Dany first stirred when she heard the sound of two hushed voices speaking in a way that could only mean they didn't want to be heard. This made her instantly alert, eyes flying open, and seeing for a second that Jon still lay in the big fur laden bed, with two very opposite girls standing on either side of it. One was a tall red head, with long stylishly worn hair, and the other a shorter, but pluckier one with short brown hair, dressed somewhere between a Bravosi swordsman and a knight. It was hard to imagine meeting these formidable sisters of Jon, for they could be no one else from the way he'd described them to her, in such a worried and exhausted state, so she shut her eyes before they turned to her and pretended she was sleeping still.

"Is this going to go on forever?" one of them said, with a low voice. "Are they just going to sleep all the time?"

"Sansa," the other answered, chiding. "Be patient."

"I've been patient, and it's enough now!" and Sansa grew even quieter, "and I put out a very lavish feast for her last night. The least she could have done was wake up and eat it."

The younger one, who had to be Arya laughed softly, "You're impossible."

"I never thought I'd be hosting a queen…. Without mother to help me." Sansa said this softly, and Dany fought the urge to open her eyes. "What if I mess it up?"

"This queen probably won't care." Said the littler one. "She's used to riding a dragon, remember?"

"I can tell you're ready to make her your hero."

"She is a hero. Like Vysenia."

Sansa made an impatient noise and stomped out of the room, and Arya lingered for a moment more, softly telling her brother, "I love you, Jon. And I never, ever forgot it."

When she was gone and the door closed Dany finally opened her eyes and sat up. Stretching a little, and cricking her neck this way and that, she noticed at last that Jon's eyes were open and on her face, with a drowsy smile on his. Before she could fully comprehend he was alive and awake he said, "My sisters."

Dany flew to the bed as quick as she could, and before she could decide what to do Jon enveloped her inside his arms and pulled her up onto his lap. Promptly he winced with pain and she tried to move away but he kept her trapped.

"Jon, your leg!" she cried.

"I don't care." He growled and pulled the exact places on her dress to make it fall right off. "I need you, right now, before anything else…"

Every piece of clothing was off, and a fiery feeling was spreading through Dany, though she kissed him softly at first, trying to tame the hunger. But that only stoked things more, until was only one thing left, and it was only motions away. Already lulled by waves of what was to come, Dany was slow to understand when suddenly Jon was pushing her back, head shaking and pain written in his face.

"I told you, your leg-"

"It's not my leg, Dany."He said.

He clung to her, forearms around her lower back, and she wound her fingers into his dark curls. "What then?"

Jon shook his head, and his face was distraught. Several times he tried to speak, but kept returning to his chest, breathing her in. Considering all they'd just been through, she reasoned that Jon might be in a state of shock. There was a way to break him out of it, and she went to it, rubbing up against that hard part of him, which betrayed his readiness for her. Jon's grip tightened, and Dany shifted up on her knees, as his hands inevitably wandered lower and lower. Brazen winter sun through the window caught her hair, and made it glow. His eyes squinted up at her, entranced, until the tip of him was just inside of her, and he suddenly stopped everything.

"No! Dany." He took her upper arms and set her off of him, to the end of the bed. "Stop."

She felt bewildered. "What have I done?"

Her words were like a blow to him, and his brow drew together anxiously. His worried eyes kept studying her bare skin, until finally the squeezed close and he said, "Fuck!"

Daenerys waited, and pulled her arms over her chest in confusion.

He took a steadying breath. "I'm…. I'm the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, Dany. My father was not Ned Stark like I thought all along."

She felt her eyes widen, and colour must have been leaving her face. "You are jesting."

"No."

Something wild began to tremble inside of her, and she knew her breathing was shallow. "How?"

"It must be that Rhaegar loved my mother…." Jon's hand slid up her ribs and grazed her breast before he pulled it away fast. "And didn't rape her as everyone thought."

Dany thought of him, in the Dream of the Undying… This was what he meant. "Lyanna Stark. She was your mother?"

Jon met Dany's eyes, and she wondered how she'd not seen the purple flecks in them before. "She died giving birth to me in a tower in Dorne." He snorted softly, "I supposed that makes me Jon Sand."

"It makes you a Targaryen, Jon." She breathed. And blood of my blood….

"It makes me every bit a bastard as I was before." He answered, "only now I'm your nephew. I'm older than you, and I'm your fucking nephew."

"You are-" she choked slightly on her words and his eyes snapped to her face, "You're a dragon."

"I don't know how to be a dragon," he said, in exasperation. "But I- I can't touch you anymore, Dany."

"What?!"

"Not until I… I've had a chance to think."

Dany felt blindsided by her own despair, but wholly unwilling to give up easily. Because she knew the cause of his distance, she decided to challenge it, sliding right back over his knee, agilely. He let her come, and his eyes were heavy with desire, but his hands fell slack at his sides, and he didn't kiss her back when she pressed her lips against his. In that hushed space when their noses touched, she opened her heart to him.

"I don't care what your last name is," she whispered. "I love you Jon."

His eyes, huge and complexly dark met hers, widened…and then closed. Dany felt her heart would shatter, when he closed them. He closed himself. Slowly, she backed off of him, moved to the end of the bed and pulled her dress back on, with trembling fingers.

"Dany," he began.

She jumped to her feet quickly, "Don't."

"Wait- "

"I will respect your opinion of course Jon, but I can't just turn off my love, no matter what duty tells me."

"Dany!"

"And if I'm really meant to, then you must not call me that anymore." As she said this a tear skipped down her face and landed on him, somewhere. He looked completely lost, and the image pained her so much, that she lashed out, in desparation. "You'll make a fine King, you know. Putting the opinions of others above your own heart."

Dany fled out of the room before he could see her crying any more, and she found herself in a large stone passage with servants everywhere and a lot of household traffic. She quickly wiped her eyes, and nodded kindly at a few who skidded to a stop and bowed to her. If she could just recall where her own quarters were, she would be able to release her tears in seclusion.

This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't be happening.

Someone led her to her room, a sweet little servant boy she thought, but she was so distracted she hardly said thank you. When she was safely behind doors, she dropped her head into her hands and wept. It was only a short while later that she felt her scribes loving hands pull her up from the ground where she'd fallen to. Missandei wiped the tears from her face and comforted Dany, like a mother might have. If felt good to be able to cry.

Drawing her a bath, Missandei made every decision for the next while, leading Dany to the water and laying out the right dress and cloak. She washed Dany's hair, and braided it, still wet around her crown while Dany soaked. Missandei bore good news about Greyworm, having awaken and now with his men, painting a picture of the lands outside for Dany, and how the armies were fairing. A noisy fire and Missandei's voice lulled at her eyes, and the rafters stretched up above her, strong and unmoving, like Jon. But even they would succumb to a dragons fire, she thought, and then slowly drifted off into darkness, where only the warm, crackling hearth-fire was still alive.

Daenerys woke with a start, and Missandei calmed her. "How late is the hour?"

"The feast has just begun Your Grace." Her scribe answered.

Dany sighed and rose to her feet, "I must attend. " She said as the water dripped off her and she slipped inside a warm robe. "Have any of the others returned?"

"No Your Grace, but the King is awake."

"Yes… I know."

"They say he will not be well enough to come to the feast though."

Daenerys nodded decidedly and threw the dress on. For the first time since White Harbour she looked at her own face and was appalled to see the blue tint in her skin, and clinging to her lips. Her eyes were dark, almost black and shone with fever but she forced colour into her cheeks with two hard pinches and fell back to some of those little pots of colour she'd gotten from Qarth to make herself look less like an Undying Warlock. Missandei skillfully made it all look less severe, and then donned her own gown to compliment Dany's and they left for the feast together. Her khalasar looking very heavily furred, and joining her at the end of the hall, was like a return to her post as Queen.

Winterfell was a myriad of passageways and corridors, Missandei had a general idea about, and they could hear their way to the dining hall well enough, but as soon as they'd entered, nearly every soul in the place went completely silent and turned to stare at them. There was a brief flash of anxiety inside her, like one of those times she felt like the weak little girl who followed around Vyseris, long ago. But she lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and walked straight down the centre of the feast hall, while the whispers rose. Up ahead was Sansa Stark, whom she still had not officially met, and beside her it must have been Arya. On the other side, the tall woman Knight Dany had seen at Kings Landing, with Davos next to her. And hobbling up to the center as though added at the last moment was Jon, with a wooden cane.

Dany slowed slightly at the sight of him, but decidedly swept up to Sansa and gave a very respectful nod. "Thank you for the hospitality you've shown."

Sansa blushed and bowed, "It's nothing, truly Your Grace."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about how to be a a lady of Westeros, perhaps you will be my advisor."

The tall, beautiful thing looked flattered and then asked, "I hope you are comfortable?"

Dany smiled at her, "I've been on a dragon for days at a time, this is truly comfort."

"I told you," whispered Arya to her sister before turning to Dany, "Your Grace, can anyone ride them? The dragons?"

By now the hall was back into it's loud state, and Dany was invited to join them at the table. Arya herself called for room to be made for Dany's bloodriders, whom Sansa was both repelled and seemingly intrigued by. As it happens, the dragons were Dany's truly favourite subject and for much of the feast she answered the curious girls barrage of questions. So many times, she caught Jon's eyes on her, far more purposefully than when she might have noticed, back on Dragonstone, but she forced herself to ignore it. To stop even looking his way.

That eventually meant wandering the hall just to be free from the temptation. And she ordered the khalasar to enjoy the meal, and let her ramble on her own. The Northman didn't like her, she could tell by their stiff bows and dark looks, but at the farthest corner from the family's table she met with the friendly face of Varys at least.

"Your Grace," he bowed in the way only he could. "I have many things to say."

"Ah, yes." Dany prepared herself for the usual update on other parts of Westeros, and even further but this time Varys looked chilled, and very serious.

"This place is not safe," said Varys warned, "there are more than a few rumours flying that the wall bleeds an enemy from the North that is sweeping the land already. And the Golden Company…"

"What?" she pressed.

"They follow a new commander, it is rumoured."

"Who?" she demanded. "Varys? Who!"

"Daario N'haris."

Dany blinked at the name. "But thats a good thing, is it not?"

"As long as the sells-word doesn't hear about the northern king."

Dany sighed and faced the feast, "I knew I should have had more discretion."

Varys walked up beside her, turning to watch as well, namely the high table where the wolves sat. "There is an old legend I recall from my days as a traveling actor. I'd forgotten the story, for a long time, but something about it reminds me of this situation we are in now, here in the North. There are certain similarities that cannot be denied."

"Similarities?" she tried to hide the distraction in her voice when she saw a couple speaking to the king. It looked like a large, young Maester and a nervous girl with a baby in her arms, all of whom Jon was overjoyed to see. Varys went on with his strange news but she was watching another interaction take place with the younger Stark girl, and the red haired man from Braavos. This was making the tall blonde woman of Tarth nervous, and needing to be calmed by Davos, with a mild shake of his head. And then Sansa, despite being very adored by her Northern nobles, and Dany's bloodriders alike, was watching Daenerys with skilfull stealth.

"…the blade of legend has been lost to time, of course," Varys was saying, then, "Are you well, My Queen?" His perceptive gaze trailed over to Jon. "No trouble?"

She faced him, and asked. "Did you know Rhaegar, at all?"

The advisor paused before he answered, by the way his eyes drifted once from Jon to her, and back to Jon again, he was beginning to figure out why she asked. "I knew him well enough to know he was good and just. Many of us wished he was King."

"He'd have been a better King than my father."

"The thing I wonder about now, Your Grace, is if he'd have been better than you."

Nothing prepared her for the wave of sadness his compliment gave her, and at that moment Jon met her eyes across the long hall. He tilted his head down to her, out of respect but no smile passed between them. Would her oldest brother have loved Jon and made him legitimate? Fate had thrust her here into this quest for the Iron throne, ripping all the possibilities in life away from her and replacing them with this infuriating game. And now, it took Jon. Her Jon….

She left the hall with little disturbance, most likely because the Northmen didn't really want her there anyway. The overheated spaces switched into frigid open courtyard, where the night was quiet but tense with falling snow. Her mind was on fire, and the biting cold was at least stayed by her wild thoughts. Maybe it was the Undying dream still lingering in her, but she felt she knew which way to go, and took to a pensive, and peaceful pathway into the woods which brought her to a frozen pond under a shimmering crimson tree, dancing in the moonlit night. In the white trunk was a haunting and bleeding face, carved right into it. She pulled her white fur robe around herself tighter and looked away. For a long time Daenerys stood on the threshold of this ancient tree breathing in the soft, woodsy scent in the air and letting drops of snow melt on her face. That was when a voice broke the silence and made her jump in fright.

"The blood of old Valyria is in you," it said, and she locked eyes with what seemed like the tree itself speaking. "Daenerys Stormborn,"

"You're Brandon Stark." She answered, "Aren't you?"

"Once I was, " was all he said. An angular and serious boy, he looked like a half-grown version of Jon, but had the eyes of the oldest of men.

"You helped me, " she told him, "Thank you."

He regarded her rather blankly and almost as an afterthought, said, "You will help us all, before the end."

Puzzled, she took a seat on a snow covered log across from him and said, "How do you seem to know such things, One who was once Brandon Stark?"

She expected perhaps to draw him out a bit, but the boy stared at her with a face not unlike the tree's beside him and finally said, "Your brother's death should not have a place of guilt in your heart any more, Stormborn. He struck you often, and made you weak." Dany swallowed, and stared. "He also told you he would let all the Dothraki riders and their horses rape you if it brought him a crown. But the crown was not meant for him."

He stopped, and she realized he was looking past her. Dany turned to find she'd been followed by Jon, who was listening raptly, and who's shoulders fell when he met her eyes. "I… I'm sorry-"

But suddenly, a garbled and strange noise made them turn back to Brandon Stark, who jerked and convulsed. Dany jumped to her feet and cried, "Whats wrong!"

"I don't know." Jon took the boy out of the chair, bewildered. "Bran?"

White foam covered his mouth and his eyes were rolled back, as he struggled against Jon, who tried desperately to hold him. And then Bran became still. Danny's breath appeared in worried puffs before her face, and Jon turned to face her, fear and confusion written in his eyes. She almost asked if she should fetch help when a torturous scream split the woods. Jon shot to his feet, his eyes darting, and by the time the shriek had died, his Valyrian sword rang out, and his arm slid across her protectively.

But they soon realized the sound was coming from Bran himself, and when he looked their way at last, his eyes were icy blue, like the devils Dany had seen North of the wall. He smiled, cruelly, and said, "Just like last time, where the hero Ashai is, there Nysa Nysa will be."

A glance back her way, told Daenerys that Jon was every bit as confused with this as she was, and he turned back to his brother, saying, " Who are you?"

The withered legs of the boy, shuddered under him as he rose, his long finger pointed right at her. "She will be the Night Kings bride."

"Bran!" Jon shouted and the undead demon inside the boy fled, leaving him twitching and falling to the snow. Jon rushed to him and helped him back in the chair.

"He's coming!" Bran said, "breached the Wall- and -" The boy glanced at Daenerys. "He means to have her, alive. To control his…"

Jon glared ahead, "What…"

"His dragon."

"What?" Daenerys felt the air rush out of her. "His what?"

"He turned one of your dragons," Brandon said, oblivious to the pain that struck her heart just then, "It was why he let Jon and his company live so long up there on the frozen lake. It was to bait you in… he… he's been waiting for you. And you brought him what he needed."

Dany's stomach was sick, and Jon growled out loud and sliced the ground with his sword. "I'm a fucking fool!"

"We need to stop him," Dany said, staring ahead at the woods, flecked with falling snow. "Ride out and stop him in his tracks."

"We need to plan our defence of Winterfell." Jon said instead. "There are people to keep safe."

Daenerys felt weary with grief and the thought of military planning was like an assault, to which she closed her eyes in defence. "You'll forgive me, I feel tired suddenly." She met Jon's gaze and gave him a nod, "I'm sure the two of you have much to say."

The path back felt shorter, maybe because her thoughts were even more flustered. She retired to her room with no ceremony, being able to slip past the hall unnoticed by all except her scribe. Missandei caught up to her in the halls, and looked alarmed.

"Your Grace," she looped Dany's arm under hers, "I must bring you a Maester. You have not recovered!"

"No, please. I just wish to sleep," said Dany, and as soon as they were in her room, Missandei pulled the snowy robe off, and proceeded to unlace the dress, deep blue in colour and snugger than before around the top.

"When you are ready, you may tell me the things you saw, within the Warlocks dream?"

Dany swallowed hard and thought of the blue eyes of Jon, and the sharp cold sword in her gut. Then Bran just now, with his icy voice, and that same glowing stare. The Night Kings stare. He was waiting for her, to bring the dragons, and she did just that. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready."

The door suddenly burst in, with a massive force and Jon walked in, his fists balled. "Leave us," he told Missandei and the scribe's dark eyes shifted over to Daenerys.

She straightened her shoulders, wet her lips bravely and nodded to Missandei, "I will see you in the morning."

When the heavy door creaked shut again, Jon said, "Come here."

Dany shook her head, and a tear fell loose. "You said-"

"Fuck what I said. I know nothing, Dany." His eyes trailed over her half-dressed body. "Come to me."

"Your people," she bit her lip hard, keeping her feet from moving. "Aren't you worried about what they will think?"

"I'm Targaryen," He told her, and something in his face was changed. "So what." He smiled, and it made her breathless. "I love you, and nothing will change that."

Her blood was stirring, and she tried to fight her heavy breathing, to look anywhere but at him. But then he reached his hand out to her, and his face looked so painfully beautiful.

"Please," he said, "please, my love."

She stumbled forward, and ended up wound inside him, meeting thier soft lips and driving herself mad with how much she wanted him. In this space, hiding away from the world, nothing mattered anymore. She was hungry, and it came out in the way she kissed him, because he pulled back and smiled at her, knowingly. Stroking the hair off her face, and keeping eye contact as he pushing inside of her, forbidden or not. Maybe it was his youth, matched by hers, and the thought that they could do anything to each other in those moments, but huge waves of pleasure were forcing shut her eyes. Jon thrust inside her, clamping around her back possessively, as though he meant to keep her there forever. They upset every piece of furniture in the room, and slammed the bed hard into the wall. He covered her mouth once, but it only fed the fire and made her cry out, uncontrollably. Fueled by whatever fire he felt, she rode him, like she'd never been able to with anyone before, eyes closed and pulling her hair off her neck. Every time she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her, from her hair down to the fusing together of their bodies. She dragged her hand down her neck, over her breast and settled it on his thing behind her, rolling her hips and hitting a rythym that brought the climax fast.

Jon's body stiffened and he banged himself upward, prolonging the feeling inside her, until he was speant, and clinging hard to her, damp with sweat. He gave her only seconds to catch her breath, before he changed. For a moment she thought he was leaving when he stood up, his breathing heavier, and his eyes darker. She laid back on her elbows and watched him watch her, as though he was wrestling with demons inside, and effectively losing. All she had to do was turn in her knee a little and bite her lip, and he grabbed her ankle, yanking her back across the sheets. For one sweep of his hands up her waist and over her breasts she stayed on her back, and then spun her around.

His palms settled over her hips and he drew her up to her hands and knees. Nervously, she froze, "Wait…"

"Shhhh." He said, spreading his hands out over her bottom, and then smacking it hard. So hard she initially felt sharp, biting pain, but it was followed by the most stirring, undeniable want, that she looked back over her shoulder at him, just as he slapped her skin again, and her whole body shuddered. The burning in her face was more than just her shy reaction, it was the heat of her arousal. Back arching, she could hardly control the backwards motion, nuzzling her bottom against his groin.

He squeezed her ass hard, and with the next strike, she felt all lust and no pain, and the words tore out of her when she said, "Oh ffffffuck!"

His fingers wrapped around her upper arms and she was trapped, but still unentered, so her bottom wiggled against him longingly. He growled out a dark laugh."Easy." He said, "We have all night."