29

RestoredvirgineaChapter 29: Testing Cold GroundsNotes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

29.

Testing Cold Grounds

Since the moment they set out, biting winds blew from the north as heavy snow flurried about them. It had grown only colder after that, and far more dire. Dense wood stretched away as far as the eye could see as the road grew lonely and snow piled up on their shoulders. Life on the Wall was said to be hard, and Jaime Lannister was starting to take that in. Dull gray days gave way to bone-freezing nights. Well past a fortnight, a faint shadow of the Wall became clear against the white brilliant backdrop. 

Along the way, some recruiters would bring their new recruits, joining them, all of them lowborn wretches and men turning themselves either to escape worse punishments or get some food through the harsh winter. Soon Jaime and Tyrion found themselves again dodging conflict. At least it was clear that the men of the Watch who were escorting them intended on keeping them alive long enough at least until the confrontation with those ice monsters, keeping their names out of their mouths. Silence was his solid companion thereafter. 

Tyrion's continued attempts to approach him were futile as Jaime had no desire either to mend their broken bond or to unleash his rage against him. There was only desolation and guilt coiling inside him. Grief that he only could cope with by secluding into himself. 

Jaime's dreams were full of moments in his life where everything seemed to be fine. At least the luminous part, which was always his children and Cersei. His world of honor and arms, and the reality that seemed to be permanent and stable. How naive he has been all this time. Just as his father Tywin had refused to see what was right in front of his eyes, Jaime stopped accepting the dark reality of things when he gave his heart to Cersei. And now that hers had stopped beating, he felt that his heart was only half functioning and the other half lay limp, dead, rotting there in the empty cage of his chest.

I thought I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze.

Castle Black

There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black. Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the great timbered common hall but nothing stopped the shivering and the chill followed Jaime everywhere here. Tyrion had commented wryly aloud that in a few years they would even forget what it felt like to be warm. Jaime inwardly responded: there are no years ahead for us. 

The Lord Commander, one Eddison Tollet, was a younger man than Jaime would have imagined, but you could tell that his age was not reflected in his worn, lined face. The man that seemed taken by a spirit of defeat and worry, overburdened with stress unable to release, had received them coldly, giving them quick and simple orders, to instruct themselves and train their hardest for what would be perhaps the last days of their existence.

Closer to this threat, Jaime thought of Brienne of Taarth and lamented that he would never hear from her again nor see her. Yet he rejoiced in the knowledge that at least that one thing he had done right. With a glimmer of hope and contentment, he thought of the harm he spared her by keeping her from further mud herself in the filth that was his disgraceful life.

***

Winterfell 

Tension was heavy, almost tangible in the courtyards of Winterfell. Lady Brienne observed carefully the exchange of looks, equally strong, between the Dragon Queen and Lady Sansa. She reckoned it was bound to cause rough discords. The woman whose father was the Mad King was less frightening than her beasts but just as impressive when regarded this closely. She was small and beautiful, the kind of beauty Brienne always craved as a child. Otherworldly as the songs and the stories recollected about the scions of Old Valyria.

Most people immediately crammed into the castle to follow the introduction of the Queen to the Great Northern Lords, including herself and the company that joined her: The Hound, who Brienne most of the time found unbearable, and vice-versa. Jon Snow, the King in the North made the introductions necessary, casting that dark, serious gaze of him to keep his surly folk at bay. As of late, she'd noticed he's become less lenient to the misses he used to condone. It was time, Brienne believed, to show a strong authority. Although it seemed that his increasing resolve was a cause for distress to Lady Sansa.

Murmurs she heard that they were doomed to lose their newly-won independence because the she-dragon's claws had captured the King and made him lose his sanity. Yet there were those who were at least eagerly intrigued.

Brienne saw that Lady Sansa sat down in the same place as always, remaining quiet but observant, casting sidelong glances at the Dragon Queen. She was not privy to Lady Sansa's displeasure in relation to this newcomer and it didn't surprise her really, not as it has surprised her at the time when she distrusted and hid information from her own brother.

Now, Brienne herself had her misgivings. Notwithstanding this, the woman was a total stranger and her intentions, good or bad, were yet to be known. 

The meeting started with questions concerning the intentions with which she was coming to the North. Terse and uncompromising, Daenerys Targaryen replied, "Not hostilely."

From there, all sorts of matters arose, from her dragons and the need to bring them (as her ancestor had done to force a surrender and submission) to the scarcity that plagued the North and which she only could worsen with her visit, this latter being pushed by Lady Sansa herself. 

Brienne could practically sense the mood becoming sour.

Daenerys shot a scathing look at Sansa.

"Dragons feed on whatever they want. Like any beast in the wild. Wolves, for example. But my children are disciplined to a certain extent so as not to cause trouble for the nearby villages and their livestock. Nor will they attack for no reason. Is that clear enough for you Lady Sansa, or do I need to dictate some lessons to you?"

Sansa frowned and blushed in a shade of deep crimson. She seemed taken aback by this response. 

"We should not magnify the issue. One person is not going to cause more shortages," Jon Snow asserted, giving Lady Stark a reprimanding look. "We are here to discuss matters of greater importance."

And so it was. At last, the issue of the war with the dead was getting the serious treatment it deserved. Knowing that there was a plan afoot in the south brought relief to Brienne, even if she knew that the North was no better off for its refusal to rejoin the Seven Kingdoms. In this regard, Brienne did not know which side was more foolish, the Northerners and their stubbornness in keeping an independence that could not even stand on its own, or the Dragon Queen and her southern allies leaving an entire kingdom to its own devices to indirectly force a surrender.

War was cruel, Brienne knew, senseless by its very nature. The memory of those women hung in the trees of a forest by Robb Stark's men whose only crime had been to serve men of the other side came back to her.

"Even if my Lords feel inclined to not accept it," said the Dragon Queen, cautious and reserved, "My proposal is this: before the Wall falls and the troops of the dead march past the Gift, I urge you to take refuge in the South, where I have ordered every great lord in Westeros to make available whatever resources are necessary to provide for you. That is my decision. Unconditional, that I will not withdraw regardless of your decision."

This proposal brought silence to the Great Hall. Brienne had no doubt that no one would want to turn down such an opportunity outright without thinking it through. Even Sansa Stark was dumbfounded, not knowing what to make of it.

The silence was broken when Brandon Stark said, always at the least opportune moment, "The Night King has reached the edges of the Haunted Forest."

***

One thing was different from her last visit. Although she was spared from the royal treatment she wasn't thrown into the darkest, most secluded corner of the castle. Instead of being sent to the largest and most spacious chambers in the castle, which she knew were the Lord's chamber, this time Daenerys was granted less spacious yet well-equipped accommodations befit for a guest of honor.

To tell the truth, Daenerys was relieved. That other chambers would undoubtedly bring back memories of that past life. Moments of seclusion and expectancy. Fears and heartbreak. 

Yes. This place was the more appropriate. 

It was well maintained and it was clear that there was a good predisposition on the part of its inhabitants (or at least on Jon) to make her feel comfortable. 

"This chambers once belonged to me," came stunningly, Sansa Stark's strong-accented voice from behind her. Daenerys turned around to see her just a small distance away from her, standing still and imposing as ever. "They are warm and comfortable. I hope Her Grace finds them befitting."

Dany regarded her carefully searching for the smallest crack in her features where her true feelings could sip through. There was none.

Daenerys breathed in and smiled politely. 

"If they were of such conformity," she began, "Why did the former owner see the need to move out from them?"

There was no intention to provoke her with this question, even if her intonation made it seem so. Daenerys still felt on the edge near her. Too much pent-up anger at her person, for a past she did not know and for deeds she had not yet committed. 

Undeterred, the other woman replied, "I now occupy the chambers that belonged to my parents."

"The chamber of the Lord of Winterfell," Dany reckoned.

"Jon chose the chambers that belonged to Robb. Our brother, who was—"

"I know who he was," Dany quickly cut her off. "Your kindness is appreciated, Lady Stark. And honestly, these rooms are much more than I thought I'd receive."

Silence.

Sansa folded her hands on her back.

"Perhaps we openly disagree on great matters," she said, "But it will not be said of the North that they did not properly take care of someone of your rank and importance."

Dany snickered at her meager effort to resemble kindness. Her impertinence would have sent Dany into a spiral of anger, unable to release it because of the consequences it would entice.

Now there was only a façade, one that they both saw through and yet they decided to continue to put up.

"And you believe that? That I am important?" Dany questioned. 

Sansa frowned. 

"You are the most powerful person in the world," she said. "The three dragons outside the castle speak of so."

Daenerys turned her back on her and began to fidget with the decoration of the quilt, which was covered with intricate and delicate embroidery. A fleeting memory flashed through her mind, of Jon telling her about Sansa's impeccable technique at sewing.

"Well, neither my dragons nor my armies will be of any use to me if instead of people, I rule a graveyard."

Sansa hummed. 

"I see Jon's time in King's Landing has been enough to leave a lasting impression on you."

She whirled back around. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Those words you used. Those are Jon's words," she explained. 

Dany's eyes widened in surprise at her quick implication. At some point it would happen, Arya had correctly anticipated, yet it came directly from Sansa and Daenerys didn't think it would happen much sooner than the first time.

"Your brother is hardly a man who leaves people indifferent," she justified, and a slight quiver in her voice betrayed her.

Sansa took notice of this. 

"I can imagine. Although the Jon I know always walks with his head down."

There it was, the always depreciation of Jon. Dany suddenly tensed with the urge to challenge her and make it clear who her brother was. But that would only add to her suspicions. Maybe in another life, they would have been sensible, but neither she nor Jon had crossed any boundaries this time. Both were acting according to their roles, neither yielding more than necessary.

"Stubborn as he is, he's a man instructed in the court forms and loyal to his convictions. If Ned Stark's legacy could talk, it would speak through Jon."

At this assessment, it was Sansa Stark who suddenly shifted and grew stiff.

"—Or so people tell me all the time. I can only say that many times I found myself rehearsing my speech in our not infrequent clashes and tirades, so as not to be rendered abased by a man who seems docile and submissive at first glance, but who is in truth a passionate and eloquent man when he puts his mind to it."

Sansa raised her chin and insisted, "As I said: a lasting impression."

Dany moved closer to her, looking at her inscrutable sapphire eyes.

"Rescind your reservations, Lady Sansa. I may be a queen, but I am a woman first. And when another woman confronts me about matters of the heart, I tend to bring out the less hostile side of me."

"So it's a matter of the heart, I take."

"No words would suffice you an answer, Lady Stark, nor are they necessary. You are very observant, and bright as any other, I've been told. Enlight me, then, and tell me, when you see Jon, is a man in love you see?"

This was followed by a long moment of silence and mutual contemplation. Sansa's eyes searched hers as Daenerys' challenged her with her grave look. Both women were testing each other's limits, and both were failing to elicit an expected reaction.

Finally, Sansa explained, "Let me tell you what I know for certain, then. Jon is still very young, and in the midst of an imminent war against an unbeatable foe, he has met his only hope in the dark in the form of another young woman, tenacious and very beautiful who has more than certainly stir unknown sentiments in him." She paused, cocked her head slightly, and softened her eyes, almost mockingly. "Some events are inescapably bound to happen. Two handsome young people falling in love and doing stupid things for it. It happened several times in history, even recently with my brother Robb."

"At least, you admit women too, are prone to folly for that exact same reason," Dany smiled when she conceded. "Not only love, I'd say. They do stupid things for a wide array of reasons. But rest assured, Lady Sansa. Your brother's heart belongs to you, to his family. And to his honor. It is not my intention to claim what is not meant to be mine." And with a smirk, she added, "Instead, that which it is..." she let the words hang in the air as Lady Stark turned stone serious, her lips falling open in astonishment.

She quickly hid her bewilderment and settled for a quick, "I imagine you are worn out by the long travel, I'll let you rest."

Sansa began her retreat, along with the maids who left the chamber one by one behind her.

Dany emulated her rehearsed courtesy, "I thank you, Lady Sansa, for your unreserved hospitality."

***

Bran asked Podrick to take him off to the Godswood, under the Heart tree. He was restless even if he didn't show it. The events unfolding around him did not make sense, as if there was a missing piece that he was not aware of. And that was cause of great distress for the collecting mind that lived inside him.

Sometimes a man must wake up to realize he was too blind to see the damage he's done and come to terms with himself.

The voice that said that was his own, but it was a mature, aged voice. Not quite his voice.

Sometimes the wrong incurred by a man is so far from being redeemable that even the merciful embrace of death would not bring him to atonement.

What that was? Bran wondered, searching the recesses of his memory for some lead.

Now he was a stranger, an entity that wandered without a clear intent.

To reach purpose, he has to leave behind the wrecked remnants of a life crumbled to ruins.

Was there still hope for the broken ones?

***

Sandor swung a fist to crack the shell of a walnut, throwing it into his mouth in a fistful and drinking ale from his tankard afterward. Across from him Podrick Payne and Gendry sat with blank stares, the three of them in the kitchens of Winterfell, passing the time. 

"Should we..." began Podrick though his voice was hesitant, "Should we go back South and join the Dragon Queen's forces?" 

The Hound growled low, giving him a dark look.

"Who is going to move the little Lord's chair around but you?" he replied wryly.

Gendry sniggered, lowering his gaze.

At that moment Arya was passing by, through the castle corridors, but after noticing the three figures present, she stopped abruptly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked aloud, directly to Gendry. 

After Dragonstone she'd lost track of those two. Arya never supposed that Gendry would join Jon on his boat home. Her surprise was more to do with seeing him again, and partly out of a slight fear that he was in the place that would be the Night King's mark sooner than later. 

Gendry stood up, his expression brightening.

"Your brother told me Ser Davos was here. I needed to see that old smuggler again and thank him for what he'd done for me," Gendry explained, unable to sound as apprehensive as she did. "I also know they need all the help they can get."

Oh Gendry...she thought. Your good intentions are going to kill you one of these days. 

Arya joined the group of deserters to catch up on the days that passed in Winterfell in her absence, occasionally exchanging furtive glances with Gendry, stifling that fluttering in her heart that was born out of simply feeling happiness for having him around again.

***

Sansa bit her lower lip as she watched uneasily as those fire-breathing beasts flew over the northern skies. It was a unique, wonderful sight for those who have always dreamed of dragons. Robb and Rickon would be foolishly excited. Her father...he would surely be amazed. Her mother the ever more apprehensive one, would've fretted at the view.

Sansa had a prickling sense of caution. These weapons of mass annihilation were at the command of one single person, and wielding that kind of power, her instinct and experience said, was not conducive to anything good. That is why she'd maintain her reservations about Daenerys Targaryen and her apparent goodwill. 

The town folk and the villagers that came in and out of Winterfell and Winter Town certainly were frightened, on constant alert with their necks craned skyward. Their disquiet was her own, and if in that discontent they caused an uproar, the uproar could unsettle the dragons or their mother.

Everything was so uncertain and beyond her control.

She sighed and looked away, feeling like that naive young girl again, constantly subjected to the capricious mistreatment of Joffrey, Cersei, Ramsey, and even Littlefinger, all of whom she had finally broken free from.

From the experience of surviving them, she learned to read every gesture, every move, or small indication that could provoke a reaction she had to try and avoid.

It is in the face of our greatest adversaries that we show our resourcefulness. She thought about Petyr's words. But did Daenerys Targaryen count as an adversary? Of course, she reminded herself. Sansa could not forget that she was a conqueror and that she was after her home after all. 

"Are you reciting your praying, sister?" Arya's voice startled her. Standing on the battlements, Sansa glared at her and cursed under her breath. 

She had not seen her arrive with the Dragon Queen, but far from despairing, Sansa assumed she was lost in some nook or cranny of the castle or even wandering off in Winter Town. Sansa would not admit it aloud, but it pained her slightly that her only sister had not considered showing up to let her know she was all right. 

But that was Arya after all.

"Would you drop this habit of sneaking on people's back?" Sansa reproached her. "One of these days you'll find someone quicker than you to catch you out."

Arya sniggered and stepped closer. She followed Sansa's gaze to the skies.

"They are a wonder. Don't you think so?"

"They are monsters."

Arya huffed in annoyance. 

"Well, those monsters are our only hope," she said.

"Or our damnation."

Sansa was restless, she noted. And it seemed that nothing would lighten her mood.

"You've met Daenerys, I've been told. You've bared your fangs at her, and she's bared hers at you," Arya pointed out. 

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "I only rose the issue of her so-called children. They might bring problems among the people of the North."

"They're smart beasts with a lot of personality."

"And you know that because you spent what, three days with her?"

"To be honest, while I was at King's Landing, I screwed it up a few times."

"And Bran told me what you did for her friend. You shouldn't have stayed behind."

"I wanted to get a closer look at her. And I got it. Aren't you even going to ask me what I saw?"

"And what did you see?" Sansa conceded. 

"A strong woman, capable of great goodness, hiding behind an unbreakable shell. Probably because someone hurt her to the point where she didn't want to lose another piece of herself."

Sansa stared at her, aware of her intent. Yet she was left unconvinced about it all. 

"Isn't she in the same condition as her father? Succumbing to her paranoia?"

"No more than any of us," Arya posited. 

"And Jon, is there something going on between them?"

"They both claim there isn't. It's not our business whether it is or isn't."

"Of course it is. It's the North's business," Sansa stated. 

"Jon is our brother. Not a matter of state."

"You are still sinfully naive, Arya," Sansa dismissed her, walking around and past her. The soft patter of the gentle fall of snow resounded in her ears.

Arya turned around and stopped her, saying, "Sometimes I hear Cersei's words in your mouth," she said with a concerned look, "And that scares me."

Sansa swallowed hard. She felt it like a thorn going through her, especially coming from one whose judgment she held in such high regard. 

***

Jon drew in a breath, a mouthful of brisk air blowing from the North, a bitter taste permeating his tongue. If he closed his eyes he could see him, with his soulless gaze yet full of terrible resolve to win. Each time Jon felt his presence closer, more real, more...familiar. A night of dense darkness and confusion, the heat of the fire engulfing it all while around him those lifeless but violent limbs tried to take him and his family. 

"Dany!" he screamed as loud as his lungs allowed him, filled with dread of losing sight of her.

He swallowed hard and became immersed in the confusion of those thoughts that churned in his mind like souls in pain looking for a way out. What was it all about? Those dreams...

He thought Daenerys' arrival would bring him some reassurance or at least hope but he was burdened with grief and guilt at just seeing her and not being able to correctly express what he was feeling. It shouldn't be okay. His head and heart were not in the right place if those feelings were hindering the progress of their relations. Perhaps if he changed his perspective and acted on less honorable devices, she would agree to bring her people here and fight for the North.

I am the son of your brother. I am your nephew by blood. And even if I am just a dragonseed, I'm still a man. 

It's the path that most men — men that would call themselves savvy in matters of state — would choose to do. But Jon was not that kind of man. The burden of doing wrong by her would weigh more in the balance of things.

Jon was tired of carrying this secret. The only other soul that knew couldn't help him with the strain of it all. Couldn't understand him. Bran...Bran wasn't Bran, he was just some creature half human half spirit. 

His sisters...one was bloody standoffish and the other one, he loved and trusted deeply but could feel forced to choose a side when it all came to a matter of decisions. Sansa...Sansa would try and force his hand on the matter, for the sake of the North. She won't care what his feelings on the matter are. And then, he dreaded it, Arya would choose her side.

So telling Daenerys was another option, the most dangerous, reckless, and mad yet honorable alternative. She should be the first to know for this changed matters for her too, Jon knew it. She was driven all the way up here with the belief — the certain and undeniable understanding — that she was the last of her kin.

Jon telling her the truth of his birth would send that away like kicking a sandcastle. 

And worst, she could retaliate in consequence. 

Walking aimlessly, he found himself a long way from Winterfell, his leg muscles burning from the exercise. Inside him, he felt a drive taking him on and on, until without realizing it, he entered a field where the earth lay bare, and charred bones were spread. 

The dragons' nest.

Jon closed his eyes exhausted and too weary to fight this. Without further surprise, the earth beneath his feet shook and the three huge dragons appeared in front of him. 

Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal. Jon remembered it from his time at King's Landing, although he couldn't remember exactly when he learned it. What he did remember well were those piercing, accusatory eyes that followed him, hypnotic, as if trying to convey something. According to his learning about Dragons, such an approach led to an inevitable encounter with death. Only a mad man could make the decision to approach them, not once, but twice and even worse, try to make contact with them.

But Jon did. Jon willingly walked toward them, aware that this could be his last breath of life. 

The three beasts poked their huge heads out to get a better look at him. Jon carefully stretched out a hand and waited (for what?) for maybe one of them to approach him.

Rhaegal, the dragon with emerald-green sunlight scales and reddish wings, put his scaly skin under his hand, not taking his expressive eyes off him. Jon thought his low growl was more of a purr.

Jon gasped as he was swept away by a violent rush and suddenly he was somewhere else — dark, dank and fetid place.

They tossed him in like garbage, just as weightless and unworthy waste. He heard the turmoil unleashing outside but the high-pitched sound echoing through his ears and head concealed with a blanket of unconsciousness, which he lost and regained at moments, in between heavy punishment and torture.

Once he was thrown into the cell, his mind needed a moment to properly seized his bearings again. 

"Jon, Jon, Jon. Did you do it? Jon, wake up! Did you do it?" asked Tyrion from the other side, in a separated cell only fragmented by hardly thick grilles. Jon wanted nothing at that moment but to close the space between them and squeeze shut his throat with an iron grip. His fist clenched with the thought of it. 

"It's done," Jon said, spitting blood and squeaking the words out. It was akin to a crying voice but it was something in the middle; tortuous and broken. 

Jon rolled over onto his back with a groan, feeling his muscles and guts protest as he moved. His vision went dark and he didn't know if it was because of his battered and swollen eyes or if the light just didn't reach the place he was discarded in. Either way, opening his eyes would require an effort he could not afford to make momentarily. 

"What are you doing?"

Jon shied away from Rhaegal.

There at a distance of no less than ten feet, Daenerys stood looking at him with a wild, frightened expression.

***

Gripped by a very real fear, Daenerys trotted to stand between the dragons and Jon. She swore Rhaegal snorted grumpily at her audacity.

"You shouldn't be here. You could get hurt," Daenerys reprimanded him in a voice trembling with nerves. 

Jon frowned.

"I've been with them alone before," he revealed.

Daenerys turned her head violently towards him. 

"When?"

He scratched his forehead. "The night before I left."

Daenerys shook her head and looked at him gravely. Between the surprise of finding him here and the fear of the consequences of having him so close to her children, she didn't know whether to be frightened or dismayed. 

Why Rhaegal, why again? she wondered in her mind.

Drogon, through their bond, was transmitting a strong surge of anger to her. He did not love Jon. The memory of his betrayal still enraged him. 

She stroked Drogon's muzzle to soothe him, breathing some calm to herself. It was the first time they had seen each other again, alone, since they had parted ways at Dragonstone. There came a point when Dany simply didn't know how to proceed when it came to him. She always found him in an unprecedented situation.

She gave him a fleeting glance over her shoulder, hesitant. Her lost, almost hurt expression made his resolve waver. 

"I'm glad you came. I'm relieved, I mean," Jon blurted out of nowhere. She sighed.

"Your people are not happy," she pointed out, bitterness spilling from her tone. The behaviour of the Northmen she judged had more to do with what she had experienced in the past than the present.

There was an awkward silence. Jon swallowed hard, clenching and unclenching the hand that had touched Rhaegal's warm scales, as if feeling his purr still through his body.

"You'll have to understand," he returned with a growl. 

Daenerys looked at him curiously and cocked her head to one side.

"And if they don't?"

"Then it doesn't matter. They don't choose what's good for them.

She shuddered and stepped back. Those words echoed in her darkest memories, pushing her into that dark and lonely void. She swallowed hard and looked away, uncomfortable.

"What happened?" Jon noticed her change. 

"Nothing," she quickly excused herself, clearing her throat as the wind pushed her slightly the other way, towards Jon. "It's a daze...must be the altitude...It's different. Very different everything here."

Jon watched her in confusion, and stood still waiting for her to give him another explanation. 

She sighed sadly.

"Haven't you ever felt like...you're living within limits? Like you can't go any higher?" 

Jon nodded. 

"Boundaries keep us sane," he argued. 

"But what if those boundaries are there to imprison us? What then?"

Jon shrugged. 

"If there's something you want, why not just reach for it?"

Daenerys gave him a furtive look and shook her head. 

"Because a queen must be cautious."

He nodded; understanding more than she knew. 

She stepped closer to him, her face clear in front of his.

"Then caution will be your limit, Daenerys," he declared. 

***

A welcoming feast was laid on her honor, humble but still a startling gesture. Daenerys supposed that their hostility was much less severe than last time and she suspected that it had to do with the fact that she hadn't come as their queen. Claimant queen. This time, she had conquered the Throne, without their help and defeated Cersei before setting off North. Circumstances changed and so the actions and behaviors of people. 

She was in no mood for a celebration and just wanted to lie down and rest. Yet she assisted and took place in her usual chair, to Jon's left. 

His proximity did not wait to cause tension and for moments she felt his quick glances at her were bound to reinforce the rumors of the nature of their relationship. That was just one of the reasons her leg unconsciously was humping up and down, she thought. Not the quick heartbeats, the pain in her chest and the longing. That longing that almost made her relent.

Dany leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped in her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lord Varys's keen gaze on her; scrutinizing her. She was in an overwrought state, but not because of paranoia, unease, or sadness like in the previous life. She was troubled by what she saw that morning when she found Jon and Rhaegar together. What would follow was the bonding, and there would be no more to do — Dany had no control over that. 

Jon filled her wine cup once more from a passing flagon and took a sip, before setting it down next to her. It was the second time he had done so and the third time he had served as a taster for her.

Daenerys sat still for a long time without touching anything offered to her, hesitant to find herself alone in a room full of people who were not exactly happy with her. 

My children cannot save me from poison, she had thought.

It was then that, taking her by surprise, Jon tasted of her food and drank from her drink.

She gave him an angry look.

"Stop doing that," she reproached her. 

"Do what?" he replied, feigning ignorance. It didn't seem to bother him, but Daenerys was beginning to get exasperated. 

This need for him to do things for her... they made her feem resentful for the lack of caring in the past. She was angry at him for doing the things he hadn't done when they really mattered to her.

But of course, Jon didn't know that. Nor would he ever know if she could help it. 

***

A singer was playing his instrument and reciting a glee ballad above the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a several indifferent conversations. Lord Manderley had come to the long table to insist that Jon accompany him, and now he was seated between the two beautiful heiresses of the Merman's house, one of them a quiet beauty, and the other much more effusive. Jon seemed obfuscated and to want to get his leave, though he smiled courteously as he conversed. All this Sansa noticed because the Dragon Queen's gaze was fixed on the scene.

There was familiarity as well as tension between the two as if they were lovers. If she could tell, so could others. Baelish mentioned the possibility of a marriage alliance and now it made more sense than ever, but far from seeing it as a stepping stone to privilege seat the court of King's Landing, for Sansa it meant setback.

Baelish wanted the Throne, Sansa the North. 

It was the first time she had admitted it to herself, that she wanted to rule the North and not just as a mere province of a larger Realm but as the independent kingdom it was for over seven thousand years before the Targaryens and the Lannisters.

Though Jon was able to lead armies and move people with his strong and moving ideals, it was she who stayed at home to see that people had to eat through the long winter. 

She was a Stark.

Sansa grumbled inwardly, and reproached herself for those thoughts. It was not the right time to deal with such matters, not with a war with the undead on the horizon.

Undead and perhaps with dragons. 

"What kind of dance is that?" came Daenerys' soft voice from beside her. Jon's empty chair between them.

Sansa was surprised she was speaking to her.

She looked to the front and localized Jon and Lady Wynafryd dancing in the center of the hall with other people lined on the sides. He of course, seemed uncomfortable. 

"It's a court dance, don't you know it?"

Her question was rather motivated by her surprise and not a reproach.

"No, Lady Sansa. I was never formally instructed in a court," Daenerys replied, stiffly. 

Sansa frowned. She was in total ignorance of Daenerys's life beyond rumors and tales. She believed that perhaps all this time she had had enough resources to keep in touch with the ways and customs of Westeros. That perhaps a Septa would have assisted her.

"Perhaps..." she began but stopped midway. 

Daenerys looked over at her with her scrunched brow.

"Perhaps what?"

Perhaps we could instruct you on it. But that idea was absurd. Totally unhinged. In the middle of a war, and with her pretending to subdue the North under her rule...Sansa you're still a stupid little girl.

"Perhaps it's time for me to retire. May the rest of the night be light to you, your Majesty."

***

After Sansa retired and Jon got lost somewhere among his people, Dany walked to stretch her legs until she came upon Brandon, who stood in front of the hearth, watching the crackling fire with rapt attention, apparently oblivious to everyone's presence.

Had he not spoken to her first, she would have passed him by.

"How did you escape from the Undying Ones?" he asked, out of the blue. 

"Pardon me?"

He turned his face over. 

"When you were trapped there, that was the first time you used dragons as weapons, wasn't it? How did you bring out that power?"

Daenerys was puzzled, not knowing how to respond without arousing suspicion. Perhaps he knew and pretended he didn't, or perhaps he had a presentiment.

"The golden dragon is very beautiful," he had said when she arrived. Viserion. Who had not been to Winterfell last time.

"I understand you can see everything. Know everything," responded Dany. "Maybe you know something I don't."

His eyes returned to the fire, casting a orange hue to his pale skin.

"There are too many things to know. The Citadel holds a vast amount of knowledge, but not everyone can access it." He paused, seemingly thinking. "I see images. Moments. Things that don't make sense...This conversation we're having," he watched her, with wondering eyes. "It was supposed to be Tyrion."

Dany sucked in a deep breath. This was leading to a dangerous terrain. 

"There are many alternate paths, but I'm not familiar with this one," Bran finished saying, ending the subject there. Then, he quickly added, "Jon is in great pain."

But there was no emotion nor rush in his voice. 

"Is he in danger?" asked Daenerys instead, alarmed. 

"No. He's just in pain," replied Brandon, matter-of-factly. 

Daenerys mulled it over. She was not sure if she should trust this version of him or be cautious. 

"Where is Jon?"

"In the crypts."

Dany turned around, ready to go after him, when Brandon stopped her again with his deep, monotone voice.

"Daenerys...You didn't answer my question."

The House of the Undying. The vision she saw there. It all made sense. He knew it somehow, and needed to know if she was aware of it too.

Dany shrugged.

"Maybe I never escaped. Maybe I died there and I haven't realized it yet."

***

Jon lit candles at the statue of Lyanna, his mother. The heat emanating from them melted the brittle layer of ice that covered the stone of her outstretched hand and face. A winter rose he had brought from the glass house he placed it in her open palm and a droplet emulated a tear sliding down her carved cheek.

All these years I have wondered about you. All my life I have needed you. And you were just right here.

Grief clutched his chest and he suddenly felt like crying and kicking like a small child, letting out his anger and rage at the circumstance. Pain for the lonely child who just wanted a mother who would make the world feel safer for him. Instead all that he had was absence and dreams. 

Questions and thoughts about a faceless woman who had not loved him enough to fight for him. 

Jon pinched his eyes to hold back tears as he choked back a sob. He suddenly flashed back to memories he longed to leave behind, a bitterness born of questioning what he knew would lead to nothing.

Did if his father had known what the Wall would be like? He must have, he thought. Which made the hurt the worse; Even his so called father — his uncle in truth — had abandoned in that cold, dready place at the end of the world. It was what the fruit of the union that plunged the continent into war deserved, and that cost the North its Lord, heir and the blood of its people.

Jon allowed himself to be dragged into the deepest misery.

"You Starks, find your solace in the most somber of places," said a startling voice behind him.

Startled, Jon turned around to find Daenerys standing at the entrance to the crypts, waiting on the bottom step for him to allow her to approach. One look of contested emotions was enough for her to take the first step forward.

"Be careful; it's slippery," Jon warned, holding out a hand which she tentatively took. 

In this dim light she looked as beautiful as ever, but with a shadow of sadness and misery. Perhaps the crypts had that effect on people, he thought, filling them with the sorrow that all these lost lives carried with them. 

"I am not a Stark," Jon responded bluntly, at her ascertain.

Dany looked at him with a disquiet expression. 

"Then what are you?" she softly asked him.

But instead of answering Jon lowered his gaze and raised it to Lyanna. On her statue. Daenerys followed his eyes and understand.

It was the time.

"They said my brother Rhaegar was a good man. That he liked to sing and despised to fight." She sighed heavily. "Ser Barristan Selmy told me he liked to sing to the poor and befriend the commonfolk. Yet he abducted and raped her," she said, emphasizing these last words. 

Silence.

Only an incoming draught whistled as water droplets rattled.

"He didn't," said Jon. "He didn't rape her."

Daenerys regarded him with attention. 

"Rhaegar did not abduct Lyanna, they run away together," he revealed, "He loved her. And she loved him too. They wed and had a son. A son she swore to her brother in her deathbed, after which she gave him a name."

Wordless, Daenerys stood there and listened to him.

"My name is not Jon Snow. My real name is Aegon Targaryen."

***

"Daenerys, please look at me," Jon asked her, mildly demanding.

It was as if the moment the words left his mouth, her mind had retraced to another world, her gaze gone vacant and her whole body stiffened.

Jon was about to cradle her face and shake her out of the daze she fallen into. It took all his willpower not to try to touch her somehow and make sure it was all real, that they were still there, her and him.

"Why?" It was barely a whisper, a shift of her eyes that turned her wild stare into absolute coldness.

"I need you to look at me," Jon stated simply, ignoring any implications beyond this request. "Do you believe me?" he asked, almost desperately.

She looked at him with squinted eyes. 

"You wouldn't lie," she growled low. 

A redundant silence hung over them like a interloper. What was Jon supposed to make of it? There was a sharp edge to her voice that revealed some flickers of ire but no overt anger. He suddenly found himself growing frustrated at his inability to read her and guess what thoughts were going through her head. 

Just a moment before, he thought he had that power and now was suddenly ousted of it.

He tried to catch her arm but she snapped his hand away.

"I mean you no harm!" he stated though harshly. 

Her face this time reddened and her eyes hardened.

At last, a reaction, he thought. 

"What makes you believe I consider you a threat? That you tell me now you are my contender for the Iron Throne when I am isolated, alone in your homeland?

"You know me," Jon insisted. 

"I don't," she replied, starting to take steps backwards and moving restlessly, almost as if dizzy. "I don't know who you are, Jon Snow," she said, shaking her head.

Jon leaped forward and stopped her by the arm.

"Let go of me!" she cried out. Daenerys eyes flashed something closer to murder rage.

Jon only grew angry.

"Let me go, or I will kill you. I promise you, I'll kill you with my bare hands," she threatened. 

But her resistance was nothing in the face of the force that subdued her, making him feel strangely excited to hold her small body.

Even if she protested, if she had wanted to, she could've tried harder. 

The conflict was in the struggle — a clash of wills. "This place is sacred," Jon gruffed, teeth clenching, his slate-gray eyes glowed like a blade near the fire, whose reflect was a warning. "Be mindful of your words."

Jon wouldn't have expected it to see her flinch for a moment, but it did. The mention of the sacredness of that ancient place of the Starks of old seemed to have an effect on her that, coupled with what he had just revealed, ironically enough, about the blood that bound them together, finally made Daenerys snap.

With her face close to his, so close that they could breathe the same numb air, Daenerys hissed the words: "The Starks be damned!"

It felt good to finally tell him to his face what she had kept quiet for so many years and to do so when she had a second chance to live this moment. Daenerys felt satisfied. Haughtily she gazed at him, taking her distance and waiting for him to snap out of his stupor and tell her that the time of alliance had come to an end.

That was what she expected. That he returned in coldness and scorn what she had just said to him. That he would push her out of his life without further consideration and sow the discord that would forever drive them in different corners of the world.

Only this time Daenerys would not give in. No. She would not tolerate that his word alone would suffice to take away something that should be hers. Something she wanted and fought for, that he so lightly detracted from.

When there was no response from him, only a perplexed shock, Daenerys understood he was once again choosing passivity.

Far from it, Jon's mind was set on fire. In a heartbeat his eyes turned steely gray.

Daenerys sensed the changed - and a shiver ran down her back.

With a sudden move, Jon grabbed Daenerys by her arm and dragged her with him onto the flat, cold surface of the crypts. He towered over her, and although she was taken by surprise, Dany did not let him intimidate her.

She was no helpless maiden. There was a duel of raging, so intense and so hard-fought that it heated up the cold atmosphere of the crypts. 

Both swallowed with their throats dry. Their minds clouded by the insane desire to overpower each other gave way to all the feelings that had been boiling and welling up inside them.

In the next moment, they both gave in to it all and collided their mouths in a searing kiss.

Notes:

Well it took one year but they finally kiss hehe