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Jonerys shippers you're beautiful! I couldn't stay away for long. Now I'm back with a new name: @buttertheflame like my ao3 account butteredflame.

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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.”

.

.

.

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?

A List of Things To Come

*a long post*

I was on hiatus for about 5 years, but I think it's worth the risk of coming back. These are some thoughts and hot takes I've had since then up to now. My professional life is busy, but when I have the time, I'll share. Anyone interested?

Here's a preview, categorized by fandom:

A Song of Ice and Fire:

For asoiaf canon, I’ll speculate on what Jon and Val could have been, and what they could have had together, if he had not kicked the bucket. I’ll also contrast it with Jon's dreams of a life with her, and why he put the torch to it. :( Because of the root of her dislike of Mel and Shireen, I figure she will not be pleased with un-Jon.

Game of Thrones:

In GoT canon, Jon did not love Dany as much as the script suggested he would. In fact, they both failed to take responsibility for the other person. I haven't seen anyone make a statement like this before. (The PTSD is real.) But fic writers did pick up on this and tried to fix it in canon compliant stories, with a lot of success.

Supernatural:

In Supernatural s12-s14, Mary should have found her sons to be way more weird, specifically with each other. But given what we see of her in s6, her characterization is consistent. She would have, and did, ignore the red flags for an idea of family.

I’ll share approving thoughts on Sam and Dean's relationship in the final seasons, disapproving thoughts on the final season of Supernatural, and how I speculated it would either go Gencest or Destiel. We know what happened. No one walked away happy and I think the fandom was all the better for it.

Destiel is not canon. It only became a one-sided love confession. (I know there's a lot of speculation on what happened b/w the studio, the writer's room and the post-production team. Idc. Not gonna touch it.) Thoughts on how I think SPN could have made Destiel go 100% canon involve tweaking the execution and balancing out the themes of Sam and Eileen's love story, the big bad plot, and Dean and Cas's 'love' story.

Outlander:

Outlander (show-only) thoughts, foremost on Roger Mackenzie. He has vexed me from the first time he appeared on screen. I love him dearly, but he vexes me, for how he consistently affects the plot and how that defines his role among the main cast. Later on, I'll run through my favorite moments, episodes and narrative arcs.

Miscellaneous:

I'll share a list of favorite ship-centric fics I've collected over many, many, many years. (Gotta be over 10 years' worth). Along with blurbs that explain my recommendation in a non-spoilery way. Fandoms include: Harry Potter, LOTR, Supernatural, The Walking Dead, ASOIAF, Game of Thrones, Star Wars (Sequel Trilogy), The Flash, Shadowhunters [look away book fans <3], Hannibal (show-only).

I'll also post drafts of fics I never got right and never finished. Mostly GoT-canon divergent Jon/Dany fics.

Most importantly, some very dear friends have encouraged me to vent and hype up my Jonerys fic series "We Could Live Together" as I write it. It's GoT-canon divergent, but I alter some of what occurred before 6x09. Then the story re-enters book territory and moves toward ADOS conclusions. I'd also love to break down and discuss songs from the playlists when it strikes me.

This is the summary of Part 1, "A Long Way Home" (published):

After the Battle for Winterfell, Jon was captured by Bolton men then later found by Daenerys not far from Dragonstone. Their meeting blossoms into the most honest love--until Jon suddenly leaves for Winterfell, only to return to Dragonstone months later with more terrifying tales of dead men and Winter storms. When Daenerys chooses to send her armies north to fight the dead, all is certain but the matter of their bond. After the pain they'd endured, can they come together again? Or will separation be too powerful to overcome? *or* A romantic tale of choice and second chances.

This is the summary of Part 2, "Awake For Ever In Sweet Unrest" (in-progress and unpublished):

Winter has come and further fractured the realm. Yet Jon and Daenerys's betrothal and alliance is well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The secret that threatened to break them has made their love stronger, casting a fragrance of hope that draws to the last Targaryens all who seek refuge from political turmoil. Cersei Lannister has fled King's Landing in favor of establishing a bank in Lannisport, to guard against her deposition by the Iron Bank. Euron Greyjoy has set up a naval blockade at Oldtown, yet manages to beguile the Hightowers. And Walder Frey's sundown years threaten to pull his House into a civil war. From the Wall, Jon and Daenerys begin to wage war on the Others. Yet the age of wonder and terror, of gods and heroes, leads them and their enemies in the least expected ways. It begs the question: does all happen the way it must? *or* A romantic telling of the new War for the Dawn.

This is what I've been doing the past few years: working, (dating lol), re-reading the books and joining theory discussions on other sites. What touched my heart was readers asking for me to continue the fic series. Even as I considered it, I was conflicted. Since the show and book canon are so enmeshed, I think we were really vulnerable to being whipped and scored by D&D. But we all found ways to lick our wounds. I'm grateful we were able to become closer and stronger. I'm glad to be a part of it.

So that's my preview. If you've read this far, thank you. <3

There's more to come.

Daenerys: *Does something queenly and amazing or is just being an all out angel*

Jon:

SNOWSTORM SUMMER ➝ THE MOON AND THE WOLF

The white wolf raced through a black wood, beneath a pale cliff as tall as the sky. The moon ran with him, slipping through a tangle of bare branches overhead, across the starry sky.

Jonerys Summer Lovin’ 2k22 @snowxstormworld

June 19 - Free Choice

Jon and Dany in the cave under the mountain in the Frostfangs. Inspired by a painting of Luo Zhongli (one of my latest painting crushes, along with Jan Peng Wang, Ai Xuan, Li Zijian and Donna Zhang.) I’ll just link to an old meta of mine to explain the rest (X).

(Acrylic on canvas)

Hi there :) I saw you're doing the kissing prompts, so I'd love to see Jon and Daenerys for '28. A kiss in parting', if you feel like it? 🩷

HIII and thank you for giving me an excuse to draw something that's been on my mind for a w h i l e

here's Jon and Dany for #28 from this list

“I can show you.” Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. “The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows.” “Shadows.” The world seemed darker when he said it. “Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.” (Jon VI ADWD) 

This passage has heavy Jonerys foreshadowing. 

First of all, Mel has a penchant for evoking dichotomies and binaries - light and dark, male and female, good and evil. We know that her dichotomous thinking can be and is harmful at times. However, it is interesting that she prefaces her point about the power of magic by framing it through a male/female binary, and rather than reifying the binary as oppositional forces, she, who so often reinforces a dichotomy, claims that the uniting of male and female creates power. I know she’s referring to a union between her and Jon when she says this, but it’s obvious that GRRM is referring to the future union between Jon and Dany. Mel says that this union has the power to make life and make light and cast shadows. 

Dany makes life and light when she births her dragons; Drogon is lightbringer, after all. Mel then points out that the union of male and female has the power to cast shadows, and then directly states that the moon has kissed Jon and etched his shadow up high on the wall. Twenty feet tall, a giant among men. 

We know that Dany is referred to as the moon; Drogo called her “the moon of his life” and both Doreah and Irri refrence the moon directly in their tales on the origin of dragons: 

“He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,” the Lysene girl said. “Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return.”The two Dothraki girls giggled and laughed. “You are foolish strawhead slave,” Irri said. “Moon is no egg. Moon is god, woman wife of sun. It is known.” (Dany III AGOT) 

In Doreah’s version of the story, the other moon will kiss the sun and then herald the return of the dragons. Part of Doreah’s version of the story has already come to pass with Dany’s birth of the dragons, but what’s interesting to see here is that the dragons will return upon the moon kissing the sun. The language GRRM uses in this passage is directly parallel to the language he uses in Jon VI ADWD; the moon kissed the sun and the dragons returned (Dany III AGOT), the moon kissed Jon and etched his shadow high on the wall (Jon VI ADWD). Dany is also the bride of fire, as per her HoTU prophecy, and in the last part of her bride of fire prophecy (which corresponds with the last part of each of her other prophecies), her final husband is represented by a blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice. The fact that the moon is kissing Jon and etching his shadow on the wall is a callback to Dany’s bride of fire prophecy, specifically the aspect of a blue flower growing from the Wall (hence Jon’s shadow looming tall on the Wall). Not only that, but Melisandre herself sees Jon in her flames, as a shadowed man: 

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. Now he was a man, now a wolf, now a man again. (Melisandre I ADWD)

Jon is referred to as a shadow, as a man and a wolf, clothed in flame, which aligns neatly with Dany the moon being the wife to the sun, and Dany the bride of fire. Also, this was foreshadowed in previous Dany chapters as well: 

Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames. (Dany VIII AGOT)

-

Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow. (Dany II ASOS)

Dany sees the shadows of the dead dancing with Mirri Maz Duur behind the curtains of the tent; Mel sees Jon’s shadowed face behind a curtain, within her flames. They both witness the dead because Mel sees Jon’s death before it happens, and of course Dany is looking at the dead. Mel sees Jon’s face shifting in and out, between man and wolf, while Dany saw a man wreathed in flame and she dreams of a man whose face is dappled in shifting shadows. Dany thus first sees Jon in AGOT (though it’s likely the earliest foreshadowing for his death), her marriage to him is foretold in ACOK, she dreams of him in ASOS, and then she feels his death in ADWD. On the other hand, Melisandre explicitly tells Jon that the moon kisses him and etches his shadow tall upon the Wall, which matches the language of both Dany’s bride of fire prophecy and Doreah’s tale of the birth of the dragons and the potential of a Targaryen Restoration. 

Melisandre’s vision is a succinct prophecy of all the moon/shadow motif and foreshadowing that occurs for Jonerys. It is perhaps one of the biggest pieces of foreshadowing for Jonerys. Not only does it indicate that Jon and Dany will have a romantic union, but it very likely signifies that they will have a child (at the very least). 

me: I'll just write a cute little (somewhat raunchy) oneshot for Valentine's Day, maybe a moodboard idk...

brain, vibrating with excitement: multi-chapter, multi-chapter, multi-chapter!!!

me: NO

brain: PLOT! ANGST! TAYLOR SWIFT! PLAYLIST!!!!!!!

me (who told myself no more multi-chapters until I finished my WIPS glaring with my arms crossed): ...fine

brain: YAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!

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.

A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VI

He followed, angry, holding the torch out low so he could see the rocks that threatened to trip him with every step, the thick roots that seemed to grab at his feet, the holes where a man could twist an ankle. Every few feet he called again for Ghost, but the night wind was swirling amongst the trees and it drank the words. This is madness, he thought as he plunged deeper into the trees. He was about to turn back when he glimpsed a flash of white off ahead and to the right, back toward the hill. He jogged after it, cursing under his breath.

A Clash of Kings, Jon IV

a long way home

Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

Rating: M

Status: Complete

Chapter: 1/5

Series: Part 1 of We Could Live Together

Tags: Post-Episode 6x09 | Established Relationship | AU Canon Divergent | R Plus L Equals J | Post-ADWD | Flashbacks | Mystery

Summary:

Jon is in crisis. After the Battle for Winterfell, he was captured by Bolton men then later found by Daenerys not far from Dragonstone. Their meeting blossoms into the most honest love--until a letter enables Jon to leave for Winterfell, only to return to Dragonstone months later than preferred with more terrifying tales of dead men and Winter storms. When Daenerys sends her armies north to fight the dead, all is certain but the matter of their bond. After the pain she’d endured, can she forgive him? Or will Jon’s sufferings be too powerful to overcome together?

*or*

A romantic tale of choice and second chances.

Chapter 1: "Forgive Me"

10k words

In the present: Jon returns to Dragonstone for help. Dany has little patience to give. In the past: Their fates change with a meeting upon a rock in the middle of the Narrow Sea. In the present: After Jon’s return to the place they fell in love, they have a long-awaited conversation with unexpected results.

Read it here on ao3. Thanks to @nonnyfcknawesome93 for cheerleading. I'm posting this long-ago finished fic to my new blog because I'm currently writing the sequel and hope to catch the attention of new readers. Thank you. Jonerys lovers, unite! <3

Love Life Parallels

What is love? Desire?

Dany ran her hand down his back, tracing the line of his spine. His skin was smooth beneath her touch, almost hairless. His skin is silk and satin. She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers. She loved to run her fingers through his hair, to knead the ache from his calves after a long day in the saddle, to cup his cock and feel it harden against her palm.

“I love the smell of you,” he said. “I love your red hair. I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your teats.” He kissed them, one and then the other. “I love your skinny legs, and what’s between them.”

Dany loved the way his gold tooth gleamed when he grinned. 

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love.

Dreaming of love and home:

In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. In her dream he had been kissing her all over—her mouth, her neck, her breasts.

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him

Regretting love:

Did he love her, truly? Did he hate her for marrying Hizdahr? I should never have taken him into my bed. He was only a sellsword, no fit consort for a queen, and yet … I knew that all along, but I did it anyway.

Every day he spent among the wildlings made what he had to do that much harder. He was going to have to find some way to betray these men, and when he did they would die. He did not want their friendship, any more than he wanted Ygritte’s love. And yet … 

Avoiding Love:

She found herself thinking of Daario Naharis once again, Daario with his gold tooth and trident beard, his strong hands resting on the hilts of his matched arakh and stiletto, hilts wrought of gold in the shape of naked women. The day he took his leave of her, as she was bidding him farewell, he had brushed the balls of his thumbs lightly across them, back and forth. I am jealous of a sword hilt, she had realized, of women made of gold. Sending him to the Lamb Men had been wise. She was a queen, and Daario Naharis was not the stuff of kings.

He wondered about Ygritte as well, and told himself that way lay madness.

Yet he was growing fond of Tormund Giantsbane, great bag of wind and lies though he was. Longspear as well. And Ygritte … no, I will not think about Ygritte.

Flustered Fools:

“The girl wants you in her, that’s plain enough to see.“ Too bloody plain, thought Jon, and it seems that half the column has seen it. He studied the falling snow so Tormund might not see him redden. I am a man of the Night’s Watch, he reminded himself. So why did he feel like some blushing maid?

She always felt a little foolish when she was with Daario. Gawky and girlish and slow-witted. What must he think of me?

Fear of Betrayal:

He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark’s son and a man of the Night’s Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk. 

Just three nights ago she had dreamed of Daario lying dead beside the road, staring sightlessly into the sky as crows quarreled above his corpse. Other nights she tossed in her bed, imagining that he’d betrayed her, as he had once betrayed his fellow captains in the Stormcrows. 

Differences that Matter:

I know one thing. I know that you are wildling to the bone. It was easy to forget that sometimes, when they were laughing together, or kissing. But then one of them would say something, or do something, and he would suddenly be reminded of the wall between their worlds.

Daario was war and woe. Henceforth, she must keep him out of her bed, out of her heart, and out of her. If he did not betray her, he would master her. She did not know which of those she feared the most.

Moral Differences:

The man is dead. What matter if it is my hand that slays him? One cut would do it, quick and clean

He turned his back on the man. “No.“ 

Three quick strides, and she yanked the old man’s head back by the hair and opened his throat from ear to ear. Even in death, the man did not cry out. "You know nothing, Jon Snow!”

[…]

How could he explain Ygritte to them? She’s warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. “She’s with Styr, but she’s not … she’s young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she …” She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy.

“Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them.”

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?”

“Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?”

"This queen is.”

Gave up hope for Love:

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman’s pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon?

A ragged cheer went up. Zei grabbed Owen by the hands, spun him around in a circle, and gave him a long wet kiss right there for all to see. She tried to kissJon too, but he held her by the shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly away. “No,” he said. I am done with kissing.

"filling the air with sweetness.."

Update 1:

Thanks for giving it a quick read, dear friends. So I discovered the problem. It’s been 3 years since I worked on this series. After a lot of note taking, I moved forward with the sequel in earnest a month ago. And I was totally stuck on the rambling. Couldn’t figure it out. I reflected on it on and off. Today it hit me!

After a long slump, I had figured the best thing to do was to throw everything together, put everything down on the page. For a first draft. I got 12k words into chapter 1, when I finally started to hit a flow. Today the theme for the chapter has finally appeared.

So I edited the OP (above), just changed the title from “For the Dawn, For the Day” to “A Normal Family”. With a theme in mind, I’m going back to my word doc to clean up the chapter and trim it down.

Some may say longform, maximalist prose is no biggie! (I agree.) But readers’ time is important and I don’t want to waste it. :) Something is telling me that what I posted in this draft can be more efficient and I’m able to follow after it now.

Here we go!

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.”

.

.

.

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?

Here they are. The song of Ice and Fire. Sketches of Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen (ADWD versions). The fated lovers. The Snowstorm. My loves ❤️

Masterpost Targaryen/Stark parallels and contrasts in AGOT

This post is a list of the parallels/contrast I found during the reread in AGOT alone (I’ll do one for each books).

The first one I found was the Direwolves and the dragons being born which bookends a game of thrones. the Direwolves were born in the snow/ice while the dragons were born the sand/fire, all of them are born of the dead, only death can pay for life is probably illustrated there with both species.

Viserys says: “the dragon remembers” in the first Dany chapter about the stolen throne by Robert and the rebellion which later parallels with “The north remembers” when talking about the red wedding and the death of (some of) the Starks.

the Starks and Dany both have anti slavery values: We can see it in Dany’s chapter’s (this feels obvious) but also with Ned when he said that about Jorah “so the slaver has become a spy,’ Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back ‘I would rather he became a corpse’  (I cheered)“ which is followed by Arya “he should have killed the masters”.

The description of the traits of blood of the dragon and the wolf blood are actually extremely similar : reckless and passionate and a bit chaotic and independant.

The way they talk about the dragon skulls (which are Targaryen thing) as if they are still alive and watching in King’s landing and the way they talk about the dead men in a crypts (which is a Stark thing) as if they were alive and watching in Winterfell.

The parallels/contrast between Viserys and Ned’s death. Both of them dies a traitor’s death by execution but only one of them is guilty.

I think that’s a stretch but Dany plunge her entire body into the fire to create life and Jon plunging his hand into the fire to save a life might be put in here.

Cat’s quote which makes the Targaryens and the Stark direct parallel explicit : “if you lose, there is no hope for us. They say there is naught but stone at the Heart of Casterly Rock,Remember the fate of Rhaegar’s children”.Two houses seemingly destroyed by Tywin Lannister with horrifying means with secret heirs and children still alive all over the world with magical creature maybe able to change the outcome of the war for the dawn.

The parallel/contrast between Rhaenys and Arya, two little girls who got Balerion the Cat and the first victims of Tywin, (the parallel is done by Varys), Arya being the one saved by Jon’s gift (who is technically both of theirs brothers) and her knowledge of the tunnels created by the Targaryens (and she feels protected by the dragon’s skulls).

Robb being crowned king and the next chapter Dany getting the symbol of her queenship and essentially being crown queen in her own right with the birth of the dragons a chapter away from each other

There are a lot of Fire (for Targaryens) and Ice (For the Starks) symbolisms, although some characters from said house are associated with other elements (Arya and water, which is what happen when Fire melt ice so this feel relevant to her character in general but this isn’t about that) :

In the first Dany chapter again: her brother had often said that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. “ours is the house of the dragon” he would say, “The fire is in our blood”

In the Second Cat chapter:: Ned could never abide the heat, the Starks were made for the cold: “Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, rage and grief froze hard inside him” which links the Stark explicitely with the cold.

I might do a seperate post on Dany and Arya’s arcs specifically (in the entire series) paralleling each other sometimes.We’ll see.

♕ Jon & Daenerys: Episode 210

Until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, until the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when your womb quickens again and you bear a living child. Then he will return and not before.

Jonerys Week Day 4: Role Reversal

King Jon Targaryen raised a lot of eyebrows in Westeros with the recent annoucement of his engagement with none other than Daenerys Blackfyre, the last remanant from the bastard line of his royal family.

“They love each other”, says our source. “You can just see it in their faces when they’re together. Jon is even smiling lately!”