30

Chapter 30: Fraught With Danger

Summary:

Aftermath

Notes:

I hope everyone is having a great day!

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

30.

Fraught With Danger

Winterfell 

Arya loose another arrow at the wooden post when Gendry sprang up from behind with a dodging start. She lowered the bow and looked at him annoyed. 

"I could have shot you in the head, you idiot!" she scolded him.

"I should be the one who's upset that I almost got shot at!" he rebutted.

She shook her head dismissively. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

Gendry looked around nervously and folded his hands back. They were in the stables, away from the hustle and bustle of the Great Hall. 

He cleared his throat and answered,

"I started working with the other smiths in the making of weaponry for the war against the dead. I was wondering if you could tell me more about them. About them dead."

Arya put the bow and arrows aside and looked at him over her shoulder. She straightened up and shuddered as a blast of wintry wind blew in through the open doors of the stables.

"They are the worst thing you'll ever met," she said, casting her eyes aside to the darkness outside where she could imagine those icy blue eyes. She whipped her head up to Gendry. "Make sure every damn weapon is forged in dragonglass. That or fire, it's the only thing that would do."

"And Valyrian steel, I was told," he added, scowling just as concerned about it all. "Of course, Valyrian steel is impossible to obtain let alone forge weapons from it."

She thought back to the moment Bran gave her Catspaw. 

She showed it to him.

"Valyrian steel?" Gendry asked in awe.

"Yes," she smiled proudly. "Jon also has a sword."

Gendry's expression went from amazement to shock.

"The Dragon Queen...doesn't she owns it?"

"No that I know. I don't think she knows how to hold a sword. Anyway, her most effective weapon are the dragons. And only her can wield it."

He nodded.

"She's...a good one, isn't she?"

She was taken aback by his question...or was it an assertion? She couldn't tell by his tone. 

"You should tell her who you are," Arya blurted out. "Tell her and reclaim your right."

"My right?" he snorted. 

"You are the last living son of Robert Baratheon! House Baratheon doesn't exist unless you come clean about your identity!" she insisted on. 

"Arya," he extended an arm and touched her shoulder, "King Robert didn't actually know I existed."

"And what? He believed Joffrey was his son and he despised his guts."

"King Joffrey was certainly not one of the goods."

"Daenerys would give you the Storm's End."

"The Storm's End? I haven't even put a foot on it!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "My home has always been King's Landing. Flea Bottom. I'd live content with only peace."

"And just that?"

"What's wrong with just that?"

She didn't answer.

"Well, that if we outlive those monsters."

"We will," she assured him.

He gave her a strange look.

"Didn't take you for a woman of faith."

Woman. The way she hung there in its meaning was even stranger.

"Let us just say that I've seen something akin to it. I was not sure what it was back then but now I have an idea."

"An idea of what?"

She remembered Jaqen H'ghar's enigmatic face. The one he allowed Arya to see.

Jaqen is as dead as Arry, and I have promises to keep. Valar morghulis.

"Valar Morghulis," she repeated out loud. All men must die.

***

Sansa met a lonely Sandor Clegane, or The Hound as he was called, halfway on her way out. She ventured toward him with a twinkling curiosity. 

He drained his glass and plunked it on the table, as she sat down across from him. She looked at him earnestly. 

"There was a time when you couldn't look at me," he grumbled out.

"That was a long time ago. I've seen so much worse than you since then," responded Sansa.

"Yes, I've heard," said the Hound, sounding overt pitiful. "Heard you were broken in. Heard you were broken in hard."

Sansa swallowed with difficulty. 

"And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him."

"How?"

She smiled slightly. "Hounds."

He chuckled. 

"You've changed, little bird. But none of it would've happened if you had left King's Landing with me that day. No Ramsey. No Littlefinger."

Her semblance turned earnest. 

"Yes. Perhaps. But as you say, I am a little bird. And hard as they tried, they couldn't shot me out."

She bowed slightest and left him there in his own company, which he seemed to enjoy immensely more.

***

Daenerys gasped and his mouth chased her, her heart fluttering with a burning feeling as she gave in to the one thing that has felt real since she's come back.

In a heartbeat, Jon scooped Dany up and against the wall and they were kissing as if they'd been waiting for it a thousand years. The world surrounding them was a blur, just the two of them existed at that moment and Dany was certain he was real, very real, and hard against her.

Dany's arms held on tight and her legs closed around his waist, her fingers through his hair. No thought crossed her mind in the mist of lust and love — all the contended affection she held for him coming out alive and free. No fear rendered her cold, no guilt halted her heart's only desire.

Even if it's just an aching desire — it had to be just that —, she tried to convince herself, it was too strong, too impossible to fight against. 

Jon went after her, grabbed and stole her to himself. It felt like he truly was claiming what he believed it ought to be his from the beginning. His kiss was passionate and demanding, his lips pressed firmly now, their tongues entwined. His knuckles were kneading at the base of Dany's neck like he has never forgotten.

Like if...already remembered. 

Daenerys you are a fool, she scolded herself, just as he slid wet open kisses to the side of her mouth and then down to the soft surface of her neck.

"Stop..." she asked him, jaded, barely above a whisper, "Jon...stop..."

Her holding him from removing himself from her belied her word's intent or the way she seek to satiate that burning between her legs, rolling her hips to meet his.

She had to put a stop to it.

"STOP!"

Her voice rippled in echoes across the crypts, like a strong blow of wind shaking the wavering flames of the candles.

Jon receded and slowly loosened his grip.

Daenerys slid down until her feet touched again the ground.

Just like that, it was all over.

Jon's gaze turned dark, lifted up, and stared directly into her eyes, one hand cradling her cheek.

Her lips trembled with a sobbing that broke in inadvertently, fat tears clouded her sight and fell freely down her cheeks. Realization dawned on her, how she loved him, how she wished it could be reachable still.

He never chose you.

He never will.

He might be different but he's still Jon Snow

I will never be able to change that.

Slowly but forcefully, she pushed his chest so that he would pull away and give her room to leave. Without another word, Daenerys left her heart racing and her grief more tangible than ever.

***

Daenerys remained composed, almost numb all the way to her bedchamber, nodding, smiling, dodging, doing her best to reach her destination without breaking halfway. The closer she got to her chambers, the harder it became to breathe. Her shoulders were shaking, her eyes watering with tears that were building up. Finally, at the door, quick breaths shook her body and she burst into sobs.

Distressed, she threw herself to the carpeted floor with her knees pulling in. She bent over and started crying furiously like a little child. Her sobs turned into audible gasps and her chest began to ache so badly that tears of anguish turned into tears of pain. She looked up and around her surroundings, and wondered herself, how could she keep doing this? How could she go on?

Suddenly all the years that had passed didn't seem too much. The painful memories of the past lashed at her with all its might. She wished she had someone to pour out all this anguish on, but there was no one left. Jorah was far away. To Missandei, she had sent her away to protect her, giving her unkind and cruel words instead of letting her know how much her absence meant in her life. There was no one. Her existence had become so lonely that Dany suddenly recognized that the silence she accustomed herself to was only temporary, that the emotions she had thought she had outgrown, eventually returned to her.

***

Jon felt a tug in his chest and he bolted upward as if an unseen force was drawing him in. He didn't know where he was or see anything but darkness, but he knew who he was and that he was supposed to be dead. Memories returned one by one in his mind as he made an effort not to succumb to pain and confusion. Violet eyes that lost their light and their life, a body fading in his arms... his exile. The darkness stretched out before him, immense and embracing.

He should have been dead.

He felt as if he were outside his body as if it wasn't his mind that was moving him, as if the cold and he had become one. The images that he thought were figments of his imagination and vivid dreams were becoming a place familiar. The same succession of events but marching toward a different destination. 

Dany.

Dany, please.

It was his own voice echoing in his ears, stunning him, becoming raging, impossible to contain. A drive within him that he had to follow. His heart dictated to him that it didn't feel like the first time but like a reunion of two long-lost souls. Daenerys felt his own in Jon's arms, their passionate kiss not just released desire but longing. And her discomfiture afterward only confirmed that there was something else going on.

When he reached the Heart Tree, Jon was not surprised to find Bran also there, undaunted beneath the crimson leaves that danced around him. Jon felt then an unwarranted and foreign contempt for the young man who claimed to be his brother.

Bran turned his face to him and even in the distance, Jon looked into his dark and uncertain eyes as he said, "Nothing is as it should be."

*** 

When Daenerys woke up she blinked back a tear while her gaze stilled on the ceiling. Her dreams during the night had been full of violence, fear, and wolves chasing her down through it. She heard Viserys' voice calling her a stupid girl as he pinched her hard on the skin of her arm. She also heard Jon's voice begging for forgiveness as he thrust his dagger into her heart, again and again. That dagger. She's seen it already and a shiver had run down her spine just remembering what that have done to her. Just an instrument for Jon's use to end her life.

She forced herself out of bed through the grief and anger welling up inside her. Now she was in the great game, she remembered Tyrion's words. Now the most dangerous game was truly beginning, the game of staying alive through it all. 

Jon would surely run to tell his sisters the truth and once Sansa had the knowledge in her possession, she would use it to overthrow Daenerys. That was the chain of events that had led to her madness before. The curious thing was that Jon had not told his sisters before, she thought. There was something not right, and Dany felt that not having control over it put her in a very dangerous place.

First there was the matter of this Littlefinger and his strange alliance with Aurane Waters. Two loose ends. Daenerys quickly got the idea to send Varys to track him down so as not to risk him coming into contact with Sansa Stark. 

Jon...Jon would want to use his identity against Daenerys to force her to fight here in the North, to defend his people and his home. That was what her mind was screaming at her, but not her heart. Her heart was still overturned by last night's incident.

An incident, that was what it had been. The consequence of not having ripped that feeling root and stem.

But the way their lips sealed and their bodies folded like old acquaintances as if they had never forgotten each other.

No, Daenerys, no, she begged herself. She could not fall for that deception again. 

She had to keep a cool head more than ever and put this matter into consideration: Why was Jon telling her now? Why not before? What were his plans? Was it only honor that moved him? Had he already gone to tell his sisters?

All of this Daenerys pondered as she shuffled into her thickest robes to face the day. The first thing she would do was head for a certain spider to send him and his poison far away from Winterfell.

***

Lord Varys gave a respectful curtsey to Sansa Stark as she entered the library, having requested him there for a conversation. 

"My lady, you do not know how glad I am to see that despite everything, you are home, safe and sound," he addressed her sincerely.

"Most of me is," she replied tersely and without further pretense. Through her icy eyes, he could still see the little girl full of damsel's illusions who came to King's Landing and withered little by little with each blow she received. "I'm sure whatever we discuss here, you'll have to share with your Queen.

"It is to be expected," Varys replied shortly. 

"Very well. This is not about conspiracies or infamy. Our interests are crossed. Daenerys Targaryen wants the North to kneel and accept her as their queen. I would rather have the North retain its independence."

"Yes, my lady, I have noticed the friction between the two of you on this matter. But the question cannot help but arise: why come to me with this matter instead of presenting your case in front of her?"

"Is it not obvious?" Sansa snorted. "You have been there when Joffrey beat me and made me bend to his every whim. When Cersei mocked me and insulted me. Now tell me, do you think I have the best of experiences dealing with monarchs?"

Varys stretched his lips into a line. 

"Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't do more to help you. My intentions were to keep you as far away from those two wretches as possible, even going as far as to try and have arrayed a marriage to the late Ser Loras, which was thwarted because...I was outwitted by the link that binds us."

Sansa gasped.

"Baelish," she said with certainty.

"Regardless of this I tell you, we are not talking about Joffrey or Cersei. Queen Daenerys possess the good heart the former lacked and the temperance the latter never knew."

"So that's all it is? We hope that this time she will be our savior?"

Varys nodded slyly. As a man of little faith, he could not support that with arguments that honored the truth. But aware of who Sansa Stark was now, pitifully a pupil of Lord Baelish's worst foibles and Cersei Lannister's worst dealings, he kept it as concise as possible.

The end of their meeting was precipitated by Daenerys herself entering the library, her gaze unmistakably bewildered.

***

"What were you discussing with Lady Sansa?" Daenerys asked Lord Varys sharply. 

"The matter that keeps distance between you; the independence of the North, of course. And her apprehension of you. Understandable, inasmuch as certain figures of her past have not exactly shown her the kinder side of a ruler."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Only that?"

Varys hummed. 

"Why would I conspire with Lady Stark, Your Grace? My interest is that the entire realm enjoys much-needed peace. The North's independence is bound to bring all but that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? Once the largest kingdom of the Seven claims independence, the other six will see that it is only fair to raise the same claim."

"And that doesn't seem fair to you, Lord Varys? That each kingdom should return to being an independent kingdom as it was before Aegon's landing?"

"Before Aegon's landing, there wasn't exactly peace, your Grace. There is stability in unity. Especially in a continent like Westeros where the slightest conflict is very likely to spark the bloodiest of wars."

"Yes but Essos is doing well with its free cities..." she argued. 

Varys tilted his head curiously 

"The not-so-free ones..." he reminded her.

Dany let go of the suspicion tensing her shoulders and changed the subject.

"I had entrusted you with a specific and delicate task."

"A very difficult one to complete away from King's Landing," he excused. 

Of course, and that's why Daenerys had tasked Jorah with taking matters into his own hands to divert Varys' attention from the issue. Still, she needed to maintain the pretense that she had some trust in him. Which she did not. Daenerys still had the bitter taste of his betrayal on her tongue.

"I assume then that you have no news for me in that regard, whatsoever. Very well, Varys. Feed me with whatever information you've recollected during the past moon turn or so. Tell me all I need to know about the North, about the Starks, about Winterfell, and about that difficult bird to shot out, Lord Petyr Baelish."

Obedient and dutiful, her Master of Whispers began to tell Daenerys all about the journey from Dragonstone to White Harbor and from White Harbor to Winterfell. Mentioning that on the way they had chanced upon the retinue of recruits marching to the Wall. 

Tyrion, her heart gave a lurch when she heard from him. He and his brother were not having a good time, especially here in the North where they were as much, if not more, hated than she was. 

Once they reached Winterfell, and Baelish learned of her intentions to seek him out, he waited no much longer to flee away.

"He's not a brave man, this Littlefinger, is he?" Daenerys opined. 

"Brave he is not, but clever he is. I wouldn't underestimate him. He knows when he can deal with a situation and when he can't. He lost his power over the Vale as soon as they swore fealty to Her Grace but that may be only partially, if he finds a way to turn any threat to his life against you," Varys explained.

"And how would Littlefinger do that?"

"The way he always did. Through the strings, he pulls throughout the realm and even beyond I dare say."

Daenerys nodded toward the doors.

"Could Sansa Stark be one of those strings?" 

"Hmm," Varys frowned deeply. 

"He may think so, but I see that there is significant friction between the two now. You see, Your Grace, Baelish has put Sansa in unpleasant situations not once but twice. First by prompting her marriage to Lord Tyrion, which turned out to be a lesser evil. But then it was he who gave her to the Boltons."

Ramsey. The other bastard from the Battle of the Bastards, Daenerys recalled. He had been Sansa's husband, a marriage she had willingly agreed to and which soon turned against her when it turned out the man was a sadistic wretch. He raped her and subjected her to terrible practices, according to the scant accounts of Jon, who never wanted to broach the subject further.

"I understand," said Dany, maintaining her reservations on the subject without sharing them out loud. "Now I need to entrust you with another task, my Lord. I hope it is no trouble for you to return south to the Neck to join Ser Jorah and the rest of my united armies."

"Worse problems have been imposed upon me. May I ask then, will you leave the North unprotected?"

There was a hint of concern in his tone.

"No," Dany said clearly, thinking of Jon and his newfound courage to confess his truth. "I have not yet finished negotiating here. The Starks want their home protected. I still have room to deal."

"And what about Jon Snow? Have you totally ruled out turning down his proposal of a marriage alliance?"

Dany gasped. She hoped he didn't notice the sudden nervousness that assailed her. 

"Nothing has been said yet," she finished. 

***

When Jon walked into the war chamber Daenerys was already there, sitting alone in the chair placed in the middle of the table, on the left side, looking composed and solemn. He slowed past her and straight to the same place in the end hoping she'd look his way but she didn't. 

Although he listened to Lord Royce lay out his strategies for the eventuality of the Night King breaching the war, Jon could not help but glance her way from time to time. 

"...we would be talking about a mass exodus from the surrounding villages and even Last Hearth. Would my Lord agree?"

Lord Royce was addressing the little Ned Umber, emblazoned with such a title at only nine namedays. 

The little Lord gave Jon a hesitant look as if waiting for a sign that he was but saying the right thing. He tried to soften his features in response but quickly Daenerys' voice broke in.

"My Lord, I assure you that you and your people will be well cared for and served in the South. I will respect your decision but you are young and the head of a new generation that will carry your name for many centuries to come. Please accept my offer," she addressed him, her tone befitting, never demeaning or condescending. 

He saw relief pass over the boy's face that reminded him of Rickon when someone would help him out of trouble.

He was only a kid, Jon thought. 

But it did not take Lord Glover long to make his claim be heard: the Northmen should stay in the North to fight for the North, followed by the assent of others who shared his thinking. 

"Where was that vehemence, my Lord, when His Grace summoned you to fight for the North against the Boltons?" Lyanna Mormont objected. 

She silenced him and his entourage when she spoke. 

"Our first line of defense will be a boy of not even ten namedays. Is that what you propose? That we are but savages who send children to die for no reason? Deliver more numbers to the Night King's army? Well, don't count on House Mormont for that. Not when there is an alternative." Her face was no more gentle when she looked up at Daenerys. "We have discussed this with my advisors and we all believe it's right to accept your offer, Queen Daenerys. We will send children and women south while the rest of us stay behind to defend the North."

Dany nodded with a quiet look.

"That is, as long as our King agrees," added the little heiress to House Mormont.

Jon blinked in surprise.

Without any suspicion that Daenerys held her breath in that instant, he replied,

"At first I thought we would be on our own in this war. Now I know we're not," he said, flashing his eyes at her. "It is true. The less we expose those unable to fight for themselves the less chance we have of increasing the Night King's army. But I will not force anyone to leave their home if that is how they wish it to be."

The meeting was adjourned. Jon knew that time was running faster than they were counting. The decision to march south and face the dead there, leaving the North behind, still weighed on his mind, along with the other things that also haunted him. 

He saw Daenerys trying to make a quick exit and his voice broke out of his chest before she could achieve it.

"Pardon me, your Grace. I would like a word with you," he required forcefully, resolved to not accept a negative answer. 

She stood still and held his gaze.

The chamber emptied and the doors were bared. 

Jon cleared his throat. 

"My behavior last night...was unforgivable. I shouldn't have done that. I am really sorry. I am."

"I'm sure you are." 

He tried to look for anger on her face but she seemed determined not to return any emotion. 

"What I'm trying to say is," he insisted, "that if I have offended you, I offer you my sincere apology and the promise that it will never happen again."

Tentatively he moved closer, rounding past the long table and standing only a few steps away from her.

"We are not young idles, Jon. You did not offend me. You just strike me at my lowest," she responded, yet astoundingly calm.

He blinked confused. 

"What do you mean?"

 She frowned, cocking her head.

"Alone. At your home. Surrounded by people you trust. You used your best weapon against me when I was most unprotected."

Jon's breath became heavy.

"Do you believe I told you so I could threaten you with it?"

He felt nauseous at the thought of it.

"Always playing the good, honorable man, aren't you? But you don't measure the consequences."

"What consequences?"

"I'm not going to tell you what to do with it. It's not my right. But it concerns me and that fucking matters," Daenerys stated, almost seething. "You will run and tell your family, you will tell your sister Sansa. And when she finds out, whether you want it to or not, she'll use it against me."

His entire body stiffened. 

"Sansa does not have anything to do with this," he said.

"You can't possibly be so naive and don't see who she truly is."

"I'm starting to see who you truly are."

She shuddered. She took one step back.

"And what do you see? What do you see?"

Silence. Jon sulked angrily. 

Her accusations could only be rooted in Sansa's cold, almost hostile reception. Jon knew from his own experience that his sister would not hesitate to use his identity for the North's benefit.

However, what truly bothered him was the same thing that bothered him about Sansa and everyone around him. That sharp, distrustful, and almost mocking slight on his intelligence. 

He suddenly surged forward, grabbing her by the arm.

"Don't take me for a witless feckless, Daenerys." He growled, tightening his grip. "It is I who possess this truth and it is I who will decide how and when to use it. Not any pawn."

She approached her angered face to his.

"Is that a threat?" she laughed mockingly. "You think you can scare me with that? Do it; I don't care. The Iron Throne belongs to me."

Here they were, at the heart of this affair. 

"I couldn't care less about the Iron Throne," he affirmed, assertive and resolute. Somehow feeling above her in this matter. And resentful, resentful that it was the Throne her primary concern. "But you are walking on thin ice, venturing where you have no better knowledge. Perhaps for you, the Throne is worth more than honor and blood, but fortunately, we differ greatly on this point."

A hint of pain crossed her eyes but she quickly shook it all off, pulling out of his grip.

"Honor? You talk to me about honor? What honor did it strike you when you took me in the darkness of the crypts after letting me know that you had a unique power to destroy me?" Her face contorted with real anguish. "Tell me, Jon Snow, is that what drove you? To let me know you had this power over me?"

He was rendered silenced.

"What honor is there in having kept me in the dark since the day we met?" 

An almost sobbing whimper escaped her and he winced.

"Never..." But she was right. From the day he first saw her, he knew who he was and who she was to him. Still, he moved on, first out of mistrust and then out of fear. Fear of what? he wondered now. To this, he answered himself. Fear that she would look at him differently. 

"Enough of this absurd dance, Jon. Just...stop it. I don't want to give this any more thought." She turned slowly, her back to him. "Do what your conscience and your heart tells you to do. For I promise you, I will do the same."

***

Inn of the Kneeling Man

Although some lesser alehouse may have provided more discreet shelter, Littlefinger sought accommodation at the familiar inn. Words from travelers here and there warned of the Dragon Queen's armies moving ever further north. It was not an alternative for him to leave the continent, not until he had a better-delineated plan for his next move. 

Having come this far, he had only the ultimate goal in mind: the Iron Throne and Lady Sansa at his side. Two obstacles stood in his way, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen.

When the messages from his ever-watchful informants came in recounting the swift animosity between Daenerys and Sansa, he only smiled mischievously. Potential scenarios played out in his mind. 

In the third week of his stay, he was not surprised to be interrupted in his quiet refuge by an old acquaintance.

"I had thought you lost in the far eastern seas, my old friend," Littlefinger said to Aurane Waters as he and his entourage helped themselves into his rooms.

"I considered less than a friend, Baelish," Waters replied. The bastard of the House Velaryion and perhaps the last vestige of the prestigious House that saw its end in the War of the Five Kings, glared at him. "Although you look very comfortable as the dead come marching in from the North."

"When the dead freeze the dunes of Dorne, perhaps I will tremble a little," Littlefinger replied, ever the disbeliever. "In the meantime, I know a trick that might save us some trouble, should any arise..."

"The Wildfire's catches," Aurane finished for him.

"And I assume you've come to seize the prize for gaining me that information."

Aurane chuckled. He was the kind of man that, if he cared for anything at all, he was oblivious to it.

"Didn't do it for a prize."

"Then you did it for the gold."

"Gold is important but I'm not unfamiliar enough with it to be so desperately needed for it. What I want remains between me and my conscience."

Littlefinger grew serious. 

"Well, I must know how to thank you for your work," he said. "Having Cersei killed after she told you—"

"She never got to tell me. That woman was a despicable unreliable wreck from the very beginning. She knew how to charm her way into one's skin but that was all. Just a beautiful empty shell."

Littlefinger shifted on his seat as an apprehensive feeling crept in.

"Then you will have to shed some light on me. Why are you exactly here?"

Baelish saw a shadow crossing the Captain's gaze. 

"Daenerys Targaryen," he said, and before the other man could laugh at such an absurd notion, he rushed in, "She's not just the Mother of Dragons. There is more to it. Something she hides that may be giving her tactical advantage to win all her battles."

Still, Littlefinger let out a derisive snort. 

"You mean her three dragons?"

"What good are three dragons without knowledge? Her family conquered and ruled Westeros with them, and yet it had never been a full victory. It's about something else. Something bigger than we can imagine."

"Even if it were, none of us are in grace with her. Before we even breathe her very air, we will be a pile of ashes at her feet."

"I thought you the smarter one," said Aurane.

"To be smart is to know one's limits. Still...the beautiful Dragon Queen represents a hindrance to me. I am still willing to move pieces in this game."

"Do you still have pieces in this game?" Aurane asked with a certain mocking tone. 

Littlefinger smiled mischievously.

"The most important piece."

***

Winterfell 

Daenerys found herself wary and anxious at every turn. Not a day went by in her time in Winterfell that she did not expect someone to emerge from a dark corner and try to harm her. 

She and Jon were estranged and he believed she didn't know that all that time he was still going to the dragons to meet Rhaegal. The more these encounters went on, the more Daenerys felt the bond with her child begin to fade, again. She would have liked to take her children and fly to the farthest corner of the known world, but she knew that was not an option. 

She had to stay and face with courage and resolve what in the past had caught her unawares and with her walls down. The dead were just one threat among many she had to face.

Starting with Sansa Stark.

Part of her growing paranoia had to do with what in her past had been a succession of very punctuated events. Jon confessing his identity to her in the crypts. Jon sharing the information with his family. Sansa obtaining such a secret to her detriment.

It was all happening again.

And Daenerys feared that at any moment the damage would be done again and she would find herself as exposed as she was at that time.

It is different, she tried to reassure herself, this time your children are safe, Jorah and Missandei are alive. 

Most importantly, she was no longer vulnerable to Jon. No longer could he bend her will to his family's capricious designs. 

The North and its rejection no longer frightened her.

Negotiations and planning with the Northern lords had reached a stalemate. There was some resolve to present a first offensive to the dead at Winterfell, and Jon was determined to do so, as were Sansa and Arya.

"Walls and castles will rise again. The lives the dead take will never be recovered," Daenerys protested, angered at Sansa when she argued that it mattered not to the South what harm the North would suffer.

"And I want as much as anyone here to make every life count, but it won't matter for those who choose to stay. So what then? Do we leave them to their fate? You will leave us to our fate when you proclaim yourself the protector of the Realm?" she replied just as sultrily.

"Stop! Both of you!" Jon broke in, his tone dragging with exhaustion and then some. "Why do we always come back to the same subject? What does it matter about titles and castles when we're talking about an army of the dead laying waste to everything in its path?" His cutting gaze shifted to Daenerys. "For all, we know the Night King could take down one of the dragons and I don't want to imagine if..."

Jon's face furrowed as if seized by a thought.

Daenerys swallowed hard as a shiver ran through her body.

"He can," Bran said, emerging for the first time in the hours-long meeting. His face was inscrutable. "If he gets the chance, he will try and he will succeed."

Daenerys almost let tears of helplessness stream down at the memory of Viserion falling into the frozen lake and then seeing what they had turned him into.

All that for nothing.

Her resolve turned to iron.

"Three days," she assured her, turning to look with special attention at Jon and Sansa. "I will wait no longer while my people prepare at the Neck."

***

She was surprised by Arya's visit late in the morning. 

"There's a market square located at Winterfell's main gatehouse, with stalls for all sorts of products and goods," she said amicably. Even though Arya had been different from her sister, and shown herself more friendly and open to an approach, Dany couldn't help but distrust her. She was a Stark. She still couldn't trust them. Not at all.

Covered in a bearskin hooded cape, she hid her hair inside her coat and set off for Winter Town. Rows of small and neat houses built of log and undressed stone stretched out far as the eye could see. A white blanket of snow covered the trees, ground, and houses. She was surprised by how quiet everything seemed. Only the sound of her boots crunching in the snow, and the smell of damp pine trees, made the air fresh and clean. Even though a few curious glances followed her, Dany managed to blend in and pass through discreetly.

After walking through enough stalls to fill up on humble but sweet and still warm scones, Dany and Arya sat by a stream on the edge of Winter Town, Arya's wineskin served with a thick, hot drink to warm them in the unforgivably cold weather. 

"As a child, I felt like an outsider here, you know?" said Arya, starting a conversation that Daenerys did not know where it would lead to. 

Arya shrugged smiling. "People here have a way of letting you know you don't belong. It didn't help that my mother was from the South and clung to her southron customs like weeds to a stalk. That's why my father built her a Sept for her and let her have Sansa and me be raised in the Faith while the boys got to be taught to say their prayers to the Old Gods."

Dany looked down at her gloved hands where a little burnt sugar still remained. She wanted to bring it closer to the running water but knew better that the cold would be unbearable.

It was unbearable enough. 

"Still, you Starks are close, aren't you?" Dany suggested, looking away, sparing a direct look into her eyes, "The pain has made you stronger. A pack. At least you have that chance."

"Sometimes I find it hard to believe that this is the case. Bran being Bran. Jon and his reserved distance. Sansa...well, if you don't know how complicated it is with her."

Dany shook her head.

"She loathes me."

"I thought so, too, when we were younger and couldn't tolerate each other."

Daenerys laughed bitterly. 

"Blood does not bind us though. Instead, it separates us. My family hurt hers and hers hurt mine. I don't know, Arya. There are harms that are irreparable and instead of bringing us hope, they lead one to even darker places."

Arya looked at her with a frown.

"I expected more from the woman who brought dragons back to life after a hundred years when everyone assumed her dynasty was lost."

***

Dany walked into her chambers, her head clouded with the events that had transpired throughout the day. She was about to slide off her cloak when she felt it, the subtle sweep in the air and the swing that proceeded it.

Her heart lurched. 

She turned around in a second and threw herself into the floor, on her back. A man in a dark hood holding a knife was standing over her, trying to thrust again. She rolled over and crawled away, sending a spiral of stark adrenaline that resounded in the dragons roaring and screeching outside.

He lurched forward and she stopped it with both her hands, his strength so much more than hers but she made him fight for it, resisting. She kicked him in the stomach and achieved to make him stumble on his haunches. Then she hit his waist and made him throw the knife. 

She took the knife and started climbing up, but he grabbed her by her cloak and make her fall again, the knife sliding off under a chest of drawers. He climbed over her, seizing her small frame between his so much bigger legs, going straight to squeeze her neck.

Her arms tried everything — to scratch him, to cut him with her now bloodied nails but the pressure started weakening her and she became desperate for air.

She began fainting. Her arms lost strength, falling to the sides of her head. 

Although she managed to see a face covered by a shadow under its cloak, it was unknown to her. Just a paid assassin.

Her hand behind her head closed around her dragon pin just as her throat clenched around a scream. With her withering strength, she thrust the pin into the assassin's eye.

The man cried out in pain, but not quite letting her go. Daenerys pushed him with all her strength and turned to crawl to the door. Just as she reached it, it burst open and she fell backward, on the other side was a white-furred, red-eyed beast, similar to the one she found with Arya, with its lethal gaze on her.

It was when the beast passed her by that Daenerys realized it was not coming for her.

***

"Jon, stop, STOP!"

A sharp jolt brought him back from a vision of vivid red covering his eyes and everything around him. As he looked down at his blood-stained hands, Jon came back to himself.

The one shouting at him to stop was Sansa, or so he thought he heard through a high-pitched whistle shaking his head. 

Jon stood up and looked around him, down the wide, crowded hallway where servants and guests were milling about watching the scene.

"Is he alive?" it was definitely Sansa who asked. Someone, Jon believed to be Maester Wolkan, approached the mutilated man at his feet. 

"Just barely," the man replied. 

"Very well. Maester Wolkan, guards, take this man and heal him. Everyone else, get back to your business. Our court will take place when we clear this matter up," Sansa ordered, walking over to Jon and giving him a fierce look. "Since when did you become one of those savages?" she reproached, withdrawing. 

Jon didn't understand how it had all happened so quickly. He was dizzy, even lost. 

Sensing his discomfiture, Ghost soon came over to rest his thick back against his side and restrain him as he fell with a thud, sitting on the ground, breathing slowly and remembering everything.

Daenerys lying on the ground, beaten and covered in blood. It was not hers. It was from the man who had tried to hurt her. Ghost only had a chance to get part of his leg before Jon came and in a blinding rage, grabbed the man and engaged in a totally unnecessary battering that even led Jon to kick him several stairs down. 

He hadn't even bothered to check on Daenerys.

***

Daenerys hissed and turned away from the healer who was trying to revise her wounds, having pushed and kicked at the Maester who tried the same.

Her head ached. Her heart was still racing from the traumatic feeling she had relived when she had been subdued under that man's weight. 

Arya intercepted her and asked her to let her guard down, that no one was going to hurt her. Daenerys hurled accusations that even to her ears sounded absurd.

"If I had wanted to kill you I would have killed you in your sleep long, long ago," the young Stark replied just as sharply, as she shook her out of her stupor.

Not the best way to try to calm her.

It didn't help matters to see Sansa cross the doorframe.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned her with an accusing tone.

Sansa held up her hands showing that she was not carrying anything suspicious. 

"Everybody out. Now," she issued an order.

Arya stood still, hesitant.

"You're not helping her, you're making her more nervous. Look at her," she pointed to a cornered Daenerys who looked at both sisters with pure distrust and anger.

Looking between her sister and Daenerys, Arya made no further objection and headed out.

Daenerys did nothing but cling tighter to the wall that held her. Her ankle was sprained, and she was certain that if she tried to flee at this instant, she would not reach her dragons without worsening her injuries.

And Sansa knew, knew perfectly well what was going through her mind, for if her face contorted in pain and fear was not enough, the turmoil in the skies was a sign of it.

To calm Daenerys was also to keep her dragons from breaking loose.

"It's in your head, happening over and over again. You close your eyes and you see it," Sansa said, quietly. "You're afraid to blink, but the tiredness weighs on you. Your body fought against it and now it's asking you to rest. But you can't. You can't give in to it." She took a deep breath, seeing a glimmer of clarity in Daenerys' gaze as she listened to her carefully. "I just don't want the dragons to hurt my people. If you come to harm, so do my people. So please, please just let them heal you. Take me as your hostage if it makes you feel safer, and then leave if you wish, but we need to find a solution and it has to be now."

***

Her hand closed fiercely on the handle of a dagger, while her sprained ankle was bandaged and the bleeding wounds were cleaned. When Daenerys told the Maester and the healers to close an open wound on her neck with fire, they all almost fainted at the mere suggestion of it. 

"Fire does not hurt me," she assured them, increasingly annoyed. "Just do it."

And so they did, observing in awe as the bleeding stopped and only a shell of clotted blood was left in its place. Daenerys had no doubt that in days there would be only a small pink stain left.

The sooner it was all over, the sooner she would see the end of it all.

A soft clearing of a throat pulled her out of her self-absorption. She looked up and meet Sansa's eyes.

"What are you still doing here?" Daenerys asked her, acrimony still busting the fine seams of her tolerance. 

Sansa returned the same sentiment. 

"You may not know this but being attacked or harmed in any way under your host's roof is considered a violation of Guest's Right and a stain on the honor of the host house."

She was letting her know why she was doing this. 

Where was that concern before when she received scorn and degradation and was belittled at every turn while trying to help them? Dany wondered. 

"You do not fool me. You'd rather have me gone, don't you?"

Maester Wolkan and the other healers and servants exiled the bedchamber silently with their heads down. Just then, Sansa replied,

"Perhaps is your perception. Perhaps you are accustomed to being adored and welcomed wherever your feet stand because most of the people you help are not free to decide their own fates and you are the only gentleness they've known. But in here, we are free and we have a voice we are not afraid to use."

Sansa made a pause, standing tall and unruffled as ever.

"It doesn't justify what happened today. The man who did this to you, he must respond for his crime. It wasn't Jon's right to take that from you, so I stopped him and have the man taken care of, waiting for his victim to have a say in his fate."

She took one step closer, staring at Daenerys with that haughty look.

"You're assuming something of me that I can not allow you to keep sustaining. I'm not a traitor. I'm not a murderer. Most importantly, I'm not a woman who would make another woman go through the same hell I've been through. So, no, your Grace; I don't allow you to say of me that I threatened your life and honor."

"You don't know it, don't you?" Daenerys asked her.

"Know what?" responded Sansa, confused. 

Dany sealed her lips in a stretch line and shook her head.

"It's just a matter of time. You'll have the means to destroy me and you will not hesitate to act."

Sansa scowled at her deeply and declared,

"This is paranoia." 

She turned around to leave but before she slightly glance at her with a disquiet expression,

"Have a prompt recovery, Your Grace," she said.

***

The muscles in her arms and legs ached. She had asked for a hot bath drawn but now she had let the water get lukewarm at the thought of just bare herself to the possibility of a new attack. She couldn't stop the images from appearing in her mind, over and over.

Someone knocked at her door and every hair on her body stood on end.

With a rushing heart and a grip tight on the offered knife, Dany went to attend.

It was Jon on the other side.

Daenerys had not heard from him since he had stormed into her room, catching a glimpse of her in passing before pouncing on her attacker.

His presence there unnerved her. Jon looked at her up and down, his breath uneven. Silently, she moved aside to let him in.

Daenerys stretched the distance between them walking a few steps across the warm, carpeted floor. Winterfell still wasn't warm enough for her, no part of Westeros seemed to be. She ran two trembling hands through her unbraided hair and turned around to face him.

Jon continued to feel something between anger and sadness at the sight of her so unsettled. There was a new side to her he had yet to see: her vulnerability. He felt attached it while still feeling guilty and angered at himself for not protecting her well. For not being enough.

His body was still twitching with anger.

"Is there anything I can do to make this better?" Jon offered, almost impossibly helpless.

"I don't know what you mean. As if what you've done hadn't been enough."

"I did what I thought was right," Jon reaffirmed. 

She shrugged with a quiver on her lips. Daenerys turned away, folding her arms, smiling bitterly, and averting her gaze to the ceiling.

"Daenerys," Jon took two steps forward, and she stepped back defensively. "Daenerys, please, I never intend to hurt you."

She looked at him solemnly.

"You can afford to lie."

"I'm not," he stated harshly. Then almost sorrowful, "I do not."

She burst into a fit of sad laughter.

Feeling a surge of anger at her stubbornness in believing him, Jon questioned her, "What makes you think otherwise? Haven't I shown you so far that I care for you?"

Her arms fell to her sides and her face took on a different light. 

"Care?" she whispered, "Do you just…care for me?"

Jon didn't wait for a second before striding toward her.

She shuddered in his arms but received him nonetheless as he lowered his lips to hers, but not before giving him that look that stripped him of all his sanity. His kiss became harder and urgent, pushing her backward till the back of her legs hit the bed. It was despair that she could feel his kiss convey.

A voice in the back of Dany's head kept reminding her of his betrayal — his abandonment before it. But it was a distant, muffled voice, compared to the pounding of her heart against her ribcage.

His mouth sought hers with kisses that turned wild and hungrier, searing her lips with every move he made. Soon his tongue was seeking entrance and she compliantly gave in. His taste, his smell, his touch, were everywhere, intoxicating as dangerous. 

She pulled away just a moment to whisper against his lips, "We should stop..." but she was hardly able to stop herself. 

He kissed her again before questioning, "Why?"

Dany breathed in sharply. His grip on the back of her head was impossibly tight.

She looked hesitantly into his eyes.

"Because we both know this will end very badly for all," she answered softly. 

Her words, he could not understand. Her apprehension though...

They pulled apart slowly, still hesitant.

From the moment he had met her, things had been complicated between them, and the acerbities in the middle did not seem to want to go away. Still, Jon tensed his jaw and swallowed hard. If this was what it truly felt like to forget duty, then he would have to find a way to do the right thing beyond duty.

He'd become so engrossed in the events of the day that he had left behind for a moment that which separated them those long days: the truth. The torrent of emotions swirled inside him in the center of his chest, hitting him with full force.

In front of him was the starkest facet of that truth: his stripped identity. He was no longer who he thought he was and she could no longer be just who she thought she was. In that thickness of complications, there was what they were to each other: blood and foe.

"It doesn't bother you?" she asked after a moment, noticeably stunned. "About this. About us being...blood."

She didn't use the word family and that give him pause. Jon flinched away from her awkwardly.

"I'm your father's sister, Jon. Your aunt—"

"Ned Stark was my father," Jon cut her off, stridently. 

Her whole body stiffened as did the features of her beautiful face.

"All right," she said.

"All right?"

"Yes, all right," she stated firmly. "This matter bothers you."

He let out a dry laugh.

"Bothers me? This matter makes my blood boil." It wasn't the best choice of word and she quirked an eyebrow in response. "I mean...I don't know where to put this, Daenerys. All my life I thought the only thing that made sense was being Ned Stark's son. And I was proud of it."

Dany froze in her place, listening to him intently.

"I thought that—" he ran a nervous hand across his forehead. "I thought someday I'd achieve enough to honor him. And that he would be proud of me."

"And why would that change?" Daenerys questioned. "You are still his blood and you can — you are indeed doing so — call yourself his son still."

Unlike her, who would always be the daughter of the Mad King, she thought. But that felt selfish in light of what he was sharing with her. In their previous lives, they had never had this conversation.

Daenerys realized they were on unfamiliar ground.

"Jon..." she called out softly, "I'm sorry for putting you in this position. I should not have accused you. No—" She was the one this time who had no words to explain what her paranoia had led her to do and say. She looked up at the ceiling helplessly. Her thoughts raged a war inside her head. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed it."

Jon looked at her in dismay.

"I'm sorry I attacked you for thinking you were using it against me."

"Well, I wasn't."

"I know that now."

Silence. They looked at each other for a long time, once again feeling that invisible thread drawing them together. She smiled and he followed her. Everything became lighter back between them, Jon could feel it. 

Daenerys felt confident enough to approach him. Her hand rested on his chest and he shuddered slightly in response. Her blue-violet eyes reflected the light of the dancing candles.

"Snow, Stark, or Targaryen," she said, "That doesn't matter. It's the man that lies beneath the name that matters. The man that hoping against hope wants to save the world."

She knew it in her heart that it was the right thing to say, never mind her still undisclosed grief for what he'd done to her in that past life. The one thing she wasn't certain he'd do in this life. But she knew it, she was sure, that above all things that transpired between them, he was a good man and he always would be.

When Jon reached out to cradle her cheek again, he sustained her gaze to his. It was like feeling that the deepness of whatever feelings he harbored for her made sense now. 

He didn't know what this was all about but he was more than willing to keep finding out.

Jon cocked his head with a shadow taking over his features.

"The man who did this to you, if you allow me, I'll behead him myself."

She remembered Sansa's words.

"It should be me. He should burn alive. But first, he must respond, testify who sent him."

"I have a supposition," Jon said sternly, "Littlefinger."

"Of course," Daenerys closed her eyes; regretful. "Arya...I have to apologize to her. I threw baseless accusations at her."

Jon smiled tenderly. He had noticed that his younger sister had taken to Daenerys better than her other sister but had no idea there was such an important bond between them.

"She understands. I tell you," he reassured her, cradling her face again, feeling his heart clenching when she tilted her head against his touch. "From now on, you'll have my trusted men escort you. You should have never been on your own."

"It was my decision."

"Yes, Your Grace but you are on my home and I decide whether you are guarded or not now."

She scowled, beaming slightly. 

"As long as you stay," he added.

Daenerys nodded and took his hand.

"Jon," she said, blinking slowly, "I don't wish to be alone tonight."

He swallowed hard. He stayed quiet for a few moments, trying to frame his thoughts. 

"Would you send for Arya to stay the night here?"

He looked a little shocked. His thoughts had strayed to a totally different place. Shaking his head to hide a bit of a blush, Jon nodded.