Hi guys! Sorry, been off for a couple days, but here I am! I know this chapter might seem a little filler-like, but don't worry. Big things are coming that I may or may not already have written ;) Enjoy!

Enrin wove down the halls, almost at a run, Night trotting along at her side. The Dothraki guards followed, lazily, a few steps behind her. She no longer thought they were for her protection; at this point, they almost seemed like they just didn't want her to get lost.

Davos stood at the door of their chambers, rocking back and forth on his heels. He eyed the two men at their door warily, but turned as he saw Enrin hustling toward them.

"Your Grace," he said as she breezed past them, relief in his voice. She threw open the door to their chambers, Davos following her over the threshold.

Jon looked as if he had been pacing. The bedside table now lay, broken, the candles strewn about the room, like he had thrown it at the door in his frustration. His knuckles were wet where he had bloodied them on the wood.

He looked older then, in his fear, and as she entered the room he stared at her for a moment as if he didn't believe she was there.

They rushed to each other at the same time, and Jon took her face in his hands. He searched her, wanting to inspect every hair on her head.

"Have they hurt you?" Was all he asked, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. Enrin searched his eyes, full of anxiety, and quickly shook her head. Jon gulped in a deep breath of air, embracing her once more. He had died a thousand deaths in the short time she had been gone, raging like a madman, hurling threats at the Dothraki who heard him but stayed silent.

Enrin made to step away, suddenly aware of Davos hovering by the door, but Jon kept a hand on her waist, keeping her against him. Davos dutifully ignored their closeness. "What exactly was it that the dragon queen wanted, Your Grace?"

Enrin swallowed, and regaled them with the events of her meeting with Daenerys. They were both quiet for a long moment when she had finished, so long that she poured a cup of water for herself and almost finished it before they spoke again.

"You...you managed that in one meeting? By yourself?" Davos asked, an edge of disbelief in his voice. Enrin's eyes flashed back and forth between the both of them.

"Do...negotiations usually take longer than that?"

Jon watched her for a moment, his lip quivering, and Enrin thought he might cry...until he laughed.

"What are you, honestly," he said, kissing her temple, "that would have taken me weeks to hash out. And there you go, waltzing in and arranging an entire alliance in two days." Enrin shrugged. "I just told her the truth, and she believed it, or at least humored me enough to try. Either way, we need to mine the dragonglass. We can't begin to think about fighting the Others until we can forge weapons to kill them with." Her eyes flashed from Davos to Jon again as they both sat in silence, staring at her. Enrin threw her hands in the air, huffing. "Well? Is that a yes or a no?"

"Yes, Your Grace," they both agreed in unison, and Jon stood, eyes only on her. "I'd like a moment with my wife, please, Ser Davos. We'll talk again tomorrow." Davos gave them both a tight lipped smile before slipping from the room, the door closing behind him.

Enrin opened her mouth to question Jon, but he was on her in a moment, his mouth covering hers. She gasped, but returned his kiss. He was all fire and fear, his hands roaming her body roughly. His lips found her neck as he pulled her shirt up, forcing her to lift her arms.

"Jon, what-"

He found her lips again, silencing her. His hands found her pants as he undid the straps, pulling away. His eyes were shining.

"I need you," he said, gazing at her, waiting for acceptance.

"Yes," she said, bringing her mouth to his again, relishing in the feel of his hands on her body.

Jon ran his fingertips over the curve of her hip as she squirmed. The room was lit by a single candle, the only one Jon hadn't broken. The shadows danced across them, and Enrin watched it flicker, catching Jon's hand as he meant to tickle her again.

"You were very angry," she said, rolling over to face him, one arm under her head. His face was half a shadow, only one eye visible.

"Aye," he whispered, "I was."

He pushed her hair away from her face. He watched her for a moment, trying to pull words from his brain into his mouth so that she could comprehend what roiled beneath the surface.

"I thought she was whisking you away to behead you for affronting her," he said, his voice choked, "I thought...I thought I wasn't going to see you again. I almost went through the door twice." He winced as he flexed his hand, his knuckles protesting. Enrin caught it in her fingers and inspected it in the dim light. "How do you expect to mine dragonglass with injured hands? Honestly, Jon," Enrin sighed, "you know how executions work. If she had wanted to behead me, she would have had you watch."

Jon went white at the thought, the blood freezing in his veins. "Don't talk like that," he said, pulling her closer to him. "I can't promise that someone won't want to lob off my head at some point," she said, shrugging, "but you can't live your life in fear of it. What are we fighting for, if not to live and enjoy living?" She kissed him slowly, her hands tracing the planes of his chest. They lay together for a few moments, before Jon asked, "What do you think of this Daenerys Targaryen?"

Enrin shrugged again, resting her cheek on his chest. "I think she is good," she said, "I think she has a good heart, but she is afraid. I can only hope that she will be humbled and stripped of some of that arrogance she carries before she sits on the stupid chair made of swords."

She felt his chuckle in her ear, and she held him tighter, trying to hold on to the sound. She wanted to tell him that she was afraid, that she wanted him to take her home, but she knew that he was afraid, too. The sound of the sea made her restless and she longed for the rustling of the leaves in the winter winds, the sound of pine needles and snow crunching under her feet. She looked up to see Jon watching her, his eyes steady. She opened her mouth to speak but he brushed his thumb over her lips, whispering, "I know."

She felt overwhelmed by her feeling for him, for how much she had grown to love this man in such a short time. A painful lump formed in her throat as she tried to swallow it down. Jon saw the war behind her eyes, helplessness coloring his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to put her back on the ship and send her sailing for Winterfell, or as far south as the sea could go. He wanted to send her east, west, anywhere that she could be safe from the war he had brought her into. "I want to send you home," he said finally, knowing her answer before she even said it.

"I won't go without you," she said, and he only nodded. They lapsed into silence again, her head on his chest and his fingers gently toying with the ends of her hair. "I love you," he said after a long while, his fingers forming slow circles on her back, "do you know that?"

She did not look at him, only tightened her arm across his stomach.

"Yes," she said, "I know that."

Jon opened his eyes as light spilled into the room. His hands ached with bruises as he flexed them. Enrin lay awake next to him, her light eyes watching the ceiling. "Did you sleep?" He asked, sitting up to face her in the bed. She shook her head. He sighed, leaning down to kiss her shoulder. They rose at the same time, dressing in silence. Enrin pulled another of his gray shirts over her head, and he wondered if he should have brought more with him.

He watched her lacing her boots, standing near the door. She had not said a word through the entire morning. They had dressed and broke their fast in silence, and Jon's frustration was mounting. He opened the door as she finished, so that they may leave but his hand tightened on the handle and he slammed it shut again. Enrin jumped, her eyes wide with alarm. He rounded on her, his nostrils flared.

"I'll bite," he said, barring the door with his hands folded in front of him, "you're quieter than the dead. What is it?"

She cocked her head at him. "Is that a joke?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, heaving a sigh so big that his shoulders sagged. "Tell me."

She shook her head. "Nothing at all," Enrin said, her voice feigning lightness. She reached around him to open the door but he stepped in front of her, catching her wrist. He gazed at her pointedly, his eyes probing.

She stepped back, breathing deeply. She had lay awake to watch him all night, afraid he may dream again. Her eyes felt heavy and her soul was tired, but she stood there in front of him, for once in her life unable to find her words. She didn't know what she saw in his eyes in that moment, but his worry rolled from him in waves. Her urge to run from him, from what she felt, had never been greater. For one honest moment she thought of climbing from the window.

Then he said her name, just her name, and his voice was so forlorn that she thought it might break her heart.

Every emotion that she had felt in the last several weeks crashed over her and she sagged, and he caught her as she fell. He pulled her into his lap as she tried to shove him away. His hands were steady on her wrists as tears sprang unbidden from her eyes. Enrin ducked her head, her hair covering her face like a veil. He didn't question her, only let her weep.

"I love you," she said, her voice thick, "and it frightens me." She looked at him then, her tears hot on her face. "I had come to terms with death long ago, but now...I love you, and I'm afraid."

Jon crushed her to him, drying her tears with the edge of his hand.

"I'm not used to you crying," he said, "not long ago you told me you weren't some weeping southern lady."

That made her laugh, and she shoved him, gently. Jon took her face in his hands, pushing the hair from her eyes.

"You and I," he said, "are going to make it through this, together. I promise."

She placed her hand over his, leaning forward so that their foreheads touched.

"Aye," she replied, "together."

Daenerys stood waiting for them on the beach, twenty Dothraki standing lazily behind her. She smiled wryly at their appearance.

"Good morning," she called over the wind, "we thought you weren't going to make it. I've spared twenty men to assist with your mining endeavors in the cave today."

Jon came to a stop in front of her, Enrin at his side. He cast his eyes dubiously over the men behind her, who looked like they would rather be anywhere than where they stood.

"Thank you," he replied, pulling his gloves over fingers. Unknowingly, Enrin mimicked his moves, and they let their hands fall to their sides in synchronization with each other, something that came naturally to them now. The sea was angry, a twisting nether, pulling at the sand. Enrin shuddered.

"There is something we'd like to show you, if you have the time," Jon said to the dragon queen, who only nodded and motioned for them to lead the way. Enrin fell into step with Daenerys, standing shoulder to shoulder with her. She looked nervous as they entered the mouth of the cave.

"Stay with me," Enrin said, as the Dothraki muttered with unease around her. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of their words.

"They say that they don't like to be underground," Daenerys said, reading her face. "They didn't like the great salt sea, either, but they crossed it for me."

Enrin steadied herself on the wall of the cave as the path wound down around them, immediately striking back up again. Daenerys' boot caught a stray stone and she stumbled, but Enrin caught her elbow and pulled her upright. "They must trust you, then," she said as Daenerys brushed dust from her dress.

Braziers had been lit to alleviate the darkness, and the dragonglass glittered like a thousand black diamonds. Daenerys had the grace to look on in awe, but Jon led them straight to the far side of the cavern, where fire burned under the cave drawings. Daenerys followed them slowly, her eyes wide, taking in the images like she barely believed them real. "Who made these?"

"The Children of the Forest," Jon answered steadily, his finger trailing across to where the blue stone glittered at him again, watching his every move. "And the First Men. They were here, together, fighting the true enemy."

Daenerys' eyes were wide, the red of the fire flickering across the purple of her iris. She slowly reached out to touch the carvings.

"Do you believe us now?" Enrin asked, standing at her shoulder, watching her face expectantly.

"I never said I didn't believe you."

"But you'd never said you did."

A voice called her name from the entrance of the cave, and Daenerys bid them farewell, one of the Dothraki lighting her way through the cavern. Her steps were quick, almost frightened, and Enrin listened as they disappeared.

The pickaxes made music against the stone, prying loose the shards of obsidian in record time. She did not understand the Dothraki when they spoke, but she would give them that they were strong. They toiled well into the night, the black mounds growing at every turn. The braziers they had lit to see had succeeded in lending them light, but also in making the cave hot. Sweat poured down her brow as she hacked away at the stone, Jon by her side; as they worked, he talked.

He spoke of Winterfell with the reverence that one would use to speak of their gods. He told tales of people long dead; of Old Nan and the pies she would make, and how she would slip Jon an extra rasher of bacon when they broke their fast, after telling his brother Robb that it was long eaten. He spoke of Mikken and how he had forged their steel, always making certain that Jon's swords were lighter and sharper, to benefit his lighter frame. When he spoke of Catelyn Stark his eyes softened; she had never loved him, let alone even liked him. He remarked that Sansa looked so much like her that fear struck him oftentimes when she entered a room, and he waited to be greeted with a cold stare and a biting reprimand. He could not blame her, no, for how could he? She had no choice in his birth, either. What could it have felt like to stare into the eyes of her husband's infidelity each day for seventeen years before they had gone their separate ways? Enrin wanted to tell him that she was glad his father tarnished his honor, because that meant that he was here with her, but she did not. She let him talk, taking joy in the sound of his voice as he painted images in her head. He spoke of Robb, his brother, who was his age. As children they had been inseparable, until Robb had taken on learning the lord duties from his father. Sansa had hardly spoken to him in her teenage years; she went by her lady mother, who's distaste for Jon rolled off her in waves. But Arya, sweet Arya he said, she was his best friend. A tiny girl, she weighed no more than a mouse, but she was fiercer than all of them combined. He had given her a sword that she had named Needle before he had departed for the Wall, and he wondered aloud if it ever kept her safe. Enrin could feel his heart breaking at his words, but said nothing, allowing him to have his moment. She wanted to comfort him, to say that if Arya was so fierce the she knew she was alive out there somewhere in the world, but she could not. What if it was a lie?

Bran was dead, for all he knew, a cripple boy in the company of a halfwit and two children Jon had never known. Jon hoped his wolf was with him, wherever he was.

His axe rained down again and again, sparks flying as it connected with the rock. The anger burned deep within him, for every enemy that had wronged his family. He had hung most of his, at Castle Black, but his true enemy was advancing farther each day.

After a while, Enrin placed a hand on his shoulder. He paused, mid strike, and when he looked at her, her eyes were gentle.

"Come," she said, laying her tool down against the wall. The Dothraki had long given up for the night, retreating one by one from the cavern. "You should eat," Enrin said, her voice like she was coaxing a scared animal from its burrow. He chewed his lip, but followed her, taking her hand in his as they left the cave.

Enrin placed a rough plate in front of him, piled high with bread and cheese, with some meat Missandei had arrived to share with them. She sat down in front of her own, toying with the edge of her bread, her eyes on him.

"You need to eat," she said, gently nudging him under the table with her foot. He started.

"I recall saying that to you, not so long ago," he replied, looking markedly at her untouched food. She made a point to take a bite of her meat, chewing thoughtfully. She opened her mouth to tell him that perhaps when they got back, they could spare a few men to look for Arya and Bran, wherever they may be, when a knock sounded on the door.

Jon leaped up to answer, his back stiff. Last time there had been a knock on the door, late at night, they had taken his wife.

Davos stared at him from beyond the threshold, his hands folded behind his back as they always were. "The dragon queen has asked for us in the war room, your Graces," he said, before turning to start down the hall. He turned back once to see if they would follow.

Enrin rose from the table. She winced as she did; every part of her ached from their long day, and muscles she didn't even know she had protested as she followed Jon out of the room. They walked in silence, each chewing on their own thoughts. The doors to the war room were open and Daenerys stood at the map table, her eyes wide with fury barely contained. Jon shifted slightly so his shoulder was in front of Enrin, his eyes casting the room warily.

Tyrion sat with her, pouring wine into a silver cup. "Ah," he said as they entered, his eyes finding them, "good. Come, sit. I hope we didn't interrupt your evening."

They walked slowly to the table, and Enrin's legs felt heavy as lead. She took a seat next to Jon, so close their shoulders touched. "You sent for us?"

He asked, almost sounding annoyed. Daenerys rounded on the both of them.

"The Lannister army has taken Highgarden," she said, almost spitting, "and Olenna Tyrell is dead. Their army was shattered." She turned to look into the flames again, as if asking for answers. Enrin's face had gone white.

"The Unsullied have taken Casterly Rock, but Euron Greyjoy burned our ships. They are, for lack of a better explanation, trapped." She turned to look at them again, and there was almost fear behind her anger. "I am at war, and I am losing."

"Forgive me," Jon said, his hand finding Enrin's under the lip of the table, "but what does that have to do with us?"

Daenerys swallowed, her eyes closing for a moment. "Are we not allies?" She asked, one silver brow raising. Jon mimicked her.

"We are," he said, "but I don't understand-"

"Then what would you do, King Jon?" She asked, and Enrin wondered if it would always sound strange to hear him called King. She often forgot.

"What would you do if your allies and armies were crumbling?"

Jon took a deep breath, his eyes wide. "Well," he replied, "I would seek a safe way for the Unsullied to find their way back here, to rally and rest, before we attacked again."

Daenerys almost rolled her eyes. "Yes, but how?"

Enrin realized that Daenerys stood before them, at a loss, asking for advice. Her pride got the better of her, sometimes, and this was her way of asking for help without actually asking.

"If I may," Enrin said, and Jon's head snapped around to her, "my husband is the military man, not me. But if you would like my advice..." she trailed off, but Daenerys motioned for her to continue. Tyrion was watching her curiously, his head cocked to the side as he sat in his chair.

"If there were some way to weaken the Lannister army," Enrin said, her hand toying with the ornately carved lion placed in the middle of the map, "the Unsullied could march out of enemy territory. It would take them a while to march all the way here, but since the ships are burnt, what other option do they have?"

Daenerys' brow furrowed as she mulled over her words.

"Doubtless," Jon said, as Enrin's words began to make sense, "the Lannisters will be marching back to King's Landing. In formation, to be sure, but hardly expecting an attack."

"You want me to send the Dothraki," Daenerys said, and Jon almost shrugged.

"We don't want that you do anything," he said, and Enrin finished for him. "You brought us here for our council, and here we have given it." Daenerys looked to Davos, who didn't quail under her gaze. "I am here to advise the King and Queen in the North," he said, "but here I would not advise against their words."

Tyrion looked doubtful. "Would they go if you told them to go?"

At this point, Daenerys did roll her eyes. "They will not go alone."

Her eyes cast out the great open window, to where her dragons slept on a grassy embankment over the cliffs. They looked peaceful there, surrounded by the open air. Something clicked in Enrin's head.

"You mean to fly them there?" She asked, almost rising. Daenerys shook her head. "Only Drogon," she answered, "Viserion and Rhaegal will remain here, to protect my throne while I take care of this Lannister army."

Jon looked troubled, but said nothing. Daenerys' jaw was set and square, much like Enrin's was when she had decided no one could change their mind.

"I mean to leave now," the dragon queen said, "but first."

She spoke to the Dothraki guards stationed about the room, and Jon stiffened as two strode toward them. From their hands they produced Longclaw, and Enrin's bow and arrows. He took them, baffled.

"I don't anticipate an attack while I'm away," Daenerys said, her hands folded neatly in front of her, "but if something should happen, I thought you would like to have your weapons about you. I shall put my trust in you." She looked at them pointedly. "It would be best that you not break it."

Enrin cocked an eyebrow. "We could say the same if you," she said, "Winterfell would only be a short journey for a dragon. I trust we will see it standing firm on our return."

Jon almost winced; he thought the two may fight, until Daenerys smirked.

"You shall, Queen Enrin," she said, to which Enrin replied, "Then we wish you a safe journey and a quick return, Queen Daenerys."

The air in their chambers was cold when they entered again. Jon moved to close the window as Enrin stripped off her clothes, climbing into the bed. Jon huffed at her.

"You haven't finished your dinner," he said, kicking his boots off at the edge of the room. Her eyes were already closed as she encased herself in the furs, staving off the chill.

"Nor have you," she said, her words thick with sleep. She felt Jon smile from across the room. He climbed in behind her after a few moments and she turned to wrap herself in him rather than the blankets. He kissed her, slowly, his hands toying with her hair. She wanted it to deepen, to take him here and now, but even as they broke apart she found herself slipping under the veil of sleep once more. He told her that he loved her, and rested his head on hers, their chests rising and falling in a single rhythm.