for a moment,  daniel wonders if he’s hallucinating the man sitting at the bar.   after all,  there hasn’t been a peep from feng xiao or the iron dragons in the years since their defeat at the sekai taikai.   almost like they never existed.   a blimp on the map.   he blinks once,  twice.   nope.   he’s still there.   

as he puts in their order with the bartender  —  a coke for john,  a specialty cocktail for sam,  and a martini for himself  —  he finds his eyes slipping over to sensei wolf.   would it be weird to say something to him?   probably. ' so what brings you to london? ' but daniel’s never been the best at holding his tongue.   and it’s a good thing he spotted him first.   ' business?   pleasure? '

the room is charged with a tense sort of silence, heavy as the one that immediately succeeds a storm. only the faint crackle of the hearth breaks it. warm orange glow emanating from the steady fire throws long shadows across the curtains, and aegon — shifting, breathing still ragged — stills altogether in bed with his face pressed into the hollow of lyanna's throat.

at his request, she blinks up at the canopy. his weight settles over her, heavy as a quilt, the warmth of him sinking into her skin. her fingers hover at his shoulder, torn between pushing him off and drawing him closer. something in her bristles at the thought of lying bound beneath someone else... and yet, he is warm, and his breath against her throat carries no mockery; only weariness. only need.

"you sound almost afraid i'd push you away," she murmurs, in part to break the silence and in part to gauge his intentions. he doesn't move, and neither does she. whatever objections she might have are weak enough to die in her throat, and the she-wolf has to admit to herself that she likes the closeness. more specifically, she likes being close to aegon.

lyanna makes up her mind and wraps both arms around him. softly, almost sleepily, she whispers into her king-husband's ear: "i won't."

are you daniel's type?