Daenerys glided through the courtyard into the smithy, looking for one in particular. Finally, she found him, giving direction to men older than he, but probably with less experience in the dragonglass, whilst completing work of his own. He looked nothing like a Targaryen, that was for sure, but there was a way he held himself, a confidence about him that bespoke a whisper of nobility, that it lay somewhere in his blood, under all the soot and dirt from the forge.

When she arrived, Gendry had his back to her, hammering away. "Excuse me?" she called out as loud as she could. He did not seem to hear her, but others noticed her. She tried again. "Gendry Waters?" Still, nothing. At last, with a sly grin on her face, she tried, "Lord Baratheon?"

It didn't catch his attention, but it did catch everyone else. All the hammering stopped, all eyes either on her or Gendry. He must have sensed something because at last, he turned to her. "Mi-mi-milady! I mean, your Grace! I mean…" He was sputtering, so out of sorts from seeing her standing there. The other blacksmiths were doing just the same, gawking at her, and maybe even at him. He finally noticed it and yelled to the assembled, "Back to work, the lot of you. Every moment sit around gobsmack is a moment a sword or arrowhead isn't ready for the upcoming battle!" That got the men moving again.

Daenerys looked around, seeing the workers toiling away. "You command them well, Gendry…"

"Just Gendry. Arya like to say 'Waters' but since my father never claimed me, I wasn't even given a bastard name."

"Did you want a bastard name?" She knew from Jon that it was a mark to be worn the rest of your life, something that set you apart. Not a trueborn child, but not abandoned completely by the father.

"Doesn't really matter to me either way, your grace," he muttered, getting back to his task.

"From what Lord Tyrion has told me, the Baratheon line has been extinguished. The Usurper is dead, he had no legitimate children, his brother Stannis is dead and his daughter burned at the stake, and Renly too is dead. And he, well, had other inclinations," she summed up.

"Not something I think about," he responded, trying to act nonchalant.

"Ser Davos also told me when he went to the Street of Steel to find you, you were eager to avenge your father, go against a family that tried to kill you." He stood up straighter at her words, a weary resignation in his posture. "And Lady Arya even made mention of it. A conversation the two of you had a few days ago, was it?"

"She was joking," he said defensively. "Besides, my father killed your brother, His Grace's father. You make your disgust with Robert Baratheon evident every time you don't call him by his name." Now he turned to face her. "Why make me a lord, the bastard of a man you hate?"

"Because you've shown yourself to be an honorable man. You kept Arya's identity secret when held by the Lannisters, you volunteered to go with Jon beyond the Wall, you came out and revealed your father to Jon."

He looked away. "Davos wasn't too happy with that."

"Ser Davos is a practical man, who has lost many he's cared about," she told him. In fact, Daenerys had come to appreciate Jon's advisor. He was a good, level head and a fine counterbalance to Tyrion. "I suspect he didn't want anything befalling you, especially in the presence of your father's enemy."

He smiled, then. It lit up his eyes and she saw he was an attractive young man, saw what she believed Arya Stark saw. "I was telling Arya that, now with the truth about who Jon's father truly is, I may have made another enemy. If Robert Baratheon had not killed Rhaegar Targaryen, it would be a very different world right now."

"True," she agreed. It was something she had often speculated about, how different her life could have been, if not for that death. "I may have had some loving family members, not a brother so hells bent on getting his throne, he'd sell his only sister for an army." She looked at him, gave him a smile. "But, the gods played out our lives this way."

He said nothing, just turned back to his forge. "Is there a reason you came to see me, milady?"

Sensing the moment had passed, she moved onto the other reason she sought him out. "I know you and the blacksmiths have been making swords and arrowheads and spears. Have you also planned on forging arakhs?"

He looked back at her, his face confused. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what an…"

"Arakh," she supplied.

"I don't know what that is," he finished.

She nodded, figuring that was the case. "It's a weapon used by the Dothraki, handy in battle on horseback. It may be wise to have those crafted as well. The remainder of my forces should be arriving soon. When they do, I will see that one of my bloodriders comes to show it to you to help your fellow smiths."

He seemed open to the idea. "That will be much appreciated, your grace."

"And perhaps at a later date, we could-" she began before hearing a shriek. Daenerys looked skyward, seeing Drogon circling above, seeking her out. Without a glance back, she said, "I will see that it is done, my lord." Before he could correct her, she was gone.

Daenerys headed out the gates of Winterfell, to the field that Jon had cleared so her children could have space to land. She didn't have guards, knowing the dragons were close enough to her there to protect her if someone made a move against her. "What it is?" she asked him in High Valyrian.

In answer to her, Drogon lowered his shoulder, allowing her to climb on his back. As soon as she was settled, he left the ground with Rhaegal behind him. They flew a little way south when she saw the massive host, riding and marching towards Winterfell. Daenerys had Drogon drop closer to the ground, so she could look for some people in particular.

Then she saw them. At the head of the host was Ser Jorah Mormont, leading the forces. A few paces behind him was Missandei, and some of the leaders the Dothraki appointed to her direct command.

Drogon made a few more lazy circles before landing, a great poof of snow bouncing around him. She dismounted from the dragon and awaited the arrival of Ser Jorah.

He was not more than a few minutes in joining her. "How has your travel been?" she asked. As he climbed off the horse, she saw him bundled up in cloaks and furs, looking every inch the Northerner he was.

"This is still the early winter, so it hasn't been very tough," he told her as Missandei pulled up alongside him.

"And you? How have you been handling the weather?" Daenerys asked her.

"It has been...interesting," her translator said diplomatically.

Having known the woman a few years, she knew what she meant by interesting. But it was Ser Jorah who she needed to speak to. "The Northern Lords have been gathering at Winterfell since we arrived. Among them is House Mormont."

He understood. "Ser Davos told me the lady of the house is my cousin, Lyanna."

"A formidable woman," Daenerys replied. "Jon and his sister Lady Sansa also told me of a death sentence on your head if you returned to the North."

Again, he nodded. "Will I be escorted directly to the block?"

She shook her head. "No. Lady Stark said that since the man who issued the sentence is, himself, dead, they do not feel it right to go through with it."

"The old way," Ser Jorah explained. When he caught Missandei questioning look, he went on. "In the North, before the conqueror came, executions were done by the man who issued the sentence. It was believed that it was only proper to face the accused before the sentence was carried out."

"Lord Eddard Stark is the one who issued the death sentence," Daenerys elaborated, "but he was executed on false charges by Lord Tyrion's nephew, Joffrey Baratheon. "As such, House Stark has issued a commutation of sorts. The only uncertainty is the young Lady Mormont. They have presented a case for you, telling her of your actions north of the Wall, and I have argued for you when you followed me in Essos. But I cannot promise that you will be welcomed back."

If she had not known him so well, it would have seemed as though it was unimportant to her. But Daenerys knew some part of him yearned to return to his home if only to see it one more time. "I did not return to Westeros to seek forgiveness from my family, so I shall expect none," he told her.

The Queen nodded. "I think it a good idea to ride the remainder of the way with you. I am sure the Northerners still have reservations about the Unsullied and Dothraki." She turned to Drogon, telling him to fly back to Winterfell as a horse was brought for her. Then they continued on their journey.

When they were within sight of Winterfell, Daenerys heard the horn sound out and within minutes, she, Jorah and Missandei were entering the gate of the keep. It was a surprise that none of the Starks had arrived in the main courtyard yet. In fact, the only person there to greet them was Lady Lyanna Mormont.

Daenerys got off her horse, as did the others, and approached the young lady. "Lady Mormont," she said.

"Your Grace," the young girl replied, but never did she move her gaze from her cousin.

"May I introduce my aide, Missandei of Naath," Daenerys said, presenting the translator, "the commander of the Unsullied, Grey Worm, and the commander of my Queensguard, Ser Jorah Mormont."

"My Lady Mormont." He spoke in a voice so low, it was nearly a whisper. Then he bowed before the girl, his eyes not meeting hers.

Lady Mormonts caught Daenerys, and anyone watching the scene, by surprise. She walked over to him, and hugged him, enfolding him tightly in her grip. He looked to be as stunned as everyone else, his arms hanging loosely around her small frame. From over their shoulders, Dany could see Jon arrive with Tyrion next to him. His dark eyes widened, taking in the image of Lyanna Mormont looking much like a normal young girl would look when greeting family.

Then the moment was broken, Lyanna standing back. "It has been many years since you have returned to Westeros, cousin," she said. "When you are freed from your duties to the queen, I should like to hear about them. Queen Daenerys and King Jon have told me many things and I would like to hear about them from you."

"I would greatly appreciate speaking with you when I can, my lady," Jorah replied, bowing again to her.

"Good. Perhaps we can break our fast together tomorrow?" she asked, a slight hesitation in her voice."

"I would be honored."

The Lady of Bear Island nodded once more, turned her heels and left the courtyard, only curtsying to Jon before she disappeared.

For his part, Jon was speechless, even when he joined the four of them with Tyrion by his side. Daenerys, though, smiled. She had a feeling it would play out in this fashion. She knew something about being the last of her family, the loneliness it felt and the happiness it was to discover you were not alone in the world.

Tyrion broke the silence. "I didn't think it possible for a Mormont to emote in such a way," he japed as he tossed a smirk to Jorah.

"She was alone in the world, the last of her family. Now, she knows there is someone still there for her if she needs them," Daenerys said, glancing in Jon's direction as Grey Worm and Missandei left to see how Daenerys' forces were settling in, Jorah went to speak with the Winterfell Master-at-Arms and Tyrion decided it was a good time to check in with Lady Sansa.

Alone now, Jon and she walked along together. "For once, Tyrion's right," he said as their eyes met. "I never have seen Lady Mormont look so…"

"Happy?" Dany supplied. "No matter what you were, Jon Snow, you had family, brothers and sisters, a father. You have no idea how lonely the world can be on your own." He seemed to grimace, a creese of worry evident on his face. "Have you learned anything about the circumstances surrounding your birth? I know you were speaking with Lord Reed."

"Aye, I did." He looked as if he did not want to speak of what he had found but then thought better of it. "Lord Reed told us of a box buried in Lyanna's tomb. It contains letters written by her and Rhaegar, as well as documentation of his annulment and their marriage."

"Letters?" Dany's eyebrow lifted with intrigue. "From the both of them?"

"Yes. The ones from my father had a red ribbon, ones from my mother, a grey one," Jon explained.

"Quite the symbolism," Daenerys commented. "And what did the letters say?"

He looked away from her as if shamed. "Sansa sent me to my room to make me read them, but…" He took a deep breath. "I don't know if I want to know the truth. What does it change? Does it bring them back? Does it bring back all the dead their actions caused?"

"It changes nothing, Jon Snow," she agreed with him. "But it tells you who they were, who they truly were." She stopped, remembering the mentions of Rhaegar during her childhood. "I've told you that I have two very different portraits of my brother. The great warrior, the gentle minstrel. But he is as much a mystery to me as he is you. And your mother. She was always thought of as some innocent damsel taken by force. Yet in conversation I have had with Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys since our arrival, her true self was much different." She took his hand, leading him back to the family quarters. "I would like to read these letters. I would like to learn more about my brother, and the woman he loved."

She could see his reluctance but he eventually gave into her. They made their way to his room and he opened the door for her. Once they were in there together, he let out a chuckle. "You're the first girl who has ever been in my room," he told her.

"I am honored," she said before turning to the bed. As he said, there were piles of letters, all save one still tied in ribbons. She picked up one of the piles and saw they were addressed, simply, the Crown Prince. "It looks like they were trying to make it not seem like what it really was," she observed, running her fingers over the ink.

"He was married and she was betrothed," he reminded her. "It looks rather bad even now. Can you imagine how it looked back then?" He picked up a few letters that as loose, and opened them, looking for dates. "This seems to be the first from my mother. 'To Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen. I wish to thank you for keeping my secret, but in truth, I cannot accept the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. I had heard much of your wife and she is indeed a beautiful woman. But I have my suspicions as to why you chose me. I did not defend my friend, in anonymity, only to have the eyes of the crowd on me later. I do not wish to create a scandal, as I am betrothed to Robert Baratheon. I wish there was a way to return the crown you presented to me, but please, forget about me. Or, if you are to remember me, simply remember the girl you found with the mismatched armor. Sincerely, Lyanna of House Stark'."

Dany had been looking through her brother's stack as Jon read, searching for the corresponding message. "To Lyanna of House Stark. I am sorry for the embarrassment my gesture caused you. I could hear Lord Baratheon the rest of our time in Harrenhal on the subject. Yet, when I inquired with a maester about your family, I found some interesting connections with research I have been doing for several years'," she read. "He goes on to talk about the legends of the White Walkers and the Long Night. 'My great-great uncle Aemon, maester at Castle Black, has also sent me books and scrolls on this topic. I wonder if you have heard anything about this subject?'" She looked at Jon questioningly. "Was there an Aemon as maester when you were in the Night's Watch?"

Jon's mouth turned down when she asked. "Yes, he was the maester until just before the mutiny," he said. "He died when I was at Hardhome, trying to rescue the Free Folk."

Daenerys was stunned, She had always assumed she was the last of her family. But it seemed as though coming to the North was when the truths about the Targaryen family dwelled, where the dragons flew to.

"He told me who he was after I learned that my father," he paused and she could see his uncertainty with the designation, "had been arrested and accused of treason. He spoke of learning when his brother's grandson, great-grandson, and his children were killed, how close he came to breaking his vows and deserting the Wall."

In that moment, Daenerys felt a connection with Jon, beyond their bonds of blood. It was more something in their blood calling to each of them, for them needing to be together.

Jon must have felt it too, because he stood, breaking the spell. She sensed his eyes on her, even with her face turned from him. "Daenerys…"

"I understand," she said, even if a part of her did not. All she wanted now was to ease the tension, and the only way she could think was to leave. "I am sure Tyrion is looking for me. I should leave you to your parents."

She was about to open the door when he walked over to her and handed her the letters from Rhaegar. "You told me you wanted to know more about your brother. Why don't you...borrow these, get to know him." His face was blank, but she thought he was trying to keep the atmosphere light. "Tell me about him, from them. And I can tell you about my mother."

She said no words as she took the letters and left. Eventually, she returned to her chambers, finding Missandei at the door. "Your Grace," she said, a familiar smile on her face.

Dany tried to school her features into something more befitting a queen. "It is good to have you back, my friend," she replied, a broad smile on her own. "I have missed you. Have our people been settled in?"

"Yes," Missandei answered, "and the Lady Sansa has given us a brief tour of Winterfell."

"And how are you adapting to the cold, my friend?" Dany knew the woman was having problems on the rest of the way, but that was during the day. Now, the night was falling and Daenerys Targaryen knew the darkness would not improve the temperature.

"I will survive, your grace." She noticed the letters Dany still held. "Are those correspondences that need to be reviewed?"

"Oh, no, actually, these are private. I would like to be alone now, to read over them. Dinner should be soon. Come and help me when it is time," Daenerys said. Without a word, the woman left, allowing her to turn her attention to the letters. Her brother's letters, to the woman he loved, the woman he married, the woman who followed him to the grave and left behind a son.

A son she was falling in love with.