So this is one that I'm sure a lot of you have been waiting for. We only get to see one side of it here, so you'll have to be patient for the rest. Fair warning, slight bit of smut at the beginning. It's nothing big (and it's my first attempt at ever writing something like that so I was a little tentative with it) but I should still mention it anyway.

Special thanks to my fantastic beta KT Armstrong, truly the best I could have asked for.

Also, I want to thank everyone again who's taken an interest in this story. We just passed 200 followers (!) yesterday, and it makes me so happy to see all the positive responses you guys have left. It gives me the motivation to keep going :)

DAENERYS III

The night after the council, Jon and Daenerys openly retired together to Jon's chambers. Jon had granted Sansa the Lord's quarters, giving Dany the opportunity to see his childhood room. It was medium-sized, but in a cozy, not cramped, sort of way. The pipes of heated water that flowed through the walls and the fireplace in the corner kept it warm and relaxing. The grey stone was similar enough to the walls of Dragonstone as to be a comforting reminder of home.

She stared at the man showering kisses down her body. The two of them laid on top of the furs in the bed. Their naked bodies were pressed together, as Jon lovingly peppered Dany with attention.

She writhed underneath him as he brushed his lips slowly down her neck. "I can't believe you did that," he murmured against her pale skin.

"Did… what?" Dany asked breathlessly. It was impossible to focus with his mouth working on her body like that.

"You admitted you loved me… in front of all. The. Lords." His voice was a whisper, husky and low, and he punctuated the last three words by planting a short kiss on each of her nipples and then her belly.

"Couldn't help it," she muttered back. "Thought it was… only way to get them to agree. Don't care what they think. 'M tired of arguing about the past. Want people to stop hating me because of my father…" She was so distracted she couldn't even form complete sentences. Each touch of his lips sent lightning bolts of warmth and pleasure shooting through her.

"How about" – he moved lower, kissing her inner thighs – "let's not talk about your father while we're doing this," he suggested.

Dany laughed. "Mmm, oka – ooh!" His mouth brushed across her sensitive nub, and her response was cut off by a groan of pleasure.

Jon abruptly pulled away. He positioned himself on top of her and brought his lips back up to hers. She eagerly melted into the kiss, their tongues dancing around each other, and then she felt him enter her. She moaned, and he grinned against her lips.

She would never get tired of that sensation. With him inside her, hitting her in just the right spot with every thrust, she felt full and complete. Sex had never been like this for her before. When she was with Drogo, they fucked, rough and with little passion. With Daario, it was almost sport, purely for pleasure. But with Jon… with Jon, they made love, in the truest sense of the phrase.

To the extent that she could still think coherently, she realized that she had been wrong earlier, when she thought of Dragonstone as her home. This is my home, Dany thought. My home is with Jon… wherever that is, wherever he might be.

She stared into his stormy grey eyes as they moved together, reveling in the love and adoration she saw in them. Love comes in at the eyes, her handmaiden Doreah had told her once. Never had she thought that statement more true than she did now, with Jon.

Within minutes, they reached their climax as they came together. Jon collapsed beside her, breathing heavily. Dany's body was wracked with shudders from her pleasure as she lay on the bed, panting. She rolled to the side and curled up against Jon's body, wrapping an arm around him and resting her head on his chest.

He hummed contentedly as he gazed at her tiredly, his eyes half-lidded. "You are the most incredible woman I have ever known," he told her.

"Have you known many?" she teased.

It was meant as a harmless jest, but he tensed underneath her, and she worried she had said something she shouldn't have. She was about to apologize and retract her question when he took a deep breath and heaved a sigh, threading his hand through her unbraided hair.

"Not intimately," he said quietly. "Only one other."

By his solemn tone, she guessed it hadn't ended well. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but she wanted to learn about this mystery woman. "Who was she?"

"A wildling girl. I met her when I was sent to infiltrate Mance Rayder's army. She was beautiful; red hair, kissed by fire. She was crass, but passionate, and she was one of the best archers I've ever seen."

"What happened?"

He sighed again. "It was doomed from the start," he lamented. "I was supposed to ingratiate myself with them so they trusted me, and then turn on them when they attacked Castle Black. They found out, of course, and I had to run. She chased me down and shot me full of arrows." He smiled sadly. "She only hit me in the legs, the shoulder. She didn't want to kill me. Later on, we encountered each other during the battle at the castle. She had an arrow nocked at my head. I don't know if she would have released it if one of my brothers hadn't shot her in the back."

He gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. "I held her in my arms as she died, and all I could think was how much of a fool I was to let myself care for her. And the boy who shot her… I wasn't sure if I wanted to hug him or kill him. Fate has a cruel sense of humor, I suppose; he was the one who stabbed me in the heart, so I ended up killing him anyway."

Dany traced the scar he mentioned tenderly, then kissed it. He shivered.

"Did you love her?" she asked him.

He stared into her eyes. "I thought I did," he whispered torturously. "Now I don't know. Maester Aemon once told me that love is the death of duty. But I betrayed Ygritte for the sake of my duty to the Watch, so how could it have been love? And when I think about doing the same thing to you…" He shuddered. "I don't know that I could."

"I know, Jon," she consoled him softly. "I know. I'm sorry you had to make that choice. I pray that it will not be required of either of us in the future." Then she frowned. "Aemon… is that not a Targaryen name?"

"Yes. He would have been your… great-great uncle, I think. He abdicated the throne to his brother and joined the Night's Watch. He was over a hundred years old when I first met him, but wise and just as sharp as I'm sure he was as a young man."

"'Was'… is he dead?"

Jon paused. "Yes," he answered. "I'm sorry."

Dany sighed. "Another relative of mine I will never know. My family is gone, and all I will ever know of them I have to hear from others."

"Hey…" Jon cupped her cheek and drew her eyes up to his. "You have a family here now. We aren't married yet, but when this war is over, we will be, and then we will officially be your family. But even before that, me and Arya and Bran and even Sansa, all of us can be your family. They may not accept it yet, but I meant it when I said that everyone will come to see you for what you are. They'll all come to see you the way I do." He brought their faces together and their lips met once more.

"And what if they don't?" She was only half-joking; a part of her was concerned that the Northerners would never be able to accept her, no matter what they'd said earlier that day.

"They will," he insisted confidently. "And if they don't, then what does it matter? You'll always have me, I promise you that. I am yours and you are mine, from this day, until the end of my days."

She smiled, grateful for his reassurances to her. "Until the end of my days," she echoed, and kissed him again.

Dealing with the Kingslayer had been an unexpected (and moderately unpleasant) surprise for Daenerys.

It was only her second time seeing Jaime Lannister, but the first time that she'd had the opportunity to actually speak to him. She had anticipated his appearance to rouse fury in her over the murder of her father, but she had been surprised to find herself less angry over that than she was over the crimes he had apparently committed against the Starks.

The reason for that was simple enough once she considered it. Aerys Targaryen was an evil man, a cruel and ruthless King. He would have razed a city and everyone in it to the ground if Ser Jaime hadn't betrayed him; even though he was her father, Dany couldn't deny that he deserved his fate.

The Starks, conversely, did not. They were good people, kind and just and fair, who simply found themselves in unfortunate conflict with a family that lacked morals or honor.

And yet… Jaime's speech and obvious remorse had a noticeable effect on Jon. As he kept reminding everyone, they needed every able fighter they could recruit for the fight ahead. Though Jaime was not as skilled with only one hand, his experience as a military commander would be invaluable. Besides, Dany and Jon had been desperate enough as to be willing to accept help from Cersei; if they could ignore everything she had done against them, surely they could do the same for Jaime.

Of course, that didn't mean she needed to be friendly with him. In fact, she intended to avoid interacting with him as much as she possibly could. She would be courteous if she encountered him, but she would prefer not to be forced to pass judgement about her true feelings regarding the man.

Predictably, Sansa was less than pleased with Jon's decision. As Dany departed the Great Hall afterwards, she saw her pull him aside into an unoccupied hallway, and her raised voice followed Dany as she walked away. Jon, she noticed, never raised his to match. She wasn't close enough to make out what they were saying, and she didn't want to eavesdrop, so she walked away before anyone noticed her presence.

She was still learning her way around Winterfell, and she took a wrong turn and ended up on a balcony overlooking the training yard. Instead of continuing on to her and Jon's chambers, as she'd originally intended to do, she decided to stop and observe the men for a little while.

Shortly, Jon – fresh from his argument with his sister and likely needing to blow off some steam – emerged out into the snow-covered yard. He had shed his cloak, opting to wear only his boiled leather armor and his pants. He was followed by the other knight Ser Jaime brought with him – Ser Bronn? – who had changed into a similar outfit.

Bronn offered to be Jon's partner, so he nodded and they both headed over to a weapons rack. They each pulled out a blunted steel training sword, and within moments, had started circling each other intently. Then Bronn stepped forward and swung at Jon, and the fight began.

Dany watched with admiration as she watched Jon fight. He was strong, but graceful, every movement calculated and precise. Bronn was skilled, too, it seemed, but Jon was steadily pushing him back.

"He's good, isn't he?" said a voice beside her.

Startled, Dany turned her head.

Arya Stark was standing next to her at the rail, her hands clasped behind her back as she spectated the duel. Dany noticed she shared her grey eyes and dark hair with Jon, features the other Stark children lacked. After a moment, Dany turned her attention back to Jon and Bronn.

"Yes, he is," she said.

"Not as good as he could be, though," Arya added. When Dany turned to look at her questioningly, she indicated Jon with a nod as he blocked a strike from Bronn. "That last parry was slow. It was a feint from Bronn, one he didn't read. He only saved himself from a solid whack on the head because he was able to react at the last moment and bring his sword around."

"Forgive me, Lady Arya, I'm afraid I'm rather ignorant of the subtleties of swordplay. But if he possesses the reactions to block the strike, isn't that just as useful as reading a feint?"

She got the impression Arya was amused. "It can be," she replied, then smiled wistfully. "'But the seeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of it.'" She turned to face Dany. "And I told you… it's just Arya. I'm not a lady."

She hadn't once called her "Your Grace," Dany noticed. She could tell Arya wasn't one for niceties – including honorifics, apparently – so she didn't begrudge her the omission. Besides, from what Jon had said about her, she seemed like the type of person Dany would enjoy the opportunity to know better.

"You seem to know quite a bit about swordplay… Arya," she said. "Jon said you were always more interested in wielding a sword than a needle."

This time, she knew Arya was amused. The young Stark girl grinned wryly and said, "Why not both?" Then she stroked her chin thoughtfully. "What else has Jon said about me?"

Dany tilted her head. "Did I live up to your image of Queen Visenya?"

Arya snorted. "How often have you two talked about me?"

"Only once."

"And how, I wonder, did that subject arise?"

Dany recalled the night she'd learned of Viserion's resurrection, when Jon had tried to comfort her by telling her stories about his siblings when they were younger. Her hands tightened on the rail, her fingernails digging into the wood, as she tried to reign in the memory of her sorrow.

Arya's brow furrowed as she observed the Queen's reaction. "I'm sorry, I –"

"No," said Dany. "It's alright. If we're going to trust each other, we need to be honest with each other." She took a breath and settled herself. "Jon was trying to comfort me after… after my dragon's death. He told me stories about you and your siblings from your childhoods to try to make me feel better; take my mind off the horrible news I'd learned."

Arya listened in silence, a contemplative look on her face. Then she said, very softly, "Jon cares about you. More than I've seen him care for anyone else. I can tell you care for him as well. I love him, too, and I trust him more than anyone. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because he trusts you, but now I don't think you need it. You're a good woman, and you'll be a worthy Queen."

"Thank you, Arya, your words gladden me." She hesitated. "Although, I wonder… would you, perhaps, be willing to give me some lessons?"

Arya's lips twitched, and after only a moment of deliberation, she nodded. "Of course, Your Grace," she said, and to Dany, she felt like Arya had suddenly deemed her worthy of the title. She experienced a definite rush of pride and satisfaction at that. "I'll have a sword made for you based on your height. Do you have any specifications?"

"I'll leave that to the expert to decide. I expect you know what's best."

"As you wish." Arya bowed and began walking away. She'd only taken a few steps when she stopped and turned back. "I like you, Queen Daenerys," she said, "And I know Jon cares about you a great deal, possibly even loves you. So I want you to know that if you hurt him, I'll cut out your insides and feed them to Ghost."

"If I hurt him," Dany replied seriously. "I'll give you the knife."

Arya smiled, then nodded. A few moments later, she was gone.

Dany turned back the training yard and resumed watching Jon cross swords with Ser Bronn. They were beginning to tire; their movements were much slower and more careful than they'd been at the start. She wasn't sure who was going to end up the victor. At this point, if either one of them lost focus for a moment, that would likely mean defeat.

But before the duel could end, a rather large man came waddling quickly out into the yard, huffing profusely. Both men halted the fight. When Jon saw the man approaching him, his face brightened and he broke out into a smile.

"Sam!" The two men embraced. "They told me you were here. How are you?"

The man, apparently named Sam, smiled. He was equally happy to see Jon, but he also appeared slightly uncomfortable. "It's great to see you again, Jon," he said. "Do you have a moment? Bran and I need to talk to you."

Jon glanced at Bronn, who shrugged. "Aye, we were just finishing up here," said Jon. "What is it?"

"Bran and your… sisters are waiting in his chambers," Sam said, ignoring the question. "Where is the Queen?"

Dany took that as her cue to descend from the balcony. She stepped carefully down the wooden stairs, being cautious not to slip. She strode over to Jon and Sam. "I am here," she said.

"Your Grace," Jon greeted, inclining his head. "Sam, this is Queen Daenerys Targaryen. My Queen… this is my friend Samwell Tarly. We were brothers in the Night's Watch. I sent him to the Citadel to train to become a maester."

Dany froze. Samwell Tarly… No. Did Lord Randyll have another son? If he did, and this was him… did he know what had happened to his brother and his father? She expected not, if he was still standing so calmly in front of her.

She felt a pang of guilt, but she squashed it quickly. She had been ruthless against Tarly and his men, but she still believed she made the right choice. Sometimes strength is terrible. Besides, if Sam didn't know what had happened, now was neither the time nor place to inform him of it.

She schooled her features into a respectful smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Samwell Tarly," she said.

"You as well, Your Grace," he replied, bowing.

"Now then, you say you have something to discuss with us?"

Once again, Sam seemed discomfited. But he nodded and said, "Follow me, please."

He led the way through the keep, winding through the stone hallways, until they came to a wooden door in one of the towers. Sam knocked on it twice, then pushed it open.

The room was surprisingly sparse. The floor was almost entirely devoid of anything; Dany supposed Bran preferred to have as much open space as possible, to maneuver his wheeled chair more easily. A hearth took up half of the far wall, and Bran sat in front of it. Arya and Lady Sansa were sitting on the edge of the bed, having arrived already.

"Bran," Jon said as they walked in. "What's going on? What is it you need to tell me?"

Sam shut the door behind them, and they stood together in the center of the room. He shuffled awkwardly. "Before we say anything, you should know… it might be best if what we tell you here stays between the six of us for now."

Jon's brow furrowed, perplexed, but he agreed. Dany and the others nodded as well.

"This is going to be a shock," Sam said, eyeing Jon. "But I promise you it's true."

"Would you mind getting to the point?" said Jon impatiently. "What is this about?"

"It's about your mother," Bran said suddenly. He was staring into the fireplace.

Jon stiffened. "My mother?"

"And your father."

"Lord Stark? What does –"

"Ned Stark is not your father, Jon."

Dany blinked in shock. What? Then who…?

The words had a far greater effect on Jon. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open. "What… what do you mean? How is that possible? Fath – Lord Stark always told me I had his blood."

"You do. Stark blood, at least. But not from him… from your mother. Your mother was his sister, Lyanna Stark. And your father… your father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

The words were delivered flatly, but they seemed to suck all the air out of the room at once. Everyone – except Sam, who was looking extremely concerned for Jon – wore matching expressions of disbelief. But Jon was by far the most stunned of all of them.

The blood drained from his face, and he stumbled backwards to lean against the door. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

Dany wasn't sure what to think. Part of her was ecstatic; until just seconds ago, she'd believed she was the last living Targaryen. To discover that she wasn't alone after all… it filled her with joy.

But she knew Jon wasn't seeing it that way, especially when he spoke. "Wonderful," he all but spat. "So I'm still a bastard, only now, my father is not the most honorable man in Westeros, he's Rhaegar bloody Targaryen, the man who kidnapped and raped my au – my mother."

"He didn't," Sam said softly, as if afraid that if he spoke too loud, Jon would lash out at him. "He didn't kidnap her, Jon, or rape her. They ran away together. They loved each other. And… you aren't a bastard, either. Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married Lyanna in secret in Dorne. You're legitimate, Jon… a legitimate Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar."

For a moment, Jon was utterly, frighteningly still. Then in one sudden motion, he spun around, flung the door open, and walked out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Dany winced as it hit the doorframe. She made to follow Jon, but Sam called her back. "Err, Your Grace, I think we should give him some time on his own," he said solemnly.

She didn't like it, but she nodded grudgingly. Then a thought occurred to her. "Wait," she said. "If Jon is the legitimate son of my brother, then…" She faltered. "He's the rightful heir to the Iron Throne," she whispered.

Ever since Viserys died so long ago, Dany had lived her life believing that it was her birthright, her duty, to take back the throne of her ancestors. Her whole world, her whole sense of purpose was based around the idea that the Iron Throne belonged to her. Now, to hear that it was all a lie, it was like having all of her foundations ripped out from under her.

But then she tried to view things from Jon's perspective, and suddenly, her problems seemed far more insignificant in the face of his world being turned upside down.

He, too, had just discovered that his entire life was based around a lie, only on a far greater scale than Dany. He needed her right now; if she truly loved him, she should be able to set aside her own insecurities and go to him.

"So Jon is actually… our cousin?" asked Sansa hesitatingly.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Arya cut him off. She stood and shook her head vehemently. "No," she said. "He's our brother."

"But Arya, you just heard –"

"No," she repeated, more forcefully. "I don't care if he's Rhaegar's son. Ned was his father as much as he was any of ours. He sheltered him, he raised him, he taught him; he lived with the shame of bearing a bastard his whole life to protect Jon from King Robert! This doesn't change anything, not for me. He still has Stark blood; he's still my brother."

After a while, Sansa nodded shamefully. "You're right. I'm sorry, Arya."

"I need to talk to him," Dany said. Her voice came out far more hoarse than she would have preferred.

Sansa and Arya glanced at each other. "You're probably the one he –"

They were suddenly interrupted by a screech. A shadow flew past the window. Dany's heart thumped in her chest. "No…" she breathed.

She threw the door open and bolted out into the hallway, ignoring the calls of the Starks behind her. She raced through the castle, her feet pattering on the stones, until she reached the main courtyard. One of the sentries was standing in the middle, staring out the gate with a stunned expression on his face.

"Where did he go?" Dany demanded.

"He walked out the g-gate," the guard stammered. "Then the green d-dragon just landed in f-front of him, and he climbed on it and f-flew away."

"Which way?" she snarled.

The guard pointed north.

Dany rushed out of the gate, into the open field. "Drogon!" she yelled.

Within seconds, the black dragon roared and dropped out of the late afternoon sky, slamming into the ground with an enormous crash. He lowered his body to the ground and allowed Dany to climb onto his back. Once she was settled, his wings gave two great flaps and he took to the air.

"Follow Rhaegal, Drogon," she told him in High Valyrian. At her command, he headed north, tracking the scent of his brother.

Sorry to leave it at that, but you'll have to wait two more chapters for Jon's reaction (evil smile).

But on the bright side... Tormund is next up.