Jon

Grey Worm approaches with a few of his men and Jon moves toward him flanked by Arya, Davos and a dozen other Northmen while the rest of his army remains a number of paces behind.

"We cannot find the Queen," Grey Worm announces, concern etched on his face. "Have you seen her?"

Jon nods and swallows hard, a spasm of grief crossing his features.

"The Queen –" His voice is rough and he stops to clear his throat. "The Queen is dead," he says quietly.

Grey Worm's implacable control breaks for a moment and he stumbles back two steps before righting himself.

"How?" he growls menacingly and Jon shakes his head, sorrow etched across his face.

"It was me, Grey Worm. I... I had to stop her."

"You..." Grey Worm looks at him in utter disbelief for several heartbreakingly long seconds before his features harden. He raps out a command in Valyrian and several Unsullied advance forward, spears pointing toward Jon prompting Arya and the men surrounding him to draw their own weapons.

"Stop!" Jon roars.

"I will kill every one of your men if you do not hand yourself over to me now, Jon Snow." Spear in hand, Grey Worm moves ever closer to where Jon stands.

"Who are you to tell a king what to do?" Arya asks.

"I see no king," Grey Worm spits at Jon's feet. "I see only a traitor. A queenslayer." Wrapping his hands around his spear, he plants the wooden shaft into the dirt and leans forward with menacing intent. "You ask who I am? I am the Queen's Master of War."

"Your Queen is dead," Davos says bluntly, aware of Jon flinching at his side. "And as such, her authority over this place and any rank she bestowed upon you no longer exists. And you are not of Westeros. It is not your place to decide the fate of our king."

"My men say otherwise." With a jerk of his head, more Unsullied step forward, brandishing their lances threateningly. The air sings with the sound of Northern swords leaving their scabbards and Jon can feel Arya all but vibrating with rage at his side. He lays a hand on her shoulder, willing to her calm and then takes a deep breath and steps forward.

"Grey Worm. Can we not speak?"

"I do not speak with traitors," Grey Worm growls. "You used our Queen – her dragons and her armies to save your home," he seethes. "You pretended to love her. You let our Queen and her armies defeat your enemies for you – first in the north and then here in the south. And now that she has done so, you have murdered her. Do you think I will let you live to take her throne?"

"Grey Worm. That is not –"

"I know who you are, Dragon," the Unsullied leader snarls. "I know that she feared you would betray her. I know that she was right to be afraid."

"A few moments," Jon appeals again. "Can we not speak together for a few moments before we commit our men to more bloodshed?"

Grey Worm's face quivers with barely-leashed rage before he manages to regain his control. Taking one step back, he flicks a hand out to his side and his men immediately withdraw their weapons, returning to a position of rigid attention at his back.

"A moment or two. No more."

"Thank you." Jon's signals to his own men to lower their weapons even as his fingers drop to fidget with the knot belting his sword at his waist.

"Jon," Arya breathes worriedly as he strips the belt away, wrapping its trailing ends around the leather scabbard protecting Longclaw.

"All will be well, little sister." Jon places his weapon in her hands with a comforting smile. "I promise."

Grey Worm's gaze sweeps over the unarmed man who has moved away from the protection of his guards and similarly hands his own weapons to his second-in-command, growling and shaking his head in response to whatever the other man said.

"What is it you wish to say?"

"Will you walk with me?" Jon moves forward, picking his way through the rubble littering the street then stops, waiting for the other man to catch up. "All of my life I believed myself to be a bastard. You may not know what that means but in most places in Westerosi society, a bastard is a shameful thing." He glances downward and drags the toe of his boot through the debris at his feet. "Because of that, I have only ever wanted to act with honor and to defend the North against those who would threaten it."

He looks up and stares into the other man's eyes.

"Nearly every decision I have made in my life has been in pursuit of those two things. And my people would tell you that many of my choices have been reckless and ill-advised because I expect others will deal honorably with me as I would with them."

He presses the tips of his fingers against his eyes before leveling his gaze on the silent man at his side.

"I came to Dragonstone to ask the Queen for help in my war against the dead. I did not plan to fall in love with her but I did. I saw in her a woman who wanted to be a force of good in the world. And because of that, I trusted her with my home. I trusted her with my family. When I learned the truth of myself – of who my parents were – of what that made me – I trusted her with that information, even though I knew she would feel threatened by it. Even though I knew it might drive a wedge between us. Honor demanded that I be truthful with her though I knew others would advise against it.

"I never wanted the throne. I brought my army south to help Daenerys take it. Because I had pledged myself to her. Because I believed her when she said she wanted to break the wheel and replace it with something better. Because she was the Breaker of Chains who cared for the smallfolk. Because I saw that Ser Jorah and Tyrion, that you and Missandei and so many others all believed in her so fiercely."

He tears his gaze away from the other man and gestures to the streets around them.

"But... I could not... cannot support this. And I could not allow what happened here to be the fate of the rest of the realm. There is no honor in what took place here yesterday. Is this what you imagined all these years that you have been following Daenerys? When she spoke of breaking the wheel did you think that meant she would use her dragons to murder innocent civilians?"

He begins walking again, relieved when Grey Worm silently follows.

"The people of Kings Landing – they don't care about thrones and politics. They just want to get through their lives as peacefully as possible. They want to be able to put food on their tables and clothes on their children's backs and a roof over their heads. They were not loyal foot soldiers in Cersei's army. They are the ones who have always been made to suffer each time someone new rises to take the throne."

He stops near the crumpled body of a tiny girl – no more than three years of age – a ragdoll clutched in one hand. Blood stains her clothes from the gaping wound in her chest, an Unsullied spear lies in a dried pool of her blood, and he feels his own chest seize as a sob lodges in his throat.

"I know that Missandei's death destroyed something in both you and in Daenerys. Yet, I cannot help but wonder what she would think if she had lived to see this." He crouches and for no logical reason other than his own comfort, settles the child's limbs so that she appears merely to be sleeping. "Would the good-hearted Missandei approve of what took place here?" He tucks the doll close to the girl's shattered body and looks up to see Grey Worm staring off to one side, blinking rapidly against the tears that rise in his eyes.

"The last thing Missandei said before they killed her was 'Dracarys'," the Unsullied leader says in a thick voice. "She meant that we should destroy Cersei, but I have been blinded by vengeance since her death and I allowed myself to believe that she had given me permission to punish all who dwelled within the walls of this city." He swipes his fingers over his eyes and forces himself to look at the broken body of the child. "My Missandei was loyal to Daenerys but she would have been horrified to see her queen use her dragon to destroy innocents and she would have been sickened to see me abandon my honor as I have done."

Jon nods, squinting against the watery sunlight trying to pierce its way through the thick cover of clouds and ash above. "We have come to know each other over these many moons since we first met. We came together to fight the annihilation of the living at the hands of the dead. What happened here was no less an extermination." He pushes to his feet and risks laying a hand on the other man's shoulder. "I hope you believe me when I tell you again that I have never wanted a throne. That I did not come here to steal it from our queen. If I could have seen any other way..." He shakes his head and looks at the devastation all around him. "But I was a part of this. I had to be the one to stop it. And I need to do what I can to fix it. I am asking you to allow me to do that without having to raise arms against you."

Grey Worm continues to stare at the child sprawled at their feet and a muscle ticks in his clenched jaw as he finally reaches a decision. "I will not stand in your way, Jon Snow."

All the air rushes out of Jon's lungs in a heartfelt sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Grey Worm." He sets off again, pacing deeper into the city as the two men try to absorb the scale of the death and destruction that fills their vision. "I have no right to ask anything of you," Jon says as they walk, "but I would like you and your men to discuss whether you would consider staying with us for a little while at least, and help me to start to put things to right. I could use your help."

"I speak for the Unsullied. We will stay."

"I appreciate that, but still. I would like for you to speak with them. If you choose to stay, I will not ask you to swear fealty to me, nor to bend the knee. I would have you know that any or all of you are free to leave whenever you so choose."

"I will do as you ask and speak with them, Jon Snow. But I know what they will say. We will remain here and do what we can to fix what we have helped to destroy."

0o0o0o0

The noises of the camp beyond the walls of his tent fade and fatigue weights Jon's eyes, pulling him into an uneasy slumber. Sansa appears before him, a pitying look on her face as she gazes out upon the decimated city. Surely you had to have known this would happen, she says, sweeping a hand out to encompass the burned bodies piled in the streets. Her image fades, replaced by one of Dany, her glorious silver hair spread out across the pillows of his bed, delicate arms wrapped around his neck. I love you. Her whisper ends in a garbled gasp, a look of stunned pain and disbelief replacing the adoration in her eyes before she too slips into the mists of his dreams.

He tosses restlessly upon the furs on which he sleeps and finds himself crouched before the melted throne, a lifeless Daenerys cradled in his arms. You pledged yourself to her and then forsook your honor. Disappointment colors Ned Stark's words as he stares at the blood pooling on the snow beneath the fallen queen. I thought I had raised you better but I am ashamed to call you my son. His father's quiet rebuke scrapes over Jon's skin like a thousand tiny blades and he jerks awake with a gasp.

He flops onto his back and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. There are a million different things that require his attention. Dealing with any one of them seems a better option than slipping back into haunted dreams.

"Shove over."

He blinks to see Arya abandoning her own nest of furs on the other side of the tent they share. "I'm keeping you awake," he says as he levers himself up onto one elbow.

"Who can sleep after everything that has happened?" she grouses, standing over him. "Now shove over."

He shifts and lifts the fur cover so she can slide beneath. She settles on her side and he tugs the furs up to her neck, curling his body around hers protectively as he had done when they were but children together at Winterfell.

"Do you remember how I used to come to your chamber whenever there was a thunderstorm?" Arya whispers into the dark as she pillows her head on his outstretched arm.

"Aye. The others piled into the lord's chamber with Father and your mother, but you always came to me."

"Because I always felt safest with you." She rubs her cheeks against his sleeve like an affectionate cat and then twists her neck so that she can see him over her shoulder. "And because it made me sad to think of you alone and maybe scared too."

"Arya," he murmurs, his breath catching in his throat when she laces her fingers through his.

"You're not alone, Jon."

His chest heaves against her back and she tightens her fingers around his.

"I was terrified when I saw that dragon appear," Arya whispers. "I was sure he was going to burn you or eat you alive."

"Aye." He nods, hooking his chin on her shoulder.

"You just stood there," she murmurs, a hint of accusation in her voice. "Like you wanted him to do it."

Silence sits heavily upon them as they each remember those awful moments in the throne room.

"Did..."

He is so close to her he can hear the sound of her swallowing around the thickness gathered in her throat as she tries to force out the words.

"Did you want to die?"

"A little," he admits.

She twists her head and pierces him with a wounded expression.

"I'm tired, Arya," he breathes. "Tired of fighting. Tired of killing. Tired of watching the people I love die."

"So am I!" She rolls over to face him. "I've lost so many people already, Jon. Please don't make me grieve for you too."

His smile is a sad acknowledgment of all they have lost. They both know that no one is promised a tomorrow but he can vow that he will not seek out death.

"I won't," he promises. "Not yet."

"Not for a long time, if I have anything to say about it," she mutters before flopping back down. Pressing a kiss into her hair, he burrows into their shared furs and seeks his slumber, hoping the nearness of his fierce little sister will be enough to hold his demons at bay for the rest of the night.

TBC