Jon watched Tyrion plead with Daenerys, his small fists balled by his sides as he tried to calm the Dragon Queen from her slow-burning rage. He felt like a spectator, reduced to only the consort of a woman he didn't even trust. Watching her grow mad, pacing back and forth in the candle lit tent, only made him more attentive.

"Perhaps if I could speak to her," Tyrion pleaded. "She might listen to me."

Tyrion and Sansa had been married and Sansa had spoken kindly of him in the past. Tyrion had been with Sansa when none of her family had. That fact had not left Jon's mind so easily. But the idea of Sansa listening to a Lannister where Jon had failed left a sour taste in his mouth.

"If I could not persuade her," Jon spoke low from the far side of the tent. "Then I doubt you will fare any better."

"You might be surprised," Tyrion shot back. The dwarf did not even bother to look Jon in the eye as he spurned him, instead coyly spitting the words out between clenched teeth. "I'm not the one who betrayed her."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jon yelped, launching himself from where he stood, shooting Tyrion such a look that the dwarf might have winced.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Daenerys shouted, halting her pacing to chide the two men. She spread her arms out wide towards both of them, standing in the middle like a bridge, catching their eyes wildly. "The only betrayal that has happened, is Jon's people turning against him."

She was instantly on his side. He knew that much. All Daenerys had seen was a kingdom ousting their ruler - an action that hit too close to her heart. It seemed to fuel a dark fire she had been struggling to contain. Though she could not know what had really happened. No one could have known...

Jon had warned her. He knew before heading to Dragonstone that the Northerners were not likely to kneel to a foreign ruler. Sansa had said so herself many times. He resisted the urge to gloat, to remind the Dragon Queen of his words. Despite that, he knew that gloating at this particular moment would end badly for him.

"I came here at your behest," Daenerys said, moving threateningly closer to Jon. "I abandoned my war. I lost one of my dragons. I promised you, just as you promised me, to help you defeat the Night King in return for the North. I thought you said the Northern people were loyal."

"Aye," Jon sighed. "They are loyal. Loyal to their own." He felt a dagger in his heart as the words left him. He thought they had accepted him. Perhaps they had…for a time. But what he had done was not Northern. They didn't know. "But I'm not a Stark. I'm a Snow." You're a Stark to me, someone had once told him. "And that's all I'll ever be to them."

I never asked for you, Jon thought, glowering at the locks of silver hair cascading down her chest. All I needed was dragon glass, and look at what you have brought me.

"What good is your word," Daenerys growled low. "If your own people turn you away?" The fire in her eyes scared Jon, but he could not show it. He had faced his fears before - he had even seen this look before. Right before she flew off to exact revenge for the loss of Highgarden.

"Northern fools," Jon made his voice quiet and soft, taking a chance to reach out and twist a tendril of Daenerys' silver hair in his fingers. "They don't like change. They don't trust easily." Daenerys visibly softened under his gaze, melting into his body, leaning against his chest to stare into his eyes. Her fire had subsided for now. "But they are not your enemy," Jon stressed. "They merely trust Lady Sansa to protect them." Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa…

Jon continued warily. "Sansa said she would not interfere. We can go straight North to the Wall. Cut the Night King off before he reaches the South. Then, afterwards we can discuss-"

"What would it look like if I were to give traitors clemency?" Daenerys asked the air. "I cannot reward rebellion with inaction."

"Enough blood has been shed, Your Grace-" Tyrion cut in.

"Exactly!" she shouted. "Others who have tried have met my fire." Daenerys pushed herself away from Jon, resuming her marching around the floor. The hair on the back of Jon's neck bristled as he watched Daenerys work herself into a frenzy again, away from his grasp. "They turned against their King. That act alone cannot be ignored." She stood still for a tense moment before continuing. "They need to see who they have defied."

"Your Grace…" Tyrion warned, his tone predicting where her wild mind was heading.

"I am a Targaryan!" she shouted. "I am The Dragon! My family won the Seven Kingdoms with their dragons - ruled in peace with the people for centuries!" Her voice was so loud that Jon was sure the conversation was not kept to the privacy of their tent anymore. Her bright eyes glanced up to Jon, a sudden determination burning through him as she spoke so stern the words basically trembled out of her. "Perhaps they need reminding."

"They're still my people," Jon spoke up, attempting to reach for her hand, hoping his touch would soothe her fire yet again. "They don't need to be punished for my mistake." She ripped her hand from his reach.

"Your people betrayed you," Daenerys hissed. "Why are you not more angry about this?" she asked. She searched him for an answer almost genuinely. As if she were looking for the secret for herself - curious if there was an answer to quelling the fire within. Jon had no answer he could honestly give. He only had himself to blame, and he knew it.

When he couldn't respond, her face fell, turning away from him to leave. "I don't want to murder needlessly," she mused quietly. "I only need to kill one." Jon's blood ran ice cold, his vision sharpening in the darkness. "The one they trust in more than me." Sansa…

"You can't!" Jon blurted out. Daenerys sliced him with a glance, her eyes blazing wild with shock. As Tyrion tried to equally plead in the background, Jon couldn't hear him. His eyes were locked in on his target.

"She usurped you, Jon. Can't you see? She was waiting for the moment to take your power." No, Jon answered silently. Sansa wouldn't do that. She had no choice. Even if Daenerys was right, Sansa didn't deserve to die. Not by his hand or anyone else's. The Lords and the people… his home, Winterfell. He had not punished the Karstarks or the Umbers for their betrayal. That's not how you inspire love.

"She's my sister," he insisted, coldly. "She's my blood. You can't!" Jon had not screamed this loud in years, but he could not let her leave this tent.

"Your blood betrayed you!" she shouted back. "When this is all over, when I defeat the Night King, which I will, and when I have what is rightfully mine...there is only one Warden of the North I want by my side."

"Your Grace, Sansa is still but a child!" Tyrion pleaded. "She has gone through more horrors than you know. Let the girl be. Take her as a prisoner. Exile her! Anything, Your Grace, but she does not deserve death!"

"Because of her, we are all sleeping on snow tonight," Daenerys snapped to her hand. "An army left to the cold. An army that came to help her. Rebellion breeds more rebellion. There's only one way to stop a snake from growing fangs - you have to cut off the head swiftly."

At that moment, before Jon could truly process what she had said, several men burst into the tent, brought in by the commotion. Dothraki soldiers swarmed them, followed by Beric, Jorah and Varys. Jon paid them no mind, his eyes locked on the fair haired beauty. I made a promise...

"If you intend to kill my sister," Jon growled, his hand reaching to grasp his sword on his side. "Then I intend to stop you."

Daenerys eyes grew frantic for a moment, glancing down to his sword hand and back to his face. She spoke low in a tongue Jon did not understand, and the Dothraki men quickly moved to him, their savage weapons drawn. He kicked one warrior away, spinning out of the grasp of another, and successfully drew his sword before a blade sliced across his stomach. He roared out in pain before two more grabbed his arms as another grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling his head back and held a blade to his throat.

Daenerys calmly walked over to Jon, now on his knees held by the savage warriors Daenerys called her own. She glanced down to him, her eyes so angry they appeared almost burning red in the light. "She's not your family, Jon. Not since the moment she took your power from you." She spread a hand across his face, and he hoped that if their nights together had meant anything to her, had eased him into her heart, that she might concede. But her eyes grew cold, and she spoke through gritted teeth. "And Winterfell will burn for it."

Then she left the tent, leaving Jon imprisoned on the cold ground restrained by her Dothraki. Jon looked to the men who watched in silence. He searched into each one of their eyes, pleading.

"She means to kill my sister!" he shouted, struggling with the hold on him, despite knowing he could not free himself. Varys shared a silent look with Tyrion, his face as still as a stone, his hands never moving from within his sleeves. "She's going to kill Lady Sansa! You have to stop her!" He pleaded desperately, but the men only stared. Jorah's eyes were sad, but he inclined his head and turned to leave the tent.

As Jon heard the unmistakable screech of a dragon call into the sky and fade, as he saw the men stay silent and unmoving to his pleas, he realized it was too late. He had failed. His chest burned, his vision left him as the world started spinning. He struggled to catch his breath before finally throwing his head back and releasing a feral and anguished cry.

As the silent night dragged on, Jon lost all shreds of hope. The air had been quiet for hours, the snow covered ground muffling all noise around him. He silently begged for death, but the Dothraki refused him. They tied his arms and legs and left him restrained to the skeleton of a tree outside the campsite, kicking him and spitting on him as a parting gift for threatening their Khaleesi.

He leaned his head back against the cold bark of the tree and watched the night sky. The stars shined in mock of his torment. If I fall, don't bring me back. Bran...Sansa...Arya… Father, I'm sorry. Forgive me. I failed.

He heard words echo in his head that he heard long ago. Love is the death of duty. He had believed that once. He had trusted in those words unfailingly. But now he rejected it. Love was the birth of duty. He saw that now. He saw that now more clearly than ever. Love was the birth of duty...and he had failed.

Suddenly a hand reached from behind him, covering his mouth to muffle his scream. Surely the Dothraki had come to answer his prayers. To finally offer him the sweet release of death that had been denied from his soul for far too long.

"My Lord!" a voice hushed. The hand held fast against his mouth so Jon had to jerk his head to the side to get a glimpse of who had come to him. In the darkness he could see Varys' face shadowed under a dark hood. "Be quiet," he whispered.

Tyrion kneeled next to him. Behind them stood Beric, holding the reigns of three horses. Jon had not heard them at all. The snow must have covered their footsteps, muffled the noise of their approach.

"Daenerys has finally lost herself," Tyrion whispered hurriedly, as he reached down to work on the ropes around Jon's feet. "There is no need for more innocents to die." Varys released his hand from Jon's mouth, and started to untie the ropes around his wrists. Tyrion rolled the rope into a coil, looking back to Beric quickly. "You must leave."

"My sister, Sansa," Jon breathed once his wrists were free. He hugged his arm to the wound on his stomach, groaning as he attempted to sit up. His injury stung in the cold air. At least when was tied and immobile he could have ignored it. Now it yelled to his bones in agony. But he couldn't worry about that - there were more urgent matters. "I have to go to Winterfell."

"The poor girl…" Varys cooed.

Tyrions face fell and he swallowed a lump in his throat. "I must admit to you, Snow, I loved her truly," Tyrion warily met Jon's eye, waiting for the inevitable anger there. Jon did not react. He could not. Tyrion continued despite Jon's icy stare. "She did not deserve to die, but I fear she is already lost. You must save yourself now."

Jon refused to believe that. There might still be a chance that Sansa was alive. If Tyrion loved her as he said, how could he have stood by and done nothing? How could he not try to save her? If Sansa were indeed dead, Jon would not let the Lannister forget it. Her blood would be on his hands, as well. Jon held his tongue, refusing to say the words out loud that the other men were so sure of. "My family," he choked. "Arya and Bran are at Winterfell. I can not abandon them."

"You must," Tyrion insisted. "Once Daenerys returns and sees you gone, I fear she will not give up easily."

"We need someone who can defend the realm from her now, My Lord." Varys murmured.

He did not want to agree right away. He only cared about one thing - Winterfell. If his wound was truly terrible, then perhaps he wouldn't last much longer after arriving at Winterfell. He needed to see if his family was safe. He needed to protect his home. He needed to be sure.

Jon hopelessly looked to Beric, who he knew was a true knight in his heart, for an answer. Beric's face was clad in shadow, but his as his head inclined Jon could see a gallant smile lingering on his lips. Instantly, he knew Beric was on his side. Beric knew what Jon had to do.

"I will," Jon stated. "I promise I will. After I retrieve my family from Winterfell. I swear it." He needed to know. He needed to see for himself if Sansa, Arya or Bran had survived. If they had not…

Varys and Tyrion shared a long wordless look, thoughts passing between them, before Varys sighed into the night air and stood.

"Very well," Tyrion resigned. "Perhaps there is still a chance. Hurry. You must leave before she returns."

Varys assisted Jon over to the horses, and Jon managed to muster enough strength to pull himself into the saddle. Varys and Beric mounted their horses as well, and the beasts started thrashing their heads in anticipation. There were only three horses, Jon noted, but four men. Beric kicked his horse and ran off into the darkness, and Varys followed close behind him. Surprised, Jon glanced down to Tyrion.

"Come with us," Jon whispered. "You can't stay here."

"I must," Tyrion replied. "If anyone asks, I was not here. I did not see you leave."

"She will kill you," Jon stressed, reaching an arm out for him to grab. Tyrion glanced at Jon's offer for a moment, yet only nodded and stepped back away from the horse. He raised his chin and straightened his mouth into a coy smile. He had chosen his fate.

"You need to hurry, Jon Snow."

Jon reluctantly pulled his hand away, his resolve strengthening. Tyrion was right. As much as he wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and drag him up with protest, he was not strong enough - and Winterfell needed him more. With a final glance, Jon nodded once, silently thanking him, and he kicked his horse to chase the men who had already left him behind.