Daenerys

The dragon has three heads. How many times had she heard those words from Viserys, who could never have begun to comprehend their true meaning? How many times had she thought on them herself, unable to tease out the truth? Only vaguely did she register the other people in the underground chamber, countless crannogmen gone about shoring up the tunnels as well as several Children of the Forest studiously sending vines up the cavern walls to keep dirt from loosing down every time the castle took a hit. Tormund whistled at their industriousness, though he never left Dany's immediate vicinity to go press an inquiry. Once the noise up top quieted, one of the little golden-gazed people came over.

"You should have no problem reaching the castle proper."

"Only a short walk, aye. Short walks become long ones with Others about, though, eh?"

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to show everyone I'm still alive, Tormund Giantsbane." The wildling chieftain frowned.

"What if they come back? You're safer below ground than atop it just now, dragon mother, and Snow would tear my head from my shoulders with his teeth if I let something happen to you." To us, Dany corrected, resisting the urge to put her hand to her belly. Tormund meant well, she knew, but one slip-up and he'd be atop the castle ramparts bellowing it out for all to hear. She'd only just managed to wrap herself up when he'd come to rouse Jon in the springs, a lost moment would have given all away.

"Then I suppose I'll go diving into a snowdrift. They'll see my hair and think me just another bit of snow."

"Har! That they will! Come on then, let's get some stone walls around you. I'll wager unless they send more giants, that ought to be enough to keep you out of the thick of it." Tormund hooted. Daenerys knew him to be a bit of a blowhard, fond of breaking long silences with raucous laughter or boasts. I wonder if he just seeks to set me at ease. I'd have thought by now he'd know I'm no quivering maiden. Then again, it could have been he simply sought to soothe himself. One of the Children shadowed them, Dany didn't fail to notice. Though I might if she didn't wish to be seen. Tormund didn't seem to see her, so perhaps it was a matter of wanting to be seen by Dany and Dany alone? It reminded her of Quaithe, lingering unseen in some corner of Winterfell somewhere. Just the memory of the woman made Dany weary. Always speaking n riddles and prophecies. Well, if she wanted to help, a hint the Others were a few short years from rolling south would have gone rather a long way.

They only just got quit of the crypts, the wind catching in Dany's hair when Tormund got in front of her rather defter than she might have supposed. Then she felt the sting of cold air in her chest as an animal padded over, white as fresh flurry with burning blue eyes. Over Tormund's shoulder it peeked at her, sniffing idly. Dany had seen Jon at it with normal wolves enough times to know such behavior was not aggressive- if the creature had thought to do her harm, it would not have sat waiting in the middle of the street to charge her head-on. Wolves are smarter than that, and direwolves smarter still. Two more joined the first, though these were of a kind with Nymeria, one ash-grey and one dust-brown. They were just as taken with Dany as it happened, acting for all the world as though Tormund Giantsbane weren't there. Perhaps it's Drogon they smell. But then, Drogon had been absent near a year, if not outright. Jon, then? The King in the North appeared next, a wild slip of a girl in his arms. Barely old enough to be trusted with a spoon. Snow had gathered in both of their hair, dark and flaming red respectively. The wolves fled Dany's thoughts. She's no nameless orphan. She was too comfortable in the presence of the direwolves and she wore but a ragged smock, torn and filthy. In front of Daenerys, Tormund seemed to be in little better shape. Jon walked over to the pair of them, grey Stark eyes locked on his loyal chieftain. Dany heard the man sniffle.

"Ygritte disappeared, Snow. Night before we went for Castle Black. Back south, down Mole's Town way. I told the others I sent her to keep an eye for anybody following, but I didn't do anything of the sort. She left a few moments after dusk and returned at dawn. Ygritte didn't tell me where she went, and I didn't ask."

"You might have told me your suspicions at Moat Cailin. You might have told me after the battle at the Wall, when we had you in chains." Jon had never sounded like that before. Daenerys could not tell if he was angry, aggrieved, or simply overborne.

"I might've, aye. I never went a day without thinking what might be. It were better I said nothing, Snow. Your Stark blood wouldn't have taken it, there's too much of your father in you. It would have ate away at you like moths on the silks these southrons wear. When Ghost left…I thought, well, a wolf's a wild thing, but maybe I hoped for something more." The girl made a puzzled noise on spying Dany, eyes wide at the sight of her silver hair.

"I have better things to do than quash rumors just now. I'll leave that to you, Tormund Giantsbane." Jon said finally, and Tormund was gone a moment later, off waving away the crowd that had begun to gather. The girl gave a gasp on seeing Dany proper, wriggling out of Jon's arms and gaping up at her in fascination. "I think I owe you a bit of an explanation." Jon began, looking singularly out of sorts. Grief and dismay make ugly bedfellows.

"What's to explain, Jon Snow? I was not a blushing maid when you came to meet me on Dragonstone. The only thing I'm much interested in hearing just now is her name." Dany said, tentatively picking the girl up. Jon grimaced for some reason, but the little redhead gave not a peep of protest.

"When I tried that, she bit me."

"Well, serves you right, sneaking stealing creature that you are. Hmph!" Dany said airily, turning her head away. The girl mimicked her, even giving a "Hmph!" of her own.

"Oh, save me…" Jon said, hands to his temples.

On the way back to the castle, Jon told Daenerys of the girl's origins.

"Her name was Ygritte. She was a spearwife in Mance Rayder's host, and we spent a deal of time together while I was keeping an eye on the Free Folk from within at Qhorin Halfhald's behest, one of the older rangers of the Night's Watch. Ygritte died when Mance marched on the Wall, part of a raiding party coming up from the south. I burned her body the morning after, shed more than a few tears…and for better or worse, thought that was that." Dany was still trying to think of what to say when abruptly the crowd gave way, right in the middle of the castle yard. A dozen direwolves, more, meandered about or simply lay there, still catching their breath after their dash to the safety of Winterfell. At the center of the pack sat a creature that took Dany's breath away. Whiter than snow with eyes red as blood, the leader of the pack did not take his eyes off Jon. He's taller than a horse, Dany realized faintly. Even a mammoth would prove middling difficult at best to a pack with him at its head. The girl in her arms gave a joyful shout and pointed at the white direwolf, provoking the slightest tilt of his head as he moved his gaze to Daenerys. Out of the corner of her eye she saw several Dothraki gaping, hands not even making it to their arakhs. "Shall we go to him?" Jon was whispering to her.

"To fear him is to fear you, Jon Snow, and you're naught to fear." she play-scoffed. The direwolves moved aside at once at their approach.

"I suppose now I know why you were sore with me, boy." Jon said. "Ghost, this is Daenerys. Dany, this is Ghost." The white wolf's nose flicked in her direction. So close, Dany actually had to look up to look him in the eye. A thought crossed her mind then, as sharp as it was peculiar. Does he belong to Jon or does Jon belong to him? She pulled a glove off, let Jon take it. Dany remembered the words Arya Stark had told her on Dragonstone. They are not pets, no more than dragons are. Step on a dragon or a direwolf's tail, you're just as dead. Instead, her fingers stopped just in front of his nose. Smoothly he leaned into her touch, breathing in as Dany fought to keep from squeaking. What must I smell like? she wondered. At first she thought on the sweet scents of the east that had once gone in every bath, of spices and silk, even the more reserved garb on Dragonstone. But it had been years since she'd last bathed in water laced with scent, Westeros was all but void of spices and naught of her dresses from Dragonstone had survived the riverlands, the voyage, or the journey to Winterfell. Smoke, she supposed. Horseflesh, Dothraki leathers, sweat and dust. Whatever she smelled like, Ghost showed no dislike for it. His tongue graced down to her knuckles, he nuzzled Jon and then he was gone, trotting off in the direction of the godswood. The pack, his pack, followed immediately, the silver-grey she-wolf close always. Once they departed Jon took her hand in his and led her on, relieved that every gaze had left her for the King in the North's famed Ghost. He certainly doesn't disappoint, she thought.

Despite the draftiness, despite the cold stone beneath her feet, Dany was glad to find Winterfell's walls between her and the cutting cold that garrisoned the castle as thoroughly as the countless people who had assembled. The youngest part of the castle, she thought, mere stacked stones, where the godswood and the grotto have stood for time unending. Part of her felt it was a terrible shame the great majority of those who had taken refuge in Winterfell would never understand the power of the place. Another part, a wild part, felt they never could understand. Neither the Great Pyramid of Meereen nor the Red Keep made her spine tingle so, had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. This place is alive, she mused. More than brick and mortar, Winterfell is its trees and springs, the memories that dwell here still. Her head was still in the clouds when the torches lining the steps up to the Stark chambers suddenly extinguished themselves, leaving Dany and Jon with only the piddling light of the windows to see by. Jon wordlessly put himself in front of her, drawing Longclaw.

"Another of the Others' workings?" she asked over his shoulder as the girl wormed from her arms, snug between the two of them. "It can't well be anything else." Jon replied tersely, hands tightening around the hilt of his sword. Dany let out a squeak of fright as something padded by soundlessly, a great furred body brushing against her as Jon's teeth ground, his daughter murmuring uncertainly. Another direwolf, she thought, trying to calm her fast-fraying nerves. When she set her hand out to run it down the animal's side, though, she found naught but air. She was reminded of the warlocks of Qarth, of Quaithe being in a dim room without entering, without really being there at all. Nothing whispered riddles at her from out of the darkness though, there was no cryptic hint at destiny or oft-repeated piece of prophecy. "Your Grace?" Tyrion's voice echoing down from the next floor was the last thing Daenerys expected to hear and she all but jumped out of her skin at the sound. "Lord Tyrion?" Jon asked of the darkness.

"The same, for good and ill. Apologies, your sister's wolf much prefers to go unseen for the stares she'd get if she didn't."

"Nymeria's down causing mischief somewhere." Jon replied.

"I'm sure she is. If you'd come up nice and slow, Your Graces, the steps do get rather slippery the higher you go." Dany fumbled in the darkness before her before she found Jon's arm, ascending slowly. Thankfully after a few steps, a torch was lit at the top of the stairs. "Here we are." Tyrion said, Jon stopping all over again. Dany peeked out from behind him, the girl copying her.

"You've found your nose." she said, trying not to let on that she was quite out of sorts.

"In truth, I've done nothing of the sort. Someone found it for me. But who have you found?" he nodded to the little redhead.

"I'd sooner say with Dany off her feet and by a crackling hearth than here, my lord." Jon said.

"Of course. Come, let's get you off that stair, see if we can't keep a fire going in this wretched tower." Tyrion said, holding out a hand for Dany to take. The stairs at the top were indeed treacherous, and by the end Jon was near carrying her as much as he was helping her along. She could hear the girl sticking close by, little hands and feet crawling along when walking became too difficult. Finally they got off the staircase and Tyrion set about lighting sconces in the corridor, swearing more than once when the frost that coated each made the task all the harder.

"Did the tower get hit when the Others flew past?" Jon asked, only letting go of Dany when the room became fully visible. Even then, Dany saw that the floor was cleanly frosted over, a cold white net seeping into the dark stones.

"No." Tyrion replied, teetering as he poked his torch at another just barely within reach. "This is an Other's doing, or so I gather, but not the sort to make mischief in the flesh." He knocked on one of the doors, edged it open, peeked inside. "Come, we'll see about that fire." he said, going in. Dany could not have wanted anything more and so she made for the door, but the girl taking her hand stopped her. While Jon cursed under his breath, Dany stared at the wolf tracks thrown into sharp relief by the torches. Her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat. They proceeded forward from the stair and stopped not at the door, but at a blank expanse of mortared castle wall.

All Daenerys could think of was the House of the Undying, and yet Winterfell could not have been more different. The Undying Ones wore a resplendent glamor to hide their true forms. The inside of the House of the Undying was a whorl of visions and prophecy, of supplicating warlocks in ever greater finery. Winterfell was about as resplendent as a sellsword company's battle camp and what magic she had seen was nothing of the beguiling sort. Is it sorcery if it is not learned, but part of what something is, someone is? Was there a difference between magic and sorcery? While Dany pondered, the door opened.

"Whatever are you waiting for?" Tyrion Lannister sounded almost cross, as if they were late for a mummery. Dany gave the girl's hand a squeeze and let Jon lead, hoping that after everything there'd at least be a fire to drive the cold away, if only for a little while. That hope was, of course, dashed at once, with the sight of a woman's bedchamber looking like it had snowed inside. Dany was in the middle of fighting off her latest shivers when Tyrion spoke. "This isn't the first time she's done this, nor the first time a bit of what's out there has made its way back in." Then she saw the woman in the chair by the window. Red hair fell to below the back of the chair, but the snow piling in her lap and her ivory dress were so white it almost hurt to look upon. Across her lap lay a staff as Ser Barristan had once carried when he'd been Arstan Whitebeard…but the old knight had not stuck a human skull atop his walking stick as it appeared the woman had. One that dogs have been at, if the tooth marks are any hint. Raven feathers dangled beneath it as well as a large white one Dany could not begin to guess at. Owl? When she turned to look to Jon, his dismay was so palpable she made sure to keep the little girl's eyes averted. "Sansa?" he asked, the pallid face flush with frost instead of blood. The girl's breaths had left little chips of it beneath her nostrils and around her mouth, how could she remain alive in such a state? Yet Tyrion was…well, not untroubled, but certainly wasn't acting as though the northern princess was much in danger. He put his hand over Sansa Stark's. "Princess, your brother has returned." he said gently. After only half a moment the color began to fill her face, the frost began to melt and run, rivulets fast escaping the lovely face they framed. She blinked, stirring feebly. Wordlessly, Tyrion handed her a cloth she used to wipe her face. "There we are." A moment ago, she looked frozen to death. But Sansa Stark was already brushing herself off, standing unaided before Dany knew it. Blinking the spots that must have lingered in her eyes, only then did the northern princess realize the company she was in. The trickle of color became a flood, as if the girl was embarrassed. She looked ready to curtsy, every bit the lady Daenerys had heard about, and then she rushed Jon, wrapping him in a hug.

"At last, you're back." she said, while Jon gasped out something to the same effect. "And they say when Starks go south, they don't come back." Jon's eyes closed and he put a hand to his sister's back.

"Sansa…"

"You can save it, Jon. You're no less Father's son than Bran or Rickon." Dany could only give him a sad smile over the princess' shoulder. The little girl murmured, not content it seemed to go unnoticed by her elders. Elders, Daenerys thought ruefully. We're children ourselves. And barely that.

The sound was enough to make Sansa relinquish her hold on Jon, looking down in surprise. Then she looked up, and Dany got a look at Sansa Stark as the gods intended her to look. Like Lady Catelyn, I suppose, if flesh remained to her. On second glance though, Daenerys reconsidered. She is taller than her mother, and there is something of the Stark hardness in her face. There was Tully, no doubt, Daenerys having seen her share of it in Riverrun, but only a fool or a child would mistake how a person looked for how a person was.

"Sansa, I…his son by deed, perhaps, but I am another man's get. When Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped our aunt, it was no kidnap at all. More, they wed in the northern fashion. I am the result. By birth, I am neither Jon nor Snow, but Aemon Targaryen."

"Aemon, the First of His Name." Daenerys added firmly, ignoring Tyrion's gape when Jon rather pointedly omitted it. Sansa Stark's face was a mask, looking from king to queen.

"Oh my, we ought get you into warmer garb, Your Grace!" The words were so unexpected Daenerys couldn't quite work her head around them. "Jon, surely we have something or other that can keep our guest warm? Better than those road-worn leathers…meaning no offense, Your Grace!" Either she's a master at hiding her thoughts or she knows no better how to react to the news than Jon did!

"None taken, Princess Sansa. I might be a bit harried, but Winterfell's hot springs were just as welcome as warm clothes."

"Our shared notion has been a masterstroke, princess." Tyrion said from Daenerys' elbow. "Your king and my queen have taken to each other quite beautifully." Dany blushed while Sansa blinked. Then her blue eyes widened in realization.

"I'm glad the songs of a girl's childhood could do some good in this hard world. Who's to say it wasn't always hard, but birth and raising kept it always from me?" She seemed to chew on Jon's words for a bit. "As for all this about Rhaegar and Aunt Lyanna…that would indeed make you Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Do our southern guests know?"

"None but us, as well as Bran and Howland Reed. I saw Lord Howland's memories of the rebellion in the godswood…and learned I did not come alone into the world. Bran's princess was ever just that, born Naerys, Princess of Dragonstone. Viserion is quite taken with her."

"The white dragon, the one arrived with us." Tyrion told Sansa, seeming to swallow his own incredulity. For now.

"That's not all, Sansa." Jon said, though it took everything he had to get that far. Daenerys slid a hand in his and squeezed. "It seems this world has not yet had its fill of Targaryens after all. Our child comes closer by the day…assuming the Others don't have their say first." Sansa's ladylike, almost guileless affect melted into something rather harder.

"Have no feat on that count, Your Grace. My brother and your blessed self did not endure what you have only to be torn apart now. Nor did what you brought into the world come to pass only for the Others to smash it at their leisure." Dany felt a shiver course through her. Then she gasped aloud at the sight of a direwolf simply fading into view, only Ghost its superior in size. The animal was not flesh and blood, nothing of the sort, and yet Sansa Stark caressed its head without a thought.

"Sansa…that cannot be Lady?" Jon asked, sounding as self-assured as Dany felt.

"It can. I've had adventures of mine own, Jon, and all without leaving the walls of Winterfell. Have no fear of Father's ghost. You are not the one who needs to worry about being set upon." she turned to Dany.

"Nor you, my new sister." She kissed Daenerys on the cheek. "You have no enemies here." She turned and the walnut staff flung itself from its corner at her, the northern princess catching it in a single dainty hand. "Call on Val before you tell your lords what you will, Jon." Sansa said, looking down at the girl between the pair of them who peered back up at her from behind Dany's leg. "As my mother ought have known, it is never a child's fault for being born." There she left them, the spectral direwolf padding off into invisibility behind her.

"What's happened to her?" Dany asked, while Jon looked at a loss.

"What's happened to everyone at Winterfell, Your Grace. Winter itself." Tyrion replied, smiling sadly and following after Sansa.

Val turned out to be a beautiful woman of the Free Folk, blushing profusely at the sight of Jon. The sight of Dany was enough to take her breath away, though. While the nameless little girl cried out in delight at the sight of the fire, rushing over to get warm, Jon sat in a high-backed chair, knees knocking wretchedly even as Val tucked another girl a scant year old into his arms. One with his grey Stark eyes.

"I remember telling you it was bad luck to name a babe before they finished their second year of life. When I realized…well, when…and then she came…I couldn't think of anyone, of anything, but Dalla." Val told him, looking a haunting pairing of apologetic and broken-hearted.

"When I learned I was carrying a child for the first time, he had a name before the day was gone." Daenerys said, still standing. Val looked to her. "Children should be no less loved because they might die. That isn't their fault. It may save the parents pain, but perhaps that's pain not meant to be blunted. As it happened, Rhaego came stillborn and never drew breath. I love him still, years later, and always will. No less than I love the child yet within me." She stepped over to where the girl sat, enthusiastically poking the fire with a stick. "If Jon and I are two hearts that beat as one, as the bards like to say, how can I leave out the parts that might cause me grief? And I don't mean this little hellion, I fully intend on raising her alongside our child to come. With any luck, she'll grow into a young woman as fierce and wild as the one who gave her life."

"With the gentle heart and depthless courage of the woman who gave her love." Jon replied, shaking himself a bit and bringing the baby girl to his chest to pat her back.

"Sometimes he's silver-tongued as a singer…" Dany began,

"…but he'll quicker stick his foot in his mouth the other nine-and-ninety of a hundred times." Val finished for her. She couldn't help but give a small smile.

"I suppose I ought wait for the Others to be through before I set to pulling you back to your feet, Jon. It seems every which way you turn someone is waiting to knock you on your stiff northern backside." Dany said, not bothering to try to set him at ease. He'll be in a daze for some time yet. Riding Rhaegal, shedding his bastard's taint for good, finding he has not one daughter but two… "Speaking of children and speaking of names…" She bent and scooped up the redheaded wildling in the making. "Surely she is meant for more than spearwifery. I would see her named properly, it will never do to leave her without one." The girl at once strained to get back near the fire but Dany deftly righted her in her arms, her fussing stopping with an indignant "Hmph!" "Gods, I hope I don't regret teaching her that…" Dany mused.

"As if. I know well the woman she'll grow up admiring. 'Hmph!' will be the least of it." Jon replied, kissing Dalla on the top of her tiny head before he gave her back to her mother.

"You could have done with giving the silver queen warmer wear before you got her into the springs, Jon." Val said, Dany's cheeks turning pink while Jon blushed red as a Lannister banner.

"Princess Sansa said much the same."

"Oh, her." Val huffed. "I prefer the sort of Starks that haven't got much more magic than warging. A lovely girl, when she's not in the grip of some untowardness or other. Pity she so often is." We saw a bit of that ourselves, didn't we? No wonder I was reminded of the Undying.

"I've seen the sort of magic men have every right to fear, Val." Daenerys said. "Essos had no lack of bloodmages and evil sendings. Whatever Sansa might get up to, it isn't blood magic."

"It saw Lady returned to her." Jon added, taking his elder daughter and looking into her face while she looked at him expectantly. "Whatever it is…the old gods of the north give it leave to be. I have other things to worry about…"

"Your queen and your daughters, aye. Might be I know one or two people could be troubled to part with this or that, get you in something fit for a queen." Val told Jon and then Daenerys, eyeing her quizzically. "It helps you're so dainty. Snow bear pelts aren't the sort of thing we find most every day beyond the Wall." Snow bears? "If I'm honest…I'd hoped to gift it to Dalla the day we made it past the Wall. Dalla my sister, I mean." Ah, so that's who the babe is named for. Val bit her lip. "As it happened, I passed it alone. But the gods take with one hand and give with the other, don't they?" She held her daughter close before slipping her into a nearby cradle. Then Val opened a trunk at the foot of her bed. "Most every clan gave something or other to go into its making…" When she rose, what looked something like the hrakkar pelt Drogo had gifted Daenerys tumbled from Val's arms. "Here we are." she said in a small voice. "Dalla was the one to wrap me in white and make me all the more enticing to those southron jackasses when I languished in that tower at the Wall. I sought to return the favor is all. I suppose I got to do this much at least." she said, helping Dany into what turned out to be a coat of thick white fur. Thin strands of red silk ran down its sides and the buttons that went two by two cold see the coat buttoned from Dany's throat to her toes. Most of the buttons were silver, but two were ivory and there was even one of dragonglass. "That silver hair of yours will only blow in your face should you get caught in the wretched winds that plague us nightly." Val said, pulling a soft hood over Dany's head, warmer than any made of leather.

"Is that Mance's silk?"

"I was hardly about to let it burn, Jon Snow." Val said, helping button Dany up. All the while the little girl gaped at her, starry-eyed. "You can do with better gloves, too. Sealskin, maybe. I'll see about those." Val commented, backing up to have a look herself. "What do you think, Snow?" When Jon didn't respond after a moment, Val snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Hellooo?" He blinked and muttered something unintelligible. "Bah. If it makes the stony King in the North gape like a lovestruck fool, you know it's just the thing." Val said, flustering poor Jon even further while Dany giggled.

Collecting himself, Jon snuck forward and plucked the girl off her feet, earning a gleeful shriek.

"I never thought I'd have to worry about naming a child of mine own. Small wonder now the time's come I've not the first notion of what to call you." he said to her.

"You dolt. If Snow's your name, it's her name too." Val said amiably, heading back to rock Dalla's cradle. Dany's smile faltered as Jon's own face fell.

"Ygritte told me a story once about a wildling raider who stole a rose from within these very walls. It seems Ghost did much the same thing, keeping her safe and then plucking her from winter's clutches. Rose Snow, now that's a pretty name." he said. "Our little snowdrop, our winter rose."

"Not Lyanna?" Daenerys asked gently, coming near. "Lyanna Targaryen's a pretty name, too."

"I thought that was your name?" Val asked.

"It turns out I'm no king's daughter at all, but the get of a knight who loved a queen." Daenerys said, touching her forehead to the girl's. Val was quiet for a moment.

"You spread that around, it will be a song before the moon turns."

"Nor am I a lord's bastard. A dragon prince took a liking to Lyanna Stark and here I am. No Snow at all." This time Val had no assuring words. "I assume you've met Bran at least once, right?" "Val nodded.

"Your so-called brother."

"Meera followed me into the world, it turns out. Raised in the Neck by Howland Reed and his wife."

"Well, she looks more like you than any of your blue-eyed cousins." The implications of Targaryen blood sunk in and Val paled. "That's why you could ride the green."

"You saw that?" "No, I was in here holding Dalla close and hoping the whole bloody place didn't come down on us. The whole bloody rest of the castle did, though. Morna was screaming that you'd get yourself killed, did you hear her?"

"Between Rhaegal's roaring, the drakes screeching and me vomiting hard enough to black out, I seem to have missed her." Val looked into Dalla's cradle. "Val, there's no cause to worry yourself. A babe will be of little and less interest to a dragon." A grown one, maybe. Somewhere in the bowels of Winterfell, though, a pair of eggs sat hidden and secret in Bytarys' care. I ought to drop by and see how she's faring. The eggs had not turned to stone with time as Dany's had, either. For all we know they might hatch at any moment. As if we needed more trouble. Jon gave Dalla a last kiss before picking Rose up. "Will we see you at dinner tonight?"

"Maybe. I don't like bringing Dalla where the crowds are. People look at her, they know who she is. Whose she is."

"Then we'll find a place for you by us. You may have to put up with a few direwolves, but…"

"I'd take Ghost's pack before any guards on two legs."

"Wait until you see the Skagosi. The bloody wolves have less hair." Daenerys quipped.

The air grew close, stuffy and hot as they returned to the springs.

"I might have called on Bytarys when we were first here." Dany said, feeling a bit guilty.

"I recall you falling asleep immediately when we made it into the water." Jon replied, smirking mischievously.

"Teasing thief." she replied. That earned her a squeeze on the behind and a kiss on the neck, Dany's shriek and giggling echoing off the stone walls. What I wouldn't give to turn here and head right back into the water. Instead they passed the springs and continued down, to where the stone grew rough and uneven. Rose slunk behind Dany again, peeking out into the darkness suspiciously.

"A bit like Skane. Well, Rhaegal's cave atop the bloody mountain anyway. Less razor rock and fewer seal bones, though." Jon said. "Just as plagued by wild thieves, unfortunately." Dany teased. "And there's not a thing for it but to let them steal whoever they like." He scooped her into his arms and kissed her nose. "Stolen."

"I am not!"

"Shh. You're supposed to be stolen. That means you can't talk 'till I say." Dany crossed her arms over her rounded front.

"Hmph!"

"That counts as talking."

"Count this." she said stubbornly, laying her head on his shoulder and pretending to sleep.

"If I don't put you down soon, you're like to fall asleep for true." Dany's cheeks burned. Their spat only ended when they found Bytarys' new dwelling, bare but for a few fresh sleeping skins in the corner, the blue two-headed dragon drawn on the wall…and the pit at room's center. A roaring fire filled the chamber with warmth, but it was nothing like the mountain's heart Bytarys had called home on Skane. Indeed, even as beads of sweat shone on Jon's face, Bytarys shivered wretchedly as she came near.

"You are cold." Daenerys observed, in High Valyrian. How peculiar that of all the claims to have preserved Valyria's tongue the best, it may well be that a single escapee and her descendants spoke purer Valyrian than all the wise men of the world. There was nothing to misunderstand in such a simple statement though, and when Bytarys answered she was only halted by the chattering of her teeth.

"Yes. I will be cold everywhere, I think. Everywhere save a mountain's heart." "Once this is done with, I will show you the warm lands of the world." Bytarys' language bled into the Old Tongue. "Everywhere is cold compared to where I was born." Daenerys frowned.

"What about Shireen?" Jon asked, matching Bytarys' language. "She ought be able to stoke this place a bit."

"The fireling's time is spent shaping bronze. She does not need to eat or sleep and this wolf's den is very large. There is always room for one more Tarly toy." She wrapped herself in a pelt, her voice muffled somewhat. A tapping made Dany's head turn to see Rose poking the edge of the firepit with her foot, tongue between her lips.

"Oh, gods." Jon muttered as he scooped her up, making her squeak in annoyance. Suddenly, Daenerys shivered herself. She has Targaryen blood, too.

"Jon." She said, her eyes on the eggs nestled in the center of the flames. His tousling of Rose's wild red hair stopped. He swallowed when he followed her gaze to the eggs. The boy lives still, deep within the king. Of course, asking Rose to sit still for a quiet moment was like asking fire not to burn, and immediately she began fidgeting and poking, trying to get Jon to entertain her again.

Daenerys carefully removed the splendid coat Val had given her, leaving it in Jon's care.

"You'd best keep it spotless too, Jon Snow, or I'll have you brooding on the eggs, flames and all." she declared. Then she approached the pair of them, heart hammering. How many times had she done the very same thing in Drogo's tent, when she was still half a child? With a slow exhale she pulled the midnight-blue egg from its place in the fire pit, feeling the heat soak into her palms. Were I any other woman, that might have seared my flesh to the bone.

"Be careful," Bytarys said over her shoulder, "the mountain's heart was hot enough to keep them alive even taken from the heat. This place is cold, even the flames burn weaker here." She pulled the polished-iron egg from out of the fire, cradling it tenderly. Well, any woman but the one before me. There was no reaction, no hint that what Dany held contained anything alive. When she brought it close for Rose to look at, the girl barely gave it a second glance, preferring to scurry up Jon's chest and ride on his shoulders.

"Worth a try, sweetling." Jon said apologetically. "Particularly if it's this wretch we're seeing about giving a bloody dragon." Jon tapped Rose's leg and she hugged him 'round his ears. Dany let Bytarys take the egg, white flecks flickering across its surface like stars across an inky sky.

"Give me the other." she said, almost without thinking. The iron egg was dutifully slipped into her hands. Rose showed a little more interest, though that might just have been because it was shiny. Wild thief, Dany thought, how fitting. Rose's giggles slowed suddenly, the light flickering across Bytarys' face slowing to a crawl. The babe inside her kicked, hard, the egg in her hands pitching so sharply she nearly dropped it. Jon was on her before she could so much as cry out, easing her off her feet. By then Bytarys had taken the iron egg in hand as well, setting it on the floor and giving it a wide birth. No one spoke, though Dany's heart was hammering so loud it seemed impossible to her that the others might not hear. She counted seven breaths before the babe kicked again, softer this time, the egg before her rocking only once but enough so that its pointed end faced her. Too early, she thought, a hand on her belly trying to calm the babe. Too soon. Either the quickling had tired itself out, or it went back to sleep when Dany ceased to touch the egg, because there was no more movement she could feel. Jon's lips brushed the top of her head.

"Are you alright?"

"No, but I feel just fine." Dany replied. When her knees stopped knocking, Jon helped her to her feet and back into the coat while Rose watched Bytarys set the eggs back in their accustomed place. The three of them left her to her solitude, which she seemed to prefer, Dany continuing to whisper to the babe inside her in her mind's eye. Sleep. The time will come. She remembered how the polished-iron egg had rocked on the chamber floor. For both of you.

Dany lazed in a chair while Jon saw a bath poured for her back in their bedchamber. Rose peered over the edge of the brass tub, murmuring uncertainly, poking the water and making its steaming surface ripple.

"No, no, no. Your mother deserves a nice long bath by herself without a few savages like us wearing her out." Jon said, picking her up with a single deft arm. "We'll make do with water out of a wooden basin. If we're lucky it may be lukewarm, hm?" Rose giggled, nodding.

"Are you going to go, already? I can scarcely relax with you standing there." Dany said, pouting, as one of the castle's serving girls carefully folded her coat and set it on the bed.

"Fine, we'll go." Jon stepped to the door. "Hmph!" he said, stalking off as Daenerys' laughter bounced off his back. The serving girl closed the door behind her and Dany was left alone to enjoy the heat of the bath, sinking up to her nose. Rather than wait for sleep to take her and lock her in Drogon's head, she tried to reach for him. Perhaps it's easier in sleep, she thought when the bedchamber did not disappear. Or he's just too far away. She doubted Drogon would leave the world he had found on a whim, especially one full of god-lizards, food, and endless mischief to dredge up from beneath the jungle canopy. And a city sized for giants to perch high above, surveying all around for countless leagues. It became a trial to keep her eyes open. She tried again, and her bedchamber was gone. The ruins of Vaes Tolorro surrounded her, looming even larger than they had when she stood in the City of Bones in the flesh. Turning, Daenerys got the shock of her life to behold her own face, sunburned and bald. And the size of one of those bloody dragonglass heads! The only sounds she herself could make were chirps and hisses, even as Dany's giant twin talked to her fellow giants in Dothraki or the Common Tongue. Realization set in. This is Vaes Tolorro as Drogon saw it when we came upon it years ago. This isn't Drogon's life, it's a memory. A dream. He perched on the huge Daenerys's shoulder, chirping loudly as he peered about for the others. The dream-Viserion lazed in the sun, a little ivory coil that only moved when the little khalasar moved off and only far enough to find a new spot in which to nap. Rhaegal was no bigger than a cat and yet he robbed baskets, pulled bits of leather from the khalasar's leather vests to chew on, and scarce went a few moments without snatching some foodstuff or other, slinking off to gnaw on his latest prize. Drogon alone took in the sight of the broken city around him, hissing importantly whenever someone came too near. We were little then, Dany thought, charmed at the sight of the dragons as the hatchlings they'd been. You still are, she all but heard Jon Snow tease. His voice was enough to make Drogon snort, the rumbling from within no hatchling's doing. Then Daenerys got the sensation of opening her eyes while they were open, the hot dry day in Vaes Tolorro vanishing as Drogon awoke. The night's rain fell hard enough to bloody a man's brow, the stones of the ziggurat steaming as they did. It was hot in Vaes Tolorro, Dan thought. It was hot in that cave on Skagos. But they were dry. This place is wet as a great sea, no wonder it hasn't burned down yet. The humidity would do for one of Drogon's tantrums in moments.

He had not thought on her in weeks. The she-lizard filled his thoughts now, and even though he searched the jungle over from dawn to dusk most every day, it seemed mixing it up with the god-ape had been enough of a scare to convince her to quit the area. That, or she was following the food. The rains had fallen tirelessly and the rivers had swollen so much that Drogon could catch glimpses of them even when awing, spitting the rushing water through the jungle canopy. The herds of cow-lizards had gone, from the harmless honking creatures that sang to each other to the truly terrible horned behemoths, irascible and stormily short-tempered. They ate only greens, no different than goats, and yet even god-lizards thought long and hard about trying to take one down. Worse, they were seldom alone, and circled up to form impenetrable circles around the young and even the old and useless, ringing them in strong flesh, heavy bone and long, sharp horns. Whenever the circle formed, it was the end of any hunt. Their heads ended in naught but beaks for shearing vegetation yet when pressed, they did not falter. Even when boxed in by the rare mated pair of god-lizards, they did not break ranks. It was only a matter of time, in Drogon's estimation as a hunter- and then they stampeded. The two were taken by surprise, they stalked too close, and the charge saw the male flattened beneath dozens of flat heavy feet. It was the failing cow the herd had been protecting's turn to be encircled as two dozen nimble little creatures darted out of the undergrowth, slashing at her legs and biting at her back whenever she was too slow to bring her huge head to bear. Even so, five among the pack lost their lives before she went down, fighting to the last drop of blood. The loss was acceptable, Drogon observed, as those who yet lived seethed around the carcass, devouring tons of meat in mere hours. Fang and claw, hoof and horn. That is the only law in this green hell. After the rains drove off the last of the herds, other monsters took their place. God-serpents fifty feet long, lizard-lions larger than Viserion's black queen and two new breeds of god-lizard. Drogon eagerly expected a spectacularly bloody display of claw and fang, but whenever the dark, sleek quick-footed sort crossed the path of the finned blue-grey water-dwellers, they almost completely ignored each other. Daenerys could feel his disappointment even halfway across the world. The finned ones in particular oft stood taller than his mate, issuing splendid lowing bellows, but they took no more issue with the ravenous dark land-dwellers than the other way around. All the while the rains fell, until fitness in the overflowing rivers or else living ankle-deep in water marked those who could remain. A rumbling overhead made Drogon look up, the sky blacker by the minute. Drogon retired to the top of his ziggurat, spending the remainder of the night roaring into the storm. Lightning split the sky asunder, lanced heedlessly into the furthest corners of the jungle and yet Drogon could almost feel it running though his body. It was no bluster, no groundless chest-puffing. This was primal, this was primacy. He brushed away what little thought he'd ever given to going back. He did not want to go back. He was made for this place, and it was made for him.

The sound of water being poured into the bath pushed the last sounds of the jungle away. Dany opened her eyes, half-hoping to see a hopeless tangle of red hair peeping over the far side of the tub at her. Instead, she beheld a young girl who could not have been five-and-ten holding a jug. When she saw the queen had awoken, she blushed and looked at her feet.

"Hello. What is your name?" Dany asked, happy to laze in the bath. All the better with someone to talk to.

"Astryd, Your Grace." If her flushed but fair face and soft-looking hands tell it true, she's no serving girl.

"And your house?" The question made the girl flinch, murmuring something unintelligible. "Pardon?" Dany asked kindly, aware her companion had plenty of reason to be skittish around her.

"Hasty, Your Grace." It was Dany's turn to start. She bit her tongue to stop herself from blurting out a dozen things in succession, regaining control of her tongue with difficulty.

"Oh? I suppose you know Ser Bonifer, then?" The girl nodded.

"Ser Bonifer is my uncle. He suggested to my father, Ser Bryond, that I should come to wait on you."

"Are there many Hastys in Winterfell?" Dany smiled to hide her nerves.

"My brother Tommard and I. We call him Tom often, he tries to play the brave knight even though he's only ten. Aunt Maris and her daughter Bonella Wells, named for Ser Bonifer. Ser Wyndon Wells died in the Rebellion and she grew up at Swiftrush, House Hasty's keep." She looked at her feet again while the room spun. A family, Dany thought, and nothing less. Thankfully, there was water nearby to wash her face in, elsewise Astryd Hasty might have seen her tears.

"Would you be good enough to help me dress, Astryd? Then perhaps you can introduce me to the rest of your house." Rumors fly in castles northern or southern. Surely word has trickled down even to the younger daughters of landed houses of what happened in the throne room. What was said, what was done. The girl spluttered a bit before answering, curtsying at the same time.

"At once, Your Grace. Ser Bonifer did tell me that I should bring him to you first, though." When Dany saw no uncertainty on Astryd Hasty's face, she understood why. Ser Bonifer must want a moment alone with me before we meet the other Hastys.

"Then fetch a thick dry cloth and something fresh from one of the trunks, I don't want to keep him waiting." Dany replied, standing as the girl helped her dry, dress, wrap up nice and snug in the white fur coat. She looked in the mirror nearby. I wonder what the others among the Free Folk will think when they see me wearing this? "Send Ser Bonifer along, if you please." Dany said, forcing back the upwelling in her throat. This has been a long time coming and more. She didn't fear being disappointed by whoever waited for her. Quite the contrary, she only hoped she would not be a disappointment to them.

Ser Bonifer arrived in a splendid fur cloak, a purple surcoat slashed with a white bend visible beneath it. All the same, he looked cold, and his breath came in telltale white clouds.

"Your Grace." he said, stopping in his tracks when he picked his eyes up. Dany felt her breath hitch.

"Is something the matter?" Aside from Mother's ghost standing before you, perhaps.

"Not at all, Your Grace." He gave the coat a long look. "The wildling look most suits you, it even matches your hair."

"It's snow bear fur, or so I'm told."

"It could be duck feathers for all I care, so long as it keeps you warm." She giggled.

"That it does, and well, too." She closed the distance between them, feet warm in thick fur slippers.

"Have you misplaced your boots?"

"If only. They were hopeless after going through the Mountains of the Moon and the Neck. I found new ones at White Harbor but as I'm not going to do much running just now, I'd rather be comfortable. And sometimes my feet swell so wretchedly boots would quite be beyond me."

"They swell?" he asked, mystified. Then he understood, breaths coming short and shallow.

"Peace, Father. All is well. Though, I'd like your blessing for the babe's sake, if not my own." She gave a small, shy smile. How strange, even after months of knowing. He took off his glove, put a hand to her cheek.

"A long and happy life to you and yours, my daughter. The Seven only know you could use it." Ser Bonifer said, kissing her forehead. "Now, we'd best be off before the king reappears and snatches you away."

"Where has Jon got to?"

"Has Your Grace not heard?" "I've been following Drogon through a jungle full of monsters in my dreams. It seems warging can pass from child to mother as easily as from father to child." Ser Bonifer shuddered. "A little redheaded girl, nearly feral, has become the terror of the kitchens. At first she made off with scraps, then she managed to steal a steak. When she got her hands on an apple tart, she all but dashed from one end of Winterfell to the other, whooping and howling. The king's been hot on her heels all the while, the chase it seems as much a joy to her as her plundered pastries." Dany put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Ha! That's what you get for using your ranger training all the time!

House Hasty might have been highborn, but they were hardly noteworthy in the grand commotion Winterfell had become. They took up only two bedchambers in a corner of the space allotted to the stormlanders, and those two tiny at that. I wonder what Robert Baratheon would have to say if he knew I had his cherished homeland in my veins? Would a Waters so threaten him, even one with Targaryen blood? Would a Hasty? Ser Bonifer knocked and the door opened in, all the while Dany felt as though she were floating. They surely know he's a father, but it's for me to tell them he will be a grandsire when the time comes. She let him take her hand and lead her in. They were as Astryd had told her, two women doing needlework by the hearth while a younger version of Ser Bonifer studiously whetted a sword in the corner, a boy at his elbow watching him carefully. Astryd curtsied shyly as before while the knight looked up, his eyes bulging. Hasty eyes, Dany saw. Just as his father has. With the fire flickering in her eyes, Dany could see Astryd's were the same dark green. Ser Bonifer cleared his throat and the others turned to look, the race to stand and present themselves won by the boy.

"Your Grace! I'm your cousin, Tommard-"

"Gods, Tom, a little composure." Ser Bryond said, putting a hand on his son's shoulder to steady him- and to give Daenerys a respite. The younger of the women at the needlework stood beside him, a mother's patient face framed with sunset blonde hair smiling demurely. The other woman was Hasty-born and no mistake, speechless at the sight of Daenerys.

"Your Grace, my sister Lady Maris Hasty and my brother Ser Bryond Hasty. His wife, Lady Cassrine, and their children Astryd and Tommard." He looked past them. "Where is Bonella?"

"Praying, as oft she does nowadays. I can't get the girl to eat more than half what she ought and she sleeps still less." Lady Maris said, her own face wrinkling in worry.

"I'll fetch her!" Tom cried, dashing off before his father could shoot a hand out and rein him in.

"Bonella had her heart set on following me into the Faith and becoming a septa." Ser Bonifer explained. "Then the Great Sept of Baelor burned and scarce a thing has gone right for the poor girl since. For the rest of us as well, at that." Ser Bryond added. "Well, for what it's worth, that's the whole of House H-" The door flew open, Tom standing on the threshold, face red and chest heaving.

"I found her! She was on her way back for the night!" he announced proudly.

"Well, are you going to let her in, lad, or keep her standing out there?" his father said. Sheepishly Tom shuffled over to his parents' side and another person followed him into the Hastys' chambers. She was older than her cousins, of an age with Dany or near enough. Bonella Hasty stood a bit taller than Dany herself, and the queen saw more than a bit of her own reflection in the face of the young woman. Evidently Bonella thought the same because Dany saw a bit of color rise in her cheeks, curtsying in wordless deference.

"Come now, Bonella, you've hardly become a silent sister." Lady Maris prompted.

"Your Grace." Bonella said. She even sounds something like me.

"Lady Bonella." Daenerys gave her a smile. Only too late did she realize the implications of her being there. Her father died in the rebellion. Raised at Quickrush, likely grew up seeing Ser Bonifer as a surrogate. I can't imagine how she feels to have her place taken. Her smile faltered as Bonella's green Hasty eyes slid down to her stomach. Or to lose the chance to give Ser Bonifer his first grandchild, now that becoming a septa is somewhat out of reach. Dany supposed she could not fault her new-met cousin. What must I seem to her? A godless barbarian at the head of a horde of eunuchs and savages clad in a bear fur. I have a better chance of getting the approval of Drogon's god-lizard.

"I grew up hearing stories of the Targaryens and their dragons. I never thought I'd meet one, though." Dany pursed her lips.

"They were men and women the same as the peasants working the fields they ruled. The dragons make up for it though…when they aren't rushing off into the wilds far from the eyes of men. Drogon for one seems to prefer the company of a certain god-lizard in a lush green jungle who knows where to mine." Dany gave a shrug while Bonella stared. "I never went a day in Essos without thinking what having a family of my own would be like. Not just possibly a husband or children, but parents, siblings…at least, siblings who cared for me. The Starks seem up to the task in their myriad ways, but your family and I share blood. I want to see you and yours returned to Quickrush whole and healthy, Lady Bonella. Regretfully, I doubt I'll be able to spend much time there. Dragons are wild creatures and they belong in the wild, the same as the Dothraki. It is the same for the giants and Free Folk. The Wall may be gone, but that doesn't mean the bloody Frozen Shore men are about to plant wheat next to the smallfolk of the Reach." The would-be septa shuddered. There was another knock at the door, as well as a gleeful giggling. It sounds like Jon finally caught Rose.

Tom whipped the door open as Bonella bid, Jon standing out in the corridor with Rose in his arms. Her eyes widened and she reached for Dany, her little face smeared with the filling of an apple tart. Giggling herself, Dany took her. The girl hugged her tight, putting her head on her shoulder.

"Tarts?" came the supplication. So she can speak.

"You've had three already, love. Let's get you some dinner first, then worry about anything else." Jon said.

"Tarts!"

"You look like you could use another bath." Dany observed, drawing a circle in the glaze on the girl's cheek.

"Or one in the first place, we never made it into the water." Jon said, sounding weary. "I was chasing our little wild rose all over the castle."

"Did you run your father a proper chase?" Dany said, nuzzling her nose to Rose's. The girl nodded eagerly, snickering. "A bath first and then dinner. We need not expect you to wear silk and play the demure princess, but neither can we have you look an utter shambles." The prospect of a bath did not please Rose, muttering sulkily.

"Please. It's a precious chance to get warm for a moment and besides, after Mole's Town and living with a direwolf pack, a bath is surely in order." Jon said. Dany bid the Hastys keep safe and left, glad to give them space.

"So you met your father's family?"

"I did. I'll have you know they're a proper highborn house, too. Hardly the place for a pair of wild thieves."

"Who's gone and lost a kitten? I seem to hear a lot of insistent mewling. Perhaps some warm milk?" Jon replied, making Dany's face redden. After Rose's bath (during which Jon got splashed a lot,) they wrapped her in a little coat of her own and even found her shoes. Those she didn't care for at all, refusing to budge from where she stood, pointing at her feet and grumbling. "Oh? Are shoes too soft for the wild princess? Come on then, if you think you're hard enough." Jon said, Rose yanking them off at once and wriggling her toes in all her five-year-old freedom. He pocketed her shoes, winking at Dany.

"She should wear shoes…"

"The Hornfoots don't and it doesn't hurt them any."

"The Hornfoots' feet look like bloody cooking pans. A princess, even a wild one, ought have a bit more decorum." Dany said firmly, hand held out for Rose's shoes. Jon duly produced them, Rose snuggling into him and away from them.

"No!"

"Yes. Your feet will thank you. And shoes will keep you nimbler when you get it in your head to raid the kitchens again." More grumbling came from the girl as she was reshod, looking at her shoes darkly. "There, now you look half-presentable."

"Hmph!"

"Hmph, hmph. Are you ready to have dinner?" A little stomach growling was all the answer she needed. The three of them headed for the Great Hall, Rose still mumbling under her breath.

With each night getting colder than the last, nobody in Winterfell was about to turn down a hot meal and the hall had more people in it than Dany suspected it ever had when the castle was just the home of the Starks. Lords and ladies from all over Westeros, the preeminent men and women among the Free Folk, sellsword captains… the noise was enough to make Rose murmur nervously. To Dany's secret joy the high table was given a modicum of space…though whether that was out of reverence for the Starks or the presence of several direwolves laying out on the floor between it and the other tables in the hall was perhaps a question that answered itself. Ghost and his silver-grey companion hung back nearer the table, Nymeria nuzzling Arya Stark's elbow where she sat while Summer sniffed tenderly at a bundle in Meera's arms while Bran spooned little helpings of soup into little Howland's mouth. Rickon was less at ease and Shaggydog was hardly mistakable for anything but what he was, a wild beast. The youngest of the Stark siblings poked at the steak before him doubtfully, the fork and knife aside his plate lying untouched. Hardly fresh-hunted meat, still bloody. Sansa contented herself with an apple looking every bit the northern princess in her ivory gown, though her walnut staff was absent. Dany couldn't see Lady, but by now she knew that meant nothing. The hall quieted when people began to realize that Dany and Jon had joined them, Ghost giving Rose a lick. Jon handed her to Arya, who promptly stuck her tongue out at the girl. Gleefully Rose copied her, clapping her little mitten-clad hands. Val sat on Rickon's other side at the end of the table, murmuring to Dalla in her swaddling. Rather than sit at his accustomed place, Jon led Dany around the table, the better for the rest of the hall to see them. By then the torches were the only ones still speaking, their crackling the only sound. Dany saw most every face she'd met since landing on Dragonstone in the crowd. Jon's face was stone. How to say it? How to even begin?

"Eddard Stark was an honorable man. That ought have been the first clue to the realm that something was amiss when he returned home from Robert's Rebellion with a bastard son in tow. Maybe it's the eagerness of men to believe even the most righteous of them are as fallible as the rest, I don't know, but Lord Stark lied when he said the babe was his. Well and good maybe, but then where did he get the child? He got him from his sister Lyanna, bequeathed to him with her last breaths to protect him from Robert Baratheon's fury. Why would the new king seek the end of a mere newborn? Well, any child sired by Rhaegar Targaryen was fair game in his mind, if the Sack of King's Landing was any tell. They even married in secret to stir the pot a little more, ensuring the boy was legitimate, as well as his twin sister. By birth I'm not a Snow. I'm not even a northman. I am Aemon Targaryen, the First of His Name. Twin to Naerys Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, whom you might better know as Meera Reed." Not one person said a word. Now would be a good time for the Others to provide a distraction. Instead the silence lingered. When still nobody spoke, Jon tapped the table's edge behind him and made to sit, to Daenerys' incredulity.

"That's it?" she asked. "There's food and I'm hungry." Jon replied, prompting a bit of reflexive snickering, sniggering and a few accidental snorts of laughter from the Free Folk and northmen. Then Dany's stomach rumbled.

"Oh, good. I'm hungry, too." she said, earning a few laughs.

"When aren't you hungry?"

"It's hardly my fault, I seem to recall you having something to do with it!"

"Something, aye, but not everything." he said, easing her into his arms and backing to sit on the table. She slapped his chest.

"Some dragon king you are!"

"Is that what I am? Dragon kings have thrones as I recall, and you burned mine. Hardly manners befitting a dragon queen." She gave a scream of frustration. "Ooh, there's a little dragon, I think." Laughter filled the hall even as Dany's face flushed, lips going taut.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow! A dragon king doesn't need a throne, he only needs a dragon!" she shouted in his face, killing his reply by pressing her lips to his even as the rest of the country watched.

"I don't suppose that could have much gone any better." Jon said, the pair of them snug in bed after they'd eaten their fill. The Free Folk had given him a good ribbing and a few of the northern lords saw the funny side in turning Torrhen's tale on its head, but the rest of the hall had been less jovial. It was not hard to imagine why. Where does this leave them? Dany mused as Jon buzzed at her ear like a persistent fly. I suppose it only matters if we succeed in making the Others shove off. Dragons can do that, at least. Rebuilding the country afterward… A blink and she was in the jungle again. Or, above it rather, as Drogon left the firmament that kept his city hidden behind. Intent on finding his god-lizard, Dany knew at once. She heard the beat of his wings, his occasional rumblings to himself. Back in Winterfell where she slept, Dany could feel herself breaking out in gooseprickles. He's grown still larger. Rhaegal and Viserion had found kingdoms of their own, but seals and goats and…whatever Viserion had been eating were not the same as eating lizard-cows. Every day in this green world, Drogon had eaten until his stomach hurt. Every day, he'd flown above it until his wings were sore. At last, he heard a familiar heavy step that made the treetops shake. It seems he's found her. At least he's happy. His contentment suddenly clouded and he landed in the branches of the nearest tree, scaring the daylights out of a spider near as big as he was. How long had it been? Since he'd left her, them, all of it? How many times had the sun passed overhead since his fire had first burned hot enough to turn iron into water? He returned to the air, trying to outfly whatever lingered at the corner of his mind like a terrible storm just beginning to appear on the horizon. He looked around, saw nothing but rolling jungle in all directions. Everything in it, the rivers, the mountains, the ruins, all were his. And yet…and yet…