JON

His dreams were hazy, frightening. He was running..ice fell around him. Not snow, ice. Sharp and pointed, like the spear that had killed Viserion. He dodged his head, trying to protect himself from their heavy impact...they were big chunks now...he stood alone...and they fell from the sky...massive ice boulders the size of small houses...he covered his head...he tried to run but his legs were frozen...he heard screaming...screams all around him...

He was flying now, and it was cold...cold...cold...so cold...icy arms around him...before him stood the wall...solid and strong...solid and strong...

it won't fall, it won't fall, it won't fall...

but Jon was scared...

He felt fire flowed from him. Fire all around him. Heat, blessed heat, but he was so cold it burned, burned, burned. Poison to his skin.

Every nerve became alight with pain. The fire shot from him, and hit the wall...it seemed so fragile now...

He saw it fall...saw it melt...saw...oh gods, no, no, no...

It won't fall, it won't fall, it won't fall...

Ice rained around him...but he was on fire...his shoulder was on fire...he burned, burned, burned...

He turned, and behind him on the dragon he saw him...

Icy blue eyes met his.

Jon woke with a hard, sharp intake of breath.

He couldn't breathe.

The wall, the wall...the wall...

He sat up quickly, woozy. Pain erupted in his shoulder. His head was foggy and dizzy and...spinny...and...

He fell...aimed for the bed but missed...and landed hard on the floor.

He groaned.

"Jon?!" he heard her voice as if from a long distance away...

Her warm arms encircled him. He shivered. Cold arms around him...cold like ice...the Night King...

The wall...the wall...the wall...

She lifted him, struggling with his weight, placed him back on the bed.

"Jon?"

He heard her voice as though it was a long way away...

"They gave you Milk of the Poppy, remember? They said it would help you sleep..."

His shoulder was on fire...

But he was cold...cold...so cold...

He felt a warm hand touch his forehead.

"You're burning up..."

He felt cool lips pressed to his cheek, and she was gone...gone...gone...

"Don't leave me," he croaked out...or he thought he did...

His head was swimming...

He shivered. Ice...ice everywhere...

He swam in it, drowning...he couldn't breathe...he kicked upward, trying to find the hole he'd fallen in...but only solid ice met his searching hands...he panicked...beat at the ice...but he was slow, he couldn't move his arms...couldn't kick his legs fast enough...drowning, drowning, drowning...he was cold, cold, so cold...

The ice grew hot, oddly hot, beneath his fingers. It began to glow orange. Fire. Fire. He was on fire. It engulfed him. He chocked, not on icy water but on hot smoke. He coughed, coughed up blood...heard the roar of a dragon...was it Drogon? No, Rhaegal. Somehow he knew...

He saw his teeth gnashing, saw green scales flash, felt the fire surround him. He was burning...the skin was melting off his flesh...

Or was it? No...the skin melting off his flesh was just sweat, and the heat surrounding him...was it his own fire or Rhagael's...?

A giant bronze eye met his own...and he knew him...was one with him...felt his fire...

But then he moved aside...and on him rode a man...tall...strong...handsome. He wore black armor veined with red and covered in scales. Silver-white hair flowed down his back in waves. His eyes were indigo and they burned into his own. Jon stretched out his hand to him...trying to reach him...he thought he knew him...he felt familiar...

"Aegon..." he heard voices around him whisper. Saw the man's mouth move.

"Aegon..."

...a thousand tiny dragons spilt from the man's jaws and quickly grew to the size of suns...

"He's a fever..." he heard voices say. "He was peacefully sleeping, and then he woke and..."

He felt an old man's papery touch. Heard the clinking of a Maester's chain.

"...Aegon..."

The voice demanded his attention, but he fought to remain conscious...Daenerys...Daenerys...he had to stay with Daenerys...

"Not to worry, my dear, not to worry...the medicine is doing it's work, is all. It's to be expected...perhaps more Milk of the Poppy will help him sleep better...

No, no, no...he didn't want to sleep...he had to get to the wall...

Perhaps he was mumbling, heard her shushing him...felt her weight besides him, felt the brush of her silver hair...silver hair...

His eyes met her violet ones...she reminded him of someone...someone he never knew...

"It's alright, my love," she whispered. "Here, drink this."

He resisted but she held firm.

"Please, Jon...please, my ñuha zolka prūmia."

Her eyes turned indigo...

"Jon," she pleaded. She pressed the cup to his lips and he reluctantly drank.

He fell back onto the pillows. She brushed sweaty hair off his forehead.

"What does that mean," he felt himself whisper.

Her eyes met his.

"Wolf of my Heart," she murmured, and he fell into a deep and, this time dreamless, sleep.

When he woke again, it was peacefully, his head clear. He had a recollection that he'd had such strange, violent dreams, but he could not remember...

He lay on his stomach, back open to the air. His shoulder ached but it was no longer on fire. Beside him, she slept, face pressed against his right, uninjuired, arm, hand resting on the small on his back. He took a deep breath. The air was cool and refreshing. The sheets smelled like sickness and sweat and old blood, but they were soft, and he pressed his face deeper into them.

He stretched his muscles best he could without moving too much. He was achey all over. The skin on his back crackled and he recoiled. Soft bandages soaked in something that smelled strange were placed over his wound. He wanted to peel them off but resisted the urge, knowing they were there for a reason.

How long had he been asleep?

The room was lit with a soft gray light, and through the window he could see that it was dull and gray and cloudy once again. It was snowing. He saw land outside the window of the ship. They must have left the city, moving swiftly down the White Knife towards Winterfell. It must have been at least a day.

He wanted to ask Daenerys, but she was fast asleep and he didn't want to disturb her. His muscles were aching, though, and he wanted to move around. Gently, he shimmied out from under her, and carefully tried to sit up.

Despite his best efforts, she stirred.

She woke up quickly, and met his eyes.

"You're awake!" she said, sitting up, immediately fussing. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said. She touched his forehead.

"Your fever's broken," she said, smiling gently. "Good. I was worried for a while there..."

"I'm alright," he said softly. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Couple days," she said. "We've left the city and are moving up the river. The Manderlys were kind enough to lend us their Maester to help heal you, and we will send him back down the river when you're better. We really must send for our own from the Citadel."

"I've got the perfect person in mind," said Jon.

"Who?" she asked.

"Samwell Tarly," he said proudly. "He's...well, was, my Brother of the Night's Watch. He asked me to send him to the Citadel so that he could be Castle Black's new Maester, and I did. I'm sure he's done marvelously. Bet he's giving all those dusty old men a run for their money. He's so smart. I would be dead a hundred times over without him. He's probably learned quite a bit by now."

Dany smiled at him.

"I'm sure he'll make a wonderful Maester," she said. "But doesn't his vow to the Night's Watch require him to stay with the Night's Watch?"

"Does it really matter anymore?" said Jon softly. "We're all brothers of the Night's Watch now. 'I am the shield that guards the realms of men.' Isn't that what we're all doing?"

There was silence for a moment. There was no need to answer his question.

"How did you leave the Night's Watch? It's my understanding that it's for life," she asked softly. He had known this question was coming for sometime now. He'd known the question burned at her. Her fingers had traced the scars over his heart so many times he'd lost count, but the question never left her lips. "Ser Davos said you took a knife in the heart for your people. You were Lord Commander. I've seen the scars, you can't deny it. Don't you think it's time you tell me?"

Jon looked away from her.

He had known he would have to at some point, but doing so meant admiting his mistake...though he had done the right thing, and he would stand by and make the decision again and again even if it meant the same outcome. Was that what he was ashamed of? Ser Alliser's snear still burned in his eyes...but it was Olly's betrayal that had hurt the most...

"The dead were coming," he said. "I knew it, everybody knew it. There were thousands of Wildlings beyond the Wall, and if the dead had got to them, they would have been more fodder for his army...so I made a decision. An unpopular decision. I let the Wildlings past the wall and into the south. Not that it mattered...we only got a fraction of them out...a few thousand...the dead came anyway, and we fought them at Hardhome but it wasn't enough...we lost so many of the Free Folk to the army of the dead...

"But that doesn't matter. I still let the ones we saved beyond the wall, and...certain men who would've rather I'd not made it back from Hardhome led a mutiny. They betrayed me. Stabbed me."

Traitor, the sign had said.

For the Watch, for the watch, for the watch...

It echoed in his ears.

He pointed to his scars.

"Here," he pointed to the first one. Alliser Thorne. "Here," Bowen Marsh. "Here," Othell Yarwyck. "Here and here," he couldn't remember their names...couldn't remember their faces...he'd been in such pain at that point..."And...here," he pointed to the one over his heart. Olly.

For the Watch.

"I died," he finished softly. "I know you're going to ask what was after that...but there was just..." he paused. "Nothing. There was just...nothing."

"Like sleeping?" she said.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Nothing."

"Then how is it you sit before me? How is it you are not rotting in the ground?"

"The Red Witch brought me back," he said. "As Thoros of Meer brought back Beric Dondarrian six times. 'The Lord of Light' they credit but who know sif that's true or not..."

"I know of whom you speak. Melisandre. She is the one who encouraged me to send for you in Dragonstone. For me to hear the things that have happened to you."

Jon's eyes widened in surprise.

"And I suppose you have now, finally, in full," she said gently. Jon nodded.

"I hung them all as the traitors they were, and left the Night's Watch. I had died. My watch was ended. Nobody dared fight me on it. I was free to go south with my sister and retake Winterfell from the Boltons, and the Northern Lords promptly named me King in the North...and, well, you know the rest, I suppose."

She nodded. Was silent. Touched his scars gently, hesitantly. He looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry they did that to you, Jon," she said softly. "I'm sorry they betrayed you and hurt you."

Jon closed his eyes.

"Me too," he said gently.

She kissed him softly. It felt like it'd been ages since he'd felt her lips touch his. They gently broke apart and looked into each other's eyes. He toyed with a long, loose blonde curl that lay near her waist. She drew a finger over the scar on his heart. Then she leaned down, and kissed it softly. He felt his heart melt. She traced the thick, ugly scar with her lips, gently kissing. He sighed, feeling himself relax. She pushed him to lay back, and he did, carefully placing his shoulder on the pillows so as not to disturb the bandages there. He closed his eyes, and enjoyed her kisses.

When she had finished with the one over his heart she began on the others, as if by kissing it she could burn the pain of that memory away with her love.

"ñuha zolka prūmia," she whispered into his skin when she'd finished, returning to the skin over his heart and kissing hard, inhaling his scent.

"You called me that before," he said gently. "What is it? You said it means..."

"Wolf of my Heart," she said softly. "In HIgh Valyrian."

"How did you come to speak it?" he asked, curious. High Valyrian was not a common language in Westeros.

"It is my mother tongue," she said. "My brother taught me, as our mother and father taught him, and their mother and father them, and so on all the way back to Aegon the Conqueror and long before that, to Old Valryia."

"Arya can speak a little, I think," said Jon, "she was the only one of us curious about it though. I never learned much besides the greetings- Valar morghūlis."

"Valar dohaeris," she said in response. "All men must die, and the response-all men must serve."

"Will you teach me? Just a bit," he asked. He wanted to feel closer to her. He knew, if he could muster a few phrases, then perhaps he could communicate with her in her own language.

Daenerys laughed, amused. "Missandei would be a much better teacher than I. Even I get some phrases wrong some time. I had no formal education in it, only what my brother knew, and he was very young."

"Still," he said.

"Well, Zolka is the word for wolf and prumia means Heart...'Vala' is the word for 'man' while 'Valar' means men plural..." and she began to teach him, coaching his through difficult pronounciations and giving him simple words to try. He struggled with the pronounciation and tried not to disappoint her, but the words were difficult.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, my love," she said after he had struggled to retain the gender-neautral pronoun for a royal 'dārilaros' Valeryian is a difficult language, it would take years to learn it properly, and there are sounds spoken that are not used in the common tongue. If you are truly interested, I can speak to Missandei about providing you with lessons."

He thought for a moment, looked at her. She had brightened as she spoke her native tongue, conversing with him in what he could muster. He wanted to see more of that.

"I think I'd like that," he said. She smiled.

"Good, I shall arrange it straight away. But for now, you need to rest. I see my little lesson has already taken it out of you."

It was true, he was exhausted.

"Sleep, ñuha zolka prūmia," she said, kissing his brow. "I shall stay beside you."

She lay down next to him, and pulled out a book she had been reading. She entagled her foot in his and pressed her body to his side. He smiled. He couldn't sleep. She was too adorable.

He turned on his non-injuried side to watch her. She noticed him staring. Daenerys side-eyed him over the cover of her book.

"Sleep," she said forcefully. "Do I need to call the Maester?"

Jon sighed.

"No need for threats," he said. He saw her mouth twitch in amusement as she turned a page. He smiled, his eyes grew heavy, and before long he had drifted off to sleep.

A/N: My High Valeryian sucks. I'm still not entirely sure I translated everything properly. Valeryian's fucking weird and I suck at learning new languages anyway...but I wanted them to have cute little nicknames for each other. So if anyone speaks High Valeyrian and knows the proper translation than please help me I'm so lost. (If one of my lovely readers actually DOES send me a PM I'd have a few other translations I'd like to put to you!)

And it's about goddamn time Jon told Dany that he'd died.

Yes, Jon did dream the wall fell. That's all I'm going to say about that.