A/N: This is a story I wanted to write as I watched the past couple of episodes of season 8. I wanted to get my theories and thoughts about how I think the series might end before the finale is aired. I've been theorizing so much I decided to start writing. Thanks for reading!

"Every time a Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin."

But this really just depended. Define your meaning of 'madness.' Some would call ancient Daenys The Dreamer, (Daenerys' ancestor, who was a prophet and saw visions) mad for babbling such things of the future. But she correctly predicted the doom that wiped out all other Dragonlord families of Valyria and even their dragons. Some would say it was the evil House Targaryen that caused the cataclysm. They were the sole survivors with a big talent: dominion over dragons. A smart person would wager: they didn't know. Were the Targaryen's plagued by madness? Was it their inbreeding to preserve their bloodline (or their talents with dragons)? Was it just luck? The gods?

It wasn't that simple. Or maybe it was.

Maybe it was the succession of certain unavoidable events. Maybe it was their tragic destiny, spanning thousands of years, to rule dragons but not over their own madness.

Maybe it was that Daenerys hit her head during the Long Night. She was relatively unharmed after the Night King's defeat, (she had the head of her Queensguard alone to thank for that) but she had flown Drogon into danger to aid Jon. It was a natural decision, if anyone had any shot at killing the Night King it would be him, the Prince Who Was Promised. At least, that's what she thought.

The moment they touched down to torch the undead beasts the wights swarmed her child. It only took a few seconds. A few, frigid seconds. Then the zombies were clawing at her fur. Tearing at Drogon's skin. It was what she would imagine hell to be like. It was so cold, so barren, and the dead surrounded them on every side. Dozens of them were at her back. She had no choice, she had to dismount. Drogon would not shake himself free with her on his back, and she knew that enough wights would overcome even her son, the Stallion Who Mounts The World. The Night King cared not for prophecies.

She slid off and tumbled to the frozen ground. Her right temple collided with the frozen tundra, making the Khaleesi a bit dizzy. The event makes her see stars, little trails of light exploding into her view. The fires and war raged around her as she struggled to calibrate her mind. The ringing in her ears would've annoyed her if she wasn't about to die. This couldn't be how her legend ends. She scrambled backwards and out of harms way, and it was Ser Jorah who saved her.

But nobody knew Daenerys had hit her head. Maybe Varys would've had the best doctors take a look at her, make sure hysteria was not a result. He wouldn't have started back-tracking his claim towards her for the realm. He wouldn't have tried to blatantly get Jon to vie for the throne just to prove how far gone Dany was to a loyal guy like him. He would've understood the sudden change in her demeanor, the quiet madness in her eyes they hadn't seen since they were across the Narrow Sea and situations called for it.

But nobody knew. Nobody knew slowly, but surely, Danaery's sanity was unravelling. Her mind was fraying with every new stress. Slipping away, one dark look at a time, she kept her growing paranoia to herself. And with nobody to quell her fears they grew like wildfires, destroying her true good and just nature. Yes, the Mother Of Dragons was growing frustrated by her losses. Her very great, personal losses and little thanks from the North.

Even her connection with Jon had flickered away once he revealed she was his aunt and he was the true heir to the throne. The Starks, hell, Westeros knew of the Targaryen inbreeding practice and they had their unspoken bonds with dragons to show for it. Why did it bother him so? Was it really their ancestry, or the fact that he bent the knee to the Dragon Queen when he was the true heir, Aegon Targaryen.

The thought made her blood boil hotter than her son's flame breath. A thousand prickly needles filling her heart like a voodoo doll. The longer she sat on it, the more she was convinced. She had rode her dragon, fought her dragon, lost her dragon for the North's cause. For the thanks of one wildling and a bastard everyone insisted was King. She lost half her precious Dothraki, who were there by her side almost as long as Ser Jorah. Half her Unsullied who pledged their lives to her and followed her as Khaleesi of their own volition.

She lost her son, shot down like poultry. His body lost to the sea...

Missandei lost her head and Cersei cushioned herself with meat shields. Even if the Great Lion, Queen Cersei, had the most painful, righteous, deserved death it would not make up for what she put Daenerys through. It was her selfishness that caused her army's great losses. Lost her another dragon. She swore her men to fight the common cause and she left Daenerys to take the hit. Now, the Breaker Of Chains had to shackle thousands of innocents to death in order to take her throne.

Daenerys wasn't mad. Cersei had made her mad. She wrote her ledger. She was forcing her reign and that's what killed Daenerys most of all. But maybe, even with this adversity, she could've kept it together. Kept her head. It was nothing different from the rest of her life. The child had been born during a literal storm, full of flames and suffering. Maybe if she hadn't hit it all the way during the Long Night...

Maybe if she hadn't confused what she heard with her destiny.

"A targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing..."

Varys was fidgety. It was the first thing Jon noticed as they docked on Dragonstone. He was waiting to receive him, not Grey Worm or even Tyrion. The man got in his head too much, working plans and plotting. Jon could not deny his intelligence or wisdom, but he was aware that both had plenty potential to get a man into trouble. And trouble was what seemed to lurk in the eunuch's eyes these days. The more he pled with the queen and his pleas were left unanswered, the more turbulent became those dark eyes.

He stifled a sigh as he approached, men rallying the boat behind him.

"The Northern armies..." The older man asked, falling into stride with the northerner. Jon squinted.

"Just crossed the Trident. They'll be o'er the walls of King's Landing in two days." He reported. Varys nodded. A beat of silence passes between them, and Jon is kicking himself for not being there for Daenerys sooner. He found being around her post the Long Night awkward at best. He was seriously disturbed by their relation and by some of Dany's actions (even if he dare not say it).

But she lost two dragons for them. She lost half her unbeatable army for the North. She let Cersei become a player in the Game Of Thrones again, for Jon. He had sworn fealty to her. He had sworn her his life. His word was his bond, if Eddard Stark had taught him anything, that was it.

"How is she," He asked Varys finally, his face lost in thought. The man's face fell.

"She hasn't seen anyone since we've returned." He explained solemnly. "Hasn't left her chambers, hasn't accepted any food..." Jon shook his head. 'After all the help, all she gave to the North and the realm... And this is what she gets.'

"She shouldn't be alone." He pressed. 'She'll see me.' He left unsaid. He found it hard to be around her. She wanted something that he just couldn't give, not anymore. Not since he found out the truth. He knew it was usually the Targaryen way, but he was still a Stark.

"You're worried for her," Varys began his tone unreadable. "I admire your empathy." Jon sent him a worried look.

"Aren' you worried for her?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I worry for all of us." He responded, rather smug. Jon rolled his eyes. He had no time or energy for riddles. "They say every time a Targaryen is born the gods toss a coin, and the world holds its breath." The younger man's head craned painstakingly slow to Varys. 'Does he speak treason?' He thought to himself, unsure of what to address or utter first.

"We're not much for riddles where I'm from." He answered, thinking of his departed father, the only father he ever knew. Varys nodded sympathetically and left the opportunity for jokes slide. He gave an indignant huff.

"We both know what she's about to do." He answered. Jon stopped walking and positioned himself a bit in front of Varys, his mouth agape.

"And that is her decision to make, she is our queen." He answered breathlessly, studying Varys' face. 'What does he have to gain from this, now?'

"The men decide where power resides, whether or not they know it!" Jon's hand hovered slightly over his sword, staring at Varys very closely now.

"What do you want?" He demanded finally, unsure he actually wanted an answer.

"All I've ever wanted?" He stepped closer to Jon. "The right ruler on the Iron Throne." Jon searched his face but he knew that he couldn't trust him at face value. If he had learned anything from his journey past the wall and back, every ruler was the same. Nothing changed. The White Walkers didn't even change anything. The wheel kept spinning. The right ruler was subjective, but honor wasn't. Varys sent him a pleading look. "I still don't know how her coin as landed. But I'm quite certain about yours."

Jon walked around in the vision of Ned Stark, arguably the most honorable man in Westeros. There was no more of a perfect person for the throne, but neither man wanted it. One of them had died because of it. Varys would be damned if he let Jon humble himself to the grave, no matter how determined to he was.

Jon was silent for a long moment, smelling the salty air around them. "I don't want it. I never have." He clenched his fists in frustration. 'Nothin' good has ever come of me runnin' anything.' He thought of the Night's Watch and the Wildlings.

"I have met more kings and queens than any person living. I have heard them speak to crowds, I've seen what they do in the shadows." Varys shook his head, his brow furrowed. "I have furthered their designs, however horrible... But what I tell you now, is true." Jon's eyes narrowed, knowing he wouldn't like what else he had to say. "You will rule wisely and well, while she-"

"She," Jon barked, his eyes black. "Is my queen." Jon went the rest of the way to Daenerys's quarters alone.

She had never looked quite like this.

Nobody around her had ever seen but she was a haunting image of her brother. The Mad Viserys. The circles under her eyes were purple and boozy, the worry and exhaustion evident on her face. Her light hair still looked silky and soft, but it was frizzy and untangled. Her intricate hairstyles had devolved in the wake of Missandei's death, it made Tyrion feel sad. He knew he had not been her favorite person as of late. All her favorite people seemed to be dead, and he had to fear for the state of the queen's head and heart.

He approached her in the shadows, knowing his mere approach could result in death by fire if it was ill timed. If he wanted to live they would have to speak about Varys, no matter the consequences. No matter how bad he didn't want to do it.

He swallowed and searched for courage as he watched her, standing leaned against the window, watching Jon and Varys talk. "Your Grace," He almost whispered. "There's something you need to know." He held his breath.

She didn't turn and face him, she was watching Varys and Jon still. "Someone has betrayed me." There was a strange element in her voice he'd never heard before. It was threatening. He watched her closely.

"Yes,"

She turned suddenly, her appearance shocking him. She was still as stunning as always but he hadn't seen her look so wild and undone before. He tried not to be ruffled by how she looked. "Jon Snow." Her lips barely move when she says it, her voice surprisingly even. It's then, he realizes, that this goes deeper than Varys' conspiring, and he was certain she already knew of that.

Tyrion decided that he needed to move very carefully, even as the Hand of his queen. "Varys." He breathed, not making any sudden movements.

He gives Daenerys a break, thinking about what she'd been through the past couple of months. She singlehandedly saved the realm, lost her dragons to two horrid enemies (Euron of all things, and the Night King). The personification of evil. And then she felt no love for riding her dragon into the crosshairs when she had other things to do. He empathized with her feelings.

He really did.

Her eyes narrow slightly. "So, he knows the truth?" Tyrion blinks.

"He does." She faces him fully.

"Because you told him." Another beat of silence. "You learned from Sansa, who learned from Jon, whom I begged not to tell her. As I was saying," She turned her attention back to the window. "He's betrayed me." Tyrion shook his vehemently. 'He is most loyal to you of all.' He thought but he didn't think it wise to say so right now. Daenerys seemed like she was in the mood for taking things personal.

"Your Grace," Tyrion said gently, as though he was talking to Drogon. "I am glad Sansa told me." He feels the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. "As your Hand, I need to be aware of any threats to you. To you or your claim." Her lips are barely turned up but it's not a smile on her face.

"And Varys?" She pressed, wondering why it was important for the eunuch to know such things. Everyone knew he couldn't keep a secret.

Tyrion sighed. "The Master Of Whispers needed to know as well." She cocked an eyebrow. Then, she stepped closer to the small man. Her aura was suddenly intimidating in a way it never had been before. Someone's blood would be shed tonight.

"You spoke to him first." Her words rang out in the large room. "Without my permission. Without coming to me about it." She glared at the imp, wondering what, if anything, he had added of value to her kingdom. It didn't feel like much lately. She tilted her head to the side and smiled. "Why is it, do you think, that Sansa told you in the first place?" Her tone was starting to remind him of his sister, and it was making him weary. "What do you think she hoped to gain?"

"Sansa trusts me." He urged. Her eyes narrowed again.

"She trusts you?" She repeated. "Yes, she trusts you. She trusted you to spread secrets that could destroy your own queen." Tyrion hung his head. "And you did not let her down."

"Your Grace," He bowed again. "If I have failed you, my queen, please forgive me. It was a mistake." Daenerys inhaled. Her face was impassive but her eyes were saying a thousand things. None of which, Tyrion wanted to see directed towards himself. It was a quiet rage deserving of Cersei, or slavers in Meereen. Not for the queen's Hand. She had never resembled a dragon more.

"My intentions were good," He continued. "We want what you want, a better world. All of us. Varys as much as anyone." The look on Daenerys' face began to look amused, and that's when Tyrion knew it was a lost cause for his friend. "But it doesn't matter now, does it?" He can see the tears hidden beneath the indignant rage burning in her eyes. Daenerys is exhausted. She is tired of fighting. And she was tired of losing. For so long she fought a battle that wasn't hers, yet how soon everyone else had forgotten.

"No," She agreed. "It doesn't matter now." She turned away from the small man, resuming her gazing as though she never stopped. Tyrion took it as his cue to take responsibility for what he'd done and leave.

There was no question in Varys mind when he heard the soldiers' thundering footsteps. It was his time to die. He had to wonder if the realm was worth trying to save or dying for. He had tried to guide it, advise it, protect it to seemingly no avail. From a queen who would blow up her own people to the queen who will burn the whole kingdom down and start from scratch. It had become clear that the realm couldn't win.

And yet, he still tried. If Daenerys would kill him for trying protect everyone, even her, well then certainly someone would have to see her true colors. One would think Lord Varys, the eunuch, had nerves of steel the way he was facing his impending death.

But it was not bravery, simply knowledge, like everything else.

"I will return, dear Spider. One last time." Red Priestess Melisandre had said in reference to Westeros. "I have to die in this strange country, just like you do." All the color had drained from Lord Varys' face that day. He hated magic. He hated witches and priestesses, all of them. They always knew too much. He rarely ever spoke about his experience in the flames and yet there they were.

Like the story of how he'd become a eunuch.

Kinvara, the High Priestess of the Red Temple in Volantis, had known immediately that Varys was altered and had his body had been sacrificed for magic, specifically.

"Terrible things happen for a reason," She said smugly, pleased to see Varys uncharacteristically ruffled. "Take what happened to you, Lord Varys." He began to back away from her, suddenly feeling threatened. "When you were a child. If not for your mutilation at the hand of a second-rate sorcerer, you wouldn't be here helping the Lord's chosen bring light into the world. Knowledge has made you powerful but there's still so much you don't know." She smiled at him and it made him feel cold.

"Do you remember what you heard that night when the sorcerer tossed your parts in the fire?" She smiled at the cadaver-like expression on Varys' face. "You heard a voice call out from the flames, do you remember?" She continued. "Should I tell you what the voice said? Should I tell you the name of the one who spoke..."

Varys pulled away from her like she was hot to the touch. The priestess never continued, but she didn't have to.

She said their queen would cleanse King's Landing in Fire & Blood.

"I still dream of that night..." He told Tyrion years ago. "Not of the sorcerer, not of the blade- I dream of the voice from the flames." Varys' expression glazed over. "Was it a god, a demon, a conjurer's trick? I don't know. But the sorcerer called and a voice answered and ever since that day, I have hated magic and all those who practice it..."

What did the voice in the fire say?

"You will join me, Varys." Just remembering the voice brings a chill to his heart. "No matter where you go, no matter what you do you will return to the flames."

As the Unsullied, led by Grey Worm, appeared at his chamber doors, he never had a clearer idea of what that meant. He'd always thought if he served Daenerys she wouldn't burn him. But he couldn't serve her over the realm, not anymore. He knew from the moment his little sparrow mentioned them watching her. It was time for him to return.

He wasn't scared so much as disappointed. There was a time he believed they had escaped the prophesied Targaryen madness. He thought he had found a solution for the realm. They had a just and fair ruler, a liberator. She had broken chains and she would break the wheel. Now, Varys was certain she was the wheel. A magnified Cersei. If his death could help break it, he would die for the realm. Besides, there's nothing as futile feeling of knowing your manner of death. Varys already had stalled the inevitable for as long as he could. It would stall no longer.

He was marched silently in the dark, chained. Nobody said a word. Dany stood illuminated by the lit pitchforks. In some fire's light, she looked angelic. Others, like she came from hell. Varys kept the thoughts to himself.

He stared at Jon for a long time, his hair in the small top knot just like his father always wore. He was more Ned than maybe his true born children. He couldn't fault the northerner for telling Daenerys, but he was surprised when his height challenged friend approached.

"It was me," Tyrion croaked, unable to watch Varys die in the literal dark. He seemed surprised for a second before nodding, resigning to his fate.

"I see." Is all he says. Not everyone knows they're to die by dragon fire, he can't blame him either. The world without him will certainly need Tyrion Lannister. "I understand." A vice grips Tyrion's heart. He never regretted backing Daenerys but he might now as he watched this atrocity helplessly. "I hope that I deserve this, truly. I do." He can hear the sincerity and a rare vulnerability in his friend's voice. "I hope that I am wrong. Goodbye, old friend." Tyrion shook his head while being ushered back but silent Unsullied.

Varys blinked and faced forward, studying Daenerys' face one last time. 'We were so close...' He thought, remembering how he felt when he heard the remaining Targaryen heir was liberating slave countries and not conquering with fire and blood. 'It was nice while it lasted...' He thought, closing his eyes. His long night had come. He had avoided this dance for as long as he could.

Daenerys stared at him unflinchingly. "Lord Varys." He swallows and stands as straight as he can in the chains. "I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of my name, Breaker of Chains, and Mother Of Dragons sentences you to die." Jon felt like he'd been punched in the gut as he stood beside her. He tried not to question his queen, really, he did. Nor did he have any interest in ruling. But the words of Ned Stark rang in his ears.

"If you have a rule, you have to enforce it." Ned explained, blessing and cleaning up the remains of an execution. Jon was only fifteen at this point. He had a hair full of curly, dark hair like Robb and fair skin, but a face unlike any Stark or Tully in the family. Sansa looked like Catelyn did in her youth, a classic, northern beauty that Littlefinger fell for all over again.

And Arya look looked like Lyanna and Ned combined, the perfect image of the two. But Jon didn't really look like anybody in the family. He was not Catelyn's, it was the Stark's worst kept secret. Honorable Ned had strayed during war and fathered a bastard. If Ned wasn't such an honorable guy people would've sworn something was up.

"I know it doesn't seem fair," He told him. Ned did his best to treat the boy like one of his own, the rest of his family. Theon had been forsaken by the Greyjoys and he could see how it affected him. He struggled to instill Jon with the values that would make him a good man. "But the law in the North is if you desert the wall, you're executed." Jon nodded, wondering if that was where he'd end up in a few years.

"But listen to me boy, if you're ever lord of anywhere..." It was unlikely, Jon was a northern bastard. Still, Ned had high hopes. "If you ever have to enforce this rule, you let them have a last word." He stared deep into Jon's dark eyes. "The old gods, the new... None of them look kindly upon a mortal sending another to the afterlife with unfinished business."

They looked down at the blood splatter on the frozen ground. "You'll bring nothing but darkness into your life for doing something like that..."

Drogon moved around his mother, baring his fangs viciously. Varys swallowed, staring into the beast's eyes. "Dracarys." Daenerys said simply. With a hellish shriek, Drogon obeyed and lit Varys aflame. Everyone stood in silence, Daenerys, the Unsullied, Tyrion, and Jon. Varys didn't utter a word before Drogon descended upon him. 'What has she done...' He thought, staring at the smoldering spot where Varys once was.

Tyrion kept his eyes trained on the ground. He feared he may cry if he watched Varys go up in flames, and then he could be next. He hated thinking it but he knew it was true. He had sympathized with enough of Daenerys' enemies.

Jon watched as Daenerys watched Varys burn, an unreadable expression on her face. 'She should've let him speak,' He thought, thinking of Ned. 'But Varys tried to have me betray Dany, I don't know what I am to her...' His gaze dropped to the ground. 'But he dishonored her reign. He deserved to burn.' He looked at his feet. 'So why do I feel bad?'

Daenerys turned suddenly on her heel and exited, leaving Varys' charred corpse for someone else to worry about. Grey Worm followed her closely, the rest of the Unsullied on their heels.

Cersei knew what she had done. That she had not just beheaded Daenerys little girlfriend. She had a name. Missandei of Naath. She had been born a slave and was liberated by her Khaleesi. She transformed from slave to a trusted queen's advisor. She took control of her own destiny. She was, perhaps, the one woman to genuinely love Daenerys. As her Khaleesi. As her Queen. As her dear friend.

Daenerys made sure she was never in chains again, not even by their relationship.

She stared into the horizon, her three healthy dragons flying with each other in the sky. She can hardly remember what it's like to have so many dragons. Now she only has one, precious son.

They watched the waves crash on Dragonstone, the salty scent floating to their nostrils. Today, they feel like they can do anything. The sun was shining on Daenerys Targaryen, and the Iron Throne would be hers. The women joined hands in silence, having perfected the art of simply existing around each other.

"You know," Daenerys began. "If things become too hard or dangerous..." She looked into the beautifully complected woman's eyes. People ranted and raved about Targaryen females, their startling beauty. Their features women would die for. People bowed to Daenerys on sight just from the knowledge of her features. But she always thought her beauty paled in comparison of Missandei of Naath.

"I don't bind you to the same oath I do as Jorah or my hand." She stared into the horizon, and tried to contemplate Missandei leaving her. "You can go. You lived enough of your life as a slave." She turned and faced her seriously. "You certainly won't live as mine." Missandei bites her lip and tries to hide her smile. The only thing she loves as much as Grey Worm is her queen.

"I have never been your slave." She looked out to the dragons screeching and soaring through the air. "I am at home beside my queen until the end of my days." Daenerys exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding even though she wasn't surprised. She couldn't be without Missandei, she needed her by her side. Always.

She ripped herself from a daydream as she stared at the rusted chains. "These," Daenerys' eyes begin to water and she becomes frustrated. "These are all..."

"Her only belongings." Grey Worm finished, his voice very quiet. She had never heard him sound like this before.

"It's the only thing she brought with her when we sailed across the Narrow Sea..." She handed the chains back to him, they were too painful for her to hold. He tossed them into the fire bitterly. "It's unfair." She breathed. "I should've given her the castle filled with riches she deserved." She seethed, her eyes going black. Grey Worm placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Missandei needed no riches." He asserted. "Only her queen." His gaze floated to the fire. Daenerys' gaze softened.

"And you." They locked eyes and shared a look that only those loved by Missandei could share. Grey Worm tensed when Jon approached, standing at the steps awkwardly.

Though the general was few of words, Jon felt the Unsullied understood Dany far better than he could. It didn't make him jealous, he felt relieved somebody could relate to her without Missandei, he had begun to worry. Grey Worm stood unmoving. He didn't trust Jon and neither did Daenerys anymore.

"It's alright, Torgo Nudho. Let me speak with him." Grey Worm exhaled with exasperation. Varys had proved it, if you hadn't been with Daenerys since the beginning you couldn't be trusted. He didn't want to leave the Khaleesi alone, but he could tell from the look in her eyes she'd be fine. He sent a lingering glance at Jon as he passed by.

She stood and crossed the distance to him, her light eyes boring into his dark ones. "What did I say?" She began, her voice trembling. "What did I say would happen if you told?" He sighed, staring down at her. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful? He still woke up some nights aching between the legs for Ygritte, and ever since no girl had turned his head. That is, until Daenerys Targaryen. She was the antithesis to a northern woman. Warm, bright haired, olive-skinned.

But none of this changed the fact they were related. His father was not Ned Stark, as he previously thought. He was technically a Targaryen, and he had heard all about the inbred madness plaguing them. Incest wasn't so taboo those days, just look and Cersei and Jaime Lannister to start. But it was taboo to Jon, and no matter which way he tried to look at it he couldn't get over it. No matter how badly she wanted him to.

He really did love her. As his queen, and maybe a different way once before. But not since he found out his lineage. He was fine with sacrificing the throne but he couldn't change his feelings, no matter how much it hurt her. That was the beginning of the end. He sighed, staring at her unkempt hair and the dark bags under her eyes. She was still beautiful this way, albeit wild looking. She looked dangerous, and for all Jon knew she was.

He stroked her face with his thumb. "I don't want it," He pleaded, staring into her eyes. "That's what I told him. Why don't you believe me-" She wrenched free from his grip, her lip twitching slightly with aggression before doing so.

Jon wishes he never met her sometimes. Not for his sake. He was a Stark at heart, being loyal and honorable was second nature. But Daenerys had done nothing but lost since she met him, and it was weighing on his heart. Her trusted advisors and basically her family, her loyal armies, maybe even her mind fighting death and against the Night King.

Maybe the realm should've ended if it would've kept this girl happier. She had only known strife since her first breath. Jon could understand why his father could not reconcile with slaughtering the baby of a defunct house. She had saved the north. She had saved the world. And now, Jon was bound forever to her reign. No matter what the cost.

"Your sister betrayed your trust." Jon blinks and fights his instinct to respond. She was his queen, but no bond came above family.

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives..." The Starks who had survived definitely had by sticking together when they could.

'But how can I expect her to understand...' Daenerys had spoke candidly of her abuse, of the horrors of the childhood, the horrors of almost being betrayed even by the people she trusted the most. Her brother had been murdered and her life was better for it. All Jon ever had was his family. 'She doesn't understand how I can't choose between her and family, she's never had to make a choice. The throne is her family, it's her only connection to them... That Keep.'

"She killed Varys as much as I did." She said, standing close to him again. "This is a victory for her. Now she knows what happens when people learn the truth about you." Her stare hardened. "How do I know that wasn't your plan all along?" Jon shut his eyes and muttered a prayer. She stepped closer to him.

"Dany," He breathed, cupping her face in his hands. "How can I prove to you I don't want the throne. That I'll never want the throne. You are. My queen." She stared into his dark eyes, wanting so bad to believe him.

"Swear it," She hissed, pointing at the ground. "Swear your fealty to me, again." He can hear the desperate edge in her voice and she sounds like a little girl. Without hesitation he bends, sliding to one knee and staring up at her.

"I bend the knee, Dany." He whispered. She remembered when he refuse to give an inch for the North, wanting her support for a mysterious war against ice men. Now, look how far they'd come. She dragged a slender hand through his dark hair, fiddling with his bun.

"Far more people love you, than love me." She said suddenly, her hand shaking. 'Even though I rode my dragons, lost my dragons. My armies...' "But they still call Cersei, Queen. They still call you King." She tugged on his hair slightly but he ignored the pain.

The girl had never been loved. She got a glimpse of something close and she almost lost everything over it. Jon had observed enough of the Dothraki to imagine what her first marriage must've been like. It must've been as hard as his poor sister's marriage to Ramsay. He tightens a fist suddenly. He could almost revive and re-murder Littlefinger for what he put Sansa and his entire family through.

He didn't always see eye to eye with his red-haired sibling, but he would murder a man for thinking far less about her.

He couldn't imagine being surrounded by people trying to manipulate him or expecting him to save them. And he remembers her talking to him about Jorah.

Jon watched the tender, private moment Daenerys has with the bodies of her fallen armies. Her Dothraki general. And then, she got to Jorah's body. Jon wasn't good with words or feelings. Perhaps terrible at both. He knew the woman felt alienated and abandoned by him, and though she couldn't tell he cared for her a great deal. It was painful to watch her mourn the man who'd been by her side for nearly a decade.

She looked confused and almost uncomfortable around Stark family interactions. Her advisors, her people, her armies were her family. Jon understood that now.

He watched as she fought tears, bending over to kiss the man one last time. She whispered in his ear, a tear sliding down her cheek to his. Jon approached, staring at the kind man.

"I did not know Ser Jorah well..." He said after a while, a hand on Daenerys' back. "But I do know there is not another way he would've wanted to die besides for his queen." The man loved her, perhaps the whole realm knew it. Jon did not feel jealous or angry. She deserved that love. She was his queen. She tried to smile, humbled by his words.

"He loved me." She said finally. 'Maybe he was the only man who loved me...' Her hand was still on Jorah's stiff shoulder. "And I could not love him back." She says it like it's a flaw, like it's her biggest regret. Jon thinks of all those mornings he spent waking up to Ygritte and how she died probably hating him. He knew a lot about regrets.

Love was synonymous with pain for Daenerys.

And yet she craved it so bad it was driving her mad. She stared into Jon's face. 'Why him,' She thought bitterly. 'Why this man? Why do I love my nephew...' It was the most Targaryen thing ever, and she hated that. She loved Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen. Hundreds of years ago, they would've written sonnets and war songs about them, but not now. She had let herself love and all she'd gotten out of it was dead dragons and dead armies.

'Love is not a part of the Game Of Thrones...' She told herself bitterly. It disgusted her, it made her weak that this bumbling northerner made her feel things, things that had almost cost her the throne. He was blocking her from the throne, it was the most forbidden thing she could think of. She was tired of fighting it. She wanted the throne and Jon Snow too, and if she didn't get both she wasn't sure what she might do...

She can't help but think he secretly conspired for the throne. But as she looked down upon him, she doesn't care. She just wants to be touched. To forget the troubles piling up on her back. To feel for a moment more that he may fill her with a dragon despite being barren. She wanted him. She wanted to feel. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and love her like he did after she lost Viserion.

He stares up at her and thinks that he loves her. But he will have to love her from afar.

Starks are not actors. Stars are not pretenders. And he can never pretend that he doesn't know.

"I don't have love here." She told him, stroking his hair. "Only fear." Jon shook his head no.

"I love you," He assured, standing. "You will always be my queen." She watched him closely. Once, that had been all she wanted to hear. Now, she needed more.

"Is that all I am to you?" She challenged, watching his face for micro-aggressions. She mashed her face to his desperately, and for a moment he didn't fight it. This was all he wanted too, for everything to go back to the way it was before he learned his true name was Aegon. But a bell cannot be unrung. And their love would never be as sweet.

She pressed against him, her longing feeling desperate to him. She savored it for as long as she could because she knew the feeling would fade. Too many questions, too many doubts. 'Too many disappointments...' She thought. He pulled away from her, closing his eyes. She dropped her hands from around him, her face blank.

"Alright then." She sniffed. "Let it be fear."