He shook his head, his dark curls catching in her silver hair. They were tangled together in every way possible, only missing their naked limbs and the freedom of a bed. While he hadn't just been on her ship, the memory was sharp enough to draw him back. A flicker in her blue eyes and he could remember the way they looked set against the candlelight.

His grip was firm around her hand, pressing the dragon back into her hold. "I don't need this anymore." His voice was soft, only for her to hear. This tenderness she brought out in him shouldn't exist around others. It was hers alone, as was his heart.

He wasn't naive. He knew this could end just as easily as it began. She could return to stasis and disappear in the same way Robb and Arya had. He could be without her again, lost and hollow in a strange world. But in a strange turn in his fate, he refused to think or dwell on it, just as he refused to let duty impede this happiness. She was the exception to everything, encapsulating a vow that he would never break and honor until his final death.

Her voice was sweet as she spoke to him in High Valyrian, taking him back to the Dragonpit and when everything was finally settled in his mind, what he wanted and what he would do. "What should I call you?" He asked, bumping her nose with the tip of his, as a wolf did his mate. "Not 'Dany', not 'your grace.' My woman?"