"We made no plans this afternoon," Daenerys said, and Jon startled. "Tell me you weren't dozing off next to my dragon," she laughed.

"Why, it is rather comfortable," Jon smiled. He was leaning against Rhaegal's lowered wing, the dragon curled around him protectively.

"He likes you," Daenerys said softly, "He truly does. I wonder sometimes if he knew about you and chose you as his rider before I even suggested it."

Jon didn't answer. He couldn't tell whether he wanted to withhold the truth, or he merely felt ashamed of it, or he felt threatened. Because he did feel threatened. It lingered in his mind, whenever he looked at her.

She was somewhat otherworldly to him. The way she carried herself, even when she cried in his arms a few days ago, it was unlike any woman he knew. She had a certain grace about her, not like Sansa – Sansa's every move was graceful, when she spoke was graceful, she could wear a sack and look graceful and beautiful. Daenerys' grace was different, and not comparable. She was petite, so petite and she looked fragile to Jon, and Jon remembered how she felt in his arms by the waterfall no matter how hard he tried to forget. She felt fragile. Yet she had willpower that could have matched any man he knew. Her grace was strong, it made men want to fall on their knees in front of her. She was beautiful, that is true, Jon did wonder if she was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, as if he's seen many women before. He didn't really have the experience to compare, and that's where he left that. She wore her silver hair in intricate braids that were fashioned like crowns, and long curls, whenever she wasn't planning to ride her black dragon. Today it seemed she was planning to, her hair was in a long braid, but the tiny braids were still there. How much work went into creating these formations atop her head, Jon wondered. Perhaps that was Missandei's role, for the girl from Naath didn't speak or contribute much else to anyone. She seemed to be close to her Queen, that was all, besides her love affair with the Unsullied leader. A confidante, Jon believed her to be, one who knew the Queen's mind like no one else. It made him cringe to think of the secrets shared about him.

"May I join you," she asked dragging him back from his thoughts, "If I don't disturb your staring at me."

"Forgive me," Jon smiled, "I was wondering about your hair."

She laughed aloud, "My hair?"

"Yes, the braids in your hair. How they always look flawless," Jon explained as he moved to give her space on his cloak, and she sat.

"It's Missandei's doing," she explained, "She likes fiddling with it."

"I figured, for it must take hours," Jon laughed.

"Actually, it doesn't," she explained, "Surprisingly it's quite quick."

"Do you sleep with braids on your head then?" Jon said amidst his laughter, causing her to laugh louder.

"No, and you better not delve into how I sleep," she said, feigning the retorting of him.

"Oh no I would never," Jon said pretending to be sorry. "But now that I think of it, I bet you sleep with intricate braids on your head and those curling ribbons I used to see Lady Catelyn put on Sansa's head when she was little. And I bet you have some sort of giant knitted sack to wear against this cold, and the furs too."

"Well there it is," Daenerys remarked laughing, "You figured me out, Jon Snow!"

Rhaegal purred and moved his head closer to them. Jon felt the dragon's peace at the scene, calming him just as well. That's why he sat here in the first place, that's why he may have dozed off. Rhaegal offered him peace of mind, even calling him with his offer, as if a new level of connection had been established between them at White Harbor. Rhaegal was protective of him, Jon knew. He was just as protective of Rhaegal now, no matter how little protection of him Rhaegal needed. IT seemed to him that the dragon merely wanted his company, and he gladly gave it - after all, Rhaegal never pestered him for anything.

"We didn't make any plans," Dany repeated, "We're losing time."

"That would be my line to say," Jon smiled, "But you are right. We are losing time."

"I wondered if I could run an idea past you," she said, and Jon raised an eyebrow. Why would she consider what he thought was beyond him. She must've understood for she began to explain.

"You are the commander of all our forces," she began, "and you see clearly everyone's position, you've proven that, you consider all of us. I understand that they don't want to burn the fort to keep me out later. As if it would keep me out with my dragons. Anyway, there were woodlands to the west of Lord Reed's lands."

"Aye, there are," Jon agreed. "They're still Reed's lands, just not marshes. Those are his slightly more useful lands."

"I still think we could block the kingsroad. The dragons would be able to pull some trees and lift them here. We could burn that."

"Like a giant pyre," Jon remarked.

"Yes, something like that," Dany added, "we could dig up the road, if we have pitch with us we could line trenches, but also we could drop whole trees on the road, in a line from the fort, so they can only go into the marshes."

"And what would you want from me," Jon asked.

"Your agreement," she smiled, "Like I said, you are the commander."

"Then I say, do it, the more trees the better," Jon said as he stood, "I can explain to Reed why the rest of his lands will be turned into marshes, though I doubt he would mind that much. He likes his marshes."

"Does he really eat frogs?" she asked then as she stood as well, watching as Jon shook the cloak to clean whatever dirt he could off it.

"Aye, it's a fact," he said, "I mean to try that. There has to be something good in this war, exploring culinary curiosities and seeing Greywater Watch will do it for me."

"I'm not sure I can eat a frog," she said lowly, "Though I've eaten a horse heart before."

"Fried or cooked?" Jon asked as he fixed his cloak on his back.

"Neither. Bloody," she said, and Jon froze.

"Why on earth would you do such a thing?"

"It is tradition," she explained as they began to walk back. Jon giving a last pet to Rhaegal on his nozzle didn't escape her attention. "When a Khaleesi is with child, the Khal may seek the blessing of the Dosh Khaleen. The Khaleesi who can eat the heart, well it means the babe is the prophesised khal of khals. Uniting the Dothraki into one Khalasar."

"You ate the heart?" Jon asked.

"Yes, I did," she said, "And my stomach gave it back, so I ate it again from my hands." Jon couldn't help his own stomach turning at the thought. "It mattered little, I still lost my child and my husband because of that witch. My son will be the stallion who mounts the world, they said. I named him Rhaego."

"After my father," Jon whispered.

"Yes, after your father," she agreed, "I wish I've known him."

"That makes the two of us," Jon smiled, "I wish I could ask why he didn't march his armies north and dealt with the dead before they annihilated the freefolk."

"He couldn't have known."

"He knew, Dany", Jon said bitterly, "He knew, and Maester Aemon knew, that's why Rhaegar Targaryen chose my mother. Ice and Fire. He wanted to bring about the prophecy of Azor Ahai."

She sighed, there was nothing to say to this. "When I'm done with the kingsroad, perhaps you and I should talk some more," she said instead, "about what will come after."

"No," Jon's voice was stern and cold, "I won't talk about that, so let's not."

"But we ought to talk about it," Dany argued, her voice as soothing as she could make it while the rejection frustrated her.

"No, we don't," Jon said, "You have my word, that is all, there is nothing more to say about it."

She nodded, seeing that their closeness was gone. Perhaps he wasn't ready to talk about it. She'll try again. For now, she turned and left him for Drogon. She had work to do, work that she knew none will thank her for. She's meant to blockade the road to the North, just like Sansa Stark hoped. Daenerys wondered if Sansa Stark will appreciate that Daenerys' own dragons will do her work for her. But she wanted to. Not only because they needed it, but she had to convince Jon Snow. She had to make sure that she erased in his mind her words on that day he revealed who he was. It will take time, she knew that now. He wasn't angry with her, she knew that as well. That was a start.

Jon Snow is right, she had to admit. They were better to focus on the dead for now. Whatever comes after can be dealt with after. She noticed the men watching her as she walked past, as always. Their eyes were no longer watching the woman. She could see fear in their eyes. She could also see submission. They would never fight her, she thought as Drogon moved from his spot where he was dozing, to welcome her. The thought filled her with a certain satisfaction.

As she climbed atop, she wondered if Jon Snow remembered the waterfall. If he remembered their conversations before, that they could talk without reservations, that their hands could touch. How he's admitted that he felt the same. Did he feel the same now? Dany knew she did. She remembered that kiss by the waterfall, even if Jon behaved as if he forgot it. So much has happened since. It is true, monarchs don't marry for love, they don't even choose whom they love. No one chooses that, really. Dany didn't love Jon Snow, she knew that, but then again, did she know what love was? She wondered about this ever since he held her crying, and especially since she held him doing the same. He never saw a man more vulnerable, and yet she didn't judge, in her mind as he stood wiping his face he was the strongest and bravest men she ever met. Perhaps love was accepting the weaknesses of each other, she thought. Perhaps love made people take each other as they came, without any judgement, without any attempt to change them to one's own liking. She wouldn't have admired Drogo crying in her arms, and she felt admiration for Jon Snow doing the same. She leaned close to Drogon, and the dragon took off. They had work to do, she reminded herself. Thoughts of love and Jon Snow could always wait, after all, she had his word. She had him for a whole lifetime to figure it out.

xxxxx

The camp buzzed suddenly at the sight of the black dragon, carrying a pine tree that must've been centuries old, in its claws, and carrying the Dragon Queen on its back. They stopped what ever they were doing and turned, shouting 'look!' and pointing to the sky, as the green dragon appeared with a tree in his claws as well.

Reed walked to Jon, watching as the dragons dropped their load onto the kingsroad just outside the camp, and the earth roared from the impact.

"I take it those are my pine trees," Reed said bemused.

"Aye, I assumed you won't mind," Jon said, "I am sorry I didn't ask."

"Forget about it," Reed looked toward the two trees, "I knew she means it when she asked after them. She needs to burn something doesn't she?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jon turned furiously.

"It was a banter Jon," Reed laughed it off, "You ought to find your humour."

"I've never had much of it," Jon hissed, "As I see it, we all are darn disrespectful of what all she gave in this fight. She could burn the whole of the Wolfswood for all I care, if she wishes. If that gives her anything back, for the North truly won't repay her with kindness."

"No, they won't," Reed agreed, "But you always knew that. You knew that a Targaryen would not be accepted to rule the North, not now, perhaps not ever."

Jon turned toward Reed, "Then why were you so keen on putting me in that iron chair?"

Reed looked up in the sky as the dragons were nearing once more. "Because you don't have to be in the North to protect the North, you don't have to rule it. Although, my initial idea was to put you in that iron chair and have you rule the Seven Kingdoms, as your father surely would've wished."

"I bet the southern six kingdoms have something to say about all these grand plans," Jon said lowly.

"I bet they do," Reed watched as a dragon dropped another tree, "How many will they take? I'd rather keep some. I love those trees, you know."

Jon couldn't help his laughter, "We are fighting dead men and you worry about your trees!"

"As I said, I love those trees," Reed smiled in return, "Like you love the godswood of Winterfell. Did you know that there is no godswood in the Neck?"

"You have no weirwoods," Jon remarked, "Then how come you seem closer to the Old Gods than any of us?"

"Because faith doesn't have to rely on relics, Jon," Reed explained softly, "Faith is within you. It grows if you nurture it, if you pay attention. If you accept whenever it doesn't hand you your wishes on silver platters. And," he grinned, "I am quite close to the oldest group of weirwoods, you know? I used to travel to the Gods Eye. That's where I converse with the Gods."

"Some believe that's where their hearts are," Jon said more to himself, "The Children of the Forest believed so."

"It's a magical place, and an island in the middle of a lake so easy for me to admire. When you're there, it feels like you're at the heart of everything. Having faith is easy there."

Jon smiled at that, "It is never easy having faith."

"No, I wouldn't think it ever was," Reed said, "Not for you. At times it wasn't easy for me either. But then I would go there and sit in the shade of the weirwoods and think about what made it so hard. And I would always arrive at the same conclusion, that it was me. My fighting whatever I was fighting at the time."

"You aren't that much of a fighter," Jon remarked with a grin.

"No, not with a sword," Reed nodded laughing, "Give me a trident and I'll be much better. But there are different kind of fights. There are those that you cannot defeat with a sword, and those are much harder to defeat."

"If we defeat them at all," Jon whispered.

"Aye, if we defeat them," Reed smiled, watching Jon, "Sometimes it is not about defeating them, Jon. Sometimes it is about accepting them. There are things we cannot defeat, ever."

"Why do I feel like you are giving me a lesson, Howland," Jon looked up at the one-armed man, his heart clenching at the sight of his left sleeve tucked up.

"Because I am," Reed said, "And you are smart enough to recognise that. You were born to be something, and you cannot be anything else. It is not within our power to change our blood. Did I ever tell you why I was eager to fight beside Ned? I wanted to be a knight, I grew up a crannogman and I despised it. I thought of my people as dimunitive half-humans with despicable habits living in mud and the like, and poor, I thought us so poor compared to just about everyone else. I wanted to be a knight of the kingsguard, much like your brother Bran dreamed of it when he was little. I even planned it when Robert Baratheon won, I meant to ask him. Thank goodness for Ned for asking me to join his company after the Trident and I never considered it again."

"I never knew this," Jon said.

"No, I am not proud of it to share," Reed remarked, "If you ask me now, in my rare moment of sharing, I learned a lot from my own son in that regard. I came home and I read that damned diary, and I sat with those pine trees the Dragon Queen is unearthing from my lands, and I thought a lot. And I wed, because it was expected of me, and I had a son. I've never seen a seeer like him, Jon. I heard what Ned used to say about me, I tell you my son was ten times better at anything than me. The things Jojen could do... A father shouldn't envy his brood but by the gods I envied it, many times. And he thought me who I was, that the blood I had and gave him made him who he was. I learned to respect my roots, just as you learned to respect yours much more after your stint at the Nights Watch pretending to be rootless. We all want to break free from our shackles, sooner or later. Some of us can, to an extent become more than we were intended to become, but none of us ever could break free from our roots. Not even whinging Cerwyn could deny the North in him, and neither could you or I, even if we wanted to. But you are also something else. You were born to be something else. The sooner you stop fighting it the better it will be for you. That's the lesson."

"I gave up my claim," Jon whispered, "I gave my word. That means something to me."

"Aye, you did," Reed smiled. "You never wanted what you were born to be, you never wanted any of this. You weren't raised to want anything in this life."

"And what would you have me do," Jon hissed, "She is my family, are you turning against me as well now, because of her? She isn't as bad as you all think her to be, not even close."

"I know that, Jon," Reed said kindly, "I know all of this. I know she has a kind heart, and I know she is the only one of your father's kin besides yourself. You should protect her."

"Protect her from whom," Jon grabbed Reed's right arm, "If you know anything, you ought to tell me now."

"From herself, Jon," Reed said. "Because she is also striving to become someone she wasn't to be, she is reaching too high."

"She was born to rule," Jon said, letting go of the man's arm in front of her, turning toward the road where the dragons just dropped a load of trees again.

"Perhaps she was," Reed said, "Perhaps she was to wed that mad brother of hers, or to wed you or Rhaegal's firstborn, perhaps she was to be a queen all along. Targaryens married among themselves since the times of Old Valyria, to keep their dragonblood pure. I never knew Rhaegal, but your blood isn't purely dragon. He would've wed you to her I presume, because of her blood being pure. I cannot know, just as I cannot know what her reason was to arrive in this world, for the world has changed by the time you and her were born. Robert Baratheon should've never won on the Trident."

"We agree on that part," Jon said, "But not the marriage part. She can't have children. A marriage with her would mean the end of my father's house, everything he died for and everything she fought for would be undone."

"I haven't counselled you to wed her, Jon," Reed smiled, "I merely said perhaps that was once the grand plan of the Gods. Who knows?"

"Bran would know," Jon whispered, "Bran could see everything. Sam told me, when he told Bran of my father's marriage Bran could simply go and see it."

"It surprises me that he would've never gone to see how the Night King was born, or how to defeat him," Reed said, accepting the change of topic. Jon's mind can only be hammered so much, he thought. Jon should never be led on, he has to learn it himself. Reed wanted him to learn it himself. To be his own man, never somebody's pawn. Yes, others were planning, but for him this was different. He accepted it, but he wanted Jon to make his decisions by himself, and if he didn't, Reed would accept that as well. He didn't spend years sitting under weirwood trees wondering about his mistake sheltering Jon with lies, whenever he wasn't planning on revealing the lie for what it was, to now force Jon to bend to his will. He loved the young man he met in Jon. He was proud of him, almost like a father would be proud of his own son, to the point that it surprised Howland Reed. Perhaps he was dealing with the loss of Jojen the same manner that Jon once told him Ser Davos was dealing with his loss of a son. But he would never again try to curtail Jon, he thought. Then he hoped that he will never have to go back on that thought.

"Sam was looking for something about it in the library," Jon said then. His eyes lit up, "Sam would know. Whatever Bran knew, Sam would know." With that he rushed away, to find Samwell Tarly.

xxxxx

"You have no love for her," Edric said.

"She burned my father and brother alive," Sam retorted, "Of course I have no love for her. But Jon does, Jon likes her. It's not my place to decide anything else."

"And what would you do if Jon raised his claim against her?"

Sam laughed, "You don't know Jon Snow, my lord," he said, "He gave his word. Jon Snow never goes back on his word."

"But would you support him?" Edric found this really hard, how to gain support from this boy without telling him anything?

"Of course I would," Sam said, "I would welcome it, any day. But that ship has sailed."

"What ship," Jon asked, stepping into the tent. Sam looked confused, panicked, at Jon, at Edric, back at Jon.

"The ship of you claiming the Iron Throne," Edric said, saving Sam from the lie. He could not be a good liar, not even a bad one, from the look on his face.

"Is THAT really what you two are talking about," Jon hissed.

"I enquired after his opinion," Edric stepped aside in the small tent, turning toward its entrance, "And now I take my leave." He rushed out of the tent.

"What was that about," Jon asked sitting down beside Sam.

"Exactly what he told you," Sam shrugged it off, "He asked me of my opinion about the Dragon Queen, and he asked me if I would've supported you had you raised your claim. But you gave your word to Daenerys, I told him that."

Jon nodded. He couldn't fathom why Edric of all people would enquire about such things. It didn't matter, he came to discuss things of far greater importance.

"Sam, did Bran ever tell you what he knew about the Night King?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, "He didn't know much, Jon," he said kindly, "He couldn't see. When he returned to Winterfell, and then you returned, he couldn't see anymore. He told me what little he stumbled upon while he was beyond the wall and I tried to find more about it, but I didn't."

"Tell me what he told you, Sam," Jon leaned forward, ready to listen.

"The Night King was a man once, once of the first men. He was captured and held on an island, tied to a weirwood. The children came and stuck a shard of dragonglass into his heart, and he turned. That's all Bran knew."

"On an island tied to a weirwood," Jon repeated. "The God's Eye, Reed just told me it is a small island."

"Aye it is," Sam's eyes lit up, "It is quite beautiful really. My father took Dickon and me once to see. It didn't mean much to me but there are weirwoods there, my father told me they are older than our Andal ancestors on Westeros."

"He must've turned on his creators then," Jon thought aloud, "I remember Bran saying, he was created to defeat the first men. But he took it as defeating men. He wants to rule over a darkness without life."

Sam nodded, "I haven't found anything, there isn't much about the children of the forest in the libraries anyway. Perhaps in the Citadel, but it seems I stole the wrong books."

Jon laughed, "Sam the burglar. You helped me, but you should've told me this before."

"I am sorry," Sam looked down as he spoke, "I didn't think it meant anything. After all we know dragonglass kills them."

"That is interesting, isn't it," Jon remarked, "He was created by dragonglass and that's what can break his magic."

"He has dragonglass in his heart," Sam added. "Perhaps that is why he is so evil. Cold black glass where his heart should be, binding him to an immortal life in a dead body. It is cruel, in a way."

"Don't feel too sorry for him Sam," Jon smiled, "I mean to kill him."