Once they had located the Kingsroad and begun to follow it North, Dany glanced back at him and said, "Is that what Ser Davos was talking about, before you quieted him? You took a knife to the heart for your people, you even gave up…"

He sighed and planted his hands on his hips, staring down at where Drogon's feet had churned up the mud.

"I gave up my life. Yes."

"How did it happen?"

"I was betrayed. Stabbed by four men who thought I was betraying them, that I was betraying the entire Night's Watch by allying with wildlings. I understand why. The Watch has been fighting wildlings, real people they could see, for centuries. And then comes me, newly made Lord Commander, and young, and a bastard on top of it all, and I was telling them to ally with the wildlings to fight the undead.

"They were skeptical, as you are. As you should be. They could not trust me. They felt they had but one choice, to protect the Watch. I even commend them for their loyalty, on days when I feel especially kind."

He leaned back, letting cold air rush in between them, and Dany felt movement against her shoulder blades. Looking back, she saw him rubbing his chest through his thick leather hauberk.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked.

"It hurt when it happened. While I died. But after… once I was back… no. It's just the… memory of it, that hurts. Phantom pain, they call it, like when a man loses an arm or leg but can still feel it. I know the wounds are healed. All that's left are scars. But I can still feel the knives inside me, sometimes."

It sounded horrible. She wished he had not had to suffer it. But what point were regrets? Nothing could be changed, now. Once she'd thought that not even death could be reversed, and she felt a flash of anger at Drogo's death, once more. If she'd had a red witch with her, that day when Drogo had been injured, perhaps he could have been brought back.

But if she hadn't been so bloody stupid to think a just-conquered slave would help her new owner, Drogo might not have died, either.

There were so many choices to make. So much well-meaning behind them. And in the end, everything would end as it would end.

Except for Jon Snow, apparently.

"So fire doesn't hurt you?" he asked.

"No."

"What does it feel like?"

"It feels hot. Like… Have you ever been licked?"

Jon was silent behind her for so long, she twisted around to look at him, and found his cheeks reddening. Against the small of her back, something was prodding her. She spun back around to face forward.

"Yes," he said, a bit hoarse, at last.

"It feels like that," said Dany faintly. "Except instead of wet, it's just… hot. But not painful."

They said nothing for quite a few miles after that. Soon, the prodding lessened and went away altogether, to Dany's mingled relief and… another emotion. Chagrin? Curiosity? She berated herself until her reasoning circled around to acceptance, and perhaps a little justification. She had not been with a man since leaving Daario behind in Meereen, almost six months ago. Jon was handsome, healthy, strong. He seemed caring. Passionate. Considerate. He'd probably make an satisfying bed partner.

However… Dany had always been once to banter and match wits, finding the waltz of a man and woman testing and tempting each other, to be an intriguing one, but it appeared Jon did not know how to dance. She wondered if he even knew how to flirt. Probably not. She should have found him dull as dirt.

And yet.

His personality appealed to her in an odd way— he was just as confident as Drogo had been, as Daario was, but without their arrogance. She'd not have thought his straightforwardness and lack of practiced charm could inspire her to more primitive thoughts.

And yet.

As they flew North, it became noticeably colder. Jon wrapped his cloak around her again. She wearied of holding herself so erect in a last-ditch attempt to maintain some sort of professional distance, but after all day yesterday and then today, her back was sore and she allowed herself to relax against him. His arms tightened around her. She felt like she rested in a lover's arms. It was false, but for the moment, it felt real, and she had so few opportunities to just… be. Not one of her many titles, not a queen, just Dany. She was tired of fighting herself, of fighting her attraction to him. Perhaps, even if they could not come to some accord about who the North belonged to, they could come to some sort of… more personal agreement.

Until then, however…

With a muffled groan, she sat up straight again. Cold air rushed into the gap between them until he closed the little distance.

"Something wrong?" he asked. "I don't mind you leaning back, if you're tired."

"Thank you," she replied, but did not rest against him again.

After another hour, Dany could see a forest in the distance, and a river up ahead.

"We're almost there," said Jon. "Once we cross the river, it's just a few miles beyond there. It's in the middle of a plain, you can't miss it."

He sounded eager to see his home again, and no wonder. A dart of envy pierced Dany's heart. How she ached for a home, a place she could always return to, where she belonged and was safe. Halls and rooms she could walk blindfolded, so familiar were they. She supposed that for her, Dragonstone was 'home', but it was a ghastly place, especially in comparison to the warm breezes and pale colors and flowing silks of Pentos. Dragonstone was unrelenting rock, scoured by hard salt winds, utterly lacking in softness and light. When she was queen, she would assign rule of the castle as a punishment to any lords who might displease her.

One question about Jon yet persisted.

"How did you return to life?"

His indrawn breath in her ear told her she had surprised him.

"The red witch Melisandre brought me back."

Dany hummed in thought. "She is why I asked you to journey to Dragonstone."

He stiffened in surprise. "She was there? What did she say?"

"Just that you had seen things that I should know about. That you have a role to play in the upcoming war."

"I banished her from the North. She sacrificed to her god a child who was dear to Ser Davos. Burned the girl alive."

She sucked in a breath.

"Davos wanted to execute her, but…" He sighed. "I couldn't do it. Because she's a woman, and because of what she'd done for me. I wasn't happy to be revived, but it happened. She gave me a second chance, to be here to take care of my sister and serve my people. I spared her life in payment of that."

She contemplated a world without him. Her life would doubtless have been far easier, without a king in the North to have to bully into bending the knee, but… the world was a harsh place. A cold and uncaring place. There was little true chivalry in it, little real honor, little genuine compassion. It needed a Jon Snow in it. She herself had a god-directed destiny, a birthright, but she was coming to see that Jon had one of his own. She hoped she could find a way for them to fulfill those destinies without having to clash with each other. She did not want to have to destroy him.

Finally the squat, round towers of Winterfell appeared in the distance.

"They'll have sentries watching, so they'll see us arrive," said Jon. "If Drogon puts us down outside the gate, there will be less…"

"Fuss?"

"Screaming panic," he said with a grin. "I can't wait to see their faces."

Down, my love, she told Drogon, and he began to coast toward the ground. As they descended, she could see a small assembly on the plain, all ranged around what appeared to be a funeral pyre. Drawn by the sight and sound of Drogon overhead, more people began to spill from within the castle walls, neck craned back to stare up at them in the sky.

"Someone has died," she said.

"Wonder who?" replied Jon, concern in his voice. "Can we land nearby?"

Dany asked her dragon to do so, and with an ear-splitting scream he banked hard— making Jon hold her so tightly she could scarcely breathe— and then dropped the last fifty feet straight down with a massive thud. Drogon was at the end of his patience in taking orders that day, it seemed.

Unnecessary to rattle our teeth in the landing, my beauty, she told him, more of a joke than a scold, and gave his spiky neck a fond pat.

"Here they come." Jon leaped down and then held his arms up for her.

She was surprised at that, and more than capable of hoisting her own carcass to the ground, but why not? Flinging her leg over Drogon's neck, she hopped off, caught right away by Jon. For the barest moment, they were pressed together from shoulder to knee, and their eyes caught, but then Drogon glimpsed sight of a family of deer standing at the edge of the dense forest. Clearly finding them a suitable meal, off he raced to catch his dinner, and Jon hastily set Dany down before heading briskly toward the mass of people standing a few dozen feet away by the pyre, motionless, staring in shock. She followed at a rather more sedate pace.

"Bet you'd not have expected such an entrance from me!" he called to them, and then his gait faltered, and he came to a sudden stop. "Arya? Arya!"

He began to run. Dany increased her pace, too, though remained at what she felt was a dignified trot.

A slight boy separated himself from the group, taking a few steps forward before starting to run, as well, and soon they had crashed into each other. They stood there, rocking back and forth, laughing and gasping, until Dany arrived to stand next to them.

Eventually, Jon said pulled back with the biggest smile she'd ever seen on him, and revealed the boy was really a girl. She wore a pair of small but wicked-looking blades, one to each side, and there was a coldness, a flatness behind her eyes that Dany had only seen in mercenaries. How did a girl that young become capable of so much?

But then, Dany mused, she was none too old herself, and look at what she had managed to accomplish.

"Your Grace, this is my sister, Arya Stark. Arya…" He gestured. "This is Daenerys Targaryen."

Arya stared at her for a long moment and then offered a shallow nod. "Welcome to the North."

Dany was a bit annoyed that he had not included any of her titles— not one!— but she supposed they did not hold as strongly to ceremony up here. It seemed a barren, unwelcoming place. She hoped, when she ruled it, she would not have to come visit it often. Perhaps she'd restrict her royal progresses North to the summer years only.

"Thank you," she said to the girl. By then, others had approached, and Jon was embracing another girl, this one quite as tall as he was, with lovely auburn hair and a regal air. Behind her stood two gigantic people, with matching expressions of apprehension and suspicion. The scarred behemoth looked exactly like she'd expected a Northron man to look: ferocious, rugged, and tough as old boots. The other was… a woman? Yes, a woman, though an ugly one, with hair almost as fair as Dany's herself, and her pale lashes framed eyes that rivaled any Targaryen's in beauty.

"We're glad you're back, of course, but didn't expect you to arrive like this!" exclaimed the girl when Jon released her. She turned to Dany and bobbed a graceful curtsy. "May I assume this is Her Grace, the dragon queen?"

Finally, someone who respected her titles. Even if she only used one of them. And not even one of the good ones.

"You may," said Dany, and reached out a hand in recognition of the girl's excellent manners.

"Your Grace, this is my sister, Sansa Stark," said Jon. "Behind her is her sworn shield, Lady Brienne of Tarth—" here the ugly woman gave her a brief nod, "and the big fellow looming around back there looks familiar to me, but I don't recall his name."

The big looming fellow scowled, looking very menacing indeed. Many men would have quailed at such a look, but Jon only looked confused.

"This is a particular friend of mine, from when I was in King's Landing," Sansa told them. She didn't touch the man, didn't move a finger, but when she looked at him, some delicious tension appeared to seize her, and the smile she beamed in his direction was telling. "Sandor Clegane, lord of Clegane Hall."

" 'M not lord of anything," he muttered, nodding distractedly at Dany while shooting a glare at Sansa, which she disregarded entirely. And rightfully so, because it was the sort of glare that long-married men gave their wives, familiar and loving at the same time it was exasperated.

Jon's eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. "There's a story behind that," he said, "but first tell me what you're all doing out here. Someone died?"

"We've so much to tell you, Jon," Sansa said. "But let's fire up his pyre so we can get back inside where it's warm, and then we can all talk about our adventures."

Arya's gaze flicked over Dany, at that. "Looks like yours have been far more interesting than ours."

"Doubt that," he replied, tousling her short hair. She ducked away and jogged back to the pyre, shooing the smallfolk back inside the walls.

They started over. "Lord Baelish has killed himself," Sansa told Jon as they walked, nodding when he gave a little twitch of surprise.

"He confessed to all sort of things," exclaimed Arya. She pulled the tall torch from where it had been stuck upright in the snow and waved it about. "He confessed to things we didn't even know he'd done. A small measure of justice has been served."

She did a brief, but crazed-looking, little jig with the torch, stabbing the torch into the pile of wood until it caught flame, then moved around the pyre until she'd set the entire thing alight. Clegane stepped back, a flash of fear in his eyes, before positioning himself behind Sansa and placing his enormous hands on her trembling shoulders. Jon watched them, clearly bursting with questions, but held them back for the moment.

They gathered around the perimeter of the pyre. It was a scanty affair, not very high and only as big around as was needed to prop the cheap, flimsy coffin on. As they watched the coffin burn, the sickly-sweet odor of roasting human meat filled the air. The smell even drew Drogon out of the woods, licking his chops of deer meat as he approached, each step making the earth shake.

Sansa and Brienne looked a little queasy from it, but Dany had seen— been the cause of— so much burning that it only made her nostalgic, and she wondered if she might be turning into a bit of a monster. Perhaps she needed an idealistic fool like Jon Snow to keep her from that descent into madness, the Targaryen's most persistent legacy.

Dany ambled over to Drogon and placed a hand on his nose, giving it a fond pat. She could tell he'd eaten well and felt drowsy.

"I see no mountains here," Dany said to Jon. "Are there any caves big enough for my darling to sleep in?"

He walked over to stand by her. Drogon just watched as he advanced, and then stretched out his massive neck so he could bump his head into Jon's chest.

Ours, he thought to Dany again.

Yours, perhaps, she thought back, a touch sourly.

Ours, Drogon insisted.

Jon looked between the dragon and Dany in wonderment, his face as delighted as a child's on his name day.

"If he promises not to burn down any of the trees, he can stay in the godswood for the night," Jon said.

My love? Dany inquired, rubbing between Drogon's eyes. He closed them in pleasure, then pulled away to make a running leap into the sky. She and Jon returned to the pyre.

"Who wants to say a few words before we send him to hell?" asked Sansa coldly, her demeanor having switched in the blink of an eye. No love lost on this fellow, then, Dany thought.

After an awkward little silence, Lady Brienne stepped forward. "He was an untrustworthy man, and caused a lot of suffering. I believe the world is better for his loss." And she stepped back.

Clegane didn't move, but he spat with admirable accuracy dead-center onto the coffin lid. "Littlefucker was a treacherous cunt. My only regret is that I didn't kill him myself. Should have done, years ago. Would have spared all of Westeros a lot of buggering trouble. Won't make that mistake again."

A plain-speaker, he. Dany could appreciate that, even as she winced at his indelicacy. By the way Sansa glowed at him, it did not seem an obstacle to her sentiments.

They waiting a few moments, but no one else was forthcoming, so Jon stepped into the breach. "Who's next?"