Author's Note: Wow, this is the first creative thing I've written in YEARS. My inspiration has been building since the cave scene. :)

Begins just after Season 7, Episode 6: Beyond the Wall. A little of what I hope is continuing to develop on that boat ride home.

At the hard rap on the door, Jon's dark eyes darted up expectantly. A burly hand appeared first, pushing the knob from the other side – one of his many attendants in his current state. But Jon's eyes were fixed just beyond, where a slip of white-blonde hair first appeared.

Daenerys slowly entered the doorway, her wide, observant eyes meeting his for the first time since their last meeting here just the day before. Thinking of the gentle weight of his hand in hers, the feel of his fingers brushing her palm, the emotion in his voice as he'd addressed her "my queen," her eyes darted from his face, to his chest–covered in scars–then around the room, and then to the open door where Ser Jorah awaited patiently

Daenerys nodded approval at Ser Jorah, who bowed his head and clicked the door shut, leaving them alone once again. She looked Jon over under the guise of evaluating his health, quickly averting her eyes from his muscular torso as she took a cautious step forward.

Jon hadn't missed the shift in her demeanor. Once confident, but stiff with formality and reserved around him, her movements now held an entirely different caution upon entering his bedchambers. Gone were her polished, calculated movements and in place was the hesitation of a relationship blossoming amid unanswered questions, undefined boundaries, and undeniable affection.

"You asked to speak with me," she stated, a questioning evident in her voice and in her raised brow. She wasn't used to being summoned. "Are you all right?"

He smiled at her confusion. "I'm well, your grace." She returned his smile at his words, surprised by the intimacy they held coming from him. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

Despite her grief, despite the hollowness in the pit of her heart, the corners of her lips turned upward and her eyes glimmered.

"You wanted to see how I am doing?" She raised a brow again, this time playfully.

Jon smiled sadly; her concern over him made his heart ache in ways he didn't know were possible, ways he couldn't begin to understand. But he'd had enough of everyone fussing over him and he had concerns of his own.

"I know what they mean to you," he said, his face darkening as he brushed aside her amusement. "Ser Jorah says you've been spending hours strategizing, obsessing over plans and battles."

Her lips tightened and she lifted her eyes upward, almost rolling them at the intervention. "And you and Ser Jorah are working in collusion now?"

"We're worried about you," he admitted, his voice softening to that low rumble that had chipped away at her defenses yesterday.

"I appreciate your concern," she said honestly, "but you couldn't begin to imagine what they mean to me, what I've been through to get here…" Daenerys shook her head with the weight of a past she couldn't begin to share, but her eyes drifted to his hand resting on his bedding, open and empty without hers, and she yearned for his warmth again.

"I know," he admitted wholeheartedly. "But one day I'd like to know, if you'll trust me."

The thought of sharing her past, her grief, with anyone put her on guard, but when she met his eyes again, something deep there made her reach for his hand again, though she remained quiet.

"Whatever happened," he began as his fingers slipped around hers, "it's made you strong and proud and not afraid to do what's needed." He held her gaze, watching her soften at his admiration. "But it's made you kind and understanding and just, too. Don't bury your grief and let anger and revenge rule you. Don't be like everyone else. Let yourself feel everything and let it guide you."

Despite every effort, she felt her eyes welling up again–a weakness she'd promised herself she wouldn't succumb to in front of him again. But she'd been so alone with her burdens for so long, and something about him made her make exceptions, and this time she simply didn't care; a lone tear escaped, quickly followed by two more.

"My brother and my father were…terrible men," she admitted, and Jon could see the fear in her eyes. Although he wondered how she could come from something so horrid, he didn't question her now. "Maybe there's a reason. Maybe you can't be powerful and love anything without it being a weakness."

"You're different," he insisted, squeezing her hand and holding her gaze. "Keep being different."

She blinked, letting a few remaining tears fall, and smiled. "I'm going to hold you to reminding me of that, Jon Snow."

"I will," he promised, his thumb brushing over the inside of her wrist. "Every day if you'd like."

She raised her brows and cocked her head. "You plan on being with me every day?"

Jon glanced at their intertwined hands and swallowed. He had a responsibility to his people, but the best way to keep his people safe was to serve Daenerys. He owed his life and the lives of his people to her; if she hadn't saved them and sacrificed Viserion in the process, they'd all be as good as gone.

Luckily, for once his emotions aligned with his responsibility. He wanted to remain near her as much as he could. Whatever tension was developing between them, he yearned to feel the touch of her hand again and again, to make her smile with her eyes, to ensure her safety as she'd risked her life to save his.

"I'll serve you and our people however I best can, every day, for all my days," he said assuredly, then faltered, realizing he'd been presumptuous and she held all the power here. "If you'll have me."

"I think I could find a place for you." Daenerys smirked, eyes still glistening.

Jon traced the contours of her palm for a moment, mesmerized by the look and feel of her pale, smooth skin. And then he reluctantly drew his hand away to shift his weight on the bed.

"There's also something I want to show you," he began, pushing himself further upright.

Despite his assurance that he was doing well, she was all too aware of the way he tucked his arm against an obvious pain in his side and sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and lowered his feet to the floor.

"Jon," she began to protest, but with a strength that surprised her, he eased himself to his knees before her. Keeping his left arm against his side, which, now that his furs and pelts had slipped lower, she saw was heavily bruised. She also saw the curve of his hip that led into a deep, angular groove tracing the muscles of his abdomen–a discovery that surely had a little something to do with the sudden flush she felt burning her cheeks and chest.

Raising his gaze to meet hers, he reached for her hand again, taking her fingers in his own and bringing her hand just before his lips.

"The north is in good hands, my queen," he said confidently, brushing his lips against the soft skin of the back of her hand.

At the chill that ran down the length of her spine, she swallowed hard and, in a cautious movement, slid her fingertips against the curve of his chin.

"Yes," she agreed, opening her palm to rest against his jaw. "The north is in our hands."

She'd been hell-bent on getting him to submit to her rule for some time now, but though she'd been reluctant to admit it, she'd grown to appreciate the presence of another ruler. Although she wasn't supposed to see him as anything close to an equal, she did; he was kind and wise and held the weight of his people on his shoulders just like she did.

"I shall rely on your counsel, Jon," she added, and it didn't pass him by that she'd dropped the formality of his last name. "Without your warning, I never would've known the threat of the Night King. I may have been blindsided by the army of the dead and lost much more than Viserion. And you nearly lost your life for our cause."

Jon closed his eyes at her words and let the comfort of her touch permeate his senses. As though the world favored their building union, the cloudy skies parted above the sea and bright, white light shone through the windows of his chambers.

"We have to warn the rest of the seven kingdoms," he breathed out as he opened his eyes, finding the newly escaped sunlight streaming across her face, setting her bright blue eyes aglow.

"We have to protect them," Daenerys concluded, splaying her fingers against his cheek. The strain of moving from bed was evident in his fluttering eyes and rough voice. "But first, you need to return to bed and rest."

In a gesture that nearly stole the last bit of his breath from his chest, she lowered herself to him and placed a supportive hand beneath his elbow. Allowing him to keep his arm tucked against his deeply bruised side with her help, he pushed himself back up to the edge of the bed, with her free hand guiding his legs onto the bed. She'd helped him more than he'd care to admit, wincing at his pained look as though the pain were her own.

His chest trembled slightly despite the warmth of the sun, and she pulled another layer of furs up to his chest with a gentleness and care that warmed him more than the blanket.

"Promise me you won't make any more attempts to leave this bed until you're well."

"That I don't know if I can promise," he replied honestly. "We've much to prepare for, and I've grown used to your company." The smile that toyed at his lips had one of her own spreading across her pale pink lips.

"Promise me, and I promise to check on you." She nodded at the offer and rose, a staggered breath of her own escaping her as she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding at their closeness.

"I promise, your grace." Holding the attention of her bright eyes, he swallowed hard and tried not to think about how with each time they interacted, both their walls continued to tumble further with every glance and touch.

"Very well." Straightening her dress that had shifted slightly when she'd kneeled, she tried to return to the only chartered territory they knew: a false sense of formality that neither of them seemed able to cling to for long. "I shall ask Ser Jorah to find me when you wake again. I hope you can rest comfortably."

Before he could respond, she'd turned to the door, eager to resist the emotions that called for her to return to his bedside, to watch over every breath that rose and fell with his chest. But just as she made it to the doorway, a hint of a smile toyed at the corners of her lips and she turned to him, one hand on the door.

"And Jon," she began, expecting to catch his gaze returning to her. Instead, she'd caught him studying her every move, his dark eyes heavy with anticipation. "You may call me Dany, if you'd like. I quite like the way it sounds coming from you."

Jon smiled the first real smile he'd allowed himself since his body had pierced the icy cold, since they'd lost Viserion, and he had to temper down a chuckle that threatened to send a sharp pain through his chest.

"I hope I don't sleep long, Dany."

The nickname only her family had used felt natural coming from his lips, but the sound of it sent emotions she couldn't quite suppress to the surface. He was reclaiming it for her, making her feel safe and cared for instead of betrayed by false affection.

"I'll see you soon, Jon," she assured before slipping through the door into the hallway of the quarters of the ship.