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The Dragon Club

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Jon looked at his watch and realised he was going to be late if he didn't hurry his ass up. Going over his notes in the car; he scribbled down extra little comments which came to him as he thought everything over. 

He was in debt to his sister Sansa, whose face had been plastered over the billboards throughout town. She had gotten him a small interview with Daenerys Targaryen, the owner of Valyrian magazine, in which Sansa was on this month's cover (Hence the billboards). Jon didn't normally cover fashion on his blog; but he loved business and what better person to do an interview with than the woman who three years ago was living in her car to the multi-million dollar empire she had today.

It was an astonishing achievement in business; and Jon was looking forward to getting a one on one to find out the details of how she'd done it. 

At the very thought of sitting opposite a woman who was more than likely going to be wearing something worth more than his house; he felt his skin tingle as his goosebumps stood on end. 

You got this, Jon. Don't screw it up. 

He turned the key in the ignition and drove off down his road. The radio was quietly playing through his personalised playlist on Spotify and helped keep his nervous tension at bay. 

As he passed by houses and bungalows; suburbs and villages, the scenery changed the green and yellows of country life to the blues and blacks of the city. Valyrian tower was a new building, six months old and protruded the King's Landing skyline with it's elegance and style. Underneath the huge 10 ft x 40ft sign atop the building saying 'Valyrian' was the magazine's now infamous logo, the three dragon heads. He was still twenty minutes out from the tower, but he could see it protruding the horizon. 

A bit much really, Jon thought, I can see her ego all over it

The heavens opened then and small drops of rain tumbled from the sky and landed on the window and bonnet of Jon's black Golf GTI. The car handled the ran well though, still smooth over the paved roads as traffic seemed to be non existent. It was unusual for the traffic to be this light on a Wednesday nearing lunch time. But as if the gods knew Jon had somewhere to be, the roads were quiet. The rain started to slash down, visibility really down as Jon's wipers worked overtime. 

Not now, he thought angrily. He didn't need the delay of driving slower, he was making good time. Trying to not think about possibly arriving late he thought about what questions he was going to ask first. He had over a hundred questions but he would be lucky if he got to ask more than five or six. Jon also brought his camera in the hope that he was allowed to get a couple of photo's, he was an amateur photographer and had taken all the photos used on his site wherever possible. 

He wanted to make sure he asked about her attitude which built her empire so quickly, but he also didn't want to come across rude. He'd thought about trying to plan what he said very carefully and constructively but he wasn't about to look rehearsed in that room with her. 

He ran his hand through his hair as he slowly drove through the rain; his wild curls uncontrolled in his rear-view mirror. His bearded face looked worrisome; he hated that he always looked like he was in a constant state of misery and brooding. Not much made him smile these days; not since... her.

He'd always busied himself with his blog which was now a phenomenon. He got a million hits a day and whether it was social issues he was tackling or political intrigue amongst the world leaders he put the same amount of effort into it. Robb had said he was a workaholic and needed a good shag; Jon had found his comment crude and distasteful. That was Robb in a nutshell. He was always commenting on Jon's sex life (or there lack of) and bragging about his own to him. 'Robb, you're married' Jon would say but Robb said that Jon being unmarried was all the more reason not to be a celibate for the rest of his life. 

Jon wasn't becoming a celibate; he just had other priorities and focus' in his life that didn't revolve around his junk. Arya had told him that he needed to meet someone, but it just didn't feel right. And now his younger sister was getting married before he was; in four weeks no less. Sansa, like him, was still single but he thought he'd heard her and Arya chatting at Robb's house the other night about another model she'd met while working with Louis Vuitton. Jon hadn't said anything but if he wasn't careful, his youngest brother Rickon would be married before him and he was currently fourteen. 


He was being hopeless again; thinking of anything that would distract him as he pulled into the city centre. The Valyrian building was even more menacing from lower on the streets, it was easily 100 floors. There were women and men in fashionable suits and powersuits walking into the building. Jon was transfixed with some of them; they looked like some of the richest people on the planet but Jon was sure they'd only be making just above minimum wage. 

He pulled into the parking lot which had valet availiable but Jon hadn't been given access to that. So he waited for the ticket barrier to rise and drove through and travelled down a winding path that took him to some empty parking spaces. He found one he liked out of the way of the big Range Rovers and Volvo's which like to park over two spaces and smoothed into the white lines. 11:52, he was early. His 15 minutes wasn't until 12:15. For a few minutes he browsed his own hand-writing as he gave himself one final prep before walking into the Dragon's lair. 

He walked through the big front doors, white and looking as if they were polished that day. He straighten his tie out of habit and strolled up to the front desk, his folder in arms. The woman on the front desk had an impatient smile as the person on the other end of the phone didn't seem to stop talking. She smiled apologetically at Jon who shrugged as if to say it was fine; even if the long wait was making him more nervous.

You got this, he kept on telling himself. 

It suddenly occurred to Jon by glancing around the tower's lobby, he felt very out of place. He was used to a more homey setting (considering he worked from his office most of the day; with the occasional interview making him leave his abode) and everything in this building did not scream homey. It almost screamed medicinal, sanitation and surgery to him. Everything looked like it could've been buffed clean ten minutes ago. 

"Good morning, sir. Apologies for the wait. Welcome to Valyrian Magazine, how may I help you today?" The woman on the counter spoke as she grabbed a visitors clipboard. 

"Err, hello. I'm Jon Snow from The Wolf Online; I have an interview with the Editor" He felt so much tension inside himself. It was almost as if someone had set every nerve in his body on fire with a match. He felt it in every creak of his bones, with every breath of his lungs. He'd heard so much about her, he was expecting so much from her that he was worried he'd be disappointed. He was given the visitors board to sign before being clocked into the building. The woman told him the necessary fire routes and gave him a 'visitor' badge. "Thank you"

"No problems, you'll need the 101st floor. From there you'll be shown to the Editor's room to wait until Miss. Targaryen is ready for you" Jon nodded in thanks once again. He felt unprepared; he knew he should've spent more time doing research last night but the three glasses of red he'd had drank had made him confident and now, he was regretting his actions. 

He sloped off to the only spare elevator and walked inside. Pressing floor '101' he watched the lobby disappear behind sliding white doors and waited for the long trip to the top. He didn't fair well in heights, but he still found himself wondering what the view would be like from the top floor. He wondered what it would be like to own a company this big; that was as renowned worldwide as Valyrian was, what it was like to see the view everyday. 

There was no going back; no cancelling no rescheduling. I must thank Sansa later, the thought of her suddenly entering his mind as the lift doors open on the 101st floor and he's greeted with her face on the wall opposite. She did look beautiful on that campaign, he'd have to embarrass her later by taking a photo with the one he'd spotted outside the building and post it to his instagram page. She would hate that, and the thought of it makes his stomach feel at ease. Even if he did make a tit of himself in this interview at least he'd be able to laugh at it afterwards. 

He was immediately shown to a waiting chair outside her office and took a seat as various people walked by him and in and out of the office he was to go in himself. He could here no shouting, no wails of tears from anyone. He was almost disappointed already; perhaps she was a more menacing threat face to face. Perhaps she was someone who didn't make you cry until you got home and readdress your life choices. It was some ten minutes before he was pulled out of his thoughts, the last thing he remembered was that he was cooking for Arya and Gendry tonight which meant he had to get home by four as to not end up getting takeaway. 

"We're ready for you, Mr. Snow" An assistance with brown hair and deep caramel skin spoke as she walked to him in a pantsuit. He nodded and got off of his chair; one last fix of the tie before grabbing his Polaroid and his folder. 

The woman moved the door aside so he could step in, on last intake of breath before he entered the lair.