Flesh & Fire - Jonerys [18+]

Say Don't Go

Unable to sleep on the eve of Jon Snow's departure, Daenerys retreats to the Painted Table Chamber to lament the dire risks and stupidity of Tyrion's wight hunt plan. The object of her thoughts and reluctant affection is also struggling to find rest, and he isn't about to leave without settling something.

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The ocean breeze coated her skin in a light mist of salt and brine. It was late, the hour of the wolf, and she found herself leaning against the stone arch of the painted table chamber, scowling at the frothing sea as she thought of dawn breaking. Tyrion's latest 'clever' plan would play out for better or worse. She would be stuck there, unable to help if things went awry, while the foolish King of the North risked life and limb to prove the monsters he spoke of were indeed the threat he claimed they were. She huffed, staring blindly at the cloud-veiled sky as her breath fogged the air, and she repressed a shiver as a chill wind lifted her loose hair and snaked around her neck like ice-tipped fingers.

She shifted on her feet, backing up a little, and sensed her children in the skies above, keeping watch while those sheltering in Dragonstone slept. She'd been chased from her own great bed of state by insidious dreams, demons of snow and ice, red fire and blue, a wolf crashing through ice and never resurfacing. Her heart still raced as she tried to grasp hold of anything she saw. It was slipping away like she was trying to catch smoke in her hands; the harder she tried to remember, the faster it seemed to vanish. Her entire body was leaden, slippered feet rooted to the damp stone, a queer tightness in her chest, and a slow sinking sensation in her belly as she weighed the advantages and disadvantages of this fool's errand. She knew a truce was necessary, but her soul revolted at the idea of turning her back on everything she wanted to fight in Jon Snow's war and her irritation with him for choosing to indulge Tyrion's latest cockamamie idea.

Tears had lined her eyes during that meeting. Her throat tightened to the point of pain as she bit out the words she hoped would stop him from leaving. His open defiance and obstinate refusal to let anyone else go in his place, the weight of those dark eyes latched on hers, was a lesson in restraint as the attraction she felt for him bloomed brighter and burned hotter when he didn't back down from her. Part of her believed him without seeing for herself. Part of her saw that he never wavered, no matter how much ridicule and her attempts to sway him to her side had all failed; even her snark in the cave hadn't bothered him. It was all very frustrating for a woman used to getting what she wanted. Still, the North's broody King was as impenetrable as that great wall of ice where he used to reside. Why didn't she want him to go? She wouldn't allow herself to answer that question.

Not even as Tyrion and Ser Davos eyed her knowingly after Jon shot down her attempt to make him stay would she admit that the annoyance and rage she felt for Jon Snow had transformed into something else entirely. During the day, he prowled between the dragon glass cave and the Keep, spending most of his time helping mine the glass they were sending North. Every time he joined them for dinner, she tried to draw him out, using all her best tricks to make him open up and give her something to obsess over later, but it was like drawing blood from a stone. Her annoyance was a physical thing by the time she would excuse herself and return to her chamber. She was embarrassed and confused as she paced a trail in the fur rug by the roaring fire and cursed his name bitterly.