38

38.

Disturbance.

Jon, wake up.

His eyes shot open as a stingy breath entered his body. Jon jolted awake as shadows and silhouettes hovered over him. He sat up and looked around, he could only feel the piercing cold enveloping him and hear just the sound of his anxious breathing. Where was his wife? Only minutes before he had been holding her, her sleeping form was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep as well. 

Perhaps I have died? he asked himself. But this was not the same place he had gone to when he first died. When his sworn brothers of the Night Watch left him bleeding to death in the snow in the courtyard of Castle Black, he had seen nothing but darkness and felt nothing but the pain of his wounds, which became less painful as he faded further into that same darkness.

"Jon, wake up!" Again, the voice ordered. 

"Bran..." Jon whispered, hearing no response.

How did he end up there? Was it a dream or a vision? The dragon dreams he had been told about? Whatever the answer, Jon felt it was real, and therefore impossible to escape. 

He was not mad.

Rising slowly to his feet, he waited for the overpowering fog inside his brain to dissipate before taking a step. Finally, he realized he was in a forest. Trees with thick, tall trunks loomed before him like skeletal figures waiting to pounce on him, preventing him from seeing beyond their bare, frozen canopies, the moonless sky. 

Where was he?

***

Winterfell 

Jon stared at her, waiting for an answer but all Daenerys did was breathe in with the words caught in her throat and a heavy heart. 

Dany closed her eyes regretfully and shook her head. 

Glass might as well have fallen and shattered into a thousand pieces from the cracking and numbing sensation felt around them. Her eyes reflected a glint of guilt that Jon could clearly make out. She would not tell me the truth, the realization weighed on his heart — she didn't trust him enough, after all. 

Jon frowned, torn between the uncertainty and his growing unease. He looked around and slid his gaze to Bran.

His brother-cousin kept his countenance unreadable, as though he wasn't even present there. 

"What does the Night King wants then, Bran?" 

Bran looked between the two, and answered, "The same we want; to live."

What a way to put it, Jon thought humorlessly. If he lives, we die. 

"And there's something else — something you should know," Bran said, "When he trapped me, I wandered long through memories of the past. Some of them came willingly and others by accident. I saw King Viserys and his daughter Rhaenyra. I learned something about your family bloodline that you should both know. There was a dream that drove Aegon to start the Conquest. A dream about the end of the world of men."

Daenerys eyes widened with the revelation. 

"Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. He believed all of Westeros must stand against it when this great winter comes. And for the world of men to stand a chance, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king or queen strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. This dream he called, 'The Song of Ice and Fire."

Bran looked at the fire in the hearth and then at his hand — at his outstretched palm.

"A dagger of Valyrian steel blade and of dragonbone hilt was passed from heir to heir along with this knowledge. Until it got lost in time and found by..." he raised his eyes to meet Jon's. "By Rhaegar Targaryen. Your father Jon. Your true father."

Jon let out a sharp intake of breath. His mind raced with a thousand distressing conclusions. He could only wonder, "Did you know?"

And though he was facing Bran, a glance over his shoulder took Daenerys by surprise. 

"I... I..." Daenerys stammered, blinking nervously, "No! No!" she denied stridently. 

"She had no way of knowing. Her dreams are fragments of the future, not the past," Bran already responded. 

"And these dreams...What of them? What they could tell us that we don't know already? Perhaps Aegon was right. Indeed, he was right. The North brings the enemy. A Targaryen sits on the Throne. The dagger—" Jon trailed off, "What about the dagger?"

"It's here, in Winterfell, Jon. I trusted it to Arya."

"Catspaw?"

Jon remembered how excited Arya seemed with the Valyrian steel weapon.

"How in the Seven Hells a Targaryen ancestral bulwark ended up here?" 

"There'll be time for that," Bran replied. "Right now, I'm sure that's the piece we're missing. We need to be prepared." And as he said this, his gaze traveled to Daenerys. "A Targaryen sits the Throne, and winter has come. All that remains is to find out who is the Prince that was promised."

***

The moment those words came out of Bran's mouth — the same words Melisandre had spoken —, Jon was too weary of it all to bear it any longer. He left Bran's chambers quickly as if he were running away. 

Daenerys gasped in pain as he passed her, his face conveying feelings of disappointment, helplessness, and frustration. And it hurt a thousand times worse because she knew she was part of the reason he could not anchor his drifting fears.

Disquietude gripped her heart as a single and lonely tear slid down her cheek.

There it was the reason why everything started in the first place. Or will he start it? The Brandon that sent her back in time made something clear: nothing that could change the course of events that would lead to that encounter can be altered. Only the bits were out of the main course.

This Bran, she didn't know what to expect from him.

He looked up, his eyes inquisitive.

"Why are you hiding the truth from him?" Bran asked her, too oblivious for his own sake.

"What do you think I'm hiding from him?" she asked back, turning around. 

"I wish you no harm, Daenerys. I wish nothing, in truth. I'm only driven by this." He pointed out to his head, where his powers reside. 

Still, she was too reluctant. 

"Jon will find out the truth, sooner or later, and I can't say for sure what his reaction will be, but one thing is certain. His grief ended with him on the alternate line — why take him down the same path, now that together you're are stronger?"

"You tore us apart!" she reminded him accusingly, "I'm just protecting him. Protecting him from the hurt! The kindness you couldn't or did not want to, spare us the last time!"

Dany realized that what she feared the most was to lose again. She was dangerously walking a blurred line between the impossible and her own doing. 

His lips unfurled in a thin smile.

"You are afraid," Bran calmly pointed out. "You are afraid that it will happen again. Once he knows the truth."

She shook her head, wanting to know or hear no more. 

"It is your choice," Bran sentenced. "The dagger..."

Dany gave him a piercing look.

"What about the dagger?" she asked him, confused. 

***

Viserion purred softly as he saw her approach. Of all her children, he was the most loving and affectionate. The idea that anyone would even think of harming him made Dany's blood boil with fury. The grief she felt all those years without him and the guilt of his death that weighed her down intensified as she looked into his eyes, so trusting. 

How could Arya even think about it?

After speaking to him soothingly and scratching the back of his muzzle, Dany searched the thick snow for the trace of the dagger Bran mentioned. The dagger that belonged to her family. It took a good deal of time but finally, a glimpse of gold led her there.

Dany raised the dagger in her hands, reading the High Valyrian inscriptions that read: from my blood comes the prince that was promised, and his shall be the song of ice and fire. The Conqueror had so engraved it on the blade. 

Of course, it could be the case that it was, as Missandei had pointed out, a princess. But Dany was certain it was Jon. It had always been Jon. 

A weary sigh escaped her lips and she closed her eyes, reminiscing. She had once believed herself destined to all this — to greatness. But that was so long ago that now it had a different connotation, of a curse rather than a reward. 

I have given so much to this world only for it never to be enough, she had said to herself back then, on the edge of the precipice over which she finally fell.

Aegon had been a dreamer. So was she. 

But my dream was not a dream of ice and fire, Dany thought, remembering that vision of a future she believed to be true. That was a dream of spring. 

How naive she had been, she reproached herself, to follow exactly the same path that was doomed. Wasn't her goal to right the wrong? To set the path on the right track? Why did she believe that this time the harm would be spared?

The Starks and the North were not to accept or love her, they were to respect her. She and Jon had a purpose that united them, but in the end, it was he whose destiny he should embrace. She could no longer shield him from it, let alone out of fear of the consequences. 

***

Arya was already waiting for her when Daenerys walked into her chamber, no further explanations required. Her face of big storm grey eyes gave her a cautious but not inimical look. Dany, on the other hand, hardened her stare.

Dany had Catspaw sheathed in her belt. The weapon that had meant so much to both their families was now in her hands and she had no intention of returning it to the one who had thought to misuse it so badly. 

"Your she-wolf, the one who roams the mountains. I would have hunted her down and skinned her alive had you given my dragon even the slightest scratch. You know that?" Dany began to speak. Her voice, a freshly sharpened blade. "What were you even thinking? That your skills as an assassin would be enough against a full-grown dragon?"

Arya never averted her gaze.

"I have made a lapse in judgment".

"Only a lapse of judgment? That's unbecoming of you, Arya Stark."

Arya lowered her head slightly. 

"There is no need to resort to threats. I know perfectly well the consequences of going against the dragons. My family knows it well." 

Dany furrowed her brow and let out an almost pained snort. 

"Is that what this is about, then? old feuds?" 

"It's always about family. At least for me. And if my blood is in danger I will never hesitate to go to any lengths to fight for them. But no, this time it was a purely selfish, clumsy, senseless act."

"What does that mean?" 

Arya stepped forward. 

"Jon had just revealed to us the truth of his origin." 

"And you deemed that excuse enough for you to attack me? My children?" 

"They are not children to me. They are not children to the rest of the world." 

This time, Daenerys took two steps forward, towering over her and watching her with eyes shot with anger. 

"Every person in this castle, in the North, every person on this continent even, is alive because I choose so! Do not forget that!" Daenerys stated in a blunt reminder. 

It overpowered her, this feeling of betrayal so present that was just one of many emotions she had experienced since waking up that day.

A glint crossed Arya's seemingly unaffected gaze, which mirrored Daenerys's own hurt.

"I didn't mean you or your dragon any harm. I made a mistake," the young Stark said, this time making no effort to mount the facade of the unemotional assassin. "I love Jon. I wasn't thinking, I was hurt..."

Dany blinked, withdrawing and standing a distance away from her, suddenly struck with the horror and realization of what she heard and where it took her back. To that moment when she felt Jon slipping away from her, losing him to the Starks. The person that she didn't want to become, not again. 

Dany shivered with the chill that suddenly enveloped her, realizing that Arya's chamber was much colder than her own.

Without another word, she turned around and left. 

***

"More candles," Jon ordered in a voice that made the young servants startle. His gaze was fixed on the map spread out on the table, his eyes never leaving where Winterfell was. The sound of the door opening followed by footsteps made him look up. Ser Jorah Mormont walked quietly into the library, his face meek as he lowered his head in a respectful bow. Jon had summoned him.

"You may be wondering why I sent for you?" 

"I need not guess hardly, your Grace," the other man responded. 

Jon walked around the table. Looking at him more closely he could see the features of his former commander in him. The memory filled him with grief.

"Ser Jorah, your father knew of the Dead. He knew the day would come when the Wall would not be enough to stop them." He glanced back to where Longclaw rested on the table and lifted it. Jorah quickly recognized her. "He gave her to me, as a gesture. But she does not belong to me."

Jon held her out to him. 

Jorah frowned, looking first at Longclaw and then at him. 

"My father wanted his Grace to wield it. His wish shall be honored." Jorah Mormont blinked up with a glint in his eyes and said, "May she serve you well, and your children after you." 

Jon cringed at the implication and pulled Longclaw away.

"It was my impression that you were to hurry Queen Daenerys back to the South."

"I am the Hand, your Grace. I must look after the best interests of the Queen I serve. But more importantly, I am her protector."

"And what does that mean?" Jon asked him.

"Her mission to the North had a purpose..."

"Yes, that is true. And it is for that purpose that the North will have a chance," Jon interrupted him, "But Winterfell will hold its ground, my Lord."

Jorah shot him a dangerous look.

"Daenerys cannot risk remaining here."

"Daenerys wants to protect—"

"Not everything Daenerys wants is what suits her interests, your Grace," Jorah cut him off this time. A moment of awkward silence followed. Then he continued, more seriously, "She must live. Many things and many lives depend on it, your Grace."

Jon frowned in annoyance. "Ser Jorah, do you think I want her hurt?" 

"If you are the man my father thought worthy enough of his sword, then I must suppose you do not. But since you came into her life, Daenerys has taken risks that have jeopardized her well-being. You must understand that I will not stand by and watch her run into danger without making my best effort to prevent it."

"You love her," Jon stated, sending Ser Jorah into a damning silence. "It seems, after all, we want the same thing, Ser Jorah."

***

"They move slowly but steadily. We won't have more than a week for them to cross the entire North and reach Winterfell..."

As Jon spoke to his bannermen, Dany listened to it intently and asserted her position as an ally. His eyes darted this way and that, never settling on one place for very long. 

"The ships are ready, we just need to tell the people to embark on them," she said.

"They will only do so when they see the dead approaching. It will be too late. It'll be too late then." Jon hesitated. "Just like Hardhome, a hundred times worst." He made a pause, never looking at anyone directly. "We will not have enough time to evacuate them all. At least not by traditional means. If Queen Daenerys is agreeable to it, I'd like to fly with Rhaegal and speed up the evacuation."

Daenerys wasn't expecting such suggestion and shifted slightly uncomfortable at it.

The room fell silent as all eyes looked toward her.

"Think about it, your Grace," interjected Jorah who stood beside her, "Delivering the message that it is urgent to leave their homes as quickly as possible be more convincing."

"Convincing?" Daenerys sounded incredulous. "You mean to fret people into ships?"

"Sometimes fear is necessary to awaken our impulses for self-protection," Jon spoke, finally meeting her eyes. "The important thing is that these people are in the ships and not in the Night King's numbers. Better to burn their castles of stones, than their rotting bodies revived when they become part of the army of the dead."

"That's madness. Using the dragons against your own people!" objected Sansa Stark and for the first time since Daenerys set foot in Winterfell, they've agreed on something. 

"No Northman will fall victim to the dragons, my Lady, not if they get into the ships," rebutted Jon calmly. 

"Else will you burn them?" Sansa questioned him.

"Else," he replied sternly, "They will be just another number in the army of the dead and then. What choice would you make in my stead, sister?" And the question resounded menacingly and outputting at the same time. 

Sansa couldn't believe it, it seemed by the way she opened her mouth and shook her head, without a response.

Jon let the silence speak for him. His dark stare settled on Dany again. "Do I have your bless?"

Though Daenerys would have liked to be forewarned before being questioned in front of the entire war council, including his sisters, she gave her assent with a gentle nod.

There was no more time to waste. The time had come to face the army of the dead again.

When everyone exited the room and Jon stayed in, he addressed Sansa with these words:

"I know what Littlefinger made of you, Sansa. But I'm not putting up with your overt malice anymore. Watch your tongue or be mindful of the consequences."

There was no doubt that Sansa had herself done a good job of sabotaging her relationship with her brother, but yet, Dany believed not, that the Jon she had known in her past life would have used her entanglement with Petyr Baelish against her. Not the Jon who told her of Sansa's sufferings at the hands of that horrible man.

Jon shot a last glance at them both and also left the room, leaving them too stunned to say something. 

Daenerys heard Sansa move but did not look her way.

"I know you believe the same," she said. 

"And what is that I believe, Lady Sansa?"

"That I am the same as Baelish and Cersei."

"And are you?" Dany asked her, with a lost look.

A long pause before she responded, "I'm not sure."

***

Tormund and his people moved as far east as possible until they reached a small tumbledown town, where a ship was already taking its people. They were lucky that the Northmen did not think it was a raid, otherwise, they would never have allowed free folk to embark.

The ship was sailing to White Harbor, as the dead were not far from there. Yet the Dondarrion man kept looking north, where, with still no sign of them, he seemed to sense that they were there.

"Our time as each other companion is coming to an end, Tormund the giant's bane," he said in his husky, proud voice.

"What gibberish are you talking about?" he questioned with a grimace of incomprehension. 

"That is not my way," he asserted with a rather contented smile. "I've been running from death for a long time. It's my time to face it."

Fuck, Tormund cursed inwardly. He too wanted to face the fuckers but he had to think of his people. They were a pathless lot without his guide. 

Tormund stepped forward and bid his farewell to the other man with a firm handshake. That would be the last time he would see the legend of Beric Dondarrion.

***

Winterfell 

"Guide me in the dark meadow.  Guard me as I rest in the garden of shadows. Hold me and lull me as I travel the path of your designs."

A figure covered head to toe by a blood-dark robe stood with her back to him, on the river bank. Jon approached her as if drawn to it by a pull. The same voice that had torn him from the sweet nothingness of death and dragged him into the world of shadows and pain. 

Melisandre.

"Oh, guide me in the dark meadow.  Guard me as I rest in the garden of shadows. Hold me and lull me as I travel the path of your designs."

She repeated these prayers over and over, in an unbearable whisper. Jon would have liked to push her out and drown her in that river, never to hear her again.  The darkness of his desire made him squirm inside himself.

Melisandre turned around with a smirk.

She said nothing but Jon was certain that she knew it.

"There is darkness within us, Jon Snow. The more we fight against it, the harder it strikes out. It's time to wake up. Wake up, Jon Snow."

***

Jon sat up in his bed, breathing heavily and his forehead sweaty. He pushed aside the beddings and threw his legs over the side, barely making his way to the fireplace, seeking the warmth of the fire as if in a feverish state he could find no warmth to calm the tremors in his body. 

I am not mad.

I am not mad.

I AM NOT MAD.

A creaking sound startled him and he turned to find Daenerys standing behind him, having risen from the chair where she seemed to have been resting. Only then did Jon realize that those words had been spoken aloud, for Dany's face showed the blunt emotion of reaction. 

She started to leave for the door of his chambers but then an unknown, brute force surged within him, just in time to reach her before she could escape him.

Jon wrestled with her until she was thrown roughly back into the bedchamber.

When he closed the doors, her expression was feral. She was angry at him. 

"Is madness that you fear, then?" She did her best to hide the venom lurking in her voice but she did not make it very well, for Jon reacted by stepping forward menacingly reactive. Dany did not recede, however. 

"What did you see in your dream, Dany? What are you hiding from me?" he shouted, uncaring that the whole castle would be hearing. 

"I told you I saw the dead!"

Jon hovered over her.

"You are lying," he whispered sharply. "I saw it too. The dreams! They've following me since I learned that bloody truth about my real parents. Most likely by the time you landed on Dragonstone. Isn't it? Does that sounds like madness to you?"

Her face was mere inches apart.

"You're looking for an answer but the answer has been always been in front of your eyes, Jon Snow."

A heavy silence hung between the two and the room filled with tension. Jon was so confused that he ran the palm of his hand over his eye to soothe the pain of his headache. 

Dany's face softened.

"Of all the things Bran said..." she began but her voice was cut off by a lump in her throat. "Jon, you are the prince who was promised. Born of ice and fire. It's your destiny we're talking about."

Jon gave her a wild glare.

"The dragons..."

Daenerys dropped her shoulders in dismay.

"I have a part to play but it's not in me." She pulled from her belt the dagger they had called Catspaw but which was her family's ancestral weapon. The dagger had a purpose to serve just as they did.

Jon's eyes immediately widened at the sight of it.

"Your sister lost her right to it. She tried to hurt my Viserion with it. But you need worry no more. My time in the North is over."

Jon stepped forward. His expression was dark.

"I have to go back to my people, Jon. To the ones that depend on me."

"Are you leaving me?"

Her brow furrowed. 

"I'm never leaving you, Jon. But whatever this is...it's doomed. I have to protect myself and those I love."

"Those you love?" Jon grabbed her forearm and pulled her in. "Who I am to you, then?"

A myriad of emotions constricted her heart but she was certain about it. In this life, and in that other, she had loved him. And she loves him here too. Oh, but she couldn't bear it, to say it and keep him in ignorance of the truth he was looking for — the truth she couldn't bring herself to reveal. 

"You don't want this. I know that," Dany said.

He scoffed. "You don't know what I want."

Didn't she? she wondered. 

She took a deep breath in and stepped closer until they shared the same air. She reached for his hand and gave him the dagger, something like a sickness taking over her at the memory that quickly passed through her mind. He's not that Jon, she reassured herself. 

Daenerys' eyes fluttered upward. 

"You know what's right as do I. We shall go on our respective journeys from now on."

She attempted to withdraw her hand but he held it in place until the dagger was between them, right in front of his chest. His gaze painfully condemning.

***

Jon descended into the crypt and dragged his steps across the damp ground until he reached the statue of Lyanna, his mother. Her stone face had no shape at all, a face that could have been anyone's. They said Arya looked like her, and Jon could not see that reflected in the statue. 

At least I have met the face of a father, that of Eddard Stark. But I will never know who Rhaegar Targaryen was either.

He closed his eyes and became engrossed in dismal thoughts. How could a man like him be entrusted with such a destiny? It was incorrect. Dany was the one who brought dragons to life, the queen who conquered the throne that had been taken from their family. All that she fought for was now his only because a capricious destiny dictated it. It did not sit well with Jon. He wanted to curse the seven heavens and the seven hells, or all those who made it possible for this to happen.

Even Rhaegar.

Even Lyanna.

He slowly opened his eyes again to face Lyanna's face, which was actually carved stone. Suddenly he heard the sound of laughter and behind the statue, a snowy blue landscape. 

Now he was no longer in the crypts but in the mountains, in the forest where his father and brothers went hunting. And behind him, a woman was calling out to him, though he did not quite understand what she was saying. 

Jon turned and looked for the woman, her distorted, blurred image growing sharper as he walked closer, until he could make out her hair as dark as raven feathers, her skin as white as snow, and her eyes... her eyes were large and beautiful, but he could see no color in them, they looked like the eyes of Lyanna's statue.

What Jon could see and hear was her smile. Her soft voice. Her face...beautiful. 

Who was she?

As soon as he raised a hand to touch her face, his hand came to rest on the stone cheek of Lyanna's statue. And he was back in the crypts.

***

Dany was helping the men load her gear onto Drogon's back when Jorah walked his way to her. He wanted them back, but by the look on his face, she knew he was coming to reproach her for flying again so soon, not even a full day has passed since their encounter with the Night King.

In truth, beyond the wounds of battle, Daenerys carried no more pain than she could bear. Even with this body that seemed oblivious to the tribulations, she was yet to endure, her mind and her memories were something else. If Jorah could know what she was capable of enduring, he would go mad.

Her words of reassurance did nothing to slow her Hand's insistence on questioning her decision. 

Especially the one concerning Jon Snow.

"Is it wise to leave Rhaegal behind?" Jorah asked. 

Daenerys stuck out her chest.

"I have seen how he has defended Rhaegal in battle and vice versa. They will look out for each other. The bond between a dragon and his rider is stronger than you can imagine."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that, Khaleesi, but is Jon Snow a real dragon rider? Or just a very lucky man?" he questioned.

Oh, gods, he doesn't even guess it.

"Jorah..." she was about to explain when another form emerged from the shadows of night. 

It was Jon.

And by the way he walked toward them, he seemed determined to interrupt them.

"Your Grace," Jorah skeptically greeted him.

The other men around them turned and bowed their heads slightly. Jon gave them a look and urged them to leave. 

Daenerys looked at him curiously.

"Ser Jorah, I need a word alone with Her Grace," he explained. "There will be no further obstacles to your departure once she has heard me and made a decision. Not on my part at least."

Jorah tensed, but one look from Daenerys was enough to make him understand that he must withdraw and leave them alone.

In the dimly lit night, it was just them and the three dragons, who occasionally let out a low growl in displeasure at the cold. At least there was no snow falling yet, and the sky was lit by those dancing green lights.

"Jon," Dany said, barely a whisper, "Jon, what are you doing?"

"The dream," Jon said, cutting her off, "I know what you saw in that dream. I know what you're trying to do."

Daenerys opened her eyes as if at that very moment he had pulled out that dagger that ended her life and was raising it, ready to place it back into her heart. Suddenly it was not the Jon she loved that she saw but the other, the one who had murdered her. 

And then she was afraid.

"I have seen the woman. I have heard and dreamed of her again. And Melisandre's damned voice—" Jon made a gesture of contempt and disgust. "I have them too. Those dreams haunt me. They've driven me mad. But Dany..." When she wanted to pull away, he grabbed her arm to stop her. "Daenerys, dreams did not make us kings. Dragons did," he said with determination, the words so clear it was as if someone dictated them to him in his mind. "There is no destiny that can be pursued without action. And I am willing to do it, but only with you by my side. I want nothing otherwise."

Dany stood contemplative for a moment, relaxing within his grip as she realized that he hadn't figured it out all yet. Not the whole truth about the restoration of the timeline. 

He had been experiencing dragon dreams. 

"Jon..." she stroked his cheek. 

"Bran and you. You want everything to go the way it's meant to. But we're the ones who have to walk it! We are the ones who have to choose it!"

"What if it isn't?" She countered, very seriously, "Jon, you could be risking your true destiny. Beyond the Seven Kingdoms, beyond the Night King...your life beyond all this."

His brow furrowed. 

"I'd rather it be a doomed road beside you than a hundred greater destinies."

Her heart stopped for a moment.

"I love you, Daenerys. And no prophecy will ever change that."

Dany couldn't take it anymore. 

The barrier that had held back the flow of emotion collapsed and her resolve along with it. 

To restrain and give in, to go back and restrain herself again...she couldn't live with it. She had done it once before and that's how she got there. Because even in a life away from him, learning of his passing sent her back on a mission to turn it all around and give him another chance.

Even with the pain of what he had done to her, the notion that he was gone was the one thing her heart could not bear.

Daenerys jumped up and hugged him, as he held her and she snuggled into his neck.

"I love you, a thousand years..." she whispered in his ear. 

Notes:

next chapter: a last-minute affair, more reconciliations, a goodbye kiss, and...Jon learns...something