The first kiss was solemn, and Daenerys felt no heat from it. They married in King's Landing. Jon did not give her his cloak – Daenerys hardly needed to be brought under anyone's protection, and two Targaryens were uniting, after all. The golden circlet on Jon's head matched her own. Jon looked handsome, and profoundly uneasy as they recited their vows. He kissed her briefly and chastely when they were through. His lips were soft, and barely touched hers.

He'd agreed to the union on the condition that his sister Sansa keep Winterfell and her claim. Daenerys had agreed without complaint. Sansa was smart, and savvy, and more than ready to rule the North.

"I want to keep her safe," Jon had said.

Daenerys had to keep from rolling her eyes. Sansa had set an army on the last man who harmed her, and fed him to his own dogs.

"She has Winterfell, and her considerable wits about her. Do you think she'll fail, Jon?"

Jon, predictably, had scowled. "No, of course not."

"Then it's settled." The preparations for the wedding were quick after that, and practical. There was no wedding feast. Dragons had scorched the city, and food was scarce.

The second kiss was a disappointment – a brush of Jon's lips on her brow on his way out of her chambers. He would not lay with her on their wedding night. He didn't need to – she'd done away with the bedding ceremony. And she did not want to force him.

"We don't have to do this," she reminded him, unclasping her earrings, and the relief on his face made her sad.

Jon must have sensed how she felt. He took a step towards her, and hesitated. "It's not that - you're very..." Daenerys wasn't sure she'd ever seen a grown man blush the way Jon did as he looked her up and down in her ivory gown. So he does want me, after all. She'd wondered. Hoped, if she was honest. Daenerys missed having a man in her bed, and she wasn't ashamed to admit it.

Jon ran a hand over his face. "It's just too new for me, yet." Daenerys sighed and gave him leave to go. A man who'd been a direwolf all his life might need another moment to become a dragon.

The third kiss was sweet and deep, under the heart tree at the godswood in Winterfell. Daenerys knew Jon would have married her there if he could. They toured the grounds and inspected the wildling army. She took a liking to Tormund. He tried to scandalize her with grisly tales, testing her mettle. He finally clapped her on the back when he heard she'd eaten a horse's heart, raw.

"Tough, that one," she overheard Tormund mutter to Jon. "Beauty, but you knew that already, 'less you're blind."

Jon gave Tormund a half-smile. "She is," Jon replied, and whether he meant toughness or beauty or both, Daenerys was glad for it.

Sansa had moved mountains to get the Northern lords to accept Jon as a Stark and a Targaryen - and, most importantly, as no traitor to the cause. Danererys glanced at her in gratitude when the men pledged their swords, and Sansa gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

That reconciliation seemed to release something in Jon. He was like a shy boy when he led her at sunset to the place where his family prayed. It was quiet and still in the grove, and the trees were dark around them. The reflecting pool was deep and seemed bottomless.

"Thought I might not be able to come back here," Jon said, touching the white bark of the tree. "Like the place would spit me out."

Daenerys had searched for home all her life, but she'd never doubted who she was. She'd added titles as she went - Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons - but she'd always been Daenerys Stormborn, a true-blooded Targaryen. She'd guessed Jon would have to adjust to finding our who his real parents were, but she hadn't considered just how much he might feel like an outsider once he did. I made him a prince, and he felt his family reject him in that moment.

She came and laced her fingers with his. "You never left, Jon. You've always been here. You've just been with me, as well."

Jon drew her closer. His smile lit up his face. "And now we're here together." He cradled the back of her head gently to kiss her. The red leaves whispering above them, and she felt like his wife for the first time.

The fourth kiss was hot and hungry and desperate as Jon pushed her back against her chamber door. They'd been in their cups, and when Jon put his hand on her leg under the long dining table, she knew he'd make love to her that night.

But she hadn't expected this - his expert fingers and the flash of his teeth against her throat and the delicious, filthy endearments Jon whispered on her ear as he slid his hand under her dress, making her pant and bringing her to her first peak before they'd even reached the bed.

Later, when they were both spent, Daenerys rested her head on Jon's shoulder. They were naked, and the bed sheets were tangled. He carded his fingers through her hair.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he murmured.

"Yes, well, most men want to do this with their wives, Jon," Daenerys teased him. She was loose-limbed and dreamy and, she realized slowly, in love.

Jon chuckled. "No, I mean, yes, but...your hair."

"Try that again, but use a whole sentence this time." She yelped as Jon grabbed her by the waist and rolled her onto her back.

"I mean," he said, smiling, "you beautiful, stubborn woman, that I've wanted to touch your hair, and every other part of you, since I first saw you." He was still running his hand through her hair as he kissed her neck.

"I intend to hold you to that," she said, and stifled a moan as Jon did something with his tongue that made her see stars.

The fifth kiss tasted of blood and dirt and snow. Daenerys didn't know when she'd fallen from Drogon's back during the battle, only that they'd set another line of wights aflame before a flurry of arrows struck Drogon's wing. She was bleeding, another arrow lodged in her stomach, and the world moved in peculiar slow motion. Drogon roared, fending off everyone, rescuers and enemies alike, until Jon was by her side. One look in his eyes told her it was too late.

"Jon," she breathed. There was something vital she had to tell him, but her vision kept clouding.

"Hush now Dany, please, don't talk, you'll be fine," Jon said. He took her hands. Daenerys slipped and Jon followed her to the icy ground. He rocked her in his arms. She could feel him trembling. They'd both known they might not survive this fight.

Dany's time had been made up of larger-than-life moments. She'd given birth to dragons in the red desert. She'd freed slaves. She'd rallied armies. She'd thought herself ready for death. So the fear that overcame her at the thought of dying was unexpected.

Here at the end it came down to a few fleeting sensations. A vicious burning pain in her side. Jon's harsh breathing. The dark stain that grew steadily underneath her. The snow falling relentlessly around them, catching in her eyelashes. She wanted to break down and sob. She wanted to beg for the chance to spend just one more day with Jon, waking up next to him in their cramped tent and waiting for the sun to peek through the flap.

But even in her last moments, she couldn't rest. She couldn't give in and cry. She had to push through. They all did. But it was getting harder and harder to think.

"Keep going," she said, coughing. She looked curiously at the bright red blood on her hand. It seemed like it belonged to someone else."No matter the cost. Keep going, do you understand? For them."

"For you," Jon said hoarsely, and kissed her before she slipped away into darkness.