Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You need the help, lad."

"I don't need a thing." Jon claims, pulling a pint for the man in front of him, barely looking as he does so, as it is second nature after so long doing it. "I can manage."

"You never take a day off, son." His friend says, leaving no room in his tone for argument.

He uses this tone a lot for Jon, often when he wants him to listen to whatever fatherly advice he wishes to bestow, all of it usually wise and sage. Jon always knows the listen, and he always does, even if he dislikes it. He may dislike it, but Davos only ever has his best interests in his heart, and he knows that.

"You need to take some time away sometimes. A day or an hour here." Davos continues. "You haven't taken a day for yourself in six years, Jon. When you are not working, you are helping someone in town, or helping me, or finding an excuse not to relax for whatever reason."

"Aye, well," He shrugs, finishing with the pint and placing it in front of him. "My father took care of everyone around here. It is my job to carry that legacy on. I can't let him down-"

"You could never have let Arthur down, and you know it," Davos tells him honestly. "Arthur took care of everyone, no one more than you. And he would be turning in his grave if he thought I were not taking care of his boy now he isn't here."

He rolls his eyes, "You have taken care of me. I mean, you gave Mum a job. You helped her buy this place. You have done more for me than anyone." He says. "I want to be that person. Like you and dad."

"And you are," Davos says. "But the town is getting bigger every day. More people are moving up north from London, and it means your once tiny, quiet pub has become popular. You need to hire some help."

"This is a family pub. I have no family here to hire." He reminds the older man. "Uncle Ned is retired. Sansa is in London, Arya is who knows where, travelling, Robb is too busy being a big, fancy lawyer. Rickon is not yet eighteen. Bran is in Cambridge doing university. It is just me."

"What about Arthur's sisters or your cousin, Edric?"

"All of them moved to Spain years ago." He says. "They are not interested in running an old pub in Staithes."

"Then you'll have to hire outside the family for once."

"No."

Jon is as stubborn as a mule. He always has been, and probably always will be. He gets it from both of his parents; two stubborn people having a child could only lead to him being this way. His mother bought the pub to be family-run, and she ran it by herself until Jon got old enough and helped. But that was back when it had ten customers, all locals, all friendly, all drinking the same ale every night at the same table. Not like now, with people moving up from all over the country, looking for a fresh start, or a slower life, or cheaper rent.

Still, Staithes hasn't changed that much. Not really.

It is a village that clings to the edge of the Yorkshire coast like it might fall in if it let go, and it may do one day, with narrow winding streets, terracotta rooftops piled atop one another, stone cottages painted in muted colours that the sea air fades a little more every year. Fishing boats bob in the harbour, gulls cry overhead, and salt lives in the cracks of every windowpane. When the wind is strong, it howls down the alleys like something alive.

Tourists come for the art, the charm, the quiet. But the locals, the real ones, come for the rhythm of it. The way the sea keeps time. The way the pub opens every night at the same hour. The way you can walk the length of the village in five minutes, and still, someone will stop you for a chat about the weather or the council – mostly to complain about either one or both.

Lyanna and Arthur had been the heart of it, once.

Everyone knew them. Lyanna, with her sharp laugh and dry wit, and Arthur with his stories and his sea-weathered hands from his job. Arthur Dayne, his father, had known every inch of this place.

He had worked as part of the RNLI as a lifeboatman who would go out in the worst weather with nothing but instinct and a deep sense of duty to the people who lived here. He was the kind of man who would drop everything to help someone, who would fix your fence, tow your car, and carry groceries for the elderly without being asked. No one in the village forgot the time he rowed out into a gale to pull a fisherman from the rocks, not stopping even when his own boots came back soaked through, and his ribs were black with bruises.

He never boasted. Just said it was what you did when you were part of something bigger than yourself.

When he died, too soon, too suddenly, out at sea on a rescue, the town felt it very deeply. And Lyanna, well…she grieved like a storm all in herself. She was raising their son, mourning the man that she loved so deeply, and trying to hold it all together, and Davos took them in when their landlord kicked them out, gave her a job, and took care of Jon. There were never any strings attached. Davos had been Arthur's boss, and he made a promise to care for them, and he always has done.

Then one day, she bought the pub – with his help. Said if she were going to raise a boy on her own, she would do it on her feet, with her hands busy, and a community around her.

And somehow, she made it work.

And even though Jon has tried to keep it going the way she would have wanted, it is not quite the same. He is not his mother; he has none of her humour or that smile that would bewitch just about anyone. He is not his father either; there is nothing heroic about him, and he has never been the life and soul of a party.

His mother blamed it on him being an only sibling. She and Arthur had always yearned for more children, but the birth had been difficult for her, and despite her desire, Arthur had been unwilling to risk her safety for it. Arthur loved her more than Jon has ever seen a man love someone, and he knows his mother's regret had always been rejecting his proposal when she first got pregnant – hence why he is Jon Stark. They never married, but he thinks she wishes they had.

When his father died, he was ten. His father was his hero, his everything, and he mourned him deeply. He was a little boy who had lost his biggest support, his role model. Davos and Uncle Ned stepped in, but it was not the same. But he still had his mother.

Then, six years ago, his mother passed away. A heart attack, of all things. Completely random and nothing that could be done. They said it easily, but he was only twenty-five, suddenly left parentless and with a pub that he had to run.

He is nothing like his parents. He thought he would cause its ruins. But, in typical fashion, the people of Staithes showed up for him, bringing food and drinking enough to keep him afloat in those first few months as he found his feet.

His whole life, he wanted to move away. Join the army, maybe. Maybe be part of the RNLI like his dad, and Davos. But it terrified Lyanna too much, and he hated to make her worry, so he stayed home, worked behind the bar, and gave up on those dreams.

What good are dreams compared to his family? Compared to being an honourable man? He got over it.

He shows up. Opens the doors. Pours the pints. Keeps the floors swept and the taps running. Because some things deserve to be held onto, even when they hurt. Especially then.

But the town has gotten busier in recent times, with London becoming even more expensive. More people want a quiet life, especially in retirement or when they have children. People from the bigger towns in Yorkshire or anywhere want a seaside life.

Which has meant his once quiet pub has become quite the hub. Helped by a particular woman coming in, flirting, claiming to be some kind of 'influencer' and recommending it highly online. He has no clue what she did, or how it works, but people have flocked to the pub even more so because of it.

It is a good thing to be so busy, he knows.

It is also a pain.

"How about friends?" Davos suggests instead. "Gendry is your best friend. He hates that job he has at the blacksmiths; his father is always breathing down his neck."

It is not a bad idea. He knows Gendry would be up for it, and he trusts his best friend more than most people. They met in school and grew up together. Gendry even dated Jon's cousin, Arya, before her travels. He knows that they have some kind of long-distance arrangement going on, but he does not like to ask too many questions about it, as it disgusts him. She is his baby cousin and always will be, even though she is a woman grown in her twenties.

"Fine." He nods. "I will ask Gendry, if only to shut you up."

"And what about the new girl in town?"

"Which one?"

Davos raises an eyebrow, "The one you keep staring at when she walks past. I met her the other day. She came in asking if we had any jobs going in the office, and we didn't, but I said I would take her number and tell her if I knew of any jobs coming up. Nice girl."

Jon shrugs, grabbing a rag to wipe down the counter to try and pretend to be casual, "I have no clue who you mean."

His friend chuckles, "Silver hair always in a braid or two hundred braids and big violet eyes. Short woman."

"Nope." He lies. "I don't know nothing about her."

It is a total and utter lie. He knows her. She has only been in town for a few weeks, three at most, and she has walked past his pub about a hundred times. She always looks like she is in a rush, and she sometimes has two children with her that he can only assume are hers, but she wears no ring – but then his mother never did.

He has never taken much interest in the women in town. He is a bit of a solitary figure, only having one steady, serious girlfriend called Ygritte, but she was a free spirit who could never commit. Besides a long-standing friends-with-benefits situation with Val when one of them is single, which is a lot for him, he has no other attachments and never looks much.

But her?

He noticed her on day one and has never stopped.

She would never turn her head to see him, and he knows that. A woman like that would not look his way, no matter how much he wants her to, even if he tells himself he doesn't.

But Davos knows him better than anyone.

"Right…Sure." Davos laughs. "Lad, you stare at her when she walks past the window. You could not be more obvious if you tried. Anyway, she is looking for a part-time gig."

"So?"

"So…" Davos gestures to the bar. "She could work part-time here."

"No."

"Jon-"

"I said no." He repeats firmly, moving to serve someone else when they come up to the bar. "I do not need her to be working here. Gendry will be enough!"

"At least hear me out here," Davos says, and Jon shuts up to serve the customer, allowing him to speak as he pulls pints. "Daenerys is her name. She moved up here from London about a month ago with two little 'uns." He explains. "She has no family, no one here, and I can't work out why she chose this place, but the two children are her niece and nephew, not her own."

He frowns, placing the drinks in front of his customer and taking the money as Davos still speaks. He tries to tune him out, but it is easier said than done.

"She needs a job. But the little girl is in the school and so has pick up and drop off times. The boy is a babe. He has a nursery, but that is expensive. She needs a job-"

"Davos." He almost whines. "I'm sorry, but a pub wouldn't be right for her anyway. Not with two children." He says. "I can't help her. I couldn't have the children here if they got sick or had school holidays-"

"Jon Stark." Davos starts, his best fatherly, annoyed voice on, and Jon straightens up to listen. "You do not stand there and say you will not help this woman at all. That is not you. Now, you tell me. When I was your father's boss, and he passed, and your mother worked admin at the shipyard, did I ever refuse her bringing you in?"

Jon looks away, shame evident.

"No," Davos says. "Because your mother needed someone to be supporting her. And you needed your mother not just in life, but to be bringing money in." Davos states. "If you do not even have this woman in for an interview, I will be frightfully cross with you, lad, and don't think I won't be!"

He sighs, trying to keep his groan inside. "Fine. Sure. Whatever. One interview. And then I can say no if she don't fit, deal?"

Davos smiles in satisfaction, "Deal."

Gendry says yes, rather predictably, and he hates that Davos is right that having an extra pair of hands is helpful. It means he gets time to do the accounts, and he can sleep in an extra hour and take an actual lunch. And then he fills that time with painting the walls or washing the floors, or taking his dog, Ghost, out for another walk.

Things are going fairly well in that first couple of days.

Davos informs him that Daenerys will be coming in at some point on the Thursday, and he tries to act casual, but he spends his morning staring at the clock.

When eleven comes around, he does not expect her, and it is pouring with rain outside, which only confirms his thoughts that she will not be coming at all. But just as he gives up and the rain is at its heaviest, someone comes through the door in a rush.

Daenerys.

She is completely soaked in a raincoat with a baby in a red onesie raincoat on her hip. Her hair is soaking wet and beginning to curl and frizz just about everywhere, and her every step makes squelching sounds on the wood floors.

"The pub don't open till twelve-" He stops when he sees it is her, his eyes widening at her sight of her and the baby on her hip. "Daenerys Targaryen?" He asks, remembering her full name from Davos.

"Hi, Jon Stark?" She greets breathlessly. "I am so sorry. It has been really chaotic this morning. Aegon woke up with a sniffle, so the nursery wouldn't take him, and the babysitter wanted to charge an insane amount, and I was rushing, and then the rain started." She explains in a rush. "I know this is a bad, bad, first impression, but I kind of had no other option but to bring him."

"I see."

Behind him, he hears Ghost coming around the bar to sniff at the baby on her hip. To his surprise, the baby squeals in delight and reaches out for the large hound. Ghost is friendly with those he trusts, especially children, but children can be hesitant due to his imposing size.

"Davos said that you have a part-time position, and I would love to speak with you about it." She says, her hope evident. "This is a bad start. But, hey," She jokes. "It shows my willingness to come in no matter what!"

He can't think of anything to say. At least nothing complimentary.

And his silence makes her falter.

"I know," She adds quickly, "I probably should've called. Or waited. But Davos mentioned the part-time position, and I wanted to show I was serious. I am not usually like this." She says. "I am never late or frantic like this."

He glances down at the baby again, Aegon, she called him, who is now patting Ghost's fur with clumsy, delighted hands. The dog seems perfectly content, even nudging his nose closer like he has been waiting for this very child his whole life, though Jon figures it is because he has been told he can be boring company - even to his beloved dog.

"Right…"

Daenerys shifts her weight, readjusting Aegon on her hip. Her smile dims a little, just slightly, her chin tipping down like she knows he is not keen on having her there. He never was but is even less so at this turn of events, and his dismay is obvious.

She sighs, wrinkling her nose like she is trying not to get upset, "I kind of figured you weren't going to give me the job," She says, quieter now, more honest than she probably meant to be or ought to be in front of a prospective employer. "Thank you for your time anyway."

She turns like she means to go, a wet squeak in her step as her shoe catches the floor. Aegon lets out a little huff of protest at being moved away from the dog, and Jon, without quite knowing why, speaks before she reaches the door.

"Can you pull a pint?"

He knows why. He is just a liar.

Something about her reminds him of his mother. Not in a weird, Freudian way. But because she is alone, and she still came and is laughing at herself, and she is trying. He remembers how many jobs he saw reject his mother, how disheartened she was, how much of a failure she used to feel.

He doesn't want that for the lad, or the other child he has not met. Davos said he liked her, and he is a good judge of character. And Jon once made a vow to himself that he would help everyone he can, just like Arthur did, and what kind of man refuses someone in their time of need when she is willing to work?

"What?" She turns, her eyes full of surprise.

Jon shifts on his heels awkwardly, "Show me. Pull a pint." He says, gesturing to the taps behind the bar as he walks around to them with her at his heels. "You ever done this before?"

"Erm, no." She admits honestly. "But I am a fast learner."

"Mh." He nods, grabbing a glass to pour a pint of ale easily, and she watches him intently. "A pint. Of ale." He says, holding up the perfect one that he did – and he is grateful it went perfectly, as it would have been embarrassing otherwise. "Pull one."

She hesitates, "Right now?"

"Right now." He confirms, his voice flat, and it is a bit of a mock test, as no one ever gets it on their first or even fifth try. It takes a lot of practice, and he has years of it. "Consider it a test."

Daenerys glances down at the baby on her hip, and then at the taps. "Okay," She says, adjusting the baby on her hip again. "Can I…could I maybe put him down just for a second?"

Jon nods once and jerks his head toward the end of the bar. "There is a clean towel on the counter. You can park him there for now. Ghost will keep watch. Won't let him fall." He promises.

She hesitates again, then sets Aegon down gently on the towel, murmuring a few quiet words to him. The baby watches her like he is not convinced, but then Ghost sits beside him, and that seems to do the trick. He knows that Ghost would be there if the baby even moved an inch, and Jon keeps his eyes on him just in case, too – though he knows he is useless compared to Ghost.

Daenerys takes a breath, squares her shoulders, and walks behind the taps just like he did. She pulls the wrong tap first, of course, she does, and corrects herself with a sheepish, "Sorry."

He doesn't say anything, just watches.

She tries again, focusing hard, and this time the pint comes out smooth and even, the head just about right, if not a little off, but it is better than he has seen a newbie do in a long time. When she slides it down toward him, she looks up like she is expecting criticism.

He gives a slow nod. "Not bad."

A blush rises to her cheeks, surprised at her own apparent skill, or wondering if it is beginner's luck, "Thanks."

He wipes his hands on a cloth, then says, almost reluctantly, "There is a back room. It is not much, but it is warm, and it's got a door you can shut. If he needs to nap or you need to sit with him for a bit. It's yours, if you need."

He spent many a day in that back room watching TV or colouring. He remembers those times fondly, and he knows he could get some things to put in there.

"I have a crib, I think. My old one." He remembers. "We can put that in there. Get some things for him." He nods to Aegon as Daenerys picks him up off the counter to return to her hip.

"Wait…" Her eyes widen. "A-Are you saying you're giving me a job?"

He holds up a hand to stop her excitement, "A trial shift. A possibility at a job." He corrects. "Childcare is expensive, I know. And he needs to be with you. I get that. So, you can use the back room if you get the job."

She grins, "Thank you!" She exclaims. "I would hug you, but I am soaking wet. I-I…You have no clue how badly I need this, or how grateful I am! Thank you so much!"

He clears his throat, trying to move on, "You'll need proper shoes. No heels. Floor's uneven."

"I have boots."

"Good." He steps out from behind the bar. "I'll show you the back. You could keep the pram and supplies there, make it a bit homey. Not much room, but enough. Ghost will keep an ear out for him; he wouldn't hurt him. Ever."

She smiles, following him, "He is very quiet." She comments softly. "Aegon just loves him."

"Mh…" He nods. "He is mute." He explains, leading her to the back room, and he opens the door to show her, but keeps his distance, so she is comfortable. "The babe can go in there if you need. Put a monitor or whatever to hear him."

"Why are you being so kind to me?" She asks suddenly, surprising him with her boldness. "You looked like you would rather be anywhere else when I walked in. And now this? Why?"

"Because." He shrugs, avoiding her eyes. "My mother was a single mother. Children need their mothers close. And because Davos vouched for you." He explains, trying to avoid saying too much about it. "You'll be here tomorrow for eleven. No later. I'll show you the ropes."

She smiles widely, "Okay."

He nods once. "Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow."

"Try again."

Daenerys grumbles, holding up the pint that she just poured. She had been doing well, getting herself overconfident about her abilities. Yesterday, her pouring skills were perfect in every way, and today she has failed almost every time trying to do it.

Jon has been doing it so long that every pour is perfect. He knows every nook and cranny of the place and walks around with ease, and knows everyone. Everyone compliments him and strikes up a conversation with him, though she can tell his favourites are the old men who tell sailing stories and jokes.

Her new boss has been largely silent, she has noticed, when it comes to her. The other member of staff, Gendry, who she knows is a good friend of Jon's, has been kind and shown her a lot. He is patient and sweet to her, and he has asked her about herself. She likes him a lot.

Jon, however, has spoken about work and only work. He asked her about the children when she walked in, and he showed her where she could put Aegon down for a nap around the back – and she noticed it was neat and clean there without a thing out of place. He denied it, but Gendry told her he had been there all morning making it nice for the babe and making sure his old crib he told her about, was fit enough for its job. Gendry told her Jon had even gone to the effort of getting the TV in there set up with kids' channels for when her niece would be there after school, when Dany will be working.

Despite his efforts, he has kept the conversation to her skills, or lack thereof, at the bar.

"Your angle is wrong." He tells her after another failure.

A couple of the older men who come in have been the recipients of all of her failed ones, free of charge, meaning she has two allies already. They keep joking that they will distract her so they can have a free one every time.

Jon gently moves her hands position as she pours, and she ignores the way it makes her jolt a little. Not just from the coldness of his hands but from the touch in itself. She has not had that strange tingling in so long…She has to stop thinking about him like this.

"Your angle is wrong," He says again, her hand having moved from where he had adjusted her. "Again." He adds.

Daenerys bites back a sigh. "I know my angle is wrong." She complains. "My angle has been wrong for the past six tries."

He doesn't rise to her tone, not that she expected him to. Jon Stark does not seem the type to get ruffled. He just reaches around her again, steadying her wrist, nudging the glass slightly. His hand is rough, cold from the pint he had been pouring for someone else, and her breath catches before she can stop it.

"There," He murmurs. "Now keep it steady. Don't rush it. Just let it come."

She does as he says, biting her lip, and this time, finally, the ale comes out smooth, gold, and perfect, with just the right head of foam on top. He lets go of her hand once he is satisfied, stepping back, and for some reason, she feels the loss of that contact more than she should.

Jon gives a small nod. "Better."

"Thank God," She says, letting out a laugh that is half relief, half exasperation. "If I had to waste one more pint, I think your regulars would start a collection to keep me here."

That earns her a faint huff of amusement, though it is not quite a laugh, but it is something. One of the old men at the end of the bar raises his glass. "Aye, keep her! She's got spirit!"

"And no aim," Jon replies dryly, but there is warmth in his voice that softens the words.

She smirks, wiping her hands on a cloth. "I'll get better."

"I know," He says simply, already turning to wipe down the bar. It is not praise exactly, but the quiet certainty in it makes her chest warm.

After that, the afternoon rolls by in a slow rhythm, and she is starting to like about this place. Never anything too rushed. Nothing stressful. Locals drift in, order their usuals, and all seem to know Jon. He doesn't have to ask what they want. Half the time, the pints already poured before they sit down. Every now and then, someone teases him about finally hiring help in her and Gendry.

When they do, Jon just hums. "She's learning."

"Quick learner too," Gendry adds with a grin, stacking clean glasses.

Daenerys can't help smiling. "Well, I have had good teachers."

Jon glances over briefly, as if to say something, then decides against it.

By the time the rush dies down, Aegon has been asleep for over three hours in the back room, the longest she thinks he has slept in his life. Daenerys checks on him, watching him breathe, cheeks flushed and soft under the old crib's blanket. There is a faint smell of soap and wood polish from it, and she is pretty sure it has a brand new mattress as she sees the tag in the bin - Jon's doing, no doubt - and something in her heart flutters, just a little bit.

When she returns, Jon is standing by the window, looking out toward the harbour. The rain from yesterday has gone, leaving behind the kind of soft, washed light that makes the sea glitter in a way she has come to like since being here. Sunnier days always make it look so beautiful.

"Busy day," She says, wiping her hands on her apron.

He nods. "You did alright."

She smiles a little. "You're not an easy man to impress, are you?"

Jon turns his head toward her, and there is the smallest flicker of a smile. Barely there, but real. "Not really."

He glances at her again, eyes lingering for a second too long, then goes back to polishing glasses. "You plan on coming back tomorrow?"

"If you'll have me."

"Eleven sharp," He tells her firmly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

She nods, turning toward the door, her heart lighter than it has been in months. She catches a glimpse of Ghost watching her go, tail giving one slow wag, and Aegon stirring softly in the back room.

For the first time in a long time, she feels that little twinge of hope she swore was once long gone.

By her second day, Daenerys has learned that The Watchman's Rest has its own rhythm. It is so different than anywhere she has ever worked before, it has its own life, its own breath almost, slow and a bit predictable, but in the most comforting way. The regulars trickle in around midday, the same men who have known Jon since he was a boy, the ones who tell her old stories about his dad's fishing days and how Arthur Dayne could fix a boat engine faster than anyone else on the coast.

She listens while she wipes tables and washes glasses, piecing together little parts of the life Jon never talks about or even so much as hints at. A closed book entirely. She knows nothing about him at all.

She learns Arthur was out on the lifeboats in every kind of weather, that half the people in Staithes owe him something, whether it is a saved net, a towed boat, a hand when the sea turned cruel. She learns Lyanna kept the pub running after he died, and that Jon took it over before he was even close to thirty. They say it like it is obvious, that the then boy had no other choice, that he had always been like that, always so much like his father. Always trying to be a good man. Protect his father's legacy.

Jon doesn't talk much about any of it. He doesn't talk much at all.

He moves through the bar like watching the hand on a clock – always quiet, efficient, always watching. Every pint he pours looks like a photograph, golden and perfect, while hers still come out too frothy or flat. Gendry helps when he can, grinning at her mistakes, telling her she is improving fast. Jon just nods when she gets it right, a low, quiet "there you go," like praise is something to be rationed.

Still, she finds herself watching him when she shouldn't. There is something about how at ease he is here, how everyone greets him by name, how Ghost seems to settle when he is around. Everyone just loves him. They all have nothing but good things to say; Davos, in particular, talks him up a lot in a way she does not understand.

How could any of them truly know a man who never speaks of anything but work?

Aegon sleeps in the back room most of the day, though when he wakes, she asks, and Jon is okay with it that she brings him out when it is quiet. The regulars adore him, slipping him coos and biscuits he cannot eat yet. Even Jon softens a little around the baby. Just small things, like brushing his hair out of his eyes or handing Daenerys one of the bottles she had made up earlier without her asking.

She tells herself not to read into it.

"And that is why I am no longer allowed in the Fighters' Arms pub." Gendry finishes one of his stories as she feeds Aegon, making her laugh. "Jon will defend me on this, too! The man deserved the punch he got."

Jon hums, not responding, but Gendry seems to take it as his answer and confirmation.

"I do not think I have ever been thrown from somewhere." She muses, trying to think. "I have always been pretty boring. Sensible."

"Bit like Jon then." Gendry comments. "Jon got thrown from a pub once because he complained too much about the floors being wet."

"They were hazardous!" Jon exclaims from behind the bar, the only time she had heard him raise his voice. "Someone gets hurt from these things all the time. Someone slips, breaks a hip…game over."

Daenerys nods, "He has a point-"

"Not you too!" Gendry groans, grabbing a couple of glasses. "Perfect for one another, I swear." He mutters to himself as he heads back behind the bar.

She blushes at that, not knowing what he could mean when she hardly knows Jon.

She knows his name is Jon. She knows his mother was called Lyanna and his father was Arthur, and they have photos of them on the wall. She knows he is a bit of a softie when it comes to Ghost and Aegon. She knows his favourite person is Davos. She knows Gendry is his best friend.

That is about it.

All that Jon knows about her is that her name is Daenerys and that she is from London, but moved here for a slower pace of life for the kids. He knows that she is taking care of her niece and nephew for some reason. He knows that Davos likes her a lot.

The only thing he knows for sure is that he thinks she is very pretty and far, far, out of his league.

She works for Jon for two weeks without incident, something she never saw happening, when she makes her first major error.

It is entirely her fault, dropping a whole tray of glasses, shattering them everywhere. She expects a scolding, or at least his annoyance; she would be angry too, especially as it makes such a mess and is what she knows he would call a massive hazard.

However, Jon merely makes a soft humming noise before he begins to clean it up, never once asking her to do it or saying a word.

She helps, of course, but outside of saying 'are you okay?' Jon does not react. Even when she apologises, he brushes off her apologies with an 'it can happen to anyone' and moves on.

In the two weeks she has known him, she has learned nothing more, other than the fact he is a patient man. He tries to help people a lot; she has seen it and experienced it herself when he offers to hold Aegon for her so she can do something.

For a man who once told Davos it would never work out, he seems to be doing everything he can to make sure that it does.

Rhaenys has a babysitter for tonight as Jon asked her to help on a busy Saturday evening, something she hasn't done yet. She has not had her in yet, worrying that it might frighten her to be around all of the noise and new people, but even though she has been outright told that Jon set up the television at the back for her niece to watch.

The regulars have gone home; only a few people left, who have all begun to leave. A couple waved their goodbyes as they go, and she can hear the faint drops of rain outside, which signals it will be empty in a minute as people rush to get home before it gets heavy. The pub feels older at this hour, she thinks, like it exhales when everyone leaves, stretching its wooden beams and sighing with relief, done with another day of work just like they are.

There is a soul in this place, she swears. A place built for family.

She knows Jon had been hesitant, according to Davos, to hire anyone but family. She understands now more than ever.

With a smile, she wipes down the last of the tables, humming softly under her breath, while Aegon dozes in the back room with his bottle half-finished. Jon stands at the bar, going through the till, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There is something comforting about the sound of him moving, the coins clinking, paper rustling, the quiet scrape of his pen as he totals everything up – she knows he prefers to do it by hand instead of using the computer. Old-fashioned, she told him, but she sort of likes that.

She has learned his silences by now. There is the silence when he is focused, the silence when he is irritated, and the silence that feels…peaceful. This is the last one.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Dany asks after a while, her voice breaking the stillness. "Running the same place every day?"

He glances up, as if he is surprised she spoke. "No."

"That's it?" She smiles.

He gives a small shrug, not looking up again. "It is honest work. Keeps me busy."

She nods, turning back to the tables. "You don't ever want to leave? See something else?"

That earns her a pause. He leans against the bar, thinking. "Used to," He admits. "Life changed it a bit."

"How so?"

"When I was younger." He tells her, much to her surprise, he is opening up at all. "Thought I would go travelling. Maybe work on one of the ships for a while. But my mum… she needed me here. Then I took over the place. Didn't make sense to leave anymore."

There is no bitterness in his voice, just acceptance. It hits her in a strange place, that kind of loyalty. The way he roots himself in the same place that took so much from him. His father is gone. His mother is gone. He has no immediate family, or so she thinks. He does not talk about them if he does, which she finds strange, especially given the pub having her and Gendry and not them.

"You're a good man," Dany says before she can stop herself.

He looks up then, eyes meeting hers for longer than usual. "I just do what needs doing."

She doesn't reply. She doesn't need to, and he would only shut it down if she tried to embellish; she knows.

When she finishes wiping down, he has already filled a small glass for her, lemonade, her choice of drink when she is working, and pushes it across the counter without a word.

"For the hard Saturday evening?" She teases, looking around the now-empty pub.

"For surviving your second week," Jon corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching, almost a smile.

Daenerys looks down at the bubbles in her glass. "You don't talk much, do you?"

He gives another small shrug. "Never seen much point. Talking's easy. Showing up every day, that's the hard part."

Something about that, about him, makes her chest ache a little.

She doesn't notice she is smiling until he catches her looking.

And for a heartbeat, he smiles too.

Her longest shift yet is one that is well-needed.

Nearly a month into working for Jon, she has loved every bit of it. The pub is close to home, the people are nice, she is getting better at everything, Jon has never complained about her or to her, Gendry is a nice guy who has never once made any kind of move or been creepy like some guys think they are allowed to be after a certain comfort level is reached. She has never had a job that has been so nice to be at.

The only problem with her situation is that she finds herself liking Jon too much.

The more she knows him, the more she wants to know about him. She wants to spend every bit of time at work talking to him, even if he says a couple of words. She likes his company. She likes listening to him or watching him work. She likes that they work well as a team.

Hell, she just likes him.

Her problem is twofold. One: Jon is her boss, and it would be wildly inappropriate given that fact and the fact she is caring for two small children. Two: The more time she spends with him means she finds more things she likes.

For example, he is extremely kind.

He is constantly doing things for other people. The amount of times he pops out to help someone with their car or their household issue, maintenance or personal, or takes in someone's dog for an afternoon because they need it. She cannot count! He drives the old guys home every night to make sure they get back safe.

Come to think of it, she frowns as she looks around the empty pub, the last bell having rung ages ago. Where is he?

When she slips her coat on and moves toward the back room, she can't hear or see him as she usually would, whether it is by clearing glasses, locking up, or counting change. She can't hear him moving around the front or back at all.

Aegon is still sleeping in the crib when she walks in. The soft light from the lamp spills over his chubby cheeks, his tiny fist curled against the blanket. She sets her bag down quietly and bends to pick up his stuffed dragon that has rolled to the floor.

The sound of tools clinking makes her look up to see Jon crouched by the far wall, one knee on the floor, screwdriver in hand.

She blinks in surprise to see him, "What are you doing?" She asks, her brows coming together.

He doesn't look up. "One of the hinges was loose on the cabinet," He tells her with a shrug. "Didn't want it falling. You keep his bottles in here."

Her chest tightens in a way she doesn't expect. "You could've left it till tomorrow."

He shakes his head. "Would've forgotten."

She watches him for a moment, the way he moves carefully, practical, never wasting a motion. The screwdriver slips once, and he mutters under his breath.

She smiles to herself, trying not to let it be too wide to reveal herself, "You fix everything yourself?"

"Mostly."

"Do you ever let anyone help?"

His mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Only if they're any good."

"Guess that's why you never ask me," She teases softly.

This time, he looks up. "Didn't say you weren't good."

There is a pause. Not awkward, just…quiet. A strange sort of quiet that happens between them sometimes, that stretches because neither of them knows what to do with it. They are content a lot of the time to be quiet around one another; she is comfortable in it, and she thinks he feels that way too.

Finally, she clears her throat, looking down at Aegon when he stirs. "Thank you. For letting me bring him. And for…this." She gestures to the little room, to the crib, the blanket folded neatly, the freshly polished kettle on the side table. "I know it is not really what you signed up for when you said you were looking for staff."

He puts the screwdriver down, sits back on his heels. "You are working hard. That's what matters to me."

"That's not what most people would say."

"I'm not most people."

The words hang there, solid and quiet, and she doesn't know why they make her heartbeat pick up.

He stands, wiping his hands on a cloth, and nods toward the baby as Aegon wakes, his soft whines filling the space. "You should get him home. Roads will ice over soon. I put the pram by the back door."

She nods, picking him up and holding Aegon close, feeling the weight of him against her shoulder. "Goodnight, Jon."

"Night, Daenerys."

He watches her go before turning off the light, and he looks once at the crib, now empty and tidy again.

And, for a long moment, he just stands there, wondering why the place feels so cold now when it never did before.

It is a month later when Daenerys brings both children with her for the first time.

It's not supposed to be that way. She had arranged for Rhaenys to be at school, as she usually is, allowing Dany to work, but life, as she is quickly learning, doesn't care for plans.

Her entire life is not what she once planned as a young woman.

Twenty-nine, alone, living in a tiny, rented cottage and working part-time in a local pub with two children that are not her own was not her plan.

Back in London, she had spent her twenties trying to prove herself to her father. He was always so cold and demanded more and more; nothing was ever good enough for him. When he died, it was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

So long ago, she had been married. And what a colossal mess that had been. Not even lasting a year. A man who thought her whole life would revolve around him, being told she was too selfish, too scattered and delicate (of all things) to ever be good to someone else. To ever be a good mother.

She sort of resigned herself to being alone. Working in a small gallery in the city, spending her time doing her own painting – though usually of the world, of anywhere she could visit or look up or go to. She had her brothers, their parents long gone.

Viserys lives so far away, and when he calls, it is for thirty-second chats where he has no real interest. He calls a little more since…Rhaegar. Since Rhaegar died.

Rhaegar had raised her more than her parents ever did. Her mother died when she was born, and her father was always too wrapped up in his issues. But Rhaegar was so much older; he took over the responsibilities. When he and his wife died, her whole world came crashing down.

She was the only one able to take care of the children, the only one willing. She wouldn't see them put into care. Despite what her ex-husband used to tell her, she convinced herself she could be a good mother. Even if Rhaenys wakes up so many nights crying and she has been doing this for five months now and still gets things wrong.

She loves them. She tries. She cares. That is all she can do and know she does right. The rest…she is figuring it out.

Moving out of London was good for them. It was too loud, too judgemental, too expensive. She had read about Staithes once in a book about British art colonies; she looked into it, and she loved what she saw.

Quiet, coastal, remote. A village once full of artists who painted the sea and lived in tiny cottages. It felt like somewhere she could breathe. Somewhere her grief and guilt could be held, not drowned. She packed up the children and moved, renting a cottage with flaking paint and a view of the waves. She told herself she could manage. She always has.

Life just likes to nudge her to remind her to always be on her guard. That this is not easy alone.

Rhaenys having to be off school because of a tummy bug is one of those things. She woke up pale and listless, refusing breakfast, and by the time Daenerys made it through the rain towork, she was holding the five-year-old's hand tightly and balancing Aegon on her hip.

Both children are bundled in coats too big for them, and Rhaenys is sniffling from the cold and complaining about how sick she feels.

Jon looks up from behind the bar when the door opens. His brow furrows instantly, not out of annoyance, just concern. He gestures to Rhaenys, never having met her, even if Daenerys did show him photos a couple of times, "Everything okay?"

"She is not well," Daenerys admits, crouching to unlace Rhaenys' now soaking wet boots. "A bit of a stomach bug. I didn't want to leave her with a babysitter when she is feeling sick, and the school said it is best if she rests, so I thought she could sit in the back room. She promised she would be quiet." She explains. "I'm so sorry-"

"It's fine." He interjects gently. "The sofa back there is comfy. I can get some blankets for her. She can watch TV and sleep." He promises. "I make a mean chicken soup for sickness, too."

She laughs softly, "I've been told mine is pretty good too." She jokes, holding up Rhaenys' boots in one hand and Aegon on her hip. "Are you sure?"

"Course." He nods once. "She can stay as long as you need."

She breathes a sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping. "Thank you. I'll make it up to you! I can stay later if you need me. I'll do the horrible job of cleaning the loo-"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

She takes Rhaenys and Aegon around the back, settling them and making sure they will be okay before she comes back out – the baby monitor kept safe in her pocket.

Luckily, it is not busy, meaning she can slip away a lot to check on them. Most of the day, Rhaenys is asleep or eating. Aegon is awake a lot, which only means Jon gets to teach her how to pull pints with one hand – which is a skill she does not have.

"How can you do all of this?" She groans when he pulls a perfect one as easily as breathing.

"Lots of practice." He comments, placing the perfect pint in front of one of their regulars, who decided she would entertain Aegon for a while instead of listening to her husband complain about the fence for the two hundredth time.

Daenerys has never loved the people here more than when they give her a break.

The afternoon is quiet, and for a while, she hears nothing from the back except the occasional sound of Rhaenys coughing and the soft, calming hum of the children's TV Jon hooked up.

Around three, Daenerys goes to check on her, but when she opens the door, she stops in surprise when she sees that Rhaenys isn't alone.

Jon is sitting beside her on the floor, Ghost stretched out at their feet. The girl is wrapped in a blanket, a mug of warm milk in her small hands, and Jon is showing her pictures on his phone - photos of the sea, fishing boats, and a blurry one of a much younger Ghost as a puppy.

"…and that is Staithes Pier when it froze over last winter," Jon is saying, his voice softer than Daenerys has ever heard it. "Never go near it when it is like that. It can be a bit slippery."

Rhaenys tilts her head. "Did you fall?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Nearly."

She giggles weakly, resting her head against the blanket. "Ghost looks funny in the snow."

"He eats it," Jon admits, a rare smile flickering across his face.

Daenerys stands in the doorway for a moment, her heart twisting. It is such a small scene, so ordinary, but it feels like something she hasn't seen in a long, long time. A man being gentle with her family. Jon, in particular, not grumbling or mumbling, but actively engaging in conversation with her little niece, as if every word she has to say is interesting.

When Jon looks up and sees her there, he straightens a little. "She's alright," He says quickly. "Just tired. Thought the dog might cheer her up."

"She looks very cheered up," Daenerys says softly, stepping closer. "Thank you, Jon."

He shrugs, but his ears redden. "It's nothing."

"It is not nothing." She states, and opens her mouth to speak again, to assure him that him doing such kind things for them is something that should be thanked.

Rhaenys blinks up at him, speaking before Dany can. "Can we see the boats tomorrow?"

He glances at Daenerys before answering. "If your aunt says yes."

Daenerys smiles faintly. "We'll see how you are feeling, sweetheart."

As she leans over to check on Aegon, she hears Rhaenys whisper, "He's nice."

And she hears Jon's reply, half embarrassed, half fond, "Don't tell anyone, alright? Ruins my reputation."

Daenerys has to bite back a laugh.

The next afternoon is one of those rare seaside days that almost feels like spring, the kind that makes everyone forget it is months away, October with them still. The tide is out, the air sharp and a little cold, but it is sunny, which is unusual enough for where they are.

Daenerys sits on the bench near the railing, Aegon on her knee, a napkin-wrapped chip in each of his tiny fists. Beside her, Rhaenys leans over the edge, counting seagulls and calling out every time one dips close enough to the water.

Jon arrives halfway through their paper-wrapped lunch, Ghost trotting faithfully at his heel. He is in one of his many, many jackets that she has seen from him – the only item of clothing that ever seems to change, as he is always in black jeans and a t-shirt usually – and his hair is damp from the drizzle in the air.

But he looks…happy. Strangely.

"Didn't expect to find you here," He teases when Rhaenys sees him and squeals.

Rhaenys beams. "You said we see the boats!"

Jon's brows lift, amused, and he glances toward Daenerys to see her smiling back at him, "That I did. A promise is a promise."

"She remembered," Daenerys says, half apologetic, half smiling. "I didn't actually think you would remember." She admits. "Didn't we have a big delivery coming this afternoon?"

"Eh." He shrugs, stepping closer. "Gendry can cope. Mind if we join?"

"Of course not," She says, scooting along the bench to make room.

Jon sits, Ghost curling under his feet, and for a while they just…are. Aegon presses a greasy chip into Jon's palm, and he pretends to take a bite just to make the infant make soft noises of delight. Rhaenys quizzes him about the names of boats bobbing in the harbour, to which he knows every name and every owner, who all wave to him when they see him, much to Rhaenys' delight.

Daenerys listens the whole time, feeling something gentle settle in her chest as she watches them together, seeing how sweet he is with both her niece and nephew, how he listens to her and comes out of his shell every minute he is around them.

She cannot believe he is the same man she first met.

"She has been telling everyone about Ghost. All our neighbours," Daenerys says after a moment. "Apparently, he is the 'best dog ever.'"

He glances down at the great white hound sprawled contentedly in the sun. "Don't let him hear that. He'll get a big head."

Rhaenys giggles, delighted. "Can he come next time?"

"If your aunt says so," Jon replies, smiling at her the same soft way he had the day before.

Daenerys tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, pretending to focus on Aegon's snack instead of the way her pulse flickers when he looks at her so softly, "I suppose we could make room for one more."

For a moment, everything is still, gulls crying overhead, the sea sighing beneath them, Rhaenys leaning against Jon's arm as though it's the most natural thing in the world. Everything is peaceful, in a way she never saw happening again in the chaos that has been her life since the children came into it.

Peace is not something she ever saw having again.

Daenerys looks at him then: The wind in his hair, the warmth in his expression, the way he fits into this small corner of their lives without even trying. She is not sure if he even wanted to in the first place, but he is here now, and he kept his promise to Rhaenys when he could have completely ignored it. He has no obligation to them, and yet he showed up. A promise is a promise.

"You are very good with them," She says quietly, almost to herself.

He glances at her, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. "They're good kids. Must take after their aunt."

She laughs softly, shaking her head. "You have clearly not seen us on a bad day."

He hums, thoughtful. "Even then, I reckon you would manage."

The words are simple, but they stay with her long after, even as the evening comes. The kids are in the back asleep by the nighttime, curled up with blankets and Ghost at their side, a fire on to keep them warm that Jon keeps checking on just in case.

The pub is quieter than usual. The rush has gone, only a few people remaining, trying to avoid the rain they can hear outside, the sunshine gone for however long, though it feels this may be a storm for a while. Jon is behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, drying glasses one by one, and Gendry has gone for the night, leaving only the two of them.

Daenerys crosses over and leans against the counter when no one else is there, "She hasn't stopped talking about today," She says, smiling. "You are officially her favourite person."

Jon snorts, not looking up from the glass he has in his hand. "She'll grow out of it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," She says, teasing gently. "Apparently, Ghost is her second favourite. I didn't even make the list. Aegon is third, but she did it kind of begrudgingly."

That earns her a small huff of laughter. He finally looks up, faint amusement tugging at his mouth. "She's a good kid. Brave, too."

"She has been through a lot," She admits, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, that constant worry in her gut still ever present, terrified she is failing in some way, ruining them. She has no idea how to be a mother, how to be what they need; she always feels like she is screwing it up. "They both have."

He nods once, setting down the glass. "Aye. You're doing well with them."

The sincerity of his statement makes her pause. "You think?"

He shrugs, awkward. "They are happy. They are safe and clothed and fed and warm, and they know that they have you. That's what matters, isn't it? Most kids would kill for that." He tells her.

"Still not the best…"

"Who is?" He asks rhetorically, splaying his hands on the bar to lean on it. "All kids really need is someone to be there for them, to fight their corner, and love them. You do that, Dany. They're lucky."

Dany watches him for a moment, wishing he would when he won't quite meet her eyes, the faint colour rising to his ears. "You are very kind, you know that, Jon Stark?"

That startles him. "I'm not."

"You are," She insists softly. "You just hide it very well."

Jon's lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close, and he repeats – in a way – what he said to Rhaenys the day before, "Don't go telling people that. Gendry will never let me live it down."

She laughs, and something eases between them. The rain drums harder on the windows, the fire crackles, and for a heartbeat, the whole world feels smaller, safer. Everything and everyone she cares for is in that pub in that moment, and she has no desire to leave.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to move on from the moment when their eyes meet. "Rhaenys wants to draw you and Ghost tomorrow. She says you look like 'a storybook hero.'"

He groans. "Seven hells."

She grins, laughing at the expression on his face. "I told her you would be thrilled."

He shakes his head, but there is warmth there now, soft despite all that gruffness. "Tell her I'll sit for one picture," He mutters, turning back to the glasses. "But I'm not signing autographs. Storybook heroes need rest, too."

She bites back a smile, watching him for a moment longer before heading back to check on the children, still smiling to herself at the thought of it.

Jon Stark, reluctant hero of Staithes Pier.

The pub is heaving that Friday night, the kind of crowd that spills laughter and music into the street; some event in town is going on, meaning they have all come out. The fire's roaring, the air thick with warmth and noise, and the bar gleams with half-finished pints that leave sticky marks they both dread having to clean up in the morning.

Thankfully, Davos had offered to have the children for the evening, meaning she has no worries and is not thinking about them constantly. It is strange to have her time to herself, even if it is working of all things. She likes it, in a weird way.

Maybe she just likes spending time with Jon.

Jon doesn't have to look to know where she is anymore. He can tell by the sound of her laugh, even over the clatter of glasses. She is weaving between tables, her braid loose, cheeks flushed, balancing three plates like it is nothing as she brings them out to the kitchen where Gendry is.

"Two lagers, a cider, and the bitter," She calls as she passes.

"Already poured," He answers, sliding the tray toward her. Their eyes meet for just a second, enough for her to smile before she is gone again, already making a note to bring the drinks over as soon as she is done with the plates.

It's chaos, but a good kind of chaos, the kind where they move in rhythm.
She is halfway across the floor when someone drops a glass. She turns just as Jon is already there, sweeping the shards into the dustpan, steadying the table with his other hand, assuring people that it is fine.

"Thought I would get there first," She mutters with a smirk.

"You nearly did." His voice is low, teasing.

She grins, bumping his shoulder lightly as she goes.

By nine, the orders are flying. Someone is shouting for more chips, the band's tuning up, and the till's jammed again. Jon's about to curse under his breath when she appears beside him, hair slipping loose from its tie.

"Let me," She says, crouching down to fix it. Her hand brushes his knee briefly, entirely by accident, but it is enough to make him forget what he was doing.

A click, and the till hums back to life.

"You're magic," He says quietly. "I usually just bash it."

"Don't you forget it," She shoots back, standing and smoothing her apron.

A customer at the bar calls for change, and without thinking, Jon reaches for the right drawer, already knowing what she needs. She doesn't have to say a word, just holds out her hand, and he drops the coins into it. The perfect amount, of course, she doesn't even have to check.

It is so easy. Effortless. Like they have been doing this for years instead of a mere couple of months.

Later, when the rush slows and the band starts their second set, Daenerys leans on the bar beside him, hair escaping in wisps around her face. "We survived."

He gives a small smile. "Barely."

She laughs, the sound soft this time. "You're not half bad at this, you know…Considering the fact that you have been doing it most of your life." She jokes.

"Neither are you," He replies. Then, after a pause: "You make it look easy."

Her eyes flick toward him. "It is. With you."

Jon doesn't say anything. He just looks at her for a long moment, the noise of the pub fading into something distant. He clears his throat, grabs a cloth, and says gruffly, "Better get the tables cleared before it gets too sticky beyond repair."

But he is smiling, and so is she.

The night is one of the best they have had.

The next morning, Gendry is whistling like a man who has too much caffeine, eying Jon every time he passes him, making little comments about him looking happy. Jon spends his whole morning trying to ignore him, though his friend is not subtle by any means.

Even into the late morning, he keeps glancing over every few minutes with that smug grin that usually means trouble, or that he has broken something. Or both.

"What?" Jon finally asks, not looking up from where he is pulling a pint.

Gendry leans on the counter, elbows spread. "Nothing. Just admiring how glowing you look today. Peaceful, even."

"What?" He frowns. "I thought glowing meant pregnant."

"No." His friend laughs. "I mean…Like a man who has found purpose."

Jon shoots him a look. "You're an idiot."

"Oh, come on," Gendry laughs. "You think I don't see you guys? I see everything, Jon Stark. Everything."

"Your optician will be thrilled-"

"Jon!" Gendry rolls his eyes. "You are always taking care of her. Feeding her when she comes in, having missed her meals. Making her tea. Holding little Aegon like some saint from a Christmas card. Taking Rhaenys on days by the seaside, taking care of her when she is sick. You never get involved."

"I was helping," Jon defends lightly, though he is not sure why. "People help other people, no?"

"People do." His friend agrees. "You don't."

"Again, I was helping."

"Helping," Gendry repeats, rolling the word around as if it amuses him in some way that is beginning to irritate him, trying to work out his motives here. "Is that what we're calling it? Because to me it looked a lot like flirting, mate. The tragic kind where you don't even know you're doing it."

Jon sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "She's got enough going on. She doesn't need me complicating her life."

"So you do like her?"

"Of course I do! I have hardly been very subtle." He exclaims, grateful no one else can hear them. "But, as I said, nothing can happen. She has too much going on in her life to be thinking about me."

Gendry smirks. "Maybe she would say the same thing. But you don't see how she looks at you, do you? Like you are the first good thing that's happened to her in a long time."

Jon doesn't answer.

He cannot think that way. It will do him no good to get fanciful ideas like that. Nothing can ever happen.

Even if she does feel in any similar way that he does, he knows nothing could come from it. He is not someone who is suited to being someone's person, and he is definitely not suited to parenthood in any form – that much he knows. He would be terrible at it.

But later on, when Dany turns up for work, Aegon reaches for him first. And he finds himself spending his afternoon with a baby on his hip as he pulls pints and ignores Gendry's looks.

His point remains.

No matter how much he wants it, it is not a life that could ever be his.

Daenerys is behind the bar, her hair loose in its braid, sleeves rolled up as she pulls his pint with the kind of focus Jon always teases her about, but she still gets it a little off, like usual. She wipes the tap clean, frowning a little at the foam.

Jon is out back fixing one of the kegs when Davos comes in for his usual pint, and he is happy enough to take her terrible one just as he always is. "Looks like you've settled in," Davos comments kindly, sliding a note across the counter.

She laughs under her breath. "Trying to. I keep worrying I am one mistake away from breaking something important. Jon has had to order about ten boxes of new glasses since I started here." She jokes. "If not me, then Rhaenys or Aegon break things."

"You'll be fine," He assures her, voice warm, so fatherly in a way that makes her heart ache just as it always does when he is around. "Jon wouldn't have you here if he didn't trust you."

That makes her pause, glancing toward the back room where the faint clatter of tools echoes. "He is…very patient," She says softly. "More than I deserve, some days."

Davos chuckles, taking the pint as she sets it down. "That's Jon for you. Always has been. Stubborn as a rock, steady as they come. His father was the same way." He tells her. "He did everything for everyone else before himself." He takes a sip, his eyes thoughtful. "Boy's got the same heart. Just hides it better."

Daenerys smiles at that, resting her hands against the bar. "He does hide it well. But sometimes…sometimes it slips through."

"Oh aye?" He asks, amused. "When's that, then?"

She hesitates, then admits, "When he is with Aegon. Or Rhaenys. He is so gentle with them in this quiet way that feels so sweet, so safe. And when he smiles at them, or me, it is like the whole place gets warmer. Like everything slows down for a second, you know?"

The older man raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his mouth. "You're fond of him."

Her cheeks flush instantly. "He has been kind. I owe him a lot."

"Kind, eh?" Davos teases. "Funny, that's not the word most people use for him. You must bring out something different."

Dany ducks her head, pretending to tidy the counter. "Maybe I just always catch him on a good day."

But he only chuckles, watching her with that knowing look that makes her feel suddenly transparent. "You know, Lyanna used to say Arthur had a way of calming people around him, making them feel good. Seems the boy inherited that too."

She looks up, startled by the gentleness in his tone. "He really is like his father then, isn't he?"

"More than he will ever admit," Davos says. "Arthur looked after everyone in this town. Wouldn't let a man go hungry if he had two loaves. Jon's the same. He just thinks no one notices."

"I notice," She whispers, almost to herself.

Before Davos can reply, the door to the back swings open and Jon steps through, sleeves pushed up, smudged with dust and frowning faintly. "Pump should work fine now," He says, wiping his hands on a cloth. "You okay out here?"

"Fine," Dany answers quickly, trying to sound casual.

Davos hides a smile behind his pint. "Aye," He nods, acting innocent when Jon looks his way. "Fine indeed."

Jon glances between them, brow furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing, lad," The older man says innocently, though it is pretty obvious that something is going on, even if neither of them is going to admit it to him. "Just admiring good teamwork."

Jon frowns, clearly unconvinced, while Daenerys turns away to hide her grin, her heart beating faster than it should.

"I should, uh, should go back to working." She blushes.

The morning starts in chaos.

Daenerys has barely slept - Aegon was up half the night with a cough, and now Rhaenys sits on the edge of her bed, arms crossed, hair sticking up like a storm cloud, refusing to budge for school. Every attempt Daenerys makes is met with tears or stubborn silence.

By the time she checks the clock, her heart sinks. She is meant to be at the pub in twenty minutes, and she is no closer to being out the door than she was half an hour ago.

She grabs her phone and dials before she can overthink it. "Jon? Hi, it's me. I'm so sorry, I'm running late. Rhaenys had a nightmare and, well, she's refusing to go to school, and I can't exactly drag her there, and Aegon is a little sick…" She laughs weakly, voice breaking a little from exhaustion. "I'll get there as soon as I can, I promise."

There's a pause, just the sound of his quiet breathing on the other end. Then his voice comes through, "Where do you live?"

"What?" She asks, startled.

"Text me your address."

She hesitates. "Jon, no, I wasn't asking for help-"

"Didn't say you were," He cuts in gently. "But you sound like you could use some."

Ten minutes later, there is a knock at her door, and she opens it to see Jon standing there, cheeks flushed from the cold, Ghost sitting obediently at his side. "Morning," He says simply.

Rhaenys peers out from behind her, eyes wide. "You brought Ghost."

Jon nods, letting Ghost go past him to make a beeline for the little girl, sniffing at her and making her smile. "He told me someone didn't want to go to school today. He came to help."

The little girl blinks, then whispers conspiratorially, "He talks?"

"Only to people who need cheering up," He says solemnly.

Her lips twitch. "What's he saying now?"

"That maybe you could walk him to school." He suggests, making Dany raise an eyebrow at how easily her niece laps all of this up. "He likes the sea air. But only with you. I'm not good enough for him this morning."

Daenerys watches, a little stunned, as Rhaenys slowly nods, slipping her small hand into Jon's. Ghost gives a happy huff, tail wagging, and just like that, the crisis that had felt impossible a few minutes ago seems to melt away.

Not even ten minutes later, they walk together toward the school through the cobbled streets, the morning fog rolling in from the sea. Aegon babbles from his pushchair that Dany pushes, Rhaenys skips ahead beside Ghost, and Jon walks quietly beside Daenerys.

"You didn't have to come," She says eventually, glancing up at him. "Pretty devoted boss, showing up at my door before breakfast."

He gives the faintest hint of a smile. "Can't have my best barmaid quitting on me because of a bad morning."

"Best?" She teases.

"Only." He admits. "Take the compliment, they don't come free."

"Oh, I know." She laughs then, the sound echoing lightly in the damp morning air. And when he looks down at her, there is that warmth again that she feels, and she feels right back from him.

The other mothers at school stare at them in confusion, bemused at the development between the lonely new single parent in town and the brooding bar owner. No one says anything, but she sees the looks as Rhaenys runs in to see her friends. She sees the eyes widening when Jon comforts Aegon when he whimpers. She sees a hint of jealousy, and she would be lying if it didn't conjure up images in her mind of him.

Of this becoming a regular thing, of him and her doing the stupid morning rushes and working together and…being something.

Jon would not want that. He is young, and he has the ability to get anyone. A single mother-aunt of two, who is in way over her head, is not what he needs.

It does not hurt to imagine, though. Having a family again one day. It does not hurt to think of them, of Rhaenys and Aegon, maybe more one day, she doesn't know. She would like that.

She is in way over her head.

When the morning has gone, and she is wiping down the counter, moving slowly, humming under her breath. When she looks up, he is watching her, not in a way that makes her uncomfortable, but in that way of his that she has come to get used to since being around him, like he is trying to figure her out and knows he never will.

Sometimes, she feels the same way. But other times, she thinks he is the easiest man to read in the whole world. He wears his heart on his sleeve, too honest not to, it is just she is not used to it. Until she got used to him, it seemed false.

She has not known a lot of good men.

"Thanks again for this morning," She says softly, breaking the silence. "I owe you one."

He shrugs, reaching for a rag to dry a few pint glasses. "Don't mention it."

"I mean it," She insists, leaning on the bar. "You showing up like that… it meant a lot. Rhaenys had the worst nightmare about her parents; she was crying so much. Aegon wasn't great. I would have crumbled if you hadn't shown up. Seriously, Jon, you saved my arse, you deserve praise for it."

He smiles faintly at that, the kind that barely lifts his mouth but lights up his eyes. "Ghost is good with kids. Always has been. Knew he would help the situation, is all."

"She drew him at school, apparently," She tells him, her lips curving. "And you, too. Davos sent me pictures of them. Apparently, she talked about you guys all day. Not a mention of me. I should be offended. You have overtaken all the princesses as her favourite."

He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Big shoes to fill."

She watches him as he works - the careful way he moves, how deliberate he is even in the smallest things. "You know," She says, "For someone who acts like they don't like people, you are surprisingly good with them."

Jon glances up, mock-offended. "Who says I don't like people?"

"Your face," She teases. "And your tone. And your general air of…brooding mystery."

He raises an eyebrow. "Brooding mystery?"

"Don't tell me you have never noticed," She continues, a grin tugging at her lips. "The quiet man behind the bar who never says too much, always listens, always looks a little sad." She explains. "It is practically a novel waiting to happen."

Jon lets out a short laugh, setting down the glass he is polishing. "Sounds more like someone who doesn't get enough sleep."

Daenerys leans closer on her elbows, her eyes bright despite the dim light. "You ever think about that? Writing a book about this place? The Watchman's Rest…it has that feel. All the stories that must have been told here."

"What? About Davos trying to get the eggs from the chicken coops in the morning? I doubt it." He shakes his head, a little bashful. "Don't think anyone would want to read about a man pulling pints."

"I would," She says, so quickly it slips out before she can stop it.

Jon's hands still. He looks at her for a long moment, and something shifts between them. But she has to get rid of it, has to get over it, before she can do something stupid like lean in or try anything.

She swallows, looking down. "Sorry. That was-"

"It's fine," He says quickly, about as quickly as she did, before adding, "I would read your book too, if you wrote one."

She laughs quietly. "Oh, mine would be chaos. Late trains and burnt toast and trying to figure out how to be a grown-up. Definitely not a New York Times bestseller, let me tell you."

He leans on the counter opposite her, arms folded, that small smile still playing at his lips. "You're doing fine, from where I'm standing."

She meets his eyes then, and the way he says it, as if he actually means it, makes her chest ache. "You don't know that."

"I do," He says simply.

It's quiet for a long while after that, both of them exchanging looks, unsure who should be first to speak. They have these moments sometimes, always something beneath the surface for them, never sure what will happen. But she knows she has to move on.

Daenerys breaks it first, her voice softer now. "Do you ever get lonely, Jon?"

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drifts to the empty tables, the old photos on the walls of his parents, the lifeboats, the village that never really changes. "Sometimes," He admits. "Comes with the job, I think. You get used to the quiet. Don't always know what to do when everyone is gone."

She nods, understanding far too well. "I used to think the city was the loneliest place in the world. So many people, but none of them are really there for you. At least here, it feels like people see you." She hesitates. "You see me."

Jon's eyes flicker to hers, and she swears she sees something raw, unguarded, in that moment. "I-"

The door opens then, breaking their moment, and she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming.

The wind howls outside like it is trying to tear the coast apart. The windows rattle against the gale, rain pelting so hard it sounds like pebbles striking glass. Inside the pub, the world feels a lot better, a lot warmer and safer, the lamps low, the fire on keeping them warm. Ghost lies sprawled in front of the fire, tail flicking lazily as Rhaenys and Aegon build towers out of beer mats beside him.

Well, Aegon sits on a blanket, clapping his hands as he watches Rhaenys, but it counts.

November has brought awful weather to Staithes. She has never seen a storm like it before, always protected in the city from the worst of storms. London gets them all the time, but never as bad as this seems to be; but she supposes being in a coastal town has its downsides.

Jon finishes stacking chairs onto tables, his hair damp from where the roof's old gutter leaked when he went out to check it earlier. "That's it for tonight," He says, wiping his hands on a towel. "Not a soul's mad enough to come out in this weather."

Daenerys laughs softly from behind the bar, putting a glass in the dishwasher underneath it. "Apart from us."

He glances over, not looking happy for a reason she can't understand, but she moves past it easily enough.

A flash of lightning fills the windows white, followed by a low roll of thunder that makes Aegon cry out in fear. Rhaenys puts a brave arm around him. "It's just thunder," She says, but her eyes dart toward the door all the same.

The thunder and lightning only grow worse, making the infant whimper, and Dany frowns, kneeling by the children. "Everything is fine, I promise." She whispers. "We're safe in here, my loves." She strokes their hair, voice soft, keeping them calm.

Jon watches her with the children as they calm, though he sees her concern. Then he looks toward the window again. The rain is only getting worse, and he knows even he would never go out in it, and he has a shocking lack of regard for his own safety at the best of times. "Are you insane?" He asks. "You're not walking home in that." He states.

Daenerys straightens, brushing her hands on her jeans. "I'll call a cab."

He shakes his head. "No one'll come out for miles. Roads will flood if it keeps up. Trust me, Dany, I know weather. This is the worst I've seen in a while."

She glances toward the door, then back at him, uncertain. "So what do you suggest, then? Sleep under a table?"

"No." He gestures up, making her frown in confusion. "I own the flat upstairs. It's nothing fancy, but it's dry and warm. I'll take the sofa; you can have my room; the kids can have the spare." He explains. "I'll even bring Aegon's cot up."

Her lips part like she's about to protest, then she sees the flash of lightning again and the way Rhaenys' fingers tighten around Ghost's fur and how Aegon whimpers again, terrified of what is happening outside. She sighs, conceding. "Okay. Fine. Thank you, Jon, but just for tonight."

He nods once and, without a word, starts leading them upstairs.

The flat above the pub is small but homey, a typical flat above a pub (she thinks) low ceilings, old floorboards, and a fireplace that crackles when he gets it going. Jon lights a few more candles when the lights flicker, as if he knows the power will go out at some point – always prepared.

Daenerys helps the children to the sofa to sit down, wanting them to warm up, and Ghost rushes to sit at their feet like their constant protector – even from something as mundane as the weather.

"Hot chocolate?" Jon offers, already moving toward the kitchen.

Rhaenys' face lights up. "Please!"

He looks back at Daenerys, eyebrow raised.

She smiles. "I won't say no."

Rhaenys looks around wide-eyed as Jon makes their drinks in the kitchen, calling out loudly, "You live here?" She asks.

"Aye," Jon says, the sounds of the kettle boiling coming after. "It's not much, but it's dry."

"It's nice," Daenerys says softly, meaning it.

Jon comes back with mugs of hot chocolate, real cocoa, with whipped cream on top that makes her niece gasp in delight. He sets them on the table with a quiet, "Careful, it's hot." Then he tosses a blanket over the children, making sure Aegon is not mixed up in it.

Within minutes, Rhaenys and Aegon are giggling beneath a makeshift fort, two chairs set up either side of the sofa, and a blanket draped between them, Ghost lying at their feet still even when Rhaenys keeps stroking him with her foot like she is convinced he has gone every five minutes.

Daenerys watches from the armchair closest to the fire, mug warming her hands, the exhaustion of the day slipping off her shoulders. "You're good at this. I have never seen a storm this bad." She admits.

He glances over, a little sheepish. "Don't know about that. Just…remember what used to help when storms scared me."

"Your mum?" She asks.

A touchy subject.

Jon never talks about his parents. He has photos of them, and others talk about them, but Jon never does. She wonders why sometimes, but she reasons it may just be too painful. She knows they were good people. She knows Jon loved them. She knows he tries to be like his father every day – Davos told her as much.

She never asks.

He nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Aye. She would make cocoa and tell me stories about Dad out on the lifeboats. Said he never feared storms. Said the sea was like people…temperamental, but it always calmed eventually."

Daenerys listens quietly, the warmth in her chest deepening. "You must miss them," she says gently.

"Every day," He admits. "But I've got this place. Keeps me close to them, I suppose."

Jon stirs the fire again, coaxing the flames higher. The soft light flickers across his face as he leans back, the storm still raging outside. "What about you?" He asks finally, realising he has never asked her much about her life. Not from before, before he knew her. Though he knows there must be something there to make her move so far up north. "Your parents still around?"

Daenerys's hand stills around her mug. She stares into the hot chocolate for a long moment before answering. "No," She says quietly. "My mother died having me. My father…he wasn't well. He took his own life when I was little."

Jon's head lifts immediately, concern flashing in his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He says, his surprise evident. "I shouldn't have." He stammers. "I'm sorry, Dany."

She gives a small shake of her head. "My brother raised me after that. Rhaegar. He was…" She exhales, smiling faintly at the memory. "He was the best of us. Gentle, thoughtful. He and his wife, Elia, were good people." Her voice softens. "They died about seven months ago. Car crash."

Jon doesn't speak, just nods slowly, giving her space.

"I took the children in," She continues after a beat, glancing toward the sofa where Rhaenys and Aegon lie asleep beneath their blanket fort. "There wasn't anyone else. I didn't even think about it; I just packed up, left London, and came here. I didn't want them growing up surrounded by ghosts, you know?"

The firelight catches the sadness in her expression, but there's pride there too, in its own way.

Jon looks over at the children, then back to her. "That's a lot to take on."

Daenerys smiles wryly. "I was married once." She admits, her face turning a little like she has sucked on a lemon at the admission. "I thought I knew what hard was. Turns out I didn't."

He tilts his head, curious but cautious. "You said was?"

Her lips press together, but she doesn't shy away. "Drogo," She says finally. "We married when I was twenty-one. Divorced a year later. It was bad." She doesn't elaborate, and Jon doesn't ask her to. "He didn't like that I had opinions. Or that I wanted to work. Or breathe. He always said I would be a terrible mother, too soft and simple and delicate and whatever else. Anyway, it did not last long."

The faintest flicker of anger passes through Jon's eyes. Not directed at her, but on her behalf. He doesn't interrupt, just lets her talk.

She shrugs lightly, though her fingers tighten on the mug. "So, I learned how to start over. London was too expensive, too full of memories. Then I heard from Davos that you were looking for bar staff part-time. Figured maybe a quieter life might do us good."

Jon studies her, thoughtful. "You have done well by them. Both of them. You can see it."

She looks up, surprised. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"Thank you," She whispers, and he just gives a small nod, eyes returning to the flames.

They sit in silence for a while, the storm still thrashing against the windows, the children safe and cuddled up, and Ghost's tail flicking lazily by the fire.

When Daenerys finally speaks again, her voice is barely audible. "I didn't think I would ever feel at peace again. Not really." She admits, her eyes a little glassy. "But this place and its people. Feels a bit like a sanctuary."

Jon glances at her, his expression kind, as it so often is when he looks at her, "Maybe you just needed the right coast." He jokes.

Her laugh is soft, but genuine this time. "Maybe."

The thunder rolls again, and Aegon lets out a small cry. She moves to soothe him, but Jon is already kneeling beside the fort, murmuring softly, "Hey, little man, nothing's going to happen. We're safe here, yeah?"

Aegon hiccups a laugh when Jon pretends to growl like Ghost. Rhaenys joins in, throwing a pillow at him, and suddenly the flat fills with laughter instead of fear, instead of any sadness that she felt before thinking of the past.

Later, when the children have fallen asleep under the blankets, Daenerys sits cross-legged by the fire. Jon leans against the wall across from her, both of them quiet for a while, listening to the rain hammer the windows. He turned on an old wind-up radio, the music playing in the background just for a little noise to break up any silence.

"You ever think about leaving here?" She asks eventually.

He looks up. "Staithes?"

She nods. "You could run a place like this anywhere. Bigger town. More people. You are good at it, business savvy and smart."

He shakes his head. "It's home. Everything I care about is here." His eyes flick briefly to her before he looks away again. "And you? You regret coming up north?"

She smiles faintly. "Some days, when the rain won't stop, and I can't get the pram up the hill. But mostly no. It's quiet here. Feels like a place you can start over. I know that more than most." She says.

Jon hums, knowing it is true, wondering how easily she can see it when most want to run from their small towns for the city. She did the opposite. "You deserve that," He says quietly. "A proper start."

The thunder rolls again, softer this time, fading out to a loud rhythm of rain. The radio continues, playing a song she recognises somewhere in her brain, even if she can't remember the name of it.

'In every heart there is a room, a sanctuary safe and strong, to heal the wounds from lovers past, until a new one comes along…'

Daenerys looks over at the sleeping children, then back at Jon, her voice barely a whisper. "You do too." She traces the rim of her mug, her voice quiet when she finally speaks. "I used to love the rain," She says. "In London, it sounded different. Softer somehow, maybe because you couldn't hear it over the traffic. But after I left my husband, it just made everything feel emptier. Like the city swallowed me whole, and I was still shouting inside it, and no one was listening."

He looks up at her, brow creasing slightly. "You were on your own?"

'And still I feel I said too much. My silence is my self-defence…'

She nods. "Mostly. I had friends, but when you are the one with the children and the baggage, people stop calling as much. Everyone else keeps moving, and you're just stuck." She gives a small, self-conscious laugh. "I thought coming here might fix that. Somewhere small, quiet. Somewhere I could breathe again."

He takes that in, not rushing to fill the silence. That is something she has always noticed about him, something she has always admired about him. Jon doesn't talk to make noise. When he says something, it is because he means it.

'But if my silence made you weak, then that would be my worst mistake. So, I will share this room with you, and you can have this heart to break.'

He looks toward the fire, voice quiet when he admits. "I get that. After my dad died, and my mum got sick, it was just me for a long time. The place felt too big then. Pub full of people, but still empty." He glances at her, and the honesty there feels almost fragile. "Gets lonely sometimes. Still does."

His words remind her of their conversation before, and she wonders if he has been thinking about it as much as she has. She doubts it. All she can think about is how lonely he must feel, how she aches to fill that space with her and two children that come with her. She aches to know if he wants that too.

Her eyes meet his, and she has to push down her feelings to say, "You don't seem the type to get lonely."

He gives a faint smile. "Maybe I just got good at hiding it."

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the wind easing against the window, the occasional soft snore from Ghost or the children. Then Daenerys sets her mug aside and says, almost to herself, "It's strange, isn't it? Two people with no one else, ending up here on a night like this. Against all odds, right?"

"Yeah," Jon says softly. "Strange, but…maybe not a bad thing."

She looks at him properly now - the warmth in his eyes, the way about him that has made this place feel safe since the day she walked through its door, soaking wet and desperate. Her throat feels tight when she asks, barely a whisper, "Maybe we can keep each other from being lonely?"

Jon's gaze holds hers for a long moment. Then he nods, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Aye," He says, voice low and certain. "I'd like that."

Outside, the storm finally breaks, leaving only the gentle patter of rain. Inside, it's warm, soft, and still. She doesn't know when it happens exactly. Maybe when he takes her mug from her hand so she can rest her head against the arm of the sofa, maybe when his fingers brush hers as he sets it aside, but by the time she drifts off to sleep, Jon has tucked a blanket around her shoulders, and his voice is quiet in the dark.

"Sleep well, Dany."

It's late afternoon, a week later, the storm that had battered the coast the week before has passed, leaving the streets slick and shining, the air outside tasting faintly of salt and woodsmoke. Inside the pub, everything is back to normal, always the same, never changing. Not its homely feel or people, or Jon – her personal favourite part. The regulars of the daytime have gone; the door is locked for a rare, quiet hour before the dinner rush.

Jon is upstairs fixing the boiler again; the old thing rattles like it is possessed sometimes, while Dany gathers glasses from the tables. When she hears the footsteps creaking above, she smiles, and then, without thinking, goes upstairs. She tells herself it is to ask if he wants tea.

Really, she just wants to see him.

The flat feels different than it did a week ago, more comforting, Rhaenys and Aegon's things up there. Since the days of the storms, Rhaenys loves going up there, excited for a new location, and Ghost is always on hand to watch her.

There is another new addition above the fireplace, a framed black-and-white photograph that makes her stop in her tracks. She doesn't remember seeing it before, wondering why he would choose to put it up now.

The photograph is of a man and a woman, young, bright-eyed, standing in front of an old lifeboat. The man is broad-shouldered, grinning, a shock of dark hair under his cap; the woman has kind eyes, soft features that echo in Jon's face so clearly that Daenerys's chest tightens.

Arthur and Lyanna, she realises. Jon's parents.

There are photos of them downstairs, one right behind the bar, even if they never got to do this together. They were loved so much that it feels right that they are there.

There is another picture beside this one, smaller, sun-faded. Jon, as a boy, maybe eight or nine, sitting on the harbour wall with a fishing rod far too big for him, the sea behind him silver-blue. His smile is shy, uncertain, the kind that hints he wasn't used to smiling for the camera.

She stares longer than she means to. She can picture him here, growing up under these skies, hearing the sea every morning, learning the people, learning the town. She can imagine how beloved he has been here as their son. She can see how much people love him.

"Everything okay?"

She turns quickly. Jon stands in the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder, a streak of dust on his forearm where he must have wiped sweat. He looks between her and the photo, then back to her, an eyebrow raised.

"I…" She starts, flustered to be caught snooping, even if it was not her intention. "I was asking if you wanted tea. But then I saw…" Her voice trails off.

He steps further into the room, the floor creaking beneath his boots. "My mum and dad," He says simply, as if she does not know already, but she supposes he has never shown them to her before. "That was taken not long before she had me. Da says she hated that coat, said it made her look like a fisherman herself. She said it was the only one that fit when she was pregnant."

"She looks beautiful," Dany says softly. "You look like her."

Jon shrugs, uncomfortable, but not annoyed. "People say that." He glances at the photograph, and his expression softens almost imperceptibly. "She loved this place. Used to say the sea was in her blood. She loved him…Was devastated to lose him. We all were."

"I'm sorry." She whispers, not knowing how else to respond despite going through it herself. But her father was no hero. His certainly seems to be. "Your father was a fisherman too, right?"

"Mh. Lifeboatman." He corrects gently. "For the RNLI. "He and my uncle both. Mum said he never could stay off the water." His lips twitch, almost a smile. "Suppose I didn't fall far from the mast. I haven't been out there in so long."

Daenerys returns the smile, quiet for a moment. "You never talk about them. The other day was the first time, really."

He looks at her properly then, like she has said something he wasn't expecting. For a heartbeat, she worries she has overstepped. But then he exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "It's easier not to, sometimes. You talk about things enough; people start feeling pity for you."

"I don't." She tells him.

That earns her a faint, real smile. "I know."

She wants to tell him that she understands. That she lost her parents too, that grief doesn't vanish, it just finds new places to live inside you, but the words catch somewhere in her throat. He knows those things. He looks so at peace for once that she doesn't want to spoil it.

Instead, she glances toward the photo again. "They would be so proud of you, you know."

Jon's brow furrows. "What makes you say that?"

"This place," She says simply. "The way everyone loves you. The way you look after people. You built something out of everything they left you, out of the pain.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. Then, quietly, "You really think so?"

"I know so." She parrots his words from the week before, making him smile. "Your father and your mother were good people. All anyone tells me is that. It is impossible you would be anything, or could be anything, but the good man that you are."

There is a flicker in his eyes, gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, and she feels warmth rise to her cheeks. He is standing close now, so close she can smell the faint salt on his skin, the soap he uses, his aftershave, that little hint of whiskey she knows they both have thanks to their jobs.

She glances at the photo of his parents again, trying to break away from the moment before she can do something stupid, "Your parents must have loved one another very much. Davos has mentioned them before."

"They did." He moves to stand beside her, his eyes on the photo also. "My mother felt his death hard. He was it for her; she never really recovered. And she worried I would be alone…" He chuckles a little, the irony not lost on him that he is as alone as she always feared.

"They never had more?" She wonders aloud, not realising she had said it until he speaks again.

Jon shakes his head, "They tried. Never happened for them. Mum struggled with my birth, and dad always said never again, not wanting to risk it." He smiles sadly. "By the time she got him to agree, under duress, he died."

She blinks back a tear at that, feeling that ache in her belly that so often comes when she hears of their story, of that love. "It would be nice…"

"What would?"

She sniffs once, "To be loved that much by someone."

He looks like he wants to say something at that, his mouth opening, but before he can, a loud thud downstairs makes them both jump, the unmistakable sound of Davos arriving early, calling out:

"You two lovebirds finished fixing the boiler?"

Daenerys laughs, stepping back so quickly she nearly knocks into the table, calling back. "We were just-"

"Looking at old photos," Jon mutters, glaring toward the doorway when he sees Davos there, the man so used to coming up despite no invite.

"Aye, I'll bet you were," Davos teases, grinning broadly. "You know, lass, I've worked with this lad for ten years and never once seen him smile like that. He smiles with you around."

Daenerys blushes and opens her mouth, but Jon cuts in, his tone gruff. "Why don't you check a barrel for me if you want to come knocking on my door at closing time?"

Davos chuckles, unfazed. "Oh, I'll get to it. But it's good to see the place bright again. Feels like home these days, eh?"

Jon looks away, pretending to straighten a stack of papers on the sideboard. "It's fine as it is." But his ears are red, and when Daenerys catches his eye again, she knows he is smiling despite himself.

Davos claps him on the shoulder, then nods toward Daenerys. "Don't let this one go far, lad. She's good for the place. And you."

Jon groans, muttering something unintelligible, but Daenerys can't help laughing.

Later, when she goes downstairs, she glances back once more at the photograph of Arthur and Lyanna, behind the bar, glowing in the lights there. And she thinks that, for all the ghosts this house holds, maybe it is finding new life again.

When images come to mind of their faces being behind that bar, she has to blink them away.

The days shorten quickly in November as it continues. By half past four, the sun is gone, leaving only the dark and streetlights, which is always so depressing in those first weeks.

But there is nothing depressing about her feelings as they spend more time together. She moves almost in sync with Jon: she pours, he pulls; she wipes, he refills; they pass by one another in tight corners, exchanging small, wordless looks that make her heart skip each time.

She sees his tiny ghost of a smile when Aegon babbles from his spot in the back room, the way his voice softens when he talks to her niece.

Tonight, Rhaenys is perched on a stool at the end of the bar, crayons spread across a napkin, Ghost sprawled protectively beside her. Aegon is asleep in his pram by the fire, one small hand curled around a knitted toy that Davos brought him from Scarborough. Davos is watching over them, drinking orange juice dutifully as he is on babysitting jobs.

Gendry leans across the counter, grinning as he tops up a pint. "You two are like clockwork now," He says, nodding between Jon and Daenerys. "It's terrifying. I swear, half the time you know what he's going to say before he says it."

Dany smiles faintly, wiping down a glass. "Maybe I just know how to read him."

Jon, cleaning the taps beside her, hums low in his throat, and she laughs to herself at his supposed grumpy attitude when she knows he is anything but. That was a sort of happy grunt, she knows. "Not sure that's possible."

"It is," Gendry insists with a laugh. "You've gone soft, mate. Admit it."

Jon shoots him a look, half stern, half amused. "You want to clean the drains tonight?"

"I'll shut up," Gendry says cheerfully, raising his hands in surrender.

Daenerys bites back a smile as Jon turns back to the taps, jaw tight, the tips of his ears red. He is hopeless when teased, and she finds it…endearing, somehow.

When the last regular leaves, she locks the door and starts wiping down the tables. Jon is stacking chairs, and the quiet feels comfortable between them as ever. Aegon is asleep and ready to go in his pram, and Rhaenys is sitting in an armchair with Ghost, trying desperately not to sleep.

From the corner, Rhaenys yawns dramatically. "Auntie Dany," she says, blinking sleepily. "Can I feed Ghost the biscuit?"

"One," Daenerys says as she watches her feed him two despite their agreement, and she is too soft to say no, and yet she tries anyway. "I said one, Rhae."

"But…Look." Rhaenys points at his face, begging so clearly.

Before she can reply, Rhaenys yawns again, and Ghost thumps his tail, breaking the moment.

"Come on," Jon says, scooping the girl up, and she immediately curls into his arms for warmth and comfort – making Dany's heart expand a few sizes, she swears. "Let's get them home."

They walk together through the narrow-cobbled street, Ghost padding ahead, her pushing Aegon's pram forward, making sure he is warm enough and fretting about it. The village is quiet at this hour, with only a couple of people passing by who smile at the sight of them.

Rhaenys walks between them, clutching Jon's hand on one side and Daenerys's on the other, as if they are a family and she has to remind herself that this is just a temporary thing. "Can we make the Christmas tree at the pub soon?" She asks sleepily.

"Soon," She promises. "After school this week."

Jon glances at her, smiling. "We'll get one from the market," He offers. "I'll drive you all down."

Daenerys blinks, surprised by how easily he says we. She nods anyway, the cold biting her cheeks. "Sounds perfect."

They reach her little rented cottage, the one at the end of the row with the cracked garden gate. She unlocks the door and turns back to him, meaning to say thank you for everything, but he beats her to it.

"You did good today," He says, a little awkwardly, as he always is when she thinks he is just saying what he is supposed to, rather than what is actually on his mind – she knows that well by now. "You always do."

Her breath catches, a rush of something warm unfurling in her chest. "You make it easier," She admits.

For a second, they just stand there in the cold until Rhaenys pipes up again from the doorstep, "Auntie Dany, can Jon come in for hot chocolate?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "Better not tonight. Ghost will sulk if he doesn't get fed."

"Next time?" She asks, eyes hopeful.

He nods, holding out his pinkie that she loops with her own, making a promise. "Next time."

When they part, Dany watches him walk back down the street, the lamplight glinting off the wet cobbles, Ghost trotting at his side. And, not for the first time, she wishes he had stayed with her.

The snow has come early this year.

Not a thick blanket, just a dusting that catches in the cobbles and gathers on the roofs of the little fishing cottages that tumble down toward the sea. Staithes looks like a postcard, strings of fairy lights along the high street, the smell of mulled cider drifting from the café, and a brass band half-hidden beneath a gazebo playing carols slightly out of tune.

Daenerys walks slowly between the stalls; her gloved hand tucked into Aegon's pram handle as Rhaenys runs ahead in her red coat. The little girl's laughter is loud even over the singing. "Auntie Dany, look! Lights that go blink!" She cries, pointing at a wooden reindeer that glows green and gold.

"Maybe Santa will bring one if you are good," Dany says, smiling.

Rhaenys huffs. "I have been good."

Jon catches up behind them, Ghost trotting close at his heel. "You telling me that after the chocolate-coin incident at the stall? Someone stole a piece, and it wasn't your aunt or me."

The little girl gasps in mock outrage. "That wasn't stealing!" She insists. "I was borrowing."

"New word from Davos." She tells him at his confused look. "You have created a menace."

Jon's mouth quirks. "I've just taught her negotiation."

They move together between the stalls, the four of them like a family, even if that is what she is desperately trying not to think about. The cold paints Jon's cheeks pink, and his hair curls damp at his temples beneath his beanie. He buys Rhaenys a paper cup of hot chocolate, then holds it for her while she sips, careful not to burn her tongue.

Daenerys watches him quietly. There is something about the way he is with them, with her, and the two children. The gentleness behind every small action. It is the kind of care that doesn't need to be analysed, just a pure intention, but her mind wants to anyway, wondering where she found someone so kind, so willing to help and someone she knows she is falling for.

The thought makes her pause.

Could she really be falling for him? She promised herself never again; she promised herself that the children would be it for her, no matter how lonely she is.

He notices her looking and offers her the second cup he is holding, a smile playing on his lips. "Here," He says. "Yours'll get cold."

She takes it, their fingers brushing. "Thanks."

They walk on, the air thick with pine and cinnamon. She stops at a stall selling ornaments, glass ones that catch the fairy lights and scatter them in shards of colour. Rhaenys picks one shaped like a dragon and insists they have to buy it.

"Of course, she would choose that one," Jon murmurs, amused.

Daenerys turns it over in her hand, smiling softly. "It's perfect."

They linger near the tree at the centre of the market square, the largest in the village, wrapped in gold ribbons and paper stars made by the local school. Rhaenys circles it with other children, her laughter echoing as the band strikes up with Silent Night.

For a while, they just stand there, Jon, Daenerys, Aegon asleep in the pram. Snow drifts lazily through the lamplight, settling on her coat, her hair. Jon glances sideways, and for a heartbeat, she catches him looking at her the way she has been looking at him, as though neither can quite believe how natural this all feels.

It feels right.

It feels like a family.

Above them, a string of mistletoe hangs between the branches of the stall beside them, half-forgotten, crookedly tied with twine.

Rhaenys spots it first, "Auntie Dany!" The little girl shouts, pointing. "That means you have to kiss him! Teacher says mistletoe means you have to kiss."

Jon chuckles, "What kind of school are you sending her to?" He jokes.

Daenerys's cheeks flush immediately. "Rhaenys-"

He coughs, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don't have to listen to her."

Rhaenys is already giggling, clearly delighted with herself. "The rules!"

Daenerys can't help laughing either. "Fine," She says, and steps closer before she can overthink it. The air between them feels warmer suddenly, close enough to smell the cedar on his coat, the faint salt of the sea on his skin, the hot chocolate earlier and the candy canes he and Rhaenys devoured.

She rises on her toes and kisses his cheek, quick, soft, her lips brushing the roughness of his stubble. Jon stills completely. When she pulls back, his expression is unreadable for a moment, caught somewhere between surprise and something else that makes her heart flip, and she tries to fight her blush to smile at him sheepishly.

"Happy Christmas, Jon." She whispers.

He swallows, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," He says quietly. "You too."

Rhaenys, entirely oblivious to the situation she has started, dances around them singing something about Santa. Daenerys laughs again, shaking her head. "She's certainly something."

He glances down at her, his eyes softer now, the warmth unmistakable. "She gets it from you."

They don't say anything else for a while, but when they start walking again, Rhaenys skipping ahead, Ghost leading the way, their shoulders brush, and neither of them moves away.

By the time they get back to the Watchman's Rest, the light has gone entirely, only Christmas lights in the windows shining. The pub is quieter tonight, a few locals tucked in corners, Davos by the fire with his pint, and Gendry stringing up lights behind the bar with all the enthusiasm of someone who has had one too many mince pies – which they know he has.

Jon props the door open for her as she wheels Aegon's pram inside. In the corner by the window stands their usual tree, tall, uneven, a little too big for the space, its lower branches still bare where the decorations haven't reached.

Rhaenys stops dead the moment she sees it. "Can I do the star?!" She asks immediately, turning those wide, hopeful eyes toward Jon and Dany, making her aunt laugh as they still have their own tree to do.

He hesitates, glancing at Daenerys. She gives a small shrug, smiling. "If the landlord approves."

Jon sighs as if he is giving in to a great burden, though the corner of his mouth twitches. "Go on then. But you're on decoration duty with Gendry for it." He says teasingly.

That's all the encouragement she needs. Within minutes, she is dragging out the box of baubles and tinsel from beneath the counter, chattering away as she shows Jon each one. "This one's funny, look, it's got your beard," she says, holding up a glitter-covered gnome.

He gives her a flat look. "That's not funny. Have respect for your elders." He warns, but the wink he sends shows it is all in jest.

"It is a little funny," Daenerys says, laughing as she sets aside the pram, Aegon being lifted into her arms.

He shoots her a mock glare, but there is no heat in it.

Together, they work through the box, Jon untangling the lights while Rhaenys hangs ornaments in small clusters all on the same branch. Daenerys flits between them, adjusting a bauble here, a ribbon there, her laughter soft and constant, Aegon babbling from his place in Davos' lap, watching it all happen.

When one of the strings of lights refuses to work, Jon mutters under his breath, fiddling with the plug. Rhaenys crouches beside him, offering her solemn advice, sounding more like an old woman than the young girl she is. He swears she is spending too much time with him and Davos. "Maybe you have to tell it it's special," She suggests.

"Is that how it works?" Jon asks, lifting a brow.

"Sometimes," She says with all the confidence of someone five years old. And somehow, miraculously, the lights flicker to life. She gasps, delighted. "See! It worked!"

Daenerys covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. "You might have to hire her full-time."

"She's already on the payroll," He replies gruffly, but his eyes are warm.

They string the lights together, looping them over the branches until the whole tree glows softly gold. Outside, snow drifts against the windows. The pub has grown quiet, Davos watching them with a knowing smile, Gendry pretending not to as he serves someone. The two men share a glance, never having seen Jon so happy.

There was once a time they never thought he would be happy again, never see a smile on his face again. And yet here he is, being fun and laughing all the time and decorating a tree with a woman he clearly has feelings for, with two children it is clear he adores. The feeling quite obviously returned.

"Star time!" Rhaenys announces, holding up a glittering gold ornament.

It is bigger than her head, made of cardboard and far too much glue. It looks like it has seen a few Christmases already, and Dany's eyes water a little when she sees his initials on the back of it, imagining him making it as a child and still having it to this day.

Maybe one day, Rhaenys will do the same, she thinks, watching them together.

Jon wipes his hands on his jeans, straightening. "Alright, little one. Up you go."

He crouches and lifts her easily onto his shoulders. She squeals in surprise, grabbing onto his hair for balance. "I'm tall!"

"Don't get used to it," He jokes, steadying her legs.

Dany laughs softly, stepping closer to keep a hand against Rhaenys' back as she stretches up with the star. For a moment, the three of them are perfectly framed by the glow of the tree, with Rhaenys concentrating fiercely, Jon steady as a pillar beneath her, Daenerys looking up with her heart so full it almost aches. When she sees Aegon reaching for her, she picks him up from Davos' lap, cuddling him close so he can be with the other two.

A unit.

A family, almost.

"There," Rhaenys declares proudly as she presses the star onto the top branch.

"It's perfect." He lowers her back down, and the girl immediately darts to the far side of the room to admire her work.

Daenerys stands beside him, still watching the tree together, Aegon smiling in her arms, "It is perfect." She agrees.

He nods, "You did most of it."

She glances up at him, nudging him with her hip, "We did."

For a moment, neither of them moves. The lights flicker against their faces, Ghost yawns by the fire, and the quiet hum of carols fills the space between them. Aegon is quiet, mesmerised by the lights, and Rhaenys is with Gendry talking of her excitement whilst he gets her a drink.

She realises, suddenly, how close they are standing, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, to see the faint smile ghosting his lips as he watches her niece try to force Gendry into dancing around.

"As I said once before, you are a very devoted boss," She teases.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Someone has got to keep this place from falling apart."

"I think it's doing all right," She says, looking up at him. "We all are."

His eyes find hers then, lingering just a moment too long. "Aye," He says quietly. "We are."

Rhaenys calls for them to look again, and they both turn, side by side, to watch her. When she comes back to them, Gendry calls out for a photo by the tree. Jon picks her up and holds her at his side whilst she has Aegon, all of them smiling for the photo.

The next morning, she finds it printed, with pride of place behind the bar.

With December comes more snow. And with more snow comes more nights spent at Jon's instead of going home.

She hasn't been home in two days at this point. The kids share the guest room with her, Aegon having a crib she has no clue where Jon got it from, but she suspects it is his old one, though she knows the mattress is new, as she saw it when it was delivered.

He seems to like them being there. The whole place is decorated, the kids never stop making noise, and they spend every hour together, but she loves it. She loves how happy they are, how happy she is, and how Jon smiles every morning and makes them breakfast before the rush of school or the pub opening.

When work is done, she loves those moments the best. When the kids are asleep, and it is just them alone.

The pub is dark now, except for the string of fairy lights along the back wall and the light from the fire. It is late, as usual, a busy Saturday night having gone past without incident, as they always do since she has been there.

Daenerys stands behind the bar, fingers resting lightly on the photo of them. Rhaenys grinning, Aegon tucked into her hip, Jon standing with them like they have always been this way, their little unit, their group. It sits right next to the old photograph of Arthur and Lyanna.

Jon comes down the stairs from checking on the kids with slow steps. He stops beside her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of him, and she leans against his side for his warmth.

"She would've liked you," He tells her softly, nodding toward the picture of his mother. "My mum. They both would have, but dad liked everyone. Mum was harder to please."

Daenerys smiles, but it is small and unsure, hoping he is right. For some reason, it matters a lot to her that his mother would have liked her, as if her approval is everything. "You said that before."

"Aye." He hesitates, eyes still on the photo. "But I didn't…say why."

She turns just slightly, just enough to see him. Jon's jaw clicks, like he is choosing his words, trying to find the right ones, as if he is nervous for a reason she does not understand. And then:

"She was bright," He says. "Loud." He adds, making her laugh quietly. "She was the kind of person who walked into a room, and it felt…warmer. Easier. Like everything made sense. She could put anyone at ease. Make anyone feel like they were special. And you…"

She goes still.

"And you…" Jon swallows, his throat bobbing. "You're like that."

Her breath catches.

He goes on, quietly, as if speaking too loudly might break the little space between them, the moment they have, and she is just as frightened to speak or even move a muscle.

"I didn't think I would ever have that again," He admits. "After they were gone. After everything that came after. I thought…" He shakes his head. "I thought that was it. That I'd had my chance a-at having a good life. And the rest of it would just be," He thinks for the words. "Just be managing. Getting on with it."

Daenerys doesn't move. She doesn't dare.

"But then you walked in here," Jon says, voice rough now. "With the kids. And your chaos. And your laugh. And…" He looks at her then, looking more terrified than she thinks she has ever seen him.

"And?" She whispers.

"And suddenly the place didn't feel so damn empty anymore."

Her heart lurches.

He steps closer, not touching her, but every inch of himfeelslike touch. "You make things lighter," He says. "Even when it's hard. Even when it's messy. You make me…" His breath hitches, the truth right there, raw and unpolished "You make me want to be better. You make me feel like I am worth better."

Daenerys' chest aches. Her fingers tighten on the edge of the bar to stay steady. "Jon…" She breathes.

His eyes flick down to her mouth.

Hers do the same.

They lean in, just barely, just enough that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Then-

A floorboard upstairs creaks.

Ghost whines.

Aegon cries out in his sleep.

They both freeze.

Jon blinks, as though waking from something. Her pulse doesn't sloe, but he steps back first. Just enough to make the distance feel like a drop in temperature. She inhales, shaky but trying to smile. "We should-"

"Aye," Jon agrees, voice quiet, steadying himself. "Get some rest."

But the moment hangs there. Unfinished, electric, real.

Daenerys turns away slowly, but not before she presses her fingertips back to the photo of them behind the bar, and Jon pretends not to see it.

A family.

Almost.

December seemed to take forever to come, and then all at once, it happens like little snapshots.

The days shorten, the nights stretch longer and darker, and the cold settles into Staithes like it intends to stay forever. But inside the pub, inside their little world, there is light.

It creeps in gradually, in moments.

Most mornings, Jon walks with them to school. Rhaenys bundled in her red coat, Aegon strapped to Daenerys' chest under a blanket, his small hand tucked inside her scarf. Jon keeps his hands in his pockets, but he walks close enough that their shoulders sometimes brush.

Rhaenys chatters the entire way.

Daenerys watches the way Jon listens to every story, every fact about penguins or glitter glue or the boy in Year 2 who can make fart noises with his hands.

And she thinks:

This is everything I have ever wanted.

Some evenings, Daenerys stays at the bar to help close even when she doesn't need to.

Jon makes tea.

She wipes down tables.

They talk about everything and nothing. Rhaegar teaching her to drive. Jon falling off a fishing boat at seventeen. The worst customer she ever served in London (there are many). The night Arthur once danced on a table during a village fête.

Sometimes they laugh until their stomachs hurt.

Sometimes they are quiet, comfortable with each other, no words needed.

By the time Christmas Eve arrives, the pub feels like the beating heart of the village.

The fire is always going. Fairy lights twine along every beam. Ghost wears a string of tinsel like a king wearing a crown, Rhaenys forcing it on him every day, and he is never the type of hound to say no to her or move away – loving the attention that he gets with the children.

Davos brings a ham. Gendry brings a cake. Everyone who walks through the door hugs Jon like he belongs to all of them.

And Daenerys watches him as he serves half the town in the day, smile soft and real and unafraid, Rhaenys tugging on his jumper so she can help carry drinks to people and have them coo and invite her to join, Aegon reaching for him every time he comes past, and the truth settles deeper in her bones:

She loves him.

Christmas morning is quiet.

She doesn't quite know when it was decided that they would spend the day with Jon. He offers to make dinner, and she hates cooking, but she is more than happy to make him do it. The tree is up at his place, and she finds herself putting the kids' presents under it, and no one ever says a word about it. Jon seems happy, the kids love it, and she loves every part of it.

During the day, it is just the four of them in the flat above the pub, and yet she has never had a better one.

Rhaenys opens her stocking, sitting on Jon's lap. Aegon falls asleep holding one of Ghost's ears in his fist.

They walk along the pier later, bundled up tight, the sea foaming wild and bright below. Rhaenys skips between them, holding one of their hands each. Aegon sleeps against Dany's chest as they walk, wrapped up warm and content.

People say hello as they walk past, excited to see them, and she hears the way people compliment the family, how neither she nor Jon corrects them, or even wants to.

That night, back in the pub, they open up, allowing in some of their favourites and those who want to celebrate.

Davos dances with a young girl from town, Shireen. Gendry swings Rhaenys around dangerously to the point Jon frets, and she laughs. Their regulars come in and drop off presents for the kids, and a thousand photos must be taken.

Daenerys sits at a table cutting Aegon's food. Jon stands behind her, hand braced casually on the back of her chair, like he belongs there, Aegon in his arms ready for his food.

When he sits down, Rhaenys crawls into his lap, rests her head on his chest, and falls asleep. The two children in his arms are safe and content, and happy, and neither of them says a word about it.

It is the perfect Christmas.

New Year's Eve

The pub is packed, but in that familiar way that feels less like a crowd and more like home. Coats hang along the staircase bannister, someone's set fairy lights around the dartboard, and there is pine and cinnamon in the air from the mulled wine simmering behind the bar.

Everyone has a drink, the clock is so close to midnight already, with only an hour to go. Most people are drunk and cheering and singing together, the perfect sight, with no nonsense or fighting allowed. Especially not around the kids.

Jon is behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy, laughing in the way she never could have imagined a few months ago when they first met.

One of the older women has Aegon on her hip, showing him off like he is a crown jewel. Rhaenys is with Gendry, making "fancy mocktails" with orange slices and glacé cherries.

Daenerys is behind the bar helping pour a pint, though she keeps looking over.

Jon is already looking back. Every time.

When she goes to collect glasses, Gendry glances at his friend far too knowingly, "So? Are you going to tell her?"

He rolls his eyes, "Tell her what?"

"About your burning with love for her and want to have her and the kids be in your life forever." His friend states, smiling at Rhaenys when she cheers, not fully understanding their conversation. "Jon, this is it. New year, new beginning. You and Dany and the kids as a family…If you don't do it now, you never will, and you'll regret it."

He sighs, glancing over to Dany as she takes Aegon from the customer, everyone cooing over him. The smile she sends him is blinding, and he finds himself smiling just as wide back.

"Aye." He agrees, his heart clenching. "Midnight."

Twenty minutes later, he feels about as anxious as he ever has in his life, trying to get champagne glasses ready for everyone. Davos helps him, though he and Gendry have clearly had words, as he says much the same, telling Jon to admit how he feels.

He loves her.

He loves everything about her. He loves her and the kids, and he knows they are right. He just has to go for it.

"You as a father," Davos says proudly as he sets out glasses. "Who would have ever thought?"

What neither of them knows, of course, is that Dany listens, hidden behind a beam, a smile on her face at the thought.

"Not me, that's for sure," Jon states with a snort.

"Mh, your mother used to say you would find it hard to settle down." The older man continues. "And yet here you are, a good pub, nice friends, and taking in the children and Daenerys when she needed a job."

She wrinkles her nose at that, leaning closer to hear better.

"Aye, well," Jon chuckles to himself. "Sixteen-year-old Jon would be disgusted with me. Always swore off anything like that, rightfully so at the time. Thought it would be too mundane, never wanted to get stuck in this place, and a wife and kids would mean being stuck here forever."

Daenerys winces, blinking back her tears.

Mundane, she thinks, wondering if that he how he really feels.

Of course it is. He said as much. He always thought so. He never wanted this. He is stuck, and she feels her heart breaking as she cannot bear to hear any more.

If he finds it so boring, if he feels stuck, she will just leave. Give him back his freedom.

She walks away, rushing to find Aegon and Rhaenys, before he can find her and pretend he never said it.

In doing so, she misses the rest of his words:

"I wouldn't change it for a thing." He continues with a smile. "Teenage Jon was a fucking idiot. At midnight, I'll tell Dany how I feel. There is nothing I want more than her and I and the kids…To be a family."

Davos grins, patting him on the back, "I'm proud of you!"

However, not five minutes later, the moment is gone when he can't find her, or the children, and at first he assumes she has taken them upstairs to sleep, but she had promised they could stay awake until midnight and she would not have gone back on her word without a fight.

When his back is turned, she goes out the front door, Aegon in her arms, Rhaenys whining about leaving.

"Jon!" Gendry calls. "What the hell did you do?!"

He frowns, glancing at the time to see that it is nearly midnight, "Nothing? What's wrong?"

"Dany!" His friend exclaims. "She just high-tailed it out of here like she is on fire, the kids too!"

"What?!"

Outside, snow is falling thick and fast. When she steps out, the snow hits her face, and she feels freezing in seconds. She heads down the cobbled street, heart thudding, making sure Aegon and Rhaenys are warm enough even if Rhaenys does not understand why they have to go out in the cold.

"Daenerys!"

She freezes.

Jon's voice cuts through the wind, rough and desperate. He's running down the steps of the pub, coat half on, snow catching in his dark hair. "Dany, wait!"

She turns, tears bright in her eyes. "Don't. Please. I heard what you said. I understand, really, I do. I never wanted to trap you in any of this-"

"That's what you heard?!" He asks incredulously. "Dany, no!"

"I know what I heard!" She exclaims, blinking back her tears. "I did, Jon. Bringing the kids to you, getting so involved, falling for you! I trapped you in this because you are a good man-"

"You didn't," He interrupts, breathless, snow clinging to his lashes. "You didn't trap me. You, seven hells, Dany, you freed me."

She blinks at him, confused, still ready to cry.

He steps closer, voice unsteady but honest. "It was true. I never wanted kids. Or marriage. I thought that part of life wasn't for me." He tells her, making her choke back a sob. "Then you walked into the pub, soaked to the bone, with that little lad on your hip," His voice cracks a little, "And suddenly I couldn't imagine a day without seeing you. Without seeing them."

Inside the pub, the countdown begins.

"TEN!"

He looks down at Aegon, who is watching curiously, then at Rhaenys, clutching Dany's hand. "They are not mine, but they're…mine. You understand? I don't see my life without the three of you in it now. I never could."

Dany exhales shakily. "Jon…"

"SIX!"

"I love you," He says, snowflakes melting on his skin. "And them. I never thought I could be that man, a father, a partner, but you made me one without even trying. And I love you, simple as…You make me the kind of man I want to be."

"FOUR!"

She sobs softly.

"THREE!"

She moves Aegon to her hip, her tears spilling, and before she can stop herself, she is in his arms.

"TWO!"

"I love you too." She cries joyfully.

"ONE!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The kiss is hard, a little clumsy in the cold, but it is full of everything they have held back for months, everything that they have wanted to tell one another. Every I love you that has been held back, every begging for more. They cannot deepen it too much as Rhaenys and Aegon are there, but it is everything to them.

"Happy New Year." He whispers.

She beams brightly, "Happy New Year."

When they pull apart, Rhaenys beams, tugging on Jon's sleeve. "Does this mean we're staying?"

Jon chuckles, brushing a tear from Dany's cheek. "Aye, love. You're staying."

When they walk back in, Gendry's at the bar, grinning ear to ear when Jon and Dany walk in, her hand in his.

Someone starts clapping. Then everyone joins in.

"You bloody did it! Finally!" Someone shouts, making them laugh. "Took you long enough!"

Rhaenys is lifted up onto the bar by one of the old sailors, Ghost trotting around happily as Aegon babbles in Dany's arms. The locals start singingAuld Lang Syne.

Jon and Dany share a look, soft, private, and then she leans into him as they join in, surrounded by laughter and warmth and light.

"I love you." She whispers, just for them.

He smiles, pressing his lips to hers sweetly, "And I you."

One Year Later

There is a new stocking above the fireplace this year. Small. White. Wobbly red stitching spelling out:

Lyanna

Jon sits on the sofa with the baby dozing against his chest, tiny face rosy from warmth. He is still in his wool jumper, sleeves pushed up, hair a little damp from his shower. Ghost lies at his feet like an enormous guard, tail flicking every so often when Aegon leans down to pat him.

Aegon, nearly two now, leans against Jon's thigh, blanket in one hand, eyes heavy, tired from a long day of unwrapping presents and celebrating Christmas. Rhaenys sits cross-legged on the rug, drawing on the back of an old beer mat order sheet, tongue sticking out the way she does when she is concentrating.

Daenerys stands in the doorway to the kitchen and watches all three of them. All four, she remembers with a smile. Such a new thing. Their baby is only a couple of weeks old, and they are still getting used to this new normal between them.

Her heart aches in the best way, the kind that comes from love, from contentment, from complete adoration, rather than pain.

He looks up, like he feels her watching. His expression softens, slow and unhurried as Dany crosses the room and lowers herself beside him. He shifts automatically, making space, tucking her in against his side without waking the baby.

Rhaenys looks up and smiles, and Aegon climbs clumsily into her lap and immediately nestles under her chin. She strokes his hair with absent affection, eyes still on Jon.

"You happy?" She whispers, careful not to disturb their peace.

Jon exhales a quiet laugh, hardly more than a breath, but she knows he is holding it in so as not to wake the baby in his arms. Their daughter.

Gods, was it not so long ago she was alone? Thinking she could never do this. And yet here she is now, in love, married, a daughter of her own, a little girl she begged for. Raising her niece and nephew, their voices now calling them mum and dad, though they try not to let Rhaegar or Elia be far from their minds too long.

She is more than happy for them to think of her as their mother; she knows she is already. She has been since they came to her home, and she gave them every bit of love she has. She does not think of them any less her children than Lyanna is, but Lyanna is the first baby she will have raised from birth – a baby she never thought would be possible for her after years of issues when she was a teenager. A baby she never thought she could have, that she and Jon somehow made without ever trying within weeks of being together.

She is a mother of three. She is a wife. She is a landlady. A friend. And she loves every second of it.

"Aye," He says, as if he can read her mind in that second. "Aye. I am." She watches the way he looks down at the baby, their baby, his hand spanning nearly her whole back, gentle. "I didn't think I would get this," Jon says, voice low so only she hears. "Any of it. The kids, you…Thought it was all past me a long time ago."

Dany leans her head against his shoulder, her heart full at his whispered confession. "Me neither."

He turns to her, brushing his cheek against her temple. The movement is unthinking. Familiar. Earned through a thousand small moments.

Rhaenys crawls up beside them, tucking herself against Dany's side, her hand reaching to rest on the baby's tiny foot. She turns her face into Dany's chest, dropping off within a couple of minutes, making the pair of them smile.

"They're all out," Dany whispers, smiling sleepily.

"Mm," Jon murmurs. "Long day. Lots of excitement."

"Good day," She corrects.

Jon looks at her then and he shifts, just slightly, lowering his forehead to hers. The kiss he gives her is slow, full of the love that he sometimes finds hard to put words to, but she always feels it when he looks at her, when he holds her or kisses her like this. Daenerys smiles into it, nudging his nose with her own.

Outside, snow keeps falling. Inside, the world is small and safe: Jon. Daenerys. Rhaenys. Aegon. Little Lyanna curled into Jon's chest.

A family that wasn't supposed to happen. A life they never planned for. A love they chose anyway.

And the Watchman's Rest, the pub Lyanna Stark bought all those years ago, when her own heart was broken, and she needed something solid to hold, stands around them.

It has always been a place for the town to come when the world feels too heavy; somewhere to feel warm, and safe, and loved. Somewhere where they could find a friend or just an ear. Now, at last, it holds the very thing she once hoped it would:

A place for her son to grow old in, surrounded by the same love Lyanna and Arthur had for him, and for one another.

A home.

A family.