Dragon wings take flight in her chest. It doesn't matter how often he says it, but each time he swears himself to her, the effect is near overwhelming. None so much as in the Dragonpit, when he'd announced his loyalties to her before so many. It was so much like that eve where Drogo had sworn to the Great Stallion that he would take the Seven Kingdoms for her.
But with Jon, it's much more profound. He doesn't swear her a throne, nor does he assume himself to be more capable than she of obtaining it. And that was the difference: Drogo led, Daario followed, and Jon walks beside her. Being his queen brings something to mind-- "Do my advisors sleep?"
Her fingers trail down his cheek, the tips lightly dragging against his lips before her hand drops from his cheek to tangle in the furs of his cloak. This near to him is intoxicating, making her giddy. So very new this all is, she realizes. Drogo and Daario were men who forced her to be a woman far beyond her age; with Jon, she's simply Dany. And Dany feels girlishly silly--at a complete loss, really, with her stomach threatening to flip itself.
Yet despite how foreign and comfortable and terrifying it all is, she thrills in their nearness.
"I like it better, already," she murmurs. She's just about to say something else, to tease him for looking so adorably earnest, when voices break her reverie. The shift is near instant: open to something more guarded, as her gaze flicks to those who step into this space. She doesn't step away from him, in fact, her fingers tighten in his furs. But she also doesn't look as happy, now, with faces unrecognizable. "What else is there in this place? You said you were part of the royal guard, yet you're here."
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But with Jon, it's much more profound. He doesn't swear her a throne, nor does he assume himself to be more capable than she of obtaining it. And that was the difference: Drogo led, Daario followed, and Jon walks beside her. Being his queen brings something to mind-- "Do my advisors sleep?"
Her fingers trail down his cheek, the tips lightly dragging against his lips before her hand drops from his cheek to tangle in the furs of his cloak. This near to him is intoxicating, making her giddy. So very new this all is, she realizes. Drogo and Daario were men who forced her to be a woman far beyond her age; with Jon, she's simply Dany. And Dany feels girlishly silly--at a complete loss, really, with her stomach threatening to flip itself.
Yet despite how foreign and comfortable and terrifying it all is, she thrills in their nearness.
"I like it better, already," she murmurs. She's just about to say something else, to tease him for looking so adorably earnest, when voices break her reverie. The shift is near instant: open to something more guarded, as her gaze flicks to those who step into this space. She doesn't step away from him, in fact, her fingers tighten in his furs. But she also doesn't look as happy, now, with faces unrecognizable. "What else is there in this place? You said you were part of the royal guard, yet you're here."