Valaena Fireborn of House Targaryen has been in exile her entire life. Robert's Rebellion twenty years ago forced her and her siblings out of their home to Essos. Valaena was sold to Khal Drogo as his wife so her brother could use her husband's arm...
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The brown walls of the tent were darker than if it was light out. The various tables, chairs, furs, and other items were difficult to see. Everything was normal, quiet, like any other night, and yet something felt amiss. It was hot on the Dothraki sea, but my body felt warmer than usual. My skin felt heavy, sticky, and the air was thick.
It was then I saw the figure of a man standing over me. There was no light, but I would recognize him anywhere without having to see his face. My instincts screamed at me to run to Rhaego's crib, protect him, but the man was standing in the way. Before I had a chance to act, Haggo plunged a knife into my belly and everything went black.
I woke from the nightmare with a jolt as the door to my room burst open. My skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, I glanced over to see Jon standing just inside the door in his nightshirt. He slowly, quietly eased the door shut and made his way over to me. He sat down on the edge of the feather mattress, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me into him as he laid down beside me.
Neither of us said anything. We laid there in silence with the furs at our feet where I kicked them off in the night. The cold Northern air bit at my skin as the heat from the dream left me, but I didn't complain nor move to pull up the furs. The cold reminded me this was reality and the dream was just that, a dream.
I woke a few hours later with the sun streaming into the room through the window. Jon's arms were still around me, my head was still resting on his chest, but the furs were covering us now. One of my hands was gripping his nightshirt and the other was on his thigh. I didn't know when I grabbed him and he moved the furs in the night, but I knew I'd had the best night's sleep for as long as I could remember.
I eased my grip on his nightshirt and moved to place my hand on the bed, but stopped when Jon ran a hand through my hair. My eyes traveled upwards from his chest to see his dark gaze transfixed by my hair. For the first time since I met the veneberal King of the North, he didn't look as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Jon?" I shifted my body so I was leaning on my arm rather than his chest, my hand back on the blanket beneath us rather than his thigh.
"Yes, Your Grace?" Jon mimicked my movement and turned onto his side as well, the edges of his lips turning up into a smile.
"Why do you want me to wear your cloak?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him when he called me by my title rather than my name and dropped my hand from where it was on his chest. "Don't give me that horsehit about how I'll freeze without it. I want the real answer."
"I want other men to think twice before trying to court you." He hesitated before he spoke for such a small moment anyone else wouldn't have caught it, gingerly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and resting his hand on my cheek.
"Do you want to court me?" I couldn't say what I wanted his answer to be, I didn't know myself.
"Do you want me to?" His gaze met my own with a thoughtfulness I had never seen before, not directed at me at least.
