Blood of the Dragon

Word Count: 989
Game of Thrones Prompt #2, Week 3
2nd Place Prompt Winner

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Blood of the Dragon



She stormed past the guards, hands in fists, and entered her war room. The salty air stung her cheeks. The wooden sized intricately carved map of Westeros stood with ships, horses, and dragons placed throughout.

Missandei stood. "Your Grace--"

Daenerys held up a hand. "It's done. The Lannister army will threaten us no more."

Missandei arched a questioning eyebrow and Daenerys softened - a bit. The anger refused to leave her, despite the warm feelings for her valued counselor. No, this anger was different. It was seething, aching - personal. Drogon had been injured. Her child. She couldn't shake it off as easily as other wounds.

"Where is Tyrion?"

On cue, the heavy door that led into the war room pushed wider. Tyrion, Jon Snow, and Ser Davos entered. The scent of sandalwood drifted past her. Jon Snow's scent. She calmed even more.

"I'm here, Your Grace." Tyrion stiffened his shoulders.

"Send whatever ships are left to Grey Worm. He and the Unsullied are to return to Dragonstone immediately."

"But Casterly Rock--"

"Let it fall into the ocean. It's not our main objective now, is it?" Daenerys drew in a breath, steeling her resolve. She was not going to let her anger rule her in this moment. No, she was not her father. She was not! Her shoulders fell a bit. She never wanted to be her father - she never wanted to be called mad.

"May I ask what is?" Jon Snow's deep, rich voice filled the room, and Daenerys' calmed even more. She didn't want to make eye contact with him. She didn't want to offer him even a ghost of a smile, yet his thoughts, his concerns, met more to her than she'd realized. She felt shame. It tore at her bones and tightened around her heart. Damn her, she enjoyed looking at him.

"King's Landing."

"The North--"

Ser Davos stepped forward and placed his hand on Jon's shoulder. "Hold, Your Grace." His eyes betrayed his concern.

Dany acknowledged Davos with a nod of her head. The old man could tell she was no mood to explain her orders or her motives. Olenna Tyrell once told her to be a dragon - and now, she embraced that advice.

"Tyrion, report to me when the ships have left. Where is Varys?"

The spider stepped out of the shadows and sided up to Missandei. "Here, Your Grace."

"Find me food and grain. The people of Westros will need more than what we have -- soon."

Varys nodded and departed.

"Missandei, I'll be with my dragons. I do not want to be disturbed. I will come to you."

"Yes, Your Grace." Missandei's voice couldn't hide the depth of concern and again, Daenerys' heart urged her to reach out, to seek and offer comfort from her closest friend, but she couldn't. She was Stormborn. A dragon. And a dragon had little need for comfort.

She turned and walked out. The cool hall did nothing ease the warmth of her blood. Determined, she descended through a dark passage that stank of mildew, and emerged in the dragon pits.

Viserion and Rhaegal gnawed on raw meat. The smell was earthy; most couldn't handle it. Only Tyrion could.

Drogon rested, his eyes fluttered open. He stared at Dany and then they fell. She approached him, letting the others eat. Slowly, she ran her hand over his wound. Fresh scales grew over dried blood. He was healing. Good.
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"Your Grace."

She spun around. Jon Snow stood at the entrance.

"I wanted to be alone."

"Something's upset you." He stayed at the doorway. His eyes glanced at Viserion, then Rhaegal. Both dragons paused and glowered at him. Viserion hissed. Rhaegal snorted.

Daenerys walked between them and placed a hand on Viserion. The beast calmed. She spoke in High Valerian and both dragons continued to stare at Jon. After an extra minute, Rhaegal went back to his meat. Viserion followed.

Dany approached Jon. He held his ground at the entrance.

"That's uncanny - how they respond to you." His voice grew husky and his eyes raked over her from head to toe.

Dany stopped in front of him. "There is a bond. I only wish I knew more about them."

"You know enough to impress me." His eyes narrowed. "What's upset you?"

"Many things trouble me."

"This is more intense."

"Perhaps." She paused. "Drogon is healing well."

"He's hot to the touch."

"And me, Jon Snow? Am I hot to the touch?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I've never touched you."

"May I?" She held up a palm.

He nodded.

With a gentle caress, she cupped his cheek. A blast of heat traveled down her arm. She had experienced similar sensations when Viserys would touch her all those years ago. She'd grown accustomed to Viserys' when he'd reach for her. "Blood of the Dragon kindles the heat in another Dragon," he'd say. Then he'd go on his rant about how he was suppose to marry her - not Drogo. She didn't understand then, but now--

Jon Snow drew in a long breath and tore Dany out of her memory.

"Do you feel it?" She whispered.

"The heat?"

"There's Targaryen blood in you."

"Why do you say that?"

She reached for his other hand and folded her fingers against his, stilling touching his cheek. Warmth and desire rushed through her body again, giving her unspoken attraction a feeling, an ache for more.

"This is the work of the blood of the dragon."

He stood his ground. Lean. Hard muscled. Chiseled features.

She drew close to him and his lips parted. Dany brushed her lips against his and the power of his heated lips rocked her - strength, need, desire pounded through her blood.

Jon took a jerky step back, breaking their contact. "I've known a kiss - but that - I've never felt that."

Dany took a breath to steady herself. "Neither have I."