Jon paces the small room which has become almost like a prison in the days he has been there. He thinks back to how Drogon left them near the Blackwater river and he carried Daenerys into the city under the cover of darkness, following the Kings road, and entering the city through the Gate of the Gods. He found an old hand cart, lay Daenerys in it and covered her with his clock, then made his way to Flea Bottom, hoping to find friends there. He knew that Davos was from there, but the stink and poverty was still a surprise as he avoided the open sewer that ran down the centre of the street. Luckily, the way was lit by moon-light and all was still and quiet, but he felt observed. Unseen eyes watched him from alleyways and doorways. He passed a tavern and a drunk lay in the doorway unconscious.
Eventually he reached a crossroads feeling exhausted. Behind him he heard footsteps coming closer down the street and without thinking, pounded on the nearest door. The door creaked open and Jon pushed inside, pulling the cart in behind him and slamming the door shut again. The old man swore and raised his arm, but Jon grabbed it, easily overpowering him.
"Please," he whispered frantically, as he heard voices and footsteps in the alley outside, "I am a friend of Davos Seaworth, I need shelter and a surgeon."
"Davos?" the old man stuttered, "A surgeon?"
"Please, my friend is gravely ill."
Jon bent and pulled back the cloak covering Daenerys. In the dim light from a candle the red blood from her wound seeped through her clothing. Her face was deathly pale.
"A surgeon?" the man said harshly. "More like an undertaker you'll be needing."
"Please help me, here I have gold."
Jon took out a bag and spilled some coins onto the old man's palm. His face lit up and he smiled, showing rotten teeth. His hand closed greedily over the coins.
"Any friend of Davos is a friend of mine."
As the days past, Jon waited to be arrested and taken away to reach his end, the same way as Ned Stark, the man who was a father to him, met his in Kings Landing, but no one came. A sister of the old man arrived instead to nurse Daenerys, extracting the arrow from her side and cleaning the wound. Jon brushed Deanery's hair back from her face and kissed her brow, as she moaned in pain.
"Be strong for me," he whispered.
The old woman sang a song as she worked, and Jon felt himself relaxing. He was so tired.
"Is she your sweetheart?" she asked when she was done. "She is a fighter this one."
"Yes. Thank you for helping us."
The old woman reached out and patted his hand.
"Tis no trouble, we are not loyal to the Lannisters in this house."
The old woman's eyes were dark and seemed to pierce right into his soul.
"I see that you and the girl will help us out of these dark times, but do not tarry here for long as they will find out that you are here sooner or later."
The old woman's words came back to haunt Jon now as he paces, stopping to pause and look at Daenerys as she lays on the bed. She is getting better slowly, but it is not fast enough. Soon, they will be discovered.
He goes to her, watching her shallow breathing as her chest rises and falls. She looks small and frail, a shadow of the leader that she once was. He knows he must return to Winterfell and help his friends, but he does not want to leave her here.
How long before the white walkers reach Kings Landing?
They must be stopped.