Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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For the fourth week in a row, Jon grabbed the tray of filled applications from outside his office, walked to his desk and, having placed his mug of coffee on the coaster, dumped the whole lot into the bin. He then returned the empty plastic tray to the stand by the door, folded his arms and sighed: “Seems like I just can’t get any candidates.”

The sign on the wall read:

TRAINEE OPPORTUNITY - APPLY HERE.

Of course, that was only half the truth; whilst every university professor had a similar piece of paper stuck to their office door, Jon’s tray was the only one always void of applicants. In truth, he was the only professor yet to choose a student to work under him. Something that’s not about to change, Jon thought as he settled by his desk, grabbed his mug and started sipping his brew.

Professor Jon Snow was thirty-two years of age and perfectly content with his position in life. In fact, he had spent the three years since earning his PhD in palaeontology on perfecting his routine. As he leaned back in the worn leather chair, his feet pushing books and paper aside as he rested them atop the desk, he flipped open his calendar and studied the day’s schedule:

8am: Coffee.

8:30am: Grade papers.

11am: Meeting with Dr Tarly.

12:30pm: Lunch.

1:30pm: Early lecture.

2:30pm: Tea time.

3pm: Research committee meeting.

4pm: Late lecture.

Jon put down his mug as he grabbed a pen, bit off the lid and meticulously crossed out the first duty of the day. This simple act alone sent a shudder of satisfaction down his spine, and he glanced at his wristwatch to determine that he was well ahead of his schedule already.

And thank the Gods for that, he thought as his office door swung open, and he furrowed his brows at the sight of his colleague’s face, because it looks like I’m about to have an early, early lecture.

“Professor,” the woman greeted him.

Jon slowly reached for his glasses. They were stuck in the neck of his jumper vest. As his colleague waited patiently by his desk, he unfolded the temples of his glasses, one by one, his fingers caressing the thick, brown frame before he finally slipped them onto his face. As if shocked by the sight in front of him, Jon clapped his hands together and spoke: “Dr Olenna Tyrell! What a pleasant surprise.”

His colleague forced a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “Professor,” she said, “you and I both know that you’re perfectly capable of seeing.”

“Do we now?” Jon asked, tapping his finger at the bridge of the frame, “well, I supposed that a woman of your education would be capable of knocking on my door, so I guess it’s a peculiar day for both of us.”

“If I knocked, you would insist that you are not here.”

“That I would,” Jon agreed, “because you’re not in my schedule.” He waved the calendar at her and quirked his brows.

Olenna rolled her eyes. “Nothing of importance in history has ever been pre-written,” she said.

“Yet I study what has already left a mark, so it seems your comment is unnecessary.”

“So is your resistance to change,” Olenna spoke. “I hear you’ve yet to choose a trainee?”

Jon bit his inner cheek as he rocked his chair back and forth. The old leather groaned under his movements. “I’ve not had anyone apply,” he insisted.

“Is that so? When I went home yesterday, I walked past a full tray outside.”

Jon shrugged. “Could be the wind took them?”

Olenna eyed his bin and sighed: “Odd how the winds blow, isn’t it?” She glanced around his office, seemingly searching for a place to sit but, finding every surface covered with books, simply turned back to face Jon. She folded her arms at her front as she continued: “It does not matter, Professor. You either choose, or the faculty will make a decision.”

“Either way, I have to delegate my important work to a simple student with no grasp of my schedule,” Jon spoke sourly. He slipped his feet down from his desk as he instead leaned onto it, his grey eyes seeking Olenna’s brown ones. “So be it - let the faculty make their pick.”

At first, Olenna didn’t speak, and Jon thought that perhaps he had impressed her. But then, she started to chuckle. Her voice was deep with amusement as she said: “Oh, Professor Snow, you misunderstand. The faculty has no interest in picking your student,” she said.

Jon wrinkled his nose, and his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Then whatever did you mean?”

“The faculty will have to make a decision on whether it’s reasonable to employ an uncooperative professor,” she said, and her eyes glimmered at her own words. “You got away with it for three years, Jon, but no longer. Not now I-”

“-am part of the department,” Jon muttered. The truth tasted bitter on his tongue; after years of persistence, Olenna Tyrell had finally managed to worm her way to power. Jon had known she would eventually seek him out, smiling her smug smile and speaking her honeyed words, but he had never thought she would choose student work for her crusade.

Then again, her granddaughter is a student too, Jon reminded himself, I am sure she has whispered in her ear about how I teach. He fisted his hands, his nails digging into his palms, and for a moment he was at a loss.

Then, he gazed into her eyes, and with a small, defiant smile he reached into the bin. Without ever losing eye contact, his fingertips grazed the many applications and then tucked one out at random. “Well, you can tell the faculty,” he said as he handed the piece of paper to her, “that I have made my decision.”

Olenna’s eyes narrowed, and she took in a deep breath through her nose before she took hold of the application before her. “Is this really how you want to do things?” she asked.

Jon nodded and leaned back in his chair, mug in hand, as he sipped his brew. “My decision stands,” he said. “You never specified how I make my selection, only that I do. So there-” he gestured at the paper in her hand, “my choice for top trainee of the year.”

Olenna turned over the application as she skimmed it. The further down she got, the more her lips seemed to tug back into a smile. “Mhm, I guess it can’t be helped,” she said. “Very well, Professor, I shall inform your student of the decision.”

“Please do,” Jon spoke, but he felt uneasy at the way her eyes glimmered as she turned to leave his office. Part of him wanted to ask for the application back, just for a chance to read it, but he knew he had to remain strong now not to make a fool of himself.

Besides, he thought, glancing at his watch, it’s 8:33, and I’m late.

The next morning, he found a young lass standing outside his door. She was a short, pale thing with silver hair tied up with a scrunchie, flared jeans and a striped crop top. Seemingly in an attempt to make herself appear more professional, she’d put on a purple blazer atop the mess, but all Jon could think was that she looked like a first year student.

Probably lost, he thought as he approached, coffee in hand, and it was not until she turned and smiled at him that he realised she’d been expecting him.

“Professor,” she spoke, and her eyes lit up.

Jon stopped a few feet short of her and glanced at her in confusion. After a pause, he asked: “Yes?”

“I’m Daenerys,” she said, her voice still chipper despite his vexed face. She reached over to shake his hand but, finding one holding a mug and the other his briefcase, she instead slipped her hands behind her back as she sent him a shy smile. “Daenerys Targaryen. I am so excited for this opportunity.”

Jon paused once more. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m confused - are you looking for someone?”

Daenerys cocked her head. Her smile didn’t falter, but it seemed a bit  more strained. “Yes, Professor, I was looking for you?” As he didn’t immediately speak, she added: “Am I late? Please tell me I am not late. Not on my first day!”

It was then, as she stood panicked before him, that something started to dawn on Jon. As he closed his eyes, he took in a deep breath, an ache starting to form in the back of his head, and he said: “You’re Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Yes,” she replied.

“You’re looking for me.”

“Yes,” she spoke again, her voice seeming less certain. “Professor, is something amiss?”

Jon clenched his eyes so tightly that glimmers of light danced across the inners of his eyelids, and in them he could see the smirking face of Olenna Tyrell.

She fooled me, he thought and tensed his jaw, She knew I’d picked a hopeless young girl, and she revelled in the knowledge. That is my reward for being stubborn.

Jon blinked his eyes open with a sigh as he finally looked back at Daenerys. She was watching him confused, her violet eyes shimmering with concern. “Get the door,” he said and nodded at it, and she swiftly complied, letting them into his office. “We’ve got to talk.”

As always, Jon’s office smelled of worn leather, old paper and ink. He pushed his nose to the mug, drowning his senses in the scent of coffee before he placed it atop the coaster. He then tucked at the heavy curtains on his right and dragged them aside, allowing the morning sun to fall into the room. In the sparse light, dust could be seen dancing in the air, and Jon waved some out of his eyes as he settled in his leather chair, taking in a deep breath. He was trying to come up with words to speak: “Daenerys-”

“Wow.”

Jon blinked. She was standing at the threshold to his office, her eyes glancing about shyly, and for a moment, he allowed himself to follow her gaze:

Up against all four walls were old bookcases filled to the brim with papers, journals and leatherbound theories, some of the shelves bending under the sheer weight. Collections of stones from his many worktrips were displayed in the windowsill, and on his desk were several fossils, all of them enclosed in glass, each labeled with a year and a description. He had two spare chairs in the room, but both were toppled with student papers, and his three rolling sets of drawers were collected in a corner, each of them covered with notes that only he could discern.

Jon’s gaze slipped back to the girl and he sighed: “You can come in, you know.” As she only gingerly stepped inside, he smirked: “Look, I know it’s impressive, but-”

“How do you find anything in this mess?” she gasped, glancing around the shelves.

At her words, Jon reddened, and he fumbled to press the mug of coffee to his lips before he spoke in error. What an obnoxious brat! However, before he had a chance to reply, someone else chipped in:

“Oh, Professor Snow has his ways.” Olenna stepped onto the threshold herself, a smile on her lips as she glanced between Jon and Daenerys. “Miss Targaryen, thank you so much for accepting this offer on such short notice. I know it’s customary to give a few weeks of consideration, but-” and at this she paused, her smile deepening as she looked toward Jon, “things got in the way.”

Daenerys shook her head with such eagerness that her silver locks bounced about. “Not at all, Dr Tyrell,” she said energetically, “I was just saying to Professor Snow how excited I am about this opportunity to work for him.”

“I am sure he is just as thrilled,” Olenna spoke, and both women turned to glance at Jon.

Jon sunk deeper into his leather chair, hiding a grimace behind his mug. “Elated,” he mumbled.

“I should think so,” Olenna spoke, “after all, failure is not an option. Lest the faculty should hear about it.” Her gaze was locked with Jon’s, but it was Daenerys who seemed to take heed of the warning.

“I will not fail,” she promised.

Jon felt like gagging. She is too eager to please, he thought, glaring at her from above the mug as she shook hands with Olenna, too keen to progress. I bet she has little else going on in that mind of hers. Still, as she turned to face him, he faked a sickly sweet smile. “Thank you, Dr, for coming by,” he said, “it was very… enlightening.”

“I shall leave you to it,” Olenna smiled before closing the door behind her.

In the silence that followed, Jon said brooding over his coffee whilst Daenerys stood at attention, her eyes eagerly seeking his. As the seconds dragged by, Jon felt a need to speak, but with nothing to say, he felt relief as Daenerys spoke:

“Professor Snow?”

He put his mug down and sighed: “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

You already are, he thought and searched beneath the papers on his desk. As his fingertips pushed against his pack of smokes, he retrieved a cigarette and glanced toward her: “Sure.” He popped it between his lips and lit it, letting the smoke fill his lungs as he waited for her to continue.

Daenerys bit her lower lip, and she tucked her chin to her chest as she spoke shyly: “Why did you pick me?”

Jon nursed the first drag of his smoke, his eyes taking in her face as he thought, Fucking hell. What was he meant to say? He had no idea of her skills. No idea of her degree. He didn’t even know what year she was in. But saying, Your application was on top of my bin, didn’t sound like a good way to start their relation. It wasn’t that he worried about hurting her feelings, but he worried how it might make him seem. Like I’m some careless fool, Jon thought and tipped the ashes into his bin.

He glanced at his watch, realising that he’d been silent for minutes following her question, so he finally said: “Why don’t you tell me why you think I chose you.”

Daenerys blinked, and her cheeks went slightly pink. “Oh, well,” she mumbled, “Well, maybe because of my degree?”

Jon nodded. “Sure,” then, realising his opportunity, added: “Tell me about it?”

“Well, I study history,” Daenerys said, “I’m in my first year of studying for my masters. Of course, you know that already.”

“Of course,” Jon agreed, mentally trying to take note. But in truth, his eyes were gazing on his watch as he realised the minutes were ticking down. What’s on my plan today?

“I find it really fascinating, how palaeontologists work,” she said. “Studying fossils to find out what happened millions of years ago? It’s just baffling.”

Only if you’re simple-minded, Jon wanted to say, but he kept nodding: “Uh-huh.”

“But truth be told-” Daenerys started, but she must have sensed that he wasn’t paying her any attention, for her voice trailed out. For a moment, she paused, then she spoke: “Enough about me babbling, though. How can I help you, Professor?”

Jon tapped his fingers to his desk as he blew out smoke. How indeed, he thought, fiddling with his calendar. He looked down his schedule of the day. “Well, Danyris-”

“Daenerys,” she corrected him.

“Daenerys,” Jon nodded, although his mind was already elsewhere. Meeting in five minutes. I have to be quick. “Miss, I follow a strict schedule, so if you want to assist, you must be able to make your own decisions.”

“What about?” she asked whilst nodding.

Jon snubbed his smoke out on the edge of the bin, ashes spilling across the carpet. “About… everything,” he said and shrugged, getting up. He tucked at his jumper vest, a few more drops of ashes flicking from the fabric, and he sent her an exasperated look. “What do they always tell you kids? Take initiative? Do it.”

Daenerys watched him as he made his way around his desk. “Do… what, Professor?” she asked, her voice confused.

“Just-” Jon waved his hands dismissively. “Do something. I’m sure I’ll be impressed.” With that, he grabbed his briefcase, sent her a curt smile, and was on his way down the hallway before she could ask another question.

I am going to kill Olenna, he thought, his smile sinking into a deep, sour grimace as he marched toward the meeting room, if this girl doesn’t kill me first.

Upon the return to his office, Jon almost had a heart attack.

As he swung the door open, he didn’t smell any paper or ink or dust. Instead, he smelled the flowerbeds outside, and a light breeze tickled his face. At first, he stopped in confusion, his eyes roaming the room as he wondered if he had walked into the wrong place. Then, as his gaze fell upon the rearranged fossils on his desk, his heart sunk in his chest.

“No…” It wasn’t just the fossils - his whole office had gotten a clean up. No dust clung onto the sides of the wooden desk. The stones in the windowsill had been arranged by size. The books on his shelves were freshly dusted. The papers on his chairs no more.

As he stood in awe, Daenerys popped up from behind his desk, dustpan in hand, and she offered him a bright smile. “Welcome back, Professor.”

Jon ran his fingers through his messy curls, his wide eyes staring at her. “Whatever happened?” he asked.

Daenerys blinked and shook the pan out of the open window, letting the ashes be carried away with the breeze. “I took your advice,” she said, “I took initiative . ”

“To release chaos?” Jon’s voice was heavy with panic, and Daenerys’ assured voice turned hesitant as she said:

“No, to clean.” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes as she approached him with small steps. “Is everything okay, Professor?”

“No,” Jon said and shook his head. “No, it is not. What did you do to my stones?” He pointed at the windowsill.

Daenerys followed his gesture. “Oh, they looked so odd all bungled up,” she said, “I thought that in this way, it’s more neat.”

“They were perfectly arranged,” Jon insisted.

“In what way?”

“By the year I found them,” he said. Then, he turned to his fossils. “And those?”

“I arranged them by year,” Daenerys explained hurriedly, pointing to the labels. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“No,” Jon groaned, his hands scratching his hair with more furor. The sight of all his stuff in places it wasn’t meant to be was messing with his brain, and he could barely stand to look at it. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “They were arranged by names.”

“I can redo it,” she promised eagerly, leaning in to read the labels once more.

“No, not alphabetically,” Jon sighed, his voice soaked in annoyance. Why is she so useless? “By the name of the expedition I was on when I discovered them.”

“Well, that’s just confusing.”

“Not for me!” Jon held out his arms, turning about as he glanced at his shelves.

“I didn’t re-arrange those,” Daenerys spoke, before sadly adding: “I didn’t have the time.”

“This is just unbelievable.” Jon trudged over as he sunk into his leather chair, and he groaned as the smell from the flowers tickled his nose. “Close the window,” he murmured and gestured at the glass, and Daenerys hurriedly shut out the smells.

She shyly tucked her hands behind her back as she watched him, her cheeks reddening as she spoke: “Look, Professor, I am sorry if I offended you - I really meant no harm.”

“I am just baffled,” he said. He glanced around the desk, looking for his smokes, and Daenerys swiftly opened his top drawer, pointing to the pack. Without another word, he withdrew a cigarette, lit it, and let the smoke calm his nerves.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Jon sighed: “I feel like for this to work, I need to give you guidance.”

“I think that is part of the idea,” Daenerys said. He could almost sense slight in her voice, but as she didn’t say anything further, he just shrugged it off.

“Right, here’s the plan-” he said and bit down around the edge of his smoke. He withdrew his calendar, ripped off a page, and started scribbling down his day:

8am: Coffee.

8:30am: Grade papers.

11am: Meeting with ___.

12:30pm: Lunch.

1:30pm: Early lecture.

2:30pm: Tea time.

3pm: ___ meeting.

4pm: Late lecture.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her, “this is the perfect schedule. Trust me - I’ve worked on this for three years, and if I stick to it, everything runs smoothly.”

Daenerys let her gaze wander down the paper. “You do the same thing every day?”

“No, just Monday, Tuesday and Friday,” he assured her. “Same times, different classes, different meetings. But yes, that’s my schedule. The rest of the week I travel between schools, offering my talents.”

“Whatever in?”

“Education. They’re trying to get more kids interested in palaeontology.”

“And they send you?” Daenerys glanced at him with concern, and Jon raised his brows. Before he could speak, she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, “This is very helpful. Thank you.”

As she fiddled with the note, Jon sat looking at her, smoke in hand, and he thought, She meant well. Even thinking it annoyed him, and he promptly stuffed the cigarette between his lips as he leaned back in his chair, glancing toward his dusted bookshelves. She’s a fool, but she meant well.

“Do you-” Jon started, and he paused, searching for the right words. “Do you have any skills ?” He glanced at her, and her violet eyes stared back at him with perplexion.

“Uhm, I’d like to think I do?” she replied.

She thinks I am testing her again, Jon thought. He blew out smoke and explained: “On the application. What skills did you list?”

“Well, I am very neat and organised,” she said, glancing around the room as she reddened, “perhaps a bit too organised, eh?” She smiled at him, but, as he didn’t smile back, swiftly added: “I am good at remembering things, and I take really good notes.”

“Notes?” Jon interrupted. He tipped the cigarette between his lips as he pondered on her words. “Like, for meetings?”

“Could be?” she said puzzled.

“As you can see,” he tapped to the note in her hand, “I have two meetings a day. The last one is basic trash,” he admitted, causing her to giggle, and he smirked around his smoke. Funny, am I? “It’s always some research group trying to impress the other members. Pure boasting. It’s meant to be useful, but, well, you’ll see soon enough.” He slipped his finger up to the 11am meeting as he continued: “But my first meeting is normally with a colleague. Those are the meetings I set up because I want to learn something. They’re actually interesting.” He leaned back in his chair with a nod.

Daenerys, less certain, asked: “So what do you need from me, Professor?”

“I need you to take notes. You have a good memory, you say? Put it to use next Friday.” At first, as he watched her face, he saw nothing, and he wondered if his idea didn’t appeal to her at all. Then, a smile broke out across her lips, and she straightened up with such eagerness that her hair bounced about.

“Yes, Professor, I’ll make sure to do you proud!”

Jon blinked, rather baffled at her sudden perkiness, and he merely said: “Okay.” But as she gathered up her things and headed for the door, he called out: “Oh, and Daenerys?”

She turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Dress more professionally next time,” he said, nodding at her bared navel.

She blushed and nodded before heading out the door, and as it shut behind her, Jon swiftly pulled the curtains to close off the sun.

That’s enough brightness for the rest of my life, he thought, lingering on her smile.

True to her words, Daenerys did show up with the intent to make him proud. Friday, as he called her into his office at 10:50am, she stepped over the threshold in a new, fitted suit. The black fabric sat nicely around her slim frame, the white shirt was buttoned all the way up to her neck, whilst the hemline on her skirt rested just above her knees.

“Good morning, Professor,” she greeted him, and Jon gave her a polite nod:

“Miss.” He was sipping his third coffee of the day, and as he emptied his mug, he glanced over the edge toward her knees as he thought, Well, this is a change.

Much to Jon’s disagreement, the university didn’t have a strict dress-code. In the years when he studied for his PhD, it was an unspoken expectation that the men came suited and booted, whilst the women wore nice dresses and heels.

But the times changed; soon, the first year students showed up in the latest fashion, sporting multicoloured nylon jackets and baggy bottoms, and before anyone had a chance to blink, the whole place was taken over.

It’s thanks to people like Olenna, Jon thought, remembering how she always pushed for change. ‘We must modernise,’ she liked to say, glancing at Jon’s old jumper vests and slacks, ‘if we get stuck in the past, how can we present ourselves as a place of innovation?’

By doing good research, Jon replied in his thoughts and pushed the mug aside as he stood up, and presenting it as proper adults. “Ready to go?” he asked and picked up his bag.

Daenerys proudly held up her new notebook as she chirped: “As ready as I can be!”

As they walked the hallways, Jon couldn’t help but to peek at her from the corners of his eyes. Up close, she had quite a cute face, he noted. Small nose. Rounded cheeks. Bright eyes. Plump lips. When she caught him looking, he gave her a polite smile before glancing ahead. She looks like a different person to the panicked girl I saw last Tuesday, he thought.

“I don’t remember from your application,” Jon said, hoping to sound casual. “How old are you again?”

“I’m twenty-five,” Daenerys said.

“Twenty-five,” Jon repeated in awe. That’s how old I was when I started doing my PhD. How time has passed. “How come you’ve only just started on your masters now? You must have finished your undergraduate degree years ago?”

At his words, her cheeks brightened. “Well, it wasn’t an option at the time,” she said, letting the explanation hang unsaid.

You didn’t have the money, Jon concluded, and it surprised him a little. Most of his students came from wealthy families - that’s how they afforded to study useless subjects such as his own. No one needs another dinosaur enthusiast, he thought, but if you have the cash, someone will tell you that they do. He shook his head at his own thoughts and just said: “Well, you must be happy to be here now.”

“I am,” she smiled and nodded, her fingers clenching a bit tighter around the notebook. “I am.”

At her words, he couldn’t help but smile, and he hid it in a faked yawn as he said: “Right, we’re meeting with Dr Mormont.” He watched as she flipped open the book, already taking notes as they walked. “He’s a geologist. He’s made some very interesting discoveries recently when he was researching earthquakes in Asia, and I think he came across something that might just help me out so please-” he looked at her, his eyes stern as he spoke, “make sure you get good notes.”

Daenerys nodded eagerly. “Yes, Professor. I’ll make sure you get every word of importance.”

“You made sure I got every word?”

Jon flipped through the notebook, his eyes absolutely baffled as he stared at page after page of neat notes. It was like he was reading a transcript of his meeting; not only had Daenerys captured word-for-word what the Doctor had told him, she had also made a page of ‘references’, noting down every article, book, and research paper that had been discussed.

Daenerys stood in front of his desk, her face brimming with pride, as she nodded. “I sure did, Professor!”

“This is-...” Jon flipped through the pages, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to read her handwriting. It was so small and perfectly cursive that he could barely tell where one word ended and the other began, “-useless.” As he glanced back up at her, her face was still brimming, although her smile was slowly turning downwards.

“Useless?” she repeated surprised.

Jon rubbed his temples as he groaned and leaned back in his chair. He pushed his glasses into his curly hair, blinking at her. “Useless!” he repeated.

“But I thought you said-”

“I said that I wanted good notes,” Jon interrupted her. “This? I don’t even know what this is.”

Daenerys’ lips pushed into a pout, and she glanced down at her notebook as she mumbled: “I thought I did so well.”

Here we go again, Jon thought to himself, and he closed his eyes, his fingers shivering for a smoke. She tries her best, messing everything up on the way, and I have to console her, because that’s my duty. He glanced up at the ceiling as he thought, I swear this whole teacher-student mentoring thing was never mentioned in my job description.

Jon tapped his fingers at the notebook as he explained: “I needed bullet points. This is too heavy for me to digest. The time it’ll take me to even understand your handwriting - well, by then I might as well have done it myself.”

Daenerys swallowed. “You know, you didn’t tell me that’s what you wanted,” she pointed out.

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Obviously not.”

Jon grimaced. “You know, for a student so keen, you sure make a lot of mistakes.”

Daenerys sniffed in, and for a moment, he expected her to cry. But instead she sent him a hardened look. “Well, for a Professor so clever, you sure don’t give good guidance,” she shot back.

Jon blinked in surprise at her harsh tone, but it seemed he was not the only one taken aback - Daenerys too lowered her eyes quickly and muttered something under her breath that sounded like ‘sorry’.

“First you mess up my office, then you mess up this,” he gestured broadly at the notes as he sunk back into his seat. He rested his hands atop his chest, raising his brows as he asked: “Is there anything I can trust you with?”

Daenerys hesitated for a moment, then she spoke: “I make a really good cuppa.”

Jon blinked: “Excuse me?”

Daenerys shyly look him in the eyes. “I make good tea. I can make coffee too. Good brews. You have one every morning, right? That’s something I can do.”

For a moment, they just sat staring at each other. Then, she started giggling, and Jon couldn't help but crack a smile. This is ridiculous, he thought, Olenna pestered me to get a student just for her to be making me coffee? This is ridiculous.

He shook his head. “Look, Daenerys,” he said, “I will admit this - I was against getting a trainee, and you can probably see why. I am rather… particular about my work.”

“You don’t say,” she muttered.

“Anyway, how about we make a deal?” He folded his hands atop the desk as he looked up at her. “You want to learn about palaeontology? You come to my meetings, you sit and read my students’ papers with me, and you make that cup of coffee every now and again. In that way, I don’t have to engage, and you don’t have to worry about messing up. I’d say it’s a win-win situation.”

Daenerys bit her lower lip, and she looked like she wanted to admit something, but instead she just nodded. “Okay, Professor,” she spoke, her eyes on him kindly, “that’s a deal.”

At first, it was awkward.

Years of working on his own had conditioned Jon to loneliness. He was used to the quiet, used to knowing every little sound that his office made, from the creaking of the floorboards, the whistling from his rolling chair, to the groan of the radiator which set in at noon every day. What he wasn’t used to, however, was listening to someone else breathe.

It is such a simple thing, Jon thought, glancing up from a paper every now and again only to see Daenerys. She was seated in the corner as she flipped through his books. To hear another person breathe, it should be so natural. Yet, it was the strangest sound to him in this office, 

Then, there was the polite chatter. It was a ‘good morning’ when they met, and ‘another cuppa?’ whenever either of them went to the kitchen, perhaps a ‘did you see the forecast today?’ Small, unnecessary chatter which at first cluttered up Jon’s brain and made him feel anxious.

Am I supposed to reply or just nod when she asks me how I am? he wondered. Am I supposed to return the question? Will it seem overkill if I do? Will it seem rude if I don’t? For once, he found himself rethinking his every word, struggling to come to grips with how social norms worked in a setting like this.

But perhaps most difficult was tea time. One Monday, as she followed him back from his lecture, chatting about what she’d learned, he had to stop her at his office door. “You know,” he said, “you’re not obligated to stay with me for the entire day. You only get paid for ten hours a week.

“I know,” she nodded, “but now it’s tea time, is it not? I did tell you that I make a good cuppa. Let me prove it.”

He could see the excitement in her eyes, yet he had to send her a sad smile. “Sorry, Daenerys,” he said, “some things I just can’t change, and tea time is one of them. It’s my private half an hour during which I collect my thoughts.”

“Oh,” she spoke and blinked, “I’m sorry, Professor, I did not realise.”

“No harm done,” he assured her, and before he slipped into his office, he said: “Let’s have coffee together tomorrow again. You do make a good brew.” And somehow, catching her smile before his door shut was the best part of his day.

Then, things turned friendly.

As Jon got used to having Daenerys around, he caught himself randomly chatting to her throughout the day. The first time it happened, he found himself surprised as the question slipped as easily from his lips as a mocking remark had before: “So, what do you do in your spare time?”

Even Daenerys looked surprised at the question, and she gave him a puzzled smile. “In my spare time?” she repeated and closed the book she was reading. She gazed into the air with ponder. “Well, I do like listening to music.”

“Spice Girls?” Jon asked, feeling a need to redeem himself, but she didn’t seem to catch on to his teasing tone.

“Spice Girls,” she nodded, “definitely.”

“Hold on - you’re not one of those girls who’s got a spice personality, are you?”

“Who hasn’t?” Daenerys smirked at him as she straightened up. “Come on, which girl am I most like?” she asked.

Jon furrowed his brows as he seemed to ponder. “Baby,” he then said, “because she always sees a silver lining in any situation.”

“Aha!” Daenerys pointed her finger at him excitedly. “See - even you know their personalities!”

Jon, feeling his face grow hot, quickly buried himself in another student’s paper and mumbled: “Get back to work.” Still, as he heard her chuckle, he felt his heart flutter.

It was around the same time that his mug was magically filled with coffee the moment he emptied it, and chocolate digestives seemed to appear at random whenever he had a craving for something sweet. Never before had he eaten so many biscuits through the day. Never before had he missed eating biscuits when Daenerys was not around to offer them. It is weird, he thought one Friday as he reached across the desk for a piece of paper and instead returned with a biscuit between his fingertips. I never even see her bring them in.

Soon, things got flirty.

Jon couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment it happened. Perhaps it was when he started caring about doing his hair in the morning, slicking the unruly curls back and running a comb through his beard. Perhaps it was when her dresses grew shorter and her heels taller, her lipstick always perfectly applied. Perhaps it was when they started catching each other’s eyes from across the room, no words spoken but smiles shared. Perhaps it was when his heart started fluttering whenever he caught her sneaking in to another one of his lectures.

But it was certainly going on the day she leaned onto his desk, her eyes blinking at him as she said: “Professor, it’s just so hard.”

Jon stirred in his seat as he glanced up at her from above the rim of his glasses. “Uh, hard, miss?” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. You sound like a blubbering idiot, he scolded himself. “What is hard?”

“I have this essay I need to write about the development of the discipline of palaeontology, and it just baffles me.” She smacked her lips and sighed ever so softly, causing her bosom to rise and fall before his eyes.

Jon leaned back in his chair as he took in a deep breath through his nose. “Ah-hah?”

Daenerys ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a lock to twirl around her finger as she sent him a pained look. “My professor tells me to look at Leonardo da Vinci, but I just don’t understand why.”

Jon licked his lips. “Well,” he said and cleared his throat, “well, Leonardo da Vinci is actually believed to be a pioneer within palaeontology.”

“Really?” Daenerys said. She leaned onto his desk, her bottom resting on the edge as she eyed him with fascination: “Do tell me more.”

She is dumbing herself down on purpose, Jon thought, watching how her small nails picked at the hemline of her dress. It had started to ride up her thighs as she seated herself, giving him a nice view of her pink skin. There is no way she doesn’t know what she’s doing. No way. But, as he looked into her innocent eyes, he still wondered, or is there? He couldn’t take the chance. So he spoke with professionalism as he said:

“Yes, miss, you see - at the time, people believed fossils to be examples of life. Not the way we know of it, but as the earth itself trying to create creatures and failing, thereby producing fossils.” He gestured at the specimen on his desk, and Daenerys shrugged her shoulders a little.

“Fascinating,” she said, but there was a dullness to her voice.

Still, Jon pressed on: “So, Leonardo da Vinci was actually one of the first ones to speculate that the marks were not from animals being created, but from animals that actually lived. He also looked at the different layers within fossils to determine that he was dealing with prehistoric animals.”

“Fascinating,” Daenerys repeated, her lock still twirling around her finger. But before Jon could continue, she changed the subject swiftly by saying: “You sure do know a lot, don’t you, Professor?”

Jon felt his cheeks redden at her praise. “I do have a PhD,” he reminded her.

“Oh, that is true.” She licked her lips and cocked her head, her eyes twinkling as she asked: “Does that mean I should call your Doctor?”

Jon felt his heart flutter, and the blood in his body started rushing south. He squirmed lightly in his chair, and his fingers searched the desk blindly as he tried to find something to grab on to. Don’t look at her, he thought, or you’ll find yourself unable to look away. Still, he gazed into her eyes all the same, and alluring glimpse to her violet orbs, and as his fingers finally made contact with something, it was the edge of her hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and quickly pulled away, “I was looking for-”

“-a biscuit?” she asked and waved a digestive.

Where did she get it from? Jon wondered, but still he nodded. “Yes, thank you,” he spoke and reached for it, but before he could claim it, Daenerys pushed it between his lips.

“I should get back to studying,” she said and slipped down from the desk, shortly correcting her dress before smiling, “Let me know if I can offer you any more sweets.”

Jon’s teeth bit down on the edge of the digestive as he watched her saunter back to her chair, seat herself perfectly proper with one leg crossing the other as she continued reading, and he thought, There are so many sweet things you could bring me.

It was, however, a completely unrelated incident that finally pushed Jon over the edge.

A few weeks into their work together, Jon ran into Daenerys outside the toilets. She had just closed the door behind her as she saw him approach, and she stopped and smiled at him. “Professor,” she greeted, and Jon glanced at her with happy, surprised eyes.

“Oh, miss Targaryen,” he said and paused before her. He pushed his hands into his slacks as he asked: “How’re things?”

It had been a mundane Friday to say the least. Daenerys had balked on him that morning due to a study group meeting, so he’d made his own coffee and sulked in his office as he was unable to track down any biscuits. Now, with his first lesson of the day out of the way, he was ready to retreat to his office for tea break. But he couldn’t just walk past Daenerys as she stood waiting for him so prettily.

Don’t look, he told himself, keeping eye contact with her, although his eyes were begging for the chance to roam her body. She was in a tartan, sleeveless dress, the neck low and rounded, and every time he realised, he repeated, Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

Daenerys shrugged. “I’m okay. The group meeting was a bit of a bore, but there won’t be another one for a month.”

“Is that so?” he said.

She nodded. “So I can really dedicate my time to helping you out, Professor.” She smiled, and he licked his lips as he felt his mouth water at the sight of her twinkling eyes.

She knows what she’s doing, he thought, she is playing me so perfectly. Jon pulled at his jumper, suddenly feeling warm. “Well, miss, that sounds wonderful. But I am-”

“-on your way to a tea break. I know,” she spoke, glancing at her watch, “it is 2:30pm after all.” She winked at him as she started walking past, glancing over her shoulder toward him. “I will see you on Monday, Professor.”

“See you-” Jon started when his eyes slipped. There were her buttocks, naked, her dress stuck in the top of her panties. For a moment, he paused, unable to speak, as his eyes just roamed her behind. Then, he felt his cheeks flush, and he called: “Miss!”

Daenerys smirked at him, her eyes twinkling teasingly as she stopped a few steps ahead. “Yes?”

“Your, uh, your dress-” he stuttered, “it’s…” He licked his lips, unable to speak the words, and because she hesitated, he caught himself thinking, Did she do it on purpose? But then, she glanced down, and her face turned bright red as she swiftly tucked the fabric from her panties to cover herself up.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice soaked with embarrassment and her eyes darting around. She was trying to determine if anyone else had spotted the incident. “Oh my God, I am so sorry.”

“I saw nothing,” Jon lied smoothly and quickly offered her a wave of goodbye as he trudged down the hallway. At first, his steps were slow, normal, not wanting to draw attention. Then, as he turned the corner and was out of sight from her, he sped up, practically running to his office door as all blood in him pulsated.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought, pushing his door open with eagerness. He shut it and locked it, his fingertips shaking as he hurried to the window, pulling the curtains. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He sank into his chair, his hands resting on the armrests for a moment as he just closed his eyes and breathed in, the image of Daenerys’ arse stuck on his eyelids. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He knew he was wrong to crave for her. Yet, the image in his mind had made his blood boil, and as he reached between his legs, he felt his cock press hard against the thin fabric of his trousers.

I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought, not to a student. Still, his hand moved at its own command, tracing the length of his cock down the leg of his trousers, and his other hand, as habit had it, sought under his fossil collection for the small, silver key he kept hidden there. As he found it, it was with a shaking hand that he unlocked the second drawer in his desk and pulled it open.

From there, Jon retrieved a glossy magazine, the front sporting a woman’s behind. Whoever she was, she was wearing nothing but a flimsy excuse for a panty, and Jon found his cock throb at the sight.

As he leaned back into his leather chair, he sighed and flipped open the magazine and, as he did every tea break, started jerking himself off to the images within.

They were all of women’s behinds. Some were raunchier than others; at first, they all had at least some sort of lingerie covering their parts. But then, as he went deeper in between the pages, the lingerie was removed, and soon they flaunted their naked sex to the viewer.

Jon grunted and pushed his hand into his slacks as he grabbed a hold of his cock. He tucked himself free of the fabric, making it easier for him to jerk himself off, and his eyes greedily ate up the images, the women spinning in his mind as if they were there with him.

Further he went, reaching the middle of the magazine where his favourite pages started; those with spanking. There were buttocks flushing bright red under the handling of a man’s rough hand, and those that carried pink marks from the light swap with a paddle. But on all of them, the women glanced toward the viewer, their lips parted in a perfect smile of pleasure, and Jon felt his eyes shut as he imagined he was the one making them smile like that.

Making Daenerys smile like that.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his cock pulsating at the mere thought. He dragged his hand quicker up and down his throbbing length, feeling it fill with blood between his fingertips. “She is so naughty.” The whispers from his lips were warm, and soon he felt his skin cover with sweat underneath his thick jumper. The more he worked himself, the warmer he got, and the warmer he got, the more he could imagine that she was spread across his lap, her legs kicking into the air as he slapped that round bum of hers, making her squirm.

You’re just begging for it, aren’t you? he thought, and in his mind she replied: yes, Professor, yes please! He smirked at the image in his head and arched his back, rubbing his thumb to the sensitive skin beneath his cockhead. His hips started jerking upwards, eager to get more friction, and his mind started racing ahead: You want me? Yes, Professor! You want me to fuck you? Yes, please, Professor! Then lean over my desk. Yes, Professor!

Jon was working himself into such a heat that he almost didn’t hear the knocking on the door. But once a voice called out, he could not ignore it:

“Professor? Professor Snow?”

Jon blinked his eyes open, gasping in air as he recognised Daenerys’ voice. He stiffened in his seat, for a second just listening, and, as he heard nothing else, he thought, Just my imagination.

But the voice returned: “Professor, is everything okay?”

Jon swore under his breath. His right hand was still at his pulsating cock, but his other swiftly pushed the magazine back into the drawer and shut it closed. With no other choice, he called: “Give me a second, miss!” and he bit his inner cheek as he forced his hard cock back into the restraint of his trousers.

Why can’t you just go soft when we’re about to be caught? he thought, but of course the question alone made him throb once more.

As Jon awkwardly scooted his way through the dark room to the door, he wiped the sweat off his forehead, took in a deep breath, and then reached for the handle. As the door unlocked, he opened it slightly, just enough to peek out at Daenerys.

“Yes, miss?” he asked before his gaze fell on her hands. Oh, bless her heart-

Daenerys was holding a tray of tea and biscuits. She held it up, clearly wanting to make sure he saw her offering, as she said: “Professor, I am so sorry about earlier. I feel really bad.” For once, there was no flirting in her tone, only honest embarrassment.

“No need to apologise,” Jon said, his voice strained. His mind was finding it hard to shift from imagining her bent over his knees to now seeing her before him, fully dressed and blushing. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I know you like your tea times alone, but please take this as an apology,” Daenerys still pressed on, pushing the tray at the small opening in the door.

“There really is no need.”

“Please,” she spoke, and her voice sounded almost desperate. “I just want to do something nice.”

Jon, unable to argue with her logic, gently opened the door a bit more as he grabbed at the tray. “Thank you,” he spoke, eyeing the pot of tea and the selection of biscuits. “That’s kind of you.”

“Sorry, were you napping?” Daenerys spoke.

Jon furrowed his brows, at first confused by her question, but then he realised that his office was still bathed in darkness. He glanced back at the closed curtains and then nodded: “Just a quick one before my next meeting,” he lied.

“Oh, so that’s what tea time is,” she said and blushed. “Well, now I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” he said. Really, don’t, he added in his thought and held up the tray with a little smile. “I will enjoy this.”

“Please do,” she said as she stepped away, her hands quickly brushing her behind as if checking herself before she turned. “See you on Monday.”

“See you Monday,” he said and watched her take off down the hallway. As she disappeared out of sight, he kicked the door closed with his foot before he balanced his way through the office to his desk. He placed the tray on the top, crossed his arms as he took in the contents of it, and then sighed, “I am a monster.”

Whilst I’m sitting here jerking off to the image of her, he thought, she’s preparing me tea and biscuits because she accidentally flashed herself. He pushed his fist to his mouth as he bit down on his knuckles, his eyes shut tight. There is something wrong with me. It’s not normal for a professor to lust so for his student. It’s wrong. It’s indecent. It’s disgusting. Jon blinked his eyes open, watching his crotch. His cock still throbbed beneath the fabric, and he thought, I need to do something before it’s too late, I need to get things back in order.

That’s when an idea formed in his mind.

Monday morning, Jon presented Daenerys with a little electronic box. “This,” he said, “is a pager.”

“I know what a pager is, Professor,” Daenerys replied, although her voice remained perfectly polite. “They have been around for decades now. All my friends use them.”

Is that so, Jon thought, but he merely said: “That’s great - then you won’t have a problem using it.”

They were in his office. Jon was seated at the edge of his leather chair whilst Daenerys stood at attention by his desk, her face as keen as always. She was dressed in a smart, white blouse and a short, chequered skirt which seemed to ride up whenever she took a step. Jon almost wished he could ask her to do a little jog around the room. But that’s why I need control, he reminded himself as he handed her the pager.

“Just the other day, you had a study group,” Jon said, but Daenerys was quick to clarify:

“Just once a month, Professor. It will not get in the way of my duties.”

He sent her a pained smile. She is too sweet. It makes doing this all the harder. “Of course not,” he said, choosing his words with care, “but you are spending a lot of time with me. You do only get paid for ten hours,” he reminded her.

Daenerys bit her tongue and shrugged. “I like learning,” she said as she turned the pager between her fingers. Then, she glanced into his eyes, a little smile on her lips as she continued: “And I sense that you, Professor, have so much to teach me.”

Jon swallowed as his mouth went dry at once. He couldn’t break her gaze, but he fumbled to grab his mug off the table to have a swig of the brew. She is too bold, he thought, a trickle of sweat clinging onto his forehead, and I am too dense to sense if she’s teasing me or speaking with innocence. “Well, miss,” he said as he placed the mug down on his desk, finally averting his eyes, “my idea is simple; rather than have you hang out in my office when I have no work for you, I will page you on that,” he gestured at the device, “when I need your assistance, and you can then decide whether you have time to come or not.”

Daenerys turned the pager between her hands once more, tracing the buttons with her fingertips. As first she didn’t speak, just nodded slightly at his words, but then she asked: “Professor?”

Jon bit his inner cheek. “Yes?”

“Am I bothering you?” She cocked her head as she glanced somewhere around his collar, but not into his eyes.

Jon’s fingers instinctively fiddled with the knot of his tie. “What makes you say that?” he asked and licked his lips.

“It’s only that I thought things were going so well,” she explained. “I know I was a pain at first, and that you probably didn’t like having your routine messed up, but-” She paused, taking in a deep breath, “but I thought we’d almost become friendly.”

It is not that, Jon thought bitterly, feeling his chest clench, it’s only that I’m abusing your friendliness for my own pleasure. His gaze shortly slipped to his drawer, securely locked with the key hidden away, and he too breathed in deeply. “Miss,” he said, “I promise this is just to keep things running smoothly.” But, as her eyes still glanced sadly at his desk, he felt himself grow hot with a need to explain, and the lie slipped so easily from his lips: “Dr Tyrell believes it’s unprofessional how much time we’re spending together.”

At this, Daenerys lifted her gaze to meet with his. “Does she?” she asked vexed.

Caught in the web of his own lie, Jon could only nod. He sunk back into his chair with a grimace on his face. It was caused by the taste of his own words, but it looked more like he despised the situation itself. “Yes,” he nodded, “she doesn’t want me to take advantage of your good nature. In this way, we can assure that you have time to study and be with friends, and I can take better care to assign you meaningful work.” He slipped out a cigarette from his slacks, lit it and blew out the smoke as he admitted: “That’s something I’ve not been very good at, I’m afraid.”

“That is true,” Daenerys spoke boldly. Her hand closed around the pager, and she gave him an honest nod. “Let’s try it.”

“Good!” Jon clapped his hands together as he stood up. “So, the way it works-”

“I know how it works,” Daenerys reminded him. “I know all the codes. 52 means to hurry up, 321 means please reply.”

“911 is what I’ll use when I need your help,” Jon said, “so don’t be alarmed.”

“833 means beep me,” Daenerys continued easily, a smirk on her lips.

Jon admitted: “I didn’t know there were that many codes.”

“Oh Professor,” Daenerys said, “we students use them all the time.”

The way she said Professor and students as complete separate entities made him feel ancient. We are only seven years apart, he reminded himself as he glanced into her eyes. “Right,” he mumbled, “what other ones do I need to know? What’s 1?”

“That means please,” she said.

“77?”

“Sunday.”

Jon picked at random: “143?”

“I love you.”

Jon blinked as he stared into her eyes, and his cheeks went bright red. “Excuse me?”

Daenerys repeated: “I love you,” but, as she noted the way he was staring at her, her own cheeks grew pink. “That’s what it means, Professor,” she swiftly clarified, “143 means I love you.”

“Oh,” Jon said, his heart skipping a beat.

Daenerys eyed the floor shyly. “Yes,” she just mumbled, seemingly at a loss for words herself.

Jon scratched his neck. For some reason, he suddenly felt very warm, and despite knowing the smell of the flowers would drift into his office, he almost wanted to open the window just to feel the breeze. “Well,” he said, then stopped as he had no words to speak. “Well, I, uhm…”

“Yes,” Daenerys muttered again, but she seemed to pull herself together more quickly than he. At least she popped the pager into her bag as she gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Professor,” she said, her cheeks still pink, “I will wait for your beep.”

“Yes, miss, thank you,” Jon said and watched her leave his office. As the door shut, he hid his face behind his hands and let go of a long, excruciating groan.

I am such an idiot, he thought, embarrassment running through his body. But, as he lowered his hands, he also could not help but smile a little. But she doesn’t seem to mind.

At first, his plan seemed to work.

Without Daenerys in his office first thing in the morning, Jon found himself able to sip his coffee and collect his thoughts in peace. Surely, it felt strangely lonely to be grading papers on his own with no one around to comment. Whenever he came across a particularly good paragraph, he found himself looking up as he spoke: “Miss, you’d like this-” only to find himself alone in the room.

But it also put a keenness in him he hadn’t felt since he studied for his own degree; he was eager to complete his work and move on to other projects, noting down ideas of things he could have Daenerys help him with which were actually useful.

As such, he found himself inviting her on trips to the university’s collection of fossils, letting her come up with suggestions as to how they could be rearranged. He found himself suggesting reading material to her based on her own papers and not his need to brag. And at lunchtime, he invited her to eat with him in the cafeteria, giving her the opportunity to meet colleagues of his and expand her network.

It was one such day, as he watched her chatter away with Professor Tywin Lannister about the concept of good and evil, that Olenna approached him.

Without an invitation, she settled next to him as she spoke: “Looks like things are going well, Professor?”

Jon glanced at her as he bit down onto his apple. “Dr Tyrell,” he greeted her dryly. “What a surprise.”

“You don’t have to drown me in pleasantries,” she said. She was sipping a cup of tea. The warm smell of rose seeped across Jon’s face, making his throat itch, and he wrinkled his nose as he said:

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“I must admit that I am stunned,” Olenna spoke, her gaze slipping from Jon to Daenerys. Jon too followed her gaze, watching his student desperately trying to convince Tywin of something. “When you picked her out from the bunch, I thought things would never work out between you. I imagined it would be only a week before you showed up at my office, demanding another student.”

“I guess you owe me an apology,” Jon sniffed.

Olenna smirked. “Don’t push your luck, Professor,” she said, but when her gaze landed back on Daenerys, she sighed. “She’s come so far.”

Jon peeked at her from the corners of his eyes as he chewed his apple. “Has she?” he spoke.

“At her age, after all she’s been through, to remain positive and reach so high?” She shook her head. “It’s remarkable.”

Jon rolled the apple in the palm of his hands, contemplating her words. “I’m sorry, Dr,” he said, “I am not sure I follow?”

Olenna raised her brows as she looked at him with faked shock: “Oh Professor, do you not remember her application?”

Jon’s cheeks reddened. “Don’t play me for a fool,” he grumbled, “You know very well I didn’t even read her name before picking her.”

“She is the sister to Viserys Targaryen,” she spoke, “Surely you’ve heard of his name?”

Jon paused for a moment, searching his mind for any glimpse of recognition, but, at coming up with nothing, merely shrugged.

Olenna sighed: “You really ought to come to those board meetings once in a while.” She sipped her tea, taking her time to let the taste linger on her tongue, before she continued: “Viserys Targaryen is one of our biggest sponsors. His generous donations have single-handedly paid for the new library building. Did you never see the plaque?”

At her words, Jon blinked, still not taking it all in, and he shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I have not.” He narrowed his eyes as he leaned closer to her. “But if he’s so rich, why has she been struggling to pay for her degree?”

“Because he’s not supporting her,” Olenna said plainly.

“He’s not?”

She shook her head. “Goodness no, Professor. She’s studying history. Viserys is a man of science. Anything that doesn’t result in an immediate gain of wealth and power is of no interest to him.”

“You mean to tell me,” Jon spoke slowly, his words slightly heated as he said them out loud, “that her brother has enough money to build a three-floor library, but won’t support his sister in learning about the past?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Olenna said, her voice neutral. She sipped her tea and sighed: “Daenerys is a top student. She always completes her work to perfection. No one has a single complaint about her work ethic.”

“Then why the hell is she stuck with me?” Jon asked before he could stop himself. He didn’t mean to downgrade his own experience, but it was true - he was known across campus as the sour, lonely Professor who grunted more than he spoke. “She should be studying under anyone else. Professor Lannister,” he said, gesturing at Tywin, “or Doctor Mormont,” he said, nodding at Jorah who sat at the end of the table, longingly glancing toward Daenerys, “or even Doctor Tarly. Anyone but me.”

“She wanted to study under anyone but you,” Olenna snapped, glaring into Jon’s eyes. As he silenced, she lowered her voice: “Look at them all, Professor. They are happy to talk with her, but they would not dare to go against Viserys’ wishes and actually support her openly. They all hope he’ll sponsor them one day. You, however,” she quirked her brows, “are so incapable of social interaction that it does not matter anyway. I'd be surprised if Viserys even knew of your existence at all.” With that, she returned to sipping her tea in silence, and Jon leaned back in his chair, baffled.

She is a top student, he thought, looking at Daenerys. She is a go-getter who deserves the best, but she is stuck with me. As she turned and caught his eyes, she smiled so brightly that his heart hurt. He had to avert his eyes. I am a fool for thinking she enjoyed my teachings. There is nothing I can offer her that she wants.

No wonder that she always hesitated when he mentioned palaeontology, he realised. She had no interest in his dry lectures on dinosaurs or extinct plants or fossils of seashells. She merely entertained him for a chance to earn cash, and he’d been fooling himself to think that she actually enjoyed his company.

As she approached him and chirped: “Ready for your lecture, Professor?” he could barely stand to look into her eyes.

“I’ll manage today,” he said, grabbing his briefcase. “You take the afternoon off.”

Daenerys cocked her head. “Are you sure, Professor? I really feel like my note taking has improved.” She opened her notebook for him to see. “Look - all bullet-points!”

Jon glanced from the neat pages to her eyes. She was smiling, and he was pouting. “It’s okay,” he assured her once more, “it’s a boring one today. I’ll page you when I need you.”

“Okay,” she said, but there was a glimmer of confusion to her eyes. As he trudged through the cafeteria, his feet heavy, he heard her call: “See you soon, Professor!” And he thought,

You don’t have to lie to me, Daenerys.

..