Hey guys, sorry this took so long. I thought last chapter was rough, this one was even tougher, but I did it, somehow. (thanks in part to my trip to Scotland, nothing like the wide open sky and nature to help boost inspiration) So it's actually not that bad a read. Just short.

Anyway, here's this quarter's contribution. Hope you like. And thanks for sticking with me.

Return me, oh sun, to my wild destiny...
I want to go back to what I have not been,
and learn to go back from such deeps that
amongst all natural things I could live or not live;
it does not matter to be one stone more, the dark stone,
the pure stone which the river bears away.

from Oh Earth, Wait For Me by Pablo Neruda

Jon

❄️

He spent most of the night in his solar, the steady flow of ale keeping his thoughts on the woman who was his wife, who he no longer knew. Whatever Daenerys' feelings for him had been before their wedding night, it was clear she no longer felt the same now. Even the winter's chill paled in comparison to the emotions he felt from her, forbidding and withdrawn, as if the wall of ice itself stood between them.

Jon couldn't blame her of course, not with how he'd been treating her. Not with the secret he'd been keeping, guarding it to himself as his not father once had. He still cared for her though, and he wanted her to know that, but he was beginning to think the use of her nickname did more harm than good.

There were brief moments though, like that instant between dreaming and waking, when harsh reality hasn't set in yet, where he still felt the possibilty of them. Even with everything that had happened, everything he knew, he needed only to act, to be the one to breach the divide between them, and all could be forgiven. Yet whenever he tried, the words never came out right. Such as that morning after her display with that first ride on Drogon for all to see.

His meeting with the night's watch had ended earlier than expected, as it was a man Jon had never met, with a letter from Dolores Ed. Jon had not expected his friend of course, but he hoped at least for someone he knew. As a reminder of the past he felt he needed to remember. Of course, Ed had sent someone unknown for that exact reason however, claiming Jon had enough to think about as it was.

Jon had only caught a bit of the last few swoops Drogon made before they took off. He had not been upset of course. He was just as mesmerized by Dany as everyone else, with her light elegant flourishes and the bright smile he could see even from afar. It was hard not to notice how happy she seemed.

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was the reason for her unhappiness of late. There she was flying on a dragon, and he could not even bring himself to speak to her let alone tell her the truth. He'd torn away just as she had, and made his way to the Godswood almost unconciously, wondering to himself what was worse; the ramifications of revealing the truth, or the consequences in not.

It took the feeling of numbness in his fingers and toes for him to realize how long he'd been there. The halls were quiet by the time he returned to their room, and Daenerys fast asleep.

He woke the next morning to find both he and Dany had turned towards each other in the night. She was only a few inches away, eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar in heavy slumber still. He wanted to reach out and smooth her hair back but didn't, afraid his touch might disturb the soft tranquility colouring her features.

Jon stayed that way until she began to rouse, finally turning away but unable to leave altogether. They did not normally catch each other in the morning, whoever woke first—usually him, would make sure to be dressed and waiting in the solar so they could head down to the great hall together. They may not be happily wed, but the rest of the castle inhabitants would never think otherwise.

So when she greeted him, her voice without its usual steeliness, Jon turned to her unable to avoid the reply, feeling his own expression soft.

When he'd plucked the feather from her hair, it was clear by the quick flicker of warmth snuffing out from her eyes, that it was not what she'd been expecting. And then, like the coward he suddenly realized he was, he froze, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the onset of reality.

Spineless, that is what I am, he thought to himself as he stood and left her. He wallowed a little in his self flagellation, until he realized she hadn't moved. Maybe all is not lost.

This time he did not turn, knowing he would never catch his courage under the pressure of her gaze. He'd asked about her flight with Drogon in an effort to ease the tension, but when she'd taken his curiousity as accusation, he realized the problem was not only his inability to express himself, but also her willingness to misinterpret him.

Less than a fortnite passed before he felt forced to speak to her about her frequent disappearances. Jon did not bother to polish his words, knowing it would not make a difference. She would not be appeased by his pretenses, no matter what he said. Daenerys took it exactly as he'd expected, and with his patience already thin, he'd almost reacted as she wanted him to.

When she'd not returned the next evening, at first he'd only been worried that he'd been all too right and something had happened to her. But when he received word that she'd been spotted flying South past Winterfell, he felt something else spark bright within him. By the time the raven arrived announcing she'd gone to Pyke, the dam finally broke.

It came as no surprise, everything that had happened after.

Jon wallowed in thoughts of her return, of the fight they'd had, until both the heat in the hearth and the conflict in his heart forced him out into the open wild North that he both knew and understood. The press of the night's cold breeze comforted him in its familiarity.

As he stared out from the ramparts, to the wall and the enemy he knew was on the other side, trying to force his thoughts to focus on them instead of her, he saw Drogon and Rhaegal approach. The reason for their arrival was obvious, more so when she arrived a little while later, and climbed onto Drogon's back. What actually suprised him, even more than Rhaegal's refusal to go and her subsequently leaving without him, was his own inaction. Jon made no attempt to stop her, even when he meant everything he'd said about her safety and responsibility.

He only wished the relief he suddenly felt at her departure had come as a surprise as well.

Once she was gone, the dreams began again in earnest. They were more steady this time, not a mass flickering of images and moments, rather he dreamt mostly about his time with the Night's Watch, of his brothers, the ones who had fallen and the ones still with him. Over and over memories would visit him, of Grenn and Pip, even Lord Mormont once, of the night he'd saved him from the whitewalker.

He would have thought himself mad if he were not asleep.

During the day, without the distraction of Daenerys' presence, his obligations became his sole focus. It was fortunate since without her, and without Sansa, everything fell into his lap. In turn enabling him to come to a decision.

He would hold his secret until they'd defeated the Night King. It did not matter who his father was, not unless they survived the long night. He'd been preaching this for so long, he wondered how it had taken him so long to realize it himself. What Jon needed right now, what his people needed him to be, was 'the sword that guards the realms of men'. Everything else—the truth of his past, his heritage, his feelings—it was all irrelevant right now.

As the days drew on, Rhaegal appeared more often around Winterfell, flying over both the keep and winter town, eventually taking to the northside of the grounds, where Drogon had once met Daenerys.

Not even a week had passed before the castle's inhabitants made clear their apprehension to his visits, it seemed without Daenerys and Drogon, Rhaegal appeared wild and unpredictable by comparison.

It was the next day, when the sun was at its highest, that Rhaegal made his next visit. Jon was in the courtyard training with the men, when he flew overhead. With more than a little trepidation he excused himself from his sparring partner, a wildling by the name of Daggar, and handed his wooden sword to Davos.

Davos smiled, "I take it you'd prefer the real thing."

Setting the wooden sword down he passed Jon his own in its stead, his brow furrowing as he came to a sudden realization.

"I wonder your grace, can dragon fire melt Valyrian steel?'

Ser Davos was merely curious Jon knew, but he could not help the way his throat sealed shut for a moment, as his insides seemed to contract at the notion, considering where he was heading.

"Let's hope I don't find out," He answered, voice breathless.

Jon was not entirely surprised to find Missandei on the ramparts, standing where Daenerys had, seemingly keeping Rhaegal company. As his wife's advisor, it was her who'd taken charge of managing the daily needs of Daenerys' armies within Winterfell, as best she could anyhow, along with Greyworm who'd ridden out to the rest. It was not the same as having the real thing, as his wife could fly out and return within the day, but it made things a little easier, and he was grateful.

"Missandei," He said once he reached them, feeling a little awkward addressing her so informally, even though she'd asked him to.

"Your grace," She smiled lightly, and bowed to him.

He'd only just started getting to know her, first with his wife's sudden departure to Pyke and now with her continued absence. Jon should not have been suprised by Missandei's fortitude, but he was continually amazed by it. Such as now, she seemed entirely at ease around Rhaegal.

When Jon finally looked over at him, the dragon was already looking back, his gaze intent. Jon drew in a breath, forcing himself to remain calm. Another moment passed before Rhaegal puffed up a little and screeched, though it was more trill than roar, and settled on the ground once more.

"What does he want?" He asked as if she would know the answer.

"I think he's lonely your grace," She answered, sounding as if the answer was simple.

"With the Queen and Drogon gone, for the first time, he is alone."

Jon knew the feeling, all too well.

❄️

This was perhaps, the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Or well— was about to do.

When he'd exited the Great Hall, his plan had been to find his bed and sink into oblivion—or rather his dreams, until morning. But just as he reached the keep, he heard a familiar screech in the distance.

He remembered Dany had once told him that dragons drew strength from action, and though Jon was sure Rhaegal appreciated Missandei's company, a dragon was meant to fly.

So instead of the ramparts, Jon made his way to the stables and fetched his horse. He could not fly with Rhaegal, but he could ride alongside him, keep him company. Somewhat, at least.

At the edge of the Wolfswood, Rhaegal found him. He flew towards Jon, swooping to turn around after he passed over. Jon's horse had been at a slow trot, and just as Rhaegal turned and Jon meant to make the animal pick up speed, the dragon landed instead.

His stead reered up, almost knocking Jon off, forcing him to descend. With his hands on the reins holding tight, Jon soothed the horse with gentle tones. It was not an easy task, with Rhaegal looming behind them. In the end, he was forced to lead the animal away, tying him up on the branch of a tree.

As he made his way over with the intention to do what—he suddenly couldn't remember, not with the full weight of Rhaegal gazing down at him.

Jon froze, and Yes, the twisting feeling in his gut answered.

This is the stupidest thing you've ever done.

For a moment, Rhaegal simply stared at him inquisitively, and then, so suddenly Jon flinched, he lowered his head so they were eye level. Jon felt the heat of Rhaegal's breath, and yet—he realized suddenly, he was not afraid.

Tentatively, Jon slipped off his glove and slowly reached out, palm up, the ever present scars reminding him he'd been burned before. Rhaegal inched closer, until he felt the hot heat of his breath and then quickly, warm rough dragon scales as Rhaegal pressed his snout into Jon's hand. Their gaze locked for a moment as Jon's fingers slid up slightly when Rhaegal dipped his head further, and Jon had a moment of bafflement at the thought that he was petting a dragon before said animal suddenly turned away and was now leaning his shoulder to the ground.

Jon's breath stilled, recognizing the gesture. It was what Drogon always did, for Daenerys, when she meant to fly with him.

He took a deep breath then, feeling as if there wasn't enough air in his chest—surely that wasn't what was happening now…

But then Rhaegal trilled impatiently, shocking him into turning towards the dragon's head, his eyes already upon him, and Jon knew then that it was.

With his heart thumping in his chest, he slipped his glove on, and took a step forward.

a/n:reviews? Always appreciated.