Briny wind whipped against her face, cold and uninviting. In front of her stretched a wide expanse of gray sand, made into a path by white cliff and stormy sea. She could hear shouts just out of reach and stumbled in the wind trying to get to the source.

"Wait!"

The wind blew harder, nearly knocking her over, trying to drown out the shouting. Unable to face forward, Dany looked down at her unsteady bare feet on the gray sand. They were just visible beneath a swollen belly of silver and gold that suddenly dropped like dead weight into her.

Shrieks, wind and human alike, replaced the shouting and the sand shone red.

"Stop!"

The belly pulled her down into the sticky, red sand, which parted easily to envelop her, as the wind thundered ever closer. Screaming into the wind, Dany tried to claw her way from drowning in the choking depths. Calloused hands, rough with sand, emerged to grip her neck and silenced her.

"No, please!" Dany screamed, shooting upright with her hands flying to her neck, unbidden by strangers' hands or the choking depths of bloody sand. She was panting, coated with sweat that made the furs covering her stick like needles upon the sap of pines. Thunderous wind still echoed in her ears as she tried to gain her bearings.

A hand rested gently onto the small of her back, making Dany react with visceral fear as she whipped her head around. Jon was laying awake next to her, worry etched across his face. Soothingly, without speaking, he stroked his hand up and down her lower back, drawing his fingers through the ends of her hair as he went. The feeling was calming, a familiar touch so unlike the nightmarish one that had taken her neck, and Dany tried to focus on it and the other tangible pieces of her home as she took steadying breaths.

It was dark, the only light coming from the low burning fire. The egg on the mantle was eerily illuminated, its glow almost sinister. Dany looked away.

She had been asleep perhaps no longer than a couple hours, for she could hear the silence of night outside. Jon was lying next to her, his warm body must have been pressed against her in sleep for she could still feel the faint memories upon her skin of being melded perfectly to her husband. Now, she was cold with sweat. Another breath came through her chest, fractionally calmer than before but still rattled with the ghost of her nightmare.

Searching out the warmth she had left when she woke, Dany sunk slowly back down into Jon's embrace, willing him to hold her tightly and keep everything else at bay. He brought their bodies close enough to mold around Dany, protecting the swell of her stomach - flesh instead of scaled silver and gold - as one arm rested at her back and the other smoothed away her hair.

His gray eyes bore into hers for an answer to the question Dany knew must be burning upon his lips despite his refusal to speak it aloud.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," she murmured, voice cracking.

"We don't have to," Jon said gently, stroking her hair again.

"No, you do," she quickly said, shifting away slightly, "It's okay. You need rest, you're…" leaving me when dawn breaks. The words died before they became sound. Dany had no interest in sounding petulant, she really didn't, but Jon's impending travels were not her favorite thoughts.

It was a new tradition, seeing as Shadowedge was only two years old, but last year many in the villagers went on a hunting expedition at this time, as the great herd of elk passed close to the borders of the Antler on their yearly migration toward the Milkwater. The oldest children went with them, as a kind of rite of passage to see the land beyond Shadowedge and their copse of Haunted Forest.

Now it was time for the tradition again, and Jon, having missed last year's with Rose being a newborn, was itching to go.

"Go!" Dany had encouraged with a false cheeriness when he first brought it up, "There's no reason for you to miss it. And you can take Embar, it would be good for him as well."

The suggestion that Jon part Dany from her newly beloved horse probably gave away her false tone, for he immediately amended his suggestion. "O-or maybe I should stay," he backpedaled, "It isn't fair to ask the four of you to mind all the little ones for a week. And with the baby and - "

"Jon," Dany had shushed him, "It's okay. Go. Please."

Why had it been so easy to tell him to go? Was it the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about it? Was it the palpable excitement she felt from him when she watched him speak to the others about this hunt with a grin on his face? Or the way he whistled while getting his bow in order and making sure nothing needed to be mended before his journey, every once in a while looking up and smiling at Dany who watched from the other side of the room?

It had been so easy, and yet Dany desperately wanted to take it back. To tell him that she, Willa, Old Dryn, and Dorand could not possibly handle the several small children to be left in their charge (an utter lie). That he couldn't leave for a week (ridiculously possessive). That she was afraid to be without him, now especially, with her dreams stalked by spectres and her fears unable to be comforted by anyone else. The nightmares felt so real, so horrifyingly real, and Dany could not help but foolishly wonder if they would be.

Her dreams of dragons, of Drogon in the wastes of the Mammoth's Head, had been true. And this dream felt even more tangible, like a vision from the House of the Undying rather than something her mind made up at its most vulnerable. What if they were a warning? What if Jon left and never returned?

But she said nothing. She planned to stay with Willa as Embar would be with Jon, she pretended to be excited with him, and she acted as though her restless nights were merely due to her pregnancy. So why should she say something now, on the eve of his travels?

Jon's hand stroked over her hair again and skated down her back. "You're shaking again," he said quietly, pulling her closer, "Dany, my love, what's tormenting you?"

At his words, her throat constricted as if the bloody sand had been dumped into her mouth again. For a brief moment, the darkness gave way to memories of the roaring, bloodsoaked beach. She broke, unable to say nothing any longer. "Oh, Jon," she cried, burying her head into his chest, "Jon, it was so awful."

"Shh, my love. Shh, you won't see it anymore. It's gone."

Comforting sounds in Jon's chest as he soothed her were the only sounds Dany heard for a while. She took refuge in the crook of his chest, her trembling lessening as she listened to each strong beat of his heart, memorizing the pattern until she could hear it without her ear pressed against him.

Once he felt her still, Jon spoke again, although not to ask her about her demons. "Sometimes when you're sleeping, I braid bits of your hair for practice," he said to her gently.

"Is that why it gets so wavy?" she asked, looking up from his embrace. He nodded, nuzzling her face as he did with what Dany could tell was a sheepish smile at the admission.

A small chuckle passed from her lips, instantly relaxing at their familiar game. They had not needed to play it in so long. "Hmm," she said, taking her turn, "If I see you frown in your sleep, I kiss you."

"I love how your skin looks in moonlight."

"I love that you kiss my stomach before you make love to me."

"Sometimes I try to surprise you because your eyes are gorgeous when they're wide."

He placed kisses along her jaw as she chose what thought to share next, "In the sunlight, I've been trying to catch a glimpse of your burgundy undertones from the wine barrel incident."

Jon's kisses stopped. "Did Sansa tell you about that?"

"What kind of wine was it?"

"I don't have burgundy undertones," Jon growled, kissing her jaw again.

"Anymore," she corrected with a laugh.

Against her neck, he gave another thought. "I love hearing your laugh," he said, nosing her to face him again, "And I hate when you're afraid."

"I haven't woken up alone since we left Dragonstone," Dany murmured. I still won't be alone, she thought, knowing she would be in Willa's house, but it's not the same. It's not this.

"Dany...I don't have to leave."

"No, Jon, I - it's not right of me to make you stay here because of a nightmare," she reasoned, "And I really do want you to go. I just...don't as well."

"Is it the same one over and over again?" he pressed, adding, "This may have been the first time you woke up, but...I have before."

Of course. Dany took a deep breath, looking away from Jon's face as he finished the question. Of course he had known. Of course he had said nothing. And what would she have done if he had? Coward, she said to herself, knowing the answer. This was her husband. If she had no truth to tell him, what good was the vow that she made?

"Yes," she said, still looking at a point beyond Jon, "It's always the same. The same wind. And blood...on the sand." She shuddered, once again feeling the grainy-and-sticky texture from memory, still hot as though freshly spilled despite the cold air. "And I'm alone. They're so close, someone is so close, but I'm alone when the sand swallows me."

She could have said more. She could have told him about the screams. About the wind that drowned out every sound except to be pierced by the bloodcurdling screeches Dany knew to be abject fear. About the egg in her stomach that betrayed her to the sand. And the demonic hands that had reached for the first time to keep her from screaming as she drowned. But the thought of reliving those memories sent ice dripping down her spine and tightened her chest as if she had been immersed in the frozen waters of the Antler.

Needing to feel something safe, true, and warm she touched Jon's cheek, finger pads brushing gently over the scruff of his beard. "Is it foolish to be haunted by it?" she asked, "To be scared of my own mind?"

"No, Dany," Jon answered softly, "But I wish you had told me this was happening."

Dany shrugged. "I don't want to believe that it is," she told him, still stroking over his cheek.

For a moment, Jon simply searched her face, tracing over it with his eyes before resting on the violet eyes staring back at him. "If you don't want me to stay, what do you want me to do?"

"Just hold me," Dany said quietly, "Just be here now."