Jonerys Falling For You 2023 - Masterpost

Jonerys Falling for You 2023 - Masterpost

Thank you so much to everyone who participated, whether by sharing your talents or by supporting writers and artists! This was a blast and we feel lucky to be involved in such a creative and supportive community ❤️

If you haven’t had a chance please be sure to check out the wonderful works and show your appreciation with kudos, comments, and reblogs! The full list of submissions are below the cut!

Our next event is planned for February, and we will be posting prompts soon.

Day 1 | Comfort | Warmth | Wearing His Hoodie or Cloak

Burn and Consume: Red as Autumn by @arielchelby

All my life I felt alone, except with you by @rhaegarblackfire

Falling for You: Wrap me in your arms by @filhadoboto

Falling for You: The three heads of the dragon by @filhadoboto

this love is like fire and ice (still falling for you) by fae_changeling1492

Wondering by @moon-ruled-rising

Day 2 | Fall Colors | Harvest Festival | Back-to-School/College AU

Weirwood in Autumn by @tatticstudio55

Maroon by @moondancer71

Falling for You: Harvesting Love by @filhadoboto

Seasons of Change: The Next Fall by @littledancer9

Secret (Storeroom) Shenanigans by @jellybeanficwriter

Day 3 | Witching Hour | Monsters/Demons | Haunted

Inner Demons by @arielchelby

Falling for You: Have We Met Before? by @filhadoboto

Watch the world burn; i set it all alight for you by @thebeastunderyourbed

Monsters by @rhaegarblackfire

Day 4 | Coffee Shop AU | Second Chance Romance | Road Trip/Exploring Nature AU

Falling for You: I can't fool my heart by @filhadoboto

Wild Hearts Unveiled by @evax3

Prey by @rhaegarblackfire

like freedom, like rosemary and thyme by @girlwithakiwi

Day 5 | Halloween Party | Trick or Treat | Free Choice

This is Halloween by @moondancer71

Hocus Pocus by @arielchelby

The Secret Histories by @mysnowdragons

Falling for You: The warg in my path by @filhadoboto

John Keats, Endymion: Book I

Is your husband one of the other guns?

Yep. Great thesis statement: “madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin”.

Self-reflection is super important. To think, even for a moment, that you could be wrong, fosters a healthy mindset. And it prepares one for the unexpected, in which a hard decision may be required.

Why do you think the Starklings are so morally well-adjusted and are inclined to lead despite not being prepared for the game of thrones? It was Ned Stark’s rearing. Even Tyrion in his worst moments often stops to reflect on himself…before going ahead and doing the thing any way.

I think Dany is different (though Jon is similar). Dany grew up with NOTHING, no guidance or formal or religious education. Drogo left Dany NOTHING, and yet that meager power was enough to build a free life on, because she had something no one could give or take away: her dreams, her dragons, her moral compass and chaotic, revolutionary inclinations.

This meta is scrumptious. This is…

Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin

I wrote about this before, and I made an edit about this as well, but I wanted to write a separate post just for this topic because I think people really don’t understand what “madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin” means. I see many people taking at face value that half of the Targaryens are mad and that Targaryens are ticking time bombs, and I also see other people criticizing GRRM for including the madness theme for the Targaryens, criticizing him for supposedly adding genetic determinism and stigmatizing mental illness. But I think both are missing the point.

The madness vs greatness theme is not about half of the Targaryens being mad or great (this isn’t even accurate with what we’re shown in the books, as very few Targaryens were mad). The madness and greatness theme wasn’t introduced just to add some cool mythos to House Targaryen. The madness vs greatness theme is a commentary on what it takes to be great: madness. And it’s a theme pertaining to Dany specifically.

The theme was introduced explicitly for the first time in a Dany’s chapter, as something that is said TO Dany, right after she liberated three slave cities:

“I am no maester to quote history at you, Your Grace. Swords have been my life, not books. But every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” - Daenerys VI ASOS

In fact, this is the ONLY time in all the books in which the Targaryens are stated to be mad or great (sure, there are times where the books talk about the Mad King, or say that this or that Targaryen was mad, but this is the only moment in the books where the coin toss and the theme of madness vs greatness are explicitly mentioned). It’s not something that is brought up several times or given much emphasis, it’s something that appears only this time, and is only said to Dany.

And why is this concept introduced only to Dany, and at this moment? Because it’s meant to be a thematic reflection on what she just did. Because what she did was MAD. To think that you have the power to defy an institution as ingrained as slavery, to think you have the power to make such a huge change in the world, and to actually attempt it, it’s something that most people would consider madness. Because it’s seen as an impossible thing, it’s seen as crazy, it’s seen as suicide. But that’s exactly what greatness is: to do things that most people would consider madness.

And this theme doesn’t even start in ASOS, it starts back in AGOT. The only reason Dany is even in a position to attempt to end slavery, is because she did a mad thing in the first place: walk into a pyre to hatch her dragons. And the narrative points this out several times:

“No. He cannot have my son.” She would not weep, she decided. She would not shiver with fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself … and her eyes went to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. The shifting lamplight limned their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade and scarlet and gold swam in the air around them, like courtiers around a king.

Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, “Ser Jorah, light the brazier.”

[…]

When the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what she must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. It will only crack and burn, and it’s so beautiful, Ser Jorah will call me a fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet …

Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her throat. - Daenerys VI AGOT

~

She could feel the eyes of the khalasar on her as she entered her tent. The Dothraki were muttering and giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought her mad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost. - Daenerys X AGOT

~

As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are mad,” the godswife said hoarsely.

“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. - Daenerys V AGOT

When Dany says she is determined to conquer Westeros, even though it seems impossible for someone who has nothing, she is called mad:

“I mean to sail to Westeros, and drink the wine of vengeance from the skull of the Usurper.” She scratched Rhaegal under one eye, and his jade-green wings unfolded for a moment, stirring the still air in the palanquin.

A single perfect tear ran down the cheek of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. “Will nothing turn you from this madness?”

“Nothing,” she said, wishing she was as certain as she sounded. - Daenerys III ACOK

Later, when Dany ends slavery, people call her mad for it, for daring to challenge an institution that is seen as the right order or things:

“I have a gift for you as well.” She slammed the chest shut. “Three days. On the morning of the third day, send out your slaves. All of them. Every man, woman, and child shall be given a weapon, and as much food, clothing, coin, and goods as he or she can carry. These they shall be allowed to choose freely from among their masters’ possessions, as payment for their years of servitude. When all the slaves have departed, you will open your gates and allow my Unsullied to enter and search your city, to make certain none remain in bondage. If you do this, Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested. The Wise Masters will have the peace they desire, and will have proved themselves wise indeed. What say you?”

“I say, you are mad.” - Daenerys IV ASOS

~

Xaro caught it in the air and took a bite. “Whence came this madness? Should I count myself fortunate that you did not free my own slaves when you were my guest in Qarth?” - Daenerys III ADWD

And we also see people looking at Dany as if she is mad when she approaches the sick Astapori, because this is something people consider to be very dangerous:

By the time Aggo returned with Grey Worm and fifty of the Unsullied loping behind his horse, Dany had shamed all of them into helping her. Symon Stripeback and his men were pulling the living from the dead and stacking up the corpses, while Jhogo and Rakharo and their Dothraki helped those who could still walk toward the shore to bathe and wash their clothes. Aggo stared at them as if they had all gone mad, but Grey Worm knelt beside the queen and said, “This one would be of help.” - Daenerys VI ADWD

That’s what the madness vs greatness theme is about. It’s not about how half of the Targaryens are great and half are crazy. It’s about how to be great you have to be mad (not in the clinical sense, like the ASOIAF fandom thinks, but in the sense that you have to do things most people would consider mad). That’s the whole point of the theme and it’s why it’s been applied only to Dany’s character so far: she is an extraordinary person, someone who would DARE to do something that most people would consider impossible and mad. And even GRRM points this out in his interview:

The whole point of the scene in A Game of Thrones where Daenerys hatches the dragons is that she makes the magic up as she goes along; she is someone who really might do anything. (source)

Finally, I just want to mention that Aegon the Conqueror, who is considered to be the greatest Targaryen for conquering Westeros, was also called mad for this:

“A bold plan,” Grand Maester Orwyle said cautiously, when he heard it. Mushroom prefers “madness,” but adds, “they called Aegon the Dragon mad when he spoke of conquering all Westeros.” - Fire and Blood

In this light she could almost be a beauty, he thought. In this light she could almost be a knight.

Open Call for Feedback 🔎

Hi Jonerys lovers, I’m a fic writer who’s been on hiatus for a few years and I’m back. Check out the prose. Does it drone on? I’m in the editing phase…

A Normal Family

4k words, Jon x Dany, Dany POV, post-ADWD, TWOW-speculation

(excerpt from chapter 1 of a 5-part au fic, sequel to A Long Way Home)

Castle Black

Present: 302 AC

Winter

She knew it was a dream when she felt the heat, for in Volantis, the air was hot and dewey—the evening almost as sweltering as the day. At first, Daenerys thought she was breathing fire—it was such a beautiful thing—as the oily Black Walls of eastern Volantis’s old blood gained a vermilion glow in the night. Within, a labyrinth of palaces, cloisters and temples burst into flame. Then out of the ashes came waves of slaves of every designation, crying, The Princess Who Was Promised! There were dozens. The dark eye has begun to lift from her! There were hundreds. The minions of the night will lose their temples of deceit! Then there were thousands. She will bring an endless Summer, and those who die fighting her cause shall be reborn! And tens of thousands. She is Azor Ahai reborn! Wait! Wait for the return of the blazing comet! Lord of Light, herald her coming! 

“Yes!” she cried in ecstasy, carried by their fervor. “Yes!” 

Daenerys could not even search for her sense of shame, for her Lord would not allow it. Not even when the great river westward then rushed to meet her, and took her through valleys at the feet of countless mountains. Far ahead, the Rhoyne broke into three different tributaries, causing the air to cool with them. Below, a field of poppies dotted the earth. It is the Trident, she realized, and settled herself further in the saddle upon Drogon’s back. She remembered. Her foes would appear, armored in ice, and she would burn them all. 

Instead, a lone rider came upon a hill. The red helm of a two-headed dragon took shape, dotted with four rubies for eyes. The black visor was lifted. Daenerys did not wish to see her beautiful brother die again, so she opened her mouth to warn him, but she would not be heeded. Rhaegar turned to face the antlered yellow and black rider who had trailed behind him, thus revealing an infant in his free arm. She startled as the babe, held tight to his black gleaming breastplate, gazed at him in wonder. His buoyant laughter mingled with Rhaegar’s soothing voice. The father’s lips pressed to the soft infant crown, from which sad and sweet notes rose. 

“He fixed himself wholly

And laid in the earth. 

Then fashioned his crown

From a field of dirks.” 

Daenerys mustered up a sob so strong it caused her to wake. 

After a choked beat, she found Jon Snow next to her, his back also flat to the feather bed of their private room, his face turned to train dark eyes upon her, in the gloom of the very late night or very early morning. She had not wanted to look too closely at the red priests of Essos who had called her this promised prince. It was a legacy she did not want. When his fine hands reached her face, Daenerys’s mind grew desperate. I must pursue the Iron Throne. Jon wiped away her fresh tears then drew her into his arms. 

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here.” 

She nodded against his chest, but failed to shake the tension from her belly and limbs. Her heart quivered with guilt for keeping this from Jon, and fear, over what he had revealed to her last night. I could have become one of them, he had told her, a week ago back in Winterfell. As she wondered why hadn’t he become one of those vicious wights when his body had lain cold for two days, the guilt that followed and her grief for Viserion stayed her tongue. Then he’d promised to give her the realm and afterward settle them on Dragonstone, once the wars were won. She couldn’t help but hold onto his promise. 

A family and the realm. Surely, they could have both? But given the fresh news, she wondered…could hers and Jon’s children be safe with him? Could their line be safe with him? Could she and her royal consort truly achieve this goal? A family and the realm. 

She thought of the cautious, wise and bold Ser Barristan Selmy, the Commander of her Queensguard who had lost his life half a world away fighting the reignited war against the Essosi slave cities. No more than a hundred days prior, it had been in a moment of relative peace, while the killings and slayings of her people were still going on: as she considered marrying the snake zo Loraq to broker peace, Ser Barristan had cautioned against marrying for political gain only, but to also consider love. He said that her grandsire Jaeherys had commanded his children to wed, for a woodswitch long favored by her grandmother had visited the Red Keep to prophesy that the prince was promised would be born of their line. 

Daenerys jerked, then pulled away from Jon. 

If this prince is what Jon said it meant…perhaps he had been born to die. The thought incensed her. Did Rhaegar really do this? Could he and Lyanna Stark have been so cruel? 

Moreover, if the followers of R'hllor thought Daenerys was this promised prince…had she, too, been born to die? 

Another sob rose…and the contents of her half-digested dinner followed. It stunk the frigid air, but her disgust wasn’t great enough to cause her to stop; her muscles took command, demanding that she retch until there was nothing left. It took her to the edge of the bed, where she groped blindly until she found a metal sheet and brought it forth. She was dimly aware of Jon moving to stand on the stone floor. He ran a soothing hand along her back and stopped to catch her hair, as she retched into the bedpan.

“Leave me!” she gasped, mortified. “Jon, please.” 

He hushed her. “Daenerys, please do not be ashamed! I’m here. Do not ask me to leave. I’m here.”

He moved the hand on her back faster and focused on the span between her shoulders, trying to coax the tension out of her muscles. Chagrined, she took his other hand, which he squeezed. It was bone dry and warm, a solid comfort she was distantly aware of, and no more.

Jon passed a hand through her hair one last time, pulling her from her haunted musings. She huffed, licked the acidic grit from her teeth, and then pulled herself back up to lay down on her side. When Jon pushed the bedpan aside to kneel on the floor, a realization came. Words are wind, she had thought, for so long, especially the prophecies among them. Yet so much had happened since the maegi tricked her in the Plains of the Lhazarene. Now that she was here beside her lover, pondering all they meant to the greater world, it was so clear to her now. There was something to Ser Barristan’s words that he and I could not have foreseen. Does everything happen the way it must? Some called it fate. Her wheezes were the only sounds as the sickness left her in a slow drip. They eventually slowed to a halt and her breaths returned to normal.  

The outlines of Jon’s handsome face came into view, his dark brows pulled and lips pouting with worry as he seemed to search her eyes. She cupped his cheek weakly, and smoothed her thumb along his stubbled jaw. Weary though she was, she would not be able to return to sleep. 

Leaning forward to press his lips to her forehead, Jon whispered, “That’s good. You’re alright. It’s alright, now, Dany.” 

He swept the hair from her face, stroked her neck, brushed her shoulders then eventually palmed her waist. She shivered, delighting in his much needed closeness. Then he kissed her forehead again. He climbed into bed again and gently drew her into his arms, encouraging her to tilt her head back to rest on his shoulder. He rubbed light, soothing circles on her belly for many long, peaceful moments. She felt like a rock tumbling in the flow of a river’s current—unable to see yet unable to distrust its strength. What was this? Undeserved peace? 

When she followed its source, she found herself musing once more. 

Many ran to and fro to search for the one who was promised. Somehow, in all the Known World, the two bearing the designation had met and were in this bed, at this Wall. The Lord of Light had called upon Jon to continue his fight and gave him renewed life. Of course, of the stories she’d heard, none who had been given the kiss had been half as worthy as Jon…but perhaps His grace covered all of mankind. For, when asking R'hllor to give them a glimpse of His chosen, the red priests had seen her and him—their deeds and the shadows they cast—in the flames. 

What, then? Was He faithful? Had he held her life in His hands the way a hen huddles chicks beneath her wings? Had he watched her all this time, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge Him? Was He as good as His word?

Her soul had quieted some, enough for her to sense an answer…

A whisper upon the wind.

____________________

Jon had sent for the maester. Once he returned, he helped her to finish building a fire in the hearth, with good humor and quips that no queen should ever tend to such a task. Much needed light and warmth filled the air and brought her once more into his arms. In a quiet voice, he suggested they speak as little of Samwell Tarly as possible, for it was likely that he would send word back to the Citadel about him, the novice who had fled with stolen items of knowledge. Though Archmaester Theobold had no proof, he certainly suspected Samwell. Daenerys was certain that the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch would be furious with the ordeal. He did not strike her as one who enjoyed dealing with the unexpected. In some moments, neither did she. Especially today, it would seem.

“Your assessment of Dolorous Edd is correct,” Jon chuckled. “But why should he enjoy it?” 

“He seems quite good at it, to have lasted longer at his post than you,” she teased. “We should all enjoy what we are good at.” 

“We should. But we don’t.” He did not jest as she thought he might; instead, a frown had taken his features. “Our Sworn Brothers once called him Sam the Slayer. He was training under Maester Aemon as a steward; I sent him to the Citadel to forge a link or three, not to become a stealer. But I suppose Euron Greyjoy’s threat to Oldtown convinced him to return quickly. This matter…it is something the Lord Commander will have to deal with.” 

“With your help, I am sure. Those letters of yours must be invaluable to him.” 

His frown deepened, brought on by some aggravation unknown to her. Did he still feel guilty for giving counsel on the Night’s Watch operations? Perhaps his discomfort was prudent. He allowed her to part from him with some reluctance. She could feel his gaze upon her back as she moved to the small table near the lone glass window, musing. In Winterfell, Samwell had told her that her great uncle Aemon Targaryen had loved her, that he had wanted to help her, but he died once their party had docked at Braavos. With her chin in hand, tears blurred her view of the dark courtyard far, far below. Would this great uncle of mine have known Rhaegar? Did they somehow discover his prophecy together? Did he approve of his designs on the realm? What even were they? It was still early enough that dawn light was still hours away.  At its appearance, their task to march their army of two-thousand men to fortify their designated castles on the Wall, would come too soon. 

“My love…I have never seen you so ill! Did last night’s turnip stew somehow disagree with you? I know you prefer simple dishes.” 

Jon knew she desired some space. He had moved to the desk on the other side of the room and leaned against it. Despite the brief respite of earlier, her mood had soured with the taste of bile in her mouth. She raised one shoulder in answer. “It was simple enough.” 

“Your dream. Do you want to tell me about it?” Growing irritable, she sighed again.“What I said last night, of my mother’s line…it upset you, didn’t it?” She startled at his accuracy, and his voice rose again, now tremulous. “Was it a dragon dream you had?” 

“I…” The babe in Rhaegar’s arm flashed before her eyes. Her heart quickened. “I don’t know.” 

The silence that followed was just as painful. 

“I am so sorry, Daenerys. I will be more careful.” 

“No,” she said quickly. “No, Jon. Don’t be sorry for anything. I need you. Don’t hold anything back from me.” 

Not again, she thought. Never again. 

“Sweet Daenerys, don’t be afraid. You have me. I’m yours.” He tracked slowly toward her. “I just…I cannot hurt you again. I will not do that again. I would rather die.” 

The sudden knock at the great door announced the arrival of Buford of House Belmore. Jon reached her, and passed a soothing hand down her back, then casted pained looks at her even once they turned to scour through their chests to make certain their clothing was decent enough for company: Daenerys in an ankle-length undersilk below a wrapped woolen shift which she tied at the waist, Jon in an undertunic and leather breeches. Once their boots were on, she soothed his pain with a kiss on his cheek and enjoyed his small smile. Then he opened the door and allowed the maester of Castle Black to enter. The other man was overly tall and not yet aged, with light brown hair turning gray at his temples, thin locks cut neatly across his forehead and around his large ears. Eight chains formed a rather tight link around his neck and brown rough spun robes, but they did not weigh him down. Carrying his medicines in a hide, he tucked it under his shoulder then bowed to the Dragon Queen and her royal consort, the King in the North. A steward training under the maester came behind him with a contraption that folded out into a table. As the maester rested his hide and rolled it out on the table, the steward asked for the location of the bedpan. Once he had it in hand, he exited the room and closed the door. Maester Buford thanked King Jon for sending for him so quickly, then sat down to work. 

It was a stilted conversation—not much was said, for which she was pleased. Daenerys wanted to get through his examination without any more shame than she was already feeling. He felt below her jaws to test her glands, then asked her to open her mouth of which he looked inside with a small candle, finishing with a check to her pulse at the wrists, then testing the tension of her belly. The maester did not know them, so after concluding that all was well initially, he spent the next few minutes choosing an herbal potion for her to drink over the next fortnight. Once the small vial of purple liquid was in her palm and she was chewing a piece of sourleaf to cleanse her mouth, he looked between the young rulers and folded his palms in his lap. 

“If I may ask, your grace…when did your moon blood last come?”

She could not answer the question directly. “It comes in fits and starts.” But he merely blinked at her. “My cycle is not regular.” 

“Has it always been this way?” When she would not respond, he said, “Forgive me, Queen Daenerys, but I have heard the story of your previous pregnancy, some years ago, in Essos.”

“My son is not here with us, is he?” she snapped. “Forget those stories—I tell you now, he was not viable. That is what the healers said. He could not be carried to term.” 

“I…see.” He trembled, as if afraid. “I am truly sorry, Queen Daenerys.” 

Jon shifted on his feet, but said nothing. He squeezed Daenerys’s fingers. 

“Forgive me, Maester Buford.” She swallowed the remains of the bitter leaf. “Already, it has been a long morning. And the blood of the dragon runs hot. You see, I often wish my son could have come into this world to experience it for himself.” 

Jon sucked in a wet breath and snuck a hand into the nape of her hair; something far too intimate for their guest to see.

But his touch was grounding, and preceded a memory that followed on the heels of her shaky gratitude. It was like standing on the shifting grains of Dragonstone’s cold beach. There, many weeks before they had discovered the island’s northern caves, she had shared with Jon the tale of her dragons’ births upon Drogo’s funeral pyre, as the red comet had passed from west to east. His quizzical requests for more details made her overcome with grief, and so with sympathetic lines around his eyes, he had beseeched her. Say anything about your past, and I will not turn away. Tell me everything, and I will not turn away. The salty Autumn air had filled her tongue, as Rhaego’s name lingered among the virulent waves. She could almost see Jon’s stunned features, sense the comforting strength of his arms around her, and catch the scent of his borrowed furs. It was the first time she had cried in front of him. 

Now, she covered her hand with his, when it found rest on her shoulder. 

“I understand, your grace,” the maester replied. “It is a great shame. But from what I can see, you have done well to carry on, for which we who aim to fight the dead are grateful. Perhaps the Gods will grace you once more.” He passed a glance over to Jon, and then gave her a small smile that almost reached his eyes. For all intents and purposes, the examination of this maester was not as cold as she had feared. 

Curiously she asked, “Do you have any gods, Maester Buford?” 

“I follow the Old Gods, your grace. Like my father before me, and his father before him.” 

“The Vale is your home,” Jon said, speaking for the first time. “Your brother Lord Benedar holds Strongsong…and has stayed in Winterfell to support my sister Sansa for many moons, now.” 

“Aye. But I must correct you, King Jon. I have no brothers but those in black.” 

Jon paused, and then he chuckled. 

The maester continued. “Perhaps Benedar would have left me as castellan instead of our cousin, but I am already a maester, and I am quite comfortable here at Castle Black. It is the lot that life has cast for second sons and such. But you, King Jon, have risen above all odds.” 

Daenerys understood why this maester thought such a notion would be appreciated by Jon, but she knew it was another matter he must worry about. She gestured for him to make himself comfortable, but he gently refused and continued standing at her side. 

“All odds.” Jon seemed to weigh the words. “I didn’t do it on my own, ser. Neither did I seek it. If any of our—your brothers ask, please relay that message to them.” 

A wrinkled brow relayed the question, Why should it matter? But the maester was wise not to speak so insolently. Ponderously, he shifted his hands on the makeshift table. He could sense that he was being dismissed. 

“Very well, your grace. Queen Daenerys, you should eat smaller meals with greater frequency, if the sickness returns on the morrow.” 

She eyed him warily. Did he, too, think she was with child? Could he sense that she wasn’t yet certain if she wanted to be? 

He moved to his feet, then inclined his head to her. “Only if. In any matter, the vial should be consumed once daily for a fortnight, as I have said. It was a pleasure to have your private audience. I look forward to serving you both in this Great War.” 

Somehow, Daenerys doubted that. He did not seem as single-minded as Jon and Samwell’s stories of Maester Aemon. If anything, he seemed to be all talk with little bite. Perhaps it was the least one could hope for, to make one a good maester. As she mused with an absent frown, Buford Belmore rolled the hide holding his vials and instruments closed, then bowed to them both. Daenerys thanked him with as much sincerity as she presently could, as fear slowly snaked around her heart. 

Once he neared the door, Jon called after him. “Maester Buford, as you are aware, Queen Daenerys and I are not here to take a tour of the Wall. I hope that when our army has finished its task, we will meet with you again, and discuss other matters with Lord Commander Tollett. Until then, I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” 

Though Buford Belmore’s brows rose to his neat fringe, he obeyed at once, bowing again to them. At the opened door, the steward fetched the table, folded it up and then followed him out. Once the door shut, the crackling fire in the hearth resumed its prominence. 

“Why did you say that?” Daenerys asked, craning to meet Jon’s eyes. 

“He should know that I will be thinking of him. I do not want him to be the cause of Samwell’s downfall. What will we do if the Citadel found it within them to track Sam down and try him?” He shook his head. It was growing light outside; light enough that his black curls looked less like one mass, and revealed their individual beauty. “I am always thinking of you, as well. Do you really think you could be with child, Daenerys?” 

Her gaze turned even softer, eyes tracking the hope and fear lining his face. She had once bared her shame to him and watched with tearful awe as it fell into his hands. What would he say now, that he was called to share this burden once more? She pulled him close by the waist, then tilted her head back until he kissed her. Relief loosened her tongue. 

“I hope,” she whispered against his mouth. “And yet I do not hope. I do not think I would deserve something so beautiful.” 

“Deserve?” He pulled away, with gentle fingers at her chin. “You are the most deserving! You are the most patient, the most kind. You have never tried to stop understanding me.” 

“It is easier than you think, Jon Snow.” 

“So you say.” Ignoring her evasion, he  gave her a tremulous smile. “My brother and sisters say I am a pain. But you…are a rare, unearthly thing.” 

She turned her profile toward him, yet he followed on shifting feet; beautifully quiet, always quiet and thinking. She tried to brace for what would come next, but when he spoke softly, as if to avoid spooking her, she was caught away again. 

“Daenerys, what do you think Rhaego would have wanted from you? He would have not wanted you to be ashamed. You were tricked into losing him.” A sob came up her throat, just as wet as the one that had preceded her episode. Unperturbed, Jon drew his arms around her. “I know it is hard, and you have been so brave to have come so far. But I believe you will have to become braver, to bring a child into this world.” 

“Bravery has nothing to do with it.” She hesitated once the words were out, although she couldn’t quite call it a snap, weary as she was. Jon did not take offense, nor did he judge. In fact, the preserverant brightness in his eyes carried her gently down that river.

“Forgiveness, then. Rhaego would have wanted you to forgive yourself.” 

“He…” Daenerys hiccuped.

“He would have wanted you to be happy. Isn’t that so, my love?” 

After a beat, she nodded against his chest, for the second time that morning. It was absurd. Despite being so unceasingly vulnerable on the morning of a march, this was too important to dismiss, delay or bury. Jon knew it well. Now, it was he who hesitated.  

“I should have told you this long ago. If you would like…he could be as much mine as he is yours. My sweet Daenerys…” He brushed her silver-pale hair behind her shoulders, trailing the fingertips there as he went. He whispered in her ear, stirring her aching heart further up and up. “He should not be mourned alone, nor remembered alone. I can bear this pain with you. Please, let me.” 

It was madness. Although there had been the recent loss of her dearest child Viserion, Daenerys had all she wanted. Across Essos, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people whose chains had been broken; their cries of freedom reached the ears of each and every god, as they worked with each other to keep it so. A place to vie for in the hearts of the men, women and children of Westeros; and in that place was a war to fight and people to bring peace to. In Jon Snow, a friend, family, a lover—and at his side, home. She had leaned on the certainty of these things for so long…had made herself content with them for so long…that the slim possibility of bearing a living child for him—while Mirri Maz Durr’s impossible prophecy echoed in her ears—caused Daenerys to snap shut upon herself like a timid creature in a shell. It was a misguided try at protection. It was not her nature, for she was blood of the dragon. In fact, she knew she was hurting herself, hurting them. But he was wrong. Her cursed womb was still barren, and was not his burden. Nothing had happened to not make it so. 

“Jon, what if…what if there is nothing but pain in store for us? Nothing but grief and blood and smoke?”

He surprised her again, and immediately calmed the tempest. 

“Then I will ask you now, of myself.” His sudden smile was brilliant. “Who could love a dragon?” Her wide eyes gave answer enough. He understood her, then. Of the two of them, it was hard to say who had doomed their line more. “Daenerys, even if there is only you and me…then every moment with you is one I will cherish.” 

“Even now?” she asked quickly, greedy. That too, she would need to hear again.

“Especially now.” 

It was a vow. Even if her bout of illness was a fluke, or if she couldn’t bear a living child, or if they failed to ensure Winter gave way to Spring… They could still be happy. At her stunned silence, he squeezed her once more, then gently pulled away, to trail his hands down her waist and land at her hips. Her softly trembling arms came around his shoulders and she felt utterly safe. Through the lone window, dawn light cut across the floor and landed at their feet. Time slipped away more quickly, as they shuffled to their feet. The fullness of their dancing hearts could not be contained, and so they touched foreheads, swaying in the incandescent beam. 

“It is something to think on, while we are separated. I will wait for your answer,” he murmured, then smiled again when she kissed his cheek as a prelude, lips lingering on his stubble, hands finding purchase on his arms. “This, you should also know before we march. After we left the outlaws in the Ice Cells yesterday, I spoke with Edd. I am not yet certain our men will be safe with the Watch.” 

She swallowed thickly. Indeed, his long-standing discomfort was prudent. 

“What is this about, Jon?” 

His face grew long and sullen, and he worked his mouth - as if holding back a scream brought on by a haunting specter. Peace, her lover had found, yet rest, he had not. 

“Me.”

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to be continued

If you’ve read this far, thank you. You don’t have to have read the first fic, A Long Way Home, to give an opinion on the prose. The prose in that fic was more succinct. Now my muse is calling me to meander through Dany’s introspection, since there’s extremely personal stuff going on…on the morning of a military march. I worry that the inner monologues drone on for too long. Thoughts?