Author's Note: This is the last full chapter! Thank you to everyone for your kind compliments and readership of this story, it surprised me with how much i came to love writing it.

There will be an epilogue tomorrow, from 25 years later, showing how things have ended up for our pairs.

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He was Jon, still, of course, but he was another man, too. Deprivation and loss had altered him, marked him in ways she could not fathom. Dany had worried that he might not still love her, so different was she from the girl he had known at Highgarden, but for the first time she considered that he was not the same man she had known, either, and in his eyes she could see his worry that he would not be enough for her.

But she could still see the unshakable heart of him, the iron-strong honor and goodness that was still there, and always would be. Jon had seen and endured much, but what would have other men bending and breaking, compromising, justifying, had only redoubled his strength. Traits he had picked up or discarded along the way were like so many garments; take them off, put them on, but the soul within remained as constant as the tide and the stars above.

Jon captured her hand in his, pressing her palm to his face. "I know I'm different—" he began, but she interrupted him.

"You're better. You have accomplished so much, and survived against all odds." She laughed at herself, a little bitterly. What if the Dany he loved was a different one— a superior Dany— than she was now? How could she compare to the girl he'd remembered for so long? "I've barely survived, even with all odds. If there is one of us who feels lesser in comparison to how they were before, it is I."

"What are you talking about?" Jon asked, frowning down at her in confusion.

"I wasn't much before," she found herself blurting, pouring out all the poison she'd held inside herself. "Nothing but an empty title, but you found something in me to love anyway, for which I shall always be… amazed. Humbled. And instead of deserving your love, I was weak, and chose duty over love, and sent you away… I haven't forgiven myself for it, Jon, not even once. Not once in the last eight years. Knowing how I hurt you, how I sentenced you to such pain and loneliness, and for so long… I will never stop despising myself for being so weak."

He stared at her in silence for so long that Dany started to fidget, twisting her fingers anxiously in her lap, wondering if she'd shocked him so badly he was speechless. Or was he horrified by her, and feeling regrets? Pondering a way to get away from her, now that he saw what a pathetic thing she had become?

But then he laughed.

"What a pair we are, then, Dany," Jon said, "and perfect for each other, because I've spent the last eight years despising myself for asking you to choose between me and your brother. Only the cruelest person would do that to one he professed to love."

"What?" Dany gasped. "No—"

"I was so selfish, wanting you despite your obligation to Viserys," he pushed on. "I expected you to give up everything for a few days of marriage before leaving you for years, and possibly never returning. Only the worst sort of man would ask that of you, the most greedy and demanding."

"I never thought that of you, Jon," said Dany, her hand back on his face, caressing his cheek, feeling shocked and dismayed that he'd feel this way. "Not once."

"And I never thought of you as weak, Dany. Not once." He smiled at her, then, and it was his rare smile, sweet and slow.

Dany let herself just stare at him, studying his beloved features, for long moments. Then, carefully, afraid to cause him pain, she slid forward on the carriage seat and reached for him. He leaned forward with exquisite care, holding himself stiffly, and they went into each others arms.

She pressed her face to his throat, her head fitting perfectly just there, like they'd been built for the express purpose of holding each other. The heat of him, press of his body— still so strong, despite the weakness caused by his wounds— all along her own caused a shudder to wrack her. She whispered, "Thank you."

"For what?" Jon asked against her hair.

"For coming back to me," she said, breathless, trying not to sob, trying to maintain her composure.

"I'll always come back to you, Dany," he said gently, and then she did sob. "I owe you my thanks, as well."

"For what?"

"For still loving me."

There was tension in him, in how his body felt against her. He needed to hear it, she realized.

"I'll always love you," she breathed. "When we parted… when you tried to give me the cockade back, and I refused… I told you it was yours for all time, for now and forever. I meant my heart, Jon, not some button with a bit of shabby lace on it."

He shifted away from her, just enough to slide his hand into his jacket, and withdrew the cockade she'd made for him so long ago. The metal of it was still flawless, of course, but the wool she'd crocheted was ragged and frayed and stained almost black from his blood.

"This was the only thing to keep me alive," he told her, "body and soul both, from the day I left Highgarden until this moment. It was the only proof I had that you were real. That I hadn't dreamed you. I would rub my thumb over it every night until I fell asleep; if it were regular steel, the dragons would have been smoothed away years ago.

"I used to believe I had imagined how beautiful you are. I didn't think it could be possible. I'd write to Robb and have him describe you, to see if I had embellished my memories, but every time, it was the same things: the spine of a dragon, the wit of the Grand Maester, and both tempered by a heart the size of an ocean."

He smiled again, wider this time.

"He also mentioned you were nice to look at."

Dany reeled backward against the seat, such was her astonishment. Her entire life, she had thought she brought two things to a marriage: a face and body to desire, and a pedigree to pass to her husband's descendants.

It was… alarming, at first, to think that those traits upon which she had depended, and which had been made such a fuss about for so long, were functionally useless, but… looks faded and bodies weakened, did they not? And what good was one's birth, really? Not one of those things was something she had earned or fought for. Not one of those things had any innate value.

She had told Jon, the day they met, that she was not most people.

She realized then, on the day they reunited, that Jon had never loved her as most men would have, not even at the beginning.

And did Dany not love him differently from most women, too? Jon's handsome face and the fitness of his anatomy had drawn her attention at first, but it was his gentleness and strength, his honesty and kindness and quiet dignity that had held it. Not once had she worried if his injuries had rendered him ugly; her sole concern had been for his survival, in whatever form or appearance.

"Touching as it is to watch you stare at each other," drawled Jaime, "my wench and I would like to do some staring of our own, perhaps in a more commodious setting."

Dany blinked and dragged her gaze from Jon to her friends; the carriage had stopped, its door opened, and Brienne and Jaime stood outside with not-very-patient expressions.

Jaime gestured toward the castle. "If you wouldn't mind?"

Jon left the carriage, one arm clasped tightly around his waist as he descended to the ground. Dany followed close behind, startled when she turned and found Podrick and the third man, Bronn behind her.

"Beg pardon, my lady," Bronn said, his bright blue eyes raking her with a bold glance before letting out a low whistle.

"That's Her Highness," said Pod in a tight voice, clearly affronted on her behalf. "One doesn't whistle at a princess."

"Just curious to see her, after all I've heard, aren't I?" Bronn answered, then grinned roguishly at her. "Which one are you in love with, then, Yer Highness? The letters make it sound like you was pinin' for the major, but the captain never shut up about "Dany, Dany, Dany" while he was feverish."

She blushed to hear that, her heart leaping in her chest. Not that she was pleased Jon had been delirious, never, but that he would call out for her… she had called out for him, too, when she had been unwell, after Viserys' passing. Tyrion had had to bribe her maid to prevent it from being known that the Targaryen princess was calling for the wrong man on her deathbed.

She glanced at Jon, feeling stupidly shy, and found him watching her, faint amusement in his eyes but a faint tinge of pink on his face. She turned and, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow, followed Brienne and Jaime into the Hall.

"Podrick," she said crisply, tamping down her urge to yank Jon into one of the nearby rooms and fling herself into his embrace, "bring the duke's and the captain's things to the rooms that have been readied for them, and show Bronn to his lodgings, as well, if you please."

"Yes, Your Highness," Pod replied.

"A meal has been prepared for you, ser," she continued to Bronn. "Please know that Her Excellency and I are deeply in your debt for the care you have taken of His Grace and Captain Snow."

Bronn only gave her a smirky grin and sauntered off. Just before they went behind the green baize servants' door, she heard him say, "Still don't know which man she's after…" and Podrick's response of, "Don't you worry yourself about it, that's their business, not yours."

Jon swayed against her, suddenly. Dany lifted dismayed eyes to his face as her arms crept cautiously around his waist, offering whatever meager support she could.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just haven't stood this long since before I was shot."

"Shot and stabbed, Bronn wrote," she corrected with gentle reproach, and began coaxing him toward the solar, his arm around her shoulders. In a way, it reminded her of their waltzes, and how she had placed herself under his direction, trusting him to lead her true and protect her. Now, she was leading and protecting him. It felt… right. Like they had come in a full circle, like an open loop had been closed. Just as he had cared for her, she would care for him. "Why did you not mention it?"

"You had enough to think and worry about, learning of Jaime's injury. And I thought I was fine, just some broken ribs. Everything seemed to be healing well, the first few days. It wasn't until later, after I had written to you, that the fever came."

He stopped once they were inside the solar. Brienne and Jaime were seated in matching armchairs pulled very close together by the fire, he slumped into her embrace with his head upon her shoulder with a complete lack of self-consciousness. They both looked up when Dany and Jon entered; Jaime offered a weary smile before closing his eyes, but Brienne just stared at Dany, her eyes wet.

Dany felt her friend's grief and distress like a physical blow, and tears sprang to her own eyes, as well. Jon's arm, around her shoulders, tightened.

"Where do you want to sit?" she asked him.

"There," he said, pointing to a wing chair on the far side of the room from the other couple, clearly wanting to give them as much privacy as possible.

…or gain as much privacy as he could for he and Dany, because after they'd shed their coats, he sat in the chair and tugged her down onto his lap.

"Jon!" she protested in alarm. "Your ribs, I don't want—"

"Being near you can only heal me," he said, and pulled her against him, tucking her head under his chin.

Dany relaxed against him slowly, with great care until she was sure her weight was not causing him distress or damage, but once she felt confident, she slumped in his embrace, all her nervous energy fleeing her with shocking speed, leaving her limp with relief. She pressed her face into his dark curls, relishing the strength in his arms as she held her.

"Your Highness," said Jaime, and Dany leaned just far back enough to see him and Brienne standing beside their chair. "Would you do me the kindness of releasing me from our engagement?"

"Done," she said promptly. "For what it is worth, Jaime, it was a fine engagement, as those go, and I hope we each only have one more before we're done with the practice entirely."

He smiled. "As do I. Thank you, Dany. For everything you have done for us, all these years." He took her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers. "You have been the best of friends to Brienne and myself."

"It was my honor," she said, and meant it. "Without Jon, thinking him dead… helping you gave me a reason to continue. I think I would have given up long before, if not for you both."

Jon's arm tightened around her waist and she leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Should I fetch the ring?" Dany asked Jaime. "You'll want to give it to Brienne, though she won't wear it—"

She was cut off by Brienne's agreeing snort of contempt.

"No," said Jaime mildly, "I never expected her to. I might be mostly decorative, but I'm not entirely stupid; I made sure my engagement token was something she'd actually value and use."

Dany's face lit with comprehension. "The sword!"

He nodded, his face adoring as he looked at Brienne, close at his side. Their heights, so nearly equal, permitted them to gaze directly into each others' eyes, and the expression in his eyes shouted as clearly as words that he considered her a miracle that occurred to him every single day. Dany would have blushed, feeling like an intruder, except she was positive she stared at Jon in the same exact way. And if she could not witness and show private emotions with these of all people, then who?

"Since you're now a free woman," Jon began, and Dany's stomach twisted into a solid knot of shocked joy, having some idea of what would come next. "I'd stand, or kneel, but then I'd have to put you off my lap, and I prefer you here."

His smile was a thing of pure sweetness, and she could only beam back at it, at him, his hand clasped between both of hers.

"I know I have little to offer you—"

"Do not, Jon Snow," Dany began, her tone warning. "I will not let you—"

"—except a large and rather crazed family, a legitimate name, and an inexhaustible supply of affection—"

"Legitimate what?"

"When I told my father I intended to marry you, he began the process of petitioning His Majesty to legitimize me." He smiled. "So, Your Highness, as soon as the petition is granted, would you condescend to marry your humble, most devoted servant? I have longed for you to be my wife since the day I met you, and if I have to wait much longer, I might run mad. Oh, Dany, don't cry."

His fingers were gentle as he brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"I adore your large and crazed family," Dany sniffled. "I love you more than I can find the words to express. I've been mad for you since the day we met. I don't care if you are legitimate, or if we ever marry, as long as you let me remain at your side always."

He drew her into the most luscious kiss, then, tender and loving and shockingly thorough, leaving her breathless and gasping, heat streaking down her limbs, when he pulled away.

"It shall take some doing, imagining myself as Mrs. Stark, when all these years I've been thinking of the title of Mrs. Snow," Dany murmured. "Shall we live at Winterfell? Are you leaving the military? If you remain with it, I shall follow the drum, the pipe, the entire band— I won't be parted from you again, Jon."

When he did not answer right away, she lifted her head from his shoulder to look first at him, then at Jaime, with whom Jon had locked eyes.

"About that," said Jaime, "we've had much time to talk, and we thought perhaps there might be a tidy way to handle several problems at once."

He sat in the chesterfield across from them, tugging Brienne down by his side.

"Once Brienne makes an honest man of me," Jaime began, startling a laugh from that lady, "we will have to spend most of our time at Casterly Rock, leaving Tarth without a staunch defender against the pirates that harry its shores. Tyrion and I have discussed the need for a militia outpost here— he has long felt it unreasonable for Tarth to be responsible for its own defense, when few other parts of the kingdom must do the same. He has broached the subject with His Majesty, who agrees that it is a sound plan.

"Thus we want Jon— soon to be Major Snow, or Stark, as the case may be— deployed to Tarth as leader of the new militia to be stationed here," he concluded, grinning at Jon's expression of shock. "I've discussed it with Jon already, and he has agreed to do it."

"I agreed to do it as Captain Snow. What's this about being a major?"

"You were shot dashing across the desert like a wild man to save me, Jon," Jaime reminded him patiently. "Then, even with four broken ribs, and bleeding like a stuck aurochs from being stabbed, you went out, day after day, to fetch supplies for everyone else—"

"I was the only one who could blend in with the Ghiscari," Jon muttered, embarrassment causing a very pretty pink flush to wash over his cheekbones.

"—and then led the entire group back to base camp, carrying your insensible commanding officer on your back at one point, if I am recalling correctly in spite of my delirious state at the time," Jaime continued, his tone arid. "It was your insistence on doing all of these things that caused your condition to worsen, not any of that shite about dirty hospital conditions— you think I do not know what you are telling people— so yes, I have put in a formal recommendation for your promotion.

"Bronn and the rest of the men in our little group have joined their voices to my own, in fact, and Tyrion has been gleefully bullying the Lord Commander about it for the past two weeks. It's very likely you'll become a major around the same time you become a Stark, in fact."

"So we would live here, on Tarth?" Dany asked. "Permanently?"

"Would you like that?" Jon asked her. "If you would not, I won't accept the position. My commission is at its end, and I can easily leave it if you don't wish to be a military wife."

"I would like it above all things!" she exclaimed. "Tarth is the closest place I've ever had to a home!" She beamed at Brienne. "We were never made so welcome as here, and I gained a sister." She reached to take her friend's hand, and they smiled at each other, a little tearfully. "It would be my honor, to live here and protect Tarth for Brienne."

"Then it's settled." Jaime looked relieved and pleased, though still tired. "As soon as the banns are called, wench, we shall be married. I'd send for a special license but I need the three weeks to look like my handsome self again, instead of this half-corpse I appear now."

"And it will take at least that long for Tyrion to get here," Brienne said, "for we cannot marry without him."

"And then, as a proper married lady, you shall be a fine chaperone for our journey north, for Jon's father would burst into tears if we were not wed at Winterfell," Dany said.

He blinked. "You know this for a fact, do you?"

"Oh, yes, your father and I are quite friendly," she told him casually, biting back a grin at his incredulity. "I correspond with him and the rest of your family very faithfully. It is Robb's doing; first was Sansa, then your other siblings, and finally His Grace, who is a darling of a man, and so proud of you, quite rightly. Most of our letters are just us exclaiming back and forth to each other how wonderful we find you."

"That… is very embarrassing," he muttered. He was blushing again. Dany wished her friends far away, or at least out of the room, so she could enjoy another of those deep kisses he was so delightfully good at.

It came sooner than she had thought, for Jaime soon expressed a wish for a saltwater bath in the huge tub Brienne had had constructed for his use, and Dany and Jon were left alone in the solar. They spent some time simply holding each other, murmuring, then subsiding, but soon enough he kissed her, and it deepened until their gasps fell cool against damp lips and Jon was wincing at how their exertions were taxing his injuries.

"We're going to be so happy, Jon, aren't we?" she whispered. "We've earned it, by now."

"We have," he confirmed. "That and more."