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“You are my Queen, now and always!”
Dany scanned his face and saw only love reflected in Jon’s brown eyes. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. He responded immediately. It was a perfect kiss and she sighed, happy. She had everything she ever wanted. Perhaps now, was the right time to tell him about the little miracle they had created. Suddenly, she felt a sharp burning pain. Her eyes flew open and she pulled back and glanced down in disbelief. The hilt of the dagger was sticking out of her breastbone.
Her eyes grew wide with shock, confusion and pain. He had betrayed her. She tried to escape, push him away, but Jon held her tight in his grip. “Listen to me, we don’t have much time. It’s only a flesh wound, but you must take Drogon and fly away. Go to your nearest ally.”
She blinked, as she started to comprehend the enormity of the situation. She could feel her strength waning. Her face contorted in agony. “Why?”
“I was sent to kill you and if I don’t, then Arya will kill you. She trained with the faceless men. She can take any face and sneak past your guards. Don’t remove the dagger or you will bleed out. You must cauterise the wound.”
“Yara,” she gasped, in between pained breaths. I’ll go to Yara.”
“The Iron Islands. That’s close enough, Go and I will join you there shortly.” Jon’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Dany.”
Her eyes darted around. “What about the Iron Throne?”
“What about the…Dany! It almost destroyed you. It’s a symbol of corruption, not good – don’t you see that? You will never sit on the Iron Throne. They won’t let you – not now!” He caressed her cheek. Her skin was pale and clammy. He knew he must get her out of there quickly. “Do you remember that waterfall.”
Dany’s eyes glazed over as she recalled the wonderful romantic moment. “I said we could stay for a thousand years and no-one would find us.” A fat tear escaped and tracked down her face. “We should have stayed there.”
“Be with me. We’ll go back there, I promise!”
“But everything I’ve worked for, bled for, lost and suffered. Its all been for naught.”
“No, its not for naught, Dany. You have inspired people, liberated them. You have left so many people better off. I don’t know what happened out there, earlier, but that wasn’t the Dany I fell in love with. I refuse to believe she isn’t still in there.”
Dany’s eyes misted. “She is Jon, along with…” Her hand drifted to her stomach.
“You – you mean?”
“We’ll go back to that waterfall, you, me and our child.”
“Shh!” he stroked her silver hair with one arm, whilst supporting her waist with the other. “Don’t speak, preserve your strength, my love. Call Drogon.”
“Greyworm, tell him Pāsagon zirȳla iksan alive, or he will likely kill you.” She winced as a wave of burning pain, came over her. “Lay me down on the floor.”
Jon lowered his Queen to the floor, still cradling her in his arms. He heard the unmistakable sound of a dragon approaching and with reluctance, he let Dany go and moved back. Dany’s only remaining son descended through the burnt out room of the throne room, on black leathery wings. He sniffed at his mother’s wounded body, before rearing up on powerful hind limbs and unleashing a torrent of fire, so white hot that it melted the Iron Throne. Jon could only gaze in astonishment and wonder, as the symbol of power, forged by all he blades of his ancestor’s enemies, was reduced to rivers of molten steel. Then Drogon reached out a claw and gently picked up Dany before soaring away with her.
“Can you ever forgive me?” Sansa’s red hair shone like burnished copper in the sunlight.
Jon glanced away and reined in his emotions. “You’ll be a good Queen,” was all he said. She stepped forward and embraced him. He hugged her back and fought the urge to drive the blade of Longclaw through her cold, treacherous heart.
He hugged Bran or at least the empty, soulless husk that used to be Bran. He realised out of his ‘siblings’ the only one he would miss, was Arya. He wondered if he would ever see her again.
He boarded the boat that would take him north. Greyworm had kept him informed him of Dany’s recovery in Pyke. Yara had been fuming when Dany first arrived, and Drogon had dropped her on the beach before making such a racket that the Iron born soldiers had come rushing out. They at first presumed the little silver queen, was dead, until Drogon had nudged her. Yara had pulled the blade out herself and kept the wound cleaned with salt water and bandaged it. She kept vigil by Dany’s bedside, giving her milk of the poppy to help with pain, and herbs to help with infection.
One day she had leaned over and kissed the beautiful queen on the lips. Dany chuckled, clasped Yara’s hand and told her she was flattered, but promised to another, placing Yara’s hand on her belly. Yara was infuriated and couldn’t understand why Dany would want to be with the man who tried to kill her, but Dany explained that Jon had saved her – from herself. Yara relented and agreed to help Jon with his subterfuge. She met with Greyworm and together they agreed to fake Jon’s execution and smuggle him out to Pyke. They had not reckoned on him being forced into exile at Castle Black.
Many weeks passed until the Freefolk headed north beyond the wall. Jon was filled with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation as they reached the Fist of the First Men, and there he was greeted with the most beautiful vision he had ever seen – his Queen, now visibly pregnant with his child, sitting on a stone, next to Drogon. He rushed towards her and scanned her face for any sign of resentment for what he had done – and found none. He kissed her as though his very life essence depended on it, until a something shoved its way between them and he glanced down to see Ghost eagerly sniffing Dany’s swollen stomach.
“There’s a little wolf in there, boy,” he said.
Dany raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean a dragon, Aegon Targaryen.”
Jon smiled. “Wolf, dragon, I don’t care as long he or she is happy and healthy.”
Tormund strode up to them, his boots crunching on the snow. His eyes were wide as saucers. He clapped Jon on the back. “I guess that tiny pecker of yours isn’t so useless then, after all.”
Dany smirked and glanced down at Jon’s groin. “It’s a while since I’ve seen it,” then she slid her hands suggestively down his chest and whispered in his ear, “It’s time to keep your Queen warm, Jon Snow.”
“If she’s a screamer, you can pitch your tent away from the rest of us,” Tormund grinned as he turned and walked back to the bewildered looking Wildlings. Jon looked mortified.
Dany just laughed and called after him. “Better make it quite far away then.” Her gaze shifted back to Jon. “We have a lot of time to make up for.”
The northern terrain was no fit territory for a dragon, so Dany instructed Drogon to go to Volantis. She knew those who worshipped fire and the Lord of Light, would take care of him. The world would believe that Daenerys Stormborn died that day in front of the Iron Throne, she coveted so much. The world except for Jon, Yara, Greyworm, the Freefolk and a crippled young king, who had greensight.
Six years later, three children played with a white direwolf, in a land where the snow was just starting to thaw. The eldest girl had dark hair and violet-blue eyes, her younger brother had the dark features of his father, whilst the youngest of only three years, had both the silver hair and violet eyes of her mother. It had become considerably warmer in the last two years and all around were signs of spring.
Many ravens left Winterfell, carrying messages from Sansa to a brother who was exiled at the wall. None came back with any for her.