Lightbringer

by FrostFangs016

"...And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." But what if Lightbringer was not a sword, but a person? An old enemy had risen once more, will Westeros survive this time without the help of dragons?

9. To the Wall

After 84 years I finally updated. Whew.

So sorry guys, my job took all my time and attention. After I published the Dragonstone chapter I was employed (about time!) , so yah, I was soooo preoccupied and I only managed to do this story again between my breaks at work and every Sunday (which is my only day off).

And thanks for the reviews by the way. I totally appreciate it. Although I rarely give any indication that I did, trust me, I read them.

Anyhoooooo~~~There's a slightly disturbing smut on this chapter. Sorry in advance if it was...well...just read.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

He must be patient. He had been waiting for so long, what does a few minutes matter to him now?

But he must admit that in his impatience he almost send his summons to the Wall and await for Rhaegar's son to come to him, ruining the carefully set plan he had made, for he knew Aegon will not come to him despite the promises he wrote on his letter.

He can foresee Aegon handing over the undead animal to Sansa or--more probably--anyone of the Northern Lords for he might still have grievances towards his cousin, while Aegon himself stayed in the North, at the Wall awaiting his death. He would not come, no, not for Bran. Not anymore. And he needed Aegon's presence now more than ever if he wanted for the trap to be set, and the only way he would obey was if his former lover would come.

Arya's presence at King's Landing would have been a great leverage as well for Aegon to come to him, but the woman proved to be as stubborn as her adoptive brother. She was supposed to be riding for King's Landing like he ordered in the scroll, but what did he expect? Arya preferred her cousin over Bran. He saw her boarding a ship going to the now being slowly built Eastwatch by the Sea to meet Aegon at the Wall.

And Aegon?

He turned his eyes back to the broken Wall like he often do. Then beyond that to the white wasteland the wildlings called home.

There he was.

Aegon was standing on an edge of a snowy cliff, his gray eyes, lifeless. He was probably thinking of the family he thought was still across the Narrow Sea. Or maybe thinking of jumping to the abyss.

The white direwolf with a chip on his ear was beside him but not the red-headed brute he called friend. If Aegon wanted to end his life, this would be the perfect time. But he knew he wouldn't. Him dying means abandoning his beloved wildlings on their time of need. Aegon wouldn't do that. Especially when they were but a few weeks away from the Wall and to salvation.

A few days more and Aegon would reach Craster's and a day or two after that, he would reach the Wall.

The Three-Eyed Raven watched as Aegon turned around and started to walk towards the camp of his wildlings, the direwolf he named Ghost, following him like a white shadow.

Six hundred. That was what left of the wildlings after the war. But now, sixteen years had passed and they had populated like rabbits. Almost eight hundred people Aegon must protect and a majority of that were children, women and the elderly. The men capable of fighting seemed to have diminished in numbers.

"Your Grace."

He heard a faint, trembling voice but it was not in the one he was seeing.

He turned Bran's eyes back and looked at his right. It was Samwell Tarly, gasping for air for he just ran from the Grandmaester's chambers to his.

The Three Eyed Raven already knew what caused the Grandmaester to be so agitated.

Finally.

Tyrion was behind Samwell but the Imp was a tad more composed than the Grandmaester, although his complexion was paler. He noticed the big-round circles around his Hand's eyes as well. The news of dragons had taken away some of the dwarf's sleep. Like him.

The Mad Queen had finally reached Dragonstone with her children. Or so Lord Aron reported.

He does not know, he cannot see. No matter how hard he tried.

The only thing he managed to gain from his useless vigil was temporary blindness even when he was using Bran's eyes. Before, it was mere minutes then he will recover, but now he noticed that the longer he tried to look either for the bastard or the mother, the longer it was before he regained his sight. Thirty minutes of excruciating blindness, sometimes an hour.

It did not angered him, being blind, what angered him more now was how ignorant he had become.

How can he let this happen? How can he ever be so wrong? What did he do wrong? He does not care what the small albino witch thinks, he still felt he made the right choice.

Letting Rhaegar's son to kill his aunt. Letting the Mad Queen murder those thousands of commoners. It was necessary sacrifice.

"A raven from Dragonstone, your Grace," Tyrion said, distracting him from his thoughts.

The Three-Eyed Raven did not fail to notice that the half-man sounded dazed as if he still cannot believe that his former Queen would deign them a reply.

Of course she will. No matter how long it takes for her to write to them, he knew she would eventually, for Daenerys had only one weakness, the very same one that caused her death.

For a while, when he found out that the Mad Queen had given birth to a child he thought it would be her weakness. That she could have changed. She did indeed set her priorities differently, making the bastard the center of her world, making herself vulnerable, for that was what she longed for for so long; a child, albeit a deformed one, but still, a humanoid child.

A very predictable wish. Of course she would long for a babe, mortals tend to wish for things they cannot have.

That only proves the bastard was not a chip in her mother's armor. Not anymore. When she was but a helpless babe, yes. But now that she had grown, the Mad Queen draws strength from her. The bastard made her wiser, more cautious. More sane.

He was disappointed at himself for not knowing much earlier. But no matter, he was using that strength now to manipulate the Dragon Queen to do his bidding.

She will not attack them, no matter how insulted she was by the words he used. She would not rain fire upon them not until the bastard agreed. Which he knew she wouldn't do.

A champion of the commons, the protector of the weak. Bringer of light and joy they said; the bastard had morals and principles she needed to uphold.

Now, he was glad the bastard did not die. Yet.

Samwell revealed his shaking hands from the long sleeves of his robes to pass him the scroll.

The Three-Eyed-Raven allowed himself a small victorious smile as he saw the red wax and the three-headed dragon stamped on it. A step, a small one, yes, but still a step. He broke the seal and by the light of the moon on his open windows and the few candles lit on the top of the hearth, he read the words written on it.

Yes. This would suffice.

He turned to the men in front of him and watched as they shivered by the smile still on his face.

"Would you mind pushing me to my desk, Grandmaester?"

Samwell Tarly nodded shakily as he obliged to push the wheeled chair to his desired place.

When they reached the desk, the Three-Eyed-Raven pulled the scroll he was keeping on the sewn pocket of his sleeves for so many days now. He then rolled the scroll together with the Mad Queen's, then melted the wax and pressed it to the parchment, sealing the two scrolls together with embossing the Stark sigil on the gray wax. After that he snuffed the candles out.

He turned his attention back to the men who were both watching his every move. Samwell Tarly looks confused while Tyrion was horrified.

The Imp was intelligent. Of course, he had some inkling of what he had been planning all along. Wasn't that the reason the Lord Hand was nervous when he wrote both Aegon's and the Mad Queen's summons? Wasn't that the reason he was here even if his presence wasn't required?

"Send it to the Wall. And then write another scroll ordering the new Lord Commander Osgrey to await Jon Snow's arrival to give him his summons." He waved the sealed scrolls at the Grandmaester.

Samwell's mouth was gaping open and it would seem he would stay that way until the Imp gave him a nudge.

Samwell blinked so many times before bowing and then taking the scroll. He was about to turn his back before stopping himself and seemingly remembering something, the Grandmaester faced the King, his head still bowed and then pushed his king's chair back to his previous place by the unlit fireplace. Only then did he bowed more deeply, his face hidden and went to the door and closed it silently behind him.

Quietness ruled his chambers as he and his Hand stared at each others eyes. As the moonlight shines inside the room, the look on his Hand's face looked more hideous than usual. The light and the shadows enhances the scars on his face more, making it seemingly fresh as if it was just been inflicted.

After a while, Tyrion opened his mouth to speak.

"Will you allow me to call the servants to light a fire, your Grace?" It was obvious that the Lord Hand was stalling.

The Three-Eyed-Raven only shook his head in reply. The only light he allowed on his chambers were from the moon and if he felt safe enough, he would permit a few candles to be lit, but it would not last for about a mere minutes before he would snuff it out. Not now though. He looked at the remaining candles and lifted his mouth in a subtle smirk.

He felt Tyrion's gaze on him, he turned his attention to him once more and he watched as the half-man tried to hide the shivers that was caused by the wind from the open windows or maybe from his smile.

He believed it was the latter.

"What did she say, your Grace?" Tyrion asked nervously after a few seconds of silence.

He knew that the half-man had the answer to that question already but he seemed to be too afraid to admit it to himself.

"Nothing that concerns you, Lord Hand." He answered.

And now, to see where the Imp's loyalty truly lies.

Tyrion was about to ask more but decided against it. The room goes quiet once more.

"Bran...my King," Tyrion said haltingly before shortening the distance between them. The Imp only stopped about a few feet away when he seemed to remember how his actions must have looked to his King. "If...if Daenerys..."

Tyrion shakes his head as if to clear it.

"Your Grace, maybe it's not too late. Send another raven or...or a messenger to Daenerys..." Tyrion put his palm on his forehead, wiping the cold sweat budding from it but did not continue his sentence.

He felt his brows raised at his Hand's pleading.

Daenerys?

"Tell me, Lord Tyrion, what do you think is the three-headed dragon's weakness?"

His Lord Hand put his hand down and lifted his head to him. Tyrion blinked multiple times. He probably wasn't expecting that question to be the answer to his pleadings.

"Y-Your Grace?"

The Three-Eyed-Raven repeated what he asked.

"Is it a riddle, Your Grace?"

"Just entertain me."

Tyrion wet his parched lips with his tongue, before looking at him, gesturing to a chair, asking permission to take a seat near the fireplace right across him.

He merely nodded in reply.

Tyrion planted the palms of his hands on the soft cushion of the chair and with a small jump and a push from his strong arms, he managed to sit without disgracing himself.

"If we are talking in a theoretical way, your Grace, I would say its heart." Lord Tyrion said while relaxing on the chair. "A three-headed dragon still had one body, therefore--probably--one heart. Strike it true and the dragon will fall."

Tyrion said averting his gaze and turning it to the unlit fireplace.

"But if we are talking in riddles and more specifically, Daenerys," Tyrion then stared at him again with those cold mismatched eyes. "As I've said to you days before, my King, Daenerys had barely no weaknesses at all, but like in theory her greatest and only weakness was her heart. Despite what she wanted the people to think of her, she was soft-hearted. She loved easily, therefore trusts people easily."

The Three-Eyed-Raven watched as his Hand bowed his head, looking at the silver badge on his left chest.

"You are not wrong, Lord Tyrion. But only, your answer was not right either."

Not to him, at least.

Tyrion lifted his head and looked at him in askance.

"Whatever you say, Your Grace."

He did not reply to the Lord Hand but only looked at him with discerning eyes. When he had found what he was looking for, he ordered his Hand to rest, disregarding the man's obvious refusal.

"The Lords of the Stormlands and their liege Lord would arrive early tomorrow." He said dismissively.

Tyrion, finally resigned, nodded at him, his eyes looking tired but still alert and a tad disappointed that he had not got his answers.

Lord Tyrion planted his dangling feet on the floor and started walking towards the door.

"And Tyrion," he called to him as the man was about to open the door. "Prepare the best chambers at the courtyard for House Targaryen. Daenerys likes the garden for her children."

He did not linger his eyes to the surprised and terrified look of his Hand.

"And you wouldn't want me to question your loyalties, my Lord. The way you say your Queen's name is questionable enough. Do you still love her?"

For sixteen years, Tyrion never invokes the name of the Mad Queen. Not until now. Something in him changed that caused him to regain his respect to his former Queen.

"M-My King? I wouldn't...I'm not! I..."

The Three-Eyed-Raven does not need to look at Tyrion's face to know he was as scarlet as the colors of his House.

"Leave, Tyrion. I know you're a smart man. You won't make the same mistake as the Onion Knight. And do find this traitor you and Bronn were talking about."

Tyrion inhaled sharply.

Did the half-man thinks he can hide secrets from him?

The Three-Eyed-Raven indeed speculated that there was a traitor within his City, but he cannot ignore the fact that there were people who can see with eyes that can reach beyond the abilities of a normal being and that most of them were serving the Mad Queen.

Or perhaps she saw with her own eyes. If she really did managed to awaken the magic of Old Valyria then it was easy for her to see in the flames. But it can never hurt him to stay alert incase there was indeed a traitor inside the Red Keep and even within his small council itself.

He needed to see more. He needed to try again and look at that evening on the Blackwater Bay. But for the mean time, he would make counter measures in case the few that was with him was swayed in the Mad Queen's slight victory.

What better way but to start with the Mad Queen's former Hand?

Turning back to the pale man still lingering by the door, he told him a warning he knew would assure the man's loyalty back to him.

"If you failed to find this spy, I would give the job to Lord Aron. And we both know who he would love to point his fingers."

Lord Tyrion's face was stoic but he saw the glint of scandalized fury behind it.

"Your Grace," the Imp said coldly before leaving.

There wasn't anything more important to Tyrion Lannister than Tyrion Lannister's life. That was one of the reasons the Imp betrayed his Mad Queen in the first place, why he wished for her death. He feared for his well-being.

It was either the Imp betrays him or he would do his best to survive by pleasing him. And the Imp knew he had no choice but to follow the latter. The Imp was running out of monarchs to kneel to.

Life is full possibilities, wasn't that one of the Imp's sayings?

When silence ruled within his chambers once more he began to contemplate his plans. Carefully laying it out one by one in his mind.

The mother, the slayer, and the lover. All will dance to the tune he plays.

He will not fail. Not after all this time.

The Three-Eyed-Raven will get what he wants, no ice or fire will stop him. Not anymore.

Xxxxxxxxx

He felt someone on top of him and they were fucking.

His eyes were closed, he opened it now. Silver. That was all he saw. He blinked his eyes and he looked around him. They were in a tent, he believed. Not his, her tent. They were on their way to Winterfell.

Relief flooded him. He was dreaming, just dreaming. The war has not yet begun. She's still here. Still with him.

"Look at me, Jon Snow."

That voice. It's really her.

His Dany.

He looked at her. His eyes finally adjusted. She was on top of him, her body moving up and down, fast, seeking relief using his body.

He felt awed watching her beautiful body shining from perspiration. Her hair was loose and a bit messy and some silver strands were covering her face. His hands that were on her hips, reached for her face to cup it.

Her dear beautiful face.

He brushed the silky silver strands away from it gently then pulled her hair back, revealing her full exquisiteness to his eyes.

His heart suddenly filled with so much longing.

He can no longer resist it, with a forceful pull from her hair and her arm he gathered her in his embrace.

"Oh!" She exclaimed both in amusement and surprise.

"Dany, I had a dream..." he whispered in her ear as he nestled his face on her neck, burrowing his face on her soft hair.

How he had missed the flowery scent of it and the salty taste of her sweat. The comforting warmth of her body.

How long has it been Dany? He felt his eyes wet and his throat tighten painfully as he struggled not to howl in anguish.

The pain and loss the dream carried still lingers within his consciousness. Although he did not remember much of what happened or why he felt that way.

He hugged her closer to him until he enveloped her whole body with his, until he finally convinced himself that she really was real.

They remained in that position for a while before Dany moved her hips impatiently.

He had almost forgotten, he was still inside her. He can feel his softening manhood harden again and filled her inside once more.

Dany gave a small sigh of satisfaction as he lifted his hips in reply to her body's needs.

She lifted her head and his gray eyes met the gems of her irises.

Like the color of the sky before dawn.

Dany frowned.

"What's wrong, Jon?" she asked him as tears started to fall on his eyes, down to his temples.

He only shook his head in reply and then pulled her face to him to claim her sweet mouth.

His mind, screaming her name over and over.

He did not stop from kissing her even if his lungs started to hurt him from the lack of air. But it was her who pulled away from him, gasping.

She leaned back and was about to say something when he captured her mouth once more, biting at her lips and playing with her tongue. Everytime she would pull away to gather some precious air, he would claim her mouth once more. Before he knew it, he was already sitting on the bed and Dany was on his lap while her legs where on either side of his hips.

It was him who pulled away from the kiss this time when he felt her hand that was resting on his arms started to clutch him tightly, digging her fingernails on his skin.

He was suffocating her.

He watched as she gasped for air and felt glad as she smiled mischievously at him.

Jon smiled back as he looked at her. Truly looked at her. Looked past her blinding beauty, past the perfection that was her face. He looked at her eyes.

The magnificence of her soul was peeking through it.

She's so beautiful. He thought.

She was also beseeching him with that familiar look. Telling him with those eyes what she would not convey in words for a Queen does not beg.

He lifted her hips slightly and she moaned by the sensation of his cock rubbing her walls. That made him grin. Heeding his Queen's silent request, he lifted his hips towards her as he pushed her body downwards. He buried himself deeper within her.

Jon relished the sound his Queen had made while watching her throw her head back in absolute pleasure.

He reached for her soft bottom and lifted it a little.

Then, he started to move and once he started, he doesn't seem to know how to stop. He moved his hips relentlessly, he cannot help the movement of his body. It was a slave to the woman on his lap. Like always.

And knowing Daenerys, she matched his every movement, until they united in a single maddening rhythm.

But she was Queen, she gave him a few more moments of domineering her before she put the palm of her hands on his scarred chest and pushed him down roughly back on the bed while she resumed her previous position on top of him, asserting her dominance as she often does whenever it was her turn to "rule" the bed.

He jerked his hips up as she comes down. Pushing his cock deep inside until it was almost impossible to think they were two persons with two bodies. It seems to him they were only one.

It produces another long throaty moan from her.

She's so beautiful with her neck exposed like that. He wanted to bite on it, mark her silky soft skin so that the whole world will know that the Dragon Queen was his. All his.

He sat up again and did just that. With his other hand on her hair, pulling at it and the other cupping her full bottom, he sucked and bite on the soft flesh of her exposed neck while hugging her body to his.

"Ah!" she screamed in what seemed to be in surprise rather than in pain, but before long, those turned into soft moans. He felt her hands embraced his head lovingly as her fingernails scraped his scalp.

Jon bit at her harder as Dany started gyrating her hips.

Fuck, Dany.

He pulled away from her after giving her three marks. He looked at his work and was pleased that it was the desired color of purple and red. At least the marks would last for days. He would mark her again when those disappeared.

As he looked on her neck his eyes travelled on her ample breasts. He wanted to suck them as well, bite at them until she screamed for mercy. He put his palms on them and started to massage it. So perfect, he thought, she fits perfectly.

"I hope it was me you dreamed," she whispered, distracting him from his lewd thoughts.

Dream?

He stopped his hands from their movements and looked at her. He was confused for a couple of seconds before he remembered, yes he was dreaming. The guilt and pain suddenly roared within him once more. He felt like he lost something. Something so important and it was his own fault.

He brushed the thoughts away with a small shake of his head. He wanted to focus only to the woman in front of him. He bent his head and she pushed her breasts to his face, welcoming him.

He suckled on one pink nipple, bit at it like the way he knew she wanted, then he turned his attention to the other.

She brushed his hair once more, clutching at it as she moaned. He wanted to ask her to move and make him forget but the words were caught in his throat as she buried him inside her so deep. Her cunt tightening around him, sucking his cock in her depths. Then she started to move her hips slowly in circular motions and all thoughts disappeared.

The dream, the sadness and pain he felt when he woke up, all of it disappeared. It was only Dany. Just his Dany. His reality. His Queen.

His life.

He pulled his mouth from her breast and throws his head back in pleasure. Dany leaned to him closer--her erect nipples pressing on his chest--and kiss his throat, then she started to lick it all the way to his beard, to his open lips.

He moaned as they kissed. Gentler this time, savoring each others mouths.

Dany.

She pulled away from their kiss loudly and then grinned.

"Well, Jon Snow, was it me?" she said breathlessly while looking deeply into him with those mesmerizing eyes.

He tried to remember, but she was distracting him as always and she was looking at him with that expression that made him want to give her anything and everything no matter how impossible it was.

Wanting to give her an answer, he tried to remember and looked past the loss and pain and regret he felt and searched his thoughts.

What came to him was her warmth and the color of her hair. She was there, in his dream.

He nodded as a reply. That simple movement elicited a beautiful grin from her.

She was pleased. Good. He liked pleasing her.

Dany pushed him back to the bed again and like their kiss, it was more gentler, as if she was asking permission to take the lead rather than just forcing him. Or maybe she was far too overjoyed of being the main character in his sleeping fancies.

Either of the two reasons, he willingly obliged.

He laid down and enjoyed the view of the most beautiful woman in the world as she pleasure herself with his body, slowly this time. Savoring him. Them. Their union.

"What was I doing...in your dream?" she asked almost breathlessly. She was close, Jon can feel it by the pulsing of her walls. He was close as well. He prayed that she won't stop, he wanted to spill all of him inside her. Paint her insides in white with his seed.

Her hands were tracing the scars on his chest but her eyes never strayed away from his.

He tried to remember once more, but this time with his eyes closed. She was distracting him, with that smoldering look, those purple-red marks on her neck, her bouncing tits and the fact that her insides were trembling. He tried to concentrate to give her the answer she seeks.

And in that darkness there was a voice.

His voice.

You will always be my Queen.

Then he remembered everything and fear and shame started to sink its claws on him.

He killed her. In that dream he killed her.

Dany stopped her movements then gasped. Not in pleasure but like the air was caught from her lungs. Like she was punched in the gut. Or stabbed.

She's hurt. His Queen was hurt.

He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the blood trickling down the flat plains of her stomach, right down to where their bodies were connected.

He gasped as he looked up fearing at what he knew he would see. There it was, the knife protruding in the middle of her pale breasts. He looked up to her face. She was horrified and confused, then she looked accusingly at him. She opened her mouth to speak but what comes out was blood. Then her eyes dimmed and she fell to his chest. Her beautiful body; heavy and limp.

"No. No. No, Dany. No." He started to sob as he sat up, hugging her close. Clinging to her.

"No, it's not my fault. It's not me Dany. You won't stop...you won't listen. I had to...I had to..."

He held her close as her fiery warm body turned ice cold.

Xxx

Jon looked at the forest around them and his thoughts turned once more to the boy he once was. If Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell can see him now what would he say? He who was leading a whole pack of wildlings towards the realm of men, twice now. Being hailed by the free-folk as King-Beyond-the-Wall...the broken Wall.

What would the former squire to the Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch would say to him?

What would Lord Commander Snow say?

The sixth Aegon Targaryen who became king; an aunt-fucker, Queenslayer, oathbreaker, traitor and kinslayer.

What would the bastard son of Ned Stark say to him?

What would honorable Ned Stark say? What would Rhaegar and Lyanna?

"Jon," someone called him. Jon blinked a couple of times before looking beside him, to the man whose hands were on his shoulders.

It was Tormund. Of course it was him. No one would dare to bring him back from his pit of self-pity other than him.

"You all right, Little Crow?" He asked, not unkindly but with a hint of impatience.

Lately, the man had been asking him those questions more often than not. Probably because the more they ventured South the more he remembered things, and the more he remembered, the more useless he became. But that was not the worst part of it. He had dreamt of her again last night.

It seems the farther they go South the more his dreams about her became vivid as well. And in every dream, the memory of his sins followed, ruining all the sweet times he shared with her.

I had to, Dany. I had to.

"I think we should set up camp here." The wildling turned around then walked a little far from him, all the while nodding in agreement and if Jon knew any better, avoiding being with his company for any longer.

His "brooding" might have annoyed his unlikely friend more than he cares to admit.

Jon looked around as well. They were surrounded by pines. It would cover their huge numbers, sure, but that was the same with anyone who would be brave or stupid enough to ambush them. The Thenns might be on their tracks already. Or of what was left of them.

Jon's scouts had told him that the cannibals were near but seems to be avoiding them. Probably scared of their numbers. They are over seven hundred now, maybe more as Jon gathered every clan there was on the Haunted Forest. The Thenns, on the other hand, had grown smaller in population and Jon knew what was the cause of it.

The cannibals were farthest in the North than Jon's camp when the boy saw the one the free-folk had called the Night Queen. It seems the Thenns were the first casualties to this war and Jon, as much as he pitied the cannibals for their demise, felt glad. They betrayed them. Killed most of them in a surprise attack in the night. Killed the boy's--Dawin's--father and a vast portion of their men.

It has been a moon's turn now since the boy saw the female Other, but Jon can feel the changes of the coldness already. He had felt this before, back when he was still Jon Snow the squire of the Lord Commander. Back when he was fool enough to believe that this kind of cold was normal. Now he knew better and he knew what this coldness meant. For all of them.

The dead are coming.

A cold wind blew at them once more and with it, a voice. But it was not the familiar guttural sound the undead makes. It was another.

It was the sweetest voice and yet the coldest.

It was her voice.

You betrayed me as well. Killed me and the child I yearned for years, the wind seemed to say. What makes you different from the cannibals you despised, the undead you sought to end? No, you are worse.

Jon fought the shiver. He was hearing her now with words she had never said but would have if she was there with him.

Even with his thick cloak and clothing he still felt the coldness of her words sank deep into his bones.

"The winter winds are back," Tormund murmured looking up at the trees as they shook.

He walked where Tormund stands.

"No."

"Hmm? What's it, crow?" Tormund asked, obviously confused and somewhat annoyed.

"We will not set camp here," he clarified. "Craster's is not far from here, we will go there and no one will rest until we do."

Jon started to walk again, gasping a little from the strain. His legs were aching from all the walk he did all day but he moved forward all the same. He needed to move forward, he had to. He had to do something other than stand there, for if he didn't, he feared he would hear her again. He may not be able to bear it. He feared he might run to the direction of her voice and never come back.

Tormund grabbed his arms to stop him.

"Jon," Tormund said gripping him tightly. "Look around! They needed rest, so do you."

Jon stopped. He wanted to pull his arms from the wildling's grasps but he saw not only annoyance but fear as well in his friend's eyes. He was scared. He must have looked like a madman to him.

Jon let his eyes wander to the sitting free-folk around him. To the women and children huddled together, to the shivering elderlies. To say they were tired would be an understatement.

Jon closed his eyes as shame started to spread within him. He breathed in the cold winds deeply until it stings his throat. He needed to get himself together. So many people relying on him, so many lives would be lost if he made the wrong move.

Jon nodded reluctantly.

"I'll go take the first watch," he said and turned his back to Tormund and started walking to the edge of the forest.

Xxx

"You should sleep, Little Crow."

Jon craned his neck and saw the fur-clad figure of his friend approaching him. Jon offered a small smile as a thought suddenly rushed to him.

If he was a proper King, Tormund could be his Hand.

"And eat as well." The man said when he got nearer at the stump he was sitting on.

Tormund offered him a strip of salted meat and a skin of sour milk.

Jon sighed and took it.

A King and his meager feast and a wildling for a Hand, truly a king among kings, he thought sarcastically.

"Anything from the scouts?" he asked while sucking at the salty piece of whatever animal's meat it was.

"Nothing."

Tormund slumped on the ground across him, watching him carefully much like how Ghost would do with a prey.

"I'll take watch," the man said after a long awkward silence.

Jon nodded but did not bother to move. He had taken the first watch, then the second and he was planning to take another. And another.

He will not sleep. He was too much of a coward to face her again.

"How do you think she is?" Jon asked suddenly. His voice, rough. He wanted to convince himself it was the cold winds and the lack of sleep that made his voice sounds like it belonged to an old man rather than the emotion he was feeling.

He had never asked Tormund about her before. They did not even talked about her after he found out she somehow survived and was rising a child alone.

Back then he was fool enough to believe Tyrion and Bran's lies and deny the child's parentage. He even convinced himself that Bran seeing his Queen alive was a failure. That he was deceived somehow and the one in Essos was nothing but an imposter.

He cannot decide what was harder to endure, to know she was breathing and might extract vengeance to his family, that he might be asked to kill her again or to accept the fact that he did not only killed her but their child as well. Or perhaps the most painful thing was to believe he was not the father of her child, that she let someone touch her other than him. That she was everything they said; a foreign whore with an insatiable lust.

But to accept the child was his was like accepting that he committed an act more dreadful than being a Queenslayer or an oathbreaker. To kill your own child...what kind of monster is he?

But if he denied the child was his own flesh and blood it would only lead him to jealousy and envy that only made him more disgusted at himself.

Jon sighed heavily as Tormund looked at him with...pity?

"I don't know, Crow. Maybe having her dinner?" Tormund answered with a shrug. "Or sleeping?"

Jon sighed. He asked how Dany was, not what she was doing. But maybe the wildling was right. Maybe she was sleeping softly, unhindered by nightmares, sharing her bed with her new lover.

It was no secret to him how passionate the Dragon Queen was. She might not be as "monstrous" as Tyrion's lies depicted but it was true that her blood runs warmer than a normal mortal, it was obvious to him that she would not last a year without having a lover.

Or maybe--he hoped--she was with their child. They were talking about men they both liked or maybe making plans for what they would do come morning, what they would wear, or eat. What kingdoms they would take next.

He could almost imagine them, Dany sitting on the bed, her beautiful eyes sparkling in delight and with adorable grin on her pretty face as she looked at their child. Then his thoughts halted. He could only assume what her daughter would look like now. He conjured a girl similar to Dany's looks only with dragon wings.

She was ten and five now was she? Thinking of his daughter almost a grown lady now filled him with dread like it always did. The questions kept on popping on his mind from time to time and he was not pleased by it nor by the answers his mind provided.

How many had tried to take the innocence of his child? Probably many. How many men had come and go in her life? He knew she was beautiful given she was her mother's daughter, and Dany had many lovers before him, right? How many had made her cry?

He would kill them all.

He shook his head to ward the disturbing thoughts from his mind.

Jon clasped the fur of his clothing, near his heart. Little Missandei, yes. That was someone not entirely a stranger to him and certainly not stressful to think about.

When they were packing the camp a moon ago, he opened the chest where his former belongings were laid to rest. There was his gambeson embossed with direwolf's head, the cloak given to him by Sansa. And Longclaw.

The former sword of a man who died protecting his Queen. A sword worthy of a man who would rather die than have his Queen harmed.

And that was not him. No more.

He put Longclaw down in shame, only to take it once more, remembering he had people to save. One last time he would wield it, he promised to himself. Then he would give it to someone worthy of it and so, he tied the sword belt on his waist once more and as he was about to close the chest he saw it. It was peeking beneath the cloak his sister...the Queen in the North made for him.

It was a piece of parchment given to him by Arya when she came back to Westeros, when she visited him for after almost eleven years. It was the only visit he ever had from a sibling. Nay, the only contact he ever had from anyone after Ser Davos's untimely death. Died in his sleep, they say. The man was lucky. He always was. After Ser Davos's demise? Samwell, Tyrion, Sansa.

Bran.

No one. Not a single soul South of the Wall (with the exception of his little sister) bothered to ask him how he was, if he was still breathing. He was forgotten, until Arya came and slapped him with the hard truth.

No one cared for him. No one but her and a small deformed child across the Narrow Sea.

Jon pulled the delicate yellowing parchment from the folds of his clothes, near his heart.

He kept it, hid it. But he had not forgotten it. He treated it like a man would treat his treasure, because that's what it was, his treasure.

What the parchment contains were not words, but a very beautiful and detailed drawing of a smiling child. The little girl with unruly hair was grinning with almost all of her front teeth missing except for the two small incisors who were too stubborn to fall. Her eyes were reduced to almost a slit by the wide grin but he could almost imagine its color as described by Arya.

Dark purple before turning lighter, turning almost gray at the middle. The perfect combination of both him and Dany.

Sometimes when Jon took the drawing out, he would stare at it for hours. He liked to make stories out of it.

How Dany would brush the girl's hair and fuss at its curls and the way it tangles. How she must have spent lots of hours thinking of what the little girl would wear. And the girl, how she must have struggled being put on a dress, much like Arya did when she was young. That must have given Dany a headache as much as Arya did with Lady Stark.

Jon chuckled.

There are times he would imagine the moments Arya and his daughter had shared and pretend he was there with them. How she lost most of her baby teeth by jumping from a balcony trying to fly, which she did, for a couple of seconds before she fell and hit her face on the hard ground. And how both of them--Arya and Missandei--would sneak to the kitchens and steal cakes when the cooks were not looking, how they had spent hours brushing the horses on the stables and cleaning and changing the animal's shoes behind Dany's back. And the way she smiled, his daughter, Missandei, whenever Arya would tell a story about him.

Then suddenly he would remember, like he did now. He killed her. And then, the smiling picture, the stories he had made and the stories Arya told him was too much for him to bear.

He killed her. An innocent child. His own child. His very own flesh and blood. Arya tried convincing him he didn't, that he was not a kinslayer. That his daughter and the mother of his child were alive and well. But he can't. His conscience dictates otherwise and his memories told him differently.

Her breathing had stopped. Her body became cold when it was too warm to the touch seconds before he stabbed her. She and their child may be alive now, survived by the very same magic that brought him back from the dead but that doesn't mean he was cleared off of his sin. Like Olly and the rest, he still made the fatal blow. The only difference between him and the men who murdered him was he cheated death. He avoided justice.

"What'ya got there, Little Crow?" Tormund asked, grinning, probably from the previous chuckle Jon had made.

But the question was a little too late. Jon's mood had spiralled down to the depths of his guilt and self-pity.

Jon shook his head in reply and put the picture back to where he pulled it. Its weight, much heavier than it originally was.

He threw the remaining piece of salted meat on the wildling's lap and drank deeply on the wineskin, drowning himself with sour milk until his throat burned.

"Don't mind if I do," Tormund said and started nibbling at the food with much gusto.

Jon finished the drink. He was getting used to the taste but it was still quite strong for him. He closed his eyes, he was starting to feel the dizziness the drink accompanied, and huddled on his white bear cloak.

In a few minutes, he felt his consciousness slipping away. He fought it desperately. He did not want to succumb to sleep for the fear of having the same nightmares.

But the last dream he had of her wasn't so bad.

He sighed.

The temptation of seeing her again, feeling her, smelling her, hearing her...was strong. He would endure it then, relive her final moments a thousand times just to be with her once more even if he knew it was wrong to long for her, to desire her.

With a sigh of defeat, he let himself sink to sleep. Let him feel disgust when he woke up but not there when he was with her. Not when she was on his arms, where she belongs.

But he did not dreamed of his Queen that night.

His dream was of a little silver-haired girl with small dragon wings on her back. They were in a beautiful garden of a palace somewhere he did not know. And the girl was laughing and giggling incessantly like she had no care to the world as Jon chased her around. But no matter how hard he tried to catch up to the girl, no matter how fast and hard he ran, he still cannot reach her.

He ran and ran and ran but it seems the harder he tried, the farther the distance between him and the girl became.

He didn't even know why he was following the girl in the first place. But it just seems to him that, if he managed to catch her, everything would be set right.

But he did not managed to get close to her. Not even in the slightest.

And Jon woke up feeling tired more than he was before he closed his eyes, with tears frozen on his cheeks.

Xxx

"We're close," Jon said as he looked up at the Wall.

They're quite some miles away but all of them can see the Wall already.

Two more days of walking base on his calculations and four hours before they reached Craster's. Or formally Craster's Keep.

The last time he stayed there was about ten years ago. He and Arya was welcomed by an old woman who claimed she was Craster's first born and his second wife.

He cannot deny nor accept that as truth since he can't seem to place the old woman from the faces he saved so many years ago. But no matter, he was reluctant to stay inside the Keep. If he could choose, he would stay outside and just perch his tent.

The memory of the women who were living with Violet, the old woman was still fresh. They were all her children she claimed, along with the few thin, pale boys he saw huddling around the Keep. On that admission, Jon wasn't sure either. The youngest, if his memory serves him right was about ten years of age and Violet was already way past a woman's time to be with child of that age.

But it was not the children that bothered him though. It was the women who tried to slip under his covers to seduce him. If it wasn't for Ghost who refused to leave his side, he could have been raped right then and there, while his sister was no help at all. Arya was so amused by the attention he was getting that she practically let the women throw themselves at him, laughing all the way when he tried his best to reject them one by one but not to offend them too much that would be considered disrespectful since they were still the hosts and he was just a guest.

Those women were desperate and persistent. Jon thought with a shiver. Although some of them did not wish nor force themselves to be married to him. They only wanted to have a child with him. A child of a King and their hero would be a great honor for them to bear, they said.

Jon obviously refused. He will not father a bastard, he countered. That put off the smile on Arya's face.

If he could only bypass the Keep, he would. But old Violet must be warned, if he convinced her to leave her keep and travel with them southward, much better. But if she refused, then at least he would be able to give a shelter and some dinner to some of his people who were either sick, too tired or too old. It was pretty obvious that not all of them would be accommodated. He would not presume too much that all of them would be given food as well. Violet, like her self-proclaimed father was not exactly generous to strangers.

Jon remembered the small sad piece of mutton he and Arya shared for themselves, courtesy of the old woman. Good thing her sister came prepared that time; she had bacon, cheese and bread and wine, enough to feed them both. While he, on the other hand was too preoccupied about the news of his family that he did not remember to bring anything. Only himself and the rugged clothes on his back.

Jon shook himself from that memory and takes the lead. He felt Tormund walk beside him. Ghost on the other hand, had disappeared again, probably hunting for dinner.

"Will the Night's Watch let us in?" Tormund whispered to him, careful as to not let anyone near them hear, especially the chiefs.

Jon did not offer a reply. He felt his wildling friend gripped his sword, reacting to the words he refused to say but he knew the man felt either way.

The brothers who knew them were all dead, the few rangers they encountered through the years were harmless, but not that friendly enough to consider an ally. The Lord Commander, the man that was once Lord Glover's soldier, the one who let him in when he left the True North seems nice enough but that may be because he was accompanied by the Queen's younger sister.

But he would rather chance it with him.

There was a new Lord Commander now, a stranger from the South. How he came to the position was still a mystery to him since his predecessor looked strong enough not to succumb to sickness and stubborn enough for the men of the Night's Watch to follow. Jon only heard that this man, this Southerner came to be commander after a year or two when he and Arya had their stand against Bran and Sansa the King and Queen of Westeros. Arya did not mention anything from her visits other than saying that the starvation was unkind to the men of the Night's Watch as well.

Might be the reason why there were no rangers that came to them after that few years. The new Lord Commander might have feared that the rangers might desert their watch for free food. The True North might be kinder to them rather than riding to South where the Northerners would behead them without a slightest hesitation. No ranging means no food as well. But at least, they would starve and die together.

The thing was, they didn't. The Night's Watch survived. Jon silently chastised himself. He wasn't particularly keen on stories about the Wall or South of that. He didn't asked questions nor encouraged Arya to continue either. He only listened on his sister's prattle and wait for her to tire out. If only he paid enough attention, he could have known at least a slight thing about the new Lord Commander and not only by his own speculations, because his mind was starting to create cruel images of this Southern stranger and was already liking this man less and less.

And to be fair, his images of Southern men serving a high position on the Night's Watch wasn't particularly good either, with the exception of Maester Aemon of course. Ser Alliser Thorne and Janos Slynt did not leave such a good impression on him and judging by both men's attitude, this new Lord Commander might left them on the edge of the Haunted Forest, looking down, watching as they begged to be let inside. But Jon knew that the worst possible outcome was not being given permission to enter, but being attacked by an army deeming them as a threat to the realm.

Their men capable enough to fight was about three hundred or maybe less and all of them were worn out for traveling so long a distance in such a small amount of time.

Jon doesn't need to be a strategist to know that they would be slaughtered and there would be no army to help them out. Not from Sansa and definitely not from Bran.

"Only one way to find out, I guess." He said, almost to himself.

He ordered to move forward and as he did, he felt the heaviness once more. That uncomfortable feeling of everyone's expectations and lives being thrown upon his shoulders.

She felt it far earlier and far longer than I had. He thought.

He had no right to whine about the hardship of it.

Xxx

"We know," the old woman who sat on the only chair in the room told him with a stern voice. "I had sensed it before you did."

Jon was stunned and embarrassed. Of course, the old woman was probably the one person inside that shoddy room who had more interaction with the Others.

"You don't think l don't know about them when I...I who had more than a dozen of my baby boys taken away from me?"

Jon apologized but it was as if he had not spoke at all.

Her sharp eyes turned glassy as if she was seeing something. As if she was living inside one of her worst memories.

"I can smell them in the air," the old woman said, her voice slightly trembling. "I can taste them in the water. I can hear them as the wind blows."

She then turned her eyes on him, her dreamy state gone, replaced by something dangerous.

"What makes you think we stayed here at this dreadful place rather than join Giantsbane?"

"The place where I had suffered the most? Where I watched helplessly as countless of my daughters fell prey to that pig's desires?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

The girl with reddish-brown hair standing behind the old woman hid her chuckles with her hand. The other women seemed amused as well, some even mocking.

Jon focused to the girl once more, then realized that it was the same girl ten years ago that begged him to make her his Queen.

The only one among Violet's daughters to do so.

She was roughly three and ten at that time. The same age Dany became a woman.

Jon tried to hide the shivers building up within him by that thought.

Jon tried his best to direct his gaze to the old woman who was watching him closely. He tried to place her face once more to the women he saved from the mutineers, but he cannot assume to have a good memory to really remember the old woman from the throngs of daughters and wives at the Keep that night.

"You can stay here if you want Wolf King. But only for the night."

"Mother," some of the girls protested, their earlier mirth forgotten. They started begging their "mother" to let him--alone, at the least--stay for a week.

Jon looked around him and felt a chill that doesn't come from the cold weather outside the shoddy Keep.

The first thought that came to him when he entered the Keep was, where were the boys? There were roughly a dozen boys years ago when he was first sheltered there, by logic some of them would be young men by now. But why were the only men inside the keep with him was Tormund, and the tribal chiefs? And he doesn't know if his memory was failing him again but it seems to him that the women had grown in numbers after a span of the years. There were even small girls about the age of seven now.

Jon fought his shivers by the first explanation his brain offered. He tried his best to push his conclusions to the depths of his mind and at the same time trying to smother the revulsion and fury from showing on his face for Violet was still watching his every movement like she was looking for an opportunity to accuse him of insulting her to kick him and his people out of her territory.

Jon continued keeping a straight face and meet the older woman's gaze. If it wasn't for the murmurs of protest around them, he could almost believe they were just the two of them inside the Keep. After a while, Violet turned her face away from him, there was a slight amusement on her eyes making it glint like that of a bird. Old Violet then scrunched her face in annoyance, making the wrinkles of her face looked deeper as if she was made from wood.

"Silence!" Violet shouted to her daughters and then coughed by the force of it. She cleared her throat before spitting a thick wad of phlegm to the ground. The young girls giggled as they dodged the green liquid and started pushing each other to it.

"Go! Leave, all of you!"

That stopped the girls' commotion and they all walked out of the keep through the only door. There are some still pushing each other as they went out, giggling all the way. But there was one that caught his eyes. It was a girl no younger than twenty, she had golden hair, something quite rare in the true North. But it was not her youthful beauty that caught Jon's eyes, rather it was the emptiness and grief on her expression that worried him, that and the child's blanket she was hugging in her chest.

He was not liking what he was seeing and what his mind was concluding thus far.

Jon, looking behind him to the chiefs sitting on the floor, nodded, telling them to follow the throng of women heading out. Some were pleased, eyeing the women greedily but there were some who were offended by being forced out by a frail old woman. None of them seemed to notice the small details he saw.

"You! Wolf, stay."

Jon who was about to stand up, sat once more and crossed his legs.

Like a good dog. Ghost would be proud, he thought bitterly.

Tormund gave a pleased sigh as he stood up. Jon knew his friend was eyeing one of the more attractive daughters, specifically the sad girl.

"Please the old lady, will you?" Tormund whispered then pat his back, hard.

Jon frowned as he rubbed the place where he was hit.

"How many are you out there?" The old woman asked after it was only the two of them left within the room.

Jon answered truthfully. "More or less eight hundred."

That caused the old woman to frown in displeasure.

"One night, that's all I can give."

Jon wanted to persuade her more but conviction was there on her voice and in the way her wrinkled face was set. Her mind will not be changed.

"Come with us at least," Jon said.

Violet only smiled indulgently at him. It was the first genuine expression he saw the old woman had ever made.

She shook her head repeatedly.

"You had been gone for so long, my King. You don't know what's beyond that Wall. You don't know what my sweets had been through."

Her eyes darkened.

Ah, one of his questions was answered. It seems to him that some of the women were not truly Violet's children. They were adopted. Probably they were from South of the Wall? What he can't fathom was why would someone want to live beyond the Wall where dangers were tenfold than in the South. The starvation perhaps? But the opportunities in the South was way better than the True North. He cannot understand it.

And there was one more thing he must ask.

"The boys--"

"Go. Go South, " Violet said, her voice devoid of anger, rather she sounds patient as if she was expecting that query.

Jon wanted to ask more but decided to just give a small nod.

Old Violet gave a sigh and leaned on her seat. After a few seconds of silence, she speaks.

"Come back for us if you can promise me my sweets will be safe. Come back if you can promise me that you will bring the Dragon Queen with you."

Jon's heart beat fast, wanting to get out of his ribs at hearing that title. He opened his mouth to speak but the old woman was not yet done.

"I don't care what you did and the reasons why you came here without your White Queen, but we need her. More than ever."

Jon wanted to smile, but he can't. He wanted to promise her as well that he would bring Daenerys back, assure her that her 'sweets' will be safe, but he cannot lie to her. Not to this woman who was willing to shelter him and his people even if she knew how inconvenient it was for her especially in the coming winter where the food were always scarce.

"I cannot bring her back," he said, his head hung low.

It was the shameful truth. Even before when she was alive, he saw death in her eyes, saw what she had become and yet, he failed to bring her back to who she was. But the most heart-rending part was, maybe he did not try enough.

"Yes you will," Violet said with such faith that he knew he did not deserve. "You brought her to defend your lands before, you can do that again."

Jon did not reply.

"Tell her we thank her for saving our lives, twice now. Tell her Violet send her thanks."

Jon lifted his head in astonishment.

"What do you mean, my lady?"

"You'll know. Go to the Wall and you will know."

Xxx

He did not sleep that night.

He can't.

The old woman's words kept on bouncing in his skull.

Daenerys helped them? How? When?

When he came to the Keep with Arya, old Violet seems to pay no regards to any nobles much less to Queens. But now everything had changed.

What happened? He remembered that Daenerys cut off the trades of the Free Cities to Westeros. He saw the effect of what she did when he travelled to King's Landing through the kingsroad. There were thin, sickly looking children looking for scraps, throngs of people begging for food on their Lord's castles, people selling rats for meat and other vile things he can't even name disguised as food. He saw the construction of the capital of the Six Kingdoms halt and were still in ruins.

He witnessed what her vengeance had done to the whole realm, so why did the old woman thanked her? What did he missed?

Once more, he tried to rake his brain to the news Arya conveyed to him whenever she visits but probably out of respect for him she rarely mentioned Daenerys. Except that one time when she said Daenerys finally lifted the restrictions she had made after three years of making the realm starve.

He remembered shouting at her little sister when he mentioned his Queen. Saying that he doesn't care.

But he did.

He still do and maybe some masochistic part of him still craved to hear what she was up to.

But since his outburst, Arya never mentioned Daenerys. She would mention Missandei, though and through that he could only think of Daenerys's path. Missandei taking Qarth. Missandei on Volantis. Missandei freeing the slaves. Missandei taking Braavos. The more Arya mentioned his daughter's conquests it would only make him furious and it was directed entirely to Daenerys. What was she doing, letting their child on a carnage at such a young age?

All of the news from Arya only leads to nothing as none of it were connected to Violet and Dany at all.

He gave a sigh and watched as his breath clouded in front of his face, blocking the moon and the stars.

He was outside and instead of laying down on his tent, he decided to sleep on a thick blanket on the cold icy ground right outside the Keep.

All of his men were outside with him as well, some had tents and some were sleeping on the ground just like him. Only the frail were the one he let inside the Keep to share the meal and comfort-little it may be-from Violet and her daughters. The others that were not able to sleep inside the Keep used his tent instead. But they were too many of them, so he had to convince anyone with a spacious enough tent to share it. They grudgingly obliged.

Jon suddenly sat up. He had given up on trying to sleep. He had counted almost every stars in the night sky and sleep still eluded him. He decided to walk around, maybe he would be tired by it and sleep would come to him at last. Or not. It does not matter to him anymore.

As he walked, he met with some of his men keeping watch. A few talks here and there then he left them to do their job, reminding them to take their rest after they finished their turn.

He decided to tread the forest, something he did not managed to do the last time he was there.

He did not know why he did it, perhaps he wanted to relive the times where everything was simple, when he was ignorant of the demons that lurks beyond the Wall, when he regarded them as stories to scare children to sleep. Or he just wanted to assure himself that Violet was too...disgusted of her so called father to had herself caught on his 'religion'.

Jon took a deep breath as he started to walk towards the path Craster made so many years ago and was surprised when he remembers it quite clearly. He may not remember the faces of all the people he saved, but this, this he remembered. He only need to follow the dread he felt, the quickening of his heart and it leads him to that same small clearing.

He stood there and looked around, he could almost believe he was Jon Snow, the squire still. Nosing around other people's business. He snorted quietly as he remembered Craster's face before he hit him in the head.

But then, Jon looked down on his feet with an almost sad smirk on his face. He kicked a small pebble and watched as it rolled in the white, snowy ground. How rude of him to make fun of that moment when a life was lost right in front of his eyes.

Jon shook his head in disappointment. If only he was careful that night, he could have saved the boy.

He looked up and let his eyes wander again on his surroundings, as if looking for any indication, anything that could answer his questions, but to his surprise and relief that area of the forest seems to have a feel of abandonment. It was as if no one visited it for so long, until him.

He gave a sigh once more but this time in relief.

It seems to him that Violet really did not inherit her father's belief.

Satisfied on his own conclusion, he turned his body around to go back to his people. Ghost might be already on his bedroll, snoring away with his belly full from his hunt.

Jon, wrapping himslef in his white bear cloak, started tracing his steps back to the camp. In that moment he felt it, a slight shiver on his spine. He felt someone was watching him. He slowed his walk and turned his head upwards, seemingly casual as he looked up at the moon, but he was actually straining his ear to any movements behind him.

Jon flexed his right hand, a habit he learned as a boy.

Open and close.

He slowly reached for Longclaw's hilt. Then, hearing a small twig snapped right behind him, he turned around fast and unsheathe Longclaw from its scabbard, making the sword sing.

He heard a small gasp as he stopped Longclaw just an inch away from the hooded woman's neck. With such a fright he gave the woman, she started to stumble backwards causing her to be out of balance.

She was about to fall when Jon-with Longclaw now harmlessly lowered on his side-reached for her arm with his left hand and dragged her to him, stopping her fall.

The sudden movement caused the woman's hood to fall.

Jon felt his brows rise as he saw the familiar face of the girl with long reddish hair.

The girl's brown eyes were bulging, still in shock, her hands were on his chest while Jon's hand were at her waist to keep her balance. Jon was annoyed both at himself and the girl. He could have killed her if his reflexes wasn't fast enough. What in the seven hells does she want to follow him like that?

His silent question was finally answered when the girl smiled playfully at him-recovering from the fright he gave her quite fast-and moved her hand on his chest, seemingly tracing it through the thick clothing he wears.

Jon released her and took a step backwards, the girl just continued grinning at him mischievously, as if she wasn't a hairs breadth from death.

"M'lord," she said with a small bow of her head.

Jon bowed at her in reply while sheathing Longclaw, still baffled by the way this girl was acting.

"My lady." He said curtly, almost dismissively.

"Are you cold, m'lord?" she asked as she continued to smile at him.

Jon frowned. Not exactly the question he was expecting.

"Coldness is something I can endure, my lady."

That statement made the girl giggle. Not the expression he wanted. He thought that his words were rather cold and, well...rude.

Jon watched her, looking for any injury or any indication that he accidentally hit her head for her to act that way. As he looked at her he realized, like an ignorant fool, that she was no longer a child.

Jon looked at the girl intently not searching for injuries this time, but just to look at her. Her eyes were the color of ale; brown but dark, almost black, her nose was straight but too long and thin. Her lips were full though and freckles painted her cheeks.

She was not comely compared to the grief-stricken sister of hers but she was not plain either. Jon also noticed the lack of similarities to her and old Violet and the rest of the girls in the keep.

"What are you doing here, my lady?" Jon asked, just out of curiosity and to avoid an awkward moment between them.

The girl showed her smirk once more.

"I live here m'lord. I should be the one asking you that."

Jon was amused despite himself. The girl had audacity.

"I'm merely taking a walk," he replied, "My lady." Jon bowed and was about to turn around but the girl clutched his arm, stopping him.

Jon faced her once more and was startled when the girl suddenly wrapped her arms on his neck. She was about to kiss him full in the lips but he managed to dodge it.

"My lady, please." He said as he untangle her arms not unkindly but quite forceful to send a message to her.

She obliges but her face was red with embarrassment.

"What's wrong m'lord?" she asked. "Am I not pretty enough?"

Jon wanted to reply, to say some words of comfort but to his dismay he found none.

"I see, its my clothes," the girl took off her cloak and was starting to undress when Jon's mind finally cooperated.

"Stop what you're doing, child." Jon almost shouted in panic. He looked around, making sure no one was there other than them.

"I'm not a child now!" The girl suddenly shouted, pulling the hem of her dress back. "The last time you refused me was because I'm too young, and now I'm a woman you still refused me."

Jon wanted to kick himself. Of all the things to shout, that word was the one his mind provided. He did not dare reply further for fear of angering her. He did not want her to scream louder than she already did, lest she would wake up the camp. Tormund would not let him live this one down if he found out. Jests of him being a eunuch would then follow him until he die or until he bed a woman. The latter being the last thing he would do.

The girl...the woman turned her back on him only to turn around once more and face him. This time her face did not show any shame for being refused, rather it looks mocking.

"Don't tell me you still love the Dragon Queen?"

Jon was not surprised when those words came out of her mouth. She was provoking him, trying to hurt him like the way his refusal hurt her.

"Your name, my lady?" Jon tried to asked kindly. He thinks he succeeded.

The woman lifted her chin arrogantly.

"Lira."

"Lira," Jon said trying to smile but only manages a small grimace. Jon coughed and think of a way to soften the pain that would definitely come. "What a beautiful name," he said lamely.

Seven hells.

Jon sighed and walked towards her only to kneel on the ground to pick her cloak. He shook the dirt and snow from it and hand it to her, when she did--rather aggressively--he took a step backwards, giving her a respectable space.

"Lira, Daenerys is my queen and she will continue to be until I die." He said slowly, letting his words sink to her. "Forgive me if I have to refuse you. You are not worthy of me. You can find another man who will not deny you, who will protect you. You're still young, there is much more to see other than this place."

The woman bit her lower lip, Jon was not sure if she was preventing herself to cry or she was just stopping herself to retort. Jon felt pity towards her. He thought his refusal the first time was enough to make her realize that he was not interested.

"I waited for you, I even refused those men for you," she said softly.

The woman walked to him and this time Jon stood his ground.

"Forget what I said those years ago, I don't need to be your Queen. Just let me be by your side, by your bed, I promise I won't bother you or...or speak out of hand."

Jon only looked at her, dumbfounded and feeling unworthy of this kind of affection no matter how childish and shallow it was.

"You don't know what you speak of, Lira."

He tried to quell the look of pity on his eyes. He had the feeling she won't appreciate being looked at that way.

"Don't throw your life away, not for me."

"But you'll throw your life away for a dead woman," she said forcefully at him.

Jon was taken aback by that.

"What did you say?" Jon cannot control his voice from shaking.

Daenerys wasn't dead. He kept on telling himself. Arya said so. But the doubt within him rises once more. What if Arya was lying? What if she only made that story so he had something to cling onto? He didn't saw Dany alive, he only trust Arya's stories and the rumors.

"Oh, whispers of what you did came to us," Lira said almost stuttering but she finally regained her confidence. He might have looked angry to her, but he wasn't, he was... hurt and worried. Her words, finally penetrate his defenses even if he knew what she said was nothing but a lie.

It was a lie. Just a lie, Jon. Arya wouldn't lie to you, she is your sister. This woman was the one lying.

Lira stood straighter and looked directly at him.

"A stab in the chest," she said the mocking smirk was back.

"The Crows from the South loved to caw, you know. I don't care what old Violet believes, Daenerys Targaryen is dead. That woman in Essos? That's an impostr, Plum said so, he heard their old Lord Crow say it."

Jon shook his head not in denial of her words. Why would he be, when he knew the truth? When his faith for his sister's words were strong? No, he was shaking his head to fight his fleeting sanity by hearing her name.

"Oh yes, yes it's the truth," the woman said her voice breaking, Jon knew she was fighting the urge to weep.

Jon did not felt any pity towards her at all. It was anger he felt, not at her but at himself.

After all this years? The pain was still too much to bare.

Disregarding his manners and courtesy that was practically pounded to him as Eddard Stark's bastard son, Jon turned around without a single word of goodbye.

"Your Daenerys is dead!" Lira shouted on his back, her voice echoing around the clearing and to him, shattering his already ruined soul.

"No," he whispered under his breath. "She's not."

A tear rolled on his cheek, before a cold wind slowed its movement.

Jon walked further before hiding behind a thick pine tree. There he put his gloved hands on his ears, preparing himself for the assault of voices on his head that accompanied the invocation of her name. It did nothing though for it was something only his mind had created.

He heard her giggle, heard her voice calling out his name. My Wolf King, she murmured. Rule with me. All those words she said to him, overlapping each other, making his eyes water from the pain it caused on his head and in his heart.

"Please," Jon growled. "No more."

Then the wind blows at him and he smelled her sweet scent. Jon looked up, she was there in the moon and if he looked down, she was everywhere by the snow that covered his surroundings.

Jon gasped in pain as if he was stabbed again multiple times at the chest. It was the effect of hearing her name and the reason why he did not want Arya or anyone to mention it in his presence ever. It was painful enough when someone mentioned her titles by the passing; Dragon Queen, Mad Queen, White Queen or whatever she was called now, he can endure all of those; pretend that was someone else. Dragon Queen he can associate to any Targaryen woman who can ride a dragon, Mad Queen was a name he did not acknowledge, she was a stranger to him, more like a myth. White Queen, surely there were many women who had the same pale complexion as her and could claim the title even if her kingdom were smaller than Craster's Keep. What he can't escape though, was her name for there was only one Daenerys Targaryen to him; his Dany.

It had been years since he heard someone utter her name, years since he heard it from someone's lips other than his. But it never failed to make him weak. It never failed to make the tears flow freely from his eyes from anguish. It never failed to make him think of what could have been if only...if only...

I love you.

A woman's voice suddenly whispered behind him. Jon turned around, and peeked behind his tree, no one was there, not even Lira. Was he all alone all those time? Was he only talking to himself? Was it the madness?

The madness (as he called it) started after that time he failed to go to her, to reach her after he learned the truth. Since then, he kept on seeing things that no one else did, hearing voices especially when he was alone.

But not like this.

He often saw someone he knew from his past, back when he was just Jon Snow and not Aegon. Was this a different form of his madness? Was he getting worse?

Jon started to tremble and breathe heavily, he was panicking. Was he mad? He walked away from his tree and looked around. He only partially calmed down when he saw the small footsteps on the snow seemingly walking away from where he stood earlier. There must be a path leading there to the Keep that he didn't know, it explained how Lira managed to sneak up on him.

He urged himself to breathe evenly. He was not going mad. Not mad. Not mad.

I love you, Jon.

Dany murmured, closer this time. He turned, looking around once more. She was so close. So close, he can feel her. He can almost touch her.

Jon lifted his arms, his hands grasping for someone who wasn't there.

"Dany?" His broken voice echoed in the silent night.

With a stroke of brief sanity he remembered, he was only hearing from one of his memories.

He remembered Dany sleeping beside him, tired from their coupling when she said those words. How proud and happy it made him feel hearing that. And how tormenting it was for him now.

He opened his mouth to say the words back. But it got stuck there. Three small words that honor dictates he never said nor think of. Three small words that he knew that could have saved the woman he loved. That could have saved them. He knew it was too late, far too late but he forced himself to say it anyway, honor be damned.

"I love you." Jon whispered back, letting the winter winds carry his lesser sins away: loving Daenerys Targaryen more than he was required.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Dany gasped and sat up from her bed. She squinted and looked around her cramped room below the deck of her small merchant ship. She clutched her thick bedsheet close to her body.

She was alone, the flames were her only company and yet, she was sure she felt a slight caress on her neck. She can still feel its warmth on her skin. Something was whispered to her as well, she did not catch what it was but she felt her heart beat fast. Was it dread that made her heart go wild? It doesn't seem so, but she was annoyed nonetheless. That was the most restful sleep she had for years, devoid of nightmares and dreams of the future that should have been.

There must have been a dream god somehow somewhere who loves to toy with her. She could imagine the spiteful deity giving her dreamless sleep only to wake her with a sweet caress of a lover. A lover, she deduced for she did not feel fear in her sleep. The flames would have acted within her if it was an enemy, regardless if she was dreaming or not.

Dany wiped the sleep from her eyes and gave her room one last search of an intruder even though she knew no one could have passed by her guards. Dany knitted her brows as she considered them; Black Bug and Mhogo. No, none of them would dare to sneak into her room while she slept and touch her, that was Missandei's job, not theirs.

Dany stiffened. Perhaps, her daughter disregarded her orders and sneak inside her ship, that would not be entirely out of character. But she gave her a choice, an ultimatum to be precise. Stay in Dragonstone and her recklessness will be forgiven or disobey her and Dany will forget she ever had a daughter. Of course, Missandei was already forgiven, but it was the only reason Dany can think of to keep her daughter away for a while.

Three knocks distracted her from her musings.

"Your Grace? It is I, Milana." A familiar voice said on the other side of the door.

At long last.

Dany stood up from her bed and grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her.

"Enter," she said when she looked respectable enough.

The door opened and the hooded figure of the red priestess greeted her. When the door was closed she pushed her hood back. It was not the face Dany had grown accustomed to. The green eyes was now blue, the small, straight nose turned a little bit longer and aquiline and her hair of red and gold was just gold.

It was a very pretty face, Dany admits.

Dany walked around the priestess, impressed by what she sees.

"I assumed you found her?" Dany said softly, almost a whisper. She was standing right in front of her now.

A small crooked smile appeared on the stranger's face, like the way the priestess used to.

"Yes, your Grace."

Dany did not know whether to rejoice or not.

"She will not be harmed, my Queen." Milana assured her. Her worry over the welfare of the stranger Milana copied must have been evident.

She was a sweet girl, an ambitious one, yes but ambition was something she can understand.

Dany sighed and nodded reluctantly, her hand rubbing her neck unconsciously. The warmth was still there, as if she was marked.

"Your Grace?" Milana called to her.

Dany blinked before putting her hand down.

"Is something wrong?" The stranger's brows were knitted together in worry.

Dany watched as the face shimmered like flames blown by the wind, Dany blinked and Milana's youthful face was back.

Dany waved her hand dismissively.

"How long can you last in that image?" Dany asked to shift the conversation away from her.

Milana still looked at her worriedly but did not dare to leave her question unanswered.

"As long as the Lord of Light wills it," Milana said with what seems to be a smug look.

Dany fought hard not to roll her eyes.

"Three days, or less?"

Milana bit her lip as warmth gather on her cheeks. Dany chastised herself, she must have been too stern.

"Three days, your Grace," the priestess said weakly.

Dany nodded, counting the hours it would spare her. She find it practical to assume less as well, thinking that in the worst case scenario, Milana can only hold for only one and a half days. It won't be enough she knew, but it was all they had.

There was another complication that needs to be solved though.

"And the ruby? Can you hide it even..." She left her words hanging. It bothered her, how the priestess can hide a gem in her person even if she was naked.

Milana's playful smile appeared once more.

"The old fool gave her a couple of ruby earrings, your Grace. I only needed to chant the words...and the Lord obliged. "

Dany gave an impressed smile, but a new worry came to her once more, in Milana's safety this time.

"Remember," she said gravely. "Three days is all you have. Once you encountered something that will put your life in danger, leave."

Milana opened her mouth, ready to protest. Dany stepped forward and touched her cheek.

"When your life was compromised abandon the plan, we will take the old city in another way. I will not have you dead because of me, do you understand?"

Dany looked at her eyes deeply. Milana only stared at her like the way someone would look at a lover; with awe, love and veneration.

"Yes, my Queen." The priestess said breathlessly, leaning her face on her palm like a small child.

Dany sighed and dropped her hand. She need to remind herself that this woman was three decades older than her and not the girl she presumes to be.

"I'll leave you the old man and pray I will succeed in making the sun smile in our favor."

Milana nodded.

"Are you ready then, my Queen?"

Was she?

Dany closed her eyes. Searching herself for doubts.

She found none.

Rather, she felt something else. Something she thought she lost, something she abandoned. She can feel it in her blood already, running in her very veins. How can she deny herself from this for so long?

Dany opened her eyes and stared at the woman whose eyes were huge with anticipation, Milana's breathing turned to short gasps.

Dany ignored the look of adoration on the priestess's face and she gave a grin.

"Let's break, shall we?" She said, the thrill of adventure making her body tremble.

Oh, how she missed this.