Fire and Ice.

They lay together, flesh on flesh and her ice blue eyes stare back at him. He drinks her in, feels her fingers dig into his back as she tilts her head, eyes closed now, breathing deeply. He wants to become part of her, fill her, tame the dragon spirit that moves within her like an invisible creature. She whispers in his ear, strange murmurings, a language he doesn't understand. She is fire queen to his ice king, she is everything that he wants.

"Jon - -"

"Daenerys?"

She cannot speak, only gasps escape her mouth. He is master now. He feels her hands in his hair, pulling him down to her.

Outside the sea is undulating, rolling their bodies gently on the bed, on their own voyage of discovery. He thinks of all the things he has experienced in his past, but nothing compares to this. Here, now. He kisses her deeply, loving the sweetness of her mouth, the regular motion of the sea, the bed, building like a storm about to break. He feels it as she wraps her limbs around him, words escaping her lips like curses.

He wants to fill her with his love.

Outside, Tyrion waits. He hears the soft gasps and moans. His heart is heavy, but he is glad for them. Daenerys will need an heir. The witch's prophesy was wrong. The child will be beautiful and strong, he will rule the seven kingdoms. He will bring peace.

It is a small price to pay for this heart-ache. Tyrion steadies himself as the ship rolls, fighting back the pain as the sound of their ecstasy reaches him. He turns away.

She is his queen, he must remember that, but as he makes his way back down the dark passageway, he allows himself the luxury of a moment of self-pity. If he had been a different man, stronger, more handsome, would she have favoured him, loved him? He beats his fist against the wall.

How strange life is. All the paths that have lead him here. Killing his father, turning his back on his own kin. All for her.

As he reaches for the jug of wine, he tells himself that it has all been worth it. He must believe that. But now, the sweet oblivion that only wine can bring, beckons to him. He toasts his queen, shutting out the tormenting images of Jon Snow entwined on the bed with her.

In the chamber, Jon smiles at Daenerys, smoothing her hair back from her face. She traces her fingers lightly down his cheek, then touches his mouth until he playfully pretends to bite them. She laughs.

"I was beginning to think that you didn't like me," she jokes.

"Well now you know that I do."

"It was when you touched Drogon, then I knew."

"What did you know?"

"That we were meant to be together."

Jon nods, trying to look serious, then says honestly, "I was terrified."

"He trusts you, it was - - unusual."

"I don't know what happened, it just seemed the right thing to do."

"It was a sign."

"If you say so."

She snuggles into him and he feels his desire for her returning.

"My dragon queen," he murmurs, kissing her softly.

"No, not here, not now, just a woman, your woman."

"My woman," he repeats pulling her back into his arms.

Outside, a fine sea mist rolls in from the west, shrouding the ship like a veil, but she sails on towards the north, pulled by an invisible string.