Notes: Despite a few dynamics necessary to, ahem, display character development, nuanced situations, plot coherence (you know, all that stuff that the show has gotten rid of completely) there is truly no Jon x Daenerys – or better, not as a couple -. Of course, they are peers, allies, human beings, and – well - family.

Chapter summary:

Anger and pain is what Jorah and Sansa have to endure when Daenerys and Jon act impulsively, forgetting the advice they had previously given them.

Beyond the Wall

Jorah was usually the most admiring and devoted man. However, this time Jorah's heart could not help but feeling a cold hand squeezing it when he saw Daenerys risking her life like that, flying by herself with her three dragons in what was an inferno of ice and fire. She had all of her life before her, and – besides - she had a vision to bring to life by taking over Westeros and making it a different continent than it used to be, with lords fighting and bickering, and the common folk suffering.

She also had him, willing and ready to die in her service, as he had told her repeatedly between the lines, and as he had tried to convey with their sweet parting. Unfortunately, on that occasion, Daenerys had focused too much on their love instead and less on her queenly role and on the choices she had to ponder. And that impulsive behaviour, so very typical of her, was probably the reason she was here, now.

The men of the mission disappearing beyond the Wall never to come back would have been proof enough to convince her to come north with a strategy, her armies, and the knowledge Jon had left in Winterfell and Dragonstone. Cersei and the southern front would not have mattered anymore, at that point. Let her be queen of the ashes, of a graveyard, of a rotting palace in a stinking city nobody even cared for anymore beyond the border of the Crownlands. Here was the war that mattered.

Instead, she had come to the rescue. In the current situation, not even his willing sacrifice could grant her safety and success, though, and Jorah felt almost ill at the thought that he might die for nothing, and she might be following immediately after.

He locked his eyes with hers, and tried to convey his thoughts. They had communicated so much without words, as of late, and he hoped he could manage it again.

Of course, the other young and careless one, Jon, was trying to match Daenerys' beau geste. Pain and anger mixed in Jorah's soul at another thought: what if Jon died and Daenerys survived? Would Daenerys feel lucky to be the survivor?

Another sting of pain in Jorah's heart.

Sure, Daenerys clearly loved him, Jorah Mormont, and their reunion left no doubt about that. He was grateful for the Queen's affectionate response to his return and for that farewell he would have never expected – he even had to keep the distance, knowing in his head that following their hearts in that moment was no good… Nevertheless, he knew she had definitely a certain curiosity about the young King in the North, who did not seem to mind the attention – on the contrary, he seemed to reciprocate said curiosity.

Jorah was experienced enough to understand some of Jon's reactions, and was able to understand what had happened. Their parting had revealed that Daenerys felt more strongly for him than she ever admitted, and for that moment of sincere love he had felt truly thankful: even if he died, he would be dying knowing she had loved him back – no matter what kind and what degree of love. However, Daenerys' life went on, and she met a young and charming King, when she probably had given up any hope to see her faithful knight again, after almost a year – as anybody would have done, considering greyscale's usual progress. Only then, he had indeed come back… and all the emotions of that day in Vaes Dothrak had come back in spades, for both of them.

Jorah felt grateful, and happy, his head spinning at times, when he looked at her and he saw her finally without veils – the woman he loved with all his heart was looking at him with love in her eyes, and even Tyrion had hinted at that a few times. But he was her knight, and his love for her had no limits. His limits in loving a woman had already stretched so far that they included selling people to keep his love happy, letting his love go her own way, challenging sorcery and demons, crossing continents and cultures, cheating death many times, repeating most of these feats twice, once for Lynesse and once for Daenerys. And now that he and the latter had crossed paths once again, now that he wanted to kiss her on those wonderful lips and tell her finally how perfect she was as a woman and as a queen, now that he had seen he could have done that and she would have liked it, he felt like he was standing in the way of a good match for a young queen. After some arduous and agonizing consideration, he had resolved with a heavy heart that he could not allow that. Jon was a king, younger than he was. He would bring an army with him: he would grant her the throne thanks to the increased military power, and he would have more chances at staying by her side longer, considering he was a little more than a boy - as opposed to himself, a survivor of two marriages and many, many wars already.

Considering all this, and considering that Daenerys either had not gotten the unspoken message about her being inconsiderate - or maybe she had simply ignored it -, Jorah understood it was time to impersonate once again the honest, blunt and gruff advisor, to try picking up the irresponsible king and to put him on Drogon, orders and ranks be damned. "My Queen, this is neither the place nor the time to linger. Take off. Immediately. Load the wight and the men you need to bring it to King's Landing, then take off."

Nothing had ever triggered Daenerys Stormborn more than an attempt at undermining her royal authority. She might have always allowed her bear – him and only him - to speak to her so openly and gruffly even in disagreement because she had always known he always gave sincere and well-thought advice. However, right now she could only be full of rage at the two men trying so desperately to be heroes: Jorah, who still hadn't climbed on Drogon, and Jon, who wasn't even near it, fighting off wights instead. Daenerys' jaw and jigsaw contracted, preparing for the outburst.

Jorah beat her, though. Her bear had been looking at Jon intently, trying to see an opening for him to capture him and throw him on Drogon. However, seeing how the young king continued to advance and fight wights, he shouted, his voice full of heartfelt worry: "JON!" Jorah's battle and fighting experience were enough to tell him that the more they lingered there, the more they could be all in danger, despite the advantage brought to them by three fire-breathing dragons. Therefore, the mindless advancing and engaging wights had to stop immediately.

As usual, Jorah was right. He might have missed the Night King's exact moves, but he had felt in his guts that something horrible was coming. And here it was.

In a matter of instants, all of them hat to look in surprise, despair, fear, and sorrow as Viserion, one of the little dragon babies he had pulled out of the remains of a pyre long ago along with their mother, went down screeching and screaming in pain. None of them humans screamed, though: Viserion's screeches of agony, as well as Rhaegal and Drogon's squawks of rage sufficed. Jorah felt like they were crying for all of them.

He looked immediately at their mother, worried. His heart had broken, so he knew she would be devastated. Proving his intuition, he recognized Daenerys' typical coldness, stiffness and distancing, the ones she often adopted when things got emotionally complicated and she wasn't ready to deal with said emotions. He knew that spear did not just hit Viserion, but Daenerys' heart as well, and his heart too. He knew better than to touch her, even if it was only to comfort her.

He didn't know if he wanted to be angry at himself for volunteering first in line for getting a wight, thus starting the chain of events that killed Viserion, or at Jon for overdoing all of it, being – sad to say – the ultimate reason Viserion was hit. Jon had first started going along with his own first idea, of which the young king had missed the implicit meaning, subverting it and making it a challenge in heroism. Then, he had made a patrol mission out of it, with Tyrion's support. Then, upon Drogon's landing, he had stayed behind far longer than strictly necessary to keep the wights away from Drogon, even advancing towards the enemy instead of falling back as soon as possible.

And now the young and stupid king was… still not falling back.

Stupid fool. Neither I nor Daenerys would want to take off without you, you little fool. Come back here, or the Others WILL take you, for real.

Jon was now looking at the Night King instead, almost challenging him, trying to convey his desire of revenge.

It wasn't a wise thing to do, challenging a being with such powerful magic and skills. Not to mention the utter uselessness of stating the obvious, which was that there would be retribution for what he had done, all of it.

Once again, in a matter of seconds, Jorah could only witness yet another horror: a few wights bringing Jon underwater, and the Night King preparing to throw another javelin.

Daenerys saw it too, and finally she understood it was no time to mourn or be shocked: no matter how terrible Viserion's and Jon's fate were, their fates were already sealed, and all it mattered was giving humanity one last chance. Thank the Lord of Light, or whomever… were Jorah's thoughts.

However, shortly after Drogon had taken off, he felt the javelin whistling not so far from them… and then he was sliding, and, for an instant, he was sure he would follow Viserion and Jon. It probably was the right fate for him, things being as they were. He would die after successfully serving her: it was the only wish he still had left, dying in her service.

A hand caught him. A scream reached his ears, and then a familiar attitude: "NO! Jorah, not you, not you too. YOU! HOLD HIM, pull him up, or you will have to answer to myself for your failure!" A Queen back in charge, the Lord of Light be thanked – the appropriate God for protecting a woman like Daenerys, after all.

Jorah was pulled up, and although his head told him to hold tight, and although his body complied, he felt like he had blacked out. He could see Daenerys in front of him, he could sense they were safe, but that was all. The shock was too great for anything else.

At Winterfell

"Lady Sansa. A raven. From Eastwatch."

An instinctive, incontrollable reaction to the announcement let Sansa despair without even knowing what the raven was about. Yet another raven. As if I hadn't enough on my mind and on my nerves already. Will the Gods ever have mercy on the Starks of Winterfell?

"Yes, thank you, maester" she let out with a voice full of tension and fear.

She could not fathom why she was feeling so dreadful, all of a sudden, but she felt a pain in her guts. It might just have been a request for grain or other supplies. Maybe it's just me reliving all those dreadful moments I survived. The raven I received from King's Landing recently must have brought back unpleasant memories… Sansa tried to rationalize. It cannot be the Army of the Dead already. They would not be able to send ravens if things had gotten dire. Or would they? No, Bran would have foreseen it. Wouldn't he?

The parchment was unrolled, and it was the moment of the truth.

And after reading a few lines Sansa had understood that her first instinctive reaction at the announcement was justified. Rage and dread, anger and pain mixed in her heart. The recipients of her anger were, actually, two: namely herself, for not acknowledging how hard Jon had been working to ensure humanity's safety, and Jon, for not letting her know what he was doing. Why, why hadn't she - the Lady of Winterfell and Regent of the North on Jon's behalf - been made aware of that stupid, risky plan beforehand? Why hadn't he told his people? Why hadn't he told his sister? Was it payback for her going behind his back to secure the Knights of the Vale? Or for disagreeing with him in court, in front of all the Lords?

No, that wasn't it. True, she had spoken against his idea of getting south, and she had expressed different opinions even before that, but she had always explained and argued why. And Jon had listened, both times – he had been baffled, certainly annoyed in part, but she knew he had listened. Likewise, she had seen he meant well: he really meant to go the extra mile to secure their home, and the North's cohesiveness, and then humanity's survival. His words had partially hurt her, but she knew he hadn't meant to do that.

This reminded her that there had been so many ironies in their recent interactions.

The first of these ironies? One of the things that made them argue was that Jon felt the need to be in charge, protective, to act like the head of the House, to be like their father. She had always envisioned herself as the maiden fair who would be swept off her feet by a protective and strong man, maybe even put on a throne by this one paragon of a man. And now that she had somehow gotten a protective man in charge at her side – not the way she had imagined, though -, she found out that she didn't mind the protection, but she also wanted to decide if and when she needed protection, and that she definitely didn't want him to be the only one in charge.

The second irony was even bigger. If one would have told her, years ago, that the half-brother she always ignored would become her most trusted and close companion years later, and that he would have left her the North, she would not have believed it. She would not have believed that his smiles would have been the only thing able to rekindle some joy and hope in her heart, after years of solitude, violence and despair, and after discovering her remaining siblings had lost their smiles forever.

She wouldn't have believed what she witnessed in the crypts before Jon's departure either, something that had partially reconfirmed many of her thoughts. Trying to talk to Jon in a relaxed manner and privately, and to do some reminiscing in front of their family's tombs, she had followed him, only to notice someone had had the same idea – Petyr, of all people -. And then she had heard Petyr, and she had heard and seen Jon, and her soul and her chest suddenly seemed to burst as if they were on fire. So, this is one of the cases in which you do appreciate protectiveness her mind had suggested her. She had given up on her dreams of finding a gallant man to marry long ago, convinced there were none and it was all a lie perpetuated by poets and singers, in order to make their art full of appeal. She thought she would one day have to settle for less, if not forced into yet another political marriage. But then, if Jon could be so gallant and threaten a man for her, it meant that there might still be men like him out there. Or maybe he is the only one, and he is my brother a sadder voice replied from another corner of her head.

Sansa looked at the parchment again in disbelief. She hoped the words would change if she re-read them. In the end, she realized the raven implied that Jon might not come back. He was beyond the Wall, with a group of volunteers, in serious trouble, so serious that he had one of his men go back and send a raven to the Targaryen queen asking for her help, for her dragons. Luckily, the few Northerners supporting the - illiterate - Wildlings at the garrison understood it was mandatory to write to Winterfell too, to tell them to be prepared for everything, especially the worst.

He might not come home. I might never be able to say "I wish Jon was here" anymore. I might never have anyone smile at me. I might have to pick up the pieces, again. I might have to become a queen, not like in my childhood dream, but alone, without a king, not to see my kingdom prosper and grow, but to try to save it from doom.

It hurt. She had lost many of her family already, but this was different. It felt different. It must be because I am now the Lady of Winterfell, and because I had deluded myself that everything would be better, now. With a terrible war coming… how can I have been this naïve, again?

Ghost looked at her, his snout seemingly sad and worried like she was. The direwolf surprised her often with its presence, during her day, and followed her, as if Jon had ordered it to guard her in his absence. Would Jon become a ghost following her through the aisles and corridors at Winterfell as well? Would that last glance be the last picture of him she would bear in her mind?

Sansa had no dragons, but she hoped this Targaryen Queen could get there in time and help Jon. She even envisioned herself briefly, or Arya, or both, jumping on a dragon -stopping by while flying to Eastwatch - and going there to help too. This Queen Daenerys had three, after all: surely, some help would have been welcome, and she could have commanded her beasts to accept them… Well, maybe Arya would be the better choice. I would be quite useless on a battlefield. And maybe Ghost would be useful too. She wished Bran could intervene as well…

Bran. He saw the Army marching on Eastwatch. She had to order him to try to see something. Could she order him to have visions? She had to know.

"Sansa, the Night King can sense me warging ravens. He forced me out of my raven last time. We are lucky I was able to see enough to inform Jon. The only thing I can try is finding a heart tree around Eastwatch that allows me to see something."

"Then you will have to try the… heart tree vision! And you can also warg ravens and stop at Eastwatch, staying away from the Night King, can't you? It will still be better than waiting for new ravens to come. I have already alerted our best fighters, and the Knights. The more we know, and the sooner, the better I can decide how to use them." Sansa would not take no for an answer, and made it clear it was an order issued by the Lady of Winterfell, not a sisterly request.

Arya intervened: "And what are your orders for me? I reckon you must have thought of something for me to do, my lady."

"If we learn that Eastwatch needs reinforcements, would you ride up north with our vanguard? Even if… if…" Sansa could not bring herself to say it aloud.

":.. if Jon is already gone? Or if the Army of the Dead has managed to pass the Wall? The real question, the one the Lady of Winterfell should ask, is: do we have any other chance than to do our part, all of us? I am not a lady: staying here, sewing cloaks and surcoats, praying Gods that don't exist… or even ruling, supervising… it's not me and will never be me. Of course I will ride up north. You don't even have to order me. I would go anyway."

Bran agreed: "That's why I gave you a Valyrian steel dagger. Because you can use it, and use it well."

Sansa didn't dare to ask him if he meant he had seen Arya fighting the Walkers and the Dead in his visions, or if it was just a logical choice, considering Arya's obvious inclination towards fighting. She was so worried already for the sudden emergency that she didn't want to worry about the upcoming war too. A wave of terror washed over her and seemed to block her…

Then, Jon's voice sounded again in her mind. Until I return, the North is yours. And she found her courage back.