A much longer one this time- actually long enough to really be called a chapter, for once. ;)
Enjoy. :)

The winds over Dragonstone tussled and caressed the long blades of grass along the rocky path, making the greenery shimmer as it caught the sun, first this way, than that. Daenerys eyed it, admiring the simple beauty, grateful for the peace, for the stress beginning to seep out of her tense muscles and tired mind. The breeze caught the loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them behind her as she sped up into a little run, enjoying a moment of freedom from planning or worry, or the responsibilities of being Queen. She slowed down by the big boulder at the curve of the path, exhaled and climbed to sit atop it, stretching out her limbs and leaning back on her arms as she turned her face to the sun, soaking in its' warm rays, eyes closed, and let her mind wonder.

She had grudgingly agreed with Tyrion during their talk this afternoon. The DragonGlass was not a commodity she cared about, and if it may be of use to the King in the North, there was no reason not to let him mine it. A sign of good faith, Tyrion had called it. I suppose that's currently what we have, she thought, a wary kind of good faith.

Her Hand had suggested, among his other commentaries, that perhaps a more cooperative approach could be found, which would be much more effective at drawing Jon Snow into an alliance.
He had told her of their conversation earlier that day, and how it was only by Tyrion's suggestion that Jon mitigate his request to be more reasonable, given the circumstances, that Jon had divulged his want for the DragonGlass. More reasonable, given the circumstances. He'd emphasized those words, giving her a pointed look as he did, and though she'd pursed her lips at it in annoyance, the logic in his words was hard to dismiss.

So here she was, contemplating what was and was not reasonable in this situation. Though her desire to subdue the North had not diminished, she was willing to review the situation from alternate angles.

It had been hinted to her, both by Tyrion, and much earlier, by Ser Barriston Selmy, to be wary of the corruption which power can bring; of the feeling of forceful rightness that comes from an over-inflated pride, and the close-mindedness which followed it. She thought with a sad sort of fondness, of Ser Barriston, then; of the sweet stories he'd shared with her about her brother Rhaegar, as well as the horrific ones about her father, the "Mad King". She knew exactly which one of the two she wanted to resemble more, though the moment-by-moment choices which amounted to the difference between following those very different sets of examples, were often hard to recognize and follow. Daenerys sighed, committing herself to watching for that difference with greater care.

Her mind turning back to Jon Snow, she suddenly wondered if, and how, the King in the North dealt with pressures of power and rulership, himself. She valued her advisors, and the guidance and support they offered her, but sometimes, during rare moments such as this one, she wished she'd had someone to talk to, who's dealt with the heavy weight of a crown, and knew how it felt in a more personal way. She was not sure the King in the North would be someone she could ever discuss such things with, but she knew she would benefit from exploring that possibility. With Tyrion's advice still fresh in her mind, about being more open-minded about life and people (he'd emphasized that part too), she decided to give Jon Snow a little more of the benefit of the doubt.

Jon didn't know what to do other than pace and wander with near aimlessness around the winding walkways of the Island, trying to distract himself from his frustrated thoughts of where else he could be, should be, instead. No use dwelling on that right now. No use sulking. He was a King now, he thought with determination, but still quite a bit of disbelief, and a King did not sulk in corners like a castle's bastard did. He had to find a way to proceed. He hoped the Queen's consent to his request, would enable that.

Tyrion had heard him out, and said he'd believed him, though a little reluctance was understandably still there in his tone. He'd placed his trust in the clever dwarf, to parlay with the Dragon Queen about it on his behalf. Though something told him it would have been more Kingly to have come to her with the request himself, he knew the shorter man had her ear and her confidence more than he did at this time, and was glad of the feeling of having a mediator who was at least partially on his side.
This was a matter too important to jeopardize, and while Jon was still unsure how precisely to handle the imperious Daenerys, her Hand surely knew how to, much better.

A screech sounded overhead, and Jon looked up, just in time to watch a sleek green dragon fly overhead and out across the water, its' scales catching the rays of the setting sun. His eyes followed it out toward the horizon, and as he did, he realized he was not the only one watching its' glide across the currents.
As his brother, creamy golden colored, and shining even brighter beneath the light, flew by to join him, Jon took a deep breath and began descending down the many stairs, towards the plateau overlooking the water, where Daenerys stood gazing out at the flying beasts, facing away from him.
As he came nearer, his gaze fixated on her- her long flowing locks, gleaming like white gold, were swaying slightly with the breeze, only the many intricate braids within them keeping them in place. Still, a few stray wisps did seem to escape from the tightly-knit arrangement, making her look just a little less composed and imperious than before. Still regal though, Jon thought... and still stunning...
He shook his head at that unwelcome thought, as if to shake it out of his head. That was the last thing he wanted on his mind.
Taking a long, shallow breath to compose himself, and glancing once more at the horizon where the great creatures could still be seen, Jon squared his shoulders and stepped closer.

"Amazing thing to see", he commented, announcing his presence with unintrusive informality, coming to join her on the same plateau.

Daenerys inclined her head lightly to one side, her gaze still on the dragons.
"I named them for my brothers, Viserys and Rhaegar. They're both gone now." There was a new tone in her voice he hadn't heard before- softer than it had been in the reception hall earlier that morning. More... approachable?!
"You lost two brothers as well?" She half asked, half commented gently, turning around then, and her face, while still a bit guarded, did not obscure the compassion in her eyes.

He winced as the memories, and the still unprocessed grief of the more recent loss of Rickon, assailed his mind. He nodded lightly, and as his eyes met hers for a brief second, he found a wistful sadness mirrored back at him beneath her usual composure. Almost... reaching out?! He was suddenly uncomfortably aware, once again, that there was a lot more than met the eye to Daenerys Targaryen. But this time he had an idea as to what: whatever else she ever was- proud, imperious, and intensely unnerving, the heart of this Dragon Queen, was a warm one.

He inclined his head downward, the brief second of eye contact gone, the grief for his brothers' loss, which was evident in his gaze a second ago, once again veiled.
She looked down, composing herself as well. She had meant to acknowledge the similitude of their experience, to pay homage to their fallen kin. It seems it reached deeper than she'd meant it to. His grief is fresher then mine, she remembered sadly, feeling for his loss.
This is not the time to get emotional, she told herself. She wanted to remain in control. Perhaps a slight shift of topic...

"People thought dragons were gone forever, but here they are." She spoke, her voice once again composed , and cocked her head as she glanced back at him meaningfully, "perhaps we should all be examining what we think we know."

His mouth tugged up on one side into a sardonic grin as he glanced away at her, looking out at the horizon. "You've been talking to Tyrion." He was calling her out, and though there was no malice or ill intent in that, the balance of power in the conversation shifted immediately, along with... something else she couldn't place. A sort of familiarity, which felt odd to her. Almost... unsettling.
Grimacing slightly at his deadpan, she leaned back against the wall behind her, looking in the opposite direction.

"He is my hand" she pointed out.

"He enjoys talking", Jon commented, clearly meaning to draw attention to how he enjoyed it much less. More distancing. More walls.

"We all enjoy what we're good at" she tried to draw him back into a shared experience, something which most people would agree with, but he was not making it easy.

"I don't". He stated quietly, his eyes lost somewhere, the attractive features of his profile looking unreadable beneath her steady gaze. So far from here. So far from her.
Suddenly, she felt her ire rise a little. Maybe because he was paying her no heed, forgetting she was a formidable woman. Maybe because he had been contrary one sentence too many. Maybe because you want his attention, her mind whispered unbidden, annoying her further.

"You know I'm not going to let Cersi stay on the Iron Throne!" She stated with quiet firmness.

That, at least, got his attention. He turned to face her immediately, his face resolute and unyielding, "I never expected that you would." he acknowledged, clearly responding to the unspoken challenge in her tone.

"And I haven't changed my mind about which Kingdoms belong to that throne..." she added quickly.
"I haven't either." His gaze met hers firmly, and she could see a passionate immovability in it which irked her further, even while it sent unbidden thrills down her spine. She broke eye contact- in frustration, she told herself. He was irritating her. That was all.
What was she supposed to do with this man?!

She focused on the sound of the waves in the background, allowing them to soothe her out of her irritation - with him, or herself, she wasn't sure which was greater.
He was still a potential alley, she reminded herself, and she had a peace offering of sorts, to extend to him.

"I will allow you to mine the DragonGlass, and make weapons from it. Any resources or men you need I will provide for you."

He blinked, glancing at her in near disbelief. A moment ago, she was attempting to intimidate him.
To suddenly change the subject in his favour; to suddenly turn amicable...
She doesn't want to fight either, he realized suddenly. Relief flooded him, regarding finally having access to the DragonGlass the North so desperately needed; regarding his trip not being in vain after all; and, he realized, to feel like Daenerys Targaryen was a little more on his side.

"Thank you" he breathed, looking at her gratefully.

He was about to turn back up the hill, to seek out Ser Davos and his men and begin taking stock of what the mining project would entail, but he stilled a second. There was one more thing he was hopeful for...
"So you believe me then, about the wight-walkers and the army of the dead?" he addressed her, hesitantly, but wanting to know; hoping...

But she didn't look back at him, her eyes back on her Dragon-children. Dismissing him with her lack of attention, all she offered by way of reply, was "You'd better get to work, Jon Snow."

Right, he thought, why would she suddenly trust me on this? It was unreasonable to expect.
Offering a curt nod, he turned on his heel and headed resolutely back up the hill, refusing to look back... or to ask himself, why it was he suddenly wanted her belief in him, that much more.