Chapter Text
Prologue
The sky was a dull gray outside Daenerys’ bedroom window. The Blackwater Rush had been robbed of its blue hues and though there were still hours before evening, the sun had begun to set. She pulled her shawl up over her shoulders. The long summer had finally given way to winter, or so her maids had told her. It had been weeks since she’d been visited by any member of her family, as she has been locked in near solitude for the past two years in the lonely Maidenvault.
Westeros had known peace over the twenty years since her father, King Aerys, had won the rebellion, ending the Baratheon line. Had it not been for Rhaegar’s victory at the Trident, the tides may have turned in the other direction, but her father gave Rhaegar no more respect than any of his other children and grandchildren.
Rhaegar and Viserys had done their best to protect Dany, but her eldest brother had his own children, Aegon and Rhaenys, to safeguard, and despite his best efforts Viserys could barely manage to protect himself from their father’s wrath. Dany’s own mother had died bringing her into the world, but Aerys’ lifespan exceeded all expectations, and in despair some wondered if he might live forever.
Peace reigned across Westeros; harvests were bountiful and some dared to wonder if the ten year summer they’d enjoyed might never end. But the highborn lived in fear. The king was obsessed with wildfire, and those lords and ladies who incurred his displeasure would meet their end engulfed in green flame. Though he was hated and reviled, none dared raise their forces against him after the failure of Robert’s Rebellion.
Being raised in the Red Keep, Dany had learned to be ever mindful of her father’s mood, preferring to make herself invisible when possible to escape his notice. Her brothers had not been as lucky. She had hoped marriage might afford her the opportunity to escape the confines of her family home, but her father turned down every proposal, sure a more advantageous match was on the horizon.
At the age of twenty, Daenerys felt her hope wavering, and sometimes she wondered if she’d live all the years of her life in this small, confined place, forgotten by the outside world. The days blended together, growing meaningless, until her maids began to spin mysterious tales they’d been hearing of the frozen North.
Castle Black, the stronghold of the Night’s Watch, had vanished, leaving no trace or word from the hundreds of men who held it. Some said the men of the Watch earned the displeasure of the gods and were cursed; others claimed it was a sign that another Long Night was upon them.
Dany pressed her hand to the window pane. It was cold to the touch. Whatever had happened to the men at Castle Black, it would seem winter had come.
One Year Later
Daenerys sat before the fire, her eyes trained on the flickering flames and the crackling logs as the harsh winter winds whipped about. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, pulling her white fur coat tighter to shield herself from the bitter cold seeping into her bones. “Dany are you warm enough? Perhaps you should move closer to the fire?” Viserys said softly, gently placing his hand on her shoulder
“I’m fine,” she replied absentmindedly, the lie falling easily from her mouth; she knows this journey is difficult for him as well. Though her senses register the sights, sounds, and smells that surround her, she cannot dispel the images that have haunted both her dreams and waking thoughts since she departed King’s Landing.
She’d been summoned to the throne room by her father, the king. When she entered she expected to find a small audience yet only her brothers, Rhaegar and Viserys, and a few of the Kingsguard stood below the steps of the Iron Throne.
She had immediately sought her brothers but Aerys held up his hand and halted her steps. “Daenerys, it is time for you to marry and further strengthen our House. I’ve made the most advantageous marriage arrangement for you,” Aerys said with a smirk. She could only nod her consent and wait to hear what noble house she would be traded to in order to solidify her family’s power in Westeros. However, she could never have imagined her father’s response; she would not marry into another noble house, but instead was promised to Death himself.
As the words left Aerys’ lips, Dany looked to her brothers and saw that their faces bore the same confusion that marked her own visage.
Acknowledging her silent pleas for help, Rhaegar spoke up. “This is madness, father. You cannot be serious,” he implored. Aerys replied with a deep laugh that seemed to echo through the space. Then he held up his hand and sliced his palm along one of the blades comprising the Iron Throne. Legend predicated that only those unworthy of the throne are hurt by its blades; are cut by the blades, when Aerys pulled his hand away, Daenerys watched in horror and disbelief as the cut began to heal, leaving no trace of a scar behind.
A dark glint danced across Aerys’ eyes. “This is no ordinary marriage alliance, Daenerys. In exchange for your hand, Death granted me immortality, ensuring that there will be no end to my reign or the Targaryen dynasty.”
Daenerys trembled. “What do you mean? Am I to die?”
“No, the Lord of Death seeks a bride,” Aerys laughed.
“Father,” Rhaegar interjected.
“Quiet!” Aerys shouted. “On the morrow, Rhaegar will return to Dragonstone and Viserys will escort Daenerys North.”
Dany was pulled from her dark musings when Benjen Stark threw another log into the fire, causing the flames to flare before settling once more. Benjen had met her and Viserys in White Harbor, providing them with horses and serving as their guide to the Wall.
His small, innocuous action caused anger to swell inside of her. “How can you sit there with plans to escort me to the Wall knowing Death waits for me? You of all people should see how horrid this deal is, you know what my father did to your father and your brother. Do you have no honor at all?” she seethed.
He was silent for a moment, staring into the flames, a small smile ghosting his lips, before he met her gaze. “I’ve made my peace with the sins committed by your father against my family. This was not my choice to make. Mayhaps before you judge my honor you should wait and see who is expecting you. More often than not the monsters we should fear reside among the living.”
Dany did not respond because there is truth to his words. Her father is one such monster, a man who sold her soul and life away for more power. Though this truth does not quell her fears of the man? being? who would accept such a deal to begin with.
“We’re here,” Benjen announced.
Dany's eyes swept across the landscape yet she saw no signs of the Wall nor Castle Black in the distance, only snow-covered ground and forests of soldier pine trees extending to the horizon. The rumors were true; the castle had disappeared. “Is this some kind of trick? We’ve been riding for hours and I’m in no mood for games.” She was exhausted and sleep-deprived.
“This is no trick, Princess. The Wall and Castle Black are protected by magic. It reveals itself to those who need to seek its shelter, to those who belong there. Come, let me show you,” Benjen said as he nudged his horse to a trot.
Dany followed Benjen’s lead, Viserys falling into step beside her. One moment she felt the warmth of the midday sun and the next she was plunged into darkness, with only the moon overhead to illuminate their path. It was like an eclipse, the moon overpowering the sun, the darkness extinguishing light and life. She could not help but feel this was a sign of what was to come.
As they pressed forward, the Wall suddenly came into focus. The ice comprising the immense structure seemed to sparkle, reflecting the stars that danced across the night sky.
Benjen brought their party to a halt. “See, I am a man of my word, Princess. Now before we approach the gate, you will both need these,” he said, reaching into his saddle pouch and retrieving two silver necklaces before handing one to her and the other to Viserys.
“What are these for?” she asked as she tilted the weirwood tree pendant in her hands, watching the ruby stones of the leaves glow in the moonlight.
“Protection,” he said, no trace of humor in his tone. “The living are not meant to reside with the dead. It’s unnatural. The king’s sorceress made these amulets so living souls could pass beneath the shadows and remain unharmed. You should never remove it, least of all while still mortal.”
Heeding his warning she placed the necklace around her neck, seeing Viserys follow suit.
When they are nearly to the Wall, Dany felt her horse, Silver, tense up beneath her. Silver halted, her front hooves kicking up snow as she let out a loud squeal. It was as if the horse knew they were nearing dark magic and death.
Suddenly, a large wooden gate inscribed with a direwolf carving emerged from the ice. Dany knew from her childhood lessons that a direwolf is the sigil of House Stark.
As they dismounted their horses, the gate opened to reveal an older man with short salt and pepper hair and a matching beard, dressed in a dark brown leather gambeson, a matching cloak draped across his shoulders.
“Greetings, Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys. My name is Davos. I’m here to take you to the King. Now, do you have your coins?” he asked, gloved right hand (which Dany noticed was short of four fingertips) outstretched.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t have any money,” she said, pressing her hands against her empty coat pockets.
“I’ve got them,” Benjen replied, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a small black pouch from which he retrieved three silver stags that he placed into Davos’ upturned hand.
“Thank you,” Davos said, placing the coins in a small black pouch around his neck. “Let’s go. His Grace does not like to be kept waiting.” Davos turned and headed into the tunnel, grabbing a torch hanging near the entrance.
Benjen took the reins of her horse and motioned for her to walk with Davos, while he and Viserys followed a few paces behind.
The tunnel was even colder than the outside temperature. She reached her arm out and brushed her hand along the ice, the chill seeping into her gloves and making her fingers tingle.
“I’d not touch the ice for very long, Princess,” Davos chided. “Lest you want to lose those dainty little fingers of yours,” he said, lifting his own shortened fingers. “Though I lost mine because I was a smuggler in another life. But all the same…” he laughed, leaving Dany to wonder what he meant.
As she walked farther into the tunnel, snow crunching beneath her feet, she felt the magic that permeated through the space, each step bringing her closer to her dark nightmare. She felt with it the darkness of death, all the feelings of despair and regret that those who had walked this path carried with them into their next life.
When they exited the tunnel, and Castle Black came into view, Dany felt breathless at the structure’s sheer enormity and unexpected beauty. Truly the embodiment of its name, the castle was crafted from black, iridescent stone that glowed in the moonlight, and the tops of the towers were adorned with wolf statues.
As she climbed the entrance steps, she heard a chorus of wolves howling, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. You are the blood of the dragon, you will not be afraid, she told herself.
The first things she noticed as they passed the threshold were a feeling of warmth and the scents of smoke and pine.
“Prince Viserys, Benjen will escort you to your chambers while I escort the Princess to the throne room.”
“Absolutely not. She should have a chaperone. Does this Dead King have no decency? As her brother, I must be with her to protect her.”
“On my honor, I promise to remain with the princess and keep her safe.”
Viserys turned to Dany, his lilac eyes scanning hers for any hesitation or doubt. Rhaegar and Viserys helped raise her following the death of their mother. Viserys had told her stories of their mother, showing her the crown she once wore; it was only through these stories that she could ever hope to know her.
“I’ll be fine, Vis. I need to face this on my own,” she said, grasping his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
He hesitated but eventually relented, nodding his head before turning to leave with Benjen.
Davos guided her through a series of long and narrow hallways. The interior of the castle matched the exterior, there was no end or beginning to the darkness.
“Here we are,” Davos announced as they reached a large wooden door with a direwolf carved on it. She reached her hand out to grasp the metal handle but pulled back as though burned, clutching her hand to her chest. Once more she reached for the handle, focusing on the cool metal in her sweat-slicked hand, her grip tightening and loosening as she tried to overcome her nerves.
“It’s all right, Princess,” Davos said, and when she looked at him his eyes were soft and reassuring. “I promise you need not be afraid of who waits for you behind that door.”
Dany nodded. Mustering all the strength and courage she could summon, she pushed open the door and entered, Davos following closely behind. Her eyes scanned the room for light, but there were only a smattering of lit torches lining the walls and slivers of moonlight streaming through the few windows.
The throne sat upon a dais on the far side of the room. It was constructed of black and white onyx, its backrest composed of staggered, roughly carved spikes whose ends were alit with blue flames. Faintly, she wondered how the man occupying the seat can stand the heat of the flames without being burned.
She noticed six wolves resting on the dais. Five of them have fur in varying shades of grey, brown, and black. However, the wolf that caught her attention sits sentry beside the throne; its fur white as freshly fallen snow and its eyes a deep blood red, like that of weirwood leaves.
Davos stopped beside her and cleared his throat. “Princess, this is Jon Snow of House Stark, the White Wolf, the Resurrected, the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Lord of the Dead, King of the Underworld!”
The ferryman bowed to his king. “Your Grace, this is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”
Her gaze shifted toward the man sitting on the throne. Her future husband. The torch flame cast his face in shifting shadows, making it difficult to discern his features or reaction to her from this distance.
“You've a fair amount of titles, Your Grace, and I thought Northerners were known for their humility.” The words left her lips before she thought better of them. Though she sensed Davos tense beside her, she did not back down. Instead, she raised her head and squared her shoulders, ready to face off with the King.
Suddenly, the wolves lunged for her, moving between her and the throne, their fur raised and teeth bared as they snarled and growled at her. The massive creatures nearly tower over her and she froze, fear coiling through her body.
“Silence,” a voice called out from the darkness. At his command, the wolves calmed and slowly slunk back to the dais. “Apologies,” he continued. “My wolves are normally quite tame and obedient. Except toward my enemies,” he warned with a teasing lilt.
“How am I your enemy, Your Grace? I’m here because of you and I am a mere mortal. What power do I have over you?”
There was no answer as he rose from his chair. As he slowly descended the steps his features became clearer. Dany’s eyes widened, her mouth slightly parting, when she took in his handsome features.
She had expected to find a monster. Instead, she realized he was of an age with her. His black raven curls hang loose about his face and his plump lips are framed by a neatly trimmed beard. Though clothed in a black gambeson she can tell from his movements that he is toned and muscular beneath. When he stopped she noticed his deep grey eyes, almost the color of the clouds during a storm on Dragonstone.
“You should speak more sweetly to me, after all, I am making you a queen.”
“A queen of the dead,” she bit back.
“A queen all the same. I think you will come to find the dead are much easier to rule than the living,” he smirked.
“I never asked for this,” she said, moving closer, her gaze never leaving his.
“Neither did I. Yet here we are.”
Her rebuke lingered on her tongue, yet she refrained when sadness flashed across his eyes and she realized that they were speaking of two different matters. She is here because of him, yet she does not know the circumstances that made him the man who now stands before her.
His eyes narrowed, but not a moment later his steely expression returned. “Forgive me. You must be tired from your travels. I’ll have Davos show you to your room, where your handmaidens wait for you. I had a new dress made for you for dinner tonight,” he said as he returned to his throne, his tone inviting no disagreement.
“So am I your prisoner? Bound to heed your commands?” she called out, feeling her ire rise.
He stopped and she saw his body tense and his right hand clench at the word prisoner. Turning his head slightly, he replied, “You are not my prisoner. You are to be my wife.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is. Perhaps you would like to ask the souls that reside in the lowest of the Seven Hells.”
She was about to respond when she felt Davos’ hand on her arm. “Come Princess, let me show you to your room.” She merely nodded and left, all the while feeling the King's gaze on her back, like a lingering shadow, until she was on the other side of the door.
Davos led her up a long and winding staircase and then down a long corridor.
“These are the royal quarters. This is your room,” Davos said when they reached a wooden door with a direwolf encircled by a rose wreath carved on it. “The king’s room is three doors down in that direction,” he said, pointing to the hall in front of them, “and your brother’s room is three doors down in the other direction,” he informed her, pointing directly behind them.
Davos opened the door and stepped inside.“After you princess,” he said, his arm outstretched before him.
Once she crossed the threshold the words, “Hello Princess,” descend on her ears, in unison, from two young women whose heads are bowed in respect.
“Princess, these are your handmaids, Alys and Gilly.”
“Hello,” Dany said, softly nodding her head.
Alys, a lithe girl of seven and ten, has auburn hair, pale skin, and a sharp nose. Gilly looks older or of an age with Dany. However, her hair is a dark, chestnut brown and her curves are more shapely and plump.
“I’ll draw a bath for you,” Alys said, heading toward the washroom.
“I’ll unpack your belongings,” Gilly offered, moving to the trunks on the floor by the foot of her bed.
“Now that you’ve been introduced I’ll take my leave,” Davos announced. “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask. The King wants you to be comfortable in your new home and has ordered that you should want for nothing you desire or require.”
“Thank you, Davos,” Dany whispered as he left.
As Alys and Gilly flitted about the room, she took a moment to take in her new surroundings. Her new home, if she can even call it that. The room is lavishly decorated with fine furnishings and decorations. There is a large canopied bed in shades of red and silver as well as a wooden vanity, rose carvings on the bottom and a large oval looking glass upon it.
She walked to the large window overlooking the land beyond the Wall and pulled aside the satin silver curtains. When she opened the window, a gust of wind shocked her system. She closed her eyes, and inhaled and exhaled deeply, letting the winter winds wash over her. When she opened her eyes and stared into the distance, the frozen and desolate landscape seemed to extend forever.
Faintly, she heard the sounds of warm water sloshing into the metal tub and trunks opening and closing.
“Oh my.” Dany overheard a whispered tone.
Turning, she found Gilly holding an unfamiliar black gown.
“Where did that come from?” Dany asked as she walked over to Gilly.
“Apologies, Princess. It’s only that I’ve never seen something this beautiful before. I will put it away now.”
“Gilly, it’s all right. I mean, where did this dress come from? I did not bring this with me from King’s Landing.”
“I don’t know, Princess. It was just laid across this trunk over here,” Gilly replied, gesturing to the trunk.
I had a new dress made for you for dinner tonight.
Suddenly, the King’s words came flooding back to her.
“This is from the King,” she said taking the garment from Gilly. It is a black, sleeveless gown with a v-neckline. The shoulders have an intricate design with the stitching patterned like dragon scales. The silk feels soft and smooth against her fingertips.
Suddenly she felt tears wet her cheeks and small drops fall against the dress. All the fear, sadness, and anger that she had been holding back escape her and she threw the dress onto the bed and screamed, the sound foreign to her own ears.
“Princess, your bath is ready,” Alys called, her voice chipper. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she stammered when she noticed Dany crying.
“Thank you, Alys. I’ll be right there.”
Alys nodded before returning to her tasks.
Dany wiped her eyes. She always felt trapped in King’s Landing, Like a prize to be protected and locked away for the opportune moment. However, this feels worse, because at least when she was in the Maidenvault, she still had hope that she would one day escape her gilded cage. Yet here, she knows she’ll never slip through the clutches of the dark shadows.
All six hell wolves slept side by side in front of the massive hearth in Jon’s bedchamber. The blue flames licked the crackling logs, and the brilliant light flickered across the weirwood tree carved into the stone mantel. Though they were ferocious beasts of legend, his kingdom’s eyes and ears and his fiercest protectors, here in the privacy of his quarters they snored together like great puppies. Their rest would be short lived, however, and soon they’d return to their patrol while Jon would entertain the castle’s newest resident.
Ser Davos had accompanied him following his audience with the princess, and Jon was working at the ties and clasps of his leather gambeson. “Gods, but she is gorgeous,” Jon said to the ferryman, “more than her father claimed.”
“A rare beauty,” Davos agreed.
Jon had seen Daenerys Targaryen in many bewildering dreams, and while it had been clear she was beautiful, he’d never truly seen her lovely face until now. He removed the heavy garment and set it on the dark grey fur covering his bed, smoothing out the black shirt he’d worn beneath it. “Is everything prepared for tomorrow?”
“There wasn’t much to prepare with two guests,” Davos replied. “If you were to postpone for a moon or two, you’d give your bride more time to adjust.” The old smuggler paused before adding, “It’d give your sister enough time to travel here and witness the ceremony.”
Arya. His little sister was at Winterfell with the rest of the family he had when he was mortal. “No,” he concluded, banishing the thought away. “I’ve no wish to wait. The sooner we have the ceremony, the sooner her brother leaves. My direwolves don’t like him.”
Ser Davos gave him a pointed look. “Perhaps they sense your own animosity toward Targaryen men.”
Jon ignored the assertion. “And I don’t want Arya to see me here. The brother she knew is no more.”
Davos took a step forward. “Your bride is unsettled, frightened. Perhaps a quiet dinner with her brother in her apartments will give her time to grow used to her new surroundings.”
Jon scoffed. “Was I not unsettled when everything happened? Murdered by my own brothers, resurrected and made Lord of the Dead? See that everything is ready. We wed on the morrow.”
Just as Jon finished fastening the silver buttons of his black surcout, there was a knock at the door. “Come in, Edd,” Jon called to his personal steward. His brothers from the Watch were his brothers in immortality as well.
Edd’s long, dour face appeared in the entryway. “Prince Viserys is here to see you, Your Grace.”
Jon’s posture stiffened. “Send him in.”
Prince Viserys stood a few inches taller than Jon, with a slender build and the famous silver hair and violet eyes that were so becoming on his sister. The prince’s travel clothes were finer than the garments northern lords wore on formal occasions.
“Prince Viserys,” Jon greeted him formally, “what can I do for you?
Jon was taken aback when the prince fell to his knees before him. “Your Grace, I come to beg for the life of my sister.”
He scowled at Viserys. “Her life is not in danger. She’ll be immortal. She’ll live long enough to forget your name. Get on your feet.”
Viserys stood. There was fear in his eyes but the prince remained firm. “This is not a life.”
Jon bit back his anger. “A deal was made. Your father has been paid.”
“My father is mad,” Viserys asserted. “And now, thanks to you, Your Grace, he shall live forever.”
Jon took a step toward the prince. “The problems of the living world are not my concerns. Princess Daenerys is mine.” With that, Jon turned his back on his future brother in law.
“You condemn her to a life of misery!” Viserys called after him.
Jon turned and faced him with a sneer. “Who that lives does not know misery? We’ll be married on the morrow. Then you’ll say your goodbyes and leave.” Viserys' eyes were wide and dejected, and Jon wished to look up on him no more. “Edd, help the prince back to his chamber.”
Jon moved into the dining room of his personal apartments where Grenn and Pypar were setting the table. Trapped here together in eternity, they were both stewards now, but at least this new Castle Black was warmer and held greater stores of food. A year into their new reality, and it still seemed no one knew quite what to make of it.
“Everything is ready,” Grenn said.
Pyp shook his head. “Would have been easier without this clumsy aurochs.”
Jon ignored their bickering as he examined the table. It had never been as richly prepared in all his time at Castle Black, whether as Lord Commander or Lord of the Dead. A princess would have expectations, and everything needed to be perfect. He began inspecting the covered silver platters littering the table– honeyed chicken, freshly baked bread and berries.
“Did Hobb prepare lemon cakes?” Jon asked.
Pyp lifted the cover of a dish near the corner. “Right here,” he said. “They’re sure to make your bride forget she’s in hell, until she sees Grenn’s ugly face.”
“This isn’t hell, stupid,” Grenn said with a scowl. “Hell’s where Thorne and Ollie are.”
“If this isn’t hell, how come I’m stuck here with you?” Pyp asked.
Jon suddenly felt pressed for time. “That will be all. She’ll be here soon.”
Their squabbling faded down the hall after they closed the door behind them. Once he was alone, he waved his hand over the table and the candles burst to life with blue flame; along with his immortality, he’d been gifted the power to control fire.
Impatiently he paced the length of the table. Their exchange in the throne room had been tense; the princess had been more headstrong than he’d imagined. Stood before the lord of death and his pack of direwolves, she’d barely trembled.
A smile ghosted over his lips at the memory. In his dreams, he could always tell she was strong. He always admired women with nerve.
A knock at the door stopped him in his tracks, and he straightened his spine, clasping his hands behind his back. He wasn’t prepared for the vision she made as she crossed the threshold. The black gown he’d gifted her accentuated the paleness of her skin and the moonglow of her hair. She wore the ruby pendant crafted by his red priestess, Melisandre. After tomorrow night, she’d no longer need it. He could only blame himself for his loss of words, having chosen to commission the garment in the southern style. She was the first living girl he’d ever seen in a dress that revealed so much.
He cleared his throat. “Good evening, Princess” he welcomed her. And then his muddled brain remembered his pleasantries. “You look beautiful.”
Daenerys held his gaze cautiously as she entered the room, and he noted her eyes were red rimmed. “Your Grace,” she addressed him formally. “I’d not expected a gown such as this would be appropriate for the northern climate.”
“The halls of Castle Black are always warm,” he told her, before gesturing to the chair across from him. “Please sit.”
An awkward silence fell over them as they settled into their seats, and he poured Arbor Gold into their chalices to alleviate it.
Jon searched for words as he filled their plates, while the eyes of his lovely guest searched about the room. After a time, he managed, “are your apartments to your liking?”
Sitting poised, hands laid primly in her lap, she eyed him with suspicion. “Would it make a difference if they were not?”
Jon felt a flash of irritation as he sipped the sweet wine he’d acquired for her benefit. “I suppose not.” Suddenly he remembered how exasperating a woman with nerve could be.
He thought he glimpsed a smirk before she raised her own cup to her lips. “You’re very different from what I imagined,” she said.
Jon's curiosity was piqued. “What is it you imagined?”
“I’m not sure,” she said absently, pushing her food around the plate with her fork. “An ancient man with a scraggly beard, deathly pallor, a skeletal face perhaps.”
“A pleasant surprise then?”
She held his gaze. “A surprise,” she said simply. Sitting back in her chair, she narrowed her eyes at him. “How old are you?”
He prickled. “Three and twenty.”
“Three and twenty?” Her eyebrows rose on her forehead. “Do you mean centuries?”
His mood soured. “No. Three and twenty.” They were dangerously close to topics he did not wish to discuss.
“That’s awfully young to be Lord of the Dead,” she remarked.
Jon took a bite of chicken, delaying his answer. “I’ve not held the position long.”
She leaned forward. “How-”
“These are questions for another time,” Jon interrupted with a curt smile. He tasted copper as fury rose in his belly.
“I’m to be your bride,” she replied with a raised eyebrow, “these are things I should know.”
“I was told you like lemon cakes,” Jon stated, eager to divert the conversation.
Her expression closed up. “When I was a young girl, Your Grace.”
Jon’s face was hot. “Well, whatever it is you like, you need only ask.”
She began to pick at her food. “I imagine lemons and all manner of foods are hard to come by here; it’s so dark and dreary.”
He felt a flicker of impatience. “You’re in an enchanted castle at the edge of the world,” he told her. “There’s nothing you’ll want for here.”
“Yes,” she said with a false smile, “except sunlight, grass… my family.”
Anger rose in him like a tide. “Yes, except those things.” Her features hardened and immediately he regretted his words. He sighed, and offered a sympathetic look. “It’s hard to leave your old life behind, I know that as well as anyone, but there is magic here that no living person could imagine.”
She raised her chin. “Undo it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot marry you,” she stated. “I cannot be happy here, and my father cannot continue his reign. Break the contract and reverse the immortality you gave him.” There was a desperation in her voice that made him cold.
Leaning forward, he returned her steely gaze. “That’s not how it works.”
Her lips were a thin line. “Contracts can be broken.”
“Not the kind I make.”
Daenerys slammed her fork down on the table and glared at him. “Are you as dead as everything else here or has the cold frozen your heart inside your chest?”
He sneered at her. “I’m far from dead, princess.” He snatched her hand and placed it against his sternum, the softness of her skin not lost on him. “My heart is warm and alive… as is the rest of me.” For the briefest moment, as her hand pressed into his chest, a blush colored her cheeks. He couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from lifting.
She forced a glare. “Perhaps it beats but it’s black all the same,” she retorted and pulled her hand away. “You’ve condemned me to eternal darkness as you have condemned all of Westeros!”
Fury vibrated through his being. “I was condemned in life and in death.”
“And so everyone will suffer with you?”
Jon laughed, sardonic. “Suffering? What does a princess know of that?” She’d spent her life in ease and comfort while he’d lived under the disgrace of a bastard’s name. And just when he managed to bring honor to his father’s House, he found himself bleeding out in the snow. “Tell me, if you’d been betrothed to a Martell or a Frey, would it have been so different? Would you not be leaving your old life behind as you are now?”
She pursed her lips. “You don’t know anything about me, but I am not speaking for myself-”
Anger hardened his heart and he leaned back in his chair. “You’re speaking as though you’ve a choice in the matter. You don’t. You’ve no more choices than I have.”
She jumped out of her chair and faced him with both hands on the table. “I have a choice! I can refuse you!”
He rose to meet her. “And then what will you do, assuming I allow you to leave? Return to your mad father?”
Suddenly she looked lost; wrapping her arms around herself, she refused to meet his eyes. “If we marry… will I have to become immortal like you?”
“After the ceremony.”
She closed her eyes. “How long until we are wed?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
Her lips parted and her eyes shined with the threat of tears. “Tomorrow? I’ve only just arrived.”
Jon tamped down the guilt rising in him. “No sense in wasting time and delaying your chaperone.”
She took a step back. “Pray excuse me, Your Grace, I am overly tired from my journey.” Without waiting for his reply, she rushed out of the room.
“Seven bloody hells,” he muttered to himself as her steps faded down the hall. He’d never been good with girls. Ygritte had been the one to seek his affection, not he hers, and each encounter with the dragon princess left him feeling more like a green boy. He pinched the bridge of his nose, her sad and fearful expression stuck in his mind’s eye.
Edd entered unannounced. “You’ve charmed your bride already, I see.”
Jon glowered at him before shouldering past and making his way out the door. “Bring a plate to her chamber,” he ordered over his shoulder, “be sure to add a lemon cake.”
He stormed through the corridors in search of Ser Davos, and his great white direwolf met him in the hall. The wolf’s red eyes seemed to hold Jon with pity. Unlike his other hell wolves, Ghost had been with him since his mortal life, and the beast had nearly doubled in size when immortality was bestowed upon him. Jon’s mind cycled through the eyes of Grey Wind, Nymeria and finally Summer, who found his ferryman and most trusted advisor sitting alone in the Great Hall.
Ser Davos rose as Jon threw open the heavy iron doors. “I thought you might seek me out, Your Grace.”
Jon blew out a breath before he began to pace the room. “That was a disaster.”
Davos maintained an unreadable expression, his hands clasped in front of him.
Jon’s mind was racing. He’d accepted his role as the Lord of the Underworld and while he’d ensured his enemies had paid dearly for what they did to him, he did not imagine himself a cruel person. But the tears in his betrothed’s eyes said otherwise.
“I’ve dreamt of her, Davos,” he lamented. “Every night since I came back.” In his dreams, she was always standing in sunlight. He could never see her face before the blinding light made him turn away, but he caught glimpses of silver hair and violet eyes. “If she does not belong with me, then why have the old gods plagued me with thoughts of her?”
Davos did not speak until Jon had ceased his steps and slumped down onto a bench. “Were you expecting her to swoon as she passed over your threshold?” he asked. “This isn’t a standard marriage arrangement. She must leave the living world behind and she worries for those who will suffer from this union.”
Jon clenched and unclenched his scarred hand. “If Aerys ever harms the North, the deal will be broken; beyond that, the living are of no concern to me.”
“That may be, but the living are very much a concern to Princess Daenerys.”
Jon sighed and rested his head in his hands. “This was a mistake.”
Davos clapped him on the back. “You must have patience.”
The caw of a crow pierced the air, and the two men shared a look.
Jon rose to his feet. “Sounds like you’ve a new guest to greet.”
Davos wore a solemn countenance. “Chin up, lad,” he said, before making his way toward the door. “You’ve nothing but time.”
Jon was left alone with his thoughts as Davos went to meet a new soul who had found its way to their gates.
