Chapter Text
I.
She remained as nonchalant as her restraint allowed. Yes, she couldn't help being cross —even furious, but her better sense tells her she must again put a mask on and show no emotion. She's done this in the past and she can try again as much as her heart was being ripped apart, along with her pride.
The idea of supper came as a proposition from always-the-mediator Tyrion. He'd consulted it to Daenerys and she was agreeable. What else could she do? What else was she expected to do under the circumstances? They know, she told herself after Tyrion and Varys had both retired from her chambers. They know because Jon told her sisters about it and now somehow, Tyrion and Varys know it all as well.
Sansa Stark, of course. The cold, unpleasant, and contentious Lady of Winterfell had all to do with it.
It would have been a relief for Dany to just do as she intended and leave Winterfell before all this could blow up right here. But the obnoxious woman was right in asserting that the army was not prepared for another war just yet. More than that, her child Rhaegal hadn't healed from his broken wing and she couldn't risk him in battle now that she knows for certain that Cersei has redoubled her numbers and had extra time to prepare more of those deadly devices to attack her children.
Dany was familiar with the sour taste of defeat but this time around it feels a thousand times direr. The situation rendered her passive in a way she had not allowed herself to be since Viserys and Khal Drogo's death. Because at a time she realized she had no power at all without them. And it took losing it all and walking into a pyre of fire with only her unwavering faith in herself, to come out of the ashes, tenfold more powerful than she's ever been.
And although challenges rose along the way, to all of them she faced, and came out victorious.
This time won't be that easy. The very stone foundation has crumbled down, leaving her dangling in the air with a handhold to hold on to tightly, and it came in the name of Jon Snow.
She feels alone. Of course, she still counts on Missandei, Grey Worm, and her dutiful and loyal army that followed her across the world. And, to some extent, she still trusted Tyrion. She still feels utter loneliness as if fighting alone a fight already lost. When she searches for solace in that room, is by Jon who she wants to feel perceived. Her pleading look went wasted on him. Her efforts along with all of it.
"Very well, I think there's something we ought to discuss tonight, don't we?" Tyrion suggested, breaking the silence in the room.
Half of them stalled their soup-filled spoons halfway. The others, as Lady Stark for example, eagerly shifted in their seat.
Tyrion cleared his throat, obviously fighting for the right words.
"We've come across an upsetting discovery."
That was it. That was all that needed to be said for all of them to realize what this was about.
Dany closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She didn't even have to look at Jon to know that he had gone stiff and dumbfounded. Part of her wanted to scream at him. What did you think would happen? That Sansa would walk quietly away without using this to her advantage? What would happen next, she knew and saw clearly: she would say it was for the good of the North, for the good of the Starks. They would accuse Daenerys of seducing him into giving up his rightful claim. She would invite every possibility of conflict, and once the chaos had boiled over, she would sit back and hope that everything would turn out in her favor thanks to Jon's passivity. Just as she had done before.
Dany could see her path closing in one fork in the road.
II.
"You are by far the coldest, most calculating, ungrateful, and irresponsible person I have ever met in my life. You are still the same spoiled brat your mother would be proud of!"
A slap crossed his face leaving him boiling. It came not from Sansa, to whom he addressed those harsh words, but from Arya, whose dry, accusatory countenance had come between them.
Jon looked up at her.
"Do not my mother's name," Arya warned, her grey-eyed gaze turning as dry ice.
Jon wrinkled his nose and palmed his face, nodding, accepting that he had gone too far in his outburst and anger. But he was not sorry to accuse Sansa of being all that, only to do it in front of Arya.
He also noted that emphatic "my" mother, whose connotation torn them hopelessly apart, making Sansa something Jon was no longer to her.
"Accuse me all you want and when you have come to your senses, come back to me with the truth of things cleared up. Daenerys Targaryen is not and never has been the heir to the throne. This matter is not just between the two of you. The future of many cannot be left to a careless, unsound woman and a man foolishly infatuated with her," Sansa replied, voice unwavering.
"It was not your prerogative to share this truth with the Imp," Arya interrupted her, for the first time breaking her silence on the subject, looking at her equally accusatory, "I thought we had settled this matter. An oath was sworn in front of the Heart Tree!"
Sansa gasped in surprise, eyes popping out in shock.
"I thought you were on my side in this. You yourself agreed that she was not a trustworthy person!"
"My opinion of her would never have overridden Jon's will on the matter, especially since this was his secret and his decision to keep it buried. Gods, Sansa, Father took this secret to his grave!"
"And according to Bran, Lyanna died with Aegon Targaryen's name on her lips. Won't anyone consider her will ?"
She might as well have punched him in the stomach for all the air escaped from his lungs at that moment.
Arya advanced menacingly toward her.
"Let's keep this conversation about us, shall we?" she said.
Jon clasped his hands at his sides.
"You broke a sacred oath. You went against honor and honesty," he accused, rather avoiding crueler and baser words. "Your eagerness to ruin Daenerys is greater than your love and respect for me."
"You disrespected your love for me the moment you bent the knee to a Targaryen. After all, it cost our people to take our home back from the people who took it from us."
He looked at her, disbelieving and appalled at how openly hostile and hypocritical she showed herself now.
Jon drew in an angry breath.
"Our people?" he asked. "Our people? They were not our people. They were mostly men who willingly fought on behalf of House Stark knowing us to be losers, just a bastard and a Stark woman twice wedded with the enemies of House Stark."
Sansa winced and cringed at the reminder. Jon knew then that he was doing the same thing to her as she was doing to him.
"Listen to me, Sansa, and hear me well. What do you think will happen now? Soon the truth will be known throughout the realm. Throughout the North. The North won't be freer with Daenerys than it'd be under my rule. Or did you think it otherwise?"
Sansa, Arya, and Bran stared at him with earnestness.
"Make no mistake. The welfare of the North and our family will always be a priority of mine, but my patience has run out."
Saying this, Jon walked out of the chamber that belonged once to their Father and to a place far away from it all.
III.
The crackling of the fire was a silent companion. Daenerys waved her hand over the flames that danced around her unscathed skin, as she imagined shapes and figures there.
"Have you ever heard of the story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree?" Tyrion's voice dropped off.
Daenerys let out a long sigh and crossed her legs, settling back in her chair.
"I'm not in the mood, Tyrion."
In her state of abstraction, she had not heard him enter her room. That said a lot about how vulnerable she was at that moment, and how she could be attacked in any way. Her pulse quickened as paranoia grew
"This story may bring you some joy, my Queen. It concerns our two tragic lovers: Rhaegar and Lyanna," he insisted.
At the mention of these two names, a shiver ran through her body. Inevitably she shifted her head to the side, curiosity piqued.
"I have given it much thought, these last few hours as I pondered our plight. I remembered this story because," he chuckled humorlessly, "I've gotten into this habit of assuaging my growing anxiety by telling stories to myself, aftermath of my misadventures."
He cleared his throat and pulled up a chair across from her.
"The story begins as follows: there was a tournament, the greatest of its time, organized by Lord Walter Whent at Harrenhall. Yes, you may have heard of it. It was perhaps the last time your father and Rhaegar saw each other at the same event before the outbreak of war. What was it? Ah yes, it was a great tournament. A lot of things happened, of course, it elapsed in the space of ten days time. Do you know how much nonsense men are capable of doing in that time? I could—"
A sharp look from Daenerys brought him back to the point.
"Well, I was saying...all the great characters were there. Your father, my father, your brother, my brother, a lot of well-known Sirs and Knights. I don't remember the details very well, I'd bring Jaime to tell you first person about it, but I guess you wouldn't favor his presence. The most important presence was that of the Northerners, our always sullen and distant neighbors. The four Stark children of back then alongside their father, Rickard. The one your father, you know, hum, let's better move on.
"During the first two days of the tournament, three Knights each won a place among the champions, all in jousting. Late on the afternoon of the second day, a mystery knight "short of stature" appeared in the lists. His armor was made up of mismatched armor bits and pieces that appeared ill-fitting on him. His shield was blazoned with the image of a white weirwood with a laughing red face. Now that you've seen the Weirdwoods Trees you'll know what I mean.
"The mystery knight challenged and defeated all three of the aforementioned knights, winning custody over their horses and armor. None of them were particularly popular, so the smallfolk cheered for the mysterious 'Knight of the Laughing Tree'. When the defeated trio sought to ransom back their former property, the knight declared his terms, that they ought to teach their rude squires honor. His voice sounded "booming" through his helm. The trio proceeded to chastise their squires sharply. Apparently over an incident with northerners."
"It all makes sense now," Tyrion finished, folding his hands and propping his elbows on his knees, lost as always in the fascination of his own word.
"What makes sense?" asked Daenerys, quietly.
"It was the same Tourney where Prince Rhaegar was champion of the joust! He chose Lyanna Stark as the new queen of love and beauty with a crown of blue winter roses! The scandalous that kickstarted all of our problems here!"
Dany looked at him silently, frowning as if she didn't understand.
Tyrion sighed, and said more earnestly,
"My Queen, the knight was deemed a threat by your father. He sent out after him. Rhaegar went after him. Do you know what happened next?"
Dany drew in a deep breath and settled up straight.
"Rhaegar met Lyanna Stark."
"Exactly! Lyanna, the wild she-wolf, she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree!" Tyrion pointed out excitedly as if he had cracked the greatest mystery of the kingdom.
"A beautiful story, were it not for the fact that Rhaegar disrespected his wife's honor and Lyanna was the Usurper's betrothed," Daenerys commented, returning to her lethargic state, "But you know what Tyrion? Ser Barristan had already mentioned this story to me. You got one detail wrong."
"Which one?"
She moved forward to look closely at his green eyes.
"Your father wasn't at that tournament, because he was already planning treason behind my father's back."
IV.
A rare shiver ran through my body. Usually, his body would not react in such a way to a strong gust of cold wind. The night was dark and the sky was covered by a thick fog that shrouded the moon. He walked as far away from Winterfell as his limbs would allow until he was bent over his knees.
Jon seized a handful of snow into his bare hand and lifted it, tried to feel its texture and cold burn but his skin was too numb. His mind spiraled down into a strange state of dreaming.
"Will you ever tell me who my mother was?"
"When we meet again, you will know."
His father's voice was still intact in his memory. Even if it were no longer true, Jon would always believe it to be so. He had to. Who was he but Eddard Stark's bastard? A shame and ironically yet an honor. Had Jon been someone else's bastard, he would be nobody. Part of his identity was being the bastard of a good, honest... honorable man.
What kind of honorable man lies to his family? What kind of honorable man denies a child of his right to know his true identity?
Jon struck out the snow with a fist. A guttural sound escaped his mouth as his body shook violently to frantic, involuntary sobs. Abruptly he sat back on his haunches, looking up at the sky with a tear-sodden face.
What could he do with this now? What was the purpose of knowing it now?
If you hadn't told me, I'd be happy now, said Dany, and though it hurt when he heard it, it made sense to him now. He would also be happy to ignore it all. For his life to be as simple as it was just being Jon Snow. Not Aegon Targaryen. Not the heir to the Iron Throne. Not a last vestige of a family he never belonged to. His dream had always been to be a true Stark, and cruelly, fate had delivered it to him half-heartedly.
But you have always been a Stark, he thought. Not in name but that was always made known to you, by your siblings, by the man who raised you as his son, even by the North when they made him King. It was not enough to bury all the suffering and resentment he still held in his heart but those were things he needed to keep close. It had all come to him as a Snow regarded a Stark, and it was Jon Snow, the bastard, who had made it to this point.
Two sides of him. Jon Snow, the bastard of House Stark.
Two sides of him. Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.
What was he do with this dilemma? Now was not the time to find that answer. If anything, he needed to understand it, and time to accept it. What Jon could not afford, he knew, was to fall into a void. Not when there was so much at stake that was important to him.
Dany.
He wronged Dany the most with this uncertainty. A person who had given too much for him, whom he had a deep affection for and came to love in a way that conflicted him, even before knowing the relation that bound them. By blood, she was his father's sister, his aunt. Succumbing to his desire for her now felt like he succumbed to the blood running through his veins. It burned, what he felt for her, and at the same time, it rendered him numb and cold when he couldn't be who she expected him to be.
Her open contempt and the mistrust she suddenly showed him, perhaps fuelled by the confusion that also conflicted her. She was braver and more determined than he was to admit her feelings, but that too could as well be tainted by the ancient mandates of her family, he feared. Their family.
In the short time they had known each other, Jon had gone from feeling reluctant, dissatisfied, and frustrated with her, to becoming intrigued, deeply moved, and finally, enamored with this unique creature. And at no time had this been motivated by her name or where she came from, but by who she was.
Could she love him even if he was no longer Jon Snow? Or would she find an impediment in his being an obstacle to her one goal, that she had fought so hard for?
Or on the contrary, would she love him in spite of his choosing not to be what she expected, but only Jon Snow?
She loved him enough not to hurt him, and to continue to overlook and tolerate his siblings' continued offenses, but Jon didn't know if that resentment and bitterness crawling under her skin could always be kept at bay.
Passivity and numbness once cost him his life. Choosing between his heart and duty, his desire to live. If he were forced to choose, he would rather throw himself into the void but that was not the stance he was accustomed to embracing, and never would be.
Quietly and slowly he felt the sensitivity and warmth return to his body, a new tremor came in the form of a purring he felt resounding in his chest. Out of the darkness, two lanterns lit. The clouds moved to reveal the moon, and its light reflected off Rhaegal's gleaming jade scales.
Jon smiled in spite of himself, stretching out an arm to reach out for his massive maw.
He got to his feet and trudged over to stand in front of him, lying a little against the warmth of his scales. At first, it had been an annoying and almost impossible to bear until something came up the first time he rode him, and since then Jon found in his warmth a sense of comfort as if he didn't need his coat to feel sheltered, as though Ghost was enveloping in his furs to protect him from the cold.
He chuckled as the dragon further lowered and stretched to invite him up but Jon knew better he was still recovering from his wounds. A sound almost sympathetically came out from somewhere in Rhaegal's throat and he gave Jon a look that spoke in a language with no words.
V.
"I am not planning treason behind your back," Tyrion stated straightforwardly.
"How else am I supposed to see your exchanging secrets with Lady Stark, who openly opposes me," Daenerys reproached him.
Her apparent and temporary apathy faded and the hardness of her queenly façade was rebuilt. Her features turned cold, her eyes took on that lethal gleam she gave her enemies when they tried to fuck her over.
"She shows disagreement. That's not necessarily opposition, your Grace," Tyrion countered, soft and yet decidedly. "Although I must admit, she's storing up a concerning amount of acrimony in her person and hardening her intent on disturbing your peace." He huffed out loud. "Your Grace...look. We've come too far and overcome something more threatening and seemingly unbeatable for us to be played by the same game that has torn apart the entire continent not long."
Tyrion was referring to the pettiness, the back-and-forth, and cross-interests. Sansa herself had put it that way. But there was also a simpler meaning: they were too deep in the mire to try to escape it.
"Yet it is the one thing that makes crumble the whole foundation of my campaign: The Iron Throne is no longer my right by birth, as the last Targaryen."
"It wasn't more your right before. The Throne was conquered. Your family, overthrown. You've not come to Westeros as the rightful heir of the Iron Throne, though so you've preached. You've come to conquer it back.
"And am I supposed to conquer it back from your sister and then what? Ignore the existence of the other claimant?"
"We both know that's no longer possible. For pragmatic reasons and...because you are both emotionally involved," he delicately argued.
She looked at him disturbed, almost blushing.
"How long have you known?"
"Anyone with two eyes knows it."
And rumors fly fast, he thought.
"Have Jon's feelings about the matter changed?"
Her eyes lost their light. She sulked again in a state of deep misery, and Tyrion took the hint.
"It no longer matters," she said, "He is a male heir, and without my dragons and my armies I am only a woman who cannot bear children.
"It wasn't a cause of distress for you before this," Tyrion reminded her.
"It is now. It is!" Her voice was broken, her nostrils flared up. "You know where Lord Varys is at this very moment?"
Tyrion swallowed hard.
Please, Varys, be wise and do not be doing something stupid, he prayed inwardly.
"Varys is an ally," he defended him.
"Answer my question, Tyrion."
"No, I do not know where he is. Listen, Daenerys, I mean, your Grace...there must be a way to sort things out. Don't renounce to all you've fought for, by doing something you'll regret. Sansa, and any other who doubts you, show them wrong."
She seemed to consider it, but finally, she said, "I'm exhausted of living by the expectations of people who otherwise would see me gone."
Here they were stuck. Tyrion had a bad feeling it could only end in something bloody. His bad advice, the insincerity of not sharing his true feelings for his family, and taking this truth from Sansa's mouth instead of waiting for her to come to him...he was truly becoming more of a hindrance to her than guidance. Soon the full weight of grief, frustration, and, if added to all that, heartbreak, could put the lives of millions of people at stake.
What he will do then?
Three knocks on the door jolted them both. No one answered as Jon Snow walked through.
"May I have a word with your Grace," he required.
VI.
Daenerys didn't wait for a heartbeat to accuse him.
"I told you what'd happen if you tell Sansa the truth."
"I was in my right to share this with my family," Jon did not relent, although quietly. "I'm still in my right to do with it what I deem fit."
"And what does Jon Snow deems fit? To see me ousted after having had his use of me?"
He crouched his nose and frowned deeply.
"What are you implying? That now out of sudden I've forsaken my vow?"
"No longer words can mend this mess. No more my queen, no more promises you cannot afford!" she finally lashed out at him.
He tried to grab her arm but she slipped away.
"Dany!"
"No more Dany!" she shouted, probably waking up the whole castle. "No more Dany after your mistreatment and abandonment! No more this after I have given you all of me, for you to now leave me torn open and destitute. I told you I loved you and what did you do? You showed me once again your contempt for my affections."
Jon winced.
"And then not only that. No, that did not suffice. You left me raw to the crows. You have no idea what it will be like for me now. You may think like everyone else that I am going insane, but I know better than all of you. My death starts now. And the person I loved, whom I still irredeemably love, will be responsible for my end," she said in an increasingly thin and breathless voice, as tears welled up in her eyes.
She tried to wipe her tears and swallowed back the cry but her shoulders started shaking softly. Too much emotion held back, now suddenly bursting out.
"If I had died, would you be more content? Would you be at peace right now?" Jon asked her, still respecting the distance she imposed on them.
Her puffy, red face whipped up. "What are you saying?"
He dared a step forward.
"Is that what you needed? Is that what'd bring you peace?"
"Haven't you listened to anything I've just said?"
Jon took advantage of this moment because he knew that if he let things go further down this path they would never have a decent chance at redemption. There was a pretty plain sight of hurt and lament, wherein he found himself the core of this damage.
"You vow to love me but your eyes contempt me and reduce me to a mere obstacle. Ever since I've told you the truth, I've lost that part of you that believe in my honor and my word. I need to know what's left for me in the case I could never take her back," he insisted.
Daenerys took two long strides and stood with a dismayed face in front of him.
"I should be the one doubting your love for me. Instead, you accuse me of loving you less because of you being who you are!"
"And who I am?" Jon demanded with a strong, throaty voice. "Who I am, according to Daenerys?"
She couldn't look at him.
"Don't make me do this," she said, turning her eyes away.
"Look into my eyes!" Jon insisted, holding her tightly from the forearms. Feeling her so small and fragile in his powerful grasp. Yet he was the one begging her: "Please," with a broken voice.
Slowly she lifted her face up, meeting his eyes boiling a storm in them. Was it despair or something unredeemable as fear?
"You are the only man I have ever loved," Dany confessed to him. "You are the man that ruined me forever."
It was a statement. A truth liberated once again. She was admitting to being held by something more powerful than his strong grip: he owned her heart, the crueler form of slavery when it was not reciprocated.
Jon felt a surge of adrenaline taking over.
He dropped his face closer, first pressing their foreheads together and slowly trying to make their lips touch.
She resisted him and turned away her face.
"Please, don't," she asked him, swallowing down the stone in her throat. "You'll regret it not long afterward."
His hold loosened as discouragement surged over. She walked out of his hold with heavy and unsteady steps to recline her weight on the bedpost.
"My feelings for you have not changed," Jon said, behind her. Her back on her. He felt her drifting farther each passing second.
"Yes, they are the same. Not enough to love me back," she added. She rested her body against the cold wood of the bedpost and closed her eyes, trying to imagine a place warmer and far away from there. Maybe a little village placed in the depths of the valleys along the Lhazareen Road. She could be happy there. "I own my mistakes, Jon. I do, truly. I've forgotten lessons learned and ignored the truth of things. My conquest ended the moment you told me this truth. I build its premise on the certainty that I was the last of my kin and kind, with a purpose to see through. It turned out destiny led me to you and that was the end. Not that it was your fault, in any way. How could you, or anyone ask me to curse you when I feel like this for you? Isn't it enough cruel to feel from you that I am not enough?"
"You are enough," Jon interrupted her, coming closer, letting tears run freely down his cheeks.
She shook her head in disbelief.
"I was not when we were lovers and I'm less now that I am just a person who cannot give you anything more because I have lost it all."
"Do you believe that? Do you believe I would turn a blind eye and let you go so simply because there is blood running between us? This conflicts me, yes, but not because I see you less a woman than before. It is this notion that we are walking down a thin line, always heading to disaster. It was like this before, when we were just Daenerys and Jon. The almighty Dragon Queen and the bastard of House Stark.
"I don't know where we set the boundaries when they started getting blurred. I started loving you, but I respected you too, and I still do. Your desire was (it still is) to be a queen on your own right and by my side, it'd be always about who I am."
His eyes reflected an internal struggle.
"For all we know, I might still be a bastard, for Rhaegar's marriage to Elia couldn't be reasonably annulled."
Daenerys' lower lip quivered upsettingly. She turned around and looked at him pretending to be composed and uptight.
"I would never not recognize you...It'd be petty and pointless," she said and sucked in a deep breath. "My son accepted you. I thought it was me, commanding him but now I see he chose you. Do you understand that? Only two dragons are left alive and you've become the rider of the only one that hadn't chosen one."
She slowly paced toward him. Her countenance was grave.
"Dragons only choose dragonblood. Rhaegal, whom I named after my brother — your father —, he chose you," she stated matter-of-factly.
He frowned, remembering his encounter with the dragon some moments before.
"But more than that, I'd never do that. Hiding the truth, knowing that it was not the right time for it to come out and all the ramifications that would follow, was one thing. But to plainly deny what I know by heart is true, how could I? That's not the person that I am."
Then there was only silence. The crackling of the fire was the only sound besides their heavy breathing. Jon didn't know what else to say to her, having insisted as much as he could insist.
"I will not allow Sansa to continue her ploys to harm you," he then remembered and said.
Daenerys smiled at him incredulously.
"Do you expect her to back down now that she's come this far?"
"Of course I am not underestimating her. Come the morn tomorrow Sansa could gather all the Lords of the North to declare me rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. That won't change something that is fundamental to me, to us now. I know what kind of person my sister is now.
"Do you think I gave my secret to her so she could have something to harm you, on purpose? I didn't. I told her because I wanted her to know that her father was always a man of honor. I wanted her to know that I wasn't really her brother anymore, and to choose whether to see me as such herself. But before that, I made both her and Arya swear that no other soul would know. That oath was broken the moment she chose to reveal it to Tyrion.
"I love her. I may never stop, but I cannot allow her paranoia, her constant mistrust and arrogance to continue to affect my decision-making. If she wants to force my hand, she can try but I'm going to fight back."
"How? Her word is the law here in the North. Especially now."
Jon could tell her right then and there and let her take matters into her own hands, but that wouldn't do that. As much as the harm was inflicted on her person primarily, Jon needed to do this on his own, for his own sake, and in his own right.
When the time came, she would see and understand.
"Not now. I don't want to let Sansa come between what's important to us now." And with a calmer, pleading voice he asked her, "Will you let me come closer?"
From the distance she imposed, Daenerys looked at him with soft, almost helpless eyes as if to say, "And what do you think I could do? Her feelings were all over the place, leaving little room for his own to come clean and open.
It simply was not the right time. Actions could speak louder than a thousand words, Jon knew.
He approached her slowly and quietly. No longer driven by a brutal impulse to subdue her. Sometimes, not infrequently, he had this fear that she would slip through his fingers like water running its course. That kind of fear had paralyzed him before and a moment ago, wrapped his heart in despair. Now he knew he had to be careful about his feelings for her. To walk step by step with determination and care. As much as Daenerys was perhaps the most powerful person in the known world, neither of them could ever abuse and misuse their power over the other.
"No one has ever had this kind of power over me," she said, when Jon already had her sheltered in his arms, her head rested on his shoulder.
There was something very powerful going on inside him at that moment, a strong need to keep her away from the outside world that was trying to hurt and corrupt her, and forever keep her here under his protection.
Of course, he knew it wasn't right. But the first step to accepting what he felt was, to be honest with himself
"Then I promise never to use it to harm you," he promised.
That night they slept together. Not as a couple, not even naked, but as two people who loved each other unconditionally but needed a minimum of space to finish sorting out their conflicted feelings, while still needing each other. There Jon caught a deeper understanding of love than he ever thought he could know.
"Jon?" she called for him, in the middle of the night, when he thought she had long since slipped into sleep.
"Yes?" he replied, letting her know that he was, like her, still haunting his own thoughts.
"I'm sorry, Jon," she said, unexpectedly and absurdly.
"What? For what?" he asked, upset and puzzled.
"I'm just—," she bit her lower lip, "I know I hurt you, not once. Whoever you decide to be, I'll respect that."
Jon let out a slow, held breath. He rubbed his eyes wearily.
"Your feelings are important to me, I just wanted you to know that," Dany added, fingers running up and down his forearm as she placed one chaste kiss on his shoulder.
After that, she settled back and said nothing more.