Daenerys

She found Jon in the crypts, alone with his ghosts. Quietly, Daenerys descended, the pathway aglow with flickering candle light. Her thoughts drifted to her husband. He was singularly determined and dutiful. Cunning, quick of wit, decisive and unapologetic in his course of action when he need be. Wise enough to see the need for a ruler that was gentle. And yet, underneath it all was a man driven by an innate violence. He had hanged and beheaded his enemies. He had cleaved his blade through white walkers. He was the king she needed. He thinks this his last night, she thought sadly.

Hearing her footfalls, Jon turned. His face awash with sadness, though mustering a sorrowful smile all the same.

"Your mother," Daenerys whispered, eyeing the statue that loomed in front of them. Jon nodded. A moment passed in silence, then another.

"I want to defend her," he said, his voice solemn. "I want her tomb to stay unbothered," he paused. "I want to bring her flowers. I want to protect her like she protected me." Dany wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He smelled of pine, forge smoke and horse. He smelled wild and of the north.

"There is a place the Night King cannot touch, Jon," Dany said softly. Jon sighed and turned towards his queen, their eyes meeting. She lifted her hand, placing it over his heart. "This is where your mother is. And your father," she hesitated and said finally, "And Rhaegar." A deafening silence filled the passageway.

"A wish I could have known him," Jon said at last. "I wish I could have understood." Daenerys recalled all the stories of her older brother then. Of his harp, his melancholy, of his kind heart. And yet, he left Elia. He left Rhaenys and the little Aegon, still a babe at his mother's breast. It was then that she remembered the House of the Undying. Her silver-haired brother at his harp playing a sweet melody for a baby with the thatch of silver hair. What had drawn him from his family? The dragon must have three heads, he had said to Elia. His is the song of ice and fire.

"Jon, I must tell you something," Dany said, suddenly feeling the urgency to tell him of her visions. Of Rhaegar, of his rubies falling from his breastplate, and of the song he sang for for the silver-haired babe. Ice and fire. What was their union if not that melody? The joining of two forces: destructive, powerful, indifferent to the course which others had prescribed for them and determined to forge their own. Ice could not be contained no more than fire could.

Yet from somewhere above, three dull blasts of a war horn sounded. Long and mournful like a funeral dirge.

Atop the ramparts Daenerys stood by Jon's side as he reviewed the castle's fortifications. Gendry, Davos and Arya stood shoulder to shoulder with the Targaryens as they looked ever northward and into the blackness. The North had been evacuated. We need to deny the Night King any more bodies to add to his host, Jon had said. And so ravens were sent to every corner of the North. Every keep and holdfast was commanded by order of their King to seek refuge at Winterfell. But it wasn't enough. To Moat Cailin, he then ordered. And so his people listened. But not until fortifications were dug and defenses erected. After the first level wasn't enough Jon had ordered a second and a third. Daenerys recalled his chamber in Dragonstone. Parchment, wax and quills littered every inch. And when finally he stumbled upon a fortification he envisioned working, North it went, perched in the talon of a single black raven. Will it be enough, Jon? Daenerys wondered as she too looked out into the quiet black night.

Time seemed warped. Below, Dany watched as Unsullied formed ranks and marched from the northern gate toward the single manned fortification closest to the castle. Behind them, her blood riders raced to the southern gate to join the rest of the Dothraki screamers. Her khalasar was concealed behind Winterfell, awaiting Daenerys order on dragon back to flank the outsides of Army of the Dead- trapping them between fortifications, the Unsullied and themselves. It was Qhono who had suggested the tactic. Daenerys smiled satisfactorily as the great northern lords gathered around the table reluctantly heeded the battle plan of her Blood Rider. And from the sky, her and Jon would rain fire and blood upon the dead.

"The scorpions?" Jon asked Gendry as they continued their walk along the ramparts.

"Armed and ready," he nodded. In his hand, a great war hammer tipped with dragonglass. At his side, Arya stood and in her hand a double-headed spear.

"Be safe," Jon's breath hitched as he embraced her. His hand clasped behind her head, he dipped his mouth to kiss her forehead.

"I love you big brother," she whispered. They parted finally, and with a heavy sigh Jon turned to Davos.

"Be careful, lad," the old man muttered. "We all need you." Jon smiled sadly.

"Aye, I'll be fine." As they embraced, Daenerys could see in Davos' eyes how terribly the old knight wanted it to be true. For Jon to live to see the sun rise and to toast the coming of the dawn. But words were wind, and falsehoods often sewn.

They continued down the ramparts, Jon inspecting the northern archers as they took their places among the crenellations. Their dragonglass arrowheads glimmering in the firelight.

As Jon and Daenerys made their way down into the yard toward the stables, they stumbled among Jaime Lannister drilling a small company of soldiers. Among them, Daenerys spied the sword and star sigil of house Dayne. Let him live, Daenerys offered in silent prayer. Let him live to love women and father sons.

"Lord Jaime," Jon called. Jaime sheathed his sword and removed his helm. At his side Brienne of Tarth sheathed hers as well, bowing dutifully as a knight would.

"Your graces," she said, removing her helm. She was a head taller than Lord Jaime and a better swordsman that much was clear, but together they moved in sync, and in their eyes... I know that look, Daenerys thought, her own eyes drifting to Jon.

"Is your company in want of anything?" Jon asked. Jaime shook his head.

"No," he said forcefully. "And Winterfell will be held."

"Good." Jon outstretched his hand, offering himself in good will. "I wish you good fortune, Lord Jaime."

"As I you, your Grace." Though Daenerys didn't wish death upon Lord Jaime, she could not bring herself to utter warm wishes of good fortune. It was a tonic too bitter to swallow.

The ride to the overlook where Rhaegal and Drogon made their den passed quickly. Jon and Daenerys dismounted and came to a stop at the edge of the hillside. Below Winterfell sat in darkness. The wind began to blow from the north and with it came a bitingly cold blast of air. Overhead, the moon and stars vanished one by one.

"He's here," Jon said quietly. Daenerys reached for Jon, their hands clasped together as they stood side by side. Daenerys relished in its warmth, in the strength of his grip, in the thought of his touch. What could Daenerys say to make him understand? This is not it, this is not the moment we say goodbye. She squeezed his hand and pulled herself into him, burying her face into his furs. It wasn't sadness she felt then. It was anger. Anger that this was all the time they were allowed together. It was all slipping through her fingers like grains of sand: her kingdom, her family, the love that had been borne between them.

"Dany," Jon said, lifting her chin between his fingers. "Dany, I love you." His lips crashed into hers, his hands cradling her face. She pulled away, swallowing her tears.

"No, Jon Snow," she said through gritted teeth. She kissed him once more. "This is not the day I lose you." He stiffened then, as though her assuredness strengthened his resolve.

"Aye," he said softly. "Together."

The dragons stirred apprehensively as the riders approached them. Rhaegal shook his wings, and Drogon roared in anticipation of his rider. The two Targaryens mounted. Further afield, the two unmanned trenches that surrounded Winterfell's northernmost perimeter burst into flame. Leagues and leagues of fire seemed to erupt from the ground in unison, shooting walls of flame into the cold northern night. In the distance, a lone wolf howled. Then another, and another until the air was filled with the mournful song of wolves. Suddenly, illuminated by the field of fire, a pack emerged from the forest's edge led by Jon's great white wolf. She looked to Jon, wishing she could touch him once more. Be with him, Jon, she thought. Feel him. Almost as if he could sense her thoughts, Jon closed his eyes. She watched him inhale and exhale slowly as he sat upon Rhaegal. When his eyes opened, they had gone milky white, the gray all but vanished. Dany knew where Jon had gone. Do not linger in him too long, she thought. I need you, as well.

"Sōvēs," she said finally to Drogon. Fly.