hey yâall! I canât find a Jonerys fanfic. The one where Jon and Dany are surgeons but also Dany is the author of a GOT-like series?? I loved it and I want to re-read, but I canât find it!
having a quiet life is so.. underrated. i donât mean it in the sense that people whoâre open and loud and busy arenât important, but when our culture has significantly put so much emphasis on the definition of success as fame, extraordinary accomplishments, greatness and importance and excessive wealth, i think there is so much power to be found in our own anonymity. in the silence of life. in not being constantly perceived, analyzed and performing for the world. in being able to take a walk, smile at strangers and just notice the world without all that noise. taking the biggest pleasure out of the smallest joys, like a cup of coffee or blowing out birthday candles. knowing that our lives donât have to be a grand spectacle for others in order to have worth and cause a good impact.
All writing advice is fundamentally bullshit but more authors need to study poetry. Like really truly study poetry. Good characters and good plots are all well and good, but is it actually enjoyable to read? Like line by line, phrase by phrase, have you constructed sentences with voice, pacing, and tension?
Hi anon! We are going back to canonverse Jonerys for this one; this idea struck me out of the blue. It's a little bit heart wrenching for a stretch but as always, a happy ending! Also just as fair warning to anyone who would like to read, there are mentions/memories of past miscarriages in this, just in case that may make anyone uncomfortable. 𧥠Thank you, and hope you enjoy!
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20. things you said that i wasnât meant to hear
She wasnât meant to be out of her bed, but she refused to make any more progress without her husband by her side.
So, in the brief respite that her body allowed her, and while the maester chose then to step out for a few moments, she had snuck out of their room against the maesterâs strict orders in search of him. Jon promised it would be quick, but she was much more stubborn than anyone gave her credit for. Not to mention, a queen on the verge of giving birth.
Asking around provided her no clues as to his whereabouts, her husband being the silent sleuth that he was, so she pulled on her thick winter furs and slipped on her warmest boots before trudging her way outside in the knee-high snow. Snowflakes burst and melted over her face, the storm a light sheet; it was the first time in days, perhaps longer, that it had simmered down from the torrential, unending blizzard. As if in tandem with the temperament of her womb, which had been sending the maester and handmaidens in a flurry over the past day or more. It was the worst winter in recent memory, Jon had told her. How fitting that she had been born during one of the most notable storms in the history of Westeros, whilst on the brink of bringing new life into the world amidst the current circumstances.
Now, the weather and her womb offered a moment's reprieve.
Tugging the hood of her cloak tighter around her face to deflect the wind, Dany's instincts took her in the direction of the Godswood. There, a fresh trail led toward the only place remaining she could think to find him.
He was a stark dark figure against the white backdrop, standing before the old Weirwood. Even from a distance, the wise carved face made her shiver. At first, she thought perhaps he was seeking solace in the still silenceâŠuntil she slowed her steps in hearing his deep gruff voice speaking.
Her own mouth snapped shut where she had gone to call out to him, to be sure he was well, but what she overheard broke her heart a thousand times over.
"I know we've not spoken muchâŠ," he began, "and I've hardly any right to ask for anything in my absence,â he huffed in that self-deprecating way of his. She bit her lip, knowing that she should turn back and allow him his privacy, this sacred moment to himself, but she was drawn in, and certain that her footsteps might give her away.
âThereâs not much left in this wretched world that brings me any true joy. Most of it has been taken from me,â he continued, Danyâs heart giving a sharp pang. âBut Iâm here, today, to ask something selfishâŠplease, please donât take her from me,â his breaths were coming in stunted and shallow, and she had to fight the urge to run out and hold him. âSheâs all that Iâve got leftâŠsheâŠmakes me a better man. For the first time in my life, when Iâm with her, I feel peace. I feel warmth, and homeâŠbelonging. An understanding of my purpose.â
There was a notable sound of a sniff, and she watched as his head dropped, feet shifting. White flakes clung to his raven hair and his fur-clad shoulders; heâd been here for some time now, already. She carefully situated herself behind the tree trunk just to her side, her love for him somehow growing triple in size when she was so sure that she could not possibly love him more. It was an impossible feat, but Jon Snow was the only person on this earth that proved her wrong each and every time, always finding a way to step over the threshold time and time again.
âAnd, for my wifeâŠ,â he shook his head. âYouâll not deny her the happiness of finally holding our babe. Not again. You will not take that away from her again, you will not-â his arm lifted and she could just make out the shake of his shoulders; he was silently weeping, and she had to bite her tongue to not do the same, though her eyes stung harshly.Â
The memories of waking up to discover she had lost Rhaego, had been the last one to know once she was conscious again, for it to then haunt her again soon after she and Jon were wedâŠher grief had been all-consuming. She had resigned herself to believe that it simply was not possible to conceive, that she was not meant to hold and love and dote on one of lifeâs most precious gifts, that she had robbed Jon of that very same little miracle. Her pain was bone-deep and stretched on for weeks. She wanted nothing to do with anyone, or anything else, just to wallow in her sorrow for all eternity; even tried to keep Jon at armsâ length, for fear she would never forgive herself for what her body could not provide for him.
But he never left. Not even for a second - not when she slept, not when she was awake, even though it felt as though all of the days and nights were one, long, unending torture. Food was brought to their chambers, and despite her absent appetite, Jon still fed her in increments, encouraging her to keep up her energy and her health, that he could not bear lose her, too. He bathed her tenderly; she could still remember the gentle, loving way that he massaged his fingers over her scalp and every inch of her skin, coating her in her favorite scented oils.Â
He held her as she slept, during the calm and during the fits of restlessness where her nightmares shook her awake. Sometimes she wondered if he slept at all; he never seemed to stir from rest, but rather seemed wide awake during the night. Deep, dark purple circles had formed beneath his beautiful, soulful eyes, and his skin had looked a little pallid after some time.
Still, he remained. Her steadfast, adoring, perfect husband.Â
Even in the fog of her mind, she knew that he was present, notwithstanding when he did offer her little bits of space in the confines of their room - sometimes he would step out onto the balcony for a little breath of air, but he was never far from her reach. Ready at a momentâs notice to be called on.Â
She knew that he was hurting and grieving, too, and that had been another twist to her already fractured heart.
In the days where the wounds softened was when she caught small hidden moments of Jon mourning their loss. Bereaved and so stricken, yet she knew him better than anyone, and that he did not wish for her to see him in such a state because he felt he needed to be strong for her. She saw it in the way his eyes glazed over over dinner, felt it when he held her close against his chest in the dark shroud of their bed chambers and his muted sobs quivered in his chest when he thought she was fast asleep. The way he carried himself, shoulders a little more slumped, movements more sluggish. Heard it in the way his sword bitterly struck Tormundâs when they would spar, wherein she would observe from above and watch as he poured all of his heartache and anguish into those sessions. When he did steal those pockets of time away from her side, it was Ghost that substituted the role of overseeing her.
Those days, it was her turn to comfort him, and although it took quite a bit of gentle coaxing to get him to bare his soul to her, the true healing began.
âShe is the best thing that has ever happened to me,â Jonâs broken voice as well as a painful swell at her sides brought her out of her reverie, âand I donât know what I did to deserve her, but you will make sure she sees this through. She is- she is the strongest woman that I know, stronger than me or any sword-wielding man, and I could not bear to see her so broken again. SoâŠI am begging you to keep her and our child safe. I would get on my knees, butâŠâ
He seemed to consider it, her eyes squeezing shut as her stomach persisted to constrict and ease up on regular intervals now. When she opened them again, her eyes already wet, fresh tears spilled down her cold cheeks where Jon had knelt down to his knees in the deep snow.
"I am on my knees begging you. I would give anything, if you just let me have them. Please."Â
She silently slapped a hand over her mouth, overcome by both his prayer and the contracting of her muscles, knowing that she wouldnât have long now. Familiar red eyes and a black nose appeared just beyond where Jon was kneeling, fixated on her. Ghost broke into a trot in seeing her double over, despite her waves to shoo him away so that he didn't draw Jon's attention, but it was too late.
Ghost nuzzled up to her, settling himself in front of her, her hands burying in his fur as another wave came through. The wolf let out a howl of alarm and she heard him before she saw him, barely able to breathe through the pain.
"Dany! You're supposed to be in bed," Jon scolded gently, his hands grasping her elbows to hold her weight.
She hadn't realized how much she'd begun crying until she spoke. "I know - I can't do this without you," she shook her head and clung to him, unable to contain the sobs within her chest. It was everything - the fear of getting this far and losing the babe after their hopes had risen cautiously high, Jon's words with the Weirwood echoing through her mind, the anticipation of the birth itselfâŠ
Jon cradled her face and thumbed away the wet freezing over on her cheeks, making sure that she was seeing him. "Dany, I'm here. I'm here," he kissed her forehead and quickly left a few for good measure all over her face. "I'll always be here," he assured, brow twisting, "I'm sorry I left, I just needed to-"
"Don't be sorry," she said, sniffing, "I love our maester but not enough to allow him the privilege of holding my hand when this baby comes. Ah!" She released one of her hands from him to curl it around her around her middle, hazily aware of Jon's efforts to guide her to breathe, but she could barely pull in a wisp of air.
"Come, love, we need to get you inside." He scooped her up into his arms the second the contraction passed, and despite his efforts to mask the quaver in his voice, it was noticeable to her.
How he managed to plod through the walls of snow while bearing her extra weight was a wonder to her, and then they were met by a flurry of people dispersing through the courtyard. In search of her whereabouts judging by the size of the party and the relief when they spotted her in Jon's capable arms.
"Once things are settled," Jon's voice bellowed for all around them to hear, that deep wrinkled brow nearly drawn together, "I demand a word with every one of you as to why it took this long for you to notice your queen was missing."
The silence was deafening as they passed by and Jon finally got her inside. "You can hardly be cross with them when I was the one who slipped by, intentionally, unnoticed," she murmured.
"I am cross with you," he returned sternly, until a fondness softened his features, "the difference is that I love you, and you get away with far too much because of that. And now is hardly the time to quarrel.â
âââ
In a matter of two hourâs time, Dany gave her last push, confident it was the last she had in her. The first cry was the most beautiful, relieving sound she and Jon had ever been blessed to hear, and each of them followed soon after. While Dany recovered her breath and body, freely letting tears slide down her weary face, Jon leaned down from where he had never left at her side and littered her face with kisses, unsure if the salty tears on her lips were hers or his. He dropped to his knees, his little, muffled, private sobs against her hand that he never relinquished through the whole process jumpstarted her emotions all over again, despite the pure exhaustion ready to take her under at any moment. She stroked her fingers through his hair, damp from the anxiousness of the day and more especially the past couple of hours, and she could feel his lips moving against her knuckles, and she wondered if he might be praying to the gods again.Â
She then tried to see through her blurry, heavy eyes as the baby was cleaned and wrapped in a warm cotton blanket, being brought to her. Dany softly called Jonâs name, her voice raw and hoarse, and he heaved a large breath before prying open his eyes, first finding her as he then pushed forward to leave her one more kiss before making room for the babe who had just settled their lungs from all of their wailing.
âA princess, your graces,â the masester announced, delicately handing her over into Danyâs arms once Jon helped her sit up more fully. She was beyond sore and fatigued, but the moment their daughterâs weight was placed in her arms, a new flicker of energy consumed her. Sheâd never loved anything more in her life than the tiny bundle in her arms just then, her little black eyes searching and wanting so desperately to focus on something.
Their smiles were a mix of disbelief and raw affection. Despite the maesterâs distant grumbles, Dany shifted herself over carefully, making room for Jon to join her. He kicked off his boots and crawled up, gently pulling Dany ever closer so that she could rest against his solid chest where he had removed all of his leathers and was left in a thin, soft linen tunic. Once arm curled protectively around her while his other swept under her left arm to gingerly stroke a finger over their daughterâs wrinkled forehead; it looked so large against her small head.
Her slow crescendoing wails had a brief flash of panic cross his face, and Dany did not know where the instinct to untie her gown derived from, but she could only assume that the little one must have been famished. She lowered the cotton material to free a swollen breast and positioned her until her face was nuzzling against it. Jon assisted by easing her fresh pink arms from the confines of her blanket, the tiniest palm splaying over the center of Danyâs chest as she finally found a nipple and after a few trials with the maesterâs guidance, was able to latch on successfully.
âWe never did decide on a name,â Dany whispered, afraid even the slightest sound would interrupt the feeding as she suckled diligently. âShe is her father reincarnate, I believe,â she smiled sleepily, and despite the soreness, she had never felt more relaxed and at ease as she did then. Her whole world, the two halves of her heart, all encompassed in this room. The dark eyes, the wispy, curly dark hair, even the detail of her button nose - their daughter was as much Jon as a babe possibly could be.
They had been too afraid to set anything in stone, make a single detail permanent, until the infant was before their eyes, alive and well.
âSo long as she has her motherâs wit and not my ill temper, I sâpose Iâm alright with that,â he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Danyâs temple. âI dreamt of her. Of a daughter, for the last three moons. Except, she had a head of silver, and your eyes.â
Dany hummed, nestling closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder, neither of them able to tear their eyes away from the miracle of life just below them. âI do not know if you could handle two of us.â
He frowned, and she pressed her lips together to keep from snorting. âHow so?â
âYou already looked as though you might separate the maesterâs head from his shoulders when he came to give us some guidance on how to get our daughter to feed.â
Playfully, he rolled his eyes. âI did no such thing,â he balked weakly, his dark eyes rolling down to see her and smirking. âShe will get away with anything and everything, just as her mother does. And I will be all too happy to give you both the world and more.â
Eyes softening, Dany leaned up and kissed his jaw, but winced as the small movement strained her muscles. Jon ran his hand soothingly up and down her arm. âWhat do you think? About a name, that is.â
âI was always quite fond of the one you had mentioned some time ago - Rhaena,â he told her quietly, his thumb now brushing away a thin curl that had dried and moved near her brow. Dany grinned; she would have just the most unruly head of hair just as Jon did, and she could not wait to be able to weave braids through it someday.
âI do, too,â Dany agreed, beaming.Â
âYou have never been more beautiful than you are right now, did you know that?â Jon breathed against Danyâs head.
âIf I did not know you better, I should think you were jesting,â Dany mumbled, certainly not feeling very beautiful, at least physically. Everything hurt, her hair was a matted nest that could only be fixed by poor Missandeiâs expert hands, and there was a dried sheen of sweat coating her skin from head to toe. Not to mention all else that accompanied birth and the moments immediately following. She couldnât wait to be able to bathe again, but still, she knew that he meant it. The sentiment held true in his rich eyes when she leaned her head back far enough to look up at him, happily accepting his soft, lingering kiss.
âI mean it, Dany,â he muttered against her. âThere is no one else like you. I will never not remind you of that. I love you.â
She didnât expect she could possibly cry anymore, yet her eyes burned and produced fresh tears once more. âI love you, too. More than you could possibly know.â
So I just realised how all the others were from Dany's pov. A switch sure feels appropriate now, doesn't it?đ
12. Things you said when you thought I was asleep
"Please, don't take him away from me," Jon was almost asleep when he heard her whisper into the night, hours after he finally found the courage to knock on her cabin's door.
He'd made love to her twice already, desperate to taste every inch of her, desperate to show her how gone he was for her. He didn't even know how he'd been able to deny his feelings for so long. Ever since she came for him beyond the Wall, ever since he saw her small hand reach for his, he knew that his heart irrevocably belonged to her.
How could he ever possibly begin to explain how much he already loved her? That he was now ready to give her everything he had, that he'd run into battle for her, head first, fearless when it came to the enemy. That it was only because of her that he finally had hope, that he finally believed in a future for himself and the rest of Westeros. That all of himâbody and soulâwas hers. How he'd give up everything just for a chance to hold her against him while she slept; just for a taste of her lips.
His fierce queen. His Dany.
Jon's marred chest felt suddenly damp right where her cheek rested against it, just over his heart. She felt so small, so fragile. His heart lurched at her distress.
"My queen," Jon gathered her in his arms and pulled her even closer to him. "Who are you speaking to?"
"No one," she sniffled softly, perhaps trying to hide her tears from him.
He hooked his fingers underneath her chin, tilting her head up to look into her eyes. She kept them closed.
"Dany," he tried. "Don't hide, please." Her tears glistened in the orange light of the last burning candles. "Tell me."
She blinked the open, making more tears break free from her lashes. Jon swiftly wiped them away with his thumb.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She shook her head. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
"The gods brought us together once. They wouldn't be so cruel to separate us now."
"You don't know them like I do," she smiled sadly.
"No one could ever keep me away from you. And if they tried, I'd find my way back to you. This I promise."
Jon kissed her through her tears, whispering more reassuring wordsâfor her or himself, he didn't know. Because he meant it. Now that he knew she'd be waiting for him, he'd do anything for her, even raise hell just to come back to her.
"You taste like rock candy," she sighed between kisses. "And not the type meant for kids."
He kissed her harder, pushing her back down onto the table. "Is there any other type?"
His lips travelled down the column of her neck, lower, and lower, until his face was between her breasts. Dany arched her back off the table to give him better access. His fingers pushed down on the shiny elastic material of her sorry excuse of a dressâit was so short it barely qualified as a t-shirt. He watched mesmerised as the material fell away to expose her bare breasts to him.
"The kind that gets you high," she moaned when his lips closed over one nipple.
"You make me dizzy too, you know," he chuckled against her skin.
Her hand travelled to his crotch to palm him through his jeans.
Jon whimpered.
"But you're intoxicating."
He moved to gently bite and suck on her other nipple. Dany moaned again.
The sounds she made would forever be etched into his brain. His hands travelled lower, underneath the skirt of her dress, until he found the damp material of her knickers. She pulled his face to hers to kiss him hard, tongue and teeth, tasting of the cheap cherry shots she had earlier.
He pushed the damp material to the side and slid a finger along the seam of her warm cunt. He felt the vibrations of her hum inside his own mouth.
She broke away, panting, as he slowly sunk a finger inside her. "I can't think straight whenever you're around me."
"Sounds exactly like what you do to me," Jon smirked.
She laughed. "Good. Because I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon."
Aw look, more fluff! Who would have thought? Not me. The post S8 we deserved đ
9. Things you said when I was crying
Dany wouldn't stop crying. His gorgeous wife was sobbing as she held their squirming newborn son in her arms.
So, of course he said the first thing he could think of. "Please tell me we're not naming him Aegon."
Dany looked up at him, eyes full of tears, as their son finally seemed to finally latch onto her breast.
"I am begging, anything but Aegon."
There was a brief pause before his wife started laughing through her tears. "That's what's been bothering you? Is this why youâve been silently brooding on the other side of the room, frowning ever since the maester announced it was a boy?"
Jon winced and swiftly crossed the room to the side of the bed. As soon as he extended his hand to her, Dany intertwined their fingers.
The babe was already fast asleep at her breast. Jon couldn't take his eyes off his dark hair. Unlike his two brothers, he joined the world with a full mop of dark curly hair on his head. Jon smiled and briefly wondered if he'd looked the same at his own mother's breast.
He hadn't had a chance to hold him yet, and his hands were itching to feel his small body safely tucked in his big palms. He realised how silent the room was. This one was already much quieter than the others. Jon hoped he would wake soon as he was dying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, to know whether he had his mother's violet colouring or if he favoured the Stark blood.
"I thought you were disappointed it wasn't a girl," his queen whispered, breaking him out of his thoughts.
Jon frowned. "Didâwere you crying because of me?"
Dany smiled sadly.
"My love," he brought their intertwined hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "Forgive me. I could never be disappointed in you, and especially not because of something like this."
"I know how much you wanted a daughter," she sniffled again.
Jon gently caressed their babe's cheek with his other hand. "It doesn't mean I'm sad to have a son."
"Are you certain?"
"Aye."
"Would you still not be disappointed if I named him Aegon?"
Jon groaned. "There are already so many Aegons we barely even know which one's which. Seven hells, I refuse to even be referred to as such. If I wasn't certain that my own mother had picked it up for meâ"
Dany giggled.
"You're very mean, you know," he tried to pry his fingers away from her.
"Not my fault you're so easy to tease."
Jon rolled his eyes at her, trying his hardest to keep his stern expression in place.
She pulled on his hand to bring their faces closer. Jon went willingly, finally allowing himself to softly kiss her lips, careful not to disturb their sleeping son.
"What do you think of Edric, for your Mother's house?" She asked when their broke away.
Jon looked down at their son's relaxed face. He smiled, realising that he definitely reassembled Arya. "You don't mind that?"
Dany shook her head. "I told you when Aemon was born that we didn't have to only pick Targaryen names, and I meant it."
"Edric." Jon said the name again, looking at their sleeping babe. "I think it suits him well."
"Edric it is, then," Dany agreed. "Fetch the boys, will you? They must be driving Ser Davos insane."
Jon chuckled. "I'm surprised they haven't already burst through the door."
Prompt is from here.
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