Chapter Text
310 ac
The music in the Red Keep began softly, the sounds of various strings and harps echoing through the vast hall. Lords and ladies gathered together in careful semicircles, watching with a restrained curiosity, the type of those who knew something worth witnessing was about to unfold.
At the center of the floor stood Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Tonight, she had chosen to wear a dress of red and black, proudly displaying the colors of her house. Her dress had been softened for the evening, softer than the ones she wore for court, yet she still exuded power, as was her right.
The realm was finally stable, finally at peace, and she was the queen who had everything.
Everything, of course, except the one thing she wanted.
Daenerys' gaze traveled across the long hall, locking onto him.
Here, in Maegor’s Holdfast, it is safe.
Jon gently closes the door behind him and then, when he turns, he sees her.
Dany is already there, waiting.
She stands next to the window, the city stretching out beneath her. Despite the late hour, the city is still awake and alive. King's Landing never quite sleeps, not like Winterfell. Jon finds himself unused to the noise.
The light from the moon catches in her pale hair, almost looking like the crown she refuses to ever set aside. Even after five years of barely seeing one another, she is still as breathtaking and otherworldly as the first time they met.
What he wouldn't give to hold her every night...
Dany doesn't turn when he enters this chamber, a safe haven she has created for them, but she still feels his presence. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Before the words even left her lips, he already knew what she was going to say. This little ritual of theirs is well practiced, and they both know the script.
A strangled breath escapes him, an equal mixture of laughter and defeat. It seems all he feels these days is defeat.
“You sent for me.” He replies, already removing his cloak and loosening the ties of his jerkin.
Dany turns then, her fingers too playing with the ties of her robe.
“I always do.”
That right there is the truth of it, and the part that neither of them even bothers to deny anymore.
She always calls and he always comes. It's just the way it is, the way it will always be. Neither can let go or forget or more importantly, move on.
When their eyes meet, Jon feels the air shift, and for a moment, they simply look at each other. Looking for changes, perhaps, subtle differences. Dany looks as beautiful as the last time he saw her, though more tired perhaps.
Five years of on and off distance has done this to them. Of the choices they have made and of everything they have left unsaid. Of everything they have lost.
He can't wait any longer. Jon crosses the room in three long strides, his hands immediately cupping the sides of her face as he presses his lips to hers in a desperate, frenzied kiss.
Dany is no better than he is. She meets him halfway with equal force, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as though she could somehow erase every mile between King’s Landing and the North in a single breath.
There is anger in the kiss, and there is grief too. There is even love, but right now, it is buried so deep it hurts to even feel.
He grunts into the kiss, willing himself to feel everything.
Jon lingered at the edge of the hall, one hand resting stiffly at his side while the other twitched nervously behind his back. Beside him stood his wife, Wynafryd Manderly. She spoke softly to him, her voice gentle and encouraging, but he did not hear a word she said.
His gaze and all of his attention had already crossed the room.
Violet eyes pierced his from the center of the hall. They always did. He saw them everywhere, but here, in person? It was the best it ever got.
“Go on.” Wynafryd said, smiling in a way that was kind, yet also knowing and perhaps just a little sad. She had known where Jon’s heart lay from the beginning. He tried. Gods, he tried. “You’re expected.”
Expected.
The word felt bitter, but Jon stepped forward anyway. He could never deny her.
His queen, his aunt, his love…
The murmurs began as soon as he took a step, traveling through the hall like wildfire. The rumors about the Dragon Queen and the Bastard of the North had existed since the war and they'd never quite died down. The two of them had brought the dawn, had saved humanity, and they were the last two Targaryens –
Well, not exactly...not anymore.
Jon's eyes darted to the side, to the table occupied by the royal family.
To Jaehaerys, the five year old heir to the Iron Throne. A boy with silver hair and deep violet eyes, said to be Rhaegar reincarnated.
To Rhaella, the Queen herself reborn. She had only celebrated two namedays and yet, it was already obvious to all who had seen her that she was an exact copy of her mother.
And finally, to Aemon, a baby boy of nine moons, who was resting in the King Consort's arms. His hair was dark, perhaps too dark to be from the Reach, but these days, it was hard to tell. He was still young and changing. The gray eyes though, those raised more questions than the queen liked.
Jon’s eyes met the King Consort’s for a brief moment. Willas Tyrell knew exactly what he was about to witness, and he was too polite to do anything about it.
The whispers continued around him the closer he got to his destination.
That wasn't surprising. The court was as familiar with this dance as they were. It was not as though they had not seen it before in the stolen glances and moments that always stretched too long between them. In the way their hands and eyes lingered when they should not.
In the children sitting at the high table.
Their flame was one that did not dull, not even as they bound themselves to others for the good of the realm.
Because in the moment that mattered the most, Jon had been a coward, and now they both had to live with the pain of his decision.
Dany’s robe is the first article of clothing to go. Jon can't wait any longer to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips. She is warmer than anyone he's ever known, or would ever care to know.
Their lips do not even bother to part as it flutters to the floor, nor as Dany steps closer into him. Her nipples, already hardened from the cool air and tension between them, lightly rub against his fully clothed body. Even with the barrier between them, he still feels them.
His cock twitches beneath his trousers. He's waited too long for her.
She may be his queen, but inside these chambers – when they are finally alone and together – she is his. Titles and rank cease to matter, or even exist, whenever it is just the two of them.
He wishes more than ever that he was her king...
Jon’s fingers graze the sides of her breasts, careful to be gentle while she is still nursing their son. He just wants to feel them, to feel all of her.
Dany gasps into his mouth when his thumbs lightly circle her nipples, and then he takes mercy on her, returning his hand to her hip. His fingers dig into her skin, hard enough to remind her who truly owns her. Of who exactly holds her heart, and he hopes, always will.
Their tongues tangle together, slick and warm, and Jon feels overwhelmed by her taste and smell. He can never get enough of her.
When you kiss me, do you still taste her?
The thought comes to him unbidden. Guilt, perhaps. A reminder of their spouses who sleep within the same castle, who know exactly where they are and what they are doing.
Their relationship is the worst kept secret in Westeros, yet it is one that is never acknowledged. No one, it seems, is willing to break the easy peace that fills the entire kingdom under Daenerys' rule.
Dany is the first to pull away from the kiss, her pupils dark and blown wide, her entire body on fire. She begins to claw at his shirt, making her demands known.
Jon needs no further encouragement. He rips the offending item over his head and tosses it across the room. Dany's lips latch back onto his skin quickly, pressing hot, wet kisses down his neck and chest.
Are you thinking of me? With your lips pressed tightly up against his skin?
They both continue to share their beds with their spouses. It's simply a duty they must bear, and yet it doesn't even come close to what they have together. It doesn't come close to everything they've lost.
Dany's trail of kisses begins to slow as her mouth reaches the top of his breeches. She falls to her knees, her fingers looping into the fabric, and then she tugs. Jon’s hands move to help her, wanting to rid himself of them and be as naked as she is.
The second they are gone, Dany sucks him into her mouth.
Jon tried to compose himself, but he crossed the hall faster than intended, and with an eagerness he hadn’t meant to show.
He stopped before Daenerys and bowed. The gesture was unnecessary at this point, but there was no harm in reminding all who watched. He had bent the knee and sworn himself to her.
She was their Queen.
She was his Queen.
Some still liked to whisper his true name – Aegon Targaryen, the one his mother had given him at birth – but Jon decided long ago that he had been a Snow his entire life, and he was not about to change that.
He had no desire for the throne and had given it to her easily. He would not take what she had rightfully earned simply because he was born a man.
He had also returned North and left behind a life he had wanted…one he now wished he had. He thought he was protecting her...he thought he didn’t want it.
The North is boring. It's exactly what he wanted. He didn't want the politics or the mess or to rule, but now? Now he knows he simply wants her and his children. He wants his family, and he wants to feel whole again.
“Your Grace.”
Her lips curved up, but it was not a real smile. It was polite enough, polite for court, but it wasn't Dany.
“Lord Snow.”
The use of his title was deliberate. He knows that she desires to keep this formal and distant.
It's a damn lie, a lie Jon knows she's told herself for years now. Every time they see each other, she tells herself it won't happen, but it does. It always does.
Finally, she placed her hand in his.
The music started up again, and Jon braced himself. This was always the most painful part.
Anytime they dance together, their song is played. The Dragon and the Wolf, a song written by the bards for the roles they played in the War for the Dawn.
The song was meant to be romantic, but now it is only pain. Perhaps a rewrite should be done, though Jon couldn't help but think that even the finest composer they could find would never truly be able to capture their pain.
Her eyes lifted to his, and they began.
Jon’s hands are buried in her hair, guiding her mouth up and down as she takes him down her throat over and over.
Gods, he misses this. He misses her.
Everything about her sets him aflame. They were made for each other.
Just as Jon feels his release coming, he cries out her name. It echoes through the chamber. It's the most noise he's made in moons. Dany's eyes peer up from below, smirking at him victoriously.
He comes then, flooding her mouth with his seed. He hasn't shared his wife's bed in moons, not since this trip was announced.
It didn't seem right. He doesn't love her, and she knew what was coming.
Jon recovers quickly and pulls Dany to her feet, kissing her deeply. He tastes himself on her tongue, but he doesn't care. He won't waste a second with her while he has her.
At first, their dance was perfect. Jon perfected his steps over the years, something his wife demanded of him and he gave freely. He could not give her what she wanted most of the time, but learning to dance like a proper lord? He supposed he could give her that.
And well, it didn't hurt that meant he would also be prepared for her too.
Jon’s hands rested at her waist respectfully and Daenerys made sure to keep her gaze lifted and neutral.
Anyone watching them might actually believe their act, if they don't already know.
But Jon couldn't stand it any longer. She was here, in his arms, and like always, he would take advantage.
His fingers tightened around her waist, just barely, but enough to affect her. He felt her sharp inhale more than he heard it. It was quiet enough for the crowd, but not for him. She could never hide from him.
Their next turn drew them nearer than it should have, and that was when Jon finally broke.
“Still playing the dutiful queen?” He murmured into her ear, far too close now.
“Still pretending that you're happy in the North?” Daenerys returned sharply, turning her face just a fraction.
Her lashes lifted, and then their eyes met. Hers were blazing, filled with fire and everything she had held back.
They've proven time and time again that they cannot stay away from each other. And yet Jon knows she hates him too. For the distance and for the life he has forced upon them. A life neither of them had wanted. A life neither had ever imagined.
After the war, Daenerys offered him the world. And he refused. But now, holding the woman he loves and seeing the children he knows are his – the children he aches to claim as his own – he despises every decision he has ever made.
He faltered, something inside of him breaking further, and the truth emerged on his face, bared plainly for her to see. Daenerys' eyes softened, just a touch, and then everything snapped into place between them, just like it always does.
The cold distance between them collapsed. Not visibly to the others, not quite yet, but it was there.
Jon's hands settled more firmly at her waist and Daenerys responded eagerly, her fingers curling into his sleeve as if she might anchor herself there.
“You look well.” Jon said. It sounded more like an accusation than a compliment, but he meant it. He wanted her to be happy – he always has– but he has yearned for years to hear her admit that she is miserable without him.
“I am well.” Daenerys replied, denying him his selfish wish.
If only she would say it...
They moved to turn again, and she stumbled. Jon caught her, of course he did, and in that instant he understood. It was a test, not an accident. Daenerys wanted his hands on her.
He could not stop himself then. His hand slid along her lower back, steadying her and drawing her flush against him for a heartbeat too long.
The court saw it plainly and a ripple of whispers spread throughout the hall.
Jon glanced to his left and watched as the King's jaw tightened, but again, he knew well enough to not worry. Willas would do nothing. Daenerys is the Queen; Willas is little more than a figure to stand beside her. Nothing more.
Jon's focus returned back to his love in his arms, noting that Daenerys didn't pull away this time.
“Careful.” Jon muttered as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing hot against her ear. “They’re all watching.”
“Let them.” Daenerys replied, her eyes closing as she leaned in, her breath warm against his throat.
Dany is laid out on the bed now, her legs spread lewdly and Jon's face buried between them. Her taste is still the best he's ever had and ever will have.
It feels like coming home whenever his head is between her legs.
It's also what he dreams about the most.
Dany’s hips roll against his mouth, faster and faster now. She is close.
He is hard again, ready to take her and fill her with his seed, but he will see that she is pleasured first. He always does.
"Oh, Jon!” A moan escapes her lips and her fingers tangle in his hair, holding him in place as her body explodes.
Her cunt clenches around his fingers hard and her own essence floods his mouth. Jon swallows everything she gives him, licking and sucking as much as he can.
He never wants to part from her again.
But he will. He has no choice.
That was the first crack, and from there, everything unraveled.
Their movements grew sharper and less restrained with every step. The dance transformed into something else entirely as they both came alive. They had never been good at pretending and now, as they circled each other like both opponents and lovers, the tension in the hall only grew thicker.
There was anger in it too.
Gods, there was so much anger.
Jon felt his anger burning inwards, at himself. They wouldn't be here if not for him. And Daenerys, he felt her anger too. He knows she hates her life as queen, hates being here without him at her side. She has always blamed him, and he has always accepted that blame easily.
But that doesn't mean she's made it easy on either of them either.
Jon spun her a little harder than necessary and Daenerys stepped back just to force him to follow her. Their hands met again and again, each touch lingering a fraction too long to be proper.
“You could have stayed.” Daenerys said, her fury growing beneath her breath.
It's the same argument they have always had.
“You could have let me go.” Jon shot back.
It was a lie, and he knew it. She loved him. She didn't want him to leave. She allowed him to return North, but that never meant she would let him go.
Then again, he'd never let her go either, and he never would.
“I did.” She insisted, as if marrying Willas Tyrell was proof enough. As if it was the same as letting him go.
“You didn’t.” Jon accused, rightfully.
She hadn't. She had Jaehaerys, and then she wanted more.
It was the right thing to do, Jon thought, excusing himself for betraying his marriage vows and hers.
Neither of them had been able to conceive with their spouses, or anyone else for that matter.
They are bound together. They always have been, and they always will be.
Their hands found each other again, clasping tighter this time as they both refused to let go.
Jon enters her slowly, savoring each and every second it takes to join them together again, to fill her completely.
They both let out a sigh of relief when he is fully seated inside of her, her walls stretching to accommodate him.
Dany's chest heaves up and down, her hands wrapping around his back and pulling him down for a deep kiss.
Jon is eager to have her. He pries her lips open with his tongue as he pulls out of her, and then slams back inside.
Dany gasps into his mouth, moaning at the same time.
“Jon!” She moans again, breathless.
Jon's tongue swipes inside her mouth, his hand cupping her chin and tilting her up for a better angle.
Dany tastes herself on his lips, he knows she craves it. Her tongue pokes out as she licks his lips.
Jon begins to set a faster pace, pistoning in and out of her with ease. She is wet and ready for him, as always.
But still, he doesn't want to get there too fast, so he slows down, taking her with slower yet deeper strokes. He wants to feel every inch of her. He leans in, his tongue darting out and licking the shell of her ear.
Does your body still scream my name?
He wonders – he wants to say – but he doesn't have to.
He already knows the answer as she whimpers and turns her head to catch his lips in another filthy kiss.
The music came to a slow, and so did they, but the tension in the room had only coiled tighter, like a thread ready to snap. Their time was nearly up.
The entire court had fallen silent too. No one looked away. No one pretended not to see it.
Willas had gone utterly still as he passed Aemon off to his wet nurse, his knuckles nearly white. Wynafryd stood nearby as well, watching with that soft yet hurt expression she wore all too often, her fingers clenched tightly in the folds of her skirts.
They understood. Everyone understood. And there was nothing to be done about it, no matter who they hurt in the process.
The last two Targayens.
Lovers torn apart by duty, yet their hearts still beating as one.
For the final sequence of their dance, Jon pulled Daenerys closer. It was too close, and there was no justification for it, but he no longer cared.
Let them whisper. They all do anyway.
Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, his at her waist. Their faces hovered only inches apart, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.
“You are well." Jon repeated, but it was not a question.
“I should be.” Daenerys answered, the truth finally bleeding out.
She should have been. She had everything she ever wanted and fought for. A peaceful realm, her crown, stability, home – and she has their children.
Jon only has glimpses of them. Distant moments and memories that mean nothing. He is their family, yes, but he only plays the role of her nephew. Of their cousin. Family, but never their father.
A broken laugh escaped him, perhaps as broken as he was. “So should I.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Pain breaking through her queenly mask.
“Then why aren’t you?” Daenerys asked softly.
Jon said nothing. He didn't need to. They both already knew.
He had made the wrong decision, and now they both had to live with it.
The final note began to rise, a warning that they needed to part, and still, neither of them moved.
Jon’s gaze dropped helplessly to her lips.
Daenerys didn’t pull away.
That was the cruelest part, and that moment was what the court would remember.
Not a kiss, but the absence of one. The wanting, the desire, the unbearable pull between them, thick enough to choke the entire room.
The choice they both made not to, and the effort of their restraint.
They couldn't hide it if they tried.
And then the music ended.
Applause erupted throughout the hall. It was too loud and too sudden, an obvious and desperate attempt to restore order to something that had already slipped beyond control.
Jon stepped back first. He always did. That was his role now. And then he bowed again, deeper this time.
“Your Grace.”
Daenerys inclined her head, composure filling her once more.
“Lord Snow.”
They parted next, creating space between them and as they tried to settle everything they had disrupted back into place. The lie resumed, but it was too late.
Everyone in that hall saw plainly the truth laid bare between them.
Willas exhaled slowly, thoughtful and frustrated.
Wynafryd lowered her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
And as the distance widened between them, Jon and Daenerys did not look at each other again.
Not once.
Which, perhaps, said more than anything else ever could.
"I want another.” Dany tells him when he's close. “I want another child.”
Jon nods, it's all he can do as her warmth engulfs him and clenches down, squeezing him like a vice.
He can't take it anymore. He spills inside of her, filling her to the brim with his seed.
He could never deny her, even if it kills him to not know his own children. To not claim them as his own. To not teach Jaehaerys how to use a sword, or spoil Rhaella for being his only girl. To not hold Aemon while he is still small.
Jon continues to pump into her, not done yet, feeling as his seed begins to leak between their bodies.
Finally, his movements slow. He remembers they have all night.
And the next one too.
For as long as he is here, he will do whatever it takes to grant her this desire.
And he knows she will call.
Hours later, Dany lies half-curled against him, her nude body blazing hot against his while her head rests against his shoulder. Her breathing has just begun to even out, her lids half closed. She is ready to let sleep take her, to dream of the life they could have had.
Jon, though, he cannot sleep. He rarely does anymore. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide open with one arm draped around her, his hand unmoving as it rests against her back.
This is the part he hates most.
Not even the guilt of what they are doing to their spouses threatens to drown him as much as this. As much as the stillness when the night is over. When they realize they will have to go back to their lives when the sun rises.
Because this is where they can be vulnerable, and where the truth always comes forth. When their bodies are exhausted with pleasure and they can no longer hide from it.
“Aemon is beautiful.” Jon says, though he is not sure why. The children...they hurt the most.
This is the first time he has seen the babe, and it stunned him into silence when he met the boy who looked so much like his father. The first two took after Dany, but Aemon is all him.
“And Rhaella?” Dany asks, smiling softly.
Jon has only seen her twice, after she was born and the night they made Aemon.
“Stunning.” Jon responds, his heart clenching. “Just like her mother.”
“Jaehaerys…” Dany begins softly. “He's more like you every day.”
Jon swallows as emotions threaten to overcome him.
His boy.
The boy he didn't know about.
He didn't know.
If she had only told him…
He would have stayed.
But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him to choose her, not their unborn child.
“Dany…”
Her name escapes him before he can stop it.
She stiffens at the intimate nickname. The name no one else uses. The one she has forbidden him from using since he left.
He pushes himself up onto one elbow, looking down at her. She doesn’t meet his gaze immediately.
“I want it.” Jon tells her, as if he hasn't done so numerous times before. “I want them. I want this life. I want you.”
Dany closes her eyes, squeezes them shut as a tear slips out.
“I gave you what you wanted.” She whispers just loud enough for him to hear. “You chose the North, Jon.”
“I made a mistake.” He says, more insistently now as his finger brushes her tears away and he wills her to open her eyes.
She does, and when she does, all he sees is pain reflected back in them.
“What would you have me do?” Dany asks, helplessly. “We are married to other people. The realm is at peace.”
“We annul them.” Jon says quickly. He hasn't thought any of this through.
Dany lets out a bitter laugh. “And what of the children? Willas has claimed them as his own. Raised them as his own.”
It's what made it impossible for Jon to hate the man in full. He knew the children were not his, and yet he treated them with kindness and did not hold it against them. He could have, most men would, but he did not.
“So we kill him.” Jon says, desperate now..
Dany's eyes widen, and a laugh leaves her. “Kill him? You think the Reach will accept his untimely death, your annulment, and our subsequent marriage?”
Jon growls, frustrated. “I don't know, Daenerys but I cannot bear this. I want you. I want to know my children. We were meant to rule together.”
Dany sits up, shaking her head in anger or disappointment, he isn't quite sure. “If only it hadn't taken you five years to figure that out.”
Jon’s jaw tightens. He is guilty, yes, but so is she. He won't bear it all. "I asked you to come with me, if you recall. You chose the throne. You chose it over us too."
Dany glares at him. "That's not the same."
A laugh escapes him. "It's exactly the same! I chose freedom, and you chose chains."
It's a low blow, but it's true. She has chained herself to the realm and to duty. She didn't choose love either.
Dany goes silent, and Jon knows he's struck a nerve.
“This isn't over." He insists, softer now. "This isn't how we end.”
“No.” Dany agrees. “It isn’t.”
And that is the tragedy of it all. No matter what they want, no matter what they say, they are still one.
A knock echoes faintly from somewhere beyond the door. It is distant, but loud enough for them to hear.
Outside the window, the sun has begun to rise. Time has found them again.
Without another word, Daenerys stands, gathering herself piece by piece. When she does, she is the queen again, untouchable once more.
By the time she turns back to him, the moment has already begun to slip away.
“They’ll be waiting.” She says, like he doesn't already know.
Jon nods. She won't listen to him. Not anymore, and not like this.
He dresses too and then moves toward the door, making sure to get there first. He pauses, his hand resting firmly against the wood.
“Jaehaerys.” He says without turning. “He looks at me sometimes, like he knows.”
Dany's breath catches and she meets his eyes.
“He doesn’t.” She says quickly, but they both know it sounds weak.
He is five now, and has no doubt heard the rumors.
Jon nods once, but he isn't done. “He deserves the truth. He deserves his father, not the lie of a distant relative.”
Dany approaches him, and her hand touches his, gentler now. “He also deserves a kingdom that doesn’t tear itself apart. He deserves to inherit a world of peace.”
And there it is. Just another impasse, another thing neither of them will yield. Handing their son a better world than the one they inherited is something they can both agree on.
Jon opens the door.
“Jon.” Her voice fills his ears again.
He stops, but he doesn’t turn. He can't face her now as she slips away from him again.
“I am happy.” She says. “Willas is a kind man. A good friend.”
He holds back a chuckle. It sounds more like something she needs to believe rather than the truth.
Jon's eyes shut for a brief moment, willing himself to behave, to not part with anger towards each other.
“I know.” He lies, and he doesn’t say it back. He is not happy, nor is his wife.
He steps out into the corridor, the door shutting quietly behind him.
His mind is already elsewhere, planning ways to make this work. He is willing to go to war for her, to win her back. Fuck peace, this is their lives. He's seen the other side and knows it is nothing but darkness.
She's brought peace to the realm once, she can do it again.
He has Rhaegal, and she has Drogon. The children have their own hatchings too.
The time is now, not years from now. No more waiting. If he does this right, who could ever stop them?