Based on events during Episode 6 of GoT Season 7


Eastwatch was a dreary place. Daenerys wasn't sure how long it had been since they had landed here – only a few hours, probably – and yet, despite how anxious she was to leave, she couldn't. Not when there was still a chance he might have made it out of that horrendous nightmare alive. She had lost enough today as it was. Viserion was gone. Jon couldn't be gone as well. He just couldn't be.

'I left him,' Daenerys murmured.

She and Ser Jorah were sat in a room by the fire, while the others were carrying the captured wight on board their ship. Daenerys could hear Drogon and Rheagal crying out miserably in the distance as they flew around Eastwatch.

'Your Grace, you mustn't think-'

'I left him there to die,' Daenerys said, her voice shaking slightly. 'I should have stayed, why did I-?'

'He told you to leave,' Jorah interrupted firmly. 'If you'd stayed and waited for him, we would have all perished. You would have no dragons left. You saw how determined the Night King was. Jon Snow stayed behind to protect us. To protect you. He knew what he was doing, and he made that choice.'

'He was a reckless fool,' Daenerys muttered.

Jorah tilted his head at her. 'He was a brave warrior. A hero.'

Daenerys hastily wiped her eye. 'Y-yes he was. Is,' she corrected herself firmly. 'He might have survived.'

'Your Grace, I…I don't see how,' Jorah said, frowning. 'I'm sorry, but…'

'I'd like to wait for him,' Daenerys went on, turning away from the fire.

Jorah didn't understand. He clearly thought she was wasting time. It was hopeless.

'Just a few more hours,' she insisted, registering the cynical look on his face. 'I'm sure he would do the same for me.'

This comment seemed to change something in Jorah; he smiled sadly at her. 'I'm sure he would too, Your Grace.'

Not too long after, a Wildling by the name of Tormund escorted Daenerys to the top of the Eastwatch castle, at her request, so that she would have the best view. If Jon were to somehow escape and return to them, she would see him first from this viewpoint. Ser Jorah offered to keep her company but she asked to be left to herself for now. She needed to be alone to get over Viserion's death. She had never once comprehended that harm could befall her dragons. She'd thought they were invincible. She was in shock.

Daenerys grieved for Viserion silently, and without crying, as the hours slowly ticked by and she waited through the night and the unbearable cold in the hope that Jon might somehow appear through the woods.

It felt like her whole world had collapsed around her. She just didn't know what to do. The laments of grief from Drogon and Rheagal as they circled the castle echoed her own misery and hopelessness. Jon had literally given his life so that she, the rag-tag wight hunters, and her remaining dragons could escape unharmed. And she had abandoned him in return.

Dawn broke and yet still Daenerys continued to wait in anguish, even though deep down she knew that Jon was most likely dead. She had watched him drop through ice into a freezing lake, surrounded by thousands of deadly animated corpses. Who could have survived that?

When she heard Jorah's footsteps as he approached from behind, Daenerys' heart sank.

'It's time to go, Your Grace,' he said sorrowfully.

Her expression was agonised as she continued to look down the bottom of the Wall. 'A bit longer,' she said in an unsteady voice.

Jorah sighed. At this rate, the raging wind and bitter cold were going to make Daenerys ill. There was no point in her being up here any longer; it was too late. And yet still he could tell from her half-hopeful, half-desperate tone that she was still praying that Jon had somehow survived his plunge with the White Walkers beneath the freezing icy water. Jorah said nothing and simply took a few steps back, waiting for her.

Daenerys' lips trembled as she took one last look at the woods below. She knew she was being ridiculous, thinking he would have been able to escape. It was her own fault anyway, for what had happened to Jon. She should never have left him. And she would have to live with that agony and regret for the rest of her life…however long or short that may be.

She had just given up and turned away, when she heard the horn blast out from the other end of the castle.

Daenerys froze, hardly daring to hope. She and Jorah peered forwards as they heard shouts from the Night's Watch brothers and the Wildlings down below; something was approaching. Daenerys walked back over and felt her lips part in shock as she caught sight of the horse that had emerged from the forest down below.

'OPEN THE GATE!' came an urgent cry from below.

Even so far up, Daenerys could make out the familiar furs and matted black hair of the collapsed figure on the back of the horse as it neared to the castle, and she felt her heart soar.

He's alive.

She felt on the verge of tears of joy. Her breathing coming out in unsteady gasps, her heart racing like it had never done before, Daenerys hurried past Ser Jorah and rushed down the rickety wooden steps in her desperation to see the man she cared so deeply for her.

'Is it him? Is it Jon?' Daenerys asked urgently once she had joined the group assembled downstairs.

'It is, Your Grace, but he's not in a good way,' Ser Davos replied anxiously, and he stepped back.

Daenerys' eyes widened. They had laid Jon on the table; he was unconscious and he looked badly wounded, but what concerned her most was the colour of his skin – he was ghostly pale, and his body was shaking violently.

'He's weak, I can barely heart his heart. He needs medical treatment, now.'

'We've got some equipment on the ship-'

'Then get him aboard. Quickly!' Daenerys ordered, and she exhaled deeply as she watched the men prepare to carry Jon down to the port. 'How did he survive?'

'The thing you should know about Jon Snow is that he can survive fucking anything,' Tormund growled, and he chuckled bemusedly at her.

'What can I do to help?' Daenerys asked desperately.

'There's nothing you can do, Your Grace,' Ser Davos replied hopelessly, as they wrapped Jon's unconscious, broken figure more tightly in his furs. 'We'll do everything we can.'

She caught hold of Ser Davos' arm. 'Don't lose him,' she begged in a low, firm voice, and Ser Davos nodded determinedly at her.

Jon was quickly transferred to the ship for medical treatment; Daenerys followed not long after he had been brought on board, unable to keep away from him after the scare of the past day. Ser Davos and the rest of Jon's men had laid Jon down on the bed in his cabin. Daenerys stood in the doorway and watched fearfully as Jon was stripped of his mottled furs and leather armour. She felt her lips part in shock as she finally understood what Ser Davos had meant on the day of their meeting when he'd said that Jon had 'taken a knife in the heart for his people'.

His muscled chest was covered in deep, penetrating scars. They looked like stab wounds. Fatal ones.

Daenerys was astonished. In all their conversations, Jon had not once told Daenerys anything about these scars; in fact, he had determinedly hidden them and avoided the subject of Ser Davos' mysterious words in their first meeting. He could have tried to impress her with his scars and the tale behind them, but he hadn't. He was selfless…and clearly a natural leader, willing to give up everything for the good of the people. She knew now that no man could be more noble and worthy of Kingship than Jon, and she was in complete awe of him. What had this man been through? All this time Daenerys had spoken about her own troubling past, she had never once stopped to consider Jon's. It left her feeling rather ashamed, if not a little shaken.

The mere notion of falling in love with someone was something Daenerys had always regarded to be weak. It wasn't something a queen could do. But she could no longer fight it. She could feel it happening it in this very moment.

Finding it hard to tear her eyes away from his scarred chest, Daenerys began to shake her head slightly in disbelief.

Ser Davos looked up from Jon's bedside, apparently noticing her distress. 'Your Grace? Are you all right?' he asked.

'I…I just need a moment,' Daenerys murmured, and she backed out of the cabin.

She hurried down the ship corridor towards her own cabin, where she crouched down on the floor over her basin out of fear she might be sick. She suddenly felt very dizzy as everything came crashing down on her all at once. Jon's near-death, his scars, Viserion's brutal demise, the Night King, the Army of the Dead…all of it. It made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. But she couldn't do that. She must not do that.

Daenerys remained alone in her cabin for a few hours; they soon set sail from Eastwatch port, and she found solace in the reassuring sounds of Drogon and Rheagal flying alongside the ship. If only Viserion was there with them. While she watched her remaining dragons through her cabin window, Daenerys could feel her entire view of the world changing. Her coming to Westeros was not about winning the Iron Throne after all. It was about winning the war for the living. She could see that now. She wished it hadn't taken yesterday's experience to show her that, particularly after everything Jon had told her these past few months. But at least now she knew her purpose in this world. She had received a wake-up call about what really mattered. She thought back to the silly arrogant woman who had first introduced herself to Jon Snow, and was immediately overcome with embarrassment. How things had changed.

That evening, Daenerys finally left her cabin to go and check up on Jon. Ser Davos was hovering in the doorway, keeping a devoted eye on his king. Daenerys joined him.

'How is he?' she asked, watching Jon as he slept in his bed, the scars on his bare chest still visible.

Ser Davos sighed heavily. 'He'll live.'

'Those…those scars on his chest, what…-?'

'It's not my story to tell, I'm afraid, Your Grace. You'll have to ask him,' Ser Davos said grimly, turning away from Jon to face her. 'Not that he'll go into much detail. That was a dark day in his past.'

Daenerys nodded slowly. 'Can I stay with him? Until he wakes?'

'I'm not sure how long that'll be, Your Grace,' Ser Davos replied doubtfully, frowning. 'Could be hours, could be days.'

'Nevertheless, I'd like to be there with him,' Daenerys said. 'Please. He needs watching over anyway, and you've all done your part.'

Ser Davos considered her for a moment. The soft tone of her voice, the simple use of the word 'please'…he could sense a change in Daenerys Targaryen. The events of yesterday seemed to have shaken her very deeply.

'Very well, Your Grace,' he said kindly. 'As you wish.'

'Thank you, Ser Davos,' Daenerys said, 'for everything you've done for him.'

Ser Davos smiled and gave a short nod before departing for his own cabin for some much-needed sleep.

After washing and dressing into an old black dress, Daenerys then returned to Jon's cabin, and closed the door. All she could hear was the sound of the waves outside and Jon's slow, deep breathing. It was rather peaceful. She found a stool in the cabin and carried it over towards Jon's bed so that she could watch over him while he slept, to make sure that he was all right. The edge of his topmost scar peeked out from beneath the covers on the bed – huge, and right over his heart. Daenerys' eyes flickered away from his handsome face to stare at it, trying to take in what Davos' words from their first meeting might mean.

Suddenly in that moment she realised that being Queen didn't matter to her anymore. The Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms…just as Jon had said from their very first meeting, it was all pointless if the White Walkers were to invade, as they inevitably would. She had to focus on the fight ahead, and on what was right in front of her. There was no time for political games anymore. And there was certainly no time for treading on eggshells around a particular person. She didn't want to hide her feelings for him anymore. Yesterday had only shown her that life was too short for that. No more formalities, no more being cautious. She had to be herself around him from now on…even if that meant showing that she had fallen in love with him.


Jon was cold. Not anywhere near as cold as he'd been in that dangerously freezing lake, but still…cold. At least, his bare chest was anyway. His bottom half seemed to be covered by various covers and furs, though he wasn't sure. He didn't know where he was or how he'd got there. He couldn't even open his eyes. He thought of Uncle Benjen, how he'd sacrificed himself to save Jon from the White Walkers. He couldn't remember how he'd travelled back to Eastwatch…he seemed to have blacked out while on that horse…

He seemed to be lying on a bed, and Jon could sense a presence near him; Ser Davos, most likely. But no…as he stirred awake, he slowly came to the realisation that whoever was with him didn't smell like Ser Davos. There was a pleasant, flowery scent in the air. A woman's. And not just any woman's…he knew that smell.

His eyes began to flutter open. The sunlight streaming through the windows obscured his vision slightly, but even through his blurred sight he could make out the dainty silhouette and the long, curly silver hair sat before him. From the slight rocking beneath him, he guessed that they were back on the ship and out at sea. Eventually, his vision gained clarity, and he felt a surge of warmth at the sight of Daenerys sat there at his bedside in his cabin, watching him with a gentle expression on her face. His mouth fell open slightly as he drunk her in. He'd thought he was going to die back there on that island, surrounded by those monsters. He'd thought he was never going to see her again. And yet here she was. And she was so beautiful.

Daenerys' lips parted, overwhelmingly relieved that he was finally awake. She watched his pupils dilate as their eyes met, and it was only then when she realised that perhaps he might not want her here. After all, they had only seen each other in a formal capacity before – not with one lying injured and half-naked in bed. It wasn't exactly proper. But then again, after the traumatic events of yesterday, what did that matter?

Her crestfallen expression was what reminded Jon of the tragedy that had occurred at the hands of the Night King. Poor Viserion. Even though Jon had not encountered the dragons that much or been around Daenerys long enough to fully understand her special connection with them, he still knew what she had lost, what her dragons were to her. He knew what it meant to lose the ones you love.

Jon gazed at her in despair from his pillow. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, with a slight shake of his head. 'I'm so sorry.'

Daenerys shook her head desperately at him, pressing her lips together. His selflessness only continued to blow her away; his first thoughts and words were for her. She had been holding her tears at bay until now, because people had been watching, and she'd still had hope. Here with Jon and only Jon, she let go of hope and poise, and let the tears silently fall.

She looked down at her lap, grief-stricken, and without thinking, without even hesitating, Jon reached out and grasped Daenerys' hand. He was weak, but moved their intertwined hands to rest on the furs on the bed. This simple intimate act of holding her hand moved Daenerys to more tears; she had never been more grateful for someone's touch. Jon was relieved as Daenerys grasped his hand back tightly, glad that he had not stepped over the line.

The moment he had reached out to touch her, Jon knew that something had changed within him; ever since his resurrection, he'd been led to believe that his only purpose in life was to fight in this endless war and bloodshed, for the Lord of Light. But now he was actively reaching for something beyond all of that; he was initiating the beginning of something that he truly wanted, something he was ready to take, and something that he suspected (and very dearly hoped) that Daenerys wanted too. They were both on unfamiliar ground, particularly because they were more-or-less equals, but he did sense that the attraction there between them was no longer in his imagination. It was real.

'I wish I could take it back,' Jon murmured, his voice tired and weak. 'I wish we'd never gone.'

His words had an unexpected effect on Daenerys; her tears stopped. She knew that the fight against the Night King and his army was all that mattered to Jon, and that the hunt beyond the Wall had been vital to saving the living people of Westeros. For him to say such a thing, for him to lament so deeply for Daenerys, enabled her to bring her grief under control, so that she could speak. Slowly and reluctantly removing her hand from his, Daenerys looked at him and realised that he was not like any of the other men she had encountered.

She shook his head. 'I don't,' she said in a small, soft voice that Jon didn't recognise. 'If we hadn't gone, I wouldn't have seen. You have to see it to know…Now I know.'

Jon gazed at her, half-mesmerized, half-guilty. He hated that she was in so much pain. He wished he could do something, anything, to help her. And yet she was so determined to hold it together, and to see the good in the horrific events that had transpired beyond the Wall. He had truly never seen a woman like this before. Her beauty, her strength, her grief and the pain it made him feel…they all pushed him to the realisation that he loved her. He was thrown by this realisation. He didn't know what to do with it. It put him at a loss for words.

'The dragons are my children. They're the only children I'll ever have,' Daenerys said tearfully; it was crucial he knew this. 'Do you understand?'

Jon averted his gaze briefly before giving a heavy, contemplative nod, and he looked back up at her. A look of understanding passed between the two of them. An alliance through marriage had always been an option Daenerys had been willing to pursue in her rise to power, but she had never once expected, or even dared to hope, that this option could present itself in the form of someone like Jon Snow. From a political perspective, it was ideal – after all, they shared common values and goals. And they could no longer ignore the fact that they both had romantic feelings for each other. But Daenerys needed to be honest with him; she needed him to know that, if they did at some point in the future decide to go down this route, she would not be able to mother his children.

Daenerys paused briefly. 'We are going to destroy the Night King and his army,' she promised Jon. 'And we'll do it together. You have my word.'

Her eyes were still glistening with tears as she said it, yet her voice was determined and sincere. She didn't care anymore that he hadn't pledged fealty to her. All that mattered was that they were both here, flesh and blood, having survived a horrific ordeal. And they would fight against the enemy as one.

Jon swallowed nervously, completely blown away by the woman sat before him. Her words were music to his ears. She was giving him her support, without even getting anything in return. In that moment, Jon could see what so many had seen over the years; the force within Daenerys that enabled her to conquer everything in her path.

'Thank you, Dany.'

The words had come out of his mouth before he even had time to consider them. He wasn't sure whether he addressed her as 'Dany' in an attempt to form a closer bond with her or as a term of endearment. All he knew was that there was a sense of familiarity as he said it, a desire for affection that flooded him with warmth and relief. It felt so comfortable to speak to her like this. More personal. More intimate.

Daenerys smiled at him in bemusement. She was pleasantly startled; she couldn't remember the last time someone had called her something other than 'Your Grace', and she was unusually happy that Jon felt he no longer needed to be formal around her. But still, it caught her off guard.

''Dany',' she said bewilderedly, and she chuckled, cutting him short. 'Who was the last person to call me that? I'm not sure, was it my brother? Hm. Not the company you want to keep.'

'All right,' Jon said decisively, his voice still weak yet his tone certain. 'Not 'Dany'.'

He hesitated, considering her for a moment. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He took a deep breath, and was blindsided by the words that came out of his mouth even as he spoke them.

'How about 'My Queen'?'

It took a few seconds for Daenerys to register the words that had just come out of his mouth. Completely caught off guard, she stared at him, trying to figure out if he really was saying what she thought he was saying. Jon smiled slightly; it felt right to say those words. This woman had been willing to risk everything in order to help and save him and his men, even without initially believing him, and with no price in return. She had proved herself more than worthy of the title. She deserved it.

'I'd, err…bend the knee, but…' He trailed off awkwardly as he glanced down; he wasn't dressed.

Daenerys was in shock. She almost couldn't speak. She had made it very clear to him that she didn't require him to pledge his fealty anymore; she didn't care about all of that now, and he had her support without it. There was no strategical or political advantage for doing what he had just done. But he had named her his Queen anyway, not out of any political gain but out of pure respect and affection. He believed in her. He had called her 'My Queen'. And this meant more coming from his lips than the lips of any other person in this world.

'What about those who swore allegiance to you?' Daenerys asked dazedly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Warmth flooded Jon's face. She wasn't just asking out of concern that they would accept her as their Queen, but as Jon's Queen as well.

'They'll all come to see you for what you are,' he said, an almost proud tone to his voice as he gazed up at her.

Daenerys felt an overwhelming sure of relief and affirmation at his words, and she exhaled shakily. She been secretly clouded by self-doubt over her rage and decisions, and terrified that she would follow in her father's footsteps and become a Mad Queen. But now she had earned an ally – a real, respectful ally who she revered – who chose her and claimed her worthy to be followed. Unlike so many of the others, he could see past her harsh exterior to know that she was a good person at heart. It meant more than she could say to have earned his trust and admiration in this way; her eyes welling up again, she reached for his hand. Jon took it gladly, and they both gazed down, relishing the feeling as their thumbs gently stroked each others' hands. They never wanted to let go.

Daenerys gazed back at him tearfully. 'I hope I deserve it,' she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

She didn't regret showing her insecurities to him; in fact, it felt strangely comfortable. Jon was the only person ever in front of which she had allowed herself to show some vulnerability regarding her right to rule. She was allowing herself to bare her whole heart to Jon, and only Jon. And it felt good. It felt right.

Jon smiled up at her, touched that she was letting him see her as she truly was inside. 'You do,' he promised sincerely.

She could tell from the look on his face and in his devoted eyes that he was being genuine. He wasn't bending the knee to her looks or her power or her birthright but to her character – to who she, Daenerys, was as a true and real person.

They continued to gaze longingly at each other as they held hands. Daenerys' fingers moved against his, liking the way it felt. It took her a while to realise that she was probably letting on too much. Her eyes swimming with tears, she moved to pull away…only Jon stopped her. She tensed slightly as Jon pulled her hand back and squeezed it, slightly shaken as she realised in that moment that he did reciprocate her romantic feelings after all. Tyrion had been right all along. She stared down at their intertwined hands and then slowly looked up at him from underneath her long eyelashes; he was gazing irresistibly into her eyes, wordlessly reassuring her that she no longer needed to hide it anymore, that he felt the same way she did.

Glancing down nervously, Daenerys slowly pulled away; Jon let her this time, though noticed the way her fingers lingered before letting go. Jon's lips parted as he swallowed slightly. The tension in the air was tangible.

Daenerys was flustered. 'You should get some rest,' she murmured, her voice breaking slightly as she looked determinedly anywhere but those smouldering eyes of his.

But she couldn't avoid his gaze for that long; her wide, mortified eyes turned back to his, and a look passed between them, a look that acknowledged what had almost just happened. Jon nodded and closed his eyes. Daenerys watched him for a few moments longer; as he gave a heavy sigh and pretended to fall asleep, she stood up unsteadily, slightly shaken by what had just passed between them. She was breathless and her heart was racing uncontrollably.

This isn't good, she thought to herself.

But it was too late to stop it from happening now. She was in too deep, and, from the way Jon had held her hand and gazed at her, she knew that he was too. Jon listened, his eyes stayed shut, as Daenerys exhaled deeply and tried to recover her composure. Neither of them had known just how powerful their feelings – no, their love – for each other had been until today. But now they knew. Now they were utterly besotted, and there was no going back. Jon's eyes flickered open and he watched Daenerys go as she left the cabin. Her fingers twitched where Jon's gentle hand had been.