A/N: Longclaw: The moment is here. Probably the biggest part of the story in my opinion.

BRuh4: Hey guys, brought another one out for you. We've really appreciated the support these last few chapters.

This one... well, it's something.

Stay safe, y'all.

Enjoy.

Chapter 30: Goodbye

Her guards came to attention as soon as she entered the hallway. Daenerys felt calm temper her at the sight of the Unsullied. Such a presence in her life and her conquests since her the stunning triumph that transformed her from a beggar Queen into a force to be reckoned with - that moment of strength and power never ceased to flow through her.

She needed that power now. Facing Jon Stark. Not that she dreaded seeing him, but that she might want to see him too much. But the blood of the dragon didn't cower. Daenerys pushed open the door and entered.

Dozing lightly, the sound of the door woke him rather easily. Honestly, at the glint of silver hair, Jon found his instincts validated. After Aemon's chat, her arrival was rather preordained by his read of the situation. Even still… for once he was glad to see her. Glad that his determination of her impending arrival wasn't just wishful thinking. "Forgive me, your Grace. But I didn't take the chance to freshen myself up."

Her Unsullied brought in a chair from a different room, Dany sitting down as soon as it was placed beside her. Taking a deep breath, yet straight and decisive, Daenerys welled up the inner fortitude to say what she wished to say from a position of strength. Less worried about seeming weak to him… more building the strength against her own cowardice. That I don't wish him to leave… But if she did keep him, was it truly how Dany would want it? No, I have to do this.

Tapping his fingers against his leg, Jon could only take so much of this. Waiting around until gods know when, while she simply stared down at him silently. "Well… I know that I am pretty much a captive audience, but can we…"

"Lord Stark," she announced, his normal snark managing to boost her fortitude. "I have come to the conclusion that you will never bend the knee."

He blinked, her words surprising him for a moment. Only a moment, for Jon started chuckling. "It took you this long to come to that knowledge?" After his conversation with Aemon, Jon didn't wish to be antagonistic with Daenerys any further - merely obstinate if it need be. But this was truly funny. "I mean, the fact that a dragon or your sellsword torturing me didn't make me break should have been enough warning."

She smirked in spite of herself. "Perhaps it should." Looking at him without the lense of being enemies, his stubbornness was actually quite charming. "Given this determination, I have decided to release you back to the North."

For a few seconds, Jon didn't answer. He heard her completely. But the words didn't fully register. Go home? He could go home? After all this time? He'd truly had wondered if he'd ever leave this damned island. Many thoughts started to race through his mind. So fast he couldn't recognize it all. But it all came to a standstill when his eyes settled on the woman before him again.

What about Daenerys?

"What about you?" he said.

"You need not worry about me," she said, shaking her head. "Also, if you do wish to leave, you must swear a vow of neutrality for the wars to come."

"Well, I don't think the meager army I have left will add that much to Stannis' forces," Jon said.

"Regardless, you must swear it if you are to leave."

"Done," he'd not pass up a chance to go home anytime soon.

"An easy choice for you?" she asked, not surprised.

"Not much of a choice to me, an easy one, sure," Jon answered plainly, though he felt the stirring of conflict within him. A new feeling, one he would not have had even a week before. "But I'm wondering why you're allowing me. Doesn't seem smart for you."

"Truly, it was Tyrion's idea. He convinced me. I decided it was best for both of us."

Nodding, Jon peered at her. "I can see the benefit to you… can see why you took his advice. You… truly wish to be seen as different." A look of triumph appeared on her face, convinced she finally had gotten to him. "Now, you haven't done a good job at it, but the motivation is there. That I can admit and applaud, though you have to do better."

"Better?"

"I suspect you've come a long way, from what I heard. Traipsing across the Red Wastes, enduring your brother… Perhaps there is hope for you."

Furrowing her brows, Dany was… if elated - though that emotion carried its own questions - also a bit confused as to why the intractable Jon Stark that defied Drogon rather than bend the knee, was now suddenly concerned about her and her efforts, mentioning her brother… Then it hit her. "You spoke to my uncle, recently, didn't you?" She knew Aemon's goings and comings, and any visitor to Jon Stark's apartment especially managed to reach her through Missandei. Aemon must have doused him in her history. How'd that slip my mind? She should have put that together.

Everything with Jon Stark messes with my head.

Jon shrugged. "It's your damn castle. Why wouldn't you know?"

Blunt, yet earnestly so. Dany found herself appreciating it… perhaps she always did. "A Queen has so much information to digest. Some unimportant things slip through."

"So I'm unimportant?" It affronted him more than it should.

Blinking, Dany bit the inside of her cheek. "I didn't say that." Gods, he had been in the top three of her concerns for moons - perhaps even the top concern, so much did Jon Stark fill her thoughts. "What did you and Aemon speak of?"

"Why didn't you ask him?"

"I respect his privacy."

"And not mine?"

"Regardless of my declaration, you're still my prisoner until you accept." Her lips curled up in a smirk, regarding him… appreciatively. "You have no privacy yet."

He snorted, grinning slightly as well. "I'm less insulted than you would think."

"I think a lot of things, now tell me what you two talked about."

Jon's response was quick. "You."

"That didn't require much hedging."

"It's the truth." He spread his hands out. "What else would we talk about?"

Daenerys highly hoped it was more the former than the latter at this point. If his conversation with Aemon went as well as mine did, then that could be true. "I presume you spoke negatively of me."

Sitting back down, for once Jon averted his gaze. Normally defiant and facing her directly in his attacks, this time he demurred. "You did burn my men, and invaded Westeros without care to the wishes of anyone."

Her teasing mood turned sour, Dany's anger and irritation piqued. This again? "I should have known you'd fall back to that, Jon Stark." To think he still thought her a monster that burned innocents alive without care? It… hurt. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again. I'm not here to harm people but to help them. To pull the forgotten and beaten down out of the shit lives they've always known. To…"

"To break the wheel, yes, I'm familiar." Looking up and seeing the fire in her violet eyes, he sighed. "Your Grace, I am not seeking another pointless argument with you. You have sought to give me my freedom without subjugation and that speaks volumes. I'd be a fool not to acknowledge it." Some of the fire left her eyes, yet the scowl on her face and the way Daenerys tilted her hips gave off something like 'you've been a fool about many things.' You know nothing, Jon Snow. "But that is what I told Maester Aemon. You were foolish to come to Westeros the way you did."

He mollified her anger… somewhat. "And how do you figure that?"

"You speak of breaking their chains, but they have no chains," Jon replied firmly. "They are free."

"You think their world is one to be proud of?" Dany scoffed. "That you wouldn't want to change it?"

"No... but you can't go around and claim that they are slaves, either." He pursed his lips. "That's what I said regarding you needing to do better. You were born in Westeros, yes, but you weren't raised here. Essos is where your mindset is, and if you continue with that then you will lose."

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly, this isn't Essos," Jon said, pointing at the ground. "This is Westeros. Two completely different lands."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because you treat the people the same. Westeros isn't some untamed land of slaves and slave masters. With several different cities with their own Kings and Queens," he told her. "As I said, the people here are free. They have no chains. They are bound to nothing. You cannot come here to this land and try to conquer it like your ancestors. The people here will never forgive you."

"How should I go about it then? If you're so damned smart?" she prodded.

"You act so high and mighty like you're such a better choice than Stannis or Cersei. Stomping your foot and yelling about breaking the wheel, it all amounts to nothing if you cannot show anyone why you're worth following. You've done it before, with all the people you have behind you. But still, Westeros is different. To get what you want, you'll need to do it a different way."

"You act like you have all the answers." And yet she might want his answers. If Dany was wrong to keep him chained, more of her plans could be wrongly thought out.

"I don't. Far from it. People followed me and I still don't know why. I'm just making this up as I go along."

"It appeared as if you were a seasoned leader, the way your men obeyed your commands," she said. Remembering how all his men bent their knees when he told them to. Despite Drogon looming near, many didn't bend until he told them to. They were all loyal to him.

"I just think I was in the right place at the exact right time. For Stannis to see me, I suppose. That's the only reason I ever had people follow me."

"My Uncle believed even if you had stayed at the Wall you would've become Lord Commander."

"Some wishful thinking, I think. I never had a chance at Lord Commander."

"Aemon believed in you."

"I was always thankful for him. I always felt as if he was on my side. Even when I felt surrounded on all sides."

"It's only right I thank you, in a way, you brought my Uncle to me. He never would've made it here if it wasn't for your impudence."

To that, Jon replied with a cheeky smile. "If Stannis finds out that I helped you, I could be in big trouble."

"If I wanted to sow even more discord in his ranks, I could hand you over to him and have Varys spread some rumors." But her smirk belied her lack of seriousness. "I'm not above such underhanded measures. Sometimes they are justified, but for you, they are not."

This had to be interesting. "And why is that?"

"Because your goal was never the throne… or any throne for that matter. Regardless of the reality of the ice monsters, you merely want to defeat them." Beneath the enigma of Jon Stark, Daenerys was starting to see the man - the bastard born to the honorable Eddard Stark that wanted nothing but found himself struggling for everything. "Them and keeping your family safe, I suppose."

An image flashed in his mind, one of his father and siblings on the last day before the journeys. Before the seven hells unleashed themselves upon House Stark "Aye… my family. Deep down, I think that's what you yearn for too, a family. In that we're the same." He never would've thought he shared anything with a rider of fire-breathing monsters, but he did. "Unlike me, though, your only family is a man close to death's door. I can't imagine how that makes you feel." It didn't escape him that she was now glaring - he had delved too deep. "Seeing as I'll be leaving, might as well lay it all out there."

"I knew you'd want to leave," she started, tone low. "Yet, perhaps I didn't expect…"

Their eyes locked in on each other, Jon's suddenly widened. Coming to a rather… important conclusion. "You don't wish for me to leave." A simple sentence, but one with massive meaning. "You know I have to leave, or rather that you can't continue to lock me up. However, you truly wish me to stay."

Eyes averting their gaze, biting her lip, Daenerys sighed, needing to rise from her seat. Setting the chair aside, she crossed her arms. "It seems to me that you don't wish to leave either."

"I've made my desire to return home to my family apparent for weeks."

"That you have," she continued, turning the tables. "But the light in your eyes, the sense of hope returning, it's been absent. You've spent the last hour arguing with me over… strategy, rather than the logistics of your return. That makes me wonder about your own feelings on the matter." Say what one would about Jon Stark, he truly kept her on her toes in a way even Tyrion couldn't.

Jon narrowed his eyes at her. "I think you're trying to distract yourself from your emotions, Queen Daenerys."

Daenerys' eyes sparkled, her name sounding rather… smooth in his northern brogue. "And I think you are doing the same, Lord Stark."

"What can I say? I'm a former bastard from the North. Up there, we don't much know what to do with our emotions."

"But bury them? Is that what you do?" Dany replied quickly. Her conversation with Tyrion came to mind.

Seemingly taken off guard, Jon huffed, "What are you talking about?"

"Instead of dealing with your emotions and issues, you bury them within yourself. So that you can ignore them," she told him, smirking a bit. "You'd rather brood then comprehend what you feel."

"I know exactly what I feel," Jon retorted. "It's just that I understand the reality of what I feel. It's impossible."

"I don't think it's impossible."

He shrugged, looking at his feet. "It feels impossible."

"But it doesn't have to be. It can be real. Just like we are, real as ever."

"As it was in the cave?" Jon asked, raising his eyebrows.

His words brought her back to that moment. Reeling from the paintings on the cave, that his seemingly nightmarish jibberish could actually be real… A moment of warmth, of joy that may have emerged from the cold… "I thought so at the time. But you made yourself clear." The look on Jon Stark's face had been etched into her memory. One of a man coming to his senses, knowing that lust and confusion brought him close to a horrible mistake.

A subtle scoff left Jon's mouth, "If you're referring to how I recoiled, you might remember you did something similar. It was only natural given the circumstances. Especially three angry savages ready to put a blade in my back if they saw me too close to their Queen."

"Khaleesi…" she replied, glaring at him. "That's my title to them, and they are as much savages as those living beyond the Wall are to you."

"They aren't savages," Jon hissed.

"Neither are the Dothraki."

While challenging her, part of his mind remained calm enough to realize the similarities - both of them have achieved wonders with a race of peoples demonized as barbarians: he bringing the Wildlings south of the Wall and she bringing the Dothraki across the Narrow Sea. Two souls… so different and yet so similar. "The Dothraki seem to revere you more highly than anyone else," Jon finally pointed out, gesturing at her. "I expect they'd defend you to their last breath. Though the Dothraki I fought during our battle went down easily enough. There was that huge one though." Jon raised his hand far above his head to accent his point. "Big fucker, with a scar on his face, and a bushy beard. He might've got the best of me."

Dany frowned, "Korro?" She remembered one of her bloodriders with that description being lost in the fighting. "You killed Korro?"

Jon shrugged and half-laughed, "I suppose. If that was his name. He died just like the rest."

Not knowing whether to be impressed or furious, Dany sighed, saying, "I suppose you were the better that day."

"If not for your dragon, I would've shown you how much better I was." Jon grinned, finding a slight pleasure in bragging as if he were Robb or Theon for a moment. "We had your army stopped cold. You outnumbered us massively and we still almost triumphed."

Even Daenerys had to admit he was right. Barristan and Jorah - when he was alive - spoke of foes and rivals that were nevertheless mighty warriors worthy of respect. Those that fought with all they had but did so with honor. Jon Stark is nothing but an honorable warrior worthy of respect. "Even from dragonback, you made an imposing figure. In the thick of the fighting with your men. None of the slavers or cowardly Khals that I faced before would think of even allowing themselves in a moment where they didn't have complete control."

"I know, but I'm not most men." He met her gaze, an intensity washing over him that wasn't… entirely unpleasant. "Probably why I'm still alive."

"True," she nodded, the small smirk returning. "Perhaps you dazzled me a bit, though that may have been your sword." A beautiful Valyrian steel bastard sword… it didn't shock her that Jon Stark carried one, given all his skills. But Tyrion had pointed out once that it wasn't Ice, the ancestral blade of House Stark. "Where did that blade come from? For I'm sure there's a story there." While teasing and warm, she saw his features harden.

Jon leaned back, sighing. "It's not the best of memories for me." But this only made her more curious, so he continued. "I saved the Lord Commander's life from a wight. He gave me Longclaw as a sort of gratuity."

"Longclaw… Jorah once spoke of a sword he lost called Longclaw."

"The ancestral Valyrian steel blade of House Mormont, a bastard sword now in the hands of a bastard. How… ironic." He thought back on the Lord Commander wistfully. "I admired Jeor Mormont greatly… I suppose we have that in common."

"Both admiring a man of House Mormont? Aye, it seems the world is small that way." There was a pleasant silence. "About your sword…"

"Gods, don't tell me that sellsword has it." Honestly, if Jon had to die by dragonfire to keep his blade out of Naharis' grubby hands, he would seriously consider it.

Shaking her head, Dany enjoyed how he seemed to relax. The stress lines leaving his eyes, making him look like the young man he was. Young and handsome. "Before you depart, it will be returned to you," she reassured him. "I promise. It won't be right for me to keep it."

This truly surprised him. "Why? You defeated me in battle fairly." It was as Maester Aemon said, the dragon was but a tool. Had he rode one, there was no chance he wouldn't have used it to free Sansa at Winterfell long before. "House Targaryen lost both its swords. You could replenish it - why give it back to me?"

She exhaled slowly, examining his face, "I saw you fight with that blade. You looked graceful. Anyone else with it would look like a child with a sword much too big for them." Daario certainly would have, as would she. "Seeing as the next time we see each other could be on the battlefield, I might like to see you once more like that."

"A battlefield? Aren't I supposed to be sworn to neutrality?"

"Yes, you are. But time changes things. Who knows? When I take the throne and return to the North for your fealty, you could still want a fight."

"I think I've seen enough of your dragon burning my people," Jon replied lowly. "I try to honor my vows besides."

"Oh, I've seen that. Your insistent righteousness," Dany huffed. "I've seen quite a lot more you as well. You're not a difficult book to read."

"And what do you know about me?"

"You're stubborn, more than anything," she said. "Anyone can see that. Once you've got a notion in your head you stick to it. You are unmoving. Tyrion dared to call you unstoppable, once you've got your eyes set on something, that's where you are. You don't change your mind."

Jon held his hands up in defeat, "You've got me pegged. A stubborn old goat I am."

You're anything but old, Jon Stark… old of mind, perhaps, but not old by far. "You're honorable to a fault. Any other man would've bent the knee before me if it meant they could be free," Dany relented. "That's the most interesting part about you. It confounds me. I thought for sure, eventually..."

Her words, much of it was praise. Something he'd hear from Davos or Arya or Sansa. Somehow, he valued it just as much… if not somewhat moreso. "I told you I wouldn't in the beginning. You should've believed me."

"How could I? I didn't know you. You were an anomaly."

"Were?"

"I told you. I've seen quite a lot of you."

Jon dared to dream again. "You like what you've seen?"

"I do." Her response was quick. So quick the words emptied from her mouth before she had time to consider them. Immediately she thought she might regret saying it. How she liked what she saw. But she didn't. It felt good to tell him.

Staring at her in a sort of wonder, Jon felt a stirring that hadn't come to him since Ygritte. "What if I told you that I feel the same way?"

Her heart fluttered. "I'd be glad to hear it."

There was no denying it now. "I haven't forgotten how I felt in the dragonglass cave," Jon whispered, but loud enough for her to hear. "Don't think I will anytime soon."

Dany didn't reply right away. Even avoiding his gaze. But suddenly she met his eyes, a tiny sparkle amidst the violet. "What would've happened if we hadn't been interrupted?"

Without speaking, Jon rose and neared himself to her. She tensed at their closeness. His steady breathing caressed her complexion. They looked at each other in the eyes as his hand came to her face. As he did in the cave, except this time, this thumb slowly brushed over her cheek, just under her eye. Their first touch, she closed her eyes and leaned into him. His palm opened to receive her. She half expected hard, calloused experience against his skin. Instead, it was the sweetest thing she'd felt against her... perhaps ever. His hand was weathered, for sure. But the layer of softness sent her into a tailspin. Before she knew it, her own hand came up to hold his in place.

Her hand felt wonderful. Not a searing heat, but more a gentle warmth. Nothing as he had ever imagined the Dragon Queen to be. "What more need I say?"

"Nothing," she replied. It was she who took a step back then. She realized how futile it all was. He is leaving. What was there to be gained? Nothing would come of it. Best that she stop it before anything started. Not looking at his undoubted sadness, Dany turned, heading towards the door.

"Your Grace…" He was confused. Why was she leaving? "Daenerys…"

"A boat is coming for you. It should be here on the morrow. It will take you to White Harbor," Dany said. "Be happy, Lord Stark, for you're going home. There's joy in that. I'm sure your family will take you in with open arms. It's where you belong. The south isn't for Starks."

Jon went after her. "Don't leave like this. I may never see you again."

"I know. That's why I wish to go now before things get… uncertain."

"Daenerys, don't leave," he pleaded.

She stilled, standing before the door, her back towards Jon. His use of her name… so sweet on his tongue. As if they were intimate, not foes facing off against each other in the Game of Thrones but lovers in some fantasy. Her heart wanted her to stay, but her sharp mind knew better. Eventually, she gained the strength to regard him. Needing to grimace a bit to keep from showing him what she felt internally. She yearned for him. She burned inside for him.

Nevertheless, she said, "Goodbye."

"Lord Greyjoy." Theon stopped walking, flagged down by Naharis - jogging over to him. "Her Grace is preparing for an audience in the throne room."

"It's after dark… and there's a storm outside. Why would…?"

"Don't look at me, my friend. I'm just relaying to you the Queen's orders. Kicked me out of bed and everything to set it up, and you remember what I promised you earlier."

And here Theon was, his heart beating out of his chest as he arrived at the corridor where Jon was being kept. The two Unsullied guards standing ramrod straight drawing him like a magnet to the door. They obviously recognized him, for one grabbed the door handle and opened it, revealing the quiet, hunched over form of Jon Stark resting atop the cot. There was a tremble in Theon's hands, apprehensive of who was for all intents and purposes his foster brother's reaction.

He didn't have to wait long. Noticing the Ironborn standing in the doorway. Only a slight widening of his eyes breaking through the mask. "Theon."

A slight sheen of sweat formed on Theon's forehead. "Jon." He stepped in. "I'm glad to see you're well."

"If you had come several moons ago, you wouldn't have been able to say that." His expression changed to a glare. "I would hit you, but I'd rather not piss off the Queen's council more than I have."

Hanging his head, Theon nodded. "I probably can't count on my all fingers the number of people who didn't want to punch me."

Jon lifted a brow. "You probably could have for as long as I've known you." They stared at each other for a moment before both chuckling dryly. Sharing some dark humor in the midst of all this. "What are you doing here? I mean here, specifically?"

He stood straighter, motioning to the door. "Queen's calling for an audience. Sent me to escort you."

Jon blinked. This was surprising - she had just been here no more than a few hours before and had seemingly wished to end personal contact. "And she sent you?" He hoped it was true, prayed it to be true… if only to see her again.

"No, she sent one of her advisors."

"Hmmm…" He couldn't see Missandei or Ser Barristan doing this. Probably Tyrion. He likes playing mind games, seeing how I react. "Alright." Jon stood, rolling his shoulders back. "I'll try not to kill you long enough to get me there." Eyes moved to his sword. "Me unarmed… it would be a fair fight."

Theon chuckled again - it was good to see Jon the same man he knew, if older, wiser, and tougher. Hells, we've all changed. While the Unsullied attempted to shackle him, Theon waved them off. "No need. I'll watch him well." He placed his hand on the hilt of his sheathed blade, waving them off. Ironic, considering Jon was probably right. Out of all those at Winterfell, he had been the most prodigious swordsman.

They walked silently along the hallways for a minute. Both unable to find words. "Didn't expect to see you again," Jon finally said. "Heard your ship was raided by your uncle. Thought you may have died."

"Almost did," Theon confessed. "Euron killed two of the Sand Snakes. Probably the others along with two-thirds of the Dornish Lords… and my sister. In front of me."

"I'm sorry." Jon was genuine.

"Barely remembered her before I went to Winterfell. We essentially resented each other when I got back to Pyke… though she tried to save me from... Ramsay." It was still hard to say his name. "How is Sansa… and Rickon… are they well?" He was hesitant, hoping against bad news.

Sensing he was legitimately concerned, Jon lessened his frostiness to Theon. "They were both well last time I saw them. Arya's back too. Healthy and in good spirits."

Breath hitching, Theon clutched his chest. Calming his nervous breathing. "Thank the gods. I feared the worst." They turned a corner, entering a tall and wide grand hallway. Darkness banished for a moment by lightning, storm roaring against the walls.

"Sansa will be glad to hear you alive… not necessarily which side you're on." He eyed Theon judgingly. "I asked you to do something for me, Theon."

The Ironborn heir sighed. "If I could have done it, I would have. It was impossible."

"One faction allied with Cersei Lannister. What problem would yours have had had they allied with Stannis?"

"Yara chose Daenerys, largely because Euron wanted to offer himself to her first." At Jon's questioning gaze, he elaborated. "My uncle was going to suggest a marriage alliance with the Dragon Queen."

At that moment Jon felt a sudden anger flare through him, punctuated by a crack of thunder. An urge to rend Euron Greyjoy alive… only to gradually calm after a moment. Where did that come from? The thought of the Ironborn pirate being anywhere close to Daenerys making him both sick to his stomach and seeing red? "So you broke your promise to Sansa and I in order to head off your uncle getting dragons on his side?"

"While Yara put that a bit more profanely… aye. That's it."

Jon regarded that fairly. "Smart of her. From what I've heard I'd rather have you with Daenerys than your uncle." While he nodded, Theon didn't look at him. "Do you remember what I told you if you betrayed us?"

Theon continued to stare ahead as they reached the Throne Room. "Yes."

"Good."

Seeing no guards at the front, Theon blinked in surprise but nevertheless pulled open the door, easing his way in behind Jon.

The throne room was as intimidating as one would think of coming out of Old Valyria. Black, high ceiling, throne jagged out of the hybrid dragonglass material rumored to have been made with a combination of advanced masonry and magic. Only a few torches mounted around the walls kept the room lit - large candelabras untouched. In fact, there was no one there at all. "You said there was supposed to be an audience?" Jon said, brows furrowed.

Walking ahead of him, Theon was just as confused. "Perhaps her Grace is making us wait?"

That didn't sound like her… "The Queen wouldn't make an entrance. She'd wait at the head of the throne. And even if she didn't there would still be guards and perhaps Missandei…" Jon was cut off as a sharp pain stabbed through his back. Blade digging through his flesh, blood soaking through his shirt. The blade felt as if he reached deep into his upper back. Hopefully, not close to his heart.

Theon swirled around. "No!" He drew his short sword.

"Too late, Lord Greyjoy." Jon groaned in anguish as the knife was drawn out, knees buckling just as Daario rounded towards the throne. Smirking smugly, circling the stern-faced Theon who dashed close to the fallen Stark. "It's foolish to protect him, he's dead anyway."

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but he could barely croak, the pain suddenly overwhelming him in agonizing waves. Theon meanwhile, only gripped the sword tighter. "Why did you do this?"

A laugh from the sellsword. "Some might say vengeance. Some might say he just pisses me off. But the truth… the bastard has a way of blinding the Queen to reality. It will destroy her, and I'm the only one who truly cares about her enough to do something about it." The smirk only widened. "Was pretty easy deceiving you, and you unintentionally deceived him."

"You're going to die for this."

"Step aside, Greyjoy. You were enough of a fool today." Daario drew his arakh. "Just leave and you will be rewarded."

Having been a coward or an impetuous jackass for too long, Theon wasn't about to let another loved one die on his watch. Letting loose a battle cry, he charged at Daario, short sword thrust out only to draw back, parrying Daario's slashing counterattack. Blades clashing in a cacophony of steel.

Blood dripping onto the stone, Jon collapsed onto all fours, breathing hard as the pain pulsed through his body. Sweat soaking him even as a cold draft howled through the throne room. Close to blacking out, he knew the wound was far more serious than his previous injuries. Likely shredding through his organs - but seeing Daario's expert slashes strike home. Flashes of crimson illuminated by the lightning spurting from Theon… it surged willpower through him. I'm not going to die.

Sword beating back another slash, Theon missed the knee that came up and slammed into his crotch… where his stones would have been. It wasn't anywhere near debilitating, but it did stagger him a bit. Enough for Daario to punch him in the throat, causing his sword to fall from his hands. Daario saw something in the corner of his eye, he was surprised. "You're not dead?"

Despite the blow to his back, Jon rose to his feet. "Can't make it that easy." Gritting his teeth through the pain, his arms came up, balled into fists. Ready to block any blow that came to him. "Not yet. Had to stab me in the back? Couldn't get me otherwise."

"Ooh," Daario laughed, pushing Theon's limp form back. "Bastard, you really are a tough one. I've killed a hundred men with that same stab."

"Not… me."

"Oh, just wait," Daario grunted. He punched Theon in the ribs twice, then a blow to the face. To the Ironborn's credit, he took it stride. But Daario cast him aside easily. "Stay the fuck down, kid."

"Get off him!" Theon yelled, rising back up with more fire than before. Not wanting to let Jon down again, when he needed him most.

Though this time, Daario caught him by the throat. "I told you to stay down," he said. In response to Theon's insolence, he jabbed his blade clean through Theon's shoulder blade, steel reaching through to the open air. Theon cried out but tried to stay strong. Nevertheless, Daario forced him back until his feet fell out from under him. Theon tumbled against one of the columns of the far wall, sliding weakly to the ground.

"I told you I'd kill you," Jon told Daario, trying to stay upright. "You remember that?"

Daario chuckled, slicking his loose hair back, "Oh, yes, I didn't forget that. But look who has the upper hand now?" He approached slowly, twirling his blade in his fingers. "I've waited for this moment for a long time. I want to savor it."

Even as his blood seeped through the back of his shirt, Jon scowled through it. Trying his best to ready himself for a fight, "Too bad you won't have a chance."

Daario danced close then, laughing, "You are such a wild-" His sentence was cut off by Jon's fist colliding with his cheek. Even in a weakened state, he mustered the strength. Still, the act brought Jon to his knees, groaning in pain. Daario backed up, clutching his jaw. Laughing at the pain. "Wild one." He finished his thought, wiping a fleck of blood from his lip. "Though it seems you're spent." He went back over to Jon, who was doubled over.

Theon rolled over on the ground nearby, trying to get to his feet. He locked eyes with Jon, who glared at him. Jon began to breathe more heavily, huffing and puffing. He wheezed and shook his head at Theon, holding his hand up to him. Even standing on death's doorstep, Jon didn't even think of himself first. For he knew, if Theon attacked Daario again he would surely die.

Nevertheless, Theon wrestled himself to his feet, all red in the face. "Daario, get away from him!"

"Kid, you have got to learn your lesson," Daario went back over to Theon. Unfortunately, the Greyjoy was no match. Daario unlaunched a barrage of blows with his fists. He grabbed him by the collar, hitting him over and over again. Beating poor Theon senseless, his left eye closed, it was so swollen. Eventually, his body gave out and he collapsed to the ground, out cold.

Daario sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Ah… where were we?" He said, returning to Jon. He knelt down to Jon's level, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. To bring him up, "Come on, bastard, die on your feet. I'll give you that."

"Fuck you," Jon whispered, the blood reaching his mouth.

"Don't be like that. Come on, what are your last words? Need me to tell the Queen something for you?" Jon didn't say a word, anguish on his face. "Perhaps how you wanted to fuck her, yet knowing only I know the sweet pleasure of her royal cunt…" Though it seemed to Daario that Jon did want to say something, so he leaned forward. Jon bent his neck down to hover over Daario's face. Perhaps the Sellsword had expected a whisper. Instead, Jon used his last bit of energy to latch his teeth down on the only flesh he could get to. Daario's left cheek, Jon's teeth tore through the fleshy bit. Daario screeched, thinking he needed to retreat. So he rocked back, only this caused the chunk of flesh in Jon's mouth to be separated. Leaving a bare bloody wound exposed on Daario's face.

Jon spat the piece of flesh out, and laughed, even though it hurt. "Fuck… you, sellsword."

Daario wailed in anger, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of your sword. I'll be taking that back." Despite the pain, he grinned darkly. "I hear your sister is a pretty thing. I think I'll that your sword and fuck her with it. I wonder if her cunt is as sweet as the Queen's." He bit down on his lip as he imagined it. "You know what? I don't care about your last words. " Seconds later he thrust his blade into Jon's stomach with murderous intent. He twisted it sideways just because he wanted to. Make him suffer.

Jon gritted his teeth as they became stained with his blood - though he didn't scream - and looked Daario in the eye. "Shame… you had to… kill me like a… coward. No honor…" he hissed.

"Fine. Just die." Daario pulled out the knife, blood dripping from the blade. Looking closely, Jon saw the etching of a naked woman on the handle. Fucking figures. "I do enjoy this, but that's just a reward. My first reason is simple." He angled the blade above Jon's chest. "For the Queen."

Many blades had pierced him, from quick, clean cuts to jagged wounds… but nothing could prepare him for the feeling of being stabbed in the heart. No pain, just a firm push. Like if Daario had merely thumped him in the chest. It felt almost… anticlimactic. Blood gurgling, a laugh left his lips - it didn't even hurt. Just empty, numb.

Drawing it out, Daario smirked. His cheek wound made him look like a tourney jester. "Goodbye bastard." Humming a brothel ditty, he merely walked away, steps thudding on the stone floor.

But Jon couldn't hear. Body shutting down as he keeled over, collapsing on his back, he stared at the ceiling. His sand-colored tunic looked more red than anything. Blinking over and over again, fast, then slower and slower. His breathing turning into hyperventilation, trying to suck in all the air in the room. Dying mind in one last gasp of activity. Images of his family filled his eyes. The family he was now leaving.

Carrying Rickon on his back, getting him to laugh after he sprained his ankle.

Teaching Bran how to swing a sword, easing him through the difficult parts.

Riding with Arya in the Wolfswood, braving the wrath of Lady Stark to put a smile on her face.

Lifting Sansa over a muddy puddle, a moment where her sisterly love for him burst through Lady Stark's teachings - giving him a loving peck on the cheek.

Sparring with Robb, swapping banter and good-natured insults as they clashed blades.

Fishing with his father and uncle, simply enjoying a quiet time bonding with them.

Tossing a stick to Ghost, watching the massive direwolf grab it and come back for a flurry of pets and scratches.

Snuggling up with Ygritte in their tent, content to simply be with her as the blizzard winds howled outside.

A dark cave, illuminated only by firelight. Just the two of them - her silver hair sparkling as he slowly leaned into her…

But it was futile. Death had called upon Jon Stark, rapidly beckoning him into its embrace. His breathing evened out until it stopped outright. But in his last moment of life, the White Wolf held only one thought. One name on his last breath. "Daen…"

With a whispered murmur, it was over. There were distant footfalls getting closer and closer. But all for naught.

Jon Stark was dead.

The castle woke suddenly. At least that's what bunches of footsteps outside of Dany's door sounded like. That's what forced her eyes open earlier than normal. At first, she thought they were under attack. But if there were attacking ships outside, she would have definitely felt Drogon's presence - she didn't. Nevertheless, something was going on inside her keep.

Before she could even get up to investigate herself, her door swung open suddenly. Missandei stepped through, breathing hard like she had been running. "Your Grace, something's happened."

Daenerys only had time to clothe herself in a white gown. Barristan led her and Missandei through the halls until they entered the throne room. Many Unsullied had gathered there, many speaking in their native tongues. Something about lack of security, letting something happen. Dany didn't catch it all. A crowd gathered around a spot near the steps by the throne. On her way there, she passed Theon Greyjoy laying on the ground as a Dothraki healer attended to him. He was covered in blood, nearly head to toe, certainly looked battered.

As she drew closer to the actual throne, she was halted by Barristan. "Hold up, your Grace," he said, turning to her. "Let me see what's happened." He set his eyes on some nearby guardsmen.

Dany couldn't keep her eyes off the crowd before her, a mixture of Unsullied, Dothraki, and even servants. The voices joined together, making the hall rather loud. The Queen stepped forward without Barristan or her guards before anyone could stop her. Once she got close, many of her people saw her coming and made way for her to pass through uninhibited. Parting to reveal a man laying on his back on the stone. She didn't know who, as she wasn't close enough. But he was clearly deceased, given the blood-soaked tunic and ground under them. All quieted down as she neared, for they knew her reaction may be volatile.

Deep down, she knew who it was. Even before she stood over him.

Jon Stark laid lifeless before her, his skin still somewhat pinkish. He'd died mere hours ago if that. Stabbed, twice by the looks of her quick examination. A deep sigh left her throat as she knelt down. His face laid on his cheek opposite her, but she noticed his wide eyes. Her hand reached out the brush against one of his hands that lay near her foot. After a few strokes of her thumb, the warmth of his skin began to lessen.

Her mind immediately shot back to the moment they shared in his chambers. When he used his own thumb to brush over her cheek. She'd cherished their first touch. She'd hoped it wouldn't have been their last. Seemed it now would be.

Nonetheless, she brought his hand to her face. Using the back of his palm to brush against her cheek, she closed her eyes. Trying to return the feeling to her, but of course, she felt nothing. Vision black, she commanded all near, "Leave me." The sound of footsteps retreating brought her momentary comfort.

When she opened her eyes, all that were near had left.

She shifted over to his head, moments later she hefted it into her lap. Her fingers moved some loose hairs out of his face. Her heated violet eyes looked into his dead grey ones. Staring out into nothing, no life left. She couldn't stand to look at him without that customary warmth she became so used to. So, she closed his eyes. She held him there, for a while. Knowing her dress was ruined forever by his blood.

Things left unsaid bubbled up to the surface. Their last conversation. So much unsettled - so many things she'd wanted to say but never had the courage to. Talk about what she had been feeling about him. With him. Her heart told her he felt similarly. Daenerys wanted so badly to know for sure what he felt. But she'd never know. That thought did make her want to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

Never had she felt so damned empty. Too late to come to terms with what she had been feeling. Only now because she began to realize what it would be like without Jon Stark. So far, it was horrible. Not being able to see him again, it hurt. A piece of her felt as if it died as well.

She could say it:

Daenerys had loved Jon Stark.

Simplistic, yes. Complicated, absolutely. Foolish, perhaps. Dangerous… when had her life been anything but? And yet, it was true. Regardless of the implications, it had not been her savior, her champion, her longest confidant, or even a political match that had won her heart… but rather her greatest foe.

How… quaint. It would have been the perfect song - now a tragedy.

The realization came now that he was gone. It took her a few moments. Maybe she had known before. But it didn't matter anymore. That made it hurt worse than any pain she'd so far endured. Her heart had never felt heavier. It weighed on her. Something that would never be resolved. This feeling felt as if it would never depart.

A shuddering breath left her mouth, as she kept her eyes on Jon. Then lips pursed, she wished so badly to go back. Go back and say all she needed to tell him.

"I love you. I hope you know that," she whispered, hanging her head over him. Her loose hair shrouded them as she kissed him on the forehead. She couldn't believe she'd said it out loud. It'd never happened before. Probably because she'd never dared love anyone.

No one ever deserved my love.

Who could love a dragon?

A dragon's equal. Apparently a wolf.

Her eyes shut hard, remembering the time they did spend together - the good and the bad. Mostly bad, but looking back that had only endeared him to her. A man of honor, of strength. Willing to defy a dragon for his family and his people. The ally I need… Missandei was right, more than either of them could imagine. That only made Daenerys wish there could've been more. Oh, how they argued. For what? The Throne just seemed silly to her now. All she wanted was to talk to a brooding man from the North. To feel the touch of him against her skin. To look upon his face.

Who she had lost too soon.

Moments later, a lone tear trailed down her cheek. Her eyes shot open then, totally surprised. Thinking all her tears had been lost after Drogo died. But there she was.

"Goodbye, Jon Stark."

He was gone. She remained.

Her sadness washed away soon enough. Leaving the Dragon Queen to her old devices, anger. It came quickly. Like the red hot fire that Drogon spat on her enemies. Boiling up until she had nowhere to put it.

Daenerys rose, carefully setting Jon aside. Her eyes shot to the right, seeing Barristan standing next to Missandei. Their expressions were of sheer shock. They were unable to move once they saw what had happened, despite the command to leave.

Then with gritted teeth, Dany yelled, her voice booming.

"Who did this!?"

Seven save whoever was responsible for this. For they would die screaming.

A/N: BRuh4: Don't freak out. If you've been paying attention at all, don't freak out.

This was another one of those chapters we knew would happen for a very long time. A tentpole watermark moment for sure. We knew it was important for Jon to die. You'll see.

Longclaw: And there we go. In Jon's death, Dany finds revelation. And Jon's last word... damn.

May seem a bit sudden, but we have it thought out. More on the thought process to come.

Tell your friends.