As night fell over the choppy waters and the further they sailed out, the chillier the air became. Daenerys pulled her night cloak about her shoulders trying to ward off the cold that had seeped into her bones.
She had told Jon that he’d needed his rest but as she pulled her hand from his and stood to leave, it was at once the last thing she wanted to do and also the only thing she could do.
As his deep, soulful eyes had bore into her own and his lips spoke the words, “How about, My Queen?” she could scarcely draw air into her lungs.
She had not been able to get Tyrion’s words out of her head. He had told her that Jon was in love with her and at the time she had scoffed and rolled her eyes, but could it be possible that her trusted hand was right?
She’d told Jon that she had grown used to him, the King in the North, but she knew in her heart of hearts that it was much more than that. She must have missed the moment that he took up residence in her heart and gave way to these feelings to which she was so unaccustomed.
She had never felt thus before; this swell of feeling deep within her soul. It was as if baby dragons had taken roost in her chest and their tiny wings beat against her ribs until her heart threatened to burst into flames and that was just when she thought about him.
When she was in the same room with him, as she was earlier, it was much worse than that. As it were, it was all she could do not to bend down and kiss each one of the jagged scars that marred his otherwise perfect flesh.
Jon had dismissed Ser Davos’ claims that he’d taken a knife to the heart, but the evidence was there for her own eyes to see, just as the white walkers were when she’d gone beyond the wall.
Viserion. Her precious baby, named after her brother, Viserys. She hadn’t been sad when the gods had taken brother. But her child? Her heart pained anew at the realization that he was gone. She felt as if a piece of her soul had been ripped from her when she watched her child fall from the sky, plunging into the icy depths below. And she couldn’t regret going, not really; not when so much was at stake.
And at the time, Jon’s very life was at stake and right now she could not have fathomed anything different than going with her gut when the raven had delivered the news that they were trapped on a block of ice by a horde of white walkers with the Night King bearing down on them. She had done the only thing she could have. She had gone to save the man she loved.
Was that truly what this was?
She had not felt this with Drogo. Theirs was a different kind of love, a love that was hard won and carved out of something rough and made to be beautiful.
But this with Jon? Was this what falling in love felt like? Her girlish heart still beat strong in her chest and hoped it to be true. What girl didn’t want a man falling at her feet? And though she had asked him to bend the knee, now she wasn’t sure she could let him kneel without falling to her own knees before him and declaring herself to be his.
This was not how she, Daenerys Stormborn, was supposed to be feeling. But here she was.
Her mind and thoughts awhirl, she retreated to her chambers. It was late and cold and the day had been long. She needed sleep to plan her next move; their next move. Maybe the morning sun rising would help shed some light on her scattered thoughts.
She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before her mind quieted. But just as she was about to close her eyes and try to shut out the day, her reverie was interrupted by a light knock on her door. It was so late and at once, she knew it could only be one person. Jon Snow.
Her heart in her throat, she got up from her bed and slipped her night cloak back over her shoulders and went to open the door, her suspicions proving correct. He stood there, his furs thrown about his shoulders and his eyes piercing her own as if gauging if his presence was welcome. She smiled softly at him, because what else could she do with him regarding her so. What else could she do but answer the call of her own heart?
She didn’t even have time to form words on her lips before his own were pressed to hers, his tongue begging entrance. A soft sigh slipped from her lips as she returned his kiss and she knew, without even understanding why, that she had just come home.
theartofmadeline
stormborns
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
andulkaphoto
