The wood around them was so quiet Jon could hear the fire crackle as he sat in silence with his brother. A thick of trees crowded around them, menacing and watchful. It was only the two of them still awake, the others chasing after a few hours sleep. Attempting rest seemed a pointless task and Jon chose instead to mentally repeat the way into the Bolton dungeon his little sister had told him.

The entrance was in the main keep. Down a set of crumbling stairs they'd find one guard who was often too drunk to stand up straight. To get to Dany, he'd go left at the bottom of the stairs, six cells down on the right side. That was if she hadn't been moved.

Robb took a deep swig from the skin Tormund had given them, and in an instant his face screwed up. "What is this shit?"

In his former life, Jon might have laughed, but instead, he turned his gaze back to the flames. "Don't know. Tormund said it's something the free folk drink before battle."

"It's disgusting."

Robb handed the skin back wordlessly but Jon waved him away.

"My mother would murder me if she knew we planned to use Arya like bait," Robb said.

Jon thought of Catelyn Tully's cold blue eyes. "She won't hear it from me."

"If we take Dacey, Smalljon, Tormund and a few others, we should have enough men to defend ourselves should Ramsay return to the castle before we're gone."

"Aye," Jon agreed, meeting his brother's eyes. "Only I cannot ask you to come with me."

Robb was affronted. "You don't need to ask."

"You're King in the North."

"All the more reason I should be there," Robb answered, squaring his shoulders. "Ramsay is my bannerman. I'm to see that he pays for his crimes. And more than that, you're my family. I will always fight by your side."

Jon felt a twinge of warmth in his otherwise frozen chest. He'd never had a friend as loyal as Robb or Arya. "We can't risk it," Jon said plainly. "If something happens to both of us, what becomes of my son or your daughter? Besides, one of us needs to be here for Arya."

Robb slumped forward. "You're right about Arya. She's too brave for her own good."

Inside, Jon winced. He didn't know if it was right or wrong to allow his little sister to put herself in such peril even for Dany, but he was certain there was no stopping her now.

"I'll look after her while you're in there," Robb said resignedly. "We'll feast them both tomorrow night and never let them out of our sights again."

"I hope you're right," Jon replied.

"I am. We'll all be back in Winterfell in two days time, mark my words. Keep your wits about you in there," he told Jon resolutely. "Once Daenerys is safe, justice will swiftly follow."


Jon's mind was quiet, but all of his senses were on fire. Each footstep and echoing hoot of an owl sent a charge through his undead heart, more alive than he'd thought he was capable of anymore. This was his last chance to reach her. If he failed tonight, he would lose everything.

He and the men were gathered in shadow at the edge of the wood, monitoring the castle grounds for movement, wondering which gate Ramsay and his men might spill out of. Arya had made a spectacle of herself, catching the attention of the guards, and was at that moment riding through the godless wood on horseback with Robb and toward a host of men.

No matter what occurred, Jon would find a way into the castle tonight. He'd reach Dany or he'd die trying. There would be no more waiting. What state he might find her in, he would not allow himself to guess.

He was starting to lose his patience, when a group of men rode out in a fury, the breath of their horses were wreaths of white smoke in the night air. Flames of anger licked through him at the sight of a hooded man at the center, riding a blood red stallion.

"That's Ramsay," Jon whispered to Lord Umber.

"How can you tell for sure?"

"That's his red horse," Jon remarked, his blood pumping harder. "Greyjoy is absent."

"Good," Smalljon answered. "If the turncloak is still in the castle, he won't have the chance to run when we take it."

Moonlight reflected off of black, green and cream scales as the dragons flew above the castle. Silent and ominous, as though they too were preparing for what was to come.

The moment Ramsay and his men penetrated the treeline, Jon and the others made for the castle, and toward the postern gate Arya had told them about.

The lone guard posted was fighting to keep his eyes open when they came up on him, and barely caught a glimpse of their party before Smalljon Umber ran him through.

Jon led the way through an eerily quiet courtyard, using his little sister's words to find his way to the entrance of the Bolton dungeon.


Dany felt her entire being weighed down by lead. Everything ached, and she used her strength that remained to wrap herself in a hug. Eyes open, eyes closed, she was always trapped in darkness, and the line between sleep and wakefulness had lost all meaning.

She'd no idea now how long she'd been there, if it was night or day; all she could do was wait for Ghost to howl. And it felt like it had been dreadfully long since she'd heard him last.

Treacherous thoughts tried to break in. What if Ghost had gone? He'd never leave her, of that she was certain, but perhaps something had happened to him. Did that mean Robb's men weren't coming?

Her cellmate rustled beside her and hummed as she slumped against the wall. "I dreamt I was lying in a meadow near my village," Myranda said drowsily, her voice grating Dany's nerves. "I could feel the sun on my face and smell freshly baked bread. I'd give anything to be there again. Maybe I will if we're ever free."

"I used to have faith in my dreams," she answered, turning her body away. "But in the end, they've brought me nothing but pain. Now, where I'd like to be again exists only in my dreams."

"Something is different tonight," Myranda noted curiously. "It's quiet."

It was true. There were no anguished screams and cries for mercy. Ramsay was quiet within and the wolves were quiet without. "The monster is probably hunting some poor girl in the woods," she remarked flatly, wishing the stranger strength and courage to escape.

"Lord Ramsay does love his sport," the girl said queerly, making Dany's stomach turn.

Somewhere in the void, there was a sharp grunt of pain, and then a rush of footsteps. She sat up tall and found the handle of her knife.

A string of torches burned in the black, and her body went cold with dread. Beside her, she could feel Myranda still and watchful. Something was different, and her heart lurched when she heard hushed voices call in the dark, "Daenerys."

Blind with terror, all she could do was tremble, unable to find her voice to call back, and unsure that she even should. Was this a rescue or a trick?

A single torch found its way to her cell door, and she shielded her stinging eyes. When she was able to look again, she found a shock of red hair and broad shoulders.

"She's here!" the man cried.

At that, Myranda began to scream with a sincerity that gave her pause, and cautiously, she crawled toward the light. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw it was Tormund Giantsbane. Then another hot torch blinded her.

"It's alright, Dany," a familiar voice said. "We're going to get you out of here."

Her heart leapt and fluttered, and her mind ran with wild thoughts.

It can't be, she scolded her foolish heart. It must be Robb.

When her blinking eyes finally adjusted, the owner of the mysterious voice was gone, and beneath Myranda's shrieking, she could hear the soft sounds of jingling keys.

The door opened with a loud echoing creak and Tormund rushed in first, seizing Myranda and clamping his hand around her mouth.

"This one Myranda?" he asked.

At her nod, Tormund's great hands closed around the girl's neck and snapped it like a twig. Dany was frozen as the lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Shocked, she did not notice the other figure enter the cell until he was kneeling before her and touching her face. Her heart stilled in her chest.

"Are you hurt?" the man asked. His voice was soothing and intimate and when she felt his hands on her searching for injury, she did not pull away. Nor did she stop him when he took the knife still clutched in her fist.

Air left her lungs and her skin began to tingle. Mesmerized by dark eyes she'd been terrified she'd forget, and lips she'd longed to taste and feel, she studied his face in the torchlight. Her nose stung and her vision blurred.

"Jon?" her voice shook.

His eyes held her assuredly while his thumbs caressed her cheeks. "It's me, Dany."

Warm tears fell, and she shook her head in disbelief. This must be some hateful scheme. "You were dead," she sobbed.

"Not anymore," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Are you hurt?"

Her hands were shaking as she reached out and touched him, relief washing over her as her fingers curled against the scruff of his beard. He was warm flesh and blood once more. "How?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak when outside the wolves began to howl.

"We need to go now!" Dacey Mormont cried.

"I'll tell you everything after I get you out of here," Jon said quickly, handing her the handle of her knife. "Hold on to this."

Not giving her the chance to rise to her feet, he lifted her into his arms, and took her away from her cold prison. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she savored his warmth and the comfort of his scent.

"Is Aemon alright?" she asked suddenly, holding her breath.

"Yes," Jon answered immediately. "He's safe."

A sense of peace she'd never thought she'd have again settled over her even as they dashed up the stairs, racing against time. Men in front of them, and men behind, some she recognized and others she did not. If they could make it into the open air, she knew they'd be safe.

The light from the dimly lit hallway had her squinting as they left the dungeon behind, and she filled her lungs with fresh air.

"Can you walk?" Jon asked.

"Yes," she answered, not entirely sure herself.

He held her steadily as her feet found purchase on the stone floor, her legs wobbly from disuse. It was then she could see how filthy she'd become, her hands and gown covered in dirt and dust.

Jon pulled her out of her stupor, taking her hand and dragging her with them down the hall as they ran for the door. Weak and clumsy, it wasn't long before his arm was around her waist to help her keep pace. The great oak door she'd been forced through on that terrible day was in sight, and she closed her eyes and thought of black and red scales.

Without warning, violent shouts filled the hall ahead, and swords sung as they were drawn from leather sheaths. Lifted off of her feet again before she could orient herself, Jon set her against the wall away from the fighting.

"Stay down!" he commanded, before drawing his own sword and joining the fray.

Dany balled her hands and held her breath. She would not lose him again. Only when Jon cut down an opponent could she look away and her eyes fell back to the door.

If I could just slip past them, she thought, and get to Dreamfyre, this will all end.

Rising to her feet slowly, she moved forward on light steps when she was suddenly seized from behind, and a cold hand slipped around her throat.

"Where are you going, My Queen? The fun's only just begun."


Outside, the dragons began to roar.

Jon had her. Somehow, they'd managed to find the dungeon and get her out before an alarm could be sounded. He could scarcely believe it even with her hand held tightly in his.

They were nearing the way out, and it suddenly felt too easy. Skeletal hands holding torches stuck out of the walls, like they were reaching for her, eager to snatch her away from him again. He wrapped an arm around her waist protectively as he dragged her along.

She struggled to keep up on clumsy steps and her skin was near as pale as her hair, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Thank the gods, old and new, that they'd been able to reach her in time. All they had to do was make it to the courtyard and then he'd fly her to Winterfell where she could be seen by Maester Luwin.

Just when the door was in sight, they were ambushed. A little more than half a dozen men accosted their party as they passed an archway, and steel thundered as they clashed. On instinct, he whisked Dany up, and with nowhere to hide her, set her behind them away from the chaos.

Jon jumped into the melee, exchanging blows with a boyish fair-haired man.

"Lord Ramsay won't be pleased you tried to take his queen," the man said with a sneer, before raising his blade hastily to make a powerful cut. Jon took the advantage and drove his blade into the man's chest.

Just as he was freeing his blade, the booming roar of dragons boomed outside, and a voice called from behind. "Hello, bastard."

Jon whirled around and anger shot through him to find Ramsay Snow standing before him with Dany in his clutches.

"You're supposed to be dead, bastard," he accused, the raucous sounds of talons and spiked tails meeting against stone all around.

Jon pressed forward, bloody sword in hand. "Let her go or you will be."

Ramsay laughed, and pressed the tip of a dagger against her thin neck. Her eyes were alight with fear and Jon stopped in his tracks.

"Are you threatening me while I hold your wife and unborn daughter?" he asked, keeping the dagger staunchly in place.

Jon's heart fell to his stomach as he met his wife's terrified watery stare.

Ramsay snickered. "Oh my," he said, covering his mouth. He turned to Dany as fresh tears streaked down her cheeks. "He didn't know? You should have told me it was our secret." Ramsay smiled cruelly before turning back to Jon. "Little girls are such a joy. I'm sure she'll bring some light to the Dreadfort."

Jon was a maelstrom of rage. "I am going to tear you apart."

"No," Ramsay said confidently. "You'll drop your sword. Now. Or I'll cut your bastard spawn out of her belly and give it to you."

Jon hesitated.

Dany cried out as the dagger was pressed harder against her skin, both her hands trying in vain to pull his arm away.

"If you think I won't do it," Ramsay said with a smirk, "you haven't heard about me."

Slowly, he lowered Longclaw to the floor.

Ramsay glared over Jon's shoulder. "That goes for the rest of you. Lower your weapons or she dies."

Grudgingly, Jon signaled them to comply and dread twisted in his gut as his men unarmed themselves of morningstars and greatswords.

Jon's mouth was dry as he faced Ramsay. "Let her go," he said, "and I'll do what you ask."

"No!" she cried hoarsely. "Go, Jon!"

Ramsay laughed heartily. "Isn't that sweet?" he asked. "She wants you to save yourself. You won't though because by now, you know what I'll do to her. So how about I keep her and you still do what I ask."

Jon locked eyes with Dany and fear throbbed inside him. "If you let her go, the Starks won't come for you. You have my word."

"I think I prefer your pretty wife. We've grown rather fond of each other these past weeks."

"I am the one who can give you what you want," Jon lied. "She wouldn't command the dragons for you? That's because she can't. They listen to me. Let her and my men go. You don't need her."

Ramsay narrowed his eyes. "Do it then," he said as a great boom rocked the walls. "Command them now. Stop them from attacking my halls."

Jon swallowed his panic as he thought to choose his next words carefully. If only one of them could leave this place alive, let it be her.

Before he could speak, a brutal crash shook the halls, and Ramsay's wild eyes jumped around the room. Unconcerned with crumbling walls, Jon kept his eyes trained on Dany and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he watched her warily reach for the knife she had hidden in her skirts.

"Do it, bastard!" Ramsay shouted. "Or I'll-"

In the next instance, the false Lord Bolton hollered in pain as she thrust the knife into his upper thigh. The moment he loosened his hold, Jon was on him.

Slamming the monster into the ground, his head bounced off the stone before Jon began landing hard blows to his face. Ramsay's agonized screams fell on deaf ears and it wasn't long before all Jon could hear was the gurgling sound of him choking on his own blood. All of the rage and fear he'd pushed away over the past weeks were coursing through him, and he felt like he was standing next to himself, watching as he pummeled the wretched man, breaking his jaw into small sharp pieces.

He'd spent many nights dreaming of letting Ghost leisurely tear him apart, but he found this was satisfying enough.

"Jon?" Dany called to him softly, waking him from his trance.

Panting, his eyes focused on the monster beneath him, his face an unrecognizable bloodied mess of broken bones. His men had reclaimed their weapons, and it was the Bolton men now disarmed, their hands bound, wearing grey expressions.

Jon's hands were red and sticky, and he did his best to wipe away the blood on his own face with his sleeves. Climbing off the corpse, he wordlessly reached out his hand to Dany, and pulled her into him.

Her arms held him closely as her shoulders shook. "If this is a dream, I'd rather die than wake."

"It's no dream," he assured her.

Red rimmed violet eyes found his, and her bottom lip trembled. "You were gone… I saw you…you were cold."

Jon's throat was closing up. "A red priest brought me back, and I came for you as soon as I could."

"Aemon… is he really alright?"

He nodded first, not trusting himself to speak. "Yes. He's at Winterfell. He misses his mother."

She threw her arms around his shoulders and wept into his neck, and he was content to hold her for as long as she wanted. "I thought I'd lost you forever," she whispered.

"Never," he said. "Are you alright?"

She lifted her head and gave him a watery smile. "I've been so cold... and terribly hungry, but I feel much better now."

He wiped away her tears. "I'll feed you and keep you warm." Tenderly, he kissed her, and again asked the question she had thus far evaded. "Did he hurt you?"

Hiding against his shoulder once more, she shook her head. "He tried, he wanted to... but Dreamfyre tried to tear his castle down when he did."

Jon closed his eyes and thanked every god he could think of.

Warm hands cupped his cheeks and he found her studying his face. "I can't believe you're here," her voice trembled. She nuzzled her nose against his neck, and slender fingers slipped through his hair. "You smell the same, you look the same." Smiling softly, she lay a hand over his heart. "You're warm again."

There was no way to stop the tears that pooled in his eyes, and he kissed her more deeply than before. "I'm so sorry, Dany. I'm sorry I didn't stop it."

"No," she said earnestly. "The fault was mine. I shouldn't have been in the tunnels that morning. I should have been with you."

A fresh swell of rage rose in him. "Where's the one who's truly responsible?"


The wood was quiet no more, the free folk and the Stark forces making camp as they had claimed victory over the castle. Pale yellow dawn was rising over the frozen land, and a cold white mist clung to the ground. But even with the chill Jon felt his insides beginning to thaw with Dany beside him.

He had an arm curled around her protectively while Ghost rested his head in her lap. Nothing and no one would harm her now. The weight of her head against his shoulder was disarming and he watched her fingers run through the white fur of Ghost's neck. Every so often she lifted her head to give him a soft smile, perhaps assuring herself he was really there, before nestling against him again.

She was dressed in fresh clothes now, and all that remained of the garb she'd been kept in was smoldering ash. Dacey Mormont had helped work out the tangles of her silver hair, and it flowed over the black fur of his cloak draped heavily over her shoulders.

His eyes had meticulously traced every inch of her skin for signs she'd been hurt as he helped her dress. Relieved to find none, he noted that though she was thinner, the curve of her belly had grown. Still, he was more than eager to get her to Winterfell to be seen by the maester.

Before they could leave, there was still one more matter to attend to.

Searching the skies, he found Dreamfyre, Rhaegal and Viserion circling overhead. He was loath to leave her so soon, but it was for her and their family that he had to.

He tucked the edges of his cloak securely around her, and kissed her temple. "I'll be back shortly," he said, trying to ignore the way his heart sank as her eyes widened. "Stay near the dragons," he added firmly. His eyes cut to where Tormund and Mance sat on the other side of the fire as he stood to leave. "Please, do not let her out of your sight."

Dany rose to her feet abruptly. "I'm going with you."

"You should stay here and rest."

"I'm going."


Rhaegal flew them noiselessly over the trees toward The Weeping Water. Robb and his men had gone ahead with the traitor and were likely now waiting for them at the river's edge. For the moment, he didn't mind that Dany was there with him, safe and in his sights. She felt so small and frail inside his arms, it was always a wonder she could be so bloody stubborn.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Leaning against him, she closed her eyes. "Better than I ever thought I'd feel again."

Snow covered the banks of the river, and the sounds of rushing water could be heard as they touched down. Jon was quick to help her climb down the green dragon's wing, and just as quick to usher her to the black dragon.

Dreamfyre moved on his feet anxiously, jealous his mother had dared to ride another, but he was soon soothed by Dany's touch. Jon reached up to take her hand and implored, "Stay here until I come for you."

She looked like she might protest, but nodded reluctantly, and he squeezed her hand in appreciation. The moment he let go of her hand, anger grew in him like a tide.

Snow crunched under his feet as he walked to the water's edge, fitting himself with a pair of leather gloves that went up to his elbows as he did. Robb was waiting there with Lord Umber, Lady Mormont and a host of other northerners there to see justice served. The King in the North eyed him grimly, and once Jon stood beside his brother, he commanded, "Bring the prisoner."

Even at a distance Jon thought he could see Theon trembling. Flanked by two guards, and hands bound behind him, he was dragged before them, sweaty and pale.

Memories of training alongside him at Winterfell flashed in Jon's mind. Greyjoy's arrogance and cocky smile were things Jon would be happy to be rid of. Robb had thought to count him as a brother, but the ward was never a brother of his.

Jon was surprised at how little he felt at a moment he was about to take the life of someone he'd played with as a boy, but there was only cold fury.

Robb glowered at the prisoner. "I should have killed you when your father broke his word. I shall regret that mistake until my last breath."

Theon avoided Jon's gaze and appealed directly to Robb. "What I did, I did for you too. Do you really want the Targaryens to rise again? Do you want to bend the knee to this bastard?"

"Everything you did was for yourself," Robb answered, unmoved. "You betrayed me and the entire North. There's nothing that can save you now."

Jon stepped forward so that Greyjoy had no choice but to face him. "Anything you want to say before you die?"

The traitor's nostrils flared and his face burned a deep shade of red. "I killed you so easily, stabbed you right in the heart, and stole your wife. What kind of man can't protect his own family? You think you've won, but you're even worse than a bastard now, you're an abomination. I pity Daenerys more than I did when she was Ramsay's prisoner, forced to spend the rest of her nights with a walking dead man. Does your cock even work anymore?"

Fury roared through Jon's mind and his swordhand itched to break across Greyjoy's face, but he grabbed him by the collar instead. Theon's defiance melted away, and in his wild eyes Jon could finally see the scared boy he always knew was there. "It's time to meet your drowned God."

Smalljon and Dacey compelled Theon to his knees as he began to struggle, and he begged as he was forced to stare at the black and unforgiving water. Unaffected, Jon scarcely registered his words as he knelt beside him, and grabbed the back of his neck.

Even through his leather gloves, the frozen water burned Jon's hands as he plunged Theon's head into the dark river. The water burbled while he struggled, the traitor's ungloved hands were like claws, desperate to be free.

Gasping for air as Jon lifted him back out, his eyes were unfocused and his lips already turning blue. Any pity Jon might have felt was eviscerated by the memory of Ramsay Snow holding a dagger to his wife's neck. "I always knew you were scum," Jon snarled before dunking his head back in.

The water burned, but the pain was almost a comfort. There'd been little he'd felt since his death. He remembered Greyjoy's last words and rage ran red through his brain, waiting until he was all but done struggling, he pulled him up for air one last time.

Jon watched with hatred as Theon struggled to fill his lungs with air. "You may have killed me, Greyjoy, you may think you bested me, but in truth, you only killed the boy inside me who was afraid to do what must be done. You have awoken something in me that not even I can contain, but fortunately for you, you will not be here to see it."

Tightening his hand around Theon's neck for the last time, he growled, "What is dead may never die."

Theon struggled harder than he had before while held under the rushing water, but this time Jon held him through the last twitch and tremble.

He left him there face down in the river, keeping his eyes trained ahead and avoiding the gazes of Robb and the other men. His frozen hands throbbed and stung sharply as he made his way to a campfire, but he was surprised when Dany crossed his path and met him with a fire warmed towel.

"You were supposed to stay with Dreamfyre," he said, irritation crackling.

Brushing aside his admonishment, she wrapped his hands in the warm towel and his skin pricked as warmth returned.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. Curtly, he pulled away, and he hated himself for the hurt he saw in her eyes.

"I'm alright," he answered, forcing a smile. "You're safe now. That's all that matters."

Her eyes grew glassy. "Everything is happening so fast."

"Come," he said, offering his arm. "We'll go to Aemon."


Dany's stomach was in knots, and she was bounding up the stairs of Winterfell's Great Keep with newfound strength. They'd only just landed in the courtyard, and the sun was high in the sky. She'd allowed Jon the space of a few moments to inform a guard of the status of Robb and his men before they were off to Little Aemon.

They'd been parted before when she and Jon went Beyond the Wall, but not like this. She'd not been able to rock him in her arms, kiss him goodbye and assure him of her swift return. What things had he learned? What things had she missed?

Bursting through the door of their chambers, Ser Barristan's swordhand promptly found his hilt as she entered. "Your Grace," he said in astonishment as he fell to one knee.

Darting past him, her heart was beating in her throat when she found him playing on the floor with a nursemaid, a toy dragon and wolf held in either hand. He squealed in delight when he saw her, his face turning up in a gaping grin as he shook his hands wildly with excitement.

Tears were already falling as she swept him into her arms. "There you are, my sweet boy." She was sure he was heavier.

"Mama," he burbled, his soft tiny hands grabbing her cheeks.

"I missed you more than you'll ever know," she told him, kissing his nose and smelling his soft curly hair.

The nursemaid silently excused herself and Jon was talking discreetly with Ser Barristan on the other side of the room. As he was about to leave, Dany called to him. "Thank you, Ser," she said. "For protecting our son."

The grey knight's eyes crinkled, and he bowed to her before leaving her alone to reunite with her family.

Jon approached them wordlessly with soft eyes and tousled little Aemon's hair. The boy grinned at his father before resting his head on his mother's shoulder.

"He's grown," she remarked.

Jon cleared his throat, and averted his eyes. "Aye," he said before embracing her from behind, one hand coming to rest on the small swell of her belly. "Is it really a girl?"

"Yes," she answered, giving Aemon another kiss. Her throat constricted as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "I didn't think you were going to meet her."

"Hush," he whispered, rocking them gently. "Let's not think on that now. I told you I'm here."

At Jon's insistence, she was seen by Maester Luwin right away, and his entire body seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when the grey old man told them that aside from needing more nutrition and sunlight, she seemed perfectly healthy.

After his visit, servants drew her a bath with steaming water and sweet smelling oil. She slipped in while it was still too hot for her husband and son, biting her bottom lip as she sunk into the water. "Gods, I've been dreaming of a bath."

Jon looked up from where he sat with little Aemon and gave her a forced half smile, and her heart sank.

Something had changed. Jon was not like himself. She was closer to him than anyone else in the world and her to him, but now there was a distance between them. Ever since he'd killed Theon he'd been prickly and cold. While he remained protective and watchful, she could feel something brewing beneath his blunted affect.

He was angry with her, of that she was sure, and she couldn't blame him. She never should have been in the wormwalks with Arya that morning. If she had stayed with him, none of it would have happened.

When the water had cooled some, he brought her little Aemon. He splashed about happily and a quiet contentment spread through her.

Jon knelt beside the bath, and began helping her wash away weeks of grime and dirt. His touch made her want to weep. "Won't you join us?" she asked hopefully.

He moved the wet cloth up and down her back. "No," he replied quietly.

Her lips parted in surprise and she felt a pit in her stomach. "I want to be close to you."

He stopped his movements and sighed. "I… don't want him to see... Not yet."

She was stunned by his words. Until that moment, she'd not thought of his injuries. Her mind flashed to finding him lying in the tunnel, his shirt soaked with blood.

"Dany," he hushed, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "It's alright."

Few words were exchanged between them while she bathed and after when he helped her to dress. Keeping to their apartments, they took their meals alone, and attended to Aemon, paying attention to him instead of the ugliness that was between them. And when they laid him down for the night, there was nothing left to distract them from it.

Silently, they began preparing for bed. Dany thought to remove her shift, as she often did when they slept together, but then thought better of it when she noted Jon had not removed his own clothing. She climbed into the great bed and waited to see what he would do.

Fear crept up her spine when he began blowing out the candles. She was not ready for the dark again. "Could we leave the candles lit tonight?"

His eyes widened in realization. "Of course, love," he said kindly. He took time to light a fresh candle and add more logs to the hearth before joining her.

She was almost surprised when he wrapped his arm around her middle, gratitude flowing through her to be held by him again. "I thought I'd lost you forever," she told him, her voice hitching as she spoke. "I thought I'd die down there too. I longed for death, and then you came back from the dead and saved me. If there is something wrong, let me help make it right. Please."

His body went rigid beside her, and after several moments, he spoke. "We should rest."

Pierced by his words, all she could do was fall into silent agreement.


Jon rolled onto his back and studied the ceiling when he heard his wife sniffle. He hated the sound. It screamed the story of his failure and inadequacy. Dany was the last person he'd ever want to hurt, but what could he do?

She couldn't help him. No one could help him. He didn't need it anyhow. The red priest brought him back, his wife and child were now safe, and he'd killed their enemies. Some of them. There were still more to be dealt with.

What did she want from him anyway? Whinging and tears?

Little Aemon had been wild with joy to see her, and Dany's smile had been as bright as he'd ever seen it. It warmed him immeasurably, and yet he felt like an outsider. A ghost. Perhaps he was and always had been.

Ghost or no, he would care for and protect them with everything he was. There was nothing to be done, but to let his heart be stone and find sleep.

After a time, he was awoken by a frightened cry.

"Jon?" she called his name fretfully.

The room had gone dark, and he assured her with a kiss on her crown before rising from bed to light another candle. She was still sitting up when he returned, eyes big as she took in her surroundings. Coaxing her back into his arms, he held her until she fell back asleep.

It felt better to have this purpose of taking care of them, though he was apparently lousy at it. He fell asleep quicker with the comfort of her body pressed against him.

When he was startled awake again, he found Dany above him, her long silver hair pooled over one shoulder, eyes red and cheeks glistening. It was then he realized she'd lifted his shirt and was stealing a look at his gruesome scars.

She flinched when he sat up angrily. Her distress only increased his irritation and he glared at her as he pulled the hem of his shirt back down.

Wiping away her tears, she beseeched him. "Jon, tell me what's wrong."

"I think you saw well enough for yourself."

Her face fell and she shook her head in disbelief. "I still can't believe he did that to you."

Resentment festered in him. "I can."

He loathed the way she winced at his words.

"Do they hurt?"

Jon shrugged. "Sometimes."

She inhaled sharply as fresh tears fell. "I shouldn't have been in the wormwalks that day."

"The ones at fault are dead. Most of them."

Her red rimmed eyes took on a faraway look. "I should have known."

"How could you have known?"

"My dreams," she said with a shiver. "I must have misinterpreted things."

"You don't dream about every bad thing that happens," he told her, pulling the covers up around her shoulders.

"But something like this? Losing you?" she lamented before leaning into him and tucking her head under his chin. "I'm so sorry, Jon."

"I'm alive aren't I?" he said curtly, his anger spiking.

She was nonplussed. "How can you be so cold about it?"

"What is it you'd like me to say, Dany?"

"I don't know!" she said, her voice catching. "You're telling me you're alright but you're so angry with me!"

"I'm not angry with you!"

"Then why are you being so cruel? This isn't like you!"

His mouth went dry and he gave her a hard look. "I let myself get murdered and allowed my pregnant wife to be taken by a mad man! Our son would have been an orphan and our daughter might have never lived at all because of my stupidity!"

"Jon, that's not true." She tried to take his hand but he pulled away. He would not be coddled like a child.

"It is true, Dany. A man is meant to protect his family and I failed in every way."

She grabbed for his hand with more determination this time, and searched his eyes. "You've never failed me. In my life, no one has cared for or looked after me the way that you have. I never blamed you, not at my worst moment. Please don't turn away from me."

He ran a hand through his hair as his resolve gave way; his chest was tight and his throat thick.

"I could never turn away from you," he told her, studying their joined hands. "When Thoros brought me back, all my thoughts were on you. Every moment my focus was on getting you to safety." Finding the courage to look into her eyes again, he added, "I would have stormed the castle that first night if I didn't think he'd hurt you."

All at once, she threw her arms around him, and covered her mouth with his. Her fingers scratched against his scalp and then she whispered in his ear, "I'm happy you didn't. If I lost you again... I'd never survive. When I thought you'd gone… I've never felt such pain. I cannot face this world without you."

He hugged her back, and allowed unseen tears to roll down his cheeks. "It was torture not being able to get to you."

"I waited to hear Ghost howl every night," she said, "and I imagined you were in there somewhere, and you would come for me."

He kissed her forehead and then her lips. "I was there with you."

"You saved me from the darkest time of my life," she said as her hands fisted the hem of his tunic. "Now, you're going to let me help you too."

His heart was beating fiercely but he helped her pull the shirt over his head. Her face reddened as more tears welled in her eyes to look at him, and he felt a flood of shame.

"Lie back," she asked gently, and he complied.

He'd only looked at them once in full. A hideous mess of puckered gashes, seven in all. The one near his heart like a bloody crescent moon.

The sadness in her violet eyes tore at him as she looked down on his mangled torso, studying what had become of her husband. Perhaps Theon had been right, maybe it wasn't fair to keep her tied to him, walking dead man as he was.

He grabbed her hand as she reached out to touch him. "I'm not the same now… I don't mean physically… I'm different. A part of me stayed dead... I'm colder now."

Bringing his hand to her lips, she kissed it, and set it back down at his side. "We weren't meant to stay the same… no matter what you think you've become, no matter the terrible things you might do... I will love you anyway."

He couldn't hide the tears that fell then, nor did he try. Her silky fingertips began tracing each scar, starting with the one at his heart and ending at the one above his hip.

"You don't feel cold," she soothed, and then her lips began to trace each ugly wound. Like a healing wave, he felt a little pain and despair leave with each gentle caress.

She was calm as still water and he was trembling.

A soft hand slipped between his legs without warning, and he drew in a breath as he felt his blood rush.

Her pink lips drew into an alluring smile. "You feel very much alive to me."

He'd been completely numb for weeks; food had no taste and fire had no warmth. Yet, unworthy as he was, she was here with him, willing life to flow back through his veins.

Straddling his hips then, the heat of her body loomed over him as she took her time to kiss each scar again in turn. "We're both here now," she said, "because of you."

Holding his manhood firmly in her hands, they both sighed when she sunk down on him. "You rescued me," she added, rolling her hips, "and killed all of my enemies."

For the first time since he died, he felt alive. Dany was with him, unharmed and unbroken. There was no more room for weakness.

Sitting up briskly, she moaned in surprise as he roughly grabbed her backside and took control. She was molten fire, commanding his soul to come home.

Her cheeks flushed and she bit her bottom lip as he gave her punishing thrusts.

"There's a rage inside me that wasn't there before," he panted. "Pitiless… I fear it's something I can't control."

Before she could respond, he had her on her back, compelling her calves to rest on his shoulders. She whined and blindly sent her fingers searching across his chest.

"I always knew what you were," she said breathlessly. "My dragon king."

Flipping her on her belly, she cried out as he fucked her deeply from behind. "I have not killed all of your enemies," he told her thickly. "Once and for all, I'm going to take you home. I'll never fail you again."