Her hand slid to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. "A year ago," she said. "I would have been overjoyed. I will not lie. My family has always wanted to be tied to the Targaryens. Now, though... It does not matter, on one level. It does not change who you are. It scares me, though. It puts you in so much danger, and I hate the thought of you being hurt."
Jon felt a shuddering breath leave his mouth as another smile tugged on his lips. A strange wave of tenderness went through him. "I love you, you know that?" he suddenly heard himself say. Immediately he felt heat rise to his face. He had never told her that before, was not sure he had ever even thought it before, but it felt right, all of a sudden, like a deep, essential truth of himself that had just waited to be discovered.
Tremulously, she returned his smile. "I love you too," she said, and Jon could not really help but lean in and press a kiss to her lips. It was meant to be quick and light, but Margaery's hand tightened on the back of his neck, her fingers digging in and her head tilting ever so slightly to the side to deepen the kiss. Jon breathed her in, could not help himself, could not help but breathe in her reassurance, her love. He still could not believe, whatever it was Uncle Arthur had just told him, that someone such as Margaery was his, wanted him, loved him.
Part of him would always, he knew, regardless of what names he was given, be the Sand of Winterfell.
Uncle Arthur's gasp made them both start and break apart. Jon kept hold of Margaery's hand, breathing hard, and pulled her inside only to find Uncle Arthur looking more wide-eyed than he had ever seen him, stunned and frightened and awed like a small child. "How?" he gasped.
Slowly, Jon let go of Margaery's hand and stepped forward, extending his hand and letting the black and white dragon climb into the palm of his hand. He could see the others in the fireplace, which they had apparently decided to make their home for now, but this one kept seeking him out, so it would be the one he introduced.
"I found the eggs years ago," he said. "I did not know what they were. I had... dreams. They told me what to do. And a few hours ago, I went into the lava tunnels. I threw them in the Dragonmont. Loras followed me. That is how he got hurt. But these... they came out of the molten rock. I do not--"
He stopped, took a deep breath. "I do not know what it means, but. They are here, and they are mine, and that is how it is."
Uncle Arthur swallowed noisily. Then he dropped to one knee and bent his head, and Jon wanted desperately to tell him to get back up, to stand tall. Something kept him silent. "Your Grace," Ser Arthur said. "It means that for all his follies, Rhaegar truly did do one thing right."
Margaery took a step closer, bending over his hand. The dragonling eyed her, and Jon thought he saw wariness in its red eyes. For long moments, they faced off. Then the hatchling seemed to relax, and Margaery reached out a careful finger to run over its scales.
"He is beautiful," she breathed. She looked up at Jon, and he saw stark relief in her eyes. "This means you will be safe, Jon. And our babe too. Whatever happens, they will never let you come to harm."
Jon was not sure he shared in her belief entirely, but it felt right, standing here with her pressed against his side and the small dragon in his hand. It felt natural, in a way very few things ever had, aside from the training yard and the sword. And Blackfyre, which he had received just the previous day.
And maybe that could comfort him as much as it did her. Not that there were no fights ahead - he did not believe that for one moment. But that, at the very least, things were right, for once in his life.
A strange thought struck him then. "Blackfyre," he muttered, glancing at the hatchling, who seemed to actually preen at the word. "You like that, do you not?"
The hatchling coughed out a mouthful of black smoke in reply.