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Drogon landed with a resounding boom, the forest floor cracking beneath him as his spiked tail cut through a cluster of ash trees behind them. Dany let out a sigh, elated to return to her Riverlands camp following a swift victory. Rolling her shoulders, she was eager to rid herself of the heavy plate pauldrons and bracers her advisors had been so insistent about. What use was armour on the back of a fire breathing dragon?

Brimming with satisfaction, she held her head high while giving herself a moment to watch the golden rays of the rising sun shine through the lush green canopy. Today was a day she’d been waiting for a long time. Returning to Westeros to reclaim what was hers by right, she’d met the first of the rebellious lords in battle – and it had ended as quickly as it started.

The Northern army proved no match for her dragons.

Or rather, no match for Rhaegal who had taken their battle commander, Jon Snow by surprise.

The son of House Stark had not stood a chance when the green dragon had flown ahead of his mother, descending on the man through the trees. Dany’s heart had stopped, sure her scaly child would burn her valuable hostage alive, but to her bemusement, he seemed happy enough to unhorse him – and terrorize his cavalry.

The look of utter shock on Jon Snow’s face as he surrendered immediately to spare his men, was one she’d not soon forget.

Dismounting, she was met by Missandei and Ser Barristan, the latter handing her a fresh towel to wipe away the sweat and soot from her face.

“A battle well fought, Your Grace,” the grey knight praised, his armour clean and unmarred. “You’ve acquired a valuable prisoner with little cost of life.”

Dany's chest swelled with pride. “Are we sure the man is Robb Stark’s brother?”

Missandei, wearing a long sleeve dress to adjust to the colder climate, was the picture of composure. “Ser Jorah says he has the look of the Starks and their house sigil is imprinted on his gorget.”

“A valuable prisoner indeed,” Dany answered, her mind consumed with diplomatic strategy. “At this rate, we’ll have the North in a fortnight. Take me to him.”

The name Snow might make him a bastard, but it was no secret the man was beloved in the North. Nor was it a secret the Starks were a loyal family.

She stood tall as she strode through camp, pleased to see her people vitalized by their recent victory. The Targaryen banners were flying as fires were being lit, and the smell of sizzling meat and wine filled the air. They were getting a taste of all she promised in her campaign to retake the Iron Throne.

After she regained her family seat, she would set things right, and do everything in her power to ensure she left this world a better place. She would make these feuding lords understand the throne was hers by right – and the ones who refused her would either perish or fade into obscurity.

By her order, the son of House Stark was to be afforded the accommodations appropriate for a noble hostage. Her reputation in Westeros still left much to be desired as the so called foreign daughter of the Mad King. Let them say, at least, she is hospitable to her prisoners.

Pushing through the canvas door of the pavilion which would serve as his cell, she was greeted by Ser Jorah who bowed with reverence.

Her eyes were drawn to the captive man in the corner of the room.

Kneeling on the ground, he was chained and flanked by two of her Unsullied soldiers. Still dressed in his battle worn armour, his head was bent and his dark hair obscured his face.

The feelings of self-satisfaction and pity competed for her attention. This was a son of the Usurper’s Dog, a man who haunted her childhood nightmares, but it was hard not to feel sympathy for a man who had been laid so low.

She walked with slow purpose to stand above him. “Well met, Jon Snow.” At her words, her Unsullied soldiers lifted the Northerner to his feet.

Grumbling, he raised his head, the hair falling away from his face to reveal a young man with grey eyes; grey eyes that held hers with deep suspicion.

Dany hummed in surprise. “Or is it Jon Stark? I’ve heard conflicting reports. You can’t imagine all the rumors I’ve heard with so many feuding houses.”

He met her with a firm gaze, betraying no hint of nervousness. “Call me whatever you wish. I’m not so concerned with titles as some.”

Catching the retort, she raised her chin. “You’re much younger than I imagined – and smaller too.” She sized him up as his eyes narrowed.

He wore the Stark sigil as Missandei said, and despite his lack of height, he seemed well built as far as she could tell through his armour. “Have you heard the stories the Northern people tell about you?” she asked. “The White Wolf – the King in the North’s most trusted confidant, and the greatest swordsman who ever lived. He rides his fearsome direwolf into battle so the beast can feast on the flesh of his enemies.”

She smiled sweetly as he glared at her, exhaustion etched on his face. “I was sorely disappointed to see you were far from the towering giant I pictured – and that your direwolf resembled quite an ordinary horse.”

The prisoner’s jaw clenched showing his bruised pride and defiance. “You’re rather little yourself,” he answered back in a thick Northern accent. “I thought the daughter of the Mad King would be far more imposing. All I see is a pretty young girl with a taste for dramatic entrances."

Jon Snow’s words were abruptly cut off as Ser Jorah smacked him upside the head. “Mind your tongue.”

Dany frowned and shot her knight a look while her hostage groaned. This overzealous display was more evidence he’d grown far too protective of her.

Forcing her cool demeanor to return, she took a step closer to Jon Snow. "No need to humble him, Ser Jorah. I've already done that.”

Jon Snow raised his head, and despite his anger, she noted the way his eyes briefly fell to her lips. Letting the corners of her mouth turn up, she added. “A pretty young girl has defeated him in battle and taken him prisoner."

His face flushed red as he glowered at her knight. "Jorah Mormont, the man who fled into exile after my father called for his execution.”

The air between the two men was charged with hatred. “What an honorable man Eddard Stark was, bastard,” Ser Jorah said.

Jon Snow’s reproachful look fell back on Dany. “So the little queen who calls herself the Breaker of Chains keeps the company of a man who would break our laws and sell people into slavery?"

She bristled, and hardened her stare. "People can change. When Ser Jorah pledged himself to me, he helped me free thousands from bondage. And now we're here to free all of Westeros from the Usurper's spawn."

The insolent hostage scoffed. "Free them? You'll only bring war and bloodshed, just like your father did. Robert Baratheon ended your family's reign for a reason. He was mad and cruel and turned on his own people."

Beside her, Ser Barristan kept his hand on his hilt. "Permission to strike him, Your Grace?"

"No," Dany declined, keeping her voice steady. "Let him have his words." Taking another step closer so there was little space between them. “For a son of the Usurper's dog, you have a lot to say about my father.”

Jon Snow gritted his teeth, plainly offended. "Eddard Stark rose up to help bring an end to your family’s reign because your father was mad and cruel. He burned my grandfather alive and forced my uncle to watch until he strangled himself to death.”

Dany’s pulse jumped. Her knights told her the truth about what kind of man her father was, and it weighed heavily on her conscience – but she wasn’t going to admit that to this rebellious lord. She returned his icy stare. “Your family conspired with Robert Baratheon after your aunt, Lyanna Stark, rejected her betrothal, and had a love affair with my brother, Prince Rhaegar.”

His nostrils flared and she was sure his face couldn’t be a deeper shade of red. “Your brother kidnapped my aunt and raped her.”

Fury burned in Dany’s chest for the disparagement of her kin. “Of course,” she replied flatly. “The things men care about when it suits their lust for war. Discussions for another time.”

Turning on her heel, she marched toward the door. "Ser Barristan, see that Lord Snow has food and rest. He's marching with us in the morning to meet the King in the North. I want him fresh and alert while he watches his brother bend the knee."

“Come with me, Ser Jorah,” she added. He’d demonstrated he was incapable of treating her hostage kindly. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she found Jon Snow’s eyes boring holes into her, and she let her gaze linger on him longer than was proper. Flashing him a slow smile, she taunted. “Sleep well.”

Sharing the barest hint of a smirk with Missandei, the two stepped out into the cool morning air with Ser Jorah trailing close behind. The confidence she’d felt moments ago was beginning to fade as she thought longer on Jon Snow’s words. She was coming to terms with the man her father was, but she couldn’t accept the same of Rhaegar. The stories she’d been told about him painted the picture of a man she could look up to, and she refused to believe he was the monster the Starks claimed him to be.

Dany addressed her knight as they reached the entrance to her pavilion. “Have a care for my prisoners, Ser Jorah,” she rebuked, raising her eyebrows. “Do not strike them unduly.”

The knight weighed her words carefully, the heat of his disdain for the Starks still radiating off him. “He should not be allowed to speak to you in such a manner, My Queen.”

Dany exhaled. It was too early in the day to feel so tired. “Right now, I can’t afford to concern myself with how a hostage speaks to me. We can fret about manners after I take the throne.”

She bid her knight farewell, and slipped inside the warmth of her tent with Missandei. Her most trusted confidant helped her remove her armour and then they both enjoyed a meal of delicate meats and fruit.

After a time Missandei asked. “What did you think of Jon Snow, Your Grace?”

Dany sat back in her chair. “I thought he was rather arrogant for a man I captured within a quarter hour.”

Missandei smiled and took a sip of wine. “Ser Jorah was not impressed with him.”

Being reminded of the knight’s absurd display made her roll her eyes. “No, he was not, but I think we can both agree his judgement is unreliable wherever I’m concerned.”

Her friend's brown eyes sparkled as she laughed softly. “He was different from how I thought he’d be. I think I expected all the Northerners to look like Jorah.”

Dany nodded. “I thought the same. He’s certainly pleasing to look at but he seems to have the infamous Northern stubbornness we keep hearing about.” Suddenly her thoughts turned melancholy. “What do you think about what he said about my brother?”

Missandei thought for a moment and then leaned in. “I think he believes what he said – but that doesn’t make it true.”

She smiled weakly. “You’re right. It can’t be true.”

Jon squinted under the morning sun as he was led on horseback through the lines of the Dragon Queen’s army. Men were shouting orders as they got into formation, and he had a hard time keeping himself from staring at the unending rows of Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers. Being in the presence of warriors he’d only learned about from stories and books, added to his struggle to believe any of this was real.

In the last day he’d been unseated by a flesh and blood dragon, imprisoned by its tiny mother, and now he was being guarded by the legendary Ser Barristan the Bold. The old knight was stern and focused as he rode in front of him, dutifully escorting Jon to the frontlines.

Despite being afforded a hot bath and warm meal the night before, he spent the night tossing and turning as the thought of his brother meeting the Dragon Queen on the field of battle tormented him. With the might of her armies and the size of her dragons, he knew his brother would either become the second Northern king to kneel or a pile of ashes.

Every jolt of the horse’s gait reminded him his hands were tied in front of him; the reality that his role as a helpless prisoner was meant to hasten Robb’s decision to fold, made his stomach turn. He’d failed his family and the entire North when he allowed his men to be defeated so easily. They’d not seen the dragons for themselves until it was too late; if he had, he’d have called for his men to retreat so they could regroup and come up with some other way to face them.

At the very least, he might have warned his brother.

His heart quickened as the dragons came into view, waiting at the ready at the head of the army. Their silver haired mother was perched on the largest dragon with a smaller white dragon on her right, and the green dragon on her left – the very dragon who unseated him the day before.

As if reading his thoughts, the green dragon perked up and wheeled its massive head around to look directly at Jon who was still five rows back. Shock and awe had him almost losing his seat again as he fought to steady himself with bound wrists. His pulse beat in his throat while the dragon's bronze eyes stayed locked on him.

Ser Barristan chuckled. “He won’t harm you, Jon Snow. Not unless the Queen orders it. Or if you're foolish enough to get too close.”

The dragon’s stare kept him pinned the rest of the way.

Unnerved by the attention, he almost stumbled as Ser Barristan ordered him to dismount, and then the smell of sulfur turned his mind to the battle the day before.

Robb had entrusted him to take some of their best men to meet Daenerys Targaryen in battle and test her military prowess. When the scouts returned with the location of her camp, he’d meant to take them by surprise an hour before sunrise. Leading his army with Ghost at his side, he was surrounded by his men who were as impatient as he was to face this so called queen. A victory against her armies would boost the morale of the Northern and Riverlands armies who were growing tired of fighting Lannisters and increasingly weary from the rumors of this foreign invader.

Before they could reach her camp, they were taken unawares by a scaly green beast descending on them threw the trees, terrifying both himself and his horse who reared up and threw him to the ground.

With the taste of dirt in his mouth, he shouted at Ghost to go, having to shove the direwolf off in order to save him before the dragon rounded on him again. Nowhere to run, he sat frozen, waiting to be consumed by fire at any moment.

By the rumors he’d heard of the Targaryen princess, the offer of surrender was unexpected.

Now, instead of being a pile of ashes on the forest floor, Ser Barristan was escorting him on foot to his queen. The knight's full plate armour clinking as he forced Jon to stand between the great black dragon, and the green; the latter who, much to his growing discomfort, couldn’t stop studying him.

It was the Queen’s gaze who drew Jon’s attention next, as he found her smiling down on him. She looked even smaller atop her scaly mount. “Good morning, My lord. I trust you slept well?”

Being held in place by her sworn knight, he kept his expression closed as he raised his eyes to her. “As well as any prisoner could, Your Grace.”

Feeling a wash of hot breath, he almost jumped out of his skin when he found the green dragon’s massive face inches away. It chirped and clicked curiously, acting more like a dog who wanted to play fetch than a fearsome beast.

The queen smirked. “Jon Snow, this is Rhaegal, named for my brother. The two of you met yesterday when you had your little spill.” She laughed softly while he stood perfectly still, afraid to even twitch. “It seems he’s taken a liking to you – a pity he’s already had his breakfast.”

Rhaegal didn’t let up until movement ahead of them caught his attention. Jon had a brief moment for his nerves to settle before he saw Robb riding out surrounded by Grey Wind, the Blackfish and Lord Umber. The sight of the Stark banner rippling in the wind made him straighten with pride, and a bit of hope.

Then, shifting on his tired feet, he carefully moved his wrists in his bonds, feeling for any sign of give while trying not to alert Ser Barristan. His predicament seemed helpless, but he would keep his eye out for any opportunity.

Wearing his iron crown, Robb’s expression was hard as he looked to the Dragon Queen.

Full of confidence, she climbed down her dragon’s great wing, her slender frame belying her commanding presence. She looked nothing like the evil woman he’d heard so much about. Despite her haughty nature and her unjust cause, he couldn’t help but admit she had a graceful beauty that made her look exactly like any queen or princess should.

As the young rulers met on foot, Robb with his direwolf and Daenerys with her dragon, Jon was certain bards would write songs about this strange meeting. His thoughts were interrupted by the queen’s young female advisor reciting her tedious list of titles. He didn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

His resolve was bolstered when he heard Lord Umber bellow: "Here stands Robb Stark, the King in the North!"

The formalities over, Jon watched the ensuing exchange with rapt attention.

Robb stood tall. "Greetings, Your Grace. I ask you to release my brother."

Perfectly poised, Daenerys smiled politely and raised her voice for all to hear. "I have every intention of doing so, and of leaving you, and all of your men undisturbed. I've come to restore order, justice, and prosperity to Westeros as the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“In return, I ask only for your allegiance. Bend the knee, and I will return your brother, help you avenge your father, and bring your sisters safely home."

Robb responded with a charming smile he knew how to wield often and well. "We'd be happy to fight Lannisters with you, but not on those terms. Your family broke faith with ours when your father murdered my kin. We have no interest in a Southron ruler."

Jon’s gaze cut to the Dragon Queen, seeing the barest flash of anger in her eyes before it disappeared behind a mask of unabashed audacity. The great black dragon suddenly lowered his head, emitting a low growl that sent vibrations through him as he forced himself not to flinch.

Robb’s horse screamed and reared up behind him as his men worked to keep the beast from running off. In an effort to show he wasn’t rattled, the King in the North maintained his stare.

“Shhh,” Daenerys told her gigantic sentry, petting his pointed maw. “We’re only talking.” Turning back to his brother, the queen spoke loud and clear. "Let's discuss new terms then. I have three dragons, and you have none. I am a just and gracious queen, but defy me, and I will show you no mercy. I'll give you until morning to decide."

Jon’s heart began to pound. He and Robb’s eyes met briefly as the Dragon Queen turned her back on him, ending their negotiation. The perilousness of the moment was heavy in the air.

The threat was clear – kneel or die.

They’d already lost their father – and probably their sisters too – he couldn’t stand by and lose more of his family.

The green dragon suddenly screeched, his interest in Jon renewed as he brought his massive snout close to his person. Taken by surprise, Ser Barristan wrenched Jon back with him, but this only excited the scaly beast further. Rhaegal used his nose to knock Ser Barristan on his back, his armor clanking as he struggled to get up.

Without warning the black dragon took notice, turning his head sharply as if trying to rein in his little brother. Daenerys’s face paled as she and Jon locked eyes. Seeing her prisoner unguarded, and too close for comfort, she cut him a glare before she started to climb the dragon’s wing.

Seizing an opportunity, Jon reached up to pet Rhaegal’s snout before using the pointed horn on his nose to tear through his thick bonds. With his hands free, his gaze shot to the queen now settling onto her dragon’s back; the same dragon who’s molten stare was boring into him.

Instead of harming Jon, the larger dragon snapped at his smaller brother again, and soon the two were hissing back and forth.

Blowing out a breath, Jon’s blood was rushing as he made up his mind. He would save his family and the North even if he died trying. Pushing past every instinct screaming for him to do otherwise, he lunged at the black dragon and began to climb his leathery wing.

The beast’s head whipped to him directly, freezing every nerve in Jon’s body as he clung to his wing, preparing to die. But instead of flames, he was washed over with hot breath as the dragon huffed at him angrily before turning back to Rhaegal.

Not stopping to think about the why or how, Jon looked up to see the dragon queen glowering down at him, and continued to climb.

“Dracarys!” she shouted.

The feuding dragons paused to acknowledge their mother – but hesitated to follow her command.

With seemingly no one to stop him, Jon reached for her leg, hoping to pull her down and make her a hostage of the North. Before he could touch her, her boot came down hard against his nose.

He groaned as fury rolled over him. Hanging on tight, he was determined to try again when Daenerys called out another command. "Sōvēs!"

Jon’s instincts were faster than his thoughts, and he rushed to climb the rest of the way, taking a seat far behind the dragon’s mother just as the beast spread his massive wings. His heart was lodged in his throat as he grabbed onto spikes on the creature’s back just before he launched himself into the air.

Stomach tumbling, he dared to look down to watch the world below growing smaller by the second. I’m alive – and flying on the back of a dragon. He might have been more terrified if any of it were plausible.

The gravity of the situation returned with a bolt of intensity as his attention returned to the Silver Queen. Her long hair was whipping in the wind, as she paid him no mind, her focus bent on steering. She was so close, and it occurred to him all he’d have to do was seize her by the waist, and bring her crashing down with him. His death would be a sacrifice that could save his people from the dragon threat.

Or, if her dragon was still reluctant to kill him, he could continue with his original plan, and take her hostage.

As if he’d said the thoughts out loud, Daenerys snapped her head back and pinned him with a withering glare. Then returning her focus to the sky ahead, she shouted another command.

In the next instance, Jon’s stomach dropped as the dragon dove down, the earth suddenly growing larger again, before pulling up sharply so that all he could see was sky. Jon’s knuckles were white as he fought to hold his seat, and keep his breakfast as they did a big loop in the air.

The wind was howling in his ears and the world seemed to spin below. Shaking himself, he let anger and fear propel him forward, letting go of the spikes to try and stop her before she could try another one of her tricks.

Before she had time to react, Jon sat down hard behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle with a vice grip. What he could only assume were Valyrian curses flew through the air as she tried to buck him off while keeping her hold. Their bodies pressed against one another, he could feel her heart was beating as fast as his.

In order to make sure she heard him above the gusts of wind, he brought his mouth close to her ear, and spoke as firmly as he could while his voice shook from fear. “If you have him throw me off, you’re coming with me.”

He felt her body tense at the threat, freezing momentarily, but instead of turning around to face him, she let out another string of harsh foreign words.

Complain all you like, little queen, he thought, reaffirming his hold. I’m not letting go.

As they flew, a vast lake appeared ahead of them, the sight of which sent chills up his spine. He knew exactly where they were. The God’s Eye.

As they flew over the water, Jon couldn’t take his eyes off of it. The lake went on past the horizon, the immense scale leaving him in awe even on the back of a dragon – but it was the island in the distance that left him feeling haunted. .

Taken by surprise, he held his breath when the dragon dove down. This time he didn’t pull up again, but flew low enough so that his talons might have skipped along the water.

Before he had the chance to brace himself, the beast tilted sharply, throwing him off balance just as Daenerys delivered a series of sharp elbows to his gut in a coordinated attack.

The moment his grip loosened his fate was sealed, and he plunged head first into a shock of cold water. Disoriented, he fought to reach the surface, breaking through with a gasp for air. A strong current made it a struggle to keep his head above water, his breathing labored as he spotted the island just ahead, far closer than the outer shores.

The Isle of Faces.

The sacred place where it was said the green men tended to the weirwood trees, and a place where few dared go.

With drowning his only other option, there was no time to be afraid. He committed everything he had left to swimming for the island, the current was exhausting him quickly, his muscles straining with effort as land inched closer.

The thought of the dragon circling above him, pushed him forward as he heard the beating of its wings. By the time he was close enough to shore to feel the bottom of the lake beneath his boots, his muscles were burning.

Neck deep in the icy water, he gave himself a moment to catch his breath as he spied Daenerys and her dragon on the beach, no more than 100 yards away. The little queen was on foot, pacing back and forth, issuing firm Valyrian commands.

Rocks and sand beneath his feet, his lungs were heaving as he silently thanked the old gods for sparing his life. Then he observed a fascinating power struggle happening between the young woman and her beast.

Whatever she was shouting didn’t seem to be effective, as the massive dragon turned away from her, giving a rumbling growl before leaping back into the sky – leaving his silver queen alone on the beach below.

Standing at the edge of the water, she made a striking figure against a rugged shore of brown sand and grey rocks. His eyes scanned the thick line of trees behind her, and a sense of reverence filled him as he found the carved faces of several weirwoods observing them silently.

Thoroughly drenched, Jon pushed the wet hair out of his face as reality sunk in. Not only had he survived his encounter with dragons, but he’d been gifted the perfect opportunity to capture their mother – and protect everyone he loved.

He looked back at the weirwoods. Had they brought him here? Were the old gods using him to save the North?

Examining the remnants of the broken bindings still hanging from his wrists, he tested their strength, his gaze flitting to the queen, studying her movements and assessing his chances of success.

Daenerys’s eyes fell on him, her glare singeing his skin. Her unsteady gait as she took a few steps back betrayed her nerves – but her tone was as sharp as ever. “Stay away from me, Lord Snow.”

Ignoring her warning, he approached slowly, his curiosity peaked as he looked up at the empty sky. “What’s wrong with your dragon?”

“Nothing that won’t remedy itself any moment.” The little queen backed away, not taking her eyes off of him.

Her threat had him looking skyward again, but it remained empty. His confidence soared. In this moment, he knew he had the advantage, but he wasn’t going to underestimate her. He kept his sight trained on her movements as he cautiously pressed forward.

Gritting her teeth, she continued to fall back down the shore. “I said get away from me!”

Jon maintained his steady pursuit, his resolve set in stone. "You threatened my family and our people – I'm not going to hurt you, but you are coming with me." Anticipation was coursing through his veins, his muscles coiled at the ready.

Huffing with contempt, Daenerys’s eyes became venomous slits. "Is that what you think?"

Eager to get on with it, Jon moved quicker, closing some of the distance between them. "You're smaller than me, and you're unarmed,” he said, scrutinizing her. “This is only going to go one way."

"Not that much smaller,” she quipped as she continued to backstep. In a swift motion, she withdrew a dagger from her boot and pointed it at him. “Not that unarmed." Taking a defensive stance, the Dragon Queen was ready to protect herself.

He might have found it admirable if it didn’t make his situation more difficult.

Taking a chance, he lunged at her, drawing back just in time as she swiped her dagger at him full force. They were both on high alert. Completely alone, the only sound was the waves lapping against the shore, as focused his mind on overpowering her – without hurting her if possible.

He went for her again, but this time she was quicker than he expected. Managing to deliver a biting slash to his bicep, he recoiled with a grunt and clutched his arm. Rage ran through him, and he wasn’t worried about hurting her anymore.

Making a quick motion to bait her, he caught her by the wrist when she went to strike him again. She struggled to free herself, but he didn’t budge, applying pressure until the pain forced her to drop the dagger onto the sand.

Daenerys resisted with all her might, but he was stronger and more determined. Putting out of his mind that she was a woman, and a noble born woman at that, he forced her onto her stomach. He tied her wrists behind her back as best he could with the remnants of his broken bindings while she cursed, her voice tight with anger and fear.

Keeping her pinned, he wiped his brow and looked up to the dense tree line. He’d taken the Dragon Queen – and now what would he do with her? And how would he get them both off this bloody island?

Overhead, the sky suddenly darkened, and he looked to see a mass of grey clouds had gathered in the sky. Stories he’d heard about wayward visitors to the isle being chased away by storms and flocks of ravens came to mind. But without a boat or a dragon, they had nowhere else to go.

Daenerys's fury was palpable as she lay in the sand struggling to free herself, and he suddenly felt for her, realizing what she might be fearing.

“I won’t hurt you, My Lady. I swear it.”

She scowled at him. “I’m not your lady. I am your queen.”

Jon sighed heavily. He’d rather lead men into battle than grapple with this situation. The sooner he could return to the Stark army, the better. Pocketing her fallen dagger, he raised her to her feet with him, keeping a secure hold on her.

The air was thick with tension, his blood still pumping, and his arm stinging. He’d have to tend to it soon. He could hear birds chirping in the distance, and he was filled with awe and trepidation as he made for the trees with the queen in tow.

Trying to tug away, she halted her steps. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

Jon’s grip was unyielding as he pulled her with him. “To find fresh water, and a way off this island.” He looked up at the sky which had continued to darken. “And shelter too – the clouds are moving fast.”

“No,” she defied him, dropping to the ground. “I’m not going in there with you. Drogon will return any moment, and I will wait for him here.”

Patience long gone, Jon picked her up without another word, and tossed her over his shoulder, ignoring the way his injured arm throbbed. Keeping a tight hold on her legs to prevent her from kicking him, he made his way inside the sacred wood.

The forest was lush with green and red leaves as he took in the sight of more weirwood trees than he’d ever imagined he’d see at once; their crimson red faces, each entirely distinct, watching them.

The serenity of the moment was disturbed by crass Valyrian curses “We shouldn’t be here!” Daenerys protested, breathless from her struggle. “Don’t you know where we are?”

“Of course I do,” he answered, his mind now turning to a suitable place to make a fire with his clothing fully soaked.

She growled in frustration. “Then you should know, it’s unlikely we’re welcome.”

“We both want to get off this island,” he said. “Is your dragon going to fetch your men and bring them back here?”

“A dragon is not a dog.”

“A dog might have been more useful,” he argued, unable to stop the smirk that followed.

She renewed her attempts to wriggle out of his hold. "Drogon will find me no matter where we are, and when he does, I'm going to make sure there’s nothing left of you."

“Didn’t seem to work for you last time.” Then he stopped. "Are you ready to walk now or do you want me to keep carrying you?" He strengthened his hold as he awaited her answer.

“Put me down!” she snapped, the barest hint of resignation in her voice. Grateful to comply, he set her on her feet while keeping her close, wary of her every move.

Her expression was full of worry as she looked around the wood. "If you know where we are, then you know Lannisters are crawling on the southside of the lake,” she told him. “They would be very happy to take us both prisoner."

Her words heightened his senses further, and increased his desire to find shelter. "Aye, let us hope they missed the massive dragon landing on the island only to leave his silver queen behind.”

Her pretty eyes flashed with anger. "Perhaps if a dolt with a death wish hadn't tried to take on a full grown dragon, we wouldn't be here at all!"

“This dolt not only took on a full grown dragon and lived, but he managed to capture his mother.” Undeterred by her insults, he felt a sense of satisfaction as he gave her wrists a tug, and took her deeper into the forest.

Daenerys was seething. "You have no idea how lucky you are do you? In any other instance where someone has been idiotic enough to approach him, he’s killed them without a second thought as one would a fly.”

"Perhaps being your pet has made him soft." He could almost hear Sansa telling him it was unbecoming to take delight in a lady’s suffering, but the past two days had depleted his tolerance.

“Laugh while you can, Jon Snow,” she threatened bitterly. “Now that you’ve enacted your brilliant plan, what are you going to do?"

Jerking her back, he brought his face close to hers, and kept his voice low. "I'm going to find a boat, or if I can't, I'm going to make something that works well enough. Then I'm going to get you off this island, and bring you to my brother. You can discuss the terms of your surrender with him."

Resuming his exploration into the forest, he took her with him. A long pause before her response, highlighted how flustered she was. "By the gods,” she lamented. “I've been stranded with a fool."

Chapter Text

Soaked from head to toe, Jon’s boots squished with his every step over the forest floor of damp moss and dead leaves. It was a miserable feeling which only lessened with the stinging of the fresh wound on his arm. Under normal circumstances, he’d have addressed these problems straight away – but if her dragon returned now, he’d prove a much greater threat to his health.

Scanning the empty skies, he tugged the dragon queen in question along with him while keeping close to cover. He’d been searching the shoreline for the last two hours, hoping against the odds to find an intact boat to take them to the mainland. The only thing he’d found was light brown sand and a scattering of black, pink and grey rocks.

The silver princess gave an irritated growl “By the gods!” She wrenched her arm against his grip. “You’re dripping on me! Again!”

Jon tightened his hold, incensed by the pitch of her voice and the way she’d caused him to misstep. All this time walking in the shade had done little to dry his water logged clothes; his wool cloak was soaked through and heavy as chain mail while his tunic clung to his skin.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Jon rolled his shoulders. “Thank yourself for that,” he quipped before continuing to drag her along with him.

He’d lost count of how many times she’d complained with her fists clenched behind her back and her petite nose turned up. Annoying though she may be, he could hardly blame her. Thanks to him, she was stranded on this island away from her armies and dragons. The thought brought a smug smile to his lips.

He heard her grunt of indignation a breath before she made it. She was becoming predictable, and he braced himself for the sharp tone that would follow.

“Would that I had dropped you from a greater height,” she fumed. “Over jagged rocks and solid ground.”

“Aye,” Jon gave a dispassionate answer as he continued to scan the beach. “Would that you had.”

A quick death didn’t sound terrible right now.

Aggravating as she was, he couldn’t deny she was the picture of beauty and grace – making him all the more aware of his disheveled appearance.

She’s your prisoner, he reminded himself, and the last of a royal house. You’ve no business looking at her at all.

“You could stand to give me a little room!” She yanked back hard, and this time when he didn’t let go, she tripped into him before she could herself. Her face was red with anger when she growled again, and Jon lowered his head to hide a smirk. “We’re on an island, where is it you think I’ll go!?”

She had a short temper that flared when he ignored her – which served only to make her talk more. Jon forced himself to reply. “I’ll not give you the chance to run out to your dragon.” Lifting his eyes to the grey sky he added dubiously. “Should he appear.”

The way his words made her bristle filled him with satisfaction. Overhead the sky was empty save for billowing grey clouds, and that did not bode well for the woman who called herself Mother of Dragons.

She raised her chin as if to challenge him – but only succeeded in highlighting the soft slender curve of her neck. “When Drogon appears, he’ll burn you to a cinder.”

“That’s a great plan.” He kept his voice even. “So long as you’re ready to burn with me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him; even as his prisoner she’d lost none of her confidence. “Dragon flame will never harm me.”

He eyed her skeptically. “Do all Targaryen’s think they’re immune to fire until their flesh starts to melt?”

“Go ahead, mock me. I’m sure you, and your pretty hair, will make proper kindling.”

Jon snorted to hide his irritation, and then instinctively pushed damp hair away from his forehead. His cheeks grew hot immediately after the gesture – for letting her see the effect of her words. “At least I’ll die dry,” he said gruffly.

Daenerys pressed her lips together, unimpressed. “You’re as great a fool as I thought you were when I captured you.”

Jon narrowed his eyes and looked down at her. Were her assertions of being fire resistant true or was this more Targaryen arrogance?

Or madness.

“As great a fool as your ancestor who died by drinking wildfyre?”

Daenerys gave another fierce tug, and took him off course. The sharp little crease between her brows appeared – the one that seemed to come out when he’d truly angered her. “Do you think you’re in a position to judge anyone? Reckless and stupid as you are? Assuming my dragons don’t hunt you down and kill you first, and assuming we don’t get taken by the Lannisters, how do you expect to get me to your men? Did you not imagine my vast armies would be looking for me?”

The weight of her words halted his steps. Whether his actions were rash or not didn’t matter. He couldn’t take them back and the only way forward was to get them both off the island and to the safety of his brother’s men – no matter the odds.

Setting his doubt aside he met her with his own facade of confidence. “I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?”

“Your luck will run out, Jon Snow.” She spoke his name like a curse as hatred flashed in her violet eyes.

Against his better judgement, he leaned in and tightened his grasp on her arm to point out the fragility of her defiance. “You may be the Mother of Dragons, but you’re not a goddess, little queen. On your own you’re just as weak and vulnerable as the rest of us.”

She hardened her stare while the barest hint of pink colored her cheeks.

Something new.

“I bet you think you’re the cleverest man alive. A brave hero who captured Daenerys Targaryen, and who will bring the North their victory – but we both know you were losing before I arrived.”

Jon locked his jaw. “My brother has won every battle he’s fought.” Numbers didn’t determine the victor of every battle, and southerners made a habit of underestimating that fact.

The sparkle in her eyes told him she sensed his weakness. “And yet he’s short on allies, resources, and men.”

Heat crept up his neck, and he abruptly pulled her with him as he turned on his heel and resumed his search. As he moved, the cut on his arm throbbed, a not so subtle reminder of how deeply she’d clawed her way under his skin.

When he spoke, he ground out his words low and harsh. “We’ll remedy that with the terms of your surrender.”

Daenerys scoffed as she stumbled along. “If you manage to get me off this island before Drogon returns, your plans is to what? Walk me to your camp armed only with the little dagger you stole from me?”

Jon’s hand moved to the hilt of the dagger in his belt, and he felt the absence of Longclaw like a missing limb. Silently, he scolded himself for not ignoring her all along. “I’m sure it does sound like an impossible task to you.”

“Oh yes, silly me,” she taunted. “I’ve forgotten how adept Northerners are to living off the land. Which is why you’ve been dragging me around this island for hours with no prospects of food, water or shelter. Though I should consider myself fortunate as you’ll probably freeze to death by morning in your sopping wet clothes.”

His throat tightened. “I know we need water and shelter.”

“What a relief. Do you plan on finding them before the sun sets?”

Closing his eyes, he clenched his burned hand into a fist. He was in an implausible situation with one of the most intolerable women he’d ever met – and he only had himself to blame. Without another word, he promptly changed course away from the shore and deeper into the thick forest of pale weirwood trees with his socks still sloshing in his boots.

The wind hushed as they passed beneath bone white branches and blood red leaves – more weirwood trees than Jon ever imagined could exist together at once. The sacred grove where he said his vows to the Watch had left him in awe, but this was something else entirely.

Daenerys’s fear was palpable as her eyes darted around a multitude of crude faces crusted with dried red sap. Some carvings faced inward, and others out, so that no matter which way you turned, you were being watched.

The old gods’ presence was all around them – a multitude of spirits eyeing their every move with silent judgement.

He slowed his pace as they ventured further in. “Are you afraid?” He asked.

Daenerys straightened her expression, and kept her eyes trained ahead. “Only a fool wouldn’t be.”

Jon nodded. “Something we can agree on.” He scanned the blood red canopy for a hint of green leaves; they would need to build a fire, and he wasn’t willing to risk offending the old gods by using their sacred trees for firewood.

As he steered them toward a cluster of oak trees in the distance, it occurred to him how strange a place this must be for her. "I suppose you've never seen a weirwood tree."

She cast a sidelong glance at him, and answered in a clipped tone. “You’re suddenly talkative.”

Jon ground his teeth and decided that was the last time he’d try to engage his prisoner in conversation.

Moving through the quiet wood, a certain ghostly white trunk caught his eye. Set apart from the rest with a kind presence, it reminded him of the heart tree at home in Winterfell.

He stopped before it, and closed his eyes to pray – ignoring the dragon queen’s irritated sigh.

Gods of the wood, grant me the wisdom to see the path before me, and the strength to take it.

When he opened his eyes, he found Daenerys staring at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and condescension. "Were you praying to your gods to aid you in your kidnapping of a stranded and defenseless woman?”

“Aye, I was,” he responded with a tight smile. “May the old gods grant me the wisdom to get us to safety, and the patience – to keep from tossing you into the lake.”

The little crease between her brows reappeared. “Well, may the old gods grant me the fortitude to withstand your company for as long as I must keep it and the compassion to make your death quick when your time comes.”

Her bravado was amusing if unconvincing, and he kept his face impassive as they resumed their course. “Prayers to the old gods are meant to be silent,” he told her. “That’s why they’ll never hear yours.”

She refused to grant him the courtesy of a glance. “Spare me your northern humor.”

The woods were bigger and deeper than he imagined with red eyes following their every move. Glancing up at the sky again, the threat of rain seemed no nearer, but still looked as though it could come any moment. Daenerys was right – he shouldn’t have wasted time searching the shore before finding water and shelter – or at least drying his clothes.

The silver princess interrupted his thoughts. "Histories say no one ever leaves this place unchanged, and that they’re chased away by storms or flocks of ravens – if they’re able to leave at all.”

Focused on their path, he kept his voice low as he echoed her statement. "I've heard the same."

She spoke softer and cast wary glances around the wood. "If what we've both heard is true, it’s rather curious we've not been chased away. Perhaps the stories were only ever stories all along. Probably fed by illusions of men who claim to be more than what they are."

Jon gave her a quick glance. “Do you ever just think inside your head?”

She tsked quietly under her breath. “Oh is that why you’re silent as a grave? You’re thinking? I’d have never guessed.”

His nostrils flared as her words landed with their intended bite. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have, but if you stop prattling for a moment, you might experience it for yourself.”

Fury flashed in her violet eyes and he knew he’d struck a nerve; she held her breath for a beat like a dragon coiling before a strike. “Oh and then will I start coming up with brilliant plans like you? Perhaps a plan to find water? Preferably before the sun goes down! I would have thought my Northern kidnapper would have at least some sense of survival.”

Jon gave a wry laugh. “Forgive me, I thought a fire breathing dragon would be on my trail – but, turns out, I was wrong.”

For once, a retort didn’t immediately shoot from her lips. Instead, she hardened her glare, her fire dimmed but not extinguished. “Laugh while you can, Jon Snow.”

He exhaled and kept moving. Perhaps she’d follow through on her threats and he’d end up a pile of ash on this strange island.

His dark musings were interrupted as a sudden shadow swept over them – swift and silent. He barely had time to react as the air exploded with dark wings and ear splitting shrieks, but he managed to pull Daenerys into him, sheltering her with his body on instinct.

The ravens struck at his back and his raised arms as he tried to shield them both. He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for pain, but their attacks were unusual. They didn’t use their talons or sharp beaks to tear at his clothing or skin, but were persistent in diving into them, letting them know in no uncertain terms they weren’t welcome here.

“We have to run,” he told Daenerys. Still trying to shield her, he pulled her to her feet in a swift motion, and put his arm around her waist before taking off through the wood.

Their shadows and screeches followed, sometimes diving close but no longer striking, as the winged mob chased them deeper into the forest. More than once the silver queen stumbled, struggling to keep her balance with bound hands. Jon helped her up and did his best to keep her steady.

When the shrieks faded, and the shadows disappeared, they slowed to a halt, and Jon released her while they both doubled over to catch their breath.

Still panting, Jon ran a hand down his face and then touched Daenerys’s arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking her over for signs of torn clothing or scratches. “Did the ravens hurt you?”

Glowering at him, she jerked her arm away. “I’m fine.” A good bit of her hair had come undone from her braids and she blew out a breath trying to get it out of her eyes. Without thinking, Jon brushed the hair aside and tucked it behind her ear.

The unwitting gesture made them both freeze. Her skin was warmer than he expected, and he curled the fingers that had touched her together. It was detail he had no business noticing – and the incredulous look she gave him confirmed this.

He thought to stammer out an apology, but she broke the silence first. “I guess the stories about the unfriendly flocks of ravens were true.”

Jon lifted his gaze to the tree canopy. “I guess so.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened. "Do you hear that?”

Jon listened and heard the unmistakable sound of rippling water. Retaking her arm, they followed the sound. There were less weirwood trees in this part of the forest, and they were surrounded by more oak trees and sentinels. It eased his mind to have less sets of eyes on him.

Relief washed over him as they came upon a crystal clear pool with a small stream trickling out of it. Here the trees were not as thick and a bed of green grass grew over the bank. The sight of the cold water made Jon realize how dry his throat had become and he knelt down at once to take a drink.

“Eh hem,” Daenerys’s impatient noise made him hot with guilt. Her lip was curled in disgust as she forced herself to ask. “Untie me.” She raised her chin to maintain her dignity before adding. “So I may drink.”

“Of course,” Jon responded quickly. “Forgive me.”

Her eyes were boring into him as he untied her, and her stare only intensified when he refused to release his hold, and bound them in front of her instead.

“This will do well enough,” he said.

She looked at him with open disdain. “You’re too kind.” Setting her hate for him aside, she too knelt beside the pool and eagerly drank hand fulls of water.

After they both had their fill, they sat back on the grassy bank a few feet apart. Jon couldn’t help but notice a trickle of water that rolled down her bottom lip, his eyes following it down her slender throat. The tension between them seemed to ease some as they each took in their new surroundings.

A fresh sting from his arm reminded him of his neglected wound. “We can’t stay long,” he told her.

Daenerys paid him no mind, she’d closed her eyes, and pointed her face up at pale sun peeking through grey clouds. Her skin was pale and her eyelids were heavy, telling him she was at least as worn out as him. When he followed her gaze he was reminded of the threat of rain, and the need to dry his clothes before nightfall.

Sure she didn’t have any more energy to run than he did, he left her on the bank to inspect the stream leading away from the pool, and returned with a smooth bit of flint in his pocket.

Sitting back on the bank, he took off his heavy wool cloak, and massaged a painful knot in his shoulder. He paused before removing the glove on his burned hand – it still made an ugly sight of raised and reddened skin. Present company made him wish he could do this in private.

The little queen has already seen you at your worst, fool, and she’s an enemy besides.

Taking off his leather gloves, he set them aside before starting to remove his shirt. Daenerys shifted uncomfortably, and realized she might be wary of his intentions. “I’m going to clean the wound you gave me,” he informed her.

She rested her hands in her lap and looked away. He was thankful for that at least. Setting the still wet garment aside, he examined the angry red wound, shallow but still bleeding. At least it bleeds clean. “You got me good,” he remarked before washing it with the cool water from the pool. While he’d certainly had far worse, his arm would certainly carry a scar from the Mother of Dragons.

“Doesn’t look too deep,” she quipped, her smirk evident in her tone. He felt her eyes roam over him, a more pleasant appraisal than the weirwoods, but when he looked back, she quickly turned away.

“You’re right – it’s not.” A grin tugged at his lips. “If your knights are going to arm you, they should at least show you how to use it.”

Begrudgingly, he tore a length of fabric from his tunic to bandage his arm before redressing in his wet clothes. Next they would need a place to shelter. Only a short distance a way, they found a great hollowed out trunk of a fallen weirwood, white as snow and hard as stone. It wasn’t fit for a queen, but it would keep them dry if it rained.

Dany eyed the lodging skeptically while Jon used both hands to rock the hollowed trunk from side to side until the furry creature that had made a home of it scurried out. He peered inside before making his final assessment. “This will do,” he concluded. “You can sleep in here if you don’t wish to be out in the open. If the sky stays clear, I’ll sleep out by the fire.”

While unimpressed, she didn’t look as put off as he might have expected. “My gallant captor,” she replied bitterly. “If we aren’t meant to be here, a fire might attract unwanted attention.”

He considered her words. "The fire will keep away any beasts that might be lurking," he reasoned. "And I suspect if there is anyone else on this island, they already know we're here."

Daenerys looked up at the surrounding trees. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”

The afternoon sun made Jon feel pressed for time. “I need to build a fire,” he said, moving closer to her in an effort to loom larger. “I’m going to leave you here, but I won’t be far – and if you run, I’ll catch you – and tie you to a tree.”

Her arrogance as lofty as ever, she stepped into him, her jewel colored eyes matching his intensity. “I’d like to see you try.”

With a fool’s hope she wouldn’t run, Jon relieved himself of his heavy cloak, and moved quickly, searching the deadfall for branches and sticks to use for a fire. As he sorted through the tangle of dead trees, he made sure to avoid anything of the sacred weirwood while shooting glances over his shoulder to make sure the little queen was still there.

When he looked again, he found her staring forlornly through the tree canopy, willing her dragon to come and save her.

The pale sun that filtered through the leaves caught in her silver hair like starlight, almost like she wasn’t a woman at all but some lost creature from the heavens. There was a quiet dignity about her, something that couldn’t be stripped by circumstance. She was a true queen.

He’d only meant to check that she hadn’t fled but, arms full of dry broken branches, he found he couldn’t look away.

She didn’t belong here – not because she was weak or unwelcome but because the crudeness of the gnarled trees and moss covered stones were less than she deserved.

His gut twisted.

In this moment, she wasn’t an enemy, but a woman who was fragile without her armor. When she didn’t know he was looking, he could see her tired violet eyes weren’t shadowed with defiance but fatigue.

He flexed the fingers of his burned hand.

She is an enemy, he reminded himself. He did what he did to protect his family – those who were left, and those he might still save. He’d take care of the little queen as best he could, and once she agreed to terms of surrender, she could go back to her life of comfort and dragons.

Jon tore his eyes away, and filled his arms with as much wood and brush he could carry. He ignored her stare when he returned to their sorry excuse for a camp, and built a campfire.

As he struck the blade of her dagger against the flint stone, her shadow came over him.

He turned to find her holding a vine of red berries. She raised her chin. “Do you know what these are?”

He took them from her gently, he felt his own stomach clench as he realized how hungry she must be. “These are smokeberries,” he answered and handed them back. “Where did you find them?”

Dany gestured to an oak tree four yards away. “Are they poisonous?” she asked, eyes full of suspicion.

“No,” he answered, and returned his attention to making the fire. “If I’m wrong, we’ll find out soon enough.”

She made a sound of admonishment and then sat down across the fire, as far away as she could while staying in range of the soon to be fire, telling him she must be feeling the cold. He could see her eating the berries with vigor as he fed the growing flames with dried brush.

The little queen scooted closer as the flames grew higher. He wished she was sitting further away as he began to unlace his damp boots. It wasn’t enough he was already a bastard, he also had to be in this undignified situation.

Blessedly, she got up to gather more berries and he took advantage of the moment, removing his boots and socks, arranging them on rocks to dry.

Water, shelter, food, fire.

For tonight, they would have what they needed.

Daenerys didn’t look at him as she returned to the fire with another vine of berries. Jon kept his eyes trained on the fire, trying not to notice the awkward way she had to maneuver in order to eat them with her bound hands.

Soon they were both staring into the flames as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. He cleared his throat. “I think we should refrain from burning any weirwood leaves or branches if we can help it.”

The little queen held up her bound hands as a statement. “I’ll try not to.”

He sighed and fed another log into the fire. What would Sansa say? Was their conversation etiquette for dealing with a prisoner? He was sure there was. Another excuse for southerners to look down on them.

Daenerys shifted awkwardly and then clumsily rose to her feet. “I’m going to sleep.”

Her words put him at ease, looking forward to the solitude. “As you wish.” Suddenly remembering her disadvantage with the bindings, he stood up as she peered into the mouth of the darkened hollowed log. “Let me help you.”

The violet daggers she shot at him were dulled by the red smudge of smokeberry at the corner of her mouth. “Spare me,” she spat, lowering herself to the ground and shimming gracelessly on her elbows and knees.

He watched her closely as she disappeared into the hollow, his gaze fixed on where her cloak shifted to show the curve of her backside through her form fitting dress. After she faded into the darkness, he shook himself. It was enough she was already his prisoner, he didn’t need to leer at her as well.

The fireside solitude didn’t bring him the relief he was looking for when his mind began turning with the impossible tasks set ahead of him. Tomorrow, he’d search for a boat once more. However unlikely, the time it would save should they find something would be worth it. If he didn’t find one by the afternoon, he’d begin to make one.

In the fading light, he visited the smokeberry vine the little queen had discovered and found a healthy growth twisting around the trunk of an oak tree. They were ripe and round and there would be plenty enough for tomorrow if they didn’t find anything else. He plucked a bunch as his stomach growled for something more substantial.

As soon as he popped the first berry into his mouth, he felt a sudden sense of unease. His eyes swept the forest around him, finding only trees and moss covered earth in the dim light. Then his heart stopped when he caught the crimson face of a weirwood staring at him from thirty yards away, a face he’d not seen until now, scrutinizing him. His pulse was racing as he retreated back to the fire, and he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

He crept quietly around their log, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing was different. It must be the weirwood, he reasoned. There were no weirwoods in their camp and he’d grown used to not having eyes on him.

Restless, he gently leaned against the log. The air felt charged and had an earthy smell, and he looked up to see the clouds had grown darker. Gods, let the rain hold off.

A sharp echoing voice made him startle. “Are you sitting on my log?”

Jon blew out a breath and shook his head. “Oh it’s your log is it?” he responded bitterly. “Are you Queen of the Isle of Faces too?”

“In fact, I am.”

“Well,” Jon answered, a strange feeling creeping up his spine, “tell that to the green men.”

There was a pause before Daenerys answered. “Don’t joke about such things.”

He palmed the handle of the dagger as his eyes flitted from tree to tree. “Who said I was joking?”

After a few moments of seeing nothing but a calm empty wood, he returned to the campfire. His socks and boots were fully warm and dry when he pulled them back on his feet. Finding his dark cloak mostly dry, and much lighter than it had been all day, he fitted it back over his shoulders.

At least I won’t be known as the Northerner who froze to death in the South.

Leaning back on his elbows, he closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind. Before he managed to find any serenity, a cold drop of rain splattered against his forehead and trickled down his brow.

He held his breath.

After a few moments, it seemed the danger had passed, until a series of drops followed, fuller and heavier than the first.

“Seven hells.”

Mindful of his freshly dried clothes, he clambered up and stuck his head into the dark hollow of the log. “Daenerys,” he whispered more harshly than he meant. “I’m coming in.”

“What?” Her pale hair and bright eyes appeared in the dark. “There’s not room for two in here!”

Gritting his teeth as the rain began to come down hard on his newly dried cloak, he started climbing in. “You’re welcome to sleep in the rain if it pleases you.”

Despite her declaration, there was room for them to sleep side by side with several inches between them. She was laid out on her belly with her hands folded beneath her head, and he felt her glare at him as she pressed herself against the wall of the log as far as she could.

Jon settled onto his back and listened to the rain pattering above them. He supposed he should be grateful for these cramped quarters but there weren’t many things he could imagine being more uncomfortable than this.

“I wouldn’t be in here if it weren’t raining,” he assured her lamely.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes even further before turning her head away.

“I’m not going to…” His cheeks burned as he searched for words. “Touch you or anything.”

She gave a disgusted huff. “You’d never get the chance.”

Jon’s mind ran miserably, while the rain continued to fall steadily. Soon a soft snoring added to the gentle din, a strangely soothing melody that made Jon’s eyes grow heavy.

Stranded without a plan, and all but unarmed, he fell asleep beside his captured queen.

When his eyes opened in the dark he was fully awake, and his body was alert. The rain had stopped, and the only sound was the little queen’s gentle snoring. Rolling to his stomach, he crawled forward carefully, sensing something was amiss. Before he reached the mouth of the log, he heard something else.

Footsteps.

Gentle footfalls in the distance, far closer than he would like. He stayed still and listened as the faint sounds grew more distinct, the cautious tread of some beast drawing near their camp. Withdrawing the dagger from his belt, he waited at the ready.

His anxiety heightened as he felt a stirring behind him. He turned back and held a finger to his lips to gesture to Daenerys to be quiet. She must have taken the hint because she crawled forward carefully and stopped just as she reached his shoulder.

They both stayed still and listened.

Jon’s heart sped up as the footsteps drew nearer, and his eyes strained in the dark to make out any movement. He felt the little queen huddle closer as the sound grew louder, the tension was palpable as they both waited for the source of their trepidation to reveal itself.

The footfalls were so close it was unimaginable he couldn’t make out their source, and instinctively, he put himself in front of Daenerys as he held the dagger in front of him and waited.

They were both taken by surprise when the source of the footsteps jumped on top of their log. Daenerys’s gasp was so slight, it told the story of a woman who was used to having to hide her fear. They both held close to each other as they stared up at the ceiling and felt the weight of the being’s movement above them.

Jon’s blood ran cold when he realized whatever it was walked on two legs.

Letting her go, Jon shifted around in the tight space and crawled toward the other end of the log in the direction of the footsteps. Daenerys stayed close.

He felt her freeze beside him when it jumped off the log. Fear filled the space around them as they listened to the footsteps moving farther and farther away.

Still, Jon couldn’t make anything out in the dark.

Neither of them spoke until several minutes had passed since, whatever it was, had left the area.

Daenerys broke the silence first, and for the first time, he heard a tremble in her voice. "I think that was... “

He knew what she was going to say, and it made his heart speed up again. “It might have been…”

Her brow furrowed together as though Jon’s words confirmed it. "Whatever it was, it didn't feel like it meant us any harm."

Jon understood her statement to be the question that it was. "If it wanted to harm us,” he assured her as well as himself, “I think it would have.”

He felt her relax some, and then she shimmied back around to her original sleeping place facing the remnants of their campfire.

Jon did the same, but propped himself up on his elbows with his nose poking out of the entrance. "Rest,” he told her. “I'll stay up a bit longer, and make sure it’s gone."

The harshness of her voice returned full force. “Do you imagine I trust you? Do you think I’ll sleep oh so soundly with the chivalrous Jon Snow keeping watch for me?”

Heat flashed up Jon’s neck with both anger and embarrassment. “Suit yourself.”

A few minutes later, while he was still stewing in his feelings, the familiar sound of snoring filled the log.

His eyes were drawn to the source of the noise, and he felt some of his irritation fade as he saw how peaceful she looked. She had her cloak tucked tight around her, and he imagined it would be a colder night than she was used to. He had a sudden urge to lay his own cloak over her, but stopped himself. A foolish thought. Being closer to him was the last thing Daenerys wanted.

He turned his attention back to watching the darkness until at some point in the night, his heavy eyelids closed shut.