A gentle brush of warm skin against his cheek lured Jon from his slumber. Above him was the pale outline of his wife, the bleariness of his eyes making her appear almost translucent, like a ghost.

After a few blinks, her image came into focus. Her violet eyes were glassy and threaded with bright red veins to match her flush. She's been crying, Jon realized, drawing his hand up to cradle her jaw. It was then he realized the room had been strangely empty. He and Dany were entirely alone.

"What's wrong?" he croaked, feeling an uneasy lump climbing this throat.

Daenerys briefly pursed her lips into a hard line as she searched for the right words.

"When Sam woke this morning, the door to your room was open," she explained with a sniffle. "And Ghost... was gone."

Jon nodded instinctively, hardly able to digest the news. His hand wobbled as it fell from his wife's cheek. It felt as though his whole body had been in a sudden free-fall.

Dany placed a hand to his chest to steady him, "We've all been out looking, even the men of the Watch have been helping."

"How long?"

"A couple of hours."

"Why didn't anyone wake me?" he demanded.

"Sam knows Ghost is partial to me, and we'd hoped to have already found him, leaving you none the wiser," she softly said. "He must be somewhere within the castle walls, the gates haven't been opened."

As she spoke, Jon couldn't help his mind from wandering to the previous night, and the little excursion he'd taken his wolf on.

"Fuck," he mumbled, "It's Rast."

"Rast?"

"That filthy fuckin' rapist pig."

"The one you fought with?"

With a growl, Jon ripped the furs from his body, his anger flaring white-hot. "I'll kill him."

Smoothing his sleep-strewn curls in an attempt to calm him, Dany softened her voice like a mother might with her child, "Before you go murdering anyone, remember that Ghost could easily defend himself against, well, anyone here."

When Jon attempted to raise himself to his feet, Dany tugged him back down to the bed.

"We need to go," he hissed.

"I thought we might try something, first."

"What?"

"Remember that night you discovered Arya had sneaked along on our trip?"

"Yes..."

"Maybe you could warg into him again? You could see where he's gone off to, couldn't you?"

"I don't know, Dany," he admitted with a sigh. "I'm not sure how I did it."

"It's worth a shot. Like I said, everyone is out there looking for him, now. You possess a special skill that they don't have."

Following her hands as they guided him back down to the bed, Jon settled in as Dany slid beside him. Before he knew it, her hand was at his thigh, grazing the coarse fabric of his trousers. Jon quickly clamped his fingers around her wrist to stop her. "I can't. Not right now."

"But that's how it happened the last time..."

"I know," he sighed. "But I can't."

Instead, Daenerys dragged a palm over his eyes to close them. Her hands floated to his temple, fingertips sweeping delicate circles on either side.

Nothing.

Though Jon tried his best to relax as Dany began weaving her fingers through his hair and across his scalp, his panic festered. He couldn't feel Ghost whatsoever. Even when kenneled, Jon had shared a natural connection with his wolf—so much so that he could usually sense when he was nearby. Right now he could sense absolutely nothing.

"Shh," Dany said. Recognizing his alarm, she deepened her massage to soothe him.

The window began to rattle in its frame as a throaty, sonorous horn bellowed throughout the castle. Jon and Daenerys exchanged a panicked look as they listened, hearing no further commotion after its wail fizzled.

Just as one of her hands slipped into his, Jon's sight went hazy. Suddenly the dark, stone room had disappeared, in its place a wall of white, engulfing his vision.

His jaw was stretched uncomfortably wide and felt weighed down, the taste of something foul and frozen lingered on his tongue. His head bobbed as he trotted along, passing underneath a wooden gate as it lifted above him. A dark tunnel swallowed his vision again, and suddenly, he was back in the cold, dark room with his wife's warm body beside him, that pretty face hovering just inches from his.

"You've found him!"

Disoriented, Jon swung his legs over the bedside as Dany swiftly leapt to her feet. When he rose, she helped him dress piece by piece, from boots to tunic to heavy fur cloak.

Leading his wife by the hand, Jon sped over the rickety raised walkways and toward the courtyard. There in the center stood Ghost, tall and proud, his tail swishing side to side upon catching sight of Jon.

"What's he got there?" Dany softly asked.

Squinting, Jon tried to determine what it was. He made his way down the steps before kneeling and gesturing for his wolf to join him.

"To me, Ghost," Jon cautiously ordered. "Bring it here."

As the direwolf approached him, Jon's eyes widened in horror at the sight of it. Ghost dropped a mangled, frozen hand at his paws—torn off just below the wrist.

"Gods be good!" Sam shouted, having joined the crowd.

Along with Sam, the onlookers drew closer to catch a glimpse of the stray limb for themselves. Jon took a moment to identify those around him, noting that Rast hadn't been anywhere in sight. The men stood in a stunned circle, wordless, as each seemed to speculate on where the hand had come from, and to whom it belonged.

The heavy and unmistakable footsteps of the Lord Commander signaled his approach. Tyrion Lannister shuffled beside him, struggling to match his gait. "What's the meaning of all this commotion?" Mormont's voice boomed.

Just as Jon rose to his feet, preparing an answer, a scruffy looking boy stepped forward, his voice slurred as he spoke. "The wolf," he answered. "We thought it'd be a rider when the gates opened. He'd come back from beyond the Wall."

"You let your wolf free beyond the Wall?" Mormont's face scrunched in disapproval as he turned to Jon.

"I'm not sure how he got out," Jon insisted. But I have my suspicions.

"A troubling find," the Lord Commander nodded solemnly, bringing his hand to his chin to stroke his beard in contemplation.

Tyrion retrieved the hand from the mud to inspect it, attempting to bend the fingers, even bringing it to his nose to take a whiff.

"Snow."

"Yes, Lord Commander?"

"Do you suppose you and your wolf could lead some of our men back to wherever he found this hand?"

Before he could answer, Dany flew in between the men, grabbing hold of Jon's gloved hands, "You're going to go out there? Beyond the Wall?"

Jon lowered his voice before answering her. "You always knew that was my intention, Dany. That could be Benjen's hand. I have to know."

The circle of men around them had begun staring, now. Jon dropped her hands, "Ghost was gone only a few hours. It shouldn't take us long."

Dany sighed, disappointed, though she nodded along in agreement.

"Spend the day with Maester Aemon as you planned. I'll be back before you know it, I swear it."

When she replied, her eyes darted between his, her voice had strained with worry, "You'd better come back to me, Jon Snow."

. . .

Daenerys shadowed her uncle as he performed his daily tasks, helping where she could, and keeping him company where she could not. Afterward, they had taken a late lunch together in his personal quarters. The food hadn't settled easily in her stomach that afternoon, as it had been tied in worried knots for her husband, for Ghost, and even for Benjen, as they rode out into the haunted forest.

In light of Ghost's discovery, Daenerys thought the best use of her time would be to divulge the details she'd heard from the wildling Osha. Aemon listened contentedly as she recounted the tale of the woman's capture, and how they became unlikely friends. She spoke of Osha's many concerns regarding what lurked beyond the Wall, the way she'd hoped to end up as far south as Dorne to escape what she'd seen. Inevitably, these stories led into tales of the Reed kids and Jojen's many eerie predictions, right down to precognition that Bran would lose a leg, and how the boys were certain they'd be traveling north, the very place Osha had vehemently warned against.

"It sounds like the Reed boy possesses greensight," Aemon declared after Dany's stories ran dry.

"The problem is that he's so intent on being mysterious that you never know what to believe or not. On the one hand, we've seen his predictions come true before our eyes. On the other hand, sometimes he said things that are blatantly untrue."

"Such as?"

"He once told us there were dragons at Winterfell."

"Dragons?" Aemon straightened up at the claim.

"Two, in fact, getting the children's hopes up, no doubt. At first, I thought he'd meant me and Jon, his way of telling us he knew."

The old man's smile fell as Daenerys spoke, his forehead wrinkling.

"That is," she continued, "Until he clarified, one dragon resided in the godswood, and one in the bowels of the castle, heating the springs with its fire."

"I've heard that story, too," he admitted, so softly Dany feared she might've been putting the man to sleep with her blathering.

Suddenly, Daenerys had been struck with the realization of something she'd failed to mention to her uncle. How could I have forgotten?

"Aemon," she croaked, reaching for his hands to hold them. "Forgive me for not having mentioned this sooner, but on the eve of my wedding, we'd received a gift from a mysterious visitor to the castle."

His eyes met hers, almost as if he could see her face. Nervously, she continued, "Three petrified dragon's eggs. For the Last Dragon, he said."

"You've three dragon eggs?" he beamed, squeezing her hands in his.

"I brought them with me, they're in the King's Tower as we speak. You must come to see them, inspect them."

The man's mouth hung agape at the news. "Oh, Daenerys," he cried. "I'd love nothing more."

Just as she moved to help her uncle to his feet, a series of loud knocks rattled his wooden door. Daenerys frowned.

"Allow me," she said, gently placing his hands back in his lap before crossing the room.

When she opened the door, she was greeted with the pleasing sight of her husband's face, cold-stricken and red-nosed, his hair mussed up with small flecks of ice that glinted like diamonds. After actively working to tear her eyes away from him, she'd noticed Ghost, as well as the Lord Commander, himself.

Jon averted his gaze, donning half a grimace as Mormont pushed his way inside the maester's room, announcing their findings, "The wolf led us to a couple of rangers from the missing party."

Aemon nodded solemnly as Dany rushed to his side to help him up. "Was the First Ranger among them?" he asked.

"No."

Daenerys sighed in relief upon hearing Benjen had not been counted among the dead. Her eyes flicked to Jon, who'd since stepped inside the room. He didn't look relieved.

"I'd like you to examine the bodies," Mormont said. "Perhaps with the girl's help, you might determine a cause of death."

"Of course."

Several of the brothers helped the first body onto Aemon's examination table in the nook just past his living quarters.

"Would you stay?" Daenerys meekly asked Jon as the men moved about, feeling unnerved at the sight of the bodies, particularly after recounting Osha's tales mere minutes before they'd shown up.

Without hesitation, Jon gave a nod, unfastening the straps of his cloak to remove it. "I'm burnin' up," he whispered, awkwardly handing it off to Dany. After she draped it over one of Aemon's chairs, they stood together, out of the way, as the men finished staging the first body for the maester.

Once the brothers cleared out, Daenerys was finally able to help her uncle to his feet. Together, they walked to his examination table, following Jon's lead.

"They said this one's name is Othor," he explained.

"Othor," Aemon nodded solemnly, allowing a brief twitch of grief to play across his features before reapplying his maester's mask of indifference. "And there's no apparent cause of death?"

"Truth be told, it just looks like they've frozen," Jon frowned. "I'm not sure how necessary an examination is."

"You'd be surprised, Jon Snow," he said, before turning to Daenerys. "Tell me, child. What do you see?"

"Well," she hesitated, letting her eyes fall on the corpse before her. "He's pale, almost white. Though, his nose, lips, and forehead are black."

"And his eyes?"

Dany's gaze snapped to Jon's. What was Aemon expecting to hear? she wondered.

"Brown. They're brown," she said after a moment.

Aemon hobbled to a display of tools laid upon a large table, retrieving a small blade. Upon returning to the dead body, he sliced through the leather bindings that held his tunic together. Even the fabric was nearly frozen stiff as he tried to pry it apart, his wrinkled hands shaking.

"Allow me," Jon said with a tight grimace, his good manners compelling him to assist.

Together, they cut through the rest of his layers, exposing the man's pale chest, webbed with darkened veins and riddled with peculiar-looking stab wounds, blackened around the edges, showing no sign of ever having bled. The young couple sighed in unison at the sight.

"What is it you see?"

This time, Daenerys let Jon speak. "Appears to be several puncture wounds, but there isn't any blood. They look almost... almost..."

"Cauterized," she finished.

Aemon's brow creased in confusion. "Perhaps he did freeze to death."

"So he was dead prior to receiving these wounds?" she asked.

"It would seem so."

"Who would stab a dead man?" Jon scoffed.

A shiver shook Dany's spine as her mind wandered back to the woman who was petrified of the trio of dead bodies in the wolfswood. Osha would know, Daenerys told herself, wishing the wildling had been at Castle Black so that she could ask her.

Aemon took great care to re-dress Othor's body, managing to safely secure the broken straps. Jon left to inform the brothers stationed outside that the maester was ready for the second body. This time, Jon lent his help to the men as Daenerys stepped toward the window. Outside, night had nearly fallen, the great shadow of the wall falling over Castle Black like a blanket. Above them, she could hear the uneasy cawing of the crows in the rookery. She rubbed her arms for warmth.

Daenerys gasped in horror when she turned to face the second body, whose left arm was mangled, the tip of a bone sticking from the stump of his wrist. He was even paler in color, with long white hair to match. To Dany, he looked almost Targaryen, save for his brown eyes.

She watched as Aemon's hand drifted over the man's face, his fingertips sweeping from his brow to his cheeks and chin. "Jafer Flowers," he determined, perhaps even sadder for this loss.

Assisting the maester, again, Jon helped in cutting through Jafer's many layers the same way they'd done to Othor. Underneath, they'd discovered the same strange set of bloodless and black-rimmed wounds, finding no further hints or clues that might serve as helpful. Aemon and Jon took turns scrubbing their hands in the basin after re-dressing the corpse. The examinations yielding more questions than answers.

. . .

It'd been a couple of hours since Jon had left to report their findings—or lack thereof—to the Lord Commander, and to inquire as to the status of the pyre for the pair of doomed men. They would burn, Daenerys had been told, as was the wildling way. Though Othor's body had long since been removed, she and Aemon took supper in his quarters less than twenty feet away from Jafer, who had yet to be retrieved by the brothers.

Daenerys didn't have much of an appetite—at least not with the pungent smell of Aemon's beer in the air, and a dead man in her periphery—still, she choked down the steaming bowl of turnips and mutton, knowing she and her baby would regret it later if not. Sitting in silence, the only sounds came from the quiet chewing and the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. It had been hypnotizing as the flames flicked and danced—almost taking on the shape of a face. A kind face, she realized, in a light, fur-trimmed cowl.

I must be imagining things, Daenerys thought, scrunching her eyes. Finally, the flame-licked face in the fireplace looked forward. Dark hair fell from the cowl as light, smoke-colored eyes met hers. It can't be, she told herself, as the face in the flames squinted, too, twisting in shock at the shared recognition. Benjen Stark?

A loud knock broke her concentration, and no matter how hard she squinted, he had vanished.

"Daenerys, would you mind?" Aemon asked.

"Of course."

Recognizing the knock as Jon's, she swung the door open to greet him. "We saved some stew for you," she gestured toward the table for Jon to take a seat, closing the door behind Ghost as he quietly entered, curling into a ball on the rug near the fire.

"Thank you," he said. "I already ate with Sam, I'm afraid."

"He finally took a break from his studies?" Aemon smiled.

"Oh, no," Jon moaned. "I had to fetch him his dinner. At this rate, I'll have to fetch him a cot, too. Maybe help move his things into the library, since he never leaves it."

"Has he found something useful, then?" Dany asked as the maester chuckled along with Jon.

"He jabbered on a mile a minute, there's no way I could've kept up," Jon admitted. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about it in the mornin', whatever it is he's onto."

As she stared into her husband's eyes, he motioned toward her half-full bowl of stew, encouraging her to eat. Reluctantly, she tore a lukewarm, soggy turnip in two before shoveling it into her mouth. The reward of Jon's smile made the bitterness worth it.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," Aemon said.

"Mmm?" she managed, her mouth full of stew.

"Have you ever had a dragon dream, Daenerys?"

She scanned her memories for a moment as she swallowed. After wiping the sauce away from her lips with her wrist, she replied, "I had a dream once, or... maybe it was more of a vision."

Both Jon and Aemon turned to face her, awaiting more details.

"I was awake at the time. I closed my eyes and thought of Dragonstone, and my mind painted it before my eyes in stunning detail—black stone towers that rose into the sky, the salty sea air and the sound of waves crashing in every direction. Above us were three enormous winged beasts."

"Us?"

"You and I."

"You never told me that," Jon breathed, barely above a whisper.

Daenerys offered a weak shrug as she turned to her uncle. Aemon's expression was kind as always, but largely unreadable as he began, "I dream of them, still, as did my brothers. I hear the crack of their wings, I see the shadows as they fly against a bleeding red star."

Jon's gaze burned hotly into her skin. "We saw that same star," he confessed. "There was a wildling servant at Winterfell who told my brother that star meant only one thing—dragons."

The old man's chin quivered as he considered Jon's words. "Have you dreamt of them, too?" he asked after a moment.

"Me?" Jon asked, almost caught off guard. "I... uh. Well..."

As Jon stammered, Ghost had leapt to his feet, lunging for the door. The wolf spun in anxious circles, crying and growling.

"Ghost? What's wrong?" Jon asked as his companion twirled, clawing at the wood. "Is someone out there?"

As if he'd understood Jon's question, Ghost turned to face him expectantly, waiting for Jon to follow him outside.

"I'll be just a minute," he assured them, tightening his sword belt as he made his way to the door. "Stay in this room until I come back, just in case."

Dany's stomach dropped as she watched him leave. She'd hardly heard Ghost make a peep before, let alone such a fuss. Her nerves churned the stew in her belly, leaving her feeling sick with worry. Aemon reached for her hand across the table, his soft touch instantly comforting her.

"I'm sorry we couldn't inspect those dragon eggs this evening," Aemon said, as Ghost's barks grew more distant.

"We've plenty of time to see them, yet."

"Have you tried to hatch them?"

"I'm not sure they can hatch, but I've tried nonetheless. The man who gifted them to me said time had turned them to stone."

"How have you tried?" Aemon pushed.

"In the fireplace at first," she admitted. "When that didn't work, I tried to put one in the hot springs in the godswood."

To her surprise, her uncle frowned. "I don't think heat or fire alone will do the trick."

"What is it you're sugges-"

Behind her, there was a sudden clinking of metal tools as they hit the floor, stopping her words cold. Turning her head as slowly as she could manage, she spotted the dark silhouette of a man. A man who certainly should not have been upright.

What followed was a low, inhuman growl as he stepped forward, the heavy thud of his boots resounding throughout the room. Dany's heart had begun to beat so erratically she could feel it pounding in every vein as the dead man approached. Finally, he lifted his gaze from the floor—unearthly blue eyes pierced right through her, chilling her to the bone.

Perhaps aware of what had transpired, Aemon had since risen to his feet just in time for Jafer to lunge forward, grasping the old man's neck with his right hand—his only hand.

As he struggled in the dead man's grip, Aemon gurgled for air—the pitiful sounds filling Dany with both terror and rage. Taking a dull dinner knife, Dany used all of her weight to thrust it into the wight's back. Zero reaction.

Dany scrambled for another utensil, this time a fork, stabbing it straight into his cheek with a taunting wail. Finally, he'd let go of Aemon, who fell to the ground, wheezing and gasping.

The wight turned to Dany, expressionless, as he tore the fork from his cheek, letting it clatter to the ground. Slowly, she backed away, searching her mind for another method.

Every time I close my eyes all's I see is their eyes turnin' blue.

Her inner voice had been momentarily replaced by Osha's thickly accented words.

We need to burn them, m'lady.

It was a long shot, but it was all she had.

Daenerys grabbed Aemon's flagon, dousing the wight with beer. Completely unfazed, he charged at her all the same. She dodged his attack, striking him hard enough with Aemon's chair to send him stumbling backward, buying her a bit of time. She turned, hunching over and into the fireplace, readying her next move.

This time, when the dead man came after her, she welcomed the embrace, holding a burning log in her arms between them. When he grabbed her, his tunic ignited, as did hers. Daenerys fell with him to the ground, his body flailing as the flames spread. She stayed on top of him, loudly crying out in relief as she struggled to set fire to as much of the wight as she could.

The door burst open with a loud crack. She could hear Jon screaming, but she couldn't see him through the smoke. A pair of arms had pulled her from the wight, while another had draped a cloak around her, snuffing out the flames. Her vision had blurred again as Jon crushed her in a near-suffocating hug.

After a moment, he loosened his grip on her enough so that she could see Jeor Mormont tending to Aemon and checking the marks left around his neck.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked with a rasp.

"I think so."

Unwrapping her from his cloak, Jon took stock of the damage. Likewise, Daenerys looked down at her charred tunic. The fire had perforated the leather, but her skin had remained unblemished. It was then she noticed the grievous burn on Jon's right hand as he inspected her.

She gasped, "Your hand..."

The skin of his palm looked melted, and angry red in color.

"Oh, Jon," she softly cried, hot tears pricking her eyes at the sight of it.

"I'm alive, and more importantly, you're alive. I'll be all right," he assured her with a smile.

Just then, Aemon placed his hand on Jon's shoulder, wheezing, "I'll tend to your wound."

"Are you sure, Maester? I know the other one got to you, too. It can wait."

"It so happens that the pain in your wife's voice hurts me more than any risen dead man could," he smiled.

Daenerys and Jon chuckled together as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

They followed Aemon to the basin where the maester very carefully cleaned the wound, Jon wincing in pain but never making a peep. Daenerys fetched clean bandages as Aemon patted his palm dry. After applying an ointment, he carefully wrapped Jon's hand in thick linen bandages, giving him instruction on how often to return to have them changed.

Somewhere beyond the examination room, a few brothers had retrieved the lifeless, burned corpse and ushered it away, and hopefully to a proper pyre until there was nothing left of him. Once they were gone, Aemon thanked Daenerys for her help, before insisting on hearing a detailed account of what had happened. He was shocked to learn that she'd harbored no abrasions or burns after her resourceful tactic against the wight, going so far as to inspect the damage to her tunic, confirming for himself that she was utterly free of burns, as well as inspecting her belly until he was satisfied the baby inside it was likewise unharmed.

"How is it possible?" he asked, aghast. Jon turned to her, as well, just as anxious for an explanation.

"I'm... not sure. I've had a sort of resistance to heat as long as I can remember."

Jon's forehead rumpled in consideration, as if wordlessly asking, You have?

Aemon brought a hand up to stroke his chin. "The Last Dragon," he whispered after a moment.

"What?" Jon asked, slipping further into his confusion.

"It's rather late, I'm afraid," the old man said. "On a routine day, I'd have retired hours ago."

"I understand," Daenerys frowned.

"Would you return in the morning, Daenerys? We've much to discuss."

"Absolutely. First thing."

After leaving Aemon's quarters, Jon took his wife by the arm to escort her to the King's Tower alongside Ghost. The sconces along the walls flickered ominously as they made their way over the snow-dusted walkways. The wind carried fat, wet flakes that melted into their hair and Ghost's fur. Jon recounted his own harrowing tale of saving the Lord Commander from the second wight—how useless steel was in stopping it, and the stroke of luck that Mormont should exit his quarters holding a lamp just in time for Jon to toss it, igniting the dead man just as Dany had.

Though the night felt warmer than most, the tale made her shiver all the same. She quickly snuffed whatever urge she'd had to gloat that she'd been right to believe Osha, all long. Against the distant the blaze of the pyre, the Wall wept and glowed orange. Instinctively, Jon gripped her tighter. The fire made her think of Benjen Stark, and the unnerving vision she'd seen in the flames.

Daenerys sighed, "Jon?"

"Mmm?"

"Your uncle is alive out there, and you're going to find him."

"How can you be so sure?"

Because we locked eyes through the fireplace, she thought, stopping herself just short of laughter, deciding against such an absurd admittance. "Intuition, I suppose."

Jon heaved a sigh of his own, "I hope you're right."

Finally, they'd made it up the spiral steps and stood a few paces from the door. She could hear Barristan's muffled voice on the other side of it, and Arya softly chuckling in response.

"I can leave Ghost with you, tonight." On cue, the wolf took a seat and tilted his head, as if awaiting her invitation.

"No," she smiled, taking Jon's wounded hand in hers, careful to avoid his burn. "I'd prefer it if he stayed with you, in case any other monsters come to life in the night."

Daenerys brought his fingers to her lips, placing a kiss to all four, as well as his thumb.

"You're so attentive," he breathed. "I can't wait to give you a whole mess of children to fuss over."

"And I can't wait to make them," Dany purred.

Eyes glued to her mouth, a playful snarl curled his lip as he leaned in. Clutching either side of his cloak for support, Dany raised herself up to meet him halfway, the heat of his breath enough to cruelly stir her blood. His warm, pouty lips did little to quench her thirst for him, alone, rather, making her squirm. She pined for the heat of his body against hers, especially after too many nights without his touch. With his good hand, Jon pulled her closer as they kissed. Dany's hands moved under his cloak of their own volition, stopping just short of reaching his backside as the door swung open.

"I thought I heard you two." Arya peeked out long enough to gather what the couple had been doing, even though they'd broken apart at the interruption.

"Gross," she groaned, disappearing back behind the door as it clicked closed.

They shared a chuckle at her abrupt appearance and subsequent disappearance.

"Apologize to her for me," Jon begged.

After nodding, Dany gave his burned palm a gentle kiss over the moleskin of his glove, wanting nothing more than to drag him inside and have her way with him.

"Sleep well," he said as Daenerys finished peeling herself from his arms.

Spying him from a crack in the door, Jon flashed Daenerys one last winsome, toothy smile as he reluctantly rounded the corner, slipping out of sight. She closed and locked the door behind him, sighing as she melted against it, already scheming up plans to catch him alone.


Annoying Author's Note: Sorry for taking ages to update. Been a little disillusioned with my multi-chapters for reasons I won't get into here, but I'm getting back to it. I haven't abandoned the story nor do I plan to! Thanks for bearing with me - to anyone who's stuck around this long, and those who still comment. I appreciate it a lot!