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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

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Yours (Vampire!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @geekandbooknerd‘s Birthday Challenge. Happy Birthday, Hayley 💝

The prompt We are all someone’s monster (Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows) is in bold.

@bluearchersstuff - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖 It was the first time, it won’t be the last 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Moodboard made by the talented @gearhead66 ♥️

Summary: You hate Halloween and of course you hate Halloween parties. But who’s this handsome guy who’s looking at you?

Warnings: not my best work, I’m sorry.

Words: 1821

You roll your eyes, sighing at your own stupidity. For the umpteenth time tonight, you're wondering what you were thinking about when you agreed to come. Of course, Sofia is your best friend, and she is the one who asked you to go with her.

Yet, you should have known better.

You dislike Halloween. Scratch that. You hate Halloween and everything about it with a passion. You hate dressing up. You hate cobwebs, fangs, zombies and skeletons. You even hate squash soup, and that's saying a lot!

But yeah, your friend can be convincing when she has a mind to be. And that's why you're here – almost against your will, so to speak – at Ben's house. Ben with whom Sofia slipped away over an hour ago. Probably upstairs. You don't even want to think about what they're doing right now.

Anyway, you're here, and that's all that matters…

The pounding music is too loud, the people too drunk, the place too crowded. If it wasn't for the handsome stranger who hasn't stopped looking at you since you showed up, you wouldn't be here anymore.

Nervously pulling and tugging on the little black dress borrowed from Sofia – oh no, not a simple black dress, a black dress with fucking skeleton print – you make up your mind and head toward the makeshift bar. You need a drink if you intend to stay. Something strong, possibly.

A 'Vampire Cocktail' in hand, you slowly cross the room. With every step, you can feel the stranger's gaze upon you; and you know with unsettling certainty that if you look back at him, he wouldn’t lower his eyes.

He was apparently alone, does not talk to anyone, or dance, and didn't look at anyone but you.

You should feel embarrassed, or even upset, but you aren’t. Knowing that his eyes are staring at you like that is surprisingly pleasant. And you can't help but feel hopelessly drawn to him, almost magnetically, or magically. Because strangely, wherever you are in the room, the man is there, never more than a few steps away from you.

The room may be dark, but you still can see the otherworldly blue of his eyes. You're entranced, fascinated, mesmerized.

Giving him a shy smile, you quickly avert your gaze, blushing. As you raise back your head, the man is gone, but when a gloved hand brushes against yours, you know it's his, without a doubt.

"Shall we go out?" He asks with a sultry voice that sends shivers down your spine. Even if he gives you a questioning look, his hand gesturing toward the large patio door, you know it's a rhetorical question. You don't have a choice and you don't mind it. The stranger wraps a strong arm around your waist, leading you toward the backyard.

You follow him willingly, almost obediently, a small smile playing on your lips. He leads you without saying a word, and as soon as the patio door closes behind you, the only sound you can hear is the thud of his cane on the gravel.

"Better here, right?" He takes a seat on a porch swing, inviting you to do the same.

"I have been dreaming of this moment for so long." His voice is hoarse as he slightly leans toward you, boldly resting a hand on your knee.

Confused, you want to ask him what he means. After all, you met for the first time less than two hours ago. But you don't get the chance, since he speaks again. "Very nice dress, by the way."

Scrutinizing you in the bright moonlight, he looks at you shamelessly, his gaze stopping first on your neck, then your cleavage, your breast and finally your fishnet stocking-clad thighs.

Intimidated, you blush and say the first thing that pops into your head. "Your… your Halloween costume is a piece of art. It's so… real…"

"My… what?" Quirking a brow, the man looks at you in disbelief.

"Your…," your shaky voice gives away your nervousness, "Your Dracula costume is… magnificent."

You're not lying. His clothing is stunning. From his three-piece suit – obviously made of luxury fabrics – to his silk cape of extremely high quality, everything suggests that his complete outfit is undoubtedly very expensive. As for his cane, you're willing to bet that its snake-shaped handle is made of… gold, no less. In any case, it's impressive and the handsome stranger makes a vampire truer than nature.

Visibly taken aback by your last assertion, the man just stares at you with wide eyes. It's as if what you just said didn't make sense to him. When an icy wind swirls suddenly around you and makes you shiver, he eventually speaks sternly, almost as he were scolding you, his jaw tight. "This is not a costume."

You're baffled, puzzled, confused. 'This is not a costume?' What does he mean?

"What… I don't… Wha–" You sputter, unable to gather your thoughts. Your heart hammering in your chest, you feel a knot growing in your stomach. Something feels wrong. Something feels very wrong.

His piercing blue eyes staring into yours, you want to avert your gaze, overwhelmed and slightly scared. But when he speaks again, it's with a velvet like voice that soothes you immediately, erasing your discomfort. "Shh… It's okay…" You wonder for a brief moment how someone can change their mood so quickly. You don't dwell on it though, because when he gives you a closed-lips smile, gentle and sweet, it melts your heart and you realize that, as if by magic, your fear is gone, replaced by desire and attraction.

What strange power does this man have over you?

Slowly, one finger at a time, the stranger takes off his gloves and places them on the swing next to him, while staring at you the whole time.

As he reaches out, his hand just inches from your face, you can't resist, and you don't want to. The pull is too powerful, the longing too strong. You want him to touch you. You need him to and so you lean forward, craving for his skin against yours.

But as soon as his fingers graze your cheek, you freeze, bemused and appalled.

They are cold. Abnormally cold. Ice-cold. Colder than… death. You swallow loudly and then get up hastily. "I… I sh… should… go…" You stammer, panic flooding your body. You want to run away but the man doesn't give you the chance as he grabs your wrist, squeezing it tight. " That would be extremely rude when we've only just met, don't you think?" His voice is a whisper, his tone soft but you know you don't really have a say, nor a choice.

Slowly getting up, he leans on his cane, wraps his free arm around your waist and draws you closer. He's so unnaturally strong, you can't even move as a cold wave washes over you. "I'll be gentle if you do as I say." He mumbles, his mouth against your ear.

Questions plague your mind suddenly. Why is he so pale? Why can't you feel his breath on your face? Why are his eyes bloodshot? Why didn't you notice anything earlier? You're terrified now, aware of the danger with absolute certainty.

"Who… Who are you?" You don't even know how you manage to babble those words. You feel weak and unsteady on your shaky legs. If it wasn't for his firm grip, you would certainly have fallen down by now.

"It's okay, Y/N…" He says once again, and you want to believe him, despite your fear, despite the… cold. A little voice in your head whispers that you never told him your name, but it doesn't matter, not when he's looking at you with so much tenderness.

What is he doing to you?

"I'm Ivar." His reassuring voice is gentle, as is his smile. "Ivar Ragnarsson." He doesn't say anything else but it's enough. That's all you need to know. You're relieved. He's Ivar. Of course. Who else – what else – could he be? You've been so silly. All those strange things… The cold, his eyes, his breathing – or his lack of – there is necessarily a pragmatic explanation for each of them. The truth is you don't care. He's Ivar. A handsome and very considerate stranger that you want to get to know better, and that's enough. Everything is fine. It's okay, he's right.

"Ivar…", you eventually repeat softly, and you love the way his name rolls off your tongue. Chuckling, you can feel yourself relaxing in his embrace. "You're going to think I'm dumb, you know? I wondered for a moment if you weren't a…", you gasp, feeling shy and embarrassed, but Ivar just looks at you, patiently waiting for you to carry on, and that's what you do. "… A vampire, you know. But obviously you're not. You're just a guy my age, with a fantastic Halloween costume, and it seems that I can't think properly, because who would think you're some kind of monster? That's insane, and I'm so sorry, and now I'm going to shut up because I'm pathetically rambling and if I continue I'm sure you won't want anything to do with me and that would be a shame because I– Oh my god, sorry!!" Covering your mouth with your hand, you blush as you realize what you were going to say. 'Because I'd love to kiss you, touch you, feel you…'

What is he doing to you?

Ivar keeps quiet, a semi-amused smile on his face. Eventually, he closes his eyes and then tilts his head back. "So, you thought I was a… how did you say?... a monster…" You can almost hear his grin.

"I know," you say shamefully, "that's stupid! You're allowed to laugh at me, you know? I won't get mad, really. I don't know what went through my head. A monster! What a ridiculous thought!!"

Ivar giggles while keeping his eyes shut. "Maybe not. You know what they say… We are all someone's monster…"

And then, he opens his eyes. And everything goes faster.

His eyes turn black. A feral growl escapes his lips. His smile is a predatory one.

You can clearly see his pointy fangs.

And you feel weirdly calm. You're not surprised, and you're ready. You need him, all of him.

"I don't know if it's true…", you don't recognize his voice, hoarse and raspy, but you don't mind, as you don't mind when he pushes your hair away, his teeth already grazing the delicate skin of your neck.

"However,” He mutters as you arch against him unwittingly, "there is one thing that I can say for certain. I'm definitely yours."

And right after that, sharp fangs piercing down into the flesh of your neck, a burning pain lances through you, fading soon into an aching pleasure. You release a gasp, bucking your hips.

"Please, unravel me, Ivar."

What did he do to you?

🛡⚔️🛡

@geekandbooknerd @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @inforapound

#hayley'sbirthday #ivar #ivar x reader #vampire!ivar #vampire ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar fanfiction #ivar fanfic #ivar fic #ivar imagine #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #halloween is coming #so why not

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trixareforeveryoneaq · 4 years

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Tell the Wolves I’m Home

For the Daenerys Resurrection Week Event Day 5 (I don’t know if this event is still going on, but whatevs. I wrote this so here you go) Thanks @adecila for the moodboard

Can also be found here on ao3 if you desire to leave a comment.

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It was almost six years after he left the Wall with the Free Folk before Jon’s past caught up with him. He kept his distance with certain aspects of the Free Folk in regards to taking a woman or having told the explicit details to those who’d asked what had happened south of the Wall. The only one who knew everything was Tormund and even he didn’t know that Jon was now a kinslayer. For amongst the Free Folk, kinslayers were cursed. However, he still helped within the community and went hunting with them.

It was during one such hunt where the group noticed smoke rising heavily a distance from where they were and had decided to go see what was going on.

Upon arrival, the hunters in front of Jon stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of shock. Pushing them aside, Jon couldn’t help but have a similar reaction.

A weirwood tree burned so badly that only the husk of the trunk remained. But Jon’s eye caught on to what was attached to the burnt trunk. Everyone else did as well and turned from the tree to murmur to each other.

His heart beat wildly and his hands began to shake ever so slightly as he walked up to the partially burned crow that had been impaled to the ruined wood with a dagger. The shaking in his hands increased as he pulled the dagger out and realized that he knew it. He knew it well. Well enough to never be able to forget it.

The dagger he’d used to kill Dany.

It was so blatantly obvious that this message was meant solely for Jon, but he had no idea who left it or when they would come for him. At night, he found himself sitting on his furs, holding the dagger as memories he had tried to distance himself from came rushing back full force.

His answer came on the bleak, muted rays of the morning four days after the discovery. A familiar cry rang through the air that had Jon’s heart stopping and his eyes snapping up towards the sky, desperately searching for the source. Off in the distance to his left, he saw the brief outline of a black dragon before it disappeared into thick clouds, calling out again as it did so. He’d have convinced himself that it was only his imagination had it not been for the fact that everyone else had seen it too.

It continued on like this for almost a week. Jon would see quick glances of Drogon flying, always far enough away that the dragon couldn’t be bothered by the Free Folk but close enough that he could just see the red in his wings and clearly hear the echoes of his cries. He tried to quell the growing feeling of doom each day, but was unsuccessful. Especially when he unconsciously found himself trying to follow the dragon’s trail and would stumble upon the burned carcasses of crows on the ground as well as two more burned weirwood trees.

Jon knew his time with the Free Folk had to come to an end when Drogon started flying closer to where they were, looking around as he went as if searching for something… well, someone. That’s when the worried whispers and fearful looks towards him began. He knew they remembered when he flew on Rhaegal and that he would be the only reason that the dragon would have come here and stayed near for so many days.

On the night of the eighth day, he packed up his belongings, intending to search for Drogon. Or let the dragon find him. Whichever came first.

Upon making his way out of the camp, he pulled up to a stop when Tormund stepped in front of him, a pack on the tall man’s back.

“So I guess we’re goin’ to find that dragon of yours, eh?”

“He’s not my dragon and I can’t ask you to come with me,” Jon said, shaking his head in refusal at his friend.

Tormund clapped him on the shoulder with a sigh and a grim smile. “Ah, I’ve already followed your pretty crow face enough times to know that someone has to look out for you. ‘Cause you sure as fuck won’t.”

With a clenched jaw, Jon slowly breathed out through his nose. He didn’t want his friend involved in this. “You know we’ll probably die.”

The ginger man shrugged, unfazed as he turned towards the woods. “It won’t be the first time we went head first to our death. Who knows? Maybe we’ll come out of this one too.”

Jon looked at Ghost in resignation, knowing he couldn’t dissuade Tormund once his mind was made up. The direwolf’s red eyes stared back silently before he too trotted off on silent feet, leaving Jon no choice but to follow.

As they searched, they realized that no matter which direction the dragon went in the morning, he always flew back northeast. Jon had Ghost lead, using the direwolf’s superior smell to their advantage. It took five days, but they finally found where Drogon had made a temporary lair. An icy lake settled at the bottom of a few mountains where a large cave was carved out of one of them. There was a little forest on the far edge of the lake to their left.

From where they stood, Jon could clearly see how much more Drogon had grown as the dragon perched at the mouth of the cave. Where he’d been huge before, he was twice as large now, if not more.

“All right, we’ve seen the beast,” Tormund muttered to him. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

But Jon found himself unable to move as he continued to stare at the dragon. What was he doing all the way up here? Was he really here for Jon? Had he come back to Westeros and made his way up the realm, avenging his mother? If so, why now? Why wait this long? Or was he simply wandering the earth? Was he connected with whoever left the dagger? Had he...had he somehow found a new rider?

Jon was brought out of his confused musings when Drogon sniffed the air. His head suddenly turned to them, those red eyes staring right at him.

“Fuck,” Tormund breathed right before Drogon let out a roar that Jon felt in his bones and lifted into the air.

“Run!” Jon shouted to his friend.

Not needing to be told twice, they both took off towards the woods. It was a futile attempt. They were covered in shadow and then Drogon was in front of them, forcing them to halt in order to try to keep their balance as the ground shook with his landing. When Jon looked behind them, he saw that the dragon had used his tail to block them in, effectively trapping the pair. He could see Ghost staring at him from a distance, unable to do anything.

Turning back to face Drogon, he was met with an open mouth filled with black teeth the length of Longclaw. He could even see the glow of the fire building in the back of the dragon’s throat. Just as he accepted this was how it was going to end for him, a voice Jon thought he’d never hear again said, “Drogon, kelītīs.”

That huge maw snapped shut and the dragon turned his head to the side. A figure cloaked in black stepped out from behind his wing and into view. Jon felt faint as two small hands pushed away the hood to reveal the face of Daenerys Targaryen.

He stumbled back, barely registering the soft curse Tormund let out as he stared with wide eyed disbelief at the woman he’d loved; the queen he’d murdered before him. It had to be a dream or a hallucination. He had to have gone mad because she couldn’t be standing in front of him, here in the far reaches of the North.

But he knew it wasn’t. Because the Dany in his dreams had long flowing locks of silver all the way down her back that were intricately braided with little bells. This Dany’s hair hung in loose waves that ended at the top of her breasts with only a few strands tied back so it wasn’t in her face. The Dany in his dreams didn’t wear black lightweight leather armor that mimicked dragon scales with a sword hanging from one side, looking like the warrior queen, Visenya Targaryen, come again. The Dany in his dreams certainly never looked at him with such cold loathing.

“I knew you’d come, Jon,” she said. Her voice was like a bolt of lightning down his spine. She rested a small hand on her dragon. “You wouldn’t be able to resist following him, seeing why he was here. Especially not after the gift I left for you.”

Jon couldn’t form a response. He could only stand there and stare, breathing as if he’d run for miles. He let his eyes drink in all the details of her that time had made him forget. He was pretty sure he was looking at her as if he was a man dying of thirst and she was his salvation.

Unmoved, Dany simply arched a brow. “You seem surprised to see me again. I’m not sure why though.” Cocking her head, she gave him a mean smile that was completely foreign to see on her face. “Would you like to see the proof that it’s truly me?” she asked, her hand skimming just under her left breast. “We can compare our scars and reminisce how we were both stabbed by men who were supposed to be loyal to us only to be brought back to life by a red priestess.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath in shock and couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes. Dany’s smile turned into a full on grin that looked more like she was baring her teeth. When she started walking towards him, her cloak rustled and his eye caught on the handle of the same dagger he found in the weirwood hanging off her other hip. Seeing where his attention was just as she stopped in front of him, Dany looked down and pulled the dagger out, examining it as well.

“I was going to leave this one for you,” she told him as she began spinning and twirling it expertly with her fingers. “But strangely enough, I found myself unable to part with it. So I had a twin made and left that one for you instead. I thought you’d enjoy the sentiment of the gesture regardless of whether or not it was actually the original blade.”

She looked up at him and his heart stopped at having her so close to him. It stunned his entire being for a moment. And in that moment of being caught off guard by her nearness and her beauty, Jon wasn’t able to do anything when she suddenly wrapped her foot around his ankle and pulled forward while pushing down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Before he could react or fight her off, one hand grabbed his hair to pull his head back, meeting her violet eyes again. The other held the dagger to his throat.

“I’ve learned a few things since I was brought back,” she said with a smirk.

Tormund shouted out and made to move forward as if to help Jon, but was immediately halted by Drogon turning towards him and letting out a horrible roar. Throughout the entire exchange, Dany’s eyes never left Jon.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, Tormund Giantsbane,” she warned calmly, finally turning her focus to him with a sardonic smile. “After all, you’re dealing with a dragon rider and according to you, only a king or a madman would ride a dragon. And since I’m obviously no king, by your logic, I am therefore the madman.” Violet eyes went back to Jon then. Her smile softened into a mockery of something gentle because her eyes still held that emptiness in them. She let go of his hair to trail her fingers lightly down his face. “And mad people...well, it’s best to treat us with caution. We can be so very unpredictable when provoked. Sometimes with catastrophic results, wouldn’t you agree, Jon?”

He flinched away at her words, how casually she called herself mad and the reminder of what she’d done, unable to look at her. She caught him by the chin though, refusing to let him move. “Oh, no. None of that now, Jon,” she reprimanded with that same tone. She jerked his head back up. Her eyes were colder than the harshest North wind and the fingers holding him dug into his skin to the point of pain. “Don’t hide from the monster you helped turn me into. Look at the fruit of what your actions bore. Accept it, as I had to.”

Jon’s throat ached with how tight it was from holding in all the emotions swirling in him and he felt that he would break any moment. Still, he didn’t look away from those eyes that were so similar yet so very different. They didn’t look anything like they had the last time he’d stared into them. They were as clear and still as water. There was none of the passion he remembered seeing. Even in the throne room, she’d gazed up at him with love. Now they were dead. Oddly enough, it was that fact that made him want to weep, but he held it in. After a while, he finally was able to ask, “are you here to kill me then?”

She smiled as if he’d said something completely ridiculous and could only laugh sympathetically at him. “Kill you? I’m not here to kill you, Jon Snow. No, I’m here to warn you. Because soon, I have a very strong feeling that others are going to come looking for you. My dear old Hand and your supposedly all seeing king brother for example. Maybe even your treacherous sister.”

Even though he stayed silent, she apparently could see the wariness in his eyes and explained, “they’re going to want you to stop me. After all, you’re already apparently cursed from killing me before, aren't you? My blood is already on your hands, so what’s the harm in dirtying them a second time? Better you than them.”

Swallowing that old familiar feeling of dread mingled with panic, he quietly asked, “stop you from doing what?”

“You’re so far removed from the rest of the world up here in your little idyllic winter wonderland, you've no idea how one can smell it in the air when arriving on these shores; how the earth here is practically quivering with it in anticipation. The deep breath before the plunge.”

“What? What is it?” he rasped.

“Revolution. Liberation,” she said with an indulgent smile that still didn’t reach those cold, cold eyes. Yet she still managed to stare at him so piercingly that he felt like the deepest parts of him were being stripped bare. “Fulfilling my oath to break the wheel and remake the world.”

The memory of her speech to her armies after she’d burned King’s Landing came to him and made him go cold all over.

“Dany, you–” The name was out before he could think and he paid for his mistake. His head was turned to the side by the force of her smack to his cheek. She grabbed his hair and yanked hard as she leaned down until only a few inches were left between them.

“Don’t you ever call me that again,” she snarled. And just like that, her eyes were suddenly filled with such rage that they practically glowed. The only consolation in being on the receiving end of her fury was that at least there was the life he remembered in them. It hadn’t completely disappeared.

The blade at his throat pressed in hard enough to pierce his skin. “You lost that right when you abandoned me in Winterfell; when you continuously refused to return the love I felt for you in the time I needed it the most; when you stabbed me in the heart.”

With a look of disgust, she let go of him and took a few steps back. Not looking away from him, Dany twirled the dagger in her hand before sheathing it. When he remained kneeling, she snapped, “get up. You look pathetic.”

Jon clenched his jaw but did as he was told. By the time he was on his feet, she had regained her cold, steely composure. The way she stood with her hands folded in front of her and her chin held high felt like a kick in the gut as a painful wave of nostalgia washed over him, forcing him to remember the queen she used to be.

“Even if you did wish to stop me, you can’t. It's too late. It’s already begun.” She looked out over the white expanse in front of them. “It’s taken years of convincing and whisperings of a better life. Years of organizing and planning while simultaneously continuing to free the remaining slave cities in Essos. But the common folk of Westeros are finally waking up and finding that they’re unsatisfied. They realize that they want more; that they can have more. Because I will give them more.”

“The Iron Throne is gone. ” he said, almost pleading with her.

She huffed a laugh, still eyeing the area around them. “I’m not doing this to be queen. I don’t need to be queen. That’s my point. Kings, queens, lords, ladies, they’re all unnecessary. Once I’ve given the people their liberation and the tools to use for their next step in governing themselves, I’m leaving. My old bear once told me that dragons plant no trees. Dragons make no homes. I forgot that. I listened to the young, lonely woman inside of me and tried to make the home I’d always yearned for. With you,” she said. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “But we both know how that turned out.”

Ignoring each new slice of pain her constant jabs caused him, Jon asked, “what are you going to do to the nobles then? How will you handle them and their soldiers, Daenerys? The common folk don’t know how to fight against armies.”

Another joyless smile as she turned to face him fully and cocked her head. “Now why would I tell you that?” Jon’s lips thinned, knowing she was justified in not sharing her plans with him and feeling like a fool for thinking she might. “I’ll give you a boon though and say that they won't be alone. Plenty of those with power understand what I’m fighting to achieve and are willing to help me.” She gave a sly smile as she went on to say, “and also, Drogon presented a gift to me right after I was brought back that he came across during one of his travels to Valyria. And I’ve not wasted it. Would you like to see?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Drogon who lifted his head and called out. Gooseflesh erupted across Jon’s skin when an answering call was heard, then another. Out of the large cave emerged two dragons. They took to the air and lazily made their way to where they stood. When they landed on either side of Drogon, the size difference was easily noticeable, but they were still extremely large. Probably the size of Rhaegal when Jon had ridden him.

Impossible, he thought. But of course it wasn’t impossible. Of course if anyone was going to bring dragons back into the world again, it would be the mother of dragons.

Dany walked up to the one whose scales looked like gold coins. Its horns and wings were a rich, dark blue color with a sheen that was reminiscent of a pearl. Dark gold eyes flickered from Dany to Jon.

“Mirax,” she said reverently, laying a hand on the dragon’s snout before walking to the other and repeating the gesture. This one a dark pine green with black horns and wings and silver eyes. “Morrelion.”

Looking at Jon, she dropped her hand. “Named after my two closest and most beloved advisors. Brought back to life just as my first children were.”

She then pulled out her sword and gave it a few expert swings. “You see, Jon. I learned from my mistake. I’m so much more prepared for Westeros this time. I can now fight just as easily with a sword as I can off the back of Drogon. I understand the loyalty you gained from fighting side by side with your men. The difference between us though is that while you’ve led armies, I command legions.”

For some reason, knowing that Dany had not only learned how to fight but had apparently been in battles made his heart hurt. A very small, irrational part of him hated that he wasn’t the one who taught her; that he hadn’t been there, fighting by her side.

When the blade caught the light, his eyes widened a little as he saw what it looked to be made of. She flashed him a smug smirk as she kept it aloft, confirming his thought. “Yes, Valyrian steel. Another gift from someone who felt I was finally deserving of it.”

Resheathing it, she said, “so I’ll handle the lords and ladies and everyone who opposes me the same way I handled the great masters. They can live in my new world or die in their old one.”

Jon stiffened. Her purple eyes caught the motion and her smile turned deadly. “Are you thinking of your beloved siblings? The family you constantly chose over me? Never fear, dear nephew, if they die, it won’t be at my hands. I simply plan to be there to enjoy their downfall. Along with your old friend Samwell Tarly and my dear Hand.”

She began stalking towards him, like a cat toying with her prey. “Your continued loyalty to them is ever so interesting though. What was it you Starks were always posturing? The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives?” Stopping, she held out her arms and looked around. “Well? Where’s your pack, Jon Snow? Where’s your family?” With a scoff, she let her arms fall. “I’ll tell you where. They’re enjoying the spoils of our downfall. Your so called family used you as their puppet and threw you away once they got what they wanted and you were of no more use to them. The same as you all did to me.”

His fists clenched so hard, he could feel his nails biting into his skin. Again, she saw it. “The truth is a harsh mistress to lie with, isn’t she, Jon?”

“I never used you. I followed you. I pledged myself to you.”

“That’s right. Do you remember your vow to me right before you stabbed me in the heart? I was your queen, now and always. I wonder if that still holds true,” she mused, stepping towards him again. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as she leaned in and loudly whispered, “shall we test to see if your family’s saying holds true as well? Does the lone wolf really die?”

“Stop it,” he snapped. He hated the words coming from her mouth. He hated that the woman he’d loved had become so cold and cruel. He hated that he was the reason why she was.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Dany’s lips slowly curled up. “As my nephew, the rightful king commands,” she mocked, dipping into a curtsy.

“I’m not the bloody king of Westeros,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I never was and I never wanted that damned throne.”

Her smile fell as she straightened. “No,” she disagreed, “you were a king, Aegon. Now, you’re a queenslayer, an oathbreaker, a kinslayer. Now, you’re nothing.”

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Jon closed his eyes. “Say whatever you want to say. Hurt me however you want. I deserve it. I hate myself for what I did. But I had to do it, Daenerys.” He opened his eyes to meet hers, his voice rising as he went on. “You were out of control and you didn’t even care that you’d just murdered thousands of innocent people!”

“And you didn’t even try to help me! Even before King’s Landing!” she yelled back. “You didn’t talk to me, you didn’t defend me, you didn’t do anything! You stood there while your sister, oh excuse me, cousin, openly disrespected me! I lost my armies to save your people and you couldn’t even tell them to be at least a little grateful! No, you just sat there and smiled like a gods damned fool and the puppet you were. I was drowning and not only did you not try to pull me out, you pushed me under and let the waves consume me.”

Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. “But you made me realize that I can never depend too much on anyone in this world. Even my shadow leaves me when I’m in darkness.”

Jon’s eyes fell closed a second time as he absorbed the truth of her words. “I’m sorry, Daenerys,” he said brokenly. “You’ve no idea how much.”

“We’re all sorry for something, Jon Snow. I would know that better than anyone,” she finally said in a cool voice, making him look at her. “But words are wind. Action is what’s needed to make up for the wrongs we've done to others. It’s why I’ve returned to this forsaken land. I’m here to pay the debt I owe.” Her lip curled. “So don’t stand there and insult me with your paltry excuse of remorse.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he argued. “I hated it. Even though I was told it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, it didn’t feel right. Not then, not now.”

He could tell that she refused to listen to what he had to say. When she stepped away, he matched her by stepping forward.

“If you can’t believe anything else I’ve said, at least believe that I loved you. So much,” he told her, desperation in his voice as he begged with his eyes for her to believe him.

Dany looked at him with something akin to stern pity. “I’m sure you thought yourself to be in love with me.”

Anger flared up in him at the way she so easily dismissed him. When he grabbed her shoulders and her face went blank. “Damn it, Daenerys! I know my own feelings! You were the love of my life!”

Once again, they got trapped in each other’s eyes in a silent battle of wills. Even though her expression didn’t change, he felt the air around her soften. Ever so slowly, she lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, her eyes never leaving his. The heat of her skin; the gentleness of her touch as she rubbed her thumb across his skin was what finally broke Jon. The ache in his throat he’d been holding back the entire time loosened enough that the smallest sob broke through before he could stop it. He turned to nuzzle into her palm as his own hands went to her neck to pull her closer. The smell of smoke, snow, and Daenerys filled his nostrils and made him want to bury his face in her neck.

“If that were true,” she whispered, her hot breath fanning his lips, “you wouldn’t have pulled away from me when you found out that you’re a Targaryen. You would have stayed. Because it wouldn’t have mattered...in the end.”

He shook his head, trying to find the words that would make her understand the turmoil he’d felt back then; wishing that she believed him and hating that she didn’t.

“I loved you,” she said quietly, “more than anyone else I had ever loved before. So much that I gave you everything I had.” She pulled back, letting him see her sorrow and hurt as her next words sliced through him worse than anything else she’d said. “And you repaid that love by showing me that once again, I wasn’t enough.”

She dropped her hands from his face and stepped away, taking all the warmth with her and leaving him with nothing but regret. The rawness of her words and openness he saw in her gaze made Jon’s face crumble under the weight of it all. His chest clenched so hard, he didn’t know how he was still standing. Before he could say anything though, she blinked and her face quickly became hard as stone. “But as I’ve said, I learned my lesson. I don’t want you or anyone else to believe that the love I once held for you is why I spared you. The reason I have not and will not kill you is because I want you to live with the knowledge that I’m not only alive, I’m thriving.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I want it to choke you.”

With that, she headed to Drogon and climbed onto his back. Once settled, she looked down at him imperiously and said, “The time of the wolves is over. Dragons put them on their thrones and it will be dragons that tear them down. Stay here or don’t. It makes no difference to me. But if you do stand against me, Jon Snow, I will show you as much mercy as you showed me. Except I won’t tell you pretty words and kiss your lips as I do.”

Then Drogon was pushing off into the air, with the other two following, flying towards a place and future Jon didn’t know. He couldn’t tear his eyes away even when Tormund came to stand next to him. With each flap of those wings that took her farther away, the part of his heart that still belonged to her broke anew.

It was only when they were mere specks that Tormund let out a whistling breath and asked, “what in the fucking hells are you gonna do now?”

And well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Because he had absolutely no idea.

#daenerys resurrection week #day 5 au #daenerys targaryen #jon snow

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