This takes place about six months after A Dance With Dragons.

Nothing could prepare Daenerys for the bite of the winter winds. She was a child of summer, raised among lemon trees and in the perfumed breeze of Pentos. Before setting out on Drogon's back, Daenerys had outfitted herself in white furs and thick boots. But her Myrish tailor must have misjudged just how cold the North was when they were preparing to leave. The chill seeped through her cloak and left her shivering.

Daenerys wanted to go back to Dragonstone. But she couldn't. It was a matter of strategy and personal pride.

She was no longer a meek little girl, and the barren landscape of the North could not frighten her. She wouldn't let it. All her life she had walked a perilous path, she had turned cities to ash and led armies into battle. She had tasted victory, but she had tasted defeat too, and through it all she had triumphed.

Besides, there was nowhere left to go but North.

She had lost King's Landing before she'd ever had it. Aegon's meagre army and a Dornish alliance had delivered the city after a short siege. The people were already starving and Aegon ended up the conquering hero. It didn't matter to the smallfolk that he was the Spider's imposter, he had put food in their bellies and fixed Cersei Lannister's head to a spike above the Red Keep.

It made no difference to the Dornish that Aegon was the mummer's dragon, he had offered them revenge on a silver platter and they had feasted as well as they would have if he was truly Princess Elia's son. Nothing her emissaries promised could bring them to her side. People believed what they wanted to, Dany knew that well enough. She had fallen into the same trap more than once…

But soaring through the sky atop Drogon, Daenerys didn't need to think of such failures, so she pushed them out of her mind. She was weeks ahead of the ships that ferried her armies northward. She would not fail as Tyrion had.

Dany closed her eyes, trusting Drogon to keep her safe, and when she opened them she focused on the sublime beauty below. The world was all one colour — white as far as the eye could see. In the far distance the wall was gleaming like a crystal in the bright winter sun.

Drogon mounted the wall and for a moment Dany was wonderstruck. It was not the view, though such a sight could awe nearly anyone. It was how quiet the end of the world was. It was as if she had flown right into death's sweet embrace and was standing in the silence of her own crypt.

Dany still wasn't sure what gods she even believed in, but she felt closer to whichever one was true. Drogon sensed her calm and remained still beneath her. She lost herself in this cathedral of nature a long while, forgetting the hunger in her belly or her frostbitten face.

"Daenerys Targaryen!"

When Dany finally heard her name being called, she couldn't be sure how long she'd been there. She turned in the direction of the voice and saw red silk caught by the wind, as dark as blood against the clear ice. Dany dismounted Drogon and walked towards the woman. She knew who it was immediately. The priestess who had called her forth to meet with the King at the Wall.

Overhead, Rhaegal and Viserion finally caught up to them. The dragons circled in the sky over their heads.

Dany dismounted Drogon, her heart catching in her throat as she slid down to the top of the wall. Drogon would never hurt her, but it was a long fall to the bottom of the wall.

The lady in red moved towards her as Dany closed the distance.

"I knew you'd come," the priestess said.

"You made quite the case for this King at the Wall," Dany said, inspecting the woman's blood red eyes and hair as bright as dragonfire. "You said it would be a natural alliance. 'Ice and fire together are unstoppable'… how could I refuse such an invitation?"

"I believe only the two of you together can take on the Great Other," said Melisandre of Asshai.

"It's not The Great Other I need help with at present," Dany said, creasing her brow. "It's the mummer's dragon."

"I've seen the two of you in the flames, vanquishing all of your enemies together."

Dany nodded. She wasn't sure what she believed in, and though the North was ghostly silent and seemed all but empty of life, she wasn't sure she believed in a great nebulous power she needed to help defeat. But the red priests had served her well when she'd returned to Mereen from the Dothraki Sea, and Tyrion had noted the strategic importance of having Ned Stark's son on her side if she were to take the seven kingdoms from the North.

"Jon Snow is the prince that was promised," Melisandre said. "Only he can bring the dawn, but he will need your help." Days at the North were shorter than she was used to, and the sun began to set overhead. Melisandre's eyes twitched towards it. "We better go down. He's waiting for you. We've all been waiting."

At the bottom of the wall, two men cloaked in black stood waiting for her. She followed them in ghostly silence. They held torches, though there was still light in the sky. She understood the need for it when they made their way inside Castle Black, which was dark and cavernous.

Jon Snow's direwolf stood at the door of the hall as if he was waiting for her. She had heard tales of the great beast. People feared the Stark's wolves. As she moved closer, the direwolf fled into the hall and sat at his master's feet.

Standing atop the wall she had imagined something much grander, not this grim hall. Fifty or so black brothers sat at bare plank tables staring at her and the priestess. At one side, a young boy added logs to a roaring fire that still wasn't large enough to warm the room. Jon Snow sat at the head of the hall in a wooden chair.

The King at the Wall, or so they called him, wore no crown. He did not seem to be one for ceremony, nor did he seem particularly impressed by her at first glance. Greater men than Jon Snow has fallen prey to Dany's beauty, and she wondered how much of a mess she must be, with the snow in her hair melting and her face red from the cold.

"Welcome, Your Grace," said Jon Snow.

Dany nodded her head in politeness. "Lord Snow," she said. It was not meant as an insult, but rather because she would start as she meant to go on and she had no plans to be weak.

To his credit, he did not falter.

"The priestess tells me you've come for my help," he said.

"The priestess tells me that together we'll be unstoppable," she said.

Jon Snow's long, hard face coiled into a reluctant smile. As if he'd given them permission, the black brother's all laughed merrily.

"So you've come to fight the war for the dawn?" Jon asked, his voice emotionless.

"I've come to put Westeros right again."

At that the black brother's laughed even harder, much to Dany's annoyance.

"Is that even possible?"

"Yes," Dany said, her voice certain. She didn't let these men intimidate her. They knew nothing of the miracles she had seen, or what she had already done to the world. "I will reunite the seven kingdoms. From the North. I will kill the Bolton's and take Winterfell. I will push the Ironborn back for good. I will lay waste to Kevan Lannister's forces in the Riverlands. I will bring back the years of peace and plenty the seven kingdoms enjoyed for centuries."

Jon Snow listened keenly, but one of his rowdy underlings called out "then what do you need us for?" and was greeted with even more laughter.

But this King at the Wall did not smile. She had him, she knew it.

"Give us the room," he finally said.

Jon Snow's voice was commanding, though he couldn't have been much older than she was. It did not take long for the men to move to their feet and shuffle out.

When the room was finally empty, he stared at her for a moment. "May I speak plainly?"

Dany nodded.

"You have no right to rule the North."

"I've been told you're Eddard Stark's son?"

Jon's eyes darkened, but his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Ned Stark's bastard."

"Don't you want revenge? The Bolton's hold Winterfell. They killed your brother, and what I've heard told of your sister—"

Jon's hand reached for the hilt of his sword, his face twitching at the mention of Arya Stark. Perhaps Dany shouldn't have mentioned it, what with how that had ended. When Dany had heard the tale she'd wondered how something so horrific could be true. Twelve years old and returned to Ramsay Bolton's bed by a former bannerman's soldiers.

"I don't need you for revenge."

"From what I hear Stannis Baratheon's meagre army — though a greater force than you're sure to have — perished in the snow. I think you do need me, Lord Snow."

"They were southerners. They had no business being here, either. Knights of summer will always be defeated by winter. You've seen how fearsome it is. Do you plan to lead your army into that… and win? You won't. Not against the fortifications of Winterfell," Jon Snow said, shaking head, dismissing like so many men before him had. She would prove him wrong in due time.

"I might remind you, Lord Snow, I have dragons."

"I can't abide the burning of Winterfell. Not again.

Dany stood up straighter and furrowed her brow. "May I ask how exactly you plan on exacting revenge, then?" She walked closer to him, wanting to size up the man she'd travelled so far to meet and had thus far been nothing but a disappointment. "Surely a man in your position must know, there must always be sacrifices in war."

Lord Snow stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in and loomed over her. Dany felt a chill run through her, but she couldn't blame it on the cold. A scar ran along his face and he was paler than any man she'd taken a fancy to before, but in his way he was handsome.

"I don't need you to lecture me about sacrifice," Jon said, his voice cutting.

Still, he paused, his solemn face contemplative. Unless he was stupid, he had to be considering her offer. There were no better ones likely to be made.

Dany took a deep breath.

"You have no other chance of seeing your sister again."

"And what must I give you in exchange for that?" the Lord Commander asked. "What is it that you want? Southern conquerors don't come North out of the goodness of their heart."

What did she want? Everything. She would take it all back — from the Bolton's and from the pretender who sat on the Iron Throne — she would restore the seven kingdoms and rule as it's rightful queen.

"Your loyalty," Dany said instead.

"I can't promise you that," Lord Snow said. "But if you save her, I will give you my life."

"I don't want your life, I want the North. I only want what is mine. I want you to kneel to your rightful Queen."

Dany stepped closer to him, not realizing how very near he was until she felt his cold breath. But she would not yield, she would not move away.

Neither, it seemed, would he.

He was closer than he had any right to be.

The Lord Commander took her face in his hand, running the ends of his fingers through her hair roughly. It was tangled from flying but it didn't hurt when Jon pulled against the knots. She couldn't feel it.

Perhaps he'd been affected by her beauty after all.

Dany looked up at him through her eyelashes but the expression on his face did not give in to her. He had the eyes of a dead man. Dany wondered if he would kiss like a corpse.

She parted her lips and closed her eyes waiting for his lips to meet hers. Instead his thumb brushed against her lips. Dany opened her eyes, confused that such tenderness that could come from such a rough hand. She leaned towards him, her mouth hungry, forgetting herself. But Jon pulled away, a sad smile on his lips.

"For Arya's life, I'll give you that."

She had a feeling she could ask for even more than that, but she wouldn't. Not yet.