They walked around the castle. The back of their hands brushing all the while. Jon's words were soft. Tender. Soothing. Daenerys took it all in. All of it. Especially the people. The way they bowed to Jon. The way they looked at him. They admired him. Loved him.

"Jon," she said. "What's that?"

Jon followed her gaze. She was looking at the crypts.

"That," Jon began. "Is someplace no Targaeryn has ever been."

They exchanged a look.

"Well now I have to see," Danaery said.

Jon smiled. His plan had worked.

"Then come with me," Jon said. "And see."

Extending his hand to hers. She made him wait for a moment. Then she took it. Letting him lead her into the crypts.

"This feels awfully familiar," Daenerys said. Tightening her grip on his fingers. Stroking him with her thumb.

Gods it felt good, she thought. Just touching him again.

"Maybe I just like taking you into dark places," Jon whispered.

"I was starting to suspect that," she said, smiling at him through the darkness.

Daenerys looked up. A row of statues were before her. Tall and proud. Carved from the finest stone she'd ever seen.

"Who are they?" she asked. Walking in front of them. Examining them with the torch they'd lit from the wall.

"The Stark Kings," Jon said.

He looked at Daenerys. She was exquisite. Her eyes, always luminous, were even more lovely by torchlight. And Jon was lost all over again.

The Kings of Winter, Daenerys knew. She'd read all about them in her books. Proud. Loyal. Honourable. Well, most of them.

"Brandon Stark. Jon Stark. Rickard Stark. Theon Stark. Brandon Stark. Edrick Stark. Brandon Stark," Jon listed off.

Daenerys raised her brows. The Starks did like their Brandons.

Until they got to the final statue.

"Torrhen Stark," Jon said. With finality.

He didn't have to name him. Daenerys knew this man as she knew herself: He was the last King of Winter. The King that Knelt. To her ancestor, Aegon Targaeryn.

Daenerys saw Jon staring at him. Curiously.

"Wonder what they'll call me in a thousand years," Jon said, glancing at her. She saw him ponder it.

"The King that Knelt Again? The King that Lost the North? The King that Bent the Knee?"

Daenerys knew his words were said in jest. There was no sting in his voice. His eyes were dancing.

"The King that Never Smiled?" she suggested instead.

That made him surly, she saw. She found it adorable. She wanted to kiss him then. She stepped closer, eager to soothe his hurt.

"I smile," he said. Defensively. "On ocassion."

"You're right," she said. "But the King that Smiled on Ocassion doesn't have quite the same flavour to it..."

"I'm smiling now," Jon said.

"Are you?" she asked. "I can't quite tell."

"Come closer then," Jon said.

His voice was suggestive, but tender. He let that hang in the air. When she stepped closer to him she saw he was indeed smiling. His eyes were shining at her. With adoration.

"I've missed you," he said. Touching her cheek.

She knew what he meant. It had been a long march to Winterfell from White Harbour. And while they were at each other's side, they had never really had a chance to be alone. Not truly.

"I've missed you too," she said. Turning her face into his palm.

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

"Come on," Jon said. "He's waiting for us."

"He?" Daenerys asked. Intrigued.

Jon said nothing. He simply led her deeper into the heart of the crypts.

They stopped in front of a large statue.

It was new, she noted. There was hardly any dust on it.

"Daenerys," Jon began. "This is my father. Lord Eddard Stark."

Daenerys looked up at the statue, searching for a glimpse of Jon in those foreign, unfamiliar features.

"Father," Jon began. "This is Daenerys Targaeryn."

Jon took a deep breath.

"She's my queen," he added.

He'd said those words a thousand times. She'd always heard the possessiveness in his voice when he said it. It never failed to bring her pleasure. She knew he was declaring more than just his loyalty when he said it. She knew what he meant.

But this felt different. And the way he was looking at her was different. As if to say: I'm yours. And you're mine. For the rest of my days. Do you understand?

Daenerys found herself thrilled. Frightened. Overcome. Her heart was racing. She searched for a way to change the subject.

"He's not what I imagined," Daenerys said. Stumbling over her words.

Jon blinked. The spell broke. The moment faded.

"And what did you imagine?" Jon asked. Curious.

Daenerys looked up at the statue.

So this was Eddard Stark, she thought.

The usurper's dog, Viserys had named him. As a child, eager to please her brother, Daenerys had adopted that name for him. Much to his delight. Those words shamed her now. The memories shamed her.

"Ten feet tall," Daenerys said. "With fire breathing out of his eyes. A wolf's eyes. Razor sharp teeth."

Jon chuckled.

"Felt that way sometimes," he said. "Even when I was a young man. He was always... father."

"I hated him," Daenerys found herself saying. "For many years..."

Jon looked at her. His eyes remained soft, Daenerys saw. Understanding.

"You had cause," Jon said. "They took everything from you. Your home. Your family. Your kingdom."

"I thought I did," Daenerys said. "I thought I knew. And then Varys told me..."

"What did the Spider tell you?" Jon asked.

"How angry your father was," Daenerys said. Her voice was soft. But steely.

"When he heard what the Lannisters did to Rhaegar's wife. To his children. His wroth. How he demanded Tywin Lannister's head. Demanded justice for Rhaegar's children."

"They were his enemy and he demanded justice for them," Daenerys said. Shaking her head. Her eyes were glassy, Jon saw. As if she couldn't believe what she was saying.

"When Robert sent assassins after me after my wedding with Drogo your father wanted no part in it. He turned his back on his king. He gave up his position. He wanted to go home."

Jon didn't know this, Daenerys realised. His expression changed. He looked proud.

"That sounds like him," Jon said, looking back at the statue. "He was the best man I knew. The most honourable."

Daenerys saw a change in Jon. His face darkened.

"And the Lannisters took his head for it," Jon said.

She saw his fingers clench. Hard. His body tightened up. His voice gruff with anger.

"Cersei took his head. And I did... nothing. I've done... nothing."

"There was nothing you could have done," Daenerys said. Softly. Eager to soothe his hurt. Her voice hardened.

"But Cersei will pay for what she did. To him. For what the Lannisters did to Rhaegar's wife and children. We will have our justice in the end. I swear it."

Silence fell between them as they felt the heavy weight of the past on their shoulders.

"He'd be proud of you," Daenerys added. Softly.

"I wish you could have met him," Jon said. "As he was. He would have liked you."

"Thought you were far too beautiful for the likes of me," he added.

She gave Jon a look. As if to say: Don't flatter me. It doesn't suit you.

But she couldn't help the pleasure his words brought her.

Then something caught her eye.

"Jon," she asked. Raising the torch. "Who is that?"

Jon let her step past him. Then he followed her.

"Lyanna," Jon said. Softly. "My aunt."

Rhaegar's northern woman, Daenerys knew. She stared at the statue. Hungrily. Daenerys knew so little of her brother. To look upon the face of a woman he loved was a crumb, she knew. But she had had only stories of Rhaegar. This was something she could see. Something she could touch. A part of him.

"She was beautiful," Daenerys said, examining her closely.

"Aye," Jon said. "And fierce. They called her the Wolf Maid."

"I can believe that," Daenerys smiled. She looked upon it. Fondly.

Something seemed to occur to her. She looked around.

"I thought only Stark men were buried here," she added.

"Father insisted," Jon said. "He loved her so much. He wanted her close. He'd come here sometimes. Just to sit with her. For hours."

"What do you know of her?" Daenerys asked. Her voice was as soft as silk.

"Not much," Jon admitted. The answer sank Daenerys' spirits, if only a little.

"Father rarely spoke of her. It made him sad, I think."

Jon waited a beat. Daenerys him him exhale.

"I asked about her. Once," Jon confessed.

"The look on his face. He looked so sad. So broken. I never wanted to see him look that way again. So I never asked."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"I know what they say," Daenerys said. "About my brother. What he did."

Her tone was enough to give it away. Jon knew they were treading unsteady ground. The last thing he wanted was to argue with her about their families and their tangled histories.

None of that mattered anymore, he reminded himself. We have each other now. And the real war is coming.

"I heard stories," Jon said. Carefully. "As a child."

"What did you hear?" Daenerys asked. For once, her tone was clipped.

What do you believe, she meant. He knew.

"I heard Rhaegar kidnapped her. Took her by force," Jon said. He saw Daenerys make to protest her brother's honour.

"And then there were the rumours. That she bewitched him. Stole his heart. That they were in love. That they ran off together," Jon added.

Those words softened her, he saw. Made her smile.

"They loved each other," Daenerys said. Softly. Gazing at the statue of Lyanna Stark. "I believe that. With all my heart I believe it."

My brother was a good man, Daenerys thought. I know it in my heart.

Jon didn't know what to say.

"What do you know of Rhaegar?" he asked.

There were no suspicions in his words, Daenerys knew. No hostility or accusation. He was merely curious.

"Only what I heard," Daenerys admitted. "From Viserys first. Who admittedly, wasn't the most reliable source of information."

The expression on Jon's face seemed to concur. His half-smile told her he remembered saying those words to her not so long ago in the Dragon Pit.

"But then Ser Barristan told me..."

Jon's eyes widened. She could see the surprise in them. Even in the darkness.

"Barristan the Bold?" he asked. Unable to stop himself from interrupting her.

"He served me for a long time," Daenerys said. Smiling at the memories. "In Mereen. He died in my service. You knew him?"

"Only by reputation," Jon said. His voice filled with wonder. "Every boy in the seven kingdoms knew Ser Barristan. Father said he was the greatest knight he ever saw. Certainly the most honourable."

"He was," Daenerys said. "A man of great honour. And a loyal friend. I miss him everyday."

Jon was eager to hear more, Daenerys saw. Like a child with a new toy. She saw him hold himself back. Out of respect. Daenerys took a breath. Remembering Barristan's words.

"He told me that Rhaegar was kind. And gentle. He loved his people. And they loved him. He was a great warrior, but he hated fighting. And...

"And?" Jon asked.

Daenerys found herself eager to share this with Jon. The words came quicker now.

"He was sad sometimes," Daenerys said. "Melancholy. But when he smiled, he was..."

Daenerys blinked. She looked at Jon then. As if she were seeing him anew. For the first time. Beautiful, she wanted to say. And yet the words never came.

"He..." Daenerys began.

She shook her head. The thought that struck her next was absurd. Truly. But she found herself giving voice to it despite herself.

"He sounded like you."

They stared at each other. Not knowing what to say. For once, the smile they exchanged was awkward. Unfamiliar.

"A common mix up I'm sure," Jon said. Lightly. "I've oft been mistaken for Rhaegar Targaeryn."

"At least that's what I told the tavern wenches," Jon added.

"Did it work?" Daenerys asked, fixing him with a stare.

She tried, but she couldn't keep the jealousy from her tone. Or her eyes.

"Not once," Jon sighed. "Sadly."

That made her smile. Her eyes gleamed.

"That is sad," Daenerys said. "Truly."

"Sad enough to fetch me a kiss?" Jon wondered. Hopefully.

"Not that sad," Daenerys said. Dryly.

They exhanged a smile.

"What else did Ser Barristan tell you?" Jon asked. After a moment had passed.

"That Rhaegar would sing for his people," Daenerys added. "And dance."

"Well, that settles it," Jon said. "I've never even sung a note."

"And as for dancing... I'd sooner face your Dothraki horde in open battle."

"I'd like to see you dance," Daenerys said. Her eyes twinkled.

"No," Jon said. Vehemently. "You would not. I assure you."

"I think you'd be rather good at it," Daenerys said.

She gave him an appraising look.

"Won't you dance for your queen, Jon?"

Her eyes were filled with laughter now. Her voice was delighted. Jon was glad.

"Never," Jon vowed.

"You swore to die for me," Daenerys reminded him. Touching his chest. Lightly. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Die," Jon said. "Not dance. The vows were very specific."

"Then I name you a liar, a craven and an oathbreaker," Daenerys chided. "For shame."

"Call me what you will," Jon said. He took her in his arms then. Boldly. "You will never see me dance."

"I already have," Daenerys said. Smugly. Placing her arms around his neck.

"Have you?" Jon asked.

"Mmmmm," she said. Looking at him with naked desire now.

"Not all men were meant to Dance with Dragons, Jon."

But you were, her eyes told him. Now kiss me.

He smiled. And he kissed her.

They were walking back from the crypts now. Taking their time.

"So what happens after?" Jon asked. "After you've won your crown?"

"I rule," Daenerys said. "Wisely. Peacefully."

They shared a smile. It was a sweet dream, they knew.

"Tyrion will insist I find a king," Daenerys added.

"Aye," Jon said. "He probably will."

"Any suggestions?" Daenerys asked. Innocently. Watching Jon from the corner of her eye.

"How about Tyrion?" Jon asked. His face remained serious but his voice sounded amused.

"That won't serve," Daenerys said. "He likes talking too much. I'd never get a word in edgewise. Probably end up feeding him to my dragons."

"You're probably right," Jon said.

"Jamie Lannister was rather handsome," Daenerys said.

She smiled as she stared at Jon, attempting to guage his reaction.

"Was he?" Jon said. "Seemed rather old to me."

She enjoyed the jealousy on his face. In his voice. Enjoyed the way his chest tightened up and nose flared.

"It was hard to miss," Daenerys said. "But...things might get a little awkward. Considering..."

They shared a look. No more needed to be said.

"So, not Jamie then," Daenerys said. "Anyone else?"

"How about Ser Jorah?" Jon suggested.

Daenerys made a face.

"I love him like I would a father," she said. Wrinkling her nose.

Not sure the feeling is mutual, Jon thought. He knew nothing, but even he enough to keep from giving voice to that particular thought.

"Grey Worm?" Jon suggested.

"Missandei wouldn't like that," Daenerys said.

"She wouldn't," Jon said. "But she'd understand. In time. For the good of the realm and all that."

Daenerys shook her head.

"Anyone else?"

"How about Varys?" Jon asked. He couldn't help but smile.

"Is it a coincidence that the last two matches you've suggested have no cock?" Daenerys asked.

"Purely," Jon said. Looking wounded now. "I only have your best interests at heart my queen."

"Do you?" Daenerys asked. She slanted her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "I have to confess, I do find myself wondering about your motives sometimes."

"Now that hurts my feelings," Jon said. "My motives are pure as my devotion to you."

"Always?" Daenerys asked.

"Not always," Jon admitted. "Sometimes my motives are rather... less pure."

"I'm glad to hear that," Daenerys said. Impishly.

They walked on.

"I've heard about someone," Daenerys said. Frowning.

"The King in The...South? East? Or was it West? I can never remember..."

"Oh," Jon said. "Him. Well..."

"Do you know him?" Daenerys asked. As if she were curious.

"I've heard stories," Jon said. He breathed in deep. "They say he's the greatest swordsman who ever lived. A handsome devil. They say maidens swoon and faint at the very sight of him."

Daenerys gave him a look which said: Please. You're embarassing yourself.

"They say he shits sunshine and moonbeams fall out of his arse," Jon added.

Daenerys was taken aback. And then she found herself laughing. Heartily.

Jon stared at her. Trying not to grin.

"Now that hurts my feelings," he said.

"Sorry," she said. But she couldn't help one last giggle.

They walked in comfortable silence for a little while.

"And what about you?" she asked. "After the war."

"Put down my sword and never pick it up again," Jon said. "Gods be willing."

She smiled softly at that.

"I suppose you'll return to Winterfell," she ventured, all the while hoping he'd tell her otherwise. "And rule."

"No," Jon said. "I can never rule Winterfell."

She looked confused. Forgetting their game for a moment.

"Your people chose you to lead them," she said.

"Aye," Jon said. "But I'm not a Stark. Winterfell can only be ruled by a Stark. Sansa. And her children after her."

An idea seemed to strike Daenerys.

"After I've won the throne," she began. Haltingly. "I could give you your name. His name."

He shook his head. As if to say: You don't understand the North.

"My people," Jon began. His smile was knowing. "Would never accept it. Would never accept me as a Stark."

"Your people adore you," Daenerys said. "I've seen it. You're Ned Stark's son."

"His blood runs through my veins," Jon agreed. "But I don't have his name. I'll never be a Stark to the people of the North. Not truly."

Daenerys looked perplexed.

"You northerners," Daenerys sighed. "You're a complicated people."

"No less than you southerners," Jon said.

They walked in silence for a bit longer.

"And after you've put down your sword?" Daenerys asked.

"I could farm," Jon said. "Hunt. Fish. Live off the land."

"I'd like to see that," Daenerys said.

Another sweet dream, they thought. One unlikely to ever come true.

"Find myself a good woman," Jon said. He found himself staring at Daenerys now. Longingly."Have children."

Daenerys dropped her head, entirely missing the look he was giving her.

Children, she thought. He wants children. Something I can't...

"I see," she said. She looked pained.

Jon grimaced. He searched for the right words and failed. So he said the first thing that sprung into his head.

"I've found the right woman," Jon said. Hastily. "Is what I meant to say."

She looked up at him. Sharply.

"Have you?"

Oh seven hells, Jon thought.

He knew he was trapped. There was still hurt in her beautiful eyes. Doubt. He couldn't bring himself to add to it.

"Aye," Jon said. "I have. Found her."

You, he meant.

The doubt faded in her eyes. Jon saw hope in Daenerys' beautiful eyes. And found himself needing to fan those flames.

"You said..." Daenerys began.

Children, she wanted to say. Jon knew she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Say it, Jon told himself. Just tell her and be done with it.

"Aye," Jon said. "With her."

Daenerys blinked.

"What if she can't..." Daenerys began. She searched for the words and failed.

"She can," Jon said. "She will. I believe it. With all my heart."

Jon saw her eyes light up. Just a little. At her words, back at her again.

"Thing is," Jon added. "I'm not sure if she'll have me."

Daenerys exhaled. His words would have her weep.

"I can't imagine a woman that wouldn't have you," she said. Slowly. Shaking her head.

"Not even a queen?" he asked. Carefully.

"Especially a queen," she said. "After all, you are a king."

They exchanged smiles.

"So you think she'd have me then?" Jon asked. Stepping closer. Hopefully.

"I don't know," Daenerys said. When she saw his face fall, she added: "Tell me about her"

"She's..." Jon began.

"Beautiful?" Daenerys asked. Teasingly. As if the word utterly bored her.

Jon waited a beat. For the right word to strike him.

"Exquisite," he said.

He saw her expression soften. Her eyes were hungry.

"What else?" she asked.

"She's kind. And sweet. And gentle. She..."

Daenerys saw him smile. To himself. Just a little.

"She has a good heart," Jon said.

The words were genuine, she knew. But they seemed to bring him some secret joy. There was something behind his smile. Something danced in his eyes.

Daenerys vowed to ask him about it. Later.

"What else?" Daenerys asked, stepping forward. Her expression was greedy now.

"She's fierce. And strong. And loyal."

"She sounds like quite a woman," Daenerys said. She felt overcome again. Seeing herself through Jon's eyes could be startling.

"She is," Jon said. "I've never met anyone like her. Sometimes I look at her and..."

"And?" Daenerys asked. Softly.

"And I can't believe she's real," Jon said.

Daenerys didn't know when they got quite so close. How they were breathing so heavily.

"So you think she'd have me then?" Jon asked again. His rough voice was a whisper.

"Perhaps..." Daenerys said. Her voice was soft as well. She swallowed.

"Perhaps?" Jon asked.

Daenerys saw disappointment in Jon's eyes now. She moved to soothe him. Quickly.

"Perhaps you should ask her."

Ask me, her eyes told him.

"I will," Jon said.

"When?" Daenerys asked.

She tried to keep the eagerness from her voice. And failed. Jon sighed.

"Soon," Jon said.

After all this, he meant. She knew.

Their eyes met and held. Exchanging promises. That there would be no other. That he'd ask her. And that she'd wait.

Jon saw Daenerys' expression change. As if something had occurred to her.

"Jon," she said. Moving even closer. Her voice fell to an even softer whisper.

"Yes?"

"When you ask her," Daenerys said. Looking up at him. They were close enough for their breaths to mingle now. "Don't forget. Promise me you won't forget."

She dropped her eyes then. He cupped her chin. Raised it gently. Looked longingly upon that perfect face.

"Forget what my queen?" Jon asked. Tenderly.

I'll remember, his eyes vowed. Tell me what it is. And I'll remember. I swear it.

Jon saw Daenerys' expression change. She ws herself again, Jon saw. Strong. Confident. Regal.

Daenerys raised her chin. Defiantly. Her eyes alone would been enough to unmake most men. They nearly had Jon on the floor.

"To bend the knee," Daenerys said. Haughtily.

Jon was struck by thunder. He wanted to move. To grab her. Press her to him and hold her. Kiss her and never let go. But before he could even think, she'd slipped out of reach. Looking more pleased with herself than he'd ever seen.

Daenerys gave Jon a look: I know you want me, Ser. You shall not have me again. Not until you bend the knee. Properly.

Then she turned on her heels and walked away from him. Never looking back. Leaving him staring after her.

Daenerys slowed her steps. Letting him catch up. She could feel his gaze on her. Heated. When he attempted to catch her eye, she looked away. Smiling from the corner of her mouth.

She heard him exhale. With frustration. She could feel it. His desire. Pouring out of him. Coming at her in waves. It warmed her body. Made it hum.

She glanced at him. He was staring at her intently. Searching for an opening. She wasn't ready to parley with him. Not yet. No, she was enjoying herself far too much. She decided to settle on a different brand of torture.

"I just remembered something," Daenerys said.

"What?" Jon asked. His voice was hopeful. Soft, she knew.

She refused to meet his eyes. Knowing that if she did, her resistance would break. Eventually.

"That I'm not speaking to you," she said.

Jon blinked.

"Why?" he asked. Quizzically.

Daenerys said nothing. She looked away from him. At this and that.

"Daenerys," he said.

She withheld a smile. He rarely called her by her name. Even when they were alone. She was always his queen. Which meant she had him good and riled up.

"You know why," Daenerys said.

"I don't," Jon said.

When she shook her head dismissively, she found him in front of her. Standing in her way. She attempted to side-step him, but he moved in front of her. And again. Forcing her to meet his eyes. Her gaze softened, as he knew it would. Just a little.

"Why?" he asked.

She folded her arms over her chest. Drawing his attention to her chest.

Jon's eyes flickered over Daenerys'good heart. And he smiled to himself.

"What was that earlier?" she demanded. Summoning her anger. As best she could.

"What?" Jon asked.

"That little game you played," she said. "At the gate."

She saw him frown.

"What game?" he asked.

"You know what game," she said. Her tone turned accusatory.

"Daenerys," he said. "What game?"

She stared at him then. Wondering. If he was truly as innocent as he looked.

Gods, she sighed to herself. But he was beautiful. How could she ever stay angry at him?

Then she saw something flash in his eyes. He looked away from her.

"Jon," she said. Cocking her head

He said nothing.

"Look at me," Daenerys said.

It was a command. She knew his heart left him no choice but to obey. He met her eyes. Which held and sparred.

Their was something in his eyes, she knew. Not false. His eyes could never be false. Especially not to her. But there was a look. As if he was a little boy who'd been caught with a jar of honey.

When she smiled at him, he couldn't stop himself from returning it. Suddenly, he was grinning. And then, much to her amazement, he was laughing. Daenerys found herself wanting to smack him.

"You're laughing at me," she said. Part of her was outraged, even as another part of her was grealy amused.

"I am not," he manged to sputter. His shoulders were shaking.

"You are!" she said.

She couldn't stop herself from hitting him then. Gently. Which only made him laugh harder.

"Of all the people I've met in the world," she said, shaking her head. "You must be the worst liar I've ever seen!"

Finally, he managed to contain himself. He took in a deep, cleansing breath.

"Some people might take that as a compliment," Jon said.

Daenerys said nothing. Just stared daggers through him.

"Sorry," he said. His eyes begged forgiveness.

"Don't speak to me," she said, pushing him out of the way. Firmly.

Jon began stepping after her. Daenerys smiled to herself. Quickly. Then forced a stern look on her face.

"I felt really bad afterwards," Jon admitted. "Does that help?"

It did, Daenerys thought. How much surprised even her.

"No," she said. Firmly.

"Not even a little?" he asked.

"Not even a little," she said. Stubbornly.

He sighed.

"How can someone so beautiful be so cruel?" he wondered.

"Please," she said. Turning her face away to hide the pleasure his words brought her.

Suddenly, he'd was in front of her. Blocking her way.

His eyes were puppy dog-like now. Begging for forgiveness. He'd moved closer to her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I don't care," she said. Churlishly.

"Forgive me," he said.

"Never," she said. Childishly.

That gave it away. He knew it was a game and nothing more. It made him smile.

"Please?" he asked.

"I. Will. Not," she said. Sternly.

"Daenerys," he said.

"Do not speak my name, Ser," she warned.

Daenerys saw Jon's expression change. He looked at her possessively. As if she was his. To hold. To have. Whenever he so pleased. As if she were his queen. She found herself heating up under his gaze.

He is a king, she thought.

"You will forgive me," Jon said. Firmly.

Daenerys gave him an incredulous look.

"Will I?" she asked.

"You will," he said.

She paused.

"Are you threatening me?" Daenerys asked. Her lips tugged at a smile. She couldn't help herself.

"Call it what you will," Jon said. He stepped forward. Making her step back. "But you will forgive me."

He let the playful threat hang in the air. Between them.

"Go on," she said. "I'd like to hear this."

He stepped forward. She stepped back, finding herself cornered. Her back felt stone against it. Cool. Hard. Unyielding. Just like the man in front of her. This felt familiar as well. Much like the dream she'd had, months ago. At Dragonstone.

"If you don't forgive me..." he began.

He trailled off.

Go on, her eyes dared him.

"I'll do what I've been wanting to do all day," he said.

"Which is?" she asked. Intrigued.

"Take you into my arms. And kiss you. In front of everyone."

Daenerys looked around. They were in the courtyard again. Surrounded by a flurry of activity. And a thousand conversations. Their friends and loved ones scattered about.

"You wouldn't dare," she said. Her voice was hushed.

"And who'd stop me?" he asked.

"I would," she said. Firmly. That made him chuckle.

"You wouldn't," he said.

She opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a look. He had her, she knew. She'd say the right words, but she wouldn't stop him. Not if it came to it. She wanted it as much as he did.

"My dragons..."

"Couldn't stop me," he said. "Your Dothraki couldn't stop me. Your Unsullied couldn't stop me."

"Is that so?" she asked. Amused now.

"It is," he said.

"Grey Worm," she began.

"Would fall."

"And Ser Jorah?" she enquired.

"Him as well," Jon said.

"Tsk tsk," she said. Flirtatiously now. "Poor Ser Jorah. He deserved better."

That made him smile. Daenerys longed to see him smile again.

"Tyrion?" she asked. Her eyes twinkled.

"Him, I'd like to see try," he said. Cheekily.

"Now, who's being cruel?" she asked, chiding him with a look, even as her eyes lit up.

They exchanged a smile.

"Forgive me," he said. Again. Softer, this time. His eyes were tender.

"No," she said. Her voice was soft this time.

Yes, she meant. I forgive you.

He knew. It wasn't enough. He wanted to hear her say the words. Needed it. He took a step closer. It startled her.

He was close, she realised. Far, far too close. She could feel the eyes on them. A thousand eyes. Staring at them.

"Jon," she said. She intended it to be stern, but she sounded breathless to her own ears. Willing. Eager.

"Daenerys," he said. Smiling.

"Everyone is watching," Daenerys said. Her voice dropped to a whisper now.

"They should look away then," Jon said. "I'm with my queen."

His words made her want to embrace him. Kiss him. But she couldn't. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not yet. She cocked her head at him. Pleading with him. To do what, even she didn't know. He stepped even closer.

And then, in a casual gesture, he placed his hand on the wall above her shoulder. Daenerys felt her face flush when Jon leaned in. She swallowed. Hard. She could hear her heart in her ears. Thumping.

And then Jon plucked a stray flower that was growing between the bricks above her head. And offered it to her.

Daenerys took it from him. It was a winter rose. She'd never seen one before. It was the most beautiful shade of blue she'd ever seen. Rare in these parts, she knew.

Nothing had ever smelt so sweet. In return, she granted him a smile. But she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

Part of her was longing for it, she realised. For him to kiss her. In front of everyone. Even better, to take her away. From this madness. From this death.

Jon saw something catch Daenerys' eye. She was staring over his shoulder. At Sansa and Arya. Who were having an animated conversation. He saw Sansa glance over at them. Her look was disapproving.

"I don't think she likes me," Daenerys said.

Jon raised his eyebrows. Questioningly.

"Your sister," Daenerys said. "The elder one."

Her tone was sullen. The look in her eyes was that of a little girl. Jealous. Possessive.

"Her name is Sansa, my love," Jon said. Soothingly. Smiling at her.

Daenerys liked that. He'd called her his love. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flower he'd plucked for her. And smiled.

"Her name is Sansa," Daenerys intoned, putting on a faux northern accent. "Saansaaaa..."

Jon chuckled.

"She doesn't know you," Jon said. Soothingly. "Give it time. I didn't exactly fall at your feet the first time we met either."

"A fact I haven't forgotten," Daenerys said. Glaring at Jon.

"Wouldn't be here if I had, would we?" Jon said. "Didn't think that would make much of an impression."

"So you were trying to impress me," Daenerys said. Impishly. Cocking her head to one side and eyeing him. "And I thought you were being all noble and kingly."

"I was being noble and kingly," Jon protested.

He was sulking now, Daenerys saw. Like a little boy who'd lost his favourite toy. He was adorable. She gave him a skeptical look.

"And trying to impress you," he admitted. Grudgingly.

Which made them both smile.

Suddenly, they found themselves interrupted. By an elderly man and a young woman.

"Your grace," the man said. Bowing.

Jon frowned. He didn't recognise the man.

"Forgive me, Ser," Jon said.

"Lord Harwyne, your grace," he said. Bowing low.

Jon had no idea who this man was. One of the lesser lords, he presumed.

"Of course," Jon said. "Lord Harwyne. I hope you've had a pleasant stay at Winterfell."

"Thank you, your grace," he said. "May I introduce my daughter Moira."

Jon's eyes fell to the young woman. A pretty enough thing. Slender. With raven dark hair.

"Your grace," she said. Bowing low. Beaming at him. "Welcome home. The North has missed you."

"My lady," Jon said. "I thank you for the kind words."

Daenerys resisted the urge to glare at this stranger. She simply looked away. Feigning disinterest. And then an awkward silence descended upon them. Moira and her father exchanged a look.

"If you'll excuse us my lord," Jon said. "We can speak on the morrow. When all the lords are properly assembled."

"Of course your grace," the lord said. Beating a hasty retreat with his daughter in tow. Who gave Jon a come hither look as she left.

"Is that what it's like?" Daenerys asked.

"Being king," she clarified a moment later at the puzzled look on Jon's face. "Walking around and having old men throw their pretty young daughters at you?"

"I wish," Jon muttered. Rolling his eyes.

"Do you?" Daenerys asked. Glaring at him again.

Jon beat a hasty retreat.

"That's not what I meant," Jon said.

"Isn't it?" Daenerys asked. Her eyes flashing at him.

Gods, she was lovely when she was angry, Jon thought.

"You know it isn't," Jon said. Pleadingly.

Daenerys looked away from him. Heard him exhale in frustration.

"I know," she said. Amused by the grimace on his face.

"Do you enjoy it?" Jon asked. "Toying with me? Torturing me?"

"Being queen has many privileges," Daenerys said.

Jon shook his head. He was doomed. Utterly doomed. Daenerys decided to take pity on him.

"Do you enjoy it, my Lord?" Daenerys asked. Playfully.

So she wasn't really angry, Jon thought. It was a game. Jon decided to partake.

"Forgive me, my queen," Jon said. "I'm just a poor, simple northerner. But I am still a king."

Jon saw the change come over her. He saw it in her eyes. The pleasure the words brought him.

"Are you?" Daenerys asked. Dismissively. "I'll have to remember that."

"See that you do," Jon said. "After all, a king has his privileges as well."

Jon let his eyes run up and down her body. Suggestively. When their eyes met, Jon found Daenerys staring at him.

"Are you calling me a privilege?" she asked.

Daenerys' voice was soft, but dangerous. Eyes warning him to speak carefully. Half of her was serious. The other half was playful. She was amused and more than a little pissed off. She was lovely, he thought.

"I'm calling you my queen," Jon said.

Daanaerys felt overcome. She looked away.

"Look at me," Jon said.

His voice was rough. Dangerous. It was a command, Daenerys knew. Part of her rebelled against it. Another part of her was thrilled. Daenerys looked at him.

"You're my queen," Jon said. Again. "Do you understand?"

Jon fixed her with a stare. Daenerys said nothing. Did nothing.

"Daenerys," Jon said. Possessively.

Daenerys was trapped. She nodded her assent. Shyly. And then they were both smiling at each other. Like idiots.

Suddenly, Daenerys saw a guilty look cross Jon's face.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I have to go see Bran," he said.

Jon winced. His brother was waiting for him. He'd forgotten.

She gave him an appraising look.

"What?" he asked.

"You've barely been home an hour and you're already leaving me," she said. Slyly.

He smiled. His eyes told her he would never leave her. She knew.

"I'm going to see my brother," he said. Softly.

"Uh-huh," she said. "That or some tavern wench."

"Daenerys," Jon said.

"Fine. Go. See if I care," Daenerys said. Dismissively.

"You do care," Jon said.

"I don't."

"You do."

"I do not."

"You do."

They lapsed into silence. They were arguing like children now. They exchanged naughty glances. She decided to end their little quarrel. Make peace.

"I'd like to meet Bran," Daenerys said. Softly.

"You will," Jon promised. "But he asked me to come alone."

It brought a worried look to her face.

"Do you think..." Daenerys began.

The Night King, she wanted to say. The army of the dead?

"I don't know," Jon said.

They paused a moment.

"You should rest," Jon said. "Gather your strength."

She was tired, Daenerys realised. Unusually so. And her stomach felt a little odd. She wanted to protest, but only nodded.

"You'll need it when I return," Jon added. Cheekily.

Daenerys' eyes widened at the look he was giving her.

"Sansa," Jon called. Before his queen could get a word in.

"Yes, your grace?" Sansa said.

Sansa approached them. Neither of them had so much even looked at her, she observed. They were eyeing each other. Still.

"If you wouldn't mind showing her grace to her quarters," Jon said.

My quarters, he meant. Daenerys knew.

So did Sansa. The look on her face gave it away. Daenerys didn't much care. Jon didn't seem to notice.

"Of course, your grace," Sansa said. Politely.

She turned to Daenerys.

"Your grace. When you're ready?"

Daenerys chose to ignore Sansa. Until Jon gave her a look that said: Be kind to her my love. Please.

"Thank you, my lady," Daenerys said. It surprised Sansa. "You have a beautiful home."

Unsure what to do, Sansa nodded. And stepped back.

Thank you, Jon's eyes told Daenerys.

"Winterfell is yours, my queen," Jon said.

Bowing his head. Ever so slightly.

Daenerys wasn't ready for him to leave. Not again. Not yet. They'd barely left each other's side since that night. And yet she knew she couldn't command him to stay. After all, his brother was waiting for him. But she wanted him to linger. If only a moment longer.

"Only Winterfell?" Daenerys asked. "I thought the entire North was mine.

Sansa looked discomfited with that statement, but Jon only smiled at Daenerys' teasing lilt.

"It is," he affirmed.

"All of it?" she wondered.

"Every inch," he said. Slowly.

"And its king?" Daenerys asked. The words came quickly. Before she could stop herself.

"Him, most of all," Jon said. Softly.

The look in his eyes could have had her die just then, Daenerys thought. He turned to go.

"Jon," she whispered. He looked at her.

Return to me quickly, Daenerys' eyes told him. Please.

Jon nodded.

I will, he vowed. Silently.

Then he bowed and walked away.

Leaving her staring after him. Longingly.

Earlier...

"What do you think of her?" Sansa asked.

Watching Jon and Daenerys walk back into the courtyard together. Arya followed them with watchful eyes.

"Jon seems to like her," Arya grinned.

She saw the Dragon Queen lean up against the wall. And Jon step in close.

"Do you think they..." Sansa began, then paused.

"Oh yes," Arya said. Quickly.

"Really?" Sansa asked. "Her?"

"He has eyes, doesn't he?" Arya said. She found herself irritated with her sister. More than usual.

"I suppose," Sansa said. Shrugging.

"What?" Arya said.

"The singers say she's the most beautiful woman in the world," Sansa said. "I mean she is pretty. I grant you that. But the most beautiful woman in the world? Hardly."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Now, Margaery Tyrell. There was a rare beauty..." Sansa said. Drifting off.

"What are you on about?" Arya wondered.

"I'm just wondering," Sansa said. "Why Jon bent the knee. What she could have possibly said to convince him. Or what she promised him in return."

"That's Littlefinger talking," Arya said. Giving her sister a disapproving look.

"He may have been a monster," Sansa said. "That doesn't mean he was wrong."

"Jon is our brother," Arya said. "And our king."

"I haven't forgotten," Sansa said. "Besides, he was my brother long before he was yours."

Sansa sighed.

"It's just...he gave away his kingdom. And for what? A pretty face? That's exactly what Robb did. Remember?"

"Jon is not Robb," Arya said. Fiercely. "I have faith in my brother. My king. As should you."

"I have faith," Sansa protested. "I just don't understand why..."

"They say she has dragons," Arya said. Angrily now. "Three very large dragons. What would you have had Jon do? Fight them? What would you have the North do?"

When Sansa didn't answer, Arya felt her ire rise. She rounded on her sister.

"Do you know what happened when the Aegon The Conquerer unleashed his dragons in Westeros? How many people burned? How many died?" Arya asked. Furiously. Sansa seemed to wilt under Arya's rage.

"I know," Sansa admitted. Sheepishly. "But the Northern lords won't be happy tomorrow when they learn Jon has bent the knee."

Arya's eyes hardened. Sansa saw his sister's hands flit to the dagger she wore at her waist. Stroke it. Lovingly.

"If I see any of these Northern lords so much as looking at Jon the wrong way," Arya said. Her eyes grew deadly. Vacant. "I'll kill them. I'll kill all of them."

"Arya," Sansa said. Shaking her head. "You can't!"

"Anyone who gets in Jon's way is my enemy," Arya said. Quietly. Menacingly. "Anyone."

An uncomfortable moment passed between the sisters. Arya defused the moment with a little smile.

"And yes," Arya said. "I like her."

And then Jon called for Sansa. Arya watched her sister walk towards Jon. Her hand still on the dagger.

Sansa found herself watching the Dragon Queen closely. Her face gave nothing away. Daenerys' eyes, which had been so soft and warm as they looked at Jon, had turned as frosty as the tips of mountains of the North when examining Sansa.

Her exotic lady in waiting hovered in the background, sharing silent, pregnant looks with the Dragon Queen.

"Thank you for your hospitality, my lady," Daenerys said. Her smile never quite reaching her eyes. "I hope it hasn't been too much of a burden."

"Not at all, your grace," Sansa said. Curteously.

Daenerys nodded and gave Sansa her back, indicating that the conversation was at an end. However, after a moment, she felt the northerner linger.

"Yes?" Daenerys asked. Forcing herself to keep her voice even.

When Daenerys saw Sansa hesitate, she gave a wry smile.

"Speak your mind, my lady," Daenerys said. "I am a guest in your home."

Still, Sansa waited another moment,

"Jon is the most stubborn man I've ever met," Sansa declared.

Daenerys gave her a look that said 'I agree.' And waited.

"So how did you do it?" Sansa asked.

"Do what?" Daenerys replied.

Sansa forced herself to smile. They both knew what she was talking about. And yet Daenerys had manouvered it so that Sansa had to make the first move. Sansa found herself admiring the play.

Littlefinger would have enjoyed meeting her, Sansa thought. A worthy adversary in the great game.

"Jon left intending to forge an alliance," Sansa said. "So you can imagine my surprise when I received a letter from him months later... declaring that he'd bent the knee. To you.".

"When I met Jon," Daenerys began. "I demanded he bend the knee. Twice."

Daenerys let a moment pass.

"And he refused," Daenerys added. "Twice."

Sansa didn't know quite what to say.

"I did not ask him the third time," Daenerys said, her voice growing softer at the memory. Of Jon pledging himself to her. "That was of his choosing."

"Was it?" Sansa wondered.

Daenerys disliked the impertinence in Sansa's eyes, but she reminded herself that she was speaking with Jon's sister.

"Are you accusing me of bewitching Jon?" Daenerys tittered, exchanging an amused look with Missandei. Her beautiful eyes glittered like rubies, Sansa saw. No man would have been able to resist those beautiful eyes, Sansa knew. And Jon was only a man.

"Is it so different from magic?" Sansa wondered. "A pair of beautiful eyes. A soft smile. A warm bed. These are dark and trying times, your grace. Men have given away kingdoms for less."

"You forget whom you are speaking to," Missandei's voice cut in. Her eyes were fierce and her voice was sharp as a freshly whetted blade. "Her Grace is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"It's all right Missandei," Daenerys said. Missandei nodded and stepped back.

"Most men," Daenerys agreed. "But not Jon."

The smile on Sansa's face was tight. Strained.

"Men are men, your grace," Sansa said. "And words are wind."

Daenerys knew Sansa's words came from the bitter draught of experience. She felt a twinge of pity for her.

"Jon and I," Daenerys began.

"Are in love?" Sansa asked. Her voice turned scornful. "That's awfully convenient, isn't it? Falling in love with perhaps the only person who can secure the largest part of your kingdom?"

Daenerys gave her a frozen smile. The twinge of pity became a ball of fire in her stomach.

"Understand each other," Daenerys said. "We're the same."

Sansa didn't understand.

"Are you a queen, my lady?" Daenerys asked.

"No," Sansa said.

"I am," Daenerys said. "And until your brother pledges himself to my cause before the northern lords, he is still a king. Your king."

"That's the best part about being a monarch," Daenerys added. "You can do entirely as you please."

This time, Sansa knew the conversation was at an end.

Missandei watched her queen walk around her new chambers after Sansa had departed. Gazing at the wall. Running her hands over things. She spent quite a bit of time admiring the fireplace.

"Missandei," Daenerys said.

"Yes your grace?" Missandei asked.

"Come closer," Daenerys said, gesturing to the fireplace. "Warm yourself."

"Thank you, your grace," Missandei said.

The women held their hands out over the fire. Letting it warm their chilled bones.

"What do you think of it?" Missandei asked.

"The North?" Daenerys asked. "Or Winterfell?"

Missandei shrugged. Both, she meant.

"It's certainly not Dragonstone," Daenerys said. Running a critical eye over everything.

Missandei smiled.

"But I like it," Daenerys said. "It's...homely."

Missandei saw her queen admiring the fireplace. A little smile playing on her lips. Missandei knew where her queen's thoughts lay. Missandei was dying to ask. It was a topic both of them had studiously ignored all the way here. But she knew she needed to be delicate.

"Would you like a bath, your grace?" she asked.

"Mmmm," Daenerys said. "Thank you. That would be nice. The road has left me feeling filthy."

Missandei ordered the servants to fetch them some warm water.

"Your grace," she began.

"Hmmm?" Daenerys said. Not really paying attention.

"What happened between yourself and Lord Snow?"

The question shocked Daenerys. The sheer boldness of it. From Missandei, no less. Daenerys didn't know what to say.

She searched for a response and found none. So she did what any royal person would do. She seized upon the tinest bit of offence she could find. Quickly.

"He's not a Lord Missandei!" Daenerys said.

Mustering up as much false anger as she could.

"Your grace?" Missandei blinked.

"Jon is not a lord," Daenerys said. Heatedly. "He's still the King in the North!"

Her queen was rather touchy when it came to northerner, Missandei thought. Supressing a grin.

"Of course," Missandei said. "Forgive me, your grace. I meant no offence."

"Honestly, Missandei," Daenerys chided her. "I'm surprised at you."

Daenerys gave her handmaid the most disappointed look she could conjure. Then she looked away.

Daenerys prayed Missandei would leave the matter there. For a moment, Daenerys thought she was safe. And then Missandei spoke again.

"What happened between yourself and... the king?" Missandei said. Choosing her words with the utmost care.

The king she said, Daenerys noted. Not the King in the North.

Daenerys knew she should correct Missandei, but for some reason, she found herself unwilling to. Besides, she liked the sound of it. It was something that didn't escape Missandei's attention either.

"Missandei," Daenerys said. She tried to make herself sound stern. But her voice was soft.

"Forgive me your grace," Missandei said. Feigning hurt. "I know I shouldn't pry. It's not my place."

Daenerys saw her turn to leave. Suddenly, Daenerys realised how just much she wanted to tell someone. Anyone. What she was feeling. Truly feeling.

She could never tell any of the others, she knew. Varys. Tyrion. Grey Worm. Jorah. It was out of the question.

Missandei was the only one she could talk to, she realised. The only one she could confide in. The only one she could trust with this.

"Missandei," she said. Touching her on the shoulders. "I spoke harshly and without cause. Forgive me."

For a moment, Daenerys feared she'd leave. But when Missandei turned to her, she was smiling. Mischeviously.

"And?" Missandei asked.

Daenerys gave Missandei a stern look. Well, she tried. And utterly failed.

"I..." she began.

Daenerys didn't know what to say. And yet, she knew, she wanted to say something. Needed to say something. Missanei saw a thousand emotions flash across her queen's face.

"Missandei," Daenerys said. Dropping her eyes. Blushing. "You shouldn't ask these things of me. It's not proper."

"If you don't want to tell me your grace..." Missandei said. Teasingly.

Daenerys wanted to tell her, Missandei knew. Was dying to tell her. She saw her queen search for the right words. She saw her look exasperated. And then saw her queen smile when she found just them.

"Many things," Daenerys said. With a sly smile.

"Many...things?" Missandei grinned.

She knew exactly what those words meant. The women smiled at each other.

"He seems like a good man," Missandei said. Delicately.

And suddenly, Missandei found herself abandoning all propriety and clasping Daenerys' hands.

"Is he good to you? Does he treat you kindly?" she asked.

Missandei found herself hoping that he did. Praying he did. Her queen had suffered so much in her young life. She couldn't bear to see her hurt again.

Daenerys saw the emotion writ large on her handmaid's face. In her eyes. Concern. Love. Care. It warmed her heart, to know, once again, that she was loved in this world. Made her smile. Daenerys found herself wanting to reassure the young woman.

You are a good friend Missandei, she thought. Loyal. Faithful.

"He is. He does," Daenerys nodded. She let out a little breath. Smiling to herself. The words came easy now. "He's kind. And sweet. And gentle."

"Not too gentle, I hope, your grace," Missandei interjected. Naughtily. Pursing her lips.

Daenerys' eyes widened. She shot her friend an incredulous look.

"Missandei!" she said. "What has gotten into you?"

And then Daenerys remembered exactly what had gotten into Missandei: Grey Worm.

The thought made her giggle. Which made Missandei giggle. Then the women were laughing.

"You look happy," Missandei said. Squeezing her queen's hands. Gently.

"I am happy," Daenerys said. She smiled. Wide. Her eyes shone with happiness. "I've never been more..."

And suddenly, Daenerys stopped. Missandei saw a look on her queen's face. A shadow pass over it.

"Terrified," Daenerys said.

Misssandei gave her queen a sympathetic look.

"I'm afraid sometimes too," she said. "For Grey Worm."

Daenerys shook her head.

"You don't understand Missandei," she said. "I've never felt this. Not this."

Daenerys withdrew her hands from Missandei's. She clasped them around herself. Stood close to the fire. Allowing it to warm her.

"Jon isn't like the others," Daenerys said. "Drogo. Daario."

Daenerys let out a little laugh. The comparison between her former lovers and Jon seemed absurd. Even the memory of Drogo was nothing to her compared to what she felt for Jon.

I thought I loved them, Daenerys thought. Shaking her head. I thought I knew. I had no idea.

"Jon is different," Daenerys said.

"Different. How?" Missandei asked. Delicately.

Daenerys searched for an answer.

"He pet Drogon," Daenerys said. Suddenly. The memory assailed her. As if she could ever forget that day. After she'd returned from battle. Looking down at him from atop her largest dragon.

He looked so small then. For once, he wasn't towering over her. It made her feel powerful. Like a conquerer. A queen.

She hadn't stopped Drogon from approaching Jon. Even she didn't know why. She was at the ready to call Drogon off. But something had stopped her. Something she couldn't explain. She wanted to see what would happen.

"What do you mean?" Missandei asked.

"He pet him," Daenerys said. Her eyes widened. With amazement. "As if Drogon was a child."

Missandei let out a nervous laugh.

"That's...impossible. A dragon is not a child."

"Impossible," Daenerys said. "Yes. I know. But I was there. I saw it."

Just the memory of it was enough to inflame her passions.

That was the day, Daenerys realised. The day she finally admitted it to herself. That she wanted him. After she'd seen him with Drogon. Looking back, she knew it was a test. To find out if he was worthy of her.

Missandei looked bewildered. Daenerys found herself explaining further.

"Something draws me to him," Daenerys said. "Something I can't explain. Something I don't understand."

"It's new," Missandei said. Soothingly. "All new things are exciting."

"It's not that I want him, Missandei," Daenerys went on.

Fixing Missandei with an imploring look. As if she were begging her to understand. She found it hard to say the words. But she needed to. To tell someone.

It's that I need him. And I've never needed anything before, Daenerys thought to herself. Ever.

Daenerys took a pained breath. And touched her stomach.

"When we're apart," she said. "It's like...it's like I can't breathe."

Missandei understood. Finally.

"You love him," she said. Quietly.

Daenerys said nothing. For a long time. And then she spoke.

"I can't lose him Missandei," Daenerys said. Her voice quivered a little. And then it became firm. "I won't. Not for anything. Not for anyone."

I'd let the seven kingdoms and everyone in them burn to save him, Daenerys vowed. I'd give my life to save him.

"Nothing bad will happen," Missandei said. Soothingly.

Daenerys smiled. Sadly.

You don't know Missandei, she thought. You haven't seen what's coming. The army of the dead.

"Something bad always happens," Daenerys whispered.

She felt a chill run through her body. She wrapped her arms around herself. And then she stared at the fireplace.

Jon, she thought. Return to me soon, my love. I miss you. I need you.