Fire Melts Ice : Book One

The Stubborn Thorns

Daenerys

She inhaled the scent of freshly fallen snow, clean air, and the cold breeze. Everything moved slower at Winterfell; from the elder people who worked the homestead, to the squeaking wheels on the tired-out barrels. The world was at a crawling pace.

Daenerys ran her slim fingers along the frigid stone arches. Jon Snow had twisted her mind in so many different ways she was having trouble keeping a grip on the task ahead. Everything hurt. Her battered hands, still raw from the previous days' riding, to her heart, suddenly aching as if it had fresh cracks along its outer shell.

She never thought she'd ever meet someone as stubborn as herself. Jon had blatantly dismissed her requests, and she had equally proved unwavering to him. Now all she could do was question herself and wonder why Tyrion hadn't woken up yet to find her.

Jon

Tyrion left an hour ago yet Jon still remained plastered to his unmade bed. The dwarf had given him no further explanation--save the fact that he should be more open to doing what's best to save the people of their country. But Jon had told him to tell Daenerys that as well, and Tyrion had given him a small smile mixed with tired eyes, and vanished.

Jon felt the thick furs under his hands, still warm from the fire that had just gone out. Everything was heavy in the room. The drooping cloth along the window frames, the cracks in the dark wood that lined the floor, and the chipped stones that made the walls. The sun had crept through the fabric over the window closest to Jon, and it crept across the floor until it overlapped on his boots. He exhaled and stood up, walking to throw the shades open at the window when he stopped. Outside he could see the courtyard, but most importantly, the Winterfell gardens. And there the snow covered what was left of the grasses and Jon watched as Daenerys stood in the center of it all.

He sharply gasped, looking at the snow falling around her as she knelt down to fix the fallen hat off of a child's head. She giggled at the boy, tucking a lock of his dark hair behind his ears as she slid the cap on. Jon watched as the small boy looked dazed upon the dragon queen. Daenerys reached for his small pudgy hand, and slowly walked him back to his mother that was working with the grain storage. The tiniest of smiles crept across Jon's mouth as he watched her move back across the open air. Then it struck him; it was the first time she probably had ever been in snow. He watched her swivel her head around, letting the flakes melt onto her skin with contact. She radiated among the cold, everything at her will. The people of Winterfell all seemed to stop and watch her pass, as if she was an angel among them. He knew why. Her beauty was enough to stop any soul in their tracks, man or woman, but it was her presence that truly commanded a space. In the short hours he'd known her, Jon knew that a room changed with the addition of Daenerys Targaryen.

As if that thought had been spoken aloud, Daenerys glanced upward and made direct eye contact with the King in the North. He stopped his breath, unsure if he should dart away from the window or smile down at her. She simply raised a brow at him, but he could see the little smirk that formed on her lips once her head was tilted back downward.

A knock at the door jilted Jon from his gazing. He bellowed a "come in" and two elderly woman shuffled past the doorframe and began to tidy up his space. He smiled a thank you and walked out of the room.

Sansa

No matter how many times Sansa tried to redecorate her bedchamber, it still seeped with the despair she endured during Ramsey's hold over her.

She fluffed the paper-thin pillow that laid on her duvet, then organized the few dresses in her wardrobe. Jon had asked to borrow a dress far too short for Sansa, and later that morning it was on the dragon queen. She had been saving the cloth to be formed into a new nightdress, its fabric far too beautiful to waste, but after seeing it on the silver-haired lady Sansa decided it suited her better. When Daenerys had asked her about said dress, it took all Sansa had not to giggle at the young woman. Sometimes people were far too oblivious to the actions of others.

Sansa moved to the small wooden chair in the corner of her quarters, sinking down in its base. She pulled out the tiny book Jon had given her, mostly as a joke, regarding the proper elegance when in the company of stubborn rulers. She thought the title was fitting for their current situation and couldn't help but wonder where on earth he found such a novel.

"I haven't read that one I'm afraid," he stopped, sighing with each step. "Is it helpful?"

Sansa hadn't even heard him come in. "Tyrion?"

The small man smiled sadly at her, the same way he had down on their "wedding" day at Kings landing. He looked worn now. His eyes rimmed with thick bags and his face covered in scares and markings. He had never been much in comparison to the beauty his brother Jamie held, yet his face now had its own version of elegance. A quality that was far better, in Sansa's opinion.

"My lord, can I get you anything? You must still be so exhausted." She rose from her chair.

He shook his head hurriedly. "No, Sansa, please. Sit with me for a moment."

She complied, returning to her seat as Tyrion hopped on the bottom her bed to sit. He watched her for a time before speaking again.

"I know our marriage, was, well, a sham. I don't hold you to any of your vows, of course. I hope we can grow into friends with due time." He looked from his hands which rested in his lap to her face. Then smiled knowingly. "I think your brother and my Queen have a long road in front of them."

Sansa let go of a breath she didn't even realize she had been holding. "I would like nothing more." Tyrion nodded in agreement. "As for our counterparts... I think Jon will warm to Daenerys. And same to her with him. She already reminds me too much of him."

Tyrion sighed. "The world can only take so much stubbornness."

Sansa laughed quietly. "That it can."

Daenerys

Jon vanished from the window and something inside Daenerys pinged with a pain she hadn't felt in a long time, and she had no idea why.

With one last glance at his window, Daenerys began to dread back the way she came. The snow, which was a marvelous new sight for her, continued to land on every inch of her. She decided to find Drogon. Daenerys realized she hadn't seen her child since her arrival, although she heard his screeches in the sky above in the early morning, and she knew it meant he was content in the cool winds of winter.

As she reached the doors she entered from, they burst open in front of her.

Jon Snow was breathing with a slight heaviness as he erupted through, his eyes finding hers immediately.

"Jon?" She asked with great concern, her hand reaching out to place on his forearm before she even realized what she was doing.

He froze at her touch. His eyes going from her hand to her face in a perplexed manner. She removed it slowly.

"I just received a raven from the citadel." She looked even more confused once he spoke, but his eyes only sharpened. "You and I need to go back to Dragonstone. Now. Your castle is on a mountain of dragonglass."

"We've discussed this already, I don't understand-"

"The dead." Jon interrupted, his eyes so intense. "They're so much closer than we thought."