Author's Note: 6th Chapter down, with this one, and one more to go! I'll go ahead and drop both today, since I don't know how much free time I'll have tomorrow! Enjoy!
They wed in Aegon's garden at twilight, before the Heart Tree of Dragonstone, just as Jon had requested.
When he saw her walking towards him, her path lit by lanterns, led not by her brother, but by their daughter, he felt nothing but wonder, and awe, that they were here, now, together. He thought perhaps that Arthur had been right, that it had been the Gods themselves, who had guided both he and Dany back to each other, after being so long parted.
He wore his crown of iron and bronze, and she her circlet of rubies, set in the finest gold, as Davos joined them before Jon's Gods, Rhaegar and Arthur smiling proudly at their sides. And as they knelt, side by side, before that white-barked tree, Jon prayed, more truly than he ever had in his life.
He prayed for wisdom, and for guidance, that he would do what was right, for his people.
He prayed for courage, that he would find the will to face what would follow with a brave heart, that he would master his fear and forge himself into the weapon he must be.
He prayed, more than anything, that the Gods would be kind, that they would not be so cruel as to take away what he loved most.
And when he stood, and set his Northern furs around Dany's shoulders, and she looked at him with so much love he thought his heart might burst from his chest, he kissed her with abandon, gently but thoroughly, far longer than was proper. A great deal of clamor arouse, joyful shouts and hands clapping together like thunder, but there was no greater cheer than what rose from Naerys, who stood with Ghost, laughing and whooping loud cries like a Dothraki rider.
Parting from Dany, he looked to the little girl, grinning widely and holding out a hand, swinging her up as she giggled and setting her atop his shoulders as her mother looked on and laughed.
He prayed for one more favor, from his Gods, in that moment: that he might find a way to tell her the truth, that she might understand, and that, more than anything, she could forgive him for not finding her sooner.
Jon wanted to go with his new bride, to see Naerys off to bed, that night. But as they'd walked together, the three of them, a tiny hand tucked into each of her parents', the ache in his chest only sharpened. It was an impossible thing, this desperate wish inside him to tell the girl that she was *his*, that her Papa was not lost to her, that instead he stood before her, but the best way to tell the girl had not yet revealed itself to him.
Ghost had trailed behind, as always, and when they reached the door to Naerys's rooms, Jon knelt down, the moment the girl stretched her arms up. She hugged him round his neck, and then he heard it: a small whisper in his ear, quiet and hushed.
"Prince Jon?" She made no move to pull away, and so he stayed close, at her question.
"Yes?" If she wanted her mother to hear, he supposed she'd speak more loudly, and so he kept his response low and quiet as well.
"Can I call you Papa now? Now that you and Mama are wed?"
His heart wrenched at the soft hesitation, and he wasn't sure he'd ever known such sweet misery, the truth there on the tip of his tongue. So, he swallowed it down, pulled his head back enough so he could look into her earnest face.
"Aye," he said fondly, nodding and smiling so that he did not weep there in the hallway like a fool. "You can if you wish."
Her gap-toothed grin was a sight to behold. "But we are still very dear friends, too." She spoke emphatically, as though to reassure him, as though he might be worried, and he knew as his throat grew tight that he needed to be on his way and let Dany see the girl to bed before he let his mouth spill truths best saved for a different night.
He clutched a hand to his heart dramatically. "I am quite relieved to hear it."
Purple eyes, his mother's eyes, he thought, shot to Ghost. "Can Ghost sleep with me tonight? In case he has bad dreams?"
Jon pretended to consider, then nodded slightly, cutting his own eyes to the white beast who seemed to swallow all the spare space around them. "Aye," he answered, as the girl beamed again, "but not too many honeycakes tonight, alright, Princess?"
"I promise!" She was bouncing on her heels, as she always did when she was excited. "Goodnight, Papa."
He heard Dany's swift intake of breath, as he straightened, his ability to speak lost to him as he let the girl's sweet voice wash over him. He swallowed hard, and looked to his right, where Dany stood watching them, eyes growing bright with unshed tears. Naerys made short work of the door, letting herself in, Ghost hot on her heels.
"I'll get her settled," Dany whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, one full of love and promise, "and I will be along shortly." She seemed to know, how easily he had been overwhelmed, seemed to understand the warring emotions raging through him. "Don't fall asleep, husband. I have many plans for you later." She leaned close, so that only he could hear. "Don't start without me, either."
With a wiggle of her brows, and a wicked smile, she turned, leaving him alone to ponder it all as she set about putting the wayward child they'd made between them to sleep.
It was only a few days later that he stood by Dany's side in Rhaegar's council chambers, flanked by the Dragon King and Ser Arthur, making ready the final plans for their siege on their enemies.
Davos lingered by the fire, helping himself to some honeyed mead, staying well clear of the heated discussions the four were engaged in.
"You can't!" All eyes were on Jon as he slammed a hand down flat on the table, carved figurines shaking as he vented his frustration. "She's just a girl, she can't ride that dragon into battle. A girl of six? Against thousands of soldiers?"
A muscle in Rhaegar's jaw ticked, but he did not relent. "She must, Jon. The Lannister armies and the Baratheon forces are spread throughout these regions." He gestured between the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Vale. "They've abandoned Casterly Rock for now, but it's worth nothing. Their gold is gone. Storm's End stands empty as well. Striking there is pointless. We must meet these incursions head on. Your father's men await us in the Neck, ready to move South at our command, and the Golden Company and my sister's armies will be split between the other two."
At his side, in the periphery of his vision, he could see Dany twisting her mother's ring around her finger. "He's right, Jon. Our best chance to eliminate them all, quickly, is to send one dragon to each front, with our armies on the ground. We attack from above, and below."
He wheeled, almost breathless. "Dany," he breathed, astonished. "She's just learned to shoot a bloody bow! I've no doubt she can rain fire from the skies, but what happens if they bring her dragon down? What then? She cannot fight grown men!"
She had that stubborn look he knew, her whole body tensed, but before she could speak, Ser Arthur did.
"Ride with her, Nephew." At his uncle's suggestion he thought his eyes might roll clean out of their sockets.
"I'm meant to lead the Northern armies, Uncle." He shook his head in disbelief. "I've not the foggiest how to make war from the back of a dragon." He looked about, frantically, wondering if they'd all lost their bloody minds.
Rhaegar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "King Eddard can lead the Northern armies." He nodded, slowly, in consideration. "It's not a terrible idea, actually. You don't have to make war from the back of a dragon, Jon. Silverwing knows what to do. She will protect that girl with her life. She is Naerys's to command, besides. However," he trailed a finger down a Riverrun valley, "you have led many campaigns. You can help Naerys, guide her in where to strike." The man's brows raised. "You'll have an excellent view, after all."
He didn't care for the peculiar sense the Dragon King was making, because it was so terrifyingly risky, what they were considering. He was prepared to argue 'til he was blue in the face, but a clamor at the door put and end to their planning.
It was Missandei, bustling in, looking absolutely shaken. "Your Grace," she said, and rushed to Daenerys, and the two proceeded to have a heated exchange which was frustratingly quiet, in Jon's view. Missandei would whisper, and Dany's eyes would bulge, and with each moment that passed his wife seemed ever more shocked.
"Fetch her," Dany finally muttered, fingers wringing the fabric of her lilac skirts. "Bring her," she said, a bit more forcefully, eyes flying to Missandei's. "And the wolf."
She had paled, his wife, and his earlier irritation was forgotten in the span of a heartbeat. He grabbed for her hand, the moment Missandei left, wondering at how she had begun to tremble. "Dany," he said urgently, but she was staring blankly at the wall, shaking her head ever so slightly. "Dany," he said again, tugging gently at her hand in his, "what's happened?"
"I don't believe it," she said numbly, and wandered near Davos to take a seat, white as a sheet. "I simply don't believe it."
Jon looked to Rhaegar and Arthur, who both appeared as confused as he felt, then back at his wife. "Dany, is it Naerys? What's wrong?"
Finally, her much-loved eyes met his, the eyes he had seen in his every dream since they'd parted, blue-green jewels, and she let out a light, breathless laugh. "Nothing's wrong," she said, still looking dazed. "Just wait."
In short order, Missandei arrived again, still harried, with a decidedly put-out Naerys in tow. Ghost, for his part, just looked a bit guilty, slinking over to Jon's side and butting his head against him. Jon glanced at the wolf, suddenly suspicious. "What have you two been up to?"
Ghost just whined, but it was Naerys who spoke, at the gentle clearing of her tutor's throat. "I told Missy a secret, Mama." A finger rose to her lips, and she chewed on it nervously, digging her booted toe into the deep pile of the rug as she refused to look up. "And I told Prince Jon a fib."
It was the latter that seemed to trouble the girl, and her chin quivered as indigo eyes met Jon's pleadingly. "I had to, please don't be cross!" She scrambled to Jon, then, throwing her arms around his legs and beginning to cry against him. "Ghost said I couldn't tell!"
Jon felt his brow crease, and he lowered himself until he could look the crying girl in the face. "What's all this about?" He kept his voice kind, as Ghost let out another whine.
The little Princess looked at the wolf, who let out a chuff, as though telling her to go on with it. With a shuddering breath, she gazed dolefully at Jon. "He said I had to wait, so I had to tell a fib, when you told me about your Mama who died."
Jon thought back, remembering the day, on alert now as this was precarious territory for them both, now. He checked over his shoulder to Dany, who just nodded, as though he should continue. He cocked his head, looking back to Naerys, who still sniffling and hiccupping, her cheeks wet.
"You've told me often that Ghost tells you secrets," he said carefully, mind racing as fast as his heart, not sure he could believe what he was about to ask. "Do you mean to say this old wolf really talks to you?"
Naerys nodded, bottom lip poking out, and sniffled again.
"And he tells you secrets?"
Again, she nodded, eyes flitting around as she no doubt felt the stares of many upon her now.
"What did he tell you?"
Jon expected nonsense, still, the imaginings of a lonely child with an inquisitive mind, perhaps, but not what the girl said next.
"When you came I was sore afraid, but Ghost made me feel much better. And when we became the very best friends, he spoke to me, in here." Naerys pointed at her head, with conviction, as though it were the absolute truth. "And I asked him why he could speak to me inside my head, and he said it was a secret. A very big secret that I must be very quiet about."
Jon thought his heart might stop completely. "What did he say?"
"He said," the girl's voice dropped to a loud whisper, "that I was like him, that I had wolf-blood. And he said I was very, very magic," she proclaimed to the room at large, rocking back on her heels, her sadness giving way to a quite pleased smile.
Jon felt as though he'd been struck, jaw ticking to the side, and he gave his wolf a hard stare. Ghost, that wicked beast, averted his eyes, seemingly intent on studying the pattern in the rug as though it were the fattest pig in the land.
"And he said I mustn't be afraid of you, because you were very nice, and he loved you very much, and you were very brave and good. And he said you would not be bad to me or Mama."
With a last withering look at his wolf, he returned his focus to his daughter. "That's true, I would never do that."
Her earlier hesitation forgotten, now that she was caught in the flow of secrets that spilled from her mouth, the girl pressed on.
"And then, do you know what he said, when I told him my Papa was gone?"
Jon sucked in a breath, not daring to let it out, holding in trapped in his lungs until it burned. He shook his head.
"He said that was wrong. He said my Papa wasn't gone, he was just lost." Naerys looked sideways, as Jon's heart pounded in his ears. "So, I had to tell you a fib. Ghost said I couldn't tell you until Mama came."
Did she know? It seemed far to improbably to be true, but another glance at his wolf told him the creature certainly had been up to *something*, judging by the way he continued to avoid Jon's searching stare.
Could she know?
A tug on his arm swung his head back 'round. "Ghost said," the girl uttered, seriously, "that you were my real Papa, Prince Jon, not just my new Papa." Her innocent gaze caught his. "Is that true?"
Jon's mouth opened and closed, caught of guard by what the girl was telling him. These were yet more impossible things, and it dawned on him that she was very special, this daughter of his. Dany spared him from answering, standing smoothly and coming to his side, reaching a hand out for her daughter's. Their daughter's.
"It's true," Dany said, simply, and Naerys studied her mother, confused.
"But how, Mama? How?" Jon didn't know where to begin, his thoughts a jumble, and he looked to Dany, lost in truth.
Lovely blue eyes looked first to Jon, then to Naerys, and with her jaw in a determined set, she answered. "Come with me, both of you." She looked down to where Naerys still stood, her little mind clearly overworked. "I have a story to tell you, sweetling."
Together, they walked to a familiar landing, and Dany picked Naerys up, perching her on the ledge, as Jon and Dany stood before her.
"When I was a girl, just your age," Dany began, her eyes wandering the grounds, "this was my home. And I loved it, so very much. I loved the Keep, and the places I could explore, and the forges, and the beaches. I was very happy here."
Naerys had grown solemn, her lips turned down slightly as she listened. "I know, Mama."
"I loved my Mama and Papa very much. And my brothers. We had everything we ever wanted." Dany took the girl's small hand, tracing each little finger with the tips of her own, her eyes studying her own movements. "But one day, when I was ten and six, something very terrible happened. My Mama and Papa died." Dany looked up, catching Naerys's eyes. "Some very bad people did something awful to them. They were poisoned."
"What's poisoned?" The girl's little chin began to tremble, as though she could feel her mother's sadness.
Dany took a breath, her hands still playing with the girl's. "It's when you put something in someone's food or drink, and it makes them very sick, or kills them."
Naerys's lips turned down even further, her eyes downcast. "That's a very bad thing to do."
Dany nodded, checking her gaze to Jon's quickly, and he reached over and took her free hand, the knot in his chest easing only when her palm slid securely against his. "It is. And I was very afraid, when the raven came, and I learned my Mama and Papa were gone. And then another bad thing happened, and Uncle Rhaegar's wife and daughter grew very sick."
Naerys' head shot up, her eyes wide. "Did someone poison them too, Mama?" Her brows knit together, concerned.
"Yes," Dany confirmed, and Jon felt a flare of surprise in his own chest. The rest of the Kingdoms had been told it was illness, that took his aunt and cousin, but this was worse, far worse. It was no wonder, he thought to himself, that Rhaegar was so tormented. That cascade of death that had washed over the Dragon King would have broken others. "And Uncle Rhaegar was very, very sad in his heart."
Naerys nodded slowly. "That is the very saddest thing I think I ever heard."
"Uncle Viserys was afraid, too, and he worried that we were in very great danger. The people who did these bad things, he believed they wanted to kill him, too, and to take me and make me their prisoner." The girl's mouth dropped open, horrified.
"Oh, no, Mama!" He could see the girl's fingers flex against her mother's. "That is very bad to do."
Jon saw a tear clinging to Dany's lower lashes, even as she gave a small smile to the girl. "Yes, sweetling, it is. So Viserys decided we must run away. Uncle Rhaegar was so sad he could not talk to anyone, and Viserys was afraid he could not protect us if the bad people came."
Jon looked at Dany's profile, sucking in a hard breath. So that was how they came to be in Lys. He had wondered, but they'd been too busy losing themselves in each other, when they were alone, that he hadn't had the will to stop and pepper her with all the questions that crowded his mind.
Dany sighed, and raised the girl's hand, kissing it fondly, then letting it drop. "But Uncle Viserys had an idea, he decided we must raise our own army, to fight the bad people who killed our Mama and Papa. So we went to a place called Lys, where people have hair just like ours, you see?" She flicked at a tendril of her hair, then the girl's, and smiled. "And he said we could not tell anyone who we were, because the bad people might try to find us, next."
Dany knelt, creamy skirts puddling as she bent before Naerys. "I was very afraid, and very sad in my heart, too. I had to trust my brother, but he told me many fibs. He thought he was helping, but there are bad people across the Sea as well, aren't there?"
Naerys nodded soberly, peeking up at him then, and it was like a punch in the gut. If there was a bitter edge, in all the sweetness that had come to him so recently, it was this; It tormented him, all the time that had been lost, that the two people he treasured most had been without him for so long. Dany told him stories, in the night, bits and scraps that she could bear to repeat, but he had no doubt that there had been far more suffering than he had been told.
Perhaps she knew, and so she held back. One day, he would ask to know it all, but the wound was still to fresh, now, for both of them. Those tales, he reckoned, would be best told when these wars were done, when they had the power to ensure that Naerys would never suffer so again.
But still, he wanted to comfort the little girl, so he took her hand now, watching her face brighten as he did and feeling a softness well up in his chest that he didn't know he possessed. He shifted over, sitting beside her, now, so that they could both listen as her mother spoke.
Dany's smile was sweeter still, as she looked between the two of them, and began anew. "Can you guess what happened next, sweetling? Because it was not something bad, it was something very, very good."
Naerys shook her head, at Jon's side, eyes large and questioning, waiting.
"I was walking on the beach, and I was so lonesome, and sad. I missed my Mama and Papa very much, and I was so afraid that the bad people were going to find me, but do you know what I saw? I saw a boy, on the beach, and I thought he was very handsome."
Naerys sucked in a tiny breath, with a start, and looked up at Jon. "Was it you, Papa?"
Jon nodded, grinning, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulder. "It was me. And do you know what? I was very scared, as well. Because bad people had already hurt me, and my Papa had to send me away, to a place they couldn't find me."
Naerys frowned at him, curiosity clear in her indigo eyes.
My mother's eyes, he whispered to himself, but he dared not speak that aloud just yet.
"Were you very sad in your heart, too?"
Jon nodded again, gravely. "Oh, yes. I couldn't even bring Ghost with me. I was all alone, until your Mama came one day and visited me."
Naerys twisted, looking to where Ghost lay watching, her mouth agape. "No Ghost?" She sounded so horrified that Jon had to chuckle. No doubt she would find such prospects unbearable, as the white wolf had become her shadow as much as he was Jon's, though he certainly never deigned to tell Jon any of the secrets he knew.
Jon clucked his tongue. "No Ghost," he said, with exaggerated sadness. He reached over, taking Dany's hand, pulling her to stand closer. "But when your Mama began to come see me, that made my heart very happy, and I wasn't so sad anymore."
The girl seemed to sag in relief. "That's good. Mama makes my heart happy, too."
"Prince Jon made my heart very happy," Dany said after a lull, pressing into Jon as she stood before his seated form and stroking a loving hand along his jaw, "but you see, we were fibbing too, Naerys. Prince Jon didn't know I was a Princess, and I didn't know he was a Prince!"
Naerys's mouth formed a small 'o'. "You were keeping secrets!" She looked between her parents, seemingly scandalized. "But how come you didn't stay with Papa? Didn't he make your heart happy?"
Jon ignored the thrill that raced through him, every time she called him 'Papa', watching closely, instead, at the way Dany's face crumpled. She was quiet for several moments, her cerulean eyes glassy when she finally answered.
"He made my heart so happy, sweetling. But the bad people found us, Uncle Viserys and I, and we had to leave. And Uncle Viserys told me many fibs. He told me Prince Jon had died. He made me leave my mother's ring, and he set the house ablaze, so that if anyone found it they would think I was dead, too."
Now Naerys looked almost comically confused. "But, Mama," she breathed, "fire can't hurt you."
Dany's lips twitched. "I know, my sweet." She slid her eyes to Jon, for she had already told him of how she'd hatched those dragon eggs, her stomach swollen with his babe, in the flames of her Dothraki husband's funeral pyre. "But Prince Jon didn't."
She raised her hand from Jon's, and pulled the silver ring from her finger, holding it out for her daughter's inspection. "And it was Prince Jon that found it."
"And my heart was so sad, that day. I didn't think my heart would ever be happy again." His low voice made clear the pain he'd felt, the anguish it had been to think his Dany dead and gone. "But do you know what?"
"What?" Naerys was patting his back with her little hand now, at the sound of his remembered pain, and it was a far sweeter gesture than what he'd been accustomed to that he feared he might start bawling right there.
"Now," he said, leaning close and cuffing a hand under her chin, "My heart is so happy that I don't think it will ever be sad again."
Naerys grinned widely, her nose wrinkling. "Because you found Mama again?"
Jon glanced towards Dany, nodding, beaming. "Oh, yes. Because I found your Mama. And," he said, tugging at one of Naerys's silver curls, "because I found you, too. I'm so sorry, that I was not here before. I didn't know." The emotions he'd been trying to hold back were threatening to break loose, his chest unbearably tight as he struggled at the very idea, that they had gone so long without knowing each other, that fate had been so unbearably cruel.
But fate had been kind, now, far kinder than it ever had dared before, and Naerys stood, gingerly, on the ledge. She hugged him tight, as she tended to do, and he let out the heavy breath he'd been holding as she whispered to him.
"It's okay, Papa. Ghost told me. He said you were lost. But now you aren't anymore. That's what he said." She patted his hair, like he did to Ghost, and he let out a watery chuckle. "Is that right?"
He nodded, as he couldn't speak, his throat seized up like a vice, and he knew if he tried he might sob like a babe. He cut his eyes to Ghost, who had the gall to sit there, staring right back, a hint of challenge in those red eyes, as though he dared Jon to say he'd been wrong.
A thought struck him, and he shared a long, lingering look with Dany, her own eyes glassy as well, before he turned his attention back to his daughter. "Can I ask you something, Naerys?"
Here came another gap-toothed smile. "Yes, Papa."
He glanced back to Ghost. "What does he sound like? When he talks to you?"
Naerys laughed, bright and merry, and clapped her hands. "Like this." She scrunched her face up, and let out a low, growling voice. "No, little pup, don't go so close to the water, I don't want to swim!"
Dany let out a sharp laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth, then sidled up to Jon as they watched Naerys do her best approximation of his direwolf. "He sounds just as grumpy as you, my love," Dany whispered in his ear, nudging playfully against his shoulder.
"So unkind," he chided her quietly, and then Naerys interjected.
"Sometimes he tells me stories about the North, Papa. Ghost says there are big rocks that go all the way into the sky, and it is very cold, and it is so much ice it could last forever." She seemed intrigued, and Jon knew, once they'd finished the tasks that lay ahead, that he wanted to take her there.
Dany seemed to share his desire, and she smiled, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind their daughter's ear. "Perhaps we can fly there, soon. And then you can see for yourself, yes?"
"Oh, yes!" Naerys trembled with excitement. "Yes, Mama I want to go. And Papa! Papa! I know what we can do!" She crowded against her mother and father, taking both their hands in one of hers. "Papa you can fly with me on Silverwing!"
She was thrilled to pieces, he could see it, and he couldn't deny that the braver parts of his heart were in full agreement that it sounded a grand adventure. But there was another consideration, a much graver one, one he'd been distracted from when Missandei had charged into the council chambers.
There wasn't much choice to it, really. He knew they were right, that all three dragons must fight, and their riders as well. And as much as fear clenched at his heart, at the thought of his small girl riding into the heart of the fray, he knew there was only one way he'd feel she'd be safe.
He narrowed his eyes, giving her a considering look. "It's funny you should mention that," he said, and reached down, picking her up and swinging her up onto his shoulders, one of her favorite games with him. She would pretend she was a giant, at times, and it was great fun, at least for a bit. He kept her hands in his, so she wouldn't fall, and tilted his head up to look at her while she peered down at him. "Do you remember the bad people your Mama was talking about?"
Naerys nodded, her tongue caught between her teeth, frowning.
"Well," Jon said, sparing a little glance at Dany, whose brows began to raise in comprehension and surprise. "We have to fight them, so they can't hurt us anymore. And we have to use all our very best soldiers, and the dragons."
"And Ghost?" Her high voice cut through the air, perking at the wolf's ears, and Jon laughed.
"And Ghost, of course." Jon peeked up again. "But your Uncle thinks that you should let Papa ride on your dragon with you, when we have to do our fighting."
Naerys pondered this, squinting. "So I can keep you safe?"
Jon looked to Dany, and she looked right back, lips quirking up. She shrugged, as if to leave the answer up to him.
"Aye," he said. "Do you think Silverwing will be alright with that?"
Naerys nodded emphatically. 'Oh, yes, Papa. She knows that you are very nice, and she won't let anything happen to you." She glanced at her mother, then. "Do I get to make the fire, Mama? With Silverwing and Papa?"
Dany nodded, and came close enough to let her hand rest on the girl's knee. She squeezed, her voice heavy and serious. "Yes. And I know you are learning how to be a warrior, but this will be very dangerous. And you must be very careful, and listen to your Papa when we do this. Can you promise me?"
"I promise, Mama." She patted her hands against Jon's dark curls, and smiled down at him. "I will be very safe."
Dany looked between them, giving Jon a little wink and pinching the apple of his cheek lightly. "You're such a soft touch, Jon." She was surprised he'd given in, but surely, he knew, she'd expected he'd relent eventually.
He leaned over, carefully, and kissed her cheek, as chastely as he was capable. "You knew I'd give in," he whispered.
"One way or another," she murmured back, her eyes flashing with a sudden heat, and for a moment they simply stood, lost in that blaze together, until she seemed to remember herself. She cleared her throat, straightening, her cheeks flushing. "Well, then," she said properly, chin tipped up, "let's go tell Uncle Rhaegar that Papa has agreed, and see about some supper, yes?"
"Even my vegetables?" Her face twisted in dislike.
"Yes," Jon and Dany chorused together, smiling indulgently at each other when their eyes caught and held. "All of them," Jon continued, and they began to walk together, the three of them, back into the Keep.
"C'mon, Ghost," Naerys yelled out. "You'd better come with us." He knew what she meant to do, knew half the things she didn't like would end up in his wolf's stomach, but he didn't mind a whit.
They felt like a little family, walking in, because that's what they were, and for them he would fight forever.
They practiced for weeks, as their armies left Dragonstone, bound for one of three locations. Some days, it was just Naerys and Jon, on Silverwing's back, and while his first flight had found him clinging on for dear life, his eyes screwed tight, his throat raw from screaming, he had learned to love the experience.
Naerys spoke non-stop, about all the ways that Silverwing could fly, about what the dragon could do, about how happy it made her silver beast to carry Naerys on her back.
"She's inside my heart, Papa. She will make her big fire on ALL the bad people, so we can be safe." The girl's assurance, as they dismounted, was a measure of solace to his own worried heart.
The danger was quite real, he knew.
Cersei Lannister had married a Baratheon, years ago, and so the Storm Lands fought for the lions. With their combined forces, they would be hard to beat, on land. Their numbers alone rivalled those of the Northern Armies and what remained of those in the Reach, and the other scattered Kingdoms who had already faced the Lannisters head-on.
But, Jon reminded himself, they didn't have Dothraki screamers, and Ghiscari warrions, and they didn't have dragons. They didn't have stone-faced, hard Northern warriors, nor the Dornish, who would fight 'til the death. The Knights of the Vale would ride, he knew, and the Riverlands stood in waiting.
Jon's father awaited him in the Neck, and as they time to fight drew closer, he found himself itching for a battle.
But then his heart would tremble, and he would picture Dany atop her beast, or little Naerys on Silverwing, and he would be gripped by a sudden, vicious fear.
It was a fear he was coming to master, a fear he turned into an iron determination to win, at any cost.
It was the only way they would be safe. And even that was not promised.
The ground trembled as Silverwing landed, Naerys giggling at the way Jon clutched tight to the spiked horns along the dragon's back, his teeth jarring in his mouth as they thundered to the ground.
He saw the Stark banners in the distance, heard the neighing and whinnying of their horses, and held out a hand to his daughter. He pointed with a black-gloved hand, to the sea of tents that occupied the spare dry ground to be found, in the swampy marshes of the Neck.
"See there?" Naerys nodded, fiddling with her braids a bit, nervously. "My Papa is just there. Let us go and greet him."
She dragged behind, a bit, and Jon came to a halt just before they reached the copse of trees that housed the largest tent, the Stark Direwolf howling away on the side. "Papa?"
Jon crouched low, taking a moment to take stock of the girl's nervous posture, the quick flitting of her eyes around them, the way she began to twist her hands together, just as her mother did. "Are you afraid?"
"What if he doesn't like me, Papa?" It seemed so unlike the brave little warrior girl he knew, and he pulled her near, giving her a brief hug and a kind smile when he met her eyes again.
"That's nonsense, lass. You see, in the North, do you know what we like best? Do you know what our very favorite sort of person is?" He tipped his head, waiting expectantly for an answer she knew full well, after night after night of peppering him with questions about his people and his home, as he and Dany tried to coerce her to lay herself down and go to sleep.
"Warriors," Naerys said quietly. "But I'm not really a warrior yet, am I, Papa? I'm still a little girl."
Her shyness, her sudden worry, prompted a softness in his chest, but he let none of it show, instead trying to look as stern as he could. He jerked his chin towards Silverwing, who circled and tried to find a place large enough to bed down that didn't result in her glistening trail dragging into the boggy swamp. At his back, he could hear a crowd rather, murmuring quietly and no doubt witnessing that their Prince had returned, with guests.
"Not a warrior, she says. Do you have a sword?" She nodded, and gestured to the thin blade that she wore in a little belt around her waist, a smaller version of the sword his sister Arya carried. But unlike Arya's, this one was Valyrian steel, and keenly sharp, and the girl had needed only one reminder from him to take great care with such a blade.
"Aye, Papa." He fought a smile at her agreement; She'd started trying to speak more like him, as of late, and it pleased him greatly, but now was not the time to show it.
He sucked his teeth for a moment, then gestured again towards Silverwing, this time with his hand. "And do you ride a dragon, Naerys? For only the bravest ride dragons, which you well know."
Then it came, a tiny smile, her cheek showing a little dimple on the right. "Aye, Papa, I do."
Jon nodded, sagely, then looked her straight in the eyes, serious and sober. "Now this is the most important question. Are you listening closely?" Another nod came. "Good. Are you willing to fight for your people? These people, your Uncle's people, all the people who have been hurt by the ones we will fight tomorrow? Will you fight until you can't anymore, even if you are tired, or hurt?"
She seemed so grave, for a girl so small and young, but she gave the question serious consideration, biting at her lip, nostrils flaring as she seemed to come to a decision. "Yes, Papa," she said finally. "I will do that." She set her lips in a firm little line, and for a brief, fleeting moment, Jon could see himself in her face, and it filled him with a warmth that he wouldn't have thought himself capable of, after so long in the cold.
He stood, slowly, setting his hand atop her head and tipping her head up so she would look at him. "Then," he proclaimed, "My Papa will think you are the best, and bravest warrior he's ever seen."
Naerys blinked at him, thinking. "Are you sure?"
"Aye," he said, and tickled at the girl's ribs, prompting her to squirm away, giggling. "I'm sure of it, because I *know* you are the best, and bravest warrior I've ever seen." He held out his hand and she took it, holding tight. "Now let's go find him. If Ser Davos has arrived before us, he and Ghost will be very happy to see we've made it."
The mention of Ghost seemed to shake most of the remaining hesitancy from Naerys, and she smiled, tensing with anticipation. "Why didn't you say so, Papa! Let's go!"
The tent of the Winter King was surprisingly empty, save Jon's father, and Ser Davos, and one pacing, skulking direwolf. Guards greeted Jon and his companion with formal dips of their chin, and held back the flap so the Prince and his charge might enter.
Eddard Stark was on his feet in seconds, rising from behind his writing desk, his sword Ice leaning against the wood, sheathed. He gave Jon a true, genuine smiling, crossing quickly to embrace his son, relief painting his features as father and son greeted each other for the first time in several moons.
"Ah, lad," Eddard said fondly, "You've made it!" Naerys, Jon realized, had tucked herself partially behind his legs, hiding a bit, her shyness returning. The King seemed to notice, as well, and Jon saw his father's eyes soften a bit as he glanced at the girl. "And this must be the Warrior Princess! The Dragon Rider!" Naerys kept her head down, shyly toeing her boot into the dirt. His father pressed on. "Ser Davos has been telling me all about you, lass."
Ghost slinked over then, nosing at Naerys's arm, licking at her cheek until she couldn't help but laugh.
Jon's father eased back, seeing the girl's reticence, and seated himself behind his desk, content not to push her any further until she was ready to speak. "Ser Davos has been telling me all about you, too, Jon. It seems this marriage is a bit more," he cleared his throat, sparing a knowing look at the Onion Knight, "welcome than we had first anticipated."
Again, his father's eyes strayed to Naerys, who was nose-to-nose with Ghost. Jon tried to see his father through the girl's eyes, to see what it was that caused her to shy away, when she'd seemed to have summoned up some bravery in the open night air, moments before. No doubt, The King in the North looked a hard, stern man. His hair had grayed, as Jon had grown older, and the iron and bronze jagged crown that rested just above his brow had a brutal sheen.
Perhaps it was the heavy furs, that made the man look large and imposing. And, he realized, as his father stood again, slowly creeping closer to Jon's daughter, Ned Stark had sorted that out for himself, too. The King dropped to a knee, stroking a hand along Ghost's muzzle, just feet away from where Naerys had her face hidden in Ghost's white fur.
"Did my son tell you that his sisters have wolves, also, Princess?" His father's voice was easier, lighter than Jon remembered, and he wondered just how much Davos had told him about the truth of the girl, of who she really was.
The question perked Naerys up a bit, and she raised her face. "Really? Are they very big, like Ghost?"
Jon hadn't had occasion to see his father smile, but it came on his face then, something soft, amused. "Oh, Aye," he said grandly, "but not quite as big as Ghost. He's the biggest, and the strongest."
A small hand pushed through Ghost's fur again, and Naerys straightened her head. "And the nicest. He is my very dear friend."
His father looked at him, with a wink, then back at the girl. "Oh, I have no doubt. Ghost is very good at choosing friends." There was sparse light, and Naerys' face remained hidden in shadow, and when he asked his next question Jon knew his father had been told the whole truth, gray eyes so like Jon's keenly focused on the girl's face. "Will you come closer? My eyes are old, and I should like to see you in the lamp light. I've never seen a real dragon rider before, you know."
First one step, then another, and Naerys had pulled away from Ghost and Jon, and stood before the Winter King, the orange glow shining on her every feature now.
But it wasn't until she raised her eyes, and looked the King full in the face, that the King in the North saw what he must have been searching for.
Jon had never, in all his living memory, seen his father shed a tear. Never. Many called his father cold, but Jon knew that it wasn't that the man did not feel. He simply did not show it, he hid it all behind his stoic mask. Perhaps, in his quarters, his father had cried aplenty. The Gods had given him plenty of reasons to. But never in front of Jon.
Now, though, it was as though the man could no longer keep himself in check. He gasped aloud, when he looked into the girl's eyes, then went so pale Jon wondered if he might faint dead away, or be sick. Eddard Stark gaped, in wonder, in awe, grief-stricken and stupefied, all at once. He wondered if the man was going to begin weeping like a babe.
And as though she knew what shook him so, Naerys stepped closer still, and even from her side, Jon could see her give his father a shy, tentative smile. "What are their names? The other wolves? Are they white, too?"
The King in the North let out a choked laugh, his eyes glassy and wet, but he seemed intent on gathering himself, though his eyes never left Naerys' own. He stroked a hand through the salt and pepper gray of his beard, cocking his jaw as he studied Jon's daughter. "Oh, now let's see. Sansa's wolf, well, her name is Lady, and she's a lovely gray." Naerys's eyes lit up, and grew wide, and his father grinned, enchanted. "And Arya's wolf, oh, she is a wild one. She is brown and gold, truly a beautiful beast. But none are so grand as your dear friend Ghost."
Naerys smiled, as well, and peeked back at Jon, seeking his approval. "Papa, can I show the King my dragon now?"
Jon nodded, a queer burning in his heart, at the sight of his father laid low, at his wee daughter wanting nothing more than to show off her own mythical beast, her hesitancy gone, swept clean away.
"'Course," he said, clearing his throat gently, wondering at the own warmth in his eyes. His father stood as well, fixing Jon with a pointed look, swallowing hard as he passed.
"You and I will talk later, my son." Then he turned to follow Jon's daughter, out into the night, leaving Jon with only Davos and Ghost as company.
After a few moments of silence, Ghost nudged his way through the tent flaps, and Davos slid his eyes towards Jon. "I told him," Davos managed, seeming rather amused, but a little guarded as he eyed Jon, no doubt wondering if Jon would be cross, "about the girl."
"Yes, Davos," Jon said dryly, rolling his eyes at the man and huffing out a quick laugh. "I managed to sort that out." He shoved through the tent flaps himself, intent on witnessing his father's first introduction to a real, living dragon.
"Jon." He looked away, tearing his eyes from the starry night sky, to see his father approaching. Inside Jon's own tent, Naerys slept fitfully, with Ghost nearby. She'd been hard to get settled, this night, saying her stomach felt 'swirly' and she couldn't stay still. Jon knew what she meant. His own gut felt as though he'd spent weeks at sea, pitching and turning as he thought on the morrow.
"Father." Jon took a sip of ale, noting the hitch in his father's chest, as he studied Jon's face, the way his eyes flitted towards the tent, no doubt pondering the one who lay within.
"She's a fine little lass, that girl. Brave little thing." The King blew out a breath, suddenly a bit unsure, hesitant. "Did Davos tell you, Jon?" After a beat of silence, he stepped closer, eyes imploring, the older man's voice growing thick with emotion that could no longer be contained. "Did he tell you about the girl's eyes?"
Slowly, Jon nodded, a stubborn irritation flaring, his jaw setting. "Aye, Father, he did. And Arthur, as well."
Eddard smiled, just a bare twitching of his lip, and in the light of a guttering torch nearby Jon could see his eyes growing damp again. "Aye, no doubt about that. I reckon Arthur must be about ready to skin me alive, after all these years." The man's throat bobbed, and he fell silent again, but whether it was because he couldn't speak, or wouldn't, Jon couldn't tell.
"I wish you had told me about her, Father. I wish I had known these things, you know. The exact shade of her hair, the brightness of her smile," now it was Jon who swallowed heavily, his gaze holding his father's, "the color of her eyes." He was angry, he realized, angry for the boy he'd been, so long ago, who'd been desperate for scraps of knowledge about the woman who'd given her life for his. "It should've been you, who told me those things. The one who loved her."
In any other circumstances, Jon thought he might've passed out from shock at the sight of a tear trailing down his father's cheek and into his beard, but this night he just watched.
"It was a thousand knives in my throat, every time I tried to speak about her. It hurt too much, lad. I'm sorry, Jon. I can't tell you how much." Furtively, he wiped away a tear, looking away, ashamed to meet Jon's eyes. "You're right. She was your mother, she was my wife, and I ought to have told you about her." A hand fell heavily on his shoulder. "I can't change the past, lad, but if you like, we can talk about her now. I'll tell you anything you want to know."
Jon stared into his father's gray eyes, so like his own, and felt his anger fall away, slowly, ebbing away in waves, like the tide. He knew, in his heart, that his father spoke truly. He'd felt that pain as well.
But not anymore.
There were no holes in his heart, anymore. It was full, and he meant to keep it that way.
Jon nodded, earning a wistful smile from his father, who cleared his throat and straightened, looking about and no doubt hoping none were bearing witness to this rare display of emotion. "Good. I'm going to fetch us some ale, and then we shall talk."
Jon watched his father's back as he made his way back to his own tent, no doubt to bring several flagons, and let his mind drift, back to where it always centered, the hub of everything, the axis around which his life had turned since the day he'd met her, really.
Dany.
He hoped she was resting. He hoped she was well. He hoped she was ready to wage her own battle, tomorrow, with her armies circling and ready to pin the Lannister forces that had gathered in the Reach, about to march on Dorne.
His fingers drifted up to his neck, to the thin silver chain that rested there, once again, and he drew out her silver ring, letting the dim light dance along each line and curve. They had been well-sated, feasted to their fill on each other, when she'd slipped the chain around his neck. And when he'd seen what lay upon it, had turned to look up at her questioningly, she'd just laughed, and kissed the corners of his mouth.
Then she'd smiled sweetly, and held his chin in her hands, her fingers like iron.
"Bring it back to me, my love," she'd said, an order, a plea, a promise.
"I will," he'd answered, and taken her in his arms again, swearing to himself it would not be the last time.
He lifted the ring to his lips and kissed it. He'd done this so many times, over the years, but this was different. Everything was different. Jon smiled to himself, thinking of the little lass who lay in his tent, no doubt dreaming with his wolf, this impossible little girl who rode dragons and called him Papa.
And he thought of her mother, the one he loved most, the one he'd thought lost forever, and the love that seemed to pulse through him, for her, with every beat of his heart.
Jon felt that persistent fear, that nagging sense of impending doom, that he was about to lose everything he'd just gained, fade away, just as his anger had. He wasn't going to lose anything, not anymore. He simply wouldn't allow it.
Besides, he thought with a chuckle, casting his eyes to the perimeter of the camp, where Silverwing slept, scales glittering in the moonlight, they had bloody dragons. None could stand against them now, not for long.
And so it was that he was still smiling when his father returned, a flagon in each hand, gesturing with one to the stumps that had been brought near for them to sit upon.
"Now," his father said with a sigh, the beginnings of a fond, sad smile on his lips. "Let's talk about your mother."