Daenerys

Outside Winterfell Northmen, Dothraki and Unsullied alike worked to fortify the castle. Daenerys walked among them, asking questions and lending a hand where she could. She was, after all, still Mhysa, and Mhysa did not abandon her children. Especially at their hour of greatest need. Entrenchments were being dug, and all around them great breastworks made of hardwood began to form a snake around the castle walls. Their wood to be used as fuel against the advancing enemy.

Missandei and Greyworm strode alongside her, and although their companionship spanned two continents and countless cities, it felt hollow in spite of it. The quarrel between her and Jon had been fierce. Damn him, she thought. Damn his wolf's blood. But Daenerys was a proud Daughter of the Dragon, and she knew when she had the right of it. The day her Unsullied clashed with Stark, in their chambers, Jon's temper was ferocious to behold. Fists pounding against the table he asked what right she had to usurp his vengeance. And when his wolf's blood had calmed- or was it his Dragon's, she could not say- he had told her the story of Shireen Baratheon. Pure and good and burned at the stake by the lady Melisandre. A chill surged through Dany, and she thought of the poor shepherd's daughter in Meereen. Her charred bones laid at her sandaled feet.

"I will not deny you your vengeance," she cried. "But only after the Night King and his army are destroyed." Three suns had set and she had not spoken to Jon since.

Greyworm stopped to offer assistance to men of house Umber with the erection of a palisade: a long line of sharpened wooden stakes the advancing enemy would hopefully impale themselves on. All around her northern small folk stood either agog, awestruck or with visible derision. She had known these looks all her life. In the Free Cities of Essos, after she and Viserys were thrown from feasts with japes at their back, they used to shame her and make her feel small and meek. At Drogo's side no man dared look at her that way, but that was before she walked into the pyre. In Quarth or Meereen or Astapor, she was accustomed to having to earn respect from men who thought her beneath them. Let them make their japes, she thought as they walked from the entrenchments and palisades. No crown was won off a few declarations of fealty or a marriage. No, that was Viserys' folly. Daenerys knew it would take much and more to earn her crown.

"Your Grace, it was passed to me that morning that Jon was seen riding out the southern gate," Missandei said quietly, keeping stride with Daenerys, her head lowered.

"To check the battlements, to be sure." The three stopped before the portcullis of the castle. But the look that passed between Missande and Greyworm gave Daenerys pause.

"His grace was seen riding beyond the battlements. Towards the dragon's lair."

"Fetch my silver, Missandei," Daenerys said, pulling on her gloves, as she turned into the outer bailey and towards the stables. The yard was a pit of muck and filth, their boots squelching with each step. It made no matter to Daenerys. She had been far dirtier and far more desperate in her life. Soiled furs were the least of her worries.

Her silver palfrey was saddled in a matter of moments, and Daenerys swung herself up deftly as though her days upon the Dothraki Sea were but a moon's turn ago. She spurred the silver forward, expertly maneuvering through the throngs of laborers and townsfolk come to the castle for food and shelter until the southern gate loomed before her.

She knew where Jon had gone and she knew she must do. It was time for him to claim their words: Fire & Blood.

The dragon's den was not far from the castle, but the ride was cold and hard across rocky outcroppings and bottomless snow. Wind whipped across Dany's face, stinging it like a nest of nettles. Even with gloves her hands grew stiff and clumsy.

The earth around the winged beasts was charred, the snow had long since melted away, and scattered about were bones laid bare like a field after battle. Although dragons left no feasts for crows. She could see Jon, his black cloak and furs flapping in the ice-cold winds as be stood before the green and black beasts. And when her palfrey whinnied at the scent of the dragons, he turned to Dany, his eyes two pools of regret. Daenerys dismounted.

"They've grown used to you, Jon Snow," Daenerys said, slowly stroking Drogon's black snout. The dragon stirred and let go a deep throaty sound. Almost a purr, she thought amused.

"We'll see what Ghost thinks of them," he chuckled, letting his hand run over Rhaegal's smooth scales. She could see him soften at the mention of his direwolf.

"And what will Ghost think of me?" Daenerys stepped closer to Jon. Their grey and violet eyes meeting.

"Ghost likes what I like," he said smiling. He grabbed her then, taking her by the small of her back. He leaned in to kiss her, but let his lips linger before her's. "Dany," he whispered, sighing. "You had the right-" but he was cut short. Daenerys wanted nothing more at that moment than to fill her mouth with his, to taste him, to cherish him. And so she did. When they parted, the hollow in Daenerys felt whole once more. But it was bittersweet all the same. She did not know how much longer they had before… Not now, she thought and she pushed the thought from her mind.

Dany stepped back from Jon and turned to climb atop Drogon. He had grown even larger more recently and had heard whispers of "Balerion" from the household around Winterfell. To that she could only smile. Though this time instead of Balerion, it was Drogon, and instead of Torrhen Stark's bent knee, she wed the Lord of Winterfell beneath a heart tree.

"Go on," she nodded towards Rhaegal. Jon looked up at her, his face hard and indecipherable. But he turned to Rhaegal all the same, dutifully climbing atop him though with little grace. Dany watched every movement with intent. Jon fumbled around the dragon's spikes for the best grip, and when he had settled he called to her.

"I take your lead, Your Grace." He smiled. Daenerys pulled Drogon upward. His wingbeats stirring snow and bone alike. Daenerys looked back and could see Jon urge Rhaegal forward. Her little green had never born a rider. Should he reject Jon, she knew he would plunge to his death.

Upon her black dragon, Dany felt stronger. Almost godlike. Each beat of Drogon's wing sent a torrent of power coursing through her. She inhaled deep, drinking in thousands of years of dragon riders before her. She glanced back, scanning the sky for Rhaegal. The green dragon had found his stride, and astride him was Aegon Targaryen. Is this what Jaehaerys and Alysanne saw when they came north? Is this what they felt too? It was a happiness so unknown to her, her heart was like to burst. Jon and Rhaegal veered left, dipping lower towards a vast highland covered in dense forest. Dany circled Drogon. Rhaegal and Jon landed in a clearing at the forest's edge, thick wafts of snow powder billowed around them as they touched ground. Dany urged Drogon lower.

"Did you feel it?" Dany asked. Jon stepped closer, his face salt streaked from the icy winds. His curls let loose.

"Aye," he smiled. "After I fought through the terror, we both calmed. And then," he glanced back toward his fiery mount. "It was as though he knew where I wanted to lead him. And it felt," he paused to look at his two palms. "These hands have destroyed White Walkers and led men to battle. Now they can command the sky as well." He grinned. Fire and blood, Dany thought.

Dany tucked a rogue curl behind Jon's ear. The bond between dragon and rider was fabled- or so her brother had told her. The Targaryens of old fashioned saddles for their mounts and rode them until only death parted them. The thought of parting with Rhaegal to Jon was bitter as it was sweet. But the thought of Jon by her side, both in-flight atop the dragon's she birthed. It was a dream come to life.

"When I," she paused, searching for words. "When my dragons hatched, they became my children. I felt as though we were connected by a force greater than us. Now you can feel it too." They stepped toward the edge of the highland, below them a sheer cliffside of jagged granite. There was nothing. Neither man, woman, or child. The silent wilderness around them drank in every sound: each crack of a branch, each breath they drew, each crunch of snow. She felt Jon's hand in hers and with it, the same surge of power that came with dragon flight.

"Come," he said finally. I have something to show you. The trail was long since overgrown with lichen but was a trail nonetheless. It wound through shrub and pine, but Daenerys never lost sight of the cliff's edge all the while. She could smell it before she saw it: Sulfur. Thick plumes of smoke coiled around sentinel pine and furs. A hot spring, she mused.

"My father would take us here after a hunt," he said with a sad smile. "Theon, Robb, Jory. All of us. After we stalked a stag or bighorn for hours we would all come up here for a soak naked as our name days. Thank gods the stench of the pools covered the stench of boys ripe with summer sweat." Daenerys laughed. It feels good to laugh, she thought. No, it feels good to laugh with him. "After you, Your Grace," he motioned towards the pool. She did not hesitate.

With fingers stiff from cold, Daenerys began to unlace her furs and pull the layers of undergarments from her body. She stepped into the rocky pool, careful to keep her balance. The water was scalding hot and Dany breathed in deeply. She watched as Jon unlaced his gambeson and tied his hair back with a thin strip of leather. His body knotted with muscle. When he joined her in the spring, the two came to rest at the edge which overlooked the great valley below.

"It's beautiful," Dany whispered. Her silver hair fanned out like moon-glow around her.

"Beautiful and brutal," Jon said, scanning the landscape. Light snow began to fall. The delicate flakes melted as quick as they landed on the still surface of the pool. Dany felt a hand reach out under the water, searching its way up her thighs. She moved closer, opening her legs to Jon.

There, under a gray sky bursting with snow they made love. Jon took her from behind, and with deft fingers, pleasured Daenerys between her legs. Dany craned back to meet her mouth with his. Tasting him was still as sweet as summer wine. When they had both reached their pleasure, they lingered together; loathe to leave each other's embrace. When finally they parted, the two nestled together in the depths of the hot spring, sitting in silence as the snow fell around them.