When he woke up, he was alone. A crescent moon peeked through the windows, the sole witness. Jon Snow clothed himself, aware of what was coming to him, dreading yet craving it at the same time. It was incest, he reminded himself, trying to force the shame. But he still felt it, creeping from the moon, reaching toward him through the sounds, the scents, the wind that filled the air. His chest heaved in pleasure, and an involuntary, warm smile cracked his cheeks as lust filled his heart.
He found Daenerys, her back to Jon, where they stood last night. She was tending to and hugging Rhaegal, sad smiles on her lips. Her aura tamed the dragon, and for once, Jon fully grasped the grace and magnificence of the creature, regally rested on the courtyard of Castle Black like the king of all animals, against a sheer wall of ice. It was not the wind, Jon realized, but Daenerys who was silently whistling. A night ago, all they could think of were dread, despair and the fall of man. How things changed.
Daenerys turned around. “Jon,” she said, with a smile caught between love and shame, of uneasiness and bliss, caught amid heaven and earth. “How… did you sleep?”
“Well.” All men on the Wall were asleep, save few seven-hundred feet above them, staring at the lands beyond, yet Jon had the uneasy sense they were being watched. The crescent moon made him wary. Can I touch her, or will the gods punish me? Their eyes and bodices were having conversations beyond their voice, yet Jon felt verbal acknowledgement a necessity. “What we did… if people find out…”
“Jon,” she said, this time with more certainty, and more shame. “Ellaria Sand marches from Dorne, forcing the Lannisters to flee to King’s Landing. She has stuck her neck out for me. If I do not help her, I may lose another ally. There can be no more delays. This is the time for me to take the Iron Throne. I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking slightly, “I am truly sorry. If I could, I would spend the end of my days with you. But I must go. Duties as queen come first.”
The inevitable was here, but it did not stop Jon’s heart from sinking. “I understand,” he said, his face blank. “To safe journeys and happy conquests,” he said, abruptly extending his arm for handshake.
As the Dragon Queen mounted Drogon, Jon saw the wounds on Rhaegal with increasing concern. “Are you certain Rhaegal is healthy enough to fly all the way to Barrowton?” he asked.
“He is not,” Daenerys said, slightly smiling. “But, I think, he is able and willing enough to avenge his dead siblings. Besides, I think he is quite fond of you.” And without another word Drogon became another star in the sky, leaving Jon with a green-and-bronze scaled fire-breathing beast beside him, and on his face, sheer bewilderment.
*
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