Daenerys was, as a general rule, rather wary of intimacy. She was aware of how lucky she was to have never been made an unwilling conquest of by anyone (be it by some arranged marriage, whisk the dead king's daughter off and wed her to the highest bidder since she was only even alive by the living king's mercy, or be it in some other, even more horrible way) but that didn't mean she wasn't aware of the possibilities or that she hadn't been subjected to all manner of insinuations. A noble lady she may be, but as those went she was about as low down as they came, and she was made all too aware of that.

It had always been different with Jon, though. Oh, she'd never been made uncomfortable by any of the others; even Theon had always been respectful enough, at least to her face. But maybe because they were so similar in so many ways or maybe because she knew he'd never do any of the things she feared the most or maybe just because, she'd always trusted Jon in a way she couldn't trust others. She hadn't quite put her feelings for him together before this, no, but really they were no surprise.

"Perhaps," she giggled, shifting just minutely. "Have you any notions?" The obvious things that came to mind for such a thing, bedchambers and the like, seemed -- well, rather out of the question in this case.