and he felt so much

more

for her than lust that it made him a little dizzy.
 
Lifting their joined hands, he pressed a kiss against her knuckles, lingered for a moment. “Apparently that’s a thing for me.”
 
“Maybe I don’t want to hear more.”
 
There was a huff of jealousy in her tone and he couldn’t stop the small smile, could hardly believe that she could have an ounce of that in her. “You needn’t worry.” It was a promise disguised lightheartedly, and he reached out to push hair off her face. “You have empathy, caring for everyone. You want the best for them and try to reach out to them all. She cared deeply for her people and didn’t care about those who stood in her way.” It was so easy to spot the difference now. “She was Freefolk.”
 
“And you were Night’s Watch.” It was said with sadness, the understanding of pain.
 
“Aye.” Too much difference and not enough caring in them to compromise. Or, Jon thought, staring into the eyes of the woman he very much wanted to fuck— but also hold and comfort, stand beside her while she changed the world— maybe the key was finding someone with whom compromise didn’t seem so impossible.
 
“I’m not happy you went through that, but a part of me is selfish enough to be glad you don’t have someone waiting at home for you. Does that mar the image for you?”
 
“No.” His words rushed out, caught between throwing himself at her like a fool, and keeping calm and collected, mouth closing to prevent a rush of confessions from falling out. How could that tarnish her when he felt the same way? “No.”
 
A little smile moved over her face, fingers tightening in his and he wanted to pull her closer, let her relax into him, lay in bed and waste the morning away, just as badly as he wanted to roll her under him and make them both forget about past lovers.
 
The vibration of his cell phone was enough to stop any further thoughts along those lines, and Jon sighed at the interruption before rolling over to make a mad grab for it. With a wince, he noticed it was Robb, almost dropped the phone on his chest as he fumbled to answer it, wondering rather belatedly what the person on duty the previous night must have thought about the show he put on with Daenerys.
 
“Robb.”
 
“Jon.” Robb’s voice was still tight with displeasure, their fighting still lingering, neither ready to back down. “Apparently Viserys has booked a few days in Dorne.”
 
He could feel Daenerys looking at him, quiet and wide eyed and Jon tried not to snarl at the convenience of her brother leaving town. “Okay. Please email me your travel information and let me know if you need anything researched while you are in motion.”
 
“Got it.” There was a sigh on the other end of the line, Jon pinching his eyes shut with the weight of it settling in his chest. He wouldn’t apologize for his feelings and actions. “Well, see you in a few days brother.”
 
“Aye, see you when you get back.” As the call disconnected, he dropped the phone onto his chest, the feel of her palm against his keeping the guilt from crawling over him. Because she was nothing to feel guilty over, he knew that, hating the ingrained reflex that automatically kicked in.
 
Fingers trailing along his forearm had him turning his head back, letting her touch melt him back into the moment of them, enjoying it for the space of a dozen heartbeats before opening his mouth to possibly ruin it. “Your brother is going to Dorne for a few days.”
 
“There is a rehab there that he’s been to before. Maybe that’s where he’s headed.” There was a cautious hopefulness in her eyes that twisted his heart, her fucking terrible brother not worth a sliver of her time. But, he didn’t voice that, knew it wasn’t that simple.
 
“I can find out for you.” All the information was probably already sitting in his inbox, easily shared if she wanted.
 
“Don’t tell me yet.”
 
He moved back to his side, letting himself reach out and glide a thumb over her cheekbone, the unblemished one, recognizing her instinct to protect her heart, already knowing she would ask him in her own time to see if Viserys was making an effort.
 
She caught his hand, holding it to her cheek for a moment before nuzzling his wrist, his pulse kicking up with her motions, heat waking up his system with a sharp bite and he almost made a noise that would have been embarrassing considering what little she was doing.
 
And he wasn’t quite ready to let everything go just yet. “We should probably get up before Missandei comes looking for you.”
 
The face she made was an effective pout, making him remember vividly how soft her lips were, how quickly and utterly lost he became with them against his, how she melted against him as they had stood in the rain.
 
With a small groan she sat up, finally disentangling their fingers, confusion wrinkling her brow as she grabbed at the shirt she was in, his shirt that he’d put her in before tucking her in. “This is yours.”
 
“Aye.” He rolled up, letting her gaze linger on his abdomen before pulling the covers up to his waist. “I didn’t think you should be sleeping in wet clothes.”
 
“Jon Snow!” Her voice was mock scandalized, fingers clutching the shirt away from her chest, distracting him efficiently. “You took my shirt off?”
 
Heat was crawling up his neck, flustering him thoroughly, a ridiculous thing since he was already thinking of the things he’d do to her with her permission. “I believe I’ve seen them before.” The flush of heat was now moving south, remembering past the panic of thinking she was shot, how her tits had fit in his hands.
 
“Touché.” There was a slightly evil glint in her eyes, her smile making him wary as she shifted onto her knees and shuffled toward him. “Thank you.”
 
“Dany—“ His train of thought was lost as her hand braced her weight on his thigh, lips pressing against his cheek causing his eyes to close as he absorbed the close press of her body. Then reaching out, he caught the wrist reaching across him, over to her true target laying on his bedside stand. “You’re going to have to be sneakier than that.”
 
She huffed out a breath, using her free hand to push messy hair out of her face as he kept a hold on the hand that had been reaching for his watch. “Maybe just more distracting?”
 
Before he could process what she had said, there was a leg thrown over him, his lap suddenly full and his hands reflexively grabbed handfuls of a lovely arse, teeth nipping sharply at his neck.
 
He was mindless, a ball of heat and lust, pulling her tighter into his lap, against him, her groan echoing in his ears, nose pushing at her cheek until she finally left the spot on his neck, mouth catching her top lip, her hips grinding down into him.
 
She could have his watch and anything else she wanted, fingers tugging into his loose hair, his hands sliding up under his own shirt, her skin as warm and addicting as the slide of her tongue against his. Fingernails scored flesh, hers biting into his shoulders, his fingers pressing into her hips to hold her where he needed her, heat seeping through to his cock, rubbing and rolling pressure, their breath starting to come in pants.
 
Her head rolled back for a moment as she gulped in air, neck exposed and he tasted the new flesh, her hands dropping to the hem of her shirt,

his shirt

and gods, he forgot about drawing it out, needing,

needy,

his hands covering hers to help and—
 
A knock on the door had them both jolting, frozen comically in place, his face pulling up from where it had been buried in the crook of her neck, the blue of her eyes swallowed by black.
 
“Dany!” Missandei’s voice was muffled from where she stood outside Daenerys’ door, the sound carrying through the open doorway between their rooms.
 
“Oh, gods.”
 
It would be amusing if he hadn’t been seconds away from ending their mutual torture, hearing what she sounded like when he was buried deep within her. But another knock insisted and he groaned in frustration, helping Daenerys untangle her legs from the covers, smoothing up her calves before setting her on the floor, swinging his own feet over before catching her hand as she started to turn, pulling her in again for one last taste, lingering over her lips before letting go.
 
“I’ve got to….” She was flushed pink and gorgeous, a little wobbly on her feet.
 
“Go.” He helped her turn, couldn’t resist, pressing a kiss behind her ear and letting her take a step forward before reaching out, giving her a smart slap on that wonderfully round arse, laughing at the undignified squeal she let out and admiring the edges of a handprint as she made it into her room, his heart stuttering as she paused to give him the same look of longing that he was feeling, then closing the door between them.
 
He stood there staring at the solid wood between them, arousal rolling through his body, aching and needy as he rubbed his his hand over his face.

Fuck,

he needed to find some relief with her, wanted her so badly he could hardly think straight.
 
But… that needed to be put aside for now. It was time to concentrate on security, not how she moved against him, the needy sounds she made. Making his way to the shower, he could remember how soft her skin was under his hands, how urgently she had kissed him.
 
Instead of his normal routine of cold water first, he let it warm up, stripping careful out of his shorts and into the spray. Letting the heat soak into his muscles, he decided to take pity on himself, soaping up his hands, fisting his cock, closing his eyes, and put himself back five minutes in time to the feel of Daenerys rocking against him, surrounded by her soft scent, and let

her

fill his mind while he found a release.
 
~*~*~
 
She was going to murder whoever was on the other side of her door. She wasn’t often one to condone violence, but with her ass cheek still stinging from his playful slap, as well as the thrumming of her blood singing through every vein in her body, she allowed herself a brief fantasy of strangulation as she ran her hands through her hair and pulled Jon’s shirt down from where he had rucked it up

almost

over aching breasts begging for his attention.
 
She threw open the door, scathing comment on the tip of her tongue, but Missandei didn’t even give her a moment before she swept in. “You’re so late!” she whispered frantically, her golden eyes sweeping from the crown of her head to her toes, eyebrows raising in suspicion and glancing around the room before she took Dany by the shoulders and firmly pushed her in the direction of the bathroom. She felt a flush spread across her face and neck, thanking all the gods old and new that she had the wherewithal to close the doors between their rooms.  “Did you not remember that Jhiqui was coming today? Prep for the

Whispers

shoot?”

Fuck.

Dei was right, and now she was about to have to endure a waxing with arousal still pulsing through every part of her, the memory of Jon’s callused hands digging into her hips making her squeeze her thighs together as everything inside of her clenched, her headache returning with a vengeance. “I’m sorry. I overslept.”
 
“Mmmhmmm.” Missandei’s agreement was noncommittal at best, opening the shower door and turning the water on, getting the temperature warm enough while Dany quickly stripped out of what was left of her clothing, pressing her face into Jon’s shirt for only a moment before she stepped into the shower to quickly try to scrub away any evidence of anything other than a calm, normal night of slumber.
 
“Remind me what the rest of today is again?” Maybe she could find a moment to slip into his office, to continue their… encounter.
 
Dei sighed, but was silent for a moment as she scrolled through her phone. Dany quickly lathered and rinsed, trying not to moan as her deft fingers swept against sensitive skin, a pitiful replacement for Jon’s mouth, hands, and tongue. Gods, when she finally got a hold of his cock, she was fucking done for. Even the thought of that growing length nestled between her thighs, begging to be ground down upon had her wet again and almost groaning audibly.
 
“Hey,” a sharp knock on the shower door brought her back to the present with a wince as the pain in her head spiked again. “Are you listening?”
 
“Having a hard time waking up,” her reply was strangled, even though she was trying to keep her mind focused on what Dei was saying.
 
“Jhiqui was supposed to start thirty-five minutes ago, so we’re already behind, and I’ll have to shuffle everything back, but it’s a full day. Especially because now that everything has to be routed through the manse.”
 
“Sorry,” Dany muttered quietly, a pang of regret running through her to go along with the rebellious roll of her stomach. She hadn’t given much thought to the struggle Dei would have with the lockdown, especially after her drunken night had taken such a breath-stealing turn. She needed to snap out of it, to push aside the taste of Jon, the sensation of his tongue against the pulse in her throat, his teeth sinking into her neck for just long enough to get through the day, and then,

then

they could finally come together in a tangle of lust and limb.
 
Another knock as the shower door opened and a toothbrush appeared with toothpaste already on it, as well as some willowbark tabs from Dei’s slim hands. “Dany. I need you to listen, please.”
 
“Right, yes. We’re behind—“ She took the pills, and a swallow full of shower water to knock them back before reaching for the toothbrush to furiously scrub her teeth, hoping that Jon hadn’t noticed how terrible her breath must have been.
 
“After Jhiqui, we have back-to-back calls with the Board to discuss what to do now, as well as your new City Watch Liaison idea. Hopefully the Fire Department will have some idea whether or not the building is salvageable. Your sketches for the Fall Line are due, but with Viserys going to Dorne for a few days, I have no idea who’s going to approve them, especially as Baelish is also out of town.”
 
That was odd. “When did Baelish leave?”
 
“Yesterday, or the day before— I’ll have to check with Ros.” More tapping as Dany finished rinsing off, slapping the water off and taking the towel Missandei offered in exchange for the toothbrush. “The CFDW is also scheduled for a call today to discuss the preliminaries for the award ceremony. There’s to be a luncheon the day before,”
 
“I doubt we’ll be attending that. Jon will have his hands full with the ceremony and I don’t think we should split his focus.” She’d also need to task Missandei with finding him a tux for the award ceremony, or at least a nicer suit.
 
“Yes, I’ve already put him in contact with their head of security so I’m sure they will be able to hash it all out.”
 
Dany stepped out of the shower, hoping the heat of the shower covered the beard burn along her neck, wrapping the towel around her hair as Missandei handed her a robe. “Also, Jorah wants a private word with you.”

Double fuck.

“All right, just put him wherever we have time.”
 
Apparently, that time wouldn’t be for another twelve hours, the day a whirl from beginning to end. She had been right, the waxing had been absolute torture, her skull pounding, and now every step she took was a reminder of how completely bare she was, every thought turning toward Jon sending a new rush of arousal through her, even though she hadn’t seen him since that morning.
 
The Fire Department has been full of terrible news— nothing definite yet regarding whether or not it was arson, but Dany knew in her heart that it was. Whoever was after her knew her well enough to decipher what would hurt her the most, and the blow to Rhaegar’s Harp had definitely been a blow to the heart of her. Thankfully, the Board had stopped their whining once Tyrion had procured their insurance information— their policy ironclad even in the instance of arson, and they could immediately start looking into alternative solutions.
 
Once a cost-comparison had been done, and available real estate procured, they could move forward with a decision, and Dany agreed to keep personally funding the families as needed for the foreseeable future.
 
With that business concluded, she moved on to finalizing her sketches, having Dei scan and email them to Viserys, hoping against the growing pit in her stomach that he had checked himself into rehab in Dorne. If she didn’t hear back from him in a few days, she would have Tyrion move ahead with production, while she spoke directly to the manufacturers and

ateliers

about colors and fabric choices. She wondered how difficult it might be to arrange a trip to Pentos— for work— of course, but also a chance for she and Jon to get away from King’s Landing and the growing danger of being there.
 
That particular reverie was broken by a knock on her study door, and she closed her eyes briefly before glancing at the clock. 9:30pm— she hadn’t even bothered to eat the salad that Missandei had brought in an hour ago, too wrapped up in her sketching to pay attention. “Come in,” she called, a thrill going through her with the hope that it was Jon on the other side.
 
Instead, her bear stuck his head into the room, and she bit back a sigh of resentment, having completely forgotten he wanted to have a word with her. Waving him in, she took a quick bite of food, her stomach finally settled after the roller coaster she had put it through the night before.
 
“Do you want me to come back later?” Jorah hesitated just inside the doorway, hovering awkwardly in a space that should be as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. Dany felt her heart give a bit of a twinge. She had never seen her bear look

small

before. She’d been so caught up in her growing feelings for Jon that she hadn’t bothered to check in to see how Jorah was handling all of the sudden changes.
 
“Don’t be silly,” she said, waving him to the chair opposite her desk, the regret coursing through her still not giving her leave to be overly familiar. “I just haven’t had a chance to eat yet today.”
 
Jorah’s forehead disappeared into a field of wrinkles as his eyebrows raised, the firm set of his mouth telegraphing his disapproval. “I can speak to Missandei about making sure you have more time built into your schedule.”
 
Another sear of heat went through her at that offer, although her hunger for food was nothing compared to her hunger for Jon, and she crossed her legs under the desk at the sudden surge of need at the thought. Shaking her head and clearing her throat forcefully to regain control, she stuffed another bite of salad into her mouth to give herself something to do. “That’s not necessary, but thank you. Just one of those days, you know?”
 
The look he gave her was knowing, sending a shiver of awareness through her. “Seems like you’ll be having more of these days in the future,

ñuha prūmia.

”
 
She felt her heart swell at the use of the nickname he had given her years ago when she was still a child, full of wild hopes and dreams and the fears always seemed far and away whenever her bear had been with her. “I hope so,” she said quietly, fervently, battling against a sudden wave of emotion at the ever present thought that she may

not.

The closer the attacks got to her— to those she cared about— the more it felt like an inevitability.

Valar morghulis, after all.

So she might as well try to live while she could, take nothing for granted, including the friendship and support of the man in front of her.
 
“Have I ever thanked you? For all that you’ve done for me over the years?”
 
Jorah shifted uncomfortably in the chair across from her, his eyes darkening in the low light of the study. “Daenerys, that wasn’t what I…” his voice trailed off as he took her in, and she reached across the desk to place her hand over his larger one, squeezing his fingers lightly before letting go, before his hand could dwarf hers and linger.
 
“He’s a good man.” Her cheeks went pink at his quiet words. “He won’t let you down.”
 
There was something unsaid floating in the air, hovering, and she waited, knowing the man in front of her needed time to gather his thoughts, needed moments of quiet to spin and stretch before he could gather his courage to say something difficult. “Did you know I was the one on duty last night?”
 
Her heart stopped for a moment, his words shattering the rose colored bubble she had constructed around the previous night and this morning, something close to panic starting to thrum through her veins. “No,” she forced her voice to remain steady, somehow knowing she wasn’t going to like what Jorah was going to say next.
 
“Jon was compromised last night.”
 
An icy tendril of fear wound its way around her spine. “What do you mean?”
 
Jorah shifted again, knowing her displeasure wouldn’t stop him from saying what needed to be said. “I don’t know what happened in the gazebo, we don’t have cameras out that far, but Daenerys… you’ve got to be more careful, even here at home. If what I saw later was any indication, the both of you were fairly drunk. What if Viserys, or worse—”
 
“Don’t—” her stomach was starting to churn again, the taste of rum haunting her, a feeling of dread growing within her at Jorah’s quiet words.
 
“Did anything happen last night that I need to know about?”
 
She glared at him, affronted on both her and Jon’s behalf that he would think so poorly of either of them. “That’s none of your business.”
 
His sigh was deep. “Dany, it is my business when the man whose job is to protect you isn’t able to do so.”
 
“That was my fault,” she looked Jorah squarely in the eye, steeling her spine to keep herself strong. “It won’t happen again.”
 
He stared at her, his blue eyes full of sadness.  “We all just want to keep you safe. Sometimes that also means protecting you from yourself. Please, just…” he ran a hand over his face, her old bear caught in his own cage of emotions. “Be careful— with him, with your own heart. With

his.

If

something were to happen—”

He couldn’t finish the thought, standing abruptly and leaning over the desk to drop a light kiss on her forehead before he excused himself, leaving her wrecked and unsure. She stabbed her fork into her salad, pushing it limply around the plate before shoving it aside and slumping back into her chair.

The

if

lingered in the air, haunting her. She was so torn between trying to take what she wanted— with fire and blood if necessary— just so that she knew that if the worst were to happen, she had done her best to live her life to the fullest, to take every opportunity presented to her and fly with it, not held back by fear or doubt. However, now she wasn’t quite sure what

the worst

truly meant.

She didn’t want to die, she felt that will to live with every fiber of her being, but if her dying meant that others would be spared then—

She shoved back from her desk with a huff, hating the fact that she was being forced to consider these dark and abhorrent thoughts. Especially now that Jon was tangled up in them as well. He was adamant that they had time, that he would be enough, that he would keep her safe, and she trusted him, but… It was hard to put into words— her fear that no matter what he might be willing to do to ensure her survival, that she still might not— and if he were to sacrifice himself for her, she didn't know what would become of her either. Nothing good, that was sure.

She paced mindlessly around her study, her sanctuary that now felt more like a prison with every passing moment. She dropped onto the sofa where he had first spilled some of his dark story to her, to see if she could help him shoulder his heavy burden, the same as he was trying to do for her. Had that truly been only a week ago? So much had happened since then— they had gone too far to find their way back to neutrality, and even if she could, she didn’t want to, even now everything inside of her craving his presence, his smile, his arms around her holding her closely.

She was in deep shit now— any chance of protecting herself from him dashed upon the rocks. And if she couldn’t see herself safely back to shore? Well, then she might as well go full steam ahead.

She stood, suddenly aching to see him, the entire day having flown by somehow. Likely the longest they had gone removed from the other’s presence. She stashed her sketch books in the drawer, locking it again before she let herself out into the dim hall and made her way down to his office.

His door was closed, and she tapped on it lightly, waiting for the tenor of his voice to beckon her before she opened the door and stepped inside. He looked tired, and a bit annoyed, phone pressed to his ear as she leaned against the door jamb, not wanting to interrupt.

“Hang on, Robb,” he bit out, his jaw clenching as he spoke to his boss, and she felt an eyebrow raise in curiosity. He’d been short on the phone this morning as well. She hoped everything was ok between them. There was a brief pause as he looked her over, and she felt a small smile creep across her face. Even cranky and stressed, he was still the best thing she had laid eyes on today, and she longed to show him just how much she had come to care for him, her pulse kicking up at the hungry look in his eyes.

“I’m finally done for the day,” she whispered as he held the phone to his chest, covering the mouthpiece.

His answering groan dashed any hope she had of him being able to join her immediately, but that was all right. She could entertain herself for as long as necessary. “I’ve still got some things to iron out, but I’ll send Jorah up with you to do the sweep.”

She bit her lip, not sure if she or Jorah could handle that at the moment. “Is Grey available at all?”

A dark look passed over his face, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’ll check.” He stood to stretch, the ligaments in his neck popping. He tapped the comms, “Grey— you available to sweep Dany’s room?”

There was a brief pause before Jon nodded, crossing to her, as she was still lingering in the doorway. “He’ll meet you at the stairs.”

She stared up at him, wanting nothing more than to go up on her toes and pull him down into a gentle kiss full of promise, but in the doorway they were squarely in the view of gods knew how many cameras, and with Jorah’s confession of witnessing their indiscretions the night prior, she was hesitant to put on any more of a show for the swing shift. Instead she reached for his free hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “Goodnight, Jon.”

He blew out a harsh breath, reflexively squeezing back before dropping her hand and turning abruptly, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, I hear you, Robb— I said hang on.”

She eased out of the doorway, closing the door as silently as possible before it jerked back open and she turned back to him, his dark eyes searching hers. “Night, Dany.”

She fed him a small smile. “Good luck.”

The door closed, and she made her way to the main staircase, Grey waiting stoically for her, and she followed him up the stairs, past Viserys’ empty bedroom, and up the last set of stairs to wait outside as Grey swept through her room. He stepped out, and motioned for her to wait for a moment, before he tapped his comm. “All clear,” he said, and there was another moment of blankness before Grey nodded. “One more moment, Miss Dany,” he said before disappearing into Jon’s room as well.

He popped out, closing and locking Jon’s door firmly behind him. “You’re all set. Have a good night.”

“You too, Grey,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

She let herself inside her room, locking the door behind her, suddenly overtaken by a bone deep tiredness, her lack of sleep and heavy drinking the night before catching up to her in a rush. She yawned, debating whether or not a second shower today was necessary before opting to just wash her face and jumpstart her nightly routine from there.

The maids had freshened the room, but were obviously confused upon finding an article of clothing not belonging to her, as Jon’s shirt was folded and waiting on the end of her bed. She didn’t give herself time to overthink it, just shrugged out of her day wear and let the soft cotton of his shirt caress her bare breasts for the second night in a row, burying her face briefly in the sleeve to breathe in the scent of him.

She went about her nightly routine, done in record time, her anticipation of Jon’s arrival now in direct competition to the yawns that were coming one after the other. She stared for a few moments at her nest on the floor before turning, pressing the button to the hidden door between their rooms. As the door slid away, she realized that she’d never really looked at the sparse room, so different than hers.

Instead of the greens and golds and giant four poster bed that dominated her room, his was small and almost blank by comparison, the decor done in whites and greys, and what appeared to be a double bed at best. A small smile spread across her face— no hardship there— the smaller the bed the more creative they would have to be about sharing it. Instead of personal effects, an absurd number of potted plants adorned most of the flat surfaces, and she was fascinated to find that he only had a glass shower in his bathroom, no claw-foot tub large enough for two.

He was neat, suitcase tucked away into his open closet, no clutter to be found that she could lightly snoop her way through, although the temptation to do so was strong, her curiosity and hunger to get to know him better almost overwhelming. The air conditioning kicked on and she shivered, bare legs drawing together beneath his dark grey shirt. With work keeping them apart so much today, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was being too forward, or not quite forward enough, but when faced with the choice of waiting in his bed for at least the chance of his strong arms to envelop her or attempting to sleep on the floor— she found there really wasn’t a choice at all.

She slipped into his bed, drawing the covers over her legs, knowing she was losing her battle with sleep, the weight of the last few days wearing her down, the comfort of a real bed beckoning her, and before she knew it, she had drifted off again.

~*~*~

He still had a headache.

The overhead view of the Red Keep was up on his computer, blueprints on his tablet and a handwritten list of the men who would be on security duty, and still too many spots he couldn’t control.

It was well past the time he should be drinking coffee, night having fallen some time ago, his eyes tracking Daenerys through the manse like a stalker, wanting to steal a few moments to go sit on her couch, listen to her use that haughty voice that made men shut up and do her bidding.

Pausing for a moment, he pushed his fingers into his closed eyes, trying to relieve the pressure, knowing from his call to the City Watch that nothing had been passed on from the Arson Investigator and that they didn’t think Daenerys at some ceremony was enough to warrant more than a few officers.

Rolling his neck, he felt the vertebrates crack and pop, impatient fingers finding the darts that Tyrion had procured for him, and he selected one, gave his wrist a quick snap and heard the satisfying

thunk

of it sticking into the board.

Gods, he would rather be thinking about waking up next to Dany, even if hungover, than stressing about not having enough men to cover this event properly. Taking a sip of his cooling coffee, he looked again at the entry points, tried not to think of how hungrily she had kissed him, of how she’d smelled of shampoo and summer rain, how blue her eyes looked in his dark grey shirt.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he forced himself back on task and ignored the heat starting to boil in his veins, making notes of possible locations on where it would be easiest to get in unnoticed and wished he had a clue as to what this person had planned next.

A knock on the door interrupted him, and he foolishly snapped his head up, hoping for that smile and silver hair— even though he hadn’t seen her leave the study— and tried not to be too annoyed at Jorah standing in the doorway. Blowing out a quick breath, he motioned the other man in, tapped a spot on his map.

“You’ve been here before.” Jorah sat when he nodded at the chair on the other side of desk and Jon angled his monitor. “They’re being presented with the award in the Throne Room—“ He has to appreciate that the Keep has been turned into a venue for the arts, a
little preserved piece of history. “—and that will be locked down tight. So where are you going to try and attack from?”

Jorah studied it for a moment, tapping his finger on the desk while he considered the options. “Easiest would be at the car. We’re the most vulnerable there.”

“Aye.” He pointed at the screen. “Everyone is going to expect us to come down Dragon’s Way.” It helped, he realized, tension releasing from his shoulders, to have someone to talk it out with, and for a brief moment he wished he and Robb were seeing eye to eye. “So what if we come down River Row instead?”

Jorah sat back and looked him over carefully, the look making him want to bristle and snap, flex some authority, the other part of him taken back to being a boy on the cusp of adulthood, waiting for someone to notice he was actually smart.

“Clever.” There was a pause, something unreadable in the older man’s eyes. “When you got here, I ran a background check on you.”

Of course he would have, Jon realized, though it still made him want to squirm in his seat, the feeling of being under scrutiny not as easy for him as it should be. “I’d hope so.”

“My father thinks a lot of you.”

Anxiety grabbed him with icy tendrils, laughing maniacally as it tightened its hold and he

hated

that the mention of the Night’s Watch still did this to him. “Lord Commander Mormont is a good man.” He cleared his throat.

Jorah made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Told me that you have it in you to be a great leader. Men want to follow where you lead. It was rather annoying, actually, to hear all this praise being heaped on you.”

His own annoyance was growing, the urge to snarl as he tried to see whatever blow was coming his way. “I highly doubt you came into my office to tell me that your father is grateful I saved his life.”

“You’re smart, run a good operation,” there was a plan being set up and Jon fought the instinct to lean back in his chair and cross his arms. “Except under all that training is still a young man.”

That caused his spine to stiffen, anger starting to brew. “Quit talking in circles, Jorah.”

“Daenerys likes you. I’ve been around her since she was a girl and I’ve never seen her look at someone the way she looks at you. Yesterday was a terrible day in the wake of a shitty string of bad days.” He paused. “You compromised her safety last night.”

The denial rose up in his throat, ready to be thrown back at the other man, muscles coiling with the reflex to defend when he made himself stop, think. And he realized with utter horror that Jorah was absolutely correct.

“You’re both adults, and the gods know she wouldn’t respond well to someone telling her what to do—“ Jorah have him another close look. “—and I doubt you would either, so I’ll offer you this. Next time the two of you decide to be irresponsible like that, warn your security team so we can make sure the threat isn’t crawling across the back lawn while you two drink yourselves into a miserable morning.”

He should probably dress the man down, remind him exactly who was in charge of security, but it was difficult when he realized the point was correct. He shouldn’t have indulged his wants like that because she was the priority, not his feelings.

Nodding his head, he gave his acknowledgment. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Jorah stood up, hesitated. “Don’t you dare hurt her, Jon Snow.”

Those words rang in his ears, a fine warning that was already a deep-seated fear, making him wonder what he thought he was doing, how he was going to walk both sides of this line, not sure how he could give it up, give

her

up now.

The ringing of his cell broke his brooding, the sight of Robb’s name coming up making him roll his eyes, but he answered, getting up to partially close his door, letting it almost go to voicemail before answering it. “Hello.”

“You sound unpleasant”

It was deliberate baiting, typical behavior for the pair of them and Jon frustratedly told himself he would not fall for it this time, dropping heavily into his chair. “I’m fuckin’ busy, not all of us get to spend a few days on the beaches of Dorne.”

“I go where the job takes me. Speaking of jobs, I got all the info you sent me.”

“Have you looked at it? I need all heads together on this.” The light rap on his door was louder than Robb’s chuckle, or maybe it was because of his hope of who was on the other side, the day long and tedious without her.

She was silvery and starry, bright in the falling night and his stomach did a little swoop as she came through the door at his quiet call, his brother currently rattling off the list of things Viserys had been doing that day, something he really couldn’t care less about. “Hang on, Robb.”

There were dark smudges under her eyes, head resting where she leaned back against the door jamb and she looked gorgeous and real and he wanted to go pull her into his arms, unwind them both from the last few days.

“I’m finally done for the day.”

Her voice was low and he groaned, realizing she was turning in, feeling the jab of disappointment even though it was technically not his right to “tuck” her in, wanting some time alone with her so they could sift through the changing terrain. “I’ve still got some things to iron out, but I’ll send Jorah up with you to do the sweep.”

“Is Grey available at all?”

Something uncertain passed over her face, anger flashing through him and he wondered if maybe he and Jorah were

not

done on the subject. “I’ll check.” He rolled his neck again, tension bleeding through his system as he tapped the comms, “Grey— you available to sweep Dany’s room?”

“I’ll be right there.”

He nodded to Grey’s voice and moved to his feet, ignoring Robb’s annoyed voice in the background of the phone he was ignoring, crossed over to her and restrained himself from reaching out to touch her like he so badly wanted to. “He’ll meet you at the stairs.”

She was looking at him with the same longing he felt, and he almost shuddered as she reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze that made his heart flip. “Goodnight, Jon.”

He squeezed back, letting out a huff of frustration at not getting

more,

duty calling in the form of his brother still waiting on the phone. “Yes, I hear you, Robb— I said hang on.”

Watching her retreat made him close his eyes, wanting to follow, Robb asking him something and as the door suddenly almost shut, he reached out to pull it back open. Daenerys turned back to him with surprise, a sliver of hope in her eyes, and he hoped that she understood how much he

wanted

to go. “Night, Dany.”

Fuck, even those small smiles were addicting. “Good luck.”

She couldn’t see him roll his eyes as he shut the door again, phone back up to his ear as he moved back to the monitors, watched Grey pick her up right where he said he would. “You still there?”

“Oh, do you finally have time to talk to me again?”

Jon felt the chill from Robb’s tone and fought the urge to hang up. This was getting ridiculous. “I have another job, if you remember. I’m not just a security coordinator.”

“No, you’re a stubborn arse.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slowly counted to five, listened to his deep breaths before he finally answered. “And you’re a dick, so we’re even.” Not even Robb’s chuckle could swing his mood back around and he was ready to finish the conversation. “Could you please go over the blueprints and the schedule and see what you come up with?”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.” He shook his head even though Robb couldn’t see it. “I want you to look at this without me influencing your opinion on it.”

“There he is, the man with a plan.” A tv switched on in the background. “I’ll look it over tonight and get back to you.”

Shoulders slumping forward, he scanned over his monitors again, frowned as he looked again at the buildings in the area, ending his call and starting his search on the owners of the buildings.

The next time he looked up, his eyes hurt and his mind was foggy, not exactly sure how much time had passed or how much he had accomplished. Shutting everything down for the night, he made his way up to his room, stopping himself from peeking into Dany’s room and checking in on her, knowing the likelihood of their adjoining door being open was fairly high.

There was moonlight coming in through his open curtains as he let himself into his room, the soft glow showing their door ajar and then tangling with the matching hair on his pillow, the funny little flip again in his stomach as his mind registered Daenerys in his bed.

He moved quietly, pulse thrumming with delight that she had chosen to crawl back under his covers, the stress of the day melting a bit more away as he toed off his boots, placed his gun on the nightstand and slipped out of the holster.

“Jon?”

The sound was sleepy and broken, eyes barely fluttering open and he made a shushing noise, bending down in a flood of affection to kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep, Dany.”

She nestled further down into the mattress and he sighed, too many emotions to name as he watched her settle before turning his back with reluctance, made his way to the bathroom for a quick rinse in the shower, a stern lecture to himself that she had come to him for a safe place to sleep, away from her nightmares, and that was what she’d get from him that night.

Without turning on a light, he slipped into the shorts he was going to sleep in, a warmth filling his chest as he climbed in the bed beside her, heart fluttering as she turned towards him, a content noise in the back of her throat as he gathered her up, the soft fabric of his t-shirt that she was sleeping in, brushed against his scars.

It was the easiest thing in the world to just close his eyes.

~*~*~

The nightmare at least waited until the early dawn to wake him, leaving him gasping for air, Daenerys undisturbed as she curled into his side.

He lay there for a few moments, letting the heat of her skin seep into the ice covering him, her soft snores puffing against the side of his face, soothing the jagged edges until he felt like he took his allowance of comfort and he carefully untangled their limbs, regret plaguing his movement as he slid out of the warm cocoon they had been wrapped in.

Head down low, old habits dying hard, he stepped into a cold shower, sucking in a painful breath, sleep fleeing with the shock to his system. With a shake of wet hair, he turned on the hot, let it flood over him with a sigh of relief, pushing firmly down any traces of the dark, hating that it had managed to wriggle into his stolen moments of solace.

The room was still quiet as he continued to ready himself for the day, sun streaming in, bathing everything in its golden hue, washing away the last of the night as he slipped into a clean shirt, pushing up the sleeves, enjoying the moment of trying not to wake her and gave himself the brief, fleeting moment of imagining this routine day after day.

A slight stirring from the bed had him turning back towards her, perching himself precariously on the edge and pushing back the mess of hair, almost forgetting to breathe when her eyes blinked slowly open, mouth pursing as she figured out her surroundings.

“Mornin’.”

A slow smile turned up the corners of that pretty mouth, her eyes closing for just a moment, her hum vibrating against his thigh as she burrowed her face closer to him. “It’s early.”

Her voice was husky with sleep, settling with a heat in his groin, but he ignored it to twist strands of her hair in his fingers, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Aye. Go back to sleep for a bit.”

With effort, she propped herself up on her elbow. “Come back to bed, instead.”

Fuck, it was a tempting offer, the urge to see that pout turn into pleasure was growing desperately and he almost gave in to the temptation, taking it slow be damned to one of the seven hells, his response on the tip of his tongue and ready to be given as he leaned down to cover her mouth with his own.

The shrill of his phone made him jolt and he closed his eyes, silently cursing whoever dared to call him this early.

A glance at the screen dissipated some of his annoyance though and he moved off the bed to settle into the chair, holding up his phone to answer. “Little sister.”

Arya’s face filled the screen— she was insistent that all calls done face to face while she was over the Narrow Sea— her eyes narrowed at him, head tilted sideways in study.

“It’s really early and you're up and dressed? What’s wrong with you?”

He chuckled, amused and rather happy, getting to talk to the only sibling he was currently getting along with. “I’m always up early. Why are you up already?”

Dany shifted in the bed quietly, and he glanced over to her, eyes lingering on her bare legs as she slid out of the covers.

“Early morning lessons before it gets hot.” Arya’s voice pulled him back to the phone. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“Nothin’ is wrong with my face.” She was up now, the hem of his shirt barely covering her arse and he almost hit the end button on the phone.

“You looked tired, but normal tired, not that haunted look.”

“Shut up.” It was a good natured reply and he reached out to snag Dany by the hand as she started to leave. “Hang on Arya.”

Despite the protests, he dropped the phone face down on the nightstand and stood, tugging her closer, using his finger to tilt her chin up. “Grey’s got you this morning.”

She was right there and it was too much to resist so he leaned closer, a lingering open mouthed kiss on her awaiting lips. “Jorah’s off for a few days, his weekend, so I’ll get you later.”

He kissed her again, a hand on her lower back pulling her in tighter and

fuck,

he was half hard already, her mouth pliantly moving with his.

With a sharp intake of breath he let her go, enjoyed that she looked as aroused as he felt. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Scooping the phone back up, he watched Dany leave, something like longing settling in his chest as their door closed behind her and finally he turned his eyes back to the screen.

“Umm, hello. What was that?” Arya studied him. “Was that a woman? Did you have a woman in your room? Aren’t you on a job?”

“Yes I’m on a job and I’m not answering anymore of your questions.” Giving her a smirk, he pretended to drop the phone, pulling it back up when she squawked. “How’s school?”

He spent another fifteen minutes on the phone realizing how much he missed his sister but having a difficult time concentrating, his mind starting to form an idea, still a little murky in detail but he knew it would come in clearer given a little time.

After he said goodbye to Arya, he checked his watch, decided it wasn’t too early to start shifting through plans and nail down their security for the award ceremony, hurrying himself along when the sound of Daenerys’ shower came through the wall, an image that made him growl with want, so he fled.

The hall was empty, no Missandei hurrying down with Dany’s schedule and he made it to his office, found Grey in there grabbing some comms, surprised as he looked up to find Jon there.

“Everything okay?”

Gods, did no one in the manse wake up early on a regular basis? “Aye.” He put in his own comms. “Hoping to get everythin’ sorted out before we actually have to do it.”

“Good idea.” Grey gave him a nod before he went back out the door, footsteps headed towards Dany’s room.

Turning on his electronics, he made his way to the kitchen for some coffee, gave a polite hello to one of the maids and retreated back to his office, ready to start his day.

It was tedious work, his focus never on his task for very long before he’d scan for Dany, an excited thrum in his veins at waking up next to her

again,

looking forward to when they did more than sleep in his bed.

Pulling his maps back up, he sent emails to owners and head of security for the buildings around the Red Keep, asking for camera information, and crossed that off his list. A chime informed him that Robb has gotten off his arse and out of the sun, his ideas carefully outlined in a proper plan and emailed.

The morning passed by, his head finally back to his job and he was waiting for a return call, his gun taken apart and cleaning supplies strewn across his desk, when a knock on his door frame had him looking up.

She was sunshine and fresh air, a stupid grin coming to his face that made him glad there were no other witnesses, shamelessly ogling her in the tight workout pants she was poured into.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No.”

Hooking his foot around an empty chair, he dragged it closer, contemplated having her lock the door so he could pull her into his lap, try and satisfy the craving for her he had developed.

But he didn’t, making himself content with her tucking into the chair, propping her chin on her knee and studying his desk.

“What are you doing?”

There was a wrinkle between her brows that he wanted to trace. “Cleaning my gun. Proper Night Watch’s etiquette, make sure your weapon is clean and functionable at all times.”

“I didn’t realize they came apart like that.”

With another smile, he reached out for the arm of her chair, that idea he had earlier growing another root, and pulled her closer, the light scent of her shampoo hitting his nostrils and making him want to bury his nose in there.

Instead, he put the handgun back together, quickly, her eyes not able to keep up. “So— magazine out. Pull back the slide, verify the chamber is empty.”

He knew it was, but demonstrated anyways, taking his time so she could track him movements. “Press here and the slide comes off. Be careful not to lose that spring.”

Catching the spring he set it to the side. “Now it just needs a little oil, make sure there’s no dirt or debris.”

Her curious hum had his mind spinning, Jorah and Robb’s words ringing in his ears as he casually asked. “That gun you have… have you ever shot it?”

“No.” Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she examined the empty magazine, arm pressed to his as she leaned forward.

Nobody was around and he could no longer resist, cupping her neck and kissing her temple, her head turning and grabbing his shirt, holding him there long enough to catch his mouth with hers, the jolt going clear down to his toes.

A noise left the back of his throat as they parted, and he forgot about the gun oil on his fingers as he pushed the hair behind her ear, deciding in that instant that he wasn’t going to hide behind excuses or other people’s opinions.

“You want to get out of here for a while? Tonight?”

~*~*~

“Yes.”

Tonight, tomorrow night, all the nights to come, all the nights she had left.

She could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks, that same wide grin he had shot her as she stepped over the threshold falling across his own and she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers tightened in his shirt again, drawing him closer, her lips closing over his in a needy bite, eager to demonstrate to him just how

ready

she was. She was done letting doubt and fear and exhaustion hold her back; she needed him to know how much she was coming to care for him.

And she was going to break him tonight. Preferably with her thighs.

His hands were in her hair, the smell of the gun oil from his casually arousing demonstration wrapping around them both as she slid her tongue hungrily against his own, lingering for a moment before pulling back, his bottom lip still stuck between her teeth. His heart pounded under her fingertips, in time with her own, making her feel as if she had just run her second 5K of the morning. She wanted him hard for her before she left this office, leaving no doubt in either of their minds where, exactly, tonight would be headed. And, if she could find a way to make him ditch his phone to keep those thrice damned early morning interruptions at bay?

All the better.

He closed his eyes as his forehead dropped against hers, another groan emanating from his chest as she trailed her fingers over him, down his arm to gently grasp his wrist and turn it over so she could read the time on the watch that

should

be enclosed around her own. “I still have a few hours before I can get away, more beauty prep for tomorrow.”

Her free hand found its way to the nape of his neck, tugging lightly at the loose curls there, and he tensed against a shudder of pleasure as she nuzzled along his beard, cursing the chair arm between them, wanting nothing more than to straddle him in his own desk chair and grind down against him until he begged for mercy.

“How’s six?” His voice was strangled with effort as her fingers found their way to his waist, teasing along the edge of his soft shirt against the strip of skin she found there, dragging her fingers back and forth across his abdomen, sliding into the space between his obliques and his jeans. Her other hand abandoned his hair to sweep under his shirt and up the ridges of his stomach, his scars that she longed to trace with her tongue rough against her fingertips, unsure if the tensing muscle beneath her teasing was voluntary or not.

“Six works,” she pressed a soft kiss to the spot right below his ear, the smell of his cologne making her want to devour him where he sat. “What should I wear?”

Another groan as she worked her way down his neck, his own hands finally remembered as he grasped her wandering fingers, removing them from beneath his shirt, and bringing them to rest on his chest, trapped under his own. “I don’t know.”

“Nothing it is.”

With a curse, he sat forward in his chair, dropping her hands before surging to his feet and placing himself at the opposite end of his desk, his eyes dark with want, surely a reflection of her own as she also drew herself to her feet. “Dany…”

“Jon…”

He stared at her helplessly, curled fists planted on his desk as he leaned forward, and she had to bite back a grin. “Something nice, but y’know. Not too nice.”

“That’s a wide range of options for a model, Jon.”

“I trust you.”

She huffed out a breath, some of the hair he had pulled loose from her ponytail floating in the air between them. She took a step towards him, a small giggle escaping as he took a matching step back. She held up both hands in surrender, enjoying his wary look more than she should as she slowly advanced on him. She stopped when she was toe to toe with him, the barest inches of space that separated them vibrating with yearning.

Her face tilted up toward his, lips parted, waiting for him to melt into her. “I’ll see you at six.”

He didn’t disappoint, rough fingertips sliding along her chin and into her hair to cup the back of her head as a firm, but chaste kiss was pressed upon her lips before he physically turned her around and gave her a gentle nudge out of his space. The look she threw him over her shoulder was dark and starving, but she flipped her ponytail and made her way back down to her study where Missandei, Irri, and Jhiqui waited, having transformed her workspace into a mini day spa for the afternoon.

Wardrobe had yet to arrive, so Jhiqui would need to do the majority of her fittings the next day, but the client had sent a list of preparation ahead of time, and she wasted no time in setting up the masseuse table they used for in-home treatments while Irri readied her equipment to give Dany a full facial and body scrub. Missandei was ready with another robe as Dany exchanged her workout clothes for the soft silk and settled back to let the ladies work.

Hours later, she emerged from her study covered in a salt scrub, with freshly manicured hands and feet, a fierce red covering her toenails while her fingernails remained more neutral. She had given the ladies the rest of the day off, and instructions to give her extra time in the morning as the shoot was not scheduled for the late afternoon. All that was left for her to do was shower and change for her dinner with Jon, Irri’s magic all but removing the bruises to her face through her skills.

Blood magic and sorcery, indeed.

To his credit, Grey didn’t even blink twice at her as she led the way to her room to shower, waiting impatiently as he swept the room before she could get inside and start the water running. She ducked into her closet as the water came up to temperature, mulling over Jon’s exquisitely specific direction of

nice, but not too nice

.

Men.

The pedicure demanded open-toed sandals to keep from destroying it overnight— black strappy numbers that tied above her ankles. She flipped through her dresses, dismissing most as too much almost immediately. Toward the back of her closet, however, lay a little black number she had rarely worn. The top covered her from neck to navel in a blousy way, however the back was open down to the base of her spine, and the skirt was so tight that even a thong would show through the delicate fabric— she’d just have to go without— a silver sheen picking up in the material in certain lighting.

She could feel the wicked smile crawling over her face as she pulled it down from the rack, laying it out on her bed, and tossing a denim jacket next to it to dress it down just in case. She glanced at the closed door between their rooms, half tempted to leave it open to give him just a taste of what lay ahead, but decided against it at the last moment, wanting to savor every moment of his eyes on her, burning through her.

Her shower was quick, the salt scrub working in tandem with her recent wax, leaving her bare and smooth and glowing. She blow dried her hair, brushing it until it shone like spun silver, twisting it back into a simple knot at the base of her neck, and applied her makeup with a deft hand, what remained of the bruises disappearing completely under the light powder. A swirl of a deep red lipstick to match her toes, and she reached for her favorite perfume, placing a dab on the inside of both wrists, behind her ears, and

gods—

to punish herself and him— light touches to both of her nipples and her nether lips, the streak of want that coursed through her nearly buckling her knees and she hadn’t even seen him yet.

She stepped into the bedroom to slip into the dress, shimmying it down over her thighs, hoping that the dark fabric would be enough to keep any evidence of inevitable arousal hidden.

Her only accessories were a silver ring on her right index finger that had belonged to her mother, and a simple necklace that she wore down her back, the silver hoop resting on one of the notches of her spine. With her shoes strapped on, jacket and clutch over her arm, she checked the clock— 6:05pm. Not bad at all, with just the right amount of fashionable lateness to keep him on his toes.

She peeked out her door, belatedly realizing they hadn’t agreed on a meeting place. When she didn’t see him lingering in the hallway, she figured they must be meeting in either his office or hers, and made her way down to the ground floor.

He was waiting for her at the base of the grand staircase, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest at the sight of him. A form fitting navy blue shirt hugged every divet and bulge in his chest, a long, black jacket also slung over his arm. The black skinny jeans he wore drew her attention first to his powerful thighs, and second to his glorious ass. Her mouth went dry at the memory of how it had felt beneath the palm of her hand before she had fled gleefully out into the summer rain.

His hair was pulled back, even his dress shoes polished and shining. He looked breathtaking, and with his shoulder holster and visible sidearm, every inch a warrior of legend. She gripped the bannister as she tried to remember how to walk, commanding suddenly shaking legs to

move

, to go to him, to finally make him irrevocably hers.

He turned as she descended, the sudden fire in his eyes at the sight of her igniting her immediately, making her quiver with barely controlled want, the need to take him by the hand and lead him back to their rooms, forgetting whatever he had planned for them was so strong she had to squeeze her thighs together to keep from embarrassing herself before he had even touched her.

Once he did, she was sure that she would burn away— nothing left of her but ash in the wind.

Her mouth was dry as she tried to regain her composure, drawing even with him at the base of the stairs. It seemed he was similarly dumbstruck, neither able to do anything but stare giddily at the other, a delight crawling through her at the thrill of simply being with him.

Jon was the first to break the spell, shaking his head before motioning for her to precede him. “Shall we?”

She had to lick her lips before she could form words, tilting her head to stare up at him, to let him see the hunger in her eyes. “Let’s.”

She took a step forward, and his hand found the small of her back, his calloused fingers grazing against her warm skin with the barest touch before he jerked his hand back as if burned, allowing her to walk ahead of him. Amused, she looked back over her shoulder, finding him staring first at his fingers, and then at the wide expanse of smooth skin at her back before his eyes found hers.

Fuck

. A shiver of anticipation lit through her at the towering burn in them, his eyes black with barely contained desire as he stepped even to her once more, this time running a knuckle down the notches of her spine until he landed at the base of it, his fingers lightly running over the rise of her ass and she shivered again.

“Jon,” she didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

“Aye?” He seemed to be mesmerized as his fingers continued to caress her lower back and she had all she could do to not to shove him against the wall and have her way with him right there in the middle of the fucking hall.

“Cameras,” she said lightly, Jorah’s warning still fresh in her mind, and he snapped his eyes up to hers, snatching her hand and marching determinedly through the kitchen and out to the garage.

His voice was rough as he threw open the garage door. “I thought we’d take Robb’s car, since he left it here.”

She blinked. “Are we going by ourselves?” She didn’t know what she thought would happen, but the thought of being truly alone with him sent another shiver of anticipation down her spine.

He looked a bit sheepish for only a moment before a steel descended over him as he pressed into her space. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you tonight. Not that you don’t want to happen, anyway.”

She heard the vow in his tone, her hand going to his cheek before she could stop herself, and he pressed a light kiss to her palm, his nose burying into the pulse point of her wrist for only a moment, before reaching to open the passenger door. He offered her a hand to help her climb into the SUV, his hand drifting to her thigh to give it a lingering squeeze before he closed the door and quickly bounded to the driver’s side.

He climbed in, throwing his jacket into the backseat, adjusting the mirrors and snapped his seatbelt into place before he turned to her, seriousness plain across his features. “What’s going to happen to that lipstick when I kiss you as soon as we’re out of the sight lines?”

Something like a moan escaped from her lips as she crossed her legs and turned to him, tossing her jacket and clutch into the back as well. “You’ll just have to find out, Jon Snow.”

His knuckles turned white, his grip on the steering wheel so strong, and he shook his head again before pressing the button to the garage door opener, the summer sunlight pouring over them as he threw the car into reverse and backed them out onto the driveway. His hand found hers as they passed the gate, Jon nodding to the man on duty, turning out onto the main road.

She idly watched the boundaries of the property pass by, and they were no sooner past the last fence marker when the car suddenly jerked to a stop. Jon yanked on her hand, pulling her half into him, her own seatbelt stopping her forward progress with a jerk as his other hand delved deep into her hair, and his tongue swept past her parted lips. She groaned wantonly into his open mouth, her own tongue doing everything it could to give as good as it got, her fingers gripping his thigh while she tried desperately to release the catch of the seatbelt, anything to press closer to him.

His teeth sank into her lip as she finally found the buckle, and she flung the seatbelt away as she lunged across the console between them, her hand creeping up the inside of his thigh until Jon jerked his head back, pulling his hands out of her now mussed hair to capture her wandering fingers. Her lipstick had held, no evidence of it painted across his face and she gasped for breath, her chest heaving, the console digging into her hip, suddenly remembering where they were.

“I forgot this is your boss’ car.” She could feel her face heating rapidly as she slid back into her own seat.

His shit-eating grin filled her with delight. “Worse. It’s my brother’s.”

She blinked, staring at him for a full thirty seconds, trying to process that. “What?”

A brief look of confusion passed over his handsome features, and he cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Robb is my brother. Stark Securities is the family business.”

“But your last name is Snow?”

A shadow fell across his face, and she regretted saying anything. “Not actual brothers— cousins. My mom died when I was young, I was raised with her brother and his family.”

She brushed an unruly curl behind his ear, knocked loose in their eagerness. “I didn’t know,” she murmured, her heart aching for him, intimately familiar with the pain of never knowing a mother’s love. “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, the feeling that he was mentally pushing aside something deeply uncomfortable tearing at her, cursing herself for putting a damper on their evening a record setting seven minutes in. “I’m just surprised no one told you about me and Robb.”

She shrugged lightly, her thumb smoothing across his cheek. “No reason to, I guess? No wonder you two fight like an old married couple.”

His huff of laughter and flicker of a smile set them to rights, and she pulled him closer for one more kiss, her lips lightly passing over his, urgency gone for the moment. She settled back and clicked her seatbelt into place as he took stock of their surroundings again and threw the car into drive to continue on their way. “If you think Robb and I bicker a lot, wait until you meet Sansa.”

Her heart squeezed, the thought that he so obviously wanted to keep her around to meet the rest of his family startling and warming her in equal measure. “Was that the one on the phone this morning?”

She flipped down the sun visor and slid the cover to the mirror back, checking her makeup, and setting to work to calm her tousled hair as he chuckled. “I promise to never tell Arya you said that.”

She glared at him. “I was a little distracted this morning.”

“So was I,” that simmer was back in his eyes, a promise held in the quirk of his lips, and she couldn’t wait until it became a raging boil, consuming them both.

“Ok, so Robb, Sansa, and Arya— and I’m going to assume Arya’s your favorite.” She tread delicately, not wanting to push much further, knowing there was at least one more brother no longer with them, and not wanting to lead them down a path of grief.

He snorted. “That’s puttin’ it mildly. She’s studyin’ in Braavos this year. We all miss her.” He glanced over at her and winked. “Well, maybe not Sansa.”

She laughed softly, enjoying the way his face lit up with the light ribbing. She flipped the sun visor back up and settled back into her seat, trying to figure out where they were going when his hand crept into her lap, threading his fingers through hers.

“You like seafood, right?”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes.”

“Good.”

They rode in comfortable silence for awhile, both adjusting to the fact that they were truly alone, no Missandei with her endless tapping away on her phone, or Jorah with his well intentioned but overbearing presence. “I don’t get to sit in the front seat very often. This is quite novel.”

He grinned over at her. “I can think of a few advantages to the backseat, though.”

She had all she could do to keep her hands to herself, wanting to bank the fire roaring to life in them both, but also wanting to see where the evening led, what he had planned. “Well, when you don’t know how to drive, you don’t often get a choice.”

“You can’t drive?” His eyebrows were stuck somewhere near his hairline, and she couldn’t resist reaching over to smooth over them with her thumb.

“I’m a Targaryen, I don’t

drive

, I am

driven

.” The affected accent sounded too much like Viserys to her own ears and she grimaced, shoving thoughts of her brother as far away from her as she could. He wouldn’t ruin this evening for her, especially when he was so far away.

“Well, we’ll just have to do somethin’ about that, won’t we?”

Another light promise, another plan for a future she desperately wanted to see. “Please.”

~*~*~

“We’re here.”

They’d been driving along the water for almost an hour
now, the bustle and heat of King’s Landing falling away as the coast beckoned them, and she couldn’t help but wish that they were in Essos, if only to see the sun set across the water instead of land, one of her favorite sights. Her resolve strengthened to find a way to get them across the Narrow Sea, to share with him the things and places she loved.

They seemed to be on a bluff, the “parking lot” they had pulled into nothing but gravel and leading up to what could only be defined as a large shack, weathered and grey, but sturdy. She reached for the door handle, only to be stopped by his hand on her arm. “Rules still apply tonight,” he said, his voice soft and serious. “Wait for me.”

It was too easy to fall into a sense of rightness and security when he was with her, and she fought off a shiver of apprehension at the reminder that while— for all intents and purposes— tonight was a night off, but she was still a woman hunted, on lockdown, and her very livelihood depended mostly on the man to her left.

Eyes wide, she nodded, gathering her jacket and clutch from the backseat, and folded her hands into her lap while he climbed out of the car. His dark eyes intently swept the horizon in every direction before he walked to the front door of the residence and propped it open. Finally, he crossed back to her, opening her door, and helped her to the ground, tucking her under his arm as he hurried her inside.

He closed the door behind them, the last of the summer sun streaming in through the windows and illuminating what appeared to be a somewhat shabby, but oddly charming restaurant. The decor was nautical in theme, tablecloths of navy blues and whites with anchors on the walls, and an illuminated bar to her right.

It was also completely empty.

She turned to Jon, a question on her lips and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I called in a favor.”

“Jon Fucking Snow, are you a sight for sore eyes!” A voice behind her had her spinning around, a grizzled older man with kind eyes and a beard more threaded with silver than any other color advancing on Jon, not even hesitating a moment to throw his arms around him, pounding him on the back in exuberance.

The man wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but his energy seemed to swallow Jon immediately, his arms stiff at his side for only a moment before he gripped the man’s back, his fingers turning white for a moment as the hug lingered.

Finally, the older man leaned back, staring Jon full in the face, studying him with a fatherly scrutiny. “You look better, but still like shite.”

“Why does everyone insist on tellin’ me that lately?” Jon grumbled good naturedly.

Dany shrugged. “You look pretty normal to me.”

Both men turned to her, a small, perplexing smile creeping across Jon’s face as the other man studied her intently. “Daenerys Targaryen, this is Davos Seaworth. Davos, Dany.”

She held out her hand, chin held high under Davos’ inspection, his eyes serious as he studied her. He didn’t say anything for a moment before he turned back to Jon. “Good heart?”

The question hovered in the air between them, but Jon’s eyes shone with sincerity as he answered. “Aye.”

She felt herself go pink under their scrutiny, no idea what was happening until Davos winked at her and grabbed her up in a hug as well, nearly jerking her off her feet in his excitement. “He’s never brought a lady around before, so I figured you must be special when he called this afternoon.”

She glanced at Jon over Davos’ shoulder, still trapped in the man’s warm hug, finding she didn’t mind as his kind words registered. Jon’s neck was also pink, and she felt a swell of affection so deep that it momentarily made her forget where she was, or what she was doing. The only thing that mattered was Jon’s opinion of her, and it seemed to be higher than she had previously thought.

The feeling was mutual.

She untangled herself as gracefully as she could from Davos’ embrace. “Definitely more stubborn than he’s had to put up with in a while.”

“Good.” Davos nodded in approval, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led them to the bar, pulling the high chair back for her and leaving Jon to follow as he would. “What can I get you to drink?”

She climbed into the chair, and felt Jon’s hand come to rest on the back of her neck, his fingers finding the charm of her necklace and tracing the circle, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. He took the chair next to her and turned to her with a teasing grin. “Rum?”

She flinched, a spike of residual pain behind her left eye sparking to life as she shook her head. “Gods, no.” Her horrified whisper had Jon laughing and Davos looking at her in confusion. She had to smile, charmed in spite of herself. “Maybe just a glass of Arbor Gold if you have it? I have a shoot tomorrow, and should really keep it to a minimum tonight.” She also had plans for the evening that

definitely

required sobriety.

“Fair enough,” Davos ducked under the counter, shuffling around for a moment before standing back up with a bottle and a wine glass in hand. “Ale for you, lad?”

He poured her a healthy glass as Jon nodded, and he ducked down again to retrieve the light colored ale and a glass for Jon as well. “We’re pretty casual here tonight, as you can tell,” he waved to the empty space. “No menus, you eat whatever Marya and I come up with, depends on what the catch of the day is, so sit back and wait to be surprised. I’ll let Jon give you the gold dragon tour.”

He was gone before Dany could so much as blink, turning to Jon with wide eyes as he studied her sheepishly. “I know it’s not—“

She clapped her hand over his mouth before he could get any further, not willing to let him stew in doubt for one second longer than was necessary. “It’s perfect,” she said, his lips quirking up into a smile beneath her fingers.

He gripped her wrist lightly, keeping her fingers trapped against his lips for a quick kiss before he threaded their fingers together and grabbed his drink. “Tour?”

She nodded, and allowed him to help her stand, her skirt riding dangerously high as she slid off the chair. She released his hand for a moment to pull her skirt back down, his eyes watching intently and she winked up at him. “A discovery for later,” she said as she reached for her wine glass and tapped his glass to hers before taking a sip.

He seemed a little confounded by her statement, the wheels in his mind turning, and she kept her glass at her lips to cover the little smile from spreading too thoroughly. “Tour?”

“Right, so—“ he turned and waved. “This is the dining room.”

She snorted, wondering a bit at the glimpses of this light-hearted version of a man that she was quickly growing to care for, enjoying every moment of playfulness and lightness he offered her, lapping it up like a love-starved kitten.

He took her hand again and walked toward the back of the restaurant, banging noises coming from what must be the kitchen, restrooms down the opposite end of the hall. He let them out a back door that led to a back porch overlooking the bay, the sunset already in full swing, painting the clouds in warm shades of pinks, golds, and oranges, the waves shining and beautiful. “And this is for us.”

There was a small table set up on the porch, a few candles flickering in the breeze, a single blue rose in a vase to go along with the nautical theme, two weathered chairs on either side. “Well, you are certainly full of surprises.”

He brought her hand to his lips, sweeping a kiss across her knuckles, and she couldn’t help but lean into him, pressing herself closer to his warmth as he wrapped an arm around her, still keeping his grip on her hand as he did so. “How long have you known Davos?” She snuggled a little bit deeper into his chest, his chin coming to rest on her head as they both cradled their still full glasses.

His chest swelled with the deep breath, her cheek rising and falling against it. “He used to be an attaché to Stannis Baratheon, he came north to the Wall during the peace talks. He was the one that found me after…”

She pulled back, searching his eyes to make sure he was saying what she thought he was, that familiar spark of pain spurring her onward, reaching for his glass and turning to place both on the table before she turned back and drew him into her embrace, eager to absorb all of his pain, to let him know how not alone and cherished he was— by his family, by Davos, by those he had saved. “I’m glad he did.”

There was a huff of air from above as Jon’s arms also closed around her. “Aye, me too.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, watching the clouds swirl and change color, neither quite ready to put words to fledgling feelings. “He’s retired now. Came home after the talks broke down, said it was time to get back to his family. Marya’s kept this place goin’ for years. It’s usually quiet, but I asked him to make sure it stayed that way for tonight.”

“I know, I know— advanced planning and all that,” she teased gently, nudging at his chin with her nose, his hands running freely down her bare back, callused fingers raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the evening chill along her skin. She tilted her head back and he dropped a gentle kiss on her cheek, right where her bruise had been before she turned and captured his mouth with hers.

There was no rush, only slow, languid movements as their lips found each other, her hands sliding under his shirt to trail her own fingers lightly over the skin of his back, his holster hampering her from wandering too much, as he pulled her closer against him, his body firm and unyielding against her softer curves. His fingers played at the small of her back, light circles that were slowly winding her up, making her hungry for more than just food.

“All right, enough of that, this is a family establishment.” Davos’ voice broke through the slow banking fire, the embers of their mutual lust flaring to life in their eyes as she rolled her eyes at Jon and he laughed, placing one more firm kiss to her waiting lips before he pulled her chair out and she sat. Davos placed a steaming pile of food in front of them, the smell mouth-watering and delicious and her stomach gave a not so ladylike growl of approval.

“Just in the knick of time, I see,” Davos teased, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Eat up, don’t worry about cleaning up— Marya and I will take care of it tomorrow. Help yourselves to whatever you like, and Dany—“ he turned stern in a heartbeat. “We’re all trusting you with this lad. Don’t let us down.”

She pressed her lips into a firm line, returning Davos’ serious look with one of her own. “I promise.”

Davos took her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it before turning to Jon who stood to embrace the old man. “All right, you’ve properly embarrassed us both, now get out.”

“Listen how he talks to me,” Davos clucked his tongue at her, throwing her a conspiratorial wink. “Dany, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Next time you’ll have to stick around longer.” She grinned up at him, liking him immensely.

“Aye, next time. Goodbye, Davos.”

“As you command.” Davos straightened to give them both a quick bow, an archaic gesture that he somehow made charming and lovely. “Jon, give us a call when you leave. We’ll come lock up.”

“Bye, Marya!” Jon called out as Davos left the porch, a faint

goodbye

heard over the breeze off the bay. “She’s shy,” he explained as music suddenly started floating through the open doorway.

“Don’t mind us, just settin’ the mood.”

“I said ‘Goodbye, Davos’.” Jon’s grin was getting wider. “If we’re not careful they’ll stay to watch us eat and then ask if we want to babysit.”

Dany reached for her wine, taking a sip. “How many kids?”

“Seven,” he chuckled as her eyes widened. “All boys.”

They tucked into the food, some crab dish that Dany had no idea what it actually was, but was delicious, chatting about everything and nothing, watching the clouds change colors as the sun set behind them, the music tangling with the crashing of the waves beneath them.

His phone rang once, and he pulled it out, only to grimace and silence it immediately, tucking it back into his pocket. “You can take that if you need to,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. “No more interruptions.”

There was a heat building in his eyes, a streak of want pulsing through her, happy to know that he found the calls just as frustrating as she did. “Although, it occurs me that I don’t even have your number.”

She laughed. “Yes, you do. It’s Missandei’s number. I don’t have a cell, only the landline in my office.” She paused to take another sip of her wine. “Although, come to think of it, Missandei patches all the calls through to there too, so…”

“Well, we’ll have to do somethin’ about that too.” Her stomach swooped in response to yet another hint that he had plans for her that extended beyond this looming shadow, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest.

The music changed, something slow and sweet and she found herself standing, reaching a hand out to him. He took it, his thumb spreading over the fine bones of her knuckles. “Dance with me.”

It was whispered, and he seemed to recognize that it was a command, not a question, slowly pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. Hesitating only a moment, he drew her further out onto the porch, her free hand finding his shoulder, the strap of his shoulder holster rough against her fingertips, as she tucked herself into his side. His other arm swept around her back, his hand rubbing up and down her spine as she pressed herself closer, her temple along his cheek as she nuzzled at his neck.

She had a growing ache within her, an emptiness that only he would be able to fill and she lifted her eyes to meet his, to let him see all of her. “This has been lovely. Thank you.”

She captured his protest before he could utter it, her hand sweeping up his neck and into the curls at the nape of it as she pressed her lips to his for the gods only knew how many times tonight. She felt his tongue teasing at her lips and she opened her mouth to him, breathing him deep, the taste of his ale nutty on his tongue. His hand at the small of her back pressed her hips into his, allowing her to feel his half hard length beneath her, the resounding pulse of desire nearly causing her knees to buckle at the sensation, and she let go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck, drinking in all that he had to offer.

One hand went to her ass, cupping it all too briefly before both hands swept up her back, creeping under the fabric of her dress, his talented fingers trailing lightly along the skin at her side, sweeping close and closer to suddenly aching breasts. She very much regretted wearing a high-necked dress, knowing he would never be able to properly get through the fabric to give her the attention she so desperately wanted.

His hands were gentle, his fingers finding the slight swell of the side of her breast even though the hold around her back was awkward. She was fully alight now, the memory of his hands on her from that horrific night blinding her to the rest, awash in sensation as his lips left hers, and roughly went for her neck, a dizzying juxtaposition to the soft touches of his fingers. Her nipples were hard and aching, and she wished he would just take her now, right here under the open sky.

Her breathing was becoming more and more ragged, his teeth nipping at her earlobe now, and she snapped back, hooking a leg over his hip to draw him closer, to relieve the ache that was gathering in her cunt, both of her hands on his face as she drew his head up to attack those talented lips again, the kiss rapidly turning messy and hungry, oh so very hungry.

He drew back with a gasp, both of them heaving for breath, and his forehead came to rest against her own, his hands cupping her face, thumbs tilting her jaw up towards him once more.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Gods, yes, Jon.”

~*~*~

He couldn’t stop touching her.

It was a necessity now that she had given her tacit permission, smaller hand in his, fingers laced together to give him access to brush his lips over her knuckles, scrape the soft skin against his beard, listen to her little quiet sighs with each touch, her small smiles settling in his chest warmly.

“Why are we driving down The Street Of Steel?” There was a curiosity in her voice as she peered at the old buildings of the manufacturing area, smokestacks still rising into the skyline.

“It’s our next stop.” Squeezing her fingers, he turned back to looking at where they were going, his secrecy due more to nerves than anything else. She might hate the idea, once she figured it out, and he would have then successfully ruined what was so far an amazing night. But it was an idea he’d had from the beginning, now certainly as good a time as any.

“I assumed our next stop would be the manse.”

The velvet of her voice settled over his skin, his cock twitching in the tight jeans, more than tired of him dragging it all out. Every one of her kisses had burned through him, arousal building, the soft feel of her skin in his hands as he handled her, learning what he could on the outside of that dress, how her curves fit right into his grip.

“We’ll be gettin’ there soon, I promise.” Gods, the thought of what he wanted to do to her back in the safety of his borrowed bed made him drag in a rough breath, knuckles on the steering wheel tightening, her own inhale further proof that she was as ready as him. “I just want to do this first. I don’t think you’ll hate it.”

The building he was looking for loomed into sight and he turned into the driveway with a crunch of gravel, her easy laugh making him smile even as she peered at the weathered sign that just said ‘Mott’s Smithing’, before arching one of her brows at him.

“You are keeping quite the mystery, my good Ser.”

Finally in a parking spot, he turned off the SUV, the low tingle of need making him unbuckle his seatbelt quickly, leaning over the console to slide his fingers into her mass of hair, a thrill running through him as she met him halfway, lips already parted to allow his tongue access, not sure if the moan was his or hers with the first soft glide.

It was the type of kiss that he felt down to his toes, deep and thorough, his senses filling with the taste and feel of her as her mouth moved encouragingly, her fingers grabbing into his shirt until he was pulling at her, growling in frustration as she was held steady in her seat by her still buckled seatbelt.

“Fuck.” Pulling away from those plush lips, he squeezed his eyes shut, forehead lingering against hers as he caught his breath, palm curling around the back of her neck, his thumb landing on her wild pulse, feeling her blood race for him. “We

are

doing this.” He made himself pull away. “C’mon.”

A quick scan around the parking lot confirmed what he already knew, that they were alone, no unease crawling up his spine as he took the duffel from the back seat before moving around the vehicle, Daenerys ready and waiting as he opened the door for her. Those ridiculous heels hit the ground, the rocks shifting under her feet as she moved into his side, warm and soft and he wanted to keep her tucked there always.

He let go of her reluctantly as he opened the door, a loud buzzer announcing their presence and he ushered her forward with his hand on her bare back, fingers sliding before settling, the shiver running through her causing a flash of heat in him.

“You brought me to a gun store?”

She was looking around the store front, intrigue written on her pretty face and he knew she still didn't understand, his thumb skimming under the fabric of her dress for just a moment to torture them both. “Indoor shooting range.”

Stepping forward again, it was difficult to keep it no more than that light touch as they approached the counter, already getting more and more accustomed to having her pressed up against him in one way or the other, but he maintained his distance, giving a small nod to the younger man behind the counter. “Gendry.”

“Jon, you made it.”

“Aye thanks for doing this.” He held out his hand, a thrill running through him as Dany stepped to his side, well into his person space. “Gendry Waters, this is Daenerys Targaryen. Dany, Gendry.”

“Nice to meet you.” Gendry was looking at her with curiosity, taking in the familiarity at how they stood. “Happy to help out. Just leave me a list of what you take and we’ll settle up later.”

“He has to say that, he’s dating my sister.” That look went across her face, the one she got any time she was given a piece of information about him and his heart gave a quick stuttered beat, filling him with an awe that she would be so interested in who he was.

“Well, thank the gods for connections.”

Her smile was so brilliant he felt at a loss for air, distracting himself by reaching over and pressing the button that turned off the security cameras. “I’ll turn them back on before I leave.”

“You’ve got it.” Gendry set his requested items on the counter and stood. “You remember the alarm code?” It was nice to meet you, Daenerys.”

“You too.”

“I’ve got it.” He scooped up a pair of safety glasses. “Tell Arya that I said to mind her own business.”

Gendry laughed as he disappeared down the hall toward the back door and Jon gave himself to the count of ten after it clicked shut behind Gendry before turning and hooking under Dany’s elbows, bringing them together as he closed his mouth over her bottom lip, her fingers digging into his sides as her tongue flicked along his lip. He gave and she took, losing himself in the soft feel of her mouth, the urgent movements, desire pooling in his veins along with the deep felt affection, something

more

at the fact she was standing right there and trusting him.

She made a humming noise as he pulled away, her eyes blinking slowly open as she leaned into his chest, surely close enough to hear the beating of his heart. “Now that you’ve got me here, what are you going to do with me?”

A thousand scenarios flashed through his mind, all of them involving a lot less clothing but something else was there also, the need to show her how to defend herself, give her more power in the uneven game she was stuck in. “I’m going to teach you to be the best gunslinger in Westeros.”

There was a bit of hesitation on her face, the harsh reality of what was currently her world encroaching on the bubble they had effectively put themself in, but it bubbled uneasily under his skin, relentless and nagging. “If you own it, you need to know how to use it.” He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear, savoring the silky feel of it, how her eyes closed for just a moment. “Humor me, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He jolted as she reached around to squeeze his arse. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

He felt light, almost giddy as he shook his head at her antics, amused by her winking at him as he scooped up the items, ushered them back through the doors and under the harsh fluorescent lights, the lingering smell of gunpowder and oil in the air, familiar and comforting. “Pick a spot, Dany. Doesn’t matter which one.”

There were targets already waiting on the narrow counter of the shooting stall, Jon depositing all the supplies there, then setting down the little case holding her gun, laying everything out carefully.

“I’m going to show you how to load first, then we will work on actually shooting.” She was chewing on her lip and he paused for a moment from his routine, a finger tipping her head up enough to give a chaste kiss on the mouth to distract her and just simply because he could.

With her silent nod, he turned back into the soldier, the teacher, calmly explaining, showing by example as he helped her load her magazine, had her do the same by herself for the spare. She was a quick study even if not completely comfortable with her actions and he paused for a moment to squeeze her hand, grateful for her willingness to try. “Thank you for being a good sport about this.”

“I should know how to handle it if I have it, you’re right about that.” She took a deep breath, shoulders squaring back, a little flare of pride running through him. “So, teach me, Jon.”

Pushing the button he sent the target out, putting on his ear protection and she did the same, easily pulling out his gun that was always ready, taking careful aim and pulling the trigger enough times that he hoped she would take even more comfort in him being at her back when he brought in the results.

“You're good.” She was tense, shoulders stiff as the target stopped in front of them.

“Aye.” He reloaded, letting her nervously poke at the holes, three in the head, six dead center. “Good thing or I’d be in the wrong line of work.”

Her nose crinkled at him and he holstered his gun then cupped the back of her neck, getting close enough to press a kiss to her temple. It was unfair of him to ask this of her, but what was happening was even worse, and his need to keep her safe, with or without him, was more of a concern than pushing at her comfort zone.

“Your turn.” He made room for her, brought her in close and showed her the proper way to hand over a firearm, where the safety was located, how to take it off and put it back on, his senses tingling with the light smell of her perfume, the heat coming off her skin. He wanted to press his lips to that spot right behind her ear.

“Angle yourself like this.” He grabbed her hips and moved her, body wonderfully pliant against his handling, causing him to try and push the lust away to focus on what they were doing. “Feet like this for balance.” Using his thighs, he helped position her, shooting foot slightly back, enough distance to keep her centered, her balance remarkable for her choice of footwear.

“Now—“ he skimmed his hands down her arms, felt her shiver and tried to ignore the electricity between them. “This arm straight, this arm slightly bent. Wrists firm but not locked in place. You need to absorb the recoil.”

“Recoil?” She looked up and over his shoulder at him, brow wrinkled and he just wanted to scoop her up and take her home where she’d be safe, hunt through the streets of King’s Landing until the person threatening her life was rooted out and taken care of.

“All that energy has to go somewhere.” His hands kept traveling, unable to stop even though it was distracting them both, fingers curling around her wrists. “You’ll get a kick with bigger guns, you need to keep control but not hurt yourself.”

“Do you think I’m breakable?”

Reaching around her and her sad eyes, he sent the target out, making sure their gazes were locked as he did. “You are Valyrian Steel, Daenerys.” His voice came out a little rougher than planned, sincerity making it catch in his throat, and he turned back to their lesson to try and ignore how deeply he was affected. “Now, you are going to aim for center mass. Point it.” He stepped back. “You have good hand and eye coordination so I’m not worried about precision, that will come with practice.”

“Just pull the trigger?”

“Squeeze it. Gently.”

She flinched, a hard pull and her face turned down, the shot off its mark and he stepped back into her, hands settling on her hips to distract for a moment.

“Relax. That didn’t hurt, right?” The smell of her shampoo drifted toward him and he gave himself the moment to press his lips to the crown of her head as she murmured her answer, reassured that she wasn’t going to stop after one try. “You yanked, which is normal. Go easy with it. Pretend it’s breakable.”

Daenerys Targaryen was nothing if not stubbornly persistent and gods be good, it was such a cliche, but it was something he liked most about her, that someone who grew up in the shadows of a family determined to make less of her, could be so absolutely tenacious when she needed to be. Which was probably why she was standing in front of him now, the determined set to her chin advising him they would not be leaving until she conquered this particular obstacle.

He fell himself fall a little farther down the hole of emotions he was currently in. “If you’re ready, try again.” The second shot wasn’t great, but much better than the first and he felt that same pride again, fingers rubbing together to keep from touching her. “Again.”

Moving back even farther, he let her concentrate, giving gentle corrections when she needed it, watching her confidence grow and bloom every time she pulled the trigger.

“How does it feel?”

She’d emptied three magazines, nowhere near an expert, but hopefully enough not to flinch, to save her own life if needed. Carefully she switched on the safety, set her gun down and he crowded back in, the thrill of being so close making him reach out and run his fingers up her spine.

“Good, it feels good.” Hearing protection pulled off, she pushed up her safety glasses, waited for him to do the same. “But this is easy, it’s just a piece of paper, not a living, breathing person looking at me.”

The sharp taste of regret was in his mouth, the pain in her eyes searing into his insides as he pulled her into him, let her bury her face in his chest. “I know and it’s really fuckin’ unfair that you are learning this. But, hey—“ he leaned back enough until she looked up at him, fingers playing with a strand of her hair, unable to keep his hands to himself, needing the contact. “If you do this to save yourself, it’s not on you, it’s on them. They made the choice and put themselves in this position. You are just trying to stay alive.”

There was a vulnerability in her eyes, the struggle of getting her mind to a place where she would accept the ending of a life for her own and he cupped her face, forehead touching hers as her lashes fluttered. “Besides, they’ll have to come through me to get to you and I don’t plan on letting that happen. You are coming out of this.”

A noise left her throat, a quick warning before she was up on her toes and he was ready for the messy clash of their mouths, desperation flooding his mind as his senses filled with her, the smooth slick of her tongue against his, sharp nails making to under his shirt, the urgency in which she pushed him back until he was against the partition, letting her take what she needed.

There was a demand in the wet slide of her mouth, one that he felt throughout, his body responding to it because they were finally

there,

no looking back or stopping now and his hands slid down to finally grasp handfuls of her round arse, the clingy fabric stretching under his grip as teeth set firmly into his bottom lip.

It was a little desperate, unhinged, frantic movements to consume, to finally

take

what they both wanted so very badly. Her hands were under his shirt, pushing up his back with sharp nails, a hand on her lower back pulling her against him, letting her feel how badly she was needed, fingers diving below the edge of fabric, material straining against the invasion, dipping lower to look for another barrier, a digit sliding between the plump cheeks of her arse.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered what that meant, tenacious grasp slipping, letting go of her bottom lip to look at her sly face, blue eyes clouded with lust, pretty mouth kiss swollen. “Dany?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to make that discovery all night.”

A sharp bite to his lip drove him forward again, messy, hurried, needing to touch more, to taste

more

and he moved her backwards, the arm around his neck keeping her upright as he grabbed and squeezed, her sharp exhale as she hit the counter behind her making him pause.

But only for a moment, and then he picked her up, dropping her on the flat surface, shoving flyers and whatever else out of the way as she opened her thighs, grabbing the straps of his holster and pulling him in right where he was all too willing to go, to be so close to the heat of her. Something inside him starting to boil over, hands sliding up smooth skin as she shimmied her hips to help, the skin of her neck welcoming as he mouthed and licked.

Finally her dress was hiked indecently, fingers finding hip bones as he nipped under her jaw, frustrated that sparkly barrier of material across her chest denied him access to her tits and thumbed at the crease of her thighs until he was met with a wet heat, the air in his lungs stalling.

She was soaked as he pulled his head away to look at her, arousal glistening at her seam, stripped bare and welcoming, her head rolling back as he swiped at her center, parting her easily, his own want making him shaky, an edge set to his need that made him want to take roughly and hear her cry out, to worship slowly and have her melt against him. Fingers brushed over her again, a light flickering touch over her clit that had her hips jumping, her low moan pushing him to action.

With a sharp pull she was at the end of the counter, his mouth against the soft skin of her inner thigh, a whimper and fingers in his hair giving him permission to close in, inhale the smell of her, the sudden rush he’d felt slowing down to lick the evidence of her want off of her thighs, hands holding onto her buttocks to keep her wide and she clumsily looped her legs over his back.

The square edge of her heels were digging in, her whispers of his name falling into his ears, mixing with the sound of his pulse, pausing for a second to savor the moment— finally,

finally,

a hair's breadth away from her cunt, swollen and ripe. His tongue finally swiped as he looked up, her sharp cry ending as he did it again, hair tugged as she anchored herself and him, the sweet tang of her filling his mouth, making him starving for more.

He kept her spread apart, consuming in big wolfish bites, feeding off her noises of pleasure, his tongue coated with her juices, thighs going shaky around him as he bumped her clit, did it again for her reaction, wanting so badly to be inside of her, wanting this first, catching that nub to suck lightly.

She almost came off the counter, his name falling in the same rhythm he was using to drive her crazy, fingers seeking out that wet and hot channel, two disappearing inside of her, and he did his best to listen over her cries, his own heartbeat, for that change in pitch, wanting to hear it so badly, wanting her to fall apart for him, tongue making flat sweeps to the most sensitive part of her.

“

Oh, gods, Jon!”

There was a greedy part of him that wanted her around his cock, the other part happy to be buried mouth first between her thighs and he concentrated on that part, fingers still moving with a wet squelch, rubbing when her hips jumped, her body curling towards him, his own body on fire with need. He suckled gently at her again, ready as she broke, shuddering and shaking, fingers tight in his hair as he moaned through the mouthful of her, lapping at the evidence of her orgasm as she strained and then relaxed.

Lazily, he licked at her again, strangely satisfied for a man whose cock was hard and aching, scraping his wet face on the white skin of her thigh, feeling her twitch with his movement, a little whine pulling his gaze away from her flushed center, to her face, still coming down from pleasure, gorgeous and wrecked and the flood of different emotions almost drowned him on the spot.

And what a fucking way to go he realized, straightening up to catch her chin, watch those shiny eyes focus before she grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward into a hard kiss, teeth rattling together before they found their rhythm again. Jon pulled her closer just to feel the heat of her against him, savoring it and how she clung to him, leaning into his embrace, sure that he wouldn’t let go over her.

Within his haze he felt the fingers crawling up his sides, under his shirt, worn heart kicking up a notch, a blaze being left in her wake as she tugged, exposing more skin and he was ready to help her, a desire to let her have her way with him.

Except he didn’t want to have her in a frantic, half dressed encounter on the back counter of a shooting range...

“Hey.” He caught her wrists as nimble fingers grasped at the button of his jeans and he kissed each palm before diving back in to press a quick kiss on her pretty, pouting mouth, a small pang as he stopped them. “Let’s go back to the manse.”

“Jon.” Her voice was sultry, sex dripping like honey, and his cock was straining desperately against its confines. “Let’s finish what we started first.”

Fuck, she was making it difficult and he wanted nothing more than to put an end to the dance they had begun all those weeks ago.

“I don’t have a condom with me.” He kissed her again, wanting to make sure she

knew

she was wanted.

“I’m on birth control, so that’s not a problem.”

That

hit him like a ton of bricks— her absolute trust in him— and he carefully pulled her forward, ignoring her frown as her feet hit the floor, cradling her face in his palms and hoped he wasn’t fucking this up. “Dany, please, let me take you back to the manse and to bed. I don’t want to do this here. I do, but I want to do this right even more.”

Her kiss was gentle, not like the frenzied motions they had been before and something in his chest settled, filled, while his blood roared for her, his hands slipping into the back of her dress, finding a hip to squeeze before helping to pull her skirt down over her arse once more.

When they parted, he left his eyes closed, basking in sensations and he could feel her smile against his lips, still taste her in his mouth.

“Since you were kind enough to give me an orgasm first, I’ll let you have your way.. this time.”

There was something close to giddy welling up inside him— she was slowly pulling forth the lightness he had forgotten resided there, behind the scars and the hurt. Dragging his fingers up her back, he took the time to drop another soft kiss to her awaiting mouth, ready to stay just like that forever. “Mmmm, into the bartering system, are ya?”

Her fingers stroked down his face, dancing at the edge of his jawline. “This is a new development for me. But I can see the benefits.”

An easy chuckle left him, hands molding over her arse, just because he could and he couldn’t seem to find an ounce of the cold in his chest, her fire melting it all away. “Come on, let’s go.”

It was an enthusiastic agreement and they reluctantly parted, Jon still torn between finishing this off with her thighs around him, right there on that counter and taking her back to the manse, spending the deserved time going over her. But, he made himself pack up their supplies, the lingering smell of gunpowder mixing with the smell of Daenerys, heady and making him need to adjust himself in his jeans, brushing off her raised eyebrows.

“We can do something about that.”

Her purr didn’t help and he gritted his teeth, stopping at the front counter long enough to switch back on the security cameras. “Let’s not create a scandal.”

“Gods, Tyrion would be furious.”

Stopping just before the door, he put himself in front of her, the brief thought of all the hellfire that would have been rained down upon them if him feasting from between her thighs were to hit the tabloids. “I’d probably be sent back to the Wall.” Giving her a wink, he punched in the alarm code. “But you’d be worth it.”

The dazzle of her smile almost blinded him as he shut the door behind them, locking away that moment of them to keep forever and he moved them back out to the SUV, tucking her safely inside before rushing to his side, trying to rein himself in just a bit. Back out here, she was a target and he couldn’t forget it.

She was leaned back against the seat as he put them in drive, checking his mirrors, all around them as they left the parking lot, another glance showing her blinking slowly, still mussed and bright, and something inside of him swelled with pride at putting that look on her face.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” Stopped at the red light, he turned his head towards her, reaching out to run a thumb over her bottom lip.

A quick hand caught his own, sharp teeth setting into his fingerprint and he flashed over with want, a sharp look coming into her eyes, a warning that she had been pushed to the edge, and there would be nothing sweet and slow between them yet. “I have beard burn between my thighs.” Her legs shifted, drawing together. “How long do you think it lasts?”

Air was difficult to find, the light turning green and he had to force himself away from the fire in her eyes to drive, to get them back to the manse before he pulled over and let her climb on top of him. “I don’t plan on letting it go away.”

This time it was she who cursed, fingers landing on his thigh, cock twitching and then straining as she moved towards it, warm lips finding his neck as they hit another red light and he caught her chin, turning back towards her, fingers threading through all the silver to anchor himself as she met him halfway, mouth already open, tongue eagerly sliding against his.

A horn behind them had him jolting, eyes jerking back open and he tried to focus again on the road, ignore the urgency in his veins, needs bubbling like a volcano as her chuckle hit his ears, nose nuzzling against his jaw as her fingers danced and teased, cock still reminding him that he remained unsatisfied, the brush of her knuckles across the bulge in his jeans making him hiss. “You plannin’ on torturing me the whole ride?”

“That’s your fault.” Warm lips found his neck as he hit the first streetlight. “You insisted on waiting.”

He lightly jolted with teeth sinking into his skin. “Dany…..”

Pressure from her hand increased as did the sound of his heartbeat, everything becoming a little slow around him as he turned his chin, seeing the mischievous glint in the depths of blue, the sound of a zipper making him inhale, breath stalling out as his eyes landed back on the road.

“Fuck.” His voice broke, mind starting to lose it’s sharp edge. “What are you doing?”

A warm hand wrapped around his cock, a nose brushing his cheek as he tried to concentrate on the white lines, a silky stroke making him bite his tongue to focus.

“I don’t think you need to wait any longer.”

Whatever protest he had was lost as she shifted against the restraint of her seatbelt, words staying stuck in his throat as she freed him from the confines of fabric, cool air hitting him before her warm breath, grip tightening down on the steering wheel, the brief realization that they were so far away from what he had originally planned, right before her sweet mouth closed over the head of his cock.

There was a quick moment where he thought he might wreck the SUV, a hum vibrating around the sensitive flesh as she sucked him down, holding him in wet heat, his hips jerking in response, a hand landing on her neck, fingers tangling in her necklace to steady himself.

All he wanted to do was stop and give her better access, the wonderful pull of her mouth was irresistible and he couldn’t figure out why he had originally told her to wait, a broken groan leaving him as he managed to turn down the correct street, bumping her head with the steering wheel.

“

Gods… fuck..”

She came up for air and he almost whimpered, even with her hand replacing her mouth, lips shiny with spit and swollen and heat prickled all over his skin in a rush, the knot inside him growing in size as he blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Where are we?”

It took him a second to decipher her words, her hand squeezing as she continued her motions, teeth tugging on his earlobe. “About a block away.”

“Are we going to get caught with me sucking your cock by whoever is on security?”

It was a command for him that he was unable to ignore, a rush of air expelled as she dropped back down, cheeks hollowing as he hit the back of her throat, all control now in her dainty hands as fingers tangled in her hair, the lights of the manse coming up, her rhythm perfect, destroying him in the best way possible, slurping sounds making it hard to breathe and he slowed down, turn signal on, blinking against oncoming headlights before turning off the street.

With a low curse, in the safety of the driveway, he threw the SUV in park, hitting the lever to move the steering wheel up, out of her way, something rough leaving his chest as she didn’t falter, a hand carefully squeezing into the little space allowed, cupping his balls, thumb adding pressure as she dove back down and held his cock there, trapped, and then he was lost.

It rolled over him in waves, a buzzing in his ears, everything black behind closed eyelids, her lips staying sealed around his cock as his release flooded her mouth, a hand cupping the back of her neck in encouragement.

She didn’t need it, moaning in appreciation as she took it all before pulling off with a smug look just as he managed to open his eyes, gulping in air as quickly as he could get it, tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth.

“

Fuck.”

He finally managed, completely useless as she settled back in her seat, wiping the corner of her mouth before trying to fix her hair.

“That’s the plan.” The heat in her eyes burned into him. “If I could get you to drive.”

He shook his head, trying to gather himself back together as he shifted with a wince, adjusting himself to zip back up his jeans, wondered if the fact he’d just gotten the best blowjob in his life was written all over his face— or that he was just minutes away from hearing what Daenerys Targaryen sounded like with his cock buried inside of her.

“I’m driving.” To prove his point, he shifted back into gear, grabbing her hand to kiss her knuckles, then wrist, her soft sigh tingling inside of him. “Do you always get what you want?”

“I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Fuck, he didn't have to be told that twice, much more than lust enveloping him and he dropped their hands down out of sight, not quite ready to let go of her as they pulled up to the gate and confirmed that it was indeed them, before the gate swung open to let them enter.

A tingling of nerves settled over him in the silence as he parked, grabbed her gun case from the backseat as she gathered her clutch and jacket, and it was ridiculous considering what had just transpired between them, his hand clenching and releasing just before he opened her door, the harsh floodlights unable to dampen her beauty, suddenly feeling out of his depth with that look on her face as he offered out his hand.

She took it, palm still a little damp and his stomach clenched with remembered pleasure and he vowed to himself that he would return it all back to her, wanted her to think of nothing but him.

Resisting the urge to kiss her, he let them into the manse, ever the professional except for the hand drawn to the small of her back, thumb casually stroking the bared skin, looking forward to the moment when he’d get to see all of it, as he ushered her down the halls, counting his steps as they moved from camera to camera, until he was unable to resist, grabbing her around the waist to press her against a closed door.

Her words of confusion were stopped by his mouth, tongue finding hers, tilting her chin how he needed it, taking and giving until the world spun and he slowly pulled back, straightening them both up and hands back to appropriate placement, and moved her down the hall quickly, keeping her steady on her feet despite his own dizziness.

“Cameras?” Her voice was shaky, lips shiny and swollen and he almost stopped them again.

“Blind spot.” They were getting closer to their rooms, his heart pounding wildly, almost,

almost

there and then he’d fucking finally be able to put his hands all over her, satisfy his cravings and hopefully hers as well.

“Hurry, Jon.”

He did, making it to her door and leaving her against the wall, doing a quick sweep, setting down the case before stepping back into view and motioning to let her know it was clear.

She didn’t waste any time, pushing herself off the wall in a hurry, anticipation rolling through him as she flung herself, a perfect fit in his arms, already hungry for her again as she took his mouth with an intensity that disarmed him, her hands frantically pulled at his shirt, fingers dipping inside the back of her dress, sliding down to grab a handful of arse, yank her tighter against him.

Somewhere in the back of his quickly shutting down mind, a detail was there, getting further and further away with every suck and bite, his shirt being half discarded before he finally grasped what he needed to do, catching her hands and stepping away.

“Wait.” He was panting and they still had their clothes on. “I’ve got to—“ he motioned towards his room, waiting for the look of understanding before letting go, another step towards the door.

When she nodded at him, he turned, trying to not seem as he was racing as he let himself into his own room, locking to door behind him and tripped, his pulse encouraging him to

hurry,

toeing off his boots, setting his gun on the dresser, as he yanked open the door between their rooms, Daenerys standing just on the other side.

Fuck,

she was the best thing he’d ever seen and he could hardly believe this was getting ready to happen, that somehow he had ended up right

here

and he was too much a coward to look deeper, figure out a name for it, and instead concentrated on the blistering heat he could feel between them, his hands ready to grab.

But he didn’t. He held his ground, needing her to be the final one to cross that line, let her make the decision on her own, even if it was the natural conclusion to what they had started.

Stil, when she came through that door, his heart almost stopped, finally reaching out to catch her, crashing them together in that tangle of lust, mouths slanting and seeking with need, the shoulder holster being pushed off his shoulders and he paused her a moment, letting her chase his mouth, pulled his shirt over his head to give her access to more skin.

Her hands hit his chest with her nails out, a delightful scratch that awakened nerve endings he thought dead, her tongue finding the hollow of his throat, his own hand doing an awkward fumble to get behind that godsdamned dress, finally getting to cup one of those lovely little round tits, thumb flicking over a nipple that pebbled under his attention and he needed

more.

“How do I get this off of you?”

Those blue eyes were dark when they looked at him, all his blood descending south rapidly and she turned away from where she had been nipping across his clavicle, leaving marks that he’d wear proudly, to offer him the view off her neck and back, motioning to the snap there, one small flimsy piece keeping him away from all the skin he wanted to taste, to see, and with impatience goading him forward his fingers found where to unclasp, her breath catching as his palm swept up her spine.

The dress fell away from her chest and he closed in, the soft smell of her invading his nose as his hands slid around her belly, up, groaning as he placed a kiss behind her ear, then lower, moving towards her shoulders as he palmed her tits, the weight making him close his eyes, the taste of pale flesh making him an addict.

Her own groan floated back to him, her head lolling back towards him as he gave her a well placed bite at the back of her neck, kneading and squeezing, listening to her whimper when he pinched her nipples, drawing them out, feeling her squirm against him, a hand sliding down the slope of her belly, down further under that dress to cup her, feel the heat at her center, the pool of wet in his palm.

“Dany….”

He nosed behind her ear, pinching the hardened tip at the same time a finger parted her wet folds, her weight sagging into him as she let out a rough moan. “You’re soaked, again. Didn't you get enough before?”

“No.” She managed to turn in his arms, fingers pulling at his waistband. “Pants off now.”

It was a request he was all to willing to comply, shucking them quickly as she shimmied out of her dress, before stepping back into her, groaning with the feel of nipples catching on his scars, sparks igniting, fingers cupping the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, thumb on her rapid pulse to kiss her again and again until the feeling of fingernails in his arse reminded him they had other things to do.

Scooping her up, he spun them to the bed where he lay her down, covering her body with his own, finally, letting his weight bear her into the mattress, heat and flesh meeting, hungry as he tasted, suckled at pulled at her breast, the fingers in his hair finally pulling it loose to fall against the pale of her skin, dark meeting light and

gods

he was ready for more, rolling them over until she was straddling him.

He was struck dumb for a moment, staring from where he rested against the pillows, hands finding the perfect spot at the generous curve of her hip and he could feel the anticipation heavy in the air, surrounding them as she braced herself with a hand on his abdomen, his eyelids fluttering as she fisted his cock and lined them up, rubbing him through the abundant wet before the warmth enveloped him, hot and tight and stars appeared before him or maybe it was the silver curtain of her hair as she keened and struggled down.

Finally she was flush against him, his heart beating loudly from underneath her palm as she traced the edges of a jagged scar, struggling to keep control of himself, fighting the urge to flip them and dominate, to fuck her until she was screaming his name.

She gave a testing roll to her hips, cock sliding in that tight heat and he reached behind him, grabbing a hold of the headboard, groaning as she did it again, teasing as she bit her lip.

“Fuck,

Dany

.”

That seemed to spur her forward, getting a little more tangled up in her magic as her body took him, over and over again, her hand over his heart as she canted her hips and rode, his breath coming back in stuttering gasps, eyes open to watch her, wild and unrefined, beautiful as she enjoyed him.

It was beginning to be too much, the heat, the grip around his cock, his own throat giving away his pleasure, letting go to reach for her again, a hand trailing up her spine, the other wrapping in hair hanging between them as she tipped enough to kiss him, a hard bite of need, his own demands made, her whimper caught in his mouth, the feel of her knuckles dragging down his abdomen before fitting between them, her hips faltering.

He pulled away from her lips regretfully, sensation centered on the pulsing of her cunt as she climbed higher, his eyes glued to where they were joined, cock being swallowed with her every downward thrust and greedily he grabbed her hips helping aid her movements with hard pulls, the sound of flesh ringing in his ears, the fire climbing steadily over him as she broke, battering herself over and over until she was boneless, glorious in her ruin, the flames fully engulfing him and he growled her name, his release being absorbed by her, hips bucking hard into where he held her still, her little groans prolonging him as she shuddered into the safety of his chest.

Finally he was spent, body slick with sweat and mingled fluids from under her, the soft sweet form crashing against him, pink with flush, her nose bumping along his jaw as he recovered from being blind and deaf, petting slowly down her back, little purrs settling somewhere around his heart, his satisfaction only partially due to his release and more that it was

her

, naked and on top of him.

“Jon.” She arched, making him wince, her mouth pouting and perfect and magic, his thumb catching that bottom lip for a moment before letting her have it back.

“Dany.”

Her eyelashes fluttered at her name, her hands cupping his face before she gave him a lingering kiss that made him sit the rest of the way up, body heat ignored in favor of closeness.

He could feel it shifting inside him, that big, momentous emotion he didn’t have a name for, but something that made him want to grab her and hold on tight, fingers splaying across her back in substitution as she collapsed back into him with a hum, his lips finding the top of her head to press a kiss there, savoring all of it.

For most of his life he had tried to protect himself, keep himself and not allowing anything too deep, self preservation at its finest. But he couldn’t find a trace of that reflex, limbs and emotions all tangled up with her, the urge to welcome it, embrace it, the only instincts he could find.

When she lifted her head up with a content little sigh, met his mouth with a soft gentle kiss, he was ready.

~*~*~

ñuha prūmia

- my heart

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 8

Oh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough
 ~*~*~ Jon woke her again in the early light of dawn, feather light touches against her nippples pulling her from dreams that tasted of rum and sweetness, and back into the reality of him. The musky smell of them floated on the stale waves of the air conditioning— the cool air unable to compete with their heat. They had taken turns waking each other during the night, need a rolling wave that had taken each of them, neither able to release the other now that the last of their physical barriers had been shattered. Under the shield of darkness she had finally been able to map his scars with her tongue, to express her sorrow and gratefulness in a way she couldn’t yet say aloud, to follow that V shaped muscle to its point, to take him again into her mouth to revive him for her. He had done the same, her body now his sept of worship, sliding his thick cock into her cunt that ached only for him over and over until she was satisfied and sore and limp. They hadn’t so much as slipped into a peaceful sleep, but had fucked each other into unconsciousness until the next wave broke over them again. His eyes were bright in the early morning light, the color golden and honeyed, beautiful— like the rest of him. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him the night prior— all of him finally on display to her— and even her active and artistic imagination had not been able to conjure the exact details of him, his sculpted thighs, that glorious ass, the thick, beautiful cock nestled into the thatch of dark hair. Exploration and admiration had needed to wait until the storm of their mutual lust had subsided, but once sated for the moment, hands and lips and tongues had mapped every inch of the other before sleep had snatched them away for however brief a time. Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind now, weak sunlight pouring through his window, a slow smile already spreading across her face as his lips found her neck, a soft bite at the pulse point already thrumming wildly for him. He was propped up on an elbow behind her, his chest sealed to her back, a line of sweat already forming, slick between them. His roughened fingers teased at her breast as her eyelashes fluttered, wanting nothing more to arch into his touch, to give herself over and over to him in whatever way he wanted, all for the pleasure of his groans, his satisfaction and shy smile that appeared every time he drove her to orgasm, the way his arms locked tightly around her, keeping her as close as possible when in the throes of his own. She tried to roll onto her back to give him more access, but his fingers trailed down her ribs to grip her hip for only a moment. “Stay still,” his breath was warm against the shell of her ear, another promise wrapped in his voice and he pressed a kiss just behind it, his tongue sampling the taste of her skin again. He shifted closer to her, his hand returning to her breast, nipples already furled tight in anticipation, his fingers tweaking and rubbing, circling and pinching until she moaned, drawing her thighs together to suppress the flood of want coursing through her. He stole her breath. His hands were sure and strong, and he seemed to know what she wanted before she knew herself. His obvious admiration almost, almost made her feel small and shy, undeserving of his rapturous attention, but she firmly pushed that voice that sounded suspiciously like Viserys away. She may not deserve any part of Jon, but she would be thrice damned if she allowed anyone to drag him away from her now that they had come this far. His legs shifted closer behind her, his already hard cock settling within the cleft of her ass, hand once more abandoning her breast with a sigh as he pressed her pelvis back into the cradle of his hips. One of his knees nudged her legs apart, a strong thigh creeping between her own to spread her wide for his touches, to give her something to grind down upon, to remind her of the night prior at the gun range, all of his talent and strength and patience on display as he taught her, trying to keep her focused beyond the feel of those thighs between her legs, the ache of emptiness resounding through her as he pressed against her back. She already felt gapingly unfulfilled, her cunt throbbing against nothing as his plush lips found the back of her neck, suckling at the notches of her spine, the juncture of her shoulder as sharp teeth sunk in and she gasped, her hand reaching behind her to give as well as receive pleasure as his talented fingers continued their journey south, fingers raising before they could brush her exposed nub. A groan of need and anticipation escaped her lips before she could bite it back at the deliberate tease, shifting her hips back to grind against him in revenge, her fingers digging into his ass. Another warning bite to her shoulder as his fingers played in the crease of her hip before reaching to remove her hand from his ass. He linked their fingers, drawing them to his lips to press kisses over before sucking them into his hot mouth, his tongue swirling over them as he hooked his ankle around hers and raised his knee, drawing her open and wide and vulnerable. He withdrew their joined fingers from his mouth with a soft pop before bringing her hand to the inside of her knee, his hand covering hers, drawing her fingers down the crease of it, along the silky skin of her thigh, guiding her to the heart of her core, and she felt her breathing kick up a notch. “Show me,” his voice was liquid magma, searing and boiling, another gush of wetness soaking into his thigh and he groaned in response. “Gods, I’ve barely touched you.” “And yet…” She shifted her hips back into the cradle of his own, his cock springing free and now straining in the open space their legs had created, ever so slightly brushing against her center as Jon teased with a light thrust. She reached down between her legs, intent on guiding his cock into her, already throbbing for him, but instead Jon’s hand tightened over her own again. “Not yet, show me.” His words were a command that sent a pulse of desire straight to the core of her, his hands guiding hers back to her center—waiting, hovering until she pulled her hand out from under his, and laid it on top. Her shaking fingers were now in control as she settled his hand over her outer lips, stroking and guiding him right where she wanted him. She shuddered violently as he lightly brushed his thumb over her clit, her fire raging for him, for his touch— his other fingers stroked through the mess and wet of her need. They both groaned as she guided his middle finger inside her along with her own. The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced, overwhelming and full, leading him to that point inside of her, that heat buried deep within, subtle pressure until she curled her finger into his, his mirroring hers and brushing confidently against the magic that lay within her. “Oh gods, there.” She should be more frightened of the power she was giving him, but something inside of her clamored to show him her secret heart, instead of keeping him at arm's length, hiding behind the Dragon Queen mask like she normally did when she took a lover. Most men wanted to see only that side of her in the bedroom, the side that commanded and desired worship above all else, a goddess pulled from the glossy pages of a magazine. At least until the consequences of celebrity caught up to them. And yet, with Jon it was different— he wanted her— Dany, not the Dragon Queen. It was exhilarating, enormous, and above all foreign, that desire to show him all of her wants, her needs, her secret cravings. And yet, she found that alongside the fear she felt a staggering need to let him in— to let him see all of her. She withdrew her hand with a wet squelch, more than willing to let him take the lead from there, to drive her higher and higher until they both burst, reaching again behind her as she thrust her hips forward to give her room to maneuver, catching his eager cock in her wet fist as he buried his face in the back of her neck and she tightened her grip to stroke him root to tip. He moaned into her neck, but his fingers never faltered, adding another, and then a third to her wet heat, stroking and curling within her, rubbing against that spot that he had apparently seared into his soul, driving her higher and higher as his thumb tapped against her clit in a disjointed rhythm that kept her straining, yearning for more. His weight drove her forward, her free hand fisting in the sheets of the bed to brace herself against his thorough onslaught. She was almost there, everything inside of her clenching wildly around his fingers when he withdrew abruptly, leaving her empty. She cried out before he grasped the wrist of her hand around his cock, pulling her off of him, bringing her hand to his hair, allowing her a moment to anchor herself before he lined them up and thrust into her with one powerful stroke. She almost broke, a wail tearing from her throat as he pushed through the tight heat, the wondrous drag of his cock through her channel evoking something guttural within her, her voice too ragged and hoarse to form words. Once lodged firmly inside her, she twisted her upper body toward him as best she could, missing his kisses, the warmth of his eyes, but another bite to the juncture of her neck stilled her before he surged upward onto his elbow, his hips driving forward into her with a grunt. His hand, still wet with her essence, pushed her pelvis down and back to find that exquisite angle he was searching for. She arched her back to help him, his free hand winding into her hair and yanking her head back to finally capture her lips with his own, his tongue plundering her mouth as his hips drove his heavy cock into her again and again. He finally released her bottom lip with a wet pop , his hand returning to where their journey had started, kneading her breast and pulling at her nipples until she almost shrieked, something wild coming from deep within her under his touch, unraveling her. His eyes were completely swallowed by black as his gaze trailed down her twisted body, every part of her on display to him. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from where they were joined, his nostrils flaring with each thrust. His fist in her hair kept her anchored to him, unable to look away from his face even if she wanted to, and she had to huff out a laugh between thrusts, startling him into looking down at her for only a moment before returning to the place where flesh met flesh, wet smacking sounds echoing lewdly in their room. “I knew you liked to watch.” His answer was a growl, his fingers moving back to her neglected clit, swollen and red with need, gathering the wetness there and circling as she keened against him, the first wave of her pleasure gathering, waiting to break over them both. “If you had this view, you would too.” She turned her head into his chest as far as she could, nipping sharply at his pec in return, the feeling of fullness overwhelming her, and with one last slide against her clit that turned into a prolonged press she came unmoored, shaking and pulsing around him, her nipples tightening further, if possible. He groaned into her ear as his thrusting lost its rhythm, his other arm slipping under her to cup her breast and hold her tight, thumb brushing over the tight bud as she convulsed in his arms, the wave breaking across them both again, drawing them further and further out to sea, leaving them to cling helplessly to each other. Her limbs were leaden as she came down from the heavens, the jump of his cock still lodged within her making her clench with the aftershocks. Her mouth was impossibly dry, even as Jon pressed kiss after kiss to her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, every part of her that he had as of yet neglected until he finally slid out of her with a groan. She twitched again at the sensation, trying to summon the energy needed to turn over. He seemed to sense her dilemma, taking pity on her and he pulled gently at her hip, hissing slightly as she brushed against his now flaccid cock as she managed to turn onto her other side, burrowing into his chest, sliding her leg possessively over his. His hand found her jaw, tilting it up before burying his hand in her hair, holding her head at just the right angle to fit his lips to hers, for his tongue to slide into her mouth, to greet and tease and adore. He pulled back, the light of day making them both shy, a bit at odds considering what they had spent the majority of the night doing to each other. She felt consumed by him, as if by taking him inside of her body, her soul had taken his into hers as well. He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger before dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Hi.” She could feel herself blushing, not quite sure what to do with the abundance of affection dancing behind her ribs, the delight at which she felt waking gently in his arms, the adoration in his eyes that she knew shone back to him from her own. “Hi.” The silence stretched between them, the awkwardness of new lovers making it both tortuous and invigorating. “How’re you?” She smiled shyly, wiggling closer to him, the wet kiss of her nether lips smearing against his thigh. “Oh… You know…” His deep chuckle reverberated through her chest, and she had to close her eyes against the sudden spasm of joy she felt deep within her, the idea that they were finally here overwhelming and wonderful and frightening all in the same turn. She dove for the crook of his neck, burying her face against the sudden onslaught of feeling gushing over her, fighting down the urge to wrap her arms around him and never let go, wanting to stay here in this room, in this bubble with him forever. He seemed to understand, shifting under her until both his arms were wrapped around her, holding her firmly against his chest, fingers dancing lightly through her unbound hair and down her back, their breathing syncing and slowing. The next thing she knew his phone was vibrating on the end table next to him, and she had no idea she could move so quickly until she was lunging the rest of the way across him, her fingers straining for the phone until they closed triumphantly around it. She caught the briefest sight of Robb’s name as she sat up before instinct took over, that fear that something, anything would take him away from her jumping up with a sharp bite, and she tossed the phone through the open door between their rooms, the vibration going silent with the distance. Or so she hoped. She froze, hand still outstretched, in a bit of shock at her own actions until Jon sat up behind her, his arms reaching around her waist to draw her back into his chest. “Now, what did my phone ever do to you?” Her voice faltered at the sharp bite to her shoulder, “Ho- hope you have a good phone case.” “It’s shit.” His hands were wandering up and down her ribs, and she could feel herself melting back into him, now fully awake after their brief doze. “So are those early morning phone ca—“ her words cut off with an abrupt shriek as his fingers dug into her sides, his tickles sending peals of helpless laughter from her lips as he manhandled her back onto the mattress, his fingers continuing their torture until tears were streaming from her eyes. He settled between her legs, chin resting on her chest, tickles turning to gentle, soothing touches as he kissed the happy tears away. She reached for a pillow to prop her head up to get a proper look at him. “Did you at least see who it was?” She threaded her fingers through his hair, his curls loose and wild. “Robb.” He grimaced. “You made the right call.” She couldn’t help the gentle laugh that fell from her lips. “The ceremony is the day after tomorrow,” she said quietly. “Are they coming back soon?” His smile slowly faded, true reality invading their morning for the first time. He rubbed his chin in the valley of her breasts, beard burn there to match the one between her thighs as well. Irri would be thrilled. “What are you askin’, Dany?” She felt her chest expand at his gentleness, that ever present need to protect her both touching and terrifying that it was still needed. The look in his eyes was serious, but open, and she knew he wouldn’t lie to her, but she would need to ask directly. She took a shuddering breath, watching his eyes close as she continued to play with his hair. “Did Vis actually go to rehab?” He sighed, dropping his forehead to her sternum for a moment, pressing a gentle kiss there before he raised his head to look her squarely in the eye. “No.” She nodded, expecting that to be his response, surprised to find her disappointment somewhat muted. “I thought that might be the case. I was hoping he hadn’t called because they took his phone away.” “I’m sorry.” She nodded. “So am I.” “We’ll come up with a plan. He won’t hurt you again.” She shook her head, her hand finding his cheek and cupping it. “I’m not afraid of that.” He leaned forward, his lips catching her own with a tender bite, his intent obviously to distract her, to wrap her in affection before her thoughts could spiral them both out of control, and she let herself go with him, anything to escape the claws of fear strangling her heart, something she refused to name, refusing to give it that power. She gave herself over to his soft touches until she found him inside her again, her cunt stretched around his length, treasured in the cradle of his arms until his gentle thrusts poured them over the edge again, together. “I could get used to this,” she murmured, lips pressed against his temple, her arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close. “Good,” he said, his eyes soft and serious, leaning down to catch her lips with his own, a gentle kiss that held more promises before rolling off of her and reaching for his watch on the nightstand, a soft groan leaving his lips. She pressed in, threading their fingers together, nose to his shoulder. “Do I want to know what time it is?” “No,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss to her brow. “But, I suppose I should tell you Missandei will be here in ten minutes, which means I likely have about thirty missed calls by now.” “If your phone survived,” she grinned up at him unapologetically. He looked down at her, exasperation and affection mixing in such a way that she couldn’t help herself, reaching for him again to bring those plush lips to her own, tongue swirling behind his teeth as he groaned into her mouth. “Seven hells, woman. There’s no time for more of that.” She pulled him back down for one more brief kiss before releasing him, sitting up to take stock of the room and her state of being, the beard burn not the only thing Irri would have to be creative about covering up.  Fuck… she was in some serious trouble. Alarm bells started going off in her mind, the amount of skin on display for this shoot… “Jon?” “Aye?” He was also sitting up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Who’s with me for the shoot today?” Although she tried to ask it nonchalantly, his eyes narrowed as he turned to look at her. “Grey. Why?” A slow smile spread across her face. “It should be you.” He sucked in a slow breath, his eyes rapidly losing their brown color to the black of his pupils. “Oh?” “It’ll be worth the trouble. I promise.” He had that same helpless look that often came across his face when she made a request of him, the feeling of power that came with it thrilling and dangerous. She stood, stretching lithely, allowing him to drink his fill of her body, bending over to gather her dress and shoes before sauntering over to the door between their rooms and turning back to him. “Also, don’t be too shocked when you see me next.” She could hear the rattle in his chest from here, felt the same awe as he stood, all his agile strength on display as he crossed to her, his hands spanning her waist before reaching around to grab her ass, pulling her close for one more searing kiss that left them both heaving and wanting. “Play your games, Targaryen. We’ll see who wins.” She grinned up at him, happiness fluttering in her chest. “Aye,” she teased, winking up at him. “We will.” ~*~*~
He hit end and disconnected his call, trying to keep his mind focused on work. So far he hadn’t been so successful, head full of a slight haze, joints loose and muscles relaxed. The kind of release that came from the rush of endorphins, something that a hard workout provided. Or, he smiled to himself, absurdly happy as he jotted down a few names of their borrowed security crew, the result of spending the last twelve hours in bed with Daenerys. He should be exhausted by lack of sleep, they spent more time fucking in his bed than anything else, instead he felt revived, energy just under the surface of his skin, vibrating and ready to go. With a small sigh of satisfaction he picked up one of his darts, threw it at the board and gave himself a minor congratulations on where it landed. “Are you smiling , Jon Snow?” Startled his feet hit the floor, face turning a low shade of red at being caught kicked back in his office and he found Tyrion in the doorway, too much amusement covering the other man’s face. “I’ve been known to do that from time to time.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “And what brings you down the long hall today?” It really wasn’t normal for Tyrion to seek him out, their business mostly concluded when Stark Securities had signed their contract and only meeting as they passed by each other in the manse or when he was with Dany. There was a brief bubble of hope that maybe they had found the deranged threat, a small moment of panic at the thought of Daenerys walking out of his life as suddenly as she appeared. “News from City Watch?” Tyrion made a scoffing noise as he sat down. “Useless, the whole lot of them. But there isn’t much we can do except use our own wit and brawn.” Papers landed in front of Jon and he paused for a moment, trying to figure out if there was a code he was supposed to be deciphering before he snagged the lot of them, staring down at words in front of him. “These are the factories Slynt was talkin’ about?” With Tyrion’s nod he continued to read through them, trying to make sense of the legal jargon. “Doesn’t show it’s owned by House Targaryen.” “Not at all. Keep reading.” There must a reason Tyrion wanted him to continue and while mildly exasperated, he was not surprised at the game of finding out for himself. He flipped to the next page. “Wait?” He flipped back. “The factories show being owned by Leviathan LLC, but that company is owned by the Krazaaj Zasqa Company? Isn’t that suspicious?” “It’s not completely unheard of.” Tyrion rapped his knuckles on the desk. “But it doesn’t quite stop there either.” Pushing the hair he’d left loose out of his face, he read on, finding just empty names, no employees, continuing on in a puzzle of more and more, the prickling of understanding starting to make its way. “Shell corporations? For whom? Where is the end?” “Haven’t found it yet.” Tyrion picked up the papers as he dropped them, straightening them neatly together. “It is to be expected really, no genuine business is going to attach their names to sweat shops and child slavery.” “If you didn’t think House Targaryen had something to do with it, then you wouldn’t have brought it to show me.” There was a sickness in the pit of his stomach, casting a shadow on his bright morning. He didn’t think for one moment that Dany was involved, there was no absolute way, but it wasn’t something he’d put past Viserys and that would devastate her. To learn her own brother was creating the very thing she was trying to prevent. His heart ached with the unproven realization. “Eventually you’ll read through that and find that one of those companies has been brought up in question to one of Littlefinger’s past dealings.” Tyrion looked tired, worn out, knowledge sometimes weighing down on a person. “And if he’s involved...” “Aye.” Jon rubbed between his eyes at the ache starting to brew. “Fuckin’ Viserys is probably right there with him.” “Of course, we don’t have any actual evidence at this point.” He sighed. “But it is highly suspicious. I’ve hired private investigators who are used to dealing at the corporate level.” “Is that going to get back to Baelish and Viserys?” That was another dangerous twist, anxiety bleeding into him, knowing this could be even more dangerous for Dany. “I don’t want this blowing back on her.” The look Tyrion gave him almost made him squirm in his seat. “No, I hired them under a Lannister business. It won’t look like it’s coming from House Targaryen at all.” “Good.” He relaxed back into his seat, tension draining out of him, trying to gather up his thoughts, wondering how he could properly prepare and get ahead of this mess. “Tyrion…let me be the one to tell her.” He knew how it would look from the outside and they’d probably be right in their assumption, this was different than showing her a note that threatened her life when he was the man in charge of keeping her alive. This was something personal and normally not for a bodyguard. The raised eyebrows of the other man confirmed what Jon thought it would. “Fine, if you think it’s better coming from you… well, it’s not something I wanted to do anyway.” Tyrion stood, brushed imaginary lint off his pants. “You have a hickey on your neck, Mister Head of Security.” He was drowning in embarrassment, hands twitching with the need to cover his skin but he managed to grip the edge of the desk instead, shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal and keep his face schooled to unbothered as Tyrion chuckled and let himself out. When it was clear, he pushed back from his chair fully intent on finding a mirror to see what he’d missed when his phone rang, making his teeth grind together in frustration with the interruption and sighing before dropping back down in his seat at seeing his brother’s name. “Robb.” “Fuck’s sake Jon, I tried calling earlier.” Jon tipped his head back, staring at the white of the ceiling, forever thankful that Robb wasn’t privy to his thoughts, mind suddenly filled with remembering how Dany had looked underneath him, soft and open, blue eyes blurred with passion. “I misplaced my phone.” “How terribly irresponsible. Didn’t know you had it in you.” “You’d be surprised.” Robb’s chuckle didn’t bring the edge of guilt that he thought it might, had hoped it wouldn’t, instead just the enjoyment of the brief wrestling match they’d had in her nest on the floor— where his phone had landed— and the delightful discovery of the sounds she made when she ended up pinned face down underneath him. “Jon!” “Have you seen Baelish?” It was a sudden jump to distract himself and divert Robb’s sure to be lecture, plus information that they needed to know, anxiety filling him instead of the normal joy of a hunt. This was too personal now, he was tangled up in anything Dany and couldn’t find the urge to get out of it. “Tyrion has found something suspicious that might have to do whoever is tryin’ to hurt Daenerys.” He took a breath, anger starting to build, hand clenching before relaxing. “Littlefinger and Viserys might be right in the middle of it.” “Aye, I’ve seen him.” Robb’s voice was a growl that spoke of his own dislike, Jon’s teeth setting together at the confirmation. “What a coincidence, running into you here.” The mock accent was spot on enough to make his skin crawl, the darkness inside him starting to climb its cage as it found a subject to be focused on, something that would dare hurt someone he cared about. “I’ll relay it to Tyrion.” A buzz had him pulling away to look at the screen of his phone, Missandei’s ‘ where are you?’ , causing him to look at his watch and groan, time seemingly flying by after a morning in bed. “I’ve got to go. I sent you the info on the extra men we picked up for the award ceremony, get me your thoughts on it please so I can draw up the final plan tomorrow.” Another thing added to his list when he really wanted to hound Tyrion until he had answers. But, he reminded himself, tucking his phone into his pocket after ending the call, small steps couldn’t be missed, they were just as important. After a quick check in with Grey, he headed into a wing he’d only been in to oversee camera installation, which worked well, having tracked the comings and goings of the crew and then, later on, Dany, through the winding halls, the dark walls now flanking him as he sidestepped hurrying workers, feeling the prickle of anticipation under his skin. Which was ridiculous, he chided himself as he made it into the room. It had been mere hours since he’d seen her last, his heartbeat picking up to let him know he was indeed a fool and as he did a scan and didn’t find her, felt the small bit of disappointment setting into the joy— It was ridiculous— his gaze switching all the way back to professional to cover the once ballroom now turned into something else with gauzy fabric floating down over the walls, massive lights giving off heat, all stationed in precise locations. Once, it would have been the oddest thing he’d ever seen, but now he was getting used to it, that part of Dany’s world accepted into his own. Settling in next to the door where Grey and Dei stood, he leaned against the wall to cross his arms, took note of the few startled glances he received. “How’s it been? Quiet?” “Nothing suspicious.” “Good.” Impatient, he checked his watch before adjusting it, ready for this to be over before it even started, knowing they had free time after they were done and wondered what he could talk her into, catching Grey give Dei’s hand a quick squeeze before he left. “You still don’t know what this is about?” Dei’s pretty face was sly as she looked at her phone, no doubt fielding emails and other info for Dany. “No.” He refrained from rolling his eyes, barely. “And everyone seems to be getting great amusement out of it.” “We are.” Without looking at him she picked up a cup of coffee, passing it to him before tucking her phone into her pocket, watching as finishing touches were put on where Daenerys would be. “Inside this time?” He didn’t miss the hum of her amusement as he lifted the cup and taking a drink, sputtering loudly as cold and sweet hit his tongue, not the bitterness of coffee as he expected. “Oh.” Dei’s face was carefully blank and he wondered what trap he had just walked into. “Sorry, that was Dany’s tea. She didn’t get it, as Irri has been chasing everyone away, complaining about all the extra marks that need to be covered up on her neck and chest.” He coughed again, suddenly unable to breathe until she reached over and gave him a healthy slap on the back, awkwardness filling him, knowing it was apparently not a secret that he had been devouring the flesh of her best friend just hours previous and he found himself not quite able to look over at the dark haired woman, instead he took another sip of that awful cold tea, grimacing as he fought it down. Instead, they were interrupted by a loud clap, a tall slender woman with sharp eyes, settling her hands on her hips. “Are we ready?” Everyone scurried, he could think of no other word for it, thoroughly entertained as the woman stood there as confident as a commander, until she swung around with that hard gaze and he felt his spine stiffen in response, the instinct to stand for inspection both surprising and unwelcome, annoyed at his learned behavior at the Watch. “Missandei, my dear, where is our gorgeous girl?” “Almost ready.” Dei seemed to not have the same reaction as Jon, her fingernails tapping lightly on the desk she leaned a hip upon. “Slightly delayed. Jon, this is our photographer, Ellaria Sand. Ellaria, Dany’s bodyguard, Jon Snow.” “Oh?” Eyebrows raised and she took him in, head to foot, appraisingly and he fought the urge to grind his teeth, to shuffle uncomfortably. “You’re the one Oberyn was talking about.” “I was?” She was shifting closer and he was unable to back away, so he made himself stand his ground. “Ah yes, he was correct about all that dark and broody handsome.” She motioned with her hand. “But then again he usually is.” As she stepped closer, Jon got the whiff of citrus, could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, her focus enough that he bristled and crossed his arms, feeling the itch under his collar and glowered until she stopped, a well manicured hand reaching out to land on his forearm and he barely resisted the urge to shake her off. “We’ve made the offer to Dany, to come home with us, have some fun but she’s always declined.” She was weighing him now, dark eyes searching him carefully as she seemed to come to a decision. “Oberyn wanted to extend the invite to you also, the both of you.” Letting go of him she stepped back and he held his ground, keeping his annoyance buried deep. “But I’m going to guess that you’re not the type to share, are you?” He caught Missandei looking up out of the corner of his eye, his attention shifting knowing that Daenerys must have finally stepped out, his eyes moving past everyone to find her petite form. A noise came from his throat, rough and guttural, as his mind stalled out completely as he found her. Gone was the silver siren he’d taken to bed the night before, then spent hours learning her secrets, her sounds, the depths of his emotions, the solid wall behind him the only thing keeping him upright as he took in the brunette seductress, the blue of her eyes taking over her face, stealing the air in lungs as he followed the pale of her skin, those wonderful curves scantily clad in something black and sheer. Something inside him reared its primitive head, the urge to cross across the room and throw her over his shoulder, steal her away was making his hands shake and he fought to bring himself back under control in the room full of people. Managing to tear his gaze away from Dany, barely, he looked at the amused expression of Ellaria Sand, his snarl quiet and firm. “No, I’m not.” “Pity.” Ignoring the retreating form, he watched Dany laugh, the familiar sound chipping at his possessiveness, settling with warmth inside of him, something that was starting to be familiar, welcome, and he leaned his weight towards Dei but didn’t look at her, unable to pull his gaze away. “Is this what I think it is?” Missandei snorted at him. “If you think it’s a lingerie shoot, then yes. Now, I’m going to go work somewhere else that is not here with you two.” He didn’t even look as she walked away, trying desperately to grasp at his professionalism, scrape together self-control and pretend that particular trait of his hadn’t been disappearing ever since Daenerys had been brought into his life. “Oh, you have a suit fitting tomorrow.” Dei didn’t turn back as she called out to him. “Dany’s not taking you to this event looking like a bodyguard, her words, not mine.” That statement was something from him to ponder on, try and convince himself there was nothing more to it, that there was, as Ellaria chased everyone into their places, giving him a warning to stay out of her way. Talking subsided as they started, low music playing in the background, nothing like it had been at the fashion show, this was slow and suggestive, matching the lingerie that Daenerys was wrapped up in. She was gorgeous, but she always was, chin angled for the camera, big bedroom eyes as tempting as the bits of flesh on display, all the delightful work of worshipping her disappeared under the makeup and he felt a surge of heat, a challenge settling in him, the need to mark her up more, let it be seen to anyone just exactly where she was spending her nights. Blowing out a breath, he pushed his hair out of his face, scolded himself for the possessive thoughts. Because there was no need for it, she wasn’t going anywhere, wouldn’t be stolen away from his side and he’d damn well use every resource known to man to keep her safe. Shifting, he eyed the closed door, some of the tension abating when Ellaria had made the announcement that anyone coming or going through the door while she was shooting would be murdered by her bare hands, a threat that had everyone on their best behavior. So his attention was able to go back to Dany, see her twist and turn, angle and hold, mouth shaped in a pout, vivid images of what exactly that mouth had done to him had him letting out a ragged breath, shifting uncomfortably, ignoring Ellaria’s glance at him to watch her, that little flutter in his chest as she continued on. But something was missing from her eyes, from the set of her mouth, the something that was there when she looked at him, that thing that set him on fire, let him know he wasn’t alone in the massive knot of emotion and lust he was wrapped in, his fingers twitching at his side, gaze heavy with want as it traveled up from the toes that curled when she orgasmed, up past the legs that wrapped around him so tightly, lingering over the hips smudged with his fingerprints, now knowing their exact fit, what they felt like when he was buried deep inside of her. Blue eyes met with his, that something flashing in there, a wave of heat engulfing him and balance swaying, he put his hand on the assortment of boxes next to him, to help keep him standing, to keep him from reaching for her, her own glance thorough and wanting, his breath catching in his throat. “Wardrobe change.” The tension paused for a moment in the room, everyone grabbing for bottles of water as Dany moved behind a low curtain, the delicate lines of her collarbones on display to him, the lock of her gaze making him feel a little wild, reckless, urging him to go to her and shred off the scraps of clothing, take her until she was screaming his name. “Everyone out.” Ellaria’s voice startled him out of his daydream, her tone stone cold even though there was a light in her eyes when Jon glanced at her, feet planted in his stance, because no, he was not leaving under her orders. “Asha, you stay. Jon obviously you also. Daenerys, I have an idea.” Irri fussed over Dany’s face for just a moment longer, Jhiqui helping her slip into another piece and both women left silently, leaving the four together in the now silent room, the heat from lights and bodies easing, letting Jon breath a little easier, though he could feel the wariness crawling through him, something about Ellaria’s face giving him a warning. “Let’s use him as a prop.” “What?” That snapped him to attention at the same time a scowl crossed Dany’s face. “No, not a prop then.” Hands went to slim hips as she studied her model. “Daenerys, darling, you’re beautiful as always. But I want more than that. I want people talking about this, talking about you!” She whirled then, turning quickly and he squared his shoulders, held his ground with narrowed eyes, senses on high alert at the sudden change, wanting nothing more than to gather Daenerys behind his back. “You bring out a look in her.” A finger pointed at his chest. “You stand there and eye-fuck her and she looks hungry. I want that in front of me.” With a snap, she was moving again, back to Dany who was watching his reaction, curiosity mingling with the sharp edge in her eyes and while he was still confused, he knew whatever was about to happen would be her choice. “What are you suggesting?” A strand of that foreign brown hair was being wound around her finger, her eyes inviting, creating a knot in his stomach, a ball of heat that twisted through him as he watched in interest, nervousness, lust, frozen into one spot waiting for more. “You can look at him. I’ll put him behind me and you two can make each other hot all you want. I just want that-“ she held her hands up, framing Dany in her hands. “-in my lens.” He was unable to explain the churn of feelings inside of him, something possessive not wanting anything to do with Ellaria Sand’s wild ideas, another flash of wanting everyone to see how she looked at him and no one else, to gloat and crow, leaving him shifting on his feet, heart thumping loudly as Dany tilted her head, looking at him adoringly, trusting, wantonly, making his cock twitch in the tight confines of his jeans. “Jon.” A slender hand was held out, his body moving to her before his mind had caught up, the warning growl to not mess up her makeup making his own hackles go up, frustration of being out of his element abating with the touch of her fingers sliding through his and then she was all he saw, her slight weight leaning into him, free hand coming up to play with the ends of his hair, his own going to the small of her back, settling there to feel soft flesh, soothing ragged edges inside of him. “What do you think?” Her voice was low and soft, giving the illusion of privacy, not able to be overheard over the easy beat of the music. “Dany, I don’t even know exactly what’s bein’ asked of me.” The feel of her hand on his neck made his eyelashes flutter and he pulled her in a little tighter, needing her a little closer. “You just have to look at me.” Her words came out low, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. “Look at me the way you do, the way that makes me think I’m the only one.” “You are.” His chest was tight again, that wonderful ache that threatened to bubble over at any moment, his fingers untangling from hers to sweep up her sides, dancing over ribs, thumbs glancing off the sweet round sides of breasts, her head tilted back to stare up at him and he was ready to agree to anything she wanted, whatever she needed, that small smile curling up the ends of her mouth. When she tilted her chin, offering up her lips, he closed in, unable to deny her, not wanting to, jaw unlocking to sweep his tongue into her mouth, find hers to curl around, that soft, sweet body leaning into him with a barely audible groan and he was greedy, instantly ready to take her out of the room, but instead tilting her chin as they leisurely explored, the pulse at her neck wild under his fingertips, breathing heavily as he slowly pulled away, lingering even as he heard footsteps behind them. “Step back Jon.” Ellaria’s voice was quiet and firm, careful not to burst into the bubble that had wrapped so tightly around them and he slowly did, body craving the heat of Dany as he lost contact with her, unable to look away, Irri darting in to dab at that kiss-swollen mouth, then the gentle whirring of the camera in his ears as Asha moved around him, adjusting the lighting, that sea blue gaze tracking him, setting him ablaze, crackling down his skin, leaving him desperate, vainly trying to keep himself gathered. Fuck, he was addicted, feeling that pull towards her, full lips parting with her breath, his hands flexing under her come-hither stare and he needed to put his hands on her, let his touches drive them both mad until he pushed them to pleasure, greedily take every ounce of her that she was willing his give. “That’s good. It’s amazing. Jon, go back in again.” That voice was like a bee in his ear, annoying and he let out a gust of air but obeyed, helplessly unable to resist, letting Dany melt into his chest, her eyes dark, pupils fat as he tugged slightly on the ends of her hair, not caring that they were on display as he molded his hands over her arse, squeezing enough to hear her gasp, the light fabric dragging over her skin, catching on the scars on his palm, her desperate dig to get under the back of his shirt made him want to call an end to this game they were playing. “Please tell me we are almost done.” It was a low plea, his sanity hanging by a thread, her own hum of agreement settling in his spine as he nosed along her ear, the sharp smell of hair color, the earthier tone of makeup muting the normal smell of her skin, but he found it, placed a kiss at her hairline, felt her shiver against him. “Almost.” Her words fell over his skin, putting him a little further under her thrall and he closed his eyes, needing the strength to step away again, barely remembering to do a quick scan of the area even though his senses told him nothing was off, his eyes quickly snapping back to her, not able to look away. Ellaria was murmuring low praises, quiet curses of excitement, Dany’s moments slower now, his blood starting to boil with the recognition of it, having spent his time learning her, her limbs becoming clumsy with arousal and it made the tips of his fingers tingle, his cock hard but nobody was looking at him, not with her in the room. She was brilliant, he knew it, the center of everything, equal parts of steel and heart, so much more than a beautiful woman wrapped up in designer clothes and everything he felt was enormous, his chest almost not able to contain it all. “Done.” The tension in his shoulders rolled off as she gave him a long look at the word that released them from the limbo they were caught in, her wish was his command as she turned and he followed, ignoring Ellaria’s noise of surprise, the line of her back showing through the sheer fabric. The doorknob opened under her hand, the small room off to the side having been converted into a dressing room and he could already feel the wildness unleashing inside him as she stepped inside, turning as he came in behind her, the door clicking shut. He was on her before she could say anything, dragged to her toes, lipstick smearing as he bit her lip first, then her moan vibrating between them as his tongue curled behind her teeth, hands searching frustratedly in what seemed to be a puzzle of fabric, nothing giving way despite the scarcity of it. “Don’t rip it.” She was already pushing the holster off his shoulders and he grabbed his gun before it could clatter to the floor, tearing his eyes away to set it in the middle of a tray of makeup, ripping his Henley over his head in one swift movement before yanking her close again. “Fuck….” he pushed the material to the side enough to free a nipple, already tightened and awaiting his touch, finger and thumb pinching it enough to hear her breath catch, need vibrating through him, lust making it difficult to think. “I want you. How do I get this off of you?” “Work around it.” Hands were on his jeans, fingers clever and he moved his mouth to her neck, grimaced at the layer of makeup he found, the taste in his mouth, frustrated that she seemed to be covered in it, forgetting that in the next moment as she freed his cock with a purr, fisting it to give it a gentle pump, pushing him closer to losing control. “Fuck.” Shoving his jeans down farther, he gathered up her hair, holding her still when she looked like she was going to swallow his cock, giving her his mouth instead, roughly, letting her match his urgency, hands moving over her shoulders to cup her neck, moving her steadily backward until she hit the vanity, whimpering in delight as he pinned her there. Stepping back he bent enough to cup her freed tit, letting the weight rest in his hand before suckling at the tip, letting it turn red under his attention, her hands gathering in his hair as she wriggled and made noises, so fucking responsive to what he was doing. But it wasn’t enough, his freed cock aching to be inside her and he spun her with force, noting her wide-eyed look in the mirror as he pushed at her back, her elbows knocking things off the wooden surface. He admired the sight of her bent over and waiting, fingers plucking at the swatch between her thighs, soaked through, igniting him, fingers squeezing the cheek of her arse hard enough to make her groan, bite her lip as she watched him through their reflection. “You’re gorgeous. Drives me mad sometimes.” Fingers pushed aside the fabric, finding her folds slick and swollen, ready for him again, her sharp noise drowned out by his rougher one, dropping down even farther to drag his tongue along her seam, collect the taste of her in his mouth, thumb tapping lightly on her clit so she’d make a high pitched noise. With regret he moved on, too impatient to stay in one spot, teeth finding the swell over her buttock, causing her hips to jump as he moved to the line of her spine, moving up it slowly, delighting in the taste of her skin, pressing her lower and he shoved his jeans down, hands grasping her hips to angle them. “And you tease.” With his knee, he shoved her thighs wider, cock in hand to drag against the wet of her, to do exactly what she accused him of, her mewling making him bite her shoulder, another mark to add to her collection before he thrust through her tight walls, a wonderful scalding heat wrapping around the length of him as she bucked under the intrusion. A thumb through the fabric kept it out of his way, and he shifted in a grind, watching her eyes flutter in the mirror, standing upright again to run a palm up her back, his own wits completely gone, only feeling, the gentle give of her body as he pulled almost completely out before slamming back in, the sight of her face twisting as she pushed back against him, the sound of flesh and pleasure filling the small room. He rode her hard, keeping her pinned by the flat of his hand, watching her face in the mirror as she tried to stay quiet, everything knotting up inside of him, racing through his veins. Control was hanging by the thinnest thread, she felt so fucking good around his cock and he shifted, a thrust that sent her on her toes, head dropping down and he caught the ends of her hair, giving a slight tug as he slowed his rhythm, hard snaps of his hips. “Watch us, Dany.” Her groan was ragged as she obeyed, his hand slipping down the front, pulling her back tighter, giving him access to rub lightly at her clit, change to a gentle tap as she jolted against the sensations, walls starting to flutter and he gritted his teeth, determined she’d go first. And she did, a hand braced against the mirror and she keened and pulsed, cunt grabbing desperately as his cock, pulling him up to the edge until he fell off with her, bucking hard, his rough growl falling across her shoulders as he collapsed forward, her hips caught between his and the vanity, his own convulsions hard enough she’d probably have more bruises from the wood. Air was coming in great gulps, the heat from their bodies making their flesh slick where they touched, her ribcage expanding under him as she panted and he managed to pet her flanks, push some of her hair out of his face, dragging his lips across the nape of her neck before climbing clumsily to his elbows, hissing as he pulled out of her. He managed to collapse back into a chair, shake his own hair out of his eyes and begin to process thoughts back together, handing her a small towel from where it lay on top of a tray of supplies. She looked ravished and pleased about it, makeup smeared, eyes still soft as she dabbed at the mess between her thighs, a small smile on her face. “You really like the brunette.” Another hard hit in his chest at her jest and he reached forward, rising up to meet her as he caught her wrist, tugging her closer. “Dany.” He cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, his eyes wide and unblinking and he hoped she could see everything in there that he was too scared to admit out loud. “I really like you.”  He wasn’t prepared for her closing the distance between them in a rush, flinging herself into his arms, the post coital haze gone from her eyes, instead they were round with emotion, the soft noise she made muffled as she closed her mouth over his, opening to give him control and he cupped her neck, thumbing along her jaw, tasting slowly, frantic need no longer driving them, but a thoroughness and he needed her to feel what he did as he kissed her until she melted into him, his heart beating rapidly under her palm. A quiet knock startled him, drawing him back to reality and he gripped her, hands flexing on her hips, adrenaline flooding what had been lethargic limbs until an unsure voice reached inside. “Ummm, Ellaria says you can keep the outfit.” A snort came from where her head was buried in his chest, the heat of embarrassment covering him as he realized the crew must have been outside cleaning up while they were in there fucking. “Oh, gods.” Dany’s body shook with laughter. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.” Jon thought he might be content to hide out in the dressing room forever now, he could protect her just fine from inside the small space. “This is your fault.” At his mock growl, she looked up, her hands spanning over his shoulders and then down his arms, her touch making him crave more from her, always more. “This is your fault. I’ve done hundreds and hundreds of photo shoots and never needed to be ravished in the middle of one.” On her tiptoes she brought her mouth close to his, fingers dancing along his wrists. “This is all on you, Jon Snow.” The lips that closed over his bottom one made him see stars, her tongue parting his mouth easily and he was helplessly lost to her again as she worked him over with her magic until he was gasping, eyes closed, forehead tipped into hers. Finally, when his eyes were able to open, he caught her wink as she stepped back, strapping his watch back around her wrist. “I’m not the only one who can be distracted.”
~*~*~
They stayed hidden away for as long as they could, neither able to show their faces outside of the makeshift dressing room until Missandei had finally come to drag her out, intent on keeping her to her schedule no matter what potential embarrassment she had heaped upon herself, and him— no doubt the entire household now abuzz with their mistress’ doings, and who at that. Dany didn’t know what had come over her. Well, other than the obvious. To say that her affection for Jon had crept up on her would be a disservice to them both— she’d been attracted to him from the moment she had laid eyes on him all those weeks ago, his haunted eyes, the way he wrapped himself up in that leather jacket of his that he wore like armor, that incredibly frustrating attitude of defiance that colored their early interactions. But she had no idea how to make him understand that she had never behaved so wantonly before— ever , and especially in a professional setting. That she had even entertained Ellaria’s hairbrained scheme, brought him into the shoot— gods , what on earth had she done? And then, to add insult to professional injury, she hadn’t even wrapped properly! Ellaria had said the word “done” and it had been like an arrow straight to the bullseye of her cunt, the need to take him by the hand overwhelming, get somewhere even remotely private and let him take her, ravish her, do whatever he liked to her. She liked it as well. “I’ve never seen Ellaria look more proud, or confused, so something must have gone well!” Dei teased as she shut the door to Dany’s bedroom on Grey after he cleared the room for the two of them. Dany could feel her face flushing— now that the heat of the moment had passed, she was more than a little mortified about not only what had occurred, but also that she had let it happen in the first place. She should have known that Ellaria would try to bait her with Jon, mostly for Ellaria’s own pleasure, and Dany should have known better, should have seen it for the thin veil it was and never allowed it. It had been her turn to protect him, and she had utterly failed, allowing herself and Ellaria to take advantage of his giving nature, his naivete when it came to this industry and—  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. She had used him, whether or not he realized it, whether or not he felt that way. She had allowed her own lust to color what was left of her rapidly fraying better judgement in a red haze of desire, her only thoughts of him, of chasing that new edge of unfamiliar and overwhelming feeling that she had no name for, every fractured piece of her tangled up in a confusing mass. “Did she mention if she got the shot?” Dei’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You don’t know if she got the shot?” Dany dropped heavily onto her bed, covering her face with her hands. “No,” she replied mournfully. “Would that have anything to do with that—” Dei’s fingers brushed gently over a bruise on the back of her neck— his lips and teeth and tongue everywhere all at once as the snap on her dress finally released her, his rough fingertips flowing up her belly to breasts that had been aching for his touch for days, a real touch, finally intentional to erase the accidental, the panic induced— Gods, she needed to get a grip. One of the many bruises that Dany had found in the morning light and that had Irri demanding a raise before her day’s work was done. “—and that, and that, and seven hells, Dany!” “I know!” she wailed in reply, letting her friend drag her hands away from her face to stare into her mirth filled golden eyes, lips pursed to keep from laughing. “It’s not funny!” “It’s a little funny,” Dei nudged her with an elbow as she sat down next to her. “Does that mean that you two…” 
The way his eyes lost all color and warmth, the heat normally found in them a swirling blaze between them, their fire stoked higher and higher until grappling hands and frantic kisses chased the ecstasy that lay in wait for them both.
 Dany groaned. “Obviously.” “Girl. Spill.” “You first.” “What do you mean, ‘me first’?” Dany fixed her with an incredulous look of her own. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you and Grey sneaking around behind all of our backs! Jorah may be blind to that kind of shit when it comes to you, but I am not.” Missandei blushed. “We’re definitely taking things slower than you are.” “Hey!” “No judgement, gods know it’s been awhile since you got laid. I was beginning to think Daario found a maegi to put a curse you or something.” Dany could feel her face heating again and flopped back onto the bed, eager to duck the delightfully curious and somewhat devilish look on Dei’s face. “I think…” she trailed off, unsure whether or not she could bring herself to say the next part out loud, knowing that if she did, it would make it real, would make all of these burgeoning feelings already fluttering within her breast take full flight, her heart pounding in time with his watch now safely back on her own wrist where it belonged, more than a little afraid of what that admission might bring. Of what it might mean for them both, especially with the swirl of fear and uncertainty that seemed to reside constantly in her belly— that unknown threatening to topple the fragile joy and peace she was trying to build for herself, to carve out a space meant only for them. “You think what?” Dei softly pressed, sprawling out next to her, wild curls askew as she propped her head up on an elbow, curiosity turning serious and gentle in a heartbeat. Dany swallowed tightly, gathering her courage around her before turning to face her best friend. “I know it’s been less than 24 hours since... You know… But, I think it may be more than that?” “Well, yes.” “What, ‘well, yes’?” “Dany,” Dei’s admonishment was absurdly gentle, as if speaking too forcefully or loudly might shatter her into a million pieces. “I know that you might not have a lot of experience with matters of the heart, but really?” “He’s made it very clear that this is a job.” “It is a job, and?” “What if that’s all it is to him?” And there it was— her fears laid bare— that once this was over, Jon would pack himself away and out of her life as soon as the check cleared. That she had built a spun-glass castle on a foundation of sand, easily swept away. That she had somehow mistaken his gentle protectiveness as affection, had lost herself to an idea of the man instead of the reality of him. “Do you believe that’s all it is?” Dany opened her mouth to reply, but Dei shook her head, caramel curls bouncing wildly in the afternoon light. “Think about it for a minute. Because when I see the two of you, I definitely see more than a bodyguard and his charge. In fact, it’s a bit nauseating to sit in the backseat with the two of you all the time, and I’m starting to think about insisting that we take separate cars everywhere.” Dany bit her lip, her mind racing over the thousands of tiny moments that had built to this point, the way his eyes warmed when she entered a room, the barest hint of a smile on his stern face that he seemed to save just for her, all of his gentle touches— so not how she interacted with anyone else— the way her skin seemed to crave the feel of his. His sheepish and shy look as he introduced her to Davos, almost as if he was afraid that showing her that simpler side of himself would cause her to pull away. His patience as he walked her through how to safely use the gun that Rhaegar had left for her, the deep and abiding sorrow in his eyes when she had pointed out that it was only a piece of paper, the knowledge that what he was asking may be impossible for her, but he had to try. The fact that he had seen her at her worst, battered and bleeding and broken, and hadn’t turned away, had instead gathered her into him, allowing his strength to become her own, supporting but never pushing. Everything inside of her wanted to give a resounding no in answer, that this couldn’t possibly be just a job, that for a man of few words, he was doing his best to show her every day, to force himself out of his own comfort zone and further into her world. Perhaps it was time she tried to do the same for him. Dei gently nudged her. “Well?” “No,” Dany whispered. “I don’t think it’s just a job? I hope it’s not.” “And the sex?” Dany felt her face heat wildly, her cunt roaring to life with a painful throb, empty and already aching for him again. Dei’s laugh was gentle, “That good huh?” “Let’s just say that Irri might need that raise she was demanding today.” “Do you want it to be more than that?” There was the question she had been hoping Missandei wouldn’t ask, to spare her the fact that she already knew the answer, hating the fact that a spiral of fear immediately followed it, so much uncertainty hanging over her head. What she wanted rarely mattered in her life. But Jon was starting to pull out threads of herself that she didn’t know existed, nurturing new growth like a sapling struggling in new earth— true value and hope and something unfamiliar but deeply craved— something momentous and frightening and wonderful. “Talk to him, Dany.” Dei’s voice pulled her from her deep internal dive, her friend’s hand warm and soft in her own, so different from Jon’s calloused and firm grip it was almost startling to feel the contrast between them. “And not just because it’s something you want, and you need to know if he wants it too. But because…” Dei’s voice trailed off, the seriousness flooding her features turning her beauty pale and full of inexplicable sorrow. “Life’s short,” she continued, a sudden sheen across her golden eyes. “You know it, I know it, and something tells me he does too.”
~*~*~
When he finally made it back to his office, Grey successfully following Dany around, he was tired, mind absolutely spun from being caught up in her world, happily worn around the edges and could still taste her on his lips. It was something he could get used to, he surmised as he once again pulled out his map of the Keep, made notes and jotted down ideas. He’d pull Jorah for doing a sweep, let him be there waiting for their arrival and keep Dany and Viserys separate, taking two cars. Not only would it keep her away from her vile brother, but he’d be able to keep a car at the main entrance and give them one at his second escape route through the kitchen keep. Remembering back to the cluster fuck of the runway show, he wrote down in plain penmanship that Grey would be the point for driving. He tagged a copy of a map to send to the other man. A motion in the security camera caught his eye, his heart warming with the sight of her back in lounge clothes, foreign hair piled on top of her head as she headed into her office, Grey clearing the room before she went in, no doubt to spend hours trying to figure out housing for those who were dependent on Rhaegar’s Harp. Someone else could do it, seven hells, anyone else, but she was determined to see it through. Turning back to his own work, he ran over their route again, timing, until the work was tedious and memorized, as familiar as the scars in his hand. Which is how he needed it to be. There could be no room for faltering or panic, everyone must move like machines. The quiet knock on his door startled him, hopeful eyes shifting away from the screen and he tried not to be disappointed at finding Missandei there, a small smirk on her face at his expression. “Do you have a minute?” With his motion, she crossed over to him, sitting in the extra chair. “ Ziry wants an exclusive interview with Daenerys before the ceremony, on the red carpet” Letting out a huff of air between clenched teeth, he scrubbed a twitching hand over his face, the thoughts of her being out and exposed for one moment longer than necessary causing something inside him to clinch. “Before you deny them—“ Dei’s look turned shrewd. “if we can make it work, we should. It’s good press for her and we can frame it as having to rearrange our schedule, which may buy us a favor in the future.” “And we need a favor?” “You never know. It doesn’t hurt, and with everything else that is going on, having something good on the front page, is not bad.” “You sound like Tyrion.” Closing his eyes to think, he went over their steps, knowing how much time he had allowed for lingering, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be able to control every movement and every second. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gave Dei a dark scowl. “Tell them you don’t know. Tell them to be on standby. I’ll plan on it, put it in your schedule if you need, but no one else knows. They can meet us in the Outer Yard—“ he blew out a breath and looked at his map, hating to be that exposed. “-no, change that to the Small Hall, I’ll have Jorah clear it for us beforehand.” She frowned back, pulling out her phone to no doubt mark it on her calendar. “How long am I supposed to keep them hanging?” “Until we pull up to the curb.” It may be an overreaction or it could be them threading a dangerous line, but he knew that it was something Dany would want to do without having to even ask. So, he’d choose the option he liked the least. “Seriously, Missandei, I don’t want them to know until we are within a block.” She sighed, a long drawn out noise to let him know how difficult he was making her job, but he didn’t care, already full of tension, his awareness raising with every minute he spent buried in the job, senses working overtime to see if he could find an already set trap. Gods, he needed this event to be over, needed Tyrion’s PI to turn up something useful. Or perhaps even the City Watch doing their bloody jobs to the best of their abilities. Maybe once this ceremony was over he could convince her to hole up with him somewhere, let everyone else sort out the mess for once. “I’m having dinner sent up to Dany’s office.” Dei stood, tucking her phone back in her pocket, smoothing down the tail end of her shirt. “For both of you. See if maybe you can distract her long enough to eat something.” Jon appreciated the soft look of concern in the other woman’s eyes and reminded himself he wasn’t the only one there who cared about Dany, a ridiculous oversight on his part. “Aye, I’ll head up there in about—“ he checked his empty wrist, heat rising up his neck when he remembered where his watch went, a few lusty images flitting through his mind. “Soon… I’ll head up there soon.” He made himself finish his work, slowly tidying up, not allowing the urge to rush through everything and run to her side, though the want was there, making him feel like a green boy with his first crush, knowing it was much more than just that simple. Finally he was wrapped up for the night, a check of his phone advising him that he’d worked later than planned and checking in with Grey over their comms, moved the short distance to where Dany was tucked behind her desk, feet curled below herself, a finger wrapping up in the antiquated cord from the phone sitting amongst the pile of papers. It was still a bit of a shock to see the brown piled atop her head, knowing it would always leave him with that red hot streak of desire from the knowledge of what it looked like paired with sheer lingerie, but he pushed past his endless lust, to focus on the tired timbre of her voice, shoulders drooping forward as a flower left too long in the heat. So instead of sitting on the couch behind her, he settled on the edge of her desk, the bright smile she gave warming his insides, making him feel pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and he answered a few messages on his own phone while she wrapped up her call. “Hi.” “Hello, yourself.” When she stood and stretched, he reached out to catch her around the waist, pulling her in between his legs, her sigh falling across his neck as she melted into him and he banded his arms around her, delving below her shirt to rub the notches along her spine, basking in the sensations, her fists gathering up the fabric at his back. “You’ve been busy.” He let his cheek scrape against hers, pulling her a little tighter as she shivered before craning her head back to look at him. There were dark smudges under her eyes, filling him with a brief flash of guilt since he’d kept her up all night and had selfishly hoped to keep her up again. “Yes.” Hands moved across his shoulders. “I have a list of properties to look at, see if any of them will work for Rhaegar’s Harp.” “You’re not going to rebuild where it was?” Shamefully, he hadn’t inquired, too busy in his own duties, neglecting to ask about hers and he felt terrible about it, realizing he wanted to know about her day, all of her days, something that both terrified him and made him ache with a want for something he never thought he’d have. “This may be faster.” He cupped her face, slim fingers closing over his wrists, the sadness in her eyes bringing out the side that wanted to chase all of her problems away. “The children need their home.” “They are lucky to have you in their corner.” He kissed her then, unable to resist, her big heart making his own soar, plump lips parting for him as he reveled in her goodness, her need to help, catching her moan in his mouth as he kept it slow, deep, thorough, lazing licks and light nibbles, in no hurry to sate the burn inside of himself, just enjoy the feel and taste of her. A knock made him pull back, cupping her face, reluctant to part, but the smell of food made him let go, curling his fingers to his palms against the loss as she moved away, greeting the maid with a smile and words of thanks before closing the door, shutting them away from everything else for a bit. “How are they doing?” He settled into the chair he’d first slept in, all those weeks ago, watching her fight through nightmares. “The children.” When he looked up from his plate, she was staring at him, expression unreadable but still made him want to squirm in his chair. “This must be very upsetting for them.” “They are adjusting.” That mouth quirked at him. “They seem to be as resilient as I was once told.” Fuck— she always managed to tie him up in knots, make his words fail when he should be able to tell her something poetic or flowery. “Good. They’ll make it through this and you’ll get it sorted out for them. Everything will work out in the end.” He believed that with everything inside of him, watching as her cheeks turned pink, before he took a bite of salad to keep him from moving over to her, wanting to hold her close for no other reason than to breathe her in, feel her heartbeat under his palm. Instead, he pushed them into easier territory, listening to her steadfast determination to get Rhaegar’s Harp back as quickly as possible, they ate their meal together, Jon made sure he asked questions to keep her talking, enamored by her plans, knowing he would have to ruin it with talk of her brother and hating to add that to the pile of hardships already on her. So, he put it off, waiting until she had finished her plate before pulling her to the couch, wanting nothing more than to just curl around her for a few minutes, letting her collapse awkwardly across his chest, the leather protesting as they shifted and settled, her eyes soft as she wriggled closer in, his fingers winding in her hair. “You know that the brown will be gone soon? Are you going to miss it?” He blew out a breath at her amused tone, the strands in question moving with the short gust of air, slightly amazed at how quickly the silver had been hidden— and could come back, ignoring the leap of joy his heart made at her words. Soon was not forever, but it could be a bit of an implication that she might want him around for longer than security duty. “I like the brown.” He waited until she angled her head up to look at him, wrinkle between her brows. “And I like the silver. I believe you could have no hair and still be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” The roughness of his voice gave him away and she shifted up, eyes soft as she pressed her lips to his, once, twice, lingering before she settled back down. “You flatter me.” “I’m just telling the truth.” He tightened his arm around her, let them bask in a comfortable silence, dragging out the quiet moment for as long as possible. “This is nice.” She wriggled against him, getting more comfortable and he was full and happy, content to just pet without a goal in mind, drawing in her presence, letting himself relax even more. “Aye.” Gods it felt good to be there with her, something he’d imagine normal would be like, a concept that had once seemed like it would never see the light of day, never be within his grasp, now beginning to take shape, imagination running wild. “I don’t know the last time I lazed around on the couch like this.” Slender fingers slid under his shirt, small patterns being drawn over a scar and he knew exactly when the last time he’d laid around. But never for fun. Pinpricks skated over his skin with the memory, the odd sensation of sensitivity yet dullness as she touched the damaged tissue, his anxiety almost making him twitch combined with the longing to let her do what she pleased with him, hold up the rest of his broken pieces for her gentle examination. See if they matched against hers. Uncertainty made him shy away, the unknown of how deep she was in them , making him balk, so he steered them into what might be safer territory, breathing in the scent of her skin. “Davos called me today.” “Oh?” Her movement faltered, tension stiffening the body against his before she let out a long breath. It was unfair of him to draw out the suspense when he could sense her hesitant curiosity. He shifted his hand to stroke the nape of her neck. “He likes you.” She melted a bit more into his side. “He does?” “Apparently.” Davos’ enthusiasm had almost made his head spin, the older man’s delight in seeing Jon so ‘ properly enamoured’, was almost terrifying— except Jon couldn’t disagree on how utterly captivated he was by her. “He wants to know when I’m bringing you back.” “Are you planning on taking me back there, Jon Snow?” Her head lifted, a cautious guard over her face, one that sent a pang through his heart, so easily recognizable. He’d seen it in the mirror all his life. “If you’ll go with me.” There it was again, flickering in the depths of her eyes before she slid forward, her breath warm on his lips before her own caught his, the slight groan being swallowed up as she cupped his face, his fingers sliding into her hair, anchoring himself, her, as he let the soft feel of her sweep him away. When she finally pulled away, leaving him embarrassingly needy for her touch, he placated them both by tucking her back to his side, tried clearing the emotion out of his throat. “But I’m warning you now, if we go back you’ll be expected to meet the whole crew of them. It’s utter chaos.” “Seven children and a small herd of grandchildren, I’m assuming? That’s a lot of people.” Her fingers found his, lacing through easily, her hand swallowed by his. “I’m good in a crowd.” He snorted in amusement, remembering the fashion show, wondered briefly what had happened to that ridiculous outfit she had been clad in that night. “You’ll need to be, there.” “Then how do you do it?” There was a laugh in her voice, chin propping up on his chest. “You’re a riot, Targaryen.” It was a grumble, but yet he was ridiculously pleased, charmed by her teasing, so unused to it that he could feel the flutter echoing inside of him and he tugged at a strand of her hair in retaliation. “They’ve unofficially adopted me, the whole lot... and it’s not much different than being surrounded by the Stark clan.” A strand of melancholy suddenly swept over him, making him feel the need to give more, make her understand the momentous step forward this would be for him. “After the Watch—“ a gentle touch of the scar over his heart had his eyes closing. “My siblings were all there, of course- they took turns harassing me into working on survivin’, but they all have busy lives, couldn’t spend all their time babysitting me..” Shaking his head at his attempt to make light of the situation, he hurried on. “But Davos pushed me forward. I was in a bad place, have been for a while and he wouldn’t just let me lay down and give up. Fuckin’ annoying if you ask me.” She was looking at him again, his heart beating wildly under the strain of the heavy gaze, afraid to read so much into it. “He was the one who convinced me to come down here. Robb has been asking me to go back to work with him for months and I kept tellin’ him no. This came up and I was going to refuse again but Davos told me to pick my sorry arse up and go at it again.” “I’m glad he did.” “Me too.” The need for skin drove him to slide his hand under her shirt, let his hand span across her back, soothing himself with little strokes of his thumb. He wanted to say something profound or honest, but instead stayed silent unable to find the words, letting his breathing match to hers and lay in silence, listening to the house settle around them in the pressing night. “What was it like— growing up with a large family?” The sound of her voice pulled him back from where he had started to drift off, eyelids heavy, the warmth of her seeping all the way through to his center and he had to focus on the question, ignore the longing to stay just like that forever. “I can remember just wanting a moment's peace sometimes, younger siblings underfoot, Robb and I in trouble all the time.” He smiled at the memories. “Stark and Snow, running around terrorizing everyone we could find. Getting in trouble again for packing Arya around once she was old enough, get her mixed up with our foolish ideas.” “It sounds wonderful.” There was longing in her voice, the sad note of growing up lonely and it hurt his heart, made him pull her a little tighter. Even growing up under the cold indifference of Catelyn Stark wouldn’t have been the same for him as it was for her. He’d had his siblings, Ned, and she had done mostly without anyone. “It was, for the most part.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wanting to pry gently, learn all the different facets of her, but not wanting to push. “But, even with all of that, I just felt like I didn’t quite fit in with them all. So as soon as I was old enough, I joined the Night’s Watch. Gods, Robb just about disowned me then. He was furious I’d do that and not join him in the business. Look how that turned out.” “Maybe you needed that, to get away and forge your own path, even if it wasn’t permanent.” He thought of everything he’d learned, how his preconceived notions had been shot to the seven hells. There was no going back to that naive teenage boy with a touch of cockiness. No, not after he’d been elbows deep in the gore and marrow of the ugly truths of the world. “Maybe.” He stroked his fingers down her spine, let her softness dull his hard edges. Found himself craving from her.  “And what about you? Was putting your face on magazines what you dreamed of as a girl?” “No,” her fingers curled against him, her voice a low sound that made him ache. “I’ve always wanted to design, not model.” “Then why do you do it?” It was none of his business, an uncomfortable question and probably crossing so many lines that he wouldn’t be surprised if she clammed up. “Because I need to.” Her weariness echoed in his chest. “I had no choice when I was younger. No child of Aerys Targaryen ever told him no. Then Rhaegar needed me to while he was building up his designs. And now I do it because I have to. House Targaryen will fall without it. I’m not as talented as Rhaegar was, so I compensate where I can.” She had no idea just how bloody brilliant she was and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, not at all sure how to express it, make her believe. “I highly doubt you need to compensate for anythin’.” Fingers tugged at his shirt. “For a man of few words, you sure do say some nice things.” Another silence enveloped them before she shifted, alerting him that she was going to say something more. “And I guess now, I don’t hate it. There’s almost an escape that it allows me. When I’m out there, I’m no longer Daenerys Targaryen, but the Dragon Queen, confident and edgy and maybe just a little bit mean.” He understood what she meant, the knowledge making him sad that she ever felt an ounce of the unbalance of being uncomfortable with who she was, something he had struggled with so much of his life. “After being introduced to both, I like Daenerys better.” “Jon—“ blue eyes peeked up at him shiny with emotion. “I’m not telling you this so that you give me some sort of compliment or—“ He cut her off by dragging her up the length of his body, craning his neck up to meet her, silencing her by closing his mouth over hers. She melted into his chest with a sigh, lips soft and plump moving with his, doing his best to explain like this that she should never doubt herself. Eyes still closed, he cupped the back of her head, silky hair beneath his fingers, mingled breath in the small space between them. “I know.” She settled back down onto him and he sighed, craving to keep the moment like this where they were both soft, exposing tender spots to each other, wanting to learn that as well as he was learning her body, or better, the consistent ticks of his watch counting the passing time. “Did you know you’ve already hit the tabloids with me?” There was a wariness in her voice, as if the discovery would push him away. “Aye.” Remembering Robb throwing the glossy paper at him, a hand sliding over her hip as he wondered if she was testing him, see if she could push him into running. “It’s a good picture of us.” Those eyebrows furrowed in surprise and he couldn't help but laugh, the confusion of his reaction written on that pretty face. “What? I’m not supposed to notice that?” “You are supposed to feel awkward and violated.” Her mouth turned down in a pout and he couldn’t resist dabbing at her bottom lip with his thumb. “You’re not used to it and because of me, they’ll be digging into you.” “We were standin’ in front of everyone.” He had to pretend to remain unaffected at her words, at the thought at everyone shifting through his life, judging his choices. “My Night’s Watch background is mostly sealed. They won’t find most of it.” With a pang, he realized he was missing a step, her own insecurities coming to the surface. “Let them talk, Dany. They won’t get to see this, the you and me layin’ on the couch reliving our shit lives.” That pulled a huff of air from her, an almost laugh and he still counted it as a good thing. “It’ll probably get worse.” “I’ll try and keep my hands off you in public. Let them weave their stories.” “Mmm, the mysterious man. It suits you.” His wink finally pulled out a laugh from her, the light sound filling his chest to almost over capacity, her eyes bright as her body shook against him. Gods, he liked seeing her like that, some of the worry slipping from her face as she shook her head before finally quieting back down. “It could have been worse, they could have gotten a picture of us last night.” “Oh Gods. ” Her face turned a brilliant shade of red behind her hand. “Tyrion would have killed me if we’d been pap’d in the car while I was giving you a blow job.” The laugh that had been building finally burst forth, loud and rusty, so long unused that it almost startled him and getting even louder as she glared at him from behind spread fingers. “You and your dirty mind. I meant at dinner or the range. But now that you mention it…” He trailed off letting her say a few choice dirty words to him that were definitely not done in prelude to sex and he grabbed at her hand, utterly delighted by her, knowing he was so fucking done for that it should terrify him. It didn’t. She settled back down against him with a grumble and he didn’t miss the fact she was fighting a smile, his hand cupping the back of her neck to feel her close, letting them wind back down “Jon?” Making a noise for an answer, he watched her face change, cheeks start to flush— his body reacting with heat at the sight— her eyelashes lower shyly and he ignored the lust brewing low, trying to figure what was making her fidget like she was nervous. “Nevermind— Are you done working for the night?” “Aye.” He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, pretended he didn’t notice that whatever she was going to ask, she changed her mind and told himself it was no big deal, that his curiosity wasn’t peaked. “Or at least with security.” And finally he knew they were there, that grudgingly, he needed to prepare himself to ruin their peace, hating to do it, but not wanting to put it off any longer and let it fester. He probably should have already told her instead of selfishly soaking up the moments of peace with her. “Robb and Viserys will be back tomorrow night.” The big shuddering breath she took made his chest ache. “Well, it’s good that he won’t miss the ceremony.” Gods, she deserved so much more than her awful brother. “I want to ask you some questions and I promise it will make sense and I’ll explain it—“ he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “I just have to see if I can get it to fall into place in my head.” “Ask me, Jon.” Tension filled her body, that lovely tranquility disappearing and he rubbed his hand up her back, hoping to soothe. “Those factories in Astapor—“ he stopped to clear his throat, scrub his hand over his face, try and figure out his wording. “How could they produce a product and it not be noticed?” Sharp elbows in his ribs made him grunt as she scrambled to prop herself up on his chest, eyes flashing with anger. “What do you mean?” He was not doing this right. Shifting so he could look at her easier, he tucked loose hair behind her ear, despising every moment of this, needing to drag her through it to end to her torment. “How would product be sold and not noticed?” She blew out a breath. “It shouldn’t be.” That’s what he thought, even though he really was clueless about that end of business. He should have talked more with Tyrion before laying it all out in such a messy way. “Those companies are owned by a shell corporation that has been loosely tied to Baelish. And we think if he’s involved ...” Her body when rigid, muscles drawing tight as her voice settled over him like ice. “Then Viserys is also.”
~*~*~
She rocketed to her feet, rage and disbelief simmering through her, so completely derailed from the sweetness of the evening that she felt a sting of petulance, the unfairness of it all threatening to make her fifteen years old all over again. Jon tried to reach for her, tried to placate, to soothe, but she shook him off, comfort the furthest thing from her mind. Her own brother... The betrayal was almost the worst part, second only to the horror of actual human suffering that his actions had caused. For her own flesh and blood to actively seek to harm someone, anyone else, felt like a stab through the heart, the pain of it rippling through her. Agony. She just couldn’t understand why . Had his own cruelty driven him to a point where he needed more, or was it something else? Something that his clouded mind had deemed a necessity, some plan formulated in a manic high? Even then, if that was his excuse, then what in the seven hells had Baelish been doing? "I need to talk to Tyrion, we have to shut it down. Find a way to make this right." "He's working on it. We both are. It's complicated." "Children are dying, Jon. I know how this business works."  Oh gods , Missandei . She had to tell her, now, before it reached her ears any other way. She had only agreed to continue to work with Dany with the absolute understanding that Rhaegar’s death had changed nothing in the beliefs of House Targaryen, that Dany would give her a platform to pursue her own agendas, to give her the resources to fight the darkness that had stolen her childhood, her brother, her own innocence, and now? Dany’s stomach rolled treacherously as she paced across the floor, and for a moment she truly thought she might vomit. She had failed, utterly, in every way. And tomorrow night, House Targaryen would be rewarded for a lie. Jon’s hand caught her own, snapping her back to him, the concern in his eyes a lifeline that she latched onto, her breathing shallow and uneven. “Dany, hey— sit back down.” His pull was gentle, but insistent, and a glass of water materialized out of nowhere, nudged into stiff fingers. She shook her head slowly, struggling to get air into her lungs. Gods, did the air conditioning in this house just not work anywhere anymore? The heat was stifling, the oppressiveness of it making it hard to think. Her mind railed against the idea of it all— still too large and vague of a horror to fully wrap around. And if she was so affected, then Rhaegar must be rolling in his grave. “I need Tyrion, and Missandei. I need to see the fiscal earnings, try to figure out how we could have missed this. We have to call the Board, we have to find a way to oust him and Baelish. I can’t look the other way on this. I should call the authorities in Astapor, the Better Business Bu—“ “Dany,” Jon’s voice was sharp, calloused fingers taking her face in his hands. “Breathe. I need for you to breathe.” Her fingers clenched around the water glass, her other hand grabbing onto his wrist to try to ground herself, squeezing, painfully, if the contortions on his face were any indication. “I just—“ “I know.” A thumb dashed under her eye, gathering a tear she hadn’t even known she had shed. “Drink that and I’ll call Tyrion. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” His eyes searched hers, silently begging her to stay with him, to not give into the panic she could feel building in her chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he went to pick up the phone on her desk, his dark eyes watching her, ever vigilant, and she felt another stab of guilt at the gesture. Yet another soft moment ruined by her fuck-ups, by her cowardice. She should have been able to see this coming. She had known Viserys was unstable, had always known his capacity for cruelty, but instead of addressing it, she had let it continue for years, certain that he wasn’t capable of hurting anyone. No one but her. Was this why someone was hunting her? Was this her punishment for being unable to see the truth? For protecting someone who didn’t deserve it instead of innocents? If so, she had to concede they had a point. What use was money and power if she was unable or unwilling to use it to make the world into something better, brighter? “Tyrion’s wrapping up something in his office and will find Missandei.” “Don’t let him tell her,” the panicked words fell from her throat in a scramble. “She should hear it from me first. She deserves that, at the very least.” “He won’t.” She nodded wordlessly in thanks as he settled next to her again, a rough hand finding her back, making its way under her shirt to rub up and down her spine, every pass making her vibrate with confusion and barely controlled rage. She just couldn’t make herself understand how anyone could do something like this. "When is Vis back?" “Robb said their flight gets in early tomorrow evening.” "I'm going to need to speak to him. If the Board agrees to replace him as CEO then he’ll need to hear it from me, Targaryen to Targaryen." Jon’s hand froze, gripping her neck for a moment before he forced his fingers to relax. "Dany, there’s gotta be someone else who can handle that. If you tip him off, then who knows what—“ He stopped himself, no doubt responding to the stubborn set of her chin and changed tack. “This is a chance, we can find a way to use this to our advantage. We have to take it." She stared up at him, deeply understanding the flare of fear and worry in his eyes, the hope that this might be the beginning of the end, but at what cost? She knew that deep down he admired her, what she stood for— all of his careful questions about the kids she was already responsible for confirmed that, but his own fear was choking him, cutting off the line of reason that normally held him so steadfast. If she was brave enough, she could look more closely at that fear, take heart in him, in the depth of emotion in his eyes. She longed to, she did. She would have given anything to be normal in this moment, to let him sway her into taking the easy path— but she couldn’t. "I can't do that, Jon. And you know it." His shoulders fell, his hands, usually so warm, dropping from her back. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that." "You can come this time." "I wasn't going to give you an option." Something deadly crept into his tone, that dangerous quality he tried to keep hidden from her, but she knew it was there, lying under the surface of him— a wolf trying to protect his pack. "You’ll need backup, just in case. Robb should also be there when I do it— everyone else on standby.” There was no telling how he might react to such news, and if he’d been using while in Dorne? The possibility for danger and volatility would be endless. “Viserys is a snake, and will strike when cornered." Jon's sigh was deep. "I'll handle it." "In the meantime, someone should take his phone. Tell him it’s software updates, malware, something. That should buy us some time. Hopefully." "We can find another way." There was a pleading tone to his voice, but all she could hear was the pitiful cries and screams of children in her ears. "This is the way." ~*~*~ 
Ziry - She (Elle)

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Trigger warnings: mentions of child slavery, verbal abuse, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of/and implied sexual assault, drug and substance abuse. Vis isn’t going down without a fight.
 
~*~*~
 
She sent Jon and Tyrion from the room as soon as Missandei arrived, not wanting either of them to bear witness to her shame, or to put her best friend on display as she shattered her world and made a mockery of everything she thought they had stood for.
 
“Are you all right?” Missandei was breathless, no doubt having rushed here at Tyrion’s call.
 
Dany could feel her face crumbling even as Dei hurried to her side, her strong arms wrapping her up in a hug. Dany let herself be comforted for only a moment, breathing in the light scent of Dei’s jasmine perfume, taking some small comfort in her best friend before she pulled away and dashed the back of her hand under her eyes.
 
“It’s not me.” She found that she couldn’t maintain eye contact with Missandei for more than a few seconds at a time, the guilt coursing through her threatening to overwhelm her before she even began.
 
“What then?” Dei’s hands gently cupped her face, forcing Dany to meet her eyes, the concern in the golden depths making her breath hitch against the spiral of shame. “Did something happen with Jon?”
 
Dany shook her head, “No, that’s still…” she trailed off, unable to admit, even to her best friend, the sudden realization that she was in over her head with no experience to guide her. Words that normally came so easily to her stuck to the roof of her mouth with doubt and uncertainty, lost at sea and allowing her fear to get the better of her once more. 
 
“Than what?” Dei took her hands in hers. “Gods, your fingers are ice cold. Let me send for some tea—“
 
“No.” Dany gripped her hands tightly, taking a deep breath. “No, it’s not me, it’s not Jon, everything here is—“ she stumbled over the word

fine

before it could fall from her lips. Nothing about this was

fine

, in fact, it was quite the opposite— one of the worst possible things she could imagine, something so horrendous that the mere thought of it turned her stomach. The idea that her brother could be involved in something so vile made her feel as if she might vomit at any moment, the fact that he had involved the company their family had built with blood, sweat, and tears, and stood behind for generations in the mire and muck of such horrific practices abhorrent to her in every way. 
 
“Dany, what is it? It might help to just spit it out.”
 
Dany shook her head, squeezing Dei’s hand. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
 
She could see the moment it sunk in, the shadow that passed over her best friend’s eyes, the lingering fear that had retreated over the years blazing back to life, visions of a past that had done its best to haunt and destroy, returning. “Just say it.”
 
Dany nodded, squeezing Dei’s slim hands once more. “Before I say it, I want you to know that we will find a way to stop it. I promise you that.”
 
Missandei was watching her warily, her own hands gone cold in Dany’s grip. “All right.”
 
She took one deep, shuddering breath. “Viserys has done something terrible.”
 
Dei snorted. “That’s not news, Dany. He’s always up to something awful.”
 
She couldn’t help the sting of the words settling across her skin, words of defense already rising in her throat before she fought them back down. He

was

always up to something awful. It was time to face the truth— to look at the evil inside of her brother head on, to no longer be willing to hide behind the ever thinning veneer of family loyalty. “It’s worse than... any of that.”

Any of that…

She knew she was diminishing all of his hatefulness, that she still wasn’t truly allowing herself to look on the face of his deceit and abuse, but that was something to examine later— after this monumental task lay behind them, dealt with successfully, children returned to their homes and into the arms of their loving parents.
 
“Well, what is it?”
 
“Did Tyrion tell you anything about my interview with the Watch?”
 
“Only that it went horribly.”
 
Dany nodded, squeezing Dei’s hands again before diving in, allowing the deep water to close over her head, hoping neither of them would drown in the process. “The Watch found some factories outside Astapor, said they belonged to House Targaryen.”
 
“That’s nonsense.” Dany said nothing in reply, only looked deeply into Dei’s golden eyes, willing her to follow along, to catch on faster than she had. “Unless, it’s not?”
 
Dany bit her lip, nodding. “Apparently it’s not. I’ve had Tyrion do some digging. While House Targaryen doesn’t

seem

to have any direct involvement, there is a company that is tied to them that can be traced back to Baelish.”
 
“Are they sweatshops?”
 
She wouldn’t lie to her, wouldn’t diminish their bond and friendship by insulting her, by telling her there was still so much they didn't know, truly. “Yes.”
 
“Children?”
 
Dany swallowed tightly. “Yes.”
 
“Has anyone died yet?”
 
“I don’t know. Tyrion has a PI there investigating, but you know better than anyone how likely that is.”
 
Dei was quiet, her golden eyes closed against the pain. Dany sat quietly, gripping her hands in her own, wanting Dei to know that she was here, by her side, no matter what.
 
“What’s our plan?”
 
She felt the rush of tears in her eyes, her gratefulness sweeping in like a summer storm. The world went blurry around her as a breath shuddered out of her, hands squeezing Dei’s in wordless thanks. To know that Dei wouldn’t turn away, that she would dig deep and find a way to stand and fight with her, that they would face this together meant more than words could express. “That’s what we need to come up with now. I have to find a way to oust Viserys, and take control of House Targaryen. Once I’ve done that, then we can shut down the factories for good, and make sure that no one in this company ever commits this level of evil again.”
 
“This company...” Dei’s voice was low, furious. 
 
Dany could feel her fury, tightly bridled for the moment, surging— her voice cracking with urgency. “We change what we can first. The world comes next. I’m not done fighting, and neither are you. We can stop this— we

will

stop this, Missandei. I promise.”
 
“I’ll hold you to that.” There was a storm brewing in Dei’s eyes, a rolling thunderclap of rage within her threatening to break free at the slightest provocation. Dany found that she was glad to see it. They would both need that strength and power in the coming days— anything to bolster the other for the hard work ahead of them.
 
“I know.” She squeezed her hand once more. “I’m so sorry.”
 
“Let’s get to work.”
 
~*~*~
 
“Something Slynt said still strikes me as odd.” Dany looked up from poring over the reports from Tyrion’s private investigator, the group of them gathered around the coffee table in her study. Tyrion had commandeered her desk immediately, needing a place for his laptop and close to a phone, Jon settling on the sofa behind her, his knee pressed against her shoulder as she leaned back from her place on the floor, Dei sprawled out across from her.
 
“What’s that?”
 
“He asked if I knew House Targaryen’s current financial status. Why would he ask that?”
 
She could hear Tyrion’s brain working from here, the five feet of distance between them not enough to dampen the man’s mental energy and acuity. “He wouldn’t, unless he was trying to figure out some sort of motive. Tell me again what he said?”
 
Dany leaned back, resting her head on the couch cushion, catching Jon’s eye. “You may have to help with this— I was a little heated by that point.”
 
Jon nodded, thinking for a moment in the growing quiet. “He was treatin’ Dany like a suspect, not like someone who had received multiple death threats.”
 
“He’s a misogynistic prick.”
 
Jon nodded again, his agreement apparent. “But, if he were buildin’ some sort of case around the fact that this was a ploy for attention, somethin’ to bolster House Targaryen,

especially

if he knew the business was failing…”
 
“He did ask about the life insurance policy on Vis and me. If something were to happen to me, Vis would come into a lot of money.” Her stomach turned over again at the thought that maybe Vis really

was

behind all this horror. Jon’s lips thinned as they pressed together into a grey line. “Tyrion, can you get the financials? The

real

financials without Baelish or his team getting wind of it?”
 
“It may take me a few days, but yes.”
 
“You have until tomorrow morning.” Dany was done waiting, the knowledge that every second wasted might mean another life lost.
 
They had spoken to Tyrion’s investigator, Bronn, as soon as they had all convened, hoping they could call the authorities, or any of the unions across the Free Cities to go in and shut the factories down on a technicality. Dany was willing to risk exposure if it meant immediate action, however Bronn had insisted that the authorities in the area were already well aware of just what exactly was going on within the walls of the factories, and had chosen to “look the other way”. Baelish had no doubt greased their palms substantially. 
 
They’d hit the same roadblock with the unions, Viserys’ reach farther and more all encompassing than Dany had thought possible. Baelish’s influence as well, no doubt. Which had led them back to the original plan. 
 
Vis had always been a shit cyvasse player— no patience. And while he may have stumbled on to someone who was much more advanced and strategic in the form of Baelish, neither of them had ever truly seen what Dany could do if she unleashed herself upon them and the world.
 
And she had no intention of showing them until she could see the whites of their eyes.
 
“Dei, I need to be on the call schedule of every Board member tomorrow— we’ll have a mountain of work to get through before Vis gets back. Make it about whatever appeals to them most to get them on the call, but none of the reasons should be the same. If we can get the financials, and if we can prove that House Targaryen is in the red, then a change in leadership is to be expected. If I remain as designer, the brand will remain intact, so it’s more about framing it as new leadership to match the creative vision than a true ousting.”
 
“And if the financials are fine?” Tyrion’s voice rang out behind her, a hint of petulance there that she would have to examine later.
 
“Then we’ll have to come up with another plan,” she snapped, rubbing her forehead, trying not to let herself be distracted by the feel of Jon’s fingers running through the ends of her hair, his touch both gentling her and making her aware of how tightly wound she was.
 
Quiet descended upon them again. 
 
“Why is Viserys in Dorne again?” Dei’s question was deceptively light.
 
Dany shrugged, “Seven hells if I know. I know he’s been drinking again, so I would imagine it’s only a matter of time before he reverts to the rest of his bad habits, if he hasn’t done so already…” Her voice trailed off as she looked to Dei, her golden eyes shining brightly, an idea obviously on the tip of her tongue.
 
“It’s a shame he’s there all by himself with no one around to observe his behavior…”
 
Dany was up before Dei had even finished her thought, kneeling next to Jon on the sofa, doing her best to remain focused, to not be distracted by the tired lines around his deep brown eyes, the flush of color blooming high on his cheeks as she pressed into his space. “Has Robb said anything about what Vis has been up to?”
 
Jon shook his head slowly, an imperceptible look passing over his face. “Not really,” he hedged.
 
“But he’s staying in the same suite, right? I doubt Vis would let him get too far from him, and if he’s using again…”
 
“Dany…” Jon’s voice was tight, his hand clenching and unclenching against her knee.
 
“He was never subtle about his drug use when he was here— I doubt he would be in Dorne where things are looser. If Robb could just take a couple of pictures—”
 
“No.”
 
She jerked back as if splashed with cold water, his flat denial reverberating in her chest. “No, as in Vis hasn’t been up to anything? Or—“
 
“No, as in I won’t ask Robb to do that. We’re here to

protect,

Dany, not spy.”
 
She felt the ire in his tone, the storm in his eyes blazing, found herself back pedaling ever so slightly as her face went red, his anger directed at her for the first time throwing her for a loop. “I know that, I was just trying to—“
 
“How would you feel if Robb asked me to do that to you on Viserys’ behalf?”
 
Her mouth snapped shut mid-protest.

Horrible. Angry. Violated.

“You’re right,” she said softly.
 
His eyes searched hers, desperate for her to understand. “I’m here to help, I am, but you can’t ask me to do somethin’ like that.”
 
“I said you’re right, Jon.” She shrank back from him, her arms going around her middle, the pit in the bottom of her stomach growing as she chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. “Do you have another PI, Tyrion?”
 
“Not one that could get to Dorne before they’re due back, I’m afraid.”
 
She risked a look back to Jon, an eyebrow raised in question. “Do you know anyone?”
 
Jon sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand down his face roughly. “Even if I did it would be a conflict of interest, but for what it’s worth— no. I don’t and neither does Stark Security.”
 
Dany nodded, shifting back to the floor, her eyes flitting to Dei. “All right, then we’ll have to think of something else that he’s done. Something else that mires the name of House Targaryen and risks exposure. Some other scandal that we can use as leverage to get the Board on our side.”
 
“It’s late, maybe if we sleep on it…”
 
Dany sighed, leaning her head back against the couch cushion, not looking forward to another sleepless night full of tossing and turning as her brain tried to figure out a solution. “Fine. I’m open to suggestions though.” She reached for her glass of water, hoping to cool her heated face, Jon’s displeasure and disappointment still thrumming through her uncomfortably. “Tyrion, as soon as new leadership is in place though, I want a plan of action ready to be launched immediately for safely shutting down those factories and getting those people out of there.”
 
“What about the award?” The air rang with Dei’s question.
 
“What about it?”
 
“Are you still accepting it?” Dany’s stomach rolled again, the guilt crashing against what was expected of her. She wanted nothing more than to cancel the entire evening, to not have to face a night of lying, and accepting an award for the very things that she and Rhaegar had fought against, something that until a few hours ago she had been sure was true. But now… which was worse? To make a hypocrite of herself and everything she thought her family had stood for, or to embrace the safety the lie offered and try to repair the damage quietly, behind the scenes?
 
Tyrion closed the laptop with an air of finality. “She has to accept the award. If she doesn’t it would raise too many questions. We’re going, she’ll accept, and then we’ll figure the rest of this out.”
 
Missandei said nothing, obviously unwilling to absolve her of her responsibility. Jon shifted uncomfortably behind her. “What do you think?” She asked, dully. 
 
He said nothing for a moment, his brow furrowing as he thought. “From a security perspective, I would prefer none of us go to the ceremony at all.”
 
Dany rubbed her forehead, her headache growing with every moment, every new problem and facet of this nightmare. “Tyrion’s right, we can’t not go, as much as I don’t want to.” She couldn’t look at Dei or Jon, the knowledge that she was disappointing them both gnawing at her insides.
 
“Something else to sleep on, I guess.” Missandei’s voice held a caustic note, her anger seeping out.
 
“What do you want me to do, Dei? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
 
“I want you to make your own fucking choice.” With that, she stood, sweeping from the room without so much as a backward glance at any of them, Tyrion’s gasp of surprise the only sound echoing in the cavernous silence that followed.
 
“Maybe if I talk to her—“
 
“Don’t,” Dany bit out, her own frustration a rolling wave threatening to drown them all. “Just— just leave her alone. I’ll speak to her again in the morning. She may be right. Maybe there’s another path. I just need to find it.”
 
Tyrion pursed his lips, no doubt some fanciful phrasing on the tip of his tongue, but one warning look from her had him gathering his laptop and files and scurrying out the door, leaving her alone with Jon. She huffed out a breath, leaning her head back against the cushion, closing her eyes against the harsh glare of the overhead light.
 
“It’s late,” his voice was subdued. “We should get to bed.”
 
“Am I missing something?” Only his silence met her question. “I feel like the solution is staring me in the face, just waiting to be discovered, but for the life of me, I can’t find it. I feel like I’m just stumbling around, alone in the dark.”
 
There was a pause before his tentative hand wound its way through her hair, rough fingertips raking against her scalp. “Not alone.” He cleared his throat before his hand abruptly vanished, the couch shifting behind her as he stood, all of their earlier peace scattered. “C’mon.”
 
She cracked an eyelid to find his offered hand, taking it and allowing him to pull her upright before hastily letting go, feeling off balance with him for the first time since before the fashion show, knowing her thoughtlessness had caused damage she wasn’t sure how to repair. She hadn’t felt this… lost since Rhaegar had died, the anger and disappointment clear on both his and Dei’s faces wounding her more deeply than she cared to admit.
 
Neither of them said a word as they cleared the study for the evening, making sure Tyrion hadn’t left any of the documents behind for prying eyes, and locking up anything questionable in her desk drawer before they closed the door behind them and made their way to the staircase.
 
His hand found the small of her back as they made their way to their rooms, this trip so different than the night before, anticipation and need driving their every step then, something like doom and reticence driving them now. She found herself retreating behind the protective walls in her own mind, sure that she had done more harm than good in the past few hours, and was at an absolute loss as to how to fix it, how to bridge the gap that had appeared between them and felt like it was widening with every silent step.
 
She leaned heavily against the wall as he cleared her room, waiting for him to motion her forward before she stepped inside, wanting nothing more than to burrow into his chest, to feel his arms wrapping around her, his strength and assurance seeping through to the marrow of her bones. Instead, his arms hung limply at his sides, and she folded her arms across her middle, staring down at the top of her shoes until she felt his fingers under her chin, tapping until she lifted her head to look him in the eyes.
 
“You ok?”
 
She didn’t know how to answer that question. Of course she wasn’t. But she couldn’t very well admit that to him, here and now, not when she could still see the displeasure in his eyes, something that would selfishly haunt her almost as much as the rest of the awfulness, all mixing into a swirl of overpowering guilt within her. “I just need a shower. I’ll be alright.”
 
He didn’t believe her, hurt now stirring in the depths as he dropped his hands to her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms. “Wanna join me in mine?”

Gods, he was trying to murder her.

How could he still be standing there with her, attempting to comfort her when he must be livid with her— she honestly didn’t understand. She had expected a lecture at the very least. “As much as I would love that, I don’t think you want to deal with the hair dye.”
 
“I thought you said a couple days?”
 
“It’s a rinse, it’ll be gone by the ceremony. I’ll be quick.” She wanted to go up on her toes, cup his face, press a light kiss to his lips, but she didn’t, allowing his hands to fall away from her shoulders, the pit in her stomach growing as he stepped away and shut her bedroom door. She huffed out a breath, locking it behind him before scurrying to the bathroom, shutting herself away before he could come through their adjoined door and press the issue, his anger and hurt sure to bubble over her soon.
 
She turned on the water before stripping out of her clothes, stepping inside and letting the water pour over her, the heat finally relaxing shoulders that had been stuck up around her ears for hours now.

Gods

, she was a coward in every way. Running from every problem that had been presented to her until her horror had literally become too much to bear, and now she had to find a way to stand resolutely with her knees knocking together like a child brought before the principal for the first time.
 
What on earth was she going to do? She knew that none of this was truly her fault, that she had done nothing to contribute to the suffering of these children, the families that had been torn apart, but it didn’t absolve her of her responsibility. She had known what her brother was capable of his entire life, how his viciousness had grown throughout the years into something volatile and dangerous. But, instead of acting, instead of taking responsibility— she had done what she had always done best. Retreated, hidden herself away, buried herself in her sketches, or Rhaegar’s Harp, telling herself— lying to herself, she must tell the truth now— that she was doing all she could.
 
She had been at a loss as to how to help every maid that had ever left the same room as Viserys with red rimmed eyes, uniforms wrinkled and unkempt, something she hadn’t understood as a teenager, and had allowed Tyrion to fire staff member after staff member that had ever dared cross him. Once she was older, she and Tyrion had worked together to try to help as best they could, keeping the lavish severance packages a secret from Viserys, his rage becoming more and more prominent throughout the years, his trigger quick. It wasn’t enough— would never be enough— but she had tried as best she could. Likely failing more often than she succeeded.
 
It wasn’t until he had threatened Jon that she had found the fire needed within to stand up to him, and that had been more for her own benefit than anything else. How could she claim to be this paragon of change and goodness when she was nothing more than a spineless bystander, allowing such darkness to surround and overtake her at every turn.
 
She had hidden herself away from anything questionable, forced herself to look past hurts and wounds, even at her own expense, convinced that if she could just find a way to help her brother that the rest would take care of itself in turn.
 
She was despicable, her breath starting to come in shorter and shorter gasps until she found herself crouched on the shower floor, a flood of memories pouring over her, every bruise, every strike, every vicious word and neglected hurt parading through her mind. She had never been alone, and yet she never allowed herself to truly see the rest of the suffering of those around her— those with no voices and no chance of being able to stand up for themselves.
 
And she was doing it again now— asking Jon to take the risk, to get Robb involved in something they had no business being involved in. She had created this monster, and it was her job to defeat him.
 
And if she wouldn’t ask others to do her dirty work for her anymore, that left only one option… Her mind started to whirl with the possibilities. She could ask Tyrion for the records of every maid that had been fired in the last five years, she

could

ask Doreah some pointed questions to test the waters, but that would be hypocritical in every sense. How could she ask other women to come forward if she never had? How could she ask other women to face their trauma at the hands of her brother if she was unwilling to do so herself?
 
No, it had to begin with her. And so it would.
 
Decision made, she forced herself to her feet, taking a steadying breath as she quickly washed her hair and lathered her tired body, watching as the stream of water ran dark with hair dye for a few moments, logistics swirling in her mind.
 
She’d need all of Missandei’s photos through the years, all of the medical records. Her broken ribs, concussion, and fractured wrist from after Rhaegar’s funeral, the last time Viserys had truly unleashed the dragon upon her until the confrontation a few weeks before, but there had been others— more subtle, more insidious. The bruises on her inner arms when he had gripped her too hard, the harsh pinches to her waist and sides when she had gotten red carpet interview questions incorrect, the mere fact that Irri had needed to concoct cover-up so strong that it would mask injuries so perfectly.
 
She had given her a raise for that one.
 
Dany slapped at the water to turn it off, pulling a towel around her, dragging another through her hair, now some mottled brown color— much lighter than it had been— as she let herself out of the bathroom and into her room. She had to tell Jon, needed to let him know that she had found another way, and then maybe that would lift the sudden shadow that had fallen over them. Maybe then he would forgive her for her thoughtlessness, for putting him and his own brother in the middle of what should have been her fight all along.
 
She would make it up to him, she would— she would earn back that look in his eyes that engulfed her in flame, that look that promised her the world, that look that had shone in his eyes when Davos had hugged her, his own good heart offered to her on a platter.
 
The door between their rooms stood open, and she stepped through, his bathroom door also open, allowing the steam of his shower to roll through the room, the humidity engulfing her. She glanced at the bed they had shared for the past three nights, the happiness he had brought to her there, and everywhere— really, and was determined to find a way to do the same for him.
 
One of his shirts was laid out on the bed, no doubt ready for him to slip into after his shower, but with a quick twist she let her own towel drop to the floor and slipped the shirt over her head, letting the woodsy scent of him settle her rapidly beating heart as she gathered her courage and let herself into his bathroom. 
 
He spotted her immediately, his eyes tracking her as she hoisted herself up onto his counter, crossing her legs and grabbing a towel to hand to him when he was finished. He didn’t say anything, just turned to rinse the shampoo from his hair, strong hands running through his curls. “Feelin’ any better?”
 
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I think at this point it’s all relative.” A beat of silence filled the space between them, and she forced herself to keep going, to keep trying to put one foot in front of the other to bridge the gap between them. “But, I’m getting there.”
 
The water shut off, and Jon shook his head, water droplets coating the inside of the glass, cutting tracks down the shower door, tantalizing strips of skin becoming visible through the condensation. “How are you?” Her voice cracked with the question, bracing herself for the onslaught she was sure was coming, knowing she would just have to bear up under it, allow him to say what he needed to say before she could try to clear the air between them.
 
The door cracked open, and he reached for the towel, his fingers brushing against hers as she handed it to him. She bit her lip against the sudden flare of desire coursing through her, his beautiful, naked body on full display as he raked the towel through his hair, stepping out onto the bathmat. “I don’t know.”
 
Her heart plummeted somewhere around her ankles, her mouth opening to apologize, to force the words past wooden lips when he continued, wrapping the towel around his waist as he crossed to the counter beside her, both fists planted on either side of the sink. “I’m sorry I can’t go to Robb—“
 
She reached out to grip his wrist, his arm warm compared to her icy fingers, her hold so tight he looked to her in surprise. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t think and got swept up in the idea.”
 
He nodded, some of the ice in his gaze chipping away, his wrist turning in her grasp until his fingers wound with hers, squeezing tight. She felt a pull in her chest at the gesture, her heart snagging on the lifeline he had thrown her— thrown them really, rushing on before he could say anything. “I think I may have found another way.”
 
“What’s that?” Concern flew in, tired lines appearing around his eyes, his lips pursed tightly.
 
She took a deep breath, willing herself to be confident and brave— to not let him see the fear that threatened her every waking moment nowadays. It was hard to remember a time before it had become her constant companion. “Come forward with my story, what he did to me, has done for years.”
 
Jon’s face was pinched, his grip on her hand tightening painfully. “Usually in cases like this it becomes he said/she said, even if you had evidence.”
 
“I do.”
 
“You do what?” That furrow in his brow was back, the muscles in his back and shoulders bunching and releasing as he turned to her more fully, never releasing her fingers.
 
“I have evidence.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything, to paint him a picture of her life in vivid color— most of it red— but she thought they had been through enough for one night. “Missandei’s been cataloging my bruises for years. ‘To make sure Irri was prepared’ — I think in her own way, Dei has been waiting for this day to come around. We can cross reference the pictures with the medical records fairly easily.”
 
“Does that include today?” He was masking the horror with a joke, but she could see it in his eyes— the regret, the pain, the need to protect. She felt her heart contract in her chest painfully, but followed him down the path he had unwittingly laid out, praying to all the gods, old and new that he wouldn't leave her wanting and alone.
 
Her smile was small, inviting. “Oh, you mean all of these?” She reached for the hem of his shirt, moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop her if he wanted to, lifting it over her head. Her mottled hair tumbled down around her shoulders as she bared herself to him let him get a good, long look now that the makeup had been washed away.
 
His hand twitched in hers, the black of his pupils taking over the brown completely as he took her in, a groan escaping his lips before, “Gods, do you never wear underwear?”
 
A tiny giggle took her as he released her hand, moving directly in front of her, hands planted on either side of her ass, one thumb reaching up to trail along her thigh. “As little as possible.”
 
She hadn’t been trying to derail him, not truly, but she was tired of feeling beaten down and weak, willing to take whatever of himself he would offer to her. She ran her fingers up his arms and shoulders, up the nape of his neck, the corded muscle firm beneath her fingertips. Her thumbs swept over his beard and into his hair, pulling his head down to hers, pressing her lips to his, her tongue sweeping against them, silently pleading with him until his lips opened under hers. His hands grasped her waist and pulled her to the edge of the counter, fingers trailing down her legs to her knees, pulling her crossed legs apart and settling between them as his tongue stroked along hers, sliding, sweeping her back under his spell.
 
Strong thumbs stroked up the inside of her thighs as she pressed her breasts into his chest, nipples coming alive with the sensation of his scars dragging across them, a gasp leaving her parted lips as he glanced over her clit before continuing up over her belly, the underside of her breast cupped as he bent forward, leaning her back against the mirror. Soft and supple lips left her mouth, moving first to her cheek, and then down her neck, light nibbles, long licks, and languid kisses pressed to each bruise he had left, extra attention paid to those he hadn’t, painful reminders of their path to this point, her nipples rolled between forefingers and thumbs as stars burst behind her eyelids.
 
She tried to reach for the towel around his waist, nimble fingers hooked into the cloth and pulling him as close as the counter would allow before his hands left her breasts to grip her hands, fingers twining as he lifted their joined hands to either side of her head as his glorious mouth trailed fire down her clavicle and breastbone, tongue working between her breasts before he moved to suck her nipple into his mouth, teeth gently enclosed over the tip, pulling and laving with his tongue until her breast was peaked and red and shiny with his saliva.
 
She was starting to feel a resounding pulse within her empty, aching cunt as he switched to her other breast, one hand letting go of hers to trail lightly down her side, tweaking the unattended to nipple as he passed, shoving her thighs wider and

gods

, she could smell herself, her own arousal heady and swirling around them both. He dipped careful fingers through her folds, outer lips already slick with want and he groaned against her breast, nipping hard enough to make her cry out as he gathered the wetness he found between her legs and carefully circled her nub, his fingers slippery already.
 
She shuddered against him, her breath starting to come in pants as he petted and teased, ready and waiting for the invasion of fingers, tongue, or cock, but none came, only gentle, lavish attentions. “Jon,” it was barely a word, more of a puff of breath whispered against the crown of his head, her fingers delving into his wet curls, the rest of his hair falling against her flushed chest as his talented fingers circled and pressed and worked her over as thoroughly and gently as she had ever been in her life.
 
Her heart pounded in her chest under his attentions, some unknown feeling expanding behind her ribs, a bubble of cautious joy that maybe,

maybe,

they could find a way through this maze and mire, that she could be his, and he could be hers, forever.
 
“Jon,” a wave of need was rising within her, the need to hold him close, to let him bury himself as deep as he possibly could within her until she didn’t know where he ended and she began, a need to let him in, in every way. Her lips dropped to his ear, sucking his ear lobe into her mouth, her tongue swirling against it as his talented fingers continued their glorious torture, “Gods, I need you inside me.”
 
He shuddered, lifting himself from her chest to take her mouth in a bruising kiss, her fingers dropping to finally grapple with the towel, dropping it to the tile to take his thick cock in her waiting hands and stroke him firmly, to settle him at her entrance, primed and ready for him, one roll of his hips until he was home, lodged deep within her.
 
His grip on her wrist stopped her though, his ever diligent fingers working her over until she could feel her empty cunt fluttering, desperate for something to grab onto. “Almost,” he breathed against her lips, notching his cock just at her entrance, the pressure tantalizing and torturous. “I want you to let go, first.”
 
With that, he ducked his head to her breast once more, sucking her reddened, stiff peak deep into his mouth, his fingers continuing to circle her nub, pressing more deeply in the slick, his teeth settling into her once more, and she was gone, shuddering around him, her knees drawing up on either side of his chest when his hips snapped, and he seated himself deeply in her convulsing cunt in one go.
 
She wailed, the feeling of fullness overwhelming and wonderful as she arched her chest into him, her nails digging into his back as he pulled back and snapped his hips again, fucking her through her orgasm, her cunt greedily grabbing and taking what was hers.
 
There was a dizzying moment as he lifted her, her senses reeling until he slammed her into the wall with a groan, his hands under her ass as she locked her ankles around his waist, grinding herself down upon him, and then they were moving again, three strides to the bed and he laid her down, slipping out of her in a gush of wetness that left them both whimpering at the loss until he kissed her ankle and slung it over his shoulder, pushing back into her firmly, pumping in and out as he hovered above her, his eyes blazing and full of something she couldn’t identify, but gave herself over to anyway, a string of words leaving her mouth in a babble as he thrust so deeply inside she thought she might split in two— the pressure more wonderful that anything she had ever felt before.
 
His hands were on either side of her face, one cupping her cheek as he dove back down to capture her lips with his own. “Dany,” he breathed against her, some other words she couldn’t make out lost to their kisses, and she could feel herself tightening again, another orgasm close at hand as he reached between them, thumb hovering over her sensitive clit.
 
“Oh gods, Jon. So close.” She felt like she could barely breathe, a hitch in her chest as her nipples tightened further, and one more snap of his hips and she was coming, absolutely undone in every way, her leg falling from his shoulder as she cried out, burying her face in his neck as she shattered around him, his own strangled groan following after a few more wild thrusts, and then he collapsed against her, his breath warm and humid against her neck, his cock still lodged within her.
 
He took a few bracing breaths before he lifted himself onto his elbow, his eyes soft and warm as he kissed her, her heart full to the brim, just as he filled her.

They stayed that way for as long as they could, the ticks of his watch on her wrist the only way of marking the passage of time, her fingers combing through his curls until they dried. For a moment she thought he had fallen asleep, crashed into her chest, but after a while, he pressed a kiss to her clavicle before pulling out of her with a wince.
 
He heaved himself over to the side, the distance crashing back between them as they came back down to reality.
 
She cast about wildly, trying to think of something, anything to keep the chasm from swallowing her whole. “Is there anything I can do to make the next couple of days easier on you?”
 
“Not go to the ceremony?”
 
She turned onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she studied him. He was worried, she could see it, plain as day. “How about if I promise to make this the last event until this is all over?”
 
She meant until this madman was caught and put away; she meant until the situation with Vis had settled, but she could see the subtle flinch in his eyes, the flare of uncertainty that tugged at her heart, begging her tongue to loosen its stubborn knot, to push past the cowardice holding her hostage, but she didn’t know

how,

and every time she opened her mouth nothing but a gaping silence passed her lips.
 
She kissed him then, hoping that he could see through her silence, her fingers threading into his hair as she pushed herself into his space, willing his suddenly wooden arms to encircle her, draw her in, find that warmth, that certainty they both craved in the physical, if not the emotional. For now.
 
She pulled back, her eyes searching his, his hands coming up to cup her face, making her feel seen and captured. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the sincerity in his eyes. “We should get some rest,” his voice was low, thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones as her eyelashes fluttered shut, feeling the pull of exhaustion, but afraid to let her eyes close, fearful of what her mind may conjure for her in her dreams tonight.
 
“I’m sorry if I wake you up in a few hours. I promise I do try to wake myself up from the nightmares, but it’s like I get…”
 
“Trapped.”
 
“Yeah. Yours don’t seem to do that.”
 
“They used to.” 
 
She was quiet as she absorbed that information. “What changed?”
 
“Nothin’, I’ve just had more practice.”
 
“You can always wake me up, you know.” He blinked, and she instinctively knew he would never take her up on her offer, but she needed to do godsdamned

something

to let him know how much she cared, how much she wanted to be there for him, to share in even his worst and lowest moments because even those were better than the moments without him. “We don’t have to talk about it, but it might be nice to know you’re not alone.”
 
His hand cupped her neck, pulling her close as he dropped his lips to the crown of her head, settling them back into the pillows, his warm mouth dragging across her forehead as she burrowed into him, his hand splayed across her back, rough fingertips tracing her spine until the exhaustion won out and sleep pulled her from him again.
 
~*~*~
 
Finally he could hear the steady sound of her breathing, his fingers not stopping the motion of gliding across her back. She was exhausted, worn clear through and it tore at him, jagged edges of hurt. He had no idea how to fix it for her, frustration pushing at him until he was also frazzled, almost undone by her poorly concealed desperation.
 
Her words from earlier were haunting him, twisting around inside until they were a tangled knot, sitting heavy in his chest and it was pulling at him, the need to try and help her even though what she had asked was nearly impossible.
 
But if he didn’t, then she would put herself out on display, to be picked through, to be judged by people who had no business even looking at her that way. It wasn’t an ultimatum, she understood why he had declined, accepted it, and was moving on to find another way. And that was tearing at him viciously, a gaping wound he couldn’t hold shut, something he might be able to prevent if he was just willing to put her ahead, something everyone should have been doing from the beginning and failing miserably at.
 
If he wouldn’t do this for her, who would?
 
Sliding quietly out of bed, he waited until she stirred and settled, not missing the opportunity to brush stray wisps back from her face, the strangely colored hair now a knotted mess around her head, affection and lust mixing in with the sorrow he felt for her, the unfairness of it all blatantly on display.
 
Making himself push away, he moved silently across the room, unplugging his phone from the nightstand, stopping short for just a moment, undecided on his next step. No, that wasn't quite right— he knew what he needed to do, just needed to find the space to gather his bravery. 
 
The door between their rooms still stood open, a silent invitation for some privacy and he stole through it, almost feeling guilt for what he was about to do. Guilty about what, he wasn’t sure, but it was there, a presence sitting in the back of his mind as he closed the barrier between them, leaving off the lights, and having her layout memorized, made his way into her bathroom, closing that door also, another solid wall to keep his voice muffled, to not wake her up as he tried this futile attempt to help.
 
The background of his phone screen mocked him as he stared at it, trying to gather his thoughts, figure out how he could convince Robb to see it how he did without giving away too much of himself, of Dany, not quite willing to spell it out over the phone for his brother, not really sure how well he could bluff.
 
Tapping the back of the case, he let himself waver, tried to convince himself he hadn’t been headed down this road as soon as she had perched her lovely arse on his bathroom counter and confessed her plans. He pushed the button.
 
“What’s going on, brother? It’s late for a call from you.” Robb’s answer was too quick for him to have been asleep and Jon could hear the low sound of voices in the background, no doubt from a turned down TV, something to help block out the sounds that it wasn’t home. 
 
“There have been some events that have happened while you were gone.” He held his breath for a brief moment before letting it out. “You, well, Viserys, are walking back into a well deserved shit storm.”
 
“My interest is piqued.” He heard the TV turn off. “What’s happened?”
 
“The short version is, the City Watch found some factories in Astapor that look like they are connected to Viserys and Baelish. We are talkin’ child slavery, Robb, and it’s a fuckin’ mess.” His stomach churned with the thought of all those innocents being treated like that, of the guilt that shadowed Dany’s face even though it had nothing to do with her. “It’s not proved yet, Tyrion has an investigator on it, but they can’t know. We think it’s why whoever is after Dany, is after her.”
 
Laying it all out on the table like that made his voice shaky, he could almost,

almost

see how the pieces fit, but it wasn’t quite enough to figure it out and that was frustrating and terrifying, that he might not be enough to stop it all.
 
A low whistle came from Robb’s end. “They are setting her up? She’s his sister.”
 
“Aye.” He didn’t trust himself to say anymore, to not let the rage pour out of him, vitriol and dark. “But that’s only part of why I’m calling.”
 
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
 
“I don’t like it either. I really don’t.” He was on the ledge of just how far he’d go, standing there and needing to make his decision. “She’s currently more concerned about the factories than whoever is after her.” Frustration was bleeding into his voice, a hand going roughly through his hair, a poor outlet. “There will be a board meeting tomorrow, I guess, she and Tyrion are pulling strings to have it happen without Vis or Baelish’s knowledge.” And here it was, that line that he should not be crossing. “She’s using proof of her brother’s misdeeds to have him overthrown.”
 
“Go on, Jon. You’re winding me up here.”
 
“We all know Viserys abuses— drugs, substances, her, but she only has proof of one of those things.” There it was, stuck in his throat, remembering the look on her face the first time he kept her brother from touching her, the shock that someone would stand between them. “She’s going to go to the board with a catalog of the physical abuse she’s endured from him.”
 
“For fuck’s sake.” Robb’s whisper made him squeeze his eyes shut.
 
“Robb, that throws her in the spotlight in a completely horrible, vulnerable way. Dany is opening herself up to a ton more ridicule, questions about her own emotional capability—“

fuck,

he did not want her to do that to herself, couldn’t stand seeing everyone judge her. “— so I’m asking you this, do you have proof of Viserys’ illegal activities right there in front of you?”
 
“What are you doing, Jon?” 
 
The soft concern was riddled with wariness and he knew they could be miles apart and yet Robb was seeing right through him. “I know this isn’t what we do, or should do, but

fuck,

Robb, how do I stay out of this when I might be able to make it a little less awful for her?”
 
It was too much, he was giving Robb enough that he should rightfully refuse Jon, pull them back out of this bog and back onto steadier ground, but he couldn’t crawl into that bed with her without knowing he’d done all he could.
 
“You stay out of it because that’s your job, Jon.” Robb’s tone held his own trepidation on where this was all leading and he knew it wasn’t a lack of caring on his brother’s part, but of understandable preservation.
 
“I know.” Damn it to all the hells, he

knew

it but couldn’t walk away now. “But Robb—“
 
“What do you want me to say? That he’s been on a Milk of Poppy trip since we got here? He has, other than one night he spent locked in his room and loaded on Shade of The Evening, or that Doreah comes out every fucking morning looking miserable because he’s invited some random prostitute into their room?” There was a long pause that spoke of Robb reining in his own frustrations. “But that doesn’t mean I can take pictures for evidence. I signed the same NDA you did and you know that.”
 
He unclenched his fist, letting the blood rush back into his fingers, didn’t even realize he had been doing that. “

I know

. Fuck, I really do and I’m not askin’ this lightly, you know me better than that.”
 
“I thought I did.” 
 
The reproach and disappointment coated him, muting his vision, making him struggle to breathe and he should be aborting this attempt, but knowing Dany had used him to wear herself out so she didn’t have to think— something he’d gladly give her in any circumstance— made him dig in deeper, find that stubborn streak everyone was always accusing him of having. “This isn’t just some high born fool with a fondness for getting high, or some family battle over who gets the inheritance, these are lives, Robb. Hers, a bunch of children across the narrow sea. NDA or not, how can we turn a blind eye?”
 
Robb’s sigh settled in his chest. “I can’t make any promises and don’t get your hopes up, I’m warning you, Jon. Don’t say anything to Daenerys or Tyrion. I’ll think about it.”
 
“Thank you” His relief was almost palpable. “Thank—“
 
“Don’t thank me yet. And when I get back you and I need to have a talk about boundaries.”
 
Normally his response would be to tell Robb to fuck off, he was a godsdamned adult, but the tension was abating, the dull ache in his skull receding and he’d gladly listen to his brother rant if that’s what it took to give Dany the support she needed.
 
“Still, thank you.”
 
Robb’s grumbled reply was barely heard over the sound of his own relief, knowing that nothing might come of it, but it was

something.

Staring at the phone he watched the timer of the disconnected call flash for just a moment before turning into silent mode and then reversing his actions, opening back up the doors until he was at the side of his bed again, staring down at her, heart aching to give her all she needed, however she needed it.
 
Instead he slipped back into bed, enjoying the heat coming from her and soaking into his now chilled skin, her breath tickling his neck as she curled back into him.
 
He let his eyes fall closed, let the sound of her in sleep pull him under.
 
~*~*~
 
She woke at 4am, her mind already whirling with the day’s work laid out in front of them, and try as she might to settle, to let Jon’s steady breathing lure her back to sleep, she couldn’t. She gave up after a few moments, sliding out of his bed with a quick kiss to his lips when he stirred. “Go back to sleep,” she whispered, running her hands through unruly curls, fluffy from her constant petting the night before. “I’m just going downstairs to the gym. Grey will be awake.”
 
He studied her, quiet in the dark of the early morning, her heart sinking to see agitation in his eyes, but he let her go with a squeeze to her hand. “I’ll comm him to let him know you’re coming down.”
 
She nodded, brushing her hand through his beard before letting herself out through the adjoined door, and slipped into her closet to change into her workout gear, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
 
Grey was waiting for her when she got downstairs, silent and solemn as ever, clearing the gym for her before she dropped down to stretch, muscles protesting from the various other forms of “exercise” she and Jon had been engaging in. She stepped onto the treadmill, not quite sure if she was running from her problems, or towards her solutions.
 
Dei’s eyes were haunting her.
 
The hurt that stood in them, the fact that they were not moving quickly enough for any of their tastes indisputable. She just didn't know how else to proceed. It felt like they were being deliberately stymied at every turn, and every bump in the road opened the door for more heinous possibilities, more children dead, or dying.
 
She ran harder, sweat pouring down her face as she tried to think around the problem. Dei was right— they had no business accepting an award for “Positive Change” when they had actually been doing nothing of the sort— upholding the same, broken status quo that had held the world of fashion in a stranglehold for generations, had rolled over everyone in their path leaving a wake of destruction so large it was immeasurable.
 
And yet, Tyrion was also right— if they didn’t accept the award, then it could be seen as a tacit complicitness, something that Viserys and Baelish had already ensured with their actions.
 
She wanted to scream, tear out her hair in frustration and anger, march down to Astapor and not stop raging until every man, woman, and child caught in the chokehold of oppression was free. She had promised Dei that they would find a way— that they would put a stop to it, but she had no idea how to keep that promise, but she knew she would be thrice damned before she gave up trying to find a solution.
 
“You’re up early.”
 
Dany jerked her head toward the door, startled, nearly stumbling on the treadmill as Dei stepped quietly through the door. “Couldn’t sleep.”
 
“Ah.” In her hands, she held a giant black garment bag, the House Targaryen sigil emblazoned in red across it. “Your dress for tomorrow, the

ateliers

sent it over. Jhiqui will be here in a few hours for your fitting. You should go shower, we have a lot of work to do today.”
 
Dany stepped off the treadmill, and glanced down at Jon’s watch, shocked to find over an hour had passed, only now starting to feel the burning in her legs and lungs, breath coming heavily as she reached for her water bottle. Dei stared at her for another moment before turning on her heel. “I’ll put this in Rhaegar’s studio.”
 
“Dei, wait, please.” She stalled, not sure how to continue, not sure how to make any of this ok, moving to take the garment bag from her best friend’s hands and lay it aside. She dropped onto the weight bench, motioning for Dei to sit, casting about for how to begin, finally deciding to start with the most time sensitive issue, the Board meeting also weighing on her mind— pit of fear in her stomach be damned. “I need your help with cross referencing all the pictures you’ve taken with my medical records.”
 
Missandei’s golden eyes widened. “Why?”
 
“If Tyrion can’t get the financials, and we can’t get proof of illegal activity, then the alternate plan is to try to oust him on the grounds of inappropriate behavior. I can’t ask anyone else to come forward if I haven’t done so myself, so…” her voice trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
 
Dei nodded slowly, studying her so thoroughly it almost made Dany shiver. She said nothing though, as if she was afraid by commenting on the surprising turn would spook her back into the shadows, and pulled out her phone, tapping away. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
 
“Thank you.” Dany knew she must have questions, truth be told she had plenty of them herself. She reached for a towel to wipe away some of the sweat pouring down her face, the towel coming away streaked with more hair dye. She stared at it, finding herself wishing it could be so easy to just become something or someone else. If she had been different, something

more

, maybe none of this would be happening.
 
“I’m sorry about last night.” Dany kept her eyes trained on the towel, running her fingers back and forth across the soft fabric. “I know there’s a better solution out there for the ceremony, but I just can’t see it right now. I don’t want to go— I don’t want to be a hypocrite, and I hate the idea of being rewarded for a lie. Rhaegar would be so disappointed, and livid, and—“
 
“Dany,” Missandei fidgeted next to her, fingers gripping her phone tightly. “Rhaegar’s not here.”
 
She blinked, turning to stare at her best friend, the jolt of pain rushing through her heart at that statement bringing her up short. “I know that,” she said, her voice strangled.
 
Dei’s eyes held sympathy— a confusing opposition to her harsh words. “I wish that you would find a way to do what

you

want to do, and not what he would have wanted. He can’t lead from beyond the grave, Dany. But you are here, you are

alive

, and every bit as talented as he was. I think it’s time for you to take that step forward.”
 
Dany’s mouth went dry at Dei’s words, her heart in her throat. For the past five years, every thought and action had gone into upholding the legacy that Rhaegar had built, in continuing forward in his footsteps, following his vision. Even the founding of Rhaegar’s Harp, while her project in every way, had been driven by the memory of him. To step beyond what he would have wanted was… frightening.
 
And yet, she could hear the freedom in it calling for her as well.
 
Had she willingly chained herself all these years to a legacy that had bound instead of building toward more? And if she were to want to do more, what would it be?
 
“Leave Rhaegar out of all of it for a minute— forget Viserys, forget Tyrion, and me, and Jon.” Dei hand settled on her knee, squeezing slightly to tease. “Although we both know what a struggle

that

is for you.” 
 
They both chuckled. “Now, think about you. And what you want. If you have to go, how do you make it happen on your terms? Find the right way to say yes for

you

.”
 
Dany’s mind was whirling. She could almost feel the synapses firing and making new connections, refiltering her thoughts in a completely foreign way. “Sometimes you just have to ignore everyone around you, and listen for your own voice. I think it’s been a long time since you’ve heard it, but she’s speaking now. Can you hear her?”
 
She shut her eyes, letting Dei’s wisdom pour over her, the edges of an idea flirting within her grasp. “We do have to go,” she mused, a sudden streak of lightning searing through her. “We have to go, but we don’t have to accept. I’m the keynote speaker anyhow, so if we rewrite my speech, turn down the award on the premise of the work not being done—“
 
“There she is,” Dei beamed, wrapping Dany up in a hug. “Go gather your thoughts while you shower and get your hair back to normal. We have so much to do today, and the clock waits for no man.”
 
Dany grinned up at her friend. “Lucky for us, we’re not men. And we can make miracles happen. Thank you, Dei.”
 
“Let’s pull this off first, shall we?”
 
~*~*~
 
Tension filled the manse to the brim, all the empty corners practically vibrating with the energy. The scar above his heart was tingling, his reactive urge to rub had been plaguing him all day, the abused skin now protesting as the hours seemed to drag by.
 
He wasn’t sure of what was said between Dany and Dei, and he knew it wasn’t his business, but some of the rigidity between the two friends had lessened, some of the weight lifted from their shoulders.
 
And he was glad for it, the awkwardness of the suit fitting enough to make him squirm even without the want to pry as Dei has flitted in and out, gently poking fun at his uncomfortable demeanor, assuring him that he and Dany would look

smashing

on the red carpet together. Something else to fill him full of nerves.
 
Would everyone be looking at him like that?
 
But now he didn’t have the time to worry, a habitual glance at the watch that wasn’t there had him cursing before he looked at his phone to check the time. His call with Yara Greyjoy had ran longer than he hoped, annoyance crawling through his veins every time he spoke to Ironborn Securities, but it couldn’t be helped— they were the backup for the ceremony, Robb’s idea, not his, and proven competent, even if he didn’t like them.
 
He had time, if he hurried, before Dany’s board meeting, so he roused himself to his feet, shaking his head at his own fumbling before grabbing the small box off the edge of his desk, the contents delivered by Tyrion an hour earlier, the other man strangely silent at the delivery.
 
Not wanting to dive into that particular string of thoughts, he crossed the hall, dismissing Grey with a slap on the shoulder and giving a quick knock on Dany’s open door, waiting in threshold for her to look up from her desk.

Gods,

she looked small, dark circles under her eyes, his heart squeezing at the sight and he vowed to himself that he’d gently cajole her into going to bed early that night, maybe convince her of a nap on the big leather couch behind her, if possible. 
 
“You have some time before you launch your attack?” It was meant lightly, as a jest, as encouragement and he saw the edges of a smile before it fell, the hole inside him widening.
 
They were off balance and he wasn’t sure why, didn’t know how to fix it.
 
“For you? Always.”
 
Her voice was filled with warmth even though he could hear her weariness along the edges and he let himself in, shutting the door firmly behind him in an attempt to block them off from the reality of it all for even just a few minutes. He’d try at least.
 
“It doesn’t need to be,

always,

Dany.” He settled himself on the edge of her desk, allowed himself the pleasure of ghosting his fingers over her cheek, savoring the feel of her skin, wanting her to know she didn’t need to bend over backwards for him. “If you need me to give you space, just let me know.”
 
“What does that mean?” Hurt flickered over those pretty features and gods, he had fucked that up. 
 
“It means, I’m terrible with words.” Instead of retreating, he pushed forward, sliding his fingers down her throat to feel her pulse, it’s steady beat a reassurance. “If I’m in the way, or distracting you and you need me out of your hair, tell me and I’ll leave you be until you’re ready for me.”
 
“You’re always a distraction.” Something else had shadowed her eyes before she masked it, his own confusion being diffused by the sly pout coming to her lips as she stood, angled herself between his thighs, palms warm through his jeans.
 
“I’m serious.” He put down the box to hook his hand around her waist, to pull her in close and ignore the niggling little voice in the back of his head to bump his nose along hers. “I don’t want to make this more difficult for you.”
 
She was the one who tilted her chin, took his mouth with a searing kiss, muddling his train of thought as her hands went to his neck, his own sliding under her thin shirt to find her back, splay possessively over the skin there.
 
“You don’t.” It was confessed against his lips, the taste of her lingering on his tongue and he closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the close press of her body.
 
Soothed, he brushed his cheek against hers, letting her girlish laugh fill him up, his fingers finding that perfect spot on her hips to hold, pressing in to hear her gasp and squirm for a moment before releasing her. 
 
“I’ve got something for you.” Delight lit up the blue of her eyes, his heart doing a strange thump in his chest. “It’s not anythin’ really.”
 
“Oh?” Her eyebrows raised and she stepped back, grabbing his hand and tugging relentlessly until he got to his feet, crossing the few steps to the couch and allowing her to settle them into the cushions, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she balanced on her knees beside him. “Hand it over, Snow.”
 
It was a terrible idea, he realized as he handed over the box, letting her get her hopes up over something so silly. “Don’t get too excited.” 
 
Her plump bottom lip was held carefully between her teeth as she opened the box, confusion wrinkling her brow for just a second before she smiled again, her shoulders tipping towards him. “Jon.”
 
There was too much emotion packed into something as simple as his name and he closed his eyes for a heartbeat before cupping her neck. “It’s just a phone, Dany.”
 
“You said you would and you did.”

Fuck,

that almost broke his heart. “Aye, I did.” Needing something to ground him, to diffuse the

heaviness

of something simple, he pulled her into his side, hand covering hers to push the button and turn it on. “You have three numbers, Dei, Tyrion, and me.” And he wasn’t going to survive the way she was looking at him, throat constricting, his voice rough. “Feel free to delete any of them if you prefer.”
 
Instead of the cheeky retort he was expecting, arms wrapped around him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck, the wild beat of her heart flooding into his and he was so incredibly

sad

that something that simple meant so much, the need to give her everything overwhelming and sharp.
 
“So, you hate it.”
 
A muffled snort, vibrated against his neck. “It's truly awful.”
 
The rush of air filled his lungs, his hand finding her mess of hair and tangling in the strands. “I’ll try and do better next time.”
 
Suddenly her warmth was gone from his side, leaving him reeling for the feel of skin, his body going on alert trying to figure out what was happening, but he stilled as she held up her hand and crossed to the door.
 
Captivated by the sight of her turning the lock on her door, his cock waking up eagerly even though a trickle of unease ran through him. He didn’t want her to think that it was strings attached. “What are you doing?”
 
“Locking the door.” She turned back towards him and pulled her shirt over his head, the basic part of himself starting to salivate over the view of her round, little tits.
 
“I didn’t get you this in exchange for sex.”
 
The noise from the back of her throat was disapproving, fingers hooking in the waistband of her pants. “

That

thought never crossed my mind, but thank you for clearing it up.”
 
Her tone indicated she thought he was ridiculous and in that moment he agreed, wanting to not take advantage of her feelings while

something

was off but helpless as she shimmied out of the rest of her clothing.
 
His breath caught in his throat and he silently thanked any and all the Gods for her aversion to undergarments as she continued forward, his palms curling into the leather, the hardwiring in his brain starting to snap and fizzle and she stopped at his knees, nudging them apart with her own, in all her pale glory, wearing nothing but his watch.
 
“Take off your shirt.”
 
There was no hesitation on his part, keeping his eyes on hers as he leaned forward enough to strip it over his head, not missing the hitch in her breath, the dark flare in her blue depths before her gaze moved lower, mapping over his battle scars, making him not feel self conscious, but accepting of his story, glued back together.
 
Still under her thrall he reached his arms back to the headrest, gripping tightly as she leaned forward, her arm outstretched, breath against his lips before her feather light touch, his mouth chasing hers when she pulled back, a pillow in her hands that she dropped on the floor between his knees.
 
The sound of his heart was so loud that he was deaf, the wild beating making him lightheaded, the scent of her making him dizzy, craving a taste of her, to sink his teeth right into that soft flesh, pull her apart and unravel her, put her back together.
 
Those thoughts were stilled with her hands sliding up his thighs, a hum in her throat as she placed her lips above his scar, open mouthed and wet, worrying the skin and he could no longer keep his hands to himself, fingers threaded through the mass of hair, the muscles in his stomach quivering with her light touches, pressure released with the unbuttoning of his pants, the careful slide of his zip.
 
“Dany….” It was a rough word, forced out over the lust in his throat as her mouth lit a trail of fire across his clavicle, a hand spanning across her shoulders before fisting in her hair, tugging sharply, needing her lips against his, groaning when he was finally able to sweep his tongue against hers, pull her awkwardly in until he could feel her pebbled nipples against his chest, a delightful awareness as he tilted her chin, free hand sliding down to squeeze her ample arse, inhaling her whimper of delight.
 
Everything blurred together, nails scratching against his skin, heat and soft, squeezing and testing her curves, a haze of need wrapping them up tight, frantic grabs, needing to be tight inside of her then needing something else as her hand slid into his jeans, the silken brush of her palm as she fisted his cock, all of his thoughts fleeing south to center where she was stroking his hard and aching flesh.
 
With a shudder he lifted his hips, grateful as she made a noise of urgency helping him slide the confines of clothing down, freeing himself to be at her mercy. His eyes rolled back for a moment as she settled down on her knees, anticipation making him sink lower into the couch, gathering her hair and holding it back, needing a clear view.
 
And what a sight it was, pink tongue darting out to wet those luscious lips, mouth hovering over him, breath tickling his sensitive flesh, impatience making him want to thrust towards her mouth. Finally she took pity on him, lips wrapping around the swollen head, a long shuddering exhale as she sucked him down into her wet heat, holding him there before repeating the motion.
 
She was making him deaf, blind to everything except his cock disappearing into her mouth, the glassy look of lust in her eyes, the lewd slurping sounds she made with every pass, his fist tightening in all that hair as she worked at wrecking him.
 
“Dany,

fuck

.” 
 
A hand cupped him on her downward pass, slick and slobbery as he hit the back of her throat, gagging before she backed off, squeezing gently, making his hips jump as she pulled away to take a ragged breath, looking up, pinning him with her gaze as she bobbed back down, cheeks hollowed with her effort.
 
He could feel his release building, rapidly in the wake of her devastating movements, no match for the magic of her mouth and he finally relinquished his hold, long hair tickling his thighs and hiding her face before he reached down and hooked her under the arms, his groan mingling with her noise of disappointment, her protest ending as he dropped her on the couch.
 
Laying her back, he twisted, shoving a thigh towards her chest, a demanding growl that she hold it there, pushing other leg off the couch, shoving it as wide as he could, opening her up for his pleasure, finding arousal evident on her lips, the smell of her making him ravenous and he wasted no time, sliding off the couch to crowd closer, bury his tongue in the heat of her.
 
A high pitched noise came from the back of her throat, her hips twisting until he pinned her with his forearm, licking a flat line up to tap at her clit, spending a moment there to lave at it, the taste of her filling his mouth, feeding the never ending hunger, encouraging his want to spend all his time with his head between her thighs.
 
Backing off her sensitive nub, he slipped two fingers inside of her, moving towards that magic spot she had shown him, ever the dutiful student, mouth covering her again, tongue moving in precisely, her reactions the best reward for his lessons.
 
The hitch in her breath informed him she was getting close, his cock desperate to be inside those tight walls but he wanted her to break apart with his mouth against her, her fingers tight in his hair, back arched off the couch, the fluttering of her cunt making him push her a little harder, curl his fingers, suck at her clit.
 
Her body stilled for just a moment before she shuddered, a long cry filling the room, her orgasm rocking through her, a gush of wet drowning his fingers with a squelch as he continued to fuck her through it, until her body dropped with a groan, muscles lax, fingers releasing their grip of him.
 
Filling his lungs with air, he sat back, lips and chin wet with her, savory in his mouth and he levered himself up onto the couch, pride and affection rolling through him seeing her in a messy heap, breasts moving with her rapid breaths, her eyes closed as she recovered.
 
“We aren’t done yet.”
 
Lashes fluttered at him as she roused herself, her eyes blurry and he couldn’t resist any longer, dropping over her, finding her chewed up lips with his own, sharing the taste of her release with her, the hungry groan she fed him twisting inside and making him a little more wild. Demanding he thrust his tongue into her mouth, ravaging, messily before nipping at her lips, then moving down latching onto a neglected nipple, dragging his teeth over the tip, her cry rousing him even more, pushing at his control, pinching the other so it wouldn’t be left out before switching, flicking at it, biting sharply at the fleshy side of her tit, her sharp cry of surprise filling him, turning him into a predator, she his prey.
 
No longer content to ignore his throbbing cock, he sat up, pulling her with him, her hands scrambling for purchase, to regain her senses until he had her straddling him, the wet heat of her folds settled against his cock, nipping sharply at her ear before encouraging. “C’mon Dany, fuck me”
 
A sharp exhale tickled his neck and she struggled to raise her head, gathering herself back up and his hunger burned through him, determination set in her jaw as she lifted, his hands settling on her hips as she positioned him, biting her lip as she began her descent, his turn to let his head fall as he was enclosed in the fire, burning through him, setting his blood alight.
 
Gasping with her effort, she began with short shallow thrusts, adjusting to the intrusion and he grabbed her arse, letting her keep her maddening pace, fingers squeezing tight enough to mark, wanting to flip her over and let the beast inside take over.
 
Sweat was pooling between them, down the line of his back, the creak of leather keeping time with the obscene sounds of their coupling flesh, his mind and senses filled with

Dany

— her scent and taste, the feel of her body moving against him, his cock deep inside of her, enthralled by the fluid motion of her hips.
 
She was making little mewls, his mouth nipping at her tits while they bounced with her rhythm, biding his time for her low groan, the one that would let him know she was primed and ready for him to do as he pleased.
 
Growling encouragements against her flesh, his hands kept her steady as she moved, her hand on the back of his neck keeping his head to her chest. She faltered, knees slipping on the slick surface, widening her stance, her body dropping hard into him, her breath stuttering as he tightened his hold, keeping her in place, his own hips bucking up roughly, shoving himself impossibly deeper.
 
His mind sparked with her high pitched noise, his chest tight, greedy as he held her there, ready to take and consume, forcing the words out over desires.” Too much?”
 
“Yes.” Her nails dug in deep. “Do it again.”
 
Something inside of him snapped and he lifted her, slamming her down in time with his thrust up, a rough noise filling his ears, encouraging his savagery and he did it again and again and again and she felt so fucking good that he was going to lose his mind, her cries a little wild and desperate, matching what was inside of him, feeding the craving to handle her, satisfying her craving to be handled, used a little roughly by him and he forced his eyes open to watch her face twist. “Touch yourself.”
 
She obeyed his snapped out command, a hand sliding down, getting caught between their heaving bodies, his hard rhythm making it difficult. But he knew she was close, so close he could see it, his own release ready to snap through him, vision starting to blur as she moaned, curling towards him, teeth sinking into his shoulders as she fell apart, her cunt grabbing greedily at his cock, pushing him off the precipice, blinding pleasure racing through him as he yanked her down one last time, grinding into her, filling her full of his release.
 
When he finally regained some senses, she was collapsed against him, pillowy soft and scorching heat, her shuddering body causing him to twitch, his hand reaching up to push her hair aside, nose at her cheek, let the joy of holding her close satisfy him as much as the sex had.
 
They were still a little off balance, he knew it, unable to figure out how to solve that, but she was in his arms, warm and willing, clinging to his shoulders, his lips brushing across her own before tucking her in tighter, holding her as tight as he could get.
 
“You’re going to be in a rush, that call has to be soon.” He hated disturbing the small chunk of peace they were wrapped in, but the thought of Tyrion and Dei knocking on the door while his arse was still sweated to the leather was rather horrifying.
 
“It is.” 
 
That lithe frame rolled against him, making him wince as his softened cock slipped out of her, his nose crinkling at the rush of wet. “And we’re a mess.”
 
Blue suddenly filled his vision. “Yes.” Standing, she winced as she looked at her thighs, reaching out and pulling the blanket from the corner of the couch, dabbing at herself. “You’re staying for this?
 
“What?” He shook his head back into awareness and away from where he was enjoying the view of her naked and flushed, trying to make sense of her words. “The video conference?” He grimaced as he stood, shifting his pants back up gingerly. “Do you want me to stay?”
 
A buzzing in his pocket made him look down, frowning as he pulled the phone out, a new message from Robb downloading. A sudden jolt of hope making him hold his breath. Thumb wavering for just a moment, he opened it, incredulous laugh rattling in his chest as he saw what filled his screen. “Dany—“
 
She closed in, fingers wrapping around his wrist, her eyes going wide with the evidence in front of her. “Jon—“
 
Picture after picture came in, all incriminating evidence stacking up against Viserys, the knot in his shoulders relaxing as he realized what it meant— the Board would be hard-pressed to not move Vis out with the drugs scattered around him, a close up of Doreah with a red handprint marring her cheek.
 
“I thought you weren’t going to ask.”
 
It was there again, under his feet, the shaky ground of uncertainty, the rule book having been tossed to the side, the agonizing pull of guilt crowding his mind. “I wasn’t.” She was looking at him again, the urge to pull her close crawling across his skin, but he resisted. “But I did.” He didn’t mean to be short with her, but the decision wasn’t something he wanted to delve into. “Better get dressed, I’ll go show this to Tyrion.”
 
Her lips were soft against his cheek, savory, the scent of

them

clinging to the air. “Thank you.”
 
~*~*~
 
It was a scramble to get her ready before the call, and every time she thought about the fact that their combined juices still coated her thighs under hastily drawn on pants she felt her face flame anew. Missandei had brought her a newly pressed shirt, a deep V with a high collar that would demand attention, square cut black diamond earrings to complete the look moments after Jon had taken the photos to Tyrion to replace what they had provided earlier, with instructions for them to remove the picture of Doreah.
 
If Dany wouldn’t have to put herself on display for the Board, neither would anyone else. Her brother would hang himself on his own crimes, and not drag anyone else down with him. She also instructed Tyrion to try to call and make sure that the poor girl was all right— she didn’t know what had set her brother off, or how he had gotten the drop on her with Robb there as well, but her heart went out to her. She knew first hand how easy it was to get caught in Viserys’ web with no hope of escape.
 
Irri breezed in to wrangle her tousled hair into something professional, to apply a swirl of deep red lipstick and coat of cover up to her face and neck, clucking her tongue at the dark circles under her eyes— a knowing, teasing look that Dany didn’t feel like correcting. It was much easier to let the woman think she wasn’t getting any sleep because Jon was keeping her awake and… agile… for hours every night rather than the reality of fear, nightmares, and stress.
 
Tyrion and Dei were settled across from her on the desk, laptops already connected wirelessly to the slide show they had hastily constructed, Tyrion glancing at his watch every few seconds.
 
“Tyrion, that’s not helping.”
 
“I know, it’s— I was hoping for a response by now.”
 
Dany fought the urge to rub her forehead, another headache coming on. “If we don’t get the numbers, we’ll just go with what we have, Viserys’ activities first, and if that doesn’t work... Play to whatever hearts they have and hope for the best.” She couldn't help the sinking of her own in that moment, knowing what the likelihood of being able to pull this off without the financials was slim to none. No Board in their right mind would oust a seemingly successful CEO without dire cause, and a small matter of drug addiction would be laughed out of the room.
 
“Is Plan B ready just in case?”
 
Tyrion shivered, nodding ever so slightly, still somewhat pasty from the literal hundreds of pictures she and Dei had spent the morning compiling, cross-referencing with her medical records until a rather morbid calendar of her life was laid out in front of them. Jorah, just returned from his scant days off, had written an eye-witness testimony of the night of Rhaegar’s funeral, how he had found Viserys holed up with her in the garage still kicking her in the stomach and ribs even though she was lying unconscious and bleeding on the floor. She only remembered the first flurry of hits to her face, the moment he had grabbed her by the hair and driven her head into the wall, everything after dark. To this day, she still had no idea how he had broken her wrist.
 
Jon had yet to see those pictures, or those slides, and she hoped he never would.
 
Jorah had pulled Viserys off of her, locking him in his room until he had gotten her to the hospital and into a doctor’s care. Thankfully, no surgery had been needed, and at the time it had seemed to serve as a wake up call to Viserys as he checked in to a rehab in Dorne in a flood of remorseful tears the next day. Now, she wondered if it was just the next in a long line of manipulations, just another way to keep her under his thumb for as long as he could.
 
The rest of the catalog of minor injuries followed, all of the sprains and muscle tears cross-referenced and documented as thoroughly as if Missandei had been planning this out for years.
 
Dany wouldn’t put it past her. Cleverness and Missandei went hand in hand, and it was obvious that she was done allowing others to take their power from those that had none. Dany felt a fierce sense of pride course through her with that thought. She certainly had a lot to learn from her.
 
Jon’s gift was tucked securely into her back pocket, vibrating every so often with texts from him, small encouragements meant to make her smile, and she had to wonder if he knew the effect even so small a gesture would have on her. She thought not— the idea that he had given her a gift at all, and with no strings attached to it at that, was a foreign concept to her, and she felt herself falling further and further under his spell with every message that appeared on her screen. 
 
It wasn’t so much the gift that had affected her so deeply, but the promise kept— the idea that he had followed through on something mentioned in passing, something that she had nonetheless taken into her heart, and he had actually done it. He had no idea how wonderful he was, and that was more than dangerous— it was intoxicating, and she found that she wanted nothing more than to bask in it— to bask in the delights of him for as long as she could. And if that meant digging deep within herself to fix what had gone askew with them, then she would do so. 
 
Soon.
 
“Oh gods,” Tyrion sucked in a gasp, jerking Dany out of much more pleasant thoughts, turning his laptop screen to Missandei for verification before he scurried around to show Dany. His face had gone grey, only his lips retaining any color— a sure sign that he had nipped into the wine cellar at some point, medicating himself the best way he knew how.
 
“What?” Dany snapped, peering over his shoulder, her eyes roaming over sheets upon sheets of data, all full of complex numbers, projections, and earnings. 
 
Everything was red.
 
She may not understand much about finances, but that certainly did not look good.
 
“Tyrion?”
 
His mismatched eyes were rapidly flying back and forth across the screen, his hands moving just as quickly as he tabbed between sheets, checking his new facts and figures against what the Board had been shown just two weeks prior at the end of the second quarter.
 
A tiny groan left him before he waved Missandei over as well, gesturing for her to start inputting new slides into the presentation. “We’re fucked.”
 
“Fucked how? Are the numbers are actually ok? House Targaryen is in the black, and we won’t be able to oust him, or we’re fucked like—“
 
“We’re fucked in that House Targaryen is almost certainly committing fraud, and is misleading the shareholders— has for years. If this projection is correct—” he tabbed over into another screen, leaning over to where Dei was also working at a frightening pace, “— House Targaryen will be bankrupt by the end of next year.”
 
Dany felt her heart plummet. “Bankrupt?” She had assumed that things weren’t great, Viserys and Baelish both had been pushing her to take more and more high profile, multi-million dollar jobs in the past months, but the mere thought of that money just being

gone

was unfathomable. “Can we turn it around?”
 
“At this point, I don’t know. I’ll need to sit with the data, and the Finance team— surely some of them must know if we have other assets tied up somewhere, but this… This is bad.”
 
“Can you make it palatable in the next—“ she checked Jon’s watch, “— ten minutes, or do we need to push back the call?”
 
“We can’t push it back,” Dei murmured. “It was hard enough to get a quorum. We have to do this now, or wait until Monday.”
 
Dany shoved back her chair, making room for Tyrion and Dei at her desk to work side by side. “Go.”
 
~*~*~
 
In the end, she needn’t have worried. The Board was sufficiently horrified by the discovery of the factories, agreeing that even though the evidence was circumstantial at best, it’s very existence and proven ties to Baelish created a ticking time bomb for House Targaryen. Thankfully, enough of Rhaegar’s appointees had managed to hold their positions during the tumultuous reign of Baelish and Viserys to demand that actions be taken to resolve the “unfortunate situation.” And, once Tyrion had walked them through the failing numbers, the rest of the detractors fell into an uproar so deafening it took ten solid minutes of begging for silence over the call before order could be restored.
 
“Gentlemen, please—“ Dany pounded on her desk with an onyx dragon paperweight, unsure if the sound would carry over the speakers, but needing to try something to make sure that her voice was heard. “This issue is time sensitive. We must move quickly. Viserys and Baelish have already done grave harm in Astapor and we need to call for a vote right away. Once they have both been ousted, then Tyrion can begin the process of shutting down these factories and head up the internal investigations needed in our Finance department. We can discuss a replacement, and

then

we can move on to the matter of righting the sinking ship. This company meant everything to my brother— both of my brothers in their own way— and I can assure you that I will not allow House Targaryen to fall.”
 
“That’s all well and good Ms. Targaryen, however unless you are planning on taking your brother’s seat, the succession is a discussion that should take precedence,” Jon Connington spoke up, his greying head leaning forward into view of the camera. Dany stifled a sigh. She should have known that Rhaegar’s closest ally would demand to know where to look for leadership. He had been the sole dissenter to Viserys’ appointment, and had harbored a bitter disappointment and private grief for years.
 
“I have no interest in any position other than that which I already hold,” she said quietly, glancing up as Jon slipped into the room and took a seat beside Dei. “I think we can all agree that my gifts are better applied to the creative side of the House, however— I must insist that we move forward with firing both gentleman immediately. Human lives are at stake, and I will not allow any more time to pass without offering the aid and restitution that they deserve.”
 
Another dull roar erupted from her speakers, support and dissent equal to her ears, and she pounded the paperweight again. “Gentleman! Please. All of you knew Rhaegar. You know that if he were here beside me right now that this would never have happened. However, he is not, and it did. His legacy stands on the brink, and we all vowed to uphold his vision when he died. This blight on our House

must

be brought to a swift end.”
 
She could tell the effect invoking her brother’s name had on Connington, his shoulders stiff as he stood his ground, no doubt feeling some lingering loyalty to him instead of her, to the company that had done it’s best to immortalize her brother. “Still, we can’t announce that we are dismissing our CEO without a replacement and PR plan in place. The Shareholders will panic, stocks will tumble, and I don’t need to explain how catastrophic that would be given our financial crisis.”
 
She sighed. “What do you propose?”
 
Connington steepled his hands in front of him, thinking. “Fire them both, but quietly. We can discuss suitable replacements and announce on Monday. This will give you and Viserys the opportunity to make one last final public appearance— win over the world with your charm and grace, and remind our clients and competitors alike what House Targaryen truly stands for.”
 
She grimaced. “You don’t know Viserys as well as you think you do you, ser.”
 
A new voice joined the conversation, and Dany squinted to identify the gentleman, older than the rest gathered, but age had not stooped his broad shoulders one iota— Barristan Selmy. “No, but I know you, and have been watching you with great interest, Ms. Targaryen. If anyone can bring him to heel for just one night, it would be you.”
 
Dany tapped her fingers nervously against her desk before folding her hands in front of her. “If I were to agree to this, I have a condition of my own. I want a replacement found and announced the morning after the ceremony. We’ll have one complete news cycle of positive PR, and then the announcement of new leadership to accompany a new creative vision.”
 
A moment of silence as Selmy looked to his compatriots before nodding. “We will need to discuss suitable candidates.”
 
“Of course,” She glanced to where Dei and Jon were sitting, Dei’s eyes shining, Jon stoic— as always— another hint of displeasure in his eyes at the negotiation, but pride was lingering there as well. She fought down a triumphant smile and motioned to Dei, her fingers already flying across her phone in anticipation. “Missandei is sending you my short list now. All of these candidates have been personally vetted by my team. I encourage you to consider my top choice very carefully.” 
 
She leaned closer to the screen, careful not to let her face pass the line of tape Dei had put down on her desk, unwilling to let her appear cartoonish in the eye of the camera, taking a moment to look each man in the eye as well as a video conference could allow. She wanted them to see the seriousness, the fire, in her own. “As the last officially associated member of the Targaryen family with House Targaryen, I would assume that my opinion would be worth quite a lot in continuing my family’s lengthy and honored legacy, yes?” She let the implication hang in the air, flexing the power of her name, making note of any who shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
 
“But of course. We would consider any of your candidates to be serious contenders.” Selmy, ever the battle-hardened peacekeeper was quick to soothe.
 
“And we could announce the morning after the ceremony?”
 
A rumble went through the room before Connington nodded.  “I do not see why not.”
 
“I’m afraid I’ll need more than that paltry assurance, ser.” She held his gaze, her determination blazing now.
 
A small smile spread across Connington’s face. “Ah. Another dragon.” He glanced around the room, gathering the nods of affirmation. “You have our word.”
 
“In that case, I would like to officially call a vote for the immediate removal of Chief Executive Officer, Viserys Targaryen, and Chief Financial Officer, Petyr Baelish. Do I have a second?”
 
She was unsure if it was Connington or Selmy that spoke almost before she had finished, a chorus of “Seconded” greeting her ears, and it was the sweetest sound she had heard until moments later when the unanimous “Ayes” flowed over her.
 
Now, all she had to do was tell him.
 
~*~*~
 
Strength.
 
Fire in her eyes.
 
That was what she needed to face him. No matter what Viserys said, no matter how hard he pushed or threatened— cajoled, begged, pleaded, apologized or any other number of the myriad of manipulations he had at his disposal.
 
No. This time she was prepared, and with Jon beside her, protected. Vis may have been used to seeing tears in her eyes, but

this

time, he would see only flames, no matter what. She would not fail. She was the blood of the dragon, and although Viserys had often threatened her with the fear of waking the dragon inside of him, she was beginning to realize that his was nothing compared to hers.

Let them both wake, and we’ll see who wins in the end.

He had everything to lose, and she had everything to fight for. And she would.
 
“Robb texted me the go ahead. They’re back in the guest house and settled from the flight.” Jon’s voice sounded far away, her own breath harsh in her ears. “Are you ready?”
 
“No, but I don’t think I have a choice.”
 
He grasped her hand, gently turning her to face him, his eyes burning with some emotion she couldn’t identify. “We can find another way.”
 
“Not in time,” she murmured, squeezing his hand back, or at least she told herself she was squeezing it back, not that she was fairly certain she couldn’t feel her fingers, and that her hand was spasming in his firm grip. “This is long overdue.”
 
“I know you think that you have to be the one to do this, but maybe Tyrion would be better.”
 
Her laugh was gentle, quiet. “Viserys thinks that Tyrion is something…” her voice trailed off as she searched for the words. “... grotesque. Vis would never listen to him. Besides, I’m done letting other people fight my battles for me.”
 
Jon sighed and opened his mouth to no doubt protest further, but Dany placed her hand over his supple lips. “I know you don’t understand, honestly, I don’t expect you to, but this is something I have to do. It has to be me. As much for me as for him.”
 
She could see the echo of pain in his gaze, the thought of her putting herself in harm’s way, whether it be emotional or physical something he despised. Maybe that’s why he had done it, and she found her curiosity was too much for her to bear right in this moment. She had no desire to knock them askew again, but she couldn’t not ask, especially when she didn’t know how Vis was going to react. If she could repair this rift first, it would only help her stand strong in front of her brother. Hopefully Jon as well. “Why did you ask Robb for the pictures?”
 
His eyes softened even as he shifted on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with her question, but he seemed to recognize the same need she did, both desperate in their own way to feel the ground solid beneath their feet once more. “Because…” he took a deep breath, searching for some courage within him, and she pressed closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He stared down at her, the tiniest bit of awe breaking through his gaze. “Because the thought of you puttin’ yourself through more pain for him is unbearable.”
 
He left the “to me” unsaid, but she could feel it reverberating in her chest and she couldn’t hold eye contact anymore, burrowing her face into his chest, letting him gather her closer, his chin coming to rest on her head. “You hate everything about this, don’t you?”
 
“Aye,” there was his own pain there, leaking through his voice, and she tightened her arms around him. “But I’m not lettin’ you go through this by yourself. So even though I hate every piece of this, and would rather just change the locks on the guest house and let your brother rot until this is done, I’m goin’ to be there every step of the way with you. You’re not alone.”
 
Her heart was pounding hard enough she was sure he could feel it in his own chest, a lump in her throat constricting all words, but honestly— what could she possibly say in response to that? She was so utterly fucked when it came to him, and she was starting to think that he knew it too. Whether or not either of them were willing to admit it.
 
She was too frightened to look into his eyes, to see the truth written all over both of their faces, her feelings a confusing garble full of a newness that shocked her. She had honestly never felt for anyone the feelings that Jon was awakening inside of her, and she had no clue how to handle it, gracefully or otherwise.
 
Targaryens didn’t love. It was simply not in their vocabulary. They dominated, they ruled, they conquered. No one, not even Rhaegar, had ever said those words to her in her entire life, and she wasn’t sure if that was what she was feeling now, but whatever it was, powerful was too small a word.
 
She opened her mouth, searching for something, anything to say in response, but only a screaming silence stood in its stead. She simply buried her face deeper into his chest, breathing him in, allowing his steadfastness to ground her, anchor them both in the swirling storm.
 
“Thank you,” her voice was small— something she would have to alter quickly, needing to reach deep and find the burgeoning dragon within, but for now— here, it was safe with him for her to be less than. To be frightened, to be unsure.
 
“Why’d you ask?”
 
She shrugged against his chest. “I didn’t want you to be angry at me anymore, and I—”
 
His chest made some sort of echoing sound, hands on her shoulders pushing her back so that he could get a good look at her face, his own gone ashen in the dying sunlight streaming in from the window. “You thought I was angry at

you

?”
 
She could feel her brow wrinkling in confusion. “Were you not?”
 
“Dany, no,” his voice held horror within it, his hands coming to cup her cheeks so she couldn’t pull away from the blaze of fire in his eyes. “I’m angry at a lot of things— this shit-arsed situation mainly, but not you. Never you.”
 
She could feel the weight that had slipped around her neck the night before fall away, her chest rising against his with the new found buoyancy. “Oh,” was the only response she could muster, her mind spinning with how she could have misread him so badly, how she couldn’t have seen the truth. “Oh.”
 
Jon’s thumbs brushed at her cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anythin’ yesterday?”
 
She could feel her face heating, her embarrassment rising. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
 
“Fuck,” he breathed, and she nodded.
 
“Yeah.” He simply stared at her for a long moment, one hand reaching up to sweep a stray hair behind her ear before lifting her face to his, a soft but deep kiss placed on her lips, and she gladly opened herself to him, pouring everything that she couldn’t say into it, her arms winding around his neck and pulling him closer to her until she could feel their heartbeats, synced and thundering as one.
 
A knock sounded at the door and she pulled away, breathless, Jon’s pants falling against her cheek as he let his forehead rest against hers. “Just a minute,” she called, staring up into his warm eyes.
 
“Looks like it’s time,” he licked his lips, almost like he was trying to savor the taste of her kiss forever. “You ready?”
 
“Are you?” She dropped down from where she had pushed onto her toes to press herself closer to him, taking a moment to study him thoroughly. “I know I can survive whatever Vis throws at me, but he hates you now as well. You’ll be a target too.”
 
“I can handle him.”
 
She offered him a small, sad smile. “That’s what everyone thinks the first time.”
 
Another knock before Jorah’s muffled voice sounded through the thick wood. “Daenerys?”
 
“It helps if you remember playground bully rules. Don’t react. If he sees weakness, even if he’s lit out of his mind, he’ll find a way to target it. Don’t let him. I need you to be strong too.”
 
“I promise.”
 
She pulled him down for one more quick kiss— “For luck,” she breathed against his lips before catching his hand and leading him toward the door.
 
~*~*~
 
Jorah led the way across the lawn, Jon beside her with Grey bringing up the rear. He had taken her seriously when she had said that they might need backup for this confrontation. There had been some trepidation about the location for the conversation, Jon flatly refusing to allow Viserys through the doors of the manse, and so it seemed that if the mountain would not come to R'hllor, then R'hllor would go to the mountain. She knew that Robb and Doreah were both aware they were coming, and Jon assured her that Doreah had taken the extra precaution of making sure all of Viserys’ electronics had been confiscated and handed over to Tyrion for analysis.
 
The last thing they needed was for Vis to be able to give Baelish a head’s up. Perhaps there was even something incriminating on one of the devices, something they could find that would bring an end to this nightmare once and for all. Doubtful, but one never knew.
 
Jorah turned on his heel as they reached the front door, his stern eyes passing over Jon and Grey before settling on her. “Are you ready?”
 
She took a deep breath, glancing to Jon who looked relaxed and loose, letting his encouraging nod wash over her before she straightened her spine, and lifted her chin.

Fire and blood.

“Ready,” she nodded, folding her hands in front of her to mask their shaking as Jorah knocked on the door. A maid greeted them directly, showing them into a dark and dank parlor, the shredded curtains pulled against any and all natural light. Dany could feel her skin start to crawl as she looked over the space, pristine not a week ago, and now it seemed that in spite of the staff’s best efforts, Vis was determined to destroy everything he could get his hands on, including himself.
 
“Jorah, make sure the entire staff is accounted for. They have the rest of the night off, with pay.” She wouldn’t leave anyone behind tonight, not one hapless maid, not Doreah, only Robb and Jorah would remain in this house with Viserys tonight, both men easily able to cow him into submission if necessary.
 
Jorah nodded and ducked out to perform her bidding, Jon’s hand finding the small of her back and leading her to a corner facing the door, standing even with her as they waited, Grey just inside the door and off to the side. Jorah ducked back in a few moments later, leaving the door open behind him and took his spot between Jon and Grey, the three of them encasing Dany in a triangle of protection.
 
She heard Viserys long before she could see him, cursing and stumbling down the stairs, Doreah’s soft voice trying to soothe. Robb entered the room first, his eyebrows drawn up, dark circles under his eyes as well, and Dany had to wonder what, exactly, Viserys had been putting him through lately— or she and Jon for that matter.
 
The brothers nodded formally at each other, Robb stopping at the corner of the desk as Vis entered with Doreah on his arm. Dany gasped at the sight of the bruise encompassing the other woman’s face, sorrow catching her like a kick to the gut. She had seen the pictures, of course, but the reality was much worse— as always. “Grey, please escort Doreah back to the manse and come right back.”
 
She obviously needed medical attention, the butterfly bandage high on her cheek reddening in the dim light.
 
“Grey,” Vis sneered, folding his arms petulantly. “Do no such thing.”
 
Dany nodded to him, and Grey gently reached out for Doreah, leading her from the room as Jon tensed beside her, closing the door behind him on the way out. She held her breath for a moment, waiting to see how Viserys would react, his eyes glassy and unfocused, but she knew from experience how little that meant, her cheek starting to throb with every heartbeat, the ghost of the last bruise he had ever given her coming to life within her.
 
“Finally come t’your senses, have you?” Vis studied her, eyes bright with anger, and something closer to hatred than she had ever seen from him before. “I hope for the staff’s sake tha’ my rooms are exactly as they were when I lef’ them, otherwise I will have seven hells worth of anger t’pay out.”
 
She had to focus to understand him, his words slurred and sloppy. “No one has touched your things, Viserys. We can arrange to have them brought here if that would make you more comfortable.”
 
It was astonishing how quickly she fell into the pattern, the niceties a necessity— even in this situation. 
 
“You little bitch.”
 
Or not.
 
She could feel Jon bristling beside her and she fought down her own subdued hurt, surprised that the name calling had any effect on her after all these years. “Oohhhhh, he doesn’ like tha’, your little Wolf, does he? Cunt.”
 
“Viserys, that’s enough.” She needed to take control before everything descended into chaos. “I’m here to speak to you about—“
 
“You’re here with your Bear, and your little Wolf, and—” he waved unsteadily in the direction Grey had just gone, “—whatever the other one is to grovel, t’beg my forgiveness, and

if

I can find it in the goodness of my heart, maybe I won’ use all of the resources at my fingertips to bury you all. Or, maybe, I’ll bury you together so tha’ Jon here can watch as I find a way t’fuck you over one las’ time.”
 
She hated the sound of Jon’s name in her brother’s mouth, despised the way Vis’ gaze had narrowed in on him, her hands clenching tightly at her middle, fighting to keep her calm and cool mask in place. She wouldn’t let him see through to her true heart— she refused. 
 
“Unless, he’s saved us some time, and

he’s

already fucked you?” Dany kept her eyes on Vis, willing him to turn back to her, to keep his focus on her. She could feel Robb’s gaze flickering between them both with the accusation, but didn’t spare him a glance, knowing that Viserys sometimes just needed to wear himself out with his own ‘cleverness’. 
 
“She has a sweet little mouth, doesn’ she? Wide— nice, plump lips, excellen’ for sucking wha’ever passes for a prick from you. Jus’ like she has every other man who has ever come into her service. Jus’ ask Jorah here.”
 
Vis stumbled closer, his gait uneven, and Jon tensed, his arms dropping to his sides in readiness. “Has she let you stick it up her ass yet? T’go with the stick permanently lodged up there?” His laugh made her wince, unbearably loud in the small space. “I had assumed she was all used and dried up, having had t’whore her out so much jus’ to keep us afloat all these years. But goo’ for you! She managed to keep it

tight.

You can thank Rhaegar for tha’, Daenerys.”
 
“That is

enough

, Viserys,” she snapped, her stomach turning over with his words, knowing them for the lies they were, but still feeling the sting.
 
“Oh gods,” his thin, reedy voice climbed even higher if possible, his eyes still locked on Jon. “Did you think you were fucking special? I think you did!” He crowed out a laugh, and Dany had to fight to keep her gaze on Viserys, her face getting warmer with each barb thrown at them both, Robb studying her with a newfound horror that made her skin crawl. 
 
“Dany, say what you came to say, please.” Jon’s voice was strained, his control obviously hanging on by a thread, and she swallowed tightly, reaching down deep to find her courage before she stepped forward, Jon moving right along with her.
 
“Viserys, I spoke to the Board today.” That brought him up short, his obviously addled brain struggling to track what she meant. “They were very interested to find that the state of the business was not what had been presented to them only a few weeks ago.”
 
His pasty face went another shade whiter, if possible. “Well, wha’ do I know abou’ that? Baelish is CFO, not—“
 
“Yes, Baelish. Any idea where he might be? I seem to have heard that you might have seen him in Dorne— convenient given that the last I knew the City Watch was looking for him to ask him some questions.”
 
“So wha’ if we saw him? It’s a free country, Dany. Freer than most because it’s fucking

Dorne

.”
 
Her patience was rapidly fraying, so ready to be fucking done with everything. “They will find him, Viserys, and when they do, you might consider what the best option would be for you, moving forward. You can bet that Littlefinger has already made a contingency plan that, no doubt, does not include his own fall.”
 
Viserys seemed to consider that as deeply as his current state would allow before he finally drew his gaze away from Jon and back to her. “Fuck you.”
 
“No, I’m fairly certain he will find a way to fuck you instead.”
 
He lunged for her, reflexes still frighteningly fast, but Jon was ready, hooking an arm around her waist and swinging her out of harm’s way, Jorah closing in on her other side as Robb vaulted himself into the middle of the room.
 
“How

dare

you,” Viserys raised a shaking hand, his finger pointing in the direction of her face. “How dare you speak to me like tha’. I am your

brother!

You do not want t’wake the dragon, Dany.

”

Dany had to laugh at that, her gasping making it difficult to make herself understood as her body shook with laughter. It only seemed to rile Viserys more, pacing in front of them like a caged animal. “I think it’s time to put that family facade aside, don’t you?” She drew herself together, smiling sweetly at him.
 
“I guess you’re right. You were never worth anythin’ anyhow. A waste of the name Targaryen. Decent tits, better ass— he knows. But that’s abou’ it.” Jon’s arm tightened around her waist again and she fought down the urge to pat his hand in reassurance. It was time to put an end to this charade.
 
She drew herself to her full height, turning to face her brother squarely, calling to mind the faces of every person she could think of who had been harmed by Viserys to give her strength— countless maids, Doreah, the lines of children in the dust. “Viserys Targaryen, on behalf of the Board of Directors for House Targaryen, it is my duty to inform you that you have been removed as Chief Executive Officer, effective immediately. You will receive no severance, no references, and your stock portfolio has been—“
 
“You little cunt,” he screeched. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re nothing, and when I get my lawyer on the phone—“
 
“Your lawyer is also my lawyer, Viserys, or have you forgotten?”
 
“You’re dead.” A pall fell over the room, the air gone ice cold in a breath. “You are

dead

, do you hear me? And sooner than you think, you little whore. I hope he stretches it out, I hope you suffer, I hope tha’ you—“ He lunged again, taking advantage of their shock at the sudden turn and almost managed to grab her by the hair, Jon yanking her to the side again, throwing himself in front of her as Viserys bounced off the wall directly behind them. A sickening

crunch

ripped through the room, followed by an anguished scream before he turned on them, blood pouring from his nose and covering his lips and teeth, giving his feral smile an eerie horror that shook her more than his words. 
 
“I will be the last Targaryen, Dany, and when I dance on your fucking grave—“ This time it was Robb that got between them as Viserys dove for her again, the drugs, or his own hatred spurring him on despite the witnesses.
 
“Jon, go!”
 
Jon needed no other encouragement, jerking her off her feet and half dragged, half carried her from the room as Robb and Jorah stood firm between them, Viserys trying futilely to fight past them, blood flecked spittle flying from his lips. “You’re dead, Dany. You’re nothing, and if you’re not careful, your pet Wolf is going to be just as dead beside you— I hear they dig graves large enough for two—“
 
Her blood roared to life in her ears, Vis’ voice diminishing as her world narrowed, the only sensations she could feel were Jon’s arms around her waist, pulling her from the room, his chest firm against her back. How

dare

he threaten Jon. “I swear to all the gods, Viserys, if you’re behind this— if you lay one finger on him—“
 
“Dany!” Jon’s voice was an ice cold splash of water. “Don’t.”
 
Her mouth snapped shut, realizing too late the trap she had fallen into, the flames of her temper dying down as quickly as they had flared, her feet finally working with Jon instead of against him, allowing him to pull her the rest of the way from the room.
 
Her sudden flood of adrenaline crashed, all of her courage exhausted, her fire doused— only Jon’s strong arms keeping her upright as he slammed the door shut behind them, mercifully cutting off the rest of Viserys’ hateful words, though they could still hear the dull roar of rage behind them.
 
~*~*~
 
It was an odd thing, to see so much brightness around them, the setting sun casting across the vivid green of the lawn, their steps muffled as Jon kept his arms around a shaking Daenerys… or maybe it was him shaking, the black of his rage setting a shadow across the rest of the day.
 
He’d seen vile before— men turning on each other, his own chest proof of the betrayals he had lived through, but the mere thought of the putrid words Viserys had spit at his sister made Jon want to go back into the guest house, break bones, slowly, drag the other man apart—
 
“Jon.” Her quiet voice almost startled him, snapping him quickly from his violent thoughts, air crashing heavily in his lungs. “You can let me walk now.”
 
With a sudden jerk, he let go, horrified to find he had still been manhandling her across the yard, fingers automatically curling in on themselves as he let out a shuddering breath, feet freezing into place, wanting nothing more than to gather her up, soak in the smell of her lotion, find the scent under it that was all Dany and let it soothe frayed edges.
 
But they were still in sight if the guest house.
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
“Why are you apologizing to me?” She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, lips pulled tight. “I shouldn’t have let him—“
 
“You didn’t let him do anything.” Disgust was rolling around in his stomach, making him want to vomit all over the green, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to try and help him gain some semblance of control over himself. “Nothin’ that happened in there was your fault.”
 
Even with his eyes closed, he knew when she shifted closer, his own body wanting to welcome her. “Jon, take me inside.” The warmth of her palm tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Please.”

As if he would refuse her.

His hand closing over hers, the one that wanted to go back and pummel her brother into a bloody pulp. But instead concentrated on the softness of her skin, the fragile bones under his thumb, his eyes trained on the door, their goal, ignoring the presence of Grey as the other man shadowed them back.
 
Silence surrounded them as they made their way up the steps, Dany pausing without thinking, ingrained in her now to let him go through the door first, his shoulders slumping at the sight of Dei and Doreah perched at the high table, the tea kettle starting to boil.
 
“Are you okay?” Instinct made him want to check the bruise on the face of Viserys’ now former paramour, bu
t he kept a respectable distance, another wave of tiredness rolling over him at the woman’s wary glance. He was a stranger and would not encroach on her space, instead his hand sought the familiar spot of Dany’s lower back.
 
“I will be.” She flinched slightly as the kettle started to shrill, Dei rising to take care of it. “It would have been worse if your brother hadn’t been there.”
 
“I’m sorry, Doreah.” Dany’s energy was waning, he could tell by the tone of her voice, knuckles dragging up and down her spine as if he could help keep her going forward by his touch alone.
 
“Whatever for, Daenerys?” Doreah’s laugh was dry and brittle. “It’s not as if we didn’t know what he was capable of.”
 
Another surge of rage filled him, that Viserys had been terrorizing everyone for so long, the urge to throw the man bodily off the property becoming more and more difficult to ignore, especially when the low noise came from Dany’s throat— something she was probably turning into guilt.
 
“We all knew.” Dei set down the first two mugs of tea, Grey helping her move the rest until they were all placed on the table. “Might as well sit for a minute, catch our breath. You also Jon, Grey.”
 
He ushered Dany from where she seemed to be frozen into place, a gentle prod and she moved into the chair, tucking her knees up under her chin, his heart squeezing at the sight. Despite the audience, he ran his hand over her head, stepped in closer to brush his lips over her hair.
 
Doreah’s stare was worth it when Dany sighed, tension draining from her shoulders as he took a quick glance around and pulled up his chair, reminding himself that Vis was locked up in the guest house, Robb and Jorah standing a careful and heavy handed if needed, vigil.
 
“Do you have somewhere to go?” He realized as he spoke that he knew next to nothing about the woman, credentials didn’t count, wasn’t sure if she lived at the manse or somewhere else in King’s Landing. To choke down the guilt of not taking the time to find out more information about the employees, his focus solely on Dany, he took his first sip of the tea, lip curling as sweet sat on his tongue. 
 
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Doreah shrugged. “This isn’t the worst situation I’ve been in.”
 
That filled him with sorrow, knowing the small details of the personal hells each one of the women sitting in the cold toned kitchen had been through, his fingers finding the scar on his chest, Dany’s hand closing over his when he couldn’t seem to stop rubbing it.
 
“You’re welcome to stay.” She laced her fingers through his when he turned his palm, a slight softening to his sharp edge. “I understand if you don’t want to, but we can move your room if you’d like.”
 
“Thank you.” 
 
A silence invaded the room, the sound of a ticking clock, sips of tea the only things heard for a few minutes as they all sat their in quiet reflections, turmoil still gripping him tightly, the soft grip of Dany’s fingers keeping him together. 
 
He hoped it was the same for her. 
 
“Why don’t you take the night and morning off.” Dany’s voice broke him out of his reflections, her gaze trained on her best friend. “I’ll have Irri here and the ceremony isn’t until the evening. Get out of here for a bit.”
 
“Take Grey with you.” Those words were difficult to spit out, his paranoia of Viserys, of someone still trying to kill Dany, still had him in its endless threat, but he knew he had the manpower, and the safety of the manse to give the steady man a brief break. “You’ve been here since this started. Go with her.”
 
“You don’t need me here?” Grey’s somber look turned down even more, his hand coming up to catch Dei’s as she leaned into him. 
 
“Go. If Jon says we can do without you, then we can.” Dany’s tone was firm, his thumb stroking over her wrist in appreciation, and he let himself have a moment to hope that when this was all over, he could convince her to go somewhere different from here, learn more about each other without the dark cloud casting a shadow over their light. 
 
“Doreah.” He hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to approach the subject, trying to not push or demand. “Would you like me to find someone to look at your face?” Another person to add to his list, someone under his care that had harm come to them. It sat like rot in his stomach.
 
“No.” She had softened some sitting around the table, separated from Viserys, being included in the group and not poked or prodded for details. “I know someone.” Her nails tapped a light pattern on the mug. “I think I’ll pack a few things, go stay with some friends.”
 
“You’re more than welcome to come back. Viserys will soon be gone and you’re part of the family now.”

Gods,

he was amazed at the give in her heart, the way she ignored her own pain to try and make sure others didn’t feel it. She was the most generous person he’d ever met, his own heart overwhelmed with the feel of it, the sweet outlined with the slight outline of panic, of realization that

this

was bigger than anything he knew was possible.
 
Silence covered them, Dei standing to gather up the empty cups, her hand giving his a slight squeeze before she let go and he forced the air through his nose, choking down the need to follow, to cover, to keep her smothered by his shadow at her back. With a quick nod, Grey moved to escort Doreah to her own room, Jon climbing to his feet, feeling awkward, unsure, as Dany and Dei rinsed dishes pressed close, the familiarity of friendship evident.
 
A beep from his pocket made him check his phone, scowling at Robb’s text informing him that repairs would need to be made to the guest house, but Viserys was officially passed out, and he and Jorah were making themselves comfortable for a long night of dangerous temper tantrums from a grown man.
 
“Bad news?” She was in front of him again, such a tiny little thing, chewing nervously on her lip.
 
With a shrug, he handed his phone over, let her read the update. He’d been upfront with her from the start and couldn’t fathom changing it now.
 
“Well, walls can be patched.”
 
“Aye.” He breathed out his relief as she stepped closer, hands fisting in his shirt as he tucked silver behind her ear. “What do you want to do now?”
 
“Sleep.” Dei leaned against the counter. “And I mean actual sleep, not what you two think it means.”
 
His face flamed even as Daenerys chuckled, her head tipping into his chest, his fingers going to the nape of her neck automatically. ”I think we can handle that.”
 
“Good. And with that, I’m going to check on Doreah and get Grey.” She moved towards the door before pausing, turning back to look at them. “You did what needed to be done, Dany. Remember that.”
 
“Don’t worry about me.” It was softly spoken. “I have no guilt about this.”
 
“Good.”
 
And with that one worded, but firm statement, Dei left, the space around them seeming to get bigger, making a shudder run through him, giving into the urge to look over his shoulder. 
 
“Let’s go upstairs.” It was almost a plea as she stared up at him. “I’ll have food sent up.”
 
“Okay.” He’d feel better behind closed doors, in the space that was becoming familiar, somewhere that they relax and freely explore, safety behind those doors. The winding halls were quiet except for the sound of their footsteps, his fingers curled into the back of her shirt as they moved forward.
 
Routine was a habit now, Dany settling against the wall while he cleared her room, made sure the window alarms were still activated before returning to the doorway, holding out a hand to pull her across the threshold.
 
A clatter from the hallway had him poking his head back out, Dany pressing in closer than she should be, his body on high alert until he recognized the maid with a serving cart, the smell of chicken reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten.
 
“They are fast.” He turned to her, seeing her nod of agreement, wondered if she’d even stay awake long enough to finish the meal. 
 
With a surge of affection, a flutter of apprehension for their situation, he tipped her chin, gave her a soft, thorough kiss, backing off just before they were caught, leaving her pink lipped and rosy cheeked. He moved out of the way as she chatted with the woman, smiled in appreciation before they were alone, the door clicking shut, a pause in the air as silence engulfed them.
 
“Hungry?” 
 
“Aye.” He moved off the wall, settling into a chair after she did, taking his plate and tucking into his meal, trying to read the slight awkward tension coming from her, not sure what was going on, but decided not to push at her, let her mull it over in hopes that she’d come out with it on her own. 
 
It had been a savage rip in his chest when she had confessed she had thought he was angry with her, his own inability to articulate probably a leading factor in the misunderstanding and now something was off balance again, the ground under their feet fragile, no doubt made worse by the events of the day.
 
“I’ll have to thank your brother.” Her quiet voice broke him out of his brooding. “And you of course, for asking him. I don’t think I said that earlier.”
 
He shifted again, uncomfortable, torn between relief for her, guilt again for asking Robb. “You did, though you didn't need to.” It was sharper than he intended, wincing at how it sounded to his own ears and he put down his fork to reach across and cover her hand, give it a squeeze, hating himself for the shadow on her face. “Robb will probably act like he has no idea what your talkin’ about.”
 
“I’ll still say it. That was a tremendous help.”
 
Letting go of her hand, he pushed his food around a bit more, let the quiet overtake them again, the thought that she had been willing to put herself on display filling him up with an angry ripple of unfairness and finally he pushed back his chair to stand.
 
“I’m going to go clear my room, then I’ll be back.” He tried to ignore the look on her face, the one she was trying to hide and he moved over to press a kiss to the top of her head, let himself inhale the scent of her hair, try and soothe the ragged edges that had come back aggressively.
 
Inside his own room, he let out a shuddering breath, tried desperately to gather his composure back up, everything weighing heavily, and he could feel himself starting to crack under the pressure. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to Dany, knowing somehow she would think it

her

fault when the fault lay completely within him. His hands curled into fists as he dropped to the edge of his bed, concentrating on the air moving in and out of his lungs, hoping he didn’t drown in his anxiety.
 
It was almost over, he reminded himself. They had the ceremony to get through and then he could lock her away in the manse, push and prod at Tyrion to light a fire under his PI, sit down with all their information and try to solve this, try and get her out from underneath the threat of death, try and get them to a place where they could just

be.

But first he had to push them through this, needed to remember to stay alert, vigilant, try and hold onto the fraying ends of what was in his control. It seemed less and less with each passing day, the steady chill of nerves tickling his backbone, a foreign feeling to his normally steady head.
 
The faint sound of plates and silverware came through the not fully shut door and rubbing a hand over his face, he made himself climb back to his feet, feeling remorse at practically fleeing her room.

Fuck,

he was an idiot.
 
Giving a cursory knock in case Marei was there picking up their plates, he pushed the door open to an empty room, panic a hard slap to the face at not seeing Dany at her little table, moving swiftly through the door frame, his heart in his throat until the sound of running water registered, making him pause, the high alert releasing from his muscles.
 
She was sitting on the edge of her tub, scooping up bubbles as the water line rose, hair piled on top of her head, the silver almost through, the familiarity of it making him want to smile even if he’d think

very

fondly of the time spent while she was a brunette.
 
“Couldn’t find you for a minute.” He could hear the strain in his voice, somber blue eyes met his and he felt it echo in his chest. “Scared me.”
 
“I thought I’d try soaking away the day.” She turned the water off and climbed off her perch, slipping out of the red robe, angling her chin up as she hung it up. His mouth began to water, a conditioned response at all the skin on display. “Join me?”
 
He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid enough to refuse an offer like that, and reminded himself he’d not be acting on the lust brewing within him as he slipped his gun out its holster. He watched as she settled into the water with a hiss and a moan, dropping his clothes where he stood, ignoring her raised eyebrow at his untidiness to pad across the tile, enjoying the hungry look in her eyes as he came to stand by the tub.
 
“Hands to yourself, Targaryen. You’re wearing me out.”
 
She snorted at that, and sank a little lower into the steam and bubbles, the heat making him curse as he climbed in, leaning forward to kiss her, parting her lips easily, letting his tongue curl around hers until she was pliant and soft, easy for him to drag around on the slippery surface until she was back against his chest, her hair tickling his nose. 
 
“There.” Pressing a kiss behind her ear, he let his hands cup her ribcage, moving with the pattern of her breathing and leaned back, keeping her tight against him, let the warmth of the water, of her, seep inside of him, break down the anxiety that had been building. “This is actually pretty nice.”
 
Tipping her head back, she gave him a small smile, his fingers flexing against her for just a moment. “Not much of a bath man, are you?”
 
It was his turn to smile against her teasing tone, hands sweeping up enough to let his thumbs brush the side of her breasts, teasing them both, just because he could, because it would distract them both. “Apparently I can be convinced.”
 
“Behave, Jon Snow.” She shivered against his touch. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
 
“Aye.” He let his hands slip back down, felt her relax against him as they lapsed into another silence, the only sound their breathing and the occasional drip of the faucet.
 
It was easy to ignore everything when they were like this, the weight of the situation pushed to the side with Dany gathered in his arms, safe and sound, only their thoughts there to remind them of the horrible complexity of it all. So he ignored the rage that still silently brewed within him, the itch of disgust over his skin from Viserys’ hate and concentrated on Dany’s fingers moving idly on his legs, the flowery scent of her bubble bath invading his senses.
 
At some point she fell asleep, a small pang of amusement outweighed by the frustration that they were both running themselves ragged and he stayed there, wrapping an arm around her middle to keep her upright, not willing to disturb her until he absolutely had to.
 
All too soon the falling temperature of the water had him shifting below her sleeping form. “Dany.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, brushed his cheek against hers. The brief thought of just scooping her up crossed his mind, but with everything being wet and slick, he decided against it. “Dany, we need to go to bed.
 
A sleepy hum came from her before her head lifted, his heart rolling sluggishly at the wrinkle of confusion on her forehead, her bearings lost for a moment as she looked around. “I fell asleep?”
 
“Aye, ya did.” He helped her stand, handing her a towel as they stepped out. “Snoring so loud I think all King’s Landing heard it.”
 
Her mouth pursed at him, waking up his lust again, unashamed at how his libido was tied to her lips. “You’re not funny.”
 
“I’ve been told that before.” He ushered them out of her bathroom, grabbing only his gun as he went, moving with her as she led them into his room, the bed beckoning them closer, pulling back the covers in time for her to drop her towel and crawl into the sheets.
 
Wordlessly he followed, ignoring the fact they both still were damp as she rolled into him, letting him gather her up, her fingers digging into his skin as she moved as close as she could, her sigh of contentment the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.
 
~*~*~
 
Panic had his throat closed as he woke, gasping into the morning air as he blinked himself into awareness, his body registered hers beside him, the dark struggling to keep him in its clutches next to her light.
 
The nightmare left a bad taste in his mouth, the mocking, victorious voice of Viserys taunting him, Dany broken and bleeding at her brother’s feet, his own helplessness chasing him into wakefulness.
 
With a shuddering breath, he tried to relax again, turning his head enough to brush his lips across her forehead, her nose scrunching up at the contact but those dark lashes never fluttered, causing him to smile. 
 
She had been restless the previous night, still flooded with Viserys’ negative energy, tossing and turning, leaving him helpless against her monsters, a soothing hand and rough voice pulling her from her own tormented dreams time and time again. Now the sun streamed brightly in through his blinds, far later in the morning than he normally slept. 
 
Gods, he was exhausted, needing a night where they weren’t chased relentlessly out of sleep, and the urge to roll back over, close his eyes, was overwhelming. But he couldn’t, so he slipped from the bed, wanting her to get all the rest she could and padded quietly into the bathroom, needing the distance to keep himself from reaching for her, for using her to chase away his dark thoughts, mind already starting to whirl as he climbed into the shower, buried his head under the spray of water.
 
There was so much to think about with the awards ceremony that night, her going toe to toe with her brother,

his

need to sit down and talk to his own brother, explain to Robb why he’d crossed the line, defensiveness already starting to build inside of him at the thought of it.
 
He wanted this to be over with. A mad man caught and justice served, let some calm seep back into their lives, let him and Daenerys figure out

them

without the shadow covering everything.
 
A click of the door and a cool breeze was his warning before a body was pressed to his back, his heart giving an extra thump in response, her arms winding around him, the flat of her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, the touch of her scattering his thoughts away.
 
“You left me out there by myself.”
 
He could hear the pout in her voice and he caught the hand flat against his stomach, pulling it up to press a kiss to her fingers before turning in her arms, shifting them around in the small space so she could share the water. “I thought you could use more sleep.”
 
Fingers were flexing into his back as he cupped her cheek, the warmth of emotion flooding through his as she nuzzled into it, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. That soft look in her eye helped ramp down some of the frustration inside him, some of the unease they were wading through.
 
“I think getting to share the shower with you makes up for the lack of sleep.”
 
“Sweet talker.” He thumbed over her bottom lip, the image from his dream coming suddenly and unwelcome to his mind almost making him jolt, his heart freezing, hand faltering for just a moment before he tried to shove it away, bring himself back to the moment.
 
But she caught it, the brightness in her eyes going dim, and he closed his own in frustration, his fumbling around her making him want to hit something.
 
“Jon.” There was a hesitation in her voice that almost broke him. “We didn’t talk about some of the things Vis said last night.”
 
The laugh was brittle in his throat, a poor cover for the rage, but not at her, never for her. “I don’t think we need to.”
 
“I think we do.” Her arms dropped to her sides and she stepped back as much as the small space allowed. “What he said about me and my past security…”
 
“Gods, fuck, Dany.” He cupped her elbows in horror, the fact that she thought

he

needed an explanation making his stomach turn. “A lie, the truth, that doesn’t matter to me.” He wanted desperately to pull her closer, but needed her to make that move. “That doesn’t fit here with us right now. For the record, I don’t believe him, but whoever is in your past doesn’t matter to me, because we are in the right now.”
 
She came back into his arms and he gave into the full blown addiction, the need to drop his head, meld his lips to hers, feel the softness part and give, his hand sliding to settle on her neck, the other scooping her closer until it was hard to say where his skin ended and hers began.
 
When they parted, he kept his forehead pressed to hers, the hiss of the shower muffling his heavy breathing, the tips of her eyelashes wet, hand skimming down over the curve of her hip and she made a noise in the back of her throat, something that fed the animal inside of him, a sudden bite and her lower lip between his teeth.
 
He wanted to erase the damage from her brother’s words, the attempt to cheapen the feelings between them and he didn’t know how to say it, but he could

show

her, his blood was already racing, his fingers stroking over more skin, tongue sliding deep as she melted into him, already under his thrall.
 
With an urgency he dropped to his knees, needing her mind and senses filled with him before he filled her and he ignored the hard floor under his knees or her squeak of surprise when he pushed her against the cold wall. But she was rallying quickly, thigh moving to the side to allow him access and he pushed it a little more, leaned in close.
 
Another craving of his in front of him, thumb pressing into the white skin of her inner thigh, a contrast to the flushed pink of her cunt, shining and plump with her arousal, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip and she wriggled her hips, a small hand sliding through his wet hair.

Greedy little dragon,

was on the tip of his tongue, but instead of words, he put his mouth to her, tasting her essence, spelling his thoughts out with long licks, gentle flicks, her heavy sighs of enjoyment barely heard over his own.
 
A careful hand had him helping her put a thigh over his shoulder, allowing him more room to suckle and manipulate sensitive flesh, her nails digging into his scalp with the pitch increase of her whines, two fingers parting folds, sinking into her, crooking and rubbing as he bumped at her nub, keeping contact light until she was built up enough to withstand him eating with zeal, his own patience and need pushing desperately at his control, encouraging him to

take, take, take.

He didn’t have to ignore his wants for long, caught with enjoyment of her flavor in his mouth, her unintelligible words of praise, making him push a little harder, fingers squelching in her wet heat, clit caught gently to hold against the precise onslaught of his tongue and her legs went shaky, body tightening with her release and he flared with satisfaction, his name being cried out from her lips and she shuddered against his hold.
 
She was wrecked and panting when he pulled away, her hands falling limply to her sides and he made sure she was steady— even if slumped— against the wall before he stood, wincing as his knees unlocked, dragging his nose up her heaving belly and chest, nipping at one tightened nipple, than the other, listening to her whine with the stimulation.
 
Fingers dragged over his shoulders, her claws out with a bite into flesh, making him a little more mindless as he reached his full height, dragging her back up to tug on her hair, pull her head back to ravish her mouth, giving an edge to his reckless need, not breaking away from her mouth as he got a good hold of her, hitching a thigh over his hips.
 
Eyelashes fluttered with a whine when he took his cock in hand, found the heat of her, slid into her still pulsing cunt, giving a light grind with his hips as he notched himself in as deep as he could go. Feeling her tense around him, he held still, letting her adjust, waiting until he could see her eyes open and focus.
 
“Okay?” It might be too much, his selfish arse didn’t even think about the fact he’d been ravishing her at every opportunity.
 
“Okay.” She bit her lip for a moment, taking a deep breath, nose pushing into his. “Maybe slow for a minute.”
 
He grabbed her other leg, slid her up the wall a little higher. “Aye.” Placed a light kiss to that succulent mouth. “Let me know if it’s too much.” He’d never forgive himself if he turned it from pleasure to pain.
 
“Oh, gods.” She arched into him as he began slowly. “I don’t think it could ever be too much.”
 
A hand fisted in his hair and he knew the feeling, the never getting enough of her, the need to stay buried inside of her forever, the water pouring over the two of them as he set up his careful rhythm, a dull rush in his ears as flames crawled over his skin, igniting, her cunt so squeezing tight and welcoming that he used his weight to hold her to the wall, hands full of her lovely arse to keep an angle that allowed him to sink deep into her, over and over and over.
 
She was climbing again, that extra hitch in her breath giving her away and he went a little harder, a little faster, the knot inside of him expanding, the sound of coupling flesh filling the small area. When she fell, clenching around him in waves, he held her tight, allowing himself to be dragged along, willing and consumed, eyes closed against the sensations of release, the feel of her against him, her ragged breathing in his ear and he savored it all, let it seep deep within him to keep forever.
 
“Mmmm.” Regretfully, he pulled out of her, helped her stand and pushed wet hair out of her eyes, thrilled to see the shadow gone from her face. “Now, aren’t you glad I joined you.”

Fuck,

this woman tangled him up, his heart soaring, his chuckle warm in his chest as he cupped her face. “Aye, very glad.”
 
That satisfied smile turning her lips up, he had to catch with his own, lingering for a moment before pulling away, stepping back, giving them some room as he adjusted the cooling water, handed her soap, let her lather up before quickly doing the same, helped wash the suds from her as she laughed, his fingers finding her ticklish spots, the wicked look in her eyes when it was his turn, her hands dragging heavily over his back, his arse, her teeth setting sharply in his chest.
 
“C’mon.” There was a shine back in her eyes, the ache in his heart easing up and he leaned over her to turn the water off, reaching out for towels, watching fascinated as she twisted her hair up in one, snatched his out of his hands and wrapped it around herself. He pretended to grumble as he reached for another, hands still pulling the towel around him as she stepped back into his space.
 
The air was cool when they left the shower, the ground under his feet a little steadier and he knew that sex wasn’t going to make everything dragging on them go away, that they’d need to sit down and have a real conversation about bruises and scars very soon, but it was enough for now to set it aside, to reach out and give a healthy slap to her arse, watch her jump and squeal, her face turn red as the handprint under the treatment.
 
“Jon!” 
 
She looked scandalized, her voice holding an interesting hitch that made him curious, a note for the back of his mind, so he just winked at her, ignoring his phone vibrating on the nightstand, letting himself turn serious once again.
 
“Hey.” He caught her wrist and dropped to the edge of the bed, the tangled sheets behind him holding their scent and pulled her to stand between his legs, hands settling on her hips, needing to be serious again. “I’m not a fan of Viserys going today.” That was an understatement and he was hoping he could keep his rage on a short leash. “But, I heard the Board’s decision. I’m keeping Robb and Jorah on him, maybe they can threaten him into keeping’ his fucking mouth shut.” 
 
He closed his eyes for a moment as she threaded her fingers through his wet hair, his phone starting up again but he was too occupied to be bothered to look at it, needing to be reassured, to reassure, he wasn’t sure which. “I need to know, are you going to be okay today?” 
 
“Yes. Jon—“ there was a tug in his hair as she flinched, his spine straightening in response, angry about everything he couldn’t control. “—it will be fine. I won’t even see him until we are in the car.”
 
His phone started up again and he thought about throwing it across the room, eyes shifting over to it before back to her, an idea coming to him and he didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before. “No, you won’t, he’ll be taking his own car.”
 
Surprise flickered across her face, something else he couldn’t quite decipher, her mouth softening in relief and he knew it was the right call, her bravery straining at the task of pushing away her last bit of family, and he’d do anything to help her stand against it all. “Dany—“ 
 
He stood up to pull her in, her hands cupping the back of his neck, her towel getting close to falling and he gripped her hips, adjusted, giving himself a moment to press his lips to her temple, keep her there for as long as she’d allow.
 
A sudden knock at his door startled him, her body stiffening at his reaction and he froze for a moment to hear his brother's voice, loud and panicked. 
 
“Jon! Fuck! Are you in there?”
 
His mind scrambled, fingers flexing against the curve of her, trying to figure out

what

could be the problem but before he could answer, move,

anything,

the door was swinging open, and he couldn’t fucking believe he forgot to lock it, Robb busting through, wide eyed. 
 
“Jon! Nobody can find Daenerys—“
 
~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~*~ Trigger warnings: mentions of child slavery (Dei tells more of her story), and graphic descriptions of gun violence.~*~*~*~ Robb was frozen just inside the room, his hand still stuck on the door handle, gaze fixed on the two people standing at the side of the bed. He should have known, his gut telling him this is what he would find, yet he had ignored it, let himself be drawn into Jorah’s panic, scouring the manse while security cameras showed Viserys still passed out on the couch in the guest house. Pulling himself back together for a moment, anger now replacing the worry, he closed the door behind him, eyes trained on the towel clad pair in front of him even though they’d probably prefer him to be on the other side of the door, or at least avert his gaze. 
Gods damn you, Jon.
 He tapped his comms, staring right at them. “Jorah, we’ve got her. She’s fine, Jon’s had her the entire time.” He could feel the other man’s sigh of relief, making his own frustration at their carelessness start to fester. There was tension radiating off of Jon, his brother seemingly struck silent as he readjusted the towel around Daenerys as she slowly let go of his neck, the fire in her glare felt from across the room as her eyes shifted to him, her tone as unforgiving as steel. “Is there a problem?” “Everyone has been looking for you, Daenerys.” He resisted the urge to raise his voice, wanting to shake the pair of them for their negligence, their inability to think of anyone else who might be worried during this time. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut, felt the pressure build in his jaw. Jon still wasn’t looking at him, and it was pissing him off even more. He found himself on the other end of a scathing look after Daenerys went up on her toes, whispering something to Jon before giving him a soft kiss. Then she turned, the glare freezing him as efficiently as if he’d fallen into a snowbank in winter, her chin up as she marched over to a door between their rooms. 
Fuck.
 Robb’s mind was whirling, trying to process it all. When Jon had called him, asking him to break the rules, he’d assumed they were fucking. It wasn’t a big surprise, not with the way they’d been circling around each other from the moment they met, but dread had been growing— slowly at first and then with breakneck speed at Daenerys’ reaction to Viserys’ threat. It was more than fucking— feelings were involved— tangling them together, making Jon cross lines, giving them both a weak spot in a situation where they couldn’t afford it.  “Jon.” “Let me put on pants before we have this conversation.” He felt Jon’s sigh from where he stood, averting his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the red furrows dug into his brother’s back, the sight of it more infuriating than it probably should be. “You should have been worried about pants an hour ago.”  With jeans now in place of where the towel had been, Jon spun back around and Robb could see the rigid set in his brother’s shoulders. The look on his face was partially defiance, the other part waiting for the words of disappointment to come crashing down around him— a look he hadn’t seen Jon wear for a while— not since he’d moved away all those years ago. And that fucking hurt. Gods, he wished this was any other woman or any other situation, but no, Jon had to go and get involved with the woman with the target on her back. Which meant that what Robb was about to make himself do was going to shred Jon in half. 
Better than him being dead.
 “What the fuck are you doing, Jon?” He took a step closer, keeping his voice low, not wanting to alert Daenerys to what he was going to say. Up until the previous night, Robb had assumed she was a pretty girl in a fucked up family that was pushed around. A bird with a broken wing— someone in need of rescuing, a situation that Jon wouldn’t be able to resist helping patch up. Which would have been fine. He would have done his part— he had too big of a heart not to— but no woman like that would keep Jon around for long. But no, under all of that silver hair and pretty face was a dragon, fierce when pushed, in no need of being put back together. And Robb knew that was irresistible, that Jon would be drawn to that fire from miles away. “What does it look like I’m doing, Robb?” His tone was flat, indicating a dangerous temper. “We are both adults.” “Really?” Gods , Robb wanted to shake some sense into him. “Because responsible adults would be worried about the fact that she has someone out there trying to kill her instead of worrying about getting off.” “You really think I’m not worried about that?” Fists clenched and unclenched in a nervous tick. “Do you think I’m neglectful of my job? Dany’s safety is all I think about. I’ve spent hours in front of our plan for tonight, I can recite it forward and backwards. I’ve tried to think of every scenario out there, gotten input from everyone on the security team so if I’m not doing my job then you can—“ “What happens if you’ve missed something?” Robb knew it was unlikely, he knew how good Jon was and even him being wrapped up in Daenerys Targaryen wouldn’t stop that. But sometimes, good wasn’t enough. Good wouldn’t keep Jon from sacrificing himself for her. With the cold edge of fear running through his blood, Robb watched Jon’s expressions flicker— more life in his brother than he’d seen in a year. “You’ve seen my plans, so you tell me. Since you’re all knowing and wise.” There was a sharp bite accompanying his bark, teeth bared to defend himself. “I walked into your unlocked room.” Robb made sure his tone was flat, not giving Jon an excuse to shut down on him. No, he needed his brother fully on his feet before he kicked his legs out from under him. “So, how fucking safe were you then?” Those words landed as he hoped, Jon faltering for a moment as if hit, the first mistake laid out clearly for them all to see. “We're in the secured manse.” The defensiveness was there, a recognition of the overstep. “Aye, and after Daenerys’ little protective display last night, anyone wanting her knows exactly how to hit her where it counts.” He took a step closer to Jon, a sadness sweeping through him as he got a better look at the scars on his chest, something Jon usually kept covered up. “You're obviously her soft spot, Jon. And she’s yours, so you aren’t going to be looking at this as a job— as a duty— but as a man emotionally involved. And that makes you reckless.” “Don’t question my abilities, not when you put me in charge.” There was a snarl on his face, voice getting lower, a sure sign that the thin tether to his anger was starting to fray. “I am not reckless, and I haven’t lost sight of what’s important. I will not let anything happen to her. That’s the only thing that matters.” And there it was— the thing that terrified Robb. Because he could hear it in Jon’s voice, see it in the angry flash of his eyes. If something were to happen to Daenerys, he’d lose him. They’d all watched him struggle to come to life after the Watch, unable to help as he spiraled, chased by ghosts, watching everyone with a wary eye. If he’d been anything less than the stubborn arse he was, Robb knew Jon would have succumbed to his demons. But he hadn’t, and Robb was slowly watching him start to bloom again. If even part of that was due to his involvement with Daenerys, he’d be eternally grateful to her, but if he had to choose one he’d pick Jon, every time. Because he was just as selfish with his love as Jon was selfless. “You asked me to get involved with something we had no business getting involved in.” “Yet, you did it.” “I shouldn’t have. You put me at risk, our business— everyone involved. Grey, Jorah. We are depending on you to lead us, to keep us as safe as possible.” He crossed his arms, jaw beginning to hurt from grinding his teeth together. He knew how to and what would push Jon’s buttons, and the distaste of doing it was being overridden by the need to keep his brother from turning impetuous. “What would our father say about you disregarding the rules so easily? Throwing away all our work to get laid?” It was there for a moment at the mention of Ned— that look Jon would get when he wanted approval— something he’d always craved from the man who raised him, but it was gone as quickly as a snap of fingers and Robb suddenly found Jon in his face without realizing he’d even moved, the look of black rage giving it all away. “Don’t you dare try and cheapen what I have with her.” And with those words he knew it ran even deeper than just feelings, and Robb could feel the panic growing inside of him, the desperation to drag his brother away and hide him, save him— anything to keep him alive, to keep him from getting himself killed for being in love. He steeled himself for one last blow, the one that would either break Jon or leave him standing, and then Robb would have nothing left to hold over him. “If she’s so important to you, then what happens when you’re distracted enough that she gets killed? Tell me that. Can you live with waking up every night with the nightmare of her dying?” “Get out of my room.” He’d never heard Jon use that flat, commanding tone, limits reached and pushed, the strain showing in dull, dark eyes. Guilt rolled inside him, something he’d have to learn to live with as he crossed to the door and paused for a moment, made himself unleash one more jab. “You know, the rules were given to both of us, but made for me.” He looked over his shoulder. “Father always trusted you to do the right thing.” Those final words were meant to rip deeply, and he knew they'd been successful when Jon’s face went white, reeling back as if punched. Silence accompanied him out the door.  ~*~*~ Robb’s words were rolling through him, crashing against his cracked heart, the tone of disappointment echoing through his ears, the conversation replaying over and over again until he was suffocating under them, gasping to try and pull in air. Dizzy, he dropped to the edge of the bed, the ends of his fingertips numb— he couldn’t feel them as he rubbed them on his chest, the scar under his touch tingling mockingly, the wound feeling fresh— wide open and gaping.  
Grenn, hold the gate.
 Panic rolled through him, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat, ghosts coming back to chase him down, his reeling system not strong enough to fight them back, lock them back behind the solid walls he’d built. 
Pyp’s blood warm under his hands. The gurgle against his palms. Blood, so much blood…
 
“Robb, Jon, there are rules set in place, for their safety and for yours.”
 Safety. Keep her safe.  His eyes burned as he shut them, replaying everything over and over in his mind— seeing her fall on the runway, panic in her eyes, the reflection of his, the feel of her under him, heat on his back from the fire, blistering, burning his mind.  What had he missed? 
He recognized the slim figure, falling to his knees beside her still form, the bright red of her hair hidden below her black cap. 
 
No. 
 Forcing himself to his feet, he tried to shake off the past, move his focus forward, concentrate on the upcoming event, unsteady inside and out. Leaning into the dresser, he let himself grip it until his knuckles were white and his fingers hurt, trying to stave off the despair with pain, trying to ignore that little voice in the back of his head reminding him how he always failed. Everyone died in the end because he failed. 
He tripped over a body, his heart in his throat as he flashed on his light, knowing who it was even before he rolled the body over, confirming it was Grenn, that he had given the command that sent his brother of the Watch to his death.
 A hand on his arm startled him, a shot of electricity to his system and his body moved on its own, muscle memory and trained instinct taking over and he was freed, his fingers closed around Dany’s delicate wrist, her eyes wide with shock. “Jon?” Letting go as if scalded, as if the heat of her didn’t call to him, as if it didn’t promise to melt away his frozen spots, he took a step back, bumping into the edge of the dresser, and he tried for some fucking composure, to rein back in the anxiety rolling through him. “Sorry.” Fuck. “Sorry.” Gentler this time, sucking in a big breath of air, letting it fill his lungs before he held it, giving himself to the count of five before letting go, trying to figure out what to say— how to say it. “What did he say to you?” It was there, rippling just under her skin, the fire he knew she possessed, the dragon she’d kept hidden for so long, getting ready to make an appearance in defense of him.  He didn’t deserve it. Why couldn’t she see that? Why had she let him so close? “He pointed out that I’ve been careless, makin’ mistakes.” Clearing his throat, trying to clear the way he couldn’t breathe, curling his fingers into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to touch her, pull her in close, soothe himself with the feel of her, but it wasn’t right or fair, so instead he shuffled sideways, putting much needed distance between them, the ache inside growing larger with each movement. “Mistakes? Jon, what are you talking about? You’re not making sense.”  The expression of her face cut another wide swath of agony, his eyes closing in defense for a moment, shoulders slumping forward in relief when he realized she wasn’t going to step closer, even though he wanted her to, the confusion of it all knotting up just as quickly as he was unraveling. “Dany.” How could he explain this to her, make her understand without hurting her, without breaking the trust she had in him? “I’ve been careless with you.” He made himself look her in the eye, something inside of him curling up in defeat. “I’ve been wrapped up in us, in what I feel for you and I haven’t been paying enough to the most important thing— your safety.” “You’ve kept me safe.” There was confusion flickering over her pretty features as she took a step forward, his knees locking him stubbornly into place. “So I’m not sure why you think differently. Jon—“ The soft way she spoke his name almost broke him down, ice cold fear grasping him, shaking him to his core. He couldn’t lose her like he’d lost everyone else and needed her to realize that he’d do anything, sacrifice anything to make sure she was safe. But he couldn’t figure out how to form the words, his tongue tied in knots— useless. “Have I?” He craved the touch of her skin, her small hand in his, knowing it would right his equilibrium, help settle the shaking of the ground under his feet, help him keep his head above the memories trying to drown him. He didn’t let himself reach out. “Look at what has already happened, and someone is still out there.” He could hear the desperation in his own voice. “And I don’t know who, or why, or how to stop this.” “You’re not City Watch, Jon, or any type of Watch anymore. You are not here to solve this, that’s not on you. The job you signed up for is keeping me safe, and you have.” “Until I get too distracted and I don’t.” The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a cold sweat chilling him down to his bones. “When I’m with you, you’re all I see— all I think about.” He was failing at explaining this, the ghosts of his past hanging over his shoulder, ready to mark down another mistake. “I’m not trying to say it’s a bad thing, but it could be when your life is on the line.” “This is not bad, what we have is not bad .” There was a firmness in her voice. “So don’t you dare pretend it is. I’m not sure what Robb said to make you think you are not capable of your job, but he’s wrong.” “I’ve failed before, Dany.” The metallic bite of his own blood in his mouth. Her name was an exhale, his hands finding his face, wondering how everything went sideways so quickly, the hurt squeezing his heart so tightly it was difficult to breathe. “If something were to happen to you—“ 
The funeral pyres of his fallen brothers, all lined up neatly and precisely in the snow. The numbness all he felt, all he deserved.
 His voice cracked under the strain, all too easy to imagine it— blush gone from her cheeks, life gone from her eyes— and the anguish was seeping from him as he felt her grasp his forearms, pull his hands down, a moment of resistance before he relinquished, arms falling heavily, chest shuddering with it all. “Stop.” The heat from her skin was doing nothing to melt the ice inside of him, his fear still lodged in his throat as she looked up at him, the sleeve of her robe tickling his wrists. “If something were to happen, it wouldn’t be your fault.” Her determined reassurance did nothing to calm the storm inside, his guilt and anxiety whirling around until it was impossible to see past it. Robb’s words had found a grip in the chinks of well worn armor. She didn’t know it all, he’d only allowed her to see bits and pieces, had selfishly wanted her not to run from him, but now, now, he needed her to flee, never look back. He couldn’t resist any longer, reaching out, cupping her neck, savoring the feel of her under his touch, thumbs sweeping along her jaw as he gathered the courage to break his own heart, to wound her in order to make her see reason— to see that he was just a man so used to failing those who meant something to him. “I need to put a pause on this, Dany.” She went stiff under his fingers, the bright of her eyes going dull, and his scars burned, a reminder of his mistakes. “Clarify this.”   “Us. That’s what I mean.” Considering he was so fucking craven, he didn’t know how he was finding the words, let alone pushing them out, lips numb with the effort. “You mean more to me than you realize and I cannot let something happen to you. I can’t.” “And you won’t.” There was heat in her eyes now, not the burning for him that he craved, but the boil of anger, of confusion caused by his emotional whiplash. “Why are you doing this? Make it make sense, because right now— all I can see is you willing to toss what we have to the side for some godsdammed idea you suddenly have that you can’t do your job— be with me, even though you’ve done that, we’ve done just that. So why now, Jon? Are these really your thoughts? How you really feel, or is this how someone else feels? Tell me that.” She was staring at him, waiting for him to open his mouth and offer a way out, to not tear apart the very thing he had wanted so badly, with her, and he didn’t know how to do that, the words caught in his chest behind the broken shards that lived there.  “I’ve told you why.” Gods , how was he supposed to withstand that look in her eye, knowing fully well if he didn’t, if he failed her, there would be nothing left. “Dany—“ he sucked in a breath, her skin warm and soft beneath his fingertips. “—please.” “Don’t say please to me.” There was an ache in her voice that echoed straight into his chest, wrapped around his heart. “We can do this, together .” He could almost believe it, could feel her faith in him, but he could also feel the Wall behind him, the cold of it ripping through him like the winter wind, something he couldn’t move away from and he opened his mouth to speak, a small shake of his head to accompany his weak response. “This is me, Dany, my words, my thoughts.” “I think you’re lying. I didn’t think you’d ever do that to me.” The stern softness of her voice dug into him, the shimmer of tears in her eyes pulling a quiet sound from his throat. “I won’t beg or plead with you.” Small hands circled his wrists, pulling them smoothly away from her anguished face, splintering his already fractured heart. “Because nothing has changed in the past three days to give you a reason for this.” She stepped back then and he wanted to fall at her bare feet, to apologize, promise her the world, but she deserved better, so he made himself stand still as she turned, not sparing him another look, or giving him another moment to try and fumble through a better explanation, the sound of the door closing between their rooms ringing in his ears. Almost dying hadn’t hurt this bad, the self loathing already growing with every shallow breath he took, and he knew he’d never forgive himself for doing this to her, for making the choice to break her, for letting her feel something for him in the first place. This time when his phone started ringing, he picked it up and threw it across the room. ~*~*~ Tears were burning in the back of her eyes— building, blazing, every bit of her engulfed in a flame she could not quench. She clenched her jaw tightly as she forced herself to continue to put one foot in front of the other, another piece of her heart shattering with every step, with every pace of distance she put between them. With every moment he didn’t try to stop her. She made herself keep going, her fingers fumbling with the door knob between their rooms, finally yanking it open to the cavernous silence that waited for her on her side of the door, only hearing Jon’s uneven gasps behind her instead of the steadiness of his voice that she had come to rely on. Robb had destroyed him. Somehow, in some way she didn’t understand. The broken man behind her was not Jon , not the man that she had come to know, to trust, to place her own fledgling heart in his hands. No, instead it was as if he had been submerged beneath a layer of ice. She could see him, she could hear him, but everything felt distant and distorted— cold to the touch and impervious to her flame. The world around her seemed dim, weak sunlight pouring through her bedroom window, the wooden paneling of her wall far away under suddenly numb fingers. She didn’t remember closing the door between them, she didn’t remember sinking against the wall. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, a foreign object lodged in her chest making it impossible to draw in a deep enough breath. Her knees trembled until she finally gave up and dropped, the floor closer than she anticipated, the jarring impact making her bite her own tongue. The pain lit through her like oil sparking under a flame, an instant conflagration that consumed her, her face heating, chest flushing against the sensation. 
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Irri will murder you if you come downstairs with puffy eyes.
 A crash from Jon’s side of the door startled her, and she tried to make herself go to him, pull herself back to her feet to make sure he wasn’t destroying himself along with her, but she couldn’t get her fingers to work, couldn’t make them close around the wainscoting to pull herself up, nothing but vague ripples floating up her forearms, as if her hands had fallen asleep, the first sparks of pain the harbinger of feeling returning. She didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to fucking feel anything. She didn’t want to feel the rage bubbling up inside of her, the flicker of flame that threatened to burn them all. Robb, Jon, Viserys, anyone with the poor judgement to cross her, to threaten those that she— 
No.
 She didn’t want to feel the hurt, the jagged edges of his broken promises creating a gaping hole in her chest, now rapidly filling with the same ice that had imprisoned him, dousing her normal fire, the cold spreading a thorough numbness throughout her body.  She was never supposed to have to protect herself from him . She hadn’t— had instead given him everything that she could, and for what? This is me, Dany, my words, my thoughts… The dull knife’s edge of betrayal danced across her skin, scraping and cutting and bleeding her of her good sense. She should have listened to Jorah— she should have been more careful, she should have never let him into the depths of her heart. But she had. And now she would pay the consequences, even now everything inside of her crying out for her to go to him, to take him by his arms and shake him until whatever spell Robb had cast over him broke, or vanished. To cast out the lies that he so obviously believed to be true as far away from them both as she could. To hold him close, to let him know that whatever darkness lurked within him would not frighten her. To make him see reason, to make him listen to her, for both their sakes. She didn’t want to feel the concern for him pressing in at the edges of her consciousness, Jon’s white face and grey lips frightening her more than anything else. The silver edges of the scars around his eyes had been more pronounced  than she had ever seen, all color and hope drained from his face, from his eyes— nothing but a nameless fear peering back at her, no matter how hard she had tried to make him see the truth. She especially didn’t want to feel the fear that rolled her stomach on a minute to minute basis. Her dreams were already plagued by it, eerie visions of him in death. She was constantly battered in the realm between waking and rest, held captive until Jon woke her.  Had woken her. He obviously wouldn’t be doing that anymore. A pause.  Dany started at the shrill sound of the broken laugh that left her, laughter that frightened her in its intensity, building until she couldn’t breathe, gasping against the pain, trying to get it to fucking stop.  A pause .  As if they were still in primary school and their “situation” got to be too much for his juvenile brain to take. No… She knew what a pause meant. The definition hadn’t changed since her first boyfriend had used that pathetic excuse on her when she was still a teenager— when he had become too overwhelmed by the constant scrutiny of her life and had clearly gotten what he had come for, and all that remained was to make his escape. They always got what they came for, and left. Another story for the tabloids, another of her failures spread wide for all to see— all the lies framed as an appetizer for the Dragon Queen to feast upon and then toss the incinerated carcass aside as if she were nothing more than a heartless bitch who enjoyed torturing those she had ensnared. But… this was Jon… He wouldn’t— but he had. He just fucking had — throwing her to the wolves, even if it looked as if it had taken all that was left of his strength and then some to do so. She didn’t know if that made it better or worse. 
You mean more to me than you realize and I cannot let something happen to you. I can’t.
 What the fuck did that mean? The knife shifted, burying another notch deeper into her chest and she gasped against the pain, teeth clenched at the strain of trying to push everything aside. He wouldn’t— there was no way that he would let anything happen to her— he had promised her, had made her believe that he was enough, that he would stand strong beside her no matter what came— But she was now very much alone. A gentle knock sounded, her head already turning toward the latched door between their rooms, another lance of pain searing through her when Dei’s voice floated on the air. Ah, wrong door.  “Dany? Jorah would like for me to let you know that if he doesn’t see your face in the next thirty seconds, he’s going to break the door down.” Another laugh left her lips at the absurdity of it all. Fear really was a hells of a drug. Driving completely sane men to do things they otherwise would have never entertained in a millennia.  She flexed her hands, the tingling spreading down to her fingertips and she pressed them against the hardwood floor until she could feel pain, her knuckles turning white and red in response. Another knock. “Dany? Please? Let me in.” She lifted a hand to grip the wainscoting, slipping once before she grabbed a tighter hold, forcing stiff fingers to clench, and dragged herself back to her feet, wet hair falling around her face in knotted clumps. Their shower seemed so far away, and yet her hair was still wet— no time passing at all in the grand scheme of things. Just a thousand eternities in the space of a single heartbeat. Enough for we are in the right now to become a hellish nightmare instead of the sanctuary he offered. She swayed on her feet, turning to press her forehead against the wall to ground herself, taking a moment to cinch the robe tighter around her waist before hastily swiping at her face, absurdly grateful when her sleeve came away dry. For once. It would be easier to smile through the pain if she hadn’t started crying. And she hadn’t. She wouldn’t , she refused. She would embrace the Dragon Queen for one last day before she could come back home and lock herself away from everyone until this was all over. She wouldn’t give Robb any more ammunition to use against his own brother— there would be no more casualties because of her. Never again. She could feel the brittle smile falling across her face as she made her way to the bedroom door, knowing it wouldn’t fool anyone on the other side for more than a few seconds, but needing to try. “Daenerys—“ Jorah’s voice was too loud, and she jerked the door open to find him and Missandei hovering in the hall, concern written all over both of their faces. “Hi,” she said a shade too brightly. “Sorry, the shower—“ she waved vaguely behind her. “You know how it is.” Neither said a word in response, so she forced herself to keep going. “What are you doing here, Dei? I thought Jon—“ her voice broke, her heart giving a dangerous lurch as every muscle in her face tightened. She sucked in a breath through her nose. “I thought you had the morning off? You didn’t drag poor Grey back in too, did you?” Jon’s door opened to her right, and she froze, heart leaping into her throat with a nauseous roll until Dei reached for her shoulders and turned her back into the room. “See, Jorah, she’s fine.” Dany bit her lip to keep another absurd bark of laughter at bay. Yes, everything is just fine…  “— going to get your hair under control now.” Dei shut the door firmly in Jorah’s anxious face before slipping an arm around her waist, walking her slowly over to her small table where she and Jon had just eaten dinner the night before and— “Dany?” Dei’s voice was far away as Dany tried to stop that train of thought before it completely derailed her. Her knees locked just short of the table, turning back to Missandei, needing to see her and not Jon’s face fucking godsdamned everywhere. “It’ll be easier to untangle at the vanity,” she mumbled, Dei’s small hand still on her back as she dropped onto the bench. She fumbled for the brush, handing it over her shoulder, waiting until Dei sighed and started brushing before looking at their reflection in the mirror. A haunted face stared back at her, cleverly disguised as her own. She was starting to lose weight, the hollows of her cheeks more stark than she remembered. The dark circles that had taken up permanent residence under her eyes helped to mask the irritation along the rims, only the slightest bit of red showing— possibly more from her nightmare filled dreams and lack of sleep than anything else. Her complexion was dull and splotchy in the same turn, splashes of red flowing down her neck and to her chest as well. It was a wonder Jon had seen anything worthwhile in her in the first place. Dei didn’t say anything as she combed out the tangles in her hair— Jon’s shampoo leaving a lot to be desired, and her pacing while waiting for Robb to leave hadn’t helped as she dragged a towel over and over her hair to keep herself from trying to listen in at the door.  Gods, she wished she had . If she only fucking knew what Robb had said, then maybe she could see a clear path, a way to fix all of this so they could all have what they wanted. “Do you want to tell me why Jorah called sixteen times this morning?” “Not really, no.” Dei lips flattened into a firm line, turning her attention to the tangled locks of hair, working the brush through a particularly bad snarl before pressing forward. “He said he couldn’t find you when I finally picked up the phone. No one could get ahold of Jon either. I tried calling you…” Dany swallowed tightly, another sear of pain flashing through her chest. “I forgot about the phone. I plugged it in last night, and…” Dei looked around the room, the door to the bathroom wide open, and Dany knew that her observant friend would have already noted Jon’s clothes from the night before still rumpled and laying on the floor, another reminder that her rapidly shifting world had become unsteady and unbalanced— the floor jerked out from under her sending her stumbling. “Were you really in the shower?” Dany closed her eyes before the threatening tears could fall. Had she known what nightmare was waiting for them she would have never let them leave that safe haven. “Yes.” “Just not your shower.” 
Her cheek pressed to the flat of his back, wandering fingers traveling up his muscled stomach, his mouth— hot and demanding, on her lips, her face, her breasts and cunt, the way he held her after their release, arms clasped so tightly around her she had been sure he would never let her go.
    “No.”  The brush went still behind her. “And Jorah sent Robb to find you both?” “I’m a little fuzzy on the details, I must admit.” Dei’s arms wrapped around her from behind, gathering her close in an awkward hug. “Dany, what happened?” “I don’t know!” It was almost a wail, a gasp that ripped from her before she crumbled and  dropped her face into her hands. “One second we were fine, and then Robb barged in and everything went to shit. If I would have known that this was going to happen I never would have left them alone, I never would have let Robb say whatever the fuck he said! All I know is I came back in after I was sure he was gone, and—“ She couldn’t catch her breath, her chest heaving at the memory of his hand breaking her tenuous grasp on his arm, his fingers ice-cold and closing around her wrist with a move so quick it made her head spin, the grip crushing and painful until he had finally forced unseeing eyes to open, to see that it was her and let go, scrambling back from her as if he was afraid she would be the one to destroy him, to take the blade of his own fear and drive it deep between his ribs. Dei shifted behind her, moving until she could share the bench, hairbrush long forgotten as she wrapped her in a fierce embrace, her arms iron bands keeping the despair at bay through force of will alone. “He said Robb pointed out some mistakes, that he’d been careless, but I don’t know— he wasn’t making any sense and I couldn’t get through to him, and now we’re—“ she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sob that was desperately trying to escape from her chest, a sob she couldn’t afford to let go of or she would never recover. “Oh, Dany,” Dei’s voice was impossibly soft, velvet wrapping around all of her hurts. Dany shook her head wildly, “I can’t do this, Dei. It’s too much, too hard, and I can’t—” “Daenerys Targaryen.” Dei’s hands came to rest on either side of her heated face, her fingers cool to the touch, but her eyes were blazing with a fire the likes of which Dany had never seen. “Do not ever say anything like that ever again. I know it hurts, and I know it seems like the worst possible feeling right now, but I have yet to see you fail at anything you truly put your mind to— and right now, the world is so much bigger than Jon fucking Snow.” Her words worked as well as any slap, jerking Dany back from the precipice of despair that had appeared under her unsteady feet. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t feel your feelings— I’m not saying you should stuff everything down and find a way to soldier on, but Dany…” Dei’s voice softened, gentle fingers swiping under her eyes as she took a deep breath and continued. “My brother and I were taken when we were young. He was only seven years old— I was five. We had been playing at the beach, not so very far away from our mom, and two older brothers. One moment everything was just as it should be— butterflies everywhere, an idyllic swirl of color and life, and the next?” Dei shook her head, horror making her golden eyes seem dull. “It was a nightmare, Dany. We tried to stay together as best we could, and for a while we were allowed, after all a calm child was a child that could work.” She let go of Dany, her hands falling into her lap as she reached for the button on the cuff of her sleeve. “We were sent to work in a textile factory— not unlike the ones the City Watch found outside of Astapor. If the masters were ever displeased, whether it be a dip in production, or a sluggish line, or gods forbid— someone got hurt and the blood stained the product— we would be punished.” Dei pushed her sleeve up, turning her arm over for Dany to see the huge, discolored scar, stretched and ropy across her delicate skin. “I fell asleep watching the loom once— it was huge, mechanized, and required deft and small hands to operate it. We hadn’t eaten in days, it was hot, and I fell asleep. I woke to one of the masters dragging me across the floor by my hair. As he heated an iron bar in the fire, he told me that in the old days, I would have lost a hand for my ‘laziness’, but my hands were still needed.” Dany’s eyes rounded in revulsion as her eyes strayed back to the burn on her best friend’s forearm. “The pain was excruciating. I only lasted about four seconds before I passed out. When I came to, my brother was holding me in his arms, sobbing, offering to pay the price for my mistake.” Dei took a shuddering breath. “Since he was two years older, and bigger, they said he didn’t still need his hands. So they took them. This beautiful boy who had taught me to climb trees and could catch a fish with his bare hands, could now do neither. And he died, no more than a week later.” Dei’s hands found her own, fingers threading together against the memories that must have haunted her best friend’s every thought. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to feel hurt and discarded and betrayed, but I am saying to take your broken heart, and turn it into good. You can do good in spite of this pain, Dany. And yes, it is too much, and it is fucking hard , but most things worth doing are exactly that. We keep doing them anyway. Because some things in this shit world matter. And they are bigger than you, or me, or Jon. They’re bigger than all of us.” Missandei squeezed her hands, pulling her sleeve back down and buttoning it back once more as she stood. She leaned forward to pick up the discarded hairbrush, turning Dany’s head forward again. “You’ll find a way through this, I know you will. But until you do— we have a speech to finalize. Think you can handle that?” Dany took a shuddering breath, trying to gather the courage that Dei had spent years quietly demonstrating every day. “Will you help me?”  “Of course,” Dei nodded firmly, the brush scraping gently against her scalp.  “Then I can try.” “One step at a time, Dany. That’s all any of us can do now.” ~*~*~ When he opened his door to catch Jorah and Missandei standing in the hall, he almost turned and went back into his room, the agonizing wounds still raw and gaping, a hurt of his own creation, but he couldn’t , because he had a fucking job to do and there was no time to think about how cold he felt or how his chest wouldn’t expand to take a full breath.  No, he ruined them to keep her alive and that meant he would have to push forward, ignore the nausea threatening to take him out at the knees, or the fact that he couldn’t stop rubbing his scar, couldn’t shake the urge to just close his eyes, exhaustion chasing after him. He wished for that detached feeling, the one that had come after the medication had dulled his pain, fluorescent lights burning into his vision, the blissful relief of feeling nothing after waking up in that hospital bed. Instead, he was drowning, struggling to stay afloat, the long line of ghosts behind him, waiting for him to just give up. The footsteps beside him kept pace, no doubt an angry Jorah but he didn’t have the energy to confront the older man, all his own hate and hurt a layer over his skin, a defense mechanism ready to snap and snarl, try and help keep him put together.  “We were worried this morning.” It was there, sitting heavily on his heart, the wounded, broken beast he tried to keep locked down deep. “ You were worried, I knew exactly where she was.” That didn’t seem to sit well with Jorah, as he expected, and he should feel ashamed of himself, but only an ache filled him, leaving him bitter and broken. “She was safe.” “It was still a bit careless.” They were words that were supposed to be a grudging agreement, an acknowledgment, but all Jon could hear was Robb’s voice, see the long list of failures. His breath clogged in his throat, Jorah’s careful stare making his feet feel heavy, like blocks of ice, the journey from his room, from Dany , more and more difficult with each step. 
It was for the best. She was the only thing that mattered, not his own hurt.
 He didn’t have it in him to reply— to agree, disagree, anything— so instead, he trudged down the hall, shoulders rounded as he passed through the now familiar manse, ignoring the man at his side to try and block out the look of hurt on her face, the one that he had put there with every one of his stupid actions. Robb and Grey were already in his office waiting, Jon giving himself a reminder that they still had to finalize a few things, that this wasn’t about him and what he was feeling. No, he was a miniscule part of a greater plan, and he had momentarily forgotten. And now look where he was. “The Greyjoys will meet us there.” He didn’t feel like wasting time on niceties, not even looking at Robb as he crossed the room to his desk, let himself lean on his knuckles for a moment and close his eyes. He could smell the cool crisp air that came with snow.   Giving a slight shake of his head to scatter his thoughts, he turned back to his audience. “We are taking two cars. I’m not subjecting Daenerys to riding with her brother.” Anger. He could still feel anger, something more than pain to focus one. “Missandei needs to go ahead, so three cars going out. Jorah, you’ll take the first, Dany and I will be in the second, Robb and Viserys in the third.” “Let me ride with Viserys.” Jorah’s voice was steady and serious. “I have a few things to say to him to make sure he is on his absolute best behavior tonight.” A seething remark was on the tip of his tongue, hard to restrain when Jon knew about some of the abuse she’d suffered from her brother while Jorah was responsible for her safety, but picking a fight was not the answer or solution to everything swirling around inside of him. Instead, he made himself nod his agreement. “Fine, Robb and Jorah will switch. Grey, you’re in Dany’s car and I trust you have our escape routes planned out?” He waited for confirmation before continuing, ignoring the prickle at the back of his neck, the heat of bodies in the room making him want to twitch. “We will stagger them out. Car one will be there thirty minutes in advance, and I want Dany out of the entrance before Viserys comes in. I want them kept separated as much as possible.” His fingers curled into his palms, claustrophobia crawling up his spine, cold chills in its wake. Gods, what was wrong with him? “Any questions?” “Am I to be stationed at the car the whole time, or do you want me inside?” It was a spot where he had been wavering, exactly where to put Grey, dependent on his solid nature— the need to make sure they had a way out, the runway show still burned into his mind. 
The heat from the lights, the difficulty moving through bodies, how she fell into him and he was shivering as he looked down, but her hair was red, not silver, the freezing cold finally making itself known, pants soaked all the way through. How long had he been kneeling in the snow? Long enough that his knees, his hands were covered in blood— their blood, her blood— the red crystallizing into ice, sparkling in the dim light.
 “On the perimeter.” The effort it took to drag himself back from the memory made him feel like he’d run a marathon, out of breath— body tired. “I want you out there and keeping an eye out, keeping our exits clear. We will have help from the Greyjoys, but I want to run it like it was just us.” Blowing out a breath, ignoring the tightness in his chest, he took a habitual glance at his watch, eyelids fluttering shut for just a moment, realizing it was still around Dany’s slim wrist and gods, fuck, he selfishly wanted her to keep it, hold onto it, keep something that was his. He pulled his phone out of his pocket instead, feeling the urge to laugh at the shattered screen, thought it was an apt representation of himself. “Any questions?” Tossing his useless phone onto his desk, he caught sight of the clock on the wall, noted that a suit, his suit for tonight was hanging on a rack, the sharp sense of loss ringing hollowly through him. With quiet shakes of heads, everyone started to filter out, giving him some much needed space to maybe thread back together his shredded stoicism, to wallow in his heart, to chastise himself for things done wrong. But when the door snicked shut, Robb remained behind, and Jon could feel even more frustration building— wondered how he would find an outlet to place all of his feelings until they could be managed, wrangled back into their box. “Yara Greyjoy called me because she couldn’t get ahold of you.”  He made a noncommittal noise and chose to rub his hands up and down his face, wishing his mind could clear, or that time could be backed up so he could do things better— differently— but a sharp stab of agony almost made him double over at the thought of not having those moments with Dany. 
He really was a selfish bastard no matter which way it went.
 “I’ll order you another phone through the business, have it overnighted.” He tried not to recoil as Robb moved to his side, his skin prickling with the closeness, suddenly unable to have someone in his space, but held his ground as his brother picked up the ruined phone. “Gods, it looks like it was run over.” 
Or….. thrown across a room.
 Instead of giving as answer, he shrugged, wishing for some solitude, afraid of being consumed by his misery if he was left alone and fiddled with the paper copies of Greyjoy contract on his desk, trying hard to make sure his voice was level when he spoke. “Looks like it.” “Was it like this when I tried to call this morning?” It was white hot inside of him, a boil of rage, his jaw clenched so tightly that it hurt, something to focus on besides the urge to break Robb’s nose. “I don’t see how that matters.” The strain in his voice must have given him away, the icy ocean rolling inside him, churning and unsettling as Robb gave him a long look. “Jon, once this is over, she will forgive you and you two can try something then. You’ve just gotta stay focused on getting her out of this alive.” His laugh was a hollow echo of the shell he had been, would slowly turn back into until he was nothing but dust to be blown away. “No she won’t. She shouldn’t.” ~*~*~ Missandei kept her busy for the entire day, endless tweaks to her speech, numerous calls to nervous board members, even fielding one from Barristan Selmy about her top choice for Viserys’ replacement. Irri and Jhiqui flitted in and out of her room at will, bringing beauty supplies, accessories, and a small mountain of shoes to try on and then discard until they found the perfect pair to go with the dress that she had spent many a painstaking hour hunched over with the ateliers , determined to make it as beautiful as Rhaegar would have. If she hadn't been so heartsore all day, her jaw aching from unconsciously clenching against the constant threat of tears she refused to let fall, she might have had some fun, the women a soothing balm to her hurts and stress. She longed for the days when they could be as they were when they were younger— four young women exploring the world together. But that had been before her world had shattered the first time. Once Irri was done with the finishing touches of her hair and makeup, mercifully quiet about the marks that hadn’t fully healed yet— for once— Jhiqui and Missandei helped her step into the dress, a confection of violet tulle that slipped over her tired skin like cool water. Her only accessories were a pair of bronze sunburst earrings, and her mother’s pearl ring. The heels Irri had finally settled on were simple enough— also bronze, and only a few inches high as the skirt was long and the train would stretch behind her for at least three feet.  “All right, hand it over.” Dei folded her arms and tapped her foot. Dany looked at her in confusion. “What?” “The watch. You can’t wear it tonight, and you know it.” Her heart stopped, fumbling fingers closing over Jon’s watch still displayed on her wrist, fiddling with the knob on the side of it. It was astonishing how quickly all of the sound seemed to be sucked from the room, only the cavernous ticks of the watch heard over the pounding of her heart. She knew it was stupid, she knew it would land her on all of the “Worst Dressed” lists, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. Giving up the watch, returning it to him, meant that they were truly done— that the delicate dance that had started as a game between them was over, and she couldn’t bear the thought that she might not ever see the wide smile the mischievousness of it brought to his face again. “It’s fine,” she struggled to push out the words. Irri and Jhiqui stared at her as if she had gone mad. Dany steadfastly ignored them, looking into the vanity mirror to pat non-existent out of place hairs, only Missandei willing to push the issue. “Dany,” she warned. Dany bristled, more than ready for this day to be over and dug down deep, her stubbornness surfacing in the wake of sorrow. “No, Dei. I’m wearing it, and everyone else can get over it.” “It’s going to draw unwanted questions, and you know it. What if there’s a mani-cam, and they ask about it? Are you really going to be able to keep your composure then?” “I’ll use my other hand if I have to do something so insipid. The watch stays.” Her eyes were burning again, tears pricking at the back of her eyes as she blinked furiously. Dei sighed, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “Fine,” she walked over to take Dany’s hand, unwinding crossed arms to squeeze her fingers. “You know I’m just trying to help, right?” Dany wilted, knowing she wasn’t angry at Dei, not truly, more of her rage seeping out, searching for a target for her to aim squarely at, so beyond tired of being beaten down at every turn. “I know,” she murmured, squeezing back. “At least take this—“ Dei pulled out the phone Jon had given her the day before, and Dany could feel the blood rushing from her face, wanting nothing to do with the poisonous gift he had given her. Gods, she had been such a fool.  She shook her head, her earrings bouncing against the straining muscles in her neck. “I don’t want it.” Dei sighed. “Dany, take it, please. You’re going to have to ride to the Red Keep with him. If you take this, you can at least text me the entire way if you want. The ride is going to be difficult enough.” Dany closed her eyes, knowing that Dei— as usual— made absolute sense, but she couldn’t help the sting of betrayal she felt as her fingers closed woodenly over the phone. What other reminders of shattered dreams would she have to confront today, she wondered. “Fine.” The three women stood in front of her, taking her in, Irri giving her lips one last touch up before handing her the lipstick to reapply as needed, and Jhiqui pressed a small handkerchief into her hand. Dei had made sure that Irri knew to use waterproof makeup, but just in case. “You look beautiful.” Dany felt the flicker of a sad smile flit across her face. “Looks can be deceiving,” she said quietly, taking a moment to fluff out her skirt. “But, thank you.” “Are you ready?” Dei's voice was deceptively soft.  A day ago she would have wondered if Dei meant the event, the speech, or even facing her vile brother, but she knew what she truly was asking. They had successfully hidden her away from her hurt for as long as they could, but now… Now she would have to find a way to face him, a way to stand strong against the tumult of agony that lay within her, the merest brush against the knot of pain ready to make her knees buckle and the sobs she had successfully kept locked away to escape.  No, she was not ready. But she would have to find a way, to do as Dei had suggested and take her heartbreak and turn it into good— somehow. She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Of course,” she lied. Irri and Jhiqui stayed behind to help clean up the shambles of making her room into an impromptu beauty station, and Dei looped her arm through hers as they moved down the hall and to the stairs. He was waiting at the base of the grand staircase, speaking softly into the comm at his cuff, no doubt directing the rest of the security team even as he waited for her. She stiffened at the sight of him, knees locking, cold fingers of dread curling themselves around her shattered heart.  Dei squeezed her arm. “I’ll go run some interference, give you two a few moments in private.” “No, don’t—“ But she was gone, leaving her scrambling for the railing as Dei pulled away gently and swept down the stairs. Jon turned, no doubt his sharp hearing picking up on their whispered words, and Dany fought to school her features into something neutral, at the very least. She found that she was suddenly transported back to the day of their first meeting, his eyes just as arresting as they had been then, only with a good deal more pain visible to her now. It was like a kick to the chest, a heavy boot planted directly onto her sternum, the weight of it pressing and suffocating as she fought for breath. His eyes never left hers as Missandei swept past him with a cold glare of her own, slipping out the front door as silently as the grave.  Fucking move, Daenerys. She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, her knuckles white against the bannister, drawing her shoulders back and fighting down the urge to duck her head, keeping her chin up against the weight of his gaze that threatened to drag her down into the pits of all seven hells. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the base of the stairs, battling back the need to reach for him, the urge to slip her fingers into the crook of his elbow. He looked gorgeous— the suit she had chosen for him perfectly draped across his broad shoulders— but his eyes. Gods , his eyes were likely to murder her where she stood, the pain and torment swirling there making her feel as if she had just strangled a puppy to death in front of him. Her mouth was dry, and she tried to swallow, to relax her clenched jaw, but she couldn’t— she couldn’t act as if nothing had happened between them, as if she hadn’t given him her whole heart, the gaping hole she felt in her chest now making more sense. Her heart belonged to him. Likely always would. What did that make her now? An empty shell of a person, completely at his mercy? She had never allowed anyone to have that kind of power over her— not even at her worst, lowest moments. She had never been nothing, and the gods knew she wasn’t about to become so. But what good was that pride now? He was the first to drag his eyes away, something within her gaze frightening him, and she felt her heart give another anguished twinge. His gaze flickered over the rest of her before resolutely turning towards the front door. Her mind raced, trying to think of something, anything , to say— even something stupid would be better than standing in the solemn silence, allowing their still fresh wounds to split and bleed all over each other. He surprised her though, his voice rasping out a question. “Is that one of yours, then?” She blinked, trying to decipher what he meant, brain working double time as she noted how godsdamned tired he looked, her heart aching to take him in her arms, to soothe all the hurts that plagued them both. “What?” “The dress. It’s—“ his throat locked the words away before he could finish, and she felt the lump in her own throat swell to match. “Yes.” She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t so she rushed on. “It has pockets.” She closed her eyes against the awkward surge of embarrassment that coursed through her, her tongue tied in knots. But she fought through, shoving her hands deep into said pockets, her fingers brushing against the phone he had given her not twenty-four hours before, her hands clenching into fists to keep herself from throwing herself at him, shaking him, demanding that he talk to her. He still wouldn’t look directly at her, her frustration starting to build anew with every avoidance. “I like the suit.” She couldn’t help the strangled tone of her voice, her stomach plummeting with the discovery that Missandei had found him a pocket square to match her dress. “Aye.” She could feel her face tightening with each taciturn word he spoke, the ache in her temples expanding as her jaw clenched harder, only her iron will keeping the tears at bay. This was torture. She was never going to make it through this evening intact, and would be lucky if she was left in large enough pieces that she could stitch herself back together at the end of it. “Jon—“ “Did you finish your speech?” She blinked, more off balance than she cared to admit around him, left reeling at his sudden change of subject. “Yes?” “Good.” He finally turned to her, and she felt her breath catch in her chest at the rawness she saw on his face, hurt mixed with pride, writ wide for all to see. “You’re going to set the world on fire.” The tears were back, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep her composure, to not allow herself to fall back into him, even though it was all that she craved. “Jon—” she hated how her voice shook, wanting nothing more than to lean into the encouragement he offered, to comfort him, find a way to let him know that she still cared, was now more than concerned for him. “Are you all right?” She took a step closer to him, another kick to the chest when he scrambled back from her, as if he was afraid one touch from her would shatter him beyond repair. The front door jerked open before he could answer, the heat of the early evening sweeping in and immediately smothering them both. Robb poked his head through, blue eyes taking stock of them both before settling firmly on Jon. “First car’s leaving now, brother. Missandei and I will see you there.” She couldn’t do this— she couldn’t stand to hurt him anymore, her mere presence flaying them both where they stood. “No.” Both men turned to her in surprise. “No?” Jon asked carefully, eyes searching hers frantically, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Her mind whirled as she tried to think of an explanation, something that seemed normal, and not like she was trying to punish him when it was the exact opposite. She couldn’t stand the thought of becoming something that caused him more pain— it would kill her where she stood. “I think Robb should ride with me.” She could hear the sound of the air that left his lungs, a gasp and groan that mixed and bled into the other. “Dany, I don’t think that’s wise—“ She pulled herself to her full height, looking past them both to where Missandei was waiting by the first car. “You can join me again when we get to the event— but, last time I checked, I am the client, am I not?” She hated herself for hiding behind the Dragon Queen mask that he despised, but she couldn’t allow him to constantly beat himself over the head for her. His nostrils flared, anger leaking out as he looked to his brother who offered no help, only a shrug. “It’s doable,” he admitted. She could hear the grinding of Jon’s teeth, even with the three paces of distance that stood between them. He looked to her once more, anguished gaze pleading with her not to do this, but he didn’t understand, and she didn’t know how to make him see this was for the best, feeling just as lost as she had been that morning when the world fell to pieces around them both. “Jon, go with Dei, please.” She could hear the strain in her own voice, and something in her eyes must have convinced him because he gave a jerking nod and turned on his heels without another word, his back ramrod straight, shoulders pulled back against the weight of it all. Robb turned to study her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the flash of rage at bay, to keep from telling him what she truly thought of him and his tactics. Instead, she felt the calm mask she had been desperately trying for finally fall into place, and turned to him as Jon and Dei climbed into the first car and pulled away. To his credit, Robb paled considerably as she let her frigid gaze sweep him from head to toe. “Shall we?” she said, her tone the ice cold blue of the flame she felt spark to life inside of her.  After all, cold could burn as well. “Aye,” his voice faltered on the single word, but he signaled for Grey to pull the car around. They waited in silence as he did so, Dany’s fists clenching around the items in her pockets, realizing too late that she had likely crushed the copy of her speech and pulled her hands out to clasp them in front of her, trying to arrange her thoughts to focus on the matter at hand, and not how drawn and tight Jon’s face had been, how his shoulders had rounded in defeat, making the outline of his holster stand out beneath the fitted jacket, how he looked as if he were barely hanging on to the shreds of his sanity by a thread. Grey pulled to a stop and Robb opened the door for her, trying to help her tuck the yards of skirt into the car before she waved him off, closing the door in his face and waiting impatiently as he walked around to the other side. She closed the partition between Grey and the rest of the car, knowing that one of them would break the tenuous silence between them on the ride, offering Grey a sad smile as he studied her in the rear view mirror. Robb opened the door and climbed in, taking one of the seats that lined the side of the limo rather than sit next to her. Already so different than Jon. Robb reached over to knock on the partition, and Grey accelerated down the winding drive. The day was warm, but beautiful, deceptively so. As if it would not go down in history as one of the worst in her young life so far. She ignored her company, staring sightlessly out the window, hands folded demurely in her lap, concentrating on pulling in one breath after another. They rode in silence for what seemed like an eternity, King’s Landing passing by her unseeing eyes, before the quiet finally seemed to be too much for Robb to bear. He cleared his throat, waiting for her cold gaze to land on him before he spoke. “Look, we don’t know each other well.” She had to fight down an absurd laugh at that fact. “We don’t.” “I just don’t want to see my brother get hurt, is all.” She didn't bother to fight back the brittle laugh again, allowing it to fall from her lips and shatter at Robb’s feet. “Is that what you think I want?” “I don’t know what you want.” 
For this entire nightmare to be over, to find a way to live without fear as her constant companion, for Jon to find his way back to her.
 “It doesn’t seem to matter what I want, Robb. Not if the choices are continually snatched from me.” “Is that what you think happened this morning? That I somehow forced Jon into a decision he didn't want to make?”  This is me, Dany, my words, my thoughts… “I honestly don’t know what happened this morning.” Her voice turned sharp to her own ears, snapping her eyes up to meet Robb’s cold, blue gaze. “Would you care to enlighten me?” He swallowed tightly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was so similar to Jon that she felt a snap of pain deep in her chest. “I reminded him of his duty.” “Ah, yes. The job, ” she snarled. “He’s getting too wrapped up in you, Daenerys. And, if I’m not mistaken, I think that’s mutual. You’ve become a weakness for him, and that can’t happen, not while someone is out there hunting you.” She closed her eyes against the ever present reminder of the constant danger she undertook every time she left the manse. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think that it doesn’t frighten me as well to think that he might do something stupid to make sure I stay safe?” “I don’t know.” “Well, it does,” she snapped, jerking her gaze back out the window, the whirl of other cars outside making her stomach churn almost as much as the thought of Jon putting himself in harm's way, for her.  Robb sighed deeply. “I don’t know how much he’s told you about the last year.” 
I should have been wearing my vest that night… I thought I’d be fine… I thought I had enough men out there to prevent anything from happening. I was naive enough to not fully believe our men would actually do it… 
 
I was wrong…
 
If I’m not over that, then I don’t think you need to worry about three nights sleeping in here...
  The lump in her throat was difficult to swallow around. “Some… Enough.” Robb seemed surprised at that, his eyebrows arched to his hairline. “Then you know it’s been a difficult road.” “I know if it came down to him or me you would choose him.” He shifted uncomfortably across from her, blue eyes cutting away from her firm gaze as he opened his mouth to explain. “There’s no need to try to deny it, or pretty it up, he’s your brother.” She let that hang in the air between them, clenching trembling fingers tighter against her middle as she tried to find a way to make him understand. “The fact of the matter is— you and I? We’re not so different, Robb. We would both make the same choice. I don’t want anything to happen to him either.” She could feel her stomach rolling, again, at the thought of him lying lifeless in her arms, tears of blood streaming down his beautiful face, the scars that she had so lovingly traced and committed to memory ripped open anew. Her dreams had been haunted for weeks now with that image, Viserys’ threats chasing her through the night, the only solace to be found in the shelter of Jon’s arms. A shelter that Robb had demolished. Her only relief now was the knowledge that if Jon lay dead, then surely she was not far behind, and this nightmare would finally be over. “ Enough doesn’t mean that you know what the last year has been like, Daenerys— how close we came to losing him. I’m only trying to protect him.” She nodded, taking his words in. She didn’t know what had been, she only knew what was. “I understand that, I do— but, I don’t know how to make you understand that you failed. Whatever you said shattered him, Robb. You played with fire that you had no business lighting in the first place, and Jon is the one paying the price now.” Robb lifted a hand in protest, but she kept on pressing forward, not allowing him a moment to speak. “Do you think that he’s ok right now? Because I don’t. The Jon that I saw after you left this morning is not the same Jon that I left with you, and I think you picked a fine time to obliterate his confidence.” She fought down the gasp of pain those words brought. “You broke him— made him believe a lie that took root in his very soul— and I don’t know that any of us have any idea how to help him piece himself back together.” Robb was silent, face tight with apprehension as Grey pulled into the drive at the Red Keep. “I know you’re his brother, that you’re concerned for him— that you love him.” She faltered for only a moment before forcing herself on. “But, if you’re really trying to protect him, perhaps you might consider a better way of going about it.”  The limo rolled to a stop, and she stared idly out the darkened window, her eyes drawn immediately to Jon, already standing ready at the gate and headed to her door, stride quick and determined, face shadowed and dull. It pulled at her heart— the need to go to him, the knowledge that she couldn’t, so instead she made herself turn back to his brother, finish what she was determined to say. “Because if you’re trying to protect him by destroying him? That doesn’t sound like what little I do know of you— what someone who loves him would do. That sounds more like something my own brother would do.” Robb reached out to grasp her wrist, the same wrist Jon had gripped with such desperation mere hours before, and she fought down the flash of pain, schooling her features before she turned back to him, eyes bright and burning. “I told him you’d forgive him.” “Personally, I’d be more concerned about him forgiving you .” The door opened, sunlight pouring in, Jon’s scarred hand appearing and she shook off Robb’s grip to take Jon’s hand without a backward glance, needing to be out of the car, away from Robb, away from the swirl of emotion that confused and frightened her. Instead, she allowed Jon to help her from the car, fighting to keep the smooth, cool mask firmly on her face. She wouldn’t distract him— not today. He searched her face before his dark eyes flitted back to the open door. “He’s fine.” She let go of his hand quickly, before she could get used to the feel of it exactly where she longed for it to be, taking a moment to smooth her dress down and shake out the train of her skirt. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”  She took a deep breath and turned, offering a quick wave to the boisterous crowd that had already gathered before falling into step with Jon as if nothing had changed, as if their bubble of joy had not burst around them. He tucked her under his arm and ushered her into the safety of the nearby press junket pen, and she turned her face into his chest, avoiding the cameras as best she could, unable to fight down the longing to feel his heartbeat under her fingers— that perfect match to her own. Instead, her cheek met a hard surface, his bullet-proof vest scraping gently against the side of her face. She glanced up at him, his own face hard and lined, dark eyes focused and already roving over the crowd. She felt a pang, deep in her chest, at the pain she still saw reflected there, desperately wishing for a way to make itself known, to repair the damage that had already been done. She may not have been there in the trenches with him for long— she definitely hadn’t grown up with him, but she would be damned if she let him go now— especially when he was hurting and afraid. She would find a way to bring him back to her. She would. And she was Daenerys Targaryen. She always got what she wanted in the end. ~*~*~ She hated him. Not that he could blame her, hadn’t he said almost as much to Robb? Her contempt was nothing compared to what he felt for himself, but still, seeing those blue eyes filled with hurt made him desperate to get as far away from her as possible, to wrap her up tight and never let her go, beg for forgiveness and hide them away from the rest of it until she would stop looking at him like that, until he could see happiness shine. But then, his wounds were gaping, wide and deep enough that everyone must be able to see to his empty insides, her tone set firmly, throwing back down his imposed boundaries as she informed them she would be going with Robb. Another thing he couldn’t blame her for. Why would she want to subject herself to his miserable company? And now he was hiding behind dark sunglasses as they moved through the maze of King’s Landing, trying desperately not to buckle under the disapproving glare of Missandei, his shoulders so stiff that he could feel the resounding ache in his neck. “When am I allowed to inform Ziry where they will be setting up for their interview?” If he hadn’t already been frozen through, the chill in Dei’s voice would have given him frostbite. “As she’s pulling up to the curb.” “Right, because her safety is the priority.” That finally pulled him away from his blinded stare out the window, the bite deep enough to sting— another tear in him and he wondered how many injuries he could sustain until it was finally too much. 
He’d been wondering that for years.
 “That’s been my priority since the moment I met her.” His throat was tight, words squeezing out and fuck, he had made such a mess of things. “There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe.” “Except stay with her.” Eyes shut to keep down the rising wave of misery, he shook his head, couldn’t figure out how to make everyone see without spilling out parts of himself that he was ashamed to show, that he didn’t want to relive again— the pain still too fresh.  “I made a choice.” The taste of it still burned in his mouth. “If you think it was easy, you’re wrong, but she’s more important than my feelings, so I decided—“ “Yes—“ Missandei had also mastered a tone that offered no room for absolution. “— you, decided and didn’t even let Dany have a say in this. She’s as much affected as you are.” Dark eyes narrowed at him, making his spine straighten under the scrutiny. “So, tell me, how does that make you better than anyone else in her life?” A slap would have shocked him less, her words leaving him reeling and unbalanced, unable to respond, the jittery feeling in his veins increasing and he couldn’t breathe . He pressed his forehead against the window for a moment, needing the cool contrast against his too hot skin, wondering if he would ever get past the need to flay himself open in a penance for causing her pain. 
Oathbreaker. Bastard.
 
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
 “I guess I’m not.” And he had wanted to be everything for her, but the voices of the past still rang in his ears, through the ache in his head, his heart. “I tried and I failed.” It was an internal fight to bring his eyes back up to meet the gaze of Dany’s best friend, hard work to put steel in his voice. “But, I won't fail in this.” The car pulled up smoothly to the curb, the crowded keep even more so as crowds started to gather, paparazzi setting themselves up in their designated area, and he adjusted his sunglasses, missing the familiarity of his leather jacket as he readjusted his suit, digging deep to detach himself, pull on the persona that let him lead— protect— anything he must to become the barrier between Daenerys and harm. Helping Missandei out of the car, he was given a last long look before she also schooled her face, greeting people she knew from previous events and Jon started scanning the area, noting the distance from the car and the protection of the Keep, mind starting to turn, falling back into a rhythm that was as natural as breathing. “Jon Snow.”  Yara Greyjoy strode up, back straight, eyes hard and unyielding as she offered her hand, the golden kraken of their house standing out from the black of her jacket. “Glad to have you onboard, Greyjoy.” He ignored the shifting eyes of her brother, his normal dislike of Robb’s friend amplified by his current state of emotions.  “It’s hardly a chore to be on an assignment with the most beautiful woman in Westeros.”  It was a fight not to snarl, Yara’s comment like fingernails in an open wound, her careful study of him seeming to be a test as much as a meaningless exchange, and he was scraped raw, jaw tightening against his will. “You have the perimeter secure?” At her nod, he allowed himself another look around, knowing he’d check as much as possible before Dany arrived. He kept a close eye on the people crowding in close to Missandei, feeling the itch crawling up his spine, settling between his shoulder blades, persistent as his senses went on high alert. “I’m going to go check the Tower of the Hand.” Instinct had him touching the gun under his jacket, dread crawling within him, nerves frayed and thin. “Once it’s cleared, I want someone posted up there.” “Theon will cover it.”  Blowing out a breath of frustration, he acknowledged the other man, motioned to Yara to stay close to Dei and started his own restless prowling, hoping to stave off despair with routine, with the job, trying to ignore the doubts and second guessing that had been invading his thoughts since he exited the car. No, since Robb has barged in on them that morning.  Another wave of pain swept over him, eyes closing briefly against it, heart squeezing tight at the loss of being with her, something never to be regained.  “Snow?” Eyes opened again. “Aye, I’m ready.” He pushed himself back into habit, contacting event security, double checking everyone’s stations as he left them in place, building back up the walls inside of him to hide his doubt, his emotion, becoming a soldier with a mission once again. When her car rolled up to the curb, he ignored the increased beat of his heart, the wave of longing as he opened the door, catching a flash of silver and purple, gorgeous even with ice in her eyes. Her hand slipped into his offered one and he gave a scan around before pulling her out, wanting to keep on tugging until she was secured to his chest, but he didn’t, catching the red splotch of anger high up on her cheeks barely visible through her makeup, Robb’s face stiff and unmoving. His question died in his mouth with the quick shake of her head. “He’s fine.”  
But, are you?
 He had no right to ask that, so he let go of her hand, giving her a moment as she straightened the miles of fabric, his hand curling in on itself with the loss, skin craving skin, but he held fast as she schooled her face until she had a fake smile plastered to it, making him half mad with wanting to see the soft curl of lips that she saved for him. Forcing his eyes ahead, he reminded himself he wanted her off the carpet before Viserys arrived, Missandei and Varys standing off to the side and waiting.  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” He moved them forward. ~*~*~ A silver-haired girl had more lives than a cat. His patron had given a man a list— three names were now owed to the Red God, but only two would be taken at this time. A silver-haired girl would be made to regret her mistakes before she would succumb. If only the one with the haunted eyes had not intervened the names would have been delivered by now. If only his patron had not been so fool-hardy as to alert the protectors of a silver-haired girl with poisoned wine, a man’s mission would be complete and the Red God paid his due. But no, a stunted man had hired the one with the haunted eyes, and all access to her home was summarily cut off, a man’s first attempt aborted before it had even begun as the previously poorly guarded manse had been crawling with new security measures and witnesses. A challenge a man had relished at the time. After all, where was the joy in delivering one so defenseless to the Red God? A man had been a fool. A fashion show gone awry, a rushed attempt botched by bad intel and over-eager activists. The one with haunted eyes had squirreled her away in the confusion, an alternate exit a man did not have the manpower to guard, another chance vanished in a mass of disorientation and panic. A man had turned his attention to more subtle attempts. The waif had been tasked to get close, to find an opening, and the waif had done so— an innocuous bracelet designed to break, the poison encased in the jewel only needing the slightest brush against vulnerable skin. But the one with the haunted eyes had been there as well, his paranoia and growing feeling for a silver-haired girl making him stick closer, respond faster, foil another attempt that should have been simple. A man must consider more drastic measures, it seemed. His patron had provided all of the material for the last attempt— a location, a way, a burning, roiling flame. The one with the haunted eyes had thwarted him again, and now, had locked the silver-haired girl away, allowing no one to get close enough to try again.  Until today. Another celebration of mediocrity and enslavement. The fashion elite gathered all in one place, fish in a barrel waiting to be picked off one by one. A man carefully unpacked his rifle, carefully screwing on the silencer and then settling it at the open window, caressing the worn stock as gently as one might touch a lover, just as familiar. The weapon had seen him through many a war— trustworthy and ready— his prey marked and unknowing, even now being led to him as he waited. The Tower of the Hand would finally see bloodshed once more, and the Red God would be appeased. “Theon, check?”  Interesting. A man had not expected the one with the haunted eyes to be first on site, had expected him to be attached as firmly to a silver-haired girl’s side as a parasite. However, this could be turned to a man’s advantage. A man pulled out a handgun from his vest, pointing it at a brittle iron boy, raising the comm a man had confiscated to his trembling lips. “Speak trippingly and you shall surely return to your drowned god today.” A brittle iron boy paled, swallowing tightly, hands that had been struggling against the bonds restraining him now stilled with terror. A man drew the hammer back, the click resounding in the gaping silence as the gun was shoved into the hollow of his throat. “Speak.” A brittle iron boy’s eyes went wide, a brief struggle within him until his honor lost the battle and he dropped his head heavily. “Tower of the Hand, clear.” A man smiled. Now all that remained was that delicious wait before death would rain down upon them all. ~*~*~ The tie around his neck was too tight, throat hurting in an attempt to breathe, even though he knew that it wasn’t— just the same as his imagination thinking the Velcro of his vest was not allowing his lungs to expand, to fill as they pleased. The Outer Yard was packed full of people, no space between them, just as overwhelming as it was at the Wall, the barracks packed full of Night’s Watch and Freefolk, right up until— 
Stop it.
 He fought to suppress his anxiety, the memories, and ignoring the mounting pressure inside of himself, tried to focus on Dany, the crowd around her. He kept his head moving on a swivel, the sensation of his skin crawling making him want to round his shoulders. He didn’t. Instead, he kept his designated three steps away, in awe and slightly jealous of the way she was able to refrain from looking at him, her eyes never shifting to him once after he helped her out of the car, heart aching to be laid at her feet as she greeted the crowd. But he reminded himself to be stoic, professional, focus on the reason of why he drove the wedge between them, eyes doing another scan, hands itching to pull her away from the throng of adoring fans calling her name. Dei was at her side, the two of them whispering back and forth as unease built slow and steady, a quick glance to the side confirming Jorah’s place between the Targaryen siblings. Robb steadily shadowed Viserys, and so far his plan was working to perfection, Daenerys having yet to be close enough to talk to her brother. Still, it didn’t lessen the cold bite of nerves scraping down his spine as he checked in one by one with the Greyjoys and Grey, hands twitching as someone reached for Dany, heart in his throat as he stepped closer. She sidestepped out of his way, her avoidance a sharp pain, but the enthusiastic fan tucked their hands back behind the barrier, his glower enough to subdue their wish to touch. “We need to start moving.” He received two annoyed stares, his impatience finally drawing a reaction from Dany as she reached out again, sharpie in hand, to sign her name on a piece of bright fabric.  But instead of the retort he would have received before , she remained tight lipped, not giving him more than that quick blast of ice and he struggled to keep everything down, to resist the desire to tuck her back under his arm, feel her heartbeat keeping a steady rhythm, or something just as simple as slipping her hand into his allowing him to run his thumbs over the fine bones of her hand, reassure himself that she was alive and well, that his decimation of what they had been building hadn't been for naught. The bright flash of a camera had him blinking rapidly, his pulse pounding in his ears, the tight press of body heat making his knees want to buckle, wanting to flinch away. The urge to hug his arms over his chest and stomach was strong enough to give him a flash of rage, and he was tired of the emotional tug of war with his past, jaw clenching as he shoved it down, the need to look over his shoulder making him do another sweep, but nothing was there. 
Keep it together, Snow.
 She stopped for another picture, a hand on her hip as a well dressed woman swooped in close, closer then he wanted, the rancid taste of jealousy filling his mouth at the hand that wasn’t his on her waist, the aloof smile turning him even colder and seven fucking hells, he was never going to move past this…. her. He followed as she resumed her walk, wanting to crowd her, filled with longing at the sight of a fading love bite on the back of her shoulder, not touched by makeup— an angry curl of his fists and a stern reminder that he’d done this to them, that he had a duty, a responsibility and if he fucked it up, people would die. Again . A shudder ran through him, heart starting to race with dread as he eyed everyone with suspicion, knowing somewhere out there a killer lurked, the probability of it making him step closer, start to reach for her arm, needing to get her out of the open. “Dany—“ “Don’t.”  Her voice was low, her glance sharp, eyes tired and he froze for a moment before breaking free as she put back on her mask of politeness that had momentarily slipped, greeting another fan as she moved a step down the line, the familiar flash on her wrist as she reached out landing as solidly as a fist to the gut. 
His watch.
 “You have the interview with Ziry. ”  Missandei’s voice broke him out of his stupor, his lungs struggling to get air and he tore his eyes away from Dany to make another scan, needing to look at something else to keep from going to her. He found the rest of their party and noted Viserys’ scowl of boredom, the crowd not nearly as enamored with him as his sister, and not wanting them any closer together. Jon moved forward, his hand acting on its own accord to settle against her back, her muscles tensing for just a moment before she let him usher her forward. Selfishly, he left it there, hovering close, Jorah closing in a bit more as they moved down the carpet. Dany called out greetings and waved as if the pulse in her neck wasn’t visibly pounding— as if he couldn’t see it— his self loathing growing with what seemed to be distaste coming from her at his touch. He may have been able to feel the heat from her body through the slight scratch of gauzy fabric, but there was a chasm between them, as tumultuous and wide as the Narrow Sea. He hated the distance, the constant alert running through his body clashing with his need to press close to her, emotions tangling in one exhausting knot, wearing on him as he watched everyone suspiciously, a prickling at the back of his neck ratcheting his adrenaline up another notch. Tapping his comms, he checked in again with everyone as they climbed the stairs to the Small Hall, flashing bulbs making him grit his teeth, blink rapidly to keep his mind clear, remembering what he needed to do. “Dany, wait.” She froze, either reacting to the desperation in his voice— more than likely just using her common sense— Jorah slipping past to clear the room, even though they had Theon watching it from the Tower of the Hand. His chest tightened with something , but he couldn’t tell if it was foreboding or reliving the past, his fingertips pressing into the purple and she glanced at him over her shoulder, a furrow between her brow and gods, he wondered what she could see in his face. “Clear.” He let out the breath he’d been holding, claustrophobia grabbing him as they moved into the room, even though it had plenty of size but fuck, why had he chosen an enclosed space where they could be trapped? “The northwest exit is clear.” The pressure in his chest decreased slightly with Yara’s confirmation and he took a shaky breath as they moved further into the area that was well lit with chandeliers that paid homage to the last nobility of Westeros, each one carrying an old house sigil, something he might have found a curiosity at any other time, now just a hindrance as he tried scanning the small balcony overlooking the floor. “Exit to Shadowblack Lane is also clear.” Grey’s voice was steady, as always, as the chorus of voices started up with Dany’s appearance, but it didn’t settle him down completely, the hair on the back of his neck still standing as they stopped. Jon made himself drop his hand, pulling at thin edges of professionalism, eyes snapping to their surroundings. “Daenerys, you look stunning. One of yours I presume?” “Of course, saved for a special occasion.” Letting the buzz of their voices fade into the background, he glanced around, the unease of something not being right growing within him, the need to move her out of there making him fidget. He took a small step closer, knowing he was hovering, and no doubt in the camera shot, but unable to shake the growing dread. He glanced at Robb, the look in his brother’s eyes confirming that he wasn’t imagining things and he pulled air in through his nose, letting it out through his mouth, waiting for his body to react. 
But to what, or from where, he didn’t know.
 “Everyone check in.” “Tell us how you feel about receiving this award tonight.” “Well, I can’t give away too much because I have quite the speech coming up, but of course we are honored. Rhaegar would be honored.” Robb turned suddenly, and he felt his nerves jump, hands twitching with an urge to grab Dany. He took another step closer, the interviewer trailing off midquestion with his looming presence and he felt a wave of nausea, the urge to vomit sitting at the back of his throat,  but he ignored it, head snapping to the side to keep watch as everyone started checking in, one by one, until only Theon was left. “Theon, check.” Dany had her face tilted towards him, alarm written across her features with the tone of his voice and he swore as everything seemed to come to a standstill, his heart beating wildly as he waited. “Theon, check.” He heard glass breaking, the window shattering under pressure, the high pitched whistle a familiar sound right before the muffled thump, the bottom of reality falling out as Robb crumpled to the ground, and Jon was already moving toward her, closing the distance between them as he heard it again, panic flooding him as he expected to not make it in time, to see her fall in front of him, knowing it would finish tearing him apart. Viserys dropped from his peripheral and suddenly his arms were full of Dany, his body weight knocking her off her feet, hand cradling her head as they hit the tile floor, the air rushing from her lungs against the hollow of his throat as he crouched over her, looking, looking , for a flash— anything that would let him know where the next bullet was coming from. Screams of onlookers filled his ears, horror surrounding them. “Jon?” Her voice was small and frightened, barely audible, and he could feel it breaking him into bits. He could see a pool of blood spreading under Robb, facedown and just out of reach, the gory sight of the exit wound from Viserys, bone and blood and fragments spattered across the expanse of floor and he had to gather himself back up, be strong and clever— the shield— and dropped his shoulder down to spare her from the grisly sight, tucking her tighter against him. “I’ve got you, Dany, you’re fine.”  People were screaming, footsteps echoing with their panic, Jorah crawling over to him and he ducked his head, his next breath in filled with Dany’s perfume and he felt the numbness take over as she trembled beneath him. “ Fuck. Grey— Robb and Vis are down. Get to the car.” They needed to move. Pinned down, they were sitting ducks and he was terrified to pull her up, back into the line of sight and fuck, he needed to know where the shooter was. “Jorah, we’ve got to get her out of here.” His limbs were shaking with adrenaline, and gods he didn’t know if Robb was alive or dead, but he knew Dany was alive, that everything that mattered was holding onto the lapels of his jacket with a tight grip, the sound of his watch ticking loudly in his ear. “I’m going to Theon.” “Godsdammit, Yara.” Everything was falling apart around them. “I need that fucking exit clear.” Dany made another noise and he tucked her in tighter, let her burrow against him, his heart having time to twist sharply. “Get her up. I’ll check it.” Jorah was there at least, a small comfort from the isolation as she whimpered into the shelter of his neck. “We need to get you out, ñuha prūmia .” “The shooter is gone, Jon.” Yara’s voice was in his ear, shaky and breathless. “Oh, fuck, Theon. ” Gathering his strength, he managed to push to his feet, keeping her slammed against him, still on high alert, panic flooding his veins, knowing that just because the shooter was out of his nest didn’t mean he wasn’t still there somewhere, and gods he needed her safe. “Grey, coming at you.” Jorah closed in on them, Dany stumbling with their first step, tangled in the endless amount of dress and he was fucking terrified as he freed them, pulling her tighter, fingers digging into the skin he had memorized, knowing he’d be leaving prints of roughness, unable to loosen his grip. “Dany, I need you to move.” It was a frenzy of moving bodies, the crowd inside stampeding as he shouldered people out of the way, trying to see the next spot of hidden danger, trying to keep them on their feet as they closed in on the first exit, fear pushing him forward. Ragged breathing filled the air between them as he shoved her up against the solid brick wall, harder than he meant, whispering an apology as he used his body to cover hers, shield her from anything that could harm her as Jorah cleared the door, his hands cupping her elbows to pull her wide-eyed back into him. Sirens from the City Watch were wailing, getting louder, and Jon could see event security trying to herd the masses in some semblance of order, rescue personnel heading into the chaos and fuck, he’d forgetten how to breathe as he kept them moving, needing to get her to safety, needing her whole and alive, hysteria chasing his every step. It was thirty yards and getting less, the door for the Postern Exit being held open by a Greyjoy, the car waiting with the back door open, his vision narrowing as she tripped, tangled in her dress and he stumbled with her, spinning and off balance, his shoulder knocking into something that broke under the force of the hit, tucking her face into his chest as broken glass rained down over his back. “ Dany?”  “I’m okay.” His lungs hurt as he sucked in air, getting a better grip around her middle, straightening them both out, muscles screaming at him to keep moving, and they were off again, her grip in his jacket never loosening as they careened down the last set of stairs, the full smell of King’s Landing hitting him in the face as he shoved her through the car door, fully expecting a bullet in the back as he fell in behind her, Jorah slamming it shut, cutting them off from the pandemonium. 
Safe, they were safe.
 “You’re bleeding.” She was staring up at him, blood on her cheek and his hands were shaking with cold as he reached down to touch it, smearing it across her unharmed skin, his brain sluggish and slow as she struggled to climb out from under him. “Jon, it’s not mine.” Panic was in her tone as he gasped for air, her fingers brushing against his head, his face, the first real bit of sensation hitting him with her touch and he hissed at the pain as he tried to sit up, because he was fine— it was Robb and Viserys that were not fine and somewhere, something made a noise like a wounded animal, the sound echoing in his chest as Dany had a hold of the lapels of his jacket, blood on her hands and fear in her eyes.  I’m fine, he wanted to tell her, needed her to stop looking at him like that, trying to move to comfort her, slipping on the leather seat, crashing to the floor, hard enough to rattle his teeth together and fuck, his chest felt like it was caved in and he needed to get up but he couldn’t breathe, numb, clumsy fingers struggling with the Velcro on his vest as his vision blurred, the pressure from her hand over his doing nothing to keep him grounded, her voice sounding a thousand miles away as he shattered apart, the looming darkness taking over. “ Jon!” ~*~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~“Jon!?”His eyes rolled back in his head, far enough to show only the whites, and what was left of her world fragmented— splintered and shattered, sparkled and shadowed— black spots dancing before her eyes as she fought to see her way through them, to maintain the last strand that bound her to her own gravity, her breath stopped and heaving in the same turn— her worst nightmares come to life.He went astonishingly limp in her arms, his weight all but taking her to the floorboards with him, her muscles straining, her grip on the lapels of his jacket slipping as she fought to keep his head from bouncing off the floor. “No, no— no no no, Jon? Stay with me. Please?”Blood— bright and deep crimson was pouring from a gash in his forehead, just along the hairline. Her fault. All her fault. She had tripped on the godsforsaken dress again, sending them careening into a wall, and Jon had run head first into an old fashioned iron sconce because of her clumsiness. He was now hurt and bleeding because of her.All of this was her fault. Both of their brothers— down. That was the word he had used. She had no idea what that meant other than they were obviously hurt, Jon’s fear and panic palpable in those moments, refusing to let her look past him, but the smell— gods, the smell— copper and iron and sour bitterness, and how had they ever mistaken the smell of paint on her for the actual, honest to all the gods, smell of blood—
Focus, Daenerys.
She would have time to let the waves of guilt already crashing over her drown her later, her thoughts a jumbled mess of screaming and breaking glass and horror— people stampeding, more pain and blood and possible death— because of her. But for now, she needed to shove that all aside and focus on the man who lay sprawled and dazed before her. The man who had just given everything to make sure that she reached safety alive.He was gasping for breath, his chest heaving and frozen in the same turn, the muscles of his neck rigid and straining against the oppressive collar. She grabbed the knot of the tie digging painfully into his throat, working her fingers between taut fabric and his skin, slick with more blood— gods, why was there so much blood? She loosened it until she was able to rip it off, trembling fingers scrabbling against the buttons, giving up when she couldn’t get them to work properly, finally fisting his collar in both of her hands and jerking it open until the buttons popped off, pinging into the dark of the backseat.“Jon, can you hear me? I need you to answer me.”Nothing but a garble of nonsense passed his lips, his hands still fluttering at his shoulders, weakly trying to pull at the Velcro straps that held his vest in place. She worked the shoulders of his suit jacket off of him, straining to pull his chest to hers with a groan, propping him up with her knees when she finally got him upright, adrenaline pumping and aiding instead of detracting. She pulled and yanked at the sleeves until he was finally free of the fitted jacket, thankfully none of the bright red pouring from his scalp repeated on his chest or arms.She was shaking as she struggled to undo the buckle of his holster, finally slipping it free and looping the straps around his gun to place the whole lot in the seat back pocket in front of her. She turned her attention to the vest next, pulling at the Velcro straps that seemed to be causing him this most distress, his throat still impossibly tight as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. “Breathe, Jon, breathe. It’s ok. We’re all right.” She finally got the straps loose enough to pull the vest over his head, his eyes flying open as she grazed the cut, the hiss of pain falling from his lips resounding through her. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”She was babbling, but couldn’t help it, taking his jacket and laying it over his chest as he started to shiver uncontrollably. Now that he could breathe she could figure out how to stop the bleeding. The gash was the length of her pinkie finger, traveling into his hairline, and she hiccuped around a panicked sob, hands shaking as she gently put pressure on his forehead, trying to hold him still as he bucked against the surge of pain.“Jon?” His hands were twitching at his sides, and she grabbed the closest one, threading their fingers together, holding his hand over her heart, wanting him to feel something solid and alive under his fingertips. “You’re going to be ok. It’s not bad.” Her stomach turned over at the possible lie, she wasn’t a doctor— she had no idea, just a wild need for it to be true. “Just breathe— breathe for me, ok?”She needed him calm, needed to focus on making sure that he slowed his breathing, to staunch the flow of blood, warm and oozing over her fingers. Her heartbeat pounded under his touch, the pulse at his throat jumping with an erratic beat. “You’re all right. Slow and steady for me— in and out. That’s it.”His eyes were open, but she could tell he couldn’t see her, a glassy blankness that frightened her covering his eyes. “Dany?”The fear in his voice almost broke her, fingers tightening against his as she pressed his hand more firmly into her chest. “I’m ok, Jon. I’m all right. Not even a scratch.”That might have also been a lie, she wasn’t quite sure, her adrenaline a benevolent gift at the moment. He was mumbling something under his breath— she thought they may have been names, and her heart froze, the thought that he may be calling out to his family frightening and foreboding. “Breathe, Jon. I’m right here.”He was slowly gulping down air, beads of sweat popping out on his face, and she needed to get him help just in case he wasn’t actually fine. She untwined their fingers to reach for the button to drop the partition, but nothing moved, and she felt another surge of panic before she remembered it was one of the security upgrades and reached for the intercom instead, her voice thready and raw as she tried to swallow around her fear and guilt— if he didn’t come out of this—“Jorah, Grey— Jon’s hurt. We need a doctor.”“Already on our way to the hospital, ñuha prūmia.” Jorah’s voice was steady, at least.“Robb?” It was a gasp on Jon’s lips, and she focused her attention back on him, trying to hear him and not the sound of glass breaking in her mind, the sight of Robb dropping to the floor just out of her periphery before Jon tackled her to the ground, the screams and panic immediate and all consuming.She took a heaving breath of her own, jerking herself back to the floor of the limo, Jon’s head cradled in her lap, blood still bubbling up between her fingers, and she grabbed his hand again, keeping it centered over her heartbeat, something she hoped was comforting, something that he would feel, that would reach through the panic— ground him to her. “We’re going to him right now, Jon. We’ll be there soon.”She pressed her lips to his forehead, unable to help herself, and Jon sagged again in her lap, his head rolling. “Need to—“ he was starting to shake in earnest now, and she needed to switch hands, the angle to keep the blood from gushing awkward enough, her other hand running up and down his chest, trying to keep the shock from setting in too thoroughly. “—wife, Robb—“Shit. Of course Robb had a family. “We’ll call her as soon as we get to the hospital, what’s her name?”He faded again, his voice trailing off as his eyelids fluttered, and she felt the screech of panic rip through her, tearing frantically at the corners of her mind. “Jon, no— you can’t go to sleep, you have to talk to me. What’s Robb’s wife’s name?”The car swayed around them, Grey pushing the boundaries of road safety to get them to their destination, and Dany could only pray to gods she didn’t believe in that somehow, someway, they would all come out of this alive.If they didn’t…She curled herself around Jon as best she could, her own gasps coming closer and closer together as she clung to him. “C’mon Jon, you have to help me here. I need you to wake up, I need you to—“She broke, a bubble of blood bursting on his lips as Jon opened his mouth, a deep breath rattling in his chest. “Jorah! We need to hurry.”Jon winced, cringing away from the high pitched screech that left her lips. “Oh gods, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She was losing her own grip on reality, both her hands now slick with blood. She moved to wipe them on her dress to give herself more traction as she tried to shift his weight, attempting to raise his head above his heart, anything that she had learned in any first aid or health class flitting through her mind only to fall out the other side, nothing helpful as she tried to keep pressure on the wound.She didn’t understand what was happening. She hadn’t felt anything other than their fall into the wall— had he been shot before he reached her? She frantically tried to see in the dim light of the back seat, but couldn’t make out more than the vague shape of his legs splayed across the floor. He should be more alert, more responsive— the fact that he couldn’t focus his eyes on her setting off alarm bells in her mind, the edge of despair creeping closer and closer.The car veered sharply, and she yelped, trying to hang on, to hold Jon steady before Grey slammed on the brakes, and the door was jerked open. Sunlight— gods, how was the sun still shining?— poured over them.“Fuck,” she breathed. It was worse in the light, blood covering the right side of his face, coating over his closed eyelid, his lips, his beard— flowing over his neck and into the collar of his ripped shirt. His skin had taken on a grey pallor, and she had all she could do to keep from screaming and covering him with her body as rough hands reached for her, pulling her from the car.“No, no!” She fought back until her fists were forced to her sides, Jorah’s voice cracking through her panic as he threw her over his shoulder and manhandled her inside.“Grey is bringing him in, Daenerys— we have to get you inside where it’s safe.”A manic laugh fell from her lips. Safe? What was that anymore? It wasn’t anywhere she was familiar with. Her home had been a minefield for years, Rhaegar’s Harp was gone, now Jon was—Jorah finally set her on her feet, his hands grabbing her face to still her, to keep her from immediately jerking out of his grasp and running through the halls to Jon, to return to his side, desperate to make sure he was all right. Jorah’s thumb rubbed across her cheek, the same as Jon had done before he collapsed. “You’re bleeding.”She shook her head wildly, trying to see where Grey was, why was it taking them so long, anxiety cutting and bleeding her. “It’s not mine, Jorah, it’s Jon’s. We have to—“ the sound of sirens cut her off, the ambulance bay suddenly full of first responders, and Jorah shoved her against the wall, covering her body with his as the first gurney was pulled from the ambulance. EMTs and paramedics called out gibberish as they rushed past, working frantically on the patient, only a brief glimpse of auburn hair visible as hospital staff also converged at a run.“Take him straight to OR 2, cross type and match, and someone find his godsdamn family!”The bottom of her stomach dropped out and she sagged against Jorah, leaving bloody handprints across his sleeves. “Oh gods, was that—“Jorah looked over his shoulder, his face grim, lips a tight line as he nodded. “He made it to the hospital, that’s a good sign, ñuha prūmia.”Grey appeared, holding Jon upright, arm slung across his shoulder, and Dany pushed past Jorah, running to his other side, draping Jon’s other arm over her as Jorah commandeered a nearby wheelchair, and together they eased Jon down into it, his head lolling forward until Dany caught him. “Someone get a doctor, now.”Grey ran for the desk, a harried looking nurse already on the phone, whirls of activity in motion as the hospital prepared to receive more casualties. Jorah reached for the handle of the wheelchair, nodding for her to hold Jon steady as he wheeled him further in.Jon’s hand locked around her wrist as a nurse waved them forward, briefly shining a light into both of Jon’s eyes, pulling his head back to take a closer look at the wound. She grabbed his wrist, taking his pulse quickly before escorting them to a patient care area. She pulled a curtain closed around them, and rummaged through a nearby cart, producing a bandage and quickly swabbing the wound, pressing the bandage over it before turning and slipping an ice pack into Dany’s hand. “He’ll be ok, but he’s low priority— we’ll be back to stitch him up after we’ve triaged the rest. Make sure he stays calm and quiet.”“Wait!” Dany took a hasty step toward the nurse, but Jon didn’t let go, bringing her up short. “You have two other patients, Robb Stark and Viserys Targaryen. We just saw Robb come in— they were taking him to OR 2. I imagine Viserys isn’t far behind. We’re their family. We’d like any updates you can give us.”The nurse, Gilly, her name badge said, pursed her lips, taking them in for a moment before nodding. “If there’s anyone else that should be here for them, I suggest you call them. Now.”Dany’s stomach dropped, a sudden need to vomit clogging her mouth and nose, only Jon’s ice cold hand around her wrist staving off the urge— for now. She shoved the feeling away, nodding tightly as she heard more sirens in the background, the nurse already moving at a jog back the direction she had come. Jorah pulled the curtain closed around them, he and Grey visibly nervous at being out in the open in an unsecured location.Dany did her best to ignore them, to push aside the fear coiling itself around the base of her spine, and knelt in front of Jon, twisting her wrist in his grip to take his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Jon, we have to call your sister-in-law.”He didn’t respond, his eyes, usually so expressive, blank and… dead. She swallowed tightly against that thought, turning to look at Grey. “Where’s his jacket? We might have to figure it out on our own.”Grey nodded, handing it over to her as she stood, rifling through the pockets to find his phone, but coming up empty. “Godsdammit. Did his phone fall out in the car?”Jorah shook his head from where he was keeping watch from the gap in the curtain. “He broke it this morning.”“Fuck. Does Tyrion have the emergency contact info for either of them? Missandei?” She gasped in horror, turning to Grey, guilt churning in her stomach at the first thought of her best friend, belatedly realizing she wasn’t here with them. “Where’s Dei, she was right behind me in the Hall—“At Grey’s pained look she felt her heart seize in her chest, sure that the worst had happened, and her knees gave out. Only Grey’s lightning fast reflexes kept her from collapsing in a cloud of tulle, and he propped her up against the exam table, the paper under her fingers crinkling impossibly loudly to her ears.“I saw her running with the rest of the press. I know she got out of the room, but I haven’t been able to reach her yet. Her phone keeps going straight to voicemail.”Dany shook her head, the sound of the sirens getting louder and louder as more casualties made their way toward help. She should have listened to Jon, she should have cancelled all of her appearances, she should have never been so cavalier about the risk to everyone else, and gods, how selfish could she possibly have been?“Did you try Varys? He was there too, he was supposed to represent Rhaegar’s Harp at our table, maybe they escaped together—“ she was grasping at straws and she knew it, but it was all she had to combat the sick feeling swirling inside of her.Why had they left them? Why was she standing here, breathing and alive and mostly unhurt when at least two of them were not, and Missandei and Varys were missing. Why—“I’ll try again. Maybe the lines will have cleared up enough to get a call through.” Grey’s nod was steady, his hand firm on her shoulder before he turned and slipped back through the curtain, pulling his phone from his pocket.“Grey,” her voice broke, and she had to swallow a few times before she could go on. “If you can’t get her on the phone, go find her— you have to go—““No.” Jorah’s voice started her, calm and strong despite the storm raging around him.Ice crawled through her veins, horror coloring her face as she turned to him. “No?”“You are the target, and none of the Greyjoys are here to cover him yet. Grey stays here until we have more manpower. For now, Missandei is on her own.”Grey said nothing, his jaw working silently before he nodded stiffly and turned on his heel, raising his phone to his ear.The curtain yanked back, startling them all as Gilly appeared, a clear bag in her hands with what looked like a jumble of clothing and shoes inside it. “You said you’re Robb Stark’s family, right?”Dany nodded numbly, her mind still spinning before she looked down at Jon. “This is his brother.”The nurse frowned, studying her closely before handing her the bag. “These are his personal effects.” Dany’s throat closed as her hands automatically moved to accept the bag. Had the worst happened? Why were they giving them Robb’s things if—“He’s going into surgery now, critical condition, he’s got a GSW to the chest. Do you know of any medications he might be on? Is his spouse on the way yet?”“We’re working on that.” Dany’s heart started again, the knowledge that Robb was still alive giving her the first dull spark of hope she had felt in hours. “Jon would be the one to know about medications, but he’s…” She trailed off, motioning to where he sat, vacant and still.Gilly nodded, looking him over. “I’ll get a doctor over here to look at him, see if we can’t get him perked back up.”Dany nodded, eyes going to the bag in her hand, catching a glimpse of Robb’s cell phone through the plastic. She dug through to grab it, pulling it out, pressing the button and— by some miracle— it came to life in her hands. She had a brief moment to wonder how the head of a security company could be so over-confident as to not password protect his phone, but let it go, overcome by thankfulness.She dropped to her knees in front of Jon again, taking his hand in hers, trying to rub some warmth back into it. “Jon,” she said softly, taking some heart as his head twitched in the direction of her voice. “What’s your goodsister’s name? I need to call her.”His head jerked up, eyes suddenly wild and flailing in his head, looking around the cordoned off area, confusion flooding his face as he took in the pale peach curtain separating them from the rest of the trauma areas. “Where—““We’re at the hospital,” she looked over her shoulder to Jorah.“Ebrose Memorial,” he supplied without taking his eyes off the activity in the hall beyond their flimsy barrier.Jon shook his head slowly, “No, no— it’s wrong, she’s at… somewhere else,” his mumbles became quieter and quieter.“Who, Jon? What’s wrong?” But he was gone again, chest shuddering as he shivered and she pulled his discarded suit jacket over his chest again.Dany stood, her face twisting as she ran a hand across Jon’s forehead, wishing the nurse had given them something to clean him up. His fingers tightened around hers, almost crushing, the pain excruciating, but she didn’t let go— couldn’t let him feel as unmoored and alone as he looked.She glanced down at the phone in her hand, wondering if Robb might have also made identifying his wife as easy as getting into his phone, but as she scrolled through to the Starks, she was taken aback and just how many there were to choose from— Catelyn, Sansa, Talisa, Arya, among others— and there was no telling if his wife had even taken his name.She only recognized Jon’s two sisters’ names, her heart giving a painful twist in her chest at the memory of his face as he spoke of them, the drive along the coast full of hope and simmering desire. She closed her eyes against the tears pooling in the back of her eyes. There would be time for sorrow later, she sternly reminded herself.All the time in the world, it seemed.But, for now— she needed to make a decision— Arya first, Sansa if Arya didn’t answer, the rest of the Starks in turn until she found someone.She gently squeezed Jon’s hand, taking a deep breath before pressing Arya’s name on the screen, hoping that the time difference to Braavos wasn’t going to make this more awkward than it would already be—A beep filled her ears, followed by a squawk of disbelief. “Brother, you know the rules!”Dany pulled the phone away from her ear in confusion, only to catch a glimpse of a small brunette peering out of the screen at her, eyes the same shape and color of Jon’s blinking in surprise. “You’re not Robb…”Dany swallowed tightly, trying to shove her bruised heart to the back of her mind, focusing on the impossible task ahead of her. “No, I’m—““You’re Jon’s girl, the one he took to Gendry’s range.”Her heart gave another painful spasm in her chest, her breath coming up short. “I’m Daenerys.”“Yeah, Gendry said it was some exotic shit. He wasn’t lying.”Dany glanced down at Jon, wondering if the sound of his sister’s voice had penetrated whatever fog he was trapped in, but other than the tight grip on her hand, he seemed the same as before, empty and so unnaturally still. “Arya, listen—““Where’s Jon and Robb?” The first hint of suspicion crept into her voice.“That’s what I’m calling about. Jon will be ok, he’s just…” she trailed off, unsure how to continue, knowing that Jon wouldn’t want Arya to worry, wouldn’t want her to see him in this state. “...being seen to, but Robb—“ She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the onslaught.“Arya, I’m sorry, but Robb’s been hurt— badly. They’re rushing him into surgery right now, and you’re the only one who I could remember in the family. We need to let his wife know.”To her credit, Arya only blinked as she absorbed the information, her eyes hardening with resolve before she sprang into action. “I’ll call Talisa, where are you?”Dany had all she could do to not dissolve with relief, squeezing Jon’s hand tightly in her own. “Thank you. We’re at Ebrose Memorial— Robb has been taken to OR 2. They haven’t given us any updates yet, but they did ask us to make sure the family was alerted and got here as quickly as possible.”Arya was scribbling on something off camera, her face tight with concern. “He’s strong. They both are.” Coming from her it sounded more like a threat than anything else, but Dany instinctively felt if anyone could defy the god of death, it would be this fierce young woman. No wonder Jon loved her so.“Where are you, so Talisa can find you?”Dany looked to Jorah who scanned the signage beyond the barrier of the curtain. “Trauma 1, east wing.”Arya nodded on screen, still scribbling. “Got it. I’ll have her call Robb’s phone if she can’t find you, so keep it handy.”“I will.”“And Jon—“ Arya’s voice cracked, her worry starting to shine through on her face.“I’ll have him call you when he can.”“Take care of my brother, Daenerys.” It was a warning, a scolding that she deserved, and she felt her mouth tightening under the strain of trying to hold herself together, the stitches keeping her broken heart in one piece stretching and wearing thin beneath her skin.“I’m trying. I promise.” Arya nodded and disconnected the call, allowing Dany to take a shaky breath, pocketing Robb’s phone.She shivered slightly, only now noticing just how cold the hospital was, but squared her shoulders, determined to bear up under it. Besides, she doubted that Jorah would let her leave this curtained off sanctuary even if she wanted to go off in search of a blanket, more for Jon than herself.Her adrenaline finally dipped, her legs shaking under the yards of torn fabric, and she braced herself against the handle of Jon’s wheelchair as she looked around the small space, trying not to let the growing noise in the corridor beyond their flimsy curtain penetrate too deeply. If she listened closely she could hear more sirens, more urgent tones, screaming, the sound of glass breaking—With a gasp she shook herself loose, forcing her eyes to open to actually see the weave of the curtain, the matching fabric of a chair next to the cart of supplies the nurse had left with them, the tear in the knee of Jon’s pants, his skin showing from beneath, bruised and battered, same as her. His hand tightened over hers again, and she looked up at him, his eyes closed tightly, breathing shallow and uneven.And all she could do was wait. Helplessly. Her stomach churned, her mind spinning slowly as she tried to think of something she could do that wasn’t already being done, the same blankness covering Jon’s face threatening to take her as well.She sank into the pink chair next to Jon, pulling their clasped hands into her lap, hating every interminable moment. She couldn't let herself dwell on Viserys, or Robb, or even Dei right now— selfishly shoving them as far as possible from her mind. She would fall apart if she let them in. And she couldn’t, not yet.Not when he needed her.“Where is she? Grey!” Dany was on her feet before she even registered the sound of Dei’s voice, Jorah stiffening beside them, a genuine smile cracking across his face.There was the sound of heels clacking down the hall at a run, a swish and rustle of fabrics, and Jorah pulled back the curtain ever so slightly to reveal Dei and Grey in a tight embrace, tears running down both of their cheeks. Grey’s normally stoic face buried itself into Missandei’s neck and hair, and Dany felt a sear of jealousy so deep it was as if her soul was on fire. There was a brief struggle within herself to keep her face composed until— thankfully— relief followed almost immediately, dousing the flames.“Oh thank the gods,” Dei’s voice was trembling, normally calm and graceful hands digging into the meat of Grey’s shoulders as they clung to each other. “Where’s Dany, is she all right?”“I’m fine.” It was a kind lie. She was far from it, truly, but physically she was fit and whole, which was more than some of their party could currently say.Dei released Grey somewhat reluctantly, dragging her fingers down his arm before she turned and enclosed Dany in a fierce embrace. A wail of gratefulness rose in Dany’s throat, but she locked it down and away, hugging Dei has tightly as she could with her other hand still curled tightly within Jon’s. “Are you all right?”Dei was nodding against her neck, her words muffled. “Yes, I’m okay. Got stepped on a few times, which is torture in these shoes, but I’m fine. Varys fell when we were going down the steps and I went back for him.”“Is he all right?”She should have recognized the flowery scent long before now, a throat clearing as she pulled away from Dei’s embrace, a tittering laugh. “Oh, my dear girl, you do me a kindness to think on me. The doctors say it’s just a sprain.”Varys was seated in an identical wheelchair to Jon, his leg propped up, an ice pack taped to his ankle. His eyes glittered as he took her in. “All that matters is that you are safe.” He shuddered. “To think what could have happened otherwise…”Her stomach turned, and she gripped Dei’s hand tightly. “I’m so happy to see you both.”“Any word on Viserys? Robb?” Varys looked around their small enclosure, eyes roving over Jon before returning to her.“Robb is in surgery. No update on Viserys yet.”“Ah, then we shall wait and hope that the gods are feeling charitable today.”An awkward silence descended upon them all before Dei looped her arm around Dany’s waist. “So we shall. In the meantime, you both are shivering. I’m going to go find some blankets, and get Varys settled.”Dany gave her a grateful nod, sinking back into the chair, closing her eyes and letting the darkness take her, if only for a moment.~*~*~His hand was cold and clammy in her own, and she couldn’t help but notice he had started to shiver again, even with the blanket and jacket wrapped tightly around him. An intern had come and gone, the stitches neat and dark against his pale skin, the gash pulled back together, hidden under a swirl of string. The only thing keeping the tattered edges together.His beard and neck were still covered in dried blood, brown and flaking as more time passed. This skin around his wound shone in comparison, almost blinding in the pale whiteness, a grey color she didn’t like lingering in his skin where usually a pink undertone lay. That spark of life that seemed to be flickering, fighting to stay lit in the storm that swirled around him.The doctor cleared her throat, bringing Dany’s attention back to her. “Any other questions? We updated his tetanus, just in case, and figured we’d do the antibiotic at the same time to be on the safe side.”“When will he—“ she stopped, unable to continue, her worry for him cramming in her throat until it strangled the words, not allowing them to pass her lips.The doctor sighed and looked from Jon to her, sympathy in her gaze. “There’s no concussion, pupils are responsive, and he responds to sound and pain stimuli. Probably just a panic attack. He’ll surface soon. In the meantime, rest is the best thing for him.”Dany nodded, licking suddenly dry lips. “Is it ok to get him cleaned up?”Dr. Sand nodded again, rummaging through a portable cart for a strip of cloth. “Just don’t get the stitches wet for 24 hours. After that keep it as dry as possible, but be sure to disinfect it at least once a day. The antibiotics should stamp out any infection, but it’s better not to take chances. Any redness, swelling around the area, or fever bring him back immediately.”“Thank you,” Dany murmured, reaching out to take the cloth, her fingers tightening over Jon’s, hoping to feel a squeeze back, anything to let her know he was still with her, but his fingers remained stubbornly limp and heavy in her own.“Let the nurse know if you need anything else. We’ll be back around with discharge papers shortly.”The doctor was gone in a blink, disappearing between Jorah and the curtain, and Dany strengthened her grip around Jon’s hand, urging him to his feet, Grey stepping in to assist when Jon looked ready to stumble.Her heart ached to see him like this— brought low and weakened by something she couldn’t see, or fight. Still, she wouldn’t leave him to fight it alone. She couldn’t. There was so much she could not control right now, but being here, staying with him, helping any way she could— that she could do, and so she would.“Let’s get him into the bathroom, and I’ll work on getting him cleaned up. Hopefully it will make him feel better.”Grey nodded and turned to Jorah. His mouth was tight with concern, fist bunched in the curtain to hold it closed. “Nuha prūmia, I don’t think it’s a good idea—““Five minutes, Jorah. Then you can tuck us away, on premise—” she emphasized, lest he try to convince her to return home without word on either of their brothers, “— wherever you want.”He didn’t like it, her bear, but he shook his head in the affirmative, likely knowing he would lose any battle against her in this moment.At Jorah’s signal, she and Grey ushered Jon across the hall, Grey helping her prop Jon up against the counter before letting himself out, shutting the door behind them to give them some privacy. Dany locked the door carefully, not willing to leave anything to chance, to risk anymore of Jon than she had already done so that day.She turned back to him, face tightening as she took him in. He looked so small, a shell of the man she had taken into her heart, and she had all she could do to not crumble to the floor, sure that she would never be the same after this. After him.His head turned slightly in her direction as she sniffed, trying desperately to rein herself in, to not let herself go— not yet, and squared her shoulders, crossing the distance between them to turn on the water, running her fingers under the tap and adjusting the temperature until it was just right. She turned to him, taking his hands in hers, rubbing her fingers across his until they were slightly warmer to her touch, and then, together, put their joined hands under the rush of the water.Only the sound of their breaths could be heard against the quiet rush of the liquid, her fingers working over his to dislodge the flakes of dried blood crusted there. She reached for the soap, surprised at the sharp smell of the lemon as she dispensed some into her palm, rubbing her hands together before reaching for his again, working the soap over the calloused fingers that had memorized every curve and divet of her body, under fingernails that had lightly run over her back, soothing her to sleep for the past three nights, over palms that had so gently cupped her face, drawing her face up to meet his—She pulled her eyes away from their hands with a concentrated effort, her breathing ragged and uneven as if she had just run a sprint, and reached for the paper towels, drying her own hands before pulling his from the spray as well, drying his hands carefully, finally, finally feeling warmth return to the digits.She couldn’t look him in the face yet— didn’t want to see that vacant look that frightened her peering back at her, and instead concentrated on wetting the washcloth the doctor had given her, making sure it was soaked thoroughly before speaking, her tone low and as soothing as she could make it.“I used to have panic attacks a lot. The doctors were never quite sure why. I seemed to have everything, a stable family, a lovely home, more money than all the gods.” She paused, swallowing tightly against all the lies. “I think you know the truth better than they did. But they gave me some things to try. Some of them worked. Most of them didn’t.”He didn’t say anything, his chest rising and falling against her arm as she wrung the excess water from the cloth, bracing herself to look up at him. His lips were parted slightly, pulling in air in deep breaths, steady for now. His eyes were shut, slightly scrunched along the edges and she glanced down to see his hands curled into loose fists. She sighed and dropped the washcloth to the counter, taking his hands and working his fingers loose, placing his palms flat on the counter so that he could lean against it if needed.Reaching for the cloth again, she gently pressed it to his face, the lines around his eyes etching in deeper as he kept them closed tightly, breathing becoming harsher until she started to speak again, never stopping running the soft fabric across his brow and down his cheek, only taking it away to rinse the dried blood from the cloth and repeat the process.“The first thing they told me to do was to say— out loud— five things I could see,” she let a thumb run over one of his eyebrows, the caress and slight touch of her skin enough to make him open his eyes, the brown still almost completely swallowed by black until his pupils dilated in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. “For instance, I can see that your eyes are brown,”His eyes flicked up to find themselves in the mirror, an encouraging sight, even if she could tell he couldn’t really see himself, that vacant look still pervasive on his face.She glanced around the room, looking for other things they could both see and identify. “I can see the silver frame around the mirror. I can see the soap dispenser. I can see my purple dress—“ she could feel his eyes on her now, his head turning ever so slightly to take her in. She took a deep breath, risking a glance at him in the mirror, catching the ghost that stood next to him as well, a gasp leaving her lips as she saw herself for the first time in hours.She was tattered and tossed, pale and peaked, blood streaked and dried across her face and down her neck. She rinsed the cloth under the stream of water before raising it to her face, giving a quick scrub and mumbling “I can see blood on my face,” before she could help herself.His sharp intake of breath jerked her from her thoughts, guilt flashing through her for her stupidity. Keep it light, Daenerys. She settled a hand on his forearm, rubbing up and down against his sleeve before sliding her hand down to grip his fingers, needing the soothing contact of skin against skin to calm them both. “I’m ok,” she whispered, keeping her eyes focused on their hands, knowing if she were to raise her eyes to meet his, she would see a matching maelstrom of guilt that would bury them both.She swallowed, squaring her shoulders before she pulled away again, rinsing the cloth before turning her attention to his beard, scrubbing the cloth against the coarse hairs there, working the blood from his cheek and chin and lips as best she could. “The next is to identify four things you can hear. So let’s listen for a minute. Sometimes it helps to close your eyes.”She risked a glance at him, his eyes falling closed again as she spoke, and she did the same, allowing the sounds to rush over her, both loud and subtle. “I can hear the splash of the water in the sink. I can hear footsteps in the hallway. I can hear a really annoying buzzing that I think is coming from one of the lights.”She felt more than saw his head raise, tilting toward the ceiling, straining to hear the same low pitched humming that she could. “I can hear your breathing.”She rinsed the cloth again, this time raising it to his neck, marveling at the sight of his pounding pulse, the jump of his adam’s apple as she lightly ran the cloth over the sensitive skin there, a blush rising from somewhere, tinting his skin pink instead of grey, and she felt something unlock in her chest, a notch of gratefulness and relief and unknown sadness that sent her careening toward a precarious edge of feeling, the chasm that lay in wait for her deepening with every breath.She cleared her throat, shaking her head before moving on, making herself concentrate on the patch of skin visible above the torn collar of his shirt. Her lips were dry again, and she tried to wet them once more before going on. “Then, you concentrate on three things you can feel.”Her voice softened, barely a whisper as she fought back unexpected tears, the touch of him solid and real beneath her fingers threatening to break her. “For instance, I feel the soft, wet cloth against my skin. I can feel the countertop against my hip where I’m leaning on it. I can feel—“ she stopped short as he moved, turning to face her, his hand settling on her cheek, thumb following the drying trail of wet from where she had scrubbed his blood from her face, fingers petting and wandering against her chin and the hollow of her throat before his thumb settled just over the pounding of her pulse, thundering under his touch, thundering for him.She kept her eyes on his collar, unable to make her eyes meet his, her heart pounding at his unexpected touch. She ached with the familiarity of it, and had to bite back the urge to nuzzle her nose into his wrist, to bury her face in his chest, to let her fingers wander to his neck to wrap their way into the curls nestled at the nape there. She wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch, to believe that he was coming out of whatever fog had settled over him, afraid if she were, that it would prove to be just another lie, the truth of it shattered and broken at her feet.“I can feel your hand on my pulse.” Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears, need and want and fear tangled endlessly within her. “Then comes smell—“ she rushed on, needing to put some distance between them, mentally if not physically, unable to let go of him even if she had wanted.“I can smell disinfectant,” her nose crinkled up against the assault as she let her mind register the stringent scent. She let her eyes fall closed as she leaned forward, taking a deep breath that he instinctively echoed, his chest rising and falling under her palm, and she had a moment to wonder when she had let it fall there when his other hand came to rest against it, holding her hand trapped and captive against the beat of his own heart, that strong, steady beat thrumming against her fingertips. “And I can smell your cologne. The pine of it— it smells cold somehow.”He took another shuddering breath, deep in through his nose, and she glanced up at him again, finally brave enough to see. His brow was wrinkled in concentration, and she couldn’t help but lay the washcloth aside, trailing her fingertips between his eyes, light touches to the furrows there— a suggestion, a command, a request that his body followed— the lines easing under her touch.“The last is taste,” she was whispering again, unwittingly leaning into him, resting her temple against his chin, his roughened fingers still keeping her hand pressed firmly to his chest, his heartbeat slowing, evening out. Her mind whirled, trying to come up with something other than the bitter taste of fear that had lodged itself in her throat, digging deep past the screams and the blood and the horror to find the light, to find something that tasted like hope.“Missandei gave me a mint before we went inside the Hall. I can taste the mint.” He took another breath, his chest swelling beneath her, her hair ruffling with the exhale. “What can you taste, Jon?”She wasn’t expecting an answer. He’d barely said a word for hours now, she just wanted to hold him, to gather him close, take him into the shelter of her arms until the danger had passed.“You.”It was said on a breath, his tone heavy and exhausted, and she stiffened against him, wondering when she had let herself press closer to him, her cheek resting against his chest until she could hear the beat of his heart, crashing and resounding until she was trembling beneath him, a stray tear leaking from her eyes with his admission.The thumb on her pulse stroked softly, fingers dragging across her throat and under her chin until he grasped it gently, lifting her face to his until his thumb was free to brush across her bottom lip, his eyes lit with the tiniest spark. It wasn’t the blaze that she had become accustomed to, not the fire that seemed to light him from the inside out, turning his eyes bright and dangerous with all of those delicate emotions that she had no name for, but instead with a flame so gentle a single breath could knock it out, just enough of a spark to turn his eyes from dull to shining.She could see him in there again— distant and small, but there, and struggling, fighting to come back.She felt more than heard the sound escape from deep within her chest, the whimper crossed with a grateful sigh as she let herself fall back into his chest just once more, savoring the feel of his hand on hers, his warm breath on her neck, his hand sliding into her tangled mess of hair. She took a deep breath, trying to inhale his scent as best she could, let the smell of him soothe the hurts and serve as a balm to her bruises before she pulled away, making sure they were both steady enough to stand before she stepped back.She wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerability. He had made a decision, and she needed to be strong enough for them both right now. She couldn’t raise her eyes to meet his again, but her fingers stubbornly refused to let go of his hand, locking them together in spite of her intentions.She shivered in the quiet, suddenly so very tired, and then he was there, crowding her space, arms enveloping her as he slipped his jacket over her shoulders, pulling the lapels tight across her chest, taking her hands and making her fingers grip the sides to keep it pulled closed.She couldn’t find her voice to thank him, overwhelmed and exhausted, but he threaded their fingers back together almost defiantly.She let him.~*~*~The sharp smell of cleaning product was burning into his nose, tangling with the fog still wrapped around his mind, limbs feeling heavy even as he shivered. They never kept hospitals warm enough, remembering from laying in that bed day after day, always cold, so very cold.He felt like that now, moving a hand up his arm, noticing the goose flesh, eyes shifting over to where Dany was curled up in the chair next to him, looking so very tiny and fragile, drowning in his jacket, only the tips of her fingers peeking out from the sleeves. There was still a little bit of blood around her nails, no doubt his, lingering from her washing in the small bathroom, the two of them pressed close.Had it been a small space though? He couldn’t remember, not really. His only focus had been her voice, drawing him slowly back to the surface of the murky water he had been trapped in, heavy and drowning. The thrum of Dany’s pulse under his fingertips, wild and familiar, the feeling craved, enough for his sight to start to clear, the ache of awareness to spread throughout his body, from wounds both physical and mental. He’d wanted to break again, right there, seeing her pale and strained but pushing forward, stubbornly by his side in a way he didn’t deserve.The nurse who’d stopped them on the way to the waiting room to offer him painkillers for his head, which he refused— he didn’t need anything clouding his mind— had told him he’d had a panic attack. He supposed she had been correct, remembering that he couldn’t breathe, as if his lungs had forgotten how to pull in air, Dany’s panicked face etched behind his eyelids, something he saw every time he closed them.Shame flooded him— disappointment that he had let himself become so affected that he’d lost the tenuous grip on himself— leaving the team and Dany to take care of him, to weather the direct aftermath without him.And even still, he couldn’t make himself move, lethargy dragging him down, his mind filled with the feeling of Dany against his chest as he regained his senses, the only thing still keeping his head above water. He clung to remembering that even as he sat immobile in his chair, squinting under the harsh lights, his breath shuddering in and out of him at fairly regular intervals, Dany’s worried eyes shifting to him over and over again.There should be something to do, he knew he needed to do something, but he couldn’t think of what it could be, so he sat in silence, imagining reaching out to comfort her, not able to move around past memories, fingertips still numb, mind searching and searching for the pieces still missing, scenes flashing in front of him. He almost wanted to give in and call the nurse back for the pills, slip back into that stupor where he wouldn’t know that he hurt so badly all over, and not sure if it was from their flight to safety, or the fact that he had broken down— so easily, shattered like a dropped glass, fragments left in a trail behind him.
He’d left Robb behind.
Gods, his chest was tight again, eyes burning as he clenched his fists, his fingers finally obeying, and he’d fucking left his brother behind to die.“You’ve got to breathe, Jon.”Dany’s voice cut through the storm, blue eyes in his vision and fuck, he hated what he had done to them, so relieved that she was sitting in front of him, feeling so guilty that he’d hadn’t spared Robb a second glance to make sure he was safe.
What kind of person did that make him?
“I’ll call the doctor back in.”It was a thin threat, but enough to make him lean forward, face buried in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees, her hand rubbing slow circles over his back and why was she still sitting there with him? Why hadn’t she the sense to go, save herself instead of grounding him, her touch the only thing keeping him from drowning in despair.
And her brother was dead.
He could hear the choked gasps originating from his chest, rattling up through his throat as he concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering. It was shock, it was stress, it was mental instability and he fucking knew it, somewhere in the rational part of his brain. He just didn’t have enough energy to pull himself out of the hole.But his breathing was starting to calm, no longer hurting so badly as it ripped through his system, the touch of her cold hand was warm against his even colder body, the heat of her felt through the layers of shirt, and he just wanted to turn and bury his face in her neck.That was not an option, reality slamming back into him as his fingers found his wound, the sharp noise he made making Dany jerk beside him. “I’m okay.”“Jon.”“I’ll be okay.” That he could say, he’d make that happen somehow, because he had to, taking a hand and putting it on her forearm, feelings slender bones underneath his fingers, blood and sinew and life.She didn’t pull away like he expected, like she should, only melted a little more into the chair, pulling his lapels tighter around her shoulders and glancing warily at him as if he might collapse into another ball of anxiety. He wanted to reassure her that he wouldn’t, that some of the fog was lifting from his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud, wondering why he even thought himself durable or strong. He was brittle, so easy to break.Letting the silence take back over, he sat back in his seat, wanting to close his eyes against the exhaustion, terrified, knowing that he’d see the carnage, so instead, he concentrated on listening to the bustle of doctors and nurses moving about, the sound of his watch filling the space between them. The tightness in his chest was still there, the stress of waiting compiling onto everything else, until he wasn’t sure if it was better to sink back into the murky depths of despair, or straighten his shoulders and carry the load.“Jon!”Both he and Dany jumped at the sound, his body reacting and ready to cover her and he was surprised to find that he was actually able to move, halfway across her before he realized who had called his name.He froze, Dany pressed to his chest in a similar state, and guilt slammed through him, the air shuddering out of his lungs, tears stinging his eyes, reality as harsh as a slap to the face.“Talisa.” It took effort to climb to his feet, strength to let go of the fabric Dany was clad in, wanting to look everywhere except his goodsister’s red rimmed eyes, face full of pain and sorrow, his own almost too much to bear. “Robb…”“I know.” She stopped in front of him, face twisting. “I stopped in to speak with the team at the nurses' station.”An apology sat on the tip of his tongue, but it was such a poor thing to offer her while her husband lay in an operating room, broken and bloodied because of his failings. Nausea crawled back through his now awakened system, his muscles tightening down when arms were thrown around him. His heart ached as Talisa shuddered out a breath against him, wooden arms coming up awkwardly to pat her back.“I’m sorry.”He heard a sniffle before he was released, watery eyes staring at him. “Sorry for what? That you two have a dangerous job? That somehow he managed to get hit between plates where there was no protection?”“That I—“ his failures stuck in his throat, choking him, the numbness threatening to take over again. And somehow he was back in the chair, Dany’s hand in his. Talisa crouched down and stared as he fought to stay right there, with them, not wanting to fade into the dark.“What did they say about his head?”“It was just a cut.” Her fingers twitched in his for a moment, helping him regain some equilibrium. “No concussion or anything like that.”Dany was looking at him that way again, her eyes cutting worriedly right through him and gods, he was tired of people looking at him like that, as if he wasn’t aware that he was splintered, as if Viserys wasn’t dead and Robb was barely alive.“I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine, the words roughly pushed out.“Jon, you are my goodbrother and I love you. But I don’t have it in me to worry about you and Robb.” Talisa’s voice cracked, his heart squeezing painfully. “And he wins, so I need you to stop ignoring everything and dig yourself out of this. And if you can’t do it alone, to accept help.”Unease crawled through him, making him want to hide away, the words of denial stuck somewhere inside of him as the self loathing built in response— that his darkness was so easy for others to see weighing heavy in his chest. “Talisa—““You’re Daenerys, right?”“Yes.”Glancing from one woman to the other nervously, he didn’t fail to notice Talisa was ignoring him on purpose, creating a flare of protectiveness that Dany was under scrutiny, and he wanted to shield her from it, something inside of him coming back to life, wild and snarling, tightening their laced fingers, ready to intervene.“You can’t fix him. Don’t be a crutch—” any shred of hope inside him started to shrivel. “—but he could use someone in his corner. Someone who won’t run. And from what Robb said about you, I don’t think you’re a runner.”There was no air left inside of him, head spinning as the women ignored him, something passing between them that he was too slow to understand, Dany’s chin coming up stubbornly.“I’m not.”“Good.” Talisa reached over to squeeze his arm. “I’m going to go get some coffee, then I’ll be back. I just…. can’t sit right now. Does anyone else want anything?”He shook his head, couldn’t imagine coffee in the sour pits of his stomach, slightly jealous of the way Talisa was soldiering on, even with heartbreak and fear in her eyes, her own strength showing him just how weak he really was.“Can…. can you find out about Viserys? No one has said anything to me yet.”Her voice was small, the words said with a slight tremble, and the understanding of what she was asking was a blow to his chest— the realization that she hadn’t seen the gory results of what a bullet could do to a person’s skull, that he’d at least kept her from that filling him with a shaky relief, even if he felt the overwhelming urge to hold her and cry, let her cry in turn. But he didn’t deserve that because he was selfish, taking up all her attention when she hadn’t even known her own brother was dead.“Dany.” He didn’t know how to form the words, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, a pitiful attempt at comfort or apology, wishing vainly he hadn't decimated things between them if only to be able to offer her a safe space to seek solace.“I will check, sweetling, and have a doctor come out and update you.”Talisa cut him off, her voice gentle, soothing, no doubt well practiced in telling family members of a patient’s demise, her eyes informing him to leave it to the professionals. He could hear a hitch in Dany’s breathing, her distress making him finally give in, an arm around her slender shoulders, letting her bury her face against him, knowing he was taking advantage of fragile feelings, but not knowing how to deny her what she needed, even if she didn’t realize it.Silence cloaked them, their breathing the only thing he focused on, tuning out the sound of rubber soles on linoleum, the muted voices coming from down the hall, the sound of Jorah’s mindless tapping on the wall that he was stationed against, preventing anyone from entering the room unannounced.The selfishness of his actions was finally settling in, the hurt in his heart hardly bearable knowing she had taken care of him so gently, her own worries put aside for the time being. Gods, he didn’t even have her and he still didn’t deserve her goodness.“Jon?” Her face lifted from where it had been shoved into the side of his chest, the skin under her eyes dark and bruised, the sight making him want to hide her away from everything.Instead, he rubbed her upper arm, his jacket preventing him from the comfort of skin. “Aye?”“It’s….” her voice trailed off for a moment, cracking and splintering and he wasn’t sure how much he could withstand, knowing he had to somehow find the strength to stay on his feet— for her. “It’s bad, isn’t it? Viserys?”What was left of his heart plummeted to the ground, Talisa’s wordless warning in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t lie to her, leaving him struggling to find the words. “Aye, Dany. It’s bad.”Her beautiful face twisted up with grief before she buried it back into his side and he pulled her tighter, realizing somewhat slowly that he no longer felt numb, no, instead it was an icy burn. The fog had lifted from mind, leaving every horrible detail with a sharp clarity.~*~*~
Viserys was dead.
She knew it in her soul, reality and denial battering her, fighting within her for their claws to dig deep, to scrape her tender spirit open and vulnerable, leaving her bleeding and broken by the wayside. If the ache in Jon’s eyes hadn’t given her the final key to the secret locked within him, then his goodsister calling a grown woman she had just met sweetling would have been all Dany needed to know the truth.Her last brother, her last family was dead, and it was all her fault.Guilt poured through her, hot to the touch, her face flaming against Jon’s chest. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, allowing her to burrow herself deeper into him, to hide herself from the despicable truth for as long as she could.Viserys was dead, and she was free.She could feel something rising within her, but was unsure of what it was— a wave of grief, sadness, anger, or emptiness? A hollowness carved into her chest that was rapidly filling with relief, with a shaky sense of release.Or gratefulness.Gods, she was a terrible person who deserved the hellfire raining down upon her head. Who would ever be grateful that a brother, horrible or not, was dead— leaving her alive, leaving Jon alive, leaving Robb wounded, but alive? She must be evil, some darkness buried within her that she had kept hidden even from herself to feel this way. She felt frozen and burning all at once, keeping her face buried into Jon’s chest, selfishly taking comfort in a place he had made clear she was no longer welcome.But she couldn’t pull away, that same gratefulness binding her even closer to him, knowing that without his steadfast presence her last memories of her brother— while horrible in every sense of the word— would have been so much worse without the man beside her.And yet…That wasn’t entirely fair of her either. Vis hadn’t always been terrible, not truly. She could still remember moments from their childhood filled with tenderness— the stories he would tell her about their family of old, pictures painted with words of the great deeds of conquerors, of dragons dancing, of a family, whole and loving and complete.No, she knew that for the lie that it was. He had ceased to be her brother long ago—someone who loved her, protected her, fought for her, fought beside her.But now he was gone.Lies— again— gods, would she ever be free of them? Free of the ever-pressing need to protect him, and now, his memory? When she owed it to herself and to those around her to tell the truth, to face it head on.Vis had been lost to her for an age, Rhaegar’s death had likely been the final nail in the coffin. He had floundered wildly, his addictions addling him, winding him up, casting him further and further from her, from any connection that she could have nurtured, could have pressed upon him. But she hadn’t— her fear too choking, too blinding. She’d had a chance to save him, and she hadn’t.It should have been her.She could feel her breaths coming faster and faster, her breathing hitched in her chest, sore and excruciating. It should have been her— she was the one they were hunting, had chosen to focus on, and instead of ending it, instead of putting a bullet in her head, they had allowed her to go on.
Why? What had changed?
Her mind was a swirl of confusion and panic, but she knew she had to find a way to anchor herself, to fight through the pain that had settled in her chest, that was steadily spreading throughout the rest of her body. There would be time to fall apart later, time to let the fractures she felt in her heart take over— time enough when she was alone, when there weren’t others around her who needed her to be strong, to not let the winds of fate break her.She would bend, so he would not break.“Targaryen?”She shot to her feet so quickly she lost her balance, only Jon’s strong arm looping around her waist keeping her upright, and she blinked rapidly to clear the black spots that had returned with a vengeance from her sight. “Yes?”She tried to take a step forward, only to be held back, Jorah materializing on her other side as Jon put himself in front of her, a sudden and very solid wall of masculinity between her and the doctor.“Badge.” Jon bit out, hand extended to the doctor who held up the chart he was holding, slowly reaching for the badge on his lab coat, handing it to Jorah for his inspection. “I’m Dr.—““Nurse?” Jon called, motioning for the doctor to remain silent, and suddenly Dany realized what was happening, how close she might have just come again to brushing against the cold fingers of death, her legs starting to tremble at the thought that whoever was hunting her was still out there, had easily been able to find her on multiple occasions, and how stupid could she be?She laid a shaking hand on Jon’s back, fingers fisting in his shirt, ready to move with him if he needed, his shoulders tense, ready for a fight.Gilly stuck her head into the waiting room, eyebrows raised at the palpable tension. “Yes?”“What’s this doctor’s name?” Jon motioned for the man to turn, facing the nurse fully, his jaw tight with concern.“Dr. Marwyn? He’s a surgeon here.”Jorah breathed out a sigh of relief, holding up the badge for Jon’s inspection. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the storm within him, tension bleeding from his shoulders with every shuddering breath they both took. He grabbed the badge, reading it for himself before nodding to the nurse. “Thank you.”The doctor in question turned, indignance painted all over his face as he straightened his rumpled coat, snatching his ID badge back from Jon’s outstretched fingers. “Was that entirely necessary?” He glared at Jon who only returned the dark look until the doctor shrank back a step.“Aye.”The doctor seemed at a loss for words as to how to respond to that, so he returned his attention to the chart he held, hands fluttering through the pages to gather himself for a moment before turning his attention back to where she was peeking at him over Jon’s shoulder. “Miss Targaryen?”She nodded, forcing her fingers still clawed into the back of Jon’s shirt to loosen. “You are Viserys Targaryen’s family, correct?”She nodded again, opening her mouth to confirm, but no sound could pass her lips until she swallowed tightly. “Ye—“ her voice cracked and she swallowed again. “Yes. I’m his sister.”The doctor glared at the two men still between them. “I think this conversation should be held some place a little more private.”A chorus of “No’s” greeted him, Jorah taking a step forward to force the poor man back a step, Jon’s arm already out in front of her, barring any movement.She tried to recall any part of the Dragon Queen that still resided within her, needing to call upon her coldness, her aloofness if she was going to get through this. “That won’t be necessary. Please, go ahead.”Dr. Marwyn sighed, suddenly looking just as young and exhausted as she felt, and he motioned for her to have a seat, a wary look to Jon as he took another chair, being careful to leave space between them. Jon settled in at her other side, Jorah stepping closer, his presence both comforting and suffocating in the same turn.She couldn’t help but reach for them both, her nails digging into Jon’s leg, his scarred hand settling roughly over her fingers, Jorah’s hand completely engulfing hers, making her wrist look small and cartoonish by comparison.“Miss Targaryen. I’m very sorry, but your brother, Viserys, is dead.”The room seemed to expand around her, everyone close and far away at the same time as the doctor continued to speak, his voice echoing in her mind, but none of the words registered except for the pulse she heard within her own treacherous heart— free, free, free…She heard the sharp intake of air, her chest heaving against the weight of reality. Jon’s fingers tightened over her own, the feeling of his rough fingers stroking over the soft skin of the back of her hand bringing her back to the surface.“—shot in the head, and died instantly from what we can tell. He did not suffer.” She fought to keep breathing— in through the nose and out through the mouth— those spots back and dancing before her eyes again. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”She nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the doctor’s hands, hands that had seen so much death, hands that had fought for the living, hands that had not even been given a chance to fight for Viserys. “Can I see him?”Jon and Jorah both stiffened beside her. “Nuha prūmia, did you understand what the doctor said?”“Yes,” she said, knowing what an absurd request she was making, but she had to see, she had to know for herself, had to find a way to send him on to the next life with grace and dignity, and a bullet through the head was no way to do that. She could feel something close to hysteria rising inside of her, the desperate need to quiet the voice inside, but fought it down, reaching for the calm mask of the Dragon Queen— now the last Targaryen. “He’s still my brother. I need to say goodbye.”Jon fingers tightened over her own, a slight tug on her hand drawing her attention to him, his eyes glittering with pain. “That’s not your brother anymore, Dany.”
Had he ever been? Truly?
He didn’t want her to see whatever was left of Viserys, that much was plain across his face, but she was the blood of the dragon, wasn’t she? She could be strong, she could withstand—“You are. But, you don’t have to.” His hands were on her face, holding her steady as her head shook wildly, and she realized she must have spoken aloud. His voice cracked in response to her, heat in his brown eyes returning, begging her to not do this to herself, to not inflict any more pain upon her heart. She swallowed tightly, allowing his words to sink in, the ache that seemed to be spreading to every part of her body pulling her back into his chest as dry lips found her forehead, settling her close enough to lose herself within the beat of his heart.~*~*~She was shaking in his arms.Or, maybe he was shaking, maybe they both were, big shuddering breaths being let out against him, her fingers wound tightly in his shirt and it came over him in a wave, remembering why she was a thin thread away from falling apart in his arms.He’d failed. Again.Closing his eyes against the smothering guilt, he tightened his arms, noting that she responded to it, the muscles in her body starting to relax. A part of himself wanted to recoil and cast himself away, knowing he had no business holding her, that he had drawn them a line just in time to obliterate her world with his mistakes.Gods, he was weak, mind exhausted, the darkness creeping slowly towards him again, ready to cast its net, snag him and drag him back down. Hoping to stave off the anxiety, he rubbed his cheek along the soft, silver strands of her hair, falling out of its fancy style, tangling around them, and his lungs froze for a moment while he fought the urge to let go of her for her own sake— protect her from his incompetence before it was too late.But how could he let her go right now? The action would finish breaking him, would hurt her even more deeply than he’d already done, her need to be comforted more important than anything his fool’s mind could come up with.Still— Robb, Viserys, all the blood and carnage was on him and how many times could he live through it? When would other people stop paying the price for his mistakes? When would it be his turn?There were no answers that he could seem to find, holding onto her while she held onto him, his mind racing in circles, around and around until he was lightheaded with it— the sound of her breathing, his watch ticking, the only things keeping him from slipping back into the numbness that waited for him.He heard Jorah move with a great sigh, taking up his spot by the door, but Jon held still, determined not to move until Dany did, to let her take whatever she needed— wanted— from him, even though it was conflicting with the voice in the back of his head reminding him to distance himself, his instincts telling him to stand his ground.And so he did, rubbing slow circles on her back as she stubbornly held back her tears and he tried to keep from drowning in his mistakes, time passing by with an aching slowness until she was more and more limp against him. He wondered if she’d fallen asleep, thought about how easy it would be to do so himself, knowing that if he did the nightmares would just chase him back out.Footsteps announced visitors, the heavy sound of boots, the sharp clacking of heels giving it away as not medical staff and he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, body tensing in preparation. Dany stirred against his shoulder, not asleep, just worn, and the edge of protectiveness took hold of him, drowning out all of his emotional upheaval until he was whittled down to training and instinct— ready to keep her safe.A few low words from Jorah, and Missandei popped through the door, two cups of coffee in her hands, lines around her eyes giving her own weariness. “I’m not sure if caffeine is the answer or not, but it’s here.”At the sound of her friend’s voice, Dany sat up all the way, her jaw set with determination, even if her dry eyes were red. Jon missed the warmth of her immediately, making himself shift to his feet as Dei made a noise before dropping down into the spot he had just vacated, their two heads pressing close.He heard the low murmurs, caught Viserys’ name in Dany’s broken tone, the emptiness starting to fill up his chest, and he needed something else to focus on, something else to occupy his mind before it filled up with the thoughts of failure and missteps.“City Watch is on their way up.” Grey settled in on the other side of the door jamb, dark eyes scanning everyone suspiciously. “They were going to speak with Dr. Marwyn before coming up here.”Of course they were— it was protocol— but still it grated against him, intense dislike from the last meeting still fresh, the certainty of his blunders pointed out, the brief hope that maybe they had something useful, that maybe this fucking nightmare was close to being over.How much more would she have to be put through, when she had already withstood more than she ever should have? The aching sadness for her overshadowed his own unbalance, the need to help right it for her coming too late, everything already so lost and broken.Keeping himself planted in the doorway, he ignored the want to go back to her— he’d officially given up that privilege— asssuming she’d prefer Dei to him, hands twitching, feeling pulled in so many directions he didn’t know what to focus on. He wondered at what point his brain would overload and he’d be rendered useless, again.The elevator at the end of the hall chimed its arrival and he shifted on his feet, weary body coming to alertness, frustration climbing with the reveal of Slynt behind the doors, hating that he’d put them in this position, the ends of his fingertips tingling, a mocking reminder of his mistakes as he made a fist to try and tamp down the sensations.He would not fall apart again. Not now.“Oh good. You’re all here.” As if it were a fucking party.The scowl from Jorah was nothing compared to what was growing in his chest, crawling through his veins, being fed by frustration and anger, fear and anxiety, self loathing and everything else that was out of his control, fixating on the careless way the City Watch Commander approached, his instincts telling him not to let the man within 50 feet of Daenerys.“I’m not sure where else you would have expected us to be.”There was fire in her voice, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder to find her on her feet, chin stubbornly raised. His heart, even iced over, felt the heat from her, the want to thaw in her presence as she stood there, tattered and bedraggled, spots of his blood marring her perfect skin and every inch the dragon her family had claimed to be.“In times of grief, you can never say how family will respond.”With regret, his palms itching to shove Slynt face first into the nearest wall, he stepped aside, forcing himself to not rush back to Dany’s side, holding his ground as she settled back in the chair, spine straight and shoulders back, ready to face whatever the incapable commander was bringing.“Why don’t you all have a seat?” Slynt glanced over his shoulder. “You were all there, so might as well get all the statements done at once.”That was an unusual request, tension creeping through him as he crossed the room, Jorah and Grey flanking him. “Put your man on the door.” He let his displeasure growl out. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there is someone trying to kill her.”“Ah, the bodyguard speaks. After the last meeting I wasn’t sure.”He gritted his teeth as he sat down, letting Jorah have the chair next to Dany even though he wanted desperately to be next to her, reminding himself with more than a touch of reproach that he needed to get used to not being at her side.“First things first, my condolences, Daenerys.”“Thank you. However, let me remind you that you may call me Ms. Targaryen. We are not on a first name basis, Commander.” She might have been grieving, but she was no pushover, the small thump of pride he felt echoing down to his bones.Slynt didn’t feel the same, an angry glint in his eyes at the well deserved reprimand, as he settled into a chair across from her. “Ms. Targaryen, I’m here to get your account of what happened at the ceremony, where your brother was killed, one of your employees now in surgery, and another man hired by your security team currently being patched up in the ER.”“It happened so quickly, once it started.” A piece of her hair fell with the quick shake of her head and he tried to focus on that instead of letting himself remember the overwhelming terror of thinking he might not have gotten to her in time. “We were on our way into the Small Hall to our interview with Ziry. I heard glass breaking and then Jon was there.” Her hand laced with Missandei’s, his own fingers flexing with the emptiness. “People were screaming and running, everyone was terrified.” She drew in a shaky breath, one matching his own as he thought about the chaos, his own fears in those moments. “And then we were moving out.”“You didn’t see anything? Know where the shooter was located?”“No.”“This was left on Theon Greyjoy.” Slynt produced something from his ill fitting jacket pocket, and tossed it her, Jorah reaching out and catching the plastic bag before it landed in her lap.It was the clear pouch for holding a press badge, a note stuck in it and his emotions were spinning wildly again, all the work that he’d done, that he thought had been so clever, and in reality he has missed such a basic step, leaving the press clearance to the event planners, overseen by Jorah and that it could have easily been her life instead of her brother— maybe Robb, everything rattling around in his chest as he blinked rapidly, trying to keep himself anchored down.Jorah held it up, the simple— Until next time, Princess— written in an elegant scrawl, mocking them all, Slynt watching with an almost amused expression on his face.“Who organized the ceremony?”“The CFDW.” She stopped, clearing her throat and looking away from the note. “The Council for Fashion Design in Westeros.”“Who provided security?”“They did.” He felt her eyes move to him quickly before shifting her gaze back. “The security team for House Targaryen provided their own extra men.”“The place was crawling with security, and still someone manages to get inside? That seems suspicious.”“What are you implying?”“Just making an observation.” His tone indicated that was not the case but he shifted his gaze over to Jon. “You were in charge?”“Yes.” He barely kept the snarl from his mouth.“How did you decide who would be where?”Instead of reminding Slynt that he was wasting their time, he curled his fingers into a fist, then let them relax. “I knew we needed men on both Viserys and Daenerys, so Robb and I took those positions. Jorah was the floater in between, and I used the Greyjoys to run our flanks.” He could see the formation in his mind, something they'd done in the Night’s Watch, over and over—“Who decided Theon Greyjoy would clear the Tower of the Hand?”“Yara Greyjoy.”The man made a noise, face pulling down into a frown before turning back to Dany. “How much was Viserys’ death worth?”She was surprised by the question, Jon could see it, the line on her brow appearing, frustration reading across her face. “I’ve answered that before.”“True, I believe it was 10 billion dragons. That should definitely help pull House Targaryen back from bankruptcy.”“He was my last family member and you think I wanted him dead?”“I never said that, but now that you mention it, isn’t it easier now for you to take up the CEO mantle with him gone?”“No.”“No? You’ve been shoved to the side for years, maybe you were tired of just being the, what do they call you—the ‘face’ of House Targaryen?”“No. As of yesterday—“ she checked his watch on her wrist. “—as of two days ago, Viserys had been removed from his position. We have vetted candidates, and it will go to vote to decide the CEO.” The look on her face was pure ice. “My name was not put into consideration, per my request.”Slynt was fumbling, now that his theory was crumbling around him. “Still, it must be easier now that you won’t have any resistance from your brother.”“I wouldn’t have had any. Why are you so determined to put this on me?”“I’m just trying to piece it together. It throws the suspicion off of you if it seems like someone is after you, but your brother is the one taken out.”Instead of answering Slynt’s absurd accusations, her eyes narrowed, his own blood boiling, knowing that City Watch wouldn’t even accidentally come across the killer— that they were too focused on Daenerys to look for whoever was actually responsible.“After all, if your very own security is overseeing most of the event, then it would be so very easy to set it up.”“You think my security team is involved in this conspiracy of yours?”“Not all of them.” Beady eyes narrowed at Jon. “But I’m sure you could fuck him into seeing things your way.”He hadn’t even realized he’d left his chair until he ran into the solid wall of Jorah, barely visible through the red haze of rage, the taste of it burning in his mouth, down his throat, feeding into his veins, hands already fisted, the darkness inside of him focused on dismantling the man in front of them.“Sit down, this isn’t helping.”Jorah’s words crept into the rational part of his brain, something inside knowing he was making it worse with his actions, something else too fucking tired and furious to care, Grey joining in to push at him as he tried to shove past both men, needing to hurt Slynt—“Jon.”The quiet call of his name stopped him, the anger clearing out of his senses just enough to see Dany looking at him, eyes wide and the full impact of what he had just done swept over him, pushing him back into his chair, his actions just confirming part of Slynt’s accusations.
He was a fucking idiot.
Baited and played, he knew better, dragging in a deep breath, his body slower to receive the stand down order, still wanting to pummel and destroy, hands gripping the edges of the chair until his knuckles were white.“Jon was not brought in as security until after I received the poisoned wine and note. You should be aware of that, Commander.”“Maybe you had someone else to help, maybe you did it yourself.”“Is this an interrogation or are you here for our statements?” Jorah leaned forward in his chair, angling his head to look Slynt in the eye. “Because it sounds like you aren’t doing your job. We’ve done ours. Daenerys has nothing to do with this, and at this point it’s almost embarrassing to listen to you prattle on.”Slynt’s face turned a few interesting shades of red and Jon fought to keep the smirk off his face, watching the man try and figure out how to proceed, knowing he had nothing left to go on.“If you have anymore questions, I’ll remind you that they can be directed to my lawyer.” There was no bend in her voice. “Please see yourself to the door and leave us be.”It was a clear dismissal that he couldn’t ignore, Slynt shuffling to his feet, Jorah getting up to escort the man out, and Jon made himself loosen his grip, one finger at a time, feeling the blood rush back into the digits, closing his eyes at the disgust he felt with himself.
If he had done his job right, none of them would be there.
~*~*~Time dragged by as he paced the room, trying to convince himself the walls were not closing in on them, wishing the thoughts in his head would quiet down, not wanting to relive every step of every mistake over and over while everyone else sat in silence, waiting and waiting.“We don’t have to stay here.”Dany’s head snapped up at the sound of his cracking voice. “What?”“We don’t—“ fuck, they were all sitting around because of him, the guilt clawing in his chest, scraping his insides raw. “We don’t need to stay here. We can go back to the manse.”“Jon.” The way she said his name made his eyes burn, the weight of all his emotions slowly crushing him, and he wasn’t sure he could withstand it as she stood from where she’d been leaning against Dei. “We can stay here until we hear how Robb is doing. We will stay here as long as you want to.”It was a strange sensation, someone putting him first, and the air was trapped in his lungs, a noise coming from his throat that he was embarrassed to make, Dany’s hand suddenly in his.“Breathe.”It was a struggle to do as she said, but he fought it until he had a lungful of the sharp air, in and out, struggling not to gulp it down greedily, to pull her in closer, use the smell of her to drown out the smell of hospital. It was humiliating, the easy way he was breaking down repeatedly in front of everyone, that he was leaning so heavily on Dany’s support after he’d so cruelly shoved her away.He didn’t deserve anything about her.“I’m okay.” He wasn’t, but he could breathe again, finally, looking up and around, seeing the weary team around him and he felt the rush of heat in his face. He needed to take them back to the manse, get them behind the secure doors of the fortress he’d helped build, knowing he was risking them, risking her, by them stubbornly staying for him. “I’m going to go find Talisa, see if she has an update. Stay here with Jorah and Grey, please.”She nodded, stepping back to give him room and he hated it, forcing himself to let go of her, watching her turn before stopping. Her hand dug into the pocket of her dress, and she pulled out a phone. “It’s Robb’s.”He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to take it, almost recoiling at the sight, hand awkwardly twitching at his side. He tried to convince himself it was just a phone, that taking it wasn’t a harbinger of bad luck, chastising himself for the foolishness as she saw him pause, no doubt interpreting it as a rebuff, her hand starting to drop.Catching her wrist, he gave himself the moment to enjoy the feel of her skin, trailing his fingers down to tangle with her own before sliding the phone out of her grasp, knowing he was a selfish bastard for the stolen touch when he was getting ready for the journey to get information on his critically injured brother.
Robb.
Focusing on that, he turned his back, forcing his feet forward, the craven part of him wanting to go find a corner and wait it out, but knew that wasn’t an option, that he needed to go see the damage he’d done, figure out a way to live with it.The eerie sounds of the hospital met him as he closed off the door to the lounge, the consistent sounds of machines, the low murmurs of voices, all of it balling up in his chest, constricting his throat as memories made his scars burn, his chin ducking down and shoulders rounding as if he could hide from it all.But, he couldn’t and he knew it. He made himself continue forward, realizing that he wasn’t quite sure where to go, a voice calling his name stopping him again.It was Yara Greyjoy, stern strides shortened by the weight of events, and he felt the shame of realizing he hadn’t given Theon a second thought, the urge to run his hands over his face making him shove them deeper into his pockets.“Where would you like me, Ser?”He was speechless for a moment, staring at the woman who had dark circles under her eyes. “What? Yara, your brother—““Has a fractured skull and is under observation. He’s awake and lucid.” The clipped tone was an indication that she didn’t want to speak on it further, her mouth pressed together in a thin line. “Now, I signed a contract for the night and as of right now, Daenerys Targaryen is not safe behind the doors of her own home. So I’d like to finish the job.”All he could do was nod his permission, motion back behind him to where Jorah stood sentry just outside the door. Yara caught sight of the familiar face, and with a quick jerk of her head, moved past him and to her new destination, leaving him unbalanced, her determination making him feel thin and shaky, his own emotions mostly unchecked.“Yara.” His spinning mind snagged on one thing. “Theon… did he see anything?”“The doctors say it may take some time. He’s still a little fuzzy on details.”He let her turn and continue on, the need to find out what Theon knew was something that would be a nettle, irritating him with knowing that the other man might possibly have a piece to the puzzle that could solve this nightmare. But he needed to go on, see his brother, take Dany back to where she’d be safer, keep her whole even if the rest of them crumbled around her. There would be time after to let himself fall apart, to see if there was anything left of him worth putting back together.With a small shake of his head to try and get rid of his thoughts, he moved down the corridor, looking for a nurses' station, or his goodsister, trying to get his bearings inside the building, accompanied by the steady sounds of machines reminding him of just exactly where he was.Sidestepping a harried nurse as he rounded the corner, he caught sight of Talisa, slumped against the wall, wet tear tracks down her face, coffee cup dangling carelessly from her fingertips.Something inside of him broke free, untethered, the pain taking his breath away, a hand going to the wall to keep him on his feet as he tried to make his voice work. “Robb?”She looked up in surprise, face blotchy as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her free hand, ignoring the scowl of a passing nurse. “Out of surgery”.”The air left him in a rush, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. The relief that Robb was still alive brought tears to his eyes, and he didn’t even realize he had collapsed against the wall until he could feel the cold of the floor seeping in through his pants.“They’re keeping him under for a bit longer.” Her head tilted back, gaze fixating on the bland colored ceiling. “They think they got all the bleeders stopped.” A low noise came from her chest, making his own ache. “They’re worried about the stress affecting his heart. Gods, I wish I still smoked.” She gave a watery laugh, her fingers twitching. “A centimeter to the right and it would have hit the plate in his vest.”His hands were shaking, the tearing inside of him halted for just a moment. “And he’d be out here bitchin’ about the bruise, instead of in there.” He squeezed his eyes shut, fought back the brightness behind them. “I’m sorry.”“You know, I just got off the phone with my mother, who informed me that this is what happens when I marry a man who tries to get shot at in exchange for a paycheck.”“That’s no—““Why you do it, I know. So I also don’t need to hear you say that you’re sorry. Robb told me it was a good plan, that it was a higher risk situation, that he couldn’t have done anything better.”It fucking hurt to listen to her, to hear the side he’d never hear from his brother, and his fingers curled in instead of rubbing the scar on his chest. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but the fact he and Robb has been at odds was still raw and blistering. “I think you’re wrong.”“Let me guess, you two had a fight.” He looked up finally, daring himself to look his goodsister in the eyes, her face soft. “A fight about your relationship with Daenerys?”He rubbed his hand over his face. “Do you two talk about everything?”“Spousal privileges.”There was an urge to ask her what she thought, to get another confirmation that he was doing the right thing by distancing himself, wondering when he had become so needy for someone else’s approval— if it had started in the Watch or long before.“For what it’s worth, I think you need to listen to yourself. Only you know what you can and can’t handle.”
Nothing, it was all slipping out of his hands, like melting snow.
He let the silence overtake him, confusion mixing up with the pain, a heady concoction he could get lost in, leaving Talisa to her own thoughts. He knew he’d taken up more of her time then he was worth, but let the exhaustion keep him pulled down despite the urge to go crawling back to Dany.
Selfish bastard.
“You can’t be right here.” The sharp tone made him focus, a woman in dull colored scrubs standing between them, hands on her hips.With a grunt of effort, he made it to his feet, holding out a hand to help Talisa up, a sharp edge of craving another hand in his making him shuffle his feet, fingers twitching with their freedom. “When can we see him?”“Him? Are you Robb Stark’s family?”“Yes. I’m his wife.”The woman’s face softened— just a bit. “Dr. Stark, we have him settled into a room. Thank you for giving us the space to take care of him.”“Thank you for what you’ve done.”
They should have been at Baelor.
It came to him suddenly, the need to remember something, anything— bits and pieces, but it was like looking through a dirty window, the image distorted. He stayed silent as he followed, the hollow feeling still there, no sense of relief as he fought to recall some of what he’d been missing.
“Missandei gave me a mint before we went inside the Hall. I can taste the mint. What can you taste, Jon?”
Fuck.There was no time to dwell on what he’d unfairly said to Dany, the room reached and Talisa motioned him by, stopping to talk to the staff. His pulse kicked up with dread as he entered, pushing back the partially closed curtain, Robb’s skin tone matching the white sheets below him.
What had he done?
It was there again, the cowardly part of him that wanted to run and hide away, close his eyes against the agony of it all, but he made himself moved forward instead, not touching but watching the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest. The sound of clicking from the machine as it aided filling his ears, the bitter taste of nausea and regret filling his mouth until he was falling back in the lone chair in the room, face buried in his hands.The stillness of the room was daunting, making it easy to spin over his mistakes, try to see just exactly where he went wrong, wondering how to fix it.
As long as he kept her alive and unharmed.
He’d swallow the guilt and live with the consequences for all eternity in a trade.“Jon.”Looking up, he found Talisa watching him carefully, sharp and clever, resentment wanting to build, but he didn’t have the energy or the will to do anything but wallow in his own pain.With effort he made it back to his feet, knowing he needed to go back, able to now that he’d seen Robb with his own eyes, hoping that the Stark stubbornness would be enough to keep him fighting and alive.Reaching out, his hand hovered over the one full of IV’s and tape, a whispered apology that he knew Robb couldn’t hear, but something he needed to say.Squeezing Talisa’s shoulder on the way by and dropping Robb’s phone into her hand, he left her there, needing to go back to Dany, console and berate himself at the same time, try and pull his head out of his arse long enough to take another look at what was going on, try to figure out how he was on the losing end.Jorah was still at his post, something inside of him twisting with the realization they were holed up in a fucking hospital, too terrified to let anyone in. Gods, they all needed this to be over.“Anythin’?”“Missandei left with Yara Greyjoy to go back to the manse. Thought everyone might want some different clothes.”The sigh rattled out of him, torn between wanting to stay for Robb and wanting Dany back in her home— let her start to grieve, let himself hope that under a secure roof he could get a better grip on himself, keep from buckling under the weight.She was curled up in the chair, head resting on her knees, jacket pulled tight around her shoulders and the sight of her, small and unsure almost took him off his feet. All he wanted to do was go and gather her close.But that was no longer an option, his heart aching with the choice, so he turned to Grey. “Will you please go and get the car.”Her head came up slowly at the sound of his voice, those blue eyes watery as she held herself together, and he didn’t know what to say or do to try and make things better. Or if it was even possible.“Robb?”“Out of surgery. Talisa is with him.” He needed to keep his hands busy to keep them to himself, so he ducked down to pick up her shoes, some daring heels that he had, somewhere under all his wallowing, noticed put her closer to his height.Quickly he passed them to her, taking note of the frown as she put them back on, eyeing the hand he held out before accepting it, letting him help her to her feet and he wasn’t sure if he withdrew his hand so quickly or she did, but suddenly they were no longer touching and he missed her warmth, standing there awkwardly as she gathered up the dress.“He’s ready.”Jorah’s voice pulled him out of his blank stare, realizing for the first time he had no idea what happened to his comms, memory fuzzy but he pushed that aside, not able to dwell on it, knowing it would pull him back down, each time harder to come back from. He moved closer to Dany, making himself focus, concentrate, let his muscle memory take over, a hand pressing to the small of her back, ready to move her if needed.She stiffened against his touch, a move that he hated himself for, that he had turned them into that, but he made himself ignore it, propelling them both to the doorway where Jorah stood, hallway cleared.“Ready?” His voice almost cracked over the word, realizing he was taking her out of the area that had been at least hastily secured, nerves crawling up his spine, his breath shortening with the tightness in his chest.The slight weight of her pushed into his hand, as effective as a sudden douse of cold water and he inhaled and held it, forcing it through his limbs, his bloodstream, fighting to right himself, to rein back in the instinct to keep her sheltered and safe as Jorah closed in on the other side.It was a silent journey, too much to say and no words to say them, so he didn’t try, just watched everyone and every corner suspiciously. He ignored his body’s protest that it was done, his mind’s reminder that he was walking on shaky ground, the glass doors of the hospital looming in front of them.He could see the car waiting for them, door open in preparation, a few paparazzi with cameras lingering around, waiting like the vultures they were. Jorah stepped ahead, and Dany made a small noise in the back of her throat that twisted his heart.“Here—“ throwing an arm around her shoulders, he helped adjust the jacket collar up higher, let her turn her face into the shelter of his body, a shuddering sigh let out against his chest causing a hard streak of determination to run through him, something that made him feel more human than he had since Robb had walked into his room that morning. He tightened his grip, ready to make sure she made it out and into the car unaccosted.They called her name, rapidly shouting out questions, the flash of cameras making him grit his teeth together, trying to not let it trigger him, mix everything up in his mind and he kept them moving forward, just a few steps away as Jorah blocked anyone trying to get too close, Grey watching their surroundings intently.Then they were in the car, Dany collapsing into a heap of purple fabric, her head falling to the window with a thunk, the door closing behind him and he let out a breath of relief, waiting for the familiar feeling of the car driving off.Now, with the smell of hospital fading, he cracked open the window, let air stream through, warmer than the chill inside the building, glancing over to check on Dany, her temple pressed against the glass, eyes closed.Running a hand through his hair, he finally took a moment to look at the interior of the car, the dark of blood not blending into upholstery, his comms lying on the floorboard and the horror of the aftermath was like a fist to the guts, unable to remember anything after getting her into the car.“Head wounds bleed a lot.” Her voice brought him back as looked up to see she was staring at him, a haunted look in her eyes. “Which you probably already knew… I didn’t.”He fought the urge to touch his stitches, realizing how terrified she must have been, that he was supposed to take care of her and he’d utterly failed. “Fuck, Dany, I’m sorry.”She seemed to shrink at his words, head shaking quickly and fuck, that shredded him, his hand moving towards her before he could stop and think about it.“My fault, we tripped over my dress.”“No.” Gods, how could she blame herself for this? “No, Dany, this is not your fault.”She was still shaking her head, teeth set firmly into her bottom lip, fighting to keep herself together, pick herself back up, and even smothered in his own guilt, he didn’t want her to feel any bit of that despair. His fingers tangled with hers and he wasn’t sure if she was holding on so tightly or if he was, but somehow there was no space between them, her face buried in his neck as he held on to her.Gods, everything was so terribly fucked, he didn’t even know what to focus on, what hurt the worst, but he hated feeling her tremble against him, refusing to give into the tears he knew had to be right there, just as close as his own, the helplessness overwhelming. “I’m sorry.”“Stop saying that to me.”The words were spoken against his throat, skittering over his skin, his lips, dry and chapped pressing to her temple, something feral inside of him waking up with the bump of her nose under his jaw.“I’m sorry.” It was a whispered goad, unfair of him, hand on the back of her neck, eyes squeezed shut and then her forehead was pressed against his, breath washing across her face and he knew he could tip his chin up, put the taste of her back in his mouth, drown both their sorrows with distractions of the flesh, celebrate the fact that they were still alive, feel good even if only for a short time.Suspended in limbo, he could feel the rigidness coiled throughout her muscles, could see her dark lashes against the pale of her cheeks, waiting for his move and fuck he wanted to just forget everything else except what it felt like to be wrapped up in Daenerys Targaryen.But she meant too much and he couldn’t do it, couldn't use her to drown his own pain and so he let out the breath he’d been holding, pulling his head back enough to kiss her forehead, cup her cheek, wish it could be different, that he wouldn’t have fucked everything up so terribly. The longing was sharp enough to split him open to where he could pull out his shattered heart, offer her the pieces of it.She had them anyway.“I’m sorry.” The moment was flooded with awkwardness, his jaw tightening with it, but he didn’t let her pull too far away, helping to straighten the jacket over her shoulders as she raised her chin, staring out the window.“Godsdammit, Jon, why can’t you stop apologizing to me? You didn’t do this.”“I didn’t stop it either.” There it was, the words bitter in his mouth, her eyes full of hurt as they shifted back to his own, her mouth opening, closing again with the knock on the closed partition.They were back at the manse.The night— or was it morning?— air greeted them, washing out the smell of copper from the car, his body protesting with exhaustion as he crawled out, seeing Missandei lined up with Tyrion and Yara, everyone somber and quiet as he reached back in for her.She was silent, ignoring everyone and slumping against him as they walked into the manse. Darkness met them, Grey moving ahead, Jorah behind as he supported her upright, moved them down the hall, no words spoken as they reached her room, standing just outside of it with her head rolled to his shoulder as the other two cleared it.“Do you need anything? Want Missandei to come up?” Jorah’s look of concern was set aside with a shake of her head.“No. Not right now.”The sound of the shaky voice had him pushing forward and into her room, fingers snagging in the purple material of her dress. When the door clicked shut behind them, he turned, forcing his chin up, unable to keep it all locked inside, needing to look her square in the eye when he confessed it to her, needing to see the disappointment, needing her to realize the truth.“This is my fault.”A dry laugh, bordering on hysteria came out of her mouth. “No, it’s not.”“It is. I missed something. I let myself become distracted—““So, that’s all I am? A distraction?”Getting shot would have hurt less than the pain in her eyes. “No. And that’s why I need to step back. I need you alive.”She stepped away from him, stumbling in her haste, and he reached for her, hurt stabbing deep as she shook him off before turning back, chin up but quivering.“I’m tired, Jon.”This, this, was the worst feeling in the world, having her look at him so defeated and he hated himself, but knew he couldn’t stand there and argue with her. “Aye, I suppose we all are.”What he wanted to do was close the distance between them, hold her and let her break, but he couldn’t.Feeling the cold inside of him, he turned and left.~*~*~He went, taking the broken shards of her heart with him.She could feel the hysteria that had been creeping closer starting to descend upon her, Jon’s wild-eyed conviction that he had done something so wrong that had caused this, coupled with the idea that he had been right to put her aside threatening to physically knock her off her feet. She moved to lock the door, the part of her mind still free to wonder shocked at the violent tremor in her hands, shaking so badly she couldn’t get the bolt to turn, her forehead coming to rest against the door as hot tears started to roll down her face.And just like that, the tether holding her together snapped, and she was sobbing, heart-rending cries that ached as they poured from her chest, the pain doubling her over, hands braced against the door as she sucked in breath after excruciating breath. She tried to pull herself together, tried to not let herself give in to the black spots that were dancing in her vision, suddenly hearing nothing but screams and echoing footsteps and breaking glass.She stumbled further into her room, tripping godsdamned again on the fucking dress, crashing down on her hands and knees as her shoes caught in the train, and she couldn’t get her hands to work, fingers clawed in panic as she tried to dig through the layers of tulle to rip off her shoes, tossing them as far away from her as she could when she could finally get numb fingers to close around them.They clattered against the closed door between their rooms, another reminder of how much things had changed in mere hours. She gritted her teeth, willing the sobs to calm, but her body was finally done with following all of the unreasonable commands she had laid on it over the course of the day. She could feel the wail building within her, a low groan from deep within her chest escaping as she clapped her hand over her mouth, trying desperately to muffle the sound before it brought Jon and the rest of the security team crashing through the door to find her huddled on the floor, shaking and alone.She shoved herself back to her feet, teetering until she put a hand out to steady herself against the wall, the weight of her body almost more than she could bear as she dragged herself to the bathroom, needing the security of one more door between them, one more barrier to fight through.She could feel the ice starting in her fingertips, a coldness spreading through her body as a realization took hold. She had almost died today. Jon had almost died today. Viserys fucking had, and Robb was hanging on by threads and the hopes and dreams of everyone around him.If they had only come after her, this would all be over. No one else would be dead or hurt because of her. She wouldn’t be feeling any of this pain, Jon wouldn’t be in danger anymore because of her, and maybe he was godsdamn right, maybe they all needed some distance so that he could come through this alive at the end of it all— whether or not she was there to join him— even though it was all she desperately wanted.She needed to tell him to run, to save himself from this entire situation, from her, but she couldn’t. Selfishly, she needed him with her, and not just for her safety. He had already woven himself deeply into her heart, into her everyday life. It was hard to imagine going back to a world without his gentle presence, steadfast support, and abundance of strength that he was willing to share with her, even when he was broken, his own heart aching and bleeding out before her. She wouldn’t— couldn’t shove him away now.Talisa’s voice rang in her head, and she wondered now if it had been a prod or a true observation. It didn’t matter— not when it was the truth. She wouldn’t run from him— not now, not ever.Her hands were completely numb, but still somehow clutching at the countertop, dried blood caked under her fingernails, his blood, now mixing and running with the tears streaming down her face. She turned on the tap, plunging her unfeeling hands into the spray, reaching for the soap to try to remove the blood.The symbolism fit. His blood. Her hands.This was all her fault. She scrubbed and scrubbed, but it wasn’t enough, could never be enough to make her feel clean, to remove this stain from her existence. Even her dress was ruined. This beautiful dress that she had spent so many painstaking hours on, that she had been so proud to display, had secretly hoped would tempt Jon back to her, streaked with blood. She needed to wash it, make sure it was cleaned before the stains could set, even though she knew she would never wear it again.She needed to be clean as well, the blood on her fingers bubbling up under the soap and water, but the sink wasn’t enough, could never be enough— what was she thinking? Turning to the shower, she turned on the spray, ripping his jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, emptying her pockets of her phone— an alarming amount of missed calls that she hadn’t even remembered to check for— the forgotten speech in her pocket somehow also covered in his blood.She stepped inside the shower before it had a chance to warm, her gaze fixed on the floor as she watched the water run pink down the drain, the dye of the purple dress mixing and running as well. She reached blindly for her body wash, smearing it over her face and arms until all she could smell was lavender, the iron scent of the blood finally retreating from her nostrils.She was so tired. The weight of the water-logged dress pulled at her, forcing her to the basin of the shower, her back propped up against the wall as the water continued to pour over her. She ached from head to toe, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a thousand years, for that sweet release of unconsciousness to claim her. For her to wake again in Jon’s arms knowing that this had only been a nightmare, and that better and brighter days were on the horizon for her.For them.
If only.
She bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming, not even the pain grounding her, unsure anymore if the wetness on her face was tears or not. The shower poured over her, undoubtedly streaking her makeup, mixing with the soap, snot, and tears. Jon’s voice echoed in her head, his sorrow and apologies deafening as she clapped her hands over her ears until she could take it no more, and a loud, hiccuping sob escaped as she fell over onto her side. She lay there long enough for the shower to warm above her, shivering uncontrollably even as the heat soaked through to her skin.She heard the click of the door, a tendril of fear coursing through her, but couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. If this was the end for her, so be it. Gods, let it be quick.“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dany!” There was a horrendous clatter, pounding on the glass, but her eyelids were so heavy, her tongue so swollen in her mouth she couldn’t answer. The tone of Jon’s voice thrummed through her, that chord of fear she heard there cracking through her haze even as his hands reached for her, hauling her upright— his fingers on her face and neck, searching for a pulse, the water pouring over them both.“Daenerys, look at me. Open your eyes, dammit.” His voice held a command, and she struggled to obey, but the weight was too much, too heavy.More clattering and thudding, and the water cut off, Jon’s hands searching for the enclosure of the dress, trying to free her from it. She finally forced her eyes open, blue meeting black for only a moment before he jerked her into his chest, the sounds of his shuddering sobs breaking her as she wept with him. Her arms worked their way around him, fingers gripping the back of his soaked shirt.“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”Her words, his— she didn’t know, both clinging to the other until their storm of grief had passed, leaving her feeling empty and worn out and dry. She hadn't been able to stop crying, tears streaming silently, her face buried in his neck as she shivered in his arms, ice settling into her bones, her teeth chattering.“We need to get you out of this dress. Ok?”She tried to nod, unable to find the strength to raise her head, keeping her face buried against the reassuring pulse at his throat as his hands cupped under her elbows to help lift her. They slipped on the tile before they could get too far, Jon’s curse echoing through the shower as she realized the weight of the sodden dress was keeping her bound to the floor. “Dany, you have to help me. I don’t want to tear you out of this, but I will if I have to.”She took a shaky breath, releasing her grip on his back as he helped her lean against the wall. She raised her arm to find the zipper on the side, her fingers slipping, but he had seen. His hands gently cupped her face, drawing her tear-streaked gaze up to his, and she felt her heart thunder in her chest to see the fear and anguish, knowing that she had been the one to put it there piercing her, making her ache even more.“Do you want me to get Missandei?”She shook her head, feeling a little ridiculous. He had fucking been inside of her not even 24 hours ago. He had seen her naked countless times, had mapped every inch of her skin, worshiped her with lips and fingers and tongue, but now? She fought to make herself understood over the chattering of her teeth. “N-not unless you’d p-prefer it. I d-don’t want you to think—”His fingers found the pull of her zipper, her mind flashing back to another room, another moment, a flash of sudden heat coursing through her as he pulled down instead of up this time, his fingers trailing against the sweep of her breast for only a moment until she was free of the dress, her lungs filling with a full breath for the first time in hours.Jon took her hands, placing them on his shoulders as he got a firm grip under her arms. “Let’s try this again.”She hoped she nodded, linking her fingers behind his neck, allowing him to pull her to her feet, the gorgeous purple dress lying in a heap on the shower floor. She braced her forehead against his chest, more tears leaking from her eyes to feel him solid beneath her fingertips, numb with gratefulness that it wasn’t him lying alone and cold in the morgue. She was shivering again— had she ever stopped?— his clothing soaked through and she felt chill bumps race across her skin, her breasts pebbling against his chest.He took a deep breath of his own, reaching behind him to turn the shower back on, shielding her from the cold spray until the water was warm enough. “Can you stand?” His lips were pressed to the crown of her head, words murmured there, and she nodded, releasing him again to lean back against the wall. He bent over to wrestle her dress off the floor, flinging it over the top of the glass to dry.He turned back to her, eyes carefully focused only on her face. She had to close her own against the anguish she found in them, the pain she felt reverberating between them. “You’re still dressed, and your shoes are never going to be the same.” Somehow pointing out the obvious helped, the tension bleeding from him shaking loose from his shoulders.“I wasn’t sure you’d want my help.”She felt the sad, empty smile creep across her face. “I’ll always want your help, Jon.”Even when she couldn’t, shouldn’t have it.He nodded, jaw tight, taking a moment to move her into the spray of warm water, helping her brace herself against the glass before reaching for the buttons on his shirt and slowly undoing them one by one. He took off his shoes, opening the glass door for just a moment to put them safely outside the shower, the rest of his clothing joining her dress to dry.She felt more than saw him shed his boxers and socks, and felt a wild urge to tell him to take her— have her over and over until they were both wrecked and spent, her thighs shaking as she thought of what might have happened in the car, that searing moment of longing and tension hovering just out of their reach. But, she knew that if she turned to him now she would only be using him to keep her grief at bay. He deserved better.He deserved so much more.He reached for her, turning her into his chest as his arms wrapped around her, his hands rubbing up and down her arms and back until her shivering abated under his touch and the warm water. When she had stopped shaking, he pulled back to search her eyes, apparently finding what he needed in them before he went to his knees before her, helping her brace her hands on his shoulders as his fingers found her underwear and drew them down her legs.He pressed his forehead to her stomach before he stood, reaching for her shampoo, putting some in both of their hands, lathering through his own hair, and then reaching for hers when he noticed her hands still trembling. She let her arms fall limply to her sides, leaning into him once more, closing her eyes as his fingers threaded through her hair, a huff of frustration to find it still pinned, and he rinsed his hands before allowing his fingers to wander until all the pins had been set aside. He lathered and rinsed gently, massaging her scalp before helping her lean back to rinse her hair, working his fingers through the tangles and snarls as best he could.Body wash followed next, gentle fingers molding over her breasts and stomach, down her legs, washing her clean. She kept her eyes closed, his tenderness sending a pulsing ache through her. “Turn for me, love.” His voice flowed over her and she did as he said on rote, turning to face the spray of the water as he lathered her shoulders, back, and legs.She felt the water stop, moving in a haze as he guided them out of the shower, drying her off, wrapping her in a robe, helping her drag a towel through her hair to soak up most of the wetness before his arms dipped under her legs and around her shoulders and he lifted her.She had a moment to hope that he would carry her to his bed, tuck her beneath the covers to then fold her into the safety of his chest, but he didn’t. Instead, he carried her to her own bed, somehow managing to get the covers pulled back and settling her beneath them.She could feel the panic rising within her, the thought of having to spend this night alone tearing at her. “Don’t—“ she bit the words back.
Don’t leave me.
“Don’t what?” He stepped back, his burnt hand going to her forehead to push her tangled hair from her face. She wanted nothing more than to burrow her face into his palm, lose herself once more to his touch, but that would just be cruel.And yet the prospect of sleeping alone, in her own bed that she had avoided for weeks seemed more cruel somehow. “Jon?”She hated how weak her voice sounded, how fragile.“Aye?”“Will you stay?”She wouldn’t beg. If he said no, she would move to the floor when she could, but she couldn’t face this night without at least knowing she had asked.A breath heaved out of his chest, his eyes shadowed from her in the dark, unable to give her a hint of what he was thinking. “Aye. Give me a minute.”She nodded, noticing he was still naked, the thought of him putting her needs above his own comfort sending yet another sear of pain through her chest. He disappeared through the open door between their rooms, the sound of him rummaging through his room reaching her faintly.But, he was true to his word, as always, returning to her side— fully clothed this time— drawing back the covers and settling in beside her. She could feel the tension radiating between them, wanting desperately to reach out, to pull his arms around her, but she couldn’t do that to him. Not when she was already asking more than she should.Instead, she shifted over onto her side, facing away from him, her tears starting again with the continued ache in her chest, centering over her heart. At the first quiet sniffle though, Jon rolled to her, pressing against her back, wrapping his arms over and under her to draw her into his chest, his heartbeat steady against her back and echoing through her. She tried to keep herself from clutching at him, but couldn’t fight the urge down, her hand threading his fingers through hers and gripping tightly against all of the hurts.His face buried in the back of her neck, his own tears joining hers as she cried herself into a grey oblivion.~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

~*~*~

The cold was seeping into him as his eyes adjusted to the dark of the night, lungs burning with every breath, the layered weight of his clothes doing nothing but making him feel sluggish, limbs wooden.

The Wall.

He didn’t understand why he was there, confusion muddling his mind as he flexed his fingers. He tried to stamp warmth back into his feet, glancing around at the familiar surroundings, wondering why he was in the tunnel.

A flash of purple caught his eye, just out in front of the beam of his flashlight, and he moved forward, something inside him recognizing it— her— needing to follow, to see why she was there, and how they got there.

Her laugh echoed down the tunnel, a tease, the first flicker of warmth, and everything inside him knew that was where he needed to be— with her. She paused, looking back over her shoulder at him, and it was too dark but he could see the beckoning look in her eye, the longing for her tasting sweet in his mouth.

“So, you’ve forgotten then?”

The once known voice brought him up short, a flash of red catching his eye. His muscles tensed with the memories, his hand propped up against the wall to keep him balanced as the regret tore through him, sharp and quick. “No. I’ll never forget.”

She stepped closer, mouth twisted up in a sneer. “Are you sure about that?”

It was the same mix of emotions he had always felt around her— affection tangling up with exasperation, annoyance with lust. “Aye.”

“You let me die.”

It hurt— slicing open old wounds. “I couldn’t stop it. We were on opposite sides, and I couldn’t stop it.” Another flash of silver caught of the corner of his eye, and he turned, drawn to the light and away from the past heartache. “I am sorry.”

He knew he couldn’t stay there, that he needed to move forward, needing her. The familiar darkness closed in around him as she disappeared around the bend, panic filling him, his pace increasing. So much danger lurked in the shadows, and he couldn’t live with himself if something—

“What about me? Did you forget about me?”

The air expelled from his lungs with force, eyes squeezing shut as he rounded the corner, the thin form in front of him causing an ache. “Never.”

The man— barely more than a boy— shook his head and Jon cursed the world that chased men into the Night’s Watch to escape their lives. He was thankful that the man was whole, unlike the last time Jon had seen him, fingers tingling with the memory of blood on his hands as he watched the life drain from Pyp’s eyes. “You left.”

“I had to.” He wasn’t able to stay any longer, the torment wearing him down, and he moved around someone who had once been a brother. Dread filled him— what more he would find?— fear pushing him forward because he could no longer see her and he needed to, needed to see she was safe, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.

But she was there, waiting, just on the edge of his limited sight, the beam illuminating her smile, her hands full of her dress, shoulders bared, and gods she must be freezing if his own hands were like ice, and he needed to get her covered and warm.

Instead of getting closer, she moved farther out of his reach, head shaking at his effort before she turned, moving towards the ancient elevator that he always hated. His voice refused to work as he tried to call out to her.

“I trusted you.” Another brother leaned against the wall, impervious to the cold. “I followed your order and I died.”

“And you saved us, Grenn, by staying there— here.” It was tearing inside of him, ripping out his throat. “And I’m so sorry. I live with that guilt every day.”

“Was it a good trade then? I die, and you live?”

“If I had known, I would have gone myself.” The confession burned with the cold, and fuck, everything hurt.

“You better go.”

Looking up, he found she had moved again, rising up along the icy edge, his heart hammering away in his chest with fear.

He ran then, finally breaking free of the lethargy, chasing after her and gathering up his courage to take his own ride to the top. He didn’t look down, didn’t look back, only up.

She was standing on top of the ice, wind whipping through her hair, creating a tangle around her face. The falling snow muted the sounds around them, her eyes somber as she peered over the edge. “It’s a long way down.”

“Aye it is.” He was numb with terror, the terrain slick, and she wasn’t used to it. “Please, love, step back.”

“Are you scared of falling, Jon?”

He’d fling himself off to save her.

“I’m scared you might.”

She turned, serious and sad. “You won’t be able to save me either.”

She slipped.

~*~*~
 
He woke with a jolt, eyes flying open to try and ground himself. His heart pounded in his chest, a year of practice keeping him in place and quiet, gathering back up his wits. With a struggle, he managed to get air to his screaming lungs, the soft scent of her soap filling his nose, her hair a tangle around them. Somehow the feel of her against him made it past the panic and into his brain, the release of tension crashing over him heavily.
 
She was alive.
 
Burying his face into the back of her neck, he willed his racing pulse to slow, his hand on her hip flexing gently, selfishly enjoying the messy tangle of limbs they’d ended up in. It was a reassurance that she was still there— that they were still battered, broken, but breathing in her big soft bed that she couldn't bear to be in alone.

Gods,

what he wouldn’t give to stay wrapped around her, hide from it all and pretend the events of the day before had never happened— pretend that they were safe and everything was normal, that this was just another morning waking up beside her.
 
But it was hard to imagine that, the stitches in his head throbbing with his pulse, his body aching with the abuse of the past twelve hours, the terror of finding her in the shower, shattered and collapsed against the wall, still lingering within him.
 
He hadn’t been able to spare her that pain, something that would follow him around, chewing at his heels, and he had to somehow try and make it right— had to focus on

her

and not what he was feeling.
 
Only her.
 
He needed to get up. He didn’t want to face the look in her eyes when she woke up in bed with him, knowing that the terrors of the night didn’t erase the awkwardness of the morning. He shifted slowly, pressing a kiss to her spine, lingering over the spot until he scolded himself. He had stolen enough moments of her time.
 
She moved restlessly, rolling into his spot to seek his warmth, and something inside of him panged. A hollow want, but he pushed forward, easing gently away, letting her curl into his pillow, unable to stop his fingers from tucking her hair behind her ear. 
 
Finding the chair beside her bed, he sat, face buried in his hands, and let out a shuddering breath as he thought again about his dream. Something inside of him ached at the past faces, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to delve further in or leave it alone, reminding himself that Dany was right there, mere feet away and alive. 
 
Instead, he made his mind switch over, thinking over the chaos, the little information gleaned from the City Watch, the need to know how his brother was doing. He watched her for a few more moments, making sure she’d stay asleep without him there, and even though he was yearning to go back to her, he got to his feet and crossed over into his room, closing the door until there was only a sliver left separating them, unable to close it completely.
 
He wasn't sure what that said about him.
 
Moving slowly, he dressed, hesitant to get ready for the day even though he knew she was safe behind the walls of the manse. His eyes flitted to the window, knowing the sprawl of King’s Landing waited just beyond the tall fences, keeping her effectively pinned in.
 
No one in, no one out.
 
He sighed again, shoulders drooping with the weight of it all as he tied the laces of his boots, nerves keeping his system jumping, brain still a little muddled and confused. They needed Tyrion’s man to find out more, something in his gut telling him the factories were tied directly to this attempt, that Viserys’ demise might have been in part to torment of Dany, but that they had also eliminated someone they meant to.
 
Grabbing the comms he had put on his dresser the previous night— before he’d heard Dany through the walls— he slipped them back in, reassured to find Jorah on the other end. Everything was quiet in the manse despite the lateness of the day, everyone’s internal clocks flipped around with their stay at the hospital.
 
Verifying the window alarms were still set, glaring outside as if he’d be able to see someone sitting and watching, he confirmed that eyes were on the hallway and left his room, certain that he’d left his heart in her room, with her, the hollowness inside seemingly confirmation of that. He moved towards his office, ignoring the feeling of claustrophobia, wanting to sit down and try to sort out the jumble in his head, to concentrate and examine all the pieces of the deadly puzzle that had become their lives.
 
His office was empty, mockingly so, as he entered. His gun sat by itself on the dark desk, no doubt found by Jorah or Grey, and he chastised himself for not even giving it a second thought in the chaos, wondering what in the seven hells made him think he could keep her safe if he couldn’t even remember a tool for the job.
 
Sitting down, he shook his head in disgust before checking the monitors, trying desperately to pull himself back together, to find the professionalism that had been growing increasingly absent, knowing he’d need to have his wits about him. There was no more room for errors— the cost might be too high.
 
A knock on the door interrupted his brooding, muscles seizing in alarm even as the absurdity of it all ran through his mind— as if the killer would

knock

. Nonetheless, his fingers gripped the edge of his desk, his body prepared for action.
 
“This came for you.” Tyrion didn’t seem to notice the mental anguish he was currently experiencing, or chose to ignore it outright. He sat down in one of the chairs, setting a box down before pushing it over.
 
It was packaged express mail, addressed to Stark Securities, but apprehension made him move slowly as he picked it up, flipped it over to inspect it as if he could see through the cardboard to the contents inside.
 
“What are the chances it’s a set up?” 
 
“Jon—“ Tyrion’s tone had him looking up. “It’s your new phone.”
 
The box fell out of his hands the short distance to his desk, air hard to come by due to the weight in his chest, leaving him immobile while he stared at it. He had forgotten Robb had told him to expect another one. The spike of grief over his brother’s well-being, of the situation that had led to him breaking his phone was sudden, and his jaw clenched as he tried to rein himself in. He didn’t want— could

not

afford to start into another spiral now.
 
He was saved from himself by the arrival of Jorah and Grey, both men looking weary and on the same verge of defeat that he felt. He reminded himself that he wasn’t standing on the edge alone, that he needed to take a breath— use his men, his resources, listen to his gut— everything that he had allowed himself to forget.

To focus.

“How did he know where to set up?” There was no need for small talk, questions and thoughts starting to push through now that his system was awake, coming back to life. Nerves pushed him to his feet— this particular bit of information had started niggling his mind as soon as Slynt had said it, but he had been too wounded to examine it.
 
“What?” Tyrion’s gaze flitted between the men.
 
“I wondered that also.” Jorah crossed his arms, propped himself on the wall, words holding a hard edge.
 
“He got in early, I’m assuming. You don’t just carry a sniper rifle over your shoulder without anyone noticing.” He let out a breath, hand rubbing across his face in frustration before glancing back at the monitors, checking again that they were clear. He tried to picture it in his mind, the steps that the man would have taken— the precautions. “We know he had a press badge, so he probably had a case that looked like he was carryin’ camera equipment. But

how did he know where to go

?”
 
“Enlighten me, please.” Tyrion frowned, missing a piece of the puzzle. 
 
“The ceremony was going to be in the Throne Room.” Grey pulled a piece of paper from the stack on his desk. “There is no window access from the Tower of the Hand to the Throne Room.”
 
“Seven fucking hells.” Tyrion got up to peer at the map of the Red Keep, everything coming together. “He knew you were going to the Small Hall then?”
 
“But,

how?”

Jon paced, frustration, rage, and hurt fueling his spike in energy. The bitter taste of longing made him want to go back upstairs and find Dany, reassure himself once again that she was whole, alive. “Nobody knew we were doing that interview, just all of us here. But that—“ he stopped long enough to tap his finger on the map, on the ill-fated spot. “—says differently.”
 
“You don’t think

we

had something to do with it?”
 
He turned to look at Jorah, the bite in the man’s words not unexpected, and he didn’t take offense to them. “No, I don’t. And I need to find out if Theon saw anything— a description of the man, rifle,

something

that might give us a push in the right direction. Because this guy is a step ahead every fucking time and I

can’t

figure it out.”
 
“That’s not your job, Jon.”
 
He scoffed, frustration building with the helplessness, because

gods

, he couldn’t even allow himself to fathom something happening to Dany, the reality of it harsh and unbending, making him lightheaded with fear. “Well, Tyrion, who else is going to do it?” 
 
Rubbing the scar on his chest, he turned back to glare out the window, ignoring the throb from his stitches, knowing he was missing information. “Where’s Baelish?” He watched the reflection of the men in the glass. “If Vis is gone, where’s he at? It doesn’t make

sense.

”
 
“City Watch is looking for him.”
 
The men remained silent, knowing the City Watch was hopeless, that this madman was apparently settled in to chase her down, just waiting for Jon to make another misstep. His chest was tight with the memory of his dream— her stumbling, just out of his reach.

“Are you scared of falling, Jon?”

“I’m scared you might.”

He hoped the other occupants couldn’t hear the sound of his ragged breathing as he fought for composure, forehead pressing against the window for a moment, the heat warming the glass, his eyes squeezed shut.

He needed to keep her safe, hidden away until it was all over.

Ice and snow as she stood in the cold.

A sharp inhale came with an idea— a place where no one would think to look for her. A jittery feeling came over him as he turned, thoughts starting to come together. It was a long shot, but

fuck,

it had to be better than sitting in the manse, waiting to get picked off one by one, putting her through the agony of everything and everyone else breaking until it was her turn. He couldn’t bear it. “What if we got her out of here?”
 
“Where could we take her that is secure?” Grey folded his arms over his chest, back straightening with the seriousness of the question.
 
“Winterfell.”

Gods, who would think to look for them there?

“The place is practically a fortress and I know every nook and cranny of it.
 
“I think that’s risky… but not a terrible idea.”
 
Surprised, he shifted his gaze to Jorah, air rattling in and out of his lungs, the train of thought now starting to gather up speed. “I want Grey and Dei to go to Essos. Make it look suspicious. We’ll book four plane tickets. We won’t use Dany’s name, or mine for that matter.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “Does Dei normally make the travel arrangements? I’m assuming so.” 
 
When Grey nodded he turned to Jorah. “Does she travel under an alias?”

He should have known this. It was part of his fucking job, but he had been too caught up in being with her to have the plans in motion— plans that should have been ready and waiting— just in case.

“Yes.”
 
“Good.” Some of the tension left his chest. “I’ll find Missandei and give her a heads up. Pack a bag, Grey, I want you out of here as soon as possible.”
 
“If someone is watching, they’ll notice it’s only the two of us, and not four ”
 
He faltered for a moment, the wild grip of another failure looming, laughing at him but he shook his head, scattering the doubt. “Who can we trust to go?”
 
“Doreah.” Jorah spoke up, Tyrion nodding. “We told her about Viserys, and she’s on her way back to the manse actually.”
 
“That’s one. Have her put one of those things— scarves—over her hair.” The energy was starting to wind him up and he knew he’d crash hard after this at some point, hoped he could run on it enough to get ahead of their foe. “I’ll see if I can get my sister’s boyfriend to go. Tell him to keep his mouth shut and go visit Arya in Braavos.”
 
“This might work.”
 
He gave a smile that was more of a grimace to Tyrion. “It leaves you here.”
 
“I’m not worried. It’s not me they’re after.” The other man got up. “I want you to do whatever it takes to keep her alive.”
 
“I will.” He

would

, he wouldn’t fail again, he wouldn’t listen to the cruel voices whispering in his ear, would not let his lines blur. He couldn’t— not this time. 
 
“I know you will. That’s why you’re here.”
 
The simple fact that they still seemed to believe in him left him shaky, feeling undeserving, but he’d keep going, keep trying to solve the puzzle— 
 
Tyrion paused in the doorway. “Make sure she packs a coat. It’s fucking cold in the North.”
 
“Aye.” He squeezed his fist, let himself crack a small smile. “I’ve got that covered.”
 
~*~*~
 
His fingers were twitching nervously, curling and uncurling involuntarily, nerves making it hard to sit still as he stared at the unopened box that contained his new phone, cursing himself over and over again because it was only a phone.
 
The replacement, the one Robb had ordered for him after he had listened to his brother and tore out every ounce of happiness within him. But that wasn’t the only reason he was sitting in his chair, craven. He wanted

desperately

to go back to Daenerys, tell her he was the biggest fool in the history of fools, and she was the biggest distraction of his life and he’d die for her, willingly.
 
Somehow he knew that confession wouldn’t make anything better, probably only make it worse, his inability to articulate frustrating, and he just wanted to move the clock back twenty-four hours, fix everything before it fell apart. The ache of missing her making him stare at an inanimate object like it could free him from the prison that he’d constructed.

Idiot.

He was a coward. He finally forced his fingers to work as he slid out a pocket knife, let the blade flick out, light catching it, the sharp steel cutting through the tape easily. He had to call his sister.

Dread.

That’s what was sitting in his stomach. His relationship with Sansa was fragile, even if he loved her, but she had never been one he had counted on, their foundation shaky. But, he needed her to buckle down and be a Stark— his own stubbornness mounting before he’d even made the call. Because this wasn’t about him.
 
With his teeth clenched tightly together, knowing that everyone was scraped raw and exposed, expecting it to be a sharp conversation, he forced himself to actually take out the phone and power it up, noting that all of his contacts had been transferred. He let his head roll back before he pushed the familiar but hardly used number.
 
“Have there been any changes?”
 
The panic in his sister’s voice had him dragging his hand over his face, the ceiling disappearing as he closed his eyes, the sudden urge to clear his throat making his voice rough. “No. I’ll call the hospital in a bit. I didn’t want to disturb Talisa, just in case she’s finally getting some sleep.”
 
“Oh.” There was a heavy sigh and then silence, all of Sansa’s concerns on her favorite brother, tension palpable even through the vast space separating them. 
 
There was a small sting, reflex of being an outsider growing up, but he pushed it away violently, inwardly cursing himself for the reaction because the concern was not misplaced with Robb hooked up to machines to help keep him alive.
 
“I’m coming back to Winterfell for a bit.”

Home,

it should be

home,

but the stone walls and miles of snow didn’t feel particularly like home anymore, not with his heart no longer in the North.
 
“You are? With Robb down there?” There was a sharpness to her tone that grated against his skin, judgment and disapproval— as if the guilt wouldn’t chew a hole through him— something she had unintentionally learned from her mother. “Just you? I thought you still had a client alive?”
 
It was careless phrasing on her part, even Sansa wouldn’t be that cruel, but it took the air from his lungs, sent him staggering backwards on a slippery path and his head dropped into his hand, numb and cold creeping through his extremities.
 
“Jon?”
 
“I’m bringing her with me.”
 
“To Winterfell?”
 
“Aye. She needs to be somewhere safe.” That need was burning inside of him, driving him forward, keeping him from curling up in defeat. 
 
“And that’s here?”
 
“It’s not here, I know that. Sansa—“ he let out a breath, trying to not get frustrated with his sister, trying to see her side, reminding himself they were all still reeling. “I don’t know where else to take her.”
 
They were stuck at a stalemate, and he kept quiet, knowing he shouldn’t push, but determination was wanting to speak out, to order about because he wouldn’t be told no, not now, not when he was talking about Dany’s safety. 
 
“When will you be here?” Her tone indicated he’d won,

for now

, but no doubt another conversation would be had once they actually arrived in Winterfell. 
 
“Two days.” The pressure inside of him eased a bit and he briefly wondered how much of a fight Dany was going to put up about leaving her familiar home for a strange place that he could only give her his word was secure. How much it would take out of the both of them.
 
“I’ll have things ready.” Her words were short and clipped but he knew Winterfell would be ready for guests. Manners wouldn’t accept anything less.
 
“Thank you, Sansa.”
 
With a grumbled goodbye, she ended their call, relief a strange sensation as it tingled down his arms, into his fingertips. 
 
It wasn’t a perfect plan, or even an entirely good one, but it was

something

, which was better than just sitting around and doing nothing, unable to just wait and see what happened. 
 
No, they were past that now. 
 
He checked the camera footage again, his knee bouncing with anticipation, want, the urge to go back to Dany so strong he was sure he could hardly sit still. But he made himself stay put, reminding himself she needed the sleep, that

he’d

given away any right to go check on her, that he shouldn't be near her in any unprofessional capacity unless she asked it. 
 
As she had the previous night, both their hearts hardly able to withstand all the agony, the only peace he could find that he had been there to hold her when she asked.

Gods, why did everything have to be impossible?

He needed a distraction, or, with the familiar flavor of guilt welling in his mouth, he needed to stop thinking about himself and make sure everyone else was taken care of. 
 
With an odd mixture of anticipation and wariness, he pushed in another number, well known and used. 
 
“Seven fucking hells Jon! It’s about bloody time!”
 
Her face was turned down in a scowl but he could see the worry around her eyes, the dark circles showing his tough-as-nails sister had a restless night so far away from her family. 
 
“I’m sorry. It’s been—“ he trailed off, finding he didn't have the words to explain how terrible everything was. 
 
“I know.” Arya’s voice softened with her expression. “How’s your head?”
 
He resisted the urge to touch the stitches, knowing the dull throb was nothing compared to what any of them were feeling, wondering how deep the emotional trauma would scar. “It’s nothing compared to everyone else.”
 
“I’ve already checked on Robb, so don’t try and put a guilt trip on me. I’m allowed to be concerned about you also, especially when you were so fuckin’ out of it your girlfriend had to call me.”
 
The jolt had him sitting back in his chair, the tears in Arya’s eyes only slightly distracting from her words and he was right back on the edge of the darkness, chest aching as he swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
 
“I mean—“ she had that hard look in her eye, the one that told him she was at the edge of her temper. “—you didn’t have the ability to call me, so Daenerys did. How did you think Talisa got there?”
 
It was an empty feeling,

gods

, he’d been so fucking

stupid

, he hadn’t even given it a second thought. No, he’d been there useless and Dany had been required to do all the hard work, to take care of him when he was supposed to be taking care of

her.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” It was the only thing that he could grasp, things starting to spin faster and faster. “That’s a stupid term anyway.”
 
“What do you mean? I know she’s something to you. The last time I talked to you there was this big dopey smile on your face and Gendry said—“
 
“I know what Gendry said.” He tried to keep his face expressionless, the agony rising inside of him in a big wave, ready to knock him off his feet, sweep him out to sea and drown him.
 
“Oh, so she’s not your girlfriend? Hmmm, your client as your fuck buddy? I can see where that could get a little messy.”
 
It grew inside of him with her words, wounds festering, pockets of anger bubbling up to the surface, and he was fucking tired of people trying to judge or lessen his feelings, his voice coming out in a twisted growl. “She is

not

a fuck buddy.”
 
“I know.” Surprised, he focused on his sister, realized he’d walked right into her trap, but instead of smug, her look was soft. “So what are you doing, Jon?”
 
“Tryin’ not to drown.” The words escaped him before he could shut them down, the sadness welling and filling in the broken spots, but not soothing, instead aggravating and chafing. He

hated

what he’d done.
 
“Hey, talk to me, brother. What is going on?”
 
He propped his phone against the monitors, able to shift his eyes from his sister to the hall, trying to think past the night in the hospital, ignore the sounds of screaming people, the

hurt

in her eyes that used to look upon him with trust, the confusion swimming around in his own mind.
 
“What did you do?”

Fuck.

“What makes you think I did somethin’?” It was hard to say the words, eyes closing, and he knew it was written on his face, but he didn’t want to have to say it, to explain everything that had gone so terribly wrong.
 
“Because you’re my brother and I know you’re an idiot.” She was trying to study him through the small screen. “Jon, what happened? Is this because of the shooting, because I hate to tell you, but that’s the job.”
 
“No.” He wasn’t even sure if she could hear him, voice rough and quiet. “It wouldn’t work, Arya. I’m supposed to protect her.”
 
“No shit.” She was shaking her head, his own frustrations rising up in response. “And you have to be miserable while doing it, or what?”
 
“What I’m feeling doesn’t matter, not when lives are at stake.” It was there, starting to boil inside of him— the anger, the unfairness of it all. 
 
“You

are

stupid. Jon, having feelings for someone doesn’t mean you are incapable of doing your job.” Her hands disappeared from the frame as she threw them up. “Father had a family, Robb is married, so why aren’t you allowed to have someone?”
 
The air was shuddering in and out of his lungs, cold and painful, overwhelming with everything inside of him. “Because it’s her

life

, Arya.”
 
“And it seemed she liked having you in it, despite you being a miserable, broody arsehole.” She crossed her arms, and gave a stern look. “You’re overthinking this.”
 
“I’m not.” He was, he knew it— fingers curling into a fist, relaxing, doing it all over again, mind trying to sort through everything. Robb’s accusations, images of the ceremony overshadowing that tiny flicker of hope that had started to flare somewhere in his chest. 
 
“You are and you don’t need to be.” She relaxed again, getting a look that made his heart ache, his sister wanting something

for

him. “If something would have happened to her instead of her brother, how would you feel right now? Probably even worse than you do, probably even worse than if you hadn’t fucked things up. You’d regret everything. So you need to fix it.”
 
He couldn’t breathe through the pain. “I can’t. I hurt her, Arya, and then I let her brother die. This is my fault. I can’t fix it.”
 
“It’s not your fault.” She was leaning in close again, eyes large in the screen through his blurry vision. “I know you’re the king of self blame, but listen to me. You are not responsible for this. The only one who is, is that mad man after her. You’re just standing in his way. Robb was in his way, her brother was in his way. And if you tear yourself apart, who’s going to stand between him and her?”
 
“Arya—“ his voice cracked, caught up in the same helplessness of his dream with her standing on top of the wall, so close to danger.

“Please, love, step back.”

His eyes were burning now, wet, and he couldn’t form words, the anguish choking him. He thought he had nothing left inside of him, that he had been wrung dry. 
 
He had been wrong. 
 
“I’m just sayin’, I know you live with a lot of shit, but don’t run away from what you want because of it.”

So many ghosts inside.

“I don’t know if I know how.”
 
“Figure it out. See if you still have a chance— talk to her.” She softened again, and he could hardly stand anyone looking at him like that. “What do you want, Jon?”

Her.

He wanted to wake up next to her every morning, his heart aching with the ruined possibilities. He wanted to see her covered in paint, playing with children, watch her change the world. 
 
“I want her brother to be alive, I want Robb to not be in the hospital.” His chest hitched. “I want to have not hurt her, to figure out another way to do this. But, I don’t deserve a second chance, Arya.”
 
“You should tell her what you told me and let her decide that.” Arya sighed. “Why I am the smart one? You’re older, supposed to be wiser.”
 
The laugh that bubbled up hurt— a good pain— something pushing through the agony and he swiped at this eyes, shook his head. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me wise.”
 
She snorted. “No shit.” She paused, the silence churning inside as he thought over what she had said. “So, what are you going to do?”
 
Gods, his sister was fucking persistent. “What do you mean?”
 
“You know what I mean.”
 
“First thing I’m going to do is get her out of here. I can’t sit here and be a stationary target anymore.” Fingers worried at his scar, dropping when Arya squinted at him.
 
“Good, you’re thinking. Pulling out of that hole. Then what?”
 
“You’re really annoying, do you know that?” When she did nothing but stare, he sighed, forced himself to look inside and examine the fear, the yearning, remember exactly what had caused him to try and distance them. “I ruined this for a reason, Arya. I need to do my job.”
 
“Oh fuck that. You’ve kept her alive and aren’t planning on changing that anytime soon. So all I’m hearing are excuses.” Her voice quieted, lost its heat. “Not everything always turns out the same.”
 
There was a lump in his throat, making it hard to swallow, his convictions no longer standing on rock solid ground. No, everything was shifting, shaking, and it was hard to tell if he had been right or wrong, except the glaring evidence of the previous night still fresh in his mind.
 
“Stop it, Jon.” His eyes snapped up. “Stop spinning yourself out. Take care of her. That’s it. Together, not together, just quit overthinking everything. Deep down you know, so listen to yourself.”
 
“Easier said than done.” The admittance burned his tongue, scared to dig down deep and look.
 
“I know… I miss you guys.”
 
“Miss you too.” He hardly managed it, on the edge of another breakdown, emotion coloring his words. 
 
“Go easy on yourself. And call me with any Robb news, or… just if you need to. I’m here.”
 
Swiping at his eyes, he managed a smile, somehow. “I will.”
 
With the call disconnected, he stared at the darkened screen, his eyes not seeing, hands shaky as the storm inside ripped through him, tearing and breaking. How much more could he manage? Robb’s warnings in one ear, Arya’s in another, mind spinning until he was turned upside down, not sure which way was up. 
 
He’d hurt her, he knew that. It was an unforgettable, unforgivable action, but it was liveable if she was alive. 
 
Could there have been more?

He wanted more.

It was too late.

Wasn’t it?

He didn’t know anymore, only could feel the resounding anguish filling him. 
 
But, he still had a job to do, and he forced himself to his feet, fingers rubbing over his scar. He’d let Dany sleep longer while he packed and finalized arrangements. He needed to contact Gendry, make sure he was onboard, get their details for departure lined out.
 
And then maybe he’d figure this out. 
 
~*~*~
 
Her screams were trapped in her throat, no sound passing lips chapped and dry from the hours of sobbing. She couldn’t move, each muscle locked and straining against what, she had no idea— all she knew was that she woke alone.
 
The nightmare receded, only the image of Jon’s eyes crying tears of blood and the sound of breaking glass staying with her— the rest slipping through her fingers like silk, but her body stayed rigid and still. She fought for breath, commanded her heart to stop pounding in her chest before the panic engulfed her further, the paralysis terrifying and complete. She could feel more tears pouring from the corners of her eyes, unable to blink them away.
 
She stared at the ceiling, her gaze locked— trying to make out the whorls of patterns she knew lie above her, trying to ground herself with the feel of the sheets tangled around her legs, fighting to keep the smell of

Jon

in her nose, the pillow he had used clutched to her chest like a lifeline. If he had been there maybe he could help her break free. But he wasn’t.
 
Nor was he supposed to be. Anymore.
 
She drew in a shuddering breath, her heart still crashing against her ribs, the fear coiled around her spine rising like a venomous snake, ready to strike. And she couldn’t move, she couldn’t break free of it, her body too tired and worn to obey the commands her mind desperately shouted.
 
Was this what Jon had felt the day before? This paralysis that locked down every muscle, every thought held captive behind a useless body, wracked and worn through from the stress? Had he been aware, but trapped— helpless to reach for her even though she had been right there, trying to reach him just as desperately?
 
Another tear slipped loose, gravity drawing it down her temple and soaking into the pillow beneath her head. The pain was coming in waves now, each crest turning her stomach until she thought she may vomit, and the thought of Jon finding her, choked and drowned in a puddle of her own sick finally wrenched her free, her muscles screaming as she forced herself upright.
 
Her head slammed into her knees as she curled in on herself, stiff fingers clutching at the tangle of blankets around her, nails tearing through the fine fabrics as she gulped down breath after breath. Her entire body ached, the aftermath of being tackled to an unforgiving floor, followed by hours of stress and cold and strain taking their toll. Out of the corner of her eye she could see bruises blossoming on her arms, small ovals that she guessed would perfectly match the circumference of Jon’s fingertips.
 
He’d hate himself for that.
 
With a groan she forced her fingers to unclench, rolling stiff muscles until they released fully from the last dredges of paralysis. She needed a hot bath, or a massage, or

something.

An end to the torment, one way or another.
 
The sun was pouring through her window, a cruel reminder that time marched ever forward, letting her know that she actually had managed to somehow fall asleep, at least for awhile. Her head pounded against the light, her eyelids puffy and sore to the touch as she reached up slowly to rub her eyes. The pain made it all come rushing back— not that it had ever truly left her— the panic, the blood, Jon’s broken apologies as he held her.
 
She slammed her eyes shut against the memories, against the light, against the ever present tears. And Jon— he had held her all night, molding his body to hers, absorbing all her tears, whispering nonsense to try to soothe her, everything that he

shouldn’t

have had to do for her, everything he had tried to put a stop to before it was too late.
 
She was weak. 
 
What had she been thinking the night before? Of course he would stay with her if she asked— he wasn’t cruel. No, it was she who was cruel, asking of him exactly what she shouldn’t, thinking only of herself and not about what would be best for

him

.
 
And now, he was gone, the side of the bed he had occupied cold, even though he had obviously taken a moment to tuck the covers back in around her, the door that had stood open between their rooms for so long now mostly closed, only the tiniest sliver of light shining through. She threw the covers back, the room suddenly stifling, no air moving as she struggled to pull in a deep enough breath. She stumbled to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, the sight of their blood streaked clothes hanging over the glass of the shower setting off another storm of sobs.
 
A hiccup left her as she struggled to pull herself together, splashing cold water on her face, unable to do more without causing terrible pain, and attending to her basic morning needs before her eyes lit on the phone he had given her, long abandoned and likely drained of its battery.

Fuck— Arya…

She had promised she would have Jon call her, but instead had let him linger with her instead of taking comfort and support from his family. From those he loved.
 
She picked up the phone, fingers brushing across the screen, trying to convince herself to go tell him, knowing she should keep her distance, let him grieve in his own way. Let the circle of family engulf him, pull him in to their healing and comfort.
 
But, she had promised. And if he somehow hadn’t spoken to her yet, then Dany would carry that around with her as well. Her pile of guilts collecting like seashells from a beach, gathered and shoved into a pocket, weighing her down.
 
She went to her closet and pulled the doors open, looking for something comfortable to take the place of her robe. She pulled on a pair of leggings and a tank top, digging through one of her drawers for an old, ratty, paint covered sweatshirt that had belonged to Rhaegar. It was too large, drowning her small form, but it would cover the marks on her arms, let her hide the hard proof of the violence of the night from him. The sleeves were too long, the threadbare cuffs hanging well over her palms, but it was comfortable, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that it smelled of him.
 
She exited the closet, a little lost, slipping her phone into her pocket and checking Jon’s watch on her wrist for the time. How it had survived the turbulence of the previous night, she would never know, but she was grateful she hadn’t managed to destroy it.

No, just her own life.

A shuffling sound from Jon’s room drew her attention, the door cracked just the slightest bit wider than it had been previously, and she couldn’t help herself, pulled toward the promise of his presence. She slid the door back quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he was resting.
 
His room was eerie and empty, bed made and undisturbed from their tumultuous night, but on it—
 
Her heart stopped as she took in the suitcase lying open on the bed, piled high with his shoes and clothing, other equipment strewn haphazardly across a black duffle bag.

He was leaving.

She felt her face heat and burn, a crawling itch creeping down her cheeks, the grief threatening to leak out from under her skin— tremble and tear until there was nothing left of her. It wasn’t until she saw the splash on her sleeve that she realized she was weeping, silent and still, frozen and frightened of what he would say when he appeared, what she would say to try to get him to stay.

Don’t go.

And yet, here she was again, only thinking of herself. She couldn’t run from him, she had promised herself that, looked his goodsister square in the eye and swore to them both that she wouldn’t. But, was that what was best for

him

?
 
A flash behind closed eyes, and suddenly she couldn’t clear the image of him laying in her lap, bleeding and broken and blank.

She

had brought that on him, her actions setting this entire nightmare into motion, and now she truly did have blood on her hands, in more ways than one. Robb, Vis, Jon— the myriad of others who were hurt in the ensuing panic.
 
She was selfish, and terrible, and he needed to run as far away from her as he could. Before whoever was hunting her figured out that Jon Snow was the real key to her destruction.
 
She needed to let him go. 
 
It was the only way she could have the guarantee that he would come out of this alive, that he would stay safe and whole. He and his family had paid enough for her sins. Maybe if she were brave enough to let go Jon could escape this nightmare. That knowledge would be enough.
 
She would make it be enough.
 
Relief cracked through the pain, almost doubling her over, but she locked her knees, a hand going to his bed to brace herself until she heard a throat clearing behind her.
 
She closed her eyes, straightening slowly, fingers sliding off the duvet to bring her sleeve to her face to hastily wipe the tears away before she turned.
 
“You’re awake.” His voice was low and rough from the strain of their night, his face tight and still pale, the knot of the stitches standing out against his forehead in a stark contrast. 
 
She nodded, eyes falling to the floor when she realized she couldn’t look him full in the face, the pain of her realization sharp and fresh. She squared her shoulders, digging deep within herself to find a way to let him go with any grace that was left to her. “For awhile now.”
 
“Dany—”
 
“Did you call Arya?” her voice sounded strangled to her own ears as she rushed on. “I promised her I would have you call when you could, and in the rush…” she trailed off, shrugging. He knew.
 
“Aye.”
 
She nodded, studying the tops of Jon’s shoes as he took another step closer to her, his arms full of toiletries from the bathroom. “You’re leaving.”
 
It wasn’t a question. He seemed to realize that, his shoulders dropping as he moved to let the items in his hands fall into his bag. “Aye. I thought—”
 
“Is Robb all right?” She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before more traitorous tears slipped down her face.
 
He turned back toward her, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the bed. “Stable for now.”
 
“Good,” she breathed. “I’m glad.”
 
“Are you all right?”
 
She huffed out a dry laugh, folding her own arms across her chest, her heart feeling as if it may burst at any moment, showering them both with the fragments of her grief. She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, that she would

be

fine. “No.”
 
He took a step closer to her, but she edged back away from him, knowing if he touched her she would never be able to do what she needed to do— say what she needed to say. Her fingers scrabbled in her sleeve to find the band of his watch, pulling it tight until the hook released, sliding it off of her wrist and holding it out to him. An offering.
 
“What are you doing?” His voice shot up an entire octave, another step closer to her and she finally dragged her eyes up to meet his, thinking she was prepared for the spark of pain it would cause, not knowing that an entire conflagration awaited her in his gaze.
 
“This is yours.” she whispered. Caught, unable to look away.
 
He shook his head, a bit wildly, hands held away from him as if in defense. “I know it’s mine. What are you doing?”
 
She felt her entire face tighten, the strain of trying to hold herself together making her waver, making her weak, and she couldn’t be weak. She needed to be strong enough for them both. “I’m giving it back. Take it, Jon.”
 
“No.” He folded his arms stubbornly across his chest.
 
“Take it,” she took a step toward him, her hand shaking as she held the watch up to him.
 
“Dany, that’s not how this works. You know that, you created it.”
 
She swallowed tightly.

Had it all been a game?

“I know.”
 
“But?”
 
“But now, you’re leaving.”

Don’t leave me...

Don’t be a crutch…

He looked as if she had just punched him in the face, knees crumbling and she was glad the bed was behind him to break his fall. “Dany—“ his voice was shaking, but she kept going, she had to, otherwise she would never make it through.
 
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Jon.” She took a tentative step forward, another as he took in a shaky breath, his hands coming up to rub his face. “I won’t—” her own voice caught and snagged, the tears back and pooling in her eyes until they splashed down.
 
“I will never—” she tried again, failing miserably before she finally laid the watch on his trembling leg, leaning in just once more to brush a kiss against his cheek, but she either missed, or he moved with a jerk, her lips catching against the corner of his mouth, his as chapped and dry as her own, but she tasted salt and she wasn’t sure if it was from her own tears or his.
 
His hands tried to come up to catch her face, tangling in her hair as she pulled away, her fingers trembling as she clasped them together to keep from reaching for him even though all she wanted was to let herself be folded into his arms, held close and treasured. “Goodbye, Jon.” she didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice, breath coming in gulps as she forced the rest of the words out. “Please be careful.”
 
Turning blindly, she left.
 
~*~*~
 
He was stuck, frozen in agony while his watch on his leg kept cruel time, his brain slowing down with the heartbreak on her face as he tried to absorb what she was saying.

Goodbye, Jon.

She said something else, that pretty mouth moving but he couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears, confusion anchoring him the bed, a crushing weight as he realized that she had misunderstood his intentions,

horribly.

“Dany.”

Gods

, his voice was hardly recognizable, fear building and building as she turned away from him, and

fuck

, he didn’t think he could hurt anymore but he

could

, he

needed

to stop her, to listen to him
 
To let him try and fix it.
 
But she was still moving away, shoulders rounded, and something inside him snapped, fingers curling around his watch before he scrambled to his feet, shoving the object into his pocket, chasing after her, panic driving him forward.
 
“Dany, please, wait.” He caught up with her just over her threshold, wanting to catch her up, hold her close, but he was afraid to cross that line, to encroach on her personal space after all

he’d

done, but the need to comfort her outweighed the hesitation, a hand reaching out to skim down her arm, careful not to grab, or force, but to ask.
 
To plead.
 
When she spun around, her soft skin burning into his own, the agony in her eyes ripping right into his heart, he almost stumbled, unprepared to be that off balance for putting that much hurt on her face.
 
He’s not sure what else he expected.
 
“Dany—“ his hand dislodged as she had turned, fingers curling in because he didn’t know what to do except force himself to look past what he was feeling, to concentrate on her. “I’m not leaving.”
 
“You have a suitcase on the bed.” Her voice was cracked and splintered, just like everything inside of him. “I understand, I do. With Vis and Robb—“
 
“No,

no.”

Is that what he had driven them to? That she would believe he’d leave her like this? Now? “Please let me explain.”
 
Her head was shaking, tears that she seemed unaware of, or unable to stop, streaming down her face. “There’s no point—“
 
“Dany.” He felt like the bottom was dropping out from under him, something else inside him welling with it, that fierceness to shelter her and protect. He took his chance, unable to not have contact, hands coming up to cup her face, soft enough for her to move away if she wanted.
 
She tensed, muscles locking, but stayed.
 
“

We

are leaving Dany.” It came out in a rush, tangled up and tripping, and

gods—

he hoped she could hear him under the weight of her own grief. “I’m not leaving you, I wouldn’t do that.”
 
He could see it etched in her face, the shadowed look in her eyes, something he recognized, had

lived

. She was shuttering herself up, going into self preservation mode and he’d hate himself for all of eternity for causing that.
 
“You

did

do that.” A pull of her head and his hands were grasping air. “You did, Jon, so I don’t understand how you can say you’re not.”
 
Gods, he’d fucked up everything, broken that fragile trust she’d had in him— in

them

. “We are leaving. I’m not leaving you behind, not now and not like this.”
 
There was a dull look in her eyes, pain shining from their depths. “If not now, then when? How long are we going to keep doing this to each other?”
 
“I don’t know, I don’t

know.

” He’d done enough damage— she didn’t want him there at all— some small voice in head telling him, mocking. “I don’t want to do this—“ his hand pointed out the distance between them. “—at all, I hate where I put us, but I don’t know how to do it differently. Just, please, let me take you somewhere safer.
 
Her back turned as she moved away, a noise coming from her throat. “Nowhere is safe. Not anymore.”
 
Gods, he had to make her see, not let her give up. He wanted to reach for her

but stopped himself, moving closer instead. “I think it will be, or can be.” His words tripped over themselves in his haste to get them out before he was shut out completely. “I want to take you north, to Winterfell. We have a plan and I think it will work. It has to be better than staying here. We have to try

something.

I can’t just sit here and wait for him to outsmart me again. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Shoulders straightened as she drew herself up, a movement he recognized, his heart aching with the gesture as she steeled herself. “If you don’t want to do this anymore than I don’t see how that matters. He’s not going to stop.”

Fuck,

she was misunderstanding him, his inability to say the right thing was going to bury him. Needing to see her, he stepped to the side, giving her room to move away, soaking in the view of that perfect profile. “That’s not what I mean, at all.” His fingers curled as he made his voice stay level, serious, honest. “And I will stay here until he’s gone and you’re safe. Then you can ask me to go and I will, but right now your life is the most important thing to me, more than how I feel, or even how you feel. I am going to keep you alive, Dany, even if you hate me by the end of it.”
 
The look on her face was anger, confusion, her hands fluttering in the air before her arms crossed against her chest. “I don’t— I’m not asking you to leave. I’m trying to keep you alive too.”
 
Guilt filled him, threatened to spill from his lips. She was never supposed to worry about him— that was his job— a realization starting somewhere inside, the slight brightness of light. “I want to stay alive also, fuck, I do.” 
 
He needed her to know the truth of that, how she’d changed that. “Do you know how long it’s been since I felt that way? I don’t…. I don’t even remember. It’s been ice and snow and pain.” Needed her to see all of it. “But what I’m feeling now doesn’t matter if you’re not alive also. So please, let me do my job, let me try and make it right again.”
 
“
Make what right, Jon?” The frustration ebbed between them and he didn’t know how to make it stop. “You’re doing your job, have been doing your job. I’m alive right now because you have been fucking doing your godsdamned job, and doing it well.”
 
The images from the ceremony were there, seared deep within him, Arya’s words buckling under the weight of it and he shook head, not willing to let go of the blame yet, wanting to fix everything between him and the woman staring at him with tears in her eyes, but not until she could see the truth of it.
 
“Not well enough.” It was as simple as that. His voice rough as he continued. ”Your brother, my brother.” Restless hands rubbed over his face, everything inside of him churning more and more. “Maybe it would be better to get someone else— I don’t know at this point, but I know what I’m willing to do to keep you alive, try and keep you safe and I

need

to do just that.”
 
“No.

No

— I, no, Jon.” She was hugging herself, folding in, hair falling around her face as she shook her head and he ached with wanting to gather her close.
 
“No, what, Dany?” It was getting harder and harder to breathe, an inkling of what she was saying starting to sink in, the horror of it making him step closer, words sharper than intended. “Let you die? Live in a world without you? No, I won’t.”
 
Her head came up, face white, the bleakness threatening to take him out at the knees. “Do you know what I see in my dreams— in the nightmares that you have to pull me from every night? You. I see you, eyes gouged out like in that fucking photo. You, lying lifeless in my arms.

You

, pale and still and dead. I can’t carry you like you carry your ghosts, Jon. I’m not strong enough. So I have to let you go, because this person, this psycho is hunting

me

… And if he gets to you?”
 
The sound of his own blood rushed in his ears, frozen in the horror of what he’d brought to her, the ragged sound of her breathing matching his own as she sucked in a breath before continuing. “Robb was right in one regard. You’re the chink in what bits and pieces are left of my armor. Whoever this is wants to make it hurt, and I’ll already have to carry Vis with me for the rest of my life, but I can’t— I can’t watch you die, Jon. I won’t. I forbid you to die for me.”
 
Drowning. He was drowning, they both were, his eyes burning and he knew he should walk away, he was no good for her but he couldn’t fathom letting someone else step into his place. He found a kernel of stubbornness, clinging to it, something inside him chafing at her trying to push him away. “You really think I’d walk away from you now? I can’t do that. I’m sorry that I didn’t get this stopped before it got to this point.” Gods he’d never forgive himself for that. “Nobody should have to live with that in their head, in here—“ fingers started to reach out before he stopped, moving them back to his own chest, letting them run over the scar residing there. “—but Dany, don’t ask me to walk away now. I won’t.”
 
Her voice was barely a whisper, eyes squeezed shut. “Why not?”
 
He wanted,

by the gods

he wanted to tell her the depths of his emotions— bottomless— the strength of them making it hard to think. That he’d never felt this way before in his life, that what he thought had been love before had been a match compared to the forest fire raging through him.

That he was in love with her.

His inhale caught, snagged on the realization, the truth that had been staring him in the face, that he had overlooked, ignored, hid from. His hands were twitching, sea blue eyes staring at him with a wariness that tore him apart, that

he

had put there and he couldn’t tell her— not now— not with their world in shambles around them, not when those words could be used to twist her against her will.
 
No, he couldn’t do that. He swallowed the urge to confess, but he needed to give her something, unable to give her nothing. “Because you’re the best person I know, because you’re the best thing in my life and I

know

I ruined everything, that I’m selfish for saying this, especially now, but even if you’re not mine, I still need you out there alive, doing everything that you do, making other people’s lives better.”
 
It was an honest confession, and

gods

he wished she could see her own worth as her eyes widened before closing off again, her head turning away, her sigh of exhaustion felt down to his bones.
 
“Except mine won’t be better without you.”
 
He felt like he was losing ground, frustration coloring the edges of everything else and when his hands moved on their own accord, he let them, watched her reaction as they settled against her upper arms. “What do you want me to do? Promise you that I won’t die? I can’t do that. I don’t want to die, I know that, and I know that I want to keep you safe—“ He was out of breath, ready to beg. “—so

please

let me do that.”
 
The firm press of her fingertips in his forearm almost startled him, her voice broken. “You’re already doing that. You always have. From the first moment we met.”
 
“Then let me keep you safe in Winterfell.” Gods, maybe he wasn’t losing ground, maybe she would relent. “I would feel better with us there.”
 
“What about Robb?” A crack in her resistance.
 
“Robb has Talisa here, he doesn’t need me.” He hurt at the thought of leaving his brother but knew he couldn’t do anything for him, that Robb would understand.
 
Nails dug into his skin. “Yes, he does, Jon. They all need you.”
 
She was infuriatingly stubborn, his shoulders slumping forward, not letting her go, frustrated with the barrier keeping him from feeling her skin under his palms, but held on, wanting her to

see

. “He doesn’t need me

here

, not right now, not like I need you

there.

”
 
A silence stretched between them, vast and wide, and even though she was close enough he could kiss her, he knew that wasn’t an option even if the want was there. The urgent need was keeping her safe. 
 
Teeth chewed nervously at her lip as she contemplated, and he was hesitant to move, holding his breath, worried something would scare her off, wanting to pull her into his chest and promise her anything she wanted.
 
“Are you sure?” Her eyes came up with her careful words and he took a deep breath in. 
 
“I am. Let me get you out of here, please.” Relief was something he hadn't felt much, especially with the turmoil, but he savored it.
 
“And then what?”
 
“I don’t know.” He didn’t, they were lost and fumbling and trying to keep everything scraped together, but he had to give her

something

. “Tyrion’s man gets enough information to figure this out, I hope. Somethin’ will have to give.”
 
He thought the noise that came out of her was supposed to be a laugh, her chin lifting as she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. “What more can I give?”
 
He fucking hated everything. “I don’t want you to have to give anything more. And I’m sorry that you’ve already lost so much.” He forced himself to not look behind him and count his past mistakes, to not let himself be pulled back down into that dark hole. ”I don’t have the answers, Dany, I wish I did because I’d tell you whatever you wanted to know. The only thing I know, or I think I know, is this and I’ll do it as long as I need to. I promise you that.”
 
The grip on his arms loosened, fell away, and he reluctantly released his own, a watery shine in her eyes. “If I let you take me north, will you stop apologizing to me?”
 
The air rattled out of him, the weight inside of him lessening. “Aye, I think I can make that deal.” 
 
“Promise me, Jon.” Her voice was firm, hinging on desperate.
 
“I promise you, no more apologizing.” He give her that, anything really, but

that

for sure.
 
“Thank you.”
 
“You’re welcome.” Still, he hated how they were and needed to try and find balance, knowing if it didn’t work, he would try again, finding his watch in his pocket, noticing her wide eyed expression as he reached out and took a chance. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, fastening the watch around it before letting go, stepping back and holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d reject the offering, not sure what he’d do if she did. “Now, can you please go pack. I want us out of here as soon as it gets dark. Grab your warmest coat.”
 
Wordlessly she nodded, fingers dancing around the band, but she kept it on, something that felt dangerously like hope sparking inside of him as he turned to go back into his room, leaving the door ajar, leaving it to be her decision to close it as he went back to packing.
 
He heard Missandei go into Dany’s room, voices low as he zipped his duffle closed and forced himself out of his room and down to his office to meet with Doreah, text Arya and warn her they were shipping Gendry to her, gently threaten them to silence. He kept an eye closely on the camera outside their rooms, anxiety chasing after him as he finished his plans.
 
Finally unable to stall any longer, he called his good sister, got the update on Robb, which was much the same as the last one, reminding himself that no change and stable was better than worse, his knuckles aching from squeezing his fist closed, eyelids feeling like sandpaper with every blink.
 
“We are ready to roll out in two hours.”
 
Grey in his doorway pulled everything back into focus, muscles tight with tension and he nodded, forcing himself to his feet again, making sure he had everything out of his desk that he’d need.
 
“Okay.” He nodded, second guessing their plan, before shaking it off. They had nothing else.
 
Closing the door behind him, he moved down the hall, let his fingers trail over the wood of Dany’s office door before hesitating, starting to go past, then turning back, and letting himself in.
 
She might be furious at the invasion of her privacy. He might be making a huge misstep, but he crossed to her desk, sitting down in her chair to slide a finger underneath and remove the key to her drawer, fishing out the small lockbox with her gun and, seeing the sketchbooks, pulled them out also, missing the sight of her curled up on her couch, concentration giving her a line between her eyebrows. 
 
Securing the items under his arm, he turned out the light, and let himself out, listening to his own footsteps as he made his way back to his room, locking the door behind him.
 
He faltered then, all bravery leaving him and he almost turned to go put her stuff back, but he had already come this far. Chiding himself, he moved to where their door sat still partially open, silence in the space beyond.
 
Knowing Dei had already left, he gave a soft knock, pushing it wider with the lack of response, fear crawling up his spine even though he

knew

she was safe, but needing to verify it with his own eyes.
 
And she was safe, sound, curled up in a little ball on her bed, clothes strewn across the bedspread, but her bags packed and sitting by the door. His eyes pulled back to her form, seeing even in sleep that tension kept her from sinking into the soft mattress. He set down her things on the dresser, and grabbed a throw from the chair in the corner of the room, shaking it out and settling it over her.
 
Lingering, he sat on the edge of the bed, giving himself a moment to push the hair off her face, stray wisps that had pulled out of her braid, his heart aching with everything she’d gone through— that he’d put her through— exhaustion dragging at him.
 
He should get to his feet, move back to his own room, his own

bed,

try and sort out the tangle of newly named emotions inside of him before dragging her back in it with him— if she’d even let him— but he found himself unable, or maybe just unwilling to move, wanting more than he should ask for, especially with danger still looming.
 
With a sigh of defeat, he gave into the longing inside of him, stretching out beside her before rolling on his side, letting himself have this one last moment as he draped his arm around her middle, drew her in closer and buried his face between her shoulders, taking a deep breath of air that smelled like

Dany

.
 
With the warmth humming inside of him, he closed his eyes. 
 
~*~*~
 
She felt like she was going insane, her mind struggling to bend and wrap around all the confusion, the whiplash of her emotions weakening her resolve with every spark of fear and longing that crossed Jon’s face. Her fingers closed around the watch now firmly back on her wrist, his defiance impossible to resist— the raw, cautious hope in his eyes drowning her, making her unsure if now was exactly the moment when she needed to dig deep to keep fighting for his own good, or surrender to wherever the winds may take her.
 
They were both desperate, grasping at straws, concerns scraping against each other roughly, sparking at the contact. Neither was willing or able to back down, their own worries for the other all but burying them with grief and doubt.
 
A gentle knock sounded as Missandei let herself into the room, golden eyes bright with understanding as she wordlessly crossed the room and took Dany into her arms, folding her in tightly as Dany clutched her best friend’s shoulders, burying her face in her hair and taking a deep, shuddering breath.
 
“How much of that did you hear?”
 
“Contrary to popular belief, Dany, I have better things to do that eavesdrop outside your room all the time.” Dei squeezed her tighter before stepping back, her eyes flitting over to the open door between their rooms, watching carefully as Jon threw the rest of his toiletries into his bag, zipped it closed, and left, the soft click of his door echoing in the stillness. “That being said, you two weren’t exactly being quiet and I heard most of it.”
 
Dany sank back onto the bed, dropping her head into her hands with a low groan, wincing as her fingertips made contact with her swollen eyelids. “Lay back for a minute, let me get you a cold washcloth to help with that.”
 
Dei was gone before she could protest, so she did as she was told, Jon taking whatever fight she had left with him for the moment. She heard the sound of water running, belatedly realizing that there would be no hiding the turmoil of their restless night, not with her dress and Jon’s suit left to dry over the shower, blood still dripping down the walls and into the basin of the shower like the remnants of the horror movie her life had become.
 
The bed shifted as Dei climbed up beside her, the cloth she laid across her closed eyelids drawing a hiss from her lips until it settled, the throbbing receding to a dull ache in her temples. Dany reached out a hand, waiting until Dei’s slim fingers slid between hers, tangling them together. “Thank you.”
 
The silence stretched between them, Dei settling in beside her in the bed, her forehead coming to rest against Dany’s temple. “You know he hasn’t forgiven himself for any of it yet, right?”
 
Her heart tugged in her chest. “There’s nothing to forgive

him

for though.”
 
“He doesn’t see it that way. All he can see right now is his failures.” Dei took a deep breath. “He was in charge and people got hurt on his watch. Your brother died.”
 
Her mind was spinning, trying to process the information. “But that’s not his fault. He can’t be everywhere. Our security didn’t fail. It all happened so fast, there was no way to prevent— the event security failed— they were the ones that let the shooter in, not Jon. He got me out.”
 
Dei hummed. “You know that, I know that, somewhere deep down, he knows that, but he hasn’t accepted it yet. And he’s a lot like you. He blames himself for a lot of things that aren’t his fault.”
 
That stung. The truth often did. “I don't blame him.” 
 
“It doesn't matter if you don't blame him if he blames himself.”
 
Dei didn’t say anything else, allowing her time to process, to let that heaviness sink below the surface, to ponder. Was that why he was clinging to his stubbornness? Refusing to listen to her, no matter what tack she had tried to take to get him to see the truth?
 
Dei started running fingers through the tangles in her hair, no time in the panic of the night before to give it its usual care, and Dany felt herself starting to relax, her exhausted body craving the gentle care. “I’m sorry about Vis.” Her murmur was almost missed, the hesitation to offer the condolences making Dany’s heart twinge in regret, in shame. “I don’t know if I said that yesterday.”
 
Dany didn’t remember, to be honest, the day before both ingrained forever in the depths of her memory and oddly clouded in an obscure haze. “So am I,” she breathed, expecting debilitating pain to come with the admission, but instead she felt hollow— scooped out— like she had given so much of herself while he was still alive that there was nothing left of the Dany she had been to grieve for him. “I wish…” she trailed off, waiting for the familiar surge of guilt to rear its ugly head. “I wish it could have been different.”
 
“We all do.”
 
It was too small of an admission, regret giving way to only exhaustion— a heaviness that settled into her bones, the sigh that escaped deep and cavernous within her. “Jon’s taking me north. I don’t remember where he said.”
 
“I know. Grey and I are going to Essos as part of your decoy entourage.”

That

brought her up short, the thought of someone, anyone else putting themselves in the crosshairs for her making her stomach turn violently. 
 
She snatched the cloth from her eyes, staring up at Dei accusingly. “What?”
 
Dei didn’t flinch, just held her gaze steadily. “It’s a good idea, Dany. A good plan. Jon’s right about one thing— waiting here for someone to kill you is terrible.”
 
“I don’t want you to— I don’t want anyone else to—”
 
“We’re doing this because we want to, all of us. We all know it won’t last long, but if we can draw them away long enough for Jon to hide you, then it’s an acceptable risk.”
 
“Dei,” she blinked back more tears, dashing a hand across her eyes, wincing at the flash of pain, already beyond tired of her seemingly constant state of duress. 
 
“Dany, sometimes you have to accept help when it’s offered. This is one of those times.”
 
“But what if—”
 
Dei clicked her tongue to hush her. “Grey won’t let that happen.

Jon

won’t let that happen.”
 
“We can’t hide forever.” That was a truth neither she nor Jon was particularly ready to face— what happened when the killer caught up with them again.
 
“No, but hopefully we can hide you for long enough for him to make a mistake. For the City Watch to pull their heads out of their asses and do their jobs.”

Fucking Slynt

. “I think we both know that’s unlikely… Promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you too.”
 
“I promise.” Dei squeezed her hand. “By the way, you’ve had a few calls this morning. The Board has made their decision.” Dany raised an eyebrow, not daring to hope.”They agree with your assessment. Tyrion has been voted in as CEO. They wanted to know if you’d like to give him the news.”
 
She huffed out a sigh of relief, something finally breaking their way. With Tyrion in place, she could breathe easier now that she was leaving, knowing that he would do everything he could to stop the rising tide of horror that House Targaryen had found themselves immersed in.

Now that she may never be coming home.

“I would like that actually. I’ll take my wins where I can.”
 
“I thought you might. I’ll make sure you get at least fifteen minutes with him before we all leave.” Dei sat up all the way, pulling her phone out of her pocket, tapping away.
 
“You won’t have much to schedule while I’m away. Your calendar should get a nice vacation.” Dei’s small smile spoke volumes. “Make sure Grey takes you somewhere nice. Pentos, maybe.”

Another dream to set aside.

“We’ll see,” she demurred. “I have to admit it will be strange to have a blank calendar for the foreseeable future.”
 
Dany huffed out a hollow laugh. “Well, if you want to put in all the appointments I’m sure to have with the white winds, and the First Men, and the Night King, feel free.”
 
“Do you want to talk about it?”
 
Dany wasn’t sure she liked that shrewd look in Dei’s eyes. “Talk about what?”
 
“The fact that Jon Snow is in love with you.”
 
Her whole world careened off its axis, the sudden shift stealing her breath, making her glad that she was already laying down, otherwise the statement might have taken her out at the knees. She blinked dumbly at Dei, no words left in her mind, nothing but an empty hole within her starting to fill, the world solidifying beneath her fingertips in a way she had never felt before. Something she didn’t know was missing falling and locking into place.
 
She felt more tears splash down her cheeks. “No, he’s not.”
 
Dei sighed, her patience obviously stretched to her limit as she studied her carefully, her certainty ironclad. “He is, and I think you may love him back.” 
 
That feeling of fullness expanded, her chest oddly light given that she couldn’t stop crying. “Dei—”
 
“I know, and by the looks of it he hasn’t told you yet. But, I thought you should know. Maybe it will help you both understand.”
 
“Understand what?”
 
“That you’re on the same side. You both want the same things, even if you’re saying them in

completely

different ways. That it’s better to face these long nights together.” Dei took the washcloth and gently wiped the tears from her face. “He’s scared, Dany. Just as much as you are. But maybe if you cling to each other, you can both find a way to be brave again.”
 
Another wave of exhaustion fell over her, her mind sparking and dulling with Dei’s words, their heaviness something she was helpless to deny. “I’ve never— I don’t know

how…

”
 
“Dany…” the chide was gentle. “It’s love, not rocket science.”
 
Dany pushed herself up, reaching to gather her hair to the side, braiding it quickly to buy herself time, to give her hands something to do other than flutter helplessly. Wanting time to quietly study the flood of feelings Dei’s words brought, but needing to push them to the side to focus on the now and not the what if.
 
“We should pack—” the yawn caught her mid-thought, her mind tumbling, her body still sluggish. 
 
Dei smirked. “How about I pack, and you try to get a little more rest.”
 
“I can help,” Dany grumbled as Dei laughed softly.
 
“If you can tell me where your suitcase is, I’ll let you help.”
 
Dany opened her mouth, only to shut it immediately. She never packed for herself— she had no idea. “Fine. But don’t let me sleep long.”
 
“I won’t.”
 
“Dei?” Missandei raised an eyebrow at her, poised and ready to get to work. “You know I love you, right?” The words were rusted and stiff on her tongue. She felt like a fraud, like a little girl playing dress up in clothes that were too big and didn’t fit, but when she looked in the mirror she saw something there that she longed for— a dream of

someday

.
 
“I know.” Dei didn’t say anything else, but the warmth in her eyes filled Dany with a strange sense of wonder and joy, that same full feeling in her chest allowing her to lay back, close her eyes, quietly think as Dei moved about the room with soft rustles and the quick efficiency Dany had always come to rely upon from her.
 
She tucked her hands beneath her cheek and allowed the sound of Jon’s watch ticking to lull her into a restless sleep. 
 
~*~*~

The storm seemed to come out of nowhere, violent and dark, cold and swirling, snow in the depths. How she knew it was snow, she had no idea, but it was there, blinding and lashing, the sting of ice against her cheek causing it to throb. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes.

What’s snow like?

… You’ve never seen snow? …

Is that so hard to believe?

… When you grow up in a place that sees more snow than rain, yes… It’s cold.

It was… so very cold she couldn’t feel her hands anymore, fingers going numb as the bitterness flowed through her, arms going leaden, chest heavy, legs wooden in the frigid air. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried to fight her way through, forcing her tired body to keep going even as the weight tried to drag her down.

She could see a spot of light in the distance, and tried to keep her eyes trained on it, hoping it was warmth she was headed for— safety.

A shadow loomed to her left, some monster surfacing from the depths of her memory, the bite of the breeze cutting through her, whispers she couldn’t make out flowing over her.

Dany, I need you to move…

Jon’s voice was the first she recognized, her heart crying out to hear him, renewed strength flowing through her leaden limbs, but fear was there as well, her constant companion.

A sudden flash of clarity came down upon her—

this was a dream.

And in her dreams he died.

She tensed, trying to force herself to wake up, to fly, to do anything she could to protect him, but she couldn’t. She was trapped, just like she always was, her body betraying her, the paralysis taking over again, until…

The sun seemed to break through, but she had gotten turned around somehow, the light she had been following somehow behind her, warmth spreading across her back as the beam grew, the blank whiteness in every direction splintering, shards of green and growth sparking through. She turned toward the light, towards the promise of warmth—

—and everything shifted, something soft and solid and warm over her, around her. A blanket tucked across her legs and her head resting against something solid, legs tangled together, twined and twisted and tranquil. She could still smell the cool, crisp snow, the pines, that green peeking through even though she kept her eyes closed, letting herself burrow into the warmth that she realized smelled of Jon.

It was Jon.

She could feel the tension retreating from her body as she burrowed into his chest, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Her nose was cold, but there was heat to be found in the hollow of his throat, fingers searching under the blanket to find something solid, a slight intake of breath as her fingers slid underneath more fabric, her skin prickling at the sensation of warmth. She sighed, shoulders relaxing as she was drawn closer, a happy hum drifting down to settle over her.

This

was peace, this was light, this feeling was everything she had ever craved.

She hadn’t realized she was tracing patterns over the surface her fingers had found, smooth and warm, but with irregularities— bumps and scars ingrained into the skin— the imperfections as precious to her as he was. She took a sleepy breath, in awe as the chest below hers rose and fell with the same fluid movements.

Something heavy settled against her head, rough fingers threading into her hair, silently stroking as she nuzzled further into the shelter offered, lips brushing against the cords of his throat as her fingers followed the trail of ribs around to his back, tongue reaching out to put the taste of him back in her memory, open-mouthed kisses pressed against his pulse, the salt of his skin lingering on her lips—

His sudden stiffness jolted her fully awake, the sleepy quiet retreating in the wake of awareness. She didn’t know when he had joined her in her bed, but it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was they were hopelessly entangled. Legs caught between the blanket and each other, her chest draped over his, her lips still hovering against his throat, her wandering fingers withdrawing from his chest and back, her mind wondering how she could have ever mistaken the constellation of scars for anything but what they were. Treasures and tokens of his strength.
 
She sat up slowly, his rough hand falling from her hair, torn between embarrassment over her drowsy actions, and the longing to dive back in, do more of the same until they were both rolled together, one and joined and whole. 
 
“I hope I didn’t overstep.” She’d missed that sleep mussed voice, rough and low.
 
She shook her head, not able to look at him just yet, Missandei’s words hovering over her, over them, even though she was desperate to see if it was something she could spot for herself, a difference that she could pick out, identify and study. “You didn’t. Did I?”
 
He sat up behind her, fingers lightly trailing down her arm to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go, the absence felt keenly. “No.”
 
Gathering her courage, she shifted on the bed, swinging her feet over the side as he did the same. “Which bed do you like better?” 
 
His eyes burned as she turned to look at him, that furrow back between his brows as he considered the question. “Honestly, whichever one you’re in.”
 
She felt herself go pink, mind swirling, confusion prickling as he continued to stare at her, solid and quiet. She couldn’t think of anything to say in return, so she simply smiled, or tried to, something small that he could grab onto, keep with him in the darkness that had found them.
 
“It’s gettin’ late. We’ll need to head out soon.”
 
She blinked and looked around the room, discarded clothing strewn across her bed, her bags packed and ready. Jon shifted to his feet to walk over to her dresser, picking up the case and sketch pads that now lay on top. She felt her eyebrows raise, confusion as to how they got up there, but Jon’s sheepishness told her all she needed to know of that front. No doubt another thing he was second guessing, blaming himself for.
 
“I thought you might need or want these for the trip.”
 
Her heart was starting to hammer in her chest, the sketch pads forgotten for a few days now, wondering if he had flipped through them, if the secrets of her heart had been spilled for her. She stood slowly, walking over to him, reaching for the pads, clutching them to her chest when he handed them over. “Do you think bringing the gun is necessary?”
 
He sighed, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out to her, settle his thumb against her cheek to drag down to find the pulse at her throat. “I hope not. But if it comes down to it…” he trailed off, letting the weight of what he couldn’t say do the work for him.
 
Her shoulders drooped, and she nodded, ducking her head. He did move then, fingers gently finding her chin and raising her head to let her meet his eyes. “Better safe than sorry, aye?” His eyes were a flurry of hope and pain and something wild she couldn’t identify, but it sang within her heart, her pulse pounding with it.
 
For a moment she thought he might lean down and kiss her, take her up on the silent invitation she had offered in the midst of her dreams, and she closed her eyes, breath held and waiting. His hand slid along the skin of her throat, catching in her hair, and he gently wound her braid around his fingers and gave it a gentle tug, a frisson of heat coursing through her, the action tilting her face enough for him to brush his lips against her closed and swollen eyelids. 
 
“Grab your shoes. We’ll start loadin’ up.”
 
She opened her eyes as he released her braid, nodding and wetting suddenly dry lips. “I have to talk to Tyrion before we go.”
 
He reached for her wrist, turning it over to study the time on his watch, fingers warm and lingering against her pulse. “It’ll be quick?”
 
She nodded. He studied her for only a moment more before his eyes softened just a bit, a slight crook of his mouth and then he jerked his head, letting his hand fall slowly away, dragging his fingers across hers before he slipped back through the door between their rooms to grab his own gear. She set her sketch pads on top of the rest of the bags that Dei had packed, shoes ready with socks, slipping them on quickly. Also waiting was a puffy white coat she had never even seen before, pulled from the depths of a closet somewhere.
 
The sight of it jolted something within her, the reality of what was happening crashing down around her and she put her hand against the wall to support herself as her breath started coming in short gasps.
 
“Dany?” Jon’s concerned voice floated through the doorway, his bags shouldered and ready to go.
 
She didn’t let herself look back across the room that had been her home for all twenty-five of her years. She didn’t let herself examine the sense of loss she felt.
 
Instead, she took a steadying breath and looked through the doorway to Jon, allowed herself to let the rest slip away. She had to keep moving forward. 
 
It was the only way to him.
 
She picked up her sketchbooks and coat, folding it over her arm, reaching down to shoulder one of her bags. “I’m ready.”
 
~*~*~
 
An entire crowd of people awaited them downstairs, the household below her obviously in an uproar preparing for the departure of so many people at once.
 
“You, me, and Jorah are headin’ north,” Jon’s hand had found the small of her back as soon as he had dropped their bags in the foyer, leading her away from the confusion. “Grey, Missandei, Doreah, and Gendry are headed to Essos.”
 
She froze, another stranglehold closing over her heart. “Doreah and Gendry? Jon, we can’t ask that of them— what if something—“
 
“Hey,” his voice was soft, both hands coming to rest on her shoulders and guiding her into a corner. “Doreah offered, and Gendry’s gettin’ a free vacation to go visit my sister. Frankly, he and Arya both couldn’t be happier.”
 
“But—“
 
“No ‘buts’, Dany. This is happenin’.”
 
She knew it was useless to fight against it, the plan already well in motion while she slept and grieved, but she couldn’t help the flash of guilt that fell over her. If anything happened to any of them…
 
“Tyrion’s in his office. You’ll need to talk fast, we have to head out on time. There’s a lot ridin’ on this.” His voice was just shy of sharp, his own worries surfacing enough for her to see.
 
She had to try one more time. “Jon, your family has already given too much. We can’t— I can’t ask Gendry to take this on.”
 
“He’ll be safer in Essos. Once he gets there, Arya can protect him.” She blinked. That had not been the reaction she had expected, but remembering that fierce glint in the younger woman’s eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “Besides, maybe if he’s there to distract her, she’ll keep her nose out of my business.”
 
Dany wasn’t sure if the last part was a joke or not, a crook of a smile tugging in vain at the corner of Jon’s mouth, the stern lines too set for it to take hold. “Now c’mon, let’s go.”
 
She nodded, allowing him to lead her down the hall, trying to put her jumbled thoughts in order before knocking on Tyrion’s door. He beckoned, and they both entered, Jon closing the door behind them as Dany dropped into the chair across from Tyrion’s desk.
 
“My dear, I am so sorry.”
 
“I know,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
 
“Missandei and I will be in constant contact, we’ve already started some preliminary funeral arrangements—“
 
“No.” She was surprised at the strength in her voice, the vehemence surfacing with a slow burn in her chest. “The press will be crawling all over a funeral. It will become a circus, especially when no one shows, and I’m not there. He only had enemies, Tyrion. You know that.”
 
Tyrion sighed. “Very well, what shall we do?”
 
“Have him cremated. Targaryens are always given to the flame.” She felt Jon stiffen behind her, realizing too late the morbid nature of the conversation. She looked over her shoulder to shoot him a sympathetic look before returning her attention to Tyrion. “Put out a statement, ‘House Targaryen and Daenerys are understandably shaken by this senseless act of violence. In lieu of flowers, please send donations in Viserys’ name to continue the charitable work closest to our hearts’— to the charities I was going to name in my speech.”
 
“Which are?” Tyrion’s pen scratched across a piece of paper, notes forming.
 
“Missandei has the names— they’re all aimed at ending child slavery. I was going to turn down the award, but I never got to give the speech.”
 
Tyrion’s gaze was careful. “Are you sure this is wise?”
 
Dany took a deep breath, keeping her gaze steady. “Yes.”
 
He nodded. “Anything else?”
 
“Yes, actually.” She stood, pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her palms. “Tyrion Lannister, as majority shareholder, and on behalf of the Board of Directors of House Targaryen, I name you Chief Executive Officer, effective immediately.” 
 
His shrewd eyes shot to hers, years of humiliation hidden in his gaze. “I know this is overdue. Thank you for your continued support throughout these last few difficult years. Your first two tasks are as follows: First, you will need to find a replacement for CFO as soon as possible. Find a way to put an end to the fraud and corruption, and come up with a plan to get House Targaryen back in the black. We should also sign a Power of Attorney before I leave so that you can manage the assets left to me as needed.”
 
Tyrion nodded, warming to the idea that this was real. “Second, and as the majority shareholder, I must insist that this be given precedence. Shut down those factories and make restitution. Take the life insurance money if you need to. I want every man, woman, and exploited child compensated. If any families come forward for those that fell victim to Viserys’ greed, I want to hear from them myself. Money cannot repair this problem, but it can make a start. If you run into any issues, contact Varys. Rhaegar’s Harp can take in those whose families cannot be located. He has experience with… reacclimating children who have been enslaved against their will. Dei can help too.” 
 
“We’ll do what we can to keep a stranglehold on the media as well.”
 
“I don’t care about the media.”
 
Tyrion’s face went white. “Daenerys, you can’t mean that. If the media gets wind of this, then all will be lost.”
 
“House Targaryen has been campaigning against this behavior for years. Of course we would prefer not to have our dirty laundry aired, but I am not hiding from criticism, and neither will you.” 
 
He snorted, a sound of derision that cut her to the bone. “Wonderful, I'll be known as the CEO that burned House Targaryen to the ground.”
 
“No, you'll be known as the CEO that held House Targaryen to their beliefs even as the world burned around them,” she snapped, her hand going to her forehead to rub the pounding ache her nap had only temporarily chased away. “I know what I'm asking is not easy, Tyrion. But, someone once told me that the right thing to do is rarely so.”
 
“Are you trying to spin my own words against me?”
 
“Actually, I think it was Missandei who told me that.”
 
“I’m hurt.”
 
She could feel the wooden smile spreading across her face. “I'll miss you, my friend.”
 
“We will see each other again, Daenerys.” His eyes were soft and suspiciously moist, and she had to swallow tightly to keep herself from going to pieces in front of him.
 
She cleared her throat, knowing what she needed to do next, but she couldn’t, not with

him

still in the room. She turned. “Jon, can you step out for a moment?”
 
His eyes blazed with sudden suspicion, another bit of guilt to add to her ever growing collection. “Dany...”
 
“Please?”
 
He hesitated before giving a jerking nod and letting himself out, the click of the door loud in the vacuum his absence created. She took a deep breath. “The Power of Attorney?”
 
Tyrion pulled it out, the fact that he already had it ready confirming her sense that she had chosen well. She read it quickly and scrawled her signature across the bottom.
 
“In case we do not see each other again, I do have one other small task for you.” She kept her eyes trained on her signature, trying to swallow around the lump of sadness lodged in her throat. “With Vis gone… my will should be updated. I have no family left but the ones I chose— those that chose me. You, Jorah, and Missandei. To you, I leave all of my business holdings. Make sure that Rhaegar's Harp is well taken care of. To Jorah and Missandei, I leave all of my personal effects, belongings, and wealth. Teach them about tax shelters, won't you?”
 
Tyrion stared up at her wordlessly, for once.
 
“
And tell Jon—“ her voice fell off, the lump in her throat making it impossible to continue, even if she had known exactly what she wanted to say, Dei’s words tangled and tantalizing inside of her, a tiny, muffled spark of hope that was trying to grow in her chest. “Tell him I would want for him to forgive himself.”
 
Tyrion’s pen stopped, the scratching sound giving way to the quiet.
 
“Send it to me to sign and I will.” She reached for his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Be well, my friend.”
 
Dany turned, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, helpful in avoiding Jon’s gaze entirely as she opened the door with a yank, and swept from the small room, his dogged footsteps echoing behind her.
 
The next few minutes were a flurry of goodbyes and thank yous, orders barked as their two groups split. She wrapped her arms briefly around Gendry, giving him a kiss on the cheek that caused his face to flame. “Tell Arya I’m still trying. She’ll know what I mean.”
 
She held it together rather well until Doreah and Missandei wrapped her in their arms, her tears and sniffles overtaking her completely until Jon had to gently pry her away, his arm wrapped around her waist to support her as she buried her head into his chest and cried as he led her away, back through the kitchen and into the garage where Jorah’s car waited, the windows newly tinted black.
 
Jon opened the door to the backseat, helping her inside and crawling in after her, letting her tuck back into his chest as Jorah loaded the last of their bags before climbing into the driver’s seat.
 
“As soon as Grey gives the all clear we’ll be on our way.”
 
Dany nodded, feeling nothing but emptiness and exhaustion within, even as a buzz of adrenaline began to pump through her, another wave of grief washing over her at the thought of leaving.
 
They didn’t have to wait long, Dany pressed close enough to hear Grey’s voice through Jon’s comm as the all clear came through. Jorah pressed a button and the garage door rumbled open behind them. He backed the car out onto the dark drive, no lights except for those around the house, the Dragonpit bright and beautiful against the night sky.
 
She wiped her face on her sleeve and sat up as they rounded the front, keeping her eyes trained on the only home she had ever known, wanting to keep it in sight for as long as she could, unsure if she would ever see its doors again.
 
Next to her, Jon sighed quietly, his hand raising to cup her cheek, slowly turn her face to his as he thumbed away a stray tear. "It's not a goodbye, Dany. You'll see it again."
 
She didn’t answer, trying to understand the heaviness of his gaze,
the lights of the manse illuminating his face just enough for her to make out the promise in his eyes.
She reached up to settle her hand over his, drawing it from her face to thread their fingers together, shifting until she was settled firmly against him, leaning her head on his shoulder and steadfastly putting her gaze forward.
 
Always forward.
 
~*~*~

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Previously:

After a thwarted attempt on Daenerys’ life at an award ceremony meant to honor Rhaegar’s contributions to the world of fashion, Viserys was killed by a sniper, Robb was shot, and numerous others (including Varys and Missandei) were mildly injured in the aftermath. In the rush to the hospital following the shooting, Jon suffered from a panic attack and was treated while Robb underwent surgery. Dany notified Arya that Robb was hurt, and she dispatched Talisa to the hospital, commanding Dany to “take care of her brother”.

Once Jon had come out of his fugue state, Talisa spoke to him about his fight with Robb, but was ultimately unable to ease Jon’s guilt. City Watch Commander Slynt visited the hospital, convinced that Dany was somehow behind her brother’s murder, despite finding a note on injured security team member, Theon (who was held hostage by the shooter), that said “Until next time, Princess” in the same scrawling script of the note accompanying the poisoned wine that started it all. Yara arrived to assist with security, and once Theon was confirmed to have a serious head injury and no memory of the events of the day, she accompanied the team back to the Manse after Jon had been assured that Robb had made it through surgery— alive.

Upon arriving back at the manse, fresh off a frantic apology from Jon, Dany finally succumbed to her grief, collapsing in her shower. Even though their relationship had been shattered, Jon chose to stay when Dany asked, offering comfort however he could, holding her through the night as she grieved.

The following morning, Jon made a few calls— one to Arya who had been worried for her brother, and she tried to assure him that the actions of the madman that had taken Viserys’ life were not Jon’s fault. He has yet to believe her. However, she did help spark a plan— Winterfell had been the Stark refuge once before, and it could be so again. After speaking with his other sister, Sansa, Jon decided to take Dany north instead of waiting in King’s Landing for the next attempt on her life.

After a brief misunderstanding, in which Dany thought that Jon was leaving for good, she agreed to go north with him. However, before they departed, she named Tyrion as the new CEO of House Targaryen, her family’s fashion empire embroiled in suspicion after the discovery of two factories in Astapor that utilized child slavery. Through the help of a private investigator, it was discovered that these factories were owned by a shell corporation belonging to Petyr Baelish, former CFO of House Targaryen, and frequent partner in Viserys’ crimes.

She left Tyrion with these instructions: find a replacement for Littlefinger, put an end to the fraud and corruption within House Targaryen, and most importantly— shut down the factories and make restitution. She also asked Tyrion to update her will, leaving everything to him, Jorah, and Missandei with instructions to tell Jon that she would want him to forgive himself if the worst should befall her.

In a whirlwind of activity meant to confuse and obstruct their true intention, Missandei made her way to Pentos with Grey, Gendry, and Doreah as a part of Jon’s planned distraction, but not before she shared with Dany that she felt Jon was in love with her.

Jorah, Jon, and Dany began the long journey north, and Jon struggled with the realization that he does indeed love Dany, all while grappling with his overwhelming feelings of failure.

~*~*~

Can't you see the hurt in me?

I feel so all alone

~*~*~

Their headlights were slicing through the night, the silhouettes of trees lining the road, either silent sentries or imposing guards, Jon wasn’t sure. He was tired, a bone deep weariness that had him playing the radio low, something for him to listen to besides the steady hum of tires as they were chased into the darkness.
 
And chased was accurate at this point. Chased. 
 
Hunted. 
 
Prey.
 
It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, something that kept him tense and on edge, chest tight. It was a difficult thing to try and live with, to feel it settle into the wide open cracks that made up the fiber of his being. 
 
Every precaution he had taken, everything he’d learned from his father, from his years at the Wall, had been disassembled, shredded apart in front of him until he was standing uselessly with the frayed ends trying to figure out how to put them back together.
 
Desperation was squeezing tightly, uncertainty that amplified its taunts as they fled North, the journey getting quieter the further behind King’s Landing became. Words had been useless and sparse with Dany curled up against his aching heart, her tears long since dry when they finally met up with Yara, leaving Jorah’s vehicle to take Robb’s, a forced stoicism falling over everyone as they continued on. 
 
It was all they could do— that he could do—  to hang on to their sanity, to keep standing upright as he ignored the slight, bitter taste of his fear. The fear that he would fail again, that his demons would swallow him whole. There would have to be a balance, he was starting to realize, an acknowledgement that

it

was there, grabbing furiously for him. There had to be a way for him to use the awareness, or at least plan for it so that it couldn’t try and drown him again, that it wouldn't spill over and catch Dany up in it’s murky tide.

Dany.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, opting to let Jorah have the second row of seating, cocooned under a fuzzy blanket. Her head buried in the pillow smashed against the window, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel in order to keep his hands to himself, the urge to reach out and touch her making him twitchy.
 
Another loss as what to do, how to talk to her, explain what was inside of him, not even sure if he was willing to approach those emotions with her. The unknown of her reaction kept him quiet, anxious to ignore the churning in his chest, not allowing himself to give voice to the selfish questions he wanted to ask— were they better, were they worse off than before, was it even possible to think of them as a

them,

or was it once again him and her—
 It grated inside of him, festering like an untreated wound. She had asked him to leave her— to give up— abandon the job he had been stumbling through, and he wasn’t sure if it was selfishness that kept him clinging to it— to her— or stubbornness with a healthy dose of needing to prove to himself that he could do this. 
So he stayed quiet, tension creeping into his shoulders while she gave him unsure glances and silence, choosing only to answer Jorah in short clipped answers when absolutely necessary. He was sure that if he confessed his panic filled revelation— that she was the keeper of his heart and soul— that she would think it some ploy to keep her safe, that she would misunderstand him greatly. 
 
That terrified him.
 
He wasn't sure how long he could keep it up, the strain of it all settling in as a headache behind his eyes, the lightening of the sky as daylight approached, not bringing him the relief he’d hoped for. As if daytime could chase away their monsters.
 
Still, they had to function, take care of the minimal necessities, and a glance at the dash confirmed what he thought. They’d have to stop for fuel— something he was dreading— and out of reflex he checked the rear view mirror, certain he’d spent as much time looking back as forward. No headlights behind them had one of the numerous knots in his chest loosening, the Kingsroad mostly vacant in the early hours of pre-dawn.
 
Jorah stirred when he hit the off ramp, the change in surface enough to wake him, and Jon met his eyes in the mirror, both of them adjusting their shoulder holsters without thought as they pulled into an all night petrol station, the glare of bright lights making him squint as his eyes adjusted.
 
“I’ll start fueling.” 
 
Jorah’s voice was low from a restless sleep, and Jon nodded at him, needing a moment to escape the confines of the vehicle. He scanned their surroundings before he reached for the door handle, the cold air rushing in making him shiver as the sounds of the night invaded the peaceful interior. The smell of greasy food wafting from the ramshackled store made his stomach clench. Gods, they’d been on the road for hours with hardly a stop and his body was starting to protest.
 
“Dany.” Keeping his voice calm, he turned to her, finally letting himself reach out to skim a hand up where her arm was hidden under the blanket, unable to help himself from pushing further, brushing stray hair from her face. He wanted to curl up against her, hold her tightly and drown out the world. But instead, he lingered, letting his fingers linger against her cheek as her eyelashes fluttered and then opened. “We’ve stopped for a few. Do you want to get out?”
 
She nodded her agreement, bringing herself upright with a stretch, and the untimely surge of love and lust had him tucking his fingers into his fist, making himself move away before sliding out of their safe space. He braced against the wind coming off the river and moved around to her side of the vehicle, noting Jorah already checking the area— just as he was— unease keeping him tense even though it was clear no one had followed them.
 
Routine was still in order, and she stayed where she was until he made it to her side, using his body to block the entrance of the door. She adjusted her hair under the knit cap he’d given to her at the first stop and held out a hand, waiting for him to help her find her feet, watching her wince against the cold.
 
“We’ve only hit the Twins. It’s only going to get worse from here.” Her scowl pulled a rough laugh from his chest, the sound foreign to his own ears, and he noted the flash of surprise in her eyes, a look that made him silently berate himself. They were all so on edge, it was easy to fall into a brooding pattern, something neither one of them needed to deal with. “C’mere.”
 
They stepped away, heading inside, and he offered out his arm, the hesitation before she burrowed into his side a deep cut, another slashing wound that he didn’t know how to fix without giving himself away.
 
“Colder than this?” She gave a quick huff of breath, a pause to see it in the air before they stepped into the warmth of the store and he fought the urge to tighten his grip on her.
 
“Aye, much colder. You’ll be living in that coat.” He could feel the warmth of her, his arm snug around her as he took in their surroundings, the number of people around, noting that no one offered a second or suspicious glance at them, and he let another knot of tension roll off his shoulders. Using his free hand, he made sure his jacket was covering his gun, not wanting to create panic, or draw any unwanted attention to them.
 
With reluctance he finally let his arm drop from around her shoulders, wanting to reach for her again as soon as he did, but instead grabbing a cup for coffee to give his hands something to do. Most of his attention was on her as she shifted down the snack aisle, picking out whatever she wanted, a sliver of fear still crawling through him at the scant distance between them, but he forced himself to hold his ground— to act normal— knowing hovering would just make everything worse.
 
The sudden sound of breaking glass shot right through him, reflex spinning his body towards her, the hand that had been holding the cup of coffee finding her jacket, and he could hear the thundering echo of his heartbeat in his ears as she slammed into him, the little sound of fear she made breaking him in two. She pressed tight against him, his body preparing to drop them to the floor as his brain registered a man standing at the end of the aisle with a broken bottle at his feet, and a bewildered look on his face as he stared at them.
 
“Fuck.” His knees went weak with relief even as adrenaline kept them standing. He knew he should let go of her, but he couldn’t. Adrenaline still pumping through him despite the curious look from the clerk moving to clean up the mess, the pair of them locked together starting to draw attention, but he needed the reassurance, his head dropping low enough that he could nose at her hairline, noticing she was holding him as tightly as he was her. “I think we are okay.”
 
Her eyes were still closed and he couldn’t help himself, even though he

knew

he shouldn’t push it, cupping the back of her neck, dragging his lips across her temple, relief starting to fill his veins, the familiar feel of her in his arms soothing, his heart beating out a rhythm that said

safe, safe, safe.

With a shudder, she finally lifted her head, breaking the moment between them, his eyes locking with hers, a little glassy from the scare, her pulse rapid beneath his thumb. “Jon.”
 
“I know.” He pulled her in again, ignoring curious eyes, unable to resist the need to hold her, to comfort, relieved that he didn’t feel the prickling between his shoulder blades, the built in warning system alerting him of danger.
 
No, the only thing in his system was her.
 
Finally, he made himself straighten, both of them reluctant to pull apart, his hand finding hers to wind fingers through, another stolen touch he didn’t deserve, his pulse fluttering with the contact, relief tangible on his tongue. 
 
“Jon!”
 
Her shocked gasp had him swinging around, defensive, looking,

searching for something he had missed

, something desperate and wild building inside until her touch brought him back down, gentle fingers on his arm, and he slowly came to the realization she was staring at him. 
 
Or, more precisely, the soaked sleeve of his jacket, hand raw, an angry red from the hot coffee, and for the first time the bite of burn made itself known, surprisingly tight across his skin. 
 
“It’s fine, Dany.” He didn’t want the focus on himself, that look in her eye, skeptical and determined, making him skittish and distracted and he pulled his hand free, unable to take her softness. He flexed his fingers into a fist a few times, ignoring the throb of pain. “See, I can barely even tell.”
 
The huff that came from her was one of non conviction, stalling his movement, knowing she was going to argue for

whatever

and most likely win. “We are getting something to put on that.”
 
It was an easy request, a bit of relief coursing through him— he could honor that request— and he did his best to ignore that

something

inside of him that lit up, a light that she always managed to find. But, he wanted to give an acknowledgement, let her know he appreciated her thoughts, and with a loose hand at her elbow, stalled her for a moment, waited until she was looking at him again, the

look

in her eyes that he was too cowardly to explore. “Thank you.” 
 
It was soft, making him yearn for more than they were currently capable of giving, so he distracted himself, tucking a stray wisp of her hair back under his cap. “We’re going to have to get you one of your own.” He let his finger linger for a moment before catching himself. “That one came from the Watch. It’s too ugly for you.”
 
She seemed to waiver for a moment, some of that steel in her back bending, and with a sternness he didn’t feel, he made himself drop his hands to his side, coffee no longer a requirement for alertness. He silently reprimanded himself, a stern reminder to keep his hands off of her, because he was taking advantage of his position, her grief, his own off-balanced emotions. He wasn't being fair to her, knowing the current whiplash was all of his own doing and she didn’t deserve any of it.
 
Wordlessly, he let her pick through the aisle for some salve for his burn, a few other first aid items that couldn’t hurt them to bring along, and let his hand twitch with the impatience to hurry her along, feeling the walls closing in around them as he paid for their items and tucked them under his arm.
 
Jorah’s nod of reassurance was as refreshing as the air, still as bitingly cold as it had been before their adventure inside, and he took a deep breath, letting it shock his tired system and help clear his mind, the quiet thump of their feet on the pavement a small count in his head as he kept scanning, a hand at her back as he rode her heels across the parking lot.
 
By the time they made it to the open door, his muscles were tightly bunched, teeth grinding together as she climbed into the warm interior, the soft smell of her lotion hitting him pleasantly. It wasn’t enough to make him relax, but the weight of their situation eased as she settled in, their strange limbo of silence wrapping tightly around his ribcage.
 
“I’ll drive.” Jorah’s announcement brought out the breath he’d been holding, reprieve visible in the huff of air, and he handed Dany their purchases, marveled that his weighty eyelids were even able to stay open on their own accord.
 
He was fucking exhausted.
 
“Jon.” The quiet sound of his name had him pausing from closing her door. “We need to put something on your hand.”
 
Want collided with the lecture of distance he was trying to give himself, a heavy thud somewhere around his heart, and at the moment he was too tired, too scraped raw to not eagerly take the small shred of comfort she was offering.
 
Carefully, slowly he slid into the seat she vacated, nimble fingers buckling herself in and he copied the movement, felt the vehicle start to move as she unscrewed the lid of the ointment, coating her fingers in preparation of him surrendering his wound to her.
 
By the time the sun was fully up she was asleep again, her pillow propped against his shoulder, his own exhaustion making it harder and harder to stay aware, but he wanted to stay awake, savor the feeling of her warmth against him, a balm against the uncertainty they were tangled in. The soft rhythm of her breathing finally lulled him into closing his eyes.
 
~*~*~
 
The silence was unbearable.
 
She felt trapped— caged— by its thoroughness. Not even the low music that Jon had put on could combat the way it permeated through their group, the way it echoed between them, reverberating and suffocating. It was too much, and in the quiet it was too easy to listen to the doubts and fears that had made her mind their home.
 
She tried to fight through— tried to lose herself in her sketchbooks, to sleep, anything to escape from the brutal words and sensations that seemed to haunt her every thought, but she was losing the battle to the vicious swirls of anger and sadness and fear that all seemed to have Viserys’ voice. Instead, she could feel herself retreating further and further inside herself, the minutes and hours and days all melding into the other until she felt blank and empty and alone.
 
Dany didn’t know if she had ever been so exhausted. Sleep was elusive, only caught in snatches, the fear of going to pieces from another nightmare in front of both Jon and Jorah keeping her from ever falling into a deep rest, the roller coaster of emotion she was strapped into keeping her mind buzzing constantly.
 
She blinked, turning tired eyes to find Jon studying her in the rearview mirror, his own eyes dark and indecipherable. She’d been studying him since they left King’s Landing, trying to see if she could spot any clue that Missandei may be right, that he truly did

love

her, but she couldn’t get a read on him, unsure how much of the silence was because of Jorah’s looming presence, and how much was just Jon’s normal, brooding nature. Or, if Dei was just wrong— seeing things that didn’t exist. 
 
They felt fragile, both of them ready to break and shatter from the obscene pressure they were under. He was more than quiet, mostly tight-lipped with an edge that frightened her, anger and fear dancing in his eyes whenever he could bring himself to meet her gaze.
 
She didn’t know what to do, or how to put him at ease, her own doubts growing with every mile, constantly at war with what she wanted to believe.
 
The bags under his eyes were getting worse, his jaw clenched tightly. The only time he seemed to relax even slightly was when she was pressed close, not even Jorah’s stern, but thankfully silent, looks of disapproval could sway the need that had developed between the two of them to stay close, to make sure that the sound of the other’s heartbeat was never far.
 
She supposed that should give her some comfort, but the fear of its absence, that he may find a way to leave her again, kept it from being the sanctuary it ought to have been— that she

wanted

it to be. The uncertainty of what, exactly, he was feeling—what she felt in return— made her heart race, her mind spin, guilt and doubt flooding her, to only then be drowned out completely by his warmth and tentative care in the darkness that surrounded them. 
 
She didn’t know what to do with any of it.
 
She glanced over the top of the backseat, eyes searching in the dark for anything out of the ordinary, a habit she had picked up from him, watching his stern demeanor flicker everytime headlights appeared behind them, or another car had the unfortunate urge to caravan along with them for more than a mile.
 
“There’s no one there.” She jumped, heart leaping into her throat at the first words spoken in hours, glancing up into the rear view mirror to find Jon studying her, Jorah kicked back in the passenger seat, loud snores breaking from him at odd intervals.
 
She licked her lips, unable to fight down the urge to glance back one more time before she nodded and turned her attention back forward.
 
It was pitch black outside, the only flashes of light coming from the waning moon as it broke through the cloud cover and trees for an occasional flash of brightness. Summer snows, Jon had said when they passed Moat Cailin. She pulled her coat closer around her, the chill already permeating to go along with the sorrow that had mostly settled deep in the pit of her stomach.
 
They’d been driving for what felt like an eternity, the SUV that once felt spacious and opulent, now small, tight, and claustrophobic. And if

she

was crawling out of her skin, itching to be free of the stale air, the grief and tension, the constant battle within her own mind— wanting nothing more than to let her hand find his in the growing darkness— then he and Jorah must be slowly slipping their own grasp on sanity as well.
 
The only bright spot had been the news that Robb had woken up— albeit briefly— and Talisa had been able to talk to him for a short while before the doctors had gently chased her from the room, allowing Robb to rest. Jon’s look of relief and cautious joy had almost been enough to break her resolve to let him be, the want to wrap him up in an embrace overpowering, to share in his solace, to catch a breath before the next wave of despair broke over her.
 
It was coming. She could feel the tide pulling at her, waiting for her to falter again. 
 
“We’re here.” Jon’s voice filtered back from the driver’s seat, and she nodded. Wherever ‘here’ was. He hadn’t given many details about the trip, just a name of a town she couldn’t remember— someplace safe. Whatever that meant anymore.
 
They pulled into the cleared drive, the snow piled high off to the sides, nearly as tall as her hip. The porch light came on almost immediately, illuminating their path up to the covered porch of the enormous rustic stone and log cabin. Pine and fir trees surrounded the entire place, giving them a secluded feel, the air close and quiet. Jon took a deep breath, and even from her view in the backseat she could see the tension roll off his shoulders, the lines in his brow lessen and ease.
 
A new ache pulsed through her at the sight— something else she longed to be able to give him, but doubted she ever would, even if she lived long enough to try— peace.
 
Jorah sat up, rubbing his face with his hands before he climbed out and opened her door. She reached behind her to grab her overnight bag, shouldering it and leaving the rest for the men to grab later before she took his hand and let him help her to the ground, keeping a tight grip on it so she wouldn’t slip in the slush. The front door of the house banged open, startling her, the sound of the wood crashing against the stone wall deafening in the cavernous silence. 
 
She shrank back behind the open car door, caught by surprise that this was someone’s home— someone who was present. She had been sure that Jon would have found them a tiny place to hole up, nothing but wilderness surrounding them for miles and miles, but...
 
Her sudden surge of adrenaline was making her shaky, and she had to take a deep breath to steady and steel herself enough to peek around the door. Two tall, slender women stood on the porch, watching silently. They reminded her of sirens from the old stories—beautiful women sent to lure sailors and soldiers to their deaths, drowning beneath the waves as all of their dreams vanished before their eyes.
 
Jorah kept a hand under an elbow as she squared her shoulders, wishing with all her might that she could have at least brushed her frightfully tangled hair before presenting herself to their hosts, and stepped away from the car. Jon rounded the front of the SUV, his gaze roving over her, the house, and the woods— another eerie habit he had that did little to put her at ease even though she was “safe” now. His dark look returned to meet hers, lingering for a moment too long before he ducked his head, hiding behind that mask of professionalism that never quite seemed to reach his eyes anymore. No, his eyes still held the truth— the turmoil— and gods be good,

that’s

what confused her the most.
 
He tromped up the stairs to the sirens, another soldier marching to the death of his dreams, stiffly embracing the redhead and nodding to the brunette over her shoulder. “I told you not to wait up.”
 
“When have I ever listened to you?” The voice was as cold as the air around them, the chill settling in Dany’s blood immediately. 
 
Jon’s shoulders slumped. “Let’s talk inside.” He nodded to Jorah, now avoiding her gaze entirely as Jorah’s hand tightened on her elbow to keep her upright on the stairs, slick with ice even though salt had been laid down.
 
The brunette preceded them, silent and graceful on her feet in a way that normally would have made Dany a bit jealous, her willowy form and luscious waves of sun-kissed hair effortless in every way. She led the way to a large kitchen, offering Dany a seat on a stool around the island in the middle before a cup of something warm was set before her.
 
“
Mint
tea,” she said, her voice melodious and bell-like. “Get you warmed up. It’s icy out there.”
 
Dany shrugged out of her coat, holding it awkwardly in her lap with her elbows as she reached for the mug, warming her hands against the ceramic. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from disuse, absurdly grateful that this woman seemed to be willing to overlook the fact that she obviously looked and smelled as if she had been stuck in a car with two full grown men for two days.
 
Jorah took a stool next to her, his own tea delivered with haste, and he lifted it in thanks as Jon and the redhead joined them.
 
“All right, it’s late, so intros will be quick.” Jon leaned a hip against the island, some of his obvious displeasure leaking through. “Dany, this is my sister, Sansa and her girlfriend, Margaery.”
 
Dany blinked at him, hastily putting the tea down before her shaking hands could betray her. He had brought her to his

sister’s

home? After she had almost gotten their brother killed? He continued as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “Sansa, Mar— this is Daenerys and Jorah.”
 
“I grew up on Bear Island, not too far from here. Nice to be near home again.”
 
“Welcome back.” Sansa’s voice was flat, her ice blue eyes flinty and hard as she ignored Jorah to stare directly at her.
 
Dany’s eyes flicked to Jon’s only once before settling on Sansa, forcing her mouth to move into a shape she hoped resembled a smile. “You have a lovely home, Ms. Stark, thank you for—“
 
“I wanted to see the face of the woman whose life was deemed worth more than our own brother’s.”
 
Dany felt her face freeze as her stomach rolled at the poisonous words, bile rising in her throat along with the crash of guilt, her hands clenching the counter in front of her to keep her steady.
 
“Sansa!” Jon’s horrified exclamation almost drowned out Margaery’s gasp of dismay.

It’s not.

Her only clear thought was obviously unhelpful to anyone— least of all this hurting and battered family, but she couldn’t change the past, selfishly wasn’t sure she

would

, even if given the impossible opportunity.
 
But she recognized more than anger in Sansa’s face— the girl beautiful in a delicate, pampered way— no doubt similar to some shadow of her own past self. Dany was an unknown threat, and much like her brother, Sansa would protect her pack in any way that she could, against any enemy, known or presumed.
 
Only…. Dany wasn’t the enemy, and she would

not

be prey.
 
She drew her shoulders back and faced Sansa squarely. She understood the fear that resided behind the younger woman’s delicate collarbones. She had lived with it for years, would continue to live with it, the scabs built over her heart with Rhaegar’s death now split open and raw and still bleeding with Viserys’— that fear of loss, of being left behind, of never being able to feel whole and happy and free again. She would spare Sansa that, if it was in her power.
 
“I’m more sorry about your brother than you could ever know.” She held Sansa’s gaze until the younger woman looked away, her ire still swirling, searching for a target. Dany hoped it wouldn’t be Jon, but she refused to let it be her unnecessarily.
 
A sharp bark broke the tension, nails clacking on the hardwood floors as something large and white made its way up from the basement, a blur that bounded toward Jon with no indication of slowing or stopping. It was almost too quick to see, but Jon dropped to his knees to throw his arms around what must be Ghost, even larger in life than the pictures had led her to believe, a swirl of light and dark joining like a yin-yang, two halves of one whole, reunited at long last.
 
“Ghost, down.” His voice held more joy than it had in days, the sound of it making her throat constrict in sorrow for all that he had lost, because of her. “I’ve missed you too, boy.”
 
“Maybe you can take the mongrel back with you when you leave this time.”
 
Margaery shoved back from her stool, a stern look descending upon her features. “All right,

ding ding

— end Round One, everyone to neutral corners, please.” She turned suddenly plaintive features to her partner, a softness finally cracking through Sansa’s demeanor at the look. “Everyone looks dead on their feet—“ She winced as she glanced at Dany before throwing her chin back and brazening on. “Why don’t I show Dany to the guest room and get her settled and we can all chat more… civilly in the morning?”
 
Dany nodded, more than ready to be away from everyone and everything, reaching down to gather her bag once more before Jon’s voice cut across the commotion of the room, “Dany.” 
 
She couldn’t look at him, recognizing the plaintive tone that sent a shiver of anticipation and anxiety down her spine. 
 
“There’s no adjoining rooms here…” he trailed off, unable to continue, unable to spell it out in front of everyone what he was saying, but she knew.
 
Danger was still out there, would always be out there until this monster was caught, or she was dead. She would never be left alone— come to think of it, she hadn’t been left alone since she woke two days before, either Jon or Jorah with her at every moment. And so, she had a choice.
She could either bunk up with Jorah, hide herself away to try to give them both space to figure out what they were feeling, or… She could keep her promise not to run, and instead lean in to the confusion that seemed to thrive between them.
 
“What does that have to do with anything?” A pretty arch of Margaery’s brow as she looked between them both. 
 
Dany could feel Jon’s gaze on her, the heat of it crawling up her neck, something igniting within her with the unspoken plea to stay close, to try— as she wrestled with her decision.
 
As if there was actually a choice for her. 
 
“It means that you need to show me to Jon’s room. Jorah can have the guest room when he’s not on duty.” A grunt of displeasure from her side, but her bear said nothing, knowing that her decision was final. Still she needed to try to relieve some of the tension now spiraling between the two men, hard glares clashing in the night. “He doesn’t snore.”
 
Another moment of silence until Jon cleared his throat. “I can grab a sleeping bag from the basement.” His neck was turning red, but he continued on, snapping his fingers, and Ghost sat up from where Jon had been petting him affectionately. Jon placed a hand on his chest, looking into the behemoth’s red eyes. “Ghost, to her.”
 
The dog wheeled on his hind legs immediately, searching out Jon’s target as he extended his hand, palm forward toward her. “Dany, put your hand out.”
 
She swallowed tightly as she did, allowing the dog to snuffle into her palm, capture her scent before he sat to her left, ears at attention. 
 
“Where you go, he goes.”
 
Dany glanced up, finally brave enough to take in the rest of the room— Jorah’s arms folded across his chest, Margaery’s shrewd eyes flickering between her and Jon, Sansa’s chilling, icy stare. Jon was the worst though, pain and affection and concern and

hope

shining through, a flicker that caught in her chest, guttering in the cold, white winds of the North.
 
She turned to Margaery, nodding to her as she and Jorah climbed to their feet, ready to follow her when Sansa stepped between them, her eyes still holding a challenge.
 
“Welcome to Winterfell.”
 
Dany felt a familiar spark, that flare of annoyance at Sansa’s laughable attempt to intimidate just bright enough to ignite some low burn within her. “Yes, I imagine that’s what you meant to say earlier as well.” 
 
There was a brief cough from Jon’s direction as she spun on her heel, the shock in Sansa’s eyes enough of a win for now, but Dany was sure she would probably regret it in the morning. She motioned for Margaery to lead the way, the brunette’s lips quirked up in a wry twist. Ghost fell to heel on her left, his head level with her midsection and Jorah brought up the rear, pausing only to brush past Jon roughly, a shoulder to his chest that Dany was sure didn’t feel exceptional.
 
Margaery was quiet as she led the way, drawing her cozy wool wrap tighter around her as she took them down a darkened hall, the opposite direction that Dany had expected them to go— away from the light and warmth of the common spaces and staircase that she had assumed would lead to the bedrooms. She glanced back to find Jon’s eyes on her, a reassuring nod offered before he spun on his sister, fingers clenched in frustration.
 
They disappeared around the corner before she could overhear anything other than slightly raised voices, the stone and wood swallowing all sound. “We weren’t aware that this situation was dire enough for you to have to double up, so apologies for the state of Jon’s room. But we do have a fire going, and fresh sheets are on the bed, clean towels and plenty of amenities, so you should be comfortable enough.”
 
Dany nodded, exh
austion ratcheting up with the thought of a real bed after two solid days in a vehicle.
However, it was tempered by the fact that it would be

his

bed, surrounded by whatever he had left behind before he went north to the Wall— a room that likely still smelled of him, a bed where he had tossed and turned and done other things that teenage boys were wont to do.

Gods, she’d have to sleep on the floor.

She could feel her face flush as she steadfastly turned her mind away. This trip had the potential to be torture enough for them both. They eased past a laundry room, mud room, and another set of stairs before Margaery turned to what Dany had assumed might be a linen closet and opened the door.
 
Jorah surged ahead, sweeping the room as she and Ghost waited patiently. “You can pet him, you know?” Margaery’s voice sounded far away.
 
Dany looked up at her. “He’s working. I don’t want to distract him.”
 
The other woman nodded, that same shrewd look from the kitchen dropping over her face. “He’s missed Jon. Sansa has too, she’s just…” her voice trailed off as she searched for the proper words.
 
“She’s frightened. I know.”
 
Margaery’s small hand found her forearm, and Dany had to fight down the urge to shake her off, knowing the taller woman meant no harm. “Her mother’s daughter.”
 
Dany couldn’t help the sudden surge of interest coursing through her, her curiosity piqued even while her heart warned her that it was useless. She wasn’t sure how much getting to know more about Jon would help the given situation, and any more cracks in her already crumbling walls would likely lead to a collapse that would bury her beneath her grief. 
 
Margaery arched a brow at her, reading her like a book, and continued, “Catelyn Stark was… formidable in life.” She picked delicately at the cuff of her wrap, flicking an invisible piece of lint to the side. “She was a Tully—

family, duty, honor

, and all that. She took to the Stark way of life better than most would have anticipated, but she never lost that first piece of herself. Family came first.”
 
Dany nodded, heart leaping into her throat with the reminder, ghosts of her own past roaring to the forefront of her mind, their disappointment— even in death— clear. “I know the feeling.”
 
“I suspected you would.” Margaery’s voice was not without sympathy. “But, for Catelyn,

her

children came first, always.”
 
The unspoken lay between them like a solid mass, large and uncomfortable. Jon may have been family, but he had never been

hers

. Another sting, another slight to add to the growing pile of hurts
that comprised the man that she was beginning to realize had made an eternal mark upon her. A man that she cared for, and could possibly grow to—
 Her doubt choked her again, her tired mind stubbornly holding her emotions hostage, unable to define what she was feeling, even if she could identify what she wanted, the blank chasm opening up before her huge and seemingly insurmountable. 
“Sansa worshiped her mother, and then when the accident took all four of them—“
 
“All four?” Dany felt her mind snag and snap back on that detail, unable to catch the question before it escaped. Margaery’s sharp eyes turned to her, piercing her to the wall with their intensity.
 
She nodded slowly.
“Catelyn, Ned, and the two youngest boys. Bran and Rickon. It was a car accident, about two years ago. Ned stopped to help an abandoned motorist on a blind curve… They never even saw what hit them.
Sansa was actually attending school in King’s Landing when it happened. We came north for the funerals, and never left.”
 
The news landed like a blow to her gut, the added complexity and layers to everything the Stark family and Jon had been through in such recent memory astonishing, troubling, and just downright unfair. That such cruelty could exist in the world, that so much would be asked of those that remained behind. And now Robb? It was a wonder Jon could even bear to look at her, that Sansa had even had the strength to agree to whatever his plan was, the grace to bear up instead of fold under the extreme pressure.
 
Because, no doubt, they had brought danger with them— a danger that had already touched this family in ways that should have never been allowed. All because of her.
 
“So, I do hope that you can find it in your heart to understand how difficult this must be.” Margaery’s voice sounded far away again, tiny and remote as her mind swirled helplessly.
 
“Of course,” the words were forced past wooden lips.
 
Margaery’s hand found hers in the dark of the hall, squeezing only once. “I’m sorry for your loss as well.”
 
She stiffened under the unexpected touch, her jaw clenched as she fought down the urge to shake the well-meaning woman off

again

. Thankfully, Jorah emerged before Dany could do anything more than offer her a stiff nod of thanks, her mind full to the brim, swirling with the rapidly shifting ground beneath her. “All clear.”
 
“Is there anything I can get for you before you turn in?” The composed face of the hostess returned swiftly, a pleasant smile dropping over Margaery’s face, even though Dany had the feeling she had been quite skillfully maneuvered through an absolute minefield of information and emotion.
 
Dany shook her head, a stiff “Thank you,” falling from numb lips before she adjusted her bag over her shoulder and motioned for Ghost to go ahead of her into the room. 
 
“We’ll talk in the morning.” A quick glance down the hallway was the only sense she had that Margaery might be a bit nervous about how this was all going to go as well. “Pleasant dreams.”
 
She was gone before Dany could say anything else, floating away on the icy wind that seemed to permeate this hall. She took a deep, steadying breath before she turned to Jorah, knowing her bear had something on his mind.
 
“

Nuha prumia,

I—“
 
“I know.” She couldn't let him get any further, what was left of her patience dying in the cold, not sure how much she could withstand in one evening. “I just—“ She couldn’t finish the statement, her mind stalling with exhaustion, not knowing how to explain in a way that Jorah would understand. She

needed

Jon nearby, would honestly prefer the sharp edges of broken glass within her heart to remind her that she was still among the living than the cold emptiness she felt without him. 
 
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “If it’s too much, we’ll reassess tomorrow.”
 
“Promise?”
 
She felt a small smile tug unsuccessfully at the corner of her mouth, his concern touching. “I promise.” He nodded stiffly, knowing this was the best possible outcome he could hope for, yet looking so forlorn she felt the need to offer him something… more. Make him understand, if he could. “He’s trying, Jorah. We both are. And as long as we’re both still here...” 
 
He was silent, arms folded across his chest before nodding, only once. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
 
She dropped her bag just inside the door before turning back to Jorah and throwing her arms around his neck, needing to feel the embrace of someone who truly cared for her, someone without too many unnecessary hurts she had inflicted upon, intentional or otherwise. He was bulkier than Jon, her bear, and she suddenly realized how long it had been since she had been embraced in such a familiar, almost parental way— not that she would know what that felt like either. Jorah was the closest thing she had ever had to a caring father, after all. His thick arms closed around her shoulders, one of his large hands cupping the back of her head as she buried her face in his shoulder, taking a shuddering breath. “You always are.” 
 
She stepped back, quickly wiping a stray tear away before stepping inside the dimly lit room and closing the door behind her, already teetering on the edge. Ghost was pacing rapidly, his nose and ears twitching with every sound. She dropped into the chair closest to the fire, hugging her knees to her chest, the events of the past few minutes almost too much, leaving her overwhelmed and confused and lost.
 
She wished Dei was there, a guiding voice, calm in the swirl and the storm. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, wanting to call, but knowing that the sound of Dei’s voice would likely push her past the point of breaking, settling for sending a quick text that they had arrived safely before going back to staring at the fire.

Is it cold?

She had to give in to the small smile, Dei’s immediate answer warming her ever so slightly.

Like you wouldn’t believe.

Jon or Winterfell?

She couldn’t bring herself to answer, plugging her phone in to charge and putting it away, tucking her knees up under her chin and burying her face in them.
 
~*~*~
 
“What do you think you’re doing?” Anger was bubbling and boiling, his grip on the edge of the table showing the strain in the whites of his knuckles and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at his sister.
 
“Jon—“
 
“Sansa, I don’t want to hear it.” The feeling of being unwelcome was a familiar taste, and he remembered bouncing around with it while growing up, and it struck something within him— dark and feral. That it was being thrown at Dany, that she had endured so much and was being greeted with that behavior in what he deemed a safe space— “Apparently you’ve forgotten what my job is, what

Robb’s

job is.”He spun to meet the frost of Sansa’s glare, the set of her chin giving him an eerie flashback to Catelyn Stark. “Don’t you dare put your blame on Daenerys.”
 
“You’ve brought her up here, Jon! Into our home.”
 
“Because hers isn’t safe!” There was an ache in his jaw from gritting his teeth, fingers flexing in frustration. “What would you prefer, Sansa? Leave her in harm's way down in King’s Landing? That’s fine with you? Let her be killed so you’re not put out.”
 
The red of her face matched her hair and he wasn’t exactly sure if it was from anger or something else, but he didn’t

care

, no room left to process any of her doubt when he was already questioning everything inside his own head. “And someone has to come through me to get to her, but I guess you don’t particularly care about that either. Just as long as you’re not inconvenienced.”
 
“That is not fair or true!” 
 
“Isn’t it?” He paced then, unable to hold still, pausing in front of the window, waiting,

waiting

for glass to break, to feel the bite and burn of a bullet even though they were currently

safe.

“You were rude and hostile, lashing out at her like some spoiled child.”
 
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so furious with his sister, when the anger just rolled out without him trying to bottle it back, tried not to make waves in a house where it had been frowned upon. But he was past caring about that, the look of sadness on Dany’s face before she had left the room still sitting with him, festering and twisting, building up into a volatile mess that had no outlet.
 
“And

you

just rolled in here with hardly any notice and expected us to drop what we were doing to revolve around you and your girlfriend.”

Gods

, she could be so infuriatingly unbending it was sometimes difficult to remind himself that she was family. 
 
“I asked you to make up the fuckin’ guest room. This is supposed to be my home too, Sansa.” He paused to level a look at her. “But maybe that’s no longer true.”
 
“That’s not it and you know it.” Her voice had grown stern and cold, a sure sign she wasn’t going to back down.
 
The exhaustion he’d been fighting suddenly hit him, a solid wall that just about just about knocked him down, almost taking over. All he wanted was to go upstairs, reassure himself that Dany was safe, even knowing there would no doubt be friction between them, but that was preferable to not being in her presence, that hopefully they’d be able to draw some sort of comfort from each other.
 
Sansa had her arms crossed, shoulders stiff, and the fight went out of him, needing desperately to get out of the kitchen and wallow in the bitter welcome they’d been greeted with. “Sorry, but we can’t leave yet. You’re stuck with us until I figure out our next move.”
 
With the sputter of protest— he refused to stay long enough to hear the words— he left the room, feeling a chill in the air he hadn't noticed before.
 
~*~*~
 
Once she settled, Ghost also seemed to realize that his duty had been done for the time being and he came to sit in front of her, studying her with eyes that seemed to pulse red in the firelight, pushing his snout against her clasped hands until she gave in and sank her fingers into his fur at the scruff of his neck. She was a bit unsure how to go about properly petting him, the only animals she had been “permitted” growing up were the family of ducks that roosted by the pond.
 
He blinked slowly at her, seemingly satisfied with her clumsy attempts as she stared into the fire, knowing that she was waiting for Jon before getting settled, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself. 
 
She didn’t have to wait long. The low rumble of voices outside the door would have alerted her even if Ghost hadn’t stiffened under her touch before padding over to the door and whining. A light tap against the door, and Dany found she had to swallow more than once before she could get her tongue unlocked, both craving his presence and wishing he would have stayed away a bit longer, given her more time to piece what was left of her armor back together, ready herself to face him and this long night together after days of silence and hurt.
 
“Come in,” she called, and the door opened immediately. 
 
Jon slipped inside, his gaze going to the bed first, as if expecting to find her there before roving the rest of the room to find her curled up in the chair. He held a worn sleeping bag in his hand, dropping it next to her bag, reaching behind him into the hall to bring in her other bags along with his own, and he shut the door behind him.
 
She blinked down at the sleeping bag, the bright red of it a splash of color against the dank, grey and black of the decor of his room that she hadn’t bothered to study, too tired to do anything but collapse into the warmth the fire offered. The only sounds were the crackle and pops from it, the steady sounds of their breathing as the silence stretched around them.
 
“I’m—” He cleared his throat before starting again. “So that’s Sansa— hopefully she’ll defrost once she gets used to the idea of you being here.” He was also staring into the fire, not quite ready to meet her eyes either.
 
Dany wasn’t so sure about that herself, but she hoped he was right. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing me here? This situation is a lot to impose on anyone, much less your own sister.”
 
She didn’t mean to be combative, her muddled mind too tired to choose her words more carefully, but he bristled anyway, hackles raised. Ghost whined with his master’s displeasure, nudging his head under Jon’s hand until his fingers unclenched and he sunk them into the scruff at his neck. “I told you I was bringing you to Winterfell.”

Winterfell— that’s what he had said— as if it were something she should recognize.

“I thought that was the name of the town, not your family estate.”
 
He sighed, dropping onto the bed, Ghost coming to sit next to him, pressed up against Jon’s leg as if he couldn’t be close enough to him. “It was the safest place I could think of.”
 
“I don’t want to stay if it means anyone else in your family might get hurt.” She couldn’t bear being the reason anymore of his family might be caused pain.
 
“Well, lucky for us all, you don’t get to have a say in this matter.”
 
He was tired— they all were— she

knew

that, but it didn’t help the pang in her chest his words drew from her, eyes filling with tears that she tried to blink rapidly away before he could see. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”
 
He groaned, hand coming up to rub his face in frustration. “I know, I’m—“
 
“Don’t.” His jaw snapped shut before the apology could escape. “Please? I’m not trying to be difficult, I know this is the best we can do right now, I’m just—“ She choked on the fear, ever-present— surrounding and suffocating her— and covered her face with her hands, burying her face in her knees. There was another deep sigh before he was there, kneeling in front of her, rough hands running up and down her arms, his forehead coming to rest against the crown of her head as she shuddered, even Ghost trying to nose his way in to lap at the tears streaming down her face.
 
He didn’t say anything, just held on and let her be for a few minutes, both of their frustrations draining away for the time being. But, still— he deserved to know, to hear her truth if she could say it in a way that would sink in for him. “I’m just so scared that someone else will get hurt.“

You, especially. “

All because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, because of me.”
 
“I know.” His lips brushed across her head, fingers roughly trying to comb through the endless tangles of her hair, both relaxing and somehow winding her up, tiny frissons of heat spiraling from her scalp and down her arms, anywhere he touched her lit up like a beacon.
 
“Do you?” She raised her head, the firelight making his eyes soft and warm, even though that steely resolve, that stubbornness still stuck to him like a wet scrap of fabric, soaked and clinging desperately.
 
His jaw clenched, and she closed her eyes, knowing they had somehow scraped against each other

again

, fatigue and exhaustion hampering them, holding them down. “Nevermind,” she whispered.
 
“Dany—“ His voice sounded suspiciously close to breaking, and she took a deep breath before opening her eyes, forcing herself to focus and meet his gaze. “We’ll figure it out, but tomorrow— aye?”
 
She nodded, eyes going back to the fire, not able to withstand the pleading look in his eyes. “Are you really going to sleep on the floor?”
 
He ducked his head, suddenly sheepish, his neck turning red again, even as his fingers dug into her shoulders, dragging down her arms. “Depends.”
 
“On?”
 
“Where you want me to sleep.” 
 
It was a simple enough statement, but she could see the want swirling in his depths, and she had a moment to wonder if perhaps there was something wrong with her, that even with all their problems, their misfires, that she still wanted him as close as he would allow, would give him almost anything he asked of her.
 
She tried for a smile, her lips curling up only slightly along the edge. “I want you to stay with me, Jon.”
 
She meant to tease, to flirt, to find a way to put him more at ease, but here in the dark and the cold, only the truth slipped out, the fear that he would somehow find a way to slip away again creeping closer in the dark. It felt too large for either of them right in the moment, and Jon ducked his head against her knees, hiding his face from her too gentle gaze. “Then I guess Ghost is getting the sleeping bag.”
 
At least he could do what she couldn’t, a surprised crack of a giggle falling from her lips as she turned to look at the beast in question, his tongue lolling out happily, waiting patiently for more of her inadequate pets. She reached out to do just that, Jon’s fingers tangling with her own in his fur before she withdrew her hand, waited for him to step back so she could get to her feet, grabbing her bag so she could change.
 
“Bathroom?”
 
He nodded behind him. “Fair warning— it’s tiny.”
 
He wasn’t kidding, the entirety of the bathroom about the same size as her shower back home, looking as if it had been hastily and cheaply tacked on to a room that couldn’t accommodate it, and it took her a few moments of creative maneuvering before she could figure out how to have both her bag and herself in the space. She took a moment to wash her face, briefly contemplating a quick shower before exhaustion won out and she dug through the bag for her pajamas. Her fingers pushed through to the bottom corner, lingerie and pajamas always tucked away for her in a pocket, but her fingers only brushed against cool silk. Her brow furrowed as she dug further, wondering if Dei had misplaced the fleece lined pajamas she knew she owned, or had forgotten that she was headed for a colder climate.
 
Or was trying to play matchmaker from afar.
 
Sure enough, the only pajamas packed for her seemed to be a selection of the silk nightdresses she favored in King’s Landing. The one she pulled from the bag was short, but modest enough as long as no one bothered to look at the fact that it was open all along each side, only a ribbon strung between the two pieces of material giving the vaguest impression of a closure.
 
She groaned. It would be a race to see what she died of first— embarrassment, denied gratification, or exposure.
 
She dug back through the lingerie portion of her bag, coming up with a pair of matching navy blue underwear, peeling off leggings and sweatshirt that had definitely developed some sort of stagnant, stale, road trip scent— otherwise she would just wear them— before pulling the night dress over her head. With a scowl of annoyance, she pulled the underwear on as well, knowing Jon would likely keel over dead if she came out of this bathroom without them on.
 
She squared her shoulders, mortification already coloring her features before she opened the door and stepped out. The chill bit at her legs and breasts, nipples hardening in the cold almost immediately. She dropped her bag and folded her arms across her chest, walking over to plant herself back in front of the fire, a choked sound coming from behind her.
 
She couldn’t help herself, turning to look back at him, arms falling away as he took her in, a flare of heat so powerful it warmed her right down to her toes, his hot gaze almost scorching with its intensity. She couldn’t think of a single thing to do with her hands, fingers playing with the short edges of the dress until he shook his head, dragging his eyes back up to hers. “You can’t wear that.”
 
It almost sounded like an invitation, one that she would have gladly tortured him with had they been on better footing, but instead she wilted, arms folding over her chest again with the knowledge that she had somehow found another way to disappoint him. “I couldn’t find anything else. Dei must have forgotten.”
 
He cleared his throat. “You’re going to freeze to death.”
 
“I know.” There was a husk to her voice, an invitation buried there for him to be the one to keep her warm, but he shook his head, once, twice before moving to an ancient dresser, rummaging through and tossing her a shirt and sweatpants.
 
“Here, you can wear those. They’ll be a little big, but…”
 
She swallowed back the disappointment, berating herself for letting her mind wander, for getting her hopes up, cheeks coloring again as she ducked back into the bathroom without a word. The flannel shirt was soft, well worn, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long he had owned it, what memories were attached to it as she slipped the night dress over her head and let the warmer material cover her instead, already a thousand times better than the cool silk.

Gods, it somehow smells of him, even after years of being put away.

She glanced down at the sweatpants, but decided against them, hating the feel of anything restrictive around her waist or legs at bedtime. Instead she folded them neatly, popping back out of the tiny bathroom and laying them on the end of the bed.
 
His groan again seemed to imply that he thought she was trying to kill him, but she ignored him and threw back the covers, climbing in and drawing the blanket up around her. He threw her a glare as he also marched into the bathroom, the rummaging sounds doing nothing to distract her from taking in the rest of his room.
 
Ghost huffed at her from his spot near the fire, obviously taking his master’s side in the matter before turning around three times and settling into a dog bed that Dany noticed had been lined with the red sleeping bag. Too late to change his mind now.
 
She finally let herself look over the small, cramped room— walls covered with large sports jerseys proudly announcing the Winter Town Direwolves and team pictures— something that looked like ice skates stacked into a corner with a large equipment bag and a number of wooden hockey sticks. He also had a few medals hung on the wall above his bed. She grasped one, shocked at how cold the metal felt to her touch even with the heat of the room, a layer of dust coming away on her fingertips as she turned it over in her palm. Second place for cross country. She wondered if he still ran, or if he had ever stopped. 
 
The only other personal touch to the room was a picture on his bedside table— a lovely brunette that resembled Arya— a fierce look in her eyes in direct defiance to the soft blue rose tucked behind her ear. She felt her heart give another pang. If Dany had to guess she’d say it was likely his mother, torn from a baby boy that still needed her before either of them were ready to say goodbye. 
 
She left the picture untouched, not wanting to disturb it and shifted deeper under the covers. There was a small window above his bed, just enough to allow the moonlight to shine through, covering it in its blue, diffused light. And through that window, she could see tiny flakes falling through the sky.
 
She gasped, pulling herself up onto her knees, resting her chin on her hands on the window sill, wondering at the chill that permeated the glass, watching the white drops of lace fall from the sky, melting as soon as they came in contact with the window, or settling softly on the pines just outside. It was quietly beautiful, absorbing, drawing her in completely.
 
She didn't hear Jon come out of the bathroom, jumping when she felt the bed shift behind her. His hand came to rest tentatively on her back and she glanced over her shoulder, eyes stalling along with her breath on his bare chest. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
 
“It’s ok.” She forced herself to turn back to the window, staring out into the night, trying not to think of the display of pale skin and lithe strength she hadn’t seen in days behind her, the longing to turn and bury her face into his chest deep and abiding within her. “What kind of snow is this?”
 
A pause as he stared out the window as well, fingers lightly trailing down her back until they fell away. “Fluffy.”
 
“It really is beautiful.”
 
“I know.” His voice sounded far away.
 
She glanced back at him, finding his eyes on her, and not the window, her heart giving a solid jolt in her chest. “Just like you said.” The gazebo came flooding back, a simpler time, a million lifetimes away now marred by the ever present shadow over her life.
 
“Aye.”
 
They were careful not to touch as they settled in, trying to give each other space as they lay stiffly next to each other, eyes purposefully focused on the snow until finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and rolled and burrowed into his side, giving into her longing, her cheek resting on his chest as she pulled the covers up higher around them. His sigh of relief was the last thing she heard before she drifted off.
 
~*~*~
 
She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep, her body leaden and heavy still, her limbs useless as she pulled herself up towards consciousness. She took a deep breath, her eyelids fluttering softly— it was still dark, she had no idea if it was night or early morning, but the room had gone cold around her, the roaring fire burned down to embers, softly glowing in the moonlight still streaming through the window.
 
And yet, she was perfectly warm, their cocoon of heat under the blankets keeping her toasty and content, the man wrapped around her, over her, adding to that sense of utter peace and

rightness

. His face was buried against the back of her neck, her hair swept back and away so that he could feel skin, his hand gripping her hip, pulling her closer as she shifted against him, trying to figure out what had woken her.
 
She gave a sleepy sigh, tilting her head back against his, her stretch pressing her ass back into the cradle his hips, heartbeat starting to thump steadily as his fingers moved to caress her hip bone, her borrowed shirt bunched around her waist, wondering if that touch had been what had drawn her from the depths of slumber. His hand found her waist beneath the flannel shirt that he had given her, the muscles of her stomach jumping lightly with the sensation of rough fingertips dragging along her skin. He was already half-hard behind her, no doubt still asleep or as dimly awake as she was, defenses worn low enough to let the longing crack through.
 
She stilled, not wanting to spook him, settling back against him, letting his weight and warmth comfort her, the languid scrape of his fingers igniting trails of fire against her skin. He traced her ribs one by one, hand steadily moving higher and higher until the lightest touch floated across her breast, his thumb sweeping up and over the soft mound, grazing her nipple ever so lightly. A tiny gasp left her mouth before she could stop it, her body reacting instantly, nipples already tight and furled from his barest touch.
 
She fought to stay relaxed, even though she was sure he could feel the pounding of her heart against his hand, now sweeping lower to seek out the neglected breast, palming it completely, kneading and fondling the tip until her eyes rolled back in her head, body starting to wake up with need, the snap and snarl of it desperate within her.
 
She had missed this— missed

him

, and she didn't know how long she’d be able to hang on— her own hands fisted in the sheets to keep herself from reaching out for him. She was half afraid it would just turn out to be another dream, and the moment either of them woke, this reality would shatter in the dim light.
 
She couldn’t help the breathy sigh that left her when she felt his lips on the notch of her spine, body arching against his hand, against his hardening length behind her, and she lost her battle with her own wandering fingers— unable to keep still any longer, reaching between her own legs to graze her clit through the thin fabric of the underwear she had forced herself to wear for his comfort. Another jolt of heat ran through her at her own touch— a rough excitement— but it was nothing compared to the flames licking across her skin with his. 
 
An agonized groan came from behind her as Jon’s hand suddenly spasmed, a sudden, sharp tug to her nipple that sparked pain and pleasure. Her eyes flew open, her shoulders pushing back into the firmness of his chest, her legs coming open to tangle with his. She trailed her fingertips up his thigh, longing for skin, but only coming in contact with the sweatpants that had paraded their way through more than one dream, fingers fisting in the material as she lost what little control she still had over herself and ground her ass back against him.
 
He went completely stiff behind her in more ways than one, his hand jerking away from her breast with a groan that echoed her own, hand stalling on her hips to shove her away long enough for him to roll onto his back, his breathing suddenly loud and harsh in her ears.
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
The flare of frustration and embarrassment was immediate, his rejection almost,

almost

drowning out her blinding need. The fire raging through her veins cooled, but it wasn’t gone— it would never be gone— and she flipped over to face him, ready to snap and snarl, but the moonlight perfectly captured the guilt in his face and she found she couldn’t.

Gods

, his eyes were dark with lust and need— just as rampant as her own— something else swirling in the depths, but she couldn’t take the time to examine it, need and fear driving her forward, afraid if she let him linger too long in darkness that she would never be able to reach him, and he would be truly lost to her— forever.
 
“You promised.” She had meant to accuse, to let her words bite, but her anger faded to sadness, a certain level of despair building within her that he would ever think his touch would be unwelcome, no matter what had transpired between them.

How had they become so lost?

His fingers clenched and unclenched as she stared at him, the emotions warring for dominance on his face both thrilling and terrifying her. She could see the want, the desire, the need to roll her under him until they were both undone and pliable, willing to cobble the pieces of themselves back together into some shadow of what they had been, once. She could see the fear that haunted her as well, and something softer lingering just beneath it. Something that glowed dimly, something that suggested that perhaps Dei may have been right after all. Her heart spasmed in her chest, a new fear rising to clash with the hope that erupted like a geyser.

What if she couldn’t? What if she was incapable? What if it was all a lie?

Her body rose and fell, mirroring his harsh breaths. 
 
“Dany—”
 
It was a groan, a plea, but she couldn’t let him keep doing this to himself— to them.
 
“Don’t, please?” She shook her head wildly, bringing herself to her knees beside him, unable to stop from reaching out for him, needing to put the feel of his skin against hers back in the forefront of both of their minds, to chase away the chill that had suddenly settled in her bones. She found the scar above his heart and traced the skin there, softly, surely, with more confidence than she felt, a desperation building within her. “I don’t want you to be sorry.”
 
His eyes flew to hers, warmth flooding them in the dim light, and she ducked her head, burying her face in his neck, gentle brushes of her lips along his collar bone, wandering up the cords of his throat, her tongue finding his pulse point, the taste of him sending another jolt of desire coursing through her. She wasn’t sure if this was the right moment to push, but she needed to do

something

before they were lost again, silently pleading with him to stay with her. “Jon, I still want

you

.”
 
She pulled back to stare at him, trying to make sure that he saw the truth— her need for him, her longing, her heart laid out before him in a way she didn’t have the words for yet. She wanted

all

of him, all of the broken bits that they could find a way to piece back together into something whole. “I think you still want me too.”
 
His hand tentatively came to lay atop her own, stilling fingers that wandered gently over his ribs now, tracing them as he had done to her not moments before. “If you say no— I'll stop.” If he truly didn’t want her, then there was nothing more she could do, something about this encounter feeling heavy and final— if he turned away from her now, she doubted there would be a way to salvage anything that they might have had left.
 
“But if you say yes…” She withdrew her fingers from under his, her hands creeping toward the hem of her flannel shirt to keep from touching him more, needing it to be his choice to reach out to her. She fingered the soft fabric, indecision warring within her, not wanting to push too hard, but needing him to see,

to know

exactly what she was willing to give. His eyes flicked to her hands, breath hitched in his chest as he took in the shirt that he had offered to keep her warm against the cold of the north. She wondered if he knew she would be consumed by the smell of him, that it would ease her dreams with the reminder of his presence. 
 
Finding some shred of bravery from somewhere deep within herself, knowing she was putting herself at risk— the chance of another rejection high— but she had to try. 
 
She hoped he would catch her as she fell. 
 
She unbuttoned the bottom button, running her fingers against the softened fabric, opening the shirt so that he could see her navel, a sharp breath as his eyes were drawn to the pale expanse of skin.
 
She popped another button open, the swell of her breast appearing. His hands clenched again, and she

knew

he was aching to reach out, so she leaned forward, gently grabbing his scarred hand and laying it on her hip, an open invitation for him to do as he willed. “We can feel something other than shame, or guilt, or whatever is holding us captive. Something more.”
 
His pupils dilated in the low light, mouth open to suck down another gulp of air, fingers grappling at her hip, his other hand coming to rest on her stomach, the muscles jumping under the light touch, her fire for him suddenly blazing and towering, all from the barest brush of his skin on hers. She undid the last button, letting the shirt slip down her shoulders, fabric pooling at her elbows and around her waist as she bared herself to him. She had to fight down the urge to take his hand in hers, place it exactly where she wanted— the longing for his hands, and lips, and teeth on her skin almost overpowering. “We don’t have to fix everything right now— we can talk tomorrow. Tonight can just be about this… about us.”
 
Fire burned in his eyes now, elbows propping himself up beside her, bringing his lips within striking distance, but she made herself hang on, biting back against the urge to take his lips with her own. This had to be up to him. “What do you want, Jon?”
 
~*~*~
 
Her question was ringing in his ears, louder than the buzzing of lust in his veins, louder than the raging of the fire that had engulfed him, and even with his mind addled by waking up to the feel of her rocking back against his cock, his senses filled with the smell and feel of her, he knew what she was asking, what she was giving.
 
An open door— a path to salvage what he had broken and hadn’t figured out how to fix. He thought it would come with words, drawn out conversations, but maybe he could repair it with actions, not fumbling attempts at explaining his thoughts and emotions.
 
All he had to do was walk through it.
 
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you.” Quickly he reached out, an arm around her waist and he was pulling, a tangle of awkward flesh and limbs until she was on top of him, her light weight grounding him, helping loosen his tongue. “That’s not going to change.”
 
Skin to skin, the relief sweet as he palmed her back, nose bumping with hers, hoping she could

see

what he hadn’t said, knowing that a confession right now would make it less sincere and he realized his biggest mistake was giving her the slightest thought that all that had happened had

anything

to do with her.
 
“Dany—“ He kissed her, pulling her in tighter, letting her melt against him with the first soft meeting of her plush lips, let the fire inside him start to build, no longer needing to keep it banked as she arched into him, mouths still moving to make up for the time they had missed, his desperation starting to grow with each wet slide.
 
In the dark of the room it was easy to forget he was a broken thing, hands grabbing at her hips to hold her where he needed her, the memory of being trapped in his own mind fading with the taste of her skin in his mouth, teeth setting into the side of her neck, dragging out soft noises that drowned out the harsh words he had once foolishly said.
 
With his hand tangled up in the fabric at her back, he rolled them, her hands trailing along his ribs, his skin buzzing with the contact, making him greedy for more as he settled them, the feel of her under him, soft and waiting, lust pushing him to take her offer and plunder as his mouth marked possessively the pale flesh offered to him, her eyes slitted and dark, his shirt gathered at her elbows keeping her movements limited.
 
He paused, taking a moment to shuck his sweats, peel her out of her underwear, lightheaded and dizzy with want as he sampled what it had hidden before helping untangle her from his flannel, hands skimming and squeezing, reacquainting, though every inch of her had already been seared into his mind. He crawled back over her, his heartbeat guiding him up, settling his mouth back over hers.
 
He wanted to give his apologies with his mouth, open and asking, let the words disappear between her own eager lips, take his time in showing her his love with every careful touch, explain what was in his heart without saying a thing, let her enjoy how he could make her feel, let her forget about everything else except the fire between them, the threads of desire they were wrapped in, silver and bright, just like her.
 
She was eager, encouraging, helping him settle between her thighs, lips swollen and shiny, her own brands of reclamation on his neck, scored down his shoulders as he pressed his forehead to hers, wanting to savor the suspense, give her one final moment to take it all back like she should, thumb brushing over her pulse, it’s wild jump an exact match to his own.
 
“Dany—“ It was right there on the tip of his tongue but he held it back, waited until her eyes opened, met his, asking, searching before her chin lifted, mouth grazing his until he let her pull him down, lost in the feeling as he shifted his hips and slid inside of her with one smooth movement.

Gods

, it was overwhelming— she was— the feel of her tight and sleek, and she was wrapped around him fully, arms twining around his neck, legs around his hips and cock snug inside of her.
 
The feel of his name against his lips almost broke him before he’d even made a move, hanging on by the thinnest of threads as he tried to calm his breathing, ignore the tightness of his skin, the urge to take and plunder, needing her mindless with pleasure.
 
Hips arched into him, a steady roll that told him he’d lingered long enough and he obeyed her request, wanting to give her everything— a rough hand pushing her thigh wider, letting him sink deeper in her giving flesh, losing himself into a rhythm, the feel of her, the sharp sounds she made filling his ears, mind and blood buzzing with the high of pleasure.
 
He could feel her tighten underneath him, around him as he stayed steady, pushing her towards the end, his own coil around his spine wound to breaking. He was losing his grip, his focus, but she was already there, holding onto him as she shattered and shuddered and he could finally let go, let himself be overcome as she clenched and demanded, flesh tender, vision wavering until he hid his face in her neck, inhaling sharply while he spent himself inside her.
 
Energy depleted, he stayed like that, enjoying the feel of her hands on his back, the way her ragged breath fell against his ear, his own fingers slowly regaining feeling, tracing down her side as he contemplated staying  for all of eternity, or at least the rest of his life, leaving her safe underneath him, his heart pounding against her own chest, letting her know that it belonged to her now.
 
Something cold and wet pressed against his side, making him yelp, dragging him from his drowsy thoughts, and he pushed up to his elbows, eyes narrowed at the interruption. “Ghost, fuck off.” He snapped his fingers impatiently, waiting for the wolf to go back to his designated spot in front of the fire.
 
Hesitation filled him, cold tendrils of doubt crawling through his bloodstream, fear keeping him from looking down, now that lust was no longer clouding their eyes, sure he would find her looking at him with regret.
 
A soft laugh startled him, pulling his stubborn gaze to her, hair a mess across his pillow, mouth ravaged and

gods

she was so fucking gorgeous he could barely stand it. “I’m glad he waited before he did that.”
 
Something that felt dangerously like hope filled his chest, mingling with the love and awe and maybe, just maybe, this second chance wouldn’t blow up in his face. “Aye, that was generous of him.” He rolled, wincing at the loss of her, but propped himself up on his side, reaching out to place his hand just under her sternum, thumb sweeping over the flushed skin and he wanted to test out the thought that she was his— out loud— gage her reaction, make it real.
 
But he couldn’t do that yet, not with their stumbling attempts and miscommunication in the space between them.
 
She was looking at him, affection laced with hesitation, slightly shuttered, no longer the soft and open expression she had worn while he had been inside her and it hurt his heart, made him wonder if he was going to make it better or worse.

Gods, he hoped he didn’t make it worse.

“Dany—“ He almost apologized again, caught himself before he could do it, searched for a way to explain his failings. “Thank you.”
 
The furrow between her brow changed from wary to confused and she moved to mirror his position, didn’t seem to mind as he gripped her hip. “Are you thanking me for sex?”
 
“Not for the sex.” He squeezed, giving her a small smile. “Though I probably should. No, for giving me the chance to try and fix this.”
 
“Jon...” 
 
Something inside of him clenched as she trailed off, her gaze darting up before moving back to him, making him want to retreat, curl up in self-preservation, but he

knew

he couldn’t do that, he’d have to dig deep and find his bravery. “I know something inside me is broken.”
 
He shook his head when she opened her mouth, relieved and terrified when she closed it again. “I

know

there is. It’s somewhere inside and just stays there, dormant, until it’s not. And then it fucks me up.” He paused, remembered the sound of her voice pulling him from the darkness inside that cramped hospital bathroom. “PTSD, which I’m sure you’ve already figured out. And I’m not excusing my actions, because they were

my

actions.”
 
A small hand touched his chest, a gentle touch over his scar, his heart jumping at the contact. “And there is nothing I can do to take it back, what I said, how I reacted— what I did wrong.”

Gods, Robb and Viserys.

“I didn’t handle it well and I’m still not handling it well.” He took a deep breath, anxiety living in his stomach, searching for any shred of courage he had left. “I’m in love with you—” there it was, the word said out loud and made true, stuck floating in the air between them, “—and I’m terrified something will happen to you, that I’m not enough to stop it—“ He closed his eyes at her sharp inhale of breath, at the sight of her skin paling and gods, he was still fucking everything up. “—and I keep doing everythin’ wrong because I don’t know how to do this.”
 
~*~*~
 
Her world stopped.
 
Jon paused, his precious face falling, the stern lines around his mouth deepening, but she couldn’t get her lips to move, nothing but a dim ringing in her ears as she fought to stay with him, stay grounded.
 
He winced, and she looked down to see her fingers clawed into his chest, jerking her hand back as she struggled to suck in another breath, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
 
He loved her, or was

in love

with her. Was there a difference? If so, what was it? She had no idea— all she could feel were the tears starting to stream down her face, the thump of her own heart beating so loud and so hard that she was sure he could also feel it, his fingers still splayed across her stomach. She shivered in the cold, unable to do anything but replay the last few words that fell from lips that had just reacquainted themselves with every inch of her skin over and over again, that same full feeling she had first felt in her chest with Dei’s words expanding and making it hard to catch her breath.
 
She had been right— Jon Snow was in love with her. And she had no idea what to do.
 
“Dany?”
 
She felt the flush spreading across her face as she snapped her gaze back to his, sadness and hope and guilt swirling in his dark eyes— something steadier, quieter there as well— something she was beginning to crave, even if she didn’t know how to return it.
 
“You’re not broken.” The words tumbled from her lips, numb and wooden as her mind spun. She couldn’t think clearly, but she needed him to know that he was not less than; he was not nothing.
 
He shifted closer, his hand on her hip pulling her body into his warmth, grappling for the blankets that had been kicked away in their passion and need to consume, and pulled them up around her shoulders. “I am.” His voice was sad, another shard of glass through her heart as he looked down at her.
 
She didn’t want to agree, even though she had thought it to herself multiple times, about them

both

. But now that she was here, taking the time to examine it, she found she knew the truth. They weren’t broken, not truly. They were cracked and fractured, but there was hope for them to find a way to fuse themselves back together into something whole. “You’re healing.” 
 
She reached out to cup his face, her fingers trembling as she traced the line of his stitches, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. “It just takes time.” She blinked away her tears, trying to bring herself under control, tearing her gaze away from his haunted eyes to stare at his chest, her other hand coming to rest there, tracing the scars— the wounds— that had almost torn him from her before they had ever met.

PTSD

— the elephant in the room they had never bothered to name. It hadn’t been necessary, but now she wondered if she had done him a disservice all this time, by not wanting to push or pry more than she already had. He had kept it hidden fairly well. She never would have guessed if not for the nightmares that haunted them both— that hint, that edge of darkness that wounded them, shared experiences binding them together in the dim light of her study.
 
That small smile appeared— the one that lit her up from the inside— that she had craved so desperately to see from him for days now, but it had a sadness to it tonight that felt as if he were somehow slipping further away from her instead of bringing him back. More of the unspoken now lying between them, her tongue and her heart stubbornly locked and hopelessly tangled. “Aye, time...” he murmured, drawing her in further to brush his lips across her forehead, fingers winding through the endless knots in her hair.
 
Time… exactly what it felt like they were running out of.
 
She let out a little huff of frustration against his neck, another flare of exhaustion rising within her. She squeezed her eyes shut as her fingers found the scar above his heart. “Where did you go? After the shooting… at the hospital. Can you tell me?”
 
His hand in her hair stalled for a fraction of a second before continuing, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling her further into the cradle of his arms. He took a deep breath, shuddering with it and she buried her face into his chest. “I’m sorry— you don’t have to.” She pressed her lips against his collarbone, a trail of kisses leading to his scar, gentle caresses replacing her fingers.
 
“I want to tell you,” his voice rumbled through his chest, the vibration tickling her lips as he stiffened beneath her. “But tomorrow. When the sun’s up.”
 
“For the night is dark and full of terrors?” she teased gently, bringing her head back up, chancing a look into his eyes.
 
“Aye.” The look burning in them took her breath away. “More than you know.”
 
He was studying her as if she was holding some great secret, something almost worshipful in his gaze that was making it hard to breathe, the knot of fear lodged within her heart growing instead of shrinking under it, a stab of panic that she couldn’t bat away.
 
He was waiting, and it felt as if she was stripped bare before him, knowing she was out of time to stall. Not that she wanted to, but she had harbored some secret hope that if he told her—

when he told he

r— that something within her would unlock, that the fear that was keeping her bound would be gone. Instead, nothing about this situation matched up to all the stories she had heard, all of the songs, and looking back across her own life and experiences seemed barren and void.
 
She was a fraud, just as she had feared.
 
And yet, he had been brave. Had found a way to push forward— why couldn’t she?
 
It wasn’t as if she didn't care for him, she’d be lying to herself, and everyone else would be able to see through her in no time. But

love

? She had no idea if what she felt for him was love, or just some other emotion that trauma had imprinted on her brain— if what she felt for him was a trap, or a lie, or just more hurt lying in wait for her.
 
For them both.
 
She didn’t want to be governed by fear her entire life, but when she tried to look deep within, its frail but strong fingers seemed to wrap and wind around her throat, choking out any warmth or seed of hope that might have been planted within her. It felt as if the ground beneath her feet was cracking and crumbling, nothing solid except for him. 
 
But he had already shifted beneath her once.
 
What could she trust? Could she take the chance that he wouldn’t leave her alone again? She had already lost her heart to him once, and he had thrust it back into her trembling hands cleaved in two. The fact of the matter was that it was easier to trust him with her life than it would be to trust him with her heart again.
 
He shifted uneasily beside her, the silence growing and suffocating until she turned to him, threading their fingers together, trying to ground herself, trying to figure out what to say— how to say it, her mind stalled and blank of every thought except for the fact that she

wanted

to be able to do all of those things.
 
She wanted to give him her heart. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe that he would never leave her again, purposefully or otherwise.

She wanted to love him.

“I don’t know how to do this either.” It was a whispered confession, falling from lips that tasted like salt. “I’ve never— Dei says it’s not rocket science, but...“ her voice trailed off. She ducked her head, taking refuge in his chest, his arms closing in around her, holding her close. “I’m terrified too.”
 
“Dany,” his voice was soft, lips moving against the crown of her head. “You don’t have to— I didn't tell you so you would—“ he huffed against her hair. “I’m not expectin’ anything. I just thought you should know.”
 
Her face burned, the embarrassment bright.

Why couldn’t she just be normal, for once in her godsdamned life?

She felt as if they were somehow going backwards, slipping back into a fog that they would never come out of, all because she couldn’t dig deep enough within herself to try.
 
She could feel the panic increasing, the thought of losing him again greater than the rest of her fears, driving her to move forward any way she could, to try to take the first step. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jon.” It came out as a sob, sudden and violent, the circle of his arms her only port in the storm. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to handle any of this— I’ve never done this before, no one has ever told me— and I don’t know—“
 
She was bathing his chest with her tears. “There’s something wrong with me, there has to be— if I don’t know how, then what’s the point of—“
 
“Hey. Hey…” his voice was soft, lips moving across her forehead, fingers trailing up and down her back as he tried to soothe her. “I’m goin’ to need you to start at the beginning. Because I don’t believe that for a second. I’ve seen you with those kids at Rhaegar’s Harp, with Missandei, even with your brother. You may not know how to say it, but Dany— c’mon. You live it every day.”
 
She hiccuped softly, trying to bring herself back under control as he continued. “People don’t try to run

into

burning buildings for anything less than love. Trust me.”
 
She shivered again, his words washing over her, desperately wanting it to be true— that she wasn’t past hope, that she wasn’t as fucked up as she thought, that maybe,

maybe

, they could find a way to start again.
 
“I want to.”
 
“Want to what?”
 
“Trust you.” 
 
He fell quiet, his fingers going still against her back, hearing all of her fears, all of her hurts pouring out onto him in a way he didn't deserve, but she couldn’t help. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, but she didn’t know what else to say, the wound within her heart that she carried pulsing with every shaky breath.
 
“I want to love you.” The confession felt both fragile and too large, a balloon expanding in her heart, threatening to burst any moment, showering them both with her pain.
 
“But you don’t? Or can’t?” His voice was quiet— wounded— and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. She was screwing everything up— he didn’t deserve any of this. 
 
Gathering her courage, she pulled her face from his chest, leaning back to look him in the eye. “Neither. I’m

trying

. I promise I am— I— I wasn’t expecting this, not tonight. I thought we would build up to this, that I’d have time to figure it all out, and—” she swallowed to see his eyes shuttering before her, her voice shrinking with the knowledge that she had hurt him. “I just need more time.”
 
He was trying to understand, she could see it even as he dropped a hand over his eyes, raking it down his face. She could tell he wasn’t succeeding, and didn’t know how to make it better, but he was still there, still with her, still looking at her with that same undertone of softness, of

love,

and it took her breath away.
 
She just wished it didn’t hurt so much, that it was the cure-all the stories had led her to believe it would be.
 
Her hand crept up to cup his cheek, her thumb finding his face wet, and it broke her open anew as she wiped it away, longing to be able to soothe him. She brushed her lips across his, letting him decide whether or not to deepen the kiss. His hands dove into her hair, rolling them until she was settled across his chest, fingers delving into the curls at the nape of his neck, trying to show him with the soft swirls of her tongue how she felt, all the things she couldn’t, didn’t know how to say.
 
He pulled away, taking a moment to brush her hair from her eyes before settling her down against his chest, just over the sound of his beating heart, a heart that he wanted her to know beat only for her. 
 
It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.
 
~*~*~
 
Heat.
 
That was the first thing his mind registered as he woke, slowly dragging back to the surface of consciousness, an ache behind barely opened eyes, the burning hot from two bodies cocooned under a pile of blankets enveloping them. She was turned into him, legs threaded through his, her head tucked under his chin.
 
For a moment he was happy and light, wrapped in bliss in their shared space— until he remembered— the conversation settling back into his mind with a dull throb, the darkness inside of him laughing, a mocking sound that seemed to be asking just what he thought would happen.
 
Fighting the urge to jolt, shy away, he pulled in a lungful of air, let it stretch out the tightness in his chest, running a roughened hand down the smooth skin of her arm, thumb flicking over the face of his watch that she was still wearing.
 
He couldn’t take it anymore.
 
Carefully so not to wake her, he slowly untangled their limbs, edging further away until he could no longer feel the heat from her body. It was a cowardly act, letting his need for self preservation push him towards putting distance between them, unable to watch those blue eyes open and stare at him with panic and turmoil.
 
Instead he retreated, tucking the covers back around her as she stirred, took note of the dark bruises under her eyes, even in sleep.
 
It broke his heart.
 
Fingers curled in on themselves to quell the urge to touch her and he shivered in the cold air, giving a half-hearted glare to Ghost, who had managed his way onto the end of the bed and he left him there, shutting himself into the bathroom.
 
With elbows tucked close to his sides, he managed his way into the shower, a foolish hope that the water would wash clarity into his head even as it washed away the lingering smell of

them

that still clung to his skin. Soap gave a slight burn in the marks made by her nails, his shoulders no doubt bearing the brunt of it all as he pressed his forehead into the wall and closed his eyes, wincing at the hot flare of pain from his wound, but leaning into it. 
 
He’d just made everything worse, not just a misstep, but a fall off a fucking cliff— as if a confession would have magically fixed things. 
 
He was an idiot. 
 
Frustration chased after him as he finished his morning routine, rubbing a towel through his hair as he paused in the doorway, feeling the awkwardness and confusion filling him as he looked over at her sleeping form, catching the slow sweep of a white tail as his wolf realized he was back in the room. 
 Sighing, he crossed over to sit on the end of the bed, ruffle Ghost’s ears and contemplated waking her up, but to do what, he wasn’t sure. He was fairly certain she’d welcome any physical advance, his body alive and brimming with want, but he knew that it would only cause more confusion for him, for her.  
No, it would be better to wait until they could talk, to find out where they stood, sort and untangle the mess made. 
 
Or…
 
He didn’t want to think too much on that

other

option, something in his heart squeezing at the thought and he closed his eyes, fingers curling in the white fur before he took a deep breath and made himself get up. He couldn’t stay and brood about it all day. She obviously needed space away from him. 
 
With his boots in one hand, comms in the other, he pushed out the door, letting Ghost trail behind him, selfishly wanting the company. Any presence to keep him from retreating into his own head. 
 
Jorah was sitting in the kitchen, cup of coffee in hand as he entered, the older man’s eyes narrowing slightly and Jon felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders but ignored it to keep from collapsing. “She’s still sleeping. I’ll have my comms if anyone is looking for me.” He wanted to say

if she is looking for me

— but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words, to let any hope build up.
 
The cold air was a cruel embrace, stealing the air from his lungs for just a moment until he adjusted, one lone shiver before his body remembered and he pulled his hat down over his ears as Ghost raced down the steps before flopping into the snow.
 
Something inside him loosened then settled, amusement such a foreign feeling that he almost stopped, but let himself enjoy the moment, donning his gloves to scoop up a handful of snow, toss it at his companion, the sound of snapping teeth breaking the stillness of the day.
 
He could turn back to look up toward his bedroom window, knowing that Dany was just behind the curtains. Instead he turned for the back of the house, suddenly needing to be busy, all of his doubts starting to find him again, and he knew he needed to push them away before they took over, got the better of him. The same trap that he let himself fall into before.
 
A path was mostly cleared around back, the shelter full of enough wood to keep Winterfell warm in the cold months and he reached for the familiar splitting maul, the weight settling into his hand. If he couldn’t run from his thoughts, maybe he could purge them.
 
A mindless task, muscles starting to loosen, strain, as he split, round after round, letting the previous night run through his mind, an endless loop, his heart a little more bruised in the light of day.
 
The pain was sharp, even if he hadn’t

really

expected anything, her reaction was enough to throw him even further off balance on uneven ground, a hurt that made him want to retreat, a sign he recognized as dangerous, knowing

exactly

where he’d end up and as he stood up another round to cleave into bits.
 
Ghost was digging happily through the snow and he stopped for a moment, let his breath steam in the air, felt the heat from the exertion rising from him and was unable to resist turning, to look at the big house and wonder where she was in there, if she was still getting much needed sleep or if she had retreated into herself, pushed there by him.
 
And

that

was it, right there, blinding and bright and how the

fuck

did he not realize how much he had been running right over the top of her, dumping all of his feelings on her without asking

her

where she was after he had ripped the rug out from under her.
 
No, he’d just assumed she was right there with him.
 
And that wasn’t

fair

of him, something inside his chest burning as he straightened, needing to steady himself, swallowing hard to keep his emotions from bubbling up. He’d made the wrong move at every turn and she was barely hanging on with him— to him— had asked for just a reprieve of emotion and he’d ignored her request and returned it back to her, heavy and thick with layers.
 
He stared sightlessly at the ground in front of him, the feel of her confusion and panic still living within him as surprise. She was so

giving

to anyone in need he hadn’t known that doubt resided with her, that the trauma of neglect had dug in so deep and he’d overlooked it in the wake of his own darkness.
 
The ringing sound of the door had him jolting to look up, an odd mix of hopeful but hesitant, something sinking inside of him when he was met with the cool exterior of his sister rather than the woman he actually wanted to see.
 
Without a word he turned back to the splitting maul, hoisting it back up and turning his frustrations back to the wood before him, still angry with her treatment from the previous night.
 
“You know we have a splitter now.”
 
“I know.” It felt good to let his muscles loose, expel energy, let the work take the brunt of bottled up tension.
 
“Then why are you doing it that way?”
 
Something inside snarled. “Fuck’s sake, Sansa.” He stopped again, couldn’t keep the scowl off his face. “What does it matter? Did you just come out here to tell me I was doing it wrong?”
 
“No.” She actually looked a bit chagrined, hands clasped in front of her. “I’m making up a big breakfast. For everyone.”
 
That was a surprise, stopping him short, making him fumble. “Thank you.”
 
“Don’t let it get cold.” With a hurried stomp and no other words she went back inside, a typical response from the sibling who was never able to admit her wrongs. 
 
A meal wasn’t enough of a gesture to make him forgive— no— not when her remarks had been full of barbs, sharp and aimed to hurt, but it was a step towards an amicable existence while they were trying to coexist under the same roof and

that

was something he needed. He couldn’t afford to have his focus be split in one more direction. 
 
With another glance at the house, his heartbeat thrumming against his ribs, he went back to his work, not worried about his sister’s speech, wanting to feel tired muscles, tension drained before going back inside and facing the consequences of his mistake. 
 
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard the door again, this time not pausing when he recognized the footsteps, letting her halt and waver on the porch, decide if she really did want to approach him or if she’d retreat back into the safety of the house. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. 
 
But even when she thought she was lacking courage, she was not; she was brave, coming down the stairs carefully even though he’d shoveled them off, his heart flipping rapidly as she made it to the bottom and stopped, hands going awkwardly in the pockets of her coat.
 
Her cheeks were already turning pink with the cold and he could see a shiver run through her, teeth sinking into her bottom lip and he could feel the uncertainty between them, heavy as lead in his stomach as he straightened again, pulling his gloves off to tuck away, waiting for her as Ghost lumbered to his feet, tail wagging happily.
 
Surprise flickered across her face, palms held out to the nose that pushed at them, her faltering at what to do as endearing as it was the sad reminder that she’d grown up with no emotional affection, not even the comfort of a dog.
 
“Hi.” 
 
She was looking at him, guarded and wary and it hurt more than her previous hesitancy, informing him that she was waiting for him to be angry or disappointed with her. He shuffled on his feet trying to not ambush her again. “Did you get some sleep?”
 
“Some.” Her face turned into a pout as she stretched her back and he wanted to cross over to her, gather her up, but resisted, the space between them wide yet necessary. “You need a new mattress.”
 
There was no stopping the thoughts that spun out of the words she’d said, sidetracking him to reflect on the comfortable bed at the manse, the things he’d done to her in it, struggling to give a focused answer. “I haven’t spent much time here lately.” Shrugging, he let the silence creep back in, wondering if his pause was for her benefit or due to his own lack of courage. 
 
The air held the stillness that only snow covered ground could accomplish until he was unable to take the distance between them, hoping desperately he wasn’t going to push her farther away. “Dany, I shouldn’t have dropped all that on you last night. I misread the situation… made it about me and that wasn’t fair.”
 
The rest of her face went pink to match her chilled cheeks, the line of her back stiffening. “This is about you though. You and me.”
 
He was already shaking his head, needing her to

listen

and maybe they could figure out how to stop the circle of self blame. “But

I

jumped in, took the ‘you

and

me’ right out of it again. I shouldn’t have done that.” 
 
Ghost nudged at her hand and she curled her fist into the white fur at his ruff, unease written clearly and he

hated

what this was doing to her, her voice small when she finally spoke. “What do you think you should have done? Because I’m just as lost here— I don’t know what to do either.”
 
“Aren’t we a pair?” It made him shake his head, they were both so muddled, and in his own turmoil, hadn’t even seen how lost she was, that even with all of her strength she needed someone to lean on. No, he had let her get knocked down and hadn’t helped her back up. “I should have apologized, even if you don’t want to hear it. Dany, I’m sorry.” 
 
“Jon—“ 
 
“What is it about apologies that you hate so much?” Her fingers stilled from their mindless ruffling, the question catching her by surprise and even though he didn’t expect an answer, he did want to know where it stemmed from, what previous wound had turned her off of them. But he also needed to keep going while he had her looking at him, give her the stripped down version of everything that was wrong with him. “That was the worst version of me. Someone I didn’t think was there anymore, someone I don’t want to be anymore and I’m so sorry that I let myself do that, let myself hurt you. It was wrong.”
 
With the first tear that rolled down her face, he started to move, heart clenching with panic, but made himself stop, to give her time to breathe, to give an indication of what she wanted from him.
 
“Who do you want to be?” With a sniffle, she wiped her face, voice somewhat stronger than it had been before. 
 
There were a thousand different answers to that, but he could only think of one that mattered, the one he yearned for the most. “A man who isn’t looking over his shoulder at ghosts. I want to learn how to live without guilt chasing me around. And maybe, then, I can be someone for you. If that's what you want. I hope it is.”
 
Ghost took a step closer and she moved with him, bringing her a step closer too, almost close enough to touch, his impulse to reach out to her becoming difficult to resist. “You’re already someone for me. You have been for awhile.”
 
And suddenly he was pulled back to the previous night, confused and hurt, not sure what she meant, desperate to have it all laid out to see, to find out if there was anything there to put back together. “What do you want from me? Who do you want me to be, in your life?”
 
Something flickered across her face, something he couldn’t read that had him pausing for breath, heart pounding as her hands finally relinquished their hold of the white fur, fluttered in front of her. “I want you to be you, whatever that means, however we can make that happen. I don’t want to be afraid for you anymore, I want to wake up and have you be there. I want…” the pause as she inhaled had him terrified. “I want a

life

with you.”
 
Something inside celebrated, some foolish part, while the rest of him froze in place, waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing that it wouldn’t—

couldn’t

— be this easy, not with the look of panic on her face, eyes still glassy with tears.
 
“But you deserve someone who can give you what you need too. Not someone who’s so trapped that she can’t even admit to the man who loves her that she loves him back. Someone who’s so damaged that—“ 
 
Her words spun around him like the wind, bits and pieces being caught as he tried to process, picking up on one thing, knowing he needed to focus on the other. Closing the distance, he caught her by her elbows, waited until her gaze met his, her voice trailing off. “Dany, that doesn’t matter. Look at us. I’m broken, you think you’re damaged... but I love you and it’s your choice. I’ll stay as long as you want me here.”
 
A noise came from her throat, unleashing more tears and she pressed her face to his chest, making his own hurt as her fingers curled in his jacket... “I promise I don’t want to make you wait. I—“ 
 
She was faltering, everything so muddled and he held her closer, rubbed his cheek along the top of her head, the tightness inside of him making it difficult for himself to respond. “Well, you’re stuck with me for a bit longer, at least.” Her snort of amusement let his shoulders relax but he needed her to know he was serious, how he felt and he leaned back enough, until she looked up. “You are not making me wait, you are moving exactly as quickly as you need to and that is fast enough for me.”
 
There was a quick shake of her head, eyes shifting over his shoulder, a move he recognized, to prevent being overwhelmed, before she gathered herself, gaze fixating back to his face. “I’ve never done this before. And I don’t just mean with…” a short huff of air left her as she trailed off, cheeks pink with something besides the cold. “... relationships.”
 
He held her a little closer as she winced, trying to figure out how to make her see that all he wanted was

her

, that she didn’t need to be perfect, that exactly how she was, qualities and flaws, was just right. “There’s no rulebook to this, so please don’t think there is something to follow. I’ve never felt like

this

about anyone, so you aren’t the only one flounderin’.” 
 
The flush crawled over the small expanse of skin left to the elements, her bottom lip worried between her teeth as she looked for her words and he waited, letting her lean into his grip, knowing she was steady. “I… yes, but that’s not what I meant, and I think you deserve to know exactly what you’re in for with me.”
 
If he didn’t think a laugh would ruin their careful rebuilding, he would have scoffed, wondering how many men had glossed over who she truly was to just look at her pretty face. “You mean your stubbornness? Hard headed determination? Tendency to feel guilt over everything that’s out of your control? Daenerys, I know what I’m in for.” Despite wanting to hold her close, he stepped back, still keeping her elbows in a loose grip, giving her the option of breaking contact, knowing his next words might be too much, but needing her to hear them. “My feelings, the fact that I’m in love with you, come with no strings attached. I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want, or aren’t ready for. But, I need you to tell me what

you

need from me, whatever it is.”
 
Surprised, he followed when she stepped back and tugged at his arm, sitting them down on the snow cleared steps, Ghost flopping at their feet. There was a shadow back across her face, and he reached out to squeeze her knee, let her know he was right there with her, waiting for her.
 
“That picture on your nightstand. Was that your mom?”
 
Of all the things she could have asked, that was something that threw him off balance. There were very few things left of Lyanna Stark, but that was one of them, something he treasured dearly. “Yes.” 
 
Her head nodded slowly, mouth pursing, her careful consideration filling him with an apprehension he tried to ignore as she contemplated whatever she was about to say. “Did you grow up knowing that she loved you? Would do anything for you? Did your family ever tell you that?”
 
He would always be grateful that Ned had— despite Catelyn's disapproval— given him stories of his mother, tales of defiance and stubbornness, of a giving and loving nature. “From what my uncle said about her, yes, she would have loved me.”
 
The touch of her cold hand chilled him to his marrow, but he refrained from linking their fingers together, waiting to take his cue from her. “Good. That’s how it should be.” She paused, took a deep breath, seemed to gather herself with a squaring of her shoulders, a stubborn set to her jaw, before forging ahead. “My mother died giving birth to me— I think I told you? My father made sure that I knew it was my fault. That I was the one who killed her. That whatever worth I had to him after that unforgivable sin was monetary only. It almost seemed to make sense after awhile. Actions have consequences after all.” 
 
Her fingers were turning red in the bitter cold as they picked at the imaginary lint on her jacket and he fought to keep the horror of his face, the anger at the Targaryens for letting her grow up under the weight of guilt that she had no blame in, his own hand curling to keep himself still, the knot of anger he felt sitting leaden in his chest.
 
“That’s how I grew up. In a home where love simply didn’t exist. Or, if it did. It wasn’t for me. I could be useful, I could gain approval, but love was always out of reach. Something for stories— not me. But I still tried. I let my father peddle me out to the highest bidder. And when he died, and Rhaegar asked me to model, to help him save our House, I did that. And then when he died, I tried to keep Rhaegar’s design legacy going, agreed to keep being the face of the House so that Viserys would be happy. So that our family could stay intact as well as it could. More actions, trying to gain a different consequence… And now, someone is trying to kill me for something else I’ve done, an unknown action.” The lost look in her eyes almost broke him in two, the soft touch of her hand making his throat burn, the sheer strength of her character leaving him in awe, even if it was something she didn’t recognize in herself. “And you left once and I don’t know what I did to make that happen. So I need for you to tell me what I did so I know what

not

to do again.”
 
Never in a thousand years could he make up for his selfish actions, how the effect of pushing her away would haunt them, would be settled inside him like a splinter, festering, a small wound in comparison to what he had already done to a woman who’d grown up so neglected. “Gods, Dany—“ He couldn’t resist anymore, taking her hands in between his, rubbing slowly to try and warm them up, needing her to see it was all him, his fault. “What I did, was exactly that.

I

did that to us and I can never make up for it, make up for making you think it was anything to do with you. There is

nothing

that you did wrong,

I

failed you.” There was nothing he could do to stop the crack in his voice, chest hitching with the break, wanting her to see herself as he did. “And I’ll do whatever needs to be done to make sure I don’t do it again.”
 
He paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “Your family never deserved you. You are this bright, giving,

loving

woman and you don’t even know how wonderful you are. Look at everyone around you, they all love you and I know you love them back. Just because you didn’t learn the words, doesn’t mean you don’t know how.” Tucking both her hands into one of his, he brushed his fingers across her cheek, wanting her to understand the truth. “I know your family was

your

family, but don’t take your self worth from their actions. Their failings aren’t yours. You are strong despite them, don’t ever doubt it.” 
 
“Do you really think so?” 
 
The smallness of her voice twisted his heart, a dull painful tear, that made it hard to speak. “I am not lying to you.” Of all the things he’d done, how he’d behaved, fears and darkness tangling up his actions, more lies and half truths were something he wouldn’t give her.
 
Her face was thoughtful, her nose scrunched against the cold when she seemed to make a choice, perhaps choose to believe him in spite of his failings, and with a tilt of her chin, she was pressing her lips to his, soft and hesitant and he wanted to scoop her close, but made himself content with cupping her face until she pulled away, forehead pushed to his. “What do you need from me?”
 
That she was even asking was another thing that would leave a scar, something he would silently bear in penance for his actions. “Nothing that you aren’t already giving me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, fumbling for the words, needing her to realize it, they didn't need to be written out in this moment, signed in pen for permanency. 
 
“This isn’t something we have to figure out right now, all the details. As long as we know which direction we are going, that’s it. One day at a time.”
 
“We keep moving forward. Together?”
 
Something warm blossomed in his chest, something that made him want to push forward, the gain of hope in an upward movement. “I think together is good.”
 
“No more siblings are going to change your mind?” There was a teasing tone to her words, even though they niggled, something untouched, but something he didn’t want to delve into right in that moment. “Because I don’t think Sansa likes me, and I know she’s not your favorite, but….”
 
“Nobody is going to change my mind, let alone Sansa.” It was almost a scoff, difficult to keep the frustration he felt at his sister from his voice, the brief wondering of

why

she’d think Sansa’s judgment would matter to him, especially after their welcome.
 
“Promise?”
 
“If I tell you yes, will you believe me? Because I promise.” He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that it would be easy, that he had just suddenly been freed of his ghosts, but he knew what reaction he would fight against, that he had gone about it all in the worst way possible.
 
Her smile was bright, genuine, tugging something inside of him, a flickering warmth that had been missed. It was a short distance between her lips and his, the gentle touch making his head spin, cloud, easy to fill with her. “Take me inside, Jon Snow. It’s bloody freezing out here.”
 
“C’mon.” He was all too willing to do her bidding, to climb off the steps and help her up, brush the snow from her shivering form, to take her into the warmth of the house, to move forward in the journey resolving what had fallen, shattered, between them. “Let’s go warm up.”