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2022-09-19
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A Night in Spring

Summary:

After a time away fostering in the North, Prince Jaehaerys 'Jon' Targaryen has returned to court.

After a night of revelry, Jon helps Dany prepare for bed.

Notes:

I, like most people, conjure up entire novels worth of fan fiction laid in bed waiting for sleep.

While I've never had the patience nor skill to write it out, I just couldn't let this scene pass.

 

The context to this is;
Rhaegar overthrew the mad king.
Jon and Dany are betrothed, but it's not yet been announced, but both are aware but haven't spoken of it.
They've just left a masqued ball.

Work Text:

Once they'd crossed the threshold she untangled her arm from his, turning to close the door behind them and slipping the bolt into place quietly, wanting solitude from the waning revelry of the evening.

She stepped past him, untying the ribbon of her mask, savouring the feeling of the cloth finally peeling away from her skin. Glancing over she noticed Jon had taken her lead removing his mask. The wolf pulled away from his face, leaving a faint redness where the edges of the plaster had dug into his skin.

A smirk passed her lips as she resolved to tease him. "Think of the gossip if the court discovered you've forced your way into my chambers. Especially tonight, when inhibitions wear thin and men think they can do as they please hidden behind a mask."

His gaze snapped to her, an expression somewhere between fear and anger. Seeing her sly smile a protest died on his lips. He looked ashamed at his thoughts though recovered quickly. "Shall I summon your ladies?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes again.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she began unbuttoning the cloth at her side revealing the laces of her dress, "you'll suffice, there's no need to disturb them. Let them have their fun." The nervous look on his face brought a smile to hers.

When he made no move towards her she called for him, "come, loosen these damn things." He answered with slow measured steps towards her and began the delicate work, pulling at the laces without comment. As the fabric gave way, she held her arm across her chest to pin it in place. A sigh slipped from her as the pressure released, letting her breathe deeply for the first time in what felt like an age.

She cursed herself for doing this. Letting Jon aide in undressing her built an oppressive intimacy, silence stretching between them and heightening with every stroke of his fingers against the silk beneath her dress. She broke the tension between them, "turn around. Keep your eyes closed."

He obeyed without a word.

Moving to where her night clothes were prepared, she pushed the dress down glancing every so often at Jon who stood like stone, examining the wall as if it were a masterwork from Myr. An unladylike grunt escape her when the fabric was forced over her hips, earning her a chuckle from across the room. "I didn't ask for comment," she snapped. It silenced him but she could picture the stupid smile on his pretty face. With one last glance at Jon, she quickly stripped off the other garments and donned her nightdress.

"You can stop staring at the wall," she threw over her shoulder as she made her way to the vanity, pulling the large pin that weaved through her crown of braids. Placing the heavy twisted metal dragon on the large cloudy stone set in the middle of the wood, her hands returned to her hair, fishing for the smaller pins holding it all together.

The futility of her efforts only spurred her on, her efforts becoming harsher trying to rip the tedious things out. He must have sensed her annoyance of picking into the nest of hair, as soon enough his presence enveloped her as he leaned past her. And as soon as he was there, he was gone, pulling back the chair that had been tucked beneath the table and settling into the seat. Looking up to her he gave a soft command, "Sit," nodding to the space between his spread legs.

There was no witty comment she could come up with to respond. No tease or sarcastic comment to his soft tone and kind eyes. Instead, she moved towards him, crossing the short distance until she was where he wanted her. She turned and sank into the Myrish rug, folding her legs beneath her.

She was expecting his touch, but still, she was startled when he began. Picking up the long braid at her back, he started untying the soft winter-blue ribbon at its end, laying the loose cloth over her shoulder. As his fingers worked at untwisting her hair, she collected the cloth and began toying with it to entertain her hands. He continued plucking his way through her hair freeing the long strips of blue silk woven through it.

Every so often Jon would hum, a sound deep from his chest that rumbled the air around her, relaxing her. The day seemed to catch up, sapping her energy. Her overactive mind started to filter out the stresses of all that had clawed at her the past few days, letting her mind unwind and work towards some sort of lethargic peace. He leaned forward, crowding over her as he strained and retrieved a comb from the table and began working it through the loose strands of hair, then began again working to loosen her tightly pulled braid.

"You've done this before" she accused, the words slipping from her lips before she could think better of them.

He gave a hum of agreement, not stopping his efforts.

The non-answer irritated her, so she pushed further, "how many ladies have you had between your legs?" The angry bite to what were meant to be teasing words made her cringe, but the thoughts started running through her mind and she didn't like the images that were conjured. Lovers he'd tended to, cared for, and the thoughts coiled around her suffocating all reason.

"You've nothing to be jealous of" he answered, his tender tone unchanged. The mass of her hair fell against her back as he began plucking pins from the crown of her head. Sporadic clinks echoed as he dropped the metal onto the table beside them.

At her seething silence, he continued, "Arya didn't like her mother or sister brushing her hair. They were too impatient and rough with her," his tone softened further as he spoke, his words growing quieter as if he was entrusting her with a deep secret. Her heart softened at his words, the quiet lull soothing her mind like a balm.

"She would flee from them to avoid it. She has a talent for hiding and my rooms were somewhere they would never think to look." He freed the six smaller braids from their curl and began unwinding each in turn. "She has hair like mine you see, thick and unruly, but much longer. And she has a proclivity to run and play which only makes it worse."

"So I would take my time, pulling free the knots," the realization dawned on her that this was probably the longest she'd heard him speak uninterrupted since the time they were children. It had been too long. His voice had taken on a northern burr, but he spoke eloquently. An aching longing began building to hear more of his words.

"I would comb her hair to keep it right," as he practiced his words on her now free-flowing hair. His attentions drained all energy from her, feeling his attentive fingers against her scalp and the soft scrape of the ivory comb blanking her mind and making her eyes heavy. Her head lulled to the side of its own volition, resting on his thigh.

"And once I was done, I’d muss it again," she could hear the smile forming through his words as he ruffled his hand through her hair. It brought a smile to her lips, but she made no effort to move, content where she was.

"Don't go falling asleep on me, little dragon."

A groan escaped her lips as she turned and pressed her forehead to his thigh. Summoning her strength she righted herself as Jon resumed combing the waves of her hair, a waterfall of silver splashing down her back.

'Little dragon', it was a name he'd call her when they were children. They'd play in the gardens pretending to be beasts and the heroes who would slay them. She liked being a dragon, soaring high and turning all her enemies to dust. Jon would be Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, coming to slay her, though his shield was nothing more than a silver pewter plate they'd pilfered from the kitchens. He'd sneak up on her and tackle her to the grass leaving them in fits of giggles.

Viserys had found them playing such a game and mocked her. She was a child of six namedays, but her brother could be cruel when the mood took him. He'd screamed she was no dragon and never would be, dragons were large and strike fear into their enemies. He was a dragon, and she was little more than a lizard.

She'd wept and fled to the Godswood after. Jon had followed and comforted her, wiped her tears, and whispered soothing words to her. She was fire and fury, the most ferocious dragon the Seven Kingdoms would ever see. Just... littler.

He had always been there to comfort her from Viserys' horrible words, even when he wasn't there to hear them. He could sense her pain. The last time she could remember was harsh. Viserys had told her the gods she didn't quite believe in despised her. That the storm that raged during her birth was the gods screaming their rage at her, that she was cursed and despised.

Jon had come to her rooms after supper, this room. She couldn't remember if he'd said any words, but he'd crawled into bed with her and held her while she sobbed and told him everything that had happened. He responded with kind words, telling her of the gods he certainly did not believe in. The sparks of light during her birth were the sparks of smith hammering his anvil, forging a better world for her. The thunder of the warrior commanding his knights to protect her. The rains of the weeping father brought to tears by how deeply he loved her. The storm raged so wildly for her birth because she was a blessing, loved, and cherished. It was the babble of a child but he always seemed to know what to say to her, and she treasured those words.

They fell asleep abed together that night, and not long after he'd disappeared north and left her alone. He was stupid and sweet and he left her.

It wasn't his fault, nor his choice, but what does that matter to a child? She had hated him for it.

Forcing back the unshed tears, she tamed her wandering mind. He was back now, years later but he was back and he was hers.

He reached down and plucked the ribbon she had forgotten she was holding. During her reverie, he'd woven her hair into a single loose braid down her back, that he now tied off with the ribbon.

A hand came to rest lightly on the side of her neck. Before she could savour his touch, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. A soft and affectionate gesture that melted her. He hovered there, close to her, and breathed, "I'll give you the same warning I did Arya. You ever tell anyone what I did in this chair, I'll fashion your hair into a noose and hang you from it." The image her mind conjured made her chuckle, a noise Jon repeated.

She twisted to look up at him, leaning slightly against his leg. "You would hide such a masterful skill?" she admonished.

His face turned stern and sad, eyes not meeting hers. "When people look to us, they must see unquestionable strength. Not... this," he explained with a flick of his hand between them.

"You do not think there is strength in a gentle heart?" she asked half-jokingly. His response was a gentle tug at her braid as a sad smile flashed across his face.

Beginning to rise, her legs ached from being curled up for too long. She braced herself on his thigh to steady her uncertain legs. "Not to them," his voice was tinged with a melancholic note, and when she looked at him, his eyes were pensive and cast downwards to where she'd been.

He was brooding, wrapped up in his thoughts like Rhaegar often was.

"Then I shall keep your gentle heart for myself," she returned with a happier tone. He smiled at that, looking up at her. He had a pretty smile, and she wished he smiled more often.

As he began rising from his seat, Dany stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. Surrendering to her touch, he dropped down into the groaning wood. Meeting his gaze was a mistake, he was looking up at her with an adoring intensity that stirred a fire inside her.

He was stupid and sweet and pretty and he was home.

With slow movements she climbed into his lap, hands pressed to his shoulders, steadying herself until she was straddled over him. Her hands moved up to cup his cheeks, the pads of her thumbs sweeping back and forth under his eyes. Steel grey eyes were blown wide, swimming with so many words he'd yet to say.

His hands had found her hips, mimicking her own, stroking at the silk absentmindedly, fanning the flames of the inferno building inside her.

"I've missed you," he whispered, giving form to her thoughts. It broke her from the spell his eyes held. She allowed herself to press her lips to his in a chaste kiss. Both stumbling and tentatively moving against each other for stretched moments until they broke apart. Dany nuzzled her nose against his cheek, finally answering him, "I've missed you too."

She pressed her lips to his cheek, then closer to his mouth before they were on each other again. Their movements becoming heavier and more sure as he opened his lips to her. She matched his enthusiasm, finally getting a taste of everything she'd been missing.