fic: of wolves and dragons (Game of Thrones, Jon/Daenerys)
The light of the candles turns her hair bright, shining silver that slides over bare shoulders. She looks beautiful against the furs of the bed where she sits. She is soft like this, lean lines of her shoulders relaxed. There is a joy in her eyes, and he relishes the fact that he is one of the few to see her like this.
Still, Jon presses on and says words that he has said before. “I am a Stark, my Queen.” She has asked him to call her Dany, a privilege given to few, but still it is hard to call the Dragon Queen anything but her title.
She smiles, and it is one with wisdom and secrets warring at the corners of her mouth; it reminds him of the smile she had given him when she had first landed at the Wall with her dragons, saying, “I heard you have need of fire.”
She smiles in that same way now. “I was once khaleesi to a great Khal, revered among the Dothraki. And now I am a queen. One is not greater than the other.”
Jon says nothing. This is not the first time that they have talked of his parentage and his blood. It is a funny thing. He’d always wanted to know his mother, but now that he knows the truth it’s not easy for him to accept.
Dany must sense his thoughts, as she so often does during this conversation. She rises from the bed. The purple silk she wears is so sheer he can see her breasts and the lines of her body. She is a tiny thing when she comes to stand before him. “It does not mean you are no longer a Stark. You were raised that way, just as I was raised in mine. From your sisters, you seem more of a Stark than anyone,” she brushes her hand across his face. “You can be both. Dragon and wolf. I only ask that you be mine.”
He takes her hand in his. She is young, this new queen that took Westeros with force and determination that left no other option except for the Iron Throne as hers, but she does not seem young. She will tell you that she has lived far more than her few years.
“Come,” she says, pulling him with her towards the bed.
Their conversation is not over, but for tonight it is. Tonight is for her sighs and hands that hold him close, and his hands that equally try to close the spaces between them and the whispers of “Dany” he leaves against her skin.
Still, Jon presses on and says words that he has said before. “I am a Stark, my Queen.” She has asked him to call her Dany, a privilege given to few, but still it is hard to call the Dragon Queen anything but her title.
She smiles, and it is one with wisdom and secrets warring at the corners of her mouth; it reminds him of the smile she had given him when she had first landed at the Wall with her dragons, saying, “I heard you have need of fire.”
She smiles in that same way now. “I was once khaleesi to a great Khal, revered among the Dothraki. And now I am a queen. One is not greater than the other.”
Jon says nothing. This is not the first time that they have talked of his parentage and his blood. It is a funny thing. He’d always wanted to know his mother, but now that he knows the truth it’s not easy for him to accept.
Dany must sense his thoughts, as she so often does during this conversation. She rises from the bed. The purple silk she wears is so sheer he can see her breasts and the lines of her body. She is a tiny thing when she comes to stand before him. “It does not mean you are no longer a Stark. You were raised that way, just as I was raised in mine. From your sisters, you seem more of a Stark than anyone,” she brushes her hand across his face. “You can be both. Dragon and wolf. I only ask that you be mine.”
He takes her hand in his. She is young, this new queen that took Westeros with force and determination that left no other option except for the Iron Throne as hers, but she does not seem young. She will tell you that she has lived far more than her few years.
“Come,” she says, pulling him with her towards the bed.
Their conversation is not over, but for tonight it is. Tonight is for her sighs and hands that hold him close, and his hands that equally try to close the spaces between them and the whispers of “Dany” he leaves against her skin.