Tyrion

The moment Daenerys finished talking, he immediately crossed the room and poured himself a glass of wine.

"So Snow's a secret Targaryen, eh?" Tyrion sighed. "No wonder you fucked him. It's in your blood." Daenerys scowled at him in response, and he took a long sip of wine. "Sorry, humor is my coping mechanism."

"This is serious. He wouldn't even look at me…" Daenerys looked uncertain, an emotion he wasn't used to seeing on the seemingly fearless Mother of Dragons. "You don't think he's disgusted with me, do you? Because of our…relation?"

"I doubt it. The Starks may not have married brother to sister, but they've coupled up within their family tree as well: Lord Rickon Stark wed his two daughters to his two half-brothers. I think the boy is just very upset. He's had quite a shock." Tyrion had to admit, even he hadn't seen this revelation coming. Who knew honorable Ned Stark was such a good liar? Though it made sense, he supposed – the dead man's loyalty to his family was unyielding, of course he would've sacrificed his own reputation to keep his sister's son safe.

Daenerys was pacing up and down the length of his chamber. Tyrion had already been half-asleep when she burst into his room at half past eleven without knocking, her face white and drawn. "You know what this means, don't you? The Iron Throne isn't mine. I'm not the rightful heir."

"Do you honestly think Jon Snow is going to steal the damned thing from you?" Tyrion asked. "I've never pegged him as the power-hungry type – and I'm an excellent judge of character."

"But it doesn't belong to me. All these years, I've thought it was my birthright…" She shook her head. "But it was never my birthright, was it? It was always Jon's."

With a sigh, the Hand of the Queen placed his glass of wine down on his bedside table and leaned forward in his seat, one of his elbows resting on his thigh. "You're not going to like this, but I'm going to raise the same proposal that I did that night on the ship to White Harbor: a marriage between you and Jon Snow. Or Aegon Targaryen, or Jon Targaryen…whatever it is we're going to call him. The point is, with his claim and your vision, together you can unite the realm. You'll be Jaehaerys and Alysanne born again."

Daenerys was silent for a long moment, covering her mouth with her hand. "Perhaps. A co-monarchy could be beneficial, but my lord…" She paused. "I'm more certain now than ever. I can't marry him."

"Why? Don't tell me you're disgusted by your relation. I thought incest was a turn-on for Targaryens." She scowled at him again. "Sorry, sorry, continue."

"I would like to marry him. Very much so." Daenerys said. "But I'm barren, Tyrion. If he were to marry me, our line would die out. The only chance for a Targaryen heir is if Jon marries someone else." She paused and crossed her arms over her chest, thinking it over. "Perhaps the Stark girl. That way the North would still accept his rule, and he can have as many children as he desires."

Tyrion nearly spit out his wine. "You can't mean Lady Sansa Stark, can you?"

"Of course that's who I mean. It could work. She'd marry Jon – they're only cousins by blood, as we now know – and one of her siblings could have the North…"

"Your Grace." Tyrion cut in sharply. "Lady Sansa is Jon's sister – his cousin by blood, yes, but his sister in his heart. He would never want to marry her, and surely she feels the same. And Sansa…" He paused and looked away. He knew that Daenerys didn't know the full extent of Sansa's previous history with marriages, but just the thought of forcing the girl into another political union made him feel like he might throw up. (Or maybe it was the wine doing that, but nevertheless…) "Sansa will never agree to a political marriage. And you know I care for you, Your Grace, but if you tried to force her I would never allow you to do it." When he looked at Daenerys again, the Dragon Queen was standing with her back against the wall, and she was looking at him strangely, her violet eyes fixed intensely on him and a smirk toying with her lips for the first time since she came into the room. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Lady Sansa is your former wife." Daenerys said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you love her still?"

"What? No, no that's not it at all…"

"So you do not think she is beautiful?"

"Of course she's beautiful, that cannot be argued, but…" Daenerys was smiling at him, one of her eyebrows raised. "She's a girl." Tyrion insisted. "A girl who has been through an awful lot in such a short life. She deserves happiness. She deserves better. When we were married she was miserable, and I would never put her through that again. She couldn't wait to get away from me, and I can't say I blame her."

"She is no girl, Lord Tyrion." The queen persisted stubbornly. It seemed that she had latched onto this subject and wouldn't let go of it now. Tyrion knew how she was when she got an idea in her head. "She is nearly twenty, a woman grown. And when I saw you two conversing at the feast this evening, you seemed quite friendly."

Tyrion looked away. They'd been discussing politics, that was all – Lady Stark respected his opinions just like he respected hers. Theirs was a tentative alliance to secure the future of humanity, and once these White Walkers were gone they'd surely go back to their respective lives and never cross paths again, except for maybe at an occasional political summit or obligatory visit to each other's castles. They weren't friends, and they were certainly not lovers. Sansa may be beautiful, and smart, and kind, he thought bitterly. But she could never love me. She'll survive this and marry some handsome knight, surely, just as she's always dreamed. That's the life she deserves.

Before the queen could press the matter any further, there was a series of anxious raps at Tyrion's chamber door. "I wonder if that's your lover boy now." Tyrion said dryly, and Daenerys shot him an annoyed look. "Come in!"

But it wasn't Jon. Tyrion bolted upright in his chair when he saw a frustrated looking Sansa Stark standing in his doorway, an even angrier looking Arya Stark by her side. Tyrion didn't know how much – if any – of their conversation they had heard. "Pardon our interruption Your Grace, Lord Hand." Sansa said. Her voice was strained and this time she didn't even force herself to smile. "But do you know where our brother happens to be?"

Tyrion shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lady Stark, but we have no idea where he's run off to. We were trying to locate him as well."

"What is it that Sam and Bran told Jon?" Arya asked Daenerys sharply. Though some Northerners seemed to avert their gaze and whisper to each other when they were in Daenerys's presence, Arya Stark didn't seem to fear her in the slightest and spoke to her with the same bold honesty she used with everyone. "Whatever was said, it's clearly upset him. We're his sisters, we have a right to know."

Daenerys looked at him, violet eyes pleading. "She's right. You know them better, you should be the one to say it."

Tyrion sighed and took another long sip of wine. There was no easy way to break this news… "Remember that Jon is always going to be your brother." He told the sisters. "This doesn't change that."

Sansa stepped forward, lips parted and blue eyes full of confusion. "What are you trying to say?"

For once in his life, Tyrion Lannister was at a loss for words. He met Sansa's eyes, knowing he was about to turn her world upside down.

"Tyrion…" She said his name soft and slow: broken, pleading. "Tell me."

I'm so sorry, Sansa. He thought. You don't deserve to go through this.

And then he told her the truth.

Gendry

In the forge it was easy to lose track of time.

After the feast, as everyone else took to their beds, Gendry walked through the frozen courtyard seeking the familiar comfort of the hot forge. He couldn't sleep, not yet. There was something about the sweat dripping down his brow, the soot under his fingers, the rhythmic banging of the hammer against metal that cleared his mind. The dragonglass they'd transported was waiting for him and he immediately got to work. They'd forged the dragonglass into spears, but that wasn't enough – they needed swords, arrowheads, Dothraki arakhs. They needed dragonglass for every man, woman and child who could learn to hold a weapon. The dragonglass was brittle, so there was no way he could forge it into longswords, but he had another idea. You didn't need a large sword to kill a man. He thought about Arya's Needle, that skinny sword she always used to carry, and began to make a rapier. When he tempered the dragonglass in the fire and it did not shatter, he smiled to himself. Gendry lost himself in the work and hours went by in what felt like mere moments.

"You cut your hair."

He nearly dropped a pair of tongs on his foot and cursed under his breath. He had not heard Arya enter and she was now leaning up against the doorframe, smirking at him. "It looks stupid."

"Stupid, is that your favorite word?" Gendry dropped his tools down on the table and ran a hand through his closely cropped hair, almost self-consciously. When he returned to King's Landing, he'd thought it was too dangerous to carry around proof of his parentage for all to see. After he found out who his father was, so many things began to make sense now: why he didn't look like his mother, why Jon Arryn and Ned Stark had taken an interest in him, why Tobho Mott sent him away to join the Watch…

Arya closed the distance between them and leaned against the anvil. He could get a better look at her now, the candlelight casting a glow on the pale skin of her cheek. She was no longer the little girl he'd remembered, but that same strength, that same will to survive, still burned in her eyes. "I know it's late, but I saw that your candle was still lit and I needed someone to talk to."

There was no jest in her voice now. Impulsively, Gendry reached to touch her hand, but then he caught himself. Luckily, Arya didn't seem to notice. We're not kids on the road anymore. I have to watch myself. "Whatever it is...you can tell me, you know, if you want. I won't say anything. Who would I tell anyway?"

The story she told him was so fantastical, he could barely wrap his head around it at first. But he sat there and listened as she went through all the details, nodding his head in all the right places. "It doesn't change anything for me." Arya said when she finished. "Jon is my brother – my favorite brother – and I'll always love him…but I just can't stop thinking about how upset he must be. All he's ever wanted was to know his mother, and now he's found out his whole life was a lie."

"So this means Jon is the rightful king now, doesn't it?"

"I suppose. I don't know if he actually wants it though…" Arya shook her head. "Talk to me about something else. I can't think about this anymore."

"If that's a command from m'lady…" He said cheekily, and Arya smacked him on the shoulder. "That was unladylike."

"Shut up and tell me a story, stupid."

Gendry paused, biting his lip. "Well, speaking of finding out about long lost parents…I know who my father was."

Arya's grey eyes lit up. "And you didn't tell me this earlier? Gods, I was talking forever, you could've interrupted me! Who was he?"

"…Robert Baratheon." He waited for her to say something but there was only silence. "Arya? What are you thinking?"

She caught him off guard by laughing. "Your father was the bloody king! That's why the Gold Cloaks wanted you…Joffrey…oh seven hells, it all makes sense." A wicked gleam appeared in her eyes. "Perhaps I should start calling you 'Your Grace'."

Gendry scoffed. "Don't you dare."

"As you say Your Grace." Arya teased, and this time it was his turn to push her away from him, which only made her laugh harder. Gods, was it good to hear that laugh…

They had a lot of catching up to do. Arya told him everything that had happened since they saw each other last: going on the road with the Hound, going to Braavos to find Jaqen and become a Faceless Man – "I never liked him," Gendry interjected there, causing Arya to shush him – and then returning to Westeros to kill the Freys, and even running into Hot Pie. "I wanted to go to King's Landing to find Cersei, but then I heard that Jon was home, here at Winterfell. And I realized I wanted to go home too. I knew that it wasn't over, that it wasn't going to go back to the way it was before, but…" She trailed off and peered at Gendry, eyes shadowed under her lashes. "I'm surprised you're not running for the hills."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I just told you how I trained to steal people's faces and massacred an entire family!"

Gendry smirked. "You don't scare me, Arya Stark. And as for the Freys…sounds like they had it coming."

A laughter burst from Arya despite herself. "You're so stupid." She said it with a smile on her face.

Then it was his turn. His story wasn't as exciting as Arya's: after Davos sent him off in that rowboat, he'd spent the next few years back at the Street of Steel, keeping his head down and listening to the whispers he heard when people came into the shop, biding his time and waiting.

(He didn't tell Arya that he always listened closely to the gossip, hoping to hear her name, disappointment bubbling inside him when he didn't.)

"I hated every day I was there." He said truthfully. "Listening to what Cersei was doing, knowing the swords I made were going to be used to help the Lannisters, the people who killed my father, the people who killed your family…"

"Is that why you decided to join Jon?" Arya asked suddenly. She'd been quiet until now, sitting back and listening to him talk, and not interrupting or calling him 'stupid' for once in her life.

"Yes. That and…I knew he was your favorite brother. I feared you were dead, and I…I blamed myself, for leaving you alone. I thought if I helped Jon I could make it up to you. I should've gone with you to Winterfell the first time, like you wanted. But I thought if we came here we wouldn't get to see each other anymore and…" Gendry trailed off. His face felt warm, but not from the heat in the forge. "I wanted to prove myself: to prove that I was worthy of you."

For a long moment, Arya stared at him without saying anything, then she kicked off the wall and headed for the door. "The sun's coming up, I should probably go…"

The words came flying out before he had the chance to think it through. "Do you want to come back tomorrow?"

He could hear the smirk in Arya's voice. "Maybe." She paused and looked back over her shoulder, the sun rising in the open doorway behind her. "By the way – you were always worthy of me, stupid."

Brienne

"How many times must I tell you not to lunge?"

Podrick landed face down in the dirt – and not for the first time this morning, either – but to his credit he unflinchingly dusted himself off and stood back up. Brienne lifted her sword again and her squire followed suit. "Your enemy can't anticipate your next move. You need to practice deflection."

"But you're not my enemy." Podrick persisted. "I'm your squire."

Brienne sighed. The boy's heart was in the right place, bless him, but his progress was tedious at best. "Pretend, Pod."

They'd been at it since the crack of dawn and now it was mid-morning. The yard was still relatively quiet, save for the methodic hammering of the smiths in the forge and the repeated clash of their swords. Where is everyone off to? She wondered to herself. There was no sign of Lady Sansa on the parapet, and Brienne had not seen the King in the North or the Dragon Queen since the feast the night before.

"You could always fight me." A voice said, and Brienne spotted a smug looking Sandor Clegane, leaning up against the wall. Just the sight of him with his scarred face and a sword strapped to him made Podrick's face turn ashen.

"The Hound." He gasped. "Err…Ser Clegane…Ser Hound?"

Clegane scoffed. "I'm no knight."

"Actually," Brienne interjected. "I think that's a wonderful idea. Pod, you'll go with Clegane this round. You'll have a better chance with him anyway."

Podrick smiled brightly and picked up his sword, but the Hound scowled at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just means I've beaten you in a fight before, that's all." She teased.

The Hound grunted and picked up his own sword. "I'm not going to go easy on the lad."

"I'd expect nothing less."

Brienne stepped back and cleaned her sword while Podrick and the Hound began circling each other. Podrick held his sword tightly with both hands, warily waiting for the other man to make the first swing. "Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?" The Hound cursed. "We haven't got all day!" Brienne chuckled to herself as Podrick weakly stabbed the air.

She returned Oathkeeper to its sheath and glanced around the courtyard, cold enough that she could see her breath. Across the yard two Dothraki were either practicing or brawling, their braids fluttering in the air as they dodged each other's arakhs, others cheering them on. Smoke was rising from the forge and one of the smiths came out to add more dragonglass spears to the ever-increasingly growing pile of weapons. Brienne recognized him – he was the one in charge of the weapons, the one who had come back with Jon Snow. She didn't remember his name, but it was almost like she knew him. Something about him is so familiar, Brienne thought. But I don't know what it is…

The smith lifted his head, having caught her staring. "Need something?" He asked, only sounding half-annoyed. He was looking at her with an icy blue stare, and that was when it hit her. Those eyes, Brienne thought to herself. Are all Renly.

The very thought of Renly Baratheon stirred a deep sadness inside of her. What a king he would have made. Brienne had loved Renly deeply, desperately, even though she knew he would never love her back. I would've died for him without hesitation. The smith's eyes were exactly like Renly's, those beautiful blue eyes she'd looked into as he breathed his last. Of course, there was no way the smith could be Renly's son, given the late man's sexual preferences. But Brienne wondered…

"Yes," She found herself saying, crossing the yard towards the smithy, leaving the Hound and Podrick alone to their sparring. Pod was letting out a yelp as he ducked to avoid being struck in the head. "I just wanted to enquire after the status of the weapons. I'm Brienne of Tarth, Lady Stark's sworn shield."

"I know who you are." The smith said cheekily. "You're not very hard to miss, m'lady."

"You can call me Brienne. I'm no lady."

He laughed. "I've heard that one before…"

"I'm sorry," Brienne said. "I don't think I remember your name."

"Gendry – didn't expect you to remember, though. Most highborns don't."

A stubborn one, Brienne thought. If I had any doubts he was a Baratheon… "Gendry…?"

The smith – Gendry – squared his jaw. "Don't have no family name, m'lady – err, Brienne. Suppose I could've been a Waters, if my father had acknowledged me…"

His father. Brienne had heard it said that before he died, Robert Baratheon sired a bastard in all of the kingdoms, from the North to King's Landing to Dorne, but Joffrey had supposedly done away with them all. Unless one escaped…

"To answer your question about the weapons," Gendry continued. "They're coming along. I've been showing the Winterfell smiths here how to make them. You can have your pick, if you'd like. Everyone's going to get one sooner or later."

"Thank you." He turned his body away from her and Brienne knew this was probably her cue to go and let him get back to work, but impulsively she reached out and touched his arm. Gendry looked at her confusedly. "I may be in Lady Stark's service, but should you ever need anything, anything I could possibly help with, remember that I once served King Renly. As a Tarth, as a Stormlander, I am also honor bound to – "

She was interrupted by the sound of Podrick excitedly calling her name. "Lady Brienne!" She turned her head away and saw that Podrick was waving at her, beaming in delight. "I did it! I deflected!" Except while Pod was distracted in his jubilation, the Hound grabbed him from behind and wrapped an arm around his neck, throwing him onto the ground. Pod landed on his back with a small "oomph".

Brienne heard Gendry try to hold back a snigger. "That's wonderful, Podrick!" She yelled back. "But next time, don't celebrate until you've actually won the fight."

Gendry went back to his work and Brienne crossed back over to the training yard, where the Hound rolled his eyes indiscreetly as he helped Pod to his feet. "If this were a real fight, boy," He said. "You'd be dead right now."

"I've fallen down plenty of times," Podrick said. "But I always get back up. Right, my lady?"

Brienne smiled and didn't even bother to correct him on the 'my lady' this time. "That's right, Pod. Now let's go again."

But before they could there was a low rumble, followed by a great roar. Immediately everyone around the yard stopped what they were doing and gazed upright, watching in mixtures of shock and awe as two massive, winged beasts began circling the towers of Winterfell. "Seven fucking hells," Brienne heard the Hound mutter. "That's a sight I never thought I'd see…"

These were Daenerys Targaryen's dragons, no doubt. The Mother of Dragons had kept her children at a respectable distance from the castle until now, surely to appease the skeptical Northern lords, and now Brienne could examine them for the first time. One was a massive black thing, with red-tipped wings and spikes littering his long tail. The other was smaller, with scales of green and bronze, but still fearsome. They could surely wipe out cities on their own, who knows what they can do together? Both of the dragons were crying out, almost as if they were in distress, almost as if it were a warning.

Another cry cut through the morning. "Riders! Riders at the gates!"

"Lannister cunts, probably." The Hound whispered to Brienne. "I didn't think the bitch would actually send them…"

"Quiet." She snapped at him without thinking twice. Brienne hoped he couldn't sense how fast her heart was beating in her chest. Despite what had happened at the dragon pit, despite how he had rebuffed her so coldly, she still felt a tinge of hope that she would get to see him again. Brienne hated herself for it. You'd be better off forgetting about him, She told herself. Spare yourself the heartache. Haven't you learned from Renly, stupid woman? And yet, that hope was clawing at her chest, ready to burst.

The gates opened and the occupants of the yard surged forward to meet them, except it was only two horses that rode through the gates, bearing no colors. "Peace, friends!" A man's voice called out, but the guards reached out and grabbed the two riders roughly anyway, throwing them off their horses and onto the ground on their knees.

"Who is it?" Podrick asked, craning his neck to see.

Brienne shook her head. "I don't know."

She stepped closer. One of the guards was yelling something at one of the men, but she could barely hear, and the man had his hood drawn tightly around his face. "…what do you think you're doing here?" She heard faintly. "…what was promised…how dare you…the King in the North will hear about this…"

The man on the ground held up his hands and kept his voice calm and controlled, despite the fact that he was now being kicked and screamed at. "We've come to help."

For the second time in less than an hour, the hairs on the back of Brienne's neck stood up from the recognition. That voice…One of the guards grabbed the hooded man by the arm and when he did, the man's sleeves pooled down to his elbows, exposing his hands – one normal, the other golden…

Brienne's heart leapt into her throat. Jaime.

The guard yanked down the hood, confirming what Brienne already knew, though gasps and whispers could be heard among the throng at the sight of Jaime Lannister's face. "Kingslayer." The guard spat. "Never trust an oathbreaker."

The dark-haired man next to Jaime was pulled to his feet and he fought against the guard's hold, kicking and squirming. Brienne thought she'd seen him before, at Riverrun, but she couldn't recall his name. "Hey, watch it!" He snapped. "Is this how they treat their allies in the North?"

"You are no ally." The guard holding him said. "How dare you show your faces here?"

The dark-haired man continued to argue while the second guard hoisted Jaime to his feet, kicking him in the shin for good measure. Jaime only laughed dryly and did not fight it, his eyes scanning the assembled crowds…

He stopped. Brienne knew he had spotted her. She swallowed the lump in her throat as green eyes met blue, and she saw the corners of Jaime's lips turn up. He was getting hauled off by guards and yet he was actually smiling at her!

She wanted to call out for him but then the guard pulled him forward, shoving him towards Winterfell. "Move it, Kingslayer! The King in the North shall decide what to do with you…"

Jon

He hadn't slept at all last night.

After he left Sam, Bran and Dany, he just wanted to get away. He went to the stables, saddled his horse and rode until the black of night, trying to focus on nothing but the sound of the hooves and the feeling of the reins, even though there were a million thoughts buzzing around his head.

Once he was certain no one was looking for him anymore, he turned around and headed for the Winterfell crypts. He didn't want to talk to anyone, not even Daenerys. Especially not his sisters (he would not call them his cousins, he wouldn't). Jon didn't know how he was supposed to look Sansa and Arya in their eyes and tell them the truth about him. Though he suspected Bran would probably get to them first…

In the crypts he found his father's statue and paused in front of it, staring at Ned Stark's stone eyes. Jon understood why he did what he did – Robert Baratheon did not have a high opinion of Targaryens, to say the least, and would've killed him if he'd known. He could even understand why Ned had not told Lady Catelyn, since they'd been married for such a short time when Jon was born, and Lord Eddard needed her to believe the lie if he wanted others to believe it. But why not me? Jon thought. Why didn't you ever tell me? How was it that in sixteen years, Ned never found the moment to tell him who his mother was?

He could hear the dead man's voice in his head. The next time we see each other…we'll talk about your mother…I promise…

Would they have talked about it, if they saw each other again? Jon supposed so, Ned Stark had always been one to keep his word. And yet still, why couldn't Ned have told him before he joined the Night's Watch? Surely that would've been a good time.

Now, Jon moved away from Ned Stark's statue and tentatively stood in front of the stone woman next to him. Lyanna Stark. His mother…

The sight of the statue he'd seen so many times now made tears immediately rush to Jon's eyes. All these years I imagined what it would be like to see her face…to have her wrap her arms around me…and that will never happen. But at the same time, he knew now his mother had loved him, had wanted him, and had ensured that he would be protected before she died. I just wish I could've known her. He thought. Just one memory…that's all I wanted…

Then there was the matter of his father, Rhaegar Targaryen. He'd heard so many stories about how evil Rhaegar was, about how he kidnapped and raped Lyanna, but now Jon knew that none of it was true. What had Rhaegar been like? What did he like to do, what kind of person was he? He wondered…

He snapped out of his reverie when he heard the sound of paws on the stone floor and then his great white direwolf appeared in the torchlight. "Ghost? Boy, what have you been doing?" Jon knelt down to scratch the wolf behind the ears, just as another figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and Jon could see the hem of a dress in his line of vision.

"Jon?"

He sprang to his feet at the sound of the soft voice and Daenerys swept in, crossing the crypt to stand before him. Ghost swiftly abandoned Jon and nestled in Daenerys's skirts, rubbing against her torso. Dany laughed quietly and pet his head.

Jon gulped, his throat feeling dry. "He seems to like you."

"And I like him as well." Dany said. "Just as I like his owner."

Silence hung heavily between them then, and Dany smiled weakly as Ghost burrowed his face deeper into her stomach, her hand moving up and down his back as she stroked his fur gently.

Her voice sounded uncharacteristically timid when she spoke again. "Are you disgusted with me?" She asked. "Because of our…relation?"

"I could never be disgusted with you, Daenerys. I'm sorry if I made you think that…" It was not their newly discovered blood ties which bothered Jon. He knew Targaryens had married within their family for centuries: Rhaenyra Targaryen married her uncle Daemon, and Prince Aemon Targaryen wed his half-aunt Jocelyn Baratheon, just to name a few. Though the Starks didn't intermarry as much or to the same degree, even the first Sansa Stark and her sister Serena had married their father Lord Rickon's half-brothers, Jonnel and Edric. "It's upsetting, that's all." Jon finally said. "Knowing my father was not my real father…"

"But he was your real father." Daenerys interrupted. "He raised you, he loved you. He was your father, Jon. In every way that mattered."

He supposed he could not argue with her. He wouldn't be the man he was today without Ned Stark. I'll always think of him as my father. He silently decided. Just as I'll always think of Arya and Sansa as my sisters, and of Bran and Robb and Rickon as my brothers…Ned had only kept the truth from him for his own protection. None of that mattered now.

Jon nodded slowly and wet his lips. He was unsure if he wanted to ask her this question or not, worried he may be displeased with her answer. "I know you never met him, but do you know any stories about him? Rhaegar?"

When he looked at Dany again, she was smiling slightly. "I knew people who knew him. They said he was a great warrior, but he never liked killing. He liked books – and singing."

A laugh burst from his lips. "Singing?"

Daenerys nodded. "He played the harp. He used to disguise himself and go into the city to sing in the streets – not for money, just for his own amusement, and to make the people smile. Everyone says he was so good. Good and kind, and gentle. I wish I had met him…"

Jon sighed. "Me too."

Ghost stepped aside now so Daenerys could approach Jon, and she gently slipped her hand into one of his. "I bet you're a lot like him. You're good and kind and gentle too, Jon Snow. And you will make a wonderful king."

King? He shook his head. No, he had been King in the North but that was done now. It didn't matter to him that his claim was better than hers – the Iron Throne had always been her desire, not his "I don't want the throne, Dany. I never wanted any of this."

"But it's your right, Jon. You are everything a king should be. All those people out there, all those people suffering under Cersei Lannister right now – you could help them. Don't you remember what you said to me? You can build a world that's different from the one they've always known."

Jon hesitated. Tyrion told him that King's Landing had a million people in it, a million people who were suffering, a million people whose lives were on the line...He wanted to help them, yet still he was unsure if he was the right one to do it. Never did he ever think he'd become King of Westeros."You are the one who wants the throne, not me. And we just agreed that my true parentage shouldn't change anything, so why should it change this? You should take the throne from Cersei."

"Oh, and I will." The Mother of Dragons said assuredly. "But once we defeat the Night King, you're going to take it with me – and rule by my side."

He looked at her, his mouth agape, trying to study her face as best as he could in the dim light of the crypt. "Are you proposing to me?" He realized then that he was hoping she would say 'yes'. He regretted running away to hide now instead of talking to her in the first place. Gods be damned, He thought. I love her. I've loved her for so long, possibly since I met her…

Jon swore he saw her expression falter at the question. "We can't."

He touched her face and pressed his palm against her cheek, cupping her face. "Why not? You just said our relation doesn't matter to you. And I'm afraid I'm already hopelessly in love with you, Daenerys Stormborn." He kissed her brow and her chin quivered, like she was resisting the urge to cry. "I'm sorry I ran away. I needed to think. But now I know for sure, none of this changes the fact that I love you."

He felt wetness on his hand, slipping down her cheek. "And I love you, Jon Snow. But I…I cannot have children, I told you that. And you can still marry another and have a child of your own to succeed us. You need an heir. You deserve an heir. For the throne, for the dynasty, we can't marry."

"Fuck the throne." He found himself saying, and even Daenerys seemed surprised by the conviction in his voice. "All my life I've done what honor commanded, and for once I want to do something for me. No one else could make me as happy as you could." He hesitated. "And even if you are barren…it doesn't matter to me. I accepted long ago that I would never father children, and we could still find an heir in other ways." It was tempting to imagine having a child of his own - a son to name for his lost father or brothers, a daughter who would be wild like Arya or a lady like Sansa - but in his mind that child had Dany's violet eyes, or her laugh, or her smile. It wasn't another woman's children he wanted.

Daenerys looked away from him and went back to petting Ghost, her resolve seeming to waver. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "Jon…as much as I want to accept you…"

They were interrupted by the sound of feet coming down the stairs. "Your Grace?"

They pulled apart immediately, as if they were children caught doing something wrong, and Jorah Mormont appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Your Grace, my lord…Jaime Lannister is here. Your presences are required in the great hall. Immediately."

A/N: I know we didn't get Dany's thoughts on the Viserion reveal this chapter, but it didn't seem to come organically since we weren't getting her POV. You'll see that next chapter. I didn't want Jon to dwell on the parentage reveal for too long either, since we've got to keep the plot moving, but I didn't want to brush over it at that same time. Hopefully that came across and you'll see Jon trying to reconcile both parts of himself moving forward.

Interestingly the Brienne section didn't have that scene with Gendry originally, and I doubt we'll ever see them converse in canon, but they actually do meet in the books. Canonically Gendry is said to look like Renly - so much so that when they meet in the books Brienne initially thinks he is Renly - and idk, I just really wanted to write that scene!

Next chapter: Jaime, Brienne, Dany, and Theon's POVs.