A/N: Hi, guys! I wrote this fic as part of Jonerys Week on tumblr, and was specifically inspired by the *possible* reddit spoiler: "Dany and Jon go back to Dragonstone to discuss tactics in the war against the undead. After that they sail for the North, and on the journey make love for the first time." This led a friend of mine to wonder if he's going to "give her 'The Lord's Kiss.'" Well, here's my answer to that haha.

P. S. In my headcanon for this fic Bran has not been able to make it South yet and no one else is aware of Jon's Targaryen ancestry.

Enjoy!

Cover art by the lovely imaridraws on tumblr!

Dany stood at the prow of the ship, looking out into the foggy, grey expanse of the Shivering Sea. The wind was high, the salty air growing colder the lower the sun settled on the horizon. She liked coming outside when it was like this. The fresh air cleared her mind, helped her think.

A thud of heavy, booted steps could be heard on the deck behind her, and her lips tilted upward at the familiar sound.

"Are you not cold, my lady?"

"Your Grace," she corrected, but there was no sting in it—she was only playing with him. It seemed strange, but already Dany had developed an easy sort of friendship with Jon Snow.

She turned to face him, leaning back against the ship's railing. Jon's dark eyes were somber as they looked her over. He didn't pick up on her jest. Of course, she thought to herself, grinning up at him. Always so dour.

"No, Jon. I am not cold. And you may call me Dany," she reminded him yet again. "'The King in the North' need not be so formal with his queen."

Jon blushed at her familiarity but made no reply.

Dany hadn't known what to expect when she met the famed White Wolf, The King in the North, slayer of White Walkers, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, who united the Wildlings and defeated the Bolton army—a man who had faced Death and returned victorious. Whatever she had expected, Jon Snow was something else, something more.

He was strong, a fierce warrior and formidable swordsman. He was smart, a brilliant commander and strategist. He was gracious and thoughtful, clearly well-loved by his men.

But he was also oddly quiet and almost maddeningly polite and dutiful. He hardly ever looked her in the eye, and when he did he would hastily turn away. Lately, Jon seemed uncomfortable around her, shy and sometimes awkward. I wonder why, she mused to herself. Perhaps I make him nervous.

She liked the thought of that. Strong, brave, loyal—yes, Jon had many noble virtues. But looking at him standing there on the deck, the wind fluttering his dark hair across his eyes, Dany was reminded again how very handsome he was.

"Dany," Jon said hesitantly, stepping closer. "There's a blizzard upon us. This is the farthest north you've ever been and you haven't the clothes for it. I meant to offer you this." She could barely hear him over the howl of the wind on the sea as he swept his cloak from his back and held it out to her.

Jon was right about the storm. There were little flurries of snow in the air; she could see them as they caught in his hair, glistening in his curls, black and shiny as Drogon's scales. She must have looked a fool to his eyes—wearing nothing but one of the silk dresses she'd brought from Meereen, her shoulders and back bared to the elements. But the cold did not bother her. She was the Blood of the Dragon: there was fire in her veins. Still, Dany was touched by Jon's considerate gesture.

"I suppose it is a bit chilly," she conceded. He smiled slightly and reached around her, draping the cloak about her shoulders. The gale coming off the water threatened to take it right off again, so for the moment his arms encircled her as he fastened the clasp at her throat. When he'd finished, though, Jon didn't move away, and Dany peered up to find him looking down at her, his eyes kind and inviting, his breath steaming in the air.

"Thank you." Dany stood up on her toes so she could speak at his ear, the better to be heard over the wind and the crash of the waves against the ship. "But what about you? Or are all you Northern men just immune to the cold after all this time?" she asked, arching her brow at him jokingly.

"No . . . " Jon's hands slid from the front of the cloak up over her shoulders and down her back, finally coming to rest at her hips. He drew her to him, and Dany reached her arms up around his neck, instinctively relaxing into his embrace. "It's your smile that keeps me warm," he whispered, so close she could hear him despite the roiling sea. Dany marveled at his sudden fervor, her heart pounding so hard she wondered absently if Jon could feel it through the leather of his jerkin.

It wasn't like her to be nervous about being with a man. Not anymore. But ever since Drogo's death, since she had lost Rhaego, since she'd left Daario, Dany was wary of attachment, determined not to be weakened by love. Despite this, against her better judgment she desired Jon Snow, had desired him almost from the moment she'd first met him.

It was less than a fortnight after she'd landed in Westeros when Jon and his retinue had come to see the Dragon Queen for themselves. He'd swung down from his destrier and marched out to meet her on the beach near Dragonstone, a great white wolf at his side. Jon had come seeking dragonglass, a resource of great value found in abundance in the caves beneath her reclaimed ancestral home. He had been at the head of a large host, and they all bent the knee at the sight of her—silver hair glowing in the afternoon sun, her lilac eyes cast down at them as she sat astride Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion circling overhead.

But Jon did not kneel. Not right away. And when Drogon roared, the sound so deafening that half the men on their knees in the sand covered their ears in alarm, Jon did not flinch. He was different. He captivated her.

She'd spent months at his side since that day, and in that time a tension sharp as a headman's axe had built between them. Dany would catch him staring at her over dinner, his expression hard with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. Late nights back at Dragonstone she would often find herself awake long after the rest of the castle slept. The anxiety that accompanied her task was getting worse with every passing day. But when she felt that she would break under the pressure, Jon would be there, apparently kept awake by nightmares himself.

It had become something of a nightly tradition for Dany to rendezvous with Jon in the library. She still had her weathered copies of Westerosi history gifted her by Jorah on her wedding day so long ago, and on most nights she would read aloud, eager to learn all she could about the great houses she would one day rule. Jon would listen intently, enraptured by her every word. The two of them usually sat before a roaring fire, Ghost, Jon's enormous direwolf, spread out at their feet. It felt good to have a companion, someone who understood the burdens of command. He wasn't a fusty old adviser but someone her age, and while Jon was comfortable sitting beside her in silence he also stimulated her with lively conversation. Together they often discussed strategy and their shared future.

She'd become desperately fond of him, and so a small part of Dany yearned for the day that, despite the obstacles that separated them, she and Jon might become more than friendly allies. She'd hoped that the carefully guarded wishes of her heart matched Jon's own feelings for her. But deep down she had always suspected that she was being foolish—that there was no way the reserved, often surly young man thought of her at all. If he did, she worried that there was simply no chance of the two of them finding a way to work beyond the vast differences in their circumstances.

So when Jon finally reached out to her, Dany was elated, but anxious. Wrapped tightly in his arms out under the stars and snow, she felt a long-dormant thrill fluttering in her heart. She wanted this, wanted him. Jon moved a gloved hand up and caressed her face gently, his fingers winding into her hair. He bent down toward her and tilted her face to his, their lips nigh an inch apart.

She felt lightheaded and giddy, drawn in by that tantalizing magnetism that always comes at the very last moment before a kiss. Her eyes fell shut as she leaned in to close the distance between them, but when Jon's lips touched hers with the faintest brush of contact they were suddenly startled apart by a voice behind him.

"Oh, my, I daresay you did well to take my advice. Leaving your dragons behind at Dragonstone with Lord Tyrion until we are settled in the North was very wise, Your Grace. I don't think that a dragon will do well with this snow. No, not well at all."

"Lord Varys," Dany greeted him through gritted teeth, the implication of his words awaking a fury inside her. But she knew that she needed to be diplomatic; Varys was one of her closest advisers. Struggling to control her temper, she reluctantly stepped away from Jon. The moment they were separated she felt a strange and unpleasant chill, and longed for the comforting warmth of his hands on her again.

Jon's face was red with embarrassment as he inclined his head respectfully toward Varys, apparently at a loss for words.

For his part, the eunuch couldn't possibly have looked more pleased with himself. His eyes flashed mirthfully at Dany as he bowed in deference. His bald head was covered with a thick hood of fine wool, but even beneath the hood his smirk was plain to see.

"Should not the two of you be preparing for dinner with the others in the hold?" he inquired, feigning innocent curiosity.

"Yes, Lord Varys," Dany said, a little too polite, forcing a smile. She nodded awkwardly at Jon before stomping past Varys, making for her quarters below.

Inside the hold, Missandei sat at the table beside Grey Worm; Lord Davos Seaworth, Jon's companion who had accompanied him from Winterfell to Dragonstone, sat across from them. The three of them were talking animatedly and stopped to greet her when she burst through the doors, but the cold of the air outside was mirrored in Dany's eyes. She was angry.

"Good evening," Missandei called, a pretty smile adorning her face at the sight of her friend.

"Missandei," she replied curtly before walking brusquely to her cabin. In the hall she saw Ghost sprawled on the rug. He lifted his head in greeting at the sight of her. Over the course of the voyage Dany had actually grown quite attached to the beast, but for the moment she merely swept past him, slamming her door shut behind her.

It wasn't until she walked by her mirror that she remembered she was still wearing his cloak. Dany sat down on her bed and pulled the cloak close about her, the fur collar tickling her cheek as she inhaled the familiar scent of Jon—leather and horseflesh and musk.

A pleasant smell, laden with memories; but it fell short of Jon's actual presence. Dany sighed, cursing Varys under her breath as she prepared for what she expected to be a very awkward dinner in the hold.

"Still, it seems a bit macabre to wear them around your neck," Missandei said, shaking her head as she eyed the stubby fingers of Lord Davos' right hand.

"They brought me luck," Davos insisted with a chuckle, taking another drink of the dark ale he'd been nursing all night.

"I do not believe in such superstition," Grey Worm offered, frowning at Davos, serious as ever.

"Sounds like something an unlucky person might say," Davos replied thoughtfully.

Dany smiled at the eccentric former smuggler. He was an interesting dinner companion and seemed happy and at home here at sea, even in the current storm that rocked the boat about and rattled their dinner plates. Missandei and Grey Worm were not adjusting quite as well. They had gotten over their seasickness during the voyage from Meereen but were still clearly eager to reach dry land. Every time a clap of thunder sounded or lightning flashed in the window, Missandei would grab Grey Worm's hand in alarm.

Dany looked down at her own plate, feeling a bit queasy herself at the thought of eating. The cook was a capable man that had been travelling with Jon and Davos. The rest of the crew, currently eating in the crew's bunks, had been chosen from the many sailors who had aided in her crossing from Essos months before. Tonight the cook and his companions had done well—the meal looked good enough for non-perishable sailing fare. But Dany's stomach was in knots from nerves and she couldn't eat.

"I'm still surprised that you followed Stannis after he relieved you of your fingers," Varys observed, looking to Davos with a shake of his head. "If someone removed a part of my body, I doubt I would forgive them so easily."

Davos shrugged. "It was a just punishment for a life full of crimes. Stannis had many flaws but back then he at least had a keen sense of justice."

"I don't call burning a little girl justice," Jon remarked bitterly. It was the first time he'd spoken during dinner, having spent the better part of the evening drinking mulled wine and sulking, determinedly avoiding Dany's glances.

"No," Davos agreed solemnly. "That was a horrible crime. The Princess Shireen was a pure and innocent soul. Would that I had been there to save her . . ."

Dany had already heard this tale, and she didn't like being reminded of it. When she was queen, she would protect the innocent from such barbarism. It frightened her to think that a man like Stannis had come so close to the Iron Throne. Although, she thought, Cersei Lannister is not much better. She sighed. So many obstructions still impeded her path. She didn't know how to face them alone.

"You're very quiet tonight, Your Grace," Varys remarked, giving Dany a pointed look.

She sat up angrily, thinking that she might rather enjoy the expression on Varys' smug face if she threw her wine on it. Instead, she said, "I suppose I have a lot on my mind."

"Is everything alright? You don't seem yourself," Missandei asked, concerned.

"I suppose," Dany began, staring right at Jon, "That I'm just frustrated. I was very close to getting something I really wanted, you see. I've been after it for some time now. But it slipped away from me, and now it seems I won't have it after all."

Jon's face turned redder than his wine, which he promptly finished, pouring himself another glass straight away.

Missandei looked confused. "Do you mean an alliance? There was a raven today from Lord Tyrion, wasn't there? Is something wrong?"

Dany seethed in silent exasperation and Varys chuckled. "Ah, my lady," he said to Missandei. "I think her grace is just tired and strained. 'Heavy is the head that wears the crown,' don't you know?"

Missandei was unconvinced but let the matter drop, and the rest of the meal passed without incident. Dany meant to speak with Jon after they'd all finished, but he excused himself so abruptly that she barely had time to register his hurried, "Good evening," before he rushed away to his cabin, Ghost close at his heels.

Varys did nothing to hide his amusement and Davos gave her a sad, knowing smile. Missandei didn't seem to notice. She and Grey Worm were sitting off to the side, talking together in low voices, Grey Worm's arm around her shoulders.

"I think I'll excuse myself as well. My lords," Dany said to Varys and Davos, before heading back to her room.

She was upset—at herself for caring so much about what happened with Jon, at Varys for deliberately putting a stop to it, and at Jon for avoiding her now.

When she entered her quarters she jumped in surprise, expecting to find them empty. Instead, Jon stood on the far side of the room. He wore only a loose-fitting tunic in his usual black, and matching breeches. She had only ever seen him in the trappings of a warrior: armor, a leather surcoat, a swordbelt and his Valyrian steel blade, well-worn boots. It was strange to see him so informal, almost vulnerable, the faint candlelight dancing across his face.

"I came to . . . apologize," he began.

"Oh?" Dany felt a spark of hope, grateful that he spoke first.

"Yes. I—I'm sorry. For making advances before, on the deck. Your pompous lord spoke true. It's not right." Jon looked dejected, alone. Dany felt the same urge to go to him that had compelled her before. She hated that he felt so inferior, that it was partially her fault, and that Varys had spoken of him as he had before.

"Jon, you don't need to apologize for that. I am just as much to blame. And nothing happened, in any case," she added grumpily.

"Right," Jon agreed.

"I will say," she went on, still feeling a bit indignant, "That I did not care for your conduct at dinner."

"My conduct?" he asked, raising his eyes defiantly. "What of yours? Saying those things about something you've 'wanted' for so long. Why do you tease me, Daenerys?"

Dany was taken aback by his challenge, and the pain in his voice. "Jon, I . . . I don't mean to tease you," she said earnestly. She thought carefully about what to say next, deciding to be brave, to be honest. "I meant what I said. I . . . have wanted this. Wanted you."

"Oh." Jon's eyes widened, surprised and pleased. "I didn't think you. . ."

"Yes," she said, suddenly embarrassed.

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the low rumble of thunder over the ocean, the lap of the water against her window.

"You're still wearing my cloak," he remarked, taking a small step toward her.

Dany nodded, pulling it closer round her and meeting Jon's eyes. "Does it suit me?"

"Aye. I like seeing you in it," he replied. Another step. "But I think I'd rather take it off you."

Dany sucked in a startled breath as Jon's dark eyes bored into hers. His voice was low and sultry, the slight lilt of his Northern accent was pleasant to her ears. But she found herself speechless. It was her turn to blush now, and she looked down demurely, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. The wine had apparently brought forth a boldness in him that she hadn't seen before, and it exhilarated her. Yet after all of the weeks of wishing for this moment Dany felt uncharacteristically shy and uncertain now that the opportunity had arrived at last.

Jon seemed to sense her nerves, finally closing the yawning distance between them in a few purposeful steps. He stood before her, regarding her with passion in his eyes, and she took a shaky breath before rallying her courage and returning his stare. "Well then," she said, smirking up at him. "What are you waiting for?"

That was all the permission he needed, grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her to him as he leaned down and covered her lips with his own. Finally, finally, she thought, sighing against him, relief and desire unwinding the tension in her body. She kissed him back willingly, relishing the softness of his lips and the rough brush of his beard on her face. She opened her mouth to him, his tongue sliding against hers, tasting of wine and longing.

It was everything, everything she'd hoped and more, and Dany felt herself melting in his arms, her skin tingly all over. Her former hesitance was replaced with hunger and as Jon moved to pull away for breath Dany drew him back in covetously, biting his full lower lip and knotting her fingers in his hair. Jon gasped in surprise, but she could feel him smiling against her mouth, amused at her urgency.

He moved his hands to the clasp of the cloak and released it easily, pushing it from her shoulders and exposing her skin to his touch. His hands had the rough callouses of a hard worker and a swordsman, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they moved over her shoulders and down her back. He broke away from the kiss at last, breathing hard, admiring her with tender eyes and a smile so sincere it made her heart ache.

"Is this alright?" he murmured, a shadow of doubt passing over him like a dark raincloud. "It's as Lord Varys said. I'm a Snow—a bastard. I've no place beside a queen." His shame pained her; he didn't deserve to feel it. Jon was twice the man of any highborn lord she'd ever known.

Dany shook her head slowly. "No, Jon. You're a man. A good man. And I . . ." she went on, moving her hand behind her back as she spoke, never breaking eye contact, "Am only a woman." Her fingers found the sash that fastened her dress and she pulled, unknotting the bow that held the grey silk together. The garment fell away and pooled at her feet. Beneath it she wore nothing, in the traditional style of Essos, unencumbered by troublesome corsets or undergarments. She stood naked before him and his eyes roved over her flesh, fascinated, drinking her in.

Dany had left all of her modesty and shame behind with the khalasar across the sea. Instead she felt empowered under Jon's appreciative scrutiny, excited by the lust smoldering in his eyes. "Gods, I want you," he murmured.

"I'm yours," she breathed, covering his hands with hers and guiding them from her shoulders down to her breasts. A tortured sort of groan escaped his lips and he massaged her gently, leaning down to kiss her again. He moved his mouth from her lips down her jawline, kissing a hot trail down her neck, her clavicles, all the while rolling her nipples with his fingers.

She reveled in the sensation, letting her head fall back, weak in the knees from his touch. She grasped at his shoulders for support, finding the rough spun fabric of his tunic an irksome barrier between her skin and his. Her fingers sought the hem of the shirt and she pulled it up insistently. Jon stepped back and raised his arms so that she could lift it over his head before tossing it aside.

When his chest was bared to her, Dany couldn't hold back a gasp of horror. Jon's pale skin was marred with large, purple scars where he'd been stabbed. By his own brothers, she thought dismally.

She reached out to him, her fingertips running lightly over the markings. His muscles tensed under her touch but he made no move to stop her. "How could they do this to you?" she asked, her voice breaking, tears gathering in her eyes.

He died, she thought, her mind reeling as she was confronted with the evidence of what he had suffered. He was so close to being ripped from this world, to being taken before she had ever found him, ever heard his voice, before she ever saw the way his eyes crinkled when he flashed her one of his rare smiles. It was overwhelming. She was shaking, a lump rising in her throat as the tears brimmed over and rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't," he said softly, cupping her face and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. "It's alright. I'm here. I'm alright." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Dany nuzzled her face against his chest, muffling a sob. She was surprised at herself, at the depth of her emotion. Her attachment to Jon was still an enigma, but it was undeniably strong.

"I think I was brought back for a reason," he went on quietly. "To find you. To help you fight the army of the dead and to be your ally. To be . . . with you."

She looked up at him, at the affection shining plainly in his gaze. "Yes," she said simply. It was all she could manage, overcome with a desperate desire to hold him, to show him how right he was, that only destiny could entwine two people so completely, so quickly.

Her lips found his again, and this time there was a new heat and intensity in the kiss. Jon guided her backward until she was standing with her back to the wall, his body flush against her. He pressed his knee between her legs, urging them apart. Dany's breath quickened, arousal coiling like a spring inside her again as she obliged, widening her stance for him.

Jon kept his eyes on her as he ran his fingers down her chest, her belly, finally grazing her womanhood. She shuddered in response, pressing herself to his hand eagerly. Already she was wet and ready for him, and he dipped a finger inside her tightness.

He rested his forehead against hers as he worked, adding a finger and sliding in and out of her carefully, expertly. He crooked his fingers inside her, finding the center of her pleasure easily. Dany didn't know how he had learned to please a woman in a castle surrounded by men at the edge of the world, but she was thankful for his skill and before long she was writhing wantonly against him, breathless with need.

She grabbed at the laces on his breeches, pleased at the feeling of his hardness, at the notion that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. She unfastened his pants and pulled them open, freeing his cock and running her hands over it impatiently, giving him a few enticing pumps.

Jon grunted in response, withdrawing his hand and lifting her up at the hips. Dany understood his intent immediately and wrapped her legs around him as he braced her against the wall, guided her down upon him. She moaned in satisfaction when he pushed inside her slowly, filling her up completely.

Dany had expected an aggressive lover from the fierce fighter in Jon, but instead he was gentle and sweet. He lavished her neck and shoulder with kisses as he moved inside her, setting an unhurried pace that was delectably tender. He laid his head against her shoulder as he supported her weight, thrusting into her deeply, driving little whimpers of pleasure from her lips.

Jon's eyes were closed, but in the flickering candlelight Dany couldn't look away from him. His wild black hair was damp with sweat, his powerful muscles rippling with the effort of holding her up and making love to her at the same time. He was beautiful. She clenched against him as he rutted into her, desperate to give him the same heady pleasure he was giving her.

It was exquisite, lovely, and her mind clouded with bliss at the friction of him moving within her. Dany dug her nails into Jon's back as he hammered into her, his length easily brushing her core every time. They moved together so naturally, fit so perfectly, it was everything she'd ever dreamed of, every fantasy she'd ever had lying in her bed all those lonely nights.

He groaned out her name and quickened the pace then; she was practically bouncing on him as he neared his climax. When his body shivered involuntarily, a mangled cry slipped from his throat and he spilled his seed in her at last. Jon sighed, gasping for breath, hugging her close as he carefully pulled out of her and set her on her feet.

Dany's bones felt like jelly and she could hardly stand. She expected that to be the end of it. It would have been with the other men she'd been with—Jon had gotten his pleasure, and she had enjoyed herself along the way.

But scarce a moment had passed before he took her by the hand, a mischievous grin on his face as he led her to the featherbed and then pushed her down upon it. "Jon," she said, giggling breathlessly. "What are you doing?" Surely he can't be ready again, she thought, intrigued.

"Lie back," he ordered simply.

"Jon, what are you—"

"Your Grace," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You don't command me here."

Dany scoffed, but felt her cheeks reddening in spite of herself as Jon crawled into bed. He moved up to kiss her lips briefly before working his way down and pushing apart her knees, opening her up to him as he kissed down her stomach, her left thigh, her right. She felt exposed yet excited; it was new to her, but in Jon's capable hands she felt no anxiety.

He glanced up and his eyes found hers before he finally set to his task and kissed her there, licking her in one long, slow motion. Her body shook with the unexpected intensity of the sensation. It was strangely gratifying, the heat of his breath and the press of his slick tongue against her.

He urged her thighs apart further and licked her again, pausing at the top, on that spot that made her shake, lashing at it with his tongue. Her hips bucked against him and she cried out in surprised delight. Jon smiled at her before sticking his fingers inside her again and licking her in earnest, swirling his tongue over her in the most delicious way.

Her whole body felt hot, and the tension grew inside her, craving release. Outside, the storm intensified. The wind howled and the waves broke against the ship. The boat rocked, the candlelight throwing shadows wildly around the room. But Dany noticed none of it. All she could see was Jon poised between her thighs, her legs thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, his mouth on her. All she could hear was the sound of his breath and her own voice, bursting out of her of its own accord as Jon's tongue and hands coaxed her to the brink.

He paused briefly and she audibly groaned in frustration, begging him for more. He chuckled, a pleasant sound low in his throat. "Do you like this, Dany?" He pumped his fingers inside her again as he spoke and she could barely find the clarity of mind to respond.

"Yes. Gods, Jon, yes. Where did you learn to—"

He silenced her with his lips on her again, closing around her sweetest spot and sucking gently. It was magnificent, he was magnificent, and she came with a loud cry, tensing around his fingers, her toes curling with satisfaction. He slid his hand away carefully and kissed her one last time, making her shiver at the contact, sensitive and utterly sated.

Jon moved up beside her on the bed and she turned, nestling against him, trying to slow her breath. He pulled the plush fur coverlet over them both and then draped a heavy, muscled arm over her. He hugged her to him, pressing his lips to the top of her head in a chaste kiss goodnight.

She was pleasingly tired and content, safe in his arms. The concerns of the war, her sense of dread about what she would find when they reached the North—those things were far from her mind as she lied in bed with Jon. He shared her burdens and her fears, and he pushed them from her mind as only a lover could. Dany was indescribably grateful for him.

She wanted to say something, to tell him how right it had felt, and how dizzyingly good it had been. That she sensed it was so good because she cared for him so much. But she couldn't find the words. For the moment, she hoped their actions had been enough to show him how she really felt.

With those thoughts in mind she drifted into a deep and restful sleep, Jon holding her close all through the night.

By the next morning the storm had passed, but not the cold. They were far enough north that there was no chance of any more temperate days to come. Cozy in bed with Jon, Dany did not even notice the wintry chill.

He woke her before dawn, intending to slip away discreetly before the rest of the ship began to stir. But Dany wheedled him back into bed and they made love again, soft and quiet in the stillness of the early morning. Then he reluctantly bade her goodbye with a passionate kiss and hurried back to his own quarters. Without him there, her room felt strangely empty and uncomfortable, so she decided against going back to sleep despite the earliness of the hour.

Dany put on a simple dress of navy blue wool and slipped into her boots, wrapping herself in Jon's cloak and heading to the communal part of the cabin to break her fast. She found Missandei already at the table, a cup of watered wine between her hands.

"Your Grace," Missandei said, gesturing for Dany to sit beside her. There was a plate of fruit and a pitcher full of wine already laid out, so she helped herself to a pear while they waited for the cook to awaken and prepare them a real breakfast.

"Good morning, Missandei," she said, taking a bite of the pear and smiling broadly at her friend. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"As nice as a day can be in this part of the world, I suppose," Missandei replied, gazing thoughtfully out the window. She turned back to Dany curiously. "I trust you had an . . . enjoyable evening?"

Dany smirked coyly at her. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean," she said innocently. "I went straight to bed after dinner." She poured herself a mug of wine from the pitcher on the table, taking a casual sip and eying Missandei over the rim of her cup.

The younger girl looked supremely uncomfortable, but she pressed on all the same. "I think even the fishes heard you last night."

Dany barely suppressed a snort of laughter, swallowing the wine too quickly and then coughing and sputtering dramatically. When she regained her composure she shot Missandei a guilty look and shrugged.

"It isn't exactly surprising," she said carefully. "It's just . . . is this wise? Is he not . . . beneath you, Your Grace?"

"Hm. Well, I was beneath him this morning," Dany replied, and even Missandei couldn't stifle a laugh.

Still, the comment bothered Dany. Yes, Jon was no prince, not even a lord. But that felt less and less significant to her with every passing day. "What about Daario Naharis, Missandei? How is this any different?"

The girl thought for a moment. "Well, you left Daario because he was unworthy of you." She paused, clearly worried about saying something untoward. "Didn't you?"

Dany sighed. Missandei was right, of course. When she left Daario, she'd silenced his protests with the assertion that she must form alliances when she reached Westeros, through marriage if need be. She had not planned on finding a potential ally and husband so quickly. But Jon had a lot to offer.

"Missandei, here in Westeros Jon Snow is hailed as a king by the Northerners."

Missandei smiled half-heartedly. "But—" she started, and then seemed to think the better of it. "I only want to help you, your grace. You will need powerful allies."

"I know," Dany replied, laying her hand over Missandei's. Jon will be a powerful ally, she thought to herself. He had the allegiance of the Northern lords, the Night's Watch, even the Wildlings. A valuable alliance, incomparable to her romantic diversion with Daario.

Tyrion's words the day Dany left Daario echoed in her memory then: "He wasn't the first to love you," he had promised. "And he won't be the last." Daario had been as devoted as a pet. Was it really love? She couldn't say. But Daario had been her servant as surely as Drogo had been her master. She needed neither now—she needed a partner.

Despite Tyrion's words, Dany had not dared to hope that such a partnership would include love. Yet Jon wielded great power; not only over lords and warriors, she realized, but over her own heart as well.

At that moment he emerged from his quarters, Ghost padding lightly behind him. He wore a comely grey waistcoat with the direwolf of House Stark embroidered on the chest. He looked fresh and rested as he made his way over to a nearby crate, removing a slab of smoked meat for Ghost.

Watching him, Dany was reminded of a similar scene back at Dragonstone. Jon had impressed her and shocked his men when he'd hand-fed a side of lamb to Viserion, fearlessly stroking the ivory dragon as though he were a simple house cat. Yes, Jon was unlike any man she'd ever known; and Dany decided that with him, maybe the idea of a loving union wasn't so farfetched after all.

Feeling her gaze, Jon looked up. This time, when their eyes met, he didn't look away. He smiled, really smiled, and the dazzling warmth in his brown eyes melted all her doubts away. A partner, she thought to herself, returning his smile. She'd found him at last.

*blushes* I hope you liked that. I was really nervous to write this so reviews are welcome :D Also, if I can make time in the coming months I might expand this into a multi-chapter fic. What would you like to see?