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princesssarcastia · 7 years

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okay look I actually did it

how does the lead-up to this even go? how do we legitimately get to the point where Jon just...fckn takes his shirt off. idek. whatever. also I have no idea how his clothes even work, soo.... bear with me here.

Jon stares stonily ahead as he removes his leathers; the laces feel slippery, like he can’t keep a proper hold on them. When they finally come undone, he pulls them over his head and hands them to See Davos, who drapes them over his arm with an uncomfortable expression. He can’t help thinking that this wouldn’t be necessary if his advisor had kept his mouth shut.

But then, there was no guarantee of that. Undressing in front of the last of the Targaryens wasn’t exactly the hardest thing he’s ever done; if it would help his people, help the Queen believe him, help Jon win her aid, well. Then it’s entirely necessary, with or without Davos’s words.

He reaches his arm back and pulls his tunic over his head as well, once again handing it over to Davos. The air suddenly grows thick with tension as Daenerys and Lord Tyrion look upon his chest with wide eyes.

It still churns his stomach, to look at what his brothers had done to him, but the sight was burned into his head forever. Long, puckered scars littered his chest, each a painful reminder of the betrayal he’d faced. The one that hurt the most was Ollie’s, of course; his dagger had gone straight into Jon’s heart.

As the moment draws out Jon resists the urge to cross his arms, which would defeat the whole purpose of this absurdity. Ser Davos begins to speak, unable to abide the uncomfortable silence.

“His grace was still commander of the Night’s Watch when he died. Some of the men under his command were unhappy with how he brought the wildlings behind the protection of the Wall; they lured him into a trap and stabbed him through the heart for trying to help his people.”

“Among other places,” Lord Tyrion said, his face still rather pale. Ser Davos looked at his sharply for a moment, then continued.

“I was holed up in a room with his body for days; the cold of the room preserved it to some extent, I’m sure. Then, the Red Woman arrived.”

Jon spoke up. “She brought me back to life. Back from death. I was dead, you grace,” he look Daenerys in the eyes, meeting her gaze. “And the Red Priestess is the only reason I stand before you.”

Daenerys’s eyes flicked over his chest, taking in each scar in turn. “What happened to these men who– killed you?”

“I hanged every last one of them as traitors to the Night’s Watch.”

Lord Tyrion, apparently over his shock, asked “You say that the army of the dead has risen beyond the Wall; why aren’t you among them? As a former dead man yourself.”

Jon glanced at the fire burning in the nearest brazier. “I don’t know. The dead beyond the wall are different; they don’t walk and think as I do, now. They’re just puppets for the Others: the White Walkers.

“Queen Daenerys, I know that believing that White Walkers are leading an army of the dead to Westeros is hard. But let this,” he gestures to his torso, “at least prove that it is possible for the dead to rise, and trust me at my word when I say they are coming for all of us; every last man, woman, and babe in Westeros.”

She raises her gaze to meet his as he finishes. “You say you are the protector of this realm, of the seven kingdoms. If this is true, then I would once again ask for your aid in defeating the army of the dead. Return with me to the North to save it, and the other six kingdoms, and then,” he glances at Davos, who nods, “I promise we will in turn help you reclaim the Iron Throne, and defeat Cersei’s armies.”

Daenerys glances at Lord Tyrion, the pair of them communicating silently. By all the gods, Jon thinks, let this be enough; I don’t know how much more diplomacy I have left in me.

When neither of them say anything, his voice becomes sharp. “If we do not untie against this threat, there will be nothing left of Westeros for you to rule over. Nothing but snow, and ice, and ashes.”

His last words seem to spark something in her eyes. She raises an eyebrow at her advisor, who dips his head in deference. “Well, King Jon,” she says, placing emphasis on his title and raising an eyebrow as she does it, “I cannot deny the the scars on your chest are real, and Tyrion trusts your word. I also cannot deny that we need new allies against Cersei Lannister; I am currently loosing this war.”

Tyrion bows his head at this, and Jon suddenly feels weary. There is nothing in store for him but war; no future that does not contain unspeakable bloodshed that he has long since grown tired of. “So?” He probes, uncaring of the sharpness of his words.

The Mother of Dragons studies him for a moment, then nods. “I did not come here to be Queen of the ashes.”

#game of thrones #let jon take his shirt off 2k17 #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #Tyron lannister #davos seaworth #white walkers #zombies #melisandre #the red priestess #got #got season 7 #season 7 spoilers #cersei lannister #game of thrones fic #got fic #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfic #guys I just couldn't stand it #I can't even wait a week for this to happen #also I think I switched tenses halfway through but whatever #westeros #the north #s7e3 #s7e3 payoff #god now I need more interaction btw Jon and daenerys they are literally life giving

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